#in floor exercise and now in vault

[fishylife]

carlos yulo now has TWO gold medals

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is weird- it's a big 1918 bank building in Duluth, MN, but they designed it with 1 bedroom and 5 baths. Asking $499K. Oh, and if you're a teal lover, this is the home for you.

They painted every bit of the wainscoting teal.

The main floor has an open concept living room/kitchen. There's a nice loft above.

The kitchen cabinetry is also teal.

Looking at the living room area from the kitchen, there's another loft on the other end of the building.

Looks like a small safe here.

There's also a little water fountain here.

The vault is still here and it looks like it been all shined up, too.

The original gate is propped up against the wall, and all of the safe deposit boxes are intact and shiny. Looks like they store the liquor in here. Some of the boxes can fit wine bottles.

The other vault is a pantry.

The bedroom is right off the main area.

It doesn't appear to have a closet.

This bath is nice.

The small loft over the bedroom has a built-in entertainment center.

There's this small room, too, with a built-in bench.

A small room and a bath behind the kitchen.

They've got some clothing storage under the stairs.

Plus another bath.

I thought that the lofts would be larger.

You can see the little window up here.

Behind the wall is another room- you can just see a glimpse of the window on the right- that is set up as a home office.

Now, we're down in the basement. The doors look extra secure and there's an old gate, too.

They've got a hot tub with stairs down here, and a little exercise area.

A workshop is all set up.

Plus a garage.

In addition to the garage, there's parking for more cars.

Is that the power plant for the building, on the left, or is it a high voltage thing belonging to the utility company?

Aside from the grassy area around the building, there's this vast former parking lot on the .60 acre property.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1106-88th-Ave-W-Duluth-MN-55808/439764976_zpid/?

[falloutwithmegirlypop]

Norm McLean x unenthusiastic reader

Fluff, nervous reader, no gender specified. Vault doesn’t open, Norm steals your private property (accidentally

Everyday was the same in the vault. Every morning, wake up, breakfast, exercise, study, chores, listen to weirdos spout about positivity all day, eat again, go to bed. It’s not even the people that really got on your nerves, they could be as happy as the want to be. It’s the fact that they wouldn’t stop talking about that made your blood boil. You even agreed with some of it, but did everyone really have to be so exhaustingly enthusiastic all. The. Time? No, and in a perfect world, you could live your boring life, mind your own Buisness, and be left alone. Truly, you simply didn’t see the reason for being so persistent about everything, we live in an underground vault in the apocalypse for gods sake.

You thought you would have to live your entire life surrounded by people you couldn’t stand. So, you never made an effort to meet people. It’s pretty easy to keep to yourself when you follow the exact same routine everyday. Just waiting out the day so you could have some time to yourself. Play on your Pip-Boy, read a book for the millionth time, maybe do some art or write in your diary. Which is why when some jerk in the hallways bumped into you on your way back home from your post, you were pretty miffed. The electricity overview papers you had in your hands, and the papers for your most recent job report, all ready to be dropped off in the overseers office were out of their neat pile, and now strewn across the floor. You REALLY did not have the energy for this.

As you turned your accusatory stare to the little punk who tripped you, you were surprised to see Norm, the overseers son. You had never talked to him, interacted with him, or even got a good look at him. You only knew who he was from the mandatory, positivity vault meetings. He was small, with a thin frame, prominent nose, nice hair and annoyingly pretty eyes- wait, what the hell were you thinking, you’d never even met the guy, surly he was just like his goody two shoes sister. But you were still staring, and he was starring back through tired, half lidded eyes. You saw that he had also lost some papers in the fall, now lying on the floor next to you.

You jump up and dust off you suit. You mumbled quickly

“sorry, excuse me”

Expecting nothing more than an annoying, long winded interaction, involving but a wide smile, cheery voice and obnoxious apology. Norm just stood up, dusted himself off as well, muttered a half hearted, brief apology, grabbed his papers, and walked in the other direction. You were shocked, you had never had a conversation so brief. Despite the bad terms, you were thankful not to be monaloged at for thirty minutes. You picked up your papers, reorginized them into a messy pile, dropped them off and headed back home.

You hardly slept that night, despite your great desire to do so. Your brief run in with Norm played over and over in your mind. Before you knew it, it was morning, and your moderately tolerable schedule had been thrown off completely, you got up, ate breakfast, showered, then exercised- then you went to answer your door, and- before you knew it, right in front of you, was Norm McLean. In your stunned silence, you were suddenly incredibly aware of your heavy purple eye bags, your ratty hair, and your unbrushed teeth, as well as that you had been staring at the man infront of you in complete silence for nearly fourty seconds. Norm was giving you a sceptial look. As your brain regained function, and your hands stopped fidgeting stupidly at your side, you saw a small set of papers in his hands. Before you could start to roil in the embarrassment of seemingly the only tolerable man in the vault seeing and reading your job reports, he spoke.

“You dropped these, picked them up on accident” Norm said flatly.

“Sorry, thanks for bringing them back I guess.” You yelped meekly, furiously trying to subdue the extremely non-characteristic butterflies in your stomach. In an attempt to deescalate your emotions, you began closing your door. That is, before he spoke up.

“Unenthusiastic performance in all areas, huh? Can’t say I haven’t been there. I think I’ve always been there, actually.” Norm spoke with great undetstanding, and if you thought about it, you could swear you heard gratitude in his voice.

“Yeah, no matter where they put me I always get the same report. Electricity isn’t as bad, less people bothering you.” Norm smiled at your reply, suddenly attentive to the conversation.

“Well, I thought there was nobody I could stand in this vault, guess I was wrong.” He gestured to the inside of your room, “mind if I come in?”

Suddenly, your world was on fire, everything collapsing around you. You nodded, probably too excitedly.

The two of you spent the entire rest of the day together, talking about annoying people in the vault, the McLean’s, your life, his. You played some video games together, and then read in a comfortable silence. For the first time in forever, you were enjoying the company of your peers. You completed your day together, both equally unenthusiastic. but, having each others company somehow made everything easier.

The next day, the two of you did the same thing, and then the next, and for the week, and a month, and before you knew it. You had spent a year together. Not before long did you admit to having feelings for one another. And after a couple years of dating, the two of you were set to be married. The two of you, alone in a vault of over 100. Unenthusiastic together.

[theofficialpresidentofmars]

here’s a little piece I wrote inspired again by @strifentines ‘s Zuko-Azula roleswap AU! i’m posting it here because I can’t be bothered proofreading and posting on Ao3 rn

anyway I did this as a little creative writing exercise while procrastinating my media and statistics exam preparation. it’s an excerpt from the start of the S3 E16 Southern Raiders episode, my take on how I think it might go :]

———

The Western Air Temple was burning.

The Western Air Temple was burning, and Azula had woken to the sounds of three military-class Fire Nation airships firing explosives at them.

She didn’t have much time to assess the situation before the doors were closing, the room was shaking, and debris was falling from the ceiling, right above Katara.

“Move!” She knew the word wouldn’t register to the water tribe girl as quickly as it needed to, so she accompanied her command with a side tackle. The rocks hit the floor where Katara would have been standing if it wasn’t for her, but her rescuee didn’t seem entirely appreciative. Instead, Azula received an elbow to the side for her troubles.

“What are you doing?” Katara ungratefully yelled.

“Saving your life, genius.” At that, Katara rolled her eyes, which Azula supposed was all the thanks she was going to get.

“Life saved, you can get off me now.” Katara pushed herself up and out of Azula’s arms, not so much as offering to help her stand up.

Azula scowled. “Next time I’ll let the falling rocks crush you,” she bitterly replied, only half-sarcastically.

Behind her, the earthbenders were carving some sort of escape passage through the wall. She considered it for a moment, before her mind circled back to the three Fire Nation ships out the front.

They’re here for me. Why else would they be there?

The others were starting to flee through the passage, but Azula turned back, preparing to jump through a hole in the wall.

The Avatar’s voice rang out from behind her. “What are you doing?” So concerned, as always.

“I believe this is a family matter,” she responded. “Stay out of it, and I’ll meet you once I’m done.”

It didn’t sound like a happy silence, but Azula could hear from his footsteps that the boy had joined the others. She was expecting more resistance, more concern for her well-being, blah blah blah, but it seemed he was getting more used to her methods. Good. It was more efficient this way.

She vaulted over bent metal and jumped through an explosion, wrapping her bending around her, making it to the front of the courtyard. A fourth ship rose from the fog, carrying atop it a familiar passenger.

Wrapped in the royal regalia of the Crown Prince, hands wrapped around the railing atop the war balloon was her brother, wearing that stupidly creepy theatre mask. His hair was half up in a finely-crafted topknot, but the rest of it blew about dramatically in the wind. Azula half-wondered if it was a conscious choice, for theatrics. That entrance certainly seemed planned.

“Zuko,” she spat, keeping her voice loud enough to avoid her words being lost in the wind. “What do you want?”

Her brother laughed lightly, like a lilting melody, carried across the wind. It was not a genuine sound.

“Don’t worry Lala,” he almost sang, “I’m not here for you.” His tone was gently condescending, as if he were talking to a child who simply didn’t understand. It was infuriating.

It had also taken Azula a little aback to hear that he wasn’t here for her. If she was in any way disappointed by this, she wasn’t going to admit it to herself.

“Answer my question.”

Zuko sighed, and although Azula couldn’t hear it over the wind, or see his lips move to form it, she could tell because he’d used his entire body to accentuate the gesture. It was a habit he’d picked up from their mother, even if he didn’t know it anymore.

“If you must know, I’m going to capture the Avatar. If you don’t want to get blown up, I suggest you move now.”

Azula planted her feet into a solid stance. If he wanted a fight, he could come and get one. In return, her brother only sighed again.

“You make these things so needlessly difficult, sister.”

Zuko raised his hands and sent a brilliant burst of dazzling white light at her feet. She sidestepped quickly enough to avoid it, but the move had been meant as a distraction- and an explosion on her left sent her flying into a wall.

The ground beneath her began to crack, and Azula pushed herself up as quickly as she could. Around her, supporting pillars began to topple and fall.

She ran towards the crumbling edge, up the side of a titled beam, and threw herself over the edge, landing on the side of the balloon. She hadn’t managed to get a good grip upon landing though, and it only took a slight tilting of the vessel for her to slide off the edge, spiralling into a free fall.

To her eternal luck, she landed on top of another balloon, hidden beneath the fog. Azula looked up to see that Zuko had jumped down from his post, and was watching her rise up through the air. Her balloon stopped level with his, and she watched him take a step back- and then make a running leap through the air towards her position.

Towards her. She wasn’t thinking quick enough- and there was another white flash headed towards her face. She dodged, tucking into a roll, and returned with her own blue flame in a series of quick shots.

Zuko deflected them skilfully, and seemed to be preparing another attack. Azula knew she was at a disadvantage- these war balloons weren’t hers, she didn’t know where her allies were, and she didn’t know if she could take her brother in the state he was in- so her mind quickly flipped through a series of possibilities on how to avoid imminent failure.

Get him monologuing.

“Capturing the Avatar? Seems… beneath you.” Azula didn’t have to say much else, the implication was clear.

Zuko took the bait. He dropped his stance slightly, shifting to instead give her his

attention. He positioned himself in a way that would allow for the best vocal projection over the wind, rather than the best range for fiery attacks.

Azula couldn’t help but feel pleased with herself. Too easy. Even like this, I can read you like a book.

“My honour was called into question,” he began, making no attempt to hide a certain flavour of contempt in his voice. “This is how I can restore it.”

Azula couldn’t keep the shock out of her own voice. “Your honour? Your honour? What could you possibly-“

Zuko held up a hand, cutting her off.

Wow. Rude.

“You want to know what I, Father’s favourite child, could have done to warrant his displeasure.” Azula didn’t like that his tone of voice conveyed that he obviously expected her to know what it was, because she didn’t. She also didn’t like not knowing things.

“I wonder…?” he added, unhelpfully.

Azula was at a loss for words, which was a position she despised being in. Zuko took this moment to advance, taking measured steps forwards, hands behind his back like he wasn’t mere metres away from a fatal precipice.

“Father wasn’t too happy that you lied to him about what happened in Ba Sing Se. And he wasn’t pleased with my compliance in said… what was the word he used again? Treachery.”

Compliance? Please. Azula had only said that Zuko had fired the killing blow against the Avatar, and if her brother had chosen not to dispute that, whatever reasons he might’ve had, not one of them was treasonous. As much as she might like them to be.

No, her dearest brother seemed perfectly incapable of treason thanks to her father’s unethical interventions. She wasn’t even sure if he’d known what the word meant, anymore. Ozai knew that. And if he was really concerned about treason, he certainly wouldn’t have let Zuko remember it, much less live with the consequences.

Which meant that their father had sent the Crown Prince off on this silly quest purely because he wanted his son to suffer, and he wanted his son to remember suffering. To remember not being good enough.

Because even with all the mind control and conditioning in the world, Zuko could never be cleansed, in his father’s eyes, of the crime of simply being himself. He could be perfect, and still not good enough. Azula had once been foolish enough to be jealous of the attention he received from their father- bitterly though, she wondered if after everything, she was still somehow the favourite.

That was probably why Zuko hadn’t spoken out against the lie. Even as the gem of the Fire Nation, he still had to prove himself.

It might have been funny to her if her father had been anyone else, or if there wasn’t a scar on her brother’s face that he thought he’d given himself.

“You’ve got nothing to say to me?” His voice cut through her inner monologue. Azula looked up again, eyes meeting the forceful white of the mask.

“Take that thing off. I can’t hear you properly,” she commanded. It wasn’t particularly true, but it might help her case.

