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us-laws-you-should-know · 1 year ago

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Marijuana Legality: The Quick(er) Version

A few days ago, I started writing a very long, very detailed post about marijuana legality state by state... and it got eaten by tumblr's drafts features.

This post is going to be the Cliff Notes version of that post.

First off, Wikipedia's Legality of cannabis by U.S. jurisdiction page is an excellent resource for this. It doesn't capture everything, but it captures a lot, and you can always go to linked pages for individual states and/or check the linked sources for more information.

The short(ish) version:

Under federal law, specifically the Controlled Substances Act, marijuana is a Schedule I drug and cannot be prescribed or possessed legally aside from a very tightly-controlled quota for scientific research purposes. This scheduling includes language stating that marijuana "has no currently accepted medical use" and "[t]here is a lack of accepted safety for use of the drug or other substance under medical supervision", which is... arguable.

There is a process for changing drugs, including marijuana, to a less restrictive schedule under the Controlled Substances Act or removing them as a controlled substance altogether. But that process hasn't happened for marijuana so far.

Technically, this supersedes state and local law on the subject; state law can be more restrictive than federal law, but not less restrictive, or else the whole idea of federal law governing the whole country is moot. Theoretically, that means that federal police could arrest anyone, anywhere, for marijuana possession under the Controlled Substances Act, regardless of what local authorities say on the matter.

Realistically, that's highly unlikely. Any case where someone gets arrested for marijuana in a state that says it's okay is practically asking for a Supreme Court case on the matter, and said Supreme Court ruling would inevitable be controversial and divisive, and right now everybody's content to just... pretend the federal law doesn't exist when the state says otherwise. Probably some years down the line such a Supreme Court case will indeed happen and cause a shift to the current murky and unstable status quo, but it's highly unlikely that said Supreme Court case will star you, random marijuana user. (And if it does, well, upside is there's bound to be a bunch of folks willing to represent you for free just to get in on the action!)

Also, the federal police are busy, and hey, if they don't have to worry about marijuana use in a large chunk of the country, that just gives them more time to go after other kinds of federal criminals.

So, if state law's what matters, what do the states say?

Again, I point you to the Wikipedia page outlining exactly this. (It's most of what I'm using for a resource here myself.)

Recreational use of marijuana is legal in 24 states (Alaska, Arizona, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Illinois, Maine, Maryland, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Montana, Nevada, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, Ohio, Oregon, Rhode Island, Vermont, Virginia, and Washington state), three U.S. territories (Guam, Northern Mariana Islands, and U.S. Virgin Islands), and Washington D.C. Note that Ohio's measure here is newly passed and doesn't actually take effect until December 7, 2023, three days from now.

Commercial distribution is legal everywhere that recreational use is legal except Virginia and Washington D.C.

Personal cultivation for recreational use is legal everywhere that recreational use is legal except Delaware, Illinois, New Jersey, and Washington state.

Recreational use is decriminalized in Hawaii, Louisiana, New Hampshire, and North Dakota.

Medicinal use of marijuana is legal in 38 states (the recreational use ones, plus Alabama, Arkansas, Florida, Kentucky, Oklahoma, Pennsylvania, South Dakota, Utah, and West Virginia), four U.S. territories (the recreational use ones plus Puerto Rico), and Washington D.C.

Medicinal use is decriminalized in Nebraska and North Carolina.

Iowa gets a special shout-out here for allowing medicinal marijuana, but not allowing any actual distributors of said medicinal marijuana in the state; medicinal marijuana patients need to go out-of-state to get their marijuana supplies, but those supplies remain legal upon bringing them back to Iowa.

Personal cultivation for medicinal use is legal everywhere that recreational cultivation is legal plus Illinois, Washington state, Hawaii, Oklahoma, and South Dakota.

Marijuana remains illegal for both medicinal and recreational use in ten states: Georgia (though several cities/counties in Georgia have decriminalized it), Idaho, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, Wisconsin, and Wyoming, and also the territory of American Samoa. Everywhere but American Samoa has some exception for CBD oil, though, with limits on the percentage of THC present.

A number of Native American reservations have also legalized marijuana use, either recreational or medicinal.

Most of these laws have restrictions beyond just "it's legal". You might have to be 18 to purchase marijuana, or 19, or 21; there's generally a maximum amount you're allowed to possess, or grow, at one time; medicinal use might be restricted to specific symptoms or conditions outlined in the original law; details may vary about having it in a public place, or about the specific forms allowed.

Also, some laws specifically address potential effects of marijuana use within the state beyond simple criminality. Can marijuana use be considered in a child welfare case, and held against you as a parent? Can use of medicinal marijuana get you fired if you fail a drug test your employer gave you, or just because your employer doesn't like it? Does being fired for using marijuana count as being fired "for cause" for unemployment purposes? Can marijuana use disqualify you from accessing needed health care like organ transplants? Excellent questions! The answers will vary. Or they might not be specified in the original statute at all, which leaves it open for the courts to decide.

If you're going to purchase and/or consume marijuana, please, look up all the details of your local laws on the matter beforehand.

#marijuana laws #cannabis laws #cannabis legalization #marijuana #cannabis #pot #weed #us law #american law #united states law #drug law #substance law #controlled substances act #controlled substances

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sweetcandlyliar · 9 months ago

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BASICS

FULL NAME: THANATOS

» MEANING: Thanatos [ In Greek mythology, Thanatos (/ˈθænətɒs/;[3] Ancient Greek: Θάνατος, pronounced in Ancient Greek: [tʰánatos] "Death",[4] from θνῄσκω thnēskō "(I) die, am dying"[5][6]) was the personification of death. He was a minor figure in Greek mythology, often referred to but rarely appearing in person. His name is transliterated in Latin as Thanatus, but his counterpart in Roman mythology is Mors or Letum. ]

VERSE: How To Kill A King; Night Shift, The Meaning of Forever.

OTHER NAMES: He likes the name Malak so he's been using it walking around the human realm.

AGE: Undetermined; it varies in human form, he appears to be in his late 20'a, 30's.

DATE OF BIRTH: It is hard to pinpoint when Thanatos was born, but his birth was likely prior to the Titanomachy. After all, Cronus ruled during the Golden Age of Man, where men knew no hardship and always died peacefully in their sleep. While this is a prime example of Hypnos-Thanatos teamwork, the root of death may have been more multifaceted at the time.

PLACE OF BIRTH: Underworld.

SPECIES: God.

POWERS

What is Thanatos the God Of?

Thanatos is the Greek god of peaceful death and a psychopomp. More specifically, Thanatos can be explained away as the ancient Greek personification of death. His was a death most ideal. Legends state that Thanatos would manifest before mortals in their final hour and, with a gentle touch akin to that of Hypnos, end their life.

It is important to understand that Thanatos acted on command by the Fates, restricted by the destiny of one’s life. He was unable to act on his own accord, nor was he able to violate destiny and decide when an individual’s time was up.

To do his duty, Thanatos had to have impeccable timing and nerves of steel. He was not a faint-hearted god. Moreover, Thanatos was strict. In the opening discussion of Eurpides’ tragedy, Alcestis, Apollo accuses Thanatos of being “hateful to men and a horror to the gods” after he refused to delay someone’s hour of death.

Thanatos’ response?

“You cannot always have more than your due.”

OCCUPATION: As the personification of Death, Thanatos works under Hades' command and carries humans off to the Underworld once the time allotted to them by the Fates has expired. Thanatos igod or personified spirit (daimon) of non-violent death. His touch was gentle, likened to that of his twin brother Hypnos (Sleep). Violent death was the domain of Thanatos' blood-craving sisters, the Keres, spirits of slaughter and disease.

GENDER: Cisgender Male.

PERSONALITY

Functions and Characteristics

Thanatos was the Greek god or daemon who personified death. A deity without a cult, he was usually met with dread or even hatred. The poet Hesiod described him as having

a heart of iron, and his spirit within him is pitiless as bronze: whomever of men he has once seized he holds fast: and he is hateful even to the deathless gods.[2]

Ever relentless, Thanatos always claimed his prize in the end. He could not be swayed by gifts or speeches.[3]

Occasionally, Thanatos was viewed in a more optimistic light, as a gentle liberator and giver of eternal sleep to weary souls.[4]

Thanatos lived together with his twin brother Hypnos (“Sleep”) beyond the edge of the earth, in the murky Underworld home of their mother Nyx (“Night”).

In literature and art, Thanatos was sometimes represented carrying away the deceased or bringing them to the Underworld. But his exact purpose and function is unclear, as it was more often the god Hermes who was considered responsible for bringing souls to the Underworld, while Hades was the ruler of the dead. Thanatos seems to have been above all a symbolic entity, representing the inexorable approach of death.

Thanatos is indiscriminate, merciless, gentle, determined.

APPEARANCE

Thanatos is often shown carrying an inverted torch (holding it upside down in his hands), representing a life extinguished. He is usually described as winged and with a sword sheathed at his belt. In Euripides' Alcestis (438 BCE), he is depicted dressed in black and carrying a sword. Thanatos is lean and muscular, with a regal face, honey gold eyes, and black hair flowing down his shoulders.

FACE CLAIM: Yoo Ah-in.

HEIGHT: 6'2 [187.96 cm.]

WEIGHT: 205 lbs. [93 kg.]

BUILD: Lean, muscular.

GAIT:

HAIR COLOR: Black.

EYE COLOR: Honey, gold eyesl.

BIRTHMARK: Some.

OVERVIEW: » SCARS: »

TATTOOS: YES. To be added.

BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: The Underworld.

RESIDENCE: The Underworld.

NATIONALITY: N/A.

ETHNICITY: N/A.

FINANCIAL STATUS: He's got money..

DEGREE: Degree in he'll come for you and you won't be able to do anything about it.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: He can speak any language.

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS & SIBLINGS: The Greek poet Hesiod established in his Theogony that Thánatos has no father, but is the son of Nyx (Night) and brother of Hypnos (Sleep).

CHILDREN:

PETS:

SIGNIFICANT RELATIONSHIPS: » Hades, Persephone, Hypnos, Fates, and Eoduun.

What Was Thanatos’ Relationship with Other Gods?

Since interaction between Thanatos and other deities is scarce, his relationship with each is up to interpretation. He likely kept them at arm’s length, save for his twin, parents, and a select number of his other siblings. This would include the Moirai, or the Fates, as he relied on their control over man’s destiny to know when he should intervene with his… services. As an Underworld resident and directly handling the death of mortals, it is likely that Thanatos interacted largely with Hades and other members of his retinue. The Judges of the Dead, Charon, and the many water gods that inhabited the rivers of the Underworld would all be familiar to Thanatos. Furthermore, Thanatos likely had extensive interaction with Hermes, who acted as a psychopomp leading the souls of the dead to the Underworld.

Is Thanatos Related to Hades?

In a complicated sense, Thanatos is related to Hades. All Greek gods and goddesses are somehow related to one another, and Thanatos and Hades are no different. They are 1st cousins once removed.

Nyx is Gaia’s sister and since Gaia bore the 12 Titans, Nyx is Hades’ great aunt. Due to this relation, the Titans are also Thanatos’ 1st cousins. Since there is a generation separating Thanatos from Hades, he becomes his 1st cousin once removed.

The relationship between Hades and Thanatos has been misunderstood in the past. They have been mistakenly identified as father-son, with the King of the Underworld in the parental role. Another common misunderstanding is that Thanatos is an aspect of Hades, or vice-versa. This is not the case.

They are two completely separate deities who, by virtue of their connected realms, have a working relationship.

HISTORY: Thanatos, in ancient Greek religion and mythology, the personification of death. Thanatos was the son of Nyx, the goddess of night, and the brother of Hypnos, the god of sleep. He appeared to humans to carry them off to the underworld when the time allotted to them by the Fates had expired. Thanatos was once defeated by the warrior Heracles, who wrestled him to save the life of Alcestis, the wife of Admetus, and he was tricked by Sisyphus, the king of Corinth, who wanted a second chance at life.

Why is Thanatos the God of Death?

There is no real rhyme or reason as to why Thanatos became the god of death. He was simply born into the role. If we follow the trend of newer generations of gods replacing older ones, it could be argued that Thanatos – and his realm – are no different.

It is hard to pinpoint when Thanatos was born, but his birth was likely prior to the Titanomachy. After all, Cronus ruled during the Golden Age of Man, where men knew no hardship and always died peacefully in their sleep. While this is a prime example of Hypnos-Thanatos teamwork, the root of death may have been more multifaceted at the time.

In Greek mythology, Iapetus was the Titan god of mortality. Coincidentally, he was also the stubborn father of the mighty Atlas, the cunning Prometheus, the forgetful Epimetheus, and the foolhardy Menoetius.

Since mortality is a huge realm afflicted by various human conditions and external forces, it is likely Iapetus’ role was divided amongst a handful of other beings. Other divinities that could have inherited aspects of Iapetus’ realm include Geras (Old Age) and the spirits of brutal death, the Keres.

ROMANTIC HISTORY: NADA...

Who is Thanatos in Love With?

Being the god of death is demanding and depressing. As is the tendency for Chthonic gods and Underworld denizens, duty came before romance. Most do not have established affairs let alone marriages. In the rarity that they did settle down, they were strictly monogamous.

As a result, there is no record of Thanatos having love interests or offspring. More modern “ships” have tied the god to Makaria, a daughter of Hades and Persephone and the goddess of blessed death, but again, there is no evidence of this outside of people’s flights of fancy.

PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS: Hades, his boss.

THOUGHTS ON LOVE: ...

HEALTH

PHOBIA(S): None.

HANDICAP(S): None.

MENTAL DISEASE(S): Depression...

PHYSICAL DISEASE(S): None.

PREDISPOSITION(S): None.

#{ character sheet: thanatos }

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subtheory · 2 years ago

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I am once again at it on my Goodreads. This time I have read Marshall McLuhan's The Medium is the Massage: An Inventory of Effects. Below follows my two cents on it:

"Even a compelling book spoils in the face of time. Such is the case with McLuhan's The Medium is the Massage: An Inventory of Effects.

The book was written and compiled in the sixties where the future was still dangerous. Enthusiasm ran high, aided by delightfully speculative sci-fi authors and increased streams of information. But innovation had already ran out of steam just twenty-five years after the publication of this book. Technology didn't become the unified project it was set out to be, connecting disparate communities and achieving marvellous feats of progress. Instead, owners of private property captured and occupied the vectors and made the flow of information contingent to capital. Ingenuity was lost to rigid standardisation.

When McLuhan writes about the difficulties of having to make sense of a new world through old concepts, we cannot claim that he was referring to anything else but to the acts of PR. The old concepts were redefined through marketing. A concept such as innovation, earlier committed to grandiose improvements, designates now the incisive ability of capturing unclaimed societal processes and monetising them. This innovative process is simple: you give a start-up a flashy brand design and then encourage them to grasp onto a process in which there is still potential for swapping out the buyer's personal property with precarious renting. The old concept of innovation was too cost-intensive. Innovation of that kind requires time, taking risks, and repeated failures. This is not a feasible business model in a world ruled by immediate profits.

An irksome thing about this book is its deification of the child. Numerous times it is heralded as approaching the world in an immediate and thus unspoiled manner. I, again, refer to Helen Hester's monograph on xenofeminism for a meticulous analysis and refutation of the phenomenon of casting children as the pure image of the future. The child enjoys this special status both on the right and on the left, and there is a need for fostering new kinships apart from the old familial structures.

Fiore's graphic layout of this work cemented the central point: the medium is that which significantly shapes how we do something. The readers are defamiliarised through the design, demanded to either flip the book upside-down or reflect it through a mirror to read the texts. The composition is distinctly modern, the typeface an aloof sans serif. However, it is grating how McLuhan and Fiore insist in text and in design that form and content are two distinct phenomena and that we must uphold a demarcation. The relationship between form and content is more murky as they are not easily distinguishable from each other. The medium becomes substantive. I didn't get the feeling that McLuhan and Fiore went quite as far in this direction as they should.

Experimental. Charming. Jejune. Obsolete."

#marshall mcluhan #media studies #critical theory #feminism #book review

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omg26lilly · 1 year ago

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The Christelled ashes of acid rain peril us into darkness.

My room smelled like old cigarette burns that will soon become my urn.

Rings fill the air of smoking man's cancer filling his lungs.

Do you cross into the decit of the burnt sorched, embers.

The murky waters drowning in double crossing sides, your switch blade shineing where light doesn't shine.

I'm choking in madness, I don't know what the rules are, or the name of the game I'm made to play, my name is ever changing.

Who are you beautiful thing?

I'm living my life upside down, everything is suspended in midair, water drips on my nose.

I'm soaked with sweat yet I'm in just a sweat shirt, that you take off.

What is a beautiful thing?

I'm just a thing which is riddled with bullet holes, that the light passes through transparently.

Consantly having to cover tattoos of shame, the stench is unbearable.

I'm, wet, cold prestine I can never hide from the moles.

Bound by contracts, I'm a model, fighting my way out of trianny.

Drowning, drip, drip,drip.

Stauched with regret is all I have left.

My name is Emery, under my perfectly curated skin, I will glow in the dark, every wants an essence, a taste of my success.

The murky waters I'm in, with viper's, crocodiles, all ready to swallow you up.

I'll just be gone just like bree.

Who disappeared on wet slippery stairs of darkness.

