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moonlit-han · 4 years ago

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bad squirrel ↠ han jisung

genre: bad boy!jisung au, enemies to lovers au, high school au; humor word count: 2.8k warnings: so fluffy, swearing, mildly suggestive | gender-neutral reader request: yes (thank you for such a clearly imagined and fun request, anon!)

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

You’d never understood why Han Jisung had to be so loud.

Wasn’t the “bad boy” of the school supposed to be the quiet, brooding type? Not that Jisung didn’t do his fair share of lurking in corners doing gods knew what, sneaking out of the school to mysteriously reappear hours later, and drinking from a flask in the middle of class…. But he was just so damn loud. All the time! And because Jisung was loud in class, you strongly disliked him. Sure, he did his work (sometimes, like when the sun rose in the west) and had friends—two, to be exact: Chan and Changbin—but other than that, he kept to himself, yet was somehow loud. Jisung also strutted around the school like he owned it, looking much like a disgruntled raven.

As you were in the same year, you were intimately familiar with all his less-than wonderful propensities, and had listened to more gossip about him than you’d care to admit. Granted, that was simply to hear anything about him. You had a strange fascination with Jisung that somehow existed in tandem with your dislike—you couldn’t understand it. And, you commonly thought about him at the most random times; this also meant that you ranted to your best friend, Seungmin, far too often.

Jisung sat in the corner of the cafeteria with Chan and Changbin, and scribbled. He was always scribbling in a notebook he kept in his back pocket, and you wanted to know what he was writing—probably something like emo poetry. And today was no different. Occasionally, he’d look up and stare into the middle distance.

“Do you ever wonder what goes on inside his head?” you asked as you chewed a mouthful of your lunch. Seungmin saw where your gaze rested and rolled his eyes.

“No. Definitely not.”

“But would it be cool to—”

“Again, no,” Seungmin interrupted before you could careen off onto one of your tangents about the merits of this person or that. Except, this person featured all too commonly in those tangents, and Seungmin was tired of hearing it. “I don’t want to hear about the exact wave pattern in Han Jisung’s hair or how long you think he’d had that leather jacket. And I definitely don’t want to hear your thoughts on his skinny jeans.”

You smirked, turning back to the table in front of you on which you’d neatly arranged your lunch: grapes, almonds, a container of rice, and a mix of vegetables and fish. You hadn’t necessarily been planning to rant about Jisung, but now that Seungmin mentioned it…

“What do you think he does when he’s not in school?” you mused, chasing a bit of cabbage around the bottom of your lunch container with your chopsticks. “I mean, he seems to just exist in his own little world—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with anyone except Minho and Chan, and even then, not that often.”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Seungmin yawned, resting his chin on his hand. “Probably goes off to some corner and broods. That’s what guys like him do: brood and very obviously not talk about how emotionally distraught they are or whatever. But in a Byronic way—I don’t think Jisung has a violent bone in his body.”

You wiggled your eyebrows at your best friend, who was steadily losing patience with the whole conversation. “I can think of one bone that might be quite . . . angry and maybe violent but probably just hard. Good with forceful th—”

“I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT HAN JISUNG’S DICK, Y/N!” Seungmgin burst out, drawing stares from the other students seated at neighboring tables, including Jisung himself. You made to bang your head on the table, more embarrassed than you’d been in a long time.

Seungmin, meanwhile, couldn’t stop laughing. “Y-Y/N, oh my god, I’m sorry. Hey, don’t hit me!” This was because you had started playfully but insistently punching his thigh. “It’s fine,” Seungmin continued, trying to reassure you. “It’s not like I said anything that would— Oh shit, he’s coming over here.”

You tried to slide under the table, but only succeeded in getting yourself stuck before shimmying back into your seat. You looked up just in time to see Jisung slide into the seat opposite you and lean meaningfully on the table.

“So, Y/N,” he drawled, flashing a feline grin at you. “What exactly did I just hear?”

“I didn’t say anything, Han,” you retorted, nose aloofly in the air.

Jisung sighed. “Okay, okay, maybe you didn’t say anything, but Seungmin definitely did.” Seungmin spluttered and shook his head violently, really not wanting to be drawn into your squabble.

“So?” you said casually, still picking at your lunch. Meanwhile, your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. “So what if he said something?”

“Why would Seungmin say anything about me, though,” Jisung said. “It’s not like you two like me or anything.”

You just stared at Jisung. Why did he sound petulant? “No, we don’t. You didn’t hear anything, so go away!”

“Oh come on, Y/N,” Jisung wheedled. “I know you’re curious….”

“Han, what the hell?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Jisung protested, leaning back as his hands waved wildly.

“I—” you began, and gulped. “It’s just… You’re just this moody guy who walks around like he owns the place. And you wear tight skinny jeans that leave very little to the imagination. How could I not assume you at least think you have . . . um, yeah.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Seungmin moaned, and stuffed his fingers in his ears.

Jisung had leaned forward now and was staring at you intently. You looked away, even more embarrassed than before, and he sighed.

“Y/N, I’m not quite sure what to say, besides the fact that I like my tight pants.” He paused, then chuckled lightly and winked. “And that you clearly like my tight pants, too.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and blurted. “Why are you even talking to us, Han?”

Jisung stopped as he rose from the table. “I was intrigued. Plus, you’re cute when you’re flustered.” Han winked, then turned and walked back to Chan and Changbin.

You just watched him go—casually appreciating the view—completely stunned. Had Han Jisung just said you were cute? Ugh?

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N!” Seungmin was shaking your shoulder. “Y/N, you might start drooling if you don’t watch out.”

Coming back to yourself, you hurriedly shut your mouth and demanded, “Did he just say I was cute?”

“How am I supposed to know? I had my fingers in my ears!” Seungmin exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

“Well, you are no help whatsoever,” you grumbled, and went back to eating your food.

Seungmin was silent for a moment, then said, “Do- Do you like him?”

You almost choked on your rice. “What?”

“Do you like him?” he repeated.

“The last time I checked, I definitely didn’t like Han Jisung. He annoys the hell out of me!”

Like the traitor he was, your best friend just made a ruminative noise and smiled down at his food.

↠↞

There was a park along the route you walked to and from school every day, and you liked to cut through to its other side as a short cut and to have some time in nature. Today, the leaves rustled loudly under your feet as you wove between the trees, distracting you sufficiently that you were completely wrapped up in your thoughts until your eye caught on a spot of black.

You stopped and squinted, brows furrowed ever so slightly. You couldn’t be sure, but that looked to be Han Jisung squatting under an oak at the edge of the park. Thinking the last thing you wanted was Jisung to see you spying—no, simply watching as you, too, strolled through the park—on him, you ducked behind a tree.

A few feet away from Jisung, assuming it was him, a squirrel sat on its haunches. It looked like he was talking to the squirrel, holding out his hand with a small pile of sunflower seeds resting in its center. As you watched, the squirrel, clearly used to this sort of thing, scurried forward and then away, its prize of seeds securely held in its mouth. This happened several times: the squirrel snatching a few seeds, stashing them around the other side of the tree, then coming back to retrieve more from Jisung’s hand. Strangest of all, you could have sworn you heard cooing along the lines of, “Aren’t you so good? Yes, you’re such a good little squirrel. Ooooh mhmm that tastes good, doesn’t it!”

Seeing the boy stand, you pulled your torso back behind the tree and peeked out as he walked away with a spring in his step. Yes, that was definitely Jisung.

Lost in your thoughts, you began to walk home. Feeding squirrels and talking to them was not “bad boy” behavior—of that much you were certain. So, did this mean that Jisung wasn’t as bad as you’d thought? Or was he slowly killing the squirrel by lacing the seeds with poison?

You shook your head, scolding yourself for such thoughts. But the fact remained: Han Jisung fed the squirrels and acted distinctly cute around them, and seemed to drop the persona he cultivated at school.

In a nutshell: you were confused.

The next day, you walked home the same way and at the same time, hoping you’d catch Jisung with the squirrel again. As you neared the edge of the park, sure enough, there was Jisung. You wrestled with your conscience for a moment, then walked the last meters to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?!” Jisung exclaimed, shooting to his feet and almost hitting you in the nose with the back of his head. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

“I was walking home,” you said innocently, giving Jisung a bright smile.

The young man in front of you was shifting back and forth on his feet. “Did you see—“

“Did I see you talking to a squirrel?” You grinned now, crossing your arms. “Yes. Yes, I did, Han.” Jisung spluttered. “Not so bad a boy, are you?”

“Come on, Y/N, don’t be like that!” he begged. “Just because I wear all black, brood, and write emo poetry—“

“Hah! So you do write it!”

Jisung gave you a look. “Yes, I write poetry and song lyrics for my friends. What about it?”

“Oh, nothing,” you chirped.

“Can you-“ Jisung sighed. “Can you at least not tell anyone that I feed and talk to the squirrels? It’s, like, my own way of doing good, you know?”

“Sure, I won’t tell anybody. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“Well, the more you know…” Jisung said and, yet again, winked at you before striding away. You admired the stark contrast between his black clothes and the oranges, yellows, and reds of the leaves on the ground.

↠↞

A couple of weeks later at the end of October, your English class was lucky enough to go on a weekend camping trip to experience the misty atmosphere in Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Part of you thought that your teacher was a bit odd for wanting them all to get spooked by mist, but you couldn’t argue with the fact that the foliage was beautiful. After a long day of traipsing through the forest to find the perfect lookout point for the next morning’s mist viewing, the class gathered around a fire to eat and talk.

The fire was warm in front of you where you sat on a conveniently placed log; if you'd been any closer, you would have definitely singed something. You'd been a bit stupid and hadn't brought a proper jacket, thinking the evenings would still be warm at the end of October, but oh how wrong you were. Your nose was cold and your hands were even colder, a fact you tried to hide by sitting on your hands. Soon, however, your shoulders and back felt the slight breeze the rustled the leaves surrounding the clearing.

Across the fire, Jisung tracked your every move with bright eyes. In truth, he’d been watching you all evening and noticed that you were now cold. He noticed a lot about you these days, really. You didn’t see him quietly staring, his black clothes turning him nearly invisible, but you knew he was there on the other side of the flames.

You jumped a little, shoulders shrugging as warmth settled around them, and looked around. On the log next to you sat Jisung, like the piece of the night sky come to earth.

“Better?” he asked casually.

“Y-yeah.”

The two of you sat there silently as your classmates gossiped and ate around you. Occasionally, you saw someone glance your way, then turn back to their friends as if Jisung’s stare repelled them. You’d expected to feel awkward around him, expected to feel some dark aura radiating off him, but it was easy to sit with Jisung. His leather jacket was wonderfully warm, it’s weight around your shoulders oddly comforting, and the faint smell of whatever soap Jisung used caught on the collar made you smile.

“Here,” Jisung said softly, holding out the flask that always hung at his hip. “Have a sip—it’ll warm you up.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m not going to drink, especially since we’re on a school trip,” you hissed.

“It’s just tea, Y/N,” Jisung said, tone affronted. “What did you think I had in here?”

“I- Tea is fine. Thanks.” You took the proffered flask and sipped what was perfectly brewed and sweetened black tea. The hot liquid sliding down your throat to your stomach was a delicious feeling. You returned the flask to Jisung, your fingers brushing as you did so.

The fire crackled, sparks flying up as sticks fell and broke apart. But these were not the only sparks that were flying around that fire. Between you and Jisung there seemed to be a thread of energy along which those other sparks danced, and, unexpectedly, you wanted to follow that thread to its end with the young man beside you.

Every now and then, you glanced at Jisung. And, every now and then, he glanced at you. After five tense minutes of this madness, you finally glanced at each other at the same time and smiled nervously.

“So,” Jisung began, “um…”

“Hmm?”

“May I say something?”

“I- Yeah, sure.”

Jisung took a deep breath, hands twisting in his lap. “Y/N, I have what’s got to be the biggest crush ever on you. And if you don’t return the feelings, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll never mention it again and I’ll make sure to leave you alone or whatever you want,” he said in a rush.

You wrapped Jisung’s jacket closer around yourself and turned slightly on the log to face him. The firelight danced in his eyes, the look in them soft and searching. His lips were parted slightly, as if to say something.

“It’s okay, Jisung,” you murmured, realizing that this was the first time you’d called him ‘Jisung’, at least to his face. “I think— I think I like you, too.”

Jisung’s face lit like the sun that would rise hours later with the dawn, his smile glorious. “Really?” he asked excitedly.

“Mhmm, I do.”

“That’s great,” Jisung breathed, and made to shift closer to you but stopped himself. “Um, so what now?”

“Want to cuddle?” You hardly believed that you’d just said that, but with Jisung’s jacket around you and him sitting so close, you couldn’t help it.

Jisung laughed and held out his arms to you, and you scooted closer to him so that you leaned against his as his arms went around you. After a couple minutes of shifting positions, the two of you settled. You could practically feel Jisung smiling behind you as you rested your head against his shoulder. Like your own, his heartbeat was faster than usual from nerves and excitement, which made you feel quite proud. You’d actually made the cool, seemingly confident bad boy of the school nervous.

Thinking you’d mess with him a little, you turned your face up to his and kissed his jaw. Jisung nearly jumped, which would have deposited both of you squarely on the cold ground, and then looked at you.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

“Won’t know until we try, right?” you replied.

