#my childhood bedroom is virtually the same as when i left it so when i came back over the weekend

[lemongogo]

[bluelolblue]

Hi!! I have a John x Santi prompt!! 💁🏻‍♀️ I just recently got into the jw fandom and your writing is giving me life 😍 Hurt/comfort is my all time favorite type of fic/drabble/hc/etc. and I looove how you apply it to John & Santino 🥹🥰 Sooo consider:

Established relationship John x Santi where Santino gets badly injured in a fight 🥺 Being hurt this way makes him relive past trauma and his way of dealing with it is reverting back to little boy!mentality; ie he’s even clingier toward John than before (as if that were even possible), dependent on him for virtually everything bc of his injuries and suuuper vulnerable state of mind 😭 and he really just wants to be babied while he heals up 🥺 He only lets himself be “little” around John and honestly hates this part of himself but John always gives him the tender loving care he deserves 🥰 He actually loves taking care of Santi in this way but doesn’t bring it up bc he doesn’t want to make Santino feel bad! 💕

No pressure to write this if it’s not your thing but I’d love to hear your thoughts 💙💙

OMGGG HELLOOO AAAAAA!! :D

Thank you so much!!! YAAAY

I'm so happy to hear that you like my fics, that means a lot!! 💙💙💙💙

Yeah, hurt/comfort is a very good trope, also one of my favorite, it fits Santino and John perfectly 🤭

I really hope you'll like this hurt/comfort with them! It was so fun to write it! ^ ^

☆ Special thanks to @mrssimply for beta reading! ☆

Healing grace

“Let me see,” John insisted.

“Fuck… no! It'll pass,” Santino gritted through his teeth.

Broken ribs with potentially broken few fingers would not in fact just pass.

“Santino, don't be stubborn. I saw what they did to you, I killed them, you're really badly injured. Let me help you.”

John could be a pain in the ass sometimes, literally. They were both stubborn, just in their own way. He refused to show John his injuries in the car and now at home, too.

“I… listen, it used to pass on its own, so just leave me alone!” Santino wanted to storm off but John already caught him by his arm, which made Santino yelp in pain.

“That hurts!” Santino snapped.

“I’m sorry, but please let me see. I just want to help you. You know you're safe with me, right?”

Santino sighed in slight annoyance. He knew John wanted only the best for him, he was just really frustrated from the pain.

“I know,” Santino murmured, “It just hurts.”

John nodded, taking a hold of Santino's other hand, “I'll help you. You don't have to be in pain.”

Santino was just used to pain. Mainly because of his childhood, what his father had done to him, the punishments. He had to go through all that alone, treating his wounds by himself, since his father wouldn't allow anyone to help him.

The most intense punishments had been whipping Santino's palms with a belt until they bled, sometimes even stepping on his hands. His ribs got hurt a few times, too.

This really brought back some memories he wished to forget.

In Santino's bedroom, so he felt comfortable, John gave him painkillers for a start so that they work faster while he continued to treat his injuries.

“Lift your shirt,” John said.

Santino bit his lip for a second, avoiding John's eyes and hesitantly lifted his shirt, exposing his bruised left side.

John hummed in disapproval, frowning a little.

“Yeah, that's not good,” John sighed, gently pressing against the bruise. Even at that soft touch Santino winced and hissed in pain.

“Don't touch me… I told you it hurts,” Santino warned, breathing shakily through his teeth.

“Sorry,” John apologized, “Your ribs could be broken. I'll bring an ice pack and then I want to check your hand.”

The moment John mentioned his hand Santino visibly tensed up.

While John was getting the ice pack, Santino looked at his injured fingers. Cuts, bruises over his knuckles. It was almost the exact same image from his childhood.

He could feel his heart beat getting faster, when John came back.

“This might feel a little uncomfortable, but I promise it'll help,” John explained, “Can you hold it against your ribs while I examine your hand?”

“Sure, I guess…” Santino muttered, doing what he was told. He whimpered quietly, it was too cold but he knew he had to resist the urge to move it off his ribs.

John gently held his injured hand, confirming his thoughts. Luckily it didn't appear to be too damaged.

“I'll disinfect the cuts, wrap it in a bandage and it could also use an ice pack,” John said softly, giving him a smile to calm him down. Santino was clearly pale and still nervous. But sometimes his response to feeling nervous or scared was anger.

Santino nodded, letting John do his job.

“My father used to hurt me like this.”

John almost didn't hear him. His voice was so quiet.

“My hands… they were always bruised and covered with blood. I had to take care of myself, but it was difficult on my own.”

Santino decided to open up to John, he felt safe, like he could trust him. Well, they're lovers, there's no point in hiding the past.

“I'm so sorry to hear that. You didn't deserve that,” John caressed his face, leaning to press a tender kiss on his lips. “No one was there for you?” John asked after the kiss, tapping the cotton over the cuts.

“Mmh… no. No one was allowed to. And, it got worse after my mother died,” Santino looked at his hand, blinking away tears forming in his eyes. “She would've helped me if she was alive.”

That made John’s heart ache. He noticed how Santino avoided his eye contact. He wasn't hurting just physically, he was hurting mentally, too.

John wasn't sure what to say, but he couldn't stand watching his lover suffer like this.

“She would've. I'm here now, I'm helping you. You won't go through any pain alone ever again, I promise,” John vowed, gently placing a kiss on Santino's injured hand.

Santino didn't flinch this time, he could actually feel himself blushing. He rarely experienced comfort like this.

“Thank you,” Santino breathed out, cracking a little smile.

John leaned over to kiss him again, a long, deeper kiss this time.

The bodyguard finished with wrapping a bandage over Santino's fingers, replacing Santino's other hand that was holding the ice pack with his own.

“You need a lot of rest. Drink lots of water to stay hydrated and sleep,” John said, sitting next to him.

“Yeah, I know,” Santino paused for a second, “Can you stay with me overnight? It wouldn't be the first time you stayed in my bed overnight anyway.”

Even if he was injured, he still found enough energy to smirk and tease his lover. Still, his question was genuine.

“Of course I can,” John replied.

Indeed, John spent the whole night with Santino. Laying across him, so Santino could be comfortable on his side that wasn’t injured. Comforting and soothing him, stroking his hair with his fingers until Santino fell asleep pressed against him.

John had a bit of trouble falling asleep since he was scared he would accidentally hurt him in his sleep if he moved. So, he kept a safe distance, further away not to hurt him and close enough to still maintain some physical touch.

The next day, Santino was more affectionate. He didn't want John to leave his side, hugging him and being clingy.

“I just want to fetch you breakfast,” John said, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“I don't need breakfast. I just want coffee and you…” Santino flinched at his own sudden movement, “And painkillers,” he added.

“And breakfast. You need energy and a proper meal. Not just coffee.”

Santino sighed dramatically into his neck, stubborn again.

“If you say so.”

Santino allowed himself to be vulnerable with John. He enjoyed being taken care of, it was a feeling he rarely experienced and he wanted to embrace it as much as he could.

John seemed to enjoy taking care of him. Helping him with showering, preparing meals, doing whatever Santino asked for.

He regularly swapped the bandage on Santino's hand, held the ice pack against his ribs to bring down the swelling, soothing him when Santino whimpered in pain.

It went on like this for a few days, with Santino being needy and wanting John's attention, wanting kisses and cuddles. John tried to give him all that while helping him heal in the meantime.

“When will they finally heal?” Santino asked, looking over at his bruised ribs. The swelling wasn't as bad as it used to be, but it still hurt.

“It takes some time. But your hand seems to be in a much better condition,” John pointed out after removing the bandage.

“It does. Still aches when I move my fingers, but at least I can move them,” Santino smiled, relaxing on the couch against John.

“Yeah, that's good. You're recovering quickly.” John examined his hand a little more, just to make sure.

“It's all thanks to you. When I was trying to take care of myself, it didn't really heal that fast and it was more painful,” Santino confessed, his voice quiet. He hated talking about his past, it was too painful even to remember. There was something about John, though: he had this calm and gentle tone in his voice all the time. It was soothing, calming. Something Santino always craved. A partner that would understand him on that emotional level.

“Sometimes everyone needs help. Going through pain alone can be tough, and I want to be there for you.”

At some point in Santino's life, he was convinced he was not capable of being loved. He was too difficult to handle, too needy, just wanting attention and comfort.

Yet there was his bodyguard giving him everything he wanted.

“You were only supposed to be my bodyguard. Then again, you're spending so much time with me,” Santino purred, admiring John's patience with him.

John smiled, lifting Santino's hand to place a gentle kiss over his knuckles.

“I'm happy to spend time with you and help you,” John looked up at him, seeing Santino's flushed face.

“Mio caro,” Santino said, just above a whisper. “What would I do without you?”

John gently hugged him, avoiding his injured side, kissing his cheek before replying, “I didn't mean to make you sad, bello.”

Santino sighed against his neck, feeling how John's hands were wrapped around him, pressed against him.

“I'm not sad… just so glad I have you,” he murmured.

The bodyguard leaned back to kiss him tenderly on his lips, pressing their foreheads together afterwards, staying like that for a few seconds.

“Can we stay like this for a little longer?” Santino asked softly.

“Of course we can.”

“Help me shower later?”

John chuckled gently, there was his demanding lover again.

“Anything you want.”

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Family - Nagito Komaeda x Reader

ミ☆ You take Komaeda to meet your parents. They love him, of course they do

ミ☆ Contains: gender neutral reader, a little angst, bad writing lol

“Hey, Nagito.” You call into the kitchen from where you are lounging on the couch. Feet hanging over the armrest, head tilted sideways so you can focus on the game of online mario kart you are playing with Chiaki. You are losing.

“Yes, love?” He replies, you can hear the sound on a knife on a chopping board and smell garlic cooking in the frypan. He’s making chicken katsu curry, cooking has become kind of therapeutic for him in the past year or so. It suits him.

“My parents just texted me, I’m going to go around and see them for lunch tomorrow.” You huff and throw your controller down when Chiaki cinches first. Your phone pings and you see she’s sent you a winky face, “Chiaki won again.”

Nagito laughs pleasantly, “Chiaki always wins, though I’m sure you made a valiant effort.”

“I did manage to get second this time.” You say, sitting up to peer over the back of the couch. Nagito turns away from the countertop for a moment to smile at you.

“Ah! Nice work!” He says, stepping over to the stovetop to quickly toss the garlic, “I hope you have fun with your parents, by the way. Though I will miss you while you’re gone, ahah.”

“Oh, you can come if you want to. You don’t have to or anything, but you’re obviously invited.”

The chopping board topples to the floor, potatoes and carrots bouncing all over the tile. You jump up from the couch and immediately start cleaning up before Nagito has any time to panic, carefully grabbing the wayward vegetables and putting them in a bowl. It isn’t until you put the bowl in the sink and start washing the vegetables that you realise Nagito is still standing by the counter, hands shaking at his sides.

“Nagito…” you whisper, abandoning the sink and stepping over to him, “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

You hear him make a panicked noise at the back of his throat when you slowly take his shaking hand in yours.

“You...want me to come?”

“You don’t have to if it’s too soon, I’m sorry if I scared you. I just wanted to let you know that the invitation was there”

He turns to face you, mouth wide in a quivering smile, tears balancing on his eyelashes, “You want me to meet your parents?” He breathes, laughing shakily as the tears break away and run down his cheeks.

“Oh...Nagito.” You say, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and tugging him against you. He stiffens for a moment before slowly curling his arms around your waist and burying his head in your neck, “Of course I want you to meet them, and they want to meet you!”

“Wait…” he whispers, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, “you’ve already told them about me?”

You laugh, “yes! We’ve been dating for almost a year, did you really think I was keeping you secret this whole time? I don’t think I could manage that even if I wanted to!”

He chokes on a sob, eyes misty with more than just tears, “do...do they like me?”

“They love you.” You smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “you make me so happy, how could they not love you?”

“I—I can’t believe you want your parents to meet someone like me...I almost thought that you would prefer to hide me away.” A soft smile curls his lips up in the corners, “I should have known, you’re better than that.”

“And you deserve better than that. I want you to come to lunch, if you’d like to.”

He sniffles, smiling in ernest, “yes! I want to be a good boyfriend, I want to impress them, I want-“

You kiss him firmly, smiling against his lips, “you’re going to be perfect.”

***

They adore him. Of course they do. Nagito is polite and complimentary, smiling wide and laughing at your dad’s jokes all while you can feel his hand shaking in yours. He spent over an hour in the bathroom before you left, trying to get his hair to sit flat, a pointless endeavour, especially when his hair looks perfect as it is.

You can tell that he is nervous, trying to make a good impression. When your dad attempts to move a cabinet, Nagito jumps up to do it for him even though he simply doesn’t have the muscle mass for the task. Your dad laughs and says, “good try, son.” You hear Nagito’s breath hitch.

It’s later that night, when you finally return to your childhood bedroom. Laughing at the Knick-knacks your parents have left adorning the bookshelves, and the awful middle school paintings still framed on the walls. Nagito sits with you on the bed, bony shoulders shaking with leftover adrenaline as he starts to calm down.

You rub encouraging circles on his thigh, “They love you, just like I said they would.”

He laughs a little to himself, “I didn’t...embarrass you?”

“You could never embarrass me, Nagito.”

He’s wringing his hands together in his lap, not wanting to meet your eyes when he says, “ah, it’s just, you know that my life has been virtually void of...familial contact, this isn’t a situation I’ve found myself in for so long that I…” he giggles, but the sound is bitter, “I’m worried i've forgotten how to do it...how to be a part of something…”

That hurts to hear. You often forget about his childhood until a moment like this forces you to remember, for such a wonderful person, such a kind person. His life has been so painful. Thinking about this, you scoot a little closer to him on the bed, and take one of his quivering hands in yours.

“Look, I—I know that it isn’t the same, that it doesn’t even compare but—“ you smile, cupping Nagito’s cheek in your palm, “—if you’re still looking for a family, you can share mine.”

A sob breaks loose from Nagito’s throat and his hand comes up to cup yours on his cheek, eyes brimming with tears, but altogether bright, “you’re my family…” he whispers.

You press your forehead to his and smile, “and you are mine.”

[joshjacksons]

Joshua Jackson interview with "Mr Porter" (2021)

Minutes before Mr Joshua Jackson joins me in a booth for a Friday afternoon drink at a vibey hotel bar in Santa Monica, he’s confronted by his past. Or rather, a woman in her early twenties who is binge-watching Dawson’s Creek, the teen show about a close-knit group of high-school friends coming of age in a sleepy American town, which made Jackson incredibly famous between 1998 and 2003. The series, which also made household names of Ms Michelle Williams and Ms Katie Holmes, went off air 18 years ago, but is now streaming on Netflix, to the bemusement of Jackson, who played lovable rogue Pacey Witter. “This girl was like, ‘Are you...?’ And I’m like, ‘Yes, I am. He got old. I’m sorry to break it to you,’” he says, before ordering an iced tea and a charcuterie board to tide him over until dinner time. “It always surprises me when young people say they’ve just got into Dawson’s Creek. I’m like, ‘Is it a costume drama to you? Do you feel like you’re watching a historical documentary?’”

The idea of a Friends-style reunion episode or a Sex And The City revival feels equally far-fetched to Canadian-born Jackson, now 43 and wearing it well in a pale green linen shirt and tailored linen trousers by Oliver Spencer that complement his fading brown hair and Cali-tanned skin.

“I don’t know why you’d want to [bring it back],” he says. “Nobody needs to know what those characters are doing in middle age. We left them in a nice place. Nobody needs to see that Pacey’s back hurts. I don’t think we need that update.”

And Jackson doesn’t need Dawson’s Creek. From Mr JJ Abrams’ sci-fi series Fringe (2008-2013) to the Golden Globe award-winning The Affair (2014-2019), from Ms Ava DuVernay’s ground-breaking true-crime drama When They See Us (2019) to the recent Ms Reese Witherspoon and Ms Kerry Washington-produced Little Fires Everywhere (2020), he has commanded the small screen – with a collection of dynamic and diverse work – ever since.

His latest role as Mr Christopher Duntsch, the Texas surgeon convicted of gross malpractice when 33 of his patients were left seriously injured after he operated on them and two of them died, in chilling Peacock crime drama Dr Death, is only stepping his career up another gear.

“I’ve never played anyone irredeemable before,” says Jackson, who is joined in the eight-part series (based on the 2018 Wondery podcast of the same name) by Messrs Christian Slater and Alec Baldwin. “He is charming, gregarious and has a high-level intellect, but he’s also a misogynist, probably a sociopath, certainly a narcissist and a complete incompetent who is incapable of seeing himself.”

If Duntsch is terrifying, then Jackson’s portrayal is even more so. The artist formerly known as Pacey is virtually unrecognisable (thanks to prosthetics) in the opening scene, but the real challenge for Jackson was allowing himself to view someone who is so “spectacularly evil” as a human being in order to walk in his shoes. “It’s a more damning portrayal of the man to make him into a human being, rather than just make him the bad guy,” he says. “He really believes he’s the hero, he’s the genius and that he’s the victim, so once I got past my own judgment, all the other things fell into place.”

Jackson might have his pick of stellar roles – and challenges – now, but it has not happened by accident. Take it from someone who has been in the business since landing his first job aged 14 in Disney’s live-action movie series The Mighty Ducks, opposite Brat Pack alumnus Mr Emilio Estevez.

“You try to make it look like it happens accidentally,” he says, “but there is no way to do this and not be ambitious. I’d say I’m extremely ambitious because I’ve been doing this cutthroat job for nearly 30 years. I’m in the pay-off phase of my career now. One of the benefits of surviving for as long as I have is you get to learn from your own mistakes.”

Such as? “I wouldn’t say, ‘I wish I hadn’t done that,’ because it all becomes bricks in a path, but [after Dawson’s Creek] I was not choosy enough about the things I was doing. You get stuck. You start trying to perform the performance you think people are hoping to see you do. I was so used to working all the time that I just worked all the time. There was definitely a conscious moment in my mid-twenties when I realised I wasn’t really enjoying the work that I was doing. My manager at the time just said, ‘Take a breath. You’re burnt out.’”

The turning point came in 2005, when Jackson was offered a role in the two-hander Mr David Mamet play A Life In The Theatre, opposite Sir Patrick Stewart. “God bless him, Patrick could have made my life miserable because I had no idea what I was doing, ” he says. “I hadn’t been on stage since I was a kid and now I was in the West End in over my head. But it reminded me that I actually enjoyed being an actor, that it’s not about the red carpet or travelling around the world. What I really enjoy is working on good material with good people.”

It’s no surprise Jackson’s time on Dawson’s Creek led to a career crisis. From the ages of 19 to 24, he lived with his fellow cast mates in Wilmington, North Carolina, filming day in, day out, in an arrangement he likens to college. “You get to the end and they’re like, ‘Here’s your degree. Go live now. You’re an adult. Go out into the world,’” he says.

But most graduates don’t have to deal with global fame. “It’s transitory. You’re only ever cool for a moment and then you become much less cool. I was always pretty dubious about flatterers,” he says, recalling a time he was stung in London in the mid-2000s. “I went on a date in Hyde Park with a woman whose name I will not use – she was socialite-famous – and she was acting completely bizarre, looking over her shoulder the whole time. I came to find out that she had hired a photographer to follow us through the park and gave a whole story to the tabloids about how I was going to meet her family.”

It was his growing fortune, rather than fame, that caused Jackson the most anxiety. “Suddenly, at 19 years old, I was making more in a week than most of my friends’ parents would make in a year,” he says. “It was lovely to have the money, but it was that feeling of nobody is worth that kind of money. You feel like a fraud and it took me a long time to forgive myself for not being the thing that I was perceived as.”

Born in Vancouver, but raised in Topanga, California, until he was eight (before moving back to Vancouver following his parents’ divorce), Jackson bought his childhood home in 2001 and lives in it today with his wife, British Queen & Slim actor Ms Jodie Turner-Smith, and their 15-month-old daughter.

“My father unfortunately was not a good father or a husband and exited the scene, but that house in Topanga was where everything felt simple, so it was a very healing thing for me to do,” he says. Fast-forward to 2021 and his baby daughter now sleeps in her father’s childhood bedroom. “There was a mural of a dragon on the wall in that room that I couldn’t believe was still there, years later. The owner [who sold him the house] said, ‘I knew it meant a lot to somebody and that they were going to come back for it some day.’”

Becoming a first-time parent during a pandemic sounds stressful, but it afforded Jackson months at home with his wife and child that his normal work schedule wouldn’t have allowed.

“I now recognise how perverse the way that we have set up our society is,” he says. “There is not a father I know who works a regular job who didn’t go back to the office a week later. It’s robbing that man of the opportunity to bond with his child and spend time with his partner.”

Despite his obvious career ambitions, fatherhood has changed Jackson’s priorities in “every possible way”, he says. “It’s 100 per cent changed how I approach my work and my life. That has been made so clear to me in this past year. For me to feel good about what I’m doing day to day, my family has to be the central focus.

“There are plenty of things left for me to do, but now the thing that gets me excited is experiencing the world through my daughter’s eyes. I can’t wait to take her scuba diving. I can’t wait to take her skiing. I can’t wait to read a great book with her. I’m not worried at all she’ll be a wallflower. She’s been a character from the word go.”

Jackson met Turner-Smith, 34, two days after his 40th birthday. He had been single since his 10-year relationship with German actress Ms Diane Kruger ended in 2016. “I was not looking to fall in love again or meet the mother of my child, but life has other plans for you,” he says.

The couple met at a party. Turner-Smith was wearing the same The Future Is Female Ejaculation T-shirt Ms Tessa Thompson’s character, Detroit, wears in the 2018 film Sorry To Bother You. “That’s what I used to break the ice. I shouted, ‘Detroit!’ across the room. Not the smoothest thing I’ve ever done, but it worked. We were pretty much inseparable from the word go. It was a whirlwind romance and I can tell my daughter I literally saw her mother across a room and thought, ‘I have to be next to this woman.’”

