#i could yammer about what i did or where pieces came from if anyone cares

[jeremy-queere]

OK... Here's my SQUIP doll. Sort of a work in progress still, maybe technically. I want to masc him up a little bit more, but he is in fact a male doll.

[twst-bs]

TWST Dorm Leaders and an Anxious MC

This is the first piece of written specifically for this blog!

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Riddle: Had they broken a rule?

Even if Riddle had improved by leaps and bounds in the anger management department, he still held his rules in high regard. And the way his brows furrowed when he looked at them from across the table, was he angry about something? He couldn’t exactly punish them - they had no magic to lock away, and they were a dorm leader in their own right, so he didn’t have any right to discipline them, but what if they had done something on a personal level? Offended him in some way? They had barely mastered social cues in their own world, what if they messed up in Twisted Wonderland? What if -

...Riddle had said something, and was clearly waiting for a reply. In their internal panic, they had missed whatever it was.

“I-I’m sorry, Riddle, I was kind of zoning out. What did you say?” Were there rules against zoning out? Probably, that seemed like something that would annoy him.

“I asked if you were alright.”

“...Huh?”

Riddle set down his tea cup - it was a pretty, delicate little thing, gilded gold along the edges and handle, with roses painted beneath the rim. His mother would be mortified if she knew he was drinking strawberry milk tea with an ungodly amount of sugar out of it, Riddle had once said with a small, almost sheepish smile. That same mouth was now downturned as he regarded them with concern in his wide gray eyes.

“You seemed to be under a lot of stress lately,” he spoke slowly, like they were a frightened animal. Maybe they were. “Is everything alright? Are you sleeping well?”

They weren’t, but that was more of a side effect of their stress than the cause of it. They idly tapped their fingers against their own tea cup, a matching one to Riddle’s. They had been drinking lavender tea in an effort to calm their nerves, but it clearly hadn’t worked.

“I’m fine, promise,” they grinned, hoping it looked convincing.

By the way Riddle’s face scrunched up, it did not.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I know I’m not the best at handling emotions, but if I can help in any way…” Riddle trailed off, looking embarrassed.

They felt their stomach twist in horror. These little tea parties were the highlight of their week, a little moment of reprieve for the both of them to just relax and enjoy each other’s company. And they had gone and ruined it because they couldn’t figure out how to human properly.

“I’m sorry!” they burst out. “I’ve been so anxious lately, and I haven’t been able to sleep, and I’m worried about my grades slipping because I don’t know the first thing about magic and -”

They didn’t even notice they were starting to spiral until Riddle had reached across the table and grasped onto their hand. Their chest was heaving with barely-contained sobs, and they weren’t sure if the trembling they felt in their hands was theirs or Riddle’s.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured. “Deep breaths, now.”

He was parroting what Trey would tell him to help him calm down, they knew, but it was good advice. They knew that he had talked Riddle down from many an anxiety attack before, but the fact that Riddle, someone who suffered from severe mental health problems, was the one calming them down made something sour begin climbing up their throat.

“I-I’m making everything worse…” they mumbled, squeezing Riddle’s hand tighter. “I should be able to handle this without freaking out, but…”

Riddle reached out and brushed away a tear they didn’t know had fallen away with the back of his knuckle. “I know better than anyone how it feels to be under pressure.” he sighed. “Please, don’t think you have to deal with all of this stress on your own.”

Leona: “Will you sit still for five minutes?”

They hadn’t thought they had been making that much noise. Certainly not enough to wake Leona up from his nap, that was damn near impossible. So either the floorboards in Ramshackle dorm were worse than they thought, or Leona hadn’t actually been sleeping.

“Sorry,” they mumbled, staring down at the worksheet in front of them. They had been trying to finish this homework for hours, and the incantations were starting to blur together. What language were these even written in? Were they in the demonic section or nature section?

Leona sat up from where he had unceremoniously plopped himself on their bed. “You’re fidgeting like a rabbit, herbivore.”

“So you weren’t sleeping after all.”

“Hard to sleep when I can practically smell your anxiety.”

“Then go sleep somewhere else.”

Leona clicked his tongue, sounding annoyed, but they both knew he secretly enjoyed it when they got snappy with him. Not a whole lot of people had the guts to give him sass, and he liked having someone to verbally spar with. “And miss watching you squirm?”

“I’m not squirming.” they bit back.

“So that chair squeaking was just the ghosts, then?”

“Maybe.”

They could practically hear Leona roll his eyes, but they still didn’t take their eyes off of their textbook.

“Staring a hole into the page isn’t going to solve the equation.”

“How do you know?”

“Shut up and get over here.”

That made them look up. Leona had stood up, motioning them over with a tilt of his head. “You’re taking a break.”

“But -”

“You’re. Taking. A. Break.” he punctuated his words by grabbing the back of their desk chair and pulling. Just enough to jolt them, they could tell by the way the chair stopped that he was purposely holding it steady. Even so, they couldn’t help the small noise of surprise they made.

“Leona, I have to finish this!”

“You’ve been staring at the same page since I got here, you aren’t finishing anything.”

Subconsciously, they knew that taking a break would probably be good for them. But the part of their brain that was panicking about failing was telling them that if they took a break they were essentially giving up. And giving up wasn’t an option.

“Herbivore.”

The soft growl in Leona’s voice snapped them out of their thoughts. Leona had gone back over to the bed, flopped onto his back with his arms splayed out. To anyone else, it looked like he was just lazing about, but they had been with him long enough to realize that this particular position was an invitation.

It was then that they realized just how sore their neck and back were from being hunched over their desk. And how badly their eyes were burning from staring at the miniscule writing in their textbook. And how their legs and arms were one wrong move away from cramping because of how tense they had been.

...Okay, yeah, maybe a cuddle break was in order.

Leona grunted when they plopped on top of him, face buried in the crook on his neck. “Shit, herbivore, that hurt.”

“Suck it up.” they muttered, internally melting a little when he brought his arms up to wrap around them.

“Tch,” again, he sounded annoyed, but they knew better. “Learn to take better care of yourself.”

Azul: There was so much stuff to do.

Even if Crowley made sure they didn’t have to worry about money, a lot of the responsibilities of dorm upkeep still fell on them. They had to buy groceries, clean the whole dorm, make sure the place didn’t fall apart, follow Grimm around and make sure he hadn’t scorched any curtains...and that was all after they had done the assigned homework.

All things considered, they did a pretty good job, but sometimes they laid awake at night thinking of all of the things that needed to be done. Which left them in a less-than-ideal state for class the next day.

Gr-gr-grmmble…

They winced, hoping no one heard that. They had slept soundly through their alarm this morning, to the point where Grimm had to slap them awake, and therefore didn’t have time to snag breakfast. And it was really hard to focus on Trein’s droning lecture when they were both hungry and sleep-deprived.

Ace looked at them out of the corner of his eye with a raised eyebrow, but thankfully didn’t say anything. It might have been because the last time they got busted talking in class the spiel from Trein had been worse than if Riddle had just collared them, but still.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Trein dismissed the class. They still had Alchemy before they could go grab lunch, and even though mixing potentially explosive potions in their current state seemed like a terrible idea, Grimm skipped class enough. They didn’t need to add to his track record. So, feeling distinctly zombie-like, they made their way through the halls towards the alchemy lab.

Maybe they could dash by Sam’s shop really quick and grab a protein bar just to hold them over? No, Trein had yammered on until the last possible second, and they only had a few minutes before their next class started. There was no time. Maybe -

“Oof!”

“Whoa!”

Well, that’s what they got for not watching where they were going. Their books clattered to the ground as they ran headfirst into someone.

“Ah, damn, I’m sorry,” they bent down to pick up their books. Now they really were going to be late.

“Are you alright?” they looked up to see Azul stooping down to help them. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, I’m fine!” they grinned sheepishly. “Just wasn’t paying attention, is all.”

Azul frowned, picking up their Alchemy textbook before straightening. “You look exhausted. Another rough night?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Pale blue eyes widened and Azul flushed red. “I-I didn’t mean it like that!” he stammered, “I just - I merely - “ he cleared his throat, quickly recomposing his gentlemanly demeanor. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong.”

“Relax, Azul,” they laughed, standing up from their crouched position. “I was just teasing you.”

“Must you do that in public?”

“Are you saying you like it when I tease you in private?”

“That is not what I said.”

They laughed again, reaching for their books, but Azul held them out of reach. “Hey, come on,” they pouted. “I’m going to be late.”

“Seriously, are you alright? You look kind of pale.”

They sighed. “I didn’t sleep very well last night, and then overslept this morning, so I haven’t eaten anything. Happy now?”

“Not really, no.” Azul frowned. “Come on, I’ll treat you to lunch at the lounge.”

“But I have class.”

Azul kept walking, and they had no choice but to follow considering he still had most of their books. “I’m sure Crewel will understand if you miss one class. You have an otherwise perfect track record.”

“How do you know that?” they asked. “We don’t have any classes together.”

“I have my ways.” Azul smiled cryptically at them.

“Which one of them was it?”

“Jade.”

“Knew it.”

Kalim: “...and then, there was this one time, the baby elephants broke out of their cages…”

They wanted to pay attention, they really did. Kalim was a great story-teller, even if he was a bit all over the place. And stories from a magical noble family, no matter how mundane to Kalim, were always fascinating. They could sit here and listen for hours.

Well, usually, anyway.

Nothing in particular was wrong, really. They had just woken up feeling off. It could have been anything. They could have had a weird dream, they could have forgotten something minor, the planets could be slightly unaligned, it didn’t matter. It was just an off day, and they were feeling it.

“...hello? You still in there?”

They nearly hit the ceiling when Kalim snapped his fingers in front of their face. Where they had been sitting there being anxious about trying to figure out what was making them anxious, Kalim had crawled across the floor where the two of them had been having lunch in his room. He had wanted to have a picnic on the flying carpet, but Jamil had put his foot down. Literally, he had stood on the carpet so Kalim couldn’t ride it.

“Sorry!” they yelped, almost knocking their tea over as they were forcibly brought back into the present.

“You looked kinda worried there,” Kalim frowned, quite an unusual look for him. “Everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” they looked down at their lap and bit their lip to stifle a gasp. While they had been worrying, they had subconsciously been picking at the skin around their fingernails. There were a couple tiny drops of blood beading up around their nail beds. Maybe Kalim wouldn’t notice?

“Hey, you’re bleeding!”

Damn.

Kalim’s expressive, ruby-red eyes went wide and he lunged forward to grab their hands. “When did that happen? How did that happen? Do you need to go to the infirmary?”

“Kalim, I’m fine, there's barely any blood.” they sighed, gently prying their hands away from him. “I do that a lot.”

“You just randomly start bleeding?!”

“No, Kalim,” they laughed softly, shaking their head. “I pick at my nails when I get anxious.”

Kalim pouted, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “You’re anxious? Why are you anxious? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, it isn’t you, I promise!” they idly swiped at their nails. The places they had picked open had already closed. “It’s just...it’s a thing. I just have anxiety in general, is all.”

Frowning, Kalim sat back down in his original spot. “Isn’t there a way to fix that?”

“There’s a few ways, but none of them are quick.” they shrugged. “I was doing better, but suddenly coming here brought back a lot of my old habits.”

“Hm…” Kalim stared at them intently before the apparent storm passed and he brightened up again. “Well, we’ll just have to get you new habits to replace the old ones!”

“I...don’t think that’s quite how that works…”

“Here!” Kalim reached down and took a bangle off of his wrist. It was gold, with an elephant charm hanging off of it. With a big, eye-closing grin, he handed it to them. “When I was little, I used to get scolded for squirming a lot, so my mom told me to play with a small toy instead of running around. I know it’s a bit different, but maybe, instead of picking at your fingers, you can play with the charm instead? Would that help?”

For a moment, they were quiet, just staring at the shiny gold bracelet in their hand. Then, a small smile split across their face. “Yeah, I think it’ll help.”

Vil: “You haven’t been sleeping.”

“Hello to you too, Vil.” they sighed, flopping unceremoniously onto the stone bench beside him. Usually they at least tried to hold themselves to a higher standard when they were with the Vil Schoenheit, but they just didn’t have the energy. “How could you tell I haven’t been sleeping?”

“Unless the undead look is a new fashion trend, but bags under your eyes are very telling.” he reached over to tuck their hair behind their ear, both in an affectionate gesture and to get it out of the way so he could assess them better. “You’re also breaking out. Are you stressed?”

“Isn’t everybody stressed?”

“Don’t get existential, just answer the question.”

They huffed, letting their head rest on the hand that was still at their ear. “Yes, okay, I’m stressed, happy?”

Students were watching the two of them on their way through the gardens, but Vil paid them no mind. He had plenty of practice at ignoring the masses. “We’ve discussed this, haven’t we? Mental health is just as important as physical health.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” they closed their eyes, unable to look at him.

“I didn’t mean that to be scolding,” this time, Vil sighed. “Just a reminder that you need to take care of yourself. Maybe a spa day is in order.”

That did sound nice. “Can we do hair masks?”

“Of course, my dear.”

Idia: “Big Brother, you have a guest!”

Idia fought the urge to groan when Ortho popped his head into the room. Why did people always have to bother him on raid night?

Just as he was about to tell Ortho to send whoever it was away, a second head appeared.

“Hey, Idia.” the Ramshackle prefect sounded drained, enough to make him type a quick “AFK” into the chat and turn to them.

