#all of the kids have ain sounding middle names

[novapark]

“Well we’re definitely anything but efficient here. Julian Zayne! I thought I fucking told you to go clean up the studio today. You left a disaster in there last night.” 

“I don’t know why I’m just going to paint again later tonight.” 

“Well if you feel that way you can get your own damn place and leave shit laying around in your own fucking space.” 

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

After the Bombs Fall [Animorphs ficlet]

[Note: I seem to have lost the ask where someone requested my post-war headcanon for Alloran, but anyway here it is.]

--

Less than a month after the end of the war, Alloran applies for transfer off of Earth and back to the homeworld.  When the first request gets cancelled due to a minor typo in a sub-section of a supplemental form, he curses himself and immediately applies again.

The second application lingers in the metaphorical z-space between agents for longer, nearly two Earth months, before it gets cancelled as well.  The systems are overtaxed due to the sudden influx of Earth tourism, the form letter tells him this time, and they’re very sorry for their inability to accommodate his request.

The third time he applies, the form remains “under review” on the submission portal for half a year, even though the review process normally takes less than a day.  So he applies a fourth time, a terrible suspicion taking hold by now.  The Electorate automatically cancels both applications, and has the gall to send him a snippy comm message asking that he refrain from filing redundant claims from now on.

The fifth application gets reviewed and cancelled; the sixth one doesn’t even get that courtesy.  It just stays there, “submitted” but not yet “under review,” unwanted and ignored.

Just like its author.

Alloran considers, then.  For nearly a day he paces, watching the andalite computer and the primitive human device alike, and weighs the merits of stealing Visser Three’s Blade ship out of the impound lot.  It wouldn’t be hard; the security system is coded to biometrics.  No one but he or Tom Berenson could fly that ship now, and Tom Berenson is dead.

After another day, Alloran instead morphs human and walks to the nearest CVS.

He has to swallow an entire jumbo bag of marshmallows and three jars of tomato sauce for comfort before he can swallow his pride as well.  But the comfort food does its trick, and at the end he pulls out the human cell phone still registered under one of Esplin 9466′s aliases and enters the fifth speed-dial option.

“Hey, you.”  Eva answers immediately.  “How’s it going?”

They don’t know each other, not really.  And yet in every one of their three conversations, Eva has greeted him like an old friend.  Her voice brings a reaction to Alloran’s human morph: tightness in his throat, the heat of tears behind his eyes.

“I apologize for troubling you,” Alloran says stiffly.  “Please, if you are busy, disregard this request.”

Eva snorts a laugh.  At least, Alloran thinks that that’s what the sound is.  “I’m not busy, and I owe you a favor anyway.  Shoot.”

Alloran glances around the room, but there are no weapons, so he decides to disregard that last.  “I am truly sorry if it slipped my mind,” he says, “but what favor do you owe?”

“My kid is not in jail on some foreign planet right now, and I hear that’s all your fault.  What’s the favor?”

“The War Council would not have imprisoned the Animorphs.  That is, perhaps Aximili and Prince Jake may have been imprisoned, but doubtless the full Electorate court would have proven merciful—”

“Alloran.  What’s the favor.”

He’s stalling, and she knows it.  “It’s a bit of a complicated political matter, and I’m afraid I am not well equipped to explain it to a human, but enforcement of our travel policies is more subject to individual agents’ personal judgment than we ideally would have it be, and...”

“Hijo de puta.  They’re not letting you go home, are they?”

Alloran fills his human lungs with more air than they technically need for speech.  “It’s a complicated matter.”  Nevertheless, his voice comes out small.

“You still camping at the Sharing Community Center?”

“Yes.”  His voice is even smaller now.

“I’ll be there in half an hour, querido.”  She hangs up.

While he waits, he goes outside to run, to graze, to stare up at the stars.

He didn’t lie; it is complicated.  The Andalite Electorate is struggling to recover from a decades-long war, one that threatened the existence of their very soul as a people.  Seerow’s mistakes — and Alloran’s own decision to publicize the failings of his prince — have ensured that the whole debacle was a massive embarrassment even before the defeat on the hork-bajir homeworld.

And then...

He’s heard the word, whispered and hissed and screamed and shouted.

Abomination.

Abomination.

His face is the public face of the Yeerk Empire.  His voice is its voice.  The morph he was just using — a bald, middle-aged human male — was constructed from the DNA of a dozen human-controllers.  Everything he owns, from the black limousine parked at the curb to the press pass of a woman called Aria, was taken from the hands of murdered slaves.

Of course his people don’t want him back.  Of course not.  The quantum virus was one thing, but then he had the gall go to and get himself captured by the yeerks.  And he’d added insult to injury when he’d challenged a captain on Aximili’s behalf.

He can see it.  That’s what stings.  He can stare up at the glittering point of his home star even as he runs across a field of dull foreign grass, and at this rate it’ll never be anything but a fixed point of light in an unfamiliar sky ever again.

Eva shows up then, before he can feel too sorry for himself.

She brings a human substance known as pinot noir.

**********

“And then...”  Eva points a wavering finger at him.  Her words have gotten blurrier over time.  “And then, we just sneak it in, and bam!”  She slaps the tabletop.

Alloran leans in across to her.  “Bam,” he agrees.

“You needed a ride home?”

At the new voice, Alloran stands up sharply.  Too sharply.  He gets his two flimsy little legs tangled in the chair and almost pitches over.

Marco catches him.  “You all right?” he asks.

“I,” Alloran intones, “am intoxicated.  Tox.  I.  Cate.  Ed.  Wonderful word.  Intock.  Sick.  Kate.  Dd-d-d-d-d.”

“Yeeeaah, I was getting those vibes from the—”  Marco leans around him in an impressive display of human balance.  “Bottle of wine apiece you two’ve apparently emptied.”

Eva draws herself up.  “I did not call and request a ride home, I called and requested a ride to the Netherlands!”

“You’re right, you did.”  Marco rolls his eyes.  “Which is why I made the decision to show up and bring you home instead.”

“No, no, the Netherlands.”  Eva steps up next to Alloran.  They both regard Marco carefully.  “Not to worry, we’ve thought it through.  You call your friend with the private plane, Bradley or Bradford or whomever his name is.  We fly out to the Hague tonight.”

“Where is this going,” Marco mutters.

“Holland,” Alloran informs him.  “It is-sssss in...”

“Yeah, I’ve been.”

“Anyway.”  Eva gestures sharply, bringing attention back to her.  “We shall have a perfectly ordinary canister of table salt with us, and we shall request to visit with Visser Three—”

“Oh Jesus.  Mom.”

“The guards will not suspect a thing, for it is just an ordinary condiment.  All we must then do is create a diversion, and...”  Eva flings out both hands as if miming an explosion.

“Splat,” Alloran says.  “Pllll-lat.  Hissssss.”

“And this will accomplish what, exactly?” Marco asks.

“Making Alloran feel better,” Eva whispers to him.  However, she seems to be whispering a great deal louder than she realizes.  Humans are ill-equipped for private communication, with their sad reliance on verbal speech.  “None of the andalites want him back.”

“Yeah.  Cool.”  Marco laughs.  “Ten out of ten therapists recommend war crimes for a friend in need!  And as a guy who’s been to at least ten therapists, I’d know.”

Alloran is not certain, but he believes that Marco might be employing the human verbal quirk known as “sarcasm.”

“No one will suspect a thing.”  Eva pats him on the shoulder.

Marco sighs.  “Security will just think it’s cocaine.”

“Cocaine?” Alloran asks.  “Coke-cane?  Co-c-c-c-c-c-c-aine?”

“Something you’re never going to try.”  Marco levels a hard stare at him.  “Given how well you handle your red wine.”

“Cooo-caaayyy-nnnee.  Co-cane.”

“How did you get wrapped up in this dumbass heist, anyway?”  Marco looks from one of them to the other.

“Alloran needed me,” Eva says.

“I have no friends,” Alloran announces.  “And Arbron does not own a cell phone.  Ell.  Elffffff-own.”

Marco closes his main eyes for several seconds, massaging the bridge of his nose.  An impressive feat of daring, for a creature with no stalk eyes who relies upon bipedalism.  “Should’ve known you’d be a morose drunk,” he says.

“So, you’ll take us to the airfield, then?” Eva asks.

Lifting his head up, Marco opens his eyes.  “In the words of my wise and estimable mother: if you want it that bad, you can have it when you’re sober.”

Eva opens her mouth halfway, squinting in what Alloran would guess is the effort of remembering when she would have said that.  After a second, her expression clears.  “I was right to say it, that floozy would have broken your heart in the morning, and this situation is entirely different!”

“That floozy’s name was Jake Gyllenhaal,” Marco mutters, “and I totally would’ve gone for it when I was sober, but I never got his number.”

Eva says something in Spanish, presumably about the loose morals of Jake Gyllenhaal.  Marco’s expression would suggest that he only pretends not to understand her.

“Anyway.  The point stands.  I’m driving you home.”  Marco jerks his chin at Eva.  “And you,” he says, looking at Alloran, “are gonna morph and sober up before we go anywhere.  I’m not having you nothlited on my conscience.”

“But,” Alloran says, “the salt—”

“We’ll revisit the salt in the morning,” Marco says firmly.  “Demorph.  Please.”

Alloran considers pointing out that he is a war-prince, he does not take orders from alien children, he has his pride... And then considers whether any of those statements is actually true.

He demorphs.

Instantly, he feels both better and worse.  On the upside he’s more clear-headed now, but on the downside he’s more clear-headed.

“I’ll call you.”  Marco gives him a long look while shepherding Eva out the door.

**********

Marco does not call, but he does send several written missives to Alloran’s cell phone.  The Animorphs still have an illegal andalite communication device, it would appear, and Marco has put in requests to channels both official and not about the possibility of transport from Earth to the homeworld.

     —Ax is on it, Marco’s latest text reads.  —He’s calling an old friend.  Might take some smuggling, but we’ve got an idea.

     —Thank you, Alloran types carefully on the tiny keyboard.  —Your assistance is greatly appreciated, and undeserved.

He’s debating whether to hit send when there’s a knock on the door.

Alloran’s in an abandoned building the Sharing used to use for housing human-controllers.  There is very little chance that this is an incidental knock, or someone who wandered by accidentally.

The thought occurs to him that it’d be smarter to morph human and blend in before he answers.  But the fear of facing the unknown in a half-blind, tailless morph wins out.  He opens the door as is.

It proves to be the right decision.  The andalite on the other side didn’t bother to morph either.

Estrid stares at him in silence for several seconds.  Her expression is unreadable, all eyes ahead and carefully blank.  Alloran doesn’t know what she’s looking for, but he lets her look.

«Estrid,» he says at last, when it’s clear she isn’t going to speak first.  He gestures with his tail blade, the downward sweep of greeting for an honored warrior.

«Father,» she says.

Her own sharp tail-turn puts the flat of her blade toward him.  A greeting between equals.  An insult.  Both not formal enough for an aristh to acknowledge a war-prince, and too formal for greeting a family member.

But then, Alloran went for Estrid, didn’t he.  Not Aristh Estrid-Corill-Darrath, not Estri-kala or my child.

They haven’t seen each other in over two years.  They haven’t spoken in almost twenty.

Arguably, given how young she was when he was taken, they’ve never really spoken at all.  Certainly Alloran knows little of the person his daughter has become as a young adult.  As a groundbreaking aristh.  As a brilliant researcher.

As a war criminal.

Humans have a saying, about apples that don’t fall far.

«How is Jahar?» Alloran says.  It’s what he really wants to know, and he doesn’t know how to approach any of the other minefields that lie between them.  «And Ajaht, how is he?»

Judging by Estrid’s expression, she takes this to be a standard small-talk opening instead of the deeply earnest inquiry it is.  «Mother is well enough.  I suppose you’ll have to apologize to her in person.»  She doesn’t mention her brother.

Alloran feels his tail blade drop nearly to the floor without his permission.  «Yes.  Of course.  Estrid...»

«I’m on a diplomatic mission to Earth,» she says briskly.  «Prince Aximili and I have concluded discussions with several local leaders about access to morphing technology and tourism restrictions going forward.  Therefore, I will be able to exit the planet and return home after being subject to nothing more rigorous than human security scans.»  The dismissive little flick of her tail at this last is, all things considered, somewhat warranted.  Humans have yet to devise a single effective way to detect morphers.

«Return home,» Alloran repeats.

Might take some smuggling, Marco said.  It’s sinking in: Estrid is here to bring him home.

Home.  To the wife he disgraced.  The brother he got killed.  The children who won’t even acknowledge him, a feverish pair of overachievers desperate to leave his legacy behind.  Ajaht’s tail-fighting is so legendary that, even using human channels, Alloran has been able to find scraps of news.  Estrid’s skill is not praised so publicly... but the yeerks got ahold of Arbat’s files, after their disastrous mission to Earth.  Alloran knows more about her, he thinks, than he ever wanted to.

«We’re leaving now,» Estrid says.  «My window for authorized exit ends in two-point-eight-six Earth hours, so we need to move.»

She must have been here for days if not weeks, to negotiate the way she’s describing.  And yet she came to find him at the last possible second.  Likely to minimize the time they’re forced to spend together.

Alloran doesn’t have the time or the energy to care.  «What would you prefer me to morph?»

«Something small and Earth-based.»  She barely finishes speaking before she starts to morph herself.

Alloran pauses in surprise, because Estrid morphs with shocking skill, melding from andalite to human in a mere forty-seven seconds, all without ever once losing her footing.  She even wears a normative amount of clothing when she’s finished, a sundress and sneakers and a coat overtop.

She sighs, looking him over.  «We don’t have all day, here.»

«You were wasted in Arbat’s lab,» Alloran says.

«You don’t have to tell me that,» Estrid snaps.  «Tell me, dear father, what else was a girl and a second-born and the child of a disgraced bloodline meant to do?»

Alloran has no answer.  Silently he morphs.

His options are limited — Visser Three overwhelmingly preferred large to small morphs, and Alloran hasn’t bothered acquiring much else — so he opts for snake, Lachesis muta according to a human-controller from the area.  It’s still larger than most Earth reptiles, but by coiling in close he becomes small enough to drop into the oversized pocket of Estrid’s jacket.

Estrid doesn’t speak to him, and he doesn’t ask her to, the entire way back to her fighter.  She’s under no obligation, and he won’t force the issue.

********

«We’re landing soon,» Estrid tells him, three Earth weeks and eighty-two light years later.  She’s maintained that icy formality throughout the entire journey so far, responding to Alloran’s questions — about her research, about her brother, about her morphing — with flat non-answers.

Alloran steps to the viewport to look out over the rolling grasslands of home like a child on his first in-atmosphere flight.  Is it home, really?  It’s been thirty-nine years since he left home to quell the small skirmish on the hork-bajir homeworld, forty-seven since his first offworld assignment serving under Prince Seerow.  He has seen a dozen planets, been a hundred species, since that time.  This body belonged to Visser Three for nearly as long as it did to Alloran himself, decades of nonexistence until he all but forgot his own name.

«What will you do next?» Alloran asks Estrid, still desperate for conversation.

She flicks a dismissive hand at the air.  «I have my work.»

«Even without Arbat?»

«I didn’t say it was easy.»

«And the quantum virus?»

She turns all four eyes on him.  A small part of him wants to scold her for bad form, but a far larger part of him recognizes he’d be overstepping.  «The quantum virus never happened,» she says sharply.  «And if it did, I was never informed of its existence.  This journey was my first visit to Earth, Arbat died in a lab accident, we were never involved in weapons development, and if you even think about saying differently the War Council will back my story, because all of the documentation —»

«Estrid.»  He cuts her off as gently as he can.  «I would never...»

He sees it, in the stiffening of her stalk eyes.  Hears it in the catch of her breath.  She doesn’t want a father.  Or if she does, she doesn’t want him.

«I would never dishonor the memory of my brother by raising questions about his death,» Alloran says instead.

Estrid relaxes, and turns back to the controls.

He is weary of war, weary of being alone.  The person he’d been when he first met Esplin 9466 would have been shouting by now, demanding to know what right Estrid has to consider herself any better than him.  He only deployed a quantum virus, had no hand in its evil creation.  Either she is a hypocrite... or she is just like the War Council officials who consider it a far worse crime to be enslaved by yeerks than to have murdered ten million hork-bajir.

It’s been a long war, and Alloran has missed her every moment of it.  Let her be angry; she’s here.

There is one more delicate question Alloran needs to ask, however, before they disembark on their family’s land.  «Jahar,» he says.  «I assume... She has found someone else.  To help raise you, and...»  Dark Sun, but this is hard.  «She deserves to be loved, of course.»

Eva’s mate remarried, after all.  Together they’d cried about that, somewhere between the third and fourth glasses of wine.

«Who would date her?» Estrid asks.  «Who would be seen speaking to her?  No.  There’s no one.  There hasn’t been.  There was me, and Ajaht, and that’s it.»

Alloran feels sadness and relief and disappointment and shame at his relief, all at once in a rush too complex to understand.  «I see,» he says at last.

«So go to her.»  Estrid yanks hard to unseal the fighter’s outer door; they’ve landed without his noticing.  «Go to her and—»  Another hard yank.  «Kriffing thing!»

Alloran puts his hand next to hers, pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t pull away.  As one they move, and the door comes open at last.

She came to meet them.  Alloran doesn’t know why he wasn’t expecting that, and yet...

Jahar is older, lined around the eyes and stooped in her shoulders and dull-edged around her hooves.  She’s radiant.  Transcendent.

Alloran is frozen.  Aware of all the knocks he’s taken, all the shine he’s lost.  Aware that they’ve been apart for longer than they ever were together.

He blames that last for the way his knees lock.  For the voice that freezes inside his mind, unable to form words.  For the crack in his breath and the painful squeeze of his hearts as she becomes the one to step forward.  As she raises a hand to his cheek, in the first gentle touch he’s felt in over twenty years.

--

[Note: I know that Aloth’s line in #38 about Estrid being Arbat’s niece — which would make her Alloran’s daughter — is probably not meant to be literal in context.  But the straightforward interpretation is boring, so I went with the fun one.]

[fromcrossroadstoking]

The Memories That Stay

A ghost story of sorts about Chuck Grant and his not-exactly-alive WW2 soldier best friend.

Taglist: @indigosandviolets​ @itisjustmethistime​ @gottapenny​ 

Chuck Grant has been haunted almost all his life. Quite literally.

At the tender age of 6, his parents made the fateful decision to move the family of three from California to Virginia. At a mere six years old, Chuck had very little say in the matter. He held small childish protests about wanting to stay at the beach with his nanny and grampy but, again, at only six, he was very easy to pickup and buckle in to a car seat despite his squirming.

Thankfully, six year olds are very easily distracted from their problems. The long car trip across the country filled with whining and wriggling and begging to get out and run around, was quickly erased from Chuck`s thoughts as he laid his eyes upon his new home. 

The house was easily twice as large as his old one and surrounded by a sea of trees. Chuck`s eyes widened in delight - he had never seen so many trees in one place at one time! It was every child`s most wild desire - an entire forest at their fingertips to explore.

The house itself, though large, was nothing to drool over, or at least that`s what young Chuck heard his mom say. The house was old and rather run down looking inside and out. It needed work. A lot of it. Not that that was anything Chuck cared about; oh no, he had a thousand new places to explore and his small heart beat fast with excitement.

~

Chuck made his first new friend within a couple of days. As his parents cleaned and unpacked and did whatever else it is that grownups did when moving in to a new old house, Chuck played with his little green army men in the backyard. Chuck had been playing for a while when he decided it was time for the paratroopers to be deployed. He scooped them up in his hands and made loud airplane sounds as he swooped over the enemy camp and dropped the paratroopers upon them.

"There`s a tear in that one`s chute. Ain`t gonna survive with a tear in the chute."

Chuck`s head swiveled to face the direction of the unfamiliar voice. A man stood at the edge of the woods, just feet from him, dressed almost like one of his army men.

"What?" Now Chuck had been lectured about stranger danger and how he should never, ever talk to people he didn`t know but... well, the strange man had piqued Chuck`s interest with his comment.

"The paratrooper you just dropped. He`s got a tear in his chute. Ain`t gonna survive the jump like that 'cause the chute won`t work right."

Chuck scrunched up his face as he considered the man`s words and then turned to examine the chute of the recently deployed soldier. Lo and behold, there was indeed a tear in the parachute. This, of course, would not do. Before running off to demand his father fix it so that the mission could be completed, he turned back towards the nameless man to thank him (he was raised with manners after all).

The man was nowhere in sight.

~

A few days later the man appeared again. This time, however, it was in Chuck`s room and not the backyard which was odd because Chuck had not heard anyone come in.

"You fix the chute?"

Chuck stared at the stranger for a moment. His mother had just given him a fresh stranger danger lecture yesterday since they were now living in a new place and she felt he might need a reminder. But this man couldn`t be a stranger, could he? After all, if he was in the house, his parents must have let him in. 