The smile in his voice made it seem like he’d been waiting for her to ask.

“Of course.” Carefully, and with both hands, Zuko lifted off the mask.

Spirits, he looks so much like our father.

Azula was not proud of her first thought, but he’d inherited the same sort of wicked smile, and the strands of hair he’d left undone framed his face in an uncomfortably familiar sort of way.

His eyes had once belonged to his mother, but they’d been empty for some time now, any trace of Ursa scooped out over a circling flame and scorched.

Azula had smiled when her brother was branded, regretted it since, but at that moment, she was almost glad for the scar- it broke the horrifying illusion and drew her mind back to the parts of her brother that were just that- her brother, and nothing else.

The next thing she’d noticed were the bags beneath his eyes, and the creases in his forehead that even a smile stretched far too wide couldn’t disguise.

Zuko looked terrible. He looked like the product of restless nights, of endless stress.

Not for the first time, Azula felt a pain in her chest thinking about how she’d left him alone in the castle with their father again after the eclipse.

But even still, he’d seemed fine on most other occasions she’d seen him unmasked. This seemed… rougher than usual. Rougher than she might even expect from only parental disapproval, even if that parent was the Firelord.

The third thing she noticed was how his scar seemed bigger than normal, etching its way down into his neck, fresher in some places than others.

“Do you like it? It’s beautiful, in some strange way. And it’s mine to keep.”

His words shocked Azula out of her trance. There was something strange about the way he said them, and it wasn’t just the implications of what he was actually saying.

“He doesn’t often give me gifts but this one’s here to have forever.”

It was then the diction clicked- Zuko was quoting something. Azula wasn’t sure what, but the rhythm and the barely hidden disgust-dripping irony in his voice suddenly made sense. It gave her the mildest relief that her brother hadn’t become a full-on sadist as a result of her father just yet.

“You’re staring.” Azula snapped her eyes up to meet her brother’s own uncovered pair. The very eyes his distorted smile never quite reached.

“You seem shocked,” he innocently observed. “What, you weren’t expecting this to happen?”

“It’s not your fault,” Azula blurted out before she could stop herself. It was a slip of emotion, and she immediately regretted it. But if Zuko was surprised at all by the sudden vulnerability, it didn’t show at all.

“I know,” he responded plainly, and surprisingly. “When Father gave this to me, he said that it was merely a consequence of my own actions, and that in that sense it was my own doing. But I know better than that. It wasn’t my fault.“

And then, something happened.

Zuko’s mask fell. Not the theatre mask that was hanging on his belt, but the mask he’d worn in place of his face for years. The one that Azula wasn’t sure could come off.

But in an instant, the creepy, uncanny smile of the Fire Prince vanished and was replaced by a scowl that seemed to reach into the depths of the soul, an expression of emotion that was actually real. It was visceral anger that felt right to look at on his features, if only for the fact that the brutality of the scar finally slotted into facial harmony. It was an expression that Azula had known on her brother as a child, when she’d stolen his snacks, or burnt his toys, or pushed him over, or anything of the sort. It was the kind of emotional reaction that was tended to with love and care by their mother, punished by their father, and suppressed by years of brainwashing. It was achingly familiar, and it somehow felt like home in a way that nothing had for years.

Azula’s breath was snatched away by the sight of her brother, her actual brother.

“It was yours.”

The anger was, as always, directed at her.

“You told Father about Ba Sing Se. You turned him against me, and you left me alone to deal with it. This is the result of your actions.”

And then almost as quickly as it had left, the mask reappeared. But something was… wrong with the way it was put back on. Like it had been dropped, and Azula could still see something shifting through the cracks. Beneath the horrid sterility of everything else.

“I’m not going to hold it against you, if you were worried about that,” Zuko offered, unconvincingly. “I know you weren’t thinking about what would happen to me when you angered Father on the Eclipse.”

His eyes narrowed. “No, you weren’t thinking about me at all.”

Azula had no words to defend herself with. She was still stunned, and couldn’t bring herself to even so much as move. Her brother unhooked the theatre mask from his belt, and moved to put it back on.

“That’s why you’ll never be Firelord, Lala,” Zuko concluded, matter-of-fairly. “You don’t think ahead. You don’t think about anyone else, either. It’s all about you in your little world, and when you ruin lives, you leave, and never look back.”

Then he leant in, until his mouth was only a finger’s width away from her ear.

“Mom would be proud.”

Somehow, the very words she’d wanted to hear her whole life were twisted into something that cut into her with the same pain as a small knife to the abdomen.

For once in her life, Azula couldn’t even think straight. Her brilliant mind conjured blank after blank.

She didn’t even notice she’d been kicked until the balloon disappeared from beneath her and she was falling, falling endlessly through the clouds.

She hit something with a softer impact than should have been possible from that height. Her vision swam as the clouds continued to rush around her, as if she was still falling.

“Are you okay?” A young boy’s voice. There was a face and a name that she couldn’t place in the moment.

“She’s fine. She’s still breathing, right?” Snarkier, female.

“She’s clearly not okay.” A third, male, older. “She looks like she’s in shock. And she hasn’t insulted us yet.”

“With any luck, it’s permanent.” The second one again.

“Katara!” Number three. Number two was Katara.

Her senses began to come to her, and Azula wiped away a traitorous tear that she hadn’t realised she’d shed.

“Are you alright? Did you get hurt?” The Avatar. Aang. He was looking at her with big eyes. He’d given her the opportunity to leave with them, he’d been right, and he wasn’t rubbing it in her face. He was never going to.

Azula shook her head, numbness starting to give way to a self-inflicted rage at the next few tears to desert her eyes.

“My brother,” was all she managed to say.

———

and then I remembered my exams are the day after tomorrow and stopped there. 2698 words

[ww2yaoi]

[I caved and started writing a webgott fic even though I'm 23 years late. this ground has definitely been traversed before but I'm an advocate for the webgott 2024 renaissance. here's a taste]

The war is over, and still, David and Joe are butting heads, velvet-shed antlers clashing like rival bucks during rutting season.

David’s not sure what he expected. He thought after the exultation of taking Berchtesgaden and raiding it of its liquour and silverware Joe might lighten up. He’d smiled so much that day, drank vintage champagne straight from the bottle, tore down Nazi flags and ripped them to ribbons. Something had broken in him at Landsberg, David knows that much, but he’d been hopeful that as the war tempered so too would Joe’s ire. Now he knows he’d been naive to think so.

Joe parks the Jeep outside the hotel where they’re billeted and wrestles the keys from the ignition. He climbs out and slams the door without another word, jump boots clomping against the cobblestones as he stalks away. David sits silently in the passenger’s side, Skinny’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head. He presses his lips into a thin line, sucks them between his teeth and bites down.

Captain Speirs had no right to give that order, least of all to Joe. They had no reason to keep fighting, no reason to dirty their hands when the old blood stains still linger. Leave that to the MPs and the military tribunals, their war was supposed to be over.

David gets out of the Jeep but decides not to follow after Joe. He knows the more he seeks Joe out, the more Joe will push him away. Instead, he walks, weaving through the streets of Zell am See, past shops and cafes and chalets all untouched by the ravages of war. Hitler’s home country, the birthplace of so much death and destruction, and it has the ersatz gloss of a resort town. The irony is not lost on David. He’ll write about it later if he gets the chance.

Birds chirp in the trees. Locals stroll past him, well-dressed in their spring clothes and chatting away jovially amongst themselves. They regard him without much fanfare, used to the sight of American soldiers by now. The water of Lake Zell is so blue it makes David’s eyes ache. He fishes his cigarettes from the pocket of his paratrooper jacket and slides one into his mouth, fiddling with his Zippo until the flame sparks and lights the tip.

The first inhale brings David back to the mountains, that cabin on the hill, chickens clucking in their pen. The hit of nicotine had done little to calm his nerves as Joe shouted at the kommandant in his Austrian-tinged German. David had just about jumped out of his skin when the shot rang out and the kommandant burst from the cabin, bleeding from his neck. Joe had bled from his neck in Holland. He has the scar to prove it. Sometimes, when they’re sitting side-by-side in the truck and Joe’s not looking, David will stare at it, curling his fist at his side to stop himself from reaching out and smoothing his thumb over the puckered skin.

He keeps walking, smoking his cigarette down to the filter. Eventually, he comes upon a church, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out. The imposing wooden doors are open to let the tepid May air waft inside. David steps across the threshold and the piquant smell of incense hits his nose, olibanum and myrrh.

The church is empty except for a custodian sweeping the floor by the pulpit, but the man eventually disappears into a room at the back. David sits at the pew closest to the door, the knotty wood ungiving against his back. He admires the stained glass windows, cyan and crimson and gold with the pious faces of saints. The apses vault high above him, the air that rains down from the rafters drafty and filled with dust motes. It would be easy to imagine what this place would look like had the fighting swept through here, but David tries not to. It’s too beautiful a church for that kind of exercise.

David let his Catholicism lapse years ago, before the war even started really. His family was never that religious, only attending services on Christmas and Easter, but David prays now. He doesn’t go as far as kneeling on the tuffet or even interlocking his fingers, but pray he does, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment. He asks God, if there even is one, to take Joe’s pain and put it elsewhere, to spare him the anger and the hurt, the need for revenge that undoubtedly itches underneath his skin. He’s sure if Joe knew what he was doing, sitting here asking his Christian god to save a Jew, he would laugh in his face, but David’s not ashamed of it. If anything, he’s desperate. He’s not sure if Joe is ever going to speak to him again, even though he’s well aware that Joe tends to run hot only to cool back down a few days later.

Maybe this time is different though. Maybe this is what finally breaks the unsturdy bridge David has built between them since he missed Bastogne, possibly to the point of irreparability. He sits there, trying to parse what he feels. Perhaps it would be a relief to let their friendship shatter in his unwieldy hands. No more tiptoeing around Joe’s persistent bitterness, his bad moods that seem to bubble up with the slightest prodding. Then again, David doesn’t think it’d be a relief at all. He’s not even angry at Joe. If anything, he’s upset they’re still here after the Germans have surrendered, stuck cleaning up a mess that was never theirs in the first place.

Sometimes, David is so angry he forgets to breathe. Was he like this before the war? He can barely remember. Back at Harvard, he used to get heated in his classes, arguing passionately with his peers about Proust or Dostoevsky, but he knew how trivial it was even then. It was just a game he liked to play, something to make the hours he spent stuck in lecture halls go by faster. He doubts there’s anything he can do here to make the time pass quicker. There’s probably nothing Joe can do either.

With that, David gets up from the pew and exits the church. He steps back into the golden blare of the Austrian sunshine, headed towards Easy’s billet.

[fornassau]

The Fall

“ Representing Great Britain, Charles Vane! “ The announcer had shouted and Charles emerged to a stadium of cheers and photos. Like some of the other world famous athletes, he had to stand and pose for a moment or two, smiling and showing complete calm. On the inside? It had been butterflies.

All of his training had been for this. These next few days of competition were the culmination of four years, or in his case, far more; of practice. Charles Vane had won a silver medal for Great Britain a day prior in the team event. The Japanese were his biggest competitors, closely followed by the US, by a slim margin, but an athlete named Shinnosuke Oka was his only real challenger. Now it was the individual all-around, where he had to do well in each event for a combined score and was definitely the hardest thing for a gymnast to do. He had to be amazing in every event, but gymnasts had their strong points and weak points. For Charles, his strongest events were the horizontal bars and rings. His weakest? Floor exercise.

But so far he was on a roll. He’d scored extremely high in the vault and parallel bars, and his lower score in floor barely mattered because of it. Rings is where he felt his first threat from Oka, which the announcers definitely stressed. The way the two gymnasts looked at each other? The tension was palpable. Every once in awhile, he’d look up in the stands to find his father’s face which was easy since he was such a behemoth of a man. He’d stand up, he’d cheer, he’d roar, and not too far away in the massive arena sat James. His eyes found his over and over, looking to him for encouragement; especially after floor as he hadn’t done as well, but now was uneven bars. He was ready. He’s got this. It was his last event. Excitement was in the air, and again he was lifting his eyes through the masses of people to look at James as he adjusted his hand braces with a deep breath. Calm. Calm.

[miyamiwu]

omg my youngest sister is arguing with my mother in the group chat about the Carlos Yulo issue. As expected, my mom is on the abusive mother’s side. Fucking boomers

I honestly don’t have the energy to argue with my mom, so I’ll just leave it to my activist sister 🤣

Context for my non-Filo followers: Carlos Yulo is a Filipino gymnast who won two gold medals in the Olympics (men’s floor exercise and men’s vault), but before he won, his mother was rooting for the enemy team (Japan) and hoping for her own son to lose. Now, with Carlos winning two gold medals, her previous hateful statements were dug up and slapped in her face.

In defense, her mother started talking about how Carlos has been an unfilial child and how she thinks his girlfriend, Chloe, is causing him to drift apart from the family. This in turn caused a lot of people to turn against Chloe and throw misogynistic statements at her.

Carlos and Chloe had to post a video to clear up the misunderstanding and show their side of the story.

In the video, they said that they and Chloe’s family made a group chat and pulled Carlos’ mom into it so they can resolve the issue in private. I didn’t read all the screenshots, but one part had Carlos call out his mom for withholding the allowance he got as a national athlete/prize money from previous international competitions (can’t remember if it was just one of these or both) and using it to pay for the family house (which is under his mother’s name) in bulk without asking for his permission beforehand (his mother held his bank account card back then). The mother was unrepentant though, thinking that there’s nothing wrong with what she did and that she doesn’t have to explain herself to her own son.

