#she legitimately left me stumped

[dawntheduckrb]

It’s week five of our current sermon series;

I uh… missed a week. I wasn’t feeling very good (extremely tired from work) last Sunday morning so I ended up not going to church, and since it was my sister’s birthday and my family was getting the house ready for the people coming over, they didn’t mind if I slept in for the one week. 

I said in a post (I can’t remember which one) that I was going to make it up at some point, but after looking at what I missed, I don’t think I will. It was discussing hell, how it’s the result of our lack of faith in God, and how it is “very much a real place.” I’ll be honest, the concept of hell is the biggest part of religion that I haven’t been able to shake my fear of. Thinking about it still sends me into extreme anxiety, and sometimes panic attacks, and I start to spiral pretty quickly with it. I’ll hopefully be able to tackle that someday with you know, an actual professional, but until then, I take a lot of comfort in the fact that I am far from the only ex-christian who goes through stuff like this. Anyway, I don’t know how well it would’ve gone if I had to sit through a whole hour and a half of discussion about Revelations.

Tldr; It was probably for the best that I didn’t go for that one lol. I might copy and paste the shorthand notes from our church’s pre-made sermon summary on their website, but if I do it’ll be later this week. 

Now that that’s been said, onto the sermon for this week…

cw; religion, misogyny (? sort of? Putting it there just in case)

Week 5: Does the Bible Devalue Women?

Just as a foreword, this sermon referred to gender as male and female only, and only considered assigned sex. For the sake of brevity, I’m not gonna open that can of worms because it will be discussed in a later week.

“The Bible’s words on women are the words of a man who lays down his life. The ultimate man laid down his life for the billions of women who have trusted him with theirs. Does Christianity denigrate women? On the contrary. It lifts us into fellowship with God himself.”

-Rebecca McLaughlin

Throughout the sermon, our assistant pastor (he only preaches on Sundays occasionally) makes the argument that the bible actually lifts up women instead of degrading them, as it is commonly thought to be by people who criticize the bible. The first evidence of this is shown right at the beginning of the bible. (he also gave a quick reminder of something our main pastor said at the beginning of the series - not everything done in the name of Jesus is from Jesus)

1. In Creation

“Then God said, “Let us make human beings in our image, to be like us. They will reign over the fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, the livestock, all the wild animals on the earth, and the small animals that scurry along the ground.”

So God created human beings in his own image.

In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.

Then God blessed them and said, “Be fruitful and multiply. Fill the earth and govern it. Reign over the fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, and all the animals that scurry along the ground.”

Then God said, “Look! I have given you every seed-bearing plant throughout the earth and all the fruit trees for your food. And I have given every green plant as food for all the wild animals, the birds in the sky, and the small animals that scurry along the ground—everything that has life.” And that is what happened.

Then God looked over all he had made, and he saw that it was very good!

And evening passed and morning came, marking the sixth day. ”(Genesis 1:26-31)

The first thing he notes here is that God describes what he makes in the first five days of creation as “good,” but when he creates people, it is the only thing he calls “very good.” He is proud of his creation of us, because we were made in his likeness and our purpose was to reflect him. This is used to show that God loves every single one of us, because every one of us is made in his image.

“Then the Lord God said, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper who is just right for him.” So the Lord God formed from the ground all the wild animals and all the birds of the sky. He brought them to the man to see what he would call them, and the man chose a name for each one. He gave names to all the livestock, all the birds of the sky, and all the wild animals. But still there was no helper just right for him.

So the Lord God caused the man to fall into a deep sleep. While the man slept, the Lord God took out one of the man’s ribs and closed up the opening. Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib, and he brought her to the man.

“At last!” the man exclaimed. “This one is bone from my bone,

and flesh from my flesh! She will be called ‘woman,’ because she was taken from ‘man.’”

This explains why a man leaves his father and mother and is joined to his wife, and the two are united into one.

Now the man and his wife were both naked, but they felt no shame.” (Genesis 2:18-25)

The word “helper” appears here in reference to Eve. Many people equate the word helper to some sort of ‘less-than’ status. However, in the bible, helper means just that; helper. Eve was there to help make things better for Adam, and Adam even celebrated Eve’s arrival.

“The man cannot imagine God alone; he needs a helper… ‘Helper sounds like a subordinate role. But in the Hebrew Scriptures, the world helper is overwhelmingly applied to God himself, so it cannot imply inferior status.”

-Rebecca McLaughlin

“Woman is bone of man’s bone and flesh of his flesh: they are different but fundamentally linked. The God who exists in utter intimacy, with love across difference at the core of his being, creates image bearers who are of the same essence but different, and calls them into one-flesh unity.”

Many refer to the differences between men and women as reasons for women being subordinate. Our pastor said, yes, Adam and Eve were different from each other, but their differences complemented each other in a way that made life better for them. Differences don’t equate to being less than, it just means that the two things are different. Where one is weak, the other is strong. They balance out each other.

(He used an example to further the idea of differences commonly being thought of as inferior throughout history. He used Jim Crow laws; those laws used the phrase "separate but equal," but nobody was really equal under those laws, and people of color were thought of as less than in every manner.)

-Rebecca McLaughlin

This balance between weaknesses and strengths has been threatened and broken by sin; specifically, the original sin described in Genesis. Both Adam and Eve sinned, and the world has been broken ever since. This is not what God intended; we were made for harmony and a relationship with God, and now this will never come very easily.

“Then he said to the woman, “I will sharpen the pain of your pregnancy, and in pain you will give birth. And you will desire to control your husband, but he will rule over you.” (Genesis 3:16)

There is a solution to this brokenness through Jesus. “Jesus is the fulfillment of the hope that was promised in the Old Testament,” as our pastor said. 

2. Through Jesus

Throughout the bible, Jesus consistently weaves women into his preaching, and even addresses them when teaching. Our pastor listed a lot of sections of the bible very quickly without actually reading them, so I’ll quickly list them as he said it:

-Luke 15; woman loses a coin

-Luke 18; persistent widow

-Luke 21; poor widow

-Luke 7; woman anoints his feet

-John 4; samaritan woman at the well

-Luke 24; the first people that see Jesus raised are women

He respects them in all of his interactions with them and doesn’t put them or their struggles down. He sees their sin and their personhood just as he would with anyone else.

(honestly, I don’t have much to say here in terms of commentary. Jesus, as a person, was pretty okay)

3. But what about Paul?

(I am not very familiar with Paul’s beef with women and that argument, and our pastor did not explain why people take issue with Paul, so after a tiny bit of quick research, Paul basically promoted men’s authority over women, and said that women were not created in the image of god)

Here, our pastor said that Paul valued women as equal to men in worth, but with different roles. Again, different here does not mean less than. He said that we are all called to do different things for God, and that if we spent more time focusing on the things that God called us to do, we would not be as worried what god has not called us to do. I’d assume that this "difference in calling" is referring to the idea that women shouldn’t be serving directly in the church, or at least as pastors. (which is rich coming from our church, who has employed my mother as well as many other women on their staff and leadership teams)

Anyway, our God-ordained limits let us see how we help each other and lets us appreciate each other’s roles in serving god more.

He also said that when Paul refers to people as sons, the word ‘sons’ is more of a legal term? With this, he is able to say that women are included under the same umbrella as men. (He, again, didn't specify exactly which verse he was talking about, but regardless, this sounds like it’d be a bit of a stretch.) Therefore, every single one of us is meant to inherit the kingdom of God, and have all been called to submit to the king. Jesus was the first one of us to fully submit to God, and we are all meant to follow in his footsteps.

“And further, submit to one another out of reverence for Christ. For wives, this means submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For a husband is the head of his wife as Christ is the head of the church. He is the Savior of his body, the church. As the church submits to Christ, so you wives should submit to your husbands in everything. For husbands, this means love your wives, just as Christ loved the church. He gave up his life for her” (Ephesians 5:21-25)

“[This] is a call to pay attention to the character of Christ. If we hear the call of husbands as a mandate to oppress and dominate, we are forgetting that Jesus came not to be served but to serve, not to lead an army but to give his life as a ransom. When husbands are called to love their wives ‘as Christ loved the church and give himself up for her,’ the word translated ‘give up’ is the same one the Gosples use when Jesus is handed over to be crucified.” 

“We will never understand the Bible’s call on men and women unless we see Jesus as the ultimate man. He had strength to command storms, summon angel armies, and defeat death. But his arms held little children, his words elevated women, and his hands reached out to heal the sick. Jesus drove traders out of the temple with a whip. But he tenderly welcomed the outcast and weak.” 

-Rebecca McLaughlin, for both (I’m starting to think she’s the one that actually wrote the sermons)

That last quote went on for quite a bit more, but it was basically saying the same thing over and over so I cut it there.

And that’s it for the sermon. They ended up doing a few more songs afterward because this one was a bit shorter.

As for my thoughts… well, I kinda got them out in the car ride home when my mom started a small tiff out of nowhere. You really don’t have to look very far down Google to find where the Bible is demeaning to women, and I really don’t think our pastor actually got anywhere with the Paul argument. Above all though, I was mostly looking forward to them addressing the story of Bathsheba.

If you’re unfamiliar with the story, then the specific part I’m talking about here is when King David is on a balcony in his palace and happens to see a woman, Bathsheba, bathing on her roof (this is thought to be because she was on her period and would not be able to use normal baths). He becomes very interested in her, and orders his soldiers to bring her to him. He then rapes her, and attempts to kill her husband by ordering him to the front lines of the military. 

I just thought it was a shame that it wasn’t addressed here, because this story is sometimes referred to as a way to explain why women are at fault for tempting men in cases of rape (arguing that Bathsheba caused David to sin by bathing in sight of him). I was interested to see what they’d make of it. 

When asked about my thoughts on the sermon, I told this to my mother (just that I wished the story was mentioned), and she got a bit upset because she thought I was misunderstanding that story. After it got cleared up that we both, in fact, were on the same page in regards to the story, she said “well still, both Bathsheba and David sinned here.” I argued, no, Bathsheba was just bathing, and it was not her fault that David saw her. She agreed, but then said, “Bathsheba’s sin was sleeping with David.” I said, “how is that a sin? She didn’t chose to, she didn’t have a choice at all, it was either that or die.”

My mom said, “Yes. Those were choices. She chose to sleep with the king, and therefore sinned.”

I had absolutely no words so I kinda just shut up and pretended to agree to end the conversation. Hence the reason I hoped this story would be addressed in today’s sermon; for perspectives like these.

That’s really all I have to say for this sermon, so I’ll leave it at that. If I think of anything else during week I’ll add it (because there is definitely more to be said about the bible and women), but otherwise, thanks again as always for reading this far :D sorry about the vent tacked on the end, I think I just needed to get it out of my system haha.

Pre-Monday Quackers

[cutegayorc]

Adopted by a Werewolf Chapter 4

I'm really sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out. It turns out writing scenes involving a character having a panic attackc and then lead to you yourself having a panic attack. Fun! Anyway, I hope you enjoy. I've already finished chapter 5, I've just got to finish editing. Also I've been picking up some editing tips from random parts of the internet so if my editing changes from chapter to chapter, that's not random. Apologies for those who like consitency. I'm a bit of a messy bitch that way.

Editor Credits Perky: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/perk0/ Lan the Orc: https://lantheorc.sofurry.com/ ------

Druid’s Falls was far smaller than Bright Rock. Bright Rock felt like three small cities pushed together. The slums, old town and new town. But Druid’s Falls was a small village with one winding road. The small cabins were built up against the nearby woods and a logging camp stood at the end of the road where the majority of the village worked. Parts of the woods had been cleared leaving only stumps. Other parts, there were holes where stumps used to be. Lastly there were areas where the holes left by the stumps had been filled and new baby trees had been planted. Rodrig and Jeremiah passed by all of this. The people waved as they passed. Jeremiah always waved back with a big smile. Rodrig tried to do the same, but it felt awkward. He worried people were judging him for riding on the cart. Even if he did have a legitimate reason to be doing so. Once they had passed the last cabin, they made a left turn from the main road into the forest. Rodrig wondered why they didn’t stop at the inn he saw before. Especially since the place they did eventually stop was far out of the way. 

Four buildings sat by each other. Two cottages, one large and one small, sat by each other and behind them was a barn which currently housed a small horse. Lastly was a circular stone building with a large wood stove next to it, large pipes connecting into the side of the building. 

They stopped in front of the large cottage but before Jeremiah could approach and knock, a tiny olive skinned woman popped out the door and onto the porch. Her face was wrinkled in that way where you know she was the type to always smile and oh when she smiled at seeing their arrival. All of those creases on her face falling into place as she irradiated an energy like the sun. 

“Big wolf!” She called. Her accent was heavy, Over-pronouncing the o in wolf.

“Granny!” Jeremiah called back and opened his arms. She jumped from the porch and landed in his arms giving him tiny kisses all over his face. He laughed and they swung around in a circle. 

“You are back so quick.” She said as Jeremiah set her down. She barely reached past his waist. 

“There were some complications,” Jeremiah began to explain. “Quick extraction was necessary. Have you heard from the Watcher of Bright Rock?”

“I have heard nothing,” She said. “That man is an asshole. He wouldn’t talk to me unless it was for business.” 

Jeremiah's normal happy confident mask fell for just a moment as he showed genuine worry for something. What, Rodric couldn’t know. He was still processing everything that had been revealed. But Jeremiah quickly slipped the mask back on and was back to being a confident and fearless statue. 

As Rodric finally hobbled over, the small woman took notice.

“Is this the boy you were sent to retrieve? What happened? Why is he limping?” 

“Yes and I’ll explain everything in a minute.” Jeremiah said, leading the woman over to where Rodrig was standing. 

“Rodrig,” Jeremiah said, “This is Lama Gajudo. She’s what we call a Watcher.” 

“What does she watch?” Jeremiah asked, looking around for anything of interest. 

“My job is not to watch the forest. It won’t be here much longer with all the logging.” Lama said. She sneered at the mention of the logging. 

“She watches for possible Sensitives or Adepts.” Jeremiah said. “She’s also a healer. I was hoping she could give you an examination to make sure your leg is okay.” 

Rodrig nodded but didn’t say anything. He just felt agitated for some reason he couldn’t quite grasp. Especially now that all eyes were on him. 

“Until I know the damage, I don’t want you walking on that leg.” Lama said. “Woolfy, you carry him to my exam room.” 

“I don’t need somebody to carry me.” Rodrig grumbled to himself. 

“It’s okay.” Jeremiah said. “It’s no bother. I can handle your weight no problem.” 

Rodrig wasn’t worried about Jeremiah being able to support his weight. He just didn’t like the idea of being carried. When Jeremiah walked over to him, Rodrig tensed up. He was about to try and beat the man away with the makeshift walking stick. Before he could make his move however, Jeremiah scooped him up into his arms. Rodrig dropped the walking stick by mistake. His weapon now gone, Rodrig was forced to be carried like a bride over the veil. He felt his entire face heat up as a deep blush covered his face. He covered himself so that no one could see him turn red. A deep rumble came from Jeremiah’s chest that vibrated against Rodrig. There was a sense of satisfaction in that rumbling growl. Rodrig’s face burned brighter. So did the unexplainable exasperation that was forming in his chest. It spread to his arms and made them tingle. 

Jeremiah carried Rodrig up the steps to the porch and through the door into the cabin. The room was astonishingly tidy. Everything seemed to have its place. There was a small living area with a table with four coasters ready to place a glass on in case company wanted to have a drink of coffee while they sat and chat. In the back was a kitchen kept pristine and a dining table with 4 chairs. Towards their right were two doors. They took the one closer to them and were in another overly well kept room. In one corner was a small desk with and a bookshelf covered in books. In the middle of the room was a flat table with cushioning on it. An examination table like they had at the academy. Nearby was a stool which Lama sat in. Jeremiah carefully lowered Rodrig onto the end of the exam table before stepping back and standing in the corner. 

“Can you put your leg on the table for me dear?” Lama asked. “I need it level to examine it.” 

Rodrig did as he was told, letting her move his ankle back and forth, gauging his reaction as she did. 

“How did you hurt it?” Lama asked. 

“Someone stomped on it.” Rodrig said after a moment's pause. He didn’t want to relive how he got the injury so he kept it brief. 

“Been doing much walking on it?” 

“No, ma’am.” 

“So polite.” She smiled. “I remember the first time I met another young man, he was far less polite.” She gave an over the top stink eye towards Jeremiah. The type where you could tell it was in jest.

“You wound me.” Jeremiah said back. He clutched his chest and made a dramatic grunting sound.

“Hush you!” she said back holding back a laugh. 

Rodrig watched, feeling awkward. Any time he had tried to have a friendly conversation like that, it usually ended with him being ridiculed for trying to join in. So he kept his mouth shut. It was safer that way.

Lama turned back towards Rodrig. Her smile was still there. She kept it on even when she noticed Rodrig wasn’t smiling back. 

“It’s nothing bad. Just a sprain. Stay off it for a bit and keep it elevated. Now let's take a look at what’s under that bandage on your face. Lay down so I can get a better look.” Rodrig did as he was instructed, scooching himself further up the examination table so he could lay flat. The ends of his feet still dangled off the edge but beyond that it was pretty comfy. She removed the bandage. Her smile went away. 

“How did you get this?” She asked. 

Rodrig tried to answer but found that no sound was coming out. He opened and closed his mouth multiple times. Was he going to have to go over everything? Right as it was about to be too much, right when his eyes started to burn with the feeling of tears starting to form, Jeremiah came to his rescue. 

“It was a knife wound.” Jeremiah said. “He also has one on his back. Although that one is from a rapier. It’s not as deep but goes over a wider area. I can go over the how later if need be.” 

Lama didn’t say anything right away, processing the information. She kept her face blank. A strange thought crossed Rodrig’s mind through the depression and the anguish. He thought that she would have made a great poker player. The funny little thought brought a little bit of levity. His own little private joke. It helped to calm him down a little bit. 

“These stitches, were they you Big Wolf?” Lama asked. 

“Yes.” Jeremiah said.

“You have improved since I last tutored you. It seems to be healing well. But I would like to get some salve on it, to speed the process along.” 

She hopped off her stool and went to a nearby cabinet. She pulled out a small handheld jar and came back. 

“This is my own personal healing salve,” Lama said as she popped the top off the jar. Rodrig could smell an earthy scent fill the air. It reminded him of the smell of vines that he once had to pull out of his mothers garden. “A little bit along the cut and then we replace the bandage.” 

She placed her finger in the jar and it came out covered in what looked like mud. As she spread it across the wound, the smell of vegetation grew. It was cold. Once she was  done applying the goop, she applied a new bandage. 

“Okay, now let’s see the one on the back.”  Lama said. “Shirt off and on your belly.” 

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Rodrig said. “It feels fine.” 

“It’s not.” Jeremiah said. “I didn’t want to alarm you but it smells infected.” 

Rodrig grew pale. Lama cleared her throat.

“Shirt off or I make the wolf rip it off.” Lama threatened. 

Rodrig did as he was told, stripping his shirt off and turned himself over. He re-used his shirt as a pillow for his head while he waited for the old woman to do her work. She had to stand on her stool to see the whole thing. She tisked a few times before prescribing more plant goop. Again she slathered the goop against his skin. This time it stung as she applied it. But then a cooling feeling started to cover his back. She then applied a bandage, replacing the wraps that had covered the cut from before. 

“You’re going to need to keep applying the salve until it heals. I’ll make sure to send some with you.” Lama said before stepping down. Rodrig pushed himself up and put his shirt back on. “Now, why don’t you come and have a pot of tea with me.” 

----

Jeremiah sipped at his tea. It was strong. Lama always made it that way. He watched as Rodrig took a sip and then immediately scrunched up his face. The young man was quick to return his face to a neutral look. Jeremiah had noticed that Rodrig liked to put on a neutral face like a mask. It didn’t do much to hide from Jeremiah since he could hear his heartbeat and smell the changes in his body chemistry. Plus there were the tiny twitches and quirks of body language. But in front of normal humans, it would have been perfect. The next time Rodrig took a sip, the mask stayed on. But there was a twitch along his brow indicating he didn’t like the taste. 

“Thank you for the tea.” Rodrig said. 

“It’s my pleasure.” Lama said to Rodrig before turning to Jeremiah. “I’m assuming you will be staying tonight?”

“Yes Granny.” Jeremiah said. “If it’s not too much trouble, I was hoping we could use your bath too.” 

“I was going to insist.” Lama said. “We need to get the dirt and sweat off your young ward’s wounds. Do you remember how to turn it on?” 

“Yes. I’ll help Rodrig with-” Jeremiah began to say. 

“Don’t pick me up!” Rodrig interrupted, tensing up. 

“Okay.” Jeremiah said. He was trying not to laugh at the sudden outburst. Jeremiah made a mental note that embarrassment made Rodrig drop his mask. Probably not the best way to get him to drop his guard so he would have to keep looking for other ways to get him to open up.  “But we can’t have you walking on that foot. Let me at least be your crutch. Deal?” 

Rodrig didn’t answer right away. But he finally nodded. 

“I’ll have some food waiting in the guest cabin for when you are done bathing.” Lama said. “I’ll also need you to reapply more of the salve once you’re done. I’ll leave the jar with the food. Try not to mix up the food and the salve. Don’t get my wrong, the salve is technically edible. But it probably won’t taste too good. Even if you spread it on bread.” 

Jeremiah had no doubt that she had tried the salve on bread once just to see. She was eccentric like that. He chuckled and headed over to Rodrig, offering his hand to help the young lad up. Rodrig eyed the hand then looked up and met Rodrig’s gaze. Rodrig quickly looked away, a small amount of red tinging his cheeks. Jeremiah didn’t comment, instead hanging him his makeshift walking stick. 

They slowly made their way out the door. They made their way over to the small circular building made of brick. There was a small stove to the side. 

“You can head inside and start getting undressed.” Jeremiah said. “I’ll load the stove with wood.” 

“How does it work?” Rodrig asked. 

“The pipes here are connected to an underground stream.” Jeremiah began to explain. “When you turn this lever, the water flows up and goes into this reservoir. The stove heats up the water and then you turn a nob in there to let the water out of the reservoir.” 

“Won’t it take a while for the water in the reservoir to heat up?”

“Not as long as you would think. Now go on, there should be some towels in there already.”

Rodrig did as he was told. When he opened it, he stopped. 

“It’s really dark in there.” Rodrig said. 

“There should be candles inside. There is a match box on a shelf right by the door.” 

Rodrig stepped inside. Jeremiah heard the sound of a match lighting and then a sudden gasp. Rodrig must have seen the huge stone tub. It had surprised Jeremiah the first time he saw it too. Jeremiah got to work filling the reservoir with water before starting the work on filling the stove with wood. He then lit the flames with flint and steel, sparking a small flame which quickly consumed the wood and became an inferno. Jeremiah closed the stove before heading towards the entrance to the stone cylinder.

Inside and slightly sunken into the floor was a large stone tub shaped like a bowl with a drain at the bottom. Rodrig stood there still dressed. He had just got done lighting the candles tucked away in the sconces on the walls. He waved the match in his hands to put it out before tossing it in a nearby rubbish bin. 

“Why does she have something like this out in the middle of the forest?” Rodrig said motioning towards the tub. “I would expect something like this in some rich man’s mansion.” 

