#every day I think I’m gonna draw someone other than Gale

[mavariel]

look at my Gales, boy

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, madelion82!

Apologies for the short delay on your birthday gift, @mandelion82​! We hope you had an amazing day today, and that you got exactly the presents you were hoping for! To keep your party going a little while longer, the wonderful @norbertsmom​ has written a story just for you!

Author's note: Happy birthday to @Mandelion82, sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy your age gap, friends to lovers Everlark birthday fic. Big thanks to @mega-aulover who not only beta’ed this fic, but was also my writing partner. Without further ado…

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New Beginnings

Peeta Mellark is excited. There’s only 1 week left before school starts up again, but he’s excited nonetheless. He has the week off, and his best friend is finally home from her job at summer camp.

Summer without Prim had been completely boring. He had to work all summer in the family bakery because his older brother made the Panem University Football team, so Rye got to run around at practice everyday instead of working in the bakery like usual.

Peeta had to do all the heavy lifting, working 40 hours a week or more. Sure, the money was great - he bought a car! - but he was always dead tired by the weekend. And with his best friend away, Peeta had been bored.

But now, Prim and her sister Katniss are home. Peeta can’t wait to see them. He and Prim are juniors this year and Katniss is a senior. Peeta has had a crush on Katniss since his first day of school. When his dad introduced him to the daughters of his old school friend on his first day at Kindergarten. It was a day he would never forget.

He and Prim were in the same kindergarten class  and became instant best friends. Katniss, a first grader, on the other hand, intrigued him, especially how she took care of Prim. She was a year older, so she knew the ropes. She held Prim’s hand and explained what was going on so neither Prim nor he was nervous.

Peeta’s own brothers never did that for him. When he and his brothers  got to the schoolyard, his older brothers took off to go play with their friends until school started. Katniss, however, stuck around.

That first day, when the bell rang, all the kids were ushered into the auditorium. Peeta was so excited; he’d never seen so many kids gathered at one time. The school Principal, Effie Trinket held a welcome rally at the beginning of every new school year. Katniss directed Prim and Peeta to sit near the front so they could see better. Peeta quickly got bored of the Principal’s speech about rules and etiquette, but when Miss Trinket called Katniss up to the stage, that got his attention.

“My dear children, you are in for a treat,” Miss Trinket announced. “Your very own Katniss Everdeen is going to sing a song to start out our new year.”

Katniss stepped up to the microphone and in the voice of an angel started to sing a song called New Beginnings. Katniss voice soared to great heights. Prim giggled next to him, but Peeta didn’t pay any attention. He  stared in awe throughout the entire song. When she was done, Peeta stood up and gave her an enthusiastic standing ovation. Katniss looked over at Peeta and smiled, and Peeta was a goner.

That was 12 years ago, and Peeta still holds that crush close to his heart. Not only was Katniss his best friend’s sister, but she probably thought of him as a little brother.

Now, Peeta is on his way to visit the sisters for the first time all summer. He knocks at the door, bouncing on his feet, excited to see his best friend.

The door opens, and Peeta’s eyes go wide and his voice catches in his throat, because standing before him in a tiny green bikini is no other than Katniss Everdeen, the love of his life.

Not that she knows that, but she’s staring at him like he’s some kind of dummy, Peeta thinks, but he can’t seem to get any words out. He’s so distracted by her long flowing hair that she flips back over her shoulder.

Katniss gives him a small shy smile. It's so brief Peeta thinks he imagined the look on her face. Her smiles are rare.

“Is he here?” Prim asks from behind Katniss and it seems to break the staring contest.

Katniss steps back and tells Prim, “You just might have to shoo the girls away at school when they see your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Prim says as she passes Katniss, who’s rushing off to the back into the house.

“Come on in,” Prim tells him, then whistles as he steps inside. “Wow, you really put on some muscle over the summer. Working in the bakery really did your body good,” she says while squeezing his bicep, and pinching him on the side.

Peeta pushes her away. “Whatever, but you sure got taller. You’re taller than Katniss now.”

“I know,” Prim giggles. “She hates it.”

Katniss comes back out wearing a cover-up over her bikini, but Peeta can still see her long tanned legs. She’s such a goddess, he can’t keep his eyes off of her. “I’m outta here. Have fun guys,” Katniss says and rushes off.

“Stare much,” Prim teases, and punches Peeta in the stomach.

Katniss quickly looks back, but scurries off before Prim sees she was returning his stare. Her phone rings as she walks away.

“Peeta,” Prim chides, “You know the rules. No dating each other’s siblings.”

That rule came about because in the 6th grade, their fellow students, Cashmere and Glimmer got in a fight because Glimmer started dating Cashmere’s twin brother. They didn’t talk for weeks. So Prim and Peeta made a rule that they couldn’t date each other’s siblings. Peeta agreed even though he had a huge crush on Katniss. He knew he never had a chance with her. She was a year older, beautiful, and all the boys liked her.

That call is probably from her boyfriend Gale Hawthorne anyway, Peeta thinks, and tries to put Katniss in her tiny green bikini out of his mind. Peeta and Prim spend the rest of the day swimming in the backyard pool, telling each other about their summer.

By the time Katniss comes back, the sun is dipping into the horizon and Peeta swears that shade of orange is now his favorite color. It casts her golden skin in a hue that makes her look like a goddess. Peeta dives under the water to calm himself down.

For the rest of the night neither notice Katniss keeps peeking outside. When Peeta goes to leave, it’s his car that draws Katniss out again.

Prim whistles, “This old junk needs to be scrapped, not driven.”

“Hey, no!” Peeta leans in and whispers, “Don’t listen to her, cheese-bun, she knows nothing about cars.”

Katniss grins, then says, ”Nice ‘66 Shelby Cobra Mustang, needs a lot of work, but it looks like it has good bones.”

Peeta stares openly at Katniss.

“Don’t be too impressed, Gale’s dad is a gearhead. He teaches Katniss whenever she goes over there,” Prim says dryly.  

Peeta nods. Figures, her boyfriend probably drives a fully restored muscle car and takes her out every night. Peeta clears his throat, “I, uh, I bought it off of the goat man. You know that guy who runs the goat farm at the edge of town. He came into the bakery and was talking about getting rid of the car his son left in the barn before going off to war all those years ago. I went out to see it with my dad, and I couldn’t believe what he had. It was in terrible shape, as you can see, but I really have hopes for restoring her to her old glory.”

“Besides Prim, you shouldn’t be too harsh, this is the car that’s going to take us to school for the rest of the year,” Katniss says firmly.

“Sure,” Peeta squeaks out. He clears his throat and in a manlier voice he repeats, “Sure, yeah, I’ll be driving you ladies to school everyday.”

“Great, we’re gonna get laughed at on our first day back,” Prim whines, but Katniss tells her to shush.

Peeta gets in his car and starts it, but before he can put it into gear, it backfires. Prim shakes her head and grumbles while Katniss laughs and waves to Peeta as he pulls out of the driveway.

Peeta comes over everyday for the rest of the week, but Katniss is never around.

On the first day back to school, Peeta picks up Prim and Katniss. Katniss doesn’t say much. She has her earbuds in, listening to music. She gives him a quick nod and jumps in the back seat, so Prim can sit up front.

When they get to school, someone wolf whistles.

Cato Ludwig comes up and puts his arm around Katniss’ shoulder. “Now that Hawthorne is away, Kitty cat can play.”

Katniss ducks under his arm and pushes him away. Her legendary scowl in place. “Get lost, Cato.”

“Oh, not in a playful mood, are we?” he asks, then turns to Prim.

“How about you, little sister, you’re not so little anymore, are you?” and wiggles his eyebrows.

He goes to put his arm around Prim, but Peeta jumps in and twists Cato’s arm around his back.

Cato makes a counter move, but Peeta is ready and pins him to the ground. He may have been smaller than his brothers, but he’s had to wrestle his older brothers his whole life.

“Get off me,” Cato growls, not liking being shown up by a younger kid in front of the rest of the school.

Before Peeta can let him up, Coach Abernathy comes out of the building and blows his whistle.

Peeta jumps up and holds his hand out to Cato, who pushes it away before getting up himself.

“Cato and Peeta, enough of that.”

All the kids around make oohing sounds.

Cato whines. “I wasn’t fighting. Mellark jumped me.”

“Looked more like he was protecting his friends,” Coach replies. “From you.” He turns to Peeta, “You should think about joining the wrestling team with moves like that, but any more fighting and it’s detention for the both of you.” He emphasizes his point by pointing two fingers at both of the boys, then storms off back into the school.

“Thank you Peeta,” Prim tells him. She gives Cato a scowl and drags Peeta into the school by the arm. Katniss follows at a short distance behind them.

Peeta looks back at Katniss, and she nods, and mouths, “Thanks.”

“Mr. Mellark,” Coach Abernathy calls from his office.

Peeta hangs his head. Great, he thinks, I bet I’m getting that detention after all.

“I need to speak to you.” Coach Abernathy walks away.

Peeta tells Prim goodbye and follows Coach into his office. Once there Coach Abernathy shows him a chair.

“Kid you need an elective, that cooking class has been cancelled.”

Peeta sits up. “What?”

“Not enough people signed up and it got cancelled.” Coach Abernathy looks at his computer screen. “Let’s see, in that time slot, your choices are Auto Shop, and Public Speaking. Oh, wait a minute. You’ve already taken public speaking, so Auto Shop it is.”

“Great,” Peeta says as he gets up. I need Auto Shop to work on my car anyway, he thinks.

“Oh, and Mr. Mellark,” Coach Abernathy says before Peeta can leave the room, “You really should consider trying out for wrestling. You already got the moves.”

“I’ll think about it, sir,” Peeta says as he leaves the office.

Peeta just sits down in first period literature class. The teacher isn’t in the room, so most of the kids are still milling around. Cashmere, Glimmer, and Clove surround Peeta’s desk.

“Wow Peeta, you sure grew up this summer,” Cashmere tells him.

“Ya,” Clove says, then snaps her gum, “you got muscles, like your brothers.”

“You really took on Cato for Primrose Everdeen. He’s a senior. Is she your girlfriend?” Glimmer asks while twirling her hair.

“What? No, Prim is my best friend.”

“Oh, are you dating Katniss Everdeen, then?” Cashmere asks, then points at Katniss who just walked in the door.

Peeta makes a choking sound and stares over at Katniss who sits down on the other side of the room.

The girls all look over too, and Katniss quickly looks away.

“I see,” Cashmere says, and pulls the other two girls away, whispering and pointing between Peeta and Katniss.

“Katniss has a boyfriend,” Peeta finally says, although he doubts they hear him over their whispering. Katniss is going to hate being the subject of rumors, Peeta thinks.

