#twister: dead man walking

[anetherealpoetess]

This is how Twisters (2024) could have been done in a God honouring way:

Jeremy Allen White plays Dr. Reed Harding, the storm chasing son of Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton. His partner in science and navigator is Simone Ashley, a meteorologist studying for her PhD. For the sake of simplicity, her character is also called Kate Cooper, just like in the new film.

Reed is madly in love with Kate, but the mere thought of confessing this to her claws at his fraying sanity, dredging up painful memories of his father's sudden death. Grief grips him, suffocating, almost addicting. He can't bear to suffer the same fate as his mother, left to storm chase without her soulmate. So he keeps his true feelings buried deep within, afraid to expose himself to the pain he would feel if he lost Kate.

Their ragtag-bunch-of-misfit-scientists is comprised of Anok Yai (in her debut acting role), Abbey Lee Kershaw, Milly Alcock, Manny Jacinto, and the one and only Danai Gurira. Meanwhile, Eric Bogosian plays the leader of another storm chasing team. He is a respected father figure to Reed and the rest, giving them all scientific and safety advice.

Relevant note: see how cool Anok Yai looks in glasses:

I want to see her chase storms so badly.

And now that everything is organized, we can begin.

Our film does not start with Reed; instead, we open on Kate. She is a young girl enduring a sweltering hot day at home with her mother somewhere in the American Midwest. It's the 1990s, and her mum is wearing incredible jeans (which I believe is worth mentioning. Women in the ‘90s wore jeans like nobody else.)

We take our time to build suspense: the wind picks up, wind chimes whirl (in a nod to the original), the tv with news of the oncoming storm flickers, screen doors slam, and curtains snap and billow. Kate's mother rushes outside, frantically securing loose objects in preparation for the impending chaos. She asks Kate to go back inside, but Kate is rooted to the spot, fixated on something in the distance.

Kate: "Mummy ... who is that man?" Kate's mother: "What man, honey?"

Kate's mother follows her daughter's curious eyes to the horizon. There is no man standing there. But there is a tornado--a Dead Man Walking tornado. (Maybe the film is called Twister: Dead Man Walking. Maybe not. We can workshop it. )

[The phrase "Dead Man Walking" is commonly used to describe the appearance of some multi-vortex tornadoes. The multiple vortices look and move in such a way that the tornado appears as though it is walking. The expression is often associated with the 1997 Jarrell tornado due to a famous documentary, although it has been used to describe other tornadoes as well. The photo above is of the Jarrell tornado "Dead Man Walking." The gif below, I believe, is from the El Reno tornado which killed the TWISTEX team. RIP Tim, Paul, and Carl.]

Here is when their town's siren starts wailing, and our action sequence begins. Kate's mother is appropriately terrified. Quickly, she gathers Kate and their dog and rushes to the car. She knows they are facing an F5 Tornado and that without getting underground, they will not survive. The problem is the only underground shelter Kate's mother knows is at a neighbour's house. And they need to get there. Fast.

I don't need to break down the action sequence beat by beat. You know the drill. Kate, her mother, and their dog are caught up in the tornado, but they make it to shelter and survive. As they emerge from their hiding spot underground, they discover that the entire town has been destroyed, including their house, wiped off the face of the earth. Begin opening credits and then cut to decades later, when Kate is an adult in love with extreme weather and chasing with Dr. Reed Harding, who she is in love with too.

(I'll have to do a Part Two as this got away from me. But the general idea for the plot is the same as the original. The team encounter tornadoes in order of increasing intensity. The first tornado we encounter (besides the F5 tornado which opens the film) is an EF-1, the next tornado is an EF-2, and so on. The last tornado of the film is another Dead Man Walking Tornado, an EF-5.)

[gamerwoman3d]

The "Walk."

Video by Jalynne Dutton

It isn't just that it's "knee" bends as it "steps" forward: It's that you can also see her "hands."

To give you an idea of what I see/sense when I look at this: Here's Gramaw.

Now. I don't want to stir up anymore "Native American Legend = Dead Man Walking Tornado" misinformation. I will say many native cultures believe that storms are intelligent "Entities" of some sort that can be spoken with and reasoned with. Some don't believe the same. Many believe there are spirits in the sky and that storms are either part of that spirit, a spirit of its own, or are caused by a spirit (such as Red Horse or Thunder Spirits / Frog Medicine.) And some natives even do believe that "If you see a man in a tornado you are about to die" because they were taught as much, but taught so after someone with authority came into contact with that misinformation and co-opted it.

But to believe there are spirits, entities, beings, or even "man" in the clouds/in the sky/inside storms/inside twisters, is not a set of beliefs that are totally outside of the scope of all native belief systems.

I for one think if you *sense* an entity in a storm, you should take cover. If it feels like the storm is watching you, if you get that eerie feeling, just get underground. Even if you don’t believe in spirits or supernatural things, understand that That feeling is produced by neurochemicals, and those neurochemicals had about a billion more years of "experience" with surviving natural selection at any point. So listen to that feeling, because the ancient people that didn't develop that neurochemical reaction to bad storms probably didn't survive and reproduce like your ancestors did. Trust your neurons.

Part of a larger series- Edited Jalynne Dutton video clips also shown at link below.

[theicarusconstellation]

STOP CALLING EVERY TORNADO WITH MULTIPLE VORTICES A DEAD MAN WALKING BEFORE I START THROWING THINGS😭😭😭😭

[zombiified]

the dominator is dominating me

[antvnger]

You'd probably hate the dead man walking tornado. Look at this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4wElxGEK31E&ab_channel=josh19941016

that's scary

A tornado is something I’ve only witnessed in The Wizard of Oz and Twister.

But that?? I’ve never seen a tornado look like that before.

That’s definitely scary.

[fandomlit]

gif cred belongs to @entertainmentgirl80

a/n so. guess who saw twisters

imagine tyler owens watching you sing

"you have to watch this chick!" lily grinned at tyler and boone as the lights of the bar dimmed and a band began to filter on stage. she pointed her beer to the center microphone. "she's a star."

tyler turned as the crowd of drunkards and sobers alike went wild as a woman stepped out from backstage with a grin on her face. she was gorgeous; from the way she walked, to the color of her eyes, to her cowboy boots. tyler couldn't help but lean back, admiring with the rest of the crowd. he was still staring before he noticed she was speaking into that center mic, the patrons hanging on her every word.

".. start the night with a classic," she was saying, still smiling easily as she turned to the drummer and nodded. the band knew exactly what to do, and the guitar kicked to life at once. he recognized the song almost immediately, having heard his own mother's voice sing the country classic accompanied by their old scratchy truck radio.

"i've been down with a broken heart since the day i learned to speak.. the devil gave me a crooked start when he gave me crooked feet.."

he was smirking without realizing, tapping his foot as she finished the first verse and the rest of the band kicked in.

she had her arms behind her back, stomping easily to the beat as she continued, "i found myself an omen and i tattooed on a sign, i sent my mind a wanderin' and i walk a broken line.." her eyes were easily looking around the crowd and tyler sat a little straighter when they swept over him. but then her eyes did a double-take back to his handsome grin, her held tilting so she was looking at him dead on. "you have a mind to keep me quiet, and although you can try.." tyler leaned forward in his seat, feeling a shiver dare to ghost his spine at her eyes. her grin crept back to her face, and she didn't dare break the electrifying eye contact as she shook her head and continued, "better man have hit their knees, and bigger men have died."

she turned back to the center, raising her hands as she belted, "i'm gonna raise, raise hell!"

"i know that look," lily spoke, just loud enough to be heard over the music as she eyed tyler. boone leaned toward her.

"what look?"

she smirked, "owens found his next storm to chase!"

[writercole]

Home Sweet Home

Summary: It's been a long few weeks but Scott is finally home and he's got an idea in his head. Words: 909 Warnings: 18+ only. NSFW. Dead Dove, Do Not Eat!! Vaginal penetration, begging, marking, dom/sub behaviors, Scott is kind of an ass (as we expect, but in a good way.) Credits: I have to credit @hederasgarden and @ryebecca for pushing me forward with this. And a very special thanks to @theharddeck and @wildbornsiren who've looked over parts 1 and 2 for me! A/N: I have multiple loves from Twisters. As it should be.

Part 1 of 3

When you met Scott, you thought he was an arrogant, self-absorbed man who thought he was the smartest man in the room. In other words, he lived up to the engineer title he carried.

Over time, you started to see cracks in his armor, little things like a genuine smile or your favorite treat appearing in your seat or your bag.

The first time he asked you to dinner, you didn’t even think it was a date. Scott didn’t go on dates. He definitely didn’t like you that way. That’s why you were so surprised when, after walking you back to your room, he gathered you into his arms and kissed you deeply.

That was a few years ago now. He proposed on your two year anniversary and you married shortly after. Since then, there had been subtle shifts in his demeanor. He started to enjoy leaving little marks on your exposed neck or deep between your thighs. He always wore a smirk when other men let their gazes linger before turning away dejectedly. 

When you suggested quitting your job to stay home, you swore you’d given him the best news of his life. That’s how you ended up here, wearing one of his shirts as a dress and his favorite pair of heels, cooking steaks for dinner. Scott was on his way home after chasing storms for over a month.

“Honey, I’m home,” he called as the door opened. A thud followed the door slamming shut before heavy footfalls echoed on the hardwood floors. “Something smells good.”

“You’re home!” you exclaimed as you abandoned the stove to meet your husband at the kitchen door.

“Fuck, baby, I missed you,” he growled, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you deeply.

His grip kept you pressed against the hard planes of his body, letting you feel the effect you had on him as his hands wandered down your back, over the curve of your ass, and under his shirt.

“Scott, I need to -”

“The only thing you need to do is wrap yourself around my cock,” he muttered against your skin. He backed you up against the kitchen island and lifted you up, seating you on the marble countertop.

You whimpered as he forced your legs apart and dropped to his knees. A loud groan exited his lips and his eyes rolled back as soon as he saw your bare pussy beneath his shirt. Calloused hands squeezed your thighs as teeth sank into your flesh, your head falling backwards and your back arching.

“Scott, please,” you whined.

“Please what? Use your words.”

“Please fuck me.”

“But what about dinner?” he teased as he stood. “Maybe we should wait until we’ve eaten.”

“No, please,” you rushed out, “I need you. It’s been too long, Scott, please, I need your cock.” Needy had never been a word you would have used to describe yourself but the empty ache between your legs changed a lot of things.