“Well I wouldn’t call her rich but Granny is pretty wealthy.” Jeremiah said. “She’s a famous healer. That salve she gave you is the same stuff used by some royals.” Rodrig had pulled his shirt off half way before he stopped. He looked mortified. 

“You let her use that on me?” Rodrig said. “B-b-but I’m just me!” 

“So?” Jeremiah said, enjoying Rodrig’s reaction a bit too much. “Believe it or not, the bodies of kings and queens are exactly the same as yours.” 

“But if they use it, it must be expensive.” Rodrig said in a whisper. “I can’t even afford to pay you back for everything you’ve done so far. How am I supposed to pay her for world famous healing goop?” 

“It’s fine.” Jeremiah said as he stripped off his shirt. “It’s part of her job to help heal those with supernatural abilities we rescue. It’s all paid for by our organization.” 

“Nothing is free.” Rodrig said. “Somebody is going to want the money for that junk and when I can’t pay, it’s going to be taken out of my hide. I’ve seen what is done to people who can’t pay back their debt. I’m not using that stuff again. No way.” 

Rodrig’s heart rate had become like a war drum. Loud and fast. It almost hurt Jeremiah’s sensitive ears. He tried to think of ways to distract him. Then an evil thought entered his head. 

Jeremiah dropped his pants. 

---

Rodrig was about to give another really good reason why using healing salve was a terrible idea. Images of men who owed money to those more powerful being beaten in the street in front of their own children came to mine. Then for the briefest of moments, his eyes caught sight of Jeremiah’s rather large cock and balls. He immediately turned around, his entire body humming as blood suddenly rushed to his face. There was definitely no denying his worst fears. He was attracted to a man who could turn into a beast. It also meant that bathing together was out of the question. 

“Maybe I should go.” Rodrig said. But he didn’t move, because Jeremiah was standing in the way of the only door out. There wouldn’t be enough room for him to pass by him towards the door. Not without pressing up against the big, hairy, muscly, handsome...Rodrig thought to himself that he was completely and utterly fucked. 

“Nonsense.” Jeremiah said. Rodrig heard the sound of the tap being turned and the sound of water running. The room suddenly jumped in temperature as the warm water began to fill the room with steam. “If we take turns, there won’t be enough hot water. Besides, the tub is more than big enough for both of us. Now get undressed.” 

Rodrig stood still. 

“You’ve got thirty seconds before I come over there and rip those clothes off myself” Jeremiah said. 

“Then turn around, you big perv!” Rodrig said making eye contact and making sure to keep his eye line above the waist. 

“Okay. But if i don’t hear the sound of you hitting the water in the next minute, I'm coming for you.” Jeremiah turned around. Rodrig tried really hard not to take a peak at Jeremiah’s ass. He failed. It was big and had a thin layer of fuzz on it. Rodrig’s mouth went dry.

“Time’s half up.” Jeremiah said, snapping Rodrig out of his daze. Rodrig quickly stripped his shirt off before tossing it to the floor. He dropped his pants next before kneeling down. Getting in the tub with one ankle was an interesting maneuver but he figured it out. 

“HOT, HOT, HOT!” Rodrig screamed as he realized the mistake of just plopping himself down into the water. 

“There, was that so bad?” Jeremiah said. 

Rodrig heard the sound of Jeremiah also lowering himself into the water. Meanwhile, Rodrig was busy taking deep steady breaths, his eyes clenched shut as he waited for his body to get used to the water. Eventually the searing pain subsided and the water just felt warm and comforting. He sighed in relief. 

“Hand out. I’m passing you a bar of soap.” Jeremiah said. 

Rodrig did as he was told, keeping his eyes averted so as not to see his tub-mate. The bar of soap was placed in his hand with a washcloth. Rodrig got right to work scrubbing his arms. 

“I don’t want you to worry about the cost of all this.” Jeremiah said.

“But I-” Rodrig began to say back.

“Let me finish saying this first.” Jeremiah interrupted. There was a sharp authority to his voice that made Rodrig shut his mouth. A feeling of needing to obey swept over him. It was familiar. Like that first night when they met at the bar. A part of him wanted to tell Jeremiah to shut up. To leave him alone. But he held it back and pushed those emotions in a little box in the back of his head like he always did. Nothing but pain ever came from confronting people.

“I’m part of a rather large group of supernatural beings.” Jeremiah said. “We don’t have an official name or anything like that. Originally it was formed out of a need for survival. Different leaders of packs and covens would mee to share information and resources. Help each other to stay safe and prosper in a world where we were hunted. But then, one of our own saved a prince. It was an accident really. The witch didn’t know the person he was saving was royalty. He just saw that someone was in trouble. That random act of kindness spurred a partnership that still exists today.

“The Prince vouched for the supernatural community to his mother, the then Queen. Said that the majority of supernatural beings were just like them, people trying to survive. The Queen, wise beyond her years, saw an opportunity for a partnership. She would offer certain supernatural groups that weren’t a threat protection and land. In exchange they would offer services to the people and the crown.

“My coming to retrieve you is one of those services. Now this next part I don’t say to scare you but to make you understand the why. People like you, Sensitives, if left alone are more often than not taken in by dark elements. Sensitives, because of the nature of their soul, are malleable. They can become hosts to many dark things. Often against their will. Then they become a danger to everyone around them. 

“So yes, there is a cost to all of this. The travel. The food. The medicine. But it’s a price that the crown gladly pays to keep the peace.”

Rodrig thought over all this information. The soap and cloth were forgotten as he sat there processing all this new information. He looked up and saw Jeremiah on the opposite end of the tub. He was sitting watching him. His hair wet and plastered against his body. He smiled at Rodrig, giving him a chance to process the information. A dark thought crossed his mind and it came out before he could stop himself. “Wouldn’t it be cheaper to just kill me?” 

Jeremiah’s smile dropped. The look of sorrow and pity made Rodrig need to turn away.

“I don’t believe you would say something so vile because you have a cruel heart.” Jeremiah said. “I believe you said it because you’re hurting so much that death feels like it would be a release. But hear me now. I would never entertain something so cruel as to murder someone for something they have no control over. So no Rodrig. I won’t kill you. I will not come for you expecting payment for services rendered. What I do, I don’t do so expecting payment. I do these things because I believe in our cause.” 

“But what sort of life will I be able to lead if I’m a danger?” Rodrig said. He felt bitter. Some of the anger he had bottled up pushed through. 

Jeremiah sighed. A moment passed before he spoke again. 

“I used to be a Sensitive too.” Jeremiah said. 

“You what?” Rodrig said. All the thoughts in his head came crashing to a halt as he focused completely on the man opposite him. 

“The hole in your spirit that I mentioned the other day, it can also be inhabited by benevolent beings.” Jeremiah said. “When we save a Sensitive, we don’t just keep them in a dungeon away from society. You’re given a choice. Some choose to remain as they are. For those, we have places where they can stay that are warded against evil beings. Some though, like myself, choose to open their soul up for residency to a spirit to form a symbiotic relationship.”

Rodrig sat there stunned. He slowly sank into the water until it covered everything but the top of his head, breathing through his nose as the water covered his mouth. Jeremiah began to lather up his body while Rodrig processed things. This reminded Rodrig he too needed to start scrubbing himself and grabbed the soap from the edge of the tub and got to work himself. 

“You said you were a Sensitive. Are you not anymore?” 

Jeremiah’s smile returned.

“Senstives in the supernatural community are kind of like caterpillars. They are just the start of what could be. Just like how a butterfly is no longer a caterpillar after it cocoons itself, once a Sensitive takes on a spirit and creates a permanent bond, they turn into something else. For example, when I chose to accept the gift of the werewolf, my soul became one with a wolf spirit.” 

“Oh.” Rodrig said. He was suddenly very curious about all the different types of being out there. Then he realized he had washed all he could that wasn’t submerged in the water. “I need to wash my...lower half. Could you look away for a second.” 

Jeremiah rolled his eyes, but he did as was asked. Rodrig stood up and started washing his legs.

“How were you turned?” Rodrig asked while lathering up his legs. 

“I was bitten while under the full moon.” Jeremiah said. 

“Did it hurt?” Rodrig asked. He briefly wondered if these questions were becoming too personal. 

“A little,” Jeremiah said. “I still remember it to this day. I was scared but excited at the same time. The bite hurt like hell, but right after it happened, my body grew limp and suddenly I wasn’t there anymore. I was somewhere else. Not physically. The witches call it spirit walking, when your senses temporarily leave your body. My soul was taken to a forest and I was surrounded by wolves. The man who bit me was also there. We walked through the forest with the wolves and one at a time I was introduced to the spirits until I found one that my soul resonated with. It was like meeting someone for the first time and knowing this, this, this. This right here is my best friend. My literal soulmate. And then we merged.”

The way Jeremiah talked about the event filled Rodrig with awe. He sounded so happy. Rodrig couldn’t think of a single memory that filled him with that much joy. 

“I still have the scar. If you would like to see.” Jeremiah said. 

“Really?” Rodrig asked. He then scolded himself for sounding so excited. 

“Sure, it’s here on my right shoulder.” Jeremiah said. He came a little closer before turning around, moving his long black hair to his left shoulder so that Rodrig could easily see the bite mark. It was scarred over, multiple little dots on his skin where the teeth would have pierced his flesh. 

For a moment, Rodrig imagined Jeremiah placing his mouth along Rodrig’s neck. He then froze and slowly backed away. He scolded himself for letting such a perverted thought enter his mind. He sank back into the water as nonchalantly as he could. “Thank you for showing me.” Rodrig mumbled.

“No problem.” Jeremiah said. He stood up without warning, giving Rodrig a sudden very close and personal view of Jeremiah’s ass. 

“Welp, I'm getting all pruny. I think I'm done washing up.” Jeremiah said. He stepped out of the tub. Rodrig told himself he should look away but couldn’t bring himself to. He wanted to touch that butt. Those arms. That chest. Jeremiah began to towel off, not worrying about the fact his nudity was on full display. Finally Jeremiah wrapped the towel around his waist and started walking towards him before offering his hand. 

“Here, let me help you out. Don’t worry, I won’t look.” Jeremiah said. 

-----

Jeremiah lied. He did in fact look. In his defense though, the human half of him felt really bad about it. The wolf half did not give a shit and was a lecherous asshole. Or at least that’s what Jeremiah told himself after watching Rodrig get dressed out of the corner of his eye. Rodrig was a bit skinny for his height. Something that Jeremiah had noticed before. Jeremiah wondered if maybe before joining the guard academy, he was malnourished. Rodrig also appeared to have a few scars on his ass and back. They were old scars, having faded a bit. Given that Rodrig was just barely an adult, he would have had to have received them during childhood. A lot of his mannerisms started to make sense. They were defense mechanisms learned from a hard childhood. 

Beyond that though, he seemed overall healthy. Minimal body hair though. Well except for the bush around his balls. They hung low and swung around while Rodrig pulled his underwear back on. Jeremiah couldn’t help but notice the small hard on he had to. A dark part of his mind got enjoyment from knowing that it was his body that had aroused Rodrig. The other part of his mind chastised him for thinking such things at such a time. 

When Rodrig turned around to grab his shirt, Jeremiah quickly looked away and played the part of the innocent wolfman who was not secretly a Peeping Tom. 

“Why do I feel so exhausted?” Rodrig said more to himself than to Jeremiah. “I’ve been sitting in a cart all day. Why do I just want to pass out.” 

“You’ve had a long couple of days.” Jeremiah said. “Your body is still recovering from the physical and emotional stress.” 

Rodrig sighed but didn’t say anything more. The two left the bath to find a pair of crutches waiting for Rodrig. 

“Guess you won’t need me to carry you around anymore.” Jeremiah said in a joking manner.

“That must be a relief for you. Don’t have to lug me around anymore.” Rodrig said completely serious. 

It was in fact not a relief. Jeremiah’s wolf practically purred any time their bodies touched. Just like it had done with his three sons before he bit them. The wolf sensed Rodrig’s compatibility. It wanted to make the man pack. But that wasn’t how this worked. So he held back. 

“You aren’t as heavy as you think you are.” Jeremiah said before giving a well practiced fake laugh. Rodrig grunted.

Jeremiah kicked himself a little for trying too hard. Rodrig was clearly at the end of his emotional rope. His movements were slow. His shoulders were slumped and he had a look of someone who was about ready to pass out. 

“Come on, the guest cabin is this way.” Jeremiah said, leading Rodrig to the smaller of the two cabins.

The guest cabin didn’t have a porch like the bigger one so there was no need to worry about navigating stairs to make it through the front door. The room had two rather large beds against the opposite wall, freshly made and ready for an occupant. In between the space left between the two beds was a small table with two chairs. On said table were two bowls of steaming hot soup, a large loaf of bread, butter and a jar of what Jeremiah assumed was the healing salve Lama said she would leave for them. 

A grumbling sound came from both Rodrig and Jeremiah’s stomach at the same time.

“I think our bodies are telling us they are sick of travel rations.” Jeremiah said. “Come on. Let’s eat.” 

---

Rodrig belched. Everything was delicious. Except the healing salve. They did not eat the healing salve. After dinner, Jeremiah grabbed the salve and popped the top off the jar. 

“Shirt off. Back to me.” Jeremiah said. 

Rodrig grunted but did as he was told. Jeremiah applied the goop to the cut on his back before retying the wrap holding a fresh cloth over the cut. 

“Anything else?” Rodrig said, sounding a little more grumpy then he meant to.

“Just your face. Do you want me to do it for you?” 

“No, I can do it myself.” Rodrig grabbed the jar and peeled the bandage off his face before applying some of the salve on his cheek. Jeremiah handed him a new bandage which Rodrig applied to his face a little less gracefully than normal. 

“Let’s get you to bed.” Jeremiah said, looking like he was trying not to laugh. Rodrig gave him a death stare but didn’t argue. Instead he went over to the bed and got under the sheets. He didn’t even notice falling asleep. 

Not until he woke up and the room was suddenly darker. The only light came from a candle on the nearby table. He was under the sheets. He didn’t remember getting under the sheets. Jeremiah must have tucked him in. The realization made Rodrig feel like trash. He shouldn’t have needed someone to take care of him like that. He should have taken care of himself. This feeling of helplessness was driving him crazy. He told himself he needed to apologize for Jeremiah having to take care of him like a kid.  He looked around the room for Jeremiah, but he wasn’t there. There was a note next to the candle though. Rodrig stretched out his back and legs before grabbing the crutches and hobbling his way over to the table. 

“Went on a midnight run. If you hear howling, don’t worry. That’s just me.” The note read. 

Rodrig sat down next to the note. He wondered if Jeremiah was talking about a regular run or if Jeremiah had shifted. Then he saw Jeremiah’s pants and shirt by the door and realized it was probably a wolf run. Unless  Jeremiah liked to run around the forest naked. That brought images from earlier in the day popping up in his head. Rodrig had to pinch himself to get his mind off of a naked Jeremiah running through the woods naked. 

“No. Not happening.” Rodrig told himself. “Not one bit. Get that out of your head right now.” 

A scratching sound came at the door. Rodrig jumped as the sudden noise startled him. He knocked the table with his leg and the candle began to fall. Rodrig grabbed it at the last minute, putting it back in place. He yelped in pain as a second later his brain registered that he now had burning hot candle wax smeared on his hand. He waved it back and forth to try and get the wax off. 

The scratching came again. Rodrig stood up, holding his crutch above his head ready to strike as he looked towards the door. Then he heard a low canine whine. The first thought that came to Rodrig’s head was that Jeremiah was outside the door. He became worried. Should he open the door? Would Jeremiah be the monster that chased him through the woods? Or would he be full wolf? Was he about to see Jeremiah transform? The idea was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. 

He was distracted by the sound of loud popping and guttural growls that slowly morphed into groans. As the groans slowly morphed from beastly to human, Rodrig began to realize that voice didn’t belong to Jeremiah. There was a werewolf on the other side of the door. One he didn’t know and in a few seconds, it would have the ability to open the door. 

He quickly hobbled over to the door, his crutch forgotten. He slammed into the door and quickly pushed the deadbolt in place. He then slid down to the floor, suddenly finding it hard to stay standing. He sat with his back to the door, covering his mouth and nose to try and calm his breathing.

The popping and grunting stopped and a second later, a fist pounded on the other end of the door. 

“Jeremiah.” an unknown voice said. The accent sounded like it came from one of the countries from the west. “Open the door. It’s Alfonse.” 

The doorknob turned and whoever was on the other end tried to push the door open. The door jiggled with more force than he thought. Then there was silence. And then a low growl. 

“I can hear your heart beating on the other side of this door.” The voice said. A low snarl followed. “Tell me where Jeremiah is or I will rip this door off its hinges.”

Rodrig turned around and started pushing himself away from the door. His arms had goosebumps and his chest felt like it had a weight in it. His forehead was wet with sweat.

“What do you want?” Rodrig finally was able to call out. 

“I want to know where my father is!” The man’s voice roared through the door. “I can smell his scent! He was here! What did you do with him!” 

The door started to shake as the hinges groaned. Rodrig found himself hiding under the table, holding onto one of the legs for dear life. The hinges slowly were ripped from their hinges. The sound of splintering and cracking wood roared through the cabin. The door fell inward and crashed to the ground, shaking the floor. Standing in the doorway was a naked man, but his body wasn’t normal. Large patches of light brown fur covered his arms, chest and legs. His hands were tipped with large black claws. His mouth hung open as it panted for air. His teeth were long and sharp. His eyes glowed a deep crimson red. Rodrig briefly met the man beast’s eyes. The mystery man took one step forward. Rodrig was frozen, his entire body tensed up. There were no coherent thoughts going on in his mind at that time. Just the emotion of pure terror. 

“Alfonse?” Jeremiah's voice said. 

The wolf man stopped in his tracks and turned around. Standing behind the stranger was Jeremiah, also nude. He was looking at Alfonse. Then Rodrig. Then Alfonse again.

“Jeremiah?” the stranger said. The fur and claws began to shrink away as the man returned to a normal human. He ran out of the cabin and jumped into Jeremiah’s arms. 

“What are you doing here?” Jeremiah asked. 

The stranger said something Rodrig couldn’t hear, his face buried in Jeremiah’s shoulder. Rodrig’s body was moving on its own at that point. He crawled to a door he hadn’t opened yet. He fumbled with the doorknob before flinging it open. It was an empty closet. He threw himself in and closed the door before curling into a ball in the dark closet and trembling as he started sobbing.

---

“What are you doing here?” Jeremiah asked his first son. 

“We got the report that Bright Rock had attacked their watcher.” Alfonse mumbled into his shoulder. “They have declared all supernaturals to be enemies to be killed on sight. Nobody knew if you were safe or not. I ran after you as soon as I heard the news.” His youngest son’s voice was moving quickly and was filled with breathy sobs. He hugged the man, patting him on the head. 

Alfonse was about as tall as Jeremiah. He wasn’t quite as muscle bound as he was but still quite large compared to most men. His bright red hair was cut short, otherwise it began to curl into a mop. He had a small amount of stubble on his chin. It prickled against Jeremiah’s neck as Alfonse rubbed his head against him.

The sound of a slam pulled both of them out of the moment. Alfonse let go of Jeremiah and they both looked around. Rodrig was no longer under the table. Jeremiah took a step into the cabin, looking around. He could hear the soft sounds of sobbing and a heartbeat that was beating like a drum at the summer festival. It was coming from the closet.

“Damn it.” Jeremiah said. 

“What is going on?” Lama called out. She was peering out the window from her cabin and was wearing a matching nightgown and nightcap. “Why are you naked? What is Angry Wolf doing here? AND WHAT DID YOU DO TO THE DOOR?”

“It was...I just–” Alfonse stammered back. 

While Lama proceeded to scream at Alfonse, Jeremiah began to approach the closet door. Rodrig’s breathing was uneven, he was hyperventilating.  

“Rodrig?” Jeremiah called through the door. “It’s okay. It was just a misunderstanding. I promise. You’re safe.” 

Jeremiah grabbed the doorknob and twisted it open as he slowly started to open the door. It suddenly was pulled close. 

“Get away from me!” Rodrig screamed through the door. 

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay.” Jeremiah said, pushing a bit of the Wild into his voice. Trying to push calming energy into the words. 

“Stop it! Stop using your fucking magic on me!” Rodrig screamed. The Wild being repelled back at him. It was laced with pure panic.

“Rodrig, I-” 

“Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up! Get out of my head! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! JUST GO!” Rodrig’s voice tore from the closet. There was a pounding sound on the door, like Rodrig was slamming his fist against it. 

“I’ll be outside if you need me.” Jeremiah said as softly as he could while still being loud enough that Rodrig would hear before backing away and heading outside. 

“Granny, I’ll fix it. I swear.” Alfonse said. He now wore a pair of pants. Alfonse must have brought his wolf pack, a special backpack that could fit on the back of a wolf and carry some clothes and money. It was usually only used when a wolf had to head somewhere quick. Alfonse must have run straight here from their territory. Jeremiah grabbed his own pants and slipped them on before stepping outside. 

“You’re damn right you will fix my door. You’re going to be doing a lot more than that to make up for the fact that you scared me half to death.” Lama was waving a fluffy pink slipper in her hand. If Alfonse was closer, Jeremiah had no doubt that she would be beating the young man with it. 

“Alfonse.” Jeremiah said. “What did you do?” 

Alfonse looked over to his father. He took a step back after seeing the death glare Jeremiah was pointing his way. Alfonse scrunched himself up trying to make himself look smaller.  “After we got the report, we were all afraid you were in danger.” Alfonse began to explain. “I told the others I would follow after you. To make sure you were safe. I stopped by the watcher 's posts along the way to see if I could scent you. When I got here, I caught your scent and figured you were in the guest cabin. So I started knocking. And then there was this unknown scent. I started calling you but got no answer. I panicked and thought that they had hurt you.”

“Why?” Jeremiah said. He was angry. Angry that his son would do something so stupid. Especially when he was more level headed then this. Then it dawned on him. The Watcher was only attacked 2 days ago. The pack territory was still 5 days walk from here. There was only one way that he could have gotten here so quickly.

“Alfonse. No. Please tell me you didn’t use an enhancement potion.” Jeremiah said. 

Alfonse did not answer. 

“Granny, do you have an oral tranquilizer? ” Jeremiah asked. “My son has been traveling nonstop on performance enhancing drugs and probably hasn’t slept for at least a day.”

“Father, I-” Alfonse began to say.

“Not now Alfonse.” Jeremiah said. “You have no idea what damage you’ve done. On top of that, you’re hyped up on a cocktail meant to keep soldiers on the front lines of battle ready to kill for days on end. Now you almost attacked the Sensitive I’ve been charged with protecting. On top of that, you just re-traumatized him after he was bound, gagged and stabbed less than half a week ago.” 

Alfonse did not have a response to that. Lama told the young werewolf to come inside. Jeremiah headed back to the guest cabin. Rodrig had not left the closet. The hyperventilating had eased into a sobbing fit. When Jeremiah’s foot made the wooden floor creak, Rodrig gasped and started to make a sort of whimpering sound. 

