#when I tell you I had to stop myself from ripping them to shreds

[oneluckygoose]

Hey guys, I’m normally not political at all and I will not express any explicit opinions here but…

November 5th, tomorrow, is election day in the US, and I’m just here to say:

If you are a citizen of the United States and you are 18+ years old, you need to vote.

This election is extremely important, for the presidential office and others. The outcome will affect literal billions of lives. It is no longer about the US, but about the climate, the wars in Palestine and Ukraine, and so much more. Even still, if you live in America, it will affect you immensely.

Have your say in it.

If you don’t know how or who to vote for: there are thousands of resources on it if you do just a quick google search. Make sure you are registered and are in line on November 5th.

[myhaikyuuacademia]

Totally Fake | Ant Vaughn x reader (Heartbreak High) ||

This is officially a series haha, trying to make it slowburn-ish but let's see if i can hold myself back

Fake dating, fem!reader

@foxxyhun

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Thankfully you had managed to get Ant’s number by Friday, not so thankfully you spent all day chatting with him about stupid, irrelevant stuff and Not about what your gameplan was going to be. And if, IF, you were actually going to the party later this evening, he’d probably be too wasted to talk about it anyway.  Which means SLUTS was the last chance you had with him still sober and not hungover. Except you had no idea how to go about it, especially without drawing the attention of your friends who had been watching you like hawks all week. You were the first one in the classroom, anxiously ripping your notebook paper into tiny shreds while thinking about all the logistics. You didn’t get very far when you sensed someone sitting down next to you. “What did the poor paper do to deserve that?” Ant asked amusedly. “Wrong place, wrong time.” You grimaced and shrugged, immediately stopping and throwing all the paper shreds into your pencil case. “Oh no, don’t stop because of me, I’m sure it deserved it.” He joked before settling in his seat. “You don’t wanna sit next to your friends?” You asked, with a nod to the table they usually sat at. “Nah, I’d rather sit with my girlfriend.” He said casually. You didn’t feel very casual as you choked on your spit. God how embarrassing. It took you a minute to calm down, Ant worriedly asking if you were okay, and offering you some of his water, which you declined with a hand gesture as you were starting to calm down.  “Sorry, sorry, I’m fine.” You coughed out. “Actually, that’s what I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.” He looked at you, almost disappointed, “You’re backing out?” He assumed. “What? No!” You hurried to say. “I wanted to talk about lining up our stories and everything, ground rules and stuff, you know?” Relief flooded his face, “Ah, okay gotcha!” He seemed much happier. The class was slowly filling up and you were dreading the moment your friends would enter. “Well I already told pretty much everyone that you’re my girlfriend.” He added, catching you completely offguard as you watched the doorway waiting for the inevitable arrival of your friends. “Oh.” Surprised you turned your head to look at him. “Okay.” You added after a second. “What about your mom?”

“Nah, not her yet. But like, Spider and Dusty.” He clarified. Your face felt warm. “Did you tell them it was fake too?” You leaned in closer to whisper it, now that the class was almost full. “No.” He grinned at you conspiringly. You grinned back at him, his answer, and the way he looked at you, making your whole body tingle. “Oh. My. God.” Darrens dramatic voice came from opposite the table. “You two totally ARE together.” Amerie beside them looked satisfied with herself, while Quinni stimmed excitedly, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. They sat down at your table while Ant put an arm around your shoulder, “Yeah, so what?” He asked. Your face was burning, as was the parts where his arm touched you. Darrens mouth wide agape, while Quinni looked just as excited as before. “Oh my god, y/n, that’s so cute!! Congrats!” She said, happily, but after a second she looked a little less happy and a little more confused. Disappointed, even. “But why didn’t you tell us?” She asked. “Thrill of a secret relationship I bet.” Amerie added, feeling much cooler than she actually was. “But really, him?” Darren pointed at Ant. Wow rude. Your brows furrowed and you leaned into the boy next to you a little more without noticing. “What do you mean? You don’t think he's cute?” Trying to paddle back Darren stuttered out something a long the lines of, “No, that’s not what I mean, I just, I didn’t think he was your type is all.” “well, to be fair, we never knew what her type was.” Quinni added. “She never told us who she was crushing on, or what she liked in a guy, or girl.” You nodded, she was telling the truth, you usually kept things like that to yourself. “Well, I for one, am happy for you two, though I totally didn’t get any vibes when I was asking for a slap band earlier this week.” Amerie said, crossing her arms. She sounded accusing, like she was about to interrogate the two of you, when thankfully Miss Obah asked everyone to pay attention and started class. Ant didn’t take his arm off your shoulder the whole time.

When he finally did, after class ended, you couldn’t suppress your pout. Logically, you understood it was so both of you could pack your things, but this whole thing didn’t feel very logical, no matter how hard you tried. So instead, once both of you had finished, you grabbed his hand and threaded your fingers with his. Still slightly pouting. He looked down at you and laughed, “What now?” “I think she’s upset you took your arm off of her.” Darren, eagle-eyed gossip lover they are, supplied. “Oh, really?” Ant seemed surprised and looked at you for confirmation. “Yeah, kinda.” You mumbled embarrassed, avoiding his gaze. He chuckled before leaning in close and whispering in your ear. “I’ll touch you all you want at the party later.” Your face was beet red. “Ant!” You whisper shouted, scandalized and wide-eyed. He just tugged you along with him, towards the school exit. “They’re so cute together.” You overheard Quinni say to Amerie and Darren behind you. “Something’s fishy.” Both of them replied in unison. You ignored it, keeping going with Ant. “What now?” You asked once outside the school gate, still holding his hand. Refusing to be the one to let go, actually. “Well, I have some time before the party starts, which, you totally are going to right?” He asked in such a way that you felt a no would break his heart, so you just nodded. How come you are immune to peer-pressure when it was your friends but not when it was the guy you’ve been fake-dating for less than a week. “Great! Well, wanna hang out until then?” You smiled. “Sure!! Oh, we can talk about the logistics of it all, like when did we even start dating and what church do I go to? Or is that even something that’s important to your mother?” You dragged him along, totally rambling at this point about all the different things you had to decide on for the story to be foolproof. When you turned to look at him, waiting for him to say something, you noticed the way he was smiling at you. “Oh, what? Am I overthinking?” You questioned out loud. “No, no, it’s fine. I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk that much.” He still looked at you in a way you had trouble deciphering. “Oh. Well, I guess I don’t talk a lot. Usually. But also we haven’t really spoken before this week so…” You trailed off. “Hmmh, yeah, but we’ve been in the same year for a while now.” He said, before turning back to look at the way ahead. “You usually only talk when spoken to.” Oh. He had noticed that? He had noticed you? Before you ever talked to him? “Oh, um. I guess that’s right.” You squeezed his hand subconsciously. “I like hearing you talk.” He squeezed your hand back. “Plus, you’re so smart, I wouldn’t have thought about half of the things you mentioned. Maybe we should write it all down.” You nodded. “Yeah, good idea.”

“Woah, your room is awesome.”  Ant was currently walking through your room looking at all the little trinkets that were… everywhere frankly. Picking them up and putting them down again. “Haha, thanks.” You sat on the edge of your bed, not knowing what to do with yourself as you watched him. “Woah, you like Marvel?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Uh yeah, I love it.” You laughed. He put the action figure down and turned around, very serious all of a sudden. “This calls for a movie night.” He explained. You grinned. “Sure, I’m always up for a movie.. But let’s talk business first.” You scooched to the side and patted the spot next to you. He groaned dramatically and walked over before sitting down. “Why does this feel like homework all of a sudden.” Your face scrunched up at that. “Sorry. But this is just so our story doesn’t fall apart.” He turned to look at you, head hanging to the side. “You really think it’s necessary?” “Well. Yeah.” You reply. “What if your mom asks us how we met, our what our first date was, and we say different things. Better to be prepared.” He pouts playfully, “Well, fine I guess.” In the end you agree on simple things, you met at school, duh, and worked a project together, after which you became friends, before Ant asked you on a date to the diner, and then a second date to the movies, before asking you to be his girlfriend. Easy enough. He said it was okay not to go to church as long as you were still acting Christian enough in front of his mom. Whatever that means. The reason he was only introducing you now was because you could disprove what was written on the map. You were scared of meeting his parents, so it had taken you a while to gather the courage, and he wanted to be sure before bringing a girlfriend home. Easy. Plausible. Good story. Boring, but believable. In the end you wrote it all down, twice, one copy for you and one for him, just in case you needed it. “Can we finally watch a movie?” He whined as you gave him his paper. “I don’t know, the party is soon, and I don’t know about you, but I definitely have to get ready. You think we can manage to squeeze a movie in?” He nodded, completely convinced. “How long can it take to get ready.” Not believing this was an issue. “Oh buddy…If only you knew.” You patted his shoulder before getting your remote and turning on the tv. It was difficult, at first, to concentrate on the movie, when he was so close and warm, shoulder against shoulder, and legs touching. Your body felt on fire. After a while he wrapped his arm around you too, pulling you ever so slightly closer, if that was even possible.