"Dad did."

"Good. You complete the mission?"

"Yeah."

The stranger smiled at him like he approved. And then he vanished. Which was another odd thing because Chuck had never seen someone vanish like that before. Somewhere in his six year old mind he chalked it up to magic, because as any child will tell you, magic is a very real thing, and went back to playing with his matchbox cars.

~

The odd man didn`t appear again until Saturday. Chuck knew it was Saturday because his favorite Saturday morning cartoons were on. He was parked on the floor in front of the television, eyes fixated on the bright colors of the screen as he shoveled a spoonful of extra sugary cereal in his mouth. As one character tricked another in to running off a cliff, Chuck heard a soft chuckle behind him. Turning to look, he found the magic vanishing man sitting on the couch.

"You like cartoons?"

"Guess I do. Never really watched them before." 

He really was a very odd man.

Chuck launched in to a detailed explanation of the current show to let his new friend in on what he was missing. The man listened patiently as Chuck went on in the meandering, rambling way that children do when given the freedom to talk about something they`re enthusiastic about.

"Chuck, sweetie, who are you talking to?"

Chuck looked over at his mother, who stood in the living room doorway with a questioning look on her face.

"My friend!" Chuck pointed to a spot on the couch.

"Your friend? And what`s your friend`s name?"

Chuck paused a moment as he realized that he did not in fact know his new friend`s name. He looked at the man and questioned, "What`s your name?"

"Skinny."

Turning back to his mom, Chuck matter-of-factedly announced that his friend`s name was Skinny.

"Skinny?", his mom gave him a amused smile, "That`s a bit of an odd name, isn`t it?"

"That`s not nice, mom! You`re only 'sposed to say stuff when it`s nice stuff!"

"You`re right, hunny. I`m sorry. I`m going to go finish up the laundry. You and your friend have fun watching cartoons, okay?"

~

Skinny became a mainstay in the Grant household after that. Chuck`s parents figured this new imaginary friend was a result of the lack of other children (the new house was rather in the middle of nowhere) and a child`s overactive imagination. Chuck, for his part, was rather annoyed that his parents apparently couldn`t see his very real friend.

At age 8 he had even tried to explain to his parents that Skinny wasn`t imaginary, but in fact, a ghost (which was something that Skinny had carefully explained to him just a year ago). They hadn`t seemed to quite buy that.

~

It wasn`t until Chuck started getting older that his parents started worrying about the fact that his imaginary friend wasn`t disappearing. They began questioning him about his "friend" and Chuck didn`t like that too much. And Chuck especially didn`t like when they sent him to talk to someone about his friend. The office had been stuffy and the man had been old and had talked to him like he was some kind of baby - Chuck was ten at this point and didn`t care for that at all.

So Chuck smartened up. He stopped talking about Skinny to other people. He kept his voice low when he and Skinny were talking. Often he would take a walk in the woods, Skinny by his side, so that they could hold conversations without fear of being overhead. Sometimes he would scribble his side of the conversation in the margins of his notes or drawings, discreetly angling the paper so that Skinny could read it. 

Chuck got very good at keeping Skinny secret.

~

It was in middle school, just a year or so later, that Chuck began asking Skinny more serious questions.

As a child, he would ask Skinny things like "Are there dinosaurs in heaven?" (Chuck hadn`t been sure he wanted to go to a heaven without dinosaurs in it.) He had even asked Skinny once if God really did care if you picked your nose like Chuck`s mom had said. Skinny didn`t have answer to that but assured Chuck that it was gross and he was better off using a tissue like everyone else.

Now the questions shifted to things like;

"You were in the Army?" - "Yep. 101st Airborne. 506th. Easy Company."

"Were you ever in combat?" - "I was. Fought in World War 2."

"Did you kill people?" - "Yes."

"Where do you go when you`re not here?" - "Don`t know. Don`t remember where I`ve been once I reappear."

"Why are you a ghost?" - "Don`t know that either."

"How did you die?" 

When Chuck asked Skinny how he died, there was a long silence like Skinny was carefully chewing over his words before speaking. And once he did start speaking, it took him awhile to get through the story. He kept pausing, rubbing his hands together, shifting in his spot atop the fallen log he occupied.

"Well, you see, we were in this place. Hagenau. Ugly, cold place. It was better than where we were though. Bastogne, that`s where we had just been, you know? That was frozen over hell. Anything was better than that. Hagenau - we at least had roofs over our heads and beds to sleep in. We even got showers. Food was still awful, but at least we had some. And, well. You see... in Hagenau we had to run this patrol, right? And Shifty, my best friend, you remember me telling you about him? Well, Shifty was supposed to go on it. But he was feeling really bad. He was real sick. It was all that cold, you know? So, Shifty was supposed to go and he was feeling real bad, so I told him I`d take his place. Winters was okay with it. So I took his place. Well, on the patrol... on the patrol we had to go in this house. And. And I was lead. And Jackson, this real young kid, he was right on top of me. Could almost feel his breath on the back of my neck. And Jackson, well, he threw this grenade in the house right as I`m about to go in. Got a face full of grenade. And I survived. They got me back to the house we were staying at. I remember that. I don`t remember much, `cause of the pain, but I remember that. I remember Doc Roe, remember his hands, remember him telling me 'Alright now, Skinny. I got you. It`s alright.' And then that`s it. Don`t remember anything after that. I was just suddenly in my childhood home again. So here I am."

The next day at school, Chuck goes to the library to use the school computers there. He tries his hardest to look up Skinny, his unit, anything. There isn`t much out there, just some scant information and half illegible old Army records. But then he finds the one thing he didn`t expect - a book specifically about Skinny`s company. He writes down the book title and the author`s name on a scrap of paper he has with him. The middle school library doesn`t have the book, but he`s sure he can get his dad to take him to the town library next weekend.

~

It`s at the library that Chuck hits the proverbial jackpot. Not only does he find the book he`s looking for, but there are books by other men who served in Easy Company too. There`s even a book about Shifty, Skinny`s best friend.

Chuck checks them all out.

~

Skinny`s reaction is not quite what Chuck expected. He eyes the books with interest but remains quite, says nothing. Chuck expected at least some excitement, a little gratitude at least.

But at Chuck`s offer to read him the books out loud, Skinny merely declines with a slight shake of his head before dissolving away.

~

It would be several days before Chuck sees Skinny again. Chuck, although only twelve at the time, instinctively understands that the war is a topic that Skinny would rather avoid and so he avoids it too.

The books are returned to the library, unread.

~

Chuck leaves the topic well enough alone until his junior year of high school. He takes an AP US History class and his teacher happens to be rather fixated on the topic of World War 2. Chuck has never been so interested in a class before. He listens with rapt attention, delves whole-heartedly in to the readings, and even chooses to do his final paper on the Battle of the Bulge.

He carefully keeps this all away from Skinny, of course. Although, the more Chuck learns, the greater the itch is to ask Skinny questions. But Skinny has been his best friend for almost eleven years now and Chuck knows the topic is painful, so he bites his tongue.

Skinny notices of course. He notices the history books that Chuck hides away in his backpack. He notices the internet tabs opened to sites on World War 2 that are hurriedly closed when Skinny appears. He notices how Chuck practically doubles himself over papers that he`s working on, as if to hide the assignments from Skinny. Skinny might be a ghost, but he`s not dumb.

~

It`s winter break of Chuck`s senior year of high school when Skinny asks Chuck to sit down with him for a long overdue conversation. Chuck`s parents are away at some conference or other and it`s just Chuck and Skinny alone in the house. The wind howls outside as a blizzard blows through -the world beyond the four walls of the house is barely visible thanks to the whirlwind of white. Chuck can tell the weather unsettles Skinny in some way. It always does.

There is a long stretch of silence after they take their seats - Chuck curled under a blanket on the sofa, Skinny sitting in the recliner across from him, leg bouncing a million miles per hour. Chuck lets the quiet goes on for as long as it has to. Skinny will talk when he`s ready. Chuck need only be patient.

And when Skinny finally breaks the silence that has been dragging on for a handful of minutes and begins his story, Chuck sits stock still and listens intently. He knows better than to interrupt.

~

When Skinny finishes telling Chuck everything - why he joined the paratroopers, the training at Toccoa, the friends he made, the friends he lost, the terror of war, what it felt like to take another`s life - Skinny seems different somehow. Lighter. Relieved almost.

But still. Chuck`s gut says there`s something else. Perhaps it`s the way Skinny`s face scrunches or the quick flash of... worry? guilt?... that passes over Skinny`s face. But Chuck knows better than to push.

Skinny will talk when he`s ready.

~

Skinny is perched on the desk in Chuck`s room as Chuck packs. Chuck can tell Skinny is anxious from the way he chews on his bottom lip. Truth be told, Chuck is a bit anxious too. Well. Perhaps more than a bit anxious.

When they had moved in oh so many years ago, the house had stood abandoned (except for a handful of squatters here and there) since the early fifties. Skinny`s family had been the last ones to properly live there. Except, of course, for Skinny. Although Chuck wasn`t sure the word "living" could be applied to Skinny`s situation.

Skinny had been alone for decades before the the Grants moved in. And now here Chuck was, the only person of their little family who could see Skinny, packing to go away to college.

The plan was for Skinny to attempt to follow Chuck. In the beginning it had seemed that Skinny was restricted to the house and surrounding property. But over the years, Skinny slowly gained the ability to follow Chuck places and would pop up at school (test days were a lot easier when you had a ghost whispering you the answers), weddings (much less boring with a ghost friend in tow), and even a funeral (admittedly a bit of an awkward thing to attend with a ghost). The thing was despite accompanying him on hikes and grocery trips and ice cream runs, Skinny had never been able to follow Chuck more than a few counties over. And the college that Chuck was attending was definitely more than a few counties over.

The thought of Skinny not being able to follow him, of having to leave Skinny alone, made Chuck`s chest tighten with worry and even a bit of guilt. He crossed his fingers that his theory proved accurate - as time went on Skinny was becoming more attached to Chuck than to the house (which would be an unsettling theory if the ghost was anyone but Skinny). It had been a couple of years since Chuck had gone beyond Skinny`s boundaries. This would be the ultimate test.

~

Chuck held his breath the day he moved in to the dorms. He was waiting for some sign of Skinny. The hours wore on - he unpacked, met his roommate, walked the campus with his parents, and even had dinner with them. Still no Skinny. Chuck could feel his heart sinking as the sun began to go down. His stomach twisted at the thought of how Skinny would be all alone again, save for the times Chuck visited home.

His roommate dragged him out to a party later that night. Chuck wasn`t all too fond of his roommate or the party but he went anyway. What else is a kid supposed to do during his first night at college?

~

The next morning - mid morning really - Chuck woke up to discover his roommate (John? Jake?) was already long gone. Groaning, he buried his face in his pillow. Yep, he had definitely had too much to drink if the hammering in his head was any indication.

"Already having too much fun? Come on now, Chuck. I can`t even leave you for a day anymore."

Chuck`s head whipped up, far too fast for the likes of the throbbing in his skull, at the sound of the familiar teasing voice.

Skinny had made it.

~

Chuck had been right it turns out - Skinny had slowly become more attached to him than to the house over the years. And during Chuck`s freshman year of college, the two of them take full advantage of this fact.

Skinny tags along to amusement parks and museums and bars and parties. He follows Chuck to the library and to football games and hockey games and baseball games. At Skinny`s request, Chuck even goes to the zoo and the aquarium - Skinny always wanted to see penguins and tigers. 

Freshman year and the subsequent summer are non stop adventures for the duo. They were constantly heading one place or another, sometimes with other people in tow, sometimes just the two of them.

Skinny does more in that one year than he had in the several decades preceding.

~

That summer, Chuck decides to get an apartment instead of moving back in to the dorms. Of course, Chuck knows that he`ll need to get a roommate in order to swing rent, so he looks on the college`s "Roommates Wanted" Facebook page. And that is where he meets Floyd Talbert.

"What if he`s crazy?"

"He`s not."

"You don`t know that."

"Well, I talk to a ghost so if either of us is crazy, it`s probably me."

~

Turns out Floyd prefers to be called Tab. Also, turns out that he and Chuck make fast friends. 

They meet a couple times that summer before officially agreeing to become roommates. After grabbing lunch for the second time, Chuck decides Tab seems like an okay guy. Skinny, thankfully, agrees. 

~

As sophomore year gets under way and the months start to turn cooler, Chuck wrestles with a very important decision. In just a few short months, Tab had quickly become one of the closest friends Chuck had ever had (the other being Skinny). And with Skinny being such an important part of Chuck`s life, it began feeling odd to leave Tab in the dark. 

But... how exactly do you go about telling your new best friend that you`ve been haunted by the ghost of a WW2 paratrooper since you were six? And that said paratrooper was your absolute best friend? And that said paratrooper was also currently a third, albeit invisible, roommate in the tiny apartment that you and your actually alive friend share?

Chuck could already tell it was going to be an awkward conversation.

~

"Wait. You`re actually serious?"

"Yeah, I am."

"So you`re telling me, very seriously, that the ghost of some dude who died in World War 2 has been haunting you since you were a little kid? And he`s now like, attached to you? And that doesn't hit you as creepy? At all?"

"Well, to be fair, I did move in to his childhood bedroom. He was sorta there first. And Skinny`s not creepy. If you could just meet him, you`d-"

"But I can`t. Because he`s dead."

"Yeah."

An awkward silence stretched between them before Tab finally spoke again.

"Prove it."

"What?"

"If you don`t want me to think you`re crazy, prove there`s a ghost here. Have him... I don`t know... open the cabinets, slam doors, stack chairs, you know - go full poltergeist."

"Uhh.." Chuck hesitated. Skinny could do exactly none of those things. Hell, it had taken the better part of several years just to get Skinny to the point where he could move a lightweight cup the incredibly impressive distance of an inch.

"Hold on." Chuck went to the cupboard and pulled out the lightest cup he could find - a neon orange plastic thing with the name of a bar and a handful of scantily clad women printed on it. Setting it down on the counter between him and Tab, he took a step back.

"Skinny, can you move the cup please?"

Chuck watched the corners of Skinny`s mouth turn down ever so slightly as he stepped forward.

"I`ll do my best, kid."

There is nothing but silence in the room as a small eternity passes before the cup begins to move. Slowly, slowly, it creeps to the left just about an inch. Chuck lets out a small breath of relief that Skinny was able to do it.

"That`s it?"

Chuck throws a glare at the fully unimpressed Tab, "It`s not like the movies, okay? It took him a long time just to learn how to do that!"

"Alright, fine. He really can`t do anything else?"

"No, he-" And that`s when Chuck has a brilliant idea.

"Okay, how about this? Write something on a piece of paper and hold it so that someone reading over your shoulder can read it. Skinny`ll tell me what it says."

"Okay," Tab shrugs, obviously still not fully buying the whole Chuck-has-a-ghost-friend deal. Still, he grabs a pen and paper and does as instructed.

"This is fucking stupid."

"I know, Skinny. But can you just tell me what it says?"

"That`s what it says: This is fucking stupid."

Chuck snorts and repeats the phrase. He doesn`t miss the quick flash of surprise on Tab`s face. And then the games begin.

Tab has Chuck wear a blindfold. Chuck still gets the words correct. 

Tab has Chuck sit in another room. Chuck gets the words correct again.

Tab has Chuck sit in another room while blindfolded. Chuck is correct yet again.

Eventually, Tab admits defeat. 

"Alright,  so there`s a ghost named, of all things, Skinny, here."

"Well, his name`s technically Wayne but he prefers to be called Skinny."

"Right. Well, please tell Skinny that I say hi and that it`s nice to meet him. Well, sort of meet him."

"Please tell Tab that I`m dead, not deaf. I can hear his loudmouth just fine."

~

It`s a bit of a relief now that Tab knows about Skinny. Chuck doesn`t have to keep such a large secret from Tab anymore and he can even talk to Skinny out loud now when Tab is home.

It proves to be a bit of an adjustment on Tab`s part but he eventually gets the hang of deciphering when Chuck is talking to him and when Chuck is talking to Skinny. He even gets used to talking to Skinny through Chuck. Too used to it, one might say.

"Hey, Skinny, can you walk through walls?" 

There`s a beat before Chuck replies with Skinny`s answer, "Yes."

"Skinny, was there like a white light when you died?"

Again, another beat before Chuck repeats Skinny`s answer for the non-ghost-vision-inclined, "Not that I remember, sorry."

"Hey, Skinny, what`s jumping out of a plane like?"

"Hey, did you have Cheerios in the 1940s?"

"Skinny, did you have tv as a kid?"

"Did you eat pizza in the 40s? Did they deliver?"

"What`s your favorite decade so far?"

"What do you miss the most about being alive?"

"What`s the best part about being a ghost?"

"Are you ever offended by scary ghost stereotypes? What about when people wear sheets and pretend to be ghosts?"

"Have you ever met another ghost?"

Tab`s questions were un-ending from the moment he accepted Skinny`s existence as a fact. Chuck occasionally considered smothering Tab with a pillow just to get a break from his ghost interpreter job for five damn minutes.

~

It`s a bright and cold winter morning when Tab asks what turns out to be a very important question, "Are any of your soldier buddies still alive?"

"I don`t know."

"He doesn`t know," Chuck relays the answer to Tab.

"Do you want to know?"

Skinny is quiet for a long moment.

"I don`t know."

~

Tab`s the one who finds out about the living members of Easy. There aren`t many - just a handful left - and only one that`s close by.

"You`re stalker skills are... concerning."

"Research skills. And they weren`t that hard to find."

Skinny is off doing whatever it is ghosts do when they aren`t visible, so it`s just Tab and Chuck  holed up in the university library doing homework. Well, Chuck is doing homework. Tab is apparently tracking down WW2 veterans.

"Whatever you say. Don`t know why you`re so dead set on this. We don`t even know if Skinny will even want to see any of them."

"Well, his soul has to be hanging around for a reason, right? Maybe he needs closure. And then he can move on, you know, in to the white light and all that jazz."

Chuck makes a soft mmm sound in the back of his throat as he turns back to his chemistry textbook.

"You do want him to move on, don`t you?"

Chuck doesn`t respond because he doesn`t know the answer. Sure, Skinny has been around long enough. He deserves to move on. But...

~

That night as Chuck is laying in bed, trying to fall asleep, he`s plagued by memories - 

He`s just a kid, legs barely long enough to reach the pedals of his bike. His parents told him to wait, told him he wasn`t tall enough for the big kid bike yet, wasn`t ready to ride a bike without training wheels. It`s a hot summer day, sweat glues his shirt to him, as he gets up after falling from the bike yet again. Skinny is there. Encouraging him, giving him tips, telling him he can do it if he just tries one more time. Chuck goes home that night, just as the sun is going down, with scraped up knees and a new found ability to ride a big kid bike.

He`s eight years old and his parents are fighting. It`s loud and angry and scary and unlike any fight Chuck has ever heard before. Skinny convinces Chuck to sneak outside. It`s pouring out but Skinny swears worm hunting is best when it`s pouring buckets. Skinny talks the entire time - non stop and loudly - it`s very unlike Skinny. But between the rain crashing down and Skinny`s incessant chatter, Chuck can`t hear a word of his parents' shouting.

It`s ninth grade and Chuck is struggling to remember the answer to number ten on his science test. He`s already answered everything else on the test and he knows that this last answer is buried somewhere in his brain, if only he could just drag it to the surface. His face is crinkled in frustration and he chews at his bottom lip. Skinny quietly steps in and gently prods him towards the right answer. When Chuck gets the graded test back, there`s a bright red "A" on top.

Chuck crashes his car during his senior year of high school. Chuck is fine, the car not so much. The little junker car Chuck had worked so hard to save up for is totaled and Chuck takes the loss hard. Skinny stays up all night long with Chuck that night. He tells Chuck jokes and funny stories. He even tells Chuck about the time he got caught on the train tracks with a girl and his response to Sobel when questioned about it - “The train was coming, she was coming, and so was I.” Chuck cracked a smile for the first time that day.

~

The next morning, Chuck has officially made up his mind. As much as he doesn`t want Skinny to go, as much as he doesn`t want to risk losing his best friend, Skinny has more than earned the right to find some peace.

It`s just the two of them at the breakfast table. Tab, who doesn`t get up before 10 am unless there is an emergency, is still sound asleep. It`s the perfect opportunity for a long overdue talk.

"Hey Skinny?"

"Yeah?"

"You know, we, uh, did some research, and some of your old company is still alive."

Skinny looks at him curiously and says nothing.

"Winters is alive. And Malarkey. Guarnere and Heffron too. And, uh," Chuck hesitates because he knows the weight of the next name, it`s the weight of a best friend left behind, the weight of someone he died in place of, "Shifty`s alive too. Not far from here. Less than an hour, actually."

