#We put him to sleep this morning because he was too ill and suffering

[sheirukitriesfandom]

Personal, CW: pet death

RIP

???-19.06.2024

Farewell, old boy. Your heart was, in the most literal sense, too big for this world.

[wheneverfeasible]

Because I’m terrible and the plots won’t leave me alone, I’ve now got an idea based on this post about a demon who feasts on pain and suffering being a medical practitioner for the chronically and terminally ill and the patients fully loving it. And then my brain rot had to say “make it Steddie” because I’ve lost all control of my life.

—

cw: terminal illness, minor and major character death (with a happy ending tho)

But imagine it. Eddie is a demon, a low ranking one at that originally. He gets a job at a medical facility for the chronically/terminally ill. Over time at the happy and consensual feasting he really does become one of the strongest demons because he’s constantly fed to the brim and he even has human worshippers, not that they’re traditional worshippers.

No, his followers are little old senior citizens who slip him butterscotch candies and other sweets they’re not supposed to have, which technically count as offerings. They thank him for his work, because he does actually take care of their bodies as well and even listens to their life stories, which count as praise and worship. They love and are devoted to him and they bring in their friends and family who are suffering too and Eddie’s accidental cult grows.

One day, things change. A young man, an anomaly in his youth, is brought in by parents who no longer wish to be burdened by their disabled son. Steve just shrugs it off and moves in with a smile, seemingly fine with being abandoned by his parents because he dared to be anything other than perfectly healthy.

He puts around the facility in his terry cloth robe and slippers on some days, others he dresses up in polos and slacks or even jeans when he’s feeling more casual, and always with a smile on his face. He makes those around him smile and laugh too, and his cheeks get pinched and he’s slipped candies too and he listens to others’ stories and he seems happy and content.

But Eddie feeds on his pain and suffering all the same, knows that behind that smile is a young boy who was told he probably wouldn’t live to see 30, who listens to the older folks knowing he would never get to live a life like that. Eddie knows that sometimes Steve cries himself to sleep at night.

Over time, Eddie and Steve grow closer. Steve hadn’t believed that Eddie was a demon at first, had thought it all just a joke, until one night Mr. Wozniak was laying in his bed, and Steve hadn’t meant to overhear, but he was passing by and the door was cracked open.

“Will I go to Hell now?” Mr. Wozniak was asking, but he seems peaceful all the same, like the thought wasn’t the terrifying ordeal so many people thought it was.

“No, sweetheart,” Eddie was saying, but his voice sounds a little off, huskier, like…like brimstone sat in his throat. “I’ve never claimed your soul. It’s still your own. Go find Irena. She’s been waiting for you for too long.”

Irena, Steve knew from speaking with Mr. Wozniak, was his young wife who had died decades earlier.

“Will I get to see you again?”

Eddie’s long fingers reach out, his nails long and sharp, dark in a way that was not nail polish. He lightly and gently strokes the papery skin of Mr. Wozniak’s cheek. “You will be at peace. You will find the afterlife is so much more than this Good-vs-Evil rhetoric so popular in this plane of existence. Go in peace, my child, and should you wish it, perhaps one day we might meet again.”

Mr. Wozniak smiles at that, and he closes his eyes with a softly whispered, “Irena, I’m coming…”

A moment later, he was gone.

Steve watches as Eddie seems to grow smaller, appear more normal, and though he knows he should be terrified, he isn’t. Instead he continues on his way, letting the knowledge of more percolate in his brain, though by the next morning when news of Mr. Wozniak’s passing spreads and Eddie assures everyone that he passed away peacefully and in no pain, Steve knows Eddie speaks the truth and he realizes that nothing has changed. Eddie is still Eddie.

They continue to grow closer. He spends more time with Eddie, lets Eddie in fully on how much he hurts, and tells the demon that he wished things had been different and that they could have met under better circumstances.

Eddie tells him that he never enjoyed the taste of regret. It was far too bitter.

They fall in love, encouraged by their friends in the facility new and old, who don’t seem to care that he is a mortal with a short life expectancy and Eddie is an immortal demon lord. What is all that in the face of true love?

And then it happens, and Steve is the one lying in bed, knowing his time has come. He smiles up at Eddie and decides not to regret any of it, not wanting their final moments to be flavored with bitterness.

“Stevie,” Eddie whispers mournfully, and he’s beautiful. It’s not his full true form, but his eyes are a dark blood red, his teeth elongated into sharp fangs, and his pale skin veined with reds and blacks. Horns curl out from his curly hair.

“You said once that I get to be with my loved ones after this,” Steve says, still smiling, and he reaches up to cup Eddie’s jaw with a weakened hand. Eddie nods against him, and Steve wonders if all demons can cry, or if it’s just his. “Then take my soul, darling. It already belongs to you.”

Eddie flinches back, like Steve knew he would, because souls are not little things. Eddie had explained before, after everything, that he didn’t even actually deal in souls, that that wasn’t the sort of demon he was. Steve had asked if he could, on a technicality, and Eddie had paused because saying yes, any demon could, but souls were priceless. When you gave one up to a demon, you gave up everything. You would be theirs until the end of days. Eddie had said he wasn’t that sort of demon.

“Baby, no,” Eddie breathes now, shaking his head gently enough not to dislodge Steve’s hand. “You would be—”

“Yours,” Steve interrupts. “But I already am. You already own my heart. I now willingly give you my soul. All you have to do is accept it.”

And Eddie protests, at first, because Steve is giving him complete control over him for eternity. Steve gives it freely with open arms, and in the end, Eddie can do nothing but accept it. He tells Steve that he doesn’t know if demons have souls or not, but his belongs to Steve just as assuredly as his own heart does.

Steve’s final mortal breath is gifted into Eddie’s crimson mouth, full of peace and love and the understanding that this thing between them will always beat eternal.

It turns out that, whether it was still unknown if all demons had souls, Eddie was the sort that does.

And it also turns out that, when you’re gifted a demon lord’s soul, you become a demon too.

Eddie’s cult ends soon after, disbanded into non-existence. In its place, however, rises a new one that worships not just one demon caretaker, but two as Eddie is soon joined by another with floppy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes that for once smiles without hidden pain. They take care of their charges, gently coax them into eternal rest when it’s their time, and together prove that true love is forever.

[xdenqte]

NO TIME TO DIE

summary. In which, you’ve fallen gravely ill. But it’s much worse than you could’ve thought, sepsis. You’ve now been informed that you only have a single week to live.

includes. laurie laurence x fem! reader, love confessing, a lotta angst, hurt/comfort, also a lot of crying so ☹️

One week.

One week was all you had.

It wasn’t enough, you wanted more time. There were so many things you wanted to do.

You now lay in your bed with tear streaks down your cheeks, helpless, you couldn’t get out even if you wanted to, you felt weak.

You stared at the painting across from you, it was beautiful. It took your mind off of your infection for a while now.

You didn’t want to leave, you hated yourself, you couldn’t sleep, you cried too much.

There was one other thing that took your mind off of your suffering.

Laurie Laurence.

Laurie visited you everyday since he got the news, the first time he heard, he rushed over to your house and found you in your bed.

Tears in his eyes, he hugged you, thoughts were racing through his mind, he didn’t want to lose you, he’d rather die first than lose you.

You fidgeted with your hands, there was nothing you could do.

You then heard someone knock on your wall

“Hey.” He said.

“Hi, Laurie.” You said, your voice was hoarse and raspy.

He sat down next to you, you could tell he was tired.

“How’re you feelin’?” He asked, you could hear his voice breaking.

“I’ve been better.” You said. “H’bout you, how’ve you been?”

“I-“ He croaked. “I’ve been- I’ve been good.” You could tell he wasn’t, tears were swelling in his eyes

You nodded, pursing your lips together. You put your hand on his, then sat up closer to him.

“You’re sure?”

He hesitated, how could he not? he was going to lose you, forever. He was devastated.

A single tear streamed down his face. You raised your hand to wipe it away with your thumb.

"I don't feel any pain." You reassured him, he knew, but he still couldn’t bear to see you like this.

He put his hand on yours as his tears streamed down his face, he laid his head on your shoulder, you wanted to cry. You tangled you fingers in his dark curly hair, you only wanted to spend the rest of your days with him. Then you snapped. You were going to pass away, there was nothing stopping it, you wish there was, oh, how you wish there was. Your heart ached at the thought of you breathing your last.

“If I could take this away from you. I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

• • •

Morning came, a week had passed by as if it was nothing, you woke up with tears down your cheeks, nothing but tears.

Your mother came running into your room, and wrapped her arms around you.

“My dearest daughter.” She cried.

“Oh, mother.” You said, as you pulled away.

She then sat up, and dried her tears. “So, me and your father, we have a small surprise planned.”

“Really?” Your eyes glinted with hope.

She nodded.

You then watched with a smile as everyone in the March family came through your door, including Laurie.

Jo, Meg, Amy, and Beth all came up to you and wrapped their arms around you, this was the happiest you’ve felt.

Amy, being the most excited, said, “We’ve each decided to bring you a small gift, of course, ‘twas Laurie’s idea, after all.”

You turned to Laurie to find him smiling at you, you then smiled back at him.

You smiled at them in awe. “Thank you guys, you honestly didn’t have to do ALL of this.”

“Nonsense.” Meg said. “We all love and care for you, we wanted to show that.”

Each of the March sisters passed around their gifts, as you thanked them, you couldn’t help but feel sad, not because they weren’t want you wanted, no, because you had no use for them, you truly loved every single gift, but, after today, you’d have absolutely no use for them, you fought the urge to cry, yet again.

“Thank you, guys, this truly meant a lot.”

They then all went and hugged you once more.

“We really do love you.” Amy said.

“As do I to you.” You said.

• • •

Laurie was the last one to leave, he couldn’t think for once to leave you alone.

Laurie sat beside you on your bed, you could see the sunset peeking through your curtains and shining onto this face.

“Laurie, I can’t thank you enough for doing this.” You say.

“I only did it for you.”

You smiled at him.

“I care for you, I really do.” He reassured.

“I’d do anything for you.”

Your smile dropped halfway, you did and didn’t believe what he was telling you.

He hesitated. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Your eyes glistened in the sunset, his words felt like stones being carried off your shoulders.

“Laurie…” Was all that slipped out.

He inched closer, and caressed your hand with his.

His voice was like a whisper in the wind.

“My darling,” He began. “When you smile, the earth shakes, the universe stops, the heavens collapse, and my heart bursts.”

There was a beat.

Happiness was an understatement for what you felt in that very moment, not even the words of God himself could describe your emotions, your facial expressions didn’t move, but your eyes…your eyes said it all.

Your eyes shined up at him like the waters from the shining ponds in the backyard. He then pressed his forehead against yours, as he said,

“I love you.”

Your hand reached up, and caressed his face, he then put his hand on top of yours.

He looked so pretty.

Though you’d be gone by sunrise, you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, everyday, forever, you’d taken yourself for a fool, the day you fell for him, you were taken aback by your emotions. You couldn’t trust them, then, you grew fond of them, you realized you knew what real love feels like, it felt wonderful.

You shut your eyes, tears streaming down from your eyes, it was all too much.

Laurie tsked silently.

“C’mere.” He said, he laid you down as he did next to you.

You laid your head on his chest, you felt safer, but your emotions still came flooding out.

His hand was buried in your hair, knotting it, you couldn’t care less, you just wanted him next to you, only you and him, forever.

As you were falling into your eternal sleep, you uttered 4 words that stuck with him forever.

“I love you, too.”

[tycarstairs]

ok i need to talk about alastair for a (long) moment bc i love him.

this got a lot longer than i expected it to btw so ig it’s just for the alastair stans bc it’s basically just a character study lmao

first of all, there’s obviously this:

“I wanted you to have a childhood, a thing I never had. I wanted you to be able to love and respect your father as I never could. Every time he made a mess, who do you think had to clean it up? Who told you Father was ill or sleeping when he was drunk? Who went out and fetched him when he passed out in a gin palace and smuggled him in through the back door? Who learned at ten years old to refill the brandy bottles with water each morning so no one would notice the levels had sunk—?”

like he put so much energy into making sure cordelia could grow up loving and adoring her father in a way he was never able to. from age ten he was hiding his father’s alcoholism, even before he started at the academy.

“Alastair never acknowledging any of it, laughing it off, turning her attention in some other direction, always, so she did not dwell. So she would not have to.”

and then he got to the academy and had bullying and beatings added on top of all that.

“They … let’s just say that by the end of the first week, I had been made to understand my place in the hierarchy, and I had the bruises to remind me should I ever forget.”

like… does this excuse bullying? no, it doesn’t, but it does explain it, especially after he had taken all that for a year:

“After about a year of being knocked around,” Alastair went on, “I realized I could either become one of the bullies, or suffer for the rest of my school days.”

and as he says himself no, he didn’t beat anyone, didn’t get his hands bloody, but yes, he was a bully to save himself from the beatings.

and again, this does not excuse the bullying because of course that’s still bad. i just feel like a lot of people really fucking underestimate how much growing up with an alcoholic parent can affect you. especially when 1) you actually know about it, and 2) you’re the one who has to deal with it from age ten, and 3) they verbally attack you when they’re drunk (as we also saw when elias talked to james)

and then we get to this:

“Then you lot arrived, a bunch of boys from famous families, too well brought up to understand at first what went on far from home. Expecting the world would embrace you. That you would be treated well. As I never had been.” Alastair pushed back a lock of hair with a shaking hand. “I suppose I hated you because you were happy. Because you had each other—friends you could like and admire—and I had nothing like that. You had parents who loved each other.”

and does this excuse the way he treated them? again, no. but once again, it does explain it. alastair had dealt with so damn much since he was a kid so of course he’s gonna feel jealousy. alastair isn’t white, he’s never been able to go anywhere and expected that the world would embrace him as he put it, so that’s yet another thing he was more than likely jealous about.

and he knows what he did was wrong. he knows there’s no excuse, he knows they would all be well within their right to hate him for the rest of their lives if they wanted to, and i feel like so many people forget that?? alastair never expected to be forgiven for any of this.

and then we get to his sexuality and charles.

if i did the math right, alastair would’ve been either 16 or freshly 17 when he started dating a 23-year-old charles and to quote cc:

“it was a bad and unhealthy relationship, and i think the age gap is part of that.”

anyway, there’s one quote i’ve had in my mind ever since chog, and it’s when alastair asks charles, “If this is not what you came for, then why are you here?”

this implies that charles is only ever there for one thing. like, alastair is in love with this man and he wants to show that but charles isn’t letting him.

not to mention that charles is also dismissing alastair’s wishes:

“And I thought that you would agree to marry too.”

“That I would marry?” Alastair sprang to his feet. “I have told you over and over, Charles, even if I did not have you, I would never marry some poor woman and deceive her as to my love and regard.”

alastair having to tell charles over and over again that he’s not marrying a woman and charles still assuming that he will like… sir 🤨 he said no 🤨

anyway. then there’s to how he felt about his sexuality:

“Father’s weakness is not your weakness.”

The fire in the grate had nearly burned down. Alastair’s eyes were luminous in the dark. “I have my own weaknesses, as you well know.”

and after this when cordelia tells him that love isn’t a weakness, he responds with “isn’t it?”

like this man is comparing his own sexuality to the way his father treated him. you cannot tell me he was always okay with being gay because he so clearly was not, especially not with charles trying to keep him hidden and trying to make him marry a woman.

and after elias dies:

“I can’t mourn,” he said in a choked voice. “I cannot mourn my own father. What does that say about me?”

his relationship with his father was so ruined to the point where he couldn’t mourn him because he wasn’t able to love him in the way cordelia was, likely because he mourned his father already when he was 10.

and there’s also some of cordelia’s observations in choi:

Some months ago Cordelia had learned the emotional cost of Alastair’s interventions, the invisible scars he worked so diligently to conceal.”

the emotional costs being this:

“She knew Alastair was not always like this—she knew he could be kind, sweet, vulnerable even. She knew her father had broken his son’s heart a dozen different ways, and Alastair was doing the best he could with the pieces.”

like. elias has been breaking alastair’s heart over and over basically in every possible way since he was at least 10 so he’s really just doing what he can to stitch himself together at this point, the exact reason he put up walls.

“But it didn’t help for Alastair to behave like this, to retreat behind a cold facade as cutting as glass.

The way James retreated behind the Mask.”

alastair is basically just one big defense mechanism.

we also have thomas’ observations about alastair:

“There was only one other person Thomas had known with eyes like that. Not golden eyes, but dark, and so sad—he had always been drawn to that dichotomy, he thought, of the cruelty of Alastair’s words, and the sadness with which he said them. Sorrowful eyes and a vicious tongue. Tell me, he had always wanted to say, what broke your heart, and let such bitterness spill out?”

the answer to his question: elias.

elias broke alastair’s heart and left him to respond to everything with defense mechanisms.

alastair is such a complex character and he’s also one of my absolute favorites because of that. his relationship with his father is so realistic, and him distancing himself from everyone else because of his father is also so realistic. i just love this character with my whole heart ok

this is so long but istg i could write a whole essay about this man and ykw? maybe i will.

[possiblyunhinged]

So, if I’ve not made it clear enough on the website – I’m a mess. I felt desperately sad seeing the news about Liam Payne this morning. It’s not because I grew up with One Direction and had an image of the man. I was too uptight and pretentious to allow myself to listen to them when they came around. Instead, the amount of content I’ve seen from people celebrating his death because of how he treated others slammed a trigger in my head that has been screaming at me ever since. All I can think about is a child I don't know who has to live in a world where many people are celebrating his Dad's death.

It’s a collective mental illness to oversimplify everything and use it to project our dissatisfaction with our own experiences in life. I’m as guilty of it as apparently the whole of Twitter. I’m a wounded person who would do anything to feel, well, less wounded. Unfortunately, that can manifest as being a hateful little roach. I desperately want to live in a world where women aren’t subject to abuse from men in such high numbers, and oftentimes, I am so reactive to the topic that the idea of humanizing abusers seems repulsive to me because it’s often used to justify the suffering of victims and keep them quiet.

Many times, I don't want to humanize abusers because it feels like the very reason justice is seldom acquired for victims. However, without doing so, we don't solve any problems.

I lost my dad when I was 19—a man I should’ve hated but never did. A man whose death was nothing more than a flippant gotcha moment to many, whilst it was the most painful moment of my life.

At 28, 9 years after my dad passed away, I feel desperately sad for a child who is going to grow up in a world where, hours after his dad passed away, the world is arguing whether it’s a ‘good’ thing he is dead, whether that is what his dad deserved. On top of that, a world where it took hours for videos and photographs of his dad to end on the internet.

My Dad, who I mourn to this day, was an abuser. I witnessed him be abusive to my Mum up until I was ten years old. I hated myself when he left because I missed him. How could I miss a person who hurt my Mum to the point I had to leave notes under her pillow because I was scared that she would kill herself? What kind of person did that make me? It’s supposed to be a good thing that he left, the sign of the end of a life of having to hold your breath – but it wasn’t.

Out of acknowledgment that I’m projecting my nonsense onto somebody else’s suffering, had my dad been a public figure who had been ‘called out’ online by somebody, his death would’ve also been celebrated.

My cousin responded to finding out my dad had died of cancer as ‘good, serves him right’. My Dad inflicted suffering on my Mum, Brother, and me that fundamentally affects how we engage with the world now. I don’t trust men. I don’t think I ever will. I shudder when they put their arm around me, and I have been in a state of hypervigilance most of my life because of what he has done.

Yet my dad is still the most significant loss of my life.

I love my dad to this day, and I miss him so much it makes my tummy ache – go figure. He put the fear of God into me throughout my life, but he was also a man who would hold my hand on the way to school. The sound of him belly-laughing to Phoenix Nights in the living room would lull me to sleep most nights. He’s the man who would put me on his shoulders, and I’d see the world from the dazzling heights of six-foot-five. He’s the man who’d brush my hair every day, pathetically so out of fear of causing me pain (ironic, I know). He was a man who would eat whatever monasteries I’d bake him and pretend he’d like it as my Mum would laugh her arse off behind me. He’s the man I’d look across the table to at family gatherings and feel less alone, less like an alien – because he was often the only place I felt a sense of belonging—a place I never found elsewhere.

My dad was also the man who'd cry when he thought I wouldn't notice when we were watching TV, and all I could do was rest my head on his tummy in the hope that he knew that I loved him.

He was a bad person who spun his own childhood trauma into somebody else’s. And I wish I had lived in a world that helped people like my dad before they became the villains in somebody else’s stories, so he could’ve just been the dad I loved so much without an Asterix in sight.

By many on the internet’s standard, people like my dad dying is something to be celebrated. This is a lazy approach to such complex problems. If the dream is to live in a world where hurt people don’t end up hurting others, then it’s not going to solve itself in this one—one so void of compassion.

I feel very me me me posting this, but honestly, I wish some people would remove their heads from their arse on the internet. We are seldom more civilized than the crowds of people who'd gathered in the past to watch public executions; we relish in others' suffering if we can frame it as being just. And then, when it's too late, people backtrack on their cruelty and reflect briefly before moving on to the next.

It's tiring to see this process being framed as virtuous. There is nothing virtuous about it.

[nyrandrea]

The Essence Of Our Spark

Summary: Hiding in plain sight.

Noah Diaz had learned how to do that all too well, but when an argument with his little brother cracks open the flood gates of suppressed memories of wars long past, his mask slips, and along with it, his sanity.