“Oh! I love this part.” He pointed towards the screen with the hand not resting on your hip. “What? No way, that’s my favorite part.” You looked up at him excitedly. “No way!” He turned to look at you too. You nodded emphatically. “You’re so cool.” He gave you a squeeze. He turned back towards the screen, and you did too, after staring at him for a little while longer. In the end, he ended up staying, watching you get ready, since there was no time for him to go home before Dusty’s band performed. “Whoa, wait, what is that?” You were about to put on your fake lashes, putting glue on the strip when Ant’s head popped up next to you, dangerously close to poking your lash with his finger. “My fake lashes.” You explained. “Your lashes are fake?” He turned to you, staring intensely into your eyes, inspecting your lashes. “No, well yes, sometimes. I have real lashes. The one you’re looking at right now.” You laughed. “But sometimes I put on fake lashes, which looks kinda-“ You  leaned towards the mirror to put your lashes on. “like this.” You said, leaning back to show him. “Oh my god that’s crazy.” He breathed out, totally stunned, which made you laugh even harder. After that he stayed next to you, watching you apply your makeup closely. “Hmmm..” You pursed your lips as you put the last thing in place. “I think that’s it.” You concluded.  Before you could even turn to the side to face him, his voice piped up as he asked: “Can you put some on me?” The request came unexpectedly, but you happily obliged. You opted for some chrome glimmery dark blue green ish, you didn’t really know how to describe it, glitter shadow to put on top of his eyelids. Dabbing it in softly, he leaned in closely and you could feel his breath on your skin. “Okay, try opening your eyes.” You requested softly, holding his chin in your hand and looking at him intensely, assessing your work. He opened his eyes hesitantly. Chewing on your lip you came to the conclusion that this look needed some black liner, so you added a line underneath his eyes on his waterline, dragging it out into a straight “wing”. A difficult job, with this being a sensitive area and Ant not used to having stuff put this close to his eyes. He kept squirming and blinking, but eventually you got the job done to your satisfaction. “This looks sick.” You say as you remove your hands from his face and lean back. Giving him time to admire himself in your mirror, you put away your brushes and powders and liners. “You want to do something to your hair too?” He turned to look at you at that. “Kinda.” You look on your phone to check the time, before grimacing. “Sorry, I don’t think we have time. Actually we really need to go if we wanna make it in time.” You stand up and hold your hand out to him, pulling him up from where he was sitting. Your friends were definitely going to give you shit about barely reaching out to them later.

[shadowqueenjude]

Spoilers for the CC3 bonus chapters:

But Ember seethed at Rhysand, “Don’t bother obliterating my daughter.” Fury blazed through her. “When I get back to Midgard, I’m going to do it myself." “Right,” Ember bit out. “We’re just pathetic, weak, stupid humans. Little more than chattel to you.”

Rhysand snarled something that Nesta’s shoulders tensing; her head bowing.

And Ember found herself pushing out of her chair, stalking for the doors. Randall tried to grab her, but he was too late. And Azriel didn’t stop her as Ember flung open the glass doors and asked Rhysand, “Isn’t it a little early to be biting people’s heads off?”

The trio froze. Rhysand slowly turned toward Ember. His eyes were black pits. “I don’t recall asking you to join our conversation.”

Ember kept her chin high. “You interrupted my breakfast. If you wanted privacy, you should have gone somewhere else.”

Was that amusement shining in Cassian’s eyes? Ember didn’t dare take her attention off Rhysand to confirm. Randall appeared at her side, a hand on her back in warning as he said, “We’ll leave you to it.”

But Ember refused to move, even as a part of her quailed in terror, and said, “Nesta made a choice to harbor us—she made a choice to give Midgard a shot at freedom. To give my world hope. What kind of person are you to rip her to shreds for it?”

“Em,” Randall cautioned.

Rhysand crossed his muscular arms. “Are you calling me a monster, Ember Quinlan?”

“I’m saying give it a fucking rest,” Ember snapped. Behind her, she could have sworn Azriel choked. But she jerked her chin toward Nesta. “Lay off her.”

Rhysand held her stare. For a moment, an eternity. Stars seemed to flicker into existence in his eyes. Like the vastness of night lay within, sweet and terrible, beautiful and harrowing.

But Ember withstood it. She’d seen and faced true evil. Bore a mark on her cheek forever because of it.

Something seemed to soften in Rhysand’s stare—like he saw that. His gaze slid over to Randall. “With a wife and a daughter like yours, I don’t know how you’re still standing.”

Ember didn’t smile, though. Her gazed landed on Nesta. The Fae female wasn’t laughing, either. Her blue-gray eyes remained fixed on Ember. Swimming with emotion.

Surprise. Gratitude. Longing.

And it was that same mother’s instinct that had guided her last night that had Ember extending a hand toward Nesta and saying, “Come. Eat breakfast with me.”

Nesta took her hand, her fingers surprisingly cold. Like the flight up here hand chilled them. Ember gave them a squeeze. “Don’t let him push you around,” Ember advised the female.

“Don’t worry,” Nesta said, even if that bruised look lingered in her eyes. “My sister—Rhy’s mate—gave him that exact same lecture twenty minutes ago.”

Ember hissed, “So he brought you back up here to lecture you away from her?”

Nesta snorted. “No. Feyre put an end to the argument. I'm not going to be executed. Not today, at least.”

At Ember’s horrified expression, Nesta amended, “They wouldn’t kill me. I don’t think. But . . . it’s complicated. I doubt anyone will be forgiving me anytime soon.”

Ember nodded toward Cassian. “What about your mate?”

The pain in her eyes—the guilt—seemed to deepen. “Cassian’s the most furious with me of anyone.” A muscle ticked in her jaw. Like she was holding back a giant wave of raw emotion. Only a wall of steel kept it at bay.

Ember squeezed Nesta’s hand again. “If there’s anything I can do to help, anything you need me to say to take some of the blame away from you . . .”

Nesta gave her a half smile. “Handing Rhys his ass just now was good enough for me.” She steered Ember toward the breakfast laid out for them.

Ember glanced over a shoulder, to where Randall stood with Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian. All the males were now smiling, thank the gods. “Seems like Randall’s doing a good job of winning them over. Probably by telling them how difficult I make his life.”

Nesta snorted again. “Complaining about mates: it’s practically a competitive sport for them.”

Ember chuckled. “Seems like Midgard and this place have some things in common, then.” She angled her head, taking in the beautiful, ancient-looking city far below, the river wending through it, and what seemed to be the distant sparkle of the sea. “What is this place, anyway? And why are all of you so attractive?”

Nesta smirked, looping her arm through Ember’s before she said, warmth finally entering her tone, “Welcome to the Night Court, Ember. You’ll fit right in here.” I AM IN TEARS!!! EMBER SUPPORTING NESTA AS SHE SHOULD!!!!! RHYSAND AND CASSIAN BEING DICKS AS USUAL BUT EMBER QUINLAN IS OUR QUEEN! THE MOTHER NESTA DESERVES!!! HELL YEAH BABY FUCK THE INNER CIRCLE!!

[daddysfangirls-dc]

UnTamed CH25

Damian Wayne x Oc! Female

Prev | Next

"No, You've never mentioned a brother."

"There was no real blood," she spoke softly as a butterfly landed on her finger. " He died when I was 7."

"The boy that found you. I'm sorry to hear that. How did he come to be your brother?" Damian had never heard of Eren before then again she was very vague about her childhood.

"He said he found me under a dumpster. My mother was dead next to it. I don't remember. My memories of mother are hazy." the butterfly flew away finding a more appealing flower. She turned to see another butterfly on her teacup. " He was 12 when he found me. He took me and raised me the best he could, young and homeless. He shouldn't have but did." She watched as the butterfly drank her tea while softly batting its wings. It had colorful wings that the sun seemed to dance on. 

"He died right before his birthday. He would have turned 16." 

She had managed an actual gift that year. A camera, a bit broken yet still functional. It would have been enough for them.

"He encouraged my nudity. I'd rip, tear, and lose clothes. We couldn't afford new clothes, and we couldn't afford any. It didn't matter back then; I was always an animal, and we traveled by back alleys, roofs, and sewers. He didn't care about being naked. However, he did tell me to stay away from men-boys. Stay to myself was the only rule... I broke it." Damian looked at her, confused. " I'm here with you, aren't I?" 

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I don't think Eren would-" 

"I'm sorry that you're here. I'm sorry that you don't feel comfortable in your furs or in clothes. I'm sorry that I didn't notice any of this before now. I'm sorry, Eren, but I'm not here to take care of you or be proud of you. I'm sorry".