A self-confessed “useless” shopper, Jackson gives his wife full credit for his current wardrobe. He is jewellery-free, apart from a wedding band and a gold signet “JJ” ring on his little finger (a present from his wife), and discovered tailored sweatsuits (by Stampd and Reigning Champ) in the pandemic.

“Jodie has influence in the way that a wonderful wife encourages you, through love, to dress well. She was like, ‘We’re going to throw away all the sweatpants from your past and I’m going to get you some that actually make you look like an adult male and you will still feel comfortable around the house,’ and I’m like, ‘What an amazing idea!’ Who knew you could get sweatsuits that actually look good on your body?”

Jackson’s style has evolved, he says, “from slovenly teen to it’s-nice-when-your-clothes-actually-fit-you”. The penny dropped after he auditioned for his former co-star Estevez, who was directing the 2006 Mr Robert Kennedy biopic Bobby. He said to me, ‘You only got this job because I know you. You came in here to play a very well-put together 1960s political operative and you’re wearing jeans and a hoodie.’

“I had to grow up a little bit. We are very much raised in Canada to never, ever show off, so it took me a while to recognise it’s OK to look good when you go out.”

Still, when you’ve grown up in front of the camera, “every pimple literally documented”, and lived (very successfully) to tell the tale, you can probably be forgiven for the odd fashion faux pas.

“I wore a silk Ascot to an event once in Paris and I still have nightmares about it,” he says. “I looked like Fred from Scooby Doo, but you live and learn.”

[smnthchrstn]

Sacrifice: the Rise of Adeline Goode | II. GUIDED BY A BEATING HEART

(an American Horror Story fic)

author’s note: hi, this is part 2/2 of a collaboration with @tempusinfinituum​word count is 4,299 words.

"There is a home and a family waiting for you."

Adeline sat cross legged on her fire escape, facing her bedroom window. She was leaned forward so she could get a somewhat clear view of the small box TV that sat on her dresser. Her eyes were fixated on the staticky screen. She'd seen that woman before. She'd seen her more times than she could count—but always when she was asleep.

Adeline knew she was different at a young age. She could do things her foster siblings couldn't—and when you were a child of the system, what made you different made you a target. It wasn't until the summer she turned thirteen that she met a young girl who claimed to be a witch. The girl shared a lot of similarities with Adeline, including things they could do like telekinesis or lighting a flame with their mind. Adeline had a constant sense of calm the few times the witch visited her.

They met on her first day in the group home. Adeline was having a hard time adjusting, especially after the incidences at her last foster home. She was sitting by a small brook, leaning back against a tree when she heard someone humming. The song was familiar; Adeline's subconscious recognized the melody and she caught herself humming along. The older witch was startled, not having seen the petite blonde curled up on the ground. The two of them started talking, and before long Adeline was having to rush home to try to make it there before curfew. It was at their second meeting that the girl admitted to being a witch, telling her that's what lead her to Adeline. "I could sense you were one of my tribe," the girl would say anytime they spoke about their first meeting. She taught Adeline what she knew—which wasn't much as far as structure goes—when it came to magic. In exchange, at the older woman's request, Adeline would read to her every day for an hour after school.

When the girl stopped visiting, Adeline shut down for a few days, an unexpected depression overwhelming her existence. It lasted for less than a week, then Adeline was back to her normal self. She started spending less time in the woods—it made her sad, reminding her of her long lost friend. This, however, meant that was more time she'd spend at the group home—which meant more time to be a direct target of abuse and torment at the hands of some of the other girls.

That day on the fire escape was the first day in a year that Adeline wasn't bothered. She wasn't being pushed, slapped, or cussed out every other minute. She convinced Rita to let her skip school, telling the older woman she was dealing with a stomach bug. Once Rita had left for work, Adeline got the bag she'd kept packed under her bed. She did that in every foster home she lived in, in the event she needed an exit strategy. She was climbing onto the fire escape when—for a reason she couldn't yet tell—the voice on the TV stopped her. She turned around, sat down, and watched the interview.

Adeline felt like she was seeing a ghost, or the physical embodiment of her childhood imaginary friend. She'd had frequent dreams that involved this person, and she knew that was a sign. She had to find her. When the news flashed the name of the school once more, and Adeline quickly memorized the address that was listed beneath it. She used to think her photographic memory was one of her powers, until she changed foster homes and met another girl who shared the same talent. She felt a twinge of sadness when the girl briefly crossed her mind, but she shook it off and started on her journey to Robichaux’s.

It was long after dark when Adeline finally arrived at the large manor. She, being a foster child in a group home, obviously didn't have a cell phone. She stopped at one of the tourist stores that frequented almost every block in New Orleans, using the small amount of money she had to buy a map. She walked up the front steps onto the large, cypress wood porch. "Wait," she stopped herself. "What the hell am I doing?" Her fight or flight started kicking in, but it was too late. Despite her stopping herself from knocking and making virtually no noise at all, Adeline heard the lock click as it was unlocked and the front door opened.

—

Cordelia took a deep breath, her heels clicking against the linoleum in the kitchen. She had a newfound confidence to her as Supreme. Something she'd been desperately missing for so long. Something she didn't know she could be capable of. The middle-aged witch could feel the presence of someone outside and made her way to the door of the school to allow an interviewer inside - for the very first time.

"I don't believe we need to hide any longer," the witch simply stated when asked why she'd chosen that particular time in the school's history to 'come out' about what used to be their own little secret. "There's no reason to feel ashamed. Or forgotten. Or lost or alone when you have a whole world waiting for you. People just like you, people who understand and want to help you grow in your powers and abilities - it's nothing to be scared of. It's a gift," the blonde witch assured anyone listening beyond that room. Cordelia whole-heartedly hoped she could reach hundreds of young girls who were in the predicament she found herself in years before.

Even though Cordelia never truly felt ashamed due to her witchcraft, her mother on the other hand, made her ashamed of herself. Cordelia always sold herself short and felt so small. Shipped off to school at a young age and so far away from home hurt the young witch. She never knew her father, but had only heard terrible things about him from her estranged mother. She wished that as a young witch she would've had a leader like herself. And that was her greatest accomplishment to date - taking care of, teaching and most importantly, protecting her girls.

It took a day or so, but Cordelia began to see the influx of young witches come to visit her at Miss Robichaux's. Some were certainly powerful young witches, some were just beginning to spread their wings, and some weren't witches at all. She managed to find the ones that belonged to her coven, assuring them that they would be loved, cherished, and protected.

On one particular day, Cordelia felt something deep inside her. Something gnawing at her heart a little bit, something she'd never really felt before. The witch felt a presence outside of the manor - one that held familiarity and curiosity. She stood, her heels clicking against the linoleum flooring as she got up from the kitchen table. Tap, tap, tap she went. Cordelia put her hand out and swiftly unlocked the door without a single touch. Her heart skipped a beat once she reached the door and opened it cautiously.

Adeline's breath caught in her throat when the older woman opened the door. She observed the woman for a moment—not long enough to seem creepy but long enough to take in her gestures. The blonde’s face was gentle and kind, her composure more proper than Adeline had ever seen in an adult. Adeline focused on her eyes—they had the same eyes.

When she was little and she dreamed about Cordelia, for a brief time she thought that maybe the woman in her dreams was her birth mother. When she saw her on TV, the thought crossed her mind for the first time in years. Now, standing before Cordelia, she questioned that. Maternal instincts were practically visibly radiating off of her; there was no way she'd give a kid up for adoption.

"Uh, hi I'm..." she debated for a second on lying about her name in case the woman called her social worker, but she wasn't great at lying on the spot. "My name is Adeline. I saw you on TV...and I think I might be a witch."

Cordelia couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity once she'd opened the door and set her eyes upon the girl on the other side. She knew she'd never met her before - right? She didn't look familiar..but somehow she felt familiar. She studied her for a few seconds, although it somehow felt like much longer.

Cordelia had always dreamt of being a mother. She always wished so badly that she could give a child the exact opposite that she'd had growing up. With her husband, she couldn't get pregnant and it broke her heart. She held so much resentment inside - but now she knew why. She needed to be there for her girls - and having a baby probably would've stifled her from doing so. It didn't mean that she didn't still have that urge every now and then, even though she truly did think of her girls as her own.

The witch studied her for a few seconds longer. "It's nice to meet you," she responded, her tone soft and caring, yet still a little cautious. "I'm Cordelia. Cordelia Goode, welcome to Miss Robichaux's." The witch felt inclined to shake the young girl's hand. She wanted to be polite and welcoming, but also yearned to know more about her.

Adeline felt her heart squeeze when she heard her voice. She'd heard that voice before...it was a very, very distant memory—it probably wasn't even real. She blinked a few times, trying to force the sense of deja vu to the back of her mind. Even if this woman wasn't her mother, she didn't think it would be fair to put the burden of caring for her on Cordelia. Adeline was damaged goods and she knew it. All she would do is self-destruct and bring down everything and everyone with her. That's what always happened. She looked back up at Cordelia; her fight or flight was starting to kick in.

"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered anxiously. "I think this was a mistake." Adeline turned to walk off the porch and down the stairs.

Cordelia studied the girl. She didn't really have judgment. She'd met so many young girls - so many young witches trying to figure out their place in the world and how this new part of them would play into their lives and their futures. She'd made mistakes herself - she had regrets. She certainly couldn't judge anyone else for what they'd done in the past.

The older witch took a step or two down once the younger witch tried to leave. "Why don't you come inside for something to drink? It's okay to be scared," she said, her tone coming across a little more gently. She understood that feeling. She understood it so well.

Adeline hesitated but nodded slightly, following the older woman into the house. She looked around with wide eyes upon entering the academy. Her eyes traced almost every inch of the room, almost in complete disbelief. "I've only ever seen places like this in movies..." she said quietly, scared that her voice would echo if she talked too loud.

The fact that the academy was as nice as it was only added to the inner conflict she'd been having. She pictured a real bed, with a mattress that was a thousand times softer than jail cot she was made to sleep on in the group home. She thought about the fact that their pillows probably all had pillowcases and the sheets weren't stained from all of the past foster children who occupied that bed at one point.

She felt like her body was playing tug of war—her heart was pulling her in one direction, which was toward Cordelia. Her mind, soul, and everything else that remembered that every parental figure or those who were supposed to act as such had either died, given her away, or abused her. Plus, she didn't know this woman. She knew there was a possibility that she misremembered her dream after seeing Cordelia on the news. Something about that felt wrong, though. "It's beautiful," she commented, looking around a little more.

Cordelia led the girl inside the manor, her heels clicking against the flooring again. "If you don't mind closing the door on your way in, I'd certainly appreciate it," she said politely, finally smiling a little.

Cordelia walked to the end table in the entry way and turned around briefly to lock the door. "It's spectacular, isn't it?" She had to admit, the manor was the most beautiful home she'd ever lived in - really the only place that she felt she could truly call home.

"I know I've already introduced myself but I'm Ms. Goode. You can call me Cordelia, all the girls do," she explained warmly. Something inside of her led her to the girl that had arrived outside of the school that day. She still couldn't quite place why. So she'd have to let it go for now.

"I'm Adeline... just Adeline," she half smiled, almost tempted to reach out and shake the woman's hand. This wasn't something she would normally do; Adeline wasn't proper by any means. She was basically a child of the streets. She didn't own a pair of jeans that weren't ripped, she skateboarded, and she rarely ever brushed her curly, blonde hair. That was another factor that deterred Adeline from the thought that the woman could be her mother. There was no way she came out of that. That would be a cruel joke for the universe to play on Cordelia. She noticed the entryway to the den area, the walls inside lined with portraits. "Could we go in there?" She asked quietly, curious about the pictures.

Cordelia knew that not everyone would be comfortable would touch and if Adeline didn't want to shake her hand then she wouldn't take it personally. "Of course," the older witch said rather quickly, being pulled away from her thoughts. Cordelia began to explain the portraits, speaking a little more slowly and carefully once she reached Myrtle's. "Myrtle Snow was one powerful witch - and so very nurturing, too. She took care of me. We were family," Cordelia stated simply, a soft twinkle in her eye.

Adeline looked at the picture of the older redhead and over to Cordelia, smiling softly. She looked back at the portrait, her heart sinking a little. "You seem to have really loved her," she spoke softly and carefully. Adeline always got a hint of jealousy when her friends would talk about their parents, but especially their mothers. Adeline had to go through everything by herself, when a mother's care and guidance would have eased some of that burden. She walked slowly looking at a few more pictures. In her peripheral vision, another portrait caught her eye. She turned, her eyes locking on the painting. She approached the painting, her heart starting to beat faster. She knew that face—she'd know it anywhere. "W-why is there a picture of Fiona in here?"

Cordelia nodded slowly, studying the picture of Myrtle - caught up in her own thoughts and feelings. "You could say that," she agreed, turning to face the girl again. Her smile faltered ever so slightly. Cordelia found herself caught off guard when she heard the younger woman's next words. She didn't think she'd introduced her to the portrait yet and she found it slightly peculiar that she'd bring up the topic of her late mother. Cordelia took a small breath and walked to face the portrait. It hadn't gotten easier for her. The burn she felt in her heart, the boiling hatred for the woman that caused her so much pain and heartache. "You're very smart. Fiona was our last Supreme. The previous Supreme."

"S-supreme?" She furrowed her eyebrows, turning her head to look at the older woman. Adeline's heart rhythm started beating more unevenly, a side effect of the heart condition she had after the car accident with her adoptive parents. "What's a Supreme?" Her voice was quiet, and she tired to keep it as composed as she could.

Cordelia had heard that question so many times before and smiled gently thinking about it. She never grew tired of explaining it. "The matriarch of our coven. An exceptional witch that can perform all of the Seven Wonders," she explained. "Have you ever heard of the Seven Wonders, Adeline?" Finally speaking the younger woman's name gave Cordelia a sense of deja vu. It felt more familiar to her than a name in a song or the name of an acquaintance.

Adeline zoned out a little after Cordelia explained what the Supreme was. She'd seen Fiona a multitude of times, but the difference between her and Cordelia—she'd seen her in person. Her breathing started becoming a little more erratic and her chest tightened. "I-I'm sorry. I can't—I need to leave." Adeline turned, sprinting from the parlor and out the front door. She thought she was home free, until she reached the gate. She pushed it with her palms, recoiling when she was met with a locked gate. "Shit!" She hissed, looking down at her hands. Blood trickled from a dozen small cuts from the thorns of whatever vine was wrapped around the gate.

Cordelia didn't know what was happening and before she could stop it it seemed to be too late. "Adeline - it's okay, what is upsetting you?" She asked, quickly following after the young witch. Her heels tapped rather quickly against the flooring and out the front door. She'd stopped in her tracks once Adeline had stopped and quickly noticed the blood on the younger woman's hands. "Let me help you, okay? I'll help you clean yourself up and you can go, if that's what you'd like to do," Cordelia assured her.

Adeline looked at Cordelia with tears in her eyes. She nodded slightly, but stayed silent. Her breathing was bordering on a panic attack, and she needed her hands clean so she could dig through her bag for her inhaler.

Cordelia took a deep breath, hoping she would mimic her breathing. She reached into her pocket, taking out a few clean tissues. She took the girl's hands in her own and couldn't have prepared herself for what she saw.

“Delia, let her go. It's time for her to go," Fiona spoke softly, almost sounding like she was actually comforting her daughter. Cordelia, after an hour of refusing and saying she changed her mind, loosened her grip on the baby. Fiona took her from Cordelia, who crumpled into Hank’s arms. Fiona put her thumb on the baby’s head, closing her eyes and whispering the spell over her. She handed the baby to the social worker before going back to her daughter. She waved her hand, and everything around her froze. She put her hand gently on Cordelia's head, a tear falling from Fiona's eye. She whispered the memory spell over Cordelia. She waved her hand through the air again, and everything around her was set back into motion. She stood next to her daughter’s bed with her arms crossed.

Cordelia gasped, stepping back abruptly. She suddenly felt like she couldn't catch her breath and suddenly remembered more than she had in years. She still couldn't piece it all together, but couldn't stop the shaking of her hands as she applied pressure to Adeline's wounds.

Adeline recoiled back, backing slowly away from Cordelia. She'd seen the same thing, albeit from a third person point of view. She was right. All of the thoughts about Cordelia being her birth mother. Her breathing was more strained, and she slipped into an asthma attack. She dropped down, opening her bag and digging frantically for her inhaler.

Cordelia knelt down beside Adeline. "How can I help you?" She asked, breaking her silence. She allowed her the room to get into her purse in case she had some kind of medicine to help her. She took the tissues back temporarily, making sure that she'd wiped the majority of the blood from the girl's hands.

Adeline shook her head as she pulled the inhaler from her bag. She shook it before putting it in her mouth. She took inhaled it a few times before she started feeling her airway open up. She was still breathing rapidly, but she didn't feel like she was on the verge of suffocating anymore. "I-I'm fine," she stuttered, tears falling from her eyes, breaking her obvious facade. "I'm sorry, I can't be here. I need to go." She stood up and threw her bag over her shoulder. "I'm sure you're great, but I..." her words were broken off by a strained sob.

Cordelia couldn't mask her confusion. She still didn't completely understand what she'd seen when she touched the newcomer's hands despite her sense of deja vu becoming more and more clear. "Is - is there anything I can do?" She asked, wishing she could help. "What can I do for you?"

"Explain what the fuck just happened," Adeline put her head in her hands, a thought popping into her mind. She pulled her bag around the front of her body and dug for her wallet. She opened it, pulling out a folded up picture and handing it to Cordelia.

Cordelia took the picture, her hands beginning to shake as she looked at it. The Supreme closed her eyes for a brief moment, taking a second to feel the energy around the photo. Details came back to her like pieces of a puzzle, all connecting together. 

She felt like she couldn't breathe - actually, she knew she couldn't. "I don't want to, I can't do it. I've changed my mind. Hank, we can do this," the young witch begged. "I don't want to do this," she said, tears threatening to leak down her cheeks. "I want my baby. I want my daughter."

"What are you thinking?" Adeline still felt the need to run. She could physically breathe, but her body felt like it couldn't.

The young witch's body shook violently with each sob before suddenly she didn't feel anything at all.

"Is this you, in this picture?" She finally asked, breaking from her trance. "I - I don't know how to explain this. I - my God," Cordelia breathed, still in utter shock.

"The only thing I knew about my birth parents was that they didn't want me," Adeline narrowed her eyes slightly, even though she knew full well it obviously wasn't Cordelia's fault. "Fiona started showing up after my adoptive parents died. Said she was my great aunt." She crossed her arms stubbornly. "That's all I know."

Cordelia's gaze softened. "I.." she didn't completely know what to say. She remembered some parts, but not nearly enough to tell Adeline what she wanted to hear. "Great aunt?" She asked, trying to make sense of it. Cordelia started to feel queasy and tried to swallow down the feeling.

"Yeah." Adeline responded softly, not sure what else to say. She was hurt, confused, angry. She didn't know how to handle her emotions and she knew she'd eventually lash out at Cordelia if she didn't calm down. She crossed her arm and shook her leg.

Cordelia knew she probably needed time to process all of the new information - or old information she'd been given. She wished so badly that she could talk to Myrtle about all of this - and maybe she could.. "I would like a little bit of time to process this and to think about it more," Cordelia finally chose to say, scared of pushing the hurt girl away.

Adeline furrowed her eyebrows and nodded slightly, putting her bag over her shoulder. She started toward the front door, stopping to look back at Cordelia. "It was nice to have met you." She half smiled before putting her hand on the knob. Adeline was so used to people giving her up and not wanting her that it normally wouldn't bother her. And although Cordelia didn't say she didn't want her, Adeline's trust issues were so severe she figured she may as well have. This stung more than it normally did, and tears welled up as she opened the door.

Cordelia could sense the girl's feelings and felt guilty for the way she'd reacted. "Do you have a phone number I can reach you at?" She finally asked, mere steps before she'd possibly never see the girl again.

Adeline smiled sadly and shook her head. "They don't let us have them in the group home. A lot of girls got into a lot of trouble before they'd go there. But...if it's meant to be, it will be I guess. I don't know what I expected from this, but this definitely wasn't it."

Cordelia’s heart sank in her chest. She really had no other choice. "Why don't you stay here tonight? We have spare rooms. Or if there's someone I could call?" She suggested.

Adeline shook her head. "No, it's okay. You need time...I understand that. Don't worry about me—I'll be alright."

Cordelia knew she couldn't make or force Adeline to stay. "Okay, will you come back?" She asked with hesitance.

Adeline chewed her lip for a second. "Do you want me to?"

Cordelia didn't hesitant in her answer. "Yes, of course," she said solemnly. She always kept her word.

Adeline smiled sadly, nodding a little. "I'll come back if you want me to come back... but don't feel obligated or anything. I've been though worse." She repressed the tears that burned the brims of her eyes as she turned the doorknob and exited the academy. 

[priorireverte]

Congratulations Ash!

Your application for Theodore Nott has been accepted. As much as my inner government official is groaning and reaching for the headache potions already, I can’t wait to see what trouble this Unspeakable gets into.

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME & PRONOUNS: ash & they/them

AGE: twenty six

TIMEZONE: est

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m a front end dev for a virtual event platform who works between 5-7 days a week but I’m usually active after 6pm and on weekends. I have slow weeks when on lighter projects and busier weeks when we have a lot of shows.

ANYTHING ELSE: N/A on triggers. I’ve been roleplaying on tumblr for i think 14 years? Too long.

CHARACTER DETAILS

NAME: Theodore Cantankerus Nott

BIRTHDATE: July 7th, 1980

DEATHDATE: N/A

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cismale, he/him. Theodore hasn’t given much thought to his sexuality, not even as far as labeling it. In the past, he’s found his attraction hasn’t been limited to one side of the gender spectrum. Currently, he’s entirely too busy to even sit for a moment and identify his years-long attraction to his current roommate. In the same manner, gender is never something he’s felt the need to question.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin

OCCUPATION: Unspeakable in the Death Department.