Jisung needed no further prompting and brought his lips to yours, sending a current of warmth along that thread between you. You had to smile because, completely unexpectedly, you liked kissing Jisung. You liked it a lot and would be perfectly happy to continue kissing him all night long, if given the chance.

Drawing back from Jisung, you noticed your classmates staring at you and Jisung, and smirked back at them. Unlike you, they didn’t have a cute boy to kiss and cuddle with. They weren’t the chosen person for the Han Jisung.

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septiembrre · 5 years ago

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"you're the worst" and "you're my favorite"! :)

I had a writing block forever and this was just supposed to be 300-400 words of drabble and then it spiraled a little out of hand…

It’s been a few hours since Rio brought her to this house. The house itself is a charming, simply furnished. In another life, she would have loved to call it home. It sits on a quiet street, in a quiet neighborhood, and the night is peaceful. But, she’s restless.

She can’t sleep, she can’t eat, so she’s cleaning.

The afternoon was a blur. Rio had met Beth at the Paper Porcupine alone, and then Mick called. Suddenly, Rio was shuffling her into his ridiculous car, sharing the most minimal details - FBI, at the bar. The drive was tense, silent, stressed and it gave Beth a half an hour to bitterly contemplate where they were headed. To her surprise, instead of a derelict motel or empty loft, Rio had spirited them away to a modest neighborhood. There were no kids riding about on bicycles like her neighborhood, no middle-aged parents out on a run, but a lot of older folks and well-loved garden beds. Rio pulled up to a quaint green house, unlocked the front door with a key he proffered from his glove compartment. And then he settled in with her.

Beth called all the people she needed to call, fiddling with her phone on the couch. Hours passed - Rio had squirreled himself away in one of the bedrooms - and night crept in. The living room is decorated sparsely but closer to her brand of comfort. The house doesn’t really feel like Rio. At least, not in the way the loft felt like a pandora’s box of his personality all those months ago. The couch she’s resting on is so soft and she would curl up here if her mind wasn’t racing, swirling around the indications of the FBI showing up again at Rio’s business, swirling around what it could mean for her cash.

Beth takes a breath.

She starts to look around. She begins by taking inventory of the fridge - empty except for moldy cheese and almond milk that smelled okay, some condiments. She pops open the freezer and found what will be their next meal - veggie burgers, frozen bread, and peas. She thinks about turning on the stove - but the top is a little greasy and she’s not really hungry. Mostly, Beth’s annoyed at the closed door and lack of updates, but she knows she should wait for him. She makes some coffee instead.

The journey of discovery continues, and she drifts through this space that seems to sometimes be Rio’s. Beth rummages through minimally stocked cabinets, finds some mezcal, gin, and blessedly bourbon. She uses the bourbon to top off her coffee.

Beth opens what looks like a pantry but turns out to be fully-stocked with cleaning supplies - detergent, disinfectants, bleach, vinegar, gloves, masks, the works. Despite the shittiness of this day, she laughs. What a weirdo. Such a neat freak. Of course, he has a stockpile comparable to hers, a mother to four children.

She turns her attention to the empty bedroom. She finds some basic t-shirts and sweatpants sized for Rio and changes. She’s not sure how much to trust the house, it seems clean but a musty smell clings to the rooms. So she strips off the sheets from the bed and runs the wash. She sweeps. She wipes down the stove, then moves the laundry to the dryer. Rio stays holed up in the other bedroom and every now and then she can hear him talking on the phone. Beth takes a deep breath, pins up her hair, retrieves some supplies from the pantry and continues on to the bathroom. She sprays down the surfaces.

And she’s just over it. It was her night to make dinner and Dean all but hung up on her earlier when she called to explain. She was supposed to make another batch of cash with Ruby and Annie, and after her call, they’re scared and holed up in their homes, too. And, now they’re behind schedule. And, now - the fucking FBI? Beth rubs vigorously at a spot on the shower wall. She had finally hit her stride with Rio. After one particularly ugly night where they screamed themselves hoarse at the store, they were okay. They still don’t broach much talk about before - but they talk about work, they talk about now - and sometimes things between them feel good. But, now her mind leaps and somersaults and she thinks Jim Turner could be waiting for her around a corner of this house, freshly resurrected from the dead and ready to pull them into another deadly triangle.

She hears the bedroom door open, and Rio appears. He leans against the frame of the bathroom, he’s change into sweatpants, too.

“It’s all clean, mama.”

She’s really very tired. Her eyes prick.

“It’s grimy.” Her voice is hoarser than she expects when she speaks.

He purses his lips and then ducks out of the doorway. And fine. She returns to scrubbing any imaginable yuck out of the shower wall. A minute later, she hears him return. She turns to find him tapping on his phone, and music fills the room. She recognizes Rosalía from one of Annie’s money-making playlists - a dive into international lady musicians. He notices her noticing and quirks his brow at her. She holds out her hand and once he begrudgingly hands over the phone, she queues up Milionària. Rio chuckles, pulls on long rubber gloves, and steps into the shower with her. He’s pulled a second brush out from the pantry stock, and he reaches over her head to help her with the tall spots. She feels a little lightheaded and she’s not sure if it’s all the cleaning chemicals or if it’s that her nose can still zero in on Rio’s cologne.

Together, moving along to the music, they make quick work of the bathroom. Beth gets the linens out of the dryer. Rio helps her with the sheets.

Thoughts creep up reminding her of the state of her sheets after that afternoon in her bedroom, and how she tended that bed alone afterward. They’re both tired, and they’re not who they used to be, yet this moment still has that familiar weight, that current. She savors the lines of him out of the corner of her eye and catches him peeking at her, too. She wonders idly where he’s going to sleep.

They finish with the bed. Rio grins at her. Despite everything, she braces herself for an innuendo she knows is at the tip of his tongue. “Dinner?”

It makes Beth laugh. “It’s one a.m.”

Naturally, it’s this moment when her stomach growls.

Rio works on the food. She brings out the mezcal and bourbon she found earlier and pours them drinks, grabs plates. He catches her up on details from his calls with Mick. The FBI lingered outside the bar for some time, and ultimately it’s better that they spend the night in the safe house, just to be sure. They plan for him to drop her off downtown tomorrow afternoon and have Annie get her the rest of the way home.

They make their way through Rio’s playlist, drink more alcohol. Sometime over the course of Rio toasting their bread, and putting together her veggie burger, she relaxes. After they finish their dinner, they curl up on the couch in their mirrored outfits. Next to each other, facing each other, but the couch is not that big anyway.

Beth asks him about the house.

He doesn’t reveal much as usual, but he comes here sometimes, yeah? When shit hits the fan. It makes her mind spin and she wonders. “Like what kind of shit?”

“Hm?”

“Well, your pantry is fully stocked with cleaning supplies.”

He smiles - it’s sharkish.

Beth rolls her eyes. “I know you think you’re so cool.” He scoffs, but under his faux-affrontedness, she can see his glee. He loves when she calls him out. “All Tony Montana or Don Corleone.” She blinks and can’t believe she can seriously say that to someone. “But, honestly, you have the cleaning supplies of a suburban mom of four. We’re not that different.”

He’s literally snickering into his hand and she just cannot with him. Beth insists, “It’s true!”

Rio looks down the line of his nose at her. His gaze is sly. “You’re the worst, ma.”

Now she’s laughing. “That’s okay. I can be your worst.” She blames it on the warm, giddiness of being a little buzzed when she gives him a smile, impish. “You’re my worst, too.”

His eyebrows quirk up towards his hairline. He eyes her body from top to bottom and back again and his mouth does that thing she hates and loves where it purses - too attractively - at one side and he’s as playful as ever before. What an arrogant shit, she thinks. Something in her body has too much feeling. The tell-tale heat curls in her chest, and she knows she’s wet. He bites his bottom lip. Her thighs clench and she’s annoyed.

“I’m definitely your best.”

Beth squawks. Blood rushes through her ears, rising up from her chest to blot her cheeks. She rears back, away from him. “I- You- I’m-” She closes her gaping mouth and eyes him primly. “ Then, I’m definitely not your worst.”

He grins, conceding maybe.

Beth rocks her jaw and edges closer. Their chests don’t meet, but she can feel the warmth emanating from him.

She weighs her options.

Beth doesn’t break his gaze until she’s close enough that her lips graze his collarbone. She noses at the top of his shirt. She feels sexy and maybe it’s too much, but she takes the top button between her teeth and tugs.

Her gaze darts back up at his face. His mouth is parted and she feels that stupid, perfect thrill. Beth remembers how easy it was to enthrall him - too easy. She had examined it in the middle of her nights months ago and then buried it deep inside. She had convinced herself that it had been a trick of her imagination gone wild with the headiness of watching him in that dirty mirror, of finally tracing his skin in the sunlight streaming through her windows. But, she has done it again. Despite everything suspended between them, she still manages it.

Beth knows what’s she’s doing when she bites her lip and leans her face close to his. His gaze is glued to her mouth.

She tries again, “I’m your worst?”

He swallows, and maybe he’s a little wrecked, too. His fingertips brush the cleft of her chin. “You’re my favorite.”

Beth grins, widely, victorious. She nudges her nose against his and whispers, “Want to take a shower with me?”

#beth x rio #my writing #my fic #i need to consolidate my tags #brio #good girls fic

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gypsyscarfwoman · 5 years ago

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So yesterday was the birthday of the most fabulous @kate-dammit-run. And I sat down to write her a little something and my brain just... shut down. I think my muse is in quarantine right now. (I hope she gets out soon; I miss her.)

Anyway, today I sat down to do something else, and this tiny drabble hopped into my head. Yesterday was Tuesday, which was Tasha appreciation day according to @blindspothiatusproject (and this drabble is a day late, which is also oddly appropriate).

Which is all a very long way of saying, @kate-dammit-run is awesome and amazing and if you haven’t celebrated her yet, you definitely should. I love her to bits and consider myself very very very lucky to have her for a friend.

Jane let herself out of the bedroom and closed the door softly behind her, so as to not wake up Kurt, who was sleeping peacefully on the bed. Or Rich, who was sawing logs in the sleeping bag on the floor.

Being on the run was definitely a lot less glamorous in reality than it looked in the movies.

She padded quietly past the second bedroom door, where Tasha and Patterson were sharing the bed while Reade camped out on the floor. Or at least, that was the arrangement they had insisted upon, since Tasha and Reade were still pretending that friendship was all that remained between them.

But she was hardly one to throw stones. It had taken her and Kurt all those months—and near death by a nuclear bomb—to admit that they were in love. Tasha and Reade would figure it out eventually. Hopefully without a nuclear threat. Although knowing Tasha, it might take an international incident to get past her stubbornness.

Jane shook her head and entered the apartment’s tiny kitchen. Moving as silently as possible, she got a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water.

“Can’t sleep?” Tasha appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. She was fully clothed and obviously hadn’t given up her turn at guard duty yet, despite it being past the time her shift was supposed to have ended.

Jane just shrugged. In truth, none of them slept well these days. Well, except for Rich. Evidence that a clear conscience was no requirement for a sound night’s sleep.

“I bet Rich doesn’t snore as loudly as Patterson.” Tasha’s eyes met Jane’s as she spoke, and at the twinkle there, both women cracked up.

“Hey, I have Kurt and Rich to tune out right now!”

Tasha rolled her eyes. “No wonder you’re up. But that reminds me—hang on, I’ve got something for you.”

Jane trailed behind as Tasha strode into the living room. She bent down and dug around in one of the duffle bags on the floor.

“Here,” she said, straightening up and shoving a bottle at Jane. “Happy birthday.”

Jane blinked. She hadn’t told anyone that it was her birthday today. Kurt had seemed to understand her desire not to make a fuss about it, and had quietly given her a Hershey bar with Almonds—her favorite candy bar—that he had picked up somewhere in their travels and squirreled away.

“Not my birthday anymore,” she protested automatically, even as she lifted the bottle in the dim light. Her eyes widened as she read the label. “Whoa! Where’d you find this?” The bottle of whiskey in her hand was easily worth several thousand US dollars.

“Around,” said Tasha evasively. “I might have… liberated it… on my last run.” When she had broken into the offices of one of Madeline’s top executives to retrieve some banking records for the evidence they needed to take her down. She shrugged. “He’ll be in prison soon enough, and they won’t let him take that with him. Cheers!”

Jane grinned and went back into the kitchen to grab some glasses. She poured two generous servings and handed one to Tasha.

They sipped in silence for a few minutes, appreciating the high-quality liquor.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Jane said finally. “The last time I was on the run…”

Tasha grimaced. “Yeah, when I was undercover for the CIA, it was awful. You could never relax, because there was never anyone to watch your back. At least this way, some of us can sleep.” She flicked an eyeroll in the direction of the bedrooms.

Jane held up her glass. “To having people to watch our backs.”

“And to you. Happy birthday,” Tasha said again, as she clinked her glass against Jane’s.

Jane glanced over at the clock, which clearly showed that it was well past midnight, but Tasha cut her off before she could say anything.

“Still your birthday in New York City. So there.”

Jane grinned and took another drink.

