#Vanderbelts

[shockwoof]

Thought I’d talk a bit about the Vanderbelts , I’ll be drawing all the kids first so I’ll talk about them here (oldest to youngest):

Siblings :

Victoria: Very put together and professional, has very strong opinions about her sister. She is overall all the adults favorite and will likely inherit her Grandparents money. She knows the adults secrets because she is treated like one.

Roxane ( Roxy ): would be considered the emo/alt kid in the family, she’s more reserved then her sister and recognizes she’s not the favorite, currently works at a Hot Topic but is in the interviewing process for Spencer’s. She’s actually pretty academically gifted but she doesn’t do much with it, she has a lot of online friends, she is on best terms with her cousin Sarah but she can respect how weird Esmeralda is.

Second group of siblings:

Brad ( Technically Braxton but know one calls him that): An annoying know-it-all cousin who besides his less than agreeable world views is pretty dumb. Through a weird twist of genetics he’s the only redhead in the family. He also plays lacrosse and steals his sister’s clothes when she’s not home. You don’t want to sit near him at gatherings.

Sarah: A big Theater kid who doesn’t tell people what roles she gets or it changes each time she’s asked. Very dramatic and loud , other than this she’s the family mischief maker who is mostly know for picking pockets and blaming it on who ever’s closest. She tries to keep Brad in check and is more direct in prying secrets out of people, randomly bursts into song.

Emily: the “influencer” of the family, she’s rarely at family gatherings , she says she’s to good for her family and is just overall rude. At the rare chance she lets her self be seen with her siblings they are used for clout.

And finally the youngest only child:

Esmeralda: she is six and stays very close to her mother, both her parents want to get her into sports but she prefers music. Will ask you invasive questions, will say out of pocket things. Appears out of no where. Has been taken out of the will simply because her grandparents are weirded out by her.

So far I’ve only drawn Victoria and Roxy but I’m excited to draw the others! Expect some more of these guys. And to meet their parents soon….

[vixonspixels]

Miah in paris | London arrives

Better late than never

Miah's roomate london vanderbelt finally arrived, only a week late

She ran into issues with her passport so she ended up missing her original flight

The pair plan on ordering their first pizza and watching their favourite anime movies tonight

[soaringeag1e]

Escape {67}

Detective!Dean x Victim!Reader

Warnings: Language, Threats, Guns, Blood, Injuries, Lots of Angst

Words: 3,578

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Patreon

First of all, sorry this is so late. Second, I'm missing a few chapters on the Escape Masterlist, but if you're behind more than those few, you should be able to find them on my page if you scroll down. There shouldn't be much in the way of finding them.

Enjoy guys! Happy Saturday!

Squad cars surrounded the house. Flashing lights just spinning in circles and lighting up the neighborhood while officers searched Cassidy’s residents. Bobby was out front with a team, looking over a map and trying to think of where they should look next. 

They went through evidence and any clues that they could come up with that might help find where he was hiding, but they continued to come up with nothing.

There was one lead that they had a team looking into, but they haven’t heard back from that unit yet. Bobby had sent a few officers out to the house that Paul and, to whom they know now as Cassidy kept their victims and he was anxiously waiting to hear from them.

“I can’t get a hold of Dean.” Styles stressed, hanging up the phone for what felt like the hundredth time. “I texted Sam to see if he could go check on them, but…” When Styles sighs, Bobby looks up. “I don’t have a good feeling, Bobby.”

“Me neither.” Hoping that he would already have an answer, Styles looks down at his phone, but of course there’s nothing yet. “Alright, let's see what we can do.” As Bobby crosses off a few spots on the map, his radio goes off, getting the attention of every officer standing by.

“Captain?”

“I’m here. What do you got?” 

“Well, the house is empty. Doesn’t look like anyone has been here for a while. But, we got a call from someone claiming they heard gunshots not too far up the road from here, so we’re going to go check it out.”

“Gunshots? What direction?” Frantic, Bobby looks over the map to find where the house was located.

“Just a few miles East.” Bobby slides his finger along the road, looking to see if anything shows up on the map that could look like something.

“It looks like it’s all farmland. But there might be a residence up that way. Check it out, watch your backs.”

“You got it” By the time the team clicked off, Bobby looked up to see that Styles was looking at his phone again, his thumb clicking on the screen every now and again. 

“I don’t think you’ll hear back from Sam for at least another fifteen minutes.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” Looking confused, Bobby listens to his detective. “I’m looking into the land up that way. We know that serials not only like to take trophies, but they also like to feel safe. Comfortable.”

“Right.” Bobby agrees, still a little confused.

“I’m trying to see if there’s anything up that way that could be connected to Cassidy.” Bobby’s a little frustrated that he didn’t think of that earlier, but he was grateful that he had a team heading that way and that he had someone with a brain looking into it.

“The land belonged to the Vanderbelts for decades…” Styles shakes his head, hating that it didn’t sound like it was connected to their guy.

“Wait! Vanderbelt?” At Bobby’s excitement though, it gives him some hope.

“Yeah.”

“That was Cassidy’s wifes maiden name. That land must have belonged to her family.” Their eyes said it all and they knew they needed to move. “Alright! I need you, you and you to stay here in case he comes back! The rest of you, follow us!”

-

The first set of officers came upon the scene, seeing flames coming from the old abandoned barn. They got on their radios and called in for a fire team right away all while Bobby, Styles and the other officers that followed heard what was going on through the radio communications.

“Anyone seem to be there?” Bobby asks, the radio letting out a bit of static as he gets off the line. Styles stares ahead, wanting to get there as fast as he can because he just knew in his gut that something was wrong and he wanted to find out what it was before it was too late.

“I’m not sure. I’m approaching the entrance now. Hold on.” The seconds between that and the next call out was torture. It was so quiet in Eddie’s car, he didn’t even have the radio on. He kept looking from the road to the clock on his dash, minutes just kept ticking by and he didn’t understand why they weren’t coming back. Was Cassidy still there? Were they hurt? So many questions ran through his head.

It wasn’t until about five long minutes later that static picked up on the radio and Rocky, the main officer's voice came through, finally.

“We need immediate medical assistance! Officer down! I repeat, officer down! Requesting air support!” Styles stumbled with the radio, trying to lift it from the holder in a frenzy.

“Rocky! Who is it!?” he lets go of the button for a second to readjust the device in his hand. “Is it Winchester!?” Again, some silence goes by, making Styles want to scream, but then the confirmation comes through. 

“Affirmative! Detective Winchester is clear of the building but is in serious condition! We need to….” At the sudden cutoff, Styles begins to panic.

“Rocky!?”

“Rocky? What’s going on?” Bobby then chimes in and Styles holds his breath.

“Sorry. Winchester says that Cassidy took off. Not sure which direction he went though.”

“Does he have his car!?” Styles is praying that the answer is yes knowing that he can trace the squad car.

“No. Winchester is shaking his head. He…he’s not doing good though, guys.”

“Air support is on the way. Tell him to hold on.” Bobby was always someone that held himself together, but for the first time ever, Styles heard emotion in his voice. “What type of injuries are we looking at?”

“Uh…Three GSW’s, two to the chest and one to the thigh. It looks like he has a nasty laceration on his head too.” Styles instantly feels sick. Seeing him shot in the shoulder was enough, but this…this was so much worse.

“Is Captain Singer on this line?” A new voice comes through, getting everyone confused on what was going on now.

“I’m here. What is it?”

“Well, I know one of your detectives has a pretty distinct car, just wanted to check with you and see if you knew where he was tonight. You know, the one who owns the Impala?” All their hearts stop in that second.

“What about him?”

“Well, I just pulled one over for running a red light. License plate, Kilo, Alpha, Zulu, Two, Yankee, Five. But it didn’t look like your guy, so…thought I’d check.”

“That’s his plate, Bobby!” Styles screams into the radio, the anger he’s feeling because of this entire situation making it hard to keep his officer mindset. This was personal and he was going to make sure he finished this. “Where was he headed!?”

“Well, when I let him go he was heading south on Gilpin, just off of Blackwood.”

“Thank you, officer.” Bobby sends through, hoping that the officer will switch channels.

“No problem.”

“I’m going after him, Bobby.” Styles puts through, practically an order as he was more than ready to flip his car in the other direction whether Bobby was okay with it or not. It’s only silent for a few beats before the Captain clicks on.

“Okay. I need two other units to go with him. Don’t care who.”

“You got it, boss.” One patrol unit confirmed and seconds later, another. Styles slowed down and then turned back to see if he could cut off Cassidy from another direction, the two other patrol cars mirroring his movements and keeping up with no issues.

-

Bobby’s tires spat up the dirt as he pulled up to the barn. He barely got the patrol car in park when he was jumping out of his seat and rushing over to where the EMT’s were hovered.

“Dean!” As he gets closer, he starts pushing people out of his way. “Move! Move! Dean!?” They had him on a stretcher and were just about to lift him and move him to the helicopter a couple yards away, so he made it just in time. “Oh, son…” Dean opens his mouth to speak, but only gurgled whispers come out. Yet he doesn’t quit until Bobby catches at least one word.

“Y/N?” The detective nods, grateful that he understood. “Where is she?” When Dean’s eyes close, Bobby takes the hint. “She’s with him?” That’s when Dean opens his eyes again, tears pooling quickly and overflowing without a sound being made. “Okay. Well, Styles is on his way to cut him off. He’ll get her, alright?” There does seem to be a relief that washes over the man, but it’s not enough to heal him unfortunately.

“We need to get him out of here.”

“Right. Yes, go ahead.” The paramedics lift the stretcher then, but before they can wheel him away, Dean reaches out and grabs Bobby’s arm and in return he places his hand over his. “We’ll get him.” he tells him, squeezing his hand. “I promise.” More tears slipped from Dean’s eyes, the salty liquid mixing with the blood stains on his face.

While Bobby watches them load up his non-blood related son, he gets on his radio and calls out for Styles, wondering if he found Cassidy or not.

Thankfully, luck seems to be on their side.

-

“It’s over, Cassidy! Drop the knife!” You shook in his arms, the knife to your throat even pinching your neck a bit. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had nicked some skin at this point. “You’re surrounded and we’re not letting you leave here unless you’re in one of these patrol cars, so you mine as well give it up.”

“Man, you and Dean are so optimistic. But I can tell you right now that that isn’t happening.” 

Styles knew right then and there that Cassidy wasn't going to give in. He might not make it out of this alive, but he sure as hell will take as many of them out along with him and his first priority? Y/N. He knew that no matter what happened in the next few minutes, he had to protect you at all costs. For Dean.

Without drawing too much attention to himself, Styles glances at the officers to his right. They’re just out of sight for Cassidy and they may have the advantage of getting the drop on him without you getting caught in the crossfire. But he forgot how good Cassidy really was.

Seeing this, Cassidy’s eyes sneak a peek to his left, but they don’t waste too much time on looking for the threats. He’s as quick as a cat. With you still in his hold, he drops the knife and whips out Dean’s gun, sending off two shots and taking down the two officers advancing on him. In that time, Styles sends off a shot of his own but Cassidy drops to his knees, tearing you down with him.

But at least that worked to their advantage. With that motion, you were able to get free. Knowing it wasn’t safe to be within shooting range of Cassidy, you took off towards the woods just off the road. It wasn’t the first time you’ve had to run for your life, so it wasn’t a hard decision to make.

In retaliation, Cassidy sent a shot off towards Styles before turning and shooting the remaining two officers with him and then he took off into the trees after you. 

Grateful, Styles was able to dodge the bullet that went flying at him and when he realized that, he too took off into the tree line, hoping that he could find you before Cassidy did.

-

You had heard the other shots go off when you took off running. At first you were afraid that those bullets were meant for you, but when you heard boots shuffling through the brush behind you, the more you started thinking the worst.

The thought of all those officers, including Eddie, dying because they were there to save you caused you to choke up as you made your way through the trees. You only made it a few more feet in when you had to stop. Between the running and your emotions heightening, you felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

Finding a large tree, you leaned up against it, peeking around the trunk and trying to listen for any movement around you. When everything seemed to be clear, you rested back against the bark, taking calming breaths as best as you could.

Your eyes dropped to the handcuffs locking your wrists together and the pessimist in you seemed to seep out. Dark thoughts instantly clouded your thoughts and your emotions rose even more.

You thought about how you were stuck out here with Cassidy. Dean was gone, and if not, he was probably going to be soon because Cassidy was a good shot. For all you knew, Eddie and the other officers were laying out in the road, bleeding to death and if there was another unit coming, the odds of them making it to you before Cassidy does was very slim.

You were screwed.

Tears fell to the ground below you, your hands shaking as you let yourself break down. The heaviness of the situation was crippling and you were terrified that you weren’t going to make it out of this.

