#but the mindless hate that crops up sometimes is

[that-tmr-girl]

His Past {Part 1}

When you learn about Aris's past, he begs you to stay, leaving you with an unusual idea for the situation.

Submissive Aris, masterbation, blowjob, oral, face riding, vaginal sex

Y/N was never supposed to find out about Aris's past. His ties to WICKED, the way had watched them in the Maze, the plans he helped put together, all of it. She was never supposed to find out just how much he had truly done.

He had been sloppy though. Because while he usually vented to the mirror about everything when she wasn't around, he hadn't made sure of it. Not after the memories of them.

Despite being the main player of them he had woken up in tears. Seeing Y/N's face watching over him while she whispered soothing words, he came back to reality as his heart rate slowly went back to normal.

“You're okay, Aris. It was just a nightmare, okay? You're safe now. You're safe with me,”She coaxed, pressing her lips to his forehead.

“Sorry,”He muttered, feeling his face heat up as he avoided looking at her. Shaking her head, she repeated that it was okay before kissing the tip of his nose.

“I've got tea, okay? That'll help knock you out for a few hours,”She promised.

“When'd you make tea?”

“It doesn't matter,”She shrugged, leaving his side for a moment. Pulling his knees to his chest, as he watched her leave he tried not to cry. Sometimes, he wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to get it over with already so that this weight would be lifted from his shoulders. Then, maybe his mind would let him be truly at peace.

If she reacted in anger though, if she left, he would never find peace again. He would never know the word hope. He would never feel her lips on her skin as she made the world better by those little things. Little things like meeting his gaze across the room, holding his hand under the table, whispering loving words in his ear when they were surrounded by people, kissing him whenever he walked through the door, letting him pick her up and spin her around just because, read to him, keep her head on his lap while they looked at the stars, dance in the ocean waves when nobody else was awake, and make him tea.

Thinking about all those little things made him sure that this secret slipping out would ruin everything. So he kept his mouth shut as she came back with a cup of tea and a gentle smile. Rubbing his back, she kept her gaze on him as he drank it. Still in a mindless daze, it was gone before he could even comprehend the taste.

Despite having already been ready to collapse the drink truly was pushing him over the edge. So the second his head moved from her shoulder to the pillow he was out like a light.

When he woke up, she wasn't there. Looking through the blinds, when he saw that the sun was up it made sense. She was stuck with the afternoon job, getting to deal with the heat as she tensed to the crops. He had the evening job of healing up anybody who was injured or sick. Usually, they would spend their mornings together. While he wished he would have been awake for that, he recognized that she found a way for him to sleep soundly. So he would look forward to seeing her tonight.

That memory from last night though, of him in front of the monitor, watching a Greenie run straight from the Maze before anyone could catch him, stung. The Gladers did what they were able, yelling for him from outside, sending all their Runners in, but in the end it was all in vain. The Griever's got to him early in the night.

Standing in front of the mirror, he looked at himself as he kept telling himself everything he thought.

“They're going to find out one day. All of them. They're going to realize that you were their capture,”He started, putting his hands behind his neck as he kept going. “They'll realize that you hid that you're from WICKED and outcast you. They'll kill you,”He continued. “They'll hate you for working for . . . WICKED,”He finished, seeing someone in the reflection behind him. Daring to turn around, he saw Y/N standing there looking at him with something that he had never seen before. That normal bit of love and adoration wasn't there. Her soft eyes were replaced with a cold stare and her gentle smile was now a scowl.

Disgust.

She was disgusted by him.

She actually did hate him.

Now that he saw it he didn't think that it would have been true. He realized that he didn't realize that she truly would want nothing to do with him.

Shaking her head, she stormed to her closet and grabbed regular clothes. Changing her shirt, as she went to get her hygiene supplies so that she could stay with a friend he blocked the doorway. Begging her to listen, he kept holding back tears as she glared at him. Deciding that she had enough, she turned to leave, figuring that she could find other stuff.

Aris though, couldn't let that happen.

So, in a desperate, pathetic attempt to make her stay he was on his knees, holding her legs as he begged her to understand and forgive him for keeping this from her.

While Y/N knew that she could kick him off, there was something about him begging that did things to her it shouldn't. So she remained silent, listening to his pleads as he groveled at her feet.

Without realizing he had his head between her legs, making her gasp as his pleas sent vibrations through her body. Unable to handle it, she pulled him up and forced him on the bed behind him. Laying there, he just stared at her as he tried to think about what she could possibly be willing to do with him.

“Here's what happens. You let me do whatever I want to you, and I'll forget about this. Or if you want, we'll talk about it. Either way, you have to let me do whatever I desire,”She bargained.

“Whatever it takes,”He promised.

Not giving him a verbal response, she was on his lap, straddling him. As he tried to put his hand on her back she pushed him away.

“You do everything when I say. You touch me when I say, where I say. You stop your sounds when I say. You cum when I say. I am in charge,”She said firmly.

“Whatever you want,”He repeated.

“You sit back,”She demanded, pushing his chest back. Doing as she said, he watched as she slowly pulled her shirt over her head, letting it fall to the ground and revealing her black, lace bralet. Slowly pulling the hem of her pants down, she gave him a glimpse of her red underwear, immediately turning his face the color of them.

Putting her knees on the side of him, when he tried to touch her waist she pulled his hands back. Slowly grinding on him, she put her hands on his shoulders, kissing his neck. Biting his skin, when he moaned she pulled away and admired her work before her eyes traveled to his arms, seeing them balled into fists as he held back from touching her.

Making it worse, she got off and let the last of her undergarments fall, making his eyes go wide as she ran her hands down her stomach, to her inner thigh. Coming to her slit, she made him watch her get herself off. Sticking two fingers inside of her, she moaned as Aris grew hard. Barely having self control he closed his eyes only to feel hands on his jaw. Looking up, he saw Y/N gazing at him.

“Watch the show,”She demanded, stepping back. Taking her bra off, she sat on his still clothed dick while pushing her breasts to his face. Realizing what she was demanding, he sucked on her nipple, swirling his tongue around her bud. Grinding against him, she felt his erection as he moaned on her skin.

Suddenly pulling away and throwing her hair over her back, she took his shirt off. Trailing her hands down his chest, she came to his belt loops. Taking them between her fingers, she pulled them and his boxers off, revealing his precum already dripping down his sides. Stroking him, she played with his cock before kissing his tip. Just barely swirling her tongue around it, she licked down the side, only stopping when she was by his balls. Pulling away, she looked at the way he was panting as her teasingness killed him.

Uncaring, she just stared at him while chewing on her bottom lip in a way that had him feral.

“You’re going to let me ride your face,”She ordered, positioning herself above him before just wrapping her thighs around his head. Bouncing on his face, she felt his tongue inside of her while she grew closer. Letting out high pitched whimpers, she rubbed herself against his mouth as he opened so that he would swallow.

Wrapping her thighs around his head even tighter, she moaned as she creamed on him. With him holding her waist, he got every bit he could in his mouth. Just the way he knew she wanted.

Getting off, she sat on his stomach while raking her hands down his chest. Just as he was getting comfortable though, she crawled on top of him. Putting her hands on his shoulders, she held him still as she rode his cock. Staring at her, he resisted the temptation of touching her. Her waist, her hips, her stomach, her tits, her ass, her thighs, her. He couldn't touch her.

At the same time the though, he could feel his orgasm coming as her tits bounced and her moans grew louder.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,”He repeated as he closed his eyes while somehow holding back. Bouncing faster, she met his harsh thrusts as he started begging. “Please? Please, please, please let me cum? Just let me cum in you,”He repeated.

“Shut up, and fuck me,”She ordered through heavy breaths. Doing what she said, he was almost in tears as his body was begging for release.

Hearing his whimpers, she smashed her lips against his. Moaning in her mouth, he was barely hanging on. With his noises getting to her, she pulled away and repeated his name to the gods as the knot in her stomach broke.

No longer moving, she just watched the tears in his eyes at the discomfort. With a satisfied smile, she got off of his still very hard dick.

“Y/N-”

“That isn't my name.”

“Then what-”

“Call me a slut,”She ordered, knowing just how against the idea he would be.

“Excuse me?”

“Call me your slut.”

“But I-”

“Call me a slut while you fuck my goddamn brains out or I’ll make you,”She threatened. Hesitantly shaking his head no, he waited for whatever she was going to do to him.

Pulling him off the bed, she had him standing there as he just kept wanting to touch her.

“Knees, now,”She ordered. Doing as she told him, he waited for the next command.

Going against the idea, she just grabbed his face and pushed it into her. Harshly pulling his hair, she listened to him whine as he tried to keep up with the pace. Ignoring it, she put her hands behind his neck and pushed him into her over and over. Grinding her hips on him, she looked as he sucked on her juices, somehow plunging his tongue in and out. With a groan of pleasure, she came all over his face. Lapping up all he could, he licked her thighs and stomach as he silently prayed for her to just make him cum.

“Call me your slut,”She slowly repeated. As he shook his head no she glared at him before throwing him on the bed.

“You don't listen well, do you?”She asked. Not saying anything, he just stared while still breathing heavily.

Sliding back on his cock, she moaned as she started riding him. Arching his back, he whimpered as he was just waiting for her to say yes. To say that he could put his hands all over him while filling her up. He just wanted to do something, to show love, to be loved again. He just wanted her.

Increasing her pace, she was almost screaming as the knot in her core came back. With her eyes rolling to the back of her head, she pulled off and grinded against his thigh until she came. With not even that being enough, he was back to pleading.

“Please let me touch you? Please, please, please, please?”He begged. Ignoring it, she grabbed her handcuffs and cuffed his arms to the bedposts.

“Have fun,”She whispered in his ear, slowly stroking him a few times before swirling her tongue around his tip. Just as he thought it was over she stood up and walked grabbed her clothes l.

“Y/N? Y/N, don't. Please no, I-”

“We’ll talk later. I’ve got things to do,”She waved him off, putting her garments on.

“Y/N, please don't-”

Interrupting him, she shut the door, leaving him tied there, completely nude and hard. Throwing his head back, mumbled a string of curses.

From right outside the door, she listened, her heart still hurting as she debated just opening it and hearing what he had to say. Hear why he didn't trust her enough to say it out right. Hear why all the love she had given him hadn't been enough for him to trust her.

Shaking her head, she walked downstairs as she tried to figure out what the hell she was supposed to do next. How the hell they were supposed to move on from just everything.

She wasn't sure, but some part of her desperately hoped that they could. If they had survived so much, she just prayed that they would make it through this too, together.

[hearmeouteliza]

Part of me has been concerned, considering that some factions of the fandom have been preparing to hate the finale for a couple weeks now. But then I reminded myself that they can't steal my joy, no matter what they think. If I'm disappointed by it, so be it, but if I love it, then great. Will I have fix-it ideas? Considering I'm writing a fix-it for a series I stopped watching in 1995, probably...

None of my regular crew have been hating just to hate; their criticisms have been legitimate, even if my opinion was different (and sometimes I've agreed!). But, while I don't understand it, there are those in fandom who do hate on things just for the sake of doing so. Don't let them get you down, either. It's easy, especially if you have rejection-sensitive issues, but don't feel like you have to let other people dictate your fandom experience.

[ltleflrt]

Hey Carrie! You talked a little the other day about writers' tendency to start a fic too early in the story, and how you see a lot of first scenes that could have been scrapped to improve the story. My question is if you have some tips to recognize while writing that first scene that you are starting too early in the story?

Hello friend!

That's a really good question, and I'll see if I can give an answer that makes sense. I am not a professional, and I'm not educated or trained in this stuff, it's just something that I recognize from years and years and years of voracious reading. And as with all writing advice, I encourage you to take what I'm going to say with a grain of salt and remember that no writing rule is a hard rule, only a guideline.

Also, my advice is going to be pertaining fanfiction, and specifically to AUs. Obviously a published book has an editor with a razor blade going through a manuscript for you, and the problems that bother me in fanfiction crop up in AUs more than Canonverse.

Oh, and every instance of "you" is general, not specific 😜

So I think the main problem that I see is that people are starting with an Info Dump. An Info Dump is not always a bad thing, sometimes it's completely necessary, but it is NOT where you want to start your story. If it absolutely has to be done, it's better to be somewhere in the middle or near the end. When it's something that your characters need to know.

That's an important bit: Do your characters need to know this?

And related to that: Does your audience need to know this for the story to make sense?

And very important follow up: If the answers to the above questions are yes, does the character/audience need to know this RIGHT NOW?

There's a lot of information about your story that YOU need to know. Heck, my notes files are full of sooooooo much stuff that I know about the characters and plot that never reaches the final product.

So when you're reading your first chapter (I say reading, not writing, because sometimes info dumping for your own benefit is good, and then you fix it before you share the story lol), ask yourself those two questions.

So for example:

In an AU where Dean is a tattoo artist, and it's his POV. The story starts with Dean driving to work, and when he gets there he's going to find out that the empty shop next door has been purchased and is going to be a yoga studio. He meets Castiel out front, up on a ladder trying to hang a hand painted sign, and some teens go running buy and knock into the ladder and Dean has to catch Castiel from falling. (Anyone who wants to adopt this idea is welcome to it btw, I would love to read this lol)

The mistake I often see in a first chapter like this is that as Dean is walking to work, there's a whole Info Dump about why he's a tattoo artist instead of a hunter. He'll be ambling along, thinking about his nice little business, and there's info about how his mom died in a fire, and his dad was a jerk, and Dean didn't go to college because he saved his money for Sammy's college fund, and Dean's only passion was art, and Bobby Singer introduced him to a tattoo shop owner who took Dean under his wing, etc.

Question 1, does your character need to know this?: Why is Dean reflecting on his past? Does Castiel need to know this information in order to build a romance with Dean?

Question 2, does your audience need to know this?: Why does this information matter? If Dean's only reflecting on this because you want to make sure your audience knows where the timeline changed and this became an AU, then you're starting too early in your story. Dean doesn't need to know this, and honestly in a lot of cases the reader doesn't need to know this. This is information that should have been left in your notes file.

Question 3, does the character/audience need to know this NOW?: If this information is pertinent to the plot, like maybe there's some trauma there that Castiel might need to know about to develop their relationship, then you don't want to put it HERE, you want to put it in a conversation with Castiel LATER.

If I was writing this AU, I would just start with Dean sipping his coffee, he's kinda tired because reasons, he looks up to see an unusual commotion, and has to drop his coffee and sprint forward to catch Cas. If he's reflecting on anything in this scene, it's going to be whatever made him tired, or how good/bad the coffee is this morning. Since Cas is a new business owner, they can talk about the origins of Dean's business on their first date, because it'll be a relevant response to Castiel talking about the origins of his yoga studio.

And just in general, if Dean's origin story includes a lot of canon elements, like mom dying in a fire, dad being a deadbeat, Sammy being the adorable overachieving Stanford student.... try to hide that info for as long as you can so that the audience is actually curious about it by the time the info might pop up. It's the wild divergences that are more interesting earlier on.

Okay, and then I want to talk about my giant pet peeve for a starting chapter. It's a specific kind of info dump, that often includes the stuff from above, but then goes a step further.

My nemesis, The Daily Grind.

I haven't asked the authors, so I could be wrong about this, but I feel like most of the time when this type of chapter is included in a story it is because the author wants to show the reader that the character's life is boring and meaningless before the plot's inciting incident. I can absolutely see why that might be considered an important detail about the character, but keep in mind if it's boring and meaningless to the character, it's boring and meaningless to your audience.

You know how I said earlier that writing tips should never be hard and fast rules? Well this is in regards to that Show Don't Tell rule, and it's an example of TOO MUCH showing lol

It is possible to do a daily grind in an interesting way, but only if you include a Shake Up right away. And you have to look at the 3 questions a little bit differently.

So for example:

Castiel POV, and he works in an office. His daily routine is to always get up at the same time every day, he goes for his run, he grooms himself, he has his breakfast, he goes to work and talks to Kelly about how Jack's doing in kindergarten for a few minutes before going into his office. Adler comes in to be a prick, Castiel hates him for it, and then he does his reports, has lunch hiding in a corner of the lunch room so that his co-workers will leave him alone, he does more reporting, leaves an hour after his shift technically ends, goes home to a lonely apartment that maybe includes a pet who is the only being that shows him affection, has an unsatisfying dinner of leftover takeout while watching a mindless reality tv show, then he goes to bed.

Ugh.

BORING.

Which, yeah I get it, the point is that his life is boring. But now the story is too, and I've clicked the back button before I can see how exciting it's capable of getting.

Question 1, does your character need to know this?: No. He knows. Poor thing definitely already knows.

Question 2, does your audience need to know this?: Yes, but...

Question 3, does the character/audience need to know this NOW?: Yes, but new question for ya:

Optional Question 4, why does this need to be separate from your plot's inciting incident? The answer to this 4th question is usually that it doesn't.

Chapter 2 of this type of beginning usually shows the shake up of Castiel's day. My advice is to start with the shakeup, and sprinkle in the details of what you would have put into chapter 1 to show the contrast. It's far more interesting to learn how boring Castiel's day is by starting with the shake up.

So, same scenario:

Castiel's alarm doesn't go off for some reason, OH NO HIS ROUTINE IS SHAKEN UP! You're explaining his routine while also stressing him the fuck out because he has to rush, or skip something that he normally needs to do. Action! Interesting! He gets to work late, and has to miss his conversation with Kelly about Jack because she's telling him that Adler's already in his office being a prick because Castiel isn't there waiting for him like he always is. Oh shit, he's pissing off his asshole boss! Conflict! He's so flustered by the shakeups that he misses something on his report, and he gets a call from that new marketing guy Dean Winchester who asks if they can have a meeting about it when Castiel normally takes his lunch. BAM! MEET CUTE OPPORTUNITY! While Castiel is getting all flustered by how pretty Dean is while they talk about TPS reports, he can reflect on how this is both better and worse than hiding from his co-workers in the corner of the lunch room. The rest of the day after that meeting he's thinking about how weird this day is, he still goes home an hour late, he talks to his pet about his weird day when he gets home, and maybe he still eats leftover takeout, but he's not paying attention to the reality tv show because holy shit he wants to count Dean's freckles.

In this example, you're Telling the audience about Castiel's normal routine instead of Showing them. But since it's during a plot heavy chapter, it works!

Lemme see if I can TL:DR this...

As you're reading, ask yourself who needs to know this information, why do they need to know this information, and why is it important for this information to be included early instead of later?

If the answer to any of those questions boils down to "this is backstory" instead of "this kicks off the plot", then you've started too early.

I hope this helps? I'm always nervous about giving writing advice because so much of the time I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm just feeling around in the dark. And I definitely do not ever want to hurt an author's feelings, because this hobby is so fucking hard, and we're all fragile. Even authors who welcome con-crit with open arms will have a weak point that they're unaware of that might get poked wrong and cause a crack, ya know?

I hope anyone who gets this far who might see their own works reflected in my examples understands that I have a lot of respect for their ability to put their work out into the world, and I want them to keep doing it. We're here to have fun, okay? Okay. I love y'all 💜

[lillian-nator]

Ranch AU

Or, as we all call it, The Cowboy AU 

Essentially, this was something that I created, and it’s gonna be purely fluffy, with a small bit of angst here and there. Any of the angst will be hurt/comfort. It’s meant to make us all feel better after those fucking harsh lore streams. I started it, based off of some shit in the Dad!Schlatt AU, and after that I honestly didn’t write most of it. It had really been a project in the discord, because we were all sad and shit, so if you have some fluff to offer, please do! I am happy to make almost anything canon - and we could always use more ideas. :)

I hope you enjoy some mindless farm boi fluff!

BASIC INFO: 

It's SBI's Ranch (Phil is Dadza, Tommy, Techno, and Wilbur are his sons)

Phil, sells to the local stores, and manages the crops. He doesn't do too much labor anymore. He hired his boys for that.

Dream, SapNap, Purpled, Tubbo, Callahan, and Punz are all hired farm hands

George, Niki, Ranboo, and Fundy work at the shop where they sell their products; Niki makes all of the dairy products, Fundy and Ranboo stock, label prices, and keeps track of sales, and George works customer service with his Gogy magic.

