#sixty is the troubled child of the three of them

[incenseburnerdreams]

Sixty, holding a taser: I thought when Connor said Gavin was an asshole he was joking, and when he also said to be careful with him because he was giving him trouble he was saying he was dangerous.

Sixty, looking down at the unconscious detective: Turns out no matter who you are a taser will make you more pleasant.

Nines: ...

Sixty: Maybe don't tell Connor. Please.

[talia-black]

Nameless! Aventurine Headcanons

I have a million other projects I need to be working on, but this tiny brainworm hasn’t let me go.  :(

TW: Talk of Aventurine’s backstory. Nothing explicit, but his brand is shown and stuff is alluded to. Symptoms of trauma are also explicitly mentioned. Also shirtless Aventurine but nothing sexual. 

Nameless! Aventurine who succeeded in bargaining his freedom from the IPC and became a wanderer. Who always wears a shirt with a high collar to hide his slave tag. Who melted down his sixty tanba and had them made into various accessories for his otherwise nondescript outfit. Who pulled scams and took risks whenever the mood struck him and then skipping out whenever things got dicey for him. Until he runs into the Astral Express.

Nameless! Aventurine who had heard of the Express in passing, and needing a quick passage off-world, offers his help with whatever trouble they’ve managed to get themselves into in return for a ride. Only to be thrown completely out of his element by the attitude of each of its members. None of them are interested in what he can offer them (though it takes him a while to figure that out) and are more than willing to still let him join the Express even when his plan doesn’t pan out the way Aventurine promised. 

Nameless! Aventurine who actually ends up fitting very well into the Astral Express’ dynamic. He is always happy to indulge in March 7th’s antics (You cannot tell me these two wouldn’t have spa days where they do facials, paint each other's nails, and just talk for hours about Robin’s latest album or whatever else is a hot topic for Honkai Star Rail’s version of the internet.) and treats her like a little sister. 

March 7th is also the first to figure out Nameless! Aventurine’s aversion to being touched. He frequently initiates contact, but the first time March came up behind him and touched his arm, the gambler jumped almost a foot in the air. He laughed it off, telling her that she “give a man some warning next time” and pushed the conversation forward. She chalked it up to him being caught off-guard, but then she watched him freeze up when Himeko put a hand on his back, and when Welt patted his shoulder, and whenever March touched him first. 

Nameless! Aventurine who acts like the annoying middle child always pestering the older brother because he secretly admires him. Dan Heng doesn’t warm up to Aventurine nearly as quickly, and is often annoyed when he just waltzes into the room containing the data bank, plops himself in a chair, and talks at him for hours. The first time Dan Heng responded to something he said was actually what got Aventurine to be quiet. Dan Heng turned away from what he was working on to see Aventurine with his mouth slightly agape, not expecting him to actually answer. Dan Heng found it incredibly interesting how the normally smooth talker stumbled over his words for almost a minute before picking up where he had left off. 

Dang Heng is the first to notice how Nameless! Aventurine is always throwing himself in the firing range. Even when there’s absolutely no reason to or nothing to gain from making such a sacrifice. He subtly watched how in every conversation that even verges into dangerous territory, Aventurine pulls all of the attention onto himself with either a comment aimed to provoke, or acting in a way that drastically escalates things. Aventurine had told the Crew about his “luck”, and these instances had certainly liquidated any of Dan Heng’s doubts about that. But if his victory was always certain, why did he smile when he got shot? 

Nameless! Aventurine who Himeko treats like the rest of her kids right out of the gate. Aventurine is the most suspicious of Himeko out of all the Express Crew, but that doesn’t last long. They bond over their love of black coffee and as the two of the only three night owls on the Express (Dan Heng is also one, but he never leaves his room). While he would never say Himeko reminded him of his mother, she gave her own forms of paternal love freely in the way she always made sure he ate at least two meals a day, immediately patched up his various scrapes and scratches herself when he first got on the Express, and offered him his own room without hesitation. He would go to his grave with the knowledge that he had felt his face heat up when she had ruffled his hair after he beat her at chess during one of their 2am coffee drinking sessions. 

Himeko was the first to see Nameless! Aventurine’s hands were in terrible condition. When she checked him over for wounds, she noticed how he was always fidgeting with a coin. Later it would change to a beaten up poker chip, or his bracelet, or whatever odd thing he had picked up. And when she was bandaging his arm, his hands shook with constant tremors. When he was outside the Express, he always stuffed his hands in his pockets, and Himeko frowned late one evening when she saw Aventurine palm’s had scars from where his own nails had dug into them. 

Nameless! Aventurine who loves messing with Welt. Honestly, Aventurine gets along with Welt just as well, if not better than March. Welt is never without something interesting or insightful to say, and combined with Aventurine’s observant and commentative nature, they sometimes end up talking for hours without even realizing time has passed. However, Aventurine cannot live without a little mischief. And Welt’s naivety when it comes to current trends is just too good of an opportunity to pass up. This often manifests in Welt using slang terms in ways they absolutely were not meant to be, and a few interesting videos that have made their way onto the Express’ group chat. Welt has mostly caught on, but he still plays along if only to see the way Aventurine’s eyes light up whenever he successfully “tricks” him. The “kiddo” had gotten more laughs out of the old man than all of the members of the Express combined. 

Welt was the first to notice and tell the others that Nameless! Aventurine was exhibiting signs of severe trauma. During a pit stop, Welt asked Aventurine to go ask around for a certain brand of coffee beans for Himeko before calling the others for a meeting. After sharing what they knew, the group struggled to decide on a course of action. Aventurine was more than entitled to his past, and it would go against everything they stood for to pry for potentially painful details. But it also seemed wrong to let him continue potentially harmful habits without intervention. In the end, they decided to wait until they crossed paths with a specialist who they could ask for advice before taking any particular course of action. 

Nameless! Aventurine who kept making excuses for why he couldn’t get off the Express. He didn’t realize that no one had ever asked him to.

Nameless! Aventurine who upon waking one day to see his name emblazoned on the door of his room refused to come out for an entire day. The rest of the Crew didn’t even know it had happened, and Pom-Pom swore they hadn’t done it. Meanwhile, Aventurine spent most of the morning crying silently into his pillow and the rest of the day deep in the trenches of an existential crisis. He comes out the next day and acts like nothing ever happened, and the new status quo was set in stone. 

Nameless! Aventurine who was with March and Dan Heng when they found the Trailblazer. And immediately became fascinated with them. Especially after they threw themselves in front of March when the Doomsday Beast attacked the space station. He surprised himself with how upset he felt when he saw the Trailblazer was considering staying at Herta’s Space Station as opposed to coming with them. And how happy he was when they ultimately decided to join the Express. 

Nameless! Aventurine and the Trailblazer who get on like a house on fire. Aventurine is persistent and victorious in getting the Trailblazer comfortable with them, and often ends up in a game of tug-a-war with March for their attention. Trailblazer, who at first glance seems like a pretty stoic character, turns out to be quite unhinged, and Aventurine’s lack of self-restraint only enables them once they set foot on Belobog. Aventurine was a man who clung to unpredictability and the mystery of the dice like a starving animal, and the Trailblazer was impulsivity personified. From their out-of-pocket comments at the most inappropriate of moments to their dumpster-diving habits, Aventurine never knew what to expect from them. 

Trailblazer who is the first to discover the truth of Nameless! Aventurine’s past. It wasn’t anything grand; the two had gone out with March and Himeko for a drink and ended up collapsing in the same bed. Trailblazer woke first with an awful headache, a dry mouth, and dots doing pirouettes across their vision. Which is why they thought they were just imagining the brand on Aventurine’s neck. The high-collar shirt that he always wore had been chucked off at some point during the night. Aventurine stirred when a gentle touch carefully traced irritated, scarred skin. 

“You should really be applying some kind of salve to that.”

Reality cut through Aventurine’s hangover faster than a bucket of ice. He leapt out of bed and locked himself in the bathroom. He refused all of the Trailblazer’s attempts to get him to respond, and it was only after they promised they would give him some space and that they wouldn’t tell the others that his heart rate was able to go down. It still took him an hour before he left the bathroom. From there he avoided the Trailblazer like the plague. When the other members of the Crew asked what had happened, the Trailblazer explained it away as “drunken shenanigans” and let the subtext run its course. If only to give Aventurine some initiative to speak to them. This standoff lasted weeks, and probably would have gone on much longer if Aventurine hadn’t taken a dagger to the gut and a crossbow bolt to the knee. And the Trailblazer, out of the generosity of their heart, offered to personally make sure he made a full recovery. And many painful nights later, with the help of a few glasses of whiskey, Aventurine shared a few pieces of his past. He still had enough clarity of mind to keep the less palatable details out of it, but gave more than enough for the Trailblazer to understand what he had been through. Somehow, the bottle was emptied, and the two once again found themselves cuddled up in Aventurine’s bed and drifting off into peaceful slumber. 

Nameless! Aventurine who found a new family, and would continue to protect them with everything he had as he continued his journey starward. 

[roanofarcc]

PROJECT SUNSHINE CHAPTER SIXTY THREE → THE FREAKSHOW

summary: steve harrington x oc || Ao3

when another product of Hawkins National Laboratory escaped a long-survived nightmare alongside her sister, she crashed into one unsuspecting teenage boy and dragged him deeper into the dark mysteries that made up their hometown.

word count. 2.7k || masterlist || ocs moodboard

warnings: cannon typical violence, child abuse, horror, gore, and depictions of mental illness. parts of this story were written pre-season 4 release. cannon divergence.

previous chapter ← → next chapter

Tagged. @sattlersquarry, @leptitlu, @two-sides-samecoin

The subdivision was quiet that afternoon. A strange calm had settled over Hawkins that spring, but Steve had learned not to let his guard down anymore. Nothing was ever calm in Hawkins, and his nerves were already pricked with Sunshine a couple of hours away in Indy with her sister. He knew she could handle herself if she ran into any trouble, and he tried to convince himself that she wouldn’t run into any trouble, but there had been a knot of worry tied inside his gut since he was little. He worried about everything, all of the time. The revelation of other dimensions, monsters, and bad men only made that knot worse. But he did his best to distract himself. 

“Turn your elbow like this,” Steve said, moving his arm to mimic the motion of the kid beside him. “It’ll help your aim.” 

Lucas fixed his arm and shot the basketball, putting it right through the old hoop Steve had dug out of his garage. Since Lucas told Steve he was thinking of trying out for the basketball team last fall, Steve had been helping him practice. Between all of his high school highs and lows, basketball had been the only consistent thing for Steve, and something he still enjoyed. It served as a normal distraction for both of them, but especially Lucas. The kid was really good too and made varsity his freshman year. And while he most rode the bench, Lucas had too much potential to stay there forever.

The ball bounced against the cement and Lucas raced to grab it, dribbling it back down the driveway to where Steve stood. He was quieter than normal; Steve was the only person, besides Lucas’s dad, who the kid could have an actual conversation about basketball with. His friends weren’t interested in it, and Steve wasn’t sure of the last time Lucas had a full conversation with Max, to everyone’s dismay. 

“You all right, Sinclair?” Steve asked. 

He shrugged, eyes glued to the ball. “This game’s a big deal, right?” 

“A really big deal,” Steve replied. There were only a handful of times Hawkins High made it to the championship of anything. “But, you know, all you can do is play your best.” 

Lucas snorted a sarcastic laugh. “You sound like Sunshine.” 

Steve smiled. “Occupational hazard.” She had rubbed off on him, even more so since they were dating. Her sunny disposition and pep talks, along with her adoration of the simple things in life. He saw the world differently with her, and not just the bad stuff that crawled out of portals or gates. The world was a scary place, but it also held a lot of good stuff, you just had to look through the weeds and interdimensional vines to see it. 

“I know the pressure can be tough, but you’ll be fine.” 

Lucas held the ball in his hands, slumping his shoulders slightly. “It’s not just that. This game is important to me, but Mike and Dustin want me to skip it for the D&D campaign. I guess Eddie refuses to reschedule.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. He didn’t really know the guy, their paths rarely crossed in high school. Either Steve was running with Tommy and Carol, too busy to notice nerds like Eddie Munson, or he was sulking in his fall from grace and reeling from monsters and bullies. He’d heard of Eddie, in a small town it was impossible to not know everyone, whether you liked to or not. Rumor had it he was some super-senior drug dealer, and that sounded like the last person Steve wanted hanging around the party. But Dustin refuted the rumors and made Eddie out to be some kind of king of the nerds. 

It was embarrassing, and Steve hadn’t even admitted it aloud to Sunshine yet, but he was a little jealous of the Hellfire Club caption. Sure, on paper, he was probably the cooler person to hang out with in the eyes of Dustin because he loved the same game they did, but Steve had thought that he and Dustin were the ultimate duo. He was like Steve’s little brother, annoying and sometimes a pain in the ass, but someone Steve couldn’t see not in his life. But it seemed like Dustin was no longer interested in hanging out with him. 

It made Steve feel even more useless to the gaggle of teens, like he really didn’t have a place in the grand scheme of their monster-hunting team anymore.

“Your friends can’t miss one campaign to come watch you play?” Steve asked, shoving aside his own weird issues with some dude he’d never even talked to before. 

“Guess not.” 

“Well, what about Max?” 

Lucas sighed again, hugging the ball to his chest like he was trying to get some kind of comfort from it. “She still won’t talk to me. She hardly talks to Mike or Dustin. Every time I try, she shrugs me off with some excuse. I don’t know what else to do.” 

Max didn’t like change, which Steve figured out very quickly after getting to know Max. Moving across the country was one thing, but what she’d experienced since being in Hawkins was another beast. No one could blame her, they all just wished she’d let them help her. Sunshine seemed to be the only one who could get through to her somewhat. She shut the party out, caved in on herself. Lucas was the most distraught over it. 

“There’s not much you can do,” Steve said. “You can try to be there for her, but you can’t magically make everything better.” 