FACECLAIM: Woo Do-hwan

CHARACTER BACKGROUND

TW. Child Abuse, Neglect, Parental Death

POSTBELLUM

Theodore finds himself deeply in the middle of moving on. His own experiences with the second wizarding war left a sour taste in the wixen’s mouth and not just due to his father’s involvement. He watched various classmates suffer at the hands of the Dark Lord, familial pressure, and expectations. He noted no members of the high and mighty heroes seemed to think of the lowly slytherins. No hands were outstretched. No children saved from their situations. That was the heart of the issue. They were children then and aren’t now. How is he to trust that his generation will act any differently? Theodore has always preferred to be on the sidelines, to watch before acting, and to have his actions be as discreet and unnoticed as possible. Growing up, the lesson of fading into the background had been indoctrinated into him and that was a terrible thing to try to shake. Theodore’s never been a fighter. He’s always preferred to have knowledge on a situation before speaking.

Becoming an Unspeakable gave him a chance he never thought he would have to dedicate his life strictly to learning. With the dead coming back, Theodore hopes for his mother even though hope is something he has given up on a long time ago. Hope always leads to disappointment. Planning for the worst, however, leads to being pleasantly surprised by the results you receive. He doesn’t have many nightmares anymore. Any last trauma comes to him more in the form of a too quick touch or a raised voice sending his senses haywire. Lately, however, he swears he’s hearing his father’s voice in the midst of the Return’s camp. Seeing his face out of the corner of his eye. He knows the possibility of his father is high based on who has turned up so far. He does not wish for that day to ever come.

PERSONALITY

(+) Aware. Everyone had an opinion, a snap judgement they made based on your actions upon first interaction and rumors and gossip they had heard about you. Theodore is too aware of his own actions, his nature, and how he could be perceived due to his bloodline. He listens and watches while in the bowels of the Ministry.. He keeps an eye on the paper, aware of their sensationalized stories of the past. He stays aware when he locks himself in his and Draco’s two bedroom flat for the night, his house elf and cold ancestral home merely a thing of the past.

(+) Humble. It would be rare to hear Theodore speaking on his own accomplishments. When others bragged over NEWT results, family estates, or care packages while at school, Theodore stayed silent. In a post schooling life, he found he had nothing to brag over. His work is undiscussed, both by a willingness to keep to his own code of ethics and true inability to speak on it. Perhaps it is his conscience telling him karma was a tricky thing, the winds of fate often changed and were never certain. He is always aware that if he begins to celebrate his achievements, they could slip through his fingers before he had a chance to fully appreciate them.

(+) Skillful. When you spend most of the early years of your life hiding, there is no better place than a library and there is nowhere best to escape to than a book. At a young age, Theo’s mother Perdita exposed her son to learning. It became a joyous activity for the two of them. The dwindling vaults of the once great Nott family had no spare coin for a tutor for their only heir. Once it was just himself and his father in the house, Theo entertained himself with the curious collection of family heirlooms that littered the corridors of Nott Hall. He enjoys puzzles and figuring out just how magic is intertwined with a physical object. Nowadays, Theo spends his time pouring over books from Obscurus’ impressive collection while on his lunch break. He has enough puzzles to keep himself occupied for his lifetime.

(-) Cautious. It would be irresponsible to think the world was capable of change so quickly after the defeat of the Dark Lord. People didn’t change. Not unless they wanted to. Monetary repercussions, war reparations, were only likely to affect outward interest, not ideologies. Though perhaps that cautiousness had negatively affected Theo. He turned inward, the social progress he had made from fourteen to sixteen taking a turn when the Carrows took over the castle and his own father was broken out of Azkaban. He limited his social interactions severely, preferring to stick his nose in a book or have a quick intimate meeting over big social events and friendly gatherings and he still hasn’t grown out of that inclination. His social circle has been kept even as years passed and he enjoys a separation of the different areas of his life.

(-)Distractible. Wix alike were an issue. A pretty face, handsome smile, and a nice word easily swayed Theo’s attention. Always conscious, the tall boy doesn’t reveal or give much of himself. He does find he tolerates speaking to someone at length if they are intriguing when he would have otherwise ended a conversation. The same can be said for those with strong personalities. He finds himself getting caught up, steam rolled, instead of speaking up.

(-) Resentful. Theo often wondered how his life could have been different. What if his father had been captured after Voldemort’s first fall? What if some member of upper society took a moment to investigate the reservedness of Perdita or young Theodore? What if a professor questioned why young Theodore always stayed at the castle and never went home for the Yuletide holidays? So many things in his life could have been different if someone had looked closely, but they weren’t. The Malfoys, Narcissa specifically, were his only saving grace throughout childhood but they still didn’t overstep and remove him from his home. His resentment is something Theodore tries to tamper down when he can, choosing to look at life positively. No one demanded his quiet in his flat. The heat works with no need for an illegal heating charm here or there. He knows where everything is in his small space, even with Draco living alongside him. He doesn’t need to hide his things for fear of retribution. There are no nights worrying over going hungry.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY

Theodore Cantankerus Nott was born the only child and heir to Cantankerus Nott and Perdita Nott (nee Travers) on a warm summer night in early July. Theo spent little time under the careful (and stern) thumb of his father before his mother’s death. His mother was a much gentler figure, helping Theo grow sweet and strong. Perdita taught her son all the names of the flowers, their uses, and any star he asked the name of. She introduced him to music, showing him the piano and allowing him to pick up the violin. Theo was content to forget his father’s presence when he could, though he never dared voice that state of mind to Perdita. As Theo approached his eighth birthday, he began to see his childhood might not be as normal as his peers. He and his mother rarely left the grounds of Nott Hall. The once great stately home had slowly fallen to a near-ruinous state over the years. There was no shopping done by Perdita, all taken care of by their two remaining house elves. No tea time or meetings for the boards of any councils. The one time his mother seemed to be able to leave was when she was on the arm of his father at a required event. Theo wasn’t permitted to have friends over though visits to other sons of great houses were heavily encouraged the closer Hogwarts grew. He noticed the blatant way his peers’ parents showed affection. The boys his age never shied away from their father, some even spoke back with no fear of punishment.

Theo had stayed the sweet boy his mother had encouraged. Though his own father grew concerned about what was keeping the young boy soft. It didn’t help that Perdita’s health had begun to deteriorate ever since her birthday. Her walks around the garden with her son proving to be a bit too much for her. That duty had been given to the house elf, Dandy. Though she still wore the bracelet his father had gifted her every day. On the eve of his eighth birthday, his mother was trapped on the third floor of their home in her bedroom. There were no healers in and out of the grounds. Eight year old Theo took to hiding in the library, reading every book he could. He knew there must be something his parents were overlooking. They just weren’t trying hard enough. If healers could fix this, but weren’t allowed on the ground, he would. But his research proved naught and Perdita passed just before Christmas day, leaving Theo in his father’s sole care.

There were no kind words for the severe kind of man his father was. Piano lessons stopped as there was no one to teach him. Theo found himself with more alone time than he had ever had before as his father wasn’t a man you would like to find yourself around for any period of time. The exception was meals, when the youngest Nott and the eldest were forced to interact. His father often deemed these mealtimes lecture times as well, spouting off ideals Theodore never would have heard from his mother’s mouth.

HISTORY

When his first year arrived, Theodore understood the extent of what his mother had shielded him from. In the few years of them being the sole occupants of their home, his father’s once rare cases of corporal punishment had become a near daily occurrence. He had learned many times since gaining a wand that healing was an unacceptable action to take but his father had no issue with glamours. A word of what occurred at home wasn’t appropriate conversation. Familial business stayed such, without outside input or scorn.

It took Theo many years to come out of his proverbial shell. He thinks without Malfoy Manor as a place to escape to on school breaks and summer weekends, he may have not turned out the same. As his father’s attention turned away from his son and to the Dark Lord’s return, Theo felt almost free. That freedom didn’t occur until the Battle at the Department of Mysteries. The ministry had no issue arresting his father and not looking into whether young Theodore Nott would have any sort of adult supervision the summer before his sixth year. Why would they need to? Families like his never suffered.

Theodore didn’t participate in the Battle of Hogwarts, too fearful someone would take one look at him and make the sort of assumptions that ended with him being written about as another young death eater killed in the skirmish. He hoped to whatever ruled the skies and stars that his father didn’t survive, feeling guilty immediately that he had even had that sort of thought. It was safer than assuming his father was imprisoned. His father had escaped once before with no issue and there was no doubt in the youngest Nott’s mind that his old man could do it again. Fortunately, his wish came true.

Four years post Battle, Theodore has created a separate life for himself than the one originally laid out and it’s all thanks to the Department of Mysteries. The week after his father’s death, Theo returned home. He allowed himself only a week to mourn a man he knew in his heart he absolutely despised. Before the week was out, the long quiet house was filled with voices. Strangers were sitting in the abandoned sitting room. They had a proposition, a job offer, and no answers for how they had gotten through the wards of his home. Today, he has just about moved up to a fully-fledged unspeakable in the death division. The challenge of the Returned lays ahead.

His ancestral home of Nott Hall lays virtually abandoned. Only the blood wards stopped the acquisition of the property from anyone who strolled upon it. He still has some duties, as the remaining and only Nott, to attend to. Meager reparations paid to the Ministry dried up the last of the Nott vaults, leading Theo to have to acquire a small flat that he shares with Draco. It’s not fancy by any means, nothing like the tall ceiling rooms they both grew up in and without any house elves, but it’s theirs. His first purchases for himself, the sofa and his bed, are by far his favorite things in the whole flat.

OOC EXPLORATION

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

Please you know. I hate it here.

ANYTHING ELSE?

https://www.pinterest.com/securemal/priori-reverte-theodore-theo-nott/

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS

CHARACTER CONTRIBUTION

I truly love the idea of bringing in an Unspeakable to this world. It’s curious how they are the ones who made, and possibly caused, the discovery of the Returned but know so very little. Their, and Theo’s, entire worth is built on knowledge but they’re diving into the utter unknown and there are so many factors to consider about how this could end up. We don’t even know if the Returned can sustain themselves indefinitely. You’ve built a lovely playground for us, Emmy, and I’m too excited to play in it. But also I love Theodore Nott. Cursed Child did him dirty okay.

PRESENT

It was another night of waiting. The wooden small chair the Unspeakables were given wasn’t comfortable despite the many cushioning charms Theo’s co-workers had applied to it. He supposed that was the point. Most of the death division were working double or triple shifts. They had allocated reserve Unspeakables from both the time and love divisions and, still, they were understaffed. Their stock of pepper up potions should have run dry some time ago but the healers had been called in as well. No amount of pepper ups made this task any easier.

The coffee in his hand was lukewarm and Theo’s eyes were drooping. Slowly closing as his head fell forward until he caught himself. The curtain was moving. He could see it and he could have sworn he heard the now familiar sounds of confusion and anger at how the next unfortunate soul had ended up in the windowless chamber but he was wrong. The curtain always moved and Theodore always heard the whispers. It had taken quite a lot of restraint the first time he had been granted access to this room years ago but he kept his distance as the object called out to him. It was no different than the cursed books and painting and vases in his own home and Theo learned long ago that anything calling out for you was not a good sign. It only led to death. All things did in the world but especially here. Purposefully here. He wasn’t going to end up like his mother, touching something that didn’t belong to him and paying the price for it.

[that-rock-chick]

Love Bites

Love sucks. That's pretty much common knowledge. Combine that with addiction, money, fame, and childhood trauma and you've got a recipe for disaster.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Chapter 3

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In terms of nationwide success, Guns N' Roses is a band that's virtually non-existent. I mean, considering that they're an unsigned band without a debut album, that isn't surprising. Looking at them and listening to their amazing music, I would say they take a lot of inspiration from Hanoi Rocks, The Rolling Stones, New York Dolls, and to a lesser degree, The Sex Pistols, particularly in their onstage behavior.

And just like all of those bands, they're extremely talented. This band might be the best band I've ever seen play the Whiskey or in LA in general.

They're really fucking good.

I take a second to look at all the members of the band. All of them are very attractive but the man clearly trying a little too hard to look like Johnny Thunders catches my eye. Everything about him screamed cool and mysterious and I instantaneously found myself wanting to do whatever I could to get to know him. My gaze lingers on him for a moment before I begin to survey the crowd. I feel somewhat out of place in this setting. It's mostly men and women trying way too hard to catch the attention of the band for...obvious reasons. No offense to them, I support women doing whatever they want as long as they aren't hurting anyone, but I can't picture myself ever being in that crowd.

Once their set finishes, I begin to wonder if I should wait for the redhead, Axl, to approach me at some point, or if I should just turn around and leave. I weigh my options and figure that I should stay. Not because of Axl, but because I don't really feel like going home and running the risk of walking in on Tiffany and her boyfriend. I don't really feel like going home at all now that I think about it, and if it wasn't earlier, now is definitely not the time to be walking the strip at night.

I sit at the table with my mind wandering, when Axl walks over to me with a massive grin on his face.

"Did you enjoy the show?" he sits down and waits for me to reply. Looking at him and how he carries himself, it's clear he's a man who has little insecurities, if any at all. I wonder for a moment if I should humble him just a tiny bit, but I decided not to.

"That was the greatest fucking thing I've ever seen." I return the smile, as his grows even wider, which I didn't think was possible.

He tells me to hold on for a second and disappears into the sea of people. When he reemerges, he isn't alone. He has a tall blonde man and another man with long curly black hair in tow, and I recognize them as the bassist and one of the guitarists respectively.

"This is Duff," Axl points at the blonde, who I've just discovered is named Duff.

"And this is Slash. Guys, this is Julianna."

I stand up and extend my hand for them to shake and and obviously intoxicated Slash pulls me into his arms for a hug instead. Although I was taken aback at first, I hug him back. At least he's friendly!

"We're having a bitchin' party at our place tonight, you should come." Duff leans over and whispers into my ear while I'm still in Slash's arms.

"I doubt you have anything better to do, no offense." Axl cuts in.

I want to object and tell him that I have plenty of better things to do than to go to some stupid party with people I don't know but 1. I literally have nothing else to do and 2. As cynical as I can be at times, I actually kind of like parties. I'm actually going to a party with strangers, just because they say I should. Ted Bundy would've just loved me.

"If you don't know our address, just follow the crowd." Slash half-shouts as he removes his arms from around my body and begins following his band mates.

-

The house is exactly what you'd expect the members of an aspiring rock band to live in. The house is a complete dump and it appears so structurally unsound that I find myself questioning how the place is still standing. The lawn is covered with cans and bottles that once contained alcohol, shattered glass, cigarettes, and an alarming amount of drug paraphernalia. Despite my better judgement after seeing all of these things, I asend the concrete stairs and open the door. Well, what was left of the door.

Upon opening the door, I am immediately greeted with the smell of alcohol, cigarettes, marijuana, and God knows what else. I also smell something burning and I pray to the Lord above that it isn't heroin, although that would explain the needles decorating the yard and the hardwood floor that adorned the interior of the house.

Before I know it, Slash grabs my arm and starts running up the stairs. This man is truly insane and I can see myself getting along well with him after tonight.

He brings me to a room with four other men in it and it doesn't take me longer than a second to recognize them as the other members of Guns N' Roses.

"That's Steven, he's our drummer. On his left is our rhythm guitarist Izzy. And you've already met Axl and Duff.

"Hi!" Steven exclaims excitedly. He's got a lot of energy, something most people expect from drummers.

Izzy looks up at me for a second with a blank expression, then looks away. I can't decide if it's because he's not impressed with what he's seen or if he's just shy.

"I need a drink." Duff wastes no time standing up and leaving the room to consume whatever alcohol the boys have in the house.

Axl leans over to Steven and whispers something in his ear. Whatever it was, it caused both of them to glance at me and chuckle slightly. Instead of asking any questions, I brush it off and sit on the chair that was once occupied by Duff as Axl, Steven, and Slash start talking amongst themselves. Izzy's eyes meet mine again, he looks at me for a little while longer than before, then he exits the room without saying a word.

The other guys seem to have forgotten I'm in the room, so I opted to leave too.

Walking down the stairs, I instantly recognize "Call Me" by Blondie blaring from somewhere down here and I resist the urge to embarrass myself by singing and/or dancing. A man approaches me and offers me a drink but I quickly decline. My mother wasn't good at being an actual parent, but she definitely told me to never accept a drink from a stranger.

Partying at a strangers house, surrounded by strangers, was never brought up in that conversation.

I've always had exceptionally good hearing and when I hear sirens wailing in the distance, I go into panic mode. I assume no one else hears it so I scream.

"COPS!"

The atmosphere changes as everyone from all directions beings running to whatever exit is closest. I'm grateful for my smaller stature as I can easily move around the crowd of people and exist though a window that isn't as populated and is harder to spot from most angles. I don't even look behind me after I leap out of the window and run like my life depends on it. I technically didn't do anything wrong, but as previously mentioned, I DON'T like the cops.

I ignore the burning sensation in my lungs while I haul ass all the way to my apartment, narrowly avoiding being hit by several cars on the way. I sprint the full mile to my apartment, unlock the door, and collapse onto the couch after locking the door behind me.

"Well, you did say you we're gonna try working out daily." Tiffany chuckles at my exhausted state. She goes into the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water, which I gratefully accept.

"I was worried about you, did you have a fun night?" Tiffany sits on the couch nexts to me when I sit up to drink.

"Mhm. I saw this really cool band play at the Whiskey, they invited me to a party at their house,"

Tiffany raises an eyebrow in amusement. She knows I'm not the type to go to just anyone's house. I pretend to ignore her and continue.

"someone called the cops, and I got the fuck out of there as fast as possible."

"For someone who's never broken a law in their entire life, you sure are scared of the cops." Tiffany says, while taking my empty glass.

"They've got guns and shit. You don't have to break any laws to get fucked up by a cop."

At the same time I stand up, Victor walks out of Tiffany's bedroom in nothing but his boxers.

We exchange awkward waves and he goes to meet Tiffany in the kitchen.

I like Victor. We got along really well when I first met him. He was a good guy and made Tiffany happy, that's all I cared about. Then when the whole situation with Gwendolyn happened, shit changed almost instantly. By this point, Gwen and I were friends so it made the situation difficult. I didn't want to just stop talking to Victor, but I didn't wamt to hurt Gwen. It's hard to be truly neutral when all three people involved are people you care for.

I decide to stop overthinking and go into the bathroom for a hot shower and some sleep.

[megashadowdragon]

It has been called many things- the unwalkable disease, gutta (drop), podagra, arthritis of the rich, and the disease of kings (which sounded suitably dramatic for a title).

But we more commonly call it gout.

Doran Martell suffers from an advanced stage of gout, perhaps even exaggerated, since he has had his movement restricted to such a degree that nearly all motion is difficult without severe pain. (I'm not a doctor so, I can't say for certain)

Gout as a Facet of Doran's Character

We know that Doran is in constant pain, that it prevents sleep, and he finds no hope in medical treatment curing his disease.

The prince turned his chair laboriously to face her. Though he was but two-and-fifty, Doran Martell seemed much older. His body was soft and shapeless beneath his linen robes, and his legs were hard to look upon. The gout had swollen and reddened his joints grotesquely; his left knee was an apple, his right a melon, and his toes had turned to dark red grapes, so ripe it seemed as though a touch would burst them. Even the weight of a coverlet could make him shudder, though he bore the pain without complaint.

For comparison here is a testimony from a patient with gout in a single leg:

"The patient goes to bed and sleeps quietly until about two in the morning when he is awakened by a pain which usually seizes the great toe, but sometimes the heel, the calf of the leg or the ankle. The pain resembles that of a dislocated bone ... and this is immediately succeeded by a chillness, shivering and a slight fever ... the pain ..., which is mild in the beginning ..., grows gradually more violent every hour ... so exquisitely painful as not to endure the weight of the clothes nor the shaking of the room from a person walking briskly therein."

That is what Doran endures each day, constantly. Even the weight of a sheet would make the man shudder.

It is no wonder to me that he loves watching the little children splash and laugh and play in the Water Gardens. I imagine each glance must be bittersweet- imaging a time when he could run and splash with the other children, or watching Oberyn and Elia do the same. Knowing that now, his mobility, his autonomy has been taken from him, just as his siblings have been taken, leaving him unable to move, and unable to act.

Doran must be quite aware of how the children view him, and he takes special care to put them at ease, even at his own increased pain.

Then nought would do but he must say farewell to several of the children who had become especial favorites... Doran kept a splendid Myrish blanket over his legs as he spoke with them, to spare the young ones the sight of his swollen, bandaged joints

That splendid Myrish blanket sounds heavy with adornment (or even fabric) knowing that even a light coverlet's pressure pained him before this must be agony. It is my opinion that this blanket is as much for Prince Doran as it is for the children. He invites many children to the Water Gardens, a virtual safe haven free from class differences, a near oasis, the Prince entertains them, and it seems he must speak with them and come to know many of them. So much so, that he must say good bye.

Prince Doran carefully guards his image, this is part of the reason they left Sunspear nearly two years ago- he was getting sicker and needed to retreat from the whispers that filled the Shadow City. In the Water Garden's he is better able to project strength and wellness- his people clearly are unaware of how far his gout has progressed.

That this performance also extends to the children speaks to some form of painful self awareness on Doran's part- he doesn't want to expose his legs and upset them. I think he also doesn't want to see the children's faces and face their questions if they saw his legs.

Mobility and Autonomy

Something as simple as walking, is a thing we often take for granted. Doran can't get up to pour a glass of water, he needs help sitting up each day, he cannot support his weight enough to stand. It's paralyzing, it shrinks your perspective down to minute motions where every move is weighed by how much pain it will cause.

I think we can see this same restriction in his political moves as well- a painful reflection of his limited physical autonomy.

Hotah slid his longaxe into its sling across his back and gathered the prince into his arms, tenderly so as not to jar his swollen joints. Even so, Doran Martell bit back a gasp of pain... Hotah bore him up the long stone steps of the Tower of the Sun, to the great round chamber beneath the dome

The Prince of Dorne had to be carried from his seat, in the arms of his guard, up the steps of a tower to his bedroom. For a man in such a medieval martial society, that frames its conceptions of strength over acts of physical strength and war, which scorns physical disability, this must be a humiliating experience.

