#my mother has been trying to get me to eat them and walnuts all year

[erosofthepen]

Letters From Amad part. 1

Hehe, I started writing this and was going to originally end it at 3,500 words, but then I realized that the plot was super boring and dry and changed some things... I’m at 6,000 words overall so far so I split it into two parts. I hope you enjoy it.

Words: 3713

Paring: Fili x reader

Warnings: none

Tags: (these are people who just said they’d be interested i guess): @grunid, @elvish-sky, @amelia307, @moony-artnstuff, @sassyscribbler, @fizzyxcustard

The battle was won, the mountain kept safe, and the gold preserved.

Not that anyone was too worried about the gold anymore. No, Thorin had recovered well from the sickness, given the Lake-men what had been promised, and had returned the white gems of starlight to King Thranduil. Yes indeed, everything had turned out fine in the end.

More than fine for you.

The second the orcs had fled the battlefield, Fili, that beautiful lion of a dwarf took your hand, pressed a kiss to each knuckle, and asked for you to marry him. The answer couldn’t have been anything but yes.

So there you were, five months after the Battle, eating dinner with the line of Durin and talking of the wedding ceremony to come. Thorin was especially particular and picky about all the odds and ends of the event, especially since it would be the first royal wedding in Erebor in centuries. So, as he rambled on about the colors of gems and fabrics, Fili held your hand in his. At the beginning of dinner, both you and he knew that Thorin would keep you for an hour at least, talking about preparations.

It’s not as if you didn’t enjoy talking and planning your future wedding, it’s just that the actual ceremony was an entire year and a half away. Dwarrow are notorious for their long engagement period. With the event so far off, you’d just rather devote your time to being with Fili, for once not worrying about wargs or orcs or goblins or evil. Fortunately, you were saved from the conversation by Balin.

“Letters from the Blue Mountains, Thorin!” he said cheerfully, entering the room with a jolly bounce. He placed the letters in front of the mountain king before stealing a biscuit and leaving. Thorin nodded thanks, and examined the seals, a broad grin splitting his face.

“From your Amad, Lads.” Kili, who had been playing with the food on his plate, snapped into attention with wide, excited eyes.

“From Amad?!”

“Aye, here’s yours,” Thorin handed an envelope with a dark blue seal to Kili, and the young prince tore it open rapidly, reading it hungrily. Thorin then handed a letter with a matching seal to Fili, and your husband-to-be released his grip on your hand, opening his letter with the same urgency his brother had.

It was just slightly awkward for you, with each dwarrow at the table reading their respective letters, but you occupied yourself with your stew, occasionally glancing up to watch Fili’s eyes as he read. His beautiful blue eyes displayed excitement, then delight, and towards the end, longing. You had always known Fili was a mama’s boy (Or amad’s boy, in this case), and you also knew that he missed her dearly.

“She’s supposed to be leaving to come here in May!” Kili exclaimed, finishing his letter before his brother and uncle.

“Aye, next month,” Fili agreed, a smile lighting up his features. “How long do you reckon it will take for her arrival?”

“Six months, I would guess,” Thorin replied, mentally re-accounting your own journey, “Seven maybe. She’ll be with a caravan, remember. It’ll take some time for a group that size to get ore’ the Misty Mountains.”

Kili sighed, his shoulders slumping. “That’s much too long to wait.” Fili nodded in agreement at his brother's words.

“It’ll have been twenty months since we’ve seen her. A year and two-thirds.”

“Don’t worry lads, you’ll see her soon enough,” Thorin said, looking over his letter once more. “But in the meantime, I suggest you write back.” Kili scooted out of his chair, rushing out of the room with his letter clutched tightly in hand. Fili got up to follow, but then doubled back, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll come to wish you good night,” He promised.

“I’ll expect you,” You replied. He grinned and headed out after his brother.

“So (Y/N),” Thorin began, with a tone that made you inwardly groan, “What type of cut do you think the gems on your marriage robes should have?” You suspected that you might not be back in your room in time for Fili to wish you good night.

Three months had passed since the letters had come from Lady Dís, and the mountain was busy with preparations for the arrival of a hundred and fifty or so dwarrow. It would be the first caravan of many to come.

With the attention of the kingdom now focused on the arrival of the caravan, it proved to be quite the relief to you and Fili. More of Thorin’s focus was on planning for the newcomers, and not combing over details of your wedding ceremony, which meant more time for you and Fili to enjoy yourselves. It also brought on some tasks in which Fili and Kili accomplished together.

The brothers had prepared a room for their mother in the royal wing, and had furnished and decorated it to perfection. All the furniture was made of dark walnut wood, and the rugs and drapings were dark blue in color, made from the finest fabrics that could be found. They had also set about commissioning dressmakers and robemakers to complete a new wardrobe for Dís, even though Fili knew that Dís would prefer to sew her own clothes. Still, the act showed the brother’s devotion to their Amad.

When Fili was occupied with preparing these sorts of things, or otherwise completing his royal duties, you would more often than not find yourself in the library. There were several libraries in Erebor, with the mountain being so huge, and only one of the libraries was cleaned and in use. This particular library was known as the Grand Library, and only twenty or so dwarrow were ever in it at once, so it was lovely and quiet. It was probably your favorite spot in the mountain, especially when it grew chill, as it held an incredibly large fireplace with an assortment of couches and cushions in front of it.

This was exactly where you could be found that day, and it was quite curious to see Fili rushing towards you, a smile on his face and a letter in his hand.

“Amad wrote back, and she sent a letter for you as well!” he said, sitting beside you and handing you an envelope with the dark blue seal of Dís.

“She sent one for me?”

“Aye.”

“Why? She doesn’t even know me,” you replied, staring at the slightly crinkled parchment. Fili cleared his throat,

“...I may or may not have written a lengthy description of you in my letter to her.” Well, his statement shouldn’t have surprised you. Of course Fili would have told his mother about the person he planned to marry. But for some reason, the fact that Dís knew about you made you nervous. Fili interrupted your thoughts. “Well, are you going to open it?”

You gave him a small smile before carefully breaking the seal and lifting the letter out of its envelope. As your eyes scanned the page, you noticed that while Dís’s hand was rough, it was still tidy. The letter read:

“(Y/N),

I am not exactly sure how I should feel about you. My son left me without any desire of ever forming a relationship, yet he wrote to me that he has found his One. He speaks incredibly highly of you, and his description was indeed full of love.

However, do not think I am convinced of your relationship. My sons are precious to me beyond any riches, and I will not tolerate or allow anyone whom I do not approve of to wed either of them. If you truly love Fili, you must prove your love to me. Otherwise, I suggest you abandon any thought of a future with him and leave Erebor immediately.

~Lady Dís, Thrainsdottir.”

If you had been nervous about Dís before, now you were a bit terrified. You realized that, if she was not satisfied with you, Dís could very easily break off your engagement and ensure that you never saw Fili again. The thought was enough to scare you even more than running straight into a battalion of orcs. The dwarf prince himself had been reading over your shoulder, and once you had finished reading, he took your hand in his and squeezed it tight.

“She’s… Well Amad’s just a bit overprotective. She’ll love you once you meet, I know it. Don’t worry yourself over it ghivashel.”

But you did worry over it. You worried over it throughout the rest of your time in the library, all throughout dinner, and when you eventually slipped into bed. After a few hours of uneasily trying to fall asleep, you came to terms that you could at least address your worries if you wrote back.

“Lady Dís,

     I was surprised to receive your letter, as I hadn’t thought that Fili would have written of me. I understand that you don’t yet approve of me, and I think that, if our places were swapped, I probably wouldn’t approve of me either. But I do love Fili, with every single part of my being. He is my world now. It’s actually fairly remarkable to acknowledge that, since before the quest, I hadn’t even known of his existence. But I truly do love him, and would do anything to ensure his happiness and well-being.

I hope you can grow to like me, or tolerate me at least.

Sincerely,

(Y/N)”

In the months following that letter, the worry inside of you didn’t subside. Fili could tell that it was on your mind, and he tried his best to sooth your nervousness, but it didn’t help very much. Much of your time was spent in the comfort of the Grand Library, which seemed to become more in use by the common folk with every passing day. You were seriously considering trying to start cleaning out one of the smaller libraries, just so it would be a bit quieter. Apparently, the rules of a silent library did not apply to dwarrows.

One day, you were sitting in the least used corner of the Grand Library, reading a book about dwarrow folklore, when you were interrupted by an exasperated sigh.

“Good Mahal, I finally found you! Why the hell were you all the way over here? You do know there’s plenty of space near the entrance, right?”

“Yes, but it’s not nice and quiet there. In normal libraries, there’s rules set in place for silence.” You replied, rolling your eyes at the young prince Kili.

“Sounds boring.” He said, plopping down next to you. “Anyways, my Amad sent another letter for you.” He brought out an envelope and you took it and set it aside. “You’re not going to open it?” He asked.

“I am, just not right now.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“I think you should open it.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

You and Kili held some sort of bizarre staring contest, until you decided that Kili would at least be off your back if you opened it now. The letter read:

“(Y/N),

It brought me a small comfort to have read of your love for Fili, but it did not satisfy my doubts. Fili has told me much of your history and past, and you indeed seem like quite the character. However, I know my son would have put you on a pedestal to try and convince me of you, so I decided to rely on information about you from a much more honest source. That being my son Kili and my brother Thorin.

Thorin believes you to be an honest lass, with loyalty to match, and he told me he is very sure that you and Fili are the perfect match. My brother is not one to sugar-coat anything, and he is probably the most thickheaded dwarrow in the world when it comes to recognizing romantic love, so his assurances lessened my doubts. Kili on the other hand, told quite a different story.

Kili has told me that you are irritable, witty, incredibly thoughtful, and usually annoyed with him a vast majority of the time. He wrote about a few events during the journey that made me laugh quite a lot. I wholeheartedly support you and his decision to put a toad in Thorin's boot. That was brilliant. However, do not mistake this for approval of you, but know that my initial opinion on you has changed towards the better. My distrust of you has eased.

From,

Lady Dís”

When you finished reading, you turned to face Kili. A boyish grin had split his face.

“I can’t believe you told her about the toad incident.” You said.

“Oh, I told her about plenty more of our mischief as well. I already read her reply to me, she especially liked the one where we put a snakeskin in Fili’s sleeping role.” You couldn’t help but laugh as you remembered that night. That was probably the only time you had really seen Fili freak out. He had thrown the snakeskin as far away from him as possible, before taking his boot axes and chucking them at it. The snakeskin had been shredded, and you and Kili laughed for a good long while.

“I nearly forgot about that one, what fun that was!”

“Aye. I mentioned it to Fili today and he turned as red as a tomato, it was fucking hilarious!”

You and Kili spent the rest of the afternoon recounting your wrongdoings and pranks from the journey, only leaving when you grew hungry. After dinner, you wrote Dís back.

“Lady Dís,

     I’m glad you approved of the Toad Incident, honestly one of my finer moments. Thorin had his head in his arse all day, and Kili and I were tired of it. He completely ignored Gandalf’s advice for the third time in a row. I mean, he’s a terrific leader and has the support of all who follow him, but… sometimes I think someone else should have been making the decisions, as most of his decisions ended up with us being in trouble. But that’s all in the past, I suppose. He’s leading Erebor to prosperity once more.

     As for what Kili told you of me, I can’t say that he’s wrong. I do get annoyed with him much of the time. And very irritated at him. But he’s one of my closest friends, so I guess it balances out. He was reading your letter over my shoulder, and we ended up discussing all our tricks on the company afterwards. We both agree that we shall have to continue them now that we live in Erebor. We were thinking that putting cumin instead of cinnamon in a cinnamon bun would be a lovely surprise for someone.

      I’m very glad that your opinion has changed on me. It’s a bit of a relief, though I know that you do not approve of me yet. I hope your journey is going well, and that you are alright.

Sincerely,

(Y/N)”

In the weeks that followed, you were much more relaxed. The day that the caravan would arrive seemed much less daunting now that Dís appeared less cold towards you. Preparations for the day were in full swing, and about a hundred new rooms and halls had been cleared out and cleaned, as well as the start of cleaning out another library. It was called the Silver Library, and when you first saw it, you were amazed. Even in its abandoned state, it was breathtaking. The marble walls were a lovely rich blue, a nice change from green, and the shelves and tables were inlaid with silver. It was a long walk towards the north side of the mountain, but ever so worth it. Your days were now focused on clearing out the dust, alongside with a handful of scholars and writers.

The work was long and hard, but at least it was a great deal smaller than the Grand Library. The writers told you that this would be the best library to find peace, as the books here were all about history. The Grand Library hosted books from metal-working to children’s tales, hence why every sort of dwarrow could be found there. The Silver Library was a place for dedicated learners who appreciated the quiet now and again. Perfect.

Four weeks after the work had begun, it was looking nearly finished. You had spent the entire afternoon scrubbing a row of shelves, and unfortunately getting dust all in your system. A bath and bed were most welcome when night came ‘round.

After washing up, you found another letter had been placed upon your pillow, along with a note. The note was from Fili.

‘I missed you today, amrâlimê. My Amad sent another letter for you. Rest well.

-Fili’

The letter read:

“(Y/N),

We can both agree that Thorin is not the best decision maker. But there’s only so much one can do when he’s the first-born. And now I know not to trust your cooking. Or, at least I will force my brother to try it first, just to make sure it is safe for eating. I almost pity him now, that he had to put up with trouble from Fili, Kili, and yourself during the journey. But then again, he’s had it coming for a while.

The road to Erebor is long and rough, but nothing that I cannot handle. I’ve done it before, as a child no less, and I can sure as hell do it again. Hopefully though, it shall be the last one I shall have to do. We are almost half-way around Mirkwood now, another month and a half and I will be able to see you in person. I look forward to meeting you.

-Dís.”

Before retiring to sleep, you picked up your quill to write to Dís for the third time.

“Lady Dís,

     I am happy your journey is going well, and that you are nearly here. I am really excited to meet you. Fili hasn’t stopped talking about you for the past week. He says that you’ll be here in four weeks or so. The weather is getting much colder, and the Lake-men in Dale say that the winds aren’t promising. Keep safe and warm, and I wish you the best for the rest of your travels!

Sincerely,

-(Y/N)”

No more than two weeks later, you received her reply.

“(Y/N),

I should think this will be my last letter before meeting you in person. I have been able to see the mountain for the last few weeks and it makes my heart warm to know I am close. I am not worried about the cold, the elders agree that the snow will not fall hard for sometime.

We plan to arrive on November the Nineteenth.

From,

Dís”

Every dwarrow in the mountain was bustling with energy now that the caravan was only a week away. Fili and Kili were beyond excited, dragging you to the secret door to see if you could spot the caravan in the distance. It was just visible, a tiny spot by the forest that had many ant-sized dwarrow moving about.

For the next five days, Fili and Kili would find time to come up the platform with you in tow, seeing how much closer the caravan got. On the sixth day, the dwarrow had stopped roughly in between Laketown and Dale.

“I don’t like the look of those clouds,” Fili commented, his blue eyes turned grey to reflect the sky.

“Mean neither. But they’ll clear tham in time,” Kili replied, hands fidgeting with his talisman.

“Hopefully.”

The next morning, you woke to find a note on your dresser.

‘(Y/N),

             Kili and I went to the caravan, our patience to see our Amad has worn thin. Don’t worry, we’ll be back by tonight.

All my love,

Fili.’

Well, you hoped they were having a good time. It wasn’t until you had made your way out of your chambers, bundled up warm, that you heard the news.

“Did ye hear? More than a meter deep!”

“Oh aye, fresh powder, as far as the eyes can see, and still falling!”

“One has to wonder how the caravan will fare. There’s wee ones traveling.”

“And old ones.”

With every word the dwarrow spoke, you felt your heart sink even further. Your pace picked up and soon you were running to the dining hall.

Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin were all discussing the caravan when you entered the hall.

“We’ll have to send out help to hurry them along,” the King said, “We’ll wait for a break in the snow and send out a group.”

“We should probably have ponies ready for the children and elders, they won’t be up for trekking through the snow.” Balin said.

Thorin nodded before noticing you hurrying towards them.

“Ah, (Y/N). Where are the Lads?”

“I was just coming to see you about that, Fili left a note this morning.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow.

“Well?”

“They went to the caravan.”

Thorin groaned and pinched his nose. Dwalin spoke up.

“The night watch said that two dwarrow in hoods went out last night. About three hours before the snow started up.”

“Mahal damn them!” Thorin cursed, “The two should know better!”

“I’m sure they’re fine Thorin,” Balin replied, “They can travel quickly.”

“Not quickly enough to make it halfway to Laketown during a blizzard!”

“We can send out a search party,” Dwalin said.

“No, we can’t risk any more dwarrow getting stuck out there. When the snow breaks we’ll go out and look for them. And send help to the caravan.”

You were ready to shout at them. If Fili and Kili were out in the blizzard, they could need help. Even if dwarrow’s blood ran hot, it didn’t run hot enough to keep warm in a blizzard for hours on end. Balin seemed to notice your anguish and smiled in your direction.

“Fili will be alright lass, we’ll find him as soon as the storm breaks.”

You blinked and shot a glare at Thorin before turning away and leaving.

“What did I do?” You heard him ask before exiting.

“Only Mahal knows.” Dwalin replied.

[amyrlin-of-starlight]

Rain was beautiful. Rain was fast. Rain was gone. Rain was never coming back.

If you asked someone- anyone, really, maybe even a random person you caught a glimpse of in Kohl’s with Christmas tree ornaments at half the price or a cable-knit sweater with a V-neck that you could tell was meant to show off the crevice of a cleavage, and grabbed them by the arm, asked them the question you always hoped that they would answer differently- about Rain Wood, a look would wash over their face. The gaze that their eyes emanated would soften, melt with sympathy, and their lips would part without a word for a moment, and then they would say Rain was... Rain was a nice girl. Rain was a pretty girl. Rain was a missing girl. And then maybe they would notice the slope of my nose, the color of my eyes, the shape of my lips, and realize that Rain Wood was not just a missing girl to me, not just a nice girl, not just a pretty girl. That she was a girl who left something-someone-behind with the slope of her nose, the color of her eyes, and the shape of her lips to always remind her of someone who was never coming home. Her Christmas stocking, red and white, was getting dusty and smelled like old wood from so many years trapped in the attic, and there were unopened gifts hidden in the closet underneath the hems of winter coats and tucked behind the worn boots my father wore to trudge through the snow or the mittens tossed aside, flung from frozen fingers, and her favorite cereal was still in the cupboard, having expired three years ago, but my mother would have never let anyone eat it anyway.

That cereal was Rain’s.

Rain was a girl with fiery red hair that she twisted into messily done braids with wisps of her tresses curling around her ears that seemed to be caught on fire underneath the gleam of the sun, and Rain was a girl with bright, green eyes that resembled the leaves of a walnut tree in the summer. I had those bright, green, walnut tree-esque eyes too but they never looked as good on me as they did Rain. Rain had eyes that twinkled, that glimmered, and that sparkled. Maybe my eyes did that too but then Rain was gone and my eyes became dull, unpolished, and murky. Rain was a girl with a boisterous laugh, one that giggled, one that made you laugh too. Rain was a girl who sang country songs in the passenger seat of our mother’s car, her bare feet propped up on the dashboard, her chipped, baby blue nail polish seeming to look beautiful on her delicate toenails, and her voice had a southern drawl to it when she sang that my mother never understood, the origin unknown and a mystery.

Rain was perfect.

And Rain was gone.

Rain was.

The word “is” just never accompanied her name anymore.

Because.

Rain was gone.

.

It was Christmas Eve when she disappeared, when she went from Rain Is to Rain Was, and she was with me, her fingers clad with gloves wrapped around the laces of her ice skates with blades that glinted underneath the rays of the sun and clinked together as she walked, her footsteps crunching in the white, glittering snow, and she was smiling at me, telling me how beautiful everything looked in winter. She was oblivious. I was smiling, agreeing with her. I was oblivious.

I had my own pair of ice skates and I was holding them by the heels, rubbing the leathery material in between my cold fingers, and sticking out my tongue to feel the cool droplet of a snowflake falling on my tongue. I dropped my ice skates onto the snow, flurries emanating from around the blades and the sides of the shoe, and the tip of one of the laces had buried into the snow, as if it were hiding, as if it knew. I was peeling off my boots, tossing them in random directions, and I heard the humph of a man grunting behind me as my boot whacked against his shin. I heard Rain apologizing to him, I heard Rain telling him that I was just excited, I heard Rain wishing him a Merry Christmas.

I heard him ask her if she knew which direction our local Wal-Mart was.

I heard him ask her if she would mind showing him on his map in his car.

I heard her say yes.

I never heard Rain say anything after that.

I waited for her to come back, my ice skates tied tightly around my feet, and the tips of my fingers beginning to develop what felt like frostbite, and I even stepped out onto the ice alone, a small little pond with snowflakes collecting on the glass-like surface, scratched with the treads of past ice skates, and I waited. I waited for her to show him which way the local Wal-Mart was on his map in his car. I waited for her to come running back, smiling and laughing, joking about out-of-towners, and then for her to yank down the zipper of her boots that almost reached her knee and lace her ice skates.

I waited for the blades of her ice skates to graze the ice of the pond with mine. And then, after the sun had begun to dip behind the forest of pine trees behind me, I got off of the solid pond and walked on the blades of my ice skates to the parking lot of the park, wobbling and grabbing onto bird baths and light-posts when I could, and I searched for a car with a man and Rain hunched over a map, her finger tracing the roads and gliding over the rivers, and his furrowed brow, confused. He had to be really confused if he still did not know the way. But there was no car, there was no map, there was no confused, out-of-towner with a furrowed brow.

And there was no Rain.

I nearly tripped on the pavement of the parking lot as I searched for her, stepping in brown slush with the blades of my ice skates, and I called out her name. There was no Rain. I asked a woman with her children who wore matching knit hats if she saw a teenage girl with an older man, and she said no. She asked me if I was lost, and I said no. My sister, Rain, was lost, I told her. I told her about the man who wanted directions to the local Wal-Mart and how my sister was going to help him. She had just gotten her learner’s permit that year. The woman’s faced drained and wrinkled with something that looked a lot like fear as she asked if I knew the man, if he was a friend. She told me to play with her children with the matching knit hats when I told her no. He was a stranger.

And Rain was gone.

Red and blue lights flickered and gleamed off of the dark pavement of the park parking lot after the woman brought her cell phone out of her purse and pressed her thumb down on three numbers. She said that there was a missing minor, and I remembered thinking that I didn’t know what that meant. Rain, not minor, was missing, and she was just lost. She was trying to help an out-of-towner find our local Wal-Mart. I remembered a man dressed in navy blue with badges decorating his chest and a walkie-talkie strapped to his shoulder crouching down in front of me, asking me about Rain, about the man she was trying to help. He held out a pair of ice skates he found in the parking lot. He asked me if they were hers. I said yes. I said that she was going to be upset that she lost her ice skates. He smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes and took out a notepad with a leather cover and a pen, clicking the top, and asked me if I knew my parents’ phone number. I did. I told him. He told him that they would try really hard to find Rain, my sister, and I just nodded.

I was oblivious.

I was in the dark.

I was unaware of the Amber Alert. I was unaware of the search parties composed of neighbors, of church-goers, of people I never met, that combed the forests. I was unaware of the reason for my mother’s hysterical tears. I was unaware of what the term foul play meant. I was unaware when they asked for my sister’s hairbrush, placing it in a plastic bag that zipped. I thought they were going to brush her hair. I was unaware that my sister’s face was on the news. I was unaware that people were already buying candles for the vigil. I was unaware of the missing posters that were being plastered over my hometown.

And I was unaware that somewhere, my sister, Rain was gone.

I always thought she would come back.

Until I heard a man who said he was an FBI agent in a blazer with a stripped red and green tie telling my mom that Rain was presumed dead, and how loudly my mother sobbed in the living room as she tried to take down the Christmas tree ornaments. Foul play, presumed dead, predators, they all felt like they were words too big for our living room to handle. My mother said that Rain was alive. My father said my mother’s name. My mother shouted and I heard something crashing. It was the Christmas tree. And then she ran for her computer and brought the document for Rain’s missing person’s poster and kept clicking the PRINT button over and over again, her breath coming out in gasps and her eyes trickling teardrops onto the keyboard.

I asked the FBI agent as he left if Rain was coming home.

His face softened.

His head tilted.

And his lips said the words, no. Rain probably would not come home.

.

When I was thirteen, just after May and the flowers began to grow in the flower beds that were pushed against the exterior bricks of houses in the Cul-De-Sac neighborhoods, and Rain has been gone for four years and her black and white pictures that store owners let my mother tape to their windows had been torn down and crumpled, tossed thoughtlessly into trashcans because she was gone- totally gone, completely gone, utterly gone, with nothing even to bury because she was totally, completely, and utterly gone- the police called us and told us that they had a man in custody. His name was Jerrod F. Norris and he had mean eyes that were murky blue and perfectly straight teeth and dark stubble adorning his cheeks in his mug shot photograph. He looked normal and terrifying at once. I thought about my sister seeing those mean, murky blue eyes, staring into them before she slipped away, and I thought about her heart fluttering. She said your heart flutters, jumps, when you look at a certain boy. I thought about her heart fluttering and jumping as he took away. I tried to turn off of the television as his face illuminated the pixels and my fingers were fumbling, unable to press the buttons of the remote control, and then I just threw it against the screen. It cracked and went black. My parents weren’t even mad. My mother actually thanked me as she choked on her tears. My father curled his fingers around the edge of the couch cushions.

They say he admitted to taking her, to seeing her that Christmas Eve in front of the frozen pond with the laces of her ice skates pressing into the folds of her fingers, and to lying about the directions of our local Wal-Mart. He lived only five miles away. He had receipt for duct tape and a curling iron from our Wal-Mart an hour before he said he took Rain away from me. I didn’t want to know why he had bought a curling iron but they said he was single and he had short hair. He said he took her away, covered her mouth, and taped her hands and feet together and drove. He took her to the woods, he said.

He molested her, he said. He murdered her, he said. He left her there, he said.

And when they asked for him to draw a map to find her, he said he could not.

Because he did not leave her in just one spot.

I remembered how my mother screamed, wept, when the detectives told her about the interview, about his confession, about what he said he had done to her little girl. She was on the ground, clutching a pillow to her chest, and her face was red and wet. The detective looked uncomfortable, distraught, and a little alarmed. I was too. I thought women only shouted in the movies but my mother was shouting, not even words but sounds, and my father was crying too, and kept saying, “Oh, my little girl. Oh, my little girl.” The detective tried to say that there wasn’t a body, or body parts, yet, but it didn’t matter.

Someone had said that they took our Rain away from us, kept her silent, hurt her, slayed her, and tore her apart, left her in the woods all alone on Christmas Eve, with her little sister waiting for her, teetering on the silver blades of her ice skates in the parking lot as she looked for her, calling out her name.

Rain was gone.

Rain was nowhere.

Rain was everywhere.

.

The day I met Franklin was Christmas Eve, but December 24th stopped feeling like Christmas Eve nine years ago when Rain went from “is” to “was” in that single moment in front of the frozen pond, the blades of her ice skates clinking together and her footsteps coinciding with his crunching on the thick snow. I was there, in front of the pond that was crisscrossed with the scratches and grazes of the blades of ice skates and dusted with a light layer of snowflakes. It looked like that day nine years ago; when I last saw her, Rain, when I last saw her smile. I brought my ice skates but they were too small now, fit for a nine year girl with a sister who was alive- gloriously alive and so in love with life, not an eighteen year old girl without a sister who was dead. I didn’t want to skate until she was found. Eventually, I just thought that I would never skate again.

But now I was back- because a couple of hunters stumbled upon a bone in the woods during the hunting season, and the DNA tests proved that it belonged to Rain, that it was Rain’s bone. It was a leg, they said. It looked broken, they said, maybe before she died or after. They thought she was dead when it happened, when her leg stopped being a part of her, but I was not sure if they were just trying to spare us the awful thoughts we were already thinking.

And now I was going to skate again.

But my skates were too small.

And Rain was gone.