#yas is da bestest!#sorry it's such a sucky time to celebrate #you get a raincheck for your celebration #after the apocalypse #blindspot #mywriting

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strawberrysunrisewitches · 4 years ago

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Cassie Profile

Format made by @hogwartsmysterystory

Identity

Name: Cassandra Eliza Cresswood

Gender: Female

Birth Date: February 1973

Species: Human

Blood Status: Muggleborn

Sexuality: Lesbian

Alignment: Neutral Good

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: Scottish

Residence: Glasgow, Scotland

Myer Briggs Personality Type: Defender-ISFJ-T

The Mage

1st Wand: 10", Cedar, Phoenix tail feather

2nd Wand: 10″, Ebony Oak, Horned serpent horn (made by Bianca Firahel)

Animagus: Red Squirrel with a red heart marking on the chest

Misc Magical Abilities: Legillimens

Boggart Form: Lucia dying

Riddikulus Form: Lucia dressed as a clown

Amortentia: (What do they smell like?) Strawberries, watermelon, Lavender and roasted almonds

Amortentia: (What do they smell?) sunflowers, honey, chocolates and mint

Patronus: Flame Skimmer Dragonfly

Patronus Memory: Getting married to Lucia(Was made up until they actually did)

Mirror of Erised: She and Lucia having a happy family together

Specialized/Favourite Spells:

Protego

Carpe Retractum

Depulso

Episkey

Incarcerous

Orchideous (She used this spell to help ask out Lucia)

Appearance

Faceclaim:

Height: 5′3

Weight: 138lbs

Physique: Muscled arms, quite curvaceous

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Red

Skin Tone: Pale

Body Modifications: Tattoo of a sunflower with multiple sunflowers wrapped around her left arm, around her stomach she has six daffodils forming a heart, In her seventh year she dyed a part of her hair blonde

Scarring: Scar going vertically down left eye, X- shaped scar on the middle of her chest and a scar on her right side of her waist

Inventory: Wand, Dragonfly Brooch gifted by her sister, a charm bracelet that matches with Lucia’s, dragonfly species books, a locket with photos of Sierra and Lucia in it, multiple songbooks

Allegiances

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Ilvermorny House:Horned Serpent

Affiliations/Organizations:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Slytherin

Prefects

Arcuri Family

Professions:

Wand Maker(Briefly)

Magizoologist(Formerly)

Baker

Hogwarts Information

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: 5/10 (A)

Charms: 9/10 (O)

DADA: 8/10 (O)

Flying: 7/10 (E)

Herbology: 6/10 (E)

History of Magic: 5/10 (A)

Potions: 4/10 (P)

Transfiguration:8/10 (O)

Electives:

CoMC 7/10 (E)

Music: 7/10 (E)

Ancient Runes: 8/10 (O)

Quidditch: Beater

Extra Curricular:

Frog Choir

Dueling Club

Slytherin Quidditch Team(Beater)

Favourite Professors:

Professor Snape: Despite her skills at potion making being subpar, Cassie trusts Snape and his teaching, she just believes she is not suited for potion making. Snape shared her distrust of Rakepick which Cassie was relieved as many of her friends did not and he helped train her legillimency after the vault, she was also thankful for him giving Lucia the garroting gas as it saved their lives from Rakepick

Professor Flitwick: Cassie took to charms like a duck to water which she attributes to Flitwick’s kind and understanding nature which always encouraged her when she attended his classes and she always looks forward to learning any new charms from him even if she intends on using them to break the rules

Least Favourite Professors:

Rakepick: Cassie never trusted Rakepick from the outset and made this known to all her friends in an effort to keep them safe. When her true nature was revealed in the portrait vault, Cassie was not surprised but she did not expect the things she would do to them.

Professor Trelawney: Cassie does not believe in her teaching Divination, does not believe in any of her prophecies and dismisses them as pure superstition. She believes that someone who is a proven seer should teach instead.

Relationships

Sister: Sierra Arcuri(Nee Cresswood)

Muggleborn

Gryffindor

Shoulder length red hair that fades to dirty blonde, brown eyes, lithe build

Duck animagus

She is a muggle veterinarian

Cassie is closer to Sierra than to her parents especially so after year 3, Every time Sierra returned from Hogwarts, she would regale Cassie with everything she learnt and Cassie listened with great enthusiasm every time. Sierra was the first person Cassie told about her crush on Lucia

Father: Edward Cresswood

Muggle

Buzzcut red hair, brown eyes, pudgy build

He is a entomologist

Edward was the one who got Cassie interested in dragonflies when she was young and is very caring to his kids to a certain extent, Before year 3 he supported his daughters in everything they did and worried about how Cassie’s introvertedness could affect her. Eventually he grew hatred towards Sierra and eventually Cassie aswell for their sexualities.

Mother: Joan Cresswood

Muggle

long red hair, brown eyes, svelte build

She is a published writer

She is the reason why Edward became homophobic in that she was able to convince him that LGBT+ people are wrong to exist and just like Edward she cared about Sierra and Cassie up until that point. She believes that the magic world corrupted her daughters and made them stray from what she saw as their path.

Love Interest: Lucia Firahel

Best Friends:

Rowan Khanna

Talbott Winger

Chiara Lobosca

Rival: Rebecca Lord ( @cursed-ice-spirits ) in Quidditch

Enemies:

Rakepick

Death Eaters

Voldemort

Dormmates: (Who’s in your MC’s dorm with them?)

Merula Snyde

Ismelda Murk

Liz Tuttle

Pets:

A Elf Owl named Syl

When she moves out into her own house, she gets a samoyed named Mayhem and three ragdoll cats named Cassia, Yuki and Pixel

Closest Canon Friends:

Rowan Khanna

Talbott Winger

Chiara Lobosca

Closest MC Friends:

Lauren Shields

Rebecca Lord ( @cursed-ice-spirits )

Background/History

Cassie grew up in Glasgow, she was very much an inside child always reading books whenever she could, the times she was outside it was to hunt for dragonflies that she saw in her books

When Sierra got her Hogwarts letter, Cassie was incredibly interested in all things magical and begged Sierra when she returns to tell her everything she can.

Cassie learnt about Cirilo and the cursed vaults from Sierra and became determined to prove they exist if she gets accepted to Hogwarts.

A few years later, her wish came true and she was accepted to Hogwarts where she started reading everything she could to do with magic and chose to neglect to gain any friends

This changed in Year 2 when Lucia Firahel searched the Library for anything pertaining to the Cursed Vaults which was also what Cassie was doing, Lucia’s cheery personality and persistence in talking to Cassie broke through her antisocial exterior and it was here that Cassie developed a crush on Lucia

Next year was one of the worst years of Cassie’s life when Sierra came out to her parents who were disgusted and disowned her. This event hurt Cassie mentally and emotionally to such an extent that she avoided Lucia for weeks until she was able to sit Cassie down with the help of all her friends and find out what the problem was. Lucia promised that if living with her parents ever got too bad then she has a place at her home which increased the intensity of Cassie’s crush on Lucia

In year four Lucia asked Cassie to the celestial ball which excited her a lot until Lucia intended it as just friends which caused Cassie to be less excited but still pretty excited.

After the ball, Cassie with encouragement from Sierra asked out Lucia though they tried to keep it secret to the school

In year five her legillimency was used by Rakepick to enter the Portrait Vault along with Lucia, Merula, Bill and Ben. When Rakepick betrayed them to say she wasn’t shocked would be very apt, fortunately Lucia was able to make Rakepick go away through the garroting gas

The next year, Cassie was relieved beyond belief when Lucia revealed she will no longer be going after the cursed vaults which meant Cassie wouldn’t have to worry about Lucia’s safety anymore

However she was scared and angry when Ben and Merula made Lucia come with them to the Forbidden Forest, a fear which she was right to have as Rakepick did try to kill them there but thankfully she failed and Lucia survived

It was also during this year that her relationship with Lucia was revealed to the school when they were caught kissing before a quidditch match

In year 7 once she turned 18 Cassie got her arm tattoo so that even if they are apart she is always fighting alongside Lucia

In the final battle against R, Cassie singlehandedly kept any members of R from interfering with Lucia and Rakepick’s duel, killing any who kept trying to do so

After she graduates, she briefly becomes a wand maker under Lucia’s mother and a part-time magizoologist before finally becoming a baker with Lucia

Four years after she graduates, she has her first daughters, Selene and Alissa with Lucia

When Voldemort returned she was openly defiant of him and joined the Order of the Phoenix. She also sheltered Muggleborns where she could and commonly was found dueling Death Eaters sent after her and her family alongside Lucia

Three years after Selene and Alissa’s birth Lucia gave birth to Aurea

Cassie took part in the Battle of Hogwarts with Lucia staying behind to protect their family. When Cassie learnt of Tonks’ death it was as if Lucia’s anger that she would have flowed into her and when the battle recommenced after the armistice ended, every death eater and creature that faced her met a gruesome end, most of the death eaters were unrecognizable at the end of the battle due to the full extent of Cassie’s attacks. Cassie survived the battle and returned home to Lucia’s relief and the two were able to live their lives in peace

Personality

Cassie is highly ambitious to an almost extreme degree, before Hogwarts she willingly chose to not befriend anyone to focus on schoolwork instead, this backfired on her in that due to the lack of social skill development she was very shy and avoided people out of shyness rather than willingly when she started Hogwarts. She eventually overcame this shyness over the years with the help of Lucia and her friends.

She also has an incredible competitive streak that comes out when she takes part in any competition and is always seen in Quidditch especially once Lucia started watching her matches.

She struggles with emotional situations and will always leave it to others to deal with that stuff, she hates this part of her as many of her friends deal with emotional breakdowns multiple times over the years and she never knows how to help.

Once she is befriended she will never let a single bad word be said about her friends without her shutting them up and will never give up on her friends no matter what. If you aren’t her friend and you wrong her and/or her friends then never expect her to forgive or forget ever.

Misc

The names of her five daughters are; Alissa Dawn, Selene Abigail, Aurea Amara, Roxanna Amber, Rebecca Ciana and Hannah Chiara Firahel

She is fluent in English, Scottish Gaelic and Italian which Lucia taught to her

Has a pretty strong Scottish accent which never goes away with age

She’s left handed

She got her scars from a magical accident involving a spell Lucia was working on

She has a fear of bees from an incident when she threw a rock at a beehive when she was young and the swarm chased her until she got inside safely

She only joined Quidditch at first because she wanted to experience Quidditch up close but her competitive streak soon took over and she started loving it but she never wanted to be a professional quidditch player

She was taught to sing by her sister, Sierra and was a great singer out of the gates

She’s had two dragonfly brooches in her life, the first was from her parents but after they disowned Sierra she threw it into the Black Lake

She is really only physically affectionate with Lucia, that is not to say she is touch scared or won’t reject hugs from her friends but she won’t be the one to initiate any hugs

She is very knowledgeable about everything related to dragonflies

She can in theory cast all three unforgivable curses

When she graduated, she packed her stuff and left home immediately kissing Lucia in front of her parents as a big fuck you to them for how they treated Sierra and her

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #Cassie #Casandra Cresswood #Cassie Cresswood #Harry Potter Hogwarts mystery #hp hogwarts mystery #HPHM MC #character profile

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dark-ethereal-visions · 6 years ago

Text

Kylie’s Reality

It couldn’t be said that fate was smiling down on her. Far from it, in fact. On top of everything else that had happened -losing her boyfriend and smashing her car in one night- it looked like there was one hell of a storm brewing and Julia Daniels was going to be caught right in the middle of it. The drizzling rain was already slowly and thoroughly soaking her face, as she hurried home. At least the rain was keeping the tears from stinging her eyes…or perhaps she was just too concerned with getting home to notice anything so trivial. She hugged her burgundy leather trench coat against her body, its sweet scent growing stronger with each raindrop, while she sped up to a trot. Just as the drops of rain beating her scalp grew larger and heavier, a clap of thunder startled a shriek from her lips. The salty rainwater drooled into her mouth, taunting her already parched throat. Seconds later, the heavens opened up to release their torrent. The rain hit so hard that she might have thought it was hail, except for the warm temperature. It took mere moments, before she was saturated from head to toe. She stopped only once, just long enough to tie her long, yellow hair into a ponytail. She squeezed the excess rainwater from the tresses in the process, realizing, even as she did so, the utter futility of trying to dry it off. She tucked her hair into the back of her overcoat.

She wanted to get home as quickly as possible, accepting the storm wouldn’t let up anytime soon. She’d passed St. Andrew’s Cemetery just before the storm began raging, but silly superstitions had kept her from taking the shortcut. Even so, it was still on her mind; cutting through the burial ground would shave fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes off of her journey. Possibly more, if she could keep up her current trot. The harsh rain beating down on her head and face, running down her chilled back, convinced her to turn back. She turned and headed back the way she’d just come, in time to see the moon’s brief debut. Through the watery veil, she could see only one-quarter of its mass glowing yellow and even that wasn’t visible for long. Violent storm clouds blocked its comforting presence, as though its mere existence threatened the chaos of the storm. She continued on her way, forgetting the fascination the moon had held with her, and ran the remaining block back to the graveyard’s main gate.

In spite of the storm’s fury, she found herself hesitating at the cemetery’s cast iron gate. She knew they were childish fears, ridiculous and unfounded, but that didn’t make her fear any less real. She laughed off her superstitions uneasily, although trespassing on the sacred ground at such a late hour still left her feeling wary. Finally, letting the rumbling thunder fuel her courage, she crossed the ingress with a sigh.