“Everything...alright?”

They stepped fully into the room, returning Ortho’s cheerful wave before closing the door and collapsing face-first onto Idia’s bed. “There’s too many people out there.”

“Mood.”

“And they all want me to do stuff for them.”

“Also mood.”

“So can I hide in here for a little? Please?” they turned their head to look at him with pleading eyes. “I’ll be quiet, I know it’s raid night.”

Idia turned to glance at the screen. The team he had gotten saddled with this time around was garbo - three tanks and no healer, honestly - so he was fairly confident they weren’t finishing the dungeon. Shaking his head, he clicked a few buttons and the screen returned to his desktop.

“Bunch of losers anyway,” he mumbled, getting up from his chair. “Wanna play something else?”

“Can we play Skull Girls?”

A few moments later, they were sitting side-by-side on the bed with the opening for the game playing on one of Idia’s monitors

This was what they needed. No people besides the two of them, no lazy Headmasters asking them to take care of problems way beyond their physical and emotional capacity, no chaotic cats threatening to light everything on fire. Just a nice little break.

Slowly, careful, so as not to startle him, they leaned over until their head was resting on his shoulder. He tensed, but his hair didn’t turn red, so they counted that as progress.

“Thanks, Idia.”

“N-N-No problem.”

Malleus: Okay, so this probably hadn’t been one of their better ideas.

Sleep just wasn’t happening tonight. All of the things they had to worry about kept running through their head, and every time they thought they were about to drop off, something else popped up. Eventually, they had given up and decided to take a walk.

Unfortunately, they had completely forgotten how cold it could get at night. Even with the jacket they had pulled on over their pajamas, they were shivering.

“You’re up late.”

The deep voice startled them, but they managed to compose themselves before turning around. “So are you, Tsunotarou.”

Malleus Draconia smiled softly at the nickname, looking absolutely ethereal with the small green lights flitting around him. “It’s dangerous to be out alone at night, Child of Man.”

“The gargoyles will protect me.” they said cheekily. Malleus chuckled.

“And what of me?” he asked. “Do I not get the honor of protecting you?”

“You can fight the gargoyles for the honor.”

Again, Malleus laughed, before noticing the subtle tremors that wracked the human’s body. “You’re cold.”

“This wasn’t my best-laid plan.” they sighed, tugging their jacket closer to their body. “I always forget how cold it is at night.”

Malleus hummed before opening his arms. “Come here, then. I’ll keep you warm.”

They hesitated for a moment before stepping into his embrace, sighing as his body heat seeped into their being. “Wow, you really are warm.”

“Dragons run hotter than humans,” he explained, tugging their head beneath his chin. “It’s why I have no trouble roaming around at night.”

“Lucky.”

“Well,” he murmured. “I’ll simply have to accompany you on your nighttime adventures to keep you warm.”

[rae-gar-targaryen]

Your sleepover idea is AMAZING! Such a great and fun idea ❤ Would it be possible to request 82: I dont get paid enough for this shit! With Max Phillips or Pero Tovar 😊❤ Thank you 😊 💓

A/N: Thank you for this request! I have never written for Tovar before, and I think he’s a criminally underrated character. I hope I do him justice. Let’s try it, because quite honestly i don’t even know what this is.  

--

“A Job Less Ordinary” (Pero Tovar x Reader) 

Pero Tovar’s life was just a comedy of errors. Or, at least, he thought so. But then again, he had always thought the worst.

Then again, he knew if you were by his side now to hear him grouse, you would just smile and roll your eyes playfully at him. 

“Always so grumpy,” you would chide. “Maybe you should have chosen a less-complicated profession?”

It was true-- mercenary work was a complicated profession. Even the simplest of smash-and-grab jobs always had a way of turning into more. Honestly, it pissed him off. If his fiery temper didn’t already abut a short fuse, this job would just be the little push he needs to send him over the edge. 

He hears your voice again.

“So dramatic, Pero,” you would sigh prettily, dreamily, playing with his fingers as they intertwine with yours.

Pero loved that about you-- you would never hesitate to help ground him when he was in a mood. If anyone else tried, he thinks he’d kill them. His fiery nature often got the better of him, but you’d never seemed to mind. Especially if said fiery temper benefitted you. Specifically, if it benefitted you for hours at a time.

Yet, here Pero was, sitting around a campfire with these faceless idiots who couldn’t keep quiet long enough to hear whether something was sneaking up on them in the dark, which, he thinks, is sort of important if you’re going to survive as a sellsword. 

This job was just getting worse and worse all the time. If this merry band of accompanying idiots wasn’t bad enough, he’d been hired to escort a kidnapped prince back to his kingdom, by flash of steel and under pain of death, if necessary. The king’s spoiled son had been taken by the less-than-savory lords of a neighboring kingdom. It seems he had a bit of a gambling problem and stopped repaying his debts. 

The king had brought in mercenaries from around the Spanish main to recover his erstwhile heir. 

Honestly, Pero thought, I hope they take the brat’s kneecaps. T’would serve him right.

He had barely slept in a few days, the harsh summer heat, even overnight, pressing his leathers and armour into his skin rather uncomfortably, and his group had already been attacked twice. Twice! Once by a merry little bandit of pickpockets he’d been quick to chase away, and once by the lords’ men, hoping to deter the king’s sellswords from recouping their prize.

You’d think a king would dispense better coin if he really cared about his son. But no. Pero had taken the job for far less than he probably should have. Especially if he had known what a pain in the ass this whole thing would be.

But still, though he harbored no desire to return there, he had survived the Tao Tei of the far East, he could survive this idiot boy. 

You’d seemed to think so, pressing a warm kiss to the corner of his mouth and wishing him a speedy return, whispering in his ear the promises of riches he was far more interested in upon his return. 

The morning came, and Pero and the others trudged on, reaching the manor where the lords were keeping the king’s son. Of course it was heavily guarded, Pero sighed. Of course. 

As the idiots around him charged in with no though to strategy, Pero rolled his eyes before joining the fray, swinging his longsword with both hands. He was doing fine, up until a particularly pesky faceless guard swinging a mace nearly clipped him in the arm with said winding weapon. 

Pero snarled at him after being knocked off his feet by said faceless guard. Blocking a blow from the ground with his sword, Pero grunted, heaved the man away from him before righting himself upon his own two feet. He’d had enough!

“I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” Pero grunted, swinging his sword cleanly through a gap in the man’s armor, felling him swiftly. 

He stormed the manor, grabbing the spoiled prince by the arm with a, “Come, boy. Your king-father awaits.” 

And with their group significantly smaller than the group they’d begun with, they commenced their return journey home, the princeling riding atop the back of a neighboring sellsword’s horse, whining loudly about the accommodations.

Another night, another camp and fire. This time, with a loudmouth prince as his company. It would be so much more pleasant if he could just lose himself in his thoughts of you, as he sharpened his axe before the fire. But the boy’s voice was an obnoxious trill hammering a headache behind his eyes. 

“Say, how’d you get that scar anyhow, sellsword?” The prince asked, gesturing at his eye to Pero. 

Pero grunts in response. “Got it from a warrior king,” he huffed. “I murdered his heir who would not cease his yammering,” Pero uttered harshly. He looked up from his axe to fix a deep glare from his dark eyes into the boy’s. 

“What, really?” The prince asked. 

Could this boy be any denser? Pero thought. But now he was beginning to enjoy chiding this idiot. 

“Churlish, Pero,” you would admonish him. “I do so adore when you are sweeter,” you’d croon, batting your eyelashes at him. 

But you weren’t here. And what you did not know, would not harm you. 

“Of course not, idiot boy,” Pero snarled. “I got it from a Queen. Your mother, in fact. She should really watch where she wields her taloned grip in the throes of passion,” he laid on his accent extra thick with his last few words. 

The prince jumped to his feet, angry now that Pero had dared insinuate he’d fucked his mother. 

“How dare you, mercenary!” He shouted. “I- I could have you killed, you know!” 

“By whom, boy?” Pero drawled, getting up and gripping the hilt of his sword at his side. “Your king-father? Who do you think is paying me now? Hmm? Sit down and eat your food in silence before I contemplate regicide as applies to a certain prince before mine eyes any further.” 

The prince sighed in defeat, before sitting again. Pero barked a laugh at the boy before following suit from across the flames, resuming his sharpening. His thoughts turning to you again. 

I don’t get paid enough for this shit, Pero thought again. 

The days passed and Pero had effectively delivered his whinging, spoiled quarry into the hands of a grateful, but taciturn, king. Collecting his measly winnings, Pero turned on his heel and left the king’s great hall, eager to return to your arms.

You were awaiting Pero at the doorstep of your small home, long dress blowing in the breeze. You ran to greet him, flinging your arms around his neck and peppering his face with soft kisses. Pero grunted at the impact of your body leaping onto his, but quickly wound his arms around to catch you, hands going instantly to cup your bum through your full skirt and lifting you into a spin. 

You giggled as Pero spun you around once, twice, three times before putting you back on your swaying feet, and leaning down to kiss you deeply. 

“I am pleased to see you have returned to me in one piece, fair, brave wayfarer,” you gasped through your breathlessness. “I hope your rewards were plentiful to compensate you for such peril.”

Pero growled teasingly at you before scooping you up again and carrying you across the threshold, dropping you onto the bed in the corner of your cozy little room where an evening of passion was sure to await. 

He leans over you and cups the sides of your face with his large hands, tracing your lips with this thumbs. There is a swirling danger behind your eyes, and Pero aims to play on it. Until all of your secrets are uncovered, even if it takes all night. What a task.

“My dove, you are the only reward of any value.” 

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Crossover Episode 1 Part 3

Hey, once again, Crossover time, with your host, me! Everybody clap your hands!!!

Lightning crashed, and thunder rumbled outside the ominous spire of stone and lost hope that was the Conformatorium. As Luz took in the sight before her, she turned a flat stare towards the smirking Witch next to her. “What was that you said about this place being super fun?”

Ignoring Eda’s chuckle, Luz panned her vision across the area, giving herself a rough idea of the layout for the building, before her eye caught on a poster tacked to a nearby wall. Walking up to it, she yanked it down to see an artistic representation of Eda and King, complete with Bounty. She let out a low whistle at the figure. “Wow, these guys really got the hots for you.”

“Yeah, but they’ve never caught me.” Eda preened with pride, deftly stuffing the flyer into her hair. “King’s got some moves of his own when it comes to giving people the slip.”

“Yeah! Just try and catch me when I’m greased,” King cheered, eager to talk about his skills. “I’m a squirmy little fella!”

“Heh, I’ll take your word for it.” Luz grinned.

Eda smirked, gesturing for Luz and King to come in closer. “Alright, I’ll make a distraction to keep Wrath and his goons preoccupied. You two will make your way to the Vault from above.�� She paused to conjure up a platform, the transport they would use to ascend. “I’ll do my best to keep Wrath and the Guards from getting to you, but for that to work, I’ll need you guys to keep your heads down in there. Can I count on you?” She turned a solemn face towards Luz at her question.

Luz made a small show of mulling it over, before grinning brightly. “Don’t worry about it. This isn’t my first time sneaking around somewhere I’m not supposed to be, after all.”

“Ugh, enough with the emotions, let’s just go already!” King complained, eager to get inside.

With a huff of amusement, Luz leapt onto the platform, scooping up King with an indignant squawk, before signalling Eda to send them up. As Luz rose through the air, she calmed the giddy excitement bubbling up inside, letting her face and emotions go blank. She needed to focus, to prepare herself for the fight her instincts were SCREAMING was coming their way.

As the platform reached its apex, just short of the window they needed to get to, Luz dully noted, she once more picked up King, this time with only a slight grumble of protest, and launched them both upwards. As they soared through the window, Luz caught herself in a three-point landing, fist planted in front of her chest, legs spread to catch her weight, a practically superhero-esque look… and then King slammed into the ground next to her with a grunt.

Chuckling sheepishly, Luz pulled the small demon up. As they walked towards their goal, Luz couldn’t help but marvel at the interior; this place may have been an evil den of corrupt tyranny, but she couldn’t deny the place was stylish, in a “step out of line and get wasted” sort of way. One thing that bothered her, though, was how empty it was. Luz had been around the block more than once, and she was fully aware of how much crime could get up to in any civilization, especially one that cared more about preserving things a certain way than helping the people, so the sheer barrenness of the cells was… unsettling to see.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Hey King, where are all the prisoners?”

“Weh? I don’t know. Why do you ask?” King replied. He wouldn’t openly admit it, but he was kind of weirded out by how empty this place was himself.

Luz’s curious look gained a more serious edge. “Because, no prison, whether the prisoners deserve to be in it or not, should be this level of empty unless it’s abandoned.” Luz’s scanning of the surroundings gained a hint of nervousness at that point. “I just can’t shake the feeling that something bad goes on here. You know, besides the whole “imprisoning for failure to submit to societal norms” thing.” Her frank bluntness would’ve been funny, if the situation hadn’t been so grim.

King glanced around, now feeling far more nervous about being here. “Now that you mention it, a lot of people get dragged here, but you don’t really hear much about them afterwards…”

“Hey kid, how did you get out of your cell?”

Turning their heads in surprise, both King and Luz were mildly surprised to find actual prisoners ahead of them. The one who had called out, a Witch-girl with dusky skin, two prominent canines that bordered on fangs, and an almost sleepy look to her, was beckoning them closer. It made sense, no one liked being in prison, and Luz’s gut wasn’t giving her any warnings about her. So, with that in mind, Luz sidled up to the bars.

