#aware of my mortality and how each year i make it seems impossible and horrible realization

[milimeters-morales]

tomorrow’s my birthday and i’m getting a new piercing and some salmon w/ ríce 😁

[mercy-burning]

Affection

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Spencer and Y/N decidedly hate each other. But when a near-death experience puts one of them in a coma, their mutual hatred might have to take a backseat— Or will it? Category: Angst / Happy Ending! + Humor and a lil bit of Fluff Content: Strong language, Reader is in a coma, mentions of injury, kissing Word Count: 2.6k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This one’s for Pom’s ( @imagining-in-the-margins ) September Writing Challenge, Enemies To Lovers! I have another one coming up as well, but this idea wouldn’t get out of my head ever since I watched The Abyss with my dad and I had to get it out 😅 I hope you like it!!

———

I swear to fucking God, if this motherfucker really thinks he—

That was the last thing Y/N thought before she was knocked out cold.

With her line of work, it was natural to assume that she was thinking about the unsub, but unfortunately the criminal she and her team were tracking down was the farthest thing on her mind. Spencer would have chastised her for it— letting something else cloud her thoughts while she was in a dark alley, alone, and with a serial killer on the loose.

"You should be smarter than that!" she could hear him say in that high pitch he always carried when he was upset— especially with her. "If you don't get yourself killed one of these days, then it'll be the rest of us!"

Thinking about it made her blood boil.

"It's your fault," she wanted to tell him. "I had to blow off some steam because you were pissing me off!"

The only thing was... She couldn't tell him.

Well... She could.

He just couldn't hear her, because no one could.

It was like some stupid, cliché movie, where you found yourself standing over your dying body and having to choose whether to live or not. It seemed like the obvious choice, to fucking live, but... Y/N found herself wandering around her hospital room, yelling into the void and attempting to jump back into her own body.

Nothing was working.

And when Spencer showed up, his face red and his hair and clothes all messed up, she wanted to scream at him.

"Hey!"

Nothing. He was practically lifeless as he drifted to the chair next to her bed and sat down. It was nearly impossible to read from his expression and body language how he was feeling, and that alone was enough to make her angry again. (Not that the anger had really gone away since waking up next to her comatose body, of course.)

"Hey! Dumbass!"

Still nothing.

As Spencer just blankly stared down at Y/N's bed, she decided she'd had enough.

"SPENCER FUCKING REID, IF YOU DON'T HELP ME RIGHT NOW I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL HAUNT YOUR ASS UNTIL THE END OF ETERNITY, AND I'M GONNA LAY FAT, STINKIN' GHOST SHITS IN YOUR SHOES, DO YOU HEAR ME? AND—"

"I hate you."

It was a bold enough statement to stop Y/N in her tracks, no matter how quietly he'd mumbled it. She knew for sure that he didn't like her, after years of constant bickering and dirty glares and whatever else, but... The word 'hate' was like a knife that sliced through her joking rage and stopped the whole world around her.

If she wasn't already out of her own body, she just knew she would have felt her soul leave.

Spencer didn't hate anyone. Not that she was aware of, anyway. He found nearly everyone delightful, and vice versa... But for some reason, he hated Y/N.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, well... Feeling's mutual, I guess..."

"You're stupid, and reckless, and you don't think. And you're a goddamn nightmare to work with... You know what— You're a stone-cold bitch."

His words made her physically step backwards, and it felt like if she were a cartoon, there might have been steam coming out of her ears.

"Yeah, well jokes on you, you make it easy," she seethed. "Fuck you!"

"How... How dare you..." he continued, anger reddening his face.

Y/N watched as he balled his fists and leaned in a little closer to her body, his voice tight and strained. "How dare you walk into my life and boss me around and make it impossible to breathe... From the moment I met you, you've brought out this... this fire in me that I can't put out no matter how hard I try, and it's insufferable—You're insufferable, and I hate you, how dare—"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a shortness of breath. Spencer breathed in, loud and choked, and the next breath he let out was nothing short of a sob. His eyes squeezed shut, tears rolling down them and his hands clutched the bedsheets with a vigor and rage that Y/N had never seen from him, even in all the years she'd spent visibly getting on his last nerves.

"N—No," she choked out, feeling her throat tighten. "Don't... Don't turn into a sappy mess on me now, do you hear me, Reid? You hate me, don't... Don't..."

"I don't hate you," he whispered, wiping his eyes and reaching out to grab her lifeless hand. "I hate that you make me feel this way, but... I could never hate you..."

She wanted nothing more than to be able to squeeze his hand back, to tell him, not even necessarily with words but with a simple gesture, that she was right there and wasn't going to go anywhere.

She just... had to figure out how to make that true.

Still, Spencer kept going, a small laugh bubbling up through tears and phlegm. "But I will hate you if you die, because I just know you're gonna come back and haunt me for eternity... Probably... shit in my shoes or something."

Y/N barked a laugh that was true and pure... Happy, even.

The genius may have acted like he hated her, but it turns out he knew her pretty well, perhaps even fondly in one way or another.

To think— All those years she spent seeing him sneer at her, feeling his glare burn into her soul, the amount of times she caught him making faces or inappropriate gestures behind her back, all of it... And the whole time, he was probably doing it with a little flicker of fondness deep within the confines of his heart, which he swore to fill with nothing but hatred for her.

The thought made the little flicker in her own heart burn brighter.

As she wandered closer to her bed, beside Spencer and in front of her own body, she reached her hand out to see if she could touch his face, to give him something...

Even though she had no luck, something shifted when he spoke.

"Just... Come back to me, please? I know I'm not good at apologizing, but if it means I get you back... I swear that I will make up every horrible thing I've ever done or said to you. Just... Please don't leave me."

He laid his head down in his hands and tried not to cry again, every said horrible thing replaying on a loop in his brain like some kind of taunt. He wished more than anything for a chance to make it up to Y/N, and now he might not ever be able to.

"You think I'd leave this mortal earth without getting the chance to kick your ass?"

Everything was so fuzzy and light and brimming with these high emotions that Y/N almost didn't realize she was saying these words and Spencer was hearing them. She almost didn't feel the warmth of her bloodstream beneath layers of skin, the beat of her heart slowly coming back to life at the sounds and smells of the hospital room.

She almost didn't realize that Spencer was grabbing her now, his warm hands covering her cold ones and bringing them back to life as well.

"Screw you," he breathed with absolutely no malice to be detected in his voice.

They shared a smile so bright, no one would have been able to guess that they never got along.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Not only was she stuck at home doing nothing while on suspension (Yes, it turns out that storming off into an alley and not paying attention while on the job, just because a co-worker pissed you off, can get you suspended by Chief Strauss), but Y/N was also being visited by a daily rotation of her co-workers and friends and family, and her house was nearly covered in flower bouquets and baked goods.

It was a nightmare.

The sentiment was nice, sure, but if she had to move one more vase, she was going to start throwing them.

God, maybe Spencer was right, I am a stone-cold bitch...

Thinking of him also put a little damper on her mood.

He hadn't been to visit her once... And she figured that after their nice little moment at the hospital, he'd at least stop by with flowers or an "I'm glad you're not dead!" call, but there was nothing on his end. Not even a text message or a letter.

But for all she knew, their small moment of kindness could have been a figment of her concussed imagination.

Please, she thought, if I brought it up to him he'd probably just laugh in my face.

Rather than a laugh, Y/N heard the bright sound of her doorbell, which normally would have meant a fun unexpected visit or a date she was getting ready for, but by now it only meant another vase of flowers or a pie from a neighbor she still didn't remember the last name to.

Either way, she answered the door with as polite a smile as she could muster, and instead of finding a vaguely familiar neighbor or acquaintance, she found Spencer.

Though, to be fair, he was holding a bouquet of flowers.

"Well, this is a surprise," Y/N drawled, crossing her arms. "I don't even think you've ever been to my house."

She was surprised to see him nervous around her, rather than irritated. And she would have found it endearing had they not been practically mortal enemies from the moment they met... She was suspicious.

"O—Oh, yeah... I know, I just thought... I wanted to come see how you were doing... These are for you."

He held out the flowers, which were truthfully the pretties set she'd received, and it irked her. Because of course he of all people would be the one to tell which kinds of flowers she'd prefer.

"Thanks," she said, taking them from him and allowing him the space to come inside. "Watch out, it's a maze in here..."

While she looked for somewhere to put the flowers on display, she could feel Spencer looking around her space, probably profiling what he could behind a sea of flowers.

"Hm."

Y/N sighed. "What?"

"Nothing. I'm just... I'm surprised this many people actually like you."

Despite the nature of his observation, she found it comforting. That level of playful contempt was what she was used to, and it brought a sparkle to her eye as she turned to face him. "Ha... I'm not a complete bitch, you know."

"Sure."

Between the growing grin on his face and the smirk forming on her own, Spencer and Y/N found themselves falling back into a familiar rhythm. And yet, something about it was still... different.

So much so that Y/N felt honest-to-God butterflies in her stomach when he approached, hands retreating from his pockets and head tilting off to the side. His expression held that look he got when he was trying to figure someone out, usually an unsub. She hated to admit it to herself, but a little part of her always found that side of him extremely attractive.

And now that it was right in front of her?

She didn't know what to make of it.

"What?" she snapped, looking for an excuse to hide any and all attraction she was feeling.

Spencer stepped back a little, breaking away from whatever trance he'd just been in. "God, why do you always have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"You push away every single show of affection! Any time I'm trying to be nice, you just act like it's some big inconvenience to you!"

Y/N laughed. "Ha! That's what that was? Just now? When you insulted me, and then started stalking towards me with that look you get when you're interrogating an unsub? That's what you call affection?"

"That's not... That's not what that was!"

"Oh really? Then what was it?"

"It was part of the routine! Banter! Y—You know, that's our thing! We insult each other, and we act like we hate each other but we... We don't, really..."

The longer he went on, the faster her heart raced. This was the moment in the movie where he inevitably blurted out that he loved her, and in turn she would either kiss him or slap him, or slap him and then kiss him...

But Y/N was still feeling rather playful despite the swarm of butterflies in her stomach begging for some relief.

"Oh?" she prompted, taking a slow step closer to him. "We don't?"

Spencer seemed to get red immediately, and he avoided her eyes. "U—Uh... Well I... I thought... Maybe I read it all wrong, a—and I'm sorry if I did..."

She'd been getting closer meanwhile, and now they were practically toe-to-toe. He did his best to ignore her, taking a few steps back until she cornered him against the front door. And with the way he wasn't doing anything to get out of his predicament, she took that as his acceptance and took another leap.

"What..." she cooed, crawling her fingers up the front of his chest like a spider. "You like me? Hmm?"

When he finally looked down at her, she allowed herself to smile, albeit slowly and with calculation.

In a flash Spencer went from nervous to fed-up, weight seeming to visibly lift from his chest as he sank against the door. "You're messing with me..."

"It's so fun."

"You know what, screw you."

"Is that a promise?"

"Maybe it is. What are you gonna do ab—"

She didn't let him finish.

In an instant, Y/N lunged forward and pulled him down for a kiss.

Even though she thought he might have tried to take control of the situation, he ended up surprising her with a wanton moan as his hands clutched at her sides, holding on for dear life. Their bodies and tongues collided in a mess of years worth of pent-up tension, chaotic and wild and fiercely beautiful in a way that put even the greatest first kisses to shame.

And of course, Spencer had to go and ruin it.

He pushed her away and looked almost panicked. "W—Wait, are you even cleared to do this?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, reaching out for him again. "I'm fine."

"Y/N, you were in the hospital! I thought... I thought you were..."

She appreciated the sentiment, but with her entire body on fire from his touch, she decided she needed more of it. "Yeah, but I'm not... I'm very much alive, and you know what?"

He blinked back at her, watching carefully as she leaned in close to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"It's because of you. You make me feel... more alive than I've ever been."

"And... You're not messing with me this time?"

With a laugh,  Y/N shook her head and leaned up to brush her nose with his. "Nuh-uh... But if you'd like to, I'd love to mess with you in a more fun way. And maybe I'll even let you do it back..."

Spencer hummed, feeling himself gravitate towards her more with every passing second. "Deal."

He barely got the word out all the way before she was dragging him through the maze of flora and contained food and into her bedroom, where piece by piece, their hatred and fondness for one another combined to create the most exquisite of nights.

———

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[delta-roseblr]

Lol, all the new info about the solangelo and delix kids made me want to have a fic just about them. So I was wondering if that would be possible? xD

Hello, Anon!

I know it has been forever since you sent this prompt, but it wasn't forgotten!

I hope this is worth the wait

_____________________________________________________

The Kids

· Because Solangelo and Delix both set down in California, Solangelo in New Rome and Delix stays in Northern California; they see each other a lot, as do their kids.

· The fact that Michael and Lee (Nico and Will's twins) and Mason (Felix and Dean's son) are a little more than a year apart just added to their drive to get together as a family. The kids could entertain each other, and they always got along well. The twins were challenging to entertain when they were little, so this is a big deal.

· Will and Dean always figured the three of them would always get along because, well, that was how they were, but Nico and Felix had their doubts. They figured that as the three got older and if (when) the twins started showing their demigod powers that they would drift.

· Nico and Felix turned out to be completely wrong, and the three just got closer as they got older.

· You would think, since Mason is the oldest of the three, he would take on the leadership role in the group, but that isn't how it works out. Mason is a pretty even-keeled kid. He definitely got Dean's tendency to want to put his head down and do his work. He can and does take the leadership role during team things like sports but not when the twins are involved.