The thought of losing Dean was the worst of all. You couldn’t stop picturing him on the ground, bleeding everywhere as you were pulled away from him. But the more you stood there and thought about him, the more you were reminded that he wouldn’t want this. He wouldn’t want you crying over him when your own life was still on the line. You could even picture him there in front of you, trying to get you to move your ass. Sweet but firm, of course.

For how much your subconscious fought back and told him to shove it, you knew you needed to stop. You needed to get out of this and if anyone was capable of doing that, it would be you. You escaped hell once before, who's to say you can’t do it again? 

Taking another moment for yourself, you looked down at the ring on your finger, letting a few more quiet sobs shake you before lifting your hands and kissing the object that connected you and Dean. Then, cautiously, you peeked around the trunk again. You couldn’t hear anything but that meant nothing with this guy. He was good and you had to remember that.

Taking a chance, you slowly made your way further into the trees, keeping your eyes peeled and your ears on full alert. You were terrified. You were trembling, but you knew you needed to keep going.

After making it a few more feet, you heard a twig snap somewhere behind you. Out of reflex, you spun around, your eyes darting all over the place as you tried to find what made the noise. But there was nothing. Of course you knew better, but you couldn’t see anything which only made you more scared. 

Carefully, you kept moving. Slow but steady as you tried to make it to the next huge tree so that you could get some cover again. 

You were only a few feet away when you were swept off your feet, a hand going over your mouth as you were flying forward. Just as you were shoved up against a tree trunk, you started flailing your arms, trying to hit anywhere and everywhere you could, refusing to be taken prisoner again. Heavy breathing and panicked noises were kept muffled by the man in front of you and it wasn’t until he was able to pin your arms against your chest that your eyes widened.

“Shhh.” Getting you to calm down a little, Eddie then peered around the tree, hoping he was covered enough to keep himself safe but exposed enough to where he could spot Cassidy. But just like you, he sees nothing. “Okay. When I say so, we’re going to head that way.” he nods to his right. “Try to keep low and stay close to me. Alright?” You nod against his hand and he finally peels it away from your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” you answer as quietly as you can, tears still falling from your eyes. “Dean.” you choke. “He…”

“He’s getting help.” Your eyes widen, your breathing becoming shaky again from the shock.

“He’s….”

“For now.” Hearing that, a sob slips from your lips and Eddie pulls you close, whispering ‘I know’ into your hair. “But we need to get you out of here, alright?” You nod frantically, wanting nothing more than to get out of there and get to Dean. “Alright…” he peeks around the tree once again, his eyes sharp before he pushes you a bit to get you moving.

Like Eddie, you keep an eye out still, looking for any movement and listening for any sound, but thankfully it seems to be clear for now. You followed his orders, keeping low and making sure he was right behind you the entire time. If anything, it brought you comfort to have him so close.

But for what happened next, it only reminded you of how much better at this Eddie was than you.

“Y/N!” His loud voice caused you to flinch forward, but the sound of a gun going off made you collapse onto the ground. You fell face first into the dirt and when the shock wore off, you frantically felt yourself up, wondering if you were shot.

Grateful that you didn’t feel anything, bullet hole or blood, you flipped over onto your back, keeping close to the ground since you knew now that Cassidy was close. You looked into the distance, still not seeing anything and it honestly pissed you off that he was this good. But it’s when you look to your feet, to where Eddie should be right behind you when your panic comes back.

“Eddie?” you cry out in a shaky voice, but he doesn’t move. “Eddie?” you call out again, just a little louder this time. When you hear a low moan you scramble to his side, not caring if you’re seen.

Once you’re over him, you see that he’s in pain and that’s when you look down to his chest. Blood was starting to soak into the side of his shirt telling you he was hit.

“Eddie.” you cry, trying to keep yourself together, but you just couldn’t do it. “Hang on, please? Please.” you melt a bit more, your hand pushing on his wound to help stop the bleeding.

“Well, well, well.” Hearing Cassidy makes you freeze, but you don’t move from your position. You refuse to let go of Eddie. “This wasn’t my plan but I guess it’ll have to do.” You finally look over your shoulder to see him standing over you both, the gun pointing in your direction. But you can tell by the angle that he’s pointing it at Eddie. A kill shot for sure, right to his head.

Taking Eddie’s hand, despite how weak he may feel, you place it on his wound and tell him to press down as much as he can and that’s when you turn around and block the bullet's path to its indicated victim. Cassidy of course gets that smug smirk and to your surprise, that’s when he shifts the barrel, the kill shot now intended for you.

“Seems my plan has already been fucked, so I guess there’s no reason to keep you around any longer.” he states as he gets a better grip on the gun. “Say hi to Dean for me.” Your entire body shakes, your fear of death front and center as he starts to pull the trigger back.

“Drop the gun, Cassidy!” 

“Drop it!” Multiple people start screaming at the man to drop his weapon and you take a second to look around. The three of you are surrounded by officers and you even spot Bobby in the crowd.

“Now, Cassidy! Drop it!” He clearly doesn’t want to follow orders, not that you expected him to. You figured that he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

You have no idea where it came from or why, but somehow in that moment, surrounded by all of Dean’s fellow officers, you got up the courage to stand up to Cassidy. Getting up from your knees, you stood right in front of him, holding your head high as you challenged him to shoot you without saying a word.

“Cassidy! Now! Drop the gun!”

“Drop it, Cassidy!”

“Drop it!”

While everyone around you yelled at him to surrender, you just kept your eyes locked with his, your gaze hard and unwavering. Then, as some more time passed without any movement on his part, you closed your eyes, practically giving yourself up to him.

You don’t know what had calmed you so much, but you were suddenly unafraid. You were expecting him to shoot and you were waiting to hear the echo of the shot before peace took you over. But all you kept hearing was the officers screaming at him to drop the gun.

For a brief second you could hear Eddie behind you, calling out for you to move. But before you could react to him, it happened.

The gun went off.

[boredkaiju]

Some of my Battletech minis! This was the first set I ever bought and painted; it's the Comstar Command Level II set. I gave them a custom paint scheme; orang and whaite is easily a favorite color combo for me. Some of my friends have called them "Orange Creamsicle Mechs" and I'm on board with it, lol. My idea is that these mechs belong to an indipendant mining company from the Periphery. It's called "The Vanderbelt Mining Co." and they often have run-ins with space pirates that are trying to snatch their fancy space minerals.

------------------------- Close ups! First, the Black Knight (left) and Exterminator (right) I like to give one mech pilot a name after each BT game I play; the Black Knight is my only named one in this set so far. I called him "Leeroy" as a reference to Leeroy Jenkins because he ran in without a plan and was promptly mario-stomped to death by one of @enderman1000's mechs, lol.

Next, the King Crag (left) and Highlander (right) The King Crab is absolutely my favorite mech from the set; it is the main reason I bought this box :D

Lastly, the Sentinel (left) and Mercury (right) No fun tidbits for these two. They're okay. Mercury is the wimpiest mech in the set :c

[thats-how-i-role]

Secrets And Spies (1)

A/N: Okay so first, I am cheating. This isn't all of it but I still have like 2000 words to go and not a lot of time to do it. Second, this is a combined day for Tuesday and Wednesday so it features a lot of Jem, and a lot of Faye, and of course a lot of side characters

P.S. If you want to be added to the document lmk but I promise I will post the rest of the story before New Year's I'm just running out of time this week.

Word Count: 7,116

Friday September 14th, 20:34

The hunt. For many it’s about a calm before the storm, or the spike in adrenaline when you’re closing in on the prey. But tonight, their focus is on the subtleties of conversation. Finding the best opportunity when to strike without blowing their cover. If they falter the slightest, then law and order will never prevail. 

Faint classical music echoes throughout the dining hall of highclass gentlemen. Conversations were being shared over the round tables, with red, floor length tablecloths. The room was bright from the high-priced chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, and the sconces scattered equidistantly across the walls. Many of the words exchanged are similar to the next. Either business arrangements or the latest gossip within their social circles, often interjected by the sound of glasses clinking together. 

On the far right side of the room was the bar that stretched across most of the wall. Glasses and pricey alcohol bottles were hung on the wall behind the counter. The bartenders all shared the same black and white vest suit, and bow tie combinations. They talked up their clients as much as possible, praying the idle chit chat could get them a tip. 

But there was one person that no one seemed to be able to break for more than a few words. A tall, lean person with a neatly styled, black undercut and fair skin. Underneath the carefully placed makeup were deep scars from the years they have spent in the agency. They dressed in a tailored, three piece suit with a silver tie, and nursed a glass of red wine. 

The calmness and grace across their features contrasted to their racing heartbeat. The only reason they haven’t spoken much is because they feared their voice would waver before the mission even started. Every little thing had them on edge. 

Maybe I should mingle? 

If I leave the bar I may miss the target coming in. 

What if I’ve already been made? 

A voice coming in through their earpiece startled them out of their thoughts. “Jesus Christ J, you’ve somehow managed to look constipated and like you’ve shit yourself all at once.” Amalthea, the sometimes crass, always blunt, redhead heckled.

Jem took their glass and hovered it in front of their mouth, to block any onlookers from seeing them talk to themselves. “I cannot stress how much I didn’t want to be here. And believe it or not the comms aren’t meant for your cheeky commentary.”

“You love my cheeky commentary.” She giggled, and Jem could almost picture the mischief in her brown eyes. Her tone switched instantly from humorous to supportive, “Stick to the plan. She knows you as Caspian Vanderbelt, you run a successful stock trading company and have been known to dabble in insider trading from time to time.”

“Jem Morale?” The mere mention of their real name sent ice through their veins. Jem’s face remained neutral, but every muscle in their being stilled. 

Amalthea took a pause before rushing out, “Don’t respond,” unfortunately she didn’t manage to speak before Jem turned around to find the source of the voice, “Don’t even turn around. Completely igno- me. Ignore me apparently.” 

Standing not even three feet away from them was Jem’s mark. Clad in a bright red cocktail dress that hugged her curves and stayed up via two thin straps was Sol. Also known as the Co-Captain of The Crimson Talons. Her long, white hair was done up in a braided bun, a few loose hairs hung stratgeticaly to frame her face. Her neck and fingers were adorned with sparkling, gold jewellery embedded with rubies. And everything was tied together with a striking red lip. 

Jem’s first thought at the sight of her, I should’ve never been here. 

Thursday September 13th, 16:22

The dings of the bakery’s front door had been chiming continuously throughout the day. Jem, wearing their favourite apron over a blue flannel, the sleeves rolled up. Lillian had been chosen to help Jem in the kitchen that day, preparing for the morning breakfast rush, and the slower yet always interesting four o’clock coffee rush. Elgar manned the front counter, being the friendliest and most patient of the agency. 

The kitchen was spacious, all of the appliances and surfaces made of kitchen-safe stainless steel. Four ovens were stacked in the corner, each set to certain temps for certain baked goods. There’s a warmer pressed up right next to them, keeping the products as fresh as possible. The three part sink was across the room, a table for all the dirty dishes that were cleaned and reused throughout the day just to the left of it. Two tables laid in the center of the room making enough space for multiple people in the mornings to roll dough, line trays, etc. And many of the utensils and pans layed on the shelf beneath the tables for easy access. 

As Jem had prepared to serve up another apple pie for the front counter, Thorne entered from the laundry room in the basement of the building. He stood well over six feet tall, his shaggy caramel brown hair was just long enough to hang over his crystal blue eyes. His face and arms covered in scars ranging from light to the most severe laying hidden beneath his black t-shirt. He had the strongest muscular build of the agency, tending towards working out instead of socializing more often than not. 

He took the nearest apron off the hook, wrapping it around his waist, “Morale, I’ll take over here. You need to head to the library.” 

“Last time I checked, I don’t take orders from you.” Despite Jem’s words, their tone was playful as they handed the pie over. 

As Thorne took the pie over an oven mitt, he used his other hand to grip Jem’s shoulder firmly. They looked up and saw the serious look on Thorne’s face, sympathy just barely registering over his eyes, “Jem, Alveyn’s gone.” 

The feeling that washed over them could only be described as sickening shock. It shook them to the very core and their vision blurred. For a second they thought they were about to collapse if Thorne’s grip didn’t help ground them to reality. They weren't sure how much time passed until they took their next breath, but even the exhale felt like acid seeping through their airways. 

They nodded, grabbing Thorne’s hand and squeezing it for some light emotional support before leaving. They didn’t even remove their apron, and despite the normal fifteen minute walk between agencies, Jem hardly registered the fact they had reached the library until the polite, blonde receptionist, Ophelia interrupted their trance.

“Hello there, is there any way I can assist you today?” Her lilted tone, typically so sweet to anyone who could hear it, was grating to Jem. 