I know your secrets, you deviance, I will plant my arrows, have my sparrows planted, I won't take the bubble for granted.

When it's all dark you won't be expecting, what you have been detecting, I will be the revolution that never existed, silence on the airwaves.

You can't catch me now I'll be running on fire, I will take back what you stole and return us to the fold.

27/10/23

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taeassrecs · 4 years ago

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Last updated: March 5th 2021

Each series have a link to every chapter unless they aready have a chapter navigation.

fav (☆) • complete (✓) • mature themes (M)

See other members recs HERE

TUMBLR

ONE SHOTS

Playing With Fire (M) by @floralseokjin

↳ Jungkook seems to have a little crush on you, and no matter how much you try to ignore it, you seem to be losing your resolve with each passing day...

Tension (M) (ft. Jimin) by @kpopfanfictrash

↳ Jimin and you are always flirty. When his childhood friend, Jungkook, visits, they show they’ve always been competitive. What happens, then, when both of them set their sights on you?

Making Him Jealous (ft. Jimin) by @parkmuse ☆

↳ Having two guys as roommates probably wasn’t the best decision you had ever made. The constant mess and lack of privacy proved that; but who even cared when they were Jimin and Jungkook?

Jasmine (M) by @btssmutgalore

↳ Jungkook always tries to hide his crush on you, but unfortunately, he can’t control what happens while he’s sleeping.

Vaunt (M) by @yminie

↳ Every weekend Beta Tau throws a ‘little’ party to help students relax and let loose and frat resident Jungkook has a big mouth that talks a lot of big game. You finally get sick of the lack of relaxation on your end and set out to see if he’s all talk.

Feels like summer (M) by @badbhye

↳ You only have one question on your mind this summer: when did Jeon Jungkook get abs?

The Roommate (M) by @jjungkookislife

Take a sip (M) by @ve1vetyoongi

↳ Your best friends engagement party was a dreadful reminder of your painfully barren dating life. That is until you laid eyes on the tattooed waiter who can’t stop staring - after all, the wine tastes sweet but he tastes sweeter.

Dalliance (M) by @jvnghxope

↳ The Association sends you to your first mission alone and you encounter a Pureblood ⎯a race you believed were extinct⎯ who is in the mood to play.

Tattooed two (M) (ft. Taehyung) by @httpjeon

↳ Your boyfriend’s best friend joins you for a night you’ll never forget.

Gym (M) by @hobiwonder

↳ Jungkook has a crush on you and has been watching you work out at his gym. One day you finally confront his obvious crush.

SERIES

Lightweight (M) by @btssmutgalore

↳ Jungkook is tired of you seeing him as a kid. So he takes matters into his own hands.

01 / 02

The DUFF (M) by @hobiboo1

↳ Your annoying neighbour and childhood friend, Jungkook, strikes a deal with you to help you get the attention of your crush, Jimin, if you help him pass his philosophy class.

01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10

Bunny Boy (M) by @parkmuse ✓

↳ Catching feelings for your sisters friend wasn’t part of your plan.

01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / completed.

Bad (M) by @thelillzmonster

↳ He was the cliché bad boy. He was the guy you couldn’t stand. He was the handsome, good-looking young man who made girls swoon for just a touch. He was a brat. You had never liked him one bit, but you had also stayed out of his business. Until one day, when you were in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

01/ 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09

Business (M) (ft. Taehyung) by @btssmutgalore

↳ Discussing business over drinks turns into a night you won’t forget.

01 / 02 / 03

Monster (M) by @btssmutgalore

↳ You sleep with an obnoxious fratboy who used to be your friend.

01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18

Drown for you by @vinterjeon ☆

↳ There was something in that enormous tank, hidden in the murky water. All you knew was that you weren’t allowed inside the room and that it used to hold something dangerous.

01 / 02

The Doms Next Door (M) (ft. Taehyung) by @tatertotthethot

↳ You unknowingly accept the offer to become a tattoo model for the two, sexually-crazed men next door.

01 / 02 / 2.1 / 03 / 3.1

Airplane, pt. 2 (M) by @xjoonchildx

↳ Jungkook jeon stole six million dollars. It’s your job to bring him home. But finding him – and keeping him in one place is not that simple. Then shit gets weird.

01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06

Tomorrow (M) (ft. Taehyung) by @jungk0oksthighs

↳ When you get a job at the Jeon law firm downtown, your life gets turned upside down, but is it for better, or worse?

01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10

Ego (M) by @suga-kookiemonster

↳ What’s a girl to do when her sweet, innocent baby lab partner isn’t quite so sweet and innocent? well, he’s a grown-ass man, and you’re about to learn that the hard way.

01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07

Escape by @jjkfire RECENTLY ADDED

↳ Everyone has a number over their heads that says how useful they are to society from 0-100. You have a number ‘4’. You leave the city for some peace but you meet your cocky neighbour who seems to get on your nerves.

01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 06.5 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10

New Rules (M) by @tayegi RECENTLY ADDED

01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Walking Through a World Gone Blind / (jimin x jungkook) Strangers to lovers! ☆

Blind Switch / (jimin x jungkook) farm/ranch! Enemies to friends to lovers ☆

Sh. (reader x OT7)

Like Everything Glows / (jimin x jungkook) Merman! Strangers to lovers ☆

Make me yours / (jimin x jungkook) Age difference! Strangers to lovers ☆

A spell that reminds me of your name / (jimin x jungkook) Wizards! Enemies to lovers! RECENTLY ADDED

Give a little death / (jimin x jungkook) vampire! RECENTLY ADDED

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kiara-carrera · 3 years ago

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leah and jj + a kiss to shut them up!!!

7: to shut them up + mayson

aka the most on brand thing for them ever lmao

Either her boyfriend was going to talk himself to death or Leah was going to end up committing a murder.

Look, she went into this relationship knowing that JJ was a motor mouth. Hell, she went into their friendship at the ripe age of nine and a half knowing he was a motor mouth.

Even before John B and JJ had befriended her, Leah had always been relatively aware of JJ. Their families were both as local as they came in the OBX, they'd always been in the same classes at school, and he'd always been somewhere in the murky backdrop of her memories. And he'd always, always, always been a talkative little bitch.

Whether it was a highly exaggerated story, a well-spun lie, or even a cringey pick-up line, you could find JJ's mouth moving more often than not. Ninety-nine percent of the time, most of what he was spewing was utter nonsense or bullshit. Occasionally, he'd come through with some oddly placed word of wisdom or a tender little piece of affection, but it was usually nonsense.

Like now, for example, considering he'd been going on about the possibility of alien life for the past twenty minutes.

Leah was trying to study for a chem midterm. Instead, she was wondering if it was considered a step too far to imagine herself throwing her textbook at him.

JJ was also supposed to be studying for the midterm and Leah had somehow gotten stuck with studying with him. It was kind of an unspoken rule that JJ needed a study buddy because he tended to blow it off until the last possible second. Pope had tried a total of three times studying with JJ before declaring he had had it. Kiara and John B had gotten lucky enough to have a different teacher, which meant a completely different load of possible material to be tested.

Leah loved JJ. But right now she kind of wanted to throw him off the nearest dock.

He was strewn across her bed on his back, staring up at the ceiling as he seemed to be having a whole conversation with himself about something he'd seen on the news about a possible UFO ("There was a video and everything, babe," he'd said matter-o-factly when Leah had given him a skeptical look). His head was in Leah's lap, which normally wouldn't bother her, if not for the fact that it was a little hard to balance a notebook on the corner of her knee and not flip her notes into his face.

"I mean, they're always saying shit about life on Mars. And they make all those alien movies for a reason. There was one on the other day, you would have liked it — " Leah was certain she would not have liked it. " — It kind of reminded me of C.H.U.D. and — "

Leah groaned, tossing her notebook to the side. With no other ideas on how to shut him up about fucking aliens, and god forbid another rousing discussion about cannibalistic humanoid underground dwellers, she leaned down and kissed him.

The angle was awkward as hell. Like, it was upside down for one, and despite Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst making upside down kissing look hot, it definitely wasn't going to make a top ten list of good kisses. But JJ's mouth was refocused within an instant.

Leah felt him grin against her lips and after a moment she pulled back, laughing slightly at her boyfriend's blissed out expression.

"JJ?" she asked sweetly.

He hummed in response, eyes still closed as if expecting another kiss.

"Please stop talking about aliens."

#asks #kiss list prompts #mayson #witchofinterest

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lemonietrinket · 4 years ago

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Broken Crown ||| Prince!San x Reader

Summary: San receives a present from the leader of his kingdom’s governing body that turns his life upside down, and not for the better. His only comfort in life has been you, and now that comfort is being taken away from him. Genre: angst, bits of fluff with a happy ending Warning(s): big sad, description of an item of clothing thrown out of frustration (not at or in front of anyone, there is no one nearby at the time); foul language (2x f**k) Word Count: 3037 Song(s): Ambience AN: well im here hurting myself with this... hope its not too angsty anon (i cant find your ask tho idk where its gone) happy (slightly late) birthday to my boi san! :))

fem!reader royalty au

~~~

Rocks sank to the bottom of his stomach as San’s entire body flushed ice cold, and then fire hot. Eyes unblinking he peered round at the sea of smiles, their sincerity leaving him reeling. It was as if his head had been submerged in a pool of twilight sea water, the sun’s warmth leaving it lukewarm and dark, forcing his eyes to sting and glaze without even his full knowledge.

It wasn’t until he spotted the widened eyes of his cousin, far down at the other end of the table, that he realised something was wrong.

“Oh I can’t wait to see the two of them down the aisle!”

“She’s a real catch, Sannie! You’re so lucky!”

“Aww, look, he’s so overcome with emotion he’s—!”

“Oh my baby is growing up so fast!”

The world span and words merged into one inconceivable mass as San turned. A thick silence permeated his mind, flooding it with nothing but heaviness; the sound of his fleeing footsteps, the echo of confusion behind him, even his own heartbeat—all swallowed up. The only thing that pierced it was a high tone clatter, accented by a delicate crack and the shattering of glass.

Tripping up the stairs, his ankle twinging as he went, he broke through the doors to his room, where he came to an abrupt stop. The doors slammed behind him out of the sheer power he’d shoved them open, and as the adrenaline began to phase his brain back into control, he stood heaving. While fury flourished through his chest, gentle caresses graced his cheeks, painting them flushed when the two met at his throat. The unstoppable heat met numbing cold, and it was as if his throat became carved of hot stone. He was teetering on the edge of screaming, but having silenced himself, all he felt was the urgent threat of bursting.

Seeing no way out through his lips, his hands began wrenching off his numerous layers of clothing. The heat was too much to handle, yes, but feeling the silk burn through his fingers, and then watching the embroidered jewels scarper across the room as he flung them was a release in itself. Enough of one to allow the ice to cascade through him.

A shallow, creaking breath poured from him as he frantically followed where his coat had gone. Chewing on his lips, his hands felt around the fabric, still intact minus a few embellishments that had been torn off in his outburst.

No no... no no no...!

His gaze darted across the varnished crystalline floor, desperate to catch a glint, a twine of thread. With the quartz patterning blurring and yet somehow shining as if possessed, he had no clue if the words were coming from him out loud or were just in his head. There was no way for him to be sure, as days prior everything that had coalesced in a matter of seconds had been nothing more than a nightmare.

Tears trapped themselves between his eyelashes, leaving the world around him in the state of a dream, until he finally gave in. Wiping his eyes with the side of his fist, clenched and weakening, he sucked in air carefully. It felt too humid in his lungs and did little to quell the urge to succumb completely, but it was enough to hold it down for just a few more moments. And peaking up between his fallen fringe, that was all he needed.

He threw himself at the doors to the balcony, hands tugging at the handles until they finally broke open, and the outside greeted him.

It was an abrupt change, freezing wind slapping him in the face and grasping at every inch of bare and clothed skin it could get its hands on, but he could breathe. The shock stunted the tears long enough for him to clear his eyes properly, his murky salmon dress shirt—too loose to actually be comfortable and yet still restrictive at the shoulders firmly placing it as his least favourite piece of clothing he was routinely told to wear—finally serving a purpose he agreed with.

The heels of his palms collided with the stone balcony and sent a small hum of pain through his throat, though he paid no mind to it. His attentions were much more focused elsewhere—that being scouring the gardens below, the canopies of the trees beyond, and finally the lights of the city in the further distance. To his annoyance the damp air, enrolled to be the welcome mat for an oncoming storm, decided to shirk its duties and mess with his hair enough so he couldn’t see. Though what shook him up even more and truly beckoned the suffocating feeling to return was the absence of your silhouette.

It took all the willpower in him left to resist calling your name into the dark. As time went on however, the more he began to worry that he wouldn’t even be able to anymore, if he could. Becoming frantic, he slapped his hand against the stone and cursed. Once then twice, and then again and again until he slumped over the edge. The stone dug into his rib cage, leaving him even shorter of breath than he already was. He let his eyes fall closed, a whimper leaving his lips, leading him to press them straight and firm. San needed to stay together in one piece, and with the cold bringing an onslaught of reality checks in his head, the more he realised he needed to not behave any worse. But his tether was running short.

Luckily, the respite arrived in a matter of moments, and though they may have felt like hours, the ache of waiting soon washed away as warmth reached his side upon the balcony, and the scent of the wild world below was brought to him.

Despite your hands being carved from days of work you always held him so tenderly, as if never wanted to let him go—and for once, not in a precious gem kind of way, but more in the sense of a memory. A story from years before that never failed to bring a smile to your face. One that meant nowhere else felt like home but with him.

He didn’t really know how you got up onto his balcony, without alerting the guards or making the slightest of noises. Nor did he know truly where you were from. It wasn’t like you hadn’t told him—oh, he’d asked you about your life thousands of times and you’d complied in answering every single time with a content smile on your lips—it was just that he had no context to it. You told him of the streets and the lamp-lights, the cheers of the evening and cries of the night, the merchants and the bakeries and the patrols barely on watch, the docks and the promises it held of the future, a new world. But San had never been, so how could he ever fully understand and know of your past, when he knew very little outside his own upbringing? These were the things he lamented when the moon began to sink and you ushered him to finally rest, pointing out that he was moping again.

Your voice was as gentle then as it was now minus the mischievous tones, pressing hushes into his messy hair at your jaw while you cradled him to your chest.

“Shh, my love, it’s ok. Everything’s ok.”

Hands clutching at your leather jacket, ribbed with gashes that even you couldn’t place, he let himself relax. In your arms, his sobs spilled out so much quieter than they had done before, and his shaking slowly came to an end when they could have easily continued long into the night. Sat upon the stone floor with you, his problems seemed to drift away. He almost wished you weren’t as sensible sometimes, and that you’d let them pass. That way he could stay there in silence wit you for longer, just listening to the beat of your heart and how it aligned with his.

It couldn’t happen however, he had to face the consequences at some point, and when you slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, he knew there was little he could do about it.

Your motions were met with a disgruntled pout as the boy you fell in love with—now old enough to rule a kingdom without an Aide—wiped his eyes and blinked at you, happy to wordlessly pretend that none of that had happened.

“Happy birthday, Your Highness,” you teasingly greeted, cupping his hallow cheeks so you could trace shapes into his temple. Your face instantly fell when his did, however, and you realised that you’d struck a nerve. “Sannie, what’s happened? I haven’t seen you this upset in months.”

His gaze dropped as his head did. Your hand didn’t chase him, instead you settled it upon his own, balled between you against the floor. “San?”

“She promised me, Y/N,” he finally began, swallowing thickly, “she promised me and she broke it in a day. It meant nothing to her.”

“Her?” you enquired. “Your mother?”

He shook his head languidly and you could feel his fingers tense between yours. “The Chair. The Chair—she promised my status would be nowhere in any agreement in the trade talks and the—she fucking lied! Next week—with all fucking expenses paid for by the government no less—I... she—a-and she did it on my birthday! Told it to me now, gave it to me as a gift, so now there is absolutely no way I can refuse her! She did this on purpose, Y/N, she knows what she’s doing, she wants me over there for something and I... I don’t want to play her... her games—!”

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” you breathed, stroking his white knuckles, “take it easy. What did she do, San? What’s happening next week, where are you going?”

“I’m getting married.”

His abrupt words stunned you into a paralysis. No breath left your lungs, there was no flicker of your fingers. It was like you became a statue.

“She’s married me off, Y/N. To this princess from Lontaiko no less. I won’t be here after it, I’ll move away, and then I’ll be completely at her mercy.” San glanced up at you, meeting your glazed stare with a sigh ridden with guilt—as if he had any choice in the circumstances. The sight of you without your smile was enough to make his heart sink, and so witnessing the colour drain from your cheeks and your touch go limp forced him to blink back tears once again.

He pulled your rigid hand to his lips and planted a kiss to your fingers. It brought you back to reality, throat dry and eyes wet, but his touches left your heart aching, his wound now a part of you too. And it tore your heart gradually apart, one thread at a time.

“Why?” you finally managed, gripping onto his hands almost as desperately as he’d done before.

He spat a laugh of disbelief. “’Peace’, she said. ‘Peace’.”

You scoffed a weak laugh, hiding your face within the shadows cast from soft candlelight behind. San didn’t let you go, his lips soft at your skin, trying to stay strong and encourage you that it would all be fine but you could feel in the caution of his movements that he didn’t believe it either.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I’m sorry I didn’t put up more of a fight, I don’t want this, I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to be king—”

“I love you,” you finally whispered, words fragile and very nearly swept by the wind.

His lips fell still. It was far from the first time you had told him, as every time the moonlight shone upon the two of you, the words kissed the night. Now, however, was different. Seeing you so curled in on yourself reminded him of the first time you had confessed to him.

A few nights had passed without a single flicker of your silhouette, no curl of the blossoms and brine that melded with you. He’d let it slip first, all doe-eyed and lips pursed amongst multitudes of pillows, waiting for his first kiss that you would bestow upon him. You had rushed an apology, brushing your lips against his forehead in a promise before fleeing. Every time the moon then rose he waited while dread trickled through his veins, until you finally returned. Your voice seemingly stolen and hands wrung together, gemstone eyes avoiding his at every cost while you waited on the wrong side of the balcony. You’d given him such a fright when he finally spotted you through the bronze embroidered windows—the first time because he couldn’t tell it was you, the second because you could have slipped and fell at any moment, perched where you were.

As soon as he joined you outside, he’d rambled about how worried he had been, not even trying to temper his volume.

You’d interjected him suddenly, “Can I kiss you properly?”

He’d been silenced immediately. And then between a small scowl, a pout and the puffing of his cheeks, he’d huffed, “Yes.”

You hadn’t relaxed until he’d held you, lips meeting in the golden haze of the torches that danced with the silver of a crescent moon.

It pained him to see you in such a way now, for all the wrong reasons. Reasons that couldn’t be helped, he reminded himself, his thoughts possessing a snarl and leaving the pit of his stomach broiling, nothing can ever be done... right...?

Shifting his weight, he raised himself so he was even with you, before at last holding you close. Your hands sprung into action to clutch at his back as he did so, your head nestling into his shoulder while your breaths became shallow. Nose pressed into your hair, he kissed your head as you begged him, “Please don’t leave me, San. Please, please don’t leave me.”

His eyes narrowed as he stared at his bedroom. The grandiose sweeping canopies of his bed curtains, light peach and without a speck of dirt. The hard floor that was always cold to his bare feet without fail, and too hard to welcome him home after a long day of duties. The emptiness of the room’s vast expanse, adorned with nothing but elegant plants twisted around veiled sticks to force them to grow how the keepers’ wished. His eyes changed focus then, coming to glare at the dull reflection in the glass. The faded lines of his hands stroking your back, his intense expression, all stared right back at him, as if in challenge.

And something inside him snapped.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Upon the day of the wedding, after a week of flurried throngs of people and preparations being made, just after the clock chimes sang for seven o’clock, a single member of staff sped through the long corridors to the palacekeep at the very end. Minutes later, he marched with her in tow through to the King’s bedroom, where they found the monarch working at his desk, a bright grin upon his face.

At exactly 7:08, as the sun beamed down upon the kingdom of Silarrean—nestled between the rises of two valleys, neighbour to the realm of Lontaiko— the King fainted.

When the shadows of the sundials met the halfway mark for that same hour, those same persons that dotted the palace halls like bees within a hive, made up the crowds of search parties pushed to scour every inch of the city at the castle’s feet.

Within days, the Silarrean Prince San, who the Chair had announced to all the people was destined to marry the delightful youngest daughter of the Lontaikan royal family, was officially declared missing. The wedding was called off, though the King ordered no cease in the search.

It would prove null, however. The young prince was long gone.

Not that San knew of any of what was occurring back in the place where he had once lived. He could imagine it happening though, the images in his mind that hazy vivid that always accompanied him when he let his mind wander upon things he’d never known.

Leaning out to stare into the distance across the ocean waves, the boat proved to have a balcony of its own. This time though he was on the other side of it, and the correct one too: the one that actually involved living how he wished. He ran his fingers across the crown between his hands, the edges of silver carved into entwined laurels still sharp, and he knew he couldn’t wait for them to become rounded with age. He found he kept returning to the centrepiece, with its intricate feathers tinged with blue and the cracked azure gemstone in its centre. The split was shaped like a lightning bolt, and it brought a smile to his face, thinking of just how much of an impact he made upon the world around him. It symbolised how he would never return, and that they could neither replace him. He had taken very little with him, but the crown was his birthright, and so he would take it with him, but also leave its life behind.

Stood by the helm, you watched over him carefully. You would have joined him, but someone needed to steer. The small boat was only a relic, you’d been surprised that it even moved at all. The adrenaline, that had left your heart in your mouth when the rudimentary engine had coughed and spluttered on the night of your grand plan, had long since died down. It remained on the edge of your conscience, ready to cascade through your veins when you needed it. And you were well aware that on the route you were taking through life you were definitely going to need it. Until then though, you relished in the salt of the sea and the calm waters that the rising summer brought for you.

It didn’t matter after all, what would come. You’d find a way, as you were together, and you were both free.