· The twins are a damn handful from the moment they are born, and they never really change. Both of them are outgoing in their own ways. Lee is more competitive and will jump at the opportunity to take on a challenge, while Michael is more social- he can (and will) start a conversation with pretty much anyone he meets. The two are also a perfect storm of trouble because Michael will come up with an idea like they should buy fake ids and sneak into a club, and Lee will view it as a challenge, so he wants to do it, and they will absolutely find a way to talk Mason into joining them. Mason definitely tries his hardest to keep them out of trouble and manages to be at least somewhat successful sixty-five percent of the time.

· The twins love showing up at Mason's mortal school events, so even though they do not go there, most of Mason's classmates recognize them. They are also pretty much honorary members of Mason's lacrosse team. While Mason gives them shit for being menaces, he really likes when they show up, it definitely stops things from getting boring.

· Mason visits New Roman as well, even though not as much because going to New Roman can be a process as a mortal going to New Roman. Still, he has teamed up with the twins and a few of the other children of the seven around their age to case a little harmless trouble on the weekend.

· Btw, Dean has had several conversations with a teenage Mason about precisely what to do if he finds himself being hit on by a horny god (with very specific things to say to Apollo or Dionysus). Mason considers these the most embarrassing conversations he has ever had with his days. It's bad enough that his middle-aged dads still act like teenagers half the time and CAN'T keep their hands off each other. He doesn't want to hear about how Greek gods had tried to bone them back in the day. Grandpa Solace jumping in with "Just remember, Apollo isn't nearly as good in bed as he claims, and you can take my word for it" doesn't help with the awkwardness. He would rather have to go through the birds and bees talk a million times over.

· All three of these boys are NOT STRAIGHT. Michael is gay, while both Lee and Mason are bisexual. It's hard to say that Michael or Lee "came out" because it happened so organically. There was no sit everyone down and tell them moment. Instead, it was just "I LIKE like that boy" or "that boy is really cute" when they were like twelve. Mason takes FOREVER to admit this to himself and even longer to admit it to anyone else. Michael and Lee KNOW way before Mason admits to anything, and neither of them lets him hid from it. Lee tries the comforting approach hoping Mason will admit it while Michael goes more the exposure therapy route- he'll point out cute guys and ask what Mason thinks. He tricked Mason into going to a few gay events without Mason knowing until it was too late to back out.

· FYI, Mason comes out to Lee first, but only because they get into a fight because Lee is flirting with a boy; Mason secretly has a massive crush on (or at least he thinks it's a secret, but everyone can tell). Michael is solidly pissed about this for months, but that doesn't stop him from trying to play matchmaker.

Dribble:

The rain had stopped, and Mason supposed he should have been happy about that, but the lingering sense of tension and danger made it hard to appreciate. He, Michael, and Lee had already walked one block north of Gypsy Bar, and Mason was hoping as they put even more distance between themselves and the bar that sense of unease would dissipate at least a little.

They had been walking in silence for several minutes. That was a rare thing, and Mason hoped it meant that it was one of those rare occasions that his cousins were thinking about how horrible their idea had been, but Lee killed that hope the moment he opened his mouth.

"Well, we had to try," Lee declared.

Mason looked over and up because, of course, Lee was at least three inches taller than him. That would have been more annoying if Mason was at all insecure about his height, but at six foot he was comfortable. Also, he had a couple of inches on Michael, which helped.

Lee's hair looked practically white instead of its usual light blonde under the street lights' harsh glare, and his complexion seemed extra fair. Even his freckles were lost in the artificial light. Not surprisingly, there wasn't a single sign of worry on his face.

Maybe if Mason had Greek god powers, he would have been relaxed too, but he didn't. That call for adventure that Lee and Michael had just seemed like asking for trouble to Mason, the mere mortal. "Not with the worse fake IDs in history," Mason pointed out yet again.

"They were not that bad!" Michael was quick to defend.

This was not the first time Mason had heard that, and it didn't make it any less ridiculous. One of Michael and Lee's dads was literally a doctor that could heal people by touching them. There was no fucking excuse for their inability to see what was right in front of them. Why Michael had even bought the IDs, having seen them, Mason would never understand.

"They looked like they were hand-drawn by a preschool," Mason pointed out, "And the names were ridiculous."

"Pictures didn't look much like us," Lee agreed.

Michael let out a long, loud sigh, pushed a dark strand of hair that had fallen out of his ponytail and into his eye line, and tucked it behind his ear. While Lee looked like the stereotypical California surfer dude, Michael almost looked Mediterranean. He had light brown hair that he had grown out over the last year and now almost exclusively wore tied up, and he naturally had a more tan, almost olive complexion. Even with the differences, it was impossible not to recognize the two as twins immediately. They both had the same sharp facial features, lean and athletic builds, and light blue eyes.

Mason was the obvious odd man out in the group. His hair was somewhere between a light brown and a dark blonde, and his eyes were hazel rather than blue. His build was boxier, and he was definitely wider in the shoulders than his cousins, but that might have been because he had been playing lacrosse since he was eight. His facial features were also a little more square and angular. It might not have been a stretch to believe the three of them were related, but no one was going to mistake them for triplets.

"Okay, that is enough with the pouting," Michael declared with just a little bit of annoyance in his voice. Mason was a little surprised it had taken that long because usually, the more outrageous and destined to fail one of Michael's plans were, the more annoyed he got when it did, in fact, fail. "At least we got a fun story out of it," he stated.

Knowing Michael, he really did see that as a win which was crazy. Mason fucking loved his cousins. They were literally his best friends and really always had been, but sometimes they were crazy to be around. Mason put that on all the demigod stuff. After all, if you have literally trained to fight monsters since you were a little kid getting fake IDs and trying to sneak into a twenty-one and over club probably didn't sound all that crazy.

Mason wasn't exactly a fucking nun. Sneaking into a bar didn't sound completely crazy but trying to get into a bar known for checking IDs with comically bad fake IDs did.

"We are lucky they didn't call the police," Mason pointed out flatly. The bouncer had decided to take pity on them for some reason after giving them one hell of a fucking lecture, and Mason would forever be grateful. "Or worse, our parents," he added with a shutter.

"What are you worried about?" Lee asked with a laugh, "Uncle Dean and Uncle Felix would have been totally cool."

Mason gave Lee a serious look. "Nothing about my parents is cool," he stated firmly, "No matter how many people say otherwise."

"You really are a master of denial," Lee commented teasingly before patting his shoulder and adding, "It's kind of impressive."

The fact was Mason was well aware that his dads were pretty cool. If they had been called and told Mason had been caught with a fake ID trying to sneak into a bar, they probably wouldn't have even yelled at him. Neither of them were big yellers. Mason would have gotten one hell of a disapproving lecture which Mason was convinced was worse than yelling ever could be. He definitely would have lost a whole bunch of privileges for the foreseeable future.

Unfortunately, Mason had been hearing about how cool his dads were since he could remember. The fact that Felix getting early releases of video games all the time helped. Dean always bringing Mason and his friends for ice cream after practice when he was younger didn't hurt. As he got older, he just became the one with the cool parents in all his friend groups. It got old after a while, and that was before the term DILF started getting thrown around.

He would have been more annoyed if it was anyone besides Lee and Michael. They had it just as bad as he did, even if it was slightly different. Uncle Nico was practically a legion among Demigods for all the questing he did as a teenager, and even if he had just sat on his ass, he was still the son of Hades, which was a big thing. Uncle Will didn't have the history with all the questing, but he played an important role in some battle, which was enough to give him some fame. The twins had to deal with their fair share of people going full-on hero-worship over their dads, and then there was the fact that Uncle Nico had worked as a model for like five years.

Mason might not have been truly pissed off, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to flip Lee off for that comment. He did grin as he did it, at least so it was clear that it was all good.

They had walked about half a block as they had talked, and they made it about a block more in silence before Michael huffed. "So what are we going to do now?" he asked. Mason went to answer but barely got an opportunity to take a breath before Michael held up a finger to cut him off. "And the answer of going home is not allowed, so just don't even say it," he stated firmly.

Mason didn't get why going home, playing video games, ordering a pizza, and hanging out was such a bad idea. His dads were out on a date night, so they probably would have had the house to themselves, not that that mattered. According to Michael, that was just not an acceptable way for them to spend their evening, and in fairness, he had made that clear before then. That didn't mean that wasn't exactly what Mason had been prepared to suggest, but he wasn't really surprised that Michael warned him not to before he got a chance.

Mason stopped and looked around to get a feel for where they were. Since they were in West Berkeley, it was more his stomping ground rather than the twins. If it were New Rome, the twins would have a list of places they could go and things they could do, so he guessed it was on him to at least come up with one suggestion.

If he was honest, he only had a vague idea of where they were, and it wasn't a part of the city he visited often, so he didn't have the best idea of what was around. Ultimately, he went with the first thing that came to mind. "There is a really cool vintage bookstore like two blocks from here," he stated, pointing in the direction he thought it was.

It might have been the first thing he had thought of, but Mason didn't think it was a half-bad idea. He had been to the place a few times with Dean because Dean had a radar for little bookstores, and it didn't matter what they were doing or where they were supposed to be; he had to go in. It was such a well-known fact that Felix always looked up where bookstores were when they went on vacation so they could plan when they went. The little bookstore that Mason couldn't remember the name of had actually been pretty cool.

"You found an answer worse than go home," Michael commented flatly, "Why do you hurt me like this?"

Mason rolled his eyes because now Michael was just overdramatic. "They serve coffee and stuff," he informed.

"Coffee actually sounds pretty fucking good," Lee admitted, which was a good sign. Of the two, Michael always wanted to do something big and over-the-top. Lee could be like that sometimes, but he was more likely to see reason when Michael was just suggesting something crazy. Usually, if Mason could get Lee on his side, he had a chance. If Lee backed Michael's idea, then it was only a matter of time before Mason agreed to whatever insanity had been planned.

Michael stared between Mason and Lee with clear disapproval. "We can not go from trying to sneak into a 21 and over club to drinking coffee in a used bookstore," he stated with disgust before just shaking his head with disappointment, "Honestly, what is wrong with you two?"

"Okay," Lee declared, managing to sound just as unamused by Michael as Michael was with them. Lee was infinitely better at dealing with his brother when he was being dramatic than Mason was. "How about we go into that pizza place-" he pointed past Mason toward a small pizza place just across the street from where they were standing, "-and talk to the cute girls that are walking in."

"Well, that doesn't sound like fun for me!" Michael grumbled as he turned and assessed the option for a split second. "Oh, there is a couple of boys that could be cute! I don't hate that idea."

Mason gave in and turned to see what they were talking about and immediately wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "Oh my god, could you too stop staring," he hissed as he turned his back on the scene and hoped no one saw him.

They should have gone to New Rome.

Of course, both Michael and Lee were staring at him, and he knew they were going to ask. Neither of them was precisely known for letting things go either.

"What?" Mason shrugged, sounding more defensive than he meant to, "They are people from my school."

Michael and Lee exchanged a look that was never a good thing. It was one of those weird twin silent communication things they would do, and it usually meant they were about to tag team, Mason. It never worked out well.

"You know them?" Michael asked, although he managed to give the question far more weight than such a simple question should have had.

Lee was even less subtle as he stared at Mason with obvious suspicion, "How come we don't know them?"

Obviously, Michael and Lee didn't go to Mason's high school because they were in New Rome, but they hung around with Mason enough that they knew all of Mason's school friends and a fair number of his classmates. It wasn't necessarily weird that they didn't know someone that Mason knew from school, but it was a more rare occurrence. On this specific occasion, it actually made a lot of sense because they were people Mason only recently started getting to know.

"It looked like Theo and a few of the other kids from the theater club," Mason explained. Mason was not a theater kid. Even if he had wanted to be, he never would have had time with lacrosse and soccer. Since he was a junior and apparently would benefit from diversifying his afterschool activities (so saith his guidance counselor), he joined the AV club and somehow ended up helping with the school play, so he got to know some of the theater kids over the last few months. Not a big deal in the slightest. "And for the record, you two aren't entitled to know all my school friends," he pointed out just to prove a point.

Michael and Lee exchanged another look.

"Theo?" Lee questioned.

"Interesting," Michael commented.

Mason's heart jumped into his throat. Had he said that name? He hadn't meant to, but it must have just slipped out. He was absolutely fucked because the twins weren't going to let that go, and that was the last thing Mason needed. Theo was just a dude with great hair that made Mason feel weird sometimes, and he didn't want to talk about that.

Play it cool, Mason told himself through his internal panic. He shrugged, which felt like the most unnatural gesture ever. "He hangs out with a lot of the AV kids helping with the play," he explained. More accurately, he hung around many band kids helping with the play, and Mason had to adjust the audio equipment a fair amount. After talking a few times, Mason may have invited him to hang out with the AV kids, and the guy took him up on that. There was no fucking way he was telling Lee and Michael that story. "I've learned his name. It isn't a big deal," he stated. That at least was true, and no one would convince Mason otherwise.

Michael and Lee were silent for a long moment, just staring at him before Michael broke the silence. "You know what? Pizza sounds fantastic," He declared before turning on his heels and starting across the street. He was halfway across before he called over his shoulder, "And I love a good theater club. Always fun gays."

Lee patted Mason on the shoulder, which turned into him practically pushing Mason forward toward the pizza shop. "So, which one is Theo exactly," Lee asked in a mischievous tone.