“I guess that’s good enough,” he smirked, unzipping his slacks and pulling his thick cock out. The red, leaking tip pressed inside of your dripping channel, stretching your walls slowly, then all at once as he thrust himself to the hilt with a grunt. 

Your hands clawed at his shoulders, searching for something to ground you as he pulled out quickly and pushed back in slowly, setting a pace that let both of you enjoy the intimacy that had been missing for weeks.

Your release built quickly, your walls clenching around Scott’s cock.

“You’re going to come for me,” he stated, more of a command than an observation.

His order pushed you to your release and you cried out his name between moaning gasps.

“Good girl,” he cooed as he picked up his pace. “Now, be still and let me fill this pussy up. Fuck my cum so deep there will be no way I don’t knock you up.”

Scott chased his own end, repeating over again how he was going to fill you up, get you pregnant. His conviction drew another release from you as his cock throbbed, spilling his seed. He continued to fuck into you until he twitched with overstimulation, staying true to his promise. Thick arms pulled you close and his head rested heavily on your shoulder while both of you came down from your highs, chests rising and falling rapidly above racing hearts.

Loud, rapid beeping interrupted your embrace and Scott swore, pulling out and rushing over to the stove, one hand tucking himself into his pants while the other grabbed the smoking pan and tossed it into the sink. More swears filled the air as he shook out the bare hand that grabbed the scalding, bare iron handle.

You moved to grab a towel to fan the smoke detector but stopped when Scott pointed at you.

“Don’t you dare move,” he said sternly. “I was serious about knocking you up. Can’t do that if you let me leak out of that sweet pussy.”

You settled back on the island and watched as he reached up to press the button on the detector. His shirt rose just enough for a sliver of skin to appear above his waistline, a tiny glimpse of your favorite trail of hair below his navel driving you wild and having you press your thighs together again.

Quiet settled over the room again and Scott chuckled with his hands on his hips. “Feel up to going out?”

[pedge-page]

Another Joel dealing with a horomonal preggo reader, at the park:

Warnings: language, mentions of sexual content

- - - -

You always slip on your favorite pair of laced up sneakers when on the go, and today is no different. You and Joel had made a habit of taking a leisure walk through the local park on the weekends for the fresh air and enjoying each others company.

You gently lay a hand under your bulging tummy instinctually now as you prepare for your baby's delivery any week now. Joel notices your shoe comes untied, and ever the gentle man, offers to tie it up for you.

"No, Joel, I'm not a child. I dont NEED some man, I can tie my own shoes," you scoff coldly, detaching your hand from his.

He holds his hands up in surrender and watches:

At first you try to bend down as normal from the waist, but the bump prevents you from getting any closer to your shoes. Then you try to squat, but that proves useless too as you can't see past your swollen belly. You try several different ways-- bending, crouching, leaning, from one foot on the bench to almost doing a twister-crab walk pose on all fours, increasingly becoming frustrated with how neither your arms nor eyes could reach the culprit of all your problems in the world: the untied shoe lace.

You start huffing, eyes watering at how angry you're getting.

Yoy finally stand up straight and look dead ahead, and the tears start flowing like an avalanch as you tild your head back and wail into the sky.

Joel shakes his head, gets on a creaky knee and ties your shoes together, whispering praise to you and your belly "you did good my girl, I'll take it from here," and "Your body is doing miracles already," to get you to calm down as you make a giant scene in the busy park.

"I'm—sniffles—too—chokes—fucking—FAT!"

Joel is quick to comfort you: "No you're not, you're beautiful! You're growing our healthy beautiful baby in here, calm down, sweetie, no need to cry."

But you persist, ugly snot running down your nose as you stutter your inhales and heave your exhales. "I'm gonna— have a big f-fucking fat ass baby and h-h-h's g-gonna rip m-y fucking vagina apart!" you croak loudly, your hands unable wipe away the amount of tears blinding your eyes.

People turn their heads at your echoing voice and subsequent expletives carry over the open area—"And then —huff—my h-h-husband—that's you—won't l-love me any-m-more because I won't have—heave—have a tight s-sexy pussy ever again!" You wail, more ugly tears spilling as you scream the last part.

"Jesus," Joel says under his breath, desperately fumbling to get your shoes double knotted as quickly as possible. He's looking around and sheepishly smiling, waving off the nasty glares from a group of middle aged women joggers and parents covering their young childrens' ears as they walk by, shouting every curse and sexual thing that Joel apparently won't love about you anymore for all the world and God to hear.

He finishes the knot as you adjust to hyperventilating. "Okay okay, all fixed now see? How about we get some ice cream, yeah?" He says, rubbing your shoulders soothingly as he nods off everyone to go about their business again. He pauses quickly and stares back at you, realizing his potential fatal error. "Or—or not! We don't need to, if... if that makes you feel—" fatter.

You sniffles a bit more, rubbing your red swollen eyes before answering with a much more child-like, hushed tone, "N-no—I. I want, mmm, chocolate. Two scoops."

He plants a long kiss on your forehead before holding your hand to lead you to the ice cream cart.

Staying firmly planted, You quickly rip your hand away and shout, "JOOOEL!"

He doubles back, panic stricken over his entire body at the harsh, painful cry of his name. "What what is it?? What's wrong!? Tell me." His hands immediately cup around your belly, feeling for any signs of violent movement.

You meekly hold your foot up, barely balancing on one knee with the counter weight of your tummy. "S' too tight," you say softly, indicating the shoe he'd just spent an eternity trying to knot.

He tries to hide his sigh as he forces himself to one knee again in front of your dangling foot.

- - - -

Series masterlist

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Permanent taglist: @harriedandharassed

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

a list of some summer movies/series 🌞

hi hi hi!! it's just me, your friendly neighbourhood little organisation freak of a goblin here to give you yet again a list of some seasonal movies and series. this time, say it with me folks, summer! as always, just close your eyes and point somewhere on this little list, or even put the numbers in a generator and go with whatever the result is ♡

autumn | winter | spring

🐚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ movies ⋅˚₊‧

roman holiday (1953)

jaws (1975)

friday the 13th (1980)

Indiana jones (1981-)

dirty dancing (1987)

the princess bride (1987)

paris is burning (1990)

point break (1991)

jurassic park (1993-)

before sunrise (1995)

a goofy movie (1995)

clueless (1995)

birdcage (1996)

boogie nights (1997)

i know what you did last summer (1997)

my best friend's wedding (1997)

parent trap (1998)

bilboard dad (1998)

tarzan (1999)

the talented mr. ripley (1999)

10 things I hate about you (1999)

the mummy (1999)

cast away (2000)

almost famous (2000)

our lips are sealed (2000)

charlie’s angels (2000 + 2003)

holiday in the sun (2001)

the wedding planner (2001)

the fast and furious franchise (2001-)

princess diaries (2001-2004)

lilo and stitch (2002)

blue crush (2002)

crossroads (2002)

how to lose a guy in 10 days (2003)

under the tuscan sun (2003)

the lizzie mcguire movie (2003)

pirates of the caribbean franchise (2003-2017)

sisterhood of the traveling pants (2005-2008)

monster in law (2005)

aquamarine (2006)

she’s the man (2006)

the cheetah girls 2 (2006)

high school musical 2 (2007)

camp rock (2008)

vicky cristina barcelona (2008)

fool's gold (2008)

mamma mia (2008 + 2018)

adventureland (2009)

bride wars (2009)

hannah montana the movie (2009)

the last song (2010)

letters to juliet (2010)

eat pray love (2010)

one day (2011+2024)

a little bit of heaven (2011)

soul surfer (2011)

the impossible (2012)

magic mike (2012+2025+2023)

the big wedding (2013)

lovelace (2013)

endless love (2014)

chef (2014)

the longest ride (2015)

mad max: fury road (2015)

the shallows (2016)

it (2017)

girls trip (2017)

baywatch (2017)

jumanji: welcome to the jungle (2017)

gifted (2017)

call me by your name (2017)

crazy rich asians (2018)

adrift (2018)

ibiza (2018)

every day (2018)

bad times at the el royale (2018)

tomb raider (2018)

the red sea diving resort (2019)

midsommar (2019)

we summon the darkness (2019)

spider-man: far from home (2019)

the devil all the time (2020)

palm springs (2020)

the last letter from your lover (2021)

raya and the last dragon (2021)

luca (2021)

uncharted (2022)

glass onion (2022)

do revenge (2022)

the lost city (2022)

the gray man (2022)

death on the nile (2022)

barbie (2023)

bottoms (2023)

anyone but you (2023)

la passion de dodin bouffant (2023)

road house (2024)

the challengers (2024)

players (2024)

twisters (2024)

🍦 ‧₊˚ ⋅ series ⋅˚₊‧

the o.c. (2003-2007)

america's next top model (2003-2018)

project runway (2004-)

h2o: just add water (2006-2010)

gossip girl (2007-2012)

private practice (2007-2013)

rupaul’s drag race (2009-)

the walking dead (2010-2022)

new girl (2011-2018)

the fosters (2013-2018)

black-ish (2014-2022)

jane the virgin (2014-2019)

grace and frankie (2015-2022)

critical role (2015-)

stranger things (2016-)

the durrells (2016-2019)

big little lies (2017-2019)

she's gotta have it (2017-2019)

the bold type (2017-2021)

queer eye (2018-)

station 19 (2018-2024)

euphoria (2019-)

roswell, new mexico (2019-2022)

valeria (2020-2023)

911: lone star (2020-)

outer banks (2020-)

bridgerton (2020-)

sex/life (2021-2023)

the white lotus (2021-2025)

daisy jones and the six (2023)

[kit-foley]

Nancy Drew Games are 50% off on Steam right now so here are some shitty descriptions of the games for newbies or partners (not in order, also spoilers)

Secrets can kill: dickface high schooler was pushed down a flight of stairs, find out who did it

The Silent Spy: Nancy has mommy issues and cosplays as a spy in Scotland

Sea of Darkness: all of the characters have trauma around a ship. featuring the only canonically queer character.