~~~

an: i feel like this would work better as a longer piece, where the process of the week is followed, with more depth of lore and stuff but ill be honest with you, it took a lot of effort for me to write this in the first place. not because the idea wasnt my thing (far from it—this stuff is my shit) but because my creativity just doesnt like cooperating sometimes. maybe one day.

also what do you think of my new paragraph break thing? i think its cute. much easier to implement than the photo ones for sure.

all names of places are fictional

Masterlist

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: It's a Lovely Afternoon In Ebott (baon)

Summary: ...and Edge is going to spend it in the park with his husband. Surely nothing will go wrong!

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Humor, Fluff

~~*~~

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

“so, what do you have going on today?”

Simple words, but they immediately put Edge on guard. He knew them for what they truly were and that was a trap.

“Nothing specific,” Edge hedged. His real plan was to catch up on some paperwork. His husband’s so-called innocent smile widened, and it was as good as a snare, catching Edge against his will and holding him in because there was little that he wouldn’t do to keep that smile around a little longer. He sighed inwardly and gave into his fate, “What did you have in mind?”

“i am so glad you asked.” Stretch climbed over the arm of the sofa and clumsily sprawled into Edge’s lap, “i thought maybe we could go to the park.”

It was difficult to hold back a grimace. Normally, Edge would be more than happy to go to the park. Ebott park was a true community project; the Embassy donated regularly for everything from the flower beds to repairs. There were walking trails and a nature center that held classes for everything from bird watching to stargazing. Last year, the community contributed to the building of a fully accessible tree-house that anyone could visit, whether they were a child or only one at heart. A trip to the park made for a truly enjoyable day.

Today, however, Edge found he was reluctant. His leg was healing well, but he still wasn’t completely back on his feet and while he could bring his mobility scooter or his cane, his deepest instincts screeched against revealing such weaknesses.

Ridiculous thinking, he was already exposed from returning to work at the Embassy. As many times as his intuitions had saved him in the past, he couldn’t allow them to hold him back in this world. As Red told him before, if he wasn’t willing to adjust, then why did they bother coming up into the sunshine?

Stretch was looking up from his lap, waiting with patient hopefulness. If Edge told him he was too tired or his leg was bothering him, Stretch would accept that, and nothing would come of it but fleeting disappointment.

Instead, Edge settled a hand on Stretch’s skull, smoothing a gloved thumb over the curved bone. “What is it that has you so interested in the park?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” Stretch fumbled out his phone and held it out wrongside up, showing an upside-down photo of a lake. “according the community board, this year’s ducklings have hatched and they are on the lake as we speak. they are inviting visitors to come see the new residents and to feed the ducks.”

“Ducks,” Edge repeated slowly, drawing out the ‘s’ in a sibilant hiss. "Why would we want to feed random ducks?"

Stretch shifted in his lap, grinning, "because i'm not on a first name basis with any other ducks?"

"You have chickens."

"that is true,” Stretch agreed, “but as far as i am aware, i don't have a lake or ducks, which is why i’m having to outsource."

“There will be rules.”

“babe, i never expected anything else.”

“You will not approach the ducks any closer than feeding range,” Edge ticked each one off on a finger, “You do not pet the ducks. We will not be bringing a duck home with us nor a duckling. Nor any other incarnation or distant relation of a duck. Nothing even remotely duck-like will be joining us, period."

“we’re feeding the ducks, babe, i’m not plotting a poultry heist,” Stretch scoffed, “anything else, commandant?”

“No, thank you, and the honorific of Captain will suffice.”

~~*~~

The drive alone was an enjoyable one, the weather warm enough to put the convertible top down. Stretch sprawled out in the passenger seat, sunglasses in place and his face tilted into the breeze.

When they pulled into the parking lot, it was already lined with cars, families caravanning in with their SUVs, beleaguered parents trailing behind carrying coolers and wagons while their children ran ahead. The parking spot Edge found was far from ideal, his convertible squeezed in between a Jeep and a somewhat battered minivan with a collection of cheery stick figures decals in the back window to clarify exactly how many members were in their family, parents and children, all the way down to a vapid-looking fish.

Already Edge was picturing the dents from overeager young passengers slamming open their doors into the sides of his car and Edge grit his teeth, rounding the car to get their own cooler from the trunk. “I hope you brought some bread to feed these newsworthy ducks.”

“bread?” Stretch scoffed, only just catching himself from leaning on the car’s quarter panel. He aborted before a single bony finger touched, and possibly scratched, the glossy red paint, and crammed both hands into his short pockets instead. “bread is terrible for ducks, we can keep the carbs for french toast day. i brought frozen peas!"

Edge stopped, looking around the trunk lid at his husband. “The peas from our freezer? The ones from our garden last year that I was planning to use this weekend?”

"…no?"

“Did no one tell me that this is opposite day where no means yes?” Edge said to no one in particular, then directly back at Stretch, ”You do realize that if you try to replace any frozen garden vegetables in our freezer with some awful generic purchased from the grocery store, I will notice, don’t you.”

Stretch only breezed past him, heading into the park, and as Edge slammed the trunk shut, he almost thought he heard, “you didn’t last time.”

Straight into the park from the lot was the playground, shrieks of laughter carrying from the structure to the scattered picnic tables and pavilions. The lake was deeper in, its murky water not meant for swimming and the surrounding shaggy vegetation was cleared away around the long dock. Out in the placid water were a couple of boats, any passengers more concerned with their afternoon naps than the fishing poles in their laps.

The rest of the park was not only on another page, but an entirely different book. A glance showed the playground was overloaded with children making use of the swings and teeter-totters. There were plenty more children on and around the dock being coached by their parents to lightly toss their treats to the ducks and the tiny yellow puffs of their offspring, not hurl them. Still others ran along the lake shore, laughing and shouting, playing tag and the occasional parent towering over them offered no reprimands as they ran and shoved their way around.

That careless childish roughhousing gave Edge pause. Normally a crowd wouldn’t bother him. Well, that wasn’t precisely true, but he was able to quash his worries for the most part, particularly around the Monster children.

At this park, surrounded by so many Humans, it was difficult to stifle a protest over Stretch venturing out onto the dock. Children could be incautious, could be easily frustrated, and their parents could be easily roused by any slight, real or imagined. It would take less than most Humans would expect for them to seriously injure Stretch; Humans had so much more physicality than Monsters, their intent carried more weight. A little childish roughhousing that would mean nothing to a human child past a bit of sullen retaliation could badly hurt a Monster with low HP.

It was one of the reasons Edge’s was reluctant to bring Stretch along for his work with the YMCA. They were good children, but they were children. Better to keep Stretch away so that no one suffered any unfortunate consequences.

And therein lay a problem. Refusing to bring Stretch to the Y was his choice and one that he suspected exasperated Stretch though he never pushed. Here, he had no right to try to stifle Stretch in any way. In light of his recent rise in HP, Stretch was likely to be even more frustrated by any overprotectiveness.

Even asking Stretch to perhaps consider another time or day to indulge in his recent need to offer frozen peas to strange ducks wouldn’t go over well, might even anger Stretch, and Edge wouldn’t blame him if it did. As he so often reminded Edge, he was the older of the two of them and he’d been dealing with his low HP all his life.

Stretch knew how to take care of himself or he wouldn’t be here now, and oh, how much Edge wished he hadn’t thought that. He busied himself with setting their cooler beneath an out of the way shady tree, shaking out a blanket for them to sit on.

Stretch helped him spread out the blanket, giving the park a thoughtful glance.

“huh, pretty crowded, isn’t it,” Stretch peered at the dock, his mouth twisting, “maybe i’ll take a walk around the shoreline, see if i can find a less populated clearing.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Edge tried to keep the gratitude from his voice and thought he was mostly successful. Only mostly, since Stretch offered him a lopsided smile before ambling off in the direction of the lake with his pilfered bag of peas.

It was something of a relief to sit down on their picnic blanket, a slight grunt escaping him as he stretched out his leg in front of him. It was better, Edge reminded himself, slow as it was, every day it was getting better and even if he’d had to barter for a little illicit healing on his first day back to the Embassy, it was better since then. In fact, he should send a thank you card for the kindness, perhaps a small gift, and—

Sudden shouts made him jerk and Edge scrambled awkwardly to his feet, scanning the crowd. There were Humans running away from the lake, mostly shrieking children, their short legs churning as they ran. The long glass was rustling fiercely, parting violently and that was when he saw Stretch. At first, Stretch was all but scrambling in the air like a character in an old Scooby Doo cartoon. Once he got moving, though, he was surprisingly quick for someone who claimed to have perfected the ancient art of laziness.

Long legs carried him swiftly away and Edge, along with the rest of the park, was treated to the sight of skeleton who topped the tape measure at nearly seven feet tall sprinting frantically away from a large goose.

Edge watched mutely as Stretch scrambled up the first available tree with hardly a pause, clinging to the trunk as he came to a stop on a wide branch. The goose paused at the base of the tree, flapping its wings threateningly as it hissed up at the branches.

Well. That was…well.

There were a few options available here. Edge could head back to the car, start it up, and leave Stretch here to his new home. Perhaps Edge could move away, join the circus. Substitute knife throwing for bones, he had a deft hand, no apple would be safe from his wroth, and he’d look excellent in tight costume.

Or he could take up bank robbery, he’d read the plan that Stretch drew up for the game that he and Jeff were playing, a little classic heisting to support himself until he went down in a blaze of glory.

Or, Edge could claim Stretch as his own and be broadly painted with the same idiot brush.

As if there were truly any choice. Dreams of joining the entertainment industry or grand larceny aside, he'd chosen to hitch his wagon to Stretch’s star the moment he put a ring on his slender finger.

Edge retrieved his cane and walked over, past a group of kindhearted Humans who seemed to be attempting to come up with a rescue strategy. He kept a safe distance from the goose, who was still focused on their treebound quarry.

“What on earth are you doing?” Edge called exasperatedly, “You can use magic! You can teleport!!”

"i panicked!" Stretch said defensively. Both his long arms were wound around the trunk of the tree, clinging for dear life. His horrible sandals dangled precariously close to the goose’s snapping beak. “besides, i don’t want it to go for any of the kids!”

Of course he didn’t. His love’s soul was purest silver, but if he’d had a heart it would be made of the finest gold.

The goose was unimpressed with either. It circled the tree trunk, its beady gaze on Stretch and surely working on a new plan of attack. The Humans were still milling around in indecision.

“Should we call 911?” asked one woman, timidly.

“Naw, animal control,” one of the men put in.

“Neither,” Edge said decisively, “One moment, please.”

With a flick of his fingers, he summoned his magic, turning the goose’s (small, pulsing rapidly, crimson with determination) soul blue.

The goose hissed furiously as Edge walked over to it, showing off a disturbingly barbed tongue, but it was helpless against being picked up and tucked under one arm to be carried back to the pond. It couldn’t move but it could create a hell of a racket, honking and hissing as Edge limped his way back through the tall grass where Stretch had come from.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Edge sighed. “You can’t move, even to hurt yourself. Let’s take you back to the water.”

As he approached the lake, a sound rose up, a frantic sort of peeping. He passed through the shaggy weeds and into the clearing to find a clutter of goslings stumbling over each other on the shoreline. The peeping increased in volume as they caught sight of the goose in Edge’s arms, one enterprising little creature offered a tiny hiss of its own.

“Very good,” Edge told it approvingly. “Soon you’ll be able to threaten children and skeletons on your own.”

Edge set the goose back amongst its little ones and backed away even as the counter ticked down and the hold of blue magic eased.

The goose was disoriented at first, distrusting of its freedom. Then it swung around to glare at Edge, seeming to be trying to decide if another attempt at aggravated assault would be worth the effort.

“You can try,” Edge said calmly. He raised a hand, his magic at the ready. “but we’ll only end up here again. It’s up to you how much time you’d like to waste.”

In the end, the goose decided it had pressing business on the other side of the lake. It waddled into the water, then glided along with deceptive grace, the goslings falling into line behind it.

Edge watched to make sure it didn’t change its mind. It was a rather bemusing use of his brother’s lessons about never turning his back on a potential threat, certainly the most unusual.

When he turned back to the park, he was startled to find a crowd standing a safe distance away from him. The clapping was scattered at first and slowly grew to full blown applause, children and adults alike cheering. Even Stretch, still in his leafy perch, was clapping, although his grin all but glowed with pride. A fair sign that he wasn’t having longing fantasies about joining the circus. That made one of them.

Heat seared his cheek bones as Edge made his way through the crowd, dismally hoping that all this wasn’t about to start trending on some sort of Angel-forsaken social media post. From the way several people’s cell phones were in hand, that sad little hope was one in vain.

Edge walked purposefully away from the crowd, back to the tree and its latest occupant. He held out his arms and asked dryly, “Do you need me to catch you?”

