#those were all on my list except BIRD WAY

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Indie Bookstore Day 2024!

I can hardly be expected to have shelf control if Indie Bookstore Day and my birthday are within, like, a week of each other, right?? ESPECIALLY not if one of them was doing a Buy 3 Get 1 Free on paperbacks (evidenced by the bottom row), and if ARCHANGELS OF FUNK and TRANSLATION STATE were Birthday Gifts To Myself (pre-ordered in December and everything!)??

Anyway! Great week for books! Good thing we gave up on the moderated book buying ban, huh.

[vidals-harkness]

you’re so special, to me (rio vidal)

summary: nobody loves death. rio gets told a thousand times a day how much she's hated. but in the end, when it gets hard, there's always the one 'i love you' she can rely on. life's.

pairings: rio vidal x fem!reader

fic type: fluff with a smidge of angst

warnings: talks of death

word count: 1.08k

“I hate you!” Exclaimed the grieving daughter as Rio stood near the hospital bed.

“I hate you!” Yelled the mother as Rio cradled her baby in her arms.

“I hate you!” Screamed the husband, his wife’s body delicately walking beside her.

“I hate you!” Said the father, watching her take his hurting son away.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

Day in, day out, till the clocks stopped working. Year after year, since the world began spinning. All that hate, all that resentment.

Every time she would feel those rattling breaths, the halting hearts, the tears shed by their loved ones, the blood on the floor. She would feel their pulse against her fingertips, their timers ticking slower and slower. The sand running out from the hourglass.

She would take their hand, bring them peace, and the first thing to be said was “I hate you,”

Nobody loved death. This was a fact. There were exceptions: those who ran into her embrace, those who were cast away, those who were unloved, those who had nobody.

But in the end, it was always ‘I hate you’.

She would never admit it, but despite every single century, she had sat in the darkness and wept.

She’d watch you, envious.

You’d enter a room, and joy would follow. You’d make the hearts beat again, the pulse quicken. You’d form life in the wombs, you’d make little limbs move.

“You’re beautiful,” they all said.

You were wanted, you were what they wished for. Not her.

But she loved you. She loved your radiance, the light you carried. She loved the way your blessings were gentle, divine.

You made the cycle start again, made the flowers grow, the birds sing, and the grass sway, made the breath flow steady in the air.

You were Life.

She was the one that turned it all to ash. The one who snatched the breath away. She was the one who wilted the flowers, browned the grass, silenced the birds.

She was Death.

Yet when the time for tranquility came…there you were.

I hate you, I hate you, I—

“I love you,” you whispered. One whisper silenced the shouts.

“Why don’t they want me?” She asked, her hair falling softly onto her face as she lay with you—moments of rare peace.

“They are flawed creatures, my love,” you responded, ever tranquil and reasonable. “They don’t know the aid you provide, the peace, the release,”

“Nobody wants me,” she said, her tears staining her soft cheeks. Before they could fall on her robes your soft hand caught them, tender as a feather.

“I want you,” you said plainly.

“Why? All I bring is gloom and grief,”

“What you bring is peace and tranquility, cloaked behind the mortal blindness of grief,”

She listened to your heartbeat, she felt your warmth. She’d spent lifetime after lifetime taking, but could never give anything in return. You spend lifetime after lifetime only ever giving, only to never take anything to compensate.

“Selfless creature,” she scoffed. “You give and give and give, you never take,”

You pondered for a moment. “That is the consequence, my dear,”

“How?”

“I never have anything for myself,”

“You never get told you are hated, ever,” she countered plainly.

“The boy on the roof, the girl in the ward, the criminal in the prison,” you listed out. “Many hate life, but the sacred balance unfortunately rests the highest burden upon you, my love,”

“Life cannot love death,” she said.

“Yet I love you,” you replied, sealing your words with a kiss to her forehead. “You are my balance, you are my shadow, you are my everything,”

She smiled, a rare smile that brightened her eyes and warmed her heart. Unknowingly it did the same for you. It made her cold cheeks tint pink, made your own heart flutter.

“I am destruction,” she said.

“You are the destruction from which life begins again,” you whispered, fingertips trailing along her neck. “You are the rugged beauty of the mountains, the beauty of the fall, the beauty of a dandelion, of a thunderstorm,”

She felt your words calm her racing heart, she felt it drown out the sea of insults, she felt beautiful.

“I love you,” you said, with a conviction that only an angel could muster. “I love you as the sun loves the moon, as the sky loves the earth. I will keep loving you till the timer runs out, till the last grain of sand falls in the hourglass.

“You can pillage, you can murder, you can plunder. But even then I will see your wild, wild beauty, even then I will wonder like I do each and every day, how such a beautiful soul could love me as I am,”

She leaned up, her hands her support, giving Life a kiss, giving her beloved a kiss. Your lips moved in sync, a dance of gentle and harsh, light and darkness.

As you broke away, still so close that you were breathing each other’s air. She inhaled your scent—so clearly alive. Of moss and petrichor and spring and summer. She understood why your role was what it was.

You were the embodiment of comfort, of joy, of peace. You were the reason why she could keep going without withering away and remaining a mechanical shell of herself.

“You silence the voices within my mind,” she admitted quietly, her eyes locking in on yours. “Your eyes hold the universe, and out of the tens of millions of people who say they hate me, wish ill-will upon me, you are the only one who says you love me,”

Your eyes crinkled at the sides as you smiled, the universe within those heavenly irises shifting as it twinkled. “I will spend every single moment of my eternal existence reminding you that you are loved, Rio Vidal,”

She traced the lining of your lips, your face, your eyes with her fingertips. “Are you even real?”

“I exist only for you, my love,” you smiled. “And you’re so special, to me,”

That’s all she needed.

One voice amidst the thousands. One ‘I love you’ to break through the hate.

Just one you, to help her through it all.

And so Death settled in the embrace of Life, allowing the sand in the hourglass to fall, allowing the timer to tick. Each breath, first and last, thrummed through your synchronised heartbeats, and there she just stayed, listening to the one sentence which fell from your lips.

“I love you,”

hello my bao buns! i’m sorry for the delay in my works but tumblr keeps deleting them :<. i’m working on ‘baby witch from death’ and your requests. thank you all for your patience, bao buns! i love you all!

love, jaya

[unabashednightmarepizza]

𝐿𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝐴 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑊ℎ𝑜…

A/N: Not gonna lie, my eyes might have shed a tear or so at the "like a parent who..." parts, I got emotional...

Pairings: Archons x Creator!Parentalfigure!Reader

Everyone often thought as the hunted down, true Creator of Teyvat, you would punish people for their crimes against them.

The people, almost everyone in every nation except some (those who were favoured by you later on), hunted you and tortured you beyond comprehension. Especially the Archons who were decieved by the False One, so easily they fell prey to "Their" clutches when they prided themselves to be the closest, most loyal to You, their Creator.

Yet, they were also the ones who committed the worst sin.

They never expected to see you in their land once again, happy and cheerfully eating while gazing at the horizon. Not when a harsh punishment to them and their people was expected from You, not when they got ready to beg for forgiveness for their people, for you to have mercy on them even if they didn't show the same one to you.

And perhaps, your anger and wrath was better than your kindness, for their heart and very existence clenched painfully inside them, threatened to swallow them whole with the cold and relentless darkness seeping inside them as they were harshly slapped back with what they had done to Their True Creator and how They were treating Their Creations.

With kindness and love, tenderness they once felt in the Heavenly Grounds as they all sat around You and talked, ate together, basked in your love as each of them tried to make You smile and give affection to each of them, pat their heads softly and just be there for them...

Unlike the False One who only demands, is harsh and devoid of the warmth you had.

And even then... They are unable to notice the True One they always loved and will always do.

Out of anything Venti thought to see today, seeing you in the Angel's Share drinking the dandelion wine he made people to produce in your name (since it was a favourite of yours back when everything was fine and enjoyed a drink at the balcony of your Holy Chamber with him seated next to you) and inviting him over for one wasn't on the list. He didn't expect to be sitting next to your holy body, looking dumbfounded yet also still smiling with tears in his big eyes as you told him that you wouldn't neither abandon nor punish him or his people.

And he certainly didn't expect to be hugged by you after so so long, after being deprived off of the feeling of home, clutching on your robes thightly with a promise to never let go and doubt you again and wailing like a baby as you comforted him with his face buried in your neck, babbling about how he was so guilty, how he thought he lost You for eternity...

Like a parent whose child wanted to get away from their strict parent, thinking the outside world was better, that their parent was just overexaggerating. Like a parent comforting their child who was lost on the way after they realized how right their parent was, yet found themselves again by the parent who gave them another sense of freedom to soar.

Out of any place, Zhongli never expected to see you in his private residence drinking some tea and preparing some snacks to bring for him to eat. He never thought he would see the day you wore such casual clothes, hair messily up in bun as your holy hands were covered with flour. As the eldest, he was able to see your every form and every new hobby you would get. Knitting? Braiding hair? Sewing? Sword fighting? Bird watching? Playing with the kids and dragging him to play the prince that saved the princess? You name it and he would start to list all the day to you, when you first started to do them as you laughed and patted his horn affectionately- he would never tell this to anyone, but you as the Divine Creator, were the only one he was fine with them being touched. Not that he had a choice to him, at least. He knows if you heard that, you would have his head-

But as much as he was seen as a war hero, someone that saved and protected people... He failed to protect the one being he swore his existence to, who died and suffered at his hands, begging to be spared as if he was the Deity that gave him life, as if he was more mighty than You.

What kind of a devotee, of a god he was? How could he do such a mistake-

But, the one who he thought was mad at him, at them, and were punishing them with their absence was right there. Bringing him his tea just the way he liked it, some food he loved eating with Them centuries ago as you pointed to the empty seat and sat down yourself right in front of him as he couldn't help but stare at you with a slacked jaw, at how easily you smiled at him just like you used to, praising him for his excellent choice of tea and spices.

Like a parent seeing the inner struggle of their child and being silently there for them, tell them that no matter what, they would be there in the end and protect them from their own harsh mind.

Out of any place, Ei never thought she would see you offering her dango as you stared at your statue, the statue where she put all the visions she got after the Vision Hunting, with a frown. It used to be such a joy for her to look at it, thinking she was doing the right thing just as Makoto and her Creator would have wanted. The day she first lost her Creator, with absolutely no one knowing what happened to Them, was so full of despair. She didn't know what to do, her twin didn't know what to do, all they had ever known was you and all they knew about ruling and capturing the hearts of your people was from you. She felt... abandoned, a feeling she would later inflict on her own son unknowingly, but she still had her sister with herself so that must at least mean that you would be back to help them out, right?

She wasn't expecting to loose her friends and her dear sister, at all.

That was the turning point in her destiny, one that led to madness and obsession. She might have given her people order, and discipline in a land where they can protect and be there for their loved ones, where they could reach eternity together and give visions to strike down anyone who dared to take it from them but...

Now, as she looked back at her past and the statue, the one on whose name she committed crimes for... She only remembered her fight with the Traveller and how you had come to protect them, with the same face as the "sinner" she once killed, and showed her the true way.

That statue was only the painful and disturbing reminder of who she was, and how she had killed the Creator she worshipped above anything because she was deceived and blinded, and how They still came to show her the right path, how you gently caressed and helped the Traveller, someone out of this world...

And now, those same gentle hands that once were outstretched towards her for help, for her to listen to Them but she refused as You choked on the air and golden blood... They were rubbing her face, patting her purple hair as You pressed her face to your neck where your pulse was beating under the skin, alive and comforting her like a parent whose child were hard to deal with, rebellious yet just as worthy of love, confused at the world ahead of them and turning to look at their parent for guidance only to see them pushing from their back to a brighter future, where they stand for eternity just so that their child could look back to see how far they would come.

They never expected to be the witness of such unconditional and pure love, forgiving them so... easily.

Why, they all asked with tears in their eyes and bowing down in front of your relaxed form so deeply their foreheads touched the ground, shoulders stiff yet body shaking because of the sobs that wrecked their bodies. How can you forgive us so easily?

A soft smile from you as you helped them up and wiped their faces clean with a fleeting touch, like a parent calming their baby down from the overwhelming first emotions they would feel.

"What kind of a Creator would I be, if I didn't forgive?"

[goldenshrikecomic]

FAQ

Please read these before sending asks! It's also good to check the tags listed on the pinned post to see if it's already answered. Where can I read GS? On Comicfury or DeviantArt. Two pages ahead on both Patreon and Ko-fi.

Who works on this comic? Only me, ratt/doeprince. You can call me either, I usually refer to myself as doeprince when it's more official, otherwise ratt or some secret third thing. I'm an amateur artist and I draw these comics for fun without much ambition to gain greatness. I want to make enough money to be able to keep working on more comics, and buy trinkets.

How can I support what you do? Why thank you for asking! All my income comes from making comics, so the support on either Patreon or Ko-fi is literally making my comic endeavours possible.

Do you have other projects? I work on some secondary comics. Jet and Harley and Honey are currently updating, Corpse is finished. You can find my other art on doe-prince.

How long will Golden Shrike be? I don't know how many pages. I hope it's less than 1000.

What programs do you use? SAI for lineart, CSP for coloring and bubbles, PS for text and backgrounds. Hoooow do you draw the antlers from different perspectives? I've made 3D models for each recurring antlered character.

Is GS going to have physical merch? Will it be printed? Consider this a no, but I won't say never.

Does GS have a map, official wiki or dub or something like that? No. There's a fan wiki out there full of inaccurate information so take everything in there with tons of grains of salt. There's no map. The dub on YT is separate from me, I've had no hand in it.

Can I make a fan character? Can they interact with yours? You can absolutely make a fan character! I just ask you not to make them interact with mine, at least not in any kind of heavy way. It's a slippery slope and I've seen people treat my characters very rudely to make them suit their needs.

Can I make fanart/writing? Yes! All sfw and well-meaning works are welcome. Just tag me so I can see them! Why are the borders black and sometimes white? White borders means it's a flashback.

Deer don't do that!!!!! Or birds!! Or plants! The moon shouldn't be that shape right now. Everything in GS is fictional for this very reason. I shall not be shackled by the chains of realism when there's entire new worlds in my fingertips. I aim to make things believeable in its context, not realistic. Are other animals sentient, can they talk? Sure they are and can, but not outside their own species. A frog can't hold a conversation with a deer, but a deer and antelope could possibly make it work. There's exceptions though.

How old are main characters? They're fawns right? No they are not, they'd all be in their early 20s if they were humans.

What does sire mean? It keeps popping up in different contexts. You can liken this term to 'father', as in your dad but also something like a priest. The priest isn't your dad but "father forgive me for I've sinned". So sire is a) respected stag, b) very formal way to address your father. Dame is the female counterpart. Why are the does so small compared to stags.... are you a freak... do you just hate women..... Listen when I started GS I had been dwelling in a place where monster deer characters had insane size differences and it became some kind of norm to me and of course it found its way into my comic. Now I just have to keep drawing those tiny women to keep up the consistency. I've created bigger ladies nowadays because I too think it's a little silly now.

Please please will this character ever get a mate? Will this pairing be canon? Will you please make this pairing canon? I won't spoil any pairings, I think it'd be the most boring thing to do to my own work! I'll only confirm the ones already established in the comic.

Is this a speck of ember? Is it snow? What is that floating thing, is it relevant to the plot? IT'S JUST MY DUST BRUSH LEAVE ME ALONE.

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: stalker/ unsuccessful kidnap, violence, depictions of blood and assault (let me know if I should add more)

Chapter Word Count: 2318

—-MDNI—-

A/N: Sooooo I’m sorry it’s not spicy like I said it would be… But I absolutely promise the next one will be! Chapters 5 and 6 were supposed to be just one chapter but it got too long so I had to split it… And again please let me know of any errors because this is only proof read by myself.

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Please Read the Below First:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

I’m Not You’re F*cking Maid

Chapter 5

After thorough interviewing of the staff and regular patrons; long searches through copious auction records and meticulous studying of the items in the shop we narrowed our search down to one item: an old jade hairpin. The hairpin belonged to a young lady who was given the gift as a wedding present, however when she found out on her wedding night that her new husband was having an affair, she stabbed him to death with it before jumping to her own demise from their third floor balcony. That was just over a century ago, and she was still wreaking havoc on unfaithful men to this day.

“I mean I get where she’s coming from,” I shrugged as we walked back to the motel. Both brothers turned to look at me with concern smeared over their features. “OBVIOUSLY I don’t agree with all the murder,” they breathed a sigh of relief, “but you can’t hate her for being mad. I would be too.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows a little and holding his hands up. I gave him a look of bewilderment.

“What side do you think you’re on, Dean? Because this,” I gestured between us, “isn’t my good side.” He mumbled something incoherent as we got to the motel so I chose to ignore him completely.

“So what’s the plan? It’s getting late and we can’t really do anything now until that charity event taking place at the auction house tomorrow. We’re already pretty clued up on how to get rid of ghosts so there’s really not much to do except to get both your names on that guest list,” Sam patted his laptop, looking at both of us.