Asta didn't say anything just closed her eyes and curled into herself. Listening to the breeze, the birds had long stopped singing as the sky changed color as night slowly came. Silences.

-

In the sewers, it was dark. The only light coming from the grates above it was little to none. The water unclean a dark shady of green, more sluge than actual water. A long side of the sludge was a walking path. And on the path, a group of rats scurried a desperate scavenge for food upon them. Suddenly, one of the rats is snatched up by a boy, the others scattered for safety. 

"what are you doing?" he asked. The rat squeaked and squealed. "Oh, nice try, but I know it's you."

Suddenly, the rat is no longer a rat. Its fur is shredded for skin, and its body shifts to something bigger and more fleshy—a Girl. "How did you know it was me?" The girl asked.

He holds her hand now. " You act too smart for a normal rat." the girl scowls, but he just laughs as they walk along the path. " You, my mammal, are too smart." Mammals were land creatures, such as dogs, cats, monkeys, and even apes. He called her a mammal. It was supposed to be a reminder to keep her feet on the ground unless absolutely necessary. He didn't want her to leave him.

"What are we doing tonight?"

It was a loaded question. One question filled with many more. Would they be eating tonight? Would they be sleeping tonight? If so, where and for how long? If not, would they spend the night walking? If so where to? So many questions in so few words for such young children but they were all important. And needed answers.

"We are going to eat these subs I stole from the bodega. And then go bird watching."

Bird watching aka Batman & Robin stalking. It was also code for Rogue activity. Meaning there were too many Rogues out and about for them to find long term safety of any kind. Too much activity and too many unknowns to sleep into the night. So they'd stay awake for the night; they'd sleep in the safety of the daylights. In the dark, they'd follow the knight and his young squire. (At a distance.)

"Robin," she whispered as she watched the bird jump across the roofs, following the bat to whatever horrors of the night. To save the night. The people. And they follow in the safety of the knight and squire's shadow.

-

Eren died two years later at the tender age of 15. A victim of scarecrow experiments, he dies alone. He's put on a list of bodies to be identified after two weeks unidentified he's buried as John Doe. Asta doesn't find out until a week after his burial.

Asta is truly orphaned at the age of 7.

[sapphic-scylla]

Nimona illuminates the final part of my entire gender crisis and not only what led up to who I am but the truth of who I am and who I know myself to be.

I use she/her, they/them, and any and all pronouns.

I grew up knowing I was different like most trans people. I could never explain it because I never had the words. That inability to understand what any of my confused and festering feelings meant.

I grew up alone. I had family, but they were so invested in turning me into the ideal man that they refused to meet me at my level.

As I entered school, friends didn’t last very long. My longest friendship was 4 months until I entered college. I still don’t talk to anyone from high school because no one cared to invest their time into me. So I stayed lonely.

It had been long past the time I’d discovered it was a gender issue. At 12, I discovered that being a guy at all was distasteful to me. Acting masculine felt like I was pouring acid on my skin while being told to not act feminine was, fittingly, like stifling tears. You know they want to come out and they will eventually and you can’t stop it no matter how hard people tell you not to, but you bottle it anyways because people won’t like you if you cry.

That bottling.

That shoving down all of those trans emotions.

They don’t go away.

And when you also live in Utah, the state of the high and mighty. The self-righteous. And you hear EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. For 21 years. “Being gay is a sin.” “Being trans won’t get you to heaven.” Hearing the scoffs of disapproval at a guy acting feminine. Seeing the bullying. Witnessing the abuse and control your parents carve into you by saying things like “stop acting like that” or “walk it off” or “you do what we tell you because you live in our house.”

They wait. And they bubble.

It’s like a volcano. Pressure builds. For 10 years, it builds. And that volcano does release steam every once in a while. But it sits. And waits. Until it can’t anymore. And then…

People used to think volcanos were monstrous creatures that sat beneath the earth. It’s not true for real volcanos. It’s true for people.

It hit in high school. All of that pent up frustration. All of that anger and rage and sorrow. Just slowly releases for 5 years. And the wild thing is that it just. Kept. Going. I hit 22-23 and I was still ripping my own world to shreds. Friendships, family relationships, a marriage. All torn into tatters.

And it wasn’t just the undiagnosed ADHD. It was a person who kept forcing herself to fit into the boxes and the roles and the expectations of a girl who was trying to fit the mold of a lie. A false ideal. A belief that someone else had shackled her with.

And when she broke those shackles, she saw how people saw her.

As a monstrosity. An abomination. A creature. A demon. A nameless entity that people refused to care about or accept.

That monstrosity tried to kill herself 3 times over that span of 7-ish years, almost adding another tally to Utah’s record of being the state with the most suicides. Because like Nimona said…

"I don't know what's scarier. The fact that everyone in this kingdom wants to run a sword through my heart... or that sometimes, I just wanna let them."

I’m much better now. After my marriage fell apart, I got into therapy. I got my ADHD diagnosis and I’m working towards getting an anxiety diagnosis and maybe a few other things that are screaming inside the cage that is my brain.

I’m still not good at making friends. Between the neurodivergence and the transgender pride that I carry and wear out in the open, not a lot of people want to hitch their cart to a fluidflux creature like me.

I don’t bottle my feelings anymore. I also don’t take shit from the people that continue to view my existence as a threat or treat me like a villain, an abomination, and a curse. Because as we all know, people fear what they don’t understand. And even when what they don’t understand is me, a “monster”, they try to kill me or force me outside the walls or attempt to capture, restrain, and shove me into a box.

I considered letting them win several years ago. Never again.

However, that ideal that Nimona carried sits within my soul.

Maybe I am a monster. Maybe it’s why I hyperfixate on gods and monsters and myths and the darker side of the stories we’re told and the creatures that loom in the shadows.

Because I know how the world sees me. They see a monster.

And maybe that’s not so much of a bad thing. Maybe it’s better to be the thing they fear.

[gojoswhitebabydolllashes]

Goodbye, my beloved bride.

- Rafayel (love and deepspace) x oc? Sorta

Warnings: sad. Sad. Sad mermaid man stuff. Eternal suffering.

-

I'm not supposed to talk about it.

I promised I wouldn't.

So instead I'm sharing it with this piece of paper in my hand.

When Rafayel left, a deep gash tore my heart into shreds. Agony had clawed at my soul like a caged animal pulling on the bars of it enclosure. That's how I felt watching him leave. Because even though I was there to watch it, I couldn't do anything about it. He wouldn't let me. And despite him knowing I didn't want this. He had left without another word.

Goodbye, my beloved bride.

Goodbye. Goodbye Goodbye.

It wasn't ever really going to be a Goodbye. After all An artists love last forever and when they say goodbye it's to say find me in the next painting you see, look for me in the charcoal smeared on your hands. And so I did. I found Rafayel in every masterpiece I saw. A painting of the ocean. A drawing of a delicate sunflower. The color purple.

Rafayel told me once, that I swayed like a sunflower playing saxophone. I never stopped thinking about it. Everytime someone would say I move too much or I dance strangely, I would think about him and his words and remember his voice.

I miss you so much Raffie. I hope wherever you are in the sea is safe and you are safe. I hope your okay and I hope that the seawater feels like home on your skin. I wish for a moment i could know when you look up at the stars, so that we could look at them again for the last time.

When is the last time going to be the last time?

Why couldn't you have taken me with you? Why did you leave me here to suffer an endless reign of terror that exists within a loop of agony. This endless pain is yet to subside and without you here I fear it may never come to a halt. I did not know you asking me to marry you would lead to eternal suffering in lonesome. Do you still have your ring on?

I must know these things.

I must know if you are happy. I must know if you are at peace. I must know if you still think of me.

I must know.

I just want to tell you that it's all worth it. I hope you know just how much the time we had together meant to me. Your face lit up when we met for the first time. At the pond, the small red fish you held in the net brought out a pink in your cheeks, and your hair was sparkling violet in the summer sun. Your smile was like a shot of pure sunlight straight to the heart.

If I had to tell you one thing. I'd say be safe. Just be happy. Be the best version of yourself no matter how you get there. Take every path you desire so you may reach the life you deserve. And if it is a life away from myself than let it be.

I can only sit by the golden sands and sob at the air as I clutch your paint brush. So worn out and so full of memories. All your line strokes and brushes of blues. All the flicks of gold and wisps of green and white. Each painting you created exists in the bristles. Each single strand is a new masterpiece from your heart.

We are still bonded.

'By the seas and sands, let our fates be held in our hands. In the name of the waves and the tides, let our love be forged forever in time'

I repeated it like a prayer. Like a poem they surgically stitched into my brain. I wanted to scream and cry and tear my hair out and slam chairs against tables and punch holes in the walls. I wanted to tear my lungs out and crush them. I wanted to, no, needed to rip my heart from my body so no person may ever witness it again. Until the day Rafayel returned I would throw my heart into the ocean, to let it it sink and die where my love has gone.