There was a brief cool touch of void as Stretch’s slight weight was abruptly in his arms. His husband brushed a kiss against Edge’s overly warm cheek bone before he said, teasingly, “my hero.”

“You’re welcome,” Edge glanced back at the lake, “You know, I’m only familiar with a few nursery rhymes, but I never expected to meet Mother Goose in person.”

“heh, maybe she mistook me for the farmer in the dell,” Stretch squirmed loose of Edge’s arms, getting his feet under him, “c’mon, i lost the peas in the drink when mama over there tried to play a little duck duck goose with me. may as well go have lunch.”

“All right.” Edge let Stretch lead the way back to the blanket, following along behind with his cane in hand.

Their day at the park was certainly different than Edge ever could have imagined, but that was all right. The only goose Edge had on his mind now was the one he was about to pinch on his husband’s lovely backside.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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poptod · 5 years ago

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Arcadian (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Ahk gets some time away from the busy life of a prince, and meets you by chance at the riverside.

Notes: People who read my AO3 stories know I do this, but I shorten Ahkmenrah’s name to Ahkmen, for historical reasons, as well as change (Y/N) to something more historically accurate :) also this one is Gender Neutral!

No AO3 link, another Tumblr Special I guess

Words: 2.1k

Generally speaking, he’s not technically allowed to leave the palace, but there’s not exactly a rule in place keeping him there, either. It’s definitely telling when his heart races as guards turn the corner and he hides - that tells him he’s not doing the right thing. Not that he knows what the right thing is. All he knows is that his life is suffocating, what with his parents constant observation of him and his brothers’ hatred towards him. Besides that it’s apparent that he’s going to become Pharaoh, which he hadn’t expected at any time in his life, and it’s not something he’s at all prepared for. So midnight of the day he publicly breaks down in front of his parents, his parents advisors, and his brother, he sneaks out his window and runs off into the desert.

It doesn’t take long before the reality of how bad of an idea this is hits him - the nile beside him runs slow, the water murky and unable to reflect the stars. He feels just as muddled as the water, and he crouches down beside it, heart heavy and thoughts full.

“You alright?” Comes a smooth voice from above him, startling him out of his kneeling position. He falls to the ground and looks up to find you - dressed in an unfamiliar fashion, a stranger who’s asking after his wellbeing.

“Um…” he can’t think of what to say, too unsure of who he is in your mind. “Yes. I just… was relaxing.”

“Ah,” you say with a nod, and you smile understanding at him. He lets out a sigh of relief and you kneel beside him, gathering water from the nile in the basket you hold in your arms. “So what’s your name?”

“Ahk -“ he almost says his full name - “Just Ahk.”

“Nice. I’m Ife. Nice to meet you,” you say with another smile, brighter than he imagines he’s ever smiled. “What brings you here?”

“I, uh… I don’t really know,” he mumbles with a shrug, shifting into a more comfortable sitting position. “I’ve just been really stressed. Had to get away.”

“That’s understandable. This is a nice place to unwind,” you say, grunting as you dump out the muddy water.

“Yeah.. um, what are you doing, exactly?”

“I wanted to capture a fish as a pet.”

“A what?”

“A fish pet. Father wouldn’t help me, so I thought I could do it by myself, but…” you glance out over the long stretch of the Nile, sighing forlorn. “I think I’ll just play with one for a while then release it. Sounds more humane.”

He shrugs, and you wade out into deeper waters, and place the basket between your legs, the slow water drifting into the basket. Making himself comfortable he watches you, chuckling softly when you swear quietly to yourself. Eventually you move deeper, till the water nearly comes up to your waist, which worries Ahkmen - you’re not exactly a very tall or strong-looking person. With a huff he stands, shirking his more expensive clothing and wading out into the water to meet you.

You don’t note his appearance with any sound or movement, so he stands behind you, making sure you don’t drift away, and he keeps an eye out for any predators. When you raise your basket one final time, a small fish the size of his pinkie finger is inside it, and you gasp delightedly, a brilliant smile shines on your face. Careful to balance the basket he helps you back, holding a firm grip on your upper arm in case you slip on anything.

At the edge of the shore, your bare feet dipped into the warm water, the basket sits between the two of you, and a very confused fish flitters back and forth.

“Do you live far from here?” He asks you after a moment of silence, and your stare at the fish breaks as you glance up at him.

“I live down the nile. It’s not too far if you want to visit?” You suggest quietly, examining him for any sign of either declining or accepting your offer. A soft blush creeps up his neck and into his cheeks as he looks nervously to the side - would your family recognize him?

“Uh, I don’t know, I… I wouldn’t want to intrude,” is what he comes up with, fiddling anxiously with his fingers. You shrug, looking down at the fish and swirling your finger in the water.

“It’s not a problem. I’m sure everyone’s still asleep anyway,” you say, your attention never drifting from a fish he considers to be quite plain, but maybe there’s something he can’t see that’s caught your interest. He looks down, and nope - still looks like a small, grey fish, not even reflective.

“I need to be back in Memphis by sunrise, at the latest,” he tells you, his shoulders tightening.

“Memphis? I’ve been there. Beautiful place,” you mumble distantly as the fish rubs up against your finger by accident. When the fish adamantly ignores you for a minute, you turn back to him, smiling sweetly. “I can make sure you’re back there if you’d like. Might be a nice break from your responsibilities.”

He can’t help but agree - a tense sigh leaves him and with another breath he relaxes. You ruffle his hair (no one’s ever done that before, and it shocks him that he likes it) and dump the water and the fish back into the nile. Standing, you help him to his feet and, tucking your basket underneath your arm, you lead the way to your village.

Your previous prediction turned out to be correct; no one was awake. The dying embers of a fire burn dim in the bonfire, and you sit down in front of it, Ahk at your side. You toss the basket behind you, scoot closer to your new friend, and lean against his shoulder. For a second he tenses, looking down at you, then forces himself to relax - for some unknown reason, he feels more special in this moment than he ever has before.

“You’re very nice, you know. You should be more careful with strangers,” he notes, wishing as soon as the words are out that he hadn’t said anything at all.

“I’m perfectly careful. I know how to defend myself, Ahk,” you giggle, leaning closer into his warmth despite the fact that it’s not an especially cold night. Sighing, he rests his cheek on the top of your head, staring up at the stars that glimmer in the dark swath of night.

You hum to yourself a melody he’s never heard, your voice barely there, fading in and out of existence in your tired state.

“What’s being a prince like?” You mumble, fumbling till you’re even closer to him, wrapping your arms to hug his left arm. He freezes - that definitely wasn’t information he gave you.

“How’d you know I’m -“

“Clothes,” you answer before he finishes.

“Oh. Um, well… it’s a lot. Has its’ challenges, all very different from your life, I suppose,” he sums up, hoping he doesn’t offend you. He knows how lucky he is, and he knows that life for you is most likely harder than his own, even though you’re not responsible for a thousand people like he is.

“Good food?” You ask, your blinking slowing to a snail’s pace.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Good food.”

As the night progresses he finds himself reluctant to wake you, fast asleep on his shoulder, and even more reluctant to leave your haven. There’s a peace radiating through your village that he’s never felt before, a life far simpler and happier than his own, though the labor needed to stay alive he knows is grueling. Still, he stays there, by your side, and when he feels his own eyes grow heavy with exhaustion he lays the both of you down on the soft ground, his arm wrapped around you. You mumble incoherently in your sleep, scoot closer to him, and wrap your own arm round his waist. Distantly, he smiles to himself, and falls asleep.

Morning comes, and there’s a very large man above him, kicking him awake. Startled he jumps up, ready to apologize profusely before he sees you standing beside the man, a sleepy smile still apparent.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” you say, and wordlessly (and still blushing) he agrees, letting you lead the way.

It’s a somewhat cooler morning, and the water seems to be clearer than it was the night before. Birds fly about, singing cheerful songs along the banks of the nile. Soft wind blows through the trees, and you stop him by a date tree, climbing up it like you’ve done it a million times before, which he reckons you have.

“Breakfast,” you announce with a giggle, hanging upside down from the upper vestiges of the tree, shaking it so the fruit falls to the ground. Laughing at your antics he catches a few, quickly throwing them away when you release yourself from the tree. Just in time he catches you in his arms, and in thanks you peck his cheek, lighting a brilliant blush on them.

“By the way,” you begin once you’ve both eaten, “I’m sorry I broke my promise.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you I’d get you back to Memphis by sunrise. It’s far past that,” you say, looking up to the sun which lies a thumbs width above from the distant mountains. His father will most likely be angry with him and he knows this, but he just shrugs - no need to worry you and himself by extension.

“It’s alright. Nothing bad’ll happen, just my parents might be a little worried. They know I can handle myself though,” he tells you, and with a sigh, you nod, and release your anxieties.

“You’re welcome back at my home anytime you’d like, I don’t think my father dislikes you, which is saying something. He’s a little hard to please. I… I hope we can be friends,” you add at the end, quiet and more timid than he’s ever heard you.

“I hope so too,” he admits softly, and the two of you continue your walk in silence.

Eventually you find the discarded golden robes from last nights’ wade, and he quickly brushes them off, putting everything but the cape back on. Instead he wraps it around your shoulders, smiling bright when you blush at the gesture.

“Looks better on you,” he says, fluffing out the cape so it spreads like golden wings behind you.

“Belongs to you,” you chide with a quiet laugh, but you keep the cape on - it can’t hurt, you reason, for just a little longer. The material is the softest you’ve ever felt, an obvious relic of a royal. It’s light but warm, and you can’t help but giggle a little when you wrap yourself up in it.

He blushes sweetly at the image of you, wishing he could see you every day, and disheartened at the knowledge he can’t ever have you - not in any way that matters. But for the rest of the walk he ignores that little voice in his head, fidgeting with the gold bracelets on his wrists as he watches every idiosyncrasy of you.

At the gates of the city he reluctantly lets you leave him there, the golden cape back on his own shoulders. He stands there, feeling more lonely than ever till you vanish in the brush of the nile. An unexplainable urge courses through him, alighting every sense in him, and he runs after you - one more thing he has to do.

It’s not long before he catches up; you don’t walk very fast. He grabs your arm from behind and you jump, relaxing when you see it’s him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, tilting your head curiously to the side. His heart melts at the sight and without second thought, he kisses the sweetest memory into you, moving innocently against your lips until you part with a shocked gasp.

“I… sorry, I -“

You move your hand up into his hair, weaving your fingers into it before you push him back down towards you, interrupting his speech with a kiss softer and impossibly more loving than his own. This time when you part it’s much more gentle, less of a shock, and much more human.

“I suppose I’ll see you again?” He asks, and the desperation in his voice is embarrassingly clear.

“Of course,” you answer with a wonderfully familiar smile.

#ahkmenrah x reader #ahkmenrah #night at the museum #rami malek #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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thezodiaczone · 4 years ago

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Libra Compatibility

LIBRA + ARIES (MARCH 21 - APRIL 19) ♥♥♥♥ You're opposite signs who can match up well, but you sometimes baffle one another, too. Aries rules the self and Libra rules relationships. Libra is a lover; Aries is a fighter. Your polar extremes can be a great complement if you borrow what the other does best. Rash, temperamental Aries could stand to give others the benefit of the doubt, to look before leaping—something the wise Judge does well. Languid, overly accommodating Libra can learn to speak up, say no, and take action instead of pondering the possible consequences for a year. Although your differences can be irritating, they also make you a well-rounded couple if you play them right. When Aries needs to rant, patient Libra offers uninterrupted listening, capped with sage, sensible feedback. In return, Aries helps Libra overcome a mortal fear of conflict, teaching this sign how to stand up for his rights. As parents, or even business partners, you play the good cop/bad cop routine like seasoned pros. Just be willing to adjust your internal thermostats as needed. Hotheaded Aries will need to dial down the anger, lest all that concentrated emotion throw Libra's scales off balance. Erudite Libra will need to descend from that lofty, cultured perch and take a bold risk. (No, Aries does NOT consider ten years a reasonable time to wait for an engagement ring—and never will.) Compromise is essential for you to find a rhythm.

LIBRA + TAURUS (APRIL 20 - MAY 20) Your signs are both ruled by Venus, but your disparate elements prevent this from being an ideal match. Taurus is a fixed Earth sign who builds his castle by the sweat of his brow, then lords over its inhabitants. Libra is cardinal Air, a Queen bee who buzzes around, ruling the hive without doing the drone-work. You both want to be in charge, but your clashing leadership styles create a patchwork parliament that can't agree on anything. Taurus is planted on terra firma, and Libra lives in the clouds. Of course, if the Bull is content to be the provider while Libra dresses up and plays charming host, then this can work. You're certainly an attractive pair of aesthetes, and you share high-end tastes in fashion, décor, food and all the Venusian pleasures. Shameless snobbery is a shared affliction, but neither of you cares to be cured. You love to talk about art, literature, politics, everything under the sun—though Taurus may find Libra's values superficial, and moderate Libra will take offense to the Bull's heavy handed opinions. At least your sexual attraction is strong, and that will take you far enough. However, conflict-avoiding Libra will need to build up some backbone to avoid being steamrolled by dominating Taurus. The Bull will need to turn down the volume, and Libra must get better at addressing issues head on, rather than letting them fester.

LIBRA + GEMINI (MAY 21 - JUNE 20) ♥♥♥♥ You're compatible Air signs with silver tongues and gilded wings, a magical match indeed. Libra is a pretty pixie and Gemini is an impish sprite. Your meeting rouses the fairies and gnomes, stirring up mischief in your midst. You love to mingle and schmooze, and you'll chatter like two little tree monkeys, gabbing a mile a minute. But will the breathless excitement last? Getting past the superficial romance stage is the challenge. You're both so indecisive that nailing down a commitment is like catching moonbeams in a jar. That said, the illusionary quality of your relationship is a magic you both enjoy. It's when life becomes too real that you vanish in a pinch of enchanted dust. To make this last, you'll need to dip your toes into the murky morass of intimacy, then learn to swim. Money can become an issue between you, particularly the way you spend it. Gemini is ruled by intellectual Mercury, and would rather invest in college degrees, a film collection, enriching travel. Libra is governed by beauty and pleasure-loving Venus, and splashes out on art, couture, custom suits, spas. You'll need separate wings for Gemini's books and Libra's handbag or shoe collection. You have different approaches to romance, too. Libra loves a lengthy courtship with all the trimmings, but Gemini bristles at picking up too many tabs, especially with Libra's extravagant taste. You'll probably need to keep separate accounts to avoid meddling in each other's purchase habits. Cut up the credit cards, too—many happy relationships can be destroyed by debt. Don't let that happen to you.

LIBRA + CANCER (JUNE 21 - JULY 22) You're a sweet, romantic couple, but not always a perfect match. On the upside, Cancer is ruled by the caring Moon and Libra by romantic Venus, casting a tender glow on this love affair. With your flair for color, style and objets d'art, you could open an interior design business (your home may in fact resemble an Architectural Digest spread). Now, the challenge: Cancer is a deeply emotional Water sign whose moods fluctuate like the tides. Libra is a social Air sign who prefers to happy-dance through the daisies. Between the Crab's fatalism and Libra's denial, nobody has a strong grip on reality. Better keep a few grounded Earth sign friends on speed dial when you lose perspective. Failing that, you'll need to adapt to each other's opposing natures. Like a stone skipping across the water's surface, Libra averts the plunging depths of Cancer's inconsolable undertows and cloying neediness. Yet, avoidance is futile, since it only upsets the Crab to be ignored. Libra should learn that a hug, flowers and an apology (however undeserved) pave the quickest path to peace. Not that Libra doesn't have his own powerful undercurrent: when those scales tips out of balance, he can escalate a minor breakdown into a Code Orange catastrophe. Admit it: you're both big babies at times. For long-term success, find activities you both enjoy: travel, language classes, dancing, dinner parties. You're gracious hosts and culturally literate people with lots to talk about. Get out and savor life together.

LIBRA + LEO (JULY 23 - AUGUST 22) ♥♥♥♥ You're a pretty pair, attracted to the other's good looks and charm. The courtship phase has all your favorite trimmings: massive bouquets delivered to your office, iPod mixes of your favorite angsty love songs, sonnets inspired by your affection. Leo and Libra are two of the zodiac's most romantic signs, and you love everything to be pleasant and harmonious on the surface. The challenge comes when it's time to get real. Rather than show your unpleasant humanity, you coat issues in saccharine, avoiding touchy topics to keep the happy vibes flowing. However, the artificial sweetness soon leaves a bitter aftertaste, especially for Leo. The Lion is a Fire sign, with a much more passionate disposition than cooler Air-sign Libra. Leo is pushy, Libra procrastinates, and you can get caught in a dance of anger as a result. When truly upset, the Lion roars. Libra can bellow right back, but he's more likely to withhold attention, the thing that Leo most craves. Leo's demands for affection, praise and validation can drain Libra after a while. Dramatic highs and lows tip Libra's scales off balance, inciting a passive-aggressive backlash. It starts with locked doors and escalates into Internet porn or even affairs if Leo doesn't get the hint. You may be better off as friends if you can't get beyond this impasse.