(Takes place after the events of ROTB so there will be spoilers!)

TW: Mentions of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Also a few swears

Also available to read on AO3 here!

In the darkest corners of Noah’s mind, where memories converged with fear, something whispered in his sleep; fragments of a past that he had always desperately wished to forget. His nightmares always came in the form of a battlefield, screams pierced the air and mingled with the metallic cacophony of gunfire. Amid the madness, a lone young soldier struggled to fix a circuit breaker, his eyes wild with terror. With every breath, he inhaled the acrid scent and exhaled a piece of his humanity, forever lost to the unforgiving abyss of war.

Noah flinched, and he put a hand to his chest to steady his breathing as loud popping went off in the kitchen, a familiar scent of butter and salt wafted through to his room.

‘Popcorn... ’ he reassured himself. ‘It’s just mom making popcorn...get a goddamn grip, man...’  

As if sensing something was wrong, Noah’s mother appeared by the door frame, hugging a bowl to her chest with one arm and a duvet draped around the other.

“Noah, please tell me you ain’t still working on that thing?” she said, nodding to his work desk.  

Taking a moment to flex his trembling hand, he dismissively waved her off. “C’mon, I’ve only been at it for an hour or two.”

“Honey, it’s three in the afternoon. You been hunched over that desk since two in the morning.”

Her expression softened when Noah didn’t reply. “Have you been taking those sleeping pills?”

“Yeah, I just...got the work bug, that’s all,” he muttered. “You know me, once I start, can’t stop.”

“You gotta stop sometime, sweetheart. Otherwise, your body will.”

Noah flinched slightly. “...Right. Don’t you have a movie to watch?”

His mom frowned but said nothing. “Because I know you haven’t eaten anything, there’s leftovers in the fridge, okay? Just...don’t cook, I’m too tired to deal with that right now. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

Once again, he waved her off, and when she finally got the hint, he returned to his work project.

“C’mon...just work, damn it...!” Noah sighed, his nostrils flaring as he tried to splice a couple of wires together. This was the last step to complete the repair for Kris’s gameboy, which had suffered a beating against the wall after several failed attempts at the final boss of whatever latest game he had received for his birthday.  

The walls in the apartment were thin so Noah and his mother had immediately scrambled out of their beds when they heard a loud banging coming from Kris’s room, with Noah kicking down the door and raising a baseball bat to beat the shit out of whoever had been stupid enough to break into their home and target his little brother, only to be met with the snivelling boy sitting on the bed hugging his knees and pointing at the broken console on the floor.

Kris had suffered his first bout of gamer rage.  

Noah had tried to be sympathetic; their mother much less so.

He couldn’t blame her for being angry. She worked long hours and had spent a lot of hard-earned cash to buy that gameboy for Kris in the hopes that it would cheer him up—or at least provide a distraction—from his illness. They couldn’t afford another one.

Which was why Noah needed to fix it.

It had been weeks since his last interview, and the small pot of money he had slowly built up from doing various repair jobs for folks around the neighbourhood was beginning to dry up. He had spent most of it on various parts to fix up Mirage.

And it had been worth every damn dime.

“C’mon...There we go!” He punched a victorious fist in the air as the screen lit up along with the familiar 8-bit jingle. “Oh, thank God. Or Primus. Whatever.” Noah sat back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, sighing in relief and smiling at the thought of Kris’s face lighting up when he got his one true love back.

Noah snorted. That kid needed to get out more.

His expression dropped a little. He knew at one point, when the illness was at its earliest stages, that Kris had tried to hang out with his friends, go to school, play at sports, just all the normal stuff that a kid should be doing. But he started tiring more and more easily and grew so frustrated that he ended up locking himself in his room, isolating himself from the world and everybody that loved him

That was when he got the call from his mom, her voice had a nasal tone to it, as if she’d just been crying, and Noah knew he needed to come home. Fortunately, his superiors granted him general discharge after a hell of a lot of arm twisting. However, they made sure to get back at him in the form of a bad reference that crapped all over his chances of getting a decent job.

Or any job, really. Even the damn janitors wouldn’t take him on.

Giving himself a mental kick, Noah forced himself out of the chair before he could start feeling sorry for himself and grabbed the newly fixed console before heading to the door.

“Hey, ma,” he softly called out, softly knocking on the living room door and entering when he heard a muffled “Come in ..”. He smiled a little at the shifting lump on the couch, a hand lifting from under the covers to reveal his mom’s face, illuminated by the soft glow of the television screen. He couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under her eyes; those night shifts were really starting to take their toll on her.

“¿Qué es eso?” she asked. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’ve finally fixed Kris’s console, just headin’ out to give it to him now.”

“Oh gracias a Dios,” she muttered in relief. “You’re a little miracle worker, you know?”

“Sí, mama,” Noah gloated, holding up his hands. “I know I’m the best.”

She smirked under the covers. “If only your cooking skills were that good.”

“Hey, c’mon now, it’s just an acquired taste, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” she said with a yawn, prompting Noah to take the handle and close the door part-way.

“You work yourself too hard,” he said softly. “I’ll let you get some shut-eye.”

“And you worry too much,” she weakly argued back. “Tell Kris to be home by six,” his mom paused a moment before adding. “He’s been spending almost as much time at that dingy old garage as you have recently.”

Noah swallowed down a dry lump. “Yeah, he’s uh...been helping me out with this... project.”

He inwardly cringed. He had always been a bad liar, especially when it came to his family.

“Right,” she drawled out, obviously not convinced. “Just make sure he doesn’t inhale too much of those car fumes. It’s not good for his condition.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Noah said, inching his way out the door before making a beeline for it, shouting out a quick “love you!” before slamming the door shut on his way out.

Beads of sweat ran down the sides of his face as he jogged down the stairs of the apartment building and into the bustling and vibrant streets of Brooklyn, shoving the gameboy into his pocket as he walked down the street.  

He wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to keep this secret from his mother. Kris had found out within five minutes of him being home, but luckily had taken the whole thing in his stride, seemingly not phased by the idea of giant alien robots and the world nearly ending.

Kris was just built different, he supposed.

Their mother on the other hand...

He wasn’t sure what would have freaked her out more; the fact that he was friends with talking vehicles or that he had travelled outside of New York without leaving so much as a note.

He may be have been in his late twenties but there was no doubt in his mind that she would have grounded his ass for a month if she found out.

Noah shook his head, he was going to keep this secret for as long as he had breath in his body. She had enough to worry about: with her job, classes, bills, the medication for Kris.

Except they didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

Absent-mindedly pulling the business card he had received at his ‘security job’ interview, he twirled it in his fingers, brushing a thumb over the symbol of the eagle. The whole situation was still so bizarre to him; this super-secret government organization wanted him as an agent because...what, he just happened to choose the right car to break into? Because he was associated—by accident—with giant machines that could help them with whatever war they were in the middle of?

Noah couldn’t think of any other reason on why they would want to hire him.

It was Elena who had led the Autobots and Maximals to the transwarp key, it was Optimus Prime and Primal that charged into battle against Scourge and Unicron, and it was Mirage who had sacrificed himself and transformed his body into a suit to protect Noah. He...he hadn’t really done much of anything. Just happened to tag along for the ride.

That Agent Burke guy was wrong. He didn’t deserve this.

And he couldn’t throw himself into the middle of another war. Not after his harrowing time with the army and certainly not after that whole world-ending ordeal he’d just been through. Besides, he had other responsibilities. He couldn’t leave Kris again. Or his mother. They needed him. He was the man of the house. They needed him. He was more useful to them here than playing pretend at some secret agent shit.

...Right?

He shoved the card back into his jacket pocket, planning on throwing it away later. From his other pocket, he pulled out a walkie talkie.

“Yo, Kris,” he greeted. “Got a little something for ya, you still at the garage where I told you to stay?”

There was a pause.

“What did I say about using our real names?”  

Noah rolled his eyes. “Apologies, Tails. I repeat: you at the garage?”

“Uh. Yep. Still here.”  

“Then why don’t I see you, huh?” Noah asked dryly as he edged past the heavy wooden doors and into the dimly lit space. A nostalgic scent of motor oil and sawdust tinged the air, a reminder that this was Noah’s safe-space. The small workshop was a treasure trove of relics; shelves lined the walls, each filled with an array of tools and rusted projects that had been laid to rest.

The only thing the garage was missing was his little brother and newly repaired Porsche.

“Kzzzzt, this is Knuckles here,” a new voice chimed in. “You’re uh, kzzzzt, breaking up there, Sonic.”  

Noah grimaced and clutched onto the radio device a little harder. “You get him back here now or I swear I’ll put my knuckles through your damn windshield...!”

“Geez! What’s with the threats, huh? Calm down or you’ll end up as much of a killjoy as Optimus-”  

“No names!”  

“Oh! Sorry.”  

Rubbing his temples in frustration, Noah tried again. “Can you guys please just come back? Like I said, I got something for you, Tails. It’s real important.”

As if on cue, a mis-matched Porsche came skidding along the road and sped right towards Noah, who didn’t even flinch when it screeched to a halt within inches of him and went through the all-too familiar process of transforming.

“Mirage is in the garage!” The robot cheerfully announced, catching Kris mid-transformation and gently lowering him to the ground in front of Noah before stretching out his limbs. “Oh, man does it feel good to get out again. And! I gotta say Kris, you’re even more fun to joyride with than your brother.”

Noah rubbed his face, feeling like a vein was about to pop. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Hey, come on now, Noah,” Mirage waved a dismissive hand. “Jealousy ain’t a good look on you.”

“You took Kris out joyriding?!”

“Guys...”

“I took him out for some fresh air! What, you’d rather the kid was cooped up in this dusty old workshop all day?” Mirage snapped back, dramatically gesturing around the small, cramped room.

“Guys!” Kris shouted out before Noah could argue back. “I can talk for myself, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know Kris, but-” Noah tried to argue as the robot looked down sheepishly, only to be instantly hushed by his little brother’s stone-cold glare. He’d definitely learned that from their mother. Or Optimus.

“He only took me ‘round the block a few times, Noah. I wanted to go with him.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Kris held up a finger. “Besides, we didn’t get into any trouble.”

“Well, except for that cop tryna’ stop us for speeding-”

“I said we didn’t get into any trouble,” Kris reiterated, aiming his glare up at Mirage now, who instantly stiffened and looked away.

“Nope. No trouble here.”

Noah sighed and knelt to Kris’s level. “Look, I get you want to have your own adventures and yeah, even I got into a little trouble when I was your age.”

“A little?”

“Okay, a lot,” he corrected himself. “Look, my point is... you gotta be careful. I...,” Noah paused for a moment, trying to find the best way to word this.

“I don’t want you to end up being like me.”

A silence fell upon the room then as Kris narrowed his eyes, and he didn’t even have to look up to know that Mirage was boring down on him too.  

“Bro, you ain’t being serious, right?”

“I am being serious, Kris. You...you’re...I mean I...” Noah stuttered. God, why was talking so hard? “You’re a real bright kid and-”

“Lemme guess, I got a ‘bright future ahead of me’?” Kris drawled out sarcastically.

“Yeah! You do! But you gotta drop that attitude, keep your head down and keep up with your schoolwork. You can’t be like me and fu-” He stopped himself and cleared his throat. “Muck it up like I did.”

“You can say fuck, Noah. I’m not five.”

Mirage, who had taken to hovering in the background so as to not get in the middle of the brother’s argument, sputtered and tried to poorly disguise his laugh with a hacking cough, blaming it on the dust.

Noah groaned and rose, deciding it was now time to harness the kind of power stance that would usually win his mother an argument “My point is that you’ve got a chance to make something of yourself, get outta Brooklyn, get yourself a decent job with good money-”

“Okay, I may be old enough to swear but I ain’t old enough to be thinking about all that,” Kris said defiantly, crossing his arms to mirror Noah. “You can’t just dump all that on me.”

“I’m not dumping anything on you, I’m just saying you gotta-”

“Well, I think you gotta go see a therapist.”

Noah blinked as a smug grin formed on Kris’s face. “W-what?”

“Don’t you even notice that you’re always putting yourself down?” The teen grasped at his hair dramatically and pitched his voice down an octave. “Oh no...! I’m not good enough to get a job...! I don’t deserve to get credit for saving the freakin’ world...! I can’t cook for shit...!”

Noah wasn’t sure what to get more offended by—the fact that his own brother was insulting him or that he had the balls to pull him up about his own insecurities.

“You little-! I don’t sound like that! And my cooking is just...an acquired taste...!”

“Stop avoiding the subject.”

“I don’t need a therapist; we can’t even afford one! And last I checked, we were talking about your future, not mine. So, let’s leave it, yeah?”

Kris didn’t take the hint.  

“Bro, you are part of my future. And you always tell me that it ain’t good to bottle up our emotions and to always talk. Like when Tails helps Sonic, or Luigi helps Mario, or-”

“But we ain’t Sonic and Tails! Or...or Mario and Luigi or whatever, and this ain’t a videogame, Kris! You can’t just point and click your way through life and expect to get a happy ending. You got your head in the clouds way too much, and it’s about time you got back down to reality like the rest of us!”

“Noah...” Mirage finally chimed in, but was interrupted by Kris.

“No, I get it,” the boy said, somberly nodding. “You got all these hopes and dreams that you couldn’t achieve by yourself and so now you’re pinning ‘em all on me, right? ‘Cuz you think you ain’t got a chance at living the life that you wanted. ‘Cuz you’re worthless, right?”

“Worthless... worthless ... you’re worthless...!” His commander had shouted at him. His father had shouted at him. He had shouted at himself.

Noah’s head was pounding . His thoughts clashed like opposing tides in a wild storm; a battle between fear and reason, threatening to tear him apart. All he wanted was for his little brother to have a good life and not to be trapped within the four walls of a rotting apartment in the middle of gang and police territory, fearing for his life every time he opened the door, that he would get shot for being in the wrong place at the right time. To try and escape, only to end up in a different kind of war that valued him only as cannon fodder, to be sent home in a box with a medal slapped on his cold, lifeless body for his ‘service’. To be remembered by only a few and missed by no-one.

And to be regarded as a low-life coward for running away.

“Noah...? Noah...! Noah ...”  

He didn’t even realise that Kris had a grip on his arms and was shaking him, or that Mirage was kneeling with his hands hovering over him. Their mouths were moving but what they were saying was all muffled and distorted, like he was underwater.

His lungs hitched, and he started gasping for air.

Noah hated that he couldn’t keep his emotions in check, that something so trivial triggered such a raw, primal fear within him, and that he showed such a vulnerability to his little brother and best friend. The two people who were supposed to rely on him for support and strength.

With some semblance of control, he managed to wave them both off with an air of nonchalance and coolness that he had learned to adopt from Mirage's personality.

“I’m fine, I’m good,” he just about choked out. “I think I just gotta...go for a walk or somethin’.”  

His legs found the strength to stumble forward of their own accord, stopping only briefly to lean by the doors so he could glance back. “Mirage, could you uh...could you take Kris home? Mom wants him home by...by six, aight? And make sure he does his homework because...yeah.”

“But Noah... yew don luk so gud...”  

“Just do it, okay?!” He snapped. “Please...”

Within Noah’s weary soul, a fervent desire to escape surged through his body, and without a second thought, he slipped out into the embrace of the early night. Each step propelled him into the unknown, his heart beating wildly as his legs pounded against the pavement, fuelling his need to leave everyone else behind.

The wind whistled through his ears, and the city bathed in the soft glow of streetlights overcame every ounce of his senses, drowning out the chorus of desperation that echoed from all around him.

XXX

I am hungry for the hurt/comfort Noah and Mirage fics so I decided to write one myself. Let me know what y'all think!

Part 2: Coming Soon!

[rainbow-flavoured-skittles]

Hey Mom, Dead Mom

Chapter 2: No more playing daddy’s game, I’ll go insane if things don’t change

I suffered for this chapter. it was fighting me every single step of the way but it’s finally finished. I can rest now. this isn’t as dark as the last chapter but Cole is running away in this, so it’s still not very happy. also I did indeed make a couple of random ocs because how else was I supposed to advance the plot? they’re not returning any time soon. as always, this is cross posted to ao3

~

Cole got on the plane to MOSPA at exactly eleven in the morning on a Sunday. He traveled alone — Dad was unable to come with him. Other people at the airport gave strange looks to the unaccompanied twelve-year-old, reminding him of the looks he got after Mom died. “Oh, why is that little boy all alone? So strange,” and then they’d go about their day, not giving him a second thought.

The flight attendant in front of him right now was doing just that. “No parents?” She asked, face mildly concerned. 

Cole shook his head. “I’m going to visit my grandma, but Dad couldn’t come,” he lied. Cole was good at lying. He’d done it a lot these past few years; you couldn’t take care of yourself the way Cole had without at least some lying.

The attendant gave him a small smile. Maddy, her name tag read. “Well, if you need anything, just call.”

“Okay, thanks, Ms.”

Maddy nodded and continued walking, greeting the other passengers. Cole fidgeted in his seat. The fabric covering it was itchy and the seatbelt was too tight. The man sitting next to him scrolled through his phone, music blaring loudly, and the old lady behind him was snoring. Not even off the ground yet and this flight was already torture. Cole resisted the urge to groan.

It was only a two hour flight, Cole could do this. But he hated planes so much — always had. Not being on the ground made him feel ill, and every bit of turbulence was terrifying. At least he had the window seat, though that didn’t do much to soothe his nerves. Being able to see how high up he was might make Cole feel worse. 

The crackling of a speaker interrupted his panicking. The sounds it made were loud and screechy. “Please fasten your seatbelts and put all devices on airplane mode. We will be taking off shortly,” the announcements said. 

Finally. Cole dug through his backpack and found his book. Fish in a Tree, the title read. He’d found it at the school book sale but had never gotten around to reading it. Now was his chance.

He’d barely gotten past the first chapter before they took off. Cole actually felt it when they did — it was like getting severed from a part of him. He felt sick, though throwing up wouldn’t achieve anything. It would probably make him feel worse. Cole settled for putting the book down and staring blankly at the seat in front of him instead. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the book, or anything at all, not when his stomach was lurching so badly.

Just two hours, he told himself. Then I can collapse on a bed and sleep. He repeated those words over and over like a mantra. 

~

As it turned out, Cole was not able to immediately sleep once he arrived at MOSPA, because he had to check in. Check in, as if the school was a hotel. Or maybe a prison, which would be much more accurate.

“It’s great that you’re here, Nicholas,” the secretary smiled cheerily as she typed on her computer. “I’m sure you’ll love this school. We’re all one big family.”

Yeah, right. Every time a school said that they didn’t mean anything by it. In fact, it meant there was probably all sorts of bullying that went ignored. “It’s just Cole, not Nicholas. Nobody calls me that,” Cole said. He hated his full name — who agreed to let his grandfather pick it out? ‘Nicholas’ was an old-person name from at least a hundred years ago.

“Okay, then, Cole. I’ve got your dorm number and schedule here,” the secretary printed out a sheet of paper. “Do you need a map of the school?”

Cole shook his head. He had spent some of the flight looking at the floor plans and they were seared into his brain at this point. “I’ll be fine, thank you,” he hurried out before she could offer to have someone show him around. He didn’t want that kind of forced social interaction.

The dormitories were not hard to find, not with the giant sign that pointed to where they were. Cole opened the door, cursing when it was stuck, and shoved everything to the side before closing it again. He didn’t see a roommate anywhere, but it was a weekend, so everyone was probably out. That was good, it meant he had a couple hours alone; he could use the time to unpack and explore the school.

Cole shoved all his clothes into the closet and shoes under the bed. MOSPA had a strict uniform policy, so he wouldn’t be able to wear any casual clothing, nor his combat boots. That was a shame — he really liked those boots. They had served well when he got into fights. And they added another sorely needed three inches to his height, another advantage.

Any books that he’d brought were put onto the desk. Items such as stationery and notebooks were placed in drawers. Miscellaneous trinkets were placed in a box under the bed and his toiletries in another box. Cole pushed the suitcases into the corner. There wasn’t anywhere else to put them, but he’d figure it out later. Right now he wanted to take a nap and not wake up for a month. Screw exploring the school, he could do that tomorrow.

Cole closed the curtains, pulled the covers over his head, and went to sleep. 

~

MOSPA, as Cole found out in the span of a month, was its own special brand of hell. The students there hated Cole for always messing up and acting strange, as if grieving for a loved one was something to make fun of. The teachers hated him for not talking or making eye contact and always zoning out. Everybody seemed to agree that he was the weird kid who should be avoided at all costs. His roommate, a kid named John, disliked him enough that he asked to be put in a different dorm.

“Thanks for messing up again, Brookstone,” one of his classmates sneered. Brant Green, yet another asshole who existed to make Cole miserable. “You ruined the whole performance.”

It hadn’t been Cole’s fault. Another student had purposefully tripped him, causing him to fall and knock over several people. “Yeah, I did. What’s your point?” He tried not to flip off Brant. That would just cause more trouble, trouble he couldn’t risk. The teachers hated him enough already.

“How’d you even get into this school? I thought you needed to have talent to get in,” Brant spat. 

“Do I��look like I want to be here? I hate this place,” Cole stood up and glared at the taller boy. Brant was a good head taller than him, unfortunately.