She sat still behind her desk, her eyes lighting up towards them, and waited patiently for a response. Jem knew she was waiting for the code to let them into The Remnants. But the shock let the phrase escape them. Jem could only blink, dropping eye contact as they tried to fight the haze of their mind to find the code. But the only thing that appeared in their mind’s eye was flashes of the last time Alveyn and them spoke. 

“Jem.” A monotone, yet familiar voice interrupted their panic. Mercy, who had been tucked behind Ophelia’s desk with her, rose to her feet. She came around, and put her tanned arm around their shoulders. Her blue-black hair had been finely french braided down, courtesy of her girlfriend. 

“I’m here.” Jem replied with a half-hearted smile, their voice a little shaky. 

Mercy nodded, leading them back behind the counter. “I’ll be back in a second.” 

As soon as the door to the back room closed Jem asked, “What happened to Alveyn?”

She was slightly taken aback by the harshness of their tone, and Jem wanted to kick themselves for being rude to someone who was genuinely trying to help. They took a deep breath, closing their eyes on the inhale. “I mean, how did it happen?” 

“That’s what we wanted to know from you.” Mercy replied, pressing the wall to release a hidden compartment from within. She pressed her ring into the curved indent as one of the bookshelves unlatched itself from the wall. Revealing a hidden staircase leading to a second floor hidden from the masses. 

Jem’s eyebrows furrowed, “I wasn’t there. If I was, Alveyn wouldn’t be the one lying on a slab in some morgue.” 

Mercy turned on her heel, halfway up the stairs. “Jem, Alveyn’s not dead. He left the agency in the middle of the night.”

That significantly lifted the concrete weight from their shoulders, but the haze in their mind was replaced by confusion and barely contained anger. They slipped past Mercy into The Remnants agency, where Romy, Lewellyn, and Quinn stood around a circular table. 

The common room was quite devoid of decorations that weren’t useful in one way or another. Hanging above were long rows of fluorescent lights to illuminate the whole room. The room with bare, charcoal grey walls was no bigger than Jem’s kitchen at the bakery. It had a few round tables spread across the room, which fit considering The Remnants had the largest crew in all the agencies. Nearby each table were whiteboards and cork-boards with information and evidence from the latest case. Each board is accompanied with strings connecting certain theories and timelines. 

Lewellyn was the first one to look up from the table, her deep blue eyes widened in surprise at Jem’s rushed pace. Although being only a supervising agent, Lewellyn was Romy’s (the captain of the agency) right hand man. She rose to her feet, grabbing Romy’s arm to get his attention towards the situation. 

“Alveyn wouldn’t just leave, there has to be something wrong.” Jem exclaimed, reaching the table and leaning forward with their hands splayed on the flat surface. 

Romy’s face tried to remain firm, as he put his hands up in surrender, “Which is why we called you first. To see if he had left you any sign or note of his motives.” 

“No, nothing.” Jem shot back, with very little thought. “How do you know he left? What if he’s been taken?” 

Romy rose to his full height, around six feet. If he wasn’t so lean in stature he might be seen as more intimidating to others. But from what Jem has seen, it wouldn’t be too smart to underestimate him. “He put both his badge and ring in my mailbox last night. No note, nothing to indicate if he was being forced to do this, or if it was of his own free will. Please, think carefully, has he ever said anything about leaving.” 

They let out a frustrated sigh, dropping themselves into the nearest seat. Jem dug the palms of their hands into their eyes before sincerely answering, “Yeah, but he was never serious. Him and I joked about it all the time. How we’d run away, change our names to something ridiculous like Augustus or Benedict and live out our lives in the mountains.” The longer Jem went on, the more their voice relaxed, reaching an almost dreamy state. 

They were able to snap out of it before they went on for too long, “But most of those were when we were drunk, and joking around. Even if Alveyn was serious for a second, he would’ve asked me to come with. Those fantasies always involved the two of us, together. But they were just fantasies.” 

Lewellyn had been listening intently the entire time, chewing on her inner cheek whenever she wanted to interject but thought better of it, “When did you see him last?” 

Leaning back in their seat, Jem’s gaze remained pinned on the table in front of them, “Two nights ago, he invited me out for a drink. And naturally a drink turned into three, and then we lost count.” 

“And he didn’t tell you goodbye, not once throughout the night?” Lewellyn questioned again. 

Digging through the foggy memories of that night, Jem did in fact recall some words that were out of the ordinary for the two. That night, Alveyn didn’t have as much to drink as Jem did. Therefore he had to drag Jem back home, and pass them over to Amalthea to be taken care of. But as Alveyn laid them across the couch, he spoke under his breath. 

“Even though we often drink to forget Bandit, these are the nights I pray I remember the fondest.” 

That was the last thing Jem remembered from that night. And anyone who heard it would say it was part of a goodbye, perhaps the whole night out was. But Jem refused to believe this was still of Alveyn’s own accord. If he was tired of this life everyone chose for themselves then they believe he would’ve said something. Alveyn didn’t, not once. 

So Jem, taking the moment to truly ponder their own selfish motives, they answered, “No, he didn’t. I promise, there’s something wrong here.” 

Both Romy and Lewellyn shared a look, seemingly satisfied with their answer. The captain nodded before he spoke, “Then we will search for him. We’ll spread word throughout our partners and see if anything pops up. Thank you for your help.” 

“Do you think it was the Talons?” Lewellyn asked with frustration bleeding through her tone and actions as she began taking down pins from the cork board behind her. 

“The Crimson Talons?” Jem questioned, slightly taken aback by the mention of one of deadliest agencies in the state. 

Romy gave Lewellyn a sharp look which went unnoticed by her as he came up with a soft spoken answer, “Yes, we’ve been setting up a mission over the past few weeks to try and shed some light on them. Alveyn was supposed to be our way in, but now that’s scratched.” He turned his attention towards Lewellyn’s question as he continued, “We haven’t made enough progress on the mission to tip them off yet. There wouldn’t be any reason for them to target Jones.” 

“They could’ve tracked the emails exchanged, it's just suspicious is all.” She deadpanned, dropping the documents of evidence on the table, and resting her hands on her hips. “The date was set for tomorrow night, and now Alveyn’s gone.” 

Quinn, the tall, tan woman with long brown hair had been sitting the entire exchange, boring into Jem with her eyes. Her head tilted ever so slightly in intrigue, and it had gone unnoticed by Jem until now since they had calmed down. They stared right back at her, confusion slowly forming across their features. 

As Lewellyn went to take down what looked like a timeline of events, Quinn grabbed her wrist and stopped her. “I never noticed until now, but Jem and Alveyn have similar eyes. Don’t you think so?”

Lewellyn stared back at Jem, shrugging it off, “Kind of?”

“And black hair.” Quinn added, rising from the table to stand behind Jem. They went to stand up, kind of uncomfortable with the sudden attention on their looks. That was until Quinn ran her hands through their hair. “Think about it, with just trimming the sides a bit and style down their curls, they could almost be like brothers.” 

Jem slipped out of her grasp, escaping via sliding under the table and away from her touch. They rolled outwards and rose to their feet, “Wh-what’re you doing?” 

“Are you any good at espionage, Jem?” Quinn responded, eyeing them up. 

“That’s not an answer.” They awkwardly chuckled as panic began to show behind their eyes. 

Lewellyn turned on her heel towards Quinn, “Seriously, what are you doing?” 

She only sighed in response, “Listen, we’ve spent five weeks worth of resources and time to take down the Talons. I’m sorry but I don’t want to let that go without a fight.” She explained, her face softening before speaking towards Jem. “If the Talons did manage to get their hands on Alveyn, then if we continue down this path with Jem instead then we may be able to find him faster.” 

Lewellyn shook her head in defiance, “If the Talons do have Alveyn, then there’s no way they’ll come to the meet up tomorrow. There’d be no point.” 

Quinn nodded, as if they were on the same page, “Exactly. If they don’t show up, we know exactly who has Alveyn. If they do, then we haven’t been made and we can continue with the plan anyways. It’s a win - win scenario.” 

“Except,” Jem interjected, sounding exasperated but a part of their mind was beginning to agree with her, “I don’t do undercover. The Last Stand specializes in operating within the shadows. We deal with break ins, hacking, and other back door tactics to close cases. This is new.” 

“We’ll be there every step of the way,” Quinn offered, “and if it helps you relax, we can bring our teams together on this. So you have your people on your back.” 

“Quinn, pause. You aren’t a high enough rank to make that call.” Romy finally spoke up, raising a patient hand. The room fell silent as Romy’s eyes flitted back and forth in thought. He eventually rounded on Jem with the gentle facade he typically puts up when he’s extending an olive branch. “Though she does make a very good point. If you’re comfortable with it, it’ll not only help us but it inevitably helps Jones to come home.” 

Jem shook their head, anger boiling under their skin but they remained calm. “Stop using Alveyn as some sort of bargaining chip. He deserves more than that.” Despite their own protests, they had to admit it was working quite well. With one last breath of defiance, Jem ran their fingers through their locks, “Do I have to get a haircut?” 

Lewellyn gave them a stiff pat on the back, “It’ll help sell the ruse.” 

“Cool, cool.” They quipped, approaching the board with the case details pinned to it. They helped Lewellyn and Romy set up the evidence once again, noticing a photo with a large red circle around it. It was a woman, fair skin and white haired, walking down the street. 

They nodded towards it, “Who’s that?” 

Lewellyn unpinned the photo and handed it over to Jem. “Our target, that’s Sol. Her brother, Umbra, isn’t pictured anywhere as far as we could tell. That’s who the real goal is. If we put Sol behind bars, then that’ll bring Umbra out of the woodwork. He’ll get sloppy, make mistakes.” 

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Jem replied. “Umbra’s the lead assassin, it sounds like we’re counting on collateral damage.” 

Romy snatched the photo from Jem, putting it back where it belonged with oddly steeled nerves. His face was not giving any emotion one way or another. Which matched his next, bleak words, “What you call damage is a means to an end.” 

Friday September 14th, 20:36

The spy and assassin stared at each other, blinking for a moment. The woman known as Sol had her mouth agape as she held her phone to her ear. She seemed to be mid-conversation as she looked equally surprised at their appearance. 

Trying desperately to recover, Jem finally spoke up, “I’m so sorry, do I know you?” 

“One second,” Sol put up her finger before speaking into the phone, “I’m gonna have to let you go. I’m at the restaurant.” She nodded before hanging up. 

With a regretful expression she turned her attention solely on Jem. “I’m so sorry for the intrusion, I just recognized you from the shop on main street. You own ‘That’s How I Roll’, right? Your photo hangs in the restaurant.” 

Over the comms Lewellyn, who was partnered in the van with Amalthea, spoke up with agitation in her words, “Your photo is hanging in the bakery?” 

Amalthea replied with an equal amount of fire, “You’ve never been to our bakery?”

Jem tried their best to think past the panic and the voices in their ear. “I do, I just didn’t know anybody paid that much attention.” 

“Well not to freak you out or anything, but I go there every morning.” Sol replied, her tone growing softer in the middle of the statement. “Your croissants are the fluffiest I’ve ever had. Paired with your lattes, I couldn’t imagine going anywhere else.” 

Jem tried to hide their smile behind their hand, whether it was from pride in their work or the humour of this entire situation they weren’t sure of. “Well thank you. We don’t get too many in person reviews, so this means a lot.” 

Sol tilted her head sideways with a joking aura behind it, “Does it mean enough to you for me to get a coupon?” The two shared a laugh, while Jem tried to hide the genuine blush appearing on their cheeks. After the moment passed Sol peered around the room saying, “Am I keeping you? Are you waiting for someone?” 

Jem shook their head, “No, I just finished having a couple drinks with some advertisers. Trying to get the word out so people will shop local. You?” 

 She peered around the room, “I am looking for someone. Doesn’t look like they’ve shown up yet.” Her eyelashes fluttered back towards them. “I could keep you company for a little bit, if you’d like.” 

They contemplated it for a second. As far as they could tell she was genuine, and hadn’t clued in to who they were. And as long as she believed their intentions were true, then Jem would be able to continue with this ruse. Which is the same identity they wear every single day. 

Jem nodded to the seat next to them, leaning against the bar countertop as they did. “As long as it doesn’t hold you up.” 

Sol climbed onto the tall bar stool, placing her bag on the floor next to her feet. “I’m Faye, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Jem- you knew that, sorry.” They chuckled, taking a drink from their wine glass. Faye - or Sol - giggled as well, her softened eyes focussing on them. After letting out a relaxed sigh Jem asked, “What’re you drinking tonight?” 

 She gestured her head to the wine glass in their hand, “Whatever you’re having.” Jem ordered her a glass of red (specifically a higher priced merlot than what Jem got for themselves) and slid it towards her with a sharp sound against the countertop. Thanking them first, Faye continued, “I have a question for you that’s been bugging me for the longest time.” 