LIBRA + VIRGO (AUGUST 23 - SEPTEMBER 22) You're next-door-neighbor signs who can learn a thing or two from each other. Virgo is a cautious Earth sign who plans for the worst and prays for the best. Air-sign Libra not only expects the best, he demands it—and thus, he usually gets it. In stressful times, Libra's charm and balanced perspective is a breath of fresh air for anxious Virgo. The Virgin is ruled by mentally-stimulating Mercury, and his mind goes a mile a minute. Libra's ruler is Venus, the goddess of beauty, love and pleasure. Like a gentle lullaby, Libra smoothes the rough spots, helping Virgo relax and trust that everything will be okay. While this may be an illusion, it still has a hypnotic effect on Virgo. Socially, you mix well. You both enjoy arts and culture, and you'll never be at a loss for date ideas: museum openings, concerts, readings. You're also a fastidious pair—you'll have the cleanest house on the block if it's up to Virgo, and the most tastefully decorated home if Libra has a say. The one dynamic to beware: Virgo is the zodiac's helper and Libra is its pampered diva. This can easily turn into a master-and-servant scenario, with Libra feigning helplessness and Virgo scrambling to save him. Like Persephone eating the pomegranate seeds that doomed her to Hades, Virgo must be careful not to swallow Libra's intoxicating tales and sob stories.

LIBRA + LIBRA (SEPTEMBER 23 - OCTOBER 22) This perfectly pleasant combination works best when one Libra is at least ten years older than the other, like Librans Catherine Zeta-Jones and Michael Douglas. That way, it's clear how to divide up the roles. One of you has to be the primary decision-maker, after all—no easy feat with two sets of vacillating Scales. Heck, you lapse into analysis-paralysis when the grocery checker asks, "Paper or plastic?" Because of this, it can take time for your signs to gel—that is, if the connection doesn't taper off before the first date. (Hint: waiting three days to ask each other out is acceptable. Three years? A little long.) Procrastination can be your downfall, as can terminal politesse. At all costs, you should have separate vanities and dressing rooms, as you both like to primp and preen. Zeta-Jones herself once declared individual bathrooms the secret to a successful marriage. Well, for two Libras, non-adjoining sinks and mirrors might just make it into your wedding vows. Once you do come together as a couple, your loyalty to one another is fierce. You make a cunning tag team who should go into sales together. One lash-batting Libra oozes charm, wrapping your prey around a manicured finger; the other swoops in like a hawk for the kill. Later, you'll divvy the spoils into equal portions and celebrate in lavish, Bonnie and Clyde style.

LIBRA + SCORPIO (OCTOBER 23 - NOVEMBER 21) Libra is light and Scorpio rules darkness, but your searing sexual chemistry blazes through borders. As a couple, you're quick to bed and slow to wed. In many ways, the long prenuptial pas de deux is a mutual choice. Romantic Libra loves an extended courtship—long dinners, vacations and lavish gifts. Shrewd, suspicious Scorpio will subject Libra to a battery of character tests, gauging whether Libra can be trusted. Libra is an incurable dilettante whose surface skimming can feel lightweight beside Scorpio's obsessive, detail-focused nature. Because your temperaments are so different, your initial phase can be fraught with misunderstandings. Libra is an outgoing butterfly and an unrepentant flirt, provoking Scorpio's jealousy at every turn. Possessive Scorpio prefers passionate bedside confidentials to paparazzi and parties, but Libra quickly feels smothered without a social scene. To say you'll need compromise is an understatement. Combine your strengths, though, and you can also make a powerful society couple—with Scorpio dominating the world from behind the scenes, and Libra presiding as its lovely, doe-eyed diplomat.

LIBRA + SAGITTARIUS (NOVEMBER 22 - DECEMBER 21) You're fast friends who make each other laugh, sharing a sharp, sarcastic wit. People watching is your favorite pastime, and you can amuse each other with clever observations all day. Romantic Libra brings poetry and flowers to Sag's gritty, profanity-strewn world, and active Sagittarius gets Libra's nose out of the rosebush. Still, your different paces could cause friction. Languid Libra likes to take everything slow, weighing and measuring possibilities on those iconic Scales before acting. Naturally, this frustrates impetuous Sag's text-message attention span. The Archer prefers to leap before looking, relying on luck and goodwill to save the day. Such gambling and lack of security throws Libra's delicate constitution into a tizzy. Sagittarius finds Libra's champagne tastes too snobbish and materialistic—why pay over $20 for anything you can get at a thrift shop or make yourself? Sagittarius' half-baked ideas and churlish outbursts rain public embarrassment on Libra's carefully cultivated rep. When Libra plays damsel or dude in distress, independent Sag flees instead of saving the day. So why stay together? At the end of the day, your friendship remains solid. There's no conflict you can't talk through after a time-out. Although you may drift in and out of platonic feelings, you genuinely care for each other—and that speaks volumes.

LIBRA + CAPRICORN (DECEMBER 22 - JANUARY 19) Capricorn is the provider sign, forever seeking a mate in need of financial backing. Libra is a vain dilettante who's happy to play muse to an Earthy benefactor. You have your oft-irreconcilable differences, yet you stay together all the same. In many ways, you have what the other needs. Libra is a master of social graces with a billion air-kissed "friends." Capricorn can be an antisocial grumble-puss who cleaves to childhood cronies and family. Libra spends on impulsive pleasures; Capricorn plans for tomorrow. Battles can be brutal. You're both convinced of your natural superiority; your haughty contretemps and ego showdowns merit a Bravo series. Of course, antisocial Capricorn would never allow cameras into the estate, while Libra would whip together a stylist, understudy and five-star craft services. Therein lies the difference: your values. Not an easy hurdle to scale, even for a determined Goat or a patient Judge. A successful relationship will require much compromise. The fawning affection romantic Libra craves will be in short order. Capricorn shows love through acts of service and loyalty, not pandering. Libra must learn to accept love in a less-adorned package, and trade a few parties for cozy nights in. Capricorn must exit the cave to meet new people, play host and smile once a season. You can do it—but will you be happy? That's the question.

LIBRA + AQUARIUS (JANUARY 20 - FEBRUARY 18) ♥♥♥♥ You're one of the zodiac's easiest matches: just two carefree Air signs breezing through life with a full roster of friends, travels and adventures. Together, it's twice the fun. Although Libra is more the dashing diva/dandy and Aquarius the quirky Bohemian, your sunny social dispositions pair well. Every stranger is greeted by your hail-fellow-well-met embrace, and you collect friends wherever you go. Indeed, you may meet while chatting at the cheese counter, lounging poolside on the Riviera, or in a dog park scene reminiscent of an Ephron rom-com (picture Aquarius' retriever pouncing on Libra's dainty teacup terrier—what a metaphor). Your conversational chemistry guarantees a great first date, even if the prevailing vibe is platonic. If you hit it off, you'll host lavish parties with an eclectic mix of Aquarius' artsy, leftist comrades and Libra's highbrow circle, bringing them all together with panache. Caution: your casual natures can impede intimacy. In private, you can both be moody, making pouty, indirect plays for affection and sex. Aquarius is also far less romantic than Libra, at least in the traditional sense. That humanitarian bent will clash with Libra's caviar wishes (animal cruelty!) and fondness of bling (blood diamonds!). Most days, you take those differences in stride. Having a lifelong playmate is worth it.

LIBRA + PISCES (FEBRUARY 19 - MARCH 20) Drifting into a dappled dreamscape of your own imagination, your poetic souls entwine against astrological odds. Libra is an Air sign and Pisces is a Water sign; together you can stir a gentle sea breeze or drown in your own sexual tsunami. But oh, the romance is worth it. Like any good bodice-ripper, there's passion, intrigue and mystique to spice up this storyline. You can get lost for days in a decadent meal, a gorgeous sonata, each other's luminous eyes. While the cynics gag, they secretly envy your enchanted, oxytocin-addled bliss. Living in a fantasy is fun for your signs, and gratification eclipses all boundaries and structures. Another Sancerre, an hour less sleep—it can all be justified in the name of pleasure. It's when reality steps in that things get hairy. After waking past noon in your umpteenth limb-and-linen tangle, you remember that pesky paycheck, your stuffed Inbox, the unopened mail. Oops. Hung over and wholly unequipped to deal with the overwhelm, you lash out at each other. Without outside contact and obligations to anchor you, you can both descend into bouts of moodiness, indulgence and even depression. Balance—the Libra catchphrase—must be practiced early on.

#libra #compatibility #astrology #zodiac #love #relationships #libra compatibility

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sasspan · 5 years ago

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summary: what it’s like to grow up in ferryport landing.

wordcount: 2,613

notes: this was initially inspired by a post in the sg tag about how humans in ferryport are forgetful-dusted all the time... it turned into something a little different, but i hope you enjoy anyways :’)

—-

Ferryport Landing is a funny place. Everybody says so.

You’re not so sure. You’ve lived here your entire life, just like your mom, and her mom before her. It’s the only place you’ve ever lived; if it’s funny, you don’t know how. It’s the only thing you’ve ever known.

Your family has been here for a long time. Years and years and years, your mom tells you; even before Ferryport Landing was, well, Ferryport Landing. By the time you’re three years old, you can practically walk through the town blindfolded. Its streets are etched into your heart.

There’s the baker’s, there’s the dentist’s, there’s the elementary school and the mayor’s office. There’s the coffeeshop, there’s the diner, there’s the trail to the mountaintop and the lake. One of your earliest memories is splashing around on that lakeshore, waddling in your little yellow life jacket. As you wade a little further in, you see crabs and snails swirling around your feet. Curious, you lean forward, closer and closer and— Oh! When you put your head under the water, it’s a different world, green and soundless. You blink once, twice; blurry dark shapes flick through the swaying strands of waterweed. One comes closer and becomes clearer. It’s a huge fish, almost as big as you, with gleaming scales and round eyes. It swims right by you, close enough to touch, and you’re too wonderstruck to be scared. Just before it disappears into the murky weeds, it looks straight at you and very deliberately winks. Your mom laughs when you tell her this several frantic minutes later. You’re so creative, she says. You swear up and down that you didn’t make it up, but she just shakes her head, smiling. Fish don’t have eyelids, sweetheart. Eventually, you accept that maybe you got confused, maybe you saw things wrong that day. But...still. It looked so real.

When you’re seven years old you get Ms. White as your second grade teacher. This makes you feel like one the luckiest kids in the Ferryport, because Ms. White is beautiful. Probably the most beautiful person in the entire world. She’s real nice, too, with a gentle voice and a warm, easy smile. Your mom is almost as happy about it as you are. Ms. White is a wonderful teacher, she tells you. I remember when I had her in second grade, she would take our class outside and teach us on the baseball field instead of the classroom. Wasn’t that nice of her? You frown a little bit. Ms. White is old—she is a grown-up, after all—but not mom-old. And definitely not grandma-old. So, that doesn’t make any sense. How could she have been your mom’s teacher? You decide to ask Ms. White about this the when you see her the next day. You hold tight to the thought through the night and into the morning.

But somehow, when you walk into class the following morning and Ms. White smiles at you, the thought slides away like oil off of water, unimportant. Second grade is a great year. Ferryport Elementary’s the only school in town, so that’s where you stay through all your school years. Third grade, fourth, fifth.

All the way until sixth grade, when you have Mr. Gr— (No. That isn’t right. Your sixth grade teacher is Ms. Hart. Yeah, that’s right, it’s Ms. Hart. Boy, she’s a mean one. She once makes Wendell Hamlin cry in front of the entire class.)

. There are these rules in Ferryport Landing. They’re not laws or anything, they’re not written down anywhere, but everyone seems to know them. Stuff like don’t walk in the woods before the sun rises, and don’t stiff the waitresses at The Blue Plate Special, and don’t leave your windows open at night. You ask your mom about the window thing one summer. It’s sweltering-hot in your room, and you’re sweating through your pajamas every night. Can’t you leave the window open just a crack? No, says your mom. There are stinging insects that fly around at night that might come inside. Even the mayor says so. Your mom works at the city center, where the mayor stops by often, so she can say this with confidence. You sigh, and try to wear shorts to bed instead. But one night—one night it’s just too much! The air is so stuffy and thick in your room, you can barely breathe. Even being stung by bugs would be better than this. You’ll open the window the tiniest bit. Just for a couple minutes. The cool night air is a breath of sweet relief on your feverish skin. You stand at your windowsill for a few happy seconds, then go and lie down in bed again, keeping a close eye on your window to make sure no bugs come flying in. When the first glowing light drifts into your room, you’re not sure if you’re seeing things right. But—you look closer—yes, there it is, settling on your desk chair. It’s beautiful, tiny and golden and impossibly bright, like a miniature sun. This is what the bugs look like? A soft hum from your window. You turn. There are a dozen more little lights now, slipping through the open gap, into your room.

They’re amazing. You stare at them, fascinated. They’re drifting around your room like a flock of stars, moving in lazy, aimless circles.

One comes to rest on your headboard, inches from your face. It’s weird—this close, it almost looks like a tiny person—

Ouch!

Like a flash of lightning, it’s darted forward and bitten you. For something so small, it hurts.

As if by signal, all of the other glowing lights dive towards you at once, biting, stinging, whatever—you open your mouth, let out a yell of pain—

—that turns into a scream. The lights aren’t just stinging you, they’re lifting you! It should be impossible but you’re already a foot closer to the ceiling than you were a minute ago. You’re kicking, writhing, shouting, trying to make them let you go—

Distantly, you think you hear a boy, laughing.

You wake up in bed, tucked under the covers, with your window firmly shut. Your body aches like it’s been nipped by a hundred tiny mouths, but there are no marks.

(It was a dream, of course. There were never any glowing, biting bugs. There was never any laughing boy. It was just a dream.)

You keep your window closed after that. .

. Here’s another thing about Ferryport Landing. There are these moments, these quiet still moments, when you can almost taste a strange sadness in the air. A blanket of sorrow that smothers the whole town. Something you feel, but never understand. Like this one time, okay, a couple weeks after Christmas. Your mom’s birthday is coming up, so the both of you decide to go to dinner at Old King Cole’s, even reserving the fancy booth next to the window that looks across the whole town. Your mom drops you off to the salon to get your hair done the morning of her birthday. It’s the first time she’s left you there alone, and you feel wonderfully grown-up, sitting there in the waiting area, flipping through magazines that are probably not appropriate for your age. I’m ready for you, hon, calls the hairstylist lady. You go sit down in the salon chair. She sweeps the black cape around your neck. Blow dry and trim? she asks. You nod. She smiles. You can see her in the mirror. She’s very pretty, her red hair short and sleek. Well, let’s get you started. Her hands feel nice on your head as she massages in the shampoo, then carefully rinses it out. When you look up at her from the sink, upside-down, you can see a bit of her nametag. R-something.

After that she snips artfully at your hair, pinning up bits of it and blasting them with the hair dryer. When it’s all finished she combs it out and spins you around in the chair so you can see yourself in the big mirror.

My goodness, she says. Don’t you look wonderful, if I do say so myself!

You straighten your shoulders proudly. It does look very nice. You can’t wait for your mom to see.

The hairstylist rings you up at the front counter, her bright hair glowing in the fluorescent lights. Thanks for coming in, hon, she says. Hope you liked the trim. What is it for? Special occasion tonight?

You tell her about your mom’s birthday dinner. The hairstylist’s hands tremble very slightly against the cash register.

You know, she says, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, it’s been a long time since I saw my mom. And there it is, that strange, quiet sadness. .

Sometimes you have these dreams. Weird dreams. Sometimes they’re just weird. And sometimes, they’re.... Sometimes, you dream that you’re having a picnic with your mom out on the old farmhouse fields, and suddenly the ground starts shaking, the sound deafening. THUD THUD THUD THUD. And a terrible, roaring voice echoes over the hills, and the thudding gets louder, and the ground shakes harder, and over the crest of a hill you begin to see a shape— Sometimes, you dream that you’re trapped underground, packed into a tunnel with hundreds of other kids, no escape in sight. You’re covered in dirt and don’t know where you are, or how you got there. Clods of soil begin falling from the ceiling, and you realize the tunnel is trembling, about to collapse on top of everyone— Sometimes, you dream that you’re eating lunch with your friends at the diner on Main Street, just smiling, talking. And then you see their eyes widening, their mouths opening in silent screams, and you turn, look through the window, and you see—you see something beyond understanding, a monster. Bulbous head and grotesque hands, mouth bristling with teeth, tearing down the road, right at you— You always wake up, though. .

. Things start getting harder after the new mayor is elected. Your mom loses her job working at the city center, and the price of everything seems to double, then triple. Your friends start moving away, to Poughkeepsie and Nelsonville, just because it’s not as expensive to live there. Shops shutter their windows, stick signs that say OUT OF BUSINESS on their doors. Even doing things that used to make you happy isn’t the same anymore. What’s the fun in going to the lake, or the diner, or the park, when all you can think about is how nothing is the same anymore? And everywhere you do go, you get this...feeling. Like people are glaring at you. It’s disquieting. You’ve never felt unwelcome in your own town. Ferryport seems like it’s changing right in front of your eyes, and you don’t know what to do. Or maybe it’s been changing for a long time, and you just didn’t notice until now. .

Your mom cries on the day the moving van comes. She tries not to let you see, but you do anyways. It’s somehow worse than if she had just cried openly in front of you. Seeing your house all empty is surreal. No pictures on the walls, no furniture pressed into the carpet, no clutter of old paper or dirty dishes anywhere. Like looking at a skeleton, all the familiar things about it stripped away and packed into the van. It’s almost indecent.

