#block has NOT known clara long enough to be holding her like that

[yourdeepestfathoms]

imagine playing a game for over a hundred hours and are super excited to see how the main character goes through with the sacrifices that have been hyped up on the second to last day, and you’re so ready to witness this horrific, emotional moment, and then the final cutscene is the general dude and the kid he forced to go to war posing like they’re taking prom pictures

[luminescencefics]

fade in, fade out - part nine preview

January 2016

When Nora finally emerges from the lobby of her shared apartment with Ebony and her boyfriend, the warm California sun warming her bare shoulders almost instantly, she never thought the first person she would run into would be none other than Will Clemonte.

��You are one difficult person to track down, Nora Priestley,” he says, forgoing an appropriate greeting.

“Will?” Nora says, shocked. It feels as if her sandal-clad feel are permanently frozen to the concrete flooring, her eyes squinting in front of her to block out the sun as she takes in the boy she hasn't seen in well over a year.

Nora could spot Will anywhere without really thinking about it, if she’s being completely honest with herself. His hair is still messy and blonde, the bridge of his nose is still smattered with freckles, the blue of his eyes still feels like glass mirrors, and somehow it’s both frightening and welcoming to her.

With a nod and his infamous grin, Will adds, “Who would've thought it would take traveling all the way to your coast just to realize that you've been hiding on mine this whole time?”

Nora can’t help but give him a shy giggle in return.

She watches as his deep grin slowly fades off his face, his eyes darting to the ground below and Nora gulps, knowing he didn’t show up on her doorstep just to catch up for old times’ sake.

“I tried calling you after the funeral, but it just felt insincere. I guess I didn’t know what to say to you over the phone, because how do I apologize for all that you’ve been through without sounding like a complete and utter dick?”

Nora isn't sure what to say, so Will takes that as his cue to continue speaking.

“I sent flowers to your apartment in New York, but they were returned to sender because you weren’t living there anymore. Then when I was at my parents’ house for their big Fourth of July party over the summer, I stopped by your old place, but a new family was already moving in. I don't even remember how long I stood out there watching them move furniture inside, but it was long enough for me to realize that you had left. And that you weren’t coming back.” With a long pause, Nora stands completely still as she watches Will’s blue eyes dart back and forth between her own. With an audible gulp and a loud shuffle of his feet, Nora waits to hear what else Will has to say to her.

“It's just—I felt like an idiot because too much time had passed, and if I were to say anything to you, I felt that it would just reopen wounds that barely even had the chance to scab over yet. And I—I just didn’t want to be that person. The one who constantly reminds you of the sad parts of your life.”

“Will—” Nora tries to interrupt, her arms flailing outwards to try and stop him from saying things that were untrue. But before she could even get another word in, Will’s head is shaking left and right, the movement ruffling his hair as he tries his hardest to look into her eyes. 

“I went to the hospital with my mom after I heard what happened. I just remember staring at your mom lying on that bed and regretting every fucking lie I ever told about knowing her, and somehow I realized how terrible of a person I was to you back in high school. And I know I apologized for it already, and I know you forgave me for it, but fuck, Nora—it all came rushing back and I felt like I couldn’t breathe properly, because all I could think about was how sad I felt for you, and how sad I felt for myself. Because without your mom in my life, I probably would have ended up just like Carter Donnelly.”

Nora feels the familiar sensation of tears welling in her eyes—the tickle dotting her waterline, the pressure building around her sinuses, the pinch of her breath being trapped in her lungs. And when she looks at Will slowly losing his resolve in front of her, she’s not sure how much longer she can keep the tears at bay.

With a deep inhale and exhale, as if he was prepping for this the entire car ride over from his apartment near Santa Clara Valley, Will blinks and begins to speak again.

“I was in the back row at the funeral mass, I was too scared to sit closer to you. The whole thing just felt so—so wrong, like we weren’t supposed to be there. I could only imagine how you were feeling, and I just couldn’t find the words to say to you. So I stayed put,” Will pauses, holding her gaze for so long that Nora could make out every single freckle dotting his blue irises. “And then when I saw Harry pull you out of there, I knew that you were hurting more than all of us combined, and I knew that you were being taken care of. I just—I fucking knew, Nora. Everything clicked.”

After a few moments pass in which Nora and Will stare at each other until their eyes beg for moisture, blinking their eyelids quickly as to not miss a single feature on the other’s face, Nora sniffles and frowns a bit. “It’s okay, Will. I barely even remember that day anyways, if you were to say anything I—I probably wouldn’t have known what to say back.”

Will nods, understanding.

“My dad showed me the scrapbook you gave him,” he says, changing the topic rather abruptly.

At this, Nora quirks her eyebrow up in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Will says with a small quip of his lips. “We sat down and actually talked for the first time in twenty years, and we’ve been working on it ever since. It’s like he’s totally changed his outlook on life, on fatherhood I guess, and I think your mom has everything to do with that.” 

With a chuckle, Will adds, “He’s the one who told me to stop fucking about and come find you.”

Nora can’t help but grin back—a smile that almost causes the apples of her cheeks to hurt, almost causes her mood to lift considerably, almost causes her to forget why he was even here in the first place.

She feels her lips go back to their normal position before saying, “I have a lot to apologize for as well, Will. You're not the only one who’s made mistakes.”

Will shakes his head. “I think I forgave you for that a long time ago.”

***

Part Nine: The Despair will be posted on Sunday, May 23

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[annoyedfanfiction]

Jim Kirk x fem!reader (2)

“Whatever the hell you’ve done, (Y/N), you better sort it out quickly,” your roommate snarled, her feline ears twitching through her bristling mane. “I’ve got to get to class.” She stalked out before you could respond, and you heard a quiet exchange before the door clicked shut behind her. Quickly pulling on jeans and a black crop top, you exited your bedroom. All your belongings were packed into two standard issue crates, ready to be loaded, the only evidence that your reassignment wasn’t some elaborate dream.  “How old is she anyway? 17?” a familiar Southern accent hissed. “I’m 21, Doctor,” you interrupted, stepping into the living room. “Would you like anything – coffee, tea? I’m afraid you’ve caught me before breakfast.”

“Good morning, Ambassador,” Kirk greeted you, leaping to his feet. “Apologies for the early morning visit, we just wanted to inform you that there’s a–” “Jim wanted to invite you to meet the senior crew,” McCoy interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Coffee would be nice, please.” “The senior crew?” you repeated, eyes widening, even as you moved towards the kitchen. “Of the Enterprise?” “Well, kid, you are going to be serving with them,” he pointed out, brusquely. “What Bones meant to say, Ambassador, was that it’s an important part of my command that the crew, especially the senior crew, maintains good relations,” Kirk said, elbowing McCoy sharply. “Please call me (Y/N),” you smiled, easily, pouring yourself a cup of tea, “And I’d be delighted to join you all, Captain. Would you like anything?” You handed McCoy his coffee, and he hummed appreciatively. “This is the proper stuff, too,” he grinned, broadly, “Thank you, it’s been a long time since I’ve had proper Earth coffee.” “Call me Jim. And if it’s not too much trouble, I do enjoy coffee,” Kirk smiled. You retrieved another mug. “Please, have a seat.”

“Well, I’ve still got physicals to do,” McCoy sighed, eventually, standing up. He clapped Kirk on the shoulder. “I’ll see you both later.” “See you, Bones,” Jim said, as you rounded the counter. “Thank you for coming by, Doctor,” you smiled, warmly. “It’s Leonard, kid,” he offered, with a dry smile, “Or Bones, if you really must.” “He loves it secretly,” Jim laughed, earning a heatless glare from McCoy. “Whatever you say, kid,” he huffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid.” “Come on, Bones, when do I ever,” Jim smirked. McCoy didn’t deign to reply, rolling his eyes as he clipped the door shut behind him. “I’m not bothering you, am I?” Jim asked, as you packed away the dishes. “I’m sure Scotty wouldn’t mind an extra set of hands with the final touches.” “No, no, you’re fine,” you assured him, straightening up, “Though I can’t promise to be interesting company. My only plans for today were finishing packing and trying to see if I could get one of the base engineers to sneak me in to at least see the outside of the ship.” Jim grinned, wickedly, his blue eyes dancing. “Well, I’m not sure about the engineers,” he began, “But if you can finish that packing quickly I’m sure I can facilitate a tour. We can get inside and everything.” “Really?” You bounced, excitedly. “You’d do that?” “Sure, Bones and I have bothered you all morning, seems only fair. I think we might’ve pissed off your roommate, too.” His laughter was contagious, as you both moved through the living room. He paused outside your bedroom door as you entered.

“Now that’s unexpected,” you grinned, mischievously, “The famous James T Kirk afraid to step into a girl’s bedroom.” “With a reputation like mine, you can’t be too careful,” he replied, with a bittersweet smile.  “Don’t worry, Captain,” you smirked, gesturing him in, “It’ll be a long time before your reputation for sleeping around outdoes the fame of your captaincy. Especially if your crew has anything to say about it.” “Oh?” he queried, finally entering, but still hovering by the door. “And what does my crew say?” “Nothing that doesn’t sing your praises,” you answered, throwing him your PADD, “And that in itself says enough.” He glanced at the video you’d presented him, a montage of crew interviews. 

First, Scotty looked like he was about to punch the reporter when asked about ‘the Captain’s reputation’. Well, I dinnae any reputation on board except for brilliance an’ absolute loyalty. Sulu was next, holding Demorra on his hip, as he snapped that surely the press has better things to do than slander the name of a Captain who almost died for his ship. Spock’s response was the calm, placid statement that the Captain is devoted to his ship and crew, suggesting anything less would be engaging in irrelevant popular fallacies. Uhura rolled her eyes, because what, you think I’m the one who’s going to slander my Captain because we didn’t get along in the academy? James T Kirk is a good man, today, and if his actions don’t tell you that themselves then you’re not paying attention. The video went on, everyone from Chekov’s in mother Russia, our reporters have respect to Ensign Riley’s seriously, you’re shitting on the dude for being a teenager when he’s now StarFleet’s best Captain? Fuck off. Bones had even turned around to cuss out a reporter who wanted to know ‘if the Captain has had any affairs on the Enterprise’. By the time the clip had finished, you’d packed your last belongings into the crates, and stacked them on top of each other. “That’s all you’ve got?” Jim said, eventually breaking the silence and handing back your PADD. “I travel light,” you shrugged, tucking it away. “I need to drop this off at the transfer dock, do you want to go for lunch? There’s a nice cafe a block away from it.” He smiled, and the room was suddenly warm again. “That sounds great.”

“I have no further comment.” You could hear panic rising behind Jim’s flat tone, his face still the same unmoving expression he had greeted the press with, as they crowded around you both. “Was Ambassador (L/N) fast-tracked to the Enterprise through your influence?” “Do you have a response to the allegations of cheating made against Ambassador (L/N)?” “Is it true that Admiral Pike personally intervened on your behalf, Ambassador (L/N)? Did Captain Kirk have any role in this?” Stepping in front of Jim, you blocked the press off, brushing your hand across his gently. “The Captain and I have no further comment. All relevant information will reach you through official channels. Myself, the Enterprise crew, and StarFleet command would appreciate your patience and consideration at this time given the extenuating circumstances,” you insisted, keeping your voice calm, but firm.  “Can you comment on Captain Kirk’s recent incidents with the superhuman?” “Is there anything to the rumours that Commander Spock will be leaving the Enterprise?” “Do you have anything to do with Admiral Barrow’s sudden reassignment to Starbase 15?”  “I said,” you raised your voice to shout over the insistent crowd. They fell silent. “Captain Kirk and I have no further comment. Information will be distributed to the press through official channels. No amount of intrusion on our personal lives will allow any involved personnel to give you more insight on my performance in the Kobayashi Maru and subsequent graduation and assignment than the information released by StarFleet command. As for the recent endeavours of the Enterprise and her crew, as well as the attack on StarFleet headquarters by the superhuman Khan, information has already been released and further investigation will continue to be conducted and shared. Once again, your intrusion on our personal lives will yield no further insight. Thank you.” A small silence followed, and you turned away from them, letting Jim lead you inside.

You took a booth in the back corner of the cafe, away from windows and prying eyes, even as the other patrons all watched you enter. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve known something like this would happen,” you apologised, as soon as you both took your seats. “I know the chef here, she can let us out the back door if you’d prefer to just go?” “No, no,” he managed a smile, again, but it didn’t reach his blue eyes, as he laid one hand over yours on the table. “We’re here now. Let’s have lunch.” He picked up the menu. “Any recommendations?” You smiled back, not moving your hand from beneath his as you picked up your own menu. “Clara makes the best cheeseburger I’ve ever tasted,” you admitted, glancing up as another ruckus started at the door.

[mrneighbourlove]

Shadow Hunt: Ch 1. Setting up the Players

Clara sat back quietly onto the seat of the psychiatrist’s chair, taking slow deep breathes as instructed by her doctor. Work had been dragging on her, and with the anniversary of most of her friends’ deaths at the hand of the being known as Vul’kar tomorrow, she was feeling incredibly depressed.  “Can I have another pillow?”

“Of course.” Doctor Kai Neighbour gave a light smile as he got up to select another pillow from his cupboard. Doctor Neighbour had only been working as a professional for six months, but he was the leading psychologist in Hyrule. Sure, this only came about due to most of his predecessors being killed in wars, or having traveled to Danjur to seek asylum from all the death, but Doctor Neighbour was absolutely dedicated to helping all walks of life in Hyrule. No matter if they Moblins, Hylians, or Lorleidians, he wanted to be a neighbour to them, someone they could trust. Everyone had difficulties after all. Handing Clara the pillow, Doctor Neighbour took his seat with easy care. “More comfortable?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Clara relaxed with a few more breathes. “Doctor Neighbour. It’s been getting more stressful. The days are going by harder and harder knowing that my friends are all gone. I don’t know why I’m still sad about this.”

Doctor Neighbour gave a light nod of his head. He too lost people he cared for during the eclipse. “Grief is something that might never go away. Its hold on us being an overbearing force in our lives. We have to accept that, and we have to know that its normal to still feel sad. To be numb to your friends’ deaths wouldn’t be good now. You know in your heart that you care for them, and they’ll be with you.”

“But what do I do now? If it’s not going to go away, how do I cope with it?”

“Do you have any friends that survived the eclipse?”

“Yes… but…”

Doctor Neighbour made sure to not fully interrupt her as she spoke, clueing in at the appropriate time. “Anyone to go to? Old or new friends?”

“I was in a chess league with Prince Ralnor as a teenager. But he’s so busy helping the king. And I heard he’s married and has a child.”

Her psychologist could only smile, and softly clapped his hands together. “Our worries come from a place of possibilities, but possibilities we never achieve due to the worry of only the worst outcomes. And we won’t ever achieve the positive outcomes if we don’t take the chance to reach out to them.”

Clara was still somewhere in the middle of assurance and worry. “Are you sure he wouldn’t tell me off?”

“Clara. I’m sure if you took a deep breath, take that confidence I know you have, and knock on his front door, he’d be more than happy to play a game of chess and catch up with you.”

Clara appreciated her doctor’s positivity. His never give up thinking and to always try made her feel better now. “Alright. If you think that’s what it takes.”

“I’ll even write a note making it mandatory.” Doctor Neighbour smiled another on of his soft smiles.

The meeting lasted half an hour, and after talking about work and saying goodbye, Clara took her bags and walked up to the castle palace. When a guard asked what her business was, she simply showed the doctors note. She couldn’t believe it actually came down to that. Making her way through the palace with a guard escort, she took a deep breath, and searched deep for her confidence. With a steady smile, she knocked on Ralnor’s door.

“Ukuri! Let papa answer the door!” The moment that girl started to hobble around, Ralnor knew she’d be a handful. Picking his daughter up, he quickly placed her back in a crib. “Stay there.”

When the Prince answered the door, Clara was surprised by how much he had grown. They hadn’t seen each other in plenty of years. He still had that long golden hair like his mother though. She instinctively brushed the hair out of her face. “Hello Prince Ralnor. I’m not sure if you remember me. But we used to play chess together.”

“Clara.” Ralnor mimicked her hair gesture with his finger. “You still do that thing with your hair when you’re worried.”

“Oh gosh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Its been ages, hasn’t it? What have you been up to all these years?”

“Well, I started using my teaching degree and ran a chess club for students, as well as anyone in Castle Town who was interested.”

“I heard. In the Brazzer Corner.”

“Yes. Its…. Its all gone now.”

Ralnor didn’t show a lot of emotion, but he understood it and picked up on it well in others. Clara was clearly hurt by the destruction Vul’kar rained upon Hyrule. Her presence here most likely meant she was looking for a friend. Her nervousness deduced this may have been a last resort. Shyness perhaps? The prince didn’t see why he couldn’t give her his time. He did remember how she was one of the few Hylians to be kind to him without an ulterior motive. “Would you like to come in Clara? I have some water if you’d like.”

Clara wasn’t one to hide her emotions. The fact she was actually let in felt incredibly gratifying. “Thank you. That would be very kind.” She took notice of the little one in the pen, reaching up. “Oh my goodness. She’s adorable.”

Ralnor finished pouring the glasses of water, looking proudly at his daughter. “Yes, she is. My little Ukuri, pride and joy of my life. She has her mother’s charms.”

“I’m sure she’s lovely.”

Ralnor took out an old, but richly engraved wooden chess piece collection, carefully setting it on the table. “Would you like to play? For old times sake?”

Clara felt her heart flutter, excited to play chess with an old friend. “I would. I’m sure you haven’t gotten rusty.”

“Not at all. It’s my favourite hobby.”

