#and we all chant 'BODY HORROR BODY HORROR BODY HORROR-' I AM LOVING THE DETAIL IN THIS PAGE

[kayatoastkkat]

chat we are COOKED WE ARE COOKED GRILLED BARBEQUED STEAMED BOILED SLICED OPEN ROASTED SLOW COOKED IN EVERY WAY POSSIBLE JEKYLL IS NOT GONNA MANSPLAIN MANIPULATE MANWHORE HIS WAY OUT OF THIS ONE.

I think it's sensible for Jekyll to start planning a funeral for two after this 😔😔…

[werezmastarbucks]

columbus

honeymoon masterlist

word count: 2608

music: little death by +44, violence violence violence by tuff turf, inspiration by red 7

Every day he asked, what do you wanna do today?

After you finally allowed to leave the little, boring, flat island, Kai was so greatful he was down almost to anything. It was also the time when your chaotic, time wasting, unpredictable movements across the surface of the earth started dying down and turning into something more systematic. Although all the places you visited up to that moment were somehow connected with searching for a way out, once you started giving up you suddenly had a plan.

Not for breaking out fo the prison though.

The day (you still felt weird thinking it: the day. Every day was the same day. It was all today. It was all Kai’s birthday) you realized there was nothing much more you could do actively you had one of those moments when your brain suddenly feels like it has had enough. Like in the old times, when you were a teenager and had regular panic attacks after the Katherine accident. Not that you needed a specific reason to justify breaking here and there, with the style of life you were leading.

It happened when you were high, in a literal meaning. On the top of the bridge, where you two climbed up to watch the sun go down. Dublin was a city with lots of low roofs, incredibly cute; neat streets drowning in flowers, and all. Standing there, as you realized the panic is climbing at your throat, there was one question in your head: so, we’re staying here?

Although it’s nice, and everything is so easy, and traveling is quick, we’re staying here?

Although he is good, and he likes me, and I start trusting him, and he clearly tries to be nice, we’re staying here?

Although deep down inside I am starting to think this was exactly what I needed, in a twisted way, to get my head straight, to have an opportunity to dig something up in Kai, we’re staying here for good? Because you didn’t know if you could handle this. You had no idea how he handled this. It wasn’t about the general horror of being completely alone without seeing birds. It was looking at the empty sky and feeling the incredible weight of it, all on top of the head. It was the sound of the wind flying across the land uninterrupted, the quiet of the night undisturbed. It was more than you could describe. It was almost like drowning in space.

Kai had to get you down using magic, and you didn’t have enough breath to tell him not to waste it. Saving magic was a kind of a ritual as well, something that kept you on your feet because it gave you hope for once we get out.

You screamed into the face of green late spring lawn under the violet sky. Kai stood by, watching you without pity in his eyes for he never seemed to exhibit much compassion for you; he showed his presence in a different way. It actually helped; you never felt better if someone held you as you broke down. He then tried to console you, standing shoulder by shoulder, and pointing at the sky,

“Consider this. Nothing like that back in Maldives, right?”

The colors changed and drifted across the sky because here, in Ohio, there were clouds.

You sniffed busily.

“You like being home, don’t you?”

Kai nodded.

“Yeah. I feel connected. You know?”

“Did you feel as connected in the future?”

He shrugged.

“There’s been too much commotion. And before that, none at all. I exist in the past. I exist in the future. I stopped feeling time, you know? I’m a time lord”, he concluded, satisfied, and his eye glinted at you. You chuckled, and the chuckle turned into a deep sigh full of sweet evening air.

“We’re not going back, are we?” you asked weakly. Kai looked at you almost flabbergasted.

“We are. One day. Maybe even today”.

You smiled, tiredly.

“You’re giving up now? Hey, you think I wanna be here? I’ll think of something, don’t be upset”.

That was about the most warm words he uttered to you in the whole time. You felt there’d be more to come.

Truth was, you really started believing he was now better off than before.

“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?”

Once you got relieved from the permanent worry about the time wasting, about finding the loopholes you haven’t thought of, you finally could just... enjoy.

You looked at him and wondered if he knew everything there was to know. Whether he looked like a guy who could skateboard. He certainly did to you, but hey, the beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

“Can you teach me how to skateboard?”

His brows went up.

“I’m sorry. You can’t skateboard?”

“Nope”.

“You made me listen to your five hundred sixty one song playlist named ‘skate pop punk’“, he reminded you.

“Yeah, I compiled it out of sad nostalgia for the times I missed on, while I, you know, was preoccupied with vampires swarming my town”.

“I can’t believe I have an eye for you, and you can’t skate. You know you’re in ‘94, right?”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking”.

“Jesus”.

“Come on now”, you chanted, your voice a little hoarse, “you spent eighteen years here with all the time on your hands and haven’t learnt to swim”.

“That’s because water is scary”.

“So is the asphalt hitting you in the face”.

Kai clicked his tongue.

“Okay, I’m on it. But for that, we have to go to Columbus”.

“Of course we do”, you nodded, having no idea why Columbus. You loved the city, though, so you had no objections.

You asked yourself, if he has been pretending with the Mystic Falls people, too. He kept on going about how you, in his mind, for sure, hid your feelings for him, wanting to expose you for your hypocrisy. But this place had its effect on him, too. He clang on you. He was different. He was more than tolerable. He made you laugh and he cared about what you thought about his cooking. You wondered if he realized he’d been pretending, too.

Kai never missed a chance to place his hands on your waist. Pushing you in the back, he was enjoyin the role of the teacher, but he was trying to grow into it even more. It seemed he was missing role playing, the social kind to which all the adults are subjected, like mad.

Two minutes after you asked him, as you hopped into the car (family Toyota of mediocre grey color), excited, he started talking about every little detail there was to skating. Turned out, he knew absolutely everything about it. Every last trick had been rehearsed by him a thousand times, and though he wasn’t a natural born athlete, he demonstrated pretty damn good knowledge of all the physical aspects. He talked, and talked, and talked, about which board to choose, and the kind of sneakers you’re going to need, and what street will be the best, and the time for practice, and the way he’ll teach you, and no matter how many times you turned up the music, he wouldn’t take a hint.

Not that you ever grew annoyed with him more than, like, 6 out of 10. It seemed you clicked just fine.

“Put your foot here”, he muttered, pushing your heel a little onto the board. You nearly fell over, leaning back on him and feeling his firm hold having your back.

“That’s the trickiest part. How am I supposed to...” falling backwards and colliding with him, you let the board shoot away from under you, and you two watched it roll a little forwards, “keep it under me if it has wheels?”

“Please, stop talking”, Parker moaned.

“Whatever happened to me ending on your dick sooner or later”, you grumbled, going to pick it up. Kai chuckled,

“It’s still on. Who knew fooling around with you would be just as fun”.

How does one love?

You observed him, stunned a little, and his impatiently outstretched hand. He rarely let you fall, but you managed anyway. Your left elbow was burning, and your knee was bleeding a little, blood forming a beautiful snowflake-like (his words) stain in the big hole cut through your jeans. People are only supposed to skate in torn pants, or in shorts, Kai hammered in a very important, responsible voice. You didn’t ask any questions. It was lore, and that was it. Skateboarding lore, like bird swimming.

“Not to lose it, you have to lean forwards, and shift your weight forward, too, a little”, he suggested.

“Here’s the question”, you held your elbow and tried to get a proper look at it, “if we heal, and nothing changes, if our organisms are stuck in this twenty-four hours circle, does the muscular memory still apply?”

“Oh, it does”.

“So, it’s me being terrible at skating”.

“Yeah. If you think of it, the people”, he spat that word like it was poison, “standing behind the whole prison world speck of spells haven’t thought it out too well. Like, your body doesn’t change. It makes very little sense to me”.

“Well, they wanted you to be here forever, without letting you die”.

“You come back at different time after you die”, he said, as if he hasn’t heard you, “every time. It seems like it depends on the way you die. I can’t grow a beard, but you can still learn how to do a cart wheel, because your body doesn’t lose the habit of automatical movements. Same with the brain”.

“Yeah, sounds like hell for a perfectionist”, you concluded, fidgeting with the board. There was connection between Malachai Parker loving it the most in America, of all places, and the fact he looked like he was born on this street. There were friendly looking family houses left and right, standing above smooth ground.

You liked it the most when he pushed you in the back, running beside you, and you tried to balance as you shot along the street. The wind in your hair, and the harsh sound of the polyurethane wheels on the road, and you screaming as the turn manifested itself. Kai didn’t notice the remains of a hole in the asphalt that’s been filled with cement. The little bump stood out like a tiny turtle, and, as one of the wheels stumbled upon it, the board jumped away from you. You felt the muscles of his arms tense as Kai tried to lift you up above the earth, but he was running too, and the acceleration did not let either of you stop in time.

You both leaped through the air about a meter, before crashing onto the sand ground. Kai nearly hit his head on the pole of the road sign indicating kids running somewhere around.

Groaning and ouching, you crawled out from underneath him and lay on your back. You panted and laughed, hissing with pain. It felt like you rubbed your tigh really hard against the curb, and it felt red.

“Once again”, you said.

“You’re pretty much hopeless”, Kai replied, without malice.

“More encouragement, please”.

“You’re pretty! Hopeless. By the way, I just got it. You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about why I jumped after you there in Koureménos. And realized you jumped with me the same way, right? You knew you were going down, and jumped anyway”.

You recalled Damon’s eyes for a second. Something you tried not to think about too much.

Truth was, you really thought he would stop. You didn’t expect Damon to send you away, too. You thought you’d be a wall between him and Kai.

The board shuffled on the ground and stopped there somewhere. All fell quiet.

“We both did a stupid thing, and it felt right”, he mused slowly, as if he was surprised his own mouth was saying it. You pulled yourself half way up, balanced yourself on one elbow (the unharmed one) and leaned over his face, kissing him.

You stayed in Columbus for a while, until you could finally master the skateboard. The board you chose, by the way, was very cool. It had a green a purple zombie face gritting its rotting teeth, and its faded pale yellowish eyes on a roll out. You kept it close to the door of the bedroom, zombie face to bed so that you could look at it. You really liked the design.

The bed heaved under Kai’s weight as he rolled on his back. You were listening to music, waiting for midnight. You never went to sleep before twelve o’clock, when the new today began, because it distorted sleep anyway. As your bodies returned back to default, it always woke you up.

“It makes no sense”, he complained. “It sounds just like the old ones”.

“That’s the point of the whole genre of the retrowave”, you sighed. In the twilight, with no street lights on (you personally broke half of them, practicing your aim with the stones), the zombie head seemed more vicious than it really was.

“Why not just listen to synth wave then?”

“Because the quality is different, and the melodies are still different. It’s fake retro. It reminds me of my youth”.

“You know what reminds me of my youth?” he said crossly, “listening to actually old music. I don’t understand this”.

You found his hair, getting your fingers in it and squeezing lightly. It calmed him down at once, all the time.

“You exist outside the time, you have no youth”, you reminded him.

“Right”, Kai was almost dozing off. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

“You know what I was thinking?”

It was hard to keep your eyes open against the darkness of the room in this cute family house, on the Washington Street in Columbus, when Kai breathed right into your ear, nesting his face against the side of yours to distract you from his hand sliding down your belly.

He hummed. You had to catch his wrist to stop him from getting into your pants. Not to this song.

“We need to survive a zombie apocalypse. Shaun here gave me an idea”.

The skateboard zombie’s name was Shaun.

“Oh, that would be so cool!” Kai woke up at once. Your pants and what’s inside of them was forgotten. His eyes glowed in the dark like he was about to lash out on you with rage no less than a brain eater himself.

“We could get a really heavy car, and put up mannequins everywhere in the city, and shoot them”, you said. “We will get post-apocalyptic clothes and make a den somewhere in a high-high building that looks like a tower, and live without electricity. I’ll read you Stephen King at nights. You can reinvent radio”.

“Maybe I’ll bite your arm off”, he whispered, already jumping away into the fantasy, “and you’ll have to mercy shoot me until I turn into a complete animal”.

He crashed back onto bed and stared into the ceiling.

“If you bite my arm off, don’t you think you’re already too far gone? May as well eat me whole then. I don’t wanna go around without an arm”.

“Fair enough”.

You both sighed, thinking.

“But what place looks like it’s been ravaged by zombies?”

“Something like Escape from L.A., but not LA”, he muttered.

“Some city that has a lot of industrial districts and factories...”

Another pause, and then you looked at each other and shrieked at the same time,

“Boston!”

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

for the one word prompt— butterflies

Title: through murky waters and twisted paths

Summary: Only fools with a death wish enter the Forgotten Forest. Everyone knows trickster spirits lived there that would love nothing more than to make a quick meal or gain amusement out of a human. Virgil knows all the stories–he’s told them to the village children himself. None of that matters to him any longer.

Pairings: platonic intruxiety

Word-Count: 1.5k

Warnings: G/T, morally grey Remus, fantasy racism, body horror, ostracization, self-hatred & deprecation, suicidal ideations, hunger, death mention, blood mention, non-graphic references to violence, angst with a happy ending

hi I spent way more research on this fic than intended. I also forgot about this for like two months, opps. pls enjoy :)

-

As the sun sinks low into its’ grave Virgil ventures deeper into the Forgotten Forest, where the trees grow as tall as giants and the moss grows thick. Spirits live in the forest. Trickster spirits, ones that view humans as nothing more than amusement or an easy meal. He’s heard all the stories, he’s told them to the village children himself. None of that matters now.

(First came the cravings. He devoured everything in sight–his stomach never satisfied. At night he’d clutch his stomach as it growled. Always growling, wanting more, more, more)

With each step, he fights against the fear building with each heartbeat. It is quiet in the woods. Too quiet. Where are the bustling of the squirrels and chirping of the birds? Have they been eaten? Will that be his fate as well? As if to answer him, the earth trembles beneath his feet. Virgil stumbles, grasping a tree trunk for support. A choked cry escapes his lips.

(Then, as quickly as the cravings came, they stopped. He had little time to ponder this as exhaustion seeped into his bones. Sleep, he needed sleep. He pulled a blanket over his head, enclosing himself into a husk of darkness.)

“Whoa! You okay, little fella?”

Virgil’s breath seizes. The voice. It’s big and booming like thunder during a fierce storm. Quivering, he tilts his head up, up, up to a figure as tall as the trees themselves. A figure with pale-green skin and dressed in earthy colors. A crown of leaves rests atop their head. A spirit–a giant to be exact.

Virgil tries screaming. All that comes out is a pitiful squeaky click of his teeth.

(He awoke thrashing, constrained in an impossibly tight space. His first immediate thought was that he’d been buried alive. He needed to break out of the coffin. Out, out, out! He scratched and clawed to no avail. Fluid oozed out of him–blood? It had to be blood.)

“Whoa! Aggressive, I like it! Hiya, my name’s Remus, what’s yours?” The giant crouches down, his movements shaking the forest floor. Virgil barely manages to keep a hold on the tree trunk.

“V-virgil.” He tells the giant. He really shouldn’t give his name away just like that. Everybody knows you don’t give spirits that type of power. But he can hardly bring himself to care. 

“Virgil? Ooh what a juicy name,” Remus smacks his lips, “You know I could totally squash you with one finger!”

“Do it.”

“What?” The giant blinks, mouth agape. 

“Did I stutter?” Virgil asks, jaw clenching, “Do it–kill me, put me out my misery. I’m a monstrosity–I shouldn’t exist anyways.”

(His coffin cracked open. Except dirt didn’t come pouring in–sunlight did. He clung to the edge of it and froze. Something was wrong. His breathing–he couldn’t breathe! At least not in the way he was most intimately familiar with. Oxygen seeped through passageways. Not his nose or mouth but elsewhere. He looked down at not one, but two pairs of hands. He screamed. His skin no longer a pale complexion but an unnatural shade of purple. A pair of hands frantically clutched his face. He felt two normal ears, two normal eyes and two long strands of…hair?)

The giant’s grin vanishes as anger seeps onto his very large face. Virgil shudders, his instincts urging him to flee. He can feel air rushing behind him, his feet leaving the forest ground. Nothing happens because the giant snatches him up faster than he can blink. 

(It wasn’t hair. It twitched out of its own volition, smelling his very sweaty palms. With a shriek, he leapt backwards as the spot between his shoulder blades burned. Two brightly-colored appendages flare out from the corner of his eye–surely something horrid like another set of arms. He kept scrambling backwards, as if he could run away from himself. He never stood a chance against that rock. His foot caught the edge of it and Virgil went tumbling down.)

“Hey! Who says you shouldn’t exist?” Remus demands, lips curling backwards to reveal sharp teeth. He holds Virgil in a grip much looser than he expects. It still doesn’t stop Virgil’s heart rate from accelerating.

“I–I do.”

 “Well, I’ll mash up their insides and feed it to the–wait, you do?” Remus blinks, “why?” 

(He woke up to voices. Angry voices. Voices that once familiar and warm now bent with vitriol and disgust. Voices of people he’d called friends and neighbors. Voices of people that called him a demon and a monster. Voices that welcomed him in, gave him food and a honest living. Voices that drove him out, casting charms and wards against him.)

“Just–just look at me!” Virgil says, swallowing nervously, “I’m a demon, I’ll–I’ll possess your soul if you don’t kill me.”

“A demon?” Remus asks, before bellowing with laughter, “I’ve seen plenty of demons before. Best friends with one, lemme tell ya. I know them when I see ‘em and you ain’t a demon.”

“Then…what do you think I am?” 

(He found himself on the edge of the Forgotten Woods. Forgotten because it was so ancient. Forgotten because it was best to forget about it. Long before he was born, spirits took hold of the forest. Killing or thralling any humans who dared enter their domain. But he wasn’t quite human now, was he?)

Remus doesn’t directly answer Virgil. He summons something with his other hand. An oval-shaped object, with wooden trim and vines growing around it. A mirror. One that looms enormous over Virgil, but scaled to the giant is a hand-mirror. Remus’ grip on Virgil releases, causing him to fall back onto the giant’s  palm. Virgil’s teeth click again as he stands on shaky legs. His eyes trail upwards, into the face of his reflection.

(Black horns. Glowing eyes. A long forked tongue. These were the details he could make out in the murky puddle he came across)

Black antennas poking out of plum-colored locks. Watery, lilac-tinged spotted eyes. A thin long curled tongue between fangs. Violet skin smooth and hardened. Four arms entangle together in a tight embrace. His shoulder blades twinges as slightly crumpled wings emerge from behind his back. Dark velvet wings reminiscent of butterflies.

“See!” Remus asks, almost bouncing in place, “You’re a bruise-colored nightmare of a changeling! Why shouldn’t you exist?”

“Changeling?” 

“Yeah changeling–” Remus’ eyes widen, “Ooohhh. You didn’t know, did ya? What was it like? The hunger, I mean? What weird shit did you eat to satiate it? Or the chrysalis! Did you retain any memory inside of it while you turned into a gooey liquid? I bet it was cool–”

“I can’t be a changeling,” Virgil interrupts, a hand gripping at his hair, “I wasn’t super smart, or–or sickly. I was–”

“–a child,” Remus says, his voice suddenly calm and serious, “just a child no different than a human’s young no matter what those hypocritical bastards believe.”

(A few months ago he stood in the middle of the village, Mable’s and Urtha’s children swarming him. ‘Please Virgil,’ they chanted, ‘one more story! One more story!’ ‘Alright,’ he said laughing, ‘alright but just one more okay? I got work to do.

‘One day a mother checked on her child’s crib and cried out in anguish. For her child sported a beard and had long thin teeth. Sharp and spindly, good at tearing through flesh. The child’s grey eyes held a spark too wise. Its head was too small, disproportionate from its body. For it was not her child in the crib. It was a changeling.’)

“I don’t want this, please.” Virgil begs, slumping his head downwards.

The giant’s eyes, more than twice the size of him, regard him. With a flick, the mirror disappears. He reaches out with his other hand. Virgil tenses, waiting for the spirit to crush him. A single finger raises his chin up gently.

“I won’t kill you,” Remus says and with it Virgil’s heart plummets, “I mean, killing is fun. But this wouldn’t be fun for me or you, I promise. Ya know what’d be fun?”

“What?” Virgil asks. He wonders if he’s about to become Remus’ servant. Or worse, a plaything. Something for the giant to screw around with until he played too rough. There’s nothing Virgil could do to stop him. He’s too small to fight back even if he wanted to. 

“If we became friends.”

“Friends? What? Why?!”

“Why not?” The giant grins crookedly, “does there have to be a reason?”

“…I guess not.”

“Sooo?”