Brant didn’t seem to know what to say to that. Perhaps he’d thought Cole was going here willingly, though how he’d come to that conclusion was a mystery. He gave Cole another sneer and walked away.

Cole rolled his eyes and went back to his lunch. For all its faults, at least this school had good food. The chicken salad was pretty tasty.

A large group chattered next to him. One of them gave him the side eye. “That’s the Brookstone kid,” she said, loud enough for Cole to hear. “His dad’s a Royal Blacksmith. Isn’t it weird how he didn’t get any of the family talent?”

Cole scowled and looked down at the table. He stabbed his lunch with more force than was needed.

“Nicholas Brookstone to the office, Nicholas Brookstone to the office,” a speaker sounded. All eyes turned to him. Cole looked down at the floor and wondered if he could just die right there in the cafeteria. It would save everyone a lot of trouble.

A kid coughed from the table in front of him. Awkward, Cole thought. What had he done this time? There wasn’t anything recent he’d done to warrant this.

It took five minutes for the school to realise he wasn’t moving any time soon. They all went back to their conversations, and Cole snuck out the side entrance. He had always been good at going unnoticed.

Cole walked through the halls briskly and knocked on the office door. He was let in by the guidance counsellor, a lady in her forties with platinum blonde hair. “Nicholas, we need to talk about your behaviour,” she said as they sat down.

“I haven’t been in any more fights,” Cole said. It was true.

“Your teachers say that you don’t pay any attention in class and that you’re not following instructions. It has nothing to do with your peers.”

“I’m trying my best, okay?” Cole snapped. Why couldn’t anyone just listen for once? He was trying, he’d been trying for ages.

“Then how come your grades are so low? This is one of the top arts schools in Ninjago, Nicholas. We expect better.” The counsellor had a mask of false concern on. Cole kind of wanted to punch it off. 

“It’s not Nicholas, it’s Cole. And I am trying,” Cole gritted out. 

“Your grades are barely scraping fifty percent.”

“So?”

The counsellor frowned. “If you don’t start doing better, you may get expelled.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Cole said under his breath. Then to the counsellor, “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.” She might be suspicious of the sudden change of pace, but Cole couldn’t care less. He just wanted to get out of the office.

The counsellor nodded and fixed her glasses. “That’s all for today, Nicholas. You can go to class now.”

She didn’t even bother to get his name right. “Thanks,” Cole marched out the door.

~

Cole stared down at his exam results and wondered if he was dreaming. Forty percent average, the paper said. A fail. He’d managed to do so badly that his average wasn’t even fifty.

Dad’s going to kill me, he thought. Dad expected at least nineties, and this definitely wasn’t it. He’d be grounded until his thirtieth birthday, if he lived that long.

The only subject that had above sixty was visual arts. The teacher for that class was nice — he understood Cole’s struggles and gave him all the time he needed. It wouldn’t make Dad overlook all the other failures, though.

The paper crinkled under his grip. Cole blinked the tears out of his eyes and shoved the paper into his folder. His classmates were conversing all around him, comparing grades and bragging about what they’d gotten. The teacher sat at her desk on the computer. Nobody would notice if he went to the washroom and never returned, hopefully.

Cole got up and walked to the front. “Ms. Jackson, may I please go to the washroom?”

The teacher nodded distractedly and waved her hand. “Yes.”

Cole grabbed his belongings and slipped out the door. He hadn’t taken a hall pass, not when the teacher would notice it missing. She wouldn’t know he was gone, but she would notice the hall pass. The teachers here were strange like that.

He opened the door to his dorm and collapsed on the ground. How was he going to explain his grades to his dad, much less the teachers? He could already hear the lecture. “Your mother would be so disappointed in you, Cole. What happened to all that potential?”

Then again, Dad didn’t pay attention to him. Cole doubted he even remembered that he existed; Dad was too busy partying. Maybe he could burn the report card and pretend it didn’t exist.

Or… Cole’s thoughts drifted to a snide comment Brant had made a few months ago. “Why don’t you just run away? Nobody would miss you — we’d be happy to see you gone.”

Cole had ignored him at the time. It was just another uncreative insult from the stereotypical bully. But it wasn’t exactly a bad idea. As strict as the school was, Cole knew all the weak spots in its system. It was easy to sneak out and never return. And he’d been thinking about leaving and never coming back for ages. This was just the final straw.

“All right, then. Guess Brant gets his wish,” Cole said. No one responded, of course — he was all alone. But talking to himself was a habit. Cole got up and went to the closet, finding the duffel bag he used to use for camping. He blew the dust off and packed anything that seemed useful. A flashlight, multiple sets of clothes, a reusable water bottle, that box of granola bars he’d bought a month ago, all the cash he had.

More food would need to be picked up from the school cafeteria, he decided. And he’d need to find a sleeping bag somehow. But everything else was ready. Cole could leave during the night — he refused to call it running away, he wasn’t running from anything — it was easier that way. This was the best option, he told himself.

Cole snuck out as soon as it was dark. He didn’t need to avoid any roommates, thankfully — anyone who’d been placed with him had moved out. It took a few minutes for him to write a letter to Jay. His best friend didn’t deserve to have him disappearing without warning, though they hadn’t been best friends since before Mom’s death. He put it in the outgoing mail on the way out, sealed with a blue sticker. Jay would know what that meant.

He took the back exit and walked down the road to the bus stop. The city’s streets were dimly lit, people rushing past him to get home. A couple looked at him curiously but didn’t stop him. A drunk man sat down next to him on the bench as they waited. Dogs barked in the distance and a truck drove past. It was peaceful, Cole thought. The most peaceful he’d been in a while.

The bus arrived just after midnight. Cole got on and paid for a ticket to the next town over. He could find a sleeping bag and extra clothes there, and the further away he got the better. He was finally leaving MOSPA and his dad behind, and he wouldn’t be stopped by something as simple as not having basic supplies.

~

Running away wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. All the books made it seem easy — there was no mention of sleeping in alleys, or trying not to get mugged, or having to do odd jobs to get money. Thank goodness for Ninjago’s lax law enforcement; nobody would have hired a thirteen-year-old if the police were good at their job. Especially a thirteen-year-old who may or may not be on the missing persons list. Cole still wasn’t sure if anyone had noticed him missing.

Cole shouldered his backpack as he walked away from Jamanakai Village. He’d managed to find work at a local restaurant a few weeks prior and had finally saved up enough money to get somewhere else. He wasn’t quite sure where his next destination would be, but for now he planned to go back to the mountain range near Ninjago City. He deserved a break, and climbing was therapeutic. The city having a lot of people to pickpocket was just a bonus.

Jamanakai was isolated, unfortunately. It would be an entire day before Cole could get to a more urban area and find a bus stop. He knew there wasn’t a lot of point in travelling so often, of course, but Cole couldn’t shake the feeling that if he didn’t keep moving, someone would find him and bring him back to MOSPA. He couldn’t let that happen. And it kept his mind off of Mom and Dad. Nope, not thinking of that today, Cole thought. It was a good day and he wasn’t going to ruin it.

“Probably enough money for a ticket to Ninjago City,” Cole muttered. “Then it’s just some hitchhiking.”

Not a difficult journey, really. Cole continued on.

~

The mountain was tall. And windy. And probably dangerous to climb without proper gear. Cole tried not to think of that as he pulled himself up the next ledge. He’d already had a close calls today, almost fell off before he found a foothold. Cole thanked Wojira that he hadn’t fallen to his death. If he was going to die, he wanted it to at least be dignified.

Only a bit more to the top of the mountain and then he could rest. Cole planned to camp there for the night and then go back down, hopefully without any major injuries. The broken ankle  still ached, and it had been months. He hadn’t been able to walk for two weeks the last time, and Cole wasn’t eager to have a repeat.

Huffing and sweaty, Cole reached the top. He climbed over the last few rocks and stopped, feeling pretty proud of himself, when he noticed the man sitting in front of him.

“Hello there,” the man said. He looked ancient, with deep set wrinkles and a long white beard. He took a sip of his drink and smiled.

Okay, that’s creepy, Cole thought. He had thought he was the only one climbing. How had he not noticed this guy?

“Wha— who are you?” The words exited Cole’s mouth without permission. He really should work on his brain-to-mouth filter at some point.

“Maybe that is a question you should ask, but first: why do you climb the mountain?” The old man looked at Cole with something like curiosity. Curiosity about what?

“Because it’s a good way to get exercise?”

“You can tell me the truth, Cole. I don’t judge.”

“How do you know my name? I never introduced myself,” Cole took a step back. Was this man some sort of stalker? Nobody knew where he was. If he got kidnapped, or murdered, no one would be able to find him. 

“Because I know you, Cole. I was there when you were born.”

“You know my Dad? Are you going to bring me back to him? Give me another lecture on how I’m a disappointment? I don’t need to hear it,” Cole crossed his arms and prepared to make a run for it. It would be suicidal to jump off the mountain, but he was a fast climber. The old man wouldn’t be able to catch up with him.

“I knew your mother. She was one of my students,” the old man stood and held up his hands in the ‘I surrender’ gesture. 

“Student?”

“I taught her to be a hero. Did you think that all the stories she told you were made up?”

Cole hadn’t thought about his mom’s stories in years. She used to tell him about great heroes who could control the very elements themselves, who tamed dragons and fought against evil. He’d loved those stories.

“You’re telling me that all those stories about ninja and dragons were real? Yeah, and I’m a giant purple unicorn,” Cole glared at the old man. This guy had to be crazy, spouting nonsense about real-life superheroes and monsters. Mom had told him those stories for entertainment and bonding, nothing more.

“You are stubborn. Also like your mother, I suppose. I can prove to you that all the old legends are real. You just have to trust me,” the man held out his hand. His face was a mixture of hope and worry and maybe a little bit of fear. Fear of what, Cole didn’t know.

Cole hesitated for a moment. There was nothing left for him back at home, if he still had one, and no one cared if he went missing. The only people he cared about were either dead or better off without him. His life truly couldn’t get any worse, and if this man had known his mom he couldn’t be too bad. Cole took the hand.

[bobatelevision]

i had to put my sweet baby down yesterday...

on thursday morning he was fine, eating and drinking fine. nothing out of the ordinary. thursday night he seems to have trouble breathing, he had discharge around his eyes, and kept making these pained noises I've never heard him make before. he had no appetite and wasnt drinking water. i bought some critical care to try force feeding him but he wasnt accepting it at all and tried to give him a mix of pedialyte + water to get him fluids and he accepted some but not a lot. i thought he maybe had some upper respiratory infection and maybe needed antibiotics, so i started calling some veterinarians in my area.

it was really late at night too so i called around and had such a hard time finding a vet to treat him bc most of the animal hospitals either:

-serviced guinea pigs

-their exotic vet wasnt in that night

-serviced guinea pigs but was closed

i was scared to even go to sleep that night bc his conditioned looked so bad, i didnt think he would even make it to the morning. but he managed to survive the night, so i called around again and was able to find a vet about 40 min away that could take him. we enter the hospital and they immediately take him in and i was in the waiting room. the doc comes out to talk to me to explain what was happening.

he had a stone in his bladder that was blocking his urethra and he couldn't urinate. bladder stones can be very life threatening bc if an animal cant pee, it can develop an infection (sepsis) and even get a heart attack. when she examined him, everytime she palpated his bladder he would be in pain, so they gave him a pain injection. they lead me into a room to explain what his treatment would consist of, and i was fucking shocked.

nearly $5k for his surgery and treatment, i couldn't fucking believe it. the worst part is there really was no plan b on his treatment that wasn't euthanasia. i felt so fucking sick, but i had to think on it more. i thought about maybe calling other animal hospitals but i already had a lot of trouble trying to find anyone to treat him at all, and even if there was a miracle situation where i could afford his treatment, it would not guarantee that he wouldnt fall ill again. on top of the fact that guinea pigs are really fragile creatures and dont have very long life spans. the procedure is incredibly invasive and could put so much stress on his little body. i didnt want him to be in more pain than he really was.

so i made the tough decision on putting him down, because i didn't want him to suffer any longer. i'm so heartbroken bc although i knew we would part ways one day, i didnt imagine it would be so soon. we spent past 3 years together, i adopted him mid pandemic bc being stuck in a different country from the rest of my family is incredibly isolating. i gave him so much love and spoiled him so much. he ate veggies & hay to his hearts content, would start cui-cuing at the sound of a bag being opened, he got to sleep in the largest and comfiest pet beds. he used to sleep on my nap while i gamed or watched shows. he was very skittish with people, except for me bc he knew i would give him the world. i'm feeling so defeated rn. i stayed with him til the very last moment, he was very sedated but soo cuddly in the last hour. the only thing to bring me peace of mind is knowing he was relaxed and in no pain in his final moments.

he doesn't know the amount of people that love him around the world, even as far as Australia. he had an impact on many people. all my irls and my online friends absolutely adored him. even my mom, who is deathly afraid of rodents, thought he was so cute and precious bc of how fluffy he is. his departure left a huge hole in my heart. when i got back home, i bursted into tears looking at his empty enclosure. im so used to him jumping around and getting quirked up when he hears me enter my room. i just cant believe i'll never get to see him, or hold him, or even feed him again.

Rest in Peace, my beloved Taro.

I love you so dearly, you may very little but you had a very huge heart.. and appetite. You will always be missed and I hope you are enjoying large quantities of lettuce in cui cui heaven.

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 110 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: putting up a new fence

This is one of my favorite episodes!

Okay okay, everybody is like Tarantino here, Tarantul- aaaah Tarantino there. But what about Neil Lagorio!! I have been puzzled about this for so long... Because when I think of "the name in practical creature FX", I think of Stan Winston. But the stop motion doesn't add up. Here I would think of Phil Tippet or Ray Harryhausen. Not sure if Harryhausen isn't a bit too old, already starting his career in the 40s and 50s, while Stan Winston and Phil Tippet started their careers in the 70s - like Lagorio. Stan Winston also has the parallel of suffering from an illness and eventually succumbing to it. I mean it's totally possible that it's a mix of FX artists. But I would really love to know if there was an inspiration.

"But we are the true artists. A director may quite literally call the shots, but it is the cinematographer that makes them. We choose the angles, the lighting, pretty much everything that you see on the screen. The camera is a brush, and we are the hand, the arm, the eye. The director’s basically just the mouth, making pointless noise while the hand does the actual work. Almost every famous director that you know who has a distinctive visual style has simply managed to lock down a talented DoP." Yes, yes, this is about visual here, but can we please take a moment and think about the hilarity that is Alex, the director of TMA, reading a statement that roasts directors?? OMG wait, didn't the statement-giver in MAG 108 also roast the director? And it's also read by Martin/Alex!

"If you’re wondering how easy it is to recreate shots that only exist in the hazy memory of an eccentric, or to frame scenes when you only get the typo-riddled script the morning before, I can tell you: not easy. Not easy at all." Maybe it's all a bit much?

"Dexter clearly wasn’t sleeping. He had insisted on using old equipment, and avoided digital almost entirely, to the point where several of the crew were using pieces of kit they’d never even seen before." Hm, I mean, none of the statements record digitally, not just Web ones. But it's the Web that needs them on tape...

"I stood there, unable to step inside, not because of fear, but because this space inside was threaded all over with film strips. Up and down, one side to the other, wrapping around and through each other. I gingerly reached out and touched one. And as I did, Dexter seemed to emerge from the darkness. At first I thought he was taller than usual, but then I realized that he was suspended ever so slightly by the strips of film, his feet a good couple of inches off the floor." A fine material to spin a web with ::::)

MARTIN: "I mean, I think it sounds like a Jurgen Leitner book. About spiders. Hm. Good John didn’t have to read this one, anyway. I know he’s not a fan. Although, this one wasn’t too bad, actually! I – yeah. Anyway." The last episode featuring Martin, MAG 108 was a Lonely statement and he also said it wasn't too bad. And now it's a Web statement and he doesn't find it too bad. Walking along a thin line of Lonely and Web there.

Hm, that transition into the tunnels was a bit quick for my liking..

Something distantly related. I was looking up something in the episode discussion posts on Reddit a while ago, initially looking for something in MAG 111. Somehow I also took a look at this episode. There were people discussing the possibility of Elias being Jonah! Like, HOW? How did they predict that at this point? I mean, Martin and Basira are talking about Elias' memory insertion ability and people in the Reddit post also talked about this and about him potentially being able to insert memories of an entire life - bodyhopping like this. There were also discussions of Elias possibly targeting Martin next, but yeah... There was also something about the statement - the Web being close to the Eye? It was a Web statement, but cameras are usually Eye.

@a-mag-a-day

[eileenslibrary]

Leave A Travelers Path

Pt.3

A/N: it be the time I leave my hobbit hole of hibernation to write some orcs

Warnings: supposed blood and gore, mental illness, depression, PTSD?, anger?

The sun beat down on the beasts backs as the orcs packed their belongings and strapped them to the mighty beasts.

"Krall! Come here" a young boy calls

"I'm coming! Let me finish helping Granga!"

The adolescent orc calls back.

He slides down the muddy slope with caution, only to fall on his ass.

He stands back up and rushes to the young boy

"Krall what took you so long?"

"sorry, Granga was having issues getting into the saddle due to her age"

The other boy shakes his head smiling

"Krall weakness s is what will get you killed in these lands"

"Hey! I'm not weak"

He puffs his chest out

The two boys burst out laughing

"Krall!, Flare! Get over here"

Their mother shouts

"Flare! please you don't have to do this!"

Flare glares at Krall

"You just don't understand, do you Krall"

"All my life you've been in my way! You're the reason I'm not chief! All because of some stupid heroic act put you before me! They see you as a king! You get everything I deserve!"

Flare points his axe closer to Krall's neck

Krall grabs the handle

"Six years ago, we stood in this exact location, that day I was going to kill you but I was too cowardly to hurt you because I still saw you as a brother, but now all I see is a weak, cowardly, thief. Who stole my crown!"

Flare presses the axe into Krall's neck, cutting the skin making a deep wound.

"And I can finally finish you off"

"oh and if you manage to cheat death, don't come back, I've told the group all about who you really are"

Flare growls

Krall's eyes open wide, before Flare pushed him into the icy water.

Krall tries to fight the ice to allow him to breathe but slowly he loses consciousness.

"Leah! There's a boy in the water!"

The teen runs over next to her friend

"Leah we have to save him!"

"(Name) are you crazy! Can't you tell! He's an orc! We should just let nature do its thing!"

"Who cares if he's an orc! He's still a living being with thoughts and feelings!"

(Name) runs to the icy river bank, grabbing the boys hand and pulling him into their arms

"oh Lord! his neck!"

They rush to cover his bleeding neck with their gloved hand

They pull off their fur coat throwing it over him

Leah runs over

"What are you doing!"

Leah tries to force (Name's) arms off the boy

"If they catch you with him, you're surely to be kicked from the village!"

"Then so be it! I will not stand by and watch someone die suffering that is simply not who I am!"

(Name) pulls him closer to their chest

Leah sighs

"then at least let me help you carry him somewhere safe and warm"

The two find a recently abandoned cottage on the edge of the town, previously owned by two halflings in the mining industry who found gold and jewels in some old mountains owned by dwarves.

(Name) places the young orc on a soft lounge chair, they rush into the other room to find blankets, while Leah starts a fire.

The two teens care for each other and the orc, patching up any of his wounds, cooking for all three of them, tending the fire, up until Leah had to leave for home.

"Tell my parents that I am not going to be home until tomorrow afternoon because I have accepted Anderson's proposal!"

Leah gasps before nodding and rushing off

(Name) turns towards the orc before sitting on the stool next to him and lays one of their hands on his cheek

"you're not burning up but I'll have to check again in the morning" they sigh

Before slipping into the pile of pillows and blankets and drifting into a comfortable sleep

Krall's eyes flutter open, he looks around the warm room before his eyes lead to (Names) silhouette on the floor. He slips his feet from the bed and puts them on the floor, (Name's) fur coat falling from his shoulders.

He creeps towards their sleeping form. He steps next to them and crouches down next to them. He notices bandages covering his arms and legs. He looks back at them. Huffing he pokes their cheek. They shift in discomfort, he pokes again, they swat his hand.

"Leah, stop it and let me sleep for a bit longer"

He stops, looking at them.

They shift and turn towards him eyes cracked, they gasp before sitting up

"I'm sorry you must be starving"

They stand rushing towards their bag grabbing bread before walking towards the pantry

Luckily there was enough left from the past inhabitants of the home as they wanted to leave immediately

They grab dried carrots, butter, cheese, and dried tomatoes before rushing out of the cottage scooping up snow and bringing it back inside to put in a pot before getting a fire started and putting the pot over it.

Krall watched in amazement at the human running around so early in the morning.

They melted the snow and used the water before adding the things they bought from the small shop down the road. Cream, dried tomatoes, and carrots. Before cooking up some grilled cheese and sitting down with the unexpected orc.

A few days had passed and Krall was ready for departure from the small cottage

He thanked the human for hospitality and left to figure out what to do now that he's been abandoned

Years passed and he became a well known orc chief and duke in the western empire

He still wondered where this peculiar and stubborn human is doing

He searched for them everywhere each time coming up with nothing

He eventually gave up and carried on with his life

Until a certain traveler took up a job to return a precious jewel to his manor in the western empire

He had hope that it was the human he'd been searching for.