“It just sucks. We know people with superpowers and know there’s another dimension, but we can’t, like, fix any of the shit we’ve been through. We just have to take it and pretend like…like it’s fine.” 

It was beyond frustrating, but that had become their lives. Steve’s mind glazed over it, trying hard not to think too much about it until the world threatened to end again. 

“Look on the bright side, you’ve only got four more years here. Then you can play basketball at some D1 school, pretend like Hawkins was some fucked up nightmare or something.” 

Lucas laughed but it was mixed with a little scoff. “Yeah, if I live that long,” he muttered, and Steve’s gut turned uncomfortably. He didn’t like that, jokes like that were too real. “And if they ever let me off the bench.” He tossed the ball at Steve, who caught it despite being slightly thrown off guard. 

Dribbling the ball, back up the driveway, Steve shoved away the pit in his stomach and focused on the task at hand. “Hey, with my help, you might even get to play in the championship.”

“Yeah,” he replied, sarcastically. “I might even win the whole thing.” 

→←

“This feels…unethical,” Will Byers said, chewing nervously on his nails as he stood lookout for Leia. 

She stopped, turning her head to look at him. “Really? I could name ten unethical things that have been done to the two of us alone. This, my dearest brother, is good ole’ fashioned revenge.” She balanced a cup of red paint on the locker shelf with a fishing wire around it. Carefully, she threaded the wire through the slit in the door and fashioned it so that as soon as the locker was opened, the cup would be pulled forward and spill on the unlucky but well-deserving bully. 

“I doubt she’s even read Carrie. Angela and her friends aren’t going to get the prank.” 

Leia sighed, cautiously looking up and down the empty hall. “They don't need to ‘get it.’ All that matters is that Angela is covered in red paint. She deserves a lot worse for laughing at El’s project, but Joyce said we’re grounded if we commit a crime.” 

“Technically, I think she said we’re grounded if we’re caught committing a crime.” 

Leia paused before she shrugged. “If this doesn’t work, then I’ll think of something illegal. Until then…” She dusted her hands off on her paint-stained overalls from an art project gone slightly rouge and clapped Will on the shoulder. He had grown even taller since their move, Joyce said it was probably the sun that was making all of them grow like weeds, but Will still curled into himself and tried to make himself smaller among their new Cali-folk. 

While Leia probably should have been more wary about a new school, but she had a different view of it. She had never attended any kind of school, so she had no expectations. Bullies didn’t bother her because she was good at brushing them off. All of the teasing from Kali’s friends made her skin thick and she had a little voice in her head reminding her she had superpowers and they didn’t; it made her feel better. 

Will flew under the radar too. He was quiet and good at blending in, making himself a small target. Luke followed in his footsteps, spending most of his time tucked away in the library which most kids avoided besides the nerdy and quiet ones. It was El that caught all of the flack. 

By some unlucky chance, she had caught the eye of a blonde-headed all-American mean girl the second she stepped through the school doors. El was kind, she wanted to be friends with everyone but had a hard time picking up on social cues. And the second Angela got a whiff of El’s slight unusualness, she latched on like a hungry shark. How some freshman had a cult following of brightly dressed, rich friends who would do anything she said, Leia had no idea. It was like they stumbled into the set of a movie riddled with cliches that Leia thought weren’t actually supposed to happen in real life. Yet, there Angela was, laughing at El while she tried to present a project she had worked really hard on. Apparently cruelty earned you cheap laughs; Leia wanted to fry Angle to a crisp. 

She had to settle for ruining the bully’s outfit. 

The bell rang, singling the end of class. Leia and Will stood innocently at the water fountain and subtly watched as Angela and her clique waded down the hall, her blonde ponytail swinging with each step. She arrived at her locker, entered her combo, and yanked it open. Out poured the red paint, splashing down the front of Angela’s shirt. She let out a shrill scream that echoed through the hall, causing people to stop. 

Angela wiped her hands against the paint, smearing it into the fabric and getting a layer coating her palms and fingers. It looked like blood, but the smell of paint quickly filled the air, making the hall smell just like the art room. 

Leia hid her laughter under her hand while Will pressed his lips in a thin line, suppressing a smile. They watched as Angela’s friends surrounded her like a flock of birds. She swatted them away and turned out from her locker with her face nearly as red as the paint. Leia couldn’t hear what she said, but without even cleaning herself up, she took off toward the doors that led to the courtyard of the school. 

“Okay,” Will said with a laugh. “You were right; that was great!” 

Leia beamed. “I’ve got more where that came from.” 

He shook his head, a lightness in his tone that only came out from time to time now. “Come on, let’s go find Luke and El. They’ll want to hear about this.” 

Unfortunately, their two siblings did hear about the red paint stunt because El was the first person Angela assumed had pranked her. By the time Leia and Will entered the courtyard, El was sprawled out against the ground with her project in pieces along the sidewalk. Angela was standing the closest to El, her arms crossed and laughing along with the rest of her friends who stood on the sidelines. 

El’s face was grief-stricken, and that alone was enough to send Leia running towards her sister. She jammed her shoulder into Angela’s sending the blonde stumbling. El stood and outstretched her hand in a similar way she once did when she used to abilities; it was a reflex, one that would probably take El a long time to shake since she had lost her abilities last summer. Before El did anything to give Angela further ammunition, Leia grabbed El’s arm gently and pushed it back down at her side. 

Angela seemed satisfied with sending El and her project to the ground and turned to leave, her front half still coated in paint. A tear fell from El’s eye as she glanced at her broken project. With a gentle sigh, Leia tried to channel her anger into something more helpful for El; it was what Sunshine told her to do when she felt her anger gain control of her, fueling her abilities and asking for something bad to happen. Leia grabbed a hold of El’s shoulder, making her sister look at her. 

“Are you okay?” 

El frowned, wiping away her tears. She nodded sadly, slumping her shoulders. 

“It’s my fault,” Leia said. “I pranked Angela, but I should have known she’d think it was you. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” El tried to smile, but it was weak and turned back into a frown when her eyes landed on the pieces of her project. 

Will and Luke started picking them up, placing them back in the slightly crushed shoe box. “We can fix it,” Will said with confidence in his voice. He pinched a squirrel figurine in between his fingers before holding it out to El. She grabbed the squirrel and closed her fist around it. “We’ll all help, and it’ll be good as new, all right?” 

“All right,” El said quietly. She joined the boys on the ground while Leia scooped out the surrounding area in case any pieces went flying off of the sidewalk and onto the grass. She spotted a couple of popsicle sticks and gathered them before she turned around. Directly behind her was one of her classmates, who sat beside Leia in art class. 

Startled, Leia gasped, and the girl’s eyes widened before a sheepish smile fell across her lips. “Sorry!” Abby said. “Didn’t mean to scare you, I just found this.” She held out a small hat that El had made to resemble Hopper’s police hat. 

“Thanks,” Leia said, taking the hat with a small ache in her chest. Not a day went by where she didn’t think about Hopper; she missed him, but Joyce was doing everything she could to make the three of them feel a part of their family. It wasn’t the same though. They weren’t in that little cabin in the woods, eating Eggos and watching black-and-white detective movies. 

Abby shoved her hands in her pockets and rocked back and forth in her busted sneakers. She didn’t dress like most of the kids at school; her shoes were dirty and her clothes were mended with patches of different colors. Her hair was pin straight and black, with thick bangs cut barely above her eyes. She was odd but in a good way. Abby was always bouncing on her heels or tapping her hands against the tabletop. She spoke quickly but with so much enthusiasm it made Leia feel happy too. 

“Angela’s a jerk,” Abby said. “I’m glad someone finally did something, even if it didn’t end super well.” 

Leia pocketed the hat with a sigh. “I should have used real pig’s blood.” 

“You stole the pain from the art room?” 

“Guilty.”

Abby laughed. “That’s amazing! Oh, I would have killed to see her face!” Leia laughed too; it was impossible for her not to. Abby’s laugh was infectious, which often got them into trouble in art when they couldn’t spot giggling in the middle of class.

“Leia, are you ready?” Will called from several feet away. They had cleaned up El’s project and Luke was carrying it in his arms, probably in case Angela had any other ideas. Luke was a little taller and broader, harder to knock down. 

Abby gave Leia a smile before she said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, she turned on her feet and headed across the yard, leaving Leia with a friendly giddiness bubbling inside her chest. 

Leia rushed over to her siblings, handing the hat off to El. Together, they all walked back into school, El sandwiched between them. The Hopper-Byers weren’t a typical group of siblings, but it was as if they were destined to be family all along. Maybe they radiated the idea that they didn’t belong, slotted pieces of different puzzles that somehow fit, but there was no denying that they belonged together as a family. 

[chaosheadspace]

I immediately got stuck on #2 for library boys, with Murphy, Hob, and Orpheus going to the farmer’s market together. 💗

Okay, thank you for sending in an ask and sorry it took so long to finish! This takes place at a yet unspecified time ;) 

Hob is rather proud of himself. He has lured both Murphy and Orpheus to the farmers market with him, despite the latter claiming that it is too cold. He's done so with the promise of buying handmade ravioli from one of his favourite stalls to cook for dinner tonight, and hot chocolate from a nearby cafè afterwards.

Orpheus is wearing his new puffer jacket, and their breaths cloud in the air due to a late bout of frost. Despite his earlier protest, he seems very much interested in being here now; dashing from stall to stall, begging an apple off an unsuspecting farmer with big eyes. Hob chuckles.

“Where's the one with the pasta?” Orpheus mumbles with his mouth full. “I can't see it.”

“Just a little further. You're too small to see it yet, but there's a big penne on top of the stall.”

“I am not,” Orpheus protests. “Mpampa, I need to get up on your shoulders.”

Murphy raises one eyebrow and keeps on walking, his hands still in his pockets. “Little sparrow, you have not sat on my shoulders in years. You are too heavy for it now.”

“But you literally call me little sparrow!” Orpheus protests, putting his apple core into a nearby bin.

Murphy doesn't give in. “No.”

With a defeated sigh, Orpheus stuffs his fists into the pockets of his jacket, lowers his head and trudges after him. And Hob—Hob can’t take it. Not two of them, pouting and irritated, cookie cutter copies in face and stature, if not in height and hair.

“Come on, up you go,” Hob says gently, crouching down.

Orpheus’s eyes go wide. “Really?”

“Really,” Hob smiles.

It’s a little awkward, and at one point Hob is in serious danger of toppling over as Orpheus clambers onto his shoulders. He’s heavier than he looks, and much heavier than Hob anticipated despite his slight build, but he’ll be damned if he gives up. With an eye roll and a smile, Murphy helps him stand again and Hob sways a little before finding his balance.

“I can see it!” Orpheus shouts, half-jumping, knee knocking against Hob’s chin.

“Whoah, careful there,” Hob chides, gripping Orpheus’s shins tighter. He’s just glad he’d put his hair up in a bun this morning, because he’s got no idea what he would have done with a braid right now.

Orpheus stills and twists a little to find a more comfortable position. “Sorry, sorry.”

He’s warm against the back of Hob’s head, his hands against Hob’s neck and jaw, his legs and feet curled to the sides of Hob’s chest. He’s heavy and their centre of balance is giving Hob trouble but he knows, feels it in his stomach that he’ll carry Orpheus as long as he bloody well can. Hopefully he’ll hold out until they reach the pasta stall. Christ, that child is heavy.

The fond looks they get from other people pour a pleasant warmth into Hob’s stomach that only grows when Murphy takes his hand, so everyone can see they belong together. They’re being a nuisance, blocking more than half the path walking like this, but Hob doesn't care one bit.

When they reach their destination and Hob sets Orpheus down again (which he miraculously manages without beheading himself with sixty pounds of child) he can feel his flyaway hairs stand up with the frizz from Orpheus’s puffer jacket. Murphy rolls his eyes again, which Hob counts as a win, and tries to smooth them down. Hob knows by now that the eye roll means that Murphy doesn’t know what to do with his fondness, and it comes out in peculiar ways.

Smiling, he kisses Murphy’s cheek in thanks. Then it’s their turn, and Orpheus begs until they buy three kinds of pasta. It’s way too much, but Hob knows by experience that they freeze like a charm, so he doesn’t mind.

As they slowly make their way towards the café, Orpheus dashing ahead of them with the shopping bag, Hob leans in to whisper into Murphy’s ear.

“Could I persuade you to give me a back massage this evening?”

Now it’s Murphy’s turn to smile, and he does so rather smugly. “Oh? Have you learned that an eleven year old child is, indeed, too heavy to carry like that?”

“Yes,” Hob grins and squeezes his hand. “And I’ll very likely do it again.”

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Angel Maker: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: You still feel guilty for what happened to you and Hotch even though you shouldn't. If you had seen that bomb before getting blasted back, then maybe you wouldn't have so many problems with your "abilities".

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

Hotch and Emily headed over there while the rest of the team stayed back to work on the case. It turns out that the unsub wasn't the one who committed the crime, but Shara, the woman you and Rossi talked to. She figured if this killing spree could work for the unsub, then it could work for her.

It's already late, so you'll have to pick this up in the morning. The comment Emily made is stuck in your head for some reason. Why you're upset at this, you're not sure. You're sitting in the conference room and staring at Emily who is outside getting some coffee in the break room. You have a small pout on your face, and Spencer notices this when he enters the conference room.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you say and look away.

"Is it your head? Are you okay?"

"Spencer, I'm okay. I took my pain meds before we left the hotel, so I'm good."

The rest of the team filters into the conference room while JJ is on the phone with Pen. Penelope is working her magic in trying to find out who this unsub could be. According to her, four hundred and sixty-three children were born in the lower Canaan area between 2006 and 2008, so you'll have to narrow the list a bit more to get accurate results.

One of the letters Spencer decoded says, "I knew even before they told me that the future had taken root", which can only mean that it was the date of conception. The date of that letter was January 7th, 2007, so Pen had to look between August to September of the same year. With that, she came up with nine names, which is a lot more manageable.

