#if anyone wants to come axe murder me or something its literally fine. its whatever

[californiaquail]

believe it or not i used to never make original posts on here but then i realized this is my blog and i can do whatever i want forever including effectively doxxing myself by bitching too specifically about everything that happens to me

[honestsycrets]

Mirror, Mirror III: Particularly Useless

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, implied!ivar x freydis

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | you’re panicking. and panicking. and panicking. and ivar isn’t helping.

❛  tags | verbal arguments, OI reference, body swap, witchy themes, pregnancy mention, time traveling, some fighting, confusion and anxiety.

There were two conclusions you came to. 

One.) You had been dreaming as a result of leftover enchiladas-- of which Ivar had scrunched his nose up at-- and of which you had told him he had to taste to understand the intricate flavour combinations of. He and his sour skyr could never understand! (Then again, the skyr wasn’t half bad after you bothered to try it.)

Or Two.) This was very much real and whatever happened when you had cracked your fist in that mirror had splintered whatever curse was there and by proxy sucked you in thinking, just maybe, it was Ivar trying to break out. It seemed… plausible, right?

After all, the Ivar standing before you was much different than your snarky asshole of a… mirror-mate. Ivar 2.0-- or wait, maybe original Ivar-- cocks his head at you. He has a familiar glint in his eyes, masked by a love that makes your skin run clammy and cold, holding the deep blue fabric under your fingers. It’s more luxurious than anything you could imagine. Ivar reaches up to fix something in your hair. It takes a moment to register that its a tiara that sits on top of your head, etched in gold that rivaled the hair that tumbled down your back. 

“Freydis?” 

“Sick! I’m just-- sick,” you walk around him on the creaking boards, pulling yourself into this ancient bed with god-- was that animal fur? You pull yourself to lay down on pillows stuffed with down feather and stair up at the drab naturalistic ceiling. Your Ivar could have at least told you about his wife. 

“Is it Baldur?” 

“Huh?” you say, then snap back to the reality that yeah-- that stiff belly of yours was full with his son. You pick the tiara from your head and settle it down upon your belly. Ivar hobbles closer, settling his palm on your belly. 

“Baldur.” He looks at you, pulling in skepticism, but you crack the weakest smile, suppressing the painful anxiety that wants to disguise itself in crass laughter.

“It-- it’s my head. I hit it-- I,” you excuse. “I should… sleep.” 

Ivar smooths his hand over your stomach. “Rest. I’ll be with Hvitserk.” 

Hvitserk-- that’s a name you recognize. At least your Ivar mentioned something relevant. He leans down with the aid of his crutch, placing a kiss that reverberates warmth across your forehead. You must have inherited her squishy feelings too. 

“Goodnight, Ivar.” 

As you descend into sleep, it all fades to black. The room is dark and heavy in its quality. As if it is its own little world of its own. There’s heavy darkness, almost stifling, before a laugh. It reverberates in the room, almost shaking you loose from the bed. You tug the blanket up over your head. 

“You like that?” 

That… was not the demon woman. Drawing the sheets over your head down, you realize that before you is the ancient mirror disembodied from the wall, and Ivar-- but your Ivar-- teases your cat with a chunk of cooked fish in a plastic tub. 

“Uh, excuse me?” You push the blankets away, suddenly aware of your belly all over again, waddling toward the edge of the bed. “Are you giving him fish?” 

“Cats eat fish.” Ivar quips. 

“That! That isn’t the point.” 

“Then what is?” Ivar asks, lifting his eyebrows upon his pronounced forehead. 

“You’re SUPPOSED to be finding me a way out of here!” 

Ivar angles his jaw down, and his jawline is so fucking pronounced. Almost aggravatingly so, how handsome, and peppered with stubble as it was. You’re so done with him already-- and the flush of feelings about him? Those, you remind yourself, aren’t yours. These have to be his wife’s feelings.

“And how would I do that when you are in my wife?” He stops, dropping a sliver of fish over your cat’s fuzzy head. His tone has taken on a spiteful quality judging on the way he leered at you: as if you were the embodiment of everything he hated. Maybe you were. “My very dead wife-- and my very dead son, I’ll remind you.” 

“I don’t know!” you shriek. “But if I thought I didn’t know how to do anything before--” 

“Don’t worry. Freydis was a particularly useless queen.”

“Shut up.” Your hand wanders toward your stomach. A very dead son, you think, then settle your hand over the growth. Whatever was in there-- wasn’t dead. It felt as if you had a fish in one of those carnival bags because you feel him move. “Hate to tell you, but he’s very not dead. What kind of name is Baldur anyway?” 

Ivar drags a long sigh, shifting his head to face you. He visibly shutters as if the memory is front and center, bringing him back to the past where apparently, you were. “Baldur was the son of Frigg and Odin. He was the best of their sons. Radiant. Until…” 

“Until?” 

“Loki manipulated another into shooting him with mistletoe.” 

“Mistletoe?” You snort obsequiously. “You named your son after someone who was murdered and didn’t think it’d go wrong? In any way?” 

Ivar pulls himself up from the ground, holding the side of his calibers as he stabbed into the ground. And yeap, not getting that deposit back, not in the slightest. “It wasn’t meant to be prophetic.” 

“Oh right, right. He didn’t think he’d be the one to straight-up murder his son!” 

He had enough. His hand snapped to the side of his slacks, thrusting the perfectly kept axe at the mirror. It collapses into a hundred bitty pieces on the floor. Rather than sucking into the mirror, though, the axe repels into the wall beside your bedroom window. The shards pull back together. 

“That didn’t work.” You lament, dropping back onto your bed, and it suddenly occurs to Ivar that your little trick to rile him worked-- until it failed. “I’m stuck as this blonde! What do you think happens next, huh? I’m going to be stuck here until you kill us?” 

By the way he rips the axe from the wall, flipping it over and over, as if he doesn’t know what to say-- you have your answer. He really didn’t know what came next. You suppose if he had, he wouldn’t be stuck in that mirror for over a thousand years.

“Be careful what you say.” You glance up from your position on the bed. He goes on. “He isn’t as stable as I’ve become over the years.” 

Said the man who literally launched an axe into a self-healing mirror. He scowls as he hears the thought enter your mind. You’ve forgotten he could do that. “He thinks he’s a god.” 

“A what?” It humiliates him to even say the word. His forehead pulls in wrinkles as he battles to explain. 

“We don’t have time. You are asleep here and now, but when you wake up… you will have to live my wife’s life. There isn’t much time.” 

Your fingers rub your temples. “Esta bien just-- stay there.” You sigh, working out what exactly to tell him. He knows your daily activities. Work-- no work, quarantine. You thank god for the able excuse that a plague has brought. “There is food in the fridge and a remote for the television.” 

He glances at the thing behind him, raising his eyebrow. He’s seen you do this a hundred times and still. “And your uncle?” 

Fuck. Your uncle. 

“Just text him.” You excuse. “He won’t bother you yet.” 

“Text how,” Ivar holds up his hands, flickering his fingers. “I don’t know how to write in your language. I don’t take it he knows Old Norse?” 

“Ivar. If I spoke Old Norse--” 

“Fine.” He holds up his hands. “Find the seer,” he says. “He will help.” 

Before you can ask him, the all-encompassing black takes ahold. Suddenly you’re there again, staring right back up at the ceiling. It’s many timber beams are years away from your reality at home with soft colours and an itty bitty rented bedroom. A shield sits above the bed illuminated by the presence of many expensive candles. You turn over, rolling onto your side to take a look at it. Burgundy red, with black spikes, and a line of sunshine yellow. It’s then that it registers. It’s easy when its Ivar in your room, because you know him, but you don’t know this man. Or this strange new-- wait, old -- world.

You’re on your own now. 

The last thing Ivar wants to do is look at the mirror. 

He’s been trapped inside for a millennium and some change, seen the change through the bounty of beautiful women, and their dresses shifting from long to micro-short. He’s wondered what his mother would have looked like. What Freydis-- would have looked like. His finger hovers above the silverwork: then, like that, pulls away. 

“What do you think, huh?” he gazes down at the kitten, mewling between his calibers. He lifts his tiny head at Ivar. “No, come. I don’t know how it happened.” 

He knows he has to get you out. Somehow. The kitten hops on the window ledge, and Ivar hobbles closer, watching the bodies of men shifting below. Sleeping in full chain mail and metal wouldn’t be comfortable-- 

You wouldn’t mind him snooping around, would you? 

“Queen Freydis-- we should go back.” 

That little slave girl is obnoxious. At first, you thought that she was just skeptical of you, but she trails your steps on the way out of Ivar’s great hall like an second shadow. The seer’s house, as an old woman said scurrying away from you, was in town. Anyone else you tried to speak to was respectful, but quick to get away from you. All except your little girl.

“King Ivar will return soon. You should be resting, he was quite worried about you. And-- and the baby,” she chirped, ten steps ahead of you thanks to this aggravating long dress. Thankfully men and women alike were careful about walking around you in long strides. Fear, you thought. Some women were more brazen, calling you Freyja, and you had no knowledge of who the fuck that was. 

Wasn’t her name Freydis? Maybe it was a nickname. Or maybe you’re just stupid, your mind said unhelpfully. When you almost tripped over your skirts, you hiked them up in flushed anger. It was enough that you had to look like a doll. You refuse to be pushed around too. 

“If you are so worried, you go get him.” 

“Me?” she stopped. 

“I’m too tired to walk back, eh? Go.” You flash a hand at her, making a motion with your index and middle finger of legs walking, then flick your hand up. “Let me go see this eh-- sear.” 

“Seer?” 

“That’s it. I hear he is very old and wise. He might tell me to get rid of you, Agni. Like I am tempted to do right now,” you sat your hand on top of your pregnant belly. It was cold, you knew. The people rushing by knew that too, frightened for the girl. But if it got her gone, that was all you wanted to do. 

“I--” she bends her head down, kicking around the dust at her feet. She’s thinking a little too hard. You could see the sparks flying. Then she shakes her head, kicking off. “Stay here, please.” 

As if that would happen. You wait until she slipped into the full crowd to turn the corner, face to face with the strange looking grey timbered house. Again, people are looking. There’s no mistake now, you’re sure of it. They’ll all know where you went. No problem.

“C’mon kid, off to the creeper’s keep.” 

@red-rose21 @beyond-the-ashes @supernaturalvikingwhore @mblaqgi @wuxiesalt @hopplessdreamer @therealcalicali @rekdreams-fandom @moondustmemories @athroatfullofglass @poisonedjoinery @strangunddurm @shookforyoojung @peachesnpisces @tierneygonzalez @hexqueensupreme @nohemi2500 @queenmissfit @alicedopey @dmv49 @sallylebecks @terrainhead @mybarnesmyhero @youurkryptonite @lif3snotouttogetyou @vikingsmania @looneytunes20033 @bat-fam-blob @oneofthelothbroks @lovelynerdytraveler @chinduda @whatamood13 @honeyofthegods @ilvebeenabad @queenbeeta @wonderlandofsuAll@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla​ @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys  @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim​ @msmorganforever​ @destynelseclipsa​ @soleil-dor​

[reginaofdoctorwho]

weird shit that would probably have something to do with me in a horror movie

no one wanted this but i’m bored and found a bottle so you’re all getting it. yes these are all true. check the tags, if u think i’ve missed something please let me know!

there was a murder (technically, i don’t really count it as a murder) next door when i was four years old on christmas morning

the weird antique glass bottle i found half-buried in the woods in the woods yesterday with living bugs in it that made no attempt to leave it once i uncovered it

there is a local cult in the next town over. this is not the same as the local cult that was in the other town over where my mom grew up

random completed animal skeletons in the woods behind our house, i’m talking prey and predator, both laid out like in a goddamn scientific diagram. for a while there’d be ones in the middle of our yard, always the same type of animal, always just the bones and nothing else, laid out like it was posed. this has been happening for over half a decade and we have no fucking clue how, why, or who is doing it

the screaming from the woods that i’m going to assume is a fox

my sister almost dated a murderer. his niece or something is in my class

there is a house that is now part of a “local ghost tour” that belonged to my great+ grand parents during the civil war where my great+ aunt died allegedly murdered by her husband who is actually blood related to me. family history says she died of childbirth, which given that it was the 1800s... probably is true

there was an actual murderer in our family a few generations back but he married in and killed his wife and her sister. they didn’t find out about it until they read his journals after he died where it apparently told everything he did and they decided. “well, that wouldn’t look good for the family, and they’re already dead anyway” and just kept it hidden??

the fact we have my great great grandmother’s dress from probably 1890s or 1900s. even more so the fact that i fit in it. if this was fantasy horror (vampires, some immortal thing or ghost) i’d be fucking dead or cursed

fairly certain i was possessed by the ghost of a puritan as a kid

my family seems to have a curse with babies and nurses? my great uncle died when he was born because long story short, hospitals were the new hot thing, he was perfectly healthy, then a nurse dropped him and he died instantly. my sister died when she was a toddler and the hospital actively tried to delete her hospital records to cover it up and ended up getting fined by the state for it. the nurses responsible were not arrested or punished in any way.

my family all has fucked up connective tissue, in my brother it was bad enough he had to get a steel bar in his chest so it wouldn’t cave in.

the many times i have almost drowned, sometimes due to intentional actions by humans (my dad, it was my dad)

this in addition to the other fucked up shit he did before the divorce when he still lived here, including but not limited to: killing my mom’s favorite pet goat, hanging its skull in a tree, and leaving the body in the woods. not letting his kids learn how to cook. anytime someone asked him to cook he’d put as much pepper/hot sauce in as he could (even for like, scrambled eggs) and give it to the youngest person, usually a toddler. this was me at times. taking his kids out to the woods and threatening murder. taking his kids out to the woods and threatening burning. purposely locked the basement from the inside so we couldn’t get the gaping hole in the stairs leading to one of three kids rooms fixed. tearing up pictures of the kids whenever my mom did something he didn’t like. i had more here but i tried to cut it down a litttle

people have threatened to murder me before. one time a girl didn’t threaten, and actually acted like she was starting to like me, but her cousin read her diary or something and found out she was planning to commit a lot of murder, and told her parents and she got sent to a psychiatric ward for a couple weeks

my mom lived down the street from a family that got axe-murdered by one of their two sons when she was a kid. the murderer did get out on an insanity plea and is still in the area. also their neighbor’s mom “lost her mind” (how the story was told) when she had to protect their kids while her husband went over to try to protect the non murderer son when he got home from school and ran over screaming about his brother trying to kill him and had killed their parents

also she knew a girl who almost got kidnapped by this really fucked up traveling serial killer that has his own wikipedia page that is,,, lengthy. the girl had [alleged] mafia ties, and the guy ended up dying shot by police despite them being told to bring him in, which sounds kinda suspicious

long story short i’d probably be the sequel where one comes back

apparently i go to the “bad” school, which i found out in a coffee shop when i overheard two girls talking about how one’s dad went there and how horrible and dangerous it is

school fights are weird. either they don’t happen or they come freakishly close to murder. people slam heads into lockers, stomp on bones, drag people by hair along the ground. one time in my brother’s class a 4′9″ girl sent a 6′2″ football player to the hospital. there was video of a fight a couple years ago that’s still around. it was brutal, but also one of the girls fighting was taking one for the team in it and got the other kicked out

we don’t have a ceiling in all of the third floor, and the cafeteria has 2. this is not relevant in any way, but it’s important to me that you know this

also the guys kept ripping the heating vents/radiators/whatever off the walls in their bathrooms and got almost all the bathrooms locked. including the girls’ ones.