“You will need bigger ice skates than that.” I heard his voice before I saw him and I flinched as I heard his playful, light voice bouncing against the barren trees and the glimmering snow-topped grounds as he walked, his large footsteps crunching and breaking the smooth, pristine assemblage of snowflakes on the ground. My footprints were barely visible- I had been standing there so long. He wore a thick, black parka that swished as he walked and held a black pair of hockey skates underneath his arm and the tips of his ears and nose were red from the cold. His breath came out in clouds as he grinned at me. I thought about Jerrod F. Norris and his grin I am sure he showed my sister before he took her away.

I backed away from him without even realizing as he stepped toward the pond-crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch-and he looked at me for a moment, as if he were puzzled, and titled his head to the side.

He dropped his ice skates onto the snow, the little flurries of white snowflakes drifting through the air as they plopped reminding me of my own ice skates and how I just dropped them that day.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice sounding that kind of breathless that came from the cold, and he still smiled at me. “I was not meaning to insult your foot size or anything. They just look kind of small.”

He shrugged and then lifted a gloved hand to wave at me, friendly, as if I were standing feet away from him. “I am Franklin, by the way. I practice here on Wednesdays. I am going to try out for the hockey team next semester but I doubt it will happen because I suck, horribly. I accidentally did a split a few weeks ago. Only time will tell if I am still able to have children.”

You talk a lot, I thought to myself as I stared at him, almost in bewilderment, as if somewhere during his rushed, awkward words. I wondered if Jerrod F. Norris spoke a lot, if on the way to his car that he chewed her ear about his job, about the imaginary family he pretended he was visiting, about whether or not he thought his hockey abilities were proficient or not.

“I was just leaving,” I told him, gripping the laces of my ice skates tightly.

They were too small.

And Rain was gone.

“You don’t have to. I mean, the pond is pretty big. And I promise I would not intentionally injure you and if I do, I will apologize profusely.”

“That is quite alright.” I wanted to leave. I felt suffocated by his words that felt as if they should have been friendly; but to me, they felt double edged, they felt like a façade.

They felt as if they were concealing twisted and malevolent objectives that took place underneath the shelter of the pine trees in the snowy woods.

He stared at me for a moment. “Um, okay, then. Merry Christmas.”

I felt something strange in that moment as I heard him say that. I felt a twinge of something that pinched the nerves in my chests and in my eyes, and I felt my lips beginning to quiver. It barely felt like Christmas, not the Merry Christmas he was wishing me. He was wishing me something that was wrapped with golden paper and a dark, green bow and curled ribbon and peppermint candy canes hooked around the pine-scented branches of a Christmas tree. He wasn’t wishing me the Christmas I had of remembering the posters plastered on the storefront windows and the news talking about my sister so distantly and the fading image of her smile beaming at me.

“I do not really celebrate Christmas… er, Franklin.”

“Oh, you are Jewish? Sorry. Happy belated Hanukah, then.”

I shook my head. “I am not Jewish.” I felt my finger along the sharp blade of my ice skates, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the rectangular blade. I looked horrible. I looked broken.

“I am just... I really miss someone. She, uh… she is dead. Or at least, that is what they say, but I do not know even though they found her- or a piece of her- in the woods but I just…” I felt a burning tear glide down my frozen cheek. “I just do not really celebrate Christmas anymore.”

He blinked. He looked sad. His grin was gone. “You are Aer Wood.”

I nodded. “I am.” My voice was choked.

“I am really, really sorry.”

“Thanks, but that does not really matter. People think it does matter but it does not. The one person I want to be sorry is the one person who took her away. But he is not sorry. He says he is but he is not because a month after he stole Rain from me, he stole someone else and then he stole someone else. They caught him because he was trying to hide her. A little fragment of her, anyway. A hunter saw him, saw what he had. He actually shot him in the knee.”

“I heard.”

I swallowed, pressing my index finger deeper into the blade of my right ice skate. “He said he wanted to stop him because he has three daughters at home. He said good men do not bury pieces of little girls so he shot him.”

I looked up at the sky. It was gray and bleak, as if it were mourning too. “She was fourteen. Rain was older than that. She was seventeen. People acted as if it was worse that a fourteen year was murdered than a seventeen year old. It is horrible no matter. It does not matter how old you are.” I choked on my words. “She was supposed to rest in peace, not in pieces.”

“I am sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“I feel like I need to say it again.” He cleared his throat, and then unstrapped the Velcro from his gloves and ripped them off, dropped them onto the ground beside his large and bulky hockey skates, and tore off his beanie hat. He ran a hand through his black hair that matched his olive, Hispanic skin tone. “What was she like? Rain, I mean.”

I turned to look at him, away from the gray and bleak sky that felt so ominous, so looming, and so sad that I felt my heartstrings beginning to burst just looking at it. I almost felt glad that it was a bright and sunny day that she was taken. That when she was pressed on the ground that she had a warm, blue sky to look toward. “Rain was beautiful. Rain was fast.”

Rain was.

“Did she like the color blue?”

“No. She thought it was too generic. Everyone’s favorite is blue, she said. She loved purple.”

“The color of royalty.”

“That’s what she said.” I almost felt like smiling. I think Franklin noticed.

“Did she eat apples?”

“She loved apples, especially the green ones.”

“Granny Smiths.”

“They’re so sour, she loved it.” Then I did smile. Then he definitely did notice. “She liked the faces a really, really sour one made her make, how it would purse her lips and wrinkle her nose. But I think she just exaggerated it to make me laugh.”

“Did she read books?”

“She loved reading, sometimes she would read me to sleep.”

“Did she put marshmallows in her hot chocolate?”

“Yeah, but never the ones from those packages with the ones already in them. She hated those. They weren’t real marshmallows she said. Dehydrated memories of a marshmallow, she called them.”

He kept asking me questions like that, about her, about Rain. Which Muppet was her favorite, if she liked spicy food, if she wore socks when she slept, if she was an early bird or a night owl. I never would have admitted it to him as he asked various enquiries about the kind of person Rain was, asking me to imitate her laugh, and if her smile was kind of crooked like mine, but it felt almost okay to talk about her. My mother never could without crying, without swallowing back tears she had cried so many times before, and my father got angry when she was mentioned. I think if he remembered her then he remembered him and his mean, murky blue eyes so he tried never to think about her.

It felt almost okay to talk about Rain and not about the fact that she was gone, not that she was not whole, not that she was alone and afraid on Christmas Eve but that she liked Granny Smith apples, that her favorite Muppet was Beaker, that she slept barefoot. That Rain was not just a name on a list of short lives that were stolen by a man with mean, murky blue eyes. That Rain had more than just her last moments.

“I could come back tomorrow,” Franklin offered as the sun slipped away into the pine trees of the distant woods my sister supposedly was buried in and he picked up the hockey skates he never touched. He dusted the snowflakes from them. “I could ask you if she liked extra butter on her popcorn or diet drinks instead of regular ones.”

“No and no,” I replied.

I thought his face fell for a moment. I was confused. I replayed my last sentence in my mind. And then I felt my eyes instinctively widen and my mouth drop, my head shaking from side to side. “No, that is not what I meant! I meant that she, um, did not like extra butter on her popcorn or diet drinks. Not that you should not come back tomorrow but it is Christmas tomorrow so you will probably be busy and I might be too. My mother does try to pretend that Christmas is a normal holiday. She is not very good at it, but she tries.”

He smiled at me. “I could come here to practice around noon tomorrow. And if you are here then ... well, you will be here. We will probably exchange a word or two or something and ... ”

“I thought you only practiced on Wednesdays.”

“Well, I do suck so maybe adding Thursday practices to my day planner would be a good idea.”

I smiled down at the glimmering snowflakes beneath me. They looked like sparkling, fragile pieces of crystal accumulating on the ground. “Yeah,” I murmured, softly. “Maybe it would be.”

He grinned at me.

I felt the flutter my sister told me I would feel when I looked at a certain boy.

Rain was gone.

Rain was not whole.

Rain was not coming back.

But I think Rain was proud.

I think Rain is proud.

@fluffybunsss @thegreatsaiyaman3 @keenu-loves-to-talk-talkytalky @thelastdream @the-living-typo @quoted-text @nerdyfuntheorist @obsessedwithparkjimin @user-with-a-name @carmen-riddle @tookoool @kritiwritesss

[sweetalnazar]

After an eternity, I updated!

CHAPTER 2: A HOUSE, A SHOP AND A HOME

Summary: After the defeat of the Devil, Aisha and Salim catch up on all they’ve missed, including the fate of the home once shared with Asra

4.3k words. Family Fluff/Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Tw for discussions of trauma and abandonment

Lowkey Mine/Asra/Muriel.

Other Notes:

- Mine uses she/they, but only ‘they’ in this setting. Asra alternates between ‘he’ and ‘they’

- 'Foreign' words are generally not italicized, to reflect the multilingual nature of the characters

––––

Chapter 1 || Read on AO3 || Tip Jar 🌟

Their home was no more.

In Aisha’s memory, on her street by the heart of Center City, was the little two-storey house squished between a bathhouse and an apothecary, the place she called home. 

The kebab stall down the street, the scent of smoked lamb drifting through the air as she passed it by on the way to the palace. The neighbour opposite her, who grew a rich garden on her balcony with her wife, and gave Aisha a flower each time they met. The sound of the neighbourhood children kicking balls in the streets and chasing each other in the evenings.

The creak of the door hinges that never agreed with Salim’s oils, no matter what formula he used. The colorful tapestries from their families, a parting gift, that decorated the walls, as well as the numerous paintings, from Salim’s hand, from Aisha’s, and of course, Asra’s. The music echoing through their house in the evenings, the strumming of her qanun and Asra’s little hand beating on the riq, Salim’s beautiful voice accompanying.

All of it, every single bit of the house that held all these memories, had been reduced to rubble and broken brick, just like the rest of their neighbourhood.

There was a year of powerful lightning storms in Vesuvia that had led to fire, and the crowded buildings smooshed together, unprepared for such a hazard, was like kindling in a fireplace. Flames engulfed everything in their path, and when they couldn’t, the burning buildings and structures collapsed on their neighbours, leading to almost their entire neighbourhood being destroyed. 

According to Asra, he and Muriel––one of his partners––had run away to the east docks during the blaze, closer to water where it was safer. When they returned, there was barely anything left of the neighbourhood, much less the house.

Salim gulped his tea down, to the point he started coughing. Aisha thumped him, once, before switching to alternating between patting and rubbing his back.

“T-that’s something, Asra,” he said, the shock still clear on his face.

“Haha, yeah…” Asra stared awkwardly at his own teacup.

“Revani anyone?” Mine interrupted, holding a plate of brown squares, topped with crushed walnuts and pistachios. “I got a really good recipe from Selasi, so me, Asra and Muriel tried making some.” 

Grateful for the interruption, all three at the table took a piece each.

It had been a month or so since the defeat of the Devil, the triumphant return of Asra and Mine, and at long last, Aisha and Salim were catching up on what they had missed since their disappearance almost two decades ago. 

The two of them had asked Asra to see their old home, the very first house they had moved in as young newly-weds ready to start their new life.

Instead, he had brought them to the magic shop.

He had gestured for them to sit in a corner of the shop, where a couch and armchairs surrounded a rickety table opposite the counter. While Salim and Aisha took the couch, he had taken an armchair, the one closer to his mother’s side.

With Mine perching on the armrest by his side, and Muriel––quiet as always––sitting by the counter, Asra began regaling the tale of the house’s fate; from the landlord kicking him out, to new tenants, to its demise.

While the palace had remained constant, almost assuring in how little it had changed, much of the city had transformed. 

The Coliseum cast shadows across Goldgrave, obstructing the view of the arts district and its colorful antics. Red Street, once the pride of the Heart District and the Count, had been abandoned. Meanwhile, the bustling Shopping District had turned sullen and gloomy, the overflowing waterways mirroring its new name of the Flooded District. 

Then there was the little island far off-shore that loomed on the edge of the city, a reminder of darker times. Even the land itself had not stayed the same, the ebony, almost black sands of Ash Beach now bleached gray by the remains of the deceased.

Everywhere she looked, there was nothing but change. 

Old stores and restaurants Aisha and Salim had frequented were long gone, the shops now on their fourth or fifth newest venture.There was almost no trace of the Vesuvia Aisha had come to love, the city she had stepped into for her first big project away from home; when she and Salim had been young, newly married and determined to prove their skill away from their families. 

Or at least away from Aisha’s family, the renowned Alnazar name. 

“Basbousa,” Salim spoke, breaking her train of thought. 

She stared down at the cake in hand. Below the brown crust was a familiar buttery yellow. 

“I thought I recognized the smell!” Salim went on, holding his piece up enthusiastically. 

“It’s a little burnt, sorry,” Mine apologized. “We weren’t sure how hot the oven needed to be, since well, none of us usually bake.”

As Salim and Mine continued making small talk, Aisha took a bite, and her eyes widened. 

“Orange blossom syrup,” she said, surprised.

“Just like you made it,” Asra said. He gestured to the cup of orange blossom syrup to the side. “Pour half the syrup while it’s hot––”

“And leave the rest for serving,” she finished. Her chest tightened, a little, and she smiled down at the small square cake.

“I––I didn’t actually remember the name,” Asra confessed. “People in Vesuvia call it ‘revani’, but I always called it the orange blossom cake. Or the cake with semolina butter.”

Aisha laughed. “I remember! You were always trying to eat the entire butter slab while we were baking.”

“What do you mean ‘trying’? They were halfway through their second slab when we caught them that one time,” Salim pointed out.

“Asra!” Mine exclaimed, staring at them with wide eyes. “You didn’t .”

“It tasted nice when I was little,” Asra shrugged. “I liked how the texture felt when I gnashed the butter between my teeth.”

From the counter, there was a snort, and Aisha could have sworn Muriel mumbled, “...typical” under his breath.

Meanwhile, Mine rose to their feet, taking a couple of cakes on their plate, and went over to the counter, squeezing Asra’s hand before they left.

Salim took a few more pieces, munching happily, and Aisha did the same, placing another square on her plate.

“Back to our original topic,” Aisha said, “what happened to the house after that?”

“Oh.” Asra stopped, putting down his plate and taking a quick gulp of tea. “Well, it was kind of abandoned for a long time. Until Melaka––that’s Mine’s aunt––came along.”

“Then…”

Asra nodded. “That’s right. She built the shop right over where the house was.” He leaned back in his chair, and pulled the shimmery curtains behind him away to reveal the view from the large open window.

At the back of the shop, hidden by the tall storefront and the surrounding walls, was a courtyard. Garments flapped gently in the breeze from the clotheslines in the center, the clothing all different sizes. To one side, there was a collection of beakers and jars, as well as larger rectangular containers. They were all filled with dirt, plants of various sizes and types sprouting from them.

“Is that––” Salim squinted, “––another building back there?”

“That’s the kitchen,” Mine said. 

“Our main kitchen,” Asra clarified. “It’s where we put the ice box and the big stove and everything. There’s a sitting room too, to eat together.”

Aisha blinked, playing over Asra’s last sentence in her mind.

Had that been an invitation?

“Oh, that’s where Lucia and Hayrünnisa used to live,” Salim said. “Nisa would always give you seeds when she saw you, Asra.” 

“Seeds?” Aisha said. “Didn’t she usually give them those little flower crowns and rings?”

Asra’s eyes darted down, looking sheepish.

“Oops, sorry, Asra. It was supposed to be a secret.”

“What was?” Mine said, leaning over the counter, their elbows almost at the edge. Muriel pulled them back, but they stayed standing, bouncing on the balls of their feet.

“I think we’ve heard enough about my childhood,” Asra said, red dusting his cheeks.

“No, we haven’t!” Mine said. “Right, Muriel?”

Muriel nodded. If Aisha hadn’t known any better, she would have said his smile was almost teasing.

“It’s not as embarrassing as you think it was, Asra,” Salim said. “It was very sweet in fact.”

Asra pursed his lips, looking conflicted.

Aisha reached out, slowly taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. Asra snapped his head to look at her, startled.

“Habibi, we don’t have to talk about it if you truly don’t want to,” she told him gently. “But I must admit...I would very much love to hear this little secret of yours.” 

Asra chuckled, squeezing her hand back before she released him. “OK, mom. I guess...it has been long enough.” 

“Tell us!” Mine said, bouncing faster now, the pink-tipped dark curls resting on their shoulders bouncing higher.

“..calm down,” Muriel muttered, almost fondly, as he placed a hand on their rotund hip and attempted to get them to sit.

“Now for the story,” Asra clapped his hands, his face still a little red as he began. “I saw er, Nisa––”

“Aunty Nisa,” Salim corrected.

“Yeah, Aunty Nisa was always giving you flowers, mom, and I, I wanted to do that too. A whole bouquet of flowers that I grew on my own.”

“You wanted to make a big balcony garden just like hers.” Salim shook his head. “It took a while to talk you down too.”

“It’s true,” Asra laughed. “Dad convinced me to start small. He would let me borrow the beakers and jars from your lab. We’d get some dirt and I’d put them on the ledge under my window where you couldn’t see.”

“So that’s where all our equipment went!” Aisha said, smiling at her husband. She placed an arm around his shoulder, pressing herself closer. “And here I was, half-convinced you were melting them down for some explosive new experiment.”

“Aisha, I would never.”

She gave him a knowing look.

“...without telling you first, that is.”

“That is true. I do dislike not being privy to the workings of your beautiful mind, ya qalbi.”

“Of course, ya a’youni. How could I ever do anything without my eyes to guide me so?”

For a while, there was silence, as Aisha and Salim gazed lovingly at each other, lost in the other’s eyes.

Up until Muriel cleared his throat, mumbling, “...Getting mushy must run in the family.”

“Shh, Muriel,” Mine whispered loudly, elbowing him. “It’s romantic . Let them be!”

“Anyway,” Asra said, “So that’s my little secret, mom. I hope you, er, liked it?”

“I loved it, habibi. Thank you, it was very sweet.”

“We should try that again.” Mine bounded up to the chair, settling on the armrest again. “Growing a flower garden. We could get a few more beakers––oh, a proper plant bed maybe? Portia has a great garden, we could ask her for tips and stuff!”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Um, I mean, if you’d like, mom and dad.”

Aisha blinked, confused for a moment, until the meaning clicked. “You want us to garden...together?”

“Only if you want to,” Asra quickly clarified. “It’s fine if you don’t, it really is.”

“Not at all, Asra,” Salim said. “I think that’s a lovely idea.”

Aisha nodded firmly.

Asra smiled, then faltered, looking down. Before either Salim or Aisha could ask him what was the matter, he had pulled Mine close, whispering into their ear.

They bobbed their head, before their attention turned to Aisha and Salim. “We were also wondering if the two of you wouldn’t mind joining us for dinner sometime. Yknow, once in a while, we could sit down around the table and um, just enjoy a family meal.”

“A little get-together sort of thing,” Asra added. “Nothing special.”

“Oh, but habibi, that is something special,” Aisha said. “We, we haven’t really had anything like that in a long time.”

“Y-you don’t have to––”

“We want to,” Aisha and Salim said simultaneously.

“Asra,” Aisha began, “We have missed so much, too much, of your life. Every moment we can share with you, even in the littlest ways, they are precious.”

“We can’t make up all that lost time,” Salim said. “But we are going to try and make the most of our present. We can only spend so long lamenting our losses. We want to move forward...with you, Asra, if possible.”

Asra’s eyes glistened in the soft sunlight filtering through the curtain, and Mine put an arm around him, a reassurance.

“There’s no rush, of course,” Aisha said. “We can go at your pace, as you like.”

“N-no, it’s not, it’s not that.”

He cleared his throat, wiping at the corner of his eye with his thumb. Mine undid one of the clothknots from their fingers and offered it, which Asra accepted and dabbed at his eyes.

“Muri, come over here,” Asra waved. “I want you to be closer for this.”

“...fine.” 

Muriel shuffled over, chair in hand, before placing it down next to Asra and taking a seat. There was another empty armchair, across from Asra, but it seemed both his partners wanted to stay close to him right now.

Asra took a deep breath, his thumb running over Mine’s knuckles, before he started speaking.

“Mom, dad, I, I spent a long time alone. It was...it wasn’t easy. I had Muri, but we barely got by, especially when we were younger.”

Aisha swallowed, one hand gripping the edges of her hijab as she braced her heart. Neither she nor Salim were not technically at fault, but nonetheless, how could she not feel pain or guilt or grief over what her child, her precious little one, had been forced to go through in the absence of his parents? 

How could she not feel responsible for the pain Asra had gone through?

“We had good times, Muri and I, but––but there were a lot of days that hurt. There were a lot of days that were painful and scary.” Another inhale, Mine squeezing his hand. “...But what hurt most of all was wondering if, if you had left me alone on purpose.”

“Asra,” Salim breathed, the shock in his tone mirroring Aisha’s own. “We would never.”

“I know. I know that now. But when I was little and afraid, I had no idea. You just suddenly never came home, and sometimes––sometimes I wondered if it was me. That I had done something wrong, or if there was something wrong with me that made you want to leave.”

Salim opened his mouth to speak, but Aisha raised a hand, wordlessly gesturing for him to wait. Asra still had more to say.

“For the longest time, I believed no one would stay for me.” Tears rolled down his cheeks, dropping into his lap like little pearls, and his lips quivered as he said, “Because you two didn’t stay.”

Asra closed his eyes, exhaling, while more tears dripped down. Muriel passed a handkerchief to Mine, who promptly wiped at Asra’s cheeks.

“T-thanks, Mine, Muri,” he mumbled.

After wiping away most of his tears, Asra raised his head, meeting Aisha and Salim’s gazes. 

“Mom, dad, it’s not your fault, but it took me a long time to let people in again. To actually let people love all of me, instead of keeping a part of myself out of their reach so I wouldn’t get hurt. I––I’m actually still afraid, of letting people in. What if they get tired of me? What if they don’t want me anymore? What then?”

Asra had every right to be angry, to be upset, but to Aisha’s astonishment, a smile spread across his face, his expression growing brighter with each word.

“But I don’t want to be held back by my fears anymore. Even if I am afraid, I––I still want to try. Mom, dad, I want to try at us being a family again. I know it won’t be easy, and I know there will be a lot of times where things don’t go the way we planned. Despite that...would you still want to try with me?”

“Of course,” Aisha and Salim answered immediately.

“Asra...you’ve been through so much,” Salim said. “I am so, so sorry for what we put you through. I know the situation was out of our control, but not a day goes by that we don’t regret leaving you alone. You were so young, we should have been there to protect you, to help you.”

“But we weren’t,” Aisha said, unballing her fist and letting her hijab fall back into place. “Habibi, your scars run deep, and neither our apologies or efforts are enough to heal each and every past hurt. You can be angry or bitter towards us, we both understand. Regardless, we will always love you.”

Salim nodded. “No matter what. We might disagree with each other, or argue until our voices go hoarse, or even hate each other for a time, but no matter what happens, our love will never change.”

“To put it simply,” Aisha said, “nothing would make us happier than to try together with you, Asra, to be a family again.”

Asra’s hands flew to his face and he doubled over in the chair, white curls touching his knees. 

“Asra?!” Mine and Muriel exclaimed, Muriel jumping to his feet to come closer.

Then, Asra lifted his head, and Aisha understood his reaction.

His cheeks were completely damp, tears flowing freely, along with snot running from his nose. His body quivered with soft sobs he was barely holding in, both his partners hugging him on either side. 

He had been such a messy crier as a child, and some things didn’t change. 

“I––I’m sorry, I’m just...I’m f––feeling a lot of things right now,” he managed to choke out, attempting a wobbly smile.  

“There, there,” Mine said, rubbing his back, while Muriel poured water into his teacup. 

Once he had calmed down, though his eyes were still watery, he continued.

“Thanks, mom, dad. Thank you….for everything. I, I never thought I would hear you say that and I just…”

Mine patted his shoulder. “There, there, sayang. We get it. Go at your own pace.”

He rested his head on their chest. “Thank you, dearheart. And you, Muri, love.”

Muriel grunted. He had gone back to sit down, but his chair had been moved closer, in case Asra needed quick comforting once more.

Aisha smiled. “Seems to me like you’ve certainly found many who love you dearly.”

“And I’m lucky for each and every one.”

“As we’re lucky to have you, Asra,” Salim said. “Thank you, habibi, for being the sweetest, kindest and loveliest child there ever was.”

He laughed weakly. “Dad, stop.”

“It is true though,” Aisha said. “Take my word for it, I’m never wrong.”

Asra chuckled and shook his head, affection clear in the gesture. “Mom, dad...I love you. So much.”

Aisha blinked, her vision becoming watery now. She leaned over, grasping Asra’s hand. 

Together, she and Salim said, “We love you too.”

The hours seemed to fly by as the conversation carried on, the edges of the blue sky starting to bleed orange soon enough. When Aisha pointed it out, Asra stammered out an invitation to stay for dinner tonight, and Mine jumped to their feet in excitement, suggesting all of them could even cook together.

Naturally, Aisha and Salim happily accepted.

When Asra asked what they would like to eat, Aisha took one look at her husband, and in unison, they answered, “Lamb fatteh!” 

In Zadithi tradition, fatteh was a celebratory dish of rice and toasted pita bread, piles of mutton crowning the top and accompanied by savory sauces. Around many parts of the country, it was the Mahrajan dish, for the Mahrajan Qurban, or the Mahrajan Saum. 

Aisha had many a happy memory of breaking her fast to a plate piled high with falafel and fatteh and roasted eggplant, family and friends and loved ones all around her, and she could not help but wish her child could also have such wonderful memories too, even if it was a little late.

By sunset, the shop’s kitchen was a mess of splatters and ingredients strewn about, rice sticking to Aisha's hijab while the dark curls of Salim's fringe had stains of tomato paste. Yet at the same time, there was laughter and chatter resounding throughout the whole building, never quiet for a single moment.

And despite the mess, the fatteh turned out beautifully, looking gorgeous as Salim and Muriel brought it out on its large dish, almost dominating the entire coffee table.

Asra closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Quietly, he said, “I haven’t smelled this in years. It’s just as wonderful as I remember.” He opened his eyes, turning to his parents. “I could never find the recipe to make it just like yours.”

“It’s the eggplant,” Salim said, brushing the last of the rice off her hijab. “Your mother loves them.”

Aisha laughed. “It’s the best part. My abi would make it like that.”

“My...grandfather?"

She nodded, her gaze becoming wistful. “It’s been such a while since we’ve seen my family. Your family, Asra. We are planning to reconnect soon...if you would want to.”

Asra bit his lip.

“You don’t have to, habibi,” Salim quickly said. “They are your family regardless, but you don’t have to force yourself into anything.”

“I’ll think about it….but maybe, I would like to meet them. Someday.”

Beside Asra, Mine bumped his shoulder, done with tying Muriel's hair back into a ponytail. “Baby steps, love. Take your time,” they said.

On Asra's other side, Muriel nodded in agreement. With his bangs out of his face, Aisha could see the softness beneath his gruff exterior, the love reflected in the green of his irises as he gazed at his partners. Truly, her child was surrounded by such wonderful people.

“Mine’s right,” Aisha spoke. “You can take your time, Asra. Whether it’s finding your roots in Zadithi, or connecting with us here in Vesuvia, your family isn’t going anywhere.”

Asra’s smile was soft and small, but radiant. “Thanks, mom.”

“Speaking of, can we start digging in yet?” Mine piped up. “I’m starving, and this fatteh smells wayyy too good for just staring at it.”

The rest of the table guffawed, even Muriel chuckling under his breath.

“Dig in, everyone!” Salim said

After reciting a tasmiya, they all began their meal, scooping up piles of rice and bread and lamb and eggplant, drizzling their dishes with ladles of tomato sauce and garlic sauce. 

As Aisha was halfway through her plate, Muriel told Asra, “You never did finish the story about the house.”

Asra put down his fork, surprise clear on his face. “Huh? What did I leave out?”

“Why it took so long for this place to be built.”

Asra’s cheeks flushed at this, in a way Aisha was starting to recognize.

“Asra Alnazar,” she said, “what did you do this time?”