Jem put their finger up in contest, “Afraid not, darlin’. You know way too much about me already. It’s your turn. What do you do for a living?” 

This was the first time she paused, tucking her bottom lip into her teeth before answering. Jem wasn’t sure if it was out of habit or to draw their gaze to her mouth. If it was the latter, she would’ve noticed how their gaze lingered. 

Her eyes dropped to the rings on her finger as she toyed with them before finally speaking, “This is a test. If you’re a dick this will help me figure it out.” Jem didn’t waver, trying to catch her eyes with theirs again. When she peered upwards from beneath her lashes, she visibly relaxed at their curiosity about her life. “I own a club on the west side of the city. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it but the lower level is a nightclub called, ‘Ruin.’ My brother runs that solo, while I run the upper level called, ‘Eurydice.’” 

Jem’s eyes did glow in recognition, but they didn’t lose face. Mostly because the Remnants could fact check it, and maybe their agencies would be able to figure out if this was their front. “You run the strip club?” 

“You’ve been?” She shot back, a mischevious grin spreading across her face. 

Jem shook their head, “My roommate keeps asking me to go with him. I keep finding excuses not to go.” 

“Why’s that?” Her tone shifted, slightly accusatory. 

Jem could tell she took pride in her work. Whether or not it was a front, it seemingly made no difference to her. And honestly Jem knew the feeling, as her earlier compliments about their passion for their bakery did warm their heart. 

Jem did think about their words carefully, speaking slowly so as to not let it come across the wrong way, “intimacy is different for me than it is for a lot of people. The feeling of comfort and trust I need is not something that can be bought.” A slight flush appeared across her cheeks before they continued, “So since I’ve heard of your club, you must be doing incredibly well for yourself. Do you perform as well or just run the place?” 

Her shoulders straightened out, her smile growing twice as wide, “I dance sometimes, but only for select clientele. Typically only those who sweet-talk me in a lovely accent.” Faye’s right hand fell from the table and was subtly placed on Jem’s knee, her fingers gently caressing against their skin.

Jem had to suppress the shiver down their spine, their eyes falling to their glass which they decided to quickly finish off to remove some of their nerves. They made eye contact with the bartender and waved her over. When she arrived Jem simply asked, “Can I get a whiskey? Make it a double, please and thank you.” 

The bartender nodded, looking over to Faye if she needed anything as well. Her eyes stayed fixed on Jem’s face as she agreed, “Whiskey, make it a double.” Jem finally turned back to her with surprise written across their faces. She only shrugged, completely carefree, “I did say, whatever you’re having. Right?” 

The night continued like that. Hours of ordering the same drinks and chit chat among the two. Jem made sure to slow down, careful to not get messy because this was a mission. But they did forget about the two women over the wire a number of times. Somewhere between them explaining that the name of their bakery isn’t that bad when you compare it to Thorne’s suggestion of “Command-dough”, and her detailing her encounter of how she got the necklace she was wearing. Although ambiguous, she seems to have a lot of things in her possession she obtained in less than legal ways. 

The little inbetween conversations were what made Jem forget they were having drinks with a murderer. Someone whose name Jem might not even know for sure; and if she knew who they really were Jem doubts she would even flinch before slicing a blade across their throat. She’s a criminal. A mastermind. 

Their empathy was their downfall, even when it came to their marks. Which is why Jem chooses to operate from a distance. Personalizing themselves with a target never benefits their line of work. It actually makes it harder to look at themselves in the mirror. 

The only thing convincing Jem that building a case against her is the right thing is Jem doubts this is really her. These aren’t her stories, or her personality. It’s all a facade that she set up for Alveyn prior to tonight. And yet the way her red eyes lit up at every joke and interest made Jem second guess anything they knew.

Eventually, the bartender let the two know it was their last call. Jem paid their building tab with the agency’s card and walked Faye out with her on their arm. The wind stirred in the late night, rushing between the fine strands of Faye’s hair as the two approached the sidewalk of the steadily trafficked street. 

 “Thank you for tonight, I’m sorry your friend didn’t make it.” Jem lied, but from the way their grin stretched from ear to ear, Faye thought they lied for a different reason. 

Faye shrugged, turning towards them and pulling Jem closer by the lapel of their coat. Hey eyes bored into theirs, her smile matching, “Can’t say I share the sentiment.” Leaning forward on her toes, her scarlet lips relaxing as she closed the distance between them. 

Jem tried their best to remain calm as the pair kissed under the glowing street light. Their hands slid up her sides and stilled against the backside of her ribs. They pulled her closer, focussing on the subtle movements of their lips and nearly got lost in the softness of her skin. 

Faye was the one to pull away, placing a gentle kiss on their cheek and beneath their ear before whispering, “You seem tense, Jem. Wanna come back to my place to relax a little? A hot tub, another glass of wine, whatever you like.” 

The tension in their shoulders screamed at them to agree, and the haze from the alcohol and the smell of her perfume convinced them even more. Yet they still managed to mutter out “I’m- I’m sorry. I can’t.” Pulling back just enough to get back some control over themselves, Jem continued, “I got to be up early for work, and I think you being next to me will be the best kind of wrench in my plans.” 

Faye stepped back, but didn’t drop her hands from their suit. She took a minute to think as Jem waved down a cab for her. With their head turned, Faye grabbed a pen from the chest pocket of their coat and began writing on the exposed flesh of their neck. 

Jem flinched, but her grip on them was surprisingly strong. “Hold still, nerd.” 

“It’s ticklish,” Jem breathed out a laugh, but let her finish in spite of it. She pressed the pen into their hand as they quipped, “Done marking me up, darlin’?” 

“It’s my number.” She stepped forward once more, not to make a move yet it still made Jem’s breath hitch. “Call me so we can set up a night where you don’t work the next morning, yeah?” 

Jem’s eyes widened, a dopey smile growing on their face. They opened the cab door for her and replied when she tucked herself into her seat. “I’ll reach out when I can. Have a great night, Faye.” 

She closed the door, blowing them a tantalizing kiss as the cab took off. Jem watched the car until it turned out of sight. Maybe they lingered under the night’s sky for a bit longer, still kind of amazed all of that happened. Until reality set in, and the transparency of the moment fell onto their shoulders. 

Faye was a killer. And they were going to arrest her, come hell or high water. 

That was the mantra they said to themselves as they walked a block down to a shadowed parking lot. A couple stray cars remained in the dead of night. The black van with two side windows was what Jem had been looking for. They knocked on the back door in a practiced code. A moment afterwards, the door swung open with a very unamused Lewellyn on the other side. 

Inside the back of the van was a small three screen computer set up on a wall shelf with two chairs pulled up to it. Acting as a sort of desk, that would be inconspicuous enough in the city. Amalthea was sitting right up next to it, a lined paper notebook in her lap. In contrast to Lewellyn, she was having trouble hiding her smug grin. 

And Amalthea inevitably failed as she asked, “How was your date?” 

Jem shook their head in aggravation, “It wasn’t a date.” 

“Well that didn’t seem like a mission either.” Lewellyn commented, falling back into her chair. Taking a deep breath she reasoned, “If you offered to take her back to your place, then we could’ve taken her in.” 

“And leave you guys here? Or were you guys planning on tailing us in the shadiest vehicle of the century?” Jem countered, leaning both of their arms against the entrance to the van. “We can set up another meeting, I got her number.” 

“Which wasn’t even your idea. You almost walked away empty handed.” She flipped through the notebook on her lap, chewing her lip. “Okay, not completely. We ran a quick background check on the clubs she mentioned. They are run by a Faye and Malakai Perish. It appears to be the Crimson Talons front. Which means we can put some agents out there to find any other agents connected to Talons. We could get names for everyone involved, and take them all down at once.” For the first time she made eye contact with them, giving Jem a half-hearted smile, “Good job.” 

She turned to Amalthea, “What notes do you have?” 

Amalthea shrugged, “Only one.” Flipping the notebook around, in big bold letters was a message, Welcome back, slut. 

Jem caught their laugh with their hand as Lewellyn tore the notebook from Amalthea and smacked her arms with them playfully. The excuses Amalthea attempted to make were muffled as Jem shut the door and went around to climb into the passenger seat of the van. 

Thorne sat in the driver’s seat, his eyes lifting from his copy of, “The Song Of Achilles.” He placed it down gently, using a receipt as a bookmark and started up the engine. He was seemingly uninterested in how the night went down until he pulled out of the parking lot, speaking into the silence, “So, how was your date?”

This exact conversation was brought up continuously through the rest of the night.

Saturday September 15th, 00:14

Faye waited until the taxi had turned out of sight before pulling out her phone. Her shoulders finally relaxed and she slumped into her seat as the dial tone echoed in her ear. It only took one ring for her brother to pick up on the other end, “Faye?” His tone was panicked, anger resonating behind his words. She only rolled her eyes in response.

Malakai had always been protective of her since they realized just how broken of a home they were raised in. Working as assassins had only made his shroud more difficult to shake. Mal was always looking out for the enemies that lie in wait for them to make a simple mistake, and rip out everything the twins built from underneath them. 

But Faye wasn’t stupid, nor was she reckless when it came to her work. She hoped he would’ve learned that by now, and yet she was still questioned everytime she walked out the door. 

“The one and only.” Was her response as she examined her nails. 

“What happened? You ran into Morale?” He asked as he shuffled around some papers on the other side of the line. 

They knew very little about Jem in comparison to the real target tonight. The twins discovered that Jem was close with Alveyn Jones, current Remnants member and former agent for The Hangmen. His old gang had been named in connection to the youngest Perish sibling’s disappearance. So the twins needed to get Alveyn tonight, if only for more information. 

And yet Jones never showed. 

Instead, his best friend and closest confidant stood in his place. Which shocked Faye to the core at the sight of them. But she had to keep up the facade. Nothing had gone to plan which ended with Faye revealing too much about herself during her ruse. But Jem didn’t seem to mind, it actually seemed to draw them in to her more. 

Like Icarus to the sun. 

“It’s fine, they didn’t notice any red flags. Jones never showed, though.” She explained. “I think maybe they were looking for him too, or possibly were covering for him.” 

Mal was silent for a moment in thought. “Are they with you now?” 

Faye shook her head despite Malakai not being able to see her, “I tried to bring Jem home so we could discuss some things,” Faye chose her words very carefully so as to not alarm the taxi driver, “but they refused. I did give them my number though so we could try again another day.” 

“You think something happened to Jones?” He continued to question her, trying to get the full picture before she arrived so they could focus on planning when she got there in person. 

“I’m not sure, I think the best we can do for now is wait for Jem’s call. They have to know more than they’re saying.” As Faye noticed the clubs’ lights coming into view, she reached into her bag and counted out the change needed for her fare. She was incredibly careful not to tip over ten percent. 

“What angle are you playing?” 

Faye bit her smile, “Charming city girl, who saw a handsome person at a bar and just had to approach them. I wore a pretty dress and ordered pricey drinks. What I really learned about them tonight is that they’re not against an expensive date.” 

“Something that’s clearly going to be relevant, I’m sure.” He quipped. 

She handed the money to the driver, climbed out of the car, and closed the door gently. The line of people was half a block long, waiting to descend into Ruin. As some people were arguing with the bouncer to be let in, the tall muscular man stepped aside for Faye without a word. 

Her heels clicked against the stairs leading into the dimly lit club. The music bounced off the walls, overbearing to the point where you couldn’t hear the person next to you no matter how hard you tried. Although with the amount of people grinding to music, the vibe of the club wasn’t about conversation. 

Faye ducked into the back room behind one of the bars, and the music became muffled when the door shut behind her. Jim and Janette were sitting amongst some of the storage, counting cash and filling out forms. 

Janette looked up in surprise, a smile beaming across her face, “Umbra was looking for you, you should go see him right away.” 

Faye smiled tightly and squinted, she pointed at her phone trying to communicate that she’s been in contact with him, “Thanks Janette.” 

 On a pivoting floor board, Faye pushed a stack of boxes out of the way, and pushed in. The door ejected from its spot and she entered, using the handle on the inside to pull it shut again. Their communal room was finely decorated, the center of the room having the floor sunken in with seats and a small table in the center. There were stairs on either side to descend into the seating area, and ascend towards the large screen hung on the wall. The furniture -down to the wood of the table- stayed within the colour palette of reds and golds. 

The table in the center had a touchscreen that connected to the large one on the wall. Whatever you move, click, or write will appear on the large screen. It made debriefs and planning much simpler in a group. 

How the twins got the money to pay for everything, nobody needed to know. 

Umbra was leaning forward, elbow on his knee as he leaned forwards to reach the table. He looked up at Faye’s entrance, hanging up the phone and said, “Fucking Janette.” 

“Fucking Janette.” Faye murmured in agreement. She tucked her phone into her back pocket before taking a seat next to her brother. 