“Okay, fine, it’s whatever.” Virgil concedes, body drooping with exhaustion. He hasn’t eaten since he woke up changed and disoriented. He yelps, a jolt of adrenaline pumping through his veins as the giant presses him against his chest in a hug of some sort.

“Great! You won’t regret this!” 

“I think I do.”

“That’s the spirit!” Remus cheers, oddly unfazed as he still holds Virgil close to his chest, “now woulda like to meet my demon friend? Half his face is a snake!”

“Sure,” Virgil yawns. He can’t help it–Remus is warm and for the moment, doesn’t seem interested in maiming him. He falls asleep to the rhythmic stomps of Remus as he traverses through the woods, rambling all the way.

[shantalangel]

Stories written on the wall of one of the rooms in the game Armikrog.

It's about everything happened before the game, P's parents life, how they met and how she appeared.

Reading sequence:

The Blank Miner. Part 1

The Blank Miner. Part 2

Tools, Weapons, Food, Plants, Medicine, Magic and Pets

A Meeting in the Woods

Punishment and Crime. Part 1

Punishment and Crime. Part 2

Punishment and Crime. Part 3

Desperation

The Blank Miner. Part 1

For seven years I did not see Meva, though I heard her name in passing. I did not love her, because I did not know her by name, but I loved her presence in the universe, her person. Even if she knew me, she could not love me, for I was unlovable. Back in the mine, she was spared the worst of me. Though Meva would come to be the focus of my desire, my attraction to her could not be expressed by the brute that I was. I was but a few steps up from an animal, yet my desire for her was beyond anything else I knew or loved. It was worship.

I was raised in a Blank Mine. Blanks are slices of rock, which are held to the forehead so a thought can self-scribe onto the surface. When a blank has been scribed it is called a Thought Rock. Some are more valuable than others. Thoughts usually come with greater meaning when they are scribed on a blank.

The laws of our civilization are inscribed upon a series of blanks. The best Thought Rocks are displayed in museums and studied. Whole libraries full of Thought Rocks are preserved and handed down, for future generations to enjoy. In threat of war, Thought Rocks are moved underground, or protected by armies.

While Thought Rocks are important, mere blanks are considered mundane. They are inexpensive to mine, in part because the labor to mine them is cheap. It is the task of the lower class to dig them out of the ground. Because I have no honorable blood in my line, I was given no education, and no other option for work, I was destined to be a Blank Miner. I am Tzurk.

The foreman of the Blank Mine was a broad shouldered, ambitious, loud man named Jockson Reckson. It was he who told us where to dig, and for how long. His favorite miners were given Top Level duty. I was not his favorite, but my productivity was of importance to him. Top Level duty meant we were digging at the highest level of the mine, and usually got to see light at least four times a day, when the haul of blanks were taken to the surface. And we got to sleep above ground in tents, while crews from other levels had to sleep in the mines.

I had worked my way up from the lowest levels of duty to finally gain a place among the Top Level. Jockson Reckson liked having me there because the yield increased when I joined, and he could trust me even when he wasn’t watching.

This is when I first saw Meva.

Jockson Reckson was far braver than I, and his blood superior to mine. He came from an intimidating level of education and power, so of course she would willingly be his. Every day he would come to work and speak of the beautiful Meva. At first I was disinterested. But the more he talked of her, the more my interest grew. Still, I had not yet seen her.

Then one day, when I was near his office alone and unwatched, I decided I would sneak a look at the Thought Rock with her image that Jocksen said was upon his desk. I remember the day well, for it was the pivot on which the rest of my life turned. It was the moment I discovered love.

The office was dusty and cluttered with piles of Thought Rocks. Natural light streamed in through a single hole in the ceiling, a perk of being a foreman of this mine. And bathed in that light was the Thought Rock with Meva's face inscribed upon it.

I was like a creature waking from hibernation. I stood stunned, unable to move. Her beauty was beyond anything I could ever have thought. I would have gladly given a thousand days in the surface light to meet her face to face. Her features were wondrous. I studied every detail.

Approaching footsteps interrupted my trance. I put the slate back on the desk and pressed my back against the wall behind a stack of Thought Rocks. Jockson Reckson entered, walking right past me. He went to a stack of Thought Rocks at the back of the office and began searching through them. In his moment of distraction, I fled unnoticed.

Borox, my tent mate, always slept with his eyes open, so it seemed like he was staring at me. This disturbed me, but that night I didn't even notice.

They say that working in the Blank Mines puts blank particles into your body. Some say blank particles soak into the skin via pores. That would explain a lot, because Meva’s face was inscribed into my mind as if my brain was a blank, and the image of her has not faded since.

The next morning, we were back to mining on Top Level duty, but I could not concentrate on carving blanks from the rock walls. My heart was still on that image of Meva. In a moment of passion I threw down my tool and leaned against the wall of the mine. I told myself to stop thinking of her. After all, I did not know her, and she would never know a thing like me!

At that moment, the image of Meva etched itself into the mine wall before me! I looked to either side, terrified that a fellow miner had seen it. But my crew was working a little further down the shaft, and no one was looking my way. Quickly, I cut the image of Meva from the rock and tucked it into my pocket. But I was not to be so lucky. Another image of Meva inscribed itself into the blank cave wall, but this time it was eight heads tall! There was no way I could hide it!

To my horror, images of Meva scrawled all over the walls and ceiling of the cave. The members of my crew cried out in shock when images of Meva appeared in front of them. I was terrified of what Jocksen Reckson would do to me. But the sheer number of images saved me. It was impossible to tell who was responsible because they were everywhere, even in front of Jocksen Reckson! I regained my head and feigned ignorance. "What's going on?" I asked.

Jockson Reckson threw his stool in rage. Not only was one of us obviously thinking of his gal, but of the day's yield of blank rocks was ruined. "Who did this?" He screamed. All eyes went down. No one spoke. He repeated the question. Again, there was no response. I feared him too much to tell the truth. In a fit of jealous rage, Jockson Reckson switched the entire Top Crew with the lowest crew in the mine, The Ditch Mongers! Ditch Mongers saw the light of day once a month, at best. They slept in the mine in sleeping bags, because the eight-mile walk to the surface would take up too much of the workday. We had nothing but old dirty sleeping bags to warm us in those dank caves.

It was on the first night in the deep caves, while I lay in my sleeping bag, that I discovered the Thought Rock of Meva I had tucked into my pocket. I had forgotten it. But now, it warmed me in a way that the light of day could not.

And now, more than ever, I wanted to see her, face to face.

The Ditch Mongers

We worked by lamp light in the lowest of the Blank Mines, our eyes strained to adjust to the pitch black. My crew numbered just over twenty, but I was closest to Borox. Not that we had anything in common. He was of noble blood, caught beating a servant and sent to prison for a year. Upon release, his father arranged for him to work with the Top Level crew, to develop his character before going back into surface society. The only thing it gave Borox was new victims.

Borox had a nose for finding weakness in others, and exploiting it to his advantage. When a new member was added to the team, Borox would bully them, first verbally then physically, until they fought back. It was how he tested them. He found their breaking point.

Even though I was the lowest of the low, he never attacked me. At the time, I didn't know why. I now think it was because we were assigned together as tent mates while on the Top Level. Borox probably thought it unwise to create strife with the person in which he shared sleeping quarters. Now demoted to Ditch Mongers, sleeping in the open caves, Borox's abstention of abuse towards me continued.

Some members of our crew were captured in the Wanati Desert and sold to the mine as slaves. Two of them, Jeg and Jo, were wrinkled twin brothers, who talked to the walls as they mined the rock. They would apologize to the mountain for the injury they were about to administer. It was all in their Watanese language, and they would translate their favorite sayings to us. The brothers took turns pounding the same chunk of rock while chanting in unison, "Armikrog, Armikrog, Armikrog."

There was another Blank Miner I feared. Though not in the way others feared Borox. This Miner had a thin frame and a nervous smile. His face was caked with black earth. His smile exposed jagged, yellow teeth. To be near him was akin to walking past an open grave at night. His name was Weave.

My first assignment as a Ditch Monger, was to work side by side with Weave in a narrow shaft. The Blanks we cut were stacked on a hoist, which, when fully loaded, was pulled up and out of the shaft, unloaded by others, and then lowered again to us. This was the first time I had worked alongside Weave, and it was unnerving. He would mumble all day long using my name as if we were having a conversation. "Tzurk, you work long? Yes, Tzurk work long." But when I tried to reply, he would argue that he hadn't said anything.

I grew to despise Weave, and began to calculate how I could get Borox to ill-treat him. I was still, you will remember, not much higher than an animal. Though my heart was filled with Meva, my soul was dark. Borox refused to beat Weave.  I’m sure he abstained because he did not like the idea of doing so because it was my idea.

After two weeks of working alongside Weave, I was desperate to be rid of him. It was then that I decided to ask The Abominate. Since he worked chained to a steel ball, each member of the crew had to take a turn carrying his lunchtime meal to him. As luck would have it, it was my turn. I approached The Abominate, and set the food down on the ground, just barely within his reach. He did not look at me, or acknowledge my presence. His massive form was seated on the cave floor, turned away from me.

I waited for a moment, my words faltering, for my mind was taking in the mystery of the creature. Finally, I swallowed and whispered, "I need a favor."

"No." His voice was like a deep rumble.

"But you don't even know what..."

"I will not kill for you. Not Weave. Not anyone."

His words disarmed me. I had expected an oaf, an idiot, but he was well spoken. His appearance did not match his speech.

"You have worked for weeks next to that sewer urchin. Anyone forced to do so would soon desire him dead."

But The Abominate was not done. He turned his ugly face towards me. His eyes seemed to drill deep into me.

"I know why your crew is working as Ditch Mongers. It's your fault. It was you whose mind etched Meva's face on the mine walls."

A bolt of horror struck me. My knees felt weak and I nearly collapsed. How could he know? He had been chained to his steel ball in the deepest mines for years! I wanted to lie, but what use would it have been? Even if he were only guessing, the expression on my face had already confessed.

"Your secret will be well kept with me."

"Why?" I stammered.

"Because it is a secret of love."

The Abominate got up, and came over to where I had set the food. Instinctively, I took a step back from the massive form towering over me. Perhaps it was because he promised to keep my secret that I felt that I could ask him a question about himself.

"Is it true...what they say about your wife?" I asked.

Rage exploded across his face. A bellow of anger burst from his lips that sounded like a hundred wild animals. His hands snapped out towards me. Before I could act they had encircled my head, yet they did not touch my skin. There was murder in his eyes.

"Ask me again about my wife, and I will eat your corpse before it cools."

He turned away from me, and I fled.

To Strike A Mountain

I awake in my sleeping bag.

Through squinting eyes, I see Borox’s face. His eyes wide, but sleeping. Always sleeping with those wide eyes.

Out of my sack. On with my undergarments, work robe and pill hat. My chest is soaked from a dream sweat. I had been running in the dream. Was I being pursued? I cannot remember.

Some of the others are stirring. A stench fills the air from a bedpan used during the night. I choke on the foul odor.

Walking down the mineshaft to our last work area, I hear only my own footfalls, and the distant moan of the billows forcing air down into this lowest circle of hell.

My coarse, cracked fingers clutch the pick handle. Lamplight illuminates a circle before me. My free hand skims the wall as I walk, bouncing over roughly hewn rock.

There are eight hundred miners, but not a sound of hammering on the mountain walls. I will be the first. Today, my hammer will be the first. I rear back with my tool, my mighty weapon, the one that gnaws at mountains and fells them. I strike the wall, and my life is changed forever.

The Heart of the Mountain

The rock face splits before my pick, and I am struck. Not my body. My being is struck… my very soul.

I teeter away from the wall, putting out a foot to steady myself. My hand goes to my chest, rubbing the plate that covers my internal workings. But why? My soul cannot reside there for it is immaterial.

Lamp light from my helmet casts wild shadows along the rock wall. Suddenly, my vision is filled with a purple mass. A purple ball of fuzz, held in a crevice of the rock. Reaching in with bare hands, my fingers sink into the hairy surface. It is the size of my fist. It is pulsating, beating.

I fall into the wall, like diving into a pool. I am weightless. I am looking back at the surface. I am looking back at myself. I am looking back at me "Tzurk" my arm outstretched, hand gripping the new me.

Tzurk's face is blank. His, I mean, my old body falls limp to the ground. His helmet rolls across the floor, and bumps against the wall. The lamp flickers.

I am the mountain. This is what it is to be the mountain. My feet go deep into the planet's surface. I do not feel large, for the sky above is wide and deep. I feel small. Clouds encircle me. They are a shroud over my shoulders, a garland around my head.

Rivers of water bubble up from inside me, and pour down my face, back, and arms, until they fall from my fingertips into the valley lake. Though made of many kinds of rock, I am not dead. My form is teaming with life. I am a home for bugs, animals, molds, and fish in the water of my belly. The assortment of greens that course in and out of me is beyond count. The roots conspire with the water to split me open, and I give them ground, then take it back from elsewhere.

My mind takes in the array of mined passages cut into me. The miners have cut them, like ants, burrowing down from the surface they have come. Downward I search the tunnels. But what am I seeking?

My mind rests upon the lowest crew, the Ditch Mongers. I see one lying on the cave floor. He seems to be a long forgotten memory. A vision of something from a millennia ago. Then, I know it is my body. But what was my name?

The rest of the Ditch Monger's are coming. They are coming with their tools to work. They will find the fallen body. They will bury it, because it is dead. A decision must be made. Do I remain as I am, or return to what I was?

Meva.

I will go back for that name!

Though I know she will visit this mountain, she will not know it is me. If only I could make her into the mountain to stand alongside me! How we would tower into the heavens together. Our roots would entangle and we would face the storms together. Our unfailing bodies would endure together, forever.

But if she never comes, I will never meet her. A rage burns inside my person, and I feel lava bubbling in the bowels of my foundation! If remaining here means being isolated from Meva, then curse this mountain! I must return to my old, frail, worm-of-a-mortal body! But what was my name? ruckT? ZKrut? KurtZ?

A Ditch Monger's voice booms out, "Anyone seen Tzurk?"

Tzurk! That was my name!

The Ditch Monger crew is coming. They will find my body on the ground. Assume I had been killed by the mountain or by the one whose touch is death. They will bury my body, and I will be trapped here.

[lonelypond]

Parent Trap, Ch. 3

Love Live, NicoMaki, 3.1K, 3/?

Summary: Maki heads to Philly, after some pointed questions from Grandmama Nishikino; Nico seizes the stage; Eli worries.

Another First

Eli hadn’t been sleeping so when Mischa came out and saw her Mama sleeping on the couch again, she curled up against her, humming.

“Nontan?” Eli muttered, but the weight on her side was a light one, “Misha?” Eli was wide awake.

“You have a bed, Mama.” Misha stated.

“I know, baby. I’ve just had to stay up late and I don’t want to disturb your mother.”

“What’s been keeping you away from me, Elichi?” Nozomi drawled, wrapping her robe around herself as she entered the kitchen.

“Well, you.” Eli thought, but she just hugged Misha and yawned, “I’ll be in bed early tonight.”

Nozomi leaned on the counter,“I look forward to it.”

Eli ignored that, giving all her attention to her daughter, “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Caramel popcorn.” 

“Popcorn isn’t breakfast food. How about cereal, that’s crunchy.”

“Okay.”

“Here you go,” Nozomi pulled puffed corn cereal off the shelf, “Put some blueberries in.”

“Good idea, Mom.”

“Thank you, baby bear.” Nozomi winked at Eli, “All my ideas are good ones.”

Eli remained silent. She couldn’t figure out, besides her usual matchmaking tendencies, what Nozomi might be up to. But she needed to know details before she needed to do damage control. But Nozomi, unusually, wasn’t being quick to gloat. Which worried Eli even more.

###

Maki was glad Dia was asleep. The Nishikino matriarch was about to make Dia’s Mama’s life very difficult and Maki didn’t want Dia picking up on her stress.

“So, Maki, why are you suddenly flying to Philly?” Coffee was never just a pleasant drink shared.

“Got a ticket to a concert. It’s the only one I can make. I want to pick up a lot of local history books for Dia.”

“Concert? The symphony? Philadelphia is….” “No.” Maki shook her head, speaking slowly calmly, nothing to see here, “Singer, friend of Eli’s.” “Oh.” The strategic sip.  Maki countered with a glance at the time.

“Thank you, Mama. Dia was very excited about coming here…” Her mother raised an eyebrow, “Has Dia met your new…” hesitation, fraught with meaning, “friend?” Maki shrugged, “We had a casual lunch. She knew a fun place to go skating. The Ribbon downtown. You should take Papa.”

“I’ll be sure to get the details from Dia.” Her mother was really going to interrogate her one year old grandchild for details about Maki’s date. And then the internet. Oh gods, Maki paled, what did you get when you searched Nico? What kind of things did she wear onstage?

“I really have to go.” Maki stood, going to kiss Dia before she left. “I’ll call you when I land.”

Her mother nodded, “Be careful, dear.” “I always am.”

Maki wondered what her life would have been like if she’d been a little less careful.

###

Nico stared at the message that had just pinged in.

M: So, I’m in Philadelphia tonight. But your show is sold out.

Nico snorted. Of course her show was sold out, all the tickets were gone in two hours. 

Another ping.

M: I was hoping you could sneak me in ; )

N: Nico doesn’t do groupies.

M: Does this outfit work? I usually go to symphonies. Then the snap. A short, plaid skirt, textured and torn stockings, the kickiest of designer boots, a cropped NicoNi t-shirt under what looked like a cashmere swing coat. Nico whistled.

“Cocoro?”

“Yeah, sis?” “Find Maki and bring her to the green room. Fast. She looks like this.” Nico handed Cocoro her phone.

“Is she the one with the little girl?”

“Yes.” “Doesn’t look like anyone’s mother.” Cocoro snapped. “Just go get her.” Nico ordered.

Exasperated, Cocoro zoomed out the door.

“And be friendly.” Nico yelled as the door closed. 

Nico leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, willing herself to focus on the concert, the audience, the fans eager for a Nico Ni knockout show. She could feel the buzz, the call to burst out onstage. She never started late, but tonight, tonight, there would be a slight delay because Nico was going to claim a good show kiss from her newest fan.

###

The screaming. It was everywhere. It was insane. And EVERYONE was singing along with Nico, waving lights, hands and banners in the air. And Nico was a shower of meteors, almost literally, lights and energy and sound making her seem like a series of explosions speeding across the stage.

Maki sat on a stool after trying to keep up for awhile when she caught a glance and a wave in her direction from the star of the show. The nosise and bustle was starting to give her a frowning headache; she wanted to have bought earplugs. She caught glimpses of molded foam in the ears of all the staff. Because they were music professionals who wanted to retain as much of their hearing as possible. And Maki was an idiot fangirl in too little clothing to be warm. She pulled her cashmere coat around herself and watched, unable to look away, from Nico executed sharp and perfect breaking moves in summer beachwear. Constant motion and spotlights must keep Nico warm, because there wasn’t enough fabric to.

Maki zoned out, watching Nico in a detached fashion, as she ignored the blur and bustle around her. And then the stage went black, and the audience was still for enough of a heartbeat to startle Maki out of her fugue state, and then when the NICO! chants picked up volume, Nico was suddenly in front of Maki, hands on either of Maki’s knees, curving upward to smack a kiss on Maki’s lips. Maki fumbled backward and one of Nico’s hands reached around her waist.

“AMAZING RIGHT!” Nico was glowing and shouting and Maki was too aware of all the people rushing toward Nico and crowding both of them. Awkwardly, Maki slid off the stool, into a sweaty Nico hug. And Maki was calm for however many seconds that lasted, but then Nico had her hand and was pulling her toward the stage, and her sister, headset on, was covering her mic to yell things at Nico Maki couldn’t understand. At the edge of the stage, Nico turned to Maki, “Encore. Wait here.”  And then the roar as Nico walked out for another song, Maki, realizing she was on the verge of hyperventilating, turned and sprinted to where she thought the exit to the what must be a cooler quieter hallway would be.

###

Maki paced. She had leaned against the wall, eyes closed, already caught up on her messages, made a sad sounding TWIG post, hummed through the Nico songs she could remember, wondered if Dia was sleeping okay and if she’d missed Maki’s usual bedtime story. All of that and Nico was still somewhere else. So Maki was pacing. And then a door banged open and there was a slightly out of breath Nico, oversized neon pink hoodie over white and pink heart leggings.

“There you are. Nico couldn’t find you.” Nico waited for Maki to finish her circuit and return to where Nico stood. 

“Are you done?” Maki grumbled, then winced.

“Nico’s never really done on a concert tour. Perqs of being the boss.” Nico waved her arms, “Everything is Nico’s.”

