#i love birds so this actually sounds like a good time. bury me in pigeons baby i wanna be friends with the local bird populace

[lightpickles]

ma'am???

[lupismaris]

Blackberry Crepes- silverflintham black sails modern au ficlet

(i saw a few posts about how love is sharing food and making breakfast for your loved ones and lets just say this is part 1 of a series in which Flint cooks for his loved ones when saying i love you might not be enough)

Sleep was something of a stranger to Silver. He liked to joke that he didn’t need it, that he could just cat nap for half an hour here and there, and be good for a few days, that he was just built different, the perks of life on the run and never having a real routine. But in truth he’d push himself until his body gave out and he slept for 18 hours and woke up feeling like death warmed over. That was the only way he’d be able to get any real sleep. Pushing himself to the point of exhaustion, or, as he had eventually learned with Flint and Thomas, getting well and truly laid until his brain shut off and his body felt like lead.   He preferred the latter, of course, but it still wasn’t something he felt he could readily ask for. Especially when it wasn’t enough to keep his mind quiet. Dreams, nightmares, they’re funny things. You can think you’re too tired to dream and then on your way into an REM cycle you get blind sided by the most vivid night terror you’ve had in the past three months. You could be napping on the couch when the phantom limb starts acting up and your mind conjures memories of when you lost it or just vague ideas of what life would be like if you hadn’t and you wake up unable to tell which is worse. You could be strung out and coming down from an orgasmic high and then feel your stomach drop when you finally fall asleep and your mind tells you it isn’t safe, jolting you violently back to consciousness. Or you could be dozing in the early morning hours, the way Silver had been, after a good night, a genuinely good night, and find yourself halfway between deep sleep and waking, faced with fears you’d buried so far deep you hoped they’d suffocate. They’d gone to dinner, on a date even. Flint and Thomas had made a point to be home and get dressed up and take him out on the town and pay complete attention to him, like he was just a normal lover and not, well, himself. It was still an adjustment for him, this idea that he could just have this, a normal relationship with men who actually wanted him, where using each other wasn’t part of it, where the end game wasn’t someone’s bank account or an act of violence, where there wasn’t even an end game to consider. By the end of July the charms of summer had started to wear thin, even for Silver, and he was tired of the heat and the mirror like cage of the city, he was tired of the long days and the long conversations and the longer shadows on the blistering asphalt. He was tired of the haze that made his mind question what was and wasn’t real, despite knowing what was. It left him on edge and he knew Flint could tell, no matter how hard he worked to hide it. If Thomas knew, he was at least polite enough not to give it away. Dinner had been lovely. A little Spanish place by the promenade, followed by a short walk since the evening was cooler than expected and a breeze of the Hudson meant it was almost blissful. There had been wine and Flint’s homemade limoncello tarts when they got home and endless lazy kisses and one of them always touching him as if trying to keep him tethered. There had been sex, great sex, not that Silver had ever had bad sex with the pair of them (the smug rotten bastards), but the kind where Silver had been able to let go and drown in it for a while, let someone else carry the load, and do the thinking for a while. It still hadn’t been enough.

Silver sighed, a cloud of smoke curling around his face as he watched the rooftops shift and glimmer in the faded teal skies of four am, his second cigarette of the hour dangling somewhat carelessly from his fingers. He had tried, valiantly he felt, to stay in bed with Flint and Thomas, to sleep curled up with them the way Flint always hoped he would after sex. Some nights it worked and he’d wake up when Flint went for his blasphemous morning run. Most nights though he’d wait until Thomas was out cold and snoring like a bear, then kiss Flint goodnight, and slip back to his room next door. He’d fallen asleep tucked into Flint’s chest, with Flint’s arm around him and the deep rumble of his breathing filling his ears. Thomas was spooned up behind Flint, clinging to his husband like a child and snoring loudly, but that too was somehow comforting. He was safe, he was loved, he was home. And suddenly the next thing Silver knew he was choking on nothing and fighting the air, sitting bolt upright in bed with a wordless, noiseless scream of fear. The only saving grace was that it didn’t wake the others, Thomas still sound asleep and curled up under the covers, Flint spooned up behind him, years younger in sleep, a different man. Silver had sat there shaking for some time, half an hour, five minutes, he couldn’t be sure. Once he could breathe without wheezing and his hands had stopped shaking violently, he steadied himself and slipped out of bed, grabbing his crutch from where it rested dutifully against the nightstand. There wasn’t much he was good at in life, but John Silver had always been good at running. This wasn’t any different. Now, he was wrapped in an old blanket, hidden away on the roof where he’d been putting together his own little makeshift garden. Plants that he’d found half dead or dying on the curb, abandoned succulents from friends, houseplants he found on discount at the hardware store that he’d barter down to a dollar. He liked the distance heights gave him, always had, was always climbing things as a kid to try and get a better view, try to hide away from prying eyes. It was harder now that he had the prosthetic, but the elevator could take him up to the loft, and the stairs to the roof weren’t too steep, so he could manage them with his crutch. It wasn’t that he didn’t love the little patch of green paradise that Flint and Thomas had nurtured down below, he loved it and the time they spent there. But this- this little scrap of roof top, with it’s homemade shelves of plywood and resurrected plants, was his. Silver took another drag from his cigarette and watched a flock of pigeons shift their course in flight, heading west towards Manhattan where the morning crowds were no doubt slowly beginning to stir. Even on Saturdays, the city got a bright and early start if it ever truly decided to rest. He could hear tidbits of conversation from his perch, voices carried up to him like secrets as their owners walked past, heading home from work, from a night out, leaving home to go to work, whatever their little lives demanded, existing in spite of themselves, for themselves. Cars hummed past, cabbies and uber drivers trying to catch the last of the club goers as they left the bars in search of a trip home, picking up the true early bird tourists as they tried to beat the others to some absurd event or another. He could even hear music, someone’s window open on their block he thought, and the faint repetitive sound of a piano as they worked through their scales. Maybe he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. The neighborhood would be well and truly awake soon. The running group would be on the corner waiting for the stragglers, hitting the asphalt by five am. The store fronts and bodegas would start opening up around six, the bars by eight if they served brunch, and the world would come to life at Silver’s feet. He had until then to quiet the noise in his head and remember how to put his mask back on. The sound of the door nearly gave him a heart attack. He thought for a moment that maybe, if he kept still, he’d go unnoticed, they the sparse shelves and plants and the blanket might hide him well enough that Flint, because it was always Flint, would go back down stairs and go for his morning run and leave him well enough alone. But he knew better. “Do I want to know how long you’ve been up here?” came the sleep heavy rumble of a voice. “Depends on whether you want to be disappointed this early in the morning,” Silver replied dryly. And there it was, the telltale sigh of disappointment, because Flint was going to be disappointed no matter what answer he got. “Silver-” “I don’t want to do this right now.” “Do what?” Silver sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He heard Flint move across the roof, the soft footsteps of bare feet on the weatherproof matting slow and well chosen, stopping next to him. “This thing you do where you try and bully answers out of me. I don’t fucking feel up to these games, alright? I just- I don’t,” Silver said, risking a look upwards. Flint was shirtless, as he always was when fresh out of bed, but he’d pulled on a pair of old sweatpants before going to look for Silver. He’d left his hair loose, the rich copper strands hanging in a curtain around the left side of his face, the shaved under cut peaking out along the right. Silver could still see the pillow prints on his cheek, and his beard was disgruntled and unbrushed the way it rarely was when he left the house. Silver loved him like this, he loved Flint always, but there was something about Flint like this, soft and at ease, bare chested and vulnerable that managed to settle even the worst of Silver’s deep seated insecurities. Because who else got to have Flint like this? Who else but Silver and Thomas got Flint at his gentlest? They looked at each other for a moment, Flint frowning softly with his hands on his hips and Silver wrapped up in his blanket, saying nothing, saying everything they could. Then Flint sighed and sat down next to him. “I’m not here to bully you,” he said gently, taking the cigarette that Silver was neglecting. “You were gone when I woke up, thought I’d check on you,” He paused, relighting the cigarette with his trusty old lighter, “but as you were not in your room I figured something was bothering you and you’d be either working in the office or up here.” “You didn’t have to check on me.” “It was for my sake, not yours.” Silver smiled faintly, his eyes stinging from what he hoped was just exhaustion but was probably tears. He didn’t look at Flint, just blinked them away and watched the sky lighten little by little as Flint finished the cigarette. “You know that’s not what I’m doing, right?” Flint asked after a few minutes of silence. “Whats not what you’re doing?” “Bullying you.” “I mean it’s kinda what you do.” “Is that how you see it?” Flint wasn’t looking at him. He was reaching for the French enamel cigarette case that was sitting next to Silver, one he’d stolen in Monaco several lives before, and lighting another cigarette. Silver watched him, a little wistful, and incredibly exhausted all at once. “No.” He said. “Yes. Depends on when you try and do it I guess.” That got a low hum from Flint, smoke filling the air for a moment in a pensive cloud. Silver waited, oddly tense, hoping that Flint would listen to him, and not try and play one of their fucked up little games so early in the morning. They were doing really well these days, not playing any games at all, having real, honest conversations like well adjusted adults who hadn’t done all the awful things they’d done, to each other, to others. But sometimes it was so much easier to just be awful to each other, to fall back into the old way of doing things. “I only check on you to know you’re still here,” Flint said finally. “I only ask if you’re alright because if I can fix it, I want to. I don’t care if you lie to me about what had you out of bed this morning. I don’t give a shit if you never tell me the names of your ghosts, I’ve told you that a dozen times, I know you remember that as well as you remember the names of my own ghosts.” Silver did remember, both the ghosts, and the plaintive way Flint had asked him to trust whatever it was they had between them. “I just want to know you’re still here. That you’ve not gone running off again. That you’ll run to me next time this,” he waved at the rooftop and the skyline as if encompassing all of Silver’s faulty coping methods, “fails and you’re out at sea. I just- I ask those questions to reassure myself, alright?” He paused, taking another drag from the cigarette, tipping his head back with a heavy sigh. Silver could see the age starting to show on his face again, in the soft lines around his eyes, the firm set of his mouth, the scars on his nose and throat, the endless sea of freckles, the faded ink of his tattoos, the streaks of gray in his beard. Before his eyes, the man he loved, his Flint, was appearing, returning to flesh and blood from the land of dreams. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, pup,” Flint added, finally turning his head and catching Silver looking at him. The sea green of Flint’s eyes always seemed to hook Silver, regardless of whether he wanted them to. They could be the deep inky black full of secrets or the still gray of quiet waters, it didn’t matter- if Flint looked at him, soft and open and endlessly patient the way no one else was, Silver would eventually break. Flint knew it, but so far, he never seemed to abuse the power he held. Silver smiled faintly. With a soft groan he shifted onto his knees, loving the way Flint’s hands immediately reached to steady him whether he needed it or not, and crawled into Flint’s lap, straddling his hips and wrapping the worn blanket around them both. He took the cigarette from Flint’s lips and stubbed it out in the ashtray, as Flints hands settled like an anchor, warm and sure, at the small of his back. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, old man,” Silver said, brushing Flint’s hair out of his eyes, “I promised you were stuck with me. No amount of nightmares are gonna change that.” He kissed Flint softly, smiling at the low rumbling purr it got him, at the way Flint’s hands pulled him closer, spread wide on his back. It was a soft, innocent thing, no heat, no hunger, and that too was still something novel to Silver, that he could have this innocent kind of intimacy with someone, with a man like Flint. He craved it as much as he craved the wilder side of love and was grateful that Flint seemed happy to satisfy both moods whenever they arose. “Good,” Flint said, once the lazy kiss broke and Silver tucked his face into Flint’s shoulder with a happy sound. “Because while I would absolutely give chase, I’d rather not have Thomas trailing after us as well. You know the kind of trouble he gets up to, just imagine him trying to find you.” Silver snorted with an undignified burst of laughter. “No, god, he’d be impossible.” “Exactly. I’d have my hands full just trying to keep him in one piece. I’ve got enough gray hair as it is, pup, don’t go giving me anymore before my time, alright?” Flint lifted his chin as Silver’s fingers petted the gray streaks in his beard, letting out another soft rumbling sound. “Alright. Though I do think it’s sexy.” “Yeah yeah, you’ve made that perfectly clear,” Flint kissed the top of Silver’s head, nuzzling his messy curls. “C’mon, why don’t we head inside, I think it’s a reasonable time for coffee.” “What about your run? Your awful five am morning ritual I can almost never talk you out of even for a blow job.” “I feel like skipping this morning.” Silver lifted his head, leveling Flint with a skeptical look and a raised eyebrow. Flint returned it with a fond smile. “Its Saturday, I feel like making breakfast,” Flint said with a shrug. I love you, Silver heard. “Can we have blackberry crepes? And scrambled eggs?” Silver asked after a moment. “And that fancy bacon you got from the farmer’s market?” Flint smiled, still fond and impossibly warm. Silver’s heart skipped, flipped, and settled in his chest. Flint had heard the unspoken, skittish, and undeniable “I love you too” tucked into Silver’s reply. Flint coaxed him into another soft kiss, still wearing that same smile.

  “Blackberry crepes it is.”

[celestialtitania]

Une Rose Pour Toi

Thank you to CoffeeBanana for betaing. Written for Day 3: Dirt of Marichat May. Can also read on AO3. @marichatmay

Marinette waved to Alya as her best friend took her sisters back home so that she could leave her sisters with Nora and get to her date with Nino.

"It was nice to get ice cream with Alya," Tikki piped up, making Marinette giggle.

"I'm sure you thought so," She teased her kwami, making Tikki giggle. There was no end to Tikki's sweet tooth and they both knew it. "Come on, let's take the shortcut through the park."

They were halfway across the park when Marinette noticed something rather peculiar. "Why is everyone staring over there?" People were watching and whispering to each other about something that was happening in the farthest part of the park.

"I don't know but we'd better check it out!" Tikki responded and Marinette nodded back at her resolutely. She quickly ran to see what was so curious, only to stop and stare herself.

"Chat Noir?" Marinette's jaw dropped. The feline superhero was digging holes in the darkest corner of the park, shovel in hand. He paused to look up at her, a grin overtaking his face when he saw her.

"Marinette!" He waved excitedly before pausing. "Um, hello civilian. What are you doing here?"

Marinette resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What was the point of calling her a civilian after he'd already called her by name? "I'm heading home, what are you doing with that shovel?"

Chat Noir looked between her and the shovel, seeming nervous.

"Don't tell me you're here to collect some squirrel you buried," Marinette joked, making Chat Noir laugh out loud.

"It's a bird, actually," he whispered conspiratorially. "It's a present for Ladybug, you think she'll like it?"

Marinette was torn between laughing and groaning. "It better not be a pigeon, you wouldn't want to deal with Mr. Pigeon again," she decided to joke back.

"I like you, Marinette. You're clawfully amewsing," he complimented.

"Two puns in one sentence? You clearly take the whole cat thing very seriously." Chat bowed to her and Marinette shook her head. "Don't think I don't realize you're trying to distract me. What are you actually up to?"

Chat hesitated before sighing. "Oh, alright. I'll tell you since you were the only one brave enough to ask." He moved over to reveal a row of plants. "Rose bushes, I've always wanted a garden of my own."

"I didn't know cats could keep gardens," Marinette joked, her eyes still on the plants. "Why roses?"

"I'll have you know that cats are expert gardeners," Chat Noir sniffed. He bent down to run his fingers across one of the leaves of the rose bush. "As for why the roses," Chat bit his lip, clearly looking for a way out of telling her.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Marinette told him. She didn't want to pressure him into revealing his secrets to her.

He gave her a soft smile before shaking his head. "No, if it's you then I don't mind saying it." Marinette blinked before moving closer to Chat and laid a hand on his shoulder. She was privately quite touched that her civilian self had made such a good impression on Chat that he was willing to put so much trust in her.

"These are my mother's favourite flowers, you see. I wanted to plant them in her memory. You see, I'm not really allowed to spend time in the garden at home, but I really wanted to be the one who takes care of them."

"Oh, Chat, that is so sweet of you," Marinette flung her arms around Chat Noir, trying to provide him with as much comfort and support as she could.

"Thanks, Marinette." Chat sent her another smile and Marinette would deny it to the ends of the Earth, but in that moment, her heart skipped a beat. She let go of him and turned around, only to almost fall into one of the holes Chat Noir had dug.

"Woah!" She teetered on the edge, managing to get her balance just in time. "Chat! Why are these holes so big?" She squatted to see just how wide it was and was even more surprised to see how deep the hole was. "These are for planting bushes? This is almost 30 cm deep!"

"Yeah?" Chat sounded puzzled. "Why what's wrong? Isn't this how you're supposed to do it?"

Marinette stared at him. "Um...have you ever gardened before?" Chat shook his head, looking completely lost.

"You decided to plant several rose bushes by yourself without researching or anything when you've never done it before?" Chat Noir looked down for a moment before giving her a pleading look, clearly asking for help. Marinette bit her lip before sighing. "Oh, alright. I'll help."

Chat gave a sigh of relief. "Thanks! You're really doing your good seed of the day!"

Marinette rolled her eyes at him. "Herb your enthusiasm, you'll have to do everything I say." Chat Noir looked delighted at her pun and gave her a mock salute. "Now, fill those holes in about halfway."

"Are you sure?" Chat frowned at her.

Marinette responded by putting her hands on her hips and leaning towards him. "I'm sorry, between the two of us, who has the most experience in gardening?" Wisely, Chat Noir stopped arguing and began to do as Marinette ordered.

Marinette allowed herself a victory smirk before she got to work, helping Chat make the holes an appropriate depth.

"Okay, since you really want to do this yourself, I'll show you how to do one and you can do the rest. Is that okay with you?"

Chat Noir nodded eagerly. "Thistle be the best rose bushes ever," he declared.

"Of course, we're rooting for them," Marinette said, carefully peeling the plants away from the plastic pots they were bought in.

"You're becoming a real punner, Marinette! I'm so proud," Chat pretended to wipe away a tear.

"Well, you know what they say, If you can't beet them, join them," Marinette shrugged.

"You can call us the puns 'n' roses now," Chat continued. Marinette shook her head at him.

"C'mon, let's get this done. You can pun more later." Chat nodded, obviously planning on holding her to it. He watched carefully as she placed the rose bush into one of the holes they had dug and covered it with the leftover soil.

Then she watched as he did the same with other roses. Soon enough, all of the roses had been planted. "Now we just have to water them."

"Lucky us, then. I think it's going to rain soon." Chat pointed towards the growing storm clouds. He beamed at Marinette as he rested his weight on the shovel. "Garden, you glad we're done? Just in thyme, too."

"This was fun, Chat Noir. Thanks for letting me help," Marinette smiled at him warmly.

"No, thank you, Marinette. You really rose to the occasion." Gesturing at her to wait, he turned to get something out of a bag. He turned back around to her with a single white rose in hand. "For you."

Marinette had spent some time researching the meaning of roses after Chat had gone on about finding the perfect colour for her as Ladybug. She knew perfectly well that a single white rose represented love and respect.

"You're awesome, Marinette. I'm glad to have spent the day with you," Chat smiled, taking her hand and enclosing the rose in it. Marinette was floored.

"There's no one I'd have rather spent the day planting roses with, Chat Noir." She leant forward to press a quick kiss to his cheek, before waving goodbye at him.

Chat stared at her for a moment before waving back. Marinette bit back a grin as she turned around.

"That was interesting," Tikki giggled at her from her purse.

Marinette smiled warmly at her kwami as it began to drizzle. "It most certainly was, Tikki."

[artxyra]

Here we go again, Marinette and Damian met when he had a mission in Paris. They would meet far from the bakery and fell inlove. She gave him a bracelet that would teleport her to him, time skip to after he meets the batfam. He goes to find her but ends up crying on the floor saying things like What if she doesnt want to see me! I need her! I can't lose her! He 2nd guesses himself, tis first time the fam see him like this. He then rants about her, until he sees the bracelet, and they reunite.

@i-is-mysterious, I hope you enjoy this. 

Their love story wasn’t a normal one. Our lead male is a trained assassin as his love interest is considered the bakers’ daughter. Well, let’s start with how they met all those years ago.

It started off like any day for a young Damian Al Ghul, a day fool of torture. His mother literally throws him to the bloodthirst of henchmen and fellow assassins. Damian was brutally trained to the bone until his grandfather, call for him.

“You boy, have a mission.” And there it was, the words that would change his life forever. His job was to go to Paris, France in search of an ancient artifact. It sounds like a simple mission, a get in and get out type of job. Only that it wasn’t.

When Damian enter Paris, France, he had little help, but his so-called “guardians”. For the first few days of his mission, he had no success in finding the artifact. Well, that was to be suspected as his grandfather and mother gave him little to go off of, saying that it was a lesson on what to do with little information.

So here was, sitting on a bench glaring at the constant sight if pigeons. It was tiring and he swears the birds are the devil. However, unlike the other days, he sat in an internal argument, a girl with pigtails skip over to him with the biggest smile he has ever seen.

She asks him what he was going before subtly adding that they are friends now. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Um… I don’t know.” Communication with other children was not his strong suit. Some would say that it was his greatest weakness and then some.

The girl on giggles and offers him a cupcake, she then tells him that her father had made to many free samples and ask her to give them out to some friends. She already gave them out to the ones she’s close too.

“I’m Marinette.” She random babbles to the assassin-in-training.

Damian unsure what to do simply shakes her head and speaks the words that would forever bond them together, “Damian.”

The mission lasts for over a month and with each passing day, Damian was falling more and more in love with Marinette. She was treating him like a normal—well as close to a normal person without a hidden background---person rather than the blood heir to his grandfather’s empire. She’s the only person that has ever made him smile, laugh, and overall feel emotions, something that was never a gift back at the compound. Even more reasons as to why he hates that is nearly done with his mission.

“Do you have to go?” She asks with tears swelling her eyes as she looks at him.

Saying goodbye wasn’t something either wanted to do.

“Yeah, my grandfather’s job here is completed, and I’m sentenced to return back home.” He says coming up with a believable lie.

Marinette pouts before she digs into her satchel and pulls out a bracelet. At first, he doesn’t take it, but Marinette insisted that he should.

“Whenever you need, use the bracelet and I’ll be teleported to you.” She then places a kiss gently upon his cheek. Damian was lost at words. He stands frozen in his spot as he watches his love disappear down the streets of Paris.

Little did the two know, that was last time they see each other for nearly ten years.

As Marinette grew older, Damian never once summoned her through the bracelet. She herself grew worried about ever meeting me again as the years passed by.

Damian, on the other hand, had to bury his love for Marinette upon returning to the League of Assassins. He hid the bracelet deep within his little possessions never to see the light of day again.  

When Damian turned ten, his mother had sent him to live with his father, the infamous Bruce Wayne, and gain three other brothers.

Memories of his time in Paris all those years ago, suddenly comes back to him when he turns eighteen watching leaked footage from Paris latest terrorism (well unknown to them, it was actually an akuma) attack. Immediately, he runs out of the bat cave and back into the manor. Unsettled by Damian's emotions, his brothers grow concerned and oddly enough uneased. Never once in the eight years of becoming a Wayne has Damian ever shown any emotions outside of stoic facials and sarcastic remarks.

In his room, Damian was a mess. He was nearing a breakdown, but he knew he had to keep himself together in order to find the person he is missing.

Thankfully, for the Wayne family, the next day Damian returned to his old self, but unbeknownst to them he was on a mission. Ever since founding that footage, Damian searched high and low for the name Marinette apparently there were a good number of females named Marinette around Europe. He cursed at himself for never asking her for her last name, but how hard was it to find a sixteen-year-old teen with dark blue hair and blue eyes?

His search goes on for weeks before his emotions caught up to him. Imagine the shock facials of his family finding him having an emotional breakdown in the bat cave crying on the floor. On the bat-computer is a picture of a Miss Marinette Dupain-Cheng, age sixteen, current resident in Paris, France.

“What if she doesn’t want to see me?” Damian mutters into his arms as more tears stream down his cheeks. “I need to see her.”

Unsure how to handle this type of Damian, everyone turns to Dick Grayson, who looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Dick cautiously walks over to his younger brother. “Hey Baby Bird, I’m sure, uh, everything will be alright.”

That was not the right choice words to say to the youngest Wayne. Fill with rage, Damian jumps up to his feet and yell this at his family, “You don’t understand, I can’t lose her. She’s my everything, and I was foolish enough to let her go.” He then proceeds to run out of the bat cave leaving behind his shock family members.

It took a hot minute before they took off to find Damian, hoping that something bad isn’t going to happen.

He trashed his room. Boxes were thrown across the room, papers of his latest works discarded across the floor. He mutters to himself, “where is it, where is it.” All while tossing things left and right. Damian barely registered the opening of his door and the calls of his name by his family before they are usher away by Alfred.

It was moments later when something color caught his eyes. It was the bracelet she had given him just moments before his departure. Holding the bracelet closer to his chest, he growls out in frustration trying to get the thing to work.

It was an attempt after attempt and nothing happens.

Tossing the bracelet to the ground he lets out an anguish cry to the ceiling.

He could barely register the bracelet’s growing features.

“Damian,” The voice was soft, gentle, something he hasn’t heard in a long time. Slowly turning around hoping that his great wish has come true, Damian refuses to open his eyes. It wasn’t until he felt someone touch his shoulders that he opens his eyes.

There standing in front of him is Marinette, looking like she’s been wars, yet still looking her best. She gasps before pulling him closer to her. It was then that Damian realizes their height difference. He stood a whole foot taller than her.

“Angel,” It was like a breath of fresh air as the nickname escapes his lips. He bends down picking her up before giving her a very passionate and long-awaited kiss. Marinette returns it as quickly as she was receiving it. Nothing could ruin this moment for them.