Umbra reached out towards the table and pulled up the most recent photos of their target: Alveyn Jones. They were a series of candid photos expanded as multiple angles were shown. Leaving the library, entering the bar. Leaving the bar with their surprise guest of the evening, Jemon Morale, under his arm. 

And the last photo taken on the thirteenth, two days prior. The last known sighting of Caspian Vanderbelt. 

He was entering a black car in the dead of night with one bag hanging off his shoulder. The only identifying mark being the rims on the car being engraved to match the look of a pirate ship’s wheel. Everyone had a symbol of their status in their respective agencies. This one was for the Hangmen crew. 

Umbra began the debrief, “Jones had spent his final day seemingly running errands. Visiting his bank, his property manager. If anyone looked at it, as Jim had, Alveyn was simply paying rent. Upon further investigation since you were interrupted tonight, Alveyn drained his accounts and ended his lease. No notice.” 

“Hence why Jim’s on stock duty, I get it.” Faye replied. 

Umbra gave a short chuckle before continuing, “He’s completely off the grid. But I believe he’s still in the city since we haven’t found any plane, train, or bus tickets under any known aliases from the Hangmen.” 

“The Last Stand and The Remnants must know that he’s missing. It’s the only reason Jem would’ve been there.” She added. “But how much do they know?” 

“What are our options?” 

After a brief moment of staring at the screens, Faye began, “They could’ve sent Alveyn in as a double agent but his wire has gone dead.” 

Umbra countered, “Maybe Alveyn mentioned something to Morale about the dinner and they went on their own to try and find them. I mean the only person who doesn’t know about Jones’s commitment issues is Jemon.” 

She hummed in agreement, “Or it’s a complete coincidence they were there tonight and he and Jem are still writing love letters to each other.” 

Umbra was taken aback, letting out a sound of approval. “To keep a cover, not alert any spy agencies to his shifting loyalty.” 

The twins shared a look like they cracked something. Or at least came up with the most entertaining narrative like how they gossiped in their youth. It was the most expressive Umbra had ever gotten in their later years. Even in the hardest of times the sun knew how to brighten the moon. 

“It does however,” Umbra continued, “mean we’re back to square one. No lead on Tobias, or Jones, or mother.” 

Faye let out a deep breath, trying to come up with a game plan. But even after minutes of flipping through notes she could only come up with one solution. “Oddities?” 

Umbra groaned, throwing his feet up on the table, “We can’t go back there. I swear, Reward’s out to get me.” 

Faye shoved Umbra’s feet off the surface, “It’s our best chance of getting information. Trivia knows everything, you’ll barely have to engage with the guy. It’s not for us, you know that.” 

Another sigh left through his lips as a resolute, “For Serena,” followed.

[mapoyaj]

my fears

I have always been afraid of failure. I guess it has been established by now how my world revolves around validation from other people. I remember when I graduated as Magna cum laude from our class, it was a double-edged sword. I was happy achieving the award, but I was also afraid because of the pressure that comes with it.

During that time, everyone was expecting me to pass the board examination because I was the Magna cum laude of the class. The pressure that I experienced led to my fear of failing the board exam. I was afraid to be called “undeserving” because of failing the board exam. Despite the fear, I continue forward and took the examination.

The fear of grades

The fear of failure has always been inside me since I was elementary. Grades were the validation I always seek for in my academic life. As a student, I am afraid of slipping grades. One event that led to another was during my fourth grade. My father got mad at me for being 2nd honor. I was a consistent 1st honor in class back then. Ever since that day, I strive to have higher grades pushing myself past my limit.

As I become an educator, I realized how faulty my belief was. Grades matter, but it will never define who I am. Grades should serve as an evaluation of student work, a source of motivation, and a means of communication from teacher to student (Vanderbelt University, n.d.) While grades matter for college application, what matters the most are the knowledge and skills you gained through the teaching-learning process. This has always been my explanation for my students. Grades matter, but at the end of the day, the experience matter more.

When it comes to grading learners, the educational system and society shall not place emphasis on grades. We should place emphasis on students’ learning.

The fear of feedback

As a high school student, there was one instant that changed my life. My grade in a certain subject dropped from 96 to 84 in just one grading period. I was perplexed as I have not received any feedback for my project. When I asked my teacher, he told me that I do not deserve high grades. And that was it, no explanation were further added.

This moment made me realized that a harsh feedback is better than no feedback at all. As an educator, I make it a point that I give accurate feedback to students to help them improve their learning process.

Feedback serves as a guide for students to improve their work and motivate them to act on their assessment (Nicol, 2010). Without feedback, students may feel that you do not value their work. So, as much as I can, I try to give feedback to every student work submitted to me.

Rubrics tie it all together

Despite the difficult experiences (that may seem overdramatic), I still pursue teaching because of the nobility of the profession. As a teacher, I am committed to be the teacher that I needed when I was younger. How can I achieve this?

Through the use of rubrics in assessing alternative assessments, I give confidence to my students that their grades are properly evaluated. Furthermore, the feedback I provide through the use of rubrics can help them improve their work. Thus, improving their learning.

Final words

While these fears are valid from a student standpoint, a teacher must devise ways for students not to feel these fears. An environment that provides a safe space for students to have allowable mistakes and failures must be established. As an educator, one must help students understand that it is okay to experience failure from time to time.

Success is never linear, zigzags will always be expected.

Cited Works:

Nicol, D. (2010). From monologue to dialogue: improving written feedback processes in mass higher education. Assessment and Evaluation in Higher Education 35(5), 501–517.

Vanderbelt University. (n.d.). Grading student work. Retrieved May 13, 2021, from https://cft.vanderbilt.edu/guides-sub-pages/grading-student-work/

[shellannshoe]

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[megamangx]

tsukihime-slippers of the blue moon

touhou shiki was hit by a car when he was two years old but now he was five years old in hospital and hurted bad "i can only see death now" becuse he coud see the lines of dead people "do not carry ihave glass that fix eye" said a girl and she tgived him gflasses and he was better now

fice more years later

touhou shiki was called back to his mansion house but he did not liking the mansions becuse his dad was a dick and did not want to own him and liked his sister better becuse she was ojou woman and he liked that "i am home" shiki said going into the living room and there was maids "you are rich people now and you must act like the rich and rich people havbe maids so you will go to bed with kohecku and i will have hisu as my maid"

at bed there was weird things at night so he wanted out and there was w erewolf "the illuminati is reayd soon the aliens and vampires and ghost swill attack and have revenge against the shiki bloodline" said the big guy with black lines.

shiki gotted into a fight "you weill not hurt my family" he said and he tryed to fight but the big guy made black dogs appear and bark at him so he runned away

but the alaucard was there "i will protect you i am a vampire but a good vamopire and i fight illuminati" she said and used a caster gun to kill the big guy "You can stay at my house and help me fight this liiuminati" shiki said

at the house everyone was noyt happy "you bRING A VAMPIRE HERE TO YOUR FATHERS HOUSE IF HE WAS ALIVED TODAY HE WOULD SHAME YOU GREATLY SHIKI FOR THIS SIN" the sister said and kohecku was mad to becuse vampires hurt her as a kid and she loved shiki but now shiki loved alaucard and not her "i do want to live in this world now" and she jumped out the window into the garden of daspair

"oh no" shgiki said but then the sexy vampire came in it was the illuminati head "i am michael ross vanderbelt the 14th silver blade and i killed your father the head of the shiki house and now you will be my bglood slave" he said but shiki took out his fathers katyana now ready to protect the honor of the shiki clan "no i amn ot scared of the paranormal" he said and they did battle.

to be contunued

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[shockwoof]

New characters anyone? This is just the first wave

[riverrunpasteveandadams]

(itty bitties thickiodai all a willy wonker could fixate upon

or fuck with or over-deliberate mixes on mixes

glistening kiss wasted time fixes at face value

all under and no rutger delineated richer)

weather pack of marlboro 100’s would materialize

outta of thin air or we just happened upon a gang

of sisters going our way with just enough room for the lot

burbon boon docks out there in the emerald dixies fixities

 bonnie & laud whos father was working

wistfully willy with the police k-nine duckdog coppers

robbers too they were

even shaking the bullbury whistlers down

for the smallest nickle of the smallest

bowlpack this side of st.strawberrys

forever wine wis-constainteeming with time

the lost blue barrel-rolls & owsley’s two timings

that we saw back there on vanderbelt & whistley

 phantoms in the street flickering light posts

at witching hour once again

osolate accordion gideons copy

in the drawer at the motel six

to which we find ourselves amist

with comradery libation

mixes in with ginger speckled spots of opal rovers

royalties steely as they were bronzen

breezen with the look of a holy man

that hasnt slept in days with cheerful spritzer

up to not sleep again tonight

are you willing doctor?

(15)

 not much on the tele

sitting quietly smoking in the deli

last of the coffee

last nickel on the paper

only option now is to wait for the check to clear next tuesday

to the slow dissonant hum

of one lonely saxophone in an alley a couple blocks away

down by the liquor store

when i lived on vanderbelt

the man inside used to sell laced tobacco cigarettes

his iranian family owned that store for generations

& in the basement they would always keep

a small table for the hasiche smokers

as well as the card players

and way in the back

a little broom-closet for the working girls

 seasonal caricatures

where is your one room hideaway

your cigarette paradise

where is your thinly veiled chamber

the veneer of shallow lighting

slowly peeling away at the unforgiving day

pleasing the night walks come

still in star-twinkling amnesia like qualities

wandering circles around the corridor

unseen flashing phosphorus crawling in the courtyard

playing with forces and fae by sigil

then candle-light

& smoking mirror

(2)

 every pixel transfigured

enigmafied friend

E.T. phone home, do you read me

E.T. completely

infixtured by the night seascrolls

temporarily transported by

the fixtures of light

 illuminated in every way

perhaps transfigured

at satiation trainyards

yonder birdlike

secret stations

 lord i remember

easy though peezy perhaps

corrosive catering to the trivial

needs & laments of the zeitgeist

rolling thunder as they

were participating in

a protection rite with fire

 testing testing one two three

said the operator on speed

here we go again

said the otter to the left

storm cloud tracers

tracy chapman on transistor radios

in the drivers seat on the freeway

back from south jersey

subway skylines

subletting subcities

 hiccups from the anonymous hippopotamus

printed and pampered on postage

marked friend of the devil

return to sender

suddenly from stage left

the bender on 8th street

 thats a wrap boys- cut

or so says the cabbie

dont listen to him

hes on amyls with a bad heart

spooks from the flop house

all haunt inn

(21)

 the house on fire

whisper echoing

green books on green books

can you still believe its all for

green books and good acid

imported cargo

 imp imported cargo

starting south

we begin in houston

ending in the mighty

congo river man

a half dozen arabian nights

 now we begin the other way back

through caldonia manifolds tanquerayian

blocks and blocks of uninterupted garments

leather satchels containing el supremo

chickens feet for good luck

potions galore tiny inlet dwellings

candleside riddlers

nuancers necromancers

the layaway clairvoyant

bins of fish

every sort of fly ointment imaginable

caskets of dreams

cuban breezes chartreused and succumbed

to the tangier unmitigated lining

 however riddled with folly

be it may

handing in stained yellow papers

to a circus in juan paris

stopping by to see johnny paria

at a small roadside attraction inlet

quickly as cowboy coffee induced mayhem midways

& chickens running around with

their heads chopped off

(26)

 salmon glue

one of them shouted

a blessing in yiddish

that girl is poison poising itself

on the radio dial

 just as we pull up to Tom’s diner

one cigarette for each of us

back at the remote outpost there in the desert

the camel back importers cargo carriers

were bringing a ton of red lebanese hashish

from a trade town just north of the border

we awaited them with mint tea that steeped

deep into the night

 as well as

a gang of belly-dancers who’d been

flown in the night before

specifically for this occasion

the arrival of the red leb

patagonia

one of them exclaims

 that was my dream lastnight of patagonia

tumbled down shack in big-foots it was

reading five verses of amazonian soplar literature

& suddenly it all flowed back

images of seraphim & sirena approaching

images of some of them muddy

others all dressed well in clean white clothing

 down there the fixation then was moonshine

so every friday afternoon we would gather

preferably no less then a dozen of us

& drive out to houston paying twelve a cap

& with that we could haul enough back

to supply the entire county for a week

we did that every weekend for a decade

then reagan got elected and that was that

imported sugar cane or cherry flavored pop

was the only game in town

 so the soliders surged on til dawn

when by bask morning-light through

velvet shade they did receive the call they

had been waiting for all this time

on a pink tele- it was louise

they were down at the terminal in westport

approximately 40 minutes by auto-bus

from our remote outpost somewhere in the dunes

between the frontier & egypts southern most point

in the babeloid region, also known as Valdez*

hectares beyond the thresholds of our jurisdiction

thus we were forced to rush in by stealth

(3)