“Don’t you eat. Or sleep?” This was obviously going to be  more complicated than taking Nico out after the show to the quirky diner Maki had researched

“Yes, Nico eats. We go back to the hotel. Cocoro’s already ordered enough food for three crews.”

“Oh.”

“Did you want to take Nico out?” Nico almost giggled about how cute it was, but the tremble of Maki’s jaw stopped her and she swivelled into enthusiasm, “That sounds perfect. Nico is starved.” “Really?” Maki’s body language looked less defeated.

“Let’s go.” Nico took Maki’s hand, and with the other, pulled her phone out of the hoodie’s kangaroo pocket, “Cocoro? Nico needs the limo now...and make sure everyone is taken care of…” Nico glanced at Maki as she listened to the reply, “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Don’t worry,” Nico winked, “Maki’s taking care of me.”

“I could call a car?” Maki offered. “Nah, Nico’s driver is used to things and doesn’t mind driving around if there’s no parking. And the sound system is crazy good. We can play anything you like, if you’ve had enough Nico.” Maki, with Nico on her arm giving her the complete Nico charisma package, couldn’t keep the huge grin off her face, “Well, I did sit through an entire concert.” “But Nico didn’t sing your favorite song.” “Huh?”

And Nico, grinning devilishly, dropped her voice and “Stuck On You” echoed through the hallway.

###

The third restaurant/bar that had a kitchen that closed early. Maki had growled and stormed out, Nico had smiled, apologized, and tipped the bartender who had delivered the bad news. Then she’d rushed outside before Maki flipped a car or wandered into traffic...Nico stopped, Maki was standing outside the bar, a couple steps down from the door, one arms holding her coat closed, the other holding a phone she might have been shouting at, but she was looking more like crying than car flipping. 

“C’mon.” Nico grabbed Maki’s arm, pulling her toward the car, “We’re going to grab a couple of the coolest pizzas in Philly, take them back to Nico’s suite, and catch up on Nancy Drew.”

“Nancy Drew?” “CW teen horror with a diversity of brave, pretty people, and a conniving lesbian lovely. It’s fun.”

“Horror?” “Spooky mystery. Scarier than Scooby, but not too gory. Nico and Cocoro watch on the road so we can catch up with Cocoro and Cotaro when we get back home. You like pizza right?” Ah, something Maki could grab onto, “Yes, I like pizza.” “Did you pack pajamas?” “No.”

“No?” That made Nico pause.

Maki twirled a curl of hair into a thin twine, “I mean I brought sweats…”

“Uh huh,” Nico held the car door open, “Nico will grab you sweats and a t-shirt from the merch stash. Fresh off the runway. That outfit is super hot, but doesn’t look curl up on the couch with pizza comfy.”

Maki smiled, finally,  as she adjusted the very short skirt for sitting, “It’s really not.”

###

The pizza was square. 

“It’s square.” Maki said, sitting back from the box, sliding farther back into the corner of the sectional, the lights of Philly bright behind her in the floor to ceiling windows.

“It is.” Nico sat solidly center, setting up her laptop.

“And gooey.” Maki pulled a piece out of the pie, examining it quizzically, “Crispy crust, then cheese, then sauce.” 

“Smells amazing.” Nico leaned down the couch to sniff, then snagged a bite. “Nico likes.” “Hey!” Maki pulled the pizza away from Nico while managing to lean toward her, “My slice.” “Sharing is sexy.” Nico stared into amiable amethyst, trying to keep her eyes off the slightly too tight V neck she’d pull for Maki.

Maki raised an eyebrow, “Leaving enough pizza for your date is sexier.” “Hey.” Nico opened the second box to wave under Maki’s nose, “Nico bought two pies, with the selection of their best toppings. Paid cash.”

“Yeah, good pizza in Philly seems to be a cash only deal. It’s weird.” Maki sat back, pizza gone in three bites. 

“Puts more money into pizza, less money into credit card fees.” Nico started on a slice of her own as Maki grabbed one from the second box. “Philly’s got weird vibes, cool weird vibes, though. All the history stuff adds awesomeness.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait to see the Liberty Bell tomorrow. I told Dia I’d bring her back a lot of books.”

“Nico can make some time in the morning..” “Really?”

“Sure.” Nico wasn’t actually sure Cocoro would agree but the thought of Maki bright eyed and eager wandering historical Philly in search of things to take home to Dia was too cutesweet to miss. “It’s right downstairs.”

“So,” Maki swivelled her way out of the corner, now fully leaning on Nico, “What’s this scary teen show you want us to watch?” “Haven’t you ever heard of Nancy Drew, girl detective?” Maki giggled, “Of course, I have, Nico. But you’ll need to catch me up on the plot so far.” Nico decided she’d had enough pizza and dropped her arm around Maki’s shoulders, encouraging closer snuggling, “Nico is the best at catching people up. So, there’s Nancy. And George, who’s running a diner, and then Bess who’s living out of a van, and Ned Nickerson is working out of a garage and he and Nancy have this relationship that she won’t admit is a relationship and…”

Maki put her head on Nico’s shoulder, still managing to keep a constant pizza chew going, “Where’s the scary?”

Nico leaned over to hit play on her laptop, “Oh, you’ll see.”

###

Voices. Maki must be up. Nico smiled at the memory of an adorably exhausted Maki too sleepy to keep her eyes open through more than one and a half episodes of Nancy Drew. Nico let the coziness on the couch linger for the rest of the ep, but then grabbed a pillow and blanket from her bed and tucked in her surprise overnight guest right where she was. Nico wrapped a robe around her camisole and shorts and stepped into the sitting room. Maki was sitting in the solo chair in the far corner, staring out at the Philly skyscape, mug of something on the table next to her, smiling at her phone.

“No, Mama won’t be back for lunch, Dia. We’ll have breakfast tomorrow. I had square pizza for dinner last night. And cold pizza for breakfast.” Maki waved a slice at the camera. “PIZZA!” came the squeal from the phone, “Mama, want pizza.”

Guess it ran in the family, Nico chuckled to herself, probably best to leave Maki and Dia alone, no telling who else was in on the call and waking up in someone else’s hotel room usually required explanation. Nico ducked into the bathroom.

Dia had been fussy last night, missing Maki. Maki hadn’t missed Dia as much as she feared, but gleamed when Dia wanted to video chat over breakfast. 

“We’ll get pizza for dinner tomorrow, bun.” “NOW.” 

Dia seemed more interested in having pizza than having Maki there.

“I’ll talk your grandmother into pizza for you, all right.”

“Pizza.” Dia's volume was a shout, “And Mama.” “I won’t be back until late tonight, Dia. But I’ll have a bunch of presents. I’ll read you a book if you’re awake.” “Book…” Dia’s face lit up, “Bedtime story.” “Bedtime story for Dia, about the Liberty Bell.”

“Ring!”

Maki laughed, “Let me talk to your grandmother.”

###

A knock on the door. Maki must have ordered something. Maki seemed to be saying goodbye so Nico answered it. A hotel staffer stood, black waxed canvas duffle bag and matching garment bag in hand, “Ms. Nishikino had her luggage sent over.” “Oh, thank you.” Nico was still in her bathrobe, so she took a good look at the nametag, “Nico will leave you a tip when she checks out, Terry.” Nico took both bags, surprisingly heavy. She didn’t hear Maki’s voice so she figured it was safe to speak.

“They brought up your luggage.” “Oh thanks.” Maki bounced into the main part of the sitting room, “I’ll take that.”

“Nico needs a tip.” Nico refused to turn over the garment bag when Maki’s hand closed over hers. “Oh…” Maki seemed confused and reached for a pocket but the Nico Ni pink sketch sweatpants had none. 

“Not what Nico meant.” Nico stepped closer, lips pursed, closing her eyes but not before she caught the flaming blush across Maki’s cheeks. A quick, tingling brush across Nico’s cheek and Nico let Maki take the luggage.

“Did you leave Nico any pizza?”

Maki nodded, not making eye contact.

“Maki?” “‘m sorry I feel asleep…” A mutter, then a sigh, “It wasn’t much of a date.”

“Don’t worry about it. Nico had a great time. I was really glad you came to see the concert.” Nico raised a hand to her temple, “It’s a big change from the first night we met on that balcony, Nico Nico Ni. Nico likes this better.”

Maki, eyes suddenly glowing like Nico had stirred up banked embers, stepped in, one hand sliding around Nico to pull her closer, as their lips fumbled into a demi-passionate melding. 

“Me too. You’re amazing.” Maki whispered, still close enough that Nico wanted to bite forward, “I’d love to come to every concert.” Another kiss, even less breath left for talking, Nico pushed a little, “Free tonight?”

And that broke the spell. Maki stepped back, regret pursing her lips into frown lines, “Evening flight. Sorry, Nico.”

Nico slid her hand down Maki’s arm, until their fingers were intertwined, “Can’t blame Nico for trying.” Maki’s grin gleamed, “Are you planning to monopolize my time from now on?” A quickly stolen kiss as Nico said, “Yes.”

“Good.”

“Hey,” Nico, hand still holding Maki’s, pulled her toward the couch, “If you ever want to come back to Philly and stay longer, we can get a crib in this suite. Probably take a week to really find out what Philly’s best square pizza is. I’m sure Dia’d like a vote.”

Giggling, Maki let Nico pull her into an embrace, her head falling back to Nico’s shoulder, “Sounds like fun. Dia’s first plane ride.”

“Do you really want to go sightseeing now?” Nico whispered in Maki’s ear, fingertips playing with the hair at the back of Maki’s neck. “Nico…” there was a shiver in Maki’s voice so Nico’s lips followed the path of her fingertips.

Nico’s hand was now sliding into the V neck of the Nico graffiti portrait shirt, “You can pick up something for Dia on the way to the airport. My driver knows all the best places.”

Maki slid down the couch, forcing Nico’s hand to linger by her ear, “Nico…”

“Yes?” Nico flipped, so that she had Maki pinned down, leaning in, hovering near enough to lick Maki’s lips if she’d moved her tongue at all. And then in a blink, Maki had surged up, her arms around Nico, lips crashing in a completely unguided, stunner of an amorous explosion.

Another “Nico,” more plea than pleasure.

Maybe Maki wouldn’t be making her flight. Or Nico’s concert would go on without the main act. Nico didn’t really care. Time could stop right now. Maki was melting, hair vivid and sexy as she curved sensuously against the pale neutrals of the couch, and Nico, all Nico wanted to hear was how often Maki could moan her name. No audience had ever hit exactly that tone, that grab, that fuel. A new world, just for Nico. Time to explore.

A/N: Howdy.

[greenmaskedmarauder]

Unwaking Dreams

Another SOM fic. More hurt/comfort, because that’s all my brain can come up with lol. A special thank you to @forthegenuine​ for once again betaing my work :D

Word count: 1058

Summary: Lila has a nightmare. Kell is there to comfort her.

Find it here or keep reading below the cut.

Unwaking Dreams

greenmaskedmarauder94

Notes:

I had to make Lila suffer again. I am so sorry lol. Special thanks to @forthegenuine for betaing this :D

Work Text:

The first thing Lila felt was the heat. Death wasn’t as cold as people claimed, not at first. No, the steal burned hot as the Copper Thief thrust a blade through her chest. “This is for Kasnov,” he snarled. And then the warmth of it all spread, and then she was falling. Down...down… The sky she looked into was black. Death must really be everywhere, for now she could feel the heat of it seeping from cuts on her hands. “Let me in, let me in, let me in,” chanted the darkness. She realized then that it wasn’t the sky at all, but Osaron, dragging her off the edge of the Sanctuary Garden. She scrambled, trying to find purchase, but she couldn’t breathe from the wound in her chest. No, wait. That wasn’t correct. She hadn’t been stabbed during this brush with death, she knew this. But she still coughed, and still tasted the blood in her mouth, and still felt it running down her arms and her chest. And then she was falling again.

And then Astrid Dane stood before her, pale as ever. And Lila watched in horror as Astrid’s face became her own, and her knife was plucked out of her hand. “Now,” said the evil queen, “I think I will go help Kell.”

Her scream was lost in her throat, as darkness swallowed her again, and then she felt the world tip under her as she was falling again.

~*~

Lila shot up in bed, sweat slicking her face and sides, as she tried to register where she was. She took several deep breaths before registering that she was on a ship. In her delirious, post-nightmare haze, she thought for a brief moment that she might be on the Sea King. But then her vision cleared, and she registered the body next to her.

No. She was on the Night Spire. And Kell was lying next to her. She was surprised he was still asleep, her dreams--no, nightmares--had been so loud to her that she was sure everyone else aboard could hear them too.

She pulled her legs up to her chest and buried her face in her knees. Her uneven breathing gave way to shaky sobs. And then she felt Kell stirring next to her.

“Lila?” He asked, voice full of concern. She sniffed, and he sat up, pulling her against him. “What is it?” He whispered, as she sobbed silently against his chest.

“I had a bad dream,” she choked out after a few moments. She felt his arms tighten around her, and he rubbed his hands up and down her back soothingly.

“You wanna tell me about it?” He asked after she had calmed down some. She shook her head and sniffed again. “Okay. How can I help?”

She pulled away and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I don’t know. Sometimes I get quick snippets of what could have happened during our battle with Osaron, but nothing like what I just dreamed.” Kell leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead. “Usually when I wake up and see you next to me I can calm down and go back to sleep, and then forget about it the next day.”

She pushed him back down and buried her face in his chest. She felt his lips against the top of her head as he shifted so that she was laying on top of him. He pulled the blanket up over her and continued to rub her back. He didn’t press her to tell him what she’d seen either. He was just there with her, holding onto her as she tried to clear her mind and slow her heart. As she told herself over and over that what she’d dreamed hadn’t happened.

But it had actually happened. That was the problem. Even though her dream had shifted and blended together, and some details weren’t quite right, everything she’d just relived in that nightmare had happened.

She felt fresh tears fill her eyes and spill over, and then Kell’s arms tighten around her again as he felt them hit his chest.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Talk to me, love.”

She took a shaky breath and then looked up into his face. His blue eye was dark with concern. She slowly began to tell him.

“It started with the fight in Rosenal, when I was stabbed,” she whispered. “And then it kept shifting. Then I was in the garden of the Sanctuary, the night I had to get supplies for Tieren. There had been three afflicted people there, and after I finished dealing with them, Osaron grabbed hold of my leg and tried to pull me into the Isle.” She paused to take another shuddering breath and then went on. “And then it shifted again, until I was back in White London and Astrid had pinned me back and stolen my face so she could go kill you and take the black stone.” Lila brought her hand up to his chest and tried to distract herself by tracing where his scar was even underneath his shirt.

Instead he caught her hand and gently pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She looked up at him then, and moved up until she lightly pressed her lips against his.

He caught her face in his hands and leaned his forehead against hers. “Lila,” he whispered against her lips. There was so much love and concern in his tone that she angled her head until they were kissing.

One of his hands brushed over her hair as the other continued to cup her face. He didn’t deepen the kiss, only let her feel how much he loved her, how strong he knew she was. “Do you want to try to sleep again?” He whispered against her lips.

She shook her head. “Can we just...stay like this? For the rest of the night?” He nodded, and she laid her head against his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair and rubbed her back gently until he felt her drift off to sleep again. He wasn’t sure if it took minutes or hours, but he continued to hold her for the rest of the night and watched until just before dawn to make sure she slept through the remainder of the night.

[charlemange1]

Ask of the Lesser (Frankenstein/Lovecraft Works): 8.2 Did I Solicit Thee from Darkness to Promote Me?

That overpowering, unnamable stench hit me first, then the chilled stone wet with slick moss beneath me. The intense cold told me I was far beneath the earth. Iron bars several feet above my head trapped me inside a dingy pit within the underground crypt. My left wrist throbbed where a hand had been, and I cradled the stump to my bloodied shirt. That multi-eyed creature Curwen had summoned flashed through my mind and I screamed. The ungodly barking I had heard down here before rose around me, much nearer than I preferred. Within the darkness of the pit, shapes shuffled around with slippery thumping.

“Walton?” I dared to call. “Walton, are you here?”

Slippery clopping struck up as a silhouette both not human and too human lunged at me on all fours. I scrambled up against the wall but there was nowhere to run. Something slimy brushed my leg and I lurched away as an equally appalling fiend reared up beside me with a demonic howl and slashed its paw-like appendage at the other creature. The latter backed away with a sour whine and shuffled further into the dark.

I stumbled away from the creature beside me and collapsed in the small beam of light on the floor. The creature fixed its eyes that were not eyes on me. I held my breath. It turned away and lowered itself to the floor, resting that head-like organ against its paws. Was this what Curwen meant by his attempts at resurrection being warped and inhuman? Walton would never stand a chance against those twisting nails. He was gone, and I would soon follow.

I reached inside my pocket and grasped air where Victor’s journal had been. My fist punched the floor as I howled. Curwen had all of Victor’s knowledge now, whether I had prevented him from resurrecting my brother or not. I had failed. Failed poor Walton, my brother, and possibly the world. How feeble Victor playing god felt compared to these cosmic abominations! A few feet away lay a trampled sheet of paper. I snatched up the relic of familiarity and saw the shredded edges where it had been torn from a book. The letters were written in Victor’s large, looping cursive:

I beg of you Curwen, do not call up Any that you cannot put down; by which I mean, Any that can in turn call up something against you, whereby your Powerfullest Devices may not be of use. Ask of the Lesser, lest the Greater shall not wish to Answer, and shall command more than you.

I hardly processed the words, for beneath the faint light lay more pages from Victor’s journal. Curwen had not found it after all! With my single hand, I frantically grabbed the scattered remnants of my brother’s legacy. I would destroy them so no one could use Victor’s work to inflict further harm! The journal itself was on the edge of the light, badly chewed but still containing a few pages. Halfway through ripping the first one apart, my eyes settled on an entry:

Wretched fool I am! I find myself subjected to a hell of intense tortures such as no language can describe. Curwen has taken me to the depths of Ingolstadt, those catacombs unused since the days of Weishaupt and his accursed New World order. He revealed his wicked work in full to me, which if left unchecked, shall jeopardize all civilization, all natural law and perhaps even the fate of the universe! I only wished to pour a torrent of light into our dark world, and for the sake of all life and Nature, I must thrust Curwen’s monstrous inclinations back into the dark. Forgive me, Mother, for delving into such unhallowed arts! Happier is the man who believes his native town the world than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow.

Curwen claimed he had only recently removed the stonework and gained access to the crypt. He had also spoken of using mathematics to traverse the fourth dimension and vanish from his prison cell. If he could disappear from enclosed spaces, surely materializing in others would be no issue for him. My hand trembled as I read further.

Curwen threatens to reveal my grave robbing if I expose his wicked deeds, yet my life and reputation are the very least of things that hang in the balance. M. Krempe and his ever-present disdain for the alchemists laughed off my warning, though it struck the soul of kind M. Waldman. He has offered his assistance.

The next page was barely legible, and I had to speak the words out loud to understand them at all.

It is done. We have set everything in that blasted lab ablaze, God willing Curwen too, though they have yet to locate his remains. The contents found within that lab have left me much changed. I am oppressed by a slow fever and in my agitation even the fall of a leaf startles me. Many have grown alarmed at the wreck I have become, but I might not be mad if Curwen’s accursed tomb-legions had not been so heinous!

If men like Curwen, bent on death and destruction, exist in this world, then my research may be our only defense against such insanity! I must discover the spark of life and use that power to protect the few that remain to me. My work, grizzly as it is, is nothing like Curwens! I shall create a man, not some cosmic daemon, and he will be benevolent and good! Surpassing any mortal man and immoral fiend fixated on tearing the world apart!

The next entry was a nearly identical description of that infamous creature found within Walton’s biography on Victor. The lustrous black hair, white teeth and overall beauty of his creation. Victor’s excitement showed through the sloppy handwriting in a way Walton’s printed report never could. Mankind’s salvation. With the key to life in his reach, he would never lose another person he loved again.

I skimmed the mechanisms used to infuse life into the creature, why linger on the process when I knew the result? To my surprise, the narration differed from Walton’s account when Victor recounted the creature’s watery yellow eyes- the very detail that had sent him fleeing in disgust and sealed the fate of us all:

What horror! Curwen’s influence lingers closer than a familiar. It stains my hands to make my good work an abomination! Those eyes are watery, pulsing with yellow. It is not the candlelight playing tricks, it cannot be! I hoped to perfect man, but I have only raised up one of Curwen’s horrors in the body of my fellow creatures! There is no soul inside those yellow eyes, there cannot be! Oh, it is the same! The same! I chant the incantation to disperse the monster, but it is not enough! I shall inscribe them here and recite again, surely there is more power in the written word?