Later that day, Peeta has lunch with Prim.

“People keep asking me about you, how you got so built, why you took on Cato.”

“Please, I don’t want to talk about that. Tell me about your day. Anything good happen?” Peeta asks.

Prim obliges by telling him about the new girl she met, named Rue. “She’s a new transfer from District 11 and reminds me of Katniss so much. She just loves the outdoors, and she sings all the time.”

“Sounds like you found yourself a new best friend,” Peeta teases.

“What? No!” Prim blushes. “You’ll always be my best friend. I just, I don’t know. I like her.” Prim looks down at her lap.

“Hey, no worries,” Peeta tells her, lifting up her chin. “I was just kidding. Go ahead and spend time with Rue. I’m happy that you made a new friend.”

“Thanks,” Prim says shyly.

The end-of-lunch bell rings and each heads off to their next class, Biology for Prim, and Auto Shop for Peeta.

Peeta walks down the long hallway to Auto Shop. He’d never been in this wing of the school before. His father had told him, back in his day, all the boys had to take Woodworking Shop and Auto Shop, while the girls took Home Ec, but nowadays, all those classes are electives.

Peeta steps into the classroom and finds several auto bays on one side of the room, and a long table with chairs lining the other side of the room. Several people are already sitting at the table, but he doesn’t know anyone yet.

“Hey Mellark,” a voice he was dreading to hear, calls behind him, “what are you doing slumming in Auto Shop?” Cato Ludwig asks him.

Before he can answer, the voice he loves to hear calls out, “Why, worried he’ll pin you again?”

The other kids chuckle as Cato’s face sours. “No one asked you, Everdeen,” he grouses.

Katniss Everdeen, this class just got that much better.

“Hey Katniss,” Peeta says shyly, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck.

“Hey, what are you doing here? I thought you were taking Cooking class this period.”

That’s odd she knew that, Peeta thinks. Prim must have told her.

“Uh, it got cancelled. This was the only class open. But I’m glad it was. Now I can learn how to work on my car.”

“Oh yeah. You need to ask Ms. Mason if we can use your car in class, but we’ll need to find another way to school. I don’t want to take the bus.”

“I can do that?” Peeta asks.

“Only if your car is worth my time,” A voice answers behind him.

Peeta turns around to find himself face to face with a woman in her mid twenties, with black spiky hair tipped in red, wearing a red tank top and coveralls folded down at the waist.

“Whatchagot kid?” she asks him.

Before he can answer, Katniss jumps in, “He’s got a ‘66 Shelby Cobra Mustang. Been in a barn for decades, but it could really be something if we can get to work on it.”

Ms. Mason nods. “Sounds good, and you guys can call me Johanna. I’m the teacher now, no longer the assistant, so what I say goes, got it?”

“Got it.” Everyone answers in unison.

“Okay, Lovebirds, you take bay one.”

“We’re not a couple, and the name’s Peeta, Peeta Mellark. Nice to meet you Johanna.”

“Kissing up doesn’t work in this class. And I don’t care if you and Brainless are together or not. Just do your work, Loverboy and you’ll do fine.”

Johanna moves onto the other bay assignments.

“Don’t mind her,” Katniss tells him, a light blush on her cheeks. “She gives everyone a nickname.”

“Yeah? How’d you get Brainless?”

“I forgot to put the oil pan plug back in last semester. Oil all over the floor. What a mess.” Katniss tells him with a grin. “It’s better than Meathead, or Marvelous.”

“Is that why they call him Marvel?”

Katniss nods with a smile. Katniss is something else in Auto Shop class, Peeta thinks. She really comes out of her shell, and Peeta likes seeing this side of her.

Peeta learns quickly that he knows nothing about cars, but the prospect of working on his own car with Katniss Everdeen is something to look forward to.

After school, Peeta drives Katniss and Prim home. Prim tells them about her new friend Rue, and how they are in almost every class together. She even wants to be a doctor just like Prim. With news of Peeta’s car being used in shop class, they find that Rue can drive them back and forth to school.

Katniss still sits in the back, but with Peeta now. They talk about everything they can do to the car. Peeta has never seen Katniss talk so much at one time.

Time flies, and the car is taking shape. Prim starts hanging out with Rue after school while Peeta and Katniss work on his car.

Peeta starts cutting his lunch short to go to Auto Shop class early. One day he is trying to configure the carburetor. He has to figure out how to connect the throttle link.

“Hey Mellark,” Katniss calls. “Why are you here so early? Shouldn’t you be at lunch with Prim?”

“I have to finish this up before class. I can’t mess up my test.”

“Let me help you with that,” Katniss says as she leans over.

“Thanks.”

“So quick, what do you call that,” Katniss says pointing to the round thing sitting on top of the engine.”

This is going to be painful. Peeta cannot focus on the car with Katniss so close. He’s staring at the graceful slope of her neck. Who knew a neck could be alluring. He begins to sweat.

“Earth to Peeta,” Katniss snapped her fingers in front of his face.

Peeta understands the meaning of becoming cross eyed. Momentarily his vision blurs and his heart rate spikes. He blurts out the first thing that comes to his brain.  “An air filter?”

“No it’s the air cleaner.”

“Right.” Peeta feels like an idiot. How in the world is he supposed to study when he turns into a buffoon in her presence. Peeta takes a deep breath to clear his mind. “I feel like I’m never going to get this right.”

“Don’t, these old cars aren’t easy. But they are fun to work on. And trust me, there’s nothing like the sound of a finely tuned engine purring.”  She gives him one of her rare rosy cheeked smiles.

Peeta has no idea what Katniss was talking about but he nodded. “Okay.”

“Now next question, what does a carburetor do?”

“It mixes air and fuel to make internal combustion.” Taking out a handkerchief he wipes his face and mutters under his breath, “I think.”

“Good.” Katniss reached out and put her hand on his forearm. “Name the different types of carburetors.”

Peeta thinks he’s going to combust. Nervously he wipes his brow again. He’s losing his concentration at Katniss' light touch. “Custom choke, vacuum, and multiple ven...vent-venturi,” he blurts out.

“Good. Now which one of those is in your car?” She squeezed his arm. Peeta is holding onto his sanity by a thin thread.

“It has a choke one,” he gasped. “I know because I was able to find the number…”

“You don’t have to say another thing, Johanna won’t really care. She just wants to make sure you know what you’re doing.”  Katniss removes her hand from his arm, flicking her signature braid over her shoulder.

“Really.”

“Yeah, if you’re going to drive this around you want to make sure you know what to do if your engine dies, or lose control. It's important.”

Katniss stares at Peeta for a moment, then her face becomes pink before she blurts out, “You know, you smell like a cookie.”

Peeta wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Why can’t he smell manly, he’s got the smell like the bakery. “I’m sorry I smell.”

“You smell nice.” She takes a step toward him.

He stands straighter, unsure of what to do next. “Thank you?”

She’s so close he can see the flecks of yellow around her pupils when he looks down into her eyes. Peeta bends his head and Katniss lifts hers. She licks her lips and he mirrors her movements as their faces move close together.

The bell rings and the door to the shop bangs open. Peeta jumps back and Katniss steps away, suddenly interested in the car’s front tires. The other students start shuffling into the classroom.

When Johanna comes in and starts the class, everything is back to normal with Katniss. It’s like that moment never happened.

Half way through the year, Peeta and Katniss stay after class to work on his car once again. Peeta closes the hood and stands back, looking over his car. Katniss stands next to him wiping her hands.

“The car is close to being done.”

“So what color are you going to paint her?”

Peeta thinks it over. “Well, my favorite color is sunset orange, but that’s not an original color. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green,” Katniss says shyly.

“Really? Peeta says excitedly as he pulls up the color chart for 1966 Mustangs. “We can paint it Ivy Green. That’s an original color.” He leans over and shows her his phone.

“You’d do that?” she asks as she looks at his phone.

“Of course, You’ve put in as much work on this car as I have.”

Katniss looks up into Peeta’s eyes and smiles. “I’d like that.”

Peeta reaches out and brushes a loose hair behind her ear. “Besides, I would have been lost without you. I want to paint it your favorite color.”

“Okay,” Katniss whispers as she looks up into his eyes.

“Okay,” Peeta answers as he leans down, meeting her lips.

Katniss’ breath fans across his cheek. He pecks her lips experimentally.

Katniss places her hands on his chest and leans up on her tiptoes to capture his top lip. Peeta hands find purchase on her hips and flex gently at the sensation of her lips moving against his. Peeta’s heart soars as she deepens the kiss. It’s everything he’s dreamed this kiss would be. He cups her chin and she moans.

Katniss pulls away. Their eyes meet and once more their lips meet over and over again until they are both breathless. Peeta pulls away.  “We shouldn’t be doing this?”

Katniss frowns. “You’re right, Katniss says, as she steps back. “Prim would hate me.”

“What about your boyfriend, Gale?” Peeta asks, confused.

“What are you talking about? I’m not dating Gale. I was talking about Prim. I know you two are dating. You’ve been best friends forever. She’d be stupid to not want to date you.”

“Uh, Katniss, if you haven’t noticed. Prim has been spending all of her time with Rue.”

“Really I thought it was because she was driving us to and from school.”

“Katniss, you’re the one I’ve been spending all my time with. I like you. I’ve had a crush on you since the moment I met you. This past year, working with you has been a dream come true.”

Katniss looks up at him and smiles. “Really?”

“Really,” Peeta answers her with another kiss. “So when you said Prim would be stupid to not want to date me, does that mean you would want to date me?”

Katniss looks down and whispers, “Maybe.”

Peeta lifts her chin back up and says, “I think I’ll just have to convince you.” And moves in to kiss her once more.

Neither of them hear the footsteps coming down the hall. “I think they are still in here,” Prim says. “The lights are still on.”

Prim and Rue walk in and find Katniss and Peeta in their passionate embrace.

“Finally,” Prim says.

“What about your,” Rue makes air quotes with her hands, “You shouldn’t date a brother or sister rule.”

“Rue I only did that because Katniss wasn’t ready to date. My sister’s so awkward about boys. I wanted to make sure she didn’t break Peeta’s heart. Besides, they’ve been dancing around each other all year. I think they’ll be a while. Let’s get out of here.”

Rue giggles.

“Shh....” Prim nods to the door.

Prim and Rue walk out hand in hand.

Back in the room, Katniss and Peeta each pull back and take a deep breath. Katniss looks around and asks, “Did you hear something?”

“Not a thing,” Peeta says, “but we are going to have to tell Prim about us. We had this rule…” Peeta drifts off, “but I think she will understand. They are probably waiting for us. Let’s go.”