Wilbur works with the sheep, the goats, and he trains the dogs (Collies - they herd sheep), he also works with the crops a lot

Schlatt isn't hired but he might as well be. He can be found wherever Wilbur is, and is probably drinking a beer he stole from Phil. He doesn't get paid, but he eats all of their food.

Tommy works with the cows, the pigs, the chickens, the horses (sometimes), his goose, and the dogs / cats that they own

Tubbo works with Tommy. Essentially. But he also works on the crops, and the bee farm that they have set up.

Techno works with the horses, and is currently training to be a veterinarian.

Dream works on horses with Techno - they race the horses competitively - but otherwise, is where ever he is needed (usually crops)

Purpled works with Tommy and Tubbo. He mostly works with Tubbo on crops and his bee farm.

Punz and SapNap haul things. As your resident Chads, they are in-charge of moving heavy things and doing manual labor.

Callahan is their repair man. He fixes tractors, and machines on a daily basis.

SOME HEADCANNONS: 

HENRY, a saga:

that henry has a matching bandana to the one Tommy has so that everyone knows thats henry. Tommy doesn't like it when people touch henry so henry gets a bandana - Shark -

when Phil first started raising Tommy, he would've never guessed that he would turn out the way he did.

He was loud, and brash, and hit his brothers, and made fun of the neighbor's kids,  but then Tubbo became Tommy's best friend, and then Phil introduced Tommy to the cows.

The cows are Tommy's everything.

When a Bred Heifer is due, he sits with them everyday past their due date - he sat with Betty for 5 days when she wouldn't birth a calf. He was so fucking worried.

When one of his cows are sick, he sleeps in the barn until they get better. His last days with Harvey fucked him up.

Tubbo, Tommy, Purpled, and Ranboo spend long nights at the farm, and Tommy always leans against Henry as he stares up at the stars.

Henry who his best girl (all cows are girls and Tommy doesn't give a shit about gendered names). Henry who wears a matching bandana. Henry who is fluffy, and warm, and Tommy's everything. -

Sometimes when Tommy had a bad day, whether it’s stress, or school, or just whatever, Tommy sleeps in the Henry’s stall with her. Phil has so many pictures of Tommy curled up with Henry. From when she was first born to now. - Eye

Tommy hates winter because that’s the one time of year Phil won’t let him sleep in the barn. Even with the layers and heat lamps it’s too unsafe. Tommy always gets up extra early in the winter. Both because he has to check and break ice in the water troughs but also because he misses his girl - Eye -

Henry's mother, Betty, was the first Cow Tommy had helped during birth. He sat with her for 5 days when she hadn't gone into labor past her due date. It took 9 hours for Henry to be born, and Tommy was there through the entire thing -

Well, almost the entire thing. He was at school for the first hour of labor, and was so pissed at Phil when Phil knew and didn't immediately come get Tommy from School.

It always felt like Tommy and Henry had a special bond because Tommy literally raised Henry from birth. -

They didn't think Henry was gonna make it when she was first born, but Tommy was fucking determined, and bottle fed that cow every single day and night. When she was slowly weened off milk, Tommy got unironically sad that he didn't have to bottle feed her anymore.

He still visited her every morning, and milked her mother at dawn, right after he got eggs from his hens. -

Henry waits for Tommy at the end of their long ass drive way when he gets home from school. She knows that when the bus pulls up that her boy is back and so she’s always there waiting lazily for pets and a nice walk together back to the house. Even when it’s cold and someone is waiting for the kids to get home in an ATV or something Tommy always walks back to the house with Henry - Eye

Thinking about how long these fucking country roads are. And how Tommy and Tubbo have the same bus stop even though Tubbo and Tommy's houses are a couple of miles away. Tommy has to walk a mile to get to the beginning of his driveway, and seeing his favorite girl there is like a reward at the end of a journey. Tommy probably keeps a bag of feed in his backpack, which is just a mixture of grain, hay and corn, and gives Henry a handful to thank her for waiting for him.

Clementine, The Goose: 

Tommy has a goose, and names it Clementine. 

He found her in the woods one day, when she was very young, and he decided he was going to keep Clementine. 

Clementine is only ever nice to Schlatt and Tommy. No one knows why. 

Clementine follows Tommy around. Very endearing. 

Phil doesn’t question it at this point 

NEW MILO, the sequel:

OG Milo is a kitten that Wilbur found on the side of the road, in the rain, and he took the kitten in, trying to save him. Wilbur immediately got attached.

Techno pulled an all nighter, half spent  trying to save OG Milo and the other half comforting Wilbur. "You couldn't have helped, he was too starved and out in the rain for too long." Phil adds that if Techno can't save something, it can't be saved. - Ethan

Wilbur's next cat was named New Milo in honor - Ethan

Anyway, New Milo has three kittens. Blood God, Boots (given to Fundy), and Bumbles (given to Tubbo). They're called the Bees and they were born Christmas Eve - Ethan

BLOOD GOD, the pussy:

Blood God is Techno's cat. Its just a ferall little molly that loves techno too much. - M -

After Techno helped New Milo have her litter, he wasn't originally gonna keep any of the kittens, but he saw this tiny thing with the orange muzzle and just: stole her.

He is also nicknamed Blood God, for both his skill in hunting and healing

He originally named her Piglet because the orange spot looked like a pig snout [the main reason he chose her and not her stronger littermates] but called her Blood God teasingly when he first adopted her

Wilbur didn't realize he meant it as a nickname and told everyone her name was Blood God

Techno still calls her Piglet, but everyone else calls her Blood God because that's the name on her collar.

Most of their cats aren't collared, but Phil made her a custom collar because he was worried she'd get lost hunting with Techno and Dream - Ethan -

Blood God is such a batshit cat. She's a runt, really, oddly small compared to her siblings, and she's their best mouser

She's the cat that everyone leaves scraps for, but never tries to pet out of fear

Often she'll climb up people's legs and sit on their shoulders, and it's the only time you can pet her.

She is very, very affectionate with Techno and he loves her very much. He has her very well trained, and she comes with him and Dream when they go hunting sometimes alongside a terrier.

She's a little itty bitty calico molly and she has an orange patch right over her muzzle - Ethan

TOMMY'S HENS, the chicks:

He gets real defensive of his hens. They lay eggs for him. They deserve to be treated well. -

Tommy does in fact have an egg incubator; Sometimes it's just better. Tommy prefers letting his hens care for their own eggs, but he does still use the incubator - Ethan -

Some chickens enjoy being thrown so they can flap and shit. A few days after passing ownership of the hens to Tommy, Phil is going down to the crops and just sees Tommy chucking his hens and watching them rush back to be thrown again

he feels a hint of "what the hell" but he notes the gentleness tommy does it with and how the chickens seem to be enjoying it and he shrugs and keeps walking - Ethan -

Once Wilbur was helping Tommy with the chickens and he dropped an egg

Unfertilized, of course, but Tommy looked like you'd just punted a toddler

Three years later, Wilbur isn't allowed to touch the eggs anymore

Tommy's paranoid he'll hurt a live one

"Get out." "What - Tommy it was an accident, it was just one egg." "If you aren't gonna treat Phoebe's eggs with care; You can get the fuck out." "Tommy -" "Out." -

the quality chicken eggs depends usually on how the chicken feels. While under his care, the eggs the chickens produced were really good.

Under Tommy's care? Phil's eggs tasted like horseshit in comparison - Ethan -

They have their like, main barn and to the side of it is a little pond. The chicken coops are a little beside it, with the singular duck coop (he only has four ducks) closest. He calls the area the Business Bay

AGES: 

Tommy - 16 Tubbo - 16 Purpled - 17 Ranboo - 17

Techno - 19 Wilbur - 21 Schlatt - 19 Phil - idk like 45 or some dad shit

Fundy - 18 Niki - 19

SapNap - 18 Dream - 19 George - 20 Punz - 19 Callahan - 20

RANDOM HC’S: 

Tubbo, Niki, Ranboo, and Fundy are siblings. -

Whenever they eat meat they talk about who they're eating. 

They tell stories about their day and such but they always start dinner, when its meat, saying "rip lmao" and telling stories about them

...they don’t do it when they eat beef

Everyone sitting down with their plates of ham Wilbur: so who was it? Phil: Fern Tommy, already eating: rest in peace fern Techno: he shat on my boots once -

Each of the boys get a few animals that aren't allowed to be butchered.

Wilbur has Friend, Enemy, and Skit the Bull. (Wilbur wanted to name a Bull "Shit", but Phil said no because Tommy was 11 and already swearing too much for his liking)

Techno has none of the livestock. He only cares about Blood God, and his horses.

Tommy has a pig [currently unnamed], his Hens (6 or 7 of them, that lay eggs), and his dairy cows -

Phil is ALWAYS chewing on straw. -

Tommy, Techno, and Wilbur all call Phil "Pops" or "Pop". They all used to call him "Papa" though. It's like a coming of age thing for the three of them, when they stop calling him "Papa" and start calling him "Pop".

Phil may or may not have cried when Tommy started calling him "Pop" at the age of 12.

ALTHOUGH, all 3 boys know that if you want anything, you call Phil "Papa". Phil can't resist it. -

Techno and Tommy with starry eyes: pops Phil: no Wilbur: Papa Phil, with slightly less confidence: n-no   - Ethan -

Tommy holding a baby calf in his hands that he walls to bring inside for the night because hes in love with her: papa please!! Phil, practically in tears: fine.   - M

[condorclaw]

“Oi, Phil.”

Large blue eyes glowed in the night and turned to face the avian, who was trying to climb the tree higher. A quiet chirr emitting from the large, feathered beast. His ‘voice’ was soft, but clear. Hello Tommy. Do you need something?

As Phil’s voice echoed, the elytrian began to crawl down from the top of the tree. His wing-claws hooked along the lower branches with ease, allowing him to maneuver until he was directly in front of Tommy, hanging above the younger’s branch. His long neck craned around, allowing him to meet Tommy’s eyes with his own.

Phil was frightening in appearance, his long, pitch-black body often enwrapped in his four thick wings, making him an intimidating creature. Tommy didn’t see him as that, though. Humans saw Phil as some kind of nightmarish beast, who would swoop in and steal away their cattle and crops, leaving terrified farmers and destruction in his wake.

For Tommy, however, Phil wasn’t just some mindless predator, but his father. The avian used to run around the tall mountaintops at night, waiting for Phil to come home with a large meal. After dinner, the elytrian would wrap his wings around Tommy, holding his son close as the two were lulled to sleep by the sound of the wind.

Tommy didn’t have any friends when he was younger due to his secluded snowy home, his only companion being an imaginary friend who sometimes appeared to play, but wouldn’t stay for long. As soon as Phil caught on to Tommy’s loneliness, he decided to move, wanting his son to become more social and make friends.

The two ended up moving to where they currently were in the present, a nice, secluded forest with a big lake for drinking. Nobody appeared to be living there, but it was more accessible for potential travellers. Sometimes Tommy would see a dark creature quickly dart between the trees, but figured that it was probably a weird sheep. With this new location came new possibilities, and there was one thing Tommy wanted to do more than anything.

“Phil, will you teach me to fly?” Tommy asked, his hand moving to subconsciously rub at his small head feathers. “I know you said that I couldn’t, because I could get hurt on the mountains and all that. But we can try it here, yeah?”

Phil was silent, which wasn’t anything new since he liked to think before responding. As the elytrian thought, he shifted his body, slowly lowering himself down from the tree, to the ground. Tommy followed his movements, landing on the soft earth next to his father.

“It doesn’t have to be anything dangerous,” Tommy mumbled, hoping to convince Phil. While Tommy hated taking things slow, if it would mean learning to fly as cool as Phil could, he’d be able to wait a little longer.

However, Phil remained silent, not glancing towards Tommy at all. It frustrated the boy a bit, and he reached over to gently tug on part of Phil’s robe. “Dad?”

Tommy. The avian jumped a little, his feathers slightly ruffling in surprise. Go play for a bit, okay?

Well, that wasn’t a fair answer. Tommy huffed, letting his feathers puff up a little so Phil could see how he was feeling. His father didn’t acknowledge them though, so Tommy turned and stomped away in the opposite direction.

“That was a shit answer.” He mumbled, pulling an apple out of his pocket, and biting into it.

“I’m sure he has a reason for it.” Wilbur murmured, causing Tommy’s feathers to puff up again, making him appear like a fearful pigeon.

“Gods, Wilbur! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” The avian groaned, trying to slap at the other boy. His efforts were useless as usual, as his hand went right through Wilbur’s face.

While Tommy wouldn’t admit it, he liked Wilbur’s visits. Even though he wasn’t real, Wilbur really did feel like he was his own person, which resulted in a lot of strange conversations between Tommy and Phil. Tommy had insisted to his father for several months that Wilbur was real, but Phil had argued against that, claiming that he couldn’t see Wilbur at all. Tommy eventually learned to accept that Wilbur was just a figment of his imagination, and not some kind of ghost.

“Apologies!” Wilbur laughed, his eyes sparkling. He began to phase through the ground, with only his head visible, which always made Tommy smile a little.

“I do believe Phil has a good reason for not teaching you,” Wilbur continued, Tommy watching the man swim through the dirt. “Maybe you can’t fly?”

Tommy scoffed. “And why wouldn’t I be able to fly? Phil can fly, and I have feathers and wings just like him! Yeah, they aren’t as big, but they’re big enough to fly at least a little with!”

Wilbur emerged from the ground, brushing himself off even though he wasn’t dirty at all. “Maybe he’s just planning how to do it right now?”

“He better,” Tommy paused, flexing his small wings behind him. They were big enough to carry him, he had tried it before and was able to lift off of the ground for a few seconds.

A stabbing word shot into his mind, Tommy’s hands immediately rushing to grip his arms tightly. He hated the thought of that.

I’m not defective.

-

Phil looked up at the night sky, the stars shining brightly. He could hear Tommy talking to himself, and waited until the boy’s voice got farther and farther away. Once he was sure he couldn’t hear his son anymore, Phil turned around and cracked a nearby boulder in half, letting out a shriek of rage.

Tommy wanted to fly. Of course he wanted to fly, he loved watching Phil do it, and there was nothing else in the world that Phil wanted more than his son being able to fly next to him. When Tommy was younger, all Phil could think about was showing his boy the sights above, wanting Tommy to experience the world how he did. The boy always wanted to fly, so it seemed like everything would go well.

And then Phil learned that Tommy would never be able to fly like he could.

Tommy’s feathers would never grow long enough to carry the wind properly, and his wings would be underdeveloped, only meant for gliding. Tommy would never be able to fly.

Phil needed to tell him. Phil needed to tell Tommy more than anything, but he didn’t want to hurt the boy in any way. Knowing Tommy, he would probably mentally berate himself for something he couldn’t control, and the thought of that just killed Phil. He would love Tommy no matter what, but Tommy could see it as something completely different, and would have to endure cruel taunting from potential friends.

Letting out a groan, Phil sat down on one of the halves of the boulder, covering his face with his wings, the thoughts bringing a few tears to his eyes.

He’s not defective.

[carewyncromwell]

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, So we'll know where you are --  Gleaming in the skies above, Lead me to the one who loves me...”

~“The Second Star to the Right (cover),” by Simone

x~x~x~x

HEY PETER PAN ANON! I MADE YOU SOMETHING!! 8D

Hahaha, yes! This is Peter-Pan!Orion and Wendy!Carewyn (Carewyndy?). No, I won’t be writing this AU before the Tangled AU at least (and yes, I should have that up hopefully by next week)...but I couldn’t resist doodling these and talking a bit about the daydreaming I did based on this concept. Orion’s ripped pants were kind of based on how the pants are ripped in the 2003 Peter Pan’s costume, but I just couldn’t resist giving him his canon fingerless armwarmers. (I see them being forest green just like his pants, though, while his tunic is a light tan.)

Basically I see eternally 12-1/2-year old Orion Amari taking a strong liking to 10-year-old Carewyn Cromwell when she comes to Neverland. Even though she does act a bit too grown-up sometimes, it’s largely because of how deeply she feels for other people -- she’s determined to protect others, whether from bullying or actual danger, and she hates the thought of anyone feeling alone. She actually is the only person who’s ever asked Orion if he was lonely, being the only child who was destined to never grow up. And as much as Orion will airily state that “to die would be an awfully big adventure,” he finds that it’s Carewyn who believes this most, for the idea of growing older doesn’t frighten her the way it does her grandfather, the man now called Captain Hook. If anything, what makes her saddest about leaving Neverland is not for her sake, but for Orion’s -- she, Jacob, Charlie, and Bill were all going home to London, along with a good chunk of Orion’s friends among the Lost Kids...and Carewyn hated the thought that she’d never see her friend Orion again. So she reminded Orion that she would always have her window open at night, if he ever wanted to come and visit, hear her read a story or two, or even just listen to her singing while she did her evening chores. Sensing Orion’s hesitance, she reassured him that she’d never forget him. 

Orion proceeded to return to life in Neverland, embarking on those same old adventures that make the days blur and make it easy to forget things. Forgetting was part of Neverland’s magic -- even Bill had almost forgotten he had a new baby sister back in London, when he, Charlie, and Carewyn had been there with Orion and the Lost Kids. But, as Orion would often tell himself, adults forgot things in the other world too: they forgot the joys of childhood, they forgot the freedom and the simple pleasures and the bottomless daydreams. All of them, every last one of them, eventually forgot how to fly. 

But perhaps because of Carewyn’s final promise, every time Orion thought of how easy it was to forget things in Neverland, and therefore how easy it was to forget things outside of it, Carewyn’s face and words always returned to his mind. And so, the memory of her conviction and caring never strayed too far from his mind...and with it, other thoughts would crop up too. How stable things had been, when Carewyn was around. How well she understood him and how easy it was to talk to her and trust in her. And it was then that Orion realized that he really, truly missed Carewyn. It was a feeling he’d never really experienced that deeply before, not even for the other children who had eventually returned home to their families. Even Bill and Charlie, who Orion likewise grew reasonably fond of, didn’t make him feel like his stomach was always empty, no matter how much food he ate -- like his heart was scraping at the inside of his chest like a hungry animal desperate to devour something outside its cage. And that feeling only intensified when his fairy guardian Merula would try to urge him to go challenge Torvus and the centaurs to a race or splash around with the mermaids, even when Orion wasn’t in the mood to do so. 

Orion felt restless, unsure of quite what was wrong with him and not knowing how to explain his muddled thought process to McNully and his remaining Lost Kids. One day Orion was eventually persuaded by McNully to lead an expedition to find a lost chest of pirate treasure, and for a short while, the Boy Who Never Grew Up was simply able to enjoy pulling one over on his old enemy and sharing the loot with his gang. That changed, though, when Captain Hook crashed the party. 

Orion and Hook traded as many blows as ever, throwing insults at each other like they always did -- but this day, Hook said one barbed phrase that stuck in Orion’s ear more than he ever would’ve admitted.

“Already forgotten my dear Winnie, I see. But I guess I can’t be surprised. After all, the only thing that can break through Neverland’s curse -- that thing that makes everyone forget...is love. And you -- ha -- you don’t know anything about that, do you, boy?”

Love. Yes. That was the thing that made Carewyn remember her lost brother and mother, even while she was a Lost Girl. That was the thing that had made Charlie remember his parents, even after he’d forgotten London altogether. That was the thing that made Bill remember his other siblings, once he remembered how his baby sister Ginny would always cry after her afternoon nap until he came home from his newspaper route and bounced her up and down for a minute or two. That was the thing that had made Jacob remember his little sister in London, even after he was kidnapped by Hook and commandeered into piracy. And, Orion realized, it was the thing that he missed most about Carewyn -- her ability to love more deeply than anyone else he had ever known...like a mother would, and yet like an equal...a companion, more than just someone to go on adventures with. 

Orion tried to broach this topic with Merula, but the huffy little fairy put up her walls and stubbornly refused to let them down. Feelings were grown-up things, and Orion didn’t need grown-up things! Orion wanted to agree, but the feelings he felt were becoming heavy -- so heavy, in fact, that he found it harder for him to find his center, to think thoughts happy enough that he could fly to any height he wanted. He actually found himself hovering and floating more than flying...and this troubled him. It made him more anxious than he could remember ever being. 