“Well, I’m sure your daughter can be a good referee.”

Taking their seats, the two of them played a long, yet fun game of chess, slowly catching up over lost time. Clara carefully moved her bishop to take Ralnor’s rook. “So, how did you and your wife meet?”

“My father always did want Covarog to have a Gerudo wife. Cass disagreed heavily with being forced into any relationship, even with a crown Gerudo prince. To appease my father, I proposed a relationship instead. With time…” Ralnor calculated his move and moved his knight into position. “… we formed an organic love with one another.”

“That’s very sweet Ralnor. I told you that you were likeable years ago.”

“It’s all about confidence now, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is.” Clara moved her rook into place. “Check.”

Ralnor’s lips curled into a light smile as he moved his king into a specific space. Clara took a pawn with her queen. With this move however, Ralnor slipped his knight into place. “Check…” He watched Clara scan the board. Ralnor placed all his pieces perfectly. And she was so close to winning to. How’d she miss that? “… and mate.”

“Wow. You beat me.”

“Well, I should after years of practice. Not a child anymore now.”

“And without mothers help too. I’m sure Zelda would be proud.”

“Well, she did pay a lot for those lessons.” Ralnor shook Clara’s hand in good sportsmanship. “Good game Clara.”

“Good game Ralnor. I do hope we can do this again.”

Ralnor carefully put his chest board away, with all the pieces placed in cushioning. “I do as well. With all the recent events in the past few years, it has been difficult to find some quiet time for one’s self.”

His daughter cried out to him, wanting attention. Going over to her crib, Ralnor picked Ukuri and rocked her back and forth in his arms against his shoulder. “Really though, it was good to see you again Clara. I should really feed her and get her to bed. Not too awake myself either.”

“I understand. I’m sure that you have a private school in mind, but I’d be honoured to teach Ukuri when she’s old enough to start taking school. That is, if you’d ever think of enlisting your children into public schooling.”

“That’s something my wife and I would have to discuss; however, I will consider it as an option Clara. Do have a goodnight getting home. Would you like an armed escort?”

“Oh, please, that’s not needed. I should be fine getting home on my own, thank you.” Clara gave Ralnor a soft hug, surprising the prince. “Thank you for sharing the evening with me.”

“It’s no problem at all. Good day now Clara.”

The young women waved goodbye and took her time getting home. The sun set slowly onto the country of Hyrule. The reconstruction of castle town had been slow, but most of that was due to the city expansion plan. Building the area much larger than before, as well as having defences around the city and castle for greater protection. Two times the city was battered by destruction in the last few decades, so architects under the orders of the King and Queen wanted to make sure that the city could be organized effectively for a large population under evacuation quickly.

Her new house was right next to what would become a moat canal. The area had to have its construction completed before filling it with water that connected from the river. Going through her bag, she looked for her key. Every house on the block needed a key. For some reason, King Ganondorf was obsessed with the rule all new houses needed keys. “Stupid little silver- where are- there we go.”

Opening the door, she took a deep breath. Her house was oddly cool walking in. Setting her bag down, she took a sharp right into her kitchen. It was a small house, with narrow 90-degree angles. Grabbing her cupboard door, Clara heard her cat bounce up the stairs as she looked inside decide what she’d have one her late-night sandwich. The creaking of her steps gave it away, as well as a light purr.

Grabbing the kitty kibble, she poured some out for her cat to eat. Clara was ready for bed, so after eating her sandwich, she threw her clothing off and walked up the steps. More 90-degree turns up tight corners, she took a direct left at the steps, entering her bedroom. At least she was able to afford a nice big bed. Part of her wondered why she got a queen-sized bed if she never had anyone with her in it.

Crawling into bed, Clara relaxed, feeling the heavy blanket over her body. Her head turned slightly to hear her door creaking open. From this angle on her bed, she couldn’t see her cat come in. Closing her eyes, she tried to get comfortable. That was when she felt some weight beside her, pressing into the sheets. “Molly?”

Turning her head towards where the weight was, she saw only her closet. It was dark, but when she looked down, Clara thought she saw the imprint of a hand on her sheet. That was when she felt a shift at the edge of her bed. And it was subtle, but as she turned her head, she saw the blanket slightly move, a shape getting closer to her. Her brain was firing like crazy. Clara couldn’t help it, but a reaction of her unconscious curiosity got the better of her, and her eyes looked down at under her blanket.

In front of her was a man in thick, black latex all around his body, bar a tiny zipper keeping the mouth closed. She could only see the man’s eyes looking into hers. They were full of ill intent. Psychopathy. As she let out a scream, the figure reached out with a black hand covered in blood for her neck. He pinned her naked stomach with his knee as he started to choke her.

Carla felt her oxygen being choked out as the latex man choked the life from her. Reaching for a night candle, she smashed the candle stick against his head. The man let go of her temporally, allowing Clara to get up. Before she could get off the bed fully, she felt her back spike in pain with the sound of a sickening slice across her back. Clara gasped as she fell to the floor. Getting out the door, she looked across the hall to the bathroom, where she found her cat Molly, gutted and left smashed in the door.

“No. Please, take what ever valuables I have. Please don’t kill me!”

She turned to see the man crawling towards her, like a beast on all his hands and feet. His head never bobbed, entirely focused on her struggle. He was a gimp, his body tight and black as death. Raising the sickle in his right hand, Clara couldn’t stop him from stabbing into her leg. With a twist of his wrist, the maniac curved the sickle, and cut Clara’s right leg completely off from the kneecap. She whimpered, trying to scream when he crawled on top of her, holding his bloody hand over her mouth. His other hand trailed her naked body, the cold against her skin. Clara felt terror like nothing she ever felt in her life until now. She whimpered loudly when she felt a tongue trail the back of her neck. The man got a taste of fear, and was satisfied. Her terror was replaced by simple, effective, and life ending pain when the maniac took his sickle, and from between her legs, cleaved upwards on her body.

It was a slow end as Clara couldn’t even scream, overcome by shock and agony. She barely felt her body dragged to her window, the killer still crouching low as he dragged her mangled body. As her insides fell out, her mouth barely made an audible help, seeking sanctuary with her friends.

~

A man was walking in the cold morning of castle town. He had a morning routine every day. Run around the full area of the town square, go through the alleys, down to the empty moat, up the tall stair way, then back to his house. As he ran through the moat, he felt something drop on his head. It wasn’t supposed to rain was it? Looking up, he saw a nightmare come to life. Crows gathered around the body of a mutilated woman hanging from her bedroom window by her intestines. He screamed with absolute terror; his legs frozen with fear by the sight.

~

Ralnor received a knock at the door from a guard. He was preparing Ukuri for breakfast when he was interrupted by loud knocks. Grumpy he was interrupted, he opened his door in a huff and a cold face. “I’m very busy right now, so what-”

Ralnor stopped when he saw how pale the soldier was. “S-s-sir. I’m so, so sorry.”

The prince felt an awful feeling in his gut. “What is it soldier?”

“There was an incident down in the town. That friend of yours that was here yesterday. She’s…” The soldier could barely get her sentence out. Ralnor already calculated the dreaded words that would come next from the reaction of the women in front of him, but he still wished she didn’t speak them. “She’s dead my prince.”

Ralnor clenched his fist. Why? Why did this happen? “Get one of my sisters to look after my daughter. And give me Clara’s address.”

“Sir. I don’t think you want to see her…”

Ralnor gripped the soldier by the collar, glaring deep into their eyes. “I didn’t hesitate in giving my order. Now you shouldn’t hesitate in carrying it out.”

The soldier gulped, but the fear in her eyes didn’t waver. “… Very well. Prepare yourself Prince Ralnor…”

Ralnor received the address and quickly made his way down. Townsfolk surrounded the house, with local guards keeping people out. There were a few people crying from the agony of the news, and one investigator came out, puking into a bush. The prince hopped of his horse and showed his royal identification. “Let me through. I won’t ask twice.”

The investigators looked at each other, wondering if he had the authority to propose such orders, but there were no arguments. “We’re all taking a break. We moved the body from the window onto the bed, but warning my prince… it’s graphic in there.”

Ralnor slowly made his way in. Blood was smeared on the door way and trailing down the walls. The prince’s eyes followed the first blood trail to the kitchen. The freezer, kept cold by Zora ice, had bloody hands prints all over it. Opening the door, Ralnor flinched at the sight of a poor beaten in cat with a human heart stuffed in its mouth. Whoever did this wanted to take his time, send a message. Be some sort of sick artist. The cat’s wounds were horrific. It most likely suffered for a while, which meant the killer had time to kill it before Clara arrived home, and to do this with her heart, he had the time to be creative after her death.

Closing the fridge, Ralnor turned to go up to the steps. Making the first turn right, his mind raced seeing Clara’s leg against the wall. Pausing, Ralnor turned right again to the upper hall. His eyes rested on the massive pool of blood, mixed with other bodily fluids.  The carpet was stained, a darkness that would have to be utterly ripped from the foundation. Choosing to go right, he saw fur and blood smearing against the bathroom door. That must have been the point of origin of the cat’s death. Walking to the bathroom, Ralnor took note how clean it was compared to the rest of the house, save a little pile near the door. Looking at the toilet, he noticed some blood stains on the toilet seat. Taking a gander inside the toilet, there was wet blood. Did the killer wash his hands inside the toilet bowl?

As Ralnor walked out and opened the bedroom door, his analysis of the situation was forgotten immediately. He didn’t see the corpse of a random stranger, or even someone who worked for his family. He saw his friend. Clara laid on the bed, her body split open down the middle down up to just above her belly button. Her left breast had been cut open, where her heart was removed. The guts that had fallen out were stabbed into the wall in shape of a symbol Ralnor couldn’t make out. Her intestines were removed from her body by the investigators, but Ralnor could tell she was hung by them. The look in her eyes and face, the fear, shook Ralnor to his core. She died terrified.

Ralnor bit his lips in fury. Who would do this to her? Why would anyone do this? They killed her like a monster. She didn’t deserve this fate. Clara was a teacher; she never would have hurt anyone. By the gods, why did this happen under his watch? He should have insisted that she had a guard escort her. No. The killer was waiting inside. Her fate was sealed with or without Ralnor’s assistance. His teeth broke the skin of his lips, and blood dripped. Wiping his mouth, Ralnor shook subtly. After being powerless as a child to stop Kanisa from being kidnapped, after being a puppet to Vul’kar, letting that demon posses his body, and being so sick of the hidden depravity that made Hyrule stink, the Prince had enough. His friend’s death would not stand.

“Clara. I’m so sorry this happened to you. But I swear to you, I will look for who did this. I will find them no matter where they have hidden. I will make them suffer more than you ever did. And then I will kill them.”

_________________________________________

Next Ch. 

[paigenotblank]

Accidentally Ours (6/7)

Pairing: Tenth Doctor x Rose Tyler

Rating: Teen

Written for a prompt for Ten x Rose kid fic/family fic where they adopt kids left orphans that they meet on their travels / and also a prompt for Ten x Rose with a mix of adopted and biological kids (@tinyconfusion​). Tagging @doctorroseprompts​ and @timepetalscollective​ which I think both had those prompts. Also, this is the chapter that warrants the emotional hurt/comfort tag, which fits into the March theme at doctorroseprompts as well.

Trope: Accidental Baby Acquisition

Warnings: Kid Fic/ Baby Fic/ Pregnancy Fic

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

AO3 / TS

Rose shifted in bed and sat up against the headboard. Her eyes drooped and her body was screaming at her to rest, but when the Doctor placed their tiny newborn daughter into her arms she fought against the descending fog.

Rose placed a light kiss against the peach fuzz on the baby’s head and let the scent of new life flow through her.

She looked up at the Doctor who was fighting off his own tears.

“She’s perfect.” Rose ran her thumb along the baby’s cheek. “I feel like I’ve known her for ages.”

He dropped to his knees beside the bed and skimmed his fingers over his daughter’s nose. “That’s the Gallifreyan bond. We’ll be able to sense what she needs as she grows, and later we’ll always be able to feel her just on the edges of our minds. It might be a little weaker for you since you’re mostly human, or it might be stronger since you also have a bond with the TARDIS and that could boost it. Can’t tell until we do some tests.”

Rose sighed and leaned her head on the Doctor’s shoulder. “Mmm. Tests can wait for later.”

“Of course, love. You should get some rest while you can.”

The Doctor guided Rose back against her pillows and reached for the baby. Just before he could lift her from Rose’s arms, the room shook.

Rose pushed herself up holding their newest daughter protectively to her chest. “Wha’ was that?”

The Doctor’s eyes were wide with panic. “I don’t know. Stay here. Girls! Girls come here!”

He rushed from the room as Melody and Clara ran in. “Mummy! What was that?” The girls stopped short in front of the bed, both wide-eyed and staring at the baby.

Clara tilted her head. “Is that our new little sister?”

Rose smiled. “Yeah.” Another jolt hit the TARDIS and the girls stifled their shrieks. “Come up here and stay with me until Daddy gets back.”

Clara and Melody scrambled onto the bed. Clara cuddled into Rose’s side, but Melody paused to study the newest family member.

Rose’s gaze darted from Melody face to her infant daughter’s and confusion began to color her features.

The Doctor ran into the room panting and pale. His frantic eyes sought out his wife’s. “Rose, it’s-” He noticed as Melody reached out a hand to the baby. “Don’t touch the baby!”

Melody’s mouth fell open and her hand hovered in the air for a moment before she snatched it back. “I’m sorry.” She looked from her father to her mother and back again, before bursting into tears.

Rose shifted the baby in her arms so that she could run her hand through Melody’s hair without worrying about the two touching. “Oh, Mel, it’s not your fault, it’s just-” She turned her glance to the Doctor who swallowed hard. “Tell me it’s not possible.”

Another crash rattled the TARDIS.

“Gworatimians.” He sagged against the doorframe and pinched the bridge of his nose. “A swarm.”

“Doctor…” Rose shook her head. “No, it can’t be, please…”

The anguish in his eyes silenced her. He slowly made his way to the bed, to everything that he held dear, to his family. Running his eyes over each of them, he stopped at Melody and reached out to her. “Come here, sweetheart. I’m sorry I yelled.”

She sniffed and threw herself into her father’s arms. He embraced her tightly and rocked her back and forth. Pulling back, he studied her face.

Rose’s voice broke as she asked, “How could we not have known? All this time...”

The Doctor put Melody down and kneeled in front of her. “Can I check something?” He brushed his fingers over the side of her face. “I need to go in your mind. Is that okay?”

The little girl bit her lip so as not to cry and nodded.

The Doctor rested his fingers on her temple and slipped into her mind. His closed eyes were moving rapidly beneath the lids. When he was done, he stood up and kissed her on the forehead.

Melody looked up at him with rounded eyes. “Did...did I do something wrong?”

He picked her up in his arms. “No. You did absolutely nothing wrong. It was me.” He glanced at Rose. “She’s got shielding up around her mind that’s blocking her from reaching out to us telepathically. So we wouldn’t realize.”

Rose pressed a fist to her mouth to muffle her sob.

“I’ll fix it when I get back.”

“Back?”

“I need to…I need to find our younger selves and bring them-”

Rose couldn’t contain her gasp. “You can’t.”

“Rose, I…” His eyes darted to Melody. “If I don’t...the paradox...we won’t have Melody, our Melody. And think about how different our lives would be without her. I might never have taken the chance on us...or we might have gone on more dangerous adventures and...I could have lost you well before your time. Clara, Melody…” He ruffled his hair. “We might not have either...Rose our whole family-”

Her face blanched. “How do they even know about the baby? The swarm I mean. We’ve have Mels for years and they’ve never come after her before. Was it because you brought her out of her time stream all those years ago? Did that protect her?”

The Doctor took his sonic out and ran it over both versions of his daughter. He studied the results. “Baby Melody is steeped in artron and huon particles.” He flicked the sonic over her again. “How? Our Melody-

“They’re both ours.”

“Older Mels is in the normal range. But the baby, I haven’t seen readings like this since…” His jaw dropped. “Bad Wolf. She’s inherited...but how? It’s impossible!”

“What does that mean?”

“She’s part Time Lord, part Bad Wolf. She’s not even registering as human at all. And the very act of being born has sparked all sorts of chemical reactions in her body, activating particles that should be static, like they are in you. She’s transmitting enough energy to call every Gworatimian in a million million light years. But older Melody is fine. Completely normal for a half human-half Time Lord. I don’t understand. Maybe it lessens as time goes by?”

“Isn’t there something we can do? Anything? What if we try to outrun them?”

The Doctor’s freckles stood stark against his cheeks. “Rose...”

Rose rubbed at the tears that wouldn't stop. “No, I’m sorry. If there was a way to keep her and protect our family, you’d have found it. But, Doctor, erm, how are you going to...we don't have a vortex manipulator.”

The room shuddered.

“Jack. We’ll stop by Torchwood and pick up Jack. I want him to stay with you and the girls while I...while I’m gone.”

The Doctor pressed a kiss to his infant daughter’s forehead and then did the same to her mother. “I’ll be right back.”

“What? Right now? You’re gonna go right now?”

“I…” He took a deep breath and nodded.

“But I thought we could have a little more time with her. Please. She hasn't even nursed.”

The TARDIS jerked with another impact.

“We don’t have much time. I don’t know how much damage the swarm has already done, but-”

“The shields are up. I thought...Ghengis Kahn and his hordes couldn’t get through the doors. Aren’t we safe as long as we’re in here?”