also everyone kept punching holes in the walls so on some of them it’s just,,, metal sheeting down the whole hallway

there are so many fucking shootings in the next town over. literally five years ago it was this nice place where kids would go on history tours, i did when my sister worked for that group. now there is pretty much one business that has not been held up at gunpoint, and if u look up to the serial killer bullet point, it is for v similar ties. it’s a pizza place and if u ever stop by u gotta try it

women in my family have weirdly good intuition but every couple generations we get doubtful. my great grandma didn’t want a hospital birth but decided “hey it’s the hot new thing for a reason”, my mom switched churches based on nothing but intuition and it turned out someone was a pedophile there (found out years later), i instantly could tell my friend’s boyfriend was a pos and wasn’t surprised later when he told her he’d murder and dismember me in front of her, and upon meeting him told him he was a fucking coward and couldn’t do it. he broke up with her a month later.

i was really good friends for a while with two guys that burned a building down. yes they were arrested. i was friends before and after the fire. they’re pretty nice, but this girl they used to date (at different times, they were brothers, yes it was fucking weird and uncomfortable for everyone involved except her but that’s it’s own thing) said some fucked up shit and it was the closest i ever got to starting a fight. anyway i’m still friends with both on facebook. one of them shares a lot of king of the hill memes

speaking of that fight, i 100% would’ve tried to kill her in that moment. u know that john mulaney quote like “i didn’t understand how a person could want to kill another person. then i got cheated on, and i was like ‘oh, okay.’”? that was me, but replace “cheated on” with she told me it was good my five year old sister was dead because she was a waste, and told me she hoped i’d die of covid”. it was mainly the sister thing. i couldn’t move because if i did i’d start a fight with the [way] above mentioned shit.

my family has a literal feud with a local farming family. i mean, we keep farm animals (sheep, goats, chickens), these people have that, pigs, and crops too. the feud was because their great uncle (or great grand uncle, i’m a little fuzzy on the details) published an autobiography (despite not being anyone famous/important) and in it talked about when he was friends with my grandfather and how creepy my great grandfather was (this was the one with the dead firstborn son) because he kept newspaper clippings of the Lindbergh baby’s kidnapping and murder pinned to a board on the wall of his office/basement. also because he was a child of german immigrants who wanted to fight against nazis in WW2 (how suspicious [sarcasm]). members of their family are in my grade. they charged my sister for almost half an extra pound of goods, too, which just revitalized it.

i live by corn fields. i am surrounded by cornfields. (joke one)

i was friends for a while with this girl whose baby teeth,,, didn’t really fall out completely? she was 17 the last time i saw her in person, she’s probably 19 now and judging by her facebook pictures they’re still Like That. she had a very symmetrical mouth/teeth, which made it weirder. just to clarify, she had some of her baby teeth pushed forward and up, so they kind pointed out a little? and all her adult teeth. she was literally so pretty.

a teacher who is v sexual with his female students came into my english class (he is a science teacher) to demand why i wasn’t signed up for his class. we then both became increasingly passive aggressive and he told the whole class where i live with specific directions and landmarks. the guy sitting next to me had to try to tone things down despite being obviously confused as to why it was even happening (me too buddy). he lives down the road from my sister. when my niece had her birthday party at our house i was outside setting things up and he slowed his car down and honked at me. fuckin creep

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part five Word count: ±4250 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part five summary: Sam tries to find out more about Zoë’s past, but when he meets up with his brother again, he never thought he would have to reveal his own. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​ and @deanwanddamons​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     Paragould, Arkansas      June 16th, 2005 - Five months ago

     A shrill whistle reverberates over the training fields. Children stop in their tracks and run back to the teacher, bursting with energy.      “Alright! Good job, everyone! Red team wins!”            A woman, probably around her thirties, smiles as she is surrounded by her class. Like they always do after practice, they sit down on the grass in a circle, looking up at their teacher, waiting for her to give the cue to head off to the dressing rooms. The sun shines brightly and stands high in the blue sky, shining down on them. Birds chirp, hopping from branch to branch in the trees surrounding the fields, while the American flag flutters from the frontage of a school building.

     “Looking forward to summer break?” the teacher asks, laughing when her question is answered with loud enthusiastic cheer.      “Aren’t you even going to miss me?” she pouts.      “We’ll miss you, Mrs. Dawlson,” one of the little boys speaks up.      More kids agree with him, causing their supervisor to smile, humbled.      “I’m sure you will do fine at Oak Grove, Roy. You’re all going to middle school! Fifth graders already, my boys and girls are all grown up.” She observes her class, pride in her kind eyes. “I tell you what. Next Friday we are going to play lots of fun games, alright?”      The faces of the children light up and they happily beam at each other, already excited for next practice.      Their teacher lets them off the hook. “Be safe, off you go!”

     All get up and bolt for the dressing rooms, challenging each other to get there first. Some squeal and laugh as they play tag along the way. All but one. The joy disappears from Mrs. Dawlson’s face as she watches one of the girls, who slowly strolls back to school. Despite the warm weather, she’s wearing a long sleeved shirt and blue sweatpants.      Mrs. Dawlson sighs, clearly caring too much about her children to let this slip. “Laura?”      The little girl looks over her shoulder, her expression blank. She carries her long, chestnut hair in two braids, her bangs cover her eyes.      “Could you come here for a second?” Mrs. Dawlson asks, gently.

      Laura drags her feet with her head hanging down, like a dog who has done something wrong and is now called back to get punished. The teacher sits down on her heels to level with the little girl, making sure not to talk down to her. But Laura doesn’t look her in the eye and keeps staring at her feet.      “How are you doing, Laura?” she wonders, her voice friendly and calm.      “I’m fine, Mrs. Dawlson,” she replies, politely.      The coach hesitates for a moment, figuring out the best way to approach her pupil.      “Well, alright. But if there is anything you want to talk about, let me know, okay?”

      The young girl looks up and Mrs. Dawlson startles at what she sees. She can detect a dark bruise through her bangs, right above her left eyebrow. With her fingers, she carefully sweeps away Laura’s hair and reveals the injury underneath. Scared, the student backs out and turns her head away. Quickly, but without hurting her, Mrs. Dawlson grabs Laura’s wrist and pulls up her sleeve. What she sees then, would make everyone’s stomach turn; her entire arm is bruised.          “How did you get these?” Laura’s teacher questions, a bit firmer than before.      “I fell,” she lies.      “Tell the truth, Laura. Who did this to you? It’s alright,” Mrs. Dawlson tries to convince her.      “No one! Please don’t tell anyone!” The little ten year old begs as she pulls herself loose.      “It’s safe with me. I promise,” her teacher assures.      “No, I - I can’t,” Laura stammers.

     By now she’s crying. Big tears stream down her porcelain cheeks. It seems like she is going to cave in, but suddenly she turns around and makes a run for it. Mrs. Dawlson lets her go and straightens her back. With a sigh, the teacher places her hands on her waist and watches the girl leave the field.      Disapproving, she shakes her head and closes her eyes, swallowing thickly. “Poor girl…” she whispers to herself.

     Paragould, Arkansas      November 26th, 2005 - Present day

     It’s still early morning when Sam pulls over at 2310 West Kings highway and enters the parking lot of the Ramada Inn. He left Zoë still asleep; apparently she really needed her rest. Last night, he wondered what was going on in her head and what she’s been through, as he went over the database she developed during her years of hunting. He could tell from the file properties that she didn’t just accidentally stumble on a ghost and got curious. He doesn't know the entire story behind her possession, but something happened. Something bad.

     The first file was added over four years ago, containing information on a Diligo Vesco. ‘Diligo’ can be translated to ‘love’ in Latin, ‘Vesco’ meaning ‘eater’ in that same ancient language. A demon who served directly under the devil himself in the early years, one of Lucifer’s creations, if you believe the lore. Not your ‘casual’ black eyed rat from hell, like the ones Dad dealt with every so often. No, this one was much worse.

     The name fits, because that’s exactly what it does; it literally feeds on love, by possessing someone and slaughtering the host’s loved ones. The demon doesn’t just kill them, though. A Diligo Vesco is one of the most vicious and sadistic of its kind. It’s been reported to take its sweet time torturing the victims, before actually killing them. Sam found case reports in Zoë’s database that described the gory details. Limbs severed, organs ripped from bodies, missing parts of the brain. Arson, waterboarding, skinning, mutilation. Ways of torture he had never seen before. One of them was called Blood Eagle, where the demon would cut open its victim’s back, break all the ribs and twist them upwards, giving the poor soul ‘wings’.

     Since the beginning of time, these creatures are responsible for unexplainable and brutal murders within families and close circles. The Ade family murders in 1874, where the children were cut up and set on fire. The Green Family massacre in 1994, in which the mother of three slaughtered her children with an axe. These smart monsters play the game well, framing the vessel for the blood that the demon sheds.

     The Diligo Vesco is only able to show its true face when the host is physically close to someone he or she loves. Until that time it holds on like a leech. An exorcism would be the only way to spare the life of the possessed, but this is where it gets tricky; the demon can only be exorcised when it manifests. By the time a hunter picks up its scent, it is usually too late. Most of the time the damage is done and the thing is long gone. When it does come to driving out the demon, the host nor the exorcist rarely survive. Killing these demons is close to impossible without harming the person it's controlling. Yet this is what his father and Dean must have accomplished, since Zoë is still walking amongst them.

     Curiously, Sam had compared Zoë’s online database with his father’s journal, but the case happened to take place in a period of time from which a couple of pages of the book are missing. Zoë does not elaborate on the details of her own case either, but whatever happened, it triggered her to become one of the best hunters in the country. The list of creatures that she slayed after her possession is impressive. Zoë ended more supernatural spawn from Hell in the past four years than some hunters manage to kill in a lifetime.

     Still pondering over this newfound information, Sam gets out of his brother’s car. On his way over to Paragould, he and Dean talked about this new Sullivan girl. The youngest Winchester couldn't help but to be curious about her motives, her past. Dean doesn’t get why Sam even gives a damn. He said it’s none of their business and if Zoë doesn’t wanna share, why dig further and risk getting your eyes scratched out?

     While rummaging in his pocket, he enters the motel lobby and makes a left turn to the main corridor. The red carpet underneath his feet is stained and the wallpaper has come off at the corners, a sheer contrast to the Hampton Inn, where Zoë is staying. Here, the coffee machine in the hall spits out the most horrendous brew, they need a flashlight in the bathroom because the light is broken and the air conditioning sounds like a generator, but doesn’t actually do jack shit. But then again, he has a feeling that not even a freezer could have cooled down the rabbits inside of room 106.

     Just as he takes out his room key, he sees that he won’t need them; Dean is already at the door with the blonde he picked up the night before.

     “Call me,” she tells him, as she saves her number in his phone.      “I sure will,” Dean smirks.      They kiss once more. Both can barely keep their eyes off each other as the young lady parades away in last night’s clothes with a flustered grin on her face. 

     Sam passes her in the hallway and looks over his shoulder. He can see where Dean’s coming from; she’s beautiful. Dean has spotted the look upon his brother’s face, though.      “Forget it, tiger. She’s mine.”      “Had a good night?” Sam chuckles, hoping he will skip the details.      Dean yawns and saunters back into the room. “Did I have a good night? I barely got a chance to sleep.”      “Okay, already more than I wanted to know,” Sam cuts off, before Dean spills the goods.

     He follows his older sibling into the room, finding one bed untouched and the other a complete mess. An empty bottle of Sauvignon lays on the ground, while a dirty glass still stands on the cabinet next to a half a bottle of Jack Daniels. The window is wide open, the heavy curtains wave in the wind slightly, but despite the fresh air, the room still smells like sex. Seems like they had one hell of a party.

     “Let’s get going,” Sam announces.      Dean looks aside at his little brother, frowning. Since when is Sam the one who gives the orders?      “Already?” he replies, bummed, clearly hoping for a rendezvous.      “Yeah, I found our stuff,” Sam informs.      “Ah, so you found Sullivan,” Dean chuckless, raising his eyebrows.

     Sam huffs and rolls his eyes, but his older brother doesn’t pay attention to it, tipping over an empty bag which once contained potato crisps. Apparently he’s hungry.      “Yeah. It didn’t take me long to find her. Her bike was parked outside a hotel. She’s working a case,” Sam explains, acting casual, but Dean can’t help himself.      “If it didn’t take you long to find our shit, then where were you all night?”      Reluctantly, Sam sighs before he answers. No way in hell his brother is going to respond maturely to what he is about to say.  “I spent the night at her place.”      Dean laughs out loud, throwing his head back. “I knew it! You cheeky bastard!”      “Nothing happened, Dean,” Sam states with a tone.      “Oh, come on. Not even a little smooch?” he teases, but Sam denies.      “A look then? You know, one of those cheesy Notebook moments.”      But again, Dean’s brother shakes his head, although he can’t resist to comment on that. “You saw The Notebook?”      “Well... no. So I’ve heard,” the oldest corrects uncomfortably, quick to turn the conversation back around. “But let me get this straight; absolutely nothing happened?”      “That’s what I said,” Sam confirms.

     After opening a pizza box that - to Dean’s disappointment - is empty, he stops searching for food. Then he turns to Sam, who is clearly annoyed with the interrogation.      “Are your eyes fucked up?” Dean wonders in disbelief. “Honestly, I'm a little disappointed. I thought I taught you better than that. How can you spend the night with a woman like that without making a move?”      “That’s it. I’ve had it.”      Sam squares his shoulders and stares at Dean, furiously. His brother pissed him off, but Dean can hide his victorious grin. For weeks he has tried to push Sam over the edge, to trigger him to let it out. To yell, cry, take a swing at him if that was what his little brother needed to do to feel better. Anything to get him out of the dark hole in which he’s currently hiding up.

     “Did it ever occur to you that I might feel terribly guilty if I would just head off with some girl for a one night stand like you always do?!” the youngest of the siblings exclaims.      “I have no idea, Sam. You never talk to me about it, so how the fuck am I supposed to know how you feel?” Dean bounces back.

     “And you think it’s strange that I don't talk about what happened?! My girlfriend was murdered, Dean! I was going to ask her to marry me, for fuck’s sake!” He pauses, growing even more furious. “I had everything planned out! Law school, Jess, everything!”      By now Sam paces from one side of the room to the other, restless and upset.