“Hi.” Jeremiah said. “I won’t try to open the closet again. But it can’t be comfortable in there. Can I get you a blanket and pillow? I’ll leave it by the door so you can grab it when you’re ready.” 

No answer. 

“Tap once for no, twice for yes.” 

No answer. Then two knocks on the door. 

Jeremiah pulled a pillow and the comforter from the bed. He folded the comforter up and placed it by the door and set the pillow on top. 

“I’m stepping away from the door.” Jeremiah said, making sure to make plenty of noise so that Rodrig could hear him step away. A couple of minutes passed but eventually the closet door opened just a creek. A hand slipped out and grabbed the blanket and pillow before pulling them in and closing the door. Jeremiah sat on the opposite side of the room, watching the door.

“Where is the boy?” Lama asked as she stepped in the cabin. She was still wearing her nightgown but had her leather boots on.

Jeremiah pointed towards the closet.

“He panicked.” Jeremiah said. “And now he won’t leave the closet.” 

“I don’t blame him.” Lama said. “Someone just ripped off a door to attack him.” “I’m so sorry Granny. I’ll pay for all the repairs.” “The door is not what I’m worried about right now.” She said, “I need to make sure he’s not injured.” 

Jeremiah got up and both he and Lama approached the door. 

“Rodrig.” Jeremiah said. “We need to make sure you aren't injured. May we open the door?” 

No answer. Then the sound of shuffling and some grunting. And then the door opened. Rodrig had the comforter wrapped around his upper body. His eyes and nose poked through a small hole at the top of the wrap he had made of himself. His eyes were bloodshot from crying and his body was shaking. Lama offered her hand. Rodrig reached out and took it but his eyes never left Jeremiah’s. Rodrig was terrified. Whatever trust they had built, Alfonse had destroyed in a matter of seconds. 

[jodilinbio]

Stacey was my biggest problem at the first complex I lived in during my time in Arizona, along with twenty-six-year-old Andrea (Andi), the woman living next to me in Andy’s building. Through Andi, I got my first real sense of just how much Arizonans despise complaining, no matter how legitimate your grievance might be.

While I was still in the first-floor apartment, I had to give up Shadow, my cat, because pets weren’t allowed on the first floor. Even if they were, I couldn’t afford the outrageous pet deposit. So, Andy and I left the cat on what we thought was Stevie Nicks’ property in Paradise Valley, only to later learn we’d given him to her neighbor instead. Andy eventually figured out which house was really hers by going through her trash. He somehow became phone friends with Stevie’s mother, Barbara, after finding her number through her business—a little crafts store in some small town outside of Phoenix. He eventually went on to actually meet Stevie a few times.

Stacey had a reputation for being a difficult person, but one day, she began targeting me in ways I hadn’t seen her do with anyone else. To this day, I’m not sure what triggered her. I discussed it with Andy, Kara, and Randy, but none of us could figure out the source of her wrath. Maybe it was because I was Jewish (Arizona was as anti-Semitic as it was anti-gay), maybe it was because I was on disability, or maybe it was because I was short with green eyes and very long hair. I honestly had no idea.

Then, I developed a theory: some people, when they can’t get positive attention, settle for negative attention. Perhaps Stacey really did have some kind of attraction to me and was struggling with those feelings, especially since she was married. Others had speculated about this too, particularly after it became clear that she was practically stalking me. This wasn’t an exaggeration—she followed me around the complex, and it felt like she was scrutinizing my every move. I was stunned by how much she seemed to know about my whereabouts and the people I interacted with. My friends and I even searched my place for hidden cameras or audio recorders, but we found nothing. The only way she could have known what she did was by either tailing me, having someone else do it, or somehow gaining access to my apartment while I was out. I doubted that last one, but who knows?

I’ll admit Stacey wasn’t bad-looking for a light-eyed blonde, which wasn’t usually my type. She was tall and slim, with a Kate Jackson vibe—her voice, hairstyle, and mannerisms all reminded me of her. But even if she had been my type, I knew I’d rather be alone forever than settle for a controlling bitch like her.

One day, Stacey summoned both Andy and me to her office. Oddly, she insisted on speaking to Andy first, then me.

"Why can’t she just talk to both of us at once?" I asked Andy on our way there.

"I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t want us to get our stories straight," he said.

"What stories?" I asked, confused.

"I don’t know," he said. "I’m just as stumped as you are."

Andy went in first, and then it was my turn. I sat down in front of her desk, and Stacey cut right to the chase.

"I have a report that you made some harassing phone calls to Ellie and Robert," she said.

"So?" I replied.

"So," she echoed, pausing.

"So I called them a few times. They won’t be hearing from me again, though. Besides, Ellie’s out of her mind. Ask the FBI agents trying to kill her with petroleum jelly as she claims."

"Then don’t have anything to do with her," Stacey said.

"I don’t intend to, but how does this concern you? You’re the manager, not our mother. Part of our rent goes toward your salary. You work for us."

She then mentioned some supposed vandalism but wouldn’t say what had been vandalized. I had no idea what she was talking about, and neither did Andy.

Next, she scolded me for asking to see the second studio apartment I had transferred to in Andy’s building before the previous tenant moved out. I couldn’t believe someone would complain about something so trivial! The girl didn’t have to let me in, and she hadn’t seemed bothered at the time.

Then, Stacey implied that I had been trying to invite people up to my place. I was completely confused. "What are you talking about? What people?"

"I understand that being home as much as you are can make a person rather lonely," she said, her tone patronizing.

"Oh, is that what you think I am? Lonely? And this concerns you because…?" I asked, beginning to realize what she was insinuating. She was implying that I was trying to get women up to my place for sex, which was total nonsense. No one in that complex appealed to me. After Rosemarie made her lack of interest clear, I backed off immediately. I didn’t want to push people who weren’t interested in me, and I expected the same respect in return.

Though I tried, I couldn’t get Stacey to admit what she was really implying. She never dared to use the L-word.

She also rattled off a bunch of trivial facts about my daily life, things like what I had for lunch, and this unnerved me. I was amazed at how well she had done her homework. With the exception of the vandalism and the absurd insinuation about my social life, she was frighteningly accurate.

Andy later told me he was just as shocked by Stacey’s knowledge of my activities. "She even encouraged me to dump you," he said.

On January 6, 1993, I finally decided to see about getting a job dancing. I didn’t have any marketable skills that would land me a decent job anytime soon, and I wasn’t about to flip burgers or clean houses again. Dancing seemed like a good option. Kara, who was a pretty big woman, acted as my bodyguard, and the three of us—Kara, Andy, and I—went to a nearby club with exotic dancers.

After just two dances and $18 in tips, I was hired for the 6 PM to 1 AM shift. I was excited, thinking I’d make tons of money, but it didn’t turn out that way. Maybe in Vegas it would have.

I eventually built up a small group of regular cab drivers. One of them even offered to be my bodyguard if I ever made it in the music business, and I gladly agreed.

Though dancing was preferable to most other jobs, there were downsides. I hated the sore feet and the way the owners used us to pay the DJ, bartenders, and bouncers. We had to give them a cut of our earnings because the owners were too cheap to pay them themselves.

At the clubs, we rotated sets on stage, where customers could tip us—or not. Table dances, one-on-one performances in front of a customer, earned the dancers $5. Dancers weren’t allowed to touch the customers or engage in anything explicit.

My stage name was "Mystery." Maybe if I had been a chesty, blue-eyed blonde with long legs, I would have made more money. But as a then flat, short, green-eyed brunette, I didn’t exactly fit the bill for a T&A bar. Still, I danced on and off for the next eight months at a few different places, including all-nude private room dancing with two-way windows, cameras, and armed staff. We often sat around for hours in between customers, bored out of our minds in front of the TV.

After I moved to the studio apartment behind Andy, I started accumulating some furniture. My parents sent me a blue card table with matching chairs. A friend of Andy’s gave me a twin bed, and a guy I met later on gave me a couch, a desk, and a TV.

At first, the building was relatively quiet. The guy below me eventually moved out, giving me a few things he didn’t want, like clothes hangers and a fake plant in a wicker basket. For a while, the apartment below me was a model unit, and the new tenant who moved in was quiet. Even Andi didn’t make much noise initially. She was hardly ever home.

The person I heard the most in the building was actually Andy. Despite his feminine demeanor, he stomped around like an elephant and slammed doors instead of closing them.

I had yet to learn just how sensitive Arizonans could be about noise complaints, but I started to get an idea when Andi had her fifteen siblings over for a few days. It was a nightmare—constant bumps and bangs at all hours. After being ignored when I knocked on her door to ask her to quiet down, I had no choice but to complain to Stacey.

Mary, a thirty-year-old woman with muscular dystrophy who lived directly below Andi, also complained. She was getting the worst of it. Mary informed Stacey that if she wanted her rent, she needed to be able to sleep so she could work for it.

Even Andy, who lived diagonally from Andi, could hear the commotion. The whole building shook.

When Stacey came to investigate, Andi tried to shift the blame. Our doors were right next to each other and standing just inside mine, I could hear everything they said.

"She does the same thing," Andi lied.

Right, Andi, I thought sarcastically. I have fifteen kids over, too.

The next day, the kids finally left, and I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking peace had returned and I could finally get some sleep. But I was sorely mistaken. Andi was furious that I had complained, and she wasn’t about to let me forget it. That was lesson number two about Arizonans: they weren’t quick to let go of grudges. They wouldn’t let you forget or ignore them either, no matter how wrong they were or how valid your complaint was. She was going to get her revenge!

Andi made sure to shake the building with her every move when she wasn’t at work or asleep, clearly not caring who else she annoyed along with me. She began staying home more frequently, just to make her presence felt. Since I knew I couldn’t physically force her to quiet down, and Stacey couldn’t monitor every slam, bump, and bang, I was seriously considering confronting her when a new idea popped into my head.

I doubted it would work, but I figured I’d try it before resorting to more drastic measures. So, I sat down and wrote a note, pretending to be a neighbor who had just moved in behind her, politely asking her to keep the noise down. I signed it with a bogus name and slipped it under her door.

To my surprise, it actually worked!

[sillyrabbit81]

Prompt Fairy here again :)

Your next challenge is one word.

That word is...

Cockblocked

Have fun!!

Anonymous asked:

It's the Prompt Fairy here again! Your next prompt is a fun one! "Disney marathon" Enjoy your challenge :)

Summary: Sy comes up with a way to get alone time with you.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader

Word Count: approx. 1.7k

Warnings: Dad!Sy, Husband!Sy, smut, p in v sex, titty fucking, oral sex (m receiving)

Authors Note: Ok Prompt Fairy, you had me stumped with Disney Marathon, but when you sent in cockblocked, it all fell into place! Thank you!

Thanks to @amberangel112 for beta reading and coming up with the awesome title.

Edited by me, there will be errors, its way past my bedtime, forgive me!

Masterlist

Honey, I Distracted the Kids

You could tell Sy was getting… frustrated. He had been back for three weeks and the only real alone time you had was two nights after he had come home when the kids were sent to your mums for the night. At four and two and a half (the half is important), the girls were a lot of work. Both no longer had day sleeps and usually one or both ended up sneaking in your bed at night.

Sy was torn, he loved the girls sleeping in your bed, loved the cuddles, loved that they remembered him, and they were able to pick their relationship up where they had left off. He was a great Dad, giving the girls the affection and attention they craved, making up for lost time. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t frustrated and between you and him, he didn’t call them “the girls” anymore.

They were the “cockblockers”.

At first the name was a joke, but the longer you and Sy went without sex, the more he said the name with frustration.

You understood his irritation because you felt it too. You missed him. Missed the hours alone, feeling his warm arms around you, missed those mornings where he would sit on the porch having a coffee and you could curl up on his lap and rest your head in his shoulder. You missed being intimate, you missed being able to shout his name or make the headboard hit the wall without the kids waking up or coming in to see what the noise was.

You were showering with your two year old as you did most mornings and when she was clean and had a play while you washed your hair, you noticed your leg hairs were looking a bit long. You sighed, you had put off shaving for a week, and you wanted to shave and look nice for Sy in one of those summer dresses he liked.

You stuck your head out the shower door and called to Sy. He came in and looked you up and down, sucking in his bottom lip and raising his eyebrows. You felt heat in your cheeks, damn him, after all these years he could still reduce you to a puddle with a look.

“What’s up, Sugar?” he asked.

“Daddy!” your daughter cried.

“Hey Pumpkin.”

Trying to sound unaffected by his look you said, “Can you take Bubs and dry her off? I wanna shave my legs.”

“Sure,” he said grabbing your daughter’s towel. He opened the door and called to her. “Come on little pumpkin.” Sy wrapped the towel around her and picked her up. His eyes raked you and he grinned wickedly before asking your daughter, “Do you think you’d like a baby brother or sister?”

“Yeah,” she shouted at the same time you yelled, “No!”

Chuckling, Sy took Pumpkin out, giving you one of attempted winks. You had to laugh and got started on your legs. You had almost finished when Sy came running into the bathroom locking the door behind him and stripping off like a mad man.

“Sy, what are you doing? Where are the kids?” You knew what he was doing, it was blatantly obvious and a turn on, but the second question was a legitimate one.

“I set ‘em up with a Disney marathon. Got ‘em popcorn and everythin’.” You bit your tongue, trying not to laugh at Sy as he struggled with his pants. The second he was naked he got in the shower and pulled you tight against him as he leaned on the tiled wall. “They’re watchin’ The Little Mermaid,” he started kissing your neck, “Got me thinkin’ about that crab dude.”

“Sebatian,” you moaned.

“Whatever,” Sy said, moving his kisses down your chest. “That song about kissing the girl… I thought I’d better do what the crab says.”

“Stop talking and fuck me, Sy,” you begged.

“Suck me off first,” Sy said. “I’ve missed your mouth on me.”

Cheekily you smirked at him, “Say please.”

“Now,” Sy growled. “Don’t keep me waitin’, Sweetheart.”

You slid down his body slowly, teasing him, enjoying the luxury of time. Sy groaned as you made your way to your knees and his cock slipped between your breasts. His hands pushed them together, enclosing him tightly between your soft mounds. “Stop there,” he said. “I wanna fuck your tits a minute.”

Biting your lip, you watched him as he started to rock his hips back and forth, his belly, flat but soft rippled as he moved. You put your hands on his thighs, fingers tickled by his soft furry hair, and you closed your eyes as you felt his granite like muscles flex under his skin.

“Eyes up, Sweet Pea,” Sy said with ragged breath. “I wanna look atcha.”

Slowly you raised your chin and met his eyes. You heard his chest rumble and a mouthed curse fell from his lips, swallowed by the sounds of the shower. He let your breasts go and gathered your hair in his fist. You knew what he wanted, and he didn’t have to ask. Holding the base of his cock you took him in your mouth.

“Fuck,” Sy grunted. His bows drew together, and his jaw clenched.

Suppressing a smile, you started to move your head up and down, your tongue dancing over his shaft as you went. You missed this, missed the feel of him in your mouth, missed the sounds he made. You took the time to let your tongue explore his length, reacquainting yourself with every veiny inch. You started to move your fist up and down in time with your mouth, while Sy started to guide your speed. You let your free hand slide up his chest and he found it and laced his fingers with yours.

“That feels so good, Sweetheart,” Sy grunted, encouragingly. Not that you needed it, watching him, and hearing him made you so aroused, you could feel your core clenching with need. “Come ‘ere,” he growled suddenly, pulling you upright. Cupping your cheeks he kissed you, his firm lips opening your mouth as his tongue demanded entry. You submitted, melting into his commanding kiss.

Swapping positions Sy pushed you against the tiles, no longer cold having been warmed by his body and he turned you around. “Arms against the wall, Darling,” he said. His voice was deep and hoarse, holding a hint of desperation that reminded you of the days when you first got together, when it was all new, when Sy couldn’t keep his hands off you, nor yours of him.

Sy tilted your hips back, causing your spine to curve. He bent over you, his body covered yours and he kissed your neck while sliding his cock over you. “You still get so wet for me,” he growled into your ear, biting down on your earlobe as he pushed himself inside you. You hissed at the intrusion, even as aroused as you were, it still hurt. But that pain was pleasure to you, the feeling of him filling every inch of your core made you moan, nothing else could make you feel whole.

Moving slowly at first, Sy let you get used to his size while his hands roamed your body and his lips sucked at your neck. As his pace increased so did his suction. “You’re going to give me a hickey,” you protested.

You heard Sy snarl in response, “I know. Every time someone sees it, they’ll know you’re fuckin’ mine. Oh fuck, the thought nearly makes me fuckin’ cum.” It wasn’t the first time he had said that, but every time he did it stirred a deep primal feeling within you. You love it when he claimed you when he owned you like that. You loved being his and you loved that he still wanted you to be.

Sy started fucking you harder, each thrust harsher than the last. His hand slid down your belly, until it rested between your legs. You started trembling as his fingers found your clit and started working you towards your peak. Between his grunting breath, his cock pounding into you with relentlessness, his dancing fingers and his teeth nipping at your shoulder it didn’t take long before your legs felt like they were going to give way. Sy wrapped his free arm across your chest, holding you tight to him as he encouraged you. “That’s it Darlin’, cum for me. I wanna feel your pussy squeeze me.”

When you felt your body pulse and the waves of bliss rolled over you, you couldn’t stop the shout that tumbled from your lips. You forgot everything in that moment, the whole world disappeared, every worry, every to do list, every stress just melted away. Sy didn’t stop pumping, he cradled your wilting body as he kissed your cheeks and his teeth scraped at your jaw. He followed you over the edge quickly, his arms clutching you tightly as every muscles in his body tensed and he smothered his shout in your neck.

You were both quiet, slowly regaining your breath and senses. The sound of the shower and the fan in the ceiling, suddenly felt so loud. Sy turned you around, holding you to his chest, your ear picking up his heartbeat and you listened as it’s sedate rhythm slowly returned. “I love you,” you whispered.

Sy chuckled and lifted your chin with his fingers. He kissed your nose before looking at your face, appearing to study it. His fingers traced lines down your nose and over your lips. He took a deep breath through his nose before he sighed, “I love you too, Darlin’.”

Standing there in each other’s arms, you cherished a few more quiet moments before you both broke apart. You turned off the shower and Sy handed you your towel. Sy checked his watch, gave a little smirk and started to dry off.

“What’s that about?” you asked, pointing to his watch.

“We still have thirty-four minutes until the movie is over,” Sy said.

“Wait, did you set a timer?”

“Yeah,” Sy said, giving me a look. “I wasn’t going to risk getting interrupted by our little cockblockers.”

Tag List 1

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira @blakerogue @shadesofarrogance @mansaaay @stxlemate @wheretheriversrunintothesea @amberangel112 @madbaddic7ed @eldarwen333 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @summersong69 @littlefreya @littlebirdofrivia @luclittlepond @myloveforhenrycavill @mary-ann84 @tellingyouastory @beck07990 @zealoushound @sofiebstar @sweetlybigdragonn @bloodyinspiredfuck @marantha @diegos-butt @greensleeves888 @endofalldays01 @justaboringadult @ysmmsy @offroadinjandals @littlewrenofrivia @pussyverson @foxyjwls007 @kebabgirl67

[trinoxtrinox]

Drowning in Knowledge

Ectoberhaunt 2022, Side Chaos. Prompt: Drown

Summary: Despite having so much raw data about the Ghost Zone thanks to the Ghost Portal, Jack and Maddie are stumped for they don’t know what to do with it and how everything connects. What is it that they’re missing? What part of the information is useful and what is useless?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

“Hey Jack, do you know what to do with all of these readings?” Maddie asked while handing him a paper with a bunch of numbers spread all over it. That was some data measured from around the city of Amity Park, it was mainly about the different levels of ectoplasm that surrounds the city, or at least, it was supposed to be that way.

“... I’m not sure Mads, it reads to me that there was some interference somewhere, but it doesn’t say where,” he left behind what he was doing in order to read over those numbers once again, “It’s very rare for the numbers to differ so much from the norm after all, and we haven’t had any ghost invasion to explain it either.”

“Yeah, that’s what worries me, and that’s not all.” At this she turned around and picked up some other papers, “I’ve been checking on previous readings and comparing them to the new ones that we’ve collected thus far, and all of them show different levels when compared to the past”

“The levels of ectoplasm differ in different places and that doesn’t show any kind of pattern, the natural portal formation showed signs of a clear decline before yet it just got a spike and now it’s in decline again, blob ghost population has changed numbers so fast we can’t ave an accurate model of their ‘communities’, their properties change depending on so many factors it’s impossible to categorize how they each affect without having a secondary factor to take into account, and there are many more numbers that have never been consistent.”

“Honestly, the only thing that has proven to be consistent all this time is the amount of times the city is attacked by a ghost each week.”

“That’s true, but what does that mean? We know that most of our equipment is working as intended at least, save perhaps for the sensors spread around the city that we’ll have to go check now.”

“Mmmhhh, maybe we’re thinking about this the wrong way.”

“How so Mads?”

“Maybe this is all true information, however we’re working with the equivalent of white noise.”

“You’re suggesting that all the data we’ve collected thus far is useless, that we’ve been working with the background data of everything.”

“Not everything, I’m sure a lot of the data we’ve collected thus far is legitimate after all, but we’ll most likely have to filter through a lot of the data we’ve had thus far.”

“The thing is now we’d have to filter the data we’ve collected in order to determine what’s the white noise and what’s the sample we want to collect, but how do we make a blank with everything given that various variables from different experiments ca’n’t be controlled?”

“Exactly, and I have an idea on where to start with that so we can at least have the blank undiluted”

“Maddie, what do you mean by that?”

“By that I mean-” she talked as she walked towards the Specter Speeder, “-that we take this baby for a walk and collect as much data as possible, and then dilute some of the pure ectoplasm here in order to make a proper blank of a lot of our instruments.”

“Mads you’re a GENIUS!” Jack exclaimed as he dropped all the papers and went inside the vehicle instantly, putting himself in the passenger seat and waited for his wife.

“Calm down Jack, we have to make sure we have all of the equipment and emergency packs full before we go into the Ghost Zone, would you mind helping me with that dear?”

“Of course Mads, now let’s begin this so we can go to the Ghost Zone soon.” With that the pair began looking around the Speeder, making sure that everything was in optimal condition, and checking down the places where food was stored in order to make sure that everything was well, same with all the batteries that the Fentons use in their weapons.

Once everything was accounted for, the pair put on their seatbelts and began the countdown to enter the Ghost Zone. Finally it reached zero and the Fenton parents dove right into the depths of the Ghost Zone, instantly activating all of their ectoplasm collection instruments, hoping that having them out from the beginning would allow them to have as much material as needed.

Once the threshold was crossed, all of the instruments that were inside and outside of the ship began collecting as much data as possible, checking the levels of ambient ectoplasm, the concentration of it, checking how they identify in the Infrared and UltraViolet cameras, measuring the resistance it has with the help of the hull, the refraction of light with the help of an astronomical laser pointer modified to be colored red instead of green, and collecting as many samples as possible so as to make more experiments in the future.

“Mads, there’s so much raw data coming in, take a look at the numbers flying on the computer!”

“Ectoplasm with refraction index of 2.3, wait, 2.3!? That means that ectoplasm refracts more light than Oils and Diamonds!”