The Doctor ran a hand down his face and when he reopened his eyes he looked defeated.  “Ghengis Kahn was a primitive ape with weapons from the 13th century, of course, he couldn’t get in. These are Gworatimians. They are a thousand times more technologically advanced. When they figure out a way, and they will, to break through the shielding, the TARDIS doors may as well be made of wood.”

Rose took an unsteady breath. “Be careful, yeah?”

The Doctor pressed a hard, fast kiss to Rose’s lips. “I will. You’ll have a little bit of time with her. I’m going to try and lose them before I land at the Hub. We can’t out run them for good, but hopefully it’ll be long enough to keep you safe while I deliver baby Mels to our younger selves.”

“Okay.”

He took one last look at his family before leaving the room.

--

The Doctor shifted baby Melody in his arms as he hastily put on his coat and tie. He sat with her on the jump seat and prepared himself to enter her mind. After taking several deep breaths, he lifted his fingers to her temple. He drank in the innocent love she had for him, her father, for a few moments. The paternal bond flooded his mind and he thought about how he could get lost in such a feeling forever. He chastised himself and began erected the barriers around the part of her mind that controlled her telepathy. He voluntarily hid his daughter from him for years to come, taking strength in the knowledge that it would also protect her future. Thought it pained him to feel it go quiet, reminding him so much of losing the Time Lords after the war, he built walls around the part of her mind that controlled her telepathy and dampened the parental bond until it was unnoticeable.

When he was done, and with tears falling down his cheeks, he laid a hand on the closest strut. <i>I need your help, Old Girl. Or well, I guess I had your help. I know it had to be your doing having her tests come up as Skalish. And...thank you. I know you probably didn’t like it, but thank you for protecting her.</i>

The timeship hummed forlornly in the back of his mind.

The Doctor programmed the coordinates into the vortex manipulator.

“Doctor.”

His head snapped up at the sound of his wife’s voice. “Rose, what are you doing out of bed?”

She pushed off the wall and shuffled into the console room. Jack hovered behind her holding onto each of the girls’ hands.

The Doctor made his way over to them.

Rose snaked her hand around the back of his head and drew him down. She scratched her nails through the short hair at his nape and kissed him. <i>I love you.</i> She pulled back and rested her forehead against his. “So much.”

“Rose Tyler...”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Rose-”

“It’s <i>not</i> your fault.”

She leaned back and let him see the conviction in her eyes. He tried to give her a small smile.

Rose pressed a kiss to her daughter’s head and glanced up in shock. “I…I can’t feel her.”

The Doctor wiped the tears from Rose’s cheek. “Yeah. I’ve already shielded her.”

Rose closed her eyes and tried to steady herself.

“I...Rose, we’ve got to go.”

She took one last look at her infant daughter. “Goodbye, darling. I’ll...I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

The Doctor held Melody tightly to his chest, and pressed the button that would take him away from his family and bring him to the moment it all began.

With a sob, Rose dropped to her knees and grasped Melody to her. “I love you, sweetheart. Always know, I love you so much.”

“I know, Mummy.”

Rose drew Clara into the embrace and clung to her family.

--

As they arrived on Trillium Seven, the Doctor was left astounded by a soft golden glow rippling just under Melody’s skin. He whipped out the sonic and ran it over her.

Her artron and huon levels were at an absolutely normal range for a Time Lord, or part Time Lord. <i>The jump...the jump through the vortex...without a capsule. It must’ve siphoned off the excess energy that was attracting the Gworatimians.</i> She was safe, completely safe. His shoulders sagged in relief and for a split second he considered running with her back to the Hub where the TARDIS was parked. He think of a way to contain the paradox. <i>What good is being bloody brilliant if I can’t-</i>

A voice squawked behind him, “What?”

<i>Too late.</i>

He spun around to face his past self and Rose. When the younger Doctor opened his mouth again, the Doctor raised his hand to stop him. “I don't have much time. I’m from the future, obviously, but I can't tell you how far.” He watched his counterpart swallow and nod. “Aaaand, well, I can't tell you much more than that, but Doctor, Rose, you need to watch over and protect,” the words nearly got stuck in his throat, “ this precious cargo until she can be reunited with her parents.”

He pocketed the sonic and watched Rose’s eyes dart to the infant in his arms. She raised surprised eyes back to him. Her gaze raked over him and he tried to put on a brave face for his clever future spouse. The longer she looked at him, the more concerned she became. He tried for a bright grin.

The other Doctor provided a needed distraction. “What? Why? Even for us this is highly irr-”

“Please.” He hoped his desperation wasn’t obvious. His hearts were breaking and he didn’t want to have to fight to convince others to raise his daughter, even if those others were himself and Rose. He ran through his memories of this moment from the first time he’d lived it. “This little girl is so very important and she’s being hunted by a swarm of Gworatimians.”

His younger self gasped. “But they-”

He looked down at his newborn daughter. “I’m sorry.” He met the eyes of his future self. “The best option seemed to be taking her out of her timestream to hide her. Well, that and I remembered this happening back when I was you. Circular paradox and all that.”

The older Doctor closed his eyes. It was so much worse than simply remembering it happening before. If it weren’t for Melody arriving in their life when she did… The one thing in his long lives that was good and pure, that he would never want re-written, was this second chance at a family that he’d been given - quite literally. Right now. By himself. He could never do anything to endanger that. Would do anything to protect them, even if that meant ripping his hearts in half and handing over his infant daughter to others. His only solace was knowing that soon, they would love her as fiercely as he did. She would have a great life, one that he’d be there for in its entirety, and he’d see her again as soon as he returned home. The thought of Melody’s smiling face gave him strength. His beautiful, smart, precious girl. “Anyway…”

He pushed the sleeping infant into Rose’s arms and adjusted the coordinates on the vortex manipulator strapped to his wrist.

The younger Doctor shook his head and called out to his successor. “Wait! How long...?”

The older steeled himself before glancing back at them. His gaze caught his sleeping daughter’s peaceful face and his hearts stuttered in his chest. He noticed Rose watching a gave her a big grin and a jaunty wink. “Why? Don't think you’re up for a spot of babysitting?”

“Doctor...”

He ran his hands over his face. “I know that what you’re asking is if I’ll be back in five minutes’ time.”

The younger Doctor’s eyes narrowed. “It’s a fair question. We do have access to a time machine, though you’d never know it with that...that thing around your wrist. You could easily deal with the swarm and be back in seconds.”

“You think I don’t know that!” He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. He turned his gaze on his younger self. “Rose, my Rose, is with...” His eyes briefly lingered on the younger Rose with the baby in her arms. “...the others in the TARDIS. They’re safe there while I deliver this little one to you. You know that the TARDIS doesn’t always take us where we want to go, and for reasons I cannot tell you, because it is too important to your future and my past, this is one of those times. So to answer your question, you’ll have to watch her a little longer than five minutes though I can’t tell you exactly how much longer. I’m sorry. But you’ll understand when you’re me.” <i>You’ll hate it, but at least you’ll understand.</i>

The younger Doctor let out the breath he was holding and nodded.

When Rose’s head dropped to look at the infant in her arms, the older Doctor returned to his family.

After arriving back in the right timestream, he plopped down on the jumpseat. He ripped the vortex manipulator from his wrist and threw it onto the console. Running his hands through his hair, he tried to get his emotions under control. It wouldn’t do to upset Rose or the girls. He heard footsteps over his ragged breathing and looked up to see Jack walk into the room. He quickly wiped away his tears and jumped up with a manic grin for his old friend.

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he walked toward the Doctor and picked up his vortex manipulator. “You okay?”

“Yup. Always okay, me.”

Jack didn't think the Doctor would accept a hug, so he clapped him on the back. “I am sorry.”

The Doctor bristled. “What’s to be sorry about? I still have my family, and-”

Jack sighed. “I know how much you and Rose were looking forward to expanding said family.”

“But don’t you see? We don’t have to worry about Mel being taken from us. She’s not lost. We’ve had her for her entire life. And we’ll get to keep her for the rest of it. So we may not have another member, but we still have each other. And if...in the future…”

“No, that’s good. It’s a great way of looking at things. Go on back to your family. They need you.”

The Doctor watched the handsome American make his way to the exit.

“Goodbye, Jack. And thanks. Oh, erm, also…”

Jack paused at the door and lifted a brow. “Yeah?”

“If we ever do have another child, I’ll need to borrow the vortex manipulator again.”

“Uh, sure. But do you really want to put yourselves through all this again?”

“A quick jaunt through the vortex drains off the excess arton and huon particles. We won’t have to worry about this again.”

Jack’s eyes brightened along with a megawatt grin. “Doc, that’s…” His smile fell with the realization of how much harder it must have been to give up baby Melody after discovering that. “...great. Anytime you need it, it’s yours.”

The Doctor’s voice quivered with emotion, “Thanks.”

Jack slipped quietly out the door and the Doctor immediately took the TARDIS into the vortex.

--

“Daddy, you’re back!”

Melody jumped off the bed and leapt into the Doctor’s arms. He spun her around eliciting a giggle and kissed her temple. He settled onto the edge of the bed and kissed Clara and Rose, trying not to focus on the red-rimmed eyes of his wife.

“Mel, remember earlier when I went into your mind? Well, I need to fix something. Is that okay?”

Melody bit her lip. “Is something’s wrong with my brain?”

“No, darling, not at all. But I did something to you when you were a baby that needs fixing now. Do you trust me?”

The little girl nodded.

The Doctor swept Melody’s dark blonde curls back and tucked them behind her ears. Gently bringing his fingers to her temple, he eased into her mind. He tried not to lose himself in the innocent love she projected and deftly dismantled the walls he’d just built for the infant Melody.

It was good that he was already sitting, because at her first tentative telepathic touch he felt all the muscles in his body go weak. His daughter, her love and affection and the space she took up in his mind, he let all it wash through him.

He heard Rose gasp and choke back a sob that ended in a joyous laugh. “Oh, Melody.”

“Mummy? Daddy? I...I can feel you in my head.”

“Yes, darling. We’re...you’re half-Time Lord. And Time Lords are telepathic. So what you’re feeling is the bond that you have with me and Mummy.”

“But I thought I was Skalish?”

“I thought so too, but it turns out that you’re not. You’re half-human, like Mummy, and half-Time Lord, like me. You were the baby that Mummy had earlier.”

Clara who had been watching intently asked, “Am I half-human and half-Time Lord too?”

Rose snuggled her closer. “No, sweetie, you’re still Aessithian. Our little Aessithian princess.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“How can I be the baby? I’m eight.”

“You remember from our lessons when I explained about time? How time is wibbly wobbly?”

“A big ball of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey stuff. Yeah?”

“Yes, exactly.” The Doctor raised his hand and made a fist. “Well, I had to bring you back after you were born…” He touched his pointer finger to a place on one side of his fist. “...to be raised by me and Mummy eight years ago…” And moved the finger to the other side of his fist. “...so that we could fall in love, and start a family, and so that we could have you forever.”

Melody scrunched her forehead in thought. “And because that’s what happened for all of us already?”

“Yes. Molto bene! It’s a circular paradox, but now it’s complete and we don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

Mel glanced at Clara. “Does this mean we’re not getting a little sister?”

Rose shook her head. “No, sweetheart, I’m sorry. Daddy and I were given a gift, not the one we were expecting, but...but that means no little sister for you and Clara.”

“Oh.” Melody chewed on her lip before her eyes brightened. “Can we get a puppy then?”

The Doctor laughed and hugged his daughter closer. “Anything for my girls.”

Clara clapped. “Yay! A puppy!”

“Doctor!”

[chingu-bohoja]

Halloween Mission

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The alarm clock rang to signal the start of another long day for the human known as Chingu Bohoja. Shutting off the alarm, he sat up and stretched his arms in the air, giving himself a moment for his body to adjust to waking up. 'Do I have to get up today?' he thought as he yawned and slowly shifted to get off the bed. Normally, the first thing he would do is go to the shower to get cleaned up for the day, but today was going to be different.

When Chingu looked up to his new computer, something was flashing on the screen. Rubbing his eyes, he got off the bed and moved to the chair in front of the computer. Chingu looked at what was flashing, which was an alert for him. A message, from Clara. What did she want now? Shrugging his shoulders he opened up the message from Clara.

Chingu blinked. A mission? From Clara? Why did she need all that candy? Couldn't she make candy herself? Anyway, it was better than doing nothing. After responding to the post, Chingu got up and went into his personal bathroom to get cleaned up. Afterwards, Chingu went to put on his normal attire, but then realized that Clara had sent him the attire he'd have to wear. He peeked out of the door to see that there was a box for him just outside his door. Quickly, he opened the door just enough to slide the box into his room and close the door back.

Chingu picked up the box and set it on the bed. It had some weight, but was still light enough. 'I hope it's not some kind of princess costume...' he thought as he opened the box up. Luckily, it was not. It was a simple werewolf costume. Chingu pulled the costume out and laid it out on the bed. "Well, can't complain about this," he spoke out loud to himself.

First, he put on a plain black shirt followed by plain black pants. Then, on went the costume, the lower half first, followed by the upper half, the shoes, and finally the head. The costume did have some heft to it, so Chingu hoped he didn't have to wear this for awhile.  With everything set, Chingu headed off to his destination. **********

Chingu would head out to a small little town not too far from headquarters. The street he was currently on was bustling with kids and their parents going from house to house getting free candy to enjoy. It looked like everyone was having a good time. “Do I seriously have to do this?” Chingu thought. He was a bit old for trick or treating, and it was going to be plain as day obvious. He sighed and tried to blend in with a group of kids kind of closer to his height. It did net him a handful of candy without notice. This was going to be slow and tedious. However, an opportunity happened to spark.

Over on the side, a young child was sitting on the ground crying. Walking over, Chingu had to inquire what was the problem. “Little girl,” Chingu said, “Why are you crying?”

The young girl wearing a princess costume looked up at Chingu. She looked frightened at first. “It's ok, I'm not here to hurt you,” Chingu assured. The little girl wiped her eyes, “There were... some big... scary people. They... were big... like you...” she spoke, trying to hold back tears.

“Well, I'm not like those people,” Chingu replied, “Do you know which way they went or where they might be?”

“They talked about a warehouse... It's past the park.” the girl said, wiping her eyes once more.

“Ok, I will find these people. Taking candy from kids is not right at all. Here, you can have what I got tonight.” Chingu dumped the candy that was in his bag into the girl's empty bag.

The little girl's eyes lit up, and her tears were no more. “Thank you sir!” She ran off back to a group of kids. Chingu watched her head off, then he would move out himself, towards the warehouse that the girl mentioned. **********

It took Chingu about an hour to reach the warehouse. By now it was getting late and most of the trick or treaters were more than likely back home sorting out their treats. Chingu knew approaching the warehouse from the front was going to be a bad idea, so he hid in a bush first to ditch the costume he was not going to need anymore. Thankfully he did remember to bring his gaunlets with him, which he put in the bag he brought with him to collect candy. He slipped on the gaunlets, and slowly approached the warehouse. Once he was at the wall signifying the outer perimeter of the premises, Chingu quietly slid along the wall until he was at a side entrance. Luckily, there was a crack in the wall, and Chingu used this to peek into the area to see if it was all clear. He saw one person, and their back was turned at the moment. Chingu quickly jumped up and clutched the top of the wall, which he climbed over, then jumped down behind a dumpster. The thud of his boots hitting the ground made the guard turn around.

“Who's there? Identify yourself!” a male's voice echoed. The guard turned around and pulled out a flashlight, pointing it towards the dumpster Chingu was behind. “I know you're there, now come out!” Chingu didn't move at all. His heart raced as Chingu began to hear footsteps coming towards the dumpster. He peeked out just enough to see which way the guard was coming. As the guard approached, Chingu moved around quietly. The guard made a quick move and pointed the flashlight behind the dumpster...

“Ah-ha!” the male exclaimed, but then looked dumbfounded. Nothing was there. “Hey... what's going on here? Are you playing a trick on me you little pun-” the guard's question was cut short as he felt a strike to the back of his head, and the lights going out seconds later.

Chingu used the side entrance to enter the warehouse. It was a small warehouse, only one room, and only a couple items in this room. There was a crate, a table, and sitting in three chairs were three gentlemen, which all turned around when Chingu had entered.

“What are you doing here little punk?” one of the men spoke up, “You're in the wrong yard!”

“Oh, I'm sure I'm in the right place now. You must be the ones taking candy from those kids earlier tonight,” Chingu responded.

“And so what if we are? What are YOU going to do about it? There's three of us, and one of you! You think you can take on ALL of us?” a second member spoke.

“You are not leaving here alive at all! You just dug your grave kid!” the third spoke and began charging at Chingu.

At first, Chingu's nerves kicked in, nervousness taking control for a moment. However, he realized that at the most, these people might just have knives. Not to mention this was the best opportunity to test out his ice gems in his gauntlets. Taking a fighting stance, the first guard lunged at him and Chingu easily blocked the strike, but took a hit to the side from the second. The third swung for Chingu's head, but he would miss due to Chingu ducking, but a strike to his back would connect from a strike from the first. The second guard grabbed Chingu and threw him across the room. At first, this wasn't looking good at all, but Chingu had to fight back. He couldn't let them surround him, or Chingu was going to take more punishment. He need to move around more. The second guard came in for another attack, and this time, Chingu would slip the attack and connect with a body shot. The first guard tried to kick Chingu in the head, but Chingu not only ducked the kick, but swept the grounded foot of the guard, making him fall flat on his back. The last guard swung a first at Chingu, who at first glance looked like he could get his hands up in time, but his gauntlets created an ice shield that covered the area that would have been hit. The guard punched the ice and groaned in pain, clutching the hand, and while he was stunned, Chingu spun and connected with a spinning heel kick, not only knocking the guard back, but knocking him out.