 REAL PEOPLE

TRUE STORIES

UNADULTERATED INSCRIPTION

reads the foney tabloid with

a crude pictograffiti of george bush

giving a rub and tug to a martian

on the white house lawn

 hey now all good things in all good time

he said sardonically lighting up a spliff and passing

to the left

right in the time net before the scheduled entry

into the trading panel

we had used up mostly all of our uppers on hand

during the brief but intense flash with the pirates

at new guinea

 all the variants of drug addled crux dividers walked through

these ports at at some ragged wretched time or another

however twisted or undistinguished from the periphery

slimey toadstools & the barways walked through by tangeria

hotel babblers, mind mice and the seething soup seekers

of muck and littered propheticus

 casitas burden the bourbon-bury mind sippers

like the ghosts of amulet bearing pirates

looking lately into obsidian sunglass mirrors

& the cheers-mates divides found in friar field vietnam

sinking ships & brand new quicksilver salamanders

who poisoned themselves back into

the clotted timestream by

hookwink & soft-pond tactics alone

 the souls of lost sailors &  dead shaman

sandbank dealers & a new orleans maiden-like hierarchy

holy-week brandish of sacred markers &

makers of witchcraft devised by KFC confessionals

with long-lines & tokes of datura in the middle-school-lunch

cafeteria waiting line lego rooms

filled with outrageous

arabic geometry signature

in their natures seething like

broken spanish entities

in subliminal outake

(5)

 an outline of hegemony

here in the world as it were

or was back there in the hotel rooms

at san luis cooped up on speed

who was looking out the window

and through the bubble-gummer

or cowboy boot wearer

what have you

 but you know

suddenly i felt the sudden urge

to articulate the experience

and thus here we are

gathered around a window

sunshining freshlhy

albiet were  all smoking

and talking over one another

how exciting caffeine tends to the nerves

to the ninth degree until second hour

 if i wasnt in my right mind

i might say we have a gracyth lace

of the old go fast in there somewhere no?

a tar spirit wedged beneath the tandem spirits

so tender & wavingly at lengthful & grateful

 transmigration of a phoenix

involved in certain spiritual states

including psychosis

we decided it was better to disguise

the acid casualties as clowns

to better move them discreetly from

our distant quarters in the non local sanctuaries

of psychotomimetic antiquity vis-a-vis

the grizzled backbury peyote deserts

of the mid classical maya

 until recently this was somewhat

of a simple procedure

new blockades were placed at powerspots

encrypted punto tecalotes guarding all

of our most trusted cardinal points

and thus we hired the specialist

el coyote

 the modality was as factual as

we could possibly write in

to the bloody script to begin with

gesturing towards the ticket booth

blargzeebubbed both whispering so quiet and free

buzzed of delineated cheap coffee echoing

the ugly whims of burroughs vis a vis

the tangier hashish jelly saga

 we made sure to dial in our woes

to the receptor cite

no matter how many times we hit

the croacher as as hard as we possibly could

for days on end unrelenting the charge hold

give it another minute or integer

shell load in undoubtful

smacked the lips of the tender

still sipping on hiccups and barbury fumbling

with banknotes and letters of a long exiled

main street

(24)

 loud typewriters clicks designs

im sitting there at toms diner, go figure

the lightning aint so bad after-all

cuppa joe & a side of toast

thanks betty stelmer

we went to high-school together

back in those days

 sandstone slippers & a lovely young lady

named sandy preference whisky bourbon rye

so we took our chances in a cadillac

and headed towards tangier way

hashish castles there

so says the latter

black velvet in its entirety

the whole ways home

 somewhere in that hotel lobby

smokey as it was blessed

someone complained about the speed jitters

over-sensitized now cant concentrate he complained

whole lobby sweeps silence

a pin drops

stopping for gas they go ahead

& pickup a hitcher

calls himself phantom 309

fits in with our troop just fine

 someone call sampson

somebody shouted

from a half a block over

weve got ourselves a real

space-case over here, okay?

(10)

 it started as a simple food and whiskey mission

and water too, but we’d forgotten

and soon after would have to double back

but no matter & nobody minded

it was a clear blue sky desert in surround

like the truman show or beetlejuice

we didnt question the script & ended up rolling

with the punches all the way back

to the tellers quarters

riffing off the midlife crisises of the

common-folk

fumbling with pennies & lint-like pocket minutea

pack of zigzags invokes laughter

& then the sound of choppers

war get to the chopper

claus hurry quick get to za choppa

the valley was clear and empty

there we’re people out there though

hiding in the daytime like coyotes

or used car martian lizard salesmen

from dallas

(1)

 a private room &

the return to san luis

dreams of blown out station-wagons

on the outskirts of vegas

a jalapeno violin singing us

turpentine blues on a backbury bust

a bus inching towards the edge of frisco

 someone asked him for a quarter

digging in pocket past

the lint and detritus

showing them off invoking them

back around he said

here ya go kid ya got a match?

 they called him  the contrarian

like a wino centaur

like a matchbox forgotten in an

old pair of crusty levis

like elvis’s outdated bottle

of port from michigan marked 1863

we didnt care and popped it open anyhow

 one of us decided to take that

88’ oldsmobile down to the drugstore

for a box of vicks inhalers

we snatched up the last one lucky

took out the cotton

& threw it in the fire

 blacktop singers

they snap their fingers

to the twinkling

of fallen starts

someone is playing the harp

down there on vine street

in the passengers seat of an oldsmobile

i think of her name was eighty-eight

i think someone stole the

freight-train liner

took it past smugglers cove

the only place they know we’ll never go

(23)

 the band was hot so we danced

the famous merengue

then we darted back

now we fade to black

 the was the sean shem

brother rivalry all over again

after not speaking for months

after christmas disaster

the mask of hallucinatory worry

and need not to worry

 i know how these type of sharks work

and within the fortnight daggers daggard

their way through message totemologies

but lucky for us brushed with sunspots

in legacy power nigredos

sipping stiffly on walkabout cathedrals

 and this was known so it as shown

in blows below the gut

the best we can do is an honest mockery

shipping into harbors wherein the lively

about couldnt come or refused to

or took methmolly for seven days

and turned green                              X

 turned off text messages

blocking all archonic disruptions

influctions of geltab jelousies & romances

left back in durango shipping containers

with rapturous ecstasy we knew in our

hurting hearts the compost of

secret legacy lovers and runners

who long distantly woke up like mondo mike

fucking in pools of goats blood at tampa bay

or tagging hater in the first circle k

when you landed in vegas

 neon scintilla crap tables abound

first wash was out there at baker

with the green magnet magnesium magnetism

lettered and walked in its way

foretold in sunspot illustration

all vectored solemnly&stiffly taken at face value

unable to domino sphincter cheers californian

her sandmarkers and miles of desert as feverish vision

bequeath riggamarole jerijuana stamp postages

lettering and lockinglitter bitter spitter offers

blotters left in antiquity blessedbe

 then gets up to change the cantar

only to forget our placement in

the dreamery reading

or doubt what the hell river it was

that us or quetzalcoatl come here

to speak into existence

in the very first place

 cigar breaks & walks around the savanna

layline boundaryside whisping up

memorium of the very first traversals

or the new yorkers dark night

we came here to amnesiate

(25)

 it was spring & willy nilly was working with the yacuruna again

it was holy meat week & they required a sacrifice

either swine or foul

one in the same willy thought to himself

cutting off the end of a cigarette & handing it to the priest of the clan

this tradition has long run in the family for generation after generation

he muttered twistedly half smiling

& caressing his tiny precious portion of tobacco

all of the family’s priests & priestesses chanting

the ancient hymn

whoo amei damei yaa

taking turning flipping the dial on the radio

it was the only song that was broadcast for a thousand miles

& they played it on repeat until the morning light

every morning for forty days and forty nights

some of us tone deaf after some nights

not minding whatsoever and eventually

finding the ability to fall into trance

during the deep night psalms

 flashbacks to burgers and fries

back there down in the city

the timestreams fanciful dishes

hashish from lebanon abound

martian radio stations dishing out info on

omlette russian-routlettes

taking it all in

willy at once in a buzzing storm

of confusion and confections of the city

wearing away at the teeth

gum-like bedbugs crawling at the skin of

various informants residences

with drugs hidden in baby formula

as the perfect disguise

and a cover up for the vicious gnawing craving for

possesions in pulsating-powders & arms

the screaming wheel of dervish

buzzing religious conviction both

within & exterior to the hypnagogic trances

of dreamlike phanthasma-phenomena

of its constant consumers

 building silently

wave after wave of amnesiate understanding

plunders the mind crawling the coils &

a way out of existential invalid litter departments

put on hooks for hoots

& heavy ingestions put towards rethinking

cadavers in caravans

 steeping mint tea excursions into the savanna

darkly scanning the midnight horizonal

hallucinatory ambidextrousness

looking into the aether for elephants who

possessed societies secret but learned to live outside

of it they were our masters and to them we would wildly

approach in prayer

veiled by secret integers & invisibility serums

slowly sipping in the cabana, awoken by wind

& the drifting siren of ancient chime and whirling dervish

immensities lost in the bubbling muck of disoriented history

(6)

 the lady with the fan

she cools us

lady in the catacombs

zombie siren of kennedys spark

destruction is another form of creation

the immitigate uttered from

the gutteral depths of 57th st

shem dynasties aside

 marijuanos on the hillside

god forbid its saints week

we settled up and gathered up

our rationed portions & put them

on the table out front

for everyone to see

five dollars a hit

 okay so over a beer

we went there

not to say i feel exactly better

but real indeed alive

indeed refreshed to a degree

 boo who

a damaged weakling defends itself

3 weeks after the fact

big whoop big whopper

the brother rivalry

an unmatched dynamic

(16)

 asphyxiated on dandelion wine

oh mary oh jesus where do i even begin?

sun setting on an empire is that it?

 speaking of instincts

the devils weak

beautiful express faces pass

in all the taxis of the world

back home cascadas, sleeping lamp giants

waiting in the precipice

 its just a little ways she assured the others

whilst taking a giant ripper off the

pcp packaged spliff

how strange the scintilla

she barked before cutting

all her ties, quickly skipping town

& heading for the hills

back toward kensington ways

 the midst, sand salamanders joking

in the juxtaposition of the roses

faced down and looking lightly through

the window cupboard shade covered veiling

the scintilla awaiting winter kingbury

whos bringing acid whos bringing crumpets

to a maddened tea party in the bushes

sparsely spacing out illiterate tantrums

from dross matter heiroglyphic opinions of our starbound selves

cardinal signal around & bounded to temporal fixies

immensities

heriphanies

lipid

 a from riches to rags backstory

the boston ragga

dodging bullets left and right at infinitum

clever fox of the backbury

show your scales

reveal reveal reveal i say

set in holland 1945

ringing any bells yet?

what about saved by the bell? or frasier

or fran to tell us danger dances

apart from the static

 there was the overplayed music

downgraded the bandwidth

of what just it was we couldnt say yet

we just had take a hint

then wait the usual 40 minutes for entrance

(19)

 *

 lets restart

friendly aesthetic near

the hillside depot

as they approach the trainyard hyponogogic

it is more then a hallucination

 antiquity

oh my- broken good

who’s expertise?

todo todo bien

todo bien

it was the best we c u in asia

when i come you need

yes it could be okay

 Lee RIbbenii

what- great environment

great

la grazia delle parole

yes indeed

yes indeed-

there we go

lets head south baby

(20)

 they were cranking out pure kilos of grade A

japanese chach at per kilo pennies on the dollar

there was only one person mr.pink & me knew who

knew what to do with those kinda numbers

unfortunately he was taken out earlier

that december during an incident with the

cartels in a case of mistaken identity

up in reno

 so we were then forced to move west

where folk we once considered kingpins

back home that is in vermont

had somehow blended had acquiesced here

like camouflage breaded butter                X

 fantasy island saloon,

platoons of vigor & servitude

all counted specially & coiled smooth

moves bequeath basket-cased

as it was nior’d

honored and learned nightly by sams steaks

taken up for some and down

for tuesday shmoosday others

 rutgers, gushers, marx brothers

& exploding symbols heald

& inevolving within timberside seances

pixie as they were midnight

rose-garden fauna egyptian’d

(13)