The wind joined the tumultuous ensemble, as she made her way across the graveyard, as though the forces of nature attempted to push her back the way she’d come. Regardless, her path was already chosen; she wasn’t going to turn back. Even the enlarged, multi-colored maple leaves carpeting the soggy lawn were far too wet to be disturbed by the strong gusts. A squirrel darted across her path, running for the shelter of a nearby mausoleum, as she persisted on towards her own home. A few more thunderous roars followed by lightning flashes bright enough to momentarily blind had her feeling more nervous than she’d felt, since she’d first begun her trespass. Her skin crawled, like insects exploring every inch of her body. The thought, gruesomely real in her mind, brought a shudder strong enough to loosen her clothing and bring a real chill to her flesh. Her sneakers and socks, drenched from walking through the swamped land, squished with every step. Only the echoing of branches cracking beneath her feet could outdo the horrid squishing noises. As though her own superstitions weren’t bad enough, the noises created by the storm and her own movements within it had Julia’s nerves at their ends.

It felt as though her twenty-four year old heart was beating hard enough to burst from her chest, as she let her imagination work herself into a panicked frenzy. She expected something unnatural -a corpse, a demon, a spirit- to pop out at her from behind every raised headstone. She glanced over her shoulder too frequently, just to be sure nothing was chasing after her. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, a part of her truly believed something hunted her from amongst the shadows. The trees, the headstones, the very night all seemed malevolent and distorted. She wanted to run as fast as her legs would carry her, until she was safely inside her warm, dry apartment, but her fear wouldn’t allow it. Maybe, if she started to run, the sudden movements would draw the attention of something evil; something malicious.

Finally, from some hiding place deep in her mind, reason returned. Perhaps, it was some type of defense mechanism. Maybe, when an intelligent creature was as frightened as possible, reason and logic took over to ensure the creature’s safety. It was an interesting theory and one she would discuss with her theology professor, but irrelevant at present. The fact remained that logic had chased her fears away…at least enough to help her decide to run. After all, her analytical mind suggested, if something really wanted her, it would pursue her regardless. So, she ran.

She ran hard, determined not to let anything slow her down. She ran through bushes, stubbed her numbed toes on grave markers, and splashed through puddles ambitious enough to swallow her whole. Yet, she kept her speed consistent, running as fast as her rubbery legs would allow. It wasn’t until she passed through the trees that lined the cemetery’s eastern border and crossed the deteriorated bridge that crossed Crooked Brook, that she finally stopped to catch her breath. She wouldn’t have stopped even then, except that she’d once heard that spirits couldn’t cross bodies of water. She looked back over her shoulder, as her throbbing chest struggled to catch its breath, and studied the log bridge erected by a boy scout troop decades earlier. There was nothing unusual there, nor was there anything supernatural on the opposite side of that crossing. Just trees and, beyond that, departed loved ones resting peacefully.

Christ, she felt so fucking stupid.

As she continued on, she felt her face grow hot with embarrassment in spite of the cold rain. She certainly would never share this little adventure with anyone. She could only imagine would her friends would say, if she did tell them. Professor Marlin would enjoy a harmless chuckle and let that be the end of it. Her other friends, however...Well, Amelia already treated her -and every other blonde she met- like a senseless bimbo. Colette would be more sympathetic. Too sympathetic. In fact, she would leave Julia feeling like a burdensome child for even bring it up. Of course, it wouldn't be intentional. That was just the way she was, always reacting overly empathetic to the trivial misfortunes of others. And Jennifer? Well, she would certainly laugh and make a few comments of her own, but that wouldn't be the worst of it. She would never let it go. The story would still be recounted at cocktail parties and receptions five years later.

She laughed aloud, partly at herself for being so foolish and partly at the thought of her friends’ reactions.

The gray-black sky was abruptly eclipsed by a flash. Although it had been brief, the lightning had illuminated everything in the area, as though daylight itself had returned for that fleeting moment. It also left her blinded for a short-lived second, while her heart thumped wildly. She stood frozen, even as her eyes re-adjusted themselves to the blackness of the night, wondering if her vision had been playing tricks on her. She could feel the tiny hair on the nape of her neck standing on end, the tingling in her spine, and her bladder’s urge to let loose its contents. She could even feel that throbbing in her skull that she always felt, anytime she’d been startled so abruptly. She’d seen something in that flash of light. Something that just couldn’t be.

It was just a figment of your imagination! Wasn't it?

Thinking back, she just couldn’t be sure, but it had definitely seemed real enough. All she really knew for certain was that she wouldn’t forget the sight for as long as she lived. There was a part of her -the adventurous hellion her mother had tried so hard to repress for so many years- that wanted to see it again. That wild child wanted to know more; see more. At the same time, the practical, yet superstitious, adult Julia had become wanted nothing more to do with it. That part of her definitely did not want to see it again.

No.

Not it…

...her.

A young girl, that’s what she’d seen. She’d come and gone with the lightning, but, in that one instant, she’d seen the girl so clearly. That girl, no more than sixteen years old, had the dark mahogany flesh of African descent and a full head of hair fashioned into dreadlocks that reached well past her shoulders. Although she’d never cared for that particular hairstyle, Julia had to admit it complimented the girl’s natural beauty. As far as she could tell, the girl’s dark skin had been lacking imperfections. Her physique had been similar to the type Julia’s grandmother often referred to as a breeding body: large breasts, wide hips, and a slightly plump belly. The girl’s chestnut colored eyes had been large and wide, like the almond-shaped eyes of a fawn. There had been more to her appearance, but nothing as pleasant as the innocent eyes and smooth skin. She’d had a diagonal gash across her forehead -the type made by some jagged weapon- and the wound had been plastered with dried blood. There had also been a slit across her neck, gaping in mimicry of her full lips. Blood had once gushed from that second wound, or so Julia surmised based upon the brownish-red stains forever marring her white gown.

There was a reason she’d seen the details of this girl so clearly: the child’s face had appeared mere inches from her own. That, more so even than the girl’s appearance, was what had stopped her so suddenly. They had been so close to one another that, had either of them stepped forward, they surely would have kissed.

She didn’t know how long she stood there in that very spot, afraid to move a single muscle, but it seemed to her like an eternity. She stood there, hoping the girl was gone. She finally dug into her pocket for her lighter, so she could be sure the girl was no longer nose to nose with her. She stood there thinking about that girl and the emotions the vision of her had stirred. The appearance of the girl left her feeling terrified, but she also felt confused and saddened. These other feelings seemed to come from nowhere, as though they weren’t her own. She was also left wondering if she was really alone. Was that girl still with her for some reason, hidden behind the veil of darkness, or had she gone on her way? She wondered if she would see her again, when she finally passed beneath the yellow spotlight of a street lantern. Or, more likely, had the girl simply been a figment of her own imagination, fragments of images her mind had put together from her ordeal in the cemetery moments earlier? She stood there, her mind racing round and round, until a clap of thunder loud enough to rumble the ground brought her back to reality.

Tying her waist belt tighter, she resumed the trot home she’d begun so long ago. Every now and again, the memory of that vision prompted her to glance back over her shoulder. Each time she looked back, however, she found herself alone on the streets. Even the storm had moved on. By the time she’d arrived on the front stoop of her apartment, soaked but relieved, the rain had tapered off to a meaningless drizzle.

Julia rolled over onto her side and looked out on the sky, beyond her bedroom windows. It was raining again, but, even so, it was still far too dark to be morning yet. Her eyes were heavy; it was a struggle just to keep them open. At the moment she let them close, a soft whisper in her ear stopped her heart ever so briefly and jolted her wide awake. Her eyes, weighing so heavily seconds earlier, popped open, as she sat upright in her bed. Her heart pounded harder and faster than ever before, harsher than she’d thought possible. The whisper had been so unmistakably close that the speaker’s lips must have been right up against her ear, yet she was alone. There were no unusual shadows in the darkness. She even tried to listen for more noises -footsteps, perhaps, or doors closing- but she could hear nothing above her own heartbeat. That obnoxious thud-dud was so damned loud! She tried to force herself to calm down -to quiet her heart- but the more she thought about it, the louder that relentless beating seemed to grow. She sat perfectly still in her bed for what seemed hours upon hours, but, in reality, was probably no more than five or ten minutes, trying desperately to keep her senses sharp. Finally, she slipped back beneath the blankets, allowing her weary body to drift off into a fitful sleep.

At one point during the night, in the midst of a particularly violent bout of tossing around, she wondered why she’d even bothered staying in bed. Heartburn had brought her out of sleep more than a few times. Each time, she’d sit up and take a few deep breaths, hoping the indigestion wouldn’t disturb her anew. By the fifth time, she’d finally had enough and stumbled off to the bathroom. She vaguely remembered popping a couple antacid tablets into her mouth -the chalky aftertaste was enough to gag her dry throat- before staggering back to her warm bed. She slept through the remainder of the night after that, but it had been such a light sleep that she may as well have been wide awake.

Twenty minutes after the buzzing of her alarm clock, she still huddled beneath her blankets with her eyes clenched tightly shut. The few hours of sleep she had gotten had brought nightmares, or, at least, she was pretty sure they had been nightmares. She couldn’t recall a single detail. All she knew for certain was that she’d awoken feeling so scared that she dared not move from that spot on her bed. She even resisted opening her eyes for fear of a nightmare making itself real. Many more minutes passed her by, before those feelings subsided enough to free her from her bed.

That minor panic attack, ridiculous as it had been, now forced her to make a choice. She chose to forgo her morning cup of coffee in favor of getting to work on time. She hurried to the bathroom; teeth brushed, she jumped into the hot shower. It was a quick shower, barely long enough to wake her up. As she dried off, droplets of water running down the steamed mirror caught her gaze. She dropped her towel, stumbling backwards against the shower door, as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The paths of the water beads, directed by some unseen force, had formed a word. A single word:

Kylie

Julia couldn’t get out of her apartment fast enough. She dressed as fast as her arms would move, barely taking a single breath the entire time. By the time she made it out to her little yellow Volkswagen, she was gasping for air. She sped out of the parking lot, tires screeching against the blacktop, without taking a moment to calm herself down. Her mind was mad with unearthly images and the thoughts those images were kindling. Perhaps it hadn’t been so stupid to fear that cemetery, after all. Looking back, it seemed that trespassing on that sacred land had been the foolish act.

No, that couldn’t be it. That just wasn’t reasonable; it didn’t make sense. Had she been hallucinating? That seemed more probable. After all, her late aunt had experienced similar problems with hallucinations, years ago. That must be it, she told herself. It was simply the side effect of some hereditary illness. There were no spirits whispering in her ear, or writing on steamed mirrors. It was her own mind haunting her; nothing else. She would make a doctor’s appointment, as soon as she got to her office.

She pulled into the office building’s basement lot and followed the faded yellow arrows toward her assigned space. It was at the far end; it couldn’t have been any further away from the elevator. This was the first time it had ever bothered her. She’d always enjoyed the five minute walk through the garage; it gave her time to clear her mind and prepare for a hectic day filled with bitter defendants, cranky judges, and snobby lawyers. Her career as a paralegal hadn’t turned out to be the dream job she’d anticipated, but the pay was damned good. She smiled to herself, that last thought reminding her it was payday; the one day a week nearly everyone enjoyed. As was usually the case, she found that the walk through the dim and quiet lot had calmed her down; grounded her. She felt confident -good about herself- as she neared the elevator.

The elevator was a testimonial to the types of offices the building contained. The wall to wall mirrored interior was garnished with just enough gold trim from floor to ceiling to look tastefully gaudy. It was an elevator fit to carry the finest attorneys and financial consultants the city had to offer. Julia pushed the button for her floor and stared straight ahead. She was alone today, but it had become habit to stare blankly ahead in such confined quarters. Cities, like this one, were impersonal and the people were cold; she’d learned quickly that showing compassion and good will were signs of weakness to be exploited. Halfway up to the fourteenth floor, the cabin lights flickered. It had been barely noticeable and happened only that one time, but, after all she’d seen lately, that little disturbance unnerved her just a bit. She tried to pay it little attention…until her senses peaked. The stoic stare at her reflection straight ahead was now the only shred of reality she had left to grasp. Chills ran up her spine and spread to every inch of her flesh, she shook with fear and confusion so intense that it almost drove her into a fugue, and she could already feel her bladder threatening to release its contents. All of this, before her mind had even registered what her eyes were seeing. Just behind her reflection, she saw a second image; the image of a person. It was her. The same girl she’d seen last night. The same dark skin, the same dreadlocks, the same face…the same scars on that face and neck. It was definitely her.

She wanted to turn. She wanted to either confront her or prove to herself that the girl wasn’t really there. She wasn’t sure which option would have been more relieving. Her mind fought her body’s resistance, turning in one quick motion. She’d hoped the spasmodic turn would have startled her visitor, but what she saw shocked Julia, herself, that much more. The vision terrified her down to the deepest depths of her soul. She’d turned completely around -180 degrees- yet the reflections in the mirror told her that the girl still stood directly behind her. The worst part of it was how clearly the reflection appeared; this was no hallucination. She could see the anger in the girl’s eyes and she could feel her hot breath against the nape of her neck. It didn’t matter which direction she turned. That girl always stood behind her, like a guardian…or a stalker. Too frightened to carry through with the scream she felt building up in her throat, she swung around to face the doors. She looked unswervingly at the girl’s reflection, both anger and fear swelling up within; her fists were clenched so tightly that she could feel her fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. “Leave me alone!”

