#and i fear i might have written junk

[adarkrainbow]

Hi, same person as before, sorry.

You've clarified your position, thank you for that.

I still think your concept of folklorism is a bit of a straw-man.

One of the fundamentals is that there probably is no single original story. My previous personal studies have involved tracing unifying and diverging features to theorise what parts of human experience/the psyche triggers these themes to occur independently in different cultures and places. To do that, one has to consider whether that element was included because it was independently thought up or borrowed from elsewhere.

Overall, I don't think there's anything wrong with either of our methodologies and really, each individual study may well require its own unique methodology.

I'm also not sure that literary analysis of fairy tales has the same aim as folkloric analysis. Folklorism is about the culture, the narrative movement, questioning the patterns and what they say about us. Literary analysis is about the text, its author, its particular social and literary context. They can co-exist and do different things with the same texts.

I still like your content and I hope you don't mind me hanging around. (I will drop this now unless you wish to continue the dialogue.)

Have a nice day/evening, and sorry if this comes off all wrong!

Hi! Before anything I will answer your very last line - don't worry about coming here defending different positions, we are here for that! I mean Tumblr is a social media, and I want people to interact (which is notably why I let the anonymous asks on, one shouldn't fear of saying what they think and if not having their pseudo made public is one way of starting the dialogue, let's go!) And trust me, your asks beat the badly written bot-generated "u think red hood sleeping beauty had sex" asks. (Yep real one...)

Let's go back to the real topic.

Now you say "there is no original story"... And this shows that actually you are into of the same school of thought as the "folklorist studies" I am talking about. The "folklorist" study of fairy tales I refer to - which is not a FOLKLORIC one, I actually try to split the two because there is a difference. But it might not be clear enough? Maybe it is where we have the misunderstanding - I am not speaking of folklore itself. I am not speaking of folklore experts who happen to look at fairytales, but rather of people who study fairytales using folklore as their main (well, exclusive) lense. I don't know if I manage to carry the difference here - because it might be actually a typical French nuance. You see, in France we do not have the same difference between "fairy tales" and "folk tales" as the English language has - both exist under the same word. "Conte". Fairy tales are "un conte de fée" - that's what Perrault wrote. But if you collect old folktales, they'll also be called "conte". We have just this word, "conte", which covers as much fairytales as folktales, puts in a same basket collected and written tales, transcribed and invented ones - and I think this is this unity of vocabulary in France that massively popularized the confusion between the two different approaches of farytales.

But I am getting side-tracked here! So why you saying "there is no original fairytale" is actually not "folklorist farytale-study"? Because the original, core belief of the folkorist fairytale scholars is that, yes, there was an original tale from which everything comes from. If you look at the older texts that started this, they do claim "There is a proto-story, there is a primordial narrative, from which ALL other tales comes from. We can only have so many variants because there was one original story from whcih the others are derivative." So you saying "There is no original tale" is actually "literary" in terms of fairytale study - because the whole thing of the "literary study of fairytales" is that it considers that fairytales borrow from previous versions. Folklorist studies of fairytale claim that each tale varies from an original version.

In fact, re-reading your ask, I do want to insist: "folkoorist study of fairytales" is a very long term for something that is NOT "folklorism". I am not speaking of the study of folklore as a whole. This is a completely different domain ; I am speaking of the study of fairytales, which happens to be "folkloric-flavor", but isn't about studying folklore itself. Hence my use of "folklorist" instead of "folkloric". Which... might actually be wrong? Again English is not my first language, I am French, so I am pretty sure I will get things wrong, and I have to admit I did not check the exact vocabulary related to folklore studies in English - so I might be way off and doing Frenchization everywhere.

Once more, we reach the same conclusion and you say the exact same thing as me. The two studies have different goals, different aims, different purpose, and coexist - but while they coexist they shouldn't be mixe or confused. This is what I said in my previous anser, and this is what you are saying right now - so we do agree on that.

But your mention "they can co-exist with the same text" is very interesting because... Are you French? I assume you are not - maybe you are and maybe I am talking of someone who already knows this ; but in France, up until very recently, for the literary fairytales, there was no co-existence of these two methods, and only folklorist studies were given to them. Perrault's stories were only read, in profesional work, university-level type of studies, through the lense of folklore, and their literary nature was completely ignored - or only kept for exercices given to little kids in middle-school. Which often led to what I think I can safely call a "slander" of Perrault and of the other storytellers of the "century of fairytales" , as they were insulted and called many nasty scholarly name for basically defacing, mutilating, assaulting fairytales with their "snobby, rich elitist, close-minded" ways ; unlike our-holy-saints-of-angels the Brothers Grimm who "showed us the way to the true fairytales". People didn't realize that comparing the Brothers Grmm and Perrault was in itself a very weird and alien thing to do due to the enormous gap between them - gap in time eras, in national culture, in goal when writing their stories... This "over-domination" of folklorist point of views also led to the disappearance of madame d'Aulnoy's fairytales from all "upper-level" studies and works. It wasn't until a few years ago that madame d'Aulnoy's tales were seen as worthy of being mentioned in university. No person who wanted to do a serious study on fairytales would have picked d'Aulnoy's tales back in the 80s - because, in France at least, the folklorist point of view was so strong, that a story seemingly so far-away from "folktales" was not considered AT ALL. Folklorist-oriented books about fairytales did not think for a second that madame d'Aulnoy's tales could have had any actual importance in the history, spread, or influence of the fairy tales whatsoever - I am not exaggerating. And discovering that in the first editions of the Brothers Grimm's stories, there were altered, "folkoorize" versions of madame d'Aulnoy's stories (Der Okerlo) was a BOMB that mindblowed many fairytale experts in France.

I do think a key confusion of it all lies in the name. I call it "folklorist studies" because it is a branch of fairytale-studies that relies on, heralds and hail folklore as their main resource, their main tool, their main reference, the material from which theories and analysis have to be made - but it doesn't mean they are ACTUAL folklorists , as in people who study folklore primarily. And this is why I use a more indirect "folklorist" adjective for these studies, an adjective I try often to put in quotes, instead of the direct "folkloric studies" - because these are NOT folkloric studies. But maybe I am using the word wrongs and they do not mean what I think they mean, maybe I am projecting the french "folkloriste" and "folklorique" into English when they do not have the same meaning at all - honestly, it isn't the first time I messed up, recently I humiliated myself by doing an Englicisim with "romantic" (which in French literature means "of the Romantic movement", and that I confused with the "romanesque" adjective DESPITE ME KNOWING FULL WELL THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE TWO - sorry just the raging of my tired brain).

So - despite me being very tired and confused, I do hope this clarifies yet a tiny bit more what I am trying to say ad convey. And do not worry, hang around and leave messages as much as you like, I do not mind at all, and it is always pleasant to talk about one's passion. . It's not like we're going to start a fandom war anytimes soon in the fairytale world

[mide404]

This is how my family has come to live a life resembling hell in the displacement camps. They live a life filled with misery and suffering after the war destroyed their simple home, which was filled with beautiful memories. Yes, now they live in a tent that you can barely see as a small enclosed spot, a torn life that bears nothing of its name, with continuous sorrow and pain hitting them constantly. The pieces of fabric surrounding the tent speak to narrate a new chapter from a book titled "Tragedy in the Land of Pain and Sorrows..."

Just by looking into my mother's eyes, you can see that all the world's calamities have been placed upon her head. It's as if life's circumstances conspired against my family to take away my father, the beacon of strength and support for them, and cruelly snatched my brother's daughter and my sister's daughter for no reason. Despite all that, these circumstances did not stop there and showed no mercy to what remained of my family but went on to demolish their home, which used to bring us together and held our simple memories.

Until they became homeless in the displacement camps that offer no mercy and do not provide the basic necessities of life, lacking in privacy, their world turned black when they found themselves displaced from their homes, sometimes wrapping themselves in hardship and at other times sipping on misery. They endure the harshness of life, living under the sun's heat, with nothing to protect them but a pile of junk. This has become their daily routine: waking up in the morning to stand in water lines to get the bare minimum of water, then striving to find a morsel of food until night falls, which was supposed to be a time of rest, but it seems life has written suffering upon them. As soon as they close their eyes, they wish they could keep one eye open, fearing the treachery of rodents that might attack them... This is part of the suffering my family endures in the displacement camps under oppressive conditions and an unparalleled tragic situation.

I, Mahmoud Saleh, appeal to you to look upon my torn and displaced family with mercy and grant them the opportunity to continue their lives in peace. I stand now before these compassionate hearts, full of hope to help what remains of my family and provide a better living condition for them, so they can enjoy safety and peace.

[pencilofawesomeness]

The JJK x TWST crossover that started living rent free in my head >:'D

Random Doodle Edition

Ahem, so, uhh, turns out the characters of Jujutsu Kaisen fit pretty well as Night Raven College students, temperament-wise, and that was all the excuse I needed. Yes the ages get funky but whatever. Happy high school AU except they still get cool powers and Trauma(tm). Just less than JJK canon so I count it as a win.

I also may or may not have written an entire oneshot (here on AO3) for some freshmen Satoru & Suguru bonding, featuring me still bullying Satoru over his funky eyes.

Image Text (and me rambling more) underneath the cut

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Gojo Satoru (of the Jupiter Clan)

Ignihyde Housewarden Year: Junior Species: Sky Dragon (Fae) Club: Movie Analysis Club Unique Magic: Six Eyes—pretty much just like canon Six Eyes. They can see far and wide and out of normal sight, and they can see magic in a highly detailed manner. They are also powered by magic that just, never stops ever, so he can decrease or increase the power/range at will to a degree, but technically, cutting off magic from them altogether will blind him. Also he has an inherited magic that he by no means asked for, which is, sad drumroll, Gate of the Underworld. (There are no shrouds in this AU, just me finding ways to forever make Satoru instrumental to the well-being of the world to his own detriment. I have waaaaay more thoughts about the "Jupiter Clan of dragons" and what that actually entails, but they are still jumbled and shifting, so. Maybe later.)

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Geto Suguru (of the Draconia Clan)

Diasomnia Housewarden Year: Junior Species: Night Dragon (Fae) Club: Equestrian Club Unique Magic: Magic-eater—can consume and nullify any spell and gain its base magic. With minimum side effects. Mostly. :)

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Satoru and Suguru are their usual brand of special-grade menaces, being the only two adolescent dragon fae in the world, buttttt they still inevitably become besties. With Shoko too, of course, who has no fear and will mess with them as they see fit.

Suguru is essentially Malleus in this AU, though in Suguru-fashion, he's way more stubborn when it comes to trying to catch up. (Translating him being new to sorcery to being new to technology was surprisingly low-hanging fruit.) Meanwhile I borrowed the Jupiter name/legacy because it was fitting and made the Gojo Clan into a long-lived dynasty of antisocial dragons who fist-fight and deal with Phantoms and recently accidentally became a tech empire, which is pretty close to the Sorcerer Family vibe a la TWST, if I say so myself.

There's definitely a lot of backstory I have in mind for the two of them. Neither of them beat teen parenthood (they are currently Malleus-aged, so 178 years old, but that's still teenagehood for a dragon/fae) and acquired children through various means, much to the consternation of their elders/court. I might develop/write more solid ideas later, but Suguru has a reverse characterization moment when he finds two starved/beaten human children (the twins) and begins his journey of losing all intrinsic racism via love, and Satoru still somehow gets his shit wrecked by Toji (probably a heist gone violent or something) and then finds out he had abandoned children: human Tsumiki and half-fae Megumi.

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Nobara Orientation Comic:

Nobara: Obviously, I'm going to get ~Pomefiore~ because I'm elegant and graceful. (And a badass queen, of course)

Mirror: The nature of your soul is... Savanaclaw

Nobara, getting dragged away from the Mirror by Maki: HEY WAIT A MINUTE! STOP MESSING WITH ME YOU DIRTY SMUGED HUNK OF JUNK AND I'LL SHOW YOU WHAT I THINK OF—

(Nobara gets her reverse-Epel moment, but she adapts quickly. Especially because she still comes to have mad respect for Maki.)

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Ieri Shoko

Ignihyde Vice-Housewarden Year: Junior Species: Merfolk (Nurse Shark) Club: Science Club Unique Magic: Reverse—rewinds a target to its previous state within twenty four hours. The longer within the range, the harder/more magic it will take, especially for larger targets, so realistically her range is less. (For example, if someone cracked a piece of glass 24 hours ago, Shoko could restore it, but a day-old wound on a living being would be much harder.)

Making Shoko a mermaid was a joke to myself at first but then I liked it and it spiraled and now Nurse Shark Shoko is unironically one of my favorite things that I have drawn. The joke was right there too, but it's mostly fun to me because nurse sharks are docile and apathetic creatures, for the large part (they are still sharks lol), and I think match her temperament well.

Also when Satoru pestered the previous housewarden enough times to accidentally gain the title for himself, he made Shoko his vice (mostly because he trusted her) to make sure he never had to do the paperwork and the boring parts. She makes him do it anyway. To the dorm, she is less of a vice and more of a "dragon wrangler," which is still extremely appreciated.

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Zen'in Maki

Savanaclaw Housewarden Year: Sophomore Species: Human Club: Track & Field Unique Magic: N/A—Maki doesn't actually have magic of her own, but she is unnaturally resistant to most magic. She can, however, use magic/cast spells through a magic-capable familiar.

She befriended a phoenix when she was younger, having survived an encounter with a wild youth. (idk what I want the details to be but I think it would be cool if she had some related burns to it, with the idea that these creatures are rare and volatile and hard for normal humans to handle without high magic resistance.) His name is Torch because I don't think Maki would put that much thought into a name, so long as its not completely stupid sounding. I almost named the phoenix Jogo but I refrained for my own sanity.

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Inumaki Toge

Savanaclaw Year: Sophomore Species: Human Club: Board Game Club Unique Magic: Reality Speak—pretty much just how Cursed Speech works but with a world-friendly name. Also it can apply to inanimate objects as well. The power and scope of the command is proportional to the magic required.

Toge gets an overall nicer time in this AU because he doesn't have cursed speech 24/7 and therefore can speak normally. Though the idea of him being able to affect people/bend reality with his words does freak people out. I imagine he had a rough childhood nonetheless, because why not, leading him to be less verbal than he would have been otherwise.

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Okkotsu Yuuta

Diasomnia Year: Sophomore Species: Human Club: Board Game Club Unique Magic: Wraith Pact-maker—he can enhance/bolster a ghost's magic/presence through making a link with himself. It has to be mutual, and it can last for any duration of time, although actively using the link does require magic. The ghost in question gains magic and grounding from Yuuta, and Yuuta can use the ghost's magic, including their UM, if applicable. He can have multiple links, but the first and main recipient of this magic is his childhood friend Rika.

Between her longlasting connection with Yuuta and her brutal death, she is a more wraith-like and powerful ghost. Her unique magic was to copy other people's UMs, which Yuuta can use through her in short bursts.

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I didn't have space nor solid ideas for unique magics for the Hasaba twins and the Fushiguros, so I didn't do full bios for them. Later, perhaps. All of the girls are sophomores and Megumi is a freshman. Tsumiki and Nanako are sharing their social brain cell and trading stories of stupid things their dragon dads/older brothers/untitled guardians have done, while Megumi is helping budding-gamer Mimiko learn Pokemon strats. I love the idea of them all being friends, maybe after minimal difficulty in the girls' first year, likely on account of the twins being a little Sebek-shaped, in terms of wanting to be The Best Guards for Suguru, etc etc.

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I technically have way more ideas for other characters and other dorms, but, I will end this here, for now. I am trying to reign myself in lmao.

[multifandom-03]

Meeting His Soulmate

Word Count: 3099 | Pairing: Caius Volturi x OC (Bella's twin sister) | Genre: Fluff

Summary: After the failed attempt of ending the Cullens once and for all, Caius wanders around Port Angeles and meets someone he didn't expect to meet in his eternal life.

A/N: This is my first time writing here on Tumblr outside of Kpop so please be easy on me🙈 It's been a while since I've written outside of Kpop...