The other two guards looked in disbelief, “What did he just do!?!” the first guard exclaimed, looking at his partner.

“I have no clue, but that's not normal at all! We need to get help, now!” The two guards ran out the front door. This left Chingu by himself with the crate. He peeked in and saw that it was filled with candy! There had to be like 30 pounds of it, plus the weight of the crate. He need to get this out of here, and fast before he was surrounded. Thinking for a moment, he began to push the crate towards the side entrance, but while it was moving, it was slow. He would certainly get caught, but then, an idea struck.

Using his ice gauntlets, Chingu made a piece of ice that was thick enough to hold the crate, but just slightly bigger than the crate. Using what strength he could muster, Chingu lifted the box onto the ice block, then pushed the crate with the block. It slid across the room and eventually out the side door. He then pushed the block around to the front, where about 10 guards went in through the front door to see if they could trap the human in the warehouse, but Chingu had luckily moved quick enough to get out of the warehouse. Chingu continued to push the block and crate out the front of the yard. **********

About two and a half hours later, Chingu was back at HQ. The ice block had melted when Chingu reached the front doors of headquarters. He pushed the crate into the door, past the receptionist, past the break room, and down the hall towards Clara's room. The other members gave him some strange looks along the way, but they didn't bother at all. When Chingu finally reached Clara's room, he knocked on her door.

“Come in~!” Clara beamed from inside the room.

“Not happening with what I got Clara,” Chingu panted heavily.

Clara opened the door, looking confused at Chingu, but then her eyes opened wide. “Is... that all... for me~!?!”

“Yes, now could you please tell me why you sent me on this mission?” Chingu asked, looking at the genie.

“Um... isn't this what human's do around this time?” Clara asked, looking up in thought.

“Kids go trick or treating Clata, not big people like me. Small humans.”

Still looking up in thought, Clara magically shrunk herself down a bit to look like a small child. “You mean like this?” Clara teased, sticking her tongue out.

“Yes, like that. Now where do you want this? This sucker is heavy... no pun intended.” Chingu sighed heavily again. Clara looked at the crate, thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers to make her portable hole appear right under the box and make it drop into her stash of candy.

“Seriously!?! Where does that thing go? Is it like an portable world or something?”

“Maybe, I don't know. It just a room filled with all my sweets!” Clara beamed. Chingu hung his head in defeat. “I'm going to bed Clara, I'm exhausted.”

“Sweet dreams sleepy head~!” Clara said happily as she watched Chingu go down the hall back to his room where he would crash into his bed.

[literate-passion]

Letter 9A

My darling L,

I know that our correspondence has been spotty in the last few months. Work has required more focus. Therefore, forcing me to spend more time finding comfort where I can. Lately, it has been in various forms of self-medicating, or pursuing whatever distractions can make themselves available to help my mind and body wind down from all of the stress. I have never stopped thinking about you. And I have wanted to contact you, but I had feared that our schedules wouldn't sync up. Damn this 7 hour time difference.

I'm writing you today, because I heard that you passed away. I've spent the better part of most of the day, just staring at the text message that told me. Just trying to contemplate it all. Trying to understand how something so permanent could happen to someone so strong. So full of life. And so fucking tough. I don't get it, and I probably never will. I just know that it has raised a mixed feeling that I'm not entirely ready to resolve. Part of me, L, just feels numb. Absolutely fucking numb. Another part of me wants to be sad. Wants to cry. Wants to mourn.  And there's another part that just wants to go out, drink myself into oblivion, and make a mistake.

Clearly, there's been a large gulf in my life. I haven't really felt inclined toward writing. I haven't given a damn about photographing. Nothing has really fit, since I was summoned back to this prison. And now, my biggest support is gone. My rock is gone. My muse. All of it. Just poof. To say that I have been overcome with a weakness, would be a gross underestimation of how much I love you.

It is the next day now. I went out last night. To the little bistro adjacent to my flat. I had a meager dinner. Then proceeded to drink myself absurd on whisky and Coke. It only seemed fitting to drink your drink of choice. They didn't have the bourbon you liked. Thus, I had to made due with what they had. It was good. It was strong. It was catharsis. But not in the way I was expecting. I saw Clara again. She eventually joined me, to keep an eye on me. Because I was obviously in a bad way. She was at the bistro alone. Ramon was working. She sat down next to me, and I told her about why I was in such a grotesque state. Upon me finishing catching her up, she got up and went to the bar. She got herself a big glass of wine. And she got me another drink. She got something a bit more festive. She got me rum. She felt that I had mourned enough into the drinks I had before. She wanted me to celebrate you. Your life. And who you were to me.  

Clara, God love her, just sat there against me. Listening to me drone on about you. About our history. About our adventures. About how you were the single most inspiring woman I had ever known. How you were fiercely independent. But you were completely devoted to me, and to us. How you had fought adamantly against feeling like I possessed or owned you, but never failed to tell anyone who listened, that you belonged to me. You were a wonderfully, beautifully, constructed design of conflict. You would relish in the dissonance and the confusion. And in it, you forged this amazing identity. Clara rested her head on my shoulder, and wrapped her arms around me. And she held me tightly. As I would simultaneously cry and laugh about you. Or speak with such fiery passion. Or lust. Or frankness. My guard was down, and I didn't hold anything back. And I felt safe with Clara. She's taken care of me before.

We talked about the last time I saw you. When you had that little party. And when you stepped outside for fresh air, you made sure to bring me with you. And how you wrapped my arms around you, as you leaned against the railing, kissing me in between taking hits off your clove cigarette. Or turning around and pressing your ass into me, and bringing my hands up to your breasts, as I kissed your neck. How, after we thought everyone had left, and we started to play with each other; we were interrupted by one of your friends staggering drunk looking for the toilet. Or the night we went to the bar to play pinball. And drink, a lot. You dressed in red. And I couldn't take my eyes off you. Frankly, I didn't want to. Or how you would huddle into me, because it was cold at the bar, and you wanted to keep warm. How we went to the park to talk, and ended up walking around for a bit. And realised that there was more of a spark between us, than we were prepared for. How I pinned you against the car and kissed you. And we both knew, in that instant, that we had to have each other. How we would both easily be caught up in those moments, and in each other, and we'd completely lose track of the world around us. There were so many, but those two stand out immediately.

After a few hours of drinking, and stories. We caught a taxi home. As we were in no shape to walk the few blocks. As we got into the back seat, she cuddled into me, just like you would. I wonder if she sensed that I needed that familiarity. That comfort. Or if I needed that feeling of being needed. Either way, if only but for that brief window, Clara felt like home. And in my state of drunkeneness and mourning, I could have very easily fallen in love with her. But she knew I was vulnerable. And she knew I was hurting. And she wanted to make sure I got through. And for that, L, I will love her forever. When the taxi got to the back gate, we both got out, and she paid the fare. She walked me up to the backdoor of my flat and got the door unlocked so we could enter. Somehow, with all that I had to drink, it was at this point that I blacked out. And I don’t remember what happened next.

I woke up naked and the sheet and blankets were tossed everywhere. I was laying on my left side, facing away from the center of the bed. But I felt a presence. A weight on the bed. However, due to the massive hangover I felt, I was afraid to roll over. I eventually turned over slowly, and saw dark hair framed against a modest pale figure. I was relieved to not have spent the night alone. But I was also very concerned that I had done something that I may regret. So I finished rolling over and wrapped my arm over this stranger's body. At which point she entwined our fingers and pulled me closer. I whispered a thank you, for keeping me company last night, and helping me get home safely. The stranger burrowed her body deeper into mine, and wrapped my arm tightly across her chest. I could feel the weight of her full breast against my palm, and her nipple growing stiffer with my touch. I leaned in whispered the thank you, again. I could feel this stranger arching her back and pressing herself against me. Before she turned her head, and kissed my cheek, and told me I was welcome. We made brief eye contact, and it was then that I realised that it was Clara pressed against me. I pulled back slightly, realising that we were both naked, and that Ramon may be wondering where she is. The thought of this panicked me. Because I didn't want to ruin another man's marriage, because I was in mourning and made a stupid decision. Clara pulled me close again, and wrapped her arms around my arm. Eventually, I settled down, as she reassured me that Ramon knew she was with me, to keep an eye on me, in case I got sick. Gradually, she released her my arm, and rolled over to rest her head on my chest. I had lots of questions. And was still acutely aware of our state of dress. As well as my state of arousal.  

Clara explained that she had gotten me into the flat. She'd undressed me. And she made sure that I got ready for bed. Once she knew I was comfortable, she got herself ready for bed. She undressed herself and crawled into bed, laying agaisnt me to make sure I was on my side. She's a special woman, and an amazing friend. And I'm glad that she was here to help me get through this rough 24 hour period.

I asked her if anything had happened. She said no. There were points where we would shift and I'd spoon her, and she could feel the heat emanating from my body, but made sure that nothing happened. She appreciated my warmth. And the feeling of my skin against hers. And the comfort of knowing that to me, she felt like home. It was everything I needed, at that time. And I appreciate that she was so good to me.

The coming days and months are going to be rough, my love. The concept of processing my life, in any way, without you being a part of it; I can't bear to. I'm preparing myself for the disappointment of the plans we had, all falling by the wayside. Of all of the everything we said, now dissipating into the ether. But I know that you'll always be with me. I'll carry you forever. And I'll never forget the ways you helped me. In sparking my creative side. Making me want to take more photographs, usually of you. Or wanting to write. Or how you made me feel like more of a man than I knew I could be capable of. You, more than anyone I had met to this point, understood me. On a level that few will ever truly grasp. And not having you around, to be able to talk about stuff with, is going to be a rough adjustment. I'll get there eventually, but right now, everything looks bleak. But as long as I have the love of friends like Clara, I should be able to make it through.

I just spoke to work about getting time off for bereavement, to be able to pay my respects. They've cleared it. I just have to get a flight now. I've invited Clara to come along, pending Ramon's permission. I want to show her some of the places that were special to you and me. And I want her to be there with me to celebrate you. It seems only fitting to have the person that I'm closest to, here, to be with me to share in this.

I will see you soon, sadly, for the last time.

I love you...

I need you...

I'm lost with you...

You'll be a part of me forever...

Yours forever,

H

[5hfanfiction]

you keep robbing my heart like a bank 16/?

Lauren barely registers the faint chatter of conversation happening somewhere in the house. She honestly wishes they would quiet down because she’s extremely cozy right now and doesn’t really want to be disturbed. Attempting to block the sound from her ears, she burrows further against the warmth she’s surrounded by.

Settling down, Lauren smiles happily when she feels the warmth press even closer to her. She swears she’s never felt this comfortable before and has no intentions of moving any time soon.

A few minutes pass as Lauren gradually regains her consciousness. Around the third minute mark, Lauren suddenly feels the warmth move against her and is awake enough to realize that blankets shouldn’t be moving on their own. She snaps her eyes open, blinking them quickly as she adapts to the morning light. Once her eyes come into focus, Lauren looks around and then realizes that she’s not alone in bed, finally remembering that she shared a bed with Camila last night.

That thought puts her at ease that she’s with someone she knows and is comfortable with, and not in bed with some stranger. But Lauren’s warmth moves again and it’s only then that she realizes how exactly her and Camila are sharing the bed.

They’re squished up against each other, cuddled on one side of the bed. There’s no space between them, spooning each other with front pressed up against back.

Lauren’s arm is thrown around Camila’s waist, the other one tucked under the pillow, while Camila is pressed as far back against Lauren as she can go, her butt even jutting backwards to fit Lauren’s body shape. Their legs are tangled together and Camila’s got a hand resting on Lauren’s thigh that lays on top of both of Camila’s legs.

Blushing at the position they’re in, Lauren attempts to extract herself from the embrace. She slowly begins to remove her arm from around Camila’s waist but before she can get very far, Camila grumbles in her sleep and subconsciously pulls Lauren’s arm tighter around her.

Lauren’s blush deepens as Camila holds Lauren’s arm against her in a firm grip, as if the girl knows Lauren was trying to move. Snuggling even closer to Lauren, Camila lets out a content sigh in her sleep as she settles in comfortably against her.

Realizing that there’s no way Lauren is going to be able to move without waking Camila up, she resigns herself to the fact that she’s stuck holding Camila until the girl’s grip loosens. She closes her eyes and decides to pass the time by getting lost in her thoughts, seeing where her mind takes her.

By the time Lauren opens her eyes again, she realizes that she has no idea what she was even thinking about because she had fallen asleep again. Lauren feels movement against her front and comes to the conclusion that she woke up because Camila is stirring, most likely finally waking up from her sleep. Panicking, Lauren tenses up, inadvertently squeezing her arm tighter around Camila’s waist.

“Mm… what time is it?” Lauren hears Camila mumble sleepily, reaching one hand up to rub at her eyes.

Lauren doesn’t answer, unsure what to do because once Camila fully wakes up, she’s going to realize the position they’re both in. She feels Camila move her hand away from her face and accidentally bump into Lauren’s arm draped over her.

“Wha–” Lauren hears Camila say in confusion.

At this point, Lauren has no idea what to do. She’s contemplating pretending to be asleep so that Camila hopefully won’t think it’s weird, but before she gets the chance to, Camila turns her head around and locks eyes with Lauren’s wide ones.

Camila opens her mouth to say something but before any sound comes out, Lauren is flinging herself away from the girl and launches herself off the bed, nearly flying into the wall in her haste to distance herself.

“I’m sorry!” Lauren squeaks out, her face flaming red. “I– I was sleeping; I had no idea! And then I woke up and tried to move but you, you held on so I couldn’t move and then… and then I accidentally fell back asleep but I would have moved if I could! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to weird you out!”

Standing still with her chest heaving slightly, Lauren stares back at Camila with her wide green eyes, her lip caught between her teeth in anxiety. She doesn’t know what else to say; Camila is just staring at her, not uttering a word.

Suddenly, a smile breaks out on Camila’s face. “Lo… you’re so cute to honestly think that I had a problem with waking up in your arms.”

Lauren’s eyebrows rise up towards her hairline in surprise then furrow back down in confusion. “Wait… what?”

“Come here,” Camila beckons with an outstretched hand.

Cautiously, Lauren takes it and gingerly seats herself back onto the bed. Camila shuffles across the mattress so that she’s closer to Lauren and grabs both of her hands.

“There will never be a time when I won’t be happy to wake up with you holding me like that. I was about to tell you how nice it felt but then you kind of freaked out on me,” Camila chuckles out.

Lauren blushes. “I thought maybe you’d be weirded out,” she mumbles quietly.

Camila laughs again. “Never.”

Smiling softly, Lauren glances away shyly for a moment before looking back at Camila. “Well, in that case… I wouldn’t mind sleeping with you again. I really liked it too.”

With a start, Lauren realizes how her phrasing sounds but thankfully Camila doesn’t comment on it, saving her from embarrassment.

“At the next sleepover, we can request to share a bed again. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great,” Lauren agrees with a smile.

They finally make it out of the guest room and join the other girls for brunch. After hanging out for a couple more hours, everyone decides to part ways and head home. They all say goodbye in Ariana’s driveway and just as Camila is about to climb into her car, Lauren stops her.

“Hey, um, what are you doing later?” Lauren asks with a nervous smile.

“I’ve got nothing going on,” Camila replies. “Why, what’s up?”

“Well, I wanted to get the piercing done.”

“Wait, today?”

Lauren nods.

“I- okay, yeah, I can come with you.”

“Thanks so much, Camz!” Lauren exclaims, jumping in place in her excitement. “I can’t wait!”

They make plans for when and where to meet and after an enthusiastic hug, Lauren gets in her car and drives home, smiling the entire way.

~~

It doesn’t take much to convince her dad to sign a notarized consent form so that she can get a facial piercing even though she’s not yet eighteen. He’s known about her wanting to get it for a while and promises that he’ll take the brunt of Clara’s anger (who would definitely not approve of Lauren’s piercing). Lauren knows that the only reason why she’s getting away with it with him is because she’s kind of a daddy’s girl and he’s always been supportive of anything she’s wanted to do, right from the start. Plus, maybe she lets it slip that she’s going with her new, really good friend who’s been defending her from bullies.

Putting her sleepover stuff away, Lauren double checks that she has her wallet and the form before calling out to her dad that she’s leaving. Her and Camila are set to meet at the body piercing place around three-thirty and Lauren doesn’t wanna be late.

She hops in her car and puts on a random playlist, singing along to the music until she arrives five minutes early. Parking her car, Lauren hesitantly enters the tattoo parlor, a little nervous about the place. It has good recommendations (meaning Camila recommended it to her) but this really isn’t the kind of shop Lauren would normally even think about walking into.

Right as she walks in, she spots a guy with long, shaggy hair, sitting on one of the armchairs with his feet resting on a skateboard. His tattooed arms are resting on his legs as he scrolls through the phone in his hands, not noticing Lauren enter through the door.

On another chair in the sitting area is a girl, sprawled sideways with her legs dangling over the armrest. She’s got purple dyed hair and headphones over her ears, and Lauren can see the colorful pattern tattooed across her exposed torso due to her crop top. The girl sees Lauren walk in and stares at her, but just as Lauren is about to glance away out of nervousness, the girl offers her a welcoming smile and leans back against the chair as she listens to her music.

Lauren doesn’t feel quite as apprehensive as she did a minute ago, so walking in the rest of the way, she takes a seat on the sofa and taps her knee as she patiently waits for Camila’s arrival.