Carlos also defended his girlfriend, saying how his mom has been very critical of how she dresses and speaks, as a result of how Chloe grew up in Australia, where the culture is very different. (The traditional ideal of a Filipino woman is someone who is “demure and self-effacing” like Maria Clara, but Chloe is the complete opposite of that. She’s an outspoken, strong, independent woman, and the conservatives and misogynists don’t like that.)

There’s a lot of articles explaining the whole thing better online, so just google them for more info

Anyways, this whole issue really blew up in the Philippines, with the conservatives/older generation admonishing Carlos with justifications like “That’s still your mom” and the younger generation rallying with Carlos and praising him for his courage in breaking free from an abusive household. It really brought to light the toxic Filipino family culture, rendering the issue as not only personal to the Yulo family but also a societal one that is prevalent in a lot of Filipino households. The Philippines is so poor that some parents have treated their children as “investments” to bring them out of poverty.

I’ve witnessed this problem in my own family. I remember when my older brother was in college, he had a scholarship that entitled him to P15,000 per semester (adjusting for inflation, this is now about $350). However, my mom held his ATM card and would only send him a little of the allowance. In the end, my own brother would starve and sometimes even steal other people’s food from the dorm 😔 (As someone who now also lives in the college dorm and has had her own food stolen, this is why I can never really hate or be mad at people who steal. I understand the desperation when you’re really hungry).

In the beginning, my brother thought there was nothing wrong with this and it was only right for him to give back to my mother, and it took my aunt (who housed my brother in his first year of college and also gave him some allowance) a lot of talking into him to convince him how this was wrong. As a parent, my mother had every obligation to provide and raise her children and my brother shouldn’t have to feel like he owes her a favor.

In the Philippines, tradition is to support your child throughout college. In some households, the support is until the child turns 18 or 21. But on the first year my brother left for college (he was only 16 then, as he was part of the old curriculum), my mom just threw him to our aunt’s place, which was near the university, and let him depend on our aunt—who had no obligation to even raise him—while also expecting him to hand over his scholarship allowance to her. It was awful.

I have a lot more examples in the family, but this post is getting too long… but yeah, I am both pissed and disappointed with my mother siding with Angelica Yulo, but at the same time, I kind of expected it. She and Angelica are the same kind of person 😩

However, I can only hold myself back from arguing since I’m not in any position to argue with my mom about this. Mom is still supporting me in college even though I am now an adult (got delayed because of mental health issues and stuff). And by support, it’s her giving me a weekly allowance of P500 (~$9)—which is far from enough for me to cover my meals and other necessities, so I often have to borrow money or do some gigs. I’ve been trying to find a part-time job, but there hasn’t been any luck. I also can’t apply for just any job coz I need to look for one that fits with my schedule and has a salary high enough for me to able to send money to my mom while also leaving some for myself (she’s been pressuring me on this, but as I said, I’m really in no position to talk back 😔).

My brother’s been telling me to just focus on my studies and not worry about it, but I know he would also like my help on the bills in the future. He’s currently paying for the family house that is under my mother’s name and which he doesn’t even live in anymore. He really wants to stop so he can focus on his career and build a future with his girlfriend, but it’s just so hard to break free from this kind of culture, especially when society here is so ready to judge you for being unfilial and lacking utang na loob if you do. And well, we also can’t just throw our mother to the wolves (debt collectors)

So yeah, I’ve been having a hard time, and my mom weighing in on the Carlos Yulo issue unprompted made it even worse 😔

And I swear I don’t mean the end the post like this, but since I’m talking about my troubles anyway, I might as well mention how I’m currently running a Ko-fi goal to help cover some expenses. If you have any spare cash, please consider donating to my Ko-fi 🙏

[ofdragonsdeep]

16: Third-Rate

Extremely low in quality or value.

An adventurer, newly arrived in Limsa Lominsa, attempts his first summon.

Limsa Lominsa was bright.

White rock, clean metal, and the spray of the sea. The sun glowered daggers from the sky whenever Telan had the temerity to leave the safety of the buildings. Even staring at the floor gave him no relief, the path being carved of that same white rock as the buildings. It was an exercise in misery.

He had been directed to the Drowning Wench upon his arrival by a Yellowjacket - another explosion of brightness amid the ruckus. He had been jostled, bustled, and otherwise battered about by everyone he had had the misfortune to cross paths with along the way, and now he sat huddled in a corner, not even brave enough to go for a table.

He did not think this was supposed to be his destination. There had been a lot of words he didn't understand thrown about by the alchemists in Radz-at-Han, and then even more words he didn't know on the boat. But they had moored to make repairs after the attack - pirates, maybe, Telan still wasn't sure - and he had been given such a strange vision that he had found himself compelled to seek an answer to it.

Outside was still terrifying. Daytime too bright, sky too vast, people too loud. But here in the pub he had at least been left alone so far.

He took out the book that the young elezen had given him and scanned its pages. It had all been nonsense when he had first looked at it, but some of the runes were beginning to make sense to him. Whatever strange vision had granted him understanding of the words those around him were saying had not translated to the written word.

The geometries were magical, he could feel that. There were a few basic spells, and one complicated one, on the first five pages. The elezen had pointed him at it, speaking gibberish as he did so, and so Telan had devoted his time to studying it.

It was meant to be wrapped around something, he thought. A focus perhaps. He had begun to pick out the offensive parts of the other sigils, and this one didn't have the same hallmarks, so he was at least not worried about accidentally blowing up a chunk of bright, white, noisy rock.

He dug about in the pockets of his clothes for something he could use as the centre. He had left Meracydia with basically nothing, and his material conditions hadn't exactly improved in Radz-at-Han, but the alchemists had let him keep the bits and bobs they had tested on him to see if they could help him. None of them had, of course, but it did mean his pockets were not completely empty.

He found a rock. A pebble, really, polished smooth by whatever process they had used on it before it had been passed to him. It looked about the right shape for the magic.

He supposed he had nothing to lose by trying.

He sat himself up, kneeling now instead of huddled, and placed the rock in front of him. He opened the book, squinted at the shapes, and put his hand out above them. Traced the lines in the air, slowly, carefully - several seconds of deep concentration. He could feel the magic pull at his aether, which was not a particularly nice feeling, but it led his fingers in the right direction.

He did hope the boy hadn't given him something dangerous.

When he finished the spell, there was a puff of magic around the rock. It lifted into the air, lines of aether constricting around it, and then…

It looked a little bit like a rat, if rats came in bright neon blue. Was about the same size as one, too. It squeaked at him, a high-pitched noise of indignation, and vaulted onto his shoulder.

It looked sick.

"Hey, lad." One of the barmaids startled him out of his focus, and he dropped the tome onto the floor, immediately scrabbling to pick it up. "Whoa! 'S no bother. Yellowjackets send ye?" Telan blinked up at her. She was a miqo'te, too, so she would probably understand his Huntspeak. Surely at least that was the same?

"Yes. Big man. Yellow and black clothes," he said. Now it was her turn to be startled, pulling the empty tray up in her surprise, tail twitching back and forth in unease. Was that a good sign? It did not seem like a good sign.

"…Well, I s'pose that'll do," she allowed. "'Venturers sign on wi' Baderon. Over there." She motioned over her shoulder with one thumb, to the man stood behind the bar. "Ye are a 'venturer, aye?" Telan looked down at his book, and heard the blue rat squeak on his shoulder.

"I. Think so?" he replied. The Yellowjacket had said the same thing, adventurers signed up in the Drowning Wench.

"Maybe ye can start wi' the easy jobs," the waitress said, though she did not look particularly convinced. "'Ere, follow me."

Telan got to his feet, following her as she led him up to the bar. The man behind it was dressed like a sailor, and had the bearing of one to go with it. He eyed Telan critically, and did not seem particularly impressed.

"'Ere for the drink, or a job?" he asked. Telan was not sure that whatever he had smelled the patrons downing classed as anything other than sea water, so he supposed it was the latter.

"A job. I think," he signed, and while he looked to the waitress to translate for him, Baderon made a surprised noise.

"Now that's a rum talent, lad," he remarked. "'Aven't seen a lad talkin' with 'is 'ands like that since ol' Petey lost 'is tongue, and I ain't never known the words so well."

"Is that bad?" Telan asked, concerned.

"Nay, lad," Baderon assured him. "Sign 'ere to join up wi' the Guild. Then we can get ye a job suited for yer talents."

Telan picked up the quill. Regarded the gibberish in the book that was slid across the counter towards him.

"An X'll do the job," Baderon offered helpfully. Telan was not entirely sure how to write even that letter in the strange script on offer here.

"I have a name," he disagreed. "I just, I can't… write it."

"I'll do it!" the waitress offered, sounding excited by the prospect. "What d' they call ye?"

"Telan," he signed, wondering if that would make any sense whatsoever. "Rhei'telan."

"Rhei?" the waitress repeated, sounding perplexed. "That ain't a tribe I've ever 'eard of."

"Be nice, I'tolwann," Baderon said. Telan blinked.

"How do you… pick?" he asked. I'tolwann hid a laugh behind one hand.

"I think they give it to ye, lad," Baderon replied. "It's a short'and."

"Oh." He frowned in thought, eyes on his book rather than having to look at either of them. "Then… R."

"It's rh," I'tolwann said, the pronunciation like a huff of air rather than a letter. Telan had no idea how she had managed to infer the longer ar from his simple signs, but apparently it had been communicated. He shook his head.

"No, that's not… Not my tribe," he disagreed. "I want Ar."

"Ar'telan?" Baderon repeated, and he nodded. "It's as good a name as any fer a new adventurer, I'd say."

"Ar'telan," I'tolwann repeated, then wrote something down in the book. "Like this?" He blinked at the paper.

"I have no idea," he said, once more confronted with a mass of meaningless scribbles. I'tolwann shrugged.

"Well, that's what it is now!" she decided. "Let me show ye to the Arcanists. They'll teach ye how to summon a proper 'buncle."

"Is that what this is? A… buncle?" Ar'telan repeated, the blue rat on his shoulder squeaking in annoyance.

"'S not like any I've ever seen," Baderon said.

"It's close enough, lad," I'tolwann offered. "Let's get ye a real one."

---

He dreaded the first step outside. The sunlight, the sky, the crowds. He could feel himself tensing as they approached the door.

The creature on his shoulder squeaked indignantly at the change in posture, and pattered its tiny feet on his shoulder. When he flinched away, it stood up on its hind legs and bit his ear.

The yelp of pain got I'tolwann's attention, but it had settled back onto his shoulder by the time she turned around.

"It bit me," he said, before reaching one hand up to rub at his ear.

"They ain't supposed t' do that," she said, doubt in her voice. "Well, not t' the one what summoned it, anyways."

"I think I made it angry," he said. A deep breath. The creature leaned its weight against his neck at the motion, and he braced for another ineffectual assault.

It didn't come.

Instead, it stayed leaned against him as I'tolwann shrugged and carried on walking. He kept his eyes on the floor, tried not to tense. Every time the fear crept up, the creature battered him with its paws again, squeaking like a broken child's toy. It… helped.

It helped more than anything else had. More than someone walking with him had, if only because the hand of another had reminded him too keenly of the day the moon had fallen. It was still too big, too bright, but it was not quite too much.

He did not want to spend long under the sky, but he could manage a short trip, he thought.

[ricisidro]

Congratulations Filipino Olympic Champions!🥇🥉🎉🙌

We're so proud of you! 🇵🇭

Thank you for your hard work! Mabuhay!

4 MEDALS FOR THE PHILIPPINES 🇵🇭

The Philippines is now assured of at least 4 medals in Paris 2024 Olympics after gymnast Carlos Yulo got 2 golds in the men's floor exercise and vault; boxer Aira Villegas got a bronze in the women's 50kg and boxer Nesthy Petecio got a sure bronze in the women's 57kg division.

[theroseceleste]

Mafia Miguel - Part 7

You can find previous chapters below.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Contains : Female reader, mentions of being restrained, injections, suffering of pain, murder, cardiac arrest and CPR.

Word count - 4038

Hope you enjoy chapter 7!

Don't forget after this chapter I'll post up a choice so you can choose which direction it will go. Be sure to follow and check for future posts!

----------

The giant science facility resembles something like a ghost town at night. All workers and lab technicians have clocked off and gone home. Labs are dark and deserted.

Miguel has no clue what time it is, but he suspects it’s the early hours of the morning.

He’s led through the building while his hands are still tied behind his back and his mouth still gagged. Dark, glaring eyes trained on the large man in front, leading the way. He clearly has somewhere very specific in mind.

One of the large man’s employees joins the small group of men walking down a corridor towards a lift. He carries a small metal case. Miguel eyes it suspiciously.

“Your wife was a very intelligent woman,” Kingpin says as he presses a button to call the elevator.

The sound of the lift mechanics whir into action behind the double metal sliding doors.

All Miguel can do is watch, scowling at Kingpin as he waits for the elevator to arrive.

Occasionally, his wrists tugs at his restraints, testing their strength. He longed to have the gag removed from his mouth. It is uncomfortable to say the least, feeling the dry cloth between his jaws.

A ding indicates the lift has arrived and the doors slide open, allowing the group to enter.

Kingpin looks like he is revelling in this exercise of gradually riling Miguel up. He takes a breath before speaking again.

“Her knowledge about spiders was extensive. Perfect for the job really,” he pauses as his captive wriggles aggressively.

The smug looking man seems to have touched a nerve.

“Such a shame she got too righteous about the nature of the project. She should have known you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs…”

A now livid Miguel struggles against his restraints once again, more violently this time as the lift climbs up the building. As he pulls, he notices that his bonds feel like they’re getting weaker.