“OGTHROD AI’F GEB’L—EE’H YOG-SOTHOTH ‘NGAH’NG AI’Y ZHRO!”

It has not vanished! I dreamt of Mother’s corpse rotting in my arms. Oh, I have called up something greater which I cannot put down! I have brought a curse upon my head that cannot be cured. Yet who can I tell? M. Waldman would never forgive me if he knew I continued this wicked research and the rest would call me mad. Both would lock me up, and then who could save humanity from the vengeance of this daemon? I must stay silent and find a way to undo this. I must. I must!

The rest was illegible from ink smeared in a manic fit of agitation. There were no pages after it. I shut the journal, thinking of that accursed mass of tentacles and twitching yellow eyes.

Tears blurred my vision. I could see the horror on Victor’s face that dreary November night as he mistook his innocent creation for one of Curwen’s awful fiends. If I really wanted to, I could also see the shreds of paper caught in the monster’s claws squatting before me. My eyes closed involuntarily at the wretch. It was like a human, but painfully unfinished. The deficiencies were uncanny, and the abnormalities of proportion hinted at obscure cosmic relationships to horrible to behold. Yet I thought of Victor’s creature, the monster who had murdered my family out of spite because of his neglect. His appearance had denied him companionship and turned his heart black. Forcing my eyes open, I beheld the thing before me. Misshapen though it was, there were glimpses of familiarity. The shape of those uneven shoulders, the outline of what had once been a jaw. The blue tint in the eyes that were not eyes.

“You wanted me to read these pages, did you not, Victor?”

The creature released a moan outside the range of human vocal cords. He had slashed at the previous monster to defend me. He was safe. I crept over and touched his jutting shoulder blade. The skin felt like wet leaves mixed with gravel.

“I understand why you did it. I should have believed you before,” I whimpered. “Even if I doubted your claims, I should have taken your fear seriously.”

That which was not Victor sighed.

“I have never been capable of seeing what is right in front of me. Curwen is right, I am a feeble mind, the background character to the grand narratives of you greater men.”

The creature whined and rested his disfigured paw on my hand. I tried to ignore the wetness of the skin. He shook his head with a soft croak. My eyes looked into his. Past the cosmic abnormalities, I sought my brother. I found deep pain, regret, and words unspoken that would never be. I forced myself to smile.

“At least we are together in the end.”

The creature reared back with a hiss. A claw jammed beside my knee and etched C-U-R-W-E-N into the moss before slashing the word with a vicious intensity.

“Yes, yes, I hate him too,” I sighed.

The creature growled and gave me the begging look our old dog had perfected at the dinner table. Again, he slashed the remnants of Curwen’s name.

“You wish to stop him?”

The creature yipped excitedly and pointed to my chest.

“Me?” I broke off in a cough. “Victor, you are the genius! I led him straight to your remains and started this mess!”

The creature grabbed one of the torn pages and shoved the paper into my hand. I reread the familiar lines:

I beg of you Curwen, do not call up Any that you cannot put down; by which I mean, Any that can in turn call up something against you, whereby your Powerfullest Devices may not be of use. Ask of the Lesser, lest the Greater shall not wish to Answer, and shall command more than you.

“Victor, this makes no sense.”

The claw scribbled a new name- Marie Antoinette, into the moss.

“The ex-queen of France? She was executed years ago!” I paused. “By her own people. Commoners. Lesser men.” I traced the name in the moss with an idle finger. Victor’s intent was reaching me. “Some people are born for greatness, and some are not. I am inferior to you two, an insignificant ant. Yet how great is a queen, be it of ants or men, without their subjects? It is the expendables who enable great men to be great, and can tear them down just as easily. Maybe I cannot stop Curwen, but together we may yet win!”

Victor nodded and half-hopped, half crawled to the stone wall and stood on what I assumed were his hind legs. He angled his head to the grate several feet above us. Picking up on the gesture, I climbed onto his shoulders with great difficultly. Leaning my stump of a hand against the rough wall, I stood on Victor’s shoulders and strained up toward the grate. Yipping came from below me as the other creatures emerged to investigate. Growls and barks echoed off the walls as they fought one another with animalistic savagery. My fingers grasped the grate and lifted it easily. Curwen had clearly planned on me being dinner to his failed experiments instead of working with them to escape.

Victor boosted me upward and I scrambled from the pit onto the stone floor. I was in one of the corridors connected to the haunted room of chiseled stone Curwen had shown me before. I had to wonder what pentagrams were original to Weishaupt’ s Illuminati, and what grizzly additions Curwen had added himself? I snatched up a dusty pole and stuck the end into the pit where Victor growled at the circle of monsters closing in on him. I regretted the second look, for horrid as Victor’s appearance was, his fellow creatures boasted far greater abnormalities.

Curwen is improving, I thought with a shudder as Victor clutched the flimsy pole and scrambled up the wall as the others snapped at his heels. He collapsed beside me in a panting heap as those left behind howled and scratched at the walls. It seemed Curwen had not perfected bringing back the minds of his genius men either, and I pressed against Victor’s flank with a shudder as he stared into the pit. Despite his deformities, the drawn eyebrows and puzzled scowl were distinctly Victors, and I thanked whatever governed the laws Curwen rivaled that I had my brother’s mind in full. Victor’s yip interrupted my thoughts as he angled his head toward the pit.

“You want to free them too?” I asked, the only explanation. “Victor, they tried to eat me and I am sure they devoured Walton!”

Victor pawed at the pit impatiently, and I knew arguing was pointless. Then again, if these creatures were Curwen’s failed attempts at resurrecting the dead, surely they retained some form of humanity? Victor nudged me behind him as he lowered the pole into the pit and the remaining creatures pulled themselves up one by one, ten in total. Each one thanked us by lunging at me with snapping jaws, but Victor was more complete than they, and a few swats sent them rushing down the nearest corridor howling with demonic bloodlust. The sound of shattering pottery reached me as they wrecked Curwen’s little stock in the furnace room. As the final one disappeared down the dark hallway, I could only hope Victor knew what he was doing. Victor pointed a claw to the opposite doorway. Nodding, I snatched up the pole and rushed with him back into the light.

[tunafishprincess]

The Roads We Take

Chapter 1: Twenty-Five

(Art by @brothebro, writing by @tunafishprincess ) Sequel to Fallen Too Far. This is rated M for Mature. Proceed with caution. 

She is twenty-five, nearly twenty-six, but she feels sixteen.

Years have passed but high school still feels like yesterday to Claire. How could it not? Ten years: it terrifies her how in such a short period of time the world she knows has disappeared.

All she has left are the remaining people who remember her for who she was, however even that has been distorted by time. They treat her like glass, as though she were some expensive piece of art that could do no wrong. Her hermano, little NotEnrique, looks at her with uncertain eyes; his entire perception of her is created by her family and friends. As if she was some paragon of goodness, a princess trapped by an evil witch; that’s how their parents explained it to him.

But wrong is the very essence of her now. Her parents try to pretend everything is okay, but the emotions that radiates off the medical staff and guards tells her another story.

They are afraid.

And so is she.

The woman in the bathroom mirror is not her, not really. Her hips are too wide, her breasts too full, her face too mature—and that isn’t even the worst of it. The rich dark brown her Papí used to brush for her has vanished, replaced with a white so bright her eyes hurt to look at it for too long.

Ugly dark veins run up her arms and out of her eyes, branding her, as if to forever remind her of the horrors she caused.

She hates it. This is not her body, her hair, her face. Morgana twisted the girl she knew into the woman she did not and she is terrified. So utterly terrified.

After a while, she turns away, too sick with disgust to remain. The white gown they placed her in clings to her body, making her so desperately wish for her old clothes, even if they could no longer fit her. She has changed too much now to go back, and dios mío, she wishes she could go back.

Yet even still, time ticks on.

Claire wants to say she’s better (wants to be better), but she never will be, not after what Morgana has done to her.

Guilt eats at her innards, her soul, her entire being. The deaths she caused weigh heavily. Breathing takes effort, so much so that at times she wonders if she’ll suffocate under its load.

So many ‘if onlys’ pass through her mind, thousands upon thousands each day. Before, she cried, day after day, but now, all that is left is a hollow shell.

And isn’t that what she is now? Morgana destroyed her inside and out, emptied the part of her that made Claire herself in order to make way for the sorceress.

A small part of her wishes for death. She deserves it, especially after what she did to everyone, to her family and friends, to Jim—God, Jim.

If she is the drowning swimmer than he is the life raft she desperately clings onto. How could he look at her so lovingly? She didn’t deserve him, not after what she did. Yet still, he stays at her side, her protector, forever and always.

How pathetic. What a selfish being she has become.

Look at her. Her old self would be repulsed by such desperation.

Claire knows it is wrong to dependent on him so much, but now the feeling is innate. She wonders if that is why Morgana never gave up on Jim, if Claire’s feelings influenced the witch to hold onto that last bit of sanity within the darkness.

Who knows. In the end, Morgana is gone and Claire, well…Claire is here.

She isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not.

The door opens, carefully, as if not to startle her. Claire’s hand clenches the railing she uses to walk between the bathroom and her bed, she tries to smile, even though it feels as plastic as the sheets she sleeps on.

“Toby,” she begins, clearing her throat. “You’re early.”

He approaches her cheerfully, a pip in his step that softens the fake smile on her lips. It reminds her of old times. Even though he has lost weight and aged, she can still see the excited gleam in his eye he got when he had good news. “I couldn’t wait for Jim to get here. The verdict just came back!”

Her brows furrowed.

“Verdict?” She asks.

Immediately, Toby pales. His hands freeze in the air.

The stench of secrecy is thick. Claire can feel the annoyance inside her rising, just below the surface of skin.

“Oh…Oh crap. I forgot,” he admits in a soft voice.

Claire tries to edge forward. “Forgot what?”

Unfortunately, her foot slips on the linoleum, breaking her trek towards the other. Her breath hitches as strong hands catch her. She blinks widely as her boyfriend came into view.

Her eyes flicker over to the open door.

She hadn’t even heard him come in. Another of Jim’s abilities perhaps? It is a surprising discover, especially considering his size.

“What’s going on?” Jim asks, worry in his sharp features. He examines her body like a hawk, lingering at her chest for a moment before returning to her eyes. Blood rushes to her cheeks.

“Claire, are you alright?”

“I-I’m fine,” she stammers out. As if reading her mind, Jim guides her to the bed, his hand encompassing most of her back. It is a comforting warmth. She is saddened when he removes it.

Toby’s mouth twitches. There is so much uncertainty in his stance. It reminds her of her previous question.

Fixing her gaze on her old friend once more, she reiterates, “What’s this about a verdict?”

She watches Jim this time, his expression closed off but the hairs on his neck and forearms rising almost instantaneously. Claire reaches out, settling her palm to his cheek. Softness spreads across his features. He cups her hand with his own, engulfing it in a steady, pulsing heat.

“Well, the good news is we can finally get you love-birds out of this place! I’m thinking beach, or, oh, oh! Maybe the countryside? I don’t know about you guys but I am totes ready for a vaca. Can I hear an amen?” Toby asks.

Claire frowns. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“Nothing gets past you huh?” Toby sighs.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim asserts. “We’re safe. Everything’s going to be alright.”

“Jim.” She leans forward, so close she can see the detailed texture of his skin. It is a strange mixture of pore and rock, the uncanny but beautiful valley between the two species. “Tell me.”

Jim’s face darkens. His golden pupils dilate, his gaze clouding over with a stormy grimace. Inwardly, she knows it is her fault he is like this now. Claire wonders what it is he is looking at: her or some past memory. Perhaps both.

“You know what happened,” he states.

She nods. Her other hand fists the fabric of her blanket.

“What I did as Morgana’s champion will never be erased. To most of humanity, I’m a monster.”

“But you’re not.” She shakes her head. “Morgana controlled you, manipulated you.”

“Claire, you don’t understand. I had a choice,” Jim stresses, his other hand resting at her knee. Selfishly, she moves closer to the warmth. Out of everything and everyone in the room, Jim is the only one who is warmest.

“What was the verdict about?” She asks again.

It is Toby who speaks up first, “Whether he would continue to carry out the duty of Trollhunter or…” There is a pause, one that feels like an eternity for Claire until he answers, “whether it would get passed to someone else.

Her boyfriend pulls out of her reach, as though on autopilot. Claire wants him to stay, wants to use his warmth once more, but the second he leaves her range it is freezing again.

They were going to kill Jim? The annoyance within transfigures into a freezing tundra of fear.

No. Never. Jim is hers, just as Claire is his. Why would they try and separate them? Didn’t they see how much Claire needs him to live?

“No, no, no, no—” She chanted, her fingers burrowed into her hair. “Why didn’t you two tell me?”

“Relax, okay? Everything’s going to be fine. The verdict went fine. Jim’s still here,” Toby tries to comfort her.

But it’s not. Nothing is fine. Toby isn’t fine, Jim isn’t fine—No one is. The cracks along her hands and arms ache. It is as though a million ants were inching up her body, underneath her skin.

She resists the urge to violently scratch them like she did the first few days. It is why the Doctors make her keep her nails short now.

When she finally regains control of her emotions, Claire brushes him off. “It’s not fine. None of this is fine. You didn’t even tell me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her heart breaks as Jim presses himself into the corner, as if trying to make himself smaller. Is he terrified of her?

“We were afraid of how you would react,” Toby says, hands up and facing her.

“So what, you’ll just treat me like some porcelain doll the rest of my life, is that it?” Claire snaps. She can’t help it. The emotions within are boiling over.

Toby presses forward. “No, Claire, it’s just, after everything that’s happened—”

“Stop it!”

Her water glass shatters. She doesn’t see how it happens, but she knows in her heart who did it.

Morgana left more than scars on Claire after all.

In the corner of her eye, she notices a long crack has developed in the window that was not there before. Another testament to her emotional state.

To no surprise, Jim has disappeared from the room. Because of her.

“I’m sorry,” she cries, and truly she means it. Everything is her doing.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Toby says, resting a hand on her shoulder. It is warm, but not like Jim’s. It barely heats her at all. “We know you didn’t mean it.”

“I want to be alone,” she whispers.

“You sure, Claire-Bear?” He says, leaning over.

A multitude of emotions pass over her friend’s face. This Toby is more calculative and calm, holding a maturity Claire wishes she could possess. Even when facing her darkest moments, he stands tall. She envies that confidence.

“Go. Talk to Jim. He looks like he needs it more than I do right now,” she suggests.

Toby’s lips smooth into a thin line, but he nods. As he turns towards the door, he looks back.

“I’m just a call away. Anytime, anywhere. Darci too.”

Halfway outside, Claire calls out. “Wait. Toby, be honest with me, what does the verdict really mean?”

And like that, the old vestiges of Toby are gone. The man before her leans on the frame, an age-old look crossing his features.

“The world has changed a lot since you last saw it, Claire. The new world government wants order.”

“They’re going to use him, just like I—Morgana did.”

Toby nodded.

“This is my fault.” How could it not be? She wishes they would just admit it.

“No it’s not,” Toby stresses, halfway back inside. “You’re not—”

“Go,” she commands. No more. Claire can’t stand the way he looks at her.

“But—”

“Go!”

The crack along the window spreads out like a spiderweb. A freezing wind envelops the area, blowing her hair around and pushing the door close with a sharp echoing slam.

The lights flicker, off and on, until she regains control once more.

As the magic disperses, her body loosens, tears running freely. Her arms burn from the use of magic. Everything hurts, but none approach the pain in her chest.

Morgana’s magic flows through her now. And for someone as broken as she, it is no wonder her friends are afraid both for and of her.

She wishes she could go back. She wishes she had fought harder. But wishing doesn’t turn back time. Believe her, she’s tried. Claire glances upwards, back in the bathroom mirror. She is a monster. And that’s all she ever will be.

Chapter 2: Coming soon

[ravenbrenna09]

The Lady and the Squire - Chapter Four

URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18186500/chapters/44639389

Did I finally finish the chapter because I was pissed about how Game of Thrones went last night? Yes and no. I mostly did it to keep myself from crying. But, I’ve had this chapter mostly planned out for the most part. So I hope you all enjoy this chapter because it sure made me feel better (though the show still sucks, to be honest). Podrick is the only saving factor.

The bath of the Lord’s chambers was different from the other bathrooms in Winterfell. The tub was much larger than the one that Sansa had grown up with, capable of fitting two people in the waters even if the water was filled all the way up. And, it was a large stone structure with a seat. It reminded Sansa of the bath in her room in King’s Landing, which was the only place that she could escape the cruel terrors that Joffrey inflicted on her.

Ironically, this fact remained the same upon her first return to Winterfell with Ramsey as she furiously tried to scrub off what he had done with her. However, now, as the Lady of Winterfell, this spot was the only spot she could truly relax. While she argued back and forth with Jon about who would get the Lord’s Chambers, she eventually let Jon win after seeing the bath. Jon simply returned to his old room, not wanting the Lord’s chambers.

The warm water rushed over her body as she stepped inside, sweeping over her body and releasing the tension in her shoulders. She had just taken a bath this morning. So, she knew that she was clean. Her handmaiden had expressed this fact. However, Sansa needed to relax and she had become increasingly aware of how she relaxed in the bath. With tensions high with Arya (supposedly), she was getting tense as the day went trying to play into the facade that Petyr Baelish had wanted from her.

It’s almost over, she promised herself, dipping down into the surface of the water. Her hair floated around her in waves. After feeling the brief sense of weightlessness, she quickly propped herself up on the seat, running a hand through the dark red strands of her hair. She had to chant it like a mantra, over and over again. It’s almost over. She can return to trying to protect her family, protect Arya, protect Jon, and protect Bran. They were the last of the Starks. The only ones left.

Petyr Baelish was the one who was trying to drive her family apart and she wasn’t going to let that happen again.

The door to her solar opened, but Sansa paid no heed to it. It might’ve been her handmaiden, Amelia, who might’ve taken her cloak from the day to wash tomorrow or coming back to finish cleaning up Ghost’s fur after Sansa had sent her away after gathering the clean water. It might’ve been Arya to come over some final details of the plan, wearing the face of a girl that she had no idea had originally possessed it. But, Sansa didn’t turn around, simply because she did not expect the actual person who entered her bathroom and skidded to a halt at the sight of her in her large bathtub.

“I’m so sorry, Sansa,” Podrick let out, practically shouting. By the time that Sansa had turned around to see him standing in the doorway, he was facing away from her towards her bedroom with his hands over his mouth and his back to her. And, for a moment, Sansa blinked in surprise. She had not expected him to come to her chambers. She had expected him to return to his chambers for the night, get some sleep, before heading to King’s Landing in the morning.

She hadn’t expected to see him in her room, in her bathroom while she was completed naked.

“Podrick?” she questioned.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I should’ve knocked or said something. I’ll be leaving now.”

“Podrick,” she replied. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” he rebuffed, pointing a finger in her general direction. Sansa watched his back almost in amusement.

Even as an innocent girl in King’s Landing, Sansa had heard of Podrick’s infamous adventures in a brothel paid for by her own husband. One day, in the gardens, Margaery had practically told her the details of Podrick’s infamous time in the brothels after Podrick had brought Sansa a note from her soon-to-be husband about the wedding. At the sight of Margaery eyeing him, Podrick had practically fled from the gardens with his cheeks blushing like a maiden’s. While Sansa had seen the change in Podrick, seen his confidence grow, his flirtatious comments growing bolder when they were alone or in a crowd, and (before their kiss) had even been with several of the girls of King’s Landing, the fact that he was standing in her bathroom, acting more nervous than she was about seeing him like this, almost made him more endearing to her.

“Podrick,” she ordered, lightly. However, even she could detect the tone of teasing in her voice. She scooted over the side of the tub, making sure that she would be blocked from his view.  She folded her arms on the edge of the tub and placed her chin on her arms. “Turn around,” she responded. Podrick shook his head practically waving his arms as he did so. “Podrick, I promise that you won’t see anything.”

And so, Podrick let out a heavy sigh and did as told.

At first, his hand lowered to his side and his fist clenched at his side. Then, he turned around, almost stiffly to turn towards her. Seeing her pressed against the tub and trying to keep herself covered to the best of her ability, he seemed to let out a breath of relief and lowered his head. “I am sorry for barging in Lady Sansa.”

“Sansa,” she corrected at the same time that he did.

“I was sent by Brienne because she wanted me to let you know that we are going to be leaving for King’s Landing in the morning,” Podrick informed her. She spotted the confused look on his face as he started speaking once again, “And, she also wanted me to see if you had changed your mind about me staying to protect you from Baelish.”