“Check out the concentrations of the Ambient Ectoplasm as well, somehow it’s extremely low despite us being in the Ghost Zone. Does that mean that Ectoplasm here is in a gaseous form?”

“The Specter Speeder is currently going at 25 Kilometers per Hour, and usually with the current strength of the motor we would be going at 35 Kilometers per Hour, which means that Ectoplasm has a higher resistance to air yet a smaller resistance than water.”

“Ok, we just collected a lot of data that we’ll have to comb through back at Fenton Works, we should turn back and begin filtering the measurements we got with the ones obtained from Amity.”

“Good idea Jack, do you want to be the one to drive us home now?”

“Sure thing Mads! Be ready Ghost Zone because Jack Fenton will drive through you like there’s no tomorrow!” And with that he took the wheel of the ship, turn around, and step on the gas pedal with full power, ramming through any ghost that was unlucky enough to be in his way (*cough* Johnny 13 *cough*)

[sherrybaby14]

Blue Spiders

A/N:  This is chapter one in a series!  I think it is going to be 3 parts, but if more is requested I do have an outline where I could take it to 10.  (Updates on Thursdays)

Pairing: AU Psychiatrist Steve Rogers x Female Reader

Words:  3700

Summary:  An interview with a charming doctor leads to more

Warnings:  This chapter, mentions of violence and murder, alcohol.  I HAVE NOT WARNED FOR EVERYTHING POSSIBLE.  PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.  

   Smoothing out your blazer and squaring your shoulders you rose your fist and knocked on the door.  

   It swung open, taking your breath away at the swiftness of the response.  Your jaw dropped for a moment, but you shook the nerves away, always the professional.  He was more gorgeous in person with blond hair and blue eyes.  The All-American man.

   “Dr. Rogers?”  You asked.  

   “So I’ve been called.”  He stepped to the side.  “Please come in.”

   Your eyes went up at the expanse of his office.  It had a balcony going around the entire space, floor to ceiling in books.  The main floor was open with a huge mahogany desk behind bright windows.  There was a sitting area with two chairs, a couch, and a coffee table.  On the wall hung a giant painting.

   “Is that a Jackson Pollock?”  You were surprised to see such a chaotic artist hung in a therapist’s office.  

   “I know it’s not the traditional calming image you would expect a doctor to hang, but I find it opens people up on the subconscious and allows my patients to see the beauty in madness.”   His voice made the hairs on your body rise, so calm and collected.  

   “Are most of your patients mad?”  You looked over your shoulder to see icy blue eyes taking in your face.  

   “We’re not here to discuss my patients Miss, that is private information.”  He wagged a finger in your face before moving toward the sitting area. “I was very clear when I agreed to the interview.”  

   “Of course, Dr. Rogers.”  You followed and sat down opposite him.  “I am sure my editor went over the basics with you, but this is for a feature we do monthly on interesting people in the area.  There is nothing to worry about, it is not investigative journalism, only a puff piece for our readers looking for human interest stories.”  

   “Yes, I am still uncertain why I was selected.”  The man adjusted his tie that was tucked into a vest.  He wore those clothes well.  “I fear I am not that interesting.”

   “You were instrumental in the capture of the Canary Killer.”  You were shocked by his modesty.  “The FBI has praised your work and referred to you as an essential asset even though you are not an agent.  That alone makes you very fascinating.”

   “The Canary Killer.”  Dr. Rogers rolled his eyes.  “I am not a fan of those nicknames.  They devalue the lives of the victims, and criminals are not my expertise.”  

   “Do you mind?”  You reached into your bag and pulled out a tape recorder.  “I did not expect to start this soon.”

   “Please.”  He crossed his legs and his lips turned into a small smirk.  “And tell me, why would your readers care about a murderer in Iowa?  I am sure they are locally based.”  

   “Yes.  We are out of Washington D.C., readership largely in Maryland and Virginia.  The surrounding areas, but a killer like this facinates anyone regardless of region.”  As his smile dropped you worried you were coming off too forward.  “And, the focus of the piece is on you, not the killings.  We want to know your background, your story.  I am sure it is more exciting than you give yourself credit for.”  

   “Your dialect is strange.”  He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.  “I can’t quite place where you are from.”  

   “I moved around a lot as a child.”  You looked away from his deep stare.  “Is linguistics one of your hobbies? Would you like to expand on that?”  

   “It is fascinating. Almost as if you have no accent at all.  Very unheard of.  Tell me, are you trying to disguise your voice?”  His teeth ran over his lip, sending a tremble down your spine.  

   “Doctor, I appreciate the question, but I don’t think I could afford your hourly rate.”  You weren’t used to your subjects asking you many questions.  “How about you?  Where were you born? What drew you to therapy?”  

   “Right.”  His smirk returned.  “I was born abroad.  My parents passed when I was twelve, I became responsible for my younger sister and believe it or not we snuck in illegally.”  

   The doctor’s comment on your accent threw you off, especially when he himself was born abroad but had no trace of one.  He continued on with his life story and you barely had to ask a question.  Everything about the man was fascinating.  

   “After my years in general surgery I discovered that most of my patients were more concerned with the mental effects and less with the recovery.  I enjoyed helping them with any resulting depression or anxiety and realized my love for the blade was second to my love of the mind.”  Dr. Rogers glanced toward the window.  “People are fascinating and I want to help in any way I can.”  

   “That is very noble of you.”  The jitters you had about his attractiveness were now dwarfed compared to the intensity of his wisdom and compassion.  “I know we are running low on time.  Is there any personal anecdote you want to include?  Wife or kids?  Dog?”  

   His smile brightened the room as he let out a laugh.

   “Unfortunately my dedication to my work has left no time for any personal life.”  He rose from his seat.  “Though since this is a human interest piece, I would say my main hobbies are music and cooking.”  

   “Wow. Even your hobbies are impressive.”  You followed his lead, grabbing your recorder and hitting stop.  “You don’t have any unproductive time.  Never lose yourself in a television show? Read a pulp novel?”  

   “I do not enjoy fiction much.”  He shrugged.  “What is the point when the real world is so interesting?”  

   “I never thought about it that way.”  You smiled.  “Thank you for your time.  As a courtesy I will send over the article before it is published, not for your approval of course, but your awareness.”  

   “I am sure it will be as dull as me talking about myself has been.”  He held a hand toward the door.  

   “That is a way to put it, especially since hearing you talk about yourself was the opposite of dull.”  You couldn’t find the right words to say, but that did not stop you from speaking.  “You see the world through a unique lens and have had very unique experiences.  Almost as if, as a species, we are lucky to have you.”  

   You felt like you should cringe or apologize, but something about the man made you speak your mind.  

   “And you must be very good at your job, because I felt comfortable saying that to you and I am not even a patient.”  You stopped at the door to his office.  

   The two of you faced each other, his hand went for the knob, but he paused.  

   “You are not my patient.”  Dr. Roger’s eyes glanced over your face, then stopped at your own.  The two of you stared at each other and you did not look away as a chill went down your spine, the intensity of the man.  

   He was about to speak again when a boom landed on the door.  You jumped and put your hand to your heart, your adrenaline flaring.  

   “I’m sorry Dr. Rogers.”  The door swung open and a familiar face walked in.  “But I need to see you right away.”  

   The new guest’s voice trailed off as he spotted you.  His face scrunched and a look of disgust came over.

   “What are you doing here?”  Blue eyes glared into your soul.  

   A smirk crossed your face as you folded your arms.  

   “Hello Agent Barnes, always a pleasure.”  You should have figured he was a patient.  “I am writing a human interest piece on Dr. Rogers.”  

   “You talked to her?”  James looked to the doctor.  “About me?”  

   “I didn’t mean to create more problems for you to discuss.”  You bit back the urge to fire a crack about his narcissism.  “Thank you again Doctor.  I will send you the piece in the next week or so.”  

   You held out your hand and watched as the blonde man shook it with hesitation.  

   That deep intense stare was gone.  Your heart deflated as you left the office, trying to hold your head high and shoulders square.  It felt like he was going to ask you out on a date for a moment, one you would have gladly expected.  

   The cringe you were fighting came forward as you left the swanky office building.  Agent Barnes interference or not it was a stupid fantasy.  This man was too good for you.

~~

   Steve considered his ability to read people top notch.  Even though he was the one speaking he spent the past hour studying the journalist and to say she was intriguing was an understatement.  

   In fact, he was interested enough he was on the verge of asking the woman to dinner.  

   Bucky’s apparent hatred toward the woman was not expected and Steve found himself mentally recapping the interview to see if he missed something.  

   Before he could assess the situation she stormed off.  Her quip about Bucky being a patient was ruder than he found acceptable.  

   “You gave an interview to Miranda Balfour?”  Bucky gripped his long dark hair as he walked into the office.  “What were you thinking?”

   “What?”  Steve shut the door.  “That was not her name.”

   “Of course she gave you a fake name.”  Bucky scoffed.  “I hope you are prepared to have your reputation trashed.  Did you think to, google whatever name she gave you?”  

   “I did and she checked out.”  Steve's intrigue for the woman was turning to anger.  “Now who are you claiming she is?”  

   “She is Miranda Balfour.  She runs a murder blog, always posting sensational stories.  She gave extensive coverage to the Canary Killer.”  Bucky ran his hands over his face. “Nothing better than a gossip rag.  I’m surprised you haven’t noticed her.  She’s always lurking around any local crime scene.  Trying to get pictures and interviews like she is a legitimate source.  It is disgraceful.”  

   Steve could feel his body temperature start to rise.  He thought about walking over to his desk and sweeping everything off, then taking an axe to the thing.  He imagined the wood slowly turning into the face of Miranda Balfour as she took a whack to the head, splintering as easy as a tree stump.  

   “Well if I have been duped, it is nobody’s fault but my own.”  Steve shut the door to his office.  “What brings you by so urgently Buck?”

   “The New England Butcher.”  Bucky shook his head.  “I stayed up late last night, going over every murder in the area that even remotely fit his MO.”  

   “There is one issue off the bat.”  Steve took a seat in the chair, knowing Bucky preferred to pace while he spoke.  “Lack of sleep.”

   “Six murders in three years.  Each gruesome in their own way.  The randomness of the kills, the victims.  It is like we were only able to string them together because he wanted us to.”  Bucky stopped.  “And that is what caught my attention.  What about the ones he doesn’t want us to?”

   Bucky sat down and dropped a file on the table.  Steve was annoyed at the waste of paper when an email would have sufficed, but he indulged Bucky and picked up the file.  

   The first photo was of a dismembered man found in a ditch.  Steve knew the date off the top of his head, July 2nd 2013.  Blake Corenzo.  He was a pig of a man.

   “That is a murder from 2013.  Blake Corenzo.  He was stabbed and chopped post mortem.”  James glared as Steve looked up, waiting for his punchline.  “I think he was the Butcher’s first victim.”

Steve bit back a laugh with expertise.  

“The brutality matches.  But what was missing?”  Steve was curious if the Agent was going to connect the dots.  

“Nothing.”  He sighed and pressed his hand to his forehead.  “Or something we missed.  But I have seven more bodies I believe are connected.  We know that as killers go on they get lazier, think they are unwatchable, but the Butcher, he is different.  We are not going to catch him on a technicality or sloppiness.  He is too good.”  

Steve did enjoy the flattery.  

“We have to find his first kill.  It always starts with someone they know.  Always.”  Bucky had a desperation to his voice.

“So you believe that this Blake Corenzo knew the Butcher?”  Steve watched Bucky struggle to connect the dots, not realizing he was the fish on the hook in this game he was not even aware he was playing.  “Have you told Anthony Stark?”  

“Yes.” The air deflated out of Bucky as he fell back into the couch.  “He told me mandatory session with you before I am cleared to return to work.”  

“If I check my e-mail will there be one from him?  Is that what it will say?”  Steve appreciated the protectiveness Tony had for Bucky. In a way it was as if Stark saw Barnes’ brain as a fragile asset.  One he was constantly concerned was about to break.  

“It will say I can’t go back until you clear me.”  Bucky tried to hide the humiliation.

A man in his 30s being controlled by his boss and therapist as if he were a child.  Steve recognized something in Bucky, an equality almost.  Because Tony Stark’s concern were not without merit.  James Buchanan Barnes did have a brain that could operate like no other and if anyone were to catch the Butcher Steve was certain it was the Agent in front of him.  

“You are obsessing again.”  Steve crossed his legs.  “It is not healthy.  You are getting too involved.  The Butcher hasn’t struck in three months and twice already this year.  It’s likely he will not attack for some time.  You are trying to create leads.”  

“You sound like Tony.”  Bucky scoffed and looked away.  “When I sleep,  I see their faces.”

“Whose faces?”  Steve leaned in, unsure what Bucky was going to say next.  

“The ones, the ones I didn’t save.” Tears glossed over Bucky’s eyes.  “Not the ones who have already died.  The ones who will if I don’t stop him.  Their faces are blurry but they’re pleading with me.”  

“People die every day.  You cannot carry that guilt.  It will destroy you.”  Steve reached for his rx pad.  

“I can’t help the people who die every day, but I can help these people.  If I can stop the Butcher.”  Bucky’s jaw tightened.  

“You keep saying ‘I’ when it is a team effort.  You are not a superhero.  You cannot do this alone.”  Steve wrote out a medication.  

“I have to since none of you will listen to me.  Not Tony, not you.”  Bucky rolled his eyes.  “Even Natasha told me to give it a rest.”  

“Maybe that says something.”  Steve handed Bucky the prescription.  “That will stop the dreams.  Take one before bed and get some sleep.”  

“And then what?”  Bucky looked up, lips parted.  

“And then come and see me in the morning.  Once you are rested we will have a conversation about Blake Corenzo and I will talk to Mr. Stark.”  Steve watched as relief flooded Bucky’s face.  

“Thanks.”  He looked at the prescription before shoving it in his pocket and letting out a yawn.  “And sorry, for what I said earlier about Miranda.  She won’t be able to tarnish your reputation.”  

“I am aware. The most salacious detail I gave her is already public knowledge.”  Steve rose.  “I only regret my own error in judgment.  Now get some sleep.”  

Bucky nodded as they walked to the door.  Steve kept his calm as he let the FBI Agent out.  

Then he walked back to the table and picked up the file.  He set out the photos of the four crime scenes Bucky wanted to tie to the Butcher.  

“Very clever Agent Barnes.”  All of them were done by Steve.  In a way seeing the photos was like revisiting an old friend.  

Corenzo was far from Steve’s first kill though.  He had watched the man use a racial slur and a racist imitation at a dry cleaner.  Another rude person the world did not need.  

Steve flashed back to Miranda’s comment about the human race being lucky to have him.  She was right of course, on more levels than she realized.  He was purging the world of the disgusting people who did not belong.  

After Agent Barnes’ proclamation Miranda Balfour’s name had landed on that list.

~~

Steve was a patient man.  He sometimes marked his victims for years before they met their demise.  

When he got home, to what his visitor’s refered to as architectural magic, he went straight for the kitchen.  It was on the level of any executive chef’s dream.  

He would cook tonight.  Channel his anger over the reporter, but not before adding her name to his list.

He went to the recipe drawer.  It looked more like a filing cabinet, filled with Rolodexes of index cards with carefully printed ingredients and instructions.  He had order them online since the entire world had gone digital.

On the rare occasion he had a guest they poked at his old fashioned nature.  He remembered the first time he had Bucky over for dinner.

“You live in such a modern house, and appear a very modern man, but that recipe system reminds me of my grandmother.”  Bucky laughed as he sipped his wine.

“And I bet your grandmother’s cooking was far superior to your own.”  Steve raised as eyebrow as Bucky frowned.

The memory vanished as Steve pulled out the Rolodex he wanted.  This one did not have recipes, it was for its original purpose, filled with business card collected over the years.  

He grabbed one at random.  Donna Chung.  He closed his eyes and remembered her behavior,  the way she was screaming at her child in the grocery store.  The child could have been no more than three and was crying over not being able to drop a quarter in a donation box.  

“You get nothing from that.  Here I’ll buy you a candy bar instead.”  

Steve followed her home that night.  Googled the address and the next day walked into her real estate office.  He picked up a business card and dropped her in his Rolodex.  That was almost eighteen months ago.  

She was not a candidate for a butcher murder.  Besides, the day left Steve uninspired.  But still he set her card to the side.  

He picked up an empty one and wrote the name Miranda Balfour, along with the phony one she had given him and the contact e-mail.  Then he closed up the Rolodex and put it back in its place.  

Steve poured a glass of wine and walked over to his computer.  He fired up the laptop.  

Grabbing a remote he turned on the fireplace and some music as he sat on his overly plush blue sofa.  Calm colors was what his interior designer recommended.   He was grateful for that advice.  She was someone who brought beauty to the world.  

As soon as Steve typed Miranda Balfour into the search her blog popped up first thing.  The title was “Miranda’s Macabre Museum”.  

Steve rolled his eyes as he went to the first post.  It was from two days ago.  

Murder

Victim:  Lawrence Engle

Death:  Stab wounds

Date:  April 12th, 1985

Location:  Mobile, Alabama

What followed was a summary of the facts.  Steve was expecting more of a tattle-tale type scenario.  But he did not see anything salacious.  If anything it was very matter-of-fact with little insight.  

At the end there were links to photos with appropriate warnings and links to sources.

Then there was a section titled editorial.  

“Here we go.”  Steve readied to read the sordid opinion.

The motive in this murder was money.  While the law, for the most part, disregards the motive as important to the trial my long time readers know I disagree.  Until we change as a society and value human life over finances we will be doomed to see unnecessary killings as this continue to happen.  That does not mean the killer should be pardoned for his crime because society as a whole is at fault.  On the contrary.  He is part of the problem and should be punished.  

Sentence:  Death by lethal injection.

“Interesting.”  Steve found his mind going back to his initial opinion of Miranda or whatever her name was.

He noticed a search option on her blog and typed in his name.  Several posts on Canary victims came up, but he found he was only mentioned in the source articles or the summary.  

He did the same for Agent Barnes and saw the results light up.  He scrolled the posts for the highlighted name and came across a murder from three years ago.  

Editorial:   The lead Agent on this case has shown textbook narcissism.  His attempt to relate to the killer to solve the crime failed here, because the murder was not about him, but he found a way to make it so.  The last victim’s death would have been preventable if Agent Barnes listened to anyone but himself.

“That explains Bucky’s dislike.”  Steve shut the laptop and pinched his eyes shut.

When he googled the first name, multiple stories came up that were as she said human interest pieces.  Did she lie just to get the interview?  Pose as the other woman?  

Lie.  What difference did it make?  She was a liar and had earned a spot in his Rolodex.  

This one felt personal though.  In a way Steve did not enjoy.  She made him feel...comfortable.  Or made him feel something.  The way her eyes were so inquisitive and she seemed to hang on every work with genuine interest.  When in fact he was intentionally trying to bore her.  

That would not stand.  This woman would not sit in the Rolodex for years.  Her time would be shorter.  Steve stood up from the couch and went back to the kitchen.  He picked up Donna Chung’s card and returned it with the other, instead setting the card he’d just drafted on the counter.  

He would start tomorrow.

~~

A/N:  Thank you so much for reading!  I really appreciate every like/comment/reblog!  I haven’t done a series in a long time so I am excited!  And if you didn’t figure it out this is....

Hannibal AU :). 

[kitsoa]

So. Khux final. Your thoughts?

I knew I would see you in my Inbox! Greetings, been a while, apologies, summer vacation is tomorrow and I'm finally going to re-energize my fandom spaces. Overall thoughts: It was decent. Definitely a lot of wham moments and twists I didn't see coming. The execution of the characters were satisfying to a point that my complaints are truly weak by comparison. That said... I have gripes. Gripes that may have the bias of simply liking my own theories better but I plan to get the hell over myself. Long Post under the cut

The Darkness Ugh: I haven't commented on months of updated info due to the sinking distaste I had for the entire Sentient Darknesses conflict. I don't think it properly utilizes the Nightmare Chirithy concept and Darkling ideas that were heavily pushed in the early game (all the way to the last world). Regardless of the connection between the impetus of such threats, it felt a little shoehorned to create a new emergent threat in the Darkness Creatures. Ventus gets no blame, MoM and Luxu can feign some kind of noble intention, everyone is basically guiltless when trying to apprehend and eliminate a nebulous and hard-to-kill force such as them. I'll admit that it fits really well in the convolution of the Data-Worlds. The Union Leaders are a honeytrap essentially and it seems to have at least issued a major blow to the force of Darkness. I'm just not a fan of the implications of the future conflict I guess? I'm okay with Light and Dark themes but I really want them to explore it with more nuance. "Light is not Good" kind of tropes. I can't wait to see the Foretellers as bad guys but I don't want to blame some other possessing force. I want to see legitimate error and corruption. Maybe I'm being short-sighted with the development. I'm not giving it enough credit. It still makes my head spin with ideas.

Stuff I really LIKE because it reaffirms my thoughts on fictional realities which have already been confirmed but I am excited to see how literal it can get: Real Daybreak Town glitches as it falls to darkness. It's not as 'real' as any of them would like to believe. "A land where light and darkness cannot be controlled" maybe be fictional to MoM but that sounds like the real world to me. ※ is a literal icon for 'reference' which means the world is a reference to something else. Quadratrum is a reference to ffv13 AND/OR a reference to literal Shibuya the 'heart' of Tokyo. It can literally be both at the same time. I am convinced we are approaching terminal real world through this style of world-hopping. Playernort: I am actually pretty okay with the Player Xehanort thing. I firstly think it's funny because of the 'everyone is Xehanort' joke and now WE are Xehanort. If you believe in the infinite worldline idea than every Dandelion is Xehanort in some fashion because that avatar encompasses the entire Daybreak population and assumes the role of Xehanort's past life in some variation of the world's existence. I think it explains Xehanort's obsession with the keyblade war and finding the Union Leaders while I simply assumed there was something of value within them stirring that need. Heart reincarnation is a new(er) concept that is extremely interesting. It, first of all, says the quiet part out loud and confirms that 'sleeping hearts' are fricken Dead guys. I mean we know this but I don't think we have to call it 'essentially death!' it is death. You can literally choose to move on if you don't just sleep. There is no waking the player character anymore. They are literally a different person. It also invites some musing on Ventus and Sora's connection as semi-reincarnations. It's not exact because Ven did choose to sleep but the same process that happens in reincarnation was potentially invoked during their bond. My lore brain is very happy. Where they left off:

They say that you need someone to remember you at your destination, but Marly, Larx, and Ven had no one to bring them into existence like Maleficent did. A facet to the lore that really stumps me. Is that just a factor to ensure that they have memories? I have to assume so but I have no evidence. And we don't know if they are truly alone really (ven kinda wasn't) but it makes you wonder how the recollection of them was orchestrated. Of course Skuld is omitted, though she shares the unique context of leaving out of the same round of pods as Ephemer... who I don't think left at all. Ephemer is the only one who was still in his pod when it landed meaning he didn't time travel at all. I like to think that the Scala he creates has this... final world feel which leads me to believe he somehow ended up in the final world but he clearly didn't. Daybreak falls to darkness and he's swept up somewhere to create Scala. It's just interesting that he doesn't travel. It's a little similar to Kairi's use of the pod in that it just worked between worlds instead of time. And I think that's intentional on Ephie's part (to create the memories needed to bring his friends to the correct point in time?) The entire Brain situation leaves me very confused. There's Luxu possessing him? and Then he transports ahead in time? How does he have his memories if it was decided that he would arrive in Scala. Ugh. Whatever. It's interesting but dissecting Luxu isn't my forte so I'll leave it for when I'm feeling particularly inspired. Things left unsaid: Ava. That's the point I guess. They could have explained the Keyblade War much better. Worlds ending can be extremely vague.... Also, X-blade my ASS Xehanort was drunk and needs to go home and now I'm pissed at that stupid-looking keyblade and I wish it didn't exist because it CLEARLY DOESN'T APPARENTLY. Also, attempts at convincing me MoM is good have failed and I was not digging the insistent martyr thing he had going. I just don't trust him. Like one bit. I think he's playing everyone, but the Darkness shit bothers me because its not like I think he's siding with Darkness I just don't think that makes him noble or even misunderstood. Conclusion: This isn't necessarily a bad place to leave things off. It's very intriguing and I would love to see this reinterpreted. Thanks for forcing me to put my thoughts together, I had been avoiding this.