The bell chimed and the doors swung open. She found herself greeted with the befuddled stares of the secretary, her fellow paralegal, and the two lawyers that headed the office. Everyone in the office had heard the scream. There was no hiding her shame, either; she felt her face grow hot and her mirrored image told her she’d turned three shades of red. She walked onto the floor, carrying herself as professionally as the situation would allow, and smiled. “Bad break-up.” She quickly produced her cell phone. “Sorry.”

Julia headed directly to her private office, where she could busy herself with research, depositions, and anything else that would keep her thoughts distracted. The office, decorated by Julia herself, was comfortable and warm with its welcoming soft beige walls and carpeting. Two of the walls were lined with bookshelves from ceiling to floor, those shelves containing everything from the most recent legal dictionaries and digests to her subscriptions to the most celebrated legal periodicals. The monitor, keyboard, and mouse sitting upon her oak desk were crowded by the files and books of her latest project. Her own leather office chair was far superior to those meant for her guests and on a day like today, she reveled in the lushness, as it enveloped her body. Just as she sunk down into the chair, letting her handbag fall to the floor beside her, she flicked the monitor on and swiveled around to stare out at the city beyond the one glass wall of her office.

She gazed out at the skyline, lost in daydreams, long enough for her screensaver to engage. The unfamiliar images caught her attention. The all too familiar photographs of the bay weren't included in the presentation. No pictures at all, in fact. Just a word; a single name. Kylie floated across her screen with ever-changing fonts and colors. As that name danced around, its size grew larger and larger. Julia reached forward to nudge her cursor and rid herself of the unnerving message, but the moment her fingers touched the mouse, Kylie's ebony face revealed itself upon the screen.

Startled, she jolted up and simultaneously jumped backwards, tumbling over her chair. Her fall was unstoppable and she ended up laying on the floor with her chair sitting upon her torso, her eyes frozen on the face staring back at her through the monitor.

Pushing the chair away haphazard, she rose to her feet and forced her trembling legs to take her to the window and away from that dreadful computer screen. A deep, steadying breath had just passed her lips, when that girl once again revealed herself in the reflection of the glass. There was more of her revealed in this larger image, showing Julia every detail in her scarred face and neck, blood-stained dress, and bruised and bared feet. Kylie drew closer and closer, the look upon her face betraying some malicious intent. Julia snapped her eyes closed, determined not to let the images terrify her any more than they already had done. She prayed for a return to sanity, hoping that, when she again opened her eyes, the images -that girl- would be gone.

Instead, she opened her eyes to the feeling of two hands firmly grasping her blouse. The ebony fists wrapped themselves up in the fabric of her shirt, as the girl gave her arms a yank and pulled Julia toward her. Kylie, nothing more than a vision moments earlier, had become a physical threat, pulling Julia toward her and toward that glass wall. It happened so unexpectedly that Julia's scream was heard long after the shattering of the glass. Using more strength than any teenage girl should have been able to summon, Kylie had thrown Julia through the window and out at a busy, uncaring boulevard. She screamed as loud as she could, while her heart thundered and her eyes watched the tar street race up to meet her.

"Julia? Are you all right?"

It had been an illusion; a fantasy. She whirled around to see Patrick Forrester, the lead attorney and her own supervisor, standing in her doorway. He seemed more perturbed than concerned. She turned back to glance only momentarily at the undisturbed glass wall; there wasn't even a scratch in its surface. Her desk, too, seemed just as unbothered with the chair tucked neatly in its place, as though she'd never taken a seat. Moving around to peer at the monitor, she was greeted with a black screen and a dark power button.

Mr. Forrester stood in that doorway, clearly awaiting a response.

Julia moved forward to face him, slinging her handbag over her shoulder, and gently touched his arm. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Forrester. I'm...Well, I'm not feeling well. I think it would be best to take the rest of the day off, if you don't mind."

"Very well. Take as much time as you need. Can you stay long enough to catch Scott up on your cases?"

"Of course."

By the time Julia reached her car in the parking garage, Kylie's name and face were permanently etched upon her mind. There was no forgetting her. Whatever the presence of Kylie represented -and she wasn’t prepared to admit what she already knew to be true- she had to go away. The only problem was that she knew she’d need help, if she really wanted to send the vision on her way.

Working in the legal field had the perks most people would expect, but it also had advantages not posted in job descriptions or vacancy announcements. One of those advantages was the ability to meet people of a variety of backgrounds, perspectives, and beliefs. Detective Earnshaw was one of those people she wouldn’t normally have had the opportunity to know. He was a police detective with a reputation for requesting the more unusual cases. At the moment, she needed help and he was the only one that came to mind. She opted for a phone call. She didn’t think she could look him in the eyes and tell him she was seeing ghosts, no matter how open-minded he seemed. “Hi, Lenny. This is Julia, from Moore, Forrester, and Landrew.”

“This is unexpected. What can I do for you?”

“I need some help…with a personal problem.”

“I’d be happy to help, if I can.” She heard him mutter something to his wife about taking the call in private, followed by the sound of a door closing. “So, what’s the problem? Someone you know in a jam?”

“No.” She was surprised he’d even made that assumption; he knew how she felt about those kinds of favors. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

“Okay. I’m all ears.”

She hesitated out of fear. She almost hung up without saying another word, but she reminded herself that he was probably the only person she could talk to about Kylie. “Have you had a case involving the death of a young, black girl? Her first name might’ve been Kylie. Actually, I’m pretty sure that was her name.”

He muttered the name over and over, almost chanting it, as she listened to the clickety-clack of his fat fingers hitting a keyboard. He took a drag of a cigarette and exhaled, as he replied. “Sure. Here it is.”

“It was your case?” She really hadn’t expected him to find anything, but the question had been the only way she could think to broach the subject without sounding like a complete lunatic.

Yes, actually it was…if you can even call it a case.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was an accident, open and shut.”

“What happened?”

"You gonna tell me why you’re asking about a year old accident?”

“Please, don’t ask me that, Lenny. Let’s just say it’s something I have to do for myself.”

“I really have to ask. I mean, if this is a legal matter…”

“It’s not.” She cut him off so quickly, because she understood his concern.

“Look, I give you my word this isn’t going any further than the two of us. It’s just something I need for my own peace of mind.”

He sighed heavily, followed by a long silence. In fact, he was quiet long enough to make her wonder if he’d ended the call. She was about to give up, when she heard him exhale once again.

“All right.”

“So, what happened?”

“Pretty simple, really. She was crossing the bridge behind St. Andrew’s Cemetery…you know the one?”

“Yeah, I do. She didn’t just fall?”

“Yep, that’s what it looked like. She must’ve been looking at something in the water and leaned too hard against the railing. As she fell, a piece of the broken railing sliced open her neck; that was the cause of death. She also cracked her skull open on a jagged rock, when she landed.”

“And you’re positive it was an accident?”

“I have no doubt; neither did my partner.” It was his turn to hesitate. “Look, Julia, I’m happy to help you out, but if this is something you’re working on…”

“It’s really not. I would tell you, if it were anything like that.”

He chuckled, more to himself than from anything she’d said. “Strangely, I believe that. Anything else?”

“Family? Friends?”

“None. I remember thinking how sad that was. She was an orphan, living in a foster home; no relatives ever came forward to claim her. We did ask around and it seemed she always kept to herself. The only evidence the girl ever existed was her body…and the diary. Very sad.”

“There’s a diary?”

“Yes.” He spoke slowly, as though he already guessed she wanted it. “I’ll have it delivered to your office?”

“No, not the office. I want to keep this personal. Can we meet for lunch?”

“Sounds good. I’ll pick you up at noon.”

“Great.” She smiled, finally feeling like she’d done something right. As soon as he’d mentioned the diary, she clung to the hope that its contents would reveal some secret. “And, Lenny, I really appreciate this.”

It was one of those gift diaries; something intended for a girl much younger than sixteen. The flimsy gold lock was rusted and hanging on only by a staple. The key to that lock was probably buried at the bottom of one landfill or another. The book’s cloth-veiled cardboard cover was stained with cola, or maybe it was juice. Its musty odor, something like a combination of soil and sweat, lingered in the air, threatening to contaminate the air in her apartment. The pages crinkled and crackled like old parchment, as she lifted the front cover. The first page was blank, save for one sentence written in the author’s bubbly handwriting:

Kylie’s Journal and Thoughts

She took a sip of wine and set the glass down on the dark cherry wood coffee table in front of her, before she turned to the second page. Resigned to reading the manuscript in its entirety in this one night, she examined it with a scrutinizing eye. The pages were smudged with candy, grease, and salt; the latter probably from potato chips. There were drawings on the edges of the pages, as though Kylie had tired of writing and had taken to doodling, while she lost herself in her daydreams. Once Julia delved into the actual reading, she became too caught up in the author’s life to take anymore notice of smudges or sketches. It felt awkward in the beginning; a small twinge of guilt for having such an interest in Kylie’s life and personal thoughts gave her a momentary pause. She reminded herself that Kylie, the author of these words, had opened the door. As far as she could tell, this intrusion was by invitation.

So she read on…

February 5, 20-

Things were so wonderful and now it feels like I've been dumped in a lonely and horrible world. I woke up three days ago and haven't been able to sleep since. I keep seeing that bright light. Those high beams lit up everything inside the car, as though a star had fallen from the night sky, and, moments later, everything was blackness and pain. Even before my eyes had adjusted, all my other senses told me everything had gone terribly wrong. I couldn't move; everything in the car was suddenly cramped and crushed. I was alone in the backseat and, yet, I wasn't. I could feel something thick and wet dripping onto my hand and that same wetness running down my opposite shoulder. When I was finally able to focus my eyes, I could see the street lantern's rays reflected off of the glass shard in my shoulder. The wetness I'd felt running down my arm was my own blood.

I looked up to Poppy for help, but I could only see his back. He was draped over the steering wheel, his face hidden from me by the shattered windshield. Many of the pieces of glass surrounding him on the dashboard glistened with the same dark wetness that trickled down my own arm.

Momma could've been asleep, except that her eyes were wide open. Her head hung over the back of the seat, as though she were looking back to check on me. It was something she often did, while Poppy drove. It was different this time though; the sparkle was gone from her eyes. They were blank; lifeless. The blood dribbling from her lips explained the wetness I felt on my hand.

The last thing I remember, before the red, flashing lights again blinded me, was trying to move my legs.

The doctor came by yesterday with my x-rays. He told me that I didn't suffer any permanent damage and that I would walk again. That was when he introduced me to Andy, my physical therapist. It sounds like I'll be here for awhile.

August 20. 20-

I can walk again. That's the good news; the only good news. I'm an orphan now; Momma and Poppy are with God...and I'm here alone. I must've done something truly terrible for Him to want to take my family away from me. I just wish I knew why God was so angry with me.

August 30, 20-

I'm going home with my foster family today. I just met them yesterday and they didn't seem very nice at all. They had barely finished introducing themselves, before they started listing all of the rules I'm expected to obey. Considering our first meeting was in a hospital room, it would've been nice if they'd at least asked how I was feeling.

October 25, 20-

I feel so humiliated! I'm afraid to even think about what will happen, when I go back to school on Monday. I was so certain A---- felt the same way about me that I felt for her. How could I be so wrong? We'd been spending all of our time together and A---- made me feel so happy. Being with her even helped me forget how horrible the past nine months have been. We were laying on my bed together, looking through the latest "Seventeen" and just hanging. The moment seemed so right and perfect. One moment, I was leaning forward to kiss her. The next moment, I was laying on the floor and A---- was yelling at me, calling me a freak. Oh my God! What have I done?

November 1, 20-

This is my second time in the hospital; I think I'm even in the same room. It's difficult to be sure; I'm not able to see things too clearly. My eyes are swollen from the beating I took from A----'s friends. I should've known not to go to that party, after what happened in my bedroom. I just thought, hoped, that A---- had had a change of heart. But, then, I guess that's what she wanted me to think.

It started out so perfectly, just like in one of those old romantic films. A---- picked me up in her father's Caddy and took me out to one of the nicest restaurants in town. She really had me fooled with the way she touched my hand, every time she spoke to me, and smiled, whenever she looked into my eyes. We even went for a walk on the pier and A---- stopped by a street vendor to buy me the most beautiful red carnation. Even now, I think I'll keep that flower for the rest of my life. Not as a reminder of A----. I know that whole evening was a performance and there wasn't a single, sincere moment. No, I don't want to remember A----. But she did give me something, in spite of her cruelty. She showed me what it could be like with the right girl. She showed me that, no matter what else happens, I can be happy. That's why I'll keep this flower; it'll be a symbol of my hope for happiness.

The rest of the night was horrible. Looking back, I can't understand how I lived through it and a part of me wishes I hadn't!