Katniss and Peeta walk out, but Peeta says, “Hold on a second, and runs back, gives his car one last look and smiles at the thought of it bringing Katniss to him, and he turns out the light.”

This fic was inspired by both The Kissing Booth and Grease. I hope you enjoyed it.

[delcat177]

I know you don't check tumblr often anymore, but I don't have a pillowfort and I'm finally feeling a bit of courage so: Your fanfiction has helped me so much. Your sharing of trauma has helped me so much. It's helped me realize what I went through was real, and that it hurt me, and that no matter how messy it is I'm still allowed to be hurt. You writing helped me stop hesitating about writing from my trauma. Thank you.

hekk if that ain’t what I needed today

thank you so much, so so much

I hope you didn’t wait too long on this one.  One of the big reasons I stepped away from Tumblr for awhile was because I desperately needed to spend time on exploring my trauma–it seems like radio silence over here, but I’ve spent the past year tangling with it, with the help of a few close friends and my therapist. It’s only been within the past two months that I’ve gone back and re-read some of the logs of my abuse (because it was in the form of one-on-one RP with an ongoing plot, I was in charge of keeping a meticulous archive, something I wonder if the other party remembers), and it’s only been within the past two weeks that my therapist has seen it (the only other person in 18 years!) and confirm that with the power dynamic going, despite our matched ages, it was molestation–consent is only consent if it’s informed, and I was not.  Rather, I was so anxious to please and to write with someone that the grooming was invisible to me then and horrendously visible now.  There’s been a lot of validation, but also a lot of grief, and a lot of wondering what to do considering I know where my abuser is but not knowing if I should do anything with that information.  I still don’t know, honestly!

I was called out in 2015 for being a rape apologist because of TSWU, and that fucked with me, a lot.  I believed it at the time, that I was hurting people, especially kids, and, on the callout’s insistence, Woundson himself.  I became incredibly paranoid about writing, afraid that I was, as stated, glorifying abuse.  I second-guessed myself at every turn, trying to understand why I couldn’t just edit Trust Fall out of existence, and when I finally realized it was my This Is What It Felt Like expression piece and said as much, I was further accused of making up my own experience as an excuse to write rapefic.  I struggled to keep publishing, but I had no joy left and every reason to doubt myself, and it stagnated, turned sour beneath my fingertips.  There’s a line about how to write a book, you have to get up every day and decide to write a book, and that’s been the case with the fic for years now–consciously deciding, day in and day out, to continue.

I don’t think I would have, if it hadn’t been for messages like this.  Because I keep getting messages like this, and at first, I responded positively but dismissed them out of hand as misinformed, blamed myself for drawing people astray, but…I keep getting them.  And I go “My God, I’m not alone, I wish I was alone because fuck anyone ever having to go through this but my fucking idiots and their not a dog maybe possibly mean something, and maybe that something isn’t that I’m a monster”, and that is a powerful, powerful thing, because it is so, so hard to believe I’m worthy of that.  It is easier to be silenced than to break it.  But here you are, doing just that, doing this immensely brave, powerful, kind thing, blowing all my hesitations out of the water, living your reality, claiming your hurt, walking the gale–

You are a hero.

You are real, you are valid, you deserve comfort for your hurt, justice for it, for all who would put you back or put you down to be tossed from the mountaintop you stand on.  You are a hero, and you are my hero.  I’m talking gingerly today, maybe not using my best words, but this much I can state in absolute certainty.  I am honored, beyond what I can ever express, that anyone would say to me what you’re saying now.

Thank you.

So much.

As for the fic…

…it’s an absolute goddamed organizational clownshoes, but I will never, ever give these guys up again, and at this point, it’s a matter of carving in rather than building out.

I…really, honestly cannot thank you, any of you enough.

But good goddamn, I’m gonna try.

[huntertales]

Part Two: I Just Want To Be Good. (The Great Escapist S08E21)

Episode Summary: When Sam, Dean and the reader receive a distressing video message from Kevin Tran, they set about trying to uncover the third trial. The boys and the reader make a discovery that sends them to a casino in Colorado, to find a mysterious recluse who may be able to fill in the holes in Kevin’s research. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 4,949.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

The path to finding someone who could translate a demon tablet you didn’t even have was growing colder with each passing day. Kevin was the only one who knew where it was, and somehow he ended up dead. All the prophets who were in line after him were still going on with their daily lives. You were at a near dead end, but you had one more shot at figuring out what the final trial was before you threw in the towel for good. It was an ambitious move, and probably even a little bit stupid, to track down this Metatron guy. He was the messenger of God who came in contact with this Native American tribe centuries back. It was a long shot, but you didn’t have many left. You were hoping the Two Rivers hotel might have some answers to your questions. 

You followed behind the boys when all of you headed into the casino and hotel, your eyes wandering over the many machines with their flashing lights and noises, enticing anyone who dare take a chance at gambling away their money. For a place like this you were guessing to see old folks gambling away their retirement fund. Maybe even a few people enjoying themselves with a weekend away. But the place was like a ghost town, not even an employee was around to greet the three of you. Dean hit the bell placed conveniently on the counter, hoping it might draw some attention. Sam waited beside his brother, casually glancing around to see if there was any other guests besides the three of you. 

"Morning. Hi. Uh, we'd like a room?" Dean gave whom he presumed was the hotel manager a smile when he saw him emerge from the back office to see who was ringing the bell. The offer for business didn’t seem to make the manager move, he just kept staring at Dean, causing the older Winchester to be more specific. "Here, please." 

You found yourself drifting away when you became curious about seeing the rest of the hotel, wondering what else there might be to do here besides playing a few slot machines. When you noticed a door that lead into another room, you began walking forward to it. You winced slightly in annoyance when you noticed a buzzing sound that you couldn’t describe. It was hard to tell if it was coming from the other room, or your ears were starting to ring. You poked a finger into the canal in some kind of attempt to make it go away, but it only got worse with each step you took away from the boys. It got louder and louder to the point where it felt like white noise. 

For a second you felt like you were in your own world from what happened next. You blinked a few times when you noticed your vision was starting to go blurry, making the game room you spotted hard to see. And the damn ringing was getting louder. You were experiencing something you've never quite felt before. You quickly turned around in your spot and took a step towards the boys, and just like that, suddenly the noise disappeared and you could see just fine again. You furrowed your brow slightly from what just happened. 

“Did you guys hear that?” You asked them, wondering 

"Hear what?" Dean asked you. He listened for any odd sound other than the slot machines and birds chirping outside, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. He looked over at the manager and gave him a friendly smile, explaining your behavior. "She has the flu."

The manager barely showed any changes in his facial expressions, his brow furrowed together at your behavior, causing Dean to awkwardly chuckle and smile once again. When the man still wouldn't even crack the slightest of emotions, Dean rushed out a forged signature and booked it out of there. Dean wasted no time getting out of the lobby and onto one of the double beds.He couldn't stand another night of sleeping next to you with you being like this, your skin hot to the touch. You laid down after complaining that you were thirsty, Sam took on the task of grabbing you a drink while Dean mentioned something about checking around the place. You waved him off when he asked his brother if he was okay with watching you for a few minutes.

Sam watched you as downed a glass of water in mere seconds, acting like a woman dying of thirst before asking for another one. With the fever running through your body, you were bound to be dehydrated. He got up and went to the bathroom sink to get you another. You smiled and tried to somehow take a sip while lying on your side on the bed farthest from the door. The cold water felt amazing down your throat. All though you were hot to the touch, you felt awfully cold. And suddenly so tired. Maybe you were getting the flu. Because you were feeling weird lately. It was different when you were back at the bunker, but you were discovering that your body was feeling more unusual, almost like you were moving in a fog.

“Regular tourist mecca we got here.” You turned your head to the door when you heard it open to see that Dean was back from his sweep around the hotel. “We’re the only guests in this whole place. Last entry in the registry was in ‘06.”

“Mmm. Anyone else getting ‘Psycho’ vibes?” You cracked a joke that you thought wasn’t even the slightest bit funny, but it was enough to make you smile. You tried to put the empty glass on the nightstand, too tired to sit up and make it easier on yourself, only your attempt ended with you missing and accidentally dropping it to the floor a quiet thud, the carpet managed to save it from breaking. Your smile grew wider at your clumsiness and rested your head back into the pillow, you placed an arm over your face, trying to block out the sun peeking out from the blinds. “Hey, Dean, you remember when uh… when John and my mom took us to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, on that pack-mule ride?”

“The what?” Dean asked you, not sure where this conversation came from. 

“And you’re, uh…your mule kept farting, just—letting go, like, gale force?” You weren’t the one to laugh like a school kid at jokes like that. But the memory made you let out a series of laughs that made the boys look at you with an odd expression.

“Y/N, you were like four years old.” Dean said. “I barely remember that.”

You giggled to yourself and turned your head to look at Sam, “Your brother rode a farty donkey.”

“Okay. Uh, since Sam has some background on this kind of stuff, him and I are gonna check out the Two Rivers Tribal Museum and Trading Post.” Dean said, telling you the plan.

“Yeah, yeah! I’m gonna…I’m gonna—“ You were finding it hard for you to sit up on your own, for a second, it seemed like you forgot you were almost six months pregnant with a belly that was far past being a small bump like you remembered. You got yourself up and pointed a finger at the boys to tell tell them what you were going to do while they were gone. “I’m gonna follow the hotel manager. D-Dr. Scowley-scowl. He’s like a villain from Scooby-Doo.”

“No, hey, uh, how about no?” Sam put a stop to your plans, watching as you tried to gather some energy to stand on your feet. You continued to sit on the eye of the bed, trying to force your eyes to stay open to keep this conversation going. “You should get some rest.”

“Yeah,” You mumbled with no resistance at all. “I can do that too.”

And with that, you fell back to the bed, suddenly losing consciousness a little too quickly. When the boys made sure you were still breathing, they made their way out of the room to conduct some of their own research while you to some much needed rest. 

+ + +

You weren’t sure how long you had been sleeping for after your head hit the pillow and lost consciousness in record time. From the way your body was feeling and the thin layer of sweat covering every inch of you, you took a wild guess that it was a while. You groaned softly when you tried to get yourself up into a sitting position, moving slow as possible, not sure why your body aches so much. You looked around the room to see if the boys had returned, but you were still alone. The room was quiet for the most part considering there hadn’t been any other guests since ‘06. You thought that’s what Dean said. Maybe you didn’t hear him right. 

You had been pretty out of it when you got settled into the room, talking about some family trip you took with the Winchester’s decades ago when you were still in each other’s lives. You forgot about it until just recently. The memory was crystal clear in your head, like it happened just the other day. If you had to think about...things had never felt so much clearer. You slowly got up to your feet thinking you just needed to stretch your legs from sleeping in such a stiff position. Maybe even see what the hotel manager was up to. You did mention something to the boys about tailing him to see what he was up to. It was odd enough this place wasn’t crawling with at least a few drifters. Something weird was definitely going on here.