A Thimble of Poppy

It's after this day of bad news, of constant increasing pain, that we finally see a true crack in Doran Martell's armor. First the letter, which brought news of his brother's death, then his nieces repeated threats and calls for war (Obara, Nymeria, and Tyene), and humiliation from each we see him ask for a thimble of milk of the poppy. I'm not certain why, but these words (even after watching Maester Caelotte worry over possible poisoning) were very sad to read.

Doran has reached a wall, a point where he doesn't care anymore about keeping a clear head and frame of mind. He just wants relief, that constant spike in every joint, to be muted and fade to the background for a while.

Treatment

It seems that his gout has grown quite worse in the last few years:

Two years ago, when they had left Sunspear for the peace and isolation of the Water Gardens, Prince Doran’s gout had not been half so bad. In those days he had still walked, albeit slowly, leaning on a stick and grimacing with every step

Although gout has been treated in our own history for more than 2,000 years, it does not appear that the more advanced medicine of westeros (compared to our medieval history) has developed even basic treatments.

Since the time of Hippocrates we have known that gout was linked to lifestyle, and since Galen we've known that there are genetic factors associated with its development. For both of these periods gout was treated with a flower called the Autumn crocus- a powerful purgative (colchicine) was derived from it.

Strangely, there doesn't appear to be much help for it in westeros.

Maester Caleotte remained behind. “My prince?” the little round man asked. “Do your legs hurt?” The prince smiled faintly. “Is the sun hot?” “Shall I fetch a draught for the pain?” “No. I need my wits about me

In my opinion, this implies that the treatment automatically given is milk of the poppy. A pain reliever which would impair Doran's judgement- and milk of the poppy seems to fit (barring a more specific remedy we haven't heard of).

We also have reference to:

the maester helped Doran Martell to bathe and bandaged up his swollen joints in linen wraps soaked with soothing lotions

Although, I don't expect Hotah to be knowledgeable about the exact methods the maester uses to treat Doran- Hotah is in the third best position to know how the Prince is being treated (after Maester Caelotte, and Doran himself).

Lifestyle

Doran does not appear to have been given treatment options regarding his lifestyle.

A serving man brought him a bowl of purple olives, with flatbread, cheese, and chickpea paste. He ate a bit of it, and drank a cup of the sweet, heavy strongwine that he loved. When it was empty, he filled it once again.

This is, perhaps, the worst dinner Doran could have eaten in regards to his gout. Yet, it also is terribly mundane (by which I mean- likely a meal consumed regularly and not an indulgence). It is a staple meal- flatbread, cheese, and hummus. Simple, and certainly not King's Landing fare. But it is loaded with sugar, salt, and alcohol. All things which make gout worse- much worse.

We have another example:

He had decided to break his fast before he went, with a blood orange and a plate of gull’s eggs diced with bits of ham and fiery peppers

This is just as bad- sugar and meat- another food which exasperates his condition. One of the first lifestyle changes used as treatment was the elimination of alcohol, sweet foods from the diet.

It doesn't appear that Doran is remaining sick with gout to raise his popularity (as it was in our own history)

Gout (Everyone's Doing it These Days)

"The common cold is well named – but the gout seems instantly to raise the patient's social status", and to another in Punch in 1964, "In keeping with the spirit of more democratic times, gout is becoming less upper-class and is now open to all ... It is ridiculous that a man should be barred from enjoying gout because he went to the wrong school."

Nor does it appear that the gout is being used to ward off other more serious diseases (the gout seems extremely concerning)

In earlier times, attacks of gout were also seen as a prophylactic against more serious diseases. According to the writer Horace Walpole, gout "prevents other illnesses and prolongs life ... could I cure that gout, should not I have a fever, a palsy, or an apoplexy?"

My Takeaway:

I took a course on the intersection of disease, medicine, and history a while ago as a fun class- after reading this chapter again (Hotah I AFFC) I don't find him boring or lackluster anymore. If anything, Doran is incredibly human, and extremely relatable once you break him down.

He lives very much inside his own mind, I imagine wherever he is, Doran is always in the Water Garden's in his own head, seeing himself, Elia, and Oberyn shouting and splashing, as they were never able in childhood.

(Note: This is all said in the context of this one chapter, I haven't reread the next in the Dorne storyline yet.)

comments : I am not a medical student, so probably take my words with a grain of salt. Based on the source I listed below, it’s very universally known that sweets, alcohol, and meat (even sugar from fruit) exacerbate gout. The “drops” (Uric acid that builds into crystals in joints) is worsened by large amounts of sugar. (Like in the strongwine that Doran enjoys)Cherries do have sugar, not as much as other fruit, but I think they might have been referring to a combination of cherries and allopurinol which is used to reduce the amount of uric acid.Some older treatments of gout (that originated in the 19th c) basically attempted to purge the body of uric acid through urine. To my knowledge they use other methods today, but it must have been at least mildly effective (I remember reading about negative effects of such purgative treatment- so I’m not entirely sure).

[bathunterofdevon]

Art/Animation/Video Update:

Good day everyone. 

You may or may not notice how quiet and inactive I've been lately - when I promised I would give regular updates about my renewed determination to practise art and learn to animate successfully. In the beginning, when I first started this new challenge, I was pumped up, and full of energy to start it. I made a promise that I would never give up no matter what, and always focus on getting better. And in the first 5-6 days, I did keep a level head and kept on going, with a clear goal at the end of it. But, over a relatively short time, -by day 5 I think- I became exhausted and couldn't carry on anymore. My own brain kept feeding and replaying bad memories over and over again, which left me feeling weak and spiritually broken. Eventually, I just burned out and collapsed. That was weeks ago now. Something I didn't expect to see again has returned suddenly, and with a vengeance. 

The past two weeks have been nothing short of hell for me. Realistically speaking, there is nothing wrong with me. I didn't have a rough or traumatic childhood. I haven't lost anyone close to me. I didn't break up with a long term girlfriend (never even had one to begin with). And yet, for some reasons which I feel are too complicated and awkward for me to discuss here, I've been feeling overwhelmingly cynical and bleak, like there is absolutely no point to me being alive. I feel like I have no future. And my brain is stuck in the past and I can't pull it out of there. 

 I remember feeling like this back when I was in Canada, and 3 years before that. It is strange. I don't think I have any legitimate reason to be depressed. There are so many people around the world who have really suffered terrible losses and come from real, hard and trying life circumstances. I know people who were sexually abused when they were children. I know someone who suffers from Schizophrenia, and regularly experiences headaches after being involved in an incident that gave them serious injuries in their childhood. I don't have either of those. I'm living with my family again - my Mum and Dad, and my family all love me and think the world of me. I recently started a new joj as a host and food busser for this new fancy restaurant in the town near where I live. And when people ask me what I'm feeling, I always tell them I'm fine. So everything should be okay. I'm doing all the things I ought to. I'm not old. I'm not ill. But for some reason, I'm just so sick and tired. Of virtually everything. 

I'm beginning to feel increasingly distant from my own life situation, like I'm on some kind of autopilot. Everything feels almost illusory and surreal. In a way, I wish I had some kind of real illness, like Coronavirus, or Cancer, with visible, manifest symptoms that everyone would notice. At least then there would be some kind of treatment for it. The past few days, my bedroom has slowly turned into a prison. I've become so lethargic, I haven't had breakfast in weeks. I've spent virtually entire days in my bed, and my dressing gown. I haven't even had the energy to take my dog for a walk. He is always sitting outside my bedroom door wagging his tail waiting for me to take care of him. I haven't spoken with my old school friends, or my extended family in ages, and I fear I'll never have the courage to break the mould and talk to them. And my bedroom is increasingly full of useless things that used to amuse me many years ago, but are now collecting dust. My piano is basically an ornament now - I haven't touched it in a very long time. My guitar's strings have long rusted and I haven't changed them in 7 years. I retrieved an old TV from the attic and hooked it to this laptop so I could use it as a second monitor to help with studying references while attempting digital art. But I've never even switched it on in months. My studio mic and audio interface - I suspect one or maybe both of them may be broken, but I can't even be bothered to investigate which - it just doesn't matter anymore. There are old songs from years ago that are half-finished that I wanted to finish and put on Soundcloud/maybe even Youtube, but music doesn't bring me enough joy anymore. Nothing does. 

You know–it's funny. My Gundham Tanaka video I released a year ago is becoming far more popular than I ever anticipated it would. I keep receiving new messages from newcomers telling me: 'My depression is cured' or 'this just made me feel so much better', etc etc. It's gratifying for me to hear people say things like that. But it's beginning to get a little tiring, all the same. It's a message that's just so out of tune with what I'm feeling.I just feel like a walking, rotting corpse. Even Kaede isn't making me feel happy anymore. Instead, I just feel lonely, and miss her. Speaking of which, a few weeks ago, I watched a video by Weebynewz about her execution, and I've discovered new information about it that I didn't notice before, which has made me feel a hundred times more uncomfortable. Now I feel quite sick, and even seeing the thumbnail for her execution video is enough to ruin my mood and break any focus and concentration I once had. 

I am lucky that I have online freerfs who I converse with regularly and who are always asking me if I'm okay. I'm grateful that they are there to make my daily experience marginally less shit. But these days, I rarely ever talk to them. I only respond now. I haven't got the energy to make small talk, or follow up on new developments or catch up with new memes. I know they're always looking out for me, but they are never going to get me out of this. The best they can do is stand well away from the event horizon and wait for me to force myself out of it.  

Fortunately though, for those of you who are worried about me, it's not completely bad. I have started taking medication again. You see, for a long time, I mistakenly believed you weren't supposed to take antidepressants while driving/learning to drive because they make you experience tiredness as a side-effect. Recently though, I learned that that's not technically true. You can take meds while you are driving, but the idea is that you are not supposed to drive if you feel tired, or your senses are impaired. In addition, I am looking to see if I can visit a counsellor and start having sessions. I'm kind of desperate for good news and a hope of recovery at the moment, but I guess it's still better than nothing. 

No matter what happens, I know this isn't really me. It's certainly a large part of me, but it's not all there is to my character. And frankly, I'm sick and tired of this, and I want it to stop. I want to keep entertaining all of you with silly videos. And maybe one day, I'd like to do a Q+A video/face+voice reveal, unprivate my old videos I made a decade ago, and introduce all of you to my real self. Then when that happens, I can finally move on, transcend my love of the Danganronpa franchise, and try something new. I'm not sure what that would entail. But it might be something that incorporates my love of music, anime, visual novels, and possibly writing/voice acting. 

Until that day finally comes, I'm going to remain stuck in this rut for who-knows-how-long. I won't know when the day will come, but I like to think I'll be fully aware when it has, since I'll feel totally different and refreshed. The only way I can come to terms with this long, dreary spell of melancholy is if it exists to serve some kind of purpose. And if this experience is to mean anything, then ultimately, my purpose is finally one day break free from it and discover a secret 'purpose' or 'why', or perhaps unlock a hidden potential I never knew I had all along. When that happens, then I can make my return and move on. Then my story could pick up from where I last left it. Or perhaps I can rewrite it altogether. 

I wish you all very well and sincerely hope NOBODY else in the world feels like this, 

 - Bat

[tempusinfinituum]

Sacrifice: the Rise of Adeline Goode

co-written with @sc-rp

II. GUIDED BY A BEATING HEART

"There is a home and a family waiting for you."

Adeline cross legged on her fire escape, facing her bedroom window. She was leaned forward so she could get a somewhat clear view of the small box TV that sat on her dresser. Her eyes were fixated on the staticky screen. She'd seen that woman before. She'd seen her more times than she could count—but always when she was asleep.

Adeline knew she was different at a young age. She could do things her foster siblings couldn't—and when you were a child of the system, what made you different made you a target. It wasn't until the summer she turned 13 that she met a young girl who claimed to be a witch. The girl shared a lot of similarities with Adeline, including things they could do like telekinesis or lighting a flame with their mind. Adeline had a constant sense of calm the few times the witch visited her.

They met her first day in the group home. Adeline was having a hard time adjusting, especially after the incidences of her last foster home. She was sitting by a small brook, leaning back against a tree when she heard someone humming. The song was familiar; Adeline's subconscious recognized the melody and she caught herself humming along. The older witch was startled, not having seen the petite blonde curled up on the ground. The two of them started talking, and before long Adeline was having to rush home to try to make it there before curfew. It was at their second meeting that the girl admitted to being a witch, telling her that's what lead her to Adeline. "I could sense you were one of my tribe," the girl would say anytime they spoke about their first meeting. She taught Adeline what she knew—which wasn't much as far as structure goes—when it came to magic. In exchange, at the older woman's request, Adeline would read to her every day for an hour after school.

When the girl stopped visiting, Adeline shut down for a few days, an unexpected depression overwhelming her existence. It lasted for less than a week, then Adeline was back to her normal self. She started spending less time in the woods—it made her sad, reminding her of her long lost friend. This, however, meant that was more time she'd spend at the group home—which meant more time to be a direct target of abuse and torment at the hands of some of the other girls.

That day on the fire escape was the first day in a year that Adeline wasn't bothered. She wasn't being pushed, slapped, or cussed out every other minute. She convinced Rita to let her skip school, telling the older woman she was dealing with a stomach bug. Once Rita had left for work, Adeline got the bag she'd kept packed under her bed. She did that in every foster home she lived in, in the event she needed an exit strategy. She was climbing onto the fire escape when—for a reason she couldn't yet tell—the voice on the TV stopped her. She turned around, sat down, and watched the interview.

Adeline felt like she was seeing a ghost, or the physical embodiment of her childhood imaginary friend. She'd had frequent dreams that involved this person, and she knew that was a sign. She had to find her. When the news flashed the name of the school once more, and Adeline quickly memorized the address that was listed beneath it. She used to think her photographic memory was one of her powers, until she changed foster homes and met another girl who shared the same talent. She felt a twinge of sadness when the girl briefly crossed her mind, but she shook it off and started on her journey to Robichaux.

It was long after dark when Adeline finally arrived at the large manor. She, being a foster child in a group home, obviously didn't have a cell phone. She stopped at one of the tourist stores that frequented almost every block in New Orleans, using the small amount of money she had to buy a map. She walked up the front steps onto the large, cypress wood porch. "Wait," she stopped herself. "What the hell am I doing?" Her fight or flight started kicking in, but it was too late. Despite her stopping herself from knocking and making virtually no noise at all, Adeline heard the lock click as it was unlocked and the front door opened.

—

Cordelia took a deep breath, her heels clicking against the linoleum in the kitchen. She had a newfound confidence to her as Supreme. Something she'd been desperately missing for so long. Something she didn't know she could be capable of. The middle-aged witch could feel the presence of someone outside and made her way to the door of the school to allow an interviewer inside - for the very first time.

"I don't believe we need to hide any longer," the witch simply stated when asked why she'd chosen that particular time in the school's history to 'come out' about what used to be their own little secret. "There's no reason to feel ashamed. Or forgotten. Or lost or alone when you have a whole world waiting for you. People just like you, people who understand and want to help you grow in your powers and abilities - it's nothing to be scared of. It's a gift," the blonde witch assured anyone listening beyond that room. Cordelia whole-heartedly hoped she could reach hundreds of young girls who were in the predicament she found herself in years before.

Even though Cordelia never truly felt ashamed due to her witchcraft, her mother on the other hand, made her ashamed of herself. Cordelia always sold herself short and felt so small. Shipped off to school at a young age and so far away from home hurt the young witch. She never knew her father, but had only heard terrible things about him from her estranged mother. She wished that as a young witch she would've had a leader like herself. And that was her greatest accomplishment to date - taking care of, teaching and most importantly, protecting her girls.

It took a day or so, but Cordelia began to see the influx of young witches come to visit her at Miss Robichaux's. Some were certainly powerful young witches, some were just beginning to spread their wings, and some weren't witches at all. She managed to find the ones that belonged to her coven, assuring them that they would be loved, cherished, and protected.

On one particular day, Cordelia felt something deep inside her. Something gnawing at her heart a little bit, something she'd never really felt before. The witch felt a presence outside of the manor - one that held familiarity and curiosity. She stood, her heels clicking against the linoleum flooring as she got up from the kitchen table. Tap, tap, tap she went. Cordelia put her hand out and swiftly unlocked the door without a single touch. Her heart skipped a beat once she reached the door and opened it cautiously.

Adeline's breath caught in her throat when the older woman opened the door. She observed the woman for a moment—not long enough to seem creepy but long enough to take in her gestures. The blondes face was gentle and kind, her composure more proper than Adeline had ever seen in an adult. Adeline focused on her eyes—they had the same eyes.

When she was little and she dreamed about Cordelia, for a brief time she thought that maybe the woman in her dreams was her birth mother. When she saw her on TV, the thought crossed her mind for the first time in years. Now, standing before Cordelia, she questioned that. Maternal instincts were practically visibly radiating off of her; there was no way she'd give a kid up for adoption.

"Uh, hi I'm..." she debated for a second on lying about her name in case the woman called her social worker, but she wasn't great at lying on the spot. "My name is Adeline. I saw you on TV...and I think I might be a witch."

Cordelia couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity once she'd opened the door and set her eyes upon the girl on the other side. She knew she'd never met her before - right? She didn't look familiar..but somehow she felt familiar. She studied her for a few seconds, although it somehow felt like much longer.

Cordelia had always dreamt of being a mother. She always wished so badly that she could give a child the exact opposite that she'd had growing up. With her husband, she couldn't get pregnant and it broke her heart. She held so much resentment inside - but now she knew why. She needed to be there for her girls - and having a baby probably would've stifled her from doing so. It didn't mean that she didn't still have that urge every now and then, even though she truly did think of her girls as her own.

The witch studied her for a few seconds longer. "It's nice to meet you," she responded, her tone soft and caring, yet still a little cautious. "I'm Cordelia. Cordelia Goode, welcome to Miss Robichaux's." The witch felt inclined to shake the young girl's hand. She wanted to be polite and welcoming, but also yearned to know more about her.

Adeline felt her heart squeeze when she heard her voice. She'd heard that voice before...it was a very, very distant memory—it probably wasn't even real. She blinked a few times, trying to force the sense of Deja Vu to the back of her mind. Even if this woman wasn't her mother, she didn't think it would be fair to put the burden of caring for her Cordelia. Adeline was damages goods and she knew it. All she would do iis self destruct and bring down everything and everyone with her. That's what always happened. She looked back up at Cordelia; her fight or flight was starting to kick in.

"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered anxiously. "I think this was a mistake." Adeline turned to walk off the porch and down the stairs.

Cordelia studied the girl. She didn't really have judgment. She'd met so many young girls - so many young witches trying to figure out their place in the world and how this new part of them would play into their lives and their futures. She'd made mistakes herself - she had regrets. She certainly couldn't judge anyone else for what they'd done in the past.

The older witch took a step or two down once the younger witch tried to leave. "Why don't you come inside for something to drink? It's okay to be scared," she said, her tone coming across a little more gently. She understood that feeling. She understood it so well.

Adeline hesitated but nodded slightly, following the older woman into the house. She looked around with wide eyes upon entering the academy. Her eyes traced almost every inch of the room, almost in complete disbelief. "I've only ever seen places like this in movies..." she said quietly, scared that her voice would echo if she talked too loud.

The fact that the academy was as nice as it was only added to the inner conflict she'd been having. She pictured a real bed, with a mattress that was a thousand times softer than jail cot she was made to sleep on in the group home. She thought about the fact that their pillows probably all had pillowcases and the sheets weren't stained from all of the past foster children who occupied that bed at one point.

She felt like her body was playing tug of war—her heart was pulling her in one direction, which was toward Cordelia. Her mind, soul, and everything else that remembered that every parental figure or those who were supposed to act as such had either died, given her away, or abused her. Plus, she didn't know this woman. She knew there was a possibility that she misremembered her dream after seeing Cordelia on the news. Something about that felt wrong, though. "It's beautiful," she commented, looking around a little more.

Cordelia led the girl inside the manor, her heels clicking against the flooring again. "If you don't mind closing the door on your way in, I'd certainly appreciate it," she said politely, finally smiling a little.

Cordelia walked to the end table in the entry way and turned around briefly to lock the door. "It's spectacular, isn't it?" She had to admit, the manor was the most beautiful home she'd ever lived in - really the only place that she felt she could truly call home.

"I know I've already introduced myself but I'm Ms. Goode. You can call me Cordelia, all the girls do," she explained warmly. Something inside of her led her to the girl that had arrived outside of the school that day. She still couldn't quite place why. So she'd have to let it go for now.

"I'm Adeline... just Adeline," she half smiled, almost tempted to reach out and shake the woman's hand. This wasn't something she would normally do; Adeline wasn't proper by any means. She was basically a child of the streets. She didn't own a pair of jeans that weren't ripped, she skateboarded, and she rarely ever brushed her curly, blonde hair. That was another factor that deterred Adeline from the thought that the woman could be her mother. There was no way she came out of that. That would be a cruel joke for the universe to play on Cordelia. She noticed the entryway to the den area, the walls inside lined with portraits. "Could we go in there?" She asked quietly, curious about the pictures.

Cordelia knew that not everyone would be comfortable would touch and if Adeline didn't want to shake her hand then she wouldn't take it personally. "Of course," the older witch said rather quickly, being pulled away from her thoughts. Cordelia began to explain the portraits, speaking a little more slowly and carefully once she reached Myrtle's. "Myrtle Snow was one powerful witch - and so very nurturing, too. She took care of me. We were family," Cordelia stated simply, a soft twinkle in her eye.

Adeline looked at the picture of the older redhead and over to Cordelia, smiling softly. She looked back at the portrait, her heart sinking a little. "You seem to have really loved her," she spoke softly and carefully. Adeline always got a hint of jealousy when her friends would talk about their parents, but especially their mothers. Adeline had to go through everything by herself, when a mother's care and guidance would have eased some of that burden. She walked slowly looking at a few more pictures. In her peripheral vision, another portrait caught her eye. She turned, her eyes locking on the painting. She approached the painting, her heart starting to beat faster. She knew that face—she'd know it anywhere. "W-why is there a picture of Fiona in here?"