“Food?” Dean and I said at the same time.

“Food sounds good,” Sam nodded. The boys turned around to leave when I stopped them.

“Just whilst we’re still at the motel, I’m just going to freshen up real quick.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “really?” I flipped him the bird.

“I can just meet you there? There’s like only one diner in this town and I know the way. I won’t be long.” The brothers looked at each other for a few seconds before Sam looked at me and smiled.

“Sure ok, we’ll get a seat in the window so we can see you coming.”

“Great! I’ll see you soon,” I grinned at the younger Winchester before turning away and letting myself into my room.

I had the worlds quickest shower and threw on some clean underwear and a clean top, feeling better after getting the grime from the day off. I pulled on my jeans, socks and boots, applied a small amount of eyeliner and mascara and tidied my hair the best I could before slinging on my jacket and applying some perfume to my wrists and neck. It was one of my favourite scents: I’d bought it from some lingerie store a year or so ago and it’s apparently one of those aphrodisiac perfumes, however I have no idea if it even works or not. It’s probably a scam, nothing works that well in real life.

After I’d finished sorting myself out - which took no longer than half an hour - I grabbed my phone and keys and left the room, locking up before making my way towards the diner. Night had descended, the air turning cold against my warm skin and the usually busy streets now lay deserted and car-free. It was only about a five minute walk or so from the motel and I was now only about a minute away when I noticed that I wasn’t alone. I’d caught a glimpse of a figure dressed from head to toe in black in the reflection of several shop windows, and they were following my exact trail. I sped up, walking faster down the empty main road and hoping it was all a coincidence as worst case scenarios started to race through my mind. It wasn’t long until the diner was in sight and I breathed a sigh of relief, however the relief was short lived when those footsteps were getting closer and closer, quicker and quicker right behind me. It dawned on me that this wasn’t a coincidence at all - I was definitely being stalked. I started to run, my legs moving before my brain had kicked into gear and I was only inches from the front door when the stranger caught up, slamming me against the wall of the building and putting a knife to my throat, covering my mouth with a gloved hand.

“Don’t make a fucking noise - you’re coming with me,” he said aggressively yet quietly. I could feel the blade of the knife pressing against the soft skin of my neck and I couldn’t help but feel tears well in my eyes, my breath turning shaky as my heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t even get any words out as his hand was too tight over my lips.

I wanted to cry out for help so badly it hurt.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing that this was all a bad dream. My cheek was pushed into the rough brick which grazed my skin, and I silently prayed for my attacker to just let me go or for some hero to come and save me. At that very moment I heard the door to the diner and my eyes shot open, instantly connecting with Deans. I watched as surprise turned to horror which then turned to pure feral rage on his face and before I even had a chance to blink he was gone from my line of sight - but so was the pressure keeping me pinned against the wall. I spun around and I watched Dean throw the stalker to the floor with more force that I thought he could muster and tower over him. Dean didn’t say a word, but the stranger let out a sharp cry of pain as Dean instantly brought his boot down on his ribs. There was a CRACK. He did it again.

And again.

And again.

And then he got down and pinned my attacker flush against the tarmac before he brought a closed fist down on his face over and over and over again, cracking his jaw and breaking his nose. Dean didn’t stop until the man was totally unrecognisable and unresponsive. Standing up off of his limp body, he looked over to me, his furious, almost animalistic stare softening instantly, even through all the blood that now painted his face. He took one step towards me before my feet worked on their own and carried me straight to him. I put my arms out to reach for him and he grabbed my hands and pulled me into his chest with zero hesitation, his arms circling me and his blood-soaked palms gently stroking my hair. I sobbed. I sobbed from the fear I felt, I sobbed for feeling like such a victim and I sobbed for the relief I now felt flooding my veins as Dean held me, not saying a word. Listening to his heartbeat with my ear to his chest, I felt so safe and secure that it made me want to sob even more.

*

Dean ended up taking me straight back to my room - he called Sam to tell him what had happened as he wasn’t going to be returning to the diner. I had my second shower of the day as soon as we returned, wanting to scrub everywhere that horrible man had touched. Whilst I was washing, Dean had headed back to his own room to shower off the layer of blood coating his skin. After I was satisfactorily clean, I dried myself and dressed in that old T-shirt I wore the night before, pulling on some fresh underwear and perching on the end of the bed. I picked up the remote and started mindlessly flicking through channels, hoping to find something to distract my racing brain.

I’d been sitting in the same position for around ten minutes when there was a gentle knock on the door. I held my breath as I got up and walked over, looking through the peephole. It was Dean. I released that breath as I opened the door and let him in. He’d changed from his usual gruff attire to something way more comfortable - a plain white T-shirt and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms. He smiled at me. A kind smile, nothing like those teasing and sly ones we’d been throwing at each other since yesterday. This one was genuine, and it made my chest feel warm. He locked the door behind him as I padded back over to the bed and climbed on it, sitting right in the centre with my legs crossed. I pulled the T-shirt down to cover my dignity as Dean placed a carrier bag in front of me. I peeked inside. It was full to the brim of all different types of snacks and I grinned up at him.

“You sure do know how to treat a girl, Winchester.”

He let out a soft laugh and looked down at the floor before taking residence beside me.

“You’re the first one who thinks so”.

“Oh yeah?”

“There’s a long line of women who definitely think otherwise,” he smiled a slightly sad smile. We both paused before I continued.

“Well if it means anything, what you did for me today, I-” he held a hand up to stop me as he saw the look of fear flit across my features again, the horrid memory bubbling to the surface.

“It was the least I could do,” he said softly before his brows furrowed, “but to be honest I should never have let you out of my sight.” The almost protective tone of his voice made my heart flutter a little, but It was my turn to reassure him as I placed my hand on his shoulder delicately.

“Dean, none of us knew that would happen. I know you wouldn’t have left me alone if you genuinely thought I was in danger - after all, you DID promise to keep me safe from my own shadow,” I flashed him a grin which he quickly returned, chuckling. We sat for a few moments in a strangely comfortable silence before there was another knock at the door. I went to get up to answer it but Dean beat me to it, swinging it open to show a very concerned Sam stood in the doorway. He looked at me with those big ever-worried eyes and I shot him my best ‘please don’t worry’ grin.

“I’m fine, Sam” I called out to him as I tried to listen in on the hushed words Dean was speaking. They conversed for a while, occasionally throwing glances at me as I rustled around in the bag of goodies Dean had supplied. Growing bored of not being involved with their conversation, I scooted back on the bed to lean back on the headboard and proceeded to flick through dozens of channels until I found something decent to watch. A few more minutes had passed and I’d munched my way through almost half a bag of Doritos when I heard the door close and it was just me and Dean again. He had a paper bag that Sam must’ve passed him, which he held up and pointed to.

“The blood stains came out of my clothes, although Sam said the people in the laundromat were giving him strange looks,” he laughed slightly, those striking eyes of his looking down into mine as he took a few steps closer. I laughed slightly, only imagining Sam’s awkwardness in that situation. I broke my gaze away from Dean for a few seconds, looking down at my hands before looking back up. I could tell he was hovering now, just waiting for me to say something.

“Dean I’m fine, you don’t have to stay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying for a bit longer if you need me to” his hand ran over the stubble on his chin, his eyes not leaving me.

“Really, I’m ok. I’m probably just going to sit here and watch whatever this is-”

“It’s obviously Men in Black,” Dean scoffed. I smiled, finding comfort in the familiar snarky remark.

“Obviously - I don’t live under a rock Dean,” I rolled my eyes as I stood up, placing my hands on his chest. He was so warm to the touch that it was almost enticing me not to let go. The gentle thrum of his heartbeat was so soothing. But I did let go, and I spun him around to start ushering him to the door. As he was leaving, I grabbed my half eaten bag of chips and started munching again. He opened the door, stepping outside.

“Go back to your room Dean. I promise I’m ok. I don’t want you both hovering over me constantly making sure I’m fine; that will just make me feel worse,” I said as he spun to face me, nodding his head.

“Back to normal. Got it.”

“Great,” I said, sucking the tangy chip dust from my thumb. Dean suddenly reached out and snatched the half-eaten bag from my hand before quickly walking away.

“I’ll see you in the morning!” He shouted back at me before shovelling food into his mouth.

“You ass! I was eating those!” He shrugged in an overly animated fashion, not bothering to turn and look at me as he continued towards his room. I sighed, closing the door and locking it, sliding the chain across this time too. I padded back towards the bed and climbed in, pulling the covers up to my chin. As I started to drift off, the buzz of the movie still playing in the background, I smiled a little to myself:

Fucking Winchester.

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Up Next:

Chapter 6

[lawsofchaos1]

Shadowhunter Promptlet: Obeisance

In honor of the impending AO3 Shutdown Great Panic, please have a writing promptlet from one of my oldest journals. Fun fact: this is the predecessor to my angsty fic For Every Bird There Is a Stone. :)

~

When Alec is sixteen he discovers that his parents were in the Circle.

Not trusting any story they would tell him, Alec doesn't ask his mother or his father about their past, going instead to Alicante on official business and slipping the Hall of Records on his way back to New York.

Alec reads the file he illegally copied and is unsurprised to learn they were highly ranked- Maryse was one of Valentine's highest generals- and neither his mother nor his father stopped killing Downworlders without reason until it was made a condition of their parole.

Alec wishes he was surprised.

The file on his parent’s activity estimates the number of Downworlders they murdered and tortured, but no names are listed. The werewolves and the Seelie and the vampires and the warlocks are all left almost entirely anonymous, not even a cursory effort to identify them.

Alec reads every single word in both documents and discovers that there is one name contained in both, a single name that belongs to the only known survivor of his parent's wrath under Valentine's orders: a warlock that Maryse and Robert brutally tortured before his escape. Magnus Bane.

Alec is livid when he finds out that Magnus was never so much as apologized to, not even when he was later contracted by his parents to perform magical upkeep of the NYI wards after their parole.

When Shadowhunters have wronged another, the strongest expression of regret and repentance in nephilim culture is performing obeisance before the one who was wronged. It’s an expression of complete abjection and humility, acknowledging you (or one you are responsible for) have wronged the recipient and your punishment is in their hands.

In response to what he’s learned, Alec petitions the Clave for not only the Institute in full, but also the Headship of the Lightwood family.

Disgusted as they are by not only Maryse and Robert’s past actions, but also by their cowardice in refusing to take responsibility for their actions in the Circle and their present action in effectively leaving the Headship of the NYI to their son since he was fourteen, the Clave agrees. After the ceremonial transfer, Alec goes directly to Pandemonium. 

Magnus asks sarcastically if the new Head of the NYI is there to lay down the law or to make trouble. Alec doesn’t respond. Instead, he disarms himself, laying his weapons on the ground. All of them.

“Last week, I petitioned the Clave for Headship of not only the New York Institute, but also the Lightwood family. Both were granted, making me directly responsible for the future actions of all Shadowhunters under my command, but also for all actions of the Lightwood family, future and past.” 

Alec breathes deeply. “My parents, Robert and Maryse Lightwood, were in the Circle and believe wholly in the racist, genocidal doctrine preached by Valentine Morganstern. They committed unspeakable atrocities in his name to all factions of Downworlders, but when they spoke of their crimes to the Clave when requesting leniency, they only named the species of those they murdered and tortured without remorse. Except for you, High Warlock Bane. You, they named.”

Magnus was coldly imperious when he spoke. “Did you come to request absolution on their behalf, Shadowhunter? Because you certainly won’t receive it from me. Your parents slaughtered dozens for no other reason than their blood, and I will not forgive them.”

Alec nodded. “I didn’t expect you too. However, when I accepted the Lightwood Headship, the responsibility for their crimes became mine to bear. Although I know that this will be no consolation for you or for the friends and families of those hurt by my parents, you should know that I have ordered them confined to their home in Idris for the rest of their lives. They will never again bear weapons or act as members of the body of the Clave. They will never again harm another Downworlder. You have my oath on that.”

Magnus raised a brow. “A letter would have sufficed if that’s all you have to say.”

“No.” Alec paused. “Are- are you aware of the nephilim Rite of Obeisance?” 

Magnus paused for a fraction of a second, only noticeable to Alec given his closeness to the warlock. “I’ve heard of it, yes. It’s only been performed twice in the past century, if I remember correctly?”

Alec’s lips twitched sardonically. “It’s fallen out of favor since it requires admitting fault and accepting the consequence without possibility of appeal.”

Magnus’ own smile was cruelly amused. “Yes, I can see why you nephilim might not like that thought when the Clave hands out pardons to anyone with an old enough family name.”

Alec didn’t respond for a long moment. When he did, his voice was soft, but not hesitant. “Like they did to my parents.”

“Yes,” Magnus agreed, even though Alec hadn’t made it a question.

Alec closed his eyes for a brief moment in acknowledgement, then looked up to lock gazes with Magnus. “High Warlock Bane,” Alec’s voice was pitched to carry, his intonation suddenly formal. “As Head of the Lightwood Family, Maryse and Robert Lightwood now fall under my responsibility. They have both committed grievous harm to your person and have also committed grievous harm, including murder, to an unknown number of warlocks under your protection. Their crimes have not been punished by the Clave, nor can their crimes be fully addressed by anyone other than one harmed by them.”

And before the astonished eyes of all those present in Pandemonium, Alec sank to his knees, bowing forward until his forehead touched to floor in front of Magnus’ feet.

“As the one bearing responsibility for their actions, I give myself wholly to you in the fullest expression of remorse I can offer. In recompense for the harm done to you and yours, everything I have, up to my life, I give in offering to you.”

[respectthepetty]

10 Anticipated BLs for 2024

Since I'm excited for ALL the GLs (Pluto, 23.5, Sunshine in the Wind, Chaser Game, Be Mine, y todo!), I'm making my list of the 10 BLs I'm excited for this year with brief reasons why I'm looking forward to them. In my normal fashion, I cheat my way into having more. All except one is Thai because Thailand loves to tease series three years in advance, then never make them, but I strongly believe these are coming:

The Next Prince

Zee continues to never play a poor person, and a trailer is supposed to drop in the first quarter of this year. I never knew there was so many fencers on BL Tumblr, so I'm looking forward to everyone's commentary on how well the characters poke with their sticks or whatever fencers do.

Jack & Joker: U Steal My Heart

It's a heist BL. It has YinWar. It has Prom x Mark. It has Bonz. It's Dee Hup House (we got beef). It's Director Tee and probably Cinematographer Jim. It might have color coding. There is not one thing I can find wrong with this series. It's perfect on paper, and I'm praying that translates well to the screen.

Spare Me Your Mercy

Like that lady in Titanic, I've been waiting 80 years for this series (give me a minute to cry about MaxTul), and it's finally near! I'm getting JJ & Tor in a Dr. Sammon piece, who I feel writes "Be Gay, Do Crime" very well, so I'll be forgiving any of these two gays' wrongs including murder, attempted murder, contemplating murder, and murdering each other in the bedroom (ahhhh!).

Wandee Goodday

Golf from The Eclipse is directing. It's about Muay Thai. It has an older doctor and a younger boxer who start off as bed friends (and I think one is actually a virgin). It has color coding. It has me already seated and waiting with popcorn, and I think it might be the first offering that will be delivered from GMMTV's 2024 lineup.

Sequels: Choco Milk Shake 2, Unintentional Love Story 2, My Doctor

Is Choco Milk Shake 2 gonna finally give me poly? Probably not, but I hope My Doctor brings the same heat the side couple did in Be Mine, Superstar, and the side couple getting the spotlight in Unintentional Love Story 2 will also make my side-couple-supremacy heart very happy this year.

Live in Love

It looks color coded. That's it. That's the reason. Keeping my expectations low because it might not get made since this is Thailand's favorite game.

Red Peafowl

The character reveals were absolute chaos, so I'm hoping that chaos transfers over to the actual series because it can either be a mess or a masterpiece, but it cannot be mediocre with Max, Cooheart, Boun, Mek, and Yacht as supports. Plus, it has color coding and a bird that is quickly becoming a Tumblr god.

Love Upon a Time

Even though it is a historical queer series, which means it could be sad, I think Domundi will keep the sass, so James' character won't be crying in the 1600s club but instead eating fruit seductively to encourage Net's character to put his homosexual skills into practice instead of simply theorizing about them, which is something I need more of. Plus, it has color coding.

Love Puzzle

This is one that might not get made because . . . Thailand. It's connected to Chains of Heart, but I don't care because the cast looks good and Poppy is gonna finally get to kiss a homie. If this doesn't get made, I will cry thug tears. It's 2024. Poppy deserves to kiss a man already.

My Stand-In

I don't understand the plot, but it doesn't matter because Pepzi and Khom are directing, and in case that means nothing, those were KinnPorsche's directors! Then, it has Up and Poom as the leads, plus a stacked supporting cast. I'm here. I'm queer. And I'm ready to be served.

Honorable Mention: Peaceful Property

It's about los espookys and features Tay and New. Will it be a QL? The streets are saying no, but all the characters are color coded, and all's I'm saying is what would be the point of color coding them if I ain't getting a BL main couple and a GL side couple? It's already canon to me.