“ Nothing ,” he said, though his expression was sheepish. “Things just...took a while. No one wanted this palace until Melaka came along. Once she did, she bought this lot and the one behind, and well, she rebuilt.”

“Despite Asra’s best efforts,” Mine whispered to Muriel, grinning.

“What do you mean?” Aisha asked, ears sharp as ever, before turning to Asra. “Habibi, what do they mean?

The blush grew deeper, his cheeks aflame, and he looked away. 

“Go on, Asra,” Muriel said, a little quiet, but a small, teasing smile tugging on his usually downturned mouth. “Tell them all about the hauntings.”

“The what ?” Salim exclaimed.

Asra covered the lower half of his face with his hands, his cheeks aflame now. 

Mine cackled. “Go on, Asra. I’m sure your parents will love this.”

With a sigh, he relented. “So, dad, mom, after the landlord kicked me out, I may have been, well, scaring all the new tenants away.”

“With an actual ghost?” Salim said.

“N–no, that was just me, doing some magic. Playing some pranks.”

“Scaring every single resident half to death,” Mine said.

“And sending them scurrying out in the middle of the night,” Muriel added.

“Yes, that.” Asra cleared his throat, continuing in a quieter voice, “And I may have also...committed property damage after Melaka first moved in.”

“ What?! ” Aisha said, her voice going shrill, trying to keep the grin from spreading across her face. “Asra!”

“Don’t forget breaking and entering,” Muriel chimed in.

“Trespassing too~” Mine sang. “I’m surprised auntie didn’t curse you into a toad or something.”

Asra glanced from one partner to the other. “Tonight is just about dredging up my entire embarrassing history, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Mine and Muriel replied.

“And we’re enjoying every bit of it,” Mine said, Muriel bobbing his head as well.

“So what happened next?” Aisha interjected. “Were you caught by Miss Melaka?”

“Yep,” Muriel said.

“I was,” Asra admitted. “And then…”

The night passed with stories of past memories, both the ones Aisha and Salim knew, and those they didn’t. And while a part of Aisha’s heart still panged at how much she had missed, she couldn’t help the joy and delight blossoming in her chest.

Perhaps they could not take back the past.

But to be allowed to be a part of Asra’s present, to be able to learn about the sort of person her child used to be and the person he was now, it was a gift beyond measure. 

And to know that they were still a family, that he still had a place in his life for them after all these years?

It was beyond her wildest dreams.

––––

 Notes Disclaimer: I'm not Middle Eastern or Arab, and much of this is pulled from the internet as well as some of my own basic knowledge as a Malaysian Muslim. Please feel free to correct anything.

Qanun: A type of stringed instrument found across the Middle East, Asia, Africa and southeastern Europe. Riq: A type of tambourine and a traditional instrument in Arab music. It's the national musical instrument of Pakistan Revani/Basbousa: A type of sweet cake popular in the Middle East, and has many names Fatteh: A type of dish that is served differently depending on region. In Egypt, it is a type of feast meal

Abi (ابي): Arabic, from abu (أب)/father, meaning 'my father' Habibi (حبيبي): Arabic, from huub (حب)/love, meaning 'my love' Ya Qalbi (قلبي): Arabic, from qalb (قلب)/heart, meaning 'my heart' Ya A'youni (عيونى): Arabic, from a'in (عين)/eye, meaning 'my eyes', an affectionate petname. *Ya is a word often placed before names/nouns, ie 'Ya Aisha' or 'Ya Habibi'. The closest translation I understand is akin to saying "O Aisha", but not quite accurate

Mahrajan (مهرجان) : Arabic, meaning festival. Eid, the biggest celebrations of the Muslim world, can also translate to festival and in this story, Mahrajan is essentially fantasy!Eid. Mahrajan Qurban refers to Eid ul Adha, while Mahrajan Saum refers to Eid ul Fitri Tasmiya (تَسْمِيَّة): Arabic, a fantasy equivalent to the Basmala. In Muslim tradition, it is common to utter a Basmala before carrying out a task such as before eating

Clothknots: Mine has ADHD and to help with their forgetfulness, they often tie clothknots around their fingers to serve as reminders Sayang: Malay, meaning 'love'. Here, it's used as a petname

[elisaphoenix13]

Delusional (Ch.1)

Okay, so this is something that won't be for everyone. It's a trope that me and my friends got into while RPing so this was born. I think this will be one of those fics that I'll only continue if there's enough interest. Let me know what you think!

Tony had been pissed when his parents told him that his mother was pregnant. He had no idea what possessed them to think having another kid was a good idea when they could barely pay attention to the one they already had, and he even said that. It ended up turning into an argument between him and Howard and Tony gave them both the cold shoulder for the entirety of Maria's pregnancy. Whether it was because of her age or possibly because of Tony's ongoing silent treatment stressing her out, his mother went into labor a month early. Tony couldn't even bring himself to visit his parents or the new baby at the hospital, but they eventually came home with his new baby brother that he almost considered ignoring completely.

But then he realized that would make him exactly like Howard.

So when his parents went gallivanting off to some party one day, leaving their preemie baby in the hands of the maid, Tony finally decided to properly meet his brother. A seventeen year age difference wasn't unheard of, but it still felt weird to walk into the nursery with the knowledge that the baby inside was a sibling. He decided he would make sure the baby was still alive and then go back to his bedroom to study for his physics final, but when he approached the crib the baby was sleeping in...he softened.

His baby brother slept peacefully on his back with his arms stretched out on both sides of his head and every so often snuffled in his sleep. He wasn't covered with a blanket and he vaguely recalled hearing that he shouldn't be at his age, but he was at least dressed warmly in tiny blue footie pajamas. He had wisps of dark hair that looked like they would be soft to the touch and Tony was tempted to reach out and see but he refrained. He didn't want to disturb the baby.

Tony had been so focused on ignoring Howard that he had to wrack his brain for his brother's name, which he knew his mother had told him. He was pretty sure he had been studying at the time and was only half listening, but it eventually came to him.

Scott.

Scott Harris Stark.

It was barely seconds later that the baby started to fuss and Tony looked around a little lost before finally giving in and leaning down to scoop him up. Tony was a goner after that. Scott's hair was just as soft as it looked and Tony was worried he could break his brother if he so much as sneezed. It didn't stop him from taking over most of the responsibilities of caring for Scott from that moment on though. Tony did his research, watched his mother, and even asked the maid for advice, but soon he was changing diapers. He fed Scott, stayed up for hours on end when he was colicky or sick, dressed him, played with him…

Tony was determined to make sure Scott had the love and attention he was deprived of. At least Maria tried with both of them.

But when Scott was just under a year old, tragedy struck. Both their parents died in a car accident on the way to a party, leaving Tony alone with his infant brother. Fortunately he was freshly eighteen so he could have legal guardianship over Scott and Tony had Rhodey and Obadiah for support and help with the company he now had control over. Scott always came first though. Tony made sure he had a decent childhood despite the fact that he easily got sick, and the adorable smiles he got in return were well worth it as Scott grew up.

So was the boy's first word. Dad. Tony never corrected him since he did raise Scott, and his brother never knew their parents. So as far as Scott knew, Tony was his father and Tony made sure to hide away the truth. As far as he was concerned, the lie wasn't hurting Scott and it was partly true in a sense.

He didn't expect it to be easy and it wasn't. Because Scott was born premature, he had special needs in the form of allergies (both food and environmental), asthma, and he even got sick constantly. Most days found Scott in Tony's room because the boy whined whenever Tony tried to put him in his own room, and he was terrified Scott would stop breathing in the middle of the night. Scott slept in Tony's bed until well into his grade school years when he finally started to grow out of his need to be near his father. Tony was still nervous and checked on Scott before he went to bed and at least once in the middle of the night when he woke up.

When Tony first found out Scott was allergic to peanuts, he was a wreck. He threatened the doctors to help his kid when he heard Scott wheezing for breath, and when the boy was finally recovering, he demanded they do whatever they had to do to check for any allergies he might have had. Tony didn't think he could handle seeing Scott as sick as he was again. The wheezing, the hives, the overall misery his little boy had been in…

It turned out Scott was severely allergic to all types of nuts. Peanuts, cashews, almonds, walnuts...if it was a nut, Scott couldn't have it. That was easy enough to plan meals around but then there was also shellfish, sesame, parsley, and pineapple. Whenever they went out to eat, Tony scrutinized every ingredient on the menu if it was available, and if it wasn't, he demanded to talk to the chefs. Fortunately once he learned what food Scott could have, it became second nature.

Tony always made sure to carry an inhaler and epipen with him, had extras held for Scott at school, and more in the boy's backpack. He taught Scott as early as possible what he couldn't eat because it would make him very sick and for the most part, things went well enough. There was only one incident at school when Scott unknowingly ate something he wasn't supposed to, but he was quickly treated with one of his pens and sent to the hospital. Scott was quick to bounce back from that since the school staff had been prepared, so the only constant issue was his asthma.

Scott never let it slow him down and Tony swore he was going to either go gray at 25 or suffer heart failure. The little boy was constantly climbing everything, and Tony once had to pull him off the bookcase that he managed to climb up to the fifth shelf. The fifth shelf. Rhodey had his fair share of retrieving Scott from high places whenever he visited too.

Before Tony knew it, Scott had grown into a young man with a talent for hacking and engineering and had a penchant for tacos, oranges, and lollipops. He helped Tony with a lot of his projects but absolutely refused to help with anything related to weapons. Scott never liked violence and always hated that Stark Industries was solely based on weapons making. Tony never faulted him for it.

"Scott, have you seen my--?" Tony stops mid sentence when he looks over at the young man and finds him at his computers with his feet kicked up on a small part of the desk, dozing with a lollipop in his mouth. "Oh, that's safe."

He walks over and takes the lollipop out of Scott's mouth and he jolts awake. "Hey! I was eating that!" Scott complains.

"Yeah, you were very proactive about it. I didn't raise you for 21 years so you could choke and die because you fell asleep with candy in your mouth." Tony rolls his eyes and sticks the candy back in Scott's mouth before he could protest. "Now have you seen that little screwdriver you like to steal?"

"You had it last, and I've been busy updating Jarvis's code." Scott answers.

"I saw that. I guess you're so good you can do it in your sleep."

"It was uploading!" Scott drops his feet to the ground with an annoyed huff. "And I told you I wouldn't help you with your stupid weapons. That includes finding misplaced tools."

"Fine, fine."

Tony tries fixing the cow lick in Scott's hair and rolls his eyes when it only floofs back into place. He learned very early on that his kid's hair was untameable but that didn't stop Tony from trying. Hair gel, pomade, hair spray...none of it could contain and style Scott's hair. The cow lick worked for him though so Tony wasn't too obsessed with trying to find something to keep it in place.

"Well while you wait for your new code to upload, why don't you make me a sandwich?" Tony says. "I gotta get the Jericho prototype finished tonight."

Scott frowns. "Why do they want you to fly all the way out to Afghanistan? What's wrong with how you usually sell this stuff?"

"It's just for a couple of days volpino. Now where's my tuna sandwich?" Tony asks.

"Probably in the fridge. It's deconstructed." Scott says as he leaves the lab.

"Oh, haha. Funny. I like mine constructed so get on it. Chop chop."

Tony smirks when he hears Scott mumble something under his breath along the lines "slave driver", but with no heat. Things had gotten easier as Scott got older but he never really grew out of his physical problems. He still had his food and environmental allergies, his asthma, and even his tendency to get sick, but that had mostly been remedied when Tony moved them to Malibu. The warm weather helped with that and Scott didn't get sick nearly as often as he did in New York, and that had been a huge relief for the both of them. Tony only wished he had thought of it sooner.

When Scott comes back with the sandwich and sets it nearby for Tony, the man looks up at him and rolls his eyes when he finds the younger man drinking out of a juice box. "You know you can have beer now right?"

"Juice is better." Scott says. "When are you leaving tomorrow?"

"You'll probably still be asleep. Even if I leave late." Tony grabs the sandwich and takes a bite. "So try not to blow up the lab while I'm gone." He adds around his mouthful.

"That's no fun." Scott says sarcastically. "Pepper called by the way. She said she has some paperwork for you to look at before you leave."

Tony groans. "Tell her I'm not home."

"It'll be true in a few hours anyway."

"Don't underestimate Pepper. She'll be waiting on the tarmac for me to look at those papers if she has to." Tony grumbles and then looks up at Scott with a suspicious smile that makes his son narrow his eyes at him. "You're 21. Maybe it's time to start giving you some responsibility with the company."

"I do. It's called making sure my dad doesn't blow himself up because he writes codes when he's half asleep. How are we still alive?"

"Rhodey and Happy." Tony replies dryly before whapping Scott upside the head. "Don't sass me."

Scott rubs the back of his head as he walks back over to his personal workstation to check on the progress of the code. When he had shown an interest in engineering and computers, Tony had immediately set up Scott's own work area with age appropriate equipment that he either replaced or updated as Scott got older. He was good at it too. Tony couldn't count the number of times he got calls from the FBI asking him to get Scott to stop leaving them viruses with laughing cat videos or something. They were always harmless and easily fixed, so Tony's response was to tell them to update their security so Scott couldn't get in.

Apparently they had yet to find a way to keep Scott out and Tony wasn't about to take away one of his son's very few joys in life. As long as it all stayed harmless, Tony would look the other way. He knew Scott was very capable of hacking into pretty much anything, and he was glad his kid was a pacifist. Because Scott was definitely very capable of getting his hands on nuke codes.

Tony actually wouldn't be surprised if Scott had already gone in and changed them.

Some whirring pulls Tony out of his thoughts and he looks over at the kitchenette to find DUM-E making smoothies again. A quick glance told him that there was at least peanut butter and almond milk in it so it wasn't safe for baby boy consumption.

"Hey! Are you trying to kill your little brother with that?" Tony asks and DUM-E beeps sadly when the blender goes off. "You know he can't have nuts!"

"There goes my social life." Scott says and Tony makes a face.

"I don't want to hear about that."

"Says the man whose one night stands I had to chase away."

Tony laughs. "To be fair, it was funny to see them get creeped out when you just stood in the kitchen and stared at them while drinking your juice box."

"...yeah. That was pretty fun." Scott admits.

"Sir, Miss Potts is on her way down." JARVIS says and Tony groans.

"Ugh the dreaded secretary with her paperwork."

There's a few beeps before the lab door hisses open and then the sound of heels clicking across the linoleum.

"Tony-"

"I know," he sighs. "Paperwork. Give it to Scott."

Pepper places the small stack next to his arm. "He's too busy making sure you don't blow yourself up."

"You know I had to teach him how to do that right?"

"And now he's better than you." Pepper says and Scott cackles.

"Ouch. My pride." Tony clutches at his chest in mock hurt.

"Please just look at this and sign. It won't even take you ten minutes." Pepper sighs.

"I trust you."

"Nice try."

[maggotmouth]

          hillo sexthy legends !!   i’m nora and i’ll be writing margo colby n probs sm1 else bcos lets be real, i lack self-control. u can find her pinterest here n some info abt her sexy self below the cut. plot with me on discord ( hot girl midsommar#8664 ) or in my ims !!  x o x

     * CAMILA MORRONE, CIS WOMAN + SHE / HER  | you know MARGO COLBY, right? they’re TWENTY-THREE, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, ELEVEN YEARS? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to SCRAWNY BY WALLOWS  like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BLEACH WHITE SNEAKERS POUNDING ON A GYMNASIUM FLOOR, USING THE SAME BLUNT SCISSORS TO HACK THE SLEEVES OFF AN EXES T-SHIRT THAT YOU USE TO CUT YOUR 3AM FRINGE, A WALNUT-SHAPED ACHE IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH FOR THE PERSON YOU COULD HAVE BEEN thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is AUGUST 8TH, so they’re a LEO, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nora, 25, gmt, she/her )

CLICK ANYWHERE ON THIS SENTENCE FOR SEXII GOOGLE DOC!!

bullet point summary of margo.

—   born margaret but NOBODY calls her that. its colby, coach or margo, and go to the privileged few. margo grew up in the creek commune n then dropped out of school cos of a teenage pregnancy so she was a bit of a cautionary tale back in’t’day (said tht in my yorkshire accent). she now works for summer camps coaching pee wee soccer and pee wee cheer, as well as helping out her beekeeper dad on his honey farm, which is jst north of abernathy creek, and working at scuba on the off seasons.

—  its just her and her dad, and has been for as long as she can recall !! everything she knows about her mum could fit on the back of the weathered passport photo she keeps in her wallet of a stranger who shares her face - her name’s melody, or at least tht was name she used when working as a dancer, she’s from argentina and dropped mag’s dad as soon as someone w more money came along.

—  margo’s father is a beekeeper with his own organic honey company. margo and her dad moved to irving in the early 00s, the summer between grade school and middle school, because her dad had heard about the communal living in abernathy creek and wanted to lend his skills there and live off the fatta the land in a very lenny from of mice and men kinda way.

—  for a few years of middle school margo was bullied for living with the ‘freaks from the creek’, but when they realised how chill her dad was with underage drinking, margo ‘keg-bringer’ colby soon gained popularity among the more renegade students. every so often, the high school parties would happen at her end of town, occasionally with members of the commune even offering the high schoolers a spiritual experience they’d never forget (often in the form of mushrooms) which meant people tried to stay on her good side. to get an invite to a margo colby party handed you a free pass to make up the most ridiculous shit about the commune you liked and nobody else could say anything, because they’d never been to the creek.

—  at school, margo had a lot of ‘behvioural issues’ bcos of undiagnosed adhd, she found it difficult to sit still for hours n write down huge chunks of information n her restlessness was seen as laziness. she was encouraged to do sports, as were most of the kids who weren’t that academically inclined, but she turned out to be pretty hot shit at sprinting, because she grew up surrounded by bee houses and he who runs slowest gets stung, baybeyy!! so yea, in school sports became her LIFE. she was gonna get a sports scholarship to college but ended up dropping out of school in senior year n becoming one of those kids who could have had it all but lost it.

—  she had sex with sutter at a house party when she wasnt really ready because it felt like the right thing to do at the time and everybody else was doing it. she’d attended health class, she’d seen the corny videos. she knew about all the statistics, but she also knew that it had never happened to anyone she knew and the pull out method was basically safer than the morning after pill and way less expensive.

—  a teenage pregnancy knocked her out of the runnings for prom queen and meant she had to leave school early. she didn’t go to college when her friends did, instead she spent the time interviewing potential foster candidates and eating her weight in lindt chocolate while marathoning love island in her room.  

—  she had a son, who she passed off to someone else a couple of towns away.  it was a closed adoption which seemed like the best idea at the time, but she now wishes she had access to his life.

—  after peaking in high school and jumping between jobs for a few years, she got a more permanent role at scuba which she loves with all of her heart and soul, but unfortunately a bar job doesn’t pay the rent.  

—  she works at summer camps coaching  junior soccer and netball on the side. she’s extremely competitive and takes it very personally if her team lose. the kids all call her, coach colby n write her longwinded letters about how they’ll never forget this summer camp before they go back to their suburban picket fence houses n she keeps all the letters in a drawer n takes them out to read when she’s feelin depressed.

—  enjoys surfing and worked for a number of years on resorts like mila kunis’ job in forgetting sarah marshall. she went on to work 18-hour days as a stewardess on luxury yachts which is a part of her backstory i added after watching season one of below deck because i guess i really am that fucking impressionable. met most of her surf friends doing tht but said she’d never in her life do it again bcos it was mostly just picking up after rich white ppl for shit pay. she came back to irving n thats when she started doing the summer camp jobs so she could move out of the creek n get her own apartment. 

—  she never actually finished senior year so she’s currently going to night school at the community college to get through her exams and is trying to save to go to college or open university. she wants to major in criminology. she’s super ambitious but also super adhd so she fluctuates between thinking she can achieve anything to just feeling like a failure n thinkin whats the point

—  used to shoplift to feel joy and as an act of resistance to her hippy commune routes, but now sees herself as a reformed, bin-diving freegan (sims 4 eco living can i get a hell yaaaa). also she thinks it’s totally wrong to steal when you have enough money and clearly don’t need to steal to survive, ppl risk imprisonment for basic necessities, so for her to do it for a brief thrill and some new shades felt a bit derogatory

—  was raised jewish. became a vegetarian as a child because it seemed, at the time, easier than having to explain which foods she was and wasn’t allowed to eat together, so she just cut out meat entirely. still a vegetarian now and dabbles in veganism, although its become less about not eating certain meats in the milk of their mother and more about her global impact / carbon footprint

—  nurses little animals to health in her garden. has a hedgehog name OJ short for orange juice not the other one filthy pig. her and her dad have always been huge animal rights activists and existed on a vegetarian diet. the only one in their house who isn’t vegetarian is their cat, auggie. (short 4 augustus gloop)

—  has a lot of stupid ass stick and poke tattoos. there was a phase during her years as a barmaid where she wanted to train as a tattoo artist n would mostly practice on herself or any friends who would let her

—  she doesn’t form many long lasting friendships cos she tends to be super excited when she makes a new friend and just see them all the time but then it wears off and she can ghost a bit. she’ll always coming pinging back but she’s not the most predictable or loyal friend, sometimes she’ll sleep in your house every night for a week and then you won’t even get a text from her for a month. her best friends are elderly neighbours and houseless people she meets when volunteering at the foodbank. she thinks they’re more authentic than most of the ‘fake posers’ she meets down the vela pier

—  calls herself a butch lesbian but still has sex with men when she wants validation. sexually attracted to some men, especially effeminate men, but only romantically attracted to women. very possessive of the gals in her life.

—  stopped giving a shit about getting older or adhering to anyone elses bullshit standards, realised it was all fake p much as soon as she dropped out of school and one by one her friends just stopped texting her

—  lives in one of the lofts in port apartments. it’s open plan with rugs and lava lamps everywhere. she has a palette bed. its all very ‘sustainable chic’. like, oh wow, a pallet bed that im supposed to think you made from scratch but i KNOW you got it  off ebay because you thought it looked trendy

—  constantly says shes poor but still buys clothes from urban outfitters. sus.

—  frequently found at fannies flirting with the cute bisexual bartender with a choppy black bob.

general vibe / personality

vibrant, vulgar, self-absorbed, tenacious, veers bewteen apathetic and dogmatic, temperamental, flighty, unreliable, magnetic, charismatic, passive aggressive, likes to play devil’s advocate, takes the moral high ground. estp and a leo

likes: 70s music, john wayne movies, black mirror, philosophy, cowboy chic culture, dc comics, the smell of locker rooms,, deep red lipstick, lacrosse sticks, smoking weed from a bong, dogs, karaoke, pet rats, kate moss, late-night strolls, hawaaiian shirts worn open over a bralette, skinned knees, thai food, picking the apples at the very top of the trees, zip-lining, cigarettes, the idea of pegging but not the practical application of it, decorative lamps, LGBTQ+ pin badges, worn-out furniture, twangy electric guitars.

dislikes: girls who call other girls ‘pick me’ girls, woody allen movies, mental mathematics, wealthy children, quentin tarantino, ironing, institutionalised misogyny, the imaginary future, french literature, ‘dump him’ feminism, wes anderson films, spoken word poetry nights, college-educated bar staff who act like they’re better than you,  indie softbois, the general mentality of cheerleading squads.

aesthetics

orange peel, the smell of bleach, skeleton drawings in the margins of a journal, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, bleach white sneakers pounding on a gymnasium floor, setting dumpsters on fire for the hell of it. a hit flask of vodka decorated with hello kitty stickers, split knuckles, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, a child in an oversize bee keepers suit, scabbed knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your dad wouldn’t take you,  a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

hoo boy this is getting LONG AS FUCK but here are my wanted plots

wanted plots

ok margo’s been in irving since she was like 10. she’s quite a vivacious person?? she dresses completely instinctively without any sense of cohesion so she stands out. a guy once told her she was wearing the ugliest outfit he’d ever seen and he thought that was so cool and brave of her. but anyway where was i going.. she grew up in the abernathy creek so stuck out like a sore thumb,,,, maybe ppl who were super interested in the creek or maybe poked fun at her bcos of it idk.....

b4 she dropped out, margo used 2 b in with the cool kids at school bcos her dad would buy them booze and rarely ask for the money. maybe a fun plot cld b with some of the ‘it girls’ she used to hang around with b4 she got pregnant n dropped out and they all went off to college n stopped texting her.

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! some1 she feels like she knew before irving ???

since margo literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships. fwbs. enemies with benefits. all the angst. all the slow burn mutual pining we hate each other narratives

locals who play sports. margo wld be all over community soccer n take it way too seriously. maybe ppl she plays hockey with. girls who she’s like, weirdly intimate with but its not a thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

she works part time at scuba. i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

she's also a surf instructor and occasionally works as a lifeguard!! gal has like 7 jobs ik but regular swimmers hmu

ppl she coaches at the gym !! she wants to be a personal trainer

i reckon she might have recently started meditating to try and calm down her mind cos its always bustling with thoughts, n i think she’s p interested in buddhism so if anyone’s a buddhist hmu

someone she’s trying to make a zine with on female empowerment and women in film and art, etc. just a very feminist zine. 

TLDR:  angry sports gay, former high school track prodigy turned drop out, who likes feminist literature, wearing leather jackets over slip dresses, and smudged red lipstick.

this was so long !!! im sorry !! if you’ve read this far have a biscuit, love x

[digitalta]

( you probably get these a lot but...here i am)

i've read antithesis about 3 times, i always stopped reading around chapter 66 because it was too painful, but it's one of my favorite works in fanfiction. i convinced my sister to read it (it's like...the second fanfiction she's ever read) and she's absolutely engrossed, and today is the day i finally finished reading this tragic masterpiece. (now there's a void in my heart).

what i mean to say is...thank you (for the angst, for the drama, for the comedy, for everything). i don't know what to say or even how to say it, this is such a humane and tragic story that touched me so much that i can't even formulate a semblance of what i really want to say and what it means to me. so, thank you.

oftentimes i found myself so entranced in your writing that i feel like i didn't register the best pieces of writing and identified what could be some quotes to add to my all time favorites.

by chance, do you have a compilation of antithesis's best quotes or poetic tidbits you can share with us please?

and thank you, really ♡

So, I got this Ask a few days ago, and I’ve been sitting on it and looking at it constantly.

First- no. The number of messages never EVER take away from the meaning behind them. I could receive four messages, or four hundred, and I treasure each and every one. You are an individual with completely unique experiences and views. You deserve to be treated with kindness and respect, not thrown into a list of messages from nameless people.

Reading the story isn’t easy for some people. It’s all a matter of perspective, and how we can connect with it and how we can hurt from it. I am so proud of you for finishing it, and finding meaning at the end. 

There are...sections? Of the story that I am incredibly proud of. Pointing out quotes from memory is impossible based on the insane length of the fic.

So I tried to find individual portions that meant a lot to me, as an author and writer. I have a style of writing that I started to refine much further in the story, which appears often in the end. Surrealism and lyrical twist that is more akin to poetry than standard literature. Those lines are the ones I’m most proud of.

A few more popular quotes are those I still enjoy.

Truth be told, moments I actually enjoy appear in the middle and towards the end.

Ch. 36: "I could have been raised to kill Potter." Adrian tried again, desperate in his attempt to scare the man.

"You could have been," Remus agreed, with the faintest glimmer of sympathy, "And if you were, I would give you freedom to live away from expectations or requirements. I would give you an opportunity to follow what you want to do, and not what you were raised to do."

"It wasn't your fault Adrian," He repeated carefully, "and I'll tell you that every day for however long it takes for you to realize that. You weren't abandoned because of who you are. It wasn't your fault."

Ch. 37: He had never thought of her as someone with individual dreams and desires, an individual life that everyone would mourn and miss and remember.

She hadn't...she hadn't (or had she always been?) a person, in his eye. She was just an object, a possession of the wrong side…He had left her behind, left her lying in a pool of water too weak to stand or speak. He had turned his back on her and left her on the floor.

Ch. 38: The man's eyes were bulging, his hands were gasping against his torn and butchered chest.

"He is prey," Nagini simplified, "Prey are eaten."The man gasped something wetly, it sounded faintly like a plea.

What had he done. What had he done?