Now here we are a few years later, Marinette walking down the aisle wearing the brightest of wedding dresses making her way to her groom. It took everything in Damian’s power not to leave the arch and go kiss his bride.

“I do.” It was this simplest of words sealing their love story for the history books.

Permanent tags: @vixen-uchiha

[split-n-splice]

you live, you learn / you love, you learn / you cry, you learn / you lose, you learn / you bleed, you learn / you scream, you learn ~ "You Learn" by Alanis Morissette Time for a brief intermission for some backstory. I have my reasons. This may clash with the flow a little bit, but oh well. Regular linear timeline will resume Ch27: Aura Of Others

[Chapter Guide]

26. Intermission: Jagged Little Pill

New Years Eve held promise. A new year, a new start, a new resolution, a new her. The troubled city now knew her not as Shilo Gough, a local nobody, but as a rising superheroine by the alias of Shego.

It had taken a heap of good behavior to get out on probation just to go home in time for the winter holidays, though her siblings had been deemed low-risk and returned officially months ago once the restoration of the neighborhood had been completed. It helped that the grand unveiling of Team Go and her return to Go City had come a month early out of necessity.

At first, she eagerly embraced the new double-lifestyle, even if she wore an anklet at all times to track her whereabouts and the activity level of the new innate gift only Shego was permitted to use. It at least meant getting out of the facility and distancing herself from the research teams which wanted to dissect her under the guise of helping.

She’d thought going home to rejoin her family would mean returning to some normalcy, but December hadn’t gone great, as she’d been called into action no less than three times a week. Overall, it really hadn’t been her year, so it didn’t surprise her that even the season of gift-giving, comfy sweaters, and cookies was put on the back burner in favor of demanding hero duty.

She convinced herself she didn’t mind the distraction from Yuletide festivities. It beat sitting at home looking at gift tags signed From Santa in inelegant print or noticing the distinct lack of music that somehow made the house several degrees colder. Spending time with family was disheartening when it was incomplete anyway, but she’d run herself so far into the ground by Christmas that the best gift she could hope for was to be buried in her blankets – not running through the streets after the criminal of the week. Even with Global Justice’s so-called assistance, she’d hardly had a good night’s rest since coming home.

End of the month meant another refill on her prescription. The narcotic was uniquely formulated for her and came from no ordinary pharmacy.

Shilo – Shego – and her brothers-turned-teammates, Hego and Mego, had just wrapped up the Christmas caper and smiled and waved for the press and wished an early Happy New Year to all of Go City when they were collectively pulled aside by agents in the shadows. A woman with an eye patch congratulated them on a job well done, but a pat on the back was the extent of their reward when it came down to it. Mego sniffed and grinned, happy for the attention from a pretty lady doling out compliments, and Hego proudly announced it was all in a day’s work. Shego sighed and held out her hand in anticipation of the usual delivery she’d received from Betty personally for the past three months.

From there, they dressed back into street clothes in one of the agency’s many secret boltholes found throughout Go City, and Shego shook herself out in relief to be Shilo again. Her brothers wanted to walk home together, her sandwiched between them, so the relief was short-lived.

“There’s safety in numbers,” reminded Hugo, grabbing her arm to tow her along. He was filling out around the shoulders and torso, and lately his idea of a gentle grip had begun leaving bruises.

“Oh, come on!” Shilo whined. She recomposed herself quickly then to tease her older sibling instead, “What do you need me for? You can walk home yourself. You’re a big boy.” It was no exaggeration either. Hugo was little more than seventeen, but over the past year had developed a pair of guns capable of intimidating professional wrestlers. The jocks at their new school, which Hugo had been attending for months now, gave him a wide berth, so she heard.

Milo sprang three steps ahead in the snow suddenly, proclaiming his independence, “I don’t need either of you! Anyone comes after me, I’ll sock it to ‘em.” He boxed at the air with pale bony knuckles, a far cry from Hugo. Affected with the onset of puberty and ganglier than ever, the tween tripped over his own legs and slipped, falling to the icy sidewalk. In a perfect world, he’d be home next to Mom, taking a piano lesson or baking sugar cookies – not out on the streets, excited to pick up the slack for policemen or secret agents.

Shilo’s fist curled in her pocket, palm growing warm around her refilled prescription. Her other hand reached down to grab one of Milo’s as he stuck both of his up in the air, expectantly waiting for a sibling on either side to grab hold. Shilo was glad Hugo released her to take Milo’s other hand, and while she would have been happy to drag her little brother through the slush, her big brother spoiled the fun by lifting him to his feet with ease.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just going to the mall,” she swore. “I’ll be home by three.”

“That’s what you said last time,” noted Milo, ambling along next to her. At least his tiny body put something between her and Hugo now. “Dad made dinner! Do you know what he made?”

“Fishcakes,” she sighed, nodding. She’d barely choked down the cold leftovers that night when she snuck in at six in the evening. Anyway, 6:00PM wasn’t that late. Back when she still visited her best friend at her house down the street, she used to come home at a quarter to nine, if at all. But that was before Lady Fate came to Go City. Now that she had a superpower and could defend herself better than ever, it made an early curfew pretty silly.

Shilo opened her mouth to argue when a fluttering past her head made her duck and topple into her spindly little brother. A curse nearly escaped her lips as she locked her eyes on the offending – pigeon? – flapping away to join its flock in a skeletal snowy elm at the corner. In the past month, she’d had a lot of things hurled her way, and it was becoming second nature to dodge at the faintest sign of a projectile. So her heart hammering in her chest was justified as Milo shoved her away.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose when a nasally voice behind them called, “Excuse me?”

Hugo turned, even though Shilo grabbed Milo and kept towing him along. “Can I help you, sir?” asked her big brother to the civilian behind them. Shilo clenched her jaw. Didn’t they have a rule? Don’t talk to strangers. Not outside of uniform, anyway. It wasn’t conducive to keeping a secret—

“You’re Team Go. Right?”

Shilo whipped around to lock her eyes on the stranger, freezing on the spot.

Milo on the other hand bounced free of her grip. She grabbed for him again, but he’d bound up to Hugo’s side to proudly announce, “Yes! Yes, we are.”

Hugo cuffed him on the shoulder, and just about threw him into a snowdrift by doing so had he not caught him in his other paw. “I’m – we are not,” corrected Hugo in a practiced statement. “But maybe I can help you?”

The man stood in a grungy old parka trimmed with a collar of white, stained and weathered. He wrung his hands, duct-tape mending the holes in his leather gloves. “I’m Dr. Robinson,” he introduced, and struck out a hand to shake. The grimy man didn’t look like a doctor. He wasn’t one of Global Justice’s anyway.

Hugo didn’t take the hand and he most certainly didn’t give his name. It was probably the smartest thing he’d done all day. “Pleasure,” he said, and repeated once more, firmly, “Can I help you?”

The man’s beak-like nose pointed at them all in turn. Shilo’s stomach twisted as it was aimed in her direction for a millisecond too long, and she stepped forward to take her place between her brothers. The thin lips of the down-on-his-luck doctor, if he was even a doctor at all, split into a wide grin he quickly smothered. That was enough of a clue there was a screw loose. “Actually, I was thinking I could help you.”

“We’re good,” said Shilo, grabbing her brothers by the arms.

Hugo was unmovable. He crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed. “You. Help us? Do we look lost to you?”

“They might need help,” mumbled Milo. Shilo elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“I can – I have – you are Team Go!” Robinson insisted. “Aren’t you?” He sounded a little desperate.

Hugo had been about to steer them away when he shot a look back at the sketchy figure. “I told you, if you need help—”

“I don’t need help,” swore the prideful shivering man, his laugh wavering as he flapped his hands about and lurched forward. “I don’t need you. But you could really use me. I can – I’m like you, see?” He stuck out his hands as if to flip them the bird or show them his fingers. All ten digits were accounted for, but by the wild flick of his eyes as he waited for them to react, he had lost his marbles.

Eyebrows rose at Dr. Robinson. An exchange of glances, and Hugo and Milo burst into laughter. Dr. Robinson looked to his hands, all over himself, and up at them as something strange crossed his face. Disbelief, maybe. Disbelief that two young heroes were laughing at him.

“You can’t see it,” he muttered, sounding halfway out of his mind. “I-I have a gift like you!” he defended as the boys doubled over in infectious laughter. “You just can’t see it! You don’t have the eyes for it,” he squawked, voice shrill with desperation.

“Someone needs to come take Dr. Cuckoo back to the funny farm,” chortled Milo.

Hugo had a hard time reining it in. He thumped Milo so hard on the back that the boy fell into the snow again. “Get me a phonebook!” he guffawed. “We need to find this guy a shrink.”

Milo looked up at Hugo from where he lay, beaming ear to ear, and a new wave of laughter shook him and brought him to tears.

Shilo shoved her big brother, but he didn’t budge. “Leave him alone, you guys.”

The balking man shrank back from them. “I’ll show you!” he squawked, as if it were a threat. He looked beyond them, a hand outstretched and fingers clawing the air in a vaguely come-hither motion, but nothing at all happened. He paled. He shook his head like a wet dog, greasy ginger hair splattering droplets of melted snow. Shilo backed out of range as the man ground out something animalistic she couldn’t decipher. His face twisted and he clawed at his features.

He looked undoubtedly crazy in that moment. He was probably on something, she decided.

She couldn’t complain when Hugo took her by the shoulders, pulling her back from the sketchy derelict tripping out. She caught Milo by the hood of his jacket as the three of them left the questionable individual to have a meltdown there on the snowy sidewalk.

++X++

By the time Shilo reached the mall, the cuckoo lunatic had been left behind along with the worries of Shego’s hero duties, if only for a little while. She peeked over her shoulder, casting a quick glance about for signs of her brothers she’d barely escaped from, before ducking behind the hedge and around the wall to the side of the shopping center where the average civilian had no business loitering.

She smelled her before she saw her. Debatably cooler than the snow around her and seemingly indifferent to the winter chill, a fair blonde leaned against the brick and mortar wall, pink mini skirt daringly short and snow-white stockings spotless. As Shilo sauntered up to the pink-clad girl, striving to match her flippant air, a cigarette was offered to her. She took a drag – she couldn’t not with Priscilla’s critical eyes surveying her – and licked her lips to taste the trace of Priscilla’s cherry lip gloss left on the filter.

Shilo fought against the urge to choke. She swallowed and kept her cool. “So. The usual?”

“Yeah. Why not,” said Priscilla between drags, and patted a fanny pack on her hip to jingle the change inside. “I won a bet with Mickey, so it’s on me.”

“What was the bet?” Shilo was handed the smoke again too soon, Prissy’s smirk egging her on. Unenthused but compliant, she took another puff as the mischievous girl grinned at her. She couldn’t help laughing back and coughing as she did so. It was a good excuse to drop the spent butt on the ground. “What?” she snickered in demand and shook the girl’s shoulder. “Priss, what did you do?”

When her best friend since daycare made a sly gesture with hand and cheek, Shilo shoved her and stumbled away, an awkward bark of laughter erupting from her.

“That’s disgusting!” Shilo declared through her laugh. She wove her fingers behind her back to hide the unsettled burning in her palms as they walked back around toward the front. She grinned nonetheless, cheeks pinched as she failed to fight off a blush. “Don’t even joke like that.”

“Call it what you want, Shi. I call it easy money. It got me ten bucks.”

Priscilla was as proud and smug and comfortable in her own skin as ever. After the hectic year she’d had, Shilo’s gut twisted as she doubted she’d find that level of confidence. The extent of her experience on that front had been Seven Minutes in Heaven with Mickey at Priscilla’s thirteenth birthday party a few years back, and given the resulting locked braces, it wasn’t such a fond memory. And now with her new looks, boyishly short hair, and sickly pasty-pale skin, she was in no hurry to expand on that experience.

“Jeez,” muttered Shilo with a shake of her head. She got a grip on herself and glanced back to the cigarette butt smoldering in the snow. She stopped herself from wiping her mouth before she could smudge Shego’s makeup, and kept her disbelief or disgust or whatever it was she felt to herself as they made for the mall arcade.

As per usual, ten dollars split between two players went quick. Just to extend their stay a little longer, Shilo forfeited some of her own hard-earned babysitting money to the machines.

She wasn’t complaining though. It was a scrap of normalcy she couldn’t find back home. Back home, there was no Mom, no cookies, no music, no joy – only phone calls for appointments with doctors and for interviews, toddlers who never stopped crying, and a father who drank too much these days. It was hardly home at all, and she was hardly even Shilo there anymore. She was just Shego, waiting on standby to be called upon for a hero emergency. Even her prohibited rendezvous with Priscilla felt too much like just going through the motions, but she refused to think of that.

Tickets were redeemed for a handful of cheap toys. Fake spiders and bouncy balls were thrown off the second-story to the level below, landing in the hair of unsuspecting passerby, or bounce-bounce-bouncing across the plaza to inevitably bounce out of sight, disappearing either into a shop or into the expensive indoor garden sporting a water feature at the heart of the mall.

Eventually a beer-bellied security guard walking toward them was their cue to scram.

The small rush paled in comparison to the adrenaline surges she’d have in the heat of battle over the past month, but it was enough to bring a smile to her face and feel normal. Shilo laughed along with Priscilla as they held each other’s hands, taking turns practically dragging the other as they made the dash for the far end of the mall.

Suddenly she was tugged aside and into a parlor. The parlor Shilo had her sights on was still several shops away and involved pizza, not piercings, but she humored Priscilla as the girl sought out the gaudiest hoops and filled her in on a spiel of flimflam about what was trendy at the school they once attended together.

It was a blow she wasn’t ready for, but Shilo tried to keep the smile on her face. They didn’t go to school together anymore. There had been years they didn’t share the same classes, but they’d always shared the same school – until now. Shilo was due to start private school clear on the other end of town soon, and Priscilla would go on attending in the local district. That alone was enough to feel like a guillotine had separated them – but Shilo shook her head and smiled at her reflection as Priscilla held up earrings featuring the eyes of peacock feathers to her ears, still pressing she should have them re-pierced.

With no extra cash for earrings, let alone even considering paying for piercings, Shilo wasn’t so sure about trying the old ice and needle trick again.

Her mouth stayed shut as Priscilla fidgeted with the rack of earrings, taking a nicer pair to hide in her sleeve. Shilo said nothing still as a hand smacked her on the butt, earrings slipped into her back pocket with a sleight of hand. She shot her friend an unhappy look through the mirror.

Priscilla coughed into her fist, “Wet blanket.”

Shilo was soon casting a glance back as they left the parlor. A few shops away, Priscilla retrieved the earrings from Shilo’s back pocket. “These will look good on you,” she said decisively, brandishing the stolen item. “Don’t you think?”

The tag sporting a pair of green rhinestone earrings was deposited in her hand. “Yeah,” said Shilo, pushing the evidence back out of sight into her pocket. She scanned the crowd of shoppers, seeking out anyone in uniform, but even when her search came up empty, she couldn’t relax. The best of GJ’s spies didn’t stand out anyway.

They finally made it to the food court. Shilo pulled out her change and counted nickels and dimes for a slice of pizza that once tasted like greasy cardboard but was now a delectable slice of heaven after the diet she’d been restricted to at the research center for the better half of the year.

Priscilla, with her bowl of chili cheese fries, criticized her for her choice in grub as she joined Shilo at a table. She showily unzipped her jacket, letting her crop top show for all to see, like she was really all that. Still, Shilo pulled into herself just a little, fixing her eyes down on the pizza that had gone cold while waiting for her friend. She was sweltering hot, but she zipped her own coat up a little tighter. She couldn’t go around showing off her skin like that anymore. Her sickly complexion attracted enough stares, and she didn’t need to be recognized as Shego for her pallid green skin alone.

Shilo had taken all of two bites, more focused on digesting the gossip around school and the neighborhood than she was on eating, when Priscilla licked her fingers suggestively and Shilo had to look back down again.

“Eleven o’clock,” said Priscilla, plucking up another chili-saturated crimp-cut fry. Shilo raised her brow in question, and Priscilla rolled her eyes. “My eleven,” reiterated her friend, and a chili cheese fry was used as a pointer before being scarfed down. “Don’t look now, but there’s a total creep checking you out.” If anyone was looking their way, it sure wasn’t because of Shilo.

“What?” she blurted and looked anyway. She didn’t find anyone staring at her, but she did see something just familiar enough to catch her eye: a raggedy parka and a head of dirty red hair.

It was the raving lunatic from earlier. He was counting change in the palm of his hand. Looking to menus. Checking his pockets and finding a hole.

The mall food court wasn’t the best place to find a meal on a budget, but Shilo turned back to her pizza, choosing not to think too hard on it. Where the beak-nosed man chose to scrounge a meal was none of her concern.

Except, now it sort of was. It was Shego’s concern. An oath to protect and aid the citizens of Go City and adjacent towns had been sworn on live television for thousands to see just a few short weeks ago. She’d been given a crash course on emergency aid, combat, and etiquette in preparation for her introduction as a guardian of the public.

She hadn’t needed a whole lot drilling to be told to be a Good Samaritan, even if she’d protested the extremes the supervising agency wanted her to go to. Shego had a reputation, but she wasn’t Shego right now. She was Shilo, and Shilo’s best friend was giving her a funny look at she stood.

It was no big deal. She had some leftover change in her pocket. Enough for something more substantial than an overpriced plain corndog she could see Robinson settling for as he stepped toward a counter.

++X++

By the time the sketchy man sat down at their table, he’d already blathered a bit about himself, as if in an attempt to put her at ease and make up for the poor first impression. He dealt with exotics, namely wildlife, so he claimed. The winged world was Dr. Robinson’s specialty, and he’d devoted his life to rescuing and rehabilitating birds of all kinds, from condors to hummingbirds. A glimpse at scars decorating his arms stood testimony, carved into him from beaks and claws of every size, worn like badges of honor.

“So…you’re a veterinarian?”

“Was,” corrected Dr. Robinson, and corrected himself again. “I-I mean. I’m qualified! I just…don’t have my office anymore.”

Across from Shilo, Prissy Priscilla heaved a sigh and leaned heavily on her fist. For the first time since the scruffy panhandler sat down at their table, she spoke, wondering, “Now what do you do?” Shilo knew better than to believe her friend was genuinely interested. It was merely a dig at an exposed sore spot.

Dr. Robinson was quiet for a moment before answering, “I’m in between jobs,” in between bites of chili cheese fries. Prissy had forfeited the snack to him after claiming she was on a diet anyway.

Shilo relaxed only slightly. He was just a veterinarian. There was a distinction between a mere animal vet and the doctors that had poked and probed her and studied her for weeks – months – on end in the name of science and the greater good.

It was no surprise Priscilla didn’t share the same concerns. After all, she hadn’t been quarantined after the incident back in April. She was eyeballing the man, relaxed and critical, not leery or suspicious as Shilo was, and not even a crowd of shoppers to eavesdrop deterred her from asking aloud, “You got bud? You stink like it.”

Before Shilo could kick her under the table to silently reprimand her for going around saying rude things or inquiring on illegal substances so openly, Dr. Robinson scooted his chair back. His eyes flickered from Prissy to Shilo and back. He was in no rush to voice a reply.

“She can keep a secret,” promised Priscilla on Shilo’s behalf, lowering her voice. “Right, Shi?”

“I…I do not have any on hand,” said the man carefully, withdrawing the tray of fries with him.

Priscilla puffed. “Well, you’re old, right?” she said. Shilo almost kicked her again, but she must have known it was coming, because her boot met open air.

Robinson frowned. “I’m only thirty—,” he began indignantly.

“Perfect,” said Priscilla with a smile.

Shilo couldn’t say she agreed with Priscilla’s newfound interest in the man or the ploy she was weaving. If she had a choice, she’d choose not to be part of it, but as things were, she didn’t have much of a say in the matter – because Prissy would do what Prissy pleased, and whether Shilo tagged along was up to her own moral code, which at the moment was a grey area. She couldn’t just leave her best friend to venture off with a strange man alone without someone to back her up.

Dark snow clouds made it impossible to see the sun setting, but it was growing ever darker by the minute as they left the mall, a clear indicator it was past curfew and high time she head home to fix dinner and prepare for a grand countdown on live television tonight – but Priscilla was pushy and always got her way, grabbing Shilo by the hand to insist she not be a spoilsport. The thought of leaving her alone with the shifty man made her stomach twist, so she yielded easily to the pressure and let Prissy pull her after the guy.

A tobacco store was soon located, and while Prissy was getting her latest nicotine fix, unabashedly chain-smoking away as they waited around the corner of yet another shop they legally had no business with, Shilo had to whisper over to wonder why they were still following Dr. Robinson. The man had just left them a second time to run inside the liquor store to make another purchase with Priscilla’s cash.

“Psh. Because he’s cool?” answered Prissy under her breath. She held up the cigarette as though it were proof, and passed it over.

Shilo took a hesitant drag, but couldn’t help shuddering to think of where Prissy’s lips may have been just hours ago. Whispered chatter and answers to questions she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask in the first place were interrupted soon enough by Dr. Robinson’s return.

“Cool,” praised Prissy, inspecting the label on the bottle she was presented with. Shilo recognized the brand as something her own father drank. The sight of hard liquor in her friend’s hands made her insides writhe.

“Well. I’ll see you girls around,” said the nervous man as he began to retreat into the shadows of the alleyway. It had begun to snow again, and it seemed to concern him as he glanced skyward. “I really must be getting home.”

“I thought you were homeless?” blurted Priscilla, already following him before Shilo could make a grab for her. “I’ve got a garage you can crash in if you need it.” Surely she just wanted to squeeze more favors out of him in return for her pocket change.

“Oh, no. I have an apartment. Not far from here.” Nerves flashed in his eyes as Priscilla sauntered toward him. “There’s no – it’s – it’s really no place for girls like you. It’s condemned, you see—”

Prissy sounded giddy as she grinned and giggled, “Sounds creepy. That where you keep the goods, Robby?”

“Priss!” Shilo called, still standing cemented to the spot where she’d been left.

Her best friend shadowing the scruffy man paused and glanced back just as she’d been about to grab his arm. “What?” she asked back, smiling innocently. “Too good for a little fun now? Is that it? Don’t be a drag, Shi.”

Shilo glanced back toward the street, and back to Priscilla slowly backing away toward Robinson as the man retreated. “We need to head home,” she insisted.

“I don’t have a curfew,” scoffed Priss. “You can go home if you’re so afraid of the dark.”

It wasn’t the dark she was afraid of. Most of the criminals she’d dealt with so far didn’t care what time it was. But leaving Priscilla alone with a strange man wasn’t happening. Shilo at least had a means of defending herself and others too, and if anything bad happened because she left Prissy alone with some creepy exiled veterinarian, she’d never be able to live with herself.

So for the sake of her best friend, she followed.

Shilo knew they didn’t belong there the moment they entered Robinson’s neck of the woods. She had a hunch Priscilla knew as well. Her best friend began to look nervous for a change as they ventured deeper into the sketchy neighborhood.

The uneasy girl even reached across in an attempt to hold Shilo’s hand, as she used to when they were in a rough area – but after an accidental zap, kept them to herself. Alienated by her own alien fire, Shilo did the same, keeping her fingers safely tucked in her armpits and accepting the chill in the gap between her and her best friend. If she didn’t get a grip on Lady Fate’s gift soon, the organization overseeing her underaged superhero team might insist she wear “fire-proof” gloves full time, for the safety of those around her, like Priscilla.

Priscilla didn’t seem terribly concerned for her own safety though, considering how willing she was to follow the strange man through the driving snow. They were led further from home with each step they took, and it was indisputably past sundown when Robinson cut into a dead-end alley.

He waved for them to follow him into the dark niche, out of view of potential witnesses. If it weren’t for the blanket of white snow, it might have been too dark to see anything at all. It didn’t make the rickety old fire escape the man gestured to any more welcoming though.

“It’s. Up here,” he said through chattering teeth, and breathed on his hands, still bound up in soggy worn gloves. He strained to smile, barely visible in the dark, and tried to jokily add, “This would be so much easier if one could fly.”

Shilo unfolded her arms and cast a glance up and down the street. There was no one coming from either direction. This man and her best friend already knew her secret. There was no harm in lighting up a hand to let some of the energy burn off. If anything, it served as a warning for Robinson, and might cause the ankle bracelet to ping for Global Justice to send out an agent to investigate or collect her for the unauthorized use.

She didn’t expect Priscilla to scoff at the sight of her green luminescence. Lip raised and eyes rolling, the girl turned her back to Shilo’s glow. Shilo recalled it, snuffing out the lantern-like plasma radiating and bubbling from her hand. She at least used the residual warmth in her palm to rub her other hand and return some feeling to her frozen fingers.

Her stomach twisted into a knot as she watched the tall man lift Priscilla up by the waist to aid in getting her footing on the hanging ladder above.

“You should wait down there, Shi,” called Priscilla through her exertion as she meticulously scaled her way up to the first landing. “Don’t think it’ll hold ya.”

Shilo said nothing. It was a dig at her feather-light weight. It wasn’t hard to see she was still on the scrawny side, still recovering from her bad experience at a research facility that had allegedly been shut down. Knobby bones, gaunt features barely filling out, and pants that needed help staying up on her hips wasn’t a good feeling, but she was making progress day by day. Personal trainers had been helping her recondition with diet and exercise, but she still felt like a shadow of her past self. She really wasn’t fit yet to be out fighting criminals of any degree – not that any minor should be out doing such risky work in the first place.

Eyeing the man extending his grubby paws out toward her, she knew without a doubt she could at least take him on, glow or no glow. Before he could assist her, with or without asking, she leapt up as high as she could, catching a grip on the slippery bars and scrabbling with her feet as her hands melted the ice coating the metal. She climbed and clawed her way up after Priscilla as her friend stepped back, clapping slowly.

“Me-ow,” jibbed Prissy. “Where’s the catsuit?”