     “You were gonna marry her, really? Sam, with your background the chances of the American dream coming true was close to zero. You should’ve known that,” his brother reminds him.      “I was just trying to move on, I was trying to be happy! And you know what? I actually was!” Sam halts in front of Dean and raises his voice even more. “I loved her, Dean! I still do and I can’t get her out of my fucking mind! She died because of me!”      Dean looks at his younger sibling, sympathetically. “Don’t do that to yourself, man. It’s not your fault she’s dead.”      “It is. I didn’t warn her about the danger out there!I lied to her--”

      Sam intends to ramble on, but Dean intervenes.      “- What makes you think that telling her the truth would have made a difference? Whatever killed Jessica, wasn’t just some ghost, Sam. Hey, listen to me.” The older brother grabs Sam’s shoulder and forces him to look down into his eyes. “That same thing killed Mom, and probably a whole bunch of other people. It’s powerful, and if Dad has trouble stopping it, no offence, but you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

     “I’m not talking about stopping him at that moment, Dean!” Sam pulls himself loose and turns away.      An unpleasant silence fills the room as Dean waits for a follow up, but his brother doesn’t continue.      “What then, Sam? Talk to me,” he pleads.

     Again that silence. The younger Winchester doesn’t move and stares at the wall with his hands placed on his waist. He swallows apprehensively, his jaw tensed. Then Sam sighs and turns around for Dean to see his eyes glister.      “I could have prevented it,” Sam claims, his voice soft and broken now.      Dean observes him, thinking through his next question first before he shoots. He has a feeling there’s more to this than just guilt.      “How?”      Sam bites his lip and averts his gaze. Then, after a month of silence, Sam finally opens up to his brother.      “I dreamed of Jessica’s death, days before it happened.”

     Complete silence. While the air grows even thicker with tension, Dean stares at his brother, his eyes confused and stunned. Taken aback, he opens his mouth in order to respond, but can’t find the words he’s looking for.      “Y-you mean, as in… a vision or something?” he returns disbelieving, chuckling nervously.      Sam scoffs as he moves away, ready to leave this conversation already; he knew Dean would respond like this. “Never mind.”      But Dean doesn’t let it go. “You’re telling me that you actually saw Jess die, like she did, in a dream?”      His younger brother halts, turns back slightly and eventually nods his head. “I didn't think anything of it at first. I figured it was just a bad dream. Until…”

     He doesn't need to finish his sentence. Dean says nothing, instead he just stares at Sam. Several thoughts rage through his head. What the hell is going on with him? What the hell could this mean? Why the fuck didn’t he tell me this before? The sheer thought that something might be terribly wrong with his little brother, has his stomach in knots. This isn’t ordinary. In fact, this is as far from ordinary as a human can get. He is stunned and overwhelmed by the idea, but his own brother might actually be something a hunter would keep a close eye on.

     Sam swallows thickly, feeling exposed and embarrassed. “You’re looking at me as if you’re about to empty a bottle of holy water over my head.”      For a moment Dean glares at the flask on the table.      “Dude, you’re seriously considering?!” Sam shouts, frustrated.      “You wanna tell me that this is normal, Sam?!” Dean counters, raising his voice.      Sam shakes his head and turns around, already regretting that he brought it up.      “Why didn’t you tell me before?” the older brother questions.      “I don’t know,” Sam mutters, staring at the ground.      “You don’t know? You’re psychic, right?” Dean scoffs.

     The youngest of the Winchester boys grinds his teeth, but doesn’t say a word. The tension between the two of them is heavy and familiar; it feels the same as when they had the argument before Sam took off for college.

      “Anything else I should know, Sam?” Dean pressures, clearly worked up over this. “I don’t know, maybe you can stop bullets or run super fast.”      Dean steps to the other side of the room with his arms folded in front of his chest, making fun of the situation because he has no idea how else to deal with it.      Sam eyes him, following his movements. “Funny,” he snaps. “Mature, too.”      “It would explain a lot of things. The ‘S’ stands for ‘Sam’ and there’s your love for tights,” Dean provokes.      “Stop it,” Sam hisses, but Dean isn’t done.      “Can you fly? ‘Cause that would be fucking awesome.”      “Dean!” Sam warns mad.      “What?! Either I joke about it or I lose my fucking cool! Take your pick,” Dean returns.      “One way or the other, it doesn’t help!” the youngest exclaims. “You see? This is exactly why I didn’t tell you, Dean! I knew you would give me this kind of shit!”      “What did you expect? You kept this from me for over a month!” Dean brings to mind, hurt seeping past the words.      “I don’t have to tell you everything I go through. I don’t owe you that,” Sam makes clear, venom in his tone.      “And that’s where you’re wrong,” Dean turns to him, pointing his finger as he approaches his brother. “I am your fucking brother, Sam! So yes, you do owe me that!”

     Dean stares straight into Sam’s eyes, his head tilted slightly backwards to look at his younger yet taller brother. Sam can see his words struck a nerve.      “We used to tell each other everything. What happened to that?” Dean wonders.      “It left, along with me.”

     Sam breaks eye contact and walks past him. As Sam bumps his shoulder against his, Dean shuts his eyes and clenches his jaw.      “I know you’re pretty damn good at it, but don’t you walk away from me,” he threatens, not brave enough to turn around to watch Sam leave.      “Why wouldn’t I?” Sam tests, not impressed by Dean’s stern words.      “Because this is not something you can walk away from! When will that finally come to you? When you’re in, you’re in. There’s no way back when you know about the things in the shadows, especially not when you have fucking visions about it!”       Now Dean does turn to face Sam, who scoffs at the message. “So what then, huh?! You’re planning to hunt until you’re in a wheelchair?”       “No, I’m planning to hunt until I finish the job Dad left for us to do and along the way, I will kill as many sons of bitches as I possibly can. Saving people, hunting things, the family business.” He pauses, staring at his brother with fiery eyes. “I intend to prevent people from going through the same shit we’ve had to endure, and if I don’t succeed, I’ll die trying.”

     This time, Sam doesn’t have a counter ready. No stubborn remark, no smart answer, just silence. He’s not sure what to say to that. He has to admit, he respects Dean for his morals, his honor. It gets him thinking, too. About his own future, his own life. Because deep down he knows Dean is right. He can run from the supernatural all he wants, but it will continue to follow him, always and everywhere.

     “Why should we be the one to sacrifice everything?” Sam questions, less hostile than before.      “I don’t know,” Dean sighs. “It’s just the way it is. So we either feel sorry for ourselves, or we suck it up.”

     Sam nods, admitting, but not at all okay with the inevitable. He can never have the life he wishes for. There will always be more to hunt, more to kill; this is a never ending story. And even if he does turn his back on the business for good, will he be able to forget about Jessica’s death? Can he move on without scanning every street, expecting something out of the ordinary around every corner? Right now, actually getting his law degree seems impossible, but then again, maybe he was being naïve when he went to Stanford in the first place.

     “Shall we go?” Sam suggests.      Dean looks up at the defeated man. The peace has returned, but brought a sense of devastation along as well. Accepting his fate is hard on Sam, he understands that. So Dean decides they had enough arguments for one morning and lets it go. He got Sam to talk to him; one step at a time.      “Can’t we stay one more night?” Dean tries, carefully.      Sam frowns, but then understands his reason for hesitation.      “Denise”, he chuckles. “Or Demi? I’m not sure. Her name started with a ‘D’.”      Dean’s typical grin appears on his face again, his eyes still soft, though.

     “Listen, man. I’m not pushing you to hook up with some chick just to mess you up, okay? At some point it’s gonna be time to move on, and I just figured a girl might help with that,” Dean lets him know, somewhat apologetic.      Sam eyes at his brother for a little while with an expression saying something in the line of ‘yeah right’. After a moment of who-gives-up-glaring-first, Dean caves.      “Alright, I wanted to piss you off so that you would get it out of your system,” he admits.

     The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches upward; he knew it. He’s not mad at Dean for playing that card, though. His older brother means well and he actually feels a little better now that he told him what is going on.      “Seriously, man. Talk to me when something’s up,” Dean underlines.      Sam responds with a nod of the head, then he gathers his stuff, apparently intending to leave.      “Ah, come on. One night,” Dean begs.      “There’s something ripping out hearts down in Texas, described by locals as ‘possibly coyotes’,” Sam offers.      Dean rubs his unshaven chin and thinks it over.      “Awesome werewolf hunt or awesome sex? Tough one,” he ponders.      Sam can’t help but smile and waits for the final call.      “Alright, let’s hunt some wolf,” Dean gives in. “Do you need to change in a phone booth before we go?”      Sam gives him a death-stare once again, but his brother keeps a straight face.      “No?” he checks, teasing.

     Dean can’t wipe the comical smirk off his face and so Sam shoves his brother towards the door, triggering him to let out a laugh. Before he follows, the younger Winchester feels his pockets for his phone and freezes. Unpleasantly surprised he looks around.      “Lost something?” Dean wonders.      “I think I left my Blackberry at Zo’s,” Sam realizes.      “Naturally,” Dean chuckles, failing to believe he didn’t leave it there on purpose.      “Would you quit it already?!” Sam returns, feisty.      “Okay, I’ll stop,” Dean promises. “We need to score some food anyway, I’m hungry.”      “There’s a In-N-Out a block from Zoë’s hotel,” Sam mentions.      Dean’s eyes light up, imagining the food in front of him already. “A Double-Double it is.”

     Sam grins as Dean picks up a small duffel containing only the few things they carry around at the moment. He follows Sam outside, who locks the door behind them. A quick bite before they leave another town and move on to the next. They never stay long, but the last two stops have been extremely short. Dean likes Denise, or whatever her name is, yet he has never been the guy who sticks around long enough to get serious with a girl. To be honest, a wolf hunt already sounds more fun than doing the girl he already did last night. After that shapeshifter drama, and now this newfound information about Sammy, he’s up for something equally exciting and distracting. Dean is sure of it; Texas, here they come.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter six here

[detectivedreameater]

Three To Be Ready|| Morgan and Marley

TIMING: Thursday, Oct. 8th PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: This is why the town tourism board advises against evening cemetery strolls. CONTENT: Gore, Body horror

Marley was getting real tired of yelling at teenagers for hanging out in cemeteries. But here she was, patrolling through one because the precinct got a phone call about some kids knocking over headstones again. If it were up to her, they’d all spend a night or two in lock up, by themselves-- that would change their minds real quick about doing shit. Sure, it wasn’t the worst thing they could be doing, but it was interrupting her job and she wanted them to stop. At least it was nearly night, so any vampires who decided to pay a visit would surely get a surprise. Maybe she’d give the kids a healthy dose of fear, instead. Let them live out their own nightmares. Though...she knew how that felt, now. Seeing your nightmares come to life. She might have slaughtered the thing in the basement with Jane, but she could still remember it. It and the real thing. All she wanted now was to move on. Move past what happened. 

When she made it to the cemetery, however, the place was completely silent. Maybe the kids had moved on, but they could have also been hiding in one of the mausoleums, which meant Marley had to go check them. She was halfway up the hill when she spotted a figure. Even through the dusk light she knew who it was. Furrowing her brow, she stopped a ways away from her. “Are cemeteries like the new clubs or something?” she said loudly, hands on her hips. She didn’t have her glasses on, but her eyes did not glow yet. Only a little bit longer. “Why do people insist on hanging out in them? You don’t happen to be this group of teenagers knocking headstones over, do you? Cause that would make my job much easier.”

Morgan was trying to convince herself that cutting through the cemetery alone was a totally fine and not at all dangerous course of action. It was like a corpse walk, but by herself! And those were fine. The ghosts on those were just friendly bystanders and acquaintances, not demented murderers still working out how zombies died. This was fine. She just needed to make it down the hill and around a few more blocks, and she would be fine… The voice in the quiet made her jump, squealing with shock. “Who’s there! I have salt!” She cried, scrambling for composure. She stumbled into the open, where she could at least see someone coming, her hand already brimming with salt crystals. But there was no one except for… “Marley Stryder?” Reluctantly, she poured her handful of salt back into its pouch. “I’m surprised you’re not a fan, Detective Edgelord. They’re really good for brooding.” She dusted her hands off and approached the officer with caution. The memory of what she’d done to Deirdre was still fresh in Morgan’s mind, but she was relieved to not be alone, at least for the moment. “If you don’t like cemeteries, Edgelord, what are you doing lurking in one?”

Marley frowned at the name. She really hated it. But she wasn’t going to show Morgan  that, it would just give her fuel to use it even more. “Cemeteries are depressing as fuck,” she answered finally, folding her arms across her chest. “Why would I hang out here when I could go literally anywhere else?” She scoffed, rolled her eyes. “Hello? Police officer here,” she grumbled, motioning to herself as she headed up the path towards her. “Doing my duty and checking out a disturbance call.” But she didn’t see any over turned graves or fallen headstones. Behind Morgan there was a mausoleum, the door slightly open. A shuffling could be heard inside. Shit, were they in there again? Marley shoved past Morgan without another word, and went up to the doorway. Pulled out her flashlight, one hand on her holster, as she prodded the door open. “If there’s anyone in here, put your hands up and stand up slowly,” she called, before peering in. But the place was empty. There was nothing. “Huh…” she muttered, “I could’ve sworn…” But in the next moment, there was a noise above her and Marley looked up just in time to see something on the roof. In the next second, it was descending on Morgan. 

“They’re peaceful,” Morgan said back. “And this one’s actually taken care of! It’s beautiful. The ghosts like it too. Hey, Chuck.” She waved at someone past Marley, or pretended to, knowing the detective probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. “And what disturbance?” She gestured around to the nothing going on around them. And that’s when it happened. Just a noise, nothing too conspicuous to Morgan’s ears, but as she tiptoed behind Marley, calling out, “How do you even know it’s a human or a person at all?” What if it was a vampire trying to get a good day’s sleep or relax until sundown? “See!” She said. “Maybe you scared some squirrel away or—fuck!” She was on her back, flailing under something that felt like a giant bug. Morgan covered her face with her arm, screaming. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—“ She wriggled underneath, kicking wildly, but this thing, whatever it was, was so heavy and something like a hand was pulling on her hair.

No way. No way. “No fucking way!” Marley shouted, stumbling back. “I killed you!” She was nearly frozen in her spot, one hand still on her weapon. “I fucking killed you!” But it didn’t seem to care. It didn’t even seem to hear her or see her or care about her. It was tearing ruthlessly at the zombie it had pinned to the ground. Shit. She whipped out her gun and fired a few good rounds into it, but-- nothing. It barely even moved. So she ran up to kick at it, only to be shoved out of the way and tripped. Dirt and grass filled her mouth, but she rolled quickly to try and right herself. The thing was dragging Morgan towards the mausoleum. It was making her its new prey. Did demons eat undead? “Hey!” she shouted, picking up a rock and throwing it. “There should be a-- underneath! Hit it underneath! Or-or bite it! Jane bit it and it let go of--” well, no, it hadn’t actually let go of anything when Jane had eaten through it. She wasn’t sure Morgan wanted to stomach this thing, and she wasn’t sure she could stomach watching another zombie eat this thing again. If this was even the same thing. Why wasn’t it wearing a pink hat anymore? Had been wearing one back when her and Nell had stumbled upon it? She needed something bigger, something sharper-- like the ax. She took a second to look around for something, anything-- and when she looked back the creature was nearly through the door. “Fuck!” she picked up the closest thing she could find, a larger stick, and ran straight for it. And hoped to god this would work.

“No! Fuck, no, no—!” Morgan clawed the ground with all she hand, but there was nothing to grab onto. The thing had her by the legs and waist and no matter what she did with her feet, no matter how she screamed, nothing slowed it down. Morgan could see the dark coming for her and the inhuman face flashing a hungry mouth her way as it made its shrill sound again.