Somehow you were able to get yourself to the door and opened it just enough for you to stumble your way out into the hallway, not taking into consideration how your appearance must look at the moment. There was no doubt in your mind your hair was a mess, your skin felt clammy and sweaty. Not to mention you had a sickly color to your skin. You felt like how you looked right at this moment. But every instinct was telling you to get off your ass and do your job. 

You moved at a gruelingly slow pace, making sure to steady your hand against the wall to keep yourself from falling and the other to block out the extremely bright florescent light. You stumbled your way down the hall and to the corner, wondering the hell the manager was, not taking into consideration you really shouldn’t have been out in the open like this. You took a few steps down the hall until you heard it again...that ringing you noticed when you checked in. This time, it was louder than before. Everything felt off. 

The hallway you stood down of suddenly appeared like it was spinning around you, the ground beneath your feet felt like it disappeared. You couldn’t hear your heavy or even anything else, all you could concentrate on was that chiming noise ringing loudly in your ears. For a second you were caught up in the rush of feeling, not realizing the manager was closer than you thought. Quick as the dizzy spell came, it vanished right after you saw the elevator doors slowly opened, giving you a small window to find a hiding spot. 

You managed to press your backside against the nearest door’s alcove just as the manager stepped off the elevator, pushing something that sounded like a cart from the squeaky wheel that echoed down the hall. You slowly peeked your head out from the corner to see he was crouched down on the ground with his back towards you, giving you a chance to see what he was doing. You noticed he was stacking delivery boxes on top of at least a dozen others. You furrowed your brow slightly in confusion. Why the hell was he delivering packages? There wasn’t anyone else here besides you and the boys. Maybe the previous guests before you checked in and loved the place so much they never wanted to leave. 

When you saw the manager push the cart away and back to the elevator without seeing you, you began moving when you heard the ding of the doors closed shut. You slowly made your way over to the hoard of boxes, wanting to know what was in there. You grabbed one of them to read the mailing address, only to discover it was the same as the hotel’s. All these boxes had to be filled with something important. You ripped open the box to see what was inside. What you discovered was...not what you expected. 

Books. At least a half dozen of them stacked neatly inside. You picked up a hardcover that was a pretty pale blue with silver swirled details engraved into the cover. You read the title, “Oliver Twist” by Charles Dickerson. A classic you remembered reading in English class years back for an essay. Then was more, books of all kinds, from different genres to different decades published. Classics. Mysteries. Self help books to quit smoking. You put them back where you found them, wondering why the hell the manger was dropping them off in another room. That’s when it hit you. 

What do writes love more than creating their own work? Reading other adventures. You pushed yourself back up to your feet and headed to your own room quickly as your body would let you. You didn’t know why you figured it out sooner. He was under your nose the entire time, hiding in plain sight. And yet hidden away from the world, probably spent centuries reading. An introvert’s dream to spend out their days. Their own company fictional beings. Endless worlds that weren’t their own. 

You shut the door behind you and pulled out your phone, you scrolled through your contacts until you found Dean’s number. You blinked a few times to get your eyes to focus when you noticed your vision was starting to grow blurry again. You managed to hit the send button and heard the first ring before you felt yourself starting to get light headed, to the point where you were starting to get nervous you might fall. 

You took a few steps to make it over to the bed closest to you in some kind of attempt to sit down before that could happen. You felt your knees give out on you could make it there, causing your body to stumble to the floor and your phone mere inches from your grip. You didn’t hear the sound of Dean’s voice when he picked up on the second ring.

+ + +

All you remembered before passing out on the hotel room floor was that you were in the middle of trying to make a phone call to Dean after the discovery you made. It was too important not to wait on. You managed to make it back to the room and dialed his number before you found yourself losing consciousness, probably from the fever that was some kind of effect from doing these trials. Everything felt blurry, like you were in a fever dream. During the time you were passed out for a short while from the time the boys discovered you and when you woke up you were bombarded with all sorts of memories you either forgot or compressed down. Things about who you used to be, and the horrible things you did. 

When you finally came back into consciousness you weren’t exactly sure where you were for a split second. Your senses started to pick up on the fact that you felt like you were floating in water, freezing cold from what it felt like. You suddenly realized your lungs were starting to burn, the familiar sensation that made you start to panic. You felt your brain starting to scream for air as you felt your arms suddenly shoot up, feeling for a surface you could grab a hold onto. You grabbed each side of the tub you were lying in and quickly pulled yourself out of the ice cold water, your body freezing cold to the bone and your lungs burning for the need of air. When you finally managed to get yourself up into a sitting position, you quickly realized you were in a bathtub full of ice cold water. 

You inhaled a wheezing breath before the next few came out in short and quick pants from the temperature your body wasn’t used to. You looked up to see the boys were standing above you, the ones who were responsible for putting you here in the first place. You felt your teeth starting to chatter and your body shaking from how freezing you were, you needed to get out of here before you got hypothermia. You slapped away Dean’s hand when he tried to help you out of the tub so you wouldn’t risk the chance of slipping and hurting yourself.

“Get off!” You shouted at him, your voice coming out shaky as you managed to push yourself up to your feet and stumble your way of the tub, only to make yourself feel worse at the even colder feeling room. You stood in the middle of the bathroom with your clothes soaked to your body and your entire body violently shaking. “What the hell?! God!” 

“Take it easy.” Dean told you. You tightly crossed your arms around your chest to try and warm yourself up before you could get anymore freezing. Sam grabbed a towel to wrap around your body to start warming you up best as he could. “We found you on the floor, passed out. Your temperature was a hundred and seven. I had to force it down or you were toast.” 

“He’s here, guys. Metatron is here.” You stuttered out the news you wanted to tell them over the phone before you passed out. Sam momentarily stopped grabbing another towel to try and help warm you up from the words he heard come out of your mouth. Both of the boys gave you a confused expression. “I know it. I can feel it.” 

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked. 

“All I know is that I’m connected to it somehow.” You tried to explain it as best as you could to them, figuring it explained the ringing in your ears and the dizzy spells that you had earlier. 

“What, like you got a link to him, like a prophet?” Dean went on with his questions, wondering what the hell you were talking about. 

“I don’t know! I just know he’s here.” You said. “Metatron is here.” 

“Okay. Where?” Dean decided to amuse this idea of yours, wondering if you were still delirious from the fever you had earlier today.

“I can show you. I can show you.” You muttered to them, sounding a little bit worrisome as you started to get a look in your eye. “The manager—he was delivering books to him.”  

“Books?” Dean repeated what you just said. 

“Books. Hardcovers, paperbacks, novels—books.” You practically spelled it out for them, trying to make them understand the point you had figured it out on your own. 

The boys took a few seconds before you realized why the books were such a factor into figuring out that it was Metatron the entire time, stories were something he would have enjoyed. You shrugged off the towel and wasted no time at all changing into a new set of clothes, wanting to hunt down and have a talk with the angel yourself. The boys kept insisting that you should have kept it easy and rest, but you shrugged off their concerns, saying that you were perfectly fine. Your stumbling around and odd behavior before wasn't exactly proving you were in good shape to keep on going like how you wanted. 

You managed to get dressed and make your way out the door with the boys following right after you in some kind of fear that you might fall again and hurt yourself this time. You took your time getting out into the hall again, steadying yourself on the wall while Sam kept his arm stretched out just enough to catch you if you were to take a tumble, Dean shut the door behind him and began following behind you as you slowly made your way down the hall to the room you were trying to show them that supposedly belonged to this angel. 

“I should be taking you to the E.R.” Dean said, sharing his concern for your wellbeing. 

“They can’t do anything for me. I have to get worse before I can get better.” You found yourself mumbling the last sentence to yourself, but Sam managed to catch your rambling. “You know, I’ve been remembering things—little things so clearly.”

“What?” Dean asked you. “Donkey rides?”

“You used to read to me, when you were still learning how to, from this really old Grimm's fairy tale book. My favorite one used to be 'Little Red Riding Hood.' You read it so much that I'm pretty sure you had it memorized. You would always make up these voices for all the characters. You always told me that you were the hunter. And I was Red.” You found yourself reminiscing on a memory from times when things were much simpler, when you still lived in Lawrence and the boys were in your lives. You and Dean shared a small moment of childhood innocence that was long lost from the years. Until you started to remember all of it. “I thought I was for a long, long time. Little Red Riding Hood, I mean.” 

You steadied one hand on the wall as you kept on walking with the boys following behind you, for a second you wondered why you were saying any of this. But another part of you felt like you needed to get the past off your chest. "I used to be obsessed with that stupid book. You know that? I forced my mom to read me a story from it for the first year when I moved to Y/H/S. It was the only thing that would help me fall asleep. Mostly it was the ones where the princess or some pretty damsel was cursed. They had something wrong with them. I thought I was one of them, too. How stupid was that?” 

You found yourself smiling at the things that were coming out of your mouth, finding your childhood innocence on things so stupid. “Yeah. It’s normal for little girls to believe in fairy tales. Happy endings and Prince Charming. But that wasn’t it. Things happened to me that nobody could explain. I thought it was easier to believe that someone cursed me. And that one day it was all going to disappear. I didn’t know what was really wrong…” You felt a lump form in your throat at the clear memories flooding back to you, things you tried so hard to forget. “I should’ve.”

You used to hear voices. See things nobody else could. And have blackouts of rage that you didn’t even remember doing. All of this was things turned into a blurry memory before you subconsciously buried deep down inside of you. Every trace of hints that you were a monster were hidden from daylight for long as possible. You settled into a safe and normal lifestyle your mother sold her soul for. Maybe she knew the entire time what kind of monster she made. She tried her hardest to keep it chained up and brainwashed you into keeping away from the very thing that brought you into this world. But one could only do so much beyond the grave. 

When you’re a kid, you’re taught the things that go bump in the night were just figments of your imagination. Characters in a story that was made up by someone to scare little kids. But kids have the mindset to believe these things. Because at that age anything is possible. For a short time before society and adulthood tricks us into thinking, you know about the evil in the world. And yet you’re still innocent enough to believe there is good as well. When you grew up you learned the truth. But the part of optimism where you get a happy ending dies. You had to take off your rose colored glasses and see the world for what it was. The monster you always were. 

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” Sam asked you, wanting to make sense of all the things that were coming out of your mouth. 