Deadly Device: tech bro gets electrocuted, who did it oh noooo. Feat: women in stem

Midnight in Salem: Glitch-wise, this is the fandom-equivalent of the first release of FNAF Security Breach but doesn’t nearly slay as hard and they didn’t patch any of the bugs. Haven’t played it but the fandom is 50/50 on it, maybe 80/20 against

Shattered Medallion: off brand amazing race goes wrong, feat. A recurring character who you’re supposed to know

Alibi in Ashes: Nancy didn’t commit arson (this time) so who the fuck did? See also, “I can commit major theft and prod you about your dead mom, but I draw the line at arson.”

The Captive Curse: monster and intergenerational trauma, beautifully told story. Plus lederhosen.

Shadow at the Waters Edge: ghosts and intergenerational trauma, beautifully told story. Plus kawaii

Ghost of Thornton hall; ghosts and intergenerational trauma, beautifully told story. Plus southern people.

The Final Scene: nancys friend who we’ve never met gets kidnapped. Plus magic tricks/Houdini. Plus old man.

The Haunted Carousel: Dead mom plus the most annoying daughter you’ll ever encounter and her emotional support robot. Also you’re supposed to fix a theme park

Danger by Design: Parisian fashion designer with anger issues and also might deny that nazis happened during wwii

Curse of blackmoor manor: British girl says oh no my stepmom is turning into a werewolf

Warnings at Waverly Academy; the trailer for this one said something like “I hang out with teenage girls in this one, it could be my scariest case yet”, basically be prepared to do other students homework. Also immaculate dark academia/fall vibes tho

Phantom of Venice: white boy of the month shows you his seven hour tesserae slideshow and you single-handedly bring down a crime ring while wearing stupid outfits

Trail of the Twister: someone is sabotaging a storm chasing team but Nancy cares more about asking the local general store owner about his dead wife

Secret of the Old Clock: It’s magically 1930 again, this game feels so far off brand from pretty much all of the other ones imo but the music goes HARD and there’s def some homoerotic tensions between a dead old man and his live-in psychic

Legend of the Crystal Skull: make a curio shop owner sneeze, collect glass eyeballs, watch a Gerard Way look-alike cry, and maybe get buried alive

Haunting of Castle Malloy: banshees and letterpress and a pub that conveniently only serves juice. Terrible Irish accents. Try to find a missing groom for a wedding but also enjoy a walking sim that walked so Stardew Valley could run

Creature of Kapu Cave: get stuck in a tourist trap resort by a guy who calls himself Big Island Mike, then get stuck in a forest with an entomologist who makes you do her work for her, then get stuck in a research facility with an angry white guy who makes you do his work and then falls asleep. Music slaps but no idea what the plot of the game is supposed to be. Also do a “freaky friday” style switch with the Hardy Boys every time you call them on your cell phone.

Last train to Blue Moon canyon: picture Paris Hilton inviting you on a train and then she goes missing. Also on the train with you: the worst police detective, Zak Bagans impersonator, and Colleen Hoover-vibes.

White Wolf of Icicle Creek: “I fired. And I missed. I missed again. I got sad. I had a popsicle.”

[tieflingfingers]

What and who: Thomasin and Astarion bicker. The grove has its own gaggle of issue. Aradin's bigotry finally gets a proper check. Summary: Thomasin and Astarion wander into conflict happening out a druidic grove's gate. With violin and dagger in hand, the two help out in hopes of finding a healer inside. Soon, they realize both tieflings and her drow heritage are not welcomed. Warning/Content: Graphic descriptions of battle between bugbears/goblins and grove. Aradin isn't a fan of others and vocalizes that. Astarion finds pleasant things unpleasant and unpleasant things delightful. Part of campaign remix/rewrite. Word Count: 3,172 Ao3 Link

There was commonality in all wilderness. A comorbidity. Every ecosystem provided its fruits as much as it prowled the dead of night like stooping owls. They were all alike. Unforgiving like the foreign family Thomasin knew lurked in the Underdark. Their language not fully learned, but the presence of their culture cropped up everywhere she went. It was part of who she was. A home away from home.  

If asked, she may attribute this to why she found the land so conservant. No matter the trials nor tribulations, pathways snaked through stretches of thin wispy grass. Critters rustled through patches of wildflowers when no one was around to witness. Birds pecked at hard carapace shells baking in the sun with little thought of morality. Bushes shaded mushroom circles crafted by the fey, even when surrounded by beds of vine and thorn.  

Thomasin swore that the most unpredictable often slept beside you. Astarion remained in her constant periphery. It was mutual. She could feel it. 

They walked with a safe distance between one another. As she flashed smiles and asked simple questions, silence provided appetizers between each reply. Acute observations she collected through the miniscule spaces between her teeth. 

Uncertain company meant the half-elf’s persona grew accommodating. Placated the hostility of death. Or that worse than death. Her femininity grew fluid, caustic, slipping through untrustworthy brambles. As long as she remained agreeable and unattainable in theory, he could believe he was one tongue twister away from taking charge. 

However, she identified something else diverting his thoughts. A sort of wanderlust, even if displeased by the lack of luxuries. Focalization wasn’t solely on what he could get away with, but the sparkling rivers that bled from the sea. She figured he was used to the lethargy of Grey Harbors’ docks.

He’d squint in discontentment when his ogling disrupted. Soft rotten logs fell where they may and bent trees curled inward, readying for their last decades of life. A piece of him wasn’t fueled by fear. Whether his ego would allow it was another question. 

Thomasin spent their stretches of solitude creating backstories and potential personality traits from what she gathered. Not hasty judgements, but inferences that shifted and morphed with every new bit of information.

Until now, maybe his life as a magistrate was nothing more than the glamour of a title. The life of probable crime forcing him into the depths of a city. His curiosity doomed to forever hide behind heavy velvet curtains.

Astarion fed off culture. A diet once succulent with power, now living in a state of survival. The flavor of grit fostered by nightlife in the streets. His references hinted at a youth educated solely through ink, parchment, and structured curriculum. An antiquated view she expected most elves to disregard after passing into the threshold of adulthood. 

This would become a foundation. One unknowingly mixed with literature and the offhand remarks of drunk aristocratic sons prancing in fountains. Gaps of knowledge outside the gate filled themselves. Eventual hardships chipped teeth and stories from visitors from far off lands were plentiful.

Of course, these hypotheticals weren’t created from thin air.  Left to his own devices, Thomasin found Astarion to be quite stubborn. A man with a dogma that made enough sense to him. A reason to not acclimate to his surroundings. Sensations that were mere background noise to most weren’t to be tolerated. They were to be shamed.

The sun’s warmth was glorious until it was at its highest point. Spiders had abandoned their webs which now clung to his clothes. The gnats were too merry. Too animated. The spiders were too lazy to kill the gnats. Dirt was too wet. Flowers too inviting until their thorns snagged on his sleeves.

If the breeze was a nuisance, she would always be a bother. Her habits would compound. His wrinkles would deepen in disgust. She simply hoped he was too preoccupied to devolve his bickering. How could one keep quiet about a grand plan of deceit when every thought fell from his lips?

Thomasin found herself biting her cheeks to prevent from smiling at his complaints. They bonded over which oils made for the best baths. Made promises to keep an eye out for florals with the liveliest scents. She even joked about locating the coldest rivers and how pressing its stones against his eyelids would ease swelling. Jest for her own pleasure, mostly.

Their exchange of backhanded compliments was soon cut short. It was an escalation in a matter of seconds. The ground’s foundation shook and bolstering shouts sang from a point just out of view. Both of their eyes met. They witnessed their own composures fracture and, without words, acknowledged they were to not speak of it. 

A hill jut from the grass as if detached from the ranges in their sleep. One of the many cascading high and lows painted across the landscape. Astarion crept up the soft, uneven incline to look over its vantage point. But, as he began to climb, whistling sped past their ears and arrowheads clunked into rocky chunks of earth.

Each was a sharpened bone, hastily chipped away. Their craftsmanship, shotty and left to splinter. Its ragged was point fine enough to cut through Astarion’s pant leg and graze his shin. A dark patch began spreading across the fabric and unraveled fine white stitching now tinged in pinks and crimsons. He winced. 

Thomasin expected a man of vanity to also unravel, but he remained steadfast. The pain stung, but it didn’t seem that was what made his eyes flicker. It was the blood that ran down her bare shoulder. The only reason she had even noticed she, too, was injured.

What the look meant was unclear, but before she could speak up, he had turned his heels away. As if calculating a brief misstep, the elf had re-routed his attention into that of clenched fists.

“Amin feuya ten' lle,” he grumbled through his teeth.

The manner in which Astarion sprinted was like a wound tinker toy whose trapped cogs felt release. With a dagger at his hip, he strayed from the hill and intersected those that attacked them. Two straggler goblins spilling into battle. 

His body weight toppled their short statures and Thomasin watched what might’ve been her own demise. A blade cleaned like clockwork carving into cheeks, necks, and temples. Ruthless yet pin-pointed in each stabbing as the floodgates bled freely from arteries. Each goblin appeared bewildered by their god’s promises hitting the ground with an uneventful thud.

Astarion whisked up one of their bows. An arch made of untreated wood, not yet smoothed of its natural lumps and spines like typical woodwork. It creaked when the forces of tension threatened its integrity and whined as if scared to crack in half. The craftsmanship alone cobbled his expression somewhere between dissatisfaction and pity. 

“Was this made by a child?” he asked of his victim, expecting an answer despite their throat now half full.

The heel of his shoe, scuffed and repeatedly buffed over decades, dug itself into the living goblin’s chest. With a flick of his fingers, an arrow freed from its binds and buried deep into their eye socket. An end accented by the arrowhead shaken free of their punctured organ on its tip. 

“You’d think they’d like a bit more decency in death.” He glanced over his shoulder at Thomasin. “A little care for appearances does wonders.”

Thomasin chuckled to herself in relief. He was tactical, which alarmed her slightly, but she shoved the concern out of reach. It was apparent he had seen the source of the commotion. His stance went into stealth and he snuck back to the base of the hill, tilting his head for her to follow. 

Pushing through a series of adrenaline dumps, the half-elf hoisted herself up with a bounty of arrows she collected from quivers of the slain. She slid them toward Astarion, who was now crouched and positioned at the very top.

From their view, she realized they had stumbled upon a village amongst the arbor. Humans and tieflings alike clanked metal and stone against a barrage of attacks. Booyaghs and bugbears lead goblins and worgs to this protected domain. The only thing keeping them from infiltrating was a monolith of a gate wedged between two mountains. 