He hated this place. It was raining all the time, filled with polluted air with the sound of intoxicated humans and their loudness. His lips curled into a sneer as he had to stay in the area while waiting for their private jet to be ready for takeoff.

This was ridiculous because it should be expected by now to prepare these things beforehand. He did not want to stay longer in this place after a failed attempt to get rid of the Cullens and their hybrid child.

“Brother,” Aro’s voice interrupted his loathing thoughts, “why don't you go out and have a quick snack? I'm sure by the time you return, we'll be ready to leave.”

“Eat here in this disgusting place?” Caius scoffed, motioning to Port Angeles with a flick of his wrist. “I don't want to risk getting whatever disease these humans here have.”

“Either way!” Aro waved off, “Have a little browse, your loathing is extending to us and I don't want to be feeling this after our exciting meeting with our dear Cullens.”

With a small snarl of annoyance, Caius flitted away from the coven, Demetri and Felix trailing behind their king.

Port Angeles was small, there was nothing to pique the Volturi King's interest other than solidifying his impression of humans in this century as being loud, disgusting, and polluted.

As he was about to flit down another street, his enhanced hearing picked up on the sound of two people in a scuffle. Since there wasn't any battle with the Cullens, he might as well witness a downgraded battle between two humans.

He hid in the darkness of an empty alleyway, across from the one with two people in a scuffle. His eyes zeroed in on the humans, noting it was an older man harassing a young woman. “Let go of me!” the woman hissed, fighting with all her might against the man.

“Why don't you just be a good girl and be still!” The disgusting excuse of a man grunted, trying to hold down her hands.

Caius was not impressed with the sight.

“Master,” Demetri called from a distance, “do you want us to detain them?”

“Why not,” he drawled nonchalantly. “This is the most interesting thing to happen in a while. We can end it, unlike the Cullens.” At his consent, Demetri and Felix were a blur going past the king, easily separating the humans and holding their arms behind their backs to await Caius' orders.

Caius casually strolled to the opposite alleyway, eyes glinting with sadistic glee as he could almost taste the fear from the humans. He strode to the male human, eyeing him from head to toe. The man was filthy, reeking of alcohol and whatever junk food he ate. He stared at Caius with fear, struggling with all his might to escape. It made the corner of Caius' lips quirk up in amusement. “Pathetic,” he hissed. He moved on to the next human, the young woman.

The first thing he saw was her chocolate brown eyes full of caution and small hints of fear. It intrigued him that fear wasn't the dominant emotion in her eyes like with the man. But that wasn't what made him pause, though. It was the fact he felt something prod at his cold dead heart for the first time in centuries.

For a moment, it felt like his heart came to life when he connected his eyes with her.

It can't be…

He furrowed his brows, eyeing her head to toe as he did with the man. But unlike with the man, Caius found himself checking over her for injuries. Hatred seethed through him when he noticed the bruises on her wrists after he silently told Demetri to release her.

Instinctively, his hands reached for her fragile wrists, observing the bruises. The woman barely flinched at his cold touch but allowed him to analyse the injuries.

“Are you hurt?” Caius found himself asking her quietly. Why, he had no idea.

“O-Only a little bit…” she whispered, nodding to her wrists. That was enough for him.

In a blink, he whirled around and grabbed the man by his neck, lifting him in the air easily with Felix releasing his hold on the human.

The man's hands flew to Caius', choking for breath.

“Pathetic, harming her for your selfish greed!” Caius snarled, tightening the hold on the human who was turning red. “You shall pay -”

“Stop!” The woman appeared in front of him, hands pressed to his chest for his attention - attention he immediately gave much to his confusion and dismay. “Stop!” she pleaded. “Don't kill him!”

“Why shouldn't I?” Caius tilted his head. “He harmed you, don't you want him to be gone from this place?”

“I don't want him to die! Yes, he should get punished, but not with death!”

“Oh, how naive and innocent you are,” the King tutted.

“I'm not stooping to his level of harming someone!” she retorted. That made him pause. “We can…we can report him to the police,” she stuttered, “He can get his punishment there. But no death. It's not necessary, I'm okay, he didn't hurt me much.”

Caius observed her, checking for any hints of fear or her lying - but there was nothing. He saw honesty in her, and that baffled him.

“He could have hurt you much more if I didn’t intercept.”

“Well, he didn’t.” She remained firm.

“If that is what you wish…” And with that, he dropped the man on the floor carelessly.

Ignoring the man coughing and heaving for oxygen, Caius focussed all his attention on the human…who still had her hands on his chest from trying to stop him from killing the man. He found himself okay with her touch, but nonetheless, he raised an eyebrow and motioned to her hands. She reeled back embarrassed.

“What is your name?”

“E-Elizabeth Swan -”

“Swan?” Caius barely held in a grimace. “Are you related to Isabella Swan?”

“Bella,” Elizabeth corrected habitually, “and she's a Cullen now. You know her?”

“Mutual acquaintances,” he replied dryly. “What is your relationship with them?”

“Well, Bella is my twin sister, and the Cullens are my in-laws, I guess,” she shrugged.

“Are you close with the Cullens?” Did she know about vampires?

“N-Not really, I mainly stay away from all the drama and attention…”

She didn't know about vampires…right?

Before he could delve deeper into his musings, the human man calling for help in his strained voice made him focus on the current situation. “Are you sure you don't want him dead?”

“No!” she replied automatically with a disappointed frown. “No unnecessary deaths.”

“Strange human…” Caius muttered lowly under his breath for her not to hear, but he nonetheless listened to her request, ordering Felix to grab the human male. “Lead the way to the…police, then.”

“Y-You don't know where it is?”

“I'm not from here,” he replied blandly, walking beside her with Felix, Demetri, and the scared human man behind them.

“I can definitely see that…” she eyed him suspiciously. “Why are you here? How do you know about Bella and the Cullens? And before, you lifted that man easily - why are your eyes red?”

“So many questions,” he sighed, looking ahead. “You and your sister have the same curiosity that will kill you in the end.”

“Hey!”

“Let's just bring this filth to the police and we can talk afterwards,” Caius decided. She wanted to argue back but knew it wasn't the right choice - the man before her screamed power and danger, and she felt like he was barely holding back his pent-up emotions, so she stayed quiet.

Surprisingly, the visit to the police station went smoothly, with the vampires using their smooth talking to have the police do what they wanted. “HELP! PLEASE!” the now-criminal yelled while fighting against the policeman's hold. “THEY'RE FREAKS - SOMETHING IS UP WITH THEM, LOOK AT THEIR EYES!”

“Contacts,” Demetri explained casually, “We just attended a costume party.”

“Once everything settles, come back here and end that man's life,” Caius ordered in Italian with their vampiric speed. “We cannot risk him spreading rumours.”

Felix and Demetri bowed their heads in understanding.

“What about the girl?” Felix nodded to Elizabeth who stood beside Caius, oblivious to their conversation as she was deep in thought.

“I'll handle it. For now, keep your distance unless I call for you.” With another bow, the two guards disappeared.

Elizabeth looked around, having felt the wind go by from their speed. “W-Where did the other two go?” she wondered.

“They're around,” Caius replied, “but let's talk. You have questions.” And I have some myself concerning you and why you're making me feel weird…

○-○-○

So far, he could see Elizabeth knew nothing of the supernatural world…hopefully. She may be Bella’s twin, but they live different lives. Bella was frolicking with vampires and shifters, while Elizabeth spent her time alone listening to music, painting, writing, reading, and composing music herself. Elizabeth was an outcast and felt like she never fit in anywhere, so she kept to herself. Even with the Cullens, she didn't feel comfortable being around them for long and only hung around them when necessary.

She didn't know that Renesmee was Bella’s biological daughter, and she didn't know that Bella was a vampire. Caius was impressed that the coven managed to keep their secret from Bella’s twin, as he knew twins held a special connection from what he saw with Jane and Alec.

Bella’s love and protectiveness must be strong for Elizabeth…but it was all a waste in the end since Elizabeth was Caius Volturi’s mate.

He didn't expect this. He didn't expect this at all.

He thought he was just doing these things for entertainment since nothing interesting had happened recently - but that wasn't the truth. He couldn't believe it.

Elizabeth Swan was his mate.

Talking to the human late at night in a 24-hour Cafe made him realise that she wasn't just the twin sister to Bella Cullen, but she was his mate.

The strange feeling in his heart when he connected eyes with her the first time, the wrath and hatred he had when realising she got hurt by the human filth, wanting to kill him. The fact he listened to her request to not kill the man (even though he was planning to have him killed still to protect their kind), and the fact he found himself enjoying talking to her and not wanting to leave her yet. 

He couldn't believe his mate was related to the enemies.

Or maybe they weren’t mates? He did have a wife back in Volterra - but their marriage was simply for politics…right?

But as he sat in the Cafe with the woman, he couldn't deny this strange feeling towards her. “Get Marcus,” Caius demanded in vampiric speed under his breath, knowing his guards were nearby. He wanted to check with Marcus the depth of the connection between him and the human before him. Whether it was worth it, to tell the truth of their kind or to leave her be.

“I've just been answering your questions about me,” Elizabeth pulled him away from his thoughts. “Can I ask you questions?”

“You can try…” he answered warily.

“Are you the ‘cold ones’?”

Caius froze.

“Bella bought a book a year or two ago on some legends,” Elizabeth shared to him calmly, “I read it when she was with Edward on a random day, and…the things described there match with you…the red eyes are a giveaway as well.”

He didn't say anything and just stared at her.

“I've known about the ‘cold ones’ since then,” she admitted meekly, “I know what the Cullens are - I dunno why their eyes are gold though - and I know Bella…Bella became one…I'm her twin, I know when something is up…but I stay quiet because I know she just wants to protect me. But yeah…I probably sound crazy right now, don't I.”

“You do,” he deadpanned. Her shoulders sagged in defeat and embarrassment. “...if you were talking to someone else.” She perked up. “You're correct in your assumptions. Vampires exist. Your twin is one, like the Cullens, and I am one myself…” He leaned closer to her from across the table they were sitting in the corner of the room. “Are you scared?”

He heard her hold her breath the closer he got to her face, heart thumping rapidly. But despite that, he could see she wasn't scared at all. “No,” she answered, proving his observation to be correct.

“Why?”

“Because the Cullens haven't harmed me, and neither have you. You haven't given me a reason to fear you.”

“Just because the Cullens haven’t harmed you doesn’t mean others will follow,” Caius frowned. “Did you not see me strangle that filth before?” Caius wondered. “I lifted him easily with one hand. My guards grabbed you in the blink of an eye - we were planning to end both of your lives -”

“Why didn't you?” she inquired, seeming to remind herself to start breathing once he backed off at her question. “You didn't kill me. Why?”

“I couldn't.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I don't know.

“Because?”

“Soulmate…” Marcus whispered from somewhere in the distance, making his appearance known to Caius. “You have found your soulmate…congratulations.”

Soulmate…the rarest pair in the supernatural…it’s somewhat easier to find your mate - but to find a soulmate, that only happens to the lucky ones.

And Caius found his. By accident.

I almost killed her and would have drank her dry…

“No, it's not!” Caius hissed in reply to Marcus. “She's human!”

“What?” Elizabeth was confused at the random outburst. Caius shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I couldn't kill you,” he answered slowly, closing his eyes. “Once I connected eyes with you…I couldn't.”

“But why?”

“Because…we're…” he struggled to tell her, in disbelief that his revelation was true. This was not part of his schedule that day. He wanted the Cullens to be ended that day. Not find a soulmate he never thought of having.

Elizabeth waited patiently for him.

“What do you know of soulmates?” he blurted out roughly.

“...not much…just that soulmates are those who are destined to be, right?”

“Right…”

“Are we…are we…soulmates?” she asked nervously.

“...yes.”

“...oh…”

“Mh-hm..”

They were silent for a few seconds.

“What a first meeting, huh?” she joked lightly. “Our first meeting is with you saving my life -”

“Almost killing you and becoming my snack,” Caius corrected with furrowed brows.

“Hm, that isn’t what I saw in my perspective,” she shrugged. “On my side, you saved me from a dangerous man who was about to do something to me.”

“True, but my intentions weren’t -”

“That’s your side. My side happens to be brighter and better.”

“What?” Caius did not understand her.

Elizabeth merely grinned.

“You are definitely related to Bella,” he commented dryly. “Both of you are clueless when it comes to facing danger.”

“Wha - hey!”

He wouldn’t admit it out loud to anyone, but he found it quite fun to tease her.

○-○-○

They spoke for another hour at the cafe, mainly to plan how their relationship was going to proceed from there. Elizabeth was against dropping everything to go to Italy with him, so he had no choice but to concede to long distance as they got to know more about each other. He couldn’t just drop everything either, he was one of the Kings in the vampire world, and he had responsibilities - once Elizabeth pointed out the similarities they had, he agreed to long distance.

He also had to sort out the business with his wife in Volterra - which he told Elizabeth about, her surprisingly being understanding about it.

Before he knew it, they stood outside the cafe with a taxi waiting for Elizabeth on the curb. “Keep in contact,” she reminded the Volturi King. “I would like to get to know more about you.”

“As will I,” he returned cordially. “I must mention though, I do plan to visit you more since you refuse to visit me -”

“My dad would not like the idea of me suddenly taking trips to Italy with the small money I have -”

“I can easily prepare the tickets -”

“Do you even want to meet my Dad now? We barely know each other, it would be weird and suspicious for him if he heard some guy is buying me tickets to go to Italy,” she pointed out. He scowled at that - he was not just ‘some guy’. “He already dislikes Edward -”

“Not my problem -”

“Caius,” she scolded. “Be patient, please. It’s a lot to take in. I think some distance is good just in case.”

He sighed at that. She had no idea how soulmates worked…

“Visit me,” she invited. “I’ll be more than willing to meet you here. And when we know each other more, and more comfortable with each other, then…then I’ll consider going to Italy.”

“...fine…” he gave in with a grumble.

“Here!” Rummaging through her backpack, she ripped out a piece of paper from her notebook and scribbled numbers down. “Here’s my phone number. You can contact me there.” He accepted the paper with two hands, making sure to hold it firmly. The taxi beeped at them as a reminder, Caius sending a glare at the driver.

“Thanks for saving me before, and it’s nice to meet you,” Elizabeth farewelled. “I’ll talk to you soon?”

“Talk to you soon,” he nodded, opening the taxi door for her. One last goodbye and she was on her way back home. Felix and Demetri appeared behind him, Marcus appearing beside him. “Felix, Demetri.”

“Yes, Master?”

“I need a cell phone. Get me one or else.”

“Yes, Master.” And they were gone again.

“It is a blessing to meet your soulmate,” Marcus told him in his low, airy voice. Caius hummed. “She will help you in many ways. Your bond to each other is strong.”

“She’s human.”

“In time, she’s still young like young Bella.”

“Hm.”

“Give it a chance,” Marcus encouraged him. “Very rare do we have a chance to find our soulmate and be with them.” They all thought of Didyme, and Caius felt slightly remorseful for taking his situation for granted when there was Marcus who was suffering from losing his love of his life.

“Of all people, it was someone connected to the Cullens,” the blonde King grunted. “Now there’s no way we can get rid of the Cullens, for it will hurt Elizabeth immensely.”

“You will have to talk to her at one point about that, by the way.”

“...hm…” He was not keen on that conversation.

[imaginesbymk]

❝ I WISH I WERE HEATHER. ❞

Stranger Things One Shot

SYNOPSIS // It’s been a year since you and Eddie broke up. Even though it’s hinted that he could have eyes for the Queen of Hawkins High, you open up to him about your past trauma and fears that led to the downfall of your relationship. Unfortunately, it might be too late.

PAIRING — EDDIE MUNSON x READER.

TAGS: S4 spoilers, angst, swearing, drugs, mentions about trauma, psychological torture and violence + death

TAGLIST: @fangirlsarah16 @moonlit-imagines @captainshazamerica @always-imagine-a-dream @randomfandomimagine @locke-writes​

WORD COUNT: 2,895

A/N: this was in my drafts since august and i lost all courage to write this until now. it’s been a while since i’ve written something long and since then my writing has become rusty and rushed, therefore this writing was heavily proofread by another writer. song inspo is heather by conan gray!!!! 

btw i met joseph and and grace at fanexpo back in august :P it was uploaded on tiktok and it went viral :0

this is only an original WIP, meaning i do NOT take long imagines/oneshot requests, only gif imagines, headcanons and preferences. tip me on ko-fi or if you do want a long imagine/one shot, feel free to commission me !