Now Mason wished their wrong fake IDs had worked.

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA FIC PROMPTS

A collection of all of the fic ideas from that ask game, as of now. I’ll throw in new ones if i get any and when I remember. Feel free to use any of them, I’d love a link if you did!

with hands to the sky, I beg (what will save us?)

Izuku is a god who asks to be reborn as a human to try and help. He is warned he can’t return to being a god and will join the mortal realm, ever reincarnated. He agrees.

Izuku is a child with faint memories of a life he never lived, who knows too much about the world but not enough about the people around him. He’s not listed as having a quirk but he’s never gotten sick, never been hurt. He scares the other children and the adults don’t like his precocious nature. Inko loves her little miracle.

 My Soul is Like a Supernova

Things happen around Izuku. Always have. Everything from earthquakes and villain attacks to miraculous healing and lottery wins. He’s always attracted big events like this - as if even the universe can see how important he is and it warps itself around him.

He sees this as perfectly normal. 1A is begining to notice a stressful pattern.

This one regret of mine

Character study of Inko and how she deeply regrets so many things she’s done in her life, from her husband, to giving up on her carrier, to telling Izuku he couldn’t be a hero and then letting him keep going to UA.

But no matter what she’d never regret her son.

Of souls and lost causes

A good ol’ Izuku sees dead people AU, focused more on his younger years when he’d wander around the city helping as many spirits as he could, only to return home at the end of the day exhausted and dirty to an increasingly worried mother who believed the doctor when he said seeing ghosts as a quirk would be impossible.

my life.your choice

Underground heroics AU (i dont think ive ever posted that au huh): Izuku is the well-known son of japan’s immortal emperor, All for One. Born quirkless, he’s been emotionally abused but violently protected his whole life by his father, his mother killed before his eyes for trying to take him away. He’s never been able to make a choice for himself save for his bodyguard - his childhood friend, Bakugo Katsuki.

Katsuki made a pledge to protect him when they were in kindergarten and he’ll be damned if he breaks it now. And if it takes the two of them joining the resistance, meeting a vigilante by the name of All Might thought long dead and Izuku receiving a near-mythical quirk? Well, that just makes it more exciting, doesn’t it?

I forgot that you existed

Izuku gets hit with a quirk that not only makes people forget him, it prevents them from seeing him as well - all but erasing him from reality for everyone he knows. He can still interact with things but all it manages to do is just UA shut down under fear of villain infiltration. They find Izuku 18 hours later when the quirk wears off - a motion tracking gun trained on his forehead.

certain uncertainties

No one can predict the quirks trapped in One for All or when they’ll show up. Anthology fic of Izuku discovering each of them, some being rather helpful, and at least one piece of merch being sent into a low orbit.

Sometimes goodbye is a second chance

Set in the same universe I wrote console reset in; during the two heroes movie: they never defeat Nine and he slaughters the whole island and his class, leaving Izuku till last. He comes back at the start of their first day on the island and doggedly makes friends with every islander he can because while it hurt seeming them die, it hurt even more knowing he’d never even learnt most of their names.

They win this time the first time they meet him, even if it’s a marathon fight of 8 hours with him and Bakugo doggedly wearing him down. No one dies. Izuku thinks it’s worth dying as many times as he has to to keep the people he loves smiling.

The immortality of the heroic spirit

One of the quirks in One for All is determination: if you have something you desperately want to do, you can’t die - no matter how much blood you lose or home many pieces your body is crushed into - you’ll just heal back to where you were before you died. All Might and Aizawa find this out to horrifying effect during a brutal villain fight they are stuck watching on the news with the rest of a terrified UA.

In hindsight this makes a lot of sense to Izuku. Aizawa wants to scream. All Might has coughed up more blood than is probably healthy and all of 1A bruised hands from where they were clutching each other’s when it got too tense.

Shine on you invincible legacy

Izuku becomes a top 10 hero before hes even out of high school, hitting No.2 the second he graduates and taking No.1 from Hawks literally the next time the ranking is counted. 1A will not stop throwing him parties each time he moves up in the ranking, even if in 3rd year it was every other week. All Might comes to ever one of them.

Shake the Dirt from Your Shoes

Izuku will be a hero and no one will stop him - an AU a fair bit like the beginning of canon except Izuku fights back, remains unending optimistic and maybe engages in a light bit of technically legal vigilantism, accidentally befriending a vast array of heroes and a student or two.

To his horror, they recognise him out of costume as soon as he speaks to them, resulting in a very eventful first day at UA.

do you feel with a heart of steel

Original Sin AU, young Izuku finding feeling emotions difficult and not knowing why. He finds a dying animal on the way home and sits with it, patting it until it passes away. He doesn’t think he feels anything, but his cheeks feel wet.

all you want is milk and honey

Villains have been trying to use Izuku his entire life, much to his annoyance and confusion (I wonder who in his family might make him known to villains? hm). He’s gotten very good at being intimidating, even as a child.

When he gets kidnapped with Bakugo on a primary school field trip he decides to hell with it and breaks out all the stops. Turns out villains don’t tend to want a 10-year-old who can describe in great detail how they would hang you with your own intestines.

Bakugo decides that fuck Izuku being quirkless, he’s kind of amazing.

Even the stars

Izuku dies young and no one but the stars cry for him. They bring him back, but his body is cold and he has a nova burning where his heart should be. A four-year-old who has known death and walked among the stars is a terrifying thing. His skin has a shimmer to it, his eyes look like planets with no visible pupil, and he knows far too much.

The stars still speak to him, and they see everything.

bitter dreams and optimistic nightmares

Bakugo and Izuku grow up good friends, until Izuku is taken by villains age 9.

Bakugo’s determined to be a hero to save Izuku, even if it hurts to be at UA without him.

Izuku hates hurting people but he’s determined to make the most of his horrible situation by leaking information to heroes whenever he can. He’s given to All for One to serve as a lab hand to the doctor when All for One finds out this rag tag outpost of his had been hiding a valuable resource.

They meet at the USJ.

Mind Games for Two Shinsou and Izuku are both gen ed students in the same class, but with Shinsou stubbornly refusing to make friends and Izuku being the vice president they are almost strangers. UA has a no quirkless students policy and Shinsou has accidentally discovered that he student in his class with an analysis quirk, doesn’t, actually, have one. Izuku is aware Shinsou knows. They both want to get into the hero course but are under the impression there is only one spot.

It’s tense.

The Melody Stuck in My Soul

Izuku has an empathy/emotional control quirk that hears other’s emotions like music. He uses this both to read people, to defend himself, and, because hes Izuku, to ramp up his adrenaline/motivation/anger to kick ass. He and Bakugo are friends because baby Bakugo was lowkey impressed Izuku managed to weaponize his tears.

Advantage of the musical element: it gives him something concrete to latch on to and change, and it was very easy to work out which emotions were which. Also he has his own theme song, even if he’s the only one who can hear it.

Disadvantage: He cant turn it off. The stronger the emotion the ‘louder’ the music (it doesn’t cover up natural sounds because its not technically there, you get me?)

Error 404, childhood not found

A Hero’s Son AU, snapshot’s of Izuku’s childhood with No.1 Hero All for One as his abusive father.

Age 4 when his quirk never comes in and All for One abandons all pretences of loving him. Age 6 when he realises his son is intelligent and has a use as a lab assistant for the doctor. Age 8 when Bakugo first realises something is wrong. Age 9 when his father is almost killed by the No.1 villain All Might. Age 9 when he’s made to work in the labs with the doctor.

Age 14 when he meets All Might. Age 15 when he makes it into UA.

Darkness Growing (The Light Ever Smaller)

Villains take over Japan after the current arc, leaving all heroes and students that don’t switch sides on the run. 1A is instantly separated with a few of them  being killed, most of the living students with Aizawa and Izuku and Bakugo by themselves, both too stubborn to leave the other.

Aizawa is desperately trying to get to Izuku and Bakugo in an attempt to keep them safe, while the two of them are avoiding Aizawa to keep the rest of their class safe(er), all while avoiding the villains, turncoat heroes and police out to get them. Public support is spotty at best with anyone found ‘harboring a criminal’ given the same punishment as the hero.

Lost soul of last hope

The first wielder has been Izuku’s imaginary friend since he can remember. He’s not very imaginary.

Featuring Izuku with the world’s strangest older brother, Inko coming to the realisation her son can see a ghost, but only one ghost and no one will believe them, Izuku’s quirk being listed as Inko’s because the first wielder can help him fake it, and Izuku wondering why first looks so much like that picture of his father on his mother’s bedside table.

The kids the system failed

100% The 1A run aways au with 1A, Aizawa and Mic being runaways kids of various ages that band together to stay alive and maybe do a little vigilante work on the side.

Izuku has All for One and uses it like you’d expect a traumatised kid to - cautiously at first but when he gets the hang of it there are suddenly no more criminals with quirks in their area, and it looks suspiciously like Uraraka can fly.

Just a second to soon? For the Fic thing?

Aizawa struggles and gets knocked out just before Shigaraki lunges at Tsuyu. She and Izuku are left horribly injured by his quirk with massive facial scarring, and in Tsuyu’s case, the loss of an eye.

Daze

An illusion/fear quirk makes his teachers look like villains and convinces him he’s in danger. They try and stop him without hurting him but it’s difficult considering Izuku is convinced he’s protecting his friends, considering he can only see them broken and bloodied with villains he thought were locked away loaming over them.

Even as Aizawa cuts out his quirk Izuku still tries to shield his friends, snarling ferally.

Morning Glories and Forget-me-nots

A memory quirk of unknown duration hits Izuku, leaving him remembering none of his life. 1A starts to fall apart without one of their pillar’s.

hopeless but not broken

The Long Con au where Izuku asks All Might if he could be a hero without a quirk - he’s really asking if he can stop pretending to be a villain, if he’s worth anything without the quirks he’s been given, if he’s worth something as himself rather than the limited use he can provide. He doesn’t know how to say all of that, so he just asks if he could be a hero.

All Might says no. And Izuku basically decides right then that the only way he’ll ever be able to help people is by being a mole for the heroes like he’s been since he was 10 - that he isn’t worth anything because he’s quirkless and to be considered just as valuable as the people around him are he needs to give his life and more.

He shows up to the bar crying because of All Might and Shigaraki moves his murder plot forward a few months.

Sunflowers and Summer Gardens

All Might starts a garden on campus and 1A like to help. He uses it as a nice place to chill and as physical therapy. He likes to give the different classes bunches of flowers when they sprout.

For Dos and For Donts

Izuku runs into some of his old bullies when out with some of his friends. Uraraka, Iida, Todoroki, Shinsou and Asui intimidate the fuck out of them, and Izuku realises hes not scared of them any more. Then they get frozen yoghurt!

your mistakes, my unbecoming

Aizawa assigns a project on quirk related issues, Izuku ends up with quirkless discrimination, Aizawa assumes his discomfort is just him being upset he doesn’t get to talk about quirks. He doesn’t realise his mistake until he finds Izuku dissociating on the roof.

one and one into the vast

Original Sin AU, All for One and Izuku seeing the vestiges together. One for All sees his brother for the first time and Izuku learns a lot about the voice in his head.

All for One has a mini-crisis about his not son learning he’s a horrific villain, especially considering he has the power to cast his soul out at any time, killing him at will. Izuku doesn’t kill him. He admits its probably not right of him to let AfO remain considering the things he’s done, but All for One is a part of him now and it would be like killing a friend.

All for One quietly decides to hold off on the villainy until all of 1A is dead, for Izuku’s sake.

between the stars of our souls

Izuku and All Might are old gods who keep getting reborn into human forms with their memories regained when they turn 4. Normally finding each other takes a while, and their last reincarnation they never found each other, so this time he resolves to make himself as easy to find as possible, all while saving as many people as he can.

Izuku, aged 4, memories fresh in his head, makes it his mission to get into contact with the man he knows is his father/mentor’s reincarnation. All Might’s agency was not expecting a 4 year old to repeatedly try breaking in to their office, and they especially weren’t expecting him to be so good at it.

you really should have thought this through

Different (and ill-advised) attempts at special moves or team up combo moves. Featuring:

Izuku managing to break Kirishima’s nose.

Uraraka sending Bakugo so high he broke the sound barrier coming back down to earth.

Kaminari and Shouto managing to electrify ice.

Izuku, Todoroki and Bakugo levelling a whole suburb (at least it was condemned???)

I'll Break Anything You Give Me

Different times Izuku desperately tried to repair his relationship with Izuku over the years and the one time Bakugo fully grasps how much he fucked up and reaches out his hand to try to fix it for the first time. Probably includes a lot of screaming, Bakugo learning how to say sorry, a field trip and them having a conversation on Aldera’s roof.

Sinking

One for All kind of possesses Izuku during a quiet night at the dorms. One for All, made of 8 people, 7 of which are dead and had their last experiences in life be rather painful and violent, breaks down, Izuku alone not enough to drown them out. They lash out at anyone who tries to touch them, their quirks tearing Izuku’s body apart.

All Might’s vestige reaches out a hand to Izuku to keep his mind from being torn apart as 1A set about both trying to protect Izuku and get Aizawa who was off campus on patrol.

Feat. Bakugo and All Might being the only people with any idea about what’s going on and getting more and more stressed each second that passes. Iida, Uraraka and Todoroki being good heroes and even better friends. Blood King deciding he’s never watching 1A for Aizawa again, and Aizawa deciding he’s never leaving 1A alone ever again.