Not even two minutes later, Lauren gazes up as the door swings open and Camila walks through. She spots Lauren almost immediately and after offering a quick greeting to the two other people in the waiting room with them, heads over to where Lauren is seated.

“Hey, Lo,” Camila says warmly, leaning in to embrace Lauren in a tight hug.

“Hi, Camz,” Lauren replies happily.

“You ready for this?” Camila asks as she takes a seat next to Lauren.

Lauren nods. “I’m nervous but also really, really excited. I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“If you need to squeeze my hand or anything, feel free to. I’ve heard that it hurts pretty bad. Some people said your eyes water and that it feels like getting punched in the face.”

“Oh,” Lauren says thoughtfully. “Well, I’m not too worried. I’ve prepared myself for this, so I’m ready.”

“Yeah?” Camila smiles. “That’s good.”

Camila doesn’t get the chance to say anything else because someone approaches them where they’re sitting.

“Hey, Mila! Long time no see!”

Glancing up, Lauren comes face to face with the source of the gruff voice: a slightly older guy, probably in his thirties, looking like the typical tattoo artist. Covered in head to toe with ink, he also sports a buzzed haircut, black gauges in his earlobes, and a large septum ring hanging between his nostrils.

“Jeremy!” Camila exclaims, bouncing up into the man’s outstretched arms. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy.”

“Well, it’s good to see you.” Turning towards Lauren who is seated quietly and unsure what to do, he gives her a friendly grin. “So this must be the lucky lady getting her nose pierced today?”

“Yup,” Camila answers for Lauren when she notices how uncomfortable she is. “Lauren here has wanted her nostril pierced for quite some time now.”

Jeremy smiles kindly at her once more. “Well, I’m grateful that you picked me to do the honors.”

“Camz recommended you,” Lauren says shyly, taking Camila’s outstretched hand and standing up from the couch. “And I trust her opinion.”

“I promise I’ll take care of you,” Jeremy replies, a hand placed dramatically on his chest as he leads them over to the counter.

They stop in front of it while he slides around the corner of it to stand in front of them, the counter in between.

“Alright. Right here–” Jeremy begins, making a circle over the glass with his finger, “–is all of our jewelry for nose piercings. Once the hole is healed completely you can change it to a ring if you wish, but for the initial piercing, I have to use a stud. There are different kinds of studs though so it’s up to you which one you’d prefer to have.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lauren says, suddenly perking up. “I looked this up when I first decided I wanted a nose piercing. I’m going to do the stud with the ball closure.”

Jeremy nods approvingly as he slides the counter door open and pulls out the little tray displaying the different kinds of studs. “Which one do you want? The cheapest ones are the steel ones, but I also have titanium and gold as well. It mostly depends on the look or color you want and if you have any allergies to certain metals.”

“I’m not sure if I have any allergies but… the steel is cheaper and since I’m trying to save my money…”

“No problem,” Jeremy says as he bends down to search for the steel stud Lauren picked out.

Before he can lean back up, Camila speaks up. “Wait. Get her the titanium one, Jeremy. I’ll just pay for the price difference.”

“Wha– Camz– no–” Lauren begins.

Camila places a hand on Lauren’s arm to quiet her. “Don’t worry about it, Lo. It’s not a big deal. Plus, what if you do have an allergy? It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Staring at Camila for a moment, Lauren bites her lip to try and stop the grin from taking over her face. “Camz…”

“Here we go,” Jeremy interrupts as he stands back up, a sealed bag in his hand as he slyly grins at them. “The titanium stud for Camila’s girl.”

Both Lauren and Camila’s cheeks flush, but Camila is the only one to reply. “Shut up,” she mumbles good-naturedly.

After presenting the consent form and Lauren’s ID and signing the necessary forms, Jeremy leads the two girls to a closed off room with a black adjustable chair in the center of it.

“Take a seat here, Lauren,” he says, gesturing to the chair. “Camila, you can pull that stool up to sit next to Lauren if you want.”

As the two get comfortable, Jeremy gets his piercing tools ready, washing his hands and pulling on some gloves.

“Now, which nostril are you getting it done on?”

“Left side,” Lauren says.

Jeremy nods and drags the cart holding his tools closer to him as he situates himself on Lauren’s left. He preps the area, disinfecting and marking it to be pierced. Lauren glances at Camila anxiously, both in nervousness and excitement. Reaching her hand out, Lauren grips Camila’s firmly, laying back properly as Jeremy turns to her again with the needle in his hand.

He lines it up but pauses before actually piercing her nose. “You ready?”

Inhaling through her nose, Lauren licks her lips and is about to answer when she feels Camila’s other hand grasp the back of hers, trapping Lauren’s hand comfortingly between both of hers.

Smiling at the action, Lauren turns towards Jeremy. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Okay, here we go.”

Lauren squeezes her eyes shut, feeling the pinch and tingle as the needle is pushed through her cartilage, but what she notices more than that is Camila’s comforting squeeze as she tries to distract Lauren from the pain.

The rest of the process passes by in a breeze as Jeremy eventually switches the needle out for the stud Lauren (Camila) picked. He finishes up as he leans back with a wide grin.

“All finished. Want to see?” He asks, leaning over to grab a mirror.

Lauren takes it from his hands, holding it up so that she can see her reflection. It’s pretty red around her entire nostril from being prodded and pierced but she can clearly see the shiny, silver stud sitting flush against her nose. Turning to look at Camila, the girl is already grinning widely at Lauren.

“What do you think?” The girl asks excitedly.

Lauren’s smile widens, flitting her gaze between Camila and Jeremy. “I love it! I’m so happy right now. Thank you so much!” Lauren exclaims as she looks at Jeremy.

“No problem, kiddo. Any friend of Camila’s is a friend of mine. Or more than a friend,” he says with a chuckle at the girls’ embarrassed expressions.

They all head out of the room, lining up around the counter once more as Jeremy gives her care and cleaning instructions and inputs the transaction to come up with a total. Lauren hands over her money while Camila covers the difference for the titanium piercing and after saying goodbye to Jeremy, they head towards the door. As they pass the waiting area, the girl with the headphones looks up at Lauren and gives her a lopsided grin.

“Sick nose ring! Good choice,” she compliments and goes right back to her music.

Even the skater guy flashes Lauren a thumbs up as they exit the shop.

As they step onto the sidewalk, Lauren tips her head back and smiles, feeling like she’s floating on top of the clouds. And when Camila suggests they go to an ice cream store to celebrate, Lauren honestly can’t think of anything better.

~~

When Lauren walks into school on Monday, the first thing that happens is that Ally and Tori come running up to her excitedly.

“Let’s see it! Let’s see it!” Ally shouts.

Lauren grins and faces them, showing her new piercing to her friends.

“It looks so good, Laur,” Tori compliments. “Did it hurt?”

Lauren nods. “Yeah, for the rest of the day it felt like someone had punched me, but it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.”

“I’m so glad that you finally got it. Camila went with you, right?”

“She did,” Lauren confirms to Ally. “She recommended the place and I’m actually glad I went there cause the guy did a good job.”

Before anyone can reply, Lauren feels an arm thrown around her shoulders. She glances over and sees Zayn’s grinning face to her left.

“Nice nose ring! It really suits you.”

“Thanks, Zayn. I’m so happy with it.”

“That’s awesome that you finally got to do it.”

Lauren doesn’t get to talk to any one of her friends for very long because one by one they all approach her and compliment her on her new piercing. After being thoroughly bombarded by them for several minutes, Camila finally makes her appearance, greeting everyone (but mostly Lauren) with a big smile.

“How’s your nose feeling, Lo?” Camila asks kindly.

“I mean, besides the fact that whenever I accidentally hit it, it wouldn’t stop bleeding for like an hour. But besides that, I’m just really happy.”

Camila smiles, waiting until they say goodbye to their friends before replying. “I’m glad you’re happy. It looks really good on you.”

“I know, Camz,” Lauren giggles out. “You said that about fifty times the day I got it.”

Camila blushes and turns her face to the side to hide it. “Whatever, that’s just because it’s true.”

“Either way, thanks again,” Lauren says with a smile as they stop outside her classroom.

“I’ll see you next period?” Camila asks before she walks away.

Lauren nods. “See you then.”

With that, Lauren enters the classroom while Camila heads towards her own class. Lauren finds her usual seat in the second to last row and pulls her notebook out, feeling the strong urge to doodle this class away. She barely even registers the rest of the students filing in or their teacher greeting them when he enters.

Lauren only pays just enough attention to respond during role call and doesn’t hear anything else the teacher says. Too focused on her drawing, Lauren doesn’t catch the teacher saying her name. It’s when he has to repeat her name louder that Lauren finally glances up.

“Ah yes, now she heard me call her name. You’ll be taking your seat next to Lauren over there.”

That’s when Lauren realizes that he had been talking to an unfamiliar student and directing her to sit next to Lauren. She flicks her gaze over the girl as she makes her way towards the empty desk, her long, wavy brown hair swaying behind her as she maneuvers through the other desks. Trying her best to watch subtly, Lauren observes as the new student takes her seat, pulling her necessary items out and settling back into the chair.

All of a sudden, she turns her head to the side and catches Lauren staring at her. Feeling a blush rise on her cheeks, Lauren quickly looks away, embarrassed that she was caught.

Hearing soft laughter coming from her left, Lauren peeks again with her eyebrows raised. The girl is laughing at her, but more so in a fond way than to make fun of her.

“Hi there,” the girl says suddenly, completely taking Lauren by surprise because of her voice. She really didn’t expect this girl to sound that way, to have such a low and smooth voice.

“Um, hi,” Lauren replies unsurely.

The girl just smiles wider. “Nice nose ring.”

“Oh,” Lauren says shyly. “Thank you.”

“You’re Lauren, right?”

Lauren nods, nudging her glasses back up her face when they slide down from the motion.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Lucy.”

~~

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[perfectlyrose]

Burning Gold (5/?)

Summary: Rose felt trapped in her life in a port town and longed to be on the open sea. She takes the chance of a lifetime and sets out on her own. Life at sea holds many surprises for her: piracy, friendships, and maybe even love. (Nine/Rose Pirate AU) Rating: All Ages // Word Count: 2676 AN:  hello i have returned to this fic after a six month absence! have some more pirates! ALSO, a reminder that this will be Nine/Rose, I promise. We're getting there. It’s end-game. but this is a Rose-centric fic and also Rose is bi in this. Also on: Tumblr // AO3 // TSP // FF

Chapter 5: Camaraderie: In which Rose makes friends, deals with a crush, and starts a fight.

"Come on, Luce. You said we were going to practice today," Rose wheedled, bouncing on her toes in front of Lucie's hammock. The other blonde was laying there with her arm over her eyes, trying her hardest to ignore her friend.

"I'm pretty sure I'm still sore from practicing with you a week ago. See if Danny wants to, I know he wanted to sharpen his knife skills."

Rose rolled her eyes. "That's not much practice for me, though."

"Not my problem. My problem is I haven't gotten a proper amount of sleep in a week and I'm working on fixing that. Go find someone else to threaten to cut into ribbons or something," Lucie said.

Rose sighed and walked off, fingers dancing along the hilt of one of the knives she kept at her hip. It had been two months since she'd joined the crew of The Red Lady and she felt like she had found another home. She was always sore and tired and sunburned but she was happy.

Rose had made friends with the rest of the crew quickly enough, especially once they knew that she wasn't going to shirk her part of the work and learned that she always had a smile for anyone.

Mels had been one of the last ones Rose won over but after they were back to back on a merchant ship, Mels's sword flashing in the sun in tandem with Rose's knives as they had subdued some sailors, she'd warmed up to her. Being good with weapons was much apparently much higher on the first mate's list of prerequisites to friendship than being good at listening.

Rose climbed the ladder that led to the top deck. She'd been down in the bowels of the ship all day taking inventory of their supplies before they made port in the next few days and she was ready to feel the sun on her face.

She blinked against the bright light reflecting off the water and looked around to see who was above deck. Amy was up on the quarterdeck, having a conversation with Sally and Bill was aloft, moving surefootedly among the riggings, checking knots and ropes. There were a few others attending to various work around the deck but none who looked at liberty to fight with Rose.

"You look bored, Tyler."

Rose jumped and spun around. Mels was leaning against the ship's railing with a glint in her eye that Rose had quickly learned meant she was looking for trouble.

"Might be." She cocked her head to one side, considering. She put her hand back on the hilt of her knife. "Was looking for someone to practice with. You game?"

Mels grinned. "Only if I can use my sword."

"Your sword versus my knives?"

"Deal."

If Amy had been looking, she would have seen the twin grins on the faces of her first mate and crewmember and known that there was about to be trouble. There was no way for there not to be with the two of them so eager to pull their blades.

Mels and Rose moved to the empty space in the middle of the deck that was often used as a practice ground on days when the sailing was smooth and the work light. The metallic sound of The metallic hiss of Mels's sword clearing its sheath made Rose's blood hum. She quickly unsheathed two knives and settled into a ready stance.

Mels flashed a grin, wild and bright and then her sword was swinging through the air. It came down on Rose's crossed knives with the ringing clash of steel on steel.

Rose's grin matched her opponent's. Not waiting for her to make another move, Rose twisted out from under Mels's sword, slashing outward with her right hand as she did.

Mels leaned back just as the tip of Rose's knife nipped her shirt.

"Quick one, aren't you?" She asked, before repaying the swipe with one aimed at Rose's knees.

Rose didn't answer, just danced out of the way and made a move with her left hand. Mels parried it and swung her sword in the opposite direction, arcing towards Rose's side.

The clash of blades drew the attention of their crewmates and before long there was a small crowd watching from near the railings as Mels and Rose traded blows, dancing around each other and looking for an opening.

A good portion of them had practiced with Rose over the past two months and had a healthy respect for her skill with knives that had only improved since she came aboard. Gwyneth had been the one to teach her how to fight with a knife in each hand but Rose could best her in every bout now.

Mels was almost legendary with her sword. The only one who could occasionally beat her was the captain and they didn’t practice together often. It was rare that anyone on board took on Mels so it was no surprise that this fight drew attention.

Amy finally looked over to see who was practicing when the shouts of her crew grew louder and cursed quietly when she saw who was fighting.. Her eyes went wide as she watched Mels sweep her blade towards Rose’s arm, only for Rose to block her with her own blade. Amy winced, knowing first hand how jarring it was to block a swing that hard.

“Captain?” Sally asked, unsure if the curse was directed at her or not.

“Those two are going to hurt somebody. Probably themselves,” she said, gesturing at the fight below them on the main deck. “I’m going to go stop them.”

Sally pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows, silently wishing Amy luck as the captain strode towards the stairs down to the main deck.

Rose and Mels didn’t even notice the crowd around them nor did they notice their captain shouldering her way through it until she was just out of reach of their blades.

Amy let out a shrill whistle that made both combatants freeze.

“Having fun?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at them.

“Yes,” Mels replied instantly, eyes sparkling.

Amy rolled her eyes. “Well, if you’re done flirting, I’m sure I can find something for you both to do that doesn’t involve potentially injuring each other.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Rose protested as she sheathed her knives.

Amy gave her skeptical look and then nodded at Mels. “She was.”

Mels just smiled the same smile she had while they were fighting, all fire and no apology.

Rose bit her lip and looked away, blush staining her already pink cheeks.

Mels pushed on her shoulder. “Next time, I’m teaching you how to use a sword.”

That drew a full-fledged grin out of Rose. “Deal.”

Amy sighed dramatically and Mels turned and slung an arm around the captain’s shoulders. “Alright Cap, what do you need me for?” she asked. As they walked off, Amy talking now, Mels looked back over her shoulder to wink at Rose.

Bill bumped Rose’s hip, having come down from the rigging during the fight. “That was wicked,” she said, eyes on the retreating form of Mels. “I’d die if she flirted with me.”

Rose hipchecked her back. “That’s because you’d be too busy waxing poetic about her eyes to pay attention to the sword heading at your side.”

Bill just grinned. “That’s true,” she admitted. “What a way to go, though.”

Rose laughed and tugged on Bill’s arm. “Come on, I’m hungry and Wilf promised to save me something in the galley.”

“You just charm everyone, don’t you?” Bill said, following Rose to the ladder.

Rose looked back at her and fluttered her eyelashes. “It’s a natural born talent, darling,” she said in an exaggerated posh accent.

They were both giggling as they headed towards the galley.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A month more at sea saw The Red Lady in a new port. Rose posted another letter to her mum with some of her share of the money their ship had gained in the last few weeks. She posted another one to Clara, telling her that she was expecting to be back in Leadworth in another month or so and that she hoped she was doing well.

With the rest of the money, Rose stocked up on extra food and clothing and then went out to a tavern with Bill and Lucie. Three months together as crewmates and partners in battle had turned them into fast friends, thick as the thieves that they were.

They were well into their second or third ales when Lucie smacked Rose on the arm, startling her. “If you don’t stop staring at our captain across the bar, someone besides us is going to notice,” she said.

“I wasn’t!”

“You so were,” Bill said. “Not that I blame you. She is one hell of a woman.”

Bill’s eyes drifted over to Amy as well and Lucie reached across the table to smack the top of her head.

“You two are hopeless,” Lucie declared. “Are either one of you going to be any help in finding me a man to spend shore leave with?”

“You’re on your own there, mate,” Bill said with a snort.

Rose raised an eyebrow and nodded to Lucie’s left. “Tall, dark, and handsome at the bar has been looking this way for a few minutes. Pretty sure he’s got his eye on you.”

Lucie turned and gave the man her best flirtatious smile. When he smiled back Lucie looked at Rose and Bill again. “Thanks, Rose. I’ll be back on the ship day after tomorrow. Don’t come looking for me before then.”