"AH!” you winced in pain, rubbing the sore spot on your head. Not only did it worsen the headache that had been lingering for days, but you had also accidentally slammed into a locker, causing it to shut. Of course, you hadn't been paying attention to where you were going, and it certainly wasn't your intention to close someone's locker for them out of the goodness of your heart. Your cheeks flushed bright red when you heard the owner of the locker laugh.

"Appreciate it, y/n!" a classmate of yours flashed you a bright smile, struggling to hold a heavy stack of overdue library books in their hands. Fortunately, you were there to help by closing the locker for them.

The hallway erupted with laughter, and some students stared and pointed at you, making you feel like a spotlight was suddenly shining on you for everyone to see. Today wasn't your day. Well, to be honest, most days weren't really your day. You either had your fair share of bad days or those days when you felt like the universe had placed you here solely to suffer. And since last week, you had been experiencing the latter.

Did you have any idea why? No. Because you couldn't quite pinpoint what exactly was triggering it. But it made you feel paranoid and disconnected from the world. You couldn't determine if your surroundings were real or if they would distort into something nightmarish, if the people you interacted with were truly there or if their faces would morph into demonic visages while that voice taunted you. And what about that grandfather clock? Would it continue to chime and assault your eardrums?

You even questioned if slamming your head into the locker and embarrassing yourself in front of everyone had actually happened or if it was all a horrifying illusion. Would the laughter transform into the howls of demons, causing you to wake up in your bed, grateful that it was just a nightmare, reminding yourself to cut back on late-night horror films and junk food?

Just when you wished everyone's attention would shift elsewhere, Chrissy Cunningham strolled down the corridors toward the counselor's office, attracting the gazes of students who either despised her, yearned to date her, or simply wished to be her.

Hawkins High felt like a nightmare in itself. Thankfully, it was your final year. Time flew by. It almost seemed like yesterday when you thought your world was crumbling after receiving a C on that math test you believed you had aced. In hindsight, it wasn't even a significant issue. Right now, the real concern lay in the relentless headaches and the mental fog that left you unsteady. There was one major event from just last year that truly mattered: your breakup with Eddie Munson.

Eddie was older than you by a few months. He towered over you and had tattoos unprofessionally done in his trailer. He smiled more and goofed off more. He was still doing and being all those things, just without you, of course. You liked him when no one else did. You loved him and he loved you, but things never worked out like you both thought they would. It sucked that you’d be graduating and moving on without seeing him walk past you in the halls, he would intentionally raise his voice in the cafeteria just to be loud and obnoxious to all the social groups because he didn’t have a care in the world. You would miss all of that about him, even though he never acknowledged you ever since. 

Had you wished it ended on good terms, maybe the nightmares and the nosebleeds would go away and you would have go on about your senior year. Though it wasn’t like the breakup ended bad, either. But of course, time flew, and that meant people will evolve. It was certain to you then that Eddie had completely forgotten about you.

“It’s very surprising to see you come to me for pot services again,” Eddie pointed out. “I thought you quit.”

"I got caught with it during spring break last year. I haven't touched a flower since," you confessed, hoping it would provide an opportunity to at least exchange a few words with him. You had waited an entire year for this chance, even though you didn't indulge in smoking weed as much anymore.

Yet, with the constant headaches, why the hell not?

Eddie shrugged, his arms crossed, causing a crease in his Hellfire Club jersey beneath his jacket. "Alright. What do you need?"

"Do you have it with you?"

"Not on me. It figures that on the one day I don't bring it, a customer reaches out to me. But, uh, come to the trailer tonight."

Returning to the trailer for the first time since the breakup would be a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and painful memories slowly burning within you. Eddie's trailer had once been your second home, and he would carry you inside so playfully, either over his shoulder or like newlyweds.

As you pedaled down the road, the forty dollars tucked safely in your pocket, you couldn't help but reminisce about how things used to be. When you were still together, Eddie's uncle had accepted you. You brought out the best in him. However, after the breakup, you hadn't seen him since. You wondered if he knew about Chrissy Cunningham and whether he viewed her as someone better than you.

The sounds of your bike tires grew louder, mirroring the rapid beat of your heart, while the night breezes intensified the anxiety churning in your stomach. Stepping into the trailer meant being greeted by its distinct scent—a mix of dirty laundry, cigarettes, and beer. You contemplated turning back, fearing that you might walk in and find her sitting on the couch. It would be a waste of time, leaving you with a sick feeling in your stomach, as aggravating and miserable as your constant headaches.

Yet, how could you hate her? You had heard great things about Chrissy Cunningham. It was normal at your age to feel jealous and have hurtful thoughts that overwhelmed the positive ones. Jealousy had clouded your judgment too much. You were certain that if you waved at a popular kid at Hawkins, they would give you strange looks. But Chrissy would never.

As you raced along the path, a putrid stench filled the air, surpassing anything imaginable—a scent resembling that of a rotting cadaver, but even worse. Suddenly, another sense kicked in—the sound. 

It resembled that of a grandfather clock, its sharp chimes transitioning into a car honk. 

A blinding light engulfed you, reminiscent of stage lights illuminating you as the star of a theater production or a security guard's flashlight catching two teenagers making out on a hill. Like a deer caught in headlights, you reacted instinctively.

Losing control of the handlebars, you desperately pulled on the brakes, but it was already too late. Your bike veered off the trail road, jolting up and down over the grass before crashing into a large tree.

You swore that you were a competent, average biker. You hadn't consumed anything impairing your ability to ride. Yet, unexpectedly, an indoor object—a grandfather clock—echoed outdoors like a deafening foghorn, assaulting your eardrums. The noise was unbearable.

You whimpered in pain.

“Shit!” You hear the sounds of a car door slamming and loud footsteps crunching the leaves. A loud exclaim came from the trees, and a tall figure emerged.

“Eddie?” you limped off the ground. 

“No freakin’ way. Y/N?” His eyes widen. “JESUS H. CHRIST, are you crazy?! I could have killed you! Why weren’t your bike lights on?! Why were you riding your bike on the wrong side of the road?! Why-”

As he spewed questions at you all at once, it got you thinking. That grandfather clock had you in a trance that you didn’t notice incoming traffic? You needed to see a doctor, without mentioning that you almost got struck by a vehicle. “They were...” You glanced at your bike. The tires were rolling, and everything that made up of it was dented and broken. It was far too gone to even pedal a feet away. “I was on the path and something...” 

You trail off. It was something. Would Eddie believe you and that something?

Eddie chuckles. “Man, imagine if you were driving.”

“Look, let’s walk back to the trailer.” You sighed, rubbing the aching spots on your head.

Eddie’s heel turns a bit, making it seem like he wanted to make this drug deal quick and easy. “Fine by me. You okay to walk?”

No. “Yes.”

The sudden silence and awkwardness hung in the air, leaving you with an overwhelming urge to break it, to fill the void with words. Yet, you found yourself waiting for Eddie to speak first, each time hoping he would initiate the conversation. The small talk had faded into complete silence, the only audible sounds being the rustling of footsteps on fallen leaves and twigs. As you both emerged from the woods, a cringe washed over you. In that fleeting moment, your hands came close to brushing against Eddie's, and you couldn't help but notice the coldness, likely due to the chilly night.

Just bite the bullet and tell him how you have been really feeling. 

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” you confess to Eddie.

"Funny," his lips curled into a grin, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Chrissy said the same thing earlier today."

Your heart sank at his response. The connection you had hoped for, the understanding and empathy you longed for, seemed to slip further away. It stung to realize that he could relate more to Chrissy than to you.

"How have you been doing?" you asked. "And how's your uncle?"

"Ah, the old man," Eddie replied. "He's doing great, I guess. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's been a long time since I've seen him. I hope he hasn't forgotten about me." You wondered if it would even matter if he did.

Eddie's expression softened, and he reassured you, "I'm sure he doesn't. But, you know, after we broke up, he stopped asking about you."

Your voice trembled slightly as you spoke the words you had been holding back, the fear of the answer lingering in the air. "Same with you. I hope you haven't... forgotten about me. You haven't forgotten about me, have you?"

Eddie hesitated, his gaze searching yours. After a long moment, he finally responded, his voice filled with uncertainty, "No, I haven't forgotten about you. I could never forget you, Y/N.” He stammered. “I mean, I did try to, y’know? I tried burying the pain and all that. It wasn’t easy for me. And I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you, either.”

"I'm so sorry," you murmured, your gaze fixed on the ground. You couldn't help but fidget, absentmindedly massaging your head where it had hit the grass.

"Why?" Eddie's voice was filled with confusion. "We both knew we weren't going to work out."

The two of you stopped and stood in front of each other now. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before responding. "Eddie, in a few months, I'll be wearing a grad gown. I don't know what's going to happen to you, but for me, I have to face the future and pave my own path once I receive my diploma. But I can't leave Hawkins High without saying my piece, without telling you how awful I've felt since we broke up."

You looked up at him, your eyes pleading for understanding. The weight of your unspoken emotions hung in the air, waiting for his response.

Eddie gave you a soft smile. “Oh, me? I’m fine.” He chuckles. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I knew you’d get through senior year without breaking a sweat. You’re a smart kid, Y/N.”

“I wasn’t smart enough to make things right.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t wait up for me by then.”

“I wish I could turn back time and make things right, whether I was more to blame or you. Is it too late to do that?”

Eddie shook his head in confusion. “What are...What are you trying to say? That you want to get back together?”

Yes, you thought. You’d rather repeat another year at a hellhole of a high school than leave him. 

“Eddie, I need you.” you exclaim, almost feeling your bare knees giving in to the ground. “I just need you to stay with me, please. I’ll do the same.”

His eyes softened. You missed him. You admitted that you missed him. You were vulnerable and all you needed was him. 

“I’m sorry, okay? I-”

"Y/N..." Eddie's hands tightened around your shoulders, and in that moment, you yearned for the comforting embrace that could chase away all the pain. But as you looked into his eyes, you sensed that something was amiss. He held your gaze, his words filled with conviction, "I'm never going to leave you."

Closure? Reconcile? Whatever it was, it felt right. You nodded, hoping that his words would bring the solace you so desperately craved. However, as the seconds ticked by, it became clear that he wasn't going to envelop you in a tight hug. The realization hit you like a wave, leaving a bittersweet ache in your heart. You couldn't help but wonder if someone like Chrissy would soon find herself in his arms instead.

"I won't leave you," he repeated, his voice steady. But something in his demeanor made you question his words. What was he doing? Why did he suddenly become so stiff? You glanced behind him and realized that his uncle's van, the one he had driven to school and that had nearly killed you moments ago, was no longer there...

A chilling wind swept through the air, and in that moment, Eddie Munson's demeanor shifted. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly intensity, and his once familiar face contorted into a twisted visage.

He wasn’t Eddie anymore. It never was. 

It became clear that everything you had experienced, from the accident to the drug deal, had been nothing but a carefully constructed illusion. The realization sent shivers down your spine, as the true nature of your encounter with Eddie Munson revealed itself to be far more sinister than you could have ever imagined.

“No...” you whimper at the grotesque figure. “No...”

As you gaze upon it, your trembling voice barely escapes your lips. The sight before you is utterly horrifying. It stood tall, much taller than Eddie. It was towering over you with an imposing presence. Its form is distorted and mangled, as if it were once human but now twisted into something far more sinister. Its body is covered in decaying flesh, rotting and putrid, giving off a stench that made you sick.

Its face is a macabre display of decay and malevolence. Its eyes, once filled with life and passion for heavy metal and electric guitars, now gleam with a soulless darkness, void of any humanity. The skin around its eyes is sunken and sagging, giving it an eerie skull-like appearance. It had deep scarring on its face, marking the remnants of a gruesome past.

As your gaze travels down, you see its limbs, twisted and contorted, ending in long, bony fingers that resemble claws. You could imagine what this creature was capable of doing to you, and if it has done harm to others, if Eddie was it’s next victim.

You can't help but cry about the realization that this was the being responsible for the illusion, for the headaches, the nosebleeds, the voices, the clock.

"Y/N, there's no going back," it hissed, its voice a blend of Eddie's and something far more evil. Its elongated, demonic claw extended towards your face. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Your last dying breath, or perhaps last dying choke, went out...

Just a year after the tragic death of Billy Hargrove, the news of your demise shook the town of Hawkins once again. Your untimely passing was declared a heartbreaking tragedy, leaving a somber cloud hanging over the community. If only you had made a right turn instead of veering off course, you might have biked down to the trailer park, seeking aid from the nearest resident. Your body was found on the grass, with no trace of blood pooling around you except for your eyes that were burst out of the sockets. The police and examiner described your limbs as snapped twigs, and that’s what disturbed them the most upon discovery. They’d never seen anything like it - something unnatural and out of this world, like that thing that killed you like a bug. 

As terror gripped your heart, the true agony came from a devastating truth that shattered your soul. Your desperate attempt to reconnect with Eddie, to mend what was broken, had been nothing but an illusion. He had never been there, waiting for you, as you had hoped.

The realization tore through you like a jagged blade, inflicting a pain far deeper than the monstrous creature standing before you. In that moment, as darkness closed in, you understood the bitter truth: your chance at redemption, at reclaiming the love you had lost, had never truly existed.

And with that crushing knowledge, everything faded to darkness.

END.

[phantomdoofer]

Chapter 19 - Vecchi Amici

Peppino woke up to the smell of rat. He cracked an eye open…

Brick was leaning over him.

" Yiiii!" Peppino yelled as he launched himself off the couch he'd been sleeping on. "Ti avevo detto di non farlo!"

Brick's response was a snis snis snis that sounded suspiciously like laughter. He growled as she walked away. He'd taken to staying with Gustavo, just as Giuseppe had started staying with Margherita. The Pizzamancer's words still echoed in his head:

I will destroy what you hold dear before I return to kill you. And I will savor every moment of it.

Giuseppe had reached the conclusion that they should stay with those who couldn't defend themselves. Fake had told Giuseppe about their past as Bruno, before going to watch over Brando. Peppino was staying with Gustavo, as much for comfort as protection. As tough as the little masso is, he doesn't have the powers we do.

Gustavo was still snoring in his bedroom. Peppino shrugged. No need to wake him yet. He yawned and scratched his arm. He hated imposing, but it was the safest thing. The Pizzamancer's Tower had been spotted all over the world, only to disappear again. No one knew what he was doing. For someone who said he wants to destroy the world, he's being pretty quiet.

There was a knock at the door, and two notes slipped through the mail slot.

Peppino tensed. Anything could be a threat. Mushroom hopped down off the top of his head, skittered over, and inspected them. It chirped a happy tone. Safe.

Peppino sighed and relaxed a little. The Toppins had been an absolute godsend - they could detect the Pizzamancer's influence on anything. Even they didn't know how.

Peppino picked them up. Two letters - one from La Crosta University - why would someone from their ever send me a letter? Probably junk mail. But it was hand-written, so he doubted it.

The second was also hand-written, in purple ink. Something tickled in the back of Peppino's mind - a sense that he knew who it was from. He quickly opened it.

Inside was a note so short it bordered on terse. Peppino, we owe you big time. When you need us, we'll be there. ~ G and J

Gerome and John, Peppino realized. How did they know? And what does it mean? Peppino carefully folded the letter. He'd show it to everyone else later.

The second letter was longer. Mr. Spaghetti, you don't know me, but I know about your situation. I have information vital to the situation with the Pizzamancer that I need to impart to you in person. Please come to the La Crosta History Department Main Office tomorrow at 1 PM. I cannot stress how important this is. The world itself might depend on it.

Peppino flipped it over - there was no name. He shivered. It could be a trap. But then, Mushroom didn't sense anything...

His phone rang. He picked up. "Pronto?"