So let this be my plea, o great sea, that when the tides come flooding on the shores of Whitesand Bay that they will bring my beloved back to me. And when they retreat, let them take me.

[seriouslysam8]

Hi Sam, I’m a huge fan of all your series and your writing. You inspired me to write, but sometimes when I compare my writing to other, mine for a lack of better word, sucks. I get so embarrassed that I often delete it or never look at it again. I would say I'm an okay writer but I know I have a lot to work on. I received an anon message a while ago telling me my story was horrible and a few other things so I stopped after that because... well I just felt ashamed. I turned off my asks after that. Do you have any advice? Do you ever feel like this? And how do you overcome it? How do you deal with the negative feedback?

This just breaks my heart.

I have felt like this a lot. When I first got back into the fandom, my stories were ripped to shreds. I was told my headcanons were all wrong and was told who I should read because they had better headcanons than me and I could learn a thing or two. I was told my AUs were stupid and that put me off to writing AUs for the longest time. I felt like I was boxed in and creativity wasn’t appreciated. I have gotten a lot of negative feedback to the point where I almost quit writing for the fandom multiple times. I have deleted some stories and abandoned some stories from when I first started writing.

Here’s the thing, people are mean. People are cruel. For some reason, people think that since nobody can see their face and they can go on anonymous, it’s acceptable to be rude and blunt and just a plain mean asshole. They say things they’d never say to someone’s face because they’re a coward and hide behind a keyboard.

I know how hard it is to drown out those awful people. I fret and worry still when I write that I’ll get hate for something. I’ve taken to blocking certain tumblrs, ignoring some asks, and separating myself from toxic spaces within the fandom. I’ve just deleted negative reviews and tried to put them out of my mind, because what else can I do?

This is why I always ask people to review if they like a story. Because if everyone who followed a story reviewed and said something nice, it drowns out the hate and the meanness. It’s easier to keep writing when you have people who are encouraging and nice. I’ll never understand how someone can read something they enjoy for free that takes days to write and edit and not even leave a review to encourage the writer to keep going. It’s not a lot to ask.

I don’t think you’re alone. I see so many authors abandon stories because nobody reviews or they only get negative reviews. I’ve done that as well. Then I see readers complaining that a story has been abandoned but I bet they never once left a gushing review. A little bit of kindness goes a long way. Unfortunately, not many people want to be kind.

I have a small group of readers who review everything I write. I love them. I write for them. I’ve become friends with a few of them. I am so grateful and I keep writing for them and only them. I had someone private message me the other day asking if I took requests and I said no because that person has never once left me a review. I thought, why would I take a request to write a story they want if they never once have shown me any love? So I write for my besties who always review and I focus on the love and appreciation they have shown me story after story after story.

The best advice I can give you is don’t stop. You’re just starting out writing. Do you want me to send you my first story I wrote back in the fandom?? I deleted it because it was so terrible. But you’ll never get better if you don’t keep writing. You kind of just figure things out as you go. You’ll only get better and better if you soldier on. You will get those cheerleaders who love your stories and make it all worth it.

I am always open to talking. Just send me a private message on tumblr or discord and I am more than happy to encourage you and help you as much as I can. I think we all need to support one another and show some love to creators.

[girldragongizzard]

Epilogue 6: Molly

I am so much more calm now that I've laid my egg.

It sits in a chair in our living room, and I think Rhoda feels more obligated to watch it than it actually needs. I keep telling her this, that she needn't fret about it or keep an eye on it. It's secure in her apartment and will be fine. But I think that does go against everything her human instincts are telling her, and I can't exactly convince her to be a dragon about it.

I was going to leave it on the roof for everyone to see, but she would not hear of that.

The thing is, I need to surround it with a hoard, and there isn't really room in the apartment for that.

I'm trying to pretend that all her belongings are hoard enough, but I know that's wrong.

So, while I'm much more calm and centered, and back to my not-horny self, I'm still feeling tense and conflicted as I walk into the coffee shop to distract myself with people and sugar.

I've been practicing my shapeshifting in subtle ways. My favorite thing to do is reduce my size to where I was when I first experienced dracomorphosis. It's very convenient, I can fit through doors, and I still feel like myself. I also feel like I communicate best while being myself. However, I really only do this when I'm planning on going into a building somewhere. And I still can't hold it when I'm unconscious. I take up the whole kitchen now when I sleep. But, this is to say that I've shrunk myself down to a manageable size to visit my friends, but I haven't gone faerie princess or anything else.

It feels a little bit like making the whole world bigger. I've gotten that used to my recent growth.

"It's always wild when you do that where I can see you," Jill says as I enter the cafe. "It looks like you slide away from me for a moment. Or like when they do that thing in movies where they zoom out the lens but move the camera closer? My eyes don't like it much when it's not on a screen."

"Sorry," I say.

"I didn't say I didn't like it much," she smiles. "Oh! We've got a message for you. Like we're a post office or something. The outside of it is signed 'Molly's Parents, Tim and Adelle'."

Oh. Oh, shit. I hope it's not a restraining order or a sternly worded rebuke or something. But it's also been so many months since I encountered her. All of the ideas I can come up with for why they'd be trying to contact me now are Not Good.

But, I'm a dragon who has challenged, faced, and refused to back down from a clearly bigger dragon. And letters are flammable.

I tell myself this in order to approach the counter and slip into a form more suited to opening and reading letters without inadvertently ripping them to shreds, even though I'd rather Jill read it for me.

"That never stops being wild, either," Jill whispers. "Can I get you your yooj?"

"Yes. Please," I say. Then I pick up the envelope and tear it open with a claw-like fingernail, to pull out the letter itself.

Dear Meghan E. Draconis, Our daughter, Molly, has been speaking about you ever since she met you last September. You seem to have made quite the impression on her, and we'd like to thank you for treating her kindly. I have to admit, it has taken both my husband I a while to come to terms with the idea that she might also be a dragon, and that her games of make believe as a dragon were not a fanciful phase. It did not seem like the same kind of serious thing that being transgender is. Even with actual dragons like yourself walking this world, now, it was hard to take seriously. In any case, it seemed like you were very busy with dangerous things. So we have been avoiding your neighborhood ever since, despite how much Molly would like to talk to you some more. However, last month, we left the city to visit Molly's grandmother, Tim's Mom, out in the county. Suffice it to say, the next morning was a bit of a challenge, despite how much Molly had warned us it might happen. She has been paying more attention to the news regarding dragons than we have, much to our collective embarrassment. And she is, in fact, a beautiful little dragon. And we don't know what to do. Worried about the other dragons in the city, Molly has opted to stay with her grandmother for the time being, and we stay there to be with her as much as we can. And we've been following her lead, just as we have done with her earlier transition. However, I think we are all overwhelmed, and Molly is still very much interested in talking to you. Do you think you could pay her, and us, a visit, so that she can ask you her questions? Regards, Adelle & Tim.

The header of the letter includes the county street address, along with a phone number and a couple of email addresses, giving me a choice of ways to respond.

I feel a profound sense of relief that helps me ignore my itch to lavish my egg with riches I really can't afford.

I pull out my tablet and use it to tell Jill, "It's good news. Molly hatched. I'll answer this while I have my coffee."

Jill looks back at me and asks, "You still want it in your big bowl?"

I stare at her for a couple blinks, and say, "Yes."

"Okidoke! Just checking," she chirps, and continues making my drink. "How's the egg?"

"Rhoda is reading it Star Trek fanfiction," I report. "But the egg wants gold. Mounds and mounds of gold."

"Oh, that's gotta be rough. How about you compromise and read it the Hobbit?"

"The egg does not need to know about the Hobbit," I respond. "We do not need to give it an anxiety complex before it hatches."

Jill snorts a little snicker and says, "OK."

We have a bit more of a conversation where I ask her about her plans for school next year, and she tells me what Cerce has been up to since she moved to Seattle.

I hate when the staff has turnover, or when regulars move away. But I know it happens. Humans often have a nomadic inclination, even if I don't really understand it. They are persistence predators. They are used to following their prey into new territories to tire them out and eat them then. I'm an ambush predator. I stay near the shore in this nice little town so that I can dive bomb seagulls and slam steak like shots.

Later, I send an email to Molly's parents telling them that I would very much appreciate a visit. And I give them a list of online resources for newly out dragons, including an invitation for Molly to join my server. I tell them that it is the best way for her to negotiate travel through the city with the other dragons. And I ask them what times work best for Molly.

Then I relax back into my slightly smaller than true form and go about drinking my coffee the way nature intended me to.

—

"Now you've totally got to go meet her," Kimberly says, barely refraining herself from pounding the table and upsetting our tacos.