Luz cleared her throat. “Not a prisoner actually, also, not technically a criminal.” She ignored King’s shout of ‘Not Yet Your Not!’ “Mind if I ask how you all ended up in a dump like this?” Okay, maybe it was cheesy, but Luz wasn’t gonna not ask how a group ended up in prison; what other time would she get the opportunity?

The prisoner chuckled, a bitter sound, the type you hear from someone who doesn’t really expect to be happy ever again and is just going through the motions. “Never thought someone would have the time or desire to ask me that. I got stuffed in here for writing stories about food falling in love with each other.” She held up a notebook with an image of two vegetables kissing on the open page. “And I know you didn’t ask, but the name’s Katya. You’re the first person to actually care about me in a long while.”

“Same with the rest of us.” Commented the prisoner next to the now-named Katya, a pale-blue fellow with multiple eyes. “I got put in here for eating my own eyes.” He then demonstrated, preempting Luz’s question, popping out one of his eyes, swallowing it whole, and then regrowing it perfectly. It was as fascinating as it was disturbing.

A muffled thumping came from the last occupied cell. Turning to it, Luz saw a small, white, ball-shaped creature that seemed to be a head with arms and legs sticking out of it. A cloth gag was tied tight over what Luz assumed was its mouth, the thumping coming from the creature slamming against things as it furiously clawed and yanked at the gag.

Turning a questioning stare to the others, Luz asked, “What’s going with that one?”

Katya snorted, a tired humor in her eyes. “Yeah, she’s big on conspiracy theories. She ended up annoying the guards so much they gagged her to keep her quiet. Which I thought was kinda lame, she had some fun stuff to say. Also, she really dislikes the government, which probably didn’t help her either.”

Luz was furious. No, scratch that, she was beyond furious. She was so angry, all she could show was calm. King could physically feel the rage seeping off of her. Speaking in a voice so coldly furious, Luz bit out. “So, what you’re telling me, is that you guys haven’t actually committed any crimes, and got thrown in here for being different?”

Katya let out a sad sigh. “Pretty much kid. Wrath really likes throwing anyone he considers “unsuitable” for society in here. And we happen to fit his definition of unsuitable.” She gave a soft grin towards the still irate human. “But hey, at least we got the chance to tell someone, right? Not many get that chance.”

Luz hyper-focused on that last part, instantly trying to process that statement alongside her concerns from earlier. “What do you mean by that?”

Katya gave an ominous stare. “A lot of people come into this place, but it isn’t much of a prison. It’s more a waystop before they get shipped off to the Emperor’s Castle; whatever goes on in there, we don’t know, but some people come out, utterly broken… and others don’t come back at all. Because so few people are actually here at any time, there aren’t many guards, but considering how tough Wrath himself is, it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

Luz's blood ran cold. The details may have been sparse, but what little she had been given painted a rather… ugly picture. There was no way she could leave these guys here. Glancing around, she spotted the lever that would release the cells (she honestly wondered how she missed it at first), and started tugging on it. At the slight motion of the heavy piece of metal, Luz was torn between frustration at how slow-going it was, and satisfaction at being able to move it at all. Just as she felt she was making progress, she paused, the sharp rumbling of heavy footfalls approaching in their direction.

“What are you fools yammering about?”

The voice that spoke was sinister, rumbling, and had a grating edge to it that set every nerve in Luz’s body on fire. Just as the figure was about to enter visual range, Luz gave a leap, clinging to the shadow-cloaked walls above. The amazement the prisoners felt at watching her feat was quickly squashed as the source of the voice pulled into view. A hulking, muscular figure, what little of his body could be seen having a purple tone to it. His body was clad in a white tunic, a triangular badge displayed proudly across his chest; the plague doctor-like mask sent chills up Luz’s spine. There was no doubts, this was the infamous Warden Wrath.

The Warden loomed over his prisoners, an almost palpable ruthlessness bleeding off of him. Glancing down, he spotted what he assumed was the topic of their discussion. “Ah.” He pulled up what Luz could see was a copy of that same wanted poster of Eda she had seen before. “The Owl Lady.” He brutally crushed the paper in his grip. “She escaped me before, but soon, she will be within my grasp.”

Alarm bells began ringing in Luz’s head, and as she looked down and saw King, hidden in the dark corners of one of the cells, the blind panic in his eyes made it clear he felt that fear too. Suddenly a sharp gasp drew their attention. “Aiw!!! I can bweathe again!!” It was the last prisoner, having finally managed to work the gag off of her face. Refocusing on the present, the tiny inmate began a tirade at the sight of Wrath. “The voices of independence cannot be silenced!! We will suwvive, we will enduwe, we will cast off ouw oppwessows!! We will neveh be afwaid of you, you big old cweep!!!”

Speech impediment aside, Luz couldn’t help but feel impressed at the courage it took to speak your true feelings, even in such a bleak situation. That admiration turned to dread, however, when she saw the Warden move towards the lever to the cells. While he didn’t see her, she could feel the air hum around him as he easily lifted what she struggled to even budge.

As the doors to the cells opened, the smallest prisoner gasped in delight. “Hooway, I’m fwee!” Eager to take advantage of her apparent freedom, the conspiracy theorist took off like a bullet, only to be effortlessly snagged by Wrath. As Wrath ruthlessly pulped the prisoner in his hand, the resulting squeak more menacing than humorous as he laughed over it, he calmly stated something that would forever infuriate Luz, even years later: “Remember, there is no place for you in society if you can’t fit in.”

As Wrath wandered off, to where Luz didn’t care, still clutching and tormenting the small prisoner, Luz leapt down as silently as she could, King rushing to join her. As she opened her mouth, hoping to say something, Katya raised a hand to stop her. The light that had been in her and the other prisoner’s eyes? It was gone, that little spark of hope had been snuffed out. Still, Katya tried to pull off a smile. “Just go kid. Go and enjoy freedom for us.”

Luz and King traded sad looks, before walking off. King, he didn’t know what to do with this. He was used to feeling unstoppable, weakened form notwithstanding, so feeling… bad for someone was new to him; he didn’t like it. Luz, she was angry, furious, apoplectic, basically every word you could use to describe being angry she was feeling right now. Before everything happened, she was used to feeling like an outsider, like people didn’t want to be around her because she was different from everybody else, but even at her lowest, she was never made to feel as if being herself, that being weird, was unacceptable on par with the worst of crimes. Luz knew one thing; when this heist was over, she was going to bring this place crashing to the ground.

As Luz and King mulled over their conflicted emotions, Eda ran up, a mischievous grin stretched across her face. “Alright gang, the Warden’s distracted tormenting some tiny creature and- what’s with the long faces?” Her grin wiped itself away at the depressed aura surrounding the two.

Luz turned a nervous eye towards Eda. “Hey, Eda? How often do people get sent to this place?”

Eda blinked, a little confused at the question. “Fairly regularly, at least once a week I’d say. Why do you ask?”

Luz gulped, not liking what she was about to say. “Well, how often do people come back out? And, if people come here so often, why are there so few prisoners?”

Eda paused, considering the question. As the possible answer, or answers, dawned on her, she grew grim, face pale. “Okay, yeah, that’s something I hadn’t thought about before. We need to get that crown, and get out of here as soon as possible.”

Luz nodded, a look of concentration upon her face. “Yeah. We overheard the Warden earlier, and the way he was talking? I think this may be a trap to lure you here.”

Eda blinked at that, then facepalmed. “Ugh! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that! Well, we better make this quick then.”

King piped up at that. “Then we better get going! The sooner we get my crown, the sooner Wrath stops being our problem!” With that said, he stomped towards a pair of very impressive doors.

[3pirouette]

Fic: An Experimental Design (2/4ish?)

Title: An Experimental Design

Part 2 of The Pain Scale Series

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3  Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Sequel to “What Number?”, also prompted from Steggy Bingo Bash Prompts.  Takes place about a week after that fic. 

Chapter 2: Crashing Reality

A/N: It feels like cheating, but I’m using the Steggy Bingo Prompt “Comfort” for this chapter. Also, by an overwhelming 2 votes on Tumblr, you asked for it: porn AND plot. This sort of fits that. First few paragraphs overlap, time wise, with the end of the last chapter.

~*~

The feeling in the air was electric, raw. He could feel it sparking through his suit, raising the hairs on his arms. His heart was pounding in his chest, beating harder than he could ever remember it. Perhaps he was simply keyed up, knowing she was waiting for him, needing him, but he knew, deep down, it was something more.

It was barely a second that he paused at the door, making sure it was closed behind him, but it might as well have been hours. He could feel her pain, feel her need and desire for him from across the room like a palpable heaviness to the air. He looked up, found her trembling on her knees on the bed, draped only in a barely tied hospital gown, hair wild and eyes wide.

Her hand was shaking with the effort to stay where she was, her thighs quaking from holding herself up. She licked her lips, and he was done.

Without a word he was moving, long, heavy steps as he tossed his cowl aside and unzipped his jacket. His chest was finally bare when he caught her as she leapt into his arms from the bed. Peggy pressed her body to his, the moan of relief that came from her lips positively lurid as she finally, finally found some relief from the pain.

Steve held her close with one hand and worked unsuccessfully at tearing the hospital gown away with the other, struggling to keep as much of them pressed together as he could. “I’m sorry,” he murmured over and over, nuzzling against her.

“You’re…” her voice was hoarse and she had to stop and swallow, take a deep breath and try again. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

“I’m sorry I’m late. It was worse than we imagined. And I’m dirty, I’m disgusting. I’m sorry, Peggy, We’ve been walking—”

She kissed him, forcing him to stop talking as she pressed her lips to his. She pulled away, sliding her face to the side of his, keeping their cheeks pressed tight. “I was worried, but you’re here now and that’s all that matters.”

He moved them to the bed, stopping when it hit his knees. He laid her on it gently, and her whimper of pain when he pulled away broke his heart. “Strip,” he ordered, his hands moving to his own belt. She was able to devest herself of the flimsy cloth quickly, and stripped her panties off without thought.

“How bad?” he asked as he bent down, untying his boots. He wasn’t surprised to feel her cold hands on his back; he arched up to let her press more of her body into him. He was unsure sure if it was tears of relief or pain he saw in her eyes when he looked up, but the fact that she wouldn’t answer him, or couldn’t, told him all he needed to know.

~*~

“I’ll tell you everything you need to know,” Dugan started, seated across from Phillips. Dugan’s voice was even as he recounted finding the nunnery to be a front for a Hydra base and how their intel had been a trap all along.

Howard, for his part, didn’t care about a nunnery. He paced in the back of the room, Dugan and Jones taking turns as they talked Phillips through the events of the last thirty or so hours.

Howard was more concerned with whatever the hell was going on between Steve and Peggy. With each pass of the room, he tried to put together what he knew, but it made little, if any sense to him.

He didn’t like it when he couldn’t figure out a problem, and this was a problem of the highest order.

Peggy was in horrible pain that didn’t respond to heavy doses of medication. The only thing that seemed to take away that pain was skin to skin contact with Steve. Peggy’s pain got worse the longer she didn’t have skin contact with Steve. He shuddered as he thought about the fact that there was some kind of sexual component to all of this. Howard knew the man didn’t want to do much more than declare his intentions for Peggy while the war was on, they’d talked about it once not too long after he’d explained to the poor boy what fondue meant.

Howard had never met a man more in touch with or surer of his moral compass. If something was forcing Steve against that compass, it was big and scary and threatening to Peggy. That was the only thing he could believe would make Steve go against his plans to be respectful and chaste during this war.

Dugan yammered on, Philips hanging on his every word as he made notes. Howard couldn’t put the pieces together, couldn’t find the through line that made sense.

“Stark,” Phillips barked out, “Stop pacing. You’re making me seasick.”

It had to be a side effect of something, had to be working wrong for her to be in that much pain, he figured, ruffling his hair and trying to still himself against the wall.

~*~

“We’re talking to Howard,” Steve whispered, holding her close. She was still trembling in his arms, the two of them tangled together. Steve was glad he’d kept his boxer shorts on, had he not, he might have lost control and taken her ask she kept begging him to. As it was, the bed had creaked perilously under them as they’d crashed together, relishing every inch skin as she moaned and writhed in his arms, the pain melting to passion with each touch until she fell apart in his embrace. His own shorts were soiled, though he’d gotten over him embarrassment of that weeks ago.  

“I collapsed in a briefing,” she whispered into his throat, lips gliding over the skin, “and you just ignored a commanding officer’s order to fraternize with me, to put it lightly. We’re both getting sacked.” She clutched at him like she had that first night, afraid to let go, afraid to feel the pain surge through her again. “The MPs will be showing up any moment, I’m sure,” her voice was tinged with sadness and fear, the loss real for her already.

Steve took a deep breath, taking his time and letting his hand smooth through her hair, the number of tangles against his fingers telling him so much about how long she’d been out of control. “They need us.”

Peggy laughed, a bark of disbelief and surprise. “Like a hole in the head, I’m sure.” She sighed as he pulled the scratchy hospital blanket up over their bodies, “At least I’m sure that’s what Phillips would say.”

He kissed her forehead slowly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Peg, but we have to get you help.”

She nodded against him, yawning. “Yes, please.”

~*~

Howard circled the room, sitting on the edge of the Colonel’s desk quickly as the topic switched quickly. “Tell me everything you know.”