Bagwhan shree rajneesh, one of nuns begins to blurt out-

nearly stuttering and other troublesome utterances

A seizure of tounges,

“The Bagwaan she went on,

bagwhaan shree! rajneesh, rajneeshy”

we let her go like this for around 40 minutes

before finally, at our wits end with zero alternatives left

we were forced to tied her up & at

4:30 AM eastern state time Sister Anne

of the Lutheran Church of Nazarene

was given a 500 MG shot of thorazine

directly into her jugular,

unconscious in seconds &

by the time she around rose shortly after

her condition returned to safely back to base-line

( we agreed to keep an eye on her during the

the table session’s with special attention

directed toward not allowing her to drink anymore

then a single cup of daime at a time )

 it’s 10 AM on a friday,

new orleans shoppe window open,

a perfumery with side deals,

magic deals,

literal charms for sale as well as jasmine-

smoking in a bed, in a shed,

in a chevy chase canary paced place

some of us are melting in our own juices

who-hooo do you trust? blaring incessantly on the transistor

sitar, overpowering by the psilocybin-

 Callet trailed, endless masks made by the scoupel-

written in dragons blood over the doorway

unwritten invisible coffee dates with

phantoms of english antiquity

 Australian kangaroo salesmen,

ounces of bolivian marching powder sealed in a locked vessel

headed from panama across the atlantic on a three day journey

2 hostages, one illuminated port

in the dusty backbeat sagas of westports most infamous

& terrible dragstrip

officials crooked for hire, sidewalks in the customs office

we turned our heads to the Gods

a window opened from a black and yellow lit

parlor of the redlight indistinguishment sectors,

just a mile away from our stated destination

at the transatlantic sea-station

positioned in an outpost just north of the border,

we needed to make it past this kurdish checkpoint

before the dawn does-

(4)

 these little town blues

these vagabond shoes

calling clown-like ambulances

leaving 17th & 57th

headed towards geronimo blvd

with broken arrow phone calls

glasses of water rusty spoons & Busch

delivery with deliverance

we had to pick up scooter from the lot first

before we caught the itching fix in the gyre

catcher in the ryer

 like forever pushing totemic inches

past the blood-brain barrier

down there on 57th where the riversrun

with sludge veins full of muck

mindless scrolling machines allegedly

seen dishing out euphoria by the dozen-fold

so say our critics whos sweet sickness

is an itchy glaze of bologna for 50 cents a pop

all the way down to the houston-river

 would we ever make it past

the black growling threshold guardians

of the ciudad or else find ourselves

lying before dumpsters worshipping

the dieties of alleyway

& sky fixture fractions

alike us on our run to score

the perfected effervescent illumination sagas

just west of hollywood

 and the geronimo blvd highway makers

who marked a thousand lanes

to the left hand sight

a thousand to the right out of sight

a wad of hash for your time perfectedly churned

& paired with yelping cupful portions of

californian divinatory serums

seances bad sneakers and singers

albeit sneaking suspicions of hefty cuts

of the baby laxatives

 within and around the chartreuse variants

of amyl & trimethylated leisure like

substantial inheritances

nuances shiver me timber tumblefuls

whopping past portions mailed from arkansas

to our doorsteps just in time before

the jiminy cricket-like creatures spring fourth

singing a dop-op

whos gonna carry me home?

aint got sense enough to leave that burbon alone

(11)

 mixing medley in the middle with moon-light

shakey ground says the batter bear better then burroughs

into the psalmful leavings of arclights unknown

past the platoon stickers,

beyond the trash fences of romantic antiquity

the steam-files bull on and breed

betting 50 on a saulsbury steak

or some sort of chicken cutlet in the runner

left on revenge repeat

 we sung ourselves a little song

& then backed away

packing everything neatly in the caravan mirage

in the shade or else taken back by

the ever present hallucinogenic hum

be it frog-juice or pellets

of jacksons best designer brand speed

easy now said the one with the ring

& two left facing shoes

 now we dont want to get all carried away okay

but if we just splice out some sort of

small-time portion of the crumbcake

or perhaps make a brew with teatime feathers

oh the trusty teatime feathers

gets the whole gang of em up and atom

when the afternoon sun looms near the horizon

screw it day time or night

whenever she visits its a grand occasion

 upwards towards the transmigrational highway

one of them belched

passing the tonic towards his left

picking something up in the periphery

something harbored like jasmine rice

something entangled like

rustys old tape recorder

-we would take it out to los angeles

& sitting by the river all the time

waiting for betty to get off work

 then we could come home & show her

with rockabye sweet baby james on

& haight ashbury hashish jelly

of course she assumed

as she always does when we are in those states

trancelike as they were amoeboid

that this was a

perhaps the tangier go away

that would turn itself invisible like the rocks

the moment we arrived into town

 shoreside was always the same with

these gingerbread mayhem invested thunderbirders

running around like headless cockatoos

except only this time

they decided to wear dress shoes

 back at base they were preparing

for the mumification of who they could

not name in the telegram

none the less we decided to go with our mission

further into the frontier

of white speckled satiations

of unruly divide & conquering

all carefully making sure to

load our canteens to the brim with rum

before catching the ferry over

(12)

 turning the gyre ever softer towards

the ridge of aeonic millennia

we gasped at blooming artificiality paradises

instantly upon time-stream arrival indextures

tens of thousands of miles streaming stratospheric

in the butte of a moments quickening

storming us by quicksilver secondaries

 the hands of history,

fighting for informational eternity

brask, right up to the gullet in gears

fashioning the work-place

landmarked by leisure

still probing the market for the machina

still glittering down the line totemic

 concession stands for the archbishop

at the island for eels

we couldnt believe

that they burnted themselves out so quickly

we all gathering our belongings

proceeded to high tail it

all the way down the line

either oklahomian or mexicana

 hows the wife & kids

we meet everyday at the strange cafe

we meet at the strange cafe-time burial

burial time typewriter

typewritten in special membrane

the brain remembers its own name cleary

its wits vastly dialectic & innumerable

 keeps encapsulated satiated

heaped on there- gnawingly

senile, almost tumeric distanced

bequeathed beneath the rosebury

sampling simple traces

environs & aardvarks alike

squeaky and tender as the bishop promised

going gargantuately into the gauntlet of life

 lamenting over harms done

presuffixed and over time eventually delineated

to the slime like it was carnal

lime-light of west hollywood

with its fits and fashions phoenixed

egyptian magicd like the

chest cupboard kept in the hills

 working on tantrums

tidal waves of them raving hysterical

maddened as dawn, streaky pink-eye horizonal

at colt-45 walkers in tango with disco-coppers

hot on the beat and hopped up on a thursday

for almost no real reason at all

as cept to scope, callin themselves the law

vigilante justice my ass

(8)

 glamour professionals

by the rivers of babylon, its venice beach baby

writing scripts on napkins in indian ink,

kitchen sink showers (first memories of bathtime)

astoria, a hiccup in the rutter-

via confession by cinema side trails

 sipping mango juice under polaris,

are we mister potter?

the imp confessional of antiquity

snicker from the right corner

flying anvils, galaxies of amnyls,

nitrates, glycerides

marketing techniques via tangier

& west congo conch fritter

 picking up after dark

theres a fire inside the wind of the mind,

come walk with me alone, it says

now the whole gang of hyperdimensional

cast members gather tightly, close quarters

& hearing upon what has happend

to the old mans leg, he vowed

never to ride a caballo again in this lifetime

or atleast what he spoke before sweet drink

made its way around the table at

the great hall of duke

 the cinco minuto exspresso

talking political jargon

supposedly a mexican composition

done from los angeles telepathically

who could say? we had noone on hand

to verify personally, so we took

their word for it and proceeded

to donate the requested $6000 USD

needed for the bond

 after growing up

the only way they knew peace

was to return to the chaos

of upbringing circumstance

via bus-station or jukebox circlings

where’s the kid with the chemicals

an entourage of questionable characters

could they be in cahoots with the coca-chewers?

 nightingdale

a cross examination

octopi-like tendencies, gallow-like

2,3,4,trimethyloxyphenethylamine

what do ya mean ya dont like me cookin?

just another passing fix, eh?

or does G-d owe you the world?

shady grove, my little love

shady grove I know

(9)

 I couldnt vouch for leftie

i told him, look man

if you want to find savage henry

then your going to have

to get out of vegas immediately

 past pahrump theres an old dirt-road

with a blown out station wagon

rusted onto the side of the desert trench

about a half mile from the road

 its where all the vegans go

and the freakers that couldnt

make it slab-city

you have to go it alone

or they will never let ya in

 he stood and thought

to himself for a moment

contemplating the ifs

he’d been up for 3 days

on the way down from tijuana

clasping tight to the leather satchel

 cutting his hair first

then secondly make up as a disguise

a paved road pointing west

no money down

it was paid entirely in credit

they packed up the hitch

then stopped at smokeys

 we found a stray out by the highway

took her with us

we wanted to name her sally at first

but after some tequila we agreed on darcy

blues players on the am radio

right as we crossed

the county into mississippi

(18)

 paying the pod piper

is that it?

is that all you think were doing here immanuel?

siphoning bionical hyponotics

psychotic lovers of sorts

a tangoist

we recoiled & waited out our hunch

 disaster letters scattered the garage

stupendous timing, the left one

her stills sitting at home

gathering rootbark

tidying up dust off her pictures

from the guadalajara borrachera saga

now succumb to the twiddling

of thumbs & paperveiw

 not so bad after all

taking a drag from the spliff

welcome to the after after hours club

cuddle up

make yourself a drink

(14)

 wise men gathering drinking manischewitz

in the circled fountain

at the center of cemetery

down on Lutz & Vanderbelt,

 hither here, their betting on something clear

must be some sort of lunar cycle round concerning

the daughter of the rabbi- & whats this?

im getting something, their telling me something

about the queen of scotts in new york

for a wedding,

they were engaged at the pyramids & apparently

the spirits followed them all the way

from those catacombs hibiscus scented lettering

on all postage sent during the brief but intense

time they shared together in giza

 we hence fourth proceeded to down and out drown

ourselves in a sort of giant pool of margaritas

ah yes, full gang in company alliance

we couldnt pool it all in without a bbq basket

of easter eggs & pints of aether

some for ourselves and of course

a dashing ration for th fellas back east

(7)

 heres a sandian fully

who translates themselves

into gibberish hymns

heres a telecaster with an iron heart

falling again for the damsel in distress

experimenting with cardiac typhic fever

 rippling with exponential dopamine hits

oxytocin out the whaa-zoo

a thickening sludge like quality

spills across the temporal landscape

& after some years no effect

at the finger tips & extremities

come the decade and a half mark

sadly no effect at all

 packing the bags toward sicilia

where the tormented sagas had begun

back there at bar stool love affair

where whiskey with beelzebub

dressed us tango and took us for

love-fools around the ringer margarita

 tri-ad of lux intermediaries

egyptianism believers in crux

& crocadirro headed entities alike

like light fixtures opalescent

by the horizon lines at dusk

woozy and tactile like in their demeanor

never skipping a beat

& darting up the ley lines to latitudes

just south of a texas free for all

(17)

 papelito del computadora

honey made me

statues incubating amoebi

sand dollars sand dollars sand dollars

last call no deals

  squealing salemen

mile runners hobos

& the elderly

all gathered hastily

in red valley california

we pulled into town deep night

the evening before

woke up by the side of the highway

in an inlet near the woods

  some poor fella living in a campsite

not far off the road

comes asking to barter

food if i had it

because they had all the marijuana

they could ever smoke

but were short on munchies

i checked the reserve & did a quick inventory

whilst ransacking the rig

in search for lost totem from africa

which recovered shortly after

  however met its fate on

an evening that july in the depths of summer

first pass through taos new mexico

a fare place to part ways i suppose

letting go of sentimentality

ridden objects redirects the focus

on an inner remembering

an inner knowing of powers

  easy to say when your free

but upon stumbling one wakes up

to find a wise mans blessing

brought by horseback beneath

a shooting star yet again

granted only of course

on the assumption on the fact

that one makes his way back

  casket-cases filled with budweiser

wasted minded billionaires recoil backwards

staggering into the work bench

but not on impulse or to search for

a desire lost in ethers of childhood

back there a thousand lifetimes ago

in the shmegma where we lost our head

my head ended up on datura beside the highway

benzedrine lake and all the hiccup ghosts

we tamed nightly by the cross-reaches

of our hometown & the beach that was

accessible fifteen minutes

  small runs down to the corner store

to purchase truckers speed

that same poison of the desert here too

then there too

gigantic myths that we use like

a snake who self germinates

to write the world in its way

to tell our myths

(22)

[kurmancommunications]

GAME DAY! We have a full evening tonight. 5 -7 PM Happy Hour. 5 - closeTaco Tuesday all night. 6 PM Bulls faceoff the Indiana Pacers 8 PM Kentucky Wildcats plays Vanderbelt 9 PM Blackhawks battle Vancouver Canucks Head to The Pony where you can always catch your favorite team! Nightly specials alway available. #wheretowatchthecame #happyhour #chicagohappyhour #gameday #chicagobulls #chicagoblackhawks #ponyinnchicago #kentuckywildcats #tacotuesdaychixago #partyatthepony (at The Pony Inn) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cn0RlfurTw-/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[ziggizapz]

ayyy more of my spidersona becasue she’s a hecking cutie

[tearfulsolace]

Could you talk more about Gwenora? She sounds like a really interesting character

Listen. I am aware that this is over 2 years old, and I do not even remember what I posted to get your attention. But I did not know where to even start with my girl. I don't even think her story was completely finished back then. I am unsure how familiar you are with Warhammer 40k, but I will do my best to summarize her amazing story, without getting too winded and make the most sense possible.