Cordelia nodded slowly, studying the picture of Myrtle - caught up in her own thoughts and feelings. "You could say that," she agreed, turning to face the girl again. Her smile faltered ever so slightly. Cordelia found herself caught off guard when she heard the younger woman's next words. She didn't think she'd introduced her to the portrait yet and she found it slightly peculiar that she'd bring up the topic of her late mother. Cordelia took a small breath and walked to face the portrait. It hadn't gotten easier for her. The burn she felt in her heart, the boiling hatred for the woman that caused her so much pain and heartache. "You're very smart. Fiona was our last Supreme. The previous Supreme."

"S-supreme?" She furrowed her eyebrows, turning her head to look at the older woman. Adeline's heart rhythm started beating more unevenly, a side effect of the heart condition she had after the car accident with her adoptive parents. "What's a Supreme?" Her voice was quiet, and she tired to keep it as composed as she could.

Cordelia had heard that question so many times before and smiled gently thinking about it. She never grew tired of explaining it. "The matriarch of our coven. An exceptional witch that can perform all of the Seven Wonders," she explained. "Have you ever heard of the Seven Wonders, Adeline?" Finally speaking the younger woman's name gave Cordelia a sense of deja vu. It felt more familiar to her than a name in a song or the name of an acquaintance.

Adeline zoned out a little after Cordelia explained what the Supreme was. She'd seen Fiona a multitude of times, but the difference between her and Cordelia—she'd seen her in person. Her breathing started becoming a little more erratic and her chest tightened. "I-I'm sorry. I can't—I need to leave." Adeline turned, sprinting from the parlor and out the front door. She thought she was home free, until she reached the gate. She pushed it with her palms, recoiling when she was met with a locked gate. "Shit!" She hissed, looking down at her hands. Blood trickled from a dozen small cuts from the thorns of whatever vine was wrapped around the gate.

Cordelia didn't know what was happening and before she could stop it it seemed to be too late. "Adeline - it's okay, what is upsetting you?" She asked, quickly following after the young witch. Her heels tapped rather quickly against the flooring and out the front door. She'd stopped in her tracks once Adeline had stopped and quickly noticed the blood on the younger woman's hands. "Let me help you, okay? I'll help you clean yourself up and you can go, if that's what you'd like to do," Cordelia assured her.

Adeline looked at Cordelia with tears in her eyes. She nodded slightly, but stayed silent. Her breathing was bordering on a panic attack, and she needed her hands clean so she could dig through her bag for her inhaler.

Cordelia took a deep breath, hoping she would mimic her breathing. She reached into her pocket, taking out a few clean tissues. She took the girl's hands in her own and couldn't have prepared herself for what she saw.

“Delia, let her go. It's time for her to go," Fiona spoke softly, almost sounding like she was actually comforting daughter. Cordelia, after an hour of refusing and saying she changed her mind, loosened her grip on the baby. Fiona took her from Cordelia, who crumpled into Hanks arms. Fiona put her thumb on the babies head, closing her eyes and whispering the spell over her. She handed the baby to the social worker before going back to her daughter. She waved her hand, and everything around her froze. She put her hand gently on Cordelia's head, a tear falling from Fiona's eye. She whispered the memory spell over Cordelia. She waved her hand through the air again, and everything around her was set back into motion. She stood next to her daughters bed with her arms crossed.

Cordelia gasped, stepping back abruptly. She suddenly felt like she couldn't catch her breath and suddenly remembered more than she had in years. She still couldn't piece it all together, but couldn't stop the shaking of her hands as she applied pressure to Adeline's wounds.

Adeline recoiled back, backing slowly away from Cordelia. She'd seen the same thing, albeit from a 3rd person point of view. She was right. All of the thoughts about Cordelia being her birth mother. Her breathing was more strained, and she slipped into an asthma attack. She dropped down, opening her bag and digging frantically for her inhaler.

Cordelia knelt down beside Adeline. "How can I help you?" She asked, breaking her silence. She allowed her the room to get into her purse in case she had some kind of medicine to help her. She took the tissues back temporarily, making sure that she'd wiped the majority of the blood from the girl's hands.

Adeline shook her head as she pulled the inhaler from her bag. She shook it before putting it in her mouth. She took inhaled it a few times before she started feeling her airway open up. She was still breathing rapidly, but she didn't feel like she was on the verge of suffocating anymore. "I-I'm fine," she stuttered, tears falling from her eyes, breaking her obvious facade. "I'm sorry, I can't be here. I need to go." She stood up and threw her bag over her shoulder. "I'm sure you're great, but I..." her words were broken off by a strained sob.

Cordelia couldn't mask her confusion. She still didn't completely understand what she'd seen when she touched the newcomer's hands despite her sense of deja vu becoming more and more clear. "Is - is there anything I can do?" She asked, wishing she could help. "What can I do for you?"

"Explain what the fuck just happened," Adeline put her head in her hands, a thought popping into her mind. She pulled her bag around the front of her body and dug for her wallet. She opened it, pulling out a folded up picture and handing it to Cordelia.

Cordelia took the picture, her hands beginning to shake as she looked at it. The Supreme closed her eyes for a brief moment, taking a second to feel the energy around the photo. Details came back to her like pieces of a puzzle, all connecting together. She felt like she couldn't breathe - actually, she knew she couldn't. "I don't want to, I can't do it. I've changed my mind. Hank, we can do this," the young witch begged. "I don't want to do this," she said, tears threatening to leak down her cheeks. "I want my baby. I want my daughter."

"What are you thinking?" Adeline still felt the need to run. She could physically breathe, but her body felt like it couldn't.

The young witch's body shook violently with each sob before suddenly she didn't feel anything at all. "Is this you, in this picture?" She finally asked, breaking from her trance. "I - I don't know how to explain this. I - my God," Cordelia breathed, still in utter shock.

"The only thing I knew about my birth parents was that they didn't want me," Adeline narrowed her eyes slightly, even though she knew full well it obviously wasn't Cordelia's fault. "Fiona started showing up after my adoptive parents died. Said she was my great aunt." She crossed her arms stubbornly. "That's all I know."

Cordelia's gaze softened. "I.." she didn't completely know what to say. She remembered some parts, but not nearly enough to tell Adeline what she wanted to hear. "Great aunt?" She asked, trying to make sense of it. Cordelia started to feel queasy and tried to swallow down the feeling.

"Yeah." Adeline responded softly, not sure what else to say. She was hurt, confused, angry. She didn't know how to handle her emotions and she knew she'd eventually lash out at Cordelia if she didn't calm down. She crossed her arm and shook her leg.

Cordelia knew she probably needed time to process all of the new information - or old information she'd been given. She wished so badly that she could talk to Myrtle about all of this, and maybe she could after all. "I would like a little bit of time to process this and to think about it more," Cordelia finally chose to say, scared of pushing the hurt girl away.

Adeline furrowed her eyebrows and nodded slightly, putting her bag over her shoulder. She started toward the front door, stopping to look back at Cordelia. "It was nice to have met you." She half smiled before putting her hand on the knob. Adeline was so used to people giving her up and not wanting her that it normally wouldn't bother her. And although Cordelia didn't say she didn't want her, Adeline's trust issues were so severe she figured she may as well have. This stung more than it normally did, and tears welled up as she opened the door.

Cordelia could sense the girl's feelings and felt guilty for the way she'd reacted. "Do you have a phone number I can reach you at?" She finally asked, mere steps before she'd possibly never see the girl again.

Adeline smiled sadly and shook her head. "They don't let us have them in the group home. A lot of girls got into a lot of trouble before they'd go there. But...if it's meant to be, it will be I guess. I don't know what I expected from this, but this definitely wasn't it."

Cordelia heart sank in her chest. She really had no other choice. "Why don't you stay here tonight? We have spare rooms. Or if there's someone I could call?" She suggested.

Adeline shook her head. "No, it's okay. You need time...I understand that. Don't worry about me—I'll be alright."

Cordelia knew she couldn't make or force Adeline to stay. "Okay, will you come back?" She asked with hesitance.

Adeline chewed her lip for a second. "Do you want me to?"

Cordelia didn't hesitant in her answer. "Yes, of course," she said solemnly. She always kept her word.

Adeline smiled sadly, nodding a little. "I'll come back if you want me to come back... but don't feel obligated or anything. I've been though worse." She repressed the tears that burned the brims of her eyes as she turned the doorknob and exited the academy.

[mimymomo]

Don’t Forget To Say I Love You Part 1

Orphydice Soulmate au! Orphydice Soulmate au!!

Title from Reeve Carney’s “Don’t Forget to Say I Love You”

...

Orpheus couldn’t wait to meet his soulmate. He dreamed of holding them close in his arms, of their warm smile, the sweet sound of their voice, and laugh. He wondered what color their eyes would be, the exact shade of their hair. Would they be small and feisty? Tall and demure? Would they be an early bird and take joy in watching the morning sun peek out from the horizon every morning? Or a night owl, spending those dark nights snuggled up under a blanket, cracking jokes basked in the moonlight until finally caving to slumber? Did they love music? Did they prefer fast lively songs with pulsing beats and heavy bass? Music that called for dancing close in the dark, played in the neon lights of a smoky club? Or did they prefer slower ballads, swaying back and forth to the melodious tunes of brass instruments and piano? What were their hobbies, their likes, and dislikes, their favorite colors, and seasons? Orpheus dreamed of the answers to them all. 

He constantly found himself staring down at the static number tattooed to his forearm: 24198. Twenty four thousand, one hundred and ninety-eight days. That’s nearly sixty-seven years. Sixty-seven years to spend with his soulmate, to spend by someone's side. Sixty-seven years to have someone to have and hold, love and cherish, to be within the brightest and darkest of times. Someone, he’d get to experience the rest of life with. Orpheus wanted that closeness, ached for that next level of intimacy. 

His parents didn’t last. According to Mister Hermes, a now distant friend of his mother, Orpheus’ parents weren’t soulmates, but to them, that didn’t matter. They were in love. Their relationship, a turbulent storm of passion and lust was followed quickly by a fervent marriage and abrupt divorce, leaving behind a small child in its wake, Orpheus. A casualty of two young lovers falling out of love. 

His mother was still young when her marriage dissolved and Orpheus was born. A youthful and wild summer flower, not ready to be tied down to the burdens of motherhood. She hungered for freedom and independence, not a curious toddler who constantly cried for attention and teethed. She itched to leave, and one day, she did. She walked into Hermes’ bar, a barely coherent Orpheus in her arms and a baby bag strapped to her shoulder. “I want to find my other half, to live my life. I need this Hermes,” the young woman cried passively, handing the toddler over to the older gentleman, adjusting the aviator glasses stuck into her hair. “I’ll be back once I find him.”

And with a toss of her velvety caramel hair, and not a single glance back, she was gone. Orpheus didn’t blame her for leaving him behind, couldn’t. Even for the short time he had been in his mother’s care, he could tell that her heart had not been in it. While he was with her, her mind was somewhere else, not tucked away in their quaint one-bedroom apartment, but out somewhere far away. Orpheus always wondered if his mother had ever managed to find her soulmate? If she was happier now? He hopes she is. In the twenty years since she left, she never returned to the bar- was she still out there looking or had she just forgotten about him in the process? Orpheus wasn’t sure which one he would rather be the case.  

Orpheus viewed what happened to his parents as the worst outcome, something he wanted to avoid at all costs. They were why he was so adamant about finding his soulmate. He wouldn’t face the same ill-fate as his folks, his heart couldn’t bear it. He would love his soulmate with all he had, he wouldn’t leave them as things get difficult. He told his vision to everyone who’d listen: his soulmate would come marching through the doors and Orpheus would instantly know they were the one. They would chat then reach for each other’s hands, their numbers would begin The Countdown, as most called it and they would live happily ever after. He would hold them forever, never letting them go. They would walk hand and hand, side by side through any storm or change. 

Mister Hermes and Lady Persephone had always called a hopeless romantic, joked that his head was stuck in the clouds, that his eyes were permanently tinted rose-colored. He spoke in sonnets and could only see the world for what it could be. As a child, Orpheus had minded the teasing, thinking that the two adults hated his quirks and flowery mind. He brought up his concerns one night as Mister Hermes was tucking him into bed.

“Child, I wished more people could be like you. The world would be a much more pleasant place if that were the case,” Hermes said. 

“You mean that?” the young boy asked, voice full of hope, eyes wide and bright.

“With all my heart,” he replied. Orpheus trusted the older man’s words and hadn’t doubted himself since. He kept his head in the clouds, he continued to write melodies and lyrics he once heard in his dreams. He kept his eyes wide, soul light and heart open. Others called him naive and too soft, but Orpheus learned to pay them no mind. 

“Orpheus,” Hermes called out snapping the boy out of his daydream. 

“Yes, Mister Hermes, sir?” Orpheus replied, still in a slight daze.

“You peering at that number again?” he asked pointedly, his tone reminiscent of a father scolding a young child over stealing a cookie from the jar before dinner.

Orpheus tugged the end of his pulled up shirt down over his arm, “no…”

Hermes sighed, “Boy, what did I tell you about having your eyes glued to that number of yours at work?”

Orpheus lowered his head, “not to.”

Hermes walked over and placed a hand on the poets sagging shoulders, “they’ll come, Poet. Just gotta be patient.” Orpheus gave his guardian a small smile before pulling out a damp dishrag from the front pocket of his apron. As he started to dry the freshly washed glasses, steam still radiating from off their rims, his mind wandered back to his soulmate. Would tonight finally be the night where they would walk through those doors? Orpheus could only hope and pray to the gods that it was. But whether it was tonight, tomorrow, months or even years down the line, there was one thing that Orpheus was certain of, he loved his soulmate with all his heart and soul. And he couldn’t wait to meet them.

… 

Eurydice hated her soulmate. Sure, she had never met the person before, but with just one glance down to the dark printed numbers etched into her tan skin, a burning sense of rage coursed through her veins. Ever since childhood, she was never a fan of the whole soulmate concept. The fact that the number of days you had to live post-meeting the supposed “person your soul most desires,” permanently stuck to your arm never sat well with Eurydice. To some, it was romantic but to her, it was just a cruel reminder of your fate and mortality, that life wasn’t permanent and death was coming for them all. 

Her father, when he actually was home and not blacked out drunk, would always without fail, give her such a somber look whenever she would walk into a room. Was it pity from the pathetically tiny number on her arm? Or maybe it was from the guilt of dooming his only child with such a short existence just like what happened to her mother? Eurydice didn’t know nor did she care to ask. She hated the damn pity everyone dealt her once they saw her number, that they mourned the end of her life like she wasn’t still alive and breathing in front of them. She was a walking ghost that unfortunately, everyone was still cursed to see. 

Eurydice quickly developed rules that she followed to a “T”: she took to wearing long sleeves or a jacket, even in the hottest of months, just to spare herself the accidental peek. She would keep to herself, always wear a sharp glare to keep others from coming too close. If someone didn’t get the message and chose to approach, she refused to let them talk first, checking the state of their clock before allowing them to speak. Of course, she knew that she was just prolonging the inevitable but she had plans, things in the future she needed to accomplish before she kicked the bucket. If no one wanted to believe she would live long enough to see those dreams become a reality, then she’d just have to prove them wrong. 

Eurydice was walking around aimlessly after an exhausting day; she had to attend all four of her classes and her boss had called her in to do an extra shift despite today being her day off. And to make matters worse, the heating in her apartment had decided to go out on one of the coldest days in March. So, to say she was tired and more than a bit pissed off would be an extreme understatement. 

The sun had set and the moon was out, shining in its full glory. The smoke and lights from the city buildings made seeing any star in the sky nearly impossible. She continued to walk down the street further away from her apartment, had no clue where she was heading, no set location or direction. She stepped one foot in front of the other, the wind harshly whipping at her face, eyes getting teary. Why did she think this was a good idea? She should’ve stayed in her icebox of an apartment.

Suddenly, a flashing neon sign grabbed her attention. The splendid fluorescent light, obnoxiously blinding in contrast to the dark indigo sky. HERMES, it spelled out in large, incandescent letters, hanging from the side of the building just at the end of the street corner. She didn’t know what drew her to the building but she quickly found herself fast tracking down the pavement, to the front of the brick building. She pulled open the heavy wooden door and was greeted to a rush of hot air, the sour smell of liquor, a hint of smoke and something...floral, wafted around the room. 

She cautiously tiptoed into the bar and looked around the establishment. It was virtually dead besides one or two other patrons. Well, I guess it makes sense. It is a Wednesday.

With scant more courage, Eurydice marched over to the bar counter. As long as she was stuck in here, she might as well get a drink. She sat down in tall barstool, her feet dangling slightly off the ground. She waved her hand to get the bartender's attention, but his back was turned to her, humming an unfamiliar tune. After another minute, Eurydice spoke up,“‘Scuse me.”

That was her first mistake. Rule number one: never speak up first. So simple yet so vital. 

The young bartender turned around and jumped. His humming silenced and his sweet, yet professional smile shifted at the sight of the woman who called for his attention. Despite his best efforts to appear neutral and undisturbed, his eyes went wide and mouth hung partially agape. Eurydice felt the air escape her chest, this boy was beautiful. Warm hazel eyes, brown shaggy hair that reached mid-forehead and a cute boyish face. He was on the taller lanky side, but Eurydice swore she could see the tiniest bit of muscle poke out from the cuff of his worn white shirt. A striking red bandana was tied snugly around his neck, the color matching his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

Orpheus was in awe. The young woman in front of him was beautiful, stunning, an angel. Her face was round, chubby cheeks and nose a dusty red from being outside in the cold. The end curls of her midnight black hair reached just above her shoulders and her bangs were perfectly symmetrical. Her oversized wool coat draped over her small frame. Orpheus focused on her eyes, oh, her eyes. Her eyes reminded Orpheus of melting chocolate, sweet and rich and utterly enticing. As he stared into them deeper and deeper, he struggled not to melt from their heat and completely indulge in their splendor. 

Eurydice whipped her head to the side and forcibly cleared her throat, Orpheus taking note of the white feather that was clipped in her hair. “I, I’m sorry,” Orpheus sputtered, jumping back into action. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“An old fashioned,” Eurydice answered, eyes still glued to anywhere but the cute bartender in front of her. Orpheus nodded and got to work on her drink, restarting that song he was humming earlier once again. “What song you humming?” Eurydice asked, unable to keep herself from prying.

“Oh, it’s just something I’m working on,” Orpheus smiled.

“You a singer?”

“Singer, musician, and writer. I play the guitar and perform here sometimes.”

“Wow, a real jack of all trades you are,” Eurydice smirked, snorting lightly. 

Orpheus laughed, “I guess you could say that. What brings you here?” 

“The heater in my apartment kicked the bucket,” Eurydice sighed. 

“Oooh, I’m sorry,” Orpheus said, more than a hint of concern lacing his voice.

Eurydice just waved him off, “it’s whatever. Just gotta call the landlord in the morning.”

Orpheus gave her a small grin, the ends of his mouth curling up the slightest bit, “least you’re out of the cold now, right?”

Eurydice gave a nod, returning the grin, “yeah, you’re right.”

 Orpheus poured the finished drink into a polished glass and gently handed it over to the young woman, “your drink.”

That’s when Eurydice broke the second most important rule: no touching. 

She carelessly reached out to grab the glass and before she knew it placed her hand over Orpheus’. “I’m sorry-” Orpheus began until a sharp, pain-filled groan forced him to let go of the glass, causing Eurydice to nearly drop it on the counter. Orpheus stared down at where the pain was coming from: his forearm. With a shaky hand, he slowly peeled his shirt sleeve back and glanced downwards. He gasped, his number, once a dull gray was now a searing blistering red. The Countdown had started.

Eurydice set the drink down and turned back to the young man. “Hey, what gives? Are you-” she gazed down at what he was staring at. No, no, no, oh gods, please no! Eurydice began to back away but before she could step too far Orpheus reached out and grabbed her hand.

“Wait!”

Eurydice froze. A quick excruciating sting began to radiant from her arm, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Tears sprung into eyes, salty and involuntary. This couldn’t be happening, not now. She had so much to do, so much planned. She had been so careful for all these years, and it was all for nothing. 

“Come home with me!” 

Eurydice whipped from head up and glared at the boy, eyes ablaze. Who the hell was this guy? First, he ruins her life and now he’s trying to lure her back to his place just to get a quick fuck? Screw him. She felt scalding hot, a pool of poisonous venom boil in the pit of her stomach. “Who are you?” she lowly growled. 

“The man who’s gonna marry you!” he answered earnestly with desperate eyes. “I’m Orpheus.”

Orpheus. Orpheus, that was his name. Orpheus, the name of the damned man who ruined her life forever. “I hate you,” she whispered ghostly quiet, head tilted to the floor. She watched as tiny droplets of hot tears fell to the dirty floor.

Orpheus frowned, a chill ran up his spine. He was stunned by his soulmate’s reaction, “what?”

Eurydice ripped her hand away and held it close to her chest as if just touching Orpheus brought her all the discomfort in the world. “I hate you!” she screamed through teary eyes and ran to and out the bar door, leaving a confused and heartbroken Orpheus behind.

Eurydice tore out the bar, down the street, past her apartment complex, further and further into the dark envelope of the night. She just ran, and ran, and ran, and ran. Her knees buckled and her chest was on fire, each intake of frigid air burning her lungs but she kept running. She ran until she reached the edge of town, right in front of the public park. She fell to her knees and sobbed. She sobbed for the future she’d never have, for the dreams she’d never accomplish. She sobbed for herself and Orpheus, the poor bartender who had done knowing wrong and now was cursed with her shit luck. She sobbed for her fate and her limited days left. She sobbed and sobbed and never once looked at her number, couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not that she needed to, she had it memorized: 

    194.

    One hundred and ninety-four days. 

She’d be dead in just over six months.

She ducked her head into her knees and mournfully sobbed as the rays of moonlight gleamed up above, bathing her in there light. She couldn’t escape her fate, no matter how hard she tried. 

[eag1e98]

Virtual Aces

So this short is an irrelief fic. Going off of @tsarisfanfiction prompt videogames. I imagined at some point in Scott's teenage life he played video games, air combat video games in particular. Fast forward to present day Alan finds Scott's old games and the fun ensues.