You stopped walking and stood there for a second with your hand pressed against the wall. You slowly turned around in your spot to face the boys to continue on with what you were saying. “I thought for the longest time I was Little Red Riding Hood, walking through life and being tricked by monsters who pretended to be my friend. Deep down. I thought I was good. But I wasn’t. I was never...clean.” The way your lips twitched at the word, it made it seem like you were saying a vile thing. “I was the wolf hiding in plain sight. I lied to you guys. I lied to myself. For the longest time I tricked people into thinking I was capable of making good decisions. But everything I touched turned to crap. I was tainted. Evil.”

You felt your lips twitching into what looked like a smile, but your eyes told a different story from how you were feeling at the moment. The boys had felt their fair share of emotions over the years, Sam had empathized with your pain about feeling unclean. At the end of all of it, you weren’t to blame for how you turned out. “Y/N, it’s not your fault.” 

“For the longest time I thought it was. I blamed myself for the horrible things that happened. Sam dying. You going to hell. Lucifer being set free. The apocalypse. Everything could have been avoided if I made different decisions. I mean, knowing that I was a half-demon didn't really bother me. I could control her. I did my entire life. You know what really hurts the most?” You asked them, but not giving them a second to take a guess. They would never get it.” “It’s the fact that Lucifer made me. The most evil thing out there created me. I felt so alone. Isolated.” 

“You’re not alone, Y/N.” Sam reassured you. He placed a hand on your shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze, hoping a touch would break you out of this head space. “You never were.”

“I’m the only of my kind. And there was no changing that. But I don’t feel like that anymore. Because these trials..." You felt yourself inhaling a deep breath, taking a pause between what you were about to say next. The look on your face from the things you knew for the future made you seem like you were suddenly at ease, despite all the things you admitted to just a few minutes earlier. A sense of hope followed after, it bloomed in your chest from the three words that followed after. "they're purifying us." 

Dean felt himself being taken aback from the last word that slipped out from your mouth. He found himself standing there for a moment, trying to wrap his head around what you meant by that. Even though in the back of his mind he knew the answer, he wanted to hear it out of your mouth. The different answer than he suspected. You had been acting strange since you started the trials, and you were only getting worse. He watched as you made it down the hall and to the last door on the right. You stood there for a moment, trying to find something that was no longer there. 

“They were here, the books, the boxes!” You pointed at the empty ground that no longer had the things you seen earlier today. Your voice was growing frustrated at what was happening. All of this was making you look like you were going crazy. “They—They’re gone.”  

What you didn’t discover was the fact that room three sixty-six was opened just the slightest to anyone who dared walk inside. Dean took it upon himself to push open it wider and took a look inside to the hotel room you claimed belonged to Metatron. He stepped inside first to see the place was empty, you followed after and Sam trailed behind, discovering a collection of books that must have taken decades. You felt your anger slowly subsiding when you discovered the stock pile of books all around you. Piles that were taller than you, neatly stacked on tables. You read every title you could as you passed by, wondering to yourself if they had all been read. 

The more you traveled into the place, the more you discovered thousands upon thousands of books from what it felt like. All neatly packed together on the floor and shelves. Someone was a bit of a bookworm. You and the boys traveled farther into the hotel, trying to find this angel you had traveled all the way here to see, not taking into consideration he might have been one step ahead of you. You felt your gaze going straight forward when you felt someone’s grip around your arm tug you back slightly, stopping you from walking into the barrel of a shotgun. 

[Next Part]

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[detrimental--scientist]

What is Detrimental Scientist’s daily makeup routine?

As a girl who grew up with books and highlighters on my hand, I never really had all the time in the world to wear make up and prioritize my looks over studies. Make up, liptint, blush on, and foundation, those are unfamiliar stuffs when you get yourself involved with healthcare students/professionals. Yes, we do know the basics, but it’s not so much of an issue if we wear it or not. I was the powder-only type of girl before, until my life’s greatest plot twist happened - my long term boyfriend cheated on me with someone who knows how to maintain herself. Reality slapped me and made me realize that, I, too, must exert effort in making my self presentable in front of people, so that’s when I learned how to apply light make up, etc.

But that didn’t really push me to join the bandwagon and dig deeper into the art of MAKE UP. I live by my belief that the best kind of make up routine is making it look simple, but fresh and classy. Girls have to remember that it’s not about applying full make up and such, we just have to own it and slay, but remember not to overdo it and turn us into a bitch or whore face. So, enough with the long intro, here’s how I do my everyday look.

1. BB Cream/Foundation

I always prefer using BB Cream over foundation because it gives a lighter look and feeling on the face. For BB Cream, I stick loyal to Missha, not only it serves as a cream, but also moisturizes and protects the skin from the sun. It costs around 1,500 php but it’s totally worth it. For foundation, I use Loreal and of course Maybelline (my boyfriend actually bought it for me lol).

Reminder: Be keen in choosing your foundation color, make sure it matches your skin tone. You don’t wanna look like a mumu or geisha ayt? Wag ambisyosa, don’t choose a lighter color lol.

✔️Apply small amount on the face and neck. You can use a foundation brush or foam, but I don’t have time for that so I just use bare fingers lol. After spreading, apply light powder (you don’t wanna over apply it, choose a powder that blends with your skin color).

2. Eyebrows

This is the best part for me because I have nice brows. I always get compliments like “how do you do your brows? Galing mo naman. They’re perfect!” Well, to be deeply honest, it’s not skills, it’s really my brow shape that makes it really good with make up on. I use Etude House brow pencil, simply because duh why not? I think it’s the best brow pencil one could ever look for. It doesn’t cost that much, but definitely not chipipay as well, so yeah, quality over quantity.

✔️You can search for tutorials over the net on how to perfectly do your eyebrows. I’ll make a tutorial pretty soon, if I get a chance to. But for now, the only thing that I can advice is when choosing a pencil color, pick the one that’s one shade darker than your hair color so it will complement. Second, don’t draw lines or fill the middle parts of both brows (nearest to the nose) so it would look natural. Lastly, use an eyebrow mascara (I use Nichido) to make the brows last for the whole day.

3. Eyes

I have three parts for this, first is eye shadow followed by eyeliner then mascara.

a.) Eye shadow

I’m not into bold colors, I only use one color when it comes to eye shadows - BROWN. I’m gonna bet on my life this color really gives the classy and pang mayaman look. One hack, you can use an old brown liquid lipstick (I use my old Kylie nude lippie). It lasts longer and the color is different from a normal eye shadow.

b.) Eyeliner

It was difficult to learn how to perfectly apply my liner, but if you want a trick, don’t use the tip to draw, tilt the pen horizontally and make the sides of the pen touch your lids. Cat eyes aren’t necessary, because for me it does look a little off the classy look. Just draw one straight line and make it as thin as possible.

c.) Mascara

I don’t always apply mascara because it’s really hard to take it off before bed lol. But if I do, I make it as natural as possible by not applying too much. For this, I also use Etude House and Loreal.

4. Cheeks

Here comes everyone’s favorite, but I think one of the most critical. Some girls overdo this part. They really think drunk blush really slays, but little did they know, that depends on the skin type. If you’re fair skinned, you can definitely slay a drunk blush look, but if you’re morena, then don’t overdo it, apply moderate amounts. And for both cases, too much blush on makes you look like the girls around q ave ready to get paid (you know what I mean). Wag pa-pokpok pls lang.

✔️What I use for my cheeks is really affordable and budget ready. It’s EB’s lip and cheek stain. I also use other lip tints such as Tony Moly and Etude of course but EB’s really the best for me because it spreads easily and doesn’t create dots and lines. I also have a powder version (Clinique) that I use when I attend special occasions. Apply a little amount on your middle finger then spread it with the other one, then dap on your cheeks, don’t forget the nose part so it would come out naturally. You can also choose not to apply blush, if you wanted to look a little more fresh and fair.

5. Lips

I have lots of lippies but currently my favorite is Maybelline’s Superstay. This is because of the fact that I don’t have to reapply every now and then just to maintain it. It lasts, no joke. And quick trivia about me, I don’t have dark red lippies. I stick to the nude or brown color because I really wanted to maintain the classy look. For liptints, Tony Moly is a favorite of course, followed by Etude and many others.

A little reminder to all of you tho, quit buying fake lippies and lip tints. It’s better to invest than to get your lips cracked, and worst thing you could have are lesions that can lead to cancer.

Brown/nude matte- I use this color whenever I meet up with my boyfriend’s parents, family members, employees, etc. Also, when I go to job interviews or anything formal.

Pinkish nude matte- I don’t know how to describe the color but definitely not light pink. This one’s a little nude but pinkish and I use this whenever I go on a date with my boyfriend. This gives a fresh and pretty aura.

Red-violet liptint- I use this to slay my party-goer look. This one makes me look a little badass chick and bold.

Light red liptint- this is my to go liptint because it looks natural. I use this whenever I go grocery or when I meet with close friends.

That ends my make up routine. If you would notice, it would qualify as a simple and light make up. There were no contours and extras, and I think that’s the reason why till now, my skin isn’t prone to acne and other skin problems. I make sure I test products first before I use, and I stick to limited make up brands that are safe and quality tested.

[gathering-magic]

Cryptic Commander #13: For the Birds

I’ve dabbled in building tribal decks in the past (my Gisa and Geralf Zombie Tribal deck stands out as the prime example), but Tribal decks have generally felt a little too narrow in scope for my liking. The more popular tribes tend to have a strict mechanical focus which dictates the direction the deck should be built in. Take Elves, for example. Elves like to make mana, pump each other up, and swing in for the win. A lot of Elf decks end up looking pretty similar because the Elf lords all reinforce those mechanical focuses. Goblins like swarming, attacking, and blowing things up regardless of the consequences. Zombies are entirely focused on attrition and graveyard recursion. You get the idea. Popular tribes are hard to innovate with due to how focused they are. However, there is room to play around with some of the tribes that have fallen by the wayside.

Today, I want to go south for the winter and build a deck around a tribe that once enjoyed some decent support back in the days of Odyssey. This Cryptic Commander is for the Birds.

I used to have a version of this deck back from before Commander 2013 brought us Derevi, Empyreal Tactician. The deck was fun, taking to the skies and beating people down in the air with an aerial army. I had to include some less than stellar cards in order to maintain as pure a bird tribal experience as possible, and that ultimately led me away from the deck, ultimately retiring it. In recent years, Wizards has printed some birds that have slowly rekindled my desire to play the deck, and the time has finally come to join the flock once again. Derevi, Empyreal Tactician shall once again take the helm of Bird Tribal, and we shall spread the good word of bird once more. With Kangee, Aerie Keeper and Aven Brigadier as seconds-in-command, these fleet-feathered fowl are ready to deliver a Grade A aerial assault.