Think. Do something. Do better. Morgan felt her knife riding out of her pocket and grabbed it before it was gone for good. Her arms were too short to free her legs, but she could try to get the hand on her hair severed. If she could just— Morgan screamed as something caught her wrist and bent it so far her hand turned into a limp, dangling mess. The knife was gone and the hands weren’t just in her hair anymore, they were around her face and neck, smothering her, closing around her neck. Morgan let out a muffled scream, looking at Marley for help. Any concern or intelligent thought she had was peeled away. The only thing left was, I can’t die here. Don’t let me die here. 

Marley swung the stick down as hard as she could on the monster. Did it have more hands than last time? Wasn’t it just one hand last time? She blinked, and Morgan was looking at her with those big, stupid eyes of hers. And she was begging Marley to do something. Hadn’t Marley already killed this thing? Twice now? She shook the thought from her head. The stick came down, but nothing changed. The door was shutting. Marley slipped through quickly. She picked up the knife and stabbed at the thing. Kicked it. Why didn’t it want her? Wasn’t it supposed to want her? “Let go!” she shouted, stabbing furiously. “Fucking-- let go!” This wasn’t working. She jabbed the knife back down into the creature, turned and grabbed Morgan’s hand. Pulled as hard as she could, hoping she wasn’t just going to pull Morgan’s damn arm off. Then again if it did, maybe she could just beat the thing with that. She didn’t know why she was trying so hard. Morgan had been nothing but mean to her. She’d looked at her the same way everyone in her life had up until now. Maybe that was why she was so desperate to prove her wrong. “Fight, dammit!” she shouted to Morgan, kicking at the creature as she held onto her arm. “Don’t give up you stupid zombie!”

Morgan clutched onto Marley like a lifeline. Fight how? With what? She let out another muffled scream as her broken hand fixed itself. The sound was throaty and broken, crawling its way through the pressure on her windpipe. Morgan dug her fingers into Marley, beyond bruising. She was already half in the mausoleum, the dark was closing in. Morgan kicked more wildly, flailing and wriggling. I’m not dying here. I’m not dying broken and afraid. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t… With their combined weight, they were slowing down. Morgan needed one more hand to get the pressure off her neck before her head popped clean off. She opened her mouth and bit hard enough to make her jaw pop and hurt. Something snapped—was it her teeth? The creature’s fingers? Didn’t matter. The grip loosened and she was able to let out a throaty cry. “Can we shoot it?” She rasped. “What do we—fuck!”

The creature’s grip was loosening. They were winning. Well, winning wasn’t quite the right word. But the grip was loosening and it gave Morgan enough leverage to pull the thing off from her throat and Marley let go with one hand, screeching as Morgan’s fingers dug into her arm hard enough to break skin. God, why wasn’t it night yet? “I shot it like four times and it did nothing! I need something bigger, I need--” her grip slipped and the monster yanked and Morgan’s hand slipped right through Marley’s, leaving streaks of blue down her arm. “Fuck!” she whirled. There had to be something, there had to be-- an idea struck her. Marley picked up that stupid stick she’d found and dug into her pocket. Ripped off a piece of cloth from the mausoleum wall, old and dry and perfect. She set it aflame, wrapped it around the stick, and charged for the creature. Jabbed the flame directly into the wound she’d stabbed before and listened as the thing screamed with such a pained bellow that it finally let go of Morgan completely. Marley stumbled back as something hard collided with her stomach as the monster reeled and screamed and lashed out. She scrambled, grabbing at Morgan and yanking her away from the thing. Its body, just as dry and crusted as the old rag, lit ablaze as if it were doused in accelerant. “C’mon,” she called to Morgan, still tugging on her, “we gotta get out of here! Go!”

Morgan didn’t hesitate, she grabbed Marley again, hand locked on with all her strength, and ran. She wasn’t sure why the cemetery gates looked so special, like a magic barrier that couldn’t be crossed by evil, but as she ran, pulling Marley behind her, she was sure if they could make it through, everything would be okay. She would get home, she would kiss her girlfriend, she would never go anywhere without her car again, not alone, and everything would be okay. They just needed to make it. She leapt the last few paces, over a crumbling headstone and the curb, and turned the corner, out of sight from anything that might be after them. “T-thank you,” she wheezed. “I know you...definitely don’t like me...so, thank you.”

 Marley wasn’t really sure what was happening. She was being dragged along almost faster than her feet could keep up with, running through the cemetery fields, leaping over headstones. She turned more than once to look behind them and see if they were being followed. But she saw nothing, and she hoped quietly she hadn’t just set an entire plot on fire. They reached the exit, and it almost felt like walking through a veil, from darkness to safety. Marley let out a long breath and bent over, hands on her knees, panting. Zombies didn’t get tired but mara sure did. She looked over at Morgan warily. “I wasn’t gonna let you fucking die....just because I don’t like you,” she grumbled through her panting. Winced when she moved her arm, pulling her sleeve up. Angry, blue streaks marked her forearm, bruises forming on her hand. She frowned. “Talk about not knowing...your strength…”

“I’m sorry,” Morgan mumbled, wincing as her windpipe expanded back into shape. “I wasn’t really thinking about moderation. I just didn’t want you to get left behind.” It was not a phrase she would have expected herself to say as recently as this morning or an hour ago, not to Marley Stryder. But when someone saved your life, you didn’t let a grudge get in the way of leaving together. Her face scrunched up with morbid fascination at Marley’s wounds. She’d never seen anything like that before. “Are you uh...okay?”

“It’s…” Marley started, then looked away, “whatever.” She looked back down at her arm-- she’d have to clean the wounds later, right now she needed to call in a possible fire hazard. Log this and make sure she came back at night to confirm the thing was actually dead this time. How many times had she killed it now? Would it just keep coming back? She needed to ask Nell to tell her everything about this stupid, fucking demon. She needed to-- “What?” Morgan had said something, but Marley hadn’t heard it. She looked over to her. “Oh, uh--” cleared her throat, rolling her sleeve back down. “Fine. Just a flesh wound. Zombieism doesn’t spread through scratches, right? That’s just TV propaganda?”

“It’s a biting thing,” Morgan confirmed. “Supernaturals can’t even be turned, they just get really sick. Although,” she smirked bitterly, “Without a really good healer they can still die, they just don’t get to come back to all the fun dissociation games and bland diet. Maybe uh, get something a little stronger than Neosporin on that, to be on the safe side.” She met Marley’s eyes for a brief moment, uncertain how to act around her now that they weren’t trying to one up each other or compete for Erin’s attention. She offered a small smile and fussed with the mud and scrapes on her arms, already healing. “For someone who’s such an asshole, you really do have a pretty sizable amount of decency in you, Marley. It’s a shame you don’t show it more often.”

“Gross,” was all Marley said. She moved away awkwardly, looking around them. The sun was finally dipping below the horizon and her eyes began to glow a soft red, but it was too little too late. Anita would probably want to know why there were scratches on her arms and Marley wasn’t sure she really wanted to explain it. Glancing back at Morgan, she furrowed her brow. “If you think not leaving someone to die is basic decency, then I guess I’d hate to see what you think is cruel,” she muttered, wiping some of the dirt off her pants. “I was just doing my job, don’t be nice to me just because of that.” 

“I don’t just mean not being completely psychotic, although, you know, before the bowling alley, you kinda hand me wondering.” Morgan replied. “I just mean...I think I see you, Marley Stryder. You could stand to be less afraid of your own shadow.” But Marley was not looking anywhere near her, and was starting to seem uncomfortable all over. “Whatever,” she sighed. “Don’t get killed while you’re brainstorming a stupid lie to tell the humans at the station, huh?”

Marley gave a gallow chuckle. “Yeah, well...so did everyone else in my life.” She had finally caught her breath enough to stand up properly, rubbing her non bruised hand across her eyes. “Well, just...don’t.” It was a truth she didn’t often confront, but faced now with someone who thought her a monster and was deciding to take her word back, Marley didn’t know how to feel. So, instead, she took the out offered to her. She didn’t need to respond to Morgan, just gave a nod, before turning away and heading off. Now, she just needed to think of a stupid lie to tell the humans.

[peacekeeper-xiv]

Serious Events

A series of events…

Aeritria and Arakiel meet accidentally inside Samael house.

Aeritria Locklair stopped dead in her tracks when Ara turned around. The blood drained from what little he could see of her face, and her eyes narrowed moving over him to look for weapons, surprises, explosives, all the things he might have on him while in Soren's house. It took her a couple ticks to reconcile the sight of him in Soren's house. Alive. Not dead. Not even thinking of the advantage that came from him not knowing who she was, she finally spoke, "Well bloody damn hell... you look surprisingly healthy for a dead man."

 Arakiel agrees to travel with Aeritria east, having decided that Ikara had been gone for too long and he was going to look for his daughter. They discover that they still have some disagreements though.

Arakiel Etemorah smirked. "Wrath?" He chuckled smarmily. "Kinda daft name to call a kid. He pick that out himself?" Still, he didn't seem intent on keeping up his teasing. "And what do they all mean to ya? What would you do if they were in danger?"

Aeritria Locklair rolled her eyes, "Its short, for Rathorin... " When he questioned her on what they meant to her and what she would do there was clearly a reaction. She tried to keep the calm, snarky demeanor, but too many things had already happened where she had given a whole lot for those three. There was the briefest of haunted looks before it was replaced with tense shoulders and a defensive posture. "Enough..."  Her lips pulled into a thin line, "Is that supposed to be a threat?”

Arakiel Etemorah smiled knowingly and shook his head. "No, but that's answer enough." Sheathing his katana, he stood. "I have a daughter. She should have returned by now, but she hasn't. That's what's in the Burn." His expression turned somewhat grim. "I wanted you to know before you decided to follow me. I'm willing to do -enough- for her.”

 Aeritria agrees to accompany Arakiel in his search for Ikara and together, they make for The Burn. Arakiels insistence on drawing out Aeritrias ire though, nearly sets them at odds.

Aeritria Thorne had never been good at reining in her temper, it was why she made such a good marauder. It was also why she had made such a good criminal. There was a sudden shift from her that would hit every one of his senses. The growled words came out with cold fury, "Fuck you Arakiel. I came out to help you, but that was just another dumbass mistake on my part. Everything is fucking fine. Its more godsdamn fine than it has been in over a twelves damned year, but you just can't leave well the fuck enough alone. I don't want to fucking talk about it cause its none of your gods damned business. You don't get to fucking come back from the dead and act like I should just fucking ugh!" Axe or no axe, there was a hint of red glowing in the abysmal darkness of her eyes before she turned around and started storming away. "Fuck you!"

It would be some time after that they managed to work out their difference, but once they had they concluded, wandering the desert in search of one small Au Ra was futile. Aeritria then turned to a dangerous source of power to send out the needed signal flare, her Dark Knight soul stone.

Aeritria Thorne took a few moments to try to catch her breath and shake away the voices that still tried to reach her from the stone. Running her fingers through her hair to push it out of the way she glared over at it for a moment. "I tried to warn you the darn thing isn't... as helpful as I like sometimes. I really did kick Rath's balls all the way into his throat last time I used the damn thing." Aeri rubbed the back of her neck and looked away, "Sorry... I haven't used it in a long while. With my other soul stones... it’s easy. It’s like they want to help. That one... there is still a bit of a fight going on with who is in charge of who."

 After some time arguing with the voices in her mind, Aeritria finally was able to cause a large enough explosion of aether that could be seen from malms around. The fact that it nearly killed herself and Arakiel was of little consequence.

Arakiel Etemorah wasn't a hero. It just wasn't in him. But he wasn't the same man he'd been a few years ago either. The blade in his hands was quickly sheathed and he rushed forward to where Aeritria stumbled. He wasn't about to pick her up and carry her away from danger like some knight in shining armor. But then, she'd have hated that. He grabbed her by the wrist and literally dragged her behind him. "Come the fuck on!" He wasn't going to let her go until they were behind enough rock to guarantee they would be safe from the explosion that was likely coming.

 Several bells later, their fishing attempt proved fruitful and they noted the appearance of an approaching figure. Unfortunately, it was not exactly who they had been looking for.

Arakiel Etemorah sheathed his blade, looking at her curiously as his hearing had not completely recovered. "One of them?" He looked to where the creature had been sniped and put two and two together. "The boy..." The unknown Miqo'te still seemed rather protective of Beta and stood between them and him, even if his weapon was put away. Beta's familiar voice shouted across the sands as he approached. "It's okay Aasifa, they are... family of a sort I guess?" The one called Aasifa seemed to relax a bit and plopped down in the sand as Beta and Ara and Aeri approached his location. "Aasifa is still thinking there are better ways to fish." He said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. Arakiel's steps seemed to hasten as he approached.

 With so many differing personalities… and because Aasifa is Aasifa, some troubles did arise.

 Aeritria Thorne saw Arakiel start choking after Aasifa did whatever the hell it was that he did and her attention snapped to the Miqo'te. Her chakrams came out and pinned Aasifa to one of the rock walls by his sleeves, "The Fuck you think you are doing you piece of shit! What the hell did you do to him?!"  She stood between Arakiel and Aasifa, and if looks could kill he would have been dead a thousand times over. She held a finger up to Beta to shut him up before he tried to 'help'.

 Eventually though, a peace was brokered, and the quartet left in search of the large sources of aether that Beta’s instruments had detected after the explosion Aeritria had caused.

Arakiel Etemorah might have moved to stop Aeri if she had still wielding her chakrams, but he did not expect the idiot cat to die from a punch. Beta called out in frustration as the punch landed. Aasifa for his part might have dodged the attack, if he'd bothered to try. Instead he took the hit to the throat and grinned at her as though he almost enjoyed all the chaos he'd caused. "Was... good... hit." He croaked out from a damaged voice. "Proud... of... sister." He ripped his sleeves free from the blades and found his feet on the sand once more. He didn't retaliate, simply rubbed at his throat and looked at her expectedly. Beta however was exasperated. "I swear to Alexander! Everyone's crazy!" He huffed and put away the smoke bomb and electric charge he'd been prepping if they hadn't stopped. Aeri's words had registered with him, but he knew better than provoking her further and refused to retort. "Can we get back to looking for Ikara now? Since you and I are the only ones who can speak now, I'll take your word for both of you."

Aeritria Thorne grit her teeth, dug her sharp nails into her palms and drew blood from her own hands to keep from murdering Aasifa right there and then. She reached over, grabbed her Chakrams, held them tight for a moment, still wound up and considering putting them through the rest of Aasifa's neck. It was Beta that managed to draw her out of it with his ridiculous cursing, "For fucks sake... didn't anyone ever teach you to curse properly?" She looked to Arakiel then took another breath. "I came out here to find you and Ikara... if Aasifa so much as touches that damn necklace again I will cut it off his neck, and I'm sure Arakiel will help, so if you want to find your girlfriend before something fucking happens to her you better tell you -friend- to behave or leave. Now, if you have an idea of where to go... let’s go."