After she sent over the names, your team got to work eliminating them. The Sheriff would know more about these names than you would, so you bring him in to try and help.

"Hannah Dreyfus was in an auto accident. She could barely walk. Shannon Conway moved away when the plant closed a year ago," the sheriff goes down the list.

"Any other names you recognize?"

"No, I'm sorry." The sheriff does a double-take and grabs the paper when he recognizes another name. "Well, this one here sounds familiar but I can't really place it. Chloe Kelcher."

"Chloe Kelcher. That is familiar," Spencer says and grabs the file for Cortland. "She was on the jury."

"That makes sense. She would have been exposed to the case evidence and seen firsthand what he did to his victims. That's when she fell in love with him, sitting across the courtroom every day."

"Well, it's one thing to have a relationship with a killer, and it's another to become one," the sheriff scoffs.

"There might have been an incident that prompted the transformation," Spencer says and looks into Chloe's file. "There's a death certificate here. Microvesicular steatosis. Her baby died at the hospital."

It looks like Chloe is your unsub, so your entire team heads over to her house, but like you assumed, she isn't home. The judge signed the warrant very quickly, so you're allowed to enter her house without getting into trouble. After a thorough search, everyone gathers in the kitchen.

"All right. We all know what the end game is. She's looking for her final victim. She may have already chosen one. Let's tear this place apart and look for anything that might tell us who she's targeted," Hotch says.

You, Hotch, and Derek head toward the bedroom and come across a child's nursery with glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling.

"Daddy's watching," you say and point to the stars.

"It must have devastated her to think that she could hold on to Ryan by having his child and then lose the baby. Completing his murders became the only way she could hold on to him."

Something isn't right. The second you entered the house, something felt off about the atmosphere. You pause and look around the room until you see it.

Cortland Ryan is sitting on top of some kind of chest located underneath the window.

"What is it?" Derek asks after he sees the look on your face.

Without saying a word, you grasp the end of the chest. As soon as you open it, Cortland mists away. Lying there inside is Cortland's rotting body.

"That's not the only way she's holding onto him," you gag.

"I assume that's who I think it is," Spencer says when he walks into the bedroom. "I have an appointment book here. There are meetings with Delilah Grennan and Maxine Chandler on the day of each murder."

"Sheriff, have you found her tools or the gun?" Hotch asks.

"Nothing yet."

"She has something for this morning: Faye Landreaux."

"She's a CPA," the sheriff sighs. "She does my taxes. She works out of her home."

"Let's go."

Your entire team heads over to Faye's house. As soon as you get there, you can feel how scared she is and also another energy: the unsub.

"My team's ready. Let's get in there," the Sheriff says eagerly.

"Sheriff, we didn't recover a gun at Chloe's house. We have to assume she's armed."

"So are we."

"If you storm in now, she'll shoot, and she'll start with Faye. We need to be smart about this," you say.

"What do we do?" Derek asks.

"I think you should look for an open window," Hotch takes charge. "Sheriff, I need you to bring all your vehicles around to the front, facing forward with lights off, and I need a megaphone."

The sheriff does what he's told, and Derek creeps around the house to try and find an open window to get inside. Chances are, she's locked all the doors so no one can get inside so Derek's only shot it getting through a window without alerting her.

"Hotch, you won't be able to get through to her," you say.

"No, but maybe you can," he says and hands the megaphone to you.

"Sir, the profile is clear. We won't be able to talk her down."

"No, but we can occupy her. If we're right about the MO, she's left a window open somewhere. Morgan will find a way in. We just need to buy him some time. Hit the lights," Hotch says to the sheriff.

Seconds later, lights flood the front of the house, no doubt letting Chloe know that you're here. You take a deep breath and clear your head.

"Chloe, this is the FBI. We know you're in there, and we know what you're trying to do. I know you think that finishing what Cortland started will bring you closer to him, but first, you should know who he really was. I know you thought you were special, but the truth is, he wrote the same things he wrote to you to other women. I've seen the letters." Hotch hands you copies of the letters for you to read to her. "Dozens read the same lines: 'Without the flesh, there is only the soul. You don't need to touch me to feel the love I have for you.' Does that sound familiar? Cortland wasn't who you thought he was. He was a narcissist, Chloe. He wasn't capable of loving anyone but himself.

"To Carla Kettinger, he wrote, 'Ever since your visit, I am crazed with thoughts of you. Already, you have entered my dreams. Each time you appear to me, I am embraced by a feeling of trust and belief as if I've known you all my life. It's clear to me now that you are my fate. We are destined to be together, and when I am gone, that will not change. I will live on in you. In death, our union will be eternal. All appeals are lost. Possessions matter little to a condemned man, but I cannot leave this world without seeing your face one last time.' 

"It isn't your fault that he made you feel these things, Chloe. It isn't your fault your baby died."

That gives Derek enough time to get Faye out of the house because as soon as you're done speaking, you see Derek usher Faye to safety. Second later, you hear Chloe yell out in anger.

"It's over, Chloe. We have Faye. You have nowhere to go," you say into the megaphone.

Still, she doesn't respond. 

"I think we got some tear gas. I'm assuming it's still good," the sheriff says.

"We're not gonna need it. She doesn't have any place to go."

"Well, maybe she'll do us all a favor and put herself down."

"She's not gonna do that, either. She's not done."

Just then, Chloe comes out of the house with the gun in her hand. All officers and agents draw their guns and point them at her, and she stops at the bottom step of the porch.

"Chloe, drop the gun!" Hotch orders, and repeats himself when she doesn't listen.

"I'm coming to you, baby," she grins at the sky.

She raises her gun to shoot knowing that everyone will shoot to stop her. She goes down in two shots, and you back away in pain from the gunshot. Rossi and Emily rush over to her, but she is already dead. Emily notices blood seeing from her jacket, and she lifts it to see the markings of the final constellation.

If we took her victim from her, then she became the last one.

With the case solved, your team gets ready to head to the airport. Hotch is in the police station finishing up, so everyone is waiting by the car for him.

"Hey, are you okay?" Spencer asks.

"Yeah, just tired," you sigh.

"Did anyone get directions back to the airstrip?" JJ asks when Hotch comes out with his bag in hand.

"This town's only got one road. We'll find it," Derek shrugs.

"Yeah, Morgan doesn't like to follow directions. You didn't know about that?" Emily laughs.

"Yeah, he likes to vibe it," Spencer smirks.

"Okay, smart ass. You drive," Derek says and tosses Spencer the keys.

He unlocks the car, and you're the first one in. The car has a row of seats behind the back seat, so that's the one you take. Spencer sees how much pain you're in, and he looks down at the keys in his hands. He likes driving every once in a while, but you clearly need him.

"Not this time," he says and hands the keys to Emily who takes them with a smile.

He sets his bag in the back before climbing in next to you. After putting both your seatbelts on, you shift and rest your head on his chest. He wraps an arm around you and kisses the top of your head.

You're always able to fall asleep a lot better when it's in his arms.

"The past is our definition. We may strive, with good reason, to escape it, or to escape what is bad in it, but we will escape it only by adding something better to it." - Wendell Berry

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading: Friday, July 19, 2024

july 6_july 19

VENERABLE SISOE THE REAT OF EGYPT (429).

Saint Sisoes the Great (+ 429) was a solitary monk, pursuing asceticism in the Egyptian desert in a cave sanctified by the prayerful labors of his predecessor, Saint Anthony the Great (January 17). For his sixty years of labor in the desert, Saint Sisoes attained to sublime spiritual purity and he was granted the gift of wonderworking, so that by his prayers he once restored a dead child back to life.

Extremely strict with himself, Abba Sisoes was very merciful and compassionate to others, and he received everyone with love. To those who visited him, the saint first of all always taught humility. When one of the monks asked how he might attain to a constant remembrance of God, Saint Sisoes remarked, “That is no great thing, my son, but it is a great thing to regard yourself as inferior to everyone else. This leads to the acquisition of humility.” Asked by the monks whether one year is sufficient for repentance if a brother sins, Abba Sisoes said, “I trust in the mercy of God that if such a man repents with all his heart, then God will accept his repentance in three days.”

When Saint Sisoes lay upon his deathbed, the disciples surrounding the Elder saw that his face shone like the sun. They asked the dying man what he saw. Abba Sisoes replied that he saw Saint Anthony, the prophets, and the apostles. His face increased in brightness, and he spoke with someone. The monks asked, “With whom are you speaking, Father?” He said that angels had come for his soul, and he was entreating them to give him a little more time for repentance. The monks said, “You have no need for repentance, Father.” Saint Sisoes said with great humility, “I do not think that I have even begun to repent.”

After these words the face of the holy abba shone so brightly that the brethren could not look upon him. Saint Sisoes told them that he saw the Lord Himself. Then there was a flash like lightning and a fragrant odor, and Abba Sisoes departed to the Heavenly Kingdom

SAINT BARNABAS, ELDER OF GETHSEMANE SKETE OF St SERGIUS LAVRA ( 1906)

Saint Barnabas was born on January 24, 1831 in the village of Prudishchi of the Venevsky district of the Tula province. His name in the world was Vasily Ilyich Merkulov, the last of seven children born to pious peasant parents Ilya and Daria Merkulov.

On December 23, 1857 he became a novice of the Gethsemane Monastery of the Trinity-Sergius Lavra, and only after almost ten years, on November 20, 1866, he took monastic tonsure under the name of Barnabas.

In 1871 Barnabas was ordained a hierodeacon, on January 10, 1872 a hieromonk, and some time later the abbot of the Lavra approved him as the Spiritual Confessor of the Caves of Gethsemane. From this moment the fame of Barnabas increased among believers. In 1890 he became the confessor of the whole monastery.

Pilgrims from all over Russia came to the clairvoyant Elder Barnabas. He helped people to repent, gave soul-saving advice, and through his prayers the suffering were healed.

Pilgrims noted a special spiritual sobriety, gentleness and caution in his pastoral practice. Through the prayers of the ascetic, family troubles were resolved, and many healings took place. He advised to heal minor illnesses by strict fasting (“bread and water will not do harm”), and in severe illnesses he sometimes recommended certain doctors.

He would receive from five hundred to a thousand people every day. According to legend, in January 1905 Emperor Nicholas II went to confession to Barnabas, and in return the Elder prophesied to him his impending martyrdom.

Elder Barnabas further prophesied about the future of Russia: "The persecution against the faith will constantly increase. Hitherto unheard of grief and darkness will seize everyone and everything, and the temples will be closed. But when it becomes intolerable, liberation will come ... The temples will be erected again. There will be a flourishing before the end."

In January 1906, the elder showed an acute catarrh of the respiratory tract, and his vision was weakened. He died on February 17 of that year. In 1995 he was officially canonized by the Holy Synod of the Russian Orthodox Church.

Source: Orthodox Christianity Then and Now

ROMANS 11:25-36

25 For I do not desire, brethren, that you should be ignorant of this mystery, lest you should be wise in your own opinion, that blindness in part has happened to Israel until the fullness of the Gentiles has come in. 26 And so all Israel will be saved, as it is written: "The Deliverer will come out of Zion, And He will turn away ungodliness from Jacob; 27 For this is My covenant with them, When I take away their sins." 28 Concerning the gospel they are enemies for your sake, but concerning the election they are beloved for the sake of the fathers. 29 For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable. 30 For as you were once disobedient to God, yet have now obtained mercy through their disobedience, 31 even so these also have now been disobedient, that through the mercy shown you they also may obtain mercy. 32 For God has committed them all to disobedience, that He might have mercy on all. 33 Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out! 34 For who has known the mind of the LORD? Or who has become His counselor?" 35 Or who has first given to Him And it shall be repaid to him?" 36 For of Him and through Him and to Him are all things, to whom be glory forever. Amen.

MATTHEW 12:1-8

1 At that time Jesus went through the grainfields on the Sabbath. And His disciples were hungry, and began to pluck heads of grain and to eat. 2 And when the Pharisees saw it, they said to Him, "Look, Your disciples are doing what is not lawful to do on the Sabbath!" 3 But He said to them, "Have you not read what David did when he was hungry, he and those who were with him: 4 how he entered the house of God and ate the showbread which was not lawful for him to eat, nor for those who were with him, but only for the priests? 5 Or have you not read in the law that on the Sabbath the priests in the temple profane the Sabbath, and are blameless? 6 Yet I say to you that in this place there is One greater than the temple. 7 But if you had known what this means, 'I desire mercy and not sacrifice,' you would not have condemned the guiltless. 8 For the Son of Man is Lord even of the Sabbath.

[shannyh25]

When Matthew came to think the matter over he decided that a woman was required to cope with the situation. Marilla was out of the question. Matthew felt sure she would throw cold water on his project at once. Remained only Mrs. Lynde; for of no other woman in Avonlea would Matthew have dared to ask advice. To Mrs. Lynde he went accordingly, and that good lady promptly took the matter out of the harassed man's hands.

Pick out a dress for you to give Anne? To be sure I will. I'm going to Carmody to-morrow and I'll attend to it. Have you something particular in mind? No? Well, I'll just go by my own judgment then. I believe a nice rich brown would just suit Anne, and William Blair has some new gloria in that's real pretty. Perhaps you'd like me to make it up for her, too, seeing that if Marilla was to make it Anne would probably get wind of it before the time and spoil the surprise? Well, I'll do it. No, it isn't a mite of trouble. I like sewing. I'll make it to fit my niece, Jenny Gillis, for she and Anne are as like as two peas as far as figure goes."

"Well now, I'm much obliged," said Matthew, "and — and — I dunno — but I'd like — I think they make the sleeves different nowadays to what they used to be. If it wouldn't be asking too much I — I'd like them made in the new way."