Then the thought struck him -- why didn’t he just go and visit Carewyn? She said he could, whenever he wanted. She could tell him some stories and sing some songs for him -- maybe she could even sew him a new pocket for his shirt! These thoughts perked Orion up a bit, and he decided to leave for London straightaway. 

He hadn’t expected it to be so cold -- for you see, in Neverland, it’s every season all year ‘round, all except winter. It was a fact Carewyn had lamented, for winter was her favorite season. She loved the Christmas holidays and how everyone would gather around the fireplace with warm food together and sing Christmas songs and tell stories. It had actually sounded kind of nice to Orion, when she described it to him and the Lost Kids -- but on this day in London, Orion didn’t think the cold was so nice, nor the gray, dreary city itself. There were buildings that had been crushed and holes in cobblestone streets, made by bombs that had been dropped by German Zeppelins, and just about nobody raised their heads enough to look skyward. The adults prowling the streets were just as lacking of joy as Orion had always imagined them to be, yet it wasn’t due to stupid grown-up things like wearing a tie to work or paying bills. Instead there was exhaustion, sadness...pain. Orion hated these people’s wrinkles even more than the ones he’d see on the pirates’ faces, from dwelling on mindless things like how much treasure they had or what their daily duties were. 

But none of that mattered, of course. What mattered was seeing Carewyn. But alas, when Orion arrived at the Weasleys’ house, it was still daytime...and the window to the room Carewyn, Bill, and Charlie once shared was locked. 

Orion rattled at the window desperately, slapping the glass and pulling at its handles as he cried her name. All logic left his mind -- his breathing became raspier and weaker even as he shouted louder. 

She had to be there -- she had to be there -- she couldn’t have forgotten -- she wouldn’t have forgotten -- she promised -- she promised she wouldn’t forget him -- love was what kept someone from forgetting -- Carewyn knew love better than anyone -- she loved her brother -- she loved the Weasleys -- she loved the Lost Kids and Torvus and the mermaids and the fairies -- she loved Orion -- didn’t she love -- ?

As Orion’s anxiety spiked, the magic of Merula’s fairy dust began to abandon him. He found himself becoming heavier. He tried to cling onto the windowsill, pulling at and smacking the window, but it wasn’t wide enough for him to hold onto while it was closed. Soon enough he found himself falling slowly, like someone drifting down to the bottom of a pool...and when he landed on the ground, he landed on his knees, shaking. He clasped his hands together, his eyes wide and hollow upon the frosty ground as wintry condensation fell from his panting lips. 

He’d lost his happy thought. He’d lost it. 

He tried to fly. He tried desperately to fly, only to fall and scrape his knees and hands. Never in his life had Orion Amari ever been so frightened, shuddering from head to toe in the freezing cold. 

He shakily got to his bare feet and, barely knowing where he was going, he walked. He wandered aimlessly, his eyes glassing over as he gasped for air, searching every revolted and anxious face that he passed as the faces’ owners cringed at the state of his long hair, ripped clothes, and lack of shoes. 

Orion wandered for what felt like hours, until at long last, as if by fate, he ended up not far away from a Church-funded school, which taught both elementary and higher-elementary-level students. One of those such students was a girl with a ginger braid and almond-shaped blue eyes, walking home with several classmates, including a black-haired girl with glasses carrying a bunch of books, a rather pretty blonde with pigtail braids, and a rather cowardly-looking boy with blond hair, brown eyes, and a very thick sweater and mittens over his Church-provided uniform. The ginger-haired girl herself was wrapped up in a rather thick old dark blue blanket she’d turned into a shawl after it got ripped and had been holding it tightly around herself when, all of a sudden, she heard her name being cried by a misty, and yet anxious voice. 

“Carewyn! Carewyn...!”

One can only imagine what Carewyn’s school friends Rowan Khanna, Penny Haywood, and Ben Copper thought, seeing such a scrawny, ragamuffin street boy running toward their friend. Rowan actually tried to step in front of Carewyn as if to protect her, while Ben made as if to cling onto Carewyn’s arm in terror. But Carewyn herself, her eyes very wide upon the boy, immediately tore away from both Rowan and Ben and ran to Orion without a single shred of hesitation. 

“Orion?!”

She barreled over, whipping the shawl off her shoulders and wrapping it around his instead. 

“Orion, what are you doing here?! You’re going to catch a death of cold!”

Orion hadn’t been able to stop shaking for an instant, but her shouting his name, rushing to take care of him -- her remembering him -- it made his heart feel like a beast craving food again. Her concern wet his appetite. He wanted it. He wanted her caring. He wanted her love...

She was as tall as him. She’d been so tiny before...

“Carewyn...you know this boy?” asked Rowan, looking bewildered.

“Yes,” said Carewyn, glancing over her shoulder, “he’s a friend. Rowan, this is Orion. Orion, this is -- ”

“You’ve...grown older,” Orion’s absent mumble cut her off. 

Carewyn fixed him with a faintly reproachful look. “I’m afraid that does happen, in the span of three years...”

Thirteen. She was thirteen. ...She was older than him.

Carewyn’s eyes welled up with concern as she looked Orion over. She turned to her friends quickly. 

“...I’d better get him inside and warm...I’ll see you all tomorrow, okay?”

She quickly bid her friends goodbye, before wrapping an arm tightly around Orion’s shoulders as best she could, rubbing his arm through her shawl in an attempt to warm him. 

“Orion, what were you thinking?” she whispered, her voice full of concern as her eyes stayed locked ahead at their path. “Coming here in broad daylight, in this cold...”

Orion had started to shake again, his hands clasping more tightly. 

“Your window was shut,” he mumbled. 

Carewyn looked very upset. “...My old window, you mean? The one I shared with Bill and Charlie? Oh, Orion, I don’t share a room with Bill and Charlie anymore -- I share with Ginny now. Girls’ room, you know. Charlie and Percy actually share that room now...Bill’s sharing a flat with several other boys, closer to the newspaper’s headquarters in the East End...” 

Her eyes rippled with pain. 

“...Ginny’s and my room doesn’t have a window,” she explained. “I’ve told Charlie and Percy to keep their window open for me, but...well, Percy’s grown up way too fast. He must have closed it to block out the air raid sirens last night and forgotten to reopen it...”

Orion didn’t understand half of what Carewyn was saying, but the tone she spoke with held such reassurance and remorse that it soothed the racing anxiety that had so paralyzed him. He closed his eyes as the adrenaline his anxiety had built up ebbed away, leaving him oddly drained and colder than ever. He was so out of it that he barely seemed to acknowledge that his head flopped down onto her shoulder. 

“Orion?” said Carewyn, startled and worried. 

But Orion merely inhaled and exhaled slowly. Her caring fed that beast in his chest. He wanted a bit more. 

“Carewyn,” he murmured, “did...did you think of me?”

He felt Carewyn adjust her arm around him. 

“Of course I did,” she said softly. “I told you I would never forget you.”

The tenseness in Orion’s clasped hands and face loosened its grasp. “...Because you love me.”

Carewyn looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “What?”

But Orion barely reacted -- as if he didn’t think what he’d said was the least bit weird. 

“There’s only one thing that can prevent someone from forgetting...and that’s love. For once you love someone, your heart never really forgets them. Instead they become part of you...an indispensable piece...that would make you feel incomplete, if it was ever removed.”

Orion slowly opened his eyes, his lips spreading into a small, rather soft smile that made him look a bit more like his usual self. 

“...It’s what helped you remember your brother and the Weasleys, while you were with me...and your brother remember you, while he was with Hook,” he said. “It’s something I know nothing about...but I know you know it very well.”

Carewyn considered him for a moment, before returning her gaze back to the road. Plenty of people passing by gave her and Orion the side-eye, but she didn’t care. 

“I don’t know if I’d say you know nothing about it,” she said at last. “You remembered me just as much as I remembered you, did you not?”

Orion’s smile faded from his lips as his eyes widened ever-so-slightly. Then his expression slowly relaxed.

“...Perhaps...”

His black eyes trailed over her arm around his shoulders and her hand rubbing up and down his arm hesitantly. His arm beside her chest twitched slightly -- then, very, very tentatively, he tried to wrap his arm around her shoulders in return. It was a bit awkward, with the shawl wrapped around him...but once Carewyn sussed out what he was doing, she adjusted enough to give the shawl enough slack that he could successfully hold her in return. Once he had gotten his arm around her, he seemed oddly proud of himself, his smile spreading and his eyes closing again as he leaned into her, his head beside hers on her shoulder. 

They stayed that way for several blocks, walking in silence and simply enjoying each others’ company. Orion felt his center of balance returning to him. It was like having this stable place, with his arms wrapped around Carewyn’s shoulders and hers around his, was the earth he needed under his feet to launch himself back up into the air. He felt like he might even be able to fly again at some point...maybe not yet, but soon. Time always moved more slowly in Neverland than in London anyhow, so no one would mind if he took his time...

“...Carewyn?” 

“Hmm?”

“I...don’t know if I can make it back to Neverland,” he confessed. 

Carewyn looked at him, her eyes once again flooding with concern. 

“I fell, when I failed to open your window,” Orion explained. “I’ve only ever fallen like that once before...when...”

“...When Grandfather made you think unhappy thoughts,” Carewyn finished grimly. She turned away from him, facing the road again. 

Orion nodded. His black eyes flickered across her face, even though she was no longer looking at him. 

Hook had taunted him then that Carewyn had no reason to stay in Neverland -- that she preferred the thought of growing old and dying to staying with him -- that he could never meet her high standards. He’d taunted that one day, Orion would go back to find her window locked and barred -- a grown woman who’s forgotten all about him, about Neverland, about how to fly...who’s replaced all of it with adult things Orion could never understand. Ambition. Family. ...Husband. 

Carewyn wasn’t an adult yet, but she certainly wasn’t a child anymore either. There was a practicality to her posture -- a steadiness and gravity to how she walked. There was a neatness and meticulousness in how she handled her appearance. And yet even so, her hands were still so warm and her eyes were still so soft...and the sincerity in the little wrinkles that creased her brow and eyes and kissed at the corners of her lips was just the same. 

Carewyn raised her head in Orion’s direction, but her eyes couldn’t quite reach his. Instead they landed vaguely on his shoulder. 

“...I never told you...Grandfather was wrong, did I?” she asked quietly. 

Orion tilted his head. “...I suppose it depends on which thing he said that you’re thinking of. You did say you’d never forget me, or Neverland...or how to fly.”

“Yes,” said Carewyn, “but I didn’t say that he was wrong, that you’d never understand ambition or family. That’s definitely not true. Ambition isn’t just an adult thing -- you dream of never growing up, of never losing your freedom or your independence...your spirit. That’s a wonderful ambition. And you have a wonderful family too, in Neverland. The centaurs and mermaids -- Merula and the fairies -- the Lost Kids! You take care of them as if they were your family.”

Orion stared at her for a moment, his face very unreadable, but his black eyes rippling with a strange emotion. Then he curled his fingers into the puffy white sleeve of her shirt. 

“...And...the last thing?” he asked softly. “‘Husband?’”

Carewyn frowned deeply. “Is marriage something you even want to understand?”

“No!” said Orion instantly, looking revolted. “No...but...well...”

He swallowed, his own gaze drifting away. “...If you grow up...you’ll eventually want one, won’t you?”

Carewyn cocked her brows coolly. “It’s possible. But honestly, marriage seems like a bit of a bother. I’ve had to answer to plenty of adults in my life: I’d hate to have to answer to one more by choice. Especially if it means I have to give up Jacob, my friends, and my dreams just to make him comfortable.”

She said this so huffily, and yet it comforted Orion more than he could ever properly express. His own chest seemed to lighten and he felt better able to breathe again. His eyes softened upon Carewyn’s face. 

“...I see.”

The two finally reached the Weasley home again. Orion noticed the house across the street that Carewyn had once pointed out was hers and Jacob’s had been boarded up. 

“It’ll get torn down soon,” said Carewyn, noticing Orion’s gaze. “The family that lived there had their house ransacked, just because they were German...”

Her eyes narrowed. 

“...It’s disgusting, how they were treated,” she added to herself. “They were very nice to Jacob and me, when we first came home...”

“Where is your brother?” asked Orion. 

Carewyn deflated. 

“...The war front,” she said sadly. “He’d been saving up so we could move into our own place, but...well, the army needed soldiers, so both he and Mr. Weasley signed up. Mrs. Weasley let me stay here, so I wouldn’t have to struggle to find a place to stay myself.”

Orion felt something oddly like pity prickling at his chest. “You mean you’ve lost him again, after only just getting him back?”

Carewyn didn’t answer as she opened the door of the Weasley home and bustled him inside. Once the door was closed, she guided him over to the main room and into an armchair, wrapping several more blankets around him. 

“Wait here,” she said. Her lips spread into a fuller smile. “I’ll make you some hot cocoa -- that’s sure to help you fly again.”

Orion felt his heart give a somersault. 

“Do you remember?” he said very quickly, before she could leave the room. “...Do you remember how to fly?”

Carewyn beamed. 

“Of course. All you need is faith and trust, and to have been brushed with fairy dust. Then you think happy, wonderful thoughts, and...”

She spread her arms, and -- amazingly -- her feet actually came up off the ground.

Orion’s black eyes widened. Then his mouth slowly spread into the fullest, brightest smile as he found himself coming up off the ground himself. He floated just below her, spreading both of his arms too so as to take her hands and hold them out on either side of them.

Even when the world was so miserable -- even when she had so much reason to forget...Carewyn still knew how to fly. 

“You’re flying,” said Carewyn with a warm smile. 

Orion’s eyes sparkled as he guided her around in a circle, just as he had when they danced with the fairies. “I found a happy thought.”

“Did you? What is it?”

“A person whose company makes you feel stronger, when you’re at your worst.”

Carewyn smiled. “I believe that’s what’s called a ‘friend,’ Orion Amari.”

Orion’s midnight-black eyes gleamed.

Yes. A friend. Not just someone to go on adventures with, or look after, or play make-believe with, or give direction -- but someone to be your shoulder to lean on. To listen, to comfort...to love. That was a friend. As much as he cherished the Lost Kids, he was the one who had found them -- they answered to him, seeing him as leader, since there was supposedly no one else who could. 

This friend...he wanted this friend by his side forever. “Forever,” as Carewyn had once reminded him, was an awfully long time -- but he didn’t hesitate in this thought at all. 

And so, not long after, the Boy Who Never Grew Up returned to Neverland. He passed his mantle of leadership onto Lost Boy McNully, said a quick goodbye to all of the members of his Neverland family...and decided to leave for good. Even his short trip back to the Second Star to the Right took up a few weeks, but when he returned to London, his friend was waiting for him. And Orion and Carewyn grew up together, as close of friends as teenagers and later adults as they were as children. Orion grew more than just a fraction of an inch -- he soon towered a good head over Carewyn once more. He even grew a mustache, and a beard too! And yet even with this, it was never beneath his dignity to climb a tree, nor to engage in food fights, nor to read adventure books about pirates, nor to crow like a rooster upon winning a game. No matter how much his other classmates at school would frown, and no matter how much the adults would disdain and scold him, Orion never cared -- and neither did Carewyn, or Bill or Charlie, or any of the other friends he made over the years. 

So you see, even if Orion grew older, he never truly grew up...for all children grow up, except one. And one day -- many, many years down the road from when Orion first made the choice to stay -- he looked at Carewyn and realized that his first and dearest friend had become something even more precious: a friend he wished to love, cherish, and live beside far longer than forever. A friend he would call “lover.” 

[kisugay]

y’know as much as i see a lot of fandom shit i still live in my own little world a lot so sometimes i forget how insane the bleach fandom is and then i step out of my little friends/mutuals comfort pod and i’m bewildered at the monumental stupidity and nastiness of it all. the lack of brains in others is astounding.

like i was reminded today that there are actually people who hate rukihime as friends or lovers or whatever for literally no good fucking reason. it doesn’t crop up too terribly often, but when it does it really says it all how fucking nasty and weird some of the bleach fandom is.

i mean, *i* criticize rukihime as a romantic ship for Actually Valid Things such as the obviously weird age gap that i criticize literally any other teen human x shinigami/arrancar pairing for (renichi grimmichi ichiruki ulquihime etc etc—i now simply do not find these things all that appropriate as an adult in their mid-20s looking at the way fellow adults pair up literal underage characters), but that’s clearly not the same thing as what these weirdos do.

what these people do is mindless nasty hating on girls or the concept of girls in love or in a good friendship because they’re still bitter 5 years later and counting that their m/f otp didn’t become canon or whatever. MY otp didn’t become canon and do you see me acting like this? do you see me hating yoruichi or any harmless ships involving yoruichi simply because urahara/tessai isn’t canon? no you fucking don’t because i behave like a normal person. hell i’m even rather soft about urahara/yoruichi, i just don’t like the way kubo wrote them and treated it. see? i’m even rather soft on the problematic ship because those characters mean a lot to me and i can tell how it would’ve been a great ship in the hands of an actual good writer. and i can still like it while acknowledging how misogynistic and racist and generally shitty kubo treated the pairing... but i digress.

in contrast to these weirdos in the fandom, what i do is criticism of a pairing like rukihime based on a sound moral principle that can be widely applied in general to many similar pairings, and not just targeting one specific instance of “ew i hate this friendship / romance because i personally dislike it so i will complain about it and act like i’m better than other people weh weh weh”.

like idk you can complain about stuff you personally dislike all you want, sure. you can complain that you don’t really see that much friendship in rukihime or you personally dislike the pairing. we all have opinions and such and we even have a right to our opinions, no matter how shitty. but here’s the thing: if you’re going to die on a hill about it or act like you’re better than other people about it, then you need to actually be justified in your reason, otherwise you just look bad.

like lol i am definitely no defender of rukihime as a romantic pairing because of my own principles as a full grown adult who knows better (i do fully support it as a friendship it’s very very cute in a platonic sense!), but you HAVE to at least have an actually good, justified reason to hate it then trounce around acting better than other people, otherwise you’re just showing off that you’re actually mad about something else because you actually can’t come up with a sound reason why it’s bad.

[wishingforatypewriter]

Dream of Home

Note: Sort of written for Baavira Day under the prompt "Regrets" (but also late and kind of off topic)

Kuvira had thought to keep her mind off politics, as that was where all her trouble had really started—in newspapers and history books and the speeches of others who had hoped to bring change. She'd tried to fill her days with poetry and novels instead, and twirl on her tiptoes beneath the domes like the figure in a music box. Mindless and obedient, as Su had always wanted. But even that crude imitation of peace hadn't lasted long.

It had become something of a pattern lately; they came for advice and in return brought letters, clothing, small fragments of her former life. It was usually Korra who sought her counsel—sometimes Wu, or the new leader of some fledgling state.

It was both of them this time, the king and the avatar, asking for her thoughts on the protests cropping up in Ba Sing Se after the returning nobles tried to cast low-income workers out of the city center and restore the rings. They’d never be able to do it, of course; Baatar saw to that when he drew up the plans for the city’s reconstruction. But there was no doubt the nobility would come up with some new and creative way to oppress the poor without a strong hand to stop them.

She heard them out, read the statement the little king's advisors prepared and tore through it with red ink.

"There," she said, sliding the document back across the table. "Now at least they won't throw cabbages at you."

"You really do have a way with words, gumdrop," Wu said as he looked over the edits.

"Words aren't enough. If you want real peace, you need to put the nobles in their place."

"Legally," Korra added quickly.

He groaned, slumping down in his chair and Kuvira exchanged a tired glance with the avatar. At the very least, she didn't have to fly home with him.

"Isn't that what the Dai Li are for?" he whined. "Hey, whatever happened to those guys, anyway?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to," Kuvira told him.

They picked her brain for about an hour—taxation, infrastructure, transportation—and then Korra drew a sheaf of letters out of her bag

"These were at your place in Ba Sing Se."

"Thanks."

Kuvira knew better than to open any in front of them. A handful of visits ago, Wu brought a garment box that had been waiting for her in an Upper Ring boutique—her wedding dress, finished at long last. It had been so unexpected, so soul-rending, that tears welled in her eyes at the sight of it. She would sooner scoop her eyes out of her skull than let something like that happen again.