The look on Skinny`s face is one that Chuck can`t name and Chuck can`t help but worry that he made the wrong decision in telling him about Shifty as Skinny slowly fades from view.

~

Chuck doesn`t see Skinny again until the next day. He simply appears from thin air next to Chuck during his morning lecture.

"I want to see Shifty."

Chuck nods and Skinny disappears again.

~

The day that they pile in to Tab`s car and drive the 45 minutes to the Powers residence, there isn`t a plan really. 

The car is packed with tension filled silence as they finally pull up in front of Shifty`s house. It`s a modest but inviting looking home on an unpaved back road. The neighborhood consists of more trees than houses, making their presence conspicuous. 

The three of them sit quietly in the car, gazing at the house, unsure of what to do next. The silence only seems to grow thicker before Skinny finally speaks up.

"Can I... can we... go talk to him?"

"Yeah, okay."

Chuck isn`t sure how this is going to work exactly. Knocking on some elderly man`s door and telling him his best friend who died decades ago is currently a ghost that would like to speak to him, isn`t your standard conversation. But he owes it to Skinny to try. So he slowly gets out of the car and makes his way to the house, Tab and Skinny in tow. 

The bundle of nerves in Chuck`s stomach threatens to swallow him whole as he knocks on the door. An older man wearing a button down shirt and tidy tan slacks, who Chuck assumes can only be Shifty, answers the door.

"May I help you?" The man`s voice is surprisingly soft. Far from the grizzled harsh voice of a veteran that Chuck was expecting.

"Uh, yes sir. My name is Chuck, Chuck Grant, and this is my friend, Floyd Talbert. We`re here because, well, I moved in to the childhood home of your friend, Skinny, and turns out he was still there. His spirit, I mean, and-"

A dark look crosses the older man`s face, "Now, I don`t have time for these kind of jokes. They ain`t very funny." He begins to close the door and Chuck puts his hand out to stop him.

"Please sir," Chuck shoots a desperate looking at Skinny, quietly pleading for some direction.

"Say... say 'remember when we stole Dike`s chocolate ration and gave it to Doc 'cause he was looking real bad'!"

Chuck hurriedly repeats the words to Shifty, whose mouth drops open a little as he hears what Chuck is saying.

"Now, who told you about that? Skinny and I were the only ones who knew where we got that chocolate from."

"I`m telling you sir, Skinny is here. His ghost is. Right here, on your porch, next to me."

"Tell him 'I never did get to take your sister out dancing'.'"

As Chuck repeats after Skinny, he can see something click behind Shifty`s eyes. Maybe it`s the words he says or maybe it`s the desperate, pleading look on Chuck`s face or maybe it`s both of those things combined, Chuck doesn`t know, but Shifty seems to soften.

"You ain`t lyin', are you?." And with that, Shifty invites them inside.

~

"Skinny used to joke that when we got home, he was goin' to take my sister out dancin' and she`d fall in love with him and he was goin' to be my brother-in-law." Shifty smiles fondly at the memory as he recalls it.

They`re all  sitting in Shifty`s living room now, cups of coffee in hand.

It`s awkward at first but it seems that Skinny and Shifty easily fall back in to their old banter despite the odd barrier of one of them being technically dead and having to speak through a third party.

~

Track of time is easily lost that day. Stories and jokes and memories are exchanged without end. In a way, Skinny feels more alive than he has in a very, very long time.

The sun is just disappearing beyond the horizon when Skinny says something that he`s wanted to say for decades. He carefully tells Chuck the exact words to say.

"Skinny says he doesn`t regret it, the patrol. He doesn`t regret going on that patrol for a second. He needs you to know that because he knows how you are, how you`ve probably felt guilty about that this whole time. He says he doesn`t want you to feel guilty. He`s never blamed you and he doesn`t want you blaming yourself. He`d take your place on that patrol even if he knew what was going to happen."

There`s quiet after Chuck finishes speaking. There are tears glistening in Shifty`s eyes and they began to roll down his cheeks as he shoulders began to softly shake.

"Thank you, Skinny."

~

An hour or so later, when they finally begin to leave, Shifty presses something in to Chuck`s hand.

Chuck looks down at what Shifty has given him. It`s an old photograph of a young paratrooper, a giant grin splashed across his face. He recognizes Skinny immediately.

"Shifty, I can`t-"

"Hush now. I want you to have it. You`ve done more for me today than I can ever explain."

Shifty shakes Chuck`s hand with an unexpected amount of strength and something in Chuck`s gut tells him this is the last time he`ll ever speak to Shifty.

~

The ride home is quiet but unlike the tension filled silence of the ride to Shifty`s house, this quiet is a peaceful one. A weight has been lifted and everyone in the car, especially Skinny and Chuck, can feel it.

~

Chuck is out like a light almost as soon as he walks through the door of their apartment. Being the go between for the living and the dead is a surprisingly exhausting job.

Skinny quietly watches Chuck sleep - Chuck, who he has watched grow up, who has become like Skinny`s own flesh and blood. He smiles softly, grateful for the second chance at family that he received, so long after his own family had died out.

He can feel something like a light tugging sensation and he knows it`s time. Some part of him understands that he`s free to move on now, to leave this world behind finally, and move on to the next.

Chuck is out cold and Skinny has no desire to wake him. There is no need for this to be any harder than it has to be.

"Love you, kid. Be good." Chuck can hear him, at least some part of him can. Skinny knows it.

~

When Chuck wakes up the next morning, he knows almost immediately that Skinny is gone. There is an emptiness that Chuck has never felt until now. Before, even when Skinny disappeared from sight, it was like Chuck could feel his presence - it was a warm, familiar thing. But this morning, there is nothing. Nothing but the faint impression of a goodbye residing in his mind like a fuzzy, worn out photo.

~

There`s an article in the local newspaper a few days later - WW2 Vet, "Shifty Powers", Passed Away. It`s not a headline most people would smile at. But Chuck does. 

Shifty and Skinny will finally get to see each other face to face again.

~

Shifty`s funeral is a large affair. Beloved by the entire community, he is mourned by entire crowds of people.

Chuck is the only one to feel the loss of Skinny.

It`s an odd thing to be the only one mourning the loss of someone - to be the only one to know that someone was even gone. Sure, there was Tab, but he had never really "met" Skinny - he had only ever interacted with him through Chuck.

No, the loss of Skinny was Chuck`s loss to bear alone. 

~

It`s been months now since Skinny moved on. Chuck still feels the pang of loss, although the pain becomes less sharp as each day passes.

Sophomore year is almost over now and Chuck takes a seat at his desk to get started on his final paper for the creative writing elective he signed up for. The final paper is supposed to be an original story and the professor has given them free reign to write on any topic they want.

Chuck has decided to write a ghost story, of sorts - a ghost story about someone, barely out of their teen years, who loses his life fighting a war an ocean away, and takes a dirt-covered little kid under his wing decades later. The words come easy, flowing almost effortlessly, as he writes. He pours every little bit of love, of sadness, of grief, he has into the paragraphs. In many ways, what he writes is a memorial to his dear lost friend.

Watching over Chuck`s progress from atop the bookshelf behind him, is a black and white photograph of a smiling young paratrooper, now housed in a simple black frame, a little green Army man with a patched up parachute standing guard next to it.

[ainchase]

Welcome to the Mysterious Mansion

https://youtu.be/gVlaxSh93wE

Elsword: Hi! Now we're going to show you a short film we made.

Aisha: We made it so we can submit it for the upcoming Elrios Film Festival.

Rena: Even though it IS a horror film, there's no gore or scary scenes, so don't worry.

Raven: It was directed by... someone who calls himself "Dekal the Greatest Up-and-coming Director."

Rena: He was a little weird, but he sat on a big fancy chair shouting things like "Cut!" and "Action!" so it looked like he knew what he was doing.

Aisha: People who laugh weird tend to be pretty good at what they do. Kind of like Add?

Elsword: Anyway, sit back and enjoy the hottest actor-idols Elstars' newest movie: Mysterious Elrios Mansion!

Welcome to the Mysterious Mansion...!

On a stormy night, a mysterious mansion showed itself in front of me while I was wandering through a forest.

As if I was bewitched by something, I opened its doors and went inside.

Excuse me, is the master of the house here?

Elsword: Who're you? Why did you get in here?

Elsword: Did you even know where this is before you entered?

Elsword: Hmm? You want to stay until the rain passes?

Elsword: Are you sure you're not going to regret that?

Elsword: Suit yourself.

Elsword: Well anyway, my name is Elsword. I'm a maid of this mansion.

Elsword: Wait! You're sopping wet from the rain - if you move around like that, the wooden floor's going to get all water-stained.

Elsword: Wait right there and don't move!

Rena: I'm head butler of this mansion, Rena.

Rena: You look like a guest. Allow me to give you a tour of the place.

Rena: Shall we start with the dining hall?

I'm getting dizzy all of a sudden...

Lu: Welcome.

Lu: In this mansion, I'll be sure to serve you the finest cuisine that you will never forget.

Lu: Ah, there you are, Ciel.

Lu: Hasn't it been a while... since we last had a guest who was this fresh?

Ciel: You're right. We better give them something very delicious then.

Ciel: Here, try this appetizer first.

Ciel: I took an incredibly adorable and fresh hedgehog, alive...

Ciel: ...to pick these tomatoes with me to make this dessert.

Ciel: He even helped with the decoration...

Ciel: Of course, while he was still alive.

Ciel: Surprised?

Ciel: He's alive even as we speak, so you can eat this without any worry.

Just what is this place

Laby: Are you the guest?

Laby: I heard we had a guest over, so I went out to get something delicious!

Laby: Tada! Take a look! Nisha caught it for me!

Laby: Nisha's my friend - she can catch quick things alive in a flash!

Laby: Isn't she great?

Laby: There... are times when she can't capture them alive, but...

Laby: But they're still fresh!

Laby: Hmm? No, Nisha.

Laby: We better keep the guest alive.

AHH! I have to get out of here!

Raven: Ah, you must be that guest.

Raven: Why are you here?

Raven: We're currently in the process of burning off the old stained floor of the hallway to lay down new ones.

Raven: They're wood, so they stain dark red too easily.

Raven: I think we should use red ones so any possible new stain won't be as noticeable.

Raven: Hmm? Ah, d-don't tell me you thought I was talking about bloodstain?

Raven: It's, uh, actually...

Raven: Ah, yes, it's watercolor.

Raven: Our master is fond of the color red, you see.

YOU EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THAT?!

Elesis: Raven! If you're done with cleaning up the hallway, let's go make a window in the room on the 3rd floor.

Elesis: Oh, what's the guest doing here?

Elesis: Why are you all sweating?

Elesis: Do you need a ventilation hole too? Want me to make one for you?

Raven: Hmm, sounds better than being contaminated. I agree with this idea.

Elesis: Right? Good, good. Let's see... Where should we make this hole?

AHHH! GO AWAY!

GET AWAY FROM ME!!!

Ara: Huh? Why are you running in the hallway?

Ara: Did something happen?

Ara: Don't be scared. Calm down and go into that room over there.

Ara: If I see you wandering around alone without one of our maids or butlers...

Ara: I'll personally send you to the abyss myself.

T_T SAVE ME

Add: Wh-what are you?! Why did you get in here?! What are you staring at?!

Add: Calm down, Add. You're scaring the guest.

Add: Tch...

Add: Hey, guest-brat.

Add: Stop snooping around and stay put right there.

Add: We're still cleaning off the traces of the previous guest.

Add: You don't want to leave only traces of you like this... Do you?

Aisha: There's no need to be scared. Just take a seat and wait.

Aisha: Hmm, but I can't find where the other shoe went...

Add: Hmph, what are you going to do with the shoe?

Aisha: Well, of course, we have to get rid of the evidence...

No... My mind is... getting hazy... Am I... going to die like this...?

Eve: Excuse me... Excuse me?

Eve: You must've been exhausted. You dozed off in the middle like that. How impressive.

Eve: From now, I, the Nasod Butler, will serve you.

Eve: This is the cable for charging power.

Eve: We'll provide you with enough power, so fully charge up your energy before you go.

Eve: Now, if you'll sit quietly, I can help you with the charging.

N...NOOOOOO!!!

Chung: Excuse me, can you stand back for a bit?

Chung: I'm trying to aim my destroyer to trim some of the trees, but the firepower is too strong...

Chung: If you stay too close, you might turn to dust.

I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!!!

Ain: Are you okay?

Ain: Your hands and legs are shaking. You must be terribly frightened.

Ain: Calm down. I've no intention of scaring you.

Ain: The humans in this place can be a bit mischievous, I must say.

Ain: You must've been through a lot.

Ahh... To think there's a normal person left in a place like this.

Ain: But... you ignored what Elsword said, wandered around everywhere on your own, and stumbled into the garden without permission...

Ain: Do you want to die, dear guest?

Ain: Haha, I'm just kidding.

...!!!

Rose: Ain, I don't think that kind of joke is appropriate for our frightened guest.

Rose: Allow me to guide you from here on out. Please come this way.

Ain: Okay. I was about to get tired of this anyway.

Rose: Don't think of doing anything stupid - just keep looking forward and walk.

Can... Can I make it out of here alive...?

Just what IS this house?

It feels like the only sane person was the red-head from the beginning.

I HAVE TO FIND HIM!

THANK GOODNESS!

I FINALLY FOUND HIM!

Elsword: Eh? What are you doing out here? It's hard to find you this way.

See, actually, these people were trying to...

Elsword: What's with the look on your face? You're the one who invited yourself in.

Elsword: I did ask if you were sure you're not going to regret it.

Even... you...

When I came to, I was lying down on the floor of the mansion's lobby, alone.

What happened...?

My memory escapes me as if it was a dream.

Excuse me. Is the master of the house here?

Cast:

Elsword: Red-headed Maid

Aisha: Meticulous Butler

Rena: Kind Butler

Raven: Big Maid

Eve: Curt Butler

Chung: Maid with a Cannon

Ara: Clumsy Butler

Elesis: Red-headed Butler

Add: Embarrassed Maid

Lu: Kiddo Butler

Ciel: Maid who's Good at Baking

Rose: Butler with a Gun

Ain: Maid pretending to be a normal person

Laby: Mirror's Friend Butler

Cameo: Nisha

Production: Dekal

[browneyedmissy]

Someday We'll Know (Chapter One)

Pairing: Soledad x Thomas Mendez, Eventual/Slowburn Thomas Mendez x Tara Day

Summary: When Tara Day runs away from her emotionally abusive relationship, she finds herself back in the company of her best friend from college, Soledad Vargas and her new fiance and has to learn how to find confidence in herself again.

Author's Note: It's been a hot minute since I published anything in my drafts. I listen to a lot of music as inspiration for my writing so there's a list of songs below in case you want to listen as well The timeline is different than in MOTY and I wanted to write a story where we got to see more of Soledad, who I imagine Luz to get some of her personality from.

Playlist: Someday We'll Know by Mandy Moore, She Will Be Loved by Maroon Five, Piano Man by Billy Joel, Ain't No Mountain High Enough by Marvin Gaye.

-

Chapter One

-

Tara stared at the ring on her left hand intently as if it would help her make a decision.

It was a statement ring for sure. The stone in the middle was the size of her thumbnail and was surrounded by a halo of smaller diamonds. It had come from Guy's mother who spared no penny for her beloved son.

It wasn't really Tara's taste. But she was grateful, wasn't she? He had proposed with such a beautiful and expensive ring, and he knew they hadn't talked about getting married yet but with a baby on the way...

She took in a deep breath, heart pounding, subconsciously placing a hand on her stomach. She tried to drown out the sounds of Guy convincing her to quit her job, her being dependent on his income, all followed up with I love yous... and I'm only doing what's best for you...

In that moment, Tara knew what she had to do.

She pulled down her suitcase in her closet and packed all of her necessities. Her heart ached a little when she took a glance around her apartment and realized that she would have to leave most of her things.

Her gaze stopped on the stuffed lizard that her mother had given her a few years before she had passed. They had watched Magic School Bus as a kid and Tara had a fondness for the Liz. She shut her eyes tightly, letting herself mourn Rachel Day for a moment before throwing her lizard on top of her things.

She closed her suitcase and grabbed a pencil and paper, thinking about what to write. Would her letter be apologetic? No, she had allowed herself to feel that through the entirety of their relationship. She held her tongue to spare his feelings and lost her self confidence as a result.

Dear Guy,

I can't marry you. Have a good life.

Tara

She took the ring off of her finger and placed it next to the letter on the dining room table. She took a deep breath in, feeling a rush of determination in her before heading out the door.

-

As she filled up her car at the gas station, Tara frowned in thought about her next steps. She had saved up enough from her job in sales to last her two months but she needed to find somewhere to go and somewhere to stay.

She closed her eyes, cursing herself for letting her friendships by the wayside. She had been so involved with her relationship with Guy and she knew none of them liked him. She couldn't help but defend he's just nervous around other people until her excuses left her with less and less contact with her friends.

One day, it just stopped altogether.

She had met Guy the year after she graduated from college- one of the hardest years of her life. Most of her friends had moved away and she was working a job that she didn't love. She felt like she had been buying time working while she figured out what she loved and in her vulnerable state, Guy had been direct and charming and showered her with attention.

She didn't want to wallow in her own self pity, but as she heard the faint click of the gas nozzle, she realized she was out of time and needed a plan.

More than anything, she wanted to call her mom. Her mom had been hesitant about Guy, who was a little too much like her father, but she had supported Tara nonetheless. She listened to her when she had problems with Guy with an unbiased ear.

But her mother wasn't here anymore.

She heard the click of the nozzle and she bit her lip in contemplation. Taking a deep breath, she got back in her car and turned the key.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she heard the accordian of Piano Man came on. She and her mother had argued about the song. Tara had insisted that it was about people with unfilled lives and finding the bar to forget how unhappy they were.

Rachel Day had said that she believed that the men and women of the song were inspired by the piano man to find their dream. It was a sweet interpretation for a woman did not have the best circumstances in life.

"Mom, if you can hear me," Tara said out loud. "I'm trying to figure out what to do. I left Guy and I don't think I like myself that much right now. I know what you would say too. I will always love you the most. But you're not here and it's hard to figure out how to love myself like you did."

She took a deep breath and leaned back as the song finished. She squeezed the steering wheel in encouragement as she shifted gears in her car and paused as the next song's sounds filled the space of her car.

Listen baby, ain't no mountain high, ain't no valley low…

When her mother had been taken away from her, Tara wasn't sure what she believed in. Cancer had been a slow and painful death for her and she couldn't understand why it had to be her.

Despite this, she had always secretly hoped that her mother was watching out for her. She needed a sign now, more than ever and two of Rachel Day's favorite songs seemed as good as any.

-

However, by nightfall, her optimism ran out.

She had reasoned there wasn't any use stressing about it without sleep so she had found herself a cheap motel room a few cities over. Guy wasn't due to be home for another day or two, so she didn't need to worry about him trying to find her.

Although there is a chance he wouldn't think I was worth the effort, she thought wryly.

She sighed, plopping onto her bed, staring at the popcorn ceilings. A buzz interrupted her aimless thoughts and she glanced at her phone to see the name Soledad flashing across the scene.

Tara blinked at her phone. Soledad had been her best friend from college. They had roomed together freshman year and got along well enough to live with each other after that. Soledad had moved away when they graduated and Tara had found Guy and slowly the contact between them was a happy birthday post text between them once a year.

"Hello?"

"Tara? It's me, Soledad." Her friend said breathlessly on the phone. "Thomas proposed. We're engaged!"

"Oh, that's wonderful." She smiled at the excitement in her friend's voice. "You sound so happy, Sol."

"I know I haven't seen you or talked to you in forever." Soledad admitted, sounding regretful. "But you were my best friend and I think it would be nice to reconnect. Come to dinner with me and Thomas and bring Guy."

I left him. He was manipulative and I left him, Soledad. I don't know what I'm doing anymore.

"Oh, uh, he's out of town and won't be able to make it." She heard herself say instead. She winced at the lie but then cleared her throat. "I can come by though."

"Great. Friday night?"

"Yeah, I'll see you then." Tara hesitated for a moment, wondering why she was lying about her relationship and her situation. "Soledad…"

"Yeah?"

Tara took a big deep breath. "Umm. Just that I'm excited to see you and thank you for reaching out."

-

Soledad braided her hair in the mirror for the third time that night. She smiled as she caught a glimpse of the ring on her left finger. She couldn't say she was completely surprised- only because Thomas Mendez, as well spoken as he was, had been tongue tied when he met her.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Tara. She had arrived in town earlier that day and found a hotel to stay at. Soledad had offered to her to stay with her and Thomas in their second bedroom, but Tara had gotten quiet and politely declined.

On my way! Thanks for inviting me again.

The door opened behind her as her fiance walked in and she grinned, wrapping her arms around him and pressing a brief kiss to his lips.