(Tag warning for underage pregnancy with a man several years older, [it’s consensual, and in this universe, depending on the planet, someone is an adult at about 14 due to difference in genetics, so universe wise, she’s actually an adult and this would be fully accepted on her planet.])

(Additional tag warnings for extreme violence associated with war, demon incursions, and just general survival.)

So. Gwenora. My sweet child. She does not have a last name. (Not until she marries.) She is from the lower-ish levels of a hive city on the planet Elysia. Think about a city that has levels, and the higher up you go, the richer you are. (Like Coruscant in Star Wars kinda.) So she isn’t in the levels where like, darkness breeds mutants, or like people eat eachother or anything, but she’s only a few levels above that. Population is insane, and so you can only have children through government approval, and usually through government matches too. Gwen was one such child, but the father is (supposedly) from a different level/city etc, either way, he’s not in the picture.

Her mother, Brenetta, is one of the lucky few who owns a corner store kinda thing. But it’s still really tight money wise, everyone is on rations, etc. So Gwenora, my very smart girl, scavenges. She sneaks into government dumps (restricted areas) and ‘steals’ scraps. She’s kind of a computer genius, and most of the items she takes, are things that she can fix up, and then sell to the only approved Electronic shop in her quadrant, run by Mr. Gray. An elderly man who is missing one of his legs, and when Gwen was about 12, had helped him piece together some old parts into a hover chair for him, so he buys her illegal goods and sells them in the black market.

Anyway, when she is 14, she is on one of these such runs, when she encounters a gang, who tries to take her findings. She’s clever and outsmarts them, but while running, she gets caught by a few Arbides (basically cops) who stop her. One of them detains her, and the rest chase the gang. While questioning her, the man, Captain Renic Monroe, searches her bag and sees what she’s doing. Considering how dirty she is, and how she looks underfed, he gives her the bag back and tells her to go. Gwenora is understandably confused, but she takes her things and leaves.

A few weeks later, Gwenora hears about a parade several levels above her, where she is not allowed. But she had rigged a device to unlock the ventilation system, and so she was able to sneak up and from a rooftop, she was able to watch the parade. While there, Renic, off duty, finds her. She starts to run, thinking he had changed his mind, but after talking, he convinces her that he’s not there to arrest her. Instead he offers to take her to get something to eat, and if she’s with him, no one would ask her any questions. Very curious about the upper levels, and hungry, she accepts. He takes her to a mid-level dining place (Not like Mcdonalds, but not like a 5 star, just a decent place). And they start talking. She is cautious at first, what does this Upper want from her? An Arbides even. But he’s funny. And sweet. He asks if she needs anything before he escorts her home, and he offers to get her some new clothes, which had been ripped in her attempt to flee from him previously. He takes her home and she thinks, ‘that was weird, but nice.’ and expects that to be the end of it.

But then she starts seeing him patrolling her quad more and more often. And he stops into the store on his breaks to buy things. And he’s always so polite. And eventually, things turn romantic. And yes, eventually, she falls pregnant.

In the underhive, an unauthorized pregnancy could be a death sentence, to the baby and the parents. But Renic is the son of the Chief of the Arbides, and a very influential man. And Renic, being a well known man himself, convinces her that if Gwenora and their unborn child just… appeared on the upper levels, as long as they were with him, no one would ever ask questions. And so Gwen has to tell her mother what's happening. They fight, and Brenetta is convinced that Renic is playing her, that he’s just having a little fun with an Underhive girl, and that he’ll throw her away eventually when he gets bored. She tells Gwen not to come home if that happens, she won't take her back.

Gwenora moves to the upper levels, and gives birth to a beautiful baby girl named Celestedes (Celeste). Renic’s father dies, and Renic is promoted to take his place. Things seem perfect.

Gwenora starts to notice people following her.

One night, Renic comes home, and he isn’t himself. He’s quiet, cold. He tells her to leave. Take their child, and go back to where she came from. Gwenora doesn’t understand. She’s hurt, confused. He gets angrier the more questions she asks and eventually the glass he was holding shatters. So Gwenora takes the only-a-few-months-old Celeste, and leaves their building where an Arbides transport is waiting to escort her back to the lower levels. The man escorting her was a friend, he seems legitimately remorseful for what is happening, but insists that he will not speak to her. Chief’s orders.

When they are several blocks from her mother’s shop (the only place she could think to go), the man in the transport beside her is shot through the windshield. The vehicle crashes, and Gwenora, along with her practically newborn baby, runs. She knows these streets, but she doesn't know who or why she is being shot at. She gets cornered by men in gray suits/cloaks, with mutant dogs from the slum levels, and just as she is accepting that she and her child will die, a behemoth appears before her, and kills several of her persuiters. Whoever, whatever it is, has a man's voice, and stands over 10 feet tall, encased in metal armor. He is painted bone white, with a tabard and a sword. He tells her to run, and not look back. Using the escape she is given, she makes it back to her mothers shop.

Her mother, with great effort, is convinced to take Gwenora back. But Celeste is an unauthorized child, so she is never allowed in the front of the store. She is kept in their rooms (in the back of the store) or the storerooms, and can never be seen. To help feed the extra mouth as she grows, Gwenora goes back to scavenging, and eventually turns towards the smaller gangs, working small jobs under the name Peraxia, a hacker. Every few months, a package arrives with no names, no postage. It usually has some money, some food, and some toys. She knows it’s from Renic. She never uses the money, putting it all away. She uses the food to feed her child, gives her the toys, because otherwise she would have none. But she never sees Renic.

Several years pass, Celeste is 4, almost 5. Gwenora is 20. Gwen had been saving for a blackmarket ID chip. Once she was able to get it, Celeste would be free.

The day she’s meant to meet someone about it, a draft gets called, and Gwenora’s ID is on the list. She knows that if she resists, they will come looking for her, and the Empire has no care for collateral damage. Brenetta and Celeste would be targets.

She goes.

On her first deployment, a planet called Arcadia, she is given a low level command, Constript Co-captian of their battalion. Her partner is a man named Santiago. It is immediately obvious that neither of them actually have any experience, and he seems reluctant to make any official orders. So Gwenora is forced to step up. She has one goal, and that is to survive and to make it home to her daughter. If she has to pretend like she knows what she’s doing, if she has to take command, she’ll do it.

I’ll try to start skipping around a bit more here as this is getting long and I’m still on their first planet (out of 5).

Over the few weeks they are there, she and Santiago become reluctant friends. It’s revealed that he was actually part of one of the gangs on Elysia. One that had not liked ‘Peraxia’ and had a hit on her. But they decide that that life is behind them, and it’s best to focus on surviving. She also befriends one of the lieutenants, medic Akerson, who everyone seems to feel very strange around, except for Santiago and Gwenora who hardly even notice her weird vibes. The three of them also befriend a Kriegsman named Kirsk. (Kriegsmen are kinda based off Germany, in the fact that a lot of their cities, and names sound German, and they have a WWI aesthetic, based on the Germans, French and British uniforms at that time.).

Kirsk is a bit of an odd one out among the Krieg. They are all very… hmm shall we say regimented? They are all picture perfect uniforms and marching lines. They all wear gas masks that are never removed, and this specific group seems to believe that all air is polluted and will kill them. They don't really speak except to give/receive orders. But Kirsk is clumsy. He likes to joke. The leader of this group of Kriegsman, Colonel Hanz, foisted him onto the Captains under the guise that he was to be a personal guard.

While they are on that planet, they also meet a space marine (a 8-12ft tall super human in powered armor) called Sword Captain Havium of the Dark Angel chapter. He is also a psyker, which is just the universe equivalent of ‘wizard’. Except, if a psyker screws up, their mind implodes, their body becomes a host to a demon, and possibly becomes a portal for the Warp (basically hell but worse.)

The mission falls to shit, and during their escape from the planet, they rescue a Knight Pilot named Verith (Knights are like giant mechs, that a pilot gets plugged into and their brain communicates with the machine). Only two ships make it off the planet, one of them has Colonel Hanz and a few of his group, and the other is Gwenora, Santiago, Akerson, Havium, Kirsk, Verith and two of the lieutenants Franklin and Haley.

Here are a few short bullet points for this next planet to make it go faster:  (this was kind of a place for us to get used to our characters in non combat, so although great bonding and story happens, only a few important plot points happen.)

-After Gwen and Santiago return to the ship from getting supplies, they find Kirsk without his mask. He is extremely pale, with blonde hair and very pale blue eyes. This seems to indicate that Kirsk attempted to kill himself, believing that the air was toxic to him, but instead discovered that he had been lied to.

-Kirsk also indicates that he has some kind of crush on Gwen, but it shows in very weird ways.

-Akerson is discovered to also be a Psyker, and has some kind of psychic break, and Havium forces her into a stasis until he can help her. (Her player had to leave the game for a few months, and this was the DM’s solution)

-The Empire fleet (separate then the one they had been deployed from) arrives on planet, and they are discovered, and branded as traitors for abandoning their posts (they didn’t really have a choice, it was this or death). But Havium, having a lot of weight as a space maine, claims that the crew had been assisting him on his mission, and so they are somewhat pardoned, but are under watch.

-They meet a new character, named Custodian Valoriand. (Custodians are kinda like the US secret service, in the fact that they protect this universe’s God Emperor, and they aren’t usually seen out and about in the galaxy. They usually stay on Terra [Earth] They are like 1000 space marines in one body, and are literal dimi-gods.)

-For some reason, he takes an interest in Gwenora, and asks her to become one of his agents. To do so, he tests her several ways, and then sends her on a short retrieval mission. He also, for some reason, sends Kirsk with her. Kirsk has no idea why he is there, but he seems to have various skills, including sniper training which he uses here to help cover her. Through the mission, they become fairly friendly. At the end of it, he had become extremely injured, Gwenora had his combat dagger from when she saved him, and he knew that he would not remember this mission so he asked for a kiss. She kisses him, and the custodian erases his memory of the mission shortly after. She keeps the dagger for sometime.

-Valoriand also grants her equipment, including a sniper rifle of her own, and a set of drones so she can do recon with them.

The leader of the fleet, Mashel Van Winters, a terrifyingly competent woman, sees how the team works together, and seems to see that the team is valued by Havium. She places Gwenora as captain to the ship The Redemptor, with Franklin and Haley as her helmsmen.

Havium introduces a squad of space marines he is assigning to her and the Redemptor, including Captain Lionidas, his second Kordovan, their apothecary (medic) Rathaniel, and their librarian (scientist, and psyker) Zophiel. He also brought a dreadnought named Septimus (when important or ancient space marines die, they are sometimes put into a robotic casket that allows their brains to live on, so that they can share their knowledge and experience with others, and continue to fight the good fight). This dreadnought also happened to be Haviums mentor and good friend. He is kept on standby mode for most of the trip, to conserve energy.

There is a short bit of space battle that occurs, but here are the highlights:

-Lionidas, a fairly young space marine (he’s like 150, but space marines basically live forever if they aren't killed) is confused as to why Havium keeps sending Gwen and Friends with his squad, they are mortal and cannot possibly keep up. During one scene on a Space Station, they are being overrun, and Gwenora is able to hack into the station security feed and activate security drones which had previously been deactivated. In the same battle, but much later, she also saves Havium. Lionidas learns to respect Gwenora, and accepts her as part of their team.

-During the space stuff, they do meet various characters from different factions that make return appearances, but they are more important to roleplay and story, and not really plot.

-The important part is that Gwenora proves to SEVERAL factions of space marines that she is highly competent, highly capable, and to not underestimate her.

They are now on their way to planet three, Storobos. But Havium announces that he is leaving because he must retreat to wherever the Dark Angels were calling home at this point for reinforcements. He will take Akerson’s stasis pod with him, and leave the squad from before in her care.

I might stop here and see if you’re even interested in more of this. It’s been so long since you asked, and idk if Space Tragedy is even your cup of tea. Lol

Just a peek, after Sterobos is a desert planet, some more space stuff, and then finally back home to Elysia. Then the ending, which is bittersweet for everyone. I also have some water color art for this universe, as well as some fics on AO3 about her daughter Celeste. Let me know if you want part two of this, or any linkys for the other stuff mentioned. Again, sorry for length, it’s just all very important to the story (or so my brain tells me). (Also, I am in the process of writing a book about Gwen and Friends, but it’s taking alooooooong time.)