That night, after they were long gone, Kuvira opened the letters in her room, one by one. A few messages from friends still in the capital—Shan, who she had served with on the metal guard, got engaged to one of Baatar’s university friends; Lian, who’d always had a soft spot for children, was sworn in as Minister of Education. Also, a note from a little girl at one of the bending schools she founded, and a request for an endorsement from an up and coming politician.

She had almost believed that she'd get through the stack mostly unscathed when she came across the inquiry—a wealthy buyer looking to purchase the city estate.

Kuvira still saw the house every time she closed her eyes—the gates that moved like elegant clockwork under the slightest push of her bending, the turtleduck pond in the shadow of a dance pavilion, the his and hers studies equidistant from the master suite. The idea of some other family living in the only home she'd ever loved stole the breath from her lungs. But then she remembered that it was no longer hers to sell or keep or yearn for through long nights under a starless platinum sky. From the original sketch of the design to the matter of buying land within the royal mile, it had always been Baatar's house.

The walk from her room to his stretched on for an eternity. She tried to give him space to heal from her, usually asking Huan to convey any messages she had, but this...this was too personal.

Baatar didn't look angry when he opened the door, just a bit surprised. A small step, but a step nonetheless. "Kuvira."

She handed him the letter, trying hard to keep the anguish off her face. “Korra brought this when she came by,” she explained as he read it over in the doorway. “Naturally, I won’t argue with whatever you decide to do.”

He looked at her and sighed. “You don’t have to worry. I’d never sell it.”

"Why would you assume I was worried?" Kuvira knew the question was ridiculous even as she asked it. During the days of the Empire, this man had been able to intuit her moods from the sound of pen strokes and micro-changes in her posture.

"The chandelier for one," he said, and sure enough there was a slight trembling in the silver fixture. Another person might have chalked it up to a breeze gone by, but he knew better.

"Damn it." The chandelier stilled as soon as she noticed, but Kuvira still wanted to kick herself for letting it happen.

"Come inside," he said, likely more out of habit than true intent. He’d never been able to leave her alone when she was feeling like that. It was a rare exception in her life, the way he always pulled her in where others pushed her away. But in the end, she’d managed to ruin that, too.

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to keep it for my sake,” she said, once the door was closed behind them.

“It isn’t just for your sake,” he said. “That house is the best thing I’ve ever designed, or it would be if not for—never mind.”

“What?” Kuvira asked.

He shook his head. “No, let’s not.”

“Baatar,” she said, slipping into a tone she hadn’t used since before Republic City.

“Alright, fine. I always hated that turtleduck pond.”

Kuvira’s eyes widened. “Really?” she asked, remembering their many mornings spent sitting beside it, discussing infrastructure plans over breakfast and feeding the ducklings. “Why?”

He groaned. “It completely clashes with the architectural style of the house, and it’s symptomatic of that tacky kind of Agniphilia that’s plagued Earth Kingdom design since before the Hundred Year War. Li Na always said I murdered the house by adding it on.”

Kuvira felt her ears grow hot as he explained. She liked to think that her tastes had grown sophisticated over time, that she’d completely removed herself from her mother’s fake antiques and costume jewelry. “Then why would you even include it in the design?”

“You always talked about it when we were kids. A house of your own with a big library and a dance studio and turtleducks in the backyard,” he said, shaking his head. “At the time I cared less about the aesthetics than making you happy.”

Kuvira closed her eyes slowly, feeling a dangerous warmth pooling beneath the lids. She wouldn’t. She would not. Spirits, what was wrong with her lately?

“Thank you,” she said, finally. “For not selling it. And everything else.”

She slipped out of the room before she lost her composure entirely, and when she fell asleep that night in a lonely bed within a city that knew no stars, she dreamed of home.

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze Pt.8/25

Previous

It was the weekend.

Finally.

The year was barrelling towards the winter holidays faster than a river crashing over a waterfall. The children were all getting excited for the holiday season and decorations had been cropping up around the school. Tissaia had kept her classroom bare. The students had been allowed to decorate their lockers but the art classroom needed to remain a blank canvas. The addition of tinsel and fairy lights caused unnecessary distraction to her creative process. Her work was methodical and a way for her to organise the chaos in her mind. The decorations around the winter months caused her thoughts to spiral and her anxiety would become almost unbearable.

She closed her eyes and took a long deep breath, counting the beats in her head and then exhaled. She pictured the tension in her shoulders washing away like footprints in the sand. She repeated the process again until her thoughts quietened down. By the time she opened her eyes all thoughts of the brightly coloured school halls had flittered away.

She grabbed her notebook from her purse and began to sketch the trees outside of the coffee shop window. She noted the way the sunlight broke through the branches and danced on the pavement below, the way the bark shimmered in the bright morning sunshine and yet fell into dark gloomy shadows.

She’d always been fascinated by light in her art. The way something so untouchable could completely change the colour and shape of an object. Things that seemed terrible in the darkness were harmless in the light. It was honestly magical and she would never get tired of trying to capture the beauty of the phenomena on paper.  

“Tissaia?”

Her charcoal skidded across the paper as she started at the sound of her name.

Her sketch was ruined.

Yennefer’s violet eyes were shining down on her, her signature raven black hair tumbling down past her shoulders. She had two small coffee cups in her hands.

She sighed and carefully put her charcoal away. She tore the page from her notebook with practiced ease and folded it in half. She would put it in the recycling the next time she went past a bin.

“Yennefer.” She greeted her former student with a smile as she straightened out the sleeves of her shirt. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“I’m visiting Ciri.” Yennefer nodded to the till where the young girl was taking a paper bag from the barista.

She raised an eyebrow at the younger woman.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “She insisted that she bought her own cake. Honestly, Tissaia I’m not an idiot.”

“I never said you were.”

“You implied it.” Yennefer muttered sharply under her breath.

“Yennefer.” Tissaia sighed and picked up her now cold mug of coffee. “Must we always fight?”

Yennefer laughed at that. “Just like the good old days.”

“I was tough on you because I saw talent. You know that.” She grimaced as she sipped her drink. This always happened when she started drawing but she didn’t want to waste her money by not drinking it.

“Auntie Yen!” Ciri came bounding over clutching the paper bag. “I got a chocolate brownie! It has glitter on it!”

“You already have a hot chocolate?” Yennefer asked holding up one of the cups.

“Yup!” Ciri grinned gleefully.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “You’ll turn into a chocolate if you’re not careful.”

“No I won’t!” Ciri shook her head. “I asked Mr Jaskier and he said that adults just say that so you won’t eat so much!”

Tissaia smiled as she sipped her coffee. Yennefer looked ready to strike down the younger teacher. Her violet eyes flashed dangerously and she ran her hand through her hair. “Of course he did. Do you know why adults say that?”

Ciri scowled and scrunched up her nose. “Nope!”

“It’s because chocolate is a treat and we should only eat it some of the time. If we ate it all the time then it wouldn’t be special anymore.” Yennefer tried to explain. “Right?”

Tissaia nodded. “She's right.”

Ciri tilted her head at the explanation and narrowed her eyes at Tissaia. “So you lie?”

Tissaia looked at Yennefer who was staring right back at her.

This was why neither of them taught the younger tutor groups.

“Think of it more like a story.” A new voice chimed brightly.

Yennefer groaned as Ciri spun around excitably.

“Mr Jaskier!!”

“Hello, Ciri. Yennefer, Ms de Vries.” Jaskier waved cheerfully. “Adult sometimes tell stories as a way to teach children about the good and bad things of the world, like eating too much chocolate.”

“Like when mummy lions pretend to be scared when the baby lions jump on them?” Ciri asked.

“That’s right!” Jaskier grinned.

“What are you doing here, Buttercup?” Yennefer raised an eyebrow at the brunet.

“Getting coffee?” Jaskier held up his own coffee mug which was covered in a gooey caramel syrup. “Heard they were doing special editions for the holidays and I just love edible glitter.”

Tissaia closed her eyes to try and focussed on her breathing to try and block out the conversation. She had come to the small coffee shop for some well earned peace and quiet. It was part of her weekend routine to help her relax after a week of teaching. She had been coming to the coffee shop every Saturday for years now.

“Tissaia?” Yennefer’s voice again.

“Yennefer” She answered, not opening her eyes, her fingers finding the cuffs of her sleeves with practiced ease.

She heard a shuffle of movement and the excitable voices of Ciri and Jaskier moved away. With a final deep breath she opened her eyes to find Yennefer still staring down at her. Jaskier and Ciri were sat at a nearby table away from her.

“I’m sorry, Tissaia. I didn’t mean to interrupt. When I’ve dropped Ciri back at Geralt’s we can catch up properly.” Yennefer suggested.

“You can tell me all about that blog of yours.” She agreed.

“Like you don’t follow me already.” Yennefer teased gently.

“I’d still like to hear it from you.” She countered, and it was true. She had always followed Yennefer’s ascent into the art world with great interest. She was proud to see her prodigy blossom into a fierce and talented young woman. It was a dream come true to see someone so brilliant succeed and as teacher she bristled with pride to know her student was flying amongst the stars, but mostly she had received all this information second hand through Yennefer’s blog or from Triss and Istredd in the staffroom. It would be nice to hear it from her friend in person for a change.

“Always so sentimental.” Yennefer smirked and then turned back to her ward. “Ciri, leave Mr Jaskier alone. It’s time to meet up with your father.”

“Mr Jaskier can come too!” Ciri suggested.

Tissaia watched the young teacher carefully. It was no secret that Jaskier, amongst others, had a crush on Geralt Rivia. Jaskier and Triss were often found gossiping happily in the corner of the staffroom about how handsome the man was. Tissaia didn’t exactly agree, not that she really found anyone attractive, but the mindless conversation was an entertaining break from teaching and marking.

However, having a harmless crush on a parent was very different from actively dating a parent, especially when their child was in your class. That was frowned upon to say the least. Stregobor would certainly have no qualms about firing Jaskier if he thought there was even a shadow of a doubt in the man’s conduct at work.

Jaskier froze.

His face lit up like a tomato.

And then he promptly threw his coffee all over the table he had sat down at.

“Oh chocolate fudge cakes!” He yelled and jumped back. Ciri squealed and leapt back to avoid the hot liquid. “I am so sorry Ciri. Did it get you?”

Ciri shook her head but seemed a little confused by Jaskier’s sudden clumsiness. “I’m ok.”

“Good. Good. No harm done then. I’ll just get some napkins to clean up this mess. You’d better run along now with your Aunt Yennefer. I bet your dad will be very excited to see you.” Jaskier was talking faster than a rocket as he scooped up his now sodden notebook off the table and look forlornly at the empty mug.

Ciri frowned. “I see him every day.”

“Well then you are a very lucky girl. I will see you on Monday in class. Don’t forget to bring in your favourite story. We’ll be sharing them after lunch.” Jaskier rambled in a hurry and then scurried away to find some cleaning supplies.

Tissaia sighed as the young girl was dragged from the coffee shop, still grasping her paper bag that contained her chocolatey treat.

Jaskier was playing a dangerous game and it was likely going to end in heartbreak. She really hoped he knew what he was doing. _______________

Tissaia sunk down onto her sofa wearily. After the chaos of the her usual quiet time at the coffee shop her thoughts had been racing and she struggled to regain control of her own heartbeat. She’d tried to paint various objects from around her house. She’d started with her plants then moved onto an assortment of candles, but she’d not quite managed to capture the way the flames flickered and glowed on the paper and she’d only ended up more frustrated than when she’d started.

After that she’d decided to clear up her kitchen. She’d been too tired during the week and the mess had begun to build up. It had taken longer than she’d expected but as she’d cleaned and organised her kitchen she’d felt her thoughts follow suit. Her feet were now aching and her arms were sore. She’d sleep well tonight.

She hummed happily as she poured herself a glass of red wine. She took a deep breath as she inhaled the swirling lavender scent from her candles. There were no children and she was at peace. It wasn’t that she hated the children. She loved her job really, she loved bringing light and art to a whole new generation of brilliant young minds. She loved their vivid imaginations and endless enthusiasm for the beauty in the world, but by the end of the week she was always emotionally drained. She had considered giving up teaching full time and offering private lessons, or spending more time on her own work and commissions but the stability teaching gave held her back.

She’d just picked up her book when her phone rang. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Apparently nothing was going her way today. She checked the caller ID. It was Yennefer. She clicked the green button and put the phone on speaker.

“Hello Yennefer.” She answered, trying to keep the fatigue from her voice.

“Tissaia. I’m outside. Let me in.” Yennefer asked, if you could really call it a question.

She considered leaving her outside but Yennefer was like family to her after all these years. She hung up the phone and smoothed down her skirt before opening the door. Yennefer was stood holding a large rectangular brown paper package under her arm. She was wearing black jeans that looked like they’d been vacuumed onto her body they were so tight, a plain white t-shirt with cropped leather jacket. God forbid that Yennefer ever wear colour. Tissaia gestured for her to come inside.

“A little warning wouldn’t go amiss, Yennefer.” Tissaia chided gently.

“A warning gives you the chance to say no.” Yennefer countered. “I don’t come back that often, Tissaia. I wanted to see you properly before I left.”

She nodded. “Wine?”

“Please.” Yennefer grinned. “I brought you something.” She added once Tissaia had poured out a second glass of wine and they’d settled down onto the sofa together.

Tissaia raised an eyebrow at the parcel that was propped up against the wall. She’d seen enough canvases in her time to recognise one even through brown paper.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Does there have to be an occasion?” Yennefer challenged but rolled her eyes at the look she received for her question. The two of them were friends, almost like mother and daughter, but that didn’t mean they always had an easy friendship, and surprise presents were certainly unusual, especially from Yennefer. “The Solstice is coming up, an apology for earlier, a thank you for convincing Stregobor to let Ciri into the school. Take your pick.”

Tissaia paused mid sip of her wine, touched by Yennefer’s display of thoughtfulness. She smiled at her younger friend and put her glass down so that she could open the parcel. The pulled the tape off the corners of the present, careful not to damage the canvas hidden beneath the paper and peeled back the edges of the wrapping. The painting was bright and bold and fiery, everything that screamed Yennefer, but there was a strange calmness around the edges of the painting like waves lapping at the sand.

Yennefer shuffled awkwardly and took a long swig of her wine. “It’s not your usual style, I know that. It probably would look completely out of place with the rest of your house so I don’t expect you to hang it up but it’s yours, a Vengerberg original.”

Yennefer wasn’t wrong. The chaos that exuded from all of Yennefer’s artwork would clash horrible with the carefully cultivated tranquility of Tissaia’s house but that didn’t stop a wave of unbridled emotion from rising up in her chest.

“It’s beautiful.” She wanted to trace the swirls of colour with her finger but resisted. She didn’t want to damage the brushwork. “I’ll find a place for it. Everything has its place. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Yennefer brushed off her praise with a wave of her hand. “So did I tell you what the owner of Aedirn said about my last article?”

Tissaia smirked. She’d met Virfuril once or twice at galas and she’d quickly realised he was a misogynistic racist prick. He cared more about an artist’s appearance, and social standing than about their art. His gallery was full of art made solely by young straight white women. Diversity was not a word that featured in the man’s vocabulary.

Yennefer had called him out on it in her last review, challenging him to feature work by black artists, artists of all different races, sexualities, genders, ages, religions. She’d spoken out about how her own art had been pulled from the gallery, whilst she was still studying at university, once Virfuril had realised Yennefer’s own diverse background after pictures of her childhood and her grandfather had been leaked during her last year at the university.

The younger artist hadn’t known any better back in university. She’d used her privilege to her own advantage without even realising. It had taken Yennefer years to realise that her voice mattered, especially with a growing platform where more and more people were listening to her every day. Now she stood tall and proud, not letting a single person pull her down because of her race, gender or disabilities. Tissaia imagined Virfuril didn’t take too kindly to her just attack but she was immensely proud of her friend. She swirled her wine gently in her glass before deciding she needed a top up.

“You didn’t.” She replied to her friend. “But I can only imagine it was as dull and pathetic as his gallery.”

Yennefer laughed and launched into her story. Tissaia felt herself relaxing as she listened to Yennefer’s scathing remarks and gleeful retelling of how the Aedirn was beginning to lose credibility. It had been a long day but she was glad that her friend had visited. It turned out to be exactly what she needed after a week of teaching children.

_________________

The coffee shop encounter played on Tissaia’s mind intermittently for the rest of the weekend. It was never easy meeting the children outside of school. Most of the younger students were convinced that the teachers lived at the school and never seemed to understand why their teachers were suddenly infiltrating their weekend lives. Ciri had taken meeting Jaskier in the coffee shop in her stride and she assumed that was down to Yennefer’s influence, her young friend had become a sort of mother figure in Ciri’s life. Ciri hadn’t seemed to have recognised Tissaia outside of school but that was probably for the best.

That being said, Tissaia couldn’t stop replaying the entire scenario in her head.

Ciri’s excitement when Jaskier had arrived was not unusual, especially for the younger pupils. Jaskier’s classes always adored him and even the older years still greeted him fondly after they’d left his class, but for her to invite her teacher along to meet her father.

That was…odd.

She sighed as she picked up her register from Triss.

“Morning Ms de Vries.” Triss mumbled.

Tissaia raised an eyebrow at the receptionist’s appearance. Her hair was impossibly wilder than usual and she had bags under her eyes. The young girl was gripping onto her coffee mug as if it were a lifeline.

“Ms Merigold.” She greeted. “Late night?”

“Yennefer wanted to catch up. I always forget how much wine that woman can drink.” Triss groaned.

“Hungover on a Monday morning? How professional.”

Triss fixed her with a glare. “Not a word to the headmaster.” She hissed.

Tissaia pulled a packet of painkillers from her purse and slid them across the desk. “My lips are sealed.”

“Oh thank god.” Triss grabbed the tablets eagerly. “Yen didn’t have any in her cupboard. I swear she’s inhuman.”

“You stayed the night?”

“Not a word!” Triss squeaked.

Tissaia smirked at the younger girl. “You should have checked her purse. You know she keeps her painkillers on her. Oh and Triss?”

“What?”

“Try and perk up before the students arrive. You look like death.”

“Always so kind.” Triss mumbled but knocked back the rest of her coffee.

She tucked the register under her arm and started to make her way to her classroom. She was about halfway there when she stopped. The memory of the coffee shop came rushing back and she spun round on her heels towards the primary school block. It was always easy to tell if Jaskier was in early. The telltale sound of music echoed down the corridor. She grimaced. The sound was not Jaskier’s best. It reminded her of the school’s end of year concerts where all the children were expected to sing and most of them couldn’t quite hold a note. It was probably a new instrument for the young teacher and he clearly hadn’t mastered the basics yet.

She smoothed down the edges of her shirt and then knocked on the bright yellow door.

“Come in!” Jaskier sang from inside.

She took a deep breath and walked into the classroom. She raised her eyebrow and the finger paintings that were pinned up on washing lines on the ceiling. Jaskier was a brilliant musician and wordsmith but his art skills needed work. No wonder the children that came through into secondary school had the artistic talent of an earthworm.

“Mr Pankratz.” She greeted him with a nod.

He jumped off the desk he was sitting on with a start, clearly expecting a different visitor. He placed the strange guitar like instrument on the floor carefully. “Ms de Vries! What can I do for you?”

“Can we talk about Ciri?”

Jaskier visibly paled. “Ciri? What’s wrong with her?”

“Sit down, Jaskier.” She gestured to his chair behind the desk at the front of the classroom.

Instead he jumped back onto the desk itself, clearly the man was allergic to chairs. She very rarely saw him sitting in one properly. She bristled and took a deep breath.

“So…” He ran a hand through his hair and looked distractedly out of the window. “Ciri?”

“Why would she ask you to meet Geralt?”

Jaskier laughed nervously. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“Who wants you to meet her father outside of school?”

“Well… umm. Yes but I swear that has nothing to do with me! Maybe Geralt, Mr Rivia, has said something at home.” Jaskier blushed and then cleared his throat. “Don’t know why he would though. I’m just a lowly teacher and he’s this…” Jaskier gesticulated wildly, “this godlike hero.”

Tissaia raised an eyebrow.

“And by the gods he is beautiful. I do wonder whether his hair is naturally that colour. It’s like he’s captured the moonbeams and woven them into strands of hair.” Jaskier sighed wistfully.