Kingpin watches with glee as his captive is pulled away from him. The angry lion doesn’t look quite so scary, tied up and gagged. He continues taunting Miguel, pushing in the dagger further, giving it a cruel sharp twist.

“I can show you where she worked, if you like? I bet you were so proud of her, working for a major corporation like Alchemax. And a leading scientist in her field too!”

His voice is in a mocking tone which pissed Miguel off even more.

“Sadly, it all went wrong for her when she couldn’t deal with testing the serum on live subjects anymore. Her refusal to cooperate after that was most frustrating.”

Between moments of pure anger, Miguel felt distraught that Maria went through this at work and couldn’t open up about it at home.

The lift’s metal doors slide open again revealing the bio-engineering floor. Lights flicker on as someone flips the switch while Kingpin leads Miguel into the room where the experiments took place…

***

Your car grinds to a halt in front of the Alchemax building. You have parked it in a space but it is hideously wonky, but frankly, you don’t care as you have bigger fish to fry.

Alchemax security guards spot you running towards the building, preparing to intercept you. For once, you find yourself glad that you’re able to shout that you work for Kingpin as you run past and dodge their attempts to grab you.

You knew they’d allow you through if you said you work for the large mafia boss. It seems Kingpin has Alchemax in his pocket, whether they liked it or not.

You need to go to the vault, which is under Alchemax. Kingpin and anyone who works for him unfortunately has access to it. Take a lift and select the basement floor.

Garcia’s voice echoes in your mind as you remember his instructions as you burst into the foyer of the science facility and head to the nearest lift you can find that goes to the basement.

The light on the call button blinks furiously as you press it repeatedly, willing this damn lift to hurry the hell up. Time is of the essence, you can’t waste any of it.

To your surprise one of your colleagues appears on the other side of the opening sliding doors. Your eyes lock on his own as they go wide. Realising who you are, he charges at you, shunting you against a wall as you yelp in shock.

“Kingpin thought you might show up, good job I found you first eh?”

You thrash against him in frustration. Every second that passes is precious time being wasted.

Adrenaline runs at an all time high within you as your heart pounds against your ribs frantically. You have to get away from him if you want to stand any chance at rescuing Miguel.

A tight grip forms around your arm as he tries to turn you away from him.

“Come on, the exit’s this way.”

“Let me go!” you scream as you jam your knee into his groin.

Your colleague cries out in agony and lets you go. His hands rushing to his crotch as he buckles over.

“You bitch!” he screams through gritted teeth, his seething expression fixed on you.

To make sure he doesn’t retaliate or follow, you hit him hard in the head to knock him out.

A thud fills the air as he collapses on the linoleum floor unconscious. His suit jacket flops open revealing something that catches your eye. You pause as you look down at it.

A gun in its holster is out on display. You’re not really a fan of guns, but you might be entering a kill or be killed situation. It’s best to be prepared - just in case.

Reaching down, you pull it out and take it with you. It feels weird to be carrying a weapon, as if things have suddenly become much more serious.

Finally, the lift door closes with you inside it and it begins its descent into the basement. Closing your eyes, you take a breath to calm yourself as you try to remember the next load of instructions Garcia had given you.

***

Miguel half expected that someone would have shown up by now. He knew Gabi would have called somebody. What’s holding people up?

His jaw flexes uncomfortably while his gag persists. Sympathy starts to rise for those he has gagged in the past. But at least they deserved it…

A lab surrounds him, along with Kingpin’s men.

Around the perimeter of the room are counters with cupboards underneath, stored with equipment; beakers; vials, microscopes and petri dishes - just to name a few.

Visions of his wife, Maria, sitting at the counter and running experiments dances in his mind as he looks around. Tears threaten to well up in his eyes as he remembers her but he blinks them away.

Then his gaze focuses on the centre of the room. A modified metal slab-like table stands ominously. He immediately gets a bad feeling about it. Straps are fixed halfway down and at the bottom of the table.

“I had the room set up exactly how it was when I last saw Maria alive. I thought you’d appreciate that.”

Kingpin chuckles darkly as he watches Miguel’s eyes fixate on the table.

“You see, I had to have her still enough so I could teach her a lesson. A lesson I considered teaching your new lady friend but I managed to find a way to get her to comply.”

There’s that wicked grin again. If Miguel had seen it, he’d have tried to smash that smile to smithereens, but he was busy putting the pieces together instead after the large man spoke.

His chest rises and falls as his breathing quickens. His mind, swimming with thoughts while he feels the room spin. Shock, anger and grief makes his entire body shake.

“Of course, I had to make it look like she had done it herself. Couldn’t have anyone pointing the blame at me now could I?”

Miguel is at his limit. Kingpin has more or less confessed to murdering Maria. And he looks so damn smug about it too. How he would love to wipe that smile off of his face. He fantasises doing it in the most hideous way possible. A growl rumbles low in his chest as his muscles tenses up.

With one last hard pull, the captive yanks at his bonds and breaks out. Rushing towards his captor.

Kingpin’s eyes widen momentarily and retreats behind a curtain formed by his men who all grab Miguel as he charges.

Muffled shouts and screams of rage fill the air as he kicks and thrashes around.

The force of Kingpin’s men drags and lifts the incensed man up onto the table.

One by one, each limb is strapped down but not without a violent struggle.

Wildly desperate and frightened brown eyes look around frantically. Searching for any kind of escape. Any kind of help. The sense of hopelessness engulfs him. Any chance to escape diminishes by the second. 

Pulling against the straps is useless as they’re firmly attached to the table by chains, but he still tries out of sheer desperation.

“Roll up his left sleeve for me,” Kingpin orders one of his men, his tone commanding.

As someone carries out the task, the boss opens the metal case and produces a serum in a syringe equipped with a needle, all ready to go.

“Your wife was working on creating the perfect serum for me, to genetically enhance humans. But unfortunately, she was never able to make one that didn’t kill the test subject.”

Kingpin now begins his slow and taunting approach to Miguel. A broad, smug grin stamped across his face. An evil glint shines in his eyes.

“I’ll let you have a taste of her work. You can experience everything she went through in her final moments. And then you’ll be reunited with her. How sweet…”

Now standing right next to the violently thrashing man on the table, he speaks again.

“Keep him still for me. He’s just as wriggly as his wife was.” He speaks louder just so he can be heard over his captive’s angry roars.

Four pairs of hands working in unison press down on his limbs, holding him still. His chest heaves as he screams through the cloth. Eyes open wide and his brow severely furrowed as he watches the needle plunge into his lower arm and the contents of the syringe begins to empty.

Searing pain spreads through his veins. Every muscle tenses and an unpleasant tingling sensation crashes over him like a violent, freak wave on a beach. His body erupts with heat while his lungs struggle to get enough air in them through the gag.

Withdrawing the needle, Kingpin watches with glee as his captive is reacting - badly - to the serum.

Kingpin chuckles darkly, almost getting drowned out by Miguel’s agonised yells and screams.

“This, Mr. O'Hara, is only just the beginning. Sit tight.”

***

Rows upon rows of safe-like vaults are in front of you. Many corridors and alleyways of secure containment boxes to choose from.

I couldn’t store the antidote with project #2099 as I had to keep it safe. So I created my own project, #2100. Find that vault, the code is Maria’s birthday, September 28th.

Looking at signs on the walls, you see Alchemax has run thousands of experiments, too many to count. You look for a sign that indicates where the projects in the 2000’s are and follow the direction it points you in.

The sea of numbers goes down in numerical order as you stride along a corridor. Your eyes skimming over each project number until you find #2100.

September 28th… You think to yourself as you look at the number pad on the door of the box. It’s a three digit code.

Thinking quickly, you punch in 928 and a green light followed by a beep follows, indicating you entered in the correct code.

As the small vault unlocks, your eyes wander over to the containment box to the left, #2099. You sincerely hope you don’t need what’s inside #2100.

Pulling the door open, you grab a small case and run, not even taking the time to close the vault again.

Now the real hard work begins. You have absolutely no clue as to what floor Kingpin and Miguel are on. Entering the lift again, you spam the close button and press the first floor to begin the tedious task of finding the correct floor. You just hope you reach them in time.

If it wasn’t for pressing the button for each floor in the lift, you would have lost count of the number of levels you have tried in the large science facility. Your only saving grace is that every floor is pitch black and silent, suggesting no one is there.

So when you come to floor fifteen and you see lights on and hear bone chilling screams you know you’re in the right place. Your heart plummets as soon as you hear the sound.

As you rush out of the elevator, you see the bio-engineering lab is lined with windows all around it and the scene before you almost stops your heart completely.

Seeing Miguel screaming, sweating and writhing in agony on the table makes you worry you’re too late, but you can’t stop now. He’s restrained and gagged, in desperate need of help.

With the case in one hand and a gun in the other, you enter the lab. Kingpin and his goons seem preoccupied with their captive.

Lifting the weapon, your trembling finger rests on the trigger, aiming directly at Kingpin.

You steel yourself and make peace with what you have to do. If the roles were reversed, Kingpin wouldn’t think twice.

In reality, he’s killing the man you care about right in front of you, and he’d do the same to you if he knew that you’re there.

You promised Gabi you’d do everything in your power to get her papa home. Pulling that trigger is in your power. And that is what you have to do.

It’s scary how easily it can be done. Pulling that trigger wasn’t difficult physically. A shot rings out. The other four men look up as they flinch, while Kingpin crashes to the floor, dead. The force shakes the entire room.

You feel sick at the thought of what you have done but as you swallow hard, you bravely press on.

While Miguel continues to roar and thrash at his restraints, the other four men hold their hands up in surrender.

“Get the fuck out of here!” you yell at them while pointing the gun in their direction.

They didn’t need telling twice. As they scatter, you grab one roughly by their suit. Your aggressiveness surprises you.

“Call off the attack on O’Hara’s people while you’re at it.”

The man nods silently and leaves the room after you release him.

Heavy panting steals your attention.

Miguel, dripping with sweat, thrashes his head side to side as he reacts to the serum.

Prizing open the case, you seize the antidote, nicely prepared for injection already.

If the antidote needs to be administered, inject directly into the serum’s injection site.

You remember the last bit of Garcia's instructions. Rushing to the table in the centre of the lab, you urgently look for where the serum had been injected. It doesn’t take long, the skin on his left arm is a bright angry red and is hot to the touch.

You do everything you can to not cry. His pain and desperation is palpable. And the sight before you hurts you to look at. Seeing him so distressed hits you hard. You can’t bear to see him gagged. His mouth is freed as you pull at the cloth, although parts of you wish you hadn’t as his agonising screams hit you harder.

“Miguel!” You call out to him as you’re not even sure he knows you’re there.

Your hand caresses his contorted face of agony as you lean in close.

“I need you to stay still for me. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to try. Please!”

He roars with eyes clamped shut as a fresh wave of pain rolls over him, you nearly scream when you spot two enlarged canines.

Desperately stroking his face and holding it more firmly, you try again.

“Please! You’ve got to do this for me!”

Miguel huffs as he registers a kinder touch. He grits his now razor sharp teeth as he tries to stay still long enough for you to do what you need to do.

Reaching over his shuddering body, you hold the needle above the injection site.

“I’m sorry if this hurts, Miguel…” you mutter as you press the needle into his skin.

His body immediately arches upwards beneath you, almost bucking you off of him. Another yell of pain erupts from his wide open mouth.

“I know!” you sob, tears streaming down your face “I know - please, stay still a little while longer…”

Your thumb presses down on the plunger of the syringe, pushing the life saving serum into his bloodstream. Hoping against hope that you’re not too late.

Once the syringe is totally empty, you pull it out and drop it as you return to Miguel’s top half.

As before, your hands cup his damp face, moving any hair stuck against his skin while he pants heavily.

What you would give for him to open his eyes. You wish for him to see you. To see that you came for him. To save him.

Relief washes over you as his breathing slows. The large heavy panting turns into short huffs. Tense muscles begin to relax as you continue to stroke his sweat soaked skin.

“Ga- Gabi…” he starts to mutter between his puffs as his breathing regulates.

A relieved smile spreads across your face. Snaking your arm under the back of his neck, you cradle his head gently.

“She’s at home, waiting for her papa.”

Miguel’s eyes remain closed, but he cracks a faint smile across his parted lips. You see just the tip of one of his large canine teeth peeking out. Just what did that serum do to him, you wonder as your fingers now run adoringly through his damp hair.

In that moment of peace, despite what he has just been through, you’re happy. You’re still not entirely sure if he knows who you are; but,  you’re holding him close and caressing his hair. Something you thought you’d never be able to do again.

Leaning down, you plant a loving, tender kiss on his forehead as your fingers return to his cheek. Making the most of this precious moment.

As you lean close, the cold hard chain of his wrist restraints presses against your body. You realise the poor man is still bound to the table.

Placing his head back down gently, taking care not to move him suddenly, you start to undo the straps around his wrists.

As you go to move his hand away from the strap, you feel something sharp snagging your skin.

“Ouch!”

Your hand instinctively jumps away as you look down at what stabbed you. Nothing can stop your jaw from dropping in total shock.

Protruding out from his fingertips are razor edged, bloodied claws.

Scooping up his large right hand in yours, you inspect the talons more closely. Your fingers ghost delicately over them and then run along down his long, slender, manly digits. All the while Miguel remains calm as his breathing slows even more.

The silence between you is punctuated with the sounds of the velcro on the straps ripping apart from itself as you free him. His long limbs are heavy and you’re careful not to hurt yourself with the strange sharp claws on his other hand.

Looking at the clear result of the serum injection, you wonder if this is what Kingpin wanted for the men who do his dirty work? Has he managed what no other living thing could?

