#there's some new fronds here so hi hello !

[officialleehadan]

Gift of Trust

Hello darlings! Today's story was brought to you by Jennifer! Darling, thank you so much for all your support! it means the world to me!

Prompt: Treebrothers

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“My brother murdered your mother.”

Aspen stood in a tree, utterly hidden from anyone who could possibly see him. The willows around him rustled, their fury banked but not ended by the death of the lord who murdered a dryad only a few paces out of the forest. They were not human and their rage would not fade for a very long time. Only the humans of Waystation were spared their vengeance.

Aspen didn’t dare think about Waystation and the woman he loved. Not now. Not when his brothers wanted more blood on their roots. Not when he wanted to help them put it there.

There would be time for joy after the blood was done.

The human who stood below him was young. About the same age as Rosemary’s sister, Verbena. He came without weapons or even armor, dressed only in simple pants and boots. He showed his empty hands and walked well within reach of the hungry trees.

If nothing else, he was brave.

“My father came here for revenge, but he didn’t understand how much evil my brother did,” the young human, barely old enough to be called a man, said steadily. There was grief deep in his voice, but Aspen suddenly thought that it was not for the lord, or for this boy’s brother. “He came here because he was prideful and cruel. I’m not him. I’ve already ordered what’s left of the army to leave. We won’t… we won’t bother Waystation anymore. I’ll make sure.”

It was strange to think of this human who wanted to make things right, but Aspen thought maybe that was exactly what they all needed. He was angry, so angry, but the man who was responsible was dead, and so was the one who came to avenge him. Even now, Aspen could see that the army was packing up, just as the boy said.

It was a difficult decision. This could still be a trap, although Aspen doubted it. They were far out of range of even the finest bow, and the forest would protect him from any magic that might come for him.

He dropped out of the tree with the ease of long practice and brushed aside the long fronds of the willows around him.

“You chose to leave so easily?” he asked quietly, ready to duck back into the trees if he had to. There were some noises of alarm from the camp, but the young lord held up his hand to ward them off almost as Aspen spoke. “Why?”

“Because there’s been enough death, and I can stop it,” the young lord said, and hesitated. “My name is Elieist. I can’t give you anything but my word that there will be no more cruelty from anyone beholden to me, but you have that much. I hope it is enough.”

“You do not want revenge for your father or your brother?” It was such a difference from the two nobles Aspen had met already. “You will not bring harm to Waystation?”

“Neither I nor any of mine will come through for anything but a call for aid from the town. I’ve already sent word to my seneschal.,” Elieist assured him and shifted from foot to foot nervously. Aspen considered him and listened to the magic he still wore, the gift of his brothers, and their mother before that. “If Waystation needs anything, I will see to it, but nothing else. I owe them my loyalty as their lord, but I do not demand- I don’t even ask for anything from them in return.”

He was young. Younger than Aspen, and grieving for the evil that had been done.

He might even grow to be a good man, in time.

“Come sit,” Aspen said, surprising himself as he nodded to a fallen log nearby. It was not one of his brothers, but a nurse log, with new trees already growing from her trunk. A good place to talk about peace. “You gave me your word, so let me give you mine. I will not harm you, or allow harm to come to you, today.”

“Already you show more mercy than I’ve earned,” Elieist said, but he offered Aspen a hesitant smile and came over to sit. After another moment of deliberation, Aspen sat beside him and set his bow aside. Here in the shadow of the willows, there was little that could harm him. Certainly not this young man who was brave, and hopeful. “May I know your name? Or if you are of the Good Folk, who do not give names freely, may I know what to call you instead?”

“If I was of the Fae, I would own you already,” Aspen said, suddenly amused that the boy had simply given his name so easily and without hesitation. “My mother named me Aspen. You may use it.”

Rosemary told him that he could be intimidating for his direct way of speaking, but Elieist seemed reassured and his smile steadied. The trees around them rustled and he jumped, before he looked up and his smile dropped away.

“I cannot undo the evil my family has done to yours,” he said hesitantly, not to Aspen, but to the trees. Aspen immediately like him more for it. “But I am sorry.”

“They don’t understand you,” Aspen told him and did his best to be kind about it. “They don’t speak the way that you do. But I’ll tell them.”

“Thank you,” Elieist said, his smile returning, tentative again but sincere. “Would you… if it is not too painful, would you tell me about your mother, and how I could honor her? If we are to move into a brighter time, I would like to start it well.”

Aspen thought about it, and came to a decision that was perhaps unwise, but which would lay the seeds for the brighter future that Elieist seemed to want so much.

“Come with me, if you think your people can be trusted without you for a few hours,” he offered instead, and stood. Elieist stood with him but waited politely to hear what he had to say. “The people of Waystation need reassurance. I think perhaps you can give them more than I can, but you will have to brave the trees.”

“Of those in this world I have trusted, the tree that sheltered me from my father’s rages was the dearest,” Elieist said softly with his eyes on the pale leaves above him. “Lead the way, Aspen. I do not believe I will find harm under these trees.”

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Treebrothers:

Born and Grown  (Subscriber Only!)

Grown and Known

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Wild Roses and Birdsong

Willow Glow (Subscriber Only!)

Under Angry Trees

Boar Hide Charge

At Dawnbreak (Subscriber Only!)

Gift of Trust (New!)

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Bare-Handed 

Snow Elf

Sheltered  (Subscriber Only!)

Siege Breaker (Subscriber Only!)

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MASTERLIST

[bibliocratic]

muddle along or: the Pokemon / TMA crossover I’ve been promising @speakerunfolding for AGES jonmartin early S4

Jon considers the knapsack left for him.

Exhaustion is already feasting on any clarity he might have obtained in the near quiet. His body stiff, unused to the casual labour of his bones. The storage room, its shelves overburdened, the air vents popping like cracked knuckles, has gained nothing in his absence except a resurgence of dust and, in a dismal corner, a pile of boxes and a suitcase. A pathetic truncated shrine to his thirty odd years of living.

They moved his possessions here, when his rent went unpaid, when his water bills and council tax and internet payment reminders piled up like demanding snowdrift on his mucky welcome mat. Mutely, he glances over the hastily sellotaped boxes that now form his packaged-up life with all the distance that six months of bad dreams have afforded him.

He wonders who packed up his kitchenware, despairing at the mismatched cutlery harvested from student halls and charity-shop finds; clucked their teeth at the bread freckling mouldy in the barren landscape of his fridge; folded his clothes neatly into the suitcase he always kept stuffed under his unmade bed, even pairing up his socks; who took the books off his shelves in the belief he might thumb through them again one day.

He wonders if it was Martin.

Basira gave him the knapsack some hours ago. When he’d found some semblance of normalcy in the dull weight of a sandwich coating his stomach, dressed in clothes that now hang like rags off a coat hanger, sat at the table in the otherwise empty staff room with the heat of a cup of tea cactus-prickling his palms.

“He asked if you’d look after them,” she’d said. The strap of the bag held securely in the jaw of her Absol. “While he’s – well, you know…” She waves an exasperated done-with-it hand that manages to express a multitude of emotions that refract and merge like the morphing shades of a bruise. “Doing whatever the hell it is he’s doing. Or he thinks he’s doing.”

Jon wishes he knew.

He sits cross-legged in front of the storage room door, a sharp-boned barricade, thrumming like a struck tuning fork with the thought that even here, he will not be safe.

Gardevoir is a heavy weight against his shoulder. She’s quieter than he remembers, solemn and sombre in her new form. She used to demand being lifted up when she was Ralts, her flat red horns digging into his chest and leaving impressions, scrabbling down to shelter half-behind his legs when strangers approached. He left for the Unknowing and she’d been Kirlia, her face set and her cries insistent and infuriated, trying to push her Pokeball into his hand to make him bring her with them. Tim hadn’t asked where she was, when they all piled into the rental car, Houndoom taking up one of the seats in the back but snarling when Basira suggested putting her in her ball.

Jon doesn’t know when she evolved. It pains him, a dull-knife strike of thought, another wave against his tide-bashed flood barriers, to have slept through such a moment in her life when every other milestone they shared together.

“Now is a good a time as any, I suppose?” he asks her. His voice traces above a whisper. His Abra has calmed now, drained down from a difficult and teary reunion, and is now breathing deep and slow, curled into the port of his crossed legs. His three-fingered hands are still clenching the fabric of Jon’s shirt.

Gardevoir nods. Then gives him a nudge and a look when it seems as though he’s stalling, when he must be bleeding out apprehension like watercolours seeping through paper.

“Can’t get anything past you now, huh,” he says. She smiles, fond and he manages a short smile back, and it is almost, almost like it was before.

The bag is old, its original function probably for a laptop of some kind. The plasticky outer skin of it has rubbed away, flaking to mesh at the edges, the piping worn down to wires. Jon folds back the front of the bag, and inside there are four Pokeballs, the basic and cheapest red-and-white models. Jon had worked a thankless summer job at a beach-side amusement arcade to save up the money to get Ralts a customised ball, and had done similar when Abra came along a few years later.

To the side of the Pokeballs, ziplocked and labelled, there is a small forest of freezer bags bulging with berries and treats and care equipment. In a plastic pocket, there are precisely written instructions pertaining to each Pokemon and their requirements, and Jon’s throat tightens unexpectedly to see Martin’s looping joined-up handwriting, to see words that seem penned by someone who doesn’t expect to be coming back.

Gardevoir makes a low noise next to him. Her arm alighting on his, a solid weight, grounding. Jon clears his throat and takes out the Pokeball nearest the top, pushing the button on the front so the size balloons to fill his palm.

Most people have one Pokemon, maybe two, unless they’re involved in competitive breeding and training. When Abra came along, he remembers his gran remarking on the upkeep, how it would be his responsibility to feed and care for and train them, and it hadn’t been the cheapest venture but Jon had born the expense gladly.  It doesn’t surprise him that Martin has amassed so many in comparison to the norm.

At lunch one day years ago, the weather nipping frost-touched, they’d sat outside a cramped cafe because there’d been no seats indoors, and Martin had confessed that he was always taking them in. Thinking back, Jon knows that Martin was attempting to keep the conversation buoyant, coaxing him away from deeper, darker waters. Jon remembers being irritated, sore-eyed with sleeplessness, his spine strung with paranoia.

“My lost causes, Mum called them,” Martin had said, and his voice had tried for a levity that landed without cushioning. He’d torn off a bit from the end of his panini to feed a hopeful-looking Pidove pecking expectantly around their feet. The cause of the conversational turn, Martin’s newest acquisition, had sat grumpily mewling on the other man’s knee, wriggling and sniping as he tried to feed them some medication he’d got from the vet. Despite himself, Jon had been distracted from miring thoughts of Gertrude by watching Martin’s charade unfold, the man making a show of giving up with a theatrical sigh to scratch the Nidoran behind the ears in a show of defeat, being careful of their spikes. The Nidoran had headbutted his hand whenever his motions slowed to stopping, and Martin had used the distraction to fold a chorizo slice he’d pulled from his panini around the pill, which the Nidoran had happily snaffled from his fingers, gulping it down before returning to demand affection.

“They’ll be all healed up within the week,” Martin had continued, plastering over the continued lull with his chattering. “I’ve taken in a few Nidorans before, they tend to be pretty hardy.” He had scratched under the Nidoran’s chin as his words ebbed with the nudging of an undemanding tide.

Jon had picked at his sandwich as Martin had fold him about hiding Pidgeys and Swablus in an old shoebox under his bed, lined with the nesting material of some of his t-shirts donated to the cause. A chipped-edge bowl borrowed from the kitchen brimming with water and his own early team of Pokemon keeping them company while their wings healed in their splints before they were strong enough to leave again.

These four Pokeballs in the knapsack aren’t just random strays. They’re Martin’s Pokemon. The ones that never left him, the ones that he’s raised and doted upon and taken worriedly to the Pokecentre over every cough and sniffle and fever.

And for the meantime, they’re Jon’s.

Jon presses the release button on the first ball.

There is a chittering surprised coo as an Oddish materialises in a buzz of light and reforming matter.  They reform to stand a little higher than Jon’s ankle, only to fold their leaves half over their eyes at the unkindness of the halogen strip light. They totter when they take a step, tumbling to sitting with an affronted noise before, with a determined heft, they rock themselves up to standing again. Jon’s seen Martin’s Oddish before, approaching every walk around the assistant’s office space like a tightrope. Tim had bought them a little plant pot as a novelty Christmas gift once, and they’d unironically loved it, hopping into it cosily and getting specks of soil all over Martin’s desk.

Their leaves are poked through with ragged little holes, like they’ve been nibbled away, the green tinged in places to a sickly yellow. In the bag there is a vial of luminous blue medicine, complete with dropper and application instructions. It’s a stress thing, he dimly remembers Martin had once explained to him. It’s like an eczema, of a sort, that afflicts Grass-types, but it affects Oddish’s balance when it flares up.

The Oddish looks at Jon. They don’t have a neck as such, so they lean their whole bulb-like body backwards on their stumpy legs to study Gardevoir, who gives a reassuring blink. They glance around the storage room and its uninspired treasures of boxes and the unpromisingly weak-seeming metal frame of the cot, with a fretful shake of their leaves. They’re expecting to see someone else.

“Hello,” Jon says. He clears his throat, attempting to present a friendly face, to avoid the grimace he senses forming at his discomfort, his presentation to a critical audience that is already finding him wanting. “I’m… well, I’m Jon. You’ve probably seen me before, I’m um… I’m a f-friend of Martin’s. He’s, well, he’s not here at the moment. But he asked me to look after you. While he’s – he’s away.”

Oddish blinks their beady round red eyes. Their leaves wave uncertainly with the lazy swish of palm fronds. They coo again, a longer sound, plaintive and stretched out in melancholy. They take the opportunity to look around again, a full-body swivel that has them unbalanced, but Gardevoir leans down with a careful hand to steady them upright.

Jon watches them amble off to study their surroundings. Every so often crying out in a searching noise. Gardevoir keeps an eye on them as they rootle around in one of the boxes they can reach.

The next few releases are equally unsuccessful. Skitty reforms only to barrel under the cot as a pink-and-white blur, slinking further back with his tail swishing furiously whenever Jon addresses him. One undamaged ear twitches anxiously. The next Pokemon fails to materialise at all, refusing to leave their ball.

This was a mistake. Martin should have known better, known him enough to see that he would be no good at this, his skills in offering comfort atrophied. He can barely take care of himself, these days. Never mind additional charges who are scared, who need reassurance that is rendered rusty in his throat.

He reaches out to cradle the last ball in his cupped palms. He knows who is inside. The youngest of Martin’s acquisitions, and as far as Jon was aware, full-on adverse to getting inside a Pokeball. Their favoured mode of travel was Martin, using him as a climbing frame while he attempted to work, kicking their little feet against his forehead, clinging giggly to his mop of hair to get a better view, squealing shrill and disruptive and delighted when Martin would playfully shake his head to rock them. He thinks with the uncertainty that memory offers him, that Sasha had loved them, lifted them and pretending to throw them while they chattered and babbled, snuck them berries when Martin wasn’t looking. Jon has paid ear to more than one lecture from Martin on nutrition and proper feeding times and sugar levels. They might have played with Sasha’s own Pokemon, like they had tottered after Houndour’s short and wagging tail when she was out of her ball, like they had ran after Skitty to join in games, but that memory has been scratched from recollection like initials scored out of tree bark.

They were by nature vocal, rambunctious, unthinking and unheedful of danger, a child really, and Martin had been forever apologising when Jon would find them where they weren’t meant to be, carrying them back cautiously and carefully to Martin’s fretful hands. He thinks Martin had thought that they had irritated him. It hadn’t been that. They had been so small, smaller than they should have been for their species, the runt of some litter abandoned or lost by their parent or cracked and emerging blinking from their egg over-early. They had been so curious, and the world of the archives had grown increasingly unsafe around them. Jon had worried, in his own poorly expressed way.

He presses the button, and aims at the ground. Martin’s Togepi manifests in a fizz of red light and sound crackling like champagne.

They turn around with a confused noise.

Jon gets the chance to voice an awkward, low-pitched ‘hello’ before they take one look at him and their face clenches upset, breath starting to bubble with sobs.

“Oh, oh, nonono, hey,” Jon says, scooping them up into his hands. Abra is dislodged, wakes up startled and teleports a few feet away with a ‘pop’ of displaced air. “It’s… nonono, shush, it’s alright.”

Big messy tears fall out of screwed up eyes. Hitching sobs lengthen into wails. Jon looks frantically at Gardevoir as he rocks and shushes the bawling Pokemon against his chest in a way Martin was so much better at.

Martin would know what to do, what to say. How all this could work out for the best. But Martin isn’t here.

Jon’s own eyes dampen.

“Shshshsh,” he croaks thickly. “It’s – it’s going to be alright. I’ve got you.”

He uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the worst of the tears. He strokes the top of Togepi’s head.

“It’s going to be alright,” Jon repeats.

Many hours later, Jon wakes up, cotton-mouthed and his back vengeful for the position he’s slept in. His legs, still crossed, have degraded to numbness that he’ll pay for as soon as he wants to stand. In his lap, he sees the matryoshka doll set up that’s occurred, Togepi exhaling with little whistling breaths into Abra’s chest, Abra’s face planted against Jon’s shirt. Skitty has emerged from his defensive fort under the cot to coil into a ball of heat, curled up in the crook of Abra’s overhanging tail. Gardevoir is half-awake in that dozing but alert way she has, and she must have turned off the light in the room because it’s dark except for the emergency glow from the fire-exit sign that casts the walls and floor in an unsettling green. Jon sees the husk of an opened Pokeball, the shadow of something small and yellow crouched on Gardevoir’s shoulder, and something inside him eases, just a little bit.

Oddish is looking up at him from the floor. Jon moves the only hand he has that’s not squashed under Abra, and when he sets it down they alight with an unsteady gait and he transfers them to the higher terrain of his knee. He rubs a careful finger along their leaves until they sit, their head nodding as they struggle to stave off sleep, although they still glance around with uncertain eyes.

The room has dropped colder. Oddish shivers along with Jon.

“I know,” Jon says. “I miss him too.”

[ask-them-bois]

Of Monsters and Matriarchs, pt 3/3

pt.1 pt.2

TW: None

TLDR: The final troll arrives.

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“Hark!” Alaric leaped to its feet, staring out into the distance. “Yonder, strangers approach!”

Ishran wiped the crumbs out of his beard and swallowed the last bite of his meal, getting to his feet. “Boy, get up.”

Fayroe cracked open an eye from where he laid on Alaric’s buggy. “Eh?”

“They are here.”

Fayroe sat up in time to see two distant figures rapidly approaching.

Within minutes, Incoding, Ruthless, and Innocent arrived at the camp.

Ruthless was sat behind Innocent, on the back of Vornik’s lusus, Alphadad. The three-headed howl-beast dropped down, letting them slide off his back.

Incoding pulled Glitch Rider, his motorbike, to a stop, cutting the engine.

“Hello again, Deadscar.” The goldblood grinned, hopping off his vehicle.

“Greetings. Where is the fourth one?”

“Huh? Oh, you mean Bri? He didn’t want to come.” Incoding shrugged, “Something something, “this isn’t where he belongs.””

“Ishran, who- who is this?” Innocent was staring nervously at Fayroe.

The fuchsia slid off the buggy, pulling himself up proudly. “Fayroe Fallen. I’m Ishran’s apprentice.”

“No, you are not.” Ishran rebuked.

Fayroe opened their mouth to argue, but seeing all three of the morails bristling at their mere presence, they changed their mind and shut it again.

“Why is he here?” Innocent frowned.

“I do not know. He followed me from the city and I cannot make him leave.”

“Hm. Sounds familiar.” Innocent mused.

Incoding growled, and Fayroe’s fin-fronds flickered nervously at the sound. “I- hey, look- I’m not doing anything, see?” They raised their hands in surrender, an uncertain smile on their face. “I’m just hanging out with Deadscar.”

“You can ignore him, Incoding. He will do nothing.” Ishran sent a pointed look towards the young troll, who nodded, hopping back up onto Alaric’s buggy and taking a seat.

“Yup! Doing nothing, see?”

“He’s the Enforcer’s brat.” Incoding rumbled.

“Sure am, but you don’t see him risking life and limb for some strange lady in a hole.” Fayroe huffed.

Incoding narrowed his eye, but Innocent stepped forward before they could continue.

“Where is the other one?” He asked, looking around, “I saw three trolls here a moment ago.”

Ishran looked around, too, only to realize Alaric had disappeared. “I do not know.”

“I hath been to see the foremother. Thou doth wish to see her slumber? I think not. I assumed thou would prefer to meet her in her wake.” Alaric’s voice echoed up from the cavern as it emerged from the tunnel. It came to a stop, looking between the morails, before its gaze settled on Ruthless. “Hark, forefather of mine. I am thine descendant, Alaric Evrren.”

Ruthless’ face was completely unreadable as he stared at the young jadeblood. He’d been silent since they’d arrived, his hands trembling at his sides. “Yer…” He said faintly, “Yer my brat?”

“Aye, thine bastard by blood.” Alaric grinned, its tiny fins twitching.

“You’ve got three of them now.” Incoding pat Ruthless’ shoulder sympathetically. “Makeno, Krakyn, and now this one.”

Ruthless could only nod, unable to take his eyes off the jadeblood’s horns. “S… So, she’s in there?” He croaked.

“Aye.” Alaric stood aside and waved into the darkness. “She awaits you, forefather.”

Ruthless swallowed dryly, but didn’t move.

“Ru?” Innocent gently touched the seadweller’s arm. He looked down at the limeblood, then at the goldblood.

“I…”

Innocent smiled softly. “It is okay. We will wait here with the others.”

Ruthless could only nod.

On stiff legs, he moved towards the cavern entrance. He didn’t look back as he was swallowed by the dark, and the others sat down to wait.

Ruthless didn’t know where he was going. It was incredibly dark, even for his sharp eyes. The wind brushing past his fins was cold, and brought him the impression of branching stone halls by the way it moved.

The smell of bleach and incense, of sopor, and the tang of copper were perforated through the air. He was in a brooding cavern, he realized; long abandoned but still operational. He could hear the hum and beeping of vats and recuperacoons in the distance, down the side corridors.

His mind was clamoring and silent at the same time. He didn’t know where he was going; he just moved, without his thinkpan’s command. Trembling fingers reached up and grasped the wedding rings that hung around his throat.

Finally, there was change to the dark around him; the tunnel curved to his left, before it opened into a large chamber, which he stepped into and paused.

A desk, a recuperacoon, dozens of lit candles, scattered papers, weapons- that was all he was able to register, before the shadows moved.

In the quarter of a time it took to blink, there was something sharp pressing against the side of his neck, the cold metal burning against his gills; a spear, he recognized distantly, as he felt a presence practically materialize behind him.

“Who the hell are you?” A low voice snarled in his ear.

Ruthless’ heart wrenched.

He’d know that voice anywhere, even after four hundred sweeps of silence. He closed his eyes, a shuddering breath making its way out of his lungs.

“Lucina.”

The name fell from his lips like the rasp of dying man’s last words.

The silence that hung in the air was momentary, but it spoke of a lifetime. Only to explode like a supernova as the spear hit the floor.

“Erimus?”

A sob punched its way into the seadweller’s throat, and he held his breath as he turned his head to look.

It was her.

She was here. She was real, and alive, and- and she said his name.

“Aye.” He croaked, his eyes brimming with tears. “Aye, Lucy, it’s- it’s me, I-” He went to reach for her, but she stepped back.

Erimus froze, his hand still extended, as he finally seemed to take in the jadeblood’s appearance.

Even in the dim light, he'd know here anywhere. She was his Lucina, but she was… hardened. Older, and greyed. She wore his old cape.

The cape he had buried her in.

“L… Lucina?” He repeated, confused now, as the jadeblood stared at him. “It’s me, it’s- it’s yer Erim.”

“Is it?” She asked; her voice was steady, void of emotion, but it cracked in the air like a whip.

Erimus swallowed the lump in his throat, and could only nod.

Lucina crossed her arms, looking the voiletblood up and down with her eyes. “You look like him.” Her eyes settled on the wedding rings hung around his neck. Her glare bore into them like she was attempting to melt them, scrutinizing the golden bands. Her gaze lifted back to his eyes.

“Where were you?” She demanded, her voice shaking now. “Where have you been, Erimus Faslet?” She stepped forward and seized his shirt, hauling the eight foot seadweller down to her height. “It’s been four hundred sweeps, you rat bastard. Explain yourself, now.”

Erimus reached up and grasped her hand in his own; her fingers were so cold. “I’m sorry.” He rasped, his throat strained and raw from holding in four hundred sweeps of grief. “I’m so sorry.” His legs buckled, and he fell to his knees before her, unable to tear his eyes away from her face. “Ye… Ye died, Lucina. And I- I couldn’t- I couldn’t do it on my own. I didn’t know ye were… like this. If I had known, Lucina, I would have clawed my way out o' hell ta come back- I’m so sorry.”

He bowed his head, his hand clinging to her fist like it was all that tethered him to the world. He was shaking, overwhelmed and painfully sober.

His breath hitched as he heard her fall to her knees, and felt arms wrap around his shoulders. Without hesitation, he embraced her, crushing her to him like he’d die if he ever let her go again.

Her face pressed to his neck, and he buried his in her shoulder. Violet tears slid down his face and sunk into the fabric of her cape. She was crying, too- he could feel her trembling against him.

“I’m so sorry, Lucina.” He whispered. “I’m so sorry I took so long. If I had known, I would’ve-”

“Silence, you fucking fool.” She muttered, hiccupped, before she laughed breathlessly. “You’re here now.”

Erimus could have cried anew. He nodded, his grip tightening around her. “Aye… I’m here now. I’m- I’m here, and I swear I will never leave ye again, Lucina Evrren.”

The rainbow drinker slowly pulled away, gazing up at her husband with tear-filmed eyes, yet not one had slid down her face. She reached up and cupped his stubbly, scarred cheek, and he melted into her touch, turning his head to brush his lips against her palm.

“What good is kissing my hand, Erim, when my lips are right here?” She whispered.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Do ye want me ta kiss you?” He breathed.

She said nothing.

And even after four hundred sweeps, after a thousand years, after they had both died and returned…

He kissed her.

He kissed her like he’d kissed her before, like he’d kissed her when they woke up in the morning together. He kissed her like how he'd done before, after they sparred. He kissed her like he’d he'd returned from a swim at sea and found her waiting. He kissed her like he was the one dying in her arms.

He kissed her like it would hurt to stop.

He felt her new fangs against his lips, and he only kissed her harder.

And she kissed him back, like four hundred sweeps had done nothing to erode their crimson quadrant. She kissed him like the ring around his neck was still on her finger. She kissed him like they’d just seen one another again at the end of a battle. She kissed him like they were in the crow’s nest, watching the stars. She kissed him like she had when she had to say goodbye.

She kissed him like it hurt, and she couldn’t stop.

She tasted booze on his tongue, tasted smoke and grief, and only kissed him all the more fiercely.

When they finally parted, if they ever did, they clung to one another, to the only other warm body in that cold cavern.

Outside, Erimus’ morails and companions waited for them. Outside, their middle child waited, too, adjusting the muzzle on its face. Far from them, deep in the sea, their eldest son waited to see them again. And their youngest waited to meet his foremother.

Outside, the world was waiting. But it hadn’t waited, it hadn’t grieved, for four hundred sweeps. So it could damn well wait, as the Deepbite and the Warhound parted only long enough to whisper to one another. Parted only long enough to remove the seadweller’s necklace. Parted only long enough to slide the rings back onto the fingers of their rightful owners.

Then they held one another, kissed one another, a little longer.

(Everyone please welcome Lucina Evrren! Link leads to her bio!)

[choose-your-own-pronouns]

CYOP: On The Road: Part 2

Part 1

He/him type pronouns: he/him/his/himself “he was”

Replace:

[insert gender here] (IE: “nonbinary” “a man” “a woman” “genderless”  ect)

[he]

[his]

[him]

[himself]

“Hey guys, say hi to our new digger, [Name]! [He] just moved here from past Clade’s Edge, and [he] came all this way just to work on the Great Machine with us, so I know you’ll all give [him] a very warm welcome, isn’t that right, Lern?”

One of the people scattered around the fire in the middle of the camp threw their arms into the air and protested, “I didn’t even do anything yet!”

“Exactly!” Kvalic slashed a wing through the air for emphasis. “Keep it that way!”

[Name] wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or amused. Kvalic hadn’t mentioned anything about a troublestarter on the walk over. [He] wasn’t sure how seriously [he] was supposed to be taking this interaction. Did Lern actually do something wrong with past workers, or was this just some sort of inside joke?

“Uh, should I be worried?” [He] asked hesitantly, keeping [his] voice low so only Kvalic could hear.

But instead of giving a serious answer like [he] hoped, Kvalic just laughed loudly, and lightly slapped [his] shoulder with a wing, cackling, “Only if you like fish!”

This caused a scattering of laughter from some of the other workers, except for Lern, who continued to protest their innocence in what sounded like genuine grievance.

[Name] was glad [he] was wearing a mask to keep out the dust and night insects, because it meant [he] didn’t have to keep the annoyed scowl off [his] face.

If these people were going to be this annoying the whole time [he] was working with them, [he] had the feeling [he] wouldn’t be working here long.

Kvalic abruptly turned and left without any further conversation or warning, apparently deciding that that was enough of an introduction that zis job here was done, leaving [Name] standing awkwardly at the edge of the circle, with no idea what to do next.

There were at least three different species of people here, none of whom were even the same species as Kvalic, and [Name] had no idea what kind of etiquette they would expect from [him].

Fortunately, one of them decided to take pity on [his] clear confusion, and came over to greet [him] properly, stepping over other people’s assorted legs and tails and lounging bodies to join [him] at the edge of the circle while the rest of them went back to talking amongst themselves.

They were another quadruped, but unlike [him], they had two pairs of arms, not just one. Their legs were in the middle of their body, with the front pair hending backwards, and the back pair bending forwards, with a matching set of arms in front of and behind them.