Structurally sound, its wooden heft looked to be rigged by pulley systems wound around a spoked helm. The system of ropes twisted and tucked away within its neighboring stone. Stone which was engraved in ritualistic sigils and patterns she figured were meant to protect from situations like these. The inner workings of religion never ceased to puzzle her.

Even in battle, those from the grove shouted over residual conflicts. A human man, curly-haired, yelled accusations until his voice verged on rasp. Insults that an older tiefling from the gate’s upper level retorted between commanding reinforcements from above. His skin was a glossy red under a blanket of sweat that hung over all involved.

In an act of impulse, Thomasin stood up and tucked her violin neatly under her chin. Her presence made her vulnerable, but the fear subsided into a trance. Her tongue clicked in rhythm like a metronome attempting to keep up with an unheard melody.

It had been long since she had used her skills to calm a crowd. She narrowed her focus and concentrated on those that mindlessly attacked the grove. And, as she raised her bow, she accommodated the popped string by creating a new song. One pulled from sheet music she hadn’t held in her hands in years.

Its melody began softly. A wisp of tangible sound that grew louder and robust. The series of notes projected its aura and spread over the field like rolling fog. Its fine glowing mist dispersed as it hit the ground, homing in on the enemy.

The longer she played, the more the grove’s patrons noticed their foes' attention had completely shifted. 

They had become enthralled.

The transition was panicked, but Thomasin promptly wiped her bow across her skirt as if ridding it of magical residue, and continued playing. What had been the spirit of a composition once memorized morphed into something eerier. Beautiful to certain tastes, but nevertheless droning. 

After the day’s difficulties, the half-elf knew she had to push past her threshold to maintain concentration. Her coherence faltered. Lashes lowered. Shades of violet swirled in a spectacle below that enraptured the threat. 

The goblins stumbled. Bugbear jaws slackened. Those left with gusto to proceed with their raid had difficulties funneling their anger anywhere but their own brethren. And so, it wasn’t long until those from the grove preyed on such distraction. 

Thomasin struggled to process what was happening, resting on the hopes the noises she heard were of victory. Reality muffled and the only sounds registering to her ears was huffing breathing from those left in battle. It wasn’t until the curly-haired man, identified as ��Aradin” through all the noise, raised his voice once more and struck her from her trance.

“Open the bloody gates!”

Under her feet, the rumble arose again. A young tiefling scrambling high up upon the rafters began to spin the wheel to activate the pulley system. Now was not the time to succumb to a haze. The half-elf blinked and adjusted to light whilst her existence leaked in at a pressing pace. 

Cold compression wrapped around her wrist and tugged. Before she knew it, Astarion’s clammy grasp was guiding her down a steep incline. Her feet skid and tripped along the natural ridges. Her grace wavered even on her best days. But, like a younger sibling begrudgingly snatched by the eldest, Astarion held little concern.

”We’re making it to that settlement. Now c’mon.”

Thomasin held her tongue as the aftermath allowed her settings to come into view. Whilst they scuffled inside, she ran past the corpses of goblin intruders and unfortunate security. A stray tiefling hung from the high gate, only to be dragged in by weeping companions. The half-elf forced her eyes shut and let herself blend into the crowd. There was solace in simply being one of the living bodies.

Inside the confines of the grove, everyone scattered as the gates slammed back down behind them. Astarion and Thomasin hunched to catch their breath, eventually being the last two figures in the entryway.

Tensions seemed to spill into safety. Not far from the two, Aradin and the commanding tiefling, Zevlor, spoke at volumes that toppled over one another. Their diaphragms fought like the last muscle not yet quivering from a comedown. It appeared to be a leader of a pack of tiefling refugees versus an adventurer whose own pack was thinned. Two men taking turns listing the other’s faults.

Aradin spouted words like “foul bloods” in the midst of maligning Zevlor with selfish tendencies. The tieflings weren’t know for courage and could never understand what their mission meant. The importance of a relic that left many of his crew dead and the leading druid captured. Closing the grove’s gate was intentional. Undeserved punishment.

Zevlor's body stiffened in a manner Thomasin recognized immediately. A leader had to remain diligent, cordial. But his dignity and the lives of these tieflings relied on him. His anger was boiling up. Arguing against guiding raiders to their location, where children tucked away, felt self-explanatory.

Thomasin looked around at folks living off carts, crates, and sleeping mats. In his heightened grief, Aradin viewed them like cargo. Horned totems that cursed the adventurer before they were even attacked. Zevlor's attempts to speak sense was all for null. The human kept on his rant.

“The grove’s sealin’ off before the stench of Avernus rips through these wood.” Aradin whipped his head around to gesture to the bounty evidence all around him. “And then the hells lured in an under-elf. Bad blood poisoned by even worse blood. Halsin would prefer death to this.”

Thomasin’s part was only a brief additional detail. Just another reason injustice’s clawed hands disrupted the grove’s pastures. Devils, evil gods, all infallible points. And, as he ranted, his words must’ve grown more tumultuous. More self-assured. The debate was closing in on becoming a physical fight.

But Aradin’s bigotry was deafened by the time Thomasin’s vision tunneled. Her jaw clenched rigid. She was no longer in control of her own complacency. 

Astarion watched his newfound companion walk towards the men with a sense of urgency. Purpose in each heeled step. The half-elf was beyond finding common ground. Too tired to convince Aradin about the perils of judging one another. 

Drowic danced off her tongue, despite her limited vocabulary. It was part of her rarely spoken aloud. More of a sensation as if the vigor of Lolth guided her when venom replaced blood flowing within.   

“Ah! Uk skal’as yutrilanil. You speak from such confidence when you cannot hide the rotten roots that raised you,” she cursed.

“Aye! Watch y’bloody tongue, tunnel rat.”  

Aradin hadn’t prepared to be flanked. Surprised painted his face as if his uncouth thoughts lived within a vacuum. Before he could turn to address her, a series of metal bands embedded into his face. Thomasin threw a punch.

The armored man collapsed. Burning masculinity encased in metal hit the ground with a thunk and punctuated the end of an argument. Astarion rushed to crouch over him, perhaps reveling in the humiliation of it all. The elf was grinning ear to ear. A happiness she hadn’t seen from him yet. All it took was a morsel of misfortune.

Thomasin looked back at Zevlor with shared bewilderment that mellowed just as quickly. Had her judgments melted entirely? Was she now made of softened inhibitions and curious morals? It was a side she hadn’t seen in years.

“I’ll be honest, I didn’t think I still had that in me,” she said, shaking her hand with weak diffusing laughter.

“Well--” Zevlor cleared his throat and nodded in respect. “At least now I can properly thank you for your help out there. You’re quite brave… venturing out here with the history of your heritage.”

“My…My mother was a human from the Dales.” 

“Of course! Not that it’s meant as any insult. The drow have always tended to fight amongst themselves. I’m sure your father is a great man.” The tiefling sighed. “Apologies. I’m Zevlor.”

“Thomasin and–” 

“Astarion, pleasure,” he said from the prodding of Aradin.

Zevlor began to vent about conflict with the druids of the grove. How the tieflings were ripped from their home and the previous druidic leader, Halsin, had welcomed them. But now, he was missing and their new leadership under Kagha was skewed. The refugees were being cast out of the area and Zevlor admit many weren’t fighters. Going in the goblin’s den was asking for death.

Thomasin looked about and recognized a young man that had fought outside the gate. A warlock with dreadlocks and a regal disposition. The type of broad shoulders and confidence that accompanied successful fighters. The scars and stone eye that were unabashed about hardships.

“That’s Wyll, part of the Blade of Frontiers,” Zevlor said. “Seems to have been dropped here through his own twisted luck. The only neutral party we’ve got.“

“Hm. I'll speak to speak to him. We need a healer and, by the gods, I hope he can help us all mend loose threads.”

Still crouched, Astarion sucked at his teeth in disapproval. A sound half-expected from his pervious displays of obstinance. She nudged him to behave with a light kick of her boot.

Zevlor visibly relaxed. Thomasin was one of the few forms of support left. 

“We would be eternally grateful. We have little to ourselves, but we can give you as much in the way of supplies as possible.” He nodded over to Wyll. “I have hope that you all can make the route safer with his help. Maybe he can even vouch for you amongst the druids.”

Thomasin bent slightly in a bow of thanks and made her way towards the warlock. The plan felt more solid now. A reason to keep constant moving.

Astarion lingered behind. His eyes scanned along the human’s waist for pouches and satchels. Loosened buckles and heirloom jewelry. But, just as he started to ease into rummaging through Aradin’s belongings, he awoke. The human thrashed the elf back like a bull disoriented in its pen. 

“Thought you might be dead, is all. You can’t knock me for seeing an opportunity before my very eyes,” Astarion poked in jest. His palms were flat on the ground, but the dirt was no issue. The delight in this man’s rage was enough.

“I’ve had it with everyone in this place,” Aradin snapped as he gathered himself. “Enjoy gettin’ eaten alive out there.”

The elf laughed with little empathy. As he rose to brush off his shirt, fingers running along frilled edges, he pivoted his feet to make one last remark. 

“Is that a promise, darling? I hear the hells are quite lovely this time of year."

[scramble-crossing]

Euler's Identity

Chapter 1: After the Sermon, Before the Wake

Rating: M

Characters: Sho Minamimoto, Neku Sakuraba, Shiki Misaki, Daisukenojo "Beat" Bito, Rindo Kanade, Tosai "Fret" Furasawa, Nagi Usui, Shoka Sakurane

Pairings: Sho Minamimoto & Neku Sakuraba, Sho Minamimoto & Rindo Kanade & Tosai "Fret" Furasawa & Nagi Usui, Implied Neku Sakuraba/Shiki Misaki/Daisukenojo "Beat" Bito

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Suicide and Self-Harm

Summary:

It happened again

As it has happened before

And as it will happen a hundred times more

After yet another attempt at the Composer's seat leaves Minamimoto critically wounded, he's forced to seek refuge in the only place left that will have him: his old home, WildKat. But it's come under new management since he's seen it last. Proprietor Neku Sakuraba has been dealing with his own ghosts since reclaiming the life he should have lived after the Long Game, though he's able to find comfort in his friends as they help him, and the cafe, get back on their feet. Maybe they can do the same for Minamimoto, when the Wicked Twisters reach out to him with an offer of reconciliation...

Sometimes all it takes is a little deviation

Read on Ao3

(And also a playlist here!)