As you ask yourself those questions, you start to hear that his breathing has become laboured. The blissful feeling of relief drains from you as that sound doesn’t exactly fill you with confidence.

His brow creases as if he’s feeling pain again and begins to gasp for air.

Rushing to his side, you pick up his hand and squeeze it in hope to provoke a response from him. Your gaze desperately searches his expression, pleading for him to relax again.

“Miguel?” Your voice quivers slightly as you lean over him more.

Your other hand rests on his right shoulder and you start to shake him. He’s not responding.

“Miguel?”

You shake him harder as his laboured gasps continue but he still does not respond.

Something’s wrong - very wrong.

“No, no, no, no, no…” you murmur as your hand goes up to his cheek and tap him gently. Panic sets in. This isn’t supposed to happen. Has the antidote actually worked?

His brow furrows more as his breathing becomes faster and shallower.

“No - don’t… Don’t you dare…”

More tears stream down your face as you watch his struggle, totally powerless and without a clue in how to help him.

To your absolute horror, peace falls upon him once more. But the wrong kind of peace. His brow relaxes totally and his breathing stops all together.

“No…”

Eyes frantically search for signs of life in his face, hoping that he’ll move again in a second. But without any further change you search for a pulse in his neck. Nothing.

“No!”

Dropping his hand to his side, you feel his chest for a heart beat. Nothing. He has gone into cardiac arrest.

Shit!

A loud sob fills the air from your parted lips. Without even thinking, your body takes over. Clambering up onto the table, you straddle his body as you place the heel of your hand against the centre of his chest.

You feel something hard underneath his clothes. Undoing the first couple of buttons of his shirt, reveals a bulletproof vest. Nothing can get in the way of your attempt at CPR so you continue to undo all items of clothing covering his torso.

Once again, you place the heel of your hand in the centre of his chest while pressing the palm of your other hand on top. You push down hard enough to compress by about five centimetres and repeat thirty times at a fast pace.

“You’re not dying on me…” you pant between compresses. “Not today.”

The first thirty compressions are complete. Leaning forward you gently tilt his head back and pull at his chin to part his lips. Pinching his nose with your finger and thumb, you seal your mouth over his and blow firmly, twice.

His lifeless body rocks with each compression as you start the process all over again in a desperate bid to revive him. Sobbing and panting you think about his daughter. You said to Gabi you’d get her papa back, you can’t let her down.

“Come on!” You yell as you desperately will him to take a breath, open his eyes or do something!

It feels like an age since he stopped breathing, but it’s probably just been a minute.

More tears roll down your cheek as you continue to perform CPR. Your knees ache kneeling on the cold metal table but you press on. You don’t care if you can’t feel your legs anymore, if it means you bring him back.

“Damn it Miguel!”

Panic increases again as you do another thirty compressions and prepare to give him two more rescue breaths.

Suddenly, his body moves on its own as you seal your lips over his. The unexpected movement makes you pull away and gasp as he draws a sharp intake of breath. Relief washes over you as you see him breathe for himself for the first time since he fell silent.

His eyes snap wide open as they lock onto yours immediately. However they’re not how you remember them. The beautiful warm brown they used to be, is now replaced by a deep red.

“(Y/N)?”

----------

Part 8

I hope you enjoyed the drama. Sorry if I made anyone cry! Heh heh...

I'm currently open for commissions. If you have a scenario you'd like to be written about your OC and our lovely Miguel, please check out my carrd.co or get in touch via email (also on the website)

If you wish to support me on Twitter you can find me here.

[warlordfelwinter]

exercise/exorcise

all the post lightfall oc chats with @chasing-kitsune keep making me think about delphi's fireteam. fireteam duck duck goose is canon. to me.

mirei takes delphi out for some hunter style therapy

guardian ocs, gen, post lightfall, ~1100

++

“Delphi, eyes up.” 

Delphi looked up just in time to duck under the gun that had been thrown at him. He watched Hawkmoon clatter onto the floor behind him and then looked at Mirei. The hunter leaned in his doorway, cleaning under a nail with her knife, looking for all the world like she hadn’t just tried to take his head off with his own gun. 

“What?” he asked, voice coming out a little sharper than he intended. He wasn’t exactly pleased to see Mirei, though it was no fault of hers. He wasn’t really pleased to see anyone anymore. Artemis had accused him of turning into Osiris, which was clearly meant as an insult. 

“Pick that up, we’re going on patrol,” Mirei said, nodding toward Hawkmoon. 

“Why?” 

She sheathed her knife and crossed her arms, staring at him for a long moment. He could see thoughts working behind her gaze, innumerable things she was thinking about saying. In the end she shrugged. 

“You need to kill something.” 

Delphi stared at her for a moment, trying to think of some way to argue. Mirei would leave him alone, if he asked. But it was unlike her to come get him like this. Usually her requests for him to come back to the fireteam were lighthearted, joking about dragging him into Crucible or something. There was something in her eyes this time that made him pause. She almost looked concerned, but not in the same way that everyone else was looking at him lately. 

In the end he just stalked over and snatched Hawkmoon off the floor. 

“Fine.” 

**

“Did Artemis let you into my vault?” 

With a crack, Mirei freed her trophy from the head of a dead Hobgoblin. One of quite a few in their immediate surroundings. She held up the broken eye with a grin, tossing it into the air once and catching it before her Ghost squirreled it away. She sheathed her knife and sat down next to Delphi on the ledge. 

“Yes,” she said, in response to his question. “Because she agreed with me that you needed to kill something.” 

“Did she…” 

Artemis made no reply. 

Mirei gestured at the piles of broken and tangled metal in the snow field below them. Some burnished and steaming, some impaled on solidified stasis, some still crackling with arc, some with limbs simply ripped off. “I barely did any of that,” she said. 

Delphi tapped Hawkmoon in his hand. “You’re worried about me,” he guessed. 

“Nah,” she said, dropping back into the snow. 

“Everyone else is,” he said. He looked out over the snow field. They were sheltered on their ledge from the howling wind that stirred up snow as it swept across the landscape. Delphi’s Light hummed, burning hotter to keep him warm in the frigid air. 

He thought back to the first time he had come to Europa, his first tentative steps into the Darkness. It felt strange to think about now, when he could wield Darkness just as easily as Light. Just as easily. Even now. His Light felt strange now, but it still came when he called, still leapt to his fingertips just as swiftly, still burned through his enemies just as powerfully. 

“They all talk as if it’s dead,” he said. “And they look at me like they pity me.” 

That was the worst. The pity in the Vanguard’s eyes as they tried to explain to him what they’d seen the Witness do. What he’d felt standing beneath the Veil. They all looked at him like he was going to fall apart any moment. Even Crow. Even his sister. He didn’t want pity. He wanted revenge. 

Delphi lifted Hawkmoon, aiming down the sights. It was thrumming with Light, eager to be released. As his finger started to squeeze the trigger, that burning need for vengeance took him back. Perhaps it was Artemis that pushed the memory forward, and for just a moment he saw Uldren. 

Delphi smiled, humorlessly, and pulled the trigger. The last shot in the cylinder rang out, chased by Light, that bird-like call echoing out into the emptiness of the Asterion Abyss. He lowered the gun and dropped back into the snow next to Mirei. 

“Do you feel better?” Mirei asked, after a while. 

Delphi thought about that. It had felt good to exercise some of his pent up anger on the Vex. But as the feeling ebbed, he was still angry. It was grief. That was what Artemis kept telling him. But it felt like fury. And beneath it he just felt… lost. Empty. Silent. 

“No,” he said. 

“Do you want to find more Vex?” 

“No.” 

“Do you want to go home?” 

“... No.” 

“Do you want to lay here and slowly get covered in snow and freeze to death, never to decompose and to be discovered in a million years perfectly preserved?” 

Delphi smiled, despite himself. “Yes.” 

Mirei snorted. “All right. Carinae, clear my schedule.” 

Delphi looked at her, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You are worried about me, aren’t you?” 

“No,” Mirei said, returning the look. “Because I know you and I know you’ll be fine eventually. Once you put the Witness down like you did Uldren, and then we’ll all just have to pray it doesn’t come back as your new boyfriend.” 

Another bark of laughter escaped Delphi, surprising him again. 

“How do you know?” 

“We’ve been a fireteam since the Red War,” she said. “I know you.” 

Delphi looked back at the sky, feeling strange. The cold of the snow was starting to seep up through his robes and he focused on that instead, trying not to think about how quiet it was. The wind howled and underneath it he could hear every shift of armor and snow as he breathed, as Mirei breathed. And yet it was still so silent. 

“How is Lox, anyway?” he asked, looking for a subject change. He knew Mirei kept an eye on their wayward third, whether she would admit it or not. 

“Keeping herself busy,” she said. “Giving Spider a run for his money, I think.” 

Delphi huffed, the soft laugh puffing out into the air and crystallizing, quickly pulled away by the wind. 

“Maybe we should go visit her,” he suggested after a moment. 

“You think?” 

“Yeah.” He shouldn’t. He should go back to the Tower. Go back to Neomuna. Help find a way to follow the Witness. But his voice was never loud in a room with Osiris or Ikora or Eris or Mara. So many understood paracausality and all that came with it better than him. He was a mouthpiece and he’d been cut loose. 

“The Vanguard can spare my help,” he said, looking at Mirei. “I want to break something.” 

[chompinatthebit]

Thanks for the fun, Paris

The two and a half weeks that were the Paris Olympic games are now in the books, it was a great event with a lot of elite athletes competing at the highest level. No matter what your itch is, the olympics will scratch it, I watched everything from table tennis to water polo. Obviously living in the USA, I root for the American athletes to do well but it's fun watching other nations celebrate medals. It's time to reflect on the games, taking a look at what these games will be remembered for as we are on the road to 2028.

I think we can all agree that the idea of breaking or break dancing being involved in the Olympics was going to be intriguing. I can say that it will be remembered for a while, probably not for the best reasons, it was defined by a woman from Australia earning a zero. I'm sure that you've seen the routine, if not, please check it out. As of right now it seems like breaking will be one and done as it won't be returning for the 2028 games.

This was a redemption tour for Simone Biles, re-establishing her dominance after a rough performance in Tokyo back in 2020. In Tokyo she pulled out after citing her mental health, she didn't look like her normal self at all. She medaled in Tokyo but you could tell something was off, didn't want to make it seem like she did nothing. In Paris, Simone earned gold medals for the individual all around, team all around and vault. She added a silver medal for floor exercise, 4 total medals with her expressing joy and confidence that seemed to be missing in Tokyo.

This is 16 year old Quincy Wilson who made his Olympic debut in Paris and earned a gold medal as part of the 4x400 meter relay team. The coolest part of his winning a gold is the fact that he became the youngest ever to win a gold medal, now he becomes someone that I will be looking out for in 2028.

There were many more moments but that's every Olympics, whether it's summer or winter. The 2028 Olympics will be in Los Angeles as was introduced during the closing ceremonies with Tom Cruise lowering in to the arena and taking the flag to LA.

LA will see the return and introduction of 5 sports that weren't part of the Paris games. Baseball and Softball will be making a return, they were last played back in 2008. Lacrosse and Cricket are also making a return, but they haven't been in the Olympics since 1908 and 1900, respectively. Squash and Flag Football will be brand new to the Olympics. I'm excited to see them all in 2028, are you?

Make sure to follow me both @chompinatthebit and @passionandprecision with my co-host who you can also follow @jorissportsstories. Let me know what you think.

Until next time...

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I don't normally like farmhouses, but efschetely changed my mind when she sent this one. It's very well done. This is a 1990 modern farmhouse in Pittsburgh, PA. It has 5bds, 5ba, and is $1.79M.

Open the pretty front barn doors. I like the tree in the corner.

The architectural details are wonderful- the ceiling, stone fireplace and wood accents.

There's a lovely balcony and a walkway across the width of the room.

I don't know how it could've been built in the 90s, look at the floor. Maybe they used the date that it was renovated, not built, or the floor is architectural salvage.

Huge kitchen, but it's so cute. I like the finish on the giant island and the colorful backsplash by the stove.

I like the shelving tucked in there.

Large casual dining area with doors to the deck.

And, the open concept area has a family room, as they usually do.

I don't know what this is, a pantry with a kitchen? It's an extra kitchen.

Twin facing stairs to the 2nd level.

Large primary bedroom with a vaulted ceiling and doors to a private terrace.

Walk-in closet/dressing room.

The en-suite bath is spacious.

This is either a great bedroom for an avid reader or it could make a nice library.

Finished attic has a TV room and an office area.

Now, we're on the ground floor and there's another family room.

There's an exercise area in this corner.

Plus, a wine cellar.

Oh, my, a library! Wow, I didn't expect this.

There's lots of land- 6 acres. Here, they have a lovely container garden with a table & chairs.

This is so nice by the fire pit.

Large deck on the house.

The very large property has a lot of beautiful trees and privacy.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/700-Bending-Oak-Ln-Pittsburgh-PA-15238/11487678_zpid/

[choccy-zefirka]

The sky is a bowl of swirling tinted water. The little droplet of blue ink that was eye-dropped into the rich streaks of orange and peach, somewhere far at the horizon, has now begun to spread. By the minute, it grows more saturated, more condensed. The vibrant mix of sunset paints is now velvety dark, all the more so in contrast with the first shimmer of the stars.

Kenyatta — carelessly sprawled in an armchair with her legs dangling over one of the arm rests and a scroll with diagrams of sick peki symptoms in her lap — could really use a lamp to make out all the little details of plumage falling out. But the truth is, she stopped reading quite a while ago.