Bonus: MosBank & JoongDunk

MosBank had like eighty projects announced for 2023, and I got NONE! Big Dragon 2, Big Dragon: The Movie, SunsetxVibes, where you at?! Y Journey: Stay Like a Local and Club Friday do not count. I don't want to watch their horror movie, but gosh darnit, if that comes out before everything else, I just might.

And I am a JoongDunk fan first, and a human second. Give my boys a gym BL already, GMMTV!

[mcytrecursive]

How DO I sign up for this?

We have had to squeeze the sign-up form until it screams to make this work, so buckle in. Here is an example of how to sign up on Ao3 for the recursive exchange, step by step.

I have an idea for a side story for Etho and Iskall in This Is About A Stuffed Bird, by bee_4. So, to start with— that's a hermitcraft fic.

So I select Hermitcraft on the Fandoms part of the sign-up. Note that as we add more fandoms to the list, potentially this will become a drop-down menu instead of checklists. You still select the fandom you want in the same way.

Next is Gift Style. We're using the "characters" tab for that one.

I'm good with my gift being an art, a fic, or a web weave, so I can select all three of these! If I only wanted a fic, or an art, I would only select one.

Next is the Relationship tab, which we're using for characters (told you that we were having to squeeze the signup form until it screamed).

This is a drop-down menu, and I select the characters I want— in this case, Iskall and Ethoslab. Note that possibly I will only match on one character, as we couldn't do relationship matching this time, so I try to keep that in mind when it comes to my requests!

Next is Additional Tags, which is where I select the fic that I'm actually asking for a gift about! In the future, as more fics are added, this will be a dropdown menu, but right now it's tickboxes.

Next is categories. This is our shipping on-off switch.

I've decided that I am good with shipping or not with this one, so I've selected BOTH Gen and M/M. But now that I'm on the page I'm like "I wouldn't mind it if they were lesbians either" so I have selected F/F as well.

Next is rating, which is the NSFW on-off switch. I'm good with smut or no smut, so I've selected both options.

If I wanted no smut whatsoever I could do just Gen (which could also lead to a Mature or Teen work, but excludes E-rated work), and if I definitely wanted there to be dicks out I could select only Explicit.

Then we get to the major archive warnings. This is where you opt-in to archive warnings— it doesn't mean I will necessarily get them, but I'm okay with them! The matching says you might get any one of the things you select here.

Given the source material, I'm opting into Violence and Death as options, and I'm also selecting no warnings apply to show that I'm also good with no major archive warnings!

Now on to the actual request!

There's a space where I could link a letter if I wanted to go into detail with my request, but I think I can fit it in the text box today! I had to put my DNW on the Ao3, and because I said I was open to smut I included a NSFW DNW.

Okay, on to request two.

As you can see, for request two I'm doing a DSMP fic this time, and I specifically want art or web weaves! I selected emerald duo, and the fic I want. And I just want this one to be no shipping, so I only selected Gen for the type of relationship.

I opted out of explicit for this one, and I did say graphic violence was okay OR no archive warnings apply.

On to request three!

This is much like request two, except I only want fic for this one! But it's Dream SMP, Fic requested, the characters I want (techbur twins), the fic I want (catbag), I want it to be Gen and no shipping, no NSFW, I'm okay with graphic depictions of violence, and my prompt!

Now on to my offers.

I'm gonna start with Stuffed Bird again.

So it's a Hermitcraft fic, I am only able to make fic for it, but you know what, I'll write literally anybody in this world. Hit me. I selected any relationship (which in this case means any CHARACTER). And I selected any TYPE of relationship too— yes I'll write any type of shipping or non-shipping. I can't write smut though, so I only selected General for the rating, and I will absolutely do violence but I am not good with MCD or noncon, so I didn't select those.

For my second request, I opened up catbag.

That's a Dream SMP fic, but this time I only wanted to do specific characters. I set it up so that I'd write any combination of SBI, Beeduo, and Quackity. No shipping for me with this one, and no smut, but yes I'll do graphic violence.

And then on to odaigahara's fic!

That's a Dream SMP fic, and I think I could make a web weave for that one, so I selected both fic and web weave. I only want to write Emerald Duo for it, so I just selected them. No shipping, only Gen for this one, and no smut, only gen as well. I don't feel like doing graphic depictions of violence for thisone, so I just selected no archive warnings apply!

For my final one, I really want to make sure that I'm matchable on femslash, so I did a bit of a basket offer.

I selected both Hermitcraft and 3rd life, and selected that I would be making fic. I selected all the ladies (+iskall, for stresskall), and when it came time to select an additional tag, which is what fic I'm saying I'll match on, I selected any. With that and the F/F tag selected, it means that I'll be matchable to any Hermit-Traffic femslash request, no matter which story or art it's attached to. Cause I figure I can read the source material and make something in the creation time period!

So that is 3 requests and 4 offers done, and I have a full sign-up! I'm ready to go! That is how you sign up! Over the course of the sign-up period I might keep an eye on other people's sign-ups (available at the Ao3 automagic app) and tweak my sign-ups so that I'm matchable with someone (or several someones), but for right now, I'm good to go!

[hadesisonlyalad]

yk i dont post a lot on tumblr but we all saw that red flags post so im gonna take a moment of ur time to say something on each merc and the red flags listed for them. im doing a read more incase u havent seen the “mercs red flags” headcanon post and it does not flood ur page

both the medic and engie things with “not wanting to spend time with you/wont make time for you” is SUCH bullshit if that was the case they wouldnt even date you. and then ur telling me engie tf2, DELL CONAGHER, would NEVER want to take you on a date? like ever??? u are INSANE. And then sorry to tackle medic and engie in the same paragraph but they had a lot of common “””””red flags””””” that were listed. why would he yell at you. he hardly even yells in general (based off comics and voice lines) if anything hes just kinda a loud person 💀 AND YOU BRINGING UP ONE THING WONT MAKE HIM SUDDENLY IGNORE YOU FOR DAYS LIKE?? he KNOWS hes committing medical malpractice btw. he would not leave you for bringing that up he is WELL AWARE of what hes doing. and we see him CANONICALLY DISCIPLINE ARCHIMEDES IN MEET THE MEDIC, WHY WOULD HE TOLERATE HIS BIRDS ATTACKING YOU????

also why are we listing an addiction as a “red flag” what the fuck is wrong with you. i get not wanting to date someone with an addiction, its a valid concern, but thats SO much more serious than a “red flag” or “ick”??? LIKE ARE YOU OKAYYYY???????

AND THEN HEAVY’S RED FLAG IS “he has trauma” FUCKING. PACK IT UP GUYS IG IF YOU HAVE TRAUMA YOU CAN NEVER BE IN A RELATIONSHIP. (/s) WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.

i’m fine with the miss pauling ones, at least two of them, because yeah, it’s canon that she doesn’t have the most time and i imagine if ur not a merc or work in that area a relationship might be a bit hard? but shes an honest person, i don’t think she’s gonna lie to you. idk im very neutral about the pauling ones, if anything theyre the most in character of this shithole list.

all i have to say for pyro is like. yk those people who hc pyro as aroace except theyre super weird about it? like theyre either infantilizing them or have weird ableist feelings about pyro? yeah thats the vibes im getting. actually wait where did u pull codependent pyro from actually wtf

i think the “tryna live like hes 20” thing for spy is really fucking funny 💀 like go girl go live through that middle age crisis!!/j no but seriously. hes dating you hes gonna think you’re a 10, and even then YOU’RE SAYING IF YOU AGE AT ALL HE’LL LEAVE YOU??? CANON MILF LOVER SPY. “OFF TO VISIT YOUR MOTHER!” SPY TF2. WILL LEAVE YOU IF YOU GET OLD AND AGE AT ALL…? HE LIKES HIS WOMEN LIKE HE LIKES HIS WINE MOTHERFUCKER: AGED. sorry bad joke lets keep going uh- i think the other hcs are garbage too i just really hate specifically this spy hc. just this one specifically.

im not a sniper connoisseur, my friend will is way better versed in sniper’s characterization, but even i know this isnt sniper. “thinks if he argues long enough he’ll win”…? “cannot support you in anything”?!!?! “IF YOU’RE HIS FRIEND AND YOU TWO GET INTO A BAD ARGUMENT PREPARE TO NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN” IM GENUINELY AT A LOSS FOR WORDS. I JUST. I DONT..? WHAT DO I EVEN SAY. I DONT K N O W WHAT TO SAY. BUT IF I DID KNOW WHAT TO SAY I’D BE SAYING VERY BAD THINGS.

i dont think scout is misogynistic- i see why people think that but me personally i just think he has no game and people mistake it as violent misogyny for some reason. but. listen we know scout is a dick we do okay but he loves women. why would he cheat on you.? bro he’d be glad u picked him 😭 AND THEN THE PERIOD THING?? he was raised by a SINGLE MOM do you REALLY think shes gonna raise him and let him think that way about a natural body function. im speaking entirely from the single mom experience and the answer is NO!!!! also how is loving your mother a red flag. being the youngest child is also a red flag, i guess. and having issues with his dad. (/s) also, second verse same as the first: IF HES DATING YOU HE THINKS YOU’RE A 10 WHAT IS SO HARD TO FUCKING GET ABOUT THISHXWHBVWBWBXvqvsbs?1?2!2’wndjwke

uhhh soldier wasnt. here for some reason. so nothing to say about him.

anyway leave ur opinions below. i rly dont wanna get into any tumblr drama or internet drama at all bc it scares me dearly and im always self conscious about leaving a bad digital footprint especially over something as petty as tf2 drama but i cannot stand for this slander I CANNOT‼️‼️‼️‼️ sorry if u also think im mischaracterizing anyone here i only put hours of studying into my fav mercs and thats. abt it,, listen im silly okay

[starzgaze]

Hai Haii!

Random question: you know the Types of people as Animals?? ie. The black cat, golden retriever, golden cat, black lab, ext.

Okay so what type of person do you think Jinwoo, Thomas Andre, Liu Zhigang and Cha hae in are? (Add any other character too if you want)

Also here's a link to a uquiz that started this decent into madness ahhdbd :

https://uquiz.com/quiz/Hg8xGo?p=3738430

Or you can search -> Are you a Black Cat or a Golden Retriever? By miacathart

(I got Golden Cat as a result btw if your curious.)

Honestly no pressure. You kinda seem like your going through it so I thought this could be a silly thing to cheer you up, even for a moment.

cheers,

✒️ nonnie

HII ✒️ NONNIE and erhrhrh dw about me im just err... going through it TOT but nice to see you again www also you're a golden cat?? so like... orange... right... u and me r twins

anyway yeahh!! i know about that and i think i got like... golden cat or orange cat in some quizzes and i meaan yeah I'm low-key air headed something is in my head and its not my brain nonnie!!

oh I've thought about that i think like wayyy way back i think it's like widely accepted that jinwoo is a black cat and i mean... i also agree but not the fact his whole fashion sense is just black black black but there's symbolism here and there such as black cats are seen as a symbol of death or bad luck is looming over you, mostly negative symbolism or ties with death which is fitting for our shadow monarch

not to mention have you seen those cat videos in the internet? especially the black cat videos where sometimes they're basically liquid and merges with their surroundings if it's reallyyy dark? yeah that's jinwoo can't convince otherwise, also the attitude?? jinwoo is a teeny weeny atleast sassy atleast, it's funny though.

also he fits it over all vibe too, he seems pretty distant at first but once he warms up and garners affection for you he wouldn't leave you alone even if he seems a bit distant.

for thomas I personally think he would be a dog type but not particularly a golden retriever or black lab either, probably a different breed of big dog that's purposely high maintenance and difficult to take care but also fiercly protective and loyal just how he is. probably a great Pyrenees or dogs that's mistakened as a lion or some big animal lmfaoo

he's huge and wild bro!! a bit violent here and there but it was mostly out of survival for him and his guildmates. other than that though i imagine he's a lovable guy like probably really nice to hug and hang around with like a big dog, not to mention he sort of has the attitude of one if you squint.

okay listen to me with zhigang. that man is not any of the listed animals if I'm being fr... zhigang would be a rooster... hear me out

actually not really a rooster only i had some other ideas or for other animals but none of them were mammals and mostly birds soo, he would be a bird. zhigang's personality is PROBABLY extroverted and a bit loud but it's fine because its liu zhigang

he seems to be a morning person to me, being a martial artist enthusiast and all. it's part of his routine to wake up early and drag any unfortunate person to his morning exercise and stretches that is soul crushing from how painful it is. also don't even try to sleep through his first call out to you for the morning exercise, he will become your personal rooster so just you can accompany him.

cha hae-in.... i honestly think she's a white cat just to contrast jinwoo but she's more of an angel to be with in general or I'm just biased to girls... anyway she seems more aloof and quiet compared to an orange cat or any dog breed except for a few probably but to me she's a cat from just how she strut in those panels lmfaoo

she seems to be the type to just space out or listen to you quietly before giving her own advice. hae-in is also elegant like a white cat bro have you seen her move or act? she's so poise and pretty especially when fighting with a sword.

but also she acts like a cat with her quiet... judging eyes or maybe out of the blue truthful words like cats that literally just swats you for no reason, just like how hae-in is with her advice that sometimes seem too blunt at times. (probably a reason why jong-in doesn't let her deal with conferences) but she's a great friend to be with! gentle and kind like a white cat heuughh i love her cutie patootie she's a girls girl

okay last one i talked about this one with some people and I'm sure about jinchul being a dog type but i have some thoughts on what type he would be or what breed. now that I've thought more about it, shiba inu would fit him ya know? intelligent dogs that's known for saving it's owners from danger and calamities just how jinchul save hunters and try to protect them and alsoo sort of has a resemblance to them lmfao

but he also fits being a border collie! that dog breed is known for herding sheep and protecting stuff! the breed is alert, loyal, and intelligent soo yeah i can also see jinchul being this type of dog too lmfaoo but probably an older one too just seeing how low-key tired he is judging from in game dialogue you can see whenever you meet him inside of the lobby

he's protective and attentive so what's not there to love? he's soo pookie I'm gonna squeeze him into a pulp someone stop me

also extra my sister told me she sees jinwoo as a ferret and i mean.. i see it actually and all this animal personality talk made me wanna do a hybrid au with these cutie pies i have ideas running in my head now

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Writemas Day 8: Remembering

<- Previous | Masterpost | Next ->

Prompts: "Can you forgive me?" | The cusp of dawn | Blinding fury

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 1100

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed) @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @agirlandherquill

CW: arguing, swearing, anger

Tapping in the hall signaled Altair's return, and she folded her arms, directing her full attention at him. In his free hand, he carried his blue carpetbag, his expression unreadable. "Altair Ravensworn," she asked in a severe tone, "What happened in Lerwick six years ago, that I do not remember?"

"A great many things," Altair answered, setting the bag down on a nearby armchair. He opened it and began rummaging through its contents. "Far too many to explain. No, what I need you to do is remember. And then we can figure out what happened."

He pulled out a long magnifying glass. Except... no, this wasn't a magnifying glass. The lens wasn't warped, but smooth like a window pane. He glanced at Kore, who stood beside Thea, hands on her hips. "I would ask you to leave us alone," he said, "but something tells me you won't do that."

"Observant," she remarked.

He waved at the sofa. "At least sit down, so you're out of the way."

Kore looked to Thea, who eyed Altair for a long moment before nodding. Her sister hesitated, but did as he said, though by the way her hands toyed with her skirt, she was clearly stressed. Thea didn't blame her.

"Alright," Altair said, holding up the not-magnifying glass. "Hold still."

Thea obeyed, and he began to walk in a slow circle around her, studying her through the strange, smooth lens. "What are you looking for?" she asked.

"I'm trying to figure out how it is you do not remember the event that changed us forever," Altair responded, frowning at her right hand for a moment before continuing his circuit.

"Us...?"

"You, me, Caelum. Lift your left arm. I need to see your hand."

She raised it, and Altair leaned closer, closely inspecting her fingers. Or, more accurately, her wedding ring. He hummed softly. "There it is."

"There what is?"

Altair nodded to himself before stepping away, setting the not-magnifying glass down beside the bag before looking through it again. "The evidence that Caelum did not listen to my warnings."

Thea stared at the ring on her finger. "What?"

"Oh, the ring itself is fine," Altair said, digging deeper into the bag. "Rather, he used it as a focal point for the thinnest strands I've ever seen. He did always have a way with the subtler threads. Now where did I put those shears...?"

"Strands? Threads?"

Altair made a noise of triumph, withdrawing a small pair of scissors from the bag. At first glance, it appeared to be a pair of sewing scissors, the type carved to look like a bird. But the metal caught the light oddly, reflecting the warm lamplight into a colder tint somehow.

"It will all make sense soon enough," he replied, gently taking her hand and opening the scissors, resting the lower blade on the surface of the ring. He squinted at both for a long moment. Finally, he exhaled slowly and snapped the scissors closed.

For a moment, everything was still.

And the world burst alight.