From what [he] could tell just by looking, they appeared to have hard, chitin like armour like an insect, instead of fur, feathers, scales, bark, or skin.

Most of their body was orange, with thick, lighter yellow stripes on the back of their thorax, and smaller light yellow spots on their abdomen. Their top parts of their arms and legs were grey-brown, and their hands, lower legs, and feet were bright yellow, reflecting back the light of the fire whenever they moved. Their head sat at the front of their body on a short neck, and was shaped like an oval, with a single orange eye at the front, two depressions that might have been ears or a nose on the sides, and mandibles for a mouth.

“Hello,” They said, sitting down in front of [him] and holding out both of their front hands in a familiar greeting. [He] copied them gratefully, sitting down in the tough grass and reaching forward with [his] fronds.

Theirs were smaller than [his], with three appendages tipped with long, hard claws, in sharp contrast to [his] six flexible tendrils. Since [his] fronds were softer, [he] placed [his] on top of theirs, and they touched them together for a moment before pulling back.

Nothing exciting happened, which [he]’d been expecting, but surprisingly, there was a slight tingle on the tips of [his] tendrils, indicating that at least some sort of transference had happened, just not enough to tell anything by, at least on [his] end.

“My name’s [Name].” [He] said, not sure how much information they’d gotten out of that, “I’m [insert gender here], and I go by [he],[him],[his], and [himself]. What about you? I’m sorry, our chemicals aren’t compatible enough for me to have gotten any information.”

They opened their mandibles wide in what [he] recognized easily as a friendly smile. “My name is Oleili Tevisi, and you can call me Oleili, it’s my personal name. I am liavnu, and I go by li, lia, lias, and liaself. It’s nice to meet you, [Name]. I’m sorry Kvalic seems to have abandoned you, ze does that with everyone. Ze seems to think that being dropped into a situation without help is the best way to learn, which is why it’s a very good thing ze isn’t in charge of anything except giving new hires the tour.”

“And just for the record!” A voice called out from the circle that [Name] recognized as Lern’s, “I’m not going to eat you, no matter what Kvalic else says! Ze’s just joking, and don’t know how to convey it!”

“No,” Another voice piped up, “Dy’m pretty sure at this point ze just refuses to learn.. Dy’ve been here since the start and Dy tried to teach zim when Dy first met zim, and no matter how many times Dy explain it to zim, ze never listens. Ze doesn’t want to learn, ze thinks we should all just be able to magically tell when ze’s joking and when ze’s being serious.”

Yeah, that fit with what [Name] had seen of Kvalic so far. [He] shook [his] head in exasperation. “Doesn’t ze know how hard it is to read the tone and body language of an unfamiliar species?”

“Yes,” Oleili said, “But ze doesn’t care. Ze thinks its everyone else’s problem. There have been many complains to zis superiors, but no one ever does anything. We have a theory that ze’s a favorite sibling of one of the council members, but no one knows for sure.” Li stood, gesturing with lia head towards the crowded circle. “Enough about out annoying boss. Come sit with us, we can all properly introduce ourselves, and you can get something to eat. You get your first rations on the first full day you work, so you’ll get yours tomorrow, but we always pool ours, and there are plenty to go around.”

Li lead the way, and [he] followed, grateful that the other workers were considerate enough this time to pull their legs and tails and other appendages out of the way so [he] could walk past them without worrying about stepping on anyone.

They’d all arranged themselves in circles around the stove in the middle of the clearing, with smaller people close to the fire and larger people in the back, though it didn’t seem to be a universal rule. Some people were sitting on the dirt or grass itself, some were sitting on blankets, and a few had cushions.

Oleili led [him] to an open space in the middle where li had been sitting on a dark green blanket, and someone threw a cushion so that it landed right in front of [Name]. [He] jumped in surprise, then called in the general direction it had come from, “Thanks!” right as another cushion flew through the air and slammed into [his] face.

It was heavy enough to knock him to the ground, and the shock of it left [him] dazed for a few seconds, trying to figure out what had happened and why [his] face and shoulder suddenly hurt.

The camp was humming with thunderous vibrations, but [he] couldn’t figure out what anyone was saying past the dull throb in the side of [his] head where it had hit the dirt.

[He] pushed [himself] upright, lifting a frond to [his] face to make sure [he] wasn’t bleeding, and found [himself] staring into Oleili’s single large eye, wide with concern, less than a few inches from [his] face. [He] jerked back instinctively, and felt the fragile metal of [his] hearing-aid dislodge even further.

Oleili backed up a bit to give [him] more space, and lia mandibles opened and closed, but [he] couldn’t make sense of it. Li didn’t have lips for [him] to read, and even if li did, [he] didn’t speak the language, and without [his] hearing-aid, [he] couldn’t hear or understand what anyone was trying to say.

[He] guessed that li was asking if [he] was okay, and lifted both [his] fronds to reassure li, and did [his] best to say clearly, “I’m okay, my hearing-aid just got knocked loose, I can’t understand you, I have to fix it first.” [He] could feel it inside [his] ear, the two main pieces knocked out of the base. They were all connected with tiny wires that were rooted in [his] skull, so there wasn’t any danger of them falling out of [his] ear entirely, but [he] had to fix them before [he] would be able to hear or understand anyone that didn’t speak sign-language.

Most of the other workers had gotten to their feet and gathered around [Name], as well as another person further back in the crowd that [he] couldn’t see past the gathered people, probably the person who’d thrown the second cushion. [Name] was giving them the benefit of the doubt and assuming that hitting [him] in the face had been an accident.

Oleili was trying to talk to [him] again, moving lia mandibles and gesturing with lia hands in a way that meant nothing that [he] could understand.

But there should be nothing stopping lia from understanding or hearing [him], so [he] said again, enunciating as best [he] could when [he] couldn’t hear the sounds [he] was making, “I’m not hurt, but my hearing-aid was knocked loose, and I have to get my friend to fix it for me. Can you show me the way back to the main entrance? They’re not a worker, they’re camped outside. I’ll know my way from there, I just don’t remember how to get back to the entrance. Can you show me?”

Trying to speak out loud when [he] couldn’t hear what [he] was saying was always hit or miss. [He] couldn’t tell if [he] was speaking too loudly, or not loudly enough.

Oleili seemed confused, but after a moment li deliberately nodded lia head, then glanced over lia shoulder to say something to the rest of the crowd.

Li turned back to [Name] and gestured for [him] to turn around, so [he] did so, heading back towards the spot where Kvalic had left [him] at the entrance to the clearing as the crowd parted to let [him] pass without issue, many of them looking concerned.

[He] resisted the urge to sigh as Oleili moved past [him] to lead [him] down the correct path. The annoyance wasn’t directed at lia though.

This was a frequent issue with [his] hearing-aid, and finding a solution was one of the major reasons [he]’d decided to come all this way to Bricklayer and work on the Great Machine.

The main reason was that the surgeons in Bricklayer were probably the only people within a year’s journey that could perform the surgeries that Aryl and Xaurec needed.

The other reason was that Kanta was looking for mates for the first time, and wanted the good luck that came with pairing with people who lived far away. Especially if xe could convince some of them to return with them when they went back to their territory, and bring their luck with them.

Hopefully some of that luck would rub off on [Name] so that [he] could find someone besides Xaurec who could fix [his] hearing-aid for [him]. Or so that [he] would be able to find someone who could permanently stabilize it sooner rather than later. Or maybe just someone who was smart enough to build an entirely new one from scratch.

The scientist who had created it for [him] had disappeared just as abruptly as he had appeared, dashing all over the territory with his companion like a kaliba that had broken into the stores of fermenting fruit. [Name] didn’t even know his name, he’d just called himself a doctor without elaborating further. [Name] didn’t know where he was from, who he was related to, or where [he] could find him again.

Maybe he would be here, working on the Great Machine, but he had disappeared so quickly that [Name] wasn’t going to get [his] hopes up. Maybe [he] would never see him again, and would just have to hope that [he] could find someone else who knew how to work the hearing-aid enough to fix it.

It obviously hadn’t been designed for twoqi use, unless whoever had designed it wanted it to be so obnoxious and inconvenient that at times [Name] was tempted to rip it out and throw it into the creek.

And oh, how convenient. There was a creek that ran parallel to the path Oleili was leading [him] down now, lia orange markings seeming to glow in the darkness. [He] could rip the darn thing out of [his] ear and chuck it in to be swept away if [he] wanted to.

But…[he] wasn’t quite that annoyed with it just yet.

Xaurec could fix it for [him] tonight, and tomorrow, well tomorrow was [his] first day of labor, so [he] would have to wait and see what exactly that entailed before making any final decisions.

Until then, [he] followed Oleili into the deepening night, hoping things would be better in the morning.

============================

She/her type pronouns: she/her/hers/herself “she was”

Replace:

[she]

[her]

[hers]

[herself]

[insert gender here] (IE: “nonbinary” “a man” “a woman” “genderless”  ect)

“Hey guys, say hi to our new digger, [Name]! [She] just moved here from past Clade’s Edge, and [she] came all this way just to work on the Great Machine with us, so I know you’ll all give [her] a very warm welcome, isn’t that right, Lern?”

One of the people scattered around the fire in the middle of the camp threw their arms into the air and protested, “I didn’t even do anything yet!”

“Exactly!” Kvalic slashed a wing through the air for emphasis. “Keep it that way!” 

[Name] wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or amused. Kvalic hadn’t mentioned anything about a troublestarter on the walk over. [She] wasn’t sure how seriously [she] was supposed to be taking this interaction. Did Lern actually do something wrong with past workers, or was this just some sort of inside joke?

“Uh, should I be worried?” [She] asked hesitantly, keeping [her] voice low so only Kvalic could hear. 

But instead of giving a serious answer like [she] hoped, Kvalic just laughed loudly, and lightly slapped [her] shoulder with a wing, cackling, “Only if you like fish!”

This caused a scattering of laughter from some of the other workers, except for Lern, who continued to protest their innocence in what sounded like genuine grievance.

[Name] was glad [she] was wearing a mask to keep out the dust and night insects, because it meant [she] didn’t have to keep the annoyed scowl off [her] face.

If these people were going to be this annoying the whole time [she] was working with them, [she] had the feeling [she] wouldn’t be working here long.

Kvalic abruptly turned and left without any further conversation or warning, apparently deciding that that was enough of an introduction that zis job here was done, leaving [Name] standing awkwardly at the edge of the circle, with no idea what to do next.

There were at least three different species of people here, none of whom were even the same species as Kvalic, and [Name] had no idea what kind of etiquette they would expect from [her].

Fortunately, one of them decided to take pity on [her] clear confusion, and came over to greet [her] properly, stepping over other people’s assorted legs and tails and lounging bodies to join [her] at the edge of the circle while the rest of them went back to talking amongst themselves.

They were another quadruped, but unlike [her], they had two pairs of arms, not just one. Their legs were in the middle of their body, with the front pair hending backwards, and the back pair bending forwards, with a matching set of arms in front of and behind them.

From what [she] could tell just by looking, they appeared to have hard, chitin like armour like an insect, instead of fur, feathers, scales, bark, or skin.

Most of their body was orange, with thick, lighter yellow stripes on the back of their thorax, and smaller light yellow spots on their abdomen. Their top parts of their arms and legs were grey-brown, and their hands, lower legs, and feet were bright yellow, reflecting back the light of the fire whenever they moved. Their head sat at the front of their body on a short neck, and was shaped like an oval, with a single orange eye at the front, two depressions that might have been ears or a nose on the sides, and mandibles for a mouth. 

“Hello,” They said, sitting down in front of [her] and holding out both of their front hands in a familiar greeting. [She] copied them gratefully, sitting down in the tough grass and reaching forward with [her] fronds.

Theirs were smaller than [hers], with three appendages tipped with long, hard claws, in sharp contrast to [her] six flexible tendrils. Since [her] fronds were softer, [she] placed [hers] on top of theirs, and they touched them together for a moment before pulling back.

Nothing exciting happened, which [she]’d been expecting, but surprisingly, there was a slight tingle on the tips of [her] tendrils, indicating that at least some sort of transference had happened, just not enough to tell anything by, at least on [her] end.

“My name’s [Name].” [She] said, not sure how much information they’d gotten out of that, “I’m [insert gender here], and I go by [she],[her],[hers], and [herself]. What about you? I’m sorry, our chemicals aren’t compatible enough for me to have gotten any information.”

They opened their mandibles wide in what [she] recognized easily as a friendly smile. “My name is Oleili Tevisi, and you can call me Oleili, it’s my personal name. I am liavnu, and I go by li, lia, lias, and liaself. It’s nice to meet you, [Name]. I’m sorry Kvalic seems to have abandoned you, ze does that with everyone. Ze seems to think that being dropped into a situation without help is the best way to learn, which is why it’s a very good thing ze isn’t in charge of anything except giving new hires the tour.”

“And just for the record!” A voice called out from the circle that [Name] recognized as Lern’s, “I’m not going to eat you, no matter what Kvalic else says! Ze’s just joking, and don’t know how to convey it!”

“No,” Another voice piped up, “Dy’m pretty sure at this point ze just refuses to learn. Dy’ve been here since the start and Dy tried to teach zim when Dy first met zim, and no matter how many times Dy explain it to zim, ze never listens. Ze doesn’t want to learn, ze thinks we should all just be able to magically tell when ze’s joking and when ze’s being serious.”

Yeah, that fit with what [Name] had seen of Kvalic so far. [She] shook [her] head in exasperation. “Doesn’t ze know how hard it is to read the tone and body language of an unfamiliar species?”

“Yes,” Oleili said, “But ze doesn’t care. Ze thinks its everyone else’s problem. There have been many complains to zis superiors, but no one ever does anything. We have a theory that ze’s a favorite sibling of one of the council members, but no one knows for sure.” Li stood, gesturing with lia head towards the crowded circle. “Enough about our annoying boss. Come sit with us, we can all properly introduce ourselves, and you can get something to eat. You get your first rations on the first full day you work, so you’ll get yours tomorrow, but we always pool ours, and there are plenty to go around.”

Li lead the way, and [Name] followed, grateful that the other workers were considerate enough this time to pull their legs and tails and other appendages out of the way so [she] could walk past them without worrying about stepping on anyone.

They’d all arranged themselves in circles around the stove in the middle of the clearing, with smaller people close to the fire and larger people in the back, though it didn’t seem to be a universal rule. Some people were sitting on the dirt or grass itself, some were sitting on blankets, and a few had cushions.

Oleili led [her] to an open space in the middle where li had been sitting on a dark green blanket, and someone threw a cushion so that it landed right in front of [Name]. [She] jumped in surprise, then called in the general direction it had come from, “Thanks!” right as another cushion flew through the air and slammed into [her] face.

It was heavy enough to knock [her] to the ground, and the shock of it left [her] dazed for a few seconds, trying to figure out what had happened and why [her] face and shoulder suddenly hurt.

The camp was suddenly humming with thunderous vibrations, but [she] couldn’t figure out what anyone was saying past the dull throb in the side of [her] head where it had hit the dirt.

[She] pushed [herself] upright, lifting a frond to [her] face to make sure [she] wasn’t bleeding, and found [herself] staring into Oleili’s single large eye, wide with concern, less than a few inches from [her] face. [She] jerked back instinctively, and felt the fragile metal of [her] hearing-aid dislodge even further.

Oleili backed up a bit to give [her] more space, and lia mandibles opened and closed, but [she] couldn’t make sense of it. Li didn’t have lips for [her] to read, and even if li did, [she] didn’t speak the language, and without [her] hearing-aid, [she] couldn’t hear or understand what anyone was trying to say.

[She] guessed that li was asking if [she] was okay, and lifted both [her] fronds to reassure lia, and did [her] best to say clearly, “I’m okay, my hearing-aid just got knocked loose, I can’t understand you, I have to fix it first.” [She] could feel it inside [her] ear, the two main pieces knocked out of the base. They were all connected with tiny wires that were rooted in [her] skull, so there wasn’t any danger of them falling out of [her] ear entirely, but [she] had to fix them before [she] would be able to hear or understand anyone that didn’t speak [her] territory’s sign-language.

Most of the other workers had gotten to their feet and gathered around [Name], as well as another person further back in the crowd that [she] couldn’t see past the gathered people, probably the person who’d thrown the second cushion. [Name] was giving them the benefit of the doubt and assuming that hitting [her] in the face had been an accident.

Oleili was trying to talk to [her] again, moving lia mandibles and gesturing with lia hands in a way that meant nothing that [she] could understand.

But there should be nothing stopping lia from understanding or hearing [her], so [she] said again, enunciating as best [she] could when [she] couldn’t hear the sounds [she] was making, “I’m not hurt, but my hearing-aid was knocked loose, and I have to get my friend to fix it for me. Can you show me the way back to the main entrance? They’re not a worker, they’re camped outside. I’ll know my way from there, I just don’t remember how to get back to the entrance. Can you show me?”

Trying to speak out loud when [she] couldn’t hear what [she] was saying was always hit or miss. [She] couldn’t tell if [she] was speaking too loudly, or not loudly enough.

Oleili seemed confused, but after a moment li deliberately nodded lia head, then glanced over lia shoulder to say something to the rest of the crowd.

Li turned back to [Name] and gestured for [her] to turn around, so [she] did so, heading back towards the spot where Kvalic had left [her] at the entrance to the clearing as the crowd parted to let [her] pass without issue, many of them looking concerned.

[She] resisted the urge to sigh as Oleili moved past [her] to lead [her] down the correct path. The annoyance wasn’t directed at lia though.

This was a frequent issue with [her] hearing-aid, and finding a solution was one of the major reasons [she]’d decided to come all this way to Bricklayer and work on the Great Machine.

The main reason was that the surgeons in Bricklayer were probably the only people within a year’s journey that could perform the surgeries that Aryl and Xaurec needed.

The other reason was that Kanta was looking for mates for the first time, and wanted the good luck that came with pairing with people who lived far away. Especially if xe could convince some of them to return with them when they went back to their territory, and bring their luck with them.

Hopefully some of that luck would rub off on [Name] so that [she] could find someone besides Xaurec who could fix [her] hearing-aid for [her]. Or so that [she] would be able to find someone who could permanently stabilize it sooner rather than later. Or maybe just someone who was smart enough to build an entirely new one from scratch.

The scientist who had created it for [her] had disappeared just as abruptly as he had appeared, dashing all over the territory with his companion like a kaliba that had broken into the stores of fermenting fruit. [Name] didn’t even know his name, he’d just called himself a doctor without elaborating further. [Name] didn’t know where he was from, who he was related to, or where [she] could find him again.

Maybe he would be here, working on the Great Machine, but he had disappeared so quickly that [Name] wasn’t going to get [her] hopes up. Maybe [she] would never see him again, and would just have to hope that [she] could find someone else who knew how to work the hearing-aid enough to fix it.

It obviously hadn’t been designed for twoqi use, unless whoever had designed it wanted it to be so obnoxious and inconvenient that at times [Name] was tempted to rip it out and throw it into the creek.

And oh, how convenient. There was a creek that ran parallel to the path Oleili was leading [her] down now, lia orange markings seeming to glow in the darkness. [She] could rip the darn thing out of [her] ear and chuck it in to be swept away if [she] wanted to.

But…[she] wasn’t quite that annoyed with it just yet.

Xaurec could fix it for [her] tonight, and tomorrow, well tomorrow was [her] first day of labor, so [she] would have to wait and see what exactly that entailed before making any final decisions.

Until then, [she] followed Oleili into the deepening night, hoping things would be better in the morning.

============================

They/them type pronouns: they/them/their/theirs/themselves “they were”

Replace:

[they]

[them]

[their]

[theirs]

[themselves]

[insert gender here] (IE: “nonbinary” “a man” “a woman” “genderless”  ect)

“Hey guys, say hi to our new digger, [Name]! [They] just moved here from past Clade’s Edge, and [they] came all this way just to work on the Great Machine with us, so I know you’ll all give [them] a very warm welcome, isn’t that right, Lern?”

One of the people scattered around the fire in the middle of the camp threw their arms into the air and protested, “I didn’t even do anything yet!”

“Exactly!” Kvalic slashed a wing through the air for emphasis. “Keep it that way!” 

[Name] wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or amused. Kvalic hadn’t mentioned anything about a troublestarter on the walk over. [They] weren’t sure how seriously [they] were supposed to be taking this interaction. Did Lern actually do something wrong with past workers, or was this just some sort of inside joke?

“Uh, should I be worried?” [They] asked hesitantly, keeping [their] voice low so only Kvalic could hear. 

But instead of giving a serious answer like [they] hoped, Kvalic just laughed loudly, and lightly slapped [them] shoulder with a wing, cackling, “Only if you like fish!”

This caused a scattering of laughter from some of the other workers, except for Lern, who continued to protest their innocence in what sounded like genuine grievance.

[Name] was glad [they] were wearing a mask to keep out the dust and night insects, because it meant [they] didn’t have to keep the annoyed scowl off [their] face.

If these people were going to be this annoying the whole time [they] were working with them, [they] had the feeling [they] wouldn’t be working here long.

Kvalic abruptly turned and left without any further conversation or warning, apparently deciding that that was enough of an introduction that zis job here was done, leaving [Name] standing awkwardly at the edge of the circle, with no idea what to do next.

There were at least three different species of people here, none of whom were even the same species as Kvalic, and [Name] had no idea what kind of etiquette they would expect from [them].

Fortunately, one of them decided to take pity on [their] clear confusion, and came over to greet [them] properly, stepping over other people’s assorted legs and tails and lounging bodies to join [them] at the edge of the circle while the rest of them went back to talking amongst themselves.

They were another quadruped, but unlike [them], they had two pairs of arms, not just one. Their legs were in the middle of their body, with the front pair hending backwards, and the back pair bending forwards, with a matching set of arms in front of and behind them.

From what [they] could tell just by looking, they appeared to have hard, chitin like armour like an insect, instead of fur, feathers, scales, bark, or skin.

Most of their body was orange, with thick, lighter yellow stripes on the back of their thorax, and smaller light yellow spots on their abdomen. Their top parts of their arms and legs were grey-brown, and their hands, lower legs, and feet were bright yellow, reflecting back the light of the fire whenever they moved. Their head sat at the front of their body on a short neck, and was shaped like an oval, with a single orange eye at the front, two depressions that might have been ears or a nose on the sides, and mandibles for a mouth. 

“Hello,” They said, sitting down in front of [them] and holding out both of their front hands in a familiar greeting. [They] copied them gratefully, sitting down in the tough grass and reaching forward with [their] fronds.

Theirs were smaller than [theirs], with three appendages tipped with long, hard claws, in sharp contrast to [their] six flexible tendrils. Since [their] fronds were softer, [they] placed [theirs] on top of theirs, and they touched them together for a moment before pulling back.

Nothing exciting happened, which [they]’d been expecting, but surprisingly, there was a slight tingle on the tips of [their] tendrils, indicating that at least some sort of transference had happened, just not enough to tell anything by, at least on [their] end.

“My name’s [Name].” [They] said, not sure how much information they’d gotten out of that, “I’m [insert gender here], and I go by [they],[them], [theirs], and [themselves]. What about you? I’m sorry, our chemicals aren’t compatible enough for me to have gotten any information.”

They opened their mandibles wide in what [they] recognized easily as a friendly smile. “My name is Oleili Tevisi, and you can call me Oleili, it’s my personal name. I am liavnu, and I go by li, lia, lias, and liaself. It’s nice to meet you, [Name]. I’m sorry Kvalic seems to have abandoned you, ze does that with everyone. Ze seems to think that being dropped into a situation without help is the best way to learn, which is why it’s a very good thing ze isn’t in charge of anything except giving new hires the tour.”

“And just for the record!” A voice called out from the circle that [Name] recognized as Lern’s, “I’m not going to eat you, no matter what Kvalic else says! Ze’s just joking, and don’t know how to convey it!”

“No,” Another voice piped up, “Dy’m pretty sure at this point ze just refuses to learn. Dy’ve been here since the start and Dy tried to teach zim when Dy first met zim, and no matter how many times Dy explain it to zim, ze never listens. Ze doesn’t want to learn, ze thinks we should all just be able to magically tell when ze’s joking and when ze’s being serious.”

Yeah, that fit with what [Name] had seen of Kvalic so far. [They] shook [their] head in exasperation. “Doesn’t ze know how hard it is to read the tone and body language of an unfamiliar species?”

“Yes,” Oleili said, “But ze doesn’t care. Ze thinks its everyone else’s problem. There have been many complains to zis superiors, but no one ever does anything. We have a theory that ze’s a favorite sibling of one of the council members, but no one knows for sure.” Li stood, gesturing with lia head towards the crowded circle. “Enough about our annoying boss. Come sit with us, we can all properly introduce ourselves, and you can get something to eat. You get your first rations on the first full day you work, so you’ll get yours tomorrow, but we always pool ours, and there are plenty to go around.”

Li lead the way, and [Name] followed, grateful that the other workers were considerate enough this time to pull their legs and tails and other appendages out of the way so [they] could walk past them without worrying about stepping on anyone.

They’d all arranged themselves in circles around the stove in the middle of the clearing, with smaller people close to the fire and larger people in the back, though it didn’t seem to be a universal rule. Some people were sitting on the dirt or grass itself, some were sitting on blankets, and a few had cushions.

Oleili led [them] to an open space in the middle where li had been sitting on a dark green blanket, and someone threw a cushion so that it landed right in front of [Name]. [They] jumped in surprise, then called in the general direction it had come from, “Thanks!” right as another cushion flew through the air and slammed into [their] face.

It was heavy enough to knock [them] to the ground, and the shock of it left [them] dazed for a few seconds, trying to figure out what had happened and why [their] face and shoulder suddenly hurt.

The camp was suddenly humming with thunderous vibrations, but [they] couldn’t figure out what anyone was saying past the dull throb in the side of [their] head where it had hit the dirt.

[They] pushed [themselves] upright, lifting a frond to [their] face to make sure [they] wasn’t bleeding, and found [themselves] staring into Oleili’s single large eye, wide with concern, less than a few inches from [their] face. [They] jerked back instinctively, and felt the fragile metal of [their] hearing-aid dislodge even further.

Oleili backed up a bit to give [them] more space, and lia mandibles opened and closed, but [they] couldn’t make sense of it. Li didn’t have lips for [them] to read, and even if li did, [they] didn’t speak the language, and without [their] hearing-aid, [they] couldn’t hear or understand what anyone was trying to say.

[They] guessed that li was asking if [they] were okay, and lifted both [their] fronds to reassure lia, and did [their] best to say clearly, “I’m okay, my hearing-aid just got knocked loose, I can’t understand you, I have to fix it first.” [They] could feel it inside [their] ear, the two main pieces knocked out of the base. They were all connected with tiny wires that were rooted in [their] skull, so there wasn’t any danger of them falling out of [their] ear entirely, but [they] had to fix them before [they] would be able to hear or understand anyone that didn’t speak [their] territory’s sign-language.

Most of the other workers had gotten to their feet and gathered around [Name], as well as another person further back in the crowd that [they] couldn’t see past the gathered people, probably the person who’d thrown the second cushion. [Name] was giving them the benefit of the doubt and assuming that hitting [them] in the face had been an accident.

Oleili was trying to talk to [them] again, moving lia mandibles and gesturing with lia hands in a way that meant nothing that [they] could understand.

But there should be nothing stopping lia from understanding or hearing [them], so [they] said again, enunciating as best [they] could when [they] couldn’t hear the sounds [they] was making, “I’m not hurt, but my hearing-aid was knocked loose, and I have to get my friend to fix it for me. Can you show me the way back to the main entrance? They’re not a worker, they’re camped outside. I’ll know my way from there, I just don’t remember how to get back to the entrance. Can you show me?”

Trying to speak out loud when [they] couldn’t hear what [they] were saying was always hit or miss. [They] couldn’t tell if [they] were speaking too loudly, or not loudly enough.

Oleili seemed confused, but after a moment li deliberately nodded lia head, then glanced over lia shoulder to say something to the rest of the crowd.

Li turned back to [Name] and gestured for [them] to turn around, so [they] did so, heading back towards the spot where Kvalic had left [them] at the entrance to the clearing as the crowd parted to let [them] pass without issue, many of them looking concerned.

[They] resisted the urge to sigh as Oleili moved past [them] to lead [them] down the correct path. The annoyance wasn’t directed at lia though.

This was a frequent issue with [their] hearing-aid, and finding a solution was one of the major reasons [they]’d decided to come all this way to Bricklayer and work on the Great Machine.

The main reason was that the surgeons in Bricklayer were probably the only people within a year’s journey that could perform the surgeries that Aryl and Xaurec needed.

The other reason was that Kanta was looking for mates for the first time, and wanted the good luck that came with pairing with people who lived far away. Especially if xe could convince some of them to return with them when they went back to their territory, and bring their luck with them.

Hopefully some of that luck would rub off on [Name] so that [they] could find someone besides Xaurec who could fix [their] hearing-aid for [them]. Or so that [they] would be able to find someone who could permanently stabilize it sooner rather than later. Or maybe just someone who was smart enough to build an entirely new one from scratch.

The scientist who had created it for [them] had disappeared just as abruptly as he had appeared, dashing all over the territory with his companion like a kaliba that had broken into the stores of fermenting fruit. [Name] didn’t even know his name, he’d just called himself a doctor without elaborating further. [Name] didn’t know where he was from, who he was related to, or where [they] could find him again.

Maybe he would be here, working on the Great Machine, but he had disappeared so quickly that [Name] wasn’t going to get [their] hopes up. Maybe [they] would never see him again, and would just have to hope that [they] could find someone else who knew how to work the hearing-aid enough to fix it.

It obviously hadn’t been designed for twoqi use, unless whoever had designed it wanted it to be so obnoxious and inconvenient that at times [Name] was tempted to rip it out and throw it into the creek.

And oh, how convenient. There was a creek that ran parallel to the path Oleili was leading [them] down now, lia orange markings seeming to glow in the darkness. [They] could rip the darn thing out of [them] ear and chuck it in to be swept away if [they] wanted to.

But…[they] weren’t quite that annoyed with it just yet.