"Wow...how old is this?" Alan whispered to himself as he rifled through an unmarked cardboard box. The underground hangars had their fair share of cardboard boxes. Even though most were in storage rooms some found their way into various corners of the hangars. Alan had literally stumbled upon one near the maintenance desks that sat ready to assist with any task involving Thunderbird 1. Alan was placing a can of wax and a buffer pad on the desk after waxing one of the stabilizers. It was a task Scott usually did, and actually enjoyed but he was busy assisting Virgil with maintenance on Thunderbird 2. The waxing could not wait any longer.

Alan had already finished washing and waxing and was ready for a break. Or...at least something else to do. The box beside the desk was worn. It's flaps were coming apart and the bottom corners had stains after sitting in a slightly humid hangar for who knows how long. Alan had opened the box to find a black console and some cords. Alan picked up the box and ran upstairs hoping to further inspect it in privacy.

Alan bypassed any curious brothers and retreated to his room. After pulling the black console out of the box he realized exactly what he was looking at.

It's a video game console.

Due to its age he guessed the possible owners of the video game console. Alan found a single plastic disc case missing any sort of cover that might identify the contents on the disc. Alan opened up the case and read the label on the disc...air combat ace...huh it must be Scott's. Alan was so entranced with his new found treasure that he did not hear the footsteps stopping in his bedroom doorway.

"What are you doing?" Alan jumped like a spring loaded toy. "G'ah!...oh Kayo it's you I thought you were someone else." Kayo had just returned from the gym. Her intuition was on point when it came to her brothers. She knew Alan was up to something. "What are you hiding Alan?" "Nothing..." Alan had never mastered the art of lying. "I saw you running upstairs with a box. Just tell me what you found." Kayo was not looking to snitch on her youngest brother. She hoped it was family history or something like that...which it kind of was.

Alan paused and thought for a moment. His sister had nothing to gain from ratting him out and every ounce of curiosity he had. "I think...I think it's Scott's old game console." Kayo and Alan were not alive when Scott was a teenager so they knew little about the games he played...but they both knew Scott's love of older jet aircraft especially military aircraft. Scott had flown in the United States Air Force for 5 years. Virgil had told the younger siblings about Scott's affinity for warbirds before, but never had they looked at their eldest brother as a gamer.

Alan started setting up the console and plugging it in to the older TV that sat in his room. Antique games were still appreciated in the age of newer TVs and holoprojectors which meant that older consoles could still be hooked up and used. "Look at these older VR headsets! These are so cool!" Alan was delighted to see elements of Scott's childhood. Kayo checked the hallway for Virgil or Scott before sitting down on the floor next to Alan and grabbing the second controller.

There was a moment of suspense as Alan switched on the TV then the console. It would be a real letdown if the console didn't work. The TV sat with a black screen for what seemed like ages until...ding. The word Gamestation appeared on the screen. It works.

Alan had played flying games before even though he preferred his usual role playing games. Kayo didn't game as much but she had taken to any flying game she came across during trips to the arcade with her brothers. Air combat ace was a simple game that allowed up to 4 players to battle together against bots, battle in teams, or battle each other. The aircraft in the game were from the 2010s and 2020s. "So how about we battle each other?" Alan smirked at Kayo who was never one to back down from a challenge. "You're on Alan Tracy." Another voice spoke from the doorway, "You sure about that?" This time Kayo and Alan both jumped. It was Scott.

"Wow... where'd you find my old Gamestation console, I've been looking everywhere for this!" Scott was even more amazed that the thing still worked. "I found it in the hangar...sorry for running off with it." Scott couldn't be mad at Alan...not after finding this treasure. He sat down on the bed intending to spectate. "I'm just glad you found it. Do you guys want help with controls?" "I think we got it." Alan answered as he and Kayo went through the aircraft selection. Kayo eyed the stealth fighter, it looked sleek and maneuverable like her bird. It was called a raptor. Alan chose the same plane. The choices didn't surprise Scott, it was his favorite plane in the game after all. The gaming pair slipped on their VR headsets and commenced battle.

The score was 2 for Kayo, 1 for Alan. After kill 3, Alan pulled off his headset in defeat. "Man, I'm no good at these games...but I guess you have an advantage being the pilot of Thunderbird Shadow." Alan plopped down on his bed next to Scott. "Keep trying, you'll get it," Kayo encouraged her younger brother. "Wait...Scott I challenge you to a dogfight." Kayo had been learning a bit of air combat basics from Scott...only because he knew he couldn't keep her out of a dogfight if a rescue required it. Scott had not taught her everything though. "The student challenging the teacher...bold of you to think I taught you everything. Plus, this is my game." "Well if you aren't busy..." Kayo's grin showed all the competitive spirit that being raised around brothers gave her. Scott returned the expression, "F. A. B. you're on."

Scott took Alan's place on the floor and grabbed the headset and controller. The match continued where it left off. The match would end when someone reached 5 kills, the traditional amount that designated an ace. Alan watched the split screen on the TV in awe. The two virtual jets were locked in a tight furball. Not a word was spoken between the two pilots. Each jet turning and flipping, trying to get an angle on the other. Poof...Kayo's screen erupted in a fireball as Scott landed a missile hit.

10 minutes had passed in the match. Virgil and Gordon peeked in the room to see what was going on. "Who's winning?" Gordon whispered to Alan hoping not to disturb the spectacle before them. Scott had 4 kills and Kayo had managed to land 1 kill bringing her score to 4. The score was tied. Alan's bed was now a metaphorical grandstand as Virgil, Gordon, and Alan watched the enduring battle before them.

Boom...Kayo's screen erupted in fire...match over. Scott and Kayo let out a huff. "That match was the most fun I'd had in years with that game, good job." Scott held his hand up for a high five. Kayo smiled back and high fived her humble brother. "Pay up Virge!" Gordon laughed. Scott and Kayo whipped around to see the audience that had formed behind them. "When did you guys get in here?" Scott questioned. "At the tiebreaker." Virgil chuckled. "I think we have a new family challenge."

From then on the family had their challenge. Beat their own virtual ace.

[mariposamagazine]

Manic Pixie Swamp Thing

a short story by Laura Garnica

Leo Torres looked at his Apple watch again, his left foot tapping restlessly on the pavement. He ran a large, clumsy hand through his wavy black hair and glanced up at the rising moon. It gets dark so early now.

6:06.

Should I send a text? He wondered. Nah, I’ll give it another five minutes. She’ll be here.

He fidgeted with the straps of his blue face mask. It took some getting used to, even after seven months of living through a pandemic. Leo worked from home, so he rarely went into public spaces, rarely had to bother with putting one on. He still couldn’t get over the discomfort– it made him think of the face-huggers from Alien.

6:07.

He hoped the other café patrons weren’t getting creeped out. Tall brown kid with a backpack lurking on the street corner, practically sweating with nerves despite the chill October air… and this café was in one of the nicer parts of the city, on top of that. An elderly white lady stared him down and clutched her Chanel purse a little tighter as she passed him on the sidewalk. “Maldita vieja bruja,” he muttered with an eye roll. But Leo didn’t want to get a table without his date; it seemed more polite to wait so that they could go to the hostess together. Or am I just overthinking it?

6:08.

Was this even a good idea? Asking out a girl whose face you’ve never seen? Leo’s friends had given him so much shit when they found out she didn’t have social media.

“How do even you know if she’s cute or not?” Sammy had demanded. “It’s practically a blind date– and she’s already deaf.”

Leo bristled. “First of all, she’s just mute, not deaf. And second, there’s more important things than appearance, dick.”

Sammy and their other roommate, Josh, had crept into Leo’s bedroom during his ASL class yesterday to catch a glimpse of their friend’s mysterious crush. Leo had almost burst a vein when he spotted them in the corner of his screen, their goofy faces peering over his shoulder like a couple of kids, barely containing their snickering. The minute class was over, he stormed into the kitchen to glare at them.

Sammy nudged him with a grin. “Bro, she was the only one wearing a mask in her video. You’re telling me she shows up to virtual class like that, every time?”

Leo shrugged, turning pink.

“I mean, she’s always zooming from this café in uptown, so she kinda has to.”

“What, like she hasn’t had internet at home the whole semester?”

Josh looked up from his phone to add “…it’s a little sus, dude.”

“And her name is… Lilin? Is that some crunchy-granola white girl name? Like did they forget to add the ‘a’ for Lilian?”

Leo couldn’t help but crack a smile at this. It was kind of a weird name.

Josh started laughing– “Ey, maybe that’s the answer, Sam. Maybe her family is the hardcore hippy type– you know, like the ones who believe in chemtrails and don’t even own a microwave or a tv.”

Whatever. She was nice, and she was really sweet when they got paired up in class last week. Besides, she was way better at ASL than him, and she didn’t seem to mind helping him out. She was a good listener, too… although she didn’t offer up much information about herself, so it was a pretty one sided conversation. Have to remedy that today, he thought.

6:10.

A slender girl with silky white-blonde hair that fell to her hips emerged from the crowded crosswalk. Her dark eyes sparked with recognition when she spotted Leo, who began enthusiastically waving an arm in the air in front of Cafe Étude. She wore a burgundy sundress over a black turtleneck and tights, with a black mask made of some kind of silky material. Leo adjusted the collar of his button down nervously.

Hi, he signed.

Hi, Leo. Nice to finally meet you in person, she replied, her spidery hands moving far more deftly than his.

He nodded towards the podium by the entrance of the café, and they walked up to the bored-looking hostess together.

“Table for two?” she drawled. “Sit anywhere you like,” gesturing to the recently expanded outdoor seating, each metal table placed a careful six feet apart from the next, spilling over the sidewalk into the street.

“Thanks,” Leo replied. They found an empty table in the corner of the outdoor seating area nearest to the café itself. Leo slung his backpack off his shoulders and leaned it against one of the table legs, rummaging around for his school binder and lecture notes. He felt her dark eyes watching him even before he resurfaced, arms full of papers and notebooks and his beat up laptop. She had such a curious presence about her… Or I’m just not used to being around new people anymore, he thought sheepishly. Still, Leo found himself reluctant to meet those strange eyes.

I’m glad you asked me to study with you. It’s better signing in person than over Zoom, she relayed. She bent down to gather her own laptop out of her satchel, white-blonde hair falling in a curtain over her face. It was sort of absurd, how long it was. Leo hadn’t seen a girl with hair that long since elementary school days. As she tucked it behind her ear, he got a glimpse of the edges of her mask– it was definitely one of those fancy ones, because it covered every inch of her face below the eyes, and tied behind her ears instead of relying on the usual cheap elastic bands.

What is it? she signed.

Leo felt his face flush in embarrassment.

Your hair. It’s really long.

She didn’t blink. Leo’s hands stuttered.

In a good way! It’s pretty, I mean.

Her eyes crinkled ever so slightly– the barest hint of a smile. She popped open her laptop– an old PC, no stickers– and the blue-aproned waiter returned, hovering over them with a notepad. Leo quickly asked Lilin what she wanted.

“One latte and one iced earl grey tea, please. And uh, some toast, too.” The waiter scurried away, and Leo smiled at Lilin under his mask, before realizing she probably couldn’t tell if he was smiling, either.

He remembered she had mentioned moving to the city recently, and asked her how it had been, transitioning during a pandemic.

It was… okay, she replied, her hands moving much more slowly now. It’s just me, so… there wasn’t much to move.

Oh. Where are you from, anyways? Sorry, I feel like I should know that.

At this she paused, dark eyes boring into him, unblinking.

Very far from here. You wouldn’t know it.

A tense silence formed and began to stretch between them– Leo unsure of how to reply when she so clearly didn’t want to open up.

Thankfully their waiter returned before the awkwardness became unbearable, balancing a plate of toast and their two drinks in small ceramic cups.

“Ah, thank you so much,” Leo called to the waiter as she left their table.

“You mind if I…?” he gestured to his face.

I promise I’m good, I just took a test on Monday (it was negative) and I took my temperature before I came here, he signed.

Lilin nodded, the strange look in her eyes gone. Leo sighed with relief as he removed his cloth mask, folding it neatly in his lap. He smiled nervously. Why was she so cagey when I asked about where she moved from? he thought. He grabbed a slice of toast from the plate and started nibbling on it, flipping through yesterday’s lecture notes. He looked up at the sound of her grabbing her glass of tea, and tried to hide his excitement. Leo tried not to stare as she carefully adjusted the cup a few inches to the right of her laptop. No reveal. She caught him staring and he fixed his face so his disappointment wasn’t so palpable. Lilin said nothing, but he felt like she was smirking at him.

Their study session passed by quickly, Lilin often stopping to ask if he needed help, or creating conversation. He found himself telling her about his siblings back home, his longtime interest in languages, his love of animals. She had very little to say when he asked the same questions of her, but that seemed to be her MO so he quickly gave up on pushing her.

You raised pigs yourself? she asked, her eyes incredulous.

Damn, this really is a good way to practice, he thought as he struggled to convey that the agriculture program was a big deal in a small, rural town like his. Not to mention he grew up on a ranch for half his childhood.

Did you feel bad for them? She asked.

Who, the pigs? Yes. Worst part.

Her eyes narrowed in what was either a concerned frown, or a strange half smile, he couldn’t be sure.

She never took off her mask once, not even to try the toast. By nine, they had covered the entire midterm practice exam.

Cafe Étude began closing up shop, so Leo and Lilin began to pack up their things as well.

How are you feeling about the midterm next week? Lilin signed.

Do you think you still need more practice? If you want to keep going tonight, I don’t mind. She slung her satchel over her shoulders and stared at him expectantly. Leo chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, I definitely feel better about it, but knowing myself, that probably doesn’t mean much. I don’t wanna put you out though, Lilin! It was really nice of you to even meet up with me to study in the first place.”

She stepped closer to him, and the scent of seaweed and ocean brine tickled his nostrils. The city was thirty miles from the nearest beach, but suddenly that didn’t seem to matter in the moment.

It’s okay, Leo, I’m happy to help. You’re very nice. This was a nice study… date.

Leo felt his face burning under his mask. I mean, this was going pretty well but I didn’t think it was going THAT well, he thought incredulously.

He started when he felt a cold hand enveloping his, Lilin trailing her long fingers across his palm. Her eyes, so dark and deep, unblinking on his. It felt like his head was leaving his shoulders, like those strange, lovely eyes were hypnotizing him. He slowly reached towards her ear, hands trembling as he brushed the edge of her mask with his fingertips. Then her hand was around his wrist like a vice, pulling it away from her face with barely restrained force. She let go to sign, her hands moving quickly, urgently.

No, not here. Let’s finish studying at my place? I live alone.

Everything felt so far away, like Leo was watching the scene unfold from the comfort and distance of a movie theater seat. Getting his hands to reply felt like having to wade through deep water.

Okay.

Her cold hand was on his again, and before he knew it the café was far behind, as well as the bustling streets of mid-city. The streetlights became infrequent, their light a dull orange on quiet sidewalks where rows of identical, impassive houses loomed over the couple. Leo didn’t recognize this part of town, it seemed strangely empty. He found that he couldn’t even remember what streets they had taken to get there. Lilin hadn’t let go of his hand since they had started walking, so they walked in silence. That odd scent continued to waft behind her, that briny, seaweed smell. Her hand was so cold and clammy, and even though his was like a radiator it hadn’t warmed in the slightest. Yet still, Leo couldn’t find it in himself to be worried. Her white-blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, those dark, dark eyes. It was enough just to see her, be near her. There was something special about her, he felt.

At last Lilin came to a halt, and let go of his hand to sign we’re here.

It was a bland house similar in style to its neighbors on that long, endless street, converted into apartments, all of which looked empty. Leo realized that there hadn’t seemed to be any places with their lights on since they’d turned on this street.

Lilin rummaged around in her bag for keys, then led him up the porch stairs to the red door on the left. Leo took out his phone to offer some light as she fumbled with the lock in the dark. A harsh scraping sound and then the click of the door being opened– strange, Leo thought. No service out here. He gently tapped her shoulder.

Hey, Lilin, does your phone have service? he signed. She simply stared at him for a moment before stepping into the pitch-black hallway. Leo waited for lights to come on, but they never did– instead, the rusty scrape of a match could be heard, and there was Lilin lighting a candle wall sconce as if it was the most normal thing in the world. But still… something in him told him it was just part of her nature, not to worry. Candle light seemed to suit her better, somehow. Yes, this was how it was supposed to be. He stepped through the doorway into the velvety darkness.

It was cold. The air felt stagnant, like the place hadn’t seen fresh air in weeks.

Lilin blew out the lit match and took the candle she had lit from its sconce, using it to light the other candles scattered throughout the hallway. The flames seemed to duplicate each time one was lit, until he realized that there were mirrors of all different sizes covering the drab walls. It was a rather small foyer with a single doorway at the end. Whatever was beyond that doorway was a mystery; the darkness was a door of its own, obscuring whatever lay beyond their little circle of candlelight. She dropped her satchel to the floor with a thunk, not even giving it a second glance. Once the hall candles were lit, she walked back to Leo and placed the candle in his hand, gently wrapping his fingers around its base.

I want to show you something, Leo, she signed. He swallowed thickly, a nervous smile spreading slowly under his mask. It was cold, but he felt lucky. She chose me, he thought sluggishly.

Lilin reached for the bottom of her skirt and pulled her dress over her head in a quick fluid motion. She tossed the garment into the dark, unlit room adjacent to the foyer. In shock, all Leo could do was continue to stand there holding the candle, staring like an idiot. Lilin moved on to her boots, her tights, and then before he could process any of it, she was naked, save for her mask. Her body was thin, so thin her ribs protruded from her abdomen. Her skin was the same uniform milky paleness, almost translucent in areas that it stretched thinly over her bones. Not a single freckle or mole or distinguishing mark, just that smooth white glow. Almost like the belly of a fish, a thought came to him from far, far away. Her long hair gleamed in the candlelight, sections covering her nakedness like a Renaissance painting.

She walked slowly, deliberately around him till he felt cold, slender arms tenderly wrapping around his waist from behind. Her skin was even colder than the air in the room– it made him shiver, and yet, seeing their reflection in the mirrors around them gave him that strange sense of belonging again– she chose him. He was lucky, wasn’t he? Her hands ran over the front of his jacket, unzipping it, and he felt her chin rest gently on his shoulder.

Leo barely felt the heat of the candle wax that was now dripping down his hand. Somewhere, some small part of him wondered what the fuck was going on. And still, he could do nothing, say nothing… He wanted to leave, but he had to see her face. He had to. Then things would make sense, then he could leave.

“Lilin…”

And then her spidery fingers were reaching behind her ears, the whisper soft sound of the silk ties running through her hair as she loosened the mask. Through the mirror before them, her eyes did not leave his, did not blink. It was so cold, he realized, so cold in that hallway. The flickering candlelight cast strange shadows on the walls and floors, whose spaces between the mirrors he saw were blank and dingy. No photos, no decorations, no windows, either. The wax burning his flesh felt so far away now.

Lilin slowly pulled her mask from her face, the ties trailing against his shoulder, and Leo watched through the mirror with absurd fascination as she revealed an empty black hole where her nose should have been. The skin of her face was drawn tight, like plastic stretched over a skull. A mouth that was like a fresh gash on her face, her lips raw and red and far too long– her smile nearly stretched from ear to ear.

Lilin let her mask fall softly to the floor before wrapping her arms around him again, tighter. Leo found that he could not move. Maybe he hadn’t been able to move this whole time. He couldn’t even move his head to look back at the door. Was there a door to begin with? The memory of the keys and the flashlight and the sound of the lock scraping open felt like memories from another lifetime.

What time is it? Their faces next to one another in the mirror looked almost comical; a study in opposites. His own face, still somehow so calm and relaxed. But there wasn’t anything to worry about, anymore, really.

Lilin’s strange, awful mouth began to move. Those red, raw lips parting to reveal a crimson mouth lined with row upon row of long, thin, glittering teeth.

Teeth like an anglerfish, he thought to himself from far away, with strange amusement.

A voice like a scream, a song like a dirge filled the dark corners of the room.

[takeiteasypeasybaby]

Save Me: Chapter 59 - Equals

~Hey guys! Chapter 59 is out now :) This is a long chapter so grab a cup of tea and get ready <3 Love y’all~

Molly and Negan start to, for the first time, become equals in their relationship. Molly helps Lydia put down roots and introduces her to someone she loves, however her mental state appears to be getting the better of her.

As I walked out into the snow, people stared at me and audibly gasped at my rapid recovery.

Lydia rushed over and said 'Molly! You're okay! But, you should be resting'.

'I feel fine, my temperature is back up and I'm nice and warm. I'm good, I promise' I said as I pulled her into a soft hug.

'Hey, would you come with me inside a sec?' I asked her as she nodded and followed me into the hospital.

'I wanted to ask you...if you would want to live with me? I have a house here at Alexandria and I haven't been back for a while and I know that you would probably rather be at Hilltop because you liked it there but I jus-' I said frantically.

Like I was reeling off every thought in my mind before she cut me off.

'I would like that' she said softly as she smiled widely.

I nodded, saying 'good'.

'But what about Hilltop, you're there leader' she asked.

'I know, but I just can't be there anymore...where she's buried, I just can't. I have a suggestion for who could take over though' I replied.

She frowned, thinking hard about who it would be.

'Who?' she asked.

'You'll see' I replied teasingly as I ushered her to follow me to my house.

Michonne has given me my keys a while back when we first came back to Alexandria, but I hadn't dared to go inside.

I guess the place just reminded me of Tara and I wasn't sure if I could handle it.

I walked up to my house, it was virtually spotless and untouched so I unlocked the door and I creaked open.

Lydia stepped inside first as I followed, she looked around in awe.

'Wow! I haven't been in a house like this since I was really little' she said smiling.

I too looked around, seeing all the books still in place, especially the ones Tara loves to borrow.

'Yeah, it's a beautiful house. Maybe it will be yours one day' I said smiling.

'C'mon I'll show you your room and I'll take your bags for you' I said as I carried her bag upstairs and opened the door to the spare room.