Ch. 40: "I know, I just...I do things on my own." Adrian paused, trying to elaborate but struggling with the words.

"Ah, I know how you feel." Remus smiled slightly, something nostalgic and yet so terribly pained, "We all have our own burdens to carry."

Ch. 40: Luna noticed, and she smiled something soft and sad."You know, I think you'd be a wonderful thestral.”

Ch. 44: She turned, opening her mouth and displaying saliva and venom soaked teeth, as long as dinner plates, "And do you, Cerastes, have anything to your name that make others cower? Or are you a hatchling child who dreams of prey far too large for his teeth."

"That's not true," Adrian shook his head in denial, knowing his face was flushing ugly with his anger. His scars itched and his eyes were burning and his nose was filled with disgusting snot.

"Are you crying?" Barty asked, sounding like he was going to burst out laughing, "as if the Dark Lord would find you useful!"

"Master," Lutain unhooked from Barty's leg, slithering across the distance, "Master that is not true,"

"It is," Adrian swallowed, a lump the size of a walnut was lodged in his throat.

Ch. 45: "That's why you wore this dress." he realized, speaking out loud as the epiphany struck him. "So people would stare at you. Instead of staring at me."

"People always stare at me," Luna offered dismissively, "I'm different and people don't like that. I think it scares them, like thestrals do."

Ch. 46: Luna smiled enchantingly, "Adrian you're good at spells."

"I'm really not," he automatically blurted.

Luna's eyes searched his, flickering from one back to the other, "Why are you arguing? Why do you think you're so...mediocre?"

"Because I am!" Adrian blurted, face feeling warm as he flushed against his will. Luna's spell faded out. She whispered it once more, squinting into his face as if looking for something in particular.

"I don't think you are," She confided, "I think you're brilliant."

Ch. 46: Adrian's throat moved three times as he nervously swallowed, "I...I'm not good enough n-"

"I'm afraid you're going to do something stupid for the approval of someone that doesn't matter." 

Ch 50:  "I tried, but the little demon went savage on Mundungus again, stabbed him with a fork and looked right happy with it." Sirius grimaced.

Ch. 50: "How was your summer?" Luna asked curiously. "You look terrible."

"You know, most times you're supposed to compliment me first." Adrian dryly commented, "It's wonderful to know you're so sweet."

Luna shrugged, "You look like something's eating you."

Ch. 50:  Skylar's jaw flexed, twitching as he refused to look away from the window, "Cedric really...I saw Cedric die. I saw him die, and you saw someone die, right in front of you, years ago."

"I was young," Adrian swallowed, his throat felt dry, "I barely remember it."

Skylar gave a single bark of laughter, bitter and sharp, "You don't- you don't just...just forget about it." 

"Yes you do." Adrian blurted, not even hearing the slightly pained whine in his voice. 

Skylar looked haunted, "I...I remember his eyes. They...Merlin, his eyes."

"I don't think I'll ever forget it," Skylar admitted quietly, "What Cedric looked like. Laying there, on the grass. He, he was just...alive, and then… and then he wasn't."

"It wasn't your fault." Adrian spoke, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Ch. 54: “You’re not unlovable, silly.”

Ch. 56: “I could set this entire room on fire,” Adrian mused quietly. “I could burn this entire house down and kill you. burning people smell a lot like burning meat.”

Sirius realized, that he was afraid. He was quite afraid actually.

Ch 57.: Adrian stilled, pausing as if in thought. He looked at Remus with half lidded eyes, the yellow far too bright to be anything but alarming. "Do you like me, Remus?"

Remus felt as if he was mourning for the loss of something gone, which was impossible. Adrian was right there, but he felt so far away. He felt as if he had changed truly, as if something hideous had condemned him to something so foul, he had accepted it.

"Of course I do," Remus spoke, voice strained and distorted through his distress, "Adrian, you know I do. Why would you ever think I wouldn't?"

Ch. 58: "I thought I was insane." Adrian mused without much emotion, "Disturbed. Psycho. Spastic. Mad. Mental. Thick. Freak." Adrian's body twitched in a small spasm, "Loony." he practically hissed out.

Remus breathed through his nose carefully, "Who called that to you?"

"Nobody," Adrian murmured quietly, "Everyone. They think it, everyone does. Selwyn has a few screws loose. Selwyn is a freak."

Remus gently set aside the comb and scissors. He ignored the few scraps of hair, and instead slid forward slightly so that his weight was a nearby presence for Adrian.

"That isn't even my name," Adrian whined, shaking across his shoulders, "I- I just want to be good."

"You are good, Adrian." Remus assured him, "You're exceptional."

Ch. 60:  "Oh I know," Adrian hummed back, carefree as if truly it was barely of importance, "my life is a tragedy. I think I hadn't cared to truly involve myself to my full capabilities. Now...now with a deadline, I think that It's time for me to step forward."

Ch 60.:  "You love me," Adrian whined out like a dying animal. (Which, he supposed, he was).

Ch. 63: I know what it is like, to be unmade.I know what it is like, to be nothing.And through that, I know I am not.

Ch 64.:  "I'm surprised you never noticed, in all honesty." Adrian mentioned with a wry smile, "after all, professor. I have my mother's eyes."

Ch 65.: For now, all Adrian had was himself.In the sweet smelling heather and deep earthy peat bogs out of sight, in the moonlit shadow of a moss covered mountain which towered over an isolated cobblestone road cut from the mountain itself; Adrian found peace.

Past Chapter 65...honestly, each chapter is filled with absolutely gorgeous one liners. I pulled out small quotes above that I found really stuck out to me, or had some sort of important meaning. It would be impossible to pull out every single quote, basically because it would take so much time.

What’s your favourite?

[hotarutranslations]

#IshidaBread !!

Evening Its Ishida Ayumi

 Somehow,

 Ishida’s Bread

 Going on March 27th (Sat) 28th (Sun), There will be a limited sale of it for HinaFest

 https://youtu.be/PdH3V4z8PKA 

  Nuoowaaaaooooi!!!

  I’m finally able to announce it… I’m trembling…

   ❤ ❤ ❤

 Speaking of Ishida’s bread,

 More than myself, I’ll talk about…my mother,

 Please read it

  My mothers hobby baking homemade bread, She went and learned from a teacher, And my mother has also taught as a teacher herself,

 I grew up watching this,

 When I get home I can smell the great scent of bread from ❤

 My mothers bread is really delicious, Her cooking is actually really delicious too,

 I grew up eating that homemade baked bread

  And, when I joined Morning Musume, When I had a concert in my hometown Miyagi,

 I brought in my mother baked bread, To all of the members and staff-san!

 I did that about every time, Little by little,

 When talking about Miyagi, speaking of Ishida’s home, its about bread

 I think that now there are many people, Who have that impression

  At the same time,

 I want to eat that bread~

 There are a lot of people saying that!

 I also, someday, Wondered if it could become possible,

 I’ve always been thinking about that in the corner of my head

  Maybe last November,

 It came to the center of my head!!!

 At that time,

 Through luck with “Nartia Dream Farm”-san, They’ve decided to work with us,

 Around December I actually visited the ranch,

   The cows at the ranch, sleeping, cute

 We had a lot of meetings, About the bread

 I tasted it many times

 Narita Dream Farm-san, Made a lot of samples as well… Really, thank you very much

 Up until now I’ve been able to eat a lot of my mothers bread, Of course I like bread, And I think I know about bread but,

 After all, I respect my mother the most

 I even had my mother try the samples!

 Also a lot of the time, I was given suggestions for improvement

 Really there were a lot

 In the first place for bread, The flour you use makes all the difference in the final product

 Therefore,

 Making everything with my mothers recipes, With a handmade process, There is a difference in making a lot of it, This is honestly something I can do now,

 It is not, my mothers bread,

 Please understand……

  (therefore, its not “Ishida’s Family Bread” but “Ishida’s Bread”…)

  Even then, taking advantage of the suggestions from my mother, I was also particular about a lot of things,

 And we are now able to make it available to you

  And one more thing,

 Speaking of every year at HinaFest,

 As part of the SATOYAMA&SATOUMI events, There are many booths from all over the country  

 But this year because of Covid, We wont be having those booths

 But fully look forward towards the HinaFest Main!

 Its like, I wonder if there is anything I can do, I wonder if there will be anything interesting,

 I thought that ❤ Fufufu

  That’s the background of it

  The bread sales are,

  Limited to the 2 days that HinaFest is being held

 Makuhari Messe International Exhibition Center 3 Hall Indoor and Outdoor Narita Dream Ranch Food Truck 27th (Sat) 8:45AM~ (indoor sales) / 9:15AM~ (outdoor sales) 28th (Sat) 8:15AM~ (indoor sales) / 8:45~ (outdoor sales)

 Ranch Souka momom Aeon Mall Makuhari New Metro Shop

 Its happening in 2 places!!

  Its limited sales but, Yeah, Its kinda like,

 Since I asked them to prepare a good number of them,

 I look forward to you having it

  Talking amongst ourselves, EVEN IF YOU DON’T HAVE a HinaFest concert ticket, because they’re being sold at a place WHERE YOU CAN BUY IT, and since the food truck is cute, if you are interested we are definitely waiting for you

 Through delicious bread, I hope to bring a bit of happiness to a lot of you

  I put such a hope in it

  I want you to see the walnut bread

 That is, I wanted to make into a 4-leaf clover shape, I was picky about it,

  Since from joining, its been the 10th generations trademark

 I wonder if it was conveyed……

  This makes me super happy but,

 Being able to announce this, Now that the bread is complete, here,

 Its still, in the beginning

  If everyone hasn’t eaten it, It hasn’t been sent out,

 I’m not completely please with it yet

  Please give me your thoughts and opinions…

 Also…

 ❤

 Voicing that you want there to be mail orders… just, just, just wait a minute…. I will do my best the best I can… Thank you for your support

 I’ll be waiting for everyones voices

 Also there is an announcement from Fukumura Mizuki-san

 Further, there will be delicious pizza at Makuhari Messe…

  See you ayumin ❤

 https://ameblo.jp/morningmusume-10ki/entry-12663978622.html

[ultraglittercat]

Drabble 143

Trimming a Tree

Dedicated to Amy's grandfather, may he rest in peace.

The gang (minus Eugene) had been successful in their endeavor to get a Christmas tree. They'd ridden in Max's sleigh so a pregnant Rapunzel could rest her feet while still enjoying the trip. Varian, Catalina, and Kiera all were wearing jackets damp with winter snow by the time they got back, so Rapunzel insisted they take off their wet clothes and warm up. Eugene greeted them cheerfully, and only hesitated for a brief moment when Rapunzel asked him to let the kids near the heater Varian had built.

“I swear that thing is a lifesaver. Almost makes winter bearable.” Eugene praised.

“If you spent more time outside, you'd get used to it.” Rapunzel assured him.

“I don't even think you should go outside. What about baby Fitzherbert?” Eugene pressed.

“The baby is fine. I would know that better than anyone.” Rapunzel said firmly.

Lance stepped in to prevent what might have become a disagreement. “I bet you're excited to become parents! I know my girls bring me joy every day.” Lance smiled.

“It is so exciting!” Rapunzel smiled brightly. “I want to be a good mother and teach my baby how to paint and explore and make friends wherever they go.”

“They'll be learning from the best.” Lance predicted.

“I'm going to teach the baby how to read, starting with the Flynn Rider books.” Eugene envisioned.

“Oh, good. Another nerd.” Kiera joked.

“I'll have you know those books are well-plotted and full of adventure and most definitely not for nerds.” Varian insisted.

“And yet, you read them so clearly that last part's not true.” Kiera teased.

“Be nice, kids or you might not get many presents.” Eugene warned.

“Do our presents really depend on us being good?” Catalina fretted.

“Clearly, your sister is doomed.” Varian said smugly. Kiera stuck out her tongue.

“I'm sure you'll all get presents. And what better place to put them than under a tree? I think you've dried off enough that you can start putting up decorations.” Rapunzel knew how to get everyone psyched up about a group project.

“Yeah, let's decorate the tree!” Catalina cheered.

“I'll get some supplies from the kitchen. Varian, you can help.” Eugene decided.

“Why not me?” Lance wanted to know.

“Because we need the food to make it to the tree.” Eugene said simply.

“...That's fair.” Lance could admit to being a big eater. He couldn't help it, so many things just looked so tasty! Out of all his friends, Ruddiger the raccoon best understood that feeling. The little raccoon was sniffing everywhere, looking for apples, but all he found was an empty plate that had once held cupcakes. Ruddiger licked a bit of leftover frosting, but still felt hungry.

Varian and Eugene returned, arms loaded with popcorn strings, candy canes, walnuts, oranges, and apples. Ruddiger looked up expectantly, Varian tossed him an apple (which rolled to a stop a little ways in front of Ruddiger. His human had never had the strongest throwing arm, but Ruddiger never minded.)

Rapunzel immediately went to work, attaching ribbons and paint to the walnuts. Pascal inspected each one, nodding in satisfaction. Kiera and Catalina began placing the fruit on the lower branches. Lance overcame his urge to eat the popcorn, and placed the strings on the tree. Varian and Eugene worked with the candy canes, and soon the tree was nearly complete. There were just finishing up when Rapunzel's parents Frederic and Arianna entered the room, with Nigel trailing behind them.

“Wow. You've all done an excellent job decorating the tree!” Arianna marveled.

“Without your parents helping.” Frederic grumbled. Arianna elbowed him. “Still it looks nice.”

“Well, we do have to put the angel on top. I did promise Lance he could do that though.” Rapunzel realized she'd left her parents out, and felt a bit ashamed.

“It's fine, dear. This is Lance's first Christmas as a father, isn't it? I'm sure no one would begrudge him getting this special moment.” Arianna looked at her husband, who frowned but didn't argue with her.

“Great! Okay, here I go.” Lance stood on tiptoe and placed the angel on top of the tree.

“It looks perfect, Dad.” Kiera said happily. She and Catalina moved closer to their Dad, so Lance could hug them.

“Mom and Dad, there's still the whole rest of the room to decorate. You can help me put up wreaths, and garlands, and mistletoe.” Rapunzel looked at Eugene and winked.

“I'd like that, dear.” Arianna smiled.

“I'll inform the staff, and they'll look for mistletoe and garlands. I believe there are wreaths in boxes nearby.” Nigel bowed.

“Thank you Nigel.” Frederic said, a little stiffly, but he was trying hard not to be offended that Rapunzel had thought of her friends before him. Rapunzel ran up and gave him a side-hug, as her pregnant belly was starting to make hugs difficult. He smiled, a genuine smile this time.

“Come help me hang the wreaths, Daddy. And next year, you can be the one to hold baby Fitzherbert as they open their presents.” Rapunzel offered a consolation prize, and Frederic took it.

“I'd love that. Thank you, Rapunzel.” Frederic was really looking forward to being a grandparent. As they finished decorating the room, there was talk about setting up a secret gift exchange for Rapunzel and Eugene's friends, to ensure everybody got a special gift at Christmas time. They drew names out of a helmet (Varian took two names, so his father would be able to participate too, and Rapunzel added Quirin's name to the helmet. Varian's names were Rapunzel- his gift assignment- and Catalina- Quirin's gift assignment. Arianna appointed herself secret keeper, and looked at the names everyone drew to make sure no one had gotten their own name by mistake.)

“This has been fun, but Ruddiger and I have got to go if we wanna be home before dark. We'll go to the evening mass on Christmas Eve, so we can visit here two days in a row. I'm sure Dad will like seeing how nice Corona looks with red and green decorations everywhere.” Varian tightened up his scarf and got ready to leave.

“Okay, Varian. We'll see you and Quirin soon.” Rapunzel said.

“Take care!” Arianna added.

“Bye guys!” Varian waved goodbye.

“See ya, V!” said Kiera.

“Bye Varian.” Catalina echoed.

“Goodbye, Hairstripe.” Eugene added.

“Don't get stuck in any snowdrifts, little man.” Lance cautioned.

“I'll be okay.” Varian replied. He bent down and picked up Ruddiger, who quickly climbed onto his shoulder. They'd had a lot with their friends today, but nothing beat being at home with his Dad, sitting by a fire and enjoying the holiday season.

The End

I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday, and if you have lost any loved ones this year, remember they are watching over you and love you still! Take care, all.

[childofhelios]

“flower blooms and falls scars cure and buds shoot”

ship: Hades!Doyoung x Persephone!Taeyong

characters: Doyoung, Taeyong, with appearances by Jeno and mention of Zeus!Johnny and Poseidon!Ten 

rating: general/teen for slight injury and mentions of blood, also slight possessiveness from Doyoung but he regrets it very soon after

genre: fluff with angst for like .5 seconds

word count: 2.8k

title was taken from seventeen’s fallin’ flower, which is really good to listen to while reading! also, tell me if there are any mistakes bc i did convert a piece of my other writing into this fic. but anywho enjoy and feel free to send a message/ask about what you think about it :DDDD

“Taeyong, please just come out.” I lean my forehead against the black, walnut door where I can hear him franticly running around her room.  “We can talk about this like civilized people.” I hear him begin to mutter under his breath and I catch him saying my name and a few unpleasant phrases that I wish weren't associated with my name, but alas. “Taeyong, don’t you think you’re being a little immature? You’re acting like a child!” 

I almost fall forward as the door opens suddenly. Taeyong’s eyes were ablaze with fury as he stares at me in front of his door.  

“Oh, my sincerest apologies, Doyoung. I just didn’t expect to get kidnapped by someone that I’ve never met, starved for six months, accidentally eat a pomegranate, and then be stuck in this terrible, dreary place with no other company other than the dead and you. And I would rather spend time with the dead!”  

“Believe me, the dead are worse company than I am.” 

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT!” I jolt at his loud voice echoing through the manor. I’ve had his presence for over six months, and I’m still not used to having people around me. To having an actual living, breathing person in my company. He sweeps a hand through bubblegum pink bangs and takes a deep sigh. “Doyoung, I beg of you. The humans need me. Without me, they’ll die. I need to go back on the surface to assist my mother.” 

I roll my eyes. “Humans are made to die. It’s how they're made to be. Plus, She’s is a goddess that has been around for centuries. She was able to assist humans without you there. Besides,” I take a hold of his hands, his beautiful tan contrasting against the blueish pallor of mine, “didn’t you say you loved me?” 

Yanking his hand out of mine, he says, “I said I loved you a little. And if I knew that it would go straight to your head and you would try to use against me, I wouldn’t have said it. If you had given me the chance, maybe it could have grown. Maybe I would have been able to become your bride.” 

“Taeyong, you can’t leave. I finally got used to having someone with me. You can still become my husband.” 

“Doyoung. You can’t just keep me here because you’re lonely.” 

I sigh and rise to my full height, towering over him slightly. “You’ve misunderstood me. You can’t leave. I forbid it.” 

He scoffs and pushes past me. “Haven’t you heard of free will? I’m leaving and you can’t stop me.” Before he rounds the corner, something whizzes by his face. He whips around, furious with a small cut on his cheek beginning to spill golden ichor. I stride up to him and yank the sharpened ruby out of the wall.  

“It seems that you've forgotten who I am. I am Doyoung, the god of the underworld and riches. I am one of the oldest gods to exist and I’ll be one of the last to disappear. Did you think you’ll be able to leave that easily? This is my domain and I decide what comes in and out of it. And you,” I crush the ruby and let the powder run through my fingers like sand, “aren’t going anywhere, my little lotus. Now, you can walk to your room on your own, or I can have Cerberus escort you back there. Your choice, my dear.” 

If looks could kill, I would already be six feet under as Taeyong stares up at me. Slowly, he steps away and walks in the direction of his door. I watch as he leads a trail of ichor and shuts his door with a forceful SLAM! 

 I begin walking towards my quarters. As soon as I close my door, my knees give out. “Gods, why did I do that? You know that he’s right. We can’t force him here; he’s going to be unhappy and what’s the point of having him here if he’s upset the entire time?” I stare down at my hands as they tremble slightly. “I injured him. On purpose, I made him bleed.” It’s a weird feeling to be shaken by blood when that’s what I deal with every day. I see the most gruesome of murders and war causalities but injuring a minor god has me shaking in my boots. I wobble over to my sink and submerge my face underwater. I came up gasping for air and catch my reflection in the mirror. At the rate I’m paling, I’ll look more like a ghost than the people outside the manor. My eyes resemble the darkest of obsidian and have deep eye bags underneath them, my face is sunken in as if I’m a beggar from the streets, and my hair is matted in every which way. The longer I stare at myself, the more I can see the monster Taeyong must see.  

“JENO!” My voice booms and seconds later, a pile of bones bursts through the door. No, quite literally, a disassembled skeleton falls through my door and onto the ground before me. The skull, sporting a flat cap, turns towards me and grins widely.  

“Master Doyoung! What can I do to help you today?” 

“Please tend to Mr. Taeyong from now own. First, make sure his wound is taken care of. Second, make sure he eats, sleeps, and does whatever else he needs and wants to do. Do you understand?” 

“Absolutely, Master. He’s in the right hands. Or, um, bones.” 

“No tricks, Jeno. I don’t think our guest would appreciate that. And neither would I.”  

Jeno’s voice takes on a mischievous tone. “Guest? Don’t you mean groom, Master? Unless you’re having second thoughts?” 

“I’m not sure what you mean. But I do know this.” I pick up the skull and stare fiercely where the eyes would have been. “If you do anything to upset her, I will crush your bones into powder and use it as incense for the next 30 years. Do you understand?” 

“Would my bones even last that long?” 

“Do you really test me right now?” 

“Fine. I understand. Now, can you please put me back together again?” I roll my eyes, but I set down the skull in the middle of the bones. My eyes glow a bright gold and with a wave of my hand, the skeleton assembles once more. He fidgets with his cap.  

“Now, that’s much better!” 

“What happened to you?”  

“Cerberus tried to use me as a chew toy. Again.” 

“I knew there was a reason he’s my favorite.”  

“I would take personal offense to that but, he’s my favorite too.”  

��Go to Taeyong. Make sure she’s alright.”  

“Your wish is my command, Master.” As he walks out the door, his bones clatter and then I’m left in silence. I fall back into my bed, wondering if I should just apologize to him directly. I did act unreasonably, and I shouldn’t have let my anger explode like that, but I don’t want him to leave. As I lay there, I slowly drift off.  

 The next month is difficult for multiple reasons. First, immediately after I send Jeno to take care of Taeyong, he throws a fit and makes flowers grow out of every hole in his skeletal body. Then, he refuses to eat with me or even look at me. I would walk down the hall and he’d sprint into a side room just to avoid me. And let’s not even get started with the escape attempts. You would think after about 10, he would give up. But no. He has tried to escape more than 50 times. Fifty. I swear to the gods, he’s making me grow gray hairs just from stress. Then we have Johnny, Ten, and practically the entirety of the Pantheon breathing down my neck trying to bring her back. And I’ve explained to them multiple times that it’s the law of the underworld and I can’t change it simply because one young goddess is down here. But now, Thunder Thighs and Kelp-for-Brains can’t grasp it for some reason.  

I sit behind my desk, grasping my head as I glare at the piles of scrolls in front of me. You would think death was pretty cut and dry, but no. I have to deal with making sure bodies end up with families, people don’t act on stupid grudges and become monsters to kill people, or something else entirely stupid. I pick up one scroll when the door cracks open.  

“Jeno, I thought I told you if you disturbed me, I would- “  

“Let Cerberus year me apart and keep me as his chew-toy, I know, I know. But it’s urgent.”  

I drop the scroll in my hand. “If it means I can get out of my work, I’m all ears.”  

“Mr. Taeyong…. He’s disappeared again, Master.”  

The pounding in my head worsens. “Oh.” 

“Shall I go after him? Or maybe send some people after him?” 

“No, just leave him. If he’s this persistent to leave, then we should just let him go.” 

“But, Master!” 

“Enough, Jeno. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take a rest before I break the law of my land.” I stand and stagger my way to my bedroom, ignoring Jeno’s shouts and how my head worsens with each step I take. Ugh, this whole affair is such a mess. I shouldn’t have gotten myself involved with him in the first place. I close my eyes and the next time they open; the sky had faded from the morning’s light dusk to the afternoon’s midnight blue. I rise with my robes wrinkled and sleep in my eyes. I find my way to the kitchen and snag an apple before heading to the endless pile of scrolls I left. On my way there, I see Taeyong’s door slightly ajar.  

“Jeno, I thought I told you about going through other people’s things? You never-” Instead of seeing that insufferable skeleton with a guilty grin, I find Taeyong unpacking a bag. “You’re back.” 

“Not by choice, unfortunately.”  

“Oh? I thought you had left. Did Jeno stop you? I told him not to and not to send anybody either.” 

“No, my mother stopped me. Talked about how if I came back before my time here was finished, you would kill any human that even breathed wrongly. So, now I’m back here. I’m sure you’re ecstatic about it.” 

“No!” He looks at me suspiciously, setting down the robes he took out of his bag. “I knew you didn’t want to be here, so I thought not going after you once you had left would finally let you be happy. But it appears to be untrue.” He shakes his head and turns back to his clothes. “If there’s anything I can do that would make it easier for the next five months, please tell me.” 

“I don’t know. Not being here would be pretty great.” 

I wince. “Other than that?” 

“Answer this for me. You say you want me here, but you act like a shriveled prune every time I’m near. Why?”  

“I’m not entirely sure what you mean.” 

“I mean this! This is both the most you’ve ever spoken to me and the nicest you’ve been to me. It’s been a month and we’ve barely talked.” 

“So, what should I do?” 

He walks past me to the door and looks back at me from the doorframe. “Show me. Be sincere and I’ll see if I’ll want to stay.” He walks off and I’m just left stupefied in her room. I all but sprint to my office and start scrawling out two letters.  

I summon Jeno and give him a message. “Give this to Ten and Johnny. Tell them to respond to me immediately.” 

If immediately means 6 days later, I fear for their subjects. As I skim through both of their letters, I see the same pattern of making fun of me, attempting to help, and then making fun of me again. I should have expected it from Airhead, but I thought Ten would be at least somewhat helpful. I throw both of their scrolls in the fire because there was no use in keeping those around. I slam my head into my desk a couple of times, wallowing.  

Over several days, I tried every trick known to man and god. But it either ends with me making a fool of myself or just making Taeyong even angrier. I squat in the garden and hang my head in defeat. The artificial sun in the sky beats down on my skin and my hands are covered in coarse dirt.  

“Master, are you sure you don’t want us to help you? We have staff for this sort of thing.”  

I look back at Jeno. “For the fifth time, Jeno, I truly don’t mind doing this. At least, this is something to distract me from my work. I think my headache is getting better too.” 

“That must be true, sir, because you haven’t stopped smiling since you started planting. “ 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” I look towards the lavender sprigs sitting next to me. “I was just thinking of Taeyong’s reaction when he sees this. I hope this brings a little bit of happiness to his stay here.” I continue planting the lavender until there was a cluster in the section closest to the entrance. At this point, I’ve only put half of the flowers in the ground. But I feel pride swell in my chest as I look at the tiny cluster I planted.  

“What are those?” I whip around to see Taeyong standing on the steps. 

“Oh, um. I was just planting some flowers in the garden. I know you’ve missed nature so I thought I would try to bring some to you.” 

“Wouldn’t they just die?” 

“No. I’ve been trying to grow different types of flowers down here and lavender was the only one that survived.” He continues to stare at me with a mysterious look in his eye. After a couple of seconds, he speeds down the stairs and gets on his knees in front of the sprigs I just planted. “What are you doing?” 

He snaps at me. “Shut up.” If it had been anybody else, they wouldn’t have been saying another word for the rest of their lives and even after that. But I close my mouth and I study Taeyong and he studies the lavender. His hands glow a soft pink and the lavender turns vibrant, almost energized. “There. That should help it for a little while.” 

“What did you just do?” 

“Just gave it a little pick-me-up.” I nod in understanding and Taeyong moves where I had placed the other flowers. “Where were you going to put these?”  

I point at the other side of the garden and he strides over there with the flowers in hand. “Ah, Taeyong. There’s no need. I have this under control.” 

He scoffs. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for the flowers because you don’t know what you’re doing.” 