Xaurec could fix it for [them] tonight, and tomorrow, well tomorrow was [their] first day of labor, so [they] would have to wait and see what exactly that entailed before making any final decisions.

Until then, [they] followed Oleili into the deepening night, hoping things would be better in the morning.

[system-threat-detected]

Hello yes this is my gut reaction post to the new Horizon Forbidden West trailer. Ya know, besides the crying and dying. I will not be freaking out about the new machines here, that will be reserved for a different post, probably. Story elements and character stuff ONLY!

Anyways. Here we go.

HELLO miss Utaru woman, for some reason I thought you would be in the east and not the west, but I’m glad you’re here anyways. 

Looks like she is having some problems growing her crops because of this mysterious red plant. Who do we know is in charge of mysterious plants? That’s right! Our good friend DEMETER! I’m a little surprised we’re seeing such aggression from this flora-loving subfunction, especially since (I can only assume) it developed Corruption Glaze Root found ingame specifically to combat corruption poison. 

Speaking of subfunctions, who do we know is in charge of the weather? AETHER! It would seem we will be dealing with at LEAST two of the subfunctions we didn’t cover in Zero Dawn! I for one am excited to see how this is handled, since AETHER has always been a little nebulous to me. Maybe we’ll see some kind of airship base designed to help it monitor the atmosphere, or some tall mountain base. That landmass in the right of this screenshot looks suspiciously like it’s floating, but it could also simply be perched on top of something blocked by the scary red plant tendrils. 

Hello there. And who are YOU? Not enough blue to be Tenakth, too much armor to be Utaru, not enough red handprints to be a bandit, though it could be some kind of bandit superclan. Are those cannons on your arms? Whoever you are I love you. 

Are those palm fronds on your shaman friend in the background? I’m excited to meet you. 

Is that halfdome? Are we in northern California, Yosemite? This could be the new tribe’s territory, or possibly part of the Cut. 

But I think I’m going to have to go with a new tribe. Oseram do not dress like this, and they for SURE don’t know how to override machines. (yet)

The Bastard man Sylens has returned!!! And he’s watching something mysterious fall from the sky! What do we know that exploded on launch? That’s right kids! The spaceship Odyssey! In 2065, Elisabet Sobeck sent a message to the other Zero Dawn Alphas that Odyssey failed, presumably destroying everything on the ship, including the Alpha build of APOLLO *eyes emoji*. Could this be some debris from the ship, falling to earth from orbit?

Another theory is that AETHER has some kind of space station in the upper atmosphere, as that is its job. These could be energy bursts from it trying to cause some cool storms, like we saw earlier in the trailer harassing that poor Utaru woman. 

But back to Sylens. Looks like the Bastard Man himself is teaching this new tribe how to override machines. We saw in the end-credits scene that he recaptured HADES, and the red tendrils tell me that HADES is being forced to cooperate with Sylens’ plans, so now Sylens has an army, I guess. We know he’s only after knowledge, but will do anything to get it. So I’m interested to find out what he wants an army for. 

AND he took his lance back from the HORUS processor that HADES was occupying, and the Master Override with it. This scares me. Like a lot. Things are not looking good for the other subfunctions, or Aloy, who now has no way to purge them. Though I suppose since Sylens doesn’t have Alpha privileges, neither can he. 

Thanks buddy, I’m sure that won’t backfire on you or Aloy. My mans likes causing problems on purpose, apparently. 

Hello what’s this? Architecture like we’ve never seen before, or the arms of a Metal Devil. New dungeons to explore, or capital of the new tribe? 

The lightning and aspen trees suggests this is in Yosemite, so my best guess is this is an entrance to the new clan’s territory/their main city proper. I’m loving the painted(?) designs though. 

And of course, the underwater mechanic makes me think that we may run into POSEIDON, but the quick glance we were shown of swimming Aloy gave no insight as to where or what that subfunction might be doing.

In conclusion. I am very very very excited for this game. Sony take my money. 

[wafflesrock16]

Ink and Blooms

So, the amazingly talented @autodiscothings updated her fantastic fic Acts Of Repetition recently, and the latest chapter featured an incredibly lovely turian tattoo artist. Smitten, I asked Auto if I could write a lil thing with her boy and she agreed.

So! Here’s my ode to @autodiscothings sweet turian bae, Nous. Naturally I have a human lady falling for him because I am predictable trash.

Zenellia D’kafi, the asari matriarch who ran Thessian Impressions floral boutique was a force of nature when it came to cultivating new clients. 

“Everyone is a potential client,” she informed Faustine from behind a large mug of tea. “A random hanar apostle might wish to leave flowers as an offering to the Enkindlers. The elcor business man, away from home too frequently, would like a bouquet to send to his wife as a reminder he’s thinking of her.”

Faustine glanced up from where she was meticulously measuring out gold silk ribbon. “And Adamius Studios?” She glanced out the shop window to the studio across the street. It used to be a mattress store, though little of the building’s past life remained on the exterior. 

Zenellia smiled, the light sparkling in her cornflower eyes. “Nous Adamius,” she said, drawing out the surname. “Now there’s an artist who’s in demand. The tattooist of the elite.” She followed Fautine’s gaze. “Hmm. In his case, he’s hosting an art exhibition for select clientele next week. The who’s-who of wealth and influence will be there--they always show up for art exhibits.”

“And our supplying the floral arrangements might garner other high-end customers in addition to Nous,” Faustine surmised. 

“Smart girl,” Zenellia said, taking a prim sip of tea. “You know, I have a mind to let you finalize the arrangements with Mr. Adamius.”

“Really?” Faustine clasped her hands to her mouth with excitement. “A solo consult?”

Zenellia chuckled, leaning against the glass counter. “I’ve already discussed the arrangements with him, so this will just be hemming in the finer details. Where he wants the vases placed and so on. You’ve been with me on enough consultations and set-ups, you can do this on your own.”

“Thank you Miss Zenellia!” Faustine reigned herself in. “I can handle this,” she said, straightening her posture. “When do I meet with him?”

“Tomorrow morning, before his studio opens.”

                                                    **********

Faustine enjoyed fashion. And art and flowers and color. Her wardrobe was a blend of bright color and textures. Her grandmother used to say that she would have loved Earth back in the 1980’s and based on pictures she’d seen, Faustine was inclined to agree. 

But today was professional. Her mentor was trusting her to make a good impression and Faustine needed to represent Thessian Impressions while also simultaneously reassuring Nous--Mr. Adamius--that he’d made a wise choice in ordering floral arrangements for his event and should consider doing so again. 

Faustine chose a slate pant-suit with a violet camisole from the back of her closet. It was from an elite fashion line, but had been on clearance since it was from the year before. Still, as she slipped on black high heels, Faustine felt a sense of empowerment. 

She hesitated over her hair. Did turians even notice human hair? Should she take the extra effort to curl it? Deciding it couldn’t hurt, Faustine brushed, curled, and styled her auburn locks until they gleamed under the artificial bathroom lights. Some mascara and bright red lipstick completed the look and before she could second guess herself, she was hailing a skycar and then stepping out in front of Adamius Studios.

She normally walked to work, but doing so in heels was out of the question. These were shoes for show, not practicality. Pulling up her omni-tool, she contacted Mr. Adamius to let him know she was from Thessian Impressions and here to speak to him. 

The windows to the studio were opaque, but in a slow parade of light starting from the back of the building, the room lit up. The door opened as Faustine leaned closer to peer inside. 

“Hello.” 

“Hi! Mr. Adamius?”

He nodded, opening the door wider for her to enter. She’d seen him before, of course--he worked across the street. She’d never seen him up close, though. He was a good deal taller than her but held himself tightly like a curled fern frond. The effect gave him a shorter, hunched appearance. 

He had pale plates, not quite white, but a light tan. His hide was a deep molten red with eyes that reminded her of orange, autumn leaves. 

His most notable feature wasn't his eyes or plates or posture. He had bold, purple colony markings which ran in thick lines toward his eye sockets like a roadmap.The plating on his arms bore similar lines of the same color. Faustine wondered if colony markings extended all over the body. She’d never considered it before, but as she admired the bold, black, geometric patterns that spiraled away from his neck plating in a decorative collar, she decided that this was art, unrelated to the colony markings turians were so famous for. 

Mr. Adamius cleared his throat loudly and Faustine realized with racing horror that she’d been staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth like he were an exhibit on show. 

“Oh!” It was her turn to clear her throat. “Your tattoos are beautiful,” she murmured, looking at the floor. 

“Thank you.” His voice was soft. Not at all loud and bold like his art. “You work for Matriarch Zenellia?”

Faustine released a small sigh that they were moving on. “Yes, I’m her protege, as it were. She wanted me to finalize the details with you for next week.”

She smiled, tilting her head in a friendly manner. Mr. Adamius flicked out a mandible in what she associated as a turian smile, though he avoided looking her in the eyes. She wondered if that was a personality thing or something… maybe he doesn’t like me? 

“I was thinking of an arrangement on the reception desk and a few smaller vases along the wall,” Mr. Adamius said, pointing to where several bed posts were mounted and functioning as coat racks. A large, framed canvas sat beneath the racks. On it was what looked like an abstract shoal of fish with luminous, foreign script weaving through it. Faustine didn’t recognize the writing but felt it safe to assume it was turian.“I discussed using a mix of thessian, earth, and palaveni flowers,” Mr. Admius continued. “I want the color scheme to stay cobalt, gold, and white, but I’m open to flower types. Nothing too lavish, the art is the focal point.”

“Zenellia mentioned that,” Faustine said, wiping away any concerns about her likability for the moment. Pulling up her omni-tool, she moved closer to Mr. Adamius to show him the samples of different arrangements in the colors he’d requested. This close, she could smell a slightly acrid scent of what she assumed was ink. But overpowering that was a woody smell that reminded her of pine trees. Mr. Adamius smells like Christmas, she thought.

She glanced up at him from where he was admiring a proposed arrangement. He was wearing loose fitted clothes that placed his heavily inked hide on full display. Zenella had mentioned he was younger, but the asari considered everyone younger since she herself was 876 years old.

Nous seems like he’s my age. Maybe a little older. Early to mid thirties? 

“I like this one best,” he said, oblivious to her internal musings. Faustine looked at the arrangement he’d chosen. It was the one she’d put together. Not the four Zenella had proposed, but the one she had done. 

“I did that one,” she told him proudly. 

“It’s beautiful,” he said in a softer voice, looking not at her eyes, but seemingly her hair. “It’ll work perfectly for what I have planned.”

Instead of replying Faustine responded by grinning at him like an idiot. She was high on accomplishment, she’d convince herself later. But it was thanks to this that Mr. Adamius nervously glanced away, toward a small, unassuming painting partially concealed by the reception desk.

“Is that an anchor?” She pointed at the familiar shape which was the main subject of the painting. 

“Yes. I’m fond of the nautical themes found in all cultures. The convergence of design between them, be they human, asari, or turian. We’re all interconnected by the oceans of our worlds.” He let out a quiet hum, unfurling from his tightly held hunch. “It reminds me of my childhood, too, I suppose.”

“You grew up near the ocean?” Faustine asked curiously. “I thought turians weren’t the biggest fans of deep, open water. No offense!” she added, horrified she’d possibly insulted him. 

His easy chuckle immediately set her at ease. “Overall, you’re right. Most turians avoid the open ocean. But my homeworld is different.” His mandibles flicked outward as he looked down at his hands. The three fingers of his left hand each bore a small fish tattoo on the knuckle. “Rocam has a huge fishing industry. I grew up around the sea and fishing boats. My childhood involved lots of fishing and playing in the surf. Eating charred salmo around a beach fire with my grandparents. Listening to fisherman swap stories on the wharf.”

Faustine watched the fish tattoos flex with his fingers. Remembering the other canvas leaning against the wall, she looked closer at the framed picture. The fish looked like they were formed from ink splats, honed with a pen to give them more definition and shape.

“You did that?” she asked pointing. 

Turning, Mr. Adamius nodded. “I did all the nautical themed paintings in here,” he said. Faustine felt like the quiet, rolling subvocals under the spoken words were proud. 

“You’re so talented,” she sighed, feeling mildly envious. “Do you have other paintings like that one?”

“Yes, but they’re in the back. I’ll put them out next week for the exhibit.”

“Oh.”

“I…” a soft whine escaped through his tightly clamped mandibles. “Would you, um. Like to come to the exhibit?”

“Your art exhibit next week? Of course I’d love to go!” Faustine forced herself to school her features into a more poised look. “I mean, if you’re inviting me, I’d absolutely love to see the rest of your work.”

Nous let out a huff of air. “It’s not just my work, all the artists in the studio are going to display something. But if you’d like to come, I’d love to see you. At the event.” He cleared his throat, stepping away from her personal space which at some point he’d entered. 

“Thank you,” Faustine whispered, feeling a blush creep over her cheeks. “Um, I’ll let Zenella know which arrangement you selected and where and how many you wanted.” She made to head for the door, but forgetting her high heels, tripped and nearly collapsed face first into the deep blue and white rug.

A strong arm seized her around the waist and held her until she was steady on her feet again. “Damn shoes,” she muttered, more embarrassed then she’d been in years. “Nous, I--”

“Not a problem. Are you all right?”

“Fine, I’m fine. Only thing injured is my pride.” She gave him a sheepish smile, sure her face was beet red. 

For the first time since she’d entered his studio, Nous looked her in the eye. “Wounded pride isn’t the worst injury,” he said in that soft, smokey voice. 

She stared into the swirling amber of his irises. Turians had smaller eyes than humans, but their gaze was intense. She wondered what he thought about her own hazel eyes. 

He bowed his head after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I’ll see you at the exhibit?”

“Before that, actually,” she replied, blinking away whatever trance she’d fallen under. “I’ll bring the flowers by an hour before your exhibit starts.”

“I look forward to seeing you then.”

So do I, Faustine thought, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she headed out the door. So do I.

[slightlyaggressiveaffirmations]

Hello, my country is aggressively on fire

Hi there, fronds.

So, the queue is a little short, and I’m doing my best, but there is a possibility that it may run out and affirmations will stop posting for a while.

On the one hand, I’m frantically preparing for a conference where I’ll be speaking - if I manage to actually get there, because it means crossing a large stretch of the burning hellscape - about my trauma.

And on the other hand, you may have heard, everything is burning. So far, my house has not been in any danger from fires, but there has been serious smoke pollution that makes me quite ill at times. Today, smoke pollution is ten times the level that is considered hazardous, and twice the normal level of some of the most polluted cities in the world. I have a friend with a heart condition, and one with two tiny premature twins with weak lungs. My best friend’s sister in law has cancer and my own father has a lung disease. It’s fucking hell here, and today the sky is bright bright orange.

But at least we haven’t been in the fire. The sky turns pitch black in the middle of the day and you have to decide whether you will stay and defend your home with hoses and buckets, or evacuate. Typically, in an Australian bushfire, everyone evacuates to a school or a community hall or some other large facility. This year, some communities have fled to the beach, or the edge of the lake. Those who have boats have sailed away from shore, everyone wearing a mask, even the little babies, to protect them from the smoke. Those who don’t have a boat? They wait on the shore, and the firetrucks wait with them and then, as the fire comes so close they can feel the heat of it - they run into the water, carrying their children and their pets.

The fires are so big they create their own weather, not just heat, but storms - they cause lightning strikes, but not much rain. So the lightning strikes the dry bush, and new fires start ahead of the ones already burning. Last night, two coal seams caught alight, and the fire spread underground, popping up in two locations far from where it started.

23 people are dead so far, but I don’t think that includes the woman who died from the smoke inhalation, even though she was nowhere near a fire.

And as many as half a billion native animals have died. Very probably whole species have gone extinct. This might be it for the koala, but there are smaller, less famous, species that have a very small range and if fire burns the whole thing down, they can just be wiped out.

It’s bad. My family have our evacuation plan ready, and water stockpiled in case we get cut off because they need the supply for fires nearby. We live in the suburbs of a reasonably large city, but apparently that might not save us this time. These fires are huge and they throw up embers that start fires 30km away, so you have to be ready for anything.

If you have seen or heard about the disaster here, and you would like to help, I will share some legitimate organisations that you can donate to, underneath the cut. There are so many people (and animals) who have lost everything, and who have suffered so much.

Be awesome, fronds, and very best wishes to all my Aussie followers. I hope that you and your loved ones are safe.

- The Slightly Aggressive Affirmer

If you’d like to donate to the firefighters, here are the New South Wales and Victorian organisations. Those are two of the worst affected states:

NSW Rural Fire Service

Country Fire Authority Victoria

If you want to help the displaced and injured wildlife, this charity is distributing money where it is needed to local groups caring for animals:

Animals Australia

And WWF are raising funds for rehabilitation of animals and habitat after the fires are over:

World Wildlife Fund

If you want to help people who have lost their homes or loved ones, here are two organisations who are helping them:

Australian Red Cross

Foodbank

Australia says thanks.

[fluffyximagines]

This Feels Real

(Outer Banks) JJ Maybank x Reader

Summary: You and JJ agree to fake date, but over time your feelings begin to feel real. 

Word Count: 3709

A/N: I’m so sorry I haven't posted in a few days. This is by far the longest imagine I've written and I wasn't a fan so ended up rewriting it. Hope you enjoy :)

Please send in some requests, I'm struggling with ideas atm.

Masterlist

“What about Topper?” Your mum asked, “he seems like a nice boy.”

“For the last time, I don’t want a boyfriend.” You sighed, shaking your head. You stepped into your dress, getting ready for the Midsummers party.

Your mum was constantly trying to set you up with guys, normally the sons of her friends, and you knew tonight would be no different. It’s not like you were opposed to having a boyfriend, you just didn’t like any of the ones she introduced you to. You thought they were all snobby, arrogant and spoilt, but that pretty much described most of the people you knew. You couldn’t help but feel as though you never belonged in the world in which you were living. You could never relate to the people around you. While they were all more focused on materialistic things, you wanted something more. But nonetheless, you sucked it up, these friends, however out of place you may feel amongst them, were all you had.

—————

You were currently at the Midsummers party, trying to avoid your mother and whatever boy she was trying to set you up with this time. Out of nowhere you heard a loud commotion. You craned your neck, standing on the tip of your toes to try and see what was causing all the fuss. You could see a blonde boy being dragged out of the party by a security guard. You recognised the boy as JJ Maybank, you didn’t know him well but had seen him around from time to time, at parties, and working at the club where you and your parents frequented.

You watched as he was forced out of the party, but not before downing a few people’s drinks and causing a scene. You couldn’t help but giggle slightly it was about time something interesting happened at one of these events.

—————

After a while, you grew tired of all the small talk with your parents’ friends and colleagues, and decided you needed some air. You exited the party, heading towards the front of the club where you knew it would be quiet.

“Oh, hi” You smiled, noticing the blonde boy from earlier leaning against a wall at the front of the club.

He just nodded his head in your direction before turning to look away from you.

You watched as he brought the joint that he was holding up to his lips, taking a deep breath in. “Can I take a hit of that?” You asked, gesturing to the joint in his fingers.

“You couldn’t handle it.” JJ scoffed, shaking his head.

“I think I can handle a little weed.” You replied, a hint of sarcasm evident in your tone.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, passing you the joint.

You took a deep breath in, feeling the smoke burn in your lungs. You tried to hide your cough, but it was no use, you bent over in a coughing fit. You could see JJ smirking from out of the corner of your eyes.

“Told you that you wouldn’t be able to handle it.” JJ shook his head as he snatched the joint from your fingers, returning it to his lips.

“So, what happened back there?” You questioned, gesturing towards the party.

“Got fired.” JJ responded shortly, continuing to smoke his joint.

You watched the blonde-haired boy breathing in, and blowing out, the smoke from his joint. As you did, an idea began to form in the back of your mind, slowly developing in your head. A plan not only to get JJ’s job back but also to get your mother to back off you about getting a boyfriend.

“I can help get your job back.” You announced, causing JJ to turn and look at you with his eyebrows raised. “But you would have to do something for me in return.”

“What could a kook possibly want from me?” JJ let out a small laugh as he shook his head.

“I want you to be my boyfriend.” You proposed, watching as JJ chokes on the smoke from his joint.

“Being a little forward, aren’t you?” JJ joked, “at least take me out on a date first.”

“Not like my real boyfriend.” You rolled your eyes.

You began to explain to JJ the plan that you had devised. JJ would pretend to be your boyfriend, it was obvious that your parents would hate the weed smoking, criminal boy from the cut, therefore your mother would stop pestering you to get a boyfriend.

“What’s in it for me then?” JJ questioned.

“You get your job back, and you get to piss off some kooks.” You shrugged.

“That’s always a bonus.” JJ smirked as he considered your plan. Eventually he nodded his head, “fine, I’m in.”

You jumped in excitement when you heard JJ agree, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to your body. Realising what you were doing, you pulled back and cleared your throat, “sorry.” You reached out, signalling for JJ to shake it.

Once the two of you shook on it, you suggested it was a good idea for the two of you to make a contract. “We need something on paper, detailing the rules and boundaries.” You argued. JJ was hesitant at first, disagreeing with the suggestion that the two of you needed to follow set rules, “why can’t we just go with the flow?” Eventually he agreed, and so the two of you started making a list. The two of you would ‘date’ for 3 months, and in this time, you would attend parties together, meet each other’s friends, and just generally act like a couple. And of course, neither of you could tell anyone about your deal. You made sure to include your end of the deal, that you would help JJ get his job back. Once the 3 months were up, you would ‘break up’ and the two of you would go your separate ways.

“Oh, and one more thing.” You quickly added before you finalised the contract. “Under no circumstances do we fall for each other.”

“That won’t be a problem.” JJ smiled, “for me at least.”

And with that, the two of you finalised your plan, signed the contract, and your 3 months together began.

—————

Over the next few weeks, you and JJ began to hand out more and more. You introduce him to your friends, who made it pretty clear that he is not welcome within your friendship group, and he introduces you to the Pogues. Immediately, you become frond of the Pogues. You love how carefree and relaxed they are, spending most of your days with them out on the boat, drinking, soaking up the sun, and just having a good time.

The more you hang out with JJ, the more you begin to see the different sides to him. Like an onion, he was many different layers to him, some more obvious then others. You can clearly see how much he cares about his friends, and how he would do anything for the people that he cares about. You notice how easy it is for you to talk to JJ, about anything, and everything, the conversation just always seems to flow. Not to mention, he never fails to make you laugh, he sure is a funny guy. You begin to care for the blonde boy, looking forward to seeing him, all the while remaining aware of the nature of your relationship. You would not, could not, allow yourself to develop feelings for the boy, not when things must end in a couple of months.

—————

“What are you wearing?” You hissed, as you and JJ stood out the front of your house.

“A shirt.” JJ gave you a confused look.

“You weren’t supposed to get dressed up.” You explained in a frustrated tone. “They are supposed to hate you.”

“I wanted it to look like I at least tried.” JJ shrugged, not understanding why it bothered you so much, and feeling a bit hurt that you didn’t appreciate his effort to dress up for you.

You had invited JJ over for lunch so that your parents could meet your new boyfriend. So far, you had told your parents very little about JJ, and they had absolutely no clue you were dating someone from the cut, let alone him. You had to admit, you were pretty excited to see their faces when they realised that JJ was the boy that you had been spending so much time with. After all, JJ did have a terrible reputation for constantly getting arrested, something your parents were most definitely aware of.

“Mum, Dad, this is JJ.” You introduced JJ as you led him into the kitchen where your parents were. You saw both your parents faces fall as they saw JJ.

“Hi Mr and Mrs Y/L/N.” JJ gave them a small wave. “It’s really nice to meet you both.”

“Hello JJ.” Your mum tried to be polite, obviously faking a smile.

“Y/N can we talk to you.” You could see your dads face going red with anger, before he turned to look at JJ, “alone.”

JJ just nodded before walking into the next room, leaving you and your parents alone in the kitchen.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Your dad yelled, pointing towards the room where JJ was now standing.

“He’s my boyfriend.” You shrugged, “I wanted you guys to meet him.”

“He’s not welcome in my house.” Your dad shook his head, beginning to pace around the kitchen.

“Let’s just enjoy our lunch, we can discuss this later.” Your mum tried to calm your dad down.

You were now all sitting at your dining room table, JJ next to you, and your parent’s opposite. There was a tense silence in the air, no one was speaking. Both your parents were glaring at JJ from across the table. You were beginning to feel guilty for dragging JJ into this, but it was too late to back out now.

“The food looks really nice.” JJ broke the silence, smiling at both your parents. You gave JJ a reassuring smile when he looked at you to help him.

Before you could think of anything to say, your dad cleared his throat. “Why are you dating my daughter?”

“Well, I really like her.” JJ replied, struggling with what to say.

“Why?” Your dad continued to question him.

“Well she’s beautiful, and funny, and she’s not like anyone I’ve ever met before.” You couldn’t help but blush slightly as you listened to JJ’s words, something you very quickly tried to hide.

“How did you two meet?” You felt your stomach drop as your dad asked this question, you and JJ hadn’t talked about what you would tell your parents. JJ couldn’t tell them the truth, if they knew that you had attended parties at the cut, your parents would not hesitate to ground you.

“We have mutual friends.” You quickly answered the question before JJ could say anything.

“What friends? None of the friends we know would know someone like this.” Your dad questioned you, giving JJ a disgusted look when referring to him.

“Why are you being so rude!” You snapped at your dad, beginning to get frustrated at the way he was treating JJ.

“Y/N I don’t think your dad meant it like that.” Your mum interjected. “We are just worried; this family has a certain reputation to uphold.”

“What’s that supposed to mean.” You defended JJ.

“She means I’m not good enough for you.” JJ explained, giving you a sad smile.

“No, I just mean I want something better for my daughter. You aren’t the sort of person I want her associated with.” Your mother tried to explain, before realising that she wasn’t making it any better.

“But what if this is what I want.” You stood from your seat at the table, taking JJ’s hand and dragging him behind you. “We’re leaving.”

“Thank you for lunch.” JJ called from the doorway as you dragged him out of your house.

“Your parents are a bit harsh.” JJ joked once the two of you were standing out the front of your house.

“I’m sorry about that.” You shook your head, looking down at your feet.

“The plan was to make them mad.” JJ shrugged, “mission accomplished.”

“I know, but I didn’t expect them to say all that to your face.” You frowned.

“Most people just say it behind my back.” JJ nodded his head.

“You know what they said isn’t true, right?” You looked JJ in the eyes.

“Isn’t it?” You could see the sadness in JJ’s eyes as he said this.

“Of course it’s not.” You reached up to brush your thumb over JJ’s cheek. “I’d be lucky to have a boyfriend like you.”

“But I am your boyfriend.” JJ teased, letting out a small chuckle.

“I mean a real boyfriend.” You pulled your hand away, averting your gaze from JJ’s eyes.

“Yeah, right.” JJ sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I should go, see you later.”

You watched as JJ walked away from your house, sighing at the thought of facing your parents inside. You couldn’t help but feel disappointed in the way your parents had reacted to JJ. No. You shook that feeling, they weren’t supposed to like him, this was the plan after all.

—————

You were at a party that the Pogues had thrown at the boneyard. You had spent most of the night drinking and laughing with JJ. You couldn’t help but blush when you noticed that whenever a guy tried to hit on you, JJ would get overly protective. He would appear out of nowhere, wrap his arm around your waist, and press a kiss to your cheek, making sure to tell everyone that you were his girl.

The two of you were dancing, if you could call it that. You had drunk quite a bit that night and couldn’t do a lot other than stand there and sway. Luckily, JJ was there to help look after you, and hold you steady so that you didn’t fall over.

Suddenly, you tripped on JJ’s foot, falling into his chest. You looked up at JJ, your breath hitching in your throat as you noticed how close your face was to his. You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning in closer and placing your lips to his. You felt his soft lips brushing against yours. He tasted like beer and weed, something that only drew you closer.

JJ took a sharp breath in, before slowly pulling away, his hands on your shoulders to hold you out in front of him. His eyes were wide in surprise and his mouth slightly open, you couldn’t help but giggle at the look of shock on his face.

“Gotta make it look real.” You leaned up to whisper in JJ’s ear.

“Yeah, right.” JJ nodded. Of course, you were too drunk to notice, but there was a clear look of disappointment on JJ’s face as he listened to your words. Obviously, it had all just been for show.

—————

It was almost midnight when you heard a small tap on your window. You walked toward the window, looking out to see a familiar blonde head.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” You whispered as you slid your window open.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.” JJ climbed through your window, stumbling slightly and landing on your floor.

“JJ what’s going on.” You questioned, beginning to get worried.

“It’s not a big deal.” For the first time JJ lifted his head to look at you. You gasped as you took in his appearances, his face was littered with bruises, and his lip was bleeding.

“It looks like a big deal.” You quickly made your way to the bathroom, returning with the first aid kit. “Did you get in another fight with Topper or Rafe?”

“No.” JJ shook his head, “my dad he…” You just nodded, not wanting to push JJ to say more than he wanted to.

Once you had finished cleaning his wounds, JJ went to climb back out the window.

“Where are you going.” You asked, sitting down on your bed.

“Home, I guess.” JJ answered.

“You can spend the night here.” You offered.

“No, I shouldn’t.” JJ shook his head. “What if your parents find out?”

“I don’t care about them.” You frowned, looking over JJ’s bruises again. “I’m not letting you go home.”

JJ just nodded, climbing into bed next to you. You wrapped your arms around him, giving him a small squeeze. “Thanks Y/N.” JJ whispered.

“Always.” You whispered, gently rubbing your fingers in circles to comfort him.

—————

“You know what tomorrow is right?” You were out on the boat with JJ and the Pogues. You had your head resting on JJ’s chest as you soaked up the sun.

“What’s tomorrow?” JJ whispered into your ear.

“Our 3-month anniversary.” You answered, frowning slightly.

“Oh.” As JJ spoke, you felt his body tense up from behind you.

“Yeah.” You sighed.

“So I guess that means we’re done.” JJ answered.

“Yeah guess so.” You nodded.