Decklist for The Word

So, let’s address the non-birds in the room. Emeria Angel, Soraya the Falconer, Windreader Sphinx, Jotun Owl Keeper, and Kefnet the Mindful. Soraya the Falconer’s Oracle Text states that it gives all birds +1/+1, not just Falcons… and we’re gonna ignore that second piece of text about banding (now is not the time or the place for that). Emeria Angel and Jotun Owl Keeper make a bunch of birds, so that’s enough to garner their inclusion in the brood. Kefnet the Mindful may have creature type God, but he’s a bird in spirit. Look at that head! And then there’s Windreader Sphinx. Look, Sphinxes are kind of like big birds; and, in the canon of this deck, the birds learned their mastery of the sky from the Windreader Sphinx! He is their teacher! The Big Bird to their Sesame Street! There’s a story here, and each card has its own justification for inclusion.

Now, let’s move on to the birds proper. Birds have played in some interesting mechanical space during their time as a tribe. Unlike some of the more established tribes, there isn’t anything that really holds the birds together mechanically other than Flying. There’s plenty to work with there, and we’ll get to it later, but I think the lack of a focus for the tribe makes some interesting things possible. I’m gonna break my choices down into categories and go over each one by one to explain the reasoning.

Card Advantage

There are a surprising number of birds that deal in card selection and card filtering, I’ve found. As the newest bird, and Magic: The Amateuring approved cutest card from Hour of Devastation, River Hoopoe was a shoo-in for inclusion in the deck. Having a good outlet for mana when you’re running low on cards is invaluable, and River Hoopoe is happy to help you stock back up and gain a little life. Raven Familiar does a decent Impulse impression and has done good work for me in the past. There are quite a few birds that like to loot, like Murder of Crows and relative newcomer Messenger Jays. Even Sawtooth Loon has a form of looting, as well as letting you re-buy any ETB effects you might be interested in using. Of course, the most swingy form of card advantage in the deck comes in the form of Airborne Aid, letting you draw a card for each bird in play. Sometimes, you’ll draw 2-3 cards off this, and other times… well, the sky’s the limit. Not to mention Beck // Call, letting you net four birds and four cards for one card. Honorary birds Windreader Sphinx and Kefnet also help out on the card advantage front.

Utility

I mentioned how diverse the mechanics that appear on Birds are. This is just a sampling. Nimble Obstructionist is a Stifle on a stick, Keeper of the Nine Gales is a repeatable bounce effect for permanents, and Aerie Mystics gives your birds Shroud so they can’t be picked off by targeted removal. Coveted Peacock goads your opponents into attacking someone else. Celestial Gatekeeper brings back two birds when it dies. Cloudchaser Kestrel destroys an enchantment when it enters the battlefield. We have bounce effects from Mist Raven and Icefeather Aven, we can manipulate the top of our library with Aven Fateshaper, we can save our creatures from combat damage with Gustcloak Savior. There are so many options. While none of these abilities points us in a direction, it gives us a lot of flexibility to react to the current board state and mood of the game. Diversity is good in this case!

Tricks

I know what you’re thinking. You’re just playing Cyclonic Rift because it’s a good card. Well, you’re not wrong. However, I do have a flavor justification for including it, along with Aetherspouts. You see, when all the birds work together, they can do some pretty powerful things, things like using their mastery of the wind and sky to create vortexes that sweep up everything except them and remove them from the picture. Also, I needed board wipes that left my birds alone…

Flurry of Wings does some interesting double duty as both a pseudo-fog effect as well as a way to buff up our army unexpectedly. If the player before you attacks someone else with a large force, your forces can swell to an overwhelming size in response. Cloud Cover gives our birds some protection, allowing us to return them to our hand instead of having them be killed. Then we have some small instant-speed tricks in the form of Swan Song and Path to Exile. I headcanon Path to Exile as the birds picking something up and carrying it away, a la James and the Giant Peach. Swan Song speaks for itself.

Flavor and Combos

There is some fun synergy in the deck beyond just making a bunch of birds and attacking in the air. Kangee, Aerie Keeper and Aven Mimeomancer do a fun dance to power up your whole army. Kangee has kicker for X2 to put feather counters on it. For each feather counter on Kangee, all birds get +1/+1. With Aven Mimeomancer in play, you may place a feather counter on target creature at the beginning of your upkeep. You can continue to place the feather counters from Mimeomancer on Kangee to increase the buff from Kangee’s ability. Both are good birds on their own, but the cute synergy between them can be powerful. They’re good birbs, Bront.

Then there’s the Dovescape/Portcullis combo. Dovescape is a nice little insurance policy against board wipes for our deck. We’re pretty vulnerable to mass removal, so having a way to keep that from resolving seems like a good idea. Plus, every once and a while we’ll be able to drop Portcullis as well, which does some interesting things with Dovescape. Dovescape will counter all noncreature spells and give that spell’s controller 1/1 bird tokens equal to its converted mana cost. Portcullis exiles creatures when they enter the battlefield if there are two or more creatures in play already. Those creatures come back if Portcullis leaves; but, if those creatures are 1/1 bird tokens, they never come back. With both in play, you end up with a soft lock situation which benefits you greatly if you’re ahead on board. A good every-once-and-a-while way to secure your boardstate.

We have some flavor considerations as well! The deck needed some ramp, so I’ve included the aptly named Peregrination, Cultivate, and Sol Ring along with Birds of Paradise. Some birds do like shiny objects, and what’s shinier than a Sol Ring? Birds are also a force for spreading plant seeds, eating berries and fruits and dropping the seeds elsewhere. Thus, Cultivate felt like a good include via flavor justifications. And what self-respecting bird deck would be incomplete without perches and fountains for your birds to roost on? Akroma’s Memorial and Eldrazi Monument are here and ready to be covered in bird droppings and feathers (as well as making our birds indestructible or generally hard to deal with). And, I really wanted to include Tamiyo, Field Researcher in this deck because her abilities work real well with evasive creatures. Bet you didn’t know Tamiyo was an avid Ornithologist, huh?

Wrapping Up

Add in some anthem effects for fliers, like Favorable Winds, Gravitational Shift, and Serra Aviary, and you’ve got yourself a deck! How good is it? That’s an excellent question. You’ve got quite an airforce going for you in this deck, and flying has always been a good way to poke damage through. The deck is vulnerable to mass removal, has little direct interaction, and could be very inconsistent (though, there is a decent amount of card advantage/filtering). It has weak points, sure, but that’s a sacrifice I made for theme. This is a thematic tribal deck! We make some sacrifices in this house!

I look forward to reconstructing the deck and putting it through its paces. It’ll be nice having a low-key deck to play for fun every once and a while. That’s the nice thing about themed decks: they’re just kind of fun to play and get in the spirit of. And I leave you with that!

What sort of weird tribal decks have you thought about building? With Commander 2017 coming up, what tribes are you hoping get more support? What sort of cards would fit in a bird themed Commander deck that I didn’t include? Leave comments, and I’ll see you next time!

Robert Burrows

[mbtizone]

Randy Meeks (Scream): ENTP

Dominant Extroverted Intuition [Ne]: During the killing sprees in Woodsboro and at Windsor College, Randy enjoys theorizing about potential suspects. He was suspicious of Billy from the very beginning and turned out to be right. When the killings at Windsor College began, he remained open to all possibilities and was able to give reasons as to why each person he mentioned could make a good suspect. Maybe Billy tried to kill Sidney because she wouldn’t sleep with him. Gale could be responsible for the murders. She’s an opportunist, so maybe she’s trying to stage the news. He prefers discussing the most interesting suspect and not necessarily the most practical on. Randy’s ideas come from movies he’s watched and he draws conclusions based on what he’s already seen. Randy values novelty and tells the killer terrorizing his college that “Billy and Stu were much more original.” He values innovation and what hasn’t been done a thousand times.

Auxiliary Introverted Thinking [Ti]: Randy is good at coming to logical conclusions. There’s a very simple formula to this stuff. Randy has thought of everything and takes his system for surviving a real-life horror movie very seriously, even though others openly mock it. Randy is quick to point out Stu’s history with Casey as a potential motive. During the tape he records, he says if his friends find it, it means he’s dead, which is obviously because he lost his virginity. Facts don’t phase Randy. When Dewey rejects Randy for suggesting Hallie as a possible suspect because serial killers are typically white males, he thinks that’s why she’d be a great suspect! When Dewey thinks that it doesn’t make sense that the killer is trying to repeat Woodsboro because he attacked Sidney, and Sidney wasn’t killed there, Randy concludes that they’re trying to finish what Billy and Stu started.

Tertiary Extroverted Feeling [Fe]: Although it’s common knowledge that Randy has feelings for Sidney, he never actually discusses them with her. Randy enjoys playing on his friend’s feelings for his own amusement, such as telling Tatum that Casey was the one who dumped Stu (which Stu denies). Randy can sometimes be a little oblivious to other people’s feelings (such as making jokes about the murders in front of Sidney, who was clearly very disturbed by it). He also tries to relate to Dewey about their shared unrequited loves. Randy often displays good insight into people. He can clearly see that Billy has the potential to be a murderer.

Inferior Introverted Sensing [Si]: The “rules” of horror movies are gospel. Randy has committed every horror movie cliché to memory and uses them as his guide. He takes them very seriously, while his friends poke fun at them. You can’t have sex. You should never say “I’ll be right back.” There’s always more blood and more gore in the second. In the third one, all bets are off. Even Sidney is expendable. Although Randy pays a lot of attention to these standards, he enjoys when things aren’t predictable. Even though the signs are there, Randy initially denies that there’s another serial killer after them. During a phone call, Randy scathingly berates the killer for their lack of originality. He also has a very good memory when it comes to movies and can recite many lines word-for-word.

Enneagram: 5w6 Sp/Sx

Quotes:

Tatum: Hunt? Why would they ask if you like to hunt? Randy: Because their bodies were gutted. [Sidney flinches.] Billy: Thanks, Randy. Tatum: They didn’t ask me if I like to hunt. Stu: That’s cause there’s no way a girl could have killed them. Tatum: That is so sexist. The killer could easily be female – Basic Instinct. Randy: That was an ice pick-not exactly the same. Stu: Yeah, Casey and Steve were completely hollowed out. And the fact is, it takes a man to do something like that. Tatum: Or a man’s mentality. Sidney: How do you gut someone? Stu: You take a knife and you slit ’em from groin to sternum. Billy: Hey. It’s called tact, you fuckrag.