[arcgeminga]

ANSWERED ASK from  @starlightofdream​​​: Whoever you wish to pick (The Twins) + Anxiety ♚ Meme:  Send me a number + an emotion and I will write a drabble/starter of my muse expressing that emotion!

As young boys, it was hard to separate Defteros from Aspros, and Aspros from Defteros. The two were joined at the hip most of the time. 

If they spent too long separated from each other, they started to get anxious. And when they got anxious, it was impossible to not notice their fidgeting.

              —  Defteros.

“Aspros! Don’t go! I won’t be able to follow you!”

“I’ll be back before you know it!” the older brother pinched his twin’s cheek playfully. Aspros was excited since it was his first day of training--but Defteros clung to his brother desperately. 

The caretakers had told them that only of them could train to become saint--and since Defteros was old enough to wear that mask that the caretakers gave him--the duty to become saint naturally fell on Aspros’ shoulders. Defteros wasn’t against the idea at first, but when the day dawned, a sudden surge of distress overtook him. The entire morning, he had been nothing but tears, shouting, and holding onto his brother.

“Defteros!” the browned-haired woman that was in charge of looking after the twins finally snapped at the fussy boy’s fit. “You’re seven! Act your age and stop getting in your brother’s way!” 

“No!” Defteros shouted stubbornly. He couldn't be too angry at her even if she constantly bickered with him. Unlike the previous women that had taken care of them, this lady was nice enough to let him run around the house without his mask. In childish defiance, the dark-skinned Hellene continued to whine. “Aspros is going to be gone for hours!! What am I going to do?!”

“Thank Zeus!” the woman rested her hands on her hips as she shouted back at the child. It wasn’t a hate-filled shout like the other caretakers, so Defteros didn’t get scared of her firm voice. “If he’s lucky, he’ll move into the Residence Halls. You need to let him go, Defteros!” Her response made Defteros stick his tongue out at her, which the woman snappily mirrored.

Aspros patiently pried his little brother’s arms from around him and tried, “It’s fine, Defteros. When I come back, I’ll tell you all about it!’

And Aspros left. Defteros couldn’t bring himself to calm down the entire day. The dark-skinned Hellene kept coming back to the front door every five minutes, biting into his nails as he waited like a lost puppy by the door, before automatically returning to his room before the lady in purple could yell at him to stop being so impatient. It repeated for so long that eventually the woman got fed up. During his last, anxious-driven pacing, she pulled out a long bread from the kitchen and shoved it into his hands. 

“Nibble on that!” She ordered. “Nibble!! By the time you’re finished with it, your brother will be back.”

So, Defteros was shut in his room again, this time with a long stick of bread in his hands. In the back of his mind, he knew that the woman was getting frustrated with his noisy actions... but what can he do? His small hands fussed with the long bun in his hands. He plucked out a piece smaller than his pinkie nail, and bit into it.

He alternated between taking the faintest of bites of the bread and picking out tiny bits to eat until the baked good was a short stump in his palm. He was very distracted by the task of slowly waning the baked item when he heard the distant closing of the front door. 

Oh... his brother was home! 

Defteros dashed from his bed to the front door. His eyes glittered as Aspros was just removing his boots. “Welcome back, brother!” Defteros lunged himself at Aspros for a tight hug that caught his older brother by surprise.

“Ah! Defteros!” Aspros laughed as he tapped lightly on his brother’s arms. “I’m sorry for being late! It started raining terribly.”

“Huh?” Defteros was a bit blindsided by Aspros’ statement. Late? Raining? Since when? “I didn’t realize.”

“Of course you didn’t,” the brown-haired woman rolled her eyes before she strode to the kitchen to prepare a light meal for Aspros. “Also, you haven’t finished the bread. I’m really surprised you really took your time with it, Defteros.”

The mention of the baked item, Defteros leveled a wide-eyed, not-as-furious-as-he-wish-it-was look at the woman and stuffed the rest of the bread into his mouth. Then he took Aspros’ hand and pulled him to their room. He was promised a full story of the day!!

  .

  .

          —  Aspros.

“What do you mean you’re going out?” Aspros furrowed his brow worriedly. Defteros was coughing all morning and their brown-haired guardian currently in their shared room with a hand pressed against Defteros’ sweaty forehead. 

“Your brother is sick, Aspros,” the woman replied with a slight annoyance in her voice. After assessing Defteros’ situation, she gave a hollow hum and wrapped him in the red blanket. “My sisters will be coming soon. Don’t cause them too much trouble.” 

“But...!” Aspros was on the verge of whining. When the brown haired woman lifted Defteros from the bed and walked to the front door, Aspros instinctually followed her--his hand grasping at her iliac robes. “What about Defteros? Is he going to be okay?”

The woman rolled her eyes before indulging the boy’s panic by replying sarcastically, “Actually, no. He’s going to combust into flames at any moment. I need to get him to the doctor before then.”

“That’s not funny,” Aspros pouted, but he was the gentleman and he opened the door for her. Which was the exact moment when two figures jolted from the other side of the threshold. 

“Good heavens!” a piercing laugh immediately made Aspros wince. The ladies laughed as they recovered from the shock of the door opening before they could knock. “Klotho, you have an eye for timing!”

“Be quiet, Lakhesis,” the caretaker rolled her eyes. She pushed passed her sisters with Defteros cradled in her arms. “Aspros might get fussy. Give him a task to do when he gets too annoying. I’ll be back before the morning.”

“Okaaayy,” Lakhesis, the blonde, blew a kiss to her departing sister, and the other woman patted Aspros on the head as she entered.

Aspros was raised with manners so he passed the two ladies a quick greeting before trailing his eyes back to the retreating figure of his caretaker’s tall body. Before he could make a quick getaway and follow the woman that carried his sick brothers, a hand slapped his chest and pushed him into the house while simultaneously shutting the front door.

“Okay! Little Aspros,” the boisterous voice of the woman made him wince again. He was so used to his caretaker’s low, sarcastic and usually calm manner of speaking (until Defteros bickers with her), the cheery tone of Lakhesis made him uncomfortable. But the woman pushed him back and gave his golden hair a good, long scruff. “You got the day with us~! And you know that we’re not like Klotho, so you can do whateeever you want!”

“I want to go follow them,” Aspros swatted away the woman’s hand and pouted up at her. 

“N-no girls you want to bring over?” the yellow-haired woman returned the pout, somehow mocking him. “Or, are you more of a boys guy? Oh! Right! Yeah, you are, aren’t you?”

Aspros gave her a face that conveyed all of his disgust and confusion. He didn’t understand what she was implying, but he could only assume it wasn’t good.

The other woman laughed lowly as she sat at the sofa by the parlor. “Lakhesis, he’s eight.”

“Oh! Right,” the woman shrilled a laughter as she guided an uncomfortable Aspros with her to the parlor. “I forgot! They’ve gotten so big since we last saw them, I thought they were thirteen. But... well, yeah, I forgot!”

Aspros wiggled himself free from the other’s grasp and huffed. Holy hell, these women were annoying! In an agitated march, he walked his way back to the front door of the house. He paused... Half of him wanted to go follow and make sure Defteros would be okay, but his guardian would be so upset at him... At the thought of her being legitimately angry, the boy swayed on his feet. He turned around as if to walk to his room, but only after taking two steps in that direction, he turned around and took three steps to the door... and repeated with varying steps to and fro.

The indecisive pacing probably didn’t longer than ten minutes when he heard Lakhesis’ laughter. the golden-haired boy knew why she was laughing and snapped at her, “Shut up!”

“I’m sorrrrryy!!!” she swayed her way next to him before drawing him into a hug. Her cheery and touchy personality was really annoying...! “You’re just sooooo cute when you worry about your brother! You know that right?”

“Stop it!” Aspros fumed. His cheeks went a little pink at the woman’s teasing. Yet, just as he was about to pinch her arms off of him, her hand presented itself in front of her. Aspros didn’t know if he saw anything in her hand at first, but when he blink, there was suddenly a small ball of yarn. The appearance of the object confused Aspros.

“If you have the time,” the woman smiled mysteriously. “can be a dear and help me make cute little blankets? You brother will return when it’s finished!”

“I don’t know how to crochet,” Aspros immediately responded. He’s seen his caretaker work so intensely with strings and needles, but he and Defteros were never interested...

“Atropos and I will teach you! Come on!”

And for the next two hours and a half, Aspros struggled with thread and needle. Eventually, he gave up while the blonde haired woman laughed at him. The two ladies continued to work on the project as Aspros went to his room, paced, and occasionally came out to check the front door--which also meant that he was the judge of the ladies work.

He was in the parlor judging the ugly, multi-colored shawl when the door opened. Aspros immediately snapped his head in its direction when he heard the faint creak; his caretaker returned, with Defteros sleeping in her arms.

“Defteros!” Aspros immediately jumped from his seat and hurried over to the lady, eyes glued onto his sleeping brother. He could tell that the trip to the doctor had cured whatever aliment plagued Defteros; the sleeping boy looked so relaxed and was breathing easily. 

The savage anxiety that had been consuming him during those long hours finally faded away.

“...What the hell is that thing?” Klotho squinted over to her sisters and right at the shawl that was finished.

“A shaaaaaaaawl!” Lakhesis sang as proud as a songbird as she held it up. But Aspros wasn’t paying attention to them at this point. All of his energy was on his brother. It’s best to get him to bed.

Quietly, Aspros looked at his guardian with a wordless pea to take Defteros from her arms, and she understood his request. She gave the sleeping boy to Aspros--which wasn’t too much of a struggle. Defteros was very thin, and Aspros had already developed inner strength from his training.

The young boy left the three sisters to bicker about the hideous creation, taking his precious brother to their shared bedroom and laying him down. Then he laid down on his side of the large mattress and took one of Defteros’ hands into his own.

Finally... it was so quiet, and Aspros finally felt his body unwind. The anxiety had immediately drained the young saint-in-training of his energy, and he promptly fell asleep next to his brother.

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [17]

iv. many happy returns

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Mentions of dead bodies, fighting, violence, language. 

Summary: You and the others race against time to save one of your own from the remains of the Ark crash.

a/n: the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

Your small group jogs through the woods in tense silence. Finn is in the lead, followed by you and Bellamy, and then Murphy, Monroe, and Sterling. Everyone is on edge, either thinking of Grounders, kidnapped friends, or friends losing their minds. Your gaze is jumping between scanning the woods and the back of Finn’s head, trying to judge which is the bigger threat, when Bellamy mutters, “Everyone, eyes peeled. We're in Grounder territory.”

“Everything is Grounder territory. I can't keep running, all right?” You all turn to face Murphy, who is now stopped and struggling for breath. “We don't even know if the guy Finn killed was telling the truth.”

Finn rushes to him, grabbing him and forcing him to walk. “Keep moving.”

Bellamy mirrors the motion with Finn, pulling him back. “We can give him a minute.”

“No, we can't. You heard what that Grounder said. ‘They'll outlive their usefulness.’” He turns to you, seeking your support, but you avert your eyes. Because even though you agree with him, and you’re worried that you’re already too late, you don’t want him to think you support him or that what he did was okay.

“I heard what he said when you had a gun to his head.”

Finn’s voice drops to a whisper, “Look, you think I wanted to do that? He would have told his people we're coming, and by the time we got there, our people would be dead. Maybe that's something you can live with, but I can't!”

He tries to push past Bellamy, but Bellamy stops him, and pushes back, forcing Finn to listen to what he has to say. “I know you did what you think you had to do,” his eyes bounce over Finn’s head and over to you, before returning to meet the man’s gaze. “But you are not yourself right now, and I can't be out here with another loose cannon.”

You step closer, about to say something, when your boot connects with something hard. Confused, you look down, and find that you’ve just hit another boot...that is still connected to someone’s body. You step back, fear rising in your voice when you say, “Bellamy…”

He looks away from Finn and over to you, where your eyes are scanning the ground around you. Bodies litter the area, some still strapped in seats, some mangled beyond recognition. Bellamy eyes the others and demands, “Fall in.”

You do as he says, following him down the path as he leaves the safety of the trees and steps out into the open, right along the edge of a cliff. The mood is somber, and only grows darker when you all step to the edge and see it, the wreckage stuck into the side of a cliff, still smoking. 

“It’s one of the Ark stations,” you whisper, feeling sick. 

“That’s a rough landing.”

You glare at Murphy, wondering how he can see this and still joke, surrounded by dead bodies. Finn steps away, and Bellamy follows. “There's nothing we can do for these people. We gotta go.”

As you all start to turn and follow, you hear a soft whimper. Bellamy turns back, brows furrowed, and Murphy asks, “Did you hear that?”

You all scurry to the edge of the cliff, and look over, spotting a girl standing on a small piece of rock, clinging to a tree. “Please, help me!”

The girl is looking up, watching you all, and recognition passes over Sterling’s face. “Mel?”

“Help me! Sterling, please!”

Finn grabs you and Bellamy and pulls you to the side, voice dropping to a whisper. “We can't stop.”

You give him a sharp look. “Finn. She’s from the Ark, we can’t just leave her.” Bellamy adds, “This isn't a Grounder, Finn. We have a rope.”

He looks between you, “You saw her. She'd never be able to hold on to it. We'd have to lower somebody down. It'll take time that we don't have. I hate this as much as you-”

Bellamy cuts him off, shaking his head. “I know. Okay? I know.”

“We'll come back for her.”

“Wait-” You start, looking between the two men. They both turn to you, and Finn says, “Clarke could already be in trouble.”

“I know, but-” You look to Bellamy, who glances over at Finn and then back to you. “We’ll come back, I promise. But we have to go save our people. Your twin.”

You feel yourself growing frustrated. “You both keep saying that like I don’t know what’s at stake here, but I don’t want to just leave this girl here, and Clarke wouldn’t either!”

They exchange another glance, and you can feel the decision being made without you. Bellamy turns to the others, “We're moving out.”

As you all turn, Sterling is already lowering himself over the edge, heading for Mel. You glare at the back of Bellamy and Finn’s heads before you join them. Murphy turns to the pair with a smirk. “Well, it looks like we're taking that break after all, huh?”

You all stand at the edge, watching as Sterling gets closer and closer to Mel. When he is feet from her, he yells up, “I'm almost there! Once I have her, pull us up!”

You can see him reaching for her, and their hands connect as Sterling pulls himself closer. The action must put too much weight on the small ledge beneath Mel’s feet because it breaks, leaving only the tree for her to cling too. She screams and lets go of Sterling to wrap both arms around the last stronghold, and he slides away from her. 

You all watch with bated breath as he regains his balance and works his way towards her again, reaching for her hand. They connect again, and she leans closer, putting tension on the rope. You have a split second to register the sound of the rope snapping free from the trunk behind you, before it’s sliding between your legs. You all leap for it, but it slides past too quickly, slipping over the edge and sending Sterling plummeting to the ground below. 

You know he’s dead as soon as he hits the ground, and you all stand in silence as you figure out what to do. You turn and look at Finn and Bellamy before dropping to your knees at the edge and yelling down, “Mel, hold on. You can do this!”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. You're strong!”

Mel shakes her head, locking eyes with you. “I'm not strong! Stubborn, maybe.”

You smile at her, “So be stubborn a little longer. I'm not gonna let you die!” You stand and turn to the boys again. “We’re pulling her up.”

Finn pushes his finger into your chest, his tone mocking yours. “We’re out of rope.”

You push his hand away. “I don’t care. I am not leaving her here to die.” You turn and look at Bellamy, insistent. “We don’t leave our people behind.”

Finn’s voice rises, “If anything happens to our friends when we could-”

You spin towards him, hot headed anger pushing through you. “We don’t even know if they’re alive, Finn! We don’t even know if what that Grounder told us was legitimate. You can take your map and find Clarke, but then you can explain how you left someone behind to die just to save her. Trust me when I tell you that I know my twin, and she’d be pissed.”

Bellamy mutters, “She’s right about Clarke. And even if she wasn’t, it’s the right thing to do.”

Monroe steps closer, voice quivering. “Sterling was one of us. She was his friend. I'm in.”

Murphy turns to you. “How do we do it?”

“We make new rope from the wreckage. Go find wires, seatbelts, anything.”

Murphy and Monroe run off, already searching. Finn glares at you for a minute before he follows suit, leaving you and Bellamy alone. He meets your gaze. “I’m sorry. I just thought you’d want to get to Clarke.”

“I do.” You start to step away from him, “But I don’t want to lose myself along the way. Surviving or not.”

You turn away from him and pull the Grounder knife from your pocket, using it to cut free any seat belts you can find. A few minutes later, you all regroup and create a new rope, frankensteined together with knots, and secured better around the old tree stump. You step towards the end of the rope, ready to secure yourself and go down to Mel, but Bellamy stops you. “I’ll go.”

“No, I’m lighter.”

“I’m stronger,” he counters. You open your mouth to argue, but Finn adds, “It’s better if he goes.”

You nod and help him tie the seatbelts around him, securing him to the end. You smile as he prepares to descend. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

He steps over the edge and you all let the rope slide through your fingers slowly, controlling his speed as he goes down. Murphy is the closest to the edge, and you’re right behind him, then Finn and Monroe. Bellamy calls out to Mel every few seconds, reassuring her. “Just hang on. I'm almost there.”

Murphy eases closer to the edge so he can keep an eye on everything, and he turns back to narrate to the rest of you. “Okay, he’s just reached her. Now she's grabbing onto him. Okay, pull them up!”

He steps back from the edge as Bellamy yells, “I got her! Pull us up!”

“Don't you worry, Bellamy. I won't drop you.”

Finn grunts from behind you as you all pull as hard as you can, “Just pull, Murphy.”

The pulling is slow, but steady, as you all grunt and tug, bringing Bellamy and Mel to the surface. As they start to reach the top, you hear tension break a clasp, and suddenly Murphy flies forward, the seatbelt in his hands now in two pieces. He cries out as he struggles to keep Bellamy and Mel up, and you rush up beside him and grab the seatbelt. Finn joins a second later on the other side, and then Monroe appears next to you. “Pull! Pull!”

You’re all tugging, every muscle in your body straining as you try to lift the pair and pull them back up and over the edge. You can hear Mel screaming down below, followed by Bellamy  yelling, “What the hell is happening up there?”

Before anyone can answer, arrows start to zip in the air around you. Monroe screams, “Grounders!”

Finn passes her a gun, screaming at her to cover, as you, him, and Murphy strain against the weight of Bellamy and Mel. Bellamy yells up, “How many are there?”

“We can't see them!”

You scream over your shoulder, towards Monroe, “In the trees! Aim for the trees!”

You hear bullets popping off behind you, and arrows continue to whiz past your head. Your head cocks to the side slightly, listening, when you hear something whistling through the air. Seconds later a spear lodges itself into the dirt between you and Murphy. You both turn to each other in shock, the closeness of the spear, and death, freaking you both out as you still struggle with the belts. You hear Monroe cry out in pain behind you, but none of you can do anything to help her. From beside you, Murphy grunts out, “We're gonna need to cut her loose. We can't do this. Bellamy, you gotta cut her loose!”

Bellamy yells back up, “No way!”

“Bellamy!” You yell his name, not sure what you want. Cut her loose, he lives.  You said you wouldn’t let her die. But right now, they’re both about to hit the ground.

Behind you, a foghorn echoes through the trees and the arrows instantly stop whizzing around you, while the rest of the woods grow quiet. You mutter, “Acid fog.”

Finn yells, “Monroe, get back on the rope!”

You all strain and pull, and Murphy stands and moves to the back, wrapping the rope around him as he goes, in case you all slip again. It takes a few seconds, but you finally see a head full of curls appear over the edge of the cliff, and you almost cry in relief. Bellamy pushes Mel ahead of him, and she collapses on top of Finn, before Bellamy collapses beside you, all of you panting. His hand reaches for yours and you take it, squeezing to convey your relief. 

Bellamy lifts his head to look at Murphy, rope wrapped around his hands, wrists, and arms. You see them exchange a nod, one in thanks, one in acceptance, before Finn pants, “We have to take cover from the fog.”

“Bellamy.”

You turn when you hear her voice, and Bellamy is already standing from beside you, dropping your hand. Her eyes catch the movement before their gazes lock, elated smiles on their faces. “Octavia.”

They run towards each other, colliding together in a hug, tears falling down Octavia’s face. You scramble to your feet and run over to them, grabbing her for a hug when the siblings release. She pulls you in close, both of you holding on tight, before you release each other. She wraps one arm around you and one around Bellamy, and you all walk back over to the others to assess the damage. Bellamy steps away to help Mel, while you and Octavia look over Monroe. After removing the arrow, you’re both bandaging it up when Murphy asks, “Nice foghorn. What happened to your boyfriend?” 

Her face drops, and she deadpans, “He's gone.”

You reach out for her and grab her hand, which draws her gaze towards you. You whisper, “I’m sorry, Octavia, I know how much he meant to you.”

She nods, as Bellamy walks over to give her a similar heartfelt apology. “Hey. I'm sorry, O.”

She gives him a sad look, before reaching down to grab her bag. “The Grounders will be back, so we need to go, now.”

“Yes, we do,” Finn counters, as you and Bellamy approach him. 

“Octavia says the arrow might be poisoned. I have to take them home.”

“I know.” Finn offers Bellamy a piece of paper, which you glance at and realize is the map to the Grounder camp. Bellamy nods, “I'll meet you as soon as I can.”

“I know.” He repeats, before swinging his gaze to look at you. “Are you coming?”

Your mouth parts, looking between Finn and Bellamy, and you struggle with feeling like you’re choosing between Clarke and Bellamy. Finn, anxious to leave, makes the decision for you. “I’ll keep her safe until you guys meet up with us again.”

You nod, and he turns and runs off, without another word. Moments later, Murphy walks past you, following Finn. “Parting. Such sweet sorrow, right?”

“Where the hell do you think you're going?”

“Come on. Bellamy, you know if I go with you, they'll just lock me up again.”

Bellamy watches him for a second, thinking, before leaning down and tossing Murphy a rifle. Octavia mutters, “Really?”