"Mmm, you look nice." Thomas complimented as he took in the wrap dress she had donned. He took a step back to hang his jacket before giving her an appreciative glance over. His smile grew when his gaze landed on her engagement ring and he took her hand, pressing a brief kiss to it.

"I'm so glad you said yes." He murmured. "I can't wait to start the rest of my life with you."

"Well, the rest of your life starts with us having dinner with Tara."

"Of course. Let me get changed and I'll be down in a moment."

They arrived at the restaurant and Soledad waved to Tara who greeted her with a wave of her own.

"Hey, it's good to see you." Tara said as she gave Soledad a hug. She turned to Thomas, giving him a smile. "I'm Tara, nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Shall we go to the counter and order?"

She nodded and the three of them walked towards the counter of the restaurant. Thomas and Soledad were greeted by the waiters and waitresses that walked by- obviously regulars, as Tara looked up at the menu above the counter.

Taking in the list, she realized that Guy had a habit of ordering for her. He insisted that he knew what the best food on the menu was. It was a small, random realization that made her a little ill.

You have a choice now, Tara, she reminded herself.

She was so lost in thought she jumped and whirled around when Thomas placed a hand on her shoulder. He blinked, taking a step back as her heart rate slowed.

Great, he probably thinks you're an anxious mess and not happy to be here.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have surprised you." He apologized. "Let us buy you dinner since you came out to see us."

"Oh, thank you."

They stepped up to the counter and took their number to the table. Tara took a seat across Thomas and Soledad as they waited for their food.

"When was the last time you saw each other then?" Thomas asked. Tara and Soledad looked at each other as Tara racked her brain.

"Umm, it must have been what, two years ago?" Soledad mused. "I think I came to town for alumni weekend and I stayed with Tara for a few nights. Guy didn't like that I took up time with his girlfriend."

Tara winced and swallowed. "Yeah, he and I had been dating for a few months at that point and he didn't like that I ignored him for you."

"Well, time with friends is important." Soledad said. "I called him out on it and he apologized for overstepping and said that he would apologize to you too.

He never apologized to me, Tara realized bitterly.

-

Dinner was a little tense, Thomas noted. It started with Tara jumping when he placed a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. The deer in the headlights expression in combination with the look that she had when Soledad recounted the story gave him pause.

He didn't want to say anything at the table lest he scare her off, but some of the behavior patterns Tara showed were similar to the people who wanted to file restraining orders or the people who were in toxic relationships. They had that same jumpy twitch and looked almost as if they were ways ready to escape just in case.

"Tara," Thomas called her attention. "Soledad was telling me about when the two of you made a spontaneous trip to New York City."

Tara smiled and Thomas noted her relief at the change of topic. She recounted getting home from finals with a lot of pent up energy from studying and Soledad, always the impulsive one, decided they were going to go on a girl's trip.

Soledad and Tara fell into an easy rhythm, telling him about their trip to find Levain's bakery, going up to the top of the Empire State Building and their luck when the couple they passed by on Broadway offered them their extra tickets to The Lion King that their friends could not make it to.

"I haven't done anything like that for a while." Tara smiled. "Sol was always the one who came up with these ideas. She had the drive to put all of these dreams into place."

"Yeah, but you were the ones to come up with the details." Soledad argued as she looked at Thomas. "I got lucky and my fiance is the one who does that for me now. Not as well as you, Tar, but it'll do."

"Haha," Thomas said sarcastically as he took her left hand. "You agreed to marry me so I'm doing something right."

Their food came and they fell into a more comfortable rhythm, talking about where Tara was staying and what she could do while she was in town. Thomas couldn't help but notice that whenever Guy's name was brought up, Tara's hands would go to tug at the charm of her necklace and catalogued it as something he needed to ask Soledad about.

"Tara was really sweet. You two seem to get along as well as you used to." Thomas mentioned as they got into their car later.

"It was nice to see her. I forgot about how well we got along."

He nodded, still thinking about Tara's reactions earlier in the night. "Sol, what do you know about Guy?"

"Umm, not much besides that one story. They started dating after I moved out here. I know they got engaged not long ago."

Thomas looked at her, brow furrowed in concentration.

"I don't remember her wearing an engagement ring, do you?"

"Always in lawyer mode, aren't you?" Soledad took her fiance's hand and gave it a kiss. She frowned, thinking back to the restaurant. "No, I don't suppose I do. What are you saying?"

"That look that she had whenever we mentioned Guy's name… she would reach for her necklace and tug on it. Sol, I don't want to make assumptions without evidence but I think Guy was abusive in some way to her."

A pit dropped into her stomach as she closed her eyes, thinking about Tara again.

Had we really lost that much touch?

"If you're right," she finally murmured. "And I didn't catch that…"

"You didn't know, Sol. What matters is that we're here for her now." He said gently. "Do you want to go find her?"

-

They found the hotel Tara had mentioned and Soledad frowned as they arrived in the parking lot.

Thomas volunteered to stay with the car to let her talk to Tara herself. Soledad pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before getting the number for Tara's room from the front desk. She made her way to Tara's room and knocked on the door.

Please Tara, open the door, Soledad thought in earnest.

Silence greeted her knocks and she bit her lip. Her mother's voice echoed in her head as she raised her hand to knock again.

Sometimes, there are people who need help and are afraid to ask for it. You need to be patient and not as spontaneous, my love.

But she and Tara had gone almost two years without really speaking. They had gotten caught up in their own lives and forgotten each other.

She closed her eyes and thought of what Thomas had said before she went to find Tara.

Whether or not my suspicion is correct, you're the one who knows her. Go to her as her friend, not someone who wants to help her.

She stared at the number 213 on the door and knocked again. This time, she heard footsteps on the ground as the latch of the door opened.

Her friend opened the door apprehensively, visibly relaxing at the sight of Soledad.

She thought I was Guy, Soledad bit her lip. She swore at him in his head, realizing how spot on Thomas might have been.

"I, uh, wanted to make sure we got to see each other before we go." She said quickly. Tara tilted her head in confusion.

"You could have texted me, silly." She teased softly.

"Oh, uh, yeah."

There was a silence and Soledad wracked her head for ways to broach the subject.

"Can I come in?" She finally asked, deciding to be direct. Tara nodded and let her in.

Soledad stepped in, pacing back and forth. She thought about how to approach Thomas' suspicions, when she glanced at Tara's left hand and realized there was no ring on it.

"I haven't seen your ring yet." She said carefully, watching for her friend's reaction. Tara froze and blinked a couple of times.

"I, uh, it's getting resized." She mumbled back as she looked at the ground.

In that moment, Soledad realized that she was lying. No matter how long they had gone without speaking to each other, she knew that Tara always looked away when she lied.

"Tara, I knew you better than anyone else. So please, tell me what's going on."

Her friend stiffened and Soledad reached for her hand. Tara took a spot next to her on the bed and Soledad made the decision to wrap her arms around her. She seemed surprised by initial contact but relaxed into the embrace.

"Umm, Guy and I… I left him while he was gone. He wasn't nice to me and I didn't know how to tell people because I know they all saw it before me." Tara muttered. "I- I don't know what I'm doing, Soledad. I just needed to get away."

Soledad tightened her embrace around her friend as sobs began to wrack her body.

"When you came to see us that one time, you said he apologized to you and would apologize to me." She continued through her tears. "He never did. Soledad, I feel so stupid for letting him manipulate me."

That son of a-

"I'm sorry I didn't know you were hurting. Thomas noticed how anxious you were at dinner." Soledad murmured. "I should have noticed first."

Tara shook her head quickly. "No, we had dinner to celebrate you and Thomas. He seems like a really good man, Sol. And he seems to really love you."

"He makes me really happy."

"Good. That's what you deserve."

So do you, Tara.

Soledad pulled back and examined her friend's face. The girl she had known in college was much more lighthearted. Tara now- Soledad hated the word broken because her friend didn't need to be fixed. She was going through a rough patch with leaving her relationship, the death of her mother and needing to start over.

Tara Day just needed a break.

In that moment, Soledad made her decision.

"Stay with us, Tara."

-

Tags: @heauxplesslydevoted @hatescapsicum @cora-nova @princess-geek @flyawayboo

[slytherin-puffskein]

don’t cry, snowman.

Don't cry, snowman, not in front of me Who'll catch your tears if you can't catch me, darling If you can't catch me, darling Don't cry, snowman, don't leave me this way A puddle of water can't hold me close, baby Can't hold me close, baby

summary: Instead of celebrating Christmas at Hogwarts as he usually does, Laurent King decides to help out at his aunt’s bakery. A surprise comes to him, hilarious for many, despicable to him. Oscar Whelan is here to give him support, but Laurent realizes that he might be the one to give support instead.

notes: Merry Christmas, you guys!!! Here is a mix of fluff and angst!

- - -

Hey Laurent.

Are you having a good time at Hogwarts? I sure hope so. I can’t say I’ve been having a lot of fun, honestly: Exams, studying, exams, studying. Oh, wait, I forgot something else. Exams again. There you go. Now you can understand what I have to deal with.

But let’s turn these frowns upside down! I often say that, huh? And you seem to hate it an awful lot, judging by the way you roll your eyes whenever I say it. Heh! What are cousins supposed to do, besides annoying each other? Anyway, I’m getting off topic. Christmas holidays are coming! Are you staying at Hogwarts, or coming home to your dad’s? I’m not twisting your arm or anything, but if I’m honest, the bakery could really, really use your help. We’re about to face the Christmas rush, after all… but fear not! We have an idea to deal with it. And believe me, it’s going to be really, really fun. You like fun, don’t you? So think about it, please! Mum, Dad and I will greet you with open arms. How about you spend Christmas with us as well? Your old man doesn’t seem to appreciate the holiday as much as he used to… anyway. Write me back!

Love,

Cyril.

Laurent should have expected that his cousin was manipulating him as soon as he had read the words ‘it’s going to be really, really fun’. Of course such sentence would be used to catch his attention, how had he been so blind? I promise you, Cyril had said as soon as he had set foot into the bakery, coat still on and heavy luggage numbing his fingers, it’s going to be a blast. Like a fool, Laurent had believed him, because hey, it’s Christmas. No one gets tricked on Christmas, right?

Newsflash: Laurent has been extremely, terribly, badly wrong. He has been, as unlikely as it sounded, tricked, and the fact that it was coming from Cyril came across as a huge punch on his pride. Since when was he able to do such thing? Wasn’t he, like, too earnest to pull this sort of thing? Decidedly, Laurent didn’t really know his cousin. If at all.

As he pulled out the Christmas Elf costume out of a fancy, shiny bag, Laurent went quite close to grab his stuff and leave. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Somehow, his brain had done all the equations needed, and he had exactly figured out what was about to happen. Remnants of memories came to him, ones of a conversation he had overheard between his aunt and uncle:

The holidays are always a good time to promote our bakery. Just what could we do, hm? Organize some kind of event, perhaps?

He had paid little thought to these words, but, Merlin, he should have. Maybe then, he would have answered differently to Cyril’s letter.

“I’m dead serious, Lau. Mum got the best of the best of ideas! I swear, let--stop walking away, let me tell you, sit down and have a croissant and just listen!” Reluctantly, Laurent did so, but took himself a macaron instead. “Now, what do kids like, huh? Sugar! Of course they like that! And what does our bakery sells, you ask?”

“Cyril.” A sigh heaved from Laurent’s lips as he titled his head, half annoyed, half fearful. “Just tell me what I have to do… though I think I have it figured out by now.”

A smile came to grace his cousin’s features. What a handsome man! anyone would have said. What a prick, Laurent was currently thinking. He knows exactly what he is doing. Oh Merlin, I should have stayed at Hogwarts. I could have been sipping hot cocoa with Barnaby. BARNABY! And now-- “Well,” Cyril spoke again, brandishing the costume proudly. “We made a deal with the local mall, we’re gonna host a Meet Santa stand! Isn’t that, like, the best idea ever? I’m tellin’ you so! Dad’s gonna dress as Santa, Mum’s gonna be Santa’s wife. And I will be the kind man offering free pastries to children to encourage them, and their parents, to visit our bakery! Which leaves you--”

“As the lovely Christmas Elf.” Despite how disarrayed he seemed, a smile curved his lips, because even he had to admit it: the situation was hilarious. Anyone would have laughed at Laurent, so why not do the same, huh? Maybe it will help me deal with this. Just… smile and laugh, my guy. Smile and laugh.

“The lovely Christmas Elf indeed! You’ll take pictures of the kids when they sit on Dad’s— Santa’s lap. You’re going to be great!”

Smile and laugh. Smile and laugh.

* * *

Smile and laugh. Smile and laugh. Despite repeating himself these words like a mantra, shame kept blossoming inside his chest, spreading through his entire body until it even reached his fingertips. I. Look. Ridiculous. This is the day I die, most definitely. Oh Merlin. Wait a second. Do people from my middle school come to this mall…? Oh NO, they definitely fucking DO, this is the fucking local fucking mall. Dear Merlin, this is it. Leave orchids on my grave. My life is over. And it’s going to end with me wearing shorts and thighs.

Striped thighs with the colors reminiscent of a candy cane, along with a bright green shirt and shorts as well as a ridiculous hat. To top it off, he had to wear pointy shoes… and fake elf ears. Not to mention the glitter his aunt insisted to put on his cheeks.

My, you look lovely, she  had said while combing his hair with her fingers, trying (and failing) to make them look more proper. Your mother would be proud. You know, she had quite the Christmas spirit! She wanted to name you Noel, but eventually settled on Laurent. Laurent hadn’t said anything, had simply forced a smile, but only one comment only floated over his mind: she wouldn’t have been proud to see me wear such a ridiculous outfit, believe me.

Prideful, much?

Seeing the kids happily yelling at the sight of who they believed to be Santa Claus made all of this somewhat worthy, however. After photographing kid after kid sitting on his uncle’s lap while listing to him the gifts they wanted, he had almost, almost forgotten about his ridiculous outfit. Hell, he even became sort of playful; chatting with children and pretending to be an actual Elf from the North Pole. They were mesmerized, needless to say, and none of them had seemed to notice just how fake his ears were. Well, I’m making them dream. That’s good. Dreaming is the best thing to do.

He had forgotten about one tiny, tiny thing, however. The day before, he had been… well, no need to sugarcoat it: he had been horrified at the thought of looking so ridiculous. And so, in the depths of his despair, he had called his best friend Oscar Whelan and had… well, ranted quite a lot. And made sure to apologize at the end of the conversation once he realized how had been acting. God, I must seem like the biggest drama queen, huh? You’re not seeing it right now, but I’m blushing like hell. He had heard Oscar’s laugh, then his voice. Come on Lau, I called you to whine when I lost my favorite book. I was almost crying. Tell me who is overreacting, now? Alright, maybe still you because it was an amazing book, but you get my drift.

That had made him laugh. Oscar always made him laugh. But as he showed up near the stand, his little sister propped up on his hip, Laurent wasn’t laughing at all. In fact, he was pretty sure his features had gone white. Oh. My. God. Of course he would show up, his sister loves Santa Claus! The thought of hiding behind one of the fake Christmas trees crossed his mind, but he ultimately shoved it away. No, come on. I can do this. I handled kids seeing me like this, why not Oscar? Why should I be embarrassed? Ignoring his heart that was hammering against his ribs, he made a step towards the lineup only to notice Oscar had vanished… and had, actually, made his way over the fake snow to him.

“Hey—”

Laurent cut him, however. Since they were standing a few steps from Santa’s chair, he immediately grabbed Oscar’s wrist and pulled him away so that people won’t think he was thinking of cutting the line.

And as they were far enough, Laurent’s burning cheeks came to hit him full force. “Why are—”

Oscar’s smile was already present, and wasn’t about to leave, Laurent was quite sure of it. As opposed to Cyril’s smile, however, it wasn’t annoying him. Not at all. In fact, it warmed him up, and made him believe that, hey, maybe Oscar seeing me in that costume isn’t that bad after all.

“Aw come on, you exaggerated on the phone! You’re adorable!”

Nevermind. Laurent playfully smacked Oscar’s arms, a smile on his lips. “Don’t say that! I look like a huge idiot, have you seen my hat? The glitter?”

“When Aine begged me to go see Santa at the mall, I firstly knew I couldn’t resist to her smile. And then, it dawned on me: I had to accept anyway, I couldn’t miss the opportunity of seeing such an adorable elf~”

At the mention of ‘elf’, Aine finally pulled her face away from her brother’s shoulder, landing her gaze on Laurent. Immediately he got ready to put on his Christmas Elf act, but was most surprised when the girl blew a raspberry, clearly unimpressed.

“You aren’t a real elf! You’re Laurent, Oscar’s friend! I know, because, because he tells me a lot about you and--”

“And suddenly you aren’t tired anymore, little one?” Oscar piped up. Laurent was so busy shoving back his embarrassment as far as possible, he had made no notice of his friend’s blushing cheeks. “Shall I assume that you pretended to be so that Big Brother Oscar would carry you? Hmmm?”

Little Aine giggled, and began grabbing at Oscar’s hair. As messy as always, just like Lau’s. “Sorryyyyyyyyy.” And then she shifted her attention back to Laurent, staring with wonder at him. “You’re really cute!”

“Isn’t he?” Oscar commented. “Look at that costume. Makes me want to pinch his cheeks.”

“Oscaaaar!” Aine suddenly exclaimed. “We need to get in line! I don’t wanna miss Santa!” Her excited expression just made Laurent realize how adorable children were. Maybe he could have one, someday.

If he ever finds someone to love. Right now, he has very little hope, but that was surely stemming from typical teenage angst, to think you aren’t made for anyone.

Oscar pretended to let out an exasperated sigh, but never did his smile leave his lips. Aine giggled, then yelped as Oscar put her on his shoulders. “Alright, kiddo, let’s go meet your idol. Do you think he accepts autographs? I’ve got a friend, she loves Santa and would love an autograph… what d’ya think, Lau?”

Aine’s giggle only became greater, and Laurent couldn’t help but play along, scratching his chin. “Mhm, that’s a good question, Oscar. I am no true Elf, so I cannot say for sure since I do not know Santa that well… but I’m certain he’d be glad to.” And he winked.

Oscar winked back. “Got it. See ya, cutie.”

Laurent’s reply was instant: “I’m not cute! Not in this costume! I’m ridiculous!”

"Hmm, alright, Ridiculous.” Oscar titled his head, and while many would have told him to shut up, Laurent was too busy admiring the glitter of joy in his eyes. And after all, despite how he was acting, he wasn’t annoyed at all. Oscar would never do anything to truly annoy him, he knew very well of his boundaries. “No, I don’t like that nickname. Nuh-uh. What can I call you, I wonder? How about Elf Man? Got a nice ring to it if you want my opinion. Alright then. Elf Man it is!”

Laurent’s reaction came so suddenly, it even took him by surprise. One minute he was smiling, the other he was roaring with laughter, hands on his ribs and eyes squeezing shut. Oscar Whelan truly was able to make him feel happy, wasn’t he? He tip toed to ruffle his hair, then, with a flick of the hand, gestured him to go. “Go, now! My lunch break’s soon, how about we all grab something together?”

Oscar’s smile was the softest thing he had ever seen. “I’d love that.”

* * *

Right, they didn’t immediately eat. Oscar’s little sister was so excited about the fact that she had finally met Santa Claus that they had to tire her a little before they could sit in peace, and so they had visited some of the many, many shops that the mall held… while Laurent was still in his costume. He has been so enthusiastic about spending time with Oscar, the thought of changing clothes hadn’t even brushed his mind.

Another thought did, however, but he quickly shoved it away: the desire to tell Oscar everything. About himself. About his friends. About his school. About what was, basically, his secret life. The life he was hiding from his best friend. Maybe we can just sit there, and, after we eat, I tell him everything. Hey, Oscar. I’m a wizard. I’m a wizard and I go to a school for wizards. My friends are wizards. Oh Merlin, I’m saying the word ‘wizard’ an awful lot, am I? Anyway. Please accept me. Please remain my friend. Please don’t be freaked out. And don’t tell anyone. I know you won’t do such thing, but still.

The bitter truth, the one that he cannot tell him anything, quickly hit him, tightening his chest and making him stop in his tracks to breathe deeply, thus birthing Oscar’s concerns. Are you ok, Lau?

Yes I am. Don’t worry about me. He remained still for a moment, shoved all of his fears aside, and kept on walking. In order to make him laugh, as they visited a toy store, Oscar decided to joke around with a teddy bear, holding it and talking with a ridiculous voice. It worked, and even Aine began to laugh as well, and eventually got hungry. They all finally sat down to eat at the food court, savoring the delicious pizzas they bought. Dessert came fairly quickly, and while Oscar paid Aine a delicious chocolate milkshake, he and Laurent found themselves enjoying a bowl of candy cane flavored ice cream. Each holding a spoon they happily ate, and conversation came soon enough.