“It’s not a catsuit,” Shilo hissed. At least she hadn’t called her Team Go uniform a onesie again.

She felt the shake of the metal platform underfoot then, and shot a glance down to Robinson hefting himself up. He was tall enough he didn’t have to jump, but his upper body strength was unexpected as he hoisted himself up. Being cornered on a fire escape wouldn’t concern Shilo so much if she was alone, but Priscilla was already climbing precariously higher.

Several stories up was a broken window, fully kicked in to allow safe entry. Snow blew in after them as they trespassed into the condemned building. The man’s so-called apartment exceeded expectations – at least in terms of how decrepit and dilapidated it was. Robinson might have known his way around in the dark, and Priscilla might have made a show of rolling her eyes about it, but Shilo lit the way with her radium-green plasma as there were no working utilities. Still, water could be heard dripping as if they were walking through a cave system, and filthy icicles hanging like stalactites in places didn’t bode well. Graffiti decorated the walls, some partly obscured by the mold and stains. Rats could be heard squeaking and scurrying about out of sight.

Shilo was barely glad Robinson led the way because the last thing she needed was his malodorous breath on the back of her neck to urge her onward. She had to continuously remind herself that the only reason she was following him at all was to keep herself between him and her friend.

Up a multitude of staircases and finally through a door that had been busted off its hinges, and Dr. Robinson sighed hugely and spread his arms abruptly, making Shilo jump back and snap out an arm to stop Priscilla in her tracks.

“Home sweet home!” he announced. “Mi casa es su casa.” He ducked around the wall, and a dim orange light flickered on with the hiss of propane, and then he was popping back into view, shuffling away into the dark depths of the cluttered room. “Top floor. You’re welcome to come meet my friends up on the roof, if you’d like. If you’ll excuse me, I’m late with dinner.”

Robinson was already heading for another staircase, grabbing a sack of birdseed off a shelf as he went. A door opened at the top, a gust of freezing air and a few snowflakes blew in, and then he was gone.

The moment they were left alone, Shilo shook her hand as if to put out a match, and she turned to Priscilla. “We shouldn’t be here,” she stated. It was true. It had to be true – because what teenage girl should be hanging around with some creepy thirty-whatever year old homeless man squatting in a condemned building?

“No way,” Priscilla protested, holding up the bottle of booze and cracking it open. “This guy’s cool.”

Their definitions of cool had seriously diverged over the past year. Shilo grabbed the neck of the bottle and pulled it down before Prissy could take a gulp. “You can get high at home. This isn’t worth it,” she pressed. She shouldn’t have even had to say so.

Prissy cracked a grin then and jerked the bottle away, taking a defiant swig anyway. The alcohol looked like it tasted bitter. “I’m exploring my options,” she said nonchalantly. “This guy might be able to hook me up with a little more. Y’never know.” She shrugged. “If he can, you’ll try it with me, won’t you?”

Shilo gawped, rendered just short of speechless. “No!” she blurted, the answer one of pure reflex.

The bleached-blonde’s mischievous smile vanished, replaced by a frown. “God, Shi. Don’t be a prude,” she hissed, shoving Shilo’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me that goodie-two-shoes shit has gotten to you?”

It had and it hadn’t. She was being pressured into the lifestyle with ultimatums, and there was a new code of conduct she had to follow, but even if she didn’t have to save face as an up-and-coming superhero, what Prissy was asking was still out of the question. Otherworldly gifts and an outrageous double-life had nothing to do with her resolve to get out of Robinson’s shabby niche of the city.

“That’s not it,” Shilo argued. “I have responsibilities! I have to get home for dinner, and get ready to go on air tonight for the countdown, and—,” she was interrupted before she could go over the entire list of reasons she couldn’t stay – why they shouldn’t stay.

“If you’re too busy to be my friend anymore, just say so, Shilo.” The words stung, but they were second to Priscilla’s dark eyes boring into her like a stake to the heart.

She reeled then, but Priscilla caught her wrist before she could step back. She was drawn into a sudden hug, Prissy’s arms nearly crushing the breath out of her in a hold that didn’t feel so great. It was a far cry from the buoyant girlish embraces they used to bounce and crash into when they were seven, ten, twelve, a year ago – and Shilo’s stomach twisted into a knot now as newfound reservations made her pause to peer over her best friend’s shoulder to check her hands for warning signs of igniting before letting her own arms loop around the girl to squeeze her back. Prissy didn’t stay long enough.

Cold sticky lips pressed to Shilo’s cheek, the ginger kiss devoid of affection. “If you need me to disappear from your life, I can do that for ya,” was not what she needed her best friend to whisper in her ear.

The arms around her slipped away, leaving Shilo bewildered and cold and hugging herself as she reluctantly let the girl withdraw from the hug. Priscilla spun around on her heel then to trot off after the shabby creep up the creaky staircase and onto the roof. A momentary cold gust blew in again, chilling Shilo to the bone.

Her throat was too thick to swallow, much less call after her friend to tell Priscilla she was being too melodramatic. The girl was the sort for theatrics – but the past month since Shilo had been home, things had been indisputably different. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t noticed. She knew Priscilla’s fake smiles when she saw them, knew when Prissy was kidding around, knew when she was overreacting. She knew her best friend. And she knew her well enough to know she’d just made neither an offer nor a threat.

It was a promise.

Shilo didn’t even feel her legs move when she lurched forward suddenly. She flew up the steps and just about kicked the door open, her heart hammering as she burst out onto the snowy rooftop. She whirled around, scanning the white-blanketed surroundings as icy wind blew through her, a flurry of snowflakes breezing past the hems of her jacket to sting her burning skin.

Dr. Robinson was spotted beside a shack-like structure, chattering and gesticulating to himself. The bottle of liquor in his hand made her stomach churn and she scanned the snow for signs of tracks that lead to the parapet, but there were none, as far as she could see. He cocked an eyebrow as she stalked toward him, fists glowing.

“Where’s Priss?” she demanded, stepping past him to take a look inside the stinking little rooftop shed. There was nothing but racks and cubby holes to be found inside, filled with dozens of sleeping and cooing pigeons.

“Your friend? I haven’t seen her,” said Robinson. “But I can help you look.”

“Bullshit.” Shilo whipped around to face him, her eyes drawn to the liquor in his grip. “She just came up here. Who were you talking to?” Her voice was rising. Frantic sparks of green energy were jumping from her fingers. She clenched her fists tight again.

“My pigeon,” Robinson answered, sweeping a small white dove off the nearest roost outside the coop. The symbol of peace, white as the falling snow, perched serenely on his finger. His smile was less white, less peaceful, as he offered a reasonable explanation, “It’s dark inside. Maybe your friend slipped past you.”

Shilo was backing away now, blinking and reeling, if not a little dazed. She scanned the rooftop once more, hardly hearing his offer again to help her look as she circled the one and only thing her best friend could possibly be hiding behind, but the girl was nowhere to be found. No tracks in the snow lead to the edge to indicate foul play.

With the cold of desertion sinking in, Shilo didn’t waste her breath calling for a friend who clearly didn’t want to hold a friendship any longer. At what point her shoulders fell in defeat and she traced the path back through the dark condemned high-rise, she wasn’t sure, but it came shortly after the threat of tears welled up.

She was freezing and soaked from head to toe by the time she trudged home to her own neighborhood, crushed and hours past curfew. She was already late, but stopping by her best friend’s house on the way to ask if she was home hadn’t helped anything. She’d worn a fake smile and everything – but as promised, the girl had vanished. It felt that way anyway, when the girl’s parents refused to answer the door. Unsurprising, as they’d made it clear weeks ago that they didn’t want her around once they’d learned of her tracking anklet and supposed probation, as if she was the bad influence or some kind of criminal now.

Given everything that had turned her life upside down the past year, questioning if the girl ever existed at all really was the last thing she needed.

What she needed was to forget about the empty space left by the stake yanked out of her heart like a massive thorn, and her numb fingers and toes, and her stuffy nose, and the scolding she’d received the second she came walking through her front door.

Discarding sodden slush-covered clothes to the hamper, Shilo reached into every pocket, as per habit, to empty them. A few pennies, a soggy receipt, a plastic spider, shoplifted rhinestone earrings – something was missing. Heart beginning to thud a desperate beat as her hands grew warm, Shilo turned each pocket inside out to be sure.

Shego’s suppressant medication had gone missing.

[asheewrites]

Doctor Visiting - Paris - pt 4

The angel sat there and flipped between the pages of the menu, tapping her finger, or smiling at the words in front of her.

She was distracted enough to let Asmodeus think. These ‘terms and conditions’ for him did not truly limit him. He could do as he pleased and Raphael would… simply refuse him if he ‘got somewhere’.

… but playfulness and teasing was… actively encouraged and possibly engaged with.

Easy to work with. Especially since ‘getting somewhere’ would be defined by him.

Hah.

A rather lenient ‘code of conduct’. By comparison of past ones – if he got one.

 “It’s an impressive menu, sir. It’s a hard choice. Any recommendations?” She smiled sweetly. And spoke French. Seamlessly.

The waiter was pleased. Strings of French explanation falling from his tongue. Different glacing techniques, which salad was in season and how it complimented the truffles, differently ripened oils for dressing. The wild Salmon has a direct route from the ocean to their restaurant, their preparation will remove all fishbones, no need to break any eye contact.

“Very nice, I’d be happy to try it a-“ here she send a glance to Asmodeus, stuck with that for a second, then continued towards the waiter: “- all, but I think meat was an option?”

It did not curb his enthusiasm when he switched tracks and offered her the ‘Foie gras’, ‘Couilles de mouton’ and ‘Ris de veau’, along with stomach and feet and tongue of various animals as well as snails, including the different kinds of preparation.

After two minutes of talk she chewed on her lip and started asking about sauces and preparation techniques. As she asked for the roasting temperature, Asmodeus laughed: “I’d be delighted to eat your second choice, you are free to taste”

Her face lit up immediately. And the order came to: “Tapenade canapés, Jambon persillé, a cheese platter, Couilles de mouton, Le Gigot D'Agneau Pascal, a bottle of still water and… a white wine?”

She looked over to him and he chuckled and agreed: “Sure, we’ll be satisfied with your choice of vintage and origin, thank you”

“Thank you very much. If available, I’d love to peruse the dessert menu. Err... later”

The waiter scribbled and nodded and smiled and informed them their salads would arrive soon and… disappeared.

Raphael sat there. And closed the menu: “Thank you! I mean… I suppose you tried all this already and you know what tasted good, so… thank you for letting me try out something that you might not like and-oh” her face fell. “… I… should have asked”

“Raphael, it’s fine. I offered. But… you didn’t order any fish, is there-” The angel carefully avoided looking at him. Light topic of conversation. Right. “-well, thank you. So, the meat… do you… know what you ordered?”

She perked up: “Oh. Is that about the lamb? I think even Christi-“

“Testicles. You ordered testicles, Raphael.”

Excitedly the angel, nods and reports: “Yes! It’s very rare to have them on the menu. Even though it should be very interesting, since the texture should be different, especially if they ‘sauté’ – whatever that is – them in slices and marinate t before, because muscles are fascinating to work with. I wonder f the semen got drained or stocked in them. The high protein would be interesting. And I do wonder how that tastes, so… yeah, I did order them.“

‘I could help you figure out the taste.‘

It took a moment fight his every instinct. Sometimes, you have to consider your audience, even with the most imperative quips. Instead, he said: “I suppose the lamb will be my course, then,” since he rarely heard someone that excited about eating testicles, so.

“Then it’s decided. I got the three starters that can be the… most weird. So… maybe you get something interesting as well? I avoided cheese, mostly, because it’s rotten milk, but… they make the strangest things taste good. But then again… they have to eat, don’t they? Merci!” Their salad and water arrived. The waiter apparently didn’t have that many customers.

“We are in France, the cheese is actually delicious. The producers of the cheese make it an experience though.” Asmodeus watched Raphael’s eyes light up. This was easy…

“Really?” She bit into a small tomato, distracted for a second (“Crunchy”), before her attention returned to him.

“Mmmhmh, you can find all manner of farms offering tours in the French countryside. You get to pet the animals, see where to cheese is stored so it ripens… you get the full experience in the department of smell… it’s worth a look. And, of course, you get to taste the cheese”

She looked like she will disappear this instance.

“Another time, I can take y-“

“Yesplease”

He had to laugh at that: “I can also give you a map with the best farms and you can go explore on your own? If you are that eager”

“Oh. No, I can’t. I’m not allowed to meet the… err… civilians without a companion. Not yet. I didn’t get the true ‘field agent’-education yet. It’s a thing. Apparently. Figured it only recently. So. Besides. It’s more fun with company,” she looks to the side, “If the company has time and feels like cheese. In this case. Of course. Or feels like anything else and wants to change the destination,” she half-shrugged.

Huh. Well. Not all demons could go to Earth either. But an archangel? Huh.

Asmodeus tilted his head: “… you’d go anywhere with me, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, definitely. I mean… as long as it isn’t against any other rule. I don’t think it will ever be boring.”

It made his eyebrows raise. The answer left an odd feeling. And he decided not to comment. Instead: “Well, I couldn’t make myself out to be boring now, could I? But… thinking about it... You never rode a rollercoaster - you… haven’t even seen Disneyland. You weren’t in the Royal Albert Hall. You never visited Tokyo in its entirety. India in settled regions were off the table, too. What… did you do up to now… you… probably poked some of the most venomous creatures on the planet in Australia And visited some of the hottest – got you there - and coldest places… cold… Iceland… you probably never saw the penis museum either,” he snickered.

“Nope!” She finished her salad with a flourish. “But I’ve heard of it and it’s terribly amusing to me. Definitely worth a visit… but… I have to admit… the hot springs are more of a draw for me… it’s in the middle of snowy fields! It must be amazing” She laughs. “And you get to roll around in the snow to dry yourself. Afterwards off to a tiny wooden hut with a fireplace, a huge fluffy carpet to lay on and be buried in a heap of blankets, cocooning until your immune system – and, lets be honest, any blood circulation and muscles, too – boot up again .  And… well, yeah. Iceland. Probably very cool. With all the museums, too” She scratched the back of her head and looked sheepish.

Someone dreams… elaborately.

“Paris does have the Louvre on the menu of museums as well,” he pointed out, already expecting the sparkle in her eyes. ‘Mostly European history mirrored in art’, something from every century, she listed works she had to see there, mostly birds. Maybe she can look at the original flute and figure how they made it sound like an actual bird. She started to get off topic with symbolisms of birds and how they can safe most old paintings for her, since the meaning is almost always something positive… and she likes crows, thank you very much.

He could have interrupted her, but he had a salad to eat. And she was excited. About old art. When he inserted the fact that he had known some of the artists, she stopped dead in her tracks. And stared. And actually needled him about it. That the one he had picked to tell her about was Raphael might have something to do with it.

The little excursion ended with the ‘Sistine Madonna’ and the tiny angels on the bottom line. Which, the angel Raphael pointed out, were terribly cramped and unhealthy-looking, but he possibly only had dead birds to look at anyway.

It gave Asmodeus pause, just for a moment, looking out at the very much living pigeons outside, and said: “… you think they could get that cramped?”

“Err… no. No, of course not. It’s a simple misalignment, he… didn’t put much thought in the connection between bone structures and the wings, so… it looks wrong to me, but I suppose if you don’t see the natural shape of… pigeon wings every day, it’s not that strange. Thank you very much!” She nodded at the waiter, who took away the salad plate and replaced it by the various appetizers.

This certainly was one way to answer, but it wasn’t exactly what he wanted. He watched her sniff every piece of the selection and said: “… but you said cramped, so it didn’t look too unnatural? It could happen?” Wing injuries weren’t… something he ever wanted to pay much attention to.

She looked towards the ceiling, frowned and then shrugged: “Maybe. Depends on the structure of the wing. What kind of bird is sampled. Very unlikely. Haven’t seen it yet. And I’ve seen some… unpleasant misalignments of feathers. Recently, too.” She cut off a piece of the canapé, the taste test resulted in an excited squeal. “This is good!” She stabbed the second half of it and reached over the table towards Asmodeus: “Try! It’s GREAT”

His eyebrows rose and his eyes wandered from her excited face to the canapé. Standard, really. But he laughed. And leaned forward to pull the piece off with his teeth.

Raphael watched him chew with excitement. And… the verdict… was that it was a normal, if done well, canapé. He still said: “The goat cheese does compliment the fruit very well.”

It made her smile and she continued to sample, occasionally succumbing to the urge to feed him. Apparently that was a thing Raphael just… did. And he couldn’t help a smile.

“I… am glad you enjoy, but… recent feather misalignments?” It seemed… off.

She looked up with the fork still sticking out of her mouth, chewing slowly. After she swallowed, the answer was: “Well. Ahm… you… did show up at the clinic, recently. And apparently that… resulted in an uptick of customers from… your side - apparent approval from you and all – and… well… I am the only one treating wings. I can’t give anyone else the guilt of having caused a wing injury. So… I see an influx of field agents that didn’t dare ask anyone else for a long time, so… there is a bit of damage. So… for me it’s recent. For them? Months… years… who knows?” Again she shrugged. “It’s an offer open to anyone, if you want to spread the information? No one deserves damaged wings. But it’s… hard to actually ask, in some cases. The clinic is judgement-free, just know that the appointment is always at least a week later. And one can cancel or not show up to an appointment, no judgement there, either” She frowned and wrinkled her nose. “… this sounded like a sales pitch. But well, I mean it. Spread the word, maybe? Proper treatment needs a partner, and not anyone has that”

And then her attention returned to the cheese platter.

Ah. So… that’s how… that worked.

He nibbled at the piece of cheese held in front of his nose. A non-smelly piece. Mh.

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

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TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 11: SLISKE’S ENDGAME

QUEST SUMMARY:

The eclipse is nigh. The end of Sliske’s games draws near. All the gods gather for one final race for the Stone, taking them through a shadowy labyrinth of the devious Mahjarrat’s design. Not only does Jahaan have to survive the trials Sliske sets out for them, but he has to compete against every major deity in Gielinor. Then, and only then, will he have a shot at ending Sliske’s madness once and for all…

CHAPTER 4 - MORAL MAZE

Jahaan had been traipsing through the maze for quite some time now without running into anyone. After his spat with Saradomin and Zamorak, he was glad for the solitude. He knew at some point he’d run into the dragonkin - just his luck, after all. From Sliske’s announcements, they’d been making quite the mess. Recently Jahaan had stumbled over the debris of a broken statue, no doubt their doing.

Jahaan had no idea how long he’d spent in the maze, but it had to have been a couple of hours by now. His waterskin was empty, and the measly amount of food he’d packed had long since been scoffed. The thing about being stuck in a labyrinth was the lack of visual progression. Sure, he’d reached the glowing orb thing first, but beyond that, it was a free-for-all. Yes, he’d solved a whole bunch of puzzle doors and trap rooms by now, but they didn’t show any signs of lessening. Who’s to say Zaros wasn’t one locked door away from the Stone, or Saradomin hadn’t run himself in circles and was back at the start? Of course, the frustration was exactly what Sliske was hoping to elicit in the competitors. Seeing them squabble and break would surely be amusing for him...

Eventually Jahaan stumbled upon Zaros and company, the deity greeting, “Well met, World Guardian.”

“Hello Zaros,” Jahaan cordially replied. “How are you finding the game so far?”

“It is an unnecessary formality,” Zaros replied, betraying no emotion. “Sliske loves to caper and play the fool, but his time now is almost at an end.”

“You expect to win the game?”

“It is not a question of winning or losing,” Zaros stated. “I have never seen the need, or felt the desire, to participate in mortal entertainments and this is no different. I have made sufficient effort to ensure that whatever the outcome, things will transpire according to my design.”

Jahaan narrowed his eyes, warily. There was something subtly threatening about Zaros’ tone, something insidiously ominous, but Jahaan didn’t want to delve too much into it now, lest he accidentally make another enemy here.

But if I get the Stone, how would that fit into Zaros’ plan? Jahaan couldn’t help but muse to himself.

Such a thought only spurred Jahaan on, not wanting to waste any more time with idle chit-chat. He admired Zaros, but not enough to relinquish the Stone to the deity, should he claim it.

But before he left, he desired a small word with Azzanadra, who looked a lot more sullen and morose than usual. The Mahjarrat seemed to be staring off into space.

“Azzanadra?” Jahaan called.

The Mahjarrat looked up, shaking the cobwebs from his mind. “Apologies, World Guardian. My mind was elsewhere.”

“That’s okay,” Jahaan was slightly worried about Azzanadra’s tone but thought better than to question it. Mahjarrat hated talking about their feelings at the best of times, but in front of their god? Not a chance. But Jahaan had been hoping to run into Azzanadra, so he pushed his concerns aside for a moment and said, “When I met with Wahisietel, he said another Ritual was on the horizon. Did one actually happen?”

Azzanadra nodded, gravely. “A Ritual was conducted, but Sliske did not attend. It does not seem to have affected him, though. Not yet, anyway.”

“Why do you think that is?” Jahaan asked, having ideas of his own but hoping for some clarity.

Clearing his throat, Azzanadra’s eyes darted to Zaros and Char, refusing to meet Jahaan’s own. “Apologies, Jahaan. We can discuss this after the Stone has been claimed.”

Azzanadra strode off down the corridor, Jahaan numbly watching him go. He looked to Zaros in hopes of an explanation, but only received a courteous, “I must continue. Perhaps we will meet at the end, World Guardian.”

Strisath and Sithaph had separated from Kerapac at the start of the labyrinth, not caring for the more reserved strategy of the Dactyl dragonkin. No, the Necrosyrtes didn’t have the patience to follow Kerapac’s lead, instead taking to barrelling through the labyrinth like an unhinged tornado. Unsurprisingly, they hadn’t gotten far in the labyrinth, save for the few mask-based riddle doors they got through by pushing every button until the door yielded. They shrugged off the static shocks they endured like they were pinpricks.

Wings didn’t help them, though they insisted on repeatedly trying to fly over the walls, the forcefield stopping them every time.

Unfortunately for Armadyl, he just so happened to run into these dragonkin.

Armadyl’s breath caught in his throat as soon as he saw the dragonkin storm around the corner, halting his avianse and trying to subtly move in front of them to protect them.

Gulping, he whispered to his entourage, “Stay back. Don’t provoke them.”

As soon as Strisath and Sithaph locked eyes with Armadyl, they stalked over, a hoarse gargle from a forgotten flame dying in their throats.

“Why so scared, little budgie?” Strisath taunted, hungry eyes raking up the avianse god’s tall frame.

“I have no quarrel with you,” Armadyl tried to sound confident, but his tone was wavering.

“Nor we with you,” Sithaph’s tone was taunting and cruel. “Why would we fight the ‘Great Armadyl, holder of the Siphon’?”

“‘Great Armadyl, Beheader of Bandos’,” Strisath joined in with a cackle, skulking around to block one of Armadyl’s exits.

“‘Great Armadyl, Stone Coveter’,” Sithaph hissed, a strangled rasp of a sound.

Trying to quell his shaking, Armadyl let out a long breath and began, “Look, I am not interested in the Stone. Not personally. I want to lock it away, far away from any gods. I'm here to end this. And I could help all of you! I may be powerless here, but away from this game - I would free you. I would try to free you!”

Sithaph tilted his head to one side, licking his lips with a forked tongue. “You would do that for us? You would set us free? We wouldn't feel this... rage, this strength in pain? It would be gone?”

Sighing with relief, Armadyl excitedly continued, “Yes, all of it! I would dedicate myself to returning you to your noble roots, I-”

He was cut off by having to duck a fireball that was aimed too close to his head. Smoke huffed from Strisath’s nostrils as he grunted, “Foolish pigeon, it would be easier to rip out your stupidity than rip out the Stone's curse.”

Sithaph barred his fearsome set of teeth. “You stand here, with the gift of the elder gods removed from you, and claim to save us? Arrogant bird. The fury of the dragonkin cannot be quelled! Not by you, and not by any of the other pathetic creatures that call themselves gods…”

With that, they both let out an ear-piercing scream in tandem and bolted down the next corridor.

Armadyl watched them go, thankfully with a pride more singed than his feathers.

Once again, a vexing puzzle door blocked Zaros and his entourage from progressing in the maze. The puzzle blocking the door in question was a mechanism of sorts, one comprised of a dial that could only be solved by deciphering the rune symbols surrounding it. There were dozens of potential combinations, but Zaros had soon figured out the correlation between the composite runes in an incorrect colour and the number of twists required on the dial. A good twenty minutes at a previous gateway had led to that discovery and, to their relief, Sliske had been consistent in his solutions.

When they walked through, who was there to greet them at the other side, but Zamorak and his entourage.

The thick tension between the two groups was suffocating, a choking silence of calculations and false bravado.

Of all of them, Azzanadra was the first one to break the silence. “Well… this takes me back.”

“Be silent, worm,” Lord Daquarius warned. “You are in the presence of a god!”

Licking his lips, Azzanadra cracked a challenging sneer. “Do you have any idea who we are?”

“Relics of the past who should have stayed buried,” Lord Daquarius spat back, clutching onto the hilt of his sword.

“Better a relic than an usurper!” Char boldly retorted.

“Enough, all of you,” Zamorak groaned, exasperatedly. “Zaros, Azzanadra… it’s been a minute.”

Azzanadra replied, “We seem to be running into each other a lot these days,” he squinted at Moia. “I do not recognise the company you are keeping. What is she supposed to be?”

Zamorak introduced, “This is Moia. Lucien's daughter.”

Azzanadra’s face turned a sickening shade of disgust. “Lucien's… daughter? How? But… her face. What is wrong with her face?”

“I am half-human,” Moia announced, lifting her chin in dignified defiance.

“Half?” Azzanadra choked. “But that is not possible… my lord, did you know of this abomination?”

“Yes,” Zaros confirmed. “But she is not important. The secret of her creation died with Lucien.”