A Long Way From Home

Shirakumo wakes up in Kurogiri’s body in Tartarus with only shadowed memories of his time as a villain. He’s scared and alone and he just wants to see his friends again, even if he’s scared they hate him because at least that’s something he knows.

Too Far Gone

The other side AU, it comes out Izuku is a villain with (knockoff) All for One and he has a showdown with Mirio. He and Izuku trained together under All Might and Mirio tries to plead with him but Izuku has to basically tell him to go to hell to not ruin his placet as crown prince of the underworld.

Of course, he’s not only doing this to save people, he’s also doing it with All Might’s blessing - taking over from All Might himself serving as a villain after he killed All for One to prevent a power vacuum.

Doesn’t mean that his friends in 1A know that.

Snowy hills and sunlit peaks

Probably an AU about All Might being a mountain spirit with a little shrine that Izuku is the only one who visits - Izuku gets in trouble and All Might manifests himself, saves him, and tells everyone to keep their hands off his human son.

Wilting

Izuku gets sick and he tries to hide it because he’s scared its something serious but he just gets worse and worse. His friends are the ones who eventually step in and comfort him.

I’d probably write two endings with one being a bad end and the other a good end.

My wish came true without me realising 

Izuku wakes up one morning, comes downstairs and just starts crying. Everyone panics and he reassures them they are happy tears and that he's just glad to be here. They all call him sappy and give him a hug. Later in the day he and Bakugo chat and Izuku reveals he never even expected to live this long, let alone become a hero. Bakugo grumbles that he’s too stubborn to die, and not to get too cocky. Izuku promises he wont.

[lokitrashfan]

AN: Okay this one is really late and I'm soooo sorry. I was really busy and I could not find a moment to write. I am really sorry and I hope it doesn't happen again. Anyway I hope you like it!

Warnings: Torture and heated moments, but nothing explicit! It is towards the end so you can skip the last two paragrafs if you want!

Tag list: (if you want to be tagged or untagged just ask me!) @twhiddlestonsstuff @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @deligthfulheartdream @fckwkndd

Two days after the Avengers had returned and Winter could feel how much everything had changed. Loki and her had not talked again. They had been avoiding each other. The weight of the almost kiss on their heads. Loki was desperate to put an end to his friendship with Winter. He could not let a mortal change his life. Even if he was equally desperate to go to her and hold her, kiss her, and let her turn his life upside down. She had been here for only a month but he could feel how everything had changed. 

Winter wanted to talk with Loki. He was her friend, he knew her secrets. She enjoyed having someone to talk to. And she did not know if everything had changed because of the almost kiss or because of the strange conversation she heard between Loki and his brother. 

It had been the same day the Avengers returned, after a successful mission they had wanted to go to a bar, have some drinks and celebrate their success. It was then when Thor approached Loki, just outside the door of the kitchen, where Winter had been silently making a sandwich. 

“Want to come with us brother?” Thor had asked “We want to celebrate with everyone, and you had been helpful with your knowledge”

“Well, it would be refreshing to go outside the compound for once. But are you sure that everyone wants me there?” 

“You are my brother, and you have proved again and again that you are deserving of our trust. You have helped us with this mission with your research, and I’m sure everyone can appreciate your change.”

“Then I will come. I was going to tell Winter if she wanted to do something, but I’m sure she will want to come too”

“Actually…” Thor started “She can’t. She has only been here for a month and it’s not wise to let her go outside. I know you are very close with her, but she is dangerous. We don’t know who she is loyal to.”

“But she is harmless…”

“She seems harmless, yes. But Loki, even if she is, she is from Hydra, we can’t risk it.” Thor paused. Winter was still listening, more interested than ever. “Loki, I know you had found a good friend in her, but everyone thinks it can be dangerous. She is unstable. She might be using you. Or maybe you are right and she is harmless, and you two can be with each other. But only time will tell.”

“She’s not using me, did you forget I am the God of lies? It’s not like a simple mortal could fool me.” Loki sounded agitated, angry. “She is good company, that’s all, we are nothing more than two prisoners in a palace. She means nothing.” 

Then Loki disappeared in his room, and didn’t come out anymore. Even when he and Winter were alone again in the compound. 

Winter thought about it again and again. She wanted to know what had changed. He didn’t leave his room. Even at night when they used to spend time together in the kitchen. Winter had gone to his room two times, but left after thinking about what to say. After all, if he did not want to be her friend, he had the right to do it. But she wanted some explanation. 

Then she found herself at his door again. She was determined to talk to him. Or at least to make him listen. He had promised to keep her secrets, to help her, and now he was avoiding her. She slowly knocked, uncertain of what she would say. She waited and the only response she had was silence. She knocked again, furious. It wasn’t fair, they were friends. 

Loki was in his bed, praying that she would just go away, even if he wanted to open the door and take her in his arms. He needed her to go away and forget about him, because he could not bring himself to do it. How could he ever forget that girl? She was all warmth and good things, the way she made him feel was something from another world. She was at his door, waiting for him. She knocked again and he had to get up and open the door. Maybe he was not as strong as he thought, because when he saw her face he almost fell to his knees. 

“Loki” She started, still not sure what to say. “I need you, I want to remember more.” It was a stupid idea. Winter knew that her lost memories could only bring pain, but maybe it was the only way Loki would talk to her.

“Okay,” he said moving to the side to let her enter his room. He didn’t want to do it, knowing that once he had her between his hands it would be impossible for him to let go. But he could not deny her. He knew the moment he opened the door that he would do anything for her.

They sat on his bed and he slowly reached her face. “Are you ready?” He asked. All she did was nod, and then he started.

Winter was in a cell. A soldier guarding her door. she was furious, Hydra has tricked them. All her friends were imprisoned too. 

When Hydra had offered their help it had been marvelous. Their group wanted to stop the government, they wanted a different future for their country, they wanted to end with the corrupt politics that killed people for thinking differently. Hydra offered help, weapons, strategies. And it worked, until they discovered Hydra’s plan. Help the radical groups become a treat to the government, only to infiltrate the government, help them get rid of the radical groups and gain control of the country. 

Now they were imprisoned in a Hydra facility, waiting for death. 

After all, who would care for the terrorists? That’s what they had been called. Winter was scared and angry, really angry. She shouted and attacked the guard at her door, that is when the scientist arrived. He had a mousy face, looking at her through the tiny glasses in his nose.

“She will be useful after all,” he said. 

They took her to another room, strapping her into a chair. 

“Let’s start erasing her memories, the serum has been successful.”

What serum? she thought. Did they give her something when she wasn’t aware? But her thinking was erased when the pain started. A light blinded her as painful waves invaded her brain. She could not think. All she could do was scream. She heard a machine somewhere in the room emit horrible sounds.

“Stop it, stop it!” someone was saying.

“It is a mistake, it’s overheating!”

“Disconnect it, now!”

Winter was screaming, the pain was horrible, she was almost passed out when it stopped. 

“What do we do now?”

“Freeze her before she regains enough strength. We’ll have to see if we can do something with her, after all the serum was successful. But for now we have another subject to test.”

Winter was completely still when Loki stopped. She could still feel the pain of her memories. Loki was silent as he removed his hands. 

“Valerie…” he spoke softly, almost a whisper. “I think something went wrong when they tried to erase your memory. I think you were supposed to be the first Winter Soldier, even before Barnes.”

Winter could not speak, tears scaping her eyes even if she did not want to cry. 

“I can’t reach anything else, I think everything else is lost.” Loki wanted to give her something to be happy, maybe a memory of her family, but could not reach anything else. After that last memory everything else was blank. 

“Why did you stop talking to me?” She said suddenly, rage was building inside her. It had been two days without Loki, but it had felt like ten years of being alone. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, it’s not you” He started, not sure what to say. How could he explain that he yearned for so much it was painful? How could he tell her that he was feeling something he was not prepared for?” 

“Then tell me!” Winter said as she got up from the bed. “Tell me why you helped me only to abandon me after Thor told you I was dangerous!” She was screaming. “I heard you talking to him! I heard you say I mean nothing! Did I mean nothing all the night we spent together? Did I mean nothing when you showed me that spot by the river? Did I mean nothing when you showed me your true self?” 

Winter was so furious, she had lost everything, her memories, her family, her friends. She did not want to lose Loki too, not without fighting. 

“Stop!” He screamed. “You can’t understand it! You can’t understand what it means to be friends! Do you think the Avengers would approve it? Two dangerous prisoners being friends?”

“Wanda understands it, but it doesn't matter, this is between us. If you are so scared about what the heroes will think…”

She could not say anything else. Loki had grabbed her face and was kissing her. Loki had dreamed about it since he had touched her for the first time. He let her warmth invade him. He wanted to burn in her fire. 

At first she was as still as a statue, then she started moving her lips against his. The fury she felt moments ago translating into the kiss. Her hands reached him, bringing him closer. His cold lips traveled to her neck and she became undone under his touch. Loki wanted to worship every part of her body and Winter wanted to feel his touch. 

“Valerie” He said against her neck, and as he said it, Loki realised that Winter had taken over his heart. 

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: As Lightning to the Children eased [Chapter 1/3] Summary: Anakin Skywalker was the son of the Force and in this universe the primordial power flowing through everything stayed to guide him. A Fix-it discussing how terrifying a half-mortal child should be. AN: I wrote about eldritch Anakin and decided to elaborate on that.

READ ON AO3.

Shmi had always been able to feel other people’s presence and it was only due to that ability that she had survived as long and as well as she had. She could be dead twice over, her body broken to no repair, but Shmi was still standing, her eyes averted, but alive. She could always tell when she needed to disappear into the shadows to avoid a beating, or when to step out of them so she’d make it to the next day.

And then, one morning, she woke up to find her own presence changed. She threw up the meager content of her empty stomach until she was heaving up acid.

No, no, no, no, she thought, screamed as loudly as she was allowed to. The other slaves in the quarter believed her to have finally broken, snapped like a cord stretched too far.

But Shmi’s mind was clear, or at least all she could remember was. She didn’t have any gaps in her memories and all the other slaves reassured her that she’d slept well through the night.

Everything in her screamed that they were speaking the truth, that nobody had stolen her away and forced themselves upon her, but there was no other possibility.

She’d managed to be spared some of the worst cruelties of this life for years, but even her luck had to run out someday.

Such was the life of a slave.

X

It took two months for the others to understand why Shmi had become hysteric so many nights ago. Their sometimes kind, sometimes pitiful looks were much too late then anyway and Shmi wasn’t sure whether to resent or appreciate them.

“The Master doesn’t know yet,” their elder told her confidentially. “It’s not too late. You don’t have to keep it.”

Shmi knew that, but yet she couldn’t bring herself to consent.

Mine, something cooed. Mine, yours, ours, bright, precious child, so beautiful, keep it, keep him. I will ruin you.

“No,” Shmi heard her own voice say. “I will raise my son.”

The option of various choices, she had learned early on, did not always mean that you were actually allowed to pick.

X

Anakin was born during a sandstorm. It was a long and difficult birth, so painful that Shmi regretted al the choices she hadn’t been able to make. Shmi spent the entire day in fear. She was scared of death, of hating her child of loving him too much, and yet-

Trust me, it breathed like a poisonous lover. He’s a gift, but you have to let go of yourself and trust me, me, me.

Her son’s eyes were the color of the sky, of dying stars and life and it sang in joy. Shmi hadn’t cried in years, crying was a waste of water on Tatooine, but she wouldn’t hold back the tears, just this once.

Change, it chanted. Balance. Freedom.

“Hope,” Shmi whispered and pulled Anakin close to her chest.

X

Nothing and yet everything changed after Anakin’s birth. Unlike most slave children, Anakin never fell sick due to the poor conditions they were living in, nor did any visible injuries stay for long. Only one pain wouldn’t go away, no matter how many hours he rested in the shadows. Anakin suffered from terrible headaches, and it frustrated Shmi how long it took her to find the source of his misery.

“Listen to me,” Shmi told him as another slave got punished and all of them were forced to watch. “Only to me and nobody else.”

Shmi stayed calm and Anakin’s head was clear. Even though he was standing behind her, Shmi felt as if they were lying on their dirty matt together, curled beneath a warm blanket.

I love you, Shmi promised. You’ll be safe with me.

X

Anakin learned much faster than he should and Shmi could see how it worried the other slaves. They helped her keep Anakin’s otherness secret either way, especially when it turned out that his presence benefitted them.

The guards and Masters became less harsh in his presence, left earlier, didn’t ask as many questions and weren’t as suspicious. More slaves stayed alive, stayed healthy and Shmi couldn’t tell them why.

Change, it laughed, amused as if Shmi was an ignorant little insect, precious only for her colors.

Tell me, she begged, but got no reply in return.

And then Anakin began levitating objects, told guards to leave them alone and Shmi could only watch as the men turned around, dazed like they had spent too many hours in the sun.

“He’s Force-sensitive!” A new arrival hissed when they saw Anakin working, his tools flying around his head. They were from one of the Core Worlds but had gotten kidnapped by pirates. “Like those Jedi!”

“This is what it’s called?” Shmi asked and the other person nodded sharply.

Shmi’s fingernails dug into the palms of her hands, not yet drawing blood, but hurting enough to ground her.

Tell me, she demanded this time, furious and protective. Her son, it had said. If Anakin was hers, Shmi had the right to know. Tell me what he is.

Mine, yours, ours, the Force laughed, filled with pride. Half here, half there. More than any of you, less than me. Yours to cherish, love and raise, mine to guide, teach, and become.