Sansa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “No, I have not changed my mind.”

“Have I done something, Sansa?” Podrick questioned.

Sansa let out a sigh. “Podrick,” she replied. “You haven’t done anything wrong by barging into my bathroom unannounced.”

“It’s not about that,” he whispered.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Podrick,” she responded.

Podrick opened his mouth to respond but seemed to think better of it. His mouth closed hastily afterward and he seemed to be thinking about something as he gazed intensely at her. Then, to her surprise, he took several steps in her direction and crouched down on the other side of the tub to stare at her. He was looking at her intensely, his brown eyes meeting with her blue ones, and one of his hands was fitted over his own. His thumb drifted over the back of Sansa’s hand.

“Then, why are you sending me away?” he whispered. Sansa looked down at him, trying hard to find the words before he was speaking again. “I would not mind staying here to protect you. I know that you are more than capable of protecting yourself and outmaneuvering Littlefinger. And, I’m sure that you already have a plan in place because you are not the same girl from King’s Landing. But, needing to protect you and wanting to protect you are two completely different things.”

Sansa sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling like she was unable to breathe.

“I want to protect you, Sansa.”

If Sansa had been the same naive girl from King’s Landing, Podrick would not be in her bathroom, crouched down on the other side of her tub. She would have shrieked at the sight of a boy in her bathroom and someone would’ve already come to drag him out. She wouldn’t have asked to kiss Podrick in the crypts. She wouldn’t have let him kiss her in her bedroom all those weeks ago or the numbers of times since then. Their relationship whatever that is would’ve been non-existent.

But, if Sansa was just the naive, little girl she had been when she had arrived in King’s Landing, she wouldn’t have been capable of hearing Podrick say “I want to protect you” or hear the underlying tone that sown within it.

I love you.

Sansa sucked in another breathe. Podrick watched her, his breathing uneven as though he was waiting for a response like Sansa was trying incredibly hard not to break under his gaze. Petyr Baelish’s love was different from the love that Jon gave her. Baelish loved her image and what he would desire to become with her by his side. Jon loved her like a sister, she was his family and he was hers, willing to protect her from the monsters and horrors that hid on her path.

But Podrick was neither of these things.

And, Sansa still wasn’t one hundred percent for sure if she was guarded enough for the potential hurt that Podrick might bring. He may not have the hidden agenda like Baelish, but that did not mean that Podrick could accidentally hurt her one day. It was things like that which constantly spun in her mind if she thought about Podrick visiting her at night and kissing her with so much love and adoration. But, no matter how hard she tried to guard her heart against Podrick of House Payne, he always managed to make the walls crumble with a simple smile.

“I’m just trying to protect you,” she whispered, hoping her voice portrayed what she felt inside. From the look in Podrick’s eyes, she hoped that she managed to get it across. “If you stay here, he’s going to be looking to drive a wedge between the two of us.”

“Just like he has between you and Arya?” he questioned. There must’ve been a look in her eye because he began to smile, the kind of smile that almost made it look like his face would’ve split in half. “Just like he thinks he’s driven between you and Arya,” he whispered like he’s managed to figure out her darkest secret. “I feel better about leaving you here in Winterfell.”

“You do?” she questioned.

He nodded his head. “Arya will be able to protect you better than I ever could.” His thumb brushed across the back of her hand, sending chills up her skin. “But,” he whispered, “That doesn’t mean I’m still not going to be worried about you.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But, I can protect myself.”

“I know,” he parroted back. “But, I still want to protect you.” Podrick let go of her hand, reaching up to cup the side of her face. He leaned forward to press a kiss against her lips. For the brief moment of contact, Sansa pressed her lips against his, leaning towards his kiss. Something ignited in her stomach but Podrick pulled away, quickly. “I should really get back to my quarters, Sansa,” he whispered, his voice husky.

“Why?” she questioned.

He gulped, looking away from her. “I’m afraid that if I kiss you any longer, that I’m going to…” he cut himself off, biting his bottom lip as he tried to figure out what to say. “I’m going to want to go farther than what we should be doing.”

“Is that a bad thing?” she questioned.

His eyes flickered to her. “I just don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered to her. “And, I don’t know what all he did to you and I don’t want to know,” he added quickly before she could open her mouth. “But, I don’t want to do something and bring up old memories, painful memories,” he whispered, “Because the last thing that I want to do is to accidentally hurt y-mmph”

Sansa cut him off with a kiss, pressing her lips against his before Podrick could even get a chance to finish the sentence. Podrick’s lips were working against hers, pushing her lips back and his tongue slipping in her mouth without much of a thought. Sansa’s hands were on his cheeks and pulling him closer. One of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, attempting to bring her closer against him and succeeding in only flattening her against the edge of the bath.

Suddenly, Podrick broke away, slipping from her grasp and heading swiftly into her bedroom. Sansa expected to hear the door to the castle open and then close, for then he would be gone and she would be alone for the evening. Except, it never happened. She heard the swift click of the lock of her door and her eyebrows rose in confusion. She had just come to the decision to follow after him when Podrick returned to the bathroom, a heavy look in his eye.

He crouched down in front of her.

“Promise me something,” he whispered.

She nodded her head before his forehead was pressed against hers.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” he breathed.

“I promise,” she replied before taking his lips in her own. Podrick let out a breath, his hand on the back of her head and his tongue sliding against her bottom lip. Sansa reached out, finding the zippers of his tunic and undoing it. His hands are there with her, their fingers brushing together as the red tunic slipped off of Podrick’s shoulders. She slid her hands down his chest, mapping out his chest as Podrick’s kisses shifted from her lips to her jawline and then down to her neck.

By the time that her fingers brushed against the waistband of his pants, his own hands were there to push them off and down. “Podrick,” she whispered. He paused, pulling back to look at her with a perplexed and worried expression on his face. He looked so cute that she let out a giggle as she continued and pushed herself from the edge to give him room to get in, “Join me in the tub so I can kiss you again.”

He grinned, stepping inside and sitting on the bench beside her. “As you wish, Lady Sansa,” he whispered before kissing her again. His lips pressed harder, more tender than their previous kisses, and the water shifted as he reached out to wrap his arms around her waist. The feeling of his hands against her bare skin, against the scars given to her by Ramsey, sent a jolt of fire down her spine with each gentle brush of his thumb against the scarred skin.

His eyes flickered up at her as he shifted her until she sat in his lap, feeling his chest against her side. In his eyes, Sansa could spot the silent question in his eyes. Is that okay? Something warm formed in the pit of her stomach as she nodded her head, dipping down to press another kiss to Podrick’s lips. He kissed her back tenderly, but his lips quickly turned feverous and heated as his hands traveled over her scars and into her hair. His hands moved constantly around her body before barely brushing over her hips.

Then, Podrick hesitated.

“Is this alright, Sansa?” he questioned.

“Yes, Podrick,” she replied. “This… this with you… it’s more than alright.”

Podrick nodded his head frantically before his lips are pressed against hers, his kisses had become searing and Sansa found herself melting into his kiss. Whatever had been holding him back before had seemingly melted away.

[apostateangela]

Part 3: The Power of the Pussy... I mean Autonomy.

I’m back.

So much has happened, but I’m reluctantly going to at least bring this sex post to a reasonable close, in a sense of fairness as there was a bit of a cliff hanger. Though I’m baffled at any interest in my sex life because there are much more interesting stories out there. Except I suppose a middle aged good Mormon girl turned slut contains some intrigue.

Yes, I used the word slut.

And I’m okay with it.

There’s a movement, of which I have found myself a part of, to take that word back.

I have participated in two Slut Walks now and have felt their power as I’ve stood with fellow sluts and chanted “MY BODY! MY CHOICE!”

Just for clarification, though I’m sure you don’t really need it, the negative connotation of the word slut suggests that it is somehow shameful and wrong to have a lot of sex with as many consenting people as you want.

I clarify because this is the place I came from; this negative space where sex is reserved for one person and one person only, that of your eternally bonded husband.

The idealism and ridiculousness of this concept aside--of which I’ve already established--the reasoning ties back to what I’ve already articulated, that somehow a woman’s body is not hers but rather God’s, and by extension, her husband’s. This idea that a woman’s body is not her own to do with what she likes exists outside of the church or other ecclesiastical entities.

I am not unique in fighting against it.

But as I’ve also already shared, my feminist journey is very closely tied to my spiritual one.

Where did I leave off?

Oh yes, sexistential crisis, Danny, I needed more experiences.

I didn’t understand a lot back then, but something I did know was that I didn’t want to be tied to anyone, I didn’t want a boyfriend, or heaven forbid a husband. This was partially the fear of falling back into the abusive horror I had just left, escaped from. And I knew that I didn’t understand the scope of that enough to attempt a new relationship even though it had been a year since I had gotten out of my marriage (I wasn’t divorced. Divorce takes a long time. Yes, I am an adulteress).

The other reason is, I wanted to explore and understand sex and I wanted to be free to do that with multiple people. Getting into a monogamous relationship would inhibit that. I was up front with Danny from the beginning. But it seemed he didn’t really hear me, as is often true. To my credit, when he started calling me his girlfriend, told me he loved me, and started to exhibit some ownership tendencies I, as kindly as possible, put a stop to it. We drifted away, there wasn’t much heartbreak. It was more his choice than mine as he couldn’t handle the criteria.

Which led me to talk to more people on OKCupid. So many men...like a candy shop!

And I had me some fierce cravings and desire to try it all.

Remember the questions I had at the onset of this journey?

What kind of sex?

With who?

How did I find someone?

Would anyone even want to have sex with me?

What about safety?

What about after?

What kind of experiences could I have?

I had answered the ‘How did I find someone?’ The internet is a convenient and wonderful tool. As well as the answer to ‘Would anyone even want to have sex with me?’

Yes… duh.

I was bold and hungry and had discovered something my friend/colleague (the one who got me started on OKC) called “The power of the pussy.”

If you’re offering, it’s not hard to find someone who wants it. I have discovered that this power is something that most women on the planet know they have. Most are taught about it by other women, sometimes even their own mothers--or their sisters to say the least. But, if you live and learn in a culture that limits sex and treats it as a sacred or shameful thing (two sides of the same coin) then no one tells you about it, let alone teaches you about it.

I won’t bore you with the naughty details. Except to put the scope of my endeavour into perspective, because I find it somewhat remarkable.

I hit it, and hit it hard, for about six months.

If I only had one new partner a week... it was a slow week.

I learned a LOT! About sex, and men, and myself in connection to men and sex.

My experiences ran the gamut; from assault to group sex.

Yes, I was sexually assaulted.

I am not unique in that either.

I joined the sisterhood (one in five women) of those who have been sexually assaulted a few months into my journey.

It’s not a surprise.

Having lots of sex with men you meet online has many risks, assault being one of them.

Sadly, I learned from that experience too.

It is one of those things that I had to have explained to me. I didn’t know how to understand what had happened to me or how I should deal with the reality and feelings of it.

Because I showed up as a consenting person, things were muddy.

It started out different than I had experienced before, a bit more aggressive.

But it was exciting, so I went along with it because, remember, I wanted sex.

Then in the middle, things escalated, changed.

It became rough and violent to where I was afraid and wanted it to stop.

I remember clearly saying, “Stop. I don’t want this, I don’t like that.”

…to no avail. I stumbled from this man’s apartment late that night and somehow made the 90 minute drive home without getting in an accident, though I don’t remember much of that late night drive.

In my confusion, the next day, I went to my militant feminist friend and she clarified the reality of the assault for me and as well as identifying the rape victim’s behavior I also exhibited; that of almost leaving your body, disassociation, while waiting for it to end.

I’m not writing about this because I want pity or anything akin to special recognition. Again, I am not unique.

I am including this because it connects to shame.

I said in the last post after I spent the day in bed with Danny that there was something inconspicuously missing, shame.

I did not feel bad about what I had done. Quite the contrary, I felt great!

And that is fairly incredible considering my Mormon programming.

I had sex with many men before my assault.

And after each encounter, I still felt no shame.

But after my assault, I did…deep despairing shame.

Because I thought it was my fault.

This is what sexual assault does to victims. It suggests that because you were in a certain place, dressed a certain way, drinking perhaps too much alcohol, consenting to casual sex with someone you barely knew, that somehow it meant that the assault was your fault. That you had done something to bring this violence upon yourself.

There is shame attached to that.

But, sexual assault is never the fault of the victim.

And the shame felt by a rape victim is misplaced at the very least, and downright criminal at the most.

To take the blame for something you did not do, is a dishonesty of self.

It is the deepest wronging of a personal nature.

It is also very Mormon.

For the easiest thing in the world, is to blame yourself for everything that goes wrong in your life, ask God for forgiveness, lay the burden at his feet, and move on clean. Except, you can’t. Because it wasn’t your fault to begin with.

While it is true I learned to be more careful from that experience, I also learned that Mormonism had made me take the blame for things that were not my fault and apologize for myself at every turn.

I try really hard to fight that impulse… every day.

Did I stop having sex after the assault?

Not at all, after my bruises healed, I continued my exploration.

I was not as traumatized as some because I had experienced worse; the psychological and mental abuse I suffered at the hands of my husband for over twenty five years.

The violence of a single experience cannot compete with that.

So what are my conclusions?

What does sex mean to my life and my identity?

What did I learn from this exploration?

I learned about physical, mental, and emotional connection.

I learned that these intimacies can exist in different combinations as well as independently of each other. And that it is okay for me to want sex in those different combinations.

I learned that people are not perfect, and their struggles and imperfections are not my fault, just as my baggage is not theirs.

I learned that attraction and beauty wear so many different faces.

I learned how to release myself from inhibition and let go to fully experience all the moment had to offer, and then take it even further.

I learned that my mother was right… somewhat.

SEX is wonderful!

Sex is FUN!

Sex IS something to be shared.

But, sorry Mom, it is much MORE of all of those things when you diversify and explore.

Your baby girl is a SLUT, and proud to be.

As a mother, I hope my own children embrace their inner sluts, and I have indeed taken one of them shopping to that funfactory of adult toy stores.

Bottom line, I LOVE SEX!

It is a SERIOUS physiological need I have (Maslow you are correct).

More than that, I WANT IT!

And as a autonomous woman realizing her own power, with respect and consent,

I will find ways and people to enjoy and fill that desire, as well as continue to explore and expand my sexual horizons.

I will revel in pleasure...

...without shame.

-Angela

[spellcastersjudgement]

hmmm 22 with hornets?

this was the baby froot’s second favorite ship growing up (fusionship was the otp at the time) so i am always am happy to contribute hornetshipping to the fandom 

#22: a kiss in a rush of adrenaline 

“Crowler is such an ass for doing this.” 

Bastion, though not given to speaking ill of professors, was inclined to agree. “Being promoted to Chancellor has certainly inflated his ego beyond repair,” 

Alexis leaned her elbows on the seat in front of her, the freshman occupant nervously looking over their shoulder and scooting forward in the chair. The arena buzzed with anticipation, everyone speculating on who would be dueling in the first official match of the year. Bastion remembered being in Jaden’s dorm room, listening to him talk about the party in their room tonight, the ‘squad’ as Jaden was so fond of calling it, planning to squeeze into their broom closet of a room and drink until the sun came up. Chazz had busted down the door, looking even more irate than usual, screaming about being roped into a duel with some snot-nosed, wet-behind-the-ears freshmen that were clearly beneath The Chazz. 

Bastion thought it was all rather adorable. When the black-haired boy was angry–more than his constant simmer of anger, because if it was the default state was it really worth mentioning?–he blushed the lightest shade of pink and spit out swear words that weren’t words per se, but left no one in any doubt of the sentiment behind them. When Bastion had dueled Chazz freshman year, had been on the receiving end of one of those rages, it was impossible to take him seriously. 

He was just too cute. 

“If Zane were here still Crowler would’ve pulled his ass into publicity stunts instead of actually teaching him,” Alexis laughed, rolling her eyes, picking at her nails. “We’re the top dueling school in the world, why do we need all of this publicity?” 

“Perhaps the fact our academic programs are gaining more attention than our dueling program,” 

“Well fuck, that’s good isn’t it, B?” Alexis snorted. “I’m tired of friends from high school getting up my ass about going to Card Game College,” 

“I don’t disagree. Remember who’s in charge here though,” Bastion watched as the seats filled. It was obvious who was a freshman because they sorted themselves into clumps of color, unaware that the dorm hierarchy was little more than a formality to most people. “Chazz will certainly provide a good show, no doubt. That’s why Crowler must have picked him,”

Though Chazz Princeton claimed to be no-nonsense, his theatrics when it came to, well everything in his life, belied him. The yelling, the trash-talking, the self-given nicknames, the chant–all perfect for the new chancellor’s half-baked plan to bring press to Duel Academy, not to mention his family name always raised eyebrows and turned heads. And Chazz, for all of his ranting that this was “totally lame,” had parked himself in front of the toothpaste-spattered mirror, stole Jaden’s hairbrush, and after painstakingly ridding it of what he called “Slacker DNA,” preened in front of the mirror, making sure every strand of his hair in place. 

“Stupid, stupid Crowler,” he’d muttered, picking at a pimple on his cheek despite Bastion’s insistence he should leave it alone. “He doesn’t–he doesn’t even know what fucking cameras to use, which side is my good side! I bet he didn’t even get a real opponent,” 

Bastion, though he barely was able to reign in the impulse, did not take the opportunity to tell Chazz he looked exquisite from any side. 

Pining was a strange feeling, Bastion reflected as Chazz sprayed himself with air freshener. Or rather, he held his arms out and instructed Jaden to spray him, turning in place, smelling more like alcohol than Pumpkin Spice but better than anything else in the dorm. His black coat swished as he turned, and Bastion enjoyed the way his eyes fell closed, the way he stood up onto his tiptoes to twirl, akin to a sarcastic dueling Disney princess, not that Chazz would appreciate the comparison. Bastion had felt bad as soon as the thought crossed his mind, but he chalked it up to the fact the brain chemicals that caused one to feel ‘love’ were messing with him. 

Those same chemicals were causing his heart to beat faster and excitement to bubble up as Chazz, or The Chazz as he so preferred, strutted into the duel arena, chin held high and his typical scowl on his face. On the other side of Alexis, he could hear Jaden leading the cheer of “Chazz it up,” finding himself soon cheering as well. The group of freshmen in the row in front of them looked over their shoulders, sharing confused glances with each other at how the majority of the student body seemed to know the chant. 

“Look at that,” Alexis stopped chanting to lean over to Bastion and point at the person walking in to the other side of the duel arena. “He’s so small–is he really old enough to be at college?” 

“Syrus is only five foot two, it’s not unheard of,” 

“Syrus also gets handed the kids menu when we go out,” Alexis said. “And at least Syrus got the proper uniform size. That kid’s drowning in his damn trenchcoat,” 

Bastion only ever seen three people wear Obelisk blue trenchcoats in his time at the academy, and one of them had swapped theirs out for a ratty black one that had gotten him in trouble several times before the professors realized he could give a flying fuck about the dress code. Zane and Atticus, the top students at the school before their graduation this past spring, had made trenchcoats synonymous with high level dueling ability, which was ridiculous because they had never set out to do that. Bastion could attest, as the number-one ranked student (academically, that is, Jaden was the best for dueling of course), that a trenchcoat would not have helped him. And it certainly wasn’t doing any favors for this runt of an opponent, who was surreptitiously looking down at his feet, making sure he didn’t step on the hem. 

“Chazz it the fuck up!” Jaden jumped up, waving around a Duel Academy water bottle that most certainly did not contain water. 

The Chazz saw his roommate–actually, plural now because Syrus was leaning heavily against Jaden’s side, taking a sip from the same water bottle and slurring the words of the cheer–sticking up his middle finger with a glare so intense Bastion would’ve shrunk under it. Jaden laughed, of course, and Syrus shouted obscenities that Bastion never thought he would hear out of his mild-mannered friend. 

“Sit down, you slackers,” 

The phrase was so distinctly Chazz that Bastion was surprised the vice chancellor was now speaking, his voice booming through the microphone, contrasting his small size. He was also wearing a trenchcoat. Bastion would have to write some formula detailing the height of a person (or lack thereof) and how likely they were to wear such a ridiculous thing. 

Chazz would be excluded from this formula, of course, because Bastion was almost as fond of his coat as he was of Chazz. He couldn’t have his feelings taint his findings.  

“The trash-talking is limited to the participants. If certain members of the audience can’t keep their mouths shut for the duration of the duel, I will personally see they are punished,” Bonaparte continued, nearly tripping over the cord of the microphone. 