"Puffs? Of course. You needn't worry a speck more about it, Matthew. I'll make it up in the very latest fashion," said Mrs. Lynde. To herself she added when Matthew had gone:

"It'll be a real satisfaction to see that poor child wearing something decent for once. The way Marilla dresses her is positively ridiculous, that's what, and I've ached to tell her so plainly a dozen times. I've held my tongue though, for I can see Marilla doesn't want advice and she thinks she knows more about bringing children up than I do for all she's an old maid. But that's always the way. Folks that has brought up children know that there's no hard and fast method in the world that'll suit every child. But them as never have think it's all as plain and easy as Rule of Three — just set your three terms down so fashion, and the sum'll work out correct. But flesh and blood don't come under the head of arithmetic and that's where Marilla Cuthbert makes her mistake. I suppose she's trying to cultivate a spirit of humility in Anne by dressing her as she does; but it's more likely to cultivate envy and discontent. I'm sure the child must feel the difference between her clothes and the other girls'. But to think of Matthew taking notice of it! That man is waking up after being asleep for over sixty years."

Marilla knew all the following fortnight that Matthew had something on his mind, but what it was she could not guess, until Christmas Eve, when Mrs. Lynde brought up the new dress. Marilla behaved pretty well on the whole, although it is very likely she distrusted Mrs. Lynde's diplomatic explanation that she had made the dress because Matthew was afraid Anne would find out about it too soon if Marilla made it.

"So this is what Matthew has been looking so mysterious over and grinning about to himself for two weeks, is it?" she said a little stiffly but tolerantly. "I knew he was up to some foolishness. Well, I must say I don't think Anne needed any more dresses. I made her three good, warm, serviceable ones this fall, and anything more is sheer extravagance. There's enough material in those sleeves alone to make a waist, I declare there is. You'll just pamper Anne's vanity, Matthew, and she's as vain as a peacock now. Well, I hope she'll be satisfied at last, for I know she's been hankering after those silly sleeves ever since they came in, although she never said a word after the first. The puffs have been getting bigger and more ridiculous right along; they're as big as balloons now. Next year anybody who wears them will have to go through a door sideways." Lucy Maud Montgomery quotes- Anne Of Green Gables.

Follow me for more inspiration! 💜💕

[devilsgatewayhq]

Name: Jensen Walker Age: 42 Occupation: Co-Owner of StopShop Time living in Tonopah: Moved to Tonopah when he was five, and then at 18 he moved to Eureka. He recently has returned about a year ago – following the bike festival. Neighborhood: Springate Crossings Gang Affiliation: Sons of Silence Face Claim: Cole Hauser

Biography: (TW: Child abuse, drug usage, child neglect, murder, miscarriage, infertility mention, death )

Jensen entered the world amidst the sweltering South Carolina summer, born to parents Sonny Walker and Patricia Anderson. His initial years unfolded in the quaint town of Aynor, with only a population of nine hundred and sixty. Patricia and Sonny had never been a couple; meeting by chance one night in a Smokey biker bar, which resulted in her becoming pregnant with their son. Sonny tried to talk her into terminating the pregnancy, but she refused. So, Sonny returned back to Tonopah Valley, Nevada, promising to return before he was born, and Patricia remained in her hometown. Their home wasn't much, a small mobile home nestled in the deep country woods with only three other neighbors, but Jensen never thought much of it.

His life was troubled from the start. His mother grappled with addiction most of her life, her current vice being crystal meth. Just three months shy of his sixth birthday, his mother had put him to bed before stepping outside to smoke with her boyfriend, tommy. Jensen recollection of that night is fragmented, but he vividly recalls stumbling out the front door, awoken by the flashing police lights, only to discover his mother drenched in blood and Tommy unrecognizable, lifeless beside her. He would later find out that she had stabbed him forty seven times with a steak knife after an argument broke out about a missing pipe. The State of South Carolina subsequently convicted her of second-degree murder, and handed down a sentence of life in prison with the possibility of parole.

Sonny wasted no time making the two day ride to get his son, and bring him back to Tonopah. Jensen, traumatized and confused, spent the ensuing years grappling with the abrupt move and absence of his mother. As he grew older, he began to comprehend the complexities of his mother's choices He never held her fully responsible for she brought him up, attributing it to the relentless grip of the addiction she battled. Nevertheless, he could never muster the courage to ever take her calls or read the letters she sent, feeling that it was best his peace was left unspoken.

High school came and went, and Jensen was finally old enough to prospect for the Sons of Silence, the club his father had a hand in establishing, and the president. Despite his deep love for his father, the two often found themselves at odds, never seeing eye to eye on anything. So, Jensen learned it was best to sit and silently watch, and do as he was told. He was finally old enough to patch in, and became an official member of the club. However, Sonny's health had took a devastating turn, as Cirrhosis took its toll. He decided it was best that he step down as president, and within a year, Sonny died, leaving behind a nineteen year old Jensen.

Unable to bear the constant reminders of his father, and the influence he had in Tonopah Valley with the club, Jensen sought a changed and asked for a transfer to the Eureka, California chapter. Sonny's brother, who lived on a few acres with his wife and two young children, agreed to letting him move in with them, in exchange with helping out on the small cattle ranch. Without hesitation, he packed his Harley with whatever belongings would fit and made the ride down.

It didn't take long to adjust, and he discovered that he genuinely enjoyed working on the small ranch. Over time, his dedication to the Eureka charter led him to attain the Vice President patch. When Dean MacNally, finally made his debut onto the Eureka scene, Jensen was elated to serve as the right hand man to the newly appointed president.

Reconnecting with Rowan breathed new life into Jensen, granting him a sense of purpose he had sought for so long. They two eventually married, and things were good. Until Rowan suffered the miscarriage that resulted in her being left unable to carry. Jensen had never harbored a desire for children, believing that his own genetics had reached a dead end with him. He never wanted to risk bringing a child into this world that would be as fucked up as he saw himself. Nevertheless, he never shared those sentiments with his wife, only wanting to provide unweaving support to Rowan however he could.

Upon receiving the news of his father in laws death in Tonopah, Jensen wasted no time embarking on the ride there. His only focus was providing help to Cole and uncovering whoever was responsible for the murders of Serkan Tezel and Dean MacNally. Unexpectedly, their stay became permanent, and so Jensen asked to transfer back to his home charter, the Tonopah Valley chapter. Together, him and Rowan purchased a house with a few acres and bought, and co-own the StopShop together.

Headcanons:

He is a man of few words, unless you get him drunk, then he won't shut up.

The MacNally's are the only family he's ever known, and considers himself one.

Loves his in-laws.

Has the mouth of a sailor.

He has a black quarter horse named Helicopter Buzz, and he would die for this horse without a second thought.

Also has a German Shepherd named Lamb Chop, and a cat name Snookie.

He loves animals more than people, and admits that with not hesitation.

Wears a necklace in the shape of a Harley, it holds his dad's ashes. He never takes it off.

He never takes of his wedding band.

Jensen never speaks about his life before Tonopah or his mother with anyone, and if it's brought up he will leave or change the subject - it's a super painful topic for him.

He is the upmost respectful of women and is a devout feminist, in his mind you're a SOB if you even raise your voice to woman (unless they're tryna kill u or something idk)

[abigailspinach]

When Matthew came to think the matter over he decided that a woman was required to cope with the situation. Marilla was out of the question. Matthew felt sure she would throw cold water on his project at once. Remained only Mrs. Lynde; for of no other woman in Avonlea would Matthew have dared to ask advice. To Mrs. Lynde he went accordingly, and that good lady promptly took the matter out of the harassed man’s hands.

“Pick out a dress for you to give Anne? To be sure I will. I’m going to Carmody tomorrow and I’ll attend to it. Have you something particular in mind? No? Well, I’ll just go by my own judgment then. I believe a nice rich brown would just suit Anne, and William Blair has some new gloria in that’s real pretty. Perhaps you’d like me to make it up for her, too, seeing that if Marilla was to make it Anne would probably get wind of it before the time and spoil the surprise? Well, I’ll do it. No, it isn’t a mite of trouble. I like sewing. I’ll make it to fit my niece, Jenny Gillis, for she and Anne are as like as two peas as far as figure goes.”

“Well now, I’m much obliged,” said Matthew, “and—and—I dunno—but I’d like—I think they make the sleeves different nowadays to what they used to be. If it wouldn’t be asking too much I—I’d like them made in the new way.”

“Puffs? Of course. You needn’t worry a speck more about it, Matthew. I’ll make it up in the very latest fashion,” said Mrs. Lynde. To herself she added when Matthew had gone:

“It’ll be a real satisfaction to see that poor child wearing something decent for once. The way Marilla dresses her is positively ridiculous, that’s what, and I’ve ached to tell her so plainly a dozen times. I’ve held my tongue though, for I can see Marilla doesn’t want advice and she thinks she knows more about bringing children up than I do for all she’s an old maid. But that’s always the way. Folks that has brought up children know that there’s no hard and fast method in the world that’ll suit every child. But them as never have think it’s all as plain and easy as Rule of Three—just set your three terms down so fashion, and the sum ‘ll work out correct. But flesh and blood don’t come under the head of arithmetic and that’s where Marilla Cuthbert makes her mistake. I suppose she’s trying to cultivate a spirit of humility in Anne by dressing her as she does; but it’s more likely to cultivate envy and discontent. I’m sure the child must feel the difference between her clothes and the other girls’. But to think of Matthew taking notice of it! That man is waking up after being asleep for over sixty years.

[almaqead]

"Perfectly Formed." Introduction to Surah 19, Surah Maryam, "The Mother of the Dawn."

This Surah has 98 verses divided into 6 Rukus/Sections. This Surah was revealed in Mecca almost six to seven years before Prophet Muhammad’s migration to Yathrib (Madina). This was the time when the opposition of Meccans turned from verbal accusations and abuse to physical and socio-economic torture and bans. This is the time when many Muslims migrated to nearby country of Abyssinia.

Today's context is not much different than the one before. The US Government is refusing to dissolve the Republican Party or put an end to the possibility Donald Trump or those like him will be allowed to cause harm to the world on the basis of its false dogmas. Clarification of the correct messages the world needs to hear during this deeply troubling time in human history is why we are reading the Quran in this forum.

Members of the United States Government have begun a new intifada against Jews and Muslims on global scale in order to unseat civilization. Those terror tunnels that have cored Israel and other locations are of American origin. Of this there is no doubt. So long as the Quran remains a dirty secret, persons and governments like Donald Trump, Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Islamic Republics will be able to oppress their people and meddle in world affairs right under their feet. The truth of God obviously must exist in three hundred and sixty degrees.

The human race is depending on persons who believe the angel Jibril, "the reality checker" visited Muhammad of the Quraysh with a series of verses designed to rescue humanity from itself to stand up for the truth of their faith. Abuse of Muslims must be curbed, and the issues where they are meant to live must be resolved.

The international community has been too confused about this because of the efforts made by the United States Government to alienate them. Octover 7, perpretrated by masterminds in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and Donald Trump are the lastest examples. There must not be war in Israel or Iran because of this, there must unity around the core beliefs of the Mosque instead.

Thus begins the Surah; a tale of another revelation by the god Jibril to the human race for the sake of its lasting happiness. The Surah opens with a banner called a Fatihah:

19:1-22:

Kãf-Ha-Ya-’Aĩn- Ṣãd. "A spoonful of food."

˹This is˺ a reminder of your Lord’s mercy to His servant Zachariah,

when he cried out to his Lord privately,

saying, “My Lord! Surely my bones have become brittle, and grey hair has spread across my head, but I have never been disappointed in my prayer to You, my Lord!

And I am concerned about ˹the faith of˺ my relatives after me, since my wife is barren. So grant me, by Your grace, an heir,

who will inherit ˹prophethood˺ from me and the family of Jacob, and make him, O  Lord, pleasing ˹to You˺!”

˹The angels announced,˺ “O Zachariah! Indeed, We give you the good news of ˹the birth of˺ a son, whose name will be John—a name We have not given to anyone before.”

He wondered, “My Lord! How can I have a son when my wife is barren, and I have become extremely old?”

An angel replied, “So will it be! Your Lord says, ‘It is easy for Me, just as I created you before, when you were nothing!’”

Zachariah said, “My Lord! Grant me a sign.” He responded, “Your sign is that you will not ˹be able to˺ speak to people for three nights, despite being healthy.”

So he came out to his people from the sanctuary, signalling to them to glorify ˹Allah˺ morning and evening.

˹It was later said,˺ “O John! Hold firmly to the Scriptures.” And We granted him wisdom while ˹he was still˺ a child, as well as purity and compassion from Us. And he was God-fearing, and kind to his parents. He was neither arrogant nor disobedient.

Peace be upon him the day he was born, and the day of his death, and the day he will be raised back to life!

And mention in the Book ˹O Prophet, the story of˺ Mary when she withdrew from her family to a place in the east, screening herself off from them. Then We sent to her Our angel, ˹Gabriel,˺ appearing before her as a man, perfectly formed.

She appealed, “I truly seek refuge in the Most Compassionate from you! ˹So leave me alone˺ if you are God-fearing.”

He responded, “I am only a messenger from your Lord, ˹sent˺ to bless you with a pure son.”

She wondered, “How can I have a son when no man has ever touched me, nor am I unchaste?”

He replied, “So will it be! Your Lord says, ‘It is easy for Me. And so will We make him a sign for humanity and a mercy from Us.’ It is a matter ˹already˺ decreed.”

So she conceived him and withdrew with him to a remote place."

Commentary:

After Kahf, which I said must result in "equipoise" towards all that happens inside and outside the mind, Allah tells Muhammad through the angel of the reality check, Jibril also called Gabriel, that the fruits of the actions of the Kahf must be made into a way of life. He chooses the story of Mary and the Immaculate Conception to illustrate how equilibrium, social equity and uprisings against the proud and the vile are vital matters of mercy for the world.

His name was called Isha. He was the product of the mating interactions of the heavenly host "perfectly made" and the womb of Mary, who gave the world a great blessing because God asked her and without asking for anything in return.