“Thankfully!”

“But I could be the future of our race!” an insulted Moia protested.

“Our race?” Azzanadra spluttered through the indignity. “Better to not have a future than this… this 'hybrid'!”

“Zamorak told me you were a self righteous fool,” Moia growled, baring her teeth. “I see now how right he was!”

Shaking his head, Azzanadra asked, “Zamorak, how can you stand to be around this 'thing'?”

Zamorak simply replied, “Moia is a loyal follower. She is also perfectly capable of speaking for herself.”

Still, Azzanadra persisted, “My lord, we cannot let this abomination roam free. It is an insult to the Mahjarrat. We must kill it!”

“We must do nothing of the sort,” Zaros firmly disuaged. “Moia is here as Zamorak's agent, and Zamorak and I have come to an understanding, as you should remember.”

“Oh, really? And here I was hoping for the big showdown…”

Zaros audibly sighed. “Hello Sliske.”

“By all means, don’t let me disturb you,” Sliske continued, his honeyed voice dripping through everyone’s last nerve like acid. “I really am sorry to have missed that shindig on Freneskae. You two finally kiss and make up, hm?”

Zamorak’s grin turned malicious. “Sliske! You know, I really wish you had made it to the Ritual,” he flashed a devilish sneer at Azzanadra. “It would have been fun to see some of your closest companions finally prove they were sick of you.”

At this, Azzanadra started to storm forward, but Zaros held an arm out to stop him.

“Come on Zaros, let them get it out of their system. After all, I’ve stripped you all of your powers. Even Azzy’s feeling the effects. It would be fun to see a little fist-fight between him and Zammy.”

“Be quiet, Sliske,” Zaros warned, coldly.

Naturally, it was a warning Sliske did not heed. “Then Zamorak, maybe you could take Zaros on personally? After all, you’ve already spent an eternity without your god powers. You KNOW how to fight. You could easily take him.”

Zamorak had had enough. “Shut the FUCK UP Sliske!”

Sliske tutted. “Oh, Zammy, you're still such a bore. Go on, then. Go back to your disappointingly non-violent squabbling.”

“It is time to leave,” Zaros announced.

“Actually, I wanted to speak to you alone, Zaros,” Zamorak’s tone was measured, his anger dissipated.

Char boldly interjected, “Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of all of us, usurper.”

Hushing her, Zaros assured, “Do not fear, my child. Zamorak and I have come to an understanding. I wish to hear him out. Please…”

He motioned for Zamorak to follow him to the far end of the corridor, though both deities knew they were being watched like hawks by the beedy eyes of their respective entourages.

“Your followers are very protective over you,” Zamorak commented, looking over his shoulder at the glare Char was shooting him. He waved in return.

“They are,” Zaros simply replied.

“Of course, while we’re both here, stripped of our powers…” Zamorak trailed off, an unreadable glint in his eyes.

“Yes?”

“This would be the perfect time to complete the rebellion.”

“By killing me?”

“Yes. I don’t think they could save you in time.”

Calmly, Zaros inquired, “And will you do so?”

After a long pause, Zamorak let out a deep, pent up sigh, and said, “It’s very, very tempting... but no.”

“And why not?” Zaros’ stoism did not waver.

“Because the rebellion’s thousands of years in the past. Because you helped save the Mahjarrat. Because we share a mother? But also because perhaps... I finally realise that I haven’t got shit to prove to you anymore. When you were gone, I conquered worlds. I brought death to whole races and redemption to others. Thousands of years ago I wanted to prove I could be a better leader than you. I’ve since proven that a hundred fucking times over.”

Though it couldn’t be seen behind his mask, Zaros’ lips danced with the faintest glimmer of a warm smile, one he hadn’t achieved in a milenia. “Good. It was always my hope for you that you would fulfil your potential. I simply did not anticipate it coming in the form it did.”

Zamorak felt like smiling too, but he restrained himself. “Yes, I recall you spoke of my potential when you made me your Legatus Maximus, back when I first became a general of your armies and swore to do your bidding.”

Zamorak relaxed his tensed up stance, his face washing over with a tranquility he hadn’t felt since stepping inside Sliske’s labyrinth. “It’s strange… we have not spoken like this in so long, my lord. I feel… 'loyal'...” his eyes grew wide. “Wait…”

Zaros brought a single finger to the lips of his mask, signalling quiet. “Sliske must not know. I will not take advantage of you.”

Zamorak knew this feeling - he felt it many times before, even right before he stabbed Zaros with the Staff of Armadyl. It was the insidious, smoky feeling of having his mind infiltrated, a power Zaros held and administered so easily. The ‘curse’ that Zaros spoke of, doomed to enforce loyalty in the beings he commanded over, never knowing if it was genuine or not.

What the fuck? Was his divinity… somehow not stripped...

However, instead of anger at this unwelcomed familiarity, he only felt serenity. He knew not to ask questions, and he knew why not to ask, because he knew the answers; these questions and answers belonged to Zaros - they were not his own. “Then... this feeling of calm...?

“It is not real,” Zaros confirmed. “Your rage will return. Your rage at me, in particular. But I urge you, Zamorak, for the sake of the warlord who once showed so much promise, and the righteous divinity you have become, do not let it master you. Now, I must depart.”

“Goodbye my lor-...” Zamorak shook his head, clearing his mind. “Goodbye, Zaros.”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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[littlemisskookie]

The Story of Us

The Story of Us Ship: Hoseok | Reader Description: The story of your relationship with Jung Hoseok. Warning: Fluff, Angst, Slight Mentions of Fluff, Cracky Humor Word Count: 6,231

Day 1

I met a boy today.

Yesterday, to be more precise. Exactly 5 hours and 48 minutes from ago, from the moment that I'm writing down these words.

I've never really started a journal before- well, more accurately, I've never finished one. I've attempted and started various times, but I'd eventually lose interest or be too busy and never get back to it. Therefore, one of my many New Year Revolutions that no one actually intends to keep, was to start a diary again- and to finish.

Saying diary sounds so girly and feminine- makes me want to cringe. But what's wrong with feminine things? I like feminine things occasionally. Maybe the social justice warrior in me simply believes that this world's gotten to toxic on its synonymous meanings behind masculinity and strength.

I know it seems as though I'm rambling, but this exact topic is what brought me to the boy I've met.

His name is Jung Hoseok.

The name looks so pretty as I write it down. It's also so pretty, the way it rolls off my tongue. Sort of like those movie stars or singers with names that just sound like they were destined to be famous.

Believe it or not, Hoseok's face is even prettier than his name. I was half-wasted at someone's New Year's Eve party- I can't even remember who's it was already, can you believe that?- feeling mopey at the thought of having to down another shot instead of having a New Year's kiss like the fellow drunks around me. I just didn't want to randomly sexually assault some guy, grabbing him by the collar and smashing his face against mine out of self-pity. No, men deserve the same respect we should expect. Therefore I'm not going to shove my tongue down someone's throat like a sleazy frat douche.

So continuing along, I've got warm beer on the collar of my shirt due to my utter lack of coordination, and I turn and bump into a man. If he were across the room, I wouldn't have noticed him, probably because my vision's very hazy with this much booze, and he'd look similar to the pad of my thumb. Up close though... Writing can't do him justice.

But that smile. God, I think I melted. I don't believe in love at first sight, mind you- just infatuation and/or lust. I'll clarify, however, that my legs went to utter mush when I saw him. He seemed as radiant as the sun, warming the room despite it being a freezing winter day.

And I was the idiot who literally fell for him. See what I did there? Not figuratively of course- God, it's too soon for that. I'm not going to start naming our kids or some bullshit like that. (Astrid if it's a girl, Lucas if it's a boy.)

I'm sure he was just thinking, "Wow, look at this hot mess. I pity whoever's floor she's passing out on."

Or maybe that's just what he wanted to say.

Instead, like the true gentleman, I'm sure he was pretending to be, he rights me up and holds me firmly to make sure I don't make another klutzy accident. "Woah, are you alright? It seems like you've had too much to drink."

Let me tell you, his hands were so firm, with veins along the top, and his jawline was so sharp, and his cologne- oh dear God, he smelt nothing like the sixth grade boys who poured an entire bottle over their head in the locker room- he knew how to actually put on cologne! I wanted nothing more than to fall again and have another 'accident' by slipping right on his penis.

Of course, I didn't actually say that- he'd probably think I was psycho. Instead, I said, "Oops," and blushed profusely. "I suppose you're right."

As soon as he was sure I could stand on my own he looked deeply into my eyes and said- "Wow, your pupils are super dilated. I should get you some water to help you sober up."

Romantic right? Like the polite way of saying, "Holy crap, you look like a hot piling piece of shit right now! What a mess, I'm going to take pity on you so that you don't end up getting kidnapped while wandering through the streets." That would be a way to start off the year.

I simply nodded along dumbly as he told me to wait right where I was, and true enough, within a few seconds he's back with a bottle of water- unopened- and hands it to me. I thank him for it, and as I unscrew the cap- a very tight cap, mind you, that's how I know it's unopened. I'm terrible at opening unopened caps- someone bumps into me.

I should probably mention at this moment that I had decided to wear a white turtleneck to this New Year's Eve party. While I'd normally dress like a proud 50-year-old mom reliving her bimbo days as she's drunk at some retirement home party, where she works part-time, I instead chose to go the more practical route and dress warmly. Otherwise, my nipples would get so hard they'd burst from my shirt and say, "Hello, world!"

Of course, I'm sure you know that white clothing + water is never a good thing. Especially if you're wearing a black bra underneath said clothing. Therefore Hoseok quickly froze up, ushered me outside onto the balcony so we could be away from the crowd- and somehow, I'm too drunk to remember- got this big ass parka and draped it over me. Of course, being partially soaked and in the freezing cold in winter, isn't exactly the best case scenario. However, I didn't want to be that asshole who was like, "Thanks for the help, but you really made things worse." That, and I was looking to get wet somewhere else because of this guy if you catch my drift.

"Thank you," I say, bundling up. I know the parka is his because it smells like his cologne. I want to bury myself in it like the obsessive hermit I am.

Hoseok just smiles at me and shrugs, as if it's no big deal, which it totally isn't. "No problem, glad to help. You kind of seemed out of it."

"What's your name?"  I questioned, unaware that I was about to be more blessed than the Holy Trinity itself once he dropped it.

"Hoseok. Jung Hoseok. And you?"

"Y/N."

His cheeks were so rosy from the cold outside- and probably because I also took his fucking parka- but I'm going to fantasize it was because of me instead. "Y/N," he said. "I like it."

It's a brief moment, and silence hangs between us. You know when you meet someone for the first time, and you don't know what to talk about, because you don't know anything you have in common yet? It was like that. I was just itching to find something to say, but when you're buzzed, it's sort of hard to figure out the right words or questions. I'm usually much better at these sort of things- just ask the middle school friends I used to have- I was a fucking wiz at truth or dare.

We hear shouting from inside, and the moment is over. 10!...9!...8!...7!...6!...

Hoseok looks to me for a second, and I'm pretty sure he was actually blushing this time. I feel my heart begin to pound a bit faster at the thought that he's going to kiss me, and I feel gleeful! Like a school girl instead of someone who's going to work hungover tomorrow.

"Can I kiss you?"

Yes yes yes!

"Sure." I say it in a way that sounds as though I would've followed it with 'whatever'. I'm surprised I kept my chill, seeing that in my head I was bouncing on the balls of my feet.

5!...4!...3!...

He leans in, and I can smell the cologne much stronger now, as though he applied it just below his ears, where his jawline curved upward.

2!...

Was this it? Was I going to get a New Year's kiss? I should've asked if he had herpes first.

1!...

He gives me a peck on the cheek. it's warm, and it makes me feel warm despite the bitter air stinging my cheeks, but it's warm nonetheless. Honestly, I prefer the fact he kissed my cheek instead of kissing me on the lips. Sure, I was slightly disappointed at the time, but now that I write this before heading to work, with a mild migraine and a sober mind, I'll tell you why the cheek was better.

He knew I was drunk, and if he were to kiss me or do anything further, it would've been taking advantage of my state. Secondly, a kiss to the cheek is harmless. It's cute, it's innocent, it's... sweet. I feel somewhat guilty for wanting to jump his bones at that moment, but it was the sweetest thing! Adorable, truly.

The moment is ingrained in my head, but the minute the clock struck twelve, everything else seemed to speed up. Before I knew it, I was writing in way-too-big-handwriting along his forearm, in sharpie, my number. He called me an Uber, and then I wake up in bed with a pounding headache and a message in my phone of a 'Hey' and a smiley face, with a little ramble about how he met me at the party and who he was. As if I could forget! (Scratch that, I could totally forget, drunk me is stupid enough.)

I've got to get to work, but something about this guy makes me feel elated.

Day 7

Mr. Jung Hoseok and I just went on a date.

A. Date.

Let me clarify if you didn't get that right.

A.

Date.

Got it? Good.

We've been texting for a week and such, and he's so much sweeter and funnier through texts. He likes my sense of humor- despite how raunchy and weird I am, though it wasn't what he initially expected- and he's a lot more outgoing than I expected. He's louder than I thought- even through the phone when we called. My friends think I'm going fast since I called him, but I think it's silly. We haven't even kissed yet, who cares?

Oh, yes, the date! I should explain that.

So we decide to meet at this ice rink at the zoo. Every year they open one up right next to the ostriches- y'know, those big weird birds that vaguely resemble feet and look like they want to kill you? Those. Hoseok totally agreed on my sentiment about that- he said he was scared of ostriches when he was a kid. I said me too! (Total lie, I grabbed a pigeon once, not a good day for 6-year-old me.)

I wait for him in the middle of the ice rink, on my skates, and I see him slowly skating towards me. I look like the living embodiment of the marshmallow man- is that what he's called? That big giant statue thing with the donut that comes to life in Ghostbusters? Whatever, then the tire man they use for those tire commercials, you know the one. He looks like he could model for Abercrombie and Fitch. I was slightly scared that my drunken state had overglorified his in-person glory, but low and behold, he does not look remotely like a thumb! He looks like a fucking god!

And he asked me on a date!

So naturally, my first thought is, "Wow, what an idiot. Someone call Ursala because we've got a poor unfortunate soul over here."

My second thought is, "Wow, where did he get those earmuffs? I want some of those." (His grandma knitted them.)

My third thought was, "Holy shit, I'm falling!"

Sure enough, my butt landed so hard on the ice that I was sure it was going to crack, and all the little kids skating around us would be sunk into the depths of the ice rink. That or my ass would get frostbite. Instead, Hoseok laughed his ass off and reluctantly helped me up whilst wiping the tears off of his face so they wouldn't freeze like icicles.

Other than that blunder, which I can laugh about now, it went great. Our hands made us feel like we were both toddlers with thick fingers that resemble those cartoony ones, plump and fat with the mittens or gloves we wore, clasped around the other's as we skated along. Well, I was attempting to more or less- I'm not the best skater. He was mediocre, but every time he fell I made sure to jeer a good amount as payback before helping him. up. I enjoyed his company and he even laughed at my crude humor. Picture that, a decent guy actually liking me! I thought I was just a magnet for assholes, but here we are!

I went home with a smile on my face and possible frostbite on my ass, and a guarantee for a second date next weekend.

Day 29

Jung Hoseok finally kissed me.

I had kicked my roommate out so that I could watch a movie with him at my place. We were watching We're the Millers, an American classic in my opinion, with my humor down to the T. Hoseok laughed at it too, and it wasn't even the fake laugh you'd expect when you're forced to watch a movie you don't even enjoy. He snorted. Do you know how hard it is to fake a snort? A genuine snort? Like the one where you sound like a pig? God, he was an adorable pig.

It was the part where the kid made out with both his mother and sister I got to thinking- Hey, why hasn't Hoseok kissed me yet? We weren't official or anything, and there was no rush- hell, we were adults, not horny teenagers. But I figured it would've happened by now.

Maybe he could sense I was getting a little confused when I started breathing on my wrist to see if my breath smelled bad. (I had made sure to chew minty gum before the date, just in case.)

The entire night went by before anything happened, and I admit, I felt a little disappointed that he hadn't kissed me yet. I was walking him out of the building (because I didn't want him to be attacked by rapists or anything) and waving goodbye to him as he walked to his car when suddenly he froze in his tracks. My first thought was that he saw a rapist, but instead, he turns around and marches to me, a determined look in his eye, and he kisses me. He kisses me, and he kisses me, and he kisses me. His hands are on either side of my face as he pulls me in, and I didn't care at that moment that my nipples were probably poking through my shirt, or that my hands were so cold they were numb, I just kissed him right back, with my minty breath and everything.

Needless to say, I'm ecstatic to do it again.

Day 40

I'm officially Jung Hoseok's girlfriend.

We were both laying on the couch, my legs sprawled over his as we watch a movie he likes, a Japanese film named Let Me Eat Your Pancreas. (Stupid title, but I swear it's good.)

Suddenly the question pops up.

"Why haven't you asked about our relationship title?"

Strangely enough, it's not overthinking me who asks this question- it's him. Hoseok who simply goes with whatever I suggest despite my antics.

I simply shrug. "I guess we never got around to discussing it. I mean... I really like you. Do you like me?"

Hoseok laughs hard at that. "Are you kidding? I've liked you since I met you- heads over heels, in fact. I thought I was being obvious."

God, you should've seen the stupid grin plastered over my face. I looked like I had just committed a felony and gotten away with it. The same look my aunt would always wear at family reunions.

"Well, if we both like each other, why don't we date exclusively. Like boyfriend and girlfriend?" I question. "With me playing the part of the boyfriend, of course."

Hoseok snorts at that- that pig laugh again- of course.

"Then it's settled," I grinned.

"So you're officially asking me to be your boyfriend?"

"More like proclaiming, but whatever you want to call it," I shrug.

Hoseok laughs at that, shaking his head as he turns his attention back to the film. "Proclaiming," he murmurs.

Day 65

I can officially say that I've sat, sucked, and held Jung Hoseok's penis.

And by God, is it a blessing. I'm pretty sure his balls are even more symmetrical than most- and I've touched a lot of balls.

That sounded weird.

Alright, let me just get into what happened. We had been waiting a little while for it to come up- not that we had a schedule, but it wasn't the heated spontaneous moment they show in movies. We were in a heated makeout session, like usual, groping and grinding and all of that good stuff. I was grinding as though he were coffee beans.

Well, the gist of it was that he suddenly pulled back and raised his brows, giving me a questioning look. "Do you want to?" he asked quietly.

We had been dating a bit less than a month if you only count when we were official. But it didn't feel as though it were too soon in my opinion. So I simply kissed him again and asked what he was waiting for. Being the good roommate I was, I didn't let jizz get all over the couch, since it can be a bitch to clean up on that sort of material, and instead lead him to my bedroom.

Maybe I should keep it vague and pull a Donna by placing dot dot dot. But seeing how blatant I have been in this journal about my desire to jump his bones since I met him, I think I won't.

He gave good head. Good everything really. I think he liked the part where I slurped his dick like it was a melting popsicle in July the most. He didn't partake in pillow talk after the deed was done, though. The devil's tango, if you will. The horizontal hula dance- sorry, I'm getting off topic. He fell asleep. Maybe he nutted so hard it sent his consciousness to another dimension. So instead I smiled, kissed his nose, went to pee and snuggled beside him.

Day 117

Hoseok loves me.

I love him too, no doubt. We've been dating for months at this point.

The way it happened was kind of funny, really. I think our entire relationship is, in a sense. We were on the phone and he's away on some business trip. It was probably 3 AM or something, but I was up doing work and he's the type who doesn't feel like hanging up, willing to simply bathe in someone's presence, even if it's only through a screen. He's extroverted like that- he can't stand not having human interaction.

It was when I was yawning, finally wrapping up my work, and Hoseok, though two hours behind me, was getting tired, too. Both of us agreed to hang up, and as he was saying goodbye he accidentally blurted, "Good night, I love you." As soon as he realized what he had admitted, his eyes were the size of golf balls, and he kept murmuring, 'shit shit shit'. In his flustering movements and embarrassment, he dropped the phone, and whilst picking it back up he accidentally hung up.

I, meanwhile, was boisterously laughing the entire time. After the tears dried off my face I squealed to myself, smiling despite everything as I decided first thing when he came back I'd tell him that I felt the same. I had been wondering how to properly address it, but, then again, our relationship isn't exactly the smoothest.

God, I love that fucking dork.

Day 120

I told Hoseok I loved him.

I did it in a really cute way, being the very extra person I am. As I was picking him up from the airport, I decided to make a sign, the same way rich people make their butlers to hold up signs with their last names without anything better to do. On the sign, I put glitter and hearts and pink- trying to make it seem as corny as possible. It said 'Jung, I love you 2'. To top it all off, I had a heart-shaped balloon tied to my left wrist.

Hoseok laughed the moment he saw it, knowing it was just like me to go outrageously above and beyond with this gesture. He dropped his bags and came up to me, hoisting me in the air as though we were in some sort of romcom, and kissed me like it was the first time in years, and in between each kiss he mumbled, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Some people were glaring at the PDA, and the fact I was spreading the glitter from the sign everywhere, but I didn't care. I just cared about the fact that he was back, and he was home, and he was in my arms.

Day 352

Hoseok and I live together now. It's finally been settled. The last box from my now ex-roommate's apartment has been removed, and my toothbrush now sits in the same little cup as Hoseok's does. We spend so much time at each other's places, it was bound to happen. We already act like an old married couple, so I simply asked, "Hey, what would you think if we moved in together?"

He was surprisingly all in for it. He helped me pack and move my things, and here we both are, unpacking my clothes and dividing the drawers so I can cram clothes I no longer wear and lacy underwear I've never worn in the wedges and cracks. Hoseok doesn't complain though- instead of calling me out saying, "You wear the same bra and sweatpants every day, why do you need all of these shorts with writings on the ass?" To which I'd reply, "Fuck off, it was the 2000's." No, he simply says, "You can get the drawers on the left, and I'll get the ones on the right."

I think we work well together so far- but lord knows that living with Hoseok will change things.

The guy puts the toilet paper under instead of over. I'm living with a sociopath- might as well be Jake Paul!

Day 405

Today is my one year anniversary with Hoseok.

My boss forced me to stay late at work, and because of the shitty cellular reception, I was unable to call Hoseok to explain the situation. One of the employees I was supposed to manage severely fucked up, therefore I was the one who was forced to clean up their mess. The boss kept their hawk eyes on me the entire time, as though they blamed me for what had happened, and was scared I'd screw up again. I didn't even have time to whip out my phone to tell Hoseok I was going to be late. It was a pity, too, seeing as he was so excited about whatever surprise he had prepared for me.

By the time I got home, it was far later than usual, and there was dripping wax from the candlelit setup, and the pancakes- my favorite- were cold. Hoseok had fallen asleep at the table, wearing a cute apron and still clutching his phone in his hand.

I felt so guilty for missing our anniversary. Once I woke him up, I apologized profusely, trying to explain the situation. He was groggy, barely understanding what I was saying. I could feel how neglected he felt so, how betrayed and sad. Even when I showed him the tickets to the game he wanted to see- damn good tickets, too- he seemed depressed and sulky. He won't talk to me now, instead giving me a kiss and saying he'd go to bed.

I feel terrible.

Day 456

Hoseok and I got into a fight today.

It was over nothing, really. I forgot what it was over in the first place, but it escalated pretty quickly.

Somehow the conversation deterred to how his parents disapprove of me and how I don't seem to truly love him some days- that I don't take our relationship seriously.

I was sobbing by the end of it, my voice hoarse as I asked him to name examples. I couldn't deny what he said though- but he made it seem as though I put work over him. Not just the anniversary blunder, but the canceling of plans and making him feel neglected or unloved. The best I could fire back with was how his mother always glared at me and made me feel uncomfortable when we went to visit her, and I felt like some whore she thought was taking advantage of her son.

We're both going to bed angry to cool off- but I think it's for the best. I still feel the adrenaline surging throughout me in anger at his words. I hope we can fix this by tomorrow.

Day 623

Apparently Hoseok is cheating on me.

Ridiculous, right? I don't even believe it myself.

A girl friend of mine called me over to come hang out- said it was urgent. I just thought that if she was getting engaged she might as well tell me over the phone.

I think anyone gets a sense of dread when someone says the words, "I have to tell you something," or "I need to talk to you." It just rises panic.

But I wasn't prepared for this.

She says she saw Hoseok with another girl yesterday.

That's ridiculous. I laughed and told her she probably saw someone else and left it at that. Still, curiosity and dread clawed at me. Hoseok and I have been getting in more arguments lately- but surely he wouldn't cheat, right?

I went to confront him- no, no, ask is more correct- about my friend's suspicions. But he was so tired, I just sent him to bed. No doubt he had a long day at work. Besides, I trust Hoseok. There's no way he'd do something like that. The boy who was too afraid to kiss me on the lips he gave me a peck on the cheek? A cheater? Ha! I even laugh as I write this, it's so preposterous.

I'm sure everything's fine.

I hope.

Day 645

I believe Hoseok is cheating on me.

I can't even say it out loud and I'm writing it down.

We've gotten into a lot of fights lately, sure. How I'm too insensitive and don't take anything seriously, to how he focuses too much on work and doesn't acknowledge the hard work I'm putting in. It starts with the small stuff, like what Netflix show to watch, and it slowly escalates. It's been like this for a few months, but goddammit, I love him. I've been with him for so long.

I don't know what to do.

He's been late from work a lot more than usual these past few weeks. I didn't care- more time for me to be away- but then I got suspicious.

Today I found a pair of underpants that aren't mine. This red, skimpy thong. I haven't touched any of my lingerie since I moved in, I never felt the need to impress him after we began letting go. Lord knows he has. So I know it's not mine- and I'll be damned if he's wearing sexier thongs than I am.