“Isn’t it just simply putting the plants into the ground and tending to their needs?” 

“Oh, gods. It’s so much more than that. You must be gentle and treat them with the utmost care. You move slowly and fluidly. Come here, I’ll show you.” I squat next to him and see him sprinkling dirt to cover the roots. “Doyoung?” 

“Yes, Taeyong?” 

“Did you know that there’s a language just for flowers?” 

“Really? Fascinating. Is it possible for me to learn? Can you understand it? Wait, has the lavender been speaking the entire time?” 

Taeyong giggles and the artificial sun shines brighter. “Not that kind of language. Each flower has its own meaning. Roses are passion, daisies are innocence, carnations are good fortune, etc.” 

“Wow, then what’s lavender?” 

He stares directly into my eyes, the mysterious look back on his face. “A lot of things but to name a few: purity, calmness, and... devotion.” 

The sun beats down harder, feeling like ants are crawling over my back. “Oh.” 

“Mhm. That’s why they’re one of my favorite flowers. They have a pure message, they’re absolutely beautiful, and they’re able to grow anywhere.”  

“Oh.” 

“Doyoung, do you understand what I’m saying?” 

“To be perfectly honest, I haven’t the faintest idea.” 

His eye twitches and throws a handful of dirt at my chest. “You’re a fool. I’m saying I return your affections. I acknowledge your feelings and feel the same way. Gods, I’m saying I love you and I’m willing to become your husband.” 

It didn’t fully register so my response was: “Oh, that’s nice.”  

“Let’s just continue planting these before it gets too dark, or at least darker. Then, we can discuss this later.”  

And so, we spent the afternoon tending to the flowers and as the day faded to night, we fell asleep with “I love you’s” littering the air like the sweetest and most intoxicating perfume.  

[beerecordings]

Graceling AU - Based on the Graceling books by Kristin Cashore. Jameson is a 'Graceling,' a person with mismatched eyes indicating a supernatural talent, and his brother Anti is a Monster, a supernaturally beautiful person who has spent his life hiding from or destroying anyone who would try to hurt him. While wandering the fields one day, Jameson discovers another Monster named Marvin being held captive in a nearby keep and befriends him.

Warnings for imprisonment and human trafficking, as well as a comment about using starvation to cause weight loss.

Stolen away from Chase and the rest of his family, Marvin struggles to keep his hope up alone.

.

He dreams of Chase.

“Keep up, slowpoke!”

Running through the grass with their hands clasped together, turning to heave the child into his arms when the mud reaches his little brother’s thighs, making him shriek with laughter as he swings and rocks him through the muddy valley in mid-spring, blowing blubber kisses into his fat toddler tummy.

He dreams of Jackie.

“Keep quiet, keep quiet, haha!”

Sneaking through the hallways of the castle one at a time, beckoning for each other when the coast is clear before darting into the kitchen to steal lemon poppyseed muffins and jam bakes and a jug of apple cider each, causing trouble and then retreating as fast as their teenage feet could carry them to their rooms in the high tower or the swaying tree house they built for themselves in the arms of the old oak tree beyond the courtyard.

He dreams of his cousin.

“You study too much, come on, come play with us.”

Slamming cards and chess pieces down against the table as they played games at rapid-fire speeds, their eyes sparkling with a shared enthusiasm for the fond competition between them, exchanging insults in a half-dozen different languages, gossiping about everyone they know and laughing for the fun of it, curled up in front of the fire with mulberry wine and Henrik’s company to keep him warm through the winter time.

He dreams of his family.

“Where are you?” he whispers to the shadows. “Why haven’t you found me yet? You said you’d keep me safe, please… I know I act like I can take care of myself, but I’m scared. I’ve never been this scared in my life. I don’t want to be sold.”

A slam against iron like the striking of swords jolts him from his sleep with a scream. He grabs his own shoulders and shoves himself back against the walls of the cage, staring in terror up at his captor, who looks back with bleak blue pelican’s eyes, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Age?” he asks, holding up a pad of parchment.

Marvin breathes hard, staring around his cell, blinking.

“Still surprised to find yourself in here? You been in here three fucking days, start adjusting. Age?”

“What?”

“How old are you?” asks the man, enunciating his words slow and mocking. “How many years do your mommy and daddy say you are when your grandpappy asks?”

Marvin squeezes his eyes shut, flushed with humiliation. “I – I’m twenty-six.”

He writes it down, unperturbed. Marvin wraps his arms tighter around himself, shivering in the cold. “Can I have something to eat?” he croaks out. “I’m starving.”

“Better if you’re thin,” answers the man blandly. “Maybe in a couple days. What’s your name?”

Marvin clutches his knees to his chest, staring at the filthy floor in front of him, his eyes flickering back and forth. “Fabian,” he whispers after a moment, hearing the frailness of his own voice. His whole body is giving out on him. His mind too, he expects. He closes his eyes. “I’m Fabian.”

“Good,” says the man, scrawling on his notepad. “You’ve already learned to lie about it. No one cares about your old name. No one cares about your old life. Forget it. You’ll never go back to it.”

“My father would pay a lot of money to have me back,” cries Marvin. “And my brother is a Graceling warrior! You ought to let me go before he finds me, or I swear to God that you’ll regret being born!”

“Glad to see you’ve resorted to threats instead of biting and screaming like that first day,” grumbles the man, shaking out the wound on his hand that Marvin gave him.

“You deserve it!” Marvin screams. “You and everybody’s who’s trying to steal me away! I’ll kill you like I killed the first one who grabbed me! If he didn’t have his fucking friends there – ”

“Any health concerns?” asks the man, staring down at his clipboard.

Marvin breathes hard, tears dripping down his face, holding himself in the middle of his cold cell.

“Well?”

“I… I’m allergic to walnut,” Marvin whispers, shrinking in on himself and closing his eyes.

“Great,” says the slave trader. “I’ll mark that down.”

He turns and walks away.

Marvin stares at the floor. The tears dripping onto it humiliate him. Everything is a humiliation. Everything is a threat. Everything wants to use him. To hurt him. To take him away.

He remembers being rebellious as a child when his parents would shave down his hair and make him wear coverings in public or hide him away during state dinners, never letting anyone but Jackie and Chase and Henrik see him, sometimes even telling guests they had only two sons to keep him a secret. He complained about being a prisoner - isolated, guarded, not allowed to grow up like a normal kid. At the time, the pain of his being hidden away from the whole rest of the world felt like something that would destroy him. It makes him want to laugh now, but all that comes out is a quiet sob. He should have been more careful. He should never have gone into town with Chase. He’s thirteen now and old enough to get anything Marvin needs from the city without him. What Marvin wouldn’t give to be back in their little summer cabin right now, making pancakes or swimming in the lake with him. With no one staring at him or touching him. With food in his belly and a friend at his side.

But the one upside to this hunger and the cold and the grief are that they keep sending him back to sleep. Back to dreams. He drifts off once more soon enough, chewing on a strand of his hair like he’s a five-year-old again, rocking himself against the stone walls on his every side.

He dreams of his parents, and his childhood.

“I don’t want to go to bed yet, Momma.”

“You don’t have to just yet, baby.”

He would like to be a child again, rocking on her lap, curled up between his parents by the fire. Jackie would be on the floor, looking up at him with his big child’s eyes, just a couple years older and protective from the start. Watching over him. With everyone close. With everyone holding him. He would like to be safe again.

“I don’t want to go just yet,” he whispers, pressed into his mother’s arms. Jackie would struggle up onto the enormous bed and squirm his way into his mother’s arms beside him, landing soggy child kisses on his face and reaching out to be held by their father, patting his chubby hands against his shoulders when he’s picked up and snuggling down against them both, the four of them sandwiched together in the warmth.

“You can stay,” his father would say, stroking his hair, blue as the galaxy, shining like its closest stars. “You can stay, my little son. No one will take you away.”

They had made him this promise time and time again. Even before he was old enough to realize it, his parents understood the curse that he was born with. No one, they said, will take you away. Even if we go. No one will take you. Jackie will protect you. Won’t you, Jackie?

And Jackie, from the time he was three years old, had nodded and promised with more intensity in his Graceling eyes than any child should ever have to muster.

“Yes, Marvy. I will protect you.”

He’s spent his whole life protecting Marvin. He’s given him everything he had. It wasn’t his fault. Marvin knows that. Their parents should never have made him promise. Their parents should never have promised him they could keep him safe. No one can. No one ever could. He should have known.

“I’m just a Monster,” he whispers, when consciousness comes to hurt him again. The walls of the prison cell stare back at him, wide-eyed and silent. “The whole rest of the world knows that this is where I belong.”

Forget that old life. You will never get back to it.

Marvin realizes that this might well be true. Up until this moment, he never knew it was possible to be this afraid.

“Please, Jackie... please hurry. Please find me soon, my brother.”

[salavante]

Odwain! The goodest.

Wow, featuring one of the more flattering drawings I’ve done of Odwain. Like last time, I’ll post all these guys separately and then do all the headshots in a masterpost. In the meantime buckle up for...a lot. (Thank you for giving me my favorite character.) 

Full Name: Odwain Novak. In Ben Yit’gab, the Bennai language, his first name would be Oediwen, and it’s what his dad called him. His mother calls him Oddy and he does not like it.

Gender and Sexuality: Male and Bisexual

Pronouns: He/him

Ethnicity/Species: Odwain is a Ben-Aleth, a Human-Bennai hybrid, also called a mosshead if you’re in coarse company. His human mother Blanche Novak is mixed race. Odwain’s maternal grandfather came directly from Earth, Poland specifically, during one of the several accidental migrations of humans coming from Earth to The Road. His maternal grandmother is from a previous wave who were already settled on The Road by that time, but the family can trace her ancestry back to West Africa. Odwain’s father, Ashatov Novak, was a full-blooded Bennai, a plant-based halfling race. Ashatov took his wife’s last name.

Birthplace and Birthdate: Thinking about this trips me out man. Odwain was born in 1946, sometime in the summer, probably July or August, in Septor Secundis, a coastal, metropolitan city and the seat of The Road’s government. He’s 27 during his first adventure and right now, in Godslaughter, he is 69 (what the FUCK). He will live maybe 20 or 30 years longer than your average human, and is in better physical shape than a human would be at 69. He’s more like late 40’s or early 50’s.  

Guilty Pleasures: A lot, probably - Odwain has just a bit of hedonistic streak just because he feels miserable so much of the time that he needs to feel good somehow. He smokes cigarettes for much of his life (but eventually quits), is a casual cannabis smoker and binge eats really truly terrible junk food (and has a bit of a gut because of it, but because he’s kind of lanky otherwise, he’s just kind of gourd-shaped). He likes beer, but doesn’t drink hard liqour all that often because he gets astronomically bad hangovers. Despite having a generally weak stomach, Odwain really likes frightfully spicy food, and his kids’ obligatory dad-gifts for him are probably hot sauces. When he’s not pounding down garbage, his favorite kind of cuisine is Thai. Not a guilty pleasure per say, but he also loves all things that have to do with insects, and when he and Rusty have a house together, Odwain takes up gardening as a hobby and plants an expansive garden of flora that are attractive to bees. (A Nice Thing: Odwain plants this garden when Rusty is pregnant because he found his love of insects through his father’s garden as a child, and wanted to give his kids the same opportunity) Odwain also maintains an apiary from the time that he’s living in a warehouse in the desert, to when he’s living with a partner and beyond. When he learns how to make Hot Honey it’s over for all of us. He has a modest collection of novelty bee-themed things that he’s amassed over the years, but he is not guilty about asserting his love of bees/wasps, like, at all. He’s also a little kinky but I’m not going into that.

Phobias: All of Odwain’s fears are existential - what if I push everyone away, existing in society is anxiety inducing, what if I’m just a bad person and my existence is making everything more difficult for functional people, etc. Though he’s kind of a sad fellow and has ideated suicide, and came very, VERY close to trying to kill himself after he dropped out of college, he also fears growing old and dying. I think death is more digestible to him if it’s on his own terms, but even then, I think what coaxed him off the edge was fear. If anything ever happened to his chosen romantic partner or any of his kids, he’d be besides himself, and is kind of one severe trauma and emotional breakdown away from becoming a bee-themed supervillian.

What They Would Be Famous For: Odwain is notable at a certain point in his career for being a pioneer in AI programming, and also for designing, building and patenting an invention called the Hercules Rig, which is basically a beetle-wing inspired jetpack. You can see it here. He holds the patent very closely and only allows it to be reproduced for recreation, construction, emergency rescue operations, etc. Odwain has taken a very firm stance on not allowing the military or any paramilitary organization to get their hands on it, though it has not stopped them from making shitty knock-offs that he is constantly suing people about.

What They Would Get Arrested For: Breaking and entering. Exploding something he shouldn’t. Buying illegal hazardous materials. Doing something petty that bites him in the ass.

OC You Ship Them With: To be honest there are not a lot of other characters besides Rusty that I ship him with. Bitter college rivals, thrown back together as late twenty-somethings, becoming better people together and learning to express empathy and vulnerability…it’s good. The only other character that I really go yeah, that’s the good stuff, is Jake’s character Finnick, who is kind of Odwain’s weird BFF and fellow mad scientist type. I don’t think they’d have a super stable relationship, and I think it would most likely be a “we yelled at each other and had weird sex enough that we like each other now” kind of scenario. But I do think they would come to love each other and have each other’s back to the death. Him and Hemlock, my dirty swamp witch who’s only picture was devoured during the great tumblr purge, also make a pretty fun couple for similar reasons. Iona too, but I think they are too explosive of personalities to ever find a stable middle ground. I also think he would find certain people attractive (August, Hare, Ganzrig, Ifechi the man I have spoken of but once, Jonquil in certain scenarios) but may not put himself out there to pursue them.

Neither of us have ever posted any art of her but here’s a few headshots of Finnick I did awhile ago, because she really is my favorite romantic partner for Odwain aside from Rusty, and is the only other one that’s really relevant in our games. 

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Odwain is fairly physically fragile and to be honest I think that most people could kill him as long as they could get their hands on him - he’s very dexterous and has a lot of gadgets that let him get the upper hand, keep enemies at a distance or escape. He has a ranged fighting/add-spawn build so he is mostly out of direct harm unless he’s reeled in somehow. But uh, Odwain IS dead right now in Godslaughter, he died fighting an eldritch deity named Dreamer who sucked him into a nightmare dimension and flayed his soul out of his body. It’s ok though, as long as the party beats Dio, he’ll be fine. I didn’t cry you’re the one who’s crying.

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Ok, so, first off HAHA Odwain canonically likes Transformers and collects them, which are a thing in circulation after the last human migration from earth in the 90’s. Imagine. Imagine your grown ass father with a genius level IQ and multiple patents collecting plastic robots. Him and Finnick have transformers sonas - ANYWAY, that aside, he doesn’t really read for pleasure, just information, and generally just puts on cable while he works for white noise (and in later years, whatever The Road’s TV streaming service is). Most of the media he consumes is incidental to him, but will get interested in strange things that pique his interest. He probably thinks true crime docs are neat and enjoys pulpy sci-fi stuff that he can complain about. Any documentary about bugs. He’d like Mystery Science Theatre if they had it around. He enjoys things that are the fun, good kind of “bad” and has a fairly high threshold for  disturbing imagery.

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Odwain is that guy who makes 20 minute long youtube videos lampooning movies for “not making sense”. If there’s anything that breaks his suspension of disbelief, his attention and tolerance disintegrates, even if it’s just one of those things that needs to happen to move the plot along. It doesn’t really matter what genre it is, though he is most hard on sci-fi and fantasy. There is a tipping point for him, however, where he starts enjoying the thrill of blasting something and circles back around to enjoying it.

Talents and/or Powers: Odwain is only a little bitty bit magical, and only because Bennai are the most magical race on The Road. He has latent magical ability that allows him to sense magical signatures and incorporate magic into technology, and maybe cast a low level spell if he tries really hard. If he was in a high fantasy setting, he’d be an enchanter. His staff (the big lightbulb thing I draw him with sometimes), the Hercules Rig, his Wasp Suite (robotic wasps with an AI and different spells loaded into them) and any other devilish, bug-based weapons and utility objects do his work for him.

Why Someone Might Love Them: Odwain’s a bit of a tough walnut to crack because I think that he shines in moments of sincerity and vulnerability, but he has to, well, get there. He’s capable of very great, thoughtful acts of selflessness and compassion, and deeply desires meaningful relationships with other people, but he gets insecure about how he expresses himself and can clam up. He’s passionate, emotional and expressive, but has been put down for being so, and was probably a very brilliant, curious child who was beaten down into a somber adult. I actually think that, at some point in his childhood, he was not entirely unlike Whitty in the way that he was eager to share things with people and explore the world around him, which is why Odwain feels very protective of his grandson. I think the most lovable thing about him is that when he’s at his best, nothing can stop him - he’s extremely intelligent, diligent, creative and innovative. He truly, deeply loves making things, and making them better, and when he’s not in a crash, creates prolifically. What he loves, he loves deeply and without compromise, which makes Rusty, a person that could also be said of, a good match for him. I also think his cattiness makes him very witty, he’s a genuinely funny guy who can engage in some really goofy shenanigans when he’s feeling up for it.  

Why Someone Might Hate Them: Oh, lots of reasons. Odwain is an acquired taste to many, or just not to many’s taste at all. He is very petty, blunt and catty, and as a young man is extremely bitter and negative. You’d be very hard pressed to get a positive statement about anything out of him between the ages of 16-25. He’s very confrontational, can become very loud and intense if it’s something that he feels is important, and is not afraid to cut people out of his life if he feels that they aren’t good for him. Sometimes, he will end relationships/friendships prematurely because of this. Being such, he is heavily prone to self-inflicted isolation. He has no childhood friends, and only kept in touch with one person from college. He just cuts and runs. Odwain’s self-loathing runs very deep, which makes it hard for him to accept, or ask for, emotional support or affection. And that can be hard on the people around him who care about him. His executive dysfunction can also be abysmal, making it seem like perhaps he is messy or lazy, but he’s just kind of a mess himself, hah.

A weird non-psychological one but I think is enough to get someone’s hackles up is that Odwain doesn’t like animals very much unless they are insects, invertebrates, etc. He finds mammals loud, messy and needy, and that “I’m the only one in my house that is allowed to be all of those things”.

How They Change: As Odwain ages and gains a stable support network of friends, his edges soften and he learns how to ask for help more effectively. He also learns how to better choose his battles, and how to exercise the compassion that he knows he has, but has been too insecure to utilize. He manages his mental health better, but is never entirely free of it, because you never really are. Most importantly, I think, he learns how to forgive the people who deserve forgiveness, and give people second chances, accepting that people can change. Which means the same can be said for him, too.

Why You Love Them: I’ve talked about this before, somewhere, I’m sure. Odwain is one of those characters that has a very big slice of my personality, and has a lot of my more negative traits, though they are ones we’re both working on. My first session with Odwain was a scene where Odwain’s dad died after being ill for a very long time, and as it happens, it was on father’s day, on the first or second father’s day after MY dad died, after several brutal months fighting with the cancer that eventually killed him. I had to put down the dice, so to speak, and for a short time, thought that Odwain might actually be a character that I scrapped completely. He came too close to something very painful and personal. I don’t remember how, exactly, but the solution to this problem of mine was that if he’s getting close to me on his own, then I might as well just let him in on everything. I can genuinely say that doing that has changed the way that I empathize with my characters and how I make them, and that there is something I share with Odwain that I don’t have with many of my other characters. Also, I like bees.

[pandatryst]

The Demon (Part two)

(A work of fiction, contains adult themes and situations.)

Four months earlier.

Jesus Christ could this lecture be anymore boring. Who cares about the medieval era? Fucking seriously, English nobles taking advantage of English peasants all at the leisure of a king whom them sucked up to for a few months in court....what’s that noise?

“Mr Damon...Mr Damon!!” A loud, shrill voice called out.

My eyes snap straight back down as they had been looking directly at the ceiling and I had the look of one who had just been woken up from the deepest of day dreams.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just was thinking deeply about your lecture, Dr Chance.” I stammered out. Dr Chance was the gatekeeper to my masters program, my advisor, and not really the woman you wanted to cross this early in the semester.

A terse look from the blonde headed professor. “Thinking deeply? By counting the ceiling tiles one by one? Pay attention Mr Damon, I have thrown out smarter students for a lot less.” The entire class laughed at the obvious non-joke/threat. At that realization my eyes shot to the teachers assistant desk and landed on the person sitting behind it. Now I don’t consider myself weak minded or weak willed, but there was something about the woman sitting behind that desk that seemed to radiate absolute perfection. She was shorter than me by barely an inch, which was perfect. Light brown hair, a nice figure with breast and ass to match her athletic build. Not to thin, but not to big. Anna was the thing dreams were made of, especially mine as of late.

And to my abject hidden horror she too was getting a laugh out of my predicament. My eyes shot back to Dr Chance, and her look had gone from terse to disapproving, so I did the only thing I could do. I tucked my tail, hung my head, and spoke my apologies with an air of slight submission. “I’m sorry ma’am, it won’t happen again.” Not that I was adverse to apologizing it just took a lot for me to eat humble pie and choke it down.

My offering seemed to have satisfied Dr Chance and she continued her lecture like nothing ever happened. And after my heart rate went down, my eyes moved and settled back on the thing in the room I loved to watch more than the ceiling, my eyes settled on Anna again. I’m not sure if you can call it a crush, maybe a slight infatuation, but I’m certain Anna would correct me immediately and tell me those words mean the same thing. Anna was the captain of the universities women’s track team and two years my senior. I joined the track team on scholarship, I held every high school record around, and those schools who gave a damn about their track program came to me all my senior year of high school. I am fast, some people would say I was too fast to be real sometimes. But it was my lone physical gift as it seemed and I took full advantage of it.

I think I had felt this way about her from the moment I saw her at the first full team meeting. And for awhile, I had thought she saw me the same way.

I was broken out of my trip down memory lane by the sudden sound of chairs moving and things being put away. I stood up and put my own things away and felt a moment of pure horror wash over me. Dr Chance was staring right at me. My eyes met hers and I knew I was doomed she jerked her head back and I groaned inwardly. I slung my bag over my shoulder and made my way down to the front of the room, Anna was just crossing in front of my.

“Talk to you later Gabe.” She said smiling to me.

When confronted with such a smile you couldn’t help but smile back. “You to Princess Anna. Text me if you wanna get the band together for coffee.”

Anna nodded smiling brightly, “I haven’t seen some of them in awhile. We should do that! I’ll let you know.”

The band was our group of elites from the track team, led by our Princess, there were five of us. The Giant, the Angel, the Jester, and me, the Demon. Anna left the room and there was a sharp sound heard and my eyes looked back to the tutting Dr Chance. “If you are done flirting, my office ten minutes. And don’t even tell me you have another class when we both know you don’t.” And at that the good professor stormed out of her office.

I was left with a look that was between mild embarrassment and happiness at my conversation with Anna. Which shouldn’t make me happy. Anna was with Daniel. And Daniel was protective, but there wasn’t anything wrong with a little conversation. I turned and headed out of the classroom walking to the nearby drink machine and got out of it whatever random flavor of sports drink was inside. Today’s flavor was red.

Soon enough I found myself outside of Dr Chance’s office and I knocked before hearing something that sounded like a “come in” greeting. I opened the door and closed it behind myself I turned and looked at Dr Chance and smiled trying to diffuse the situation that had come up in class.

“Listen, Doctor, I didn’t mean to go into a daze in the middle of your lecture and I know it’s very rude...”

“Shut up!” The tone of her voice would make a charging elephant stop in its tracks. “Gabriel, I know you are better than this and these lame excuses. You may have made it to undergrad on the power of your legs, but you got into my program because of that walnut between your ears.”

The usage of my first name immediately disarmed me and I nodded. “Aunt Rachel, I am sorry. I just...don’t know what’s wrong.” I said Aunt, but that’s just what was drilled into my head. Rachel Chance was a good friend to my mother something about high school, when I needed a place to go when my mother went missing her house was the place, she was more of my mother than anyone, and mother of my best friend.

Dr Chance sighed and motioned to the chair in front of her desk which I sat in. “Gabriel, you don’t seem as focused. You are still running and working out with the track team. Is not competing the problem here?”

I shook my head. “No ma’am, like I said I don’t know what’s wrong with me recently.”

Her fingers steepled in front of her face and she sighed, leaning back and brushing some of that red hair out of her face. “Nicole has told me you haven’t been coming around to spend time with her as much.”

My eye twitched a little. “Nikki, has been busy with Jeremy...and I...”

“You two have been joined at the hip forever, so don’t give me that shit, Gabriel.” Cut off again, but her tone was very motherly. “We are just worried about you. Give her a call, please, she misses you and cares about you.”

I nodded slowly and mumbled. “I will call her tonight. Anything else? I need to hit the evening run with the team.”

Rachel shook her head and motioned my dismissal. “Don’t day dream in my class, Mr Damon.”

“Aye, aye, Dr Chance.” I stood and made my way out of her office and turned to head out, walking over to where my bike was parked. I knelt and unlocked it from the rack, and put my book bag next to my gym bag and climbed on. I oriented the bike in the direction of the track practice field and began peddling my way there at a good pace, Dr Chance had made me late and I wanted to get a good workout.

It didn’t take me long before I arrived and parked my bike locking it back to the rack, I untied my gym bag from the bike and walked to go and change. The smell of the locker room was, well as pleasant as it could be, the team was already out running. I left the locker room and didn’t bother with a stretch, I just wanted to run. It was where I felt the most me, the most liberated, with the freedom to do as I wanted. It was like being surrounded in a bubble of noiseless light. Nothing could penetrate it, nothing escaped it. I ran and ran, the track fell away, the lights over the field went out and I just felt the wind against my face and my mind relaxed fully. It wasn’t until I felt...wet that I stopped. It had begun to rain. I hate the rain, he cursed the weather gods and ran back into the locker room grabbed my gym bag and beat a hasty retreat back to my bike.

The bike ride home was miserable, it was raining hard and it was a good fifteen minute ride back to my apartment. By the time I arrived I was drenched, my bags were wet, but sturdy enough to keep the rain out. I carried my bike under the awning and locked it to the railing then went up those familiar steps down to my apartment.

My building had four units, two upstairs and two down, and right now I was the only one occupying any of them. They were originally slated to be set aside for scholarship track members, but their accommodations had been improved and there were just no new tenants yet for the abandoned rooms. The lack of neighbors meant the only socialization I got was at school and here recently I didn’t even care for that. I lived alone, and that was just fine for me.

Imagine then my surprise when I came to my door and in front of it was a shivering mess of clothes and hair. Hair I recognized, then the slight crying voice that followed it, it was Anna. I rushed to kneel next to her my bags hitting the floor on either side of me. I looked her over and on closer inspection I noticed she was more than wet, she was dirty, her top was torn and her pants were ripped. It looked like she had fallen down a hill or three. My hands instinctively went to her shoulders and when they did she leaned into me and looked up to me. Her lip was busted open, and there was a sadness deep in her eyes. But what she said next...what she said next changed everything.

“G-Gabe...fuck me...please...”

[ridiasfangirlings]

Title: Moon in Water 6/6

Fandom: K Project

External: AO3

Ratings/Warnings: T

Summary: A run in with trouble on a dark night lands Yata on an island that shouldn’t exist, with the first human he’s ever seen in his life. Except that everything about Fushimi is different from what Yata’s heard humans should be…

Notes: I started this for Sarumi Fest last year, so fittingly I’m finishing it for the fest this year. Please enjoy the final chapter ^^

“I’ll come back for you, all right?”

“You can’t, Misaki.”

The moon cast long shadows on the ground and Yata glanced back at the figure sitting on the rock. The small glowing blue gem on the bracelet gleamed softly, a light on the dark. Yata had held onto that wrist all the way through the forest, past danger that he knew he couldn't even fully grasp the shape of. They had emerged from the dark of the trees largely unscathed in the end, aside from a few small scratches and cuts. There was nothing but open sky between them now, and even so Yata felt as if he wanted to reach out again, keep hold of that thin wrist and make sure this person stayed in the light.

“Why not?”