My fic for the @subasekabang 2023! Had a blast participating alongside my Bang partners @starocide and @awanderingserena. Make sure to check out their works!

Preview under the cut

Morning broke, and from within it spilled a city untouched by rapture.

The gentle, lapping water of the Shibuya River blushed indigo, reflective of a sky that fell like a silken curtain over towers buttoned here or there with a warm yellow light, a few windows stirring, blinking sleepily open. Little moved and all was quiet. Well, quiet as it ever could be. Washed in a dusky lowlight burnt only at the very edges by the dayish gold of a still-rising sun, most of Shibuya was still dreaming as Sho Minamimoto emerged from the dark tunnel’s maw, greeted only by the rumble of far-off cars like a cat’s amused purr.

He breathed fresh air. It was tinged with the familiar scents of scathed asphalt and smoke and filled whatever mimicry of lungs he had left in his chest. Notes of citysong danced in his ears. He heard birds chitter, saw airplanes pull white-tufted tails behind them, both swimming the sky’s murky depths, and him, standing inside of it all, a part of it all, was as alive as a dead man like him could ever be.

…But he wasn’t supposed to.

‘Incongruent.’

This time was different than before.

‘Why am I…?’

Sho staggered. A searing pain tore down through his stomach like a knife plunged in and twisted, blood bursting in his head, filling his sight with a pulsing red haze, ruby dark, growing darker. He shut his eyes. Fumbled in blackness. His legs trembled like that of an infant still fresh to the earth; it took all he had left just to keep himself from collapsing into the embrace of concrete beneath his feet.

He would not fall. No, he would hurt and he would ache, he would fracture into pieces, but he would not let himself go wholly and with quiet humiliation into a storm that had since vanished.

And so he started walking.

Shadows of the overpass criss-crossed his path as Sho dragged himself over the gutter’s sloped ridge, keeping low along the city’s underbelly. They were long and soft in the surrounding dimness. Easy to slide into. He knew someone who would’ve loved them (Who? That was lost somewhere in memory), but for him the angles were too stretched, too obtuse, the encroaching sunlight giving too little space to hide. He would have to keep moving. Even as exhaustion weighed heavily on him, sucking at his heels like torrent water and making him think for one wild, confused moment that it was the river wanting him back.

He tried to shake it off, clean his mind of the clinging, gurgled whispers whose voices he couldn’t tell from his own. It was all the same, anyways. A reprise on unfinished business.

You lost

‘I lost.’

He never stood a chance.

When he flexed his hands to make sure he could still feel them, his fingers pressed with splintered nails into palms that hadn’t once brushed the fantastically inhumane coldness of divinity. They were hot and slicked with sweat and dirt from the ground he’d crawled across. His eyes were not reverent, nor were they holy. They were pained by the light that had filled them. Even when they were closed he felt no relief, the image of His split-grinning face twin tattoos on the insides of his eyelids.

White.

‘No’

Teeth.

‘Stop’

Cherubim faces, child’s hands.

Great shafts of light like sterile dreams.

He grasped his hair, tugged hard until it screamed.

Peach lips. Apple cheeks. Fruit of the Lord, piercing his still-warm core.

(It didn’t help)

Him. Him in the center of it all, when the omnipotent hymns of gold and saintly frequencies fell silent, and he met his violet, ice-chip eyes.

‘It hurts’

When he smiled.

‘It hurts.’

When he laughed.

‘It hurts’

When he saw himself in a smear across the floor, everything he ever was or ever could have been left as a stain on God’s front porch.

+ some bonus shitposts

[gamerwoman3d]

Grammaw's face on radar outside of Galveston, Texas.

Part of a larger series on bad storms, tornadoes, and tornado related superstitions:

[werdlewrites]

masterlist-about-ao3- twitter @ djomamma

share support through likes, comments, and reblogs!

Good to be back! Welcome to season 2 of SOTW. See ML for season 1!

summary: “What’s this all about, Hop? You’re not trying t’tell me she’s - that she’s involved in this, right?” The man bites down on his cheek, looking back to the sleeping girl and letting his mind wander to another child he had met. Hair shaved and a dirtied dress a tad too big with eyes full of sadness and knowing. She had been called Jane. A name too innocent for a girl to crawl on her hands and knees to escape confinements, to scavenge for food. Too innocent to face the same nightmares Autumn had walked through. Monsters, voices, something undeniably profound. A man of mystery hidden away in the dark, on the run and on the hunt. A deep breath fills his chest, spilling forward with a collapse in his shoulders as he confesses, “I think she already was.” warnings: home invasion, trauma? wc: 4,045

She’s gone in seconds - the loose grip of her hand slipping from his own. In that split second, he wonders if the stranger has taken her. Pulled by the fabric of her shirt and into his arms. But she remains free from his hold, though collapsed into the carpet on hands and knees with a dazed look in her eye. She was somewhere else - intoxicated and left as vulnerable prey for the devil as he marched down the steps. He won’t abandon her. Even if he falls victim at her side. “Come on!” The boy is running across the space between them, strong arms woven just beneath her arms to pull the tired girl close to his chest. It’s meant to be an encouragement - a boost of energy and hope to keep her moving, but she’s dead weight in his hold. Her legs drag along the floor, eyes clouded as she meets his darkened stare with lips mouthing something he can’t quite understand. That’s when she leaves him. Heavy-lidded eyes roll back until there’s no more shimmer, head fallen forward to seek support against his shoulder. The man is inching closer, and the boy is sent into overdrive as he kneels for a brief moment to adjust her position, now lying closer, bridal style. His body aches, and his knees cry out in surrender from the sudden exertion, but the desperation to make it out alive drowns out the hurt. He pictures numerous cars outside - emptied with the neighborhood filled with men just like him, waiting to grab at the two teenagers the moment they step out into the moonlight. But Hopper awaits them - gun trained on the home invader and barking orders that Steve only needs to be told once.

A heart pounds deep within a heaving chest - fighting. Every ounce of strength all used up to pull his body to the top of the highest mountain, where the air was thin and the adrenaline was fading as he stood atop the peak. There’s a sensation to sweep through - leaving the boy lightheaded as he peers over its edge before making his way back down. Back home, back to reality. But reality was a storm - a spiraling twister as everything he once knew was ripped away from his hands. From just beneath his feet. He stands on new ground, rubble and all. It's difficult to recognize in all of the chaos - destruction at his feet and desperate to piece it back together. But the pieces won't fit anymore, and he's feeling more than lost. Yet there's warmth the further he goes, something to ease him into calm. Something to tell him there was still a piece of the life he once knew as the cloud dissipated. Her pulse beats against his trembling fingers, and his head falls back against the glass window with a sigh of relief. Autumn hadn't left him - not yet. In the passing lights, he can see eyes buried under heavy lids flutter with visions unseen. Or nothing at all. He can’t decide which would be better.

Steve holds the girl close, clung to her body like a lifeline. Each breath she takes is enough to fill his own lungs, and every thud of her heartbeat gives him hope. The two are messily laid out over the backseat of Hopper's truck as it raced through the town. The boy had tried to ask - try to understand it all but the Chief was silent, either refusing to answer or too focused on the journey ahead to hear anything but his own thoughts. He swallows his aggravation, his questions - watching with frightened eyes as the nightlife fades from view, giving way to clusters of trees and secrecy. Hopper pauses in the street, foot pressed too tightly on the brake damn near sending the pair toppling forward. Jim wonders in the stillness, mulling over options and taking frantic glances down every darkened path that only he knew of. Steve can just barely see his knuckles turning white, the sweat on his brow glistening in the rearview. "Hop-?" But he's cut short by the squeal of the tires, propelling the trio deeper into the depths before ultimately seeking shelter amongst the trees. Steve begins to wonder if it was all a ploy. If the Chief had in reality, never been on their side. Just another pawn in an evil game the boy was still struggling to play. But they slow to a stop in front of a structure - shrouded in a veil of shadows and easily missed from just how decayed it seemed. "Stay here," he orders, slipping from the truck with gun in hand, and the boy can only watch in horror. He tries to follow after him with his eyes, squinting as it becomes more difficult to see him creep through the trees and into the building where he vanishes entirely. The boy feels..vulnerable, and utterly alone as his friend refuses to wake at the call of her name. “Autumn, hey,” fingers lightly tap at her cheek, hoping by some miracle she would stir or even scold him for holding her so close. But her head falls to the side, deadweight in his arms and he grows a little more desperate. Large hands grab at her chin to pull her back, calling once more. “Autumn, c’mon!” He remembers seeing the girl collapse, and the terror in his heart as their grip loosens before he’s left on his own. It’s like a living nightmare to play on repeat, watching as her eyes fill with nothingness as she tries to speak. It’s something soft, carrying sadness that he ignores in the moment. Now, watching her sleep, he aches for it. Giving anything to hear her voice or fall under a seething glare.

The door at his elongated legs is suddenly ripped open, pulling him from thoughts with a startled shriek - nearly kicking at the man on the other end. “Give her t’me,” Hopper demands, already reaching through with long arms to pull her from Steve’s embrace. It’s an awkward position - a little difficult to maneuver but she’s in his arms in no time, and Steve is scrambling after the Chief of Police through the brush. His step doesn’t falter until the trio make their way through a dark cabin, electricity long stripped from every bulb to sway in the gentle breeze. Cobwebs filled every corner, dust plumed beneath every step and mysterious boxes were left piled high. He’s stuck in the doorway to drink it all in - struggling to make out the outlines of old furniture left to rot. “Where-” he goes to ask, pausing as he watches Hopper continue to move with purpose - dodging debris and moving to a darkened room just off in the corner. He doesn’t hesitate then - leaping over toppled objects and skidding to a halt in the doorway, the room now illuminated by the man’s flashlight. There’s a small bed pressed to the wall, barren of comforts like pillows and blankets. It’s not ideal - maybe a little unsettling at the idea of insects and wildlife making this abandoned fortress their home. But it’s the best he can come up with in the moment, laying the girl out with care on the old mattress. “I don’t understand,” Steve mumbles in the distance, chest heaving with fading excitement. “What the hell’s happening?” His panic is ignored by the other. Words drift into the chilled air and right past his ears, attention glued to the sleeping girl with an ear hovering above her lips, waiting for a sign. But the boy keeps talking, and his patience has already worn thin.