“Mr Pankratz.” She cut him off sharply. “I hope you know what Stregobor would do if he heard you talking like this. It’s a wonder that Mr Marx hasn’t fed your conversations with Triss back to him.”

Jaskier flushed. “That man is a no good, snotty faced piece of sh—”

“Jaskier!” She cut him off.

“Sugar farts.” He finished.

“Sugar farts?” She chuckled.

“Not my best work I know.” He sighed dramatically and swung his legs up and laid back on the desk. “You know the only reason he hasn’t ratted me out is because he fancies Triss and he knows that he can’t get me in trouble without getting her into trouble”

“I’m aware.” Tissaia nodded. “Sometimes I wonder who the real children are in this school.” She muttered under her breath.

“Well that’s rude.” Jaskier huffed.

“Just be careful. Whatever is going on with you and Mr Rivia, you need to remain professional. He’s Ciri’s father.” Tissaia reminded him gently. “You’re a good teacher, Jaskier. I don’t want you to lose your head over this. It would hurt Ciri to lose you as her teacher and God only knows that girl has been through enough.”

Jaskier groaned into his hands. “Bollocks.”

“Julian.” She warned.

“Seriously fuck it all. It’s not fair.” He moaned.

She sighed. “And that’s the hardest lesson of all.”

The bell rang and Jaskier leapt off the desk and scooped up his instrument, putting it back in its case. “Yes well. Thank you for that inspiring lesson, Ms de Vries. Now if you could kindly fuck off.”

“Jaskier.” She sighed.

“Before the kids arrive. I have work to do.” He turned away from her.

She nodded and brushed down her skirt. It had been the right thing to do. She was fond of Jaskier. She wanted to protect him, to prevent him from making a mistake. It didn’t make her a bad person. He was just hurting but this would be better in the long run. She went to open the door but almost fell through as it was opened from the other side.

Geralt Rivia was standing, shocked, in the doorway.

“Mr Rivia?” She stammered before regaining her composure. She spun round to see Jaskier blushing brightly behind his instrument case. “Everything alright?”

Geralt nodded curtly. “Just wanted to ask Mr Pankratz a question about Ciri’s guitar lessons whilst she’s in the loo.”

“Ah yes. The guitar lessons. Have you found a teacher yet? I have a few names to recommend!” Jaskier replied quickly.

“Not yet.” Geralt shook his head.

“Right.” Tissaia hummed thoughtfully. “Have a good day.”

She fled from the room swiftly, glaring at the streams of fairy lights that littered the corridors. The intermittent flashing was giving her a headache already and the day had barely started. Her grip tightened on her bag as she made her way to her classroom.

“Guitar lessons.” She muttered under her breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What utter nonsense.” She heard the shouts of children coming from her classroom and rolled her eyes. It was far too early to be dealing with fighting on a Monday morning. She burst into her class, her skirt billowing out behind her. “Right!” She called loudly grabbing the attention of the few children that had already arrived. “Settle down!”

The students grumbled but the shouting faded to hushed chatter.

She pulled the register out of her bag and sat at her desk.

The weekend couldn’t come soon enough.

_____

Next

[cecilspeaks]

167 - Echo

Spring reveals nature’s secret That death is reversible. Welcome to Night Vale.

The worst part is not the tall plumes of smoke. Nor the destroyed cars and buildings, nor the armed desert cult marching through the streets. It is the silence. The absence of sirens echoing across the valley. The absence of help. the absence of hope that help will happen. And now the absence even of screams.

The clan of passengers of Delta flight 18713 prowls the streets of our town, seeking those who hide, those who resist. They know there are few of us left who have not been subsumed by their leader’s commands. And those of us who do remain will be captured and eventually killed. They must know I am here, hiding, talking, resisting. They must see our radio antenna, our station sign, hear our broadcasts.

The pilot knows who I am, delights in having inhabited my mind a couple weeks go to speak his foul truth. He holds out some hope that he can re-enter my brain, squeeze it tight with his calm convincing voice. I remain alive because the pilot wants me in my job. Wants me on his side.

I hope for solution. I hope my own voice empowers those who are still free to rise up, to fight back, but so far – nothing. I no longer hope to find Amelia Anna Alfaro who was always the best at everything and who disappeared eight years ago to loo for Delta flight 18713. I no longer hope that Amelia Anna Alfaro will be found or that she will save us because she is found. She will not save us.

Amelia stands at the top step of the Night Vale City Hall. Behind her is the multi-headed, single-bodied entity that is City Council. Amelia and the City Council are both fully under the control of the pilot. Amelia Anna Alfaro found the missing passengers of flight 18713, and then was enjoined by the pilot to join them.

When the pilot makes contact with your brain, he does not speak to you at first. He does not begin with a plea, with a mission, with a request or command. He first forces you to hear the lives of his passengers, innocents who boarded Delta flight 18713 from Detroit to Albany on June 15, 2012. You hear a mother calming her child, you hear giggling teenage boys, you hear middle-aged men telling each other the same stories they have told each other for years on end. You hear about vacations and jobs and families and favorite books and unrealized dreams, you hear it all until you accept the mundane comfort and intimacy of community, until you are lulled into a willingness to hear anything – and then you hear the pilot. And you hear his message. The words of his message are about nature’s beauty. The words express loving respect that all nature is beautiful. But the message is not the words. It’s what’s encoded within them, the message is that all who are not beautiful are an affront to nature.

His power of unspoken oration, of invisible influence, allows his hatred to metastasize, to become an active assault rather than an idle grumble. It is difficult to stop his voice from entering your head. Nearly impossible. I am not able to do it on my own. Carlos sits with me still in my studio. When I talk to Carlos, I do not hear the voice of the pilot nor his passengers. Charles Rainier, the former warden of the Night Vale Asylum, went fishing to keep his mind clear. Tamika Flynn has taken to listening to the audio book of Emily St. John Mandel’s bestselling novel “Station 11”, which is narrated by Night Vale’s own Lee Marvin who, by the way, turns 32 next month. Happy early birthday, Lee, if you can hear me.

I have found that Carlos calms me, centers me, silences the echoes of 100 different people, 100 different thoughts in my head, none of which are my own. If you know what centers you, do that immediately.

The streets are quiet, Night Vale. I hope some of you can hear me. I hope some of you are staying out of sight, out of reach. If you can, come together, find each other. Perhaps we can overpower these invaders of our peace, but the pilot hides from any potential counterattack, and if we can’t stop him, can’t cut out the brain of his insurgency… I believe our hopes are lost. Our end is near.

The last hope I had stands on the top step of City Hall rallying her mindless clan on a ruthless scouring of our city. Amelia Anna Alfaro was always the best at everything, and the pilot knows that. It is why he chose her as his chief strategist, his general, his right hand.

They will push beyond Night Vale soon. To Red Mesa and Pine Cliff, and to the rest of the state, and beyond.

More people are brought to City Hall as I speak, and Amelia flanked by Doug Biondi delivers their sentence, their punishment for resistance. Their fate for lacking beauty in the eyes of a truly hateful man. Their sentence is to be tied together and held in the rock garden lining the outer lawn of City Hall. Once every person in Night Vale has been gathered in one place, the pilot will make one last attempt to overtake our minds as a group, to grow his army tenfold. He may succeed with some and the remainder – will be executed.

The pilot believes in his own specific definition of beauty. He believes those who fail to be good enough specimens of nature, of humanity, must be removed from the genetic pool. Every few hours, another group of prisoners crouches before Amelia, and another group receives immediate conviction.

As Amelia stands in judgment before the most recently indicted, she pauses. One of the captured is standing in defiance. In response to this rebellious act, Doug Biondi, still wearing his asylum-issued coveralls, raises a handmade curved blade, but Amelia stops him. The one standing is Yvette Alfaro. It is Amelia’s mother. She begs Amelia to recognize her own family and to have mercy. But Amelia’s eyes show no hint of relenting. Yvette tells Amelia she always loved her, was always proud of her, but that her motherly pride was sometimes a selfish price. “You were a story I wrote for myself to tell my friends,” Yvette says contritely. “I did not let you tell your own story. I should have been proud of you for what you achieved, for yourself. Happy for your happiness. But I saw you as a way to better me. I’m sorry, Amelia,” Yvette tells her only child, and then hands Amelia a note. “Please read this. It’s all I ask that you do for your mother. Read what I wrote,” Yvette says. Without even glancing at the paper, Amelia crumples it into a ball, her face reddens, and her eyes blacken, as she pushes her mother back down to her knees. With a nod of Amelia’s head, the brainwashed and ever growing clan of flight 18713 ties up the new prisoners and pushes them into the rock garden, until every remaining person in town has been drawn together for the pilot. And the last who resist his voice will be destroyed. A rotten harvest to be composted for a more promising crop.

If you can hear my voice, you are one of the last left. We cannot see the pilot, but he can see us, and it is not long until his minions are here with me, or there with you, Night Vale. We are the last to be reaped, the last to be gathered.

They stalk outside my studio now! Climbing the walls, smashing in windows, knocking down doors. I-I can hear them in the hallways behind me. Carlos is barring the door to the studio, but I know it will not hold! Carlos, do as you promised and run! I will stay focused, I will keep my head safe, I will take us all To the weather!

[“The Stolen Century” by Ellen Beizer: http://ellenclairebeizer.com]

I am captured, Night Vale. So is Carlos. I can’t see where they took him, so I keep my eyes closed and imagine Carlos’ face.  I keep talking to this image of Carlos to protect my thoughts from the pilot’s voice. The ragged, empty-minded clan of flight 18713 pushes me into a larger group of captives. I still do not see Carlos, but I see the violent hungry faces of those under the pilot’s control. I see two teenage boys who are secretly mad for each other. I see a middle-aged man who either went to New Orleans or heard about New Orleans so much that he might as well have gone. I see the people who inhabited my mind. Whose voices were used to hypnotize me, to lay the psychological groundwork for the pilot. And I hear them. I hear their voices coming from their mouths, live, in real time. But I hear them in my head too! Separate from their bodies. And I think of Carlos again, trying to stop the echoes, [very quietly] return to silence and clarity.

They lead our group. I with my head down, eyes closed, quietly conversing with an imaginary Carlos, to the steps of City Hall. To the feet of the ruthless Amelia Anna Alfaro. Ohh, [quietly] but she’s not ruthless. She is compromised. I do not know how to convince her of this, if her own mother could not. Even still immediately we are denounced as resistors and tied up with the other uncooperative prisoners, wriggling uselessly in their bindings along the rock garden. The last of those who refused to join the 18713 have been gathered together. Amelia knows she has quickly and thoroughly sorted out entire town into the recruited and the renounced. She was always the best at everything.

At this moment, the pilot emerges from the front doors of City Hall. Amelia and the rest of the 18713 look on him with awe. And it occurs to me they have never seen him in person. Only heard his voice. The enormity of his legend is evidence in the gaping maw and sparkling dark eyes of Amelia Anna Alfaro. The pilot does not visibly speak, yet I can hear him in my head. Each of us can her a personalized appeal from him in our minds.

[deep creepy voice] “Cecillll,” he says to me. “You have a beautiful voice. Think of how much beauty we can share together. Think of your voice, carried miles through the air like dandelion seeds. Spreading our message of nature’s true beauty to everyone in the desert. To everyone beyonddd the desert. You are chosennn Cecillllll. Beeeeeee. My. Voiccccce.”

I think of Carlos’ face. I say aloud to my imagined Carlos: the first time you called me, I knew you liked me. Even though you avoided my flirting. I thought you were trying to be professional, Carlos, playing ignorant, but you weren’t. you were shy. You didn’t know how to ask. And I knew I loved you.

My mind remains clear as I talk, but I see several of the remainders sturgling to ignore the pilot’s voice permeating their every thought. A few lose the fight and join his clan. He is too far from me, too far from any o the rest of us to reach him, to subdue him, to kill him, to get back my mind, to get back my town, to get back my Carlos.

When the pilot’s final pleas and patience expire, he walks down the paved path and stands next to Amelia Anna Alfaro. Then he says, for the first time using his mouth: “None of them are beautiful! None of them are nature! None of them can live!” Amelia stares at him like a star struck fan in the presence of a Hollywood celebrity. Doug Biondi, next to her, holds up his crooked blade. The angel of death wears electric blue coveralls, and the 18713 raise their weapons too, glaring at the last of us tied up a the rock garden. I search in vain for Carlos one last time, battling the sick truth that we are born and we will die alone. And Amelia Anna Alfaro raises her hand. Inside her hand is a ball of paper. Seeming confused about how it got there, she unfurls it. Smoothing out the wrinkles with her fingers, she examines the paper. There is a long silence. “Should I do it or what? Amelia?” Doug Biondi asks, anxious to get to the killing part. I now see what Amelia sees. I cannot read what is written on the paper, but I know what is there. They’re words from her mother, written in code. In a puzzle. The one place Amelia’s mind can hide from the voices, from the voice of the pilot, is in puzzles. Amelia says: “It is my responsibility to destroy that which is not beautiful. Give me the blade, Doug.” Doug, reluctantly, does so. Still staring at the paper, she pulls the blade behind her shoulder and says: “You come from nowhere, and that is where you shall return.” She splashes the blade into the pilot’s throat. I see his hands clutch at his neck. I see Doug Biondi lunge for Amelia, to protect his beloved leader, but as his arms crash down onto her shoulders, he relents. Doug’s mind is free now too.

I see the pilot convulse one final time. I see the emancipated Amelia run toward her mother. Other members of the 18713 surrounding us drop their weapons, their eyes vacant and lips white. The rush of mental agency is blinding them, staggering them. One of them cuts the ropes from my hands. I help free the others, one by one, still searching for Carlos and then – I find him. He is in the very back, the last of the last of Night Vale. Those who are free are running or embracing or helping those who are still bound or drunk with confusion, and on the ground where Amelia stood moments before, I find the wrinkled note from mother to daughter. It is a series of numbers, not words. I show it to Carlos. “A cryptogram puzzle,” he says. “I love those.” I ask him if he can solve it. He screws up his face. “We should get out of here first,” he says. “Please,” I say. He looks at it for a couple of minutes, until finally he says: “It’s a basic alphanumeric code. It reads: Amelia, I am proud of you, no. matter. what.”

Carlos and I hold each other through the town. Passing two teenage boys dressed in scraps of airplane upholstery, gripping tightly each other’s faces. We help a lost toddler find his parents. We clear broken glass from streets. We walk home.

We shade our eyes from the setting sunset, which kindles through a hilltop cliff. We talk nonstop about today, about tomorrow, about yesterday, about every possible moment, just talking and talking, because we almost lost our talk forever. We do not hear the returning echo of sirens across the valley. We do not hear anything but ourselves.

Stay tuned. Next. For a silence that is all your own.

Good night, Night Vale … Good night.  

Today’s proverb: Did you know the Germans have 31 different words for beer? Well they don’t, that’s wrong, you’re wrong

[cybled-a]

[ 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙵𝙾𝚁𝚃 ] 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙵𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙰 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝙳𝙰𝚈   /   @afierosii

this is the first time shiro’s been party to a consensus meeting, and five minutes in he can’t help but wonder how andal can stand any of it. how he can get through it with that charming smile on his face. though, sometimes that smile sharpens to a razor’s edge, sharp as shiro’s arc blades. sometimes it disappears entirely. shiro can’t decide which expression should worry the others more. 

the meeting lasts for hours. covers various topics. from city planning, to crop yields, to expeditions into the surrounding wilderness, to zoning restrictions. everything is debated tooth and nail by one party or another. nothing has an easy solution. if shiro had teeth he’s sure he’d have ground them to dust by the time the topic of vanguard operations comes up. it takes another two hours before shiro is asked to deliver his own report on the fallen house of kings ; andal had asked him this favor, and he can see equal parts apology and mischief in his friends’ eyes when he introduces shiro to the consensus and the other vanguard leaders. see what i have to deal with? 

shiro’s report is brief, succinct. the leader of new monarchy has a half dozen questions to ask that shiro answers in a dry tone, trying not to show how rankled he is by the way the man addresses him. like he’s a drone. a mindless soldier. he wonders if it’s because he’s a scout, an exo, or some combination of the two. 

most likely the latter, crux murmurs through their neural link, and shiro’s throat flickers blue with a quiet noise of derision. when the topic turns to final deaths in the field shiro has to stop himself from physically attacking a few of the members for their poorly voiced opinions, the ways in which they dishonor the dead by speaking of them like so many meaningless numbers. the battle of mare imbrium is brought up twice as a barb against the vanguard, heated discussions nearly boiling over into shouts until the speaker calls for order.  

eventually, the meeting comes to an end. except, not truly. because half of the consensus leaders have gathered around the vanguard and are plying them with more questions, needling comments, overly ingratiating compliments. shiro elbows his way past the new monarchy leader without bothering to look at him, using his considerable frame to his advantage. 

“ think we owe each other a drink, ”   shiro says to andal, tossing him a quick wink. andal says his goodbyes quickly and takes the easy out that shiro’s offering. 

they don’t stay out long. it’s autumn, and the nights are coming on early. feels like they’d spent all day in that echoing chamber full of irritated and overwhelming voices. everyone fighting to be heard. almost nobody pausing to really listen. as an exo, there’s no place on his body for physical exhaustion to latch onto. but somehow, after that, he feels more tired than after a month in the field spent tracking down a target to assassinate. so when andal offers a nightcap in his quarters, shiro’s more than a little thankful. 

they talk a little more about anything but that meeting, quickly fall into companionable silence after the fourth drink is poured. shiro takes a moment to look at his friend. to really look. can see the tired lines on his face. the weight of his duties hanging off of his shoulders heavier than any hunter cloak, even one picked up from a fallen comrade. it’s not a single death he carries now. it’s thousands and thousands of lives. 

a part of shiro still wants to hate him for it. for taking the dare in the first place. for losing it. for following through. but he doesn’t think he can hold on to that anymore. not after the tiny slice of andal’s life he’d tasted today. 

by midnight they’re both well and truly drunk, and shiro has no intentions of transmatting to his ship. instead, he makes his way to andal’s bedroom, kicking his boots off, pulling lucky raspberry from his chest only for crux to trasmat the rest of his armor away without a word. he doesn’t look over his shoulder for andal. can feel his quiet footsteps vibrating through the concrete floor as he follows the exo. they get in bed, back to back. andal’s always been good about respecting shiro’s space, knows that nine times out of ten he isn’t fond of touch that he doesn’t initiate himself. knows too that shiro rarely initiates. 

they’re both still awake when shiro rolls over. slips an arm over andal’s side. scoots closer till there’s only a finger's breadth of space between his chest and andal’s back. 

“ i don’t know how you can deal with it, ”   he murmurs quietly, voice washed lightly with static.   “ the way some o’ them talk about things… feels like they’ve lost sight of the trees tryin’ to picture the whole forest. ”

he doesn’t know if that makes sense. doesn’t know how else to say it either. shiro shuts his eyes and presses the palm of his hand over andal’s chest, just above the thudding of his heart, and tries to remember the hundreds of times they’ve done this before in the wilds, with nothing but the stars over their heads.

[sweet-steddie]

Party Pooper (e.d. & g.d.)

Summary: @love-youu-softly​ suggested that I write about a situation in which the reader is jealous of other girls and this is how I decided to write out that vision. I hope I did it justice!

A/N: I’m sorry that it’s taken me over a week to post a second imagine! I’m a full time senior undergrad student, so I’ve had a hellishly busy schedule this semester. Regardless, I will try to post content as often as I possibly can! The feedback that I got on “Love Fest” is truly astounding and I thank everyone so much for their kind words! Hope this one doesn’t disappoint either!

3.6k+

 “Will there be any dogs at the party?” I ask, absentmindedly pointing my feet toward my bedroom ceiling, back cushioned by the soft comforter draped over my mattress. My cell phone is on speaker, so my fingers are free to draw mindless shapes into the cushy fabric as I await a response.