"Did you just get a mysterious letter from the University?" Giuseppe's voice sounded terse.

" Sì, I did. I'm-a guessing you did too?"

"Yep. No name, either. Guess whoever it is wants to stay a little hidden." There was a pause. "Of course, if this person has such vital intel on the Pizzamancer, I guess I can't blame them." Another pause. "Are you and Gustavo going to open the pizzeria today?"

"Sì," Peppino responded. "It-a may seem foolish, but people seem to be taking heart from seeing something not-a caving to fear."

Giuseppe laughed. "They're right. Life goes on, even in a situation like this. I don't have to say "be careful."

Peppino grinned. "I know, fratello. I appreciate the concern. Just keep Mama safe, bene?"

"Of course, considering her mood, anything that did attack her would probably get folded in half." Both men laughed. "She may be old, but she's not defenseless, you know."

"I know, I know," Peppino said. "I just... I just-a worry. I'll see-a you tomorrow, esatto?"

"Of course, fratellino. Ciao."

As Peppino hung up, Gustavo came out of his bedroom. "Hey, Pep. Anything interesting in the mail?"

"See for-a yourself." He handed the two letters to the gnome.

Gustavo read both over, looking more concerned by the second. "G and J... Gerome and John?"

" Sì, I think so. I wonder what-a they mean, "they'll be there when we need them"?"

Gustavo shrugged. "I dunno. But I'm glad they're all right. I remember reading somewhere that people like them can have weird powers. And John owes you his life, after all." He shook the other letter. "Wonder who Mr. Mysterious is."

Peppino shrugged too. "I don't know, but I guess we'll-a find out." He stretched, his back creaking and popping. "Do you mind if I get a shower before we leave?"

~~~~

Peppino, Gustavo, and Brick carefully walked into the History Department waiting room. He felt like he was intruding, but the secretary had waved him through. "We were expecting you, Mr. Spaghetti. Your brother is already waiting."

Peppino glanced behind him and, indeed, Giuseppe was sitting behind him. They sat beside him. "Anyone-a else here?"

Giuseppe shook his head. "No, but I know Vigi said he got the same letter, so I expect all the bosses to be here. Fits the pattern." He wriggled around, trying to find a comfortable spot on the wooden seat. "Wish I knew who this Professor guy is."

Peppino stared in surprise. "Wait, you don't know anything about him?"

Giuseppe frowned. "I mean, if someone keeps low-profile, and doesn't cause trouble, why would I? But this guy already seems to know too much." He winced and adjusted again. "I don't like this."

Peppino nodded, then sat back to wait. After a few minutes, he pulled out his phone and started searching current events. They pretty much all revolved around the resurrected Tower: a sighting here, a glimpse there. One report of a military base firing on it and being obliterated moments later. Peppino shivered. What can we do against that? It's like being attacked by aliens.

As the minutes went by, the bosses showed up: Vigilante, Pepperman, Fake, and finally, Noise and Noisette, Noisette escorting the still-bandaged Noise.

Peppino stood up. " Mio Dio, Noise, should you even be here?"

Noise waved a hand irritably. "Eh, keep yer worry to yerself, Spaghetti. I'll be Ok by the end of the day. I paid for the good stuff." Noisette stood with her hand on his shoulder. "Just want to know what the hell's goin' on."

Then the door opened again, and in walked -

“Pizzahead? Cosa ci fai qui, bastardo?” Peppino balled his fists, and everyone present looked angry. Both Brick and Noise hissed at him.

The Ninda held up his hands defensively. “Please, calm down! I told you, I don't know who this ‘Pizzahead’ is! My name is Paolo Totino! The last thing I remember is… my father dying, and a ring…”

Fake loped over to the Ninda, grabbing him by the shoulders, looking him in the eyes.

The Ninda cringed. “What do you want, you…” he stared, his disgust giving way to horror. “What… what are you??”

Fake stared him in the eyes for several seconds, then nodded. “This is not Pizzahead. He is what he says he is.”

Everyone visibly relaxed a little. “How do you know?” Peppino said.

Noise spoke up. “Because big guy here was the one around ol’ Pizzahead the most.”

Fake nodded. “Pizzahead’s eyes carried the spark of madness. It is not there, now. Though…” Fake turned back to Paolo. “There is a coldness there, an arrogance. We know arrogance.” He leaned down, and Paolo trembled. “Know this - if you betray us, we will kill you.”

Paolo grimaced. “Yeesh, Ok! I get it! Anyway, I was released from the hospital. They said I have memory loss. Considering I've lost…” he looked up, obviously counting, “three years, I'd say that's an understatement. Then I got this letter demanding I come here today.” He shrugged. “My life is gone. What have I got to lose?”

Then the door opened again, and in walked another unexpected figure...

“Brando?” Peppino said. “What are-a you doing here?”

The young man looked up in surprise. “ Signore Peppino? Signore Gustavo? What -” he looked around at the small crowd in the waiting room. “I received a mysterious letter yesterday, saying to come here. Did one of you send it?”

Peppino and the others shook their heads. “None of us, ragazzo.” Peppino looked at Fake, and he noticed the others trying not to do the same. Brando is Bruno's son, and the Pizzamancer said something about the Tagliatelles, Bruno's family. How are they involved?

Finally a tone beeped on the secretary's desk, and she stood. "The Professor has indicated he'll see you now. Please, head inside." She gestured at a worn wooden door to her left.

As everyone stood, Peppino picked up a general feeling of electricity in the air. Are we all that tense, or is it something else?

Once they had all entered, the secretary closed the door behind them. The room was essentially a library - the shelves towered ten feet, ladders granting access to all the shelves. Spaced amongst the books were curious little objects that Peppino gradually realized were machines. Seems our Professor is a bit of a tinkerer.

A simple wooden desk stood near the back wall, and the leather chair behind it was turned away. Peppino could hear someone whistling happily in the chair, but he saw no one.

Finally, the chair turned. A gnome, with long black hair, mustachios, and a goatee was sitting tinkering with a small machine, his tongue stuck out, the tiny screwdriver working furiously. He was dressed unusually casually for a professor. Of course, that might be normal for professors. Without looking up, he spoke. "Hello everyone, I'm Professor Schreiber, the one who called you here. Just a moment, I need to finish this." He turned a few more things, grabbed a casing, and clicked it into place. Suddenly the object was a solid gray orb, which he sat on his desk. "Er, if anyone here has implants or fillings, I apologize in advance." He clicked a hidden button, and a burst of light went off. The small objects scattered around the room also shot off a wave of strange light in response. Peppino felt an uncomfortable buzz in his chest where he'd been shot - he knew there was metal there. Noise grabbed his mouth. I knocked enough of his teeth out, no telling how much metal is in there. Heh. Giuseppe jumped and looked incredibly uncomfortable, for the same reason as Peppino. Then the entire room went dark.

Suddenly a light blossomed - the gnome had lit a lantern on his desk. An old fashioned oil lantern, in fact. The gnome jumped out of the chair and walked around the room, lighting other candles and lamps. "Sorry, but it had to be done. This room is now completely inaccessible - no electromagnetics, no vibrations, no gasses, not even light. It's completely and totally private." He looked around. "Sorry for the secrecy. My name's Aldo. I need to tell you this in complete privacy - the Pizzamancer might be monitoring you."

Giuseppe stepped forward. "How do you know how to do that? That's Old Tech, OLD Old Tech. I've barely even heard of it. And you just - casually built one?" He pointed. "Who are you?"

The gnome smiled. "I told you, name's Aldo. Though that's not all I am." He leaned against his desk. "We don't have much time - when I say no electromagnetics, I mean none, including heat. It's gonna get cold in here eventually. And I know how because I invented it."

Giuseppe's hand fell. " Invented it? That's not possible - you would have to be-"

"-over 3000 years old, to be precise,” the gnome interrupted.

The entire group gaped in surprise. “Th- three thousand-” Peppino stammered.

“-years old, yes. That's right,” Aldo said. “Let me explain.” He took a deep breath, looking at the floor. “I know the Pizzamancer of old. We were friends, once, I thought.” He shook his head. "I worked with him back before he was the Pizzamancer. I've been waiting for him to reappear all this time. And I know how to give you a chance to beat him."

Pepperman finally found his voice. "Who - what are you?"

The gnome walked up and put his hands on his hips. "I told you, we don't have time for the full story. Short version: I have fire-based powers that also render me immortal. We were researchers, working on the root of superpowers and whether they could be transferred. And we succeeded. Then he copied my power to give himself immortality, which I didn't know it did at the time, but he did, since he'd seen the data and deleted it, to hide it from me. I spent the next 500 years fighting in the shadows to stop him." He looked down. "I gave people the powers to fight him, but most of them died. Finally, three of them - Volante Spaghetti, Gordo Tagliatelle, and Rosa Rossini, managed to defeat him, using a device I designed to imprison him - a ring. Only Volante survived the battle, and that only barely."

At the names Spaghetti and Tagliatelle, everyone looked shocked. Peppino, Giuseppe, and Fake looked at each other. "So that's what he meant," Giuseppe said.

Aldo nodded. "But he had a dead man switch - a nanoplague that swept the planet, destroying almost all technology and a huge chunk of the planet's life. The only sapient survivors were the superbeings I created." He looked around. "Your ancestors. You know this as the Old War. It was..." Aldo paused for several seconds, seeming to struggle to get the words out, "it was my fault. For trusting him." He looked up at them. "But now he's broken free, and I spent the last 2500 years researching a way to give you a chance." He walked back behind his desk, producing a handful of small devices. "He imbued himself with many abilities in the 500 years I fought him. These devices will remove his immortality and fire abilities. The rest... I don't have enough data on. You'll have to deal with them on your own."

Each of them looked at the tiny device - the size of a pen, with a button. Giuseppe shook his head. "You invented the teleporters, didn't you? This looks just like the one I used during the war."

Aldo chuckled. "Oh no, that tech's far older than me. I invented the return relay, though. Glad you're paying attention." He coughed. "I'm telling you this because you deserve to know. And because you're the only ones I think he'd let live long enough to get close enough to use this. With you, the vendetta is personal."

Noise scoffed. "Then why don't you do it, old man?"

Aldo shrugged. "Because he'd run if he knew I was there. He knows I know his secret. This way, you can take him by surprise. You might have a chance, together." He sat down. "I hate to lay this on you, but if the government intervenes, he'll destroy civilization. If you show up, he'll practically usher you in, just so he can watch you squirm."

Brando stepped forward. “ Signore, I understand now why you invited me, but… everyone else here has powers or at least, the ability to defend themselves.” He gestured to himself. “I am just a simple chef. Why am I here, other than for the knowledge you've imparted?”

Aldo smiled. “Well, that, for one. Forewarned is forearmed. You're a descendant of Gordo, so you're automatically a target.”

Brando shivered. Peppino saw Fake begin to move towards him, then stop. Noisette stepped forward and hugged the boy.

Aldo walked up to him. “Two, you might be surprised, young man, when it comes to powers. Gordo’s power was incredible toughness - I saw him take fire blasts and lasers to the face and laugh.” He reached up and patted the boy's arm. “That was a strong power. I bet, even if it's dormant, it's still there. The trick was -” he turned to the Spaghetti brothers - “those three - Volante, Rosa, and Gordo - their powers activated through emotion. Speed from fear and anxiety…”

Giuseppe and Peppino looked at each other in shock. “Strength through rage and hate…” Giuseppe whispered.

Aldo nodded. “And Gordo's toughness, from determination and stubbornness. All qualities those three had in abundance.” He pointed at Peppino and Giuseppe. “You two remind me a lot of Volante, and Rosa, too.” He pointed at Brando. “You're nowhere near as fat as Gordo was, but your face… yes, it's still there, all this time later.”

Brando held up a hand. “I… look like him?”

“Down to the curly mustache. But you're a lot thinner.” Aldo turned. “Every one of you is a descendant of someone I helped, fought beside, even created, in a few cases.”

Paplo stepped forward. “While I think I understand, old man, as the short guy said, you're sending us out to do your dirty work. Sounds a bit fishy. What's in it for us?”

Aldo turned, stared, and strode up to the Ninda. Even though Paolo towered over everyone other than Fake, Aldo seemed to loom.

Then his eyes lit on fire, and his hair stood up, floating in the air like black flames.

“What I THOUGHT was that you might like to live in a free world, one not under the heel of a maniacal despot,” the gnome said, his voice crackling like flame. “Maybe I was wrong? You WANT to risk being murdered on a whim daily? Maybe chopped up for parts, or food? I know this man. He thinks he's the only one in the world that matters. He will destroy you, and everything you hold dear. And he will do it with a smile on his face. Is that a good enough reason for you?”

Noise climbed down out of Noisette's arms, where he'd leaped in terror. He'd developed a fear of fire.

Gustavo spoke up. “I get what you're saying. If you show up, he'll run, right? And with the Tower's disappearing trick…”

Aldo’s eyes returned to normal, and his hair laid back down. “He'll disappear, and he might just destroy the world out of fear before it reappears. Right, my boy.”

“So, what do we do?” Vigi said. “You worked with him. Got any pointers?”

Aldo nodded. “I don't know what powers he has, but he's arrogant, and he has a very fragile ego. If you provoke him, he might go all out. But if you get him talking…” Aldo grinned maliciously. “He always loved to monologue. Be decisive when you strike, though - if he has time to use the Tower in the fight, you're probably done.”

Aldo walked back over to Paolo. “I bet you're descended from the Pizzamancer. It's why the ring took you over. I bet you don't remember anything from the last few years, do you?”

Paolo nodded. “That ring was my father's. His last words were to keep it with me, that it was very old.”

Aldo nodded. “A quirk of the ring’s design was that, while it let his spirit influence you, keeping it near to his bloodline also kept the seal strong. Did you give it away?”

Paolo frowned. “Pawned it, actually. I needed the money.”

Aldo shook his head. “You couldn't have known, but by giving it away, it gave the part of him that took root in your head a chance to flourish. There's no telling what he made you do - and he'd need it back to bring himself back. Once he took you over, the seal didn't mean much.” Aldo grasped his arm. “You have a stake in this too, young man. He destroyed your life.”

Paolo nodded. “I don't care if he's my ancestor. I'll kill him.”

Aldo nodded. “Keep that fire, young man. But don't let it blind you.” He paused, and turned. “This is the only way forward I can see - the world's only chance.” He sighed, and reached out to touch the little device. The room filled with light and sound. They all squinted and held up hands against the sudden glare. “I wish I could do more. But this is your story, now. Be careful, all of you. I hope to see you all again.” He smiled at Peppino. “I still want to try your pizza, after all.”

~~~~

The group filed out of Aldo's office. All of them looked pensive, even Noise.

Finally, they all turned to Peppino. “So, big guy,” Noise said, “what do we do?”

Peppino reared back, looking ready to bolt. “Wh - why are-a you all looking at-a me like that? I'm-a not the leader here!”

Giuseppe laid a hand on Peppino's shoulder. “Hate to break it to you, Pino, but you kind of are. You took down the Tower yourself. You beat all of them.” He gestured at the Bosses, who looked irritated, but nodded. “You're the one who did it, Pino. You. We're the backup here. You're the squad leader.” Giuseppe crossed his arms, smiling smugly. “So what do we do, Boss?”

Peppino looked pensively at the group. Why me?

He heard a chorus of familiar voices in his head.

Gonna abandon them? Run scared? Leave them behind like you did us?

Peppino started to shiver…

Suddenly he felt the hand on his shoulder squeeze.

Giuseppe smirked. “We're here, Pino. You can do this. I know you can.”

Peppino nodded. He thought about everything Giuseppe had told him about, that he'd been through. He's me, after all. I guess he would know.

Peppino took a deep breath. The voices faded, but he could still feel their gaze on him. Finally, a single voice echoed in his head. If you want to make it up to us, save them. Protect them.

Peppino nodded. “ Va bene. Do we-a know where-a the Tower is?”

Giuseppe pulled out his phone. “I bet we can find out.”

Peppino nodded. “Then we do it. As soon as we can.”

[sparklyhyperbole]

WIP Title Game

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs

Thank you so much for the tag, @mistresslrigtar !