Shmi’s throat closed up. The wind was dancing around her legs, she could feel every single grain of sand on her skin, but at the same time she was standing in the other, that part of the universe Anakin was always half-submerged in.

She turned and-

“Mom?” He said, his voice wavering.

He took a step back, or perhaps just pushed her away further into the void. Wings of stained glass engulfed his body, protecting him from seeing the horror on her face, or perhaps keeping her save from him. It was like staring into the sun, seeing colors you could never quite replicate, the feeling of water running over your bruised hands.

For the first time in four years, Shmi could see what this other half of her son was and she had to admit that the Force had been right. Their son was beautiful.

No harm will come to him, Shmi demanded once more as reality warped again. Anakin stared up at her with his beautiful eyes that never seemed human enough. You will keep him safe or I will tear you apart.

Of course, Lucky One, they said, for harming him means harming me.

X

Anakin couldn’t conceal his emotions like Shmi, no matter how much he tried to swallow them. He was too strong for that, too aware. Shmi knew he loved her and would do everything for her, no matter if she’d asked it of him or not.

“Mom,” Anakin said, blue eyes glowing bright like a thousand suns.

Blood was dripping from his legs, his hands, the knife he was holding. “Mom, I can free us.”

Shmi knew better than to be terrified, to show or feel any fear. Anakin’s senses were fine-tuned to the people surrounding him. He had learned how to shield, but his primary defense was still Shmi. She had to be calm. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, to assess the situation. Her child was bleeding but shining with delight, the Force wrapped around him hummed with pride.

“Anakin, what did you do?”

Most of the time, Shmi felt like a single mother, raising her barely human son and keeping the primordial Force guiding him in check. But sometimes the Force took charge and Shmi was horribly out of control.

“I learned how to search for sickness!” The four-year-old proclaimed. “And then I found my transmitter and cut it out.”

Anakin raised his hand and opened it, showing her a small metal piece.

It was his slave transmitter. Shmi knew what they looked like, though she hadn’t been there when they put it in her son.

He was free.

“Yours is here,” Anakin said confidently and put his small hand on her shoulder, smearing blood all over it.

“I can take it out.”

She could be free. It wouldn’t take long, they only needed to burn the blade to cleanse it. Her life was just within reach-

“Not yet,” Shmi decided. “We need a plan first.”

Flames erupted within her mind, Anakin’s anger. It was too easy to get eternally lost in it. She soothed it with the few pleasant memories she had and pulled her son close.

“A few credits, food and shelter,” she told him. “Then we can go.”

Anakin but his cheek and blew a raspberry. “Fine. We have to go though.”

“And where?” Shmi asked.

“Away,” Anakin replied, and rested his head against her shoulder, her lifeline, her shackles. “They’re waiting for me. They’re mine and they need me.”

Shmi could feel the Force grin, wide and happy with razor-sharp teeth.

This, she realized, she wouldn’t be able to deny her child and its guardian. The only option she had was following the two to remind Anakin that he needed to stop and take care of himself.

He might be half there, but he was half here too. Just human enough that the Force alone couldn’t sate him.

X

Anakin took out her transmitter a week later, then those of the other slaves, one by one cutting through flesh to freedom. It should disturb her how fascinated Anakin was by the process. While the other slaves were all crying of happiness, celebrating their freedom, Anakin could hardly be torn away from the sight of life flowing beneath his fingertips. Each night they went to bed, her son acted as if high on spice and yet each morning he returned back to work, determined and focus.

What are you doing to him?

Humans. Pain. Pleasure. Destruction. Healing. Strength, all for us to consume, they sighed wistfully. Let him continue.

They thought of disabling the explosives at first, getting rid of them in the trash, but no matter how far away from instant death they were, they were not yet free, not completely.

Gardulla the Hutt’s palace was a fortress, impossible to conquer from outside. But from within the palace walls, it was almost too easy. Nobody paid too much attention to the slaves who were running through the halls. They weren’t dangerous as none of them were armed.

Anakin hid with the other children, knives and rocks flying above their heads as their only defense. Shmi and the others turned on the explosives, forcefully taking over the building they hadn’t ever been allowed to leave. The hallways were painted in blood, and not one of them died.

You’re so strong, Rich One, the Force praised her. Now take our son where he belongs.

X

They raided the treasury, sharing the wealth equally between them. Slaves weren’t greedy by necessity and so Shmi and Anakin had just the amount they needed to get off Tatooine. Some of the free left with them, others had decided to stay on planet and in the castle.

“We’re gonna take all these bastards out,” the free woman in charge promised, grinning. “We have weapons and money. They won’t see us coming. May the Stars guide you through the night.”

“May the desert hide your tracks,” Shmi replied and squeezed Anakin’s hand.

Her son was already staring ahead, putting the past behind him.

X

Anakin guided them from one planet to the next, picking which ships they should board and leave. They lingered on Naboo a little longer than necessary, enjoying the mild climate and the abundance of water.

“We’re gonna be back,” Anakin said as they watched the planet become smaller and smaller.

Shmi recognized his tone of voice as the one she’d come to understand as significant. She wouldn’t go as far as to call it prophetic, but she knew her son spoke the truth.

“Tell me a story!” Anakin then insisted, four years old still and captivated by the legends their people told each other at night.

X

When they arrived on Coruscant, Anakin hesitated.

“It’s loud,” he said as Shmi picked him up, walking into the direction of the Jedi temple. “And there’s no balance.”

Shmi was fairly sure that those words weren’t enough to explain how the world felt to Anakin, so she tried her best to calm him and keep him isolated from all these foreign signatures. She hoped the Jedi would be able to help them. Anakin’s powers grew by the day and she wasn’t sure how much longer she alone would be enough to contain them.

X

One moment everything was silent, then Obi-Wan’s mind fractured into a thousand impressions. He barely registered his knees hitting the ground, his Master’s worry. The world around Obi-Wan was so loud, seemed to be screaming at him as it tore down his shields. As soon as Obi-Wan had repaired one wall, another broke. No matter how fast he worked, he couldn’t keep up. If he didn’t fix them now, he’d drown, burn, choke on the power that had kept him alive all these years.

“Let him through!” A woman shouted.

Something slammed into Obi-Wan, sent him crashing down to the floor.  He landed flat on his back as someone crawled on top of him. Obi-Wan opened his eyes and saw the future.

On autopilot he wrapped his arms around the child, foreheads touching and-

Anakin, bright one, heart, soul, the warrior, I missed you, mine, mine, mine-

The silence didn’t return, but the chaos stopped as it was taken over by warmth, love, and protectiveness.

“Hello, dear one,” Obi-Wan said, and a weight he hadn’t even noticed carrying for all his life suddenly lifted from his shoulders.

“Been waiting for you,” Anakin cried, tears running over his round cheeks. “For so, so long, it hurt.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m here. I’m never leaving you again.”

Rationally, Obi-Wan knew he shouldn’t make such declarations, but the Force was humming in approval and he wouldn’t take back his words for anything. He belonged right here at Anakin’s side and nobody would tear them apart again.

He could feel the other Jedi in the hall staring at them and Obi-Wan had never cared less. He’d leave it all if necessary

Let them come, they hissed. Let them try. They won’t survive. There will be Balance. There will be you and you are ours.

Mine, Anakin hummed, a thousand eyes fixated on Obi-Wan. Yours. He could feel Anakin’s feathers wrap around him, cutting into his skin like a childish attempt of giving Obi-Wan a part of himself as a gift to strengthen their bond.

Ours, Obi-Wan replied and picked Anakin up, barely feeling any pain from the golden fire-dripping feathers sticking out of his back. His wounds would heal once Anakin learned.

“Master,” Obi-Wan called out to Qui-Gon. “We need to talk to the Council.”

His Master hastened to follow the two of them and Anakin giggled into the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck.

[matildainmotion]

Rejection, Failures and Fxck Ups – A New, or Very Old, Approach to Loss and Losing

          “It’s okay to make mistakes – that’s how you learn;” “It’s the taking part that counts -the playing, not the winning;” “If you can learn to lose that will be a huge achievement.” I hear myself saying these and similar truisms when my daughter comes last in a race with her impossibly long-legged brother, or breaks a cup, or spills her drink, or when my son’s carefully planned prank goes awry, or the drawing he is trying to do does not come out right. In such moments of acute vulnerability my daughter howls – a cry of deep and terrible anguish, that can go on for a great many minutes after the original loss. I noticed even when she was a baby that falling, for her, was failing, an injury not so much to her body as her soul- as if the ground had deliberately struck her, undermining her upright dignity. My son, on the other hand, does not howl, but rather bares his teeth, makes fists, swings punches at me or anyone else who might have witnessed and therefore in some way contributed to his sense of failure. In both instances, when they weep and wail, gnash teeth - because on a child-scale their circumstances seem serious and awful - I have comforted them and then come out with some version of the above statements. They are trite but I have believed that the basic message – ‘it’s fine to fail’ – was a sound one. At least, that’s what I thought until last week.

           Last Friday I experienced two forms of failure which, on an adult-scale, were really very minor. One was the culmination of a writing competition, run by a literary agency – the prize: mentorship and representation. I had not entered it to win – I had entered it in order to have a focus, a deadline, to practice submitting my fiction, rather than hiding with it in a secret corner. The winners were due to be announced on Friday. Despite being clear my primary motivation for entering was not winning, despite being certain I would not be selected, come Friday morning I was nervous. I was checking Twitter for the announcement and felt a strange mix of repulsion and respect for those on there who were frank enough to tweet, with nail-biting gifs, about their angst, their aspirations, their hope. Hope - Dickinson’s feathered thing but, despite the feathers, the only item not to fly out from Pandora’s box- a quiet, little creature with wondrous and terrible tenacity. On Friday I wanted to get the damn thing out of the box. I wanted it to fly away. I tried hard to shake it loose - it wouldn’t budge. I was feeling hopeful.

           Meanwhile, down the hill, at our allotment, there were some other little things in a box, that did not yet have feathers, only fluff: chicks. I hadn’t been hopeful about the eggs. We had collected them from a faraway farm – in theory they were fertilised but the woman who sold them to us did so for half price because, she said, “It’s late in the season and I can’t be sure. I’ll give you a variety to give you a better chance.” And then, on top of that, our broody hen (the Star Wars-inspired ‘Princess Layer’), at first rejected the pale blue ones that did not look like hers, and only later started sitting on them, so I thought they had probably got too cold and nothing was going to hatch. But Thursday morning, four weeks after she first went broody, sitting day in day out in the dark of the nest box, I lifted up the Princess and lo and behold there was a broken shell, and a tiny, wet, cheeping chick. Friday morning, after checking Twitter, I pedalled down the hill to the hens. Chick number one had fluffed up to full yellow cuteness and been joined by chick number two. Little wings, dark eyes, pale pink claws. I thought that was it, and began to take the other eggs, the pale blue ones, away. But as I lifted an egg, I saw a black spy hole in its shell, and behind the hole – motion - someone inside. I felt small, in awe, as if whoever was within knew things I didn’t, couldn’t. Breath held, heart fast, I put the eggs back. Here was hope in action. An actual hatching - the Easter pinup – the most famous of images for spring, for life returning.

           By Friday evening I had not won the competition and the chick was dead. It had hatched after hours of work – who knew hatching could be so like a human labour in its length and intensity? Yet it had managed, had come out whole -a bold bundle of breath, blood, beak, incontrovertible evidence that whichever came first – chicken or egg – the result was the same: life. But then it had been weaker than the others, who had had a head start, and the broody hen was growing restless – when I came back to check on them before bed, I found it lying, limp, still warm, thin eyelids down, little claws unclenched, half buried in the straw. If I had come earlier, if I had separated it, if I had cleared out the straw…maybe it would have lived.

        I have been very lucky – I have never had a miscarriage or a still birth. This was only a little chick. Nonetheless I felt broken. I tried out the truisms that I have used on my children a thousand times - they did not cut it. Worse than that – they seemed offensive. I wanted to howl like my daughter, and rage like my son. They knew something I didn’t. Just like that chick did. So I gave up trying to teach my children how to lose with grace and decided to consider instead what I might learn from them.

           My son goes from one obsession to the next, as many children do, but he does so with particular, on-the-spectrum intensity. Feb to April was My Little Pony. April to June was Beast Quest. He is now onto the Greek myths. To be fair there is some consistency through this- believe it or not both My Little Pony and Beast Quest draw heavily on Greek mythology for inspiration. This is the first time his obsessions have overlapped with mine - in my writing I am also working on a Greek myth. What strikes me as I study the stories through my son’s eyes is that they are full of characters, divine and mortal, who fail, fall and fxck up royally, who lose face, lose their lovers and their loved ones, and that when they do, they are terrible losers. The heroes and heroines in these myths don’t hold back on their howling and their raging. They cry for weeks, years even. They cry so hard they change shape or change the world around them. They swear vengeance for their losses, plan awful punishments, wage long and horrible wars. No one tells Hector, Achilles, Paris: “Never mind mate – it’s the taking part that counts.” Now I am not proposing to use the ancient Greek myths as a new model for mothering, but there is something relieving about their heroes unashamed and often moving melodramas, about their sense of seriousness and ceremony. Inspired by these myths, my son held a burial for the chick, by the raspberry bushes on the allotment. He knelt and said a prayer to Zeus, and then to Hades and Persephone, asking them to welcome the little creature when it arrived with them, to let it fly free. This was after he had railed at me for an hour – crying, shouting, trying to punch me, beating the wall, accusing me of murder – full on, proper grief, worthy of those ancient Greeks. It struck me I could have done the same with my writing disappointment: printed out the webpage announcing the happy winners, then wept upon it bitterly. Built a ceremonial fire, burnt the paper, whilst sending off my prayers for the Herculean stamina and strength required to keep writing. What I’m trying to say is that I’m aware I have been guilty of that crime our culture commits daily- tidying disappointment and loss away too quickly, making it constructive, sidestepping the difficulty, heading straight for claiming: “I’ve learnt my lesson. I’m fine. I’m over it.”  