"Yes. I. Go," I say and then stuff my mouth with food and tilt my head up to swallow it.

"Good!" Kimberly says, then bites down on half a taco.

Nathan turns to Rhoda and asks, "Are you going as well?"

Rhoda shakes her head, "The bus doesn't go there, and Meghan's flying. Someone has to stay home with the child, anyway."

I glance at her, still working on my on my food.

"Mmm!" Kimberly exclaims though her mouthful.

"Didn't Meghan say dragon eggs are fairly independent?" Nathan asks. "I could drive you both."

"Nah. I never met Molly, and I don't really care what Meghan or the internet says about dragon eggs," Rhoda says. "That's my child, too, and I'll take care of it how I see fit." Then she adds, "No offense, Chapman."

Chapman shrugs and says, "No, I get it. I appreciate your lead, too."

Rhoda nods, then says, "Jacob always wanted a baby sibling, so I'm giving him one, and I'm doing it right. Even if that mostly means reading it stories for the time being. People made fun of me for doing that for Jacob, and he turned out hyperlexic, so I think I win."

"Yes," Kimberly says, swallowing. "But Spirk?"

"Listen, girl," Rhoda says. "No child of mine is going to go without their queer history. And it is every child's right to hatch already knowing everything there is about Our Lady Uhura."

"OK. Super fair and reasonable. Forget I questioned it."

"What are you going to tell Molly?" Nathan asks me.

I pick up my tablet and hit it with both thumbs, "'Welcome out.' Of course. Then I will answer questions. Whatever she wants to know."

—

She's literally trans pride colored. More or less. There's some gold and purple there, too, like in her eyes and claws and horns.

Imagine you have an even morph of a fox and a cougar, and then you give her bat wings, horns, and iridescent white fur with blue and pink striped diamonds along her back. Blue on the outside, pink on the next ring in, and white spots in the middle.

And I am not by any stretch the smallest dragon in the county anymore. She's not much bigger than a coyote.

And she bounces and rolls and prances about, whining and growling giddily, as I make my landing on her grandmother's blueberry farm. She can also make infrasonic noises. I think all dragons can.

She's basically saying, "Meghan, Meghan, Meghan, Meghan, look!" over and over again. Then, "We both have diamonds! See?"

I'm not the only one who can understand her, I'm sure. Her body language is pretty obvious. But I'm probably the only one that recognizes the combination of gestures and sounds as actual words.

It's not quite the season to start picking the blueberries, so the work on the farm is minimal, and there's only a couple of people watching from ladders or other farm equipment. The ladders are for a handful of pear and apple trees, and one of the barns.

And then there's her family, all human, as far as anyone knows. Her parents, her grandmother, and someone I'm told is her uncle.

"Hello," I greet her family with my syrinx. And then, I say in draconic, "Molly. Pay attention to me."

She stops her frantic gyrations and asks, "Yes? What?"

"You've grown," I tell her, even though it seems she physically shrank. "It looks like your shedding will be different than mine. Can you understand what I'm saying?"

She just tilts her head in confusion.

Ah, OK. So, she's instinctively shouting what's on her mind in draconic, but she doesn't know how to really read it yet. Simple commands from me might get her attention, but anything complex is maybe something I'll have to teach her somehow.

I'm not sure how to do that, honestly.

So, I turn into my princess self and reach to adjust my purse and pull out my tablet. And everyone's eyes get real big, including Molly's.

Oh, yeah. Not everyone has seen me do that. The news articles may have mentioned it, and I thought the rumor mill would have taken care of the knowledge for everyone else by now. But, seeing it is different than reading about it, probably.

Molly immediately starts dancing again, wanting to know if she can do it, too.

I sigh.

"How do you talk to your parents?" I type into my tablet, and let it speak for me.

Molly stops and holds up her racoon style hands. She has them on her hind legs as well. And now I can imagine her climbing all over everything, and carrying food home with all fours while flying.

And her mom holds up a large phone and smiles and Molly scampers over to her to receive it.

Then she quickly turns to me and swipes out, with a voice that sounds like an anime character, "I can't say words, so I have to use the phone. Thank you for coming! How do you change shape? Can I do it?"

"Hold up," I respond, hitting talk after each sentence, as usual. "First. Thank you, Molly, for allowing me to visit you in your territory. As a gift I bring you what I know. I will be happy to answer any of your questions. I'd also like to talk to your family as well. As for shapeshifting, it is one of my natural defenses. I was taught how to explore it by the Artist of Being a Dragon. They are long gone, touring the world. If you can do it, I can teach you what they taught me. But you might have to take the first step yourself. Perhaps I can try coaching you later." Then I look at her parents and grandmother.

"Thank you for seeing us, Meghan," her Mom, Adelle, says.

"What about moving back to town?" her Dad, Tim, asks.

"There isn't much room there," I tell them. "I believe this is her territory now. I don't think she will want to move."

"Yeah, no," Molly says with her phone.

Her parents get disappointed looks, and her uncle screws up his lips like he's thinking hard about it, but her grandmother appears delighted.

"Ah, we were hoping it could be negotiated," Tim admits.

"What if she learned how to shapeshift like you?" Adelle asks.

"There are always tells," I tell them. "Clues. And everyone who knows me recognizes me. No matter what shape I take. And every dragon recognizes me as a dragon."

"Oh."

"She might be different. We are all very different. But I don't want to mislead you," I say. "Also, I can only hold a shape that isn't mine for a couple hours, and revert if I sleep. If that is the same for her, even if she can truly hide, it will be a risk. But, that doesn't matter. This is her territory. This is where she belongs, and wants to be. It is part of who and what she is."

They both take deep breaths, while Molly looks more excited by my words.

"Have you been making your morning calls?" I ask her. "Have you heard your neighbors?"

"Yes," she responds, bouncing and rumbling a little in her excitement, incidentally repeating her word in draconic.

"When you do that, you're speaking in draconic," I tell her. "We have our own language, and you know some of it instinctively. Those calls tell you how big your neighbor's territories are and where their boundaries are. It's subtle. You are also telling them the same thing about yourself, especially if you know your territory. You unconsciously put it into your call."

She pulls her head up and swivels her ears toward me, saying without typing, "Tell me more."

I turn toward her Grandmother and ask, "Should we go where you can sit?"

"Oh, yes, please!" she says. "Come on inside! Do you like pie?"

"Do you have tea or coffee?" I ask.

"Folgers?" she asks.

"Tea, perhaps?" I try to smile like a human for her.

"Red rose!"

"That would be lovely, thank you." Then I turn to Molly as we start walking toward her house. "I can't teach you how to speak or read draconic. I was taught through magic. But, I think I can show you examples and tell you what I'm saying, and that might help."

—

It's been a long day of hard conversations with Molly's family. I came out in the morning, planning on being there all day, and so I have. I've had lunch and tea with them, and it looks like dinner is on the table for me, too.

It's late afternoon, and the two of us are playing in one of the dirt roads on the farm.

Technically, I'm training Molly while her uncle watches. But it feels like play to me, and I'm enjoying myself.

I'm wondering if I might get to enjoy this with my own child. It's not exactly what I imagined for draconic motherhood, but I want more of it.

It started with me showing her some simple phrases and individual words in draconic, then spelling them out on my tablet or saying them with my syrinx. And then repeating them.

And she took to that very fast. She seems primed to learn how to talk to other dragons. And maybe we all are. It does seem to be an instinctual language that just needs conscious verification that we're speaking and reading it. We do hear it, too, but since it's mostly expressive and gestural it feels like the word "reading" is more appropriate.

So then we started having simple conversations very quickly, which almost immediately turned into a game of chase, because the quickest, easiest things to say in draconic involve chasing, dodging, hiding, seeking, pouncing, and negotiating whether or not it's still a game.

I've shrunk myself down to her size, to make sure it's fair, and we check in on each other a lot. Which means repeating phrases and making them second nature for her.

And then, I throw in something tricky for her. I take the form of a snake and slither right under her, only to appear as a frighteningly huge dog when she turns around, startling her. Then I give her the play pose and wait.

"No fair!" she responds immediately.

"Yes, fair," I reply, bouncing and becoming a raccoon and clapping.

When she tries to pounce on me, I run under her as a rat.

The way this feels is hard to describe, and I expect harder for most people to imagine.

I've studied each of these shapes by watching examples of them, animals, in person, and visualizing what it would feel like to have their bodies. And then, I simply took their shapes, much the same way that I learn how to imitate various noises and calls of other things. My body just seems to know what to do.

And when Molly turns again to face me, I'm my full sized self, saying, "It's easy if you can do it. Hold on. Let me use my tablet."

I'm pretty sure she got the gist of that. So then I walk over to her uncle and hold out my claw for my purse. He seems relieved to give it to me.