There are four.

So you're going to hear about them ALL and if anybody wants to hear more I will junk up your brain with even MORE.

#1 Of Trust and Trickery [Ongoing]

A BotW AU as a passing wave at my Middle Eastern Studies degree. Inspired by the edition of Arabian Nights my toddler was teething on. ✊😓

So picture this: 100 years ago Link was the captain of the guards assigned to the oldest temple to Hylia, located in Gerudo.

The Sheikah and the Gerudo shared in its upkeep, with Hyrule's military providing support.

In a sweeping response to fear mongers, the King of Hyrule cut off the Sheikah's access to power based technology - prompting the genesis of the Yiga. Oh no!

But that's not all.

Their first move is to ambush the remote temple and make it their head quarters!

It gets worse!

The Yiga use Spirit Orbs to turn each guard into a compliant source of spirit power— Djinn!

Thus my genie AU was born.

🧞‍♂️🧞‍♀️🧞‍♂️🧞‍♀️

100 years later, Zelda accidentally comes across our angry blue 100 year old cat bachelor. (There's a cat, btw, because animal companions are always a plus)

Tldr; local girl discovers fox caught in fox trap, wants to help. Maybe if he can stop biting her and trying to chew his leg off for 10 seconds, she'll help him. Maybe.

#2 Taming Wild Horses / Colosseum / Arena / ????  [3 of ?? Chapters written]

Close your eyes and imagine it—

Link is a colosseum fighter and reigning champion. His whole life is dedicated to it, except in the off season.

In the off season, he's contracted out as a mercernary wherever he pleases.

SCENARIOS OCCUR and both the King & Princess experience close calls with assassins. As a temporary assignment, Link is contracted out to personally bodyguard Zelda.

Zelda, avid botanist and reportedly the most powerful Zelda in 100 years is not a lover of the colosseum, and consequently completely unimpressed with Link.

In the background, Sheikah are mysteriously vanishing, so are dead bodies, and they might be warding off a famine.

There is grief! Injury! There will be betrayal! Pining!

Tldr; A cat and a dog have to fix EVERYTHING themselves. But it's not the fixing that's the issue, it's that the other person won't just GO AWA—waitcomeback. 🥺

#3 Swept Up Botw Prince Link AU Heavy Jinshi x Maomao vibes (Apothecary Diaries) but also this is about power dynamics and FUNGUS.

Here's the setting: There has been a coup! Hyrule's royal family were all murdered! Baby girl princess survived! (Shhhh.)

But like 20 years have passed and everyone says new King Ganon is decent.

Shrug it off. Coups happen. He lets us vote about some stuff.

Link is his youngest son. Being low in the line of succession, he's never at home in the castle.

Instead, he spends most of his time fighting the war that kicked up with Hyrule's neighbors after the coup.

There's something so personal about swinging a sword, you know? You know.

His right hand man and personal secretary is Sheik, a secret intelligence officer whose *actual* job is to ferret out the princess.

But guess who raised Baby girl princess?!

Our trio of sibling Sheikah researchers: Impa, Purah, and Robbie.

Zelda's personality is more like Impa's in this. She works as a castle maid, but she knows exactly who she really is.

Tldr; standoffish pretty boy who *suffers* as a lifestyle falls for the stray cat with the broom who is having none of this. Sheik is referee.

#4 Divinity in Excelsus

So this blurb below may or may not be my only written content for this WIP.

Ahaha it IS. WE ARE LAUGHING.

This will be a Chrno Crusade LoZ AU. *Weeps openly*

Link and Zelda are exorcists from separate orders belonging to the Holy Order of Hylia.

Enemies to lovers with bullets and Urbosa and Rhoam as rival heads of the order.

All the champions are in this because I NEED them and I cannot express how much I want to write Daruk as a Holy Father during the roaring twenties and Revali as munitions assistant to Robbie, inventor of all demon-killing weaponry.

Tldr; Zelda and Link in the roaring twenties, with exorcist guns blazing and a different kind of Calamity to stop.

Sooooooo.....ooo... *throws tags like confetti*

@abbyzwrites, @needfantasticstories, @aegon-targaryen, @airplanned

No pressure to play!

[kimwexlers-brownhair]

Oh back to Yellowsuccess! I think after the plane crash Logan would become obsessive trying to arrange a rescue until enough time passed for him to "cut his losses" and shut down, and things would get even nastier between him and Kendall because of how it seems that he's brushing off the disappearance of his supposed favorite child like it's nothing and Kendall takes out his own feelings of guilt for being a shitty brother onto him. He's also the first to recognize that Shiv is probably dead while Roman is the last, coming up with elaborate scenarios in his head for what she might be doing and maybe for a while believing he's got some kind of psychic connection with her. And then of course things gets Very weird when it turns out she's been alive after all.

Logan is not an idealist. He never claimed to be.

Look, life's not a walk in the fucking park. It's a rollercoaster that goes off the rails onto the crowd below. If you’re lucky, you scramble over the crushed bodies beneath you out of the wrecked train, bleeding all over the cotton candy squeezed in a dead fist. It's a shitstorm.

Terrible things happen. People die.

You can't make it to the soccer match that gets your daughter's team into Nationals. There have been too many whispers about cruises lately, so you need to be at that board meeting. To make up for it, you hire a few nonunion mechanics to spruce up one of your recently decommissioned private planes so your daughter and her teammates can fly to Seattle in a little luxury. The thing's no hunk of junk, just a little smaller and more delicate than the top of the line, newest models. It's not like they're flying to fucking Hong Kong. Compared to the far flung cities Logan regularly flies to, a quick trip over Canada from New York to Seattle is a mere hop, skip, and a jump. It'll be fine.

But no, actually, because the fucking plane crashes somewhere in the Canadian rockies.

Terrible things happen. People die.

But Siobhan --

Siobhan's not People. Siobhan is his.

It is nearly four in the afternoon. Logan skims over another damn contract about some obnoxious port problem off the coast of Brazil. ATN drones on in the background about Dubya's daring new Medicare cuts. Outside the glass doors he suddenly hears hurried feet, rushed whispers. He glances up and a PA is darting here, another darting there, and here comes Gerri looking pale as if she's about to lose her lunch. Frank and Karl follow, looking about the same. The new press girl Karolina trails them, speaking rapidly into her phone.

"What," he barks as they hussle in. God, don't tell him there's another NRPI situation he needs to sign away discreetly while deliberatey avoiding the written details. On top of this fucking Brazil thing --

But no, Gerri's pallor, Frank's stony expression --

"Logan," Gerri's voice is weaker than he's ever heard it, but as always she's keeping it together. "Logan, it's Shiv."

It doesn't occur to him. Not yet. But Gerri's face.

"What about her?"

Her tongue darts over her lips quickly and he's never seen her like this.

"The plane" --

Karolina cuts in, shifting her phone away from her mouth. "It's leaked. I've given Cyd the go-ahead so ATN can announce it first."

Gerri closes her eyes.

Fear, fear Logan is mostly able to keep at bay, rushes in like a flood from the creek Rose drowned herself in --

"Someone fucking tell me right now or you're all fired!"

Before they answer, from the TV comes, "We're getting word now that a private plane carrying a high school girls' soccer team to Nationals in Seattle has lost contact with airport authorities after being overtaken by a storm surge over the Canadian Rockies. It's early hours yet, but authorities fear the plane went down --"

Water, rushing water all up and down inside him, plummeting.

Nothing's quite real anymore.

Rose....

But Siobhan is not Rose. Siobhan is a scrappy fighter like him, a survivor. She has Ewan's annoying habit of disagreeing with him. She has her mother's acid tongue, his mother's grit. She has none of Rose's vulnerability. They don't even look that much alike outside of the coloring --well, okay, that's not strictly true, they look a little bit alike, okay, now that Logan thinks about it, they look a lot alike -- but they're not the same.

No. Shiv's tough. Shiv's tough. She's a survivor. She's his whip-smart Pinky with the wicked smile, his little hell-raiser confidant. His girl.

Logan doesn't believe in any of that woo wee woo, cosmic bullshit about feeling whether someone close to you is alive or not, but...Logan would know.

Shiv is his blood, his self. Add Shiv and her brothers up and they equal Logan. Ken, Rome, and yes, Connor -- sometimes they make up the parts Logan loathes about himself. But not Shiv.

So he would know if she was -- he would feel it, no matter how much he disavows that spiritual shit.

He doesn't feel it, not now. He didn't feel this coming at all. Shiv is alive. Shiv is alive.

Shiv is alive, so he has to act, now.

"Call DC," he says to no one in particular and so that means everyone. "Tell Cheney we need a search party. Top of the line military OP types, no bleeding heart volunteer morons. If he flinches, tell him we've been sitting on that story about the Chump-in-Chief falling off the wagon in Key West. Tell Laird to pucker up and suck off whatever Canadian officials we need to get full access beyond the border. Who's overseeing this? Get me on the line with them, now."

This is different from Rose because he is in control now. Total control.

Evening. The door opens and Roman is there in the study. His eyes are more haunted and frightened than Ken can ever remember them being, and Rome often wore that look in his childhood.

They embrace.

"Like, what the fuck, man? What the fuck," Roman asks into his shoulder.

Ken gives him a squeeze. "It's going to be okay, Rome. Shiv's too much of a bitch to go down that way."

Roman hiccups a laugh. "Yeah, she probably pushed the pilots out of the way and landed the thing herself. She's going to get those poor bastards fired."

They don't separate until Connor arrives. He wraps them both in his arms.

"Hey, guys. Whatever happens, it will be okay."

Both secretly resent him saying that, since it implies something might happen.

The door opens and here comes their father. He whispers a few words in Gerri's direction and for once shuts her and the rest out to address them.

Sill, when he speaks, his voice is as impersonal as the one he uses when trying to boost morale amongst hired underlings. Almost light, airy.

The only difference is his eyes. They're glassy. Unfocused. He doesn't meet any of their gazes.

He claps, starts. "Boys, uh, glad you're here. Glad you're here. Thank you for coming. Uh, it's all good. All good. We've got search parties setting off now. And we're getting word they've picked up a signal from the plane's transmittor. So it won't take long now."

He hasn't once said even her name.

Still, not just for Logan, but for Roman, Kendall says, "Yeah. Yeah. Of course. It's, like, impossible for a plane to completely go missing these days. They'll find the signal and pick them up."

"Right." The briefest of nods from his father, a rare sign of acknowledgement, thanks. He takes in a breath and finally brings her up. "Your sister's tough, now. She's tough. She's going to be just fine. Isn't she, Connor?"

Connor's sitting on the back of the sofa, and his face is grim. Still he nods. "Sure, Pa. Sure."

Roman's too much in shock to notice what they're doing. It's for him. With Shiv gone, Roman is the baby. It's a show for him.

The youngest son says nothing, just gives a weak smile behind the fingers covering his face. His shoulders are hunched upward like a dog mincing away from the whip.

"Uh-huh. Okay." Logan's eyes wander over the room. If they didn't know him, they'd think he was a confused old man who doesn't quite remember where he is. But Dad's not old, they all tell themselves. He's not. And he knows what he's doing. He's just a little...unsettled. "Thank you, boys. Thank you."

"Uh, dad," Kendall clears his throat. "Is there...is there anything I - we can do right now? Like, does the search party need volunteers?"

"Huh? Oh, no, son. We've got top of the line -- it's taken care of. "

"Okay. How about, how about Mom? Does - she knows, right? Or --"

"Ah? Oh, your mother. Uh, yes, I'm sure she knows by now. Someone must have...I mean, if you want to call her..."

"Sure, dad. Sure. I can do that."

Logan's gaze finally rests on Kendall, and there's true warmth there. "Thank you, Kenny. Okay, boys, I'll keep you posted." Then, without another word or glance, he leaves the boys behind him, their haunted eyes on his retreating back.

It's about five in the morning when Logan's bedside phone starts ringing. He's only been in bed for three hours, and been asleep for just about one. He'd just been dreaming of a campfire, and girls were laughing. Shiv's face is covered in soot but she's smiling, eyes sparkling as she knocks shoulders with one of her teammates --

However, he's awake instantly and answers. "What? Siobhan?"

Gerri. Her voice is very quiet, which means there's bad news.

Logan listens.

His veins are on fire. He's sitting on the edge of the bed and the darkness of the room turns red. "What? How? How can they lose the fucking signal? Those boxes are supposed to be goddamn indestructible, aren't they?...I don't fucking care that they're doing their best, Gerri, I need them to...well, don't they fucking know by now where the signal was coming from before it went away? Didn't they have jets going there?...oh, don't give me that garbage about the storm, I fucking know about the storm, that's how the plane -- interference? Fucking...what the fuck good are those fucking boxes if they can't give you the correct location through a fucking storm? Don't give me any shit about interference, Gerri!"

He listens a few moments more, breath chugging out of his nostrils like a bull ready to charge. "Well, you tell Cheney and the air force that I don't give a fuck. Tell them to keep pushing. This isn't some run of the mill commercial flight with some hodunk assholes from Iowa flying to Florida for vacation, this is my daughter. In fact, there are a lot of fucking important daughters on that plane. Tell that reptile that if he wants his braindead idiot reelected, I better not hear one fucking word about the operation slowing down. Fucking got that, Ger?"

He slams the phone down. His nerves are open and raw, and the darkness is too close and Shiv is out there, she's out there and the signal is gone.

From below, Richard, giving the morning's instructions to staff, hears a roar and the phone crash against Logan's bedroom wall.

Eleven-and-a-half months later, Kendall has to see it on the news like everyone else.

He doesn't give Richard any time to warn Logan before he bursts into his father's home office. His father is not at his desk but sitting on the couch holding a scotch, staring at nothing.

"What the fuck, Dad? What is this? You're fucking calling off the search?"

His father doesn't move, doesn't look at him. "It's been almost a year, Kendall." His voice is a thousand years old.

"So? That's it? We're done? You're not gonna fucking..."

"Not gonna fucking what, Kendall?" At last his father turns to face him, and his glazed eyes are even older than his voice. "We've done everything. Searched everywhere in that damn wilderness." His eyes are on the amber liquid in his glass. "Nothing."

"W-well," Ken's stammer is back. "We-we-we can"--

"Kendall," his voice is sharp, commanding. "It's done. There's no going back. Your sister..." Kendall must be rocking on his feet, because it looks like his father is swaying. "Your sister is gone." His voice cracks at gone.

But Kendall won't hear it. "Come on. Come on, Dad. It's not like you to give up like that. We"--

"The shareholders aren't going to want anymore money going to a search party that isn't finding anything."

"So that's what it all comes down to? Fucking money? Dad? Again? That's all that matters to you, now even?"

He sees the storm cloud gathering in his father's face. "We can't keep throwing resources" --

"Throwing resources? That's what you call funding the search party to find your fucking daughter? Your alleged favorite?"

"Don't fucking push me, son."

"No, this is -- wait." Ken's eyes cast about the room. "What...where?" He cranes his head all around, checking every end table, every surface. "Dad, where..." his eyes focus back on his father. "Dad, where are her pictures?"

Logan says nothing, stares into nothing, his face saying nothing. The only horror is in his wide glazed eyes.

Kendall points to the hutch against the wall. "The picture of her and Rome as kids? Her yearbook picture on your desk? The team on the wall? Where...where the fuck are they, Dad? Where did you put them?"

Logan's voice is as low as it is ever capable of being. "They're in her room. Which is locked."

Ken is too numb for a second, but then the pain and anger burst out. "In her room? Locked away? Like she never even fucking existed? Jesus fucking Christ, Dad"--

Logan is all at once on his feet, the drink slammed down on the coffee table. "And what the fuck have you been doing, Kendall? Hm? What have you been doing to find your sister? All this time, playing with your dick in your overpriced dorm room at that Ivy League dump instead of joining the search party?"

Kendall doesn't know whether to laugh or scream. "You told me not to volunteer, Dad. You told me not to interrupt my education. You said I wouldn't know what I was doing and I'd only get in the way"--

Logan's red face is inches in front of his. "Oh, you needed my permission, hm? My permission to go out and find your baby sister?"