Thea gasped, stumbling back, the threads binding the world together seeming to bloom into existence before her eyes. New and yet so familiar it was like finding a treasured object from years and years ago. Memories flooded back, sudden and shocking but very much hers.

Lerwick.

The mirror.

Volantis.

The Slain.

Everything.

Everything.

It was early morning, the world on the cusp of dawn. Neither Caelum nor Thea could sleep, so they were in the sitting room, the need to talk hanging heavily over them. Heavy like when the reapers---no, the Slain---were around. The threads had been twisting on their own in a way Thea had never seen before lately.

"We need to prepare," Thea said quietly, drawing her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "I don't know why the threads twist around us now, years after we have left Volantis. But we must be ready for the summons."

"If it even is a summons," Caelum murmured, staring at the threads running up and down the wall. His expression was thoughtful, though his hands were clenched into fists. "They would not be twisted in such a way if it were simply a summons."

"What else could it be?"

He hummed softly. "The Slain approaches. The Fallen One, the Insurgent, the Iris."

Thea looked at him in shock. "How can you possibly know that? He has not been seen in millennia!"

"He seeks me. I am the Defiant, the Dahlia. I have stolen his title."

"You... you earned that title! Through no fault of your own!"

Caelum turned to her, expression hard. "It does not matter. I was made a challenger."

"Caelum...."

"There is no way around it, Thea. You know as well as I what the Slain said when we were bestowed our titles. And you know as well as I that I promised to keep you safe."

Thea's jaw tightened. "If what you say is true, there is no keeping me safe. We must prepare."

"There is no 'we'."

"Damn well there isn't!" Thea snapped, "The Iris is the Fallen One. He no longer abides by the laws of Volantis. He is weakened, yes, but he will not play fair. He will see me for what I am, perhaps try to use me against you."

"I know," Caelum whispered, "But I think I have found a way around it. A way to hide you."

"That isn't possible and you know it. Even if it was, I do not want it! If you must fight, I must fight with you! Or have you forgotten our vows?"

His expression was mournful now, and he watched her for a long moment before speaking. "Can you forgive me?"

Thea narrowed her eyes. "Forgive you for wha---?"

Blinding fury exploded from the memory as Thea realized what Caelum had done. She snatched hold of the tiny strands once wrapped around her, the threads that had somehow suppressed all memory of the best and worst years of her life. And with the memories, her ability to see and interact with the threads binding the world. The strands glowed brightly, showing themselves for what they were: energy to be harnessed.

"You..." she hissed through gritted teeth, "You fool. You clever, traitorous fool."

"Thea?" Altair asked gently, and Thea glanced up to find him a few steps away, the scissors nowhere in sight, his free hand grasping nearby strands but yet to harness them. Her eyes flicked to Kore, who was now on her feet, undisguised fear and awe on her face.

Thea took a deep breath and allowed the strands of Caelum's spell to vanish, the threads rejoining the unseen substance of the world around her. When she spoke, her voice was harsh.

"I am Amalthea Hargreaves. Amalthea the Relentless, Amalthea the Rue. And now I understand."

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 4

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. Happy to be posting another chapter! Please enjoy :)

We drive all morning.

The leafy dirt and tilted trees of the quarry crawl past our windows, and they take about an hour to turn into cement roads, gas stations, pharmacies and corner stores with the windows busted out. We're in an empty town, now, trailing the sidewalks like a long line of ants.

At the head of the group is officer Rick's car, leading us left and right 'round the edges of danger and death, 'cause that's what cops do. Behind him is Morales' car. Then, me and my Dad are in the middle, and behind us is the RV. At the back, sandwiching us all together, 'cause he's the only other cop, is officer Shane. His voice crackles up on the walkie every few minutes, goin', everything lookin' good up front, over, which Rick's voice answers, all's good, over, except for that one time, 'cause there was a dead buck blocking the road, and they had to get out and shove it off.

Sometimes we'll get a, Daryl, from one of them, which means, How's Harley, which means, Do we need to pull over and shoot your daughter in the face, and my Dad always answers with a, Keep drivin', and he throws the walkie down like it tried biting him.

Adults like addin' layers onto what they say, 'cause the truth is too offensive to say out loud.

My Dad's watchin' me real close; closer than the road, even. He's chewin' on his thumb.

Things were a little like this when it was just us, in the beginning. All we did for the first three days was drive.

Then, we found these people.

I think about Rick — And how just for one more day, he saved my life.

He split Sophia's Dad in half with a bullet, to keep him from ripping me up. Without him, maybe those teeth in my shoe would'a had one more moment to sink into me, and I'd be dead again, some other way. The only reason I'm able to feel the sun on my skin right now, and listen to the birds as they flutter and chirp on the phone lines is because of Rick, the man who killed my Uncle. I'm half-dyin', and Rick — He's half-good. There might be walker germs inside my body, and they might be squirming their way into my lungs, and my heart, and eventually, my brain, which will turn me into one more dead name the living will have to carry around with 'em, and my Dad will be sad forever, but today, I get to watch the sky pass over us.

That's just enough, I think, for me to only hate officer Rick with half of everything I got.

The walkie chimes.

"Daryl?" It's Rick, again, and I know his police badge is prolly winkin' in the sunlight.

Do we need to shoot your daughter in the face? Did I fail?

Dad snatches up the walkie. He don't like answering the secret question that Rick's askin', not one bit.

"No. Keep drivin'."

He throws it down and goes back to chewin' his thumb, bouncin' his knee, and glancin' at my arm. If he could, he'd blast the music so loud that there wasn't enough space left in his head to think so hard about everything. I go back to watching the clouds pass by, just for today.

We drive all morning, and then after that, we drive all afternoon.

Somebody honks twice, quick. Honk, honk.

That's code for, everybody pull over; something's wrong.

"Stay here, chicken," My Dad mutters, before he hops out. We're in a parking lot for a supermarket.

The adults gather, and the kids are all lookin' at each other through the windows, mouthing what's going on, and frowning. We all shrug.

My Dad comes back a few minutes later.

"Old man says the RV's runnin' on fumes." Dad reports, folding him arms on my window.

"What's that mean?" I ask him.

I can feel nausea spilling in through my stomach; rolling inside my skull, for the third time today.

"Means we're gonna have to stay here for a little bit." He sighs.

The first thing I do when he lets me out the truck is retch my guts up onto the front tyre.

Heads turn, and I know everybody's already makin' excuses in their heads, like I'm just feeling car-sick, but it's just not true. I'm not car-sick. I've been throwing up since yesterday, and everyone knows it, 'cause they watch me like hawks.

My Dad helps me use a spare shirt to wipe my chin clean, and then he sets me up in one of the camping chairs people are pulling out for the long wait. He makes me drink some water, three big sips, and he finds me an apple to nibble on, nagging me to eat as much I can. I hesitate, 'cause it's just gonna end up in another slimy puddle of vomit some hours from now, but I bite into it, anyway.

He tells me to stay put, and then he's leaving with all the other men to search for gas. The women hover around me — Some sitting, some leaning, some standing, but all of 'em starin'. Except for poor, poor Andrea, who's not staring at anything other than her shoes. I feel like Andrea.

More apples and water get passed around.

"Sweetie, I just wanted to tell you I'm so sorry." Lori says to me. "I should have been paying more attention. I shouldn't have let you run off."

I force myself to look at her. "Don't be sorry. It's my fault."

"Oh," She sighs, and she just looks so, so sad. "Please don't say that. It's not your fault."

But, "It is my fault." I tell her. "I ran away."

Carol speaks up. "Honey, what happened was not your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault. It was just... a terrible, terrible accident."

Jacqui nods. "Don't blame yourself."

"Rick feels awful." Lori admits. "After Atlanta, after Merle... Now, this. God. He's just so torn up about it."

I shrink into my chair, 'cause I don't wanna hear a single word 'bout Rick, or his feelings. He saved me, but he's not my friend, and I don't have to care about his feelings; especially not when they're about murdering my family. I don't have to care about any of their feelings. I think they're forgetting that I'm also waiting to see if I die. They keep glancing at my skin, my eyes, and my fingers, which aren't twitching, yet — But, so am I. I don't want to die. I want to listen to the birds every day. I want to see my Dad, too. I want to watch the stars at night, and pick out the shiniest one.

"Okay," Is all I can croak out, 'cause there's something very thin inside of me that's stopping me from crying, and I don't wanna break it.

Then — "God," It's Andrea, and she's laughing. "She's dying! The kid is dying, people!"

I whip my head up. The other women gasp.

"Last thing she wants is you people pestering her all-damn day, so just do her a favor and shut your traps."

Everyone is gobsmacked, as Dale likes to say. Their mouths are hanging open, and their eyes are all shifty, like they're lookin' around to see if everyone just heard what they just heard. But, yep, they heard right. Andrea just said the word dying, which is basically a cuss word, and nobody can do anything to take it back.

You can't swallow words you already said. I know that, 'cause I've tried, like the night I told my Dad he killed my Momma.

"Or Daryl's gonna come back and do it for you."

Andrea don't even care 'bout the stares. She goes back to eating her apple. 

"I don't think that's appropriate," Lori tells her.

Jacqui sighs. "Let's just talk about something else, y'all, huh? Like, uh..."

"There's nothing else to talk about, Jacqui. We're all just playing the waiting game, here. Whether we talk about the damn weather or not isn't gonna change the fact that we might have to shoot Harley in the face in a few hours."

Andrea's right, and nobody can change it.

After that, all we do is wait, and wait, and wait, for me to start twitching. Nobody likes this game.

To keep busy, me and the other kids scribble flowers and stick-men into the tarmac with some chalk that Carol finds in a trunk, and she makes sure to compliment my drawings way more than the others, even though they're kinda wonky. Carl snacks on some jerky. Then Dale wonders on back, and we get to listen to some more of his poetry book, which has teeny-tiny letters that he needs to put his glasses on to read. It makes him look more like everybody's grandpas than he already does. My Grandpappy Dixon, though — He wouldn't read no damn poetry book. He'd chop it up and use it for firewood, just so he could burn some more poetry books.

We're on a poem about a newborn lamb when the men come back.

They're all carrying jerry cans and plastic tubing and heavy, droopy frowns that mean bad news. Glenn flops onto a chair and when he shakes his head, sweat goes flying off, and his arms are covered in black car soot. Morales and T-Dog pinch and shake out their sweaty shirts.

My Dad stands behind my chair, squeezing onto the muscles on either side of my neck.

"You eatcher apple?" He murmurs to me.

"Yeah," I murmur back, and he nods.

Everybody straightens.

"Alright, y'all." Rick hooks his thumbs into his belt. "At the moment, we're only getting gas from 'bout one outta every fifteen cars we check, which'll have us back on the road in about a couple hours. I'm aware that ain't ideal. I'm aware we're on a time limit, here. But we don't have a lotta options."

"There's space in the RV." Comments Dale. "We could ditch one of the cars; pile in the RV."

Shane tries to laugh. "That's a whole lotta pilin', there, Dale."

Glenn looks like he hates to say it, but, "He's right. We've already got me, Jacqui, Carol, Sophia and Andrea crammed in there."

Dale deflates and goes back to stroking his beard.

"Now, this here's a parking lot, people." Shane announces. "There's cars here. There's gas. We're just gonna have to stick it out 'til then."

There's a general wave of disagreement passing over everyone's faces.

I know what they're thinking.

"Is someone going to say it?" Carol huffs, and nope, nobody's going to say it, so she has to. "Harley can't just, 'stick it out'."

We haven't had a real conversation about this. My imminent maybe-death has only been passed around in whispers and mumbles, like a bad stain nobody wants to hold onto for too long. Nobody wants to mention my weak stomach or just how much I've been hurling up my food, because that way, it can't just exist in the background, anymore. It has to take a front seat, where they can see it; where it's scarier.

As soon as the words come out Carol's mouth, eyes start jumping around, as if it's easier to discuss my death if they can't see me.

"I'm sorry, but that's the reality, here." Carol's taking a page out of Andrea's book. "Daryl, how many times has that girl thrown up today?"

His hands grip me harder. "'Bout... 'Bout four-five times."

"Right. So, I think it's time we throw the possibility of those scratches bein' nothing out the window." She says, grim.

Glenn rubs at his forehead. "Oh my God."

"W— H-Hold on, now." Dale's stuttering, shaking his head. "We can't just diagnose her from— from one measly symptom."

"This doesn't change anything." Shane suddenly argues.

My Dad starts, "The Hell it don—"

"We're headed to the CDC for a cure." Shane talks over him. "We're headed there, and that's it. It's all we can do."

Dale's just totally appalled. "I think there's a lot more we can do."

"That supply run from a few weeks ago," Glenn's frowning, "I brought back some good stuff. Maybe that can... Stave it off."

It, meaning the germs reaching my brain, once and for all. I recall the posters in my old science classroom, where a person's head would be sliced in half and you could see all the brains on the inside, and I imagine that it's my brain, and that there are millions of little ants chewing away at the edge, and then one of them breaks through, 'cause all it takes is one, and they eat my brain from the inside-out like an old melon, then that's the end — I die.

My Dad can tell what I'm thinking, 'cause he's magic like that, and he silently takes my place in the chair, and sets me in his lap. His arms wrap around my waist, and Jacqui reaches over to put her hand over mine.

You can't stave off turning into a walker. You can try — Like, with cables, and apologies — but really, it doesn't work like that. We're all just meat and bones and guts and skin, and rules like dying apply to us, even if we don't want 'em to. We're all just animals, even if we read poetry.

Shane scrubs his face with his hand, and he looks like he really wants to call Glenn a cuss word. "Glenn—"

"It doesn't work like that, I know." Glenn snaps. "You think I don't know that? You think I'm an idiot? You think I wanna watch a kid die?"

Rick pipes up. "Nobody's sayin—"

"'Nobody's saying that', I know," Glenn argues, "But you're all thinking it. What? You don't even want to try?"

"No. It's a good idea." Rick disagrees. "In fact, I'm all for it. Daryl?"

My Dad's gone quiet. He gives a nod.

"Well, then I don't think it's anyone else's decision to make." Rick concludes. "What do we have?"

"Kaopectate, Ibuprofen. Nausea stuff." Glenn lists, calmer now.

"Still stuck sitting on our asses, though." Morales sighs, holding Eliza, who's not full of germs. "Wasting time we don't have."

"CDC's not going anywhere." Jim shrugs.

Suddenly, Dad's not quiet anymore. "How 'boutchu go ahead and share whatcher fuckin' problem is with the class?"

Jim claims, "Don't got one."

"Nah, matter fact," Dad scowls, "You know what? You said my daughter's life ain't worth a few drops of gas this mornin', if I 'memmer right, so why don't you go ahead and shoot a fuckin' hole in yer head 'fore I get up 'n do it for you? Right here, right now?"

Jim's jaw drops. "Woah—"

"Hey — Let's just get back on track, here." Rick holds up his hands, always the peacemaker. "There's no need for this."

Jacqui whips her hand in the air, squinting. "Hang on. What?"

"Yeah," Dad's getting heated; his voice higher. "This fuckin' string-bean bastard, you know what he said to me this mornin'? He said, 'Let's just think 'bout how much gas this is gonna cost us', with some lil' fuckin' smirk, when we were talkin' about savin' Harley."

Jim bursts, "Oh, that's compl—"

Conversation breaks out, but my Dad's shouting over all of it. "Yeah, man! S'what you said, right to my face!"

"That's—" Lori's gobsmacked. "I don't even know what to say to that, Jim."

"H— H-hang—" Rick's trying desperately to squash all this arguing down, but the shouting and the bodies — standing, now — are drowning him. Underneath me, my Dad's legs are jerking up and down, up and down, like that day in camp, 'cause he wants to get up and beat Jim until he's just a lumpy, red smear in the road. Suddenly, there's half a dozen people out of their chairs, forming one hostile voice. "H— Hang on, a secon—"

"You know what," Shane's booming, "I thought there was something off 'bout the way you said that, Jim."

"Is that true?" Glenn's asking, eyebrows screwed tight. "That's messed up, man."

Morales frowns, "Would you say that about my daughter?"

"Calm down," Dale echoes Rick. "Calm down."

"What, you gonna hit me, now? That's whatcher gon' do?" My Dad goads, grinnin', now. "Really?"

"Calm down," Jacqui says.

"Calm down," Lori says.

"Calm down!" T-Dog says.

"Calm down!!" Rick bellows, furious, absolutely furious, and there's a cracking gunshot — a bang — aimed into the clouds, and then silence.

Absolute, total, complete silence. It's so solid that people are stuck in it. So solid that I can hear the bird on the hood of Dad's truck jumping back and forth on its little talons, twenty feet away. It watches, oblivious, hopping and shuffling, until people start remembering to breathe again.

Even Rick is disturbed, and he's the one that pulled the trigger. "That's enough," He exhales, lowering his revolver.

"That's gonna pull a lot of geeks this way." Glenn whispers.