Translation of Granga: old woman or grandmother

[notmuchtoconceal]

Every couple of weeks I chat with an expert who specialises in ministering to others about abuse. ( )

Originally a mutual friend recommended me to him because he was having difficulties crossing over his threshold into his destiny. I explained the importance of honour when it came to dealing with Leviathan ( o )

[The All] unended his life, and that of his family, with just that simple key

.

One week he mentioned he'd had a series of full-on sessions with several people who were all dealing with devastation that comes from childhood physical abuse. 'They always say the same thing,' he remarked. 'Where was [The All]?' He paused. 'That's not a question, it's an accusation.'

I had to agree.

Then he went on. 'You know, there's another thing everyone says, too. They say that the one good thing that has come out of their experience is that they know they can get through anything in life. They have survived. They have got through it. They have endured. These things always end.'

That thought eventually becomes a life statement: sooner or later, this will end. This too will pass. Behind it is the sneaking hope that I'm one day sooner to this trauma ending.

Sometimes, later in life, when abuse returns and begins to repeat itself and goes on and on, people begin to have quiet misgivings about their life statement. 'This will end' morphs into 'Will this ever end?' and perhaps even 'This will never end.'

'This will end' is a false refuge.

'Will this ever end?' is a doubt.

'This wlll never end' is a lie.

These thoughts don't necessarily have to be the result of extreme abuse. Disappointment on the threshold or extended suffering can plant them deep in our hearts.

All three -- the false refuge, the doubt, the lie -- are matters for repentance. Clinging to hope in the end of suffering, rather than the presence of [The All] is complicity with the enemy. How could [The All] possibly be present, after all? The assumption behind that initial question, 'Why wasn't [The All] there when I needed Him?'

is that He abandoned us.

Now for several weeks before this conversation occurred I'd been suffering from an intensely painful rash on my face. I couldn't find any medication that would make a difference to the hot, gravelly skin condition. It was so bad it often disturbed my sleep. However, the following morning, in that half-way state between sleeping and waking, I touched my ace and thought, 'It's starting to feel a bit better. It's just a matter of time until this is all over.'

Instantly, I bolted upright, remembering the conversation I'd had the previous day and the words, 'It's simply a matter of time until the abuse is over,' and the conclusion that this was a false refuse.

I fled to [The All]. 'This is how I deal with illness, isn't it? It's about time passing, about being one day closer to recovery, rather than You as the healer.' I was shocked at the discovery of my heart's deepest belief. 'Who have I got a convent with?'

[The All] was swift to answer 'Time'.

I knew He wasn't talking about an abstraction. It was some sort of personified being, a dark spirit. I thought about the old stories of Father Time -- Kronos, or Chronos, Saturn. The child devourer -- the elder-god so ravenous that he had to be chained beyond the end of the world lest he eat the present and future as well as the past.

I burst into tears. I wasn't standing against the ultimate abuser at all; I'd thought I was firm in my opposition to it, but instead I was complicit with it. I was crushed by the knowledge of my own hypocrisy and duplicity. Yes, I knew quite well that the heart is deceitful and wicked above all things -- after all, I' unearthed quite a few false refuges in the past -- but that doesn't make a new revelation of the heart's ongoing teachery towards [The All] any less shattering. I sobbed for hours and, when I got over the worst of it, I said to [The All]: 'I don't even know how to repent of this. Human beings are immersed in time -- how do we not put some sort of hope in its passing? The temptation will always be right there, at our elbow.'

'You step into the eternal,' [The All] said. 'You put your hope in [E]mmanuel[le], God is [in] us, and you seek His presence as He is present in the now.'

I've found this to be a relentless tension: a tug-of-war between Time and the Eternal. It's easy to see Time as a refuge -- Time heals all wounds -- and it's just as easy to see it as an abuser -- We feast on time as time feasts on us.

The reason I've wanted to draw this 'face' of the spirit of abuse to your attention is because it's an aspect so easy to miss. When we're renouncing a covenant with Belial, it's essential to include Kronos as a side to its character. The names might seem completely different, yet in Babylon, Kronos was also known as Belus.

Now it may not seem like Time has any connection with a cornerstone but, until we factor in the redeeming of time, we will miss a great deal of the Lord's guidance about overcoming abuse.

[ ]

\

/

\

What is a cornerstone?

The word is a favorite in [Carpenter Cultist] circles, but it's rarely, if ever, explained. At least that's my experience.

What image springs to mind for you when the word 'cornerstone' is mentioned? For some people it's four sandstone-like blocks, positioned at the corners of an imposing old house or office tower. For others, it's a foundation stone -- a brass plaque or marble slab inscribed with the date -- naming various dignitaries associated with an official opening. For still others, it's simply the brick that unites two intersecting walls.

The ancient meaning is quite different. Originally, it referred to the very first stone laid down in the construction of a dwelling. This stone marked the doorway -- then commonly positioned at the corner of the house, hence cornerstone. There was only one cornerstone, not four. Unlike the stones of the walls or floor, it had a shallow basin carved into its upper surface. This bowl was designed to catch blood that dripped down from the lintels and doorposts whenever an animal was slaughtered during Passover rites, or a guest was welcome for a feast.

The cornerstone was, in essence, a sacrificial altar. It was sacred, holy, consecrated, set apart, perhaps with an engraved inscription. You didn't touch it, you would pass over it. If you did touch it, even by stumbling, you would profane it-- you were, in fact, seen to be refusing a covenant offered by the host. Accident was one thing but, if you were intentional about rejecting the covenant offered, you'd deliberately strike the stone or dash your foot against it.

A cornerstone was where [a] threshold covenant was solemnised. And it wasn't just houses that had cornerstones. Tents and temples did. So did towns and cities. Nations had them. The universe itself has one. [The All] told Job so:

Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell Me, if you have understanding. Who fixed its measurements? Surely you know! Or who stretched a measuring line across it? On what were its foundations set, or who laid its cornerstone, while the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?

Job 38 : 4--7 BSB

The cornerstone [Josh] gave His [fraternity] was fashioned from a response of faith, a confession of identity, a revelation not of flesh-and-blood but of [St. John's firewater]. The Word of [The All] took a few simple words and set them in place as a cornerstone:

'You are [Rocky] and upon this rock I will build My [fraternity] and the gates of Hades will not overcome it.'

Matthew 16 : 18 NIV

These words correspond to the moment of conception for the 'living stones' of His ekklesia -- they began a birth process that would culminate nearly nine months later at Pentecost.

Now this may come as a surprise, but people also have cornerstones. You and I have one. And, in the natural order of things, they're invariably and irreparably damaged.

\

/

\

It was such a little lie.

So very little. It should never have borne such evil fruit. Other far bigger lies have blown up like powderpuffs and dissipated on the merest whiff of wind -- but this tiny falsehood was different. It took me years to grasp what the distinctively different poison its makeup was.

Our summer mission team was split into two sections, senior and junior. The senior team focused on the northern campsite, the junior one on a caravan park at a southern beach locale. It was the junior team's night off and, together with two leaders I was training, we set off back to the main site to pick up the evening meal.

The cook presented us with a single lamb chop -- raw -- and a stalk of celery. We blinked in disbelief. She knew we had to feed fifteen people. but, seeing our shocked faces, she told us this was what she'd been informed was wanted.

I went to see the senior leader. There had been numerous communication breakdowns but this was the most serious yet. In fact, precisely because of the previous communication breakdowns, I'd several times checked to make sure he knew exactly what was required for the junior team's night off. We were supposed to be having a cheese fondue. It would force us to be together at one table and create the opportunity to pray for each other's stressload.

The senior leader was very apologetic. 'The fact is the team finances are gone. We just couldn't afford the expense.'

Suddenly the two trainees and I were the ones apologising. Abjectly. Grovellingly. 'If only we'd known, we wouldn't have troubled you,' we said, slinking off. Pooling our own meagre funds, we managed to buy some supplies at a local shop. But we knew it wasn't nearly enough.

We asked two team members if we could borrow some money.

Naturally, they wanted to know why. So we explained. And word got round. Soon all the junior team knew the problem and, forming themselves into pairs and triplet, headed off in little hunter-gatherer groups to check out various stores.

In the end, it was a lovely evening -- even better because we'd all contributed, all played a part in transforming disaster to success.

Two days later, it was the senior team's night off. The junior team arrived late because we were still finishing up our program. We couldn't believe our eyes when we walked into the dining hall -- piles of fish and chips, mountains of burgers, crumbed sausages battered scallops, buckets of fried chicken, salads, desserts, drinks. 'Dig in!' someone encouraged us. 'It's cook's night off and you can have whatever fast food you like.'

The entire junior team hesitated, holding back. None of us had any money. 'We can't pay,' I said.

'Don't worry about that!' our encourager exclaimed. 'It's free. It's been paid for from the team account.'

It was one of those moments when the air could have been cut with a knife. The junior team looked around and saw many, many, hundreds of dollars of food spread out across the tables. And the leaders remembered the raw lamb chop and the stick of celery.

It was such a little lie: the team finances are gone.

But it destroyed everything. There was no junior team after that season.

| )

Four years later, I woke up. Literally and figuratively. I hadn't thought of that summer mission for ages when one morning, I opened my eyes from sleep and said aloud, 'It wasn't my fault.' I must have been dreaming about the mission. 'I'm 100% innocent. So why on earth have I believed for the last four years that I was 100% to blame?'

The 'junior team' had been a novel concept -- it was to be a way of training up additional leaders under the umbrella of a larger team and a accelerating their progress towards taking on a fully-fledged mission of their own. It went down in a ball of flames that year, never to be revived.

The senior leader responsible changed times, moved dates, altered programmes, rescheduled meetings and then failed to communicate those changes until they last moment. Oftentimes the junior team was by then committed to a publicy-advertised different activity. So the source of difficulty, disunity and disharmony always seemed to be the junior team -- who were never there when work needed to be done.

All the problems arose because of time -- and timing.

Despite the senior leader's example of forgiveness and tolerance, there was deep resentment in the wider team. They wouldn't have been human otherwise! The junior team was always missing-in-action -- skipping out on the washing up, laundry duty, hall cleaning, rubbish collection, potato peeling, veggie preparation, tent erection, equipment setting up and dismantling, any and every dirty job.

Now forgiveness says this: the other person is in the wrong. The senior leader was effectively conveying the attitude that the junior team was the problem. He needed to repent and stop his habit of major last-minute changes or else take public responsibility for the damage and friction he was causing. Instead, his deny-deflect-defame was so subtle that it looked like forgiveness and forbearance.

But after four years, the evil fruit was obvious -- crashes of faith, failures to raise up potential leaders, no other junior teams anywhere and thus no expansion of the ministry, a widespread belief amongst other leadership teams that junior teams were divisive and destructive.

I chose the adjective evil to describe the fruit with great intentionality. When I woke up that day, it was as if a thick blindfold had been abruptly lifted from my spiritual eyes and I said, 'That wasn't an ordinary run-of-the-mill bad lie. It was evil.' And then, immediately, I wondered what differentiated evil from bad.

So I set out on a quest to discover what the distinction was.

Lots of investigation later, I ultimately concluded after reading Ted Peters' book, Sin: Radical Evil in Soul and Society, the real evil has to involve inversion of the good and the true. It isn't just something that's bad -- it had to go beyond that. It has to invert the very idea of good and evil, replacing one with the other.

Did you spot the inversion in the story of the summer mission? I certainly didn't for a long time -- not until I knew I should be looking for one.

This is a record of very low level abuse. From the start of my research into the spirit of abuse, I made the conscious decision to focus on small, under-the-radar incidents. There are many excellent books on major and high level abuse and I didn't want to reinvent the wheel. I wanted instead to hone in one those types of incidents when abuse was just sprouting and could potentially be nipped in the bud.

Abuse, by its nature, doesn't flower and fruit overnight -- it's slow, slow, slow to ripen because it will never achieve the power over others that it craves it it is exposed early. It has to take its time to build an unassailable façade of integrity -- so that some of the people can be fooled

all of the time.

The most significant characteristic of the spirit of abuse is inversion or perversion. In fact, unless this aspect is present, then in my view, it's doubtful this particular spirit is operating.

Its signature scent is reversal of the holy.

There are any number of ways that the junior team could have discovered the lie about the overall finances, and none of them would have been as damaging as what actually occurred. That was because the inversion of a sacred symbol was involved. The very idea of a fondue, so very sixties and so completely outdated as it was, was a deliberate attempt to build unity. It was about prayer and fellowship -- recognising that strangers living in close proximity in a stressful environment for a few weeks will necessarily find manners and habits in others that irritate them and get on their nerves. It was therefore about restoring peace and coming back into balance. And although this was not he original intention, it turned out to be a 'love feast' like the communion tables of the early [frat].

The lavish fast-food spread, on the other hand, fostered disunity. I'm sure that was not a conscious decision on the part of the overall leadership. However, the instructions were: take what you want, go where you want, be sure to be back before lights out. Its free time -- go wherever you like and enjoy yourself.

So instead of togetherness, there was scattering. Instead of communion, there was separation and dispersal. Both events were about meals: that is the most critical feature that creates the inversion. If they had been about different things, then symbol reversal would not have occurred. But because it did, and because it touched the very heart of the high priestly prayer that [Josh] prayed at the [Final Feast-Off] -- that we all might be one with each other, with the [Big Daddy] and with Him -- it had devastating and destructive power.

That is why it bore such evil fruit. It took that which was steeped in [The All]'s power -- to love each other in truth and generosity -- and turned that power back on itself to wreak destruction. It took acts of generous, even sacrificial, giving and made a mockery of them.

(.?\|/!.)

The key element in identifying the presence of the spirit of abuse is inversion or perversion ( ) .

It has to be there. o ( )

Yet other factors are also present. The other signature smell when it comes to this spirit is group mind control. = . +

This is not the same as individual mind control or mesmerism which is a specialty of the spirit of Leviathan. In that instance, individuals are each affected separately and in different ways while their friends are repeatedly stunned by how oblivious they are to the obvious.

But with group mind control, the opposite is the case.

A few individuals remain unaffected but the group as a whole is asleep. They fail to notice anything wrong, no matter how blatant it is. And the group becomes very annoyed, even combative, if any attempt is made to waken them. They don't want to hear the other side of the story; they don't even want to hear that there is another side.

A third element -- although this is not unique to the spirit of abuse, as inversion and group mind control are -- is blame-shifting.

What is different with abuse, however is that victims tend to accept blame without demur. Scapegoating is a tactic of Azazel, the spirit of rejection -- but those subjected to that spirit's torment don't fail to notice it. They may not openly kick and pish against the scapegoating but they definitely know they've been unjustly accused.

The same is not true when dealing with the spirit of abuse: in this scenario, those afflicted may not even be aware of their own innocence. Guilt has been induced in them to such a degree they believe they are responsible even when they are not. The truth has been twisted so far its's bent back on itself.

When I woke up after four years and spoke to the trainee leaders, discovering that they -- like me -- had blamed themselves, I couldn't initially convince them they were not at fault. Not in any way, shape or form. Not for several more years. They excused the senior leader, constantly rationalising his actions and flipping his responsibilities onto themselves.

By the time they did wake up, it was so long after the event it seemed pointless doing anything much about what happened. Except forgive.

Time.

Again.

Yes, this is another variation on the 'time passing' weapon that the spirit of abuse deploys against us. Coupled with group mind control, it is a delaying and disabling tactic that cripples and immobilises us until it's too late. All too often victims do nothing, for a lifetime, because in their eyes too much time has passed for any good to come of bringing the matter up and exposing the perpetrator. For many people it's only if and when they see the abuser using the same tactics on others they they decide to take their secret out of hiding.

Then, all too often, they are engaged in an uphill battle to be believed by family or community members who remain loyal to the abuser. Or if the accusers are in fact believed, then they find fingers pointed at them for being unforgivng -- once again switching the responsibility for sin from abuser to victim, trying to induce shame in the innocent rather than the guilty and losing sight of both real mercy and genuine justice.

|0^``%

Before going further, I want to make clear that there are different categories of ill-treatment. It's all too easy to lump them into one bulging box labelled 'abuse'. However, when I am discussing 'abuse' in this book I am specifically referring to the kind of harm that results from a desire for power over others. Molestation or exploitation automatically fall into this group, but other behaviours may not. Yet, if the end goal of violence or neglect is having control over others, then they too join this category.

You're welcome to define it differently, but for the purposes of this book, my narrow focus is behaviour that is primarily motivated by a desire for power and control. Any discussion of Belial, spirit of abuse, uses this as a criterion. As you'll have discovered if you've read other books in this series, the threshold spirits are multi-faceted and several-faced.

Yet there is a tendency in spiritual warfare to attribute just one function to a spirit -- a spirit of anger or a spirit of lust or a spirit of fear -- when it's far from that simple. Just as people are complex personalities and not driven by a single emotion, neither are spirits. The spirit of abuse is also a spirit of armies. Moreover, as we've already seen, one of its other faces is Kronos, spirit of time.

As well as recognising the complex nature of spirits and thus, often, that we're not afflicted by a wild multitude of them but just one, it's also important to discern between spirits. Because not every episode of violence is necessarily about the spirit of abuse.

One incident stands out in my childhood memories. My father was laminating a table-top and just as he'd nearly finished, a large bubble formed he simply couldn't remove. He yelled in frustration, drawing everyone's attention. His rage was uncontrollable. He lashed out and hit anyone who tried to help -- and, for decades thereafter, every time he exhibited anger, some members of my family saw abuse.

One day, after many years, I was surprised when one of them said my dad was abusive. I defended him and said I didn't recall him that way at all. When various incidents were brought up to support the accusation, I said I thought differently. It wasn't that those events didn't happen -- they did. However I recalled my dad as a perfectionist who, if something went wrong, would become violently angry at himself for not getting the job done exactly right. He refused to pay anyone to do anything he could do himself and he demanded an exacting professional level of himself even when he'd never tackled a particular task before. In addition, because he was afraid of rejection, he wouldn't ask for help and then, when he really needed it and he couldn't managed by himself, he would work himself into such a towering fury it was best to stay right out of his way.

Realising even as a small girl that it was not anger at me but anger at himself, I'd always removed myself from the vicinity for a couple of hours until he calmed down.

The reactions to my explanation were interesting.

What others had seen until that moment as abuse directed against themselves they now agreed was really violence directed at himself.

He was punishing himself.

Sure, different family members had been afraid and traumatised but, as they mentally went over various incidents, they could see immediately that none of them were about attaining power over anyone else: they were all about internal rage at not being perfect. Underneath it all was a bed-rock of self-rejection, built on a cornerstone of his mother's rejection of her pregnant condition, her panic at finding herself expecting a child while unmarried and her attempts to hide the baby growing in her womb by fasting so she would not put on weight.

Rejection is the territory of Azazel.

It's the spirit of rejection and panic, scapegoating and lust. It's important to recognize that the way to overcome Azazel is completely different from the method of dealing with Belial or Kronos. These spirits -- rejection and abuse -- can of course work together but it is worth distinguishing their different modes of defilement.

o/O

Ask [St. John's firewater] which threshold spirit you are facing because the rules of engagement differ. If you've read Dealing with Python, you'll know it's love as a Fruit of the Spirit that works best against the constrictor. And if you've read Dealing with Ziz, you'll know it's joy as a Fruit of the Spirit that works best against the raptor. And if you've read Dealing with Leviathan or Dealing with Resheph, you'll know it's peace -- shalom --as a fruit of the Spirit that overcomes retaliators.

For Azazel, it's self-control -- better translated as spirit-empowerment.

Each of these Fruit are spiritual in nature, not fleshly. Unless we have allowed [St. John's firewater] to ripen His variety of fruit in us through testing and trial, the carnal versions inevitably fail.

Peace -- shalom -- for example, is developed by building integrity.

This only comes through facing challenges where we've been seriously tempted to be dishonest, manipulative or underhanded.

We can't claim to have genuine diamond-lustre integrity until we've passed through the crushing pressure and the relentless minefire of those tests -- until we've kept our word even though it was seriously to our disadvantage to do so, until we've stared ruin in the face and turned down a shady opportunity that would save us, until we're fronting up to a grim situation for the second time and the cost of truth in the first instance broke us emotionally and spiritually.

Yet, of ourselves, we can never attain or keep integrity. Only [Josh] can hold it for us, only He can keep it safe for us. If we fail these tests, and some of them are brutal, the Fruit simply doesn't ripen to form armaments against the power of the enemy of our souls. It may wither away or simply stagnate in an arrested state of development.

Way back in the Garden of Eden, fruit was weaponised against humanity. Now, the reverse is true. This is because one of the most basic principles embedded within the design of creation is the 'law of action-reaction' -- sometimes called 'sowing-and-reaping'. Almost every society knew of it spiritually long before Isaac Newton discovered the third law of motion in physics: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Some cultures called it 'karma, some said, 'What goes around, comes around' some refer to it as 'cause-and-effect'.

Now it doesn't just apply on the human plane. It also applies in the heavenlies. Just as we sow and reap, so does our enemy.

Fruit was weaponised by the devil, so Fruit can now be weaponised against him. Consequently the Fruit of the Spirit, when tested and tried, can be arrayed for use in defeating the threshold spirits. In fact, the fully tested and mature Fruit of the Spirit are peerless and practical weapons, providing we can identify which spirit we're facing and therefore which of the Fruit needs to be deployed.