And I pull out my tablet and drop it to the ground, to turn it on and knuckle out, "Try human. Visualize what human feel like. Fold yourself into shape. That what it feel to me."

She tilts her head, "How?"

"Do not know. Try," I respond.

Her ears go back flat on her head and she snarls, leaping forward a short distance, crouching at the end of her leap.

"Not like that," I say.

"Hard," she complains.

I think about this for a second.

It looked like she was saying, "no," in the most stringent of terms before attempting it. Maybe she really doesn't want to be human. So, I quickly consider some alternatives, and the quickest that comes to me is a trans girl stereotype and already partially present in her draconic form.

"Try a cat," I tell her.

And it comes so easily to her, she's startled by it and pops right back out to her natural self.

I give her a big draconic smile, and type, "Do fox."

She quirks her head to the side, ears tall, and suddenly she's a fox.

I'm taken aback and very pleased for her.

She's going to be better at this than I am, and she doesn't have any tells that I can see.

[syngigeim]

Day 20 - Duel

“What is the meaning of this?” Wuk Lamat asked. “And just how far are you planning on taking us?” She asked the stone-silent Mamool Ja in front of her. He said nothing, just glanced at her, and so she and Syngigeim were led further on into the Xobr’it Cinderfield. Soon, the two were brought before an approaching Bakool Ja Ja and his goons...bringing alongside a captured Hunmu Rruk.

“Hunmu Rruk!?” Wuk Lamat exclaimed upon seeing him. The Doppro behind him forced Hunmu Rruk onto his knees. “Bakool Ja Ja, you snake! If you want my keystones so badly, you deal with me and me alone! Leave the elector out of this!”

Bakool Ja Ja laughed uproariously at that. “Is that all you think he is? Foolish kitty, this man is the reason we are here.” At her look of confusion, he only smirked and said, “Take a good look at him. Go on, look. Surely you recognize your real father!”

Hunmu Rruk closed his eyes and bowed his head at that. Why-?

“Don’t believe us?” The other head of Bakool Ja Ja said. “Then ask your trusted sellsword – she heard it straight from the old man’s mouth!”

She had to look over at Syngigeim. “Is it true? Is Hunmu Rruk my…” She couldn’t finish saying it. Syngigeim quickly glanced over at Wuk Lamat, giving her the slightest of nods and apologetic looks, before returning to a stony, steely expression of simmering rage towards Bakool Ja Ja. “...I see.” Wuk Lamat softly said.

“Now that you understand the situation, let’s see those keystones. I’ll even let you fight for them – just you and me,” Bakool Ja Ja said. “If that adventurer attempts to interfere… I’ll kill the old man myself!” he said, readying into a couching position. His goons only smiled at that threat.

Wuk Lamat could only clench her fist in rage and anger. “You despicable, heartless fiend…” He teeth were fully bared as she yelled out, “Kinsman or no, I won’t stand for you taking hostages! Come on, then! You want a fight? I’ll give you a fight!”

“Oooh, such heroic caterwauling, Promise. I’m shaking,” Bakool Ja Ja’s left head said in contempt and sarcasm. “Guard our hostage well. We wouldn’t want to tempt any thoughts of rescue,” he then ordered his men. They picked up the man, and scurried off. “By the by, house cat. They’ve been instructed to put down Papa dearest when you lose. Hopefully he’s settled his affairs.”

Wuk Lamat could hear an angered grunt from Syngigeim as she stepped forward. She swiftly put her hand out, stopping the famed Warrior. “Don’t worry. I’m not losing to the likes of him,” she said with a confident smile. Syngigeim immediately moved back with one of her lovely smiles already on her face, giving a sight chuckle as she nodded. Wuk Lamat turned to the dual-headed Mamool Ja, confident and smiling. “Well, what are you waiting for, you blessed bastards!? It’s two against one! Don’t tell me you’re scared!”

The right head gritted his teeth and growled out, “I know I didn’t hear you right…”

Wuk Lamat heard Syngigeim laugh. “Cowards don’t stand a chance against Wuk Lamat.”

“You dare call us cowards!? I’ll kill you – kill you – kill you all!” He said, clearly affected by Syngigeim’s oh-so-simple taunt. “Don’t look away, salt! I want you to watch as I tear your beloved Promise to shreds!”

Syngigeim looked over to Wuk Lamat, giving her a slight smile before she nodded and stepped aside. Since she had full confidence, there was no way Wuk Lamat felt she was ever going to lose. “Hey, eyes on me. The house cat, remember?” She took out her axe and slung it across her shoulder, glaring at Bakool Ja Ja. “I’ll say it again: I’m not losing to the likes of you! I’m going to become Dawnservant-” She said, bringing her axe in front of her, ready to attack, “-and I will protect my people!”

She rushed towards Bakool Ja Ja, shoulder-checking him. “Come you mangy house cat, so I can rip you to pieces!” Bakool Ja Ja growled as he began attacking in earnest. He let out a fearsome roar, which on it’s own felt near enough to send her to her knees, but she wouldn’t be bowed. Not so easily! She took a breath and felt the air around her cool her down, could feel the life around her, and could claw it out of the ever-cocky Bakool Ja Ja for her own sake! He rushed to another side of the sands, readying up for a massive cleave. This was simple. She just needed to get behind him, and give herself a perfect opportunity to wail on him. She could even use his aether to help her out.

I can do this! She thought, her resolve strengthening.

“My magic should be more than enough for Miss Mittens!” The left head said, and before the arena, there were some sort of fire-y orbs around it. “I’ll make you eat dirt!” The right head yelled, lifting his foot up and- Ah! He was going to shove her back. Just like how Syngigeim would do it, she angled herself so that when he knocked her to the side, she’d be nowhere near any of the standards. The kick connected and her guess was right, as the fiery orbs busted around the sands, but not near her. She rushed back to Bakool Ja Ja, continuing her attacks.

“No more tricks Bakool Ja Ja! We’re settling this here and now!”

“Still playing the part of the brave warrior?” The left head taunted while the right head summoned rocks to fall around the area, forcing her to keep moving to avoid any falls. She saw Bakool Ja Ja ready himself to leap onto a bit of sand, kicking it up with force, and so she made sure to stand far out from that attack!

This is nothing! She thought, her resolve strengthening.

He again made to cleave across the sands and she again used that opportunity to feel the life around her and restore her vitality with his aether. And she felt it! A pulse of energy! Her will and resolve! “Miss Mitten’s is no longer amusing me!” The left head said, annoyed.

“This rite has taught me so much!” Wuk Lamat said, readying that force of energy. “About my nation, my people, and myself!” She could feel that will strengthen her, help her, as she struck Bakool Ja Ja with it’s full force. The left head, in retaliation, set up more...standards, she figured she could call them. There was some new ones now, ones that shone with a green light. If the fiery ones exploded around them in a circle, surely this one would do something different. She stood close and as it exploded, it exploded in a gust of wind around her but not too close to the standard itself. It was safer to be close to those. Good to know.

Bakool Ja Ja rushed across the arena again, “What? Can’t keep up?” His right head taunted.

Ha! You’re the one who’s being predictable! She thought, her resolve strengthening.

Bakool Ja Ja dashed into the centre, still being annoying when all she needed to do was attack him! “How do you like this?” The left head said, casting some sort of spell and leaping up into the sky. When he came back down, there were three other Bakool Ja Jas with him, all readying up his sword slice. “Here kitty kitty kitty!” He taunted. Only one of them was gathering aether, she could see it! She got behind and attacked him as he cleaved and the rest of the false Bakool Ja Jas exploded.

“I finally understand what it means to live in peace!” She said, feeling that massive surge of energy once more. “To greet each day in safety and happiness!” She took that force of will and struck Bakool Ja Ja with it.

He grunted, frustrated and angry. “Irritating pest!” he said, roaring out for force. “It’s time we finished her, Brother.” The left head said. “This is the end for you, kitten!” The twin heads said, and something felt off with the ground around her. Like she needed to take the force of his rushdowns, or else something much worse would happen. She rushed over to each area, thrice around the sands, taking the full force of each time Bakool Ja Ja struck at her.

I’ve gotten so much stronger than I was before, she thought, her resolve growing stronger still.

The left head set up the standards again, and the right head readied to kick her. Once again, she found the safe spot, a wind standard she could be safely knocked into. He readied another rush of strikes against the ground. She withstood every single one.

“It’s not enough to claim the title of Dawnservant,” she said, feeling that rush of energy once more. “I must carry on Papa’s legacy – his love for our people!” She said, unleashing it once more.

“Flea-ridden upstart! Why won’t you die!?” Wuk Lamat didn’t care. She just kept up her assault against Bakool Ja Ja. She was getting somewhere, she knew it!

He rushed to another corner of the arena and the left head set up some more standards, but before she could realize what had happened, she was enchained by them, and he was readying to kill her, gathering up dark aether. “Fine! I’ll show you the true power of the blessed!”