Beta took in a deep breath and let out a long exhale. "I was trying to..." He frowned at Aasifa and pointed at the necklace. "No more chaos magic!" Aasifa looked like he might argue but Beta glared, and he stopped. "For all you know that thing might have called a hundred sandworms to raid the burn and it would've put her in more danger! So, no more til she's safe!" Beta looked properly angry and despite his inability to curse properly, seemed to convey the same feelings. He then turned to Arakiel. "And don't act like he's all innocent. Stop acting like you are gonna gut me 'cause I didn't know Ikara was out here! Cause I didn't and now I'm gonna find her! Aasifa could easily have seen you as a threat to his friend." Ara narrowed his eyes at the boy but simply turned his chin some and sneered. Finally, he turned to Aeritria. "He goes for the necklace again... stab him... ‘Cause I said not to. But you stop threatening him if he doesn't, 'kay? I've been wandering the burn for weeks now. I'm ready to be done with this place... so I just wanna find Ikara and then we can all go home." He huffed out another breath and continued. "And thank you for helping Arakiel look for her... I'm sorry this is all a mess, but I was trying to do good. So, let's... just do what you came here to do please." He continued a moment later in quieter tones. "And I don't like everyone else’s profanity. It's boring."

 Elsewhere in the Burn though the target of their search was about to have her own random encounter.

Ikara had been wandering the burn for what felt like an age. Trying to track Beta had turned into a much bigger problem than she had originally anticipated. She had made her way into Garlemald, stealing a uniform and posing as a Garlean soldier. Eventually she found the site where the popularis had their operations that Beta had been a part of. She searched every ilm of the area for any signs of Beta or which way he might have went. She eventually found Beta's tomephone, cracked and busted with charred and melted edges. She picked it up and searched the area even more, moving rubble. Eventually she resorted to carefully questioning a few citizens and was told that the rebels had flown off in the direction of the burn via magitek armor. She breathed a sigh of relief in the hope that Beta was on the airship, as she did hear from someone that no one was taken prisoner. All the rebels were killed or escaped, and she hadn't found his body yet. If he wasn't there, he might still be alive. Clutching the little scrap of a tomephone she went in the direction that the few citizens had pointed her in. She eventually found the wreckage of the armor and searched the entire thing from top to bottom. There was still no sign of Beta, but she found some disturbances in the sand and hoped they were the remnants of footprints. She followed them until they disappeared, eaten by the shifting sands. Then she kept looking. She wasn't sure how long she had been searching, but she knew she was lost, and she didn't care. If she was lost, it meant Beta probably was too, and they would eventually find each other.

A few malms away, Lloire had left the simulacrum of Cartenaeu that his mind had created as a battleground for himself and his reflections. Now he wandered the desert sands of the Burn once more, sorting his thoughts. He had no clue how to go about finding the people he needed to find or what order to find them in. Even as that were, were there enough people he worried for to face all the various aspects of his soul?

Some had been quoted as saying that the universe around them had come about in the beginning due to a massive explosion of aether, the same catalyst woke him from his indecisiveness. He hit the sand as an enormous shockwave of aether flew past him, stealing his feet from him.

"The fuck was that?"

As his senses returned to him, Lloire closed his eyes and focused not on where the explosion had been, but on any source powerful enough to have caused it. There was a massive pool of energy to the east of him that was far bleeding aether into the air. It was more than reasonable to assume that who or whatever it was, they were responsible for the massive explosion he'd felt. His fights would have to wait, leaving anything that powerful this close to Doma's borders would be irresponsible. Gathering his feet under him, he took off at a run towards the source of aether.

Ikara had been wandering in the Burn long enough that she felt like she was going blind. The land being so drained of aether meant she saw the world as everyone else did. She felt sorry for them, all the color was gone from this part of the world. She had found a small outcropping of what she originally thought were rocks but had eventually realized was the skull of a very large beast that had once dwelled there, and hidden away for a bit to get some rest and get out of the sun.

Then the world exploded in color far away. She felt it before she ran out and saw it. Her eyes watered from all the colors and she started searching the horizon for any signs of something that would explain it. Clutching the tomephone she started in the direction of the explosion, hoping that maybe if Beta was out there, he would investigate too.

Lloire travelled swiftly across the sand as he rushed towards the source of aether drawing at his senses. Eventually he climbed over an outcropping of rock and saw a figure in the distance. They didn't seem to have noticed him yet but were moving closer to him. If he held his position, he could wait until they were close enough to engage before revealing himself. He moved back behind one of the jutted-out stones and waited.

As Ikara made her way towards the explosion another source of aether caught her eye in the distance and closing in on her position. The aether was wrong, fractured, broken, and extremely potent.

The tomephone she clutched in her hand was tucked into her pocket and replaced by her staff. She had been conserving her aether the whole time she was out here, to the point where it was overflowing. Her necklace had been filled to the brim, but she had waited and not wasted it in case of running into a Garlean contingent or some beast.

She held her staff to her side, loosely and in a nonthreatening manner, but she was ready for whatever was on the other side of the ridge. When she got close enough, she yelled to whoever was there, "I can see you! Come out before I decide that I'll cast first and ask questions later. This is your only warning!"

Her voice was unmistakable. Lloire came out from behind the rocks with a curious expression worn on his face. "Ikara? What are yo--" He wasn't able to finish his question though as the sounds of the winds and shifting sands in the area were pierced with the sound of shattering glass. Ikara, who had the unique advantage of always seeing aether would see a fragment of Lloire's aether break away from the rest.

As for Lloire himself, he collapsed in a heap in front of her while the image of a younger Lloire remained where he had been standing. The Lloire-image began to solidify before finally seeming as alive, even to her vision, as Lloire had moments ago. "I should've known we'd run into you first and I'd be the first to fight..." He sighed. "You remind him... us... of Aliya sometimes." A staff materialized in his hands and a blackmage soul stone pulsed with aether beneath his robes. "I'm called Kid... And so that your older brother can live, I have to fight you with all my might... and you gotta kill me."

As he spoke, the similarities between who Lloire used to be and who Beta was seemed all the more pronounced. "Show him... us... what you're made of. That you won't be another Aliya, okay?"

Ikara was equal parts confused and relieved when Lloire stepped out from behind the rocks. "Nii---..." She watched his aether shard and split then him collapse to the ground and started running for him, without thought to her own safety. That was until a shard split off and started to solidify. Ikara skid to a halt, her staff still out at her side as a younger version of Lloire appeared before her.

"Halone's frosty tits... what the hells?" She eyed the fragment for a moment before flipping down a visor to see if he was still there without her aether sight. Her frown deepened as she tried to piece together what she saw with the visor down, verses what she was seeing with it up, "Oh.... what have you done to yourself big brother..?" His aether had somehow split off and manifested. The younger version of him was real in a sense, but only in so much as the creations she made from aether. It would disappear with time, but not until the wielder or spell was completed or removed.

Mention of Aliya had her frown deepening, "I'll take that as a compliment. Aliya was your best friend." She shook her head at the aether spirit. "I won't fight you. It could hurt the whole of him. He is completely fractured. Let me fix it instead." She wasn't holding her staff weakly at her side anymore though, it was ready in case the splinter decided to attack.

For his part, Kid-Lloire didn't seem to be in a rush to attack her. "It was a compliment. Look, you haven't seen us for a while. The Lloire you know. Nii-san I think? Anyways, he's prolly more messed up now then when he stabbed himself in the chest. He just fought each and every splinter of himself and killed each one. Well, except me and Erioll...." He shook his head energetically. "But that's off subject. The point is... He's finally realized what's got him so screwed up. He's scared that the people he cares for are gonna die. Usually ‘cause of him. There's a lot to unpack, but the basic gist is he needs his friends to prove they can handle their own against him when he's not in control. He's scared of his black magic... or his anger issues... or being you know... Hyur. But the truth is he's only really dangerous when he's whole... and then, only to his enemies. But we gotta prove it to him... us... so, you have to kill me. I'd rather you went into this with full knowledge and not making me force the issue." He huffed a breath, having spoken more than Lloire usually would. "So, what do you say?" The younger Lloire lazily lifted his staff and nodded to Ikara. "I mean, if nothing else... you kinda need to blow some aether." A small almost shy smile was half hidden behind his staff.

Ikara listened and it was clear she was starting to nurse a headache from how dumb it all sounded. Then again, she really wasn't too much different than her brother. She had run off plenty of times without people to protect them. She wasn't sure she trusted any of them to take care of themselves. It was why she was in this gods forsaken desert in the first place.

"Let me examine him, to ascertain that you are telling the truth, though I doubt you are lying. I have to be sure it won't kill him. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I killed him without checking first. Let me do that, and sure... I'll kick your ass." She smirked at him, "I mean, Nii-san is tough, and he taught me a lot, but it’s been a while, and the collective you haven't seen what I'm capable of anymore. Just you know.... do me a favor and let me check him first and I'm down. Also... beforehand... Did you cause that other explosion? Cause really, I can't spend a ton of time here if you didn't. I've god a cute moronic Miqo to save."

The younger manifestation lowered the staff and stepped aside to allow Ikara past to check on Lloire's unconscious form. "Too true, but don't forget... Lloire's been out to war just as long as you presumably have. Don't take this too lightly please." True to his word he would stand still and let her examine Lloire. "Also, no. We thought it was you. You've the largest pool of aether out here beyond our own. The other sources of aether out here are weaker... except one particularly bright spot further south..." His head tilted as he considered -who- she was likely speaking about. "Though, large sources of aether wouldn't help you find Beta but large explosions might. Guess that would make sense. We didn't know he was out here though." He shrugged. "Well, like I said, I can't hold back or we'll know... so I'll try and make it as fast as I can... but no promises."

Ikara was wise enough not to completely let her guard down but moved over to examine Lloire's unconscious form. She examined him as well as she could, even checking to see if he would wake with prodding. He didn't, and she obviously was looking at something with concern, 'These threads of aether tying you to him. If I hurt you, I'm hurting him. To be fair, you are only a portion of his aether, but you are an important part of his being. You won't be destroyed right?" She considered what he said about the spot further south and frowned. "If there was an explosion, I doubt that Beta caused it. He wouldn't give his position away like that... especially when there are Garleans after him... so I'm sorry but I won't be holding back either."

She jumped back and her staff spun in the air as aether pulled not from the land, or from her, but from a single crystal in her necklace. The necklace drained in but a few breaths as she unleashed one of the most powerful spells she had on the fragment of Lloire. She didn't have time to play. Those could have been Garleans killing her boyfriend and she loved her brother, but damn if she was going to let her boyfriend die cause her brother was being stupid. The magic flared bright and large with destruction so that it could be seen for several malms.

When the smoke cleared, Kid was standing in a charred crater, his staff held up as though he were blocking with it and the aether of his mana wall shimmered as the spell dissipated from absorbing the attack. Nevertheless, Flare was an impressive spell and she could see some singed edges around his clothing and armor. Another side of Lloire might have spoken here. Warned her or threatened her, but Kid understood her and knew she was only doing what she needed to in order to protect her loved ones. Instead he returned the attack. He vanished and reappeared nearly on top of her. It was completely against everything one was taught as a thaumaturge and would have been insane if he was fighting a sword wielder. With her so close, she could see the lightning flash in his eyes as his aether swelled. The first strike was a blast of lightning aether that dropped down from the sky towards her. The second was a blast of weak fire that seemed almost pointless in its intensity. Finally, he wrapped up the triple casting of spells with a much more potent fire spell as his entire aura seemed to pulse with heat. The spells complete he took a step back from her to examine their effectiveness.

Ikara honestly would have been disappointed if the first spell had done all the work. It would work for piddly little Garlean soldiers, but this was a part of her brother, and she expected more from him. There was a small smile at the fact that he had gotten his manawall up fast enough. Then again, the spell took plenty of time to cast and gave him amply time to prepare.

When he teleported right in front of her, she laughed. "You should have been a redmage, kid. Its more fun, but to be fair less destructive." to illustrate her point she stepped out of the way of the lightning blast and wacked at his nose with her staff, holding it like a rapier. Which, to be fair, wasn't nearly as quick to maneuver, but was much harder to dodge due to the size of her staff and his proximity. Soul stone or no, she had learned how to leap and fly as a red mage and those things were all body, not magic. She couldn't wield those same spells, but a quick backflip and she was out of the way of the weak fire spell, only to land at the point where he struck with the larger fire spell. It singed her hair and clothes before she managed to get up her own manawall and protect herself from the subsequent blasts.

Already she was working to cast again, though there wasn't a huge explosion this time. Instead she targeted his mind, addling his sense to weaken his spells, then attempted to put the shard to sleep.

The back to back spells struck and Kid felt his mind cloud with the enfeeblements along with the ringing in his head from the staff hit. Still, he seemed immune to sleep spells. It did allow fog his thoughts enough that he responded to her banter rather than continue incessant spellcasting. "Wasn't readily taught when I was around... I'm sure Azure can show you what Lloire's learned though." Wiping idly at his nose to ensure there was no bleeding, he only managed to fire of a scathing blast of energy from his staff as he moved away from her and she saw his aether pool into the ground as leylines became visible beneath him.

Far in the distance of the Burn the group of misfits that were wandering and looking for Ikara could see the mushroom cloud from her first flare, and the subsequent explosions of lightning, fire, and magic lighting the horizon. Aeri immediately turned to Aasifa with an accusatory look, "You do that too?" She was guessing whoever was blowing up the horizon was likely pissing off the little lizard though.

True to Aeri's thoughts, Ikara was getting annoyed. She had hoped to put Kid to sleep long enough to check and make sure her brother wasn't actually being hurt by the fight. "What? I have fight all of you? I ain't got time for that shit. You're wasting enough time as is."

She tried to examine Lloire from a distance to make sure he was still okay, and that moment of distraction gave Kid the opening that he needed to hit her with a blast of energy and make her shake her head to get her vision back. Fighting mages was a lot harder as everything was so damn bright.

Aetheric symbols swirled around her as she started to vent her frustration on the shard of her brother, "Will..." A giant glacier was dropped on him, "You..." Another one, "Just..." Another one... "Piss off!" Aether flared around her in crystalline light and she tapped another crystal in her necklace, though this one didn't drain all the way, instead only draining two thirds of the way as she dropped another huge flare of magic on Kid, then tapped the rest of that crystal and cast a second flare. The power off the flurry of spells back to back was enough to send a shockwave out in all directions.

Kid attempted to ward off the spells but was only able to block off the first set. Those crystals she wore were going to be his undoing if he didn't deprive her of them sooner rather than later. Still, his own pools of aether were rather large and he wasn't exhausting them on flares. Still, the second one she'd unleashed in a row was more than his wards could handle and the explosion blackened his staff arm, leaving it near useless. Still, he wasn't one of Lloire's sides that reacted to anger as easily, not even in the significant pain he was in now. "I... told you... Not going to make this... easy on you!"

He stood up with flames flickering out around him on the ground and took the staff into his other hand. "Enough of this..." Runes began to glow around him as he activated Enochian. "The highest tier of fire magicks he knew was unleashed where she stood, the leylines fed him aether faster and another was cast at her to follow it. "This ends now!" One more swift cast and he'd have the power built up he needed to unleash his largest spell. Another fourth-tier fireball exploded where Ikara was standing and even the group further out could feel the swelling of aether at the battleground.