All this may be a surprise if you're used to thinking of the Fruit of the Spirit in elementary Sunday School terms as simply about character formation. Absolutely it's about character formation: it's about the making of a warrior. A warrior who carries weapons that can never be lost or laid aside -- because they are carried within ourselves.

They become part of who we are.

We can surrender these weapons. We can choose the fruit of the flesh --

sexual immortality, impurity, and debauchery; idolatry and sorcery; hatred, discord, jealousy, and rage; rivalries, divisions, factions, and envy; drunkenness, orgies

Galatians 5 : 19 - 21 BSB

But [Josh] is here to empower us to overcome the temptations and pass the tests.

It's very easy to dismiss the Fruit as kiddie stuff -- nice, but sometimes almost a liability in life's battleground. Certainly not like the adult stuff of being an apostle, prophet, pastor, evangelist, teacher. And not like the spectacularly visible gifts of prophecy, tongues, interpretation, miracle-working, discernment of spirits or healing either.

Yet [Josh] didn't say His disciples would know each other by their gifts or their offices. We forget His heart-breaking words about prophets and miracle-workers:

'By their fruit you will recognize them. Not everyone who says to Me, "Lord, Lord," will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of My father who is in heaven. Many will say to Me on that day, "Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in Your name and in Your name drive out demons and in Your name perform many miracles?" Then I will tell them plainly, I never knew you Away from Me, you evildoers!"

Matthew 7 : 20 - 23 NIV

There's a very good reason for this: the gifts are just that -- gifts.

[The All] doesn't ever ask for them back. If He did, they wouldn't be gifts. They'd be tools on loan. Because they are irrevocable, and not given as a reward or performance but as an award of grace, they are not an indicator of kingdom status. But we tend to default into thinking that way and become perplexed when [The All] does not withdraw His gift of healing from a minister living in adultery or a retrieve His gift of evangelism from a person engaged in deep fraud.

The reason is simple: it's a gift.

To know our brothers and sisters in [ze Vird], we should look for evidence of the Fruit of the Spirit, not His gifts.

[gamequoteshowdown]

"When life gives you lemons, don’t make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don’t want your damn lemons, what the hell am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life’s manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Cave Johnson lemons! Do you know who I am? I’m the man who’s gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I’m gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!" - Cave Johnson, Portal 2 / "I mean, I might ask you to read some of my fan fiction. And I don't let just ANYONE see it!" - Eugene, Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp

"Mickey! It's Riku. They put bugs in him! What?" - Sora & Mickey, Kingdom Hearts / "Don't you see? All of you... Your gods destroyed you!" - Ganondorf, The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker

"And the universe said you are not separate from every other thing and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code and the universe said I love you because you are love." - Minecraft End Credits, Minecraft / "Thought I'd try shooting my way out, mix things up a little." - Master Chief, Halo 3

“You don’t know true burden until you’ve seen a thousand people hanging on to your every word” - Irelia, League of Legends / "They all helped me realize that... the 'prince charming' I was seeking for so long was actually a princess, and she wasn't as far off as I thought." - Shannon LaFae, Heart Fragment, Book 2: Belief Fragments

"We do not have much connection, you and I. Still, this encounter feels special. I hope you won't mind if i think of you as a friend" - Solanum, Outer Wilds / "Floor ice cream gives you health!" - Pit, Kid Icarus Uprising

“It was my cousin’s fault I turned out like this! If he hadn’t made me eat all those june bugs, maybe I’d be… normal.” - Davis White, Bully / "He knew, because I knew." - Akane Kurashiki, Zero Escape / 999: Nine Hours, Nine Persons, Nine Doors

"For real?!" - Ryuji Sakamato, Persona 5 / "Why are we still here, just to suffer? Every night I can feel my leg and my arm, even my fingers. The body I've lost, the comrades I've lost, it won't stop hurting. It's like they're all still there, you feel it too, don't you?" - Kazuhira Miller, Metal Gear Solid 5: The Phantom Pain

"I love ya, Sara. You're my best friend!" - Jou (Joe) Tazuna, Your Turn To Die: Death Game by Majority / "Today, we're dancing for no reason. Someday, we'll disappear for no reason." - Unnamed NPC, Pokemon Black 2 & White 2

"I am Error." - Error, Zelda II: The Adventure of Link / "How are you holding up? Because I'M a POTATO!" - GLaDOS

"The way you loved was not my choice, and your death was not my fault" - Jin Sakai, Ghost of Tsushima / "Had to be me. Someone else might have gotten it wrong." - Mordin Solus, Mass Effect 3

"We can't change what's done, we can only move on" - Arthur Morgan, Red Dead Redemption 2 / "Wait, which one is the one where you hear your tie talk to you?" "Mental illness." "Because I have that." - Kim Kitsuragi & Harry du Bois, Disco Elysium

“You don’t know a thing about love! That’s why your wife left you!” “…I’m gonna do violence to yah.” - Gramble Gigglefunny & Wambus Troubleham, Bugsnax / "Sheep, sheep, sheep, it's time for sleep. Rest your head, it's time for bed. In the morning, you may wake, or in the morning you'll be dead." - Sammy Lawerence, Bendy and the Ink Machine

"Endure and survive" - Ellie, The Last of Us / "I think my tongue is frozen. You'd better not lose again." - Hunter, Spyro: Year of the Dragon

"Your god sent me because your confession was taking too long." - Sol Badguy, Guilty Gear / "Nothing is more badass than treating a woman with respect!" - Mr. Torgue High-Five Flexingron, Borderlands 2

"I fucking love air-conditioning." - Humphrey, Omori / "Technology is incredible!" - A Technology- Enthusiast NPC, Pokemon

"Friendship is one of the most challenging factors of our existence. No one wants to die alone or unloved." - Buddy, Buddy Simulator 1984 / "Earl’s crazy. He ate one of my cars once. Yeah. The whole thing. Just, like, with a fork." - Scooter, Borderlands

"Your blade... It did not cut deep enough." - Egil, Xenoblade Chronicles / "All your base are belong to us" - Cats, Zero Wing

"Awesome! What’s an airport again?" - Andy, Advance Wars / "Bacon is for sycophants and products of incest" - Patricia Tannis, Borderlands

"You deserved better from me than one sword and a world full of troubles." - Chrom, Fire Emblem: Awakening / "You wouldn't know aesthetics if it hit you the face Inari!" - Futaba Sakura, Persona 5

"I like shorts! They’re comfy and easy to wear!" - Youngster, Pokemon Red & Blue / "Tenmyouji: I'll have you know that the last guy I fought with went home in an ambulance. Sigma: Guess you shouldn't pick a fight with a paramedic, then." - Tenmyouji and Sigma, Virtues Last Reward

"Memes, the DNA of the soul." - Monsoon, Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance / "Hell hath no fury like a ticked-off mother with combat training and a pointy weapon!" - Sully, Fire Emblem: Awakening

"I can't go to hell. I'm all out of vacation days." - Burgerpants, Undertale / "He was not born a god. His destiny did not lead him to this crime. He chose this path of his own free will. He stole the godhood and murdered the Hortator. Vivec wrote this." - Vivec, The Elder Scrolls 3: Morrowind

"No cost too great. No mind to think. No will to break. No voice to cry suffering. Born of God and Void. You shall seal the blinding light that plagues their dreams. You are the Vessel. You are the Hollow Knight." - The Pale King, Hollow Knight / "I refuse to discuss the subject further. My opinion will not change. If you continue to annoy me, I will kill you. This discussion is over." - Gothren, The Elder Scrolls 3: Morrowind

"I can't read!" - Sissel, Ghost Trick / "I'm sorry, my companion, but no. We all have our own destinies, and yours culminates here. I would not rob you of that." - Fawkes, Fallout 3

"It's me." - Golden Freddy, FNaF / "We're living in a magical theatre show puppeteered by a mad man." - Player Character, Baldur's Gate 3

"Hold on, my boy. A gentleman should never ruin someone's dreams without a reason." - Professor Layton, Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney / "When I'm gone, they'll just find another monster. They have to, because they have to justify their wages." - Dutch van der Linde, Red Dead Redemption

"For one of you, the darkest pit of hell has opened to swallow you whole. Don’t keep the devil waiting, old friend." - Henry Emily, FNaF Pizzeria Simulator / "They’ll pay for this." - Mickey, Kingdom Hearts

"*Gasp* The enemy" - Fuuka Yamagishi, Persona 3 / "Mwa-hahahaha... I turned myself into a tiny splinter, waiting for just this moment!" - Exdeath, Final Fantasy V

"Call me Ishmael" - Ishmael, Limbus Company / "Grandma's so proud of her little pumpkin, assassinating the President like that!" - Lily, Fallout: New Vegas

"Malkuth, friendship should not be an excuse to lie. Manager, Netzach is high as a kite on enkephalin. He's completely out of it." - Yesod, Lobotomy Corporation / "Face me to the West, so I can watch the setting sun and remember all the fine times we had that way." - Arthur Morgan, Red Dead Redemption 2

"I met God. And they were kinda an asshole." - Mae, Night in the Woods / "To feel sadness is to live... but as long as you are alive, the future is a blank page." - Merlon, Super Paper Mario

The polls will start Monday! Feel free to start campaigning for your favourite quote before then!

Thank you everyone for making this happen! Now, without further ado, the match-ups for Round 1!!!

Round 1

"I've been waiting for this!" - Akihiko Sanada, Persona 3 / "You're just a corpse who doesn't know he's dead" - Valter, Fire Emblem: Sacred Stones

"Are you going to be our goddess of victory… or our angel of death? Doesn't sound too bad to bet my life on that." - Keiji Shinogi, Your Turn To Die: Death Game by Majority / "Don't fuck with a witch!" - Bayonetta, Bayonetta

"Teammates!? Friends!? To hell with that! Why am I inferior to you!? I was extremely particular about my life, my grades, my public image! So someone would want me around! I am an ace detective! A celebrity! But you… You're just some criminal trash living in an attic!? So how!? How does someone like you have things I don't!? How can such a worthless piece of trash be more special than me!?" - Goro Akechi, Persona 5 / "I was just gunna ask you to sell a gun to this child." - Starlo, Undertale Yellow

"I want you to live." - Charlotte Wiltshire, Hello Charlotte Series / "Your hair… sunset colored. I like it." - Queequeg, Limbus Company

"The hope to end pointless conflict… The hope to tell your daughter how much you care… It is our mission as apothecaries to ensure that everyone lives long enough for their hopes to become reality. Even if it costs us our own lives." - Castti Florenz, Octopath Traveler II / "Game is clear when 2 zombies hold hands!!" - "How to Play" Narrator, Loving Deads: The House of the Dead EX

"Thanks to you, I am saddled with unnecessary… feelings" - Miles Edgeworth, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney / "I am so fucking normal right now" - Harry du Bois, Disco Elysium

“SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL IS GOING TO HAPPEN” - Harry du Bois (in the form as a potential mural painting), Disco Elysium / "You pull out your cellphone and access your old Tumblr. You have ten, but you specifically access the Garfield one." - Narrator, Monster Prom

"… Nice meeting you again, you FUCKING WHALE!" - Ishmael, Limbus Company / "My guess is no one's ever loved you before" - Woody, Kingdom Hearts 3

"Take care, [player]. I was lucky to have known you. Though the parting hurts... the rest is in your hands!" - Grovyle, Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Sky / "Far out, man." - Netzach, Limbus Company

"I'll be back once I eliminate that devil called poverty from the world!" - Partitio Yellowil, Octopath Traveler II / "Elder gods from the whole cosmos have awoken to taste your cookies." - Narrator, Cookie Clicker

"Hello! This is the part where I kill you!" - Wheatley, Portal 2 / "Now we come to the question : Do I kill you? Do I tear you apart to my heart's delight? The choices of the beautiful are unbearable. How's a girl to choose?" - Alice Angel, Bendy and the Ink Machine

"I am Ferdinand von Aegir" - Ferdinand von Aegir, Fire Emblem: Three Houses / "Her metabolic processes are of interest only to historians." - Miles Edgeworth, Ace Attorney: Trials and Tribulations

"It ain't a matter of guys or chicks... I'm just scared shitless of being rejected" - Kanji Tatsumi, Persona 4 / "...also Stanley is addicted to drugs and hookers" - Narrator, The Stanley Parable

“You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?” - Happy Mask Salesman, Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask / "I have no idea what to do with my life, but that's okay! Because I'm still working hard! Even if it's on nothing at all!" - Papyrus, Undertale

"Despite everything, its still you." - Narrator/Chara/Frisk???, Undertale / "In this world, it's kill or be killed." - Flowey, Undertale

“Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves. Heart. Lungs. Liver. Nerves…” - Voices of the Paranoid, Slay the Princess / "In the quiet glade, across old bark. In the ancient glade, it's always dark." - Gabbro, Outer Wilds

"You take away all their sins, and people aren't people anymore!" - Rokurou Rangetsu, Tales of Berseria / "Do you even get how it feels to have nightmares about doing tango with raw chickens? Eh?" - Heathcliff, Limbus Company

"Life is worth living, even if it hurts you, even if you hurt in it." - Solid Snake, Metal Gear Solid / "I often think about the god who blessed us with this cryptic puzzle... and wonder if we'll ever get the chance to kill him." - 2B, Nier: Automata

“Oh? Is that how it is? Yeah, okay, I like you too. Neat! Still going to kill you, but now we can both enjoy a mutual romantic subtext to the murder.” - The Razor, Slay the Princess / "Now it’s Reyn Time!" - Reyn, Xenoblade Chronicles

"You lost the coin toss. We both did." - Catherine Chun, SOMA / "I like to drink blood. . . and smoke the weed!" - Dracula, Space Funeral

"Pick a god and pray!" - Frederick, Fire Emblem: Awakening / "Can you believe it? Dragons! In your own homeland! What are you going to do?" - Florentia Candidius, Elder Scrolls Online

""Did you get the Broom Closet Ending?! The Broom Closet Ending was my favourite!" ...I hope your friends find this concerning." - Narrator, The Stanley Parable / "It’s dangerous to go alone, take this!" - Old Man, Legend of Zelda

“Close your eyes for a sec, will you Chigasaki?” “You mean physically? Or to the criminal acts I’m pretty sure you’re about to commit?” “Both.” - Chikage Utsuki & Itaru Chigasaki, A3! Act! Addict! Actors! / "You are all about to perish, do as you please. I'm sorry." - Meta Knight, Kirby Super Star

"Boy" - Kratos, God of War / "Take care of yourself, kid, cause someone really cares about you." - Sans, Undertale

"Almost Christmas means it wasn't Christmas!" - Phoenix Wright, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney / "Dios mío!” (Draw a cross.) “A LIBERAL!" - Harry du Bois, Disco Elysium

"That's it. I'm not paying one cent of my taxes!" - Ema Skye, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney / ""Trust your partner"... And I do. I can't forgive you, but I trust you." - Neku Sakuraba, The World Ends With You/Subarashiki Kono Sekai

"Hey, you. You’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." - Ralof, Skyrim / *clap ... clap ... clap ... * "Oh good, my slow clap processor made it into this thing, so at least we have that" - GLaDOS, Portal 2

"hallOO. chikkEN. OKs?" - BOb, Slime Rancher / "Pretty good plan. You could say it was the greatest—" - Charles Calvin, The Henry Stickmin Collection

"Blood comes in four types: A, B, O, and AB. However! No blood test can determine whether a murder was committed… in cold blood!" - Phoenix Wright, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney / "You ain't my partner anymore, man. You're my friend! So trus' that, yo!" - Beat (Daisukenojo "Beat" Bito), The World Ends With You/Subarashiki Kono Sekai

"I always come back." - William Afton, FNaF Pizzeria Simulator / "So -- as you can see, I'm a *pretty okay* detective -- and an absolutely GIANT COMMUNIST." - Harry du Bois, Disco Elysium

"Ears have a nice mouth feel, very chewy!" - Briar, League of Legends / "This is like taking candy from a baby, which is fine by me." - Shadow the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog (2005)

"It's a beautiful day outside. Birds are singing, flowers are blooming... On days like this, kids like you... Should be burning in hell." - Sans, Undertale / "In the dark times, should the stars also go out?" - Steban, the Student Communist, Disco Elysium

“We are a path in the woods. We have no beginning, and we have no end, but something cold and unnatural sits watching us from just beyond our edge.” - The Wild, Slay the Princess / "Strong Pokémon. Weak Pokémon. That is only the selfish perception of people. Truly skilled Trainers should try to win with the Pokémon they love best." - Karen (Elite Four), Pokemon HeartGold / SoulSilver

[bird-inacage]

Love in the Air: Sky’s Selflessness is His Isolation

I’ve seen a number of people notice this too, but the overwhelming feeling I felt whilst watching episode 9 was Sky’s isolation. Sky’s friends don’t know what he is going through, and Sky doesn’t disclose the reality and severity of his struggles. It couldn’t be more apparent that Sky does not have anyone to lean on. Given the added fact that Rain is now often occupied with Payu, and that both his parents are also far away, Sky is by all intents and purposes - alone.

Despite this, he’s an incredibly considerate and selfless person. He puts everyone else before himself, and his responsibilities above himself. This inevitably leads to his exhaustion and collapse towards the end of the episode.

Due to how reliable of a person Sky is, everyone unconsciously leans on him for help, advice and support. Sometimes I think they do this without even thinking, because Sky always accommodates. The worst side effect of this is that you can easily be taken for granted - because the more reliable you are, the more people will rely on you, and the more difficult it becomes to say no.

When Sky is already starting to feel unwell, Sig admits that they do need his help with the orientation activities. This is the worst possible thing to say to someone who is always trying to be considerate of others, as they won’t want to let anyone down and will compromise their own wellbeing to help you. So in response Sky assures them he’ll get better, and has probably told himself that falling ill is not even an option because the others are relying on him.

Later, they all gather at Sky’s dorm to pull an all-nighter but fall asleep. Sky is the only one who continues working through the night alone. Though he has the option to wake them up, he chooses not to and allows them to rest.

The following morning, Sky is again the only one ready to head into university. Though Sig offers to go on first, he again admits that he won’t remember all the content by himself. So apart from Sig, Sky once again leaves Rain and Por to continue sleeping.

As soon as they get to campus, Som confronts Sky with a fairly harsh complaint. Sky doesn’t defend himself or make any attempt to correct him. He simply accepts the criticism wordlessly. At this point, Sky has probably been working solidly for almost a week (as this takes place whilst Prapai is on his business trip), has not slept all night and has gotten up early to continue his duties. All the while, Sky doesn’t ever complain and is quietly internalising all his stress.

When you then also factor in the fact that Sky is being frequently plagued by nightmares which must be affecting his sleep overall, and is still suffering from severe trauma - there is no wonder that Sky literally collapses from the strain.

Sky constantly downplays his troubles and his pain, so that he doesn’t cause anyone to worry. But this is also in an attempt to convince himself he’s doing fine. We see Sky frequently tell himself “It’s okay” which sounds like he’s desperately trying to believe it, despite all the signs indicating he’s clearly not.

Whenever Sky says “It’s okay”, it’s sounds to me like he’s actually saying, ‘It’s okay because I need to be okay (for x, y, z)’, ‘I can’t afford not to be okay because people need me’.

What is really unfortunate is that many will take him on face value and assume he is coping perfectly fine. And I don’t doubt that if Sky were honest and told people when he was struggling, I’m sure they would be there for him (Rain especially). However this is where Prapai is different. Prapai sees through him. Prapai knows Sky is not alright when he says he is. He’s not likely to fall for Sky’s assurances and attempts to brush off concern. Prapai is also very persistent, and isn’t the type to let things just slide.

Sky just isn’t someone who is going to think about himself first. His needs are often an afterthought. This is why Sky desperately needs a Prapai in his life. Someone who is going to consider his needs for him, and remind him to prioritise himself. With Prapai watching over him, Sky will no longer be completely isolated, because he’ll have someone he can finally lean and rely on. 

As Prapai says, “Remember that this wind’s watching over the sky.”

[prolix-yuy]

Ache

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: In the aftermath of illness, Mando takes another step.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, illness (not graphic), descriptions of male and female bodies, fingering (f receiving), grinding, male masturbation, allusions to sexual acts, we’re still yearning because we have trouble letting ourselves have nice things. 

Notes: First I’m making up things about space banks, now we’re speculating about space doctors. I hope in the great Star Wars universe they’ve figured out things like (galactic?) health care and insurance premiums. Poor little Grogu is suffering in this one, but I promise he’s in good hands.

Takes place after Bloom.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

You’re tired.

No, maybe more than that.

Bone-deep, drop-dead, some-other-cute-phrase tired.

Your hands are braced on the edge of the ‘fresher sink, body leaning over so your head can hang between your shoulders. This stretches your back, relieving some of the tightly-screwed muscles that had been screaming at you all morning. Much like the cause of your all-encompassing exhaustion.

The child had been fussy after you left the green planet. You didn’t think much of it. Mando told you he just gets tired of being on the Crest for such long periods (don’t we all) and sometimes throws a fit when the days spent planetside are cut short. The day after blaster training (the memory of it still heating your face) had been one of those disappointing days. Looking up to see Mando galloping around a corner, blaster bolts screaming past him and puffing into the dirt at his feet, you had to take off without whatever forest treat was occupying the child’s attention. 

He definitely hadn’t let either of you forget it when he tipped his ration pouch out onto Mando’s lap while looking him right in his visor, deadpan baby face daring you to be angry about it. 