She grunted and struggled and felt the chains easily break away from her. “I will be the next Dawnservant! And I’ll protect my people’s happiness to the last!” A massive rush of power emboldened her. She brought up the earth itself to help her, to be the mighty shield Tural needed! To withstand the full force of the coward Bakool Ja Ja! “That’s why there’s no way…” she said grunting, “...I’ll ever lose…” She felt the earth rise up in front of her. “...to the likes…” The light between her defence and his attack was blinding, “...of you!”

And in a golden light, she struggled to her feet. This wasn’t over. Tural itself stood with her.

“What!? But that was everything I had!” Bakool Ja Ja said in frustration.

One of his goons yelled out. “Agh, I can’t stand this any more! Attack!” A flurry of bandits was upon her as someone was throwing magic spells around the arena. She took wide swings at the bandits, doing her best to dodge around the spells and magic.

“This is our fight! Stay out of it!” Bakool Ja Ja yelled in frustration.

Stay calm. Just like Syngigeim. You can handle this. Wuk Lamat thought, her resolve strengthening.

“You bring shame upon us,” The left head of Bakool Ja Ja chided, joining the fray once more.

“You think we care about your stupid pride?” One of his underlings chided back. “This is for Mamook! We cannot loose!”

Wuk Lamat heard, but kept calm. She needed to be focused. Ever moving, but always doing. That was one of the most important things of battle Syngigeim told her. Always be doing something!

“Oho! The great Bakool Ja Ja needs help, I see!” She grinned and taunted. “Send your whole army, you still won’t win.” She felt her resolve surge again. “I will prove that my allies are right to believe in me.”

“Such confidence. What changed? She wasn’t like this before?” An underling said, scared to the point of quivering. She laughed, as she felt the will of her resolve once more. One, two, three, four, five strikes with her axe and finally! Finally, Bakool Ja Ja was forced on his knees. She had won!

She sheathed her axe and strode towards Bakool Ja Ja, who pounded the ground in frustration. His tablets fell out and with it, the one that held the stolen keystone. She bent over and grabbed took it out and placed it back within her tablet. “I reclaim what you stole,” she said with finality.

“N-no… H-how can this be?” The right head of Bakool Ja Ja said, with something approaching fear and horror in his voice. The left chimed in, “How could that puny house cat beat all of us…?”

Wuk Lamat folded her arms. “You’ve caused nothing but trouble with your dirty tricks. “Threatening the Hanuhanu, releasing Valigarmanda – harassing me is one thing, but you’ve endangered too many innocents! No more, Bakool Ja Ja!” She said, clasping a fisted and together in resolve. “I will not stand for it! If you even think of tormenting my people again, you will answer to me!”

“Nooo...nooo…” The two heads muttered. They were distraught yes, but it still felt a little strange. Wuk Lamat thought he would be more angry at her. Instead he was...scared? The two screamed and ran away in horror.

A Hoobigo sighed and stepped towards Wuk Lamat and Syngigeim, who rejoined her. “And he goes and forgets he had the way blocked…”

“What? That was his doing?” Wuk Lamat asked.

“Well, that was my suspicion as soon as we heard about the blockage,” Syngigeim added.

“The only part left in the saga is the Lay of Brotherhood – in Mamook,” the Hoobigo said. “The plan was to force you here so we could take the rest of your keystones.”

“So that’s what he was up to… but, uh, should you be telling us this?” Wuk Lamat asked.

The Hoobigo sighed. “What does it matter? You’ve beaten us. It’s over.” He turned away from her. “We’ll release the hostage,” he said, as he walked away.

“No need, I’m way ahead of you there!” Melya strode forward with Hunmu Rruk beside her. “What, you think after the incident with the bandits I was not going to keep an eye on Bakool Ja Ja? Fat chance of that happening,” She said.

“Huh, well done,” Syngigeim said. Melya responded with bright smile and a slight giggle.

Hunmu Rruk stepped forward to Wuk Lamat. “I’m sorry. I was careless.”

“Are you alright?” Wuk Lamat asked. He nodded. Still there was- “So what Bakool Ja Ja said… about you and me…”

“I – Ah, but to single-handedly defeat Bakool Ja Ja!” He stumbled but swiftly praised. “You are truly the Dawnservant’s daughter.” His face brightened, and he said in earnest. “It has been my honour to bear witness to your journey, Promise.”

Wuk Lamat kept looking at him as he smiled at her. Like a proud parent but...she knew what he was not saying...and what he did say. “Promise… yes, that’s what I am.” She knew what she was. “I’m Gulool Ja Ja’s daughter, and Tuliyollal’s next Dawnservant!” She matched his smile. Melya decided to step forward and behind Wuk Lamat, gently touching her back for a brief moment and giving her a smile. She nodded to her and then turned to Syngigeim. “Come on. Let’s rejoin the others.”

Syngigeim gave her own smile and nod, and the four of them began to make their way back to Iq Br’aax. Wuk Lamat stretched out her arms. That was a lot of work! She thought. But she felt warmed by the sun’s rays above. She was going to be the next Dawnservant, she was all but sure of that now.

[jaewrotethis]

20- Nightmares...

What happened on this day was impacting enough to take over my night. My dreams consumed with what I’ve felt today. I send myself to my bed sooner than the rest. Pan became just another boy in the room full of boys after leaving me on the balcony of the big front room. I couldn’t care, though. I was too determined to think over everything that happened today. I wanted to be alone to pick my brain apart, my day apart. So to my room I go, turning away from the front room and into the dark, maze hallways.

Alright, do the thing. I tell the second voice in my head, since she managed to navigate through the halls this morning.

You do it.

How.

Just think about the room.

I close my eyes at the dark hallway.

Stay relaxed.

I breathe out and I picture my torn blankets, my ripped sheet. The broken dresser and fluff mess of the entire room. The cold and forever opened window directly across the entrance and the smaller door to its right. Another breath and then I open my eyes to the room given to me. I stand in front of the open door. The room I so ungratefully tore to shreds sitting quietly behind the threshold. I walk in slowly, trying to find a sense of home or maybe comfort, trying to convince myself that this is mine. Over to the mattress, away from the forever open window that leaks a cold, cold air to flush my room, I walk.

I stop to put the lamp back where it belongs, on my night stand then walk the room to replace everything back where it should be. I put all the drawers back into the beaten apart dresser and the trunk back into the closet. I pick up what’s left of the pillows that were gifted to me and put them on the head of the mattress. Then the ripped sheets and the torn open quilts. I make the bed with the pieces left over and crawl inside of it. Having to curl up to be covered completely by the ripped quilts.

The bed is cozy, it’s warm. I lay for hours, the night crawling on and on, longer and longer as I just think of my entire day. Too much to recall to sleep, too much to go over to drift off. I wish I could write down the stops my train of thought kept making and riding passed before I forget any of it. From waking up to fuzzy bugs all the way to fighting pirates and then ending the night on a new note with Pan. A note of him possibly saving me, though he’s done it about four times today I’m nearly certain it’s all set up. There’s so much, too much to keep track of.

Did Pan plan every last event?

Did he make sure I had no weapon on the pirate ship so he could give me one when I needed it most?

Could he have really shown me how to fly just so he could catch me from falling to my death?

Or was it just so he could take it away and give it back whenever he says so?

Did he make sure to save me from the Mermaids to mess with my head?

Was the whole Slightly thing just abuse or did Pan set that up?

Why would he set up something so fucked?

Is it because I denied his help of flight after the Treasure Hunt?

Is he really that petty?

Would he really stoop so low?

When sleep did come, it was not welcomed.

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

Again, I’m flying. Over the mountains of Neverland I can see every valley and spring and forest that I saw earlier today. Still so vivid in my memory, I won’t ever forget my first flight over Neverland. I fly free, no Pan under me to keep me airborne, just me and my happiness. The sun is warm on my skin, I feel like I belong somewhere, finally. I couldn’t stop smiling even if I wanted to.

I fly the route that I was taken on today as it’s so fresh in my mind still. Over the Dark Forest that surrounds the hideout and onward to the valleys beyond. Over soft grasses and hidden lagoons. It’s just when I’m approaching the mountains furthest from it all, behind all the valleys, that the magically blue sky has a gray cloud growing. A mean looking storm that was so far away earlier, now in front of me. I can’t seem to stop advancing towards the gray storm forming in the mountains, seeping into the sky like ink in water. My faith dwindles. And as I’ve learned, doubt cannot be planted when flying. Just one shift, just one little second of uncertainty and I’m falling from the sky. The storm growing, casting nighttime and nightmares over the island.

I try, oh how hard I try, to stay lifted. Up and down I go as the belief comes and goes. Coming when I remember how the happy faith felt just a moment ago and going just a second after as I feel the fear of how I almost just fell. Until I’m crashing to the forest floor, somehow now underneath me, valley and mountains gone.