No, I don't feel in the mood to be funny. I can't. I can't crack a joke and pretend everything's some comedy skit on SNL. My boyfriend of over a year is sleeping with another woman and it fucking hurts.

I think I'm going to go to bed.

Day 679

"Leave him," they say. "He's a cheating bastard."

I can't deny that bit. I know it- he knows it- we're just still pretending like we're happy. Of course, it's difficult with his dick lodged in some other girl's pussy.

We got in a fight last night and I was brought to tears. He went on about how I couldn't be serious for five minutes since I never seemed to be able to take things into account. I wanted to point out that he wasn't taking our relationship seriously- I almost did, too. I almost blurted out those words, called him exactly what he was, but I couldn't. I can't confront him. I just choke on my own words, as though I'm scared to admit it to myself.

So instead I leave, slamming the door behind me and going out drinking with the girls, downing my thoughts away as they repeat the same old words about how all men are trash.

I'm in the bathroom sobbing by the toilet as I write this. I still love him. How could he do this to me? I can't change who I am. What he once loved about me he seems to despise. He's sleeping right now- went to bed without waiting for me after we had a fight like he used to.

Life fucking sucks.

Day 700

He's leaving.

I heard him on the phone. He calls her 'baby'. I can barely recall the last time he called me that. He says the word promise a lot. She seems angry. I'm writing this as I listen through the landline. The idiot didn't even use his cell phone. He says it'll be in about a week before he breaks things off with me. Why hasn't he done it before if he truly loves this girl? He clearly doesn't love me anymore. Why does he stay? Why do I stay?

She doesn't believe that he's leaving but he keeps saying, "I promise, baby, I promise." I want to shout through the line that he hasn't kept a single promise he's made me, but of course, I can't do that. What mistress would care, anyway?

I wonder at times what she looks like. Sometimes I see a smear of her lipstick on our bedspread or a hair on our couch, and I find myself piecing together an image. She's pretty- prettier than me. That's for sure. She has to be if he's leaving me for her. I don't think I want to know, though. It'll make me feel more insecure about myself.

Maybe it was for the best. Both he and I were too stubborn to leave a toxic relationship on its own- so add a third party into the mix to act as a catalyst. Great fucking idea.

He's hanging up now. He told her he loves her.

It took him 117 days to admit he loved me. I wonder how long it took him to fall for her. To fall out of love with me. I wonder how many days it'll take for me to fall out of love with him. It feels like it'll be forever. I still flip my pages to the beginning of this little book, the beginning of it all as I recorded my- no, our journey together.

I guess it's appropriate this is where it ends.

I hope you're proud of yourself.

Day 707

The smoke from the back of the car makes you grimace as you stand stiff and cross-armed by the taxi, Hoseok lugging his suitcases and stuff into the trunk. He would get a friend to stop by tomorrow to pick up the rest of his stuff- assuming you don't burn it by then.

You had caught him packing last night when you finally confronted him, an explosive fight breaking out between the two of you as you both burst into tears. You at the fact he was cheating and leaving you, and him because of what had become of the two of you, how bitter and hateful you had become to one another. And then you both became hollow, cold shells to each other as he packed the rest of his things, getting up bright and early that morning to go to her place, to live there.

Your hands are shaking as you put your hand on his shoulder, and he slowly turns to you.

"Please don't try to convince me to stay, Y/N." His voice is hard and cold, and it makes you feel like an unwanted stranger. Perhaps you were. You barely knew the man before you. He was nothing like the man you had first met on New Year's Eve.

"I won't," you say softly. "I just wanted to give you... a goodbye present."

Hoseok pauses at that and turns around to face you completely, a small book in your hands. "What's this?" he questions.

You suck in a deep breath. "I can't bear to look at it- but it'd be a shame to burn it. You'd have better use of it than me, I think. It's my recordings of... the story of us, I suppose. What it was."

Hoseok's silent for a moment, staring down at the book. "I'm sorry things had to end this way," he murmured quietly, and for a second you're afraid he's going to cry again. Lord knows Hoseok was always a sensitive person.

You find a lump forming in your own throat. "I know you are," you simply say.

Hoseok opens the book to the first page, and you see him sniffle, a tear rolling down his face. Despite all of your friends screaming in your head to spit in his face and scream your head off at him, you see a sliver of the Hoseok you once knew, and you can't bear to show resentment at this moment.

"Day 1," he speaks, his voice cracking. "I met a boy today."

"Yesterday, to be more precise. Exactly 5 hours and 48 minutes from ago, from the moment that I'm writing down these words," you reminisce, quoting it word for word. "You don't know how many times I looked back at that first page, to the memory of when I first met you."

"I wish we could've started over," he said, voice a whisper as his fingers brush over the strokes of your words. "When did things change?"

"Keep reading and find out," you joke, hot tears rolling down your cheeks in fat drops. You feel angry. Angry at yourself for letting the relationship come to this- angry at him for cheating on you- angry, angry, angry. You brush them quickly, stepping back before he could even attempt to reach out to you. "It's a good story, through and through. It'll make for a good read in the car- since you don't get car sick, and all that." God, you remember how jealous you were when you found out that little fact.

There's a pregnant pause between you two.

"I'm still so, so sorry," Hoseok whispered.

For a moment, once again, he reminds you of Day 1 Hoseok, with those soft eyes and sweet expressions.

"Well, being sorry doesn't exactly fix anything, does it?" you spit bitterly, the anger rising once again. Hoseok didn't deserve a bittersweet ending. "It doesn't unfuck a girl, it doesn't erase months of lies, and it doesn't fix our relationship- more accurately what was left of it."

Hoseok doesn't say anything, letting you vent as you continued to berate him.

"I know I fucked up by putting work over you, but that doesn't give you an excuse to cheat. You said it last night- you should've ended things earlier if you really wanted to be with her. You just dragged me along- and despite what you think, I truly loved- no, still love, you. Otherwise, I wouldn't hurt so much. Otherwise, I wouldn't have stayed, cried, and fought for you. The fact I can't even mark that stupid little book shows that and more- and if you truly still don't believe my feelings, that book will prove it to you. Hundreds of days of you and I written there because I thought- I don't even know what I thought anymore. You're not the Jung Hoseok I fell for, and I guess I'm not the Y/N you fell in love with."

"Anything else you want to say?" Hoseok breathed solemnly, not even putting up a fight to defend himself. It angered you more that he wasn't fighting back, like your usual duals. He simply took it and stood there, not caring anymore. He couldn't even fight anymore. People only fought for things they cared about- and clearly, he didn't care about you anymore.

Yes, you want to scream. You fucked up. Badly. You're the antagonist in this situation, not me. You're the bad guy. We could've had a fresh start and worked things out- but you're the one who fucking fucked things up like the fucker you are. This is your fault!

"Nothing you don't already know."

Hoseok was tight-lipped, mumbling a goodbye as he left in the taxi, letting the story come to a close.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 25:  The Golden Deal

The prisoners of the Minotaur were always kept in the very building the maze was. It made things easier if they could simply let them out of their cell and then lead them down the hall to the entrance and lock them in. Though they only ever sent seven virgins in during the week, they always took ten simply because the conditions in the cell were so dismal there were always a few who didn't make it. The cells were cold and made out of stone. They contained no fireplace, no bed, no hay…it was simply a small square room where one had no choice but to find the least cold bit of earth and lay down there to sleep. The cell door was heavy, with only a small door on the bottom that unlatched from the outside, allowing the guards to shove a bit of bread and cheese inside every morning.

The prisoners were kept in the dark, both literally and figuratively. Once caught they remained in their cages with no indication until the night before as to whether or not they would be going into the maze. Even then, the only word they received on the matter was an extra portion of food shoved into their cell the night before with the words "last meal" shouted at them. It was cruel, but the King was a smart man who used cruelty as a veiled attempt to ferret out those who were "worthy" according to him. "You wouldn't want the Kingdom run by someone who couldn't handle a little suffering" was often his response to his critics, and somehow, for those families who had not lost children to his fun and games, the logic made sense.

He'd found out only an hour before going to retrieve Cora that Mary had been chosen as the next day's victim. He'd been doing his due diligence, but with Cora he found he couldn't be two places at once and there was a certain family of shapeshifters here who would have starved long ago if not for the breadcrumbs they ate off the streets. For a little golden thread, they were all too happy to keep watch on the prison for him, and the guards and King thought nothing of an extra bird in the room when discussing the week ahead.

"The girl, Mary…you won't hurt her, will you?"

"What do my plans for her matter to you?" he'd inquired.

"Nothing," he laughed away. "It's only…she's sweet."

The look in his eyes had not been part of his original plan, but love did tend to make men stupid. And he wouldn't turn down the extra help if he could get it, especially if it came free.

"Tell you what…tomorrow, before she's taken to the maze of the Minotaur, like all the others she'll be searched for any weapons she may have on her."

"Right, the King expects the beast to be destroyed through strength alone…it's what he claims makes a King strong, and it's bollocks to expect it from a girl like that."

"Exactly!" he'd giggled before pulling a small, lightweight knife barely the size of his thumb from his cloak. "But with this…the beast will fall."

He reached out and took it in his palm. "What? Something so small?"

"Well it's not the size that will get you…it's the poison inside the blade," he whispered behind his hand, despite knowing no one else had been in the woods to hear them. "That poison is made to destroy the witch's magic rapidly. Dear sweet Mary only needs to get one good cut in on the monster and all this, everything you see will someday be hers. Play your cards right, and it might just be yours too."

He'd laughed at the expression of shock on the poor lad's face. His secret had been discovered, and he was actually surprised by that! But how could he not know. These boys, hopelessly and romantically in love with "sweet girls", they all had the same look on their faces and the same tone in their voices when they spoke of them. It betrayed each of them in an instant.

"This little blade is essential to Dear Mary's freedom, and it just so happens that it's small enough for a dove to carry in his leg as he flies into that maze to lay it just at the door for the guards to overlook and our Sweet Champion to discover. I'll even do you one better, tonight, after she's gotten her last meal, I'll creep into the place and tell her you've left it for her. This time tomorrow, she'll be alive, and the kindness that pumps through her body will desire nothing more than to find you so that she can thank you."

Once more he looked down at the tiny dagger in his hand, he traced his fingers over the metal, and the pressure made it catch the sun and flash in front of them like a wink.

"What would you want in return?"

"Oh…" he'd scoffed, waving his hand away as though it was nothing when he was about to demand the highest price of all. Truth was he'd gotten used to having a lacky to do a bit of spying for him. He was confident there were many uses for a man, or a family with those talents. "Nothing but the loyalty of your family. If I should ever need a favor or a bit of muscle or…a carrier pigeon…just a little help of my own."

At that very moment a horn had sounded from within the walls of the city, from the castle where the labyrinth was buried. It was a sound he was only just getting used to, but one that his new friend knew well throughout his life. A tribute had just fallen. And he couldn't have timed it better if he'd tried. The boy had excepted the deal, he'd gone to fetch Cora, and now he and Cora stood in a small cold and dark cell, and he was ready to put his plans in place.

"Knock, knock!" he proclaimed loudly. "Room service!"

There was a shriek and then a gasp and the sound of rustling. His sensitive eyes could pick up the small girl who had been bundled in the corner, desperately reaching for her flint so that she might light the lantern they were all "gifted" with. Only enough oil for a few hours. That light was precious, he was almost honored she'd lit it in front of the pair of them. When she finally got it lit he watched as Cora shielded her eyes from the sudden brightness, but he simply looked straight ahead, using his magic to adjust his eyes so that he didn't come across as too human.

The poor child was shaking. Every inch of her visible skin was black and brown with dirt and mud, there were dark circles under her eyes. Her clothes were wet and tattered, and her hair was oily and disgusting. The room smelled like shit and piss, and he was certain it wasn't from the remains of her food which sat almost untouched at the little slot by the door. He didn't want to know what the girl had been laying in.

"Wh-wh-who are you?!" she demanded. "How did you get in here?! What are you doing here?!"

"Me?" he questions, touching his chest. "Well, I've come to bring you help! Salvation! You've quite the admirer outside of these walls."

"What?" she asked with confusion, her eyes suddenly falling on Cora who stood a fair distance away with her nose wrinkled. "Who is she?"

"She is of no consequence! I, on the other hand, happen to know exactly what you need to escape your fate tomorrow."

There was an instant shine to the girl's eyes as she lowered her lamp and took a step away. She was crying, and if the stains on her cheeks were any indication, she'd been crying long before he appeared.

"Don't you know…haven't you heard? My fate isn't something that can be escaped. No one survives this! No one ever has, no one ever will! This time tomorrow…I'll be dead!" she cried out before falling against the back wall and sinking down into it. The fleece was around her shoulders, just as dirty and smelly as she was. It appeared he'd arrived just in time.

"Ah…you see, that is where you would be mistaken," he urged breathlessly. She didn't need a clown or a magician or a deal maker. The girl needed a friend, something to give her hope. He could play that role.

"What?" she asked quietly, wiping her nose with her finger.

"Right now, as we speak there is a man, quite fond of you, who is placing at the entrance to your maze a small blade," he used a bit of magic to summon up an image of the dagger he'd crafted so that she could see it. After all, he couldn't have her accidentally picking up the wrong shiny object. These peasants were desperate, but desperation didn't circumvent stupid. She'd need all the help she could get tomorrow.

"Why…why would he do that?"

"Well, haven't I already explained that?" he asked. "He's fond of you. It would break his heart to see you never come out of that maze."

She sniffled, and the corner of her mouth raised ever so slightly. "It would?"

"It would…but!" he shouted before she could lose focus. "Killing the beast is only half the battle. The dagger will work, indeed all it will take is a single small scratch, and the creature will die in seconds. But the King's challenge isn't just to kill the beast; it's to find your way out of the maze again."

She didn't cast her eyes down at the pronouncement of the challenge, not the way she had earlier. Suddenly, in her eyes, there was a strength that he had yet to see from her. She had hope again. She just had to use it.

"You…you can help me with that. You can help me out of the maze?"

"Indeed I can…behold!" he held his hand out into the light and called from his tower a large spool of golden thread that appeared there before her. She let out a little gasp as she looked down at it.

"Thread?"

"Golden thread," he corrected. "It winks with even the smallest bit of light!" To demonstrate, he unspooled just a bit of it and moved it about in the lamplight. She took a deep breath and smiled at it with wonder. "Once they've locked you in and you've located the dagger by the door, tie this string to the door and let it out behind you as you move about. Once you've killed the monster, follow it back out to freedom."

She'd been smiling, but as she reached out to touch it, her smile fell unexpectedly. "But…they search me before I go into the maze! Would it not be simpler for you to just take me with you now? You got in, that must mean you can get me out with you!"

From behind him, he heard a snort, and when he looked back at Cora, he saw her smirking. "Smart girl," she muttered.

"Ignorant girl!" he corrected through gritted teeth as anger suddenly rose in him. He should have told her not to say anything. If her comment jeopardized this…

"You don't want me to take you with me."

"Why not?"

"Because what this spool offers is not only freedom but riches!" he proclaimed. "With this thread, you will survive. You will find your way out of the maze, the King will adopt you, and in only a few year's time when he dies, your family will never live in poverty again. You will be Queen. Come with me, and you may save yourself. Take this thread, and you save not only yourself, but your family, and all the little children who will never have to suffer this same fate you have for the last few days."

Her eyes dilated. Perhaps Cora's comment hadn't been so destructive after all. Deal-making was a lot like fishing. Sometimes all it took was the right bait, the right amount of temptation, reel them in…then let them lose before they took it.

"But! If you don't want it and would rather hide away with me while the rest of the Kingdom-"

"No! No, wait!" she cried as he moved away from her. He stopped walking and smiled.

"Yes?" he questioned, turning back.

Mary swallowed, hard, then found her feet and stood up once more. "I'll take it! Give it to me!"

But the second she reached out to snatch it from him he pulled it away. "Well, it's not that easy, dearie!" he cried out, shaking his head. "It never is! You can't get something for nothing you know! This thread is magic, and all magic comes with a price!"

Her eyes widened in fear. "But…you already said it! I'm a pauper, I sit in this cell with nothing! My family owns nothing of value! What could I possibly give you?"

He clucked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head in remorse. "'Tis a great inquiry, but…I'll tell you what," he muttered brightening. "I'll make you a deal. I'll give you this thread for…that shawl around your shoulders."

"This old thing?" she questioned, grabbing at it. "It's nothing…just an old stained fleece my father once owned."

"Well, if it's nothing, it sounds as though it is a deal in your favor!"

Poor girl thought it was only stained. She had no idea what it was worth or what it really was. She should have been jumping at this opportunity by now, sentimental or not, why wasn't she? Why was she holding it closer around her shoulders now as she looked around the room as if searching for some kind of other offering? None of it made sense! This was far more than enough to overcome the sentimentality it had on her heart!

"You brut!" Cora suddenly called out, moving around him and toward Mary. "This poor girl! Can't you see she's half-frozen already?!"

This was a mistake. He'd thought bringing Cora would be a nice surprise and she'd understand that she was there simply to watch, this was twice she'd spoken out, and it was the first time he could ever remember getting so angry at her he was tempted to use magic to take her voice or send her elsewhere. What was she doing? Trying to ruin this deal? And since when had she grown a heart for poor innocent girls? She hadn't had sympathy for herself when she was one of them.

"Better frozen than dead!" he pointed out. "She has nothing else; I'm merely trying to help the 'poor girl'!"

Cora stared at him, her eyes silently communicating something that he couldn't translate through his anger. What was she trying to do?

"Well yes, but…" suddenly she turned her back on him and faced Mary. "Listen…give him that fleece, your debt will be paid, you'll owe him nothing and have your life, and…once the deal is made, I'll give you this cloak about my shoulders here. Go ahead, feel it! You'll agree it should be plenty to keep you warm for tonight."

Cora was…a genius! For as soon as she offered, Mary reached out to rub her hand over Cora's covered arm and smiled. The grip her other hand had on the fleece loosened. "You'd do that? For me?"

"Well, I'd be heartless not to," she smiled. "A sweet girl like you…with that golden thread and the dagger your young man is hiding now, a nice cloak for a good night's sleep before tomorrow's challenge…you are going to be the first to survive this. And imagine their wonder when it is a woman and not a man who stands victorious before them tomorrow! You'll be more than saved, you'll be a Queen. And your family…one day they will be royalty with you."

Mary's eyes shone with wonder at the picture that Cora had painted in her mind. A smile stretched over her face as she reached up and pulled the fleece off of her shoulders and handed it to Cora. She was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

"Deal!" Mary proclaimed.

He let out a laugh as he took the fleece from her and reached out to hand her the thread while Cora unclasped her own cloak to-

"Wait!" Mary cried, suddenly pulling her hand back. He would have panicked, but as she looked back and forth between him and Cora, her smile stayed fixed on her face and still bright. "What's his name?" she asked. "The boy who is hiding the dagger for me…who is he? If I live through this…I want to thank him."

He smiled as he stepped forward and took her hand in his own to open it himself. "Theseus," he informed her as he dropped the thread into her palm and Cora came up from behind to lay her own cloak over her shoulders. "His name is Theseus."

[rudemaidenswrite]

Silent Caress

Part 3                      By: @pusantheamazonian

Leatherface/Thomas Hewitt x Blind Reader

Part 1 Part 2

You’ve created a kissing monster. Sorry not sorry.

As soon as breakfast is done, Thomas is dragging you outside.

“How?”  He hastily writes.

“How what?”

“How did you know about the cannibalism?”

“Ah well at first I thought it was odd that Luda had to clarify that I was a guest in the house. Then Hoyt's payer at dinner was a red flag. Then your reluctance and hesitation to say that you're a butcher. And the blood, I couldn't place the smell but it was so familiar. Then obviously last night. When I thought about all the different reasons why. It just kept coming up cannibal.” You shrug it off.

“You are okay with this?”

“It is what it is. That reminds me, I should read you the Red Dragon.”

“Why?”

“It's about a doctor and he's a cannibal.”

“Really?” He pulls you into the shade.

“Yup!”

“I only want to devour you.” He turns, intertwining his hand with yours while the other pulls you close. Kissing his way down your neck.

“Well there's a never ending supply of that.” Giggling you grab his tie to hold him close. It tickles but it’s cute and you love this sweet side of him.

“If you two are going to be neckin’ you might want to do it out of sight.” Uncle Monty chuckles.

“Uncle Monty!” Flustered you can feel the blush spreading. Thomas is still holding onto you but you can tell he's glaring at Uncle Monty. A low growl warns him to leave.

“It's just a suggestion.” You can hear the new found pep in his step. Uncle Monty heads to the kitchen for a beer.

“What’s so funny?” Hoyt asks seeing Uncle Monty chuckling.

“Just caught Thomas and Y/N neckin’.” He nods outside.

“Really?”

“Out behind the barn near the trees.”

“I’ll be damned our boy’s becoming a man.” Hoyt gives a shit eating grin.

In the basement Thomas is sure that there will be no further interrupts for now. He has set you on the usual table. Standing in front of you, your knees pressed against his thighs.

“The bruise is going away.” He rubs the area gently.

“That’s good, I forgot all about it.”

“How?”

“It doesn't hurt so without being able to see it regularly. I forgot about it.”

Thomas frowns, why are you so pretty and cursed with your own troubles. If it was any other way he would have thought you were a model. Like the ones in his Mama's magazines. But you shy away from discussing how you look. When you had so desperately needed to know what he looked like. Praising his body before and after you had known his face. Maybe you just need to understand how he sees you.

“Soft Y/H/C hair, prettiest big Y/E/C eyes I've ever seen.” He holds your hand tightly.

“What are you talking about?”

“A smile brighter than the sun, and body with curves in all the right places. Like you were made for me.” With each word the more flustered you become, pulling at his grip.

“Where… where did that come from?”

“You said you didn't remember what you looked like. That's what I see.”

Burying your face in his chest, the tears start flowing. You can't believe he remembered that. Concerned he pushes on your shoulder.

“I'm fine… I just never expected someone to describe me like that.” Emotions boiling over you don't deserve him.

“It's true.”

“You shouldn't say things like that... when I've lied to you.” Thomas turns to stone, literally stops breathing. The fear takes him, wondering if you've been lying about loving him. “I'm alright now but… something happened when I was out with Uncle Monty.”

Thomas relaxes slightly to wrap his arms around you. The fear has turned into anger that someone hurt you.

“My cousins found out I was leaving, that's where the bruise came from not that escapie. Uncle Monty had to intervene.” A hand gently strokes your hair and you relax into his touch. “And those friends I told you that left me. They were actually my cousins, the same ones that tried to stop me.” His hold tightens. “I was scared that I would never see you again. I love you and I hate it when we don't talk.”

“You love me?”

Gasping, you didn't realize you said it. You had been thinking hard about the L word. Now you're embarrassed to say anything. Until he raises your head to figuratively look at him.

“You love me?” He cautiously write it out. Hoping he didn't hear you wrong.

“Yes.” Your face heats up and it's not because of the heat.

In a moment of pure joy Thomas kisses you. Ecstatic that you do love him. Fisting his shirt with both hands, the worn fabric threatens to tear as you lean into the kiss.

The creaking of the floorboards above pulls him away. He doesn't like having all these interruptions. Releasing his shirt you fidget with the hole forming on your pants leg. Both waiting for the all clear.

“You're staring.” Straightening up you poke his belly.

“How do you know?”

“It’s just a feeling, as if the air has changed and it’s only in your direction.”

“You have a problem with that?”

“No, I want to know why you’re staring.”

“You're beautiful. Why shouldn't I?”

“Such a complimenter but that doesn't explain why.”

“I… was thinking how lucky I am that you love me.”

A blush sets in. “That's a silly reason, everyone should be loved.” In the silence he caresses your cheek, running his hand through your hair.

“Well look at the love birds.” Hoyt jokes. Your face immediately becomes hot and you turn away. “I hate to break up this beautiful moment but Thomas has some work to do and Y/N you better be getting on upstairs.” The stairs creak as he goes back up. With a small groan Thomas lifts you off the table, setting you down at the stairs.

“I’ll see you later then. I’ll be my room if you want to come up when you’re done.” Biting your lip, you reveal in hesitancy he has to let you go. Delighting in the way he stalled when you mentioned coming to your room.

“I will.”

Upstairs you grab a book from your backpack. Which is still on the ground by the door where Thomas left it. Climbing onto the bed, you move the pillows so you're able to prop yourself up against the headboard. It's a long time before you hear anyone come upstairs.

The footsteps lead right to your door. There's a knock followed by a soft grunt as they move closer.

“Hi Thomas. Are you finished?” Another low grunt as he sits on the bed. “That sounds sooo exciting.” Teasing, you pretend that he told you all about it. But you already know that he's not going to tell you any details since he doesn't like it in the first place.

“What are you reading?”

“Don Quixote.”

“What?”

“Don Quixote it's a story about a middle-aged man from La Mancha, Spain. Obsessed with the chivalrous romantic ideals he has read about, he loses his sanity. Deciding to become a knight to defend the helpless and destroy the wicked while reviving chivalry.” The confused silence  from Thomas let's you know that you went way over his head in the literature department. “Basically this elderly guy decides to become a hero. He's old, forgetful and clumsy but does things to help people. And nothing goes as planned for him.”

“Uncle Monty when he's drunk.”

“Possibly.” You try hiding your laugh. It's a funny picture to imagine.

“Will you read it to me?”