“This is insane - wha - who the hell was that? Hopper!” he cries out, tired of staring at his large back and the lonely shadows he stood within. The man turns with haste. Back twisting and frustration evident in his expression with a furrowed brow and glare in his eye. “Shut up,” he grumbles. “I need you t’shut the hell up for one minute.” The tension is at a boiling point, spilling out onto the floor and leaving Harrington to pace back and forth with hands on his hips, frustrated and mind spiraling without any reassurance or answers. But with the sacrifice, Hopper is able to hear her steady breaths - peaceful and settled deep into another world. “She’s okay, right?” Again, he’s left in mystery. The question goes ignored as the Chief sends him out into the other room for a blanket draped over the sofa. It’s tattered, but good enough to shield her from the November air. “I don’t understand,” he repeats. The words are more towards himself, thinking over their night together. He’s searching deeply through memories, looking for signs of anything out of place or discomfort in the air. The boy is left empty-handed, and it’s all the more upsetting. “I didn’t hear anything. I never-” The boy's voice is broken and frail, focus left to settle at the corner of the dirtied floor, now finding himself unable to look at the girl. Adrenaline is fading, and he’s drifting into something Hopper is all too familiar with.

It was guilt, laced with fear.

“I didn’t hear anything. I never heard him come in.” The chief is slow to stand, eyes now locked on Steve as he’s encouraged towards the dark pit, willing to let it swallow him whole. His breaths are frantic, pupils blown wide as he stares down the barrel of truth. Someone had come inside while they slept soundly in their beds. They had barely made it out, and what if they hadn’t? Where would they be now? “I should have stayed awake,” the words fall in despair, risking a glance at Autumn and the small bruise developing on her neck. “I knew I should have stayed-” He’s past the edge of safety. No longer teetering at the edge to stare down at the horror. The earth had given way, and he was plummeting into its void before Hopper took hold to pull him back. Strong hands are locked on shuddering shoulders, giving them a small shake to gain the boy's focus. “Look at me, kid,” There’s still fear clenching at his heart, though it fades with every passing second under an intense stare. “It’s okay, alright? You’re fine, and so is she.” He waits with a bated breath, letting the words slowly sink in before Steve finally nods with acknowledgment. Hopper demands for the teen to follow him, and he’s hesitant to leave the girl on her own. Casting glances over his shoulder as he moves towards the exit and out to where the officer digs and rips open boxes. “She’s not going anywhere, trust me. She’ll be out for a while.” Steve wants to ask how he knew - how he seemed so confident the moment he entered the Reid home, but he’s put to work as a distraction. They rummaged through a past left behind in search of candles, batteries, and flashlights. It wasn't much, but it was something to illuminate the haunting night as it crept into the morning. And finally, there was peace.

Dawn was over the horizon, and the two had allowed thick silence to fill the space. Mostly due to a curious boy surrendering to his unanswered questions, the officer unwilling to speak as he processed the long night on his own. But he hears the boy sigh. Another pebble tossed from his hand to watch it ricochet off the walls and into shadows. Confessing the dark truth is like pulling teeth. Something secure and kept private, yet knowing it’s rotting from inside and needs to be set free for the relief of himself and others. So, he pulls.

“His name is Dr. Brenner.” Steve looks up from his place on the floor, lips parting to speak but finding no words to come forward. Instead, he lets the other continue with a heavy inhale to fill his chest. It’s preparation for admitting his secrets. “He’s the Director of Operations at the lab,” he begins, studying the boy's shift in expression as he leans in closer - waiting for the punchline to fall. “Like...the lab? Where the-?” the question halts on his tongue, already knowing the answer yet needing confirmation as Hopper nods silently in response. Steve slumps against the wall, eyes cast down to dirtied socks from running along grass and pavement. He hears the gunfire from Nancy echo out in his mind, and the screams of pain from the monster as nails rip through its flesh. Things were a whole lot simpler this morning - even if his own world was crumbling at his fingertips. Now, Hawkin’s. Every corner was filled with lies and something unimaginable. How often had he walked past Brenner in the streets? How many of his workers hid under the veil of normalcy? Who was worthy of trust? Who should be spared a second glance? But this fear of the unknown is interrupted as he hears Hopper mumble something to himself, gaining full attention. Though maybe it’s not what he wanted. “What?” the teen asks, earning a hard sigh as the other repeats himself with great hesitance. “He wasn’t-,” he pauses to avert his gaze just to her doorway, now filled with the soft glow of morning. “He wasn’t supposed t’be there.”

Steve can’t process it - the words racing through his ears and stopping at the blockade, mind already filled to its capacity and unwilling to accept more burden. “What? What d’you mean he-” He watches as Hopper pushes himself away from the counter, arms no longer crossed and instead digging through pockets for a cigarette. “Go home, kid,” he mumbles around the filter, taking a long inhale to spark the ends and send smoke into the chilled air. “I’ll get you some money t’call for a ride.” “Go home? Are you serious?” Suddenly, the two are face to face - Steve pushing himself up so quickly that he swears there are spots blocking his vision. “I’m not goin’ home! Not after everything-” “Steve,” he warns beneath a bellow of toxic smoke. “No! What the hell happened, Hop? Why was he there? How - how’d he even get inside?” Silence fills the room while Hopper holds tightly to his stoic expression, watching as Steve all but spirals. “I could’ve done something! I could’ve kept her safe.” Arms cross over a strong chest, leaving the cigarette to hang loose from tight lips. “Got her out, didn’t you? That’s enough.” “But I-” Ash collects in a small pile at the center of an old, glass tray. It’s abandoned, embers still full of vibrant light and dancing with every small gust of wind to wash through the cracks of the foundation. “This is on me, Steve. I told her t’call. I didn’t want her t’be alone,” he states, smoke spilling from his nose like poisonous water. “But she wasn’t alone,” the boy defends, earning a somber look from the other man with a sigh of defeat, and frustration as fingers run through his mess of hair. “I left her there. I had a gut feeling, and I still left. And when I came back, I don’t know. He must’ve been inside by the time I got there.” It’s a blanket drenched in water. A heavy realization as it weighs down his shoulders, stealing away his warmth in favor of hyperthermia. It’s shocking, ripping each breath from his lungs until ice creeps along the walls, unable to fill with the day's light again.

He thinks of Hopper escorting a tired girl from the hospital. Not long after he was on the road to the Wheeler’s, where he stood on the welcome mat with an ache in his chest. He paced in the parking lot of a nearby convenience store, mind, and body pulled in every direction until the choice was made to see her. He remembers a casual glance at the time on the television as the shark from Jaws tore its way through the boat. There was no unshakeable sensation that a stranger lurked in the darkness, no creaks in the floor or signs of dirtied shoes to scuff along the plush carpet. Autumn was very particular with her upkeep, she would have seen it before Steve had ever suspected. The man could have been there for minutes, or even, “Hours,” the boy whispers to himself. The word sent an unnerved shudder deep into his bones. “He could have been there for hours.” The officer doesn’t seem bothered by the idea - maybe already having come to terms with that reality while the boy was only just now catching up. Instead, he takes another long drag before stamping it out in the dish, watching as the flames dull to a deep gray. “It doesn’t matter. He didn’t get what he wanted.” “Which is what, exactly?” Hopper bites at his tongue, attempting to swallow down all of his own curiosities. But they creep up the way like vines, blossoming in his throat until he coughs it all up. "How long have you known her?" Steve doesn't seem to take the bait. Brows knitted together in confusion as hands rested on his hips. "What?" "How long have you known Autumn?" The boy's shoulders raise, mouth hung agape as he searches for the words. “I don’t know. Since we were kids?” “When, Steve? Few years? Your whole life? How long-?” “Since Elementary! Jesus Christ,” he splutters, a hand running through his unruly bedhead. He grips at the strands, a distraction from the frustration Hopper was providing.

“Yeah, and what? She tell you anything?” He asks, now propping himself up on a palm pressed into the countertop. His tall form leans into it, a stance often used to interrogate - exuding enough confidence to shake the truth from its holder. “What are you getting at? What does this have-” “What did she tell you? What did she say?” “Fuck, I don’t know! Y’think I remember that far back? We were kids!” His stance never shifts, the dead stare locked on the teenager and digging through the flesh of memories, ripping it forward with a fist. Steve swings his arms out, palms offered up in surrender as he lays it all out at his feet. “She said she was homeschooled.” “Good, okay. And what else?” It’s not enough. Mere fragments of a story reside in his grasp, unable to complete the tale. To close the book, and begin another. “What else did she tell you?” A scoff passes through heart-shaped lips, disbelief in his eyes. “Nothing! She hardly spoke t’me!” Steve begins to pace as if taking his own journey down a path long forgotten. “She didn’t talk to me for a while. I-I harassed her. I wanted t’be her friend. She looked lonely.”

Steve Harrington moves through the classroom with pride, a freckled face beaming beneath the fluorescent lights. The boy had just learned a new game to play, after paying close attention to another student. He colors, writes, and folds the paper until it sits delicately over his fingers. He carries it like a prized possession, eyes locked on his first target to see if he’s made it correctly. She sits silently at her desk by the window, purposefully isolating yet always failing to remain in the dark whenever he was around. The girl doesn’t notice his approach until a small shadow is cast over her book, pulling attention away to instead bask beneath his vibrant joy. “Pick a color,” he states, offering out the colorful paper. Autumn studies him with a raised brow, glancing at his game and back to hazel eyes. “C’mon,” he encourages in a kind tone. She points to green, and he gleefully spells it out with every flap of the paper. “Okay! Now, pick a number.” The girl examines in silence, overthinking every choice before her finger lands on the number two. He pulls the tab, keeping the secrets to himself for just a moment before folding it back up. “It says you’ll be happy.” And then, her once dull expression bares a small smile of amusement, and he poses in victory. “Told you.” He would never confess what the fortune truly said, only wishing to see her smile. He soon scraps the piece, replacing “Fall in love,” with something childish and silly.