Jaden and Syrus sat down, but that didn’t stop Syrus from much more quietly saying choice words. 

Whatever was in that bottle, Bastion might need to ask for some. 

“Welcome to our first official match of the school year: Chazz Princeton versus incoming freshman Reginald Van Howell–the only freshman to make it in to Obelisk blue this year and the pride of his dueling prep school!” 

“That just means he’s a carbon copy of Chazz at the beginning of last year,” Alexis rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, leaning back in her seat like she was already bored. “Chazz is gonna wipe the floor with this little shit,” 

“He better,” Jaden popped in. “if he loses I owe the guy down the hall a hundred bucks,” 

“You don’t have a hundred dollars to your name, Jay,” Alexis said. 

“All the more reason for Chazzy-Spazzy to win,” Jaden said, tipping more of god-knows-what type of alcoholic beverage down his throat. “That’s gonna be our beer money for tonight,” 

This time last year before he knew how incorrigible Jaden Yuki was, Bastion would have admonished him for betting money he didn’t have. He didn’t waste his breath this time. “If Chazz wins, be sure to buy the higher-quality liquor from your supplier,” 

“Bastion, why do you always have to make it sound like I’m buying heroin or something? Also I totally will because I don’t wanna hear his constant bitching tonight,” Jaden sat back in his seat. “Duel’s starting, duel’s starting–here’s hopin’ I didn’t just fuck us all over tonight!” 

Chazz drew his first card, and Bastion was hopeful as well. Hopeful that Chazz would win not so Jaden wouldn’t land himself in trouble with whoever was this year’s designated bookie for the Slifer dorm, though it would be preferable for their alcohol fund to increase by a hundred dollars, but so he could see the elusive Happy Chazz, akin in rarity to Bigfoot. He would smile, a genuine one, not a sarcastic or mischevious smile that Bastion also loved, and he would laugh and not complain about Jaden hugging him and sometimes, just sometimes when Bastion would congratulate him, the black haired boy would say ‘thanks, Bas.’ That nickname, which was used my all members of the friend group (with the exception of Alexis who could never get a picture of a fish out of her mind when she heard it), sounded different coming from Chazz, made his heart swell and his brain short-circuit, and he would be lying if he said he weren’t desperate to hear it. 

The duel was a quick one. Jaden only had time to make it through three cycles of “Chazz It Up” before Reginald’s life points hit zero, the freshman looking like his parents had just been murdered in front of him given the horror on his face at losing to a Slifer. Bastion rather enjoyed watching freshmen learn that the colors one wore didn’t always directly correlate to their dueling abilities, but he was now more focused on following his friends out of the crowd to get to Chazz, congratulate him on his victory, and maybe, just maybe satisfy his selfish desires to see Chazz smile. 

Jaden and Syrus were already embracing Chazz from both sides, laughing and wobbling on inebriated legs, Jaden shouting that he was buying them Goose tonight and Chazz agreeing with him instead of shoving him off. Alexis shooed them off of Chazz long enough to give him a one-armed hug. 

Chazz hadn’t seemed to notice Bastion yet. As the Ra stepped toward him, ready to offer his own congratulations, the black-haired boy looked over toward him, his eyes widening the slightest bit as he ducked out of Alexis’s hold, closing the distance between them, smiling. Bastion was confused for a moment, his words never making it out as the Slifer’s arms closed around his neck, lips smashing ungracefully against his. 

Bastion had not even allowed himself to fantasize about kissing Chazz. He had only recently come to terms with the fact he’d been pining for the better part of a year, and it would probably take until graduation for him to allow himself to consider the possibility that Chazz would return his feelings. Now, as Chazz’s arms tightened around his neck, his lips moving against Bastions, skinny frame pressed against Bastion’s muscular one, he had to consider the possibility that he was hallucinating. It was possible that something in Jaden’s dorm room had been left over the summer and rotted to the point toxic fumes were permeating the space, infecting his brain. 

Determined to see if he was hallucinating, Bastion forced his arms to relax the slightest bit from how they’d been tensed up in surprise, he hugged the black-haired boy to his chest, squeezing the slightest bit too tightly on accident, a gasp breaking the kiss as Chazz caught his breath. 

They were both standing there, in the middle of the duel arena, with hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at them. 

“Uh, um–good job,” Bastion said eloquently. 

“Yeah, uh, thanks,” Chazz said, face bright pink, the remnants of a smile on his face. 

“God fucking damn it!” 

The shout came from somewhere to Bastion’s left. An irate Slifer boy at the top of the stadium seats shouted again. “Do you know how much fucking money you cost all of us?” 

“You bitches owe me twenty-five dollars apiece!” Jaden laughed, nearly falling over. 

Chazz’s face went from serene to incensed, pushing away from Bastion to chew out Jaden for placing bets on his love life. 

At least they’d have even more money to spend on the party tonight. 

[garden-ghoul]

two blogs, part 8

“feeling pleased with myself because I own multiple vegetables AND a jam right now”

Just like me, the hobbits are thinking of their next meal:

OF HERBS AND STEWED RABBIT

I’m jazzed because I think my boy Faramir is gonna be in this one. The Shigeo to Boromir’s Ritsu. Anyway, there is supposed to be food and water for the scavenging in the place where our heroes are going! They have to go through Ithilien to get to Cirith Ungol, which we all must agree has a much more pleasant and scavenge-able sound than blasted hell-plains of ultra-despair. So they set off on their way! It says "a single red light burned high up in the Towers of the Teeth,” which is kind of ominous considering I don’t remember those being mentioned, ever. Maybe it’s because I was practically asleep last chapter.

Our heroes find their hearts much lightened to see trees again, and they realize that they’ve come so far south that it’s already spring here. Mm I want to figure out what the actual latitude difference is between the Shire and Cirith Ungol. Hold on a sec. It’s a north-south distance of about 800 miles (nice going guys!!), which is about the same as Boston to Charleston, SC, or from London to Madrid. In ANY case, it’s spring in Ithilien, and “Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness.” What a great phrase!  really good aesthetic. Tolkien goes in an amazing amount of detail about exactly which kinds of plants there are--one assumes this is Sam POV again, because Frodo probably knows the names of about 12 kinds of plants. Gollum breathes in the strong perfume of the flowers and chokes, which is another relateable Gollum feeling. 

We also observe that even in this beautiful land there are signs of the Enemy; apparently orcs just go around carving random shit on trees, which is kinda endearing. The text describes it as “evil runes,” but come on it’s probably mostly “Yalbakh is a wanker.” “7th company rulez.”

Sam had been giving earnest thought to food as they marched. Now that the despair of the impassable Gate was behind him, he did not feel so inclined as his master to take no thought for their livelihood beyond the end of their errand; and anyway it seemed wiser to him to save the waybread of the Elves for worse times ahead.

My logistics son. He asks Gollum very politely to catch something hobbits can eat; while Gollum is out hunting, Sam just stares at Frodo’s Beautiful Chiselled Sleeping Face and mutters “I love him.” Gaaaaayyyy. Then he starts thinking of how to cook the rabbits Gollum has brought back. Hobbits learn to cook before they learn to read! This delights me greatly. I want to live in a culture that prioritizes having everyone able to cook! Gollum comes back with water and realizes Sam is going to cook the rabbits. Horror of horrors!! This is one of the cute... ish.... Sam and Smeagol interactions, because there’s barely any threats of maiming at all! Just good old fashioned cultural misunderstandings. Sam tries to get Smeagol to find him some herbs or root vegetables, by which Smeagol is Bewildered. What the fuck is taters, precious?? He huffs himself away into the forest somewhere, indignant.

Sam and his master sat just within the fern-brake and ate their stew from the pans, sharing the old fork and spoon. They allowed themselves half a piece of the Elvish waybread each. It seemed a feast.

::3

A little later Sam realizes his fire is smoking, and that someone in the forest is sloppily imitating bird calls. He hurries to Frodo’s side, and they hear some people who sound like they’re discussing Gollum. You’d think Gollum would be the stealthiest, the least likely to be spotted, but I’m guessing the Gondorians (Gondorrim?) have seen him before.

‘Nay! Not Elves,' said the fourth, the tallest, and as it appeared the chief among them. 'Elves do not walk in Ithilien in these days. And Elves are wondrous fair to look upon, or so 'tis said.'

'Meaning we're not, I take you,' said Sam. 'Thank you kindly. And when you've finished discussing us, perhaps you'll say who you are, and why you can't let two tired travellers rest.'

At least we still have Sam to be passive-aggressive to gently bewildered humans who may or may not be about to kill him. But Captain Faramir has no choice to believe that they’re from his brother’s company when they share his own prophetic dream with him. Faramir goes, I guess, somewhere, leaving two men to guard the hobbits. The guards turn out to know some kind of elven language! How exciting! Frodo realizes they must be Dunedain. Awww haha and one of them is named Mablung. Faramir’s men are here to harass a company of Haradrim who apparently serve Sauron. It’s a good thing Faramir is captain, Mablung intimates; he leads a charmed life! Nothing unlucky can possibly happen to him! ...well, depending on whether you count his brother dying unlucky. But I guess Frodo and Sam don’t actually know Boromir is dead. Faramir... might, actually? Just now, Faramir is coming back in pursuit of some guy, and--yep--he’s shot him dead full of arrows.

It was Sam's first view of a battle of Men against Men, and he did not like it much. He was glad that he could not see the dead face. He wondered what the man's name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would not really rather have stayed there in peace.

::( Same. Nobody wonders whether orcs are really evil at heart, though. Wonder, damn you! The battle ends and Sam goes to sleep immediately. Okay.

THE WINDOW ON THE WEST

When Sam wakes up, everyone is sitting in a circle for story time, I mean, watching Faramir interrogate Frodo. Faramir is like, trying to trick Frodo into... admitting he killed Boromir? Maybe? Frodo is just shocked to find out that Boromir is dead, but Sam is having none of this rudeness.

'See here, Captain! ' He planted himself squarely in front of Faramir his hands on his hips, and a look on his face as if he was addressing a young hobbit who had offered him what he called ‘sauce' when questioned about visits to the orchard.

SAUCE. FARAMIR, YOUNG HOBBIT. No I’ll bet Sam is actually a good bit older than Faramir. Also Faramir’s men are kind of delighted to see him being told off by this 3-foot-tall super indignant guy. But Faramir tells Sam off right back and then goes right on, though he’s marginally more polite to Frodo. He tells about finding Boromir’s body in the funeral boat. Frodo fears that this means everyone else is dead too ::( ::( “Will you not put aside your doubt of me and let me go?” says Frodo. “I am weary, and full of grief, and afraid. But I have a deed to do, or to attempt, before I too am slain.” TFW honestly. Our heroes walk with Faramir to a safehouse nearby (actually ten miles away, a long distance for short legs!) and he makes an incredibly good guess at why it sounds like Frodo and Boromir weren’t BFFs. He totally understands that Frodo can’t say any more:

'Alas! it is a crooked fate that seals your lips who saw him last, and holds from me that which I long to know: what was in his heart and thought in his latest hours.’

I love that thing where... there is something someone Absolutely Cannot Say, and everyone knows they’re talking in code and they’re in trouble over that thing. It’s not that common? Right now I can only remember it happening in Full Metal “hostage situations everywhere” Alchemist. Anyway it’s my jam. Faramir talks wistfully about how warlike Boromir always was, and how Faramir just wants to see the White Tree bloom and to see Minas Tirith at peace. I am just CONSTANTLY thinking to myself “Faramir is going to die!” and then I remember he actually survives and is happy and I’m just, utterly astonished. This happens like 3 times a minute. It’s incredibly stupid.

They get to the safehouse, which is Very Beautiful. Faramir’s men prepare some food. “Sam, not used to being waited on, looked with some surprise at the tall man who bowed, holding a basin of water before him.” [begins chanting] Wait on Sam! Wait on Sam! After eating Faramir comes to question Frodo some more, but, like, friendly. Frodo wants to please him so he talks about how Valiant Boromir was. For some reason this is kind of heartbreaking to me. That feel when you are trying hard to remind yourself that you are not safe and never will be again, that you cannot trust anyone... Also when Faramir is talking there’s this sense that Gondor is slowly dying. Maybe that’s why I absolutely can’t believe Faramir survives this trilogy. Rohan is still young and strong though, so that’s good! Gondor’s history is just too long. It’s tired. The civilization is too old and is overdue to crumble. 

‘As the Rohirrim do, we now love war and valour as things good in themselves, both a sport and an end; and though we still hold that a warrior should have more skills and knowledge than only the craft of weapons and slaying, we esteem a warrior, nonetheless, above men of other crafts.’

Faramir does not love war, and he doesn’t want to be a warrior. He’s a good man and I like him. These harsh days make everyone wary and sharp. Sam accidentally gets going on the subject of Galadriel and reveals that Isildur’s Bane is the Ring, and Faramir gets a Weird Look on his face. “A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality! Ha!” But don’t worry, my dears, he’s only quoting some nasty thing his father said to him, I think. He doesn’t want to even see the Ring. He’s a stronger man than his brother. Go to sleep, my good friends, and have no fear he’ll try to take it from you. Frodo suddenly blurts out exactly what their errand is... and then faints. Faramir carries him gently to bed.

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine fic - “The Summoning - Part 2″ (Rated NC17)

Kurt has just been jilted by his long-time boyfriend for the last time, and he’s going to do something about it. (2851 words this chapter)

So, I know that this story has kind of been on hiatus, but after seeing Darren Criss as The Music Meister on The Flash, it kind of kicked my brain back into gear. I hope to have more of this up when I can, but I hope you enjoy this second part. Let me know in the tags. The more comments I get, the more I'll write <3 Inspired by the photo above. Warnings for sexual content, what might be considered dub-con but not entirely, and mention of Finn (alive and well).

Part 1

Read on AO3.

“Who … who are you?” Kurt pulls his hand from the man’s grasp and a strange spark of pain arises from letting go. Kurt’s hand wants to go back, wants to hold this man’s hand. Still, Kurt takes a step back, then another as he thinks of a way to escape. What spell can he use? What incantation will distract this man so he can make a break for it? “Why are you here?”

“Like I said,” the man says, picking debris off the sleeves of his black coat, “my name is Blaine. And I’m here because you summoned me.”

“Th-that’s … that’s impossible,” Kurt argues, walking backward through the door to his living room. If he can make it to the fire escape, then maybe … “I’m … I’m not strong enough to summon a person.”

“Oh darling” - Blaine smiles, sinister but sensual, dangerous yet dapper - “you have no idea how strong you truly are.”

“It wouldn’t matter if I was strong or not,” Kurt says, steadily moving away but finding that he doesn’t necessarily want to retreat so badly. The more Blaine talks, the less Kurt wants to be far from him. “You can’t possibly exist. I can’t conjure flesh and blood from thin air. I can’t create a person.”

Blaine pauses his pursuit to adjust his cuffs. “Well, I’m not exactly a person.” He peeks up at Kurt through long lashes, hears Kurt’s mind working in the silence.

“Then … then what are you?” Kurt shakes his head to erase a few ideas he knows can’t be possible.

“You might call me a demon.” Blaine shrugs. “You might not. The truth is, I have many names, none of which matter because the only name you need to know me by is Blaine, and with any luck” – Blaine takes Kurt’s hand again and brings it to his lips, kissing his knuckles at the pause between his words. The touch of Blaine’s skin against his makes Kurt feel sublimely whole – “you’ll be saying it over … and over … and over.”

“I don’t … I don’t understand,” Kurt stammers, too baffled to catch on, even with the help of Blaine’s suggestive tone and his lust blown eyes. Mesmerizing eyes. Eyes that abandon their golden hue and become almost black, pulsing with a hypnotic blue radiance, a shade that mirrors the color of Kurt’s eyes. But before Blaine can explain in more detail, or demonstrate (as he wants to do), his gaze falls on something that makes his brow pinch and his eyes burn with a crimson flame.

“Is this him!?” Blaine growls, dropping Kurt’s hand and grabbing a framed picture off the mantel. “Is this the asshole who broke your heart!? I’ll tear him to pieces! I’ll rip the flesh from his bones and leave him in the desert for the vultures to finish off!”

Kurt watches in horror as the glass in the frame warps beneath the demon’s gaze, the corner of the photograph underneath turning black and smoking.

“No!” Kurt snatches the frame back. He blows on the glass to cool the fire, then hugs it to his chest, keeping the image out of Blaine’s sight. “No, that’s … that’s my stepbrother, Finn. And he’s a wonderful, amazing person who’d never hurt anyone, so you … you leave him alone!”

“Are you sure, Kurt?” Blaine asks, less skeptical than amused. “Because I can tell if what you say is the truth. I’m a part of you. I know your thoughts. I can feel your desires, your honesty, your lies ...”

Offended, Kurt pulls himself straight. “So, tell me, demon, am I lying?” he asks. He doesn’t appreciate being doubted like this, not by a demon, and not in his own home. He stares Blaine down with defiance in his eyes. Kurt knows little about demons, but the ones he’s read about tend to play tricks, even on those they claim loyalty to. They cause mischief for the fun of it – mischief that can be deadly. But they also respect power. If this demon says Kurt has power, a power he himself has not realized, then he’ll use it.

Blaine quirks a brow, his skepticism turning to anger, but his amusement spreading. “No,” he decides with a nonchalant sniff. “No, you’re not.”

“Good.” Kurt’s voice shakes even though he prayed it wouldn’t. “Then as long as we have that settled ...” Kurt goes to put the frame back in its place on the mantel, then re-thinks himself and stuffs it behind the sofa cushion, out of sight, which then leads Kurt to ask himself how did they make their way to the sofa so quickly?

“Don’t you worry, darling …” A seductive smile pulls Blaine’s lips, that spellbinding glow returning to his eyes “… I won’t harm a single hair on his, or anyone else’s head, who hasn’t done you wrong. You have my word.”

“And how much is your word worth?” Kurt asks, not seeming to notice that he’s being herded, backed over to the sofa and now sitting down. “You’re a demon, and demons are evil, aren’t they? How do I know I can trust you?”

“It’s not so black and white as all that,” Blaine says, maneuvering in front of Kurt, kneeling on the floor between his legs. “Like I said, you summoned me. You created me. I am part of you. So, my word is your word. There is goodness inside of me, just as there is darkness inside of you.”

Kurt shakes his head. He has an answer to that, an argument, but he can’t seem to vocalize it. Trying to voice it feels like being drunk and trying to sing the lyrics to “I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General”. This man’s voice - this demon’s voice - siphons away his will. It makes him compliant. But as Blaine leans over him, toying with his belt buckle, those eyes of his still working their magic with a final vestige of Kurt’s common sense howling to be heard, Kurt begins to think why not? Why not have this fantasy? Why not indulge this gorgeous creature? He’s there because of Kurt, right? Kurt can feel his own power flowing through him. Kurt’s still not entirely clear on what spell he cast that brought this demon to life, but some spells only last 24 hours. What if this demon goes back to whatever realm he came from by the time tomorrow night rolls around? Or what if he turns to dust? After all that Kurt’s been through over the past two years with his snake of an ex-boyfriend, doesn’t Kurt deserve this?

Doesn’t he deserve Blaine?

Kurt’s power obviously thought so, because there Kurt was in his kitchen, thinking about someone just like Blaine, and (literally) poof! Here he is.

“I know that you’re confused,” Blaine says, inferring Kurt’s thoughts. “I know you still have some fight left in you, but you’ve had a long day, haven’t you? So, sit still, pet,” Blaine whispers using a compulsion that Kurt gave him, with Kurt’s own power behind it. Kurt may be able to resist the sway of an unrelated witch or wizard, but his own power is a little more difficult to withstand. It’s bred from his family line, anchored deep within his soul. His will longs to obey it, no matter who wields it. “Don’t move.”

“Y-yes,” Kurt stutters. His body becomes heavy, locked down to the sofa beneath him as if he’s been tied there. He feels Blaine, knows he’s undoing his belt and unzipping his pants, but he can’t lift his head to watch him.

He can’t move his hands and arms to stop him.

But why would he want to?

“Of course,” Kurt murmurs. “Whatever you say---ah!”

Kurt feels Blaine’s mouth on his body. He feels Blaine suck his flaccid cock, and he becomes instantly hard – inhumanly hard. He feels Blaine doing more than that, as if the tongue stroking his shaft were somehow also making its way inside of him, lapping softly at his rim, opening him up. He’s about to convince himself that that’s not possible, but, at the moment, anything could be possible, and that excites Kurt.

The combination of Blaine taking control and Kurt feeling unable to move overwhelms Kurt, but in an erotic way. His temperature soars from first day of spring to Long Island summer. He’s overcome, helpless against an attack that he surrendered wantonly to.