“Sure, I'll start at the beginning.” Closing the book, you restart the story. Your fingers softly grazing the braille. “In a village of La Mancha, the name of which I have no desire to call to mind, there lived not long since one of those gentlemen that keep a lance in the lance-rack, an old buckler, a lean hack, and a greyhound for coursing. An olla of rather more beef than mutton, a salad on most nights, scraps on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, and a pigeon or so extra on Sundays, made away with three-quarters of his income. The rest of it went in a doublet of fine cloth and velvet breeches and shoes to match for holidays, while on week-days he made a brave figure in his best homespun. He had in his house a housekeeper past forty, a niece under twenty, and a lad for the field and market-place, who used to saddle the hack as well as handle the bill-hook. The age of this gentleman of ours was bordering on fifty; he was of a hardy habit, spare, gaunt-featured, a very early riser and a great sportsman. They will have it his surname was Quixada or Quesada, although from reasonable conjectures it seems plain that he was called Quexana. This, however, is of but little importance to our tale; it will be enough not to stray a hair’s breadth from the truth in the telling of it.”

Pausing you put the book down, the snores coming from Thomas are soothing. With his head in your lap, he fell asleep almost instantly. Playing with his hair you wonder why anyone would be mean to him. He’s a big softie with super strength.

There’s another knock and your head snaps up.

“Oh how precious. Do you want me to wake him?” Luda whispers not really wanting to interrupt this picture perfect moment.

“No its fine. I’m still reading.”

“Well if you need anything let me know.”

“I will. ”

You feel a little uneasy about this. His family seems to pushing you two together but cautious while still teasing the two of you. It’s not like the two aren’t already attached at the hip. It’s probably just their way of protecting him, since they don’t want him to end up alone and hurt.

~

You wake up with Thomas’s arm around you. His breath tickling your hair while you feel the rise and fall of his chest with your hand. This moment feels perfect, sighing you snuggle closer. It maybe the hopeless romantic in you but you’ve fallen hard for him. You just hope he feels the same way you do. His arm tightens around you and buries his face in your hair.

“Hello.” Chuckling at his action. There's a low rumble from his chest. “What time is it?”

“Early.”

“Good. That means we can stay right here.” Pressing yourself closer. “I told you, you would be great at cuddling.” Smiling you breath in his scent slowly drifting back to sleep.

Thomas woke up before you this time. Softly trailing a finger down your face. He can't help but to wonder if you're really an angel. You may not be able to see but you know his true face and still called him handsome. Only his mama calls him that.

There's so many questions he has but there's not enough time for the answers. Why do you love him? Why do you trust him so much? Do you really promise to stay forever? He can't shake the feeling that you have bewitched him somehow, no one as perfect as you would willing be with him. But he knew he had to have you the moment you first smiled at him during dinner. The surprising amount of optimism you had to communicate with him is what did him in. That was the moment he knew he was in love.

Fidgeting you bury your face further into his chest. But the light touches on your face don’t stop. Mindlessly swatting at whatever it is you wearily open your eyes to feel Thomas staring. Just staring at you with no real purpose.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Awhile.”

“And you’ve just been waiting?”

“Yes.”

“Such a softie.”

“You should get ready before they wonder why you’re not up.”

“Why? I’m pretty sure they already know that there’s something going on between us.”

“All the more reason.”  He places a kiss on your forehead.

“Uh huh.” You reluctantly detach yourself and go to the dresser.  “Well then you can pick out what color dress I'm gonna wear today. Since you're still here.” You pull out a couple dresses and lay them on the bed.

The bed springs creak from movement and soon the floorboards do as he hands you one.

“Blue.”

“Thank you. Now shoo so I can get dressed.” Smiling you give him a quick peck on the lips and nod at the door.

“Why?”

“Thomas Hewitt you are ornery this morning. You will not see me naked unless there's a ring on my finger.” Surprised at his stubbornness and boldness you push him to the door. More like you lean against the unbudging wall of muscle. Thomas chuckles at your attempt to push him out.

“I'll see you later.”

“Ok-” He steals a kiss while you're mid sentence. The door closes and you can hear his footsteps go down the stairs. “That sneaky... he's sure become confident in stealing kisses.” Sighing you might have created a kissing monster. Putting up the other clothes up, you slip on the dress he picked. A blue short sleeved sundress with pockets. It's always a good idea to have pockets.

Finishing up your heart beats faster as you get excited. You started wondering if later the kissy monster will take off his mask so you can get some proper kissing going on. Walking down stairs you come up with some back up plans if he says no.

~

For the past couple nights Thomas has begun sneaking into your room at night to cuddle. Holding you tightly against him like you were going to disappear. It's nice waking up to someone else in the morning. It strangely makes you feel complete.

Coincidently Luda has started bringing you to the station with her. Saying you could do with some routines so you wouldn't have to be stuck at the house all the time. Thomas comes and fetches you after lunch time. He takes what he calls a shortcut back to the house. It's not much of a short cut since it goes through some woods and a pasture. Reaching the woods he picks you up and carries you the whole way, only setting you down when he's reached the edge of the yard. You tell him every time that he doesn't have to carry you, you're fine with walking the long way around. You don't want him to injure himself. But he won't listen to it, he just holds you tightly. Positioning you so you can sit upright and see him. In these moments you lean against his shoulder playing with his hair. Asking simple yes or no questions, or just talking about random things on your mind.

But today you had remembered a joke you wanted to tell him. With Luda back from her break you know he would be here any moment know. It may not seem like it but he likes to stick with routines. It makes him feel safe and calm when there's a routine.

The husky breathing and creaking floorboards coming from the back alert you to Thomas's presence. He prefers to enter from the back to avoid people. The slow sliding of fingers down your arm confirm it.

“Hi Thomas. Oh! I have a joke to tell you. I've been thinking of it all morning.” He squeezes your hand wanting you to continue. “What do you get when you cross a vampire with a snowman?” He draws a question mark. “Frost bite.” There's a long pause before he answers.

“What?”

“Frostbite. You know a vampire bites people and a snowman is frozen, made of snow. Frostbite is when your skin is exposed to freezing temperatures too long…. Any of this making sense?”

“You're not good at jokes.”

“Oh how rude. I should punish you by telling you all the corny jokes I know!” Poking him you act offended. You know they're corny that's the whole point.

The bell over the door rings and you ignore it. Luda's here so you don't have to worry about trying to help the person. But that changed when the confused voice of your cousin Derick pulls your full attention from Thomas to the front door.

“Y/N?”

[porkofdoom-blog]

Maru’s Little Secret

for @shortcut48

Eyelids fluttered and Maru can feel warm breaths below her neck. Maru groaned when she felt her arm muscles stiffened at the weight that pillowed her arm. Maru squinted at the huge familiar blur sighing when Maru shifted on their bed. It was one of the mornings that made Maru's heart clench. The first sight that greeted her when she opened her eyes. Maru can't help it, but to smile.

It was their morning night in their new apartment. After a year of dating, and a month of spending on each other's houses, they finally decided that it would be best if they shared a home instead. They bought a new apartment and it was the best among the selections offered to them. High ceiling, natural light and has a bathtub wide enough for two people. It has two-rooms, with the master bedroom that can fit a California King-size bed (but oh, com'on, they only bought a King-size though, after purchasing the said bed with red faces) and the other room as a make-shift office for Maru. The kitchen is to die for, good ventilation, and Maru can only imagine kissing her girlfriend into a beautiful curve on the dining table as she—

Then, there was the sound of their doorbell, breaking Maru's little moment of thinking–er... watching her beautiful girlfriend's slumber.

"Mmm... Urusai." The blur mumbled, her voice hoarse from all the karaoke they did with their friends last night. (Annoying.)

"I'll get it." Maru sighed and kissed her girlfriend's hair as she got up from their bed.

"Stay," her girlfriend says, burying her head to Maru's pillow and raised her arms trying to get a hold of Maru.

Maru caught her hand and kissed her fingers, "I'll be back before you know it." She grinned at her girl and tucked their blankets up to her chin.

Satisfied, her girlfriend only hummed her reply before sleep took over her again.

Maru chuckled as she got her eyeglasses and phone from the bedside table, then padded to the door when it buzzes again.

"Hai, hai! Ikemasu," Maru muttered, rushing to the intercom to check who was it. "Yes?" She watched the screen flickered to life and the delivery boy beamed to her. (Yes, yes! I'm coming.)

"Package for Hoshino-san!"

Ugh. Maru grimaced. It's too early to be this cheerful but nonetheless, she opened the door.

"Sign here, please!" The delivery boy chirped, showing a small clipboard with a receipt and a check mark beside the blank next to her printed name to sign.

"Thanks," Maru muttered after she scrawled her signature and took the medium box inside their apartment.

"You're welcome. Have a nice day!" The boy beamed again.

Maru only grunted before she toed the door close and the lock automatically clicked and a robotic voice echoed by the foyer, "Autolock enabled."

"Oh, it's from Hiroko-san..." Maru whispered to herself as she placed it on the middle of the coffee table. She sat on the couch and began on texting her aunt.

To: Hiroko Subject: Package Message: Good morning. Thanks for sending the rest of my things. I received it well. Send my regards to Aeri and samchon. :-)

She was about to open the package with a blunt edge of the nail file she found on her girlfriend's box of nail polish when her phone began to ring. She paused, placed the nail file back on the table and took her phone instead and went outside the balcony as she answered the call.

"Ohayo, Neko-chan~," Hiroko greated her, she gave a little wave at Maru, showing her fingers.

"Ohayo," Maru grinned, her cheeks flushed from the morning cold.

"Have settled okay?"

Maru had to roll her eyes. Hiroko had been protective of her and always have been a mother hen. She couldn't actually help it, even Maru thought of her as her mother, since Hiroko's family had been a positive influence in her life. Maru's always thankful that they met them.

So, Maru answered truthfully, nodding as she explained that, "Yes, we had assembled most of the furniture last week, we had filled the fridge yesterday and had already filled their closet with our clothes," blushing a little deeper when she thinks how they attempted to mix some of their clothes together.

"I'm glad," her aunt sighed, a peaceful expression resting on her face.

"Love?" Her girlfriend called out and Maru turned her head to their bedroom door.

"Oh! Is that—"

"Hiroko-san! I should go." Maru blushed as she walked back inside.

"Yes, yes. Send my regards to—"

Maru had accidentally cut the call off when her girlfriend draped herself on her back. Maru eyed her phone but thinks that Hiroko would surely understand...

"Was that Hiroko-san?" She mumbled, tickling Maru's ear. "Oh, you got a package."

"Yeah...", Maru gulped.

"I missed you."

"M-Me too."

Her girlfriend looked at her amused. But her grin turned into a frown after a few seconds.

"What's wrong?" Maru asked when her girlfriend pulled the blanket resting on her shoulders and dropped them to a nearby armchair.

"I had a call from the company."

"But it's your day off." Maru stated as a matter of fact. Her girlfriend rarely gets a day-off.

Before, they made plans to go out of town. They visit an onsen or sight-seeing but since they live together now, Maru only wants to spend it in their new home. Maybe cuddle for a bit in their new king-sized bed or break into it, as what other couples call it (Maru blushed at this). Or maybe they could watch a some Ghibli movies on their brand new TV set and make-out on their new couch and (again) break into it.

There's a list of areas Maru thought of to christen their new home... except the bathroom since the two bathed together last night and things... Well, things got escalated pretty quickly which both of them slept soundly afterwards, exhausted and blissed out.

"Anyway, I have to go." Her girlfriend said sadly and kissed her temple and started to walk towards the bathroom.

"Do you want me to accompany you?" Maru suggested.

"To the office? Or... to the bathroom?" Her girlfriend smirked, her hand resting on the bathroom's doorknob.

"Both?" Maru grinned as she started to follow her girl to the door.

Maru as a dutiful girlfriend helped her girl into her clothes delaying as much possible as she could. Placing little kisses in small areas she only gets to do and —

"Love, I'm going to be late."

She was drying her girlfriend's hair when she asked again," Are you sure it's going to be okay with me not being there?"

"Yes, and you already asked that before." Her girlfriend replied, putting one small swipe of strawberry lipgloss on her lips and started to spread it with her finger.

"Well, I can go. I have nothing to do here." Maru sighed, her outdoor clothes are already out of the closet and placed strategically on their bed.

Her girlfriend grinned as she spun around the stool and faced Maru. She plucked out the hairbrush and hairdryer from Maru's hands and placed it back to the table. She held Maru's hands as Maru pouted, leaning over to taste that strawberry-flavored lipgloss on her girlfriend's lips.

"You can't go." Her girlfriend sighed, placing a finger on Maru's lips only to get attacked with Maru's little kisses. "Besides, you have things to do like, walk Orion (their dog), feed Paru (their cat) and Jurina (their soft-shelled turtle) and, clean Sayaka and Miyuki's cage (their lovebirds)."

"I can call Sakura over and let her do all the chores. You know she likes to watch Jurina swim by."

"No, you have to do it yourself. And you call yourself a co-parent? And Sakura's probably just weirded out with that turtle", Her girlfriend tsked and started on showering herself with perfume. "I'll be back before lunch." And she kissed Maru squarely on the mouth, nibble a little on Maru's lower lip and squeeze her into a tight hug.

When they separated, Maru looked dazed and mind blown.

"I'll miss you," her girlfriend says again, sadly this time and planted a shy kiss on the corner of Maru's mouth and before Maru knows it, her girlfriend was out of the door.

"Autolock enabled," said by a robotic voice.

After a short walk in the park near their apartment, with only Orion glomping on some ducks and chasing pigeons while Maru nursing a hot coffee between her hands, they came back in her girlfriend-less apartment. Maru then feed their cat, Paru, and Orion. Both of them wiggling their furry butts as they inhaled their food.

She then feed a scoop of fish food to Jurina who was lazily swimming in her aquarium. When she went to birdcage by their balcony, she felt a pang of jealousy as the two love birds groomed eachother with their tiny beaks.

"Good for you two," Maru glumly muttered as she dump two scoopful of birdfeeds on their bowl.

She then proceeded to clean their apartment. Fixing their bed, wiping spotless tables and chairs, dusting bookshelves twice , and vacuuming their already dust free floor. When she was done, Maru slumped on the couch and noticed the unopened box on the coffee table.

"Oh!"

She remembered the package and proceeded on opening the box, this time with a box-cutter she found on the countertop.

When she was done, she carefully opened the flaps, tore layers of bubble wraps and watch the contents unravel to her.

It was her collection, carefully gathered all these years.

When Maru flew to Japan and had an unexpected turn in career, she was saddened to leave this part of her in Korea. Ofcourse her girlfriend knows these vast collection since she once visited her apartment in Korea and accidentally ran into her Shimazaki Haruka shrine while she was looking for the bathroom. It was a spare room dedicated to her most favored AKB48 member. And even in their new home, Maru never neglected to organize some of her collections she had bought as she stayed in Japan around her home office. Ofcourse her girlfriend didn't mind because she has, too, her own collections carefully placed around the house.

The posters which decorated her Shimazaki Haruka shrine before are now carefully rolled and wrapped in plastic. Her AKB48 CDs and Blu-ray DVDs which were proudly displayed before are now stacked up with a cushion of cloth in between the plastic case as Maru preferred not a scratch on them. The calendars were stacked and wrapped in a bubble wrap, afraid that the metal wires would scratch her other beloved merch. There are also action figures of her AKB48 favorite members with a number of Shimazaki Haruka in different poses and clothes and sizes each on their individual boxes. There's her Paruru mug which was custom-made, also a few pillow cases she ordered online. Also, cheap collection of ballpens, pencils, erasers, stickers, slippers (that is too big for Maru's feet), mouse pad, notebooks, and backscratcher and more. There's also her treasured photobook of Shimazaki Haruka, gifted to her by Hiroko and a few Shimazaki Haruka custom-made plush toys which samchon gave her every Christmas, and a photo album filled with carefully collected Shimazaki Haruka photos, which Aeri helped her bid online.

Maru can't help but to sigh lovingly at each item. She carefully removed each one from the box, letting her fingers trail at the plastic covering her collection. When she reached at the bottom of the box, she gasped at the sight.

It was her Nike shoebox. She reached for it and opened the cover.

There rested among the package peanuts is a foot-long balljointed doll.

The doll's glass eyes are looking at her under the fan of her black eyelashes. Her lips pink and glossy and her cheeks dimpled as she was smiling shyly to Maru.

"Baby..." Maru cooed as she lifted one resin arm and locked a finger in the inside of the hand of Shimazaki Haruka doll.

This doll had been a product of Maru doing small part-time jobs for months. She played online games for lame gamers, she tended the convenience store, she had fried some chicken and delivered jajangmyun to houses, she made lattes for snobbish office workers, she mixed alcohol for rich businessmen, and she had climbed mountains and picked ginseng for this. This doll is the embodiment of her hardwork, tears and blood, and obsession. This was the center, the Queen of her shrine and not even her girlfriend knows this (because the doll was inside her Nike box, a makeshift bed Maru made for her doll).

It started with her search for merchandises of her favorite idol. And after searching the web for various dolls, she has stumbled upon a small website for doll collectors. Some were pro in painting the doll's faces, making them look like famous actors and actresses, some were painted like idols and it perked her interest. She researched for 3 nights. Obsessively watching YouTube videos of doll owners. Reading Tumblr and blogsites of how to make your own wig, how to make doll clothes, how to make the eyeballs. And after a month of watching them she decided to save up money for her own doll.

After six months of working, and a month of waiting for the package, her custom-made doll arrived. She even made a box opening video for her to reminisce the first ever feelings she had.

She remembered she was slightly disappointed.

Her doll was faceless, her eye sockets are empty. Her face has no colors. The resin body is naked, and her head is bald.

A month later, her Shimazaki Haruka doll, was glaring at her. Maru thinks she needs to practice her face-painting more. Her clothes was a pre-made sailor uniform, ordered online because it was 75% off. Her socks have different lengths, because Maru don't know how to sew, and her shoes where from an old Barbie doll she found lying in a dumpster.

Maru was placing her newly made beanie made from her old sock on doll Haruka's head when Hiroko came inside her room. The older woman looked at the doll who looked like she has cancer because of the lack of wig and at the helpless look on Maru's face.

"Oh, Neko-chan..."

A week later, doll Haruka has 137 set of clothes, 87 pair of shoes, 53 undergarments, 41 pair of socks of different designs and sizes, 95 pieces of accessories, and 37 wigs of different hair color and styles. Doll Haruka had her face pofessionally painted, a small blush dusting her cheeks and her smile brighter with her glossed lips. (Courtesy of Hiroko-san) And had various home-made furnitures that Maru delicately assembled on nights.

Hiroko only beamed at her when Maru dressed her doll for the first time in Japanese traditional clothes. She trembled as she let it kneel on a small plush pillow and placing a small teacup on her little hands.

Maru smiled wetly at the doll and pulled the gloves folded and tucked at the bottom of the box's lid. She wore them and carefully picked the doll up, fixing the doll's wig, straightening her already straight clothes and fixing her shoes. She let it sit on the table and opened another box nested beneath her Nike box. "Now, what do you want to wear for today?"

Maru had finished putting her collection back to the box, re-taped it and placed it safely in their closet, except for her Nike shoebox and another box filled with doll clothes and accessories. When she received a text that her girlfriend would be late and that Maru could order some food for lunch but would be back for dinner. But Maru opened their cupboards instead, boiled some water and unpacked a pack of ramen.

When she placed it on the dining table, sitting across her on the table was doll Haruka on her own dining set and sporting a miniature ramen bowl and chopsticks on her hands.

"I'm glad you're keeping me company." Maru smiled and started on eating her noodles.

After lunch, Maru unboxed her gaming consoles and played games on their widescreen TV, beside her is doll Haruka and on her hand is her own plastic mini-gaming console, smiling at the TV all the same.

After Maru got bored playing, she pulled a random book from their shelf and lounged on the couch with her feet propped up by the arm on the end.

Beside her, on the coffee table is doll Haruka sitting prettily on her arm chair with a book.

Maru swooned.

Maru woke up with a start. The first ray of sunset filtered through the glass wall and she looked at the clock. In an hour her girlfriend would be coming home and she should be starting on preparing for dinner. But first...

Doll Haruka was standing on the breakfast counter. She's wearing a bandana headband to keep her bangs from falling and a pink frilly apron on her clothes. Her hands were rested on the countertop of her kitchen set as she watched patiently on her empty plastic pots placed on the top of the plastic stove.

Maru smiled as she tasted the soup from a pot and added a pinch of pepper to it.

"Perfect."

"I'm home!"

"Okaeri!" Maru rushed to the door. She placed her blue apron on the chair and meet her girlfriend who was placing her handbag on the couch. (Welcome home)

"How was your day?" Her girlfriend asked and meet Maru's lips halfway.

"Oh... It was fun!" Maru smiled and started on setting up the table.

"Fun? Really?" Her girlfriend muttered as she sat on one of the empty chairs which was replied with an enthusiastic hum from Maru. "Love, are you sick?" She asked because Maru doesn't do fun. She always replies with an, "okay", "it's alright" or "no, I missed you a lot" then would attack her with little kisses until she can't breathe.

"I'm fine, really."

"So... what did you do?" The girlfriend asks scooping the soup into the little bowls they bought two days ago.

"Well... I walked Orion to the park, feed all the pets and cleaned the litterbox, the birdcage and set the thermostat in Jurina's aquarium. Played some games for a while, read half of the book and slept for two hours then made dinner." Maru explained, her voice tilting in a melody she had never heard of before.

"O-okay..." She picked a pickle and munched on it, weirded out with her beloved enthusiasm.

When the two of them finished eating, Maru draw a bath for her girlfriend and started on cleaning the kitchen. Maru bathed after, put on some matching PJs with her girlfriend and eyed the Nike box on their closet longingly before walking to the bed and sitting beside her girlfriend.

"You know..." Her girlfriend whispered by Maru's ear that had Maru's stomach clench needily. "I don't have anything scheduled tomorrow morning. We could break in the bed today."

"Y-yeah?"

Her girlfriend bit her lip as she loomed over Maru. "Yes." As she kicked a leg and sat on Maru's lap. " I missed you a lot." She whimpered and embraced Maru tightly.

"I missed you, too." Maru breathed in a good amount of her girlfriend's scent.

And they kissed. Hungrily, exploringly and lovingly wild. Their hands roamed each other's bodies and as her girlfriend started to undress herself, Maru watched in horror when the closet door slowly opened.

"Baby!" Maru exclaimed and started on pulling her girlfriend's clothes back and held her hands tightly.

"Baby? You never call me that." Her girlfriend gaped. Then she was pushed aside by Maru as Maru rushed to the closet and locked it firmly.

Maru looked so panicked that her girlfriend got so curious over what was inside the closet.

"Love? What's wrong? Is someone in there?"

"N-no! Noone! There's no one." Maru assured her as she flailed her arms frantically.

"Are you sure?" She asked but Maru only gulped so she decided to take the matter in hand. She got up from the bed and shoved Maru aside after fighting for the door lock and opened the closet.

It was dark and full of their clothes and shoe boxes. Her girlfriend stuck an arm and started on reaching out to spacious areas and found that there as no one. She sighed and closed the door and put on the lock.

"Well?" Maru asked calming down and holding her girlfriend's hand pulling her away from the closet.

"There's no one."

"Told you so."

Her girlfriend only hummed as she went back to bed. Her back turned to Maru.

"Oyasumi," she said as she turned her lamp off on her side. (Good night.)

Maru only frowned, putting her own lights out and hugged her girlfriend from behind.

Their morning was domestic as ever. They shared slow kisses after Maru woke up ehen she found her girlfriend fixing breakfast. The impending fight forgotten from last night and the two lazily planted soft kisses in each other's lips.

"We could do it in the kitchen." Maru whispered as her left hand started on groping her girlfriend's right butt cheek and her other hand massaging the inside of her girlfriend's thigh.

"N-no, not in the kitchen. We cook food in here." Her girlfriend moaned but all the same grinded on Maru's fingers.

"Livingroom?"

"Oh, yes!"

When they reached to the living room they discovered that there were no curtains on their full glass wall.

"Bedroom." Her girlfriend started to pull her to their room but Maru look so scandalized and pulled her hand.

"No."

"Love?"

"Just... Just not there, please?"

Her girlfriend looked at her confused.she then headed straight to their room and started to open all the doors of their closet. Maru could ony watch her reach out again and started on checking if there was hidden doors or something.

When the last of the doors are closed, her girlfriend look like she was about to cry.

"Orion!" She called and dog bounced to their bedroom. "I'm going to walk the dog out." She announces and picked her coat and plucked the lead hooked beside the door. "I'm eating breakfast outside."

The door clicked shut.

"Autolock enabled."

For the first time, Maru felt ashamed.

Maru walked to the closet and opened the box. Doll Haruka was smiling brightly at her. She wore a white nightgown and there was a little dirt on her arm.

"I'm going to take care of you."

After cleaning up Haruka, she had the doll dressed up in some pretty sundress, matched her shoes to the color of her handbag and placed some sunglasses on her hair.

"Beautiful." Maru says and tears fell from her eyes.

She placed doll Haruka back in the box and waited for her girlfriend to return, her fingers deep in Paru's fur.

When the girlfriend returned, the two of them had red-rimmed eyes, flushed cheeks and red swollen lips. The two embraced tightly and cuddled on the couch and spent the rest of the morning watching some old Japanese gameshow.

Two days later, the girlfriend discovered some blonde strand of hair on their bathroom sink.

She clutched the strand of hair tightly and stopped herself from crying.

"Love..." Her girlfriend says as the two of them lied on their bed, equally naked as Maru acting as the big spoon and her girlfriend's back on her.

"Yeah?"

"You'll tell me when there's another person, right?" Her girlfriend whispered.

"Huh? What brought this on?"

"Please... Just tell me when that time comes, okay?"

"I don't understand."

"Please..." She trembled and Maru thinks this is her fault. She embraced her tightly as her girl curled in tighter to herself.

"I will... I promise." Maru says, but she knew that it would impossible.

"Thank you." She sobbed.

Four days later, the girlfriend found a small piece of jewelry on the carpet. It was a small tack earring with a small diamond on the end of the thin wire.

She placed it carefully on a piece of tissue and put it on the coffee table, where Maru could see it whenever she looks for it.