"That's not fair" --

"GO ON. FUCK OFF. Your sister is gone, Kendall, and no amount of mewling about her pictures is going to bring her back. So, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE AND STOP WASTING ANY MORE OF MY GODDAMN TIME."

Logan turns away and marches over to his desk. His back is to Kendall, but Ken sees his arm go up over his face. Blocking everything out.

A stab of love. "Dad, I" --

"Go on, Kendall. Go on. Go and see to your brother. I can't right now. I need...I need some time."

Roman's sitting on the stairs when Kendall comes out. He's been home since everything started, "for Dad", he says. As if Logan has noticed at all. He's insisted throughout that Kendall stay at Harvard, but he's never given a serious shit about what Roman does.

"Is...is it true? He's called off the search party?"

"Yeah, Rome. Yeah, it's true."

"But why?" His voice breaks. He's trembling. "Why would he do that?"

Ken feels empty, like a clockwork man. He parrots his father. "It's been close to a year, Roman."

"So?" Roman is on his feet, arms wrapped around his slim body. He's been losing more and more weight recently. "That doesn't mean anything. If...if they're close to water, if there's game, they can still be..."

"Roman." Kendall closes his eyes, breathes. "Roman, she's gone."

A jolt shakes Roman's body. "Oh, fuck you, Kendall. You don't know that."

"Rome" --

"You don't know that. Anything could have happened!"

"We would have heard by now."

"Not necessarily! There's a lot of fucking wilderness out there."

"Right, so the chances of them making it this long"--

He stops short as Roman suddenly shoves him hard in the chest.

"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up, man! You don't know shit!"

"Hey, hey, Roman" --

"No! Fuck you! What, they teach you about surviving in the woods in your fucking Harvard business classes?" Another shove. "You're just fucking useless."

Kendall can't take it and he spits back. "Oh, yeah? Well, at least I'm not delusional."

"I'm not delusional."

"Yes, you are. This whole time you've never even considered that she might be" --

"Because"-- Roman cuts himself off and turns away, hands on the back of his head.

Kendall frowns. "Because what, Rome?" His shoulders slump. "Not because of your dreams. Bro, please don't tell me that."

Rome's arms are crossed again, still turned away from his brother. "Fine, I won't," he mumbles.

"They're just dreams, Roman," Kendall says for about the millionth time.

They started soon after the plane went missing. Shiv almost burning up on the crashed plane, but Roman tore off the seat belt so she could escape. Shiv happily splashing her friends in a lake they just discovered. A creepy cabin in the woods. A dark-haired girl wailing over a frozen body as the first snows fell.

Roman would never meet Ken's eyes when telling him, usually as they sat on his bed in the evening. He'd stare at his bedspread and say, "I don't know, they just feel really...real. Like I'm actually in front of her. Sometimes she sees me and gets really shocked but we..talk and stuff."

Ken never said much in reply.

He didn't want to say he'd been having the same dreams.

And now, he just won't put up with it. "You don't have some kind of psychic connection with her, okay? Like, you're not even twins, you're Irish twins." Born barely a year apart. Logan liked to throw the term around because he knew it bothered their old-English mother who deep down carried an ancient bigotry against the Irish like the rest of her family.

Roman finally faces him. "Yeah, I fucking know that, okay? But they feel more like visions than dreams"--

Kendall now shoves him hard, because he just had a flash of his own dream from last night, of Shiv stumbling in the snow and sniffling. She looked so relieved when she saw Kendall standing there in the cold, ready to help her up.

Another shove, and Roman whimpers. "You're fucking delusional, Roman. She's gone. She's dead, all right? She's fucking dead."

He doesn't wait to take in his brother's tears. He storms out of the house, pushing past Richard.

Roman collapses on the steps.

Logan can hear his youngest boy's sobs through the closed door. He's relieved. They're covering the choking sounds he himself is making. He's slouched over the window seat, clutching the curtains.

He can't stop it now, tears cloud everything.

Just last night he was sitting by Siobhan on the bank of that frozen lake again. She was wrapped up in that patchwork coat made out of bear and deer skins. He could see scars on her face. That wolf nightmare was true. His arm was around her, and he was telling her stories about how he and Ewan used to ice fish.

A little over nine months later, the call comes. Crash site found.

Survivors found.

[books-i-finished-reading]

(52)

Call me by your name - André Aciman

23rd May 2024

You could never stare long enough but needed to keep staring to find out why you couldn't.

... the fumbling around people I might misread and don't want to lose and must second-guess at every turn, the desperate cunning I bring to everyone I want and crave to be wanted by, the screens I put up as though between me and the world there were not just one but layers of rice-paper sliding doors,...

We are not written for one instrument alone; I am not, neither are you.

... people say "maybe" when they mean "yes", but hope you'll think it's "no" when all they really mean is, Please, just ask me once more, and once more after that?

Nothing he did or said was unpremeditated. He saw through everybody, but he saw through them precisely because the first thing he looked for in people was the very first thing he had seen in himself and may not have wished others to see.

"Does it make any sense to you? Not to me." "Maybe it did when you wrote it," I said.

... youth has no shame, shame comes with age.

To be happy like this maybe wasn't so difficult after all. All I had to do was find the source of happiness in me and not rely on others to supply it next time.

Between always and never.

... forget to remember.

"Do you like being alone?" he asked. "No. No one likes being alone. But I've learned how to live with it."

Another man ... reading something in the tiny alcove, named the book: Se l' amore. If love. "Is it good?" I asked. "Pure junk," he replied. "I should know. I wrote it."

"People who read are hiders. They hide who they are. People who hide don't always like who they are."

"You okay?" he asked. "Me okay."

... the sun was finally up again and shame cast long shadows.

Whoever said the soul and body met in the pineal gland was a fool. It's the asshole, stupid.

... what we had between us was the total transparency that exists among friends only. Perhaps we were friends first and lovers second. But then perhaps this is what lovers are.

"I loved Thailand before going and hated it as soon as I arrived. Let me rephrase: I hated it once I was there and loved it as soon as I left."

"I left a fool and came back no wiser."

"At first I thought that they thought differently. Then I realised they felt things differently."

"... he looks like a girl who looks like a boy. ... She looks like a boy who looks like a girl and who's therefore just a boy."

"... when it comes to the senses all humans speak the same beastly tongue."

He came. He left. Nothing else had changed. I had not changed. The world hadn't changed. Yet nothing would be the same. All that remains is dream making and strange remembrance.

... I lived in the dark so as not to be blind when darkness came. Rehearse the pain to dull the pain.

"he's more myself than I am."

"... In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don't snuff it out, don't be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we'd want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything-what a waste!"

... burst of desire followed by it's instant antidote, fear.

[tinx-methinks]

EOY book asks - 2, 6, 17, 24 :3

2. Did you reread anything? What?

Yes! Last year I read Dracula Daily, this year I did Re. Dracula which is practically an audiobook of the same thing (fully voice acted! with original songs! its amazing I totally recommend this podcast!).

Also a lot of the short stories Luke and I have been reading are ones that I've read before. Things like "The Lottery", "A Good Man is Hard to Find", and "Masque of the Red Death" were ones I'd already done.

Other than those I didn't do much rereading this year. I keep buying books as I get them read so I always have new ones in my TBR and I never make any progress lol

6. Was there anything you meant to read, but never got to?

I bought a pretty copy of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea last year I've been dying to dig into but didn't get the chance. I'm looking forward to doing that this year. I meant to read The Turn by Kim Harrison. It's a prequel to a series I love and anxiously await. I dunno why I keep putting it off. My brain just keeps saying "The Stars. Can't do it. Not today." Also there's a couple I wanted to read but I just didn't buy because I was hoping to see them on sale and didn't or because their popularity meant their coverprice was higher than I wanted to pay or simply because something else caught my eye first, those titles include: I'm Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy, Paladin's Strength by T Kingfisher, Ruthless Gods by Emily A Duncan, Manhunt by Gretchen Felker-Martin and The Bell in the Fog by Lev AC Rosen.

You'll note a bunch of these are things I already know I enjoy. For some reason it's harder for me to buy a sequel of a book I really like than it is for me to buy a new book I might not like because the Sunk Cost Fallacy guts me much worse so sometimes I end up wanting the sequel for months/years because the fear I won't like it makes the money so much harder to spend lol.

17. Did any books surprise you with how good they were?

Oh yeah a bunch of them! Animorphs have been super surprising! Murderbot was so good! I didn't expect to like Legends and Lattes or Lavender House nearly as much as I did! I found The Watchers so genuinely creepy! Also I had written off as The Fourth Wing as booktok junk pretty much before I read it but after I did read it I thought it was way better than I expected. I think I can really see what people liked about it even though it wasn't for me.

Books are great for surprises like that.

24. Did you DNF anything? Why?

I almost never DNF a book. I will put myself through unspeakable agony to finish a book. It has to offend me to my core for me to put a book down because I think there's value in a book that's bad. If I find a book bad I really try to figure out what makes me feel that way so I can apply it to my own writing/storytelling...

That being said I am working on a couple visual novels I started last year because while I'm great at making time for books, video games are a whole other story. Sigh.

Thanks for the asks Bec! Love you!

End of Year Book Asks

[nickgerlich]

For Better Or For Worse

With COVID in the rear view, it’s high time we find a new topic to talk about. To worry about, fret over, ponder what it will do to humanity. No, I’m not talking about the next pandemic, the next killer virus, although some might think this is pretty much the same thing. I’m talking about ChatGPT and its variant AI large-language model content generators.

ChatGPT first hit the mainstream media last November, and quickly gained steam. So many people wanted to test it out that there was often a wait list just to get in. Access is now more readily available, as are competitors like Google’s Bard.

What is interesting is how various entities and individuals have voiced concerns or embraced it, as disparate as night from day. For example, one of the chief concerns in the Screenwriters’ Guild and SAG/AFTRA strikes centers on intellectual property and the fear that deep fakes and AI-generated scripts and other works could all happen with AI. Who needs authors and actors when a machine can do all of the heavy lifting?

Next up is the growing number of media outlets worried sick about AI. They have banned AI in their newsroom, and gone so far as to block the GPTBot that crawls the web munching on knowledge. It is that crawling that allows ChatGPT and the others to continually get smarter and smarter.

And then there’s our university, West Texas A&M. Over the summer, a committee formed by the Provost helped craft three AI “statements” that faculty could (and should) include in their Syllabi for this semester. The options ranged from no AI to some AI to AI-all-the-time in a prof’s class, albeit with some caveats. For the record, I chose the latter, with details to be explained in the coming weeks as exams and group projects come due.

But last week our President, Dr. Walter Wendler, dropped a surprise on everyone. Starting in Fall 2024, WT will observe a no-cost, no-text policy in its course offerings, with a few exceptions granted under special circumstances. The President says that students will save, on average, $1280 a year by not having to buy text books.

And how are profs to teach a class without a text, you might ask?

Simple. I mean maybe not so simple. It involves a combination of subject matter expertise from the prof who will need to provide lengthy lectures, internet links to publicly available supporting material, and AI-generated lectures.

You read that right. We are being asked to use ChatGPT and other AI sites to let machines write course material. I never, ever could have seen this coming when I was in grad school 40 years ago.

But wait just a sec here! And I’m talking to my MBA students right now. How are weekly Units structured? Yep. My original lecture, with companion audio file, a slew of links, and an AI-generated lecture. It’s almost like I was reading Dr. Wendler’s mind, although I swear I wasn’t. Really.

Bottom line: My MBA students are experiencing the class of the future right now. This is where we are heading. I chatted with the Provost about it as well, and he agreed. I’m just glad that I have written lengthy lectures for five of my six courses over the years, and update them as needed. I can easily convert the other courses to the new format, and then get down to writing material for the one remaining class. That said, any prof who hasn’t committed his or her expertise to text is going to have an uphill grind soon, and anyone fresh out of grad school is going to find themselves in the deep end of the pool.

As for using AI, there are concerns about its proper usage. ChatGPT, like any search engine, can easily suffer from the GIGO (Garbage In, Garbage Out) problem. If you do not know how to frame your query, you will get pathetic results. When I ask ChatGPT to “Write a Lecture,” I have to fill the query with all the necessary key words, or else I get junk.

These are indeed very interesting times. Everyone from Hollywood to the news room is scared to death of AI, and here we are at WT, plunging head long into it. I have heard some faculty expressing deep reservations. The important part for profs is to remember that the AI component is only one piece, and should not be the main course. Think of our own lectures as the pot roast, and the internet links and AI text the mashed potatoes, carrots, and celery. Anything less is a haphazard job.

And I for one am glad to have stumbled onto the model before it was released. I didn’t have insider information and I wasn’t prescient; I was just lucky. This is going to be a learning period for us all, and I welcome my students to provide feedback. I want this to be the best possible learning environment for everyone.

Let’s talk about it, good, bad, and ugly. But let’s not fear the technology. The machine is not coming for us.

Dr “I Can See Tomorrow From Here” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[babygalentine]

"rest"

(written for creative nonfiction workshop, january 29, 2023)

exercise: write a flash nonfiction piece, 500-1000 words

Boxes littered the dorm. I was packing things away, shoving them into odd positions to fit them into limited spaces. I had a separate tote, labeled “Plato’s Closet,” where I’d junked some items I’d forgotten about—old t-shirts, leggings with holes, some ugly headbands. I was in desperate need of money and tired of these forgotten things living with me. After organizing, I knew it was time to interrupt my packing to go make a buck out of my hoarding. 

Out to the car we went. The tote was heavy—I carried it pressed against my stomach for extra support. I regretted slinging my lanyard around my neck, keys and mace container biting into my diaphragm as the awkward tote rubbed against it. It was a relief when I got to the car, popped the trunk, and loaded it up. I took a deep breath before noticing my hands were wet—from brown fluid, nonetheless. I gave them a sniff. No smell. It was all over my sweater and wallet, too. I considered putting the sweater in the wash before deciding it could wait. I was in a hurry—I needed to run that other shit over to Plato’s Closet before seven, and it was four. 

On the drive over is when it began: the Burning Sensation, flaring across the riff of my stomach where my sweater was wet. It chafed against me, teasing, angry. I gave a yelp in realization of what that wetness had been immediately—the mace on the lanyard. The tote must have pressed the button. And now I was in the middle of traffic, weeping, hands beginning to shrivel up and smolder, the cracks of winter whitening around my knuckles per the peppery invasion. 

Pulling into the parking lot of Plato’s Closet, I tried to put on a brave face. But it’s hard to do that when the mace on your stomach starts to rub off onto your bra and transfer to your nipples. I felt like some sexual deviant, hobbling into Plato’s Closet, wincing at the way the heat caressed my poor areolas. The check-in process could not have been longer, when all I wanted was to be back in my car. 

But the car was not any better, as the more I moved, the more the spray ruffled into the air, burning my nose, causing me to sneeze and sneeze and sneeze. Throw some gagging in there too, for good measure. All I wanted to do was take a shower, but I had no time—I wanted to get my stuff over to the apartment as soon as possible. 

I’d to go to the urgent care for an ongoing ear infection anyway, so I figured I might as well go after getting my cash back. So, while waiting, I continued to load the rest of my boxes. My body was a Redhot. I wanted to change sweaters, but decided against it, fearing transferring this poison to other things I owned. 

I was soon summoned back to Plato’s Closet for fifty dollars and some change. The cashier droned about how they loved the denim I brought in, while I squirmed and wished to be dead. Thanks, I told her hastily, and dashed out. My car loaded up, I leapt in and darted to Target for a bed-set that was out of my budget, then whisked off to urgent care, hoping the nurse would give me a cherry Dum-Dum for all my troubles.  

There was four minutes until they stopped admitting people. I told the receptionist I’d been here a week and a half before, to please let Joy see me. For pity points, I told her about my day: I was going through the pains of moving, and pepper-sprayed myself.  

The receptionist glanced at the soap opera playing from her phone before conceding. The nurse I’d had a week and a half before came out for me. Last time in, I was seen for my ears, and a delightful yeast infection. She’d joked about hoping it wasn’t cancer.  