(it made you have to hide a smile behind your own dehydrated meal)

It had taken a few laps around the Crest for Mando to regulate his breathing again, the stresses of the day coming to clash against the child’s sass. A curious villager turning informant. The scream of TIE fighters overhead. A flash of white and a race off planet. A reminder that yes, you are indeed still being hunted (the reason why Mando brought you on his ship, right?) and dallying on planets puts more than just you in danger. The child should know better than to pout but he’s also, well, a child. 

So you didn’t recognize at first that the grumpiness he was exhibiting wasn’t normal “green baby smarminess” and instead something to be worried about. You began to take notice when he stopped sleeping, not because he wanted to play or be mischievous, but because something was obviously bothering him. His baby squeals and screeches were pained, the first time you’d ever heard that, and it made you dash to your datapad to try and figure out what might be wrong.

Having his unique physiology, it was hard to find anything to compare it to. Maybe a routine illness, but you weren’t sure what could bring him relief. Would regular medicine be fine, or would it be too strong for his small body, or not metabolize correctly? 

After recalculating the jump drive algorithms and leaping back into hyperspace, the third time in as many days, Mando descended the ladder and found you scrolling frantically through your datapad, the child wheezing and crying in his hammock. You weren’t much better, anxiety and worry making your sight bleary and your nose run. Mando rushed up to the cot, hands fluttering over the child as he recognized his father, little baby arms outstretched to be coddled. Mando picked him up immediately, soothing him with soft shushes and examining him head to little toe.

“How long has he been like this?” Mando asked you, and you hurriedly ran through the progression of symptoms without lifting your eyes. 

(can’t let anything happen to him, Mando’s child, you promised you’d keep him safe)

“Hey,” Mando said sharply, making your eyes snap to him. He filled your vision with darkness and beskar and you couldn’t help the grimace that wracked your face.

“I don’t know where he got it, or what it is, or how…how to make him feel better,” you shuddered out. The child’s wet cough was a blaster bolt to your chest. 

(take it away from him give it to you)

“Stop,” Mando said firmly, kneeling down to your level. He put a heavy hand on your shoulder and made you look into his visor. “We’ll figure it out. He’ll be okay. He tried to swallow a live pylat bird once, he’s been through worse.” 

Mando’s attempt to break you from the cycle of misery helped, and you nodded and rubbed snot from your upper lip. 

Two days passed as you used Mando’s connections to find a medic who could give you proper medicine for the child. A round of antibiotics to clear any foreign pathogen, a syrup for the cough, and hot showers and lots of sleep to let his body heal. It sounded so simple when she said it, giving you a small bag with clinking bottles, but you had felt out of your mind with worry. You barely slept the last few nights, the wet breathing and occasional sniffs and coughs keeping you too alert to the child’s condition.

Now, it looked like the medicine was doing the trick. The child’s color was coming back to a vibrant green from the sickly color it held before. The hot showers, held in yours or Mando’s arms (whoever’s turn it was), cleared a lot of the phlegm that tortured him at night. He was finally starting to sleep again, and you suspected he would have a few marathon nights now that he could rest uninterrupted by his body’s rebellion.

That didn’t change the fact that now you couldn’t sleep. It’s as if your body is conditioned to every small noise in the ship, waiting for a dangerous silence to fall. You want to scream in frustration, but the child just got to sleep after shrieking up a storm all morning (appetite’s back) and working through a burst of energy that depleted your final reserves. You think he’ll sleep through until dinner, and keep telling yourself you should too. 

Mando is far less affected by the days of restless nights and lost sleep. “Not much different than hunting,” he says quietly, stroking the child just behind his ear. It works like a charm, eyelids drooping as he falls off. Mando neglected to set coordinates for the next stop until the child was settled, instead spending the days on the ship giving him medicine and attention. 

(the kid does love that part)

(you do too)

But the child is asleep, a good sleep too. And you cannot for the life of you get your body to do the same. You know you need it, desperately, but the adrenaline in your blood is coursing through you like electric shocks.

With a moan you straighten back up, looking in the ‘fresher mirror. Your eyes are bloodshot and tired, face puffy from rubbing it constantly. Your hair is wet from the “relaxing” shower you tried to take, but it only made sleep crawl further from you. You put the heels of your hands to your eyes and sigh loudly.

“Kid’s still asleep.” Mando’s voice envelopes you from where he’s now leaning in the ‘fresher doorway. 

“Yeah, great, that’s perfect,” you say, no feeling behind it. “He’s got the right idea.”

Mando chuckles as you finish hanging your towel. The wetness from your hair has seeped into the back of your shirt and you’re annoyed at the sensation. Everything feels wrong and uncomfortable and you just want. To karking. Sleep.

“Looks like you could use a nap too,” Mando offers. 

(no shit metal man)

“Oh yes, definitely, if I could just get my Maker-damned brain to shut off,” you huff, a tired grimace on your face. Mando straightens and watches you a little more closely. You can see him in the mirror’s reflection, half shrouded by the low light of the hall with golden gleams reflected off the beskar. 

“When adrenaline runs too high, sometimes you can’t get it to come down,” he says, and while you're half bent over the sink you notice him sidling up to you. Slow, his feet barely lifting off the floor. 

“Not sure how I’m supposed to deal with that,” you snark back, squeezing excess water out of your hair. You feel stuffy and swollen with exhaustion, your eyelids heavy but the deep pull of sleep not following when you shut them. Which you do, Mando’s voice is often a nice soporific when you’re bored in the cockpit listening to him make intel calls. You’d fallen asleep uncomfortably in the jumpseat several times just listening to the deep hum of the vocoder reading off coordinates.

“There are a few good ways to bring yourself down. Deep breathing,” Mando’s voice is becoming hypnotic as you listen with your eyes closed. 

(Stars, maybe this will do it)

“Meditation…” he offers, which you scoff at. His voice sounds closer now, almost behind your shoulder.

(If you fall asleep on your feet, will he carry you to bed?)

“Would you like to know how I do it?” Mando practically purrs, and his voice is right by your ear. You force your eyes open, a light furrow in your brow, to see Mando standing directly behind you.

The gleam of the paudrons spans past your shoulders, the helmet hovering by your ear. It’s tipped towards you, the visor trained on your face, before turning to look at you in the mirror. You glimpse your lips, open in surprise, and the lift in your brows before both of Mando’s arms come up around you, fingers gripping the fresher sink next to yours. He’s barely touching you, boxing you in but not crushing you.

“Mando…” you squeak out, and the helmet tips enough for the bottom lip to press against the crook of your neck.

“I take my cock and think of where I’d rather be putting it, and fuck my hand until I cum,” he grits out, his words alone igniting a heat in your cunt. Your knees feel weak for a moment, your body threatening to collapse back into him.

“Can I do that for you, Mesh’la? Fuck you with my hand until you cum?” You gasp, fingers tightening on the ‘fresher sink as you squeeze your thighs together. One of Mando’s hands comes up to cover yours, his warmth contrasting the coolness of the metal under your palm. The other drifts to rest on your stomach, fingers splayed. You can see the orange of his gloves bright against your dark top, thumb making soft strokes against the fabric. 

“I promise it will help you sleep,” he whispers sinfully into your ear and your eyes roll shut. You’re drunk on his words, body responding wonderfully to his touch, as you nod once, lower lip between your teeth. You remember the ecstasy of his hand cupping you on that forest planet, how badly you wanted him to make you scream around his fingers. The rush makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

(let him claim you)

Mando’s gloved hand drags down your body to rub you over your pants, the press of his fingers between your legs giving some sweet relief to the ache. The moan you let out is more air than sound, but you feel Mando’s hum of approval against your chest. 

“I’ll take care of you, Mesh’la,” he purrs into your ear, hands lifting off you for a moment. You open your eyes to see Mando stripping his gloves off, thwapping them into the sink bowl. He covers your hand again, but this time he laces his fingers between yours. The skin is rough along his knuckles, smooth in the cup of his palm. He huffs out a breath and you remember how few times he feels his skin on another person’s. 

(give it all of it anything you can have you want) 

His other bare hand moves to the waistband of your pants. You’re in comfortable leggings today, too tired to manage anything with zippers and buttons, and his fingers slip under the fabric easily. A gentle finger teases at the edge of your underwear, waiting for you.

In response to his touch, you arch back against Mando, the cleft of your ass pushing firmly against his groin. Instantly you’re met with the heft of his cock, pressed tight against him in his pants. Your mouth drops open and a real moan tumbles out, dragging your plush ass against him. He stutters out a groan and dives his hand down into your folds, his thick middle finger gliding over your clit. Using the flat of his palm and the heel of his hand, he pushes you back against him, surging up to meet you. The armor presses into your back and thighs at contrasting angles, the vambrace against your stomach grounding you against him.

“Fuck, Mando, feels so…” you try to say before he slips his fingers further into you, dragging through your slick to bring it to your clit. He begins making small firm circles, the motion frictionless. 

“Mesh’la…” he groans, and it’s needier than you thought it would be. “Ohhh fuck, Mesh’la,” he continues, and the broken way he’s moaning to you is tightening everything. 

“Mando, please, please,” you beg, rocking back against him as he gives you nowhere to go to escape the mounting pleasure. You can feel his hips grinding against your ass, his cock sliding over the curve and against your lower back over and over. You look up in the mirror and if you weren’t trying to prolong your pleasure you would have cum from the sight alone.

Mando is bowed over you, helmet resting lightly in the crook of your neck. His armor is bathed in the soft glow of the ‘fresher light, golden streaks contrasting the cool silver. You can see the roll of his hips in the way his shoulders flex, the expanding rise and fall of his chest. His thick arm disappearing into your pants and the lewd way you can see the outline of his hand against your cunt makes you keen out a long moan. 

“Can I put my fingers inside you Mesh’la? Feel you cum around me?” he asks, a hair short of begging and you pant out a yes. He cups your mound in his large hand, two fingers delving down to rub softly at your entrance before buying them inside you. The stretch is exactly what you need, and as he seats himself inside you can’t prevent a shout from echoing in the ‘fresher. 

“Fuck, Mando, yes, theretheretherethere,” you cry throatily, hips bucking against him as he curls his fingers inside you, dragging past the spot that will make you cum on his hand. He grinds against your clit and uses his other hand to squeeze your fingers tighter. 

It’s a sandstorm of sensations, breaths and pleas and chants echoing off the walls. Mando is punching out growls behind you, his cock aching against you and if your release wasn’t a moment away you would have begged him to fuck you. But he hits the sweetest spot and you cum around his hand, gasping moans as you begin to fall forward. Mando is too quick for that though; his other arm bars between your breasts, hand spread wide at the base of your neck. He pushes you back against his chest, your head lolling back to rest on his chestplate as you rock out the aftershocks of your orgasm. Both of you lean back against the ‘fresher wall, panting, his hand still down your pants and the desperate hardness of his cock against your back. 

When your breathing slows Mando removes his hand from your cunt, sliding it up to rest his wet fingers against the bare skin of your stomach.

“Feeling tired now?” he chuckles breathlessly in your ear. He’s right, of course. The exhaustion you felt before has morphed into a jelly-like feeling in your limbs, one that promises deep restful sleep. 

“Yeah, I’d say so,” you shoot back. Something heavy hangs in the way you look at each other in the mirror, as if actually meeting eyes would make you have to answer to what you did.

(he made the first move and pulled a devastating orgasm out of you)

(just like the first time)

You know this is the step you’ve both been waiting for. The heaviness of the air colors you with significance. He’s not hiding from you anymore. It should only be a matter of time and circumstance before you take the leap together.

(you hope it will develop into more)

That will be for another day though, when your emotions aren’t so raw and you can think straight.

“Can you get to the bed yourself? Or do you need me to carry you?” Mando murmurs in your ear. His hands are still wide and possessive, spanning as much of your skin as he can. You like the way he looks on you, all warrior and man wrapped around your flesh. 

“Think I can manage,” you pant out, reaching up to trace his fingers with your own. He drags them down your body, resting them on your hips. “The real question is what we should do about this,” you say, rolling your hips back into his cock. You watch Mando’s head drop against the ‘fresher wall, a grunt and heavy exhale echoing.

(you could find a little more energy to watch Mando cum)

“Not tonight, you need the rest. I’ll check on the kid while you’re sleeping.” You hum quietly and brush your hands against his, the size difference making your stomach flip pleasantly. Stepping away from him on wobbly legs, you move to exit the ‘fresher. Pausing, you look back at Mando, who’s half leaning against the wall.

(what do you say to not scare him off?)

“Thank you for helping me,” you say, giving him an affectionate, tired smile. “Let me return the favor sometime?”

You think you hear a choked sound behind the vocoder before Mando nods, and you tap your fingers on the doorframe with a wink before leaving. Stumbling back to your bed, you puddle into the blankets and drop off to sleep almost immediately. It’s a dreamless slumber except for flashes of regal silver and sunkissed gold.

Din turns on the shower, water masking his pained grunts and gasps as he masturbates to completion shockingly fast. He stripped the armor and layers in record time, his skin burning for release, before he drove himself over the edge replaying the way you moaned for him. It barely curbs the hunger he feels, the need to devour you and surround you and make you scream over and over. He wishes he didn’t hurry under the spray so quickly, the water rinsing his hands before he could taste you on his fingers. 

Kriff, he’s been trying his best to curb his flirting, not confuse you with his wants and intentions, and one exhausted look from you made him toss caution to the wind and give you what you needed. Well, maybe it’s what he needed too. Your smile, your body that responds so eagerly to his touch, your company, the look in your eyes as you came shuddering and gasping against him. It’s as addictive as he remembers, his need to wrack your body with pleasure as satisfying as taking his own.

His arousal is mounting fast again, and with one half-frustrated whack of his palm to the ‘fresher wall he takes his cock in hand again and loses himself in the bliss of your smile and the desire in his heart.

END

“lean in to kiss me

in all the places

where the ache

is

the most special.”

― Sanober Khan 

Part 7 of the I Think of You series.

The story continues in Episode 8: Both Sides of the Door

[wardenparker]

You’re So Vain - Chapter 2

Dieter Bravo x female Reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

Oscar winning star Dieter Bravo’s reputation is suffering after the debacle of “Cliff Beasts 6″ and “Beasts of the Bubble”, so his management team has signed him on to a publicity stunt to find his soulmate and show the world a softer side of the erratic and unpredictable star. The plan quickly go awry, though, when Dieter’s soulmate wants nothing to do with him.

Rating: Teen. But this blog is *always* 18+ Word Count: 8.9k Warnings: *Blanket warning for chronic illness, cursing, and deceased family members. This is a Dieter fic, folks, so there absolutely will be discussions of drugs, drug use, and addiction.* Enemies to lovers, family hardships, mention of age gap, medical debt, financial problems. Summary: You are nothing like Libby or Dieter could possibly expect - but it turns out that Dieter might be like entirely like you expected, either.  Notes: When we conceived this particular soulmate pairing, *this* was the chapter we talked about, and I’m so excited to see what you guys think as we start to dig into the story!

Ch 1

The ringing of the phone is never the way that Dieter likes waking up. His head popping up from the mountain of pillows that he was using to try to block the fucking sun out of his face and peering around with one eye open. Groaning when the ringtone "Little Red Corvette" blares again and he grapples for the device. Hitting the answer button and holding it near his head. "What the fuck, Libby? It's seven." He huffs into the phone, not even bothering to greet his manager. It's too early for niceties.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Libby is already three coffees deep and sitting in her office surrounded by a mountain of paperwork that she's spent the last two days negotiating after a previous two days of authentication, and it's finally time to deliver the news. "Get up and get yourself presentable, Dee. We found your soulmate!"

"What?" Dieter hadn't honestly expected them to find whoever it is. "Who? I mean, are you sure? You verified it? It's not some fucking crazy fan who tattooed my shit on their body?"

"We verified and authenticated everything." She promises him, noting the interest in his voice and the small note of what might be hope. "She's got all your ink, of course, but also the scar on your leg. Apparently, she got it learning to shave her legs when she was a teenager." Libby chuckles. "We all had an incident like that. It checks out. So, get up and take a shower and put on your best, because she's just an hour away in San Juan Capistrano."

"She?" It honestly intrigued him over the years, whether his soulmate was a woman or a man. He's had plenty of liaisons and romantic interludes with both. "I— so close?" He asks, shaking off the fog of sleep and sits up and reaches for the pack of cigarettes but then decides against it. "What does she do?" He wonders why she hasn't come forward earlier, basking in the exposure of his celebrity.

“She’s a high school art teacher.” That had been a pleasant surprise, and when she had dropped the information on the rest of his team, they had all had the same immediate thought as her. “She’s more than ten years younger than you, I’m sure you’ll be excited to hear that. And she lives with family, so I’m sure any place you take her on that grand first date will be absolutely thrilling.”

"I don't care about age." He huffs, rolling his eyes even as his interest is piqued by her being an art teacher. "You've got the date set up, right? I don't actually have to do anything."

“Of course I do.” The whole team, Dieter included, desperately needs this all to go off without a hitch so there was no way in hell that they were leaving any date planning up to Dieter. It will be public, it will be romantic, and even his clothes have been picked out for him. “Is there anything else you want to know about her ahead of time, or do you want to be surprised?”

"I'll just find it out." Dieter groans as he pushes out of the bed and stretches. "It'll look more authentic since everything is supposed to be filmed or 'conveniently' papped." He tells her as he walks into his large bathroom to start the shower.

He’s right, and Libby shrugs her shoulders. It makes things a hell of a lot easier that this woman lives in Southern California. That had been a happy convenience. “I’ll be by to get you in an hour.” She tells him. “We’ll go over some things and then we’ll drive down to meet your soulmate!”

"What am I supposed to wear?" He demands, not particularly looking forward to this. He leans over the sink and looks at his reflection, narrowing his eyes at the crow’s feet that are looking deeper. Maybe he should look into Botox, or something natural. Smooth out some of the wrinkles.

“Blue linen shirt, a pair of your good Polo jeans, and white shoes. Not just ones that were white when they left the factory, ones that are white now.” Libby knows his wardrobe like the back of her hand. Better than her own soulmate’s. She’s had an outfit picked out in case he asked or picked something awful. “And put some product in your hair, okay, Dee? The curls are a good look for you.”

"Fuck....you're gonna make me wear a belt too, aren't you?" He huffs, rolling his eyes and walking to his closet. He has clothes, a lot of them actually, but he prefers the comfortable stuff. He ignores the designer suits he's acquired over the years and moves to the jeans and linen shirts.

“Yes, you have to wear a belt.” She laughs at his petulance, letting it roll off her shoulders because everything is going so well. “I could always rescind the white shoes decision and make you wear loafers or dress shoes. I know you would love that.”

"Fuck. I'm hanging up!" Dieter tells her, pressing the red button and tossing the phone down onto the counter. "Fuck." He hisses, looking into the mirror again. "I guess it's time to meet my soulmate." He mutters to himself, wondering how you are going to react to him showing up in your life.

******

Southwind Court in San Juan Capistrano is a relatively typical suburban street. There are kids out on bikes and neighbors in their gardens when the sleek, black car and nondescript SUV pull up to number 33115. The house is set back a little from the street with a sunken front door, sporting an herb garden in the front and a little front porch where a little girl’s tricycle sits proudly in the shade waiting to be ridden. A hand painted ‘Welcome’ sign in shades of blue offsets the otherwise unremarkable front door, and there is not a soul in sight as Libby ushers the two camera men she brought and their small steady cams into place. This is being live-streamed on Dieter’s website for the world to see and the angles need to be perfect.

Climbing out of the SUV, Dieter wishes he had a fucking drink. Something, especially since Libby had been serious about no drugs when he got out of rehab this time. He scrubs his hands on his jeans and puts on a confident smile, faking what he doesn't feel. HIs hair is styled, his scraggly scruff trimmed and looking neater than usual, and he feels like he is about to twitch out of his skin. "This is it?" He asks, surveying the house. It's nice. A slice of suburbia.

“This is it.” She reminds him of your name quietly just in case there are lurking neighbors, and ushers him up to the front door. She knows with confidence that you will be the one to answer the door despite living with other people, and she waves a hand at it. “Show time, Dee.”

Dieter clutches the flowers in his hands, they are supposed to be your favorites. Not that he actually knows that, he was just told to give these to you. He wipes his hand on his jeans and gives the camera a grin. "Nervous." He admits, not acting for that. "Meeting my soulmate is something I've looked forward to for a long time." He adds before he blows out a breath and rings the doorbell.

******

“Are we expecting someone?” You’ve been up for maybe half an hour now, just long enough to take a half-assed shower and throw on some clean clothes and graciously accept a cup of coffee from Steph before she tries yet again to grapple her daughter into the Mary Poppins Game, aka cleaning up all her damn toys.

Stephanie glances at the clock, trying to hide her own giddy sense of anticipation. "Oh! Uh, I think it might be the grocery order?" She offers. "I put it in last night, so we didn't have to go out unless we wanted to." It's a complete lie, but she needs you to not be suspicious when you open the door. "Will you get it while I finish up with stubborn?" She asks, nodding towards where Nora suddenly decided to organize all her doll clothes.

“Oh, cool. Auntie’s stayin home today.” You had planned on running the errand for Steph so she wouldn’t have to balance groceries and her four-year-old, but this is definitely better. Heading down the stairs from the second floor, you leave your coffee mug in the living room and walk through to the front door without a second thought.