Nobody comes to see you off. You’re one of the last to leave. New people are moving into town, people you’ve never even seen before. Everything is different now.

Anyways—the last box is stuffed into the back of the van. The front door closes behind you with a final, creaky slam. And that’s that. The house your family has lived in for decades, your house, is now just…a house.

You and your mom climb into the van. You can tell she’s trying hard to keep from crying again as she starts the engine. You turn away from her, press your head to the window, watch Ferryport’s familiar streets and fields flick by.

When you’re far enough away from the middle of town that the radio tower is starting to look small, you sneak a glance at her.

She’s not crying. She’s staring ahead at the road, her mouth a tight line. Numb.

It hurts.

You turn back to the window. Your gaze is loose and unfocused, clouded with unhappiness, and what’s even the point of looking back at Ferryport? All it’s gonna do is make you feel worse, and—

—wait.

There’s something flying around the radio tower.

You squint. A bird? No way. It’s too big, way too big. And you’ve never seen a bird that color before, either…

It dives into the tree line. You stare hard at the place it disappeared, your mind beginning to race, your heart beginning to race. It’s not a bird, it can’t be. But it was big, and flying, and was kind of shaped like a…

The not-bird rockets out of the trees, and oh! Oh! There’s no mistaking it as it swoops over the radio tower again, big wings and long neck and lashing tail, a creature you’ve only ever heard of in storybooks.

Excitement burbles in your throat. This is it, this is it. You can’t leave Ferryport now, you can’t! There’s something here, something you can’t walk away from, a mystery, a secret that’s begging to be unraveled, something that could change your life forever.

You turn to your mother, breathless with this knowledge, open your mouth—

And then there’s something, almost physical, a pop. Like a balloon.

(Dragons? Really? Come on. You’re not a little kid anymore.)

Your elation curdles and seeps out of you. You look desperately to the horizon, because, it was right there, you saw—

Nothing.

The tree line is as clear and quiet as a picture from a postcard.

The van rolls on.

You sit back. Rain begins speckling the window, each droplet a tiny farewell. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. .

. You and your mom end up moving to Brewster, to a little apartment an hour’s drive from the city. It’s...different, now, but not bad. You transfer to a new school, unpack your boxes. You explore the neighborhood. Your mom starts smiling again. You settle in. Your new teacher isn’t the most beautiful person in the whole world, but at least she doesn’t make anybody cry, either. Your new bedroom is smaller than the one you had before, but you still have windows, and you can even leave them open at night if you want to. (You try, once or twice. But it’s too weird, too alien; you get up in the middle of the night to close them.) You still get those dreams, sometimes, the scary ones. But not as often. They seem to fuzz over in your head. So do your other memories of Ferryport Landing, even the nice things. Like— splashing in the fountain in front of the mayor’s office, or sneaking around the library behind the raggedy old librarian’s back, or chasing down the ice cream truck on the last day of summer— Every night before you go to bed you sit by your new window and concentrate, focusing as hard as you can, trying to remember all the faces and places you left behind. You wonder if they ever think of you too. If they ever miss you. Because— —yeah, Ferryport Landing was a funny place. But it was also home.

#sisters grimm #the sisters grimm #I really liked that post and hopefully I can come back and explore that idea again #it has the potential to be a fridge horror type fic but this turned out more melancholy/nostalgic #I went through a similar life change recently so...art imitates life I guess :(#my fic

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yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years ago

Text

Olly Olly Oxenfree (part three)

TW: Suicide

———————

do you wanna play a game?

Something about abandoned building lying around made Fort Milner ten times more creepy than the woods. Sure, the forest could hide so many things, but anyone could be peering out of those stained, murky windows.

The sudden sound of the loudspeakers cracking to life didn’t help the tense mood, either.

“Hello? Can anybody hear me?” Catalina’s voice spoke. “If- if anyone can hear me I’m at Fort Milner in the— I think the gym?”

“She sounds...scared.” Joan said.

“Yeah.” Cathy agreed. “I mean, I would be, too. I am, but at least I’m not alone.”

Joan nodded as they got to the door leading to the next area of the fort, only to find it locked. She sighed and walked to the other buildings as Cathy went on about their theory over the whole thing: It was a government experiment.

As she was explaining this, Joan noticed a red light flickering at the top as a gazebo-like structure.

It was the same shade of red that the lamp in the forest cabin was.

She climbed the ladder leading up to the platform. The higher she went, the louder a buzzing sound became, and it nearly overwhelmed her so much that she almost fell down onto Cathy.

Once at the top, Joan takes out her radio and began to tune in.

102.3

The red light overhead shatters into thousands of tiny pieces, sprinkling Joan and Cathy in shards. At the same time, the sky splits with a jagged bolt of white and rain came pouring down.

“𝔻𝕚𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖!” Chimed a gameshow host-like voice from the radio. “𝕀𝕥’𝕤 𝕟𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕠𝕠 𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕥! ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕪𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖—” It cuts off abruptly.

“What the hell is this?” Cathy muttered.

“𝔻𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪 𝕒 𝕘𝕒𝕞𝕖?”

The locked door nearby swings open.

Inside in the fort’s facilities- dorms and whatnot. The storm rages outside.

“So... Maria and Catalina...they dated?” Cathy asked.

“Annoyingly, yes.” Joan grumbled.

“You don’t seem too happy about that.”

“Of course I wasn’t! I mean- I want Maria to be happy but- Catalina? She could do so much better!”

Cathy laughed slightly, then noticed a fleeting figure up a small set of stairs.

“Hey, that’s- that’s Catalina!”

If she noticed the way Catalina’s eyes glowed red, she didn’t think much of it as she chased the older girl into a side room.

The door slams shut behind her.

“Cathy!” Joan cried. She tried to open the door, but it was locked. “Cathy, what happened? Are you alright?”

No answer.

“Shit- shit, shit!” Joan turned around and passed by a large, rectangular mirror mounted on the wall to get to a staircase leading up to the kitchen area.

As she was walking up the steps, she tried not to look at the black figure staring at her from the windows.

She steps into the kitchen.

The figure was there again.

Its body was a mere outline of iridescent static, but its eyes remained a blistering shade of crimson.

Joan didn’t see it this time.

She walks to the end of the room, finding a light switch on the far wall. She flips in. The lights burst to life throughout the entire facility.

“Testing, testing-” Cathy’s voice come from the speakers. “Okay, I can’t hear anything outside, but there’s this radio thing so- Listen, Catalina’s not in here, it’s just a room, so riddle me that, first of all, and second- I can’t get out.”

“Hold on, I’ll figure something out.” Joan called out.

She walks down the staircase again. This time, the figure is not watching her.

However, when she passes the mirror, her reflection doesn’t move with her.

Joan froze.

“H-hello?” She squeaked out.

The reflection shudders and twitches before opening its mouth.

“When the time comes, let Cathy talk to her mum.”

“Her...her mum’s dead- I know her mum’s dead! How does...”

Static fills Joan’s mind. She screwed her eyes shut for a moment and when they open again, her reflection is moving with her.

“-and, you saw Catalina, too, right? I’m not crazy?”

Joan hurries over to the door.

She opens it on one try.

“Oh.” Cathy said from inside. “One way lock?”

“Maybe.”

“Anyway, thanks.” Cathy sidles past Joan while Joan went inside and checked out the room. There, she finds a padlock code for a door downstairs.

“Huh,” She said aloud. “They called codes ‘cookies’. Weird.”

“Hey-” Cathy said from outside. “Did you see that? In the mirror?”

Ice shot through Joan’s veins. She hurried over to Cathy, who is holding her phone out to the mirror. She takes the photo. They don’t inspect it for long.

They both saw the figure standing right behind them.

And this time it was starting to look a little red.

“I’m gonna really hate going out in that.” Cathy mumbled as they climbed through a window after unlocking the locked door. They both were now standing- in the pouring rain, mind you- on a platform with a ladder leading down to the gym facility.

And, below them, there was Catalina.

“Catalina!” Cathy and Joan shout as the older girl ran into the gym building.

“What is she-?!” Cathy sputtered.

“Damnit, Catalina! Come back!” Joan cried.

They, very clumsily, make their way down the slippery ladder. Joan ends up slipping and falling into the muddy gravel, completely ruining the back of her grey jacket. She groans.

“You okay?” Cathy asked while helping her up.

“Peachy.” Joan sighed.

The sisters step into the gym building. The only thing inside is a chalkboard, some old desks, and large, triangle shaped window on the wall.

No Catalina.

This time, they both groan.

“This door is locked,” Cathy said after she tried the knob on a door opposite of the entrance ones. She sighed as she took of her soggy beanie and wrung it out.

Joan looks around before realizing the dim glow illumination the room is coming from a hanging light.

A hanging light with a red bulb.

Joan looks at Cathy. Cathy nods. Joan takes out the radio and tuned in.

95.5

Static returned, filling the air with its horrendous buzzing. The bulb shatters, but the red glow still remains. The light now swings slowly back and forth.

“Joan...” Cathy said softly.

“ℍ𝕚𝕘𝕙 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝔼𝕟𝕘𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕤𝕙 𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕪 𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕’𝕤 𝕝𝕒𝕣𝕘𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕠 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕤𝕞𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣!” The gameshow host-like voice from before began to say energetically. “𝕀𝕥𝕤 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕤 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕙 𝕒 𝕞𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕒𝕘𝕖 𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕝𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕒 𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕒 𝕤𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕!” Buzzing overcomes it for a moment. “ℍ𝕖𝕪 𝕜𝕚𝕕𝕤! 𝕎𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪 𝕒 𝕘𝕒𝕞𝕖?”

A hangman pole is drawn on the chalkboard by an unseen hand.

“What is it doing...?” Joan muttered.

“Hangman?” Cathy whispered.

“𝔹𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕡 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕟, 𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤!” Said the radio. “𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝔹𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕕 𝕒 𝕝𝕠𝕥 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕔𝕒𝕟 𝕓𝕖 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕦𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖. ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕓𝕖 𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕘��𝕥 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖?”

“This isn’t how you play Hangman.” Joan said uneasily.

“ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕖’𝕤 𝕒 𝕤𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕥. 𝕊𝕠 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙.”

On the second chalkboard, three names are written. Fort Milner, School For Armed Services, and UK Army Radio Communications School.

“𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕠𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟?”

The radio began to count down from ten.

“School?” Cathy said. “This is a school?” She looks at Joan, who is shocked.

“Umm- uhh- F-Fort Milner?” Joan tried weakly.

A buzzer noise emits from the radio.

A head is drawn on the chalkboard.

“𝕆𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕥𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙!”

Blurriness and static hazes distorted Joan’s vision for a moment. She grunts and hears Cathy utter a pained noise at her side. Her sister clutches tightly at her skull.

“Ðð ¥ðµ †hïñk. Ú§. Çrµêl.”

It was the cave voices.

“Ðð ¥ðµ †hïñk. Ú§. Çållðµ§.”

“I don’t care!” Joan said. “Just don’t hurt-”

A buzz of static through her mind silences her.

“Wê Ððñ’† hµr† þlå¥må†ê§.”

The whole room twists together into one big, messy blob. Joan stumbles, feeling like she’s upside down and that’s she’s about to fall. She paws for something for grounding and finds Cathy. She grips tightly to her sister’s hunched shoulder.

“Ughh...” Cathy groaned. She’s hugging her stomach with one arm.

“I think I’m gonna be sick...” Joan moaned miserably.

“𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕦𝕥𝕥𝕠𝕟.” The radio pipes back up. “ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕨𝕠!”

Three more words are drawn on the chalkboard- sɹǝɥdıƆ 'sǝpoƆ 'sǝıʞooƆ- but they’re upside down. Or maybe Joan is upside down- she doesn’t know.

“𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕚𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕥 𝔽𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕄𝕚𝕝𝕟𝕖𝕣 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕔𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕤?”

A lightbulb went off in Joan’s mind. That she knew.

“Cookies,” She said with as much confidence as she could muster. “They called codes...cookies.”

The radio dings.

“𝕋𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖! ℕ𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦’𝕣𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘!” It praised. “ℂ𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕤 𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕠 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕤𝕞𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕒𝕟 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕛𝕠𝕓. 𝔸𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕𝕟’𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕥𝕠 𝕓𝕖 𝕦𝕟𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕖𝕕.”

“Why- why would I? What does this have to do-?”

Her vision bugs out again and twin hammers beat down against both temples. She feels Cathy slip from her grasp and appear in front of her. But...

But it isn’t Cathy.

It looks like Cathy, and it sounds like Cathy, but it isn’t Cathy.

Cathy doesn’t have glowing red eyes.

“We are an island race...” Not-Cathy says. Her voice is wrong. It’s hers, sort of, but has a distorted tone to it, like dozens of other voices are whispering the words along with her. It’s too dark. Too edged with razor sharp barbs. “And through all our times the sea has ruled our breaks. Be wary, young ones.”

“No!” Joan cried. “Leave Cathy out of this!”

They- the things- don’t listen. In fact, they seem to tease her by making Cathy’s body shudder in a way that looks absolutely painful.

“𝕆𝕟𝕖 𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦’𝕧𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕝𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕖𝕩𝕒𝕞!” Chimed in the radio. Its chipper voice doesn’t go right with this horrifying situation that will be sure to haunt both girl’s dreams for years to come. If Cathy even remembers her body being piloted by some unseen force, that is. “ℙ𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕝𝕤 𝕦𝕡!”

This time, numbers are scrawled on the board with chalk that isn’t there- 12, 53, and 85. Joan can barely see them. Not because of her messy vision, but because of the haze of tears forming in her eyes.

Cathy’s shoulders are heaving up and down like she was breathing heavily, but Joan couldn’t even hear the inhale and exhale of oxygen. She may not even be breathing at all.

“ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪 𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝕕𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌𝕂𝕊 𝕂𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕒?” Asked the radio.

“Nnng... Fifty-three?” Joan squeaked out.

The radio makes a buzzer sound.

Cathy groans softly.

“𝕐𝕠𝕦’𝕣𝕖 𝕨𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕘, 𝔹𝕠𝕓!” The radio said. “ℕ𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕥𝕪-𝕤𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝕓𝕣𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕨𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕕𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕌𝕂 𝕂𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕒. 𝔼𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪-𝕗𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕤. 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕧𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣𝕤.”

A body for the hangman scratches loudly down the chalkboard.

“𝕀𝕥 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕒𝕕𝕕𝕤 𝕦𝕡 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝔹𝕠𝕒𝕣𝕕! 𝕁𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕥. 𝔸𝕞ðñ𝕘 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕪.”

The radio cuts to white noise. Cathy hunched over in a position that looked very uncomfortable, even for someone that may be flexible. She’s mumbling incoherently.

Just like Anne had.

“Cathy?” Joan whispered. “Cathy, come on, talk to me!”

Cathy does not.

Joan knows what she has to do.

She began to tune in with that blasted radio.

106.2

Cathy falls to her knees.

92.1

Cathy is dragged into the air and begins to spasm.

104

The triangle is complete.

This time, instead of green, then interior is dark, bubbling blue.

Like the bottom of the ocean.

Cathy is dropped to the floor, limp.

“𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕌𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕕𝕠𝕞 𝕊𝕦𝕓𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕖 𝕂𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕒 𝕚𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕨𝕟 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕚𝕟 ℙ𝕒𝕔𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕔 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕞𝕪.” Crackles the radio. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕥’𝕤 𝕧𝕠𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕤...𝕕𝕖𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕔. “𝕋𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕡𝕖, 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕜𝕤 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕔𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝕤𝕦𝕣𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕖— 𝕂𝕒𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕒 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕠𝕕𝕒𝕪— 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕥— 𝕒𝕥 𝕤𝕖𝕒— 𝕟𝕖𝕒𝕣—”

“Is this...” Joan finds her voice and it’s a mere squeak of noise. “Is this the dead officers who sunk on the Kanaloa?”

“Wê. Ärê. †hê §µñkêñ.”

Chills ripple up Joan’s spine. She steps back, but she knows there is nowhere to run.

“What...what do you want?”

“𝔽𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖... 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖... 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖...”

Bubbles rise up from the triangle window on the wall. The entire building seems to rock backs and forth. The churning of water fills Joan’s ears.

“†ïmê. Jµ§† †ïmê.”

White handprints splatter against the chalkboards.

The lights flicker and come back to life.

The once-locked door swings open.

Cathy groaned.

“What... I...” She struggled to push herself up, but managed to get to her feet. “I...”

“Just take it slow and easy.” Joan said, hurrying over to her. She steadies her sister gently. “You had an...experience.”

“Yes, yes... Great.” Cathy sighed. She rubbed her aching head. “Let’s- let’s go.”

“Are you sure?” Joan asked worriedly. “You don’t want to sit down for a moment?”

“No, no, I’m sure.” Cathy said. “Come on.”

They both walk through the door and up the rest of the way to communication booth. As they do so, the speaker Catalina had talked on before turns back on.

“Catalina’s asleep right now. Be still as to not wake her.”

Cathy and Joan both paused for a moment.

They say nothing about it.

“Cross your fingers.” Cathy said.

They both step inside the radio room.

“Oh my god! You guys came!” Catalina jumped up from where she was standing over the control panel. “Wait- how did you even know I was here in the first place? Are you just...aimlessly wandering around or, like...”

“Anne told us.” Joan cut her off. “Are you alright?”

Catalina tilts her head a little. “Yeah, I’m alright. Why? Do I not look alright? I guess, sure, my hair might be a little weird, but...”

“You just sounded...distressed. That’s all.” Joan said.