She drained the rest of her ale, adjusted her tits in the dress she always wore on shore leave and then sauntered over to the man at the bar.

Bill shook her head and smiled as Lucie essentially introduced herself with a kiss and then turned back to Rose. “I don’t suppose you can find me a girl in this tavern? Work your magic?”

“What magic?”

“Oh come on, you just set Lucie up with someone in five seconds flat! That definitely counts as some sort of magic.”

Rose laughed and looked around the tavern. Her eyes finally settled on a petite brunette in the front corner who almost reminded her of Clara. “Back in the corner, brunette in the yellow dress. She’s looked over at you multiple times. Stops short of staring but keeps looking back. Might have a shot with her.”

Bill smiled over at the girl and then grinned when the brunette blushed and looked away. “Cheers,” she said, turning back to Rose and clinking their glasses together. “Told you you were working magic.”

“Yeah, yeah, go get your girl,” Rose said.

“What about you? You going to find someone tonight?”

Rose shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Well, have fun. Be safe,” Bill said.

“You too!”

Rose watched until her friend was sitting with the brunette and talking before turning her attention back to her drink. She really had no intention of finding somebody tonight but she also didn’t want her friends to worry about her. Her fingers subconsciously went to rub the rose brooch that used to adorn her coat before she remembered once again that it was lost, left in Leadworth somewhere.

She slowly sipped her beer and trying not to let her eyes slip back over to where Amy was holding court in the back corner of the tavern, Mels by her side as they met with potential new crew members. Rose knew it was a fruitless crush but that didn’t make it any easier to ignore. Amy was gorgeous and smart and ruthless and practically one with the sea and Rose really couldn’t help it.

She certainly wasn’t going to do anything about it though. Amy was her captain and her friend and so unbelievably off limits. Rose glanced over to the corner one more time and saw Amy’s brow furrow as she talked to someone Rose couldn’t quite make out.

Amy looked up and made eye contact with Rose, waving her over. She left her half-finished ale on the table and headed over to the captain’s table.

“Rose, this is Tommy and he’ll be joining the crew.” Amy said once Rose was at the table. “Would you mind taking him back to the ship and showing him where he can bunk? I know it’s the first night of shore leave but I’d really appreciate it.”

“Sure thing, Captain. I don’t have plans for the night anyways.”

Amy smiled at her and Rose’s heart gave a traitorous thump. Maybe she really should look into finding someone on one of these shore leaves.

“Come on then, Tommy, I’ll show you where we’re docked.” Rose said. She looked at the man, a boy really. He couldn’t be more than sixteen but he had a determined look in his eye that Rose recognized.

“You from around here?” Rose asked. They were only halfway to the ship and neither of them had said a word up to this point.

“Guess so,” he said with a shrug.

“You know, I ran away too,” Rose said. “Was on my own for a bit before I joined Captain Pond’s crew.”

“How do you know I ran away?” Tommy asked, sounding almost scared.

“Look in your eye,” she answered with a shrug. “And the fact that Amy is having you stay the night onboard. She only does that if someone doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Could’ve found somewhere,” he mumbled.

Rose bumped his shoulder. “No need. You’re part of the family now, Tommy lad. We take care of each other.”

“You won’t tell anyone else I ran away, will you?”

“I won’t breathe a word of it,” she promised.

The silence was of an easier variety for the rest of the walk. When she stopped in front of The Red Lady, she looked over at Tommy and smiled at the awe on his face.

“Come on then, Tommy. Up we go.” She waved hello to Jamie who was guarding the ship tonight and herded Tommy up the gangplank.

“A tour won’t do you much good in the dark so let’s just get you to the men’s quarters and then I should be around to give you a proper tour tomorrow, if you’d like,” Rose said.

“That’d be good,” he said. “I don’t really know much about sailing.”

Rose reached over and tousled his hair, startling a smile out of him. “We’ll find something for you to do while we train you up, don’t you worry. Now, let’s get you settled.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

John absently rubbed his thumb over the rose shaped brooch in his pocket as he wandered through town. It hadn’t seemed right to toss something that was obviously cherished by someone, even if he didn’t know whose it was, so he had just kept it. He didn’t know what it was about the little pin, but having it seemed to ground him in some way.

This was his fifth stop in as many weeks and there was still no sign of the ship he was looking for, the one he used to be captain of. The little ship he had was fine and dandy but he missed having a crew or being a part of a crew, missed having someone around to pull him out of his own head and see the sights with.

He didn’t even know if the ship was still around but he had nothing better to do at the moment other than look for it. He’d all but given up on finding The Red Lady. She always seemed to be one step ahead of him so he’d stopped chasing her.

For now, John was content. He had no one to answer to but himself and the winds and tides and that was enough for now. He dropped the envelope of money he’d taken off a drunk nobleman last week into the mailbox of the local orphanage and turned to head back to his ship, his leather-coated silhouette fading into the shadows.

[deathchrist2000]

The Eyes of Her Double

A Clara Oswald/Faction Paradox fan fiction.

Inevitably, Clara O’Winn found that looking at the ceiling was not a good way to mute out the muffled screams of her double. It wasn’t so much because she couldn’t come up with many inventive ideas from the ceiling to distract her; she had long since perfected this method of avoidance and had already created several inventive story ideas, as well as a few fan fiction prompts, from the patterns the Styrofoam alone (her favorite involved Captain Picard, the NCC-2260, and Gok’ū, leader of the Tribbles). Nor was it because she wasn’t able to ignore the terrible screams her double made. She was a child of the early 21st century, an era where those who can ignore a terrible situation will and those who can’t die. Or get called a “faggot Ess-Jew snowflake.”

Not even the sounds of the screams were distressing to her, as they reminded Clara of long passionate nights spent under the moonlit fields where she used to play with her girlfriend. These were her favorite nights growing up, as they were away from the stress of the daily grind of both her job and her disapproving stepparents. For the most part, they were unbothered by any of the locals, who assumed them to be a bunch of wild animals and would call them such if they were ever caught. Some nights a group of bikers would come to watch, but given that Clara was a co-founding member of the gang, they tended to only be there to say hello or participate if Clara allowed it. The games Clara and her girlfriend played ranged from horsey to cops and robbers to pegging (though that was only when their mutual frenemy, Jack, was around).

It wasn’t even the fear of the people in the motel room next door paying enough attention to call the cops. Clara had long known this motel to be the go to location for crack, smack, and other such drug dealers to make arrangements with larger entities to practice their trade. These dealings ranged from “which locations are ok for me to make deal in” to “I need you to be my representative in a drug deal that could end my life if I go” to “PLEASE IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, DON’T KILL MY DAUGHTER” among other mundane deals. If the police were to get wind of a kidnapping at that motel, they might find the skeletons hidden in the closets, both figuratively and literally if some local legends are to be believed, and motel management didn’t need that hassle. They already had to worry about whether or not the drug lords would kill them for knowing too much.

Rather, what distressed Clara was the ways in which her double was not like her, despite being nearly identical. She noticed that her double was roughly an inch taller, had green eyes, blonde hair with pink and purple highlights that was typically put into a pony tail but was now unrestrained, and a small, nearly unnoticeable, mole on her left cheek. Her ears, until fairly recently, held little circular earrings that had been passed down, generation to generation, for over a hundred years. The double’s skin was obviously paler than Clara’s, though she did have the soft tan expected of a California resident. She was left handed, though she didn’t realize it, as she had always written with her right. Her hands never worked any harder than a few hours on a keyboard typing a paper for her college professor on the implications of time travel on free will. Her body did not have any scars on it.

In the long run, these differences didn’t matter all that much, as her fate would still be the same. They would come for her and Clara would get what she deserved.

Clara O’Winn was only 10 years old when she realized she couldn’t die.

It was on a long car ride when it happened. With here was her mother, Janet, driving the car while thinking about doing activities such as being in a relationship that actually has love in it, not going to prison, or climbing a mountain that she would never do in her life time; her father, Bob, who was as oblivious to his wife’s feeling towards him much like how when one is driving late at night and a deer suddenly jumps in front of the car, killing everyone involved; her younger brother, Francis, who as at that moment on 8Chan figuring out his sexuality, a move that would lead him to spend years in therapy and inadvertently destroy the career of a prominent presidential nominee; and finally, Flapjack, the family dog who would die long before anyone else in the car.

As for the car itself, it was not moving. Clara didn’t know why it wasn’t moving, nor did the majority of drivers to preoccupied with honking their horns to solve the issue at hand. It appeared to Clara that her side of the road was completely jammed. Curious, as she is wont to be, Clara decided to leave the car. She knew that it was usually unsafe to leave a car on a busy highway, but Clara felt that it was safe to do so as nearly every other car was beginning to send an emissary to discover the source of the calamity that had befallen them. Also, Clara knew that she wouldn’t get lost like the last time she abandoned her family, since the road was just a straight line. That, and her parents were too busy playing at adulthood to notice her leave the car. The only one who did notice Clara leave was Flapjack, who silently followed her to his death.

At first, Clara felt that this was like one of the adventures she would make up in her grandmother’s garden back home, about mysterious travelers who right wrongs, defeat the baddies, and kick some serious ass. She always loved coming up with those stories, but she only felt safe telling them to her grandmother while weeding the garden on hot summer’s days. She never dreamed she would ever be one of those characters. Too self involved for those types, too ordinary, too boring to be a hero. Not even this quest to discover what caused all the cars to stop was an adventure of her liking. It was an adventure, sure, but it was just a mundane curiosity that everyone wants in on. A true adventure, Clara believed, would be a solitary experience. She would hold this belief for the remainder of the day.

While walking towards the source of the problem, Clara encountered another young girl, whose name she would never share, nor would Clara. She had dull blue eyes, red ravenous hair turned into pigtails, and slightly yellow teeth. The girl was roughly 13 years old, but she appeared to be much younger. She was barely three inches shorter than Clara, though she held herself much like a wolf cub trying to initiate themselves into a clan they weren’t born into. There was something familiar about this girl, though Clara couldn’t put her finger on it. She claimed her family sent her to solve the problem, but even at a young age Clara knew that was bullshit. Still, the girl seemed nice enough, for a kid, so Clara allowed the girl to follow her to the center of the commotion. To pass the time, the girls talked about the only thing there was to talk about.

“What do you think it is,” asked Clara.

“Deer,” replied the girl curtly.

“Deer? Surely it must be something more interesting than that.”

“Deer are interesting,” argued the companion. Clara was unsure if she hurt her companion’s feelings but assumed, as always, that she had, so she tried to save face towards this stranger, whom she would never meet again in her lifetime. Though she would still think about her, occasionally, whenever she saw deer eating her garden.

“I mean, ah… surely there must be an explanation that isn’t so… ordinary?”

“Oh yeah, like what?”

“uhh… Aliens?” The girl with blue eyes raised an eyebrow. “I mean, there’s signs everywhere, y’know. Books talking about crop circles and people being abducted and probed and… and… C’mon, you have to wonder, right? What’s out there and all.”

“Not really,” the pigtailed stranger sighed, knowingly, with a smile on her face that always appeared whenever she had good dreams, “there are so many fantastic sights out in the world: tornados that can lift frogs states away; 100 ravens sitting outside, waiting for the homeowner to just… open the door so the can scatter; the depths of the ocean that house creatures we have never seen before. I just don’t have time to think about space.” This would change a month after her 24th birthday, when the Children of Nyarlethotep used her in a failed ritual to summon their dark and terrible god from a self imposed exile. In that moment, she saw that space was nature’s dark mirror. Cold and uncaring like a parent who is never there. And yet, there’s a beauty blocked off by its needlessly cruel nature, born out of necessity lest the War, and those who fight in it, kill it for not choosing a side. A beauty seen only by those who appear to die, as all the others would, but in reality transcend the body’s physical form, since physicality is a mere option to this solitary figure, and be everywhere and every when.

The only retort Clara could offer the teenager at the time was a snort and a “whatever” before continuing their journey in silence.

As the museum of cars went on and on, people began to head back to their homes, accepting this bizarre occurrence to be an unexplainable event. Perhaps some gave up because of the unending forest that surrounded the road like fingers grasping at the palm of a hand, waiting to crush the insect that flew its way in. Or perhaps it was because they realized that the universe is a much bigger and terrifying place, whose answers will consume those who dare to try to discover them and as such it is best to care for those closest to them, rather than walk to the end of this dark forest road. Or maybe they just don’t care for walking. A few, however, persisted.

Eventually, even Clara and her stranger decided to call it quits. Or rather their mothers found them, grabbed them by the ear, and dragged them back to their car. At some point in the future, the roads freed up, but by then the sun had set. One of the drivers could have sworn he heard a crunching noise as he turned off the highway to stay the night at a motel, but thought nothing of it until the last seconds before his death.

Clara and her family, meanwhile, decided not to stop driving. Her parents would alternate between who was driving and who was sleeping for the night. Normally, Janet could drive the whole way there, but the incident with the stopped cars got her in a mood that forced her to take a break. Bob, who was currently driving the car, was slowly showing his fellow drivers that he should not be driving at this hour, nearly killing several of them without noticing. Clara and Francis, meanwhile, slept in the back seat, dreaming.

While Francis’ dreams were of a symbolic and sexual nature, Clara’s were far more straightforward. In some cultures, far in the depths of space, in the halls of power and the streets of the powerless, there are tales of what one sees when they die. Some say that there is a bright light that leads you to where you will be judged, be it by a scale or Santa Claus. Others claim that there is nothing but the black void seen when one closes their eyes, waiting for REM sleep. Few even claim beings “souls” reincarnate into other beings, to keep the karmic balance and save money on developing new character models.

Few stories, however, tell of the Death Dream. The Death Dream is the kind of dream only seen when one dies in their sleep. It tells of the life that one lived as a mash up: events bleeding into each other, creating new narratives. A mother, who died in childbirth, dancing at her daughter’s wedding; a family of old men, born decade’s apart, sharing war stories and the good old days; and other tales that the living can never know. It was in this state that Clara O’Winn died in.

Though it wouldn’t be diagnosed until well after this point, Clara could very well be considered Patient 0 of a disease lovingly called “The True Plague”. So called, as victims of it lose access to the parts of the brain that allow secrets to be kept prior to death. When Clara began exhibiting these symptoms, her mother dismissed it as merely the childish bravado seen when one has their ear pulled by their mother in public. The True Plague is fast acting and the survival rates are so astronomically low that there are better odds of surviving sex on the dark side of the moon for an entire hour. Naturally, Clara O’Winn died from the disease.

And then, she woke up.

She wasn’t anywhere new. She was still in her family car, woken up by her parents bickering about the direction they’re supposed to be heading in. Her brother was drooling on her shoulder, somehow still sleeping through the most foul-mouthed conversation their parents had up to that point. Clara made a note of that for later. The sun beamed down from outside the car, the windows haven been taken down so the cool breeze of the previous midnight hour could engulf the car in its soothing nature.

Surveying the scene, two thoughts popped up in Clara’s mind. The first was that she should be dead. It wasn’t a thought she fully understood at the time. She wasn’t dead, not even in the dream. (Her dream involved watching a low budget 1960’s British science fiction show with her great aunt Harriet and a pair transsexual wereseals while eating French Fry shaped spider legs on a table made out of wood draped in the flesh of still living white nationalists, who the only people in the room not having a good time.) And yet, she should be dead. She felt perfectly healthy, no longer feeling like she had a fever while freezing to death, no need to shout secrets about how Mr. Pick hates her because she caught him kissing one of the janitors without wearing his wedding band. She was completely free of The True Plague.

Clara asked her mother to take her pulse, and, when they were at a rest stop to get some breakfast and bring back the good driver, there was indeed a pulse to be found. Regardless, Clara knew that she was supposed to be dead. She tried to make sense of it all, but could only come to one conclusion: she was God. She quickly realized her mistake when it didn’t rain ice cream and instead realized there could only be one conclusion: she was finally the protagonist in the stories she loved to make up.

It was as if the universe had given her superpowers to… do what, exactly? Solve crime? Topple empires? What? Regardless, she knew she couldn’t tell her family about this, not even her beloved grandmother. They would all tell her that she’s too young to do anything. That she shouldn’t aspire to do anything more than what they did. Be realistic. No, instead Clara decided to bide her time, plan out her escape, and, when the moment’s right, flee from her captors and save the world.

The second thought that came to her mind was the realization that Flapjack had gone missing. Which was a shame, as Clara always believed he was a good boy.

“You haven’t been on a date in how long?” Jane teased with mock horror. They had been roommates for roughly a year, and yet Clara felt as if they were already lifelong friends. And though this would not be the case, as some lives last longer than others, they were still as thick as thieves. And yet, there were secrets kept between the two of them. Jane, for example, recently joined an organization that offered to pay for her entire college tuition, as well as hire her immediately after college for further work in exchange for a small donation of blood. (What Jane was unaware of was that said donation would be used to rewrite her timeline so that she was always a fiercely loyal member of the organization, and would die in their temporal War games. But then, corporations tend to leave out little details like that.)

Clara, meanwhile, had many secrets kept from those around her. She never told anyone of her immortal status, save for when it would be written off as the ravings of someone who really shouldn’t be driving a car at the moment. She didn’t tell Jane that she used to be a blonde or that Jane suddenly didn’t need glasses or that the lifelong vegan was eating a cheeseburger. Clara didn’t mention to Jane that she was aware of the tattoo on her left butt cheek of a snake eating its own tail, nor that it suddenly changed to that of something that looked like a snake skull midway through the semester. But then, Clara had to be aware of Jane’s changes for them to be secrets. For her, she had always been like that.