Upstairs had two bedrooms and one bathroom, so it was perfect for us.

The winter sunshine shone through the window pane, making all the dust in the air visible.

The room hadn't been used since...well Tara.

'This was Tara's room once, before she and her girlfriend moved into their own house' I said sadly as I placed down her bag by the bed.

'Just across the street there' I said as I pointed out the window.

I sighed reflectively.

'You make yourself comfortable while I go and run an errand. I'll be back in 10 minutes' I said softly as I paced down the stairs and back out onto the street.

I saw Luke walking by and I ran after him.

'Hey boss!' he said happily.

'Hey Luke, listen I want to ask you something. It's more of a proposal actually...' I said hesitantly.

'Yes I will marry you' he said sarcastically making me chuckle.

'No, not that kind of proposal...I want you to lead the Hilltop community. I want you to take over. The people adore you and you would be great' I said smiling.

He looked at me excitedly yet also sad at the same time.

'But boss, you're their leader?' he said confusedly.

'Not anymore, I need to be here, with my family' I said softly which he nodded.

'If it's what you want then I would be honoured' he said excitedly.

'Good' I said smirking as I said goodbye, feeling a weight lifted off my shoulders.

I walked back inside to see Lydia sat reading on the couch.

I smiled at her, feeling content that the house felt alive again.

'So...I want you to meet someone, someone who is very important to me' I said anxiously.

She looked puzzled and closed her book.

'Who? Haven't I met everyone here?' she asked.

I paced around.

'Well, not everyone, not Negan' I said hesitantly.

'Wait, Negan?Michonne said he was a prisoner?' she asked.

'He is, technically, but he's someone I care about and I'm sure he wants to meet you' I pleaded as I smiled.

'Okay' she said hesitantly as we grabbed our coats and headed towards the hospital.

We marched up the stairs and opened the door to see Negan reading in bed.

'Molly...who's this?' Negan asked smirking at me.

'This is Lydia, I've told you about her' I said smiling.

She hesitantly walked forward and shook his hand.

'Pleased to meet ya kiddo' he said happily.

'Likewise, I love that book!' she replied enthusiastically as she spotted Crime and Punishment on the bedside table.

Negan let out a hearty laugh and picked it up and handed it to Lydia.

'Knock yourself out kid, borrow it anytime' he replied.

Negan looked up at me and smiled sweetly.

'Molly brought that one back to me from the Sanctuary' he said reminiscing.

'The Sanctuary?' Lydia asked in confusion.

'We haven't discussed that yet' I replied as Negan nodded slowly and mouthed 'sorry'.

'I'll tell you all about that later' I said softly to Lydia as she just watched me sceptically.

Lydia turned her attention back to the book as she said softly 'Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must have great sadness on earth'.

I turned to her as my jaw dropped in awe.

'You know your shit kid, that's my favourite quote too!' Negan said smiling.

'How did you know that?' I asked her.

'It was Henry's, he let me borrow it. My mom never let me read that stuff so...' she said softly, trailing off as she thought about Henry.

I held her hand and said 'Henry would be so proud of you Lydia'.

'Yeah, from what Molly's told me, sounds like you're a damn badass!' Negan added as he smiled at me lovingly.

Lydia wiped her eyes and smiled.

'Thank you' she said to both of us.

We all talked for hours until the sun started to go down and I said, 'we'd better go, it's getting dark now'.

Lydia was reluctant to leave as she fist-bumped Negan and walked out of the room.

I chuckled, walked back over to him and thanked him for cheering her up.

'She's a great kid' he said smiling as I kissed him gently.

'Bye' I said softly as he replied, 'bye darlin'.

I felt happy in that moment, with the people I loved most but a wave of guilt and sorrow overwhelmed me when I came across Tara's box.

I had kept it on the bookshelf and had forgotten about it until Lydia went to place the book Negan had given her on the shelf.

As she did so, she moved a wooden box to the side as she slotted the book in.

I stared at it, wondering what it was when suddenly it hit me, our old family photos.

I had grabbed them from our childhood house before Woodbury.

'Wait!' I said as Lydia moved the box and I grabbed it from the shelf and carried it upstairs.

'I just need it for something' I said as Lydia waited downstairs.

I shut my bedroom door behind me and knelt on the carpet as I pulled off the lid and peered inside.

About a hundred Polaroid's from the 90's were inside.

I was about fifteen in all of these and Tara was about ten.

It was like the wind had been knocked out of me as I gasped through tears as all the memories flooded to the surface.

My hands shook on each photograph as I covered my mouth to muffle the crying.

I didn't want Lydia to worry, I wanted to stay strong for her and everyone else.

But, secretly I was still dying inside, every damn day and just when I thought I was healing, I would get thrown back a couple paces every time.

I wiped my eyes and took a swig of some old bourbon left in my room as I exhaled.

I had to wait for my moment, then I could have some relief.

I put on a faux smile and walked back downstairs where Lydia asked anxiously, 'Are you alright Molly?'.

'Yeah, it was just a box of old clothes I had forgotten about' I said nonchalantly as Lydia believed me.

About a couple hours passed and Lydia said she was tired so we wanted to go to bed.

I said 'sweet dreams' as she hugged me and walked upstairs, shutting her door behind her.

I waited an hour, until I knew she was asleep then I grabbed my jacket, my knives and a spiked knuckle duster that Rosita had given me.

I shut the front door carefully behind me as I marched off into the darkness.

There were only guards on duty and from my house, I could easily climb over the fence and get out of the compound.

I just wanted to kill some walkers to release my anger and frustration.

I wasn't stupid enough to go after the whisperers myself but seeing Tara's memory flood my mind, I felt powerless to do anything and I hated that feeling.

As soon as I climbed over, it was pitch-black darkness with only the light radiating from the street lamps in the compound.

I saw a couple walkers in the trees so I picked up a rock and hurled it towards them to make a sound.

Once they heard it I jumped about, waving my arms silently as they turned towards me and started to follow me.

I whispered, 'come on you undead freaks' as I readied my knife and knuckle duster.

There were only two of them so I could take them easily and did so with a swift blow to the head.

But even though I barely made a sound, more and more seemed to come in my direction.

I wasn't panicking, I think I was just alive with adrenaline that made me feel dangerously invincible.

I punched and fought them off as I drove my knives into their skulls, sometimes knocking them over and stamping on their faces.

I was mid stamp as I grunted in frustration when I saw Negan standing behind me take out a walker that was dangerously close to my face.

If he hadn't have been there, I would surely have been dead by now.

I spun around and said breathlessly, 'what the hell are you doing out here. You can't be out here!'.

'I could ask you the same thing! By the way, tell Michonne she needs a better guard at my cell, that fucker let me out no problem' he said in faux amusement.

'How did you know I was out here?' I asked as I wiped off my knife in the snow.

'I can see your house from my cell window and I like to make sure that you're okay. You're unwell Molly' he said as he looked around and saw dozens of dead walkers.

'I'm fine' I scoffed as I started to walk off.

He grabbed my arm and spun me around.

'No Molly, you're not. After what you went through, no one would be. But, you can't be out here, it's not safe' he said sternly.

'I have to do this, I have to do this' I whispered to myself as I shrugged his grip off and kept walking.

'Molly, Molly!' he called after me as I just kept walking.

'Just stop!' he shouted which made me stand still instantly.

I felt tears roll down my cheeks as I exhaled and turned around slowly.

'My sister is dead, Negan! Dead! And there is nothing that I can do now to change that! Tara died, my little sister died, alone and cold, at the hands of an evil woman. I want to kill her! No, I want to hurt her! I want to make her feel every ounce of pain that I did. I want to take something from her, only to watch her beg for her life and then kill her. But I can't do that, because we don't know where they are! Everyone just wants to bury their heads in the fucking sand and do nothing, but I can't! I have to do something, anything!' I yelled at Negan.

He just listened to every word until I had finished.

'Coming out here, putting your life on the line isn't gonna help the situation Molly' he said softly.

I wheezed as tears continued to fall down my face.

'I just need it over, I just need the pain to be gone' I said breathlessly.

Negan walked closer as he gently took the knives out of my hands and dropped them on the ground.

'Come here' he said gently as he reached for my hand.

I tried to pull away as I yelled 'no! I need to, I need to do this!' as I turned around and tried to pick up the knife.

Negan instantly wrapped his arms tightly around my waist as he held me back.

'Let me go!' I shouted.

'Molly, breathe' he said calmly as he held me.

I gave in and felt my limbs go numb as I dropped to my knees.

Negan also dropped to his knees as he cradled me in his arms.

'Shh' he said as he stroked my hair and just held me, 'it's okay' he repeated soothingly.

I rested my head against his chest as I closed my eyes and just concentrated on my breathing.

'That's it' he said softly as he felt my heart beat slow down.

I stood up slowly which triggered Negan to do the same as I turned around to face him and buried my face in the crook of his neck as he embraced me.

He supported my head with his hand as he rested his head against mine and just silently held me there.

His scent, his warmth, his voice all seemed to soothe me and provide me with clarity to move forward.

He was right, I was putting my life at risk for nothing.

Killing the dead wouldn't bring my sister back, not even killing Lydia's mother would, I had to heal on my own.

'Thank you' I whispered calmly against his neck as my hands lingered on his chest.

He kissed my head and replied softly, 'it's okay, I'm glad I found you'.

[alittlecstaticxilophone]

The Lucky Ones

Happy Holidays! This is a small fic I made for @lycorogue as part of the @mlsecretsanta, it has mostly Marichat with a bit of fantasy. I hope you like this and that you are having a wonderful time during the season!

Sumary: Marinette has been a peculiar child since she could remember, being unable to sleep since she was a child made her parents worried and her nights lonely. That is, until an unlikely visitor begins to keep her company revealing a truth that was kept from her.

Marinette could feel the air around her, it was easy to tell summer was already over making its way to autumn. The young teenager was on her bedroom’s balcony relying against a chair, sketchbook over her legs working a new dress she would probably sew later, if she ever did at all. It wasn’t entirely hard to see in the middle of the night, with a lamp with the shape of a flower lit on her side and the moonlight shining bright above her. It was a regular sleepless night for Marinette Dupain-Cheng; but they had been like that ever since she could remember.

That night in particular was sealed into her mind as the permanent memory of the first time she saw him.

He was a young man who almost made her scream the first time she saw him. He couldn’t be much older than her, or younger for that matter and jumped into her balcony, all dressed in black leather, with cat ears and a small bell in the collar of his suit.

Marinette’s first instinct had been to hit him over and over with her sketchbook her voice muttering a thousand different questions while he spoke playful apologies over and over again.

Once she stopped, he finally raised his tilted head and she looked into his eyes, too similar to those of a cat, but as green and eager and happy as they looked, they also seemed to belong to someone older, someone who had seen more than what they could tell.

“Sorry, princess” He had said, playful smile adorning his face “I was jumping from roof to roof, and when I saw you here under the moonlight I thought I found you, and I told myself I had to come, you get what I’m saying?”

It had been Marinette the one who had tilted her head next, as she lowered her sketchbook seeing as the stranger was virtually harmless. Goofy ecstatic smile on his features as his eyes scanned searching for a reaction from her

“You don’t remember me?” The previously cheerful tone of his voice dropped, and Marinette found herself feeling sorry for the blonde boy in a black-leather cat suit “I should have guessed it… People call me Chat Noir nowadays, what is your name, princess?”

“Ma..marinette” She hesitated to say it to him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Marinette. I hope we can become friends again” He extended his gloved hand to her, and Marinette took it, a smile slowly forming in her lips, blue eyes staring into the boy’s.

Months later a new boy appeared in her class, blonde hair and green hopeful eyes that scanned over the unfamiliar room. For a second, his eyes seemed to stop and focus on Marinette who shy, put one hair behind her ear and used her fingers to try and detangle her short pigtail. The boy, although briefly seemed to smile in her direction before continuing to scan the rest of the class.

Adrien, was his name, she overheard it when he introduced himself to Nino, this was later confirmed by Chloe who wouldn’t stop bragging about him and how he was a model and they were childhood best friends. Alya had hit her on the ribcage with her elbow as Marinette felt any previous good opinion she’d had on the boy vanish quickly, no good person could have tolerated Chloe for that long and still remain her friend.

“… I’ve never had friends, it’s all new to me”

Maybe, just maybe she had been too quick to judge.

.-.-.-.-.-

Seeing Chat almost every night, whether it was as Ladybug without him knowing it was the same person to who he was alternating between calling Princess and My lady or as Marinette. In both instances she rolled her eyes and laughed it off, not once daring to tell the boy that when she talked with him during the night and when he encountered him during the day, it almost felt like if it was talking to two slightly different people, during the day he didn’t have the same old look in his eyes.

“Maybe I can introduce Ladybug to you one day” he had commented one night while telling her the story about an akumatized baker, angry that Tom Dupain had won him in a contest. Marinette always listened to him attentive, despite knowing the story all too well. “I think you two would get along wonderfully. She’s pretty awesome, not as awesome as you Princess, of course, but she’s cool”

“Yeah, right” Marinette couldn’t help the blush that rose up to her cheeks as she playfully pushed him, he let out a heartfelt laugh.

“I mean it” He said standing on the balcony and walking on it like if it was a tightrope balancing his arms. Marinette rolled her eyes when he jumped down to her side, slightly leaning on her. “Sure, Ladybug is awesome, kind and heroic. But you, princess are all of that too and without super powers, not to mention super pretty”

“Stop it, you” Marinette pushed him staring at the full moon, there was no laugh coming out of him this time, and she didn’t realize that instead of looking at the moon above them he was looking at her, tender eyes and unfading smile.

“As you wish” He muttered.

The winter air was already beginning to feel above her pajamas, Marinette was wearing a sweater Alya had given her the Christmas of the year before.

“Any plans for Christmas, Chat?” She questioned, his eyes immediately turned to the ground.

“I don’t know” He finally admitted after a few seconds of silence “Maybe my father will have something planned, but I think the most likely scenario is that he’ll have something to attend and I’ll have to eat the dinner alone” He mumbled, Marinette scanned him looking for any clue that he might be playing a very unusual and unfunny prank with her. “Such a shame, I’ve wanted to celebrate Christmas for a long time and I’ve come to live with unreformed Ebenezer Scrooge”

“You could come spend Christmas with me and my family” Marinette didn’t think before the words came out of her mouth, but unlike most of her thoughtless rambling she didn’t regret this for one second, especially after his eyes lit up when he looked at her.

“Are you sure that would be alright?” Chat questioned. “Won’t your parents think I’m intruding in such a familiar event?”

“No one should feel alone on Christmas” Marinette said with certainty “You are my friend Chat, and I’m sure my parents won’t mind having more people over for Christmas, even if my friends include a leather-wearing superhero. They’ll be delighted to have you and meet you, I’m sure”

“You can’t take it back now, princess” Chat stood closer to her, his face nearly connecting with hers “How impressed do you think my future in-laws will be if I show up in my best Christmas sweater?”

“Yeah, right” Marinette laughed “Future in-laws, sure”

He took a step back and began discussing the details of the Christmas sweater he was going to wear and emphasized the importance of their sweaters matching. Marinette found herself laughing at his enthusiasm when he talked about a pattern of small black cats using the moon as a toy. For a second, when looking at him Marinette thought she was seeing someone different, same blonde hair, wearing a suit that made her think of fairy tale princes. She shook her head vanishing the thought that left as soon as it had arrived.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Marinette was taking a platter of cookies out of her house’s oven when the doorbell rang. Sabine was the one to walk to it, while Tom decorated a cake small green pine trees on the side of the round cake while he finished the details of the poinsettia at the top, a bûche de noël was adorning the table alongside the rest of the already made food.

“Oh!” Sabine’s voice resonated in the house, both Tom and Marinette turned to look at the open door where Chat stood wearing a Christmas sweater with the picture of a reindeer with a red nose and lights hanging off of it, he was wearing a Santa Claus hat and held three boxes of varying sizes on his hands, a somewhat excited smile on his features while his eyes scanned the room in an obvious array of nervousness.

Marinette left the cookies on the counter and rushed to her mother and her guest. In between saving Paris, making sure all the schoolwork was properly done and organizing her class’ Christmas party she had forgotten to inform her parents about the possibility of having a guest for the Holiday.

“Chat, you came!” Marinette said, taking the cooking gloves off her hands, she tried to ignore the curious eyes her parents were directing her “Please come in, let me help you with those”

“Good Evening Mrs and Mr. Dupain-Cheng” The blonde greeted. Both Tom and Sabine made sure to give an effusive greeting to the young hero, all while lifting an eyebrow at Marinette.

“He said he might be alone for the Holiday” Marinette admitted to them in a hushed tone while Chat sat on a corner of the table, swinging his feet and staring at the freshly made batch of cookies. “I thought it would be better to invite him… because he does so much for Paris, you know? We all should be thankful to him and Ladybug” She rambled

“Well, an extra guest has never hurt anyone, right Tom?” Sabine resolved, smiling at her husband

“Any friend of Marinette is always welcome in this house” Tom nodded, kind smile on his features.

Marinette made sure to give both of her parents a tight hug before approaching her guest.

“Sorry. We still aren’t fully done with the dinner, you can sit anywhere you want while we finish, I promise it won’t take long” Marinette waved her hands as she spoke. Chat tilted his head.

“You surely don’t expect me to sit while all of you do the work.” Chat said grabbing one cookie “You were too kind inviting me to your home, princess. Let me help you with anything I can”

“Have you ever cooked, Chat?” Marinette raised a teasing eyebrow.

“No” He sheepishly admitted taking a bite of the cookie, opening his mouth immediately trying to blow air into the piece that was burning his tongue “But this could be a good learning experience” He said with enthusiasm before swallowing.

“Alright” Marinette laughed. “You could help me decorate the cookies. First lesson, don’t eat them while they are still warm”

“You are so smart, princess” Chat leaned his elbows over the counter, resting his face over his hands.

Marinette observed how her father raised an eyebrow, this time amused while Chat placed both of his elbows on the table while Marinette instructed him how to apply the icing on the gingerbread cookies and watched with amusement how messy his results ended up being. They were well intended nonetheless, she was more careful and practical, providing the small gingerbread people with carefully tailored suits made of multicolored icing. Chat was doing his best, using the small people to create tiny scenes of theater to Marinette’s amusement.

Sabine and Tom began preparing the table, putting the meals across it, Chat’s eyes shone upon setting on the food he would have the privilege to taste. Marinette smiled softly taking off her apron once their work was over and watched her hands before adjusting the forming creases on her pink dress. Chat stared at her for a second, mouth slightly open.

“Did I stain the dress?” Marinette questioned, upon noticing his gaze looking down to the skirt she had embroidered with small red details.

“Not at all princess” He said, shaking his head, pink in his cheeks, a silly smile in his face “It’s just that since you were wearing the apron I hadn’t noticed you were wearing a dress. You look beautiful”

“Oh” Marinette said, her cheeks now in a similar tonality to Chat’s “Thank you Chat. Please, take a seat. Mom and Dad are done with the table, wait until you taste it, my mom makes the best Christmas turkey in all of Paris”

“I can’t wait” Chat murmured excited, taking a seat next to Marinette.

Sabine and Tom began taking food from the different plates across the table, Chat looked at the Turkey.

“Don’t hesitate” Tom invited “Serve yourself anything you want”

Chat’s eyes lit up immediately as he began to take the food that went as far as his arms would reach, Marinette laughed when, like a child,  he stared a little too long at something that was entirely out of his grasp and she took it upon herself to hand it to him.

“Thank you for having me over” Chat said taking a bite of the Turkey

“Any friend of Marinette will always be welcome here”

“My dad wasn’t around for the holidays” Chat began, observing their shocked faces “it’s okay anyways, the chef made me a good dinner. This is great though, your food is very delicious Mr. and Mrs. Dupain-Cheng, Marinette was great, this is the best turkey”

“I’m glad you came then” Tom said this time “How unfair it would be that a person who gives his time to save Paris had to spend Christmas on his own.”

Marinette gave a tight squeeze to Chat’s hand under the table, letting it go as quickly as she had grasped it. He stared at it in awe.

“Thank you so much. You three are very kind, I promise I won’t overstay my welcome”

“You are always welcome here Chat” Marinette was the next one to speak “No matter how annoying you can be”

“I’ll have you know, there are people out there who see me as someone very charming, princess” Chat put a hand over his chest feigning offence at Marinette’s words who just rolled her eyes.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Of course you can accept them” Chat claimed, legs crossed over the couch, clasping his hands together “It’s the least I can do to properly thank you for welcoming me into your home”

“Kid, don’t you think this is a little too much?” Tom questioned

“I’m afraid Tom is right, Chat”

“It’s not too much. Please accept the presents, I insist”

The argument had been going on for a few minutes, since the moments Sabine, Tom and Marinette had opened the presents Chat had brought for them, A bottle of an expensive perfume for Sabine, a bottle of wine for Tom and a small box with a pair of earrings and a necklace for Marinette that Chat had initially joked it was a wedding ring. Tom wasn’t very pleased by the prank, but Sabine had quickly calmed her husband down.

With the sigh that came out of her parents’ lips Marinette knew they had surrendered. Chat seemed to know it too, because his ears perked up and a smile adorned his lips.

“I suppose I should leave right now” Chat began standing up from the couch. “You probably want some alone time in family and I don’t want anyone at home to worry if they find out I’m not there. It was… wonderful to get to spend the holidays with you, thank you, again”

Marinette stood up with him, walking him to the door of her house. They nodded at each other, smiling softly. She was the first one to take a step further, hugging the blonde tightly.

“Be safe, Chat” she murmured. It didn’t take him long to return the hug and he sank into it.

“Anything for you princess”

.-.-.-.-.-.-

Adrien threw himself onto the bed, de-transforming, Plagg flew by his side before rushing to where the cheese was kept. The young teen now devoid of the mask stretched in the bed, as if he was to sleep until the next morning, but instead he laid in bed, eyes wide open staring at the ceiling above him. The black kwami flew to him floating by his side.