           In the modern mythic classic, We’re Going on a Bear Hunt, written by Michael Rosen, illustrated by Helen Oxenbury, a book more befitting my daughter’s than my son’s age bracket, each time the children encounter a new obstacle in the landscape – long grass, mud, a river, a snowstorm- they chant:

We can't go over it. We can't go under it. Oh no! We've got to go through it!

This is the insight that my children, a small chick and some Greek gods have reminded me of in the last week: you’ve got to go through it. Not over it, not under it, not round it, but through it. I did know this before – I know how excruciating it is when someone tries to teach you a lesson, give advice, instead of being present with the pain of where you are. But I had not recognised the extent to which I have been doing this with my children, because their losses seem so slight, so trivial when I hold them up against the stark losses in the world. I see now that I’ve been getting everything the wrong way round: I’ve been comparing the children’s worries to the world’s, instead of the world’s worries to theirs, instead of recognising that they hold some wisdom that I and the world need now. Ours is the age in which it is clear that we have made some cataclysmic mistakes, that we keep making them, that we are a generation of losers and those that come after us will inherit a whole lot of loss. There is no way round it. We can’t go over it. We can’t go under it. A global pandemic. Racial injustice. Climate change. Oh no! We’ve got to go through it! This means weeping for weeks. Howling for months. Raging for years. But doing so consciously and creatively. When my children do this, I think they are rehearsing themselves, rehearsing me. This is not about being hopeless. I believe that going through it, with full feeling and ceremony, is the most hopeful thing we can do – the thing that will earn us feathers. Maybe we can weep enough to change ourselves, a metamorphosis as marvellous as that of a Greek god.

           To go through it, there are some things we are going to need. Two of these things are the stuff of the gods: care and creation, or, to use other words, mothering and making. In all myths, in all traditions, this is what the gods do- they make stuff and they look after stuff. The two go together: we look after things because we made them, and we make things because we care. Arguably ‘Mothers Who Make’ is a terrible tautology, and caring and creating may even be the same – they both involve a kind of holding. When the chick died, I had to hold my son while he tried to hit me. Later I had to hold a ritual with him. At a time when all the theatres are closed, it seems to me, we need theatre more than ever. Be it online or outdoors, we need to build symbolic fires, stages to hold our grief, our rage, our fear, our hope. We need to perform these things- it is what will get us through. Secret creations and collaborations got people through the concentration camps. The late and legendary civil rights activist John Lewis said: “If it hadn’t been for music, the civil rights movement would have been like a bird without wings.” Art is not a luxury, a nice diversion – it is the way through, not round.

           So, what will I do next time my daughter falls over, or my son messes up his drawing? I hope I will pause and consider this: maybe there is a point to crying over spilt milk. Maybe next time it spills we will weep the same weight in tears as the milk that is pooling, white, across the kitchen table. Maybe we will lie in it, mop it up with our clothes, then run outside and do a dance to the milk gods, to celebrate the milk and say sorry for its loss, and then we will run to the river, dive in, wash our clothes and ourselves, while we sing a song of cleansing, and then we will walk back, dripping new. I am playing with this so as to bring it home to myself, so that when the next rejection, mistake, failure, loss befalls me or the children, I have the courage not to mop it up too fast. Instead of my teaching them to lose with acceptance, I hope that we may discover together how to lose with passion and imagination.

           So, here are my questions for you for the month of August (coming to you at the end of July): Tell me about your rejections, your failures, your losses- your own? your children’s? What do you do when loss comes? Do you weep? or rage? or both? Can you do so more, as if you were inside a Greek myth, do so consciously? And what ritual, ceremony or creative act can you perform to get you through it? What can you do to earn your feathers?

[singledarkshade]

One Moment

Summary: One moment in time can change your life AKA How Rip Was Shot. Author’s Note: Another fic set before Protection but after What We Lost and On A Whim in my Legends Security Universe.

                                *********************************************

Quentin Lance waved everyone away as they applauded him, his promotion to Captain was something they were all happy about after Franks had retired.

“Everyone back to work,” he shouted with a grin before adding, “See you all for drinks after your shift.” After the cheer died down, he motioned to the man leaning against the desk just to the right of him, “Rip, a word.”

Returning to his new office Quentin waited until his friend had closed the door and took a seat.

“I wanted to talk to you about the fact you haven’t been assigned a new partner yet,” Quentin told him, “I know it will be hard for you to work with someone other than me.”

“Practically impossible,” Rip replied wryly.

Quentin chuckled, “While I work out who to punish by putting them with you, I want you to work on some of the cases sitting to see if you can see anything others may have missed.”

“Oh great,” Rip noted, “That’ll make me popular.”

Quentin chuckled again, “So are you coming for a drink?”

“I’ll be there later,” Rip replied, “John is heading to London tomorrow morning. He wants me to stop by tonight before he leaves.”

“Well make sure you show up for at least one drink,” Quentin told him, “Or I will be mortally offended.”

Rip gave his friend a nod, “I promise, Captain Lance.”

 Walking towards John’s apartment Rip thought over why his friend had insisted he come for dinner tonight. The anniversary of Miranda’s death was coming up, and this would be the first year John would not be there to spend the day with Rip. It had been so many years since she’d been taken from them, since the day he’d not even imagined in his worst nightmares and in all honesty, he was concerned that John would not be here for it.

He passed the small grocery store just a few blocks from John’s apartment and decided to stop in. Mrs Kwon who ran it had a small bakery section which had a small selection of different cakes and pastries that John adored.

Stepping inside he smiled at the smell of sweet cinnamon that hit him, that meant Mrs Kwon had made the fruit loaf which was John’s favourite. Instantly he headed to the bakery section at the back, smiling slightly as he saw Bobby Kwon and his friend Greg picking out sweets.

Mrs Kwon gave him a nod before she started calling at the boys to hurry up, they had to go do their homework.

Picking up two loaves, Rip frowned at the man who suddenly entered the shop, long straggly brown greasy hair wearing a large black hoodie. His instincts told him that trouble was here.

“Give me the money,” the man demanded of Mrs Kwon pulling out a gun.

Rip instantly grabbed the two boys pushing them to the back of the store, wishing he had his own weapon, but he didn’t carry it if he wasn’t on duty. He could see Mrs Kwon trying to keep calm while she put all the money in the bag, knowing her son was in the store. Rip knew he had to do something, the robber did not seem at all stable and it was possible he would hurt the shop owner even after she gave him what he demanded.

Noise from one of the other aisles made them all turn to see Bobby standing there, he was holding a frying pan from the small household section as threatening as a ten-year-old could be.

“Get away from my mom,” he snapped.

The robber smirked aiming the gun at the little boy who stared at him frozen in terror.

“No!!” Mrs Kwon cried.

Using the distraction Rip grabbed a bottle of wine from the shelf next to him, slamming it down onto the robber’s hand. The other man cried out as his arm was pushed down, Mrs Kwon ran and pulled her son to the back of the store as Rip made a grab for the gun.

The other man managed to hold onto the weapon as Rip tried to yank it out of his grip, but the robber had a better hold on the handle than Rip could get. Rip managed to twist their arms over the heads, and the robber lost the grip on the gun. Rip spun back to the man to arrest him, surprised when the man pulled a second gun from his pocket and fired.

Rip staggered back, feeling his knees begin to buckle he fired, shooting the gun out the other man’s hand just before Mrs Kwon hit him on the head with the frying pan. The robber went down unconscious at the same time Rip fell against the shelf. Hitting the ground, he was barely aware of someone calling for help as the world began to fade away.

                                  *********************************************

  “Rip,” a familiar voice called to him softly, “Rip. Open your eyes.”

He forced his eyes open staring at the woman leaning over him, “Miranda?”

Rip’s lost love smiled down at him, “Hello, my love.”

“I miss you,” he whispered, reaching out to touch her cheek, “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too,” she replied, “But I’m so proud of you. And I’m happy how close you and John have become. My two favourite guys finally best friends.”

Rip let out a sad sigh, “It shouldn’t have taken losing you for it to happen.”

“It’s okay,” Miranda soothed.

“I don’t want to leave him but being with you again…”

“You can’t stay with me,” Miranda cut him off, “It’s not time for you, Rip. You have so much more to do, my love. So much waiting for you, and I know it’s hard. I know you, darling and how hard it is for you to open yourself. But trust me, if you do then it will be wonderful.”

Rip frowned, “Miranda…”

“I will always love you,” she told him, “But you can love someone new.”

Before he could protest Rip felt electricity arc through his body, voices sounded and Miranda disappeared.

“We’ve got him back,” someone called, “Detective, just hold on. We’re going to get you to the hospital so stay with us, okay.”

  John paced, it was all he could do and anyone who tried to get in his way were speared by a dark glare.

“Here,” Quentin handed him a cup, “Thought you might want some coffee.”

Taking the offered drink, John nodded, “Thanks.”

“Any word?”

Shaking his head John took a long drink of his coffee, “Not yet.”

He began to pace again, scowling at anyone who dared cross his path while Quentin took a seat to wait. Finally, after what seemed to be days, the doctor appeared.

“Mr Constantine,” she said softly as John marched to her, Quentin at his side, “I’m Dr Snow, I was Detective Hunter’s surgeon.”

“Is he okay?” John demanded instantly.

Snow took a deep breath, “The bullet struck Detective Hunter very close to his heart but surgery went well, and he is in recovery.”

“He’s fine?” John asked softly, disbelief in his voice.

The doctor gave him a comforting smile, “He is going to recover but it will take some time. Do you want to see him?”

John nodded following her in silence, aware of the other man following on behind him. They reached the room and the doctor stepped back letting him inside.

Rip lying unconscious on the bed, machines attached to him. He was paler than he’s ever been and although he’d always been skinny, he now looked fragile as though the slightest thing would break him. John slowly moved to his side and rested his hand on Rip’s. Getting a call from the hospital, that horrible call so close to the anniversary of the last time he’d received a similar one had terrified him.

“Okay,” he said, “You listen to me. I am not losing my brother so you’re going to do everything the doctor tells you and get better. You’re not leaving me.”

Silence answered him. Sighing John found a seat behind him and, pulling it over, sat at his brother’s side.

  Quentin stood watching John sitting in silence staring at the man unconscious on the bed.

“Did he ever tell you how we know each other?” John’s voice came suddenly, sad and tired.

Finding the other seat in the room Quentin sat, “No.” It was something he did wonder about as their friendship, and overprotectiveness of one another, didn’t make much sense.

“For some unknown reason my sister agreed to marry him,” John told the other, “But she was killed in a hit and run a week before their wedding. I lost my sister and gained a brother.”

Quentin couldn’t stop his small smile at John’s long-suffering sigh, “Unfortunately he’s a lunatic who’s trying to give me a heart attack.”

“I know Dr Snow,” Quentin said softly, “She’s the top surgeon in the hospital, if she says he’ll recover then he will.”

John snorted, “Good. That means I can kill him for doing this to us.”

Quentin laughed, “I’ll hold your coat.”

Shaking his head in amusement John leaned back in his chair watching over the unconscious man on the bed.

“I have to let everyone know how he is,” Quentin said standing, “Can I get you anything?” John shook his head.

“I’ll see you later,” Quentin told John, he reached out and gently patted Rip’s arm before leaving the room to let everyone know how Rip was.

                                  *********************************************

  Rip sat waiting while the doctor scanned the test results.

“Well?” he demanded when she looked up from the tablet.

Dr Snow smiled at him, “Everything looks great. You’re doing so well considering the condition you were in when you were brought here.”

“So?” Rip demanded annoyed.

She chuckled, “As long as you follow all the instructions we’ve given, take your meds and don’t overexert yourself then you should make a full recovery.”

“And I will be making sure you follow those instructions,” John’s voice preceded him walking into the room, “Because you’re staying with me until you’re fully recovered.”

Rip looked up at Snow, “Can I stay here?”

She gave him an amused smile before turning to John, “I don’t want you antagonising my patient, Mr Constantine,” she turned back to Rip, “But you are to do what you’re told because I don’t want you back here. Ever again.”

“Trust me I intend never to be back here again,” Rip replied, “So can I go?”

Snow turned to John, “Have you finished all the paperwork?”

Rolling his eyes John nodded, “My hand is nearly falling off, but I’ve done everything to spring him.”

“Alright,” Snow chuckled, “I will get a wheelchair and we can get you out of here. Before you argue it’s hospital policy.” Giving his arm a squeeze, the doctor left the room.

John moved over to the bed with a grin, “I take it you’re ready to leave.”

“It’s been almost three months,” Rip reminded his friend, “What’s it like in the real world?”

John chuckled, “The same but not something you’ll find out for a while. I have been instructed that you need to rest, and I intend to make sure you do.”

Rip grimaced, “You know you can’t keep a plant alive, don’t you?”