When you open the front door, though, it’s like entire world pivots, flipping you upside down to drop you on your ass all in a split second. What the fuck is HE doing— the half-formed thought pings in your brain as he starts to open his mouth and it hits you like a freight train.

Stephanie is going to fucking pay for this.

You’re not entirely sure what you meant to say when you opened your mouth, but what came out was a sudden, sharp, “Fuck you, Bravo!” As you slammed the door in his face.

“Stephanie!” The second the door is shut you’re screaming again, but this time the angry is directed at the one person you trusted most in the world. “Stephanie! Tell me you did not do this!” The tears are a surprise, but they are hot and angry and definitely there.

Dieter's mouth drops open, eyes wide in shock. He had not expected that kind of reaction. Looking over at Libby and gawking for a moment before she elbows him in the side. The cameras are still rolling, live streaming this latest embarrassment. He huffs and chuckles and looks over at the camera with what could only be described as a roguish grin. "I see my less than sterling reputation has precedes me." He quips and turns back to the door to ring the doorbell again, face dropping into a frown.

“Auntie Gigi said a bad word!” Nora gasps, looking up as her mother scrambles to her feet.

“Yes, she did, baby.” Steph sighs. “Why don’t you stay here and play while I go find out why.” She doesn’t wait for an answer, closing Nora’s bedroom door behind her as she all but bolts for the stairs. “Honey, open the door,” she begs, hustling through the living room. “Just let him in and I’ll explain.”

“I can’t believe you did this.” The utter betrayal on your face would melt stone, the anger and hurt boiling behind your eyes. “You know I never wanted to meet him.”

“You think you don’t.” Steph gestures to the door again. “But he’s your soulmate. Just let him in. You might be surprised.”

“I—” You tug at your sleeves, that age old nervous habit meaning more than every right now. “We are having a conversation you will not enjoy later,” you tell her flatly before you turn around again. Wiping your tears on the edges of your sleeves, you square your shoulders and take a deep breath before opening the door again. “Turn off the cameras.” Is the first thing out of your mouth, and you say it to the woman behind him. “Turn off the cameras, put them back in your cars, and then come in.”

Dieter frowns, turning and looking at Libby. This is not the reception that he had expected. This woman supposedly reached out to his team? To Mate Marks? “Lib?”

Libby nods to the camera guys, waving them off with pursed lips before she looks back at you. “Your sister-in-law decided to surprise you.” She guesses, thoroughly displeased with that development.

“Yeah, she did.” It takes concerted effort to step aside, but once the cameramen are gone you hold your word and let the two remaining people standing your doorstep into the house.

“This isn’t what’s supposed to happen!” Dieter hisses, glaring at his agent. “You said this was supposed to improve my image.”

“It’ll be an amusing anecdote in no time.” Libby promises him, hoping she sounds sure of that. Because she definitely isn’t. “Listen.” You cross your arms and clear your throat, trying for stern but probably not hitting it. “I don’t know what was promised, but it wasn’t by me.”

“Obviously.” Dieter frowns, furrowing his brow at you and wondering what in the fuck makes you hate him. “What did I do to you?” He thinks about it and his eyes widen slightly. “Was it the tattoos?” He asks before another thought hits him. “Shit— could you— you didn’t experience my OD, did you?”

“I gave up trying to get rid of your tattoos after the first one.” The little flower behind your ear had been painful to receive and painful to have lasered off, not to mention expensive. “The fact that you went for a giant—” From the corner of your eye you look at Steph and sigh. “Fudging triangle on your arm after that showed me how little regard you had for the person who shared your marks.” When the two intruders look at you like you have just grown three extra heads you shrug. “We have a four-year-old in the house. Bad words are off limits.”

“Oh.” He bites his lip and looks around, trying to find the kid. The signs were obvious, but he had been trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. “You have a kid?” He asks.

"My niece." You motion toward Stephanie who looks appropriately guilty a few feet away. "My brother died two years ago of Covid. Stephanie - uh, my best friend and my brother were soulmates. So, Auntie stepped up when Dad got sick."

“Oh shit— uh, shoot.” He bites his tongue and Libby’s jaw drops open at Dieter’s attempt to rein in his foul mouth. “I’m sorry.” He winces, directing the comment towards Stephanie. “I know that sucks.”

"Thank you." Steph nods vaguely, used to absorbing people's sympathies fairly consistently since Shawn died. That's just part of what being a widow is. "Why don't you guys talk? I'm going to go check on Nora and I'll come back down in a few minutes."

The flowers Dieter was supposed to hand you are hanging by his side and he brings them up to offer to you again. “Do you want these?” He asks.

You have a sense that he might be as blindsided by all of this as you are but in different ways, and you find yourself nodding slightly and reaching to take the flowers from him while studiously avoiding actually touching him in any way. "Let's go in the kitchen," you offer, not checking to see if they follow you as you cross the floor to the place where coffee lives and a vase is most likely to be found for the (admittedly pretty) zinnia flowers.

Dieter drifts behind you, letting Libby pull ahead of him as he makes his way to the kitchen. Ego slightly bruised by the reception he received. Even if he hadn't wanted to meet you, argued against it, it was insulting the way you had just hurled 'fuck you Bravo' at him and slammed the fucking door in his face. Plenty of people would want to be with him, had tried to convince Libby they were his soulmate, and he was stuck with someone who fucking hated him. "Are we sure?" He asks Libby again when he makes it into the kitchen, looking over at you where you were putting the flowers in a vase and watering them.

Libby sighs, short and staccato like a hrrumph and nods slightly. “Her sister-in-law is the one who contacted us,” she admits quietly. A fact that she had considered need-to-know for Dieter before this. “We’ll spin this and make it work, Dee. I promise.”

“What do you want from me?” You can hear them whispering - he might be quiet but she’s too forceful for that - and frown again as you pull three clean coffee mugs and the sugar bowl out of the cupboard. “Why look now. What’s the angle?”

"I'm ready to settle down." Dieter quips, the comment sounding more like a question than a statement and he watches your back while you pour coffee, something he would sell his fucking soul for right now since he can't have a little toot like he really wants. "Why didn't you?" He asks. "Look for me. Or you know, get in contact with me since you obviously knew."

Annoyed at the implication that you’re in the wrong for leaving him alone, you pull open the button at the cuff of your shirt and tug the fabric up to reveal the ludicrously oversized triangle tattoo that he put on your arm. The first time he or anyone beside Steph has seen the marks on your skin in years. “It was impossible not to know. But you seemed to be perfectly content in the life you’ve been living and I have no desire to be reduced to tabloid fodder for the rest of my life, so I kept my mouth shut. No one knows except Steph and my parents. I keep my marks covered.” As if to prove it, you rebutton your sleeve before setting all the things they’ll need for coffee in front of them. “My niece doesn’t even know I have tattoos.”

"They aren't that bad." Dieter scoffs, shaking his head and crossing his own arms, sleeves rolled up to show off the tattoos and the assortment of bracelets that he insisted pulled the outfit together and made it interesting rather than boring. "You even cover up the hand tattoo." He huffs when he spots your left hand.

“Make up.” You tell him, Instinctively covering the spot with your other hand. “My students would recognize it.”

"Fans?" He smirks slightly and then remembers that you don't want people to know that you are soulmates with him, making that look slide off his face.

“Some of them.” You’ve definitely had to remind yourself not to be overly harsh when grading portraits of him as unit projects before. Those are usually the days that you come home from work and don’t say a word besides playing with Nora or reading her a story. “But look, you didn’t answer me.” Leveling your gaze back on the woman who came in with him, you ask again. “What do you want from me?”

"Dieter wanted to find his soulmate." Libby answers for him, pulling out a chair at the table and sitting down as if it were a conference room table. "Obviously Mate Marks was wildly interested in having one of Hollywood's Oscar winning actors endorse them if you could be found through their services."

“Okay, that’s why you did it, but again not the actual answer to my question.” Just because you’re mad doesn’t mean you’re not going to be a neglectful host, and the tray of banana chocolate chip muffins you made yesterday is uncovered and set in the middle of the kitchen table. “I assume you want me to do something? Something public?”

Dieter's eyes light up at the sight of the chocolate chips, and he immediately reaches for one. "Date me." He answers, breaking one open and popping it into his mouth, only to roll his eyes and groan in pleasure. He loves sweets and the dark chocolate mixed with semi-sweet chips hits just right since he hasn't eaten anything today.

It’s just two words, but you actually deadpan stare at him in borderline horror and panic. “I—wha—? No.”

He swallows the muffin and Libby rushes to try to reason with you. "Just a few 'getting to know you' type things." She assures you, knowing that once the initial interest has worn off, they can either convince you to continue on or just keep comments about his soulmate to a minimum. Libby starts explaining her plan and the agreement they have with Mate Marks, and Dieter loses interest in this part of the conversation, looking around for something to pique his interest. The thick stack of bills off to one side that is stamped with bright red 'Overdue' and 'Urgent' do. Twisting his head to the side to read what it's about.

As a business venture, the whole thing is very sound. A few public dates, a few high-profile appearances - a half dozen in total. They’re offering to buy you clothes and they’ll provide you with a driver for every event. A member of Dieter’s security team will be assigned to you if necessary. It all sounds like a huge headache that you don’t want for a man you have no interest in knowing. “Look, I appreciate that you went through a lot of work for this stunt.” You tell them, even though he isn’t listening. “But the answer is still no.”

“What are these?” Dieter asks, picking up the thick stack of bills and nosily starting to riffle through them. There are a lot. Some for a man - the oldest ones, but a lot of them are for a Nora.

“None of your business is what they are!” The horrified look on your face when you see what he’s holding is very plain, and you snatch them out of his hand immediately. “That’s—I can’t—I—” The medical bills from Shawn’s treatment are still outstanding, piling up with Nora’s bills and the mortgage payments. They’re none of his fucking business and the fact that he’s snooping just reinforces how rude you’ve always thought he is. “Please leave.”

“Okay. Okay.” Dieter holds his hands up, standing up and dropping them back down so you don’t see the three papers he had tucked into his pocket. There was a lot of money owed. A shit ton and he wanted to look at them more closely. Have Libby look into it. “We’ll go.”

“It was interesting meeting you.” Is the only thing you can think to say to him at the door, too agitated and angry and upset with the whole thing to try to be less transparently polite-but-not-nice. Once the door is shut behind him you can feel the walls crumbling fast, and before you realized you were even moving you’re standing in the doorway of Nora’s room with a drawn frown pointed at the woman who claims to be your best friend. “We need to talk.”

Stephanie bites her lip and smiles down at Nora, looking confused between the two adults. It’s not often that mommy and Aunt Gigi argued and feels her tummy flip unpleasantly. “Okay.” Steph agrees. “Mommy’s going to go talk to Aunt Gigi, you want to watch cartoons in my room?”

“Uh huh…” Nora nods, still not liking the feeling in her tummy, and grabs her doll along with her mom’s hand to go into the other room.

“I’ll meet you downstairs.” She tells you before she hustles Nora into her room. Setting her up amongst her pillows and turning on cartoons, she shuts the door behind her. She hadn’t thought you would react this badly. Maybe a little upset but you look furious. Biting her lip, she walks downstairs to face the music.

“What the hell were you thinking?” The words are out of your mouth the second she hits the bottom of the stairs. You’ve been prowling them living room like a caged tiger for ten minutes and the only reason you’re not shouting is so Nora won’t hear.

Steph rounds her shoulders slightly, knowing that she was wrong for intruding. Sighing heavily, her guilty look slides to the side, unable to look you in the eyes. “I just thought maybe If you met him…” she tells you softly. “You used to love him. Before your tattoos showed up.”

“Before he turned into a careless asshole.” You correct, wishing this damn skirt you’re wearing had pockets to shove your hands into. “You invited him into our home Steph. Our safe place. I don’t…I don’t understand.”

Stephanie snorts, shaking her head and honestly getting a little pissed at you. “Do you know what I would do? What I would give to spend five more minutes with my soulmate?” She demands, touching the tattoo she had re-inked into her skin in memory of Shawn. “And you don’t even want to get to know yours!”

“That’s different.” Your lip trembles a little, hating having your brother’s memory brought into this. “You loved him. You were twelve years old, and you looked my big brother in the eye and told him you were gonna marry him one day. I don’t have a soulmate. I have an ego on legs with bad ink and no concept of manners. He was rifling through our shit, Steph. Our bills.”

“Shit, I left them out.” Steph winces and gives a small shrug. She can’t help that she’s in debt up to her eyeballs. “Did he mock us for being broken by the fucking health care system or something?”

“I kicked them out before he could say anything.” To be honest you’re not even sure he comprehended what was in the envelopes he was holding, but it sickens you to think he might have been forming an insult based on something that almost every single American of the twenty-first century can relate to.

“So he might have just been curious. He’s your soulmate. I wanted to know everything about Shawn. Everything.” Stephanie tells you before she holds up a hand. “But I’m sorry I interfered. I shouldn’t have. And I won’t anymore.” She promises.

“What else did you tell them about me?” You can only assume there was some kind of survey or interview to verify your identity and your status as Dieter’s soulmate. Some kind of test. “He came here with zinnias so they must have asked what my favourite flower is.”

“Just basic things, that you are a high school art teacher, and you love fresh brewed coffee and concerts - although you haven’t been to one in years.” Steph sighs and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I just— I want you to be happy. Outside of me and Nor.”

“I don’t need anything outside of you and Nora.” For the first time since the doorbell rang your anger cracks, and you reach for your friend’s hand. “I wanted a family, and the universe gave me a brother I loved, a best friend to cherish every minute with, and that little girl upstairs to help take care of. And I love this life.”

“I know you love it, but—” She shakes her head again. “Aren’t you lonely?” She ventures softly.

“Well—” The best shrug you can manage is the most half-assed thing in the world, and you feel like dissolving a puddle on the floor if you could. “That doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does.” Steph huffs. It definitely matters. Especially to her, when all she wants is your happiness.

“It doesn’t.” You shake your head insistently. “You matter. And Nora matters. And the promise I made to Shawn to help take care of you matters. Not whether or not I get laid.”

“No.” Steph argues. “We are not going to sacrifice your happiness to help me.” She huffs. “Then we’ll be two bitter old hags sharing a house.”

“You’re not old and you’re not a hag.” There’s no point in debating the ‘bitter’ part since the world dealt her an ugly hand. “Dieter Bravo isn’t going to make me happy, honey. The universe has it wrong this time.”

“Give me another twenty years.” She jokes and heaves another sigh. “I’m really not going to convince you to give him a chance, am I?”

“It would take a literal miracle to change my mind about him.” After all the years and all the things that you’ve read and seen - secretly reading articles and news releases when you were younger has waned over the years - you just don’t see how it could ever work. “If this is really about my sex life, I’m okay. I’ll sign up for a soulmate-less dating app or something if I get desperate.” It’s been…years, actually, now that you think about it, since you had anything even remotely resembling a personal connection with someone. But that has been a seriously low priority in your life since Shawn got sick, and even then your encounters were nothing more than a quick release, always with the worry that they would see the elephant on your thigh or that your sleeve would come unbuttoned during a chance encounter and reveal a triangle. The specter of your soulmate has been hanging over your head for a long time.

******

“Aunt Gigi!” Nora burst in the door, home from her doctor’s appointment, her face scrunched up in confusion and a little bit of fear. “Mommy’s crying!” She races over to where you are chopping vegetables and grabs your arm. “She won’t stop!”

“Steph?” Nearly dropping your knife, you wipe your hands on the apron around your waist and pick Nora up so you can hustle through the house faster than her little legs are capable of. “Stephy, what’s wrong? What happened?” It seems like a violation of the Hippocratic Oath for them to deny Nora’s treatment based on debt, but you wouldn’t put it past anyone these days. Today was an infusion day and her medication is pricey.

Stephanie barely made it inside the door, crumpled to the floor on her knees with her face buried in her hands. Body shaking as she sobs. Everything just spilled on the ground beside her, her purse, keys, Nora’s bag for daycare, carelessly heaped beside her while she weeps.

“Nora baby, can you get Mommy a bottle of water from the refrigerator? Don’t run, sweetie.” The little girl nods, on the verge of tears herself, and you have to remind her not to run again as she takes off back across the house a second time. “Honey, what happened?” It only takes a second to right the bags again and scoop up the things that had fallen out so you can pull Stephanie into your arms on the floor, rubbing her back in soothing circles. “Whatever’s wrong, we’ll figure it out. Just take a deep breath, honey. I’m right here.”

“N-no.” Stephanie inhales a large gulp of air, shuddering from her crying. She had managed to keep it together until she pulled into the driveway but now that she was home it’s all crashing down on her like a ton of bricks. “It-it-it’s gone!” She cries, choking out the words.

“What’s gone?” Oh god…did the bank foreclose on the house? You were sure you had more time.

Nearly hyperventilating, Stephanie reaches into her pocket and pulls out a few folded papers, shoving them into your hands. “Ev-everything.” She manages. “Gone! It-it-it’s not a glitch!”

You’re well acquainted with what a balance statement from the hospital looks like. Over the years you’ve seen plenty of them, memorizing the way they look and even the way they smell completely against your will. This one is unlike anything you’ve ever seen though - because the balance reads zero. A one-time payment is listed for every single cent that Steph owed for Nora’s treatments and care. As of two days ago, the balance is paid in full. The folded and crumpled page has a mate, of course, and you snatch it out of the envelope frantically. Every penny of debt for Shawn and Nora’s care has been paid by the same credit card. It was hundreds of thousands all told. Years piled up in doctors and dollar signs. And it’s gone. “Holy shit…” you breathe, eyes wide as you stare at the zeroes on the pages. “Who…?” Bundling Steph up in your arms, you squeeze her tight and feel the palpable shift in the air. No wonder she can’t stop crying, you think, unaware that you’ve started to cry too - albeit silently.

“Th-they wouldn’t tell me.” She blubbers, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. “S-said they asked not to be named.”

“Shhhh, honey…” When Nora comes back and sees you crying too she almost loses it, her lower lip trembling violently, but you smile at her reassuringly and pull her into your lap right along with Steph. “It’s okay, baby,” you promise her, sniffling back as much emotion as you can. “Someone did something really nice for Mommy and we’re just…we’re very shocked by it. It was a surprise, baby. But everything’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” She immediately snuggles into both of you and Stephanie manages to catch her breath again.

“It’s so good baby.” She promises her daughter. “So much so, I - I think we are going to order dinner to celebrate.” She announces. Ordering dinner is a rarity in your house, saved for the most special of occasions. A real treat for everyone.

“But it’s not a birfday.” Nora’s eyes widen at the implacable importance of ordering dinner, and she hugs her mother hard. “Must-a been a really good surprise, Mommy.”

“It is baby.” Stephanie bends down and presses her lips to her daughter’s head. “Why don’t you go think about what you want?” She asks, leaning back and brushing the curls away from Nora’s face. “Anything you want. I want to wash my face and talk to Aunt Gigi.”

Nora runs off again at lightning speed, knowing exactly which drawer in the kitchen holds the take out menus because she likes to order pretend take out for her dolls for very special tea parties. “Let’s see how getting up goes,” You half-laugh at the way the two of you groan as your crumpled, over-30 bodies creak and groan as you stand back up.

“I’m going to call the mortgage company.” Stephanie tells you. “The money meant for medical bills will quickly make up how much we are behind.” She hugs you again desperately and pulls away with the brightest smile in a long time. “Will you help Nora order?” She asks, handing you her purse. “We are treating you to dinner.”

When you start to protest she puts one hand over your mouth to stifle it and nearly laughs with actual joy, and you can’t see fit to bicker about anything when she’s so happy. Instead, you hug her tightly and head off to the kitchen to find Nora pouring over the menu for the Chinese place in town that makes the sweet and sour chicken she and Steph both love. It’s one of the few restaurant items she can really enjoy with all of her food restrictions, and something you’ve never quite managed to nail cooking at home. “Did you find something already, Nor?”

“Uhhuh.” She proudly displays the Chinese menu. “Chicken!” She claps her hands excitedly.

“Chicken sounds good.” She’s all cheered up again after having been worried about her mom, and you set her down at the kitchen table beside you while you plug your order into the app together. By the time Steph comes back in from the living room, you’ve picked up the beginnings of the dinner you were making and cleaned up the kitchen, and Nora is playing happily with the building block house she made for her favourite dolls earlier in the week.

She’s not crying, she’s stunned. Walking slowly into the kitchen with a dazed look on her face, Stephanie comes and plops down beside you. “I don’t know what is going on.” She murmurs.

"What do you mean?" You had just pulled out your phone to check your e-mail for any job application responses, but she looks like she's seen a ghost, so you put it aside immediately.

“They are sending me the deed to the house.” She murmurs, looking over at here Nora is playing happily. “The mortgage was paid off two days ago.”

"What?" Hissed under your breathed, the word rockets your eyebrows up to your hairline in surprise even as you're careful not to disturb Nora. "What the heck is going on?"

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head, overwhelmed by the sudden and complete turnaround of her fortune. “No one knows how badly I’m drowning except you.”

"Somebody must have known." With both her parents and her husband gone and no other close family, it's not like Steph's relatives could have known anything. Your own parents adore her, but you and she have a standing agreement not to ask them for help because they're barely squeaking by on their own. She hadn't been to therapy in over a year because of the expense, and her bosses certainly don't have a clue. Even if they did, they wouldn't care.