 “Probably not. He happens to care that I’m allergic, so I think he said that the dog’ll be at a friend’s for the night,”comes Grayson’s reply in regards to our friend who’s hosting the party. I roll my eyes. It’s amazing to me, sometimes, that he claims to be the least dramatic out of he and his twin brother. “Why do you care if there’s gonna be a dog there, anyway? I’ll be there and I’m all you need. I’m way better than a dog,” he continues and I huff out a mock-dramatic breath. Really, I’m silently marveling over how pronounced his New Jersey accent has become in the span of just a few short sentences. It’s so cute and it always sneaks up on him and he never seems to notice.

 “Grayson,” I cut him off before he can continue his rambling.

 “What?” he asks, faux-sour attitude seeping through the speaker.

 “I’ve never heard a stronger New Jersey accent in my life. In my whole, entire life,” I emphasize and I hear Ethan’s sudden burst of laughter shortly afterward.

 “I’m hanging up now,” is all Grayson says, but even through the phone I can hear his smile. Ethan’s still laughing.

 “Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” I pretend to apologize as I click my acrylic nails rhythmically against one another. Grayson and I are currently - well, we’re supposed to be - in the middle of a conversation regarding a party that he, Ethan and I have been invited to tonight that’s scheduled to kick off in a few hours’ time. “Back to what you were saying before. About the attire,” I attempt to steer the conversation back on track.

 “Yes, as I was saying: I think I’m gonna wear that new shirt you bought me, the cropped one. And my jeans. And you’d look really hot in that pink shirt. The one with-“ he starts, only for Ethan to interject.

 “The one with the little bows that criss-crosses on her chest! Ah, dude, yes. That one’s so hot!” he blurts out and I hear the distinct sound of what’s most certainly the twins’ palms meeting in a high-five. I outwardly scoff at their boyish antics, but I internally pat myself on the back for snagging that pink shirt online a few weeks prior.

 “Anyway,” Grayson addresses me again, “we’re planning on getting there at around 11:30. So we’ll pick you up at 10:45?” he proposes.

 “Sounds good to me! See you in,” I pause to check the time, “two hours.”

 “And before you go,” Grayson quickly cuts in, “just know that you’re staying at our’s tonight. And the next night. And probably the night after that.” I pretend like my heart doesn’t speed up at the demand.

 “Yes, sir,” I respond drily and I hear him hum in satisfaction at the term I’ve chosen.

 “Don’t start something you can’t finish,” is all he responds and then he pauses, letting it linger between us. I bite my bottom lip. I hate when they do this. The twins have a tendency to be very suggestive and I know they’re joking, or at least I think they are. And it just further blurs the lines that are already blurred between us.

 I realize that I’ve let the silence linger for a while by opting out of a reply. Before I can fumble out a response, Grayson takes over again. “See you soon, baby,” he says before I hear the three beeps indicating that the call has been ended. I’ve just about chewed the skin off of my lower lip at this point. Through this phone call, alone, I can deduce that this night is sure to be long and eventful.

 The party is in full swing by the time that we arrive. We take the time to scan our surroundings and the protective presence of Grayson’s hand on my lower back and Ethan’s not too far above his are pleasantly warm to the touch. My arms are crossed, but I want nothing more than to grab onto my boys. Given the rumors that are already circulating about our supposed three-way relationship, however, I figure that it’s best not to draw any more attention to our over-friendliness. Though, having people think that I’m dating two of some of the most gorgeous guys in Los Angeles isn’t that horrible a hassle.

 I take a split second to check out my boys. Grayson’s wearing the crop top I bought for him, as promised, and the maroon fabric is striking against his skin. My eyes trail down over his defined hipbones and hard, flat stomach and tantalizing V-line and I kind of get lost in the sight of him for a moment. So much so that, when my eyes finally find their will to snap back up, Grayson’s smirking knowingly at me. He gives me a very obvious once over of his own and then fixes me with a piercing stare that has me squirming in place.

 I shake my head at him, but my cheeks feel like they’re positively glowing with warmth as I fix my eyes, next, onto Ethan. He’s still scanning the scene, nodding at a few people here and there. I take a moment to admire the scruff that he’s allowed himself to grow out over the past few weeks. His hair looks messy in the sexiest way possible. He’s wearing a white T-shirt that shows off his defined abdomen and strains a bit across his chest. And Ethan in white is just, well. It’s a sight. He dons a pair of black, ripped jeans and the hint of his thigh tattoos peak out teasingly.

 “She’s staring at us, E,” Grayson teases, effectively blowing my cover. I scowl at him and hide my face in my hands as both boys cheekily laugh at my expense. I reach back to shove off both of their hands, throwing up a middle finger for good measure. They laugh in my face and I fight back a smile of my own as I spin around on the spot and begin to make my way through the room. I hear their protests behind me and I turn my head back as I continue to walk away, noticing that they’re approaching while wearing adorable twin pouts. Before they can get too far, a throng of three or four people greet them and they’re caught up in conversation before long.

 I smile to myself before turning back around and scouting out the mini bar. My boys are so popular. Just as I’m thinking this, I hear my name being called and spin around to face a friend of mine that I haven’t seen in much too long. We instantly rush toward each other and meet in a hug.

 “I’ve missed you,” she chirps as we finally separate and before I can even reciprocate, she continues, “are you here with your boy toys tonight?” and she raises a suggestive eyebrow that has me lightly shoving her shoulder, but blushing nonetheless.

 “I don’t know what boy toys you’re referring to, but I am here with Grayson and Ethan,” I confirm, playing off the butterflies in my stomach as nerves and not as the fluttering satisfaction of having someone else call the twins my boy toys. My friend looks unconvinced.

 “Yeah, alright,” she drawls, chuckling jokingly before pointing her thumb over her shoulder, “should we go get drinks?”

 “Thought you’d never ask!” And that’s how we find ourselves grabbing a couple of drinks and then scurrying over to the first available seat, which conveniently happens to offer us a view of the whole room. The perfect people-watching spot. Over the course of several events involving my friend and I both being on the guest list, we’ve come to the unspoken agreement that the best way to enjoy a party is to sit off to the side with a drink and gossip.

 As we settle onto the plush loveseat, people stop by every few minutes to chat and then move along, allowing us to mostly have time to ourselves to catch up. I swill my finger around the rim of my almost-empty glass of wine and register the pleasant buzz engulfing me. I’m genuinely enjoying myself as I shamelessly gaze upon my surroundings. I distantly wonder where the twins have gone, but I figure that they’re likely catching up with friends.

 “Uh, who are they?” comes my friend’s snarky voice from next to me and I quickly turn to face her, silently begging for an explanation for her sudden hostility. She appears to be glaring holes into something ahead of her and she never breaks her gaze as she nods in the direction of what she’s referring to. I follow her line of sight and end up staring at the twins. And the two girls who are being chatted up by them.

 My stomach twists into a knot, on-sight. My jaw tenses immediately. My cheeks are unbearably hot and my whole body feels warm and my skin feels prickly. The fingers of my free hand are involuntarily clenching up to form a small fist. Simply put, I feel without a doubt, undeniably, disgustingly jealous. I watch as Grayson inches slightly closer to the girl on the right as he continues to tell what is so obviously a joke. Ethan stands beside him, chiming in once in a while and I see the girls’ shoulders shake with laughter. My eyes roll back far enough in my head to see my brain.

 I forget, for a moment, that I have company until my friend scoffs beside me. I try my hardest to fix my face just as she’s turning her attention back to me. “Your boyfriends look like they’re having a good time,” she digs, taking another hearty swig of her drink. That’s what I love about her: she teases me until the sun goes down about my relationship with the boys, but she’s always on my side and has my best interest at heart at the end of the day. And in this case, “being by my side” entails staring daggers into the backs of the girls’ heads that are currently demanding all of the twins’ attention.

 “They aren’t my boyfriends. They can talk to other girls if they want. Hell, they could use some girlfriends if you ask me!” I’m laying it on thick in the hopes that my friend won’t detect my wounded, sour mood. “I’m sure those are lovely girls. And the twins deserve some lovely girls,” the bitterness is starting to involuntarily seep into my words. I quickly down the rest of my glass of wine in place of saying anything else incriminating. Against my will, I maintain eye contact throughout my rambling, so as not to give myself away. My friend raises her eyebrows, but shrugs.

 “If you’re okay, I’m okay,” she sounds unconvinced, but I think she can sense that I don’t wish for the conversation to go any further, so she mercifully drops the topic. She selves into something lighter - pop culture, I think; something about Twitter - and I do my best to keep up, but my eyes just can’t seem to drift away from the cozy party of four standing ahead of me. I catch the movement of well-manicured fingers resting gently on Grayson’s bicep. My nostrils flare slightly as I watch Ethan’s eyes drop to one of the girl’s lips every now and then. Both boys are huge on eye contact and it seems that neither of them have blinked in ages.

 I know I’m being ridiculous. Ethan and Grayson aren’t mine to be jealous over, but that doesn’t stop my stomach from folding in on itself as I watch the scene before me unfurl.  Suddenly, I feel uncomfortable in my own skin; embarrassed to be moping on a couch in the middle of a party while my good friends and nothing more, I guess flirt with a couple of girls. What had I expected? For the boys to stay single forever and neglect their love life to be at my beck and call? As I pretend to keep up with the conversation that my friend is providing - and she’s trying so hard, bless her soul - I come to the realization that I have, in fact, expected this. Somewhere deep down, I’ve hoped against hope that I would be number one in the twins’ lives, always.

 A group of familiar faces soon surrounds my friend and I and, before long, they’re filling the empty seats around us. I put on my happiest, I’m-fine-and-totally-not-jealous face and greet them properly. I jovially chime into the conversation here and there for a matter of minutes before I realize that I can no longer keep up this charade. I allow myself to glance in the direction of where the boys were earlier and am none too pleased to find them still there with the same company that they’ve held for the past half hour, at least. I let out a dramatic yawn and cover my mouth halfway through.

 “As you can see, I’m tired. I think I’m gonna call it a night, but I better see you guys again!” I point a finger at the group of people around me, wagging it in a mock-accusatory manner. I’m met with a chorus of Aw, don’t leave’s and Stay’s and You just got here’s and I at least have the decency to act like I don’t actually want to leave. “I know, guys! But we’ll all plan something for next week, okay? Dinner?” I propose and this seems to satisfy the group somewhat.

 My friend who had sat with me through it all and was there to see my mood change knows better and she gives me a sympathetic pout. I find her eye and discreetly wink. When it’s our turn to hug goodbye, she whispers a “text me when you get home,” and I give her an extra squeeze for her concern, promising that I will. With one last wave to my group of friends, I make my way toward the front door but realize midway through that I should probably let the twins know that I’m leaving, which will surely turn into a whole thing. I scowl at the prospect of having to witness their little rendezvous up close, but head in their direction nonetheless.

 As I draw closer to them, I realize that they haven’t even noticed me approaching due to their enthrallment with their little gal pals. For the umpteenth time this evening, I fix my face, this time into a facade of tiredness. I’m damn near standing next to the boys before their attention finally breaks. Ethan is the first to acknowledge me, shuffling over to where I am to throw an arm around my shoulder and scoop me into his side. “Hi, stranger,” he teases, alluding to the fact that we’ve been separated all night. I watch as the girl he’s been speaking to eyes me up. She and her friend look threatened as they gaze upon our comfortable body language.

 When I catch them staring, they quickly fake polite smiles. I fake back a smile of my own and nod my acknowledgment of them, then I look up to address Ethan. “Hi,” I all but sigh, getting thrown off track by those big doe eyes that he’s setting on me right now. The arm that’s hanging limply by my side is soon being hooked by one of Grayson’s arms, causing my attention to shift to him.

 “Is everything okay?” he asks, forever in protective mode, looking me over for any signs of obvious distress. I crack a little smile at that, shaking my head. He visibly relaxes a bit before giving me a little smile of his own. “Good.”

 “I just wanted to let you guys know that I’m heading out early. I’m just beat all of a sudden. But I’ll take an Uber! Text me to let me know you guys made it home safe,” I say, going to gently disentangle myself from them both, but of course, it’s never that easy.

 “I thought you were staying over,” Ethan pipes up, beginning to rub up and down on my outer arm with the hand that’s thrown over my shoulders, “so we might as well take you.” he reasons and Grayson doesn’t hesitate to agree.

 “Yeah, we’re not gonna make you pay for Uber when we can drive you and we’re all going to the same place,” he rationalizes, clearly having already made up his mind and I catch a glance of the girls’ faces who’ve witnessed this whole conversation and their expressions are honestly priceless. I figure that there’s no use in arguing with the boys at this point, so I simply shrug my shoulders and nod.

 “Okay,” I give in easily enough. Without even disentangling themselves from me, the boys graciously bid their female companions adieu. And I even throw in a friendly farewell of my own before the twins and I are making our way to the nearest exit. The look of bewilderment on both girls’ faces is enough to get me through the next several weeks, at the very least.

 As the boys and I eventually make it to the car and hop in, Ethan gets into the driver’s seat and Grayson slides into the back with me this time. I’m not complaining. Ethan pulls out of the massive driveway and back onto the street as we begin our next journey back to the twins’ house. Grayson has his arm around me and is cradling me to his chest, where my head is resting comfortably and, for a few minutes, the sound of the radio is all that fills the car.

 “Why weren’t you gonna come back to our’s at first?” Ethan asks, breaking the calm for a moment. Grayson stays silent but I can feel the movement of his head tilting down to catch my response. So clearly, I decide to pay dumb.

 “What do you mean?” I creatively come up with.

 “You know, earlier, when you told us to text you when we got home. You already packed an overnight bag to stay with us. What happened?” he asks and he sounds genuinely curious and maybe a little bit wounded. I take longer than I should to reply.

 “Well, I saw you guys, you know,” I trail off, body positively recoiling at myself and my genius idea to bring up what I’m about to bring up, “with those girls earlier and I figured, you know? If you guys were gonna bring them home, I didn’t wanna be, like, a fifth wheel and a burden.” I word-vomit all over the back seat. It doesn’t help that neither boy says anything for several seconds. In my fit of humiliation, I keep my eyes downcast and I don’t catch the silent exchange that Ethan and Grayson share through the rearview mirror.

 “Were you jealous?” Grayson eventually accuses and I just about combust at the spot-on observation.

 “No! No, not jealous. Just, you know,” I revert back to my nervous you know tick before trailing off again and this time, I hear Ethan snickering from the front seat and I can just feel Grayson’s smirk.

 “Yeah, you’re jealous,” Grayson confirms out loud, as if I’ve given him all the evidence he needs to arrive at this conclusion. I shove him away and hide my face in my hands for the second time tonight, glowing with embarrassment, as his booming laughter takes up the backseat. Ethan’s laughter mixes in a taunting harmony with his brother’s.

 “Am not,” I meekly and childishly assert, though it quickly gets lost in the symphony of roaring laughter around me.

 “Awwwww,” Grayson coos teasingly, pulling me back into him without much fuss. He breaks away for a moment to unbuckle both of our seatbelts before latching back onto me once more, gently rocking us from side to side.  When the boys calm down a bit, Grayson rests his head close enough to my ear to mutter, “you have nothing to worry about.”

 My heart predictably picks up speed and I hope that Grayson can’t feel it with the way that we’re fused together.

 “Ever,” Ethan’s quick to add in regards to my insecurities. Already embarrassed enough as it is, all I do is huff out a breath, causing Grayson to laugh again.

 “She’s still pouting, Ethan,” he points out and from the corner of my eye, I see Ethan shake his head fondly.

 “Guess we’re gonna have to spoil her when we get home,” he responds nonchalantly and my resolve is crumbling at lightening speed. I feel Grayson shrug a shoulder.

 “Guess so,” he agrees, giving me a couple of affectionate squeezes. I burrow my nose into the space right beneath his jaw because I’m tired of acting like this isn’t exactly what I was hoping for all night. He returns my gesture, nuzzling his nose against my forehead for a moment.

 In my state of bliss, I take a moment to reflect upon the night. I think about how jealousy had coursed through my veins, matching the buzz from the glass of wine that I’d had. I think about how I’d had to confront the idea that I felt a selfish possessiveness over the boys that a part of me always hoped, foolishly, that they would return. And I think, now, engulfed in the pleasantly crushing weight of Grayson’s arms, about how that idea may not have been so foolish after all.

[saskiavalentineapologist]

starsailorstories replied to your post : As far as ascended beings in daosa, are they...

are these…lich kaiju…am i grokking that right because holy SHIT i love it

>:D

ascended beings are nasty. they are violent, deadly creatures who destroy anything and everything around them.

in the pale island, people are tested young to determine whether or not they’re dormant ascended (just a harmless test that’s sole purpose is to mutate you if you are a dormant ascended, and will do no harm if you are not) and then...they’re kind of executed?? 

there’s a lot of fucked up culture around the ascended/dormant ascended....hold on let me find some Excerpts 

under the cut bc it got long

Reyana’s thoughts drifted back to what she had been reading last night. Asaevaanilaer Ahmasae. Ascended Beings. Monsters. So many names for a relatively minor hiccough.

They were an anomaly in the magic system; they were what happened when people’s magic adapted to magic itself, instead of to their surroundings.

The end result was a person whose magic was always Active in nature. The most interesting, though, was that they could absorb any magic that was aimed toward them. Healing spells, destruction spells, illusions, anything that was directed their way that wasn’t their own magic they could absorb, nullifying the incoming magic.

These people were called Dormant Ascended.

All gifts came with a downside, though.

They couldn’t control the magic they absorbed. After a time, the magic they absorbed became too much for their inherent magic to keep under control. The foreign magic started to escape their bodies, causing small mutations as it went. Most mutations were related to the senses, either heightening the senses themselves or changing the structure of the sense organ. Other results were altered pigmentation of the hair, skin, or eyes; change in the dental or general bone structure; and in extreme cases, extra growths or appendages.

When the magic they absorbed became too much for their inherent magic to keep under control, the warring magic inside them would reach a tipping point. When they arrived at that point, all the magic in a Dormant Ascended would be expelled in one violent, painful burst that turned them into a mindless monster by any definition of the word. 

Different languages referred to them in different ways. Over in the far far east, past the Reiyan Ocean, she heard they were revered as gods and called the Ascended Beings. 

In the Vhiernan Kingdoms, they were feared. Their names reflected that.

In Vhiernish, they were called the Asaevaanilaer Ahmasae. Dissected and literally translated, it meant “people who have risen above, but are no longer people.” Reyana wasn’t quite sure what they were called in Palish.

She had been reading about the war that started 250 years ago, when the Pale Island had tried to conquer the Vhiernan Kingdoms using the Ascended as living weapons.

The Vhiernans, naturally, had put aside their differences and had banded together to research how to weaponize the Ascended as well. They had found a way to do so, and so began a war that lasted a generation. After the war, both sides had signed a treaty that stated that neither would use Ascended as weapons in any wars in the future, and all parties had held up that agreement.

Reyana had soaked up all the information she could, devouring every book on the subject. 

She knew the relatively simple process needed to get someone to Ascend, she knew the dates and locations of famous battles, and locations of famous Ascended burial sites.

It wasn’t enough.

She had spent entirely too much money on this set of books in hopes that the original accounts held something she missed. They, admittedly, had a great deal of information that she didn’t already know, but they didn’t have the one piece of information that she was looking for.

Could the process be reversed?

The books had given her a small sliver of hope, though. She had been reading through some descriptions of Ascended that she had never read about before when one section made her stop.

The Dormant Ascended focused on in that passage had been an ordinary peasant woman before she had been taken from her home to become an Ascended Being and fight for the crown. When she had Ascended, she had turned into an almost serpentine creature with arms like a human’s and six sets of webbed wings. Because the army was unprepared for an Ascended that could fly, she had escaped.

That in itself wasn’t unusual. Ascended from both sides had escaped over the course of the war, decimating the livestock and crops of farmers in a battle against starvation. Being that big meant that they needed a lot of food to keep themselves going, and what could a single farmer do against a hungry Ascended, after all?

What was unusual was the fact that she had turned up in her home village in Aalzho—the easternmost Kingdom in the Vhiernan Kingdoms—a few weeks later. She had picked up a man and dropped him from a great height and disappeared into the Stormcrag mountains, where she presumably lived out the rest of her days.

The thing that made it even more interesting was the fact that when the villagers were asked who the man was, it was revealed to be her abusive husband.

That fact proved to Reyana that Ascended had at least some recollection of their former lives. There was no way an Ascended would fly to their home village hundreds of miles away and kill someone they hated out of pure chance.