Phillips looked at the man with barely contained frustration. “Ass off my desk, Stark.”

Jones and Dugan tried not to laugh as the man scrambled to stand again with no chairs left in the room. Dugan swallowed down his mirth and looked cautiously between the two men. “Colonel, I don’t know much…”

Phillips nodded. “Anything you know would be appreciated, though we will have a discussion about why it was left off the official record, son.”

Dugan nodded before looking at Jones then back at Stark before finally resting his gaze on Phillips. “See, everything that was in my report and the sitrep was true. I grabbed Morita and ran, Cap went back in looking for Peggy. All the recon we had said it would be a quick in and out, I didn’t think to say anything about it because it was a sound tactical decision.” Phillips nodded, Dugan’s eyes bouncing nervously from Stark to the Colonel. “It was when I found them that we started leaving things out. I said she was weak, but in truth…”

Dugan’s eyes glazed over, his mind far away. “She was in pain. A lot of pain, and I couldn’t see anything that would explain it. Cap carried her back to camp and the sounds she was making…” he shook his head.

Jones took over, “We all offered to break camp, but the Captain refused, said she needed rest.” He looked down at his hands, a blush creeping up his neck. “They weren’t… they didn’t rest.”

“I’m asking this because I need to know, men,” Phillips started, his lips pressed tight together. “Did Rogers force himself on—”

Howard was shocked. Jones’ head popped up, his expression and his lips denying it. Dugan was so affronted he stood, tossing his helmet on the ground at his feet as he loudly objected.

Phillips held up his hands to stop the cacophony the two men made. “I had to ask, you know that.”

“Jesus, Phillips,” Howard stepped back, folding his arms tightly. “As if that man was capable of that.”

Dugan, still affronted, sat slowly, the displeasure clear on his face. “It was just the opposite. Steve put her down to get her some water and she screamed like she’d been burned. Soon as he stopped touching her, she was in agony.” He shook his head. “Next morning, she walked out of that tent like nothing had ever happened, same old Peggy.”

“Was the damndest thing,” Jones said, eyes widening as he remembered. “Not a whimper, not a limp, nothing. She said she felt fine, and there was no reason to believe otherwise.”

Howard shook his head accusing both men. “And no one thought to say anything? She was in that much pain and no one said a word?”

Dugan and Jones sat, stone-faced and silent, against Howard’s accusations.

At their silence, Howard turned to Phillips. “We have to pull them both. I have to figure out what’s going on.”

Dugan started to object, “You can’t—”

Phillips silenced him, standing. “I can’t? Oh yes, I very well can and will.” He pointed at the door, leaning over. “You and those two idiots keeping this secret might have cost Agent Carter her life. What if this hadn’t been days but weeks? What if we shipped them out and hadn’t known? What if there are repercussions for Rogers we don’t know about yet that show up in the middle of a fire fight, huh? You got a good answer for that?”

“No, sir,” Dugan and Jones both parroted.

“’No, sir’ is damn right,” Phillips sat back down, eyebrows knitting together. “Damned fools, all of you.” He looked down as he folded his hands together. “They’re off active duty as of this minute, the both of them. Stark, they’re all yours.” He looked up at the man, serious. “Fix it.”

Howard nodded, knowing it was a serious order.

Phillips turned back to Dugan and Jones. “You two are going to help. As soon as those clowns are done doing whatever it is they’re doing in there, you’re taking whoever you need back to that base and getting any and all information you can by whatever means necessary. You understand me?”

Dugan and Jones nodded, standing and saluting. “Yes, sir.”

~*~

Steve dressed quietly as Peggy lay tucked up in the hospital bed, sleeping deeply.

He had questions, and was prepared to get down on his knees to beg for the help he knew Peggy needed when Phillips inevitably dishonorably discharged him.

He looked back at her, her hair still tangled, a smudge of dirt on her cheek where he’d touched her, the dirt of the firefight and a day marching still covering him. He felt like he was tainting her, despite how much she needed him.

Deep inside, he knew he needed her, too. He knew he could feel her now like he’d never felt her before, knew when she was close, could almost feel a fuzzy version of the pain she felt burning through her until he touched her. He was different, too, and that was every bit as concerning to him as her pain was.

He opened the door and slipped out, prepared to fight for them.

[antihero-writings]

His Butler Cemetery, Chapter 3: The Problem of the Nights

Fandom: Black Butler | Kuroshitsuji (manga)

Fic Summary: Four visits to the cemetery, each growing in emotional intensity, and spanning backwards in time. (Spoilers for the manga!!)

(I'll put the links to chapters 1 & 2 in a reblog!!)

Chapter Summary: “Young Master, Edward. If something you held most dear suddenly shattered one day...What would you do?"

"Dear, God. What a terrible ordeal you've tasked my sister with...."

Character Focus: Edward and Lizzie Midford

Notes: Eyyy remember this fic? The one I planned to finish in October 2018? Hehe...Yeah...

I never forgot about this fic... life just kinda got in the way and I moved on to other things. I have so many fics on my computer that I just can't seem to figure out how to finish, and this chapter was one of them. Lately I've been trying to go through some of them and either just slap an ending on them, or split them into multiple chapters so it's more manageable, haha. So I just picked a way to end it, even if I'm not entirely satisfied XD

I actually really really like Edward as a character, and was kind of inspired by the quote above to write this. I was excited to write for him for this fic, and really really liked this chapter, so I couldn't go without posting it at some point!!I hope people still like it, even though it's been so long...I'd deeply appreciate it if you could leave a comment to let me know!!

By the way, I am NOT caught up on the manga, so please don't spoil anything from the recent chapters for me!!

Chapter 3, the Problem of the Nights:

Edward never could win against her.

Father would laugh and say that the Midford women had always been strong, and it was no cause for shame.

Still, there’s something particularly humiliating about getting your ass kicked by a cute little girl….Especially when she’s your younger sister.

The world would coo over her: her pretty shoes, her curly blonde hair, her frilly dresses, and sigh in awe that someone so cute could be so skilled with the sword.

And, if he was perfectly honest, she was incredible. He would never deny that, never say the praise was undeserved. Often he was her biggest fan, her loudest cheerleader, and if anyone dare lay a finger on her, or say a single syllable of slander, they’d certainly have a sword to answer to.

And, he supposed, her proficiency was good for him too, in a way, because it pushed him to work harder.

But no matter how many days he spent waking up early to wave his sword at empty air, no matter how much mastery he had compared to his classmates, he could never catch up to her. Sometimes it felt like the race was rigged, and he wasn’t moving at all.

He applauded her, admired her.

But sometimes he would throw his sword into the wall and demand that it listen to him. That he, a thirteen-year-old boy could and should be better at swordplay, than a ten-year-old girl who decorated her world in pink plushies and bonnets.

When the other nobles chatted with Lizzie, and about Lizzie, and then turned to him to ask what he’d been doing, sure he had a story to top hers…

Sometimes he would hold his head high and boast of his accomplishments, and Lizzie would have only the loftiest of compliments to add.

But other times that question would ring through his head, and his tongue would fall limp in his mouth.

Because no matter how much he’d done, if he was the top of his class, he could never triumph Lizzie.

What have I done lately? Not much compared to Lizzie.

Mother was not the kind of person who would answer for you; unlike most mothers she wouldn’t boast of her children smallest accomplishments. In fact, in even their greatest endeavors she could find “room for improvement.” He wasn’t complaining: this too was a good thing; he would never be where he was now without that.

But sometimes he just wished she would just wrap her arms around him and say that she was proud of him.

There was Father at least, who was the softie of the family. Who would clap him on the back and tell Francis not to be so hard on him, that he’d done more than well. His eyes would shine as he promised he was a champion in his own right, as well as his eyes. And that helped. Still…

Still, he didn’t feel like much.

It wasn’t that he was bad at things, or dumb. He was quite smart, good at school, but he didn’t…excel.

The thing about Lizzie is that there were only a few things she practiced, but she excelled at them.

Jack of all trades, master of none, so they say.

And no one notices you unless you’re very good at something, or very bad at it.

So he faded into the background. Lizzie’s cheerleader. His parents’ son. And he told himself he was alright with that.

Beneath all those intermingling feelings of pride and jealousy was a question:

How could such a small girl hold so much fight inside her? How could those gentle eyes hold so much fire?

It didn’t make sense. She was supposed to be sweet, and gentle, and soft. So what was it that drove her to get the gold when he could only ever snag second place?

He got his answer when he met Ciel.

The twin boys, one of whom she was destined to marry—some day, after they had learned how to be gentlemen in a world of men who weren’t gentle.

Well he couldn’t approve of that without meeting him first.

The twins were…so small. Smaller even than Lizzie. Big blue eyes like stormy days.

One marched up to him and demanded who he was, and what he was doing there, and that his name was Ciel, and he was to be the Earl some day. The other, hid behind his father’s pant leg, and muttered his greeting from afar. And when Mother scolded Mr. Phantomhive to keep them in line, and comb their hair properly, even the bolder one shirked into the shadows.

He finally understood what Lizzie had that he didn’t:

Something to protect.

When he took up the sword, it was for the sake of the sword itself, and a name.

When she took it up, she did so for something more than the trade, the passed-down-name, the skill. The sword was a means, not an end. There was something—someone—she loved, or was learning to at least, and if that person were ever threatened, she didn’t want to stand on the sidelines and cry. She wanted to stand between him and danger and do everything in her power to keep the hurt at bay.

She didn’t care about being well-versed in the sword: she just cared about protecting him. The sword was simply how she’d do that. And, well, the irony of being something is that you’ll only be good at it when you’re looking beyond it.

And it was that, that passion, that idea that there was something beyond, that this was all in preparation for a war against anything that stood to harm him, that was why she excelled. Because he didn’t have anything calling him to it, besides the fact that the Midford’s had always been good at it. As long as he didn’t have a reason for it within himself, he would never excel.

So, from then on, he never complained, silently or aloud. From then on he was nothing more than her firmest supporter, and when people asked what he had done lately, expecting his story to top hers, he could be okay that he would never be better than her at some things.

And then, one snowy December, when they were putting their finishing touches on their Christmas tree, and competing to make the best cookies, someone arrived at their door to tell them they found Mr. and Mrs. Phantomhive in a pool of their own blood…and the twins…they didn’t find.

She didn’t cry. She didn’t immediately burst into a thousand shards of glass like he would have expected.

He would have liked it better that way. Because he could deal with that. Because he could do something, he could run up to her, hug her, kiss her, comfort her. Be the big brother.

No, the Midford women had always been strong, and she was no exception. She didn’t fall to pieces. She went into her room, put on a black dress and bonnet—(as was proper). And she went to the funeral, as all good little noblegirls should.

And all throughout the service, as they lay Rachel and Vincent to rest, beside two little graves they all knew were empty, as the vicar read from a Bible a passage about sheep, and finding your way home, he kept glancing at her, kept waiting to see the tears to stream down her face, for her to fall to her knees.

Her eyes were big, and blank, and full of almost-to-the-surface tears, yet she was sugar and spice and everything nice; the picture of an English noblewoman.

She went about her day, whole, composed, proper. And no one could have guessed that grief wasn’t another thing she excelled at.

But he’d never quite forget that night. The sound he heard, even through the passing years.

That night, after the funeral, after mother sent her off to bed with a few proud words, and father kissed her one to many times, after Edward grabbed her hand and asked “Are you sure you’re okay?” After she said “Yes, I’ll be fine.”—

He woke up to the sound of screaming.

He shot up in bed, wondering if he’d dreamed it, heart yammering, breath burning. He didn’t bother to light a candle, just stumbled out of bed, and ran down the halls, calling her name.

When he reached her room, she was sitting on the floor beside her bed in her little white nightdress, and tear tracks staining her face; in pieces. A perfect gold stain on the world.

She reached her hands weakly out to him as he knelt down before her, and wrapped her arms so tight around him that he thought she might break him too…and she cried into his nightshirt until she stained it. But he didn’t care.

Many little girls run to their parents in this situation. But he knew, if she had gone to their parents, mother would have told her there was no use crying, they weren’t coming back, and father would have doted on her, and she wanted neither…or rather, something in between. So she came to him.

This wasn’t the last time.

During the day she would go about her life as normal.

But every night she woke up. It was always somewhere between 14:00 and 16:00 he heard her screaming, calling the name of the sky. Either that, or he would hear a faint knock on his door, and see the face of a broken little girl in need of her big brother.

It became muscle memory for Edward to comfort her. To throw off his covers and run to his sister’s room, or he would pat the blankets beside him to say come here, and either way he’d wrap his arms around her tight, as if trying to wring the tears out of her, and she would sob until they burned rivers in his skin. He would brush his hands through her golden hair, whispering things in her ear like shh, and it’ll be okay, and singing old lullabies, all the while knowing knowing the quiet would come. And he would pray. Pray that things would be okay. Pray that the one who created the universe would grant some solace to this sweet little sheep.

He would pray, and the next day, with tears barely barred from his own cheeks, he would kick the wall, and demand why and how a merciful God could do this to someone like her. Why he would take good people from the world.

—(He would pray, and he thought one day he heard Him say They aren’t yours to keep.)—

Sometimes she asked if they could go to the cemetery in the morning. They would dress in their finest blacks, looking like ink blots on the world, onyx with gold filigree in the cracks. She would carry bouquets of flowers, the petals sifting off in the wind, and add them to those there, left by the miscellaneous others who cared for them…And she wouldn’t cry then, no. She wouldn’t cry until it was past the witching hour.