Hundreds of yalms away Aasifa shot a look around him at the others, looking hurt that he'd been accused. "What? Cannot... be Aasifa, he... is needing to say ...word. Aasifa... has been... quiet. That is a war zone, ...yes?" He croaked out before he grinned widely. "Let's go... and see!" Arakiel frowned and growled but started off towards the explosions before anyone else.

Aeri glanced between Arakiel and Beta both before speeding up the pace the group had set. Which, in all honestly didn't take much as the others were in just as much of a hurry. "I get Ikara can blow shit up... but ... thats a lot of firepower." She shook her head and they all moved as quickly as they reasonably could towards the battle. Aeri had her misgivings about it, as she wasn't really feeling like being blown up in this gods forsaken place, but she had given Ara her word, and she wasn't about to go back on it now.

 Ikara got some satisfaction from Kid's blackened arm. Even thought she had said she was going to put her all into this fight, she was still doing her best to only tap the aether in her necklace as she didn't know what she would find where Beta was. "Oh for Halone's sake... you think this is easy for me? The hardest part of this is not turning the hell around and leaving you to sulk in the fact that I won't fight you. You have the WORST timing ever... I've got places to be! I'm supposed to be saving my boyfriend, not my brother. For fucks sake... worst older brother..."

Fire exploded all around her, but before he could get off all his spells she was moving. This time it was her turn to teleport to him. One moment she was where his spells were aimed, and the next she was standing on top of him and wrapping her arms around him in a bear hug, then smashing her forehead into his nose to interrupt his casting. The first fire spell missed her, the second engulfed both of them, and she aimed her knee for his family jewels when he tried to cast the last spell, aiming to knock him to the ground and just punch him in the face. The whole time she was aiming physical spells at him she was building up her own aether to counter with her own spells.

Kid didn't have a chance to respond right away, her brow had found his nose and it gave a loud crack and blood spewed from the quickly bruising part of his face. "Little brother right now!" He shouted back at her. "You're older than I was!" His aether appeared to stop wavering at all and grew very sure and still as he began reciting the last spell, his eyes locking on her with intense focus. "This ends sis!" The spell was likely one she'd not seen him cast before. It was one that Lloire had learned only recently on the frontlines. His most powerful spell was building over both their heads and it was clear that he meant to put his everything into it, even if it meant a draw and a draw meant they both lost.

Ikara was splattered with warm blood that spewed from Kid's nose, and his words hit a chord with her. It was one of those things she always forgot. She wasn't a kid anymore. She was an adult now. She mostly never felt like one, but she was. She had been through more than most kids ever went through and come across the other side. She had lived to see adulthood. The train of thought was disrupted by the pure aether building as Kid started a spell that she didn't know. She knew if he got the spell off that would be devastating for her, and for Lloire. She had to win, or Lloire would stay broken.

She wiped the blood from her face, and her vision focused on it for a moment making her realize that while it felt real, it still wasn't real. It was all aether, and one thing she was good at was controlling aether. "You're right! I am older than you. I'm an adult, and I don't need Lloire to take care of me. We take care of each other because that is what family does, but I made it this far... and I'll be fine!"

The last five crystals in her necklace started to drain as she pulled the specific types of aether from them. Earth, Air, Fire, Ice, and Lightning... the catalysts that made everything in the world. "I won't destroy you. You're a part of my brother... but I don't have to destroy you to beat you!" She started disrupting the flow of aether in Kid, pulling the elements apart, as she had done so many times with her 'paintings'. Normally she had more time, but right his moment she didn't. She poured all the aether from her necklace into rearranging the aether in this fragment of her big brother. She worked desperately fast, trying to reform him into something else. At the last moment she poured her own aether into building the strongest manawall she could and prayed to Halone to make this work. "I can take care of myself, and you're an egotistical jerk for thinking I can't manage without you!"

 The last words were spoken as his spell went off, and the aether that he was created from shifted into the form she thought of when she thought of their lessons when she was still learning how to cast the simplest spells.

Kid seemed to know that he'd lost in that moment. Despite the spell above them and his own aether breaking down, he smiled. "Good. Remember that... And learn the lesson it took us this long to start to learn..."

Ikara grit her teeth and forced the last strands of aether into place where she wanted them, just as the spell overhead exploded. It could be seen for malms and malms around.

[sweetpolyamoris]

Complications

Part Three to Apologies (Part One), Revelations (Part Two), Promises (Part Four) and Confessions (Part Five).

~

It had been exactly twenty-eight days since Calemar and Castiel had broken up, and Armin’s feelings were still as muddled and conflicted as they’d been when it happened.

Calemar still came over at least four times a week. At first, it had simply been a distraction, a way to make sure she wasn’t left alone with her thoughts. She had never said as much, but she hadn’t needed to. It was obvious to Armin, with the way she lapsed into distant silences and then broke them with forced enthusiasm. Armin had been happy to be a distraction. He wanted to help take care of her, which was certainly his biggest motive. But there was something else, something far more selfish, that he did his best to ignore whenever she was around. It was easy to do in the moment, when she leaned her head into his chest, when she gave him permission to pull her into his arms and hold her close. He would rest his chin on her head, run his fingers through her hair, and everything would feel right. And then she would pull away, and the guilt would come.

It never changed his mind. He could have felt like the worst friend in the world, but even then, he wouldn’t have given up holding her. If a distraction was all he’d ever be, Armin would do everything in his power to play the part, despite wanting more. So much more.

But things had begun to change. The smile had returned to Calemar’s face; not just a performative smile, but one that came naturally, one that required no effort. After weeks of hunching over from the weight on her shoulders, there was a confident angle to her posture again. When Armin asked her how she was feeling, the words “I’m fine” no longer sounded false. Calemar was almost herself again.

Yet she hadn’t stopped coming over. A wild hope had begun to form in the back of Armin’s mind. Maybe he was no longer a distraction. He had never quite gotten Castiel’s words on the roof out of his mind. “You were never just a friend to her.” He didn’t allow himself to believe in it fully, but he couldn’t stop himself from hoping.

Especially during days like these. It was Saturday, and even though Alexy and Rosalya had invited her out to the mall, Calemar had chosen to spend the afternoon with Armin, in his room, in his bed, playing round after round of Super Smash Brothers. Her winning streak had lasted for at least four matches. It wasn’t that Armin was holding back; he just kept getting distracted. She moved a lot when she played, even when lying down on her stomach. Her arm and leg were constantly brushing against him, tearing his mind away from the game and focusing it on her. He glanced in her direction every time it happened. And then he would get lost in the game-induced flush in her cheeks, the curve of her mouth, the determined fire in her eyes. His hands went through the motions of playing, but he was gone, and Calemar won again and again.

Eventually, after a pathetically quick defeat, Calemar set down her controller and looked over at him. “Are you letting me win?”

Armin’s eyebrows shot up. “I would never.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “That was an embarrassing loss, even for you.”

It’s not my fault you keep distracting me. It’s practically cheating. “So you’ve got jokes now,” he said instead. “You weren’t laughing when I destroyed you those first few matches.”

“‘Destroyed’ is a little generous.” She was giving him one of her looks, the ‘we both know I can destroy you anytime I want’ look. She did it to get on his nerves, but it only made something weird happen in his stomach.

He wracked his brain for some retort, but it was difficult to think when she was lying so close to him. Thankfully, her text tone went off before she could notice his speechlessness.

She rolled over onto her back and pulled her phone out of her pocket. Whatever text she’d gotten distracted her enough for Armin to get his urge to stare at her out of his system. He was examining the freckles dotting her shoulder when she let out a low groan.

“What’s up?” he said. His voice sounded absentminded, even to him. He snapped his attention to her face.

“Rosa has been trying to get me on some dating app,” she said, her face scrunched up like she had something sour in her mouth.

They were just words, but for Armin it felt like someone had grabbed him by the neck and squeezed. A dating app? It had barely even been a month! Had Rosalya lost her mind?

He had to grip his bed sheets to keep his voice even. “Did you tell her no?”

“Sort of?” Calemar sighed and turned to look at him. “She’s just trying to help. It’s a terrible idea, but I’d feel bad if I told her that.”

Armin tried to keep his face expressionless, but he couldn’t get the tension to leave his jaw. If Calemar was so willing to let Rosalya off easy, maybe she wasn’t as opposed to the idea as she thought. Armin could see it now: Rosa finding the perfect match for Calemar in a matter of days and sending her on some ridiculous date in a ridiculous dress and with some ridiculous guy. But it wouldn’t be ridiculous, not to Calemar. No, Armin couldn’t let that happen.

“So what are you going to do?” he murmured.

“Well, the plan was for Alexy to discourage her,” she said. “But apparently he did an awful job, because he just texted me that she’s already made a profile.”

He couldn’t mute his reaction this time. He sat up fast and shook his head. “You have to talk to her.”

Calemar rolled her eyes. “Talking to her isn’t going to do anything. You know how Rosa gets when she sets her mind on something.”

“So you’re just going to let her set you up with some random guy?” Panic had begun to blossom in his chest. He knew it was stupid. He knew he had no right to it. But there was nothing he could do to quiet the sense of dread.

Calemar seemed to notice that something was going on with him. She had a smirk on her face, and sat up so that she could get a closer look at him. “It could be a girl. Maybe Rosa’s going to change things up.”

“That’s not the point,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, as though the gesture would protect him from her sudden nearness.

There was an infuriating amount of amusement in Calemar’s gaze. “What is the point, then?”

She thought the whole thing was a joke. Armin should have just teased her back. He should’ve laughed with her, and let Rosa’s plan play out on its own. He should have stopped hoping, should have accepted what he and Calemar were, what they would always be. But the ache in his chest wouldn’t let him.

“It’s only been a month. Are you even ready to start dating again?”

This was the wrong thing to say. Calemar frowned, the humor leaving her eyes in an instant. Armin hated himself for it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his hand involuntarily reaching out to hers. Their fingers touched. He pulled away before he could make things worse.

Calemar shook her head, lowering her gaze to the space in between their hands. “Don’t be. I just… I don’t know how long it’s supposed to take to get over a relationship. I don’t know what ready feels like.”

Armin nodded. “I guess it’s hard to know.”

“Yeah,” Calemar said, biting down on her lip. “You know, I can understand Rosa’s logic on some level. Seeing someone else might be the only way to finally put everything behind me.” She let out a long sigh. “On the other hand, my friend Lucy used to use those dating apps all the time. I’m not liking my chances of getting paired with a potential ax murderer.”

If fate were kind, Armin thought, that possibility would keep Calemar from giving into Rosalya’s whims. “That definitely wouldn’t be ideal,” he said.

Calemar groaned. “I just wish there was a way to stall her! Something to get her off my back for at least a few weeks so I can sort my feelings out.”

It was then that the idea came to Armin. A truly terrible idea, one so problematic that it left him angry with himself for even thinking about it. And yet he couldn’t brush the thought away, not with Calemar sitting just a few inches away from him. She was so close, but as she picked up her phone to respond to Alexy, Armin could already feel her drifting away.

“Wait,” he said, the word burning his tongue a little as it left his mouth.

Calemar glanced up at him. “What?”

“Maybe there is a way to get Rosalya off your back,” he said. He tried to make his voice sound light, even though his heart was beating a mile a minute. “One that doesn’t expose you to the risk of being ax murdered.”

Calemar grinned. “I’m already liking the sound of it. Please continue.”

This was stupid. In fact, it was quite possibly the stupidest thing Armin had ever done, and he’d preordered the limited edition of No Man’s Sky. But if anyone was worth doing stupid things for, it was Calemar. Armin was at the point where he’d do anything to protect what little chance he had of being with her. Even this.

“What if you told Rosalya you were already interested in someone?” He swallowed hard. “Maybe even seeing them.”

Calemar’s brow furrowed. “Who, though?” She thought for a moment before literally jumping in her seat with an idea. “Oh! I know! I can tell her I have a long distance boyfriend. Some dude I met on Discord. Ooh, he can be from Brazil, and–”

Despite the growing tension in his body, Armin managed to casually put a hand on her shoulder. “Calemar.”

She absorbed the look on his face and deflated. “She wouldn’t buy that, would she?”

He shook his head. “No one would buy that.”

“Well, okay, Master of Deception,” she said, crossing her arms and staring him down. “Who am I pretending to date?”

Armin shrugged. “It would have to be someone you already spend a lot of time with, someone who’d be willing to play along. It wouldn’t be convincing otherwise.”

“Easier said than done,” Calemar said. “I’d like to think I have a decent amount of friends, but I highly doubt any of them would be up for fake dating.”

Armin straightened his shoulders. He was going to Hell for this. “I’d do it.”

Calemar blinked. Her mouth hung open for a moment, as though the suggestion had entirely halted her train of thought. Armin supposed that was better than a look of disgust or a bemused laugh.

“You?” she finally said, her gaze burning into him.

“Me,” he replied, hoping he sounded more confident and objective than he felt. “If you think about it, who else makes more sense?”

Calemar shook her head. “No one, I guess. But would you seriously be able to do it?”

“Do what, date you?” The words sent a thrill of excitement through his body. God, if this actually happened, if he could just make this happen…

“I mean, it’d have to be convincing,” she said. “Rosa won’t believe it if we’re not entirely invested in the act.”

“We’ve got everything on our side, though,” he said, feeling an eager smile spread across his face. “We’ve been hanging out almost every day, so it’s not a big leap to assume we’ve been seeing each other in secret. And if my fond memories of our Alice in Wonderland play are any indication, you’re a great actress. Add my undeniable charm to the mix, and Rosalya has to believe it.”

She rested her chin on her hand. “You have a point. About my incredible acting chops, at least. The undeniable charm thing was pushing it.”

Armin, elated at how well this was going, winked at her. “It’ll work. I know it will.”

“And if it does? How long do we keep it up?”

“As long as you want,” he said. “Though, if we’re being honest, you’re probably going to want to make this long term. I’m going to be an awesome fake boyfriend.”

Calemar snorted at this. Armin was too close to success to feel offended. “Seriously though,” she said. “You’re totally on board with this? Pretending to like me?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not like it’s going to be hard.”

She opened her mouth, but then closed it after fully absorbing Armin’s comment. Armin was just beginning to absorb the words himself, their implication bringing him down from whatever high had tricked him into saying them.

“What do you mean?” Calemar said, her voice so quiet Armin had to strain to hear it.

He wished he had an explanation, but sheer panic had consumed his sense of judgment. “I don’t know,” he said, surprised he could even force that out of his mouth.

She was looking at him now in a way she never had before. Her gaze was almost analytical, as though she were finally taking him and his words at face value. Calemar had made him feel a lot of things in the year he had known her, but she’d never made him feel vulnerable. He’d always had a joke to hide behind, or a game of deflection to play. But he couldn’t now. Not with how intensely she was looking at him.

“You have to know,” she said, her posture stiff. “We’re best friends. Is that why it’d be easy to pretend to like me? You could just present your platonic feelings as romantic?”

Armin wanted to respond, give some indication that her words were spot on. But he couldn’t even manage a nod.

“But that would make it harder, wouldn’t it?” she continued. “Pretending to like a friend is one thing, but to do it with your best friend… You’d have to be close to me all the time, hold my hand…”

“I can do that,” he said, his voice weak.