Sidney: Hey, Stu? Didn’t you use to date Casey? Stu: For about two seconds. Randy: Before she dumped him for Steve. Tatum: I thought you dumped her for me. Stu: I did. He’s full of shit. Randy: And are the police aware you dated the victim? Stu: What are you saying? That I killed ’em? Randy: It would certainly improve your high school Q. Tatum: Stu was with me last night. Randy: Was that before or after he sliced and diced? Tatum: Fuck you, nut case. Where were you last night? Randy: Working, thank you. Tatum: Oh, at the video store? I thought they fired your sorry ass. Randy: Twice. Stu: I didn’t kill anybody. Billy: Nobody said you did. Randy: Besides – it takes a man to do something like that. Stu: Yo, I’m gonna gut your ass in a second, kid. Randy: Did you really put her liver in the mailbox? Because I heard that they found her liver in the mailbox, right next to her spleen and her pancreas. Tatum: Randy, you goon-fuck. We’re trying to eat here. Stu: Yeah, Randy, she’s getting mad. You better liver alone.

Randy: Now that’s in poor taste. Stu: What? Randy: If you were the only suspect in a senseless blood bath – would you be standing in the horror section? Stu: It was just a misunderstanding. He didn’t do anything. Randy: You’re such a little lapdog. He’s got “killer” printed all over his forehead. Stu: Really? Then why’d the cops let him go, smart guy? Randy: Cause obviously they don’t want enough movies. This is standard horror movie stuff. Prom Night revisited, man. Stu: Why would he want to kill his own girlfriend? Randy: There’s always some stupid bullshit reason to kill your girlfriend. That’s the beauty of it all. Simplicity. Besides, if it gets too complicated, you lose your target audience. Stu: Well, what’s his reason? Randy: Maybe Sidney wouldn’t have sex with him. Stu: What, she’s saving herself for you? Randy: Maybe. Now that Billy tried to mutilate her, do you think Sid would go out with me? Stu: No. I don’t. At all. No. You know who I think it is? I think it’s her father. I mean, why can’t they find her pops, man? Randy: Because he’s probably dead! His body will come popping up in the last reel somewhere! Eyes gouged out! Fingers cut off! Teeth knocked out! See, the police are always off track with this shit. If they’d watch Prom Night they’d save time. There’s a formula to it! A very simple formula! Everybody’s a suspect! I’m telling you, the dad’s a red herring. It’s Billy.

Randy: There are certain rules that one must abide by in order to successfully survive a horror movie. For instance, number one: you can never have sex. [crowd boos] Stu: I’m a dead man. Randy: BIG NO NO! BIG NO NO! Sex equals death, okay? Number two: you can never drink or do drugs. [crowd cheers and raises their bottles] Randy: The sin factor! It’s a sin. It’s an extension of number one. And number three: never, ever, ever under any circumstances say, “I’ll be right back.” Because you won’t be back. Stu: I’m gettin’ another beer, you want one? Randy: Yeah, sure. Stu: I’ll be right back. Randy: See, you push the laws and you end up dead. Okay, I’ll see you in the kitchen with a knife.

Film Teacher: You could say that what happened in that theatre was a direct result of the movie itself. Cici: That is so Moral Majority. You can’t blame real life violence on entertainment. Film Class Guy #1: Yes you can. Don’t you ever watch the news? Film Class Guy #2: Hello? The murderer was wearing a ghost mask just like in the movie. It’s directly responsible. Cici: No, it’s not. Movies are not responsible for our actions. Mickey: Its a classic case of life, imitating art, imitating life. Film Class Mopey Girl: Its not hypothetical, it’s not about art. I had biology with that girl. This is reality. Randy: Thank you. I agree with you. Let me tell you about reality, Mickey. I lived through this, okay? Life is life. It doesn’t imitate anything. Mickey: Oh come on Randy. With all due respect, the killer obviously patterned himself after two serial killers who were immortalized on film. Film Class Guy #2: Thank you! Film Teacher: So, you’re suggesting that someone is trying to make a real life sequel? Randy: Stab 2? Who would wanna do that? Sequels suck! Oh please, please! By definition alone, sequels are inferior films! Mickey: It’s bullshit generalization. Many sequels have surpassed their originals. Randy: Oh yeah? Cici: Name one. Film Class Guy #1: Aliens. Far better than the first. Cici: Yeah, well, there’s no accounting for taste. Randy: Thank you. Ridley Scott Rules. Name another. Film Class Guy #2: No way. Aliens is a classic. “Get away from her, you bitch!” Randy: I believe the line is “Stay away from her, you bitch.” This is a film class right? Film Class Guy #2: Yeah, yeah. Whatever. You know what I mean.

Sidney: 300 people watched. Nobody did anything. They thought it was a publicity for Christ sakes. Randy: [Speaking in a British accent] And it would have been a good one too. Sidney: It’s starting again, Randy. Randy: It’s not. A lot of shit happens at the movies. People get robbed, shot, maimed, murdered. Multiplexes are very dangerous places to be these days. Sidney: Yeah, and you are in extreme denial. Randy: You should be too. This has nothing to do with us. Sidney: Randy! A guy in a ghost mask hacked up two people in a movie theater telling our life story. Randy: Coincidence? Sidney: You know what happened at Woodsboro, Randy. You can’t ignore it. Randy: I know, Sid, and I don’t want to go back there again. Can’t we just go back to our pseudo-quasi happy existence?

Randy: [Gale, Sidney and Randy are looking at Billy’s body] Careful. This is the moment when the supposedly dead killer comes back to life, for one last scare.

Randy: The way I see it, someone’s out to make a sequel. You know, cash in on all the movie murder hoopla. So it’s our job to observe the rules of the sequel. Number one: The body count is always bigger. Two: The death scenes are always much more elaborate; more blood, more gore. Carnage candy. Your core audience just expects it. And three: If you want your sequel to become a franchise, never ever- Dewey: How do we find the killer, Randy? That’s what I wanna know. Randy: Oh. Let’s look at the suspects. There’s Derek, the obvious boyfriend. Hello, Billy Loomis. The guy’s premed, and his pity-me surface wound conveniently missed every major vein and artery. Dewey: So you think it’s Derek? Randy: Not so fast. Let’s assume the killer, or ‘ers, has a half a brain. He’s not a Nick-at-Night rerun type of guy. He wants to break some new ground. Right? So forget the boyfriend. It’s tired. Who else do we got? Dewey: There’s- Randy: Mickey! The freaky Tarantino film student. But if he’s a suspect, so am I. So, let’s move on. Dewey: Whoa, wait a minute. Let’s not move on. Maybe you are a suspect. Randy: Well, if I’m a suspect, you’re a suspect. Dewey: You have a point. Okay, let’s move on to- Randy: Hallie. Dewey: Sid’s roommate? Randy: Uh-huh. Dewey: Serial killers are typically white males. Randy: That’s why it’s perfect. It’s sort of against the rules, but not really. Mrs. Voorhees was a terrific serial killer. And there’s always room for Candyman’s daughter. She’s sweet. She’s deadly. She’s bad for your teeth. Dewey: Come on, Randy. These kids are your friends. Who do you think’s the killer? Randy: How about Gale Weathers? Dewey: Gale? A killer? Randy: Why not? Dewey: Well, she is vicious enough. Randy: She’s an opportunist. Dewey: Yeah. Randy: Isn’t it conceivable she’s planning her next book? That’s what reporters do, Dewey. They stage the news. Dewey: No. Gale’s a lot of things, but Gale’s not a killer. Randy: Just because you’re sweet on her- Dewey: No, I’m not. Randy: Please, this is me talking. Randy, the unrequited love-slave of Sidney Prescott. I know all about obsession… and pain. Dewey: You’ve got your love scar to prove it. Randy: And so do you. And what’s with that limp anyway, ’cause you were stabbed in the back. Dewey: Severed nerve. Look, Gale’s no killer. Randy: Okay, okay. Whatever you say. But if she’s not a killer, she’s a target.

Gale: All right. Let’s just assume the killer is repeating Woodsboro- [cell phone starts to ring] Yes? Caller: I have Bob calling. Gale: I’ll have to call you back. Dewey: That doesn’t explain Sidney’s attack. Sidney wasn’t killed in Woodsboro. Randy: Wasn’t for a lack of trying. The killer’s trying to finish what was started.

Randy: Is that the best you can do? Because Billy and Stu were much more original.

Randy: Where’s your innovation? Why copycat two high school loser-ass dickheads? Stu was a pussy-ass wet rag. And Billy Loomis- Billy Loomis! What the fuck! Jesus! What a rat-lookin’, homo-repressed mama’s boy! Why not set your goals higher, huh? You wanna be one of the big boys? Huh? Manson, Bundy, O.J., Son-

Randy: Told ya I’d make a movie someday, huh? Sidney: Oh my god. Randy: Well, if you’re watching this tape, it means as I feared. I did not survive these killings here at Windsor College. And that giving up my virginity to Karen Kolchec at the video store was probably not a good idea. Dewey: Karen Kolchec? Randy: Yes, Karen Kolchec. Dewey: Creepy Karen? Randy: Shut up. She’s a sweet person, okay? We were working late. We were putting away some videos in the porno section and ya know, shit happens. Paul: [Knocking in background] Open the door Randy. Randy: Fifteen minutes. Paul: It’s my room, too. Randy: Paul, 15 minutes. I’m leaving my legacy. [knocking continues] Randy: Fifteen minutes Paul! Damn! Anyway, the reason I am here is to help you so that my death will not be in vain; That my life’s work will save some other poor soul from getting mutilated. If this killer does come back and he’s for real, there are a few things that you gotta remember. Is this simply another sequel? Well if it is, same rules apply. But-here’s the critical thing-if you find yourself dealing with an unexpected back story and a preponderance of exposition, then the sequel rules DO NOT apply. Because you are not dealing with a sequel, you are dealing with the concluding chapter of a trilogy. Dewey: Trilogy? Randy: That’s right, it’s a rarity in the horror field but it does exist, and it is a force to be reckoned with. Because true trilogies are all about going back to the beginning and discovering something that wasn’t true from the get go. Godfather, Jedi, all revealed something that we thought was true that wasn’t true. So if it is a trilogy you are dealing with, here are some super trilogy rules: 1. You got a killer who’s going to be super human. Stabbing him won’t work. Shooting him won’t work. Basically in the third one you gotta cryogenically freeze his head, decapitate him, or blow him up. 2. Anyone including the main character can die. This means you, Sid. I’m sorry. It’s the final chapter. It could be fucking ‘Reservoir Dogs’ by the time this thing is through. Number 3. The past will come back to bite you in the ass. Whatever you think you know about the past, forget it. The past is not at rest. Any sins you think were committed in the past are about to break out and destroy you. So in closing, let me say good luck, god speed, and for some of you, I’ll see you soon. ‘Cause the rules say some of you ain’t gonna make it. I didn’t. Not if you’re watching this tape.