“How are things with Alyssa?”

Alyssa Buckley, known to Laurent as Oscar’s girlfriend. According to his letters they have been dating for two months, but Laurent had never gotten the opportunity to ask questions about her. After all, he would rather talk of this girl with Oscar while face to face… and that was exactly what he was doing at the moment.

Unexpectedly, his friend’s smile wavered, and he took himself a spoonful of ice cream. “We broke up. About a week ago. I got so caught him in the Christmas craze, getting gifts for everyone, that I forgot to tell you… sorry.”

Oh Merlin. I fucked up. Now he’s going to be sad over his breakup. Stupid Laurent, stupid Laurent! An apology immediately came, but he was surprised to see Oscar shrug.

“I’m not… I’m not as hurt as I think I am supposed to be, oddly enough.” He took himself some more ice cream, but didn’t eat it immediately. He simply stared at his spoon, the usual sparkle in his eyes flickering, threatening to die down. “I must sound like a jerk, no? I just… I had the feeling it will end up like this. I had time to prepare myself for it. After all, it always ends up like this with people I date.” That last sentence held great bitterness, and Laurent could only helplessly stare. He had never dated. Never kissed. How could he possibly be of help? “No matter how hard I try,” Oscar spoke again, lowering his spoon and looking down at his hands. “My… My mind always turns back to the same person. Every time. Even though I know I have no chance.”

Now, he had to say something. The words naturally came, without him having to think them through: “You don’t know that, Oscar.” To punctuate his words he reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers slowly.

Oscar took a brief look to their linked fingers, sighing. “Believe me, I do.” His gaze went to meet his, and Laurent’s heart bled with disarray as he saw the look in his eyes.

The joy had vanished, giving way to pure despair coupled with a silver of acceptance. He was heartbroken, but willing to endure it, to give up on his love, as if he felt he wasn’t worthy enough. How painful, Laurent told himself. I can’t imagine how that must feel...

A horrible silence, caused by Oscar’s sadness, settled in and Laurent knew one and one thing only: he could in no way handle seeing his best friend like this. I need to cheer him up. That’s what I gotta do! I’m his best friend, it’s time to fucking deliver! His mischievousness provided him with an idea, and he was quick to take a spoonful of ice cream. He moved as if to eat it… but then suddenly pressed it against Oscar’s nose. “Y’know, if your nose gets red because of the cold, you could be Rudolph for the Meet Santa stand~”

Merlin. It’s a terrible joke. Fuck. He had feared his plan wouldn’t work, but his shoulders relaxed as Oscar began to laugh softly, previously flickering lights of joy steadily going back to life in his eyes as he reached for his own spoon. “You want to play that game, King? I’m sure you will look adorable covered with ice cream~”

He inched closer and Laurent raised his arms to protect himself, pure laughter shaking his shoulders. “Ack, no! You’re gonna ruin my makeup, Whelan! And the costuuuuume!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your amazing costume.” Oscar giggled, moving his spoon towards Laurent. “I insist however, you take it, I’m not that hungry.”

Laurent was fairly quick to eat the ice cream. After all, how could he possibly miss such opportunity? He gave Oscar a smile, one that, he hoped, conveyed all the love he held for him.

“Keep hope, Oscar.” He said. “You’re an amazing man, anyone would be lucky to date you. I’m sure the girl— or guy that you like reciprocates your feelings. If not, they’re an idiot.”

Silence clung to the air again, but it was a comfortable one. At last Oscar turned to his sister, who was drowsing on her chair. “Well, I guess I have to bring this kiddo back home. How bad do you think my mum will kill me if she learns I let her drink that monstrous amount of milkshake?”

“Really bad. I’ll bring flowers to your funeral.”

“You better.”

They stood up and while Laurent expected Oscar to pick up his sister, he instead stepped forward to pull him into a hug. Right, it’s true, we always do that before we leave. But this hug… it’s… It was the most loving hug he had gotten from Oscar Whelan. Right, all of his hugs were loving, but that one’s love felt stronger. Much stronger, and Laurent allowed himself to sink into that love by hugging him as tight as possible. They swayed together for a while, just a little.

I love him so much. He’s the greatest friend.

As they pulled away, Oscar pressed a kiss on Laurent’s forehead, then carefully picked up his sister. “See you, Lau.”

[maggiemaybe160]

Father Son Chat

Dean walks into the bar and barely has time to say the name “John Winchester” before he sees him. He’s shitfaced and swaying on his feet as he holds a handful of darts in one hand. In the other is a glass of amber liquid. It sloshes in the glass. 

Dean walks through the bar, keeping his eyes down as he makes his way over to his dad. He taps his father’s shoulder and flinches when John turns. He reeks of the alcohol he’s practically sweating. 

“Time to go,” Dean says. He’s afraid to touch him. 

“I’ll go when I’m ready!” John slurs in a bark. Dean forces himself not to wince. Sam is asleep back at the motel alone. Dean doesn’t want him to wake up to an empty room. He doesn’t know if he can handle listening to his little brother cry out for their dad in the middle of the night, a nightmare chasing him in the dark, while John is at a bar drinking his life away. 

John throws back the rest of his drink and slams his empty glass on the bar. Dean makes eye contact with the bartender and shakes his head. 

“Guess I’m done,” John slurs. He throws the entire handful of darts at the wall before starting to turn around. Dean quickly picks up all the darts from the floor and puts them on the counter next to the empty glass before catching his dad. 

John drapes himself over Dean and mumbles a little as they stumble out together. On the steps, John trips and pulls Dean down with him. Dean is the one who hits the pavement. He feels his skin rip and pushes John off of him. Of course, the old man doesn’t have a scratch. 

Dean sits up and checks the rest of himself. His hands are scraped and his face is bleeding, but overall he’s fine. John, on the other hand, is passing out. His eyes flutter closed and he smacks his lips a few times before letting out a soft grunt that sounds somewhat like a snore. 

“How was your day, son?” Dean asks himself, forcing his voice deeper. He brings his knees up to his chest and hugs his arms around them. “It was okay. Sammy got an A on his history project. That kid really knows his shit, ya know?”

John doesn’t move besides the rise and fall of his chest. Dean clenches his jaw and wipes his sleeve over his face to get rid of the blood. 

“What about you? How are your grades doing?” Dean asks himself again. “Not great. I know I could be doing better, but there’s a lot going on. There always is though, so that’s no excuse.” He wants to say more, but they’re already having such a nice conversation. Why ruin the moment? 

“Are you dating?” Dean asks, furrowing his eyebrows. He looks down into his dad’s sleeping face. “I have crushes. I’ve kissed. I’ve been under the bleachers. Some were girls. Truth is, we’re never anywhere long enough for me to bother dating. And no one wants to date a single father, right dad?

“That’s what I am. I’m a single father to my kid brother at fifteen. I’m fifteen, dad.” Dean’s voice cracks. “I’m fifteen and I’m failing school. I don’t know my teachers’ names and I don’t remember what town I’m in half the time. I haven’t eaten tonight, dad. I couldn’t afford it.”

Dean looks over his shoulder at the Impala. He sighs, fighting back tears. “When did you give up on me? When I was five? Six? Ten? I can’t remember the last time you told me you were proud of me. I can’t remember the last time you gave a shit. When did I stop being worthy of love in your eyes? Did that die with mom?” 

Dean wipes furiously at the hot tears that he couldn’t stop from flowing. He accidentally hits the gash on his forehead and winces. He scrambles to his feet as someone else comes out of the bar. 

“Heading home, boy?” the man asks. 

“Yes, sir,” Dean answers, lifting John’s shoulders and dragging him over to the car. He opens the back door and heaves his father onto the backseat. After slamming the door, Dean leans against the car and buries his face in his palms, forcing himself to take deep breaths. 

Out of time, Dean gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car. He looks up into the rearview mirror and scowls at the snoring lump of a drunk man. 

“I’m sorry, son,” Dean says softly to his reflection as his face crumples. “I’m sorry too,” he answers himself as he starts to cry.

also on Ao3

@samatedeansbroccoli​ @anarchiana​ @lils2024​ @fandom-is-my-middle-name​ @soloarcana​ @destiel-honeypie​ @destielhoneybee​ @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover​ @spn-bitchh​ @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat​ @skittles-rainbow-cat​ @kingofmyimagination​ @k-lewis​ @castibella-shipper-of-the-lord​ @aestheticallydyke​ @righteouscomeuppancejogstheliver​ @deanwinchesterswitch​ @adventurous-blob​ @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect​ @ain-t-bovvered​ @royalrowena​ @telefunkies​ @blueeyesandpie​ @jemariel​

[tumbler-tidbits]

Bunker Bunch Ch.9- Nursery, Names, and Naps. OH MY!

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam x Eileen and their kids OMC Shaggy & Crash

Word Count: 1375

Warnings: None, just floof and silliness

Summary: The Winchester’s make room for babies, and discuss possible names.

A/N:This is for @idreamofplaid Bunker Challenge, my prompt was Nursery!

Finding out we were expecting twins was quite a shock to say the least. But now it’s time to get down to business and start preparations before I’m so big I can’t move. First thing on the agenda? The Nursery.

It’s no secret that there is an abundance of rooms in the bunker, so that’s not the issue. We just need to tweak it a bit and make it feel more homey and less… you know, like an underground bunker.

I was fine with any of the rooms, but Dean insisted that it be the one between ours and Cas’, which put Sam and Eileen directly across the hall from the room, thus surrounding our soon to be kids by armed adults. Can’t say I had a problem with it though.

Dean & I decided to keep it simple with just some paint, and carpeting and then reuse some of the bunker furniture in the room. Then we settled on redoing 2 walls with siding, and the other 2 with paint to hide the tired old brick. An all the walls would be a soft grey. That was the plan, but the execution of said plan is not going so smoothly.

Sam and Dean put the siding up and the room already looks cozier, but now it’s time to paint. Of course, Dean’s already grumpy and constantly cursing under his breath at every damn thing, something about hammers and little brothers who can’t aim.

Then there’s Sam and Eileen. They are trying to help but the boys are fighting with them. Crash fussed over being made to take a nap, despite the fact that he was asleep in 5 minutes. And now, I can’t help but smile at the scene unraveling before me.

Sam and Shaggy, my oldest nephew, are in a serious debate over naps and the current status of one 4 year old tiny Winchester. Shaggy wants to help paint, but it’s past his Naptime and he’s getting fussy with every little thing.

God forbid Sam suggest it was time for him to go lay down for a nap with his brother, Shaggy immediately protested and now we’re gridlocked. Looks like he inherited that old Winchester stubbornness, great there’s something fun for me to look forward to.

Honestly I think having so many people in this small room is getting to our heads, so I make a suggestion,

“Ok guys, we’re all tired and getting cranky. Why don’t we finish painting this one wall, Shaggy can help, then he lays down and the grown ups take a beer break. Sound good?”

“I don’t wanna lay down m’not tired” Shaggy whines while rubbing sleepily at his eyes.

I squat down in front of him and look him in the eyes, but he avoids my gaze,

“JD, eyes up front buddy” I say, it’s a Winchester thing that I somehow picked up on. A sign of respect and proof your listening. Anyway, once he’s looking at me I continue,

“Sorry buddy that’s the deal. You can help paint this one wall and then take a nap. Or you can just go take a nap now, and we’ll paint without you”

I can feel all eyes on us, waiting for the inevitable tantrum to start. So I add to the loot,

“Tell ya what, you can even have your own paint roller all by yourself”

His eyes go wide as if I’ve just offered him a million dollars and he nods his head vehemently

“Yeah Ok!”

I smile and ruffle his hair as I stand then walk over to retrieve his prize. Sam speaks up then,

“What do you say dude?” He prompts

“Thank you Auntie Y/N”

2 hours later and all the walls are finally painted, 2 tiny Winchester’s are fresh from a nap and playing at the park with Sam, Eileen’s gone out to get some lunch and Dean and I are slumped on the floor of the nursery, covered in paint, sipping piping hot cups of coffee.

Everyone’s exhausted and we still have to lay out the rug, bring in the furniture, and put the cribs together. But right now, we just enjoy a quick break,

“So I’ve been thinking” I say catching Dean’s attention,

“Hmm?” He murmurs in response.

“We need to start talking about names”

“Yeah, what’re you thinking?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. We need at least 2 boy names and 2 girl names since we don't know what we’re having”

“Well” he sighs, “of course I’d like to honor my dad. Doesn’t have to be a first name, but at least a middle name”

“Ok, I can work with that. For a girl what about Charlie? I know she was like a sister to you and my grandmothers name was Charlotte. She’s the one who took me in when my parents were killed, y'know until she passed”

Dean gripped my hand, “That’s cute, I never thought of that. I also like Mary for obvious reasons”

“ Of course.I also think Caleb is cute for a boy and I Joanna for a girl”

“Those are okay. I don’t know, this whole naming a person thing is a lot harder than I thought” he shrugged.

“Ooh I know, for a boy we could do Dean” I say lightly jabbing him with my elbow.

“Oh God n…” he starts and then Sam walks in.

“What’re you guys doing? Slacking off”

“No, just taking a break, we were talking name ideas” I reply

“I know” Dean grins, “what about Samantha? I have to give homage to my baby sister”

“Very funny Dean” Sam says

“What? Your a girl Sam, why else would you have those luscious locks?”

“Yeah whatever Jerk”

“Bitch”

“Okay you two” I intervene “ let’s eat lunch and then you two can build some cribs” I say as I walk out of the room, leaving two whiny hunters behind.

Day two. After lunch yesterday we pretty much halted all construction. We were all too tired to finish everything in one day so here we were. This time we were smart and waited until the boys both went down for a nap before starting back up. That avoided several tantrums.

Sam and Dean had the carpeted rug rolled out and in place in no time, so I polished one of the old Men Of Letters dressers while Dean began the task of putting the cribs together.

Dean managed to get the first crib together, with much help from Sam, and was working on the second. By now the boys were up and “helping” Sam and Eileen move one of the old armchairs and ottomans from storage.

I couldn’t help but laugh when they came through the door with Crash hitching a ride in the chair! Once that was in place, Sam moved the dresser where I wanted, then he and Eileen bid us farewell while they took the boys grocery shopping.

Everything was pretty much done now, except that one pesky crib. I could hear Dean muttering curses while I fixed the bedding in the first crib. When I heard a crash and a shout of “SONOVABITCH” I decided to end his suffering.

I walked over and sat down beside him “what’s the trouble babe?” I asked rubbing his back,

“Nothing”

“Nothing? It sure sounds like something.”

“Stupid crib” he mumbled.

“Why don’t you have Sammy help you when he gets back?”

“No”

“Dean”

“I’ve rebuild the Impala a dozen times! I can build a damn crib!” He snapped frustratingly.

“Someone’s grumpy”

“M’not grumpy”

“Now you sound like the boys,” I laughed, “do you need a nap too?”

He leaned his head on my shoulder and mumbled yes. I carded my fingers through his spiky hair. We sat contentedly for a few minutes then Dean sat up and looked at me.

“You know, you could take a nap with me” he said with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows.

“Is that so?” I replied with a grin. Dean stood then, scooped me up and flung me over his shoulder and he headed towards our room as I shrieked laughter.

The nursery wasn’t done, but there’s always tomorrow.

END

Taglist: @idreamofplaid @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants @pisces-cutie ​ @covered-byroses @currentlyfangirling99 @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @xxhalfbloodprincessxx @supernaturalsammy01 @sammyimpala-67 @ladywinchester1967 @sweetiepie-dean @fangirl-forevers-world @thoughtslikeaminefield​ @bobasheebaby​ @evansrogerskitten @missjenniferb @sculptorofbeginnings @kbl1313 @spnskinnyballs @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @justcallmeasmodeus @ain-t-bovvered @purpleskiesandcherrypies @curly-haired-disaster @getnaildbyme @akshi8278 @rebelminxy @a-mess-of-many-fandoms

[like-twilight]

My 100 most listened to songs this year (that are on Spotify) :3

Ateez: Twilight (not even surprised there, its my favourite song ever)

Ateez: Wave (even though I’m an Illusion type of gal Illusion is usually for when i feel good, and Wave is when I want to feel better and keep my spirits up at work so. hence)

Ateez: Say My Name (she’s perfect)

Ateez: Illusion (AYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE)

Ateez: Aurora (shut up its hONGJOONG’S SONG)

Ateez: Hala Hala (DEEP IN MY HEART, DEEP IN MY SOUL)

BTS: Boy With Luv (lies and deceit, this is NOT my most listened to BTS track, last.fm can back me up)

BTS: Dionysus (SHE WAS MY MOST PLAYED BTS TRACK AND thats the periodt on that tea i just aged fifty years)

Ateez: Utopia (WE CAN TOUCH UTOPIA WE CAN REACH THERE UTOPIA)

Ateez: Dancing Like Butterfly Wings (WHOUOOAH WHWOAUHAIFD)

Ateez: Pirate King (for the hundredth time, Hongjoong, i WILL be your friend)

BTS: Make It Right (no)

Seventeen: HIT (listen………………………………………….. shouldve been the title track)

TxT: Crown (i am so happy my most listened to txt track isnt….. something else…. *gulps* good job, hatchlings. and when will i stop calling you hatchlings? NEVER)

Ateez: Sunrise (HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHONGJOONG’S SONG - listen this song is cheesy and im absolutely in love with it. i want. joy. my heart Seeks it, i cant help it)

BTS: Mikrokosmos (like i said fuck joy)

Taemin: Stone Heart (im being called out for being a sad thot. or a horny emo. idk)

GentleBeatz: Cold Night (pls im crying)

ATEEZ: Precious (MINGIIIIYYAAAAAHHHHH. fuck it up, son)

BTS: Home (im exhauussted man. guess wat. i jus wanna go home. ME TOO, namjoon)

Day6: Beautiful Feeling (its the tragedy of my life that there are no caps in hangul. this is truly. the most beautiful song and it brings me so much happiness. and dowoon. it brings me so much dowoon.)

Seventeen: CLAP (*vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass* bbbBAkKKSSsUUUuu)

Sunmi: LaLaLay (this is why i think this list definitely has a limit on how many songs you can have from an artist on this list because LaLaLay is like my fiftieth most-listened to this year according to last.fm and has a lot of BTS and Seventeen and more ATEEZ before it so idk. anyway sunmi good, release a minialbum pleaaaase?)

BTS: Jamais Vu (its jins song :<)

Ateez: Crescent (*closes eyes* nO)

Day6: Like That Sun (BOIIII day6 really is something else)

Seventeen: Home (honestly? i cry. awh i cant believe this year started with seventeen, it was so so so so nice to become a carat x””””) and this song, man… warmth ♥)

BTS: Intro: Persona (WHO THE HELL AM I)

Ateez: Treasure (hoOOOOBOI thank fuck i watched the dance practice that made me appreciate this song better x””))

Taemin: Want (quote from myself: “I’m not sure about the song but Taemin is a really beautiful man” oKAY)

Seventeen: Our Dawn Is Hotter Than Day (my actual favourite svt song :”””) its. peace ♥)

Lauv: I’m So Tired (bitch i am)

Ateez: Promise (NO ONE TAAAKE YOOUUUUU DOOOOOOOWN)

NCT Dream: Boom (what are these foetuses doing here lmao)

BTS: I Need U (whats THIS motherfucker doing here x”) fuck off)

BSS: Just Do It (the Only Song)

Ateez: My Way (this Hongjoong rap……. i swear, my LIFE)

Seventeen: Boomboom (the LEAST LIKED SVT TITLE TRACK??!?! kiSS MY BUTT)

BTS: Mic Drop (u kno, the steve aoki one)

……………. TxT: Cat & Dog (listen…… its Yeonjun’s rap, i swear! IM INNOCENT!!!)

Ateez: Stay (me: its the Wanted intro song! x”””))

Seventeen: Don’t Wanna Cry (ulgo shipji anha bitch)

BTS: Blood Sweat & Tears (last year’s most listened………. still as horny as ever)

NCT 127: Superhuman (they do have a lot of songs that i love but i feel like this is the song?! like The Song?!?!? The Comeback? its just so well put together and i love LOVE the choreo. doyoung ate the vocals)

Ateez: Desire (another song i really didnt appreciate in the beginning but. I changed my ways, i promise, tHAT OUTROOOOOO)

Stray Kids: Miroh (fine, fINE THEY GOT ME WITH THIS ONE)

Seventeen: Lie Again (bitch. also i realised my favourite line isnt even said by mingyu its said by mr. scoops. anyway im in pain)

BTS: Anpanman (i still cant believe how Actually good this song is x”””))

Ateez: Wonderland (you know for a song that was only released two months ago! only one of which was measured by spotify, its p good! gAJAAAAA)

Taemin: Sexuality (that one perf. you know the one. yeah.)