“You saw him. That guy.” Hunched shoulders, fingers playing with the shining beads. “Everything that’s mine gets…”

“Gets…?” Yata prompted but his companion looked away instead, biting his lip.

“It’ll all be destroyed. He’ll be here soon, and he won’t—you can’t stay with me.”

“But…aren’t we friends?” Yata reached out a hand, fingers spread wide. “I want to play with you more!”

“Friends…” A shake of the head. “I don’t have any friends.”

“Yeah you do! I’m your friend!” Perfectly convinced, and wide eyes stared back at him. “If there’s a bad person after you I’ll rescue you! I’ll take you super far away and he won’t ever find you!”

“Take me far away…” There was something wistful in that tone that made Yata almost want to cry even though he wasn’t certain of the reason why. “You can’t. He…has something that’s mine. I can’t leave without it.”

“Then we’ll get it back! I know lots of good tricks for finding things. And if it’s you and me we can do anything!” Yata believed it completely. Hadn’t they made it the whole way through the forest together, made it safely away from the uwabami and hidden from the scary man with the shadowy monsters? If it was the two of them, Yata was certain they could take on anyone, no matter if they were small and weak. Together, they were strong.

“You can’t. Even if it’s us…it’ll all break.”

What will break? Yata was confused but didn’t ask, because he wasn’t sure he’d get an answer.

“But if I leave we might not see each other again.” The idea made Yata scrunch up his nose. Just when he’d found a friend, and now…

There was a sound from above them, wind whistling by, and they both looked up. A figure could be seen silhouetted against the moon, wide feathery wings and familiar braided hair.

“Mama!” Yata waved his hands and wondered if she could see him even in the dark.

“Here.” The bracelet was held out to him and Yata looked at it curiously. “She can see you when the stone shines.”

“But isn’t it yours?”

“Yeah, but…” Kicking at the dirt. “It’s not important. He’ll break it eventually anyway. So you keep it.”

“All right…” Yata held out his hands and the bracelet was dropped into his open palms. A bright smile lit up his face as he held it close, the gem glowing blue against his skin. “It’s pretty! The color’s like your eyes.”

The blue eyes widened again and Yata reached for his hand.

There was another gust of wind and Yata looked up, waving the bracelet in the air. He could see his mother’s shadow stop and then turn, arrowing straight towards him.

“Misaki.” Yata heard the voice behind him, soft and sure. “My name — my true name is —”

“Look, she saw us! I’m sure if Mama’s here we can—” Yata whirled back to look at his friend, hand still outstretched, but where his companion had been there was only a small pile of leaves. “H-hey, where…”

Before he could say anything more his mother’s wings folded around him and he was pulled into her arms, her head against his and a grateful sigh in his ear.

“Misaki….!”

–

“Misaki. Misaki.”

The soft but insistent voice dragged him from his dream and Yata’s eyes blinked sluggishly as he tried to remember where he was.

“I’m up, I’m up…” He shook his head, trying to erase the remnants of the dream that he could still feel lingering on the edge of his mind. Unconsciously one hand touched his bare wrist and a different memory came rushing back, blue stones falling into the grass and a shadow in the water. Yata’s face twisted in a grimace as he sat up, trying to stretch out his sore cramped wings. He’d fallen asleep in an awkward position against some of the taiko drums Totsuka had set up for the ceremony, wings draped carelessly around him, and there were flower petals in his hair.

Anna was staring back at him with an odd expression, her hair braided and plaited atop her head and decorated with flowers and kanzashi. The tips of her white wings had been dipped into some kind of gold dye that Kusanagi had received as a special offering and the red sigils that had been drawn on her forehead and cheeks stood out starkly against her white skin.

“A-Anna…” Yata sat up straight, swallowing a curse. “S-sorry, I fell asleep…” He laughed sheepishly, looking down at his hands.

It had been three days since he’d last gone to see Fushimi. He’d returned to Home Nest after their last talk angry and confused, going straight to his own nest and sleeping without a word to anyone. He’d spent the last few days throwing himself into the preparations for Anna’s ceremony, helping Totsuka and Kusanagi prepare everything while avoiding Anna herself, who seemed to be staring at him in concern every time he caught her eye.

The ceremony had finally begun that evening, just as soon as the sun had set, and per tradition was to last until sunrise when Mikoto would officially hand over control of Homra to Anna. Though the moon was still visible above the sky had lightened considerably since Yata last remembered looking, and it was clear that he had been asleep for several hours when he should have been celebrating with everyone else.

“Misaki has been tired lately.” Anna sounded concerned and Yata gave her a shaky smile.

“Well, we’ve been real busy and…and it’s not just me, Kusanagi-san’s been working hard, and Totsuka-san too, so I can’t slack off!” He laughed and it sounded painful and fake to his own ears. There was a small jangling of jewelry as Anna reached out and placed a hand on Yata’s wrist.

“Misaki is troubled.” Her eyes were half closed and her hands pressed together as if rolling dough, fingers entwined, white skin along white skin, and then a small hint of red as a tiny marble formed in her palm. She held it up to her eyes and Yata had to stop himself from stepping back as she turned her gaze on him. “Something painful happened?”

“Anna, you don’t have to—” Yata started to protest and Anna lowered the marble, staring at him with an open expression.

“Tatara says if something hurts you should share it with others,” she said quietly. “So it doesn’t grow big inside your chest, like a walnut that becomes a tree.”

“Ah…” Yata’s expression shifted, eyes lowered and his mouth a thin wavering line. “It’s—I thought somebody was my friend but they were lying to me all this time. Or…I guess he was? I mean — we haven’t known each other long but it felt like — like I should know him? Or like we’d been friends forever even though we only talked a little. He always acted like a jerk but then sometimes he’d smile at me, you know? And I felt proud because I made that guy smile. So I don’t get it. He couldn’t have meant that he was — but then what the hell was he talking about? If he’s in trouble I could help... but that guy isn’t the type who asks for help when he needs it.” Yata clenched a fist. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Misaki knows.” Anna’s hands closed over Yata’s fist, gentle fingers on taut skin. “That person has something important of Misaki’s, right?”

“Wait, you mean…my name? You could tell that?”

“Not that.” Anna shook her head. “He gave it back. Misaki’s been missing part of it since the first quarter moon. But now it's whole again.”

“He…gave it back to me?” That didn’t make any sense either. From what Fushimi had said, and from what he and that asshole Munakata had shown, just holding Yata’s name would have been enough to control Yata any way he wanted. If Fushimi had really been planning something — trying to eat him, or toying with him — it didn’t make sense that he would give the name back after everything.

“I can see it.” Anna held up the marble to her eye again. “Misaki’s name is whole. But the red string hasn’t faded. It connects here.” She touched a finger to his chest, above his heart. “A very old, almost forgotten feeling. But it remains there, strongly knotted. Tied to that person.”

“To…Anna, so—so you remember I told you about Fushimi, right?” Yata asked quietly.

“I saw a dream.” Anna moved the marble from palm to palm and it grew bigger with each passage of her hand until she needed both to hold it. “There was a name written on the moon. Someone was chasing after it and it kept shedding pieces and growing smaller, like a vegetable being cut. Finally that person’s hand managed to reach it, but it was too late. A monster rose up from the ground and swallowed the name and the moon. Without the moon there was only a long, long sleep. A red moon ate the sun, and the sun ate the moon, over and over. A sleeping child grew claws and teeth and tore at the earth, but he could not grasp what had been taken from him. That person cannot take back his own missing piece. It must be given.”

“I don’t get…” Yata’s voice trailed off as the memory of a familiar sullen voice seemed to echo in his ears, as clear as if Fushimi was right beside him. “There are things that are part of you, and that the world sinks into you. Your name, the wind blowing your face, the moon shining its light on you. If you lose it, you can’t be yourself anymore.”

Of course. Of course. Yata felt like an idiot for not having figured it out on his own, from the moment he’d seen the reflection of the nue in the water of the pool.

Someone had taken Fushimi’s name.

“Anna!” Yata’s head shot up, face determined. “How do I get it back for him?” Anna closed her eyes, shaking her head.

“The words were written on the moon,” she said quietly. “That was all I saw. I hoped…Misaki might understand the rest.”

The moon…? Yata’s mind flashed back to the dark pool again, to the white moon that had been reflected where a red one should be. Then…is that where his name is? In the water?

There was no way to be sure, but…it was the only idea he had, the only thing he could think of. If he could get Fushimi’s name back that would break whatever spell or curse had turned him into the nue, and then Yata could kick his ass for being such a stupid idiot who had to push Yata away instead of just fucking asking for help like a normal person.

“But how am I supposed to get the reflection of the moon out of the water?” Yata murmured to himself and Anna reached out and took his hands in hers, tugging him lightly so that found himself lowering down onto one knee.

“Misaki will find a way.” She leaned up, wings flapping a little to help keep her balance as she pressed her forehead against Yata’s. “Something precious was left behind. That person has been clinging to it all this time.”

“Is it…okay?” Yata asked quietly. “I mean, it’s your induction ceremony, and…”

“If Misaki is needed there, you should go.” Anna smiled gently. “So you won’t have any regrets.”

“Right.” Yata gave her a shaky smile. “Thanks, Anna. I’ll be back soon, all right? And I’ll have that guy with me.”

Anna only nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face, and Yata finally turned away from her, spreading his wings. In moments he was in the sky again, flying towards the island whose location he already seemed to know by instinct, as if some beacon there was guiding him back like a lighthouse in a storm.

–

The sun hadn’t risen yet by the time Yata reached Fushimi’s island and as he circled the pool Yata could still see that white moon gleaming in the water, bright and full despite the way the actual sky above was starting to lighten.

How do I get it out? Yata dipped a hand into the water just above the reflection of the moon. It rippled under his touch and there was a strange tingling feeling that spread throughout his body, as if he’d stepped inside a ringing bell, but once Yata raised his hand the water steadied and the reflection still remained, full and whole as always.

Yata glided low and then landed right at the edge of the water, staring down. The pool was deep and dark and it was impossible to tell how far down it went. Yata felt a surge of frustration — how the hell was he supposed to remove a reflection from the water? And even if he did, who knew if that really was where Fushimi’s name was hidden, or how Yata gave that back. Fushimi had said it himself, hadn’t he, and Munakata after that: name magic wasn’t tengu magic. Even if Yata had been someone with powers like Totsuka or Anna, trapping a name was beyond him.

“Misaki. Didn’t I tell you never to come back?” A cold voice made him turn. Fushimi stood directly beneath the torii gate, arms crossed, an almost weary look on his face.

“Why didn’t you tell me, you asshole?” Yata snapped back. “It’s your name, right? That’s why you transformed. Something stole your name.”

A momentary look of surprise crossed Fushimi’s face before it twisted into a frown as he gave a harsh bark of laughter.

“So you figured it out? It’s not hard if you know how magic works, Misaki.” Fushimi shrugged, taking a step forward. “This doesn't change anything. A sacrifice is still a sacrifice. Now that you’ve found out the game you’re no use to me anymore.”

“That’s not why I’m here.” Yata moved forward to meet him, refusing to lower his gaze. “I came to save you, Fushimi.”

“Save me?” Fushimi scoffed, shaking his head. “That was broken a long time ago, Misaki. Just like everything else. And you don’t even remember, do you? Even though to me it was the only good thing in the world. To you, it wasn’t even important enough for a memory.” He opened his hands then, and Yata saw the small familiar blue beads resting in Fushimi’s palm for just a moment before Fushimi tossed them away. “The sun is rising, Misaki. If you don’t want to be eaten, go away.”

“I’m not leaving,” Yata said firmly, bending down to pick up the fallen beads. They were still shining faintly and Yata's fingers clenched around them. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and I don’t care. You’re my friend and I’m going to save you whether you want me to or not.”

“But…aren’t we friends?” A soft whisper on the wind, something rising from the depths of his memory for just a moment and then it flew away again, drawn out by invisible fingers, and Yata couldn't recall when he'd said those words, who he'd said them to.

“You’re going to die.” Fushimi’s voice was fierce and cold but there was an undercurrent of something like desperation that was impossible for even Yata to miss. “I won’t leave so much as your bones behind, Misaki. I’m going to destroy it all on my own. Bad luck, everywhere. So get the hell out of here and forget about me. It’s what you do best, after all.’

“Why the hell are you giving up so easily?” Yata reached forward then, roughly grabbing onto Fushimi’s thin wrist and holding tight.

“Let go of me, Misaki!”

“I’m not giving up on us, Fushimi,” Yata stated. “Let me help you, okay? I know you’re a stupid stubborn jerk, but you’re my stupid stubborn jerk and I want to save you. You know it’s time for our new King’s induction ceremony, right? And I left it. I left my flock during the most important time because right now there’s nothing that’s more important to me than fixing whatever the fuck is wrong with you!”

“You’re too late.” Fushimi’s voice was like a funeral bell, thick and heavy as he tore his wrist from Yata’s grip with an almost supernatural strength. Mist suddenly seemed to be gathering close around them and there was something pale and translucent about Fushimi’s skin. “Too late, Misaki…you’re far far too late…”

And then Fushimi was swallowed up the clouds as the sun burst over the horizon and bathed the entire island in bright yellow light.

“Fushimi!” Yata choked on mist that suddenly clogged his lungs as if it were thick smoke, his entire line of vision obscured. Yata swore and spread his wings, flapping hard in order to create a wind strong enough to blow the mist away, at least enough that he could see where he was standing. In the half light of the morning he could see that the island had already begun to change, just as he’d noticed when he’d come here the first time in the sunlight: as the mist poured out over the terrain everything suddenly grew more cracked and worn, as if years of disuse were catching up to it all at once. There was no sign of Fushimi whatsoever but the clouds still hanging low around him told Yata that Fushimi was probably nearby — the nue Fushimi, at least, and Yata took a careful step back towards where he knew the pool had to be.

He needed to figure out a way to get Fushimi’s name out of the moon and the moon out of the water, he knew that much, but Yata had no idea how to do it. If he just reached his hand in now, in the light, would it come to him? Or…

The prospect of diving in made him bite his lip, recalling how he’d almost drowned the first time. Water was an opposing element for tengu, and swimming to the depths in search of something that might not even be reachable was a poor plan even by Yata’s admittedly thin standards.

A sound cut through the mist, the high lonely bird’s cry that Yata recognized immediately, and he barely took to the sky in time to avoid Fushimi’s claws as the nue jumped at him. Fushimi’s eyes were glowing red, staring at him as though he was nothing more than a piece of meat, than prey. They weren’t Fushimi’s eyes at all, and the thought had barely crossed Yata’s mind before Fushimi attacked again, the thick striped legs and sharp tiger claws scoring deep gashes in the ground where they just missed ripping through Yata’s limbs. He cursed to himself as he pulled the wooden spoon from where it was still strapped against his back, lengthening it into a staff just in time to parry another attack.

“Fushimi!” Yata tried desperately, staff still held up in a defensive position. “Hey! It’s me, you idiot! I’m trying to help you!”

There was the bird call again, echoing and haunted, and all of a sudden the mist started swirling around Yata fast and thick, all but pinning him inside. Yata swung his staff once to disperse it and then jumped into the air, settling on the worn torii gate out of reach of the nue.

The nue, which was now between him and the suddenly clouded pool.

Now what? Yata thought, fingers clenching on the staff. He needed to get to the pool but he couldn’t do anything while defending himself from Fushimi, who was as fast and agile as he’d been the first time Yata had run into him, before Yata had known who the nue really was. He could try and lose Fushimi in the woods but Yata knew he couldn’t waste too much time on running around — he didn’t know how long it would take to retrieve Fushimi’s name and the possibility of being waylaid by who knew what else was hiding on this stupid island was high.

Suddenly the gate lurched and Yata gave an undignified squawk, clinging to the wood as he glanced downwards. Fushimi was slamming his body against the bottom of the gate, as if trying to bring it down. Another powerful slam was enough to make Yata lose his footing entirely and he opened his wings awkwardly as he half-flew, half-fell to the ground just along the slope of the hill. Fushimi was already approaching him, slow and predatory like a cat cornering a bird, and Yata couldn’t help but glance helplessly beyond him at where he knew the pool was.

He was being herded away and he didn’t know how to stop it. At this rate he would have to give up, and then Fushimi…

No. Yata’s hands tightened on his staff, teeth clenching. He didn’t even know why he was so determined — it wasn’t like they’d known each other long, and Fushimi had been in turns frustrating and annoying, mood swings and mocking words, and even in those few moments they’d connected Yata had always felt as if there was something…missing, in their interactions, as if he was constantly stretching for something that was always dangling just out of reach. But even so he wanted to keep holding his hand out, wanted to grasp that invisible thing between him and Fushimi, wanted to talk to him more, to see him smile again, to make him laugh. If he retreated now, they might never see each other again.

A thick dark cloud suddenly descended on him from above, obscuring his vision, and it was only instinct that allowed Yata to sweep his staff up in time to block Fushimi’s next attack. As it was he still found himself sent reeling, again rolling down the hill and banging his knees against hard cracked stone. He had barely managed to get to his feet when Fushimi was there once more in front of him, eyes burning, not a single sign of recognition in the monstrous face, and even as Yata reached for his fallen staff he wasn’t sure if he could parry the next blow in time.

“Misaki!” He heard the familiar voice in his bones, almost, and the moment Yata looked up a sudden burst of flame lit up the dark mist surrounding him. Fushimi hissed and dived back, muscles taut and still clearly on the hunt, eyes never leaving Yata’s as Yata stumbled to his feet and followed the source of the flames with wide eyes. Through the thinning mist Yata was able to make out a handful of figures descending towards him.

“Mikoto-san!” He recognized the flame red wings instantly — Mikoto and Kusanagi, and half a dozen other Homra members flying towards him, landing between him and the now wary Fushimi.

But…how? Yata’s throat felt dry even as his heart leapt with relief. Fushimi said you couldn’t find the island without knowing where it is…

“Misaki!” A rustle of beads and feathers and Anna landed beside him, a black fur stole wrapped around her shoulders.

“Anna…it’s not safe here, what are you—”

“We came to help Misaki.” Anna’s face was tired but determined, and suddenly Yata remembered how she’d pressed her forehead against his before he left.

Anna was a Diviner, and Yata was part of her flock. Of course she would know where Yata was, even if that location was hidden from the eyes of every other person in the world.

“I don’t know what to do,” Yata admitted breathlessly, eyes not leaving the figures of Mikoto and the others as they kept Fushimi at bay. “I know his name has to be in the water, but…”

“It can only be retrieved by hands that are truly willing to reach for it.” The voice came from Anna’s coat and Yata nearly jumped at the sound. Now that she was beside him he could see that it wasn’t a fur stole at all around her shoulders but a thin wiry fox, nine tails waving even in this form.

“Reisi knows this magic,” Anna said by way of explanation, and Yata furrowed his brow.

“Willing to…what the hell does that mean?”

“If it is trapped in the water, you must dive in.” Munakata’s voice was calm, despite the chaos around them. “Unless you are too afraid, Yatagarasu-kun?”

“I’m not—” Yata shook his head, steeling himself. “Anna…make sure they don’t hurt Fushimi, okay?”

“Mmm.” Anna nodded, touching his hand. “I gave an order, not to burn anything that doesn’t need to be burnt. So Misaki can go save his friend.”

“I-I’m off, then.” Yata spread his wings and leaped into the air without another word, arrowing straight for the pool. His wings flattened as he rose higher into the air, clearing the line of smoke and mist, and the pool below was murky and clouded. But even so Yata could just make it out – a wavering image of a pure white moon, deep within the water.

Fushimi… Yata swallowed, glanced back once, and then down again at the pool. You better be grateful for this, you asshole!

Yata drew his wings up close to his body and dived straight down into the water.

“What are you doing, little monkey?”

The words burned in his ears and his body tensed as he looked up from where he’d been drawing a sign in the dirt with a stick. A man stared down, teeth bared in a smile, white and sharp, and it made his entire body shake all the way from his ears to…

(Not mine, Yata realized, because it wasn’t. He was looking at things from Fushimi’s eyes, listening to Fushimi’s thoughts echoing in his own ears — his body was nothing but a thought, limbs he couldn’t feel, wings that were like a sketch of a thing that once existed along the back that wasn't there, he couldn’t ruffle his feathers or speak or breathe—)

(But he didn’t need to, because he wasn’t drowning. There was a moon shining just out of reach, and all that Yata was had been enveloped by the echoes of Fushimi’s memory.)

“I wasn’t doing anything.” The voice was dull and sullen, exactly Fushimi’s usual tone, but there was a noticeable tension along his shoulders, Yata could feel it, and his — Fushimi’s — feet shifted slightly, the smallest hint of nervousness. The man in front of him — Niki, the memory whispered, like the smooth hiss of a snake — smiled wider.

“Do want to play a game?” Niki clenched a fist and Fushimi gave the smallest yelp, involuntary, and Yata could feel the rush of irritation swelling in on him from all sides at the slip. There was a burst of pain and Fushimi’s hands and arms seemed to move of their own accord, wiping out the sign easily.

“Go away!” It was like the bark of a desperate kit abandoned in the snow, and Niki laughed.

“All right, all right, we’ll play!” Niki opened his hands, and small floating fires appeared there. “Let’s see if you can outrun these. All right, (—)?”

(It was like a sudden buzzing in Yata’s ears, something that had wiped out the name that had been spoken from even Fushimi's own mind, from his own memories.)

Fushimi’s whole body jerked up at the sound of it, eyes wide, breath catching not of his own accord, and Niki laughed.

“I’ll give you a head start. What do you say?”

Something like terror welled up in his throat, terror and hatred and a bone deep chill like Yata had never felt before, and Fushimi ran.

The fires followed, and burned marks deep in his skin that didn’t disappear for weeks. Niki laughed.

Then Yata was himself again for just a moment, water washing over him and he could almost see his own hands outstretched in front of him before Fushimi's memories swallowed him up again.

He was ill, shivering on top of the cold offering stone. Someone had left plants there — herbs, Yata thought for a second, before Fushimi’s memories corrected him with poison ivy leaves and hemlock — and his head was spinning.

Figures moved around him, in and out of the shadows. Yata and Fushimi could both hear them, dimly, though only Yata could really make out the words.

“That’s his child.”

“Don’t touch him.”

“We should have known better than to let them stay here. That kind brings only bad luck and tragedy.”

“Where is he? He’ll come back as long as the child’s here. They aren't our tribe, we can't allow them to stay.”

“We should have cast him out long ago, the moment we learned what he really was.”

“You do that. I’ll watch. That one is too strong.”

“Has always been too strong. Even the child…”

“The child has your blood, doesn’t it?” This last directed to a woman, with cold eyes and sharp claws, and she turned away without even looking at the figure on the stone.

“Not mine.” Her voice was colder than the rock Fushimi lay on. “Even I couldn't break that illusion, that's all. Look at his color, his blood is all one with that man. No part of him is mine.”

Midnight, and Fushimi managed enough strength to crawl to the woods and vomit. Something tugged on him, pulling him back like a dog on a leash, and Niki was there reflected in the moon, watching.

“You’re no fun today, monkey. Hey, (—) aren’t you angry? They left you to die. Only Daddy came back for you. Daddy will always come back for you.”

Niki leaned in, whispered in Fushimi’s ear.

“Go warm things up for them.”

Something painful again, a sharp pull like a noose around his neck, and Fushimi stood.

A rush of images ran together, fingers dancing with flames, the sound of screams and a shrine bathed red and orange by fire, until finally there was only Fushimi standing there, alone.

Alone except for Niki, who stood beside him and smiled.

“Don’t worry. Papa will be with you forever. Isn’t that nice?”

Yata felt himself flailing a little under the water, lost for a moment, body tumbling helplessly down and he had the briefest glimpse of something white and shining before he was dragged back under into Fushimi’s memories.

Everything broke. Any toy he found, left for him in pieces. Any friend he made, chased away with fire and illusions and monsters set loose.

Fushimi wandered alone along the forest path, feet bare. Niki wasn’t around, but that didn’t mean anything. He would be there eventually. He always was, and there was no escaping that.

Something small and glowing caught his attention and Fushimi knelt down. There along the side of the path was a tiny glowing blue stone set in a bracelet. It had likely been left behind after the last one of Niki’s fires — another tribe had taken shelter in the old shrine again, and had stayed there for over a month before Niki chased them off laughing. A couple of them had smiled at him when they’d spotted him hiding in the trees, not realizing that just by Fushimi seeing them their fate had been sealed.

He reached down and picked up the bracelet, staring at the glowing stone. It felt cool against his skin, and the light was a little soothing.

Niki would break it, of course, so there was no point in getting attached to even something as small as this.

Even so, Fushimi slipped it into his pocket anyway.

(But that’s — Yata recognized the bracelet, hands he couldn’t see but still knew were there moving on instinct to touch his invisible wrist, the place where that bracelet had been for years until he’d given it to Fushimi. But the bracelet itself had been given to him by —)

(By —)

(By—)

Yata felt water entering his lungs and his body was heavy like a stone, pulled down further and further, and he could see the bottom of the pool at last — a great dark plain dotted with destroyed statutes and lit by a single pale moon. His feet hit the lakebed and dust billowed up around him, and made shapes like letters that floated away from Yata’s outstretched hands.

“I’m — ! I’m six years old.” A warm laugh, a warm smile. “Do you live in a bush?”

(The memory was dim and faded over, stretched thin like animal hide over a rock, and Yata felt it bubbling between his own  fingertips, just out of reach.)

“But…isn’t that lonely?”

[It’s not.] The words echoed, Fushimi’s thoughts filling the entire space of the world. [I’m not lonely. I’m fine on my own. I’ve always been fine on my own.]

“The most amazing guy I’ve ever met.”

[Not that amazing.] Heavy thoughts, a millstone dragging him down.  [I’m not. I can’t even hold onto —]

“I can’t leave you by yourself!”

[Why not?] True confusion, so strong Yata could feel it bubbling in his veins like blood. [Everyone else has. Everyone always does.]

“But…aren’t we friends?”

[I don’t have any friends.] Desperate now, as if Fushimi himself didn’t even believe those words.

“If there’s a bad person after you I’ll rescue you! I’ll take you super far away and he won’t ever find you!”

[You can’t.] But there was a sensation building up in Fushimi’s throat, hope and loneliness and longing, the desire to believe those words were true. Words no one had ever said before, not to him. No one ever came back for him except that guy. But bright eyes were shining down on him, a smile and a promise, and Fushimi took the bracelet from his wrist and held it out.

A flutter of wings, and Fushimi looked down at the small red feather left lying behind.

“W-wait, that’s—” Yata spoke without meaning to and water immediately filled his mouth, suffocating and cold and the world around him had gone bright bright white, the pale moon swallowing up everything around him.

“What did you find, little monkey?” Niki, smiling down at him, and Fushimi remained perfectly still.

“Nothing.”

“You were gone so long, and Papa couldn’t find you. The sarugami all killed each other before you could play with them.”

“I wasn’t doing anything. You know I wasn’t, or you would have made me come and play, right?” Almost a challenge, and instead of being angry Niki laughed.

“That’s right, (—).” He raised a hand and Fushimi’s body jerked as if held by an invisible leash. “Hey, monkey, where’s that bracelet you’ve been hiding?”

“I lost it in the water.” He kept his voice flat, and Niki laughed.

“Is that so? My poor monkey lost his prized possession in the water. Want to go look for it? I found an onamazu the other day and let it loose in the pool, you two can play!”

Niki laughed and Fushimi kept his head down, following obediently as Niki began to ascend the temple steps.

Behind them, hidden under an offering stone, was a small blood-stained handkerchief and a single red feather.

It wasn’t like drowning. Yata was still falling now, but falling up — not through water but through something else, dust coalescing around him still in characters that flew by too fast for him to hold onto, and there was a word he couldn’t read carved into the surface of the moon.

[I have to leave.] Fushimi was digging beneath a rock, desperate. His hands were red, and in the distance Yata could hear an odd sound that reminded him of the time he’d spotted a mountain beast eating a goat while searching a mountaintop. There was the vague feeling lingering in Fushimi’s memories that was almost like guilt and almost like relief. [The nue will eat me next if I don’t get out of here.]