"Good thing we can leave right now, then." Rick pants, and he's staring down Jim, now. What does he mean? Leave right now? But we're stuck here. He said that. His cheekbone looks like an old plum, from where my Daddy punched him a couple days ago, and his eyes; they're piercing, like sharp, blue shards of glass melting under a blowtorch, and suddenly, he don't look like much of a peacemaker no more. "'Cause, Jim, your seat just became available."

His seat? What's that mean? Is he—?

"You're leaving me here?" Jim cries.

"Next bullet's goin' in your leg." Rick tosses the words at Jim, tired. "You doin' this willingly, or not?"

Jim cries out again, and that's how he goes down — He goes down crying and kicking and screaming, bastards, bastards, bastards, but the words mean nothing, and Dale's tryna stop them but neither him or Jimmy are strong enough to fend off four other grown men. I find myself in Lori's arms, right beside Carl, watching with my heart in my mouth, as Shane, Rick, Morales, and my Dad pin Jim down like he's an angry cat, and beat his fighting hands into a long coil of rope that they twist — God, you don't have to do this, please, you don — it tight, and then they anchor him to a shopping cart bay, and they leave him there, with nothing but a jar of peanut butter, a steak knife, an unloaded gun, and their bitter regards.

Dale's blubbering, speaking up for everyone who won't; can't. "This isn't right—"

But they brush past us, into the cars. Rick grabs Lori. My Dad grabs me. Shane starts unloading his Jeep, 'cause we're leaving that behind, too.

"We're leaving Jim?" I shriek quietly to my Dad, who's ushering me back into the truck.

He yanks my seat-belt down. "Ain't our fault," Click. "Fella deserves it."

"But—"

The door slams shut.

"Please!" Jim cries. I scramble to peer outside, and I see him kicking the air. "Please! I'll die out here!"

"If yer smart, you'll cut yourself out with the knife, and you'll ration the jar." Daddy calls out as he hops in the driver's seat. "But it's like I said." Slam. "Bag'a bricks."

"No, no, no! Please!"

More doors slamming shut; engines roaring to life. Rick shouts out the radio channel, again, as a reminder.

I can still hear Jim screaming when we peel out onto the highway.

"Everything lookin' good up front? Over."

A pause.

"All's good. Over."

I never wanted this.

Outside the windows, the sunset is melting purples and oranges all over each other like hot wax, and the tips of wheat fields are whipping past.

There's a long list of things that have happened the past few weeks that I never wanted.

I never wanted to leave home. Homes aren't meant to be left. That's why we got a word for house and a word for home, 'cause they're different. House is the walls and the bricks and the paint, but home is the twenty-year-old sofa that's in it, and the people that have been on it, and the old pictures stuck on the fridge. It's where I made memories in the day and dreamt about 'em at night. It's where I took my first steps, and it's where I cried, and laughed, and broke my first bone, and got my height scribbled into the doorframe. It's where I miss — deeply, like a wound I can't put a bandage on — every moment of every day. It's where I won't get to grow up. I never wanted to drive for days and go nowhere. I never wanted my Uncle Merle to turn into a star. I never wanted a dead man to scratch my own death into my skin, and there be nothing I could do to stop it besides stave it off. I never wanted to die; not yet, not now, not before I could live.

And parents aren't supposed to live longer than their kids. It's just one of them rules that everybody's born knowing.

I think that's why my Dad is cryin' again; crying, crying, crying, and he just can't stop. My Daddy never cries. Toughest man in camp, I'd say.

The common assessment, now, is that I really am infected. I'm going to die.

I remember my Dad's wallet, with all the photos tucked into the sleeves. I remember all the other photos we lost, or left, or didn't think to capture. I remember my last birthday, which was my seventh. Such a small number. Not even all my fingers. Some people get two number-candles on their cakes before they die. I only got one, but that's okay, 'cause I got other things. I got a day just for me, and I got I love you's, wrapped up in pink and even pinker birthday paper, and I got it all even though my Daddy didn't have much money. I got to live. I don't know how many days are in a year, but I know it's a lot. There's even more in seven years. I got to be alive for every single one of them. Isn't that lucky?

We left Jim to die, and I never wanted that, neither. Nobody deserves to die. I don't.

"Daddy, are you gonna leave me?" I ask. Maybe I won't get shot; I'll get left. I don't know which one I'd choose. I don't wanna choose at all.

"God," My Dad snuffles, smackin' away his tears. "Don't fuckin' ask me that."

"I— It's gonna happen, though." The germs will reach my brain, and that'll be it. "E-everyone thinks so. I'm sick."

"Shut the fuck up, Harley." My Dad whispers, and I wish he was singing again. 

"Dad—"

"Don't."

"Maybe you should— Maybe you shoot me instead."

"This weren't never supposed to fuckin' happen!" He shrieks, suddenly, and punches the horn. "Fuck!"

Then, right on time, the walkie chimes.

"Daryl?"

Do we need to shoot your daughter in the face? Is it over?

With a rage like I ain't never seen before, my Dad steals the walkie off the dash and smashes it into the horn, over and over again, honk, honk, honk, honk, honk, until a piece breaks off, and then another, and another, until the buttons all pop off and the plastic cracks in half, like a broken heart. Then he chucks the whole thing out the window, and it's gone forever, and he sucks in a breath that sounds like a chainsaw tryna start, and he cries.

I feel sick again. My stomach's ballooning up and shrivelling down at the same time, and I'm gonna be sick.

By now, all the cars are pulling over, 'cause my Dad honked the stop, pull over signal ten times over, and then some.

"Daddy, I need to get out—" I'm sayin', gagging.

"Fu— I know. I know." He's sayin' back, and he swerves onto the side of the road, into the wheat.

He leaps out, slams the door shut, and runs around to my side, but by the time he yanks my side open, I've already thrown up all over my feet. I lurch, and then there's more, and my stomach empties again, and there it is — I see the apple, and I see- I see blood, streaked through it, like red-brown poison. I cough more up while my Dad soothes my back and holds my hair out the way.

Then, there's Rick and Dale, standing at either one of my Dad's shoulders.

"Is she okay?" Dale's panting.

"That's it. There you go." Dad beats on my back, and I spit the last of the apple-slime onto the floor. "It's done?"

I murmur a uh-huh, and then I realise what I've done. "I'm sorry."

"Hell you got to be sorry 'bout?" He frowns, still half-crying; still mourning me while I'm still here.

"The— The truck."

"Huh? The tr—?" He huffs, confused, and then shakes his head. "Truck's the last thing I give a damn about."

Rick's tryna put a smile on, but it don't look quite right. "We've got tissues in our car. We can clean it."

I wish they'd all turn away, 'cause it's like I'm naked. My vomit, and the blood, is just sittin' there like a puddle of evidence and dead people germs, for everyone to see. My Dad pulls me out by my wrist, and then we're sitting on the steps of the RV, and he's cradling me, and I'm crying like a baby, and the seven years mean nothin', 'cause I'm zero years old again, like I was in that picture at the hospital, a little pink newborn, so new and alive, and I just need my Momma and my Daddy to kiss it all better again. All I got is my Daddy, now. He's tryin'. But all the kisses in the world won't bring my Momma back. They won't give me another birthday. 

"Sh, sh, sh, baby." He's sniffling into my hair, kissing where it meets my skin. "Shhh. I'm sorry, baby. Stop cryin'. Stop cryin'. Please."

But I can't. Not when I'm dying, and I ain't even lived, yet.

Lori and Rick clean the car out for my Dad, and when I climb back in ten minutes later, it's like it was never there, but we all know it was.

We continue driving into the night.

Carl can balance spoons on his nose.

He can also bend his thumb all the way back, twirl a coin like a spin-top, and cross and uncross his left eye. It's pretty cool. Now I know five things about Carl.

"Check this out." He says.

We're sitting at the RV booth, 'cause I get to sleep in here again, tonight. Morales is driving my Dad's truck for us. It's nearly us kids' bed-time, but Carl's trying all this stuff to make me feel better, and his Momma's lettin' him. My stomach's still whirling around, and my eyelids feel bloated, but it's working. I'm not crying anymore, not so much.

"How do you do that?" I giggle, sniffing. He passes me the spoon, and I try copying him.

I wish we had actual toys to play with, but we just gotta make do with what we got.

He shrugs. "I don't know. I just kinda do it."

Lori's chuckling to herself in the passenger seat, next to Dale.

I drop the spoon. This is hard.

"Show me again," Demands little Eliza, who looks far too grumpy for someone so small. "Show me how it works."

Carl's like Glenn — He's a good sport — So, he tilts her head and moves her spoon around until it stays, and she's giggling, too.

"Wanna see what else I can do?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

There's more? Just how cool is Carl?

He takes Sophia's spoon, and he takes my spoon, and then he grips them both so they're cupping each other. He shakes them. Cluh-clink, cluh-clink, cluh-clink. Music!

"I need a piece of wheat to chew on or something." He smiles, pulling an uh-huh, look how awesome I am, face. "Cowboys used to play the spoons, right?"

I grin. "You should have a cowboy hat, like your Dad's. Then you'll be a real cowboy."

"And a horse!" Sophia adds.

"And a gun!" Louis snarls, excited.

Lori gives us a sassily raised eyebrow. "Uh. I don't think so."

It's so silly that we all start laughing together. Carl, the spoon-clinkin' cowboy of the West.

"Oh, and did you know—?" Carl's got another trick. He presents the spoon to me, backwards.

My upside-down reflection stares back at me. For a second, I'm curious, but the feeling quickly fizzles away. Is that really what I look like? The little girl in the spoon got blonde hair that's all spillin' out of a rushed pony-tail in shoulder-length strips, and choppy bangs, and heavy brown eyebrows at the bottom of her face. She got one little black mole dotted onto her cheekbone, a fairy kiss, like Momma called 'em, and another one under her nose. She got purple-ish craters above her lids. She got red cheeks. She got a pair of green eyes, blinking at me from her upside-down prison inside the spoon. She's me, but inverted; wrong. I don't like this trick.

The girl in the spoon is frowning.

"What is it?" Carl asks. He pulls the spoon away and inspects it. "It didn't work?"

"N— No." I quickly tell him. "It worked."

"Then, what's wrong?" He asks, but not in the way adults do. There are no layers to anythin' he says, 'cause he ain't learnt to add 'em, yet.

I think of the spoon-girl, and I compare her to my school photo — The right way up; healthy, a neat ponytail.

"I just look so different," I shrug, 'cause I ain't learnt neither.

Sophia looks like a little dolly when she pouts. "Yeah..."

"What's it feel like?" Eliza asks.

She leans forward, 'cause she wants to hear a secret. Am I allowed to tell her one?

Everyone at this table's seen somebody turn before. Sophia saw her Dad turn. Eliza and Louis saw their Aunt and Uncle turn. Carl was there when Amy... I saw a hitch-hiker turn, once. There's not really an exact moment where someone changes. There's no switch. There's only a slow decline, and then a last breath. Then somebody else wakes up, in your body. This is what I say to the other kids. I think they're picturing each step happening to me as I describe them.

Louis goes, "Woah..."

Then, Eliza asks the un-askable. "Harley, you should show us what's under the bandage."

We all look at her. A proposition. We're all thinking, is she crazy, but then I say the un-sayable, 'cause lookin' won't hurt.

"Alright," I murmur, glancing at Lori and Dale. Their backs are turned. "I'll just lift the corner, okay?"

They all nod and lean even closer.

I pick at the edge of the seal, and it burns, just a little, and nope, the adults are still not looking, so I keep peeling and peeling until there's a little hole. We all contort ourselves to peer inside, and I keep going and going, and it's halfway off, now. It's like I'm opening a little door into a different dimension. I'm expecting melting, pizza-cheese skin, and maybe some gross, alien fungus carpeting a layer of yellow ooze, and blood bubbling up under my muscles, and we can almost see the scratches, now, and I wonder if—

"Hey." I whip my head around — we all do, like meerkats — and it's not Lori, or Dale. It's my Dad, coming in through the bedroom door. He's too tired to be proper angry, so he just sighs. "What the Hell do you think you're doin'?"

"Sorry—"

Wordlessly, he comes up to me and sticks the patch back down.

"What's going on back there?" Lori asks. "You guys behaving?"

"Takin' her bandage off." Dad snitches on me.

He kisses me quickly on the hair to balance out the scolding. He's never done that before. Then he pulls a box of pills off the kitchen shelf.

"Time for yer second one of these."

Lori gets up to pour me a cup of water, and Dad pinches my nose, and I swallow the pill in one gulp.

This is what some people would call a last ditch attempt — Racing to the CDC, filling my stomach with Glenn's medicine, and not being allowed to fiddle with the bandage, to stave it off. Rules are just words, but I'm supposed follow 'em, anyway. That's why I say I'm sorry again, but Dad don't like that, either. He says it's bed-time.

"Say goodnight to everyone," He tells me, 'cause he likes when I have good manners.

He grabs my pyjamas off the back of the driver's seat, where Dale's trying not to fall asleep on his face. I say goodnight to the other kids, and Lori, who gives me a hug. Dale calls out a goodnight, too, and he reaches over to ruffle my hair, like a grandpa. Then my Dad tugs me back into the bedroom we spent the last night in. The kids mumble goodnight to me again as I'm dragged away, but they feel a little too much like goodbye.

I hope Carl knows he made me feel better, even if it was just for a few minutes.

Apparently, we're on the outskirts of Atlanta now. When I peek outside, I see skyscrapers.

"We're gonna make it, right? To the CDC?"

I won't run outta time?

Dad freezes for a second.

"I'll drag you all the way there myself if I gotta." Dad says, and I know he's dead serious. Outta Hell on hot coals.

We're not stopping for the night. We can't. The engine's rumbling below me when I hop onto the bed.

My Dad grabs my hair-brush from our back pack on the floor, and he settles himself behind me on the covers to do my hair. My Daddy's a Dixon, and that doesn't just mean that he looks out for me and hates when people see him cry. It means that instead of saying I love you, he'll show me I love you. This is what he's doin' right now, by carefully running the brush through my messy hair, petting my baby-hairs into place, and threading his fingers through it all from scalp to end. He's done my hair so many times that I couldn't count, even if I used all my fingers and all my toes. He'd brush it while I sat in the bath when I was littler, and when he was gettin' me ready for school. He ain't that good at it, 'cause his hands are made for tools and guns instead of little-girl-hair, but that don't matter. The I love you matters more.

After that, he helps me into my pyjamas even though I don't need any help at all, and I realize that he's got that same intense look on his face that he did on that night in the quarry. It's not so much flaming, anymore. It more of a sinking, heavy look. I study it as he wraps me up in my button-up dinosaur pyjama shirt. Does he think this is the last time he'll put me to bed? 

"Can you sing for me tonight, Daddy?" I ask, suddenly. If he gets to brush my hair and do my buttons, then I want to hear him sing.

He was just about to do up the last button. He hesitates.

"Yeah." He says. Then, he pinches my cheek, and he finishes looping the button. "I'll sing, little chicken. Lay down."

I burry myself in the thick covers. My Dad sets down his crossbow on the side-table, and shirks off his red flannel shirt, leaving him in a white tank-top. It's warm enough in here that he can do that, and I wish it was his lamb-skull tank-top, the one with all the crumbs, and I wish I still had my Raggedy Anne doll, which Uncle Merle found on the side of the road but I loved with all my heart, anyway, and I wish we were home. He kicks off his mud-caked boots. That's the last step. This is it.

Dad clicks off the lamp.

The room turns dark, and he rolls onto his side, facing me, but on top of the covers. I reach out and touch his mole, 'cause it matches mine. Lots of him matches me. His blonde-ish hair, his thin mouth. If time let me, I might've looked a little like him when I grew older. Then, I touch my name, permanently marked into his skin. Another I love you, shown and not spoken. I wonder if this will be all that's left of me if I don't wake up. He watches me, and I must be pretty interesting, 'cause he does it for a while. It's like when he was staring at my baby picture. He cups his giant hand over the side of my head, and I can feel his thumb wagging back and forth. Then, he starts whisper-singing, and I close my eyes and I imagine home. Home, where I belong. Home, where everyone I love, plus me, are all still alive.

I dream of a tyre swing and baby lambs.

I hear retching outside.

It's so dark I can't even tell if my eyes are closed or not, and my Daddy's already half-way on his feet, but it's not me, this time. I was sleepin', just a second ago. He notices, and then he's just confused. Who's throwing up? The lamp clicks on, and ugh, that's real bright. I sit up, rubbing my eyes. Dad's pulling his flannel back over his tank-top. He tells me to stay here, baby, and he grabs his crossbow and hurries outside. I crawl to the window.

We're pulled over in an emergency lane. The headlights are beaming a spotlight onto all the commotion.

It's Carl, hunched. He's throwing up over the guard rail, and Lori's crouched next to him.

Why's he throwing up?

My Dad pokes his head back in, hand outstretched, and he says I'm allowed to follow him outside, so I pad alongside him into the night. We reach the small crowd that's gathered around Carl, and I grab onto one of my Dad's belt loops and hide behind him, 'cause I'm scared. There's this terrible moment where I think that Carl is also bitten, or scratched, somehow, but Rick rips Carl's shirt off and rolls up his shorts, and nope, he's totally clean. Lori feels his forehead. It must be hot and wet, 'cause she frowns, but mostly, they're all just really, really confused. Weird, weird, weird.