She didn’t give up. Didn’t stop living. For all intents and purposes she was the same as she’d always been…but something was missing when they crossed blades.

She woke up less and less as time went by. Eventually her visits to his room were stray nights in the grand scheme of things, and she didn’t cry so hard. Sometimes she’d just sit with him, or ask to play chess, or chat with him till the morning came.

And then one day, after the grief didn’t burn so badly in her chest—

Her fiancé came back without an eye, and with a pitch black butler.

He didn’t talk about what he’d gone through, or how he’d come back. He didn’t speak of that day his parents died. He didn’t mention how his brother died—he didn’t mention much of his brother at all.

He wasn’t that brazen, bold, grinning child they knew before. He was dark, and serious…and he never smiled.

And Edward was glad to have him back…yet from the start he couldn’t help but feel…uneasy. Like something was wrong. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. There were too many questions, too many gaps in information, and the darkness that seemed to flock to this boy now didn’t help.

And Edward, though Lizzie’s fire was only stronger since he came back, her skill even more unmatchable, was at last able to get a few good hits in sometimes.

He couldn’t believe he never saw it before, his reason beyond the sword, the task of carrying on a name... it was there from the beginning.

He knew who it was he had to protect.

[writingkeepsmewhole]

Rocky Start

This is part 1 of a new fic I’m starting.   I kinda thought it up forever ago and never thought anyone would like it but who cares I like it haha I hope yall do to. This is also day 5 of my 365 day fic challenge. Where I’m going to post 365 fics before 2020 is done, so stick around for that.

Fic Summary: Alva has a huge crush on the god of thunder her working in castle for years. When Alva is to deliver some ale to Thor’s room one night things don’t go at all like she planed.

Thor Odinson x OC Alva

Warnings: Sexual assault, violence, depression.

Let me know what yall think about this one.

It’s a human thing…. Wanting what you can’t have. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t keep my eyes down when he walked into a room. Or make my heart stop pounding. But even for a god Thor was different. He’s what every woman wanted and what every man wanted to be. It was easy to get trapped in his looks. His eyes what always made me choke on my own words. I taught myself to keep my eyes down so I had some chance of having a clear head when I had to answer him.

My name is Alva one of the servants who got to serve Odin and his family. It was an honor to do so and most of the time I enjoyed it. I stayed in the kitchen, or ran food to someones chamber when they wanted it I was mainly invisible which I was completely okay with. It let me get to see Thor without him seeing me. That all changed when I had to take a tray of food to Thor’s room.

I felt myself practically shaking as I walked to his door. It was the first time I’ve ever had to go to his chambers. I knew it meant nothing. He would take the food and barley glance at me but I’ve never been so close to him.

I took a deep breath and knocked on the large wooden door. My heart was pounding in my chest as the door opened. It stopped when I was met with the sight before me.

I came eye level with Thor’s bare chest. I felt my race flushes I made myself look at the floor.

“Your fare my lord.” I say holding up the tray of meat, fruit and cheese.

“Just set it on the table.” He says or rather slurs holding the door open wider to let me step inside.

I nod hearing my blood rush through my veins as I walk into his bedroom. It was large. Bigger than my house. A great round bed was directly across from the door. It looked like it could hold ten people instead of it’s intended one. It was a dark wood finish it covered in different furs and wools. Many pillows scattered across it. 

The table Thor gestured to was off to the left of the door. It was a dark wooden table sat low to the ground, pillows surrounding it. To the right of the room was a another table. It looked like the one meant for eating. It sat higher up with four chairs placed under it. The chairs covered in carvings of dragons and other creatures.

“Did you bring any ale?” Thor asks pulling me from admiring his room.

“Yes my lord.��� I say pulling the skin of ale off my shoulder.

“Give it to me.” He says stopping me from placing it next to his food.

I feel my stomach flip as I stand up and face him. Him towering over me. He was tall. Over six foot at least. I gulp and look down holding out the skin.

“Are you new?” He asks surprising me.

“New?”

“To the castle. You have to be I think I would have remembered a face like yours.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you my lord.” I say ducking my head farther down.

My stomach knots up and hurt feels my chest at what he said. I know I wasn’t beautiful like the gods but I didn’t think I was that ugly either.

“I believe you have misunderstood me.” He says making me jump when he touches the bottom of my chin and makes me look up at him.

“Your very beautiful for a mortal.” He says holding my face in place.

I blush and look down with only my eyes.

“Thank you my lord.”

“Would you like to lay with me?”

“What?” I choke out wondering if I heard him right.

I didn’t get the chance to answer him bending down to press his mouth to mine. At first I was shocked then excited but neither emotions lasted long. Him wrapping his arms tightly around me made me start to panic.

Pulling away from him I pressed my hands to his chest trying to push him off me.

“Now now stop fooling around.” He says easily picking me up and carrying me to the bed.

“Please don’t.” I say the smell of ale on his breath.

“Relax it’ll be fun.” He says pinning me to the bed his body covering mine.

“I don’t want to do this my lord.”

“Shh.” He says pressing his mouth to mine again.

This time hungry as if he was dying of thirst and I was a pitcher of water. I try to kick him off, pushing and hitting at his chest as tears at my dress. His hands squeezing at my chest and arms.

I feel powerless as he starts to kiss and suck down my neck. It rough and him biting me from time to time.

“Thor stop.” I whisper out pleading with him. 

“What did you say?” He asks lifting his head up to look at me.

I watch as his blue eyes almost seem to clear up.

“Please stop Thor.” I say softly my voice cracking as tears run down my cheeks.

He sits up quickly making me jump. I half expect him to yell or hurt me. Knowing the tales of the god of thunder timper.

“I’m sorry.” He says shaking his head and climbing off the bed.

“You can leave.” He says guilt and confusion washing over his face.

I quickly get off the bed and start heading towards the door trying to use my ripped dress to cover me.

“Wait.” He says his booming voice making me jump.

I freeze in place knowing I have to listen or else he could have me killed. I jump when I feel something laid over my shoulders.

“You can keep it.” He says talking about the heavy cloak he just placed over me.

I don’t say anything only wrap it around myself and grab the door handle ready to get out of there as quickly as I can.

As the door closes behind me he says I’m sorry it he last thing I hear as I rush down the hall, this time shaking for a whole different reason.

I hide in my home the next few days faking ill but I felt it. The knot in my stomach wouldn’t go away and every time I thought about that night I would start crying all over again. I knew my mother knew what had happened to me. I knew by the way she tiptoed around me. Never touching me not unless I could see it coming. Never using a harsh or loud tone. She went threw the same thing when she was young. It only happened once but her assailant didn’t stop. I guess that I was lucky.

I didn’t feel lucky. I felt even less lucky when I could hear my parents softly argue about having enough to last through the winter. I knew I had to return to the castle. We needed the money, even more so when I overheard the news of my mother carrying her fifth child. Father could barely feed us now.  So after three days of feeling like a shell of myself I made myself get up, get dressed and make it to the castle in time to help with preparing breakfast.

“Alva your back. Feeling better?” Eirik one of the other servants asks when I enter the kitchen.

Most of the others turn to me and say there own form of greeting. I smile at them then turn to Eirik.

“Yes just needed some sleep.” 

“Yes rest does the mind and body well.” He says grinning. I knew it was because he favored me but I never gave him the time of day because of my crush on Thor now I couldn’t even think about anyone touching me.

I smile back to be polite and throw myself into work busing myself with any and everything. When it was time to serve breakfast, I felt myself get sick and my hands start to sweat. But I couldn’t slack off I couldn’t lose this job. 

Picking up a tray of food I followed the line of people up to the dinning hall.

“Do you think he will come today?” One of the younger girls in front of me whispered to the one next to her.

They were both red heads they looked similar sisters maybe.

“I don’t know. I hope so. Seeing him is what gets me through the day.”

“Oh my gosh I can’t believe you still have a crush on him his brother is way more level headed.”

“What are you two yammering on about?” Eirik asks him just in front of them most likely hearing just as much as I could.

“You know lord Thor hasn’t come to breakfast for three days now and I’m just starting to worry about him. What if he’s ill.”

“God’s don’t get ill.” I say sharply earning confused look from both the girls and Eirik.

“Well they don’t nothing bothers them.”

“Well something has been bothering-.”

“Shh.” Eirik says as we reach the top of the stairs. 

The door at the top being held open for us as we all pack our own trays in. I stopped when I spotted the large form of Thor. Him turned away from me and talking to his mother. That only lasted a second when he looked up his blue eyes meeting mine almost instantly, as if he was looking for me.

“Go.” Eirik whispers looking at me.

“Right.” I say nodding my head and walking to the table.

I tried to just find a place to set the pitcher of ale I was carrying that was farthest from Thor but it seems that fate had different plans.

The only place was right between Thor and his mother. My hands seemed to sweet even more with each step I took closer to him. Scared he would remember me, would say something would touch me. I couldn’t reject him I would offend Odin if I did.

That knowledge didn’t stop me from jumping when Thor reached out towards me. Doing so I felt the pitcher slip from my hand and drop to the floor. The clay jar shattering splashing both me and Thor with its contents.

I stood there in shock at what had just happened. My first day back from skipping out on duties and I do this. I was done for.

“What do you think your doing? You stupid girl don’t you know how to pour a drink?” Odin yelled making me jump back into reality.

“I’m sorry my lord! Please it just slipped.” I say bowing to him.

“Well don’t just stand there clean it up.”

“Yes of course.” I say quickly dropping to my knees them getting soaked as I start picking up broken pieces as fast as I can.

“You mortal’s can’t do anything right.”

“Now now sweetheart it’s quite alright me and Thor are fine right?” The queen says softly.

“Yes mother I’m fine.” Thor says his voice making bad memories fill my head.

I try not to think about them, only focusing on cleaning up my mess. I hiss in pain when one of the sharp pieces slice into my palm.

“Are you alight?” Thor asks softly.

I nod my head and quickly stand up ignoring the blood running down my hand.

“Here let me wipe this up.” Eirik says him behind me with a cloth.

“Thank you.” I mouth to him earning a smile as I quickly ran back to the kitchen.

I throw away the broken jar and then wash my hand wrapping it up as well.

“What was that about?” Eirik asks coming back downstairs.

“I just got started.”

“Yeah well having a crush is one thing but jumping at the chance he might touch you is a bit ridiculous, don’t you think?” He asks talking about Thor.

“It’s not that.” I say moving to the other side of the kitchen.

“Then what is it?”

“Not important. I need to go clean something.” I say not wanting to talk about Thor or anyone for that matter.

I spend the rest of the day avoiding anyone who even hints at wanting to talk to me. I spend the next few days doing the same. I made sure to be doing something when it came time to serve meals, not wanting to see Thor.

Stayed awake most nights unable to sleep. My dreams making what almost happened play over in my head.

When I did somehow end up in the same room as I still found myself stealing glances but now for a different reason. I couldn’t understand how the person who haunted my dreams was the man who would laugh with his family and friends. It was like nothing happened for him and that hurt even worse, only making me feel more hollow.

It wasn’t until a week after I returned did I have to face him. I was in the playing hall. Where guest in the castle would come and play games like chest or other strategy games.

I was dusting off one of the tables when Thor and his brother Loki came into the room.

“Your not going to beat me brother I'm smarter one.” Loki brags walking to the table farthest from me.

“I’ve been practicing.” Thor says but his voice sounds far away as if he’s not paying attention.

Telling myself not to look up I can’t when I feel eyes bore into me. I risk a glance to find eyes meeting mine.

I quickly look away from them but not before I see guilt in them. It the same look he gave me that night.

‘So he does remember.’ I think as I gather my things for cleaning and leave the room.

‘He remembers but hasn’t apologized. I mean of course not he’s the son of Odin he can do whatever he pleases. Apologizing to a mortal is the last thing on his list of wants.’ I think to myself.

After I was done for the day I didn’t go home. With a purse full of coin I went to town planning on getting my family something for dinner to surprise them.

Well it wasn’t a surprise now I did it every time I got paid but it was nice to have something to look forward to. As I walked I thought about what I wanted to eat, or what my family would like to eat.

As I was walking, I kept my head down trying to to draw attention to myself I didn’t like it much anymore. Doing so made me bump into someone.

“I’m sorry.” I say looking up meeting a brown eyed man.

“It’s okay just watch where you're going.” He says smiling.

I smile back as he steps around me and starts to walk towards the town pub. I put my hands in my pockets glad to still find my purse there.

I turn and go back to what I was doing, the sun starting to set so I had to hurry. Once I had a basket of bread and cheese I started my walk back home.

The streets were dark the only light coming from the fires in the windows of the still open shops. 

I shiver a bit at the night air wishing I would have worn a cloak. It makes me think of Thor’s cloak lying on my bed.

Despite what happened and who it belonged to I slept with it at night. It was warm and thick and I found some messed up from of comfort in being wrapped up in it. Like if the air of the room couldn’t touch me, if my skin couldn’t be seen I was safe.

Thinking of that made me once again run into someone. I was surprised to find the same pair of brown eyes from before.

“Well hello again.” he says smirking down at me. The smell of wine on his breath.

“Sorry.” I say stepping around him not wanting to be around him, fear prinkling the back of my neck.

“Sorry? That’s it?” The man asks but I ignore him continuing to walk.