The world must feel to us as it did to Zechariah, who did not think it could change. We must all think by now, this is it, ruthless, insecure, weird criminals are going to subsume the world and there is no way out. If we look at the meaning of Zechariah, we might find we can are able to purchase a glimmer of hope:

"The verb זכר (zakar) means to remember, to deliberately review, or to cause to remember or review — by means of public oration, urging and pleading, physical memorials, and so on.

Noun זכר (zeker) means remembrance, memory, memorial or invocation. Noun זכרון (zikkaron) or זכרן (zikkaron) denotes a memorial or token — a memorial day, altar-plates, stones, crowns, books, proof of citizenship, even spoils of war. Noun אזכרה ('azkara) refers to a memorial-offering.

Noun זכור (zakur) and noun and adjective זכר (zakar) mean male. This noun denotes the male of humans and animals, and marvelously illustrates the parallel between sexual reproduction and the learning process, which is so overly prevalent in the Bible."

It's hardly Christmas time but we can still remember why God sent Himself to us in the form of Isha. We are on the cusp of trying to crown psychopaths and put them in charge of the Sacred District of Israel and this is not its destiny.

Israel is the gate to heaven, it is where our modern lives took their first footsteps. We are faltering to place our feet in them within this generation. But the Surah says "hold fast to the scripture, be compassionate, do not be arrogant" and life on earth will be one day be raised up.

Every possible effort to end the threats of the Republican Party and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and bring peace to all Israel including everywhere Muslims dwell, but espcially in the Holy Land, where this sacred story began.

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

just another star pilot

Larque pouted, elbow on the table and left hand holding her cheek. Her right hand reached over to twirl her straw around in her water. The ice clicked together.

"I don't know. I guess it's all strange. I'm used to playing sixty three different characters depending on the situation. Kind of an occupational need in the smuggling business. You have to get people who aren't trusting people to trust you quickly. I must have a lot more mirror neurons than most people. Mimicry and being disarming has gotten me out of quite a few sticky situations..." her voiced faded and she smiled at her glass.

Her smile tilted more to the left now. She almost had a dimple. She'd always wanted to have a dimple. Dimples were really cute. She bent to drink from the straw.

"It didn't carve me out much of an identity. I don't think I ever had one. I think I've been running away from myself since I was a child. I never really got to have an identity then, either. I was always playing a role, rarely able to even wear what I wanted. Sure, everything was provided for... provided I behaved in the way others wanted me. No one wanted me, they wanted me in the role they had of me in their head. I had to choose between survival or painful liberty. I chose faking my own death and getting lost in the galaxy. Now I'm realizing I never chose anything. It's all been surviving or playing a role or escaping yet another mess I got myself into. I've always kind of been lost. It's hard to find yourself when you never made yourself. Maybe that's what I'm learning now."

The droid bartender had no expression, and was obviously programmed to pretend to listen and care about its human patrons. It even had a sympathetic tilt to its head as it blankly washed the counter. She was comforted by emotional unavailability, and when she thought about that for a second, she realized there was a problem there.

Add it to her tab. She had about half a hundred problems to solve and absolutely no energy to do it tonight.

"I have two dominant mental states. I have one where I am clever and charming and completely delighted by everything and easily inspired. Then I have the empty one. The one where I just observe everything and absorb the situation to process later. I'm fearless, but I'm also looking for trouble. I talk without thinking and make situations awkward and people are either fascinated for good reasons or attracted for bad ones."

She looked over at the droid. He'd finished with the counter cleaning so he just stood there with the tilted head. It was deepened in angle. He almost looked silly and it warmed her heart. "But I don't think either of those is me. Or maybe it is. I think I'm jealous of you, Ten-Zen. All these emotions and biochemical responses they inspire in my blood stream which then fire off the lighting of my nervous system and impact the heart that keeps beating even though I don't know how it ever started. Sometimes my heart feels dense like stone and sometimes it feels hollow like a drum. You don't have to deal with any of that. But you're also at the mercy of whatever being buys you and programs you. You don't get to choose. I get to choose."

Her arms folded themselves on the bar and she placed her head into them. Her voice was muffled when she spoke again. "Thank you for listening, Ten-zen. Can you get me another plum wine? I'm going to drink it and stare blankly off into the distance until I figure out a plan. One that will actually maybe work."

The droid said something about the service being a pleasure and walked stiffly over to where the assortment of multi-colored bottles of spirits were kept. Larque spun around on the bar seat. She didn't know it did that. She looked to her left and to her right before giving it one more spin just to experience it consciously. By the time the droid came back to place the glass of wine in front of her, she'd already gotten out her pens and journal and was furiously scribbling away.

[bobelblogger]

Laurana met with the speaker of the stars Alhana Starbreeze in silence both entranced sat amid the exiles of their conquered homes among the last of their race. Kagonesti, Qualinesti and Silvanesti all refugees fleeing the Dragon Queens rule who betrayed the peace promised by treaty in favor of new settlers brought to replace them, in all three hundred sixty four souls remain, horrific slaughter. Dargonesti Demeresti "Why have the fates turned so cruelly, have we not given our due to the stars for--." "What have your ears and eyes learned of our company, Goldmoon, Riverwind, Tika, Flint, Caramon, Raistlin, Tass or Tanis, and what of Gilthanas?" "Flint is holed up in Godshome, Tasselhoff is in Kendermore with the remains of his people building ships to sail, nor Riverwind or Goldmoon were seen or talked about, Gilthanas and Raistlin and Caramon and Tanis and Tika have ventured to Taladas in hopes of gathering renewed force, it will take some time, many think continued resistance is futile and the dragonarmies unstoppable." "Then I must obtain unstoppable power to match them, aimed at the heart of evil itself with such ferocity they never rise again." "How, such magics and vessels to hold it are left to the gods and goddesses alone, and the price for it steeped in suffering." "Then I've paid my fare hundreds of times over, my person and name soiled and mocked, betrayed and humiliated, if there is such a vessel I will take it and if not forge one, ascend the steps to my waiting place in the heavens and temples a red a white and black day shall herald it, the tortured souls of my foes will flood the underworld." "Laurana, what shall you do without our friends? my love for Sturm, it didn't bring his return, love is all we have." "Love is a childhood infatuation of foolish ideas cursing our minds, between us it's more trouble than help." "Then we must love ourselves to move onward to lift this evil net snaring our world, before the cataclysm returns." Alhana, I am the Cataclysm, this is the Age of the Golden Goddess, bow down and worship me now." Without a thought Alhana did and soon the rest followed, their old gods did nothing, all faith realigned on her, they were Lauranesti now,

---------- Aloft with his Wing over Kendermore, Emperor Ariakas hunts for sport, with only the dwarves and a few bands of escape elven slaves, all Ansalon was in his thrall and Takhisis had full sway over the land. ARIAKAS SUCKS COCK spelled out in a field, flying lower and realized it was made of slain dragonarmy men. Red Wing, fan out over the area and burn everything, no survivors,

Ariakas, by drowning in dragon blood, piss, sperm and shit.

----------- Kitiara's body ached from her strenuous sparring practice, she needed to stay swift and sharp even with a pacified region to rule, her spies in Taladas brought news of Tanis and his friends, soon she would have him in her bed and in marriage, Steel would bring him back, willing or unwilling. Steels life for the whereabouts of my child, no lies, come on cunt, I'm not asking nicely again, feel the lance you ugly slattern.

Kitiara, by Lance with castrated sons cock

----------- Barnesby wasn't given the rulership of Palanthas before its ruin but his harem of elven widows and a vast fiefdom on the Solamnian coast more than made up for it.

Barnesby, by rats in a barrel tossed down a hole.

----------- Kreiss found his castle more dark and joyless than usual as he stalked through the halls, it's only been two weeks.

----------- Suleiman ordered a race of his finest horses was set to begin soon, with his favorite called Godswill, in a bet against his

Suleiman, by trampling with stallions mating.

A nar finished sequel to Euchers Laurana Whore General.

[astrajinn]

Duel of the Fates part 2

At the same time this was happening, the soldiers ran through the palace corridors with Padmé and Astra heading the group. They were about to reach the stairs when a blaster shot came out of nowhere. Astra's reflexes were most useful as she activated her lightsaber just in time to deflect the shot and save the queen. Instantly, the group scattered among the pillars, and a group of droids emerged from the side halls, blocking their way. Everyone was firing, except the smallest one, who prevented the attacks from hitting anyone, especially the queen, who had a particular penchant for being in front of the firing line.

"We don't have time for this," complained Astra to the captain.

"Well, in that case, be creative and think of something, because I'm starting to get tired of this."

With that, she dismounted from her speeder in a second and, using Form IV, moved at sufficient speed to cut three droids that had come too close in half before returning to her initial position.

While this was happening, no one imagined that Anakin had his own problems. Since he couldn't deactivate the autopilot, the ship he was in left the atmosphere and headed to the droid control base, where Naboo pilots were fighting their own battle.

"Haya! Haya! The autopilot is taking us!" pointed the base, where some external explosions could be seen.

Naboo ships were being shot down by the defenses of the Federation base. The pilots on these could barely defend and dodge attacks thanks to the powerful deflection shield they used to protect themselves.

"R2, cancel the autopilot or they'll tear us apart," the boy requested, seeing his end quite near, so the droid obeyed the boy's wishes. "You did it, R2!" the child celebrated before taking control of the ship and starting to maneuver.

The droid beeped alarmed, asking the child to return, but he replied, "Return, Qui-Gon told me not to leave this cabin, and that's what I'm going to do." The droid complained again, this time resorting to mentioning Astra, but this only encouraged the child more. "Astra will be the best Jedi someday, but I will be the best pilot."

The child fled from the enemy ships as fast as he could, making turns that ended up dizzying him to avoid their shots. R2 focused on them and gave a pretty obvious report, even for the child.

"I know we're in trouble, hold on," he asked, accelerating.

Padmé fired, hitting another droid, but it was of no use, as more kept coming. Captain Panaka, tired of the situation, fired at the window on the other side of the hallway, disintegrating it, and gave the signal for everyone to run towards it. While Padmé and half a dozen soldiers left, Astra repelled the gunfire to let them cross, and the remaining men, along with the handmaidens, created a kind of wall of shots, providing the necessary protection to execute their plan.

"Young Jedi, keep going with the queen, we'll take care of it," one of the handmaidens requested.

"Good luck."

Having said that, she left with Padmé and the others, who were using the ascent system of their blasters to reach the upper ledge. Meanwhile, Astra was ready to hold them with the Force in case someone had the brilliant idea of falling into the void now that they were at least six floors up. The queen used her blaster to break the glass, and everyone entered the place to continue running towards the throne room.

In the power plant, the Jedi continued to fight the Sith, who seemed tireless, but they, on the other hand, were getting more and more tired. Obi-Wan was young, although he had strength and speed, he lacked combat experience, while Qui-Gon, who had experience, was nearing sixty years old, so he lacked the strength and endurance that youth provided. Seeing Obi-Wan stumble, the Sith took advantage and, with a powerful kick, threw him off the platform into the void below, where he fortunately managed to grab onto a lower bridge before falling. Qui-Gon did the same and also managed to knock down the Zabrak before launching himself after him to continue the fight one floor below.

By the time Obi-Wan managed to climb up, he saw his master fighting his opponent one floor above him and several meters ahead. Both entered a corridor filled with laser beams that would open and close periodically, with the younger one behind trying to reach them. Suddenly, the beams closed, leaving the padawan outside the corridor, the master trapped between two beams, and the Sith, like the Jedi, in the next set. He tested the strength of the barrier by hitting his weapon against it and, seeing that it wouldn't break, turned off his lightsaber and began walking from side to side. Meanwhile, Qui-Gon also deactivated his weapon and knelt halfway to the ground, meditating to focus on the battle that would take place once the lasers were deactivated.

When they were about to reach the throne room, a troop of droids and several droidekas surrounded them.

"Drop your weapons," Padmé ordered the soldiers and the Jedi. "They won this battle."

"The lightsaber is a Jedi's life, I can't let it go," muttered Astra, gritting her teeth.

"Trust me," she whispered, to which the girl, reluctantly, let it go along with the soldiers' weapons.

Meanwhile, Anakin couldn't avoid all the shots he was receiving, and R2 was quite upset about it.

"I'm sorry, R2," turning almost to the point of dizziness and entering the base hangar, where the ship ended up shutting down and falling to the ground. "It's not responding anymore, I can't stop it," the droid beeped without understanding. "The controls overheated," he saw the droids coming towards him. "This is serious."

He tried to start the ship and began checking the commands, but there wasn't much to do until they cooled down.

Obi-Wan went on guard when he noticed the movement in the beams, and Qui-Gon got up faster than a resource to defend himself from the Sith in front of him. The padawan ran in an attempt to reach his master, but he wasn't fast enough and got caught between the lasers. While the Zabrak and the Jedi faced each other with an even greater ferocity than a few moments ago. Blocking a double-bladed lightsaber wasn't easy, and at some point, the Sith managed to break through the Jedi's defense and pierced him with his weapon, leaving him lying on the floor in agony, while his padawan shouted in despair due to helplessness, cursing the moment his master advanced, leaving him behind and unable to help him face that enemy on his own.

Astra was stripped of her speeder and escorted on foot with the rest of the soldiers and the queen to the throne room, somewhat facilitating her main objective. The girl was thinking of ways to immobilize the droids. While it's true that her training was advanced for her age, she was still better with the lightsaber than with the use of the Force.

"Your insurrection is coming to an end, Your Highness," declared the viceroy. "It's time to sign the treaty and end this absurd debate in the Senate."

"Viceroy, your occupation is over," declared Sabe, arriving with the other soldiers and shooting at the droids, confusing those who didn't know about the change.

"After her, this is a decoy."