Niki had thought he could control it. Another one of his tricks, dragging something onto the island that didn’t belong there. But it had slipped out of his grasp this time — the wrong name, he could almost laugh — and there was nothing left of that man now except memories that Fushimi was all too ready to forget.

[There.] He moved the stone aside and it was still where he had left it, his treasure — the handkerchief and the feather, both old and dirtied but still there.

[I’ll find him.]

[He said he would come back.]

[Together, we can—]

He was running up the hill as fast as he could go, clutching his treasures to his chest. If he used the feather and the name, and called — surely that person would answer. That person who had held out a hand to him, who had smiled at him, who had burned brighter than anyone Fushimi had ever seen. He only needed to call, and finally he’d be able to leave.

The moon above was growing larger the higher he walked up the hill, and the torii gate seemed small beneath it. He didn’t notice, white hands on red cloth.

[I don’t need anyone else. As long as it’s us two together—]

The moon began to laugh.

Fushimi stopped, stumbled, cutting his knees on the stones. The handkerchief in his hands writhed, turning pitch black as it slipped from his grasp and moved like a snake along the grass and stones, growing larger and longer, a shadow stretching beneath the moon that was too too large and the feather fell to the ground—

Fushimi cursed, fingers digging into his palm, and the rest of the world was drowned out by familiar laughter.

[A trick — I should have expected, I’m such an idiot, of course he knew—]

Everything seemed to be happening too quickly, so quickly that Yata could barely catch the pieces of memory that were glowing bright around him. Niki’s shadow, hands outstretched and laughing, still laughing — and then the grass beneath Fushimi’s feet began to glow and Fushimi whirled, something large on the horizon behind him backed by storm clouds — the shrine shook and crumbled, stones crashing into each other, statues falling to pieces into the crystal pool that had gone deep red like blood — and there were words written on the moon, words that slipped through Fushimi’s fingers as they were torn away — taken away, from everyone, his own mind gone blank with the name he hated so much and now couldn’t recall and his fingers were changing, skin peeling back to reveal white bone and behind him the nue opened its mouth wide—

And all in a rush, Yata remembered.

“I’m Yata Misaki! I’m six years old.”

Alone in a forest, lost. Blue eyes peering out of the bushes.

“Yeah, you don’t have wings! But I bet I could carry you!”

A small sullen face that looked like it never smiled, like it didn’t know what smiling was.

“Don’t worry about it. Just…don’t give your name to anyone here but me, all right?”

And hadn’t he been warned, then? The only protection someone like Fushimi could offer: “Don’t give your name to anyone here but me.”

“I can’t leave you by yourself!”

He hadn’t wanted to. It was rushing in on him from all sides now, memory after memory, his own feelings and Fushimi’s crashing together so hard it was almost painful, and in front of his eyes there was nothing but a sea of stars. He’d always planned to come back eventually. To see this person again. His first real friend.

“If there’s a bad person after you I’ll rescue you! I’ll take you super far away and he won’t ever find you!”

A promise. He could feel Fushimi’s emotions again, a surge of longing and hope and something so like pain it made his eyes water. All this time, Fushimi had been waiting on him to come back, and Yata had forgotten it all.

He could see the words again, the characters of Fushimi’s name slipping between pale fingers and suddenly Yata’s own hands were reaching too, grasping helplessly for the memories that had been torn away from even his own mind, swallowed up by the moon and the water — the final curse that had taken Fushimi’s name and erased it from everywhere, everyone, that had taken away those precious memories so swiftly and silently that Yata hadn’t even realized what had been stolen from him until now.

Yata’s head broke open the water’s surface and he gasped, dragging himself onto the shore, and looked around.

He was still on the island and yet he wasn’t. The entire sky was pitch black, not even a single star to be seen. The pool was glowing softly, the reflection of a red moon and a bright sun side by side in the water. The grass beneath Yata’s feet was cool and damp and sludge gray. The forest in the distance was a mass of black ghosts, branches outstretched like claws, and the torii gate loomed large above his head, stretching up into infinity beyond the atmosphere.

On the grass beneath the gate was a small boy of about six, with sad blue eyes and a thin frame, holding a temari ball that glowed softly with moonlight, embroidered with characters that Yata couldn’t make out. The threads seemed to have been smudged somehow, and there were sharp needles poking out from various places, piercing the child’s hands so that blood dripped down. Despite that the child didn’t cry, only stared at Yata with those too-familiar eyes.

“Fushimi.” Yata took a step towards him, and the child Fushimi stepped back. He looked just the way he had in Yata's memories, untouched by the curse of his father and the nue, not a mere human any longer. “Hey, it’s all right. I’m here now, okay? Sorry it took so long.”

“Go away.” The words were hollow, echoing in the unnatural stillness of their surroundings.

“I can’t.” Yata shook his head. “You’re the kinda guy I can’t leave alone, you know? We’re gonna go back together.”

“Can’t go back.” Fushimi’s eyes were dark, and Yata could see the reflections of the stars whirling inside them. “Can’t go forward. I have to stay here.”

“That’s wrong,” Yata said, forceful. “You can’t stay in one spot forever. It’s time to move forward.”

“I’m lost,” Fushimi said, and a cold wind blew past. The torii gate seemed to glow in the darkness and beyond it there was no longer forest but something else — a great dark silhouette that swallowed up everything in its wake, and a pair of glowing red eyes. The shadow of the nue growled softly, and Fushimi took a step back towards it.

“That’s not the way.” Yata reached for his arm and Fushimi stepped back, further under the gate, keeping his distance. The temari moon in his hands glowed softly, and the threads shifted and writhed like snakes.

“It’s the only way out.” Empty words, empty eyes, empty sky above. Fushimi’s body seemed somehow weary suddenly, like a child of famine staring at the desert around him.

“It’s not. Let me show you.” Yata took a careful step forward, and Fushimi took another step back.

“He’ll eat you. That guy…everything gets destroyed. Everything that’s mine, he takes and twists until it breaks. Because he named me, so my name belongs to him. I belong to him, forever.”

“He’s not here anymore,” Yata said. “I saw your memories. That guy’s dead. This is just a trick he left behind.”

“Even if he’s not here, I’m still his. There’s no way out for me.” Hands tightening over the moon, and more blood dripped down.

“Fushimi…” And the name sounded wrong somehow now, as if it wasn’t the one Yata should be calling. He found his eyes drawn to the moon again, to the twisted threads moving steadily beneath its surface, Fushimi’s blood staining it red. The stains faded after only a moment, swallowed up by the threads, and the moon pulsed with an eerie light.

“He…has something that’s mine. I can’t leave without it.”

Something was wrong.

It didn’t look right. Fushimi there, small and scared with blood on his hands and the moon with its hundreds upon hundreds of moving threads. The water beside him rippled, and Yata looked into Fushimi’s eyes again. Reflected in them he could just see it — twin moons, shining. Yata found himself reaching into his pocket and wrapping his fingers around the item he found there.

Small blue stones, still glowing with faint light.

“And if it’s you and me we can do anything!”

And then he was small again, a tengu just growing into his wings, six years old and still a bit shorter than the boy standing in front of him. Yata held out his palm, showing Fushimi the stones shining bright, the remains of the treasure he had held on to all this time even though the reason why had been stolen from him.

“If you’re lost it’s best to stay with someone else, right?” Yata grinned. “This time, I’ll show you the way!”

Fushimi’s eyes widened, breath catching, and another gust of wind blew by, so strong that it nearly blew the moon from out of Fushimi’s grip. The beast in the darkness behind him growled again, a distant rumble of thunder, and somewhere far far away was the faintest sound of mocking laughter. Fushimi’s ears twitched, body stiffening, but Yata remained there firm, wings braced against the wind, and hand outstretched.

“Let me take you home, okay?”

The wind rose around them, an angry howl, tearing at both of their clothes, but Yata didn’t move. Despite the gale the stones in his palm didn’t shift so much as an inch.

“Misaki.” The word tore itself from Fushimi’s throat like a cry and suddenly he crossed the space between them, one hand reaching for Yata’s as the other let go of the moon — which turned dark red as it hit the ground, now nothing more than a frayed bloody handkerchief and it didn’t matter because that wasn’t what Yata had been looking for, wasn’t what he’d come here for at all, and Yata wrapped his arms around Fushimi and held him close as the world was swallowed up by a blinding white light.

And then he was standing there in front of the now clear pool which no longer reflected anything but the exact sky above, the sun still bright and the sky cloudless and blue. Yata opened his hands and a sprinkling of stardust fell from his fingers, scattering into the wind. Even so, his hands shone with a soft blue light.

“Sorry I took so long, Saruhiko.”

He took a step forward and then another, half running and half flying as he rushed down the hill where Fushimi was penned in at the very edge of the forest, the rest of Yata’s flock surrounding him. He saw Mikoto look up as he came close, eyes darting first to Yata and then to Anna still standing back at the top of the hill below the torii gate. He gave a nod of his head and suddenly the flock scattered, feathers raining down, and then it was just Yata, face to face with the nue.

Fushimi gave a low growl, that lonely keen of a bird again, and this time it made Yata’s heart ache just a little as he took a step closer, hands spread wide.

“Hey. You were here a long time, huh? You should’ve just said something.”

Clouds were gathering around him, obscuring the landscape and everything else around them, until it was just Yata and Fushimi, face to face. He could sense it in the back of his mind, a soft sound like the ringing of a bell: Anna’s presence, reminding him that she was there. If he called for help she would have Mikoto and the others by his side in an instant, to help fight off the nue if need be.

Yata smiled a little ruefully, another step forward. It was weird, wasn’t it…all this time he’d been worried, that there was nothing to him but what his fists and his strength could do. But here he was, face to face with a monster, and he had no intention of fighting.

“I said I’d be back for you. Saruhiko.” The nue seemed to pause at the sound of the name, the red eyes dimming just a little. Yata took another step forward. “I know it kinda took me a while. You were here all this time, by yourself, waiting…but I’m here. That guy didn’t destroy us. We’re friends, right? The first friend I ever had. You don’t forget people like that.”

He was nearly within arm’s reach of the nue. Fushimi growled again, not the bird call but something low and guttural, like a wounded beast. Even so, Yata kept advancing, arms opened wide and palms flat.

“You’re the kind of guy who never says anything honestly, huh?” Yata smiled. “You could’ve just asked for help, you dummy. You didn’t have to chase me away. Nothing here is strong enough to break us. Even—even if I forgot…I’m back now. So don’t you dare disappear on me this time, you stupid idiot.”

Fushimi was backing up this time, closer and closer to the forest edge, but Yata didn’t stop approaching. He held out a hand, and he could almost see small letters dancing on his palm, tiny flecks of stardust glowing in the haze of the clouds.

“Come on, Saruhiko. Come back to me. We got a lot to talk about.”

The nue’s fur bristled like a frightened animal and suddenly it ran at him, mouth open, eyes burning, claws silver-bright even in the darkness.

Still, Yata stood his ground.

The characters in his palm suddenly began to grow brighter and brighter, so much that Yata had to throw up his other arm to cover his eyes, and he heard a sound like thunder in his ears—

—the sound of something unraveling, shattering, the cry of a bird and then—

—that hint of mocking laughter again, slowly, slowly, fading away.

When Yata opened his eyes again he was on the ground, having fallen to his knees without even realizing it. His palm was empty and the clouds had burned off, leaving him sitting alone in front of the forest that was suddenly growing green and verdant in front of him.

Something shifted in his lap, and Yata looked down.

“Saru…hiko…?”

“I didn’t say you could use my first name, Misaki.” Fushimi seemed unsteady on his legs as he stood, gray fur tinted with starlight as he shook himself off. Familiar blue eyes stared back at him and Yata couldn’t help but grin at the thin fox standing in front of him.

“You gave it to me, didn’t you?” Yata laughed. “If you didn’t want me to use it you shouldn’t have said anything. I mean…it was dangerous, wasn’t it?”

“As if an idiot like you could do anything even with my entire name.” Fushimi shook again and there was a small fall of stars as his body shifted, no longer a fox but the humanoid form Yata was familiar with — but this time there were black-tipped pointed ears on his head, and four tails waving behind him.

“You got more,” Yata said, looking at him. “You only had three tails last time.”

“Of course, moron, just because I was sleeping doesn’t mean I couldn’t age,” Fushimi snorted. “It took you long enough to get back here, Misaki.”

“Yeah, I know.” Yata couldn’t stop the fond smile crossing his face. “Sorry I made you wait, Saruhiko.”

“Tch.” Fushimi clicked his tongue as if annoyed but Yata thought he could see the faintest hint of red on his cheeks.

“Misaki!” Anna’s voice made him turn, waving his hands as he saw her and the rest of the flock flying down towards him. She took hold of his wrist as she landed, looking him over for injuries. Yata noticed that Fushimi seemed to tense a bit as the flock surrounded them and Yata moved a little closer to him.

“It’s all right Anna, I’m okay,” Yata assured her. “It takes more than a guy like this to take me down.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue again, crossing his arms, and Yata gave him a playful nudge in the ribs.

“Oh? So this is your Fushimi-kun.” Yata looked up and scowled as Munakata approached them, also back in his humanoid form with all nine tails displayed proudly behind him. He was looking at Fushimi with a keen-eyed expression that made Yata suddenly want to hold Fushimi even closer, just to make sure this bastard knew who Fushimi belonged to. For his part Fushimi was watching Munakata warily, clearly confused but on his guard. “A nogitsune. It’s been some time since I have met with one of your tribe.”

“Tch.” Fushimi clicked his tongue, tails waving, and he seemed to be moving a step closer to Yata without even quite realizing it. “Having a nogitsune in a fox tribe is bad luck, isn't it?”

“Only to those who believe such things.” Munakata's smile was thoughtful and interested, and Yata scowled at him, hand reaching for Fushimi's.

“H-hey, you haven’t seen the sun in a while, right? I mean, as you.” Yata smiled brightly at Fushimi, who immediately turned his gaze from Munakata back to Yata, ears swiveling with the movement. “Come on, I bet we can get a good view from the top of the hill.”

He tugged on Fushimi’s wrist and even though Fushimi clicked his tongue again he stepped forward anyway, eyes only on Yata, and there was something soft in his expression that made Yata's face feel warm.

The sun shone brightly down on them, and Fushimi’s hand closed tightly over Yata’s.

[stopforamoment]

Part Six: Dinner with Mr. Geoduck (Series 8, Part 6 of 8)

Series Eight: Good Guys Do Exist (Eight Parts) Part Six: Dinner with Mr. Geoduck (Series 8, Part 6 of 8)

***Please read the author’s note before reading this!*****

Masterlist

Book: The Royal Romance (After Book Three—or Four?)

Pairing: Bastien Lykel x OFC Rinda Parks Word Count: 2,763 Rating: R for Language and Potentially Dangerous Dating Situation (but everything is under control!)

TRIGGERS: Mention of potential violent dating situation and controlling/dominant male behavior. There is also mention of balut (a controversial food because of cultural clashes and it can be considered inhumane to eat).

Author’s Note: Obligatory disclaimer that Pixelberry Studios owns the TRR characters and my pocketbook with those darn diamond scenes. OFC with all of her quirks is all mine. My apologies if Tumblr or I do something stupid when I try to post this. The keep reading link shows up on my laptop but not my phone. Ugh.

Series Summary: It’s the fourth week of school, going into October, and it’s Bastien’s last week as security officer at the school. He’s just helping Drake with the transition, and then he’s back to the palace as Head of Security for the Royal Guard. This series starts to transition Drake into the school and sets him up as a “good guy,” (our marshmallow!) just like Bastien.

Summary: In part six Drake, Rinda, and Laura meet up with Mr. Geoduck for an interesting date night. Also, just a reminder that Bastien’s nickname for Rinda is “Tria,” Rinda is hopeless when it comes to deciding what she wants to order at restaurants, and “banana” is the security team’s silly safety word, partly because Bastien hates bananas. Also, Mr. Ariti is Rinda’s neighbor.Bastien has a standing invitation to spend the night at Mr. Ariti’s house whenever needed, and Mr. Ariti also extended that invitation to Drake.

Mr. Ariti’s invitation is covered in “Mr. Ariti’s Offer”   Rinda’s food quirks are summed up in “Ordering Food for Rinda,” which is in Drabbles with Rinda and Bastien. 

Banana safety word is covered in “Safety Word,” which is in Series Four, September School Days. 

 A/N Please know that I mean no disrespect to the foods mentioned in this chapter, or the cultures and individuals who enjoy them. The whole idea for this creepy date and the balut dish originally came to me because many years ago I saw an episode of Millionaire Matchmaker, and one millionaire really did seem off. He ordered balut and had a creepy look on his face when he saw his date squirm when she opened the egg. He seemed so cruel the way he watched his date squirm when she saw it, and it’s burned into my memories. 

The references to sweetbreads and tripe are because a lot of professional chefs do so much with these foods, Anthony Bourdain especially. I like how he would advocate that we need to use more parts of animals and not waste food, and I love how he was always willing to try anything new. My own mother really did grow up in poverty, so when she ate these things growing up it was a stigma for her that this was “poor people food.” That’s her experience, and I made that Rinda’s mom’s experience in this chapter. I know these are amazing foods and again, it is not my intent to disrespect anyone!

Thursday Night, Week Four

The server gave everyone a friendly smile when she came up to introduce herself. Rinda and Laura looked up at each other in shock, but they said nothing. She told them the specials, but if they liked seafood, she highly recommended their stuffed halibut with roasted vegetables. She also recommended that they save room for dessert or an after-dinner drink because the bartender made amazing banana daiquiris. Rinda locked eyes with the server, and she calmly continued. “Again, my name is Tria, and if you need anything tonight just let me or any one of our staff members know.” Rinda was trying not to tear up. “Thank you, Tria. We appreciate that.” The server gave Rinda a warm smile before walking away. Drake leaned in to Rinda to whisper near her ear. “Bastien and I didn’t want you to worry about what to order tonight. Or anything else, okay?” She gave his hand a grateful squeeze. . . . . .

The evening was a disaster. Laura was so polite, and it took so much self-control for Rinda not to yell at Mr. Geoduck. He was a self-proclaimed foodie and insisted on ordering for Laura. No, not just telling the server her order, but telling Laura what to order. Rinda could see Drake clench his fists, so she tried to deflect by whispering to him “Hmm. Maybe I should date him. I’d never have to worry about picking an entrée ever again.” Drake gave her a thin smile, but they both knew this was ridiculous.

He ordered appetizers with names that they couldn’t pronounce. They couldn’t even pronounce some of the ingredients in the food. And it was small. The first course was a sampler, but the food was microscopic. The second course was worse. When the dish was set in front of them, Rinda knew. Balut. Her face went pale. “I’m so sorry guys. I know I’m the self-proclaimed egg slut, but I take it back. I can’t. I’ll be sick.” She leaned in to whisper to Drake. “Please, can you stay here with Laura?” He nodded, unsure of what Rinda was so upset about. But when he cracked open the egg, he knew. Laura blanched, and Drake immediately offered to escort her outside for some air, but Laura was a trooper. She tried it, part of the liquid. It tasted like chicken soup. But she couldn’t actually eat it, even if it was considered a delicacy. Mr. Geoduck expounded on the history of the delicacy, but Drake was watching his face. It wasn’t that he wanted Laura to try something new, something she might not otherwise experience. It wasn’t even that he was trying to show off. Maybe Rinda was right. Maybe there was something cruel. Yes, many people thought it was cruel to eat that delicacy. But it wasn’t even that. It was the way he stared at Laura, enjoying her shocked reaction. Something was just off. Rinda came back when she saw that course was cleared and smiled when “Tria” asked how she was doing. Fine. Everything was fine. But “Tria” flashed her a sympathetic smile. Mr. Geoduck was now ready to order the main course, whether everyone else was ready or not. He wanted Laura to have the sweetbreads, Rinda would have the tripe dish, and Drake would have the pork belly. Rinda tried not to laugh. She actually liked that food. Her maternal grandma, not Grandma Lorinda, made it for the family several times. But Rinda’s mom grew up piss poor, and her mom would just shake her head that those foods were now considered a delicacy. For Rinda’s mom it was a reminder of her white trash past, her alcoholic father who really did piss away their money, and her mother who would beg scraps, offal, from the butcher just so her children would have some protein. Rinda had respect for the chefs who were able to elevate that food and she was glad people were coming around so that food wasn’t wasted. She also knew there were families, like her mom’s, who prepared and enjoyed those foods with so much love. But she was also influenced by her mom’s attitude toward sweetbreads and tripe, and after Mr. Geoduck ordered balut, Rinda knew he was just trying to be ass and purposely order “trash food” simply for the shock value, which pissed her off even more. She looked at their server. “No, I won’t take the tripe, but thank you. I’ll have the halibut special that you recommended.” She whispered to Laura while Drake was ordering. “Are you okay with the sweetbreads, or did you want to try something else? It’s actually really good, and we can share meals, okay?” Laura gave Rinda a weak smile. She didn’t even know what tripe or sweetbreads were, and it was clear this date wasn’t going anywhere, so she really just needed to get through the night. She’d agree to anything, and besides. Drake already promised that they’d get burgers afterward if they didn’t fill up on rich people food. It was going to be okay. Drake calmly told the server he was having a steak, not whatever the other guy told him to eat. “Tria” asked if they needed anything else, and she took an extra moment to look at Laura. To make sure she was okay. Laura didn’t look up, so the server looked at Rinda. “Was there anything else?” Rinda smiled. “I think we’re okay for dinner, but I saw you have Melomakarona. Are those the Christmas cookies with the honey and walnuts? The server smiled and nodded. “Can you please wrap up a dozen to go?” “Whoa, Parks!” Rinda laughed. “They’re not for me, Drake. For Bastien. His mom and sister always made them for Christmas, so I want to take some home for him.” She turned back to the server and laughed. “Yes, I really did mean a dozen. Thank you so much!” The server smiled back before she left. “Parks. That’s pretty nice of you.” Drake was trying to tease her, but Rinda could see that he was genuinely happy that she was doing that for Bastien. Rinda knew she was blushing and she just shook her head and turned away, unable to come up with a pithy response to Drake. . . . . . Mr. Geoduck was pontificating about something. It might have been his job, his self-proclaimed knowledge of food, his dick circumference. Really, it didn’t matter because Rinda knew she had to take one for the team. She asked the man a question about himself, and soon Mr. Geoduck was talking about . . . himself. Again. Rinda nodded and smiled with fake enthusiasm. If a neck could get carpal tunnel, her neck would have it. Meanwhile, Laura and Drake were engaged in their own conversation. The two of them had already bonded over their love of football, but now they were sharing camping stories and playfully bickering over the best bait to catch fish. The main courses arrived and Laura thought the sweetbreads were okay, but not really her thing, so Rinda traded half of her meal with Laura. Then Drake offered to trade the other part of Laura’s meal for half of his steak with Laura, if she didn’t mind that he liked it cooked rare. Otherwise, Drake would ask the server to put her portion on the grill for a little longer. Laura thanked him, but she didn’t mind a good steak that was done rare, although she did have to tease him. “You know Drake, you could still resuscitate that cow. Just saying.” “Heh. Yeah, Laura. Just walk it by a grill before you serve it.” “It’s so raw, I think it’s eating the salad.” Drake rolled his eyes. “What can I say? I like my steak breathing.” “Hey Drake?” “What?” “What do you call a cow with a twitch?” Drake shook his head. Laura smirked. “Beef jerky!” Rinda rolled her eyes and snorted. It was the perfect stupid teacher joke. “You got that from a student, right?” Laura grinned and nodded. Mr. Geoduck finally spoke again and Rinda jumped. He was so busy sulking that she forgot all about him. “You know, I’ve always thought teaching would be a great job. Summers off and all of that.” Drake felt Rinda squeeze his hand and he grinned. He knew teachers worked evenings and weekends, and he was quickly experiencing some of the heartbreaking stories first-hand. But he was also learning how rewarding it was—and how well-deserved a summer vacation is. The guy was definitely a jerk, degrading Laura’s profession. Drake looked over at Laura, who was giving Mr. Geoduck an icy stare. She was ready to throat punch him for being so purposely rude. “Actually, there is a lot of work involved throughout the school year. If you add up the hours we work during the school year it easily adds up to the time people work during a full year. All of us work a lot of evenings and weekends so we can help the kids. In fact, we have a lot of things to need to prep for next week, so we really can’t stay much longer.” That was the cue to wrap things up, but the man grabbed Laura’s hand to kiss it. “I’ve upset you. Please let me make it up to you. There’s that out-of-town wedding coming up. I booked a hotel room with a jacuzzi so we can make a weekend of it.” Laura turned pale and Rinda furiously grabbed a fork, ready to lunge at the man and gouge his eyes out if necessary. Laura spoke quietly at first, but her voice gained volume as she gained confidence. “No, I don’t want to go to the wedding with you. I don’t want to see you again. Thank you for dinner, but this evening is over.” The man grabbed Laura’s hand to prevent her from standing up and she winced in pain, but Drake was already standing up, applying a pressure point to the man’s shoulder so he would let Laura go. He gently helped Laura up, and Rinda quickly grabbed their purses and got ready to escort Laura to the front door, but first Rinda had to say something to Mr. Geoduck. “Thank you for taking care of the check tonight. Since you insisted on ordering for all of us and educating us on the food you forced us to eat, I realize that was your intent—to pay for the entire bill.” It was a statement, not a question. She glanced at Drake. Don’t you dare pay for anything. Drake nodded.

Rinda put her arm around Laura and quickly walked her to the front door. Laura was starting to cry and Rinda was gently soothing her. “It’s okay. Drake is taking care of him, okay? But I can’t leave you alone. We have to walk out together and wait for the valet to get our car.” The owner of the restaurant walked over to offer Laura to see if he could help, but Rinda instinctively stepped in front of Laura to protect her. The man smiled. “It’s okay. You’re Rinda, right?” Rinda nodded. “I’m sorry about that. Thank you for everything you and your staff are doing to help us tonight.” “It’s fine. Please come into the office while you wait. I’ll have your car brought up and we have additional staff who are helping Drake.” Laura was shaking, and Rinda kept her arms around her, rubbing her back and trying to soothe her. “Is our server okay?” The man nodded to Rinda. “Yes, she isn’t going back to that table. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to present the check and ensure the man stays here until you leave.” When Drake stormed up it was clear he was furious at the man and how he treated Laura. Rinda was shocked. She had never seen Drake so furious before. “Drake, are you okay to drive so I can sit in the back with Laura? Otherwise I can drive if you want to sit in back with her.” “Rinda is a better driver” Laura weakly joked. The valet came in to hand Rinda the keys just as “Tria” came running up with to-go bags of food. “I was afraid I was too late! You almost forgot the cookies! And I also wrapped up the food, even the sweetbreads. But not your leftover balut.” Rinda laughed and gave the server a hug. “Thank you for everything. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that ass, but I’m so glad you and everyone else were here to help us.” She smiled. “No problem. We’ve all been there, and we have to stick together to keep each other safe.” Rinda gave her hand one last squeeze before they left. After they left the owner made a phone call. “Bastien? They just left. Yeah, you were right. He was an ass but Drake took care of him, and Rinda was there to help Laura. No, the ladies left with Drake. They’re safe. And the guy’s still here. We’re taking our time getting him the bill so he doesn’t have a chance to follow them outside. No, Rinda made him pay for the entire check. She’s quite the spitfire, isn’t she? . . . Of course. I’m happy to help. Good night.” . . . . . “Mr. Lykel? Is everything okay?” Bastien smiled at Henry. “Yup. Hey, did you know that your mom is pretty amazing?” Henry grinned. “Yeah, she has her moments. Did that guy piss her and Aunt Laura off? Did Uncle Drake kick his ass? I can’t wait to hear about it.” Bastien ruffled Henry’s hair and laughed. “None of your business. Now, are there any chocolate chip cookies left or did you eat them all?” . . . . .