She left home in a hurry and came back by midnight — drunk.

Maru doesn't wear an earring.

Maru had enough. Her girlfriend doesn't even speak to her anymore. One day her girlfriend came home drunk, ignored Maru's nagging and questions of where she had been to or who was with her. Maru bristled when her girlfriend continued to ignore her and drunkenly dropped herself to bed without removing her socks and coat.

Maru just sighed to herself and started on undressing her girl. She wiped her body with warm water, clothed her and kissed her forehead worriedly. When she tucked her lover to bed and when settled beside her, Maru can feel her tremble and soft sobs whacked her small body. Maru did as best she could, holding into her lover afraid that when Maru wakes up, she would be gone.

Maru can't even understand what was happening. One week in their new home and their relationship is falling apart. She thinks that this is some curse or something. She definitely heard the landlord says that it was pre-owned by a married couple and decided to sell the place when they got divorced.

But Maru wasn't even religious. She paced on the kitchen sporting a new apron with the same design as doll Haruka, which was sitting on the countertop, her resin legs dangling on air.

"What should I do?" Maru whispered as she paced back and forth. "This definitely started when we made love in that new bed. She started on saying like there was some sort of third party between us."

Maru paused from her pacing and looked at the doll straight in its glassy eyes.

"She isn't cheating on me, right?" Maru whispered and she sunk on the nearby seat. "But she's not like that."

Maru thinks of the times her girlfriend pushed her when she tried to kiss her. There was one time when Maru playfully planted a kiss on her cheek, too overjoyed that she found the missing earring of doll Haruka the day before but her girlfriend only ducked away from her and ran to the bathroom muttering that she's going to be sick. Maru only ignored that time because after that encounter, she can hear wretching and vomiting in the bathroom. When Maru later came with a glass of water, she was again ignored as her girlfriend tells her that she wants some tea instead.

Maru watched doll Haruka which was smiling at her, never judging and also never talking. She sighed and Maru untied the apron from doll Haruka and started to pick another set of clothes from the box.

"Today, Haruka's going be a guest-host in a talkshow. Let's try to match her up."

Maru was excited, there was a new package delivered to her before dinner and when she opened it, it was the new curtains she had ordered online. Hiroko helped her match it up on the interior of their living room, also choosing the design and quality that would be suited during daytime and night.

Orion sniffed at the new curtain, followed by Paru who left after a few sniffs, uninterested. Jurina only swam by and the lovebirds ignored it, too busy cuddling on their perch.

"Autolock enabled."

The sound pulled Maru out of her thoughts and walked towards the foyer, welcoming her tired girlfriend as she plucked her shoulder bag and gathered her coat.

"Welcome home!" Maru greeted her lovingly. She was excited to do the most awaited deed on their couch. She knows that her girlfriend is looking forward to it. Maru though hard and she traced the problem way back when they tried to do it the living room but found out of the lack of curtains. Now, there are two beautiful heavy set of curtains hiding their privacy away from the public's eyes.

Maru placed the bag and coat on an armchair and led her girlfriend to the couch.

"I know that we should be choosing the curtain together but I wanted to surprise you."

Maru watched her girlfriend crane her neck and spare a look at the said curtain.

"I asked someone who is expert in this field. I showed her our interior and she said beige would suit our living room well. Then I had her picked among some items I personally liked but she said, I should choose this kind of material because it's durable, eash to clean and — Eh?! Why are you crying?"

Maru panickedly kneeled in front of her girlfriend as she started to cry. Maru tried to hold her hand but her girlfriend clutched at a throw pillow.

"Babe, what's wrong?"

"I'm not your baby!" Her girlfriend shouted which shocked Maru. "I—I... Let's breakup." She deflated and started crying harder.

"W-what do you mean? I... We just..." Maru started on babbling, she can't understand this situation. Her girlfriend should like her surprise. She was very sure of it when she picked the design, even their dog approves of it. She started on rummaging her thought of what to say but she's reaching nowhere and she's starting to feel so helpless. Then her thoughts stopped altogether and Maru can only think what can make her beloved stay."... So much. I—I love you so much."

"Do you?!" Her girlfriend snarled and threw the pillow at her. "You were... You were ch-cheating on me."

Maru gawks and she threw the pillow back to the couch. "I'm not! I'm not cheating on you. Where did you get that idea?" Maru softened her glare, there must be some reason why her beloved girlfriend acts like that. But there wasn't anybody else. She had remained loyal and so, so inlove with this girl that sometimes it scares her. "Tell me who told you that!"

"No one!" There were tears on her girlfriend's eyes, rolling to her cheeks, never ending. And Maru badly wanted to brush them away. "You bought this damn curtain with her, right?!" She waves forcefully at the curtain and surprising Orion and Paru which made tge two fluffs raced to the kitchen.

"No way! Hiroko-san helped me buy it!"

"Excuses!" She scoffed and shoved Maru. "Who's that girl you were hiding then? You even let her entered OUR apartment! I saw a blonde hair on the sink when neither of us had dyed hair! And–and there's this earring I saw the other day. I don't own that one and I know don't even wear one! Tell me if that isn't proof enough! And on our second night–oh, god, our second night into OUR NEW home and you invited someone else into OUR room. Just who is that you were hiding that night in that damned closet?!!" Her girlfriend heaved and like a burnt out candle she stopped crying as she realizes something.

"I'm going to... move out." Her girlfriend says and it's enough to bring Maru out of her shock.

"No..." Maru whispered as she held on her girlfriend's hand.

"I should leave... Now!" She says as she tried to free her arm, pulling it from Maru's grasp.

"No, let me explain!" "And then what?! Hurt me some more?" She pulled her arm successfully but she ended up sitting back couch instead. Maru kneeled infront of her again. Her heart ached when she saw the tears on Maru's eyes. God, she love this girl so much for letting Maru do this to her. The girlfriend thinks she doesn't deserve to be this hurt. But she also thinks that Maru shouldn't be this hurt when Maru was the one who was hurting her from the start. So, she gave up, giving small chance to fix this. To fix them.

Lacing their fingers together as Maru begged her, "Come with me. I need to show you something. Please..."

How could she deny when Maru looks so desperate to her? She nods and followed Maru to their bedroom.

Maru lets her sit on the bed as she opened the closet and got a shoe box. She placed it on her girlfriend's lap and urged her to open the box.

She gasped. The doll looked at her with a small shy smile, a blush on her resin cheeks, as she meets her owner's beloved girlfriend for the first time.

"She's... She's..." She has no words for this but Maru helpfully finished her sentence.

"She's... You."

And Shimazaki Haruka cried and laugh so hard as she clutched the box tightly, afraid to muss up the delicate doll nestled on a bunch of foamy peanuts.

"I hate you so much." Haruka says as she throw a fist to Maru's chest. Maru caught it and kissed her fingers which made her cry some more.

"I love you, too."

That night they placed doll Haruka by the couch she's wearing mini-headphones and a small laptop was perched on her lap. Beside her is Paru on her back and her white belly exposed.

The two dorks are inside their bedroom, making love slowly, kissing tears in each other's eyes as they explored a new part of their relationship.

"I still hate you for letting me cry this much." Haruka pulled Maru closer, letting their lips touch but doesn't kiss.

"I hate myself, too, if that would comfort you." Maru grinned, her eyes, too, are puffy and Haruka gently brushes some stray hair from her cheeks.

"So... She's Baby?" Haruka shyly asked.

"Hn... My Baby."

"And... And, what am I to you?" Haruka looked so small when she asked it, she held on to Maru afraid that a doll would win her lover over.

"You're my lover, my girlfriend, my partner, my everything, my forever... My love and life. My beautiful, beautiful Haruka."

Haruka blushed and she ducked her head. "You're an idiot." Haruka says, planting a soft kiss on Maru's kiss-bruised lips.

"Your kind of idiot." Maru murmured and started on deepening the kiss. "And besides, Baby and I go way back. She was everything."

There was a sparkle in Maru's eyes that made Haruka gritted her teeth. "Shut up."

"Make me — A–Ah... Haruka~"

Two months later, there was a built-in glassed-covered wooden shelves in the living room. Each shelf was designed like a room, filled furnitues and trinkets of random miniature things. And on the bedroom at the top most shelf are two dolls sitting on a miniature couch, resin hands holding and equally smitten with each other.

Doll Haruka smiled her dimpled smile while doll Maru had a small smile playing on her lips. The two are wearing a couple sweater. Pink and full of hearts.

The two are equally and irrevocably in love.

Extra:

"My Baby's all grown up!" Maru sobbed as she placed doll Haruka carefully on the miniature bed, beside doll Maru.

"Someday, you'll find yourself sleeping on the couch alone." Haruka warned and pushed the glass cover close. There was a small click and she walked back a step to look at their miniatures selves looking quite contented in their bed.

"Oh... Are you jealous, Shimazaki-san?" Maru teased then wrapped her girlfriend in her arms.

"Congratulations, Hoshino-san. You just won a night in the living room." Haruka bristled as she opened the latch of the doll house and pulled doll Maru out, leaving doll Haruka with a sad smile. "Yobo and I are going to sleep in the bedroom tonight." Haruka left a gaping Maru. "I'll leave the blanket to you, it gets cold here." Then the sound of the door lock.

"Y-Yobo?!?"

[shadows-of-almsivi]

[3, 6, 8! :3]

((3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory?

Moraelyn would claim to have had a perfect childhood. How true that is, or whether it’s due to a couple of centuries’ worth of rose-tinting, is hard to say. There was a lot of social pressure on him, as the third-born child of an Indoril family living within Hlaalu territory; you would think this would have eased off a little as he grew into his Vimeri identity, but if anything, it only grew more intense. A lot was always expected of him, even when very young, and that’s without even taking into account the specifics of his parentage. Any Ordinator’s child has an image to live up to, or live past, and the spectre of his father’s actions within the Order of the Inquisition spread very far; there were always those who’d view him with suspicion or fear, and he would not realise for years that they thought him to be his father’s eyes and ears. The offspring of an inter-House marriage, too, carries quite a stigma, even when that marriage was carefully-arranged and legal. His late childhood and adolescence brought with it the responsibility to be the model studious Indoril and allow no one (especially no Hlaalu mer) to find fault in him, and by extension in their family. It’s unsurprising that Moraelyn developed three common traits in House children: an almost reverent attitude to memorised etiquette and manners, a deep well of hidden anxiety, and also a weirdly-persistent rebellious streak somewhat bordering on the perverse.

By and large, though, he was mostly happy: his brothers loved him, his friends were usually loyal, he adored his little sister, his parents were tender and even somewhat indulgent by Dunmeri standards. His family was not exactly rich, but he had enough resources available that he never wanted for food or clothes or books (so, so many books). He went to his Temple classes and played in the river-mud and hit his brothers with sticks and let his sister eat beetles. That’s not a bad life, for a kid.

He has a vast wealth of fond memories, some of which I will present now in no particular order:

His brothers sitting with him on the front step of the house in the evening, teaching him how to carve corkbulb, soaking the chunks in ashwater so that the sharp knives slid through like butter.

Climbing the rocks and old trees out by the edge of town with his friends, catching little lizards and bugs to take home in a jar to show his mother, and the first time he pulled himself all the way to the top of the tallest rock formation: he’d never seen out so far, and it was just as sunset was painting the landscape in so many beautiful colours that he forgot how to breathe for a minute.

His uncle, Endalyn Thavas, letting him ride a retired Redoran Guard cavalry guar, thinking it would be quiet and sedate; it took off at a dead run into the Ashlands and they didn’t find it again for two hours. Moraelyn, still clinging to the saddle, immediately wanted to go again. This might have been the start of his ongoing love affair with absurdly-fast mounts.

Bad memories… Sadly, yes. No childhood is perfect.

The parents of one of Moraelyn’s best friends ‘having done something bad’ and ‘having to go away to learn better’. It was an open secret in Balmora that Moraelyn’s father, Savaryn, was the Ordinator who took them; mask or no, everyone knew him well enough by the back-pain stiffness of his gait. While Savaryn did try to explain things to his confused and upset little thirdborn, it wasn’t good enough for the vanished mers’ child. She hated Moraelyn for the rest of her life.

Being stuck overnight in a kwama den. While playing in an old mine he’d often been told not to play in, Moraelyn was trapped underground by a tunnel collapse, falling through a weak spot in the cave floor. It was only after he’d dusted himself off and started trying to climb out that he found that the mine was far from empty, and that the chamber he’d fallen into housed the colony’s queen. He spent the night in there, burying himself in cave dirt and eggshell in a corner to try and avoid the kwama’s notice, very aware that they could kill a grown mer with horrific ease. He’s never quite been the same about caves and tunnels ever since.

Being threatened by a furious ghost as a small child. The Ithren line bears many Ordinators, almost a family profession going back centuries. In an ancillary Ithren family tomb, there is a maddened ghost forced into permanent guard service, the spirit of a corrupt Ordinator who betrayed their post and oaths to House Indoril; the specifics were rarely, if ever, made clear, though they exist in certain Indoril ledgers from the period. Though bound by powerful magic never to harm any of Ithren lineage, Moraelyn was utterly terrified by them as a small child. He would hear the ghost’s muttering, snarling voice, whispering monstrous urges and horrifying secrets that no one else could hear. Sometimes he still does.

Almost being abducted by some shady mer who might have been a part of the Camonna Tong. It’s hard to say whether they truly were or if they were just plain bad mer of no affiliation, but they scared him nearly to death. They’d seized him and intended to drag him away before a guard heard his struggling and came to his rescue, killing one of the mer in the process.

6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate?

Moraelyn was one of those odd children who loved schooling, the sort who would ask for additional homework if given the chance. The Temple library was his very favourite place, spending long hours enthralled in stories and sermons even back when he still needed to have them read to him. He was chattersome and engaged, for the most part, though he always found mathematics dreadfully boring. He sometimes drew pictures for the instructors he liked most. He also sometimes drew pictures of the instructors he liked the least, which sometimes got him into a lot of trouble.

He finished his basic education (the freely-available curriculum of basic literacy, numeracy and Tribunal doctrine provided freely to all citizens of Morrowind, don’t @ me about this, check the commoner and pauper dialogue if you don’t believe me) long before his tenth birthday, and continued in one branch of Temple instruction or another until his early adulthood. He likely would have stayed that way, content to be an eternal student, were he not eventually drawn inexorably into true Temple service (then to the specific positions of the Order’s Vimeri priesthood), so whether Moraelyn ever really finished his schooling is mostly a matter of perspective. Certainly, his long and varied schooling puts him at a more tertiary level of education than most.

Of all the subjects he learned during his smaller years, his favourite would probably be advanced literature studies, which also encompassed calligraphy since Temple education tends to conflate the two; after all, what good is it to learn how to construct the perfect poem or analytical essay if no one can read it? He filled slates and pages with rivers of words, a habit that continues to this day after a fashion. It wouldn’t quite be correct to say that artwork and iconography replication was also a beloved subject, since he had been drawing and painting at home since he could hold a stick and draw in the dirt, and as such it never felt like real schoolwork to him.

He never did learn to enjoy mathematics, though. Sometimes he wonders if that’s vaguely heretical in some ill-known, Seht-sphered fashion.

8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals?

Answered here, so let me tell you about Moraelyn’s bird-watching. Moraelyn has a high-intellect, low-resource approach to most of the interests and hobbies he’s gained outside of Morrowind, by which I mean he’s very dedicated but very resistant to actual instruction. Sometimes, it’s because there just aren’t any written sources available or people learned enough on the subject to teach him; other times, it’s just because he’s stubborn and usually refuses to take anyone’s word for anything.

His bird-watching hobby is an excellent example of this. He’ll take detailed notes, sketches, collect feathers, and likely have a very good grasp on the species and habits of birds in his immediate vicinity. However, due to a variety of reasons (language barriers, lack of written notation on the subject (because who needs to write down what a perfectly common bird is, right?), recent arrival to the province, outright derision for what anyone tells him, etc), he doesn’t always know what their actual names are. So, he does what he’s always done with languages that aren’t his own: take the parts he does know, and force them into more fitting shapes with enough conviction that they might sound like real words in their own right to someone who wasn’t paying very close attention.

He knows what pigeons are, but not doves. He knows what sparrows are: small, roundish birds that eat seed and steal breadcrumbs. Therefore, all small, roundish birds, if they can be plied with seed or breadcrumbs, must be some sort of sparrow; yes, this also includes pigeons. He’s pretty sure that quail, pheasant and grouse are various types of wild chicken (he’s actually not that far off). He knows that hawks are birds of prey with large talons and a hooked beak, and that falcons are like that but smaller and can be made to sit on your arm with some training, therefore ‘hawk’ and ‘falcon’ are more general size classes in his mind than real species types. He thinks owls are probably some sort of falcon, and does not believe eagles exist. Don’t try to convince him.))  

[austinpanda]

Dad Letter 042620

6 April, 2020

Dear Dad--

I am pleased to report yet another week of not dying from the coronavirus! This trailer is beginning to feel more and more like a submarine, though. I’m taking lots of pictures through the windows, mostly of birds. Now that we’re feeding the birds some good bird seed (found some primo shit at the grocery store!) it’s summoning all the avians to our yard. We’ve seen so many kinds of birds we’ve never seen before that, on the advice of an internet friend, I purchased a Maine guide to birds. It’s this laminated, fold-out thing that shows the hundred or so most common birds in Maine. Here’s what we’ve had show up to visit so far, along with a brief description of the good qualities/things that annoy me about each one. 

Common grackle - Big. Black. Iridescent blue heads. I assume their large blackness causes discomfort in more privileged, lighter-hued birds.

American goldfinch - My favorite so far! They’re kind of small birds, could fit in your cupped hand, but they’re such a bright yellow, they almost seem fluorescent. We call them highlighter birds. Really gorgeous.

Brown-headed cowbird - Black birds with brown heads. They do not, as their name suggests, summon cows, or resemble cows. 

Downy woodpeckers - These are black and white woodpeckers with little red hats on. We have some food out just for them, and they seem to have discovered it finally. 

Mourning doves - Basically, brown pigeons. They make a “who-who-who” sound that could be mistaken for an owl hooting. These are those beatnik birds I mentioned a few letters ago that make minimal-effort, shitty-looking nests. 

Gray bird X - This is something we’ve been unable to identify, because you can only really describe it as a small, grayish bird with bits that are slightly darker gray. Might take a while to identify this one. 

We know that, as the weeks progress, and things warm up, we’re going to start getting some new and different visitors, and (at least until the pandemic is over) I’m going to try to photograph and identify everything that comes by, birds, butterflies, other critters. Also I got a Maine guide to flowers and trees, and another for wildlife. Apparently black bears and humpback whales call Maine home. Thanks to the black bears, I’ve already seen information on the internet saying that we need to keep bird feeders, including hummingbird feeders, out of sight, because they attract the bears. At the risk of tempting the hubris gods, I choose to believe that this is bullshit. I believe a black bear might decide to stroll by my trailer some day, but if it does, I don’t believe it will be because of the sugar water in my hummingbird feeder calling out to the bear, like the mythical sirens, luring the bear into drinking my hummingbird water and then killing everything in sight because of the resulting sugar high. Now I’m probably going to end up in a news story about a local hummingbird enthusiast who’s trailer got raped by a bear. 

If I’m deriving that much excitement just from our bird feeder, you can tell that even I am starting to get a little stir crazy. I didn’t do much partying or socializing before the pandemic, but I did SOME, dammit. I’ve now made several good friends in this area, and I can’t visit or spend time with any of them, because we’re all making sure we don’t become disease vectors. No one wants to visit harm on a new friend before one’s even had a chance to visit his home and belittle his cooking, and his interior design decisions behind his back. Plus, there’s always the chance that the new friend can actually cook well, and has a cool house, that even a misanthrope could be comfortable in. We really don’t ever leave the house unless it’s to get food or other consumables. Life with the Andromeda Strain!

Zach got some little starter pots, so we’re starting some of our seeds sprouting for our garden. The pots are the kind that you can plant directly into the ground; they’re made of coconut husk and break down once you bury them, and the plant roots just grow right through them. The first things to sprout have been catnip and tomatoes. The way in which the kitty responded to the packet of catnip seeds was something to behold, because he began vigorously flopping and spasming around the seed packet, trying to hold it in his claws while mashing his face into it, trying to chew the packet open. I think kitty may have a nascent substance abuse problem! I suppose we’ll know more after we’ve had a chance to grow some of the catnip to maturity and let the kitty play with it. I think my kitty secretly wants to be Dennis Hopper.

I think I mentioned in my last letter that I had purchased a popcorn machine. One of the obstacles I faced in purchasing it was the shame in knowing that I spent actual money on something frivolous and fun, while I’m not working, simply because I’ve always dreamed of having a house that smelled like a movie theater, and because the government gave me $1200. Well, I decided to spend the $69 and order it. When it arrived, I assembled it, put in some vegetable oil, and some popcorn kernels I’d got at the store, and made a batch of popcorn. The act of making the popcorn is supremely enjoyable. It starts exploding in the kettle, and forcing its way up through the lid, with all the steam and noise, until it’s done, and you bring the little slot-machine arm down to rotate the kettle and dump its contents. There’s a light inside that might keep the popcorn warm if it were meant to, but this is just a very small light for illumination. 

The popcorn tasted like shit! This was only because plain white popcorn with nothing on it is bland as fuck. Two days later, the little popcorn machine packets arrived in the mail! These are little packets of pre-measured popcorn kernels, with popcorn salt, in one portion of the packet, and yellow popcorn oil in the other part. When you pop one of these guys, you achieve popcorn perfection. It smells just like a movie theater. The popcorn has flavor, and that yellow and white appearance. It gives me a sense that my desire to own things has drawn to a close, because I now own everything my stuff-craving heart ever wanted. Did the seventy-dollar popcorn machine actually improve, and give so much meaning to, my whole life? Yes. Yes, it did, goddammit. In two days I have made popcorn nine times, and I haven’t even tried putting butter on it yet. And I can’t stress this enough: you know how a smell can trigger the strongest emotions and memories? The smell of my house after making popcorn in the machine just does something to me. I’m back in the (bear with me here) magical place where the movies happen and the popcorn is really expensive, but so much more delicious than the stuff I make at home in the microwave. I think the only thing that could improve the experience is if I found some of the same artificial butter-flavored grease they use in theaters to butter your popcorn. Thankfully, the internet makes it easy to find this product.

So that’s my life over the past week! Birds, gardening, and popcorn. I did some sit-ups yesterday, and I’ll be attempting a few more today! (I thought it might be easy to do sit-ups in the living room if I stuck my feet under a particular piece of furniture, and dangit, I was right.) I’ll include a pic of the popcorn machine. It’s actually quite small, and plastic, and the wheels are decorative, but fuggit, it works wonderfully. If I ever become rich, I’m buying one for every home in America, at least if the movie theaters are still closed. 

To sum up everything, I am well. Zach and the kitty are well. I’m still concerned about the stupid coronavirus, but I’m not too concerned. I’m still scared about having to start my new job, whenever that happens, but I’m not too scared. I’ll get past the first-day nervousness and start working at the new job whenever I’m required to, and I’m sure I’ll do it well. We’re keeping the bills paid. We’re even enjoying life every now and then, and that’s most everything I require out of this existence. I hope you two are safe and sound, and all my love to you both!

[stevejehovahbible]

Genesis 15

1 After these things the word of the Lord came unto Abram in a vision, saying, Fear not, Abram: I am thy shield, and thy exceeding great reward. God gives Abram mad props for his pious display in front of the magic priest king man Melchizedek, and tells him not to worry about giving up all the plunder, because He totally has Abram’s back. It doesn’t explain why he would be worried in the first place, because he was a rich man at the BEGINNING of the story. Let’s just shrug off that obvious logical blunder and plod on. I sense the rest of this story is going to be a cornucopia of nonsense, so we’ll have a lot to get through.

2  And Abram said, Lord God, what wilt thou give me, seeing I go childless, and the steward of my house is this Eliezer of Damascus? 3  And Abram said, Behold, to me thou hast given no seed: and, lo, one born in my house is mine heir. He can't believe he’s going to have to leave all his vast wealth to a man from Damascus, instead of his own children. Because people that aren’t from this special bloodline are less than people. But that’s not disturbing at all because God God Jesus God Reasons Magic God ShutUpWithYourLogicYouHeretic!!! Notice that Abram isn’t happy with God’s repeated assertions that have no backing evidence. He is an old man, and God has promised to make him the father of a master race (which totally is different from that Hitler idea that is exactly the same in every way because God said it was ok), but he has no children. Abram wants more than empty words, which we’ll soon find out is a BAD thing? Asking for proof leads to trouble. Bible lessons 101. 4  And, behold, the word of the Lord came unto him, saying, This shall not be thine heir; but he that shall come forth out of thine own bowels shall be thine heir. 100% literal translation: “You won’t have to leave your money to that commoner, who is obviously beneath you and doesn’t deserve any of your wealth! You’re going to crap out a butt baby from your intestines.” It’s actually saying that it will be his own son that he loves, as the seat of emotions in those days was the bowels. It’s like saying “your ACTUAL son, that you love with all your heart, will be your heir.” But for strict biblical literalists... well... I guess they think God is going to bring one of Abram’s turds to life.  5  And he brought him forth abroad, and said, Look now toward heaven, and tell the stars, if thou be able to number them: and he said unto him, So shall thy seed be. This song and dance again? Look at the stars Simba! The great master race of the future looks down on us from those stars. So whenever you feel alone, just remember that those kings will always be there to guide you, and so will I. Now go kill that guy for picking up a stick on Saturday. I have spoken. 6  And he believed in the Lord; and he counted it to him for righteousness. Belief is not a moral action. This is yet ANOTHER example of the bible attempting to validate itself in an illogical way, to instill fear into those reading it. If belief is righteousness, than disbelief is wickedness. It attempts to make the simple act of doubting a “sin.” When this nonsense is taught to children, it subtly programs their brains to accept that trust in God is automatically good, and questioning God is automatically bad. Now where have I heard that before? *cough* mind pattern programing *cough* cult psycology *cough* it’s exactly the was dictators and despots keep their subjects in line *cough cough* never question the great leader *cough*... Sorry... scratchy throat. Now where HAVE I heard that before? Nevermind. So, there’s another issue I’d like to bring up here that is a MAJOR problem in religion. The recycling of bad arguments. The apostle Paul cites this verse multiple times (Romans 4, verses 3, 9, and 22, Galatians 3:6, James 2:23) as EVIDENCE of justification by faith. The assertion is made, unchallenged, and therefore accepted as viable evidence of reality. Simply because Moses wrote that God said “Faith = Awesome” does not make that a reality. Citing that as hard evidence to a further claim you’re attempting to make is automatically fallacious reasoning.