Calemar took in a slow breath. “What if that wasn’t enough? What if we needed to do more to convince Rosa?”

“I would do it,” he said.

Calemar stared at him; he was almost certain her pupils were dilated. “What if you had to kiss me? Would you?”

For a moment, Armin forgot how to breathe. Then a wild energy took him, something so strong and impulsive that he had no hope of fighting it. “Yes,” he said. “I’d make it good, too.”

Calemar’s eyes looked like they were about to burst from their sockets. “Armin!”

“What?”

“You can’t joke like that!” Her entire body had tensed, and her hands were gripping the bed sheets so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.

“Who says I’m joking?”

Things had gone too far for Armin to even think of turning back. He was in this now. He felt courage that he’d lacked all afternoon slowly begin to flood into his chest. For almost a year, he’d played off his affection for Calemar as a joke. He’d wanted more for so long, had suffered in silence with her none the wiser. And he had no one to blame but himself. But now she was so close to knowing. And once she knew… Anything could happen.

“Do you want me to be joking?” he murmured, looking at her with unabashed longing.

Calemar swallowed. “I don’t know.”

He leaned toward her, not close enough to touch, but enough to feel her breath begin to quicken. “Well, there’s one way to find out.”

She stared at him for a moment. It wasn’t a very encouraging stare, what with her face looking so pale and her mouth hanging open. He wondered if it was a sign to give up, but before he could ask her, she lurched forward and pressed her lips to his.

At first, all Armin felt was astonishment. He had to wait for his head to stop spinning, and then he could marvel at how soft Calemar’s lips were. He’d imagined this kiss at least a hundred times. Wild fantasies with big romantic gestures and heartfelt declarations. Storms and sunsets, stars and fireworks. In reality, kissing Calemar was a lot less dramatic. It was also a lot better.

His hands found her waist and his lips responded to hers. She let out a little sound of surprise against his mouth, and it was all Armin could do not to combust at the sound of it. He’d always loved the little noises Calemar would make when she was tired or irritated, like an NPC of a game that couldn’t afford fully voiced dialogue. But the noises she made when being kissed… He would love them for an entirely different reason. He wanted to hear more of them.

He pulled her closer, delighting in the shaky breath that escaped her. It left her mouth slightly open, and instinct would not let him ignore the opportunity. He traced her bottom lip with his tongue, and when her mouth parted in a gasp, he kissed her more fully, bringing his hand to the nape of her neck.

This lasted a glorious five seconds before Calemar pulled away. He was still holding her, but she had put enough distance between them for Armin to feel it in the pit of his stomach.

“This…” she began, her voice trembling. “This isn’t pretend, is it?”

He didn’t think of denying it for a second. He shook his head.

“I… Armin, I don’t know if I can do this.”

Her words hit him with the force of a semi-truck. “Was it that bad?” he said, releasing her.

She bit down on her lip. “No, it was…” She turned her head and stared hopelessly at the television, the long forgotten video game humming quietly in the background.

“Calemar, please talk to me.”

“I can’t! I don’t have the words to describe what that felt like.”

Armin let out a long breath. “I… I’ve wanted to tell you–”

“Don’t.”

Don’t? He’d kept his feelings to himself for so long, and now, after they had just exploded from him in one earth-shattering moment, she expected him to reign them back in?

She looked back to him, her gaze almost desperate. “I felt something. Something I didn’t know I felt for you. And it could mean a lot of different things. If you tell me what I think you want to tell me, then it’ll just make this all the more confusing for me.”

“Calemar.”

“You are my best friend, Armin. I don’t want to hurt you because I’m too emotionally fucked up to make sense of my feelings. I couldn’t live with myself if I–”

Her voice cut off, and in the same second she was up, reaching down to grab the bag she’d brought with her.

“No,” Armin said, jumping off the bed. “You can’t leave. Not after that.”

“I have to.” She threw her bag over her shoulder and made a bee-line for the door. “I promise we will talk about this later, but I can’t right now.”

Armin darted over to her, took her wrist in what was slowly becoming a half-hearted attempt to make her stay. “Calemar, please.”

She turned back to him. To his total bewilderment, she pressed a firm kiss to his lips. It stole every bit of comprehension he had, and he dazedly let go of her wrist. She took a step back. “I’m so sorry.”

She fled down the hall, leaving Armin standing in the middle of his doorway, wondering how everything could have changed in a matter of minutes. Wondering what Calemar felt for him, and why she was so scared of it. Wondering what sort of irreparable damage he had just done to their friendship, and if there was any hope of fixing it.

[ecotone99]

[HR] Catch Your Death

Most of you have seen death before. Perhaps it was at the cinema, or somewhere close to your heart. However, close to none of you have seen Death himself. And I don’t mean those cloaked figures that soccer moms hang up next to the door when they want to out-spook all the other Shannons.

Really and truly, Death looks like a normal man. His hair is raven, shimmering from scalp to the curve of his back. He almost always wears a suit; funeral black, of course. Death’s eyes are the only thing that gives him away. They are a bright, cold blue with swirls of white surrounding his irises. No one except for the stupid or intoxicated can ignore them.

How do I know all of this, you ask? After all, I am mortal, just like you. Well, when you run an inn, you tend to meet all sorts of strange people. So before the same visitor that appears here causes me to lose my final breath, I must tell you the tale of how Death almost caught his own one stormy night.

In the winter, almost no one requests a room. The path to get to my cabin is much too dangerous. Because of this, when someone rings my service bell, I know one of two things: they are either desperate or in need of a place to hide. When I saw Death at the front, I reasoned that it had to be both.

He had come to me with no luggage. His body was hovering between shivering and stiffness, soaked from head to toe. His bright eyes had grown dull. His face was white with pure exhaustion. And, for this reason, his identity alluded me at the time. Death rang the bell once, only the weak echo catching my attention. As I was coming to the front, I quickly stated my standard chipper greeting. I had learned not to meddle with those who come during a blizzard. But after I took one look at him, I knew that this was different.

“Sir, have you been walking those dirt paths alone?” I almost demanded. “Is there someone out there? Are you hurt?”

Death shook his head vaguely. “I’m afraid there were no carriages out to-day. I have come for shelter, but I haven’t any money to pay you with...”

“To hell with the money! You look about ready to fall over!”

The man had laughed at this, and if I had known the context, I would have by-and-by gotten the joke. At the time, though, I took it as a sign of fever. Within a few minutes, I had ushered him to a chair next the fire. He sat stiffly despite his obvious fatigue. It was almost like the world was a meeting room of people that he had to impress.

“Dear God, man, relax! You just walked through six inches of snow for who knows how many miles!”

Death raised his eyebrows only slightly. “I wasn’t aware that such a traipse took so much energy.”

“What do you mean? You’re a man, not a polar bear!”

“You are half right, my friend.”

“Jesus Christ, you are sick!”

At this point I made the bad decision of trying to touch Death’s forehead to check his temperature. For those who are ignorant to Death’s tastes, he has seen touching as either murderous or grieving. He doesn’t like the action much, and Death will react to it as he sees fit.

This particular time, he only grabbed my hand before it reached its destination. His nails dug into my flesh.

“Cease.”

I cried out in pain, wrenching my arm from his grasp. Death’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he leaned back with reluctant sleepiness.

“It shall not leave a mark, but you will remember next time.”

“Remember what?” I squeaked, rubbing my arm.

“Not to touch me. If anything of that sort offends you, I give thy soul full allowance to do what you must.”

At this point, I had no idea how to proceed. This guy was obviously sick in the head. However, was he just ill, or did he always act this way? I sat in a chair opposite him. Finally, I broke the silence.

“I must call a doctor. You probably have hypothermia or something nasty like that.”

Death opened one eye.

“It would be a waste of valor. The roads are winding and twisted, and the air bitter as wormwood. I shall not die, nor will I ever.”

He broke off this sentiment with a coughing fit, which his breath had little energy to compensate for. Each gasp for air was rougher than the last. Two dead leaves seemed to be rubbing together in his chest, making just as deceased music from Death’s throat. When the rhapsody ended, he shuddered.

“My body, however,” he croaked, “is still of blood and bone.”

Though I hated to admit it, I knew I couldn’t call anyone that would give adequate help. They would either be unable to get through all the snow or would die trying. I sighed and draped a nearby quilt over him.

“Okay, fine. You’re right. But you can’t go anywhere in this condition, even to your room. I won’t be able to get to you if something happens.”

A small dimple appeared on Death’s face, but his smile was mostly gone.

“You must understand that I don’t don mortal bodies very often, so I have not yet learned their quirks.”

“What are you talking about?! Are you a vampire or something?”

My brain was racing. If this guy was really crazy, he could do anything he wanted with no one stopping him.

Death lifted a cautious hand, touching one of my potted plants with the edge of his nail. Even in the soft flicker of the fire, I could see the leaf curling into a black, crackling swirl.

“Death, good sir. Mortimer A. Death.”

I spluttered, only one question escaping my lips.

“W-what does the A stand for?”

Death chuckled weakly, sniffing. “Ashes. Why else do think they all fall down?”

I blinked a few times. My heart started to pound, and my legs screamed at me to take my chances with the blizzard.

I had literal Death in my living room.

“Please don’t kill me...I d-didn’t do anything wrong...please...”

I got up from the chair, then backed away. I only took a few steps before I was stopped by the wall of the cabin. Death sniffed again, letting himself sink deeper into the recliner.

“I don’t kill people because of their moral standing. That isn’t my trade. You’d have to go to Hell for that.”

I refused to go back to the chair, but my heart slowed down ever so little.

“But Death has a cloak, and a skull face, and those sharp axe thingies...”

“Remember, you are learning this from a source that also promotes radioactive spiders giving one hybrid, superhuman abilities.”

Death looked a little better now. His eyes were shining, and his grin had slithered secretly onto his face. His humor had apparently made a grand reentrance as well.

“So...I’m not going to die?”

“If I had to come all the way out here for a soul, I wouldn’t have chosen to go as a human.”

I creeped back behind a lamp, still not quite convinced.

“Then why are you out here?”

Death shook his head.

“It’s a long story.”

“We have quite a blizzard to wait out.”

A long sigh filled the room.

“If I must.”

*If you like this installment, I would be happy to make another part! However, I wanted to take the idea for a test drive before I committed to anything. Please give me feedback, comments, and whatever else you have to offer down in the comments below.

submitted by /u/StIvesRiddler [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/31uCIqs

[the-record-columns]

Feb. 22, 2017: Columns

…and the box it came in

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about a road trip I took with my friend, Carl White, who, for the past six or seven years, has produced and hosted Life in the Carolinas, a syndicated television show.

During the trip we were searching for an item of TV trivia for Carl's friend Tom Isenhour of Salisbury who has been collecting for years. The premise being that if we found something he didn't have, that would in and of itself be unusual. Well, we found a child's Davy Crockett outfit that Tom did not have, he was well pleased, and Carl and I succeeded in our mission.

But, what Tom did have, was an original box for it, which he had bought some years earlier and put away for the day when he would find its contents. Which, of course, brings us to this week, and the promised follow-up about boxes.

Collecting things brings out all kinds of minutiae for folks who are trying to make a set of something. Stamp collecting is the best example. There must be a 25 different things that can change the value or the cataloging of any given stamp, from something as obvious as whether it is new of used, down to how many perforations it has on each side. Personally I am content to just have one to go in my album, because, as I like to say, it is just as much fun and takes about the same time to find the spot for a stamp worth a penny as it does for a rarity.

Boxes, however, are something I hadn't really thought about until after our trip to see Tom Isenhour's collection. Then I remembered that a few folks who visited the poor man's museum here at The Record's offices and have tried to buy a box which is full of old calendars and other miscellaneous items. Now understand, they didn't want what I had in the box, just the box itself, which reads on the side “Remington Standard Typewriter.” It is a wooden crate, not in very good shape, but it was pointed out to me that you can find an old typewriters at every antique store or flea market you go to, but the boxes just do not exist. The got thrown away, or used for kindling.

So I began looking around the shop and realized that I had managed to pick up several good boxes—all of which are empty—and are all harder to find than what came in them. Among them are a large Stetson hat box which was given to me by Sarah Payne Absher and her sister Betty Chloe, whose parents operated Payne Clothing in North Wilkesboro from forever till the early 1960s. I also have an old hat box from Spainhours, a retail fixture in Wilkes and surrounding counties for over 100 years, courtesy of Syd Spainhour, as well as a box for Her Majesty lingerie and sleepwear, also from Spainhours. I don't know where it came from, but I also found a Madame Alexander doll box for “Mary, Mary #451”, while empty, it is in good condition—perhaps Carl will read this and find me a Mary-Mary.

As I looked around, there are assorted wooden crates and boxes for everything from axe blades, to Winchester ammunition, Western's World Famous ammunition, Waters Extra Fine Sugar, Kraft cheese, Brunswick talking machines, and even a crate for Empire nuts, bolts and rivets from Port  Chester, New York. These, like the typewriter box, make excellent displays as well as conversation pieces.

I'll finish with small appliances, all of which have the item in question still inside. There are two electric irons; a Betty Crocker steam version as well as a Graybar quick heating iron. The Graybar iron's box had wooden wedges glued inside at one end to keep it from sliding around in the box. There is a Hamilton Beach juicer attachment for their Model H mixer and my personal favorite, a Presto Hot-Dogger—not just still in the box, but a never opened box at that. The only way you can get an idea about what it looks like is from the illustration on the cover.

No, it doesn't take too much to make me happy.

I now suppose that the collectors addendum to “Do you want fries with that?” will have to become, “Do you have the box it came in?”

“Nevertheless, she persisted…”

HEATHER DEAN Reporter/ Photo Journalist

           When I was about 7 years old, I remember playing in the yard at my grandmother’s house with my boy cousins, and one of their friends. So there we were, making believe, and I decided I was going to be the doctor. “You can’t be the doctor” my cousin’s friend said. “You’re a girl.” Neither I nor my boy cousins understood.  “She can be whatever she wants” my younger cousin said, and that was that.

         I did ask my mom about it later, because it never occurred to me that I “couldn’t” or that as a girl I was limited in any aspect. I was curious to know what “because you’re a girl” meant. The women in my family were strong, independent and secure in whom they were. It never occurred to me that my mother, her sisters, either of my grandmothers or any girl I knew for that matter, would ever be questioned in their endeavors. Especially either of my grandmothers- they were the first role models I had.

So when I asked my mom about the event she laughed and said that yes, some people felt it was a man’s world, but that with hard work and persistence, anyone could be anything they wanted to be. Take my mothers mother:

         My grandmother, Betty Jane, was the Matriarch, and clearly always the one in charge. She served as a 2nd Lieutenant in the US Army Nurse Corps during WWII. She was one of the first women in her unit to get a pilots license. The man behind the desk told her women didn’t need to learn to fly, that’s what the male pilot was for.  She persisted saying (and I quote) “I’m not going down in this plane and loosing my patients cause the pilot gets his ass shot. I will learn to fly.” Turns out, this is how my grandfather and grandmother met. He was in line behind her and saw the whole exchange, and promptly fell in love with the tenacious redhead. .She stayed in the medical profession after the war. .She was appointed as the first woman in North Carolina to the position of State Commander of the VFW1996-1997, and I stood and watched dumbfounded as Elizabeth Dole, and other notable people waited in line asked for my grandmother’s autograph at that event in Greensboro, NC. She was a life member of the National VFW, the National American Legion and the National AMVETS organization. She traveled all over the country to meetings for veterans. In the case of her grandchildren, she could stop you with a look, and we knew we were in trouble when the words “Oh for Pete’s sake!” came out of her mouth. Needless to say, this tiny 4 foot 11 inch tall Irish woman was a force to be reckoned with, as were my mother and her sisters. (In case you ever wondered where my sister and I, or my girls get it from.)