“Well, I mean-” Catalina does look distressed. It’s unlike her to be this way. To see her without her pompous, hawk-like features was strange, to say the least. Even a little unnerving. “I dunno. I’m fine now, so...”

“Alright,” Cathy cut in. “Where’s this famous radio?”

“There.” Catalina nodded at the control panel. “I can’t get it to do anything.”

Joan walks over to the machinery and began to tinker with the buttons and switches. She gave up after a moment, swallowing thickly, but doesn’t look at the other two. She doesn’t want to see their scared expressions.

“Yeah, no, it... It’s like a low frequency thing? It’s just for the fort. I don’t think-“ She sighed, “I don’t think it can beam out.”

“No. No no no no no!” Catalina ruffles up. “Isn’t there a way to—”

“†hê ð££ï¢êr§ whð kñðw ¥ðµr þrðßlêm§ £µll åñÐ wêll wïll gïvê ¥ðµ å £rïêñÐl¥ åñÐ §¥mþå†hê†ï¢ hêårïñg...”

“Who is that?”

“Oh god no—”

.. ..-. / -.-- --- ..- / ..-. . . .-.. / ... --- -- . --- -. . / --. .-. .- -... / -.-- --- ..- .-. / .... .- -. -.. --..-- / -.. --- -. - / .-.. --- --- -.- / --- ...- . .-. / .- - / - .... . --

“Cross your fingers.” Cathy said.

“Aaagh!!” Joan cried, “Not now! We’re looping again!!”

“Oh crap.” Cathy’s eyes widen. “Well...keep me posted.”

Joan sighed.

“Will do.”

They both step inside the radio room.

And Catalina is hanging from the ceiling.

There’s a noose around her neck.

“CATALINA!!” Cathy shrieked.

Joan can’t even speak. Tears are filling her eyes and running down her cheeks in an instant.

Catalina was dead.

Catalina was dead—

She couldn’t be. She and Joan still had to make amends! They still had to go through their emotional bonding moments that would make them friends for life! There were still things Joan wanted to say to her- albeit some were a bit snarky- and things she wished she hadn’t said.

But it doesn’t matter now because Catalina was d—

-.. --- -. - / - .- .-.. -.- / - --- / - .... . / -... --- -. . ... .-.-.- / .. / -.- -. --- .-- / - .... . -.-- .-. . / . -. - .. -.-. .. -. --.

“Cross your fingers.” Cathy said.

Air stings in Joan’s lungs as she inhaled sharply.

“Holy crap...” She mumbled.

“What?” Cathy asked. “What is it?”

“Brace yourself.” Joan whispered.

They both step inside the radio room.

But Catalina was nowhere to be seen.

A tape player was the only thing in her place.

“What the-? I could have sworn I heard her in here.” Cathy said.

“Better gone than dead...” Joan muttered. She turned to the tape player. “Great. One of these things again.”

Cathy gestured for it. Joan gives her a look.

“What? It seems to be your job! Go on!”

Sighing heavily, Joan began to crank the handle around and around.

Reality and awareness distorts like so many times before. Joan winces at the familiar rap against her skull.

“Catalina?”

She turned quickly at Cathy’s awed mumbled.

Catalina is in there with them.

But she’s standing on the sill of the open window, peering out.

“Catalina!” Joan said. “Oh, thank god! We saw you— I saw you—”

“Joan. Don’t worry.”

There’s an edge to her voice...

“She’s like- she’s like how Anne was!” Cathy said.

“Catalina, wake up!”

Catalina chuckles. She doesn’t turn to face them.

“There will be other ships...and other souls to sail them.”

Then, she teeters forward-

“NO!!!”

-and falls out back.

Joan ran to the window, nearly flipping out of it herself before she fell to her knees, leaning out of the sill, one hand outstretched as if she thought it would do something. The resounding crack and snap of shattering bones will stick with both her and Cathy for the rest of their lives.

“Oh my g— why would she do that?!” Cathy cried.

Cathy rushed to the window and peered down into the blackness below, mouth hanging open. It was too dark to see anything and she could hear no signs of life.

“We’re— we’re— it’s not like—” Cathy babbled. Her hands are at her head, fingers tangled in her hair.

“She killed herself.” Joan muttered. “Oh my god, she just killed herself! They made her—” The image of Catalina going down replayed in her mind. “I just— this is— Cathy, this is so horrible!”

Her sister looks equally as stunned and sickened.

“I don’t... I don’t even know what...” She murmured, standing up shakily and backing away. “I didn’t know if things were— Was she upset— Oh my god. Why?”

She has her hand over her mouth, eyes wider than saucers. She looks to be in more of disbelief than grief.

They both hurried for the staircase.

“I can’t...I can’t believe this. I-I know I haven’t known her long, but this— What are we going to tell the others?” Cathy said in a rush.

“The others?” Joan yelped, “How am I going to tell her mum? I mean, she knows me, she— and, god, the fact that I was here— God.”

Any kind of reassurance to that was left unspoken when they got to the outside of the gym. The dull light from the lampposts shined onto the large dark red splotch that the rain was washing away, but no body.

“She’s...alive?!”

She glanced at her sister, who was biting her nails.

“She’s alive!” Joan said in relief. “Maybe she just twisted her— twisted—”

“Joan-” Cathy cut off her babble of false hope. “Even if she had fallen feet-first she still would have broken every bone in her body!”

“Okay, maybe!” Joan said, “But still!”

“Right, yeah... Good news?”

Joan snapped her head to her sister.

“Yes, Cathy, it is good news that Catalina isn’t dead. Christ.”

“That isn’t why I hesitated!!”

#olly olly oxenfree #catherine parr #catherine of aragon #joan on the keys #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #six fic #tw: suicide

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gadgetgirl71 · 5 years ago

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Amazon First Reads for April 2020

Here we are again, it’s time to choose one of eight books that Amazon First Reads lets Amazon Prime Members download for free. At the moment I seem to be downloading more free books than ever. I wonder if it’s my mind trying to get off what is happening around the world, lets just hope that I start to read more quickly.

This months book choices are:

Psychological Suspense

What we Forget to Bury by Martin Montgomery, Pages: 439, Publication Date: 1 May 2020

synopsis: Truth and deceit blur as one woman’s desperation twists into another’s desire for revenge in this mind-bending psychological novel.

Charlotte Coburn has a tragically dark past. But she’s safe now. She lives in a gated community, protected from danger. When teenager Elle knocks at her door looking for shelter during a particularly severe storm, the woman can’t help but think how lucky Elle’s been to have found someone as friendly as her. Except Elle chose her door on purpose…

She knows all about Charlotte’s secrets because they ruined her family and her life. And it is time that everyone else knew. But Charlotte’s past has left a dark void in her life, so she is concocting her own vicious plan, convinced that Elle can help fill that void.

As events unfold, the truth unravels and pulls both women into a dangerous game that will leave you wondering, Who’s the villain?

Contemporary Fiction

Little White Secrets by Carol Mason, Pages 33, Publication Date: 1 May 2020

Synopsis: A daughter pushing the limits. A marriage ready to crack. A secret that can break them.

For Emily Rossi, life may not be perfect, but it’s pretty close. She has a great career, a house in the country, a solid marriage to Eric and two wonderful children—tennis superstar Daniel and quiet, sensitive Zara. But when her fourteen-year-old daughter brings home a toxic new best friend, Emily’s seemingly perfect family starts to spiral out of control.

Suddenly Zara is staying out late, taking drugs and keeping bad company. And just when Emily needs Eric to be an involved father, he seems too wrapped up with his job in London to care. What’s more, he’s started drinking again.

When a dark secret from the past emerges, Emily’s life is turned upside down. Struggling to protect the people she loves, can she save her damaged family? Doing so may mean keeping a secret of her own…

Thriller

The Girl Beneath the Sea by Andrew Mayner, Pages: 328, Publication Date: 1 May 2020

Synopsis: For a Florida police diver, danger rises to the surface in an adventurous thriller by the Wall Street Journal bestselling author of The Naturalist.

Coming from scandalous Florida treasure hunters and drug smugglers, Sloan McPherson is forging her own path, for herself and for her daughter, out from under her family’s shadow. An auxiliary officer for Lauderdale Shores PD, she’s the go-to diver for evidence recovery. Then Sloan finds a fresh kill floating in a canal—a woman whose murky history collides with Sloan’s. Their troubling ties are making Sloan less a potential witness than a suspect. And her colleagues aren’t the only ones following every move she makes. So is the killer.

Stalked by an assassin, pitted against a ruthless cartel searching for a lost fortune, and under watch within her ranks, Sloan has only one ally: the legendary DEA agent who put Sloan’s uncle behind bars. He knows just how deep corruption runs—and the kind of danger Sloan is in. To stay alive, Sloan must stay one step ahead of her enemies—both known and unknown—and a growing conspiracy designed to pull her under.

Science Fiction

A Girl from Nowhere by James Maxwell, Pages: 442, Publication Date: 1 May 2020

Synopsis: Surrounded by fire, a girl with mysterious powers and a young warrior search for safety.

Life in the wasteland is a constant struggle. No one knows it better than Taimin. Crippled, and with only his indomitable aunt to protect him, Taimin must learn to survive in a world scorched by two suns and frequented by raiders.

But when Taimin discovers his homestead ransacked and his aunt killed, he sets off with one mission: to seek revenge against those who stole everything. With nowhere to call home, his hunt soon takes a turn when he meets a mystic, Selena, who convinces him to join her search for the fabled white city. Taimin and Selena both need refuge, and the white city is a place where Taimin may find someone to heal his childhood injury.

As they avoid relentless danger, Taimin and Selena attempt to reach the one place that promises salvation. And they can only hope that the city is the haven they need it to be…

Romance

Love on Beach Avenue by Jennifer Probst, Pages: 310, Publication Date: 1 May 2020

Synopsis: True love is in the details for the Jersey shore’s premier wedding planner in this heart-swooning series about big dreams and happy endings from New York Times bestselling author Jennifer Probst.

Avery Sunshine might not have a soul mate of her own, but she still believes in happily ever after—for her clients. Making dreams come true is her business at Sunshine Bridal, which she runs with her two sisters. When her best friend announces her engagement, Avery is thrilled to take charge of the giddy bride-to-be’s big day. Less thrilling? Her best friend’s arrogant and demanding brother, who just so happens to be the man of honour.

Carter Ross’s first instinct: call 911. He promised to always take care of his impulsive little sister, and he honors that vow. Even if it means taking over her wedding, where he is sure Avery will fail. At best, Avery is unpredictable. At worst, if she’s anything like the spitfire of a college girl he remembers, the main event could run wild.

With Avery and Carter wrestling for control, tempers heat up. So does the spark of attraction they’re fighting with every kiss. As the wedding draws near, it’s time to reconcile a rocky past and make a decision that could change everyone’s lives. Because what they’re rebelling against looks a lot like love.

Contemporary Fiction

Stories We Never Told by Sonja Yoerg, Pages: 328, Publication Date: 1 May 2020

Synopsis: From the Amazon Charts and Washington Post bestselling author of True Places comes a suspenseful novel of love, secrets, and obsession.

Psychology professor Jackie Strelitz thinks she’s over Harlan Crispin, her ex-lover and colleague. Why should she care if Harlan springs a new “friend” on her? After all, Jackie has everything she ever wanted: a loving husband and a thriving career. Still, she can’t help but be curious about Harlan’s latest.

Nasira Amari is graceful, smart, and appallingly young. Worse, she’s the newest member of Jackie’s research team. For five years, Harlan enforced rules limiting his relationship with Jackie. With Nasira, he’s breaking every single one. Why her?

Fixated by the couple, Jackie’s curiosity becomes obsession. But she soon learns that nothing is quite what it seems and that to her surprise—and peril—she may not be the only one who can’t let go.

Literary Fiction

Meadowlark by Melanie Abrams, Pages: 238, Publication Date: 1 May 2020

Synopsis: A haunting novel about the lasting effects of childhood trauma and the resulting choices we make for our children.

After growing up in an austere spiritual compound, two teenagers, Simrin and Arjun, escape and go their separate ways. Years later, Simrin receives an email from Arjun. As they reconnect, Simrin learns that he has become the charismatic leader of Meadowlark, a commune in the Nevada desert that allows children to discover their “gifts.”

In spite of their fractured relationship, Simrin, a photojournalist, agrees to visit Meadowlark to document its story. She arrives at the commune with her five-year-old daughter in tow and soon realizes there is something disturbing about Arjun’s beliefs concerning children and their unusual abilities. When she discovers that the commune is in the midst of a criminal investigation, her unease grows deeper still.

As tensions with police heighten, Arjun’s wife begins to make plans of her own, fearing the exposure the investigation might bring for her and her children. Both mothers find themselves caught in a desperate situation, and as the conflict escalates, everyone involved must make painful—and potentially tragic—choices that could change their worlds forever.

Gripping and beautifully crafted, Meadowlark explores the power and danger of being extraordinary and what it means to see and be seen.

Children’s Picture Book

Bear & Fred (A World War II Story) by Iris Argaman, Pages: 47, Publication Date: 1 May 2020

Synopsis: Based on true events and beautifully illustrated, this is the story of a friendship that will last forever—told by Fred’s best friend, his beloved teddy bear.

During World War II, Fred must leave his home and live in hiding, apart from the rest of his family, but he always keeps Bear by his side. Bear knows it’s his job to take care of Fred and make sure he doesn’t feel alone.

After the war, Fred and his family are reunited and leave Holland for the United States. And still Bear is with him. When Fred grows up, he and Bear part for the first time when Bear is sent to Yad Vashem—the World Holocaust Remembrance Center in Israel, where this book was first published—to show the power of hope, friendship, and love.

I felt Fred’s small hand grab me. He patted me and whispered, “Bear, I won’t leave you here all by yourself. You are my best friend.”

*** Which book will you choose? I decided to go for Love on Beach Avenue. ***

#amazonkindle #amazon prime members #amazonprimemembers #amazonfirstreads #Kindle #Kindlebooks #books #childrens #childrenspicturebooks #contemporary fiction #goodreads #literary fiction #PsychologicalSuspence #romance #thriller #science fiction

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laptoplocked · 5 years ago

Text

Rainy Days lead to Fun Times

Summary:

Grian, tired and drained from having to keep up with such a hard driven building competition decides to stop for a moment to rest.Of course that’s hard to do when feeling melencholy and bored.

Thankfully a new friend helps put his mind to ease.

Characters: Grian (Hermitcraft), Mumbo Jumbo (Hermitcraft), Iskall65 (Hermitcraft)

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fun Times, Grian is a Gremlin, Iskall doesn’t help, Mumbo is tired, but loves them any way, Minecraft, Hermitcraft

The pitter patter of the rain hitting the now murky ground drowns out all of Grian’ other senses; bones aching, throat parched and the tingling sensation of water drops steadily soaking his out-stretched hand, running tiny rivers down and into his sleeve, carrying the dirt and soot that cling to his skin with the water in snaking rivets.

Here he was sat at one of his many windows in the half complete section of his towering, rustic home; resting his head against the spruce window sill, with one of his extremities exiting the boundaries of the window opening, seeking a new sensation to focus on.

He was extremely bored.

Bored and bone tired.

He let out a despondent sigh, lowering his now soaked hand and sleeve to the big planter that rests just outside, shifting fingers through slick grass and the fast growing nuisance that is weeds.

He had been working on his home all day, wracking his brain for new variations of designs and supports for his wobbly Weasley home, finally finishing off with the now extended chimney; a surprisingly filthy piece of work considering it was soon coated in soot and smoke, burning his eyes and lungs.

A chimney that he just knows he’ll have to adjust in the coming days just to keep up with the seemingly never ending competition between him and a few other hermits.

A loud groan escapes his lips, getting lost in the still pounding rain and the now biting wind.

He loves this house, truly he does; he also loves the competition going on, with each of their builds becoming more and more elaborate, beautiful and funny as time goes on. Who would have thought that a sentient plant wizard monster, a seemingly magical rustic house with a catapult, a recreation of a famous Disney house on top of a modern house and an actual NASA rocket platform with a working rocket ready to launch would come of this strange competition with no rules.

Only on Hermitcraft.

With the twinging in his muscles reminding him of the effort put into creating these wacky designs.

A small smile encroaches on Grians’ lips.

This is where he needs to be. He knows it and is so thankful for the invitation to this world. He’s been making structures, placing blocks and creating unthinkable designs for a long time, all because of the world he exists in, such a strange and wonderful world. So simple in its mechanics yet can become so elaborate through the use of those same mechanics.

A slight buzzing noise grabs Grians’ attention, eyes shooting to the plants in his window sill planter.

A single cornflower next to a fern revealed his secret companion; a little red ladybug hiding from the seemingly huge droplets of rain. Grians’ eyes light up, fascination and amusement shining through the slight bags under his eye, his tired smile baring the slightest hint of teeth as he observes the little bug waddle along a stunning blue petal. There was no missing the bug now that it was noticed.

Carefully Grian raised a slightly curled fist with only his pointed finger loosely extended. He gently nudged at the petal, blocking the lady bugs path. Not to be deterred by a strange pale mound, the ladybug begins to ascend Grians’ finger.

Grians’ eyes glowed brighter as he watched the brave insect slowly traverse his finger, pursing his lips in a smile to contain his giggles. He barely felt the minuscule legs on his skin but it could still count as a tickle.

His russet wings twitch from their splayed positions on the floor.

He just had an idea.