Murphy cocks the gun, looking at Bellamy in shock, who tells him, “Watch his back.” Murphy nods and runs off, and Bellamy turns back to his sister. “I can't get them home without you.”

She smirks, “Of course, you can't.”

He walks over and grabs Mel, leaving you and Octavia to grab Monroe. She wraps her arms around each of your shoulders as she limps between you, and Octavia leads you all into the woods, ready to take you home. 

-

next chapter

[marmar-shii]

I ALWAYS FEEL LIKE I’M BEATING A DEAD HORSE ABOUT V but esp after SAE the amount of v fans that were legitimately like “nope I’m done with mystic messenger, V is too OOC” just left me so stumped 😭😭 SAE definitely isn’t perfect, but if anything I thought they just finally decided to be explicit about how low V can stoop when he’s blinded by an end goal

IKR like they say he's not truly like that but he basically did the same thing in the secret endings?? his entire route was about just how bad his obsession with Rika was. he's willing to do absolutely anything for her, everyone else be damned. like, do they really believe he didn't tell the RFA the truth for their sake? he was very clearly doing it for Rika's sake. Ray AE V gave up on himself and decided to let Rika do whatever she wanted, just like SE V did. i mean it is a fact that Cheritz lowkey treats V like dirt but that doesn't mean that you need to paint him as a perfect angel because he isn't. none of them is. the quicker we come to terms with this + the fact that sometimes, they will fall off the deep end and mess up incredibly, the better.

[fieryfafarfanfics]

Wishful Pining

 Ever since she showed up, everything he’s done has gone completely wrong.  He thought he had everything figured out. He thought his life would turn for the better. From the moment he was adopted by Chairman Rose, Bede legitimately thought he had everything at the palm of his hand.  But no.  He was supposed to be unbeatable. He was supposed to be the next Champion of Galar. People would see him for who he shaped himself to be. People would be in awe, would be at his feet to gawk at the marvellous trainer who was gifted by the hands of the amazing chairman himself. He had everything planned out. His first Pokémon. His first battle. His first victory. Everything was coming to his favour.  He had everything, and he would gain everything more.  That is, until she came into his life.

 She just had to ruin everything! That single thought haunted him day and night. Thanks to her, he was disowned by the very man who gave him food and shelter. Thanks to her, he was robbed of his very desire to become Galar’s only hope. Thanks to her, he was dragged by a strange old lady and was visibly forced to shape up into a gym leader against his will.  Well…technically the last part was only half the truth. In time, Bede actually enjoyed and appreciated all the lessons – gruelling as they may be – and this, in time, actually made him into a stronger trainer than he was before.  Hell, thanks to her, he is now one of the most powerful gym leaders in Galar.  Gah! He shakes his head, anger and annoyance bubbled uncomfortably in his stomach. Hands run through fluffy white hair. Teeth grind together, jaw tightening before he opts to take a deep breath. Warm air puffs out of pink lips. He needs to stop, he thinks to himself. It has been 3 years since that happened. Life moves on, and so have they.  He’s moved on. He is moving on.  There is absolutely no reason to lament on the past. Orphan that he is, Bede cannot deny the fact that Opal is family to him now. Despite the harsh trainings and quizzes and all that pink, she is a loving and kind-hearted woman. Everything she did made him into the excellent leader he is now. Groan and whine and growl as much as he wants, Bede will never forget the fact that Opal is the only who…adopted him when he thought he would be alone all over again.  The old lady still has some spunk in her, visiting him once in a while after taking a break from her little travels. She is an estranged woman, no doubt, but it did not take long for Bede to see Opal as the grandmother he never had.  Not that the young man chooses to admit that publically anytime soon.  Oh well, he is sure Opal knows how he feels.  He just wishes the ex-gym leader wouldn’t know much about his feelings for a certain someone.  A sigh slips off his lips.  His train of thought reaches a halt when he hears an eerie caw. Violet eyes look up, spotting a dot of deep black growing bigger and bigger until it forms a shape. Hands tucked inside the pockets of his pink jacket, he takes a few steps back to let the Corviknight land soundly.  Violet eyes never stray away from the young woman who hopped off the back of the Raven Pokémon.  “Thank you, Hilda.” A smile graces those pretty pink lips. Her voice is all he hears, and Bede rues at the fact that his heart starts to pound a few beats faster.  Apparently that wasn’t the worst of it; the second a pair of crimson meets violets, Bede can feel himself breathless.  Oh, he hates this.  “Sorry I’m late,” she apologizes. Her smile still remains present. Still remains beautiful on such a pretty face. “I had to fly back home because I needed to give my mom something. Hope I didn’t make you wait.” Her voice ever so soft, so serene, yet lulls such confidence that comes from such calm teenager.  Ooooh, he hates the beat of his heart.  “You’re irresponsible.” Why would he say that? “Making me wait when I have a lot of things to do.” He really didn’t have anything to do today—and he didn’t wait that long.  Arceus, her smile is a knife to his heart.  “Sorry,” is all she says. Returning the Corviknight back into her ball, Devina shrunk the Pokéball before clipping it to the right side of her belt. “If it makes you feel better, how about I treat you to some ice-cream?” Head tilts slightly to the right. Fingers lightly brush the bangs of deep dark hair. Patiently she awaits his answer, completely unaware that her actions alone cause a whirlpool of emotions in his heart.  “Do you really think free food will please me?” It does. “I’m not one of your rambunctious Pokémon.” He really likes ice-cream.  He wonders what it would be like to see a frown on her face.  “So, no ice-cream?” she ponders curiously.  He does not want to see it anytime soon.  His left eye twitches. “I accept the ice-cream.” He huffs once. Defeats slowly looms within him, but he would rather bite off his own tongue than admit it.  The second his gaze fixates on her again, Bede then holds back a groan to see that smile beam brighter. ---  He wonders how the hell he got roped into hanging out with her.  Was it 3 years ago? No, 2 years to be exact? They were both 15 and still trying to get used to living lives as strong, famous trainers. Devina all the more had to accommodate faster. Ever since she was crowned Champion, task after task came flooding down on her until she had no time for herself. After saving the world from the second coming of The Darkest Day and basically defeating the so-called Unbeatable Champion in a span of a week, the girl definitely had her hands full to the brim.  He couldn’t complain much, though. He was busy prepping himself to replace Opal as Ballonlea’s gym leader. He overthrew her easily (as how he would explain it) and since then, only a very, very handful of trainers were able to defeat him in the yearly Gym Challenge. He guessed he should take pride on that. Trainers were able to see that he was a force to be reckoned with before they could actually see the real force that is the woman sitting right beside him.  It all happened the year after they’ve met that she started to form a sort of friendship with him.  Well…'try' would have been a more appropriate term.  She was relentless. One would wonder how such a calm and collected person could be so assertive and persistent. He was perfectly fine with seeing her as his rival. Nothing more. Nothing less. She is the Galarian Champion. He is the most powerful gym leader in Galar.  But one day came, and so did she. The first morning, Bede took it as nothing more than the usual training routine he had with Opal and the other Fairy Pokémon. The second he opened the front door, however, he was laid stumped at the sight of a smiling trainer right in front of his doorstep.  “How are you?” He remembers the first words that came out of that pretty mouth of hers.  “I was wondering if you’re free today.” He remembers how baffled he was when she admitted that.  “In that case, how about a battle? If I lose, I’ll leave you be to your things. If I win, you have brunch with me.” He remembers rejecting her invitation, then being baffled again, then immediately accepting her challenge.  He lost, of course. And Bede still wonders if that was a good thing or a bad thing.  It became a habit as time went by. Monthly challenges became weekly. Weekly challenges became weekly hangouts. From sitting in a café in Ballonlea with such an awkward silence around them to going around other places with many topics to converse, Bede wouldn’t lie that he was still dumbfounded at the outcome that is their friendship.  Friendship…  Her laughter brings him back to reality. Focused gaze lures to her, then stays perfectly put at the gleam of her smile.  It is the damn mushrooms. It is definitely the damn mushrooms’ fault for putting light into her smile.  “It was the first time I’ve ever seen Hop run so fast.” Snickers tickle their way out of her mouth. “Turns out he can outrun a Charizard, and an angry one too.” Fingers brush her giggling lips. Both sit on a log inside Glimwood Tangle. Of all the places they could explore, Devina decided to chill inside the mystical forest. To her, the place was peaceful and mystifying. And given that it is going to be winter soon, she loves that the forest is not too hot nor too cold.  Bede didn’t complain when she suggested today’s venue. If anything, he doesn’t mind any venue at all if it means being close to her—wait.  Wait… Realization kicks him right in the head. He flinches on the log, then freeze on the spot. Immediately he shakes his head. The strands of long, white curly hair softly slaps his face, but the boy was too preoccupied in making sure he never finished that thought—  “Bede?”  Shit.  Violet eyes snap open, pupils enlarge slightly at the sight of his rival.  Curiosity turns into concern. “You okay there?” Voice ever soft, she scoots an inch closer.  He feels the air getting colder.  “I’m fine.” Sharply he retorts, only to silently regret his tone at the sight of Devina being surprised at his cold reaction. “I just—tired, is all.” Quick. His mind needs to be quick. “Trainers have been coming to the gym lately and trying to battle me as training sessions. They lost, of course. But the amount of trainers this week took quite a toll.” Keep talking. Just keep talking and ignore her mesmerizing eyes.  Maybe he needs to get up and move away from her as well.  But like hell, “It’s really annoying…” He wants nothing more than to close the distance between them. “They just…can’t give up and realize that they’re no match for me and my team.” Words are out of his mouth, but sight is hypnotized by the fiery glow of her iris.  Silence fills the air around them. Only the soothing sounds of Shiinotics and Spritzees can be heard nearby. Two teenagers do not a muscle. One looks at the other quite quizzically. One wishes his body can be swallowed by the earth below.  Pretty pink lips part, then gapes. “A-Anyways—!” he stutters. “Why are we here?” Quickly he changes the subject. Quickly he breaks his gaze away before it can falter down to the shape of her lips.  She is surprised; he can tell.  “Well…” Hesitance bites off her next words. Fidgeting on her seat, Devina cocks her head upwards. “There’s a special reason why I wanted to come to Glimwood Tangle tonight.”  “With me?” Damn it shut up!  He wonders if the tiny fraction of silence was her being offended at his foolish reaction.  “Yeah…” She looks down. Slim fingers play with each other, one pad of her finger tapping the nail of another. “I mean, I know I could have bring Hop or Marnie along.”  To hear Hop’s name, to hear Marnie’s name; Bede doesn’t know why—he somewhat knows, but he rather does not want to know—but to hear those two names feels like needles poking his wild heart.  “But today is our day, you know?”  Whatever feeling of bitterness he felt a few seconds ago disappears in a flash. “What?”  She turns to look at him.  Her smile truly is brighter than any mushroom in Glimwood Tangle.  “Our day to hang out?” She adds on, meekly. “We always chill at different places a few times in a month. And I know you live in Ballonlea and this forest is practically your home, but I feel coming here tonight will make it even more special.”  Oh, she is definitely aiming to make him die of suffocation.  “O…okay…?” His reaction this time is not out of spite, but out of sheer bafflement. Like every other time, Devina truly has a knack in knocking him right out of his comfort zone. He takes a sharp breath, then exhales in a slow, shaky manner. “I don’t want to sound like I’m not having a good time.” Believe me, I do. “But what’s so special about tonight?”  She didn’t answer immediately.  Instead she remains silent, yet her mouth slowly curls that smile he adores so much. Without a word, Devina looks at the giant mushrooms a few steps away from them. Taking the silent signal, Bede dumbly brings his gaze to the colourful fungi.  As is right on cue, the mushrooms glow brighter.  The colours are warm and soft and mesmerizing all together. But unlike the other times where they only glow when touched, these mushrooms begin to glow on their own. Shock paints the man’s face, then awe comes next as the mushrooms start to gleam and sparkle like crystals.  One by one the fungi around them shine. The sounds of Pokémon nearby are music to the twinkling mushrooms, probably in awe as well at nature’s beauty. A colour of pink, blue, lavender, and green paint the forest. The leaves and tree branches sway gently by the touch of calm wind, and this cast glorious shadows on the ground thanks to the shine of the breath-taking moon.  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”  Her voice. Her voice is all it takes to make him come back to reality.  He didn’t realize he was holding a breath, for Bede gasps silently as he looks at her. She is so enthralled by the sight of nature’s gift. She is so absorbed on the sound, the music of floral and Pokémon. Both hands lie on her sides, palms pressed gently against the log.  Ever since she showed up, everything that has happened was completely not part of his plan.  “It is…” She is the biggest inclusion of this unplanned fate.  The glee of enjoying the sight around her turns to surprise when she feels something caressing the back of her right hand. Her head turns to his direction. Crimson eyes widen in silent shock. Smooth cheeks redden at the heat of the moment. She is a sharp person, so Devina holds a short breath when she realizes the very close distance between them. Pink lips part slightly, though she is at lost on whether to ask if everything is okay or to just call out his name—  All of that is flown out the window when she feels soft lips against hers.  Eyes are round as they can be, then immediately shut tight in a second heartbeat. Oh man! The words scream in her mind. Oh man! Oh man! Though panic seems to ring her brain, unspeakable joy burst inside her racing heart. Body now trembling slightly from hand to toe, Devina brings her right hand closer to his, fingers intertwine like perfect puzzle pieces. Breath still held firmly in her lungs, she tilts her head slightly, further deepening the kiss.  And this…her actions alone…the fact that she is returning his kiss…Bede feels as if there are fireworks exploding in his chest.  Emotions completely overpowering what little common sense he has, he brings his hand to cup her face. It’s soft…he wonders. She’s soft… Palm gently caresses her cheek. Fingers slowly slides upwards until they brush the short strands of dark hair. Nerves rattle him endlessly at the physical contact, yet he wants nothing more than to have her desperately close to him.  Chu… He presses the kiss again. Chu… And again. Chuu… And again.  Eyes closed and lungs ache at the baited breath, Bede whines slightly and brushes the tip of his nose against hers. He feels her other hand grip his arm. He feels those soft lips brush his own. The little whine that escaped causes his mouth to part slightly, and Bede feels like melting into a puddle when he feels her lips on his lower lip.  “Bede…”  Her voice feels like a pair of scissors that cut the strings that kept him afloat.  Immediately he snaps his eyes open. As if being kicked by her Cinderace, the young man gasps sharply before pulling apart way faster than they like it to be.  “I—!” Words fail him horribly. “I…I—!” Oh dear fuck, what has he done?  Though darkness consumes the area of the forest, Bede can perfectly see her under the light of the moon, stars, and glimmering mushrooms. He can see her face, flushed and red and utterly kissable. He can see her eyes, quite heavily-lidded with eyelashes fluttering at every needy blink. He can see her lips, parted and wet, deliciously inviting him to taste what he has been missing all along.  Saliva tastes like rocks as it slides down his throat.  “I need to—” He has ruined it. “I just…!” He has ruined a perfectly sound friendship with someone who has the common decency to like him for who he actually is. “I—go—!” He doesn’t know why, but the thought alone pricks tears in his eyes.  Not taking a chance for her to respond, Bede jumps to his feet and runs away.  …Or at least, he decides to, if not for the fact that he has forgotten the young woman before him apparently is way stronger than she looks.  “Wait—!” Impulse works faster in terms of verbal and physical reactions. Actually forgetting her own strength, Devina grips his hand that still holds hers and accidentally tugs him downwards.  “What the—!”  Plop!  “Oof!”  Thankfully, the ground is soft.  Unthankfully, the young woman above him is made of flesh and bones.  Everything happens so fast. The first minute, they were sitting on a log, talking and enjoying their little moment. The second minute, they were kissing – intensely, he might add – and thought of nothing but her body pressed closer against his. The third minute, he remembers panicking, then trying to run away, then being forcibly chucked down by the strength of what society calls her ‘The Divine Champion’.  And now? Bede only groans in ache as his elbows press against the soft soil.  It takes him a moment, but heat then paints his face to realize his rival whom he has kissed like a hungry fool is now leaning against his body.  The mushrooms still glimmer beautifully. The wind still hums its soothing tune.  But by Arceus, not even the Alpha Pokémon itself can rid the raging wave of emotions in the gym leader’s heart.  He then hears mumbles on his chest. “Uh…” Like a fool, he gapes. One elbow still placed as an anchor, Bede nervously moves his right hand towards her. “De…Devina…?” His hands shake terribly. He knows damn well she can hear his heart screaming like a mad Loudred right now. “Devina…?”  “Don’t go…”  His hand flinches and hovers near her back.  Truly he is at lost for words for the hundredth time tonight. He remains frozen in place despite the ache in his left elbow. Bede feels a shiver—her shiver, his shiver—and this drives the boy nothing more than the need to wrap his arms around her.  “Bede…” Her voice rumbles against his still chest, against his drumming heart. Hands clutching the front of his jacket, Devina takes a deep breath and looks up at him.  Arceus take him now for her longing gaze is a surely the reason for his death.  “Don’t go…” She repeats. Legs brought up until her knees touch the soil beneath them. This allows Bede some room to breathe properly—which he still fails—and this also allows Devina to adjust herself so that her weight won’t crush him.  She is now leaning on his chest, though. Not that he’s complaining.  “Bede, I…” What will she say? What will she do? She already yanked the poor guy onto the ground. The least she could do is get off of him. “I just…” But no. Instead she just tightens her grip on his jacket.  Mouth pressed softly against his chest. “I love you…” It is now or never. “I… Please don’t go…” Her face is hot. She really wishes winter will come falling to her body now. “I love you…” Unable to handle the pressure of the moment anymore, Devina presses her face against his chest.  While the young champion wallows in shame, Bede is too busy being flabbergasted by her confession.  “I love you…” Did he hear her wrong? “I love you…” Did the impact of her pull and weight actually killed him and he was sent to heaven?  Violet eyes widen, sight sharpen then blur then sharpen again. Time feels as if it has stopped for them. If Bede didn’t realize that he has been holding his breath for a good minute, he sure does now as he gasps out loud in shock.  Devina doesn’t know what he is feeling right now. She is too afraid to even look at him right now. As much as she wants to run away from this, ironic that is sounds considering a few minutes ago, the champion only lingers on his body until she grimly awaits the second Bede pushes him away out of disgust and hatred—  Her body startles, but she feels herself being dropped downwards.  Quickly she brings her head up. Crimson eyes widen in shock, pupils dilate and enlarge at the quick adjustment of darkness and light. She then sees Bede lying on the ground, one arm draped across his eyes while the other spread to the side.  Man, she surely is feeling so many emotions in one night; she is just glad Starlight is sleeping soundly inside her Friend ball or else the Hatterene would definitely throw a violent fit.  He isn’t saying a word. Neither is she.  Both wonder if they can stay like this until the next morning.  “…ou…too…”  Confusion sparks her mind as she tilts her head. “Uh…what?” Deciding to not get off his chest, Devina instead scoots closer. “Bede—?”  “I said I love you!” His arm flings away from his face, and he is equally startled and glad that he didn’t accidentally smack her head.  Well, they sure are feeling a lot of emotions right now.  Their faces mirror each other. Cheeks burn like a thousand suns. Their heartbeats now boom as one. Their bodies still and shiver in a mixture of shock and glee.  “I…” Ever since she showed up, he has the tendency to pour his heart out to her.  Unleashing a sigh of great defeat, Bede finally just throws his arms around her. “I love you…a lot...” Very thankful that her face is close to his, the young gym leader lifts his head to plant a short kiss to her lips. Stifling a shy groan, he shuts his eyes and let the earth take him.  Her body jolts slightly at the hug, at his kiss, at his confession. Did she hear him right, she wonders. If this was truly the trick of some trickster Pokémon, Devina really did have the right mind to unleash and awaken all six of her Pokémon to hunt the cruel being down.  But to feel his embrace, so warm and snug. To hear his rapid heartbeat beating against hers. Devina can’t beat back the smile that shakily, shamelessly grows on her beet red face.  She giggles once. Twice. Then laughs gleefully before nuzzling into his neck.  Arceus, she will be the death of him as he flinches from the delicious contact.  “I love you, Bede!”  Ever since she showed up into his life, Bede has known nothing but wonderful happiness.  His smile grows wider and wider. Laughter then accompanies her own. Not caring about the flushed red that burns right to the tips of his ears, Bede lifts his head again to press a lingering, loving kiss to the top of her head.  “I love you too, Devina.” END

[clove-pinks]

"The Victory as it left Woolwich (detail) from Robert Huish, The Last Voyage of Capt. Sir John Ross, 1835." (Linda Hall Library, see source link)

My first thought when I saw this picture was to marvel at the size of the smokestack on Victory. I wasn't expecting it to be so tall, or so large, especially when screw-propeller ironclads of the mid-19th century have such short stacks. But while a lot of things going on in this illustration are dubious (more on that later), this depiction of Victory's smokestack is probably accurate enough, q.v. the 1820s steamship Diana and her similar appearance.

Much more frustrating to me are all the hoists of flags.

Remember that the Admiralty did not sponsor this expedition (which is why there is a big chunk of Nunavut named after a gin distiller), so you might think that Ross was using Marryat's code of signals for merchant ships, first published in 1817. Except that those aren't Marryat's flags— there are designs not in his simple numerical system, and they're all square/rectangular in shape. That last detail alone is unusual, since naval signal flags generally have distinguishing pennants and the odd swallow tail or triangle-shaped flag.

So, are they using a Royal Navy system? As far as I can tell, no (with a question mark at the end). It’s not Admiral Home Popham’s famous flags, it’s not the flags drawn by Charles Copland (who is a somewhat mysterious figure, with many drawings in possession of the National Maritime Museum but not any biographical information. He was possibly affiliated with the East India Company, going by his art.)

I’m obsessed with these stupid flags, which are tantalizingly grouped in sets of 4 and 5, as you would expect from a ship making her number or sending some other message. The designs are simple, and they look nothing like the “house flags” of merchant shipping companies, or banners belonging to individuals on the expedition. “What is presumably Ross's expedition flag” is in the background of this painting, according to the description from the NMM. 

All weekend I have been poring over Timothy Wilson’s Flags at Sea, in addition to whatever resources I can find online. On Royal Navy signal flags, Wilson writes, “In 1808 and 1816 the Admiralty revised the general Signal Book. In 1827 a recast series of signal books was issued, consisting of a General Signal Book, a Vocabulary Signal Book and a book of Night and Fog Signals.”

Could this 1827 update include some of the mystery flag designs that stump me in the illustration? Possibly, since I can’t find a chart of the flags to verify it. I didn’t want to post about this until I could find a satisfactory answer about the signal flags, but at this point I’m trying to crowd-source an answer. If these flags are legitimate, they would be from a system developed 1829 or earlier (when Ross sailed); or perhaps 1835 or earlier, if the artist was referencing a real ship at the time of publication.

Stymied with the flags, I started looking for information on Robert Huish. I found a startlingly diverse array of books written by what appears to be the same Robert Huish: celebrity biographies and memoirs, more than one beekeeping guide, travelogues, a home economics guide for women. To quote from Huish’s wikipedia page: “His other works [not the beekeeping books] are nearly all poor examples of anecdotal, quasi-historical bookmaking; the Quarterly Review spoke of him as an obscure and unscrupulous scribbler.” 