“Hey don’t walk away from me.” He calls a hand suddenly grabbing my arm and jerking me back. I scream my stuff falling to the ground.

“You bumped into me twice today and your just gonna say sorry?”

“I didn’t mean to.” I say softly his grip on my arm tightening.

“You think that’s good enough?” He asks pulling me closer to him his face inches from mine.

I gulp my stomach knotting up as I freeze.

‘Not again.’ I think as I start to push him away.

“Get off me.” I say loudly opening someone hears me.

“No, I don’t think so little thing.”

“Get away.” I say smacking him.

“Oh your gonna pay for that.” He says drawing his own hand back, expect someone else stops him from swinging.

I stop when I follow the hand on his wrist to the body of none other than Thor.

“Let her go.” He says calmly as a rumble of thunder is heard over head.

The man lets me go and turns around ready to say something but stops when he sees who it is.

“Touch her again and I’ll have your hands, both of them. Got it?” Thor asks looking down at him.

The man nods quickly.

“Good, now go away.” Thor says letting him go.

He quickly runs off staggering and falling over his own feet as he does.

I stand there in shock at what had just happened.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly calmly. Like the way you would talk to an injured animal.

“Umm yes.” I say nodding and dropping my eyes to the ground.

“Thank you my lord.”

“Do you need help getting home?”

I shake my head and bend down to pick up my things. Them fine for the most part. I stand up and start to walk away from him when he calls me name is shocking me.

“You know my name?” I ask turning to look at him, well not at him. Passed him I couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“Alva right? I asked around.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I’ll tell you if you look at me.” 

Taking a breath I make myself look at his face. He’s bright blue eyes boring into mine.

“I wanted to know your name for when I apologized for what I did to you.”

“You didn’t do anything.” I lie not knowing why.

“Yes I did. You were gone for three days so I did something. I almost crossed a line that I wouldn’t forgive myself if I ever did. I pray that you can forgive me, even if you never look at me again.” He says his brow wrinkled with guilt.

“Why do you care if I look at you?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Because I want to make sure your okay. I’m not good words my guess is you are similar.”

I shrug him half right I only bothered my mother with my problems but I even left her out of the news on what happened.

“It’s fine really. Your forgiven.”

“You don’t have to give it to me. I’ll earn it.” He says smiling a boyish grin it making his bright eyes brighter.

“Okay. May I go now?” I ask not wanting to be in this situation it was hard to think straight looking at him.

I’ve never done it for this long before and now my brain was mixing with him saving me to him attacking me and it was making it hard to know what I really felt about him.

He smiles and nods. He’s eyes were sad but his smile almost masked that.

“Thank you. Goodnight my lord.” I say turning away and heading to my home.

As I walked I wondered what he meant that he would earn my forgiveness. I guess I would find out.

[woodrokiro]

Hollowed (fic) Part One

Fandom: Bleach

Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: They call her a miracle, but he looks at her as if she’s normal. It scares her. Fantasy/Futuristic/Zombie kinda?AU

A/N: Oh you know just looking at @ichirukimonth AU themes and getting started on ideas and thought HEY what about this combination of three of them and try to make it a oneshot?? Too late, here I am with a probable multi-chap pic that idk what I’m doing with because I’m a piece of shit. 

In an Old book she snuck out of Master Yamamoto's quarters, she reads about a child goddess.

It's like reading a fairy tale. Not so long ago, in a place not so far away (maybe, perhaps: how would she know?), there was a country that believed a goddess of some kind would leap into a lovely young girl, inhabiting her body until she first bleeds, menstrual or otherwise. The goddess' spirit then flees to another child, leaving the young girl confused and no longer considered immortal by her people. But until then: the girls lived lavishly, eating whatever they wished, wearing only the finest of jewelry and silks upon their skin and commanding whoever they wanted.

Rukia cannot keep her eyes off one little goddess' picture who can't be older than ten; how beneath the heavy, spiritually metaphorical makeup and gown she looks so convinced, so sure of her position in the world. She truly believes she is her people's salvation. There is so much in common between the two of them it hurts, but moreso: she envies the girl. Faith was such a luxury in the Old World. A whimsy to pick and choose a random child as their deity. To not worry that they got it wrong, because in a few years they'll have another chance.

Rukia has no such leisure, because while the ones around her may consider her a miracle sent from Heaven, the very fate of civilization lies (somewhere) in her blood.

-- He comes to the gates on a cold day, gritting his teeth as he leads a group of five others.

The mist common to the mountain enclosure covers the hills like a blanket, so thick you can only see maybe five feet in front of you. It is a wonder the guards did not mistake him for a Hollow One, seeing how dirty and disheveled he and the others are. Luckily for them all, he is loud, boisterous, yammering on to open the fucking gates, he and his people are tired from climbing all this way, goddamn it! The guards are startled, because 1. To shout unless in emergency is forbidden within any village (even in the mainland), 2. It has been a long, long time since anyone Living tried to come up to the gates, and 3. Who does this man think he is to be just ushered in without issue, when so many before him were turned away?

Master Yamamoto, the soldiers and doctors usher her into the greeting room, where she is heavily veiled and sits directly behind Renji and Ikkaku with Master Yamamoto at the forefront. While he claims it is an act of mercy to let them within the gates, Rukia knows it was in fact only that he was afraid of what the man's shouts might bring.

It had been quite a while since they had seen a swarm of Hollow Ones, but who knows?

They are all lead in, and Rukia is able to scan each of them for herself: three men, one woman and two girls. The men and woman seem about her age, teenagers just on the cusp of adulthood. She tries not to pity the two younger girls, how they clutch each others' hands like a lifeline.

They will not be here long, she knows. Nobody has in a long time.

Master Yamamoto clears his throat. "Good comrades," he starts, eyeing each of them with what seems to be a gentle old man's smile, but Rukia knows it better to be calculating. "We welcome you to our haven, if for just a short time. We hear you have caused quite an uproar outside of our gates.... Frankly, I can't help but think that quite rude, considering what dangers we all know to lie out there. Did you not consider a Hollow One could still follow? Or five? Or twenty?"

A man of the group with glasses steps in front, bowing slightly. "Sir, I apologize for my... Friend next to me, of course he exclaimed without realizing the complication of his actions, we are simply afraid, weary, and hungry--"

"We need jobs." A boy with orange hair steps in front of his friend, and it is here that Rukia truly allows herself to notice these strangers, at least this one, because she pales and shakes and thinks Master Yamamoto's fiction stories are real: ghosts are real, there's one in front of me right there--

She is shaken out of her haunting with Master Yamamoto's scoff. "Clearly you are not from the mainland parts, my son. If you were, you would know that we have no positions  available. We are always sure to come down the mountain when we do."

"You haven't come down the mountain in years--"

"Because we have been blessed enough to not need replacement. Now, I will forgive the trespassing, the commotion too for your youth if you would kindly go back to where you came from--"

"We were attacked. There is no village left to return to."

There is an audible gasp from within the room, and a few frightened sobs echo from a few servants. Some were blessed to have a couple of family members to live up here with them, but most of the newer members--all servants and maids, never the soldiers or doctors--had been providing for their loved ones in the mainland until spots could be open. No longer, Rukia thinks silently as she watches Yamamoto's face remain stoic in the face of yet another tragedy.

He lifts his hand for silence. "My heart mourns for you, comrades. If you are from Karakura, you must know that many of our members here are from your village. We will grieve for their family and friends alike. But there is simply no room, we are short enough on crops and trust alike given the last attack from Hueco Mundo for our Prized One. What we have here is sacred, and we cannot logistically afford another potential betrayal. I am sorry, but you must seek refuge elsewhere. Perhaps Rukongai will take you in."

The leader seems unsurprised, even as the people in his group look disheartened and angry alike. Instead, he pulls a sword from his back, lowering it carefully to the ground at the hostile reaction of the soldiers. He meets Yamamoto's stare the whole way as he rises to his full height again.

"Isshin--my father--sends his regards."

An audible murmer flickers through the room, but Rukia is not paying attention to that: her eyes are on Master Yamamoto's slightly paled expression.

Finally, he clears his throat. "You are Isshin's boy?"

"I am. My sisters are with me as well."

"Then I presume Isshin is...?"

"I don't know. I've been able to come all this way because I don't allow myself to think about it. As the attack was happening he told me to take this up the mountain with a grin on his face, said 'Old Man Yama owes me a debt,' or something. He was fighting them off the last I saw, but I took my friends and sisters and ran and never looked back."

Yamamoto nods slowly throughout, as if he cares. "I see. And do you have fighting capabilities, boy?"  

"I've been training and fighting with this sword since before I knew what it meant."

"And the others? Are they of any use?" He looks at them all carefully.

"They are all versatile in their own ways, which I will only reveal if you give your word to let us stay. All of us."

The men stare hard at one another, until finally--to Rukia's surprise--Yamamoto gets up from his seat with a quick nod. "Very well. You and I will discuss this further in my library. Hinamori, if you would be so kind as to lead our new guests into the west wing. I believe there may be one or two rooms available to rest, however it may need some cleaning and dusting on the way in..."

The guards help Rukia up from her seat and turn her to the direction of her own quarters, but not before she sees the golden haired boy looking at her.

It's a gaze of curiosity, of searching for... Something, but.... It's a look of normalcy, too. Like he's wondering what's so special about her to be wearing the lavish robes and veils she does.

Nobody has really looked that long at her before, either.

Her shoulder throbs.

[gwydionae]

Just Another Tuesday

A/N: Welp. Guess I did another one. The scene in the middle of this was bouncing around endlessly in my head until I wrote it down. Thought I should try and spruce it up and post it before it gets rendered non-canon by episode 85. Still feel a bit strange writing these characters, but hopefully I handled them ok.

Posted on fanfiction.net >here<. Posted on AO3 >here<.

Teaser: Their recent perils really had been his fault. But one look at Paultin was all it ever took to keep Strix from hurling a constant stream of fireballs and obscenities in his direction as her personal form of righteous retribution.  No one should ever be manipulated and forced into killing their own family.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dice, Camera, Action or Dungeons and Dragons. Takes place after episode 84. Rated T for mild language.

Just Another Tuesday

"I hate this place."

The muttered rant had become a mantra for Strix. She'd said it over and over while despairing in Barovia, deep in the depths of Ironslag, and again in the stifling jungles of Chult. So it came as no surprise that her use of the phrase continued in the heart of the Shadowfell, trapped in a dilapidated carriage filled with barmy companions that was being pulled by a hook-handed ogre zombie.

Just another Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Monday? Whatever day it was.

Diagonal from her was Diath, arms folded and head against the window. The frown he wore was so commonplace now, as if permanently carved into his face. Even in his sleep, eyes closed and breathing slow, he looked troubled, fearful of the next thing he was sure to blame himself for. She'd known him longer than anyone, and every time she thought he couldn't get any worse, couldn't be any more hard on himself, something came along to prove her wrong.

Strix hated it. Diath should be jumping around doing somersaults or cartwheels or whatever fancy acrobatics he used to get out of trouble. He had no right to be sitting there so passively, looking like a child waiting to be reprimanded even in his dreams. Calm, collected, decisive, just a bit cocky - these were traits she once associated with him, but that felt like a lifetime ago.

In a way, it was a lifetime ago.

With a muffled whimper, she shook her head and turned her attention to Evelyn who sat next to her, also asleep - Did constructs sleep? Could she dream? - her lowered head bobbing with the movement of the carriage. She'd been doing that a lot lately, sleeping. It was strange, the normally too bright, too vibrant, too lively paladin being so quiet and solemn. When she was awake, she spoke less than usual, and her tone had become strained and melancholy, though she made feeble attempts to hide it.

Strix hated that too. While Evelyn's constant yammering about Lathander was enough to drive even the sanest crazy, the warmth she normally gave off had the power to soften the hardest of hearts. Admitting this out loud wasn't going to happen any time soon, but Strix missed her smile, her optimism. Evelyn shouldn't be sad. She didn't deserve to be sad. None of them did.

Well...

Despite being quite aware that he, at least, was awake, she couldn't be bothered to try and dull the harsh glare she sent Paultin in the seat across from her. However, as soon as it landed on him, it faded, as it always did, discarded with a tired sigh.

Their recent perils really had been his fault. He had chosen to put on that damned ring, ignoring all the warnings and their numerous pleas to take it off. His greed had divided them and dragged them to the Shadowfell, wasting precious time in their quest to free most of their party from the Death Curse, which even now desperately tried to claim them. Miranda was gone, Izek was on their tail, a broken dwarf turned to stone lay at her feet, and on top of all of that, everyone she loved and cared about was a shell of themselves, their hope and light sucked out thanks to remaining in such a dreadful plane for so long.

But one look at Paultin was all it ever took to keep Strix from hurling a constant stream of fireballs and obscenities in his direction as her personal form of righteous retribution.

He was different. Physically, yes, of course, how could she not notice how thin, pale, and horribly Strahd-like he had become under the ring's influence? But it went beyond that. After gulping down an entire pint of ale and smashing the tankard against one of the ice sculptures bearing his face, Paultin hadn't so much as glanced at a wineskin. Instead his eyes focused on nothing, clear but empty, ever staring out the window of the carriage and into the grey wasteland, his arm hanging loosely over Simon who refused to leave his side. There he remained, awake but limp, lost in his own thoughts, never moving. Once or twice she'd anxiously stared at his eyes, waiting impatiently for them to blink just to make sure he was still alive.