Randy Meeks (Scream): ENTP was originally published on MBTI Zone

[the-uptake]

The Uptake, The 704. 3|0|0|-. Book 1, Chapter Eight, Part One. (Part 2)

Necrophilic incest and body horror tw’s.

“–Get y’own shirt, Orpi!”

Torber was still catching his breath fretting and snarling over a tangle of bed sheets, and scowled up at his younger brother from across the room. The youngest two were on the bed across the room putting on their socks and shoes.

“Hey, man. I like Nightswill, too.” Orpi pinched at the dark grey band tee with a halved peach design. “You wear his shit all the time. Don’t see why I can’t.”

“Language,” the elder snapped, beyond tired. He wasn’t about to admit that the shirt had been in his bed because he’d been sleeping with it. Orpi simply rolled his eyes and started to walk off, leaving Vana and Ruti gawking stock-still at the forming argument.

“Y’can’t just hoard all his stuff.” Orpi shrugged and glanced over his shoulder. “He ain’t comin’ back.”

“He’ll come back!” Ruti huffed, glowering at Orpi.

“We’re gonna find him.” Torber accused a pointed finger at him.

“It’s been half a year!” Incredulous, Orpi laughed and stepped back in. “Face it–if he ain’t dead, he flaked! He went loon as hell at the end! You saw how bad he slagged up the livin’ room on Epiphany. He ain’t worth fightin’ about.”

Torber’s features thinned in plaintive resignation. The likelihood Galen was indeed dead wounded Torber daily. He had kept the severity of Galen’s symptoms secret from them, to spare them the same worry it put on him. Knowing the compulsions his younger brother had been experiencing as a result of the accident only further served to haunt and torment him. How bad off Galen had been that last day, simply shoveling straight quarter drift into his mouth by the handful… Torber’s imagination could only take so much, knowing Galen had told him the urges had been mounting in severity. If it had just kept getting worse since that first week, and it had been nearly six months… It was unthinkable.

Sarcasm inscribed the middle child’s hazel eyes as he slinked up to Torber and leaned his arms across the elder’s sleeveless shoulders, feigning empathy.

“Look. I get it. He’s our brother, too. Was. But he’s gone. Even you stopped lookin’ for him every single day like you did at first.” Suddenly the scandalized look he gave his older brother suggested he knew why the shirt had been in the bed, suggested that that was exactly why he’d snatched upon drawing attention to it. “What would y’do if y’DID find him?”

“Gale’s. Fine.” Torber frowned and smoothed the front of his asymmetrical zippered vest, rejecting Orpi’s nettling with an even, unblinking glare. “I know it.”

Orpi scoffed and rolled his eyes again in annoyance, and reached up to pull the dark green sock hat down too far on Torber’s head. Then he walked off, knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere. Torber readjusted the last birthday present their mother had given him, and his face soured vacantly.

“Stop scrappin’,” Dolom grunted in the living room. From the bedroom, the kids recognized the sound of their father flicking Orpi in the head. “It don’t matter if Gale’s dead or just gone. I mean, it’d be nice to know one way or another. Both his and y’mom’s birthdays comin’ up. We all dealin’ with the loss different. Y’all oughta share his stuff, not fight over it.”

The eldest child didn’t argue. But, he wasn’t about to draw attention to the various things of Galen’s that he’d already taken from his drawer of the nightstand they’d shared and put in his own, let alone relinquish them. He hoped everyone would just leave the rest as it was. Under his breath, he uttered aside, “Just… don’t wreck it in the yards today, dreg.”

After a long evening of negotiating with a sorters’ cadre to unload the family’s yard finds that day, Torber was last coming home that night. He found a note wedged in the handle-plate of the front door, addressed to him. With little care, he plucked it up and let himself in. Only once he had stepped inside did he unfold it to read it. His three siblings were rough-housing, Dolom vegetating to an old sci-fi movie on the couch. Torber half-expected he’d walk into the bedroom to find Orpi had vandalized his nightstand and strewn it everywhere. The note was on a to-go menu for Santo’s Diner, the handwriting scrawled and difficult.

||Hey ‘Nite. 94th and Bradley at 9. We gotta catch up.||

He swallowed hard. Exactly one person had ever called him that. Others’ terms of endearment for him had always been the truncation down to Torb, rather than the particle of their namesakes stalkers typically discarded when naming their children. Torber-Nite. A four year old tries to be clever with his knowledge as he gains it, and this part of their cultural history had been no different for the two kids. He remembered telling him, it’s Galen, like Ga-Le-Na, that’s why it’s not Ga-Len. His pulse raced ice, and he steadied himself.

“What’s that note anyway, kiddo?” Their father had noticed he’d finally come in, but didn’t look up from the screen.

“…Aah, ah. An old friend tryin’ t’get back in touch with me. H– hadn’t seen him in forever.” He swallowed his grief and put on a smile best he could. A brief sideglance to read Orpi yielded nothing. “He’s probably got some crazy get rich quick scheme to run by me or somethin’, knowin’ ‘at guy,” he faked. “You guys go on t’dinner without me. An’ don’t wait up.”

Dolom slouched harder with a grunt, turning off the set by remote.

“We can handle dinner without ya for a night, Torb. Go hang out. Y’never go out anymore. Enjoy y’self.”

Torber pocketed the note and patted his dad’s shoulder from behind the back of the couch, the unmistakably unsettled look in his eyes going unseen, then headed out without another word.

At a brisk pace, he made quick time down Bradley Street. In the summer night air his mind weighed on the plausibility someone was slagging hard with him. But who could have possibly known this exact way to get under his skin? He could only think of a single person who’d ever called him ‘Nite, and after all he’d seen, how could that one person not be dead? Why had he left a note, on paper, rather than call, or text? If he’d come in person to leave a physical note, why hadn’t he simply shown himself? As he stood beneath a streetlamp at the designated intersection, his mind flooded with all the possibilities of the imminent encounter, with no clue what to expect.

Only Galen had ever called him that before–and only at his most vulnerable, when he needed Torber most. Nights like this, his practice with a butterfly knife comforted him. If this wasn’t Galen… Hell, if it was– no, he couldn’t be that bad off, reaching out like this. Somehow, he had himself half-convinced he could stomach all this better if it were a prank after all. At least then, maybe he wouldn’t have to confront himself.

«I’m here, ‘Lena.»

With every minute that passed after Torber had arrived at the junction between Bradley and 94th, anxiety and dread dragged him further down. He began to pace, arms crossed. Ultimately, he leaned against the lamppost and stared off down the street, ignoring foot traffic when it didn’t look like it had made eye contact.

The weight of a weak but heavy, gloved hand laid upon his shoulder, carrying with it a voice thin with fatigue.

“Y’came, man. Y’actually came.”

Torber turned, startled, to find a figure standing behind him, face obscured within a grimy off-green hoodie. With a sliver of dark hair sticking out to one side, only his mouth, neck, and jaw were visible. The complexion was off, like bad quality grey Halloween makeup… but that mouth was unmistakable. The figure nervously slouched his weight into his hoodie pockets, as Torber continued to stare helplessly. The elder hesitated only a moment before tackling him in a trembling vicegrip, clutching the back of his head something fierce through the rank smelling fabric.

“I. I thought y’was dead.”

“Probably am.”

Galen writhed, realizing he’d made such a comment aloud. When Torber reached up to draw back the hood to get a better look at the brother he hadn’t seen in six months, Galen winced and pulled it back down. But, Torber still caught a fleeting glimpse of that clouded, jaundiced eye framed with scars.

“Nn, not here.”

Galen looked both ways nervously, repeatedly. Torber grabbed him by the shoulders and glared, horrified, into the shadow of a face cast by that streetlamp.

“–What HAPPENED t’you!”

It was as though tormented by a walking corpse, a mockery of the brother he once knew.

“I said not here.” Galen twisted out of the grip. His tone urged Torber to control his voice. “J, just needed someplace t’meet you. We gotta go someplace more private. Comon, we can go where I been stayin’. I’ll grab y’a bite t’eat on the way, too. Pretty sure y’not eaten yet.”

Taking it in, Torber consented shakily to following the ghoul, and the two slowly started the rest of the way down Bradley Street.

“Y’didn’t tell ‘em where y’was goin’, yeah?”

“Course not.” A shake of the head. “Just told ‘em t’go onto dinner without me.”

“Good.” A hard pause. “They can’t know, aight?”

“Don’t even know what I’d tell ‘em anyway.”

They approached the Burger Box on Bradley and 90th, only for Galen to slip Torber a small unmarked cred and stay outside while Torber got his food. Torber could tell Galen didn’t want to go inside because he didn’t want to take off the hood, but still he had to ask:

“Y’want me t’get you anything?”

Galen stared at him in a moment of tacit disappointment before stepping off to the side and reclining against the side of the establishment to wait for him.

Once on their way, they turned down 90th, went a ways, and stood at the broken curb of Hanbrook Road. Trembling visibly as he stepped up to the chain-link gate, Galen fished something out of his pocket which Torber assumed was a lockpick, the ghoul’s posture hiding the padlock as he held it to get it open. Galen opened the gate and ushered him in and set the chains and lock back in place behind them, and as they mounted the sloped driveway, Torber began to question whether it had been a key after all, since he hadn’t observed a wallet.

The copper cast of nearby street lights lit the site dimly. The unfinished building itself stood six stories tall, and had originally been destined to become low income housing in the sliver of real estate between the Quarter itself and what was considered true city limits. But, funding had run out before the insulation or walls had been filled in, the weathered and incomplete structure little more than support beams, roofing, and the beginnings of windows and stairways. The concrete turn-in ended abruptly, paving way to formless dirt. Sand was mounded up at random spots across the construction site, as well as some abandoned construction materials long-since rusted over. It had rained recently, the strong scent of river mud lingering in the entire place. It smelled of drowning.

«So this is where he’s been all this time,» Torber thought to himself.

Galen stopped about halfway up the shallow slope up to the building from the street, and drew back his hood to look to Torber. Once he had Torber’s attention, he worked up the nerve to fully unzip and pull off the outerwear completely. In a gesture of heartache, he flung his glove-clad hands out showfully, still clenching the hoodie in one hand. He wore ripped hybrid denim jeans, a stained white tank, calf-high work boots, and a broad, agonized grimace. All Torber could focus on was the cracked, peeling skin of the uncovered parts of Galen’s body. The rolled top of the paper bag crushed in his fist, his gut churning. There was no doubt this was his brother–or at least, had been once.

Torber very much wanted to wake up.

“It gets worse, believe it or not.”

The lyrical ache in Galen’s voice hung acrid in the humid May air as he turned back up to the building, arms falling to his sides.

On to Part 2 »»»