Surrender. That’s the perfect word for it … and Blaine seems to know it, too.

“Yes,” Blaine hums, pulling away to torment the wrecked man sitting above him, writhing into the couch. “Surrender, darling. Surrender to me.”

“Yes,” Kurt gasps. “Surrender … I will … I will surr---oh! Oh … nngh!”

Blaine chuckles once before he pulls Kurt in again, and Kurt feels like he’s sinking, drowning. Blaine’s lips are like fire, his tongue otherworldly, and his mouth so hot and wet, it doesn’t feel like flesh. Kurt squirms at its push and pull, the way it moves not only around him, but through him as well, lighting fires, then putting them out just to reignite them, only hotter.

“Yes …” Kurt chants, over and over till his mouth goes dry. God, he wishes Blaine would kiss him. But then he’d have to stop what he’s doing, and Kurt thinks that if he does stop before Kurt gets the chance to finish, he’ll up and die. But no sooner does Kurt think of kissing Blaine then there’s a mouth on his, the same tongue tracing the veins on his cock licking over the seam of his lips and pushing itself inside. Kurt doesn’t know how Blaine does it, ironic since magic brought Blaine here – Kurt’s magic. But Kurt has lived in the presence of non-magic people for so long, there’s still a bit of the unreal to this experience, a smidgen of this can’t be happening. But it is. It is happening. Not five hours after Kurt caught his ex cheating on him again, after coming home alone thinking that he’d never find someone else who’d ever love him and, really, how bad would it be to employ the services of a sex worker anyway?, he’s trapped on his couch beneath the sensual, astral projecting mouth(s) of the man of his dreams.

Not too bad for an otherwise average Saturday evening.

“G—god,” Kurt moans, head rolling back and forth, the only thing he can competently seem to do. “J—jesus Christ …”

Blaine pulls off Kurt’s cock with a huff and a grimace. “Do you think that you could be so kind as to move away from the religious stuff and start moaning my name, darling? I mean, God and his kid claim to do some miraculous things, but I don’t see them down here right now. Do you?”

Kurt swallows. He’s tempted to laugh, and if Blaine would go back to blowing him, he would, but the longer Blaine’s mouth remains separate from his cock, the more Kurt feels like he’s about to explode … and not in the way he was hoping.

“I’m … I’m sorry, Blaine. Please … please, Blaine. Please … don’t stop … Blaine …”

Blaine grins, his eyes flashing blue again, then red, his body absorbing more power every time Kurt says please. It’s an old-fashioned magic, one that most people tend to overlook, but it’s still an effective one.

The power of a polite request.

“Sure,” Blaine says, returning to Kurt’s cock with a single suck. “Whatever you want, darling.”

Blaine becomes the devil himself in his efforts to finish Kurt, to bring him to a pinnacle so high that falling from it won’t just exhaust him, it’ll knock him unconscious. After casting such a strong spell, Kurt will need his rest.

And Blaine needs Kurt passive for a while so that he can move on to the next stage of his plan – keeping Kurt happy.

Because a happy Kurt, the way Blaine wants him happy, may someday bring the world to its knees.

“Oh, Blaine … Blaine, I’m … I’m cumming …” Kurt strains against invisible bonds as his body fights to move – not to get away, but to touch. He wants to run his fingers through Blaine’s hair, massage his shoulders, cup his cheek.

“I know, darling,” Blaine whispers into Kurt’s mind. “I know you are. Go ahead. Let go.” And for every desire Blaine feels, he plants an impression in Kurt’s mind - of Kurt’s fingers on Blaine’s face or in his hair, Kurt’s nails scratching at the shoulders of Blaine’s coat, or Kurt’s hand on the back of Blaine’s head, holding him still with Kurt’s cock throbbing down his throat.

“There you go.” Blaine leaves imprints of his words in the folds of Kurt’s brain while he swallows down more of Kurt’s precious power. He’s not draining Kurt dry. Power is like blood – constantly flowing, always replenishing. Kurt conjured Blaine. Blaine will always be lesser. But the more he takes from Kurt, the more Kurt needs to rebuild … the more powerful Kurt becomes.

But Blaine knows what to do with Kurt’s power, whereas Kurt hasn’t fully tapped his potential. It never interested him. He was more concerned with fitting in, being accepted.

If Kurt had ever embraced his power, the bullies who plagued him throughout high school would have never been an issue.

Kurt could have turned them into human soup with the blink of an eye.

Kurt gasps silently, lips parted, soft pants slowing to even breaths. He doesn’t even have energy enough left to say thank you when Blaine’s done. He simply turns his head to the side and falls fast asleep.

Blaine looks up from Kurt’s lap with a satisfied grin. He carefully tucks Kurt’s spent cock back into his pants and zips him up.

“Kurt? Kurt, are you still with me?” Blaine’s not really trying to wake Kurt up. He knows the extent to which he’s zapped Kurt’s energy, but it’s for his own good. Kurt needs to recharge if he’s ever going to unlock his gifts, be all he can be and all that good stuff.

Blaine lays Kurt down. He slides a pillow underneath Kurt’s head and covers his body with the throw from his couch. He brushes the hair from Kurt’s forehead and kisses him lightly across the brow, sealing his sleep, making it deep and restful.

“Nighty night, pet,” Blaine says. “Everything will look brighter in the morning, I promise, when we start our new life together.”

Blaine had wanted to put Kurt to bed and lay down beside him, but he decides that since he’ll be staying with Kurt for the indefinite future, he should take a look around, acquaint himself with his new domicile. He’s tempted to still find the bedroom since it, for certain, will be chock full of incites into Kurt’s life – his comings and goings, his job, his day to day activities, his passions and pursuits. But instead, Blaine decides to investigate the source of tonight’s conflict. He walks back to the kitchen - the room where he was birthed, so to speak - in search of clues.

“Impressive,” he repeats, chuckling at the extent of the havoc Kurt wreaked in his kitchen. Ash has settled on every surface, painting Kurt’s cream-colored kitchen a harsher grey. Broken glass crunches underfoot. The remains of roots and dried flowers disintegrate with wisps of breeze as he passes by. A thick book, pulsing with energy, sits in the corner, unharmed. Blaine knows just by looking at it that he won’t be able to touch it. Even with Kurt’s power within him, it answers only to Kurt. It has a mind of its own. It can’t be conned. It won’t be deceived.

Blaine smirks at it.

“We’ll see,” he says, moving on as if its existence doesn’t intrigue him.

A lick of flame flickers in the center of the floor, eating away what’s left of the smoke lingering in the air. Blaine steps on it, smothering it with the sole of his shoe. “Very impressive, my powerful little minx.” Blaine breathes in through his nose, sampling a whiff of the herbs and oils Kurt used in his spell, their intentions unraveling as his brain deciphers each one. “My vengeful little minx.” Blaine crouches in the midst of the mess, his eyes falling on something that Kurt’s power has led him to. It’s mostly scorched, crinkled at the edges, but the smug face staring at him remained intact. An aura surrounds this picture, a signature – one of hatred and anger and sorrow.

Bingo, Blaine thinks, brushing away the ash coating the image to get a better look at his victim. He can make out eye color, hair color, shape of face … everything he’ll need to identify this man, find him on the streets of New York.

“Well, well, well …” Blaine smiles, twice as smug as the asshole staring back at him, completely oblivious to his impending fate. “Look who we have here.”

[hjh-ceilo-monster]

Who live next door? : Wizard next door (MYG)

Shout out : The plot belongs to WRITING.PROMPT.S (I found it in pinterest...again)

Summary : You were sleeping in a comfy bed after having such a hectic day. Just when you prepared for beauty sleep, you heard a loud thud from your storage. You ignored it completely. Little do you know that it wasn’t because something fell, but someone fell-coming out of nowhere and waiting to be found by you the morning.

Y/N POV.

“My lovely bed, I miss you.”  Arriving in my room, I jumped onto my bed. I felt like I haven’t slept for years, yet it was only 8 hours after I finished my shift. 

Where’s my manner? Let me introduce myself.

Hey ya! I’m Y/N. Well, there was nothing much for me to tell you guys anyway, except I currently work at Divina Cadle Bar, a scented candle shop. It was nothing out of the ordinary, but the shop paid me well.

Ok, where am I again? 

Oh, my bed. As I said, it was only 8 hours since I got out of bed. However, today was more hectic than usual. Thanks to Mrs.Hopkins, I didn’t know we have a special sale today. How could she forget to tell me? 

THUD

“Huh?” I sprang up from my bed. 

What happened in the storage? I glanced up at the bed frame, and Lune still slept there. ‘That must be some boxes fall.’ I thought to myself. The sleepiness conquered my body entirely that I couldn’t get out of my bed. I only wanted sleep.

“Maybe..la’er..” Then fell back onto my bed.

Yoongi POV. : Next morning 

“Hmmm huh...” 

My eyes fluttered open. I felt a cramp crawling up from my lower back. Rubbing my eyes, I looked around. The light in here was crazy. I didn’t know when I let so much light into my room.

“Where the curtain?” I stood there with confusion. I usually installed every window with curtain. 

‘Wait? Since when I need to close curtain? I never open it.’ I mumbled with myself. Now my eyes fully opened and looked around the surrounding again.

Where . the . hell . am . I ?

I sighed. I remembered the last scene from last night was me slipping into my blanket. Then how the hell I was here? A storage room? I slept on boxes, and now my back hurt.

“I gotta go real quick.” 

I started chanting the spell to teleport myself and just then...

“How on earth you get in here?”

Welp, fuck!

Author POV.

“Let’s me check what happened in the storage last night.” You head off to the storage.

Approaching the room, you heard a noise. It was like someone was in there and talking? As you got closer, the voice got louder. Out of curiosity, you slammed the door open. Your breath hitched when the pair of eyes looked at you with a shocked expression.

“How on earth you get in here?!”

You quickly looked inside the room. Chacking every corner and making sure nothing disappeared from this room. You then gazed back at the guy. His indigo orbs interlocked with your brown ones. He stood still, or should you say frozen like a statue.

“I’m..I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be here. I will go now. Oh! nothing was stolen, I just..I don’t know how too. Sorry again.” And in a blick of an eye, he disappeared. 

What was that?

“Have you ever seen him before?” Your friend asked. 

“No, I don’t think he lives around my neighborhood either. Everything happen real quick and I...I don’t know.” 

You rambled your story to your boss. It has been a week ever since that guy appeared in your storage. She thought of something but didn’t tell you anything about it.

The bell chimed as a signal of a customer got in. Mrs.Hopkins walked away and continued arranging new orders. You prepared yourself at the cashier. A customer who just entered then walked over to the cashier.

“May I help you?” 

“Uhh Is there any of this in here?” The guy then brought out and empty glass with a tag on it. You read the lable carefully.

“I need to ask my manager. This might take awhile.” You walked upstairs to find Mrs.Hopkins. She was checking the orders when you put the glass in front of her.

“Someone ask for this.” The old lady took a look at the tag before she walked down the stairs.

“When was the last time I see you, Yoongi?” Mrs.Hopkins asked the guy. The man revealed himself out of the hood. Seeing him again made you gasp.

“You again!” You forgot all the manner and pointed toward the guy. Mrs.Hopkins chuckled-knowing what was going on between the two. She continued to brew her special ingredient for the candle.

“Dear, don’t mind her. She was my new emplyee. It seems like your condition didn’t get to anything near better.”

“Yeah and I couldn’t keep up with caffeine anymore.” You looked back a the guy who looked miserable. Tiredness radiated out of his body. His eyelids fluttered from time to time. 

You had an idea pop in your head. Suddenly, your feet took you to your backpack as if it listened unconsciosly to the order. You brought out your favourit tea before poured it into a cup.

“Take it.” You handed it to him. Yoongi took a sip. His body felt calm and relax, so he drank all in one shot. All of a sudden, he drifted into sleep. Mrs.Hopkins, who came back with the candles, gasped with what she saw.

“What did you just do to him?”

“I did nothing. I just gave him my fav tea, thinking it might help him to get good sleep, and this happened.” You motioned toward Yoongi’s body.

Yoongi POV.

I awoke in unfamiliar place again. 

Why this always happen with me? 

You guys must be puzzled about me so let me explain.

I am a wizard. It wasn’t something special really in this village. However, one thing that can count as unordinary was my unconscious habit. I happened to born with an ability, which was more like a curse to me, called ‘dimensia.'

Kitchen, check

Bathroom, check

Garden, check

Garage, check

You could list any corner of my house. I had already slept everywhere.  Every time I slept, I would wake up in other places. The places could also be somewhere in the city. For the worst-case scenario, I could be in another dimension. That had never happened with me yet.

Ok, continuing from where I stopped, I woke up somewhere again. Then I remembered the girl gave me a drink. ‘Did I get drug by her?’ I thought to myself. Mrs.Hopkins tapped my shoulder.

“Dear, how was your sleep?” She asked while packing my order.

“Did I get drug by your employee?” With that sentence left my mouth, she chuckled.

“No dear, y/n just gave her sleepy tea for you. When you knocked out, she brought you up here.”

So it was a ‘sleepy’ tea and...wait?

Did Mrs.Hopkins said she dragged me up here?

Am I still inside the shop?

“You were at the second floor of my shop, Yoongi if that what you are thinking.”

“How...?” 

I didn’t finish speaking when the tea girl interrupted me. She immediately approached me and checked my face. Her hand grabbed my face firmly while she stared at my face.

“Huh I thought you were dead. I am sorry for accuse you as a theift last time. I didn’t know someone would have such a condition.” She rambled things out.

“May I ask you how did I end up here?” I asked her-wanting to know is Mrs.Hopkins lying about the girl dragged me up here or not.

“Oh, I brought you up here when you knocked out. We temporarily closed the shop so that I can deal with this problem. It was my fault anyway.”

How I don’t end up waking somewhere?

Y/N POV.

I was freak out when he suddenly knocked out because of my tea. Guilty started filling me up. It washed all over my body when I heard his story from Mrs.Hopkins. Poor guy had to endure his condition and candle was his only hope.

Now we were walking back home. The old lady dismissed me eairly because of the incident. Yoongi was so quiet, but that didn’t feel akward. Calmness radiated from his body right now, which was a relief for me. I thought he would be angry toward me.

“I’m sorry to cau-”

“How can you do that?” Yoongi interrupted me with a question.

“Do..what?”

“How can I drink your tea, knocked out, and still didn’t appear somewhere else?”

“Uhhh, I don’t know really. My tea was suppose to make people calm and drift to sleep gently. It seems like you didn’t sleep too long that my tea strike you immediately. Maybe because of that. You didn’t sleep because yourself, but my tea. My tea may act like a depressant for your condition.” 

I tried to connect the dots and made a possible assumption out of this situation. Yoongi sided-eye me before returning to his world. ‘He looks depressed.’ My thought reflected the aura I received from him.

“We arrive.” He spoke and stopped his footstep. I looked up and my eyes widen. Your house was on the right side of his.

“You live next to my unit.”

Author POV.

After both of them found out they were neighbors, Yoongi visited your house everyday-Claiming that he needs your sleepy tea. You became his doctor unintentionally by prescribed his medicine called ‘sleepy tea.’

“I never ask what are you?” Yoongi asked out of his curiosity. He could sense magic in your vein, but it was so weak that he couldn’t detect it from the first time he met you.

“I’m a half witch.” Yoongi looked at you with an amused face.

“My father was a human. He met my mother, the witch, because he got injured. My mother specialty helped him. Later they got married and had me.” Yoongi stayed silence as if he knew this was not the end of your story yet.

“My father's relatives disapproved of my mother so they declared objection toward my father. My father cut ties with them. When I was 12, he got into an accident so did my mother.” 

Yoongi gazed into those brown orbs that now became dull. The light inside suddenly disappeared. It seemed like you were holding pain and sorrow. And for the first time in his life, he felt hurt. He didn’t know why he cares everything about you. In these few weeks, how he sensed the bond got stronger as each day pass by-surprised him.

“Sleepover?” You asked Yoongi. He immediately got out of his head space.

“Sleepover? Today I plan to have a movie night. You like horror?” You repeated the question with a little more detail. He nodded as a yes. 

“Good, but let’s have a dinner first.”

“I will cook.” 

Yoongi sprang out of the sofa. His action caught you by surprise, though he had his signature blank face. His action reflected the excitement that bottled up in his body. You couldn’t help, but chuckled.

“Wah this is no joke.” You stared at the dishes, drooling.

“Eat it before it get cold.” Yoongi then digged into his meal. You joined him.

Every time you grunted out of joy or compliment him because of the dishes, Yoongi would smile. He didn’t realize how his dishes were now capturing your heart. Also, having him told the story of how he learn cooking and how he treated you like his VIP customer were bonus points.

‘I think hanging around you weren’t that bad.’ You thought to yourself.

The night was smooth sailing. You and Yoongi got closer. You were proud of him opening himself to you. For Yoongi, he also had an answer for his condition. You were his cure. He got his hope back a bit.

Cafe

“Coffee?”  You looked at the shop that was opposite the park. 

“Get in, I pay.”

“No, I pay. The last time you cook for me.” You two started arguing with each other while headed to the cafe. Bickering back and forth, the waiter interrupted you. 

“Sorry, but we need to keep the line moving.” You two stopped.

After orders, you roamed around for a seat. Finding the perfect window-corner table, you settled your bag. Yoongi followed behind after paying the bill secretly.

Theatre

“Hey, that’s my popcorn.”

“No, we have a deal on sharing this bucket.”

“No I don’t want to share.” You took a bucket out of his grip. He sat there and continued to watch the movie wit you.

You noticed how Yoongi turned his silence mode on. Seeing his face, you nudged the popcorn bucket back into his grip. The guy, however, sat still and ignored you completely.

“Sorry...” You looked at him, pouting. He ignored you again. You then sat back and concentrated with the movie.

The scene got darker. The sound slowly vanished. You prepared yourself for a jumpscare because of all those signs. Well, it seemed like you missed another thing.

“Boo!” You fell off your seat. Yoongi clutched his stomach and laughed at you. 

“How was it scaredy cat...”

“Min Yoongi!”

Park

“You should get some exercise.” You tried your best to drag him out of the park’s bench.

“Let’s go” 

“Nah I’m gonna sleep here.” Yoongi laid his back down.

“If you appear somewhere else, I won’t help you.”

“No it won’t happen.”

“But you didn’t drink my tea this morning, Yoon.” 

Yoongi stared at you suspiciously. He remembered you would make him a cup every morning. Looking through the memory in his head again, he found something different with the tea today.

“You..little...”

“Tea is good, but exercise is better. Now come with me lazy cat.” 

A month later

You guys were a couple. Everyone could notice the spark in your and his eyes, everyone acept you both. Mrs.Hopkins was the first who mentioned the change since Yoongi came to the shop lest often. When he came, he would always ask for your presence.

Yoongi’s condition got better. He tried his best not drinking your tea or lighting up candles that contained mint and lavender, which were the same ingredients in your tea. You somehow managed to put him to sleep and controlled his condition. 

And the tip was he slept beside you.

“Ready for our movie night?” You asked. Both of you had just come back from grocerry shopping.

Yoongi didn’t reply. In his head, he was busy thinking about the plan for tonight. He didn’t want to mess anything up. You, on the other hand, had already disappeared upstairs.

Yoongi POV.

Ok, this was great. Now she was upstairs taking a shower. I would start preparing the meal first then decorate the place. Reviewing the plan, I already got a package of meat out of the bag.

Will she like this?

Is there any chance for me?

The possibility of things went wrong was high, but I ignored them. After living with her for a month, I felt like I need her. Whether she put me into her spell or not, I was so sure that this was my true feeling.

“Anything special?” I had just finished preparing the meal when she came down the stairs.

‘Arghh the decoration.’ I screamed in my head.

“Yoon..eat.” I snapped back to reality.

And here I was, thinking I had a chance. I just messed up my plan. I ate my meal. She complimented them like usual, but that didn't lift my mood any bit. 

We decided on the program. I let her put the program on while I went to grab a bowl of popcorn. Entering the room, I met with the sleeping beauty-cuddling in her wool blanket.

“What make you that tire hmm, lavender?” I spoke gently to the girl while tugging her hair.

If she slept like this, I would take this chance then. I ran downstairs and brought every decor inside the room-decorating every corner like the picture in my head. Nightlights, Ballons, everything started coming together and brighten the room vibe.

“Mom...Dad..don’t..” I turned around. She raised her hands and grabbed the air as if there was something.

“Shhh...it is going to be alright.” I quickly embraced her and rocked her back to sleep.

Y/N POV.

Why am I here?