“No one.” She promises before she stops, works her mouth and then shuts it again before speaking. “You— you said that he was snooping.” She bites her lip. “You don’t think— No. That’s crazy right?”

The blood drains from your face at the thought, but you shake your head adamantly. "No way." You insist, stubbornly refusing to admit that it might be even the tiniest possibility. "That would require him to care about another person. Absolutely no way in heck." Oh if ever there was a time to be able to swear...

“I don’t know anyone else who could pay that kind of money.” Stephanie reasons, looking over at Nora, sighing. “Whoever it is. I need to thank them. They just gave my daughter her childhood back.” So many things she had wanted to do with Nora had been delayed. Aquariums, water parks, Disney, all now within reach due to someone’s generosity.

"Maybe some secretive billionaire is out there calling up hospitals and banks and paying off people's debt like their idea of a fun Wednesday?" It's possibly the most ludicrous thing you've ever said, but the terrifying possibility that that man might have grown a heart and done something caring is too much for you to stomach. No, more likely he did it to lord it over you. Like he'd call to taunt and – but if someone were going to do that they wouldn't have insisted on remaining anonymous. They would want the two of you to know so they could gloat. "Maybe some rich eccentric is working off their debt to society by paying other people's debts?" Surely that's it.

“I’m not that lucky.” Stephanie scoffs before she gives you a knowing look. “You should ask.” She tells you.

"Even if I wanted to?" Which you truly don't, despite your curiosity, because it would involve talking to him again. "I have no way to contact him."

“Didn’t they give you a number or something?” Stephanie asks, surprised that you are just flat-out saying no.

“Maybe? I kicked them out pretty fudging abruptly.” You vaguely remember there was a card in the flowers, but you had assumed it was for the florist and tossed it in the trash. Or maybe a drawer? Popping out of your seat, you dig into the junk drawer in the kitchen where you would have gotten the scissors to trim the flower stems. An unfamiliar piece of card stock is sticking out from under them and you swear if it gives you a paper cut you won’t be surprised. Dieter is scrawled on the back of the card, and a nine-digit number with an LA area code. If you were cruel you could auction this little thing off for more money than you’ve ever dreamed of - but that isn’t you. You, right now, is the person staring at it like it personally caused every ill that mankind has ever known. “The back of the florist’s card.” You hold it up to show her, and then flip it over so she can see what you can only assume is his handwriting. “I guess I thought the flowers were pretty enough to keep it.”

“They were very pretty flowers.” Steph concedes, not mentioning that it was romantic of him to bring you flowers, even if she was certain someone else bought them. “You don’t have to do this.” She tells you, voice filled with guilt. “I would just love to know if the worst man on earth is responsible for changing our lives. I mean, he’s probably not. You know, since he’s horrible.”

“Are you seriously teasing me about this?” Steph has never thought as poorly of him as you have, you know that. But you still huff at her like you’re vaguely surprised she won’t ever be on your side on the issue.

“Yes I am.” Steph looks over at Nora to make sure the young girl is fully absorbed in her playing so she doesn’t hear her mother. “Because you have a hot soulmate and you won’t even angry…snuggle him.” She murmurs quietly.

“I would not snuggle that man, angrily or any other way, if my life depended on it.” You inform her flatly, absolutely not thinking in any way, shape, or form about how he’s actually far more attractive in person. No movie star glitz, no chaotic disaster vibes, just a clean and decently dressed man in your kitchen. That is not relevant.

“You’re a better woman that me.” She huffs, acknowledging to herself how long it has been since she’s been snuggled. Since Shawn got sick. “I would do it just for bragging rights.”

“That would involve admitting I’ve been within a mile of him, which I will not be doing.” With a sigh, you look down at the card in your hand. “I’m only doing this for you.” One phone call to confirm it wasn’t him and then you can get back to your quiet, normal life. One that is now considerably less burdened with debt.

“You don’t have to.” She’s serious this time. If it was going to upset you, she would rather you not.

"We have to know." You tell her honestly. "I'll go upstairs and call this number. Hopefully it's just that Libby woman and I can ask questions without having to talk to him and I'll be back downstairs in no time."

“Okay.” She reaches over and squeezes your hand. “If it is him, tell him…tell him I said ‘thank you from the bottom of my heart’.”

Once you're sitting in your room with the door closed, the anxiousness hits. A full five minutes are spent staring at that phone number with your legs bouncing before you actually manage to dial it into your phone, and another two minutes before you actually hit the call button. Though you're praying that it's an official business number, the pit in the bottom of your stomach says it won't be. Maybe it will go to voicemail...

“I don’t care if you’ve been trying to reach me about my cars extended warranty.” Dieter huffs into the phone, feeling frustrated at the number of spam calls he’s been receiving. He was supposed to have some kind of private number, right? That’s what Libby told him when she said not to give out his number to everyone.

"What?" The abruptness in the answer catches you off guard, and you find yourself scrubbing one hand down the side of your face. "No, no— this isn't a scam call. Uh...I'm trying to reach Dieter Bravo?" A sentence you never thought you would ever say...

“Oh, uh, that’s me.” His tone changes. “I mean, who is calling?” He rolls his eyes at himself, wondering if a fan got his number again.

You do your best not to sound resigned or, worse, nervous, when you give him your name. "This number was written on the back of the florist's card," you tell him, wondering now if that was even his handwriting.

“Oh yeah.” He pulls his way away and looks at the number. “It’s my personal cell phone.”

"I, uh...I called for a reason." This already goes down as one of the most awkward phone calls you've had in your life, so why not just go for the jugular. Can't get worse, right?

“You gonna yell at me again?” He asks, tucking his phone into his shoulder and unwrapping a mini KitKat.

"I don't think so." You admit begrudgingly, twisting the hem of your shirt in your lap with your free hand. "I need to know if you looked at the mail you picked up while you were at my house last week. Like actually looked at it. Names and accounts and things. Because..." A soft exhale escapes your lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut. "Because my sister-in-law's medical debts and mortgage payments were all magically paid off two days ago and..." Oh god, don't cry. Nothing could be more humiliating that crying on the phone to this man. "And you're the only person we could think of who would have that kind of money..."

“They let her know?” He hums. “Good.” He pops the KitKat into his mouth and chews happily. “Didn’t think it would be for another month. I know that shit makes you fucking stresssssseed. Worry about bills.”

"It was you? Nora had a doctor's appointment today and when Steph went to pay they said—" Halfway through blurting out the explanation you stop, processing the absolutely casual way he answers and how once again you can't believe it's this man that the universe stuck you with. "She wanted me to tell you thank you. Thank you from the bottom of her heart." The quote is exact, though it feels odd to say the words to him.

“Don’t worry about it.” He murmurs, waving away the gratitude. “It’s done.” He pauses and reaches for another KitKat. “That all you wanted?” He knows you don’t like him; you’ve made that evident and while it sucks, he knows he can’t do much to change your opinion of him.

"Why?" It's almost as important to you as the fact that he did it at all. "Why help us? You didn't have to."

“You’re my soulmate.” He tells you, as if that should be obvious reason for doing anything. “You were struggling. I could help, so I did. Besides, I’m not spending money on drugs anymore.” He huffs that part, still annoyed with sobriety. “Smart figuring it out. I told them not to say anything.”

"You're not?" That probably shouldn't be the part you're focusing on, but it's surprising to you nonetheless.

“Not what?” He asks, confused by the question.

"You just said you...you weren't spending money on drugs anymore." You clear your throat slightly. "Surprised me. That's all."

He grunts, not happy about it, but he promised he would try to stay in the wagon for a while. “Yeah, apparently being happy is bad for my image.”

"I— look, it's none of my business." It's not, and you know it, and now you regret pursuing the line of questioning altogether. "We're just...we're extremely grateful. It may not seem like a big deal to you, but Steph was on the verge of losing the house and this is the place she bought with my brother, so it means a lot to her. You, um...you gave Nora back her childhood and my best friend back her ability to breathe. So thank you."

“You’re welcome.” Dieter tells you quietly, feeling good about being able to help you. “I’ll let you go; I know you don’t actually want to talk to me.”

In an impulsive move that you regret almost as soon as you open your mouth, you swear you can feel the tilt of the earth shift in an out-of-body-experience kind of way as you blurt out the words: "I'll do it," as quickly as possible, catching him before he hangs up.

“Do what?” He stops, puts his phone back up to his ear and waits for you to explain.

"The...thing. The date thing." Oh god, what the hell are you doing?? It's too late to take it back and your heart is pounding in your throat. "You need me to help fix your image or whatever, right? Well...you helped me, so I'll help you." You could have let him hang up. It would have been easy. But then you would have been sitting with this debt hanging over your head in a whole new way. A debt to Dieter Bravo. That definitely isn't something you want on your conscience, and you firmly believe in paying your debts anyway.

“I didn’t do it to get you to do this.” Even if Libby had begged him to tell them who paid it off, he had insisted it be anonymous. It wasn’t why he was doing it. It would have made him the asshole you think he is.

"If you had, you would have made sure we knew it was you." Alright, so he might not be the worst person on earth. Jeff Bezos is definitely worse. Dieter Bravo gets a point for positivity today, begrudgingly. "Nevertheless, I am saying that I'll help you. What you did changed our lives, and I— I don't believe in letting that kind of thing go unrecognized."

“Okay.” Dieter doesn’t know why you are doing it still, but it will get his manager off his back. “I’ll send you a text, okay?”

"Okay." Nodding as though he could see you through the phone, you sag on your bed and let out a breath. "I assume that Libby woman will have a contract or something for me to sign. Just have her send it over."

“Probably.” Dieter grumbles. “Woman has contracts for every damn thing.”

That actually makes you laugh despite yourself, and you clear your throat again. "Okay. I guess...I guess I'll talk to you later, then."

“Hey—” He hopes you haven’t hung up the phone yet. One more thing on his mind.

"Yeah?" You had pulled your phone away from your ear when he spoke again, and you pick the electronic back up quickly.

Dieter grins, knowing he’s going to probably make you hang up on him. “What are you wearing?”

"You'll never know." Rolling your eyes, you thump the red button on your phone to disconnect the call and let out a long, loud, agonized groan before getting up to go back downstairs. Dieter Fucking Bravo... this is going to be a shit show.

Chuckling to himself, he tosses the phone down. He had wanted to ask about what was wrong with the kid. They wouldn’t tell him when he paid the bills. However, you seemed confused by the idea that he had a heart, so he hadn’t wanted to surprise you too much. Groaning, he picks up his phone again and shoots Libby a text message, telling her that you agreed to help him fix his image. She will be thrilled.

******

"I smell dinner!" At the bottom of the stairs you call out through the house, inhaling the comforting smell of Chinese take out. Steph and Nora are setting out containers on the table and you cross behind them to wash your hands, checking the table as you go to see if anything else is needed. "Everybody excited for sweet and sour chicken?"

“God yes.” Steph groans and winks at Nora. “It’s been 87 years since we’ve had Chinese.” She jokes. Because it is a special occasion type of meal for the past couple of years, Nora is excited.

"87 years, huh? That makes Nor the oldest four-year-old I ever did see." You laugh and shake your head at them, bringing over the pitcher of cold water from the refrigerator before you sit down next to Steph. "It was him," you tell her quietly, knowing that you have but there's more face.

“If you tell me a new car will be delivered tomorrow, I’m gonna snuggle him.” Stephanie jokes, amazed that your soulmate just solved the majority of her problems in minutes.

"I did not mention the cars." Although, now that the looming mortgage payments have been eliminated, Steph can definitely price out a good mechanic. "But, um..." As Steph serves Nora and then herself, you find yourself wanting to melt into the floorboards all over again. "There will probably be other deliveries. Clothes and whatever. For the...the dates..." You mumble the last word as quietly and incoherently as you possibly can, but the look on Steph's face says she heard you loud and clear.

“You’re going to do it?” Stephanie breathes out, staring at you for another second before she breaks into a grin. “Oh, we are definitely having wine with our Chinese!” She bolts up from the table to grab the rest of the bottle from the fridge. Now that she didn’t have to worry about the mountain of debt or the house, she was going to buy you the fanciest bottle she could find tomorrow.

"Fair is fair." You contend, since it is now your personal party line as to why you have agreed to this charade. "It is six appearances and then I can fade back into obscurity where I belong."

“Unless you decide you like being there with him.” Steph hums, pouring you both glasses and finishing the bottle.

"Let's not start talking crazy." A part of you believes you're doing this as much for Steph as you are for him. It will make her happy to live vicariously for a little bit, and you can prove to her that just because you're technically soulmates does not mean that you're actually supposed to be with Dieter Bravo. "It'll be done by the end of the summer and the kids will completely forget it even happened by the time Homecoming rolls around."

“Yeah right.” You can tell yourself that, but Stephanie knows better. Dieter might have negative press surrounding him right now because of what happened on the Cliff Beasts set, but he is a star. An Oscar winner. “We’ll just have to see.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri

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My Masterlist!

[missymurphy1985]

The Writer (Tommy Shelby X Fem.Reader) - Part One

Warning - SMUT (eventually)

Request? Yes

Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @peakyciills @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x @namelesslosers @misscarolineshelby @screemqueen @cilleveryone @peaky-cillian @misselsbells06 @heidimoreton

You looked in the mirror, straightening out your dress and taking a deep breath. Your boss David, who also happened to be your older brother, had arranged a meeting with you in the offices of the Birmingham Herald at 6pm sharp.

On the way there, you couldn't help but marvel at how you'd ended up here. Your husband had died two years after returning from war having suffered severe injuries, and after you'd taken on his job at the Herald while he was away fighting, falling ill on his return and subsequently dying, your brother, the editor, had kept you on so you weren't destitute. It was against all the principles of the time, a woman working, but your brother never once allowed the other men at the newspaper to talk down to you. You were the best storyteller and strongest journalist they had on the books and he would always have your back. The other men had grown to look at you as a sister almost - you were blessed to be in the position you were in.

Arriving at the Herald, you made your way to David's office.

"Y/n, I'm sorry to call you in this evening..." He smiled, embracing you and offering you a whiskey which you gladly accepted.

"I never have evening plans David, you know that. What was so important it couldn't wait til morning?"

"We've had an incredible offer and I want you to be the one to report it. The story is made for you."

"What is it?"

"Thomas Shelby has agreed to an article on his life to date!"

"Thomas Shelby? As in the Peaky Blinders?! Not a fucking chance David..." You recoiled in horror. You knew the man's history very well, you'd gone to school with his younger brother John and the stories of the Peaky Blinders were infamous. You hated the man - the thought of interviewing him mad your stomach turn.

"This story could launch your career into the big time Y/n! Think about it! The most secretive, elusive man in the country wants to tell his story to you!"

"To the Herald."

"No, y/n, to YOU. He asked for you. By name."

"How the hell does he know my name?" You'd written your articles under a male pen name so as not to distract readers from the content. Not all men were as modern as your brother and coworkers.

"No idea, but he specifically asked for you."

You mind turned - no one knew you worked at the Herald. You'd kept yourself to yourself, even moving out of Small Heath after your husband passed away. You'd lost touch with John just before he went off to war. There was no connection to the Shelby family at all.

"The reason I dragged you in at 6pm is because he wants to make a start today. This evening actually, there's a car picking you up in 30 minutes."

"David!! I can't do this interview for goodness sake, I'm not even close to prepared!"

"You have 30 minutes! Pull your finger out!" He laughed.

You'd crammed as much as possible in that 30 minutes as you could - your mind was whirring at 70miles per hour when the silver Bentley pulled up outside. Glaring at David, who simply smirked in response, you got in the car as the driver greeted you.

"Arrow House ma'am, won't take long to get there," the driver smiled as you asked him where he was taking you. Arrow House? His home? Why would the most secretive man in Birmingham want to meet you in his sanctuary?

************************************************************

Pulling up outside the huge mansion, you couldn't help but be impressed. The gardens were immaculate.

A middle aged lady greeted you at the front door and offered to take your coat. You smiled and handed it over, as she led you through to the dining room. You took the seat she offered.

"Would you like some tea Ms. Y/L/N?" You nodded, and she signalled one of the younger maids to action.

"Mr Shelby will be with you in a moment, please make yourself comfortable," the lady smiled warmly and headed out the door with your coat. You looked around the room. A large painting on one wall of the man himself with a large horse. There was a smaller picture on a cabinet just underneath that caught your eye. A beautiful blond woman, with piercing eyes and a loving smile, holding a small boy in her arms. You didn't know Thomas was married, let alone had a son. The house didn't seem to have much of a feminine feel to it though, it was borderline drab in its decor.

"My wife, Grace. And my son Charles." A voice behind you startled you, and you turned to see Thomas himself walking towards you, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

"She's beautiful, Mr Shelby. And your son is adorable," you smiled, but he didn't return it.

"She certainly was." Your eyes grew wide as the realisation of what he'd said sunk in.

"Oh I'm sorry -"

"No need. It was a long time ago. Shall we get this over with Ms Y/L/N?" You nodded and he led you out of the dining room into a smaller one - clearly an office. The large oak desk sprawled out in front of the bay window. You took your seat opposite his at the desk and pulled out your pen and pad as he poured himself another whiskey. You shook your head when he offered you one, drinking the tea the young maid have brought in to you instead.

Your questions for him were simple at first. You asked about his childhood in Small Heath. His schooling. His childhood friends. Pretty much all one word answers, driving you insane, until you asked about his brothers.

"You knew John, didn't you?" He asked.

"Yes. Same year at school."

"Sadly, he's no longer with us. Shot by the Italians last year." You heart dropped - you heard through the grapevine that John had children and a wife and the news hit you like a freight train. You took a breath and a moment to compose yourself.

"I'm so sorry Mr Shelby..."

"I'm sorry too, I didn't realise you were so close?"

"We were close before the war. Lost touch after that."

"I don't remember seeing you with him?"

"My father wouldn't let me see him, so we had to be careful.."

"You and John were..."

"No no.. god no! Just friends Mr Shelby." He went quiet again, and sipped his whiskey.

Back to the questions. Mundane as they were, you needed them to get the full story. He wasn't forthcoming with the details. You had to really press him, but he spent most of his time drinking his whiskey and looking out of the window at the dark clouds rolling in outside.

"Listen, Mr Shelby, you clearly don't want this any more than I do so please, if you don't mind, I'd like to end the interview here." Your voice was stern, patience had officially gone out of the window he was so fixated with.

"Jack said you were feisty." You froze at mention of your late husband's name.

"How did you know Jack?"

"We served together in France. Good man."

"Is that how you knew my name?" He didn't answer, just nodded, again watching the weather changing quickly outside.

"Storm looks bad."

"If I leave now I should be fine." The first rumble of thunder made you jump, Tommy noticed your fear instantly.

"Scared of storms?"

"They used to scare Jack.." a second rumble had you grasping onto the chair.

"Stay until it passes." Was that a request or an order.. you weren't sure but he took your hand gently and led you into the hallway away from the window, into the main dining room again.

"Frances, have the curtains closed please." He spoke to the older woman who greeted you at the door and she dutifully obliged, closing the curtains in the large windows.

Tommy sat you at the table and gave you his glass of whiskey, your shaky hands accepting it this time. Every thunderstorm brought flashbacks of Jack's terror filled eyes.. his anguished cries of pain.. and ultimately the sound of the gun he placed at his temple before he took his own life. You took a sip of the warm liquid as Tommy sat beside you, a fresh glass of his own in his hand.

"Jack saved my life."

"He did?"

"Yes. We were underground digging.. we could hear the Germans on the other side of the dirt digging towards us... They broke through first and grabbed me. Jack beat them to death with his hammer to get them off me." Tommy's memory made you smile, and you laughed gently.

"He was always brave.. and strong. Put everyone else first. He never told me.."

"He never wanted praise, it was just part of his job. In return.. I said if anything happened to him I would make sure you were looked after."

"What?"

"The men at your office? They're under my watch. They respect you because you're a damn good writer, but they also know if they gave you any shit..." He raised his eyebrow and you couldn't help but smile. Even after his death, he was making sure you were okay. That was the Jack you wanted to remember.

"In that case Mr Shelby, I thank you."

"Call me Tommy eh? Here's to the bravest man in France." He clinked his glass with yours and you felt him almost begin to relax.

"I noticed a piano in the hall - do you play?"

"I did as a boy. My mother was a keen player, I used to watch her all the time. Gave it up after she died."

"I played for Jack all the time. It soothed him when he couldn't sleep." He smiled, a warm genuine smile that you couldn't help but return.

You'd spent the evening drinking whiskey and talking with Tommy, the whiskey hitting you much quicker than it did him, and you could feel your eyelids growing heavier.

"I have a spare room upstairs y/n, maybe stay tonight, I'll have my driver take you home in the morning." He stood before you had chance to argue and you followed him up the stairs.

He led you into a beautiful bedroom, the decor in here much more appealing than downstairs and the large oak double bed even more so.

"I don't want to impose Thomas..."

"That storm isn't letting up any time soon, and you're exhausted. You're welcome to stay. There's fresh clothes in the wardrobe. My wife was the same build as you, they should fit. I'll have my driver take you home at 7am. Goodnight Y/n..." His blue eyes lingered on yours a moment and you felt a rush of something you hadn't felt in a long time... Scaring you. Quickly looking away, you bid him goodnight.