“Lucky for you I have a team of assistants,” John grinned at him, grabbing the jacket sitting on the chair and helping Rip slide it on, “You’ll be completely smothered.”

Rip grimaced.

“And we won’t have to cook for about six months,” John added, “A lot of your colleagues’ spouses have sent food, I’m assuming to make sure I don’t starve you.”

Before Rip could reply Dr Snow returned with the wheelchair and one of the orderlies to help.

John turned to the doctor as Rip was helped to the wheelchair, “Thank you for everything, doc. Anytime you’re in one of my clubs then drinks are on the house.”

“That’s very kind of you,” she smiled at him, “But I’m not big on going out or clubs.”

John chuckled, “Which is why it’s a lifetime offer.”

She shook her head with a laugh before moving to Rip, resting her hand on his arm and leaving them alone.

“You ready to go?” John asked, moving to the wheelchair and resting his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Glancing up and giving him a smile Rip nodded, “Completely.”

[aresaphrodites]

Hey but sorry to bother u but could give me those book recs? Relying on u girl

of course!! sorry bout the long wait, dear x

you said you preferred trilogies or series’ (which i don’t read much of tbh) so here are a few of my favorites: (( some of these will have full on summaries and some… not so much, i got lazy lol ))

The Lux Series by Jennifer L. Armentrout : Meet Katy and Daemon! Katy is a funny, down-to-earth book blogger who has just moved to West Virginia. And Daemon? Well, he’s her hot and arrogant next-door neighbor. He’s also an alien. This one is cheesy, yeah, but it’s so FUN! Follow along as Katy and Daemon try to figure out what they mean to each other while trying not to get killed by the Arum; the Lumen’s enemy. In this world, the DOD is well aware that aliens exist and that they live on Earth. However, they are unaware that the aliens known as Luxen actually possess powers that make them.. well… powerful beyond means. This isn’t just a romance story; it focuses on family and friendships and it has a bunch of kick ass action and the entire plot with the DOD is so interesting. 

The Pine Deep Series by Jonathan Maberry ; I’m only on the first book but this one is a bit more mature in terms of horror and things like that. If you like scary books or feel like being spooky in time for Halloween, you should definitely check this one out! 

The Mortal Instruments Series by Cassandra Clare : I’m sure you know about this one, but if you don’t! Angels, demons, warlocks, vampires, faeries, werewolves? What more could you want? When Clary Fray discovers she’s actually a Shadowhunter; an appointed warrior of the Angel Raziel and has angel blood coursing through her veins, her life is about to change forever. Join her and the rest of the Shadowhunter gang (and even a few others) as they team up to rescue her mom and stop an all out war from happening. 

The Darkest Minds Series by Alexandra Bracken ; I’m only on the first book but I absolutely love it! It’s an intense read that has me on the edge of my seat constantly. I adore Ruby and she’s easily become one of my favorite female characters of all time. 

Dorothy Must Die Series by Danielle Paige ; Okay. I know, I know. Really? Dorothy Must Die? Hear me out! This book is FUN. Trashy? Perhaps, but fun! The first book is really fast paced and honestly? I am living for a world where Dorothy is evil. So basically our main character is named Amy and she is the other girl from Kansas. She’s sent to Oz to save it from Dorothy Gale who has become power hungry and is now pure evil along with the Tin-Man, the Lion, and the Scarecrow. The rest of the series doesn’t really live up to the first book, but I would say you should read the first one anyway. It’s a lot of fun. 

Did I Mention I Love You Series by Estelle Maskame: Sixteen-year-old Eden Munro decides to spend the summer with her father in Santa Monica as her parents are divorced now. Once there, she meets her father’s new family and that includes Tyler Bruce; her new asshole step brother with a short temper and a huge ego but as she gets to learn more about him, she finds herself falling for him. This trope isn’t for everyone and I know the whole step sibling thing is super taboo but this series is awesome and I read it during a huge reading slump and it really helped me get though it. 

Perfect Chemistry Series by Simone Elkeles: When Brittany Ellis walks into chemistry class on the first day of senior year, she has no clue that her carefully created “perfect” life is about to unravel before her eyes. She’s forced to be lab partners with Alex Fuentes, a gang member from the other side of town, and he is about to threaten everything she’s worked so hard for―her flawless reputation, her relationship with her boyfriend, and the secret that her home life is anything but perfect. Alex is a bad boy and he knows it. So when he makes a bet with his friends to lure Brittany into his life, he thinks nothing of it. But soon Alex realizes Brittany is a real person with real problems, and suddenly the bet he made in arrogance turns into something much more. (Each book in this series focuses on a different Fuentes brother.)

Fighting to Be Free Series by Kirsty Moseley: Jamie Cole has just been released from juvenile detention. Determined to go straight, he tries to cut ties with crime boss Brett Reyes - but Brett has no intention of letting him go. Jamie’s life is already more complicated than it needs to be, yet it’s when he meets a beautiful stranger at a bar that Jamie knows he’s really in over his head. Ellie Pearce has just come out of a terrible relationship and isn’t looking for anything serious; until she meets Jamie. Their attraction is overwhelming and intense - she can’t seem to shake her growing feelings for him, even though she’s trying to keep it casual. But when fate goes horribly wrong and Jamie’s family is faced with ruin, he’s forced to strike a deal with Brett. Despite his struggles, he wants nothing more than a future with Ellie. That’s until Ellie finds out that he’s been hiding more from her than she could ever imagine. 

Mind if I drop in a few stand alone’s? I’m trying to read more series’ but I’ve always been more of a stand alone kind of girl, so here are some of my current favs: 

#MurderTrending by Gretchen McNeil : WELCOME TO THE NEAR FUTURE, where good and honest citizens can enjoy watching the executions of society’s most infamous convicted felons, streaming live on The Postman app from the suburbanized prison island Alcatraz 2.0. When seventeen-year-old Dee Guerrera wakes up in a haze, lying on the ground of a dimly lit warehouse, she realizes she’s about to be the next victim of the app. Knowing hardened criminals are getting a taste of their own medicine in this place is one thing, but Dee refuses to roll over and die for a heinous crime she didn’t commit. Can Dee and her newly formed posse, the Death Row Breakfast Club, prove she’s innocent before she ends up wrongfully murdered for the world to see? Or will The Postman’s cast of executioners kill them off one by one?

One Small Thing by Erin Watt : Meet Beth and Chase. Beth is entering her senior year and is still trying to move on from the death of her older sister three years ago. In a small town with parents who have suddenly become her wardens; that seems nearly impossible. And then she meets the mysterious and hot Chase who immediately draws her in. Their attraction is instant and he’s the first person who makes her feel like Beth Jones and not Lizzie; the young girl who lost a sister and is somehow broken by it. But as she falls harder for Chase, she’s hit with the reality of the part he played in her sister’s death. It’s about forgiveness, love, and moving on. It’s sad and sweet and such a fun, quick read. Definitely good for trying to get out of a slump! 

Autoboyography by Christina Lauren :  Fangirl meets Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda in this funny and poignant coming-of-age novel from New York Times bestselling author Christina Lauren about two boys who fall in love in a writing class—one from a progressive family and the other from a conservative religious community. If you read one book off of this list, PLEASE let it be this one. This book is so… amazing. It’s been months and I still think about it constantly. 

Fault Line by C. Desir : Trigger WARNING: THIS BOOK CONTAINS A RAPE. It is not shown, but it’s the main conflict in the book. Over the years I have struggled with if I liked this book because it was good or if I liked it because of how much it fucked me up. I read this book in one sitting and when I finished, I sat in my bed for a good hour and just…. didn’t move or do anything. You will NOT be rooting for the main couple. The narrator is unlikable and you will HATE all the characters in this book. The ending is NOT happy and I don’t know why I’m recommending this but GOD. This book, after so many years, just stuck with me because of how fucked up it was. It deals with the whole “recovery” process in such a dark way that we normally don’t see in YA fiction and I think that’s what makes it stand out so much. If you want something darker, read this. But read it with caution. If this isn’t something you like then please, don’t bother reading it. It’s not happy and it’s sure as shit not fluffy. Summary : Ben could date anyone he wants, but he only has eyes for the new girl—sarcastic free-spirit Ani. Luckily for Ben, Ani wants him too. She’s everything Ben could ever imagine. Everything he could ever want. But that all changes after the party. The one Ben misses. The one Ani goes to alone. Now Ani isn’t the girl she used to be, and Ben can’t sort out the truth from the lies. What really happened, and who is to blame? Ben wants to help her, but she refuses to be helped. The more she pushes Ben away, the more he wonders if there’s anything he can do to save the girl he loves.

Meddling Kids by Edgar Cantero : If you like Scooby-Doo or Archie’s Weird Mysteries this book is probably for you. 1990. The teen detectives once known as the Blyton Summer Detective Club are all grown up and haven’t seen each other since their fateful, final case in 1977. Andy, the tomboy, is twenty-five and on the run, wanted in at least two states. Kerri, one-time kid genius and budding biologist, is bartending in New York, working on a serious drinking problem. At least she’s got Tim, an excitable Weimaraner descended from the original canine member of the team. Nate, the horror nerd, has spent the last thirteen years in and out of mental health institutions, and currently resides in an asylum in Arhkam, Massachusetts. The only friend he still sees is Peter, the handsome jock turned movie star. The problem is, Peter’s been dead for years.The time has come to uncover the source of their nightmares and return to where it all began in 1977. This time, it better not be a man in a mask. The real monsters are waiting. 

Fatal Throne by Candace Fleming ; A book about Henry VIII and his six wives. If you like historical fiction then this book might be for you! It’s told through the perspective of his six wives (and even Henry himself) and it’s a really fascinating read. 

Okay, I think I’m going to stop here. Let me know if none of these speak to you and I’ll give you some more recs! I didn’t know what kind of genres you liked, so I tried to throw in a little bit of everything.

[redcrownkrp-blog]

Could I see a sample app? Or get pointers on how to fill in the app?

As far as pointers go I would just suggest making sure you have a clear idea of what you want for your muse, possibly a plan or a simple series of events. It’s really up to you, we are not strict with how people format the biography section of the app as long as we can get a true feel for the muse.

I can provide a sample app though for my muse, The Hellblood, under the cut. Trigger warnings for violence, murder, abuse (of all kinds), sexual themes. And a note that bios do not have to be this long in any way, shape or form.

About the muse

which skeleton are you applying for? The Hellblood

muse name: Park Minho

age: 724

appearance age: 24

gender and pronouns: Cismale, he/him

species: Vampire

face claim: Min Yoongi

aesthetic: stained linen, empty bottles, ripped books, open courtyards, silk sheets, broken chess pieces, bleached hair, wet eyes.

song:  broken crown by mumford & sons

biography: 

The entire history of his clan had been told to Minho over and over, practically beaten into him as a child, teen and eventually vampire. How long they had existed, how their bloodline was birthed from one of the first vampires to walk the earth and how they had kept that bloodline going. The process and traditions he was all too familiar with as he had been born of them.

His mother was a whore. That’s what they called her anyway. A beautiful human stolen away from her family and home to be a breeding pet for the clan, only those of strength and beauty were blessed enough to carry the children that would one day be turned into the newest members of their clan. Minho still remembers her vaguely, how she wore her hair lower than was considered appropriate, the way her eyes creased when she smiled, how her voice became so horribly hoarse when she cried. From the moment he was brought into the world his fate was set. He would live his formative years with the rest of the children, at his mothers bosom when she was available and at the hand of vampiric nannies when she wasn’t. He was to keep out of the sun and listen to his schooling. He was to eat well, diet only consisting of foods that were known to make the blood sweeter, richer, all the more delectable for when his turning would finally come. And he lived in the fear they all did. That if they put a toe out of line the blessing that was offered to them would be pulled out from under their feet and they would be bled dry.

It would be wrong to say he flourished or that he particularly suffered, Minho merely existed. Went along with what was set out, did as he was told. The only time he broke was when his mother passed, she grew too old, hadn’t produced enough healthy offerings to be kept around. He had considered running away after that. Of finding a stake and pushing it through the vampire that had killed her. But he was too well groomed for that. Instead two years later he was finally mature enough for them. He kneeled and bared his neck for his turning trying to not focus on the eyes of what was seconds away from being his sire, how they bore through him, cut him apart reminding him of every ounce of humanity he was giving away as he let them feed. Wondered if his mother had felt the same piercing fear about those eyes before they ripped out her throat.  

He was not a subtle fledgeling. His blood lust came fast and violent. Consumed by a primal urge to feed on anything close to him, any drop of blood, any pulsing vein. It was customary for fledgelings to spend their time in solitude until the worst of the blood lust passed, no matter how long it was, food regularly supplied so that they don’t go mad. It was so dark in that room, impossible to see what he was ever feasting on. Enough awareness to know it was human and warm and oh so delicious. He had been raised with constant descriptions of how blood tasted, the different flavours and feelings it could provide but to finally have his mouth full of it, drinking person after person until he was dripping in it…it was heaven. There was a hunger in him never experienced before but it was worth it for every second he could spend quenching it.

Only after the worst was over was light allowed in, the door opened and Minho got the first true look at all he had done. At first, all he could see were bodies, one on top of another and another. Mutilated and bloodied. But then he caught a pair of eyes and the scream that came out of him was all that could be heard throughout the palace.

The children of the clan were all raised together, played together, it was normal for them to form bonds. Never discouraged. And the bond he had made with her was something he failed to ever describe. Sides of the same coin pulled together by a thread, the readers of each other hearts and minds. It was fair to assume she would be turned just as he had, no reason to doubt when she was ten times as smart and talented than him. Yet there she lay. Eyes wide, neck ripped to shreds, pale flesh dyed crimson.