"What's goin' on?" T-Dog asks, jogging over from one of the cars.

Dale answers, tense. "We're not sure, yet."

Rick searches for me and my Dad amongst the others. "Daryl, bring Harley over here."

We squeeze past some people and into the light. Dad stands me right next to Carl, and now I'm gettin' spun and poked and peered at.

First, me and Carl's skin is the same blotchy white. Weird. Then, our eyes are the same red. Weirder. We've both thrown up. Doesn't make sense.

"They have the same symptoms?" Jacqui asks.

How could we be the same typ'a sick, if he ain't even infected?

"How could this happen?" Glenn's asking for everyone.

"It can't be anything contagious, right?" Dale guesses. "Otherwise, we'd all have it."

Nobody knows what to do or say, 'cause this is the biggest, weirdest mystery in the world. Rick looks back and forth between Carl and me. Lori does, too. My Dad's got a frown on. But then my Daddy's eyes shift off my face and down to my arm, and he gets an idea and it's a weird one, 'cause he pinches the edge of my bandage, and I flinch, and then all in one go — ouch — he rips it off, just like he told me never, ever to do, and it lands on the road, and there's my arm.  The cars fill the silence with hums. Am I dreamin'? Am I really still in the RV, sound asleep? My arm— It's not fuzzy or melting or oozing. It's—

"It's healed?" Rick shakes his head, eyes wide, and he grabs my arm like my Dad, to bring it close to his face.

I can't believe it. My arm — It's healthily scabbed over, with not one skin cell outta place.

I gasp, "Daddy, my arm."

"Am I seein' this right?" Dad asks Rick and Lori, suddenly breathin' as if he's been running.

"It— It looks completely healed." Lori breathes.

Several people come forward to take a look at me. Nobody's quite believing it. I'm not—? I'm not dyin'? Is that what this means?

"Have either of you kids eaten the same thing these past few days?" Asks Shane.

It's a weird question, but I have to answer, so I think really hard and so does Carl. The fish fry? The peaches? The—?

"The jerky!" We both shout.

"The—?"

"Who made the jerky?" Dad's lookin' through the crowd; desperate, not breathing, not yet. "Who was it?"

"It was m— I made it." Glenn confesses, but he doesn't know what it is he's confessing to.

"How'd you make it?" Dad asks, and he's pointing, now. So many strange questions, tonight. "Tell me exactly how you made it."

Glenn stammers, and we all listen to him list his jerky recipe like it's the most important thing in the world. "W—Well, I guess I took that meat you bought back — The possum? — And I don't kno— I sliced it, and then I—" Dad barks at him to tell us the exact thickness of the cut. "I guess, like an inch. Then I smoked it, I guess, on a stick over the campfire. I don't know, man. I—"

"You ain't salted it? You ain't cut the fat off?"

Glenn's lost. "No. No, I guess not."

My Daddy, then, drops onto his butt on the tarmac and he does the most confusing thing. He huffs out a big lungful of air, like he's boutta cry, but he doesn't cry. He starts laughing. He starts laughing, hard, like it's all a giant, funny joke that no one has gotten until now. Rick stands and starts laughing too, but his eyes have gone wet, too, and slowly, surely, everyone else starts sighing and laughing and clapping. Even Andrea's smiling! I'm smiling too, because I feel like I'm allowed — Like there ain't some catch. The jerky. Glenn made botched jerky. All those times my stomach was clenching like a sore fist — I weren't dying. All those times I was hurtin', back at the quarry — It weren't nerves. It was the jerky, messin' up my insides, 'cause it weren't made right. Jacqui runs for the food supply and she comes back with a zip-lock bag full of Glenn's jerky, and—

"God!" Everyone cringes all at once.

It's absolutely covered in mold. It's the worst-cured jerky in the entire world.

"Daddy—?"

"It was the fucking jerky?" Glenn's never looked so happy to be an idiot. "It was the jerky?"

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." My Daddy grabs both my cheeks. "You're fine. You got food poisonin', baby."

"I'm not dyin'?" I ask, just so I can hear him say no again, and then I ask it three more times, just to be sure. My Dad kisses my forehead, and then I'm in a big, strong, hug, and I'm alive. I'm alive again! And I can feel my heart-beat in my chest, and I can breathe, and I can do whatever I want, 'cause I'm alive. All that pacing and worrying and breaking of hearts and grave-digging of old memories, just for it to be Glenn's fatty, unsalted jerky. He's coming closer, now, and my Dad pulls away from me just enough to let Glenn give me a little hug.

He almost killed me. I think that makes us friends, now.

"Hoo! Praise Jesus!" T-Dog hoots, and Carol thinks he's bein' silly, 'cause she slaps his shoulder.

"I'm not dyin'." I laugh.

It's like we've won the lottery. All one camp, all happy, together. Rick grabs my Dad's arm and gives him a nod, a nod that says, It's over now, and my Dad nods back. I think to myself, randomly, that this is what family looks like. None of us were born together, and we ain't even know each other before, but we're all cryin' and laughin' together, and we chose each other. We chose to be scared together, and now we get to be happy, together.

"Man, we gotta keep you away from the food for a while!" Shane's teasing Glenn. "I mean, whoo!"

"I love you, Daddy," I'm suddenly admitting to my Dad, under all the happy shouts, while he stares up at me in the light of the truck.

He says somethin' he ain't said in years. "I love you too, Harley."

I get another kiss on the head, and another hug, and maybe, I'm thinking, this could be home. I might get to grow up here, instead.

I'm alive.

"Somebody throw that damn bio-hazard jerky in the trash!"

Author's Note. Hehehe, that last scene. So much fun to write. Stupid Glenn.

There's actually quite a few lines of foreshadowing in all the chapters leading up to this one. We all knew that Harley was probably going to be fine, but I tried using the food poisoning to keep everybody on their toes. Drama. Gotta have it, hehe.

I really hope you enjoyed reading. Thank you for being here! :)

[zombiifyd]

Hey mate uh what are those qphilza head canons you got that are driving you mad?

Asking for science

for science... yesyes. although some of them may be general hcs and not that well written??? i'm used to them living in my head. and also i'm not particularly all that normal about this bird man. so anything can make me go insane. but anyway... welcome to my word vomit

1. so ive made it known that i like to make minecraft hcs often. like for the game mechanics. and so i describe The End as in like a vacuum. there's hardly any sound, except a sort of static sound, and the sounds of the natives of the End. there's no temperature but end stone had a cold touch to it. it's hard to breathe in the End, unless you're a native there, and also because the End is basically mostly Void. so this is important for the hc that i made

although phil, in canon, is a crow. there's small entertainment within the fandom that he's also an elytrian (which is a type of native to the end... i suppose) either way, he's avian. now avian hearing is less sensitive than humans. but given the fact that phil is a hybrid, he has a mix of both which sort of clash. so i'd say that phil's ears are as sensitive, if not more, than humans. (especially shown with how phil hears literally everything.)

then, before coming to quesadilla island, he came from his season 4 hardcore world. living for YEARS on end by himself. the only company he had were the crows, the livestock, the sounds of nature outside, etc. so he isnt USED to all the sounds and clamor and people talking over each other to get their cents in. so when coming to the island and meeting everyone, the sound is absolutely overwhelming. he gets overwhelmed which leads him to step away for a bit just to hear silence just for a little bit. regain his bearings before stepping back into the crowd.

people would notice, especially close friends, but not really think about it. when tallulah would finally come around and he would then take care of her, he would use her (for himself and for her) to get out of loud situations. because both of their ears are sensitive. so phil understands what she goes through. and such and such.

2. there's this one !!

i love this hc so much, like the whole "friendship emeralds" thing means so much to me.

anyway, phil is a natural hoarder. which includes all sentimental things and materialistic things he needs. plus with crow/bird brain mentality, he likes shiny things. so giving out these emeralds, although so sparingly, means a LOT to him. meaning you mean so much to him and he trusts you. and a lot in that matter.

also, other people he would give it to:

i put it in the tags BUT: etoiles. his friendship emerald would be in the pommel of his axe/scythe (whichever he uses more than the sword). phil would've asked to see it, to maybe borrow it to see what enchantments etoiles has on it. but then changes the pommel to add in the emerald and handing it back to him. like its nothing.

another i put in the tags: cellbit. the emerald phil gave to him was just a regular emerald. i say it was given one day where they were hanging beside forever's bed whilst he was in a coma. cellbit was filling phil in on whatever happened/will happen in the order bc now he is an important member. and phil was like "oh right, i have something for you." and passed over the emerald with a small smile. and cellbit keeps it in safe keeping somewhere, because then he knew it was a token of phils trust and he cherishes it.

all the other kids would have one too, in various different accessories. dapper would have a keychain on his backpack, ramon would have a bracelet of it, same with richas and leo, and pomme would have a necklace!!

3. perching

this post is kind of the reason this is on the list. its not necessarily MY hc but.... i like thinking of this nonetheless.

but also just thinking abt how phil will perch around peoples places and they would take notice to it, and maybe even build something and not say anything. i once saw an art on here where there was phil and cellbit in the order's like... meeting room with all of the sofa's and everything. but instead of phil being on a sofa on cellbit's side, it was a perch instead. and i CANT stop thinking abt it. its so good.

bird man perching. not really a hc, i admit, but i shall make up for it

4. singing

DONT LISTEN TO THE STREAMER!!! i believe that qphil can SING!!!!!! but ofc, out and in character, phil is a self-deprecating man. so he would say "i'm shit at singing" but when he tries it and sings his kids songs, it doesnt sound half bad.

when building, farming, mining, or anything really, you can hear him hum. not any particular tune most times, but it sounds nice and calming nonetheless. and it fits him just right

although when singing jort storm he's being bad on purpose 🙏🏽

but just THINK about the coziness you'd feel in the bunker. the soft natural light of the shroom lights, the natural feeling from the moss and flowers in the room, the soft humming and singing from phil as he tucks his kids into bed. brushing some hair from their faces with a soft smile and helping them put away their things before he sits on the chair and waits until they fall asleep for him to leave. its so cozy and so nice to think abt that i cant even

5. touch/physical affection

now, this hc is one i made in the dsmp era. where phil didnt like to be hugged because all it made him think about what him killing his son. hugging wilbur as life slowly left him. it leaves a man scarred, yknow?? and he'd only ever accept hugs, scarcely, from techno. (bc techno isnt a touchy guy either.) but dsmp isnt canon in qsmp. not that i know of, and frankly, i dont want it to be because its weird to think about.

but even so, i think this hc would even transfer over to qsmp phil. and it definitely has to do something with his wings. the sensitivity of the area and how big they are when they're closed and tucked into his back. the habit he has, with close ones, to wrap his wings around them in an even warmer, bigger, hug. but with his wings so fucked up and the fact that he has to wear a backpack to counteract the lost weight.... i..........

either way, phil would then only accept scarce hugs from close friends. and when he doesnt give hugs, his friends do this: fit would always give a hard and good pat on the shoulder, a side hug perhaps, a good strong handshake. wilbur always gives phil a small lighthearted punch on the arm. missa rests his hand on phils shoulder and gives it a squeeze. forever, a naturally touchy man, would just simply lean into phil's side, give a handshake, or a simple smile. etc etc

but an exception to this were his children. (excluding will and tubbo from this, even though it is slightly canon that they are his sons,... in a way) chayanne and tallulah always get hugs from phil. waking up from a nightmare and phil has them wrapped in his arms, shielding them away from harm. happiness to see him after he comes back from a trip of wandering, his arms are wide open. anything for his kids.

6. wings :3

on my other acc (zmbiicrsh) i sometimes, very rarely, post snippets of writing that i do. and in one of them i explain phils wings briefly.

i think, personally, phil's wings are big. since he is a crow hybrid, he's a human... with crow wings scaled to his size. which are BIG. (and then also the feathers coalescing around his ears/cheek and forearm areas. blah blah blah) they're supposed to be big because of his size and nature. but i also think about the color a lot. from first glance, they're a jet black. black, silky, feathers. with patterns of white stars at the bottom (when they were full.......). but if you look closely in the sunlight. if he angled them just right, you'd be able to see the multicolored shine to it. a rainbow shine that glided along the edge of the feathers.

i think a lot abt his wings......

here are some of them!! ,,,, these arent much. but i cant seem to gather all of my scattered thoughts together to give more hcs i have. but i then compensated for just infodumping and giving context. i hope u enjoyed(?) :D

[all-the-things-2020]

Late Night Talking - Chapter Seven

Summary: Emily goes back to work and Dieter comes to spend the weekend. Chaos ensues.

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 6780+

Tag list: @rhoorl @avastrasposts @readingiskeepingmegoing @runningmom94 @gwendibleywrites

The first day back on campus was always full of boring staff meetings and, for those of us in the library and textbook room, a daylong parade of teachers with requests for books. It was exhausting but gave us a chance to catch up with everyone. It also meant the Nosy Parkers were out in force, sniffing out the best gossip to spread around campus. Who went where on vacation, who didn’t go anywhere, who got married or engaged, who got pregnant, etc. I knew that it wouldn’t be long before word got around that I was dating someone; I was friends on Facebook with a few of my coworkers, and although I hadn’t posted many clear photos of Dieter or mentioned his name, I had made a few posts referring to “my boyfriend.”

As I settled into a seat in the auditorium for the all staff kickoff meeting, I was simultaneously distracted by my phone buzzing in my pocket and my least favorite coworker, Eileen, latching onto my arm. She was nearing retirement age and every year the rumor went around that she wasn’t coming back in the fall, but every year, there she was.

“How are you, sweetie?,” she asked. “Did you have a good summer?” I could tell that she’d already heard something from the way she smiled so insincerely.

“I’m good. Summer was good,” I replied, digging my phone out. “Excuse me, let me check this.”

As I suspected, it was a text from Dieter

DIETER: Happy 1st day back. Break a leg or whatever you say for luck in a library. Break a spine??

I was surprised he was up so early. He must have set his alarm so he could text me. I smiled to myself and texted back.

ME: Weirdo. Just starting all staff meeting aka most boring two hours of my life. Talk to u later, k?

I put my phone back in my pocket and reluctantly turned to Eileen. Before she could open her mouth, my phone buzzed again and I pulled it back out, mouthing “sorry” at her.

It was a video of a duck with cartoon arms running around a dog.

DIETER: If meeting gets too boring watch this.

He added several smiley face emojis, a dog, a duck, and his favorite, the grinning purple devil. I shook my head.

“Bad news?” Eileen pounced on the slightest whiff of intrigue or gossip.

“No, just a dumb video my boyfriend sent me,” I said without thinking. Oops.

“Boyfriend? Really? Congratulations!” She sounded sincere, but I’d endured enough snide remarks over the years about my single state to know that she was inwardly lamenting the loss of something to pester me about.

“Yeah,” I said off handedly. “We met this summer. Oh, there’s the principal. Meeting’s about to start.” I had never been happier to see Dr. Osuna climb the steps to the stage and make her way behind the beat up old podium that had been used by every principal since the school’s founding over 60 years ago.

As various administrators droned on about vision and aiming for lofty goals and hitting our target numbers, I surreptitiously peeked at my phone, which kept buzzing. Dieter was sending me GIFs and cartoons and video clips about surviving meetings, and more birds with arms, which he’d found out never failed to make me laugh. Finally, I texted him back.

ME: Stop. People are staring at me. Supposed to be paying attention like a good little drone.

Truthfully, no one was paying any attention to me except Eileen. Everyone was either on their own phones, ignoring admin completely, or pretending to be captivated by every word. Some teachers were even taking notes, but they were just trying to score brownie points. Eileen, however, was watching me like a hawk, a small frown on her face. She was the sort of employee who was more concerned about keeping track of everyone else and making sure they weren’t slacking off than in doing her own job. Unfortunately, she was also very efficient and had no problem doing her own job and sticking her nose in everyone else’s business.

The meeting finally ended and I made sure to hop up quickly and head out of the auditorium before Eileen could corner me again. It was only a temporary reprieve, since her office was located inside the library building, but I’d take what I could get.

“Emily!” I stopped on my way out of the auditorium lobby to let the speaker catch up. It was Simone, my favorite English teacher. She was a huge book nerd and was our number one customer in the library. “Girl, slow down!”

“Sorry, friend,” I told her. “I was trying to get away from you-know-who.”

She nodded knowingly. “Gotcha,” she said. When she’d caught up, she steered me out a side door, which meant we’d take the long way to the library. Eileen would make a beeline for her office so she could have a front row seat for the parade of teachers, so there was little chance of running into her as we walked.

Simone gave me a look and nudged my shoulder with hers. “So …,” she said. “Who’s the guy?” She was friends with me on Facebook, and she’d liked several of my posts over the summer. “And why haven’t you posted very many pics? Dude is hot!”

I stopped walking and took a deep breath. Part of me didn’t want to say a thing, and another part (the part that had never really left high school) wanted to squeal and show her the approximately seventeen thousand photos of Dieter on my phone and brag about how I was dating a freaking movie star.