"Huh, the night sky hasn't been this clear in days," she notes, pulling out the pencil she’s been lazily chewing and pointing at the window.

Chayne glances away from the tea he's been brewing for himself and his apprentice, and smiles softly.

"I did not know you had an eye for such things. It warms my heart when people stop and contemplate the beauty of everything Maji has given us."

Kenyatta blows her hair out of her face.

"Well, of course I have an eye for such things! Like, my brilliant strategy for sneaking out to see Nai'o is gonna be completely different in different weather! But anyways — "

She re-contorts herself into a more... conventional sitting position, and stares straight at Chayne.

"I am not just making fancy small talk. The sky is clear, which means you can go off and do your stargazing schtick."

Chayne shakes his head in fond amusement.

"A little ruse to cut tonight's lesson short, I see. I cannot blame you. It is getting rather late, and I know you have less patience for reading theory than for healing real animals."

"Oh for the Dragon's sake, old man!"

Kenyatta protests so loudly that Chayne nearly smashes his poor little teapot.

As he frantically clutches it in his clumsy oven-mitted hands, she goes on, arms dramatically up in the air.

"You promised you-know-who you'd stargaze with her! Heard that with my own ears!"

Thankfully, the teapot is safely back on its tray, among the teacups and stacks of round little cakes. Because this time, Chayne would surely have dropped it to the floor.

You-know-who. She means Phoebe. Of course she means Phoebe.

Phoebe Nix — the name given to the disoriented, amnesiac stranger by Jina, as a bit of wordplay. For it sounds a lot like Phoenix, and she is the Phoenix's child. One of the many warm-skinned, round-eared puzzle pieces — not unwelcome, yet still strange — that came pouring out of the old human ruins that one fateful day, forming a picture of a new future that is still incomplete. One of many, but somehow, standing out to Chayne in particular. Eyes sharp and clever, messy ponytail dyed into the splendor of sunset; always on the move, always exploring, always so full of eager questions, and so excited to help whichever Kilima resident she runs into.

Day after day, he's found himself smiling at her... First during their conversations, at the shrine to Maji or in his humble home or along his daily route through the village. Then, at the very first sight of her racing up to him through the swaying grass, waving, flushed with the strain of exercise (what else could it be?), bright orange leaves caught in her hair like a glittering crown... And then, at the mere hint of soft silvery smoke rising over the hills, from where the humans have started making a home for themselves. Because that must mean she is home, she is here, safe and sound, not hopping from cliff to cliff on her glider (Chayne knows she always sticks a landing, he knows she had plenty of practice before taking to the sky; he truly does; but the first time he saw her vault across that spinning blue, higher than the windmill wings, his heart nearly burst through his robe).

Maji alone can tell what his face must have looked like as his thoughts tumbled down this chapaa hole. All he is aware of, is the intense heat pooling all over his cheekbones and biting at his ear tips. Next, very suddenly and very acutely, he also becomes aware of Kenyatta. Still staring at him. Expectant.

"Well? You can see the stars bright and clear tonight, and our lesson is just about over — you're out of excuses this time around. Just visit that human already!"

"Surely, she is busy," Chayne mumbles weakly.

That is always his last resort, as far as excuses go — now that bad weather and his duties are off the table.

She is busy; she has to be! There are always so many people who want her to rush off to see them, to lend a hand. From Zeki with his... savvy business plans, to Badruu with his farm troubles, to Elouisa with her cryptid sightings, to fellow humans with their ceaseless hunt for new Flow groves. Surely, Phoebe will have no time to entertain a foolish old priest, who only suggested watching the night sky together because he'd been holding her gaze for too long, and the ache that had sprung up somewhere between his heart and his stomach had gotten too strong, too sharp and, paradoxically, too sweet... And then his tongue slipped.

He would never fathom that Phoebe might actually take him up on the offer. He would never dare be so presumptuous. Hers is to discover this new world she awoke in; his is to give her guidance along the way, as a good Shepp should. Never straying from his duty. Never doing anything selfish.

"Ugh, why are you like this!" Kenyatta groans. "You can't keep letting us down!"

Chayne blinks, fumbles his way out of his mitts, and takes off his (slightly cloudy) glasses to wipe them off — so confused that the image of Phoebe, hovering among puffs of pink in his mind's eye, pops out of existence like a carnival balloon punctured by a Grimalkin claw.

"Us?" he echoes, barely aware of how he's hoisted his glasses back on his nose. "Who is 'us'?"

"Oh, you know!" Kenyatta shoves the pencil behind her ear and begins curling her fingers to count off names. "Me, Jel, Tish, Reth, Zeki sometimes... Nai'o is also there, and Auni always tries to poke his head into our business, but we don't let him 'cause he's too young to get it..."

"Get what?"

"The thing you and Phoebe have going on! Obviously!"

Kenyatta rolls her eyes. Another teacher might have scolded his apprentice for such an overly familiar demeanor, but Chayne is too petrified — and every word she says next only makes his stupor worse.

"I think Tish was first to notice the way she looked at you when you weren't watching, and the way you looked at her when she wasn't. Tish told Jel, who was obviously over the moons with the..."

She ruffles her hair and comically changes the pitch of her voice, obviously miming Kilima's melancholy tailor.

"The romance of it all!"

Her voice returns to normal, and she crosses her legs, tapping one foot on the floor.

"And now, here we are. Gathering at the reading hall now and then. Watching. Waiting for either one of you to make a move. Zeki wanted to egg us into betting on who cracks first... Ugh, I sounded like Nai'o's old man back there..." Kenyatta huffs, making about a quarter of an effort to show disdain.

"But Caleri said no gambling at the library; and good thing too, cause as your apprentice, I would have been, like, honor-bound to bet on you or whatever, and I don't like losing. Unless — "

The taps grow faster, more impatient — the only thing punctuating the heavy silence that has fallen over Chayne's living room.

Maji preserve him, what has he stepped into?! Of course, this is all a terrible, terrible misunderstanding. A group of gossiping youths, restless in the sleepy quiet of their village, seeing storybook intrigue where there is none. That is normal; nothing to be outraged about. He just wishes he did not give reason for their imagination to run wild, with his... his foolishness.

Chayne's heart plummets; for a moment, he feels light-headed, feeble almost. Oh no. Oh no no. If Tish and the others saw his air-brained gawking and read too much into it, could Phoebe have also done the same? Great Dragon above, what would she think of him? It is bad enough he once asked her to run errands for him, when they both have their commitments to the village!

That... outlandish notion Jel came up with is not exactly forbidden for Majiri priests, but... Chayne cannot... must not, ever, be allowed to even consider that! That would be asking for too much, far, far too much! Phoebe cannot be led to believe… to realize… he actually wants that!

"Perhaps, " he mutters out loud, not really addressing Kenyatta. Her ears perk up nonetheless.

"Perhaps I should clear the air with Phoebe. Explain that I cherish her friendship and — "

"Yes! Finally! Progress!"

She leaps out of the armchair and nigh drags him to the front door, like she's a feisty ormuu and he's a heavy, clunky plow.

"Go on, you old muujin! Get that human! Don't worry, I will clean up!"

"I am not — "

He tries to object, but the door of his own house slams in his face, and he is left alone with the cold night breeze that soothes his burning flush, but only for a few moments.

No choice left but head for Phoebe's, then.

He has been to her house a couple of times before. Once, he rushed here with an unseen iron wire cutting into his spine and discomfort squirming in his stomach. Nothing makes him feel worse than conflict. He came to apologize for being short with Phoebe, when she told him she'd asked for help on his behalf, when he had expressly begged her not to (after all, he was imposing too much on the community already by letting his moon observations distract him from his work). One look on her face, one smile of forgiveness, was enough to put him at ease.

"Getting help is not a failure, you know," she told him, and while he is still uncertain if he's... allowed to believe this, that moment still glows within his memory, like a Crystal Lake lotus, delicately plucked and put on display. Because she took his hand into hers.

And then there was that night — or, well, very early morning; he remembers the faint green tint in the sky, the first inklings of dawn — when he walked her back from her Acceptance Ceremony. It had been a wonderful, heartwarming occasion, with fireworks and festive wreaths, mouthwatering food, and, of course, a generous flow of drinks — for which Phoebe had all the enthusiasm of Sifuu, but none of her tolerance. She clung on to him all the way from the Mayor's mansion, erupting into the sweetest giggles whenever she almost sent them both tumbling to the ground, and gushing on and on about what an incredible Shepp he was, and how perfectly handsome. Chayne himself had... imbibed somewhat, mostly to be polite and to show appreciation for all the hard work his dear friend Ashura had put into the preparations. At the time, Phoebe's slurred praises went to his head, and he almost accepted them as more than silly ramblings. He almost believed that she meant it when she blurted out, "You have such a beauuuuutiful, kind smile, and your nose is so lovely! I'd boop it over and over if I... hic!... could!"

Now, of course, he knows better. She remembered none of this when she woke up, and he had best forget it as well.

Now. Here comes the final bend along the path, and the familiar rickety gate. And beyond, is his destination. Oddly recognizable in how… unrecognizable it is.

Each time he stepped foot on Phoebe's little land plot, her house looked entirely different. And so it does tonight as well. The cluster of ever-branching, asymmetrical wings — bristling with scaffolding, and far more maze-like than most of the other human residences he has seen — is constantly being reshaped, renovated, and rebuilt anew. It seems that, whenever Phoebe is not mingling with the Majiri or with her own people, she is always neck-deep in some elaborate construction project. And if not that, then digging around in her garden, which also expands and changes with each new visit.

She is doing that just now, it seems: Chayne spots her as he hovers tentatively behind her fence, and the corners of his lips move up, without fail, like they always do, the instant he makes out her silhouette. She is digging a narrow groove in the ground, leading towards the dark, rustling silhouettes of her apple trees... The first inklings of an irrigation system, perhaps?

She's brought along an oil lamp to see by, securing it in the metal jaws of one of the several clockwork chapaa that dot her front lawn. Its glow falls upon her like a cloak of gold, allowing Chayne to, dare he say (he shouldn’t) bask in the sight of her, from muddied overalls to unruly hair… Until that sweet ache blooms within him once again.

"It is rather late for gardening… Are you certain it is safe?"

He scarcely hears his own voice — for him, there is only her abrupt exclamation of surprise, and then the sound of his name, bouncing joyfully off her lips.

"Chayne! You remembered! I was wondering if you'd ever come by!"

"I wanted to — "

Wanted to make certain I am not acting untoward, he plans to say. Or something along those lines. Something that befits a wise spiritual master, a Shepp, a conduit of Maji's light... But in a few leaps, she is beside him, clasping his hand again in her earth-smudged fingers... And then drawing back.

"Sorry. Boundaries. I am a little, uh, sleep-deprived. Been working non-stop on all sorts of things. Experimenting with this and that. But I will..."

She wipes her hands along her pant legs. Again and again, long past cleaning them.

"I will gladly stargaze with you, like I always... Like we planned."

Chayne squints in the bleary mix of starlight and the now distant lamp. Phoebe does look rather more frazzled than usual. It could be the play of light and shadow, but are those... Dark circles under her eyes?

Come to think of it, the last time she came by his shrine, she was frantic, jittery, and did not stop for long.

All the wilting poetic anguish, which Jel would have surely reveled in watching, vanishes from Chayne's mind. He is now a Shepp, first and foremost. And a friend.

"Are you feeling well, child of the Phoenix?" he asks, as tenderly as he can, laying a hand on her shoulder without second thought. "You said you were not getting enough sleep."

"It's nothing, I just want to get so many things done in a day, I — "

She looks up at him, transfixed by something in his eyes... And suddenly lurches forward and buries her head in his robe.

They've never been so close. Not even when she swayed next to him in their drunk embrace. He swears he hears her heart thumping next to his, fast, erratic... Frightened?

"I don't want to lie down and close my eyes. I... I know it makes me sound like a petulant toddler, but..."

Her hands travel up his chest now, clutching at the fabric. Like he is the sole anchor keeping her from drowning.

"The moment I slow down, the moment I'm left in the quiet with my own thoughts... I start panicking. You know how you discovered odd volcanic flashes on the moon? And how my people vanished before? In a huge, devastating disaster? What if..."

Her voice crumples into a tiny, helpless whisper, and Chayne suddenly finds his fingers gliding through the tangled strands of her ponytail. Stroking her head in comfort.

"What if our return is a bad omen? What if we are destined to bring about some terrible doom upon... all of you?"

She tears away from him to look up in his face again.

"I can't bear to imagine it. But the thought haunts me; it comes back, again and again, whenever my hands are not doing something, building or gardening or I don't know what; whenever I am not so dead-tired I just collapse. I..."

Her voice, her lovely, energetic voice, which has always been like a song to Chayne's ears, cracks into a hoarse half-sob.

"I am so sorry. I did not mean to come here. None of us did. I've... I've fallen in love..."

She casts her eyes down and blushes deeply. Humans have such a rich skin tone palette compared to Majiri; she is one of the pale-pink ones, which makes the rush of blood to her face incredibly obvious, even in the night.

"...With Palia... But if whoever sent me here meant for me to be a weapon of its destruction..."

"Phoebe..."

For a while, Chayne has no words left in him, save for her name.

He wraps his arms around her, locking them tight, and holds her until the frenzied drum inside her chest slows down, falling in time with his own heart's rhythm. She is warm and soft, and smells of damp earth and fresh apples, with a sharp tang of paint, from whatever she must have been tinkering with inside her house. He ought to comfort her as a Shepp would, dependable and selfless and wise... But instead, he drinks in her scent until his head spins, and wins the bet Kenyatta never got to make.