Paultin had never been one to hold a deep conversation, but the lively, often insensitive quips that used to fall from his lips so effortlessly were choked down. Now his responses were limited to unintelligible grunts, if any response was given at all. The wit and banter had been cast aside, replaced with suffocating silence.

A very big part of Strix did not want to feel sorry for such a selfish bastard. This had been entirely his own fault. He was to blame. Let him wallow in his guilt! By putting on that ring, he had brought the horror and misery to both him and the rest of their unlucky band. But...

But no one deserved his fate. No one should ever be manipulated and forced into killing their own family, no matter how foolish and greedy their actions.

Well, he was family to her, anyway. As for the reverse -

"Hey."

Strix jumped in her seat, barely stifling a shout of panic at the sudden break in the silence. Blinking rapidly, she looked up at the gaunt man sitting across from her, sure the voice had come from him though there were no outward signs to confirm it. His absent gaze hadn't left the dirty window pane, and he sat motionless as he had since the very first mile, arm still draped over Simon.

Frowning, she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "...what?"

A pregnant pause hung in the carriage, leaving her feeling antsy, wringing her hands and tapping her feet impatiently as she wondered if she'd really even heard anything, until finally Paultin opened his mouth to speak again.

"Promise me something."

A loud sigh escaped her lips as she folded her arms in an attempt to keep them still. His first words in... how long had it been? And the greedy bard wanted something. Because of course he did.

"Promise you what?"

Paultin drew in a long, slow breath before answering. "I want you to promise me that if anything like that happens again - "

"Uh-uh, nope, nope, no - " Her wild hair flew in her face as she began shaking her head, gripping her arms even tighter as she tried to tune out the rest of his words. She knew where this was headed. She was not having this conversation. She would not have this conversation. These would not be the first full words she would hear him say since climbing into this damned carriage!

" - whether it's the Ring of Winter or some other weird piece of shit we find - "

" - no, no, no no no - "

" - I want you to take me down, no hesitation."

" - no, NO! I said, no! I'm not listening to you! Stop it!" Strix reached up to grab her hat, pulling it down over her forehead as she brought her knees up to her chin, her head continuing to shake vigorously, a constant stream of denial pouring from her lips being muffled by her robes. She wasn't sure how long she sat like that before Paultin's voice broke through her defenses.

"Strix, I want you to calm down, and just listen to me for a minute."

Her eyes widened as the bard's words tickled in her ear, seeming to both electrify and calm her body at once, the magic lacing them registering right before she unwillingly gave in, heeding the quiet suggestion. Breathing slowed and sweaty hands unclenched as she at last peeked her head up to look at the one compelling her obedience. For the first time in this entire journey, he was leaning forward, looking at her, and what she saw in his eyes was not emptiness but resolve.

"Look. I need you to do this. Not just for you, not just for them - " he glanced at the - thankfully - still asleep Diath and Evelyn, Simon now looking up at him curiously " - but also for me. That - that was... I can't..."

Strix stared at him in forced but attentive silence, watching as his eyes broke from her's to study the floor, his mouth becoming a thin line, before looking back up, a gaze for once completely unguarded. His carefully built walls cracked as he pushed the rest of his sentence through his teeth, "...I can't go through that again. And I don't want anyone else in here to have to either. I need you to do this."

The rattle of carriage wheels over packed dirt and rock sounded almost deafening as Paultin's words hung in the air like a poisonous mist, leaving Strix's heart to pound and ache in her chest. She chewed on her lip but held his gaze as the magical compulsion wore off, fighting the urge to suddenly polymorph him in retaliation. Perhaps a scrawny, black chicken. Yeah...

She let out a defiant huff. "Why me?"

Leaning back, his eyes flickered over to Diath's sleeping form - "Because he's not strong enough." - before resting on Evelyn - "And she - she shouldn't have to."

That part of her that blamed him, hated him, wanted nothing more than to watch him suffer for his crimes - that same part of her could have agreed so easily. It remembered what happened when she tried talking instead of blasting. It remembered falling into a pool of her own blood, only saved by the uncanny timing of being called away to the Underdark. But that hurt and anger was not her whole, not even the majority, if she was being truly honest with herself.

"I can't promise that."

"Strix - "

"I can't promise I won't hesitate!" Quickly glancing around, she sighed in relief as Diath and Evelyn remained oblivious to the conversation despite her raised voice. She continued on, trying desperately to keep her voice low. "I've told you before - I want to keep this family safe, and that includes you, Paultin. You're my family too. You might be a selfish, greedy bastard with the attention span of a small child, but you're our selfish, greedy bastard. I will always want to save you if it's an option."

Strix paused, averting her gaze as she again began wringing her hands. He was watching her with an intensity she wasn't used to feeling from him, an unreadable expression on his pale face. But finally she forced her head back up, her milky white eyes shining with conviction.

"But there is one thing I can promise, and that is that I won't let you hurt them. Ever. If it comes to that - if you're threatening them - I'll do whatever it takes to stop you, even if I have to throw a hundred fireballs at you. That I promise you."

They both sat still for a moment, eyes locked, until at last Paultin pushed himself back to lean into his seat, his gaze wandering to the ceiling, his intensity slipping away.

"Hn."

A grunt. A grunt? That was the only response he could deign to bestow upon her after saying all that? Strix's knuckles grew white as she ferociously gripped her robes, staring daggers at the listless bard across from her. No. No fireballs. They needed the carriage. She opened her mouth, a barrage of curses at the ready when Paultin's nonchalant voice rang out instead.

"So how did Diath react to the whole 'ice clone pretending to charge at him with the Sunsword' thing? Was his face hilarious? I bet it was hilarious."

Blinking in confusion, Strix slowly dug through her memories until she realized what Paultin was referring to, and took a deep breath. That damned selfish, son of a -

"No, Paultin! It was not 'hilarious'! That stupid clone nearly gave both him and Evelyn heart attacks! ...can constructs even have heart attacks? I - I don't - I don't know! Whatever! Don't you even think about trying something like that again! You hear me, you - you - !"

Strix's diatribe broke off as she realized that her ranting and yelling had finally awoken the rest of their party. They both looked a bit disoriented at the rude awakening, Diath fumbling around for one of his daggers in alarm. Whipping her head back to direct a burning glare at Paultin for provoking her, she noticed something peculiar. Something she hadn't seen in... damn it, how long had it been!?

The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Paultin's mouth. It wasn't vindictive or brimming with madness; it simply held a vague sense of amusement, like a child first discovering an adult's aversion to the word "poop".

He looked back at her calmly. "No promises."

The old, casual response was equal parts comforting and infuriating.

"What - what's goin' on? You two ok?"

Strix whirled on the innocent figure beside her. "No, Evelyn, I am not ok! I hate this place! It's dead and depressing and makes everyone barmy!"

Valiant attempts were made to quell her tirade by her now very much awake and confused companions, but none succeeded. All of the "calm downs" and "what happeneds" only made her more upset as that smug bastard who was the cause of everthing just sat there not paying any attention as he strummed away on his... on his mandolin...

Even the sounds of the carriage trundling along seemed to disappear as the quiet music drifted throughout the cabin. It wasn't his usual jaunty tune, meant to incite merriment and distract from the harshness of life, but rather a soft, calming melody, and as Strix studied him closer, she could see his hands shaking ever so slightly, the look on his face one of solemn concentration. Whether it was from a lack of playing the instrument or something deeper she would probably never know.

Paultin continued to play. Diath relaxed. Evelyn smiled. Simon watched the bard's hands, entranced. And Strix simply listened quietly, wishing vaguely that he had chosen the bagpipes instead. She'd always liked those.

Just another Tuesday.

A/N: As always, critics and grammar police are appreciated!

[rrrawrf-writes]

stuff i wrote at work 8.1

“Well, that’s a shame.” Eli squinted through the binoculars at the beautiful brindled dog padding inside the chain-link fence; she was followed by a lean figure in digitized camouflage, hefting a rifle. “Hey, MC, you recognize that dog?”

He passed the binoculars to Sam as Mickey spluttered over the earpiece. “Are you serious? It’s that mutt?”

“Ha, I know. Small world, huh?”

“Wait,” Sam interrupted, “these guys are US military.”

“Yup.”

“We’re going up against MUGD?”

“Yeah.”

Sam gave Eli a look of disbelief. “That’s - That’s insane. Isn’t this treason?”

Eli reached over to give Sam a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Not really, because this place isn’t supposed to exist, so we won’t get in trouble for busting in.”

“Of course,” rumbled Hertz over the shared channel, “that means they can torture, kill, and dump our bodies in the middle of the desert without anyone know, and they won’t get in trouble, either.”

Eli sighed at the look on Sam’s face. “You’re not helping, boss,” he said to the empty night air in front of him. He quietly worked a rock from where it dug into his belly; he and Sam both lay stomach-down on a ridge above the unmarked military encampment.

“Quit yammering,” Hertz replied. “You recognize that dog?”

“Yes, sir.” Eli wished he hadn’t; the dog’s owner had seemed nice enough, even if his puppy had kept trying to chew Eli’s arm off. “Belongs to Rhiot Archer, a MUGD soldier. We only met once, spent some time in a holding cell together. Nice kid, but he kinda falls apart without his dog. Ha, get this, he bit a cop because the guy kicked his dog, can you believe that?”

Hertz, not at all interested, asked, “Power?”

“We don’t know, sir,” Mickey chimed in. “I looked him up afterwards, but all his records are sealed up extra tight, even for being mugged. There wasn’t any reason to look further.”

“Hmm. All right, then.” Hertz fell silent, and Eli shifted. He felt a little bad for what was about to happen to Rhiot. The poor kid probably didn’t even have any idea of what he was guarding out here.

Rocks and grit crunched underneath Eli’s body as he tried to get comfortable; dust was working its way into every inch of his clothing. The silence stretched out for so long that Eli and Sam both startled when Scopes’ voice crackled into their earpieces.

“All scouted out,” she reported. “Only a dozen soldiers in the whole place - the rest of ‘em are on patrol, I think. Four walking the perimeter, not including the dog. Target is in the center building, in the basement. Two guards with him. Three more in the break room, the last three are watching the gates.”

“Sounds like a piece of cake,” Hertz said. “Plan stays the same. Move out.”

To Eli’s mingled delight and consternation, he and Sam were assigned the south side of the base, where Rhiot and his dog patrolled the fence. He hoisted Sam up on his shoulders, while his teammate clipped away coils of barbed wire. Sam dropped them on Eli’s head before scrambling over the top of the fence.

Sighing, Eli followed suit. He still straddled the top of the fence when he heard a snarl and a pained shout.

The moment Sam had dropped to the ground, Rhiot’s dog had barreled out of the darkness. It latched onto Sam’s arm and dragged him to the ground in seconds. Eli awkwardly tumbled off the fence, aiming for the side so that he would crush the dog - and Sam, he supposed.

“Montoya!” Sam’s voice was strangled and pained as he tried to shove the dog off with his free hand.

“Right, I’m coming, hold on.” Eli brushed one of the studs in his ears as he climbed to his feet; the sheen of titanium swept over his skin. Eli felt pounds heavier, but he was careful as he wrapped his arms around the dog’s middle.

“Aw, c’mon, girl,” Eli crooned, wishing he could remember the dog’s name. She still had her fangs set deep into Sam’s arm; blood and slobber welled up around her mouth. Carefully, he worked his metal hand into her mouth, until Sam could finally wrench his arm free.

“-----, that hurts,” Sam hissed. He scrambled to his feet; before he had even steadied himself against the fence, the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. The dog went slack in Eli’s arms, her legs dangling off the ground and her dark eyes fixed on Sam’s arm as the red bite wounds healed over. A second later, bullets slammed into Eli and Sam both.

Eli dropped the dog in surprise; she disappeared into the shadows. Sam wasted no time in ducking behind Eli, using the larger man as a shield from the gunfire.

“Guess they found you,” Hertz muttered dryly, his voice crackly over the earpiece. Eli didn’t have a chance to answer - a crack! of electricity hit the fence behind him.

“K!” Sam snarled, while Eli wondered why she was even on this side of the base - Kawai was supposed to be with Hertz on the opposite end of the compound. He realized a moment later that it wasn’t Kawai at all.

Eli and Sam had been chosen to run interference; out of the team, they were the most indestructible. Sam wasn’t fond of being a bullet magnet, but Hertz was in charge, and didn’t much care to think of his teammembers as anything other than tools.

So Sam and Eli had resigned themselves to being shot at all night, until Hertz and Kawai broke out the prisoner. No one had said anything about a soldier with electricity powers.

Both MUGD soldiers carried rifles, but only Rhiot was actually using his, aiming right at Eli. The dog crouched at Rhiot’s feet while his friend - short, but stocky - approached them from the side. Crackles of electricity ran around his hands and feet, sparking across his shoulders.

“You get Zappy,” Eli decided.

“What?” Sam said. “No, I don’t want -”

“Too late.” Eli was already dashing for Rhiot. Sam swore and started to follow after, but Zappy, eager to prevent his teammate from being outnumbered, intercepted him.

Rhiot fired off several more rounds, but they left nothing more than deep bruises against Eli’s skin. Just before he could get close enough to grapple with Rhiot, the dog darted right in front of Eli. Too late, he saw the glint of moonlight on a metal chain stretched out between the dog and the fence, right at knee-height.

Eli plowed face-first into the ground. A high-pitched yelp came from the dog as Eli’s momentum jerked her forward. He started to get back to his feet, or tried to - the dog jumped over his back, trailing the chain, and only tangled him up further.