One where he can have fun and not have to move too much.

~~~~~Line Break~~~~~~

Whilst he may be out of practice, the magic unwillingly gifted to him by the Watchers had never left him, always a slight thrum under his skin. One could always tell how hyper or relaxed he is by just resting their hand on any part of him, especially his hands and wings. If he is calm or focused he has been told that it feels like steady pulses are traveling through his veins. On the other hand if he’s scared, angry or hyper then it would seem like he’s vibrating, with even the edges of his wings and fingers blurring with the force of the magic contained within his skin. He has been taught to partially control his magic from his lessons with the Watchers, yet he escaped before he could fully master his magic (something he was told could take centuries, so he can’t complain too much).

He is confident enough in his magic that he can preform risky manoeuvres, manipulating the wind to gain speed when flying or sailing, levitating objects and people (something that Iskall and Tango enjoy – Mumbo and Cub… not so much) and even using blasts of pure magical force to fight mobs.

Of course using his magic for a relatively long length of time would deplete his energy, leaving him tired, cranky and with splitting headache, yet he would still push himself to do better, lifting larger and larger objects, with one memorable moment when he managed to levitate RenBobs’ bus 15ft off the ground with Ren inside it. He only managed it for 45 seconds before he had to lower it down, in danger of passing out; even then he was immensely proud of his achievement.

Which is why he finds no issue with what he’s doing now.

Purple tinged sticks float all around his room, creating a spiral almost to the top of the sealing. Separating a few of the sticks were miscellaneous items such as bobbing potted plants, flexible string, slowly spinning arrows, upside down buckets and even unlit fireworks with the fuse extended, each floating object is some how touching its neighbouring item, creating a mix matched a pattern of floating pathway.

Grian stands near the centre of the room, tongue clasped between his lips, one eye squinted with two glowing hands extended, slight tendrils of magic and sparkles show that each item is attached to his projected magic in some way shape or form. Behind him also being levitated is the same cornflower with roots still clinging to pieces of dirt and grass, the ladybug safely seated on the dewy petals, content to scuttle about the centre of the flower.

While feeling a slight strain because of manipulating so many items, Grain is assured of their steadiness with what is about to commence.

With a small giggle Grain floats the slightly wilting cornflower towards him, examining the frayed edges of the petals in search of the bright red lady bug.

A small flash of rosey red brings forth a childish smile from Grian as he once again raises a finger for the lady bug to crawl on, which they do so happily, not even a bit fussed by the glowing hands they are now being cupped by.

Grian raises his curled hands close to his eyes, addressing the occupant of his palm.

“Ok Lil’Lady here’s the deal,” he says with a gentle yet mischievous smile, “you gotta get to that white and red firework floating at the end of this little obstacle course.” He then gestures with a flick of his head towards the top of the room where there was indeed a firework slightly bobbing in the air.

He squints his eyes at the uncomprehending bug.

“If you make it all the way up there I’ll let you live in this house, a nice little area full of plants and sunlight with plenary of leaves to eat. You want that don’t ya?”

Again the only thing the brightly coloured insect does is scuttle around the palm of his hand.

Grian takes that as a yes.

He grins, magic shimmering beneath his skin,“Alright Lil’Lady all ya gotta do is follow the path all the way up! I’ll put you down on that stick then it’s a go!”

He moves towards the starting stick, raising a palm to the nearest end of the stick. Yet the tiny bug stays in his palm.

Grian frowns a bit, gently using a finger nail to nudge the little bug onto the end of the stick, finally getting them to crawl on.

Pausing a moment the little lady bug begins circling the end of the stick before pausing to stare at the blond haired gremlin. Grian made a shooing motion, wings twitching upwards in anticipation.

There was a long pause.

Then the little bug began fairly quickly scuttling up the stick towards the neighbouring spinning arrow, barely pausing before they latch on to the end of the arrow.

Grian watches in awe and amusement as the little lady bug steadily and cleverly makes their way across the arrows, sticks and lively pieces of string, pausing occasionally only to absorb their surroundings then continuing in their travel, much to Grians’ anticipation and excitement as he cheers them on.

Truthfully there weren’t that many objects, since the room was such a small space, yet this is the most enjoyment that Grian has gotten in a while, such a crazy yet simple thing that is happening, like a child watching an ant climb up a tree… only to a much more magical degree.

It had taken many minutes but the determined if mildly distracted lady bug was nearly to the rocket, much to Grians’ joy. Pausing to munch on a leaf from the potted fern the tiny big was on, Grain let out a small groan, frustrated with how close the ‘Lil Lady’ is to the finish, yet is still endlessly amused by the situation he has spontaneously created.

Finally finished snacking, with one final look at the strange human they had met, the lady bug makes a final hop onto the fuse of the rocket, ignoring Grians’ cry of delight and his muffled, incredulous laughter as it continues upwards to circle the pointed tip.

Grian couldn’t help himself any more, falling backwards onto the newly installed dark green carpet, giggling manically. His wings vibrate with his laughter, sending small current of wind, sending many of the floating items spinning; which only fuels Grians’ snickering.

Just as he’s gasping for air a light bulb switches in his brain, sending him into another giggling fit as he shakily raises his hands again, preparing to set his idea into motion.

The lady bug that was sitting idle near the middle of the firework gripped tighter the the papery plastic that made up the fireworks outer layer, as the firework steadily began to lazily soar around the tiny room.

Grians’ laughter slowly turned into hacking, choking on his now breathless amusement; despite this the firework continued to steadily fly through the air, now making slow loop-d-loops around the still floating objects and circling the head of the blonde gremlin. With a small flick of Grians’ hand a few of the sticks and arrows came together to create rough hoops, closer to squares really. But they made do as the firework soared through the hoops, the lady bug somehow ending up upside down on the rocket, safely clinging to the underside.

Grian, now a mess of tears and mused hair, continues to choke on air, diaphragm painfully convulsing as the humour became too much for him.

Little did he realise that through the whole scenario he had left the previous window open, allowing sounds to flit out the window down towards Sahara Street, grabbing the notice of a very confused and now very concerned Mumbo and Iskall, whom were simply walking by discussing shrimps and seafood.

Sparing each other a raised eyebrow, the two barrelled into the tall rickety house (which they noted with a slight huff, it was now taller than both their builds. Again), climbing the narrow stairs with bumped shoulders and grumbled ouches they reach the door at the end of a tiny hallway, the suspicious and alarming noises now louder, choking and squeaking prevalent through the door.

With a side eyed glance towards each other, Iskall gestures to the old fashioned door nob, electing a small glare from Mumbo. With rolled eyes and a long suffering sigh Mumbo steps forward, grasping the handle and flinging the door open.

Of course.

Grian, still convulsing from his laughter, begins nearly shrieking in amusement when he sees the incredulous faces of his two unexpected guests.

“Oh. My. WORD!” Mumbo exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air, gripping his face in his hands as Iskall also breaks down in laughter at the sight of their dishevelled friend whom is only now starting to gasp for air instead of laughing.

It was just then that the lazily soaring firework with the still upside down ladybug drifted across Mumbos’ line of vision, his gaze slowly tracing the ladybug and firework duo around the room in a stunned silence.

The silence and unimpressed expression on Mumbos’ face further set of Grian and Iskall, the small blondes’ wings weakly shaking with the exaggerated movements of his shoulders as his voice lets out croaky snickers, hidden beneath Islalls’ boisterous laughter.

Mumbo shakes his head as he laughs along with his two friends; heavily confused and exasperated, but glad to see them all laughing together with out a care in the world for Redstone, building or competitions.

The Lil’ Lady Bug will soon get a nice enclosure that they will be free to leave from, but they will most likely stay to live in their favourite blue cornflower with a quirky winged human to care for them.

If they ever get off the firework that is.

#grianmc #Grain #mumbo #hermitcraft mumbo #mumbo jumbo #hermitcraft iskall #iskall #iskall85 #fluff #hurt and comfort #hurt #fun times #hermitcraft #minecraft #i freaking love them all so much #let them be happy

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wykart · 6 years ago

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Delilah’s Masterwork

It’s here, the AU that no one was waiting for... it’s the one where Delilah succeeds in the DLC and is now empress (yay)

Summary: When Daud falls to Billie Lurk after the Overseers storm the flooded district, there is no one left to stop Delilah from finishing her masterwork and stepping into Emily Kaldwin's skin. Forced to flee, Corvo tries to uncover the ritual that has taken his daughter, along with a few remaining Whalers still loyal to Daud. Meanwhile, in the capital, Delilah rules her empire with Breanna and Billie by her side, uniting the Whalers and her coven into an unstoppable occult force. But, Delilah has her eyes set on a greater prize; to be worshiped throughout the isles, and to take the throne of the Outsider himself.

read chapter 1 under the cut or here on ao3

When Pretty Emily woke one day,

She saw the world a different way,

Her eyes now looked with a stranger's guile,

Her dainty mouth smiled a stranger's smile,

Her hands now worked the stranger's wrath,

Her feet now walked a stranger's path,

Emily fed, another grew stronger,

The stranger's cravings drove her onward,

And no one who looked on Emily's face,

Ever guessed who ruled in Emily's place.

- Delilah Copperspoon, 1837

...

“Corvo, are you there? It’s dark. It’s so dark, and I don’t know where I am.”

Corvo wrestled the key into the lock, the blood of Farley Havelock still wet and glistening on his blade. The old Admiral lay dead on the newly laid carpet of King-sparrow Lighthouse, his betrayed comrades Martin and Pendleton slumped over their poisoned glasses at the banquet table. The killing was over, though he feared that the worst was yet to come. The guards patrolling the fortress still wanted him dead, and his head carried a thirty-thousand coin bounty across the isles. Convincing the public of his innocence was going to be difficult, even with the evidence of journals and audio graphs that Havelock had so carelessly left behind. That was, if there was a public to convince at all. The plague didn’t care who was empress, no matter what Teague Martin preached at the Abbey. Noble blood couldn’t save them from the doom of Pandyssia.

The lock clicked, and he pushed on the gold-ornamented wood tentatively – bracing for some new threat to spring forth at him. Instead, he found Emily, just as Havelock had said, standing patiently in the centre of the room. Emily wasn’t patient.

“Royal Protector,” she said, voice cold and clear. He tried not to appear hurt, usually the girl would jump joyously at the sight of him, or at the very least call him by name. He cursed the loyalists once more, wondering what they had done to her to change her manner so. He took it in his stride, as he did so many things, and pulled off his mask – hopefully for the last time.

“Emily,” he said, offering her a hand. She ignored him and continued past, brown eyes indifferent – moving up the stairs towards Havelock’s commanding office. She didn’t even comment on the body of the Admiral growing cold by the door. “Emily!” He tried again, as her footsteps echoed sharp and tinny on the metal stairs. No response. He was making to follow her when she switched on the Admiral’s microphone – a broadcasting station to the whole island.

“City watch, this is your Empress, Emily Kaldwin.” She didn’t sound like herself. A regal, ancient tone resonated in her young voice. "Guards to the inner chambers immediately! Corvo Attano has broken through our defences.” At that he sprung up steps with the heightened speed and agility that drew from the void between the world. In less than a moment he was by her side, reluctantly pulling the mouthpiece from her hands. “The Admiral is dead,” he muffled voice still rang through. “Protect me!” That was the moment when his hand closed over hers, and he saw the truth plainly. “Protect your empress!” She cried, this time in a woman’s voice – deep, clear, and sharp as his sword. She turned to him in alarm, and there were her eyes – icy blue and uncaring. In his shock, he almost missed the first shot as it rang out through the lighthouse foyer – an elite guardsman firing a sturdy pistol up towards the landing.

He grasped the fabric of time and pulled it to a stop. The world was grey and swimming before him, that awful drumming and buzzing in his ears as if he were being dragged down deeper and deeper. Emily’s hand was frozen and ghostly white in his own, but something moved and shimmered around her. Concentrating, the being came into focus, and the smoke formed a face, jaunted and pale. It smiled.

“What have you done to Emily?” He demanded.

Its grin only grew wider as it spoke, that same tone of voice that Emily now spoke with. “I’m afraid that precious Emily is gone, Lord Protector. Only I am here now.”

“Who –“ the slowed, droning cry of one of the guards sounded as Corvo’s grip over reality faltered. He couldn’t hold it in place much longer.

“I’d hurry if I were you, dear Corvo,” she teased, “time is running out.” He had no choice. Once again, he had no choice but to run. It seemed innocence was a lot farther off than he’d hoped. He let time slip through his fingers and the rogue bullet smashed one of the crystals hanging from the chandelier. The watch rushed in, brandishing blades and hot pistols, crying out in the name of the empress and the fallen lord reagent. He dashed towards the stairs, covering two flights in a second and a wash of bluish mist. The mark on his hand burned with power, craving blood. There was no way he was getting back down to the base of the structure without carving a bloody path to do so. An exploit like that was tempting – now that he finally had nothing left to lose. His hope of restoring Emily stayed his hand. He was no expert in the occult – he hadn’t even believed in such things until the Outsider had paid him a visit – but he knew that rituals, no matter how powerful they seemed, were the deeds of men on earth, and they could be undone. The guards clambered up the stairs behind him, as clumsy as he was swift. The stinging salty hair whipped at his unmasked face. It felt good as the cold tossed through his hair, billowed his cloak. He’d been so close to getting it all back – a life in a palace, with his daughter… now someone had taken it all from him yet again. That ghostly figure of a woman wrapped like a snake around his daughter’s throat. Those days spent in the flooded district winding his way back to the Hound Pits through streets and sewer tunnels. That long trip along the water to the island at the edge of Dunwall… they had left Emily unguarded, and now she was gone. He leapt his way to the highest point of the tower, where the wind was at its fiercest and metal beneath him its coldest. A tin bridge to nowhere, overlooking the vast murky ocean. The guards rounded the corner. The younger ones where terrified, but determined – their lower guard caps swept off on the wind. One of them stepped forwards, braving the creaking, soaked metal. Corvo simply sighed, not wishing to make a spectacle of himself yet knowing that this would make for a daring and popular tavern tale. He leapt off the edge of the lighthouse.

He pulled himself down into a streamlined position, head locked between his arms in hope that his skull would remain relatively un-rattled, repeatedly dashing and re-materialising closer to the water to lessen the impact, as many times as his power would allow. He tried to imagine himself back on the Southern ridges of Serkonos, diving off the sandy cliffs and into clear tropical waters in the summers of his boyhood. It was a difficult image to conjure up, especially given the wailing winds and bitter cold sea-spray battering his body as he fell.

“I’m here,” he tried to say, but he couldn’t speak. It was as if he were drowning, his lungs heaving under the weight of crashing waves, screams muffled into inculminatous bubbles of air.

The void was dark, as if its sunless sky were setting. The bright blue haze was fading to a richer, royal shade, and the grey cobbles stretching out before him crumbled under his weight. She was there – a slight figure on the horizon, clothed in creamy white lace and frills, calling his name.

“Corvo?” She cried, that energetic, child-like tone restored. But only in his dreams. He reached out to her as the void fell away, the hazy blue deepening to dusky sea green.

His eyes began to sting and blur, and his chest burned as his lungs drew in water. The greying sun was a distant wave on the surface of the water, far away. Too far. Emily.

...

“Corvo?” She asked, one final attempt. She knew he wasn’t here. Whales floated by in the blue mists – bloodied and moaning. Upturned stones were suspended in spiralling paths, and trees stood upside-down, reaching down towards the endless void. She’d heard tales of this place. This was a place for the dead and the unfaithful. She was terrified. A coil of dark smoke erupted, spitting fragments of black stone – knitting themselves into the shape of a man. He floated a few inches off the ground, arms crossed, looking down a pointed nose through pitch black eyes. She’d seen him before. A figure of her nightmares. He cocked his head to one side, surveying her without saying a word.

“Who are you?” She demanded, “am I dreaming?” She added, suddenly uncertain. Surely a place like this couldn’t be real, despite the Abbey’s teachings.

“In a way, your majesty, I suppose you are,” his voice was cold, layered as if echoing throughout a great chamber, muffled as if sounding from beneath the surface of a pond. It was eerie, the way his outline shifted and swayed like gas dancing in the air. “Except, this isn’t just any old dream, this, I think you know.” She nodded, and he continued, “this is a dream from which you will never wake, not if the new empress has her way.”

Emily furrowed her brow and put her hands on her hips, indignant at the thought. “But I am the empress, there’s no one else!”

“No, there isn’t," he agreed. “It’s a tricky matter that you will soon understand.” She wished he’d speak plainly. She reminded her of one of her mother’s advisors – so many pretty words that said nothing at all. The late empress had warned her of such people. “As for who I am,” he said, looking past her with those terrible eyes, “I think you know, Lady Emily.”

Of course she did, those pompous overseers always talked of him; an evil being that brought corruption and sin to all it touched. “Y-you’re the Outsider.” She tried to keep her voice from stumbling, an Empress should not fear anything. He didn’t confirm the fact, just smiled thinly. “Am I really going to be here forever?”

“Forever is an impossibly long time, your majesty. Whether here in the void, or looking out of your own eyes, a prisoner. You will be here until someone can undo what has been done. I, however, will be gone much sooner, if the empress has her way.” Before she could ask what he meant, he was gone as he’d appeared; in a swirl of smoke and black stone.

“Wait! –“ she cried out to the empty air. She didn’t want to be alone here. She couldn’t be alone again.

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