Steve collapses into the rickety sofa, wincing at the bend and squeaks that echo through the once-abandoned cabin. He’s slouched forward, the weight of the world pressing him forward until elbows locked against bouncing knees. “She cried a lot, I never knew why. She wouldn’t tell me. Not until,” he takes a moment to gather himself - to gather thoughts as dirtied hands run across his face. “Until what, Steve?” His hands won’t lower, leaving him trapped in a memory from his childhood. Watching it all play out against the darkness of his eyelids. “Kids were saying things,” he begins, words muffled by skin until finally collapsing to hang loose at parted legs. “I remember waiting for her outside of the bathroom. Some kids came out, calling her a freak. I guess she was scaring them.” “How?” Tired eyes finally open, pulling away from the scene to spare an uncertain glance Hopper's way. “She said there was someone in the mirror. Like, someone was talking t’her. I-I never saw anything, but it happened so often that - I don’t know. I trusted her. It wasn’t real for me, but that didn’t make it less real for her.” The other male nods in acknowledgment, gaze now shifted elsewhere as slow steps carry him towards the now occupied room. She hasn’t moved - not an inch, and he doesn’t expect her to. If it was anything like he had experienced, she’d be weighted down by the drug swimming through her veins - as though it were lead. The gentle rise of her chest told him the girl was safe enough. “It stopped after a while,” the boy continued. “But she seemed t’have..these moments, y’know? Times where she seemed so far away.” “Like at the theater?” Hopper asks, his body leaning against the doorframe to keep an ear out for soft breaths of life. “Yeah, like the theater,” A hand moves to run along his neck, gripping at the skin at the back to ease sore muscles from sleeping on the floor, to also carrying her through the home. “At some point, the person in the mirror became...someone inside of her head. Talkin’ about...voices. Someone - anyone talking. Things that just...kept her awake at night.”

“It’s for pain,” Mr. Reid states boldly, though his tone is full of irritation while under a watchful eye. Something unwelcome in what was meant to be his sacred place. “All legally prescribed by a doctor,” he defends his child, watching with crossed arms as the Chief of Police maneuvered through the sparkling kitchen, studying the vials set out and ready for immediate use. “She’s not the healthiest kid out there, but not the worst. She needs some things t’get by.” “What kind of things?”

Those vials once forgotten on the countertop are now at the front of his mind. Searching through his memory of names, shapes, and colors. Anything identifiable. It was for more than just pain, that was clear. Was it something to help her sleep? Something to fill her mind with a heavy fog to keep all things quiet? He doesn’t know - but he’s determined to find out. “What’s this all about, Hop? You’re not trying t’tell me she’s - that she’s involved in this, right?” The man bites down on his cheek, looking back to the sleeping girl and letting his mind wander to another child he had met. Hair shaved and a dirtied dress a tad too big with eyes full of sadness and knowing. She had been called Jane. A name too innocent for a girl to crawl on her hands and knees to escape confinements, to scavenge for food. Too innocent to face the same nightmares Autumn had walked through. Monsters, voices, something undeniably profound. A man of mystery hidden away in the dark, on the run and on the hunt.

A deep breath fills his chest, spilling forward with a collapse in his shoulders as he confesses, “I think she already was.”

[angel-ponders]

Twister vs. Real Tornados: Part 1

An analysis of fictional tornadoes and similar real life examples.

I’m going to be making three posts about the tornadoes in Twister vs. Real Tornadoes. This first post will cover most of them, and then the last two will have their own posts because there’s a lot more to talk about with those ones.

Disclaimer: I’m not a scientist or storm chaser. Just a hobbyist observer of the weather. Always listen to your local meteorologist when it comes to storm safety.

The 1969 F5

The first tornado of the film is the fictionally historic F5 that killed the protagonist’s dad. After losing her father in the disaster, she dedicates her life to improving the warning system and becomes a storm chaser.

An important thing to note here is that we no longer use the Fujita Scale. We now use the Enhanced Fujita Scale. The way they are measured is a little different, and something that was an F5 isn’t necessarily going to be an EF5. I’ll touch more on that more in Part 3 when we look at the film’s other F5.

Much like the Udall, Kansas tornado of 1955, this F5 struck at night and destroyed several homes. There wasn’t much of a warning system in the 50’s and 60’s so many didn’t realize it was coming. They didn’t really start to use sirens to warn people about storms until the 1970’s. Unless you were listening to the news, you wouldn’t know it was coming.

The Field Tornado

The second tornado (the first one with a grown up Jo) is a small one and would hardly be notable from a historical perspective.

Not all tornadoes are huge, neighborhood-destroying monsters. Most of the time they occur in rural areas, don’t cause much damage, and don’t even get fancy nicknames. Unless they do something special, like the first tornado ever filmed (see below), or they happened to destroy your barn, they aren’t very notable.

The Sidewinder/Waterspout/Cluster

This part of the movie is weird. There’s no break between these tornadoes, so they could be the same one doing super weird things, or couple back to back. But hey, it gives me a chance to talk about unique aspects of various types, so let’s go.

1) “Sidewinder”/Unusual Path

Most tornadoes go from southwest to northeast, but sometimes they do weird things. The Jarrell tornado of 1997 went the exact opposite direction. Sometimes they loop back around or make a sudden turn that isn’t expected.

2) Waterspout

Waterspouts are pretty self explanatory. It’s a tornado but water. They tend to be less powerful than regular land-based tornadoes.

3) Cluster/Multiple Vortex Tornado

There have, indeed, been many storms with multiple tornadoes in one system. When they’re close together, they are known as “Dead Man Walking,” because they sort of look like legs walking together.

The Skipping Tornado

Technically, each time it dropped down it was considered a new tornado, but part of the same tornado family. Sometimes it’s hard to tell if a tornado path is one or multiple tornadoes due to stuff like this.

Thankfully in modern times where everyone has a cellphone, we can more easily figure out if it was one continuous tornado, or multiples. Several historical tornadoes, such as the Tri-State Tornado, may have actually been several tornadoes instead of just the one. There’s not enough documentation of the event to determine it definitively, though.

-

The next two parts will focus on the last two tornadoes of the movie, which have several well known real life counterparts (all of which happened after the film was released). I want to go a bit more into detail with them so they each get their own posts.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

[aserene]

A demon and a fairy sat drinking

Read here or on AO3

“She’s been dead in the graveyard all year while you and Rosalind were becoming chums.” A young woman who was trying to enjoy her milkshake overheard. She turned to see a redhead looking as if the world had ended. The young woman followed the redhead into a graveyard; she ducked down as an older woman appeared. It took her a minute to hear what they were saying.

“Was it here? Did you kill her here?”

“A little to your right.”  The young woman cast a protection spell as she saw something she wasn’t sure she recognized, a kind of power she hadn’t seen before but one that felt familiar in some ways. It wasn’t five minutes later that the young woman watched an explosion of flame and light explode from the redhead. She was shocked as others ran up to the redhead, and an older man gently tugged her wrists, and she felt the massive power vanish as if chained. Only the look of relief on the redhead prevented her from acting to stop the older man. The young woman returned the way she came, only to find a guardian waiting for her by the diner. 

“It truly seems like a regent’s work is never done, not to mention your aunts have asked me three times where you were,” the brunette called to the young woman.  

“I went somewhere, I saw… I’m not sure what I saw,” the young woman exclaimed. 

“You have a touch of…pixie dust. Oh hell, You went to the Otherworld. That is not your place; it is not for us.” 

“There was a warlock…he used blood magic in the diner, in plain sight.” 

“That is unexpected, a fairy and a blood witch.” 

“A fairy? Like Tinkerbell?”

“Not quite, they can be great warriors, and it seems you have found quite the fairy,” the older woman commented. “She has great power. Are we taking it?” 

“No, we are not,” the young woman snapped. 

“Shame, your father would be proud.” 

“As if I care, no, the warlock, he said something to the fairy. Told her someone she cared about died.” 

“And what are we going to do?” 

“While I was thinking if I went into mortal limbo again…” 

“Absolutely not! Besides, your mother has moved on this time; you won’t be able to find her and this other person, who may or may not be dead; you have no connection to them.” 

“Perhaps, but I know the heartbreak the girl showed, the loss of a parent,”  the young woman sighed. “I must try.” 

“Very well, but if this person is the kind of creature I believe, we must go back to where you saw this fairy.” The young blonde woman walked carefully and showed her regent, mentor, and teacher the graveyard. A charred section of grass that had not been there before caught the older woman’s attention. 

“It seems our justice might not be needed after all.” 

“If this person killed the fairy’s mother, she should burn in the pits of hell. In fact…” 

“Sabrina, don’t!” But it was too late. 

“Ceanglaichidh mi sìthiche thu, airson do choir an aghaidh neach eile, ris an t‑sloc, teine ifrinn fhèin,” Sabrina shouted to the sky, a blue flame swirling and the older woman Sabrina had seen with the redhead was sucked into the blue twister. 

“Well, we best ensure you didn’t just cast the wrong fairy to the pit of hell,” the older woman scowled. She produced a ball of red thread and tied the string around the young woman’s wrist. “Well, off you go.” 

“Three tugs, and I’ll be back,” Sabrina promised and, with a spin, entered the portal to limbo, or what she thought. She immediately realized it was not the same. The air was lighter, and as she looked around, she found a tall woman standing in a purple glow. “Hello?” 

“Who are you?” 

“I think I could ask you that,” the young woman replied, noticing the image in front of them. “That’s… I know her; she’s a fairy.” The woman spun, and Sabrina got the first look at a tall woman who reminded her of her Aunts, of Madame Satan, a powerful, strong, fierce woman. 

“Implying you are not,” the woman retorted. 

“I’m not. I’m…well, I’m a lot of things,” the young woman laughed. “But first, I think I’m someone who can help you.”  She held out her hand and tugged the red line of fate with her other. With a blur of smoke, Sabrina found herself in front of her mentor again, another woman standing beside her. 

“Ah, I should have known.” 

“Lilith, Mother of Demons, Dawn of the Doom,” the new person greeted. 

“You know…” 

“Blood Witch.” 

“She is not!” Lilith snapped, stepping in between them. “She walks the Path of Night, and more importantly, she is a Morningstar.” 

“A mortal witch,” the other woman replied in shock. 

“But you two know each other?” Sabrina questioned, looking between the two older women. 

“Even your Aunts know of Farah Dowling, quite possibly one of the most powerful fairies of her generation; all the magical world knew about Rosalind Hale’s right-hand woman,” Lilith explained. “And yet to be free of that, Farah Dowling asked for help from yours truly.” 

“Ah,” Sabrina could guess how that would end. 

“I asked you for help in keeping the stasis permanent. No one had ever attempted it,” Farah protested. “I gave what you asked for in return; our deal was concluded.” 

“And yet I seem to be of service to you again, or were you hoping your little fire fairy could learn necromancy?”