We went to the party; I was very nervous at first. I guess my first feelings should've warned me to leave, but I didn't listen. Everything just seemed so normal. Everyone was laughing, talking, and dancing, as though they didn't even notice us. It started so slowly that I didn't even realize what was happening until it was too late. Little by little, I found myself trapped in the center of a growing crowd. Some walked right to us, as though they were happy to see us both. Most of them, though, just wandered closer and closer, until I found myself surrounded by everyone. They all watched, as A---- turned to face me in the midst of that circle. She looked like she wanted to say something to me, something sweet and caring, but that was just a part of her act.

I was far too shocked to do anything. I just lay there, rubbing my sore jaw and looking up at A----. I guess it was the contempt, the disgust, I saw in her eyes that hurt me more than anything else. Seeing that was the one thing that brought me to tears. I wanted to look away, but something wouldn't let me. I wanted to run away, but my humiliation kept me frozen there.

"Like I said before, you're a disgusting little freak; a dirty, nasty dyke!" Her tirade paused only long enough for her to spit phlegm on my face. "The sight of you makes me sick!"

That wasn't the end of it. Only the beginning, as it turned out. A---- continued kicking me and spitting on my face, while everyone else cheered her on. Her closest friends weren't content with the name-calling or the cheering; they attacked me, as well. I don't know how many girls had piled on top of me, but it felt like I lay beneath every person at the party. There was no defending myself, either. I was pinned to the ground in such a way that enduring the onslaught of fists was all I could do. My face, my stomach, my back, and my sides were all targets, but my cunt received most of the pummeling, as though punishing it for not wanting boys down there.

Things eventually became a blur. At some point, the girls stopped, either because I was close to passing out or they had simply grown bored with it. Even though my eyes fought to stay open, I tried desperately to see what would happen next. My hope that they would now leave me to crawl away was disappointed, when I saw one of the boys unzipping his pants. The pain of his cock forcing itself into my beaten and inexperienced cunt is, thankfully, all I can remember of that first boy. Like I told the police, I can't even remember his face. Every time I felt like I'd gained enough strength to run, A---- was there to kick me in the face until I dropped back down in the dirt.

The last thing I remember, as the horizon grew lighter with the coming day, was A---- coming back to leave me with one last humiliation. I lay in the dirt, her piss and my own blood dripping from my face, until I finally did pass out.

I woke up here in the hospital. My only visitors have been police officers, social workers, and doctors.

November 2, 20-

I wonder if I will always feel this alone and defeated.

It was a sad life. Reading her experiences, just as she’d lived them, pained Julia's heart. She closed the book and held it in her lap, mesmerized by the life it represented. Thinking about this girl’s story, she couldn’t help wondering what it had been like to live it. Had there been a time she’d been happy? Bound by her daydreams, time had been meaningless…until the pain in her fingertips forced a glance downwards. She’d been gripping the small journal with such force that her fingers and knuckles had whitened.

Setting the book on the table beside her empty wine glass, she outstretched her arms like a kitten awakening from a nap. Her body was sore, its comfort neglected for Kylie’s sake.

The journal hadn’t revealed any startling truths; nothing that would help her put Kylie to rest. Yes, it was a sad story -one she wished she’d not read- but that was it. There was no mystery; no murder to solve. It wasn’t like the movies. It was just the story of a girl alone in a cruel world. How could Kylie expect her to know what she wanted? She wished she would just tell her; she would do it, whatever it was. Maybe then Kylie could go wherever it was she was destined to go and Julia could get on with living her own life.

Again, sleep wasn’t the respite she’d hoped. Her night was plagued with images of Kylie; nightmares about her life and her death. She saw Kylie crossing that rickety bridge, dreamily looking down at the red carnation she’d held between her fingers. She saw how a rotted piece of wood, upturned and serrated, had been the catalyst for the entire accident. Kylie had tripped on that slab of wood and, desperate to keep her balance, her fingers reached out for support. The carnation had fallen from her all too busy hands. She saw the wind pick up that discarded flower, hurling it up far above her head. It looked as though the wind had been taunting her to grab for it. She did. She’d lunged for it, just as the breeze had carried it beyond the edge of the bridge. Everything happened just as Lenny had hypothesized. The railing, worn and badly weathered, had failed under the girl’s weight. It snapped precisely where Kylie’s belly pressed against it. Instead of providing support, it opened up like two wooden arms, letting her drop to the shallow riverbed below. The jagged edges of one of those arms caught the flesh of her neck, as gravity pulled her over the edge. Arms and legs flailed wildly in the vain hope of catching something -anything- to spare her the fall, but there was nothing to be grabbed. Her body hit the riverbed flat, but that wasn’t the end of her fall. The force of the fall bounced her body back up, as though she’d landed upon a trampoline. She hit the shallow water once again, this time cracking her forehead on a large rock sitting at the edge of the bank. Blood poured from both wounds, flowing into the brown water. Red clouds swirled in the dark water about her body, seeping into the damp soil at the brook’s edge. A single tear left her open eye and her outstretched arm, reaching for help that would never come, fell flat, before death claimed its prize.

It was still dark, when her bare feet slapped the wooden floor beside her bed. There wasn't a single thought on her mind, as she dressed herself and prepared to go...Go where? She'd forgotten. It didn't matter anyway. Julia only knew that she needed to go and that she didn't want to be late. Something she couldn't explain compelled her to leave her warm bed in the middle of the night, get into her car, and drive away from her home. She wouldn't have been able to articulate the compulsion, had anyone been there to ask, but the urge was undeniable, nonetheless. She drove nervously at first, feeling very much like she had back in high school, when she'd been sneaking out to go back to one party or another. The feeling faded, however, as she turned away from the residential neighborhood and entered the highway. She was only left with the need to drive, to go wherever it was that she was supposed to be.

Even as she drove the deserted highway away from her home, fatigue burned her eyes. A stray motorist would blind those burning eyes with their high beams from time to time, but, for the most part, she had the roads to herself. It was a peaceful night, warm and calm. It was almost too relaxing. The yellow lines in the center of the road entranced her with their gentle sways, soothing her enough that she caught herself drifting off to sleep more than once. That was probably why it took her so long to make sense of what she saw. It was almost too late, when she slammed both feet down on the brake pedal, bracing her arms between her torso and the steering wheel. The woman standing between the beams of her headlights came up fast, as though she floated upon the air. Julia turned the steering wheel hand over hand, frantically desperate to avoid the woman still standing in the center of the lane.

In spite of her effort, the vehicle spun out of her control, out of any control. Passing sideways through the motionless figure, it spun in circles, until it flipped over the paper-thin guardrails at the road’s shoulder. Its upward spiral caused it to land in a rolling fall into the ravine. As the car tossed her about, her rattled brain placed a name with the face of that woman. That had been Kylie standing in the middle of the road…and she had been smiling.

She awoke in that wooded area, behind the cemetery; her car nowhere in sight. She lay on the hard ground, but her back felt no pain. Kylie was standing over her, smiling down, just as she’d done at the crash site. It wasn’t a smile of joy. It was more like a smile of satisfaction, as though she’d finally accomplished some great task. That was it, exactly: contentment. Even without Kylie’s image standing over her, the ordeal would have still been confusing. She vaguely remembered flipping her car. As far as the walk across town to this graveyard, she hadn’t a single memory. What had happened?

As thoughts and memories blended into the first coherent image of the evening, one single realization pushed itself to the forefront of her mind. "You brought me here. This was all your doing. Why?"

“I finally have what I’ve always needed. At long last, I finally have a friend.”

Julia brushed the dirt from her clothes, as she stood to her feet. She’d luckily escaped the accident unharmed. She couldn’t find a single bruise, nor a cut, nor a broken bone. She looked at Kylie, that much more confused by her statement. “What do you mean?”

“You’re bound to me, now. We’ve become soul mates in the most literal sense.”

“No.” She shook her head, refusing to acknowledge the girl’s words. She didn’t understand anything, or perhaps she simply chose not to comprehend. It felt as though her entire world -her life- had spun out of control, along with that car. “I am not bound to you.”

“Here, let me show you.”

She reluctantly took Kylie’s hand. In that instant -the very moment fingers touched fingers- they both stood on the highway. It was that highway, the exact spot where she’d flipped her car, only it wasn’t so deserted anymore. There were police cars, fire trucks, ambulances, reporters, news crews, and rescue trucks. Emergency workers populated the scene, flashes of red light splashing their faces in the night. Through the darkness and the black smoke of the smoldering wreckage, Julia watched two paramedics carry a stretcher away from the demolished car. The black bag was zipped up only as far as the victim’s neck. Apparently, the body hadn’t yet been identified, but Julia recognized her.

“You see? You are bound to me, now.” She smiled, as she squeezed their hands close together. “…and always.”

If you enjoyed this story and would like to read more, pick up the full short story collection, “Whispers from Hell” on Amazon.

#horror #fiction #short stories #ghosts #haunting #possession #supernatural #paranormal #reading #writers #authors

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enigma-archives · 7 years ago

Text

{Batfam} Solace - Prologue

Solace by T. Courts

Prologue - Summers of Childhood Past

“You look different,” the boy said, cocking his head to the right. “I mean, you look human, but you look sort of wet, like your skin is dripping.”

“It’s because I’m a naiad,” she replied a matter-of-factly, gradually gravitating back towards the shore with great caution and curiosity.

“Naiad? Is that your name?”

She shook her head. “It’s—its not.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Yes,” she answered, contemplating whether it was wise to tell him her name. He looked harmless enough. He doesn’t seem to have any bad intentions.

Sensing her hesitation, the boy extended his hand out and smiled. “I’m Bruce Wayne.”

The first time she met Bruce Wayne, she had wide eyes and a thirst for all things new. She was a kid. It was only natural to be curious. Her mentors, however, begged to differ and often confined her to world underwater. Men were dangerous, they said. Often feared what they didn’t understood which almost always results to violence.

Her mother always told her to heed everyone’s warnings. Naiads were often known to manipulate men but not of their own kind. She could trust her own kind to look after each other.

“They just want what is best for you love,” mother would reason. The young water nymph would always pout in response. It’s not that she disagreed with them completely. It was jus that she knew there was more to life than this—especially since when naiads were said to live a couple of centuries on a minimum. She was just tired of the same aquatic environment. She wanted something new.

With all their warnings in mind, she still ventured out in secrecy. She was curious but she wasn’t stupid. Each time she had gone up the surface, she made sure she was at a place where she couldn’t be easily seen.

The naiad soon discovered a place she grew fond of. It was beside a house by a lake which appeared to be oddly abandoned. It didn’t look old. In fact, it looked lovely. No one was just ever there. The water was calm and crystal clear. There was an abundance of flowers which she absolutely loved due to the garden beside the quiet house. She had sent thank you’s in her head to whomever planted them there. And as if all of this weren’t perfect enough, she would get an animal visitor every now and then, often a bunny or a squirrel. The most important part was that she was safe. It seemed a pretty good compromise between what she and her mother had wanted.

She would visit often and lounge at the lakeshore. Sometimes, she would get out of the water and explore but never too far. It wasn’t as adventurous as she had pegged but it was different and she was more than happy with what she had.

Rarely was there something new with her secret place so when she saw odd items by the shore, it had gotten her attention immediately. The moment she popped her head up from the water, she squinted, immediately noticing the red blanket by the shore. It was only about a foot or two away from the water. As she got closer, she saw that there was a book and a pen. She stepped on the land and her skin slowly faded from a pale blue to a fleshy pink. Her hair retained to its onyx shade and her almond eyes as well.

The naiad reached out for the book. It was brown and it looked old, she noted. There were was something sticking out in between the pages. Carefully, she opened it to see a passage underlined.

“Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but - I hope - into a better shape.” She recited softly.

“It’s Great Expectations by Charles Dickens,” a voice told her.

The naiad jerked her head up and saw a boy. She only got a few seconds to get a good look at him before all of her instincts kicked in and told her to run, well, swim away. Dark hair, blue eyes.

“It’s my dad’s favorite book. Do you like it?” He asked with a soft smile.

In response, the water nymph threw the book back into the blanket and turned to jump back into the water. Once in the water, she was at a crossroads in her head. On one hand, her heart was palpitating out of her chest, like war drums. On the other, she was curious. The youngling had never seen a man up close before, or a child for one.

“Hey, come back!” The boy called out. “I don’t want to hurt you. Promise!”

Don’t be stupid, she thought. If you get killed, mother will bring you back to life just to tell you she told you so and then kill you again. The naiad started to swim away from the shore, convincing herself that it was better to be safe.

“I just want to be friends,” he shouted one more time.

She paused and contemplated. It was something different. Hadn’t she been the one to always say that there must have been more to life than what she had underwater? The top of her head poked through the surface while the rest of her was submerged. She was curious, not stupid.

“You look different,” the boy said, cocking his head to the right. “I mean, you look human, but you look sort of wet, like your skin is dripping.”

“It’s because I’m a naiad,” she replied a matter-of-factly, gradually gravitating back towards the shore with great caution and curiosity.

“Naiad? Is that your name?” He asked, sitting down with ground. The tops of his shoes were barely avoided by the water. It was an attempt to reach out to her and making sure of her comfort at the same time.

She shook her head. “It’s—its not.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Yes,” she answered, contemplating whether it was wise to tell him her name. He looked harmless enough. He doesn’t seem to have any bad intentions.

Sensing her hesitation, the boy extended his hand out and smiled. “I’m Bruce Wayne.”

“Moselle,” she finally said. Her heart stopped drumming and was replaced by a sense of euphoria. “Nice to meet you, Bruce.”