It gave her hope. Many said that Ascended were mindless beasts, but this proved that they had at least some recollection of who they had been.

people use the bones of ascended beings as the basis of many enchanted/fortified items, such as wands, beads, and the like. 

they’re not hunted in the kingdoms, per say, but it’s a constant everywhere that if a dormant ascended actually Ascends, they’re immediately “put down” through whatever means necessary

there’s a huge slave trade involved with the dormant ascended, some people sell them to the wealthy, others sell them to the pale island where they’re subsequently executed.

there’s...hold on let me find some more excerpts

Sometimes, rich people liked to have Dormant Ascended as guards to their lavish manors. In case of a large attack, they could make them Ascend to either scare off or completely destroy the invading force. They would have to put them down after the fight was over, but it was extra security and a sign of wealth. Plus, after that, they could sell their bones to be made into beads and wands and other lavish items.

so there’s that. and...

“Yes, well.” Zara carefully put her headscarf on and pinned it into place with several long pins she had brought. Today’s color was an off white with delicate patterning. “I’ve dealt with an Ascended before and believe me, we would’ve lost a lot more people if she had Ascended. That’s probably what the captain was hoping for, that she’d attack our crew.” Zara shook her head. “I don’t know how he was planning on getting her with that crane, but I guess we’ll never know.”

Emira’s head slowly turned to Zara. Her eyes were wide and her mouth opened slightly.

“You’ve seen-?”

“Yes,” Zara said, the look in her eyes growing distant. “Around eight years ago, before I was put into the Queen’s personal guard. A Dormant Ascended man had managed to escape capture for his entire life until he was injured in an accident and knocked unconscious. He was taken to the healer’s, where he Ascended.” Zara’s eyes flicked down. “Ascended don’t retain their minds when they Ascend. They turn into angry and wild beasts, and this man was no different.”

Emira’s face fell more and more with every sentence Zara spoke.

“What happened to him?” Faera asked.

“Oh, he was put down,” Zara said, talking flippantly and not noticing Emira’s crestfallen expression. “But not before he took a great deal of people down with him. He was burned, as is custom.” Zara scoffed. “Honestly. There’s rules in place for a reason. These things wouldn’t happen if people didn’t try and hide their Dormant family members.”

so!! that’s ascended beings

there’s no real... “restrictions” on what they can look like. there’s definitely some that are more out there than others. i’ll see if i can post some stuff later if i can find any old ascended drawings.

[fanfictrashdump]

Universe in a Jar, 6 - Phase 4 fic

Recap: Some days ago, I reblogged this post about the magical trio. And then my brain went off on a monumental tangent and, I wrote Universe in a Jar.

Characters: Stephen Strange, Loki, Wanda Maximoff, Wong, OC

Rating: T?

Warnings: Language! Mentions of sexual encounters, sarcasm, terrible storytelling, and typos prob.

Summary: Baby-sitting beings arguably more powerful than him goes awry for Doctor Strange. He knows one person who can possibly keep them isolated and out of trouble. Well, he knew someone who could… he hasn’t seen them in decades and for stupid reasons.

Previous Chapter

WARNINGS: Language, fighting, mentions of death, Stephen with a kitten

XX

Stephen dragged his sneakers through the loose dirt of the beaten path as he meandered, handful of tools hanging limply from his hands. Every now and then, he'd stop and take a survey of the land before continuing for no other reason than he could. He was delaying his arrival at the small, cornflower blue barn just beyond the hill. Despite the fact that he had been doing mindless farm chores non-stop since they arrived at the Hale Estate and this was the first time Seph had ever physically asked him to help with something. Persephone needed him to take a look at the tractor, a small one for her moderate crops. He knew it was merely a ploy to get him out of the house and away from the ticking time-bomb of a witch, but he was dreading the hell out of it, all the same. It wasn't because he thought he couldn't do it–he grew up on a farm in a small town of very rural Nebraska; he knew how to fix a tractor. It wasn't even that he thought his hands would betray him (not that she had even considered that a possibility. Seph knew that he was the most dexterous of the lot, shaking hands and all). He just really hated it.

As he approached the well-worn wooden structure, he shuffled the tools to fish the key to the padlock out of his pocket. With a loud clang, the lock sprung open, evidence of needing a little greasing apparent in its ear-shattering metallic whine as it turned open to be removed. With little more than a huff, he tugged one of the leaves open to have a staring contest with the four-wheeled piece of equipment that he'd most likely lose.

Then, there was a noise.

Tossing the wrenches and clamps onto a nearby work table, he shuffled around the small shelter, looking under tables and in buckets, until he found the source in the wheel well of the tractor. Smiling, he kneeled on the floor before sitting cross-legged, watching the wheel well with interest until out from the shadows, a little tuft of ginger emerged.

"I don't suppose you're the mechanic," he jested, only to be replied by a determined meow. "Tractor elf, then? Here to fix things while we sleep?"

The ginger tabby, sure as any creature he had ever encountered in this or any Universe, padded across the dirt floor and clambered into his lap. It took less than a minute for the kitten to begin purring or for it to continually bump its head affectionately against his awkwardly jarring hands. Stephen was careful, a notch forming between his brows as he focused on gentleness and applying appropriate pressure, in not suddenly squeezing. Not that the kitten was paying any mind. If anything, the sudden spasms in his hands were met with increased rubbing and the occasional batting of one tufted paw on his hand, pulling it closer to its dirt-stained face.

"I've known you for forty three years." Stephen glanced over his shoulder to find Seph leaning against the open barn door, arms crossed, grin on her face. "Every single time you're sent to do something you don't want to, you always end up with an animal in your lap. How does that even happen, Stephen?"

He shrugged. "I'm just a lucky guy, Peep."

The kitten had scaled up his t-shirt and anchored against his chest. One paw rested on his chin while his hands held the creature up against him. Even from several feet away, Seph could hear the loud, buzzing drone of purring of the cat's delight, warming her insides at this portrait of happiness.

A mew of contentment echoed in the barn, the sorcerer having buried his fingers in the orange fur and tickled down its spine. Stephen chuckled in response, making an altogether too soft noise at his new friend. "I didn't know you kept a barn cat."

"I don't. That little guy is from the Smith's farm down the road. Their barn cat, Cooper, was knocked up. This little stowaway comes and goes. Never lets me touch him, though." Her amusement was apparent at watching Stephen Vincent Strange, Sorcerer Supreme, Surly Man Extraordinaire all cuddled up to an orange tabby, melting under its quiet meows. She dropped to her knees beside him, brushing her hand under the cat's chin and quickly realizing it was not her touch the kitten wanted, as it burrowed further into Stephen's chest. A little laugh escaped her. "I think you have a barn cat."

"I don't have a barn." The response was automatic.

She snorted. "Yeah, you do. I can see it from here."

Stephen lifted his gaze from orange fur to the run down barn across the way and then the house it lived behind and sighed, dropping his chin back onto the kitten as in comfort. He didn't exactly know what to say to that, if anything at all, but Seph didn't let him suffer for long.

"What did you make of the house?"

The question prompted him to close his eyes and fidget in place. "I didn't go in. I sat on the porch for hours, held the key. I couldn't do it."

"Stephen, that's your–"

"I know. I know. It's just… their ghosts… I can't–"

She drew an arm around him and pulled him into her body, relishing in the little sigh and the untensing of his shoulders as he settled into the crook of her neck. "Empty houses are not that scary. I promise." He nodded minutely. "I'll go with you."

"You don't have to."

"I know. I'll do it, anyway."

A stretch of silence surrounded them, broken only by the white noise of purring. "Are you sleeping with Loki?"

Seph laughed, turning her head to kiss Stephen's crown. "Are you?"

His brows pulled together and his mouth twisted. "Not regularly, no."

"Ditto."

"So, you have."

"Have you?"

He rolled his eyes and groaned. "Look, I'm not judging you, I'm just–"

"Comparing yourself. Which is stupid–"

"I know, I shouldn't–"

She continued as if he had said nothing. "–because I also sleep with women. There's no chance in hell you two break the top ten."

Stephen scoffed, though the corner of his mouth turned up. The kitten in his arms shuffled with the vibration and settled back into another comfortable position. "Do you have to be such a dick?"

"Learn how to use yours and I wouldn't have to." With a grin, she kissed his crown again. "You know you have to sleep with me to be ranked, right?"

A dusting of red covered his cheeks. "Yeah."

"Just making sure."

The little ball of orange fluff stretched luxuriously, untangling from Stephen's arms just enough to wander and drape itself across the place where both of the humans' thighs touched. Seph gently traced one of the fuzzy ears with her fingers, watching them twitch at the contact before the feline pushed its face firmer against her touch.

Stephen could only smile to himself. He could understand the feeling–initial apprehension, weary observation, eventual surrender. Persephone was an intense person and sometimes it was scary to exist within her same aura until she showed that she was there to be gentle. He supposed he could always feel that she was a little different. Her powers made sense to him now, and he could admit that his child's intuition was not great at discerning that the odd feeling he perceived when she was in a mood was not apprehension or annoyance but power.

"I've messed up a lot of stuff with sex." The words slipped out before he had even noticed them.

"Oh, I am well aware. I went to college with you. And med school."

A wry laugh echoed in the barn. "Such a dick."

"Stephen, we were each other's first kiss. First naked look at the opposite sex. First to tell when anything remotely interesting happened to us. And then, we fell into a world of magic and aliens. I think we'd survive." Stephen remained quiet beside her, merely shuffling a little further into the warmth of her half-embrace, making her smile secretively at the softness of the action. "You know she didn't mean it, right? Implying that we were being useless."

He nodded a bit. "I know. She's just upset about her family."

"She doesn't know you. She doesn't know how much it hurt or how their ghosts haunt you. You also didn't have to go that hard on her."

"I know, but what was I supposed to do, Peep?"

"Tell her that you know exactly where's she's coming from. You know her pain better than anyone. Why is it so hard to make that vulnerability known?"

He straightened up, gaze falling to the far corner of the barn to avoid looking at her. "Because who would fucking trust me, then?"

Seph snorted. "Honestly? A lot more people. Half the people we went to school thought you were either a robot or a sociopath. Being an unfeeling thing doesn't lend you credibility, it makes you look like a maniac."

"I don't think that's–" A crash made the two of them start. "What was that?"

She shook her head. "I don't know." She gently pried the kitten off their legs and set it down on the barn floor before jumping to her feet. "Sorry, buddy. Noises need attending. You can catch a nap later."

She waited for Stephen to similarly right himself before the two took off in a sprint towards the house. The pair slammed the kitchen door open to find everything in a disarray. Tables upturned, flowers on the floor, knickknacks broken and a dozen or so people in black, military style uniforms fighting against Wanda and Loki.

"What the fuck is going on?" Persephone yelled over the sounds over fighting.

"Former employers, long story," Loki hissed through gritted teeth.

Seph watched as Loki turned one of their glowing batons against the soldier to presumably electrocute them, only to give a startled gasp when they disappeared in a cloud of stardust.

"Little help, Seph!" Stephen grunted, trying to subdue one intruder while the Cloak kept another off his back. She stood frozen in panic. He did a double-take on her still form. "Pretend they're me and try to kill them!"

For a moment she blinked at him in surprise before another growled chorus of her name roused her. Despite almost killing Stephen several times within the course of the month, Persephone was not good at managing that part of her abilities on command. And, even when she did, the abilities were fleeting, at best. Concentrating, she latched on to whatever feelings of rage and desperation she could scrounge up, feeling the world slip away from her as her eyes began to glow. The two soldiers attacking the Sorcerer were suddenly surrounded in a glass prison. Wanda had four soldiers strung up from red threads of magic like marionettes and slowly moved them across the room where they joined Seph's prisoners. Loki, deciding he had had enough of niceties, was going around the living room, wielding a baton like a sword and dispatching of anyone who came too close to him.

"Are you OK?"

She flinched at Stephen's hand on her shoulder, her eyes still fixed on the boxes with rapt attention.

"Peep, talk to me."

"I'm OK." Her voice sounded both hollow and too dynamic, echoing eerily.

Strange nodded. "You know how I told you earlier not to open the veil? Well, maybe disregard that and throw these guys elsewhere?"

There was a beat of silence before she responded. "I don't have to." She clapped her hands together and both boxes collapsed into nothingness. '

Stephen swallowed thickly, squeezing her shoulder once to try and ground her. "Where'd you–?"

"Antarctica. They might die." She said it so matter-of-fact that it was almost worrying.

"I assure you," Loki started, "they won't. They will be found within a few minutes, if not already."

"Hey." Stephen bent at the knees to level his eyes to hers, though she stared right through him. "Let go of it. You're OK." She blinked at him but her expression turned from blank to furrowed brow. "That's it. Come back." He rubbed up and down her arms, feeling the air shift around him like oxygen was coming back into the room. He looked up at Loki and Wanda. "Do you know where they got in from? This place is warded to the teeth, I find it hard to believe they found a crack."

"Are you telling them or shall I, dear?" Loki offered with a wide smile that didn't quite catch their eyes.

Wanda fidgeted before groaning. "They knocked at the door. I opened without checking."

"It's OK." Seph leaned against Stephen, clenching her eyes shut against the migraine starting to brew at her temple. "It's happened to me before. Not with anyone who wants to kill me but, y'know, religious groups who make me want to kill myself. I have–have contingencies." The last of her words came out slurred.

"You're not looking so good, Seph." The witch rushed over to help her sit on the sofa, full mothering mode on.

"I think I just overdid it." She sank into the cushions, letting out a steady breath before trying to get back up. Stephen promptly pushed her back down. "I need to move the house."

"You're not doing moving of any kind right now." Persephone frowned at what she had deemed his doctor voice, though was having trouble deciding which of the two Stephens was the one she needed to be glaring at.

Loki frowned. "Strange?" He got a hum of acknowledgment back, the sorcerer too busy pretending he wasn't worrying over Seph. "Who's that on your jeans?"

"What?" Stephen looked away from the sofa and glanced down. Hanging off the bottom hem of his right pantleg, a tiny ball of orange fur batted at the playfully swishing Cloak around his shoulders.

"That's his barn cat," Seph supplied, a drunken giggle in her voice.

"Precious." Stephen rolled his eyes at the glittering smile of the demigod, though it turned into more of a wide-eyed stare when he continued, "Didn't know Midgard kept Flerkens."

Wanda tilted her head. "What's a–oooh, that's different." She grimaced at the split jaw and tentacle-like features attached to the mouth, batting at the Cloak.

"Stephen," Seph started, "I take it back. I'm not OK, I'm hallucinating."

Strange drew a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting the air filling his lungs soothe him. "No, mom. I don't want to be a farmer. I want to be a doctor and move to New York city. And now you got a fucking alien following you around, you dipshit," he muttered angrily, before bending down. "Hey, no eating the Cloak!" The tentacles retracted, jaw fused back together and a kitten was once more sitting on the carpet. "I should've stayed on the fucking farm."

[atiredwriter42-blog]

My Curse

I cannot breathe, eat, nor drink. Yet, I see everything and am alive. What am I?

No need to answer that question, it was simply rhetorical. However, the rhetoric is not present inside some of the words I speak. Truly, I cannot eat, breathe, or drink, it is something that I am incapable of doing. People see and use me every day, without really thinking about it. Because of these humans not thinking about what may be around them, they say things that were meant for no ears but their own. I absorb the knowledge and secrets of others and do nothing with them whatsoever. It is a silent curse placed upon me ever since the tragic slaughtering of my people so long ago. A curse that I have been exposed to simply because I am the only one from my family still alive. I must bear the weight of knowing I am the last of my family, and I cannot stop the end of our name, Willow.

The place I am condemned to isn’t quite so bad. The wall behind me is made of some rock that was dug up in nature-knows-where. The patterns on it are nice to look at on slower days when there are no people to listen to. The interesting part about the wall is the cliff at the top. It juts out like any other cliff should, but the humans are big enough to look above it and talk to some mysterious entity over the other side of this wall. Facing forward, the place itself is scattered with members from my old village, but I can not see any from my family. For all the years I’ve been in here, I’ve only seen distant family friends, like Willow and Douglas, but their families soon disappear as time does. They are cut down to just a margin of their original grandeur and used for these humans to rest on. When the humans break one into pieces, they simply throw it away and replace it. Bright boxes that speak words I can’t make out, mostly due to the sound, sprinkle the walls. The walls and floors are strange colors of black, white, and a color similar to my own, beige. All of these features seem minor enough, but the contrast of the natural setting with humans make the place pop out.

Speaking about the humans, they are truly the most interesting part about it all. The Maples, Douglas, and other pieces of nature were something I stared at for over 100 years, but the humans were something new to me. At first, I saw them as just another dumb ape as they wandered around me, but when they came to my home and destroyed it all, I realized they weren’t dumb apes, but evil ones. Even with all my hate towards them, I can’t seem to get enough of their careless antics. Their mindless talk about the world around them and the lack of understanding of it is so fascinating. The ability to see more than any other species on this planet and still take it for granted is hilarious, but still chilling. Although a pack is as strong as its weakest member, these guys knock it out of the woods. However, their infinite idiocy and never-ending foolishness never fail to entertain me.

For instance, there was a day like every other, a few early birds grabbed the worms, and then up and left. A rush of people came in again later, and from what I could tell, they were different looking ones. One particular individual sat on me, and I heard him asking for a “Shear Leaf Temple”, which sounded odd enough until he shifted his buttock and started talking to the one next to him.

“Did you know, this is one of the only places in the NATION to still have stools like this? Crazy, isn’t it? I couldn’t believe it myself, so I had to check it out, and sure enough, they got authentic ones!” The man hollered, jerking his body harshly when he spoke. The man sitting next to him, and simply scoffed at him.

“You know, being one of the only users of this stuff isn’t something to be impressed at. These people are the reason Earth is this fucked. If anything, they should have the feds in here arresting these people.” The guy grumbled, also shifting himself in the seat to face the man on me.

“Ha! You’re a funny guy, the name’s Greg, how ‘bout it champ?” ‘G-rag cracked, shooting his left appendage out.

“Johnson, I’ll pass on the hand shake. I don’t see what’s so funny about an establishment that goes strictly against the federal law.” John-son said, shrugging off the ‘hand-shake’.

“Well, if you hate this place so much, then why stay here? There are other ‘establishments’ around here that’ll serve you better.” G-rag calmly murmured. His tone, which shifted from eccentric and electric to mellow and smooth, like the river near our home.

“That’s the thing, I hate this place. Places like these will sink our nation into further chaos. Yet, I can’t leave this place. Why? Hell, amigo, I’d like to know myself, I’m sort of attracted here, like a moth to a light. It’s only a matter of time before I figure out the shocking truth about the light.” He said.

The two humans sat in silence for a while, sometimes shifting in their seats to stare at the colorful boxes. A solemn tone filled the air around them and reminded me of the day I was taken away from my home. The humans came to our land, took us away, and cut us down in metal boxes with sharp blades. The blades cut through my body in a matter of seconds, and half of me was sent elsewhere. I suppose when I look at it that way, there are only two members left of the Willows, me and me. I tried not to think about another part of me stranded in the world like me, and with that queue, John-son sat up.

“I have to run some errands, I’ll see you later Greg,” he turned and was confused as who this new “Greg” character was.

“Alright my boy, I’ll catch you sooner or later,” G-rag hollered, and once again I was confused, did this human go by multiple names? “Oh! Don’t forget your mask, life out there can get quite rough out there!”

All the other man did was a nod and wave his right appendage, and grabbed a piece of leather off the wall, and walked out into the world. The ‘mask’ perplexed me, but it had been a while since I’ve seen the outdoors, so things are probably much different without me.

Do you ever think about what it would be like to be cut in half? How would I know if the part that was cut from me was the actual me? What if I was just created by being seperated with myself? Of course, I have all the memories of myself, but what if I was split, and I wasn’t the original one?

Something on the colorful box piqued my interest recently. It was a man, and the man was talking to another man with long hair. The one with the long hair was talking quite aggressively it seemed, and their face looked like my skin when I was still free, but redder and less brown. The other man was simply listening to him scream on, and soon enough something flashed on the screen. It was another Willow, like myself. This one was still free, and then a headline popped up under it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t read it, as I can only listen to human language and understand.