Most of the droids went after the group that offered themselves as bait, leaving the Viceroy practically unprotected. Padmé took advantage of the confusion, sat on her throne to open a compartment, from which she took two blasters, and handed one to Captain Panaka. They shot the few remaining droids nearby, and Astra crashed two against the pillars using the Force.

"Close the doors" ordered Panaka, while the soldiers picked up the weapons from the fallen droids.

"Now, Viceroy, we will discuss a new treaty."

Padmé was about to speak when a sharp cold came from Astra's throat before she fell to the ground, holding her side as if she had a terrible wound there.

"Astra" called Padmé, running to her side and starting to check her, noticing that she was extremely hot.

"I'll be fine, Padmé" she spoke with difficulty. "Stop this."

"Captain, attend to the girl" demanded.

Obi-Wan waited impatiently for the laser beams to open, and when they were about to happen, both the Jedi and the Sith ignited their sabers to begin the fight. The Sith was fast, faster than before, now that Qui-Gon wasn't there to anticipate his movements. However, Obi-Wan followed him easily, propelled by anger and the pain of seeing his master knocked down.

The Sith seemed to have no escape when, in an agile move, the padawan cut his weapon in half before giving him a kick that knocked him down. The younger one jumped, blocking a final attack but giving his opponent enough time to get up. Now, with a single-bladed lightsaber, they faced each other in a more even battle, where it was necessary to use short jumps and somersaults to dodge the attacks that came and went. Until the Sith, in a cunning move, used the Force to push the padawan into the pit behind them. To avoid a horrible fall, the young man let go of his saber and grabbed onto an iron crossbeam under the edge of the pit. The Zabrak threw the padawan's saber, which fell into the abyss without him being able to do anything about it, leaving him at the mercy of the dark side user.

"Yes! There's power now!" the boy celebrated, turning on the ship's shields and making it rise. "Take this!" he shot at the droids. "And this!" he pulled the lever, releasing two shots towards the reactor, causing an explosion. "Oops!"

"We're losing power. Something damaged the central reactor."

"Impossible, nothing can penetrate the shields."

"It's time to leave!" the child sang when he saw that the place was about to explode. "Now, this is a Pod racer!" he commented, accelerating amid R2's displeased beeps.

"What's happening? Are there explosions inside?"

"Who would do that?"

"It's ours," another pilot reported. "And it's leaving the loading area."

"Gujuu!" he cheered upon seeing that he had succeeded.

Obi-Wan started to sing. He would have to do something soon, or he would end up falling into the void just like his saber, but getting out of where he was was the least of his problems. Without a weapon to defend himself, it would be useless to set his feet on solid ground. He searched for an exit or a solution to his problem and saw his master's saber lying at his feet, where it had fallen after receiving the full force of his opponent's blow.

He pushed in a final attempt and, using the Force, summoned the weapon to his hand, taking the Sith by surprise, who couldn't defend himself for a while and received a mortal wound in his body. He was cut in half and fell into the pit where the padawan had been moments ago. Obi-Wan turned off the saber and ran to see Qui-Gon. Kneeling by his side, he cradled his head in his lap, cradling his face in his hands while the man softly murmured a last wish.

"It's too late now," he warned when he saw his intention to help.

"No," the Padawan refused to let go.

"Obi-Wan," he called calmly. "Promise me that you will train the boy, that you will take care of Astra," he asked, wiping the tear from his student's cheek with his fingers. "They are the chosen ones, they will bring balance."

"Master, I..."

"I love her, there are not enough stars in the galaxy or the universe," he whispered, closing his eyes and leaving this world in his student's arms.

The heat in Astra's body seemed to have disappeared, and now she was getting colder and paler. She was trembling violently, alarming those present, even the Viceroy who was talking to Padmé. At some point, she couldn't take it anymore and ordered the captain to watch him while she took charge of the girl.

"Astra, you're freezing," she panicked, feeling the coldness in her hands.

"I don't have much time," she murmured, tired, gritting her teeth in pain.

"Please, resist."

"Obi-Wan, he must train Ani, taking care of me is his task," she shouted, feeling tears running down her cheeks. "The chosen ones, they will bring balance."

"I don't understand. Chosen for what?" she tried to wipe her tears as she saw her mutter something incomprehensible before raising her voice a little.

"Let them give you an idea of how much I love you."

With this last phrase, the girl closed her eyes, fainting with a heartbeat and a breath so faint that they were almost impossible to perceive.

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

Chut Chut Pateesa

Happy Life Day to everyone (although a little belated)! I hope you are enjoying these times as much as we are, spending time with your teachers and friends, and forging friendships that last a long time.

As you already know, the goal is to finish the posts before the Festival of Light, and considering that there are only two chapters left before the end of this book, plus the acknowledgments, I'm confident we can achieve it.

For those who are still unaware, I've opened a YouTube channel and an Instagram account. You can find me as Astra Jinn, and I appear with the same profile as on this account. I invite you to follow me (most likely, I'll dedicate myself to doing ASMR while writing the chapters of this story and sharing previews of future chapters). (You can also find me on Ao3). And that's it for now, my Padawans. Don't forget to vote and comment, remember to beware of the Sith, especially at this time of year, so that we don't lose the magic of these dates. And don't forget that "Jedi only use the Force for defense and knowledge, never for attack." May the Force be with you, companions.

[beckwritesfiction]

At Full Dark: Part 1

(18+ ONLY) THIS POST CONTAINS SEXUAL THEMES, MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

Summary: Ellie attends the funeral of her father, and reunites with people she hasn't seen since she was a child. Some have the best of intentions, and others don't.

A/N: I've been getting messages asking me to post the first chapter, and I'm happy to! I haven't hit my word count goal, but I'm putting this up a little early for you guys. I'm really excited about this, and I am hope you are, too! I wanted to read over this more but I'm currently posting this on my break at work.

Warnings: drinking, protected PIV, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of past death and grieving. Let me know if there's anything you wish for me to add, and I'd be happy to.

Word Count: 4.5k

PART I 

The paper the funeral home had given her and anyone else who walked through the door was the thing she stared at, rather than her dead father in the open casket in front of her.  The church wasn’t very full, but that didn’t surprise her.  In fact, she was shocked she wasn’t the only person there.  From her understanding, her father was an asshole.  And because he never remarried, he left everything he had to her.

Leonard “Lonnie” Belfure passed away at the age of sixty-one in his home located in Wabang, Wyoming.  He is survived by his daughter, Virginia Eloise Brown (Neé Belfoure), and her husband, Weston Brown.  Lonnie took over the Belfure ranch from his father at the age of twenty-six.  Please join us at 11:00 AM on Monday, May 27th at West Baptist Church for the funeral.

If she left him months ago, Wes’ name wouldn’t have been on the paper, and she wouldn’t be thinking about how stupid it was that her last name was still Brown.  She wasn’t even sure she wanted it to be Belfure, either.  While she was supposed to be praying for her father’s soul, she prayed wherever he was, he couldn’t beat women, or yell at children.  And then she prayed a better last name would come to her soon, because she wasn’t using Brown or Belfure.  

The graveyard wasn’t far, so she set out to walk, ignoring everyone in church because she didn’t know them, and she wasn’t planning to.  It was only when Cecelia stopped her on the steps that her face softened.  Her sunglasses and foundation covered most of her black eye.  

She hugged her tightly, the time she took care of her coming back to her.  It was then that she felt like she might cry, and she hadn’t cried once since she found out her father finally died.

“I didn’t wanna pry, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything.  Had I known you were back in town, I woulda helped with—”

“I had someone put this together for him.  It was no trouble at all,” she assured her.  The last thing she wanted was someone as sweet as Cecelia, thinking she’d been crying and slaving away planning the funeral. 

“Are you stayin’ with someone?  Is there anything we can do for you?”  She shook her head slowly, taking in how much Virginia had changed.  There was no indication she was even from Wabang.  She looked like her grandmother did when she came to pick her up fifteen years ago: totally out of place.

“I’ve got a room in town until I get the keys to the house.  Really, you don’t need to go out of your way for me, Missus Abbott.”

“Virginia, honey, please call me Cici.”  When she took her hands, she was reminded of her mother.  It had been three years since she died, and in those three years, she hadn’t been comforted through anything that had happened to her.  

“Call me Ellie, alright?” she said, not offering an explanation.  

Cecelia looked over her shoulder, the rest of her family as well as everyone else making their way out of the church.  “I’m sorry we only get to meet your husband under these circumstances.”

Ellie shook her head, laughing to herself humorlessly.  “Oh, no.  He couldn’t make it.  Bad timing, but death waits for no one, right?”  The rush of the small crowd was enough to separate them.  But Cecelia found her again when she noticed she was going in the wrong direction. “Parkin’ lot’s this way,” she said, placing a hand on her shoulder.  While she didn’t look upset, if she was walking in the wrong direction, she wanted to be gentle about reminding her.  She had been old enough, walking in and out of this exact church, to remember.

“I figured I’d walk.  It’s not that far.”

“No, come on. We’ll give you a ride.”

“There’s no room in my truck,” Perry pointed out as gently as he could.  He was fragile, imagining he’d be throwing a funeral for his missing wife soon if she wasn’t found.   

Rhett, who’d overslept, had driven separately.

“I can,” he offered.  

The walk back to his truck was longer, as he was the very last person to arrive.  He had to park farther away as a result.  “Sorry ‘bout comin’ in late,” he said, unsure of how else to talk to someone he hadn’t seen in so long.

“He’s lucky anyone showed up at all.  You could've stayed home and I wouldn’t have taken it personally.  I don’t even wanna be here.”  Her confession came easily.  There was a chance he wasn’t the kind of person he was when they were little, but something about her memories of him being so fond made her feel like she could be completely honest.  “You didn’t come back just for this, did you?”  She looked over at him, a small frown on her face.  It was the first time she’d looked at him that day, and it was the first time he felt like anyone had looked at him in a while.

“Don’t have to come back if you never left in the first place,” he said, walking between his truck and another, opening the door for her.  He held out his hand for her when she looked like she questioned how to get into it.  She took it, stepping up onto the running board and inside.

When he finally closed his own door, she looked over at him.  He didn’t look like he’d gotten a lot of sleep.  “I guess I shouldn’t take everything from the last time we talked seriously.”

“Maybe some.  I may not be the greatest rider in all of Wabang County, but I’m gettin’ close.”

She smiled at this, thinking back to how sure he was that that’s what he wanted to do, and now he was doing it.  Maybe he hadn’t left town, but small town people sometimes didn’t mind the pace of life that came with where they lived.  

“What?” he asked, finding himself smiling, too, and not feeling guilty now that he knew there was no one around to judge them.  Smiling at a funeral wasn’t usually acceptable.  But in this case, he assumed it was.

“I just think it’s funny how things work out.”

“Why?  You take my advice and write books?”

She nodded as he began to drive.  “Yeah, actually, I did.  It took me a while, but I did it.”  She didn’t tell him how she was supposed to pitch a new book, as she was contractually obligated to, by the end of the month, and she had no idea what to do.  That worried her, but she had a lot going on.  Even if her father’s death didn’t really affect her, her marriage did.  She’d need to file for divorce, and she couldn’t keep dodging Wes’ calls forever.  He was undoubtedly pissed that she left while he was gone that night, but she wasn’t ready to argue about it yet.

As they neared the graveyard, he knew their time together was running out.  “You wanna meet later and catch up?  I know I shouldn’t be askin’ before this is over, but…”

“Yeah.  I’d like that. I’m on Main Street, so maybe the bar near there?”

Her not remembering the name, mixed with how articulate she now sounded, reminded him that she was so far removed from her former life there. As much as he looked at her, standing over the grave as they lowered the casket into it, he didn’t see the bruise on her face.  No one else did, either.  

Before Cecilia could offer one last time to help in any way she could, Ellie was approached by Wayne Tillerson.  No one heard what he asked, but they heard what she said.  “If I decide to sell it, you’ll hear when everyone does.”

“Ain’t really the time, now is it?”  Royal asked, speaking for the first time that day.  At least that’s how it looked to Ellie.  The hostility was unmistakable, and she decided if it came to her getting wrapped up in it, she’d leave the sale up to a lawyer.  

“How long you in town for?” Rhett asked when the bartender brought over the first round.   

Ellie shrugged.  “As long as I need to be.”

“What’s Mister Brown think about that?”

She laughed, seeing how he meant it.  Like he knew something was off.  She thought maybe he’d seen her bare left hand and put the pieces together.  “Mister Brown can go fuck himself, and anyone else that’ll have him on the Upper West Side.”

It was the first time he’d seen her without her sunglasses on, and he thought about how she looked familiar, yet so different.  Her features were sharper, but her eyes were the same.  He never forgot the way she looked at him when they were little because, at the time, it seemed like she was the only one that didn’t look at him in a bad way.  To that day, it felt the same.  When she looked at him he felt seen.  Not because he had a good ride and there was a girl that wanted to go home with him.  It felt deeper than that, and it wasn’t something he’d felt since he was twelve.

“I didn’t realize you wrote those books,” he said, changing the subject.  “I knew what they were.  I’d heard about them, I mean.  But I didn’t realize it was you.”

“You looked me up?”

He nodded, smiling a little.  “Yeah.  I was curious.  Wanted to know what you were writing about.  I thought a lot about what you might be up to.”

“I thought a lot about you, too.  You were the first person that ever told me I should write books.  That’s why I went to Colombia, for their writing program.”

“Colombia Colombia?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

She smiled, nodding.  No one had been impressed with her accomplishments in a long time.  With her mother gone, the only person who really knew her was Wes.  And he didn’t like her being successful, or having friends, or going places without him.  Despite growing up away from her father, she’d managed to marry someone just like him.  Without realizing it, her smile had faded, and she’d been staring at her glass for way too long.

“You were the first person that didn’t think the whole bull ridin’ thing was a phase.”  It sounded a little like an offer.  One for her to continue the conversation and not think about whatever had pulled her out of it in the first place.  “I still have that book you wrote me.”

“What did I call it?” she laughed, trying hard to remember it.  