The early morning was greeted by thundering footsteps down the staircase. They were steps of young boy who was more than eager to spend the day outside. Bruce landed on the foot of the stairs, triumphant as if the steps were a monster and his going down was a glorious feat. He looked like he was ready to go for a swim. He was wearing a shirt with red and white stripes and black shorts.

“Bruce is awake,” Thomas called out to his wife in the other room, looking up from his newspaper. He raised a brow at the sight of his son, amused at the energy his boy had so early in the morning. “And already dressed apparently. Good morning, Bruce.”

“Good morning, father,” he greeted his parent’s presence with a smile and then rushed to the kitchen. “Good morning, mother,” he beamed, sniffing the air. The entire room smelled like blueberry waffles and cream cheese. He peeked over the counter and saw breakfast, not too far from his reach. They were made to be like sandwiches, folded in the middle with cream cheese in between. His mother must have done this knowing that he wouldn’t be staying indoors long in the morning. He snatched one up and wasted no time in devouring the sandwich.

“Mmm, waffles,” he sighed through his teeth and food. Deciding that Moselle might’ve never tasted waffles, he grabbed an extra two to share with her later.

“Where is my darling boy off to today?” Martha asked. Her voice was sweet and warm. She took the waffles from her son’s hands and packed it into a container to avoid turning it into a mush. Granted it would have smelled delicious, but however it wouldn’t be as much appealing if it had been reduced to a blue and brown mashed waffle.

“I’m going to play with a friend today,” Bruce answered, trying to hide the excitement from his face and failing.

“Let me guess—Moselle again?” Martha raised her brow with an amused smile. She couldn’t lie. Martha Wayne was intrigued with her son’s friend. Despite hearing him rave about this Moselle for weeks now, she had never seen the girl. Bruce had reasoned that she was shy with adults and people in general, but Martha would always bring up the idea of inviting her over for lunch or dinner—whichever the preferred. It was nice to see her son to have a friend and to see him happier than usual. God knows that manor back in Gotham was so big and sulky for a boy his age. She wanted to at least thank this mystery friend with a good meal at least.

“Lucky guess,” Bruce grinned with crumbs around his mouth. He quickly packed up his things in a black backpack and quick gave Martha a kiss on the cheek. “I have to go, Mother. See you later.”

And with that he rushed out of the door. She could still hear her son’s heavy footsteps on the way out.

“Moselle!” Bruce shouted as he ran to the dock. He set his backpack down and brought out a book. He had promptly taken off his sandals and sat down at the edge with his legs swinging. He surveyed the water once more. It was sunny and the water was calm.

“Mosey, you guppy! Come out already!”

For a few moments, nothing happened. Bruce scowled and breathed in before getting splashed by lake water in the face. The naiad’s head poked through the surface. She looked like a water zombie thing again. Her entire body looked human for the most part except she looked like she was melting and had a turquoise tint.

“Geez, Wayne, you’re scaring all the fish,” she rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance. Moselle climbed up to the dock in one push. Her body stopped dripping and gradually solidified. In a matter of minutes, she looked like a normal girl save for her clothes. She looked like she was going to a costume party or had eco-warriors for parents. Her dress retained its scaly look which glistened under the sun. When they had met and climbed out of the water, Bruce couldn’t stop poking her out of disbelief. She was bombarded with questions like could she leave the water forever, how she breathed down here and what was it like, and so on.

“Hmm, not sorry. You were doing it on purpose.” The boy concluded. She only grinned in response. “Mom made these. Have you ever had waffles?”

“No,” she answered as Bruce handed her one. She inspected it and took a whiff. It was a golden orange-ish color with specks of blues.

“Don’t worry, Mosey. It’s not made of fish.” He smirked, already halfway through his.

Contented, Moselle took a bite and felt her mouth melt. “Gods,” Moselle moaned. ‘It’s so good, Wayne.” The boy laughed and handed her the container. He made a gesture to say that the last piece was hers.

She had never tasted anything like it before. She took another bite. Her eyes involuntarily closed as she savored the taste. Why didn’t her village down under make something so good?

“What’s this white thing?” She asked, swabbing a sample with her finger before tasting it. “It’s good.”

“It’s cheese. Cream cheese.” He answered. “They come from cows.”

“Really? Cows?” She raised her brow. Bruce smiled. It has always been like this ever since they met. They took turns bringing something from the other person’s world. That way, they learned about each other as well.

Last time Moselle brought him what looked like cupcakes made out of whatever green stuff was there. She told him that a certain part of the nymph community was centered on healing and just a bite from the cupcake she had brought him would instantly make him feel better.

It’s good for your skin too, she added, laughing. Makes you prettier. Moselle had winked at him and gave him his second gift that day. It was a tiny book about nymph tales, kind of like nursery rhymes for man but more magical. He thanked her and had kept the book in his bag so he wouldn’t forget it when he leaves.

“Yes, cows. It goes through a process, of course, but it requires the milk from cows. The main ingredient.”

“Fascinating.” Moselle nodded as she ate the last piece of her sandwich. “That was de-li-cious, as always, Bruce!”

“Mom made them,” he answered. “She was asking about you again. Do you want to come over for dinner later?”

Moselle furrowed her brows and looked into the water. “Hmm, is that a good idea?” She asked. “I mean, you know. Nymph and all.”

“I’ve thought about it honestly. You look like a pretty normal human girl when you’re out of the water. And your body of water is literally beside my house. My parents are good people so you don’t have to worry about getting hurt. I mean, you’ve known me for at least three years now. So that leaves us the biggest problem we have is your clothes. They look odd so we might have to get some new ones in town later.”

She raised her brow. “That’s quite a strategy,” Moselle answered. “And actually good.”

Bruce shrugged with a smile. “I try.”

The girl only rolled her eyes. “You know you’re too smart for your own good, right?” She teased, playfully punching him on his arm.

“Again, I try.” He replied. “So what do you say?”

She was hesitant no doubt. Her mother barely even knew about Bruce so she wasn’t sure about two new humans in her social network. But these two humans weren’t just strangers. They were Bruce’s parents. They raised Bruce. Bruce is literally the product of their two personalities. How bad could they be?

Besides, she remembered the first time she had met the boy. She was always eager for something new and different. She was always pushing herself out of her comfort zone.

“Hmmm,” Moselle tapped her chin with her pointer finger. “Will there be waffles and this ‘cream cheese’?”

Bruce laughed. “Those are breakfast food, you Guppy.”

It was the last day of the month. The Waynes were nearly packed up and ready to go. We’ll leave first thing in the morning, Mr. Wayne had said. Bruce tried to negotiate for one more day or half at least. The days have passed so quickly and even though the two kids hardly slept all summer, somehow there was still a shortage of time.

Martha had laughed but she sided with Thomas. I’m sorry, my little angel, she said. But your father has to attend to business matters. We have responsibilities back in Gotham. The kids sighed in defeat. Bruce knew there was no winning this one. Instead they went off to swim and made the most out of their last day.

Their backs pressed against the very blanket when they had first met each other. It became a tradition that on the last day they’d spend together, they would have a picnic on their sacred blanket and one of them would read random passages from whatever book Bruce was reading at that time.

“Hey, Mosey?” Bruce said softly, still looking at the sky. The naiad turned to face him and noticed how the soft glow of the sun made him radiant. It looked like she was seeing his energy and it only emitted of happiness.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you already.”

She had literally felt her heart skip a beat. Naiads, often known for their games, had an idea of what love is albeit it came quite rare and only for the lucky few. So what was she feeling? There were butterflies in her stomach. Moselle wanted to inch closer and steal a kiss. If it wasn’t love, it had to be something.

She shrugged the idea off with a smile. They had been seeing each other every summer. It’s been like that for the past years and it felt like it was always going to be like that. Besides, she hardly thinks Bruce, as intelligent as he was, was at an age where he would appreciate a kiss.

“Doesn’t matter,” she replied, redirecting her attention back to the sky. It was a dark blue now and since they were away from the city, the stars were starting to show. In a matter of seconds, there were already millions who have revealed themselves to the night sky.

“I’ll see you soon, Bruce Wayne.” The naiad smiled. Her lips spoke of a wordless promise. Her eyes sparked with a certain mystery that one couldn’t resist. “Next summer will be better than the last. You’ll see.”

Sure, naiads were meant practically made to seduce men, so she had an idea of how the birds and the bees worked despite her age but at that moment she was just a little girl with her friend enjoying their last sunset for that summer. It had been another good month of wonder and adventure. To be so young and blissful was rare in a lifetime and she chose to let their (or at least his) innocence last a little longer.

Moselle sat on the dock and waited patiently. It’s been a week now. Sure, this has never happened before but Bruce came every year and he never faltered. She looked up to the skye as the sun started to set. The colors slowly faded from yellow to orange to a deep blue. As the sun sank, it felt like her heart sank as well—which was funny considering she was an entity that couldn’t drown.

It was another day down and still no sign of the Waynes. She let a sigh escape her lips. It was a weird feeling to have looked forward to summer for months and be left hanging. It was a new experience. Different even, but it was not the kind she liked.

Turns out, her mother was right. Men would hurt you but not in the way they had expected.

#writings #dc #batman #fanfic #fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman fanfic #bruce wayne #thomas wayne #martha wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #greek mythology #bruce wayne x reader #in a way

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theticklefox-blog · 7 years ago

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Gentleman Doll Recipes: Mushroom Fennel Pizza with Vegan White Sauce

This recipe was going to based around some shiitake mushrooms a family member donated (in return for a share of the finished pizza) with chickpeas, garden greens and corn, but circumstances and a last-minute flood of local farm produce radically altered what I ended up making. This was my last recipe before the CSA Share Farm Produce (Community Supported Agriculture) weekly allotment started, but the veggies used were purchased from two local farm stands from their “day old” discounted bins... stil fresh and tasty but needed to be used quickly.

I had 6 to 8 brussels sprouts left over from my previous recipe, the shiitakes, two small fennel bulbs with fronds, a batch of mixed purple and green asparargus (guess what? It all cooks green and is equally delicious), some garlic scapes (more on those in a future post, possibly), probably the last fiddleheads of the season and an onion.

But first I made a vegan white sauce to sub for cheese. I used a recipe from the Vegan in the Freezer blog except with cashew milk subbed for almond. Apart from soaking the cashews for a few hours it was made very quickly, and if you do vegan recipes with any regularity you learn to keep soaked cashews around anyhow. (You can also just boil them 15 min or so in water on the stovetop... the goal is to soften them for ease in pureeing.) Apart from that everything was improvised based on the veggies available, which will probably be the story through the summer... between the CSA share farm produce and my homegrown veggies I shouldn’t need to resort to grocery store produce til October...

I’ll post pics of the garden as it improves... it got hit hard by the heat wave last week (five days over 90F and awful humidity) and is only now recovering, though I still water at least an hour every day it doesn’t rain. My tomatoes and peppers are already coming in, kale and chard should be ready soon.

Speaking of mushrooms I bought an expensive kit for growing them at home, but despite following the instructions it utterly failed to sprout anything. Meanwhile i get a bumper crop of wild ‘shrooms outside on a daily basis, but until I can conclusively tell poisonous ones from safe, I just admire them from afar.

#gentleman doll #vegan recipes #pizza #mushrooms #vegan #brussels sprouts #cashews #asparagus #garlic scapes #fiddleheads #shiitakes #fennel #little black squirrel

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bornfromscarletcords · 7 years ago

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Las Cordones De Nuestros Corazones (The Cords Of Our Hearts)

The following Is a werewolf production. It’s focus is a general observation of social sexiness, general naughtiness, the peculiarities of misusing one’s power especially in the workplace and especially-especially (twice for emphasis) in what some could consider erotic circumstances. As a disclaimer offense is not intended though most certainly imminent; werewolves are not cuddly pets, though when given some release from their restrictions, have a way knocking things off their feet, turning them this way and that, going up and down with them, then in then out, then in again until they can’t tell whether the difference between their insides and outsides. Again, your questioning and reproaching glances are entirely expected, you have been warned. Some names and circumstances have been flubbed (mildly altered), in short, we may or may not be lying; the world may never know.

Enter Alejandro Cariño, our protagonist, in a sense, though most of this story will probably revolve around the nature of antiheroes/antiheroines and or people who just sort keep skirting around the heavy hammer of justice, though with much style and passionate fire. Mr. Cariño, or as his female students, his boss the school president, and that weird janitor liked to call him “Señor Guapo” was a professor at a somewhat peculiar university. You see in this era, humans had gotten a little smarter than usual, and the members of the supernatural or preternatural, or just weird other than human categories were getting a little...well a lot dumber. Even if you’re battling a lemming carelessness can be your downfall, as so many would learn in this time. Anyway as a sort of preparation for what would be a rough transition from the shadows of mortal vigilance to potential “center stage” attention if you will, a series of insurance were pushed into motion. The most relevant, for the sake of this story, being the existence of multiple facilities of education dealing, primarily with the nurturing of weird ol’ nonhumans so that they wouldn’t hurt themselves every time they had to go buy milk from the grocery store or something. Was that not enough information, well tough nipples? This world ain’t fair. Well, anyway Alejandro sable melted in hot sexiness, melted in almond glazed muscles, dribbled on a redwood forest (for strong foundation) and then bound in debonair wolf wildness. He had flame, he had machismo, he had great curly hair he often kept pulled back in a wolf tail, no not a pony tail, you heard correctly. He was also on the slightly below average height side, but for some reason that just made woman see him as sensitive for some strange reason, like he’d be good at snuggling. Oh he was sensitive, sensitive to those choice and caressable fleshy regions of theirs. Alejandro taught some engineering, some botany, and some poetry, though he tried to limit his lyrical nature to the strumming of his guitar which always seemed to draw the ear of one pretty thing or another. He was every square inch of modern suaveness and though he didn’t look a day over twenty four, he listed himself as being something like forty-two, though Alejandro’s limitations had a way of escaping one’s attention when too inconvenient. In actuality he was probably something like a 1240, but who’s counting. How did he stay so mobile? Well he might say it was all his cardio, and his occasional enjoyment of veganism, if only for irony’s sake, though the attentive gaze would not have to look far to understand that old wolves had many tricks up their sleeves. The benefit and consequence of surviving so long when others did not.