All his mortal life Minho had dreamed of being turned, drunk on the promises of vampires so so much older than him, their gilded promises and yarns of a better life. Now it was forever stained, overshadowed, tarnished by one of his first acts as the blessed being. His sire was never a kind man, Minho did not expect him to be, but he didn’t think he would be so low in the man’s eyes. Just yet another night child for him to control and have do his bidding and Minho was good at it. How many people he had stolen out of their beds and brought back he did not have a count for. How well he had bent and bowed to his sire and his bloodline, those that ruled over them all. How he had sat in wait, dutiful and good and bloodthirsty all in hopes that one day all that was promised would still come. That the image of stained skin and blank eyes would one day fade.

Life, even immortal life, does not have a simple way of panning out though.

Carpe Noctem came over them like a shadow. First, everything was fine and next there was only screaming and bodies. He ran, as fast as he could. Didn’t consider fighting for a second because he would be damned fighting for these creatures, for this clan, he would run as far as he could and accept the death from whatever vampire managed to catch him. Simply fell to his knees when cornered. A sick fascination and satisfaction overcoming him as he watched his sire get decapitated, the figure that did it seeming so much stronger and more imposing then the ancient being it had just killed. As if the world slowed as the executioner moved towards him all Minho could focus on was what he thought would be the last moments of his inaptly named immortal life. Sweat clung in droplets to the back of his neck chaffing his skin against the silks slowly slipping off of a single shoulder, barely staying in place in the chaos that had fallen. Strands of raven hair had fallen in his face, resting against his cheeks and neck. A neck that was soon to be cut, slashed, ripped, detached. And still, he never raised a hand to protect himself.

No violence ever came to him though. Instead, a cold hand took his chin, not gentle but firm and commanding lifting his head. The same hand would drag him out of the palace, past the fallen of his kin, his bloodline, his clan, his life. Minho had ideas of what would befall him being taken by the clan that had just murdered his own, knew the horrors that might await but none of it seemed to matter. All he could focus on was the relief running through his veins but more strongly the freedom. He was bond, shackled and gagged going to the devil knows where but it was the freest he had felt his entire life.

That feeling did not leave. Not even when the cold firm hand dragged him to a room, decadently decorated with a far too large bed in the centre. It took no genius to connect the dots of why he’d been taken and why the body of the other felt so much closer than before. There was an unspoken choice for him to make and Minho made it embarrassingly quickly. Maybe other vampires would spit on him for it, his own kin would have, he didn’t much care for their opinions though. All he had done is turned and finally truly taken in the man who had stolen him. He didn’t look kind, no person who could disseminate a clan like he had could be kind, but Minho has never trusted kind men. No, he was cruel, violent, in a way terrifying but by the laws of their species and the laws of their time he was so fair. Undressing for him had felt like more of a liberation than a new way of chaining himself.

One night, months into his stay in Carpe Noctem, his eyes were drawn out of the window. Lazily watching the moonlight streak into the room and illuminate the sheets curled around his waist, crumpled beside him, briefly he wondered if he looked as desirable as that first night surrounded by carnage. Probably not, the executioner had a penchant for blood that was absent from this scene. His mind slowly filled with a different idea, a need more than anything, and before he properly processed what he was saying the words were out of his mouth. “I’m not a bird.” He didn’t turn to look at the other, didn’t feel the need, instead simply pressed on. “People keep birds in gilded cages because they think they’ll be useless anywhere else. I’m not a bird.” Two days later he found that need fulfilled stood between the lower ranks, a mess of fledgelings, doing something for what felt like the first time in years.

It would be easy to argue that Minho climbed the ranks of Carpe Noctem through favouritism. Being the one who got on their hands and knees for their leader has its perks, he would never deny that but he would never be in the position he is now if it wasn’t for his own strengths. He wasn’t suddenly the Second in Command. It took years. Years of showing just how quiet he was on his feet, how he moved like a shadow and how useful that was in hearing the conversations those of powerful stations have after dark. That skill growing into being an assassin even more deadly than he had been in his old life, as talented with a knife as he was with his fangs never leaving a soul alive to tell any tales. And years of proving that his tongue was skilled at many things but especially business. That’s what lead him to where he is now. Feared for how he is favoured, feared for the secrets he knows, feared for the blood on his hands, feared for how he is skilled.

extras: i actually don’t have anything to put here which is rather embarrasing asdewkl

I hope this helped tho ‘nonnie!!

[chronosmith-blog]

The Wheel of Havoc Pt. 3

((Part 1 | Part 2))

25th Chord, 14th Cycle More than once as of late I have feared that this place might be driving me mad, and I would be convinced now, more than ever, were it not for the impossibility that I hold in my free hand, even as I write: that pocket chronometer, ticking softly in the pre-dawn darkness, defying every known natural law. I dreamed of the voice and the roaring darkness again for the first time in four days, and the voice spoke to me with greater clarity and calm than it ever has before. It did not wait for me to address it, but simply launched into its own speech the moment I became aware of its presence.

“Harmos’s responsibility was to make sure that each of us performed as we ought to, that we fulfilled our functions as the muses of our respective arts. I...” Here it faltered, uncertain. “I don’t know who turned him against us, but some entity outside of the Chorus convinced him that the coming struggle would render us, one and all, obsolete. He told us, before the end, that there was no place for art in war, and we would either sleep, or be reborn in the conflict that lay ahead. And then he had us all destroyed.”

“The war is over, now,” I replied. Something in the quality of the voice had changed. It seemed vulnerable, now, less commanding, less imperious.

“I know.” There was a moment of long silence. “Harmos didn’t survive, either. None of them did. Not even me.”

“And you are—“

“I was Metron. Who I am now, I don’t know.” There was no sense of great distress accompanying this statement. Rather, there was a lack of any sort of emotion that felt horrible in its own way. “There is no leader here. No leader, and nothing to lead.”

For the rest of the dream, I simply stayed in that space, listening as he spoke, repeating the words like a mantra. Even now, the echoes of them ring in my head, as vivid as any word ever spoken to me: “No leader. No leader. No leader.”

26th Chord, 14th Cycle Last night, upon entering the roaring darkness, there was only silence. It stretched on until I could bear it no longer, so I began to speak. I could feel the presence of the dead god—no. Not dead. The sleeping god, whatever remained of Metron. I could feel it was there, and for a long, long time it simply existed in silence as I spoke. It listened. I told the voice about what we, as scholars, knew about the city of Chorus, what sorts of theories had been made about what life was like, how beautiful it must have been, what sorts of things we believed led to its collapse. It neither confirmed not contradicted anything I said, even when I presented it with theories that could not have existed together. It merely listened, until I began to speak of the possibility that one of its companions might yet live on in some form, changed or reincarnated in some way: Lyrica.

“If Lyrica survived, then perhaps the others did, too.” There was again that sense of resignation, that sad acceptance. “You said the war is over. If they weren’t reborn then, maybe they will be soon.”

“And you?” I asked. It did not answer, and did not speak again.

27th Chord, 14th Cycle I am afraid. I do not think I can sleep tonight. I have packed the watch away because I cannot bear to listen to it ticking, for each soft sound brings me dangerously close to the memory of my last dream. I am loathe to revisit it long enough to commit it to this paper, but I feel that it is important now to stave off the feelings of deep dread that have risen within me, lest they consume me from within. I dreamed again, last night, and in the dream, what remained of Metron spoke to me again. It was angry. I knew it was angry the moment I entered the roaring darkness. “If Lyrica yet lives,” it said, “then some fragment of Harmos might persist.” I could not bring myself to speak in the face of that anger.

And then I felt a black hatred—such seething malevolence, the likes of which I have never felt before and hope never to again—I do not know how to describe it aside from a fury that was so savage that, even though I knew it was not directed at me, shook me to my very core. The emotion was so strong that it didn’t need to speak for me to understand it: there was a violent rejection of Harmos, of any echo of Harmos, of anything resembling the order that Harmos had once represented. 

That rage—that terrible feeling—underneath it I could sense a pulse, like the beating of a spark, a constant cadence, a phrase that rang in the back of my mind, again and again. It was this being’s will never again to be subdued, and the words that had once been its sad and steady lament had been changed into a chant of war. No leader. No leader, ever again. An-arkhos, in the Protal vernacular.

Anarkhos.

28th Chord, 14th Cycle I’ve seen him, by the Gods. I’ve seen him. I’ve seen him. I dare not speak that name, ever again. I regret writing it to paper. I fear that I have given him form by committing that bodiless voice to a name. I’ve tried to bring myself to destroy this journal, but I can’t. I physically cannot. What have I done? What have I done?

29th Chord, 14th Cycle An eye. A single, terrible, unblinking eye in the center of a wheel, but a horrible perversion of the toothed wheel that was the symbol of Metron: a mass of whirling blades, claws orbiting that pitiless eye; a wheel of havoc turns endlessly at the back of my mind. I’ve seen him. The wheel writhes in a way no machine, or god of machines, should move. It is as if, in rejecting the order Hamos brought to the Chorus, he has rejected the order within himself, and sought to invert it in every way in an act of crazed defiance.

This being, changed though he was, still considered himself, in some form, a muse. He made something. He tried to show it to me, that first creation, but I could not parse it. It is some demoniac inversion of what was once the order and structure that he brought to art, nonsensical geometries that clashed with one another in an endless, roiling chaos. Even now the shape of the memory doesn’t want to stay in my mind, and I fear that it will rattle my thoughts from their moorings and leave me adrift. 

I cannot bear to look upon that being or its creation again; I do not want to think of what sorts of things its twisted will with birth in the future. When I woke this morning I was full of such terror that I destroyed the chronometer. I do not know what awaits me tonight, when I sleep, but I fear it.

5th Chord, 15th Cycle In the past week I have had no dreams that were in any way out of the ordinary, for which I am grateful. We will be leaving this site near the end of the month. My colleagues’ spirits have been rising steadily over the past few weeks, and despite the lack of solid information we have gathered on the lives of the mecha who lived here or the particulars of the Chorus, everyone is buoyed by the knowledge that they were right, and that the discovery of this place alone has made their careers. It has made mine, but I take no joy in this. Instead, I find myself perched on the edge of anxiety, always waiting for each evening to plunge me back into that horrible terror. I cannot banish the wheel from my mind; it turns and turns somewhere behind my eyes. If I am forced to look upon it again I fear I will lose my mind.

17th Chord, 15th Cycle Tomorrow we are going home. I will be returning to the university as an academic hero, which is something we have precious few of in these years so recently after the terrible war. My story—that of a dauntless, determined scholar who convinced his superiors to take a chance, and who uncovered what might have been the greatest archaeological find of this millennium—will be told again and again by generations of students and instructors alike. The wheel is turning.

I wish we had never come here.

19th Chord, 15th Cycle Whatever has become of what was once Metron, I do not think he is dead. He sleeps, though, and sometimes, when I sleep, I can feel his dreams. He is too lost in his own slumber to leave the tomb of Chorus. I sense in those dreams a terrible hunger for vengeance, and though I pity him as much as I fear him, I must not allow him to wake—or, at the very least, I will not allow myself to be the one that wakes him. I do not fear that he would directly harm me in any way. I feel that I have earned his loyalty, such as it is, as the first and only being to leave his favored offering in that bleak and abandoned shrine, the first and only supplicant of this new god. They say the devil takes care of his own. In this case, I believe it. Only his slumber keeps him there, though, and I feel that the only thing that would come of his waking would be destruction.

 ---

My dearest,

I want you to know, more than anything, that I love you, and, if I am able, I will come back to you. I have experienced things in lost Chorus that have changed me, and not for the better. I cannot live with those memories. Fear not, for I do not seek my own destruction. I apologize if I have seemed distant since returning to Polyhex, but I have been dragged, again and again, back into a fearful place in my mind that I know I will never escape on my own. 

It is not the recent disaster that befell lost Chorus that has troubled me so—though it is regrettable that a second cataclysm has swallowed the city forever, making further excavation impossible, I feel only relief knowing that no mortal or immortal will ever tread those forsaken streets again. I am not reacting in some powerfully contrary way to the success of my career, nor am I being bribed or pressured by any of my colleagues or rivals. I wish I could tell you what troubles me so, but I fear that if I share this knowledge, then I will somehow bring this terror down upon you.

For I have been living, these past few weeks, in terror.

I have sought treatment from doctors, therapists, and processor-surgeons alike, to no avail. I have left to seek the temple of Memnos, the god of memory, to plead for relief from this burden, in hopes that the memory of what has followed me from Chorus will be destroyed. If I am successful, I will come back to you, hopefully lighter of spark, and able to bear whatever hardships the echo of that knowledge might leave with me. If Memnos cannot help me… I do not know what I will do. Seek deals with other deities, if I must. The trickster gods are unreliable, but even their capriciousness is preferable to what I presently endure. The god of the crossroads rarely comes when called, but I will try, if I must. I will never stop trying. 

It is not only fear that has brought me to this point, but also guilt, because I feel that if I had never brought this expedition to fruition, none of this would have happened. I have spent my entire career unearthing ancient knowledge, bringing the oldest secrets to light, and I do not regret a large part of it. 

I feel, however, that there are some things that are best left forgotten, and I hope to the Gods that I still possess within me the capacity to forget that which I have seen.

I will come back to you some day. I promise, my love.

-Articulator