But tonight, we bonded over our equally crazy days. Yeah, I’d said, I’m moving and maced myself—I don’t want to be here as much as you, too. 

“Girl,” she sighed. “Are you okay?” 

I laughed. “No!” 

Doctor Joy was quick to come back and see me. She thought it was funny I maced myself—my nurse had snitched on me—and said so before checking my ears. “Your canals still look disgusting. I’m referring you out to an ENT—you probably need tubes. Also, I’ll be ordering some Omnicef for you. Until then, would you like a shot for the pain?” 

“A shot?” 

“Yes, we have medicine that will ease pain for twelve hours. We can give you sixty milliliters.” 

“Sure.” 

“Okay, great. I’ll send Megan back here to administer.” 

I guessed that was the nurse’s name. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” She opened the door to leave. “And Taylor?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Get some fucking rest.” 

We both smiled at that, her out of kindness, me out of pain.  

One jab in my ass later—that I cried about, mind you—I was sliding into my car and hauling my sorry butt to the apartment. I began my painstaking journey of lugging everything up the slick metal stairs, beginning to whimper—the burning kept increasing. By the time I got everything put away and organized, sweat had turned my stomach, hands, tits, and thighs into smoking welts. I was desperate for a cold shower, and finally let myself take one. Tears streamed down my face as icy water pummeled me. I used Dawn dish soap—internet recommended—and scrubbed, multiple times over, the affected areas before stepping out, trembling. 

The pain made a comeback for a bit now, several times worse as my body recovered from the conflicting red-hot and shocking cold. I was gagging and crying. Crawling my sore body into the expensive bedsheets from Target, I finally let myself do it: 

Rest. 

[maaaxx]

😅🥺🤡😈

😅 - What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists.

I have this fun little habit of getting bored and not knowing what to do next in ihiap and then thinking 'what is the most random thing i can do with this rn' and then doing it. Its how most of ihiaps major scenarios came about

the two that come to mind immediately is the soldier scenario and the island scenario. and those two scenarios i am very embaressed about.

im doing a rewrite of ihiap rn and im trying to figure out how to make those situations make sense without completely writng them out.

Also the whole 'i accidentally stole half my 'ocs'' thing is pretty embarrassing.

🥺 - Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in feels.

Every interaction between Zuko and any of the older crew members.

I love them each playing a certain role in helping zuko become a functional person and heal and all that junk. I touched on this in one of my more recent chapters and it had a part where it was like, one of them helped zuko not link being corrected with pain and screaming.

One helped Zuko get away from the rest of them, and helped give him space and calmness when no one else could give him that.

And then the obvious, Hakoda. How i put it on this particular chapter is:

"Hakoda’s weariness of the Fire Prince turned into a worry disguised by logic to genuine concern to a gentle guiding hand to a father figure to the boy.  Everybody on the ship noticed the transition of Zuko, fearing Hakoda to following him around the same way Sokka would.  "

Especially Hakoda, I always loved writing the scenes with just those two's interactions. I miss it and cant wait for them to be reunited.

🤡 - What's a line, scene, or exchange that made you laugh.

"“Apparently!”  Zuko said, throwing his arms up.  “I missed Tomkins coronation to become Fire Lord, because he seems to think he’s my dad all the sudden!”"

^ That never fails to make me laugh every time i think about it or read it.

😈 - Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers.

That whole 'Tomkin might be dead' thing. I just did it to get a reaction and add some drama.

I could have written around that happening.

I remember cackling as I watched the comment's role in after I posted that chapter.

Like three times more of you guys commented on that chapter than any other chapter. I might have another death scare soon. Who knows

[wei-otter]

Never Forgotten //Vader x F!Reader / Ch 1

(A/N, hiii! I’ve never written before but the awesome @dokoni-mo and other anons on the page encouraged me to give it a shot. sorry abt grammar lollll i was better at science than english. i honestly have no idea what i’m doing loll, but all i know is i love vader and i love the community on here! thank you guys for being here!)

You and Anakin grew up together on Tatooine. Once the time came, he continued on to become a jedi knight while you became a medic. Years later you are once again reunited, only he is no longer the boy you knew on Tatooine. He is now Darth Vader, feared with lord. Was this a cruel trick of time? or was it your destiny all along.

Warnings: slavery, mentions of broken bones, terrible punctuation

_________________________________________

The bright suns adorning Tatooine’s warm sky served as your morning alarm. With a yawn you got up and got ready to head to the junkyard to assist your “employer” Watto. You grabbed your small backpack full of bandages and other first aid equipment, usually there would be some incident where someone would need patching up and you were the only one who seemed to actively care. You didn’t really know how you ended up on Tatooine, orphaned, and working for a low life junk dealer. What you did know was the only thing keeping you going were the Skywalkers, Watto’s slaves.

You arrived at Watto’s depot and surveyed the area for your Watto’s youngest slave, Anakin. Searching around the sand covered scraps you finally found him crouched over, collecting bolts in a small sack. Quietly creeping up on him you pounced onto his back.

“Ahhh” he shouted

“Hey Ani! What’s up?” You asked

“The suns, duh” he retorted

Rolling your eyes you told him that’s not what you meant. He responded with a small smirk.

“Where’s Watto?” You asked

“Out, I guess, I think he went to make a trade the next town over”

Nodding, thank the stars, Watto made you feel as if you needed to take a bath every time you ran into him, but he was the only one interested in a “free child” when you were found. Most wondered why he didn’t just make you a slave, but in his own weird way he felt bad for you (odd coming from him). So he allowed you a room in his junk yard and the title of “service apprentice”, though in reality you were just a glorified slave.

Tugging on your arm, Anakin pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Come on, lets go back to my house, I wanna fix up my droid”

Upon arriving at Mos Espa’s slave quarters, you saw Shmi, Anakin’s mother, cleaning machinery outside of their house.

“ Mom! I found the rest of the parts!” Ani exclaimed

Shmi turned with a smile, “That’s wonderful darling! I see you brought back someone else too! How are you today F/N?”

“I’m doing great since Watto’s gone”

She bent down to your height and winked “me too”

She walked inside and you smiled, turning to follow Anakin. Abruptly you were stopped by a child’s cry. Though you were only a child yourself, you felt the obligation to help everyone. You ran over to a girl, only a few years younger than you and held her cheek.

“What happened?”

Through her sobs she managed to say she tumbled over something on the stairs. She told you her parents were with their master so she was all alone.

“Ok, it looks like you may have broken your ankle, I need to look at it, to see for sure. This might hurt, so just hold onto me, ok?”

She nodded with tears in her eyes. Slowly you lifted her pant leg, she flinched and tightened her grip on you. Getting a better look at the leg of saw it was in fact broken, and there was a large scrape on her small knee. Sighing, you took out some bandages and ointment from your bag. You dabbed at the scrape and placed the healing ointment on it. As for the leg, you looked around and found a small stick that you created a makeshift brace with. After wrapping her leg you gave her something to numb the pain.

“It’s gonna be ok, your mommy will be back soon, alright?”

You placed her on your back and brought her into the Skywalker’s house. Shmi noticed the other child and rushed over to you.

“What happened?!”

You handed the toddler over to her and explained, she thanked you for looking out for the kid.

“ Thank you F/N, You are so responsible, I just know you will do great things”

You smiled and walked outside to locate your friend. Abruptly Anakin grabbed your hand, your eyes widened as he was almost nose to nose with you.

“Come on, I want you to be the first to see R2!”

He wanted to show you?

First?

You blushed a bit and squeaked out an “ok”. Roundish the corner you saw the can shaped droid and smiled. Ani really was a talented mechanic.

“F/N this is R2! And R2 this is my best friend F/N”

R2 blinked and beeped at you, laughing as you waved back.

“Wow Ani! This is awesome! You’re so smart!”

He smiled, “thanks F/N, but I’m not the one healing people, that’s all you.”

He noticed.

__________________________________________

Later that evening the suns were beginning to set and Watto was back. He, Shmi, Anakin, and you were in the corridor of Watto’s shop. Shmi cleaned the new trade he brought back, Anakin organized some inventory, you made Watto’s food, while Watto watched you three work.

“Ouch!” Anakin cut himself on a jagged scrap. Before his mother could even turn and react, you were by his side taking care to disinfect it.

Shmi watched tenderly at the scene before her, in her heart she wished for you two to stay by each other's side.

“Look at you two, I can already hear the wedding bells”

You and Anakin looked up at her

“Ewww, gross mom”

You laughed along but deep down you wanted her implication to come true. From his chair Watto let out a wheezy laugh, drinking from his bowl

“If those two get married they better stay working for me. We’ve got a mechanic and a medic, one who can cook at that, heh”

The three of you awkwardly laughed along. Continuing with your respective tasks you couldn’t help but feel down at Anakin’s response, “eww”? You felt your heart sink as you played that over and over.

Little did you know he was replaying your laugh in his head.

“I was gonna just agree, but she laughed at the idea. I guess I was wrong about her feelings…”

He decided not to dwell on the interaction. At least you were still here with him, even if not in that way.

Weeks later some strangers walked into the junkyard two men in odd robes and one girl, looking only a few years older than you. You were going to greet Anakin as he walked in, but he didn't see you. Instead he shifted his focus on the other girl.

“Are you an angel?”

Your heart fell.

“what?” She asked

“An angel, I heard the deep space pilots talk of them. They are the most beautiful creatures in the universe”

You felt like crying, you were there when he overheard the pilots, you discussed what angels would look like with him. What hurt more was that she did, she did look like one. How could you ever compare? __________________________________________

The men, known as Jedi, finally left with the girl, “Padme”. You felt as if a weight had been lifted off of your chest. You had Ani back, though he was different. He had a new passion about him. He had a purpose.

He explained to you that he would become a Jedi. He was the chosen one.

After the first few weeks he stopped bringing up that girl, much to your delight. You two became Ani and F/N again.

For the years leading up to Anakin’s departure to Coruscant you two became closer than ever, basically glued to each other's side. And with your growing bond, your feelings grew too. You loved Anakin. How could you not? You wished endlessly for some way to follow him down the path of the jedi, but you simply could not. Not only was your life set down a different path, Anakin would not allow you to follow him.

“This life is a dangerous one. I don’t think I would be able to bear it if something happened to you.”

He never outright said it, but you hoped this was his way of telling you he loved you. You were deeply saddened because you knew the ways of the Jedi from Ani’s explanations. There was no room for love or attachments in that world. Plus you figured you two would not see each other for many years once you went to study medicine and he went to train.

__________________________________________

Once the faithful day arrived you woke up bright and early to see Anakin off. You were there with R2, C-3PO, Shmi, and his new master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. He hugged his mother and said bye to his droids then came to you.

“Hey, don’t be sad F/N, we will meet again, I’ll make sure of it. And in the future I won't just be some boy from Tatooine. I will be Anakin Skywalker, the chosen Jedi knight, i'll be somebody.”

You clenched your jaw trying to keep your tears in. Looking into his eyes you jumped into his embrace.

“You already are somebody Ani”

You could feel him smile. You wanted to finally tell him your true feelings, but were stopped by an unknown force. You met Obi-Wan’s gaze, he looked at you as if to scold you. He saw how you two were, he saw your bond, he now needed you to let Anakin go. You closed your eyes and held him tighter. You finally let go and couldn’t help the tears streaming down your face. Anakin softly brushed away your tears and Shmi came over to hold your hand as she kissed her son’s head. Anakin pulled away and gave one last look before turning to board the ship.

You felt an intense feeling of dread. Deep down you knew this was the last time you would see your Anakin Skywalker.

Their ship took off and right away you turned on your heels and began your own departure. You were off to study methods of medicine throughout different systems. Anakin was not the only one with a big future and big obligations. You may not have lived with your loved ones as a child, but you wanted to do all in your power to make sure others could have a chance with theirs.

You were closing your bag when Shmi came over to you, she laid a loving hand on your shoulder

“I’m so proud of you. You and Anakin both have brought me so much joy I cannot begin to explain. My son will be protecting others and you will be healing them.”

Already emotional you melted into her arms. She brushed your hair with her worn hands.

“I know he never said it, but a mother always knows. He loved you too.”

****

(A/N, thank you guys sm for reading!! don’t worry there will be actual vader in the next one!!)

taglist: @dokoni-mo, @wizardofrozz, @guinea-pig16 @the-official-memester

[etchedbox]

Dust

Chapter One of DUST

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: None this chapter!

A/N: Hi everyone! I am officially returning to post DUST in its entirety. I’ve had a great year away and am excited to finally have this story up as a completed one. Thank you for your continued support. I will be reposting all the work I took down, and rebuilding my Tumblr from scratch.

Next Chapter here.

*****

The bite of the sun leaves as you step into the doorway of the cantina. No one bothers to look. With almost every inch of your small frame covered, you’re not interesting or intimidating enough to hold the patrons’ attention.

“You have anything from Alderaan?” Your voice is hoarse, bone-dry like the Nevarro desert you just trekked through. 

“No. Nothing from Alderaan.” The droid, a beat-up C5 unit that has seen better days, betrays no emotion at your request. 

“I can pay.” You slam credits on the table. Too many credits. Shiny credits. Heads turn.

The bartender’s metal arm pushes them back to you. “No.” You open your mouth in protest, but the droid cuts in first: “We do not carry wine from Alderaan. Not since it’s destruction in the year—”

“I get it, shiny-face.” Your scoff is muffled only by the thick fabric covering your mouth. You’re being childish but you can’t find it in yourself to care; it’s hard to care about anything after that piece-of-junk speeder decided to break down in the middle of a lava flat. You hastily gather the credits off the counter, the growing number of eyes on the back of your head sending pricks across your skin. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” The man who stands next to you at the counter has a warm voice. He’s around the same age as you, his hair laced with sun and his palms streaked with grease. A local tech, you’re guessing.

You give him a few seconds before you reply curtly: “No.”

“You new around here?” Curiosity colors his voice and you decide to humor him. It’s been too long since you’ve had an actual conversation.

You tug away the cloth obscuring your face, feeling the metal kiss of your necklace. “What’s it to you?” 

“I suspected you were pretty.” He cuts right back, smiling. A large part of you wants to cringe at his line, but you refrain. “You’re too small to be a bounty hunter.” You hate the way he says that, as if its a immutable fact. 

He’s not your type at all. Even with dirt on his hands, this man is far too clean for your tastes. For starters, there’s a simple trust written all over his face; you two might be near the same age, but he hasn’t seen the things you’ve seen. He hasn’t done the things you’ve done.

“So,” you say. “Are we going to talk all day or are you going to buy me that drink?”

*****

The Mandalorian needs a pilot. It was too close a call on the last ride, too much for him to simultaneously watch the foundling and guide the Razor Crest through a crowded debris field. Having Imps in hot pursuit never helped. 

Mando fingers the pucks tucked in his belt, counting them yet again. Five, all the highest bounties Greef Karga could offer during this stop in Nevarro. Mando didn’t want to resort to bounty hunting again, but with his credits this low and the Kid around there seemed to be no other option. It was all familiar, but meeting Karga in an office instead of the cantina was strange. Things had changed around here.

For this next run, Mando needs a pilot.

The Child doesn’t notice his father’s concern. Blissfully upbeat as always, the Child babbles as Mando cradles him in the crook of his broad arm. “I know, Kid.” The Child coos in response, unaware of how Mando’s baritone softens just for him. “I know.”

Many would argue that the cantina—though Nevarro was far more respectable now than ever before—was no place for a child. But wherever the Mandalorian went, his foundling went too.

Mando steps through the door, and every living being in the cantina turns to clock him. It’s a moment frozen in time, a snapshot of sheer awe before a ripple of fear shivers through the building. The Mandalorian hesitates before approaching the counter. The bartender is a droid. 

A sentence wouldn’t hurt. “I was told I would find a pilot here.”

The machine stares at him with its beady eyes. “Pilot?”

“A small…” Mando’s voice trails off. Karga hadn’t given him much to go on. “A pilot.”

“Oh. If you’re talking about her…” The droid returns to polishing a glass so streaked with dust that Mando doesn’t know why it bothers. “She’s out back.”