“Rhett Abbott: The Best Bull Rider Ever.”

“The way people look at you in here, it might as well be true.”

He finished his drink, then leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.  He waved over at the bartender for another round.  Him finishing his made her finish hers.  “I got a few chances left this season to make it come true.  The other stuff in there, probably not.”

“What else did I write?”

“Stuff about a happily ever after.  I’ll blame that on the fairytales you were readin’ back then.”

“Why can’t you have that?” she asked curiously.

He couldn’t tell her why because he wasn’t even sure why he’d said it in the first place.  If he was going to find someone, he would’ve found them already.  At least that’s what he thought.  He blamed it on the town, and on the account of him never leaving home like he wanted to.  

The way he looked around told her he didn’t have an answer.  “Well if you can’t have it, neither can I.  Because I feel like I did everything right and now I’m here.”  He looked back to her when she noticed his wrist.  “What happened to your wrist?” she asked, looking at his brace.

“I fell on it wrong,” he answered dismissively.  He didn’t want to talk about it because then she might be concerned.  He didn’t want that to be all they talked about.

“Will it heal in time?”

“Doctor thinks so.”

“Does it hurt?” she asked, reaching out and running her index and middle finger along the brace.  The way he looked at her then made her wonder why she did it.  Maybe she was lonely, or maybe she just wanted to make sure he wouldn’t stop talking to her.

“If it did, what would you do?”

She leaned back, finishing her second drink with a shrug.  “I’m not a doctor.”

A few more rounds in, and he asked her the real question that he wanted to ask earlier, when he read the pamphlet from her father's funeral.  “What happened with you and your husband?”

After thinking for a second, she shook her head.  “How would you feel if I asked you why you don’t have a wife?” she asked.

“Those’re two very different questions.”

“You answer mine first, if you wanna know the answer to yours.”

He nodded, thinking hard about how to say it without sounding depressing.  It wasn’t, to most people.  He couldn’t be lonely because he could get someone to go home with him every night if he wanted to, and he very often did.  “Just hasn’t happened.”

It wasn’t the answer she wanted, but she assumed it was better than not getting one at all. “Standard stuff, I guess.”  She knew not everyone hit their wives, especially not the day of their mother’s funeral, but she wasn’t going to say that.  Feeling brave, she leaned forward a little.  “It’s only been a few days, but I’ve wanted to do it for a few years.”

He frowned, missing something. “Do what?”

“Leave him.”

He hadn’t realized it had only been a few days since she left, but he figured that was better than her not leaving at all.  “When’d you marry him?”

“Four years ago.”

That didn’t last long and, not knowing what to say, he shrugged.  “Twenty’s young, anyway.  That’s not your fault.”

It was, and she reminded herself that he didn’t know her, even if it was easy to talk to him again.  “I don’t really wanna talk about this.  Ask me anything else, and I'll answer.”

He nodded, looking around the crowded bar as he thought hard.  “What are you workin’ on now, for your book?”

She bowed her head, releasing a small sigh.  “I don’t have anything yet.  That’s part of the problem.  But I’m sure I’ll figure it out by Monday.”

“What’s on Monday?”

“I’ve gotta pitch my next book, and they’ll give me deadlines, and then I'll have to start writing again.”

“Well, I’m sure it’ll be easy for you.”  He didn’t doubt her at all, remembering how easily she used to tell him stories based off of nothing.  And he’d only really spent time with her during what was probably one of the worst weeks of her life.  When it looked like she didn’t believe what he said, he put his hand on her wrist.  “If not, why don’t you just rewrite my book?”

She laughed.  Had he not said that, she would’ve thought too much about him touching her so casually.  “I’m sure that’ll translate well with the adult market.”  The bartender brought over another round, and she continued.  “That would be a change, if I did that, though.  I need dark, and mysterious, probably a little depressing, too.”

“That’s not what I thought you’d be writin’.”

“Well, you haven’t seen me in fifteen years.”

He wondered if that was a good thing.  If she’d stayed, would she just think of him the way everyone else did?

They were there for so long that she didn’t want the night to end, but she also should’ve stopped a few drinks ago.  He was ready to order another round when she stopped him from raising his hand.  “I should stop.”

“You should or you want to?” She laughed a little, shaking her head and then regretting it.  “I mean, I want to remember tonight.”  When she released his hand, her arm felt heavy.  He took her hand, and she met his eyes again.

“Maybe I don’t wanna stop talkin’ to you.”

“Maybe we don’t need to do it here.”

He nodded.  After paying the tab, they left.  When he walked her to his truck, he went to reach for the door, but dropped his keys.  He almost fell getting back up, and she steadied him.  “What are you doing?”

“Tryin’ t’be gentleman and open your door.”

She frowned.  “You’re not driving.”  He didn’t look at her at first, leaning back against his trunk.  He handed her the keys, and she laughed, mostly out of discomfort.  “I’m not driving, either.  But I’m down the street.  Let’s just go there.”  Being on the third floor, and there being no elevator, it took a while to get to her room.  When she nearly fell, he caught her.  When it happened again on the second flight of stairs, and she sat down at the top of it, he offered her his hands.  

“Come on, I’ll carry you.”

This earned another laugh, one that went on far too long and echoed through the corridor.  “You’re not carrying me.”

“You don’t trust me?” He was so close to her, leaning down, that he almost kissed her.  

She shook her head, her nose brushing against his briefly.  “Not on the stairs.”

When they finally made it to the top, his hands remained on her hips, guiding her like they had on the way up.  While trying to find her key in her purse, he leaned against the door, watching her.  He thought her eye looked strange, like her makeup was smudged, but he ignored it, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear when it fell into her face.  He’d wanted to kiss her all night. And now, it being all he could think about, was exactly what he did.  Even though she hadn’t found the room key in her purse yet, she kissed him back.  The handle slipped from her grasp, and she pulled away from him.

After finally finding her wallet, she fumbled with the key for a while before finally getting it inside the door.  It opened roughly, her relying too much on the handle to hold her up.  The noise it made when it hit the doorstop was loud, but it only elicited laughter from them.  He kicked it closed when she put her purse down on the scratched table by the door.

“This is…”

“Shitty?” she asked.  “Yeah, but it’s all there is.”

“You can come stay with us,” he offered. “Mom’d be happy to have the company.”

She turned around, taking off her jacket.  “Would she be happy with the way you’re kissing me?”

He laughed.  “Probably not, not like she’d know.”

“I think she would.  But I’ve got a meeting tomorrow, anyway.  I’ll have the keys to the ranch, and I won’t have to stay here again.” 

He left it at that, sliding off his boots while she started to undo the strap of her heel, one arm bracing against the wall.  She hadn’t sobered up since leaving the bar.  If anything, she felt the full effects now.  He helped her, urging her to sit on the edge of her bed.  He grabbed her ankle, and she laid back.

“I haven’t been this drunk in years.”

“This is just a regular Tuesday night for me,” he said as he let one shoe fall to the floor.  There was a thud, and she brought her other foot up onto his leg.  She laughed, taking what he said as a joke.  

He got the other shoe off even faster, and it prompted her to say, “You’re really good at taking off shoes.  I can’t even get them off that fast.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Again, she took this as a joke.  He got on the bed, hovering over her.  His hips pressed down against hers, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her dress riding up her thighs.  The way he looked down at her made her smile.

“What?” she asked, her hand resting against his side.

“I forgot earlier…to tell you how pretty you are.”  His free hand brushed against her cheek.  His hands were rough, and her face was so soft.

When she smiled, he kissed her again.  This time, when she kissed him back, he couldn’t believe how different it felt to him.  No one kissed him this way, and he had no idea that she felt the same way.  He wanted her, and she could feel that from him even before.  It felt good to be wanted, but thinking about that made her wonder if she only wanted him, too, because she’d gone so long without feeling loved.

The second his hand went to her thigh, she shifted beneath him, kissing him harder.  She hadn’t expected him to move further up.  When he almost pulled her underwear down, she reached down to stop him.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

He was taken aback, and he frowned. “Cause I want you.”

“You don’t wanna know why I want you?” It felt like a stupid thing to say, and she regretted it the second she said it.

“You wanna tell me?”

“Should I do this if I don’t even know?”

He moved off of her, resting his head on the pillow, but staying close to her.  She followed him, moving so their legs still touched, and her arm rested against his chest.  Her hand was against his cheek as she examined him, conflicted.  

“Tell me what you mean.”  The longer she looked at him, the better he was able to see her face.  Her makeup was messed up, but he realized now, with how close they were to the bedside lamp, that she wore minimal eye makeup.  It wasn’t mascara on her eye, it was a bruise.  Her makeup was wearing off as the night went on.

“It’s stupid.”  She shook her head.  “I’m just thinking too hard about something that should be simple.  People drink to stop thinking, right?  Not me, I guess.”

“What happened here?” he asked, his thumb brushing against the bruise on her eye.  She flinched a little as she closed her eyes, and he frowned.  “If you don’t tell me, I’m just gonna assume the worst.”

She finally looked at him again, nodding slowly.  “The worst is probably right.”

The idea that someone would hit her was hard to think about, but once he pictured it, he felt like he needed to do something about it.  “Does he know you’re here, where you’re stayin’?”

She went to answer him, but he was already saying something else.  “Did he just do this, or has he been doin’ this a while?”

Ellie frowned.  “I told you I don’t wanna talk about it.  He doesn’t know where I am.  I’ve been ignoring him.  When I get a chance, I’ll have someone serve him and I won’t have to see him again.  I’ve got it handled.  I’m just…laying low here.”

“You’re not goin’ back to the city on Monday, for your book pitch?”

“If I wanted to sit and think about all that, I wouldn’t have gone out with you tonight.  I can do it over the phone.  It’s not your job to be worried about what I got myself into.  I just don’t wanna do this with you if it’s for the wrong reasons.”

“I feel like my reasons are right.  You’re beautiful, and smart, and talkin’ to you makes me feel like I’m who I wanna be.  I haven’t felt that in…” he trailed off, hoping he didn’t have to say any more.

“We’re either too drunk or we’re not drunk enough,” she declared, laying down beside him.

“I didn’t come back here for no reason, Virginia.  I—”

“Ellie. Call me Ellie.”  He seemed confused.  “I haven’t gone by Virginia in years, and I don’t want to.”

“Okay, Ellie.”  Saying it felt weird.  But he’d do what she wanted.  Him saying her name made her regret putting so much distance between them.  “I meant what I said; I like talkin’ to you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I feel like I do.”  She scooted closer to him again, and he wrapped his arm around her waist.  There was something she wanted to say, but couldn’t find the right words.  “What people say when they’re drunk, it’s what they really mean.”

After a second, she said, “You just make me feel…like I haven’t in a while.  And I don’t wanna do this because of that.  If that’s the only reason.  And I can’t think right like this.  I can’t tell if it’s just because of that, or if it’s because I’d do it just because I want you.  I think I would, but what if I’m wrong?”

“Ellie, I’d be happy with whatever we do in here tonight.”  His hand moved over the curve of her waist and to the bare skin of her thigh again.  “Whyever you wanna do it.”

She wanted to feel loved, to not question everything she did, and to have someone sleep beside her that didn’t hate her.  When she kissed him again, she was under the impression that that’s what he’d give her.  It wasn’t as rushed as it had been before and, despite how tired she felt, she didn’t want it to end.  At first, she was on top of him, liking the amount of control she had until she found that she didn’t want it anymore.  She stopped kissing him long enough for him to realize what she wanted, and readjust.  His hand was on her lower back, lifting her so she could get comfortable against the pillow before leaning down to kiss her neck.

While she released a shaky sigh, she grabbed his hips, wordlessly begging him to be closer to her again.  She hadn’t liked sex in so long, as much as she’d tried.  But she liked this.  He matched her pace from before, thinking at first he’d have to deal with what she wanted instead of what really happened.  He liked it because it was with her.  Any other night, with any other woman, he would’ve thought it felt strange, how affectionate she wanted him to be.  But he liked seeing her like that, hearing what he was doing to her.  This wasn’t something quick that meant nothing, and that was all he was used to.

By the time he laid back down beside her, he was exhausted.  He could hardly keep his eyes open as she pulled the covers over them.  

“Will you stay here with me?” she asked as he reached blindly for the lamp, eventually switching it off.  It fell, and he didn’t have the will to pick it up.

“I’d be real sad if you asked me to leave after that.”

 The only reason he knew she was smiling the way she was was because she kissed him again.  She rolled over next, moving back until she was against him, fitting in his arm perfectly.  Her hair smelled so good, and he fell asleep trying to figure out exactly what it smelled like.

TAGLIST: @elevens-strangerthing @negomim @audri-janis

[xxxavo]

JUST PROCCUPY

JA'FAR x READER x SPARTOS

Summary: The reader is hired by Al-Thamen to assassinate King Sinbad in Sindria. After disguising herself as a new member of his harem she has Sinbad’s fate set in stone until he offers her an unexpected request;

“There is somebody I’d like you to entertain for me.”

PROLOGUE:

No Conditions and Bad Decisions

It had been quite some time since you were granted access to enter what was commonly referred to as the Fire Pit. Most rooms in Al-Thamen’s Heliohapt branch were hard to gain admission to in the first place, but the Fire Pit was by far the most private of them all.

Placed at the top of the ten-story building, the Fire Pit was guarded by two mages cloaked in red stood on either side of the golden-edged door, which could only be described as a black void, sucking anyone who walked through the entryway into a place of chaos.

You felt like a school girl again, a life you only briefly remember living, sat outside the principal’s office because you’d decided to be a trouble maker. Perched on a simple wooden bench alongside the wall was your designated place to wait until you were called. Neither guard spoke a word to you, nor did you speak to them. There was a mutual agreement that nothing was to be exchanged, not one single word.