That evening when you got back to the shore, you couldn’t help but feel sad, every part of you wanted to stay there with the Pogues forever. You had grown close to the Pogues over the past few months, you couldn’t imagine what you were going to do without them, especially JJ. It took everything in for you to leave John B’s that night, knowing you would probably never return. Of course, the Pogues didn’t understand why you had been acting so weird, still not being aware of the plan between you and JJ. As you went to leave, JJ offered to walk you home. The two of you were silent as you walked, neither of you wanting to be the first to say goodbye and admit that it was over.

“Well thanks for everything.” You smiled as you reached your front door.

“Yeah you too.” JJ nodded, looking anywhere but at you.

You leaned in to give JJ a hug, probably the last hug you would ever have with him. JJ’s arms held you close, squeezing tighter for a few moments before finally letting you go. You watched as JJ walked away, his head hung low, you wanted more than anything to run after him, but you wouldn’t.

—————

“I miss her.” Kie frowned as her and the rest of the Pogues sat in John B’s lounge room. JJ had eventually told them the truth about the two of you, giving in after endless questions about why you had broken up so suddenly.

“It’s not the same without Y/N.” Pope agreed.

“Dude, why don’t you just text her?” John B turned to look at JJ.

“Obviously you miss her.” Kie nodded.

“Doesn’t matter, none of it was real.” JJ shook his head.

“Looked real to me.” Kie shrugged.

“Nah, not to her.” JJ gave a sad smile.

Meanwhile, you were laying in your bed, watching another sappy romance movie.

“I think you should call him.” Your mum appeared in the doorway to your room.

“Mum, I told you we broke up.” You shook your head.

“Yes, but I don’t understand why.” She entered your room, taking a seat next to you on your bed.

“Just didn’t work.” You shrugged, not even bothering to think of a proper reason. “Not like you liked him anyway.”

“Maybe he wasn’t the person I imagined you with but I’ve never seen you as happy as you were with him.” Your mum began, causing you to turn your head and look at her. “At the end of the day, your father and I just want you to be happy, and it’s pretty obvious you are with JJ.”

You just nodded as tears started to form in your eyes. Your mum was right. You and JJ had started as a lie, but the feelings you had developed for him were real. With JJ, and with the Pogues, it was the first time you had felt like you really belonged, the first time you felt like you had people that really understood you. But how could you tell JJ that, after all, it’s not like he felt the same way.

—————

“Come in.” You called, hearing a knock on your bedroom door. You assumed it was your mum, the last person you expected to see was JJ.

“Hey.” JJ smiled as he entered your bedroom.

“What are you doing here?” You pushed yourself up in your bed so you were in a sitting position.

“You texted me to come over.” JJ gave you a confused look.

“What?” You began looking for your phone, before realising that it wasn’t in your room. “My mum.”

“Oh.” JJ’s smile fell from his face. “I can just go.”

“Wait.” You quickly reached out to grab JJ’s arm, stopping him from walking away.

“Yeah?” JJ turned to look at you.

“Umm.” You hesitated, nervous to tell JJ what you actually wanted to say. “I miss you. And the Pogues. Hanging out with you guys, it was the first time I actually felt like I belonged. And I know you and I were fake but it started to feel like something more.” A blush formed on your cheeks as you realised that you had just blurted that out. You turned your head away, avoiding eye contact with JJ.

“It felt real to me too.” JJ placed his hand on your cheek, turning your face to look at him.

“We sound like all the cheesy movies I’ve been watching.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“Y/N will you be my girlfriend? For real this time.” JJ asks, running his thumb over your cheek.

You didn’t answer, instead opening your drawer and pulling out the contract you and JJ had constructed 3 months prior. JJ watched as you tore it apart into tiny little pieces, the two of you chuckling. Once you were done, you placed your lips to JJ’s. The two of you remained like that for a few moments, before pulling away. You had a huge grin on your face, and you could see that JJ had one exactly the same.

[nitewrighter]

Gency Week Day 4: Storm

Been a while since I’ve written some proper main continuity action, innit?

---

Mei took a deep breath and adjusted her glasses as their dropship rocked hard in the wind. 

“Back in the old days,” she said as lightning flashed outside the ship’s windows, “It was always assumed that EcoWatch would work hand in hand with Overwatch’s disaster relief. As a researcher, I... I never thought I would, or I suppose I hoped I would never actually be in this role, but as it stands...” she gave a glance back to Tracer in the cockpit, but Tracer was too busy just trying to keep the dropship from being torn apart by the winds. Mei looked back at Genji, Mercy, and Symmetra and Mercy gave her an encouraging nod. “As it stands, Winston has placed me in charge of this mission. We’re to oversee the safe evacuation and shelter of any remaining civilians in the area. Orisa will be working with the evacuees the most closely, keeping them calm and organized. I’ll be using my ice walls to keep the worst of the flooding off of our evacuation paths. Ms. Vaswani, I’m counting on you to keep aerial debris off of civilians and open up teleporters to get our own teammates out of any dangerous situations. Doctor Ziegler, you’ll be overseeing any injured civilians, and Genji and Tracer will scout the surrounding areas for stranded survivors.”

“You can count on us!” said Tracer, and everyone’s ears stung with pressure as Tracer started bringing the dropship down. Mercy’s stomach lurched with their shaking in the storm and Genji looked over at her. Her lips were thinned. Back in the old days, Overwatch would be able to operate relief missions like this with far more resources, collaborate more with the locals, but as it stood, the six of them were the most help they could offer. They touched down on the roof of a parking garage and stepped out into harsh winds and prickling, sideways-spraying rain. Terrapin, Florida wasn’t exactly a massive city, but it was quite densely populated due to it being a cheaper alternative to a lot of resorts and more glamorous and metropolitan cities in the area, housing much of the service workers who worked in the theme parks, restaurants, and hotels of the keys and barrier islands around it. The wind was whipping mist off the ocean, the beach was completely gone under a surging tide, and the palm trees were whipping around in the wind.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” said Orisa, looking around.

“It’s not that different from that Havana mission!” said Tracer, clearly trying to keep everyone calm. But she flinched hard as lightning cracked across the sky.

“...It’s worse,” said Genji and Mercy at the same time.

“Vishkar has done disaster relief before,” said Symmetra, catching her black hair from whipping around her face and tying it back in a hard-light secured bun, “But attempting it while the disaster is occurring is a... new challenge.”

“I’ve always said I hoped we get less combat-focused missions,” said Mercy, stepping alongside Genji as she watched the wind tear off fronds of palm trees, “I suppose this is one of those ‘Be careful what you wish for’ situations.”

She felt a hand touch her shoulder and looked over to see Genji, staring out into the whirling gray rain smacking into the Florida coastline. 

“Be careful, Angela,” he said softly. His expression was unreadable beneath his visor and faceplate, but she felt his fingers tense slightly on her arm, and she could almost word for word guess his thoughts.

Please don’t fly out in that mess. 

But it wasn’t something he could actually say--they knew their mission. It was all she could do to put her hand over his and say, “You too.”

“Let’s go, everyone!” said Mei, firing off her cryo gun into an icy slope down the side of the building and sliding down it.

“Wow!” a laugh shook Tracer’s voice as she took off after Mei down the slope. Genji and Mercy took off in suit, and Orisa looked nervously over the side of the building.

“Um...” said Orisa. But Symmetra just gave her a sympathetic smile and opened up a teleporter.

“Thank you,” said Orisa, stepping into it.

---

If there was ever a mission that Mei was born for, it was this one. She was erecting ice walls this way and that, stopping floods and mudslides in their paths instantaneously as Orisa stood next to her, directing the bulk of civilians to their evacuation points and keeping their paths shielded from debris with her shield and graviton charges. The rain had soaked everyone through to the skin within seconds, but hardly anyone noticed with all the running around they were doing. Genji and Tracer were darting through the city, Genji using his ninja agility to scale buildings half-torn apart by the hurricane, and tracer darting alongside him with her blinks and acrobatic springs.

“Hulloooo!” Tracer called over the roar of the wind.

“Helloooo!” Genji yelled as well. 

“Hello!” A voice weakly called from one building’s window. 

“Genji!” Tracer said in alarm.

“On it!” said Genji, springing off the roof of a half-submerged car and then grabbing onto the building’s fire escape, scrambling upward. He opened a window, half-stuck with rot from the rain and saw an old woman in a wheelchair in her dark apartment. She gasped and flinched away from him.

“It’s okay,” he said bringing up his hands, “I’m with Overwatch.”

“You’re one of those horrible omnics!” said the old woman, shrinking back in her chair. 

“I’m--I’m not--” Genji started but Tracer zipped through the window in a blue flash.

“Anyone injured?” said Tracer.

“Oh!” the old woman in the chair said, “I know you! Miss Tracer! Thank heavens you’re here! This omnic came in to finish me off!”

“But I’m not--” Genji started but he cut himself off as Tracer put a hand on his arm.

 “Crisis survivor,” Tracer muttered under her breath to Genji, “Better let me take care of this.”

Genji huffed and gave Tracer a nod. “I’ll check the rest of the building,” he said under his breath as Tracer stepped up alongside the old woman.

“Don’t worry, ma’am!” said Tracer, loading the old woman up into a piggyback position from her wheelchair, “We’ll get you to the evac centers right quick!” 

“They’re in the streets!” the old woman wailed.

“Yes, omnics are evacuating too...” said Tracer with a slight sigh in her voice.

The two of them zipped out onto the fire escape in a blue flash as Genji stepped out of the apartment and into he hallway.

“‘Horrible omnics,’“ Genji muttered to himself under his breath, as he paced through the rain-sodden halls of the building, gingerly hopping over bits of broken glass, “Who would be worrying about omnics in the middle of a hurricane?”

He caught something purple out of the corner of his eye and stopped walking, turning his head to see several large purple metal hexagons clawing into the building’s walls. He put a hand over them, hearing them thrumming with power despite this section of the city’s grid being shut off to prevent electrocuting water or gas leaks. He had seen purple power siphons like this littering city years before, in London. His stomach lurched. He brought a hand to the side of his helmet, “Mei?” he said over the comm network, “I think the situation is more complicated than just disaster relief.

-----

Mercy could hear the steel bars of the baseball stadium’s retractable roof rattling with the storm. Terrapin’s local government had done its best to turn the place into a temporary hurricane shelter. Hundreds of cots had been set up across the green, and the culmination of all the human voices inside made Mercy feel like she was in a beehive. and people paced in the stadium seating above, desperate to get away from the mass of panicking bodies below, but knowing they would find no grace from the storm. Already the place was beginning to stink, supplies like diapers and toilet paper were rapidly dwindling, and tensions were already high with everyone holed up in the same building as their omnic neighbors.

“Hold still, this may sting a bit,” said Mercy, her face covered by a surgical mask as she patched up a young man’s leg.

“Why are they even here?” muttered the man, looking at several Omnics chatting with each other.

“They live in this city same as you,” said Mercy, focusing on cleaning the wound.

 “It’s not like they can drown or get infections from the flooding,” he scoffed, “They shouldn’t be taking up space in here...”

A week or so ago, everyone here would have no problem attending a sporting event here with each other, thought Mercy, Fear and loss on this scale...

“That’s as clean as I can get it,” said Mercy, forcing herself back to reality as she looked up at the young man, “The biotics can prevent a myriad of septic conditions, but if that wound was exposed to floodwaters, you’ll still need a round of antibiotics just to be safe. You’ll have to head to the clinic for that.”

“...didn’t you just say you patched up my leg with biotics?” said the man tilting his head.

“Well--yes, but when we talk about these biotics, we’re referring to a molecular-scale robot that can repair cells and tissue, but obviously that’s a mouthful so ‘Biotics’ was largely branding because ‘bio’ means--”

 “Doctor Ziegler?” Mei suddenly buzzed in on Mercy’s comm.

“Excuse me for a second,” said Mercy standing up and putting a hand to the side of her halo, “Yes, Mei?”

“Satya Vaswani has missed our 15 minute check in,” said Orisa over the comm.

“...that’s definitely not like her,” said Mercy, alarmed. She glanced back over her shoulder at the rows of displaced people, some lying down on their cots, oters bickering with their neighbors. The medical staff were so shorthanded as it was, but she had to look after her team as well.

“Is something wrong?” said the man, whose leg she had treated, noting her change in expression, “Did something happen with the storm?”

“It’s fine--I just have to check in with my team. I’ll be back. More help is coming, I promise,” said Mercy taking a few brisk steps away. She tried to look as calm as possible walking towards the exit of the dome. which turned into speedwalking as calmly as possible, which turned into a full on run as soon as she was in the exit corridors of the dome and out of sight, which turned to her spreading her Valkyrie wings and heading out into the storm. She was sideswiped hard by the wind as soon as her feet left the ground, but she braced herself, getting buffeted by that same hard-slapping rain and twigs and leaves and litter caught up in the wind as she ascended. 

“--can--you---signal out there?” Tracer’s voice came in broken over the comm, but Mercy was able to piece together her point.

“My halo’s biofeed should be able to find her!” Mercy yelled over the roar of the wind.

“Be care--” Tracer sounded in her ear but cut out with static. 

“A-gel--” Genji’s voice came in, “--ull sec--”

“Genji, you’re cutting out,” said Mercy, but a ‘Critical’ icon flashed in the corner of her field of vision. She gasped and flew toward it, sometimes getting blown completely off course by a hard wind or narrowly dodging a large piece of debris. Satya was a few blocks away in a flooded section of town, but had constructed hard-light windbreaks, pontoons, and platforms to create pathways through the flooded areas for civilians. Their unnatural whiteness made them easily stand out amidst the haze of the storm and the muck of the flooding. Mei definitely picked well for this mission, thought Mercy, before she spotted Satya and gasped.

Satya was lying on her side on one of her hard-light pontoons, strands of black hair sticking to her face, her photon projector still gripped in one hand and a gash in her side, her legs trailing into the floodwaters. Mercy swiftly glided to her. 

“Satya!” Mercy turned her over on her back and activated the healing on her staff to treat the gash in Symmetra’s side, pulling her out from the water. “Satya?!” 

Satya just coughed and groaned in response and Mercy sighed with relief that she hadn’t completely lost consciousness.

She must have gotten hit by debris, thought Mercy. She huffed and activated the healing on her staff as she scooped Symmetra up, “Stay awake. I’ll get you to safety,” she said, spreading her valkyrie wings.

“F’reeha...” Symmetra murmured deliriously.

“I’m afraid it’s just Angela,” said Mercy with a sigh as she took off.

 Satya’s extra weight at least gave her a bit more inertia--sure she was moving more slowly, but the wind wasn’t knocking her around as much, which was a bit of a relief in itself.

“The omnic...” Symmetra trailed off as she curled into Mercy’s arms.

“An Omnic has a better chance of surviving this than you do in your current state,” said Mercy, continuing to fly back towards the stadium, “Just focus on staying awake.”

“Mm...” Satya awkwardly pressed her prosthetic hand against Mercy’s face.

“Satya, I can’t fly if you’re--” Mercy heard the soft ‘vworp’ of Satya placing a shield around them both.

“...you arrre protected...” Satya mumbled, her arm slumping down to her side again.

“Mercy, were you able to find Symmetra?” Mei spoke over her comm.

“She’s been injured,” said Mercy, “I’ve stabilized her with biotics for now, but she’s in no condition to keep working out here.”

“Doc, we gotta regroup now! The area’s not secure!” said Tracer, cutting in on the line.

“Have you seen any signs of Null Sector?” Genji piped up over the comms. 

“Null sector?” said Mercy when suddenly the water exploded behind her.

She didn’t even have time to look over her shoulder, flight instinct kicked in, she held Satya tight against her and flew as fast as she could. She heard a metallic scream behind her, that warped binary that would make her ears ache during the London uprising, and she looked over her shoulder then. It wasn’t as big as a svyatogor, but then again, it didn’t have to be. It was purple, almost centaur-like, like Orisa, but the metal plates over its back legs were squat at the sides and were angled and jointed like a crab, and the plates along its back were laminar like a lobster. One of its arms was equipped with a massive gun and the other had a pipe-wrench like claw. 8 orange lights blinked out from its head indifferently at Mercy as she flew away as fast as she could. It fired a massive plasma charge at her from its gun arm and Mercy narrowly dodged it. It hit the floodwaters just ahead of her and sent up a foaming burst of brown water. Satya grunted in her arms and shook her head in the spray.

“The omnic!” she cried out in alarm and winced hard, her hand going over her side.

“Try not to move too much,” said Mercy, her eyes stinging from the rain slapping her face.

“Look out!” said Satya and Mercy narrowly dodged another plasma charge. Satya grunted as she brought up her photon projector, firing off a few sparking blue orbs at the monstrous omnic as cover fire. The lobster omnic let out another binary screech and submerged beneath the floodwaters and Mercy suddenly froze in mid air, looking around for the orange lights beneath the murky, churning surface. 

“Doc!” Mercy heard a shout and looked over to the side to see Tracer, now armed with her pulse pistols, darting over the island-like rooftops. The omnic surged back up from beneath the water and slammed down its claw appendage on the roof Tracer was on. Tracer recalled out of the way and fired at the claw, her pulse pistols steaming in the rain. Satya managed to fire off an energy ball from her photon projector that crackled into the side of the Omnic’s head as it focused on Tracer. It screamed as it swiveled its head toward them and Tracer unloaded another pulsefire clip into it from below to try and distract it.

Get out of the way get out of the way, get out of the way-- Mercy thought desperately as she flew and dove, out of the plasma charges the omnic shot at her and Symmetra. Water splashed up and flooded buildings exploded in bursts of wet splintered wood and concrete as Mercy tried to dodge as best she could with Symmetra’s extra weight slowing her down, only to look over her shoulder and see another plasma charge hurtling toward them. Symmetra threw up a photon barrier in the nick of time to absorb the shock, but it shattered and the plasma charge exploded on impact, sending both Mercy and Symmetra spinning through the high winds, out of control. Then suddenly, they both felt the sensation of yanking as they were caught up in a green flash and a strong metal arm grabbed them from the wind.

“Agent Vaswani, you are injured!” said Orisa, holding them both in her arms and putting up a shield in front of the three of them.

“I’m--ngh--aware,” said Symmetra as Mercy kept a steady tether of biotics on her.

“Orisa!” Mercy huffed with relief as Orisa set her on the ground and set Symmetra on her back. Orisa fired off a blaze of green rounds from her fusion driver at the Omnic, causing it to screech and submerge once more, leaving them in the hammering rain.

“We came as quick as we could!” said Mei, and Mercy looked behind her to see bridges of ice made between the roofs of flooded buildings. 

“It’s some new amphibious mech,” said Tracer, darting back to them in a blue flash and looking out over the edge, “Like the Gwishin!”

“Null sector must be hoping to use the hurricane to establish a foothold here,” said Mei, furrowing her brow.

“The mission’s gone from relief to combat,” said Mercy. 

“The priority remains the same! We must protect the civilians!” said Orisa. Mercy gave a worried look back at the stadium. They were a decent ways away, but this omnic could move faster underwater. An alarmed thought flashed in her mind.

“Where’s Genji!?” said Mercy, suddenly, looking for him in her biofeed.

“His comm has been cutting out,” said Mei. 

“Well the smart thing for him to do would be informing the local authorities that Null Sector’s here so they can speed up evacuation on the stadium, then heading back to the dropship and hailing Winston for backu--” Tracer started but there was another binary screech as the omnic rose out of the water again.

“Brace yourselves!” said Orisa as the omnic roared in binary.

Mercy raised her blaster but then there was a great green flash across the omnic’s middle. Mercy watched as Genji somersaulted through the air and landed lightly on another rooftop, his feet sliding slightly in the powerful winds and on the wet-saturated surface. 

“...or he could be doing the Genji thing and being wherever the fighting is,” said Tracer with a shrug.

“Is everyone all right?!” Genji called to them.

“We’re fine!” Tracer called back to him.

“Mostly...” said Symmetra, noting the bloodstain on her dress. The omnic fired a plasma charge at him and he dodged out of the way of one and deflected the other with a flash of his blade. The deflected plasma charge burst into the Omnic’s shoulder and it screeched with a fury before smashing the building roof he was on. Genji bounded across Mei’s ice bridges, tossing shuriken at it all the while to keep its attention on him. From behind Orisa’s shield, Mercy, Symmetra, Tracer, and Orisa hit the Omnic with all the firepower they could as Mei focused on freezing the floodwaters around the omnic to keep it from submerging again. The omnic screeched and with a hard swipe of its lobster-like tail sent the five of them flying in a spray of water, ice, and broken cement. 

“Angela!” in the roar of wind and rumble of ice and cement and water, Mercy could hear Genji calling her name.

Symmetra held onto Orisa tight and with a hard sweep of her arm materialized a massive hard-light platform over the flood waters that they all tumbled onto with pained grunts.

“Is everyone--” Mei started.

“Move, move, MOVE!” shouted Tracer as the omnic smashed its massive claw down towards them. They only barely made it onto another rooftop when the hard-light platform was smashed behind them and the Omnic submerged again. With the chunks of ice in the water, the team could now make out the rough shape of the omnic as it swam through the floodwaters. Mercy’s eyes flicked up from the flooded street to the direction it was swimming in.

“It’s headed for the stadium!” she blurted out.

“So we get ahead of it!” said Tracer, darting after it and shooting at it, forcing it above the surface to return fire at her, “Keep its attention on us!”

“Satya,” Mei turned to Symmetra, “How far ahead of it can you get me?”

Symmetra, still slumped across Orisa, opened up a teleporter, “Hopefully far enough.”

“Doctor Ziegler! Genji! I need you two and Tracer to distract it!” shouted Mei, “Satya and Orisa, you’re with me!”

Mercy pushed up from the ground and flew over to Genji, he recognized her flightpath almost instantly and lifted an arm. She snatched him off the roof and they were both hit with hard winds and rain as they flew towards the omnic.

“How close can you get us?” said Genji, throwing shuriken at the omnic.

“I can’t dodge as easily with these winds and your extra weight,” said Mercy.

Genji watched as Tracer raced next to the Omnic, pulling a pulse bomb out of the interior of her jacket, then looked ahead to Mei throwing out snowball into the flooded path of the Omnic as Symmetra tossed out several turrets and Orisa laid down a new barrier, “You only need a few seconds.”

Mercy followed his line of sight and gave him a nod. She swept him in close and he drew Ryū Ichimonji from his back, slashing across the lobster plating of the Omnic. The Omnic turned around and roared at them, only to get a face-full of caduceus blaster rounds and shuriken, before it suddenly got caught by Orisa’s graviton charge, stumbled and fell into a mess of muddy, icy sludge stirred up by Mei and snowball. 

“Try swimming in that!” said Mei, further freezing it in place with her cryo-gun.

Blue beams from Symmetra’s turrets locked it into place and Tracer raced up the length of its body and stuck a pulse bomb on the side of its head before recalling away. The omnic’s screech was cut short as the pulse bomb went off. A shock rippled through the omnic’s form with the force of the bomb until the mass off metal was finally still, sliding down Mei’s hill of ice and sludge blocking the street, slowly sinking back into the water flooding the streets of the city for a final time.

Mercy let herself and Genji drift back down to the roof the others were convening on. The six of them looked out over the edge into the murky flood waters, all of them with their weapons at the ready for a few tense, silent seconds, the rain beating down on all of them. They watched as the orange lights of the Null Sector omnic’s head blinked out into darkness, and then all of them collectively exhaled, completely exhausted.

“We’ll...” Mei took off her glasses to try and wipe the rain off of them, “We’ll need to get in contact with Winston. Ask for backup.”

“Overwatch is still illegal,” said Symmetra, sliding down off Orisa’s back but still leaning on her for support, “And there’s no doubt that fight drew the attention of the authorities. If we stay here, no matter how well-intentioned we are, we risk arrest.”

“We can’t just leave---” Mei started when suddenly that purple pipe-wrench looking claw jutted out of the water and seized for her.

“Look out!” Mercy dropped her staff and shoved Mei out of the way--there was a near nanosecond where it seemed as if Mercy had successfully tackled Mei away from the claw, but then the claw clamped down on her valkyrie wings and yanked her off the roof, down into the murky waters below.

“Doc!” Tracer called out but Genji had already jumped off the roof, diving into the floodwaters after her.

The yank of the Omnic’s claw and the shock of the cold of the water had knocked the wind out of Mercy, and all the murk of the floodwater’s filth and the darkness of the hurricane-veiled sky left her virtually blind down there. She opened her eyes, stinging with salt and she-didn’t-want-to-think-about-what-else, and tried flailing for the harness connecting the valkyrie wings to her back. No good, the wings were crushed, not responding to the release mechanism. She twisted in the water and turned to find herself facing those same indifferent orange eye-lights, now flickering in the murky darkness. Her lungs burning, she drew her Caduceus blaster from her hip and fired off the whole thin right into the omnic’s face, the shots from her blaster lighting up the murk with a weak over and over and over again until she was clicking the trigger uselessly. The orange lights finally flickered into darkness and panic suddenly overtook Mercy as she tried to swim upward, only to realize the omnic had finally shut down with its claw still clamped on her wings.

 In the dark of the water she made out a vague glowing green ‘V’ shape with three green dots bordering it. Genji was swimming down towards her, practically flailing to keep from being pushed around by the current. Her vision was dimming at the edges. She reached a hand up as the dragon blazed around Genji, lighting up the water around them. He took ahold of her wrist as he brought the sword down behind her. She felt herself come loose from the omnic’s claw and he pulled her against him.. She kicked her feet as he swam up towards the surface, not sure if she was swimming or if she was so weak he was doing all the work, but then there was a green flash and a hard yanking feeling and both of them were hauled out of the water by one of Orisa’s gravitons and they rolled onto the roof. Mercy was coughing and sputtering, and Genji quickly pressed at the catches of his helmet and pulled off his faceplate, sending water pouring out as he coughed and spat and coughed some more.

“Please tell me that thing’s dead,” said Tracer, looking out over the roof as Mercy and Genji panted.

“It’s dead,” said Genji, feeling the rain cold on his scars as Mercy looked over her shoulder to see two sharp stubs where her valkyrie wings once were. 

“...I’m sorry,” said Genji, looking at Mercy. She broke her sight away from the stubs of her wings.

“It’s just a suit,” she said, putting a hand on the side of his face, “I’ll be fine. Thank you, Genji.”

-----

Mercy and Genji both had orange blankets around their shoulders in the dropship as Mei and Tracer discussed the mission’s next steps with Winston over Vid-com. They were still on the roof of the parking garage, but the whole ship was shaking with the force of the wind. Symmetra rested her eyes in a biotic field in the opposite corner and Orisa was attempting to do maintenance on her own overclocked fusion driver.

“What are you thinking about?” said Genji as Mercy watched the droplets running into each other on the dropship’s windshield.

“How badly I want a shower after getting yanked into water that definitely has untreated sewage,” said Mercy, glancing over at him.

Genji chuckled wearily.

“What about you?” said Mercy.

“Well now I’m thinking about that shower,” said Genji, before readjusting his blanket on his shoulders, “But... I don’t know. I suppose I’m feeling like an idiot for hesitating.”

“Hesitating?” said Mercy.

“Back in the water. It--it was only for a second,” said Genji.

“I didn’t even notice,” said Mercy.

“I know cutting off the wings was the obvious thing to do, and they were crushed anyway, but some stupid part of me went ‘Don’t hurt her.’ Even though obviously, they’re... not you.”

“Fear does very interesting things to logic,” said Mercy with a shrug, “If I recall correctly, you had no problem ripping off your prosthetic arm on that one Blackwatch mission back in the old days.” 

“Well I didn’t exactly have a healthy relationship to my body back then,” said Genji, knocking his shoulder against hers slightly, “But... thankfully now I have a bit more care for both the mechanical and organic parts of me...and, apparently, you too.”

“Because obviously I always had wings, they’re just cyborg wings,” said Mercy with a smirk.

“Obviously,” said Genji with a slight smile. The dropship rattled again with the storm and Mercy’s shoulders tensed slightly.

“And now I’m feeling horrible that we’re probably heading back to the watchpoint,” said Mercy, tightening her blanket around herself.

“Well between the number that omnic did on us and the authorities coming... there’s only so much we can do,” said Genji, “We’ll regroup. Come back with more resources, more help.”

“I know, just... back in the old days with all of Overwatch’s resources, I could fly out of a place with faith that... that I’m leaving it better than I found it,” said Mercy.

“I would say stopping a Null Sector omnic from killing hundreds of storm-displaced people is leaving a place better than we found it,” said Genji.

“I wish it looked like that,” said Mercy, watching the palm trees flail in the wind and rain out the dropship window.

“We made a difference,” said Genji, “You made a difference. I know with everything going on in the world, it always seems so overwhelming, but every little bit of good you put out there counts for something.”

“Is that something Zenyatta told you?” said Mercy. 

“No I just... always thought that about you,” said Genji with a slight shrug.

Mercy leaned her head on his shoulder, “If we hadn’t both been dropped into sewer-tainted water, I would kiss you right now”

Genji leaned his cheek on her head. “This is fine, too,” he said as the ship shook in the wind.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Fractal Scarring

[Broadway Kids]

FINALLY THIS IS FINISHED. two days to write 12,000 words? that’s so shameful :/ 

also i hate writing in present tense

Word count: 12,029

Prompt: “And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” “Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

Tw: Abuse, waterboarding

--------------

The sound of the doorbell ringing rudely interrupts the heated kiss between Lynn and her girlfriend, Estelle. Lynn pulls back with a growl of frustration, waiting a moment before leaning into Estelle again.

  “You’re not going to get that?” Estelle asks.

  “No need,” Lynn says dismissively. “It’s probably just the Amazon guy.”

  “What did you order this time? More sneakers? Special energy drinks?” Estelle says teasingly.

  “Oh, hush,” Lynn bats at her. “Just because I’m a coach doesn’t mean everything revolves around sports. You, for example.” And then she leans in again, locking her lips with Estelle’s and falling back into the warm, buzzing trance of kissing.

And then the doorbell rings again.

And again.

And again, until it was going off every second in a rapid fire cacophony of chiming.