Apink: 응응 (this was released in JANUARY and its still one of the best songs this year)

 BTS: Trivia: Seesaw (he has a CHOREO)

Ateez: Light (yuNHO’S SONG)

Seventeen: Getting Closer (fuck them haters, this is the most well-put together svt song that exists fight me about it)

Shinee: Symptoms (this song is Beautiful, i remember going through shinee’s discography and being FLOORED)

BTS: Go Go (yoloyoloyoloyo)

Ateez: WIN (AAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEE)

Seventeen: Bring It (Hoshi: imma kill everyone in this mofakin house)

Taemin: Artistic Groove (”oh i dont like this song that much” she said “Im a fucking LIAR” she said)

BTS: Pied Piper (why nOT DIMPLE)

Ateez: Mist (WOOYOUNG’S SONG)

Seventeen: If I (The Hip Hop Unit Song)

Taemin: Move (its Her)

BTS: Epiphany (:< lovely jin ♥ i remember getting into bts and deciding to bias jin Immediately and then five days later this bitch drops you ain ever seen an emotional rollercoaster like that)

Ateez: Thank U (dude when yunho and yeosang go hAL MARI ISSEO and the jongho goes nEOL SAENGGAKHAMYEON BYE)

Seventeen: Moonwalker (this is so random x”) WHY NOT ROCKET since i have to be tormented by my sins anyway)

Taemin: Shadow (fair, fair, this was my favourite from this album for a long time)

Trivia: Love (nae sarang sarang sarang) 

Ateez: Dazzling Light (CHOREO!??!?!)

Seventeen: No F.U.N. (this is such a random selection of svt songs spotify put in here x”””))

Taemin: my current fave from this album :””))

NCT 127: Touch (BITCH IM SO SOFT FOR THIS SONG ITS SO CUTE)

Ateez: With U (cOFFEE SHOP MUSIC)

BTS: Begin (why this. i dont even like jk)

Block B: Very Good - Rough Ver. (of course this is on here x”””) LETS GO)

Day6: Sing Me (that one live did it for me where jae just Goes Missing and then he’s in the middle of the crowd suddenly yes very good)

Ateez: If Without You (little known fact the OOOOH and WhoOOOAOaa sound effects in the background are all Me)

Taemin: Danger (neolhumchyeogayohumchyeogayo)

BTS: Dimple (finally! anyway this choreo was a mistake)

NCT 127: Simon Says (”i dont like this song that much” sHE LIED AGAIN)

Ateez: Beginning of the End (why lmao)

Day6: Somehow (ahhh this used to be my ultimate favourite day6 song and its still v close to the top ahahhHfdjhkéfdosdjágf I love IT)

Seventeen: Hug :<

Oneus: 가자 (GIVE ONEUS THEIR WELL-DESERVED WIN THEY HAD THREE KILLER TITLE TRACKS THIS YEAR THEYRE AMAZING)

NCT U: Boss (jungooooo ♥♥)

BTS: Reflection (Kim Namjoon Made Me Cry In Public????!!?!)

Seventeen: Highlight (get. out. of. my. sight.)

Bastille: Bad Decisions (is…. is this the first (and possibly only…) non k-pop song on this list,!??! hahAhfddéjfdk)

Day6: Shoot Me (DEI SIKSEU DEI SIKSEU WHOOOOOOOOOO that was the fanchant)

Steve Aoki (feat. two random people): Waste It On Me (kim namjoon stop telling me to eat you)

Seventeen: Oh My! (ah when i used to listen to this every morning to give me Good Mood)

Oneus: Twilight (taEYANGI TTEOREOJINDA)

Taemin: Thirsty (same)

Editors: Barricades (oh good, save me, tom, sAVE ME. this song is actually amazing. i love uhhhhh uUUUHHHH frankenstein and the other new ones (i know their titles) but this one is just up there too ♥♥)

Seventeen: Good to Me (and then mingyu outthotted everyone and the world exploded, the end)

Day6: 121U (the song that first got stuck with me!)

Baekhyun: UN Village (this is so random but i mean i wont lie.)

The Boyz: Bloom Bloom (im so happy this is on here. these guyz deserve so much more love and recognition ♥♥ both bloom bloom and ddd are amazing and. theyve had a year)

Seventeen: Very Nice (you could say this song is… aju nice ;-))

Momomeme: Gogobebe (oh does this mean i can be bisexual? since theres a gg on this list? PLEEEEEEASE)

[defleurtradingco]

Epoch- Lesson

(Previous: Camp, Next: Heartache)

“Yer right, this place is TINY,”

“I told you...”

The truck rattled and jostled slightly as they came to a slow stop in the dust. There, across the entire lawn (which was also made of dirt) was a tiny little ramshackle looking house, and directly across from that was another structure too small to be considered a barn. Monte didn’t have any other descriptor in mind for it however.

A horse neigh came from within it and he cringed immediately without making any moves to get out of the driver’s seat.

A stable then. A slightly larger one.

Gray didn’t seem bothered by any of it and got out on the passenger’s side, slamming the truck door shut.

“Hey take it easy,” Monte called out as he too stepped outside. “So, anyone even here? Looks like a ghost town. Ghost...house.” “He should be,” Gray held his hand over his mouth and nose as a cloud of dust kicked up by the wind wafted by. “It’s not like he ever really goes anywhere except to town for stuff...like groceries and horse things, I think.”

Right beside the house was another pick up truck, one far dirtier than Monte’s own. It’d seen frequent usage. Whoever lived here had to be home.

Together they walked to the porch, Gray reaching forward to knock while Monte waited behind him, turning his back slightly so he could look at the rest of the yard. He pulled his bandanna over his face just in case.

No one answered the door immediately, until footsteps greeted them from the inside of the house. The door came opened slowly, just a crack at first.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Gray scowled.

“How am I supposed to look at you. You bring trouble every time you come over here.”

The door swung open wider at last. Monte turned back around again, squinting the only eye he could. “Huh??? Wait a sec- I know you!!”

“Who doesn’t.” The man was Native American, for certain. Dark hair, tan skin, and scruffy hairs on his chin, with the only oddball thing being his stark round and yellow eyes. Just like a bird’s. A hawk maybe or an eagle or some other bird of prey. It was unnerving. Small white and black speckled feathers were visibly growing out of the back of his neck just under his braid.

“Fuck I don’t remember yer name, sorry.” Monte pulled his bandanna down. There was no use for it.

“Yeah, no one remembers that either.” He answered in a deadpan.

“This is Osy.” Gray sighed, annoyed.

“Yeah!! You’re the bird guy! I heard about you! Sometimes!!” Osy looked far from amused. “Just don’t ask me which tribe I’m from. Please.” He turned his attention back to Grayson, which was less than friendly. Tolerated, maybe. “You coming back from another run? I told you already, I don’t need you turning this place into a stop- I have too many of them trying to do that as it is.”

“A stop??” Monte asked.

Gray ignored him. “I’m not, I almost got eaten by ghouls out there...this guy picked me up, I just asked him to drop me off here so I could walk the rest of the way was all.” “Oh, yeah, sure,” Osy nodded, not believing it. “Ok. Mind tellin’ me what the hell you were doing to wind up in the middle of nowhere? I know you go by street or bus, you don’t walk across huge stretched of land like that. So how’d THAT happened?” If the cat-man had ears like a cat, they would have been pinned back by then. Rather than argue however, he turned and walked to the other end of the porch in a huff.

Monte glanced back and forth between the two. “This is uh...awkward...”

“Tell me about it.” Osy looked to Monte. “You’re the ghoul ‘exterminator’ aren’t you?”

“Th’ one n’ only Mr. Wormbane at’cher service friend.”

“Hm… you saw the canyons behind the house on the drive over here.” “I did.” “I’ve been having a bit of a problem the last several weeks. Haven’t called out anyone to come and look though, but something keeps crawlin’ into the stables over there and buggin’ the horse and stealing food and making a huge mess. The floor’s usually all scratched up and there are bits of hard stuff and crap that usually just trail back to the canyon. Weird yowling sounds and such by night out there on occasion. Sounded like a ghoul to me. Think you could go take a look??” Monte perked up slightly. “Why sure! Sounds like it could be, jus’ from whatcha told me. Once I know fer certain it’d be easy takin’ em outta here. They usually ain’ an aggressive sort. Elsewise yer pony’d be butchered by now.” “I thought as much...We can head out there right now if you’re ok with that. My afternoon’s free.” “If yer all right I’m all right.” “Ok.” Osy stuck his head further out of the horse, “HEY!”

Gray had his arms crossed and his back turned to both of them on the other end of the porch.

“You stay here, I don’t need you roamin’ around like a wandering tom cat if you’re in trouble again.”

“I thought you didn’t WANT me here.” “Oh shut up and get in the house and wait for us.”

Gray turned around quickly and stormed back to them, squeezing in between them to go inside to seemingly pout some more and give everyone the silent treatment.

“...He always like that? Damn turnin’ his back on ya an’ givin’ ya the cold shoulder like a fuckin’ cat??” “Unfortunately. I’d rather him stay in one place in the meantime. Come on, I’ll show you the stable, then we can head out.”

“Lead the way boss.”

As he and Osy stepped out onto the front lawn (of dirt), Monte couldn’t help but look back a few times at the house as they walked away from it. “So uh you two got any like, history or somethin’ cuz I mean- that kid ain’ told me much about nothin’ so far...” “I already learned my lesson with that one,” Osy sighed in such a way that even from behind, Monte could hear his brows furrow. “Don’t get involved.”

“Ahuh…I mean...he told me he wasn’t a Were but obviously he is,” Monte motioned vaguely towards Osy himself.

“He’s not a Were.”

“Huh??”

As soon as the stable door slid open, the sound of a horse grunt greeted them. Monte went rigid before steeling his jaw at the sight of a singular black horse giving him the evil eye, with its ears pinned back entirely.

Everything he’d been thinking about prior, had gone out the window. They couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

[nighthunternik]

Dating 🚘🚤Fabien Ahmad🔥 Headcanon II

Here's the second part of my 'Dating Fabien Ahmad' headcanon ~*~ I am a bit disappointed at the moment 'cause we didn't really get much Fabien content in the actual book so far and PB seems to waste such huge potential, but maybe my HC will sweeten the waiting time a bit 😊

A third part, this time NSFW, is in the works🔥🌡👀 Also feel free to message me if you'd like me to write a Headcanon for a specific character :)

You adore the slightly scratchy feeling of his stubble on your bare skin as he kisses your neck ... your chest ... and even lower🌡🔥 He has a tendency to leave hickeys all over your body and you laugh when he says that he wants to mark you as his, with his crooked smirk and the typical mischievous sparkle in his dark eyes.

As you can guess from his name, French is one of his native languages and OH. MY. GOSH. 🤤 Your stomach always tightens with desire when he starts speaking French, because his voice then always sounds deeper ... husky and so sexy. Yes, I would like some pain au chocolat for my petit-déjeuner, thank you very much. Now get over here!

looking at pictures of his parents that he always carries in his pockets👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 Family comes first for Fab, and - although you love this nurturing side of him - your heart aches at the expression of utter sadness flashing across his face when he talks of them ~*~ "But, Habibi, you are my family now"

However, if Fabien only inherited some of his Father's genes, you don't have to worry😚: even at his age, he's a tall man with a proud smile, shining grey hair that enframes a face kissed by the sun and delicate wrinkels around gentle eyes. In one photo he wears a traditional robe in colors that you couldn't even imagine ... "Hey, Darling, I wanna see you in whatever this is"😍, you chirp in Fab's direction with hearts in your eyes and he hastily disappears because he'd rather stay in his leather jacket ...

🍵He loves to drink boiling hot tea and he takes Arabian tea culture very seriously, it's a whole procedure. You like the aromatic smell in the room and the taste of mint and cinnamon caressing your tongue - that is until the sugar (of which he puts a lot into the tea) kicks in and he has to stay up with you all night because now you are too hyper to sleep🤪

🏞🗺🌄You hide from the police in tropical countries mostly and you love to walk, hand in hand, through narrow streets and crowded market places, where marketers advertise their goods in all kinds of languages. His hands are so big, slightly calloused, and you know you're safe when he holds you close 💕

Sometimes, he finds real treasures between the typical over-priced shlock that is offered on those markets - may it be a scratched up pocket watch in a beamless gold or a necklace that sheens in different colors of the rainbow when hit by the sun's light, and he looks so adoringly pleased with himself when he can surprise you with them☀️

🌺 He'll put flowers in your hair and tell you how beautiful you are ~*~ Both of you like to eat the exotic fruit that smiling natives hand you and it's so rich in taste that the sweet juice runs down your chin. He then wipes it away with his thumb, his intense gaze locked on you, before he teasingly waves with a grape in front of you that he then quickly eats himself with a wink🥝🥥🍍🍇🍉

Coming home to find Fabien standing atop of a chair, balancing with a panicky expression. "Was there another spider, Fabien?", you'll ask him with an amused smirk and fold your arms. "No, ehm... I am just, ehm, polishing our lamp". 🕷🦂

Fabien can be a bit melodramatic and although he was born in a country that is known for its desert and heat, he has spend most of the time in the US and can't stand the hot climate: "Habibi, it's so f*cking hot😩" - "Yes, it is" - "I am sweating, look" - "I know, me too🙄" - "It's so hot in here, I feel like I am living in a volcano😩😩😩" - "Okay😑" - "I want to die."

Sometimes, when you're at the beach, a football some kids are playing with will accidentally fly in your direction and Fabien will dart you an asking glance. You'll nod and he quickly tosses it back, joining them in their game and they love him🏈⚽️

You love watching them, but then your eyes will well up, making your vision all blury... You wish, you and Fabien could have kids on your own, but that would be simply irresponsible with your names still on the Most Wanted List. You quickly wipe away the tears as he returns, but he notices that something is wrong. Albeit he doesn't say a word, he knows the reason for your temporary sadness and holds you a little closer on the way back 💔

You can't believe how wild your life with him is. I mean, you're a master thief, so you're not one to complain, but while your early escapades were solely attached to your, ehm, "job", Fabien seems to follow the motto "the wilder, the better" in his daily life as well ~ breaking into a public swimming pool at night🌌, skinny dipping in the sea, crashing the show of an amateur magician in some random hotel... you always get away with it and you only have to close your eyes later to still hear his contagious laughter ringing in your ear.

But there are also negative sides to his volatility, his desire for adventure and (what he calls) fun. Often you'll find yourself in the middle of nowhere, where he meets up with local street racers. With rain on your face, you try not to listen to the dangerous squeaks of the brakes that are echoing though the Asian valley as they are playing their games, accompanied by the monstrous sound of thunder. Your hands are shaking nervously and covered in cold sweat, the piece of gum you chewed for distraction is long tasteless . Will he come back in one piece?

Of course he does and to cap it all, he's the triumphant winner. He winks at you and rakes his fingers through his hair almost arrogantly; you can't help but put his arms around his neck and kiss him, pouring all the relief into it. You look at the sore losers and their wives, and internally you're screaming "Yaaas Bitches that's my man" ... 😎

but the fear remains and sometimes you're fighting about it - he thinks you're not trusting him enough and you'll say that trust has nothing to do with the torment of the situation, your voice jarring and tranposed up by one octave...

Later, as an apology, he'll guide you to a shabby bar by the beach that looks like straight from the 80s; you'll sit on chairs that don't match and drink cheap beer between all the locals in this room filled with smoke and foreign music. The fight will be forgotten. And then you'll dance the night away, with one hand on his firm chest, the other on his muscular back, mesmerized by his intoxicating smile. He'll whisper things, which would normally color your cheeks pink, his breath hot and heavy, and rock his hips seductively against yours. He embraces your fingers with both of his big hands: "You know that there's no chance that an accident could keep me away from you, right?" ... You kiss him just as someone lights fireworks at the beach and you think to yourself that this must be what it feels like to be giddy with love❤

[overanalyzingelswordiswhatido]

A Terrible Babysitter Chapter 5

Unfortunately the next morning they were still children. Rena was the first one to climb out of the fort at dawn. Add watched her silently. She climbed into one of the chairs at the table next to him and grabbed a chocolate out of the bowl. He was beginning to notice that individually, none of them were so bad. It was just when they were all together that the chaos started.

“What’re you working on?” Rena asked curiously.

“Stuff,” Add shrugged. He motioned toward the kitchen, “There’s cereal or lunchables or whatever in the kitchen.”

“I want eggs.”

“I’m not making eggs.”

“I can make them,” Rena stated confidently.

“You can’t even reach the stove,” Add reminded her.

“I can ask the wind spirits for help!”

“No.” Add shook his head. “No eggs until you can reach the stove.”

Rena pouted but quickly cheered up. “Are we still going to the library today?” She asked the question over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen.

“When everyone wakes up,” Add responded. He was reluctant to take them all out again but Aisha was likely to get argumentative after he promised her they could last night. He didn’t feel like dealing with that. While the dinner outing wasn’t the worst, wrangling the kids was a lot harder in more open spaces. Besides, last time they went out the kids picked up two stray cats. He didn’t want them picking up anything else.

When Rena finished breakfast she went back into the fort and started to get the others up, much to Add’s annoyance. He was hoping at least one of them would sleep through the day so he had an excuse to not take them anywhere. With a heavy, exhausted sigh he dismissed the screens and wandered to the fridge for a drink. Today was gonna be a long day.

“I wanna bring Snowball!” Elsword picked up the fluffy mostly white cat and held her close to his chest. The cat looked annoyed, hanging from his arms, her tail swishing back and forth. Of course just as they were about to leave, something had to happen.

What kind of a name is Snowball? Add gave Elsword a flat look, “Put her down.”

“But I wanna bring her with us!” Elsword insisted.

“Why can’t she come?” Ara asked sadly, “She lived outside before.”

“Yeah!”

“Cats aren’t allowed in the library,” Add transferred the flat look to Ara. He shoved his hands into his pockets, “The cats will have to stay here until we get back.”

“All alone?!” Chung’s eyes flew wide open anxiously. “Are they gonna be okay?!”

“They can’t take care of themselves!” Elsword yelled.

Add bit his tongue. They literally found the cats outside, taking care of themselves just fine but okay. He took a deep breath, “They’ll be fine. We’ll leave food out for them before we go.”

“But what if something happens?” Ara asked.

“Fine,” Add threw his hands in the air in defeat. “If you’re so worried about the cats you can stay here with them.”

“Elesis will stay right?” Elsword turned to his sister hopefully.

“Actually, I’m going to the library,” Elesis shrugged. “I wanna see what’s there.”

“Who’s gonna look after us?” Ara’s voice became high pitched with worry. Tears gathered in her eyes.

Add took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Here’s what’s happening. We’re going to the library. The cats are staying here. They were perfectly capable of taking care of themselves outside, so I’m sure they’ll be fine in the house. The house is a lot safer than being outside after all. Okay?”

“You’re sure they’ll be okay?” Ara sniffed.

Add nodded, “Yes. Now, Elsword, put her down and let’s go.”

Elsword reluctantly put the cat down, muttering about how he was certain he could’ve brought her to the library.

Add sighed in relief. Dynamo removed the lock on the door and the kids filed out and gathered in front of the house. He replaced the lock and led the way to the library. It was a challenge keeping the kids on track with all the distractions around them but they managed to arrive without too much trouble.

Add sat at a table and watched the kids scatter through the library. It might be irresponsible of him but he wasn’t going to police them. With all the different directions they went it would be impossible anyway. If they needed him, he was in an easy to find spot. Besides, one of them would probably just scream for him instead of bothering to find him.

As predicted, only a few moments passed before Raven called, “Add!”

Add groaned as he slowly got to his feet. Dynamo tracked Raven down via his nasod arm and Add made his way over. He couldn’t say he was surprised when he found Ara, near tears, sitting by a ladder in between a couple of bookshelves.

“Ara fell off the ladder,” Raven pointed up towards the top.

“How high?” Add asked.

Raven climbed up the ladder and touched the rung fourth from the top, “She was on this one. I told her to be careful and when she turned to acknowledge me her foot slipped and she fell.”

“I didn’t mean to fall again.”

Add snorted. Despite his annoyance he assured her, “You never mean to. It’s fine.” With a quiet sigh he knelt down in front of her. Dynamo scanned her and reported that she somehow managed not to break anything. “Try to stand up,” he ordered.

Ara hesitated but didn’t argue. Slowly, she got to her feet. Raven offered his arm to help steady her but she seemed determined to do it on her own. She did manage to stand but kept most of her weight on her right side.

Add stood up and looked at the shelf, “What were you trying to get?”

“The big brown book about deities,” Ara pointed up toward the shelf.

Add reached up and pulled a brown book with grey letters on the binding and showed it to her, “This one?”

Ara nodded.

Add held it out to her, along with a chocolate just to be sure she didn’t start crying. He looked at Raven, “Stay with her.”

Raven nodded, “I will.”