“You took quite the leap of faith with that letter kiddo”

“I know Plagg” The teen said turning over and sinking his head into the pillow. It came out muffled. “She won’t believe me”

“And you won’t remember during the day. You got yourself into quite the mess kid, you humans are such fun” Plagg, this time Adrien let out an amused smile before throwing the pillow at the Kwami who avoided it.

“Do I have to remind you I’m not human?”

“As long as I have to remind you I’m older than you anyways” Plagg shrugged, taking a bite of the cheese he held between his hands while Adrien stood up from the bed holding the pillow between his fingers dragging it back to bed. “Have you ever thought about what would happen if she actually finds the letter and reads it?”

“Nope” Adrien shrugged “I guess we’ll have an answer to that when it happens”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Marinette tinkered with the necklace Chat had given her between her fingers, she was already wearing her pajamas as she laid in bed. A small part of her had hoped the young hero would be at her balcony, ready to stretch the Christmas fun a little longer.

Tikki flew over her head, looking at the necklace attentive, Marinette had been impressed by it when she first saw it. It had the shape of a moon and sun necklace, the moon was made out of silver and covered in small blue jewels that made it look like broken crystal, the sun was bright and golden.

“It’s a nice present” The small kwami checked it from up close “Chat must have struggled a lot to find it”

“Chat is too sweet Tikki” Marinette said playing around with the necklace until the sun opened in half. “Tikki I broke it! This can’t be… there must be a way…”

Marinette’s eyes followed the kwami who reached over to pick a carefully folded piece of paper that had fallen out of the necklace.

“I don’t think you broke it Marinette” the kwami laughed, handing the piece of paper to Marinette who held it between her fingers. “It was supposed to open”

The teen unfolded the letter and began to scan its content, eyes widening.

-.-.-.-.-.-

An Akuma began creating havoc in Paris the following morning, a small child, furious he hadn’t been given exactly what he wanted on the Christmas morning. Ladybug wished Hawkmoth had been kind enough to let the festivities go free of akumas, but since he had previously tried to akumatize Santa Claus, she should have known the unlikeness of the event.

“Good Morning, my Lady. Has your Christmas been good?” Chat greeted standing at her side for a quick conversation between the two heroes.

“Good Morning Chat” Ladybug greeted back trying not to look to the boy, the contents of the letter fresh in her mind. No matter how much she wanted to talk to Chat about it, they had more important issues to attend at the moment. “It’s been great, and yours?”

“Certainly better than his” He said pointing at the kid who had taken the shape of an angry elf and was now turning whatever he touched with a wand into a toy he would then throw around Paris.

Ladybug rolled her eyes rushing to the kid, trying to contain his anger or at least prevent him from continuing to throw cars to the helpless people who were fleeing the scene as fast as their feet would allow.

“Be a good kid, will you?” Ladybug pleaded, catching a car with her Yo-yo

“Miraculous!” The kid said rushing to where the heroine was, holding an object with the shape of a magician’s wand in his hand.

“I guess it’s my turn to try” Chat smiled when Ladybug reached his side. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, holding his staff in his hands. “Hey! Kid! How about you give us wherever the akuma is and in exchange, we won’t tell your parents and give you candy, how’s that sound?”

“Kitty! Miraculous!” The kid repeated.

“Aren’t you a wonder with kids” Ladybug mocked

“I’m usually better than this, why Milady, would you like to start a family?” Ladybug’s cheeks turned a slight shade of pink.

“Stop joking around” She sentenced as soon as their feet touched the ground avoiding his gaze “We need to… watch out!”

Ladybug pushed Chat out of the way, in perfect timing so none of them would be touched by the kid’s wand.

Or so she thought.

As Chat opened his mouth to speak, he felt his limbs going rigid. His suit beginning to be filled with golden details, the mask remaining over his face as every part of his body froze until he was no longer able to move.

Ladybug felt as if time had frozen in front of her. Amongst all the times Chat had jumped in front of an akuma, he had always remained at least a fraction of himself, seeing him so stiff felt unnatural.

“Who are you?”

“A young man, I’ve come to meet the princess”

“What business could you possibly have with her?”

“I want to get to know her”

“Why is that?”

“I’ve heard about her beauty, but when I saw her she seemed a little lonely, I came here to be her friend”

“Why would I need a friend like you?”

“Why wouldn’t you, Princess? I can warranty hours of fun, if you can take it. I’ve been told my sense of humor is unparalleled. Some might say it even reaches the stars”

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug screamed, regaining her senses. Now she feared the letter had affected her, when it mustn’t had been more than a tale. She stared at the wand and the Christmas lights that fell in her hand and began to stare at her surroundings, piecing everything together.

“How did you even get here?”

“I told you milady, my prowess knows no limits”

“You can’t even stand. You need to go back, it’s no safe. You could… No, please. Return to your castle”

“I needed to see you, princess”

“I want to see you too. Not if it costs your life. The price shouldn’t be your life”

“Miraculous Ladybug!” She threw everything in the air, and the whirlwind returned things to normal.

Chat quickly regained his usual appearance, standing on his two feet rushing to where Ladybug was.

“Like usual, you did it!” He congratulated, holding his fist for her to hit. She stared at him, eyes filled with tears, and instead went for a hug.

“I’m glad you’re back kitten” She mumbled.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Dear Mari Princess:

I don’t know how long it took you to find this letter, but I think it’s time I speak to you with the absolute truth, no that I ever lied to you, of course.

And before you throw this letter, no, I won’t tell you my real identity.

Kinda

I’ll tell you my story first, before I tell you what I recall of your own. You should remember on your own, and you might not believe me, but I hope you do Marinette, I really hope you do.

I’m sure you noticed, that, like you, a good night’s sleep and I have never been particularly friendly. When the position as Chat Noir, the handsomest he was offered to me, it was freeing in a way you can’t imagine. I no longer had to stay until late hours at night staring at a high ceiling waiting for the morning to come, tormented by the memories.

Memories that only come to me during the night time.

This is where you enter princess, because these memories belong to both of us and I want to share them with you, because you deserve to know too.

It was a long time ago, you were a princess, I still don’t understand why you didn’t have a more fitting title like queen since there wasn’t any higher authority than you, I was a king, we were both fairly young for the titles we held, we were given the duties of the moon to you, and the sun for me. My duties were mostly to make sure the sun kept shining constantly, ensuring that my people were fine.

The thing I remember the clearest, was the first time I saw you.

It was one eclipse, the moon moved in front of me, it was my first eclipse as the king and I was nervous. I only saw you casually, you were also peeking through the window, I could tell but when my eyes crossed yours, I truly thought you were the prettiest girl I had ever seen. I still do.

Someone later told me who you were, the moon princess. One night I snuck out of the palace and arrived at your own, I still remember how instead of kicking me out or telling me that I should be loyal to my duties you invited me inside because you thought I was a lost traveler and it had been a long time since you’ve met someone new. You didn’t believe me when I told you who I was.

I can’t point out the exact moment it happened, or what caused it. I just know that before I knew it, I tapped my feet every moment I spent waiting for the moment I would get to see you. We were happy, we truly were. It took me a while to muster the courage to confess and you told me you felt the same but could didn’t want to give up your duties and kingdom for love. I would have never asked you that.

We were happy for a while, until others found out, I don’t know who could have told them. Their voices were loud, disapproving and hateful. They acted as if we had committed a crime.

They gave us guards under their command, but we still managed, we still figured out ways to meet, eclipses became more constant than what nature permitted, all for five seconds where you could be in my arms. They decided if we wouldn’t step apart on our own, they would make us. Then, we each were cursed to never leave palace doors, and even inside a guard was always with either of us, there was no solution in sigh.

You made a solution, the shooting stars were entirely your invention. Small golden boxes in which you stored letters for me, and I sent them back to you the same way. It wasn’t nowhere as good as seeing you, but it was something.

Until you sent what you swore would be the final letter asking me to not return the star with another one because it would be intercepted. I decided enough was enough so I decided to leave the castle inside the star, unaware of the consequences it could bring.

I don’t want to sugarcoat it, but I nearly died. I fell tumbling into your bedroom princess, leaving my castle left me weak, you cried, saying there had to be a way, claiming how unfair it was when we had done no wrong. I tried to assure you I was going to be fine, now that I had seen you for a few seconds I could return. But you had this determined look on your face, such a unique and beautiful sight and said that if they didn’t want to understand you would make them understand.

The next moment I woke up there was a full moon on the sky and I no longer was with you, nor in your bedroom.

These memories aren’t with me during the day. When the sun is high, I live my normal dairy life.

How ironic, isn’t it? The prince of the sun only remembers during the night.

I don’t expect you to believe me, but please Marinette try, I’m telling you the truth.

I hope you don’t hate me after this

Chat Noir

Marinette had been reading over the letter’s content multiple times, even reading it out loud to Tikki to see if the kwami could make any sense out of the content, but beyond confirming the existence of a moon princess the kwami had refused to say anything else to the teenager.

Now, as nighttime approached, Marinette found herself pacing on her bedroom. Confronting Chloe at the beginning of the school year had felt easier than she was about to do. She still had the hope it was a very elaborate prank in which case, she would throw him off her balcony he would land on his feet anyways.

“You need to calm down Marinette” Tikki suggested “Why don’t you continue working on that dress you’ve been making? I’m sure it’ll look great once you are done”

Marinette smiled.

“Thank you for trying Tikki, but I don’t think…”

There was a soft knock, Marinette stopped the path she had created in her bedroom to look above her.

She took a deep breath, Tikki hugged her cheek for a second before flying back to her usual spot. Chat was on the balcony, tiptoeing on the railing. Marinette questioned if it was a good idea to question him on the letter, after all, it could be nothing but an elaborate prank on his part. Then, she would throw him out of her balcony, cats always landed on their feet after all.

The issue was, the things it made her feel were far too real for her. and the voices had nearly been an inconvenience during the fight early on the day. She wouldn’t have considered the veracity of it if it hadn’t had the ghostly feeling of a memory with it.

The letter was crumpled on her hand when she opened the trap door to meet him. The sound of the opening door made him lose his balance for a second, before he regained his posture jumping off the railing to the inside of the balcony, a confident smile on his face.

He opened his mouth for a second, ready to talk, yet, noticing the expression on the girl’s face he took a step back, a small ghost of a smile in his face.

“You read the letter, princess” It wasn’t a question.

“How much of this is truth?” Marinette was quick to ask, Chat leaned against the railing.

“Every word” He assured “I swear on all the lives I have left”

“Why tell me now?”

The question left Chat speechless, and he meditated his answer for a second.

“If I had a secret past life and knowing it would explain something about me, I would like to know about it”

“What about your civilian self, wouldn’t he like to know?”

“I told him already.” Chat smiled “I left my kwami instructions and I left him a letter today. Hopefully, when he wakes up I will no longer feel disconnected from him” There was something hopeful about his voice. “Have you remembered anything?”

“Voices, mostly” She admitted, after meditating her answer for a few seconds “I heard them for the first time today. They were… inconvenient”

“What did the voices say?” His voice was filled with curiosity.

“A lot” Marinette didn’t say anything else, and Chat couldn’t entirely gather up the courage to ask. “Let’s assume this is true, and I believe you…”

“Don’t you?” Chat pouted, and Marinette rolled her eyes pushing him softly.

“What will happen afterwards?” She mumbled “They won’t be very happy to receive the two people who defied every single rule know to them”

“Something tells me they already got over it” Chat shrugged, confident smile on his.

“How can you be so sure?” Marinette pried

“It’s my feline instinct. Plus, I remembered when I was here and you are in that path, I think. I’ve seen them give many punishments, this is not one of them, I’m sure”

“Very well” Marinette muttered, unsure of what else she could say.

There was a moment of silence between them, filled with glances to each other, never catching each other’s eyes

“I must say” Chat began, catching Marinette by surprise “I do have a question princess”

“What is it?”

“Do you have any feelings for me?”

“Chat…” Marinette’s face was bright red after the question

“No, I don’t mean it like that” He quickly moved his hands and took a step back, smiling “Truth is princess, I do have feelings for you and I’ve been hoping you’ll fall for my wonderful sense of humor, but I don’t want you to think just because we have some history together you have to have feelings for me now”

“I don’t know” Marinette sighed, defeated “I used to like this guy in my class, but now…”

“Now?” Chat urged.

“Now I’m not entirely sure I just see you as my friend”

Chat’s smile grew wide as he ran to Marinette lifting her off the ground.

“Wait!” She said, but couldn’t contain the laughter that escaped her lips as he spun her around.

“What about your civilian identity?” She questioned the second she was able to place her feet on the ground holding onto the railing.

“Do you want to know it? Plagg cl…”

“Wait!” Marinette stopped, earning a chuckle from the boy “Not right now”

“I’ll take that as an open invitation, I’ll let you know who I am princess. When the time is right, that is.”

Marinette kept the promise in her mind, thankful the hero hadn’t told her his identity, while she still pondered on the possibility of telling him her own. The truth was, she wasn’t entirely ready for that, but she was sure someday she would be.

Chat began talking about all the things they would someday get to do and the things they had already done. Marinette listened to his tale until the boy decided it was time to go, he then placed a kiss on the girl’s cheek before leaving. She stared at him until his shape got lost amongst the Parisian night.

.,-.-.-.-.-.-.

The first day after Christmas break, Marinette walked into the classroom, taking off her scarf when the warmth of the inside of the classroom reached her cheeks. She saw Alya greeting her from their seat out of the corner of her eye. Taking a step towards her usual spot, she then found herself stumbling forward.

Bracing herself for the fall, she looked up to see Adrien smiling at her.

“You need to be careful, princess” He whispered.

A smile reached Marinette’s lips as she stood up straight holding Adrien close.

[bag-of-broadway-snacks]

ROGT Secret Santa Gift

@rotgsecretsanta

I had a lot of fun making this! I hope you enjoy @leilani-lily

Sandy x Reader (Secret Santa)

It was a warm, mid-may evening in your beautiful hometown. Spring flowers were lightly kissed with water droplets left over from the early rains of that morning. The water reflected the soft glow of the sunset that painted the sky with variations of orange and rose. It was a perfect evening, and you were hoping with all your heart that a special someone would drop by your house at night. Sanderson Mansnoozie, the star captain of the golden age had been your nightly visitor for almost a year now.

You recall your first encounter to be short and sweet. You had been staying up late one night, struggling to get your next art piece finished on time when suddenly you saw the most beautiful golden sands flow right by your window. You rubbed your eyes and got up, going over and opening up the thin glass pane. Another strand flew by, and another, and another. You stared in awe, not knowing what otherworldly occurrence what happening. Then, in a brilliant firefly-like glow, he appeared. The Sandman. You had always believed in him, ever since you were small, and now he was all the more real. Sandy hovered by your window, sending out streams of sand out into the windows of many other houses and apartments. His hands held such elegance and grace to them they mesmerized you. You rushed to grab your sketch pad and begin rapidly drawing the small man outside. Your sketch was almost complete when he noticed you. You locked eyes and for a moment, the world seemed to be still. He was surprised at first, his face motionless, but then he smiled a bashful smile and he sent a small strand of the golden sand out to you. You remember reaching your hand up and grazing it with your fingertips before falling fast asleep. Your dreams had been so wondrous that night, and when you finally awoke the next morning, your sketch pad was set on the foot of your bed. The lines of the drawing were all kissed with the same golden sand.

Ever since that fateful night, Sandy had visited you in the early evenings. He was very busy, but he always managed to make time to visit you. It didn't take long for you both to start being attracted to each other romantically. Sandy was a wonderful boyfriend it turned out. He brought you gifts, made little pictures for you with his sand, and always gave you sweet dreams before he left. You spoiled him as well, making him fresh cookies for his journey, or some of your homemade eggnog. He especially loved your eggnog, he couldn't get enough of the stuff. You two were very happy together. But something was bothering Sandy as of late-you could always tell when something was. Even though he mainly used pictures to express himself, you never struggled to know what he was thinking. Sandy was bothered that he could only visit in the evenings. You never had the joy of spending your days together just enjoying each other's company. You also felt this way, though you would never say it out loud. You didn't want to hurt his nightly job of bringing good dreams-someone had to do it after all. But still, it was a struggle to be apart from him so often.

That evening at 6 o'clock sharp, Sandy floated gracefully through your bedroom window and onto your apartment floor. You came out of your tiny kitchen and grinned ear to ear when you saw him. "Sandy!" you cried out and rushed over. You had always been a short woman, so even with Sandy being a little man, the height difference wasn't too bad. You bent down and kissed him softly on the forehead. He blushed and smiled at you, forming the shape of a little heart above his head. You blushed as well and invited him to sit down on the couch while you brought out the dinner you'd prepared. It wasn't the fanciest feast, just some sandwiches, and cookies, but it suited you both just fine. You set the tray on the coffee table and sat down next to Sandy on the couch.

"Are you tired tonight?" you asked him with a wink. It was a little joke between you two that amused you greatly. Sandy was virtually always tired. It was one of the things that came with being the Sandman. He often fell asleep standing up, which you loved. Sandy smiled and wrinkled his face a bit as if laughing. He nodded his head in an enthusiastic answer. You giggled a bit as well and divvied up the sandwiches.

'Sandy is still a mystery to me,' you thought as you took a big bite out of your favorite sandwich. It was true, he had limited communication so getting information from him was a little difficult. The reason you knew as much as you did at the current moment was because of a dream he gave you. It was no doubt the strangest dream you had ever had, but it explained a lot about Sanderson. Even if you weren't quite sure what 'The Golden Age' meant exactly, you still understood that it was the time Sandy was from. You knew that he had been a captain and that he had once helped grant wishes. You also knew that he was deemed the Guardian of Dreams by a man who lived in the moon. It had been a whimsical dream, and when you awoke you felt closer to Sandy then ever. Yet, you still didn't know everything about him, why he was silent now when he spoke in the past was a mystery.Not only that, but the fact that he was seemingly made of this golden dream sand had always been a lot to understand. You supposed you didn't mind, you had a lot of time to figure everything out.

You went over all of this in your head while taking a few more bites of your dinner. You glanced at Sandy, who was eating in small little nibbles here and there. You furrowed your brow in concern.

"Sanderson," you said sweetly, "Is something the matter??"

Sandy looked up and gave you an encouraging smile. He set his sandwich aside and took up one of his cookies. After crunching down on it, he began to form his dream sand into a figure. It was a rose in full bloom, and it looked even lovelier when made out of the sunrise golden grains of dream sand.  You blushed deeply when Sandy hopped off the couch and offered you the rose. You took it out of his hand and it immediately split into several different, and smaller figures. 3D depictions of your favorite animals, plants, and dreams. You smiled ear to ear at the romantic gesture. Sandy always knew how to make you swoon like a teenage girl.

You clapped your hands together. "Sanderson, you are too sweet for your own good!" Sandy beamed at you, then shuffled back and forth on his feet. He reached up and touched your forehead lightly, which caused you to wrinkle your brow in confusion.  Slowly but surely you felt yourself become heavy with tiredness. You gently leaned back against the couch and fell asleep.

-

While you slept, Sandy was conjuring up your dream world into a beautiful landscape. There was a candlelit table in the center of a large gazebo, complete with an appealing dream dinner. You walked over and sat down at the table.The feeling you got when Sandy entered your dream was amazing. Just seeing him in his golden bowtie made you feel warm, like you'd just dipped into a hot spring. He came over and sat in the chair across from you. He smiled gently.

"I have something important to discuss with you," he began. His lips didn't move but you heard his voice. It was always like that in the dream world. You didn't mind of course, as this was the only way to hear him.

"Well, go on," you said, trying not to sound too worried or excited.

Sandy straightened his tie. "We've been together for a long time now, but I can only visit you in the evenings. It feels like we're losing so much time together." He sounded sad, but when he spoke again, his voice was hopeful. "I love you so much. I have decided that I want to make my home yours. We could be together all the time, only being separated at night. Perhaps, you could also journey back and forth so you could see everyone who loves you...I believe to put it simply what I'm trying to ask is..." Sandy held his breath and stared intently at you. He hopped out of his chair and knelt beside you, his golden orbs staring into your own. He held out his hands and conjured up a small box, and when it opened it showed off a stunning ring. You'd never seen such a jewel, even in your dreams. You would find out later, it wasn't a work of fiction either.Sandy had gotten a friend of his from the North to specially make it for him. "Will you be my wife?" Sandy asked you, hope gleaming in his eyes, "You make me so happy. I feel like a small sandman again when I'm with you."

You couldn't contain your tears of joy, it all felt so overwhelming the moment and the implications of it all. You rubbed furiously at your eyes and tried to suppress your sobs of happiness. You nodded again and again as you tried to find the right words. "You make me feel like a princess, yes. Yes. And before you ask again yes!" You kissed him suddenly, even if it was a dream your embrace was no less passionate. He pulled away and slid the ring onto your finger gently, it shimmered brightly at you. You wrapped your arms around him and held on tightly. Your heart beat a mile a minute and you could barely wrap your head around what all this meant for you. You were going to marry Sanderson Mansnoozie, the legendary Sandman, the bringer of good dreams, and one of the defenders of childhood. It sounded like something out of a fantasy book for crying out loud. Yet, this was your glorious reality. This was your future and you were ready to put on your adventuring boots and take it head-on.

Sandy hugged you back tightly and kissed you. He took your hands gingerly and smiled. He was a man of few precious words, but those words meant everything, and he would only ever speak them for you. The concept of love had often perplexed the little man. It was a mysterious force, and it conjured up the most powerful belief. Belief in another person to be there and love you for as long as you both lived. He hadn't understood it long ago, it was strange to him. He understood some types of love. He felt a deep love for the other guardians and Emily Jane. They were his close friends and they never tired of one another. But when he met you, he learned a whole new type of love. You had as well, dating and marriage had never been far from your mind as you went through life. You dreamed of meeting your true love as many other people around you. But after waiting for such a long time it felt as if that would never happen. Sanderson had shown you differently. He showed you a world of wonder, love, magic, and dreams. You cherished and held onto every bit of it. Now it was all coming to a head. You and your Sandman would be together forever. And when you opened your eyes from the wonderful dream, you glanced down and saw the beautiful ring still on your finger.