As for the subject of dating, Clara had long given up on the endeavor. It wasn’t that she shared her roommate’s asexual tendencies. Rather, she felt dating to be a waste of time. Fiction had long taught her that living forever meant other people would die around her. She never liked death, not even before seeing her mother whither away in a prison cell, denied food and medical care for too long. Clara wanted to avoid that as much as possible. Besides, she wasn’t even sure if she would stop aging at some point or if she would become a shriveled husk of 20000, forever aging until the end of time, and perhaps even longer (the latter, as it turns out).

However, on occasion, she felt like having a nice old-fashioned one-night stand that meant absolutely nothing, save for some (hopefully) good sex. Usually, Clara used the Tinder app to find someone also open to such an arrangement. However, she had just recently finished The Telephone Book, and had grown extremely paranoid by its fascist implications and decided to stay away from phones until absolutely necessary like later that night, when she needed to give out a phone number. As such, she decided the next sensible move would be to ask Jane if she knew anyone willing to go out on a date and hope that whoever it was could be let down easily.

Fortunately she didn’t have to, as Jane had an old friend coming up that weekend, but needed the room to herself to perform a blood ritual as part of her initiation into the organization, though she simply told Clara she was studying for a final, a lie she thought was true.

“You’ll like her,” Jane assured, “ she’s got a wicked sense of humor, a quick mind, and a hot body, so I’m told. Hell, she even kinda looks like you.” That last part befuddled Clara, as many of people she had sex with tended to respond with the opposite reaction. Then again, they had been the kind of people who expect to have sex with a person like one has milk in your cereal, so she tended to ignore their remarks. Maybe Jane was exaggerating about their similarities.

Regardless, Jane had set their date for a local restaurant that served overpriced steaks and other fancy food, but made up for it with the large fountain in the center that shines an indoor rainbow throughout the restaurant. Jane had said her friend would be recognizable by her dark red dress, which was one of a kind. Clara opted not to wear her blue dress, solely to spite her alchemist friends and their binary views on gender. Instead, she wore a dark purple suit with a long black tie.

When Clara arrived at the restaurant, she was somewhat surprised to discover that her dining companion did have a resemblance to her. Not by much, Clara mused to herself, I mean, she has longer hair than me, she doesn’t have a scar on the back of her hand from when I failed to trick my brother into getting me a drink from the gas station, and there seems to be a tattoo on her shoulder. But perhaps the largest difference Clara found between the two of them was the eyes. It wasn’t as though they were a different color or shape. That was one of the places where they were nearly alike. Rather, it was the implications of their eyes. Though Clara didn’t fully grasp what this meant for the two of them, deep down she understood. But instead of dwelling upon the similarities between the two of them, Clara instead decided to introduce herself to the woman before her.

“Claire Orlando,” she replied.

“Bit of an odd name,” smiled Clara as she read the menu, “don’t you think?”

“Not really, no. I mean, there are loads of people named Claire.”

“That’s not what I…” but before Clara could finish that thought, the waiter arrived to ask them what they wanted to eat. They both ordered the steak, as it was honestly the only good food served at the restaurant. Clara resumed, saying, “I mean, isn’t it a bit odd that we almost have the same name?”

“Not particularly,” Claire said, hoping it would be enough, “I mean, it’s not like we’ve known each other for our whole lives. We literally just met, and you’re from, what?”

“New York.”

“Right, and I’ve pretty much lived in California for my whole life. The odds of it happening to me twice are astronomical, but they do happen.”

“Twice?”

“Uhm… I, uh, Why do you even care anyways?” Claire asked, hoping that this would lead the discussion away from what she felt was a rather embarrassing teenage phase.

Clara sighed. “Honestly, I’m just trying to make small talk. It’s been a while since I’ve had to do this sort of thing.”

“And what sort of thing is that?” Claire asked, silently thanking the god she was praying to as Clara asked that question (Sadly, and perhaps fittingly, it was Glycon).

“You know, dating. Going to dinner. Talking about things we have in common. Ah geez, I don’t even know.” Clara began rubbing her eyelids with her thumb and index finger; her tone was growing slightly exasperated.

“Well… what do you usually do on a Saturday night?”

“Oh, you know. Stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” What Clara did not want to tell Claire was that her Saturday nights were predominately spent working on a series of fan fiction projects including various one off stories based off of minor non-speaking characters, brief flash fiction projects about cartoon horses, and multiple long chaptered works about certain science fiction characters practicing BDSM. But her magnum opus would be the series of fix-fics on the Animorphs book series, which took the themes of terrorism, alienation, and other child friendly themes and brought them to the forefront. She only got up to the 49th book in the series before realizing that the spark of creativity that had started her on this path had moved on to bigger and better things (though it would be awhile before it would move on to more profitable things). If she was being honest, she was just doing this series to finish it up. Fortunately, there weren’t that many books left in the series for her to work on, so she would simply take the breaks needed for her not to face complete burnout (as each book rewrite could be as short as 15,000 or as long as 100,000). By the time she reached the final book, Clara was almost glad that a group of Russian hackers deleted most of the work she had done for no other reason than a hatred for a specific ship. It meant that she could claim that she wouldn’t be able to redo all of them again and she could move on to better things. All told, the only fics that survived the Russian hacking job were #48-The Return and #50-The Ultimate, which were, ironically, the primary source for the shipping war that caused the aforementioned purge in the first place.

Instead, Clara said, “Watch TV, read a book, do some homework. Normal stuff. What about you? What do you do on a Saturday night?”

“Masturbate.” To say Claire did not want to say that word would be an understatement. Given such a statement, there was an extremely awkward pause in their conversation, long enough for their steaks to arrive. Claire finally broke the silence. “Sorry, I panicked, so I tried to make a joke. It didn’t work.”

“Clearly,” Clara remarked, more focused on her steak than this person she would only have to interact with for another hour or so. Though she wouldn’t say it aloud, if Clara saw the response in the same context in a movie, she would have most likely laughed at that “joke.” But, as this was not a movie, Clara was not pleased with the situation. A shame given that up to that point in the date, Clara believed that they were getting on rather nicely.

“Look,” Claire pleaded after having her first bite of steak, “I know I screwed up, but we still have to talk about something.”

“Like what, your taste in porn?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want to talk about,” Claire replied, grinning to hide her desperation. When in doubt, she thought, go for humor. Clara nearly spurt out her coke with lemon when she heard this offer.

“No, no. That’s uh… that’s fine… So, what do you do exactly?” At that moment, Claire was enrolled in an internship program with an organization that sent her to various inner cities throughout the country to work as a TA under several High School English teachers who would allow students enrolled with them to learn their second language. She planned to travel the world and write a novel about her experiences teaching to various cultures and what she learned from them. She would never get around to writing it. Claire was taking the week off to visit an old childhood friend, unaware she was setting Claire up with her roommate, Clara.

“Working on my teaching degree, you?” Clara, meanwhile, was concluding her training as an actress with an acting company. The director of the troupe claimed to have plans to groom her into being one of the great actresses of the modern age, but he said that of all the new girls. She played several minor roles in various plays before making her break two years back as Lady Macbeth in a well received production of Macbeth. Afterwards, she moved on to other roles including Ophelia, The Stepdaughter in Six Characters in Search of an Author, and the lead role in an original play about the shooting of Andy Warhol. Currently, she was working on a script for a satirical one-act play about the fairy queen spending a day in outside of her kingdom. Its lead would be a 10 year old girl whose mother was locked away in prison for killing her husband in self defense, so she claims. The play ends with the girl running away to fairyland after trapping the fairy queen in a fallen world.

Rather than respond to her companion, Clara proceeded to feel the urge to puke out her guts as if she was the first kill of a horror movie more interested in cheap thrills and gore than in character drama and gore. Indeed, nearly every one of the patrons at the restaurant was puking their guts out. That was, except for Clara and Claire. For unbeknownst to the patrons, the main chef had long been a member of a cult who worshiped the Greek god Glycon. They had long planned to summon the snake god onto the mortal plane, but lacked a means to do so. That was, until the chef read up on a mystical ritual in a mediocre fantasy novel that required a massive and painful sacrifice to summon the main baddies’ snake god. They didn’t concern themselves with the obvious flaws in their plan (after all, they did believe Glycon was a snake) and went with it anyways. All told, 51 people were murdered that night. It was fortunate that the police were tipped off later that night, as the cult, not seeing their god, decided to try again at a later date. The restaurant, wanting to save face, sued the meat supplier for giving them tainted flesh.

As for Clara and Claire… the sensation of discovering that someone who has a similar name to you, a mild resemblance, and also can’t die is a coincidence too large to ignore. There was a long, awkward silence between the two of them as the police put blankets around them to deal with the shock. They were both smart enough to lie to the police, claiming that they were just about to eat the steak when people started puking their guts out. Eventually, when the night got quiet and they were alone under the dancing sky, they exchanged phone numbers, as this is the kind of thing one would want to know more about. Then Clara made an all too familiar suggestion to Claire.

When Juliet returned to the room, the stench had not gone away. More peculiarly, was the snake puppet in the back pocket of her roommate’s pants, which were lying carelessly on the couch. Juliet could have sworn she heard it talking, but brushed it off as her overactive imagination trying to distract her from the naked bodies in the middle of the room.

Sooner than they expected, Clara and Claire found themselves renting an apartment together. Even more surprisingly, was that it was located in Union Square, New York City in an apartment that, under normal circumstances, would cost $10,000 per month. Neither of them had employment per say, though Claire would be working a teaching position that in no way could afford to pay $10,000 per month, and yet they had an apartment to live in. But in a rather oddly forced tone of voice, the landlord, a lean man of 50 with damage from a third degree burn on his left cheek that made it look like there was no cheek at all, said they could have the room for free for their first year. And while that did seem suspicious, their options at that time were either there or a place in New Jersey. They chose the saner option.

Clara suspected it had something to do with the dealings they had last year with a cult. They were in the midst of spring break in California. Clara wanted to surprise her girlfriend for once by showing up unannounced and to introduce herself to the family. Claire never talked about her family during their Skype chats, though Clara did occasionally hear grumblings in the background when Claire claimed to be at home. Deep down, in the part of the mind where childhood and childish dreams reside, she hoped that they were homophobic. Not so much because she wanted more people who thought of her as an abomination against God, but rather because it would mean that she could save her girlfriend and they could fly off into the sunset, living happily ever after, finally giving her a story to be the protagonist of. But those dreams never arose to the conscious mind, as the part of Clara’s brain that housed empathy remarked about the banality of such dreams.

When she arrived at the Californian airport, she bumped into a janitor by the name of Charlotte Orman. Charlotte had spent the past 20 years working at the airport, barely able to keep her house from losing it, thus making her and her three daughters homeless. What Charlotte would never know is that the only reason she was able to have a house at all was because an influential friend wanted to spite a competitor who wished to use the property to build a high rise for rich people who wanted to act like they were starving artists who didn’t have an offshore bank account they could fall back on. As such, the landlord of the trailer park Charlotte lived in would be bribed double whatever the competitor offered.

Immediately, Clara was apologetic, a ritual she grew up with less for the sake of the person she was apologizing to than for her own. She offered to buy Charlotte something to drink. Charlotte mumbled yes, but she was more transfixed by the woman before her. Clara looked exactly like Charlotte imagined she could have looked like when she was young and wanted to set the world on fire. She had the scruffy long hair Charlotte thought she could pull off if given the chance and the figure of a non-anorexic actress in her prime. Her arm was covered in tattoos Charlotte was always afraid of getting and the eyes of a revolutionary that always stared back at Charlotte asking what went wrong. She always wanted to be this woman, instead the one she grew into.

Sadly, the woman she wanted to be would never be proud of who she became, as while they were sharing drinks Charlotte put a roofie into Clara’s. The things you find in an airport bathroom. Nobody cared at the airport, save for some lewd remarks about Charlotte’s sexuality that were unfounded in the facts her coworkers had. It wasn’t that Charlotte wanted to do this to the young girl, she had no hate or jealousy towards her. She just had three kids to care for, and they always took priority to her dreams.

When Clara awoke, she found herself tied to a table made of stone. It was wet with a substance Clara typically felt on the other side of her skin. Next to her were rows upon rows of women just like her: bound, gagged, and about to die a horrible death. Clara wasn’t worried though. She knew she couldn’t die, no matter what these people did. But then she looked closer at the women around her. Closer than she ever thought she’d need to. In particular, she looked at the woman at the end of the row, who was about to be sacrificed. Clara decided her name was “Cassandra,” which coincidentally it was. She saw something familiar in her, like a childhood friend she never had. Cassandra had frizzy hair that was usually kept in no particular style. She had hands that worked primarily on a farm, but sometime would be used to write about the wonders of nature. Her nose was broken, most likely by whoever was keeping them hostage. But what caught Clara’s eyes were Cassandra’s. At first, Clara thought they looked like none she had ever seen in her life. And then, it dawned on her that she had seen them. They were the only eyes she would have to see in her life, no matter what she did. And with that realization, more realizations came to her, flooding her mind with monstrous implications of what made the tables wet. And as she stared into the eyes of her double, they appeared to turn pale with death.

There were only two women in front of Clara. She couldn’t create names for them (and they would have been wrong anyways) as she was far to busy trying to escape her predicament. She didn’t want to die, as she hadn’t discovered the horrifying and obvious implications of being an immortal that ages, and so she tried to look for a way to free herself from the table. It dawned on her that there were no chains on the table, but she felt like she was being held to it like a mother seeing her child before sitting on an electric chair. It appeared that there was no way out.

They came to her, eventually. Their knives were drenched in the blood of countless other people with lives just as valuable as anyone worth less than a billion dollars. They were smiling, apologetic beings who wanted only what they thought was best for Clara. They said that she was the child of the great god Nyarlethotep. They talked about a cosmic War between corporate fascism and freedom. The cultists proclaimed that humanity was a mere insect in the face of this uncaring War of gods, and all they wished was peace. They claimed their god was the personification of freedom. They said that if they did it right this time, their god would free them from the chain of mortality. They showed Clara a rotting corpse; still alive and shriveled to the proportions of a doll a baby could hold, pleading for the sweet release of death. They asked Clara, with mouths too much like her own, if they could sacrifice her to their god. And Clara said no. They didn’t care of course, they were going to cut her up anyway, but they still had to ask. It was a key part of the tradition. The last thing Clara saw was the blade that murdered countless others pierce her flesh.

And then, Clara woke up. She was in the passenger seat of a rental car, used mostly by people who didn’t care if a car had air conditioning. Driving the car was Claire, drenched in a sweat that covered her tears. Clara was groggy at first, but was slowly able to pick herself up from the slightly opened car window. Claire focused on the road, not even acknowledging her passenger.

“W… what happened?” Clara asked, still a bit dazed.

“You got drunk at the airport, and I picked you up,” Claire replied, hiding all emotion and praying to Glycon that this would work.

“I don’t remember calling you.”

“You were drunk.”

“I don’t feel hung over.” Clara pulled out her phone. “Claire?”

No response.

“It says that it’s Wednesday.”

No response.

“I got into the airport on Sunday.” Clara looked deep into the eyes of her girlfriend and noticed that they couldn’t do what they thought needed to be done.

Claire pulled over the car and nearly everything poured out. She told her love that she was kidnapped by a cult called the Children of Nyarlethotep. She told her that she was a member back when she was a stupid teenager who didn’t think things through. Who thought that the answers lay with people who were just like her in nearly every way. How they were Claire’s only friends growing up, or they told her as such. How she believed them. How she participated. How she felt that if she ever told Clara, that she would hate her and never want to-

Instead, Clara kissed her girlfriend.

In the end, Clara spent the night at Claire’s house. Her parents were rather nice, if a bit too fond of the 60’s for their own good. Claire didn’t want to talk about them because she felt there really wasn’t much to talk about. She was wrong, as all people are when they say that about a family member. Clara and Claire swore to never join the Children of Nyarlethotep, a promise that would never be kept.

Claire, who was more familiar with the Children of Nyarlethotep, dismissed the claim that the cult is funding their apartment, as funds of the cult tend to go towards far more sensible things like human sacrifices, fixing their evil lair, or buying a coffee maker that actually works. Claire thought she noticed their landlord talking to someone shaped like a person. An alien, though he looked too human to be an alien, yet too alien to be a human. She couldn’t make out what they were talking about, just a bit of grunts and growls. They appeared to be in the middle of some kind of interpretive dance that kept them extremely close. Claire didn’t think they saw her. She didn’t say any of this to Clara, as that would require remembering the encounter.

In the meantime, they had to move their stuff into the apartment. To pass the time as men who sweat like a character on Baywatch carried their stuff into the room, they decided to come up with names for people who also held an immortal status. It was Clara’s idea, having felt brazen one afternoon during that fateful spring break. They created three base assumptions as rules for their game. First, the people all had to be women as all the people like them were women (this isn’t remotely true as Clark Oswald can attest). Second, they had to have the initials C.O. as this was also true of all the ones they had met and indeed was generally true of everyone of said status (save on alien worlds where the letters “C” and “O” do not exist). And third, no stupid names like Charity Oregon.

All told, of the people they had come up with up to that point, only three existed. The first, Carrie Oswin, was a director of a museum of art in the upper area of the state of Connecticut. She has four children, all out of the house, and is content with her life, expecting to die within the next couple of years of natural causes. Then there was Carmen O’Winn, a thief primarily working in Europe. She was inspired by a television show she watched as a kid whose title character was also a thief working her own agenda and setting her own rules. She stole many artifacts over the years, primarily from the rich and powerful. At the time, she was being contracted by a group of men who had never gone outside their own mother’s basement, let alone talk to a girl their age, who wanted her to search the house of an archivist of old 60’s television to see if he had any tapes that the BBC Archives could use. No such tapes were found, and she barely made it out of there alive. Finally, Cassandra Owsley did not exist in that exact moment. Nor would she ever, despite existing in later moments as well as earlier ones.