  “Persistent Amazon guy,” Estelle observes.

  “Oh my god!!” Lynn yells. She rips off the blankets, nearly exposing her girlfriend’s own naked body in the process, snatches her robe from the bathroom door (although she had considered flashing the solicitors to scare them off), and marches to the front door. There was a glass window at the very top, but was too high to see who it was, so she had no idea who was ruining her time with her girlfriend until she yanks open the door with force.

  “Sue?!”

Her student blinks at her from the stoop, trying very hard to not look at the white robe she was swathed in and put the pieces together. The way she clears her throat and then proceeds to say absolutely nothing didn’t help the situation be any less awkward, either. A halo of raindrops from the drizzle falling from the grey-blue sky twinkles on the crown of her head like dozens of silver spider eyes that seemed to stare straight through Lynn’s fluffy covering.

  “What-” Lynn finds her voice, although it came out tight and strangled from embarrassment for a moment. “What are you DOING here?! How do you know where I LIVE?!”

Shrugging nonchalantly, as if this was the most normal thing in the world, Sue says, “Chris knows a guy.”

THAT Lynn didn’t doubt. She wonders if this “guy” was Billy Nolan or her father tracking her or someone else entirely. Feeling like there were several more eyes on her, Lynn shifts uncomfortably and pulls the laces around her stomach even tighter.

  “Why are you here?” She demands with her Coach Voice. It made Sue jump, but then she realized that it wasn’t in fear like she was hoping, but some sort of jolt of remembrance.

  “Oh! Right!” Sue looks over her shoulder. Dismayed, Lynn saw that Tommy was there, too, but he was halfway hunched in his Jeep, fumbling with something. “Miss Gardener, you are the most trusted adult we know. Something happened- something really bad, and we need you.”

Usually, Lynn would instantly mount the problem that one of her students was facing and bring it down, but right now, she really rather be mounting something else and be brought down on a bed, so this was not her top priority at the moment. If none of her loved ones were dead, then she really didn’t want to hear it.

  “What about your PARENTS?” Lynn says, shooing Sue backwards. “Go to them!”

  “No, Miss Gardener, you don’t understand!” Sue cries. “It’s Carrie!”

Lynn froze.

And, at that moment, Tommy pulled out a bloody, beaten Carrie out of the backseat of the Jeep and into sight.

  “Bring her inside.” Lynn says without a shred of resistance. “Sue. Tell me everything.”

------

  “How do I look?” Tommy asked. “Good? Good enough? Christian-like?”

Sue giggled. “You look great, you dork. There’s no need to worry. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “It absolutely IS a big deal!” Tommy squawked.

It really was, Sue had to admit. It was the first time Carrie White was EVER having people over at her house.

She said she had begged her mother for hours, swearing up and down that she would be the best daughter and never ever complain ever again if she could have her friends over, and her mother had finally relented. So, now Tommy and Sue were parked outside a cottage as old as time itself. It’s swathed by tendrils of ivy climbing their way towards the roof that was missing several shingles and splotched with patches of emerald green moss. The weathered wood is a chalk color, paint peeling and flaking off, and black peppering along its breast. The windows are tinted a deep brown and covered up by drapes, many of them cracked. The yard was a sea of weeds and the walkway leading up to the house was lined with deceased trees; their ebony branches bore no leaves. The very age of the cottage is shown in its deterioration.

This was no place for any child to be raised.

Withered brown leaves rustled in the ghostly wind. The street was almost silent, if not for the wailing gust, the crackle of fronds, and the gentle rumble of the Jeep’s engine. Black tires trampled over the dead blades scattered on the edge of the poorly-kept street, the crunching of their filaments like bones beneath a hammer. A flurry of brown leaves swept across the windshield. 

The couple slid out of Tommy’s car after Tommy checked his neatly-combed hair for the tenth time. He was acting like he did the day he met Sue’s parents for the first time in junior year, which was actually quite polite of him to do so. He was taking this very seriously. 

Above, the sky was awash with low churning clouds. Towering trees with ebony branches reached down far, almost blocking the way. Their naked twigs grabbed like fingers, clawing at their faces as they trekked up the driveway. The brittle limbs snapped and fell as kindling onto the ground when brushed away. They too cracked beneath footfalls as Sue and Tommy made their way up to the stoop, across the cracked sidewalk and through reaching snarls of weeds sprouting from the overgrown yard. The porch creaked beneath their weight, and for a split second they feared it might cave in, but the old wood held together firmly despite its age. Tommy knocked on the door; there were cracks inside the frame and the hinges were green. It looked like it would fall over if the curved door knob was yanked too hard.

There was a shuffling sound from inside and the tumblers of a locking mechanism fell away with a grinding crack. When the front door was pulled open, the hinges protested with a deafening creak, sounding as though the rotten wood was splintering even as the heavy door scraped along the floor. Carrie peered out at them like a lime green macaw in a tunnel of darkness in the overalls she was wearing, beaming.

  “Hello!” She greeted eagerly. “Come in!”

They stepped inside and entered a world that reeked of religion.

Wall-to-wall there were crosses ranging in various sizes and made of many different materials. There were wooden crosses, metal crosses, crosses made of twigs twisted together and crosses created from woven tangles of barbed wire. Among them were pictures of Bible scenes, like The Last Supper and Noah’s Ark and Jesus doing something with a staff and water- or was that Moses? Sue wasn’t very up to speed on Christianity, so she didn’t know exactly what was going on, but the bearded dude was definitely doing /something/ with water.

Aside from the paintings and crosses and some candles, there didn’t appear to be any other decorations. No photos of Carrie as a little girl, no potted plants, no big wooden letters spelling out “WHITE” on the wall- there were only religious adornments.

Carrie led Tommy and Sue through the cramped front room, passing a closet door and a small circular table with a single red candle on it, and into the living room. The smell of baking bread wafted strongly in this room, flowing from the nearby kitchen. A large crucifix was poised menacingly over the ancient fireplace mantle, Jesus’s face frozen in a permanent expression of agony. Each rivulet of blood, every cut opened up on his skull from the Crown of Thorns held so much detail that it almost looked like a real person nailed to the giant wooden cross instead of just precisely carved plastic.

There’s no TV, not that either Sue or Tommy were surprised, so the scuffed, fraying leather sofa taking up a large space in the room was just sitting in front of the fireplace with only a grotesque crucifix to watch. The coffee table in front of it held a Bible that looked like it would crumble into dust if picked up and a well kept nativity set of baby Jesus’s birth. It was probably the nicest thing in the living room, maybe even the entire house, with all the animals shined to perfection and the humans not bearing a single scratch upon their porcelain flesh. There was also a washed out velvet lounge chair with intricate golden designs across the fabric, where a woman sat sewing an article of clothing and watching the new arrivals intently.

Mrs. White was as mangy as her daughter, but not quite as filled out as Carrie was. She was thin and bony, with sunken facial features and spindly fingers like the hands of a skeleton. Tangles of chocolate brown hair were tied up in a messy ponytail, revealing her pale, narrow neck to the light of the several lit candles around the house, and Sue and Tommy both concluded that Carrie must have gotten most of her features from her father because she looked nothing like this banshee of a woman dressed in a grey-blue gown sitting before them. The only noticeable thing they had in common were their brown eyes, which were so dark they were nearly black. Mrs. White’s were piercing, yet tired and haunted, and she was looking at Tommy and Sue like she already hated them.

This woman had done terrible things that tormented her, Sue could tell.

------

  “That definitely sounds like Margaret.”

Sue and Tommy’s head whip around, but Lynn’s whips faster. She stares at her girlfriend, fully dressed, standing in the hallway spitting out into the rest of the house from the master bedroom. Her blonde hair is combed neatly, leaving no evidence of...things...having been going on. Her grey eyes are troubled.

  “You know Margaret White?” Sue asks.

  “Who are you?” Tommy says at the same time.

  “Estelle Horan,” Estelle answers the nosy teenagers. “And, yes, I knew her.”

She strides across the floor and into the living room. Carrie is lying on one of the couches, expression pinched even in unconsciousness. Sweat is beaded on her forehead and she breathes raggedly.

  “How do you know her?” Sue prods further.

Estelle looks at her, then says, “I was their neighbor.”

A beat of silence passes. A pin dropping would be the loudest sound in the room. And then-

  “WHAT?” Lynn yelps.

Estelle gives her an amused look. “Did I never tell you?”

  “No!”

  “Oh.” Estelle shrugs. “There wasn’t ever a good time to bring it up. And I’ve tried to put it out of my mind…” She trails off, a haunted expression flickering in her eyes, like something had shaken her. She looks at Carrie’s frail, bruised body and frowns. “I--never thought she would live this long.”

Lynn gets a terrified look on her face. She didn’t exactly like showing so much fear and weakness around her students, but she couldn’t help it. There’s no way Carrie’s life was as bad as everyone was making it out to be. There’s no way she had suffered so much for so long and she hadn’t done anything to help her.

  “What-- what do you mean?” Tommy asks softly. His expression is a mix of horror and rage and his fists are clenched tightly at his sides.

Estelle reaches out and gently touches Carrie’s head. “Everyone in the neighborhood knew of Carrie’s treatment. But nobody did anything. And then, one day when I was seventeen, Carrie came up to me while I was tanning. She was five? Maybe six? Anyway, she-” She laughs, “-she pointed to my breasts and asked me what they were. I told her and she said she wished she had some and then said how good girls wouldn’t. She said that her mother was ‘bad when she made her.’ Margaret called them ‘dirty pillows’ or something stupid.”

Tommy snorts. Sue elbows him lightly. Estelle shoots him a quick, agreeing smile, then continues.

  “Then her mother came out and snapped at her to come back inside. Margaret called me a whore, I called her a cow- I was a very mature and polite seventeen year old.” Estelle chuckles. Her expression soon darkens, however. “I could hear--her screams--from inside the house. After Margaret dragged her back in. Carrie started screaming and crying so loud that I could hear them from outside. Everyone started coming out, but--” She sighs, looking ashamed. “--we didn’t help. Not after the meteor shower. We all ran.”

  “Wait-” Sue says. “Did you say ‘meteor shower’?”

  “Yeah,” Estelle says. “These rocks just started falling from the sky, but they only hit the White’s house for some reason. It was so weird.”

Tommy and Sue exchange looks. 

  “Carrie mentioned something about stones…” Tommy says.

Estelle furrows her eyebrows. Lynn kneels down next to her and takes one of her hands, not caring about secrecy around her students anymore.

  “Sue,” She says to the girl, “continue the story. What happened next?”

------

  “Mama,” Carrie said, and the sound of her voice startled both Sue and Tommy. They don’t know why they had assumed Carrie would sign at home; her mother didn’t exactly seem like the type to put up with sign language. “These are my friends! Tommy and Sue!” She beamed at them both, radiating with pride. Her voice was so sweet and youthful.

  “Hmm,” Mrs. White merely said. Her hands are still working a needle and thread through the pale purple fabric, and Sue can see muscles rippling beneath the skin.

Tommy stepped forward first, gathering his shoulders up into a straightened position and marching smoothly across the room. Carrie skittered after him and stood beside one side of the chair, and then Sue followed.

  “Tommy Ross,” Tommy extended a hand and flashed a dazzling smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Mrs. White looked at Tommy’s hand with visible disgust, but she shook it firmly when Carrie nudged her arm. She did the same with Sue, but with less reluctance. Sue guessed that she probably had something against men, which was something she never had a problem with, there were MANY reasons to hate men, but this woman looked like she wanted to chop off the penis of every male in existence and violently choke them with it. 

Or, perhaps, do something even worse.

  “It’s nice to meet you both, too,” Mrs. White finally said in a voice that could crack an iceberg in two. She sized Tommy and Sue up silently, sneering at Sue’s skirt, which barely reached her knees, but didn’t comment about it. “It’s so...wonderful...to see my precious angel with people she can trust.” She lifted a hand and Carrie eagerly ducked her head beneath it. It was quite cute to see her blissfully get affection, but Sue got a feeling of uneasiness in her stomach when she noticed that the action made Carrie look like a trained dog. And Mrs. White was her owner.

  “Carrie is a lot of fun to have around,” Tommy said, and Carrie grinned brightly at him. “Your daughter is amazing!”

  “Hmm,” Mrs. White said again. She looked at Carrie and a smile tugged on her lips. “She is, isn’t she?” She patted Carrie’s cheek. “Run along, my darling. Go play.”

Carrie nodded and her face scrunched up adorably with giddiness when she got a kiss on the forehead. She jumped up a moment later, darting past Tommy and Sue and to the staircase. She waved to them to follow her eagerly, grinning her head off and doing a little dance on the first step.

  “We’re coming, we’re coming!” Sue laughed as she and Tommy walked over. “Calm down!”

They ascended the stairs, and Sue could feel Margaret’s burning gaze scorch holes into her back with every step she took.

The first thing Sue and Tommy noticed upon entering the bedroom were the bars over the window.

Carrie’s room was plain. Plain cream walls, plain scuffed hardwood floor, plain white bed sheets and blankets (no pillow, as she had once mentioned before). There was a nightstand next to her bed with a lamp and a small Bible on it and a splintering bookshelf with very few books set up neatly. A chest at the end of the bed had ribbons of colorful fabric overflowing from the closed lid and a desk had a current sewing project spread out over its surface. A small table in the corner held a few old stuffed animals stacked neatly in a fuzzy pyramid. 

  “Welcome,” Carrie signed with a grand gesture with outstretched arms. She spun around once, looking around her room, then centered to Tommy and Sue again with a sheepish expression. “I--don’t know what to do now.”

Sue tilted her head, not understanding her hand movements, and Tommy translated. It made her pause in thought- what WAS there to do at Carrie’s house? There was no TV to watch movies on or teach her how to play video games like Tommy usually did. The place was actually quite...boring. Sue couldn’t bear to live in such a bare place.

  “Sorry…” Carrie lowered her head in shame.

  “Hey, no, it’s okay!” Tommy said quickly. “No worries!”

Sue looked around, trying to find something that would hopefully ease Carrie’s tension. She spotted the piece of fabric on the desk, which was a plum color with frills along the breast. She nodded at it.

  “That’s pretty.” She said.

  “Oh!” Carrie skittered over to it. “Thank you. It’s not finished yet, but it’s going to be a dress!”

Tommy translated her signs and Sue smiled. “Do you make all your clothes?”

  “Most of them,” Carrie nodded. 

  “That’s so cool!” Sue said. 

Carrie blushed. “Thank you.” She lightly brushed her project. “I can--teach you how to. If you want.”

------

  “And then we started sewing,” Sue says. She stares into the cup of water Lynn had gotten for her with a deeply troubled look. 

  “I made a scarf.” Tommy states in an attempt to lighten the mood.

  “It was supposed to be a sweater.” Sue manages a giggle, although it was tight and slightly strangled.

Lynn wants to smile, she really does, but as she is pressing a wet rag to a welt on her young student’s stomach, watching blood seep into the white fabric, such an action feels impossible. 

If Carrie had looked worrisome when Lynn first saw her, then the removal of most of her clothes has only increased that concern tenfold. The few injuries that had been visible when she first got there were bad enough, but the skin on her torso and back were splattered with impossibly dark colors that were split open in the center of each mark, like she had been beaten with a thin object. Cuts and scrapes marred her tanned skin, which was now horribly pale.

Carrie is stripped down to the black shorts and white tank top she had been wearing underneath her green overalls, which were stained in her blood (not that it was much of a loss- those things were hideous). Her face is tight with pain and all her muscles were tense as if she wanted to run, but couldn’t. Each breath she took came out shallow and ragged.

There’s too many wounds. There’s too many injuries on her little body. She isn’t going to live. Carrie will die.

A touch on her shoulder brought Lynn out of her morbid thoughts. She looks up to see Estelle, still kneeling next to her, a worried, but “I’m here for you” look on her face. She leans against her and a sick feeling settles into the pit of her stomach. Her mind is a jumbled mess, a tornado of disconnected thoughts and overwhelming stress.

Sue takes a deep breath and all eyes turn to her again. She pries her gaze away from her cup, rests her head against Tommy’s shoulder for support, and begins the story again.

------

  “WHAT is THAT?” Carrie signed.

  “IT is a SCARF!” Tommy declared defensively, holding the long piece of red wool fabric as if it were a live snake. “And it’s very stylish!” He flicked it around his neck and lifted his nose in a very haughty, pompous manner. Carrie flopped backwards, giggling and kicking her legs in the air. Tommy looked delighted at her reaction.

  “I thought we were making sweaters…” Sue said, blinking down at the misshapen purple blob in her hands. Carrie giggled louder. 

She giggled and giggled, such a pleasant, relieving sound.

And then the bedroom door opened.

And a thunderous voice that could shatter a glacier spoke up.

  “What is going on in here?”

Tommy, Sue, and Carrie all jumped and twisted around to see Mrs. White slithering inside, growing bigger and more menacing with every step she took. Tommy and Sue both straightened up, trying to look like model guests, while Carrie scrambled up off of her back and to her feet. She was still beaming, however.

  “Hello, Mama,” She greeted sweetly. “I was just teaching Tommy and Sue how to sew! They’re not very good.”

  “I made a scarf,” Tommy said, holding up the droopy ends of his silly creation for Mrs. White to see. She looked at it as if it were the serpent that had bewitched Eve. “Also, oi! Rude!” He poked Carrie in the leg, then glanced up at Mrs. White again, like he was saying, Look at how good I am with your daughter! Look at how nice I am to her! Please like me!

  “Hmm.” Mrs. White merely said. She looked very suspicious of all three of them, even her own daughter. She looked around the room like she was searching for a shred of impurity that would give her a reason to throw Tommy and Sue out. This process, however, was halted when Carrie hopped forward and latched onto her arm.

  “Mama, I finished the dress,” She said. She bumped her head against her mother’s shoulder and smiled up at her.

She really does love her mom. Sue thought. But does Mrs. White love her back?

  “Did you?” Mrs. White said, half distracted. She was trying to not take her eyes off of the guests, Tommy the most in particular.

  “Mhm!” Carrie ran and grabbed the dress she had finished while she was giving the sewing lessons. She presented it to Mrs. White proudly. “See?”

Mrs. White delicately ran her bony fingers along the stitching and frills. Then, she looked up and smiled at Carrie. “Very good, darling.”

That smile flickered away, however, when she looked back to her daughter’s friends. She frowned at Sue, who was rigid next to Tommy. She wasn’t trying to suck up to her like he was.

  “You.” She said. “What are you making?”

  “Oh, uh--” Sue looked down at the malformed, barely-sewn sweater flopped pathetically in her hands. “A-a sweater.” She wanted to kick herself for stammering. Why was she so nervous around this lady? “I think?”

  “My scarf is better.” Tommy muttered, then flashed a smile at Mrs. White. She blinked at him slowly. Even she was curious about his adamant attempt to get on her good side.

Mrs. White sniffed. The edges of her eyes crinkled in distaste. “Maybe you should try lengthening that skirt. You’ll be burning in hell in no time looking like that.”

Sue stiffened. She suddenly felt like her clothes were paper thin--or maybe not even there at all. Mrs. White was staring at her like she had just finished having sex with every man in the entire world and was currently dripping semen all over her floor. Sue struggled not to squirm as silence descended upon the room.

At her side, Tommy’s mouth was half open in shock that an adult would talk to a kid, especially a guest in their house, like that. He kept looking from Sue, to Mrs. White, and then back to Sue, conflicted on whether he should defend his girlfriend and risk Mrs. White hating him even more or not say anything and have Sue possibly hate him (but she wouldn’t hate him. if it were him essentially being called a man slut, she would probably be too scared to say anything, too).

Mrs. White was stood up straight and she looked like she was trying very hard not to smirk. She may be thin and ragged, but she was alight with disgust, like a flame that would never go out. Beside her, Carrie was rigid, but didn’t seem very surprised by her mother’s comment. Her head was lowered, dark eyes flitting towards Sue with an apologetic look. And then, she moved, slotting herself between Sue and Mrs. White.

  “Mama, Sue is the nicest girl I know.” She said, and Sue felt a flutter of guilt inside her stomach. At one point, she had participated in all the teasing Carrie got. She had been in on schemes to humiliate her and had looked at her like she was the most awful creature to ever walk the earth, and Carrie knew this, she had known it, and yet she still defended her. “If she doesn’t go to heaven, then heaven is wrong.”

Crack, went something in Mrs. White’s head.

Carrie noticed it first, the way her mother’s twisted expression twitched and rippled on her face like a melting wax mask, the way a diseased light flickered behind her eyes, the way her nostrils flared with a silent breath, and then Sue and Tommy followed. They could see it now, too, how Mrs. White still had the same look on her face as she had when she insulted Sue, but just slightly lopsided. It was like a wrinkled photograph cut from a magazine or a blurry movie still. There was something awful swimming behind those beetle-black eyes, and Carrie had accidentally awakened it. 

Sue wondered for a fleeting second if she were infected with the same parasite as her mother.

Carrie was very tense, so much so that Sue could see the muscles in her neck bunching up and popping out painfully. Her knees were shaking and a bead of sweat ran down the side of her face slowly. Sue and Tommy had both seen her scared before, but this was nothing like the fear that came from bullying at school or being called on in class or getting humiliated somehow.

Carrie looked terrified. Genuinely terrified. Like she thought she was going to die.

  “Carrie.” Mrs. White said calmly, but they all still shivered. The weight of the fury in that one simple word--Sue hoped she would never have to hear anyone say her name like that. She might as well have called her daughter ‘Disappointment.’ “Dear. Come here.”

But Carrie didn’t move. Her breathing starts to become more ragged.

  “No, mama,” She whispered, and Sue had never heard so much fear in her voice before.

Twitch, went something on Mrs. White’s expression.

  “M-my friends--” Carrie went on shakily, trying to give a good reason for her to talk back. “Th-they’re here. C-can’t we wait…” But her words trailed off into meaninglessness when she met her mother’s sharp gaze and she fell into helpless silence.

Mrs. White stretched her neck to the left and there was a series of pops that reverberated around the room. She seemed to be swelling up like a venomous snake.

  “Hey--” Tommy leapt to his feet, the tail of his sweater-scarf wagging lazily in front of him. “It’s not Carrie’s fault. She was just being a good friend.”

Mrs. White snapped her smoldering gaze over to Tommy, and that was enough to send him slamming right back to the floor in a rigid sitting position. Sue had never seen him obey so much like a trained dog before. It was horrifying how much this single woman could strike so much terror into all of them.

  “Carietta Nancy White.” Mrs. White hissed, her voice dripping with icicles. “I will not tell you again.”

She knows she could just grab Carrie. Sue realized with a twist in her stomach. She wants the satisfaction of Carrie obeying her.

Carrie moved slowly, dragging her feet as if they were weighed down by chains, head bowed in a submissive way. The moment she was in reach, Mrs. White snatched her by the forearm and dug her nails in so deep tiny jewels of blood bubbled up around her fingers. Tommy twitched at Sue’s side, like he wanted to jump up and tackle Mrs. White, but his nerves were holding him back.

  “I’m sorry…” Carrie whispered, although Sue doesn’t know if it’s directed to her and Tommy or to her mother. She’s briskly guided out of the room a moment later, so fast that she actually clipped her forehead on the doorframe, but Mrs. White doesn’t stop to let her recover. Their footsteps shuffle and stomp down the hallway, down the steps, and then disappear downstairs.

Silence.

Sue and Tommy waited for yelling, crashing, banging, fighting to break out, but there was nothing. They could only hear the distant sound of Mrs. White’s voice, but neither of them dared to move to listen closer. They just sat there in Carrie’s room, surrounded by scraps of colorful fabric and sewing needles, not speaking a word.

Mrs. White came to get them five minutes later. Her eyes were filled with disgust and hatred and her mouth was twisted in a sneer.

  “Get out.” Was all she said in a voice filled with malice.

Sue and Tommy leapt to their feet and scampered out of the house with metaphorical tails tucked between their legs as fast they could. Mrs. White followed close behind them, like the devil on their heels, until they were out on the stoop. She slammed the door so hard Sue was surprised the entire house didn’t come crumbling down and they heard the sound of a lock clicking into place.

Silence.

  “That...was eventful.” Sue said.

Tommy doesn’t answer. He just began to pace up and down the front walkway, crunching gravel and pebbles underneath his shoes. 

  “Tommy?”

  “We have to do something.” Tommy blurted.

Surprised, Sue said, “What?”

  “We can’t just leave her in there!” Tommy said, then quickly quieted his voice. He looked around. “We have to save her.”

Sue knew they had to, even if the thought scared her. She wouldn’t be able to sleep that night knowing Carrie was probably thrashed for the skirt her friend had been wearing.

The two of them wait a moment, then sneak around the side of the house, romping through overgrown weeds and grass and knowing full well that they’ll get hell rained upon them if they’re caught. Tommy peeked in through a back window with a crack in it and saw the fleeting figure of Margaret ascending the staircase, giving him and Sue a chance to slip in through the back door and re-enter the house.

Being inside that place felt wrong, like they were intruding on sacred grounds. But the house was anything but sacred, especially with the muffled sniffles echoing from somewhere they couldn’t see.

Sue and Tommy ducked into a small closet that was cluttered with moth-eaten blankets and boxes. They were at the end of the main downstairs hallway and it was dark enough for them to crack open the door and peek out without being seen. There, they waited, peering out of the barely-open door. Sue’s back was just starting to hurt from hunching over when footsteps stomped down the staircase. She and Tommy watched as Mrs. White unlocked what they thought had just been a coat closet, reached in, and pulled Carrie out.

  “I’m sorry, Mama!” Carrie blurted instantly, as submissive as always.

Mrs. White answered in a low rumbling noise. She dragged Carrie into the den and out of sight.

  “Mama, please talk to me.” Sue and Tommy heard Carrie beg. “Please, I’m sorry! I just-- they’re my friends and I don’t like when people are mean to them. I’m sorry, Mama. I shouldn’t have talked back to you.”

Mrs. White snorted. “Friends.” She repeated the word as if it were a curse. “They aren’t your friends.”

  “They are!” Carrie said. “They are, Mama! And they’re really nice, too, you’ll see!”

Mrs. White huffed out a breath and Sue thought she may be shaking her head. “Nobody is friends with you, Carrie. You don’t have friends. You know why.”

Sue winced. That felt like it was needlessly cruel to the poor girl.

  “No, Mama,” Carrie said, this time much softer.

  “If I told them what you are--what you can do, they’ll run for the hills. Or worse: they’d lock you up and use your gifts. But me? I’ve always accepted and loved you the way you are, my sweet girl.” Mrs. White crooned. “You’re different, Carrie. And you know people love to destroy what is not like them.”

  “I don’t have to be,” Carrie said. “Tommy says I can be whoever I want!”

  “Oh. That BOY.” Mrs. White said with great disgust. “You know how boys are, Carrie. Do I need to remind you of your father?”

  “No, Mama.” Carrie replied with a shudder in her voice.

Sue and Tommy exchanged looks. They had both wondered on their own about Carrie’s father, but neither ever brought it up to her. By the sound of it, whatever happened to him wasn’t very good.

  “They’re good, Mama,” Carrie was saying when focus was brought back to the conversation. “I promise! I’m sorry for talking back, but Tommy and Sue are good people!”

  “They’ve entranced you,” Mrs. White said, not even listening to her daughters. “They are imps sent from the devil!”

  “No, Mama!” There’s a rustle of fabric and the scuffing of feet against the floor- Carrie must have been standing up. “They aren’t! Don’t you dare say that about them! They’re not imps, YOU are!”

The sound of a hand smashing against flesh filled the house; Carrie’s body fell backwards into sight on her stomach. She’s frozen in shock for a moment before pushing herself up on her hands. A second later, one of her legs was grappled and she was dragged backwards into the den, screaming and clawing helplessly at the floor.

It was like a scene ripped straight out of a horror movie.

  “Mama, stop! Stop it, Mama! I’m sorry!”

  “You’re going to repent, you vile little beast--”

Another slap reverberated through the house, followed by a sharp yelp reminiscent of a puppy getting its foot stepped on. 

  “Mama! Mama, no! Please, no! I’m sorry!”

  “You must be washed clean of the filth they put on you.”

There’s the sound of fabric scraping against the floor that traveled into the kitchen. A clatter of a body being thrown into a chair echoed from that room, followed by a stern, “Stay.”

  “Mama, please,” Carrie pleaded. “I don’t want to, Mama, I don’t want to be cleaned--”

Sue heard the sink running in the kitchen. What was going on?

--

A hand yanked her head backwards by the hair. Water hit the over her face cloth- small drips and then a heavy torrent. It flooded into her nose. She instinctively opened her mouth to gasp for a breath, and the water poured in. Her heart was racing, and her whole body was frozen. She could feel the freezing water trickling down her throat. She tried to toss her head to escape the torrent, but she couldn't even twitch. The only part of her that was moving was her chest as her body fought frantically to cough, to escape, to breathe, to survive.

   “Don’t like that, do you?” Mama’s voice was crowing as she lifted the cloth. She smirked at the way her daughter gasped for air, taking in quick, rapid breaths to soothe her lungs. “No, you don’t.” She felt her shake her hand beneath her hand. “Admit it, my darling. Admit that that boy and girl are sent from the devil and dirtied you. Admit it and it will end.”

Desperate to retain at least a shred of her dignity, Carrie said, “No.”

The cloth drops back down over her face with a wet plop.

She felt the moment the water hit her lungs this time around- there was a lot more poured over her. There was a sickening chill, so at odds with the burning pain. And then her arms and legs were tugging against the ropes as sheer panic enveloped her. She wasn't thinking of twisting her wrists to try to free them; her arms moved of their own accord, tearing the skin. She wasn't thinking of kicking out with all her strength; her legs jerked and tugged against the restraints, wrenching their own muscles. She wasn't thinking of trying to get away from whatever was pinning her down; her body writhed and shifted as panic and fear pulsed through it.

When Mama lifted the cloth again, water was spit up from Carrie’s lips. She lowered it, not giving her much room to breathe. She whined sharply, pathetically when she just inhaled a wet rag.

   “Please, please, Mama...” Carrie begged through breathless sobs.