The kiss he gives her is almost chaste — an awkward brush of lips against lips. He is rather out of practice for anything more. When was the last time his mouth touched something that was not a relic of Maji, or the forehead of a devout spiritual sibling? Oh, so many years ago, back when he was still a young wanderer, looking for his purpose. But even this small kiss is already scandalous, and the instant their lips part, he's already mentally berating himself. Will Phoebe ever forgive him for this?

She lifts her hand to his face, tracing the outline of first his jaw, then his beard.

"Will you ever forgive me for this, Chayne?" she whispers, through rising tears. "For upsetting the balance in your world, for disturbing your peace..."

"You never did that," he mouths, his own voice beginning to tremble. He takes a few steps away from Phoebe, but only to properly look upon her once again. His hands find hers, and do not let go.

"Your people strengthened our peace; you brought us joy and companionship and new knowledge. The Phoenix has not yet revealed to us why you are here, but I trust in Her will, and in Maji's. I refuse to believe that something that made us all so happy — made me so happy — is a sign of the end times."

She parts her lips to reply... But is abruptly cut off by a deafening clamor that has erupted inside her house. Something, somewhere — another one of her late-night projects? — has collapsed, sounding like two Galdur rolling down a hill, hitting rocks incessantly along the way and perhaps also punching one another.

Phoebe whips her head around.

"I should... Probably check on that," she says.

Chayne sharply inhales the cold, sobering night air. Gods. He could have shared all those encouraging words without —

"But it can wait."

Turning back to him, she pulls him in again — and returns the kiss. Open-mouthed. With her tongue caressing his. With her scent headier than ever. He closes his eyes, glasses knocked sideways, and surrenders himself to this nigh-divine trance, comparable only to his most fervent prayers to the Dragon God.

She is doing this on a poorly considered impulse, she is overly emotional and sleep-deprived, do not presume she wants you as much as you want her, he tries to warn himself. But her hands are back on his chest, touching him, guiding him, inviting him. They are over the fence now, past her porch, through the front door.

Inside, her house seems to be as much of an elaborate maze as outside — but he has no time to study the layout, or even deduce what it was that fell and broke so loudly. For now, the only relevant piece of interior is the couch she pushes him onto, pillows and plush chapaa raining from under him in all directions.

Oh, the young matchmakers from the library would surely hate a fade to black, but he and Phoebe need their privacy. Even Maji himself would have to wait until Chayne is… available.

[gabriellerudessa]

Compass (Norm Maclean x OC) - II

“Terrible hosts, all of you. Not you, Goose, he has food and I know it’s only because of you.” That made everyone drop quiet.

“Ma-”

“He’s your guest, Marigold, I bet you didn’t even introduced him or everyone else for that matter.” Marigold closed her mouth and actually pouted. “Sorry about it, darling, Marigold is too much a child of the desert and forgets the basics.”

AO3 | Part I | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Part XI | Part XII | Part XIII | Part XIV | Part XV | Part XVI | Part XVII | Part XVIII | Part XIX | Part XX | Part XXI (Smut) | Part XXII | Part XXIII | Part XXIV | Part XXV | Part XXVI (Smut) | Part XXVII | Part XXVIII | Part XXIX | Part XXX | Part XXXI | Part XXXII | Part XXXIII |

PLAYLIST ON YOUTUBE

Words: 4.435

Warnings: None

II

The sun kept rising in the sky and they kept walking, mostly in silence. They had stopped only once, and Norm watched Marigold string together the bunch of the so called radroaches that fell on the trap, hanging them from her backpack with a string net over it, and collect the pieces of the traps - all the time mumbling about "not catching a molerat this time" and "can't believe I'll have to search an actual nest".

Norm had felt first a wave of gratefulness, for Marigold stopping him from going in the middle of the night, and then relief that he had turned off the light when he did: the giant insects were horrifying and the... Teeth, mandibles, whatever, were huge. She had said they were nasty in a group, but Norm was pretty sure a single one would be enough to finish what the invaders hadn't.

Marigold probably hadn’t killed him just because she knew the Wasteland would have done a better and faster job.

What exactly was he doing on the surface again?

Oh yeah, finding his sister because their lying father had been kidnapped and if Norm remained things would've ended badly for him because they were all supposed be agreeable rats in a lab.

The heat and the sun and all the walking with nothing but sand and ruins to see no matter where he looked were probably worsening his mood, he admitted. Norm was pretty sure he would start a pointless discussion if they started talking; not even one for information, no, just pointless bickering for the sake of bickering.

He preferred to exercise pointless bickering with Lucy. And Chet.

God he missed them.

Norm threw a look at Marigold: face relaxed, steps sure, absolutely not looking affected at all, a fast but easy to accompany pace. He was certain that she would’ve reached wherever they were going already if not for him.

What his father had been saying in Lucy's marriage, before the attack? Something about "keep the candle of civilization lit" and "repopulating the surface"? Yeah, right, he knew the people of his Vault, the lack of an acclimatized environment would end that plan fast.

Norm looked at the desert again, a tall sandy hill ahead, tips of iron and concrete almost seeming to bloom from the ground.

"Our ranch is after the hill. It's not long now..." She looked at the sky and grinned. "We'll be in time for lunch. C’mon."

The word "lunch" was enough to cause a grumble from his stomach. Damn it, he was really trying to not remember he was hungry.

---------

He noticed the wind generators before they reached the top of the hill, spinning with the wind.

The rest of the ranch came later, and while Norm didn't know what he had been expecting, he knew it wasn't the spread-out and mismatched jumble of three buildings one-floor height – even if two were mostly one-room sized – made of wood and concrete with what appeared to be solar generators on the roof, the wind generators to one side, a tall metal fence with a gate and three two-floor towers with... Something on the top, he really couldn't see yet. Even with the distance it was easy to notice how things had been added and fixed along the time, no real pattern or organized plan, but... Well kept. With signs of being lived in – a line with clothes hanging and fluttering in the wind, people like ants coming and going.

A home to someone.

"How old is the ranch?" it came just as they started down the hill, Marigold ahead, Norm doing his best to step exactly where she had – that side had more metal and concrete sticking out from the ground and he didn’t want to risk getting hurt.

"Ehh, it was started some decades after the bombs, I think, by one of my great-great-grandpas. Can't say how many generations passed by at this point."

As they reached the foot of the hill and approached more, he finally identified the tops of the towers: some type of defense turret, two per tower, facing different directions.

Norm replayed her words about the dangerous animals and people roaming the Wasteland. Considering what he had seen first-hand in the Vault, he was actually a little surprised they had managed to hold on in the same place for so long.

Marigold's steps slowed, and Norm slowed too, looking in time to see her frowning and squinting.

"What?"

"Those turrets ain't static."

Oh.

She put her thumb and forefinger to the sides of her mouth and gave a sharp, rhythmic whistle, and Norm winced as the sound pierced his ears.

Seconds later, an answering whistle traveled through the air, a different rhythm, and Marigold relaxed, waving for them to keep going, steps faster.

Well. Either he died there, or outside.

At least inside he had a chance of learning more without risking a heat stroke.

---------

A woman was waiting by the metal gate, holding it open for them, hair mostly white  and gathered at the top of her head, skin already showing wrinkles and sun spots, and equally tall and huge – figures –, in leather pants and t-shirt, two guns dangling from her belt.

"Norm, that's my Ma, Guadalupe; Ma, this here is Norm." Marigold made the introductions as Guadalupe closed and locked the gate.

"Pleasure to meet you, Norm. Welcome and be safe here."

"Thanks, ma'am." The answer surprised him, with how it was his default when dealing with the grandmas of the Vault when he was kid, always saying "you should eat more, Norm my dear, you're so skinny". It was just… Hard to talk back to them; they were inexplicably terrifying. And something in Guadalupe was the same.

"Ma'am, hm?" the woman grinned, and it was the same he had seem on Marigold's face. No way to deny the connection.

"Ma don't start."

"I didn't say anything."

"But you're thinking. Why the turrets ain't moving? I verified everything with Dad before I left."

That made Guadalupe's grin fall, a sigh in place as she started pushing both of them towards the building.

"It's something with the programming, from what we gathered." Marigold opened her mouth, Guadalupe was faster. "Lunch first."

"The radroaches..."

"I'll take them to the Drying room, anything else can be dealt with later." Norm barely saw her fingers unhook the strung insects. "Now go and show him to some food, for God's sake! Guests don't starve here!" were her parting words, as she walked fast to one of the separated buildings.

Norm blinked at her retreating back. How she managed to sound exactly like those grandmas all those years ago, even if not with the same words, or even meeting them?

Marigold let out a sigh, hands at her hips and shaking her head while looking the building.

"Sorry. Ma... Well. Hm."

Yeah. "Well. Hm." It was clear one didn't say “no” to Guadalupe.

"Thanks for, you know, letting me choose and not outright dragging me."

Marigold actually winced at that.

"Yeeeah, she totally would've had. That’s actually a good summarization of how my three adoptive siblings ended up here."

Adoptive siblings. He was starting to understand why he hadn’t been killed.

"Then they weren't adopted, they were dragged."

The words, delivered in a small sarcastic note, pulled out a short laugh from Marigold.

"Can't disagree. Let's go eat, before she notices we haven't moved."

Norm started following her to the bigger building, noticing the lack of windows. Then his brain made him the favor of remembering the "food is food" about the radroaches, and he almost, almost turned back. The fact and knowledge that he hadn't enough food for many days and at some point he would need to eat what the people on the surface ate kept him following Marigold.

---------

They were by the door when Marigold leaned towards him, hand at the handle, the sound of voices reaching them – loud and enthusiastic.

“Fair warning: while they’ll probably not bother you too much, being a guest and all, sometimes my family can be a lot and too fucking curious, so if anyone starts making you uncomfortable or anything, just tell them to shut up and it should be fine, all righty?”

“That’s… Kind of rude.” And it was a useless way to try and get information.

Marigold gave a cheeky grin, the gap in her teeth making it seem all the more trouble in the light of day.

“We are a very big family. Telling someone that is being annoying to shut up is the tamest thing you’ll hear, believe me.” Marigold opened the door and nodded her head for him to go first.

“Very big family”; Norm wondered how big. Most families in the Vault were the two parents and at most two kids. With how old people could get, too many kids would strain the resources.

That is, if you didn’t consider the whole Vault a single family, but each family had their own separated space, so he wasn’t sure if this comparison would hold.

The door led into a large single space, walls and floor made of worn down wood.

And before anything else, he noticed that it was filled with people, loudly talking, sitting all around worn sofas and chairs and ground and holding plates of food. He counted nine people, four of them clearly kids, sat over the single old fur rug in the middle.

He heard the door closing, and one woman raised her head at them, smiling.

“Heya, Marigold arrived and she brought a guest!”

There was a collective holler of sound and they were the center of attention. A bunch of people were talking at the same time, and he just barely understood someone asking for a name and another one about “where she had found the keychain they wanted one too”, and Norm only had noticed because there was a sharp following of “Moose Bear don’t you fucking dare”.

How they managed to hear each other?

Also keychain was a new one.

“Yeah yeah, you lot missed me, I got it.” Marigold screamed in answer to her family. “C’mon get a plate for ourselves.” She had finished putting the rifle and backpack down, touching his shoulder to get his attention.

The kitchen was just a follow up of the living room, to the left of the door, no walls separating it. A wooden table in the middle with pots and pans and bowls – cracked and old and stained, but clean –, another one against the wall, one tall cupboard with mismatched doors, a wood stove with the fire still lit… And a woman sitting by the table in the middle, a plate with her, the blond hair so light it was almost white, watching it all with a soft smile.

Marigold approached and gave her a half hug, kissing her hair.

“They’re being a bit too loud today?”

Norm had approached the table, sneaking glances inside the objects and hearing the two of them. He could barely identify the foods as plant-adjacent and meat-adjacent. The smells didn’t give better clues.

Not good.

“Juuust a little bit. Moose managed to hunt two mirelurks and they are excited with the stew and the cooked legs and what to do with the carapaces.”

What the hell was a mirelurk? He was pretty sure Marigold hadn’t mentioned those last night.

He found the single pot with stew. The color wasn’t… Encouraging him. Neither was the weird salty smell.

This was just getting better and better.

“I thought I had smelled it. Hey Norm.” he raised his head, blinking as Marigold extended a white ceramic plate towards him – clean, chipped at the edges and the color stained a dull yellow by age – and a slightly bent fork. “Go right ahead, get whatever and how much you want.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, starting to pile her own plate, enough for it to turn into a small mountain, and plopped down by the sofas on the other side, immediately getting involved in the loud talk.

Norm looked again at all the unfamiliar… Food, he would call it all food because it was what everyone was eating, no matter how unfamiliar it was. Or… Unappetizing it looked.

“Norm, right?”

He looked at the woman, still sitting, and with how her head was upturned, he could see a scar circling all around her neck, old but still angry looking.

“Yes, right. I… Didn’t get your name.” Of no one besides Ma Guadalupe, actually, but one step at a time.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much Marigold for you. Slightly scatter-brained when at home.” She smiled, no heat behind her words. “I’m Goose. I’m also the one that usually cooks, so if you need help to choose, just ask.”

“I don’t even know at what I’m looking.” Norm admitted, looking over everything again, and Goose chuckled.

“Ah. Vault dweller indeed. I met some when I was a kid. Let’s see if I can help you.”

Her mention of meeting Vault Dwellers almost took his brain towards how it could be possible, but then she got up – and finally someone normal sized, not that much taller than him – and started pointing and naming things. He would try and ask later.