I found myself standing alone in front of the cemetery. Today must be the day then. I stared at the marble, engraving my parents' name and their death date. When I looked up, I saw them. I noticed my mom still had my watch with her so did dad. But the time wasn’t ticking.

“How are you my little doe?” 

“Miss you always.” I answered my dad. Three of us had a good conversation.-making me miss them even more.

“We have to go. Our time has come.” Tear welled up in my eyes. 

“Don’t, please.”

I wanted to grab them, but I couldn’t. Their bodies became transparent and faded away. I kneeled and mourned. Why did they leave me again? I closed my puffy eyes and tried my best to get out of here.

“Shhh...it is going to be alright.”

Is that Yoongi? I asked myself. I quickly opened my eyes-thinking I already awoke. 

“Where am I?” 

I asked myself while looking around. I was now in the hammock. The view in front of me was stunning. The purple-indigo cotton cloud shaded the bright yellow-peach sun. The light peeked out a little, which helped to light the sky.

“You like it?” Yoongi tighten his arms.

“Love it.”

“How about me?” He whispered into my ears. My face heated up. Where is that confident come from? I wanted to know who took my lazy blank face cat. 

“Answer me lav, I am waiting for it, you know.”

“I..huh..yeah love it.” I repeated. 

Author POV. : a week later

“This is Jin and [SJ’s girlfreind/name].” 

“Nice to meet you. It must be hard for you to live with this dude.” Jin teased Yoongi and you laughed. 

Yoongi decided to introduce you to his friend. Both of you would have dinner today at Jin’s place. You were so nervous when Yoongi proposed the idea. However, seeing Jin and his girlfriend made you relief. They both were super kind.

“I heard you finally get rid of your dimensia. Being a dream controller and have such a thing, god I can’t relate.”

“You dragon won’t understand if it didn’t relate to your ‘beauty’ face.” Yoongi continued eating his meal.

“You meanie, I was your roomate and hyung.” Jin fakely got angry with Yoongi.

The mealtime was full of laughter and joy. You got to know some old habits of Yoongi while also bonding with Seokjin’s girlfriend on girl stuff.

“I can’t believe you propose to me before I do.” 

“I said you didn’t.” 

Both of you were back inside the house. You sat on the bed, browsing for nes tea recipes. Yoongi continued drying his hair.

“In my dream, I got to visit my parent. We talked. It felt so nice to have that chance again. They faded away; however, at the moment, I felt good. Then you appeared and proposed to me. I must say you were bold in my dream.”

You smile from ears to ears while appraoched him. Taking a towel in his hand, you helped him dried his hair. He gently grabed you delicate hands-staring deep into your brown orbs.

“Thank you.” A soft kissed plant on your cherry lips.

“Thanks for being my cure and my love. I am not that expressive. I’m sorry, but...” 

He didn’t finish his sentence because you didn’t let him have a chance. You returned his kiss with the same gentle kiss.

And here was the collision of two lifelines, your and his.

A/N note: Hey ya, I hope your enjoy this one. This series nearly come to an end. If you notice the tag, you will see that I try to write gender neutral character. However, I don’t know how to use the pronoun properly. For me, I still use ‘she/her’ even if I’m not straight. So sorry if some of you who read this felt like it annoyed you, diappointed you or uncomfy for you. See you next time.

[necromancer-nonbinary]

God has no power to stop my hand, subtitled: apparently I can write 7-page papers no problem, just not about anything I actually need to write about.

Carrie: The Musical. Notorious in its 1980’s rendition as one of the biggest flops in Broadway history (right up there with the disastrous Spider-Man musical), it had a small resurgence in a 2012 off-Broadway rewrite. This rewrite changed a number of details, though I’m only familiar with the ones at the very beginning and very end, as I physically could not bring myself to watch more than five minutes of the recording my castmates found on YouTube. A community theatre on a military base in Stuttgart, Germany, put on a production of the revival version in 2014, which I was a part of. It was a very fun show to do, especially as my first in any sort of major role, and even now, I occasionally go back to it via the video recording we definitely did not make and the shitty cast album I ripped from the audio of that same definitely nonexistent recording. It’s fun to see what I remember from it, and how much my body and my emotional state still respond to something I did for just a few months years ago. But what really gets me more and more each time I come back to it is just how easy it is to read the title role of Carrie as trans.

           I’m biased. I’m trans myself. Two other people in the cast (that I know of) have also come out in the years since, bringing it up to three out of a cast of twenty. I can, have, and will continue to find a trans reading of almost everything I love, because why shouldn’t I? These readings almost invariably enrich the characters in question, and it’s fun to piss off cis people who clutch their pearls at the notion that people can be trans without explicit confirmation or their stories revolving around coming out. I almost hesitate with my reading of Carrie because (spoiler alert, if you haven’t either read the book or seen any of the many adaptations of the story since the 60’s), Carrie not only dies, but goes out in a burst of rage that kills almost every single other named character in the story. It’s not the world’s nicest trope. The saving grace in this case, I think, is that what sends Carrie over the edge is explicitly not a problem within her own mind; it’s the actions of people who are unjustly cruel to her. Still not a happy ending. But then again, it’s horror. What else would we expect?

[cut for length. this thing is seven fucking pages long according to microsoft word.]

           This reading is going to take into account the aspects of the revival musical which support my reading, address those which don’t (not necessarily in a way that resolves them! Just admitting that I know they are there before anyone starts arguing “well she had a period blah blah” I know this. I memorized that whole script. I ran out onstage screaming that I was bleeding and dying at least 4 dozen times. I know), and possibly something else which I can’t remember right now because it was a tangent I got on in the shower this morning and was probably still more related to gender than anything else.

           The biggest thing I want to discuss is Carrie’s own language about herself in the show. She speaks very little in comparison to the other teenagers in the show; most of her vocalization is either in song or dialogue contained within a song. Her first words in the play are not her own; she’s repeating the Lord’s Prayer, trying to calm herself down (something I want to come back to later when I discuss religion). Her next are almost incoherent, when she runs out of the shower after realizing she’s bleeding and begs the other girls for help. “It hurts,” she says to Ms. Gardner when she comes in to see what’s happening. “My stomach.” Carrie is not eloquent in standard speech, which also probably contributes to the teasing she suffers (in our production, she was played by me, which also means she definitely came across as autistic – another strike against her, but that’s not my point right now). But what elicits her first powerful verbal expression is right before the song “Carrie”: overhearing Chris tell Sue about the various nicknames people at school have for Carrie, in particular “Scary White,” which is followed by a chorus of students – implied, I think, to be in her own head (which comes back later!) whispering, then chanting, then shouting the nicknames. “Scary White,” they croon, and more generic insults such as “Weirdo!” “Loser!” “Freak!” and “Dumb bitch,” until Carrie screams, “That’s not my name!”

           The first coherent words of her own in the play: the insistence upon being called her own name. This entire song is alternately her repeating her own name and lamenting that the other students are so cruel to her: “I will not cry. I’m okay/I try so hard to play their way/Why do they find it so hard to say/Carrie?” This is a feeling that any trans person with a new name can relate to, especially when the people in their life are less than thrilled about respecting it. As she moves through the song, repeating her name, though, she grows more confident in it, until she reaches the final lines and exclaims, “But someday/Oh my, someday/Someone will know my name!”

           I am not going to spend much time on “And Eve Was Weak,” in part because it still freaks me the fuck out five years after the end of the show, and in part because its focus rests on Carrie’s period and the deeply upsetting relationship between her and her mother. All I will say about it is that it ends with Carrie being hurled into a closet. Which, really, is all the proof I need to decide that she is trans. Also bi, but that’s not really the focus of this essay.

           Time and time again, we also hear Carrie referring to the “other” in a way that indicates that she has only recently been able to insert herself into the category of “girl.” In the end-of-the-act confrontation song “I Remember How Those Boys Could Dance,” she tells her mother that “I know I’m not like all the others/Sometimes I dream in color” and that “nobody feels the things that I do.” This is an easy surface reading that of course she doesn’t feel like anyone she knows; she is isolated from other people her age by their cruelty and from any adult other than her mother by the town’s distaste for her mother. But trans people almost invariably feel separated from the people around them, especially before they realize they’re trans: they feel alienated from their AGAB but as if they couldn’t possibly belong with people of their actual gender, no matter how untrue that feeling may be. Notable here is that at no point does Carrie refer to that feeling that she’s unlike others as an explicitly negative one. “Sometimes I dream in color” is a kind of nonsense line, one I never could puzzle out while I was actually in the show, but it isn’t negative; she senses there is something more to her because of her difference, and it’s good. In at least two other songs, she talks about other girls specifically: “I bet other girls already know/the ways to get their skin to glow/but I can learn./I’m not sure how all these colors mix/those other girls, they’ve got their tricks/but I can learn/It’s my turn/on Saturday night!” (from “A Night We’ll Never Forget”) and the repetition of a formulaic “if other girls (X)” than I can too in “Why Not Me?” – “if other girls can do this, why can’t I?”, “and if other girls get through this why not me?”, “I know I may not be welcome but at least I will be there/and if other girls belong, then I do too.” What is especially interesting to me when she refers to others is the shift in the way she does so. Early on, at the end of the first act and in “Night We’ll Never Forget,” it is almost exclusively about the physical. The line I mentioned earlier, “sometimes I dream in color,” is followed immediately by the line “sometimes I even think I’m lovely,” and of course, in “Night We’ll Never Forget” she is trying to learn how to do her makeup the way that other girls do. But by the time we reach “Why Not Me?”, she has reached beyond wanting to physically look like other girls and instead is asserting that she has just as much right to belonging as every other girl at the school. There is a subtext of physicality to this song, because as she sings it, she is getting made up to go to the prom, but it isn’t just about looking like a girl anymore. It’s about being one.  

           I want to move now to things other people and the narrative as a whole say about Carrie, starting with the obvious: seventeen is incredibly late to start menstruating and, despite a general decrease in the age of onset over the last few decades, was still very late in the 60’s when the book was first written. Most people who experience periods in the US begin menstruating about the age of twelve and 90% have begun by the time they are fourteen. It is obviously intended to be linked to her telekinetic powers and her mother’s paranoia about Carrie reaching an age of sexual maturity, and it is a literal period – the stage directions and later dialogue explicitly refer to Carrie coming onstage with blood on her hands and dripping down her legs – but there are interesting implications for my reading in it being so late. Menstruation is linked in the cisgender mind to womanhood. It is not a sure sign, as any trans person could tell you, but it is one of the easiest ways to signify to a cis audience that a character is a woman. This has numerous flaws – the most obvious in relation to my topic being that not all people who menstruate are women, and not all women menstruate – but also because the onset of menstruation, even in cis women, does not mean that person is now a woman. A twelve-year-old could by no stretch of the imagination be considered an adult. It doesn’t even mean sexual maturity; from a simple biological standpoint, the child who has just begun menstruating is not biologically ready to have a child, as their body is not yet fully grown and often the first several periods a child has are nonovulatory. Despite these flaws, what Carrie’s period tells most of the audience is that she is coming to womanhood years after most of her peers. Her mother held to an unreasonable hope that she would never come to it at all.

           Carrie’s mother is another clear roadblock to the theory of Carrie as a trans woman; such a viciously religious woman would be very unlikely to allow her child to express being trans. But I also think there’s something to be said for the fear with which she treats Carrie’s womanhood. The narrative makes it obvious she fears Carrie growing up and being able to leave her behind, and a few offhand lines in “And Eve Was Weak” indicate that she knows something about Carrie’s telekinesis: “The seed conveys the power and it’s come again/it’s come again/it’s come again/Until the seed is crushed this power never ends/it never ends/it never ends.” Margaret White does not know about Carrie’s powers until she reveals them at the end of the act, but she suspects that something will come of her maturation other than her own loss of control over her daughter’s life. But this doesn’t change the fact that she regards Carrie’s womanhood with more fear than is reasonable, and the simple fact that Margaret is not sound of mind doesn’t necessarily explain all of it.

           The treatment she receives from her peers is also interesting in the light of a transgender reading. Carrie is undeniably odd; she talks infrequently, dresses strangely, and has a mother who is the town outcast (and again, when played by yours truly, she reads very autistic), but she is not strange enough on her own to become an outcast; when she gets to the prom, Frieda and Tommy treat her very kindly, and they seem to have an easy time talking to one another. Her mother’s strangeness is meant to be the clear reason why she is treated so badly. The other students know from their parents that Margaret White is a Bible-thumping weirdo, and so assume Carrie would be too. The trouble with that is that she clearly is not. Outside of her home, she references religion twice in the play, both times in the same way: by reciting the Lord’s Prayer to calm herself down. During “The Destruction” she also repeats her mother’s admonition that “God made Eve to bear the curse/The curse of blood,” but there is a strong argument to be made that most of the events at the beginning of “The Destruction” are actually only happening inside her head. There is an abrupt switch after her line, “Oh my God oh my God oh my God” and before she begins singing where the other students and both teachers at the prom (including Tommy and Frieda, who had been nice to her all night, and Miss Gardner, who has been kind to her throughout the play) begin laughing and jeering and echoing the fragments of songs which Carrie sings, and another abrupt switch as she sings her final line in the song when everyone stops and appears to be in shock. The fact that every line of “The Destruction” is one taken from an earlier song and twisted back at her mockingly also indicates that this is an extreme panic reaction and not something actually happening or spoken aloud. What this means is that, one, the students and teachers did not actually begin mocking her as she believed, and instead were as horrified by Chris’s prank as the audience, and two, that the fragment of her mother’s kind of religion she spits is not actually her but the version of her mother that lives in her head. I think most of us have that, but for Carrie, it is a source of fear rather than common sense. On multiple occasions through the play, dialogue makes it clear that Carrie is a normal girl who happens to be outcast and also have secret telekinetic powers. People very rarely end up outcasts for no reason; bullying does not happen randomly. Her mother’s oddity may have made her a target to begin with, but it is made clear narratively that she does not share it. Thus, there must be another reason why the other students cast her out. Enter the theory that she is trans, therefore different, therefore to be mocked.

           It isn’t a happy view of transness from several angles, not least of which being that she dies and takes everyone out with her, but from outside the horror aspect, a trans reading of Carrie is almost positive. She finds support in Miss Gardner, who is heavily coded to be LGBT herself, and despite opposition is able to stand proudly in her womanhood at the prom and begin proving – rather easily, even – that she belongs there just as much as everyone else. I doubt there’s a way to actually make the angle of Carrie as a trans woman work onstage, because of the various obstacles I outlined, but I do believe that being able to take a character or story and read transness in it gives it new dimensions. There’s value in finding an understanding of media which goes outside of the standards we’ve unconsciously set as the norm; it helps expand our definition of what “normal” is and gives us insight into a part of life that many people don’t often think about.

[megamanishashekhawat-blog]

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The possibility of having a child in your life largely depends on the planetary positions in your birth chart. If there is any un auspicious arrangement of planets in your kundli then it becomes difficult to conceive a child, similarly there can be numerous other reasons that could come in your way of conceiving a child.  No matter how much medical science has progressed today and has advance techniques and treatments that helps a woman to become a mother, yet no everyone can afford those treatments or come across competent doctors. Which is why here I am going to discuss some main mantras that helps to conceive a child. If these mantras are done with faith and lots of dedication, then they guarantee you the results. These mantras not only help you to conceive child but also makes the child healthy and bright.After all all of us wants  healthy offspring.

Mantra for conceiving child

One of the most effective and common mantra to conceive a child is  mantra for Lord Krishna childhood avatar. This mantra can be chanted daily 108 times using a tulsi rosary or rosary made up of putrefactive seeds. This mantra not only helps you to conceive a child but also prevents all the harmful possibilities of miscarriages. It also makes the child strong and wise. This mantra is also useful for people with the below requirements: 1.    If you want a wise and healthy child 2.    If you are childless and strongly desiring for a child 3.    If you are suffering from frequent miscarriages 4.    Wishing for a safe and easy delivery

Worship the mantra of lord Vishnu and offer him flowers and sweets.  This is a good mantra that fulfil your wishes to conceive a child. The mantra which is called Shri Krishnaa Mantra for Santaan prapti and, the mantracalled Swayamvaraa Parvathi mantrais very effective for becoming pregnant. The mantra assures you of positive results and definitely bless you with your progeny that you will be proud of.

Mantra to get pregnant with baby boy/girl

Sometimes it happens that you are trying to conceive a second child but it is getting delayed by some or the other reasons. In that case you can recite the mantra of pandit ji. This is  very effective mantra if you are trying to conceive for the second time and desire for a son. Lord Shiva himself coined this mantra and passed it on to pandit ji to give birth to a son. The process to follow this mantra is the following: 1.    During Pushaya Nakshatra bring the Aswagandha root 2.    Get some buffalo milk and mix the root 3.    Then dry it and make a powder of it 4.   ��Then this powder should be taken by the person having milk mixed with 3.75 oz. of the ashwagandha powder every morning.

Having a son or a daughter is equally important in a family, but sometimes it is seen that in certain families the progeny is only male or only female. This leaves the family desire for opposite gender of what they already have. There are mantras available that helps you conceive your desired gender. This mantra you can chant for 108 times and you will get a beautiful and healthy, baby girl or a boy. While saying this I do not intend to say that a certain gender is superior to the other. Its just that having both the genders in the family makes it look complete.After all, both the genders are equally important both for the family and the society.

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There is very effective Ganesh mantra for conceiving child. We all know that Lord Ganesha is Vighnaharta and there is no room for gloominess where he resides. If easily gets pleased if worshiped with clear heart and devotion. Reading Ganesh Atharvashirsha promises you to fullfill all the desires of your life. It should be read at least 1000 times. The auspicious day to startAtharvashirsha is sankashth chaturti. This is the day of Lord Ganesha. Lord Ganeshanloves to have modak so while worshiping him you can prepare modak to offer him. You can also make a wish and observe a one day fast of every month.

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Besides all  mantra that I have discussed here, it will be good to consult an astrologer who can study your planet arrangements and advise you the mantra to conceive. The astrologer can also give you tips to follow in terms of Pooja time and items that has to be offered to the deity. With the help of medical science and these spiritual believes you will be definitely blessed with your desired child. Also bear this in mind that never get trapped in lucrative offers of any fake Baba ji or astrologer. Always have faith in god and he will help you get over the long path of hardships and bless you with the happiness of Parenthood. May God always be with you and help you restore your faith in him. To plan a child its also advisable to check the right dates and days as they play an important role in influencing the characteristic of the new-born.

The majority of health problems and diseases can also be solved trough astrological solutions*, and therefore, the medical astrology is rapidly becoming popular as an alternative science of health treatment to the usual medical science treatments in hospitals and clinics. But, to find the most effective astrological solutions to troubles or diseases of your concern, you compulsorily need services of an erudite, well-experienced, and truly veteran medical astrologer, like our globally reputed astrologer of India.

According to Vedic Astrology, every organ, anatomical structure, body function, and part of the human body is inherently influenced by an astrological element, be it any Zodiac Sign, a Planet, or a joint influence of two or more Signs or Planets. This means that the Twelve Zodiac Signs and Nine main Planets together are associated with various ailments, disorders, and diseases of the body and mind. The joint influences of two or more signs or planets on the overall health of a person are mainly described by the status of the following three houses of the natal chart of the concerned person — First house, Sixth house, and the Eighth house.

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Thus, close observation and insightful analysis of the birth chart of a person, reveal all things related with his/her health, gradual slowdown in health, and the probable diseases in life.

Health of a person is bound to be troublesome if anyone or more of the malefic planets (Saturn, Rahu, Mars, Sun, and Ketu) are located in the 1st, 6th, or 8th houses; or occupies signs like Scorpio, Virgo, or Pisces; or are rather strong owing to adverse locations in the birth chart of the person.

The following health troubles are adeptly tackled by the health problems solution by astrology of our mellow medical astrologer.

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Everyone will have heard the saying that health is wealth.They certainly attain glory and great success in life. So, it seems that there is a close relation between Success, Good Health, Sound Mind and Strong Soul. In Health prediction we will provide you precise and accurate solutions of a person’s constitutional make-up, possible health issues the native is facing he had an excess or low of a particular constitutional element, also we will provide some easy remedies which includes dietary recommendations depending upon your constitutional make-up.

If you are suffering. From any health problems, feel free to ask any questions regarding your health. Apart from Astrological health remedies other services which we are offering Astrology can point to chronic health problems. Usually indicated by the Sun, Ascendant, 6th house and the signs associated with them. Aspects made to the Sun and the Ascendant are very important. For example, Jupiter in good aspect to the Sun gives a vitality department, and if Mars is in good aspect to the Sun, it gives speedy recuperation. Health problems are very common in this world.