So there is the very real possibility that the flags are complete bullshit. It seems more than likely considering the timing and nature of Huish’s book, published in the same year as Ross’s own narrative and compiled from what the Linda Hall Library calls “the journal of the steward, William Light, who was more than a little disgruntled with Ross, and much of the text has to be taken with a grain of salt.” (link)

Huish also provides us with a nice view of the Victory, as she set out on the voyage, which Ross did not do.  Perhaps that is because by the time Ross wrote his narrative, he was thoroughly sick of the Victory and its steam boilers and paddlewheels.  Ross dumped all the machinery onto the ice during his first winter at Felix Harbour and fulminated at length against the manufacturers in his narrative—so much so that the manufacturers wrote a treatise in rebuttal. 

I didn’t expect such a whirlwind of drama and half-truths when I found this lovely picture of Victory (or someone’s, uhh, artistic interpretation of what she may have looked like); but I guess with the Ross family involved it’s par for the course!

[the-headbop-wraith]

1_11 Glass Anvils

The room is dimly lit when he awakens.  The lamp on the coffee table is on its lowest setting and the pale light builds a gold dome over the floor, before breaking around the numerous countertops left at odd angels around the room.  Order was an elusive concept in his mind, and translated to chaos when projected from his mind.  He doesn’t know what time it is, but it’s either very late or very early judging by how still the air is.  He doesn’t recall when he turned in for the evening, but he does remember there is still too much work to do.

Arthur stretches, careful not to stir Vivi where she lays with her head on his lap.  He leans over sliding his arm under her folded arms and lifts her, so he could wriggle out from under her.  Arthur’s movements do momentarily rouse Mystery.  The dog, sleeping on the couch at Arthur’s feet, gives his companion an annoyed glare before curling back down into the lumpy cushion.  Arthur murmurs an apology, as he sets Vivi’s tangled arms and head down on the couch where he had lain.  He adjusts the blanket wrapped over her shoulders, before slipping off the sofa and locating his travel bag placed on the floor beside the couch.

The air was brisk on his bare skin and only a wrap of beige gauze has been fixed to the remains of his shoulder, above the connector chute of his prosthetic.  Arthur touches the medical wrapping and feels the faint sting of the injury beneath.  How did that happen?  Later he would remove the bandage and take a look, but he judged his hand must have slipped while he was groggy and making an adjustment in the connector for the new prosthetic.  This happened too often and he chided himself.  Arthur needed to be more careful, he didn’t have much arm left.

Arthur looked back over at Mystery on the sofa, content and sleeping beside Vivi’s head.  He didn’t know what they would do without that dog.

With his fingers and thumb, he wriggled the zipper of his bag along inch by inch, deftly with one hand until the sack was fully open.  Arthur plucks out one clean short sleeved shirt and fumbles hid hand around into the neck, until he finds the rough label with his thumb and twists the shirt around.  With the shirt adjusted proper, he takes the inside of the right sleeve and drags the shirt down over his shoulders.  He pushes his one arm free and reaches over to fix the empty left sleeve.

It didn’t really matter, Arthur reflects as he picked up his personal bag.  The stump would constantly slip in or out of the sleeve, but that didn’t bother him too much.  Only when he was frustrated and he needed some form of distraction, or some alternative outlet for his irritation.  Another reason he hated wearing his sleeves down, or long sleeved shirts for that matter.  He didn’t like pinning the remaining sleeve up, in the scenario he had to remove the prosthetic for whatever reason (sleep usually).  One time he did cut the sleeve off in a fit of frustration, but afterwards it just made him look more pathetic, in his opinion.  It was just easier….

Arthur paused as he moved towards the door.  That steady rhythm.  He hadn’t noticed it before, until there was the faint whisper of a page crinkling.  Arthur caught movement in the edge of his eye as he spun and saw a dark shape positioned at one of the work tables closets to the wall.  The bag made a sharp Pop! when it hit the floor, and Arthur recoils from both the sound and the shadow.  He doesn’t recognize the gloomy figure until vibrant magenta replaces the hair, and a hollow gap takes residence where the neck was a moment before.  His mind is still not at ease, though he is aware by the sudden jolt of the figure that it was startled by the random sound as well.  The only one unaffected was Vivi, buried under the blanket; and maybe Mystery, but the dog’s eyes had only cracked a portion to stare at Arthur with irritation.  The air hangs with the pause as the echo of the bag’s sudden acquaintance with the floor dims, under the sound of the subdued thrum of the locket.

“Arthur?”  Lewis says, voice below a rasp.  The answer doesn’t come right away, but Lewis vouches for no hasty movements until the other has adjusted.  He sets the book he was reading down among the clutter and scratched top of the table.  When only the silence holds residence, Lewis calls again, “Is that you?”

A quick farewell and retreat appeals to Arthur, but that just didn’t seem right.  “Yeah.  It’s me,” Arthur says.  He reaches down and takes up his bag.  “I didn’t know you… uh, had risen?  You okay?”  He hesitates.  “Well, you look fine now, but are you?  I got really worried.”

“Better,” Lewis says.  He ponders over Arthur’s presence and mood without looking back.  “About last night?” he began, pausing as he put the question together.  “What happened?  We found you, and you had collapsed.”

Arthur shifted his hand over, but he was still holding the bag.  “I collapsed?” he echoed.  He remembered vaguely wishing Lance a good night, but Arthur was too engrossed with work to look up.  Not long after that, Galahad had rolled off as he usually did to explore the empty garage.  But that was it.  He didn’t do anything else.  “I must’ve been working too hard.  There’s still a lot I have to get done.”  Even through the pale light, Arthur could pick up on a fog of discomfort ebbing at Lewis.  “Did… something happen?”

Lewis didn’t make a sound.  He thumbed at the book he set on the desk, trying to focus on pushing his thumb into the pages without sinking through their outline.  “I cleaned up the other work room.”

“Huh?”  Unease swam through Arthur.  “You didn’t try to organize anything, did you?”  He wasn’t even halfway done with the prosthetic, and it took a while for him to get all the parts he could carry with one arm.

“No,” Lewis answered.  “I just picked up the floor a bit.”

Arthur exhaled a tight breath.  “Good, thanks… I guess.  I mean, you didn’t have to.”

“I know.”  The skull bobbed in a nod.  Without a sound Lewis slipped from the chair, glided though it as he drifts to raise himself upright and faced Arthur.  “Would you like me to heat something up for you?”

Arthur made a meditative sound in his throat.  He set the bag down and fished around in his pants pocket for his pocket watch.  The lounge had the small fridge and microwave, as well as the coffee makers for the staff.  Lance would expect him to get the coffee going since Arthur was up, but Lance would also be arriving in less than thirty minutes to get the garage itself opened up and ready to receive customers.  But Lewis was probably hunting for something productive to do, even if it was microwaved meals.

“A pepperoni hot pocket,” Arthur says.  “And can you get the coffee makers going?” He pockets his watch and grabs the bag again, before turning away.

“I think so.”  Lewis pushes the chair out of his way as he follows Arthur to the door, careful to keep his distance from the other.  Before he steps out Lewis takes one glimpse of Vivi and Mystery, and ducks out of the room.  “Everything’s in the cabinets in the break room?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, hurrying to the steps.  It struck him odd momentarily that Lewis would follow him, when he could theoretically go through walls and float.  But he said nothing.  Instead, he reminds,  “And don’t let Uncle Lance see ya.”

When Lance arrived later to open shop and check in with Arthur and company, fresh coffee was brewing in the lounge.  Suspiciously good coffee.  He questioned if Arthur had gotten any sleep the night before, and Arthur endured some mild suspicion from his uncle before Lance let him be.  Galahad was on the solder table assisting Arthur in fixing pieces in place when one hand was too little, the hamster’s cooperation a sure sign that Arthur had taken pause in his work.

The following days, Kingsman Mechanics developed a reputation for being ‘spooked.’  It was no shock that the mechanics Lance had employed, burly or sweaty men from varied backgrounds, would be superstitious people.  None of the staff mentioned it to Lance directly, but the conversations began to float around within noon of the first day, and by the second day even the customers were seeing shadows at the corners of their eyes or shapes in the mirrors around the shop.

Lance was not as superstitious as his hired hands, and not as into the paranormal as Arthur’s crew was, but he managed to keep his jumpiest mechanics soothed with the prospect that they were willing to lose a good job over words.  Besides that, business had increased due to curious patrons dropping by to verify the rumors, or in hopes of catching sight of the shadow people.  For certain Lance didn’t give a damn the motives of his customers, as long as they paid for legitimate services and were respectable people.

Right on the first day Vivi managed to catch Lewis in one of the upper work rooms and gave him a firm talking to about the issue, but Lewis insisted it was none of his doing.  Tentatively, Lewis did suggest that the rooms could be salted, just in case.  Vivi denied this would be necessary, and settled instead to drag Lewis away from the shop whenever possible to adjust him to being around People while projecting his Alive appearance.  The van was left to Lance for its maintenance check, and Mystery stayed with Arthur to make sure he didn’t suffer another breakdown.

They started slow, a quick trip over to Vivi’s station of employment at the Tome Tomb comic store.  Vivi had some books that she had acquired on their recent trip, and she had another check to pick up.  Vivi managed a heavy amount of the online sales and purchases, while also picking up rare or interesting books sold by private dealers online.  Aside from sales and inventory control, Vivi could keep track of the paranormal market and promote the Tome Tomb on blog spots.  This kept the shop from falling too far behind big name competitors, by offering loyal customers rarity items.  And if a certain book could be found nowhere online, Vivi had a knack for finding physical copies during their various travels.

Lewis still struggled to shrug off his death suit, and the fact he couldn’t decide how it was he projected his living appearance fueled his aggravation.  As always, Vivi was a stern but patient coach.  Often they had to stop at some store or some shady alley for Lewis to take a moment and collect himself.  Vivi had purchased him a wool sweater, alpaca she insisted, and some gloves to further mask him for the time.  Lewis’ shadow was also… wrong, but not as noticeable as his first encounter with a mirror.  His head and legs were a pale shade of gray, the sun flittering through his shape and cutting over the solid fabric of the clothing he wore.  Vivi never mentioned it, since Lewis had too much to work on as it was.  But he was determined to master the skill (ghostly abilities), which was why she pushed him so hard.  Otherwise, she’d still be in those ice skates tiptoeing over china.

Vivi spent a few minutes in the comic store for the usual review, drop off of the books, and catch up with co-workers.  Even if Lewis knew he could go in, he couldn’t.  The Tome Tomb had problems some time back with hostile spirits, and Vivi had pretty much solidified her employment with barrier charms hung by the shops door.  Tough luck, but as Vivi put it, Lewis could have some time on his own and stray a bit out of his comfort zone.

For the first time, Vivi took note of a framed newspaper clipping that was on the wall behind the glass counter that stretched out near the front of the store.  She asked to see it right quick.  The employee currently on shift spun around to take the picture and with a tight face, he set the frame clipping beside the stack of books Vivi had brought in.  Vivi read through the newspaper article in silence.  An abrupt giggle jumped from her throat and Vivi had to cover her mouth, in response to the grimace her coworker had taken.

“Sorry,” Vivi said, and dabbed at her eye with her scarf.  “Something funny.  It’s sweet.”  She would tease Lewis later.

“Do you…” the employee, a young guy still in high school with an ear piercing, began, “You remember him?  They said not to say anything, but….”  He let his voice tapper off when Vivi leaned back and shook her head.

Vivi would TEASE Lewis relentlessly, later.  “No.  But I feel like I’m starting to remember him.”  She took note the date on the clipping, her smile faded some.  “Did you ever meet him?”

The employee shrugged his shoulders and fumbled with the edge of the frame.  “Not really.  We talked once, but that was not long before….”  He sighed and let his shoulders slump, as he pressed his elbows to the glass counter.  “I said it before, but you were kind of oblivious?  But I give my condolences.  He seemed like a real chill guy.”  He looked up when Vivi set a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“It’s okay, really,” Vivi said.  “Things get better.”  To those encouraging words the employee nods, and he takes the framed clipping to return it to the wall.

Afterwards, Vivi said a goodbye, and left to rejoin Lewis a few shops down at a café.  She would wait until later to tease him, Lewis needed to stay focused.

__

The eventual did happen, and Arthur was putting the last touches on the first completed arm.  He was fidgeting, in part that he had a tendency to nitpick personal projects into the dirt.  It was late in the evening, the shop now closed and Uncle Lance had gone back to his and Arthur’s home.  As per his nature, Arthur had stayed at the shop and was fixing the last points at the base of the arm, where it would attach into the connector chute in his arm.  Vivi was on the sofa giving Mystery some much needed praise and attention, while Lewis had taken post at the work desk beside the wall.  The Closed hours were the only time when the group could sit together, void of the distracting worries that someone would stumble onto them.

Arthur was filing down some over-welded seams on the arm, when Vivi brought up the subject.  “Have you been seeing the shadows, Arthur?” she asked, while rubbing Mystery’s ears between her palms to warm the velvety dog radars.  “You’re usually sensitive to those sort of things.”

“Naw,” he said.  “No, not really.  I thought about salting my room just in case, but of course I’m too busy.”  Arthur picked up a screwdriver and motioned to Lewis ‘seated’ at the messy table.  “And that would be uncool.”

Lewis glanced over but decided not to answer.  A long time ago he had set his book down to address his new companion on the table.  “I honestly don’t know why anyone would be seeing shadow people,” Lewis, again, defends.  “It’s usually when I’m not around, isn’t it?”

“No,” Arthur said.  “I have noticed, it’s only when you’re around.  I asked about it when I went down for the other jobs, and the guys can’t shut up about it.  They must think we brought something back with us?” Arthur turns the handle of the clamp, tightening the jaws hold of the metal prosthetic.  “I guess that is what we’ve done— Or, it’s what I did.”

“I have no regrets over the matter,” Lewis admitted.  “But I think things will go back to normal here once we get a move on.”

Vivi had lain down behind Mystery and was rubbing the dog’s shoulders, as he sat perched on the edge of the sofa beside here.  “I have a route set, some places we can think about stopping along the way,” Vivi says.  “We’ve got nothing immediate planned.”

“Cool.  Cool,” Arthur hummed.  “No forever road or late night driving will daunt our way.” Arthur stands up as he adjusts the clamp and moves the light on the table.  He’s a little more distracted than he’d like to be, only because he knows now where Galahad had gotten to.  “I was thinking of a resonance,” he says, in a way to change the subject’s direction.  “You didn’t really make the mansion, it just sort of came.  Maybe you’re still doing it, or trying.  Like a habit?”

Vivi shifts on her side to peer over the arm of the sofa as much as she could, to where Lewis was.  “And Arthur’s over analytical mind of physics and engineering rears itself again,” she enthused, and slumps back down.  “Could be something you were compelled to do with no effort, sort like,” Vivi thought to say breathing, but quickly worked out a more appropriate allegory, “Thoughts.  Just thinking, and the compulsion to think.”

“Could be,” Lewis hummed.  “I did inspire the architecture, the layout of the halls and rooms.  Once I knew what I wanted, little by little it became.  But it doesn’t feel the same now.  Now, I don’t feel like I’m doing much of anything, save for my appearance.”

“We don’t really feel thoughts either,” Vivi says.  She’s focused on rubbing her hands gently down Mystery’s shoulders, and kneads at the tense muscle under the soft white coat until the dog surrenders and melts onto the couch beside her.  “What are they even?  A voice in our head.  And if we can’t deal with it, we talk aloud.”  Vivi keeps an eye on Arthur, clinking at the metal and the sporadic flicker of the lamplight on the desk he works as he adjusts the light to view the prosthetic arms open end.  “This was something I thought of,” she said, voice soft, “but the deadbeats may have been drawn to you because of that.  The mansion.  They couldn’t find their own way, but your home was probably the closest they could find.”

Lewis raises his shoulders in a shrug.  “They just sort of… were,” he says.  “There suddenly.  I don’t remember a specific day or time.”  The tone of his voice thinned, as he stared at his hands upon the table and the orange ball of fluff there.  “I can’t even recall if they came because the mansion, or if I had seen them before.”  He looked away from the table, over to the top of Vivi’s blue head partially hidden behind the sofa’s arm.  “But they were welcome there,” Lewis voice rattles, with a resonance akin to fondness.  “They helped.”

Arthur paused to watch Lewis gently scratch under Galahad’s chin.  The hamster didn’t seem bothered by the spirit, but Galahad was always a fearless little dude.  Lewis glanced over at Arthur, and Arthur jarred out of his staring to resume his work.  “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, with a huff.  “Nearly done.  I might get around to making some progress on the second one, but I doubt it.”

“Don’t overwork yourself,” Lewis warns.  He glides away from the table leaving Galahad stranded where he is on the cluttered work top, and Lewis moves around the room to stand beside the sofa.  Vivi is curled up on her side, eyes shutting blearily until her eyes close altogether and her breathing becomes steady.  Mystery remains tangled in her arms but as always has no complaint, though Mystery does watch Lewis as he drifts by to perch on the opposite arm of the sofa.  “You’re nearly done.  Even I, a person no longer tethered by the natural laws of physics, can make out that much by your work.”

As Arthur readjusted the arm in the clamp, he lets out a heavy sigh.  “I’d like to have my balance restored,” Arthur says.  “People don’t stare as much, y’know?  They see something attached to your shoulder, and automatically their mind fills in the blanks.  Symmetry.  They don’t see a problem first, they see an outline.  Then the stares are mild curiosity, sometimes fascination.  But not much pity.  I’m different, but not broken.  I cope, but I don’t struggle.”  Arthur sets the screwdriver aside and grips the handle of the clamp, but pauses.  “Sometimes you’re the only one that can put yourself back together.”

A soft peeping came from below, and Lewis turned to look down and see that somehow Galahad had managed off the table and was beside the couch.  Galahad wheeled around and over his shoes peeping for attention, and would peer up at Lewis with his large black eyes.  It was endearing, but Lewis felt ripples of concern if he became too attached to the hamster.

“Hey Galaham, don’t pester the guy,” Arthur said.  “If he doesn’t wanna pet you, then let him be.”  Arthur fumbled to undo the gauze wrapping on his upper arm.  He had seen the injury a few times when he was forced to shower, but it still mystified him.

“We found you passed out,” Lewis offered.  “Vivi dressed your wound.”

Arthur nodded silently, still staring at the ugly red burn.  He took a mirror from his table and set it beside him, then took a sharp tool from the numerous scattered over the table and fiddled with a prong inside the connectors housing.  “My arm must’ve slipped when I was repairing the chute, it was smashed and bent bad,” Arthur murmured.  “It happens too often ‘cause of the awkward angle I have to work with.”  Lewis gripped the sofa arm that he was perched upon; he felt that more than often that injury wasn’t inflicted by a careless hand.  “Ask Vivi,” Arthur went on.  “Wait, is she asleep?  Can you just… not look like yourself?  I am happy you can do that, trust me but— Fuck.”  He reached over and set his hand down on the metal wrist of the prosthetic resting on the worktable, and tilts his head back to stare at the dark bars and cables of the ceiling above.

Lewis made a soft crackle sound as he moved to his feet, his attention placed on the floor where Galahad scooted about.  Of course he wasn’t walking, but he was still conscious of the little hamster wheeling around and waiting for some attention.  Lewis looked at Vivi and felt the doubt suffocating the remorse for his erratic deed, lessen by some amount.  It had not ceased to unsettle Lewis at any point when he was evicted from his searing bitterness, and he could never deny that he had committed a hideous crime, but Vivi could look at him now and smile, void of those memories haunting the areas behind her eyes.  Mystery looked to be deep amid slumber as well, so Lewis was able to take the glasses off Vivi and set them on the coffee table.  He pulled up the blanket left crumpled up in the corner of the sofa and covered the two sleepers.

“If Vivi wakes up,” Lewis says, as he steps away, “tell her I went to rest in the van for a bit.”

“I didn’t tell you to leave,” Arthur snapped.  “I don’t want you to leave.  I need you to stay.”  His fingers fumbled with the metal fingers of the prosthetic, and he could almost feel the device attached to his arm and that familiar sense of pressure he had developed in the prosthetics interactions.  “Just stay,” he whispered.  “I need someone here.  Someone that knows how terrible I am.  I don’t—” Arthur drew up his fist to his brow and shrank down under his skin.  “I don’t want to be left alone.”  He shuddered at the chilly air, and looked up when he detected a sudden presence.  He was a little startled by Lewis close proximity, skull bleached and pink fire burning in the depths of his eye sockets.

“C’mon,” Lewis says, as he takes Arthur by the shoulders.  “You’re getting some rest now.”  Arthur doesn’t protest as Lewis guides him over to the sofa, and makes Arthur lay down in the corner opposite of Vivi and Mystery.  Lewis tugs a section of the blanket free from Vivi and covers Arthur.

Arthur snuggled down, and watched as Lewis ducked away only to reappear from behind the sofa with Galahad in hand.  Arthur stared at the little hamster as he was set on the blanket, and reached up his hand to stroke one of the wheels Galahad wore.  Arthur sighed.  “Why is life so shitty?” he asks.

Lewis folded one arm under him, over the back of the sofa, and perched his skull upon the crook of his arm.  “Good things tend to break,” says the ghost.  “Perfection is a lunatics dream.  Flaws are natural, they help us see what we normally wouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, and a small painful sound was caught in his throat.  “But why—” He winced when he looked up and saw Lewis’ outstretched hand, just before the dark palm settled on his forehead.

“Shut up.  Just get some rest.”  Lewis gently coaxed the heavy eyelids shut and pressed his palm to Arthur’s face.  Arthur relaxes and feels himself diving, falling, into a black void as dark as Lewis’ hands.  In this place as deep and endless as midnight, nothing exists but a null of presence, comfort, and perpetual rest.  “No nightmares for you,” Lewis hums.  “Not tonight.”

Once Arthur’s breathing became placid, Lewis lowered his hand and gave Galahad a gentle scratch.  Lewis then turns his gaze onto Vivi and Mystery.  He reached his free arm over and strokes Vivi’s cheek, and hummed a soft tune that spun on the empty air that hung within the small room.  Lewis decides it was lonely to be the cause of so much pain.  He missed his mansion, and he missed the deadbeats always present and mischievous, always curious.  He missed the sequential waiting and reflection, and inexorable vehemence that fueled his passion for his current existence. But most of all, he missed his friends.

__

They packed and left the following morning.  Arthur finished up one arm to satisfactory condition, and packed the additional parts and motors he foresaw would be needed for eventual repairs.  While Lance took Arthur by their home to pick up extra clothing and essentials, Vivi took Lewis and Mystery to pick up additional supplies for the long hours of road between stops.  In all the rush Vivi did manage by her own home to visit with her family and apologize for being so busy, before she whisked away as always.  With formalities and preparation concluded, the group loaded up newly acquired goods, supplies, and a cooler for the road that had patiently awaited their return.

That had been late morning, nearly three hours ago.