Some, while not familiar looking, seemed a safer bet, like the cooked maize that remembered corn, the thin and twisted carrots, and the salad made of a bunch of different flowers and leaves – he didn’t recognize them, but it was closer to what they had in the Vault on day-to-day life.

The meat-adjacent were a whole other thing. Besides the stew, one bowl had the so-called mirelurk legs, and they looked like crab legs but twenty times bigger. He had never eaten it, but had seen pictures. It made the stew all the more suspicious, the pieces of meat in it just… Weird and everything too big for the pictures he had seen.

First the radroaches and now this.

When they talked about mutations caused by radiation in the Vault, he expected tumors and what like, not freaking gigantism in arthropods as if they were back to the Carboniferous age.

“And this is roasted ant, seasoned with jalapenos, salt and mushrooms. If you don’t have a taste for peppers of any type, I don’t recommend.”

Norm looked again at the meat.

Roasted ant, Goose called.

It sure looked… Weird. Not ant-shaped, each piece the size of his hand, but he didn’t doubt that it was indeed another gigantic arthropod. Please no giant spiders.

The color was slightly less weird than the mirelurk-thingies, so it was what he put alongside the plant-adjacent food, if just not to look out of place.

“Thank you, Goose.”

She nodded, and since there wasn’t any free chair close to the table, he conformed himself with finding a place to sit amidst the loud group.

Aaand he was pretty sure the free spot at one of the sofas wasn’t there before. It was social trap if he had ever seen one, he just didn’t know for what.

Since there was a locked gate between him and the rest of the land, and it was either the maybe-cannibals inside and whatever the hell had mutated out there that had crab legs bigger than his arms, Norm thought he would take his chances with the maybe-cannibals. Humans he understood better than animals, at least.

His approach didn’t interrupt the talks in any way, the woman and old man besides the spot just nodding briefly at him. He still felt some brief looks.

“Yeah, the route was way too calm this time, Pa Isaac. I didn’t catch a single molerat.” It was Marigold, breaking one of the mirelurk legs and using her fingers to scoop out the meat inside – and he better focus on trying to eat what was on his own plate or he would start to wonder if she had cleaned her hands.

Damn it, too late, he was already wondering.

“But I did found a bunch of materials we needed, no need to expend caps in Filly or whatever.”

Norm stabbed some of the weird orange-ish flowers, looking it over. Broc flower, Goose had called it.

“Damn it, Goldie, there was a bloody pack of stingwings on mine.” The man on the other side of the woman to his left groaned.

“You forgot the bloatflies.” One of the boys sitting on the rug complemented, thin, hair the same blond-white from Goose.

Norm took a small bite of the flower, slowly chewing; a distinct natural spiciness that slowly became slightly bitter, the texture harder and drier than it looked for a flower. Not… Bad, but definitely weird.

“That’s what you get for being the bigger target, Moose.”

“Fuck off, Goldie.”

He finished the flower and stabbed a cooked carrot, thin and twisted.

“Took care of the stingwings nest?” the older man besides him, head shaved and tattooed.

The taste was… Slightly sweet. With certain spiciness. Familiar, but also different.

“Burnt every single egg, don’t worry.”

Norm kept carefully tasting the plants, the maize almost corn in taste, which was bittersweet. He purposefully left the ant for last – he really wasn’t excited for it.

“I noticed y’all sold some leather. Which caravan appeared?” The Moose man again.

“Nip-Nip.” The woman besides him answered, and there was a collective groan and curse from Marigold, Moose, the boy, and the man besides him.

“Motherfucker, seriously?”

“Don’t worry, he didn’t try to rip us off this time. Mika hitting his hat off his head from a hundred-fifty feet the other time really sold it.” Another older man, thick white beard covering his face.

Norm looked at his plate; all the plants had been eaten, and only the roasted ant remained. He was really doubtful it would be as… Palatable and agreeable as the plants.

He heard a door open, and looked sideways to see Guadalupe entering.

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing big, love.” The man besides him.

“Your plate, cariño.” The bearded man.

“Thanks, sweeties.”

Norm watched Guadalupe take the plate and kiss the forehead of both men – wait what? –, before sitting in a place on another sofa that had apparently magically appeared, practically in front of him – an Overseer analyzing the person that had just arrived. Yeah. A social trap. One that had just closed around him.

She looked at all of her family, looked at Norm, and rubbed at her temple.

“Terrible hosts, all of you. Not you, Goose, he has food and I know it’s only because of you.” That made everyone drop quiet.

“Ma-”

“He’s your guest, Marigold, I bet you didn’t even introduced him or everyone else for that matter.” Marigold closed her mouth and actually pouted. “Sorry about it, darling, Marigold is too much a child of the desert and forgets the basics.”

Marigold’s lips moved, whatever she mumbled too low for Norm to hear, but not her mother: Guadalupe’s hand, lightning fast, reached behind the man besides her to reach Marigold, and Norm only heard a yelp, the woman jumping and almost dropping her plate as she started rubbing at her waist. Guadalupe didn’t even turn her head.

Norm almost raised a hand to his cheek, the phantom pain of terrifying grandmas pinching his cheeks coming with a vengeance.

“So Norm, darling, those are my husbands, Isaac and Francesco,” she pointed to the two older men, his mind echoing a ‘is this allowed?’ “my stepson Jonas but Moose at this point is his name, his wife Stacy, and their twins Evie and Josh.” Guadalupe pointed at the tallest man and the woman besides Norm, and two kids that hadn’t talked much if at all. “Moth, Goose’s son,” she pointed at the thin boy “Mika, and… Where’s Lily?” Guadalupe touched the shoulder of the man besides her.

“Here, grandma.” Norm almost jumped at the thin voice just behind him, turning to see a girl that should have at most seven years, crossed arms over the backrest. “The number. It’s a Vault marked on our map.”

So all the family knew about his Vault and its location, information about the routes obviously shared in some capacity. Should he be worried?

“We know, dear. Have you eaten yet?”

“… Well…”

“Food, now.” Guadalupe’s voice didn’t broker arguments, and Lily went with a sigh. “And, family, this is Norm, Marigold’s guest. Again, be welcome.”

“Thanks, ma’am. Again.”

Norm blinked, slightly overwhelmed by all information – who was child of whom again? –, and then noticed Mika sign something that caused a wave of chuckles. It didn’t resemble the holotapes of ASL he had seen in the Vault, which didn’t surprise him after two hundred years and the isolation of that family.

And just like that, the talk started again, loud and animated and it almost made him remember the Vault and the occasional parties.

Norm looked at the piece of ant still in his plate and sighed. Well… At least it wasn’t the radroaches he had seen. It should be fine, mostly because he hadn’t seen it alive.

He cut a small piece, and it almost literally melted, with how soft the texture was; some taste of the jalapenos and mushrooms could be felt, but in general the meat was just… Bland with a slight sugary aftertaste and a greasy feeling.

It was weird. Too weird. He should’ve kept to the plants.

---------

Her side was still aching. Fuck, it had been ages since the last time Ma had pinched her, she had forgot how much it hurt.

Marigold finished sucking the last of mirelurk meat from the legs, the tenderness and taste just perfect, the saltiness, ginger and onion helping ward off the radiation aftertaste. Goose miracle worker as always.

Looking at Norm, she could clearly see, as he took small bites of the roasted ant, that he was trying to be… What was the word? Ah, polite. But his eyes were just too tense. It hadn’t been as bad with the plants, but insect meat really wasn’t his jam.

For a moment she wondered what Vaulties had been eating, and if she didn’t had more urgent things to worry, she would’ve asked. It sure would spark the best of talks.

“All right, Ma, I’ve eaten. What’s the thing with the turrets?”

A collective groan. Mika signed a string of curses, so fast she missed half of it.

“The programming. It has some type of error, right now it’s powering the fans from the Tanning room, the heater from the Drying room, and the lights, but the freezers are spotty and every time we try to make it power the turrets and the fence too, one of the others falls. We are literally having to choose.” Lily explained from her place in the rug, voice small; probably wondering if she had missed or misremembered something Catarina had been teaching in between her visits.

Marigold winced, both because Lily was only seven and shouldn’t be demanding so much from herself, and because she was useless with anything technology-adjacent; she still believed what Catarina had said when they were kids, that it was “magic” – her difficulty with reading terminals certainly didn’t help.

“And I verified the generators, fuses and batteries, it’s all perfectly functioning.” Dad Francesco pointed out.

“Fuck. Did you call Catarina yet?”

“We have a bunch of things to sell in Filly. I’ll go later to do it and also see if Ma June has someone to send a message… If the Brotherhood lets me in, otherwise I’ll have to go myself and sell to whoever trader I find in the way.” Moose answered and Marigold nodded.

“We’ll have to pull double watch shifts for the next weeks. There’s no way to let the tanning and drying room off, or even the freezer even if spotty. If the leather and meat go bad we won’t have what to trade.”

“Let’s hope Regina brings a good haul, we won’t be able to go out and hunt too.” Mika signed, which provoked a new collective groan.

“I… Could look the programming for you?” Norm started, shoulders hunching a little when everyone stared at him, but he kept going. “If it involves terminals and so on. I worked with them in the Vault.”

“It would save us a lot of time and trouble, Norm… What do you want in exchange?”

Ma Guadalupe started, leaning her body towards him, elbows on the knees. Watching.

Norm blinked, and while he looked shocked, there was also something determined in it, raising slightly his chin and staring straight back at Ma – and Oh, that was a good look on him. It was his perfect opening to get what she had kinda promised, and she damn hoped he took it.

“I… Need something to cover the back of my Vault-Suit. And information about my sister, another Vault Dweller that left a little more than two weeks ago, if you have it.”

Ma nodded slowly, and Marigold knew she was considering a lot more than just the offer – like “oh this one is smarter than he looks”.

“That seems like a fair exchange, Norm. Mika, Lily, show him the power terminal. During it, I’ll verify if we have something that fits you and if we heard about another Vaultie. What’s your sister’s name?”

Mika and Lily got up and Marigold automatically extended her hands to take their empty plates.

“It’s Lucy, ma’am. She’s taller than me and with long dark hair.” Norm got up, Pa Isaac taking his mostly-empty plate.

“Noted, now go on, please.” The three moved, Lily guiding the path outside – it was almost funny, with her just shy of reaching Norm’s shoulders, and Mika closing the line, a full head taller than Norm. A perfect staircase.

The door had barely closed behind them when Marigold felt all eyes on her.

“A missing sister. I gather you already knew, Marigold.” Ma sing-sang, and slight smirks appeared on the faces she could see.

Oh for fuck’s sake… That in itself wasn’t that sappy.

At least no one had discovered the knife.

“I’ll start on the cleanup.” She sprung from her place, collecting plates and cutleries as she went.

“Goldie just showed her sappiness!” Moose started.

“Fuck off!” Marigold threw over her shoulder, approaching the kitchen.

“Finally a Whole Bear.” Goose finished the family joke, smirking, and Marigold huffed with a roll of her eyes.

“Finally a Whole Bear!”

The family chanted behind her amidst laughs and Marigold groaned, aggressively pre-cleaning the plates with sand. Her family was definitely missing some screws, for fuck’s sake.

[bearterritory]

Bears Nearly Win It All

Cal Gymnastics Team Places Close Second at Championships

FORT WORTH, Texas – From virtual irrelevance to the very doorstep of a national championship, the scene at Dickies Arena on Saturday afternoon was not lost on Cal women's gymnastics co-head coach Justin Howell.

The Golden Bears finished as runner-ups at the 2024 NCAA Championships, narrowly finishing second to national champion LSU with a team score of 197.850. It was a culmination of a record-bashing season for the Golden Bears, who among other benchmarks won their first-ever outright regular season conference title this season.

"Given every challenge and obstacle that has been in our way every step of the way, to be here competing for a national championship on the final night and finish as runner-up to an amazing LSU team – there really are no words," said Howell, who took over the program in 2013 and became co-head coach with wife Liz Crandall-Howell in 2018 after she spent six years on the Bears' coaching staff. "I never doubted the vision that Liz and I set out with when we started coaching together. To get to a place where everybody – not just our team, but everyone else around the country – believed we can compete with the very best is a special place to be. We knew it wouldn't happen overnight."

The Bears finished the 2012 season ranked 49th in the country, the year before Howell took over as head coach. Two seasons later, Cal was a top-20 team and now has finished in the top 10 in each of the past five years.

The Golden Bears were led by another phenomenal performance by sophomore eMjae Frazier, who scored at least 9.9 on each of the four rotations. Junior Mya Lauzon tied as vault winner with a 9.95.

Fellow Pac-12 foe Utah placed third with a 197.800 and Florida was fourth at 197.4375.

"Our expectation now is to certainly compete with the very best on the final night of the national championships," Howell said. "This experience will be invaluable to everyone returning on the team. They know what it takes and what it feels like. I think as a program we have learned a lot. This is the expectation moving forward."

The Bears began the meet with a strong balance beam score of 49.4750, led by Frazier's 9.95. After a 49.3750 on the floor exercise dropped them to third, the Bears finished up with terrific rotations on both vault and the uneven bars, notching a 49.500 on each. Frazier (9.9375) and freshman Kyen Mayhew (9.9) led the way on vault while Frazier (9.9125), senior Gabby Perea (9.9125) and junior Maddie Williams (9.90).

Cal moved past Utah and into second place with its final bars scores.

The Bears will lose Perea and fellow seniors Andi Li and Elise Byun from this year's season but returns a core that should make the program one of the national favorites again next season. Li and Perea were both All-Americans.

"I'm incredibly proud of our seniors," Howell said. "They are incredibly talented and were recruited by a lot of phenomenal schools. They chose to come to Cal and be part of this journey, and they will have memories the rest of their lives."