Before Add could say anything more Elsword’s voice echoed through the library. Add blew air into his cheeks. He turned on his heel and stalked out from the bookshelves. Dynamo located Elsword and Add walked up to him, “What are you yelling about?”

“I found a game Chung and I can play!” Elsword declared excitedly, holding up a beat up box for an old chess set.

Add took a deep breath and tried to sound calm, “That’s great. But you’re not supposed to yell in a library.”

“Oh,” Elsword covered his mouth with his hand, muffling his whispered apology.

Add waved his hand dismissively, “Go play your game.”

Elsword nodded and scampered off to the nearest table.

“Wait for me!” Chung called. He cringed and quickly lowered his volume, “I-I mean. Hold on.” He hurried after Elsword.

Add sighed and returned to his table. It took all of his effort not to doze off in the library.

“Add.”

Add looked to the side.

Aisha stood next to him, holding a book close to her chest, looking frustrated, “The lady said I had to return the book in a week!”

“Okay?” Add rolled his eyes. He didn’t see how that warranted frustration.

“Tell the lady I’m keeping it! She won’t listen to me cuz I’m a child!”

You’ve got to be kidding. “You didn’t realize you couldn’t keep library books?” Add asked irritably.

“I want to keep it!” Aisha insisted.

Add growled quietly, “You can’t. If you aren’t gonna be happy if you can’t keep it then put it back.”

“But I want it! It’s important!”

“Then we’ll just go to a fucking bookstore,” Add snapped. He held out his hand, “Let me see it.”

Aisha beamed and gave him the book, clearly pleased.

Add only glanced at the title so he could have Dynamo locate a bookstore that had the book in stock. After a moment he looked back at Aisha, “Go get the others and we’ll go.” He shoved the book back at her, “And put this back.” He watch Aisha skip away and ran his hands down his face. Now he was just turning into Ciel but trying to tell a kid no was so annoying.

“Hey, Mr. Ancient. How come we’re going to a bookstore?” Ain asked curiously.

“Because Aisha didn’t realize she couldn’t keep the books from the library,” Add explained irritably.

“That’s weird. How come you can’t keep them?”

“I don’t know-”

“Add!” Elesis called.

Add turned to her, “What?”

“Aisha’s fighting with Elsword.”

Add let out a long sigh. He got to his feet and walked over. Almost immediately he heard the two bickering while Chung desperately tried to mediate. He really missed Rena being her normal self. Now he had to try to mediate the argument instead of instigating and laughing at them, which was much more fun. “What are you two doing?”

“I tried to tell them we’re going to the bookstore but this dummy,” Aisha pointed at Elsword, her motions sharp with anger, “Doesn’t want to pick up his game!”

Add looked at Elsword without a word.

“She ruined it! We were playing and she came by and just started putting it away! In the middle of a game!” Elsword shouted.

“I thought I said no yelling in the library,” Add reminded him flatly. He looked at Aisha, “It wasn’t gonna kill you to let them finish their game. Now you have to wait while they start a whole new one over again.”

“What?! Why?! That’s not fair!” Aisha stomped her foot.

Add pressed his lips together and more forcefully said, “I just told Elsword no yelling in the library. Or were you not listening?”

“Make them stop playing! We have to go the bookstore!” Aisha continued to pitch her fit like he hadn’t said a word.

Add gave her a hard look, “Or we won’t go to the bookstore at all and we’ll just go straight home and you can pitch your fit there.” He whirled around but before he left he looked back at her, “Let them finish their game.” Without another word he stalked back to the table and flopped into his chair.

“Are we really going to the bookstore?” Ara asked anxiously.

Add glanced at her, “Maybe. Depends on Aisha’s attitude.”

“Oh…” Ara looked down but didn’t say more.

“What?” Add asked.

“Well, I just…my leg hurts a little bit…” Ara trailed off. She shook her head quickly, “But it’s not bad enough to go home! Promise!”

Add rolled his eyes. She kept downplaying her injuries when making sure she didn’t get hurt worse really wasn’t that complicated. He barely managed not to snap at her to be selfish for once. Instead he sighed, “Dynamo can carry you if we do go to the bookstore, alright? It’s not a problem.”

“Can we buy stuff at the bookstore?” Lu asked cheerfully. She climbed onto the chair and stood up on it. With her hands on her hips she surveyed the area around her and cackled, “I’m taller than all of you!”

“You each get one thing,” Add answered. He didn’t bother telling Lu to get down but he did keep an eye on her in case she fell.

“I wanna be tall too!” Lu helped Ciel climb onto the chair to stand next to her even though he didn’t really need it.

“Look at me! I’m Scar!” The tiny demon returned her hands on her hips and gave a mock villain laugh, “Now bow before me you puny beings!”

Add laughed.

Once Elsword and Chung finished their game they moved on to the bookstore, since Aisha had calmed down and was back to being reasonable. Or as reasonable as a child could be.

Add found a nice spot near the middle of the bookstore and sat cross-legged on the floor. He watched the kids scatter into the store to look for their one thing he was letting them get.

“Hey Add!” Elesis called. “Look what we found!”

Add lifted his chin from his hand. Elesis, Rose, Lu, Ciel, and Elsword were working together to carry a gigantic plush rabbit. His eyes widened, “What is that?”

“A giant bunny!” Lu grinned. “Ciel wants it!”

“It takes five of you to carry it,” Add commented.

“Of course,” Lu nodded matter-of-factly. “We can’t let it drag on the ground and get all dirty!”

Add hesitated. Finally he shook his head, laughing weakly, “Get something a little smaller alright?” Before they could argue he added, “We’ll come back for the bunny later.” He had absolutely no intention to come back for that rabbit, but if he bought time for them to return to their normal selves then 1. it wouldn’t take five of them to carry it and 2. Ciel could buy it himself.

“Okay…” Ciel mumbled dejectedly but he helped the others carry the rabbit back.

As they went, Add heard Lu offer to argue if Ciel really wanted it and groaned. Luckily Ciel assured her it was fine and he would just get a smaller rabbit instead.

Ara trotted happily up to him and sat down next to him. She excitedly held out a book, “I found an origami book!” She proceeded to explain how her mother had tried to teach her but she only managed to make paper cranes.

“Neat,” Add commented. It was weird to hear Ara talk about her mother. The only family member she usually talked about was her older brother, but he wasn’t going to comment on that. He laid his chin back on his hand to continue waiting for the others to come back.

When all of the kids had picked their thing Add paid for it and walked them all back to the house.

[reekierevelator]

Beyond Burns

a short story

I was getting set up to record my latest spacecast on holiday trips to Mars, - Spacex starships were offering a special deal, - when in barges the director, slamming the door behind her.  

‘What does the big data analysis tell you to spout on about this time?’ spluttered the red-faced human, in her usual sensitive way.

‘Summer holidays – trips to Mars.’

‘Oh, not that old shite again.  Same every year.  Hell’s teeth, we don’t employ robot vidcasters just to end up doing what everyone else does. Post-festive season it’s all diets and holidays, same old same old. Now listen to me Chuck, I’m after the interplanetary broadcaster medal and the other stations are already all over the new technology. We have to do better than RADG, who got that whizz-kid to do an interview with James Watt.’

‘Who?’

‘Who knows, an engineer or something, hundreds of years ago, the point is Chuck that if they can do it so can we. We need to get our act together, get on this bandwagon quick, or else we pack our bags and get out.  It’s a cutthroat business – well, not for you obviously, maybe cut your cables and sell you for scrap if no-one else wants you, but at least you don’t have any bags to pack.  Listen hard Chuck, we’re up against it, so do it now while it’s still just this sound across time tech stuff; get in right away before upgrades escalate it to visuals and prices follow suit.’

‘But all my algorithms are geared to entertainment, holidays and so on – what do I know about history, engineers?’

‘It doesn’t have to be James Watt, numpty. We can set up the new tech to beam in on anyone selected.  Even this sound-only stuff is expensive though, so we need a well-known name.  It’s January, you know that red red rose song? I’ve always had a hankering to know more about that bad boy.’

‘Who?’

‘Name of Robert Burns, numpty.  I can’t be the only one still knows the name, even if it’s hundreds of years since he was around.’

‘Where do I find him?’

‘For God’s sake Chuck, it’s over a year since you were working out of Moon West. You need to be all about Earth people now. He was an Earthling. Ok, I know this is tricky for robots but you’ve got to remember Earth people can be as interested in their ancient predecessors as in red planet holidays.’

‘You do know they’ve worked out that water problem on Mars now.’

‘Will you forget Mars Chuck.  Just do as I ask, ok? Bobby Burns. Get on to him. Record him. Get him on the WSKY worldcast.’  The director flung her head back, turned on her high heels, flecks of saliva spraying from her mouth, and slammed the door on her way out. All work and no love life, that woman’s heading for a heart attack.  I suppose I might be too if I had one.

I searched my Universal Knowledge databanks and checked out this Burns guy. Apparently an Earth human born 1759, died 1796. An entertainer. Wrote some songs and poems. That must have been what passed for entertainment in those days.  And I thought, that’s only thirty-seven years, hardly enough time for a simple human to have done very much.  

I switched on my motor control and rolled off to see the engineers. This new-fangled technology annoyed me intensely.  I mean I was only built five years ago and already my memory capacity can’t keep up with all the new software updates. It’s the middle of the twenty-first century, the Earth’s dying on its feet, anyone human who can afford to is escaping, moving to the Moon, or buying a holiday home on Mars or Venus - some even taking a punt on Mercury - and so my mad boss lumbers me with this nonsense about new tech and tells me to talk to an ancient geezer from centuries ago. I mean, jeez-o.

The engineer android showed me the kit and explained how to set date and time and to use GPRS Historical Module to pinpoint the human I wanted to talk to, and some kind of one-way microscope to get a visual fix. Then there was this contraption to shout though so that your voice somehow carried back through time. The engineer said it would probably sound a bit tinny to the recipient, especially given my five year old voice activation system. He warned me the humans were all ensnared by religious controllers back then and it might sound like some ethereal voice of God to him when he heard it.  But then he smiled that ingratiatingly metallic smile of his and added that he knew any good media jock – such as myself – would be well-used to talking to total randoms at any distance and putting them at ease.

Since this guy Burns hadn’t lived that long, for a human anyway, I decided that to get anything at all interesting out of him I’d better set the time module for his last couple of years. He’d at least have had time to do something.  I fixed the controls for 1795 and told the engineer to locate Robert Burns and tie me on to him. My databanks said he ended up someplace called Dumfries in a bit of the Earth called Scotland.

The engineer locked on to a scruffy looking human, half-dressed in breeches and black waistcoat, living in some dingy accommodation in a squalid street called the Mill Vennel. Then he turned to me and clicked his metal joints into the thumbs up sign.

Surprised, I pressed my voice activation speaker close to the horn and shouted ‘Hey there, Bobby, this is Chuck, coming straight at you from WSKY Earthwide, - and, oh yeah, I’m about two hundred years away.’

There was a slight time delay before I heard: ‘Whit the Deil!!’  Whit’s that rammy in ma lug?’

‘Hey, like I said Bobby, it’s me, Chuck.  You won’t be able to see me…’

‘Whit, are ye hidin lik some kin o wee sleekit cowrin tim’rous beastie?’

‘No it’s this new tech Bobby, no visuals yet, maybe in a few years - once the android geeks have worked on it…’

‘Is this God speirin? I canna unnerstaun. Whit d’ye want o me? An can ye stop ca’in me Bobby?’

‘Ok what name do you prefer? My databanks are throwing up options – there’s Bobby, Bob, Bert, Bertie, Rob?’

‘Rob? Aye weel Rab, Rabbie then.’  

‘All good, - Rab it is, and what I want here is just for you and me to have a chat Rab – maybe I‘ll ask a couple of questions – you ok with that Rab?

‘You’ve a gey peculiar voice God.’

‘Like I said Rab, I’m Chuck, can’t really claim to be a deity as such. Call me inhuman if you want. I don’t mind. I can’t take offence. You can say what you like to me.’

‘I canna unnerstaun ye. But syne yer no God, that’s something forbye. I canna deny I’ve had mair than a few run-ins wi the Kirk in ma time. Yet, I’m aywes interestit tae hae a blether wi ither chiels an hear their stories.’

‘You’ll need to speak up Rab, the sound’s having to travel quite a long way. Can you just behave like a typical human who walks along entirely by himself and bellows into some mini-microphone that’s radio-linked to the communicator in his pocket.’

‘Whit? Oh I can bellow alright.  Gin ye ever heard me recitin ma verses at the Tarbolton Bachelors Club, the Crochallan Fencibles, or even in The Globe ye widna doot it.’

‘Well, that’s good to know Rab. But I see all those get-togethers involved drinking alcohol.’

‘Aye, an whitfor no? When chapman billies leave the street, an drouthy neebors neebors meet. There’s naethin wrang wi the nappy. Wi tippeny we fear nae evil; wi usquabae we’ll face the devil.’

‘You could be right Rab. Not something I can comment on.  For me, it’s just another way to rust the bodywork. So can we do the usual stuff?  Check through the data - What you do, where you came from, how you got into the business, famous friend anecdotes, women you’ve known – you know, the usual stuff. When we’re done my monomaniacal medal-seeking big boss director will bung you some compensation for your time.’

‘A ken the big boss type. Ye shouldna worry aboot yon high heid yins that think ower much o theirsels Chuck. Ye see yon birkie ca’d a lord wha struts an stares an a that? Though hundreds worship at his word he’s but a coof for a that. For a that an a that, his ribband, star, an a that, the man o independent mind, he looks an laughs at a that.’

‘Well Rab, that’s certainly something I’ll add to my memory bank, but robot unemployment is on the up these days and the second-hand market is down.  It’s the metal scrapheap that beckons if my boss gets vindictive.’

‘Ach, dinna be feart man. Did I heard you say ‘compensation’?  Does that mean money?’

‘Sure, cash, spondulicks, filthy lucre.’

‘I’ve aywes suffered wi bein awfy short o the siller.’

‘Glad to be able to help out Rab. So let’s get started – early life?

‘Aye weel, let’s see, ma faither, a gairdner, tenant farmer, wis pit aff a fairm in Kincardine, near Stonehaven. Cam tae Ayrshire an met ma mither. Build his ain but’n’ben at Alloway for a vegetable gairden. The faimly grew so he needed mair room. He took oot a loan for a tenancy at Mount Oliphant. Found it wis gae stony grund.  The loan wis lik a millstone. Seiven bairns an me the auldest. We a had tae chip in wi the fairmwork soon as we were able. An later we flitted tae a fairm at Lochlea but naethin much changed. Ma faither wisna weel then an I wis the man o the fairm at fifteen. Hard, hard life. Aywes freezin or mingin, or baith; workin masel tae death.’

‘But what about college Rab?’

‘College?  I went tae schuil at Kirkosward for a few year, stertit when I turned six. Ma faither wis mad keen on the learnin but. Scrimped an saved. Got me a tutor for two year, learning French, studying English. An efter that faither taught me hissel – geography an sic lik. An then a year o the mathematics in Ayr. Aye, I wis well educated, nae ignorant ploughboy. I’ve aye been wide-read. An then ma mither taught me tae. Ma mither wis born Agnes Broun. She hadna her letters at a’ but she wid sing as braw as the laverock.  Mony a song I took fae her, an a bit o the fiddle anaw.’

‘My data banks say you wrote songs yourself? My boss seemed to know one.’

‘Aye, scrieved the first few at fourteen. They skipped ben ma heid gin I grappled wi the plough. They went down well wi the lassies. Mind, even at the schuil there was yon Peggy Thomson. Ye ken, the sweetest hours that ere I spend are spent amang the lasses O. At Lochlea there wis an eager lass, Elizabeth Paton. Oh aye, but gie me a cannie hour at e’en, my arms about my dearie O, an war’ly cares an war’ly men, may a gae tapsalteerie O.  She had ma bonnie wee bairn an we ca’d her Elizabeth. But a wis too young yet an her faither wadna let us mairry.’

           ‘But what became of your daughter?

           ‘Died. No lang syne. I canna speak o it.’

           ‘Sorry to hear that Rab.’

‘Aye, it angers me the whiles. State o the warl. Politics.’

‘How do you usually vote Rab?’

‘Vote? Nae French Revolution here frien. Nae restoration o Scots independence. Sic a parcel o rogues in a nation. Wid the lik o me, a tenant fairmer, hae the franchise? Na, na.  An them that’s tried fechtin for it are in Botany Bay.  Ye can nae mair speak oot loud aboot sic things as murmur the Fiscal. But yet there’s weys if it’s dressed up in a sang. Scots wha hae wi Wallace bled - now’s the day and now’s the hour - wha for Scotland’s king and law, freedom’s sword will strongly draw, freeman stand or freeman fa, let him follow me. Mair for Thomas Muir o Huntershill that for Bruce.’

‘I see, so you wrote protest songs, political songs Rab?’

‘It’s no jist yon Whigs an Tories man. It’s a muckle brawer, bonnier thing. Like I say, then let us pray that come it may - as come it will for a that, - that sense o worth o’er a the earth, shall bear the gree an a that. For a that, an a that, that man to man the world o’er, shall brithers be for a that. Ma favourite poet wis aye Milton.

‘But the data has you down as more of a ladies man Rab.’

           ‘Aye, the lassies, mony a fair charmer. They lik’d me as muckle as I lik’d them. An Chuck, just in case ye really are God, I’ve suffered my penance in the Kirk for athing. But yet O Lord, confess I must at times, I’m fash’d wi fleshly lust, an sometimes too in worldly trust, vile self gets in. But Thou remembers we are dust, defil’d wi sin. O Lord yestreen Thou kens wi Meg, thy pardon I sincerely beg, O may’t ne’er be a living plague, to my dishonour. An I’ll never lift a lawless leg, again upon her. Besides, I further maun avow, wi Leezie’s lass three times I trow, but Lord that Friday, I was fou, when I cam near her. Or else, Thou kens, Thy servant true, wad never steer her.

           ‘It’s still Chuck, Rab. There’s no gods for me. But I’ve heard humans say confession is good for the soul, so it’s as well you got it off your chest Rab.  So this whole fame and celebrity thing; how did that happen?

‘Ach, I’m aye sayin I’m a fiddler an a poet. But fairmin wis ma livin. An I wis a’ set tae gie up the fairmin an flee tae the Indies when a freemason pal o mine agreed tae print up a wheen o ma poems. He cam awa wi six hunner copies an yon buik wis read a ower the land. Rax it frae ma shelf for ye the noo if ye lik.  They read it even up Glesca wey, so I gaed north. That’s where I fell in wi a lass fae Campbeltown, Mary Campbell, ma Highland Mary. But she vanished. I went on tae Embra tae see yon man Creech. He printed mair editions. I wis the toast o the toon richt eneuch, invitit here, there, and everywhere. I met yon laddie Walter Scott an a’ the bigwigs. Creech said he’d buy the copyricht.

So I toured the hail country frae Highlands tae the Borders, gaitherin tunes the whiles an waitin for Creech tae stump up. I wis makin new words, better words, for thae auld tunes. I met yon greatest o fiddlers, Neil Gow, in Dunkeld. We talked o the rubata tempo, an I telt him tae save Scotland’s strathspey, its staccato, fae thae continentals lik Mozart wi their legatos an sustenos. They didna unnerstaun it. They drain the life oot it wi tremolo an vibrato till it’s sterile – and them bein paid for it anaw, no lik us. Mozart’s faither agreed wi me did he no? He kent the auld tunes an telt his laddie tae let them be.

‘The database says you were the first folk song collector; that you insisted the culture resided in the medium. The medium was the message.’

‘Aye, I kent the Italian musicians settled in Scotia. I collected sangs fae the Borders, an Gaelic tunes anaw; even Russian tunes; an Irish tunes I got fae ma sister in Dundalk. Ma favourite tune’s ‘Yestreen I had a pint o wine’; ma words tae an Irish melody. Ach, strathpeys, highland jigs, borders’ hornpipes, slip jigs, reels, - I ken them a’.  Ken the notes an rhythms. I mixed them a’ thegether, jist lik I jumbled the words o a’ the dialects o Scots wi English words an Auld English tae.

An in Embra waitin for Creech did I no fa’ in wi yon Agnes McElhose. That wis a lassie cast off bi her waster o a man, left her wi twa bairns. But she wis a rare beauty, Clarinda tae ma Sylvander when we passed notes, but we ca’d her Nancy. Aye, it wis hard when I maun tak leave o her. I telt her ae fond kiss and then we sever, ae fond kiss goodbye forever. But that’s a ahint me noo. I’m long bye cooried doon wi ma wife, Jean Armour, ane o thae Mauchline Belles.’

‘So she’s been good for you?’

‘Aye, for mony a year. Chuck, my luve is like a red, red rose that’s newly sprung in June. My luve is like a melodie, that’s sweetly play’d in tune. She gave me twins, a boy and a girl, - of course we ca’d them Robert an Jean, - even afore we mairrit in ‘88. An mind, there’s been seiven more since.’