“Bloom, what did you do to her?” 

“Ah, so you do care for the fairy,” Lilith remarked. “That is valuable.” 

“Perhaps as valuable as your little witch,” Farah threatened, turning her power toward the young blond. She extended her power and choked the girl. 

“That is the herald of hell you hold in your grasp,” Lilith warned. 

“Not in this world.” 

“And she brought you back to this world with all bonds restored.”  Farah loosened her grip, and the girl collapsed to the ground. 

“All bonds?” 

“You asked that Rosalind never be able to break your bond, that not even death. You both begged me, as I recall. He can sense you again; he must be wondering where you are.” As if conjured by magic, a voice on the wind could be heard, shouting a now familiar name. “Ah, that sounds like him. Shall we call a truce?” 

“We shall,” Farah agreed, extending a hand to the young woman on the ground and helping her to her feet. “Madame Satan.” 

“Technically, it’s Lilith, Queen of Hell,” Sabrina commented. 

“Ah, so you won your epic battle,” Farah guessed. “Or did you?” 

“Oh, we made an equitable arrangement after she rescued me from the Void. A few years in the Void gives you perspective,” Sabrina claimed. 

“And it seems you will have to complete the same kind of rescue; your little fairy is about to cast herself into the Realm of Darkness; fortunate for you, isn’t it, that you know the rulers.” 

“Will you let her go if I were to ask?” Farah queried. 

“For a price,” Lilith vowed. 

“Farah!” A man’s voice echoed again through the woods. To the surprise of the young woman but to no surprise of the older two, the man that accompanied said voice came running into the clearing and didn’t even stop; he zeroed in on his fairy. There was a quiet huff as he engulfed her in his arms, sweeping her off her feet as he held her tight. Sabrina was surprised by the blinding glow surrounding the two, and only the disinterested sigh of her mentor caused her to understand what she saw—a true love bond. 

“Saul.” 

“You’re alive; how are you…” Saul paused his thought and glanced to the left. “Madame Satan.” 

“Specialist.” 

“You brought her back? What dark…” 

“No! It’s not like that. I was brought through by this young woman, Sabrina Morningstar.” 

“A Morningstar, surely her father isn’t…” 

“I prefer Spellman, but I do go by both,” Sabrina hissed. “I wasn’t going to let someone take away a mother from her child.” 

“Uh huh,” Saul agreed, looking at the older woman in confusion. 

“She saw Bloom kill Rosalind,” Farah explained. 

“Farah, that was a week ago,” Saul revealed. “Bloom disappeared last night; I was out looking for her when I felt you.” 

“She’s already crossed the portal,” Farah turned on the brunette. “You told me she would be safe.” 

“She has only just crossed through,” Lilith said. “We shall return to receive her.” 

“Use this,” Sabrina suggested holding out the red twine. “When you are ready, it should bring you to us.”  The two vanished, leaving Saul and Farah alone. 

“I take it you know where Bloom is?” Saul pressed. 

“The Realm of Darkness. I guess she crossed through to close the portal,” Farah replied. “But the Realm of Darkness is just an outskirt to Hell; she’ll end up at the palace there and would otherwise be tortured.” 

“But because you and Madame Satan are on a first-name basis, she’ll what, give her back to us?” 

“Certainly not,” Farah corrected. “She’ll want something in return.” 

“And the Morningstar?” 

“Not her father.” 

“Farah…” he paused, just staring at her. “I…are you sure you’re alright?” 

“I’m adjusting,” Farah answered honestly. “I was trying to find peace.” 

“The girls said you came to them…but Farah the resurrection plant, you should have been able to…” 

“They were so tired; they needed their energy to defeat the Blood Witches.” 

“You came to them,” the and not to me silently hung between them. 

“I thought you would be with them… I thought I would have more time.” 

“And then the Morningstar?” 

“She found me in limbo. I hadn’t moved on yet,” Farah confided. “I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.”  Saul wrapped her in an embrace again. 

“I have missed you. I should have told you every day that I love you.” 

“I knew. You felt it every day. I love you,” Farah kissed him gently, her hands pulling him closer. 

“We should return to the school,” Saul suggested after a moment. “The girls will want to see you, Sky…” 

“I can’t. I have to get Bloom first.” 

“So to the Pits of Hell, we go. I wish those days were behind us,” Saul sighed. 

“After this, they will,” Farah promised. Saul drew his sword and took Farah’s hand with his free one. 

“Who I am to disagree with you.” Farah smiled and tugged the red twine three times. A portal opened behind them, and they turned to face it. “I’m getting a flashback to the last time we decided to venture to hell.” 

“At least this time, it will be a more direct path.” A blood-red path lay before them as they stepped out of the portal. Saul felt a familiar tingle as Farah created a barrier around both their minds. “Hopefully, Bloom stuck to the path too.” 

“Ha, you wish,” Saul muttered, not missing the glare he received. 

“No, it seems your fairy cannot follow the path, even when it’s laid at her feet, similar in fact to our Morningstar,” Lilith mocked, appearing in front of them. 

“Where did she end up?”

“The Forest of Torment,” Lilith informed. “Have no worry. Sabrina fetched her promptly and brought her to the palace.”   The path before them seemed to disappear, and the palace appeared. 

“Your malevolence,” A minion greeted. “The Morningstar awaits you.” Lilith entered to find Sabrina and a young redhead woman standing near the fiery pit, watching something within. 

“It is nice to see you completing your duties, even if they are not subject to our jurisdiction,” Lilith commented. 

“Actually, I was learning from our guest; she has adept control of fire.” 

“She didn’t always,” came the mumbled comment. Saul felt his rib shift as an elbow nudged it. 

“Silva! How can that…” Bloom turned around, hearing his voice, and froze when she saw him. “How…” 

“Hello, Bloom.” 

“It seems we have a fairy here to collect her wayward pupil,” Lilith remarked. 

“Bring back memories, Lilith? Did you not often have to collect me?” Sabrina teased. 

“Hmmm, yes, it seems you share something in common with the little dragon.” 

“Ms. Dowling?” Bloom seemed surprised. 

“It’s alright, come here, Bloom,” Farah called to her. The redhead didn’t need more prompting and was rushing into the older woman who caught her carefully supported by her Specialist. 

“Ah Ah, a price must be struck,” Lilith reminded. 

“Lilith!” Sabrina snapped. “We have struck an accord, the soul of a mass murderer, for you to deal with.” 

“Charred remains, child’s play,” Lilith complained. “But alas, if that’s all we are to have.” 

“Remains of who?” Farah demanded. 

“Ah, so this is the mother you lost,” Sabrina looked toward Bloom. “And the other is the one who took her away.” 

“Yes,” Bloom agreed. 

“Bloom, what did you do?” Saul demanded. 

“Nothing! Well, not since I lost control and…” 

“I am afraid it wasn’t your child that did something this time,” Lilith sighed. “Sabrina bound Rosalind to the pit of hell.” 

“Well, better than what she deserves,” Saul conceded. 

“Saul Silva,” Farah’s voice was a harsh reprieve. Farah did not chide the young fairy, who nodded in agreement with the Specialist, simply pretending not to notice. 

“Bloom was showing me her Dragon flame, and we were comparing it to the fires of hell; perhaps she could stay for a little bit?”

“Not here,” Farah insisted. “You may visit Bloom at Alfea under supervision.” 

“Dual supervision,” Lilith added. “Your majesty, perhaps you’d like to take your new friend home.” 

“Is that okay?” Bloom turned to look at Farah and Saul, who both nodded to her. Bloom took the young blonde’s hand, and they vanished in a swirl of hellfire. 

“Shall we?” Lilith inquired, holding out a hand each. The adults vanished and shimmered into view in the graveyard. They found the girls nearby already practicing their flame-throwing. Saul reached to his thigh and unclasped a flask handing it to Farah. 

“I’ll go to tell Sky he need not heedless run off on some heroic quest to save her,” He said. “You ladies have fun. Make sure the forest doesn’t burn.” 

“Saul, we’ll be back soon.” 

“You better because I am not responsible if Sky tells the Winx.” He turned and headed off down the path back toward the school. Lilith waved her hand, and chairs formed from the roots and stone and glasses appeared as if willed through time and space. Farah poured the liquid from the flask into each glass and held one out to Lilith, who accepted it and sat back, watching the young women. 

“Welcome back from the dead, by the by,” Lilith said. “I am surprised you didn’t call.” 

“I underestimated Rosalind,” Farah confessed. “I thought I would have had more time to prepare. However, if you didn’t know to find me…” 

“Sabrina, she, by chance, was at a diner where your fairy met a Blood Witch. She overheard him tell her about you and followed the girl back through the portal. She watched as the fairy killed another, and something in her recognized the pain and grief.” 

“And she apparently bound Rosalind to the pit.” 

“In her words, this fairy had taken away the mother of another, and as she is the Queen of Hell, it is her place to dispense justice.” 

“But Rosalind was already charred from the Dragon Flame.” 

“Do not worry. I can still make her suffering the thing of legends.” 

“The world without Rosalind Hale is a better place; that’s an objective fact. However, it happened.” 

“It seems we both have had our destiny changed by a child,” Lilith remarked. “She gets into trouble?” 

“Constantly. The first week she snuck off to the First World, a burned one followed her.” 

“Hmmm. Sabrina does the exact opposite of what you would like. I finally figured that out to get her to do what I wanted.” 

“And you were the gentle push down the Path of Night.” 

“Hmmm, until the drama with Lucifer. Even after, though, she came to ask me to be regent. It was a surprise.” 

“Perhaps not. Her aunts may have given her love and raised her, but the darkest part of her is something only you understand. Especially since, in the end, you will be the same. Her aunts will one day be gone. You will be all that’s left.” 

“She has not realized that yet. Yours?”

“No, not yet. She hasn’t met many fairies outside of school, and so many died in the war.” 

“Are you prepared for it?” 

“Since our deal, yes.”  Farah held her glass to Lilith, and the clink sounded through the forest. 

“Shall I arrange for Sabrina to come to learn fire control regularly from your fairy?” 

“Only if Bloom will learn diplomacy and perhaps some aspect of following the rules,” Farah agreed. “Perhaps the two of them will keep each other out of trouble.” 

“Not likely,” The two women laughed before settling back to their observation of a Hellspawn and a Fairy playing with fire in the garden. 

END