“Say, Bob, did you know that cats can fly?” “Really Jim? How? I’ve never seen a flying cat Jim.” “That’s really not important Bob. Just trust me. Cats can fly.” “Well, I guess I’ll just chose to believe you Jim.” “Excellent choice Bob. Because belief is clearly a choice.” *Months later, Jim throws a cat over a roof with a cat-apult (*snicker*) and tells Bob that his beliefs have been vindicated! Just look at the evidence! Decades later, a scientist uses Jim’s belief in flighted cats, and Bob’s support of that belief to write a law saying all cat owners must get their cat’s wings clipped, or they’ll be shot for international super-treason or something. Cats don’t have wings, so all cat owners are killed. Dogs everywhere high five and sip their tennis ball flavored martinis. In a surprise MNightShamalablahmanon twist ending, Jim was really a dog in an elaborate disguise all along!

7  And he said unto him, I am the Lord that brought thee out of Ur of the Chaldees, to give thee this land to inherit it. In case you forgot, let me remind you again. Apparently people in bible times all had severe short term memory loss and needed to be told the same things over and over. “Hey, remember this land I gave you twice already...? Guess what? I brought you here to give it to you. Neat, huh?” Ownership of THIS land is super-duper important for some reason. You’d think God would tell Abram that owning land isn’t really something he should strive for, as it is ultimately materialistic and not a very high minded obsession to have. But He never does.  Instead, He continues to tell Abram that he’s God’s favorite, and that Abram’s kids will totally OWN this patch of earth just because God said so. Abram is the father of the Prosperity Gospel here, and God encourages him EVERY step of the way. Not a very godlike thing to do, but we should expect no less from this character. It fits with everything else He’s done so far.

8  And he said, Lord God, whereby shall I know that I shall inherit it? Again, Abram is a BAD believer, because he’s asking for confirmation. This is actually something believers should do a little more. Ask for confirmation. Make sure the things you believe are grounded in reality. It’s a radical idea, I know. Thousands of years later, it’s still kind of seen as a fringe idea within the religious community at large. I’m hoping it becomes more mainstream in the future. 9  And he said unto him, Take me an heifer of three years old, and a she goat of three years old, and a ram of three years old, and a turtledove, and a young pigeon. “You want proof? Kill some animals for me. I don’t just give proof for free! I need to see something suffer and die first. Get with the program Abram!” 10  And he took unto him all these, and divided them in the midst, and laid each piece one against another: but the birds divided he not. Abram kills a cow, a goat, and a sheep and splits them into pieces. Why? Well, because this is an ancient ritualistic custom. Here’s how it works: Two people make an agreement. They slice animals in half, and then walk between the separated halves to symbolically affirm that the same should happen to them if they break their end of the bargain. This ritual is also mentioned in Jeremiah 34. Sounds like the perfect thing for a timeless, eternal, all powerful being to endorse and participate in, right?  11  And when the fowls came down upon the carcases, Abram drove them away. 12  And when the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram; and, lo, an horror of great darkness fell upon him. In essence, Abram is unsure if he can trust the voices in his head about getting this land for his posterity, so he sets up a primitive version of a contract and waits - fully expecting God to physically appear and “sign” it by walking through the dead animals with him. But God doesn’t show, and he spends the day shooing away vultures from the rotting carcasses until he FALLS ASLEEP. That’s right. As with ALL proof offered by believers, the justification for it is 100% in his mind. Nothing happened to the dead animals. God didn’t physically appear. Abram asked for evidence and got NONE, so he made some up in his own head while he slept. For some reason, believers don’t balk at this. I’ll never understand why. There’s another minor thing to address here. I’ve seen it postulated by more than a few apologists that God put Abram to sleep BECAUSE there was no promise on Abram’s part, and he didn’t need to walk through the dead animals. As if that makes a lick of sense. The argument that real proof wasn't offered, just something in his sleeping mind, because of a technicality in the contract. God couldn’t show up physically and offer real proof, because Abram didn’t owe him anything. How does that make any sense at all?       13  And he said unto Abram, Know of a surety that thy seed shall be a stranger in a land that is not theirs, and shall serve them; and they shall afflict them four hundred years; 14  And also that nation, whom they shall serve, will I judge: and afterward shall they come out with great substance. 15  And thou shalt go to thy fathers in peace; thou shalt be buried in a good old age. 16  But in the fourth generation they shall come hither again: for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet full. All written down after the fact, by someone who wasn’t there. The words of God in a dream are recorded IN QUOTES by someone writing in generations later, after the supposed promises and prophesy made by God have already come to pass. How very convenient. 17  And it came to pass, that, when the sun went down, and it was dark, behold a smoking furnace, and a burning lamp that passed between those pieces. Ok, so there’s two options here. Verse 12 says, “And when the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram,” so he is asleep here. Did the smoking furnace and burning lamp pass through the dead animals in his dream? Because that’s REALLY stupid. Or, did this even happen physically with no one present to witness it except a sleeping old man - but it’s recorded as an actual event that happened anyway. Because thats somehow even MORE stupid than the first option. Much like the snake in the Garden of Eden, we’re supposed to extrapolate from the story that the furnace and the lamp are symbols of God, just like the Snake was a representation of the Devil. The text doesn’t actually explicitly say this, and there’s no reason to automatically jump to that conclusion, but the apologists are going to jump anyway. It’s their nature. 18  In the same day the Lord made a covenant with Abram, saying, Unto thy seed have I given this land, from the river of Egypt unto the great river, the river Euphrates: 19  The Kenites, and the Kenizzites, and the Kadmonites, 20  And the Hittites, and the Perizzites, and the Rephaims, 21  And the Amorites, and the Canaanites, and the Girgashites, and the Jebusites. God promises again, without any actual evidence - that he’s going to give the land to Abram’s descendants, AND further promises that they’ll overthrow all the various “Ites” that dwell there. Because Moses wants the people to believe that God said all this. And they do. Without any evidence. And in thousands of years, nothing there has changed. People still believe things, just because someone tells them God said it.  

[salty-dracon]

SA Hunters: Part 4

(I am so sorry, it has been ages. This part includes some lore from a story I wanted to write about half a year ago. The character introduced in this chapter has a name: Venus Alys. He serves as comic relief in his current universe, but his species has some really sick powers.)

Lunch time.

“Sam.” I snapped.

“No.” Sam smiled back at me.

I glared at him even harder. “Sam!”

Sam and May were spread out on the eight seats we usually sat around in the cafeteria. Sam had his legs covering three, with his bag on the fourth. May had all of her stuff- backpack, notebooks, even homework) on the seats on her side. Leaving me with no place to sit.

“She’s alone.” Sam gestured to the girl studying in a quiet section of the lunchroom. In the corner, Bridget was reading a book.

“Go eat with her!” May said. “You do want to confess, don’t you?”

I nearly lost my mind. Sam, you idiot! Why did you tell May?!

“Don’t tell anyone!” I whispered. Then, I sighed and walked over to her.

She was alone. Just studying. Her mouth was buried in her scarf, and she appeared to be reading a book, still.

“Hey, Brid.” I said.

Brid looked up and smiled at me.

“Can I… sit with you?”

Brid nodded.

I sat next to her. I noticed Brid shift a little. I guess it was too close for comfort. She dropped her book. I realized she was playing a video game on her cell phone.

“What game is that?” I asked.

“Alchemy Story.” Brid showed me the game, where it seemed that she used a variety of tools in order to solve problems. “It’s a story-based puzzle game that takes a lot of thinking, but it’s really fun.”

“Cool.” I said. I thought of the note from Angel. “You like ciphers and stuff?”

“More like puzzles.” Brid said. “See, what I think I have to do here is combine the earth essence with the fire essence to create lava, and then… no, hold on… ” After a bit of tapping on her screen, Brid’s face lit up. “Earth and order create a tree, and then you combine that with air to create dust, and then with fire to create ash!”

I watched as the story progressed. A female wizard was talking with another person wearing a red robe in a dialogue cutscene.

“Who are they?” I asked.

“You play as Jiarra- she’s the wizard on the left. She’s talking to a person possessed by some kind of a demon, but we’re not sure what kind yet.”

“You seem to love puzzles.”

“It’s all a matter of making things work.” Brid said. “But, I should probably get back to work now.” Brid pulled her notebook back out.

Her biology notebook! (AN: in the last chapter, Lumi found a coded note in Brid’s bio notebook, but never decoded it.)

I tried not to act to curious.

Brid flipped through the pages, looking for something. I expected to see a glimpse of that weird note from Angel, but there was nothing.

I carefully eyed Brid. Her brow furrowed slightly. She flipped to the back of her book and flipped backwards.

I saw the notes in the margins. “We freaking know” and “Mr. Green”. But the note from Angel was gone. It had been completely torn out.

I considered pilfering the notebook to figure out the code from pencil markings, but Brid was already staring at me.

“Do you need to glance at my notes?” she asked.

“No! No… ” I said.

We were silent while Brid continued to play.

“Did you want to talk to me about something?”

“It’s cold in here, isn’t it?” I tried to say something.

“It’s getting close to winter.” Brid said.

“Winter is nice, isn’t it. But there aren’t so many birds.”

“Robins and pigeons don’t migrate.” Brid said. “But a lot of them freeze to death because they don’t nest properly.”

“Speaking of birds, have you heard about Peace Dove?”

“Peace Dove?”

“Didn’t she and some other superhero, Cathode, rescue a kid from Angel? That’s happened more than a few times already.”

“Yeah.”

“I bet Peace Dove doesn’t freeze in the winter.” I said. It was kind of a weird joke, but I laughed anyway.

“She wouldn’t.”

“Huh?”

“Whatever her camouflage technology is, it probably generates enough heat to keep her warm.”

“Right… Hey, I thought you didn’t follow celebrities.”

“Peace Dove is a superhero. Probably just a normal person.”

“Right.”

We sat in awkward silence.

“I’m going to go back over there.” I said. “Just so-”

“Okay.” Brid was still playing her video game. Jiarra the wizard was still talking to the robed person.

I sulked back to Sam. He smiled at me. “How’d it go?” he asked, giving me room to sit.

“Horrible.” I said. “She was playing a video game the entire time.”

“Rough.” he said. “At least you reached out. Come on, grab some lunch.”

--------------

“She really does look like an angel, doesn’t she?”

“Which one?” I asked.

“Like an actual angel.” Sam pointed to a new picture of Peace Dove. It depicted her shifting into the background. Her wings were, at this point, still clearly visible. They looked like a teched-out jetpack, unlike Angel’s wings, which, as far as anyone could tell, protruded straight from his back. Peace Dove’s wings looked like a bunch of checkers pieces and popsicle sticks glued together and painted white, but Angel’s looked unbelievably realistic.

“What about Cathode?” I asked.

“She always moves too fast for anyone to get a good picture.”

“Aww.” I smiled at the picture of Peace Dove. She looked beautiful, in a minimalistic way.  

-------------

The nights are cold in my house. I wrapped myself up in a few layers of blankets and cuddled up under the sheets.

I just wanted to sleep, but stress kept me awake. My head hurt. Did Brid even like me? Was I forgetting homework? I didn’t know. It was just impossible for me to sleep.

My phone buzzed and I opened it.

Stronghold 3: Best Yet or Worst Flop Ever?

I found the article. A message appeared.

vampire taken group of people hostage on bloom street.

Hostages. A situation Sam and I could deal with.

I met him outside after taking an aspirin.

-----

The assignment, should you choose to accept it, involves a series of kidnappings. Young, athletically fit men and women have been kidnapped. Spectral evidence at the crime scenes indicate the culprit is a dark creature. Given the proliferation of vampiric influences in recent times, we believe the culprit is a vampire.

Sam and I nodded as we listened to the car’s robot voice speak. This was something we could handle.

“You are being dropped off on the outskirts of the city.”

The outskirts of the city, huh?

I admired the scenery as the car took us to our location.

House after house after house is built out here, separated by barriers of tree. We were also close to the large mass of woods known as Red Tail Forest, named for a very specific kind of hawk- and a legend surrounding it. This was a residential area. There were a few condo neighborhoods out here, tucked within the woods. Farther away from the residential area are large industrial buildings, old and new, abandoned and thriving. Sam and I were headed to Bloom Street- to an abandoned factory that once produced clothing.

“You have arrived,” the car voice said. Sam and I nodded and jumped out of the car.

Abandoned factories are scary. This one was made of three buildings, one towering higher than the others.

“What can you see?” I asked.

“Clean water.”

“What?!”

“Hobo signs.” Sam pointed to a chalk marking on one of the buildings. It was a horizontal squiggle. “That one means safe campsite.” Sam pointed to one which looked like an X with circles to the left and right.

“Wow.”

“This place has been around since before the depression, so it’s not surprising that hobos used to hang around after it shut down.”

“How do you know all of this stuff?”

“I see this stuff around town and I get curious.”

“Do you know all of them?”

“All of the signs? Yeah, I know a lot. That one means you can sleep in the loft. That one means a lot of hobos have hung out here. That one… ” Sam’s voice tapered off. “That one, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Sam pointed to something that looked like an upside down crucifix.

“That’s an upside-down crucifix.” I said.

“Oh. What is that-”

“It means vampires.” I said. “They’re here.”

“They might be out right now.” Sam whispered. “It’s best we hide.”

“Let’s scan for hostages.”

I pulled on heat-vision goggles and scanned the three buildings. There were five heat signatures inside one of the shorter buildings. Judging by their positions, I assumed they were tied up. I was about to move in for a closer look, but Sam grabbed by arms and dragged me back.

“What’s the-” Sam covered my mouth and pointed.

The silhouette of a teenage boy wearing a leather jacket appeared. He walked calmly toward the building containing the hostages.

“We take him out. Now.” I whispered.

“No. We wait for him to run in.”

Sam and I watched the person in the leather jacket enter the door. We glanced at each other, nodded, and positioned ourselves near the door.

“What… are… you?” One of the hostages- a woman- was speaking.

“I’m not some petty vampire, thank you very much.” The boy’s voice sounded young and snobby.

“Vampire?” the woman asked again.

Not a vampire? I thought.

“He’s not a vampire? Then what is he?” I asked.

“I’m a werewolf.” The not-vampire paused. “Technically, half-fallen, half-lycanthrope, but I’m still not a vampire.”

“Convenient.” Sam whispered. “Wait. Fallen what?”

“In case you were wondering, fallen means… fallen angel. I fell around eight hundred years ago. Long story. Met a girl. She was actually a werewolf. Turned me… into a werewolf. Ish.”

“Interesting story. Might as well write it down.” I whispered.

“Don’t bother writing it down. Oh wait. You can’t. You’re tied up.”

“Jesus, it’s like he can hear us.”

“That’s because I can.”

Sam and I were suddenly alerted by the sound of growling. He turned around. We saw a pack of black dogs behind us. One of them snapped its enormous jaws at me.

“Man, if Noah were here-”

“Run!” I shouted, as more appeared. I dragged Sam into the building, where we came face-to-face with the fallen.

It was, as we thought, a teenage boy wearing a leather jacket. He had blonde hair and purple eyes with slits for pupils. There was a pair of black wings on his back, and a pair of sandy-colored dog ears on top of his head.

“Pretty cool, right?” he asked. He pointed to the door, where the group of dogs was about to run in. They disappeared in a burst of smoke. “I don’t specialize in illusions, but I’m pretty good, right?”

“Um… okay.” Sam’s eyes darted to the top of the fallen’s head- namely, his dog ears. “You have dog ears?”

“Oh, these?” His ears twitched. “Aren’t they cute?”

“They’re real? Can I touch them?”

“I’d let you, but I know what you’re really after.” He pointed to the hostages. “Them. Am I correct?”

“You’re holding them hostage! We’re going to want to free the hostages, you know!”

“What do you even need five hostages for?!” Sam shouted.

“Simple. A little alchemical spell.” The fallen angel walked over to a cleared-out area of the factory. He pointed to a series of chalk markings on the ground. They formed the shape of a pentagram.

“The blood of five,” he said, “and the blood of darkness, will open a portal to the rift, allowing my brethren to come into this world and feed on the darkness of humans.”

“Darkness of… humans?” I asked.

“Yes. There have been a lot of negative feelings lately, have there not? I was a scout sent to gauge the concentration of dark feelings in this region. And I was not disappointed. Seriously. It’s like that Dark Angel guy is doing our work for us. He will be rewarded in the afterlife, you can be sure of that.”

“Umm, is Z getting any of this?” I asked.

“Z? Um… no.” Sam pulled out his cell phone. He was about to dial a number, but the phone was whipped out of his hand by a large black tentacle.

“No one leaves tonight.” The fallen summoned a second tentacle to close the doors of the factory building behind us. “And you two get to watch the whole thing.” Then, his brow furrowed, and one of his ears cocked over. “Unless… hold on, let me think about this… ”

“Alchemy?” I asked. “But that’s pseudoscience. It’s not real, right?”

“Do you even understand who you’re talking to?” The fallen smirked. “Anything is possible when you’ve got magic on your side.”

“He’s got a point… ” Sam muttered.

“That being said… looks like you two won’t get to hang around for the main event after all.” The fallen smiled at us. “I’ve decided that I’m going to harvest your souls and use them to hold the portal open. After all, I’ve got a lot of brothers waiting to escape the Rift and feed on the darkness of Rubicon City.”

“What are you going to do to us?”

“I’ll let you die on your own, of course.” He moved closer to us. His eyes began to glow unnaturally. The glow was commanding. His stare rendered us unable to move.

“Don’t… look.” Sam growled. I watched him sink to his knees, succumbing to the strange spell.

“Too… late… ” The spell, like a heavy weight, won over me. I stumbled and fell to my knees, staring into his eyes.

“Good.” the fallen said. “Now… ” His next words were a bunch of gibberish. But within them, I recognized “somnia”- dreams.

The next thing I knew, everything was fading to white, and my eyes were closing.

My eyes opened. They were met by the glare of a glowing sun. I looked up. I was in a ruined city. I was lying on the dry ground. Around me, the buildings were crumbling. And to my left, there was a giant hole in the ground.

Was this Rubicon City? But what had happened to-

As I looked over my body, I realized I was covered in cuts, bruises, and scratches. I tried to lift my body, but it hurt. I looked around.

Dead bodies. Everywhere. Allie, May, Jake, Noah… I recognized people from my school, people I knew around town, even my parents. Each one chipped a piece off my soul.

Then I saw Sam.

Sam.

SAM!

No! How could he be-

“No! No!”

I heard a woman wailing from a short distance away. I saw them slowly draw closer. They seemed to be just shadows, but a man was dragging a woman along with him, holding her by the arm. The woman was crying, pleading with him.

“She’s the only one left! You took away everything! Just don’t take her away too!”

The man was silent. I squinted against the sunlight to see their bodies.

A man I had seen only in pictures stood above me. He frowned at me, and then kicked my side. He must have kicked a bruise or something, because it hurt like hell. The woman suddenly jumped for me. She was on top of me, her hair tickling my face, and her tears falling like raindrops on my cheeks.

An older Bridget.

“It’s going to be okay.” she told me. “You’re going to be okay. I won’t let him take you too. I won’t-” The woman shouted again when the man grabbed her and threw her off my body. She got up and tried to fight the man, but he shoved her off.

“She dies.” the man said.

“She’s the only one left! You’ve taken them all, just please don’t take away my last friend!”

“I’m your only friend, Bridget. Why don’t you see that I’m doing this for YOU?!” The man glared at her.

“You’re a monster! That’s what you-” Bridget’s body suddenly fell still. She crumpled to the ground.

“I’ll fix her later.” the man said. He smiled at me, and then pulled a gun out of his pocket. “First, I need to get rid of you.” He kneeled next to me. I could see his face, and his red eyes, clearly now. Angel.

“What are you going to do to Brid?” I asked.

“That’s none of your concern.” He placed the barrel of the gun against my heart. “Why did you choose to pursue her love, you insignificant child?”

“Like you’d stand a chance.” I snapped.

“Like I would.” Angel placed his hand on the trigger. “No one takes away my sister!” His face suddenly flamed up in rage. I thought he was going to pull the trigger, but everything shone white. I couldn’t see anything until I blinked.

I was back in the abandoned factory. Sam was holding the fallen angel by the scruff of the neck. “You can take away my friends… you can take away my home… but NO ONE takes away my family all over again!”

The fallen angel laughed.

“Laugh all you want, you sick demon. You should have never brought that memory back.” Sam pulled his bottle of holy water out of his bag. “You’re going to pay.”

I thought of calling his name. Just to get him to snap out of it. The Sam I knew was funny, cheerful, loving, and loyal. Not cold and harsh.

I saw a future I hoped would never happen. What did Sam see? And what did I have to do with it?

The fallen angel teleported out of Sam’s clutches. He reappeared a short distance away, and then unleashed a dark, misty spell on Sam. I screamed his name, but gasped when I saw him emerge unscathed.

Sam?

Sam moved closer to the fallen angel. It was scared now. It backed up against the wall as Sam moved closer.

“Et alibi… Et alibi… ” The fallen angel whispered strange words as Sam drew closer. Sam didn’t stop. He drew closer and closer. The fallen angel slowly slipped to the ground as Sam’s shadow touched his feet. When Sam was above him, he said something I couldn’t hear. Then, he shoved the bottle of holy water down the fallen angel’s throat, and squeezed. The fallen angel’s final word was a muffled scream as he disintegrated from the inside out.

I watched with rapt attention.

Sam turned to me.

That face. That rage. I swear I almost ran.

He started walking towards me. Then he ran. Finally, he collapsed next to me and embraced me, crying bitter tears. I embraced him as well.

“Lumi, promise me something.” Sam said.

“What is it?”

“Promise me that you’ll never, ever, leave my side… ” Sam said. “You’re my best friend… I need you, okay?”

My face grew hot and my eyes grew teary. “I promise… ”

We embraced.

“I couldn’t see you dead.” I said. “I… I just… couldn’t… ”

“Me neither.” Sam said. “He paid. We’re fine now.”

“Can we call Z now?” I asked. I pulled out my cell phone while Sam untied the hostages.

“Hello, Lumien. What’s going on?”

“It wasn’t a vampire.” I said. “It was a fallen angel. He was planning to open a portal to someplace called the Rift.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then, Hunter Z exclaimed, “Are you two okay?! If he unleashed the Nightmare spell on you-”

“He did. What does it do, anyway?”

“You’re sentenced to your worst nightmare. At the end of it, you die- and you die in real life as well.”

“Oh, well… Sam broke us both out of it.”

“Both? He broke out of his own nightmare?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm… ” There was a long pause on Hunter Z’s end. “I… commend him. It’s… very impressive. And the fallen?”

“Dead, I think.”

“How did you get rid of it?”

“We squeezed a bottle of holy water down its throat.”

“That would certainly destroy its earthly body. It isn’t dead, but it is incapable of doing much. You two need to get back home. Whatever made Sam break out… must have been traumatizing.”

“Yeah.” I watched Sam untie the last hostage. He received a hug from a young woman. His eyes widened, but he smiled. “Thanks, Z.”

“You’re very welcome.” Hunter Z hung up. I motioned for Sam and I to leave.

-----

“Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“What did you see?”

“Hm?”

“In your nightmare. What did you see?”

“....... I saw you.”

“Me?”

“What did you see?”

“I saw… you too.”

“Alright.”

We didn’t speak to each other until the next morning.

----------

I was taking notes in biology. The teacher was drawing pictures on the board and lecturing.

“... the centromeres are connected to the aster fibers. As they move to opposite ends of the cell, the nucleolus decondenses and the chromosomes become visible. This is called prophase… ”

As I took notes about prophase, another thought crossed my mind. When that fallen angel had sentenced both of us to our worst nightmares, Sam had seen something. Something that made him act. Something that made him so angry that he fought back against the fallen angel. Something about his parents. And something about me.

“No one takes away my sister! You can take away my friends, you can take away my home, but NO ONE takes away my family all over again!”

Did he secretly have memories of his parents’ death? But what did I have to do with it? I wasn’t even in the car when it happened. I was hundreds of miles away. I didn’t even know Sam.

Brid flipped through the pages of her notes. I saw the page without the note. I guess I’d have to figure out what I can without it-

I saw it fall out of her notebook. The same letter. The same signature.

I couldn’t help but read.

Above the scrambled letters were more letters. Off to to the side, there was a series of letters equaling other letters, in no particular order. Brid had decoded the note. And above each V was the letter E.

“Dearest Bridget,

I recognize that you have an interest in the wings I bear. I could see it the last time we met. You seem almost afraid of touching them. I myself am interested in your mental capacity. You seem to be interested in engineering. Perhaps you would like to use your knowledge in the field with me? Contact me if you are interested.

Angel.”

He wanted to teach her how to engineer? What?

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Just fine.” Brid said back to me. “Oh.” She grabbed the scrap of paper, stared at it, and then stuffed it deep into her notes.

(TL:DR- Sam has had a very bad past. Angel is a piece of shit.)