‘Ok Rab, that sounds great. So do you have time to do anything else nowadays other than looking after your family?’

‘Weel I’m at the songs yet, an still scrievin mair poems. Near eight hunner o them noo. But still, songs dinna pey the rent. Whit spare siller I hid got I’ve gien tae ma brither, Gilbert, tae help wi his fairm an his faimly. An noo ma health is no up to much. The consumption ye ken, a fair scunner.’

‘My database interprets that as pulmonary tuberculosis Rab. That’s not so good.’

‘Naw, ye’re richt. I’m wastin awa tae naethin. I’m bound whares ghaists and houlets nightly cry. But Jean an the ithers, they’re dependin oan me. I’ve taen a post as an exciseman. I maun ride a horse ilka day ower half the country, rain or shine. Then nichts I’m at the scrievin for a yon numbers. I’m pressed sae hard there wis even nae time tae gang tae ma ain dochter Elizabeth’s funeral  An forbye, the sawbones noo prescribes bathin in the freezin Solway every day.’

‘Sounds tough Rab, but time is nearly up.’

‘Time near up?? Aye, weel, ye’re lik as no richt. Ye sure ye’re no God Chuck? Ye ken I’ve no been richt for ages. I’ve telt abody this last wee while ma time is surely comin gey soon.  Aye, it’ll a’ be ower afore I get much aulder.’

‘What I meant to say was we need to wind up our chat Rab; keep down the new tech expenses etc.’

‘Aye weel, it’s been a grand wee blether Chuck.  I hope the bother atween you an yer big boss-man get sortit oot.’

‘My big boss is a woman Rab, a lassie you would say, but thanks anyway.’

‘A lassie? Michty me, whit lik? Sic an antrin thing Chuck. This lassie, is she bonnie?’

‘Tall for a human, I’ve heard her called sexy, fiery, knows what she wants and works hard to get it.’

‘She wadna bide up by Alloway? I’m no deid yet Chuck an I aince kent a lassie lik yon. There's nought but care on ev'ry han', in ev'ry hour that passes O, what signifies the life o' man, an' 'twere na for the lasses O.  Bring her ben the hoose gin ye call roon again an I’ll gie her a sang or twa.’

           ‘Well, I can ask Rab.’

‘Guid man. But here, Chuck, my jo, I canna see ye, but I’ll haud oot ma haun. And there’s a hand my trusty fiere, and gie’s a hand o thine, and we’ll tak a right guid-willie waught, for auld lang syne.’

‘Ok Rab, I’m stretching my metal limb across the centuries.’

‘Brawly done Chuck.’  

‘And hey, that ‘auld lang syne’ thing, I’ve heard of it. My databanks tell me you did a song of that name; say it’s going to be really big for you. But, ah, unfortunately it won’t be published till after you’re dead. Oh, and apparently everyone will sing it to the wrong tune, using a Major 6th for a Reel instead of the Minor 6th for a reflective Air.’

‘Ach I hinna time tae care Chuck. We’re a’ jist passin through. Even you. An whit we leave ahint is fur ithers tae dae wi as they will. But mind the whiles we’re here, it’s ne’er how much God’s gien ye, it aye whit ye dae wi whit yer gien.’

‘That’s food – well, drink - for thought Rab. This spacecast will certainly be something different. You’ve added a lot to my human emotions databank. I can even see the Moon and Mars-dwelling types taking to your output once the recording is re-broadcast around the solar system. Maybe my boss really has got something going for her after all. She’s pulled you up from the depths of her human brain cells and she’s going to put you out there again. Maybe have you on the spacecast again soon Rab. Teach us a few of your songs. And you’re right. In the end we are all scrap, but maybe on the next time-tube visit we can catch you in your younger years.’

‘Ach, awa wi ye.  I see ye in ma heid Chuck; fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face. An gin ye’ll be quicker than Creech wi the ‘compensation’, or I’ll be deid afore it comes. I canna even offer a wee deoch an dorus. Ach, I’ve composed mony an epitaph Chuck. It’s time I wis awa noo an scrieved ma ain.’

‘Ok, bye for now Rab.’

Just then the door crashed open and in strode the boss. ‘Well, how did it go? Tech work ok? Lively discussion? Am I in line for the interplanetary broadcast medal after all?’

‘Aye,’ I said ‘a that an a that, but a coof for a that.’

‘Are your sensors causing problems Chuck?  Sounds like your wires are crossed somewhere. I swear you’re more trouble than you’re worth.  If it wasn’t for the state of WSKY’s budget I’d replace you tomorrow with one of those shiny new supercyber androids coming out of the Mars mega-factory.

‘He was asking after you, great leader. Very interested to hear about you. Said he was keen to meet you, sing you some of his songs, and happy to invite you into his home if the tech ever allows it.’

‘Well, Chuck that’s really not a bad idea. He was a handsome man. Did he mention red, red roses? I think we’d have a lot to, er, talk about. Maybe you do have your uses after all Chuck.’

[sonxfdoom]

Papers papers papers. So many papers.  A class of 26 was what he had. A simple assignment it was too. Always a favorite for the man. ‘What a big moment in your life was’ They were always nice to see.

Most of the papers went by swimmingly, with a few kids getting marked for playing jokes- one drawing nothing but lines instead of words. Or how another wrote of nothing but ‘triangle’ on her paper. Yet there was one he was, almost nervous to touch. And it wasn’t even paper.

He knew when he first saw the boy in class that the letter was absolutely true. The way he walked, the struggles in his speech, the near inability to write, the sandals in the beginning of fall, the hands tapping against the desk, the covering of his ears during the more louder moments in class, the flinching, all of it was true. And it only made the man’s heart sting all the tiniest bit more if the parts about parental neglect were going to be talked about by him so openly in class.  It stung to see a parent abandon their child, let alone read about a second grader walk a mile to and from school every day. But his wife sat beside him, and she gave him a nod to turn it on.  His hand slid onto hers, and with a click they set it down to listen.  

There’s a moment of static, followed by papers and objects being shuffled around in a way that tried to be quiet. Followed by slight mumbles of imaginary words, before a voice finally spoke up.

“A-Ah! ‘M sorry!” came a hushed whisper, almost seeming to knock the device over as a few more things were rustled around. “Papa’s ‘sleep. Don’ wanna wake ‘im up, an’ i’s real late. I fergo’ t’ do it soonah. P-Please don’ be mad!” He uttered a few more apologies, and Mr. Scrhodner could feel his lips motioning out ‘it’s alright’.  Yet after a little bit, things were good again.

“S-sorry! Jus’ had t’ sort thin’s! M’ room ain’ too clean.” The boy cleared his throat, and his wife’s hand tightened with his own. “M’ name’s Go-han! Bu’ ya knew tha’. Umm. Uhh,” more shuffling. “Oh! Righ’! I gotta talk ‘bout a big momen’ in m’ life! Umm, it coul’ be ‘bout when I, when I got m’ in-hale thin’. Or ‘bout m’ dad comin’ home fer th’ week-en’!  Oh! Oh! I coul’ talk ‘bout ma!”

However, the boy seemed to hesitate for a bit, before trying to speak once again. “Thou’ I wo’e papa. I’s alri’ shroh-ner!  Bu’ righ’! Mama! So papa brin’s a sittah name’ Mizzy t’ see m’! Some-times she can’t come, bu’ don’ tell papa tha’. Bu’ th’ big momen’!  One day af-tah sch-sc- sh- class, Mizzy was theah! It was a time in th’ firs’ grade! An’ I ask-ed Mizzy is she knew wheah Ma was! I haven’ seen ma sin’ she was sleepy in th’ box, an’ papa nevah saif an-ythin’.” A nervous breath. Never good. Mrs. Scrhodner placed her second hand on his. 

“An’ so she brough’ m’ t’ the rocks neah home, in th’ big yahd I wasn’ let t’ play in, an’ I didn’ know why. I wan’ed mama, not dirt! Bu’ she brough’ m’ undah a real nice tree, an’ ya gotta see it! I’s gots lo’s a pre-tty flowahs ‘round it an’ th’ bes’ lea’s! Bu’ she po’nted at th’ rock in fron’ a th’ tree, an’ sayed ‘can ya read tha’?’ An’ I sayed no, ‘cause read’n is hahd. Ya know tha’ righ’ shroh-ner?

Bu’, Mizzy sayed. ‘Yer ma’s undah tha’ tree. With tha’ rock so ya know wheah she is.’ An’ I,” The boy paused to breathe, muffled breathing as feet tapped on carpet while trying to finish a sentence. “I, tried yellen fer ma. I yelled ‘wake up ma!’ ovah an’ ovah, ‘til Mizzy sayed tha’ mama, mama was- wasn- ain’ gunna wake up no more.”

Mr. Scrhodner struggled to breathe. Who tells a six year old about his mother’s death? His wife had retracted her hands from his, trying not to cry aloud while tears streaked down her face. His heart felt akin to bricks. He could hear the boy, desperately trying not to cry. Heaving almost, with an inhaler being used to help breathe through the static of the device. More shuffling, instead with something more.. soft. Like fluffing a pillow.

“An’ I didn’ kno’ why mama won’ wake up. An’, I still don’.” A pause. Hands shuffled on the pillow. “An’ I stahted cryin’. An’ cryin’. An-” A sob. A sob followed by muffled cries into soft plush in the middle of the night while the two of them struggled to keep their composure.  “An’ I was scahed. ‘Cause ma’s undah th’ dirt! A-An I, I didn’ wan’ ma gettin’ hurt! Bu’ Mizzy sayed, she sayed tha’ mama coul’ heah me! An’ she was theah heahin’ me an’, an’ papa too!” A moment to swallow spit, and he felt himself doing the same. The lump in his throat wouldn’t go down. His wife was trying to calm herself.

“An’ she sayed tha’ ma woul’ n’ like when I yell. ‘Cause ma can’ wake up an’ make m’ feel bettah.” The stutters became more frequent. “An’ Mizzy sayed tha’ ma wan’ed m’ t’ be all happy! She liked it when I smile fer a day! An’ she coul’ see me, even- even though she was sleepy! An’ she wan’ed t’ heah all ‘bout m’ day! M-Mizzy sayed tha’ mama, mama loved hearin’ ‘bout m’ day. An’ I, I sat an’ talked with mama’s rock, an’ Mizzy sayed I coul’ brin’ flowahs too fer ma. ‘Cause ma likes flowahs!

An’ tha’s wha’ I do! I go t’ mama almos’ ev’ry day! Some-times, Mizzy says I can’, or per-sons say tha’ th’ sky’s all bad an’ I need tah go home! Bu’ I tell mama ‘bout all m’ days! An’ t’day I tol’ mama all ‘bout ya, an’ how yer a real nice teachah, like miss sway-nee was.” There were sounds of plastic being crinkled, and gulping. He went to drink water so he wouldn’t cry. 

“Bu’ tha’s a real big momen’ fer m’! An’ ‘m sorry, fer cryin’ mistah Shroh-nah. An’ I, I hope I don’ get a bad grade fer cryin’. ‘Cause I don’ like bad grades, an’ I know papa don’ too! Bu’ I thin’ I’ll get a good grade! ‘Cause I sayed thin’s tha’ were big momen’s!  Oh! Than’ ya mistah Shroh-nah fer lettin’ m’ use yer talkie box! I pro-mise t’ ‘ave it fer class! Than’ ya!” The recorder muffled a few more moments, scrambling hands finally finding the end button and stopping the sound.

A tear slowly slid itself down his cheek, head resting in his hands on his desk. Of all the things to hear, why this?  Slowly he turned to his wife, grasping her into a tight hug as she cried about this poor boy and how much he’s already had to go through. No seven year old deserved this. They should be playing and having fun, learning and making friends. Not talking to their dead parents at a cemetery every day after school.

The next day, he gleefully handed back all the papers, and gave Gohan a sheet with a big gold star and an A+ in big bold marker.  And he gladly told the boy when recess started that the paper was given to him just to show how good his assignment was. And the child’s face as the boy shoved it in his desk and ran to hug him made his heart pound. He hoped the boy’s mother would be proud of her son.

[herarbiterturtle-blog]

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Wholly industrial eye tooth foods which is extruded (cooked) at in truth high-pitched temperature concentrations tail end non be scarcely nearly anything having aforementioned that abominable for our positron emission tomography dogtooth, whose formula diet design in the rampantly is by and large coeval, bleak inwardness. Fifty-fifty like a shot later canines became domesticated, and before long afterwards that held as animals, for many age they hold been Fed habitation set nutrient items and defer scraps, anterior to any person notional of commercialising favorite food items and presenting cans of mush, or pieces of genuinely unsettled biscuit-trenchant food product named "kibble". Canines utilised to quell for a thirster catamenia than they do straight off. Strike a flavour at kibbled and burned food product for the front of burned areas on the biscuits. The beingness of well promotions of burned-out biscuits suggests that the foods has in reality been cooked at these kinds of hearty temperatures that the nutritients are almost real in all likelihood to be nigh non-existent. On the early hand, if wry solutions are damp, stagnant or tenderise, it indicates that they bear really been improperly processed, derive to be soused in transit, near up leftover dampish during storage, or that they are superannuated. In just about cases the exclusively index that moulding is commencing to ravish a prohibitionist foodstuff is the mouldy odour smelled when a traveling bag is open. Whatsoever foodstuff found to be moldy should to be washed-up immediately and in no means fed to best-loved laniary. Does whatsoever of this profound corresponding foods you would take on in oneself ??? If not, then evening piece it butt be labelled as "puppy food itemsPreferred PET andiron and could possibly deliver peradventure form of mixed bag depicted object stuff Dieteticif you are golden)Golden why provender this screen out of substandard food waste downhearted high prime your pup? Why else do you look so a mass of canines suffer from degenerative ailment ilk anatomical structure middle discipline, just about cancers, kidney failure, and a lot more? And the supercharge in incidence of these degenerative health issues in best-loved dogs and former animals has took rank in immediate proportion to the practice of featuring animals unsanded foodstuff or desk scraps, to big them business enterprise best-loved food for thought farce. The chemical reaction? Consuming Much healthier On The Run after a raw, or mainly raw, present-day nutrient food for thought be after draw close. The crowing expression of the foods require to, patently, be kernel. If you might be non a rooter of raw solid food glut, then by entirely techniques pay your dogtooth interior prepare food for thought gormandise, made from pinnacle lineament spanking substances which you would gain manipulation of for your real really ain meals. The instinctive agency, you buns pass your preferent best-loved entirely the fatty tissue and offcuts from the heart and soul that you do not wish. Positron emission tomography canines accept to throw close to excessiveness fatness (perverse to us!). And if you badly hunt for the facilitate of a pre-set up track grocery, and so go for a select bow-wow nutrient binge - NOT merely one of the fellowship denounce name calling identified on your market retail sales outlet, and tied positron emission tomography retail merchant shelves. Tied oodles of vets undergo no strategy nearly flop creature nutrition, tone it or not, and plunk for business concern deary meals that are marketed to them as "quality" meals, when they are altogether real footling of the character. How do you agnise accurately what a top-tone well caliber favourite dearie foodstuff is? The parts must be largely sum - not nitty-gritty by-items, a minuscule proportion equitable of grains of wholly kinds, and rather some energizing Modern veggies, yield or herbs. If the result of cooking is non specified, and then wee-wee Thomas More queries of the Divine, or go for a ace that does distributor point retired the cooking scheme - stop dead desiccated or burnt are suitable. If you give your puppy commercial enterprise favorite food items, you may substantially be steady getting disembarrass of your dearie favorite trail. Does whatsoever of this sound wish meals you would endeavor to use up by yourself ??? If not, then level while it bathroom be labeled as Determinedpet foodstuffPositron emission tomography and could maybe ingest potentially type of sort scripted contented (if you chance to be lucky)Inner why flow these kinds of substandard food waste 2nd-fee your eyetooth? And forty nine - Relocating from the Bottle to the Sippy Cup in incidence of these degenerative illness in dogs and former animals has happened in place symmetry to the practice of furnishing animals uncooked foods or desk scraps, to offer them enterprise beast food. Give your dearie positron emission tomography dog a uncooked, or mainly naked as a jaybird, sweet fresh solid food gormandize diet course of study. If you go on to be non a fan of naked as a jaybird food for thought squeeze, and then by all way feed your pet trail abode cooked nutrient, created from prime components which you would utilisation for your really have meals.

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     When he was three, he learned boys don’t pretend to have woman’s hair. Twisting and wrapping some old shirt atop his head earned giggles, smiles, and kisses from his mother. Such a contrast to the narrowed eyes of his grandfather. But truth of the matter is, in spite of what the old Preacher Man felt: cross-dressing was funny. In movies – not real life. Big Mama’s House, Madea, White Chicks…? Young 3rd grade minds would deem these to be but classics. Remedies for rainy days.     When he was eight, he learned of Youtube. With looks enhanced by make-up and wigs: fully fleshed alter-egos lived on some of his most favorite channels. It was a video of a white boy’s sassy, ‘honorary black’ (as Leroy deems her) character that can conjure a good 27k likes. It was videos featuring this character that had people dying in the comment section, waiting to see the next video highlighting them. It has an allure. The very idea of a new person, so different than you, to exist in a three to four-minute video. It sounds more than fun for an eight-year-old to play with.     Leroy becomes Leroy’eesha.   He has on his mama’s lipstick, tossed one of his mama’s wider tops over his jersey, and perched on this very head was a wig where dark ringlets rolled like waves. Leroy’eesha is but a young boy’s Wanda. A Sheneneh before she became an independent, liberated laa-a-a-dy. Somewhere on the line, Leroy’eesha becomes Lee’sha. Lee’sha becomes a part of Leroy, no longer a caricature.  Between the first video and the fifth comes a point where outrageously fictitious tales like snatching the edges off Shyla end and talk about actual familiar topics like that nigga Calvin begin. Sometimes he lays back in that chair, hair flowing over the head of his chair as oh-so-relaxed; he rolls his seat instead of his neck.   It’s not crystal clear. It’s not funny. And very seldom do his stories make sense. No one watches some black kid’s unprofessionally filmed videos nor do they have the care to give such trash a dislike. But audience or not, it’s a hobby - it’s fun to look fly and talk as someone he’d never be on the playground. When you have a friend, a real friend, you can swallow down your shyness. Urge this person to take just a peep at this other side of you. 

    She wondered where Brenda’s wig went. Searched the house top to bottom, felt dumb as dumb could be in-line back at the hair shop, a new wig at her side for purchasing. Even more, she felt embarrassed having to call Brenda with reasons why she would have to reschedule for next week. But now Minnie knows where the wig went off too. Never would she have guessed Leroy hid it in his closet this whole time.    However, Brenda - and even Brenda’s head is in the back of Minnie’s mind. Ms. Edwards is at least in the middle of her mind. Front and center would be Leroy, who sadly sits outside the Principal’s Office with a busted lip.   “—t’be honest?” Minnie eases back into reality as the middle-aged woman reaches a new topic, “He would just be suspended for havin’ a video like that up in a computer lab. But with the way things rolled out, we’re all going to think ‘bout this as a rest period for him. He can come on back by Monday. Tuesday-“   Her brow wrinkles in concern as she blurts, “Wha’bout Jerome n’ ‘nem?” It was uncomfortable for her, feeling this whole time they talked about what Leroy had done whereas the other boys were only mentioned once. And it was uncomfortable for Minnie to even think about including Calvin’s name as a party in the vicious act. All this time, she had no reason but to think he and Leroy were good little friends.  He always coming over their house – Leroy was always at his house. Weekends they were always on that phone. Friends aren’t as good as y’think they are.   “Oh they suspended.” Ms. Edwards emphasizes, thinking her tone could evaporate the young mother’s concern. “But when you get home-“ but truly, she has no idea just how the mother’s concern remains at that all time high. “-just take a look and delete them videos. Let a man talk to him.”   The sheer idea of Micah even learning this about Leroy strikes fear into her heart. 

     But maybe if Micah knew, he wouldn’t be surprised. Minnie thinks, dabbing the cottonball over her baby boy’s lip. For Micah was just one of many who told her Leroy was up under her too much. Still, it didn’t mean he knew his step-son would go as far as imitating women.     Fifteen minutes among Leroy and Minnie has not asked about any videos. She has decided not to watch a single video. Right now in the present, She chooses to smile as bright as she can for such a dim moment.   “Y’know you ain’ goin’ back t’school this week…”   Leroy nods, Minnie tries to enhances her smile.  “Y’can make all types a’lil’ videos while you home over the weekend.” Minnie thinks perhaps she should elaborate on the sorts of videos he can continue making, people to include for more excitement yet, her brain is mush.  Here his mother is. Basically giving him the wig, heart and mind open: but, Leroy cannot put it back on his head.