   “Tell me the truth. Admit it. You know you want to. You want to damn their souls to hell for cursing you.”

    “No, Mama, I don’t--”

Carrie cut herself off with a horrid gag and water rushed down her throat, choking her.

Dying. Dying. Dying. She could feel it. Her very bones were vibrating with the knowledge that she couldn't survive. That oxygen, held away from her by nothing more than a piece of fabric, was still too far away for her to reach. That every frantic heave of her chest was drawing the water further and further down, pulling in more and more liquid.

Every fiber of her being wanted to fight, was trying to fight, but it wasn't a fight she could win. There was nothing she could do.

Unless…

   “I--”

Carrie’s squeal ended in an intense dry heave that twisted her stomach so badly she began to feel nauseous. Her head spun and the crying was adding to the extreme pain that infected her chest and abdomen.

   “Mama--”

A whimper, a whine, a keen of helplessness as Carrie’s limbs began to go limp.

   “I do!”

The bowl clattered to the ground. Mama removed the rag from her face, stared deep into her teary eyes.

   “What was that?”

   “I--” A weak sob shook Carrie, “I do. I do want to send them to hell. They made me dirty.”

She thought she’s having to lie to get out alive, but her mind is too fuzzy to know for sure... Maybe she does want them to burn for all eternity in hell.

   “You do?”

   “Yes, Mama. Yes, Mama.” Carrie bobbed her head rapidly. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry. I should have listened.”

Mama knelt down beside her and began wiping her face off with a dry cloth. When fresh tears streamed from her eyes, she gently dabbed them away. Carrie couldn’t help but press into his touch.

   “Is this the truth, Carietta? Are you really sorry?”

   “Yes, Mama,” Carrie said with a sob. “Yes, yes, I am. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

   “Good girl,” Mama crooned, continuing to dry off her face.

   “I’m sorry.”

   “Yes, I’m glad you know to tell the truth, but that doesn’t change what you did.”

Ice cold fear shot through Carrie’s veins.

   “I took your gun.” She was desperate now.

   “You still have to be punished, little jade.”

She lets out a whimper.

   “You know what you did.”

The dry cloth is put over her face.

Water sloshed above her.

She wanted to say she was sorry. She was sorry. She was so sorry. She wanted to be a good, obedient daughter. She wanted to make Mama happy. She wanted her to be proud.

Drip-drip-drip

The cloth soaked up the water, slowly this time, to drag out her punishment. Carrie took a shuddering breath of air, fills her lungs as far as they can go, fills them so full she feels like they’re going to burst.

Mama’s voice echoed.

You need to be punished

The water soaked the cloth. The cloth clung to Carrie’s nose as she inhaled, clung when she exhaled, and the panic exploded in her chest. Water slid down her throat, over her neck and into her hair, over her shoulders. So cold it burns.

She’s drowning. She’s dying. She’s suffocating.

Screaming.

Her throat hurts. There’s no air in her mouth, in her lungs. She can feel the water trickling into her nose. Can’t breathe. No air. No air. No air.

The ropes on her arms loosen and then are gone. She wanted to die. She can’t breathe past the panic in her chest. She was shaking. She was dying. She wanted it to end.

Oh god, please keep pouring. Please. Please. Please. You can kill me right now.

But then the faces of Tommy and Sue and Miss Gardener flash in her head and she thought, Do I really want to die?

--

Sue and Tommy didn’t think anything could get worse than Mrs. White waterboarding her own child, but then she raised a wicked-looking switch when Carrie lurched out of the chair she had been punished in. She coughed violently and slipped in the water coating the kitchen floor, falling to her hands and knees, but jolted forward as the switch swung down at her. It just barely missed her left leg.

  “I’ll thrash the devil out of you!!” Mrs. White screeched.

Carrie catapulted herself over the dining room table to get away from her and her switch. Sue and Tommy watched as she clambered over the top, scattering porcelain plates and cups, before tipping over in a very ungraceful landing. After hitting the ground, she scrambled up again to flee, but her mother was already upon her.

   “Ma--!!”

Before she could get the word completely out, the switch connected with her back with a horrible CRACK.

Carrie doesn’t scream, but she does whine sharply at the burning sensation that had to be blazing through her shoulder blades, even with her shirt on. She scampered around like a mouse below Mrs. White, as she had easily been sent to her knees by the blow. She’s fidgeting and fumbling, trying to speak up without sounding pained, as that would make her seem even weaker.

   “Mama, please, I--”

Another lash streaked across her lower back and Carrie gritted her teeth through the pain. Her fingernails claw and catch into the floorboards, but she would have much preferred splinters uprooting her nails than this beating.

   “Worthless girl! When will you learn to obey me?!” Mrs. White roared overhead before cracking the switch against her daughter’s waist.

Carrie’s arms gave in and she toppled over onto her side. She squirmed helplessly, pushing her heels against the ground in an attempt to get away, mouth agape as she watched Mrs. White raised her arm yet again.

   “Mama--”

This time, Carrie does scream.

She does scream because the switch lashed right across her belly. Her head threw itself backwards, knocking her skull against the floorboards, but it’s not enough to lessen the searing sensation burning itself through her midsection. For a moment, she can only choke and cry out, but then the incomprehensible wail turns into words.

  “MOMMY, STOP IT!! PLEASE, MOMMY, STOP!!!”

But Mrs. White doesn’t stop. She just kept on lashing her daughter until blood is soaking through green overalls and Carrie is a shuddering, whimpering ball at her feet. Even then, she does not stop.

Not until a voice cried out.

  “THAT’S ENOUGH!!” Tommy barreled out into the den, absolutely fuming and seeing red. It surprised Sue, who had been recording the abuse on her phone in shocked silence. She followed after him quickly.

  “Don’t you hurt a single hair on her head.” Tommy warned. His fingers were clenched and shaking, teeth bared, eyes alight with rage.

  “Tommy,” Carrie coughed out weakly.

Tommy looked down at Carrie and his eyes softened instantly. He looked anguished about how he wasn’t able to go to her, not with Mrs. White poising the switch over her back. 

  “I’m here, Caz,” He murmured. “I’m here.”

Carrie made a feeble whimpering sound. She tried to look up at him, blinking through tears and water and sweat and blood, but she was exhausted from the beating and her head flopped uselessly to the ground. She panted heavily, trying to curl away from her mother.

  “I thought I threw you both out.” Mrs. White said.

  “We would never leave Carrie.” Tommy said. “Not so devilish now, huh?”

Mrs. White snorted. “You think this proves anything? I know what you people are like.”

  “I got what you did on video,” Sue said, holding up her phone. “Just so you know.”

Mrs. White laughed an awful laugh. “Oh, you empty-headed whore,” She cackled. “You think evidence is going to change anything? Everyone in the neighborhood, new and old, have heard Carrie’s cries for years and they have never done anything. Not even when police are called. Nothing is ever done, and you want to know why?” She smirked wickedly. “It’s because nobody cares.”

Sue felt a sinking feeling of dread. Would really nothing be done to save Carrie even with video evidence?

  “I care.” Tommy said. “Sue cares. So does Miss Gardener.”

------

  “I do,” Lynn murmurs, gently touching one of Carrie’s hands. Tommy and Sue both give her tight smiles, then Sue continues telling the story.

------

Mrs. White rolled her eyes. “No you don’t! You’re lying!” She nudged Carrie with her foot and Carrie moaned weakly in response. Her daughter rolled over slightly, blood squelching beneath her, and gave her her full attention, even after being beaten to a bloody pulp. “I’m the only one who cares about you. No one will ever love you except me. You’ll always be a monster to everyone else.”

Sue shivered. It sounded like some kind of chant or curse, like something Mrs. White had repeated this to Carrie several times before.

Carrie whimpered. She craned her neck slowly, wincing in pain, and looked at Sue and Tommy desperately. Mrs. White nudged her again, prodding her foot against one of the cuts along her lower back and making her look back at her.

  “She’s not a monster.” Sue spoke up, glaring at Mrs. White.

Mrs. White barked a laugh. She looked down at Carrie quivering beneath her. “Is that what you’ve made them think? That you’re just some shy, innocent little mouse?” She laughed again and turned her blistering gaze back to Tommy and Sue. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourselves into, children.”

What did she do? Sue thought. What has Carrie done to make her own mother call her a monster? 

And will she do the same thing to us?

  “Don’t you DARE talk about Carrie like that!” Tommy growled. “You have no right!”

  “I have every right,” Mrs. White said airily. “I am her mother.” She spread her arms in a grand gesture. Droplets of sparkling red blood twinkle on the edges of the switch she was still holding. “And I am just trying to cleanse the little devil he put inside of me.”

A tense silence descended upon the den, only broken by Carrie’s soft gasps and sniffles.

  “Who?” Sue asked quietly, reluctantly.

Mrs. White began to pace around the room, swinging the switch at her side and sending blood flying through the air in glittering crimson arcs. “I didn’t want him to put it in me. I tried to fight him.” She said.

  “Mama, please don’t,” Carrie begged weakly. She covered her ears and curled up tighter.

  “But he didn’t listen.” Mrs. White hissed, ignoring her daughter’s pleas. “He made me enjoy it. Satan gave him sin and, in return, he put a devil child inside of me.”

Oh. Sue realized with a jolt. She was raped.

Mrs. White shook her head. “I don’t hate Carrie. Far from it. If I did, she would be long dead.” She looked down at her daughter with a strange look in her eyes. “I just...have to cleanse her. Remove all her sin.” She tilted her head like Carrie was a new plastic body to decorate the crucifixes with. “And then--she will be--perfect.”

There was something very, very wrong with Margaret White. And Sue didn’t feel safe being around her any longer.

How could Carrie live with such a mother?

Mrs. White looked up at Tommy and Sue, scrutinizing them. “Does that make sense?”

Sue nodded a tiny bit and Mrs. White gave her an appraising look. Tommy, however, only fumed even more.

  “What the fuck?” He seethed. “No! Not only no, but HELL NO!” He glared at Mrs. White. “You are fucking psychotic! You can’t treat people like that! Why did I want you to like me? You’re insane!”

Mrs. White glared right back at him. “I should have known you wouldn’t understand. Men.” She nudged Carrie, who tentatively removed her hands from her ears. “Why don’t I show you why purification is necessary? Carrie, my darling little creature, show them.”

Carrie doesn’t move. Mrs. White exasperatedly rolled her eyes and grabbed her by the top of the head, throwing her to Sue and Tommy’s feet. Carrie landed with a heavy thud and a soft grunt. She looked up at the pair with guilty black-brown eyes so eerily like her mother’s. Sue shivered, finding it difficult to look at her anymore.

  “Go on.” Mrs. White waved a hand.

  “No, Mama,” Carrie whispered. She tried to make herself as small as possible.

  “Why not?” Mrs. White smirked. “Is it because you know they’ll hate you for it?”

Carrie whimpered. Fresh tears stream down her cheeks. She began to rock herself back and forth on her knees.

  “Look at that,” Mrs. White mused. “She doesn’t trust either of you at all. How sad. Some great friends you are if she can’t tell secrets to you.”

Sue felt a smudge of betrayal streak through her. What was so important that Carrie couldn’t tell her and Tommy about? Did the best friend's oath she once made them take mean nothing? She looked to Tommy to see his reaction, but there wasn’t a hint of hurt on his face. He squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at Mrs. White.

  “It’s her business,” He said. “She can tell us when she’s ready. I wouldn’t admit anything while being pressured, either.”

I should have reacted like that, Sue thought with a twist of guilt. Not immediately assume Carrie is a bad person. She looked at Mrs. White. She’s...so cunning. And convincing. It’s scary.

  “Tommy,” Carrie gasped from below. She gripped tightly to one of his pant legs. “Tommy, it hurts.”

Tommy dropped to his knees in front of Carrie and bundled her protectively in his arms. Blood smeared against his clothes, but he doesn’t seem to care much. Mrs. White watched with a murderous look in her eyes.

  “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” Tommy whispered to her soothingly.

  “And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” She spat.

Tommy glared right back up at her. “I’m protecting her from you.” He said.

  “Foolish boy,” Mrs. White shook her head. “You don’t know what she could do to you.”

  “Carrie would never hurt me.” Tommy said.

Mrs. White laughed. “That’s what you think! But she could! She easily could!”

  “Mama,” Carrie wheedled. 

  “Release my daughter.” Mrs. White said. “This instant.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at her and said, “No.”

Mrs. White’s face twisted in fury. She gripped the switch in her hands tightly and, for a moment, Sue worried she was going to strike Tommy with it.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t move.

  “Mama, please stop.” Carrie begged. She had her head twisted around to stare at her mother. Most of her wounds have stopped bleeding by now; dried blood clashed horribly with her green overalls.

  “You devil,” Mrs. White hissed lowly. 

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Mama.” Carrie whispered. Her body had gone worryingly cold in Tommy’s arms. Her voice was the sound of dead leaves rustling against pavement. “Please don’t make me hurt you…”

Mrs. White was stiff in her spot, arm half raised. The muscles were contracted tightly beneath her skin. Why wasn’t she moving? Was she scared of Carrie? And if so...why? Carrie was anything but threatening.

The next words Carrie spoke made her mother go deathly pale.

  “I’ll bring the stones again.”

Mrs. White staggered backwards, eyes wide. “You wouldn’t.” She whispered.

Thunder rumbled deeply, then cracked across the darkening sky outside like a warning. Lightning flickered in through the tightly-drawn drapes, illuminating Carrie’s eyes like ebony flames, and Sue realized they weren’t as black as she thought. There were hues of amber and red-brown, and they glowed intensely in her skull. Her gaze was hard and cold.

  “I will, Mama.” Carrie said. Her voice was drained and dry; she sounded so tired. “If you touch them-- If you dare--” She was shaking like a newborn baby goat in Tommy’s arms. She looked up at her mother with the same diseased light that had been in her mother’s eyes. “I will bring the fire down on you.”

Mrs. White dropped to her knees, falling like a bird with broken wings. She clasped her hands together and began to pray loudly, although her words were wavering and slurring together. She rocked back and forth, shaking her head like she was trying to ward off sinful thoughts from worming their way into her brain.

Carrie sucked in a sharp breath, her body shuddering in an awful, bone-shattering way. Her head flopped limply onto one of Tommy’s shoulders, panting heavily. Sweat was soaking her brow and a feverish expression contorted her face.

  “Tommy,” She gasped weakly.

  “Grab her.” Sue ordered. “Grab her, Tommy! Let’s go!”

Tommy scooped Carrie up into his arms and ran for the door, Sue tailing right behind him.

Mrs. White did not stop them.

------

  “And then we got in the car and drove here.” Sue concludes with a frown.

An uncomfortable silence descends upon the house, only broken by the pattering of rain on the window and low rumbles of thunder. Tommy shifts closer to the couch, casting Carrie yet another worried glance. His gaze practically screamed, Wake up. Please wake up.

  “That can’t--that can’t be true,” Lynn whispers. Her breath is caught in her throat in horror. There was just no way. No parent could possibly be that cruel to their own child. She didn’t want to believe it.

  “It is.” Sue says sadly. She slips her phone out of her pocket and hands it to Lynn. Estelle leans over her shoulder to see. A video is displayed on the screen. With a quaking finger, Lynn presses the play button.

And it all fell away.

Hope that the story wasn’t true, hope that Margaret wasn’t as bad as Sue and Tommy made her out to be, hope that Carrie wasn’t getting brutally abused this whole time, right under her nose, and she never did anything to help her.

Because on the screen, clear as day, is Margaret White lashing her young daughter with a whip-thin switch, splattering blood everywhere. And the agonized yowls of Carrie will echo in her ears, haunt her nightmares, for years to come, always reminding her that it was very, very real.

Lynn’s vision blurs and she realizes she is tearing up. She blinks and claws away the tears hopefully before anyone would notice, trying her best to be strong, trying to not let her facade fall and reveal that she was actually horrified. Horrified and sickened and shocked and livid. She would not let her mask fall, and not just because she was supposed to be a tough-as-nails gym coach that would make numerous students vomit during Suicides and never flinch when bones broke savagely during games. But because she has to be strong for Carrie’s sake.

And then she looks up and sees blank onyx eyes peering at her blankly and tears cloud her vision all over again.

  “Carrie!”

Tommy is the first one to react, lunging to his friend’s side in an instant, nearly falling face-first into the rug in the process. He clasps one of her hands with both of his.

  “Carrie,” He says again, this time quieter. “How are you feeling?”

  “Everything hurts,” Carrie replies in a soft, hoarse voice. She sighs. “But what else is new?”

She...doesn’t sound very surprised, Lynn realizes with an awful twist in her stomach. Like this has happened before.

Like she’s gotten used to it. Waking up in pain.

Carrie lifts her head slightly, wincing, and looks around the room. “Where am I? Why is Miss Gardener here?”

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Lynn smiles at her warmly.

  “We brought you here.” Sue says.

  “Oh.” Carrie’s dark eyes dart around again, searching, and then fall on Estelle. Her brow pinches together. “I know you.” She whispers.

Estelle moves closer. “Hello, Carrie. It’s been a long time.”

  “You were my neighbor,” Carrie says. “I asked you what breasts were. Estelle.”

Despite the situation, light laughter ripples through the room. It almost, almost eases the weight pressing on Lynn’s heart.

  “Yes, that’s me,” Estelle chuckles. “It’s good to see you again, Carrie.”

  “You called Mama a cow,” Carrie muses, slightly dazed. Sue gets up to grab the painkillers Lynn left on the kitchen counter.

Lynn gives Estelle a look that says, “You what?” Estelle returns with a crooked smile.

  “Where is she?” Carrie asks. She’s looking around more fervently now and trying to get up. “Where’s my Mama?”

Lynn feels that awful twist in her heart again. Even after what Margaret did to her, Carrie is still so attached to her mother. But after living with such a treatment all her life, she must have gotten used to it. Maybe she even learns to overlook it.

  “She’s at your house, Caz.” Tommy says, brushing back a loose fringe of hair from Carrie’s face.

  “Is she alive?” Carrie asks. Then, more softly, “Did I hurt her?”

The beat of silence and exchange of worried glances is just a bit too long; Carrie begins to whimper and cry. Tommy soothes her quickly, brushing her tears away with gentle hands.

  “She’s okay, Caz. She’s alive, I promise.” He assures her. “Shh… It’s okay.”

Carrie looks up at him and calms slightly. Lynn is impressed- out of everyone in the room, she would have thought Tommy would be the least comforting, but here he was, treating Carrie so tenderly. Perhaps the most awkward one with comfort, at least with Carrie, would be Sue, who was standing listlessly with the bottle of Ibuprofen gripped tightly in her hands. Lynn takes it from her and she and Tommy are able to convince Carrie to swallow two of the pills.

  “They’ll make you feel better,” Tommy tells her, stroking her hair.

  “Do you ever take medicine?” Sue asks curiously.

Carrie shrugs. “Sometimes. Not always. Mama didn’t--believe--in that kind of stuff.” 

With weak arms, she pushes herself up into a sitting position, despite the several arguments for her to stay laying down. She sucks in a sharp breath, the cuts along her belly straining and stinging in the open air, and she stubbornly tugs her shirt back down to shield the expanse of scarred flesh. Lynn makes a clucking noise of disapproval.

  “You shouldn’t have your clothes covering them,” She says. “They could get infected.”

Carrie gives her a wry smile, “I haven’t got any awful infections yet, have I?”

Lynn’s heart wrenched once again, like a claw was dug inside her chest and turning it to mush. Carrie looks so used to this, so used to getting up and shaking off wounds from abuse, and she hates it. She wants to take her away from that kind of lifestyle so badly.

For a long few minutes, the house is silent. Carrie is looking down, her eyes clouded and haunted; Sue is over near the window, hands gripping the sill firmly, peering out at the storm with a deeply troubled expression, like she was considering leaping out into the tempest so the rain could wash away the chill rattling through her body; Tommy has climbed up onto the couch beside Carrie and kept squeezing her hand like he was trying to remind himself that she was still there with him and still alive; Estelle’s arms are crossed over her chest and she’s considering Carrie in thoughtful silence, most likely straining her memories back to the days when she was the White’s neighbor; Lynn is currently getting her heart turned into pulp, emotions tumbling over themselves in the whirlwind that was her mind- anger, guilt, shock, fear, maternal instincts, anger again, then guilt...it was all mixing together. 

Everyone was lost in their individual thoughts, listlessly wandering the winding corridors of their own minds.

The one who speaks first is Sue.

  “Carrie,” She says slowly, turning away from the window, “why do you love your mother?”

  “Sue!” Tommy hisses, then whips his head around to see Carrie’s reaction.

For just a moment, there is a flash of anger, and Lynn so badly wants to see it come out. She wants to see Carrie get mad at her mother for the treatment she got. But it is chased off by deep sadness and confusion, like Carrie herself didn’t know why she was so attached to such a wicked woman.

  “How much do you know about her?” Carrie asks instead of answering. She looks around, including everyone in the question. “Aside from her being an extremist, how much do you know?” 

Looks were exchanged as minds were dug through for any information on Margaret White that weren’t rumors. Carrie waits patiently, a tiny, sad smile ghosting her lips. 

  “You once said,” Estelle starts slowly, “that she was ‘bad when she made you.’”

Carrie nods, her smile twitching up a little more. “My Mama,” She says, “is a delusional, accursed witch.”

Stunned silence. Carrie tilts her head at them, as if to say, “What? I thought you were waiting for me to say something mean about her?” She shakes herself out, like she was getting rid of evil spirits clinging to her, then went on, “She hates everything about the world. Men, most girls, people who follow different religions, even churches. She doesn’t trust them, so we hold our own ceremonies at the house. She’s the preacher, I’m the congregation…” She splays open her hands and looks at them as if they had nails lanced through the palms. “She hates my father the most, I think. Even though I believe she does love him still, despite what happened. And that makes her hate him even more.” She closes her fists and looks up with dark eyes. “She hates me, too. She says she doesn’t but I know. I’ve seen the way she looks at me. I remind her of him.”

  “Have you seen him before?” Sue asks softly. “Your dad?”

  “Only once,” Carrie answers. “In a picture. I look like him.”

There’s a beat of silence. Carrie runs a hand thoughtfully over her bottom jaw, looking horrifyingly calm while speaking of her home life. But there was fear in her eyes. Lynn could see it flickering in her hugely dilated red-brown-black pupils, very much there, but being stamped down. It was honestly quite startling to see her young student, who would flinch when someone simply raised their hand to ask a question, who always tried to make herself seem smaller when teams were picked for games, who had to use sign language to speak to people because she was too anxious to even verbally talk, be so reserved and nonchalant.

That was another thing- Carrie speaking so many words. Lynn doesn’t think she’s ever heard her talk so much before. She’s wanted to hear her talk, yes, but not like this.

  “If a prayer was said just a little wrong,” Carrie begins again, “if a cross was bumped and became crooked, it all fell apart for her.” She leans back, staring out the window. What is that look in her eyes? Disdain, fear, anxiety, relief about finally telling about this? “And she took it out on me over...”

  “…and over…”

  “…and over…”

  “…and over…”

Carrie’s eyes became vacant, darkening until they looked completely black, lost in the abuse that gripped her so tightly. The calm demeanor only then breaks and is replaced by intense terror and anxiety. At her side, Tommy is too stunned to react, so Lynn lunges forward, grabbing the girl by the shoulders. As soon as contact is made, Carrie begins to thrash and cries out, “…AND OVER!” 

Lynn’s grip on Carrie’s shoulders does not break, even when the girl swats fearfully at her arms in a panic. She could only stare as she seized out of control. It was like watching an exorcism happen right in front of her.

  “Carrie, stop!” Tommy pleads.

With a start, Carrie stops breathing and tightens every muscle in her body. Prolonged contact with someone who wouldn’t hurt her is starting to have an effect. Her eyes close and her spasms slow. Silence fell around the group.

Then, Carrie expels her breath and sucks in another. She grasps Lynn’s hands and gently pries them away from her shoulders; her touch is like ice.

Sue beseeches her, “What happened to you?”

And on the inside, Lynn thinks, “Is this the girl I want to take in?”

Carrie didn’t look at anyone. Shame carves deep grooves in her face. 

  “Mama says I’m different,” Carrie smolders. “That I was born from my father’s sin and that’s why--I’m the way I am. And she believes that she has to purify me and remove the devil from inside of me.” 

After a second, Carrie turns her head back ever so slightly and peers at the group around her out of the corner of her vision. There was pain in that bloody ebony eye. 

Her next three words were tight with humiliation.

  “She broke me.”

The pit in Lynn’s stomach dropped until it was a chasm. She can’t speak. Nobody could speak. Carrie looks away again, hiding her disgrace from sight.

  “My Mama damaged me in a way that cannot ever be repaired. No matter how many decades pass, I will always be just as broken as I am now. I can’t become whole again.” Her voice cracked as she mourned. “She passed her sickness onto me.”

Tommy reaches over, slowly bridging the gap between him and his dear little sister figure, but Carrie shrinks away from the hand, shaking her head and whimpering, “It’s like a curse that spreads from people to people.”

Tommy swiftly retracts his hand, and the speed at which he does so causes guilt to bloom all over his face. Carrie looks up at him with an understanding frown.

  “I will never let anyone share in my sickness. I can’t.” She shakes her head miserably. “I have to--stay away--from people. To protect them. That’s what Mama says.” She clenches her fingers into claws and anger, pain, longing, shame all flash in her eyes. 

  “But Carrie, how could you pass that sickness onto other people? Onto us?” Tommy asks. “You wouldn’t hurt us!”

Suddenly, a guilt-ridden sob tears out of Carrie’s throat and she doubles over, face buried in her hands.

Quivering, Tommy whispers, “You wouldn’t hurt me, right?”

Carrie wails. 

Everything is falling to pieces, to ashes. Lynn is frozen, unable to think straight. At her side, Estelle is frowning--like she’s seen this before.

  “You don’t want to hurt us.” Estelle says. “You don’t want to hurt anyone at all.”

Carrie sniffles and looks up from her hands. She looks absolutely miserable.

  “Would it matter if I did?” She shakes her head and looks at her hands with so much hatred. “I’m a monster. Just like Mama always says.” She covers her face again and sobs.

Lynn can see it now: Carrie wasn’t just shy and anxious and socially awkward, she was fragile, too--too fragile for the awful things she’s been through.

  “Oh, Carrie,” Tommy murmurs. Despite what had been said, he pulls Carrie securely into his arms and she lets him, curling into his warmth. “Carrie. Carrie, I love you anyway. I don’t care.”

And Carrie cries.

She cries and cries and cries for a long time. She cries until she’s reduced to weak sniffles and hiccups and can barely lift her head from Tommy’s chest. She looks absolutely exhausted by the end of it, completely drained. She is feeling the full effect of her wounds, now, and whimpers softly.

  “I have a spare bedroom,” Lynn says. “She can sleep there. She’s tired.” She frowns at Carrie’s pale face.

Tommy nods silently and carefully picks Carrie up. Lynn leads him to the guest bedroom and he sets Carrie down beneath the blankets. Her eyelids are fluttering as sleep--or maybe unconsciousness--begins to take hold of her. Tommy kisses her forehead.

  “Sleep well, Caz,” He murmurs.

Silence descends upon the house once again. Lynn, Estelle, Tommy, and Sue all sit at the dining room table with mugs of peppermint tea Estelle had made. They didn’t look at each other for a long time.

  “What are we gonna do?”

Everyone looks up. Like before, it was Sue who spoke first.

  “About Carrie.” Sue states, but it wasn’t really necessary. They all knew who she was referring to.

  “She can’t go back home,” Tommy says. 

  “But she also needs help.” Sue says. “I’m not-- I don’t know if it’s the best idea, but there’s a mental hospital in--”

  “No.” Tommy growled. “Hell no.”

  “Tommy, she needs help!” Sue says.

  “She wouldn’t last a day in a place like that!” Tommy reprimands. “You know that. And mental hospitals aren’t exactly well known for actually helping people. Locking Carrie up with batshit insane people isn’t going to fix her, it’s just going to make her worse.”

  “He’s right,” Estelle nods. “I have a cousin who was in a mental hospital for a few days. He said that both suicidal people and homicidal people were put together. So there would be someone who tries to kill themselves with any object they could get their hands on and then someone who loudly talks about wanting to kill everyone in the place in the same room. Not exactly very comforting.” She shakes her head. “What Carrie needs is a stable place to live with sane people who can take care of her. Does she have any relatives?”

  “Doubt it.” Tommy sighs.

  “She can stay here.”

All eyes turn to Lynn. Her jaw is set and she looks confident in what she said.

  “Really?” Tommy’s eyes lit up slightly in hope.

  “Yes, really,” Lynn says. “As Estelle said, she needs someone who will take care of her. I can. I /will/. And I want to.”

  “That’s a really sweet thing for you to do, Lynnie,” Estelle coos.

  “Ooooo, Lynnie?” Sue and Tommy tease simultaneously. For the first time in hours, they had real, wide smiles on their faces. 

Lynn rolls her eyes. “Watch it, Snell. I’m still your coach. I can make you run until your legs give out.”

  “But you’re not mine.” Tommy says, puffing out his chest.

  “You doubt my ability to make kids run Suicides.” Lynn smirked at him.

For just a moment, things felt good again. And maybe they would continue to be good, because if Lynn had her way, Margaret White was never going to see her daughter ever again.

[mithrilwren]

your dust from mine

For Fjorclay Week, Day 3: Fairytales/Mythology

Summary: Fjord was born to more than a servant’s life, but doesn’t know it. Prince Caduceus is betrothed to a man, but the wrong one. A tale of mistaken identities, fairytale foolery, and the power of true love’s kiss.

Or, welcome to what I’ve spent the last two weeks working on! This is a loose adaption of my favourite fairytale, The Goose Girl, with some decidedly CR/Fjorclay twists. It’ll be around 8-9 chapters total, and I’ve got 4 written so far, so hopefully updates shouldn’t take too long! For the moment, here’s the first chapter :)

(cw. child neglect, murder most foul - it is a fairytale, after all!)