“His name is Dieter,” I said. “We met at a bookstore in L.A. back in June.”

“Dieter? Unusual name.” Simone prompted. “What does he do? Where does he live? Come on, I need details!”

I pulled out my phone. “He’s an actor. And he lives in L.A. so it’s kind of a long distance thing.”

“A real actor or one of those waiters who says he’s an actor but never actually does anything,” she asked, her head tilted to one side. I remembered her talking once about a guy she dated right after college who claimed to be an actor but really waited tables at an Applebee’s in Burbank and tried to slip headshots to studio execs.

“A real actor,” I said proudly. “He hasn’t waited tables in years.” I laughed as I opened up my photo gallery and pulled up the most recent picture. Dieter was leaning toward me across the table at a little bistro we’d had lunch at on Saturday. His hair was messy, as usual when he didn’t have a stylist to tame it, and he was wearing an old t-shirt that had a small hole near the collar. But he was giving me one of those smoldering looks that could so easily turn into a goofy face or lead to a passionate kiss, depending on his mood.

“Whew!” Simone said, fanning herself. “I can see why you want to hide him. Post too many pics like that and everyone will be crawling out the woodwork to try to steal him.”

“What you looking at?” It was Tyler, another of my favorite teachers. He also taught English and I’d gone to happy hour a few times with him and his wife, who was a graphic artist who dreamed of writing a graphic novel someday. She was also a big sci fi nerd, just like Tyler. He was more into Star Wars, while Sofia was more into Star Trek, but they loved both.

Tyler peeked over my shoulder at the phone. “Oh, hey, good taste,” he said. “Sof is crazy about him, too.”

Simone frowned. “How does Sof know Emily’s boyfriend?”

Tyler laughed. “That’s the guy from Cliff Beasts 6,” he said. “Dieter Bravo, right?”

Simone’s eyes got huge and she smacked my arm. “Get out! You couldn’t lead with that?”

Now Tyler’s eyes got wide. “Are you shitting me? You know him?”

I felt my face go hot. “Um, yeah,” I stumbled. “We’ve been dating for about two months.”

Tyler got a goofy grin on his face. “This is the mysterious boyfriend you mentioned on Facebook? Oh, Sof is going to freak out. Wait until I tell her you’re fucking Dieter Bravo.” He froze. “You are fucking him, right? I mean … two months …”

Now I was mortified but also secretly pleased. “Yes, Tyler, not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I am sleeping with my boyfriend,” I said after I’d regained a bit of composure..

“Well, you are now officially the coolest person I’ve ever met,” Tyler said. “And you’ve gotten me a couple of degrees closer to George Lucas.” He winked. He’d once told an entire bar that he was only four degrees removed from the creator of Star Wars because he was cousins with someone who worked with a guy who did electrical work on the set for Empire Strikes Back and had taken his orders from a guy who got his orders from an assistant director who reported directly to Lucas. “I mean, you’re sleeping with a guy who did a movie with Darren Eigan, who interned with George.”

Simone rolled her eyes. “You are so weird,” she said. Simone was more into historical fiction, mysteries, and thrillers than sci fi and fantasy, but I knew she had a soft spot in her heart for the Lord of the Rings films and had admitted to watching Game of Thrones, although she hadn’t read the books. “But seriously, Emily, I’m happy for you.” She glanced at her watch. “Oops, department meeting in five minutes. I’d better hit the bathroom. Talk to you later!”

She and Tyler hurried away toward their building and I headed for the library building. Time to face Eileen’s interrogation.

**********************************************************

By the time I got home, I was mentally exhausted. I’d managed to dodge most of Eileen’s questions, giving her only the basics: I was dating a guy who lived in L.A., we’d met over the summer, he worked in the entertainment industry. She’d find out the rest of the details eventually, but I decided to make her work for them.

I spent the day reconfiguring the textbook checkout schedule as teachers changed their minds about which books they needed and which days they wanted to bring their students for checkout. The spreadsheet was morphing into monstrous proportions by the end of the day, but our textbook clerk wasn’t as proficient in Excel as I was (which wasn’t saying much) so the task always ended up in my lap.

I got home, kicked off my shoes, put my hair in a messy ponytail and poured myself a glass of wine. Normally, I waited until Fridays to indulge, but the first day back was always an exception. As I flipped through my mail (all junk, of course) my phone buzzed on the coffee table.

“Hey,” I said as I swiped to answer.

“Hey,” Dieter said. “I take it you survived.” He chuckled. I’d texted him at one point lamenting the brain cells I was losing trying to juggle the schedule.

“Barely,” I said. “Thank goodness for wine.”

I settled back against the couch cushions and told him about my day. It was weird, after being off work all summer, to not only be back in my normal routine, but sharing it with Dieter. So far our relationship had been very relaxed and I was still afraid that it would end up just being a summer fling, once the responsibilities of work and life started to assert themselves.

“I wish I was there to give you a back rub,” he said when I’d finished venting. “Or foot rub, or whatever’s hurting you rub.” He sighed. “I have an interview at two on Friday but I’m heading out as soon as it’s over.” We’d agreed to alternate weekends; this would be the first time he was coming to my place, and I felt a frisson of fear and excitement. I’d been at his house so much over the summer, mostly because there was nothing interesting to do in my neck of the woods, but partly because I was hesitant to bring him to my modest condo.

“Are you sure you don’t mind driving out here on a Friday night?” I asked. “The traffic will be horrible. You could wait and come out Saturday morning.”

“No!,” he said immediately. “I want every minute I can get with you.”

I smiled and sat my wineglass down. I curled up with the phone. “That’s sweet,” I said.

“It’s the truth,” he said softly, his voice dropping to a sexy growl. If we’d been in the same room, this was about the time he’d slide an arm around me and lean in for the first of many, many kisses. “I can’t believe how much I miss you, and I saw you yesterday.” Then he proceeded to tell me exactly how much he missed me, and what he planned to do when he saw me on Friday. Needless to say, I didn’t get around to fixing myself some dinner until much, much later than I’d planned.

****************************************************

Friday finally arrived. I was completely exhausted by the time I got home. I knew it would be another couple of hours before Dieter arrived, and I told myself I was just going to sit down for a few minutes to rest before I cleaned up the place. The first week back was always hectic and I hadn’t done any household chores all week, except for a quick sweep of the kitchen floor after I spilled a box of rice on Wednesday night.

I slipped my shoes off, sat down on the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table. “Just five minutes,” I told myself as I closed my eyes.

The next thing I knew, there was a knock at the door and I bolted upright, drool dripping from the corner of my mouth. “Shit, shit, shit,” I mumbled as I lurched to my feet. I hoped my face didn’t have creases on it from being smashed into the couch cushion but I didn’t have time to worry about it as I fumbled with the deadbolt and pulled the door open.

Dieter stood on the doorstep, overnight bag slung over his shoulder and a bottle of something in his hand. He broke into a huge grin and threw his arms around me. “You weren’t kidding about the traffic,” he said into my hair. “Fuck, that was a mess.” He pulled back enough to kiss me on the lips, then hugged me tight again.

“Come in, come in,” I said, when he’d loosened his grip a bit. “Sorry the place is a mess, I fell asleep when I got home.”

He made an “are you kidding?” face and dropped his bag next to the couch. “It looks great,” he said kindly. “And I’m sure you were tired after such a busy week.” He sat the bottle on the coffee table and I could see the label. It was a top shelf brand of tequila. He shrugged as he saw me looking at it. “A friend gave it to me and I thought we could toast your first week back at work. Or get drunk enough that you forget all about it, depending on how bad it was.”

He plopped onto the couch and pulled me down beside him. “This was the longest week ever,” he said as he slid his arms around me and started nuzzling my neck.

“Tell me about it,” I said, playing with his hair. “But at least this year I had you to look forward to at the end of it.” He hummed in agreement and we stopped talking for quite a while.

Eventually, though, my stomach growled. Our lunch break during textbook checkouts was ridiculously early so we could deal with the hordes of students who stopped by on their lunch break to pick up books they’d forgotten to get earlier in the week.

“Okay,” Dieter said. “The stomach has spoken. What shall we have for dinner? Any good restaurants around here that deliver?”

Now I was really embarrassed. “Not really,” I admitted. “Mostly fast food and a few chain restaurants out by the mall. Um, there’s a nice deli near the grocery store I go to, but I think they might be closed already.” I glanced at the clock on my wall and sure enough, it was well after six o’clock.

“I did see an In-n-Out from the freeway a few exits back,” Dieter said hesitantly. I had already teased him at least once about his seeming addiction to Double Doubles and animal style fries.

“There’s one about five minutes from here, actually,” I said. “That’s one decent thing around here. Come on.” I stood up, adjusted my disheveled blouse and held out my hand. I grabbed my purse, dug out my keys and led Dieter outside to my car.

Ten minutes later, we were in line at the drive through at my local In-n-Out. As usual, it was packed, with both order lanes practically out of the parking lot and threatening to spill onto the street. Still, it had a much bigger lot than the one near Dieter’s house and no cars were actually blocking traffic.

I pulled into the lane that went on the left hand side of the building, since I had a passenger. It was usually a bit shorter than the other one, since anyone driving alone had to use the other lane. Still, there were several cars ahead of us as the order taker bounced back and forth between both lanes, tapping away at his tablet.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Double Double and animal style fries, right?”

Dieter arched an eyebrow at me. “Actually, no,” he said primly. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

When the order taker got to us, he came up on Dieter’s side. “Double Double animal style,” Dieter said. “Cheeseburger, grilled onions. Two orders of fries.” He turned to me smugly. “What do you want to drink, babe?”

“Iced tea,” I said.

He shook his head. “Regular iced tea and a chocolate shake,” he said, completing our order. After the order taker read it back, I put the window back up and poked Dieter in the side.

“I knew it,” I said.

“What?,” he said innocently. “You said a Double Double and animal style fries. I ordered regular fries and an animal style burger. That’s totally different.”

Now it was my turn to shake my head. “Still.”

He shrugged. “They have like two things on the menu, there’s not much room for variation.”

He insisted on paying at the window, much to the delight of the girl working the register, who clearly recognized him and giggled a little when he handed her a twenty. She very carefully placed his change in his hand, letting her fingers linger just a bit too long.

“Stop flirting,” I stage-whispered at him while we were waiting for the food to come up.

“I’m not flirting,” he said. “I’m just being polite. She’s the one who's flirting.”

I shook my head. “You just want extra ketchup packets,” I said. “You’re such an In-n-Out whore.”

“I admit it,” he said proudly. Just then, the window opened back up and the girl handed out our drinks, followed by an iconic white bag.

“Have a great evening!,” she said.

“Thank you, you too!” Dieter said. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he’d winked at her because she giggled again.

I smacked his arm as I pulled away. “Behave yourself,” I said, “or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

He was busy peering into the bag. “Ha, it was worth it. She gave us ten ketchups.” He pulled out a few fries and shoved them in his mouth. He turned to me with them hanging from his lips. “Wan’ som’?,” he mumbled.

“Of course,” I said. I opened my mouth and he carefully placed a couple of fries between my lips. “Oh, yeah, that’s the ticket,” I moaned as the crispy potatoes hit my tongue. I was a bit of an In-n-Out whore myself.

**********************************************

We ate at my dining table, leaving behind a mess of burger wrappers, crumpled napkins and empty ketchup packets. I scooped it all up into the bag and shoved it into my trash can, which was already full and needed to be taken out to the garbage bin, but I was too tired to do it that night. I just pushed it down enough for the lid to close and walked away. I’d deal with it in the morning.

We retired to the couch, where Dieter started scrolling through the cable guide. “Um, is this all the channels you get?,” he asked. When I nodded, he gave me a scandalized look. “No HBO? No Netflix?”

“No, just basic cable,” I said, taking the remote away from him. “I don’t watch a whole lot of TV during the week and if I want movies, I have some DVDs.” I waved the remote vaguely at the cabinet next to the TV stand. Dieter got up and opened the door, staring into it like it was a fridge and he was looking for a snack. Finally, he turned back to me.

“Your selection of films leaves much to be desired,” he said solemnly.

I’d figured as much. He had an extensive DVD collection as well as several streaming subscriptions. My meager collection of favorite rom-coms and musicals, with a sprinkling of sci fi and fantasy (I had the original Star Wars trilogy and the Lord of the Rings extended editions) was severely lacking in comparison.

“Sorry,” I said. “Next time you come over, bring some DVDs.” He sat back down next to me and took the remote back. He scrolled through the channel guide again, finally settling on an obscure film noir on one of the classic movie channels. I snuggled up against his side, only half paying attention to the film. I was still tired, despite my nap, and had a full stomach. My eyes slowly drifted shut.

I woke up to the sound of Dieter’s soft laughter. “You were snoring,” he said quietly when I looked up at him. “Maybe we should go to bed.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, yawning. “I’m not much fun right now, am I?”

“It’s okay,” he said. “We’ve got the whole weekend.” He hugged me close and kissed the top of my head.

“You can stay up and watch TV if you want,” I said. It was barely eight thirty and I knew he was used to going to bed much later than that.

“Nah,” he said, clicking the television off. “Not much on anyway.” He smirked and I swatted at him.

“Jerk,” I said. “Making fun of my cable selection. Not all of us have Hollywood money to finance our movie obsession.” I tempered my words with a kiss pressed against the grey spot in his patchy beard.

I got up and headed for the bedroom before he could respond. I grabbed my nightshirt from the dresser and went into the bathroom to change. When I came out, Dieter was already in the bedroom, getting undressed. Unlike me, he had no qualms about removing his clothes in front of me. I busied myself turning down the bed, which I’d made up with fresh sheets that morning, even though it had made me ten minutes late for work. Dieter had a lovely, comfortable king size bed, while mine was a serviceable full size, big enough for two people, but just barely.

“Ahh,” he said as he slid under the covers clad only in a clean pair of boxers. “Nothing better than fresh sheets, am I right?”

I slipped in beside him and turned off the bedside lamp. “Especially when you’ve just shaved your legs,” I said.

“Well, I’ll take your word for that,” he said with a laugh. He pulled me close and slid one foot up and down my calf. “But it does feel nice to me.” His hand began to trace patterns on my thigh, creeping slowly up toward my panties. His other hand cupped the back of my head and he began to kiss me gently but urgently.

After a few minutes, he stopped. “You’re not really into it this evening are you?,” he asked. It was true; I was not very enthusiastic in my responses but I was willing to keep going for his sake.

“No, it’s okay,” I said. I ran my hand through his hair and pulled his face close, kissing him deeply.

“No, it’s not,” he said when I pulled back. “You’re tired. We can just go to sleep.”

“I told you to just wait and come in the morning,” I said, feeling miserable. “You drove all that way in horrible traffic for nothing.”

“Not for nothing,” he said. “We’ve had several hours together already. And I got In-n-Out. I think that’s worth the drive.” He kissed my forehead. “We’ve got the whole weekend to fool around. Don’t feel bad. I’d never want you to just go through the motions because you feel like you owe me.” He rubbed his hand up and down my back. “Just relax and get some rest, okay?”

I nodded against his chest, my head tucked under his chin. “Okay,” I said. “But I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night.”

“You’d better,” he teased, his hand sliding down to gently cup my ass. It was still there when I fell asleep a few minutes later. Maybe sharing a full sized bed instead of a king wasn’t so bad after all.

***********************************************

I woke up slightly disoriented. For one thing, it was nearly nine thirty, and the sunlight was streaming through a gap in the curtains, hitting me right in the eye. For another, there was something heavy squashing me into the mattress.

I squirmed out from underneath Dieter, who was face down, sprawled across three quarters of the bed, and snoring softly. “Whatsit,” he muttered as I slipped out from under the sheets.

”Morning,” I replied. “Gotta pee.”

“What time’s it?,” he sighed.

“Nine twenty six.”

”Shit. Gotta get up then.” Dieter had an unspoken rule. Despite his love of sleeping in, he had to be up by nine forty five or the day was shot. Even if he’d been out until three the night before, if he wasn’t up and dressed (approximately) before ten am he felt like a failure.

”You’ve got a few minutes,” I said, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I’ll run to Starbucks and get you some coffee as soon as I get dressed. Breakfast, too.”

I didn’t drink much coffee and so didn’t own a coffee maker. Fortunately, like most places in the free world, there was a Starbucks roughly every three blocks even out here in the IE, and I knew of at least five within a ten minute drive of my house. One was even close enough to walk to, except Dieter was in no position to walk any further than the bathroom without a caffeine infusion.

Dieter mumbled something that could have been “thank you” or possibly “fuck you” — it was hard to tell with his morning incoherence. Whether he was thanking me for braving the world or cursing me for not owning an espresso machine was a toss of the coin. Either way, he’d forget all about it by the time I got back.

I threw on some shorts and a tank top. August was brutal and with the sun already up, I knew it would be at least 80 degrees outside, if not hotter. “You want hot or iced?” I asked, poking my head into the bedroom before I left.

Dieter made a vague waving motion with his hand. “I need more than that,” I said.