“‘Woman argues the integrity of the country by giving them last full Willow, angry with what they did with it.’ Ha! What a joke, doesn’t she know the boys up there will consume anything you give ‘em?” someone laughed, but I could not see them, so chances were they were behind the giant cliff behind me.

However, the part that mentions a Willow was unnerving. There’s another Willow out there? I’ve never seen the lady in my life so they couldn’t be referencing me, right? With what I heard from the voice, I suppose it doesn’t matter at this point. If the humans who got my home were in possession of the last member of the Willow family, then it’s already too late for them, whoever they are.

In all my time in this place, there are many things I hear. There are even more things I see. There are so much more I understand, but above all, there are too many things I don’t understand. Three men were talking to each other one particularly slow day, and I remember it quite well. The room was only the three I mentioned and another human on the left of the room, and to my understanding was napping.

“Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t got nothin’ wrong with rabbits, but those little shits get everywhere. They multiply and spread like wildfire, and eat everything there is. My crops can’t handle this any longer, especially not after the water cuts!” One said, gesturing his appendages quickly, but then just as quickly placing them back on the table.

“I know what you mean pal, they really are hard to catch. Hell, just the other day, I was running one down with my rifle and dodged every bullet I shot at it! Can you even believe that?” Another one said. Apparently, the one who initially started talking was named “Pal”, which was a strange name, but then again my last name is Willow and I’m the last one left, so I guess I’m the odd one out here.

“Buddy, don’t even get me STARTED on their ninja reflexes. It like they can see the future or something!” Pal said, looking at what I imagined to be “Buddy”. The third stayed quiet the entire time they were there and looked pale. The other two never acknowledged him, let alone look at him. Isolation and abandonment aside, the man sitting on the far left of the place got up and walked over to the table of the three.

“You fellas mind if I take a seat here?” He asked, pointing at the sit that held the ghastly third man. The other two men, Buddy and Pal, nodded without a second thought, and the third man just got up from his seat and walked out of my view. Some friends they are!

“I couldn’t help but hear you talking about those invasive devils. You know, the government only recently tried to control the rabbit population, but those sex addicts just kept pumping out more of themselves. You’d think with all the weapons in the world and a billion people, a small pest like rabbits wouldn’t stand a chance!” The replacement threw his hands up and then sighed. The irony in his statement burned like the sun, and I was about to tune them out, but Pal said something that surprised me.

“Yeah, you sure can say that again, the rabbits are getting so bad out here, they practically killed our friend. He always spent time with us in this here bar, and always sat where you are sitting now, but after the rabbits ate his livelihood, he kicked the bucket, literally!” Pal laughed, and the replacement shivered. I suppose the mysterious, white friend that sat with the other two was their friend then. I felt a slimmer of remorse, then remembered what they did to my home and instantly was filled with indifference, vengeance almost.

The three sat there without talking and placed their cups to their mouths. From all the years I’ve been here, apparently the term for doing so is “drinking”. I suppose every animal sustains fluids in their bodies one way or another, no matter how strange it seems. Many of the things I know today are simply due to these very animals talking too much. I didn’t know a single thing about these humans except one thing, I hated them. I suppose that feeling is still here, deep down, but I’ve most likely suppressed it after realizing how little I can really do in this position. Personally, I’ve gotten used to not doing anything but listen, and listen I do. For starters, humans are some of the only animals to actually do more talking than anything. They talk and talk even after many stop listening. They say things that they shouldn’t, to those they don’t know, with consequences they never fully see. Some of their favorite things to say are words like “fuck”, “shit”, “asshole”, “you wanna take this outside?”, and “hold my bear”. Now, I don’t understand how they think a small glass is a bear, but no one around them seems to care too much. I assume many of these words are provoking ones, as shortly after they are said, someone attacks someone else. This is another thing humans seem to enjoy more than many other animals, fight. Of course, I saw the occasional bird spar with another for territory, but with these humans, the sparring leads to someone bigger than both of them kicking them out. When I really think about it, humans surely are a brute of a species.

Although I express a strong disdain toward humans, I can’t imagine a world without them. They may be scum that takes and never gives, and they may be the sole reason my home is gone, but they may be the next step for nature. I, like every creature in nature, understand one simple principle in life, that life is not fair. Life will never make sense, and it will always favor against you. Nature favors itself, and we are not a part of it. We are simply on for the ride, and we have to adapt around Nature’s fickle fluxuations. Humans would not be here today if they did not understand this, and certainly, they would not be here if they did not cheat. Humans are truly the first race to grab ahold of nature and tell it what to do. This change in power was abrupt, and too many species couldn’t adapt in time. I want to believe this form of myself is simply me adapting, but nature isn’t so kind. I’m the last remaining member of the Willow family for a reason.

Humans will destroy everything. Nature can’t do anything about that, it’s simply not strong enough. Yet, humans are still not strong enough to rule as the force to replace nature. It feels like a redundant statement, but it’s a fact. The only reason Nature lost to humans is that it was spread thin. Humans at one point, from what I’ve heard, were all concentrated in a single area and were strong enough to conquer nature there. They slowly took piece by piece from nature, and nature was too weak to fight back. Now that humans have over half of the Earth taken from Nature, they’ll begin to spread out and thin. What will happen then? I cannot say, but I can safely assume one thing; A force greater than nature and humans will come around and sweep both of them clean off the Earth. Although humans are very archaic, they do get it from somewhere. In fact, everything on Earth has this that humans have, whether in a lesser or greater degree. Where do they get it? Well, they learn it from the battlefield that is this Earth. This is not home, this is a battlefield where everything is born here and dies here.

Dear Nature, look at me, I’m starting to act like humans, rambling on when someone already stopped listening to a long time ago. What is happening around me? I must find something to distract me from turning too much like these humans.

“Ha! That’s a good-” One human said before I tuned them out, and other started talking about something named Do-Bald Trunk. Everywhere I look, there are humans, how am I going to distract myself from these creatures? Oh nature please, help me! I would much rather die alongside my family than be here in a transitional period of the Earth. I am alone and silent. I have been reduced to a mindless observer, one who-

Wait. Wait that’s it! I cannot possibly be a human, I’m just an observer. That is all I am, Nature has placed me here as a silent observer for the future. This is how it should be, I should be the last of all who served Nature, to carry it on just a little bit longer. Someone will come along then and relinquish my duty from me, right? All I have to do now is wait for that person to come.

One evening, that person did come. It was much later from that thought I had, most likely a few months, or even a year or so. However, the person was not as I’d imagined, as, over the time I waited, I imagined what they’d look like. They’d be a human, of course, and they’d be warming and welcoming like Nature was when I was born. This one was, to be put lightly, brooding and menacing. They wore dark pieces of cloth, with a white one hidden behind the other dark ones. Human culture sure was strange. Anyhow, the human walked to the cliff and talked to someone for a bit. They talked very quietly to each other, and I couldn’t make out what they were saying. When the human finished, they came over to me and took me away.

I should mention at this point that the place I was cursed to was beginning to fall apart. Less and fewer humans came here, and between the last human to leave and the first to arrive, another piece of the place disappeared. First it was the black boxes, then it was the neighbors around me, and finally, I was the last to go.

The human picked me up, put on what I imagined to be a mask, and took me outdoors, where I saw something completely harrowing. The blue sky I remembered when I was young was now turned into a brown that I could only describe as similar to my own skin. The clouds I used to look at and count are black and depressing to look at. There was no green anywhere, and the grass I used to admire for being so majestic in the wind is now dead and void of life. I could also see nearby a human that looked as beat up and disgusting as the Earth. This particular human crawled everywhere, sometimes jumping up and grabbing something or attacking someone. The human eventually crawled over to a hole in the ground and stuck their hand down it. When the hand came back up, green liquid came with it, and the human placed it close to its mouth, drinking it in the process. I hoped that the liquid was not water, but I doubted the thought the instant it came to my mind.

I was taken and placed in a box, and after an unknown amount of time, I was taken out. We were someplace different, but the sky and clouds and grass were all still the same upsetting color. The man reassured me that I’d be the revolution of the future, whatever that meant. He walked into a building that was completely white and pure on the inside, with people in equally white garments. The only room that was not a pure white was the one I was put in, which was a dark brown and green room. I later realized this was the human’s poor recreation of my home, and that I was supposed to feel like I never left.

“This one will be the one. If we just wait a while, the stool will just make trees, right?” One of the white garemented men asked. The others nodded in agreement, and I laughed at their stupidity. They really thought that this poor attempt would work for anything? They also believed that in my state I can reproduce? Have these humans gone insane from their own desperate attempts to save themselves?

Days went by and the humans looked uneasily nervous. They entered my room and paced back and forth, and without any results, stormed out of the room and I could hear faint traces of voices from the other side. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy this somewhat. For starters, I was alone for a majority of the time, and if I tried hard enough, I’d feel like I was home again. The enjoyment was short-lived, as one of the men came barreling through the door, screaming about saving someone named “Willie”.

When the man entered, he looked like the others, but he picked me up viciously, and said to me, “Don’t worry one-bit little buddy, I’ll get you home, I’ll make sure you rest easy where you were born!”

I brushed off his lazy attempt to appease me. There’s nothing left of my home after humans ruined it, doesn’t he know that?

“Of course, it won’t be like before, but it’s still there!” He said.

I couldn’t believe what I heard! This man barged into my facade and held in front of me my home, I begged him in my mind to take me there. However, this human was different than the others, for he heard my cries.

“Hush! Willie, don’t worry an ounce, I’ll make sure you can rest easy. They wanted to tear you apart and desecrate your scraps without a second thought. I told them they were mad, and they-” He said.

Although his name for me, ‘Willie’, was quite strange, I liked it. I was glad to hear that this human wanted to protect me from further harm. I couldn’t muster up the strength to tell him he was too late, because I’ve already been torn apart years before I came here. Instead, I told him that we need to get out of this place.

“Do you hear that Willie? They are coming for us, for me. They’ll rip the meat offa my skin if they got their grimy fingers on me. But, you know me, Willie, I wouldn’t let that happen. No sir, not one bit! Let’s scatter.” He exclaimed. His eyes darted around, and those same eyes blinked at speeds I don’t think I’d ever seen.

I told him to lead the way, and we both left the building I stayed in. We got into a car similar to the one they brought me in, but it was decorated with much more color. The back had real leaves this time, and the coloring of the walls was much more realistic. We drove for some time, and I could hear my new friend yell, “Don’t worry back there Willie, I made sure to make it as much like your home as possible. I had a hard time finding actual leaves, cause you know, they come from trees, and well… that’s not important anymore. What’s important Willie is that you’ll be home soon and I’ll-”

What could he mean by that? How could trees not be important anymore? It must have been another one of those ‘figure-of-speeches’ I suppose. At first, I thought he tried talking to me, but he simply made extraordinarily loud noises for no reason. He apologized for it, and he continued to take me home.

When the car stopped moving, he grabbed me, and something else that I couldn’t really see completely.

“Willie, here we are. We finally made it Willie, ain’t it something else?” He said, covering his mouth.

What he talked about was surely something else. The skies, for one, were a blue-green color, and the ground was more or less green. It wasn’t exactly my home, but even I couldn’t tell where that was anymore. He then set me down and revealed what he was concealing to me.

“Willie, Willie, come on now baby. Don’t say that to me, I know that it’s hard. How do you think I feel, HOW DO YOU THINK IT MAKES ME FEEL?” He started yelling, flailing around the sharp object in his hand.

I don’t know what I said that offended him, but he calmed down and started to cry. He mumbled something about the future and other human things I would never understand. He lifted the sharp object and struck it into me.

There were times in the place with the cliff where I had been used by humans larger than others and thought I would snap in half. The pressure they put on my body was terrifying, and I saw it happen once. The victim next to me was my neighbor for no less than a year, and that night they snapped like a twig. I never wanted to feel that sort of pain, and with that sharp object jutting out of my body, I experienced pain that was immeasurable. Even with my screams, he kept going until I couldn’t think anymore. There was only a portion of me big enough to maintain fleeting thoughts, but the other parts of me were too small too.

“Willie, I love you more than anything in this world, and I know that hurting you hurts me beyond explanation. I’ll be with you soon, and you’ll hate me for some time. However…” He said to me. I couldn’t continue to listen though, as I quickly lost consciousness.

Yeah, I know this was supposed to be a weekly thing, but school is kind of kicking my ass at the moment, so apologies for that! The next prompt by @storypromptsforfun Will be up eventually. My schedule right now is quite crazy, so I’m not going to make promises I cannot keep. Anyways, hope you enjoy and I’ll see you all soon enough! --TW

[jmsa1287]

A Year in Review: The Best 25 Episodes of TV of 2017

With more and more new TV series hitting airways (and the Internet), the quality of shows continues to be impressive. Narrowing down a list of just the 10 best episodes of the year is no easy task. Putting together a small list like this feels more like an omission than a gathering of the cream of the crop.

In a diverse and strange year, showings from network comedies, prestige dramas and experimental explosions are all featured here. The following 25 episodes are truly exceptional - with the top three episodes proving to be groundbreaking and game-changing TV - and highlight what a magnificent year it was for TV in 2017.

25. “Yard Sale,” Baskets 

24. “Foisted!,” Curb Your Enthusiasm 

23. “New York I Love You,” Master of None

22. “The Sea Beneath 14th Street,” Neo Yokio 

21. “Graduation,” Better Things

20. “Kill Process,” Mr. Robot

19. “Thanksgiving,” Master of None 

18. “The Rickshank Rickdemption,” Rick and Morty 

17. “Hero or Hate Crime,” It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia 

16. “Certified,” The Leftovers

15. “You Mean All This Time We Could Have Been Friends?,” Feud: Bette and Joan

14. “Fun and Merriment,” Big Little Lies

13. “Episode 1,” The Young Pope

12. “Thank You and Goodnight,” The Marvelous Mrs. Masiel

11. “Somebody’s Dead,” Big Little Lies

10. “Got Milk?,” The Last Man on Earth

"The Last Man on Earth" doesn't get the credit it deserves. This apocalyptic comedy may air on network TV but it pushes the boundaries of storytelling in interesting ways; at least compared to "The Walking Dead." "Got Milk?" barely features the show's main cast and instead follows wealthy socialite Pamela Brinton (played by a hilarious Kristen Wiig in what may be her best post-"Bridesmaids" role) during the early days of a viral outbreak, which includes members of the Trump administration dropping like flies. It's a daring episode that gives context to "The Last Man on Earth" as well as a showcase for Wiig's talents. It also has a wild scene with Laura Dern eating dog food. 09. “Family,” The Girlfriend Experience

For its second season, "The Girlfriend Experience" played with format, telling two non-related stories over 14 half-hour episodes. The track set in D.C. follows Erica (Anna Friel), a finance director of a Republican super PAC, and Anna (Louisa Krause), an escort. Over the course of the story, the women form a surprising relationship, but it's with the episode "Family" that their budding romance explodes with chaotic emotion. The episode takes unexpected turns, exploring power dynamics that are enhanced and heightened with its clinical and icy-cold minimalism. With Lodge Kerrigan's fascinating direction, "Family" marks one of the most chilling and boldest episodes of TV this year.

08. “The Goodbye Tour,” Girls

"The Goodbye Tour" may be the penultimate episode to the final season of "Girls" but it functions as the finale with the muted "Latch" feeling more like a coda to the series. The episode finds its core four Hannah (Lena Dunham), Marnie (Allison Williams), Jessa (Jemima Kirke) and Shoshanna (Zosia Mamet) finally appearing together in one scene. Tensions are high and feelings are hurt but perfectionist Marnie is determined to work things out between the foursome with a bathroom meeting. It's an emotional moment, confirming audiences' feelings: The girls are not actually friends anymore; over six seasons they've drifted a part and hurt each other and "The Goodbye Tour" is confirmation of this. Though they may not have animosity, this bittersweet ending, in which they may no longer be friends but can still dance to Robyn, is emotional as it is raw.

07. “And the Winner is…(The Oscars 1963)” Feud: Bette and Joan

In what might be Ryan Murphy's most skillfully directed episode of TV ever (and that's saying something considering he is one of the busiest people in TV), "And the Winner is...(The Oscars 1963)" is a dramatization of one of the most dramatic nights in Oscars history. There's so much at stake for Bette Davis (Susan Sarandon), who has been nominated for Best Actress for "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane," but thanks to dirty politics, Joan Crawford (Jessica Lange) crushes her frenemy's dreams and accepts the award on behalf of an absent Anne Bancroft. This high-octane hour of TV also features a long tracking shot of Crawford backstage at the Oscars - one of the most heart-racing moments on TV this year.

06. “The Thief,” Master of None

Aziz Ansari stepped up his game for "Master of None" Season 2. Right off the bat, the first episode "The Thief" proved he wasn't messing around. Unfolding in black and white, (a surprising move for a show that built it's audience as a millennial sitcom) the comedy is a stunning homage to Italian cinema - specifically Vittorio De Sica's "The Bicycle Thieves." For a half-hour comedy, the episode is a sumptuous gift that puts Ansari in another league.

05. “The Book of Nora,” The Leftovers

The series finale of "The Leftovers" was mystical as it was moving. It's also a testament to Carrie Coon, one of TV's best working actors. Delivering a deeply riveting and emotional monologue, Coon's Nora, now much older, tells her long-lost love Kevin (Justin Theroux) about being teleported to her family in another dimension, possibly to a place where the departed vanished. Except - it's unclear if Nora is telling Kevin the truth, making the series finale to one of the best shows - ever - an open ended mystery that we will always let be.

04. “Part 17″ and “Part 18,” Twin Peaks: The Return

Over 25 years ago, "Twin Peaks" fans watched F.B.I. agent Dale Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan) become a prisoner in the Black Lodge as his evil doppelganger take his place in the real world. The Season 2 finale, which aired in 1991, turned out to be the series finale (thanks to a cancelation from ABC) and for over two decades, fans were left to grapple with one of the biggest cliffhangers to ever air. That changed, however, when co-creator/direct/writer/actor David Lynch came back to the world of "Twin Peaks" and got to end the series on his terms. "Part 17" and "Part 18" are a one-two punch of triumph and devastation. After 16 hours of the mindless Dougie Jones (MacLachlan), the real Dale Cooper finally returned in all his wholesome glory, ready to finally save Laura Palmer and defeat the evil BOB. After literally rewriting the past, Lynch pulls the rug out from viewer's expectations with "Part 18," ending "Twin Peaks" on a devastatingly tragic note: "What year is this?"

03. “Michael’s Gambit,” The Good Place

Who knew a major network could still air groundbreaking TV? The Season 1 finale of Michael Schur's existential comedy "The Good Place" is game-changing TV. Without spoiling anything, the episode totally flips the script, reframing what "The Good Place" is actually about and its characters' motivations. With a huge twist that was hiding in plain sight, the comedy became one of the most innovative and interesting shows of 2017, giving the middle finger to cliffhangers and network sitcoms.

02. “Finding Francis,” Nathan For You

"Nathan For You" is an uncomfortable show; one that forces viewers to confront their boundaries of humor. Creator and star Nathan Fielder's Season 4 finale "Finding Francis" is the comedian's boldest and biggest episode ever - a two-hour epic that follows Fielder and Bill Gates impersonator William Heath as they track down Heath's long lost high school sweetheart. To call the finale daring TV would be an understatement - not only does it ask viewers to question the boundaries of love but it also urges them to question reality. It's one of the most captivating things aired on TV in recent memory - so wild and bold that infamous documentarian Errol Morris felt the need to write about the episode for the New Yorker.

01. “Part 8,” Twin Peaks: The Return

There will never be another TV moment like "Part 8" of David Lynch and Mark Frost's masterpiece "Twin Peaks: The Return." It's the kind of TV moment that will have unprecedented reverberations in art for years to come. Profound and truly mind-blowing, "Part 8" transcended the boundaries of what TV can do and make you feel. Visceral, shocking and captivating, "Part 8" told a saga of good vs. evil; how man created evil and brought it into the world and that the battle between good and evil is an ongoing one. Sometimes bewildering and sometimes touching, "Part 8" is unlike anything that has ever aired on TV, coming from one of the greatest American filmmakers alive today.