         Looking back, I believe it was on that day I was instilled with my mother’s love of history. All genres, but specifically “herstory.” I learned about the suffragettes, and take my right to vote seriously and with gratitude; Grandmother Moses, who understood as much as Lady Liberty how important freedom was; Dolly Madison saving the Whitehouse; Victoria Woodhill, who in 1872 became the first woman to run for president; Amelia Earhart, who did the unthinkable in her time; and for whom my youngest is named; Joan of Arc, who raised a literal army and died for what she believed in; Frankie Silver, the first woman hanged in North Carolina for the murder of her physically abusive husband; Lilith; the first woman God created for Adam in the Garden of Eden, but who was too insubordinate (read: persistent) for the man; the list goes on, women’s right movements  from the beginning of time, to the battles we still fight for our individual rights. My mom had her share of bra-burning-fight-the-the institution- hippie-chick stories, always persisting in her own right. For instance: even though Roe v. Wade had been passed in 1973, she was ridiculed by the women in the church when she decided to get her tubes tied in the 80’s after her third child, because apparently, that was a form of abortion and surely God would not approve of a woman taking control of her body like that.

         But the 80’s was a long time ago, right? Women have come so far, becoming Doctors, Presidents of foreign countries, Senators, Congresswomen, CEO’s, Heads of State even.   And yet, here it is, 17 years into a new millennium, and an esteemed Senator Elizabeth Warren, a professor of law and prominent scholar, was shushed by a man while speaking on the senate floor. What makes this even more ludicrous is that male senators before, and immediately after her, spoke  the same words, reading from a three-decade-old letter from Dr Martin Luther King's widow, Coretta Scott King, then regarding Mr. Sessions being considered for federal district court judge in 1986, and pertaining to President Trump's pick for attorney general . Warren is now forbidden from participating in the floor debate over Sessions' nomination ahead of a confirmation vote. She has literally been silenced. Why? As Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell (R. Kentucky) so eloquently put it "She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, she persisted."

         Well, if I had chosen to believe that same kind of rhetoric when I was 7 Mr. McConnell, I would never have become the history making, award winning woman I am. Count me in as a rebel for the cause. . Mind you, I am by no means a feminist. I don’t think I’ve ever needed to be. I’ve always known I was just as good as anyone else, and time and again I’ve proved it to my self and others. I suspect it was all because of the fierce tenacity, sometimes stubborness, and persistence that continue to be handed down through the women in my mother’s lineage. That being said, I am also aware that not everyone is as fortunate as I am, to have such a strong, positive female influence in their lives. I also count myself beyond lucky that the men in my family have been secure enough to love, adore, and walk beside these women, blessed to be their chosen equals. Nevertheless, I will persist in helping those in my gender find their voice. I will persist in the “liberties and freedoms we hold so dear”. I will persist and “hold these truths to be self evident.” I will persist that we are “one nation… indivisible… with liberty and justice for all.” I will persist, and I will not be silenced.

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Practicing mindfulness

By LAURA WELBORN

On my journey to be more mindful in my life I attended a mindfulness workshop.

Research is showing that our brain becomes stronger and gives us the ability to rewire when we practice mindful activities. In as little as eight weeks our brain becomes thicker and develops neuroplasticity.  

So how do we train our brain?

By practicing.

When we walk and let our brain just enjoy the moment, when we focus and become more intentional in what we do and when we are non-judgmental and act with kindness and compassion.  Ringing a bell in our mind is to pause before we speak and ask ourselves:

Is it true? The right time to speak?  Helpful to others? Kind?

The most powerful weapon against stress is our ability to choose one thought over another. Train your mind to see the good in everything.

Being positive and seeing the good does not mean ignoring the negative. Being positive and seeing the good means overcoming the negative.  Next time you have a  thought that is stressing you out, ask yourself these four questions that adapted from philosophical research by Alan Watts and Byron Katie:

Is this thought true? – This question can change your life. Be still and ask yourself if the thought you’re dealing with is true.

Can I be absolutely, 100 percent certain that it’s true? – This is another opportunity to open your mind and to go deeper into the unknown, to find the answers that live beneath what you think you know.  Think about some contrasting possibilities beyond the narrow viewpoint of this one stressful thought.

How do I feel when I think this thought? – With this question, you begin to notice internal cause and effect.  You can see that when you believe the thought, there is a disturbance that can range from mild discomfort to outright panic and fear.  What do you feel?  How do you treat the situation (or person) you’re thinking about, how do you treat yourself, when you believe that thought? 

Who would I be, and what would I do differently, if I were not thinking this thought? – Imagine yourself in your situation (or in the presence of that person), without believing the thought.  How would your life be different if you didn’t have the ability to even think this stressful thought?  How would you feel?  What else would you see?  Which do you prefer – life with or without the thought?  Which feels more peaceful and productive?

When you change your thoughts, you can choose your response and not react negatively to what we think is happening.  

Stay tuned as I learn more about Mindfulness… Laura Welborn, Mediator

The Recorded Deed to Jerusalem   

By EARL COX   

Days after UNSC Resolution 2334 condemned Israeli settlements in the “occupied Palestinian territory” of Judea, Samaria and East Jerusalem as a “flagrant violation under international law” Jerusalem Mayor Nir Barkat issued a strong rebuke: The mayor and his planning-committee director announced the committee’s intent to approve building 618 previously planned housing units in East Jerusalem—a first step toward an additional 5,600 units in the city. “I’m not ever going to stop building. No construction will be stopped by me as mayor,” he said. While the Obama administration harmed its ally by strengthening its enemies, if President Trump holds to his promises perhaps things will change going forward but there is already talk of backpedaling.

Barkat is “politically correct” in the most positive sense of the phrase. He is also legally and historically correct. In property disputes over land ownership, lawyers search property records for deeds, liens and related issues in order to identify the real legal owner(s). They also use mandatory “discovery” to demand that the opposing party provide all relevant documents, inspections and depositions that pertain to the dispute. In the courtroom, the presiding judge determines whether the proceedings and evidence of both sides are represented in a fair and balanced way.

The U.S. abstention of Resolution 2334 and John Kerry’s specious rhetoric laying out his two-state agenda were mockeries of the these basic processes and premises of justice. As further evidence of’ the resolution’s shaky legal grounds, it conflicts with tenets of international law in the Palestine Mandate, UNSC Resolution 242, the Oslo Accords and Camp David Summit.

The Bible clearly defines ancient boundary lines and one of the oldest title deeds in the world is recorded in the Tanach, where King David purchased the future site of the Jewish Temple from Araunah the Jebusite for 600 gold shekels. David’s son, King Solomon built the First Temple on that site. There’s ample additional biblical, archeological, religious and historical evidence of Israel’s abiding connection to Jerusalem that pre-dates Palestinian claims. The Jews governed Israel for a thousand years, and lived there continuously for the past 3,300 years. According to Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs researcher Nadav Shragai, Jerusalem was the Jewish capital during that time, never a capital of any Arab or Islamic entity.

 Despite Israel and the Jewish people’s deep and abiding historical, cultural and religious connection to Jerusalem, the Palestinians, who began to define themselves as a people only about 100 years ago, insist they will never sign a peace deal that does not include Israel’s surrender of East Jerusalem, including the Old City and the Temple Mount. (Under international law, this area is disputed, not “occupied.”) Meanwhile, the Palestinians continue to deny Israel’s right to exist and incite violence and terrorism against her. As Dr. Joel Fishman wrote, “It is simply not possible to build [a state] on a foundation of myth and ignorance.”

 Mayor Barkat and many others rightly discerned the previous administration in Washington D.C. as being anti-Israel long before Resolution 2334 reared its ugly head. Over the past eight years the U.S. has pressured Israel to halt “illegal” Jewish construction in eastern Jerusalem. In recent years Barkat slammed the Obama Administration for criticizing Israel’s plans to expand the suburb of Ma'aleh Adumim—an effort to provide affordable housing in the over-crowded capitol. "I don't know of any city in the world whose regulator is the U.S. president," the mayor remarked. Efrat Mayor and pro-settler leader Oded Revivi added, “Israeli building policies are set in Jerusalem, not New York.”  Based on the latest news reports, it now appears that the Trump Administration are starting to sideways waffle on the topic of settlements. Let’s hope these news reports are mistaken as they so often have been.

What country doesn’t have the right to its unified capital, and to develop and build it?  I pray the Trump Administration will focus its efforts at the United Nations against terror and stand strong on Israel’s side against any and all attempts to delegitimize the only democracy in the Middle East.

Three Presidents and a possibility

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

The Carolinas have undisputed claim to three U.S. presidents and the possibility of a fourth. And as with all good southern stories intrigue is not lacking.

I have written about our seventh president, Andrew Jackson, a Democrat, before, and he was certainly born in the Carolinas - the question being, which one, North or South? Both states have people with strong feelings about their side of the line. He was born March 15, 1767, and served as president between 1829-1837. Jackson was also known as the first “Citizen President.”

Jackson earned the nickname of Old Hickory for good reason, life was hard, his father died when he was 2 and his mother died when he was 14. His military activity started in his early teens as a courier during the American Revolutionary War, at which time he was captured and abused by the British Army. It is said that he refused to blacken the boots of his British captures.

A young Jackson would eventually leave the Carolinas for Tennessee and in 1801 that he would be appointed Colonel in the Tennessee militia and his political life would begin. His journey to the White House is legendary and so are his two terms as president.  

Jackson would make the Hermitage, near Nashville, Tenn., his home and he would die there peacefully at the age of 78.

It was during the Jackson Presidency that Arkansas and Michigan would join the Union.

Our 11th President, James K. Polk, also a Democrat, was born Nov. 2, 1795, in Mecklenburg  County, N.C. He served as president from 1845-1849.

Unlike President Jackson, President Polk had the benefit of a strong father and mother that inspired the values of patriotism, religious faith and a strong interest in politics.

At the age of 11, the Polk family homestead was sold and they moved to join his grandfather in Tennessee. Polk would return to North Carolina in January 1816 as a sophomore admitted to the University of North Carolina which at the time was a school with around 80 students. Polk would graduate with honors May 1818.

After graduation Polk returned to Nashville to study law and over the next few years he would serve in a variety of ways and would run for and win the seat for U.S. House of Representatives for Tennessee’s 6th congressional District in 1825, in 1827 Polk was reelected to congress.

It was in 1828 that Jackson ran for President again, Polk would advise Jackson on campaign matters and after the Jackson victory Polk would support the new administrations position in Congress.  

Polk would become Speaker of the House where he would continue to work for the Jackson policies. Polk worked to create a more peaceful environment in the House and unlike Jackson and many others he never challenged anyone to a duel for insulting his honor. Polk is the only U.S. President to have served as Speaker of the U.S.p House of Representatives.

Polk would leave Washington for a while and serve as Tennessee Governor from Oct. 14, 1839 – October 15, 1841.

After an interesting campaign and commitment to only serve one term, James K. Polk would return to Washington and become the 11th president of the United States on March 4, 1845 at the age of 49, the youngest president of his time.

After his term as President he returned to Tennessee and died of cholera only three months later June 15, 1849.

During his term as President the states of Texas, Iowa and Wisconsin joined the union.

Our 17th President, Andrew Johnson, still another Democrat, was born December 29, 1808 in Raleigh. He served as president from 1865-1869. Johnson differed from President Jackson and President Polk as he did not run for the office of President of the United States and he did not pursue a law or military career.

Johnson was on the Lincoln ticket as Vice President and assumed the office because of the assassination of Abraham Lincoln.

His family was poor and he started out as an apprentice to a tailor in 1822. While he was still 17, he set out for Tennessee and in 1827 he married 16-year-old Eliza McCardle, who was the daughter of a local cobbler in Greenville Tenn. It would be his new wife that would teach Johnson how to read and write.

Johnson’s public service and political career started as an Alderman in 1803 and then Mayor of Greenville Tenn., then he served in the  U.S. House of Representatives and went on to be elected Governor of Tennessee from 1853-1857.

In 1864 President Lincoln, would make a change from the Republican party and run for reelection under the National Union Party. Johnson was added to the ballot for Vice President and the campaign would turn in Lincoln’s favor later in September. Lincoln defeated George McClellan in the November 1864, electon.

Johnson would be sworn in as vice president on March 4, 1865. Vice President Johnson would become President Johnson on April 15, 1865.

With the end of the Civil War and being faced with Reconstruction and the mending of a nation President Johnson would have few days that were less then enormously challenging.

On Feb. 24, 1868, President Johnson, would become the first U.S. President to face impeachment proceedings. He was charged with violations of the Tenure of Office Act. Johnson was successful in maneuvering for an acquittal and after three months, it was close, with only one vote in his favor that lead to a not guilty ruling. President Johnson was acquitted; however, he was unable to secure the Democrats presidential nomination in 1868.

During the Johnson Presidency, Nebraska would join the Union.

The Abraham Lincoln National Historical Park is in LaRue County, Ky. It is stated that Abraham Lincoln was born there in a one room log cabin on Feb. 12, 1809. However, that is not the only location that claims to be the birth place of Abraham Lincoln.

We discovered The Bostic Lincoln Center in Rutherford County NC and it is their opinion that there is evidence that the 16th President of the United States may have been born on Puzzle Creek in Rutherford County, N.C.  

As the story goes a woman by the name of Nancy Hanks (Lincoln’s mother’s name) was a “bound out” servant girl to the Abraham Enloe family in Rutherford County. It is said that while in care of the Enloe’s, Nancy would become pregnant and Enloe’s wife suspected that her husband may have been the cause of the new development.  

In short, things become very stressful for everyone involved. Abraham Enloe’s wife’s anger increased with the birth of the Nancy’s boy child. Wanting to find peace Abraham struck a deal with Tom Lincoln, for $500, to take Nancy Hanks and the boy child away.

The question of President Lincoln’s place of birth and his real father has been subject of conversation and debate from a time before his presidency.

We do have a Carolina link to Lincoln that seems to be undisputed. The presidential couple who were together for almost 50 years, Andrew Johnson and Eliza McCardle, were married by Justice of the Peace Mordecai Lincoln, first cousin to Thomas Lincoln. That’s right Abraham Lincoln’s father, Maybe

Carl White is the executive producer and host of the award winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In the Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its seventh year of syndication and can be seen in the Charlotte viewing market on WJZY Fox 46 Saturdays at 12 noon. For more on the show visit  www.lifeinthecarolinas.com, You can email Carl White at Carl@lifeinthecarolinas.com.

Copyright 2017 Carl White