Although much of a werewolf’s daily existence operated like a madman’s death indulging set of magical misdirection, like if a magician was giving his own eulogy while his corpse was still in the coffin; a degree of normalcy was not unattainable. In a world of miracles the impossible was eroded to nothing, though normalcy served as a shield or cloak more often than not. A bit of red smeared on your mouth around nosy neighbors? Don’t want to tell them about that annoying squirrel he was very much no longer amongst the living? Well then perhaps that red is just a lipstick malfunction and that strange odor the result of a new diet you’ve been trying. The latter being not exactly a lie.

There were many strange creatures at the university in which Alejandro served, known to the public as Cupid’s Eclipse University, in bold letters. In slightly smaller letters, almost imperceivable to most it read, School For Those Oddly Talented Few. As to where it was located, well you could say it moved around and, being honest, you were unlikely to find it anywhere near the surface. So artificial sky’s and cubed pseudo-dimensions aside, it was the picture of contemporary normalness...with magic…and an unusual amount of sexiness.

Alejandro’s students, the girls in particular, were precocious to say the least. There was a rather convoluted grading system that he still only knew in theory, and it wasn’t the strongest theory, so he could get anyone aged from 14 to 2000, though it typically capped at around 21 (as far as anyone admitted at least). He had a particular way of scooting most people below sixteen towards others professors, as he, quote “had endured enough trials in his day” unquote. You should note that he was from a different time, a very different time...though his questionable sanity aside, he seemed to meld into the modern world relatively well, at least well enough to receive a paycheck and charm sweet ladies. He got all manner of creatures whose minds he was allowed to shape, though it was their hearts and souls of which he was most passionate. From vampires to elves, gargoyles, succubi, you name it. Though to be honest, much of his attention was devoted to minding after what you might call his fan club. He did not particularly want a fan club, mind you, as too much organized attention on his activities could make simple indulgences evermore complicated. Still, with all their bouncing, growling, and maturation, he couldn’t exactly say he minded the heat that always seemed to be sparking his way. This fan club was almost entirely formed of wolf girls, which wasn’t to say he didn’t have admirers of other magical persuasions, it’s just that few creatures could band together in such an odd mixture of rivalry and friendship like a couple of werewolves.

Considering this fondness with which his students showed him, the president of the university had almost cornered him into serving as a representative for the werewolf identity group on campus. Being the wily wolf he was however he managed to escape such shackling responsibilities with a couple of flowers, candies and the sacrifice of serving as her personal chef for the evening. Few could escape a devastating blow to freedom like that one, perhaps it was because of all that time he spent with ghosts.

The regulars, so to speak comprised of Johanna, Camila, Olivia, Skylar, and Maddison. Johanna was more or less busting and blooming, her uniform barely able to contain that that soft yet supple and curvy personality of hers. Her heart beat to the rhythm of hot blooded awesome mounds of girl flesh. They were like melons Allah, forgive. She had hair falling about her frame like desert wind with a darkness to her skin which made it seem as if it too had been choicely baked with its arid heat. She was the most vocal, or at least the most physically expressive of the group, not afraid to shout down a crowd or tackle Alejandro in the most compromising of times and places.

Camila was more reserved though no less resourceful, she had a tendency to bait him into their exchanges or wait till he was cornered and foolishly mistook himself as being alone and capable of relaxation, then she’d pounce, occasionally trying to capture him with rope or stun him with a glimpse of her half naked body bound in swimsuits, or leather and such. Her hair was frizzy and had a brownish red tint. There was a little scar just along the bridge of her nose which only made her look more charming, in a sort of well humored librarian sort of way. She was all politeness and respectability until you let your guard down and you were bound to a chair with a now fully naked pseudo-adult covering you with all manner of moistness and steaming emotions. And her scent, oh, how she smelled so...consumable. Alejandro often prepared himself with a hand-towel to keep his manly sweat from overtaking him.

Olivia was on the short side with pleasing hips and a special sway or jiggle when she walked that always made Alejandro a little extra pleased when he dismissed her. She was prone to nervousness, a general aura of day-dreaming distractedness, and a folky sort of straightforward manner of speech which Alejandro could find endearing at the worst of times. Her hair was typically closely cropped with the occasional bang overtaking a side of her face. She comprised the majority of his least taxing interactions with his “club”. She was not one to make things particularly difficult, and though she often professed her love for him, the idea of touching him seemed to send her into a spin of heated hysterics that she often needed to sit down. This meant Alejandro’s usual gymnastics of lawsuit defying counter stalker techniques could rest a little easy as well, though he did make the pointed effort of forgetting her “dilemma” of touch with some harmless head petting or shoulder squeezing. She nearly melted, each and every time.

Although Alejandro was not unfamiliar to most werewolves, he was something of a mild legend, and had his share of horror stories, most of which involved him as the villain in question, the mysterious man, the clever old bastard, or the compromised yet fatedly risen...well hero is a bit of a stretch, but you could say ace in the hole. The last one had everything to do with the world’s unconscious need for underdogs, and few could be so thoroughly pushed under strange circumstances than Alejandro Cariño, be it a mob of deranged humans, a castle of monsters, a pack of feral wolves, silly vampires, not so silly vampires, or ounce upon ounce of hot girl flesh. More relevantly, although many werewolves would have heard a story or two about the man, Olivia had actually been from one of the packs he could recently claim. In fact, he was almost sure she had followed him to the University just to give him grief. She had wild messy hair cut short “like a boys” as her mother used to tell her. Her reasoning for her fascination with him was shaped as if she wished to be his apprentice in all things wolf and battle. As if he were some general and not her botany teacher. Well, he had been a general a time or two in the past, but those were lifetimes ago, and he had no interest in half killing some child wolfling because she was foolish enough to request “training” from him. He was a dangerous man, which is a humorous thing to say, though it was true. He was not from the time of such pleasantries as “harmless sparring” not really, the best fighters he’d ever known acquired their skills by being tossed onto a battlefield and being able to move a couple of days later. Nothing says eye of the tiger like getting shot in the ass with an arrow and still being to able to kill your way back to base camp. She expected regimens, and diets, and push ups or something, or some hidden technique or whatever. He could have given her these things, if only to amuse himself a little, but in truth he doubted how much they’d benefit her, and such a complicated spirit such as her needn’t be prodded too much in the wrong directions, lest she make an enemy loss to the ways of forgiveness. He did not want her senseless brutalization on his hands. Still this did not stop her from trying to all but assassinate him every time he was late for class, or made the mistake of leaving the room just a tad too slovenly. He had to admit it was entertaining to move around with her a little, she was fun to spin, and flip, or pin down here or there, and she was good at grappling, but then she’d get just a little too serious, and his wolf would break out of him a little and he would scare her just a little too bad and then she’d avoid him for a couple of days. He did not like scareing her but it was better than him accidentally snapping her neck because she felt he cheated in some confrontation he’d wanted no part in anyway. Still that sad puppy dog look nearly twisted his mean ol’ heart. She was built like an athlete and looked as if she was touched by iron.

Skylar, was not a werewolf, not precisely, though she was a young woman who could become a wolf. Her mother had named her Harmony, but she preferred the middle name which had been her father’s choice. Not because she disliked her mother, mostly because she figured she’d get mocked enough for the conventional parts of being a citizen of the world without her name sounding like a new brand of body-wash. Skylar was native american, her hair was shaggy, full, and fell down to her back though she wasn’t shy to putting it into interesting braids. Instead of taking about a quarter of an hour of pain and somewhat grotesque shifting of flesh which was the price of the change for most werewolves, Harmony...I mean Skylar could become a wolf from one second to the next. She had something of a shaman’s magic, medicine woman stuff, though that had more to do with why she was so savvy with balancing spirits or interpreting dreams than it did with the speed or ease of her shift. It may have had something to do with why she found it so simple to banish or recall her clothing when turning from woman to she-wolf and back, but it was not Alejandro’s culture or expertise. She was his responsibility however. Skylar did not have as many classes with him as some of the other girls, but she was his Advisee, and he her Advisor. If they were a spy network it be more or less as if he were her handler, doling out information of importance, and steering her down paths best suited to her skillset and interest. As it was they got along relatively well, she had a bit of a sternness to her which kept most idiots from getting in her way, though she was not against congenial, yet cautious conversation. She had the aura of someone who knew there were things to be feared, and did her best to avoid interacting with them, which didn’t mean she was a coward, more like peculiarly experienced. Yes, Alejandro sensed something like an old soul within her, as well as a steady, yet intense fire in her heart. She considered him to be interesting as well, which she let him know every now and then, usually before inviting him to some private property of her parents or some restaurant out in the middle of nowhere which would undoubtedly require stopping at a hotel for the night. Somehow he didn’t doubt that she could sabotage a vehicle without so much as blinking an eye, she had top marks in his engineering classes.

Maddison was not so much his daughter, but her father, a close friend and in many ways a brother, had more or less entrusted her to him with punishment of torment, to the grave and beyond should any permanent harm befall her. Alejandro tried not to entertain the man’s nonsense too much but he knew how to make a, not so much a threat, but a spooky promise, and Alejandro was already terrified enough of airplanes, he’d been in too many aerial crashes to ever feel safe off the ground, so he didn’t want to worry about his strange friend blowing up his space heater or blaming him for some crime against some national government in which there was a good chance he was not responsible for. Like a twenty-eighty ratio, maybe forty-sixty if it got too close to rome, or the dutch. Maddison had a mane of golden locks so much that he often contented himself by buying bear themed paraphernalia for her so that she might resemble the fairy tail just a little more. She had freckles, and a cute way of scrunching up her nose when she was angry. She was also a mean little fighter like if Camilla's disturbing sense for positioning her prey met Olivia’s brutish grit. When he wasn’t proud he was scared she might try to kill him in his sleep. She had her own dorm, but she seemed to find a degree of comfort in sleeping at the spare room in Alejandro’s apartment. It was a little tense given how dominant she was but he had to admit he didn’t hate when the lil’ tike was around. It was like having a partner in crime, or a deadly teddy bear. She was only about fifteen but of the five she may have been the most dangerous. His friend had the misfortune of sexing up a witch, and so the girl inherited a bit of her mother’s magic, and witch magic was a triple edged sword on the best of days. More like a bomb of corrosives than the skeleton key many tried to pretend it to be. Her wolf seemed to balance it well, but it could only be expected to do so much; balancing her regular tides of emotions would take a swat team. Alejandro was not fool enough to ignore the tinge of possessiveness that seemed to linger in most of their interactions. She did not like the attention other women payed him and seemed to like to make it clear to the other members of the “club” that she more or less got VIP access to his more private moments. Alejandro didn’t mind this exactly as it usually distracted them from whatever plan they were making on assaulting his person instead focusing on battling each other.

Oh how beautiful they were, so radiant and dark and divine, well, Maddison was more creamy than dark but still, she held his heart just the same. They were his joys, his prides, his candles in the night, and he was sure that by the end of this they’d be his deaths.

Fariha, a vampire and one of his fellow faculty members seemed to find it particularly humorous to watch him dance around campus, avoiding one compromising collision or another. She was a vampire, and she owed her deep warm colors, pleasing voice, simple yet fashionable clothing, diversely balanced disposition to India, where she’d been born and raised. She wore her hair in long braids when her head went uncovered, though if Alejandro had to say, she looked more like a shaolin monk than a delicate wallflower, though she’d have been just as sexy either way. So many of his fantasies involved stripping her down, physically, emotionally, maybe both if his wolf was burning just right. The two had settled into something of a veiled rivalry with each trying to tempt the other with as little overt effort as possible. On hot nights he’d wear a red v-neck which all but sent her blood boiling as she crossed and uncrossed her legs trying to get some letter typed while trying not to stare in his direction, looking both pleased and pouty. She would often counter by using him as a place marker in the meal hall, claiming that he’d been saving his place in line, but before he could object or even dream about being aggravated, she’d press her curves all along the shape of his body talking about “what a crowded line” or how she “just needed to warm up a little”. For all his strength he considered forcing her then and there. Oh how he pleaded with Allah to smite whoever had made jeans such painfully restrictive clothing. He walked with a bit of an awkward hunch many of those nights.

#Spicy Wolf-Girls So Much Flame Hot Blood Paradise In Fallen Dreams

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