Voices drifted across the busy thoroughfare, jovial patrons coming and going.  Engines roared as vehicles entered the parking lot and fade, while others bellowed to life in the constant cycle, coming and going.  Never slowing even during the low hours of the day; always busy, the restaurant buzzing with unruly activity.  Lewis concentrated, and could almost feel the interior of the building.  The cacophony of voices bouncing between the walls, the sweet scent of food cooking, dough baking, and meat frying.  He felt it somewhere within him, where he usually felt himself — the odd scent of stale water, the delicate aroma of freshly chopped vegetables, and spicy peppers bubbling in his sinuses.  People yelling with urgency as steam gushed, voices commanding, sometimes laughing.  Warmth.  Belonging.  Memories.

Cold air moved through him, and he came back to the present.  He focused once more on the parking lot, as more cars came and others went.  A steady stream of content people, whom took the simplicity of their world for granted.  Lewis reached a hand up to clasp the locket gently thumping at his chest, and let himself fade more into the shadow of the tree he stood under.  He didn’t want someone to glance out a window and catch his figure waiting, watching.  He couldn’t bear to think what his family might take of his appearance.  It was too soon.  Maybe they would take it as a good omen, but that didn’t settle right in him.  They would be reminded.  He didn’t want them to remember, and Lewis didn’t want to remember.  He wanted closure.

Vivi had brought it up.  She waited until Arthur was about to start the engine of the van and made sure to ask before he could grip the drive shift.  As expected Arthur froze, and Vivi was uncertain if he’d be able to drive.  Lewis, occupying the passenger seat, had turned slowly to give her a stare she could not make out through the dark sunglasses.  She regretted the question, but honestly Vivi had almost forgotten about her own family upon returning to their home town.  They came by for Arthur’s sake, pretty much.  That’s what she told herself.

“I just wanted you to consider it,” Vivi said.  She began to lean away, returning to the back of the van.  “I didn’t know if it would be something you would have thought of.  They’re your family, Lew.  I can’t stand thinking we’re stealing you away from them again.”

Here he stood now, a hollow languid shape.  Desire burned in him, hotter than vengeance and rage.  Lewis yearned to race across the road and burst through those doors, see his family.  Greet his siblings, embrace his Mamma and Pappa.  Tell them that everything was okay, he was doing well and was ready for another adventure on the wild and open road.

Lies.  He wasn’t okay, he hadn’t survived.  Lewis’ state of presence had altered, he had been exiled from the plain of the living.  There was no amending the issue with a smile and some comforting words.  Only something so unmovable and indiscriminate in action could smooth out the fine scars left behind.

Time.

Lewis lost track of time.  It was getting late and no one, Vivi, Arthur, or Mystery, had come to collect him.  They let him have his brief pause of existence to absolve a piece of himself, but even that had interwoven grief into his musings.  The part of him that was none physical, the vapor and core essence of himself that was more crucial than blood and bone, brain or heart.  He didn’t belong here anymore, yet he was compelled and sentimental.  His sense of adoration drove a thick spike through Lewis’ metaphorical heart, urging him to save his family, protect them from lies and false hopes.

Without a second glance, without regret, Lewis turns away and made his slow journey along the road.  It is never cowardice to withdraw from the unconditional love of family, when one is already so well versed with how much pain is inflicted through goodbyes.

[prorevenge]

Don't brag about your sidechicks especially if one of them is MY friend.

Been reading some of the stories here and wanted to share mine after having a chance encounter with this guy (who we shall call asshat) a few years after I wrecked his love life. TLDR at the bottom.

To give some context I'm friends with this girl who was, for the lack of a better word, very dependant. She hooked up with this guy some weeks before I met him. One night the girl invited us out for some karaoke and drinks. The moment my friends and I met her boyfriend (now ex, thankfully) we despised him. He was the kind of guy that spouts alpha male bull crap. He would say women should be begging to be bred by him, how he was the top of the food chain and how women were meant to take care of the men and their children. Everytime he said this sort of nonsense my friend would laugh it off and she would defend him saying he was just joking. But, we all knew he was being serious.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks later and I've been hearing some rumors from friends about asshat and how he's been seen in some clubs and restaurant with different women. From what I've gathered he had two other girlfriends and he was pretty much mooching off of them. He would live in their apartments rent free, borrow their cars and even use their cards for bull shit. some of them would do his laundry or cook his meals. All the while he'd speak sweet nothings to them in order to convince them he was okay and loyal. At first I thought they were just rumors so I didn't think much of it. That is until I hung out with my friend who wanted an ear to listen to her.

She told me about how asshat would be gone for days at a time and would only appear in her apartment whenever he needed something. This would be food, money, a place to crash or sex. She was suspicious that he was cheating on her but she thought it was impossible. I simply told her "Why not just break up with him?" She would go on about how asshat was a sweet and nice guy. When I pointed out how he was barely in her life and kept using her she kept defending this guy like he was a literal angel, devoid of all sins. I was worried about her and how this would affect her career, her life and her mental well being if this kept up. But what could I have done? If I threw the rumors at her, I had nothing to back them up and in her state of denial she'd just say it was fine. I was in a stump and just told her "Do what you think is right."

Fast forward another few weeks later. Turns out asshat and I were members of the same gym. While I was on the treadmill he came up to the side next to my treadmill and ran with me. I didn't like this guy but so long as he didn't bother me then no harm no foul.

As we were on the treadmill he started off with a light conversation such as "how's work" or "you a insert sports team fan." No big deal. THEN, as if the universe was giving me a signal, he starts bragging about his girls or as he calls them "his bitches." I believe he thought he and I were kin, that all i cared about was getting laid. Point is he starts showing off pictures of his "conquests" as he calls them, and was willing to give me advices on how to get girls like him.

In the back of my head, as he's talking a mile a minute about nothing but his dick and the girls he's screwed, I thought the planets aligned and was giving me the chance to destroy him. So, I played along.

For another few weeks he and I would hang out. He and I would work out together, get meals afterwards or hang out at a bar...like friends. Unknown to him I had been collecting any and all evidences of the women he had been messing with. Whenever he left his stuff, like his gym bag, I'd rummage through them. If he left his phone I'd make sure to remember the pass code and get myself screenshots of everything he took of the women he had been playing with. There were a lot. It took me a good while to put up with his bragging and me covering for his drinks just to get a couple of pictures. Some of these were the most NSFW. He would have selfies of himself getting head from some woman. A picture of him with his hands under a woman's shirt. Or just plain nudes he had saved up. It wasn't enough I needed to do more because I had to make sure my friend understood she was dating a Triple A scum sucking leech.

Remember those rumors earlier? It was a risk because if they were true he'd leave his gym clothes and such to be cleaned by one of the women he was taking advantage of. If they weren't true then what I did would've been a waste. So, I went to a lingerie store and got some lacy black underwear, dunno what they were I saw expensive fancy women's underwear and thought perfect. Bought lipstick and some perfume. Then during one of our sessions in the gym he left his gym bag for me to look after. At this point I was on a weird roll. I put the underwear in his gym bag, put lipstick on my own lips and planted them on his shirt and the pants waistline (...yeah gross. Could've just bought a lip shaped stamp or something close to it) then sprayed a bit of perfume on it for good measure. I had some weird looks in the men's locker room. Embarassing? Yes. Worth it? Hell yeah.

Earlier that day I handed my collected photos of his cheating ways to the same group of friends that I heard the rumors earlier. I asked them to just hand it to the other two girls, explain to them that he was a piece of garbage that needs to be thrown out. It didn't take much convincing for them to whip out their phones, get copies from me and start texting, sending fb messages and just screaming to their friend to kick asshat out of their lives. I legitimately wondered if this was gonna work because if they were really dependant then it wouldn't matter.

Next day. I was awake for a good long time, tried to fall asleep, played some videogames and even tried to drink myself to sleep. All the while I was wondering if this stupid plan had worked. I left lipmarks on asshat's pants in the men's locker room!!! Turns out...IT DID!!!

I was told about how one of the girls found the underwear and, I'm guessing, the rest of the planted evidence. She had found it as she was about to do his laundry. Like a classic angry wife/girlfriend movie scene, she chucked asshat's clothes in the garbage bin. She kept the PS4 he had bought because he bought it with HER money.

The other woman locked asshat out of her apartment and blocked him on her phone. She tossed his clothes and some other stuff in a garbage bag before donating it to the nearby donation bin AND took photos of it for us.

My friend, after some convincing from us, broke free and when asshat tried to stay at her place she wasn't having it. She cancelled the gym subscription she paid for asshat, cut his access from netflix and hulu. Packages he ordered online? She either repacked them as gifts for her brothers or returned.

This was confirmed when asshat texted me asking if he could stay over at MY place. I lost it. I had the biggest shit eating grin ever. I couldn't believe my stupid plan worked. I put up with his alpha male nonsense and had to listen to him belittle women as breeding cattle. Asshat had to go back to his parent's home.

The best part of this? My friend was a little stronger after all of this. She took some therapy, got away from the dating scene for a bit and when she was ready she found herself a guy who, as of now, is completing his residency. She went from dating a moocher to a doctor! He's an awesome guy, shame he's a Patriot's fan...but if he makes my friend happy then I'll overlook it.

As for asshat? Still living in his parent's home. He's "inbetween jobs" which is just a stupid way of saying he had no job. I had bumped into him in my favorite coffee places. It took a lot out of me not to smile at his unfortunate circumstance.

TLDR: I framed a guy who had been using my friend and two other girls like sex toys with wallets. Got him locked out of their homes and forced to live back in his parent's home.

(source) story by (/u/biobiobio777)

[detectivejigsawpines]

Hideous Creatures part 5 (Day 1-Stan)

The blonde chick, who introduced herself as Darlene, made herself comfortable in the seat right next to Stan’s in the cart after he’d finished sprinkling it with un-notice powder.  Had they been alone, frankly he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d tried to sit in his lap, she was gushing over him that much.

And while he enjoyed the attention-Stan wasn’t as big of a sucker for easy flattery as Ford was, but he did enjoy having people compliment him once in a while-part of him knew a con when he saw it, and Darlene was trying to pull one on him.  He wasn’t sure what it was, but something about her reminded him of...of Marilyn. Like she was playing up the flattery and flirting so much because she was planning on doing something nasty as soon as he let his guard down. So while he grinned and flirted back shamelessly, he didn’t let her get too close, and focused on giving the tour.

 For the most part things went like normal; Stan brought the group of monsters to different parts of Gravity Falls to show off human stuff, playing it up as better and more impressive stuff than it really was.  The tourists oohed and aahed over the diner, the Dusk 2 Dawn convenience store, even the freaking mattress store which had recently opened up downtown. They got their pictures taken in front of the Northwest mansion, and (without any encouragement from Stan, I swear) took goofy pictures of themselves with the Nathaniel Northwest statue.  A large red-furred squirrel man who lived in the forest outside the mansion even climbed up onto the statue and wrote “YOU SUCK YOU STUPID TREE-CHOPPER” on his face in bright red pen (apparently the squirrel folk held a bit of a grudge against the guy who’d been responsible for chopping down the part of the forest their parents used to live in before being forced to move thanks to him).  And Stan allowed him to keep the pen, in exchange for a few tufts of his tail fur.

 The problem came in the form of a few tourists who actually wanted more details than Stan knew how to provide, such as what was so wrong about the Northwests asserting their dominance over the rest of the townsfolk-since to the manotaurs that was a perfectly legitimate strategy when you were bigger and stronger than everyone else-or why some teenagers wore long nightgowns and funny square hats at the end of spring.  This question in particular touched Stan on the raw, and he said grumpily that the tradition of high school graduates wearing caps and gowns came from a belief that at the end of their high school education they needed to wear the caps for a full day to keep all their accumulated knowledge from bursting out the tops of their heads. Fortunately, the gnome who’d asked appeared to accept this explanation, and gave his own pointy hat a self-conscious pat.

Stan BS’d his way through difficult questions as best he could, but this crowd of out-of-towners seemed a little more skeptical than the residents.

“I live in Seattle, so I see people inside watching Idiot Boxes all the time,” said a creature that was apparently a troll; his coloring was an interesting gray, with a few yellowy patches that from a distance looked like windows.  Stan guessed that it was so he could blend into the sides of office buildings. “I’ve never heard anyone call them that before-”

“Well of course they’re not gonna be obvious about it!” Stan said quickly.  “The usual nickname for them used by humans is ‘TV.’”

“Teevee?”

“It’s short for ‘television.’”  He sighed on the inside.

“What’s a telly and why do people need a vision of it?” asked a tree nymph, her pretty face pursing in confusion.

“It comes from ancient Greek or something.”  Stan barely managed not to let his tone waver with uncertainty-if he didn’t seem absolutely certain that he knew what he was talking about he was gonna lose them.  He’d learned that lesson the hard way. “And that big screen on the front gives people visions of whatever they wanna see, with over a hundred options!”

Darlene gasped.  “Man, you are so smart, Mr. Mystery!”

Stan waggled his eyebrows.  “It’s a gift, and a curse.”

****

It was with a surprising amount of relief that Stan drove the cart back into the forest, letting the passengers go.

Man, I almost feel like I oughta do some research on stuff so I don’t get stumped like that again.

...Aw crap, I can’t let Ford know I thought that.  I’d never live it down.

To his relief, plenty of creatures still left tips as they exited.  He was just locking up the treasure chest when Darlene put a cool hand on his arm.

“So, handsome, you wanna go for a walk?” she asked.  “You seem kinda tired out after giving us such a long tour!”

...Right.  Follow the pretty lady into the dark, scary woods-that’s not a trap at all.

Stan smiled at her innocently.  “Eh, I’m more hungry than anything else.  You wanna come to the diner and get a meal?  You look human enough ta blend in.”

Her turquoise eyelid twitched a little.  “Oh, I dunno...I am a little hungry, but I don’t think I wanna be around a large crowd of humans.”  She stroked his shoulder. “I think I’d rather have it be just you and me...alone.”

  And it’s right about then that her eyes turned black and pupil-less, and her lower body turned into that of a giant spider.

 ********

Stan felt glad that he’d thought to keep his baseball bat under his seat; it was a cinch to yank it out and thwack her in the noggin with it, before grabbing up the treasure chest and hightailing it towards the cabin.  Behind him he heard a shriek of rage, followed by the sound of eight giant feet chasing him.

He muttered some extra creative swear words as he ran, struggling to hold onto the treasure chest and wishing (for once) that the stupid forest creatures would use paper currency instead of gold, because this thing was really freaking  heavy  and maybe it would be prudent to leave it behind, but he was d_mned if he was gonna abandon his profits-

Darlene came leaping onto him from above, having shed her human guise altogether.

 Stan barely managed to put the chest between them, holding her back; unfortunately, this had the side effect of knocking the wind out of him as he hit the ground.

“Geez, lady, what’s your problem?!” he wheezed out, squirming as best he could while trying to get his breath back.  “The tour wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“It’s nothing personal, honey,” Darlene snarled.  “I just got a real problem with your type of man, except for the fact that you taste delicious-ow!”

Stan slammed his fist into her eye again.

“You’ll pay for that!”  The giant spider woman reared up, sucking in a deep breath.  Stan noticed some kind of green gooey stuff gathering between her mandibles; in desperation, Stan hiked both his legs up and kicked her right in the midriff.  That allowed him to finally get loose, half-staggering, half-running away. As he did, he fumbled in his coat pocket and grabbed out his last possible defense-just as something like a thick, sticky rope caught him around the ankles and sent him falling again.

 Darlene stomped up to him, beady eyes glittering with rage.

“I think your tour’s gonna have a new attraction,” she hissed.  “Gravity Falls’s first mummy exhibit!”

Stan didn’t bother coming up with a witty comeback; he just sat up and slashed with the switchblade.

********

Ten minutes later, dirty, scraped-up, bloody, and in serious need of repairs to his suit and fez after he had a shower and some food, Stan dragged the treasure chest up the steps of the porch and staggered into the house.

Ford looked up from the book he’d been reading in the living room, probably about to make some kind of cutting remark-instead, his jaw dropped in alarm.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I got a disgruntled customer who probably won’t be comin’ back anytime soon.”  As Stan went past his brother to the stairs, he dropped a few items at his feet: a pile of enormous webbing, and a giant, bloody mandible.

********

It's my personal belief that the only reason Stan was fooled by Darlene in "Roadside Attractions" was that he is just that lonely, and maybe looking for options for somewhere to go at the end of the summer. Or maybe it's just that even a professional conman can't see through everyone all the time, and he was drawn in by easy flattery. But my personal preference is the first option. And here, even though he and Ford are kind of fighting right now, Stan is still being loved and validated by someone, so he's less likely to be blinded by unhappiness. If that makes sense.

[xxlittle0birdxx]

WIP: Jaime/Brienne AU wedding

I cut a few lines from another WIP chapter, and saved them in a separate document.  This is what grew out of it.  Completely AU from even what I already write.  The Red Wedding happened.  The Purple Wedding happened.  Tyrion’s trial has not happened yet.  Oberyn doesn’t die.  Sansa doesn’t leave with Littlefinger and never marries Ramsay.  Jaime still intends to give Brienne Oathkeeper and the blue armor.  Now, whether or not they actually ever go to Casterly Rock...  Or whether or not Tyrion actually goes to the Wall...  ETA: And the whole Jaime, Cersei, and the rapey scene next to Joffery’s body never happened.  

‘Tyrion will plead guilty and join the Night’s Watch,’ Tywin pronounced.  Jaime flinched.  Life on the Wall was brutal and depressingly short.  ‘In exchange, you will renounce your place in the Kingsguard--’

‘I took a vow for life,’ Jaime objected.

‘Do you want to save your brother or not?’  Tywin leaned back, giving Jaime a beady glare that made Jaime feel as if he was clearly in the sights of a ruthless bird of prey.  ‘I’ll have the High Septon brought over at once.  A sizeable donation can ease any misgivings he might have.’  He folded his hands together.  ‘You will leave the Kingsguard, return to Casterly Rock as my heir, and marry a suitable woman to produce legitimate heirs.’

‘I choose the woman,’ Jaime countered.  He didn’t want to marry anybody, but if he had to, he wanted a say in who she was.

‘With my approval,’ Tywin retorted.  Jaime’s hand clenched into a fist, but he nodded once in acquiescence.  Tywin rose from the chair behind the desk, and opened the door.  He spoke to someone in the corridor, then returned to the desk.  He picked up a quill, and dipped it into the inkpot, then held it poised over a sheet of parchment.  ‘Do you have any potential candidates?  Surely you must know of one or two eligible ladies.’’

Jaime’s chest felt as if it had a strip of linen wrapped tightly around it and forced himself to take a deep breath.  ‘Just one,’ he heard himself say.  ‘Lady Brienne.’

Tywin slowly lowered his hand.  ‘Lord Selwyn Tarth’s daughter?’ he asked skeptically.

‘Yes.’

Tywin’s eyes narrowed.  ‘I see you’ve discovered how to use your mind after all.’  Jaime’s brows drew together in an unspoken question.  ‘With Renly Baratheon gone and Stannis all but done for, we’ll need a new alliance in the Stormlands.  Tarth may not be a major house, but Lord Selwyn’s a respected man.  Tarth is an excellent strategic location to protect Westerosi interests in the Narrow Sea.’

‘That’s not why…’  Jaime closed his mouth hard enough to make his teeth clack painfully together.  Tywin would never believe him anyway.  He turned away from the desk,  left hand reaching to his opposite shoulder, fumbling at the buckle of his Kingsguard armor.  Tywin shoved his chair back, impatience clearly written on his face and tried to brush Jaime’s hand aside.  ‘I don’t need your help,’ Jaime snapped.  Tywin’s chin lifted, but he gave Jaime a long, appraising look.  He walked to the door and beckoned to a page, murmuring something Jaime couldn’t hear.  The leather strap slithered from the buckle, and the armor fell to the floor with a clatter.  

Unable to sit or stand still, Jaime prowled around the room, ceasing only when the door opened to admit a rather confused -- albeit teetering on the brink of rage -- Brienne.  Jaime crossed to her and stood so his mouth was next to her ear.  ‘I’ll explain everything later.’  He gripped her hand in what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze, but his palm was sweaty and cold.  ‘My father’s agreed to let Tyrion plead guilty and take the black.  If I leave the Kingsguard and marry,’ he told her quickly in a low voice.  

Before he could say another word, the High Septon swept into the room.  Brienne turned her large blue eyes on him, swimming with disbelief.  Jaime felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.  He would have bet his gold hand that Tywin had the man awakened and brought to the Red Keep at dawn, just to have him on hand for this.  And he’d walked right into the trap.  Tywin gestured for the two of them to come to where he stood with the septon, the severe expression he wore stated he would brook no arguments from either one of them.  It was a familiar sensation Jaime knew well from his childhood.  The color drained from Brienne’s face.  His body moved without conscious thought.  The septon’s mouth formed words, but Jaime couldn’t hear them over the roaring in his ears.  Not until the man tried to place Brienne’s hand on his golden one.  Jaime jerked it back, comprehension dawning.

Tywin meant for Brienne to marry him.  Now. 

Jaime twisted awkwardly and tried to offer his left hand, but the High Septon shook his head.  ‘The right, if you please, Ser Jaime.’

Jaime attempted to shove the sleeve of his surcoat back so he could remove the golden hand, but it wouldn’t stay. He would willingly marry Brienne, but not while wearing the despised golden hand.  Brienne laid gentle fingers over his, stilling his increasingly frantic actions in a manner reminiscent of how he’d prevented her from snatching up the knife next to her plate at Harrenhal and driving into Roose Bolton’s throat.  She folded back the cuff and picked apart the knot.  Jaime yanked the hand off his stump, and flung it to the floor, and then thrust out his stump toward the septon.  Brienne’s right hand settled over his stump.  The septon produced a finely woven strip of silk, richly embroidered with seven-pointed stars. ‘Let it be known that Jaime of House Lannister and Brienne of House Tarth are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.  In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.’  The septon untied the silk binding Brienne’s hand to Jaime.  

At the septon’s prompting, they stumbled over the words of the vows.  ‘Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger…  I am hers and she is mine.  From this day until the end of my days,’ Jaime murmured, Brienne echoing the words.  

‘You have until dawn to produce proof you’ve consummated the marriage,’ Tywin warned.  ‘None of this silly waiting like your brother.’

‘Proof?’ Jaime choked.

Tywin’s pale green eyes flicked over Brienne.  ‘Are you a maiden, girl, or not?’ he demanded.  Brienne’s cheeks slowly reddened as she nodded, gulping, her lips pressed together.  Tywin rounded on Jaime.  ‘The bedsheet will do.’  Brienne’s face darkened with unrestrained fury.  ‘I’ve taken the liberty of having your things in the White Sword Tower packed and sent to your lady wife’s chamber.’

Jaime began to leave, towing Brienne behind him.  He paused his hand on the latch of the door.  ‘One more thing,’ he said flatly. ‘Brienne and I escort Tyrion to Castle Black.  And the Lady Sansa will retire to the Rock with us.’

‘You haven’t earned the right to make demands of me,’ Tywin growled, low and dangerous. 

Jaime lifted his stump, Brienne’s fingers still clutched around it. You want me to use my mind, Father? ‘You agree to this now, or I swear by the old gods and the new, that I will find the closest septon, set this marriage aside, and take the black myself.’  Leaving you with no legitimate heirs.  So much for your thousand year dynasty, Father.

Tywin glared at Jaime. ‘Very well.’