[Also on Ao3! (Subscribe there for updates!)]

Chapter 1 - Gemels (The Room)

Fjord’s first memories are of darkness.

There are few lights in his world. A little window, with the shutters drawn by day. A candle at his bedside, always left burning, but no books to read by its sputtering flame. A pale globe, and two green orbs sunken within, who he comes to call ‘Nurse’ when he is old enough to speak.

Fjord learns all other words slowly, with no one there to teach him.

What bright moments he has, they are all surrounding Sabian. He is the only spot of colour in Fjord’s grey life - clad in blues and greens, and ever on Nurse’s hip. He is ‘loved’ by her, though that word is one of the last to enter his vocabulary. The first time Nurse speaks it, her hands are holding a different child, but her eyes are on him.

“You are loved, Sabian,” she murmurs into chestnut curls, and from her eyes he learns the meaning of rejection. “Never forget that,” and he learns the meaning of bitterness. “You deserve the world,” and he learns the meaning of hatred.

During the quietest nights, he drags his stool over to the window and presses his nose to the bottom of the glass, peering out between the slats into the unknown realm beyond. He sees strange things - tall pillars with rustling, flat-fronded garb, grey waves rolling onto an empty expanse of jagged cliffs. He brings the candlestick with him, but the light can’t reach far enough to show him the colours of all the shapes he sees. Still, he stands there on tiptoe, night after night, watching moonlight crest the peaks of white-capped swells, and wondering if there will come an age when Nurse will hoist him on her hip like Sabian, and carry him out into the world beyond his room.

---

The queen died in childbirth, or so they say. The child that killed her was sickly and weak, and needed to be sequestered away from the world for his own health. That, too, is part of the tale: the one that keeps the rabble of Port Damali from clamouring at the door to the castle keep, asking where their newborn heir might be.

The king now rules from a dais of one throne, draped in the same crimson as the blood that enrobed his milky hands as he brought the knife to his wife’s throat. She was as fair as he, while she lived, but all the red in the world could not disguise the colour of her child’s skin when he emerged from her body. All forest green, boisterous and strong. The baby’s cry mocked him for being heartier than his own.

He could not abide an adulteress to share his bed, no more than he would not suffer another man’s child to sit on his throne.

He locked the child away, and prayed nightly for a solution to his troubles.

Another child was born in the castle, eight months before the queen died in childbirth (so they say, so they-) and his mother, a servant, was still with milk when the queen died. Having no true mother to nurse him, the unwanted prince was given to the servant to raise. This she did, in the strictest sense, but she had no love left in her for anything but her own son. It infuriated her to her very core, that her child would live and die in poverty and servitude, while she was meant to give up her own son’s raising for the sake of a half-breed bastard: this hideous boy, who born to any other family would have been left at the orphanage to rot with all the other driftwood strays. The resentment poisoned her heart, day by day.

The years passed, and what excuse could the king offer, that the child had not yet been seen? The people said he did not speak his name out of grief for the mother who gave it, but the whole kingdom ached for their promised prince. He could deny them much longer. At last, the king went to his trusted advisors, and asked what he should do.

“Find a younger wife, who will bear you a new son,” one said, but the king was weary of women, who would only betray his trust. “Say the boy died, and name a new heir,” said another, but if the son dies, so does his family name, and his legacy too. “Claim him,” said the third, “and let the people decide if they will accept a bastard prince or not.”

It was an intolerable suggestion, but what else was there to do?

The king went that night to the child’s bedroom, and laid eyes upon his not-child for the first time in five years. The boy was sleeping with one chubby finger in his mouth, suckling softly at the pale imitation of a mother’s sustainance.

He had hoped that the years would have softened his anger, enough to bear the indignity of what was required of him, but the fires only mounted as he looked upon the boy’s green skin, the beginnings of tusks caging the child’s thumb.

From behind, stealing from her silent vigil to the king’s side, the wetnurse crept up.

“I have a son,” she murmured in the king’s ear. “Around the same age. Nobody outside this keep knows his face.” He frowned, wrinkles deepening with each treacherous word she spoke. “My Sabian is a smart boy, unlike this dull one. He barely knows his letters, even at this age. But Sabian, I can make him understand.”

“Understand what?” the king growled, offended by her impertinence. She did not flinch back from his rising anger.

“His duty.” She ducked her head into a modest bow. “I only ask, in exchange for my son, that you raise him as your own, and cast this one aside.”

The king scoffed, then stalked off, furious at the woman’s presumption. To replace one man’s bastard with another… that was no solution at all.

But as he slept that night, he dreamt many frightful dreams: of orcish hordes on his doorstep, and an empty future, and his name crumbled along with his castle into the surf. Then he dreamt something sweeter: of another child, with his own fair skin, riding proudly on horseback through the wide streets of Port Damali.

It was no solution, but it was better than nothing at all.

When he awoke at last, he called the wetnurse to his bedchamber.

“The child will be mine, and mine alone,” he declared, as though the idea was his own. “You may instruct him, but he will be my son. My claim over him will be absolute, from this day forward.”

“I understand,” said the nurse.

So nothing has changed, she thought.

They shook hands, and that was the last time they spoke of the matter.

---

Sabian has been gone a week, and Fjord misses him dearly. He begs Nurse to tell him when his friend will return, and she smiles - a first, directed towards him - and says that he needn’t wait long. That soon, he will be leaving this place, and to think on that instead.

Any thoughts of Sabian’s absence flee Fjord’s mind. There’s no room for them amidst the excitement that keeps him up to all hours, bouncing between the window and the bed, until the tallow of his candlestick runs low and he’s forced to sit as still as he can in the darkness. No one has been in to replace it in days, but he doesn’t think much of that either: a small aberration, in a rapidly shifting world of possibilities.

There are leaves - leaves, he knows the word now - bending towards his window, and he will see them, and touch them, and the water too. Fjord wonders what it will feel like, to slip his feet into the ocean for the first time. Will it be like the copper-bottom bath, slippery and cold, or warm like the stone floor of his bedroom on the longest days of summer, when sunlight slips between the slats and leaves patches of heat in little rows? There are so many things to look forward to, so many questions, and answers within his grasp.

When Nurse returns, she hands him new clothes. Fjord wrinkles his nose at the fabric. They’re scratchy, and smell strange, and he misses the loose cotton of his pajamas the moment he pulls them over his head. One small hand nearly goes through a hole at the elbow, and he frowns all the more.

“Why can’t I wear my clothes?” he whines.

“Hush up,” Nurse snaps, and the cuff to his ear is so unexpected it nearly brings him to tears. Fjord clutches his hands to the side of his head, not understanding, as she grabs him by the forearm and pulls him out the door.

They’re walking so fast that he can’t even stop to say hello to the tree outside his window, or stare for longer than a moment at the sea, bright and gleaming in the cold morning air. But if he walks fast enough, Nurse doesn’t pull so hard on his arm, so Fjord bounds along at her back, working as hard as he can to keep pace with her heavy stride.

There are no other travellers in the hallways, but a clamour is happening somewhere outside the walls - many voices raised all together, and the hurt and confusion he felt about his still smarting ear fades away as they start to angle in the direction of the sound. People, he thinks joyously, I’m going to meet people.

The first sight of the blue sky, unshuttered at last, takes his breath away. Though Nurse pulls and pulls at his arm, he cannot be moved from his open-mouthed awe, frozen on the stone steps of the castle keep. Everything is so colourful. He looks down at his own skin, and sees for the first time its shade reflected in the ground beneath his feet, and in the oaks that grow mightily along the ramparts. He pulls himself from Nurse’s grasp and falls to his knees in the dirt, running his hands over the verdant shades of grass, and laughing in delight at the way the blades tickle his palms. It seems, in that moment, that they’re greeting him, and he says hello back, in a quiet voice that no one else can hear.

Nurse doesn’t tell him to wipe off his dusty knees, but she does take his hand again, and leads him on, towards the voices beyond the wall.

He didn’t know there were so many faces in the world - of  all shapes, all pallors, and Fjord longs to run through the crowd and say hello to every person he sees. He cares little for the ceremony on the raised wooden platform, too fascinated by the crowd that watches on. But as they pass by, nobody pays attention to Fjord. He tugs on one lady’s sleeve with his free hand and she looks down, but draws her arm back quickly as soon as she sets eyes on him, then turns to whisper to the man at her side. “Urchin,” he hears, and “green-blood” too, in the scant seconds before he’s dragged out of earshot. He knows the words in shape, but in context: not why they would be said with such contempt, or with such a fierce glare at his back.

The man she brings him to hangs at the back of the crowd - a rugged figure, with thin, sallow lips and the shadow of sinewy muscles beneath his clothes. “A charity case,” Nurse says, and shoves Fjord forward. “From the orphanage.”

Though he wanted desperately to meet new people only a moment ago, he doesn’t want to meet this man. His eyes aren’t kind, as they look him up and down. His sneer reminds Fjord of the wolves in the stories Sabian so loves, the ones that Fjord pretends to like because he doesn’t want Sabian to know he’s afraid: all yellowed, brittle teeth, hungry to tear errant shepherd boys apart. He shrinks back, more frightened now than he ever was of Sabian’s tales, but Nurse pushes him forward again, and he has no choice but to go where her hands direct.

“And what do you want me to do with him?”

“Whatever you see fit. I don’t care. Find a use for him.”

The man frowns, and he prods at Fjord’s chubby cheek with a dirty fingernail. Fjord forces himself to remain still. “He’s soft - not a day of work on him. What use have I got for a boy like that?”

“Put him to work, then, and the harder the better. Gods know he needs it, the trouble he’s given me...” Fjord opens his mouth to protest - he’s been good, he knows he has - but closes it again, fearing another cuff on the ear.

Hush up.

He’s trying.

“There’s always hard work that needs doing round here,” the man muses, and Nurse nods, relieved. A cheer erupts, rippling down from the dais to the back of the crowd, and her head whips towards the stage. Her eyes are shining, Fjord realizes, and he follows her gaze. He needs to squint to see it, but he can just barely make out a familiar face on the platform. His pale skin looks strange, painted in rouges, and set below a glittering crown, but he can still recognize his only friend.

“Finally getting to learn the prince’s name, huh? Did they really need to wait so long? Still, Sabian. Sounds strong enough. A royal name, if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Sabian,” Nurse breathes, and she is too slow to hide the tear that falls onto her cheek. She does not look back at the man, or Fjord, as she wanders away from them both. Fjord reaches out a hand towards her, but the man pulls him back, and his grip is stronger even than hers. He thinks now that this man is not so much a wolf, but a serpent. His long, thin fingers coil around Fjord’s forearm, and he is inescapably caught.

“Be careful of him. He’s a liar,” Nurse says dreamily over her shoulder, not truly looking back. “Don’t trust a thing he says.” Fjord is too afraid to speak a word in his own defence, though he’s not… he doesn’t think he is...

“They always are,” scoffs the man, then turns to Fjord. “Do you know who I am, boy?” Fjord shakes his head, eyes still following Nurse as she disappears into the throng of the crowd. “I’m the groundsmaster of this castle, and as long as you do exactly as I say, when I say it, we’ll have no trouble between the two of us. Do you understand me?” Fjord nods, biting his lip to keep it still. He can’t see Nurse anymore. “Hard workers earn their rewards, hmm? And poor workers, their punishments.” His fingers coil tighter, and Fjord flinches in his grasp. “Come on, boy, I know you’re no mute. What’s your name?”

“Fjord,” he says. It sounds strange to his ears - he’s not sure he’s ever spoken his own name aloud.

“That’s your common one. And your last?”

Fjord shrugs. He doesn’t know who gave him his common name, and doesn’t know if he has a last. It never mattered, before.

“Then I’ll give you one.” The man’s sneer grows wilder, vindictively pleased. “Your parents tossed you aside, and who can blame them?” He tweaks at the nub of Fjord’s tusk, and Fjord closes his lips, self-conscious, though he doesn’t know yet what he’s meant to be ashamed of. “A half-breed like you, and soft at that! But I think I can fashion you into something useful. Like the stone that holds the foundation, I’ll chip you down, until your shape is better suited to your position. How do you like that, boy? Shall I call you Fjord Stone?”

He shakes his head vigourously. All he’s known is stone: stone walls and stone floors, and a stone ceiling above his bed. He can name their exact count, all the stones that made up his world. He would rather be Fjord Tree, Fjord Sky, Fjord of the Sea that he’s longed so often to touch. Anything but Stone.

The man throws back his head and laughs, and the sound is as cold as winter. When the laugh dies away, his look is just as cold, with no trace of mirth in his eyes.

“You have spirit, Fjord Stone. I like that. But you will find that what I like more is obedience.” The hand on Fjord’s arm slithers up to his throat, pressing harder and harder, until he is gasping for air, and clawing at the calloused fingers with his nails. “I will ask you again. Do you like the name I gave you?”

Black spots dance in his vision, and he gasps out what he can, with what little breath remains.

“Yes,” Fjord whispers, and proves himself a liar after all.

[dweemeister]

Blue Hawaii (1961)

Elvis Presley’s ascent to stardom struck the United States (and the world) like a lightning bolt. Hounded from Nashville’s Grand Ole Opry due to the country music establishment taking offense to his genre-blending musicianship, Elvis grew from being a regional phenomenon to a national sensation as he helped innovate rockabilly, a form of rock and roll. Movie producers, sensing an opportunity to cash in on Elvis’ skyrocketing popularity, gave Elvis star vehicles such as Love Me Tender (1956) and Jailhouse Rock (1957). Critics shrugged at these films – low-budget affairs where most of the budget went to Elvis’ salary – but his fans made them critic-proof, turning out in droves to scream and swoon at their slick-looking dreamboat. Grappling with television’s advent and the dissolution of the Old Hollywood Studio System, Hollywood’s major studios shifted their efforts towards more bombastic, showman-like films. Such was the situation in the early 1960s that longtime Warner Bros. producer Hal B. Wallis (1938’s The Adventures of Robin Hood, 1942’s Casablanca), now at Paramount, joked that, “a Presley picture is the only sure thing in Hollywood.”

To the horror of Elvis’ fans and movie studio executives but to the delight of those fans’ parental figures and teachers, the U.S. Army drafted him in March 1958. Elvis served twenty-four months before his discharge with the rank of Sergeant. During his service, Elvis nevertheless had plenty of singles in the can, many ranking high on the charts while he was at basic training and later his posting in West Germany. Looking forward to restarting his musical and acting careers, Elvis soon returned to the recording studio and shot G. I. Blues (1960) – he had discussed the film with Wallis months prior to his discharge – in short order. For the eighth film of his career and his fourth after his discharge, Elvis starred in Blue Hawaii, directed by Norman Taurog (1938’s Boys Town, nine Elvis films) and produced by Wallis. The film stars Elvis as an Army veteran recently discharged from the service, returning to his home state. I wonder where did they get that idea from? It also marks the unlikely beginning of Elvis’ association with the Aloha State – which shed its territorial status in 1959 and was ready for a Hollywood treatment that had nothing to do with the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

Chadwick “Chad” Gates (Presley) returns home to Hawai’i from his military service, greeted by girlfriend Maile Duval (Joan Blackman: “MY-lee”) and a flower seller named Waihila (Hilo Hattie in a cameo). Instead of immediately seeing his parents – mother Sarah Lee (Angela Lansbury, only ten years Elvis’ senior) and father Fred (Roland Winters) – he escapes to a secluded oceanside shack with Maile and his Hawaiian surf buddies. Chad is the son of pineapple plantation owners, and Sarah Lee wants him to succeed Fred when the time comes. But Chad is not interested in those plans, electing instead to work as a tour guide for Mr. Chapman’s (Howard McNear) travel agency – among other things, Maile works at the agency. The first tour he gives serves schoolteacher Abigail Prentice (Nancy Walters) and her four teenage students, all girls. One of those girls, Ellie Corbett (Jenny Maxwell), appears standoffish at first but then begins to flirt shamelessly with Chad.

If by that point in Blue Hawaii you are still concentrating on the plot, just note that your approach to watching Elvis movies is not advisable. Watching Elvis movies for a sensible plot is to invite frustration; accept the narrative drivel and enjoy.

Shot mostly on location on the Hawaiian Islands of O’ahu and Kaua’i, Hawai’i offers splendid backdrops to even the most mundane scenes of this film. Charles Lang’s (1947’s The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, 1959’s Some Like It Hot) camera allows characters to be dwarfed by the green mountains in the distance, the crystal blue waters extending to the horizon, and palm tree fronds wafting amid a gentle breeze. Scenes of breathtaking natural beauty abound in Blue Hawaii. In conjunction with the production (Hal Pereira and Walter H. Tyler) and set design (Sam Comer and Frank R. McKelvy), Blue Hawaii becomes, by default, the most colorful Elvis movie to date. The film, by design, partly becomes a tourism advertisement for the new state. Its white characters and filmmakers exotify and romanticize Native Hawaiian culture to fit their own expectations and perspectives – these sorts of depictions have endured across the last century, figuring heavily in cinema (1935’s Honolulu: The Paradise of the Pacific as part of [James A.] Fitzpatrick’s Traveltalks for MGM) and tourism advertising. This is the first live-action feature film from a major Hollywood studio to make even a minimal attempt to depict native Hawaiian culture since Waikiki Wedding (1937), another Paramount film.

Here are some more connections between Waikiki Wedding and Blue Hawaii: both share one song (“Blue Hawaii”) in both their soundtracks and both films are musicals. The Hawaiian musical sound is just as integral to popular conceptions of Hawai’i, and it is used liberally here in orchestrations, if not melodic structure. Blue Hawaii’s soundtrack contains the greatest amount of songs (fourteen) for an Elvis film. For those who enjoy their breathless musicals with a song at every turn, Blue Hawaii does just that. The musical numbers arrive in the most innocuous situations – from forming a melody from a tune heard on the radio, an impromptu jam session with a guitar conveniently within arm’s length of Elvis, or starting from nothing. The worst of the soundtrack avoids many of the novelty songs that plague Elvis films, especially the later entries. Given how nonsensical the plots to Elvis movies are, the lower-tier songs in Blue Hawaii are preferable compared to more stilted acting and fraternizing shenanigans. Thus, the bar is raised, and the inclusion of two non-original songs – “Blue Hawaii” (music by Ralph Rainger, lyrics by Leo Robin) and “Aloha ‘Oe” (Queen Lili’uokalani) – are arranged in such a way that beautifully complements Elvis’ velvety singing voice. Among the original songs, “Moonlight Swim” (music by Ben Weisman, lyrics by Sylvia Dee) is a sensuous, laid back song that perfectly serves Chad’s characterization: an unabashed Casanova, effortless in romance, a hint of masculine arrogance.

The runaway hit of the Blue Hawaii soundtrack is among Elvis’ most popular songs. “Can’t Help Falling in Love” – music and lyrics by Hugo Peretti, Luigi Creatore, and George David Weiss – appears approximately midway through the film as Chad says hello to Maile’s grandmother (Flora Kaai Hayes, a former Hawaiian Territorial Representative to the U.S. House of Representatives) for the first time since before his military service. It, like so many other musical entries in Blue Hawaii, arrives without much warning, backed by a constantly harmonizing music box and a steel guitar played in a Hawaiian style. One might take issue with the song’s use in context, but it is a crooners’ standard that has crossed linguistic barriers worldwide. Its simplicity is self-evident: a memorable melody, chorus, and a minor key bridge aching for resolution as it modulates to major key. Perhaps “Can’t Help Falling in Love” is not considered one of the greatest original songs in movie history because of the questionable quality of the film it appears in. More likely, Elvis’ gravitational pull as a crossover music and movie star writes its own legends that defy a critic’s or a historian’s corrections.

Somehow, I have written all the above without remarking on the acting. Other than Elvis himself, everyone else is a passing interest at best. Joan Blackman’s chemistry with Elvis is apparent, but she does not distinguish herself from every other female lead in an Elvis movie. Angela Lansbury’s exaggerated Southern accent displays her considerable range, even if there are better examples in other films. As much as some may deride Elvis’ performances for being unchallenging, one could not imagine an Elvis movie without the star attraction. His persona is effervescent; his charisma incontestable. According to Weiss, Elvis’ comedic instincts manifested themselves in subtle ways. If Elvis requested a joke to be explained in discussions about the screenplay, it was his roundabout, maybe overly polite, way to warn Weiss, Taurog, and screenwriter Hal Kanter (1952’s Road to Bali, at least twenty-two Academy Award ceremonies) that the joke was not funny. During test screenings of Blue Hawaii, every joke kept in the film that Elvis questioned elicited nothing from the audience. On- and off-screen, an Elvis movie with Elvis removed would collapse from the void of hilarity and charm such an absence would create.

Blue Hawaii, like all other Elvis movies prior, succeeded at the box office in comparison to its budget. Adding to this bounty for Elvis, the film’s soundtrack album sold millions of copies, sitting atop of the Billboard charts for twenty weeks, and garnering a Grammy nomination. The soundtrack profits from Blue Hawaii and the preceding G.I. Blues led Presley’s obstinate manager, Colonel Tom Parker, to have his client concentrate on film soundtrack albums at the expense of non-soundtrack albums – setting the groundwork for the remainder of the 1960s (Elvis released 16 soundtrack albums versus six non-soundtrack albums during this decade), with diminishing returns. Parker reasoned to Elvis that his fans demanded to see him in these musical romantic comedies, rejecting any roles that did not fit this mold. Elvis, believing his manager, continued to make films until well past the point an Elvis Presley picture was a guaranteed hit in theaters.

In its visual splendor and Pacific appeal, Blue Hawaii sealed the fate of Elvis’ post-Army career. No other subsequent Elvis film would match the commercial heights of Blue Hawaii, although one could argue several of those movies surpass this one in terms of acting, aesthetics, and musical interest (like 1964’s Viva Las Vegas and two concert documentaries in 1970 and 1972). Elvis returned to Hawai’i several more times during his career for concerts and two films – Girls! Girls! Girls! (1962) and Paradise, Hawaiian Style (1966). As much as Elvis is associated with Tupelo, Mississippi (his birthplace) and Graceland in Memphis, there is also a special relationship between Elvis and Hawai’i. That relationship – one that touches Elvis’ personal life and the musical traditions of Native Hawaiians – begins with Blue Hawaii, an archetypal Elvis film and one of his best.

My rating: 6/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

[deniigi]

Could I bother you for any sad or cute foggy/Matt headcannons for any of your verses? I just love them so much ❤️

Hi anon!

You’ve really done it now lol. I don’t have headcanons rn, but I do have some scraps from a couple of different fics that haven’t made the cut for you.

I’ll pick one from each category, I think? It’s gonna be a long post friends! Sorry mobile users ❤

Inimitable: Foggy is homesick.

It was a busy night. A fun night. And when everyone had gone back home, the house felt so quiet and empty that Foggy almost wanted them back.

He pressed the bridge of his nose into Matt’s warm back and breathed through the heartache. Matt caught his hands and squeezed them and then rolled over so that Foggy was pressing his face against the center of his chest.

“I miss home,” Foggy admitted to that chest. Right to Matt’s heart. Where home had always been hiding.

“Me too,” Matt said.

“I miss our families.”

“Me too.”

“I’m not ready to go back yet. I don’t want to lose you again. I always lose you to the city.”

Matt’s chest expanded as he breathed in, and he cupped hand behind Foggy’s head. Pulled him in closer. Impossibly close.

“You are my home,” he said. “And you can’t lose me to the city anymore, ‘cause I have better things to protect than the concrete and glass in ten fucking blocks.”

Foggy was gonna cry.

“I wanna go home,” he hiccuped.

“Two years,” Matt said out of nowhere. “Why don’t we try for two more years? And if we still want to go home, we’ll go home.”

Two years.

“I love you,” he sniffed into Matt’s sternum. “I love you so much. Thank you.”

Matt squirmed down to that he could press his scratchy cheek into Foggy’s. So that they could share some tears.

“Don’t thank me for being selfish,” he said. “This benefits me, after all. Dave’s doing a shit job out there, bless him.”

Foggy laughed.

“You just said—”

“I ain’t promised shit. Just because I got better things to protect don’t mean I got the sense to.”

He couldn’t stop laughing.

This fucking guy.

“Gonna give me an aneurysm.”

“Ehn. I’ll dig out the helmet.”

“Oh god, not the helmet. I thought we moved past the horns.”

“Oh, but they’re so cute. You called them cute—are you telling me you’re a liar, Mr. Nelson?”

“Yeah, 100%.”

“Wow. Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“What do you think—”

“We do not need another puppy, Matthew. For fuck’s sake. Alright, moment over. You’ve ruined it. Go to sleep, you fucking asshole.”

Matt’s laugh would fill that hole in his heart for now.

 Earth-65: Murderdock used to self-harm

Matt had scars across his ribs and back in patterns which looked like palm fronds laid over each other. These, Foggy was not allowed to touch.

He was allowed to snake his fingers up Matt’s hips. To skirt them across the mostly smooth skin that stretched from the peak of his hip to the bottom of his ribcage. He was allowed to sink his thumbs into that skin and to press and pull and knead.

He was not allowed to nip or bite any of that expanse.

Teeth were allowed in the juncture of Matt’s thigh and pelvis. They were allowed to graze his collarbones and shoulders. They were most welcome up at the top of his throat, where they could elicit both soft sighs and harsh breathing.

But they and all fingers were to steer clear of the palm fronds.

Foggy asked once where the fronds came from and got nothing.

He asked where the lines across Matt’s belly came from and was given an image in the form of a knife. He asked about the gnarled knot just right of Matt’s navel and learned the caliber of the gun which had fired a bullet into that place. He asked about the row of lines that crawled up Matt’s knee and learned of a fight gone south and a man twice Matt’s size dropping his weight on that twisted kneecap.

He asked of some fronds on Matt’s thighs and his face was brought up, up, up all the way for a kiss.

Matt didn’t say, but he kissed and told.

Those textured gills left a special ache in Foggy’s throat. 

Electric Sheep: Clint thinks Matt’s name is Foggy because that’s all he ever seems to say or want when his processor is compromised.

Foggy wanted his suit and the earpiece back. He did his weird half-breathing thing when Clint put them in a box while on the phone.

He shushed the bot and gave him his hand to hold instead.

This brought on curiosity.

“Foggy?” Foggy asked the hand.

“No, that’s you,” Clint told him, willing Barnes to pick up his damn phone already. “I’m Clint, remember?”

“Pilot.”

“No, Clint.”

“Pilot.”

“No, no. Clint. Can you say ‘lint?’”

“Affirmative.”

“Okay, so say ‘lint.’ But put a ‘c’ on the front of it.”

“Affirmative.”

“No, buddy. Say it.”

“It.”

“Oh my god,” Clint breathed as deeply as he could.

“Not quite,” a voice said in his ear.

“Oh, thank god,” Clint amended. “JB, I fucked up. I need your help.”

In Technicolor: Foggy’s going behind Matt’s back to make friends with Sister Maggie

“Franklin, I’m disappointed in you,” Mom lectured with hands on her hips for the second time in one day.

Foggy gave Brett a look which promised pain and mass embarrassment at the next possible moment.

“You,” he said, “Are a snitch. That’s why the night crew won’t tell you shit, Mahoney.”

“Foggy!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Foggy said to Mom. “Sorry, Bess. It’s cool, me and Sister Maggie are building bridges. We’re like this.”

He showed Mom twisted fingers.

“Does Matthew know you’re talking to her?” Mom demanded.

Foggy scowled.

“Franklin.”

“Yes and no,” Foggy admitted. “But he’s chill with Karen and her talking, so what’s the big deal if it’s me instead of Karen, huh?”

Mom stared his optimism into the dirt.

“It is one thing for women to discuss these things, Franklin, it is another for a man to insert himself into the conversation,” she said.

Foggy scowled harder.

“Okay, so first of all, gender is a construct, so jot that down, and second of all—”

Brett was ending this interaction before Fogs lost all of his dignity in one fell swoop.

“He’s gonna fess up and apologize, Ma,” he said over Foggy’s noise-making. “Aren’t you?” He stared pointedly at the guy.

Foggy grumbled.

“I don’t see why—”

“Aren’t you, Foggy?”

Foggy grumbled harder, then pouted.

“I guess,” he groaned.

And one last one for now. This is actually a tiny piece of an AU I started where Foggy is a grim reaper and Matt becomes one of the spirits he’s supposed to shepherd. Unfortunately, Matt is bad at being shepherded. I dropped it, but I’m kind of charmed by it still, so here, have a preview:

“Hello?” he said.

“Hi,” Foggy responded. “Matt Murdock?”

Matt tipped his head around, searching for the source of the sound.

“That’s me,” he said.

“Glad to hear it. My name’s Franklin Nelson, I’m your reaper. Can you confirm your address for me?” Foggy said.

Matt cocked his head the other way.

“Beg your pardon?” he said.

Foggy berated himself for assuming that Matt would remember anything prior to his ordeal.

“Nelson,” he repeated. “Franklin Nelson. You’ve switched sides, my man. Welcome to the other side of humanity; I’m your reaper—think of me as your case worker. I keep track of you until you’re ready to pass on for good.”

Matt stared past him and blinked.

“I’m not fucking dead,” he decided was the appropriate response to that explanation.

“I noticed,” Foggy said. “Also noticed that I didn’t say ‘dead,’ I said ‘turned.’ We got a different division for reapers for dead folks. You gotta have a certain presence for it, which I have been told I am lacking.”

Matt’s forehead creased as he processed that. Then he finally, finally seemed to hear the insults. He started moving his head all around as though following the echoes.

“Is that Dad?” he asked.

Mmmmmmm.

“We were hoping that you could tell us that,” Brett said. “I’ve got a report here from—”

“Are you a cop?” Matt asked.

Brett took a moment.

“Detective,” he said. “But—”

“There are reaper-cops?” Matt asked Foggy’s way.

“There are reapers of every kind you can imagine,” Foggy said. “It’s far less glamourous than you think.”

Matt furrowed his brow at that and went back to following his father’s voice bouncing around the room. Brett looked pointedly at Foggy in a ‘that’s your client’ type of way.

Foggy sighed.