Out back? The Mandalorian looks down at the Child, who is still fussing in his arms. She? He remembers Karga’s office, where the big man had bellowed out the pilot’s description: “The best pilot on-planet right now. Small… flew for the rebellion. Been living on the fringes of the city for the last few months. Very capable, but a bit rough around the edg— you know what? You two will get along just fine.”

The Child coos again.

“I know, Kid,” Mando repeats. He lets the Child play with the tips his gloved fingers. “It won’t be long now.”

*****

“What did you want to show me?” Your voice is blurred from the drink—the drinks—the nice man had bought you. It hadn’t taken him long to invite you out back. You lean against the wall, waiting.

The man stands near you but not close enough, shoving his hands into his pockets. He’s much taller than you, but you both know who holds the power here. 

“I—” The man scratches at the back of his head, toying with his shaggy hair. “I—"

It takes all of your good will not to let out a groan of frustration. During the rebellion, everything had been urgent; people never wasted time on coyness. But the rebellion is over, you remind yourself. That’s why you were on a scummy Outer Rim planet like Nevarro in the first place. You look at the man. He’s still weighing his options as if they were some intricate life or death situation. The man takes a step forward—finally, when—

You hear it.

The echo of heavy footsteps to your side. Your face turns whip-fast on instinct. A Mandalorian of all things in the galaxy steps out the backdoor of the cantina, his shiny helmet turning towards you. His beskar armor glints silver, somehow untainted by the dust and dirt of this place. You stare up at the visor as he towers above you, the centerpiece a thin blade of black splicing his helmet in two. You wonder whether he’s there for your companion or… you.

Your companion—or whatever he’s been reduced to now—visibly quakes in the presence of the Mandalorian. The nice man steps quickly away from the both of you, his gaze ducked, only darting up to clock the long pulse rifle strapped to the Mandalorian’s back. The bounty hunter’s figure would be intimidating even without the armor; you can tell his frame is naturally tall and broad, but wearing the beskar he feels impossibly so. Unbreakable. A warrior of the ancient world.

The Mandalorian's cape billows with the next gust of wind that tunnels through the alley.

Despite yourself and all the things you’ve faced, you feel it too. The shimmer of fear. From all the stories you’ve read as a child, from the stories you still hear in rundown cantinas time and time again. You eye the blaster at the hunter’s hip. If the Mandalorian is hunting you, there would be no running.

“Can I help you?” You will your voice not to shake as you spill your question.

The Mandalorian pauses, the cold steel of his helmet completely unreadable. “I’m looking for the pilot.” His voice is deep and steady through the modulator. 

Your companion starts to stammer. “I—I can fly—”

“You’re looking for me.” You try to find the warrior’s eyes through the visor, though the experience is disorienting; the confidence in your own tone surprises you. “I’m the pilot you’re looking for.”

After a few moments, the Mandalorian seems to accept this. He takes a breath, audible through the helmet’s modulator, which crackles pleasantly in your ears. “Then let’s speak in private.”

“I’ll just—” Your companion shuffles from foot to foot. He looks up at the Mandalorian as if to say something, but his body locks again in fear before he can. The helmet tilts and turns subtly towards the gaping mouth of the alley—go—and before you know it, the other man is running, eager to scamper away. 

“It seems as if we’re in private.” You watch him leave without regret. “Do you have a ship?” You don’t want to sound too eager, but the mere thought of it—the possibility of finally getting off this planet—is dizzying.

“I do. She’s not much.”

“Whatever she is, she’ll do.” You nod. As long as it flies.

“Don’t you want to know the details?”

“Let me guess. Bounty hunter.” You push away from the wall, crossing your arms over your chest as if that’ll protect you. “Want me to pilot your ship while you go and catch the bad ones?”

The Mandalorian shifts. For the first time you notice how his arm is bent, almost like he’s shielding his satchel from your direct line of sight. The beskar helmet tilts down and back towards the tiny green being rocking in the bag. “Settle down, Kid.”

“Is that…” You shake your head. This must be a dream. “Is that a pet? Or a… baby?”

The Mandalorian doesn’t reply. Finally—slowly—he reaches into the bag, scooping the wrinkly baby up to rest on a thick forearm. “He’s part of the deal. My foundling.” You peek at the Child, only to see the edge of a large, fuzzy, green, ear. That's what was under the helmet? “I need to pick up a few bounties on the Outer Rim, and I need someone to help pilot the Crest. It won't take more than a few weeks. I’ll give you a handsome cut—”

“Done.” Credits didn’t concern you. You shake your head again. “Wait. Can I… Can I see him?”

There is complete stillness. Finally, the bounty hunter nods. And then, because you don’t move, he steps closer for you to see the baby. “This is the Child.”

The Child is adorable. Every maternal instinct you’ve jammed down deep inside of you flares back into existence at the sight of him, his big black eyes and large floppy ears almost compelling a girlish “aw” to slip from your mouth—almost. You swallow the sound, urging yourself to adopt the Mandalorian’s speech patterns, his dryness and brevity. “I see.” The Child reaches for you and you step back, your heart racing as you notice the Mandalorian’s helmet tilting down again, this time to study your expression. The bottom of your stomach feels like a Bespin Fizz. If the stories are true, then why does this Mandalorian cradle a Child tenderly?

“Let’s meet when the sun rises tomorrow.” The Mandalorian's low voice nudges you out of your stupor. “You’ll know the ship when you see it. Pre-Empire. Pack light.” The bounty hunter turns and leaves, the large rifle still strapped across his back. His cape swirls behind him, his stride sure and steady as he moves further away.

“Wait!” You call out before it’s too late. “I don’t even know your name.”

He hesitates only for a second before walking on, not even gracing you with a reply. You cross your arms again, displeased. Not even a name. It occurs to you that he hasn’t asked for yours either. So that’s how it’s going to be… As you watch him leave, all you can think about is the stars, the streaks of light painted across the darkness as you make the jump to hyperspace.

*****

A/N: Apologies for disappearing so abruptly last year; I deleted my accounts because unfortunately people were trying to breach my privacy. As much as it pained me to peace out the last time, there is no world where I will tolerate that. 

I have a deep love for Star Wars, and DUST is purely a hobby for me! As many of you know, I write for a living and have a career, so all I ask is for readers to respect my privacy; writing DUST has let me explore in a way that reinvigorates me, and so even when I left, I kept writing. I’ve had quite a few people message me during my time away, all offering support and some even offering money! I’m flattered, but as always, if you like reading DUST, I will not be taking donations: I do, however, love comments and hearing about your reading experience. Even if there’s one person out there loving this story, it’s nice to hear that the sexy space western part of my imagination is appreciated.

Updates will be at my leisure this time around, which means that they’ll come a lot slower than they did in the past. DUST has been completed, which means you will have 100% of it by the time its over! There will be significant changes that I made from the previous version. Thank you to everyone who’s reading.

[holdin-out-for-a-hero]

Vertigo- Spike Spiegel X F! Reader

Warnings: none

Words: just under 2k

A/N: this might become a small series of one-shots. I’m calling it the Couch Chronicles. They won’t be written in order, I’ll make the order later.

You hadn't left that stupid yellow couch all day. Well, besides to piss a couple times and get a cup of water. Even then, it was a struggle to keep balanced as the world was spinning around you. It was hard to pick things up, hard to walk in a straight line, hard to even think.

Somehow, no one on the bebop had noticed. The did notice you curled up under a blanket on the couch, but they didn't notice the smeared mascara under your eyes or the quiet sobs that you muffled into the pillow.

It was terrifying, not being able to even open your eyes without getting nauseous, let alone stand up from the couch. Even taking a piss was a difficult task. You'd hold it as long as you could until you were about to burst, then make your way through the spinning ship to the bathroom, white knuckles holding onto the seat for fear life.

You had gotten vertigo a few times in your life, but it never lasted this long and it was never this intense. And to be truthful, you were scared shitless. What if it didn't go away? What if you got hurt the next time you went to the toilet? What if this was a symptom of something much worse? Another tear fell down your cheek, you squeezed your eyes shut in an attempt to stop the nausea. The effort was futile, your nausea was here to stay. It did help a little with the dizziness though, and you were grateful for the relief.

Spike stared at your curled up form on the couch, your blanket covered your entire body and then some. You had been on that couch all day, his couch. And all he wanted to do was lean back on the yellow sofa and have a cigarette. It was getting late, and you were still on his couch.

Were you on your period? He thought, or did you lose a bounty? Or did your heart get broken by another idiot? Whatever the reason, he didn't care. He was getting his couch back.

"Y/N," he whispered, shaking your shoulder gently. Another wave of dizziness hit you. Damnit, Spike.

"Y/N," he whispered again. Was he worried about you? Did someone finally notice your dying body?

"What?" You asked, not turning to meet his face. You didn't want him to see you like this.

"Hey, uh," he started, "I noticed you've been on the couch all day..."

So he did notice, you thought. He was worried, he did care.

"Mind if I have it back?"

You let out a huff. That asshole.

"Fuck you," you whispered, curling even further into a ball.

"Y/N, I'm serious, I want my couch back," he said, placing a hand on your shoulder, trying you turn you over. You resisted.

"Too bad."

He stared at your blanket-clad form for a moment more.

"Move," he said, ripping the blanket off of you.

"No," You covered your face, curling up into an even tighter ball.

"I'm serious, move!"

"I can't!" You shouted, finally turning to face him, your red, glossy, mascara-stained eyes on full display.

His face dropped when he saw you, frozen for a moment as he looked at the gray tear-tracks that slid down your cheeks.

"What do you mean you can't?" He asked gently.

"I'm so fucking dizzy I can't stand up," you said, your pitiful voice a quiet sob.

He really felt like an asshole now.

"Have you felt like this all day?" He asked, getting down on his knees to your level.

You just nodded, tears welling up in your eyes for your 15th crying session of the day.

"Why the hell didn't you tell anybody?" He huffed, voice half a whisper. Though he sounded annoyed, you could hear the worry in his tone.

"Cause I'm too prideful," you joked, though it wasn't too far from the truth.

"Damnit, you're starting to sound like me," he smiled. That damn smile....

"It's getting late," he started, "Why don't we get you back to your room? I bet your bed is a lot comfier than this hunk of junk." His hand came to slap the couch cushion just below your feet.

"You'll help me?" You asked.

"Yeah, I'll help you."

He gently picked you up from the couch, his arms supporting your back and knees. The motion, although gentle, threw you off balance again. You clung to his neck, eyes shut tightly and face buried into his shoulder, as if the spinning would would swallow you up if you didn't hold on tight enough.

"Relax, I'm not gonna drop you," he said, arms pulling you closer to his chest.

He made his way towards your room, noticing how your grip on his suit got tighter the faster he walked, and slowing down as much as he could without reaching a snail's pace.

"You're doing all this for that damn couch," you whispered into his shoulder. He chuckled.

"I'm not doing this for the couch," he said, voice low and husky. You felt your stomach flip. As much as you wanted to blame it on the vertigo, you knew it wasn't the vertigo. You pouted into his shoulder. Damn, you were down bad for him.

He reached your room and opened the pod door, taking a gentle step over the raised threshold, and then another. He then approached your bed. As he got the the foot of the small twin sized mattress, a loud growl interrupted the silence. Your face burned with embarrassment; it was your stomach.

Spike chuckled at the sound.

"You hungry?" He asked. You didn't even have time to answer before he responded, "I'll get you something."

"No," you said as he placed you down on your bed.

"No?" he questioned, "Why not?"

" 'm too nauseous to eat."

His brow furrowed as he

"Have you eaten at all today?"

"No."

He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh.

"You've got to eat. How do you know that's not making it worse?" He didn't give you time to answer before turning on his heels to leave, "I'm gonna find you something to eat, maybe see if Jet has any remedies. I don't think you'd like any of mine."

————

Spike scoured through the fridge and pantry, looking for anything you wouldn't throw up. He had found a package of crackers, they were on the counter as he looked for anything else that might work. Something more substantial, perhaps. Something with nutritional value.

"Whatcha lookin' for?" Jet's low growl of a voice made spike jump.

"Jeez, Jet, give a warning next time!" Spike said, looking up at his friend for a moment before going back to his task, "You got anything good for nausea? Everything in here's so greasy."

"We got crackers, but I guess you found those already,” Jet motioned to the package on the counter, "Thats about it."

"Damn," Spike sighed, closing the fridge door.

"Poor Spike got a tummy ache?" Jet joked, slapping a hand onto Spike's shoulder.

"Y/N's got vertigo. She hasn't eaten all day and she doesn't want to because she's nauseous."

"Is that why she was laying on the couch all day?"

Spike nodded.

"Damn, I feel like an asshole for not checking up on her," Jet muttered.

"Tell me about it," Spike sighed, "I tried kicking her off the couch, that's how I found out."

"You really are an asshole..."

"Hey!"

A beat of silence passed through the small kitchen as Spike filled a glass with water.

"Should could've told one of us, we would've helped her," Jet spoke, Just as he did so, Faye walked down the hall and past the kitchen. "Well, some of us would've helped her."

"I don't think she's used to getting help, let alone asking for any."

"It's a real shame..." Jet trailed off, "I think I have something for nausea, bought it after you tried to feed me a lizard last time I was sick. I'll go find it.”

"Good, just bring it to her room," Spike said, picking up the crackers and glass of water before leaving the kitchen.

————

Spike and Jet had managed to get you to eat, and the medicine Jet brought had really helped with your nausea. The spinning, on the other hand, didn't get any better. But then again, you didn't expect that from an anti nausea medication.

Jet had left a little while ago, leaving you and spike alone. He had talked about everything and nothing in order to distract you from the spinning, but it was getting late, and he was running out of things to say.

"Well, I think I'm gonna head to bed," Spike yawned, standing up from the chair and turning towards the door.

You caught his wrist before he could take a step.

"Please, don't leave," you whispered. He turned to you, his eyes meeting your glassy ones and he froze. You still looked so pitiful, so afraid. He had never seen you this afraid before. Shit, you've fought violent battles and faced certain death, but dizziness of all things you were afraid of. Spike thought of himself a strong- willed man, but he couldn't refuse that pitiful stare.

"Alright," he sighed, slipping off his shoes and shaking off his coat, "Move over."

You did as he said, the small motion disorienting you for a moment. Oh, the things you do for that man.

Spike pulled off his tie and loosened the top buttons of his shirt before pulling himself under the covers next to you.

You weren't expecting what he did next, though.

He gently pulled your body on top of his own, arms coming to wrap around your torso as he tucked your face into his neck.

"It's gonna go away, I know it will," he reassured, running his hand through your hair, "I'm willing to bet that it'll be gone by tomorrow morning, let's say.... 20,000 woolong?"

"Hell no," you said, he chuckled. The sound and gentle reverberation of his chest sent butterflies through your stomach.

A few moments passed in silence, Spike running his fingers though your hair and you listening to his gentle breathing. This was nice, you thought. Something you wished would happen for a while now. You wished the circumstances were different though, cause even though Spike's presence and affection was comforting, the worry that your vertigo would never go away still lingered in the back of your mind.

"Y'know," you started, voice soft, "I' ve had this happen to me a few times before. But it's never lasted this long or been this intense."

"It's gonna go away, I promise. Everything's gonna be fine," he reassured, holding you closer, "Try and sleep, I'm sure that'll help."

"Spike?" You asked quietly.

"Yeah, doll face?"

"Thank you, for everything."

"Don't mention it, just try and sleep, 'kay?"

"Ok," you mumbled, nuzzling closer into his neck. And soon enough, the warmth of his body combined with his steady breaths and the comforting arms wrapped around you had lulled you into a half-asleep state.

Your eyes closed and your breathing slowed, something Spike took notice of.

A familiar feeling tugged on his heart as he stared down at you. Over the past few months he had fallen hard for you, and as much as he wanted to ignore it, he couldn't anymore. The feeling never went away; it only grew.

The last time he had been in love, it only brought him pain. But somehow, he knew this time would be different.

He stared down at you for a moment more before placing a chaste kiss on the top of your head. Then, he closed his own eyes, sure that you hadn't been awake to feel the kiss. But you felt it, you definitely felt it.