They spent the hours making up names, all of them fake, as well as taking breaks to argue how to position the tables in the living room, which bathroom got which curtains, and other banal conversations. In the end, they were able to make the apartment their own. Innocuously, Clara asked Claire for a cup of milk, only to discover that they forgot to go shopping. They decided that it could wait until the morning and decided to take an early rest. One of them would get it in the morning.

Clara wouldn’t see Claire again for a long time.

After a month of grieving, she was brought into the arms of the Children of Nyarlethotep by despair. It wasn’t that she was unaware of groups that could help her in her time of need, or even ones that were primarily run by people like her. It was that the cult got to her first.

The cult didn’t want her depressed, as that only gets people so far. They wanted her indoctrinated and fiercely loyal. They had had this exact situation happen countless times over the years where vulnerable people of their kind would be found and needed to be taught the right way of existing. They lived for their god and one day they would die for him as well. Until that day, they needed more sacrifices and those willing to sacrifice. The cult felt she had the tenacity to be one of them and not a mere sacrifice. But first, they had to break her down.

The depression did most of the work for them. She already felt like she was falling into the abyss. It was her fault they took Claire. If she had gone to the market, they would’ve taken her instead and Claire would be safe. Then she thought of how Claire would feel without her, and fell deeper into the pit. It didn’t help that the cult never referred to her by name, simply saying “you” or “girl” or something along those lines. Or, for that matter, their inexplicable decision to refer to Claire solely as “the deceased” or “it.”

They had to remove the influence of Claire from her heart. If she had even the slightest inkling love for anyone other than Nyarlethotep, she would desire freedom. They didn’t touch her, not physically. They just talked, as people who offer shoulders often tend to do. At first, they just listened to her about how much she loved Claire. How Claire was the only thing anchoring her to life. Then, the cult twisted the stories, gas lighting her claims of abuse. That Claire never loved her, only wanted someone who she could have power over.

It took time for her to accept the truth her friends were telling her. Years, months, hours, they all bled together in the sanctum the Children of Nyarlethotep reside in. She thought that it was love, real love. She didn’t realize how often they argued, how easily the scars faded, like the one she got last spring break when the deceased stabbed her in the stomach. It hurt to come to terms with this, but her sisters said that healing hurts.

Time passed. Eventually she had to show the cult that she was truly theirs. She had to perform a sacrifice. They provided her a book, telling of the War, of their god, of all the factions and sides and important members. And then, something happened to her. Something the cult wasn’t expecting. They thought of everything, save for one small thing they weren’t even aware could ruin everything. It began when she was reading the final pages of the ritual. She was practicing the various sigils on a dead homeless man, as all trainees do, looking back and forth between her work and the design. Suddenly, a wind from nowhere blew the pages away. It whispered like an old, long dead, imaginary friend.

She looked at the book, frustrated that she’d have to flip through the tome again to find where she was. She’d probably forget where she was and have to perform a new ritual. Homeless corpses, while not limited, are a tedious item to find. The page the wind turned the book to seemed familiar to her, especially the symbol. It was almost like skull of a snake but the fangs were too long. And there were other teeth around it. The eyes weren’t shaped like snake eyes, but almost human ones. And the snout, which was much too large to be a snake’s, had teeth in it as well. She had seen it before, somewhere though she couldn’t remember. When she was young and wanted to set the world on fire perhaps. She thought of where she saw it. It was on a butt. A friend’s butt. And it wasn’t always a mask; it used to be an Ouroboros (she didn’t know how she knew that). And the butt belonged to Jane, best friend of-

She didn’t want to say the name of the deceased.

It hurt when she even thought of the deceased.

She remembered what her sisters reminded her of what the deceased did.

The knife to the abdomen, deep enough to threaten but not kill.

She thought of the knife used by the deceased, how she was so afraid.

It was a familiar knife, like the one in her hand.

Exactly like the one in her hand.

It didn’t come together all at once. Maybe she knew the truth all along, but denied it to let herself do what they call healing. Maybe there were other moments where she almost came to a realization of what they were. Maybe she would have broken free even if the wind hadn’t coincidentally turned the pages, as if destiny wanted her to see it. But other lives would have been lost, tortured for a futile purpose that she saw all too clearly. Would Claire love her if she did those things? Would she ever love herself? Yes, she responded to herself. She read through that section, eager to learn and understand what she was fighting. Eventually, she would know what to do with this book. But in that moment, holding the knife, she knew what she had to do.

“Are you ready?” asked Charity Oregon.

Clara O’Winn smiled.

Clara sat on the cheap motel bed while Charity continued to futilely scream for help through the duck tape. Clara was looking at her watch, which told her they had less than a minute to arrive. She was aware from the stolen book that they were known for their punctuality, but arriving at the exact minute seemed a bit excessive.

But she would soon realize that excessiveness was baked in their nature as a shape began to form. Not of an individual, but of an object. Something that would not be conspicuous in a motel room, but still distinct enough for the owner to not have to spend five hours debating which TV he used to go home and ending up picking the wrong television. The device was championed by a sound akin to a child squeezing a squirrel to death while playing with the blinds. Eventually, the shape revealed itself, and the being stepped out of the toilet.

The being was not human. Sure, if one were looking at the being through the lens of a photograph or moving picture, the being would appear to look like a human, but there was something off about the way he looked. He certainly looked like a he, but there was an air of ambiguity to the significance of that detail. He looked less like a person and more like the culmination of generations of film studios and focus groups to create a character archetype (the archetype in question being the stuffy dean seen in every single college comedy ever made, but with the smile of an authoritarian dictator and the teeth of the infinite). But perhaps what made him look the lease human was in the eyes. They were dilated in such a way as have a star field shine through his infinite darkness.

Clara had heard of the parties involved in the War, and called first the side that would be least likely to simply take both of herself and Charity and do what she expected them to do to her kidnapped victim. Sadly, no such side existed, but the side of order, lordship, and sterility was far more likely to humor her than the other factions would. The only fortune she had was that he didn’t simply rewrite her timeline so that she’d give herself to be experimented, dissected, and used to create relatively good cannon fodder for when the War inevitably got boring. His side wanted time to flow exactly as it always had, never changing, forever.

“Well,” he said in the voice of an ornery deposed king while stroking his beard impatiently, “is this the real deal?” Clara said nothing, for she knew his side, like all the sides in the War, thought of her (and the rest of humanity for that matter) as a Lesser Species not worthy of listening to bluster. Instead, she simply pulled out the knife she had in her left pocket, and stabbed her captive a few inches away from her heart. It was surprisingly easy to cut around the organ (though she had many years of practice) but it still took a bit of time. The knife cut through Charitiy’s breastplate like it would butter or wood or the skull of an Elder God.

There, in front of both of them, was Chartiy’s beating heart. The sight and feeling of this happening to her made the young woman pass out. Clara, who was used to the sight of cruelty in the name of uncaring powers, proceeded to rip out the still beating heart and present it to the orderly gentleman. The blood that belonged to Charity still flowed through the body, only slightly leaving the hole. It didn’t so much create a new organ to replace the removed one as simply acting as if the heart wasn’t removed in the first place.

“Interesting,” said the man with an air of self-congratulation, “tell me, what do you want for this… intriguing specimen?”

Clara felt no need to lie. “I want your time machine so I can travel the universe.” The man shaped being laughed. One doesn’t typically hear members of his side laugh, but it is always unsettling when they do so. It’s not clear why the laugh is unsettling to an average being as, for all intensive purposes, it sounds like a normal laugh, albeit an evil laugh heard in old science fiction movies with lines like “NOTHING IN THE WORLD CAN STOP ME NOW!” But the cadence of the laugh was… off. Emphasis was put on the wrong syllable, focusing on the letter in between the “H” and “A” in “HA.”

When the laughter stopped, he calmly, as if he had never laughed at all, said, “I must say, you are an amusing little thing. The hubris of your species is well documented, and indeed fascinating compared to other Lesser Races, but this really takes the cake, as your species is fond of saying Clara.” Clara was stunned. In her conversation with his side, she never once mentioned her name to them. “You know, it was quite easy to come across your name. We have several agents in your time zone who were eager to tell us information about you and your cult. Once certain pressures were used, of course.”

“It’s not my cult,” Clara demanded.

Ignoring her, the being continued, “Frankly the only reason we didn’t simply take you earlier was because you were able to contact us.” He paused for effect. “At first, we assumed you simply got the information from that book you stole,” pointing directly at the book, which was hidden poorly inside a nightstand draw too small for it to fit into, “but then we noticed that it was years out of date.” This mildly stunned Clara, but she didn’t show it. “I mean, your book only covers, what, the first 100 years of the War. There is no contact information for our side in that edition. So how were you able to call us?”

Clara smirked, “It was written on the wind.” She then fled for the exit, but the man shaped being simply slowed down her perception of time and causally walked in front of her before resuming it to a speed faster that 1^-100,000,000 inches per hour.

“Cute,” he smugly retorted, “I suppose we’ll get the real answers out of you in the-“ But before he could finish that sentence, a familiar sound to the being filled the room. Like the wheeze and groan of an organ being played at a packed church in the instance a roof fell on it. It dawned on the being that if this Lesser Being had the contact information for his side, she might also have the information of other sides. Which is why it came at no surprise that a ship that looked like the skeletal remains of a dragon appeared in the room.

The dragon’s mouth opened revealing another bidder for the captives. Unlike her competitor, she looked distinctly human. Though Clara couldn’t make out any physical features beneath her uniform, she could tell by the feel of her that she was human. She didn’t appear to be much older than a college dropout, but there was an air of scholarship to the way she held herself before the two of them. The woman was dressed in a typical Goth attire featuring pants darker than the depths of space, a black jacket covered in pins advertising causes the woman no longer believed in, and a mask made out of the skull from a long dead alien race that still had the species blood smeared on its teeth. She seemed familiar, but Clara couldn’t put her finger on why.

“Step away from the woman, or else” snarled the woman. The woman was unarmed, though her shadow rather strangely appeared to be holding some sort of explosive device in its hands.

“Come now, Cousin Jane,” said the man shaped being, “surely we can end things civilly.”

Cousin Jane thought about this briefly. “Nah, don’t seem to be any other way. Think I’ll blow you up anyways. Always wondered if your kind bleeds gold.”

“Well, clearly there is another way. There are two of them, we can split them up evenly.” As if to piss all over his sunny day, a beam of light smashed through the celling landing softly and directly in the center of the room. Out from it, stepped an ethereal being akin to an Angel with the width of a song, the height of purple, and the shape of an experienced English actor known for playing loudmouthed kings and Viking gods.

ATTENTION LESSER SPECIES, hir whispered in a song, WE HAVE COME TO TAKE CLAIM OF THESE TWO SPECIMINS FOR OUR OWN PURPOSES.

“Bullshit you are,” shouted Cousin Jane. “’Sides, I was here first.”

“No you weren’t,” said the man shaped being. “Regardless, I’m sure we can work things out in a neat and orderly fashion.”

“Yeah, you’re just all about order, aren’t you? Not the order you want, mmm?”

“Is there any other?”

YES! OUR ORDER!

“Perhaps we can discuss this at another time, right now I have a business transaction to deal with.”

“Well, too bad, ‘cause so do we.”

AS DO WE!

“W̵̨̕e͘͞ ͟͡a͟l̵s͏o̶ ̸h̴́͝a̕͢͝v̡e̵ ̛͡an̨ ͢a̷̕͡rra̷̛̕n͡ge͞m̸̧͠e̸̛ņ̛t w҉͟ith̛͢͢ ̴̛M͏̵̕s͞.̧̕ ̷̛Ơ͢’͞W̴҉i̵n̸͏n,̸̕” A fourth party retorted, who didn’t so much enter the room but rather rewrote the nature of the universe so they were always in the room. Soon more and more parties showed up for a bit of, frankly, out of date technology that most sides only wanted because the other sides wanted it. The arguments got so loud, that Charity Oregon finally awoke. In the confusion, she found that someone had accidentally cut her binds, placed her heart back into her body, and plastered a bit of skin and bone over it. Wanting simply to go home, Charity fled the scene. Luckily the congregation was so distracted by their petty arguments that she was easily able to escape.

At the very least, they were distracted enough for someone to be able to steal a time machine, learn how to use said time machine, go back in time, convincingly fake a death or two, get married, find a time in the future where people have cured aging, woo a formless being who exists in any point in time she desires, steal a few phone numbers and contact information, get married again, write a few stage plays, and live happily ever after as the universe’s longest working actress married to a formless traveler and a wandering teacher. Which, in a bit of coincidence that is typical of the universe, someone in that room actually did, though she didn’t get the record for longest working actress. But then, I was never one to let a little thing like truth get in the way of a good metaphor.

[storytellersinkpot-blog]

Publication Interview with Susan Lotta: Bold Women of Medicine

Author and MFAC alum Susan Lotta talks about her novel, Bold Women of Medicine: 21 Stories of Astounding Discoveries, Daring Surgeries, and Healing Breakthroughs. Bold Women of Medicine tells the stories of twenty-one courageous women from the 1800s to the present. Packed with photos, informative sidebars, and including source notes and a bibliography, Bold Women of Medicine is an invaluable addition to any student’s or aspiring doctor or nurse’s bookshelf.

What inspired you to write Bold Women of Medicine?

My daughter was in the process of applying to medical school and I witnessed the effort she was putting into her career choice. At the same time, I discovered the Chicago Review Press Women of Action Series which “introduces young readers ages 12 through adult to women and girls of courage and conviction throughout the ages.” I thought about the trials the pioneering women in medicine must have gone through. With the momentum for women to go into stem careers, I thought this would be a perfect way to view the early stem workers to see how women have evolved in their push for equality in science. Women still have a long way to go but each new woman that enters the field advances the cause.

What were the challenges (literary, psychologically, logistically) in bringing this book to life?

The challenges were in the research especially related to the historical women. Some like Elizabeth Blackwell, Clara Barton, and Florence Nightingale had so many resources that I worked hard to narrow the brief profiles of their lives. Others like Rebecca Crumpler, Rebecca Cole and even to some extent, Marie Zakrzewska, the material and photos were very hard to come by but I wanted to include them. In fact, there are no known photos of either Rebecca Crumpler or Rebecca Cole, the first two African American physicians. I probably have 20 additional women that I considered including, and even more that I uncovered in my research, but there was just not enough room.

What do you hope readers take away from Bold Women of Medicine?

I hope readers will take away the power of hope, education, and perseverance. If you have the will to accomplish something (in any career), you’re over halfway there. The Bold Women of Medicine survived many failures on their way to success but they believed in both themselves and their goals. They didn’t let anyone deter them even when they were up against insurmountable odds. They didn’t listen to those that didn’t approve of their choices, they just powered on through. When they needed more explanation, they sought the answers through education. The Bold Women of Medicine’s love for both compassion and science fuels them.

What were the early influences on your writing and how do they manifest in your work?

I majored in journalism and mass communications in college, so I guess you could say that form of writing has influenced me. The writing lab we had as sophomores was a four-hour block, three times a week. We had to arrive with at least 5 new story ideas for every class, then were sent out to “chase” at least one of those stories, write it up, and turn in a draft before the class period was over. This experience manifests itself in my work in that I never have trouble coming up with ideas, which is more of a problem than you might think. It is the carrying through to a finished draft that is challenging for me.

What books have fortified you as a writer?

In nonfiction, I have loved Jill Lepore’s work (Book of Ages: The Life and Opinions of Jane Franklin, The Secret History of Wonder Woman, and A Is for American: Letters and Other Characters in the Newly United States) and many more. Also, anything by David McCullough, especially John Adams. Both of those authors turn nonfiction into captivating stories with ease, or at least they read that way. I know as an author it wasn’t really with ease. For children’s books, I remember loving Snow Treasure by Marie McSwiggan, Charlotte’s Web, The Little House series and as a middle schooler I devoured Agatha Christie’s mysteries. I don’t know how these fortified me as writer, but they have stuck with me for many years.

What do you do when you’re not writing?

Of course, like most writers, I love to read. When I’m not reading you can find me with family up at our cabin, out with friends, walking the neighborhood, and volunteering at the library book sales and other events.

What props are most necessary for you to write?

Silence, or instrumental music, coffee in the morning, iced tea in the afternoon, and a window with an ever-changing view. Mine looks out on our sort of busy street and sidewalk. Lots of walkers, runners, and dogs. My den often includes at least one dog, our 11-year-old Golden Retriever named Stanley and lately, our new 6-month old Golden Retriever puppy named Hobbes, (who will steal my shoes as soon as I take them off).

What advice do you have for aspiring writers?

Read. That has worked the best for me. I like to dissect how successful writers structure their pieces especially nonfiction which I seem to gravitate more to now.

What is next for you? What are you working on now?

More nonfiction I think. Working on a proposal geared to middle grade readers on an historical event. Right now, I’m struggling with how best to structure the piece. I will take any advice on that subject!

Susan M. Latta holds an MFA in writing for children and young adults from Hamline University. She has written on history, biography, and geography topics for Appleseeds and Faces magazines and contributed freelance projects to Heinemann Leveled Books and ABDO Publishing. She is the recipient of the Loft Literary Center’s Shabo Award for Children’s Picture Book Writers. She lives in Edina, Minnesota.