“Mr. Murdock,” he said. “Your father has been possessed by—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Matt interrupted.

Foggy felt like his tongue was glued to the top of his mouth.

“You know?” he said.

“That’s not my dad,” Matt sighed. He patted at his chest and made a sound of disgust at the clothes he was wearing.

“Where—do you know where your dad is then?” Foggy asked.

Matt tsked.

“He should be trying to deal with our devil,” he said.

There was a pregnant pause.

“I got bad news for you, bud,” Foggy said.

Matt sent a boiling face just past him.

“That’s not our devil,” he said. “It’s a devil. Not a demon. They’re different. Ours has been in the family for ages. I know it and I know Dad. That’s how I know that thing’s not either of them.”

That’s it for now friend! I hope this brings you pain/joy whatever it is you’re looking for!

[libraford]

Gonna say it first- you are never going to see nearly as many men in a flower shop as you are on Valentine’s Day. Close runner up is Administrative Assistant Appreciation Day, but given that this is our busiest day of the year and we don’t even hire temps for Admin Day, there really isn’t much of a contest. 

On an average day, our shop maybe sees between ten and twenty people walking in, with thirty to fifty deliveries. 

On V-Day, the walk-ins start at 7:30am and do not stop until past 7pm, with upwards 500 deliveries and we have to be there for all of it. 

But our V-Day week doesn’t start on V-Day. 

It starts an entire week before the actual holiday, and why? 

Because someone who should have honestly known better booked her $5000 wedding for February 9th. 

Now, when I say that she should have known better, I really do mean it. This woman works in the floral industry. She manages and operates a greenhouse. Her wedding was actually at the greenhouse. 

For context of what a $5000 wedding looks like, our average wedding account is around $1000. This bride got a discount on all her flowers. 

All of hers was greens and tropicals. Anthurium, orchids, succulents, ivy, African Mask. These were all live plants that we had to cut, and some that were being saved whole for a succulent wall. 

Setup had five locations. The church, the cottage, a corridor, the greenhouse, and the foyer. The average is two. 

Monday, February 4, a man calls and informs us that he has the shipment of flowers. 

“How big is the shipment,” Grandpa asks.

“86 boxes.” 

“...ah.” 

Live plants need to be taken out of their boxes to keep them alive- they need light, they need to breathe, and the wedding is at the end of the week. They began unboxing succulents and miniature orchids at 10:30 and finished with the english ivy and African Mask plants around 3:45. 

These take up a grand total of 5 carts. These are large carts- hardly fitting in a doorway and each holding between fifty and one-hundred plants. 

And the only place we can keep them... is in the front of the store. 

For an entire week- and this is the week leading up to our busiest week of the year, we can neither see nor hear any person coming into our shop. 

My desk is positioned in the back of the room, facing the wall. But when I’m working on casket sprays, I pull out a table and have myself facing the door. 

I became the sentry of customers. And unfortunately this meant that I had to deal with them. Just about all of them wanted to buy some of the miniature orchids and I briefly considered moving my desk to the front of the store so that I could hide among the carts like some kind of orchid goblin- smacking the hands of people who get too close to the plants before retreating back into the foliage. 

The number of people wanting to buy the stock from the wedding only increased when we put a big sign on it reading ‘WEDDING, NOT FOR SALE.’

We began working on them Wednesday. And for the next three days we had people asking ‘how much is this centerpiece?’

Too much. 

The answer is ‘too much.’ 

The Phantom of Phaleanopsis asks for nothing less than your soul. 

Friday-

We put the last of the centerpieces together- which includes fifteen very tall mercury glass vases (a shape henceforth known as a ‘pilsner’)  where the arrangements are designed in a dish and set on top of the vase. 

Because theses vases are so tall, they are set on the floor to be worked on. 

This puts them at about waist-height. 

You know where this is going. 

“Red, can you put this centerpiece away?” 

“Sure thing!”

Red stoops down and begins to carry the vase from the bottom, and just as Grandpa begins to say ‘no, the top- they’re not attached,’ his weight is thrown off and the entire thing topples over and a loud and high-pitched crash resonates through the room. 

If you know mercury glass, you know that when it breaks- it shatters into a million pieces. If you don’t know mercury glass, imagine the last time you’ve seen a busted lightbulb. 

Silence fell over the workshop, and for the first time since we’d opened that day, it was quiet enough to hear the radio. 

I-Iiiiii’m Speechless...., sang Dan + Shay on Central Ohio’s Best Country Station 92.3 WCOL

“Red,” says Grandpa. “Please tell me you know where another one of those might be.” 

Blue speaks up instead. “There’s still one at the front of the shop,” she says, coming to the rescue. Red is very sorry, apologizes profusely and spends the rest of the day outside a five-foot perimeter of Grandpa’s workspace. 

There are at least four more near-misses of the very last pilsner vase being brushed by someone’s leg someone barely grazing the draping ruscus as they walk by. We learn to stay away. Grandpa glares at anyone who comes too near. 

She has just finished the last one and allows Coach to squeeze through to get to the computer. We are cleaning up. We are done. Just one more day and the largest wedding we’ve ever done will be wrapped up and we can move on to Valentine’s Day. 

As Coach turns to go back to his desk, his knee just barely hits a single frond of asparagus fern and we all watch, in slow-motion, as Grandpa catches the centerpiece in one hand, but fails to steady the pilsner. And into a thousand shiny pieces, it shatters- to the tune of Cole Swindell singing ‘...even though we break up in the end.’

“That... was the last one,” she says. “I gotta stop making these things on the fucking floor.” 

That was the last one. There are no more. The only option is to order more pilsners to be delivered at night and hope to every god that they actually bring them. 

It is now Saturday and everything looks amazing: 

And we are due in at 10:30. 

There are no pilsners. 

And add insult to injury, the night driver came in under cover of darkness and stole all of our pegboards. 

Pegboards are thick, interlocking plastic panels with a grid on them intended to hold pegs of PVC pipe securely. Setting arrangements on them and then surrounding those arrangements with those pegs helps transport them safely. 

We can’t move these without pegboards. All of the vases are mercury glass. They will break. 

Grandpa, summoning the rage of every short person in her family tree, screamed into the phone until someone finally agreed to send back our damn pegboards and the fucking pilsners. 

“Do you not understand that this is a $5000 wedding and that the person getting married is one of our vendors?”  I can only imagine the reason they finally sent someone because the three-headed monster that runs this place felt a swift kick in the wallet.

As soon as a person arrives with our pilsners and pegboards, all four persons required to set up the wedding in four separate vans are out the door, and the bride... is on the phone. 

“Um... I’m due to get married in the next hour and none of your people are here.” 

“They just left a few moments ago,” I said to Kris Stapelton’s ‘Broken Halos.’ The fact that I can hear the country music is a sign that everyone... everyone... is listening. “They’ll be there in just a few moments.” 

“They better be.” 

This is the only time I have heard this woman mad. 

Hours pass and we have no word on anything. No word is good word. Phone calls are bad. We don’t like them here. 

The setup crew returns with good news- everything is fine. Red occupied himself with a standee cut-out of the Pope and took a number of photos with him posing next to him. I’m told this is a Catholic thing. No one could confirm it. 

It is 5:00 and we have made it through another day. 

Sunday morning. 9am. 

The phone rings.

No. 

Just... stop. 

“Hello, uh... this is the greenhouse. See the problem is that when we were taking your uh... what are these tall vases?”

“Pilsners?”

“Yeah, when we took them down we lined them all up. But one of the movers didn’t know that the flowers weren’t attached so... they all kinda tumbled down domino-style. And we kinda broke... all of them.” 

Grandpa did that thing where she kind of laughs and weeps at the same time, to the sound of Brothers Osbourne singing ‘Shoot Me Straight.’ 

[pri-the-writer]

Fairies and Fowls

Here’s a peak at my piece for the Fowl Mood zine, which you can find at @artemis-fowl-zine​

“I’m sorry, you want us to do what exactly?” Holly asked, much to Foaly’s apparent dismay. On the hard light screen he was projected onto, the centaur rolled his eyes and sighed before he spoke again.

“For the last time, play Dungeons and Dragons with me! It’s not that hard to understand, Holly,” Foaly explained again. Holly smirked a tad, sitting back in her special chair- Artemis had customized it to her proportions and height, so that she matched their eye level when seated, or a “toddler’s chair mixed with a salon chair” as Artemis liked to call it- then said, “No, I know, it’s just a little funny to me, is all.”

“Yes, I didn’t take you of all people to be a fan of role-playing games.” Artemis chimed in, smirking as well. On his screen, Foaly rolled his eyes before saying, “I didn’t, at first. But then my nephew got into them and then he got me into them and- look, do you want to play or not?”

The two humans and fairy, all seated around a table in one of the Fowl Manor’s parlor rooms, exchanged a look at each other to consider it. Eventually, they shrugged in unison and Holly said, “Sure, I guess it can’t hurt.”

“Excellent! Now let me explain the rules,” Foaly said, before going off on a tangent about the rules and guidelines for the game that even puzzled Artemis somewhat, before asking, “Got it?”

They all nodded, two lying and another stretching the truth. Nevertheless, Foaly continued on, unfazed. For this impromptu game, Foaly had Holly bring in several items, including a hard light table, television screen, and tablets for the three of them that would hold the info for their characters. “Now, I have here several options for characters, but I’m going to start with the ones I think you’ll like best. Artemis, I was thinking you could be a rogue, for obvious reasons, but they require a certain amount of dexterity you lack. So then I thought, what about a bard?” Foaly suggested, prompting a smirk from Butler and a snicker from Holly.

“A bard? As in someone who sings and performs? Why exactly does that fit me?” Artemis asked, confused. Foaly huffed, then explained, “Bards sometimes sing, yes, but they also can read poetry or play instruments alone. They also have a spell called Vicious Mockery where you can do damage with words alone.”

“... That does appeal to me.” Artemis admitted.

“Now, Holly, I thought you might be a good fit for a ranger or druid. A ranger is a rogue who works on the edges of nature, protecting people from harm while using the forces of nature to their benefit. A druid is someone who communes with nature and casts spells with the will of the forest.” Foaly explained. Holly considered for a moment, then said, “I think the ranger one sounds interesting. Kinda similar to what I do with LEP and all.”

“Right! And Butler, you seemed a good fit for a paladin, a Holy warrior dedicated to a sacred oath.” Foaly explained. Butler raised an eyebrow and asked simply, “A Holy warrior?”

“Focus on the dedicated to an oath part. That seems like you, doesn’t it? Plus, there’s a sort of romantic air to paladins.” Foaly added quickly. Butler hummed quietly, then nodded. On his screen, Foaly clapped his hands together and exclaimed, “Excellent! Now, I’ve already made your character sheets for you, so that will be all set.”

He sent the character sheets to the trio’s tablets, revealing Artemis was a human bard, Holly was an elven ranger, and Butler was a goliath paladin. After typing some commands into his computer, the hard light table came to life, creating a miniature landscape for the adventurers to roam in. It seemed Foaly had already made little versions of their characters for the board as well, evident from the three individuals on the board who looked like them.

One was a human male, dressed in a fine shirt and pants, along with a black velvet vest adorned with silver buttons. He carried nothing else save a book, which was- according to Artemis’s character sheet- a book of poems. Another was a female elf, dressed in hunting clothes and a long cloak draped around her shoulders. She carried a bow and quiver of arrows with her, along with twin daggers. The final character was a gargantuan Goliath male, dressed in fine armor and wielding a sword and a shield bearing the symbol of the Fowl family.

“Foaly, I love you but you are such a nerd,” Holly said with a chuckle as she looked over everything. Foaly snorted and said, “If being passionate and prepared makes me a nerd, then d’arvit I’m a nerd.”

“Alright, alright. So how do we start?” Holly asked with a grin. 

Foaly nodded, satisfied, and said, “Easy. I give you a quest. You three are adventurers and for whatever reason you choose, are out searching for a noble quest. Soon enough in your journey you find a small village and seek out the local tavern to try and find some news of a possible job. As you enter the tavern, which is called Haven’s Rest, you notice that it is surprisingly empty. Normally taverns at least have one or two patrons milling about, so to see it completely empty like this is a bit odd.

“Nevertheless, you head in and see there is a notice board pinned to the right wall of the tavern. At the counter, there is the sole person inside besides you three, a pretty blonde half-elf wiping down the bar. What do you do?” Foaly asked the three of them, looking up from his tablet expectantly. Artemis thought it over for a moment, then said, “I suppose I’ll check the notice board.”

“I’ll join him.” Butler added. Holly shrugged a bit and said, “I guess while they’re looking at that I’ll get us some drinks? Or at least ask the barmaid what’s going on in town.”

“Alright, Artemis, Butler, you two head over to the notice board. You see some normal things like an advertisement to help thatch a roof, a sheepherding job out in the meadows, and a job offer to work at the general store, but the sign that catches your eyes first reads Help! Mayor kidnapped by a dragon! 10,000 gold to anyone who can rescue him. Holly, you walk up to the bar and startle the woman standing behind it, who quickly composes herself and says-” Foaly cleared his voice, then said in a bad impression of a feminine voice, “Oh, hello! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. Wasn’t really expecting customers today- what can I get you?”

After struggling not to die laughing at Foaly’s voice for the woman, Holly replied, “I- I was hoping to get a few mugs of whatever’s good for my friends and I.”

“The woman smiles sadly at you before saying, I’m so sorry, we don’t really have anything except this awful old ale. That terrible dragon smashed the rest of our supplies last week.” Foaly narrated to Holly.

“A dragon? Like the one that stole your mayor?” Holly asked, earning a glare from Foaly.

“Holly, you don’t know about that yet. Only Artemis and Butler have read the poster.” Foaly corrected her. Artemis smirked a bit, and then said, “Oh barmaid, this dragon you speak of- is it  the same one that kidnapped your mayor?”

Foaly huffed and rolled his eyes, then said in his female impression, “Yes, it is. The fearsome beast flew into town last week, wreaked havoc and ate the cattle. Our brave mayor tried to make her leave, but she just snatched him up and flew off to his cave. We haven’t anyone strong or brave enough to go after them, so we put up notices and sent word to the capital. Oh, I fear the dear man is already dead!”

“Where is the dragon’s cave?” Butler inquired simply.

“Why, it’s at the peak of the mountains just north of here. You folk wouldn’t happen to want to go there, would you? I’d advise you to take an army if you do. The beast is quite terrible and monstrous.”

“I tell her we can handle it, then leave.” Butler told Foaly, who laughed at the human and replied, “Alright then. Do you two follow him?”

“I think I would like to get some information on the dragon. How large is she? Does she breathe fire? Do they know of any weaknesses she may have?” Artemis listed off. Holly shrugged and said, “I think I’ll head out with Butler.” 

“Alright then, Holly and Butler head outside of the bar and Artemis, you join them after getting some information from the barkeep. What do you all do now?” Foaly asked with a grin, obviously pleased with this turn of events.

“I suppose the best thing to do would be to purchase any supplies we might need for the trip. Is there a store in town?” Butler asked Foaly, ever focused on the mission at hand. Foaly nodded in response and answered, “Yes, there is. Across from the tavern is the general store, inside you find all manners of goods and supplies to aid you. Two elves run the store, a younger one who seems a tad nervous and an older one who seems very serious. He looks up at you from his place behind the counter and says, Welcome to Kelp’s General Store, how may I help you?” Foaly said this in an impression of Trouble- no matter how bad it was, Holly could recognize it- and Holly bust out laughing at the silly voice. Oh, Trouble would kill Foaly if he heard this. Butler merely rolled his eyes with a smirk before he said, “We need supplies for a trip up the mountain.” “We’re going to kill the dragon and save the mayor.” Holly added after her laughter died down. Foaly replied with his Trouble impression, “Really? Well then, you can have a discount. We need that damn thing dead.” Foaly pinched his nose, switching to a nasal voice, “Yeah! It ate Mommy’s cow!” Then he barked in Trouble’s voice, “Oh shut it, Grub.” “Holy Frond, this is hilarious.” Holly chuckled, grinning at the centaur.

[reject-princess97]

FP Jones Imagine (3)

I sat at the table of my one bedroom apartment, starring at the letter that sat in front of me. This letter was what was to determine my future as a doctor. I mean sure, graduation wasn't for another couple hours and I will be awarded my doctorate, but this letter was what I had spent the last eight years of my life working for. I took a deep breath and turned the letter in my fingers.

"Come on Y/N, it's just a letter. That's going to tell you weather or not you can return home after being away for so long." I told myself.

I left Riverdale 8 years ago to attend NYU then NYU Medical school where I was to graduate in less than three hours and in my hand sat a letter from Riverdale General, telling me weather or not I would be starting my residency there in the fall or not.

Now, don't get me wrong, I would be thrilled working at some of the places I had already been accepted into but working at Riverdale General meant I could move back home, I could be with my family on the Southside, The Serpents. I would be able to be with my older sister Alice and her girls Betty and Polly but mostly I'd get to go home to my boyfriend of ten years FP and FINALLY be able to build our life together, something we both agreed to put off until I was finished with school.

"OK, on the count of three, I'm going to open it." I told my self. "Or I'm gonna have myself admitted into Riverdale General for talking to myself."

I picked up my letter opener, I held it to the envelope and I took a deep breath.

1...

2...

3...

A knock at the door made me jump as I dropped my letter opener at my table. I stood up, and straightened my dress, a simple black one shoulder dress hugged my curves perfectly and I padded bare foot to my front door. Passing the million boxes that had been packed ready for my move to, where ever I'm going to end up. I passed my Serpent jacket hung by the door and opened my frond door wide to see a sight that shocked me completely. There in front of my stood FP Jones, in a shirt, dress pants and a tie. He still had his Serpent jacket on but he looked so smart.

"Holy fuck!" I gasped as I took in the sight in front on me. This was not something I was used to, FP wasn't a suit and tie guy, he was a jeans, flannel and leather jacket kind of guy and this, right here, was so much more than I could comprehend.

"Well, hello to you too." My boyfriend grinned.

"What...what are you doing here?" I asked, still stood in shock.

"You didn't think we'd miss your big day did you?" He asked.

"We?" I asked confused and he moved a side and winked as three more faces came into view. Jughead Jones, FP's son and My niece's Betty and Polly Cooper. Betty and Jug both wearing their jackets too.

Then a face I wouldn't have ever thought I would see at my graduation appeared beside Betty. Alice Cooper. My sister, Alice Cooper.

"A..Alice?"I asked in disbelief.

"Hey, baby sister." She smiled as she stepped forward and pulled me into a hug.

"I'm dreaming, right, you guys aren't really here. I know because Alice Cooper said she would NEVER forgive me for choosing the Serpents over her?" I questioned as I stepped aside to let them all into my apartment.

"Nope, I'm really here." She smiled. "And it's Alice Smith now."

"Yeah?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to hurt you. I don't want to fight anymore. I want to be sisters again. Can you forgive me and we can start over?"

"I forgave you years ago Ally." I smiled as I pulled her into a hug and pulled away.

"WAIT!" I yelled as I turned to see FP stood in my apartment, grinning wide.

"There it is!" he laughed as he held his arms out and I dove at him, kissing him roughly.

"Guy's, there are kids in the room." Jughead called out. I laughed as I pulled away and turned to my niece.

"Polly, Lizzy, my girls!" I squealed as I pulled them both into a long hug. "I've missed you guys."

"We missed you Aunt Y/N." Polly smiled.

"Yeah, when was the last time you were home?" Betty asked as she pulled away.

"About three months." I smiled. "I'm so happy you're all here." I smiled at my family.

"We're all happy to be here." Jug assured me.

"You look great baby." FP called as he pointed at my outfit. I looked down and laughed as I shrugged.

"What can I say, I like to leave things to the very last second." I joked.

"Come on Y/N, we'll help you finish getting ready, FP, you and jug...bond."Alice ordered as she grabbed my hand and pulled my into my room.

"We'll run and grab some coffee's!" FP shouted and we left them.

"Good god, look at this mess." Polly chuckled as she moved some clothes off of my bed.

"Yeah, I couldn't decide what I wanted to wear so I had everything out." I shrugged.

"OK, so hair?" Alice asked as she cleared a space on my dresser.

"Curled and down, I have to put a cap on and it would be nice to let my hair down for once while I'm on campus." I chuckled as I plugged my curling iron in.

"Make up?" Polly asked as she grabbed my make up bag.

"Classic. Smoky eyes, bold red lips."

"As I remember, that was a signature look for you back home." Alice smiled as she picked up the curling iron and began fixing my hair.

"Yeah, well, I had to tone down my 'Serpent' style while I was here. Not a lot, just enough to be taken seriously in the classes." I smiled up at her in the mirror.

"What about shoes and accessories?" Betty asked from behind us.

"Black stilettos in the closet and I have some jewellery in my dresser draws you can pick from." I called over to her.

I sat quiet for a while while my sister and my nieces dressed me and told me all about what I had missed while I was away from home.

"OH MY GOD!" I shouted as the Polly and Alice finished my hair and make up. I stood up and ran out.

"What? What's wrong?" Alice called as she and the girls followed me out of the room as I ran into my dining area and grabbed the letter.

"What's going on?" FP asked panicked as he came into the room. Jughead too.

I looked up at my family and then I opened the letter and read it out loud.

"Dear Miss Smith,

Thank you for applying for our paediatric and family medical residency....We are pleased to inform you your application as been reviewed and we are happy to offer you a place with us this fall." I read, getting louder as I read. "OH MY GOD! I GOT IT!"

"Got what?" My sister asked.

"A residency." FP answered. "Somewhere good I assume." He smiled at me. I looked up at my family with tears in my eyes and nodded.

"Best place I could possibly imagine." I grinned as I held out the letter and carefully wiped the tears from my face. Thank god Polly had the sense to use waterproof eye makeup.

"You've got a residency at Riv...Riverdale General Hospital!" Alice read. I smiled wide as I nodded.

"What?"

"Really?"

"Holy shit!"

"I'm coming home." I cried as I was pulled into a huge group hug. "I'm coming home FINALLY!"

After about twenty more minutes of basking in my news the six of us decided we should set of to the NYU campus so we grabbed everything we needed and walked out. I grabbed my Serpent Jacket on my way out.

"You're gonna wear your jacket to your Med school graduation?" Betty chuckled as I slipped it on.

"What, and let you losers show me up on my big day by looking better than me...I think not." I smiled.

"OK, so, there are six of us and two cars." Alice pointed out.

"Who's with who?"

"Juggie, you and Lizzy take my car." I smiled as I chucked him my keys but FP caught them and handed him his instead.

"Lizzy?" Jughead asked looking at Betty confused.

"It's something Y/N has called me ever since I was a baby." Betty explained as she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards FP's car.

"I'll go with mom." Polly smiled as she and Alice walked off.

"That leaves me with you." FP grinned as he held my car keys up. I nodded and smiled as I reached for them but he moved them out of the way.

"Wow, not so fast baby, you gotta trade." He smirked as he grabbed my hip and pulled me closer.

"Oh yeah?" I smirked as I lent up closer.

"Yeah." He mumbled. I let my lips graze his and quickly grabbed the keys why he was distracted. I pulled away laughing as I walked of to my car.

"That's just wrong!" FP called as he ran behind me and grabbed my hand.

"Tough luck baby." I smiled as I reached my car. I climbed in the drivers side and FP sat shotgun as I stuck the key in the ignition and turned it, my car roaring to life.

The ride to the campus was short and quite. I let the radio play as we drove and FP rest his hand on my thigh, a smiled smile on his face as we pulled up.

"Wow, it's big." He gushed as I parked.

"ha, that's what she said." I  yelled as I turned my car off and climbed out, leaving FP chuckling.

"You're graduating medical school and an hour and you're making 'that's what she said' jokes?" My man chuckled, shaking his head is I walked over to meet him.

"Damn straight." I giggled.

"Honestly, I'm in love with an childish genius." FP sighed as he looked down at me and moved a piece of hair from my face.

"And I'm in love with a big lovable biker idiot." I shrugged. As I rest my hands on his chest "We all have our weaknesses."

"Yeah, and you're mine." He grinned as he smashed his lips to mine, in a heated but passionate kiss. He pushed my back up against my car and I let my hands slid under his jacket and onto his hips.

"Oi, loser, put that smoking hot dude down and grab your shit!" I heard a voice call. I chuckled and turned to find my best friend Sherri (like sherry the drink) standing holding a white box.

"Sherri baby!" I yelled. FP moved away and I grabbed his hand, leading him to meet Sherri.

"Sher, (Cher) this is FP." I smiled.

"Oh, the boyfriend." Sherri nodded as she looked him up and down. "I approve." She nodded.

"Babe, this is Sherri, my motivation while stuck in the hell hole."

"It's nice to meet you Sherri."

"Hey, there you are." I heard Jughead call as he and the three girls walked over.

"Oh, more people." Sherri smiled as she introduced herself.

"OK, Ladies, extremely hot gentleman..." Sherri began but I elbowed her in the ribs and she let out a loud laugh. "I'm going to steal this beautiful rebel away from you to go be given a piece of paper, if you just follow the crowd of...the most boring people I've ever seen in my life and you'll find some seats." Sherri instructed as she grabbed my hand. I kissed FP quick, handed him my jacket and waved to my family before I allowed Sherri hand me the white box and help me pull on the black robe and tassel cap. We then walked hand in hand to where the rest of the students were stood.

"So, you gonna tell me where the hell you've been hiding him?" Sherri asked as we waited for the ceremony to start.

"I haven't been hiding, he's been in Riverdale with his kid." I laughed.

"How the hell did you manage to lock that down for ten years without being in the same state most of the time?" She asked unbelieving.

"We made it work. He visited and stayed with me when I was in school and I spent our breaks back home in Riverdale." I shrugged.

"Well, I like him. Extremely hot, like her could turn me straight." she joked, making me laugh. "So, what's with the matching jackets?"

I looked at her confused, then I remembered, I never spoke about home much. Not because I was hiding anything, I just missed home so much, I would always get upset so I just never mentioned it.

"Oh, that's...ermmm, The Southside Serpents." I smiled at her sheepishly.

"Southside who now?"

"It's sort of a biker gang in Riverdale, the Northside reckon we're all bad news and are full of drug dealing murderers but I promise you that's not the case. The Serpents are some of the most caring and loyal people you will ever meet." I explained.

"So all this time, I've been making jokes about to being the class rebel and you actually are a rebel biker chick?" She asked astounded.

"Pretty much." I shrugged. "That's amazing. I bet you can't wait to get back, for a little while anyway."

"yeah, but here's the best bit." I grinned at her. She looked over at me, eyebrow raised. "I got a letter in the mail this morning. From Riverdale General Hospital."

"You got the Residency?" She asked hopeful. I nodded and she let out a squeal as she hugged me. "Oh Smithy baby I'm so happy for you." She congratulated. "So, does this mean all that stuff you wanted with FP can finally happen?"

"Oh, god I hope so, I love him with all my heart and now that I'm home we can look at settling down and seeing what happens next." I hoped.

Pretty soon the ceremony started and I waited anxiously waited for my name to be called out. I got a peak at the audience as I waited behind the curtain and smiled when I saw my family waiting for me.

"Y/N Smith." I heard my name being called and I walked up to the stage, shook hands with the professors and I stopped, smiled and waved at my family who all cheered the loudest as didn't stop until I shot them a wink, stuck out my tongue and throw up the Rock horns, making them all laugh and cheer louder before I walked off the stage and took a seat.

The rest of the ceremony dragged but once it had finished I forced my way though the crowd until I spotted FP searching the crowd of faces.

"Looking for someone in-particular?" I asked as I reached him. He looked down at me and smiled at me.

"Only the girl of my dreams." He shrugged.

"Well, looking no farther hot stuff, she's right here." I smirked.

"What? Where?" He asked again looking around us. I gabbed him in the stomach making him let out a laugh as he lent down and kissed me, softly.

"I'm so proud of you baby." He informed me as he hugged me tight.

"Right, let's get the photos over and done with." I ordered as I pulled away and looked at my sister who already had her camera out. She smiled wide and nodded as she set us up how she wanted and the grabbed Sherri, who was close by with her family and asked her to shoot the photo. The order went as such, Group photo. Alice and I. Polly, Betty and I. FP, Jughead and I. Sherri and I. FP and I and then one last one with The four girls, Alice, Polly, Betty and I.

"Come, on, let's see it." Betty smiled as she rushed over and took my award off of me and took a look.

"Dr Y/N Smith...it just doesn't sound right." Betty suggested as she looked over at Alice who nodded.

"I mean I'm not saying you should change your name...but you should change your name." Alice joked and I nodded.

"Oh, too what exactly?" I wondered.

"How about Jones?" Jughead asked. I looked at him a little shocked.

"Dr Y/N Jones...now that sounds better. What do you think FP?" Betty asked as she closed the little folder the award came in and smiled at me wide. I saw Jughead and Alice had a camera on me and then Sherri look behind me, shocked. Confused, I turned around to see FP, knelt down on one knee smiling up and me and holding a ring. A big one too I might add.

"I think it sounds perfect. What do you think Y/N? Would you consider taking the plunge and becoming a Jones?" He asked as he took my hand.

"What the hell is happening right now?" I asked shocked. I heard the group laugh and I looked around to see we had gathered quite the crowd, all watching as FP chuckled and shook his head.

"For a genius doctor you're pretty slow babe, I'm asking you to marry me." He explained. "Look, Smith, we've been through a lot these last ten years, you've been living away for 8 of them and it hasn't been easy but we got through it. I was always planning on doing this today even if you wasn't moving back home because I would have followed you anywhere baby, you're my ride or die baby. Now with you coming back home to work things are just falling into place and I just want us to FINALLY start live out life together. So, Y/N Smith, will you be my ride or die forever. Will you marry me?"

I couldn't find the words, I just nodded as tears fell from my eyes and a lump grew in my throat. FP Slid the ring onto my finger and stood up, pulling me into his arms and kissing me hard as everybody around us clapped and cheered.

"FINALLY!!! MY DAD HAD THE BALLS TO PROPOSE!" Jughead yelled making everybody around us laughed including FP and I.