He had no idea where Sam and the other soldier had gone; he heard the former swearing up a storm from somewhere out of sight. As Eli struggled to his feet, he realized two very important things.

Only two soldiers were here. Every protocol Eli and Hertz knew of stated that Rhiot and his buddy should have called immediately for backup. Scopes had reported on twelve soldiers - but Rhiot hadn’t even touched his radio.

The second thing, Eli realized as Rhiot shot him half-a-dozen more times, was that he hadn’t heard a single voice over his comm since the fight started. Usually, Mickey wouldn’t shut up on a job - and now, all Eli heard over the sound of gunfire was static.

He finally fought his way up to his feet, kicking off the chain. “Look,” he told Rhiot, hands up in a pleading manner, “shooting me obviously isn’t helping. You owe me, kiddo, why don’t you just calm down? We’re not here to hurt anyone.”

Eli was close enough to see Rhiot’s crooked smile. It was almost apologetic.

“Right, yeah, see, that’s why I didn’t let Palamo at you,” he said, and dropped his weapon so that it hung from his shoulder. He raised his fists instead, and beckoned to Eli. “Come at me, bro.”

Eli looked at Rhiot for a long moment, his earpiece buzzing with static in one ear, then stared pointedly down at himself. “You, uh, you have a death wish?”

The answering grin made Eli uneasy about the poor kid’s psyche. His dog sat down off to the side, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she watched.

“Come on, Flower Metal,” Rhiot said, as the lull grew longer.

“Flower Metal?” Eli repeated, nonplussed, but with a sigh, he lumbered forward.

Rhiot didn’t even try. He let Eli pick him up and shove him into the fence. Eli arched his eyebrows at the younger, smaller soldier.

“Maybe you should’ve let Palamo at me after all,” he suggested. Rhiot grinned at him from where he was being held several inches off the ground.

“Palamo can’t do this,” Rhiot said. Eli blinked, and then swore at the sensation of someone smashing a battering ram into his brain.

Images assaulted him - as did sounds, smells, even the coppery taste of electricity. Eli let go of Rhiot, and felt the strangest sensation, as if he were the one dropping to the ground. He even felt his feet hit the dirt - but he was still standing, he hadn’t moved, what was happening -

“What the hell?” Eli heard his own voice echoing in the back of his head, and briefly saw his own confused expression - and a dozen other things, all at once, overlapping themselves and expanding his vision beyond his own two eyes.

“Hey, man,” said a breathless voice - a woman’s, and the jolting view of a hallway came to the forefront, as if Eli were running. He could feel the faded thumps of a rifle bouncing against his hip, even though he carried only pistols. “Don’t cuss, Archie doesn’t like it.”

“What the f-”

Rhiot rammed into Eli’s chest, making the big man stumble. The soldier winced and rubbed his shoulder; Eli felt a shadowy tinge of pain in his own.

“Geez, that hurt.” Rhiot looked at Eli again - and Eli saw himself. “Sit down, dude. Mercy, Palamo, I’m gonna cut you out for a second. Poor guy’s wigging out.”

“Fine,” two people said in unison. Eli got flashes of the hallway before it disappeared - and one quick view of Sam, huddled on the ground. Eli lurched forward to help - but it was Rhiot in front of him, not his teammate.

He evaded Eli with ease. “Little better?” Rhiot asked kindly, then added, “Anyone who can, close your eyes.”

“What’d you do to West!” Eli swung a heavy fist at Rhiot - and flinched when he saw it coming at himself. More images and sensations disappeared, but Eli was still disoriented and confused.

“Look at your hands,” Rhiot suggested, “count your fingers. Just focus on what you can see, it’ll make things easier.”

Instead of doing any of that, Eli lunged for Rhiot. “Get out of my head!”

Rhiot was too quick. He skipped away, and part of Eli’s vision wheeled.

“Hey,” said a low, alto voice, “tell your friend to calm down.”

Eli didn’t realize the new voice wasn’t talking to him until Rhiot ducked around, grabbed his coat sleeve, and gave Eli a good shove, using the man’s momentum against him. Eli ate dirt for the second time that night, and  when he blinked and pushed himself to his hands and knees, saw that he was looking at a familiar mess of sandy brown hair.

“The hell are you talking about?” Mickey demanded peevishly, their voice muttered as if Eli heard it from the other end of a long tunnel.

They still sat in the back of their van, a good mile and a half away, with their hands on the back of their head. Mickey’s headset had been pulled off and tossed to the side. Eli saw a rifle muzzle jammed into the back of Mickey’s neck - he could feel it in his hands, even though his palms were currently pressed flat into the dirt.

“You get it now?” Rhiot asked, squatting down just out of Eli’s reach. Eli pushed himself up to his knees and stared at Rhiot - and Mickey, and himself, and an empty desert stretching out ahead of him. It was getting easier to handle the jumbled flood of sensations, but Eli didn’t quite trust himself to act.

After a long moment of silence, Rhiot grinned.

“All right, then. Let’s go pick up the rest of your team.”

[angrybrowngirlabroad-blog]

Hiatus and the Cascadas Magicas

I am really behind on this blog.  Like, really really behind.  Like over a year behind.  But I haven’t felt motivated to post super frequent updates because I have actually been in the same place for awhile (Guatemala) and while I have been going on adventures in Guatemala, I’ve also spent time just....being.  I’ve split my time between Lake Atitlan, Antigua, and San Diego for the last year, returning to California twice for work, and it has been lovely.  The time I spent in Lake Atitlan and Antigua were periods of deep introspection, instead of moving from place to place on the outside, I moved from place to place within.  I had the time and the space to focus on myself, to try new things, to work on myself, to learn and to heal.  After a year, half spent in California and half in Guatemala, I’ve grown a lot.  My Spanish is vastly improved by the month of private lessons I took in Antigua.  My soul is greatly improved by searching out new ventures at Lake Atitlan, and overall, my time spent here has had a wonderful effect on my overall.  However, I am feeling the pull of the road again, which means I have to do a write up of both my last days in Mexico and my time in Guatemala before I’m off to new countries and new adventures.  So let me catch you up on the end of 2016 and how I ended up where I am today.

Last we left our intrepid adventurers (Elene, Chris, Matteo and I) we were on our way from the only naked beach in Mexico, Zipolite, Huatulco.  Zipolite was small, the surf was brutal, but I could not pass the chance to be naked on a beach, and neither could Elena.  The boys kept their shorts on, but she and I frolicked in the waves, naked as jaybirds as the old saying goes.  Honestly, I prefer to swim naked if given the chance, it reduces the possibility of sand getting trapped in....places, so I relished this rare opportunity before we moved onto the city. Huatulco is a big, tourist-y city, so not my favorite kind of place, but we figured we’d stay a few days and see what there was to offer.  We went to many of the beaches, but I found them not nearly as interesting as the reefs of Mazunte or the rock formations on the shores of Puerto Escondido.  The real beauty of Hualtulco was in it’s nature preserves and it’s waterfalls.  On the way to Huatulco, and on the road to many of the beaches, were nature preserves that were home to magnificent tropical birds of a variety of species.  They would fly overhead, some with long tail feathers fluttering behind them, perching in trees and yelling to each other in tongues we could not hope to understand.  Every day I saw bird species I had never seen or heard from before, and I found myself reaching for my phone to figure out what to call these strange creatures before me.

When we weren’t chasing beaches and birds, we went chasing waterfalls.  About an hour and a half outside Huatulco were the Cascadas Magicas (magical waterfalls for those who are not studying Spanish).  I read conflicting reports about getting there, the roads were bad, the roads were good, take a guide, don’t take a guide, but my trusty hatchback had made it over everything so far, so it was decided that we would take my car and I would drive us to these waterfalls. The four of us piled in around noon and set off to find the waterfalls.  The driving instructions we had found were pretty clear, until they weren’t.  Getting the majority of the way there was fine, and we went from paved road to dirt, then passed through what appeared to be the entrance of some sort of park, and dirt gave way to dirt road covered in small rocks and steep hills.  I even had to take my little Diablito that hung off my rearview mirror down because she was swinging so wildly I worried that she might break when she hit the windshield.  Still, after much up and down, over and around, we came to a clearing and a place to park the car.  After that, we started down a beautiful trail that ran next to a stream.

The four of us headed down the trail, stepping around the thick roots of the tall trees that formed the canopy overhead.  Everywhere there were butterflies, brightly colored, a myriad of sizes, flitting about and landing on the damp trail.  The stream next to us began to widen and as it did it took on an unearthly hue that I would eventually discover was common in bodies of water in this part of the world.  I marveled at the color, nothing back in California looked quite like it, and stopped for a few photos before we headed further upstream.

Further upstream the creek widened, and then we began to see the falls.  They rose in a series, plateuing above each other, flowing into pools, all the same opalescent turquoise color.  We also noticed we weren’t the only one’s there as a Mexican family was frolicking in the pools and taking photos as well.  Near these pools there was a little structure with benches and shelves where we could place our belongings.  After stripping down and setting our stuff down, we hit the pleasantly cool water.

The various falls and pools offered a lot to explore, there was a section of cave that the water flowed through that you could climb through with the aide of ropes to keep you from falling.  There were various falls, rocks to jump off of, pools to swim in.  There was even a rope swing suspended from a tree that we took turns jumping off of.  It felt like a naturally made water park, and the fun and welcome break from the heat was well worth the rocky drive there.

Once we were done mucking about in the pools we went to collect our belongings and head on.  The waterfalls we had played in weren’t the only ones in the park, and we were enticed away by the promise of a 100ft waterfall down another rocky road.  As we were dressing we struck up casual conversation with the family that was there, they had a guide and, I guess as part of the way he was entertaining the family, gestured to my tattoos.  The next thing I knew the family was standing around me while the woman who I took to be the matriarch, commented on my back piece (for those who don’t know, my entire back is covered with a black and grey steampunk wing design).  Some of the family members seemed like they didn’t know what to do, but the grandmother complemented the design over and over again, “Que padrissimo,” she exclaimed, (”que padre” is Mexico specific slang meaning “that’s cool,” basically the woman was saying that she thought my back piece was “very cool.”).  It was an awkward moment for me because my Spanish was very limited at that time, and so I wasn’t quite sure what the family members were saying as they stood around me, but once I heard that, and realized I had the matriarch’s approval, I didn’t care about the rest of them so much.

I want to take this moment to note that as far as tattoos go, I was not the only one in our group that had them.  In fact, I would argue that Chris probably has the same amount of ink as I do if we’re talking about just the amount of skin covered.  But one thing I have learned while travelling through Mexico is that tattooed women are not as common in that country as I might have assumed.  Many of the women who I have befriended on my travels through Mexico have said the same thing, that they would love to get tattoos, but their parents would disown them.  When I began to understand the strong cultural disapproval of tattoos on women, I began to understand why I stuck out wherever I went.  While I look like I am from Mexico, and indeed people would approach me speaking rapid-fire Spanish as if I had been born there, I was also marked in a way that most Mexican woman weren’t.  These moments, of Mexican people coming up to me to talk to me about my tattoos, happened again and again over my time in the country.  And while people were generally very respectful (it was rare that anyone tried to touch my tattoos), and usually gave me compliments I only half-understood, I still never really got used to that “under the microscope” feeling.

Still, the family was lovely, and I thanked them for their kind words, before we got on our way.  Back at the car we agreed to give a man who worked in the park a ride back down to the main road and, in turn, he said he would lead us to the largest of the cascadas magicas.  The road to the largest waterfall was no less rocky or steep, but I could feel my little engine that could struggling a bit more under the weight of one more passenger.  As the boys yammered to each other in the back seat in Spanish, I focused on getting us over he next hill without one of us having to walk.  The faithful hatchback did it’s duty, and after parking on the side of the road and a ten minute walk, I found myself staring at the grandest waterfall we had laid eyes on that day, well worth the detour.

The fall was beautiful, but this was clearly not a place to swim under threat of painful death, so after a few minutes admiring the scenery we were climbing up the many stairs to the road again.  After this it was a lot of uphill and downhill, retracing our steps until we brought our passenger to the town near the main road.  We took a moment, after seeing him off, to check out the local vendors selling delicious Oaxacan chocolate and mezcal.  There was a table set up with more types and flavors of mezcal than I had ever seen and the vendor eagerly offered us tastes of the bottles he had already opened.  I tried a few, curiously, but, unfortunately, the one I was most interested in was not open.  There was mezcal, double distilled mezcal, mezcal with a scorpion in the bottle, vanilla cream mezcal, coffee mezcal, maracuya (a type of fruit) mezcal, but the one I was curious about (but not willing to buy if I could not have a taste) was a bottle full of emerald green mezcal in which pieces of an unidentifiable herb, garlic, and scorpions sat.  To this day I regret it because, even if it had tasted terrible, how often in your life are you going to get to say “I drank garlic, herb, scorpion mezcal”?  

I ended up picking up a bottle of double distilled mezcal to take back to the states.  My companions selected a few delicious chocolate-y treats and then we were on the road back to Huatulco.  On the way back we came around a bend in the road and saw a beautiful scene of sun cutting through clouds above the jungle floor.  I paused so we could take it in. Even after a day of incredible sights it seemed that Oaxaca was not done showing us its charms.  Tired and cheery we made the rest of the way back to the hostel munching on chocolate and contemplating our next map point.