“Hot,” Dieter said through the pillow. “No, wait.” He rolled halfway over. “ S’August, right? Cold.”

By the time I’d driven to Starbucks, ordered his four shots of espresso over ice, my iced tea and two breakfast sandwiches, and returned home, Dieter had managed to put on a t-shirt and stagger out to the couch. His hair stood up in all directions and his eyes were barely open, but at least he was sitting up.

”Give,” he said, reaching out for the coffee. He’d downed a third of it by the time I handed him his sandwich. “Thank you,” he said. “The elixir of life.”

It was strange to be sitting on my couch, in my living room, with Dieter beside me. Saturday mornings were normally my alone time. After a long week at work, they were my quiet bubble of peace, before I started running errands and doing chores I hadn’t had time for during the week. My routine was completely shattered and I didn’t know what to do.

”Um,” I said, after I’d eaten about half my sandwich. “So, what do you want to do today? I usually do my shopping and stuff on Saturdays, but I can put it off until after you leave tomorrow. I don’t want to bore you.”

Dieter took a long sip of coffee. “Whatever,” he said, which wasn’t helpful at all. “It’s gonna be hot, so maybe we could stay in? Watch a movie? Fool around?” He raised an eyebrow suggestively, which would have been hot if his hair hadn’t been doing the Alfalfa thing.

”Netflix and chill, except without the Netflix,” I mused. “Sounds good to me.” I ran my hand over his head. “But you need to at least brush your hair first. Kind of hard to get turned on when you look like a giant toddler.”

”This giant toddler is going to rock your world,” he growled. When I didn’t respond, his face fell. “Too weird?”

”Extremely weird,” I replied. “Even for you, Deet. Please cross ‘giant toddler’ off the list of fantasies you have in your head.”

”Done,” he said. 

“And brush your teeth before you kiss me, Coffee Breath.”

He groaned and collapsed against the cushions. “Too many rules! Comb your hair, brush your teeth … I thought you were fun.”

“I am fun. I’m also a grown-ass person and I have minimum standards of hygiene.”

*************************************************

Sex with Dieter was … interesting. He was vastly more experienced than I was — I suspect he’d been with more men than I had — but he was the king of consent. He asked permission before doing anything, even if we’d done it before. And he was surprisingly polite. “Oops, sorry,” was more frequently said in his bed than any other phrase. 

“I’m not a porcelain vase,” I told him when he apologized for gripping me a little too tight. “I won’t break.”

”But I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose. “I never ever want to hurt you.”

”Believe me, if you hurt me, you’ll know,” I assured him. “I won’t hesitate to scream.”

He arched his brow. “The only thing I want you screaming is my name.” He burrowed his face into my throat and peppered me with kisses.

Then the smoke detector peeped.

”What the fuck?” Dieter’s head popped up.

I sighed. “Smoke alarm. It wants its battery changed.” I had a running feud with the unit. I invariably decided its battery was too old in the middle of the night, and because it was located about a foot away from the bed, that meant I had to drag out my step stool in order to access it. The step stool that lived in the closet next to the kitchen.

I slid out of bed, grabbing my robe off the floor. “I’ll be right back,” I said. “There’s a new battery in the drawer of the nightstand. I’m going to get the step stool.”

”I might be able to reach it …” Dieter was saying as I left the bedroom. He was tall but he wasn’t tall enough to reach the alarm without assistance, so I continued toward the kitchen, rooted around in the closet and pulled out the step stool.

I returned to the bedroom just in time to see a naked Dieter teetering on the edge of the bed, his fingertips almost reaching the smoke alarm. “Be careful!” I cried.

”I’m fine,” he said. “Just need to get a little bit closer …” His foot inched toward the edge of the mattress and it all happened in slow motion. The mattress gave way, he lost his balance and fell, hitting the nightstand on the way down. The lamp fell with him and its glass base shattered. Then Dieter landed on top of it.

”Shit!,” he yelled, as time returned to normal speed. “My ass!” A shard of glass was embedded in the muscle of his right butt cheek.

“Don’t panic,” I said, my heart racing. I wasn’t entirely sure if I was talking to him or myself. “It doesn’t look too bad …”

Dieter pulled the glass out of his flesh and it started to bleed. A lot. “It hurts, Em. Oh, shit, it hurts.”

I grabbed the first thing I could find — his dirty t shirt — and pressed it firmly against his butt to stop the bleeding. “I think … I think we need to go to the emergency room,” I said. “It might need stitches.”

”No way,” he said through gritted teeth. “I am not going to the ER. Last thing I need is word getting out that Dieter Bravo went to the hospital because he had something stuck in his ass.”

”You’re bleeding, Deet,” I said. “And that gash is pretty deep.” I peeked under the wadded up t shirt. “I don’t think it’ll close up without stitches.”

”Shit, shit, shit,” he said. “Okay, but I’m using a fake name.”

”Your insurance card has your real name on it,” I reminded him, as I helped him off the floor. He grimaced in pain as he sat gingerly on the bed. “Let’s get some clothes on you and I’ll take you to the hospital.”

The ER was packed because it was a Saturday night. I tried to explain to the nurse at the desk that Dieter was bleeding, in pain, and didn’t want to be recognized, but he simply shrugged and said, “We have to triage everyone based on the severity of their injury. We’ll get to him as fast as we can.”

Dieter was whisked into a back room for vitals and then sent back out to the waiting room with me. “My butt hurts,” he whispered in my ear as he sat carefully in the chair next to me.

“Duh,” I replied. “Try not to think about it.” I looked around the room. There were several people with bloody rags and bandages pressed to various bits of their anatomy, but Dieter seemed to be the only one with an injury to his bottom, except possibly the guy who kept running urgently to the restroom.

”It’s throbbing,” he said, pulling his ball cap further down onto his forehead. He was also wearing sunglasses, which only made him stand out further considering it was after midnight.

”I can’t kiss it and make it better,” I told him. “I wish I could.”

He snorted. “You just admitted you want to kiss my ass,” he said. At least his sense of humor was still intact.

“Who doesn’t?” I teased back. “You’re Dieter fucking Bravo.”

Fortunately, no one recognized him (or at least, no one acted on it if they did) and we only had to wait about forty minutes before a nurse called him into the back.

”Can she come with?,” he asked.

”Of course,” the nurse said. “Right this way.”

We were led to a curtained off bed tucked in a corner of a busy room. People were moaning and cursing and crying, some tucked behind curtains, others slumped in wheelchairs. Dieter winced. “I hate hospitals,” he whispered.

”So do I.” I’d spent far too much time in them when my parents were ill, and the memories were always lurking just beneath the surface. I focused on Dieter and willed my stomach to unclench.

A doctor breezed in and quickly examined Dieter. “Ooh, nasty laceration there,” he said. “But we’ll get it cleaned up and stitched in no time. It should heal up easily. You might have a scar but who’s going to see it?”

”She will,” Dieter said, nodding toward me. “And maybe the whole world if I have to do a nude scene.”

The doctor tilted his head and frowned, then it hit him. “Oh, you’re that Mr. Bravo. Wow. Wouldn’t have expected to see you around here.”

”Girlfriend,” Dieter said, wincing as the doctor dabbed at the wound with antiseptic. “Lives. Near. Here.”

“And it says you fell on a broken lamp?”

Dieter groaned, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t because of his injury. This doctor was going to have a great story to share with his friends and colleagues — and possibly the gossip websites.

”Look, I was trying to change the battery in a smoke alarm. I fell off the bed, broke the lamp, landed on it. Please, don’t spread it around. I feel like an idiot.” Dieter gave the doctor his best puppy dog eyes.

”I’ve seen weirder stuff,” the doctor said, preparing a hypodermic needle of local anesthetic. He jabbed it into Dieter’s butt. “I could tell you stories … but that would be unethical. And I won’t tell yours, either.” He patted Dieter’s rump. “Give that a moment to kick in and I’ll start stitching.”

I held Dieter’s hand as he laid on the bed, grunting now and then as the sutures tugged at his skin. “This is humiliating,” he muttered.

“It’s character building,” I said, squeezing his hand. “You’ll be a better man after this.”

He squinted at me. “How could I possibly be better than I am right now?”

”Maybe the doctor can trim your ego while he’s at it,” I shot back.

”I hate you,” Dieter said.

“No, you don’t,” I said. “You’re just in pain. A pain in the butt.”

”Literally,” he said, wincing as the doctor tied off the last stitch.

”There you go,” the doctor said. “The local will wear off in a bit, but we’ll get you some pain killers so you’ll be more comfortable.”

Dieter bit at his lower lip and shot me a look.

“Um, maybe we can just do something over the counter?” I asked.

“I’ve been in rehab,” Dieter blurted out. “I don’t want narcotics if I don’t have to.”

The doctor nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll give you a shot of toradol and you can use Motrin or Tylenol once that wears off. And stop by the pharmacy to get one of those donut pillows. Then you can sit without putting direct pressure on the wound. You’ll be fine in a few days, a week at most. Check in with your primary care physician as soon as you can, and make an appointment to get the stitches removed in about ten days.”

**************************************

By the time we got home from the hospital, it was close to 2 am. I helped Dieter out of the car and back to the bedroom. “Sorry about all this,” he said as he got undressed.

”It’s okay,” I said. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, but this hasn’t turned out to be the romantic weekend we thought it would be.”

“It’s okay,” I repeated, not sure what else to say. The weekend had turned into a bit of a shit show, but it wasn’t his fault. It was just bad luck. I got him into bed and then fetched a dustpan and broom to sweep up the shards of broken lamp that still littered the floor. Thank goodness I didn’t have carpeting, or it would have taken me much longer to clean up.

Dieter was dozing off by the time I changed back into my night shirt and crawled in beside him. “Thanks for taking care of me,” he said sleepily.

”Of course,” I said, snuggling against him. He was lying on his left side, facing me. His breath was warm on my face. “What did you expect me to do, dump you off at the ER?” I was teasing, but he was serious.

”No, I mean it,” he said. “Thanks for not complaining about having to drive me there, being up late, cleaning up the mess … I really appreciate it.” He kissed my nose and then pressed his forehead against mine. “It’s nice.”

I knew a little bit about his past. I figured this had something to do with his mother. He’d alluded to her being a bit aloof. She wasn’t a very nurturing mother, from what I’d gathered. I could imagine her complaining about having to drive her son to the hospital.

”You’re welcome,” I said. “Now get some rest. Your body needs to heal.”

”I broke my butt,” he said, laughing gently. “My butt needs to heal.”

”Poor broke-butt man,” I said. “Go to sleep.”

”Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, nuzzling against my neck.

As he fell asleep, the thought came into my head like a bolt of lightning. I love him. I ran my fingers through his hair, relishing the feel of his silky locks against my skin. I love this man. I wondered if he loved me, too.

[ask-a-bot]

I 100% sympathize with Megs. I DO NOT like spiders. At. All! Scared silly of them, even. The way they crawl and look…. It’s just….*shivers*…. Terrifying! No judgment here.

I will say, I’ve gotten to the point where, if they are outside and away from me, it’s okay. I’ll just move about 10 feet away from it. However, the minute a spider enters the house or worse….climbs onto me (I’ve had it happen while sleeping), those spiders have declared war and shall be lethally dealt with accordingly.

Being afraid of something doesn’t make you weak, Megs. It’s normal. Perfectly normal. You’re not alone in this fear.

Perhaps if we share our own surprising fears/dislikes to each other, it’ll show you you’re not alone. How’s that sound, Megs? What do you all think?

Heh heh. It was only a gif of one.

Yeah, well... like Optimus said, everyone's got something.

Not you though, Dorothy.

I just hide my things well. I've got kids. If you let your little kids know you're scared of something, they get scared. Before you know it, you've got kids with irrational fears of things.

I'm scared of enclosed spaces. I'm OK if there's a way out I can see... or if it's big enough... but I hate elevators and closets and stuff. If I got stuck in one, I know I'd panic.

Caves?

A small cave... one where I have to duck or crawl... I wouldn't cope well with that either.

Oh. I had no idea. I would have thought your fear (if you had one) would have had to do with your injury...

Loud noises or... something.

I get flashbacks and feel the pain, sometimes... but it's not really the same thing.

Megatron has other fears: purging and humiliation.

Nobody likes being humiliated. I don't think you can really call that a fear. Puking is a pretty normal one, too. Mo definitely has that one.

Fine. But spiders is probably a "normal" fear amongst Cybertronian mining classes, too.

I expect it is. What's your point?

What're you scared of, Starscream?

Snf. Enclosed spaces.

Shut up!

Snakes, lizards, alligators...

I said shut up!

Ksssschhhh! Snf. You listed mine, now it is my turn. I know yours well enough. The fuss you make... ksch-sch-schoooooosch!

Bless you. Maybe we should get you a snake or something, Megs.

I like tegus. Snf. But I am not sure I would really want to own one. They have friendly personalities and I like that.

They're ugly!

They are not! How can you say that, when you like... ugh... arachnids?

What about you, OP?

Me? Uh... bats. They fly around my optics and I don't like it.

Yeah... I can understand that. A lot of people don't like certain flies, wasps and things because of the way they fly around their faces.

I don't like birds.

All birds?

I just don't like the way they look, OK? I dunno if it's really a fear... but I don't like... looking at them.

What about my stuffed ones?

I don't look at them.

But they're not even moving!

Star, it's fine. Bee doesn't have to like the things you like. Leave him alone.

You know, I knew someone who was scared of water, once. Didn't like the sound of moving water, struggled to take a bath or shower... I mean, it's water! We're surrounded by it, we can't survive without it...

That must be due to some sort of trauma.

Definitely. But imagine having to tell someone you're too scared of water to run a tap...

Hmm, yes. Embarrassing thing to have to admit to.

I'm not scared of anything. Except being buried alive, but what're the chances?

I don't like heights much. I'm OK inside a craft, but not... I don't like mountain roads and things.

But we've been to planets that were all mountains!

Well, yeah.

You were fine!

I just focused on the mission and looked forward to moving on.

Seriously? You were scared the whole time?

Like I said, I didn't dwell on it.

Wow!

[magicwithclass]

Why do birds fly? Do they fly out of a sense of duty? Do birds fly because they must;because they were designed or created for flight? Or do birds fly because they can. Do birds fly for fun? Do birds enjoy flying. These questions represent the main theme in one of my favorites games. If you have not played Tales of Berseria, I highly reccomend you give it a try especially if this philosophical question made you think. All of the tales games are quite good so if you have not heard of the franchise it is one of my favorite jrps with an entertaining and engaging battle system. So why did I go off on this tangent when discussing serra aviary? On blogatog, there has been an ongoing dicssion about birds and flying. The current rule is that all birds had flying. Exceptions could be made for penguins and ostriches because everyone knows those birds famously cannot fly. Recently, they made a roadrunner card and did not give it flying. Roadrunners can fly in real life. This was a reference to the roadrunner from the bugs bunny cartoon who never flew so it was allowed. Roadrunners are know for running fast. It is literally in the name! I did know that roadrunners could fly but it would be strange to give a creature flying when it is clearly running on the ground. I did not know peacocks could fly. I have seen peacocks just walking around the Bronx zoo but maybe they clip the wings. There is one peacock in mtg and it does have flying but it is clearly depicted as flying in the art. Peacocks are know for strutting around and showing off their feathers. Noone ever thinks about a peacock in flight. I do not think a peacock depicted as just walking around should have flying but I do acknowledge that they are birds with flight. It is so weird that flying is so closely associated with birds since some birds literally cannot do this. Birds are birds because they have feathers! A fly is the animal that should most be associated with flight. A fly is called a fly because it flies. Even then, other animals that are not birds can fly such as bat's which are mammals. I bring this all up because serra aviary givesa +1 +1 buff to all creatures with flying. Flavorfully, this card should pump birds only as an aviary is a bird house. Instead, all creatures including angels and dragons, get pumped from being in a bird sanctuary. This just shows the way society thinks and associates things. Birds fly so anything associated with birds can flavorfully justify bonuses to all flyers. I do not agree with this. The card is actually decent. Enchantments are the hardest permanent type to remove and this can see play in a flying deck or an angel deck or a dragon deck or a bird deck or a bat deck. Flying is one of the most basic strategies and this is a simple card that telegrahs the deck it wants you to build. Sometimes cards that strongly imply you should build certain decks are helpful to newer players because they can build competent and synergistic decks without much understanding of complicated strategies. You run creatures with flyingin your flying deck and cards that care about flying. There are better lord effects and this effect would probably cost 3 or less mana so it is a little overcosted but playable in casual or fun games. I do not think your competitive ur dragon deck needs this but a fun bird deck might want this. This card had one spike in 2021 when almost every reserved list card was being bought out but flying is a popular and common strategy. There will be more flying support and this is an easy include. I assume that this supports all flyers and not just birds because this aviary belonged to serra, a popular planeswalker. She was not angel but often took the form of an angel and created an entire realm of angels. They probably wanted a serra card to support angels in some way and since almost all angels fly this was another way to connect serra to angels. I never knew serra was also so into birds though.