Rinda jumped into the driver’s seat and Drake helped Laura into the backseat. “Guys, I’m sorry, but we have to go. If the door is closed I’m moving.” Rinda started driving while Drake helped Laura get comfortable in her seat and he reached around her to buckle her seatbelt. Then he put his suitcoat around her. Laura gave him a shy smile. “Thanks.” Drake smiled. “You’re welcome. Can I do anything else right now?” Laura shook her head, but she leaned on Drake and held his hand. Rinda stopped at a drive thru to get burgers and shakes for everyone, and then she drove back to the school. Laura and Drake had their cars there, and she wanted to go back to a central location before they talked to Laura and figured out the best way to help her that night. Drake offered to take Laura home, and then he was going to spend the night at Mr. Ariti’s house. Then Rinda was going to pick up Laura in the morning to take her to work. Drake wanted to do it, but Rinda reminded him that it would only start rumors if he was the one to bring her to work. It just wasn’t worth it. Rinda got out of the car and took Laura to the side so Drake wouldn’t hear her. She gently cupped Laura’s face with her hands. “Laura, he was an ass, but there are a lot of good guys out there. I promise. Just look at Julian and Theo. Santos. Drake and Bastien. Jameson and I didn’t get married until we were almost 30, and it was worth the wait. I promise, good guys do exist. And you can trust Drake, okay? He’ll get you home safely. I wouldn’t let him drive you home if I had any doubt.” Then she gave Laura a hug and waited while Drake helped Laura into his jeep, buckled her again, and handed her the leftovers, burgers, and shakes to eat on the way home. Then he carefully closed the door for her. He turned around to say something to Rinda, but she didn’t give him the chance. She gave Drake a hug and whispered into his ear “Mr. Geoduck wasn’t the gentleman tonight. You were. And thank you.” She pulled back. “And for the record, usually when a girl is excited about getting flowers she keeps them somewhere where she can look at them all day. Not in the teacher’s lounge.” Rinda knew he was about to start running his hand through his hair, so she quickly tousled his hair and whispered “Goodnight, Strubelkopf” Goodnight Tousled Hair, before getting back into her car.

 @asherella-is-a-dork-3  @liam-rhys

[snarkiara]

Moon Chosen by PC Cast: About the Book + Chapter 1

First Thing’s First: Why did I buy this book?

I really like PC Cast’s earlier work, The Goddess Summoning Series and Tales of Parthelon, they’re well written, witty, and fun. They’re also Romance Novels. (The one’s I have most issue with are the second in Parthelon (Divine by Choice) and the last in Goddess Summoning (Goddess of Legend)) I started disliking her work when she and her daughter wrote The House of Night Series which is . . . disgusting.

Here’s a short list of wrongs from Fandom Hates People of Color

The MC killed two black men for no reason

Another link

Something people always applaud it for is that it doesn’t slut-shame because the main character has a whole bunch of partners and that is just . . . wrong. It does slut-shame other characters via the MC’s misogyny. Also the main character having multiple partners isn’t a good thing because she’s CHEATING on all of them.

Case in point: her ex almost died and ended up in the hospital so she lost her virginity to her teacher (this is statutory rape btw, he was also manipulating her but somehow she still agreed to it while thinking the man she loved was dying???) who she’d been cheating on said ex with and then later when she gets back together with her ex and he’s paranoid the narrative treats it like he’s being paranoid and jealous for no reason despite the fact she cheated on him with three different guys

just. yikes.

So when that series ended and I saw PC Cast was going to do a book alone I wondered “Is everything bad in House of Night from her daughter? How much is from her?” I was also curious because Moon Chosen would be PC Cast’s first solo YA novel. 

Let me tell you right here and now that’s it was not all her daughter.

Moon Chosen is a YA novel published by St. Martin's Griffin in 2016 and it has one sequel entitled Sun Warrior (2017).

The Cover:

It’s not bad. One of the reasons I got it was because of the cover. I especially like the sun-like o (I think it’s supposed to be moon-like but . . .)

Goodreads Summary:

Chosen to embrace her true identity. Chosen to follow her destiny. Chosen to change her world.

Mari is an Earth Walker, heir to the unique healing powers of her Clan, but she has been forced to turn from her duties, until she is chosen by a special animal ally, altering her destiny forever. When a deadly attack tears her world apart, Mari reveals the strength of her powers and the forbidden secret of her dual nature as she embarks on a mission to save herself and her people. It is not until Nik, the son of the leader from a rival, dominating Tribe, strays across her path that Mari experiences something she has never felt before…

Now evil is coming, and with it, a force more terrible and destructive than the world has ever seen, leaving Mari to cast the shadows from the earth. By breaking Clan Law and forming an alliance with Nik, she must make herself ready. Ready to save her people. Ready to save herself and Nik. Ready to embrace her true destiny…and battle the forces that threaten to destroy them all.

Now, there’s a lot to unpack here. PC Cast always uses mythology in her books, focusing on European mythologies such as Greek, Celtic, and Roman. Since the MC in House of Night’s Native American heritage was NOT handled well I was already worried when I realized this story almost definitely took place in a fantasy North America (Hint: The series title is Tales of a New World).

I also want everyone to know that the top two reviews on Goodreads were both 1 stars. XD Here and here.

Now, reminder that when I first got this book like 2 years ago I couldn’t even get past PAGE 2

Without Further Ado: Chapter 1

There’s a lot to unpack here so I’m literally going to transcribe the entire first 2 pages to ya’ll because it is physically painful to read and I want all of you to share my pain.

The contagious sound of women’s laughter filled the warm, tidy burrow.

“Oh, Mari! That is not an illustration from the myth I just told you.”

Mari’s mother held the sheet of handmade paper in one hand and pressed the other hand against her mouth, unsuccessfully trying to hold back another bout of laughter.

“Mama, your job is to tell the stories. My job is to sketch them. That’s our game, right? Our favorite game.”

“Well, yes,” Leda said, still trying to fix her expression to a more sober one. “I do tell the stories, but you tend to sketch what you think you hear.”

“I don’t see the problem with that.” Mari moved to stand beside her mother and studied the newly finished sketch with her. “This is exactly what I saw as you were telling the story of Narcissus and Echo.”

If they’re in North America . . . why are they talking about Greek gods? This tells me that at least Mari’s mother Leda isn’t Native American. (As also evidenced from their names.)

“Mari, you made Narcissus look like a young man turning into a flower. Awkwardly.  He has one hand that is a leaf and the other that is still a hand. The same with his--” Leda stifled a giggle. “Well, with several other parts of his anatomy. And he has a mustache and a silly look on his face--though I do admit it is an amazing talent you have that can bring a silly-looking half flower, half man, to life.” Leda pointed to the sketch and the ghostly nymph who Mari had somehow made to look bored and annoyed as she watched the transformation of Narcissus. “You made Echo look--” Leda hesitated, obviously searching for the right words.

“Fed up with Narcissus and his ego?” Mari offered.

Leda gave up all pretense of admonishment and laughed out loud. “Yes, that is exactly how you made Echo look, though that is not the story I told.”

“Well, Leda.” Mari used her mother’s given name as she waggled her brows at her. “I was listening to your story and as I was drawing I decided that something was definitely left out of the ending.”

Even I know this is too much telling instead of showing.

“The ending? Really?” Leda bumped her daughter with her shoulder. “And stop calling me Leda.”

“But, Leda, that’s your name.”

“To the rest of the world. To you my name is Mother.”

“Mother? Really? It’s so--”

“Respectful and traditional?” This time Leda offered to finish her daughter’s thought.

“More like boring and old,” Mari said, eyes shining as she waited for her mother’s predictable response.

“Boring and old? Did you just call me boring and old?”

“What? Me? Call you boring and old? Never, Mama, never!” Mari giggled and held her hand up in surrender.

This is not how mothers and daughters talk to each other? Gods I miss when PC wrote Romance novels. She is obviously not in her element in YA novels and doesn’t understand that - considering I started reading her work back in middle school and never had any trouble understanding it - she doesn’t need to change her writing style to apply to teenagers. I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening because it reads more like House of Night than anything else I’ve read of hers so I don’t think it’s devolving I think it’s a deliberate choice.

“All fixed,” She said, holding up the sketch for Leda to inspect.

“Mari, his eyes are crossed,” Leda said.

“The rest of the story made me think he wasn’t too smart. So I made him look not very smart.”

I’ve not even gone half a page and already there’s this ableist crap and Mari shaming her mother for having been a teen mother.

Okay so Mari just named 4 Clans: Clan Weaver, Clan Fisher, Clan Miller, and Clan Wood. How many clans are there and do they all have specializations which give them their names?

[Mari] “Blueberries! Really, Mama? That would be wonderful. I love the color of ink I make with them. It’s a nice change from the black stain I get from walnuts.”

What?

[Leda] “I do, and I’m looking forward to dyeing a new cloak for you this spring, but I admit freely that I would rather eat a blueberry pie!”

WHAT?

So Mari brings up that Leda’s name is from a story and then mentions that her grandmother Cassandra did not name things sensibly. Then . . .

“You know very well that Moon Women always name their daughters whatever is whispered to them on the wind by the Great Earth Mother. My mother, Cassandra, was named by her mother, Penelope. I heard your lovely name whispered by our Earth Mother the full moon night before you were born.”

“My name is boring.” Mari sighed. “Does that mean the Earth Mother thinks I’m boring?”

“No, that means the Earth Mother thinks we should make up a story to go with your name--a story all your own.”

This reads like Mari’s 10 years old. She’s 16-17. So their clan is the Moon Clan and so far they’ve only mentioned Moon Women, no Moon Men and Mari’s father is not from the Moon Clan.

Woah okay here we go.

“Mari, sweet girl, I cannot tell another story tonight, though I wish I could, sunset is not far off, and tonight the moon will be full and brilliant. The needs of the Clan will be great.”

Mari opened her mouth to plead with Leda to stay just for a few moments more, to put her needs before those of the Clan, but before she could speak her small, selfish desire her mother’s body twitched spasmodically, shoulders trembling, head jerking painfully and uncontrollably. Though she had already turned from her daughter, as always trying to shield her from the change night brought with it. Mari knew all too well what was happening.

. . . She took her mother’s hand, holding it in both of hers, hating how cold it had become--hating the pale silver-gray tinge that was beginning to spread across her skin. And wishing, always wishing, that she could soothe the pain that visited her mother with the setting of the sun every night of her life.

Or . . . not? I’m . . . very confused because Mari’s sad she took up her mother’s time till after sunset which causes her mother pain but then . . . continues taking up her time??? Like after her mother goes through this pain they start . . . exchanging gifts? Her mother made her a flower crown that’s called a Maiden . . . Moon . . . Crown. What? 

[I didn’t transcribe this part but I want you all to know that the words “glowmoss” and “glowshrooms” (“which suspended . . . like organic chandeliers”) were actually used.]

Men have finally been mentioned and it doesn’t look good.

“. . . I’m afraid this spring moon won’t be as festive as usual. Not after so many Earth Walkers have been recently captured by the Companions. The Earth Mother feels unusually restless to me, as if uncomfortable changes are coming. Our women have been filled with more sorrow than usual, and our men--well, we know the anger the Night Fever brews within our men.”

“They won’t just be angry, they’ll be dangerous. Damn Scratchers!

“Mari, don’t call your people that. It makes them sound like monsters.”

“They’re only half my people, Mother, and at night they are monsters. [wow wtf] Or at least the men are. What would happen if you didn’t wash them of the Night fever every three days? Wait, I know what would happen. It’s why a Moon Woman’s burrow has to always be hidden, even from her own Clan.” [WTF. btb they live in an actual burrow underground] Frustration and fear caused her words to be harsh, and as soon as she’d spoken them the sadness that filled her mother’s eyes made her regret such harshness.

“Mari, you must never forget that at night, even I have within me the capacity to be a monster.”

“Not you! I didn’t mean you. I’d never mean you!

“But the moon is all that keeps me from becoming more Scratcher than Earth Walker. Sadly, our people cannot call down the moon as I can, so I must do it for them as least once every three nights. Tonight is a Third Night, as well as the spring full moon. Our Clan will gather, and I will Wash [why is this capitalized?] them so that their lives may be open to accept love and joy instead of mired in melancholy and anger . . .”

I have no doubt this is going to be another Native American werewolves story. Seriously? SERIOUSLY? It goes into Mari being self-deprecating after this because she wants more than to be a part of her Clan and then talks about how Leda’s been hiding the truth about Mari her whole life. Presumably, that Mari is only half Moon Clan.

Okay so they talk about Mari’s power and how she keeps failing to do what her mother does but her mother assures her that nothing’s wrong because she “sane” with no sign of “madness or pain.” Leda needs to choose and apprentice but Mari’s wavering because she doesn’t think she’s good enough. Leda wants Mari to join her for the ceremony that night.

So apparently Mari has a choice to-be or not-to-be a Moon Woman?

Leda goes into pain again and Mari agrees to go with her.

Oh. oh no.

“Let me touch up your face. We’ll need to dye your hair again soon, but not tonight.”

Mari stifled a sigh and tilted her face up so that her mother could reapply the muddy mixture that kept their secret.

Leda worked in silence, thickening her daughter’s brow, flattening her cheekbones, and then, lastly, smearing the dirty, sticky clay substance down her neck and arms.

Brownface. Wow. I can’t even.

In other news Mari accidentally touched sunlight which caused a filigree pattern and a rush of power to spread over the skin on her hand even through the brownface.

So. Mari’s lighter skinned than the rest of her clan and she has an affinity for the sun instead of the moon. (btw that’s the opposite of how it should be genetically but whatever) Her mother and her have been hiding this for 17 years by keeping her locked up in the burrow during the day and hidden under clothing and brownface while she’s out at night. Wow.

This chapter was only 10 pages.

[aion-rsa]

I Think You Should Leave Season 2: Ranking Every Sketch

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

How on Earth did we survive two years without new episodes of Netflix’s brilliant sketch comedy series I Think You Should Leave with Tim Robinson? The first batch of six episodes premiered on April 23 of 2019 and proved instantly iconic. 

Contained within the season’s roughly two-dozen sketches was absolutely hilarious and essential comedy that provided ample memetic kindling for the internet’s conversational fire. For the focused enough mind, it’s entirely possible to communicate with one’s friends exclusively in I Think You Should Leave memes. Lord knows, I’ve tried it.

Thankfully, ITYSL season 2 has finally arrived on Netflix after its COVID-19 delay. It features 28 sketches that range from “pretty funny” to “I can’t stop laughing. Oh God, I can’t stop laughing. It hurts, surely this is the end. Surely, I will die.”

Check out our rankings below and then begin yelling at our chances like Spectrum is dropping your network.

28. Credit Card Roulette

If nothing else, Tim Robinson and I Think You Should Leave co-creator Zach Kanin are incredible comedy scouts. Through two seasons, the show’s sketches have been a who’s who of up-and-coming comedic talent, like the wonderful John Early who is featured in this sketch. Unfortunately Early is not served well by the material here, which doesn’t rise to the same ludicrous heights as season 2’s other sketches. The best moment is Early’s immediate resolve that he’s not paying the bill, but the sketch doesn’t go too far after that. 

27. Dave’s Poop Double

The sketch that serves as the cold open of season 2’s final episode doesn’t get things off to the best start. The concept of Tim’s “Luka” hiring a guy who looks just like his coworker Dave to take monster shits every time he gets up is certainly fun but missing an important layer of added absurdity. Luka is probably the best name for any of Robinson’s random characters yet though.

26. Little Buff Boys Pt. 2

Season 2 features many more callbacks to previous sketches than the first season did. This followup to Little Buff Boys is the worst of the bunch but still quite funny. Perhaps the only thing more absurd than a Little Buff Boys competition is someone being proud of running “one of” the biggest LBB competitions in the Greater Cincinnati area. This sketch also passes up an easy Cincinnati Chili joke in favor of creating the truly vile “cherry chuck salad.”

25. Detective Crashmore Trailer

This trailer for action thriller Detective Crashmore is funny enough on its own but doesn’t reach another comedic level until the AOL Blast interview two sketches later. Still, I unironically want to see an action film with a lead character whose main quip is “Eat fucking bullets, you fuckers. You fucking suck. You fucking SUCK!”

24. I Should Have Got That

I Think You Should Leave deserves a big spread in AARP magazine. No other sketch show revels in the talents of older comedians quite like this one. After 81-year-old comedian Ruben Rabasa stole the show in season 1, season 2 ups the ante with many more sketches letting old folks shine. It’s Bob McDuff Wilson’s turn this time around and his child-like obsession with his student’s burger kills right up until the shockingly dark kicker.

23. Office Surfing

“I almost killed myself, Jullliieeeeee” is one of the best line-reads of the season. The sketch it’s built around isn’t too remarkable but man, does Robinson knock that one out of the park. 

22. “No, I Don’t Know How to Drive”

This is a quickie but a goodie. Robinson’s characters break down in tears quite often this season and this is one of the better occasions. How far have Tim’s characters come – from reveling in the existence of four-wheeled motorcycles to looking at the inside of a car and weeping “I don’t know what any of this shit is and I’m fucking scared.”

21. The Capital Room

Speaking of top tier comedic talent, thank God Patti Harrison stopped by another season of I Think You Should Leave. This time around, we get two heaping doses of Patti. This one, the first of the two, is the inferior but still quite great. In the span of roughly 30 seconds, Harrison unveils the saga of a woman who A. Got sewn into the pants of the Thanksgiving Day parade Charlie Brown float, B. Hates all bald boys, C. Sued the city and won a fortune, D. Is now helplessly addicted to wine, and E. Is tragically self-aware that her money will run out soon.

20. But It’s Lunch

Just like last year’s opening sketch, “But It’s Lunch” (this is probably a good time to mention, that I’m naming all of these things myself. You could very easily call this the Hotdog sketch but that would confuse it with last year’s hotdog sketch) sets the perfect opening mood. The sight gag of Robinson’s Pat trying to stealthily eat a hotdog is wonderful, and the fact that things so quickly escalate to hotdog surgery and puke is just sublime. 

19. Carber Hotdog Vacuum

The follow-up to “But It’s Lunch” occurs a full two episodes later and proves to be a hell of a pay-off. Robinson’s unnamed character (who is obviously Pat) very quickly reveals that there is one very specific reason he made this hotdog vacuum invention and you’ll never guess what it was. We all make mistakes. We shouldn’t be fired for them.

18. Insider Trading Trial (Stupid Hat)

This sketch somewhat mimics the experience of trying to explain what I Think You Should Leave is like to someone who has never seen it. “So, this guy took too small a slice of toilet paper…” or “…and then he has to have to have sex with his mother-in-law.” “Insider Trading” rotely describes the bizarre behaviors of one of Robinson’s deeply strange characters, Brian, as it’s being read into the court record. Brian and his stupid fedora with the safari flaps is in attendance to provide a visual aid. As are some hilarious flashbacks in which Brian attempts to roll the hat down his arm like Fred Astaire and instead encounters only wheelchair grease. 

17. The Ice Cream Store is Closed Today

Before he was a criminal lawyer, Bob Odenkirk was one of the most legendary sketch writers of all time. It’s only fitting that he stop by ITYSL season 2 to provide his comedic blessing. Odenkirk is great from the get-go but this one doesn’t really get rolling until the end when Robinson finds himself truly immersed in the fictional life of this sad old man. “His wife’s sick but she’s gonna get better” is a shockingly emotional moment amid pure farce.

16. Barbie and the Blues Brothers

This is the sketch that climbed the most in my rankings upon a second viewing. What first seemed to be a waste of Conner O’Malley’s manic comedic energy became a semi-classic once I submitted to its strange vibes. I don’t even know what to call this one but Robinson’s character refusing to stop dancing as Barbie the dog melts down is hilarious. O’Malley is better served by last season’s “honk if you’re horny” sketch, still he gets some bangers in this time around like “She thinks he’s a whole new guy because of the glasses and the hat” and “it’s her house, she’s doing what’s right!” Robinson once again closes this nonsense out with some well-earned tears. “It’s just me, Barbie. I’m not the Blues Brothers.”

15. Jaime Taco (I Love My Wife)

“Jamie Taco” is a prime example of just how rapidly (and how well) I Think You Should Leave is able to veer into pure nonsensical genius. At the top, this sketch comes perilously close to making an actual statement about how men are too quick to pretend like their wives are horrible nags. This sketch, however, has its sights set on something much dumber…and therefore better. Our hero (played hilariously by Richard Jewell’s Paul Walter Hauser) loves his wife because she helped him through his darkest moment, which just so happens to be when snotty young actor Jamie Taco refused to let him say his Henchman lines in a play.

14. Comos Restaurant 

All hail the return of the great Tim Heidecker! Heidecker, of Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! fame, is one of the few comedians with a strange enough sensibility to be reasonably seen as an I Think You Should Leave forerunner. His season 1 turn as a walnut-obsessed jazz douche is a classic and this one reaches similar heights. This time, Heidecker’s character, Gary, and his lovely date, Janeane (Tracey Birdsall), have good reason to be annoyed by their date night at the sci-fi cosmos restaurant being interrupted by some hacky jokes. Of course, they use this opportunity to reveal that Jeannine’s mom used to drink puke for the Davy and Rascal radio show to pay for school supplies. It’s oddly refreshing to have a Heidecker character given a game partner and Gary and Janeane make one great team.

13. Detective Crashmore Interivew

While the Detective Crashmore trailer is the setup, this interview with AOL Blast is the punchline. Detective Crashmore is played by Santa Claus, because why not? Actor Biff Wiff’s gruff, nasally Midwestern timber is the perfect accent to accompany this lunacy. This is a Santa who in one breath demands to be taken seriously as an actor (Billy Bob Thornton-style) and in the next admits to seeing everyone in the world’s dick.

12. Sloppy Steaks (I Used to Be a Piece of Shit)

From here on out, it’s nothing but absolute homeruns. “Sloppy Steaks” could very well have been number one on this list and few would have batted an eye. The setup here is amazing as it gives Tim Robinson a reason to essentially have beef with a baby. The baby cries because he knows Robinson used to be a piece of shit. But don’t babies understand that people can change? That’s funny enough to begin with, but the real gut-busting moment here is the reveal of what “being a piece of shit” really means. In this case it means slicking one’s hair back and dousing the steaks at Truffoni’s with water to make sloppy steaks.

11. Johnny Carson Impersonator

Just a quick rundown for those who are confused…

Johnny Carson = Can Hit. George Kennedy = Can’t Hit. George Bush = Can’t Hit. 

10. Driving School (Her Job is Tables)

This is the rare I Think You Should Leave sketch that actually provides an answer to all the lunacy. As Robinson’s character’s Driver’s Ed class watches Patti Harrison’s actress in some dated videos, they can’t help but wonder what she does for a living. “Tables,” Robinson answers over and over again. This would be funny enough on its own but the reveal that Harrison provides tables to Monster Cons is a rare and valuable moment of “Ohhhhh that’s why” for this show. Equally as valuable is Harrison, who really sells that those tables are her lifeblood.

9. Claire’s Ear-Piercings

One has to wonder how much time goes into choosing the perfect “order” for the sketches in I Think You Should Leave. Two seasons in a row now, the show has selected pitch perfect opening and closing sketches. This closing number is oddly melancholic as the Claire’s orientation video for girls who want to get their ears pierced somehow gives way to one 58-year-old man named Ron Tussbler’s existential dread. If we really get to see the “highlights” after we die, forcibly fake laughing every ten minutes to make the voyeuristic experience all the richer sounds like a good strategy and not sad at all. Hang in there, Ron.

8. Little Buff Boys Competition

What. A. Crop. It was a virtual certainty that ITYSL season 2 would feature a spiritual successor to the classic “Baby of the Year” sketch in season 1. Thank God “Little Buff Boys” is up to the challenge of replicating that magic. This one has all the right elements to be another hit: Sam Richardson (in a wig this time, no less), a grand pageant hall, and some precocious youths. Troll Boy also joins the canon of young ITYSL characters who everybody instinctively hates alongside Bart Harley Jarvis.

7. Tammy Craps

There’s something weirdly nefarious about this commercial for a poisonous doll that doesn’t have farts in her head anymore. It’s a criticism of late stage capitalism crossed with the cursed nature of the Annabelle movies…while not being like either of those things at all. In reality, this is just another absurdist concept sprung from the terrifying inner depths of the writing staff’s mind. It also happens to be a particularly great one. The girl weighing her clothes down with rocks so she can hit the magical 60-pound threshold to safely play with Tammy Craps is one of the best gags of the season.

6. Karl Havoc

“Little Buff Boys Competition” and another upcoming sketch are likely to produce the lion’s share of memes and quotes from this season of ITYSL. But the one quote that’s stuck in my mind most aggressively comes from this hilarious episode 1 clip. The sight of Robinson’s Carmine Laguzio posing as the dead-faced freakshow Karl Havoc and muttering “I don’t want to be around anymore” is quite simply one of the funniest things I’ve ever witnessed. This is a marvelous, unnerving, utterly hilarious sketch. That there are somehow five better sketches speaks to how strong this season is. 

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5. Dan Flashes Pt. 1 (Office)

I Think You Should Leave is now two for two in introducing the most cutting edge items in men’s fashion. Season 1 featured the arrival of the highly practical TC Tugger shirt. Now season 2 ups the ante with the stylish Dan Flashes. This sketch succeeds because it takes a simple question “Why is Mike laying down during a business meeting?” and divines the most outlandish answer possible. Mike isn’t eating because he’s spending all his money on Dan Flashes shirts. 

4. Dan Flashes Pt. 2 (Hotel Menu)

It’s one thing to introduce a hilarious concept, it’s another thing entirely to put it into practice. This second entry into the Dan Flashes canon is amazing. Back in part 1, it seemed as though the intricate patterns on the Dan Flashes shirts have a hypnotic effect on men who look exactly like Tim Robinson. Seeing the reality of that – pasty men battling one another to get their credit cards to the cashier before the other – is truly hilarious stuff.

3. Coffin Flop

This is the second sketch of the entire season…the second! And holy shit, does it set a strong precedent for what’s to come. This impassioned message from the Corncob TV CEO for Spectrum to save his network and its precisely one television program is a masterclass in shock humor. Watching body after body busting out of shit wood somehow never loses its grim luster. Somehow, in a sketch that features dozens of naked corpses flopping to the ground unexpectedly, it’s Robinson’s monologue that hits the hardest. “This world is so fucked up. And people are mad at me because I showed a bunch of naked dead bodies with their spread blue butts flying out of boxes? Really?”

2. Calico Cut Pants

Every episode of I Think You Should Leave season 2 features five sketches save for episode 4 which has only three. And that’s because episode 4 is dominated by a near 10-minute epic called “Calico Cut Pants.” In many ways, Calico Cut Pants is the platonic ideal of an ITYSL sketch. It takes place in a nightmarish world where every bizarre action only leads to an even more bizarre reaction. Nothing ever cools down. There is always something stranger on the horizon.

In this instance, Mike O’Brien (longtime SNL writer and the creator of the terminally underrated comedy A.P. Bio) plays an office drone who enters into a living hell merely because his co-worker helps him out of a mildly annoying social jam. Robinson’s character introduces him to a website that advertises pants with piss stains on them. That’s all well and good but once you know about Calicocutpants.com you Always. Have. To. Give. It’s like PBS, but more demonic. This remarkable sketch includes everything that’s great about this show, right down to characters with inexplicable idiosyncrasies like Tim Robinson’s adamance that doors must always be held open for him.

1. Ghost Tour

The funniest moment in ITYSL season 2 (and maybe the funniest moment in the history of the world) occurs in this sketch. Tim Robinson’s character has been admonished for his potty mouth during a ghost tour over and over again. The tour guide even said he’s ruining his job. But this poor man sincerely cannot understand why he’s in trouble. This is a tour for adults and he’s following the rules by using adult language. Like any good Robinson character, he truly believes that he’s the sane one and it’s the rest of the world that’s taking crazy pills.

So in his darkest moment, the man musters up his strength through tears and delivers the following query:

“Not trying to be funny. Not trying to get a laugh. I don’t want anybody to have the worst day at their job. But. Do any of these….fuckers….ever blast out of the wall and have, like a huge cum shot?”

Cue: riotous, damn near apocalyptic laughter. What a treasure and blessing this whole show is.

I Think You Should Leave season 2 is available to stream on Netflix now.

The post I Think You Should Leave Season 2: Ranking Every Sketch appeared first on Den of Geek.

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