Minuets upon minutes ticked by until it felt like hours of just staring up at portraits of unrecognizable faces. One of them in particular intrigued you. It was a picture of a small child, pale and somewhat malnourished with long black hair braided in the most elaborate of ways. He was gaping past the frame.

The child looked almost innocent as if questioning why he was being painted in the first place. It would have been cute, if not for his red eyes and demented grin.

Click.

You’re head swiftly snapped to witness whatever was going on over in your expected destination. Another hooded figure, wearing the usual red attire, poked his head out of the Fire Pit to converse secretly with the other two mages, whispering things you couldn’t quite make out. The way they acted made you question what you were really doing here. Of course, you knew what you were doing here, in Al-Thamen’s Heliohapt branch bordering on the continent of darkness.

A future killer in the marking, you were chosen by Al-Thamen and trained at a tender age along with others, brought to the sand lands to be hidden and stored away until you were needed. Many of your mentors had spoken to you and the other children about missions.

What missions exactly? You weren’t entirely certain, though you had a haunch that if they were teaching you to throw knives and to identify poisons you weren’t exactly going to be working in a kitchen. At least not in the traditional sense.

It had taken blood, sweat, and tears just to survive Al-Thamens courses, others who were not so successful sold to slavery or killed as an example. But, to be quite honest, you had very little experience in the field, almost like they were shielding you . . .

The organization was smart not to let you mingle with the others as children; It meant no connections, no loyalty, no love. Just them and the empty promises they made. If you were being honest, you hated it here, but it was all you knew.

“My Lady.” It was the latter of the three men that addressed you, the two from before still staying silent with their heads down. “The Master shall see you now.” Now that he was looking directly at you, his face could be made out in the dim torchlight. He was an older gentleman, perhaps around fifty, even sixty. His kind smile did little to trick you, his eyes showing the murderous intent that everyone else around these parts carried. With that, he turned and shrunk back into the little gap he came out of, and then suddenly all the motions were put into place.

Clawing their nimble fingers around the golden hinges, the mages heaved the void the rest of the way open, the Fire Pit now exposed to your undeserving eyes. At first, the sheer intensity of the light inside blinded you. It forced you to swing your hands in front of your face, adjusting your irises.

“Enter, my child.” This time, the voice that spoke was different. It was no longer the third man cloaked in red, but a much deeper, strong voice, belonging to who you strongly assumed to be a male. Hands now to your side, you took careful steps into the Fire Pit, taking in all the surroundings. It took on a much different appearance from when you had last seen it all of those years ago.

Back then, you were just a ten-year-old girl told to circle around the cauldron in the centre of the room with the other unfortunate kids. The walls were black marble, the torches, which were a flaming sapphire blue, symmetrically placed on all five white pillars that led towards the lavish purple throne at the back. Everything was the same, except for a few minor details.

Firstly, the floor, sand-grained floor mind you, had a red carpet stretching all the way to the door, under the cauldron, and towards the throne. Secondly, on the walls now hung different scriptures you couldn’t understand a word of, their language unreadable to you. Thirdly, the light from the flames was much stronger, as if a force you’d never quite met before was fuelling their power, casting unforgiving shadows on the golden sand beneath your feet. Then, finally, at the end of the room sat on the foreboding throne was a person. Never before had you seen him, but it wasn’t hard to guess who it was, after all, you had just been told.

It was the Master.

For some reason, you did not expect him to be an actual civilian of the country this particular building inhabited. A man with tan skin, bright white hair, and a big beaming smile didn’t exactly read ‘I run a terrorist operation’.

If it wasn’t for the door slamming shut the moment you laid eyes on him, you wouldn’t have even flinched.

“There’s the promising one I have heard so much about!!” Unlike the others he did not wear red. Instead of wore robes of white, decorated with blue ribbons and golden jewels. It made you consider that the colour of clothes had more meaning to them than you had first suspected, considering all of the trainees either wore green, like you, or brown. Then, there were the Master’s underlings, covered in blood-red silk. “Tell me, child, what’s your name?”

As if on instinct, you were quick to spill the anticipated information to him. It made him chuckle gleefully, crossing his bulging legs one over the other like some esteemed noble in a palace. “Such a good listener, but I suspected as much. Commander Hashim has been watching you for a while now, we’ve been looking for someone. Someone strong and reliable. A soldier. Someone like you.” You assumed Commander Hashim was the one who had beckoned you in by the look of pride that had taken over his face. He snaked his arm around your own, swiftly tugging you to walk forward along the carpet with him and up to the cauldron. He only stopped making you walk when your noes was inches away from sizzling in the festering fire stemming from the object of witch-craft.

Silence. You took that as your cue to speak.

“What exactly have I been chosen for?”

“A mission.” Swooned the Master, dramatically waving his arms around in delight. “It’s a big one too, child. You should be honoured. I feel like such a proud father.”

“What’s the mission?” In the past, you had fought other rising assassins in the building, though never had you been assigned anything. The excitement from the Master’s face settled, replaced with a sombre look now, as he contemplated the delivery. It must have held great weight to it, for him to have changed his demeanour so drastically.

“Do you know why you wear green, my Child?”

“No Master. I do not.”

“Back in Kou…” Now, the heliohaptian man leaned forward, his great big blue eyes boring into your own through the flickering flames of the cauldron’s fire. “To wear green means to be a commoner. That my child is what you are here. A common assassin. What do some of your other friends wear hmm?” Friends was used sarcastically, almost in amusement, seemingly the Master took joy in every single one of his ‘children’s’ isolations. “They wear brown. A lowly, mucky colour. And why? Because they’re no good. They’re not common assassins, they’re broken ones. Unlike them you won’t be disposed of. You will be used.” Sitting upwards once more, the Master cricked his neck, a disturbing sound echoing from the walls. “Your mission is to assassinate the King of Sindria, Sinbad.”

Surely you couldn’t have heard him, right?

“The holder of seven Djinns?” You practically bristled, ripping your arm from the commanders hold almost in a panic. “I haven’t been trained for this, it’s practically suicidal!!”

“Only if you do it wrong.” Interrupted the Master with a laugh. “And we haven’t put all of our precious time into nurturing you for you to do it wrong. Child.” Commander Hashim now wrapped his wrinkly hand around your forearm before tugging it towards him, pulling out a needle and pricking it into your skin before you could blink.

You knew better then to resist, gritting your teeth as the droplets of blood fell into his free palm. Once satisfied, the old man released you, thrusting the loose droplets into the blazing fire and you watched almost in a daze as the crimson liquid combusted into ash, forming into a black figure that rose its head up high, revelling in the sensation of the heat as it thrusted to and frou.

Much like yourself, the figure was conflicted between escaping its invisible cage and staying put.

After all, if you were to deny the mission and leave you would be killed for insubordination, yet if you were to accept the mission and travel to Sindria, a place swarming with powerful enemies and a strong monarchy, you were likely to be executed. Either way you couldn’t win, but at least in Sindria there was a chance of success. Besides, like the Master had said, you hadn’t been taught to do your job wrong.

Out of everybody in your learning group you had excelled in all elements you’d been taught and relayed. They’d moulded you into a machine they believed could sneak swiftly into Sinbad’s chambers and out again without a single suspicion.

To throw away this opportunity was to throw away your life’s work.

With a new found resolve, you firm gaze met the Masters and you nodded swiftly. “I accept.” The Master found it endearing, finding it cute you answered as if you had a choice in the matter.

“Good.” The white-haired man hummed lowly; eyes now predatory.

“On one condition.”

“Oh?” That seemed to have caught his interest. “Does my child have a mind of her own? It seems like the Commander wasn’t entirely right about you, little bird. You seem much livelier than anticipated…” You didn’t give him much time to mull over if he should change his mind or not, opting to continue with your condition.

“I want to know what that was? What did you just do?” You were smart enough to know curse magic when you saw it. If a man takes your blood and throws it into a cauldron, what else was he going to do? Pulling a rabbit out of a hat seemed unlikely, especially for this kind of crowd.

As if your question had triggered some sort of beast, the figure in the fire let out an ear-piercing screech, wings feebly trying to hoist it up into the air yet the orange flames ate away at its body like puranas at the flesh of human skin. The sound did not disappear until the creature of ash was terminated, and once it was gone the flames swirled around like a dance before dispersing into thin air.

The Master made no sudden movements. All he did was nod his head, urging you to take a look inside the item of sorcery. You were hesitant at first, but curiosity killed the cat, did it not?

Inside the midnight cauldron lay an array of pumpkin tinted feathers, fluttering gently as feeble black eyes peered up into your own. It was a tiny orange bird. Despite the warmth that filled your chest, the scorching sensation on your forearm did little to let you revel in the attachment. It was quick, albeit painful, but once done indented onto your arm was a small black sun, fully in bloom as if it was at its highest point in the clear blue sky.

“Time is ticking little bird; you best be on your way.” You realized he no longer referred to you as child but instead little bird. Now, you were just his pet.

[milfglupshitto]

albatross around your neck

chapter 2: in which everything comes to a grinding halt, and oh you are so fired

info post

So… uh, looks like somehow last night I must have turned off the replay feature? Can’t figure how I did it, but I guess Take Sixty Seven really is going to be the one that turns it all around.

And I’m sorry, about last night. I promise I really do have my reasons. I’m not as much of a wreck as it sounds, it’s just that- anniversaries, you know?

Anyway, I’m in a hell of a lot better shape than Ro is, so there.

That morning, he had actually skidded to a stop when he reached the bridge, boots catching on the tile and nearly pitching over the railing. The room was empty, except for the tall young woman with wide eyes and the small girl just barely visible in the chair at her side. As he had watched, the woman- Vah’nya, not Vee just yet- had tapped a key on the control panel. And the blast doors had sealed behind him.

The exterior shields slammed down outside the viewport and the emergency lights cast an ominous red glow about the room.

“Where the hell is everybody else?” he had asked, cautiously making his way over in the dim lighting.

Vah’nya had sighed heavily in response, distractedly flicking loose braids away from her face. “I sent them away.” She paused, looking sideways at the young girl. “Un’hee’s in trouble, and she doesn’t trust anyone except us and the admiral. We made a deal, that we’d seal the door after whichever of you got in first.”

Reaching the side of the chair, he had glanced down at Un’hee only to draw back in surprise- even though they were still in hyperspace, the child’s eyes were open and full of tears. She began to speak, and dropping to his knees, he still struggled to hear her.

“There’s too much,” she had sobbed. “I don’t- don’t know what to do.”

Behind him, Vah’nya spoke quietly. “There’s a disturbance out there. You saw it too. We can’t go past it without straining her, but we can’t break out without tearing the ship in half. Please just trust me when I say that whatever we do, we need to do it quickly.”

He had stood up, taken the child’s hand in his and placed the other on Vah’nya’s arm. “Okay. I believe you. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

One minute later, the three members of Team Don’t Break Everything (a joke, attempted to lighten the mood- it translated better into the Chiss sense of humor than he expected) were at their stations: Vah’nya was at the weapons console, Un’hee in the pilot’s seat, and he was manning thrusters, shields, and basically everything else.

On Un’hee’s count: a violent drop into realspace- a blistering salvo of laserfire in all directions- metal groaning as thrusters worked to arrest momentum-

And desperately, the two adults were back in front of the pilot’s chair, doing everything they could to shield its occupant from an impact as the sounds of debris striking the forward shields caused the deck to shake. Finally, the girl took an unsteady breath, and with a shaky smile whispered, “I think we made it.”

He had mumbled something, something like you were so brave and it wasn’t your fault, not one bit, don’t you even think it and of course you can have extra dessert tonight, pushing back the questions of what had just happened to the ship and putting on a brave face for them both. Sky-walkers, after all, were untouchable.

So naturally, it was just as they were starting to believe that everything would be fine that the admiral and the rest of the officers on watch got the doors open.

Admiral Ar’alani had stormed onto the deck, followed by the rest of the officers streaming through the doors like a dam had burst, and fixed him with an acid stare more painful than any of the impacts had been.

“WHAT in the depths of the Chaos where you THINKING?”

A quiet voice in his head had whispered no sudden movements, and slowly he had begun to stand. Suddenly, Un’hee had thrown her arms around his neck, and on instinct he shifted to support her weight, lifting her out of the chair. At his side, Vah’nya had risen, standing at a civilian approximation of attention and glancing down to meet his eyes as he straightened up.

At the sight of the two navigators, the admiral’s glare had softened, just slightly. He thought he noticed a hint of regret- he’d been startled, at first, with the care which Ar’alani had taken to comfort Un’hee, but now that he was paying attention, he noticed that no officer was spoken of more highly by the navigators than her. Perhaps it was her support that had allowed Vah’nya and her abilities to flourish.

She waved them closer, the pilot moving in to take position as they got out of the way. Ar’alani glanced at each of them for a few seconds, with a warning look directed at Vah’nya as she tried to get the first word in. She prepared to speak-

And then suddenly stopped, as the viewport shields receded, light illuminating her face. Un’hee, gazing away with her head resting on his shoulder, gasped. For a moment, the entire bridge was still.

Ar’alani broke the silence, with a few curt orders to the weapons officers. She then turned to Vah’nya: “Navigators, you will return to your quarters. I will speak with you about what happened at a later time.”

Vah’nya moved to take Un’hee, who was clearly reluctant to let go, especially given whatever it was she had seen, but too exhausted to resist. Shields, he thought distractedly, remembering the positions they’d taken up to protect her in the crash. Were you trying to protect me?

Vah’nya spared a quick glance on her way out the doors, giving him what he guessed was meant to be a reassuring smile. It dropped away from her face, and her eyes widened at whatever she saw behind him.

Puzzled, he turned to look and saw…

Nothing. No warships, no planets, no distant stars… just the cold and the dark.

The cold?

And as his mind resolved the fact that his commanding officer was currently covering his eyes with her hand, she leaned in closer and spoke quietly.

“You have done well, Lieutenant Commander Eli’van’to. But there is a task at hand, and you are the only one able to complete it. I must ask that you give me your trust.”