It’s dark. The trees are black. The rain is light but cold. I suddenly know exactly why I need to get up and run. So, I’m running through the forest under the dripping canopy that streams the smallest bits of moonlight every few feet. I’m sprinting through bushes, branches, shrubs. Getting nicked by thorns and scrapped by wood, tripping over roots and stumbling through plants but I can’t stop running. If I let him run faster than me, if I let him close the distance he’ll end my life, I know he will. Blood begins dripping off my neck, down my chest with the searing pain of them being created.

I breathe in rhythm as I sprint. Fresh painful woulds lay deep on the back of my neck and along the bottom of my skull. My temples also cut open, leaking out my crimson blood. It burns painfully but there is no time to stop and clean wounds. The wind yanks my hair behind me as I run my open vest flapping along with it. I push through bushes, and slap through water. My mud stained boots dig into the soil underneath me, kicking up dirt with each step that I push behind me, arms out to pull myself forward, anything to get away, to keep running, to go fast, go further. My legs feel like led, my lungs are burning for air. My body suddenly is exhausted and tired, I’m drained. My own weight is too heavy to go on anymore. I’m out of stream, I can’t run any longer. My breathing harsh and my blood pounding in my ears, I rear right, skidding in the dirt around a sharp turn of a cliff.

My legs skid under me making me hit the ground, palms first. I push myself back up to my feet before I can lose precious seconds. I’m running not much longer, but so much faster before I burst through thick bushes. I jump through thick, tall, green stacks of plant before realizing there is no floor on the other side. The bushes sit on the top of the steep hill I am now tumbling down. Big rocks dig into my back, they slam into my arms, into my legs as I yelp and grunt to each one in angry pain. My sides roll over the sharp jungle floor that cuts, ripping my skin. My head tucked into my chest, knees slamming into dirt, I try using my arms to shield my head.

Finally the earth decides to show mercy with a flattened clearing. Ramming hard into a stump stops my agonizing fall as it flips me over. The pain is tricky. It strikes my spine and bites my fresh bruises. With each second that ticks by the pain cuts my skin then disappears to the shock trying to take over, only the shock fails and the pain returns stronger and deeper to the bone. My lungs vibrate inside my chest as the wind has been knocked from me, stunning me on the floor momentarily.

Flat on my back I stare up at the dark forest, panting and coughing once my breath finds me again, my vision a blur. The world is tipsy. I shake my head, grabbing at it to try and stop the new headache that rolls pain down my body. I hear a holler in the darkness from up above. Beyond the hill I fell from. A deep call of a certain someone in search of the one that isn’t at his command. Fear pins my heart to my chest. Pure terror floods my veins and adrenaline pumps my cells to sit me up, ignoring the throbbing pain in all my bruised muscles that ache to relax. The hollering growing louder. He’s getting closer. I need more distance.

“You can not hide! You’re exposed everywhere you go!”

My eyes wide, the sweat beading my forehead with the dripping blood as his words successfully frighten me. With each word my nerves spike higher and leap in my skin. What if he’s right? What if I don’t away, if I physically can’t get away? How much actual pain and torture could he cause, how much worse can it be than what’s already been horribly done? Out of breath and shaking with fear I force myself to stand up. My eyes dart around for his figure, or a hiding spot, or a weapon, or better yet, someone who will help me. A twig snaps behind me just as I’m fully standing, wobbly and riddled with weakening pain. I spin round, whipping my wet hair out of my face. Darkness engulfs the trees that surround me. A black smoke coming in. Another twig snaps. It’s too quiet. The wind stopped, the trees gone quiet, even the rain is gone. I hold my breath, turning in a circle, searching in the dark smoke clouding in, closer and closer, erasing most of the forest from view.

“Why run?”

Two small words spoken in my ear. I jump, choking on a scream. My heart pounds, matching my rapid breath and I can barely see his silhouette in the dark. He’s right in front of me, standing tall and broad. Not a single breath missing, not tired, worn, or even breaking a sweat. I know that demonic smirk is plastered on his face. I gasp turning to run but two strong hands dig into my shoulders. I yelp as I’m yanked back and thrown to the floor. I trip on my feet. I am tired. I can’t fight anymore. Dirt finds its way into my skin, opening new cuts on my hands. A groan whining from me but I’m only trying to see straight, to find any relief in any of the many aching pains.

“I told you. You aren’t capable of hiding from me. You are not able to defend yourself,” he snatches me up and throws me at a tree, like a toy.

I hit the ground, gasping and crying out but I bite my lip immediately. I regret the sounds of pain. Each noise of fear and pain I make gives him pride. And if he’s going to kill me, he won’t have the satisfaction of breaking me. I won’t let him have it. Though it seems like he knows this and has made his own personal game of trying to snatch it from me anyway. And I know I can’t let him win. So though I’m shaking with fear and critical pain I’m channeling any strength left to hide it from him. I crawl away, suddenly dressed back in my white asylum clothes, Lost Boy attire gone.

“You’re helpless, weak, and worthless,” his hands grab my shirt at both shoulders and yanks me at himself. Then Pan introduces a new type of fear to the game when he says, “I ought to let the boys have at you,” and throws me once more on the floor roughly near the bushes that peak through the black smoke.

Exiting the bushes comes Slightly. His face evil and yearning for a certain type of pleasure. Slightly reaches for me with ghostly hands in the dark and I can’t help the shriek scratching from my throat. I’m crawling backwards, away from the bushes when from behind Slightly, more boys emerge from the shrubs, the same look on their faces, the same evil hands trying to grab me.

“Scared, little Jane. Pathetic girl on my island, why are you still living?” I hear Pan’s cold voice behind me.

Pan’s hands grab my shoulders again, pulling me swiftly and so fast I don’t feel my body being slammed into the ground until it’s already happened. I gasp for air as he drags me. He pulls me in the wet dirt. I panic and kick, clawing at his hands.

“No! Let me go! Let go!” I thrash and pull away, trying so hard to get on my feet but he’s stronger, hes always so much stronger.

He yanks me hard making me cry out again and shoves me in front of him. I have no control over where my feet land and where my body is being sent, I can’t stop him from shoving me into a small cage that sits in the dirt.

“No, please! No, no, no! Let me go!” I fight him but his fist connects with my chin and I’m sent flying back against the wooden bars.

I’m jammed into the cage as he tries slamming the door shut, but I jump forward to grab the bars. I push on the door with everything left in me. I’m just barely stopping it from closing all the way but it’s really just him dragging it out. A mean smirk on his face, like he enjoys watching me try so hard for something he can so easily end with an effortless thrust of his arms. My teeth chatter with panic, I don’t want to die. If the door shuts and the click rings out, indicating it’s locked, all hope is lost. The door cannot close. I cannot die locked up.

“Pan, please! Please, don’t do this! Don’t lock me in-”

“If you want out so badly, get it done yourself,” he says harshly. “But we both know you’re too weak to fight for your fate. You’ll stay locked in here until you’re dead.” He spits.

“No,” I whimper, still pushing the door.

He leans in so our faces are close, having complete control of the indecisive door..

“Yes.” is his last word.

Then his arms thrust forward, forcing the door shut all the way. A satisfying click rings out in the exact moment the dark scene is snatched away.

- - -

“Jane! Open the door!”

What?

My eyes open to a yellow blur. I squint, making sense of the ceiling above me. There’s hard pounding at the door. My heart seems to have the same speed as it did in the dream and it’s making my body shiver and shake through a rapid pulse. My brow is damp and so is my back and neck. I breathe out, convincing myself that it was only a dream and I’m not in danger right now, I’m not locked away and I’m allowed to be alive..for the time being.

“Jane!” the door handle quivers roughly, “Open up!”

I shake my head, wiping my cheeks of tears and brow of sweat before swinging my feet over the bed. I fall to the door with sleep swimming behind my eyes and shuffle with the lock before swinging it open. K stands outside my door. His shirt is sweaty, and wet around the collar. His face is red like he’s been running for a while and his eyes are wide with concern. One hand placed on the door frame.

“Are you okay? What’s going on in here?” he speaks rushed and steps to look inside my room. I back up, to let him have a look but my distracted eyes drift to the door.

“I didn’t lock it...” I whisper.

“What?” he urges.

“I-I, I’m not sure,” I touch the back of my neck, looking down and biting my lip.

“Are you alright?”

I nod my head quickly, “Fine. I’m fine. Sorry-I-it, I don’t...”

“What happened? You were screaming, like you were being murdered, what did you do?” he steps inside now.

I back up again, I grab at my hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-I mean, I’m sorry I woke you,” I say, still trying to calm my heart. I move around him to look down the hall, hoping I didn’t wake any others.

“What happened?” he asks me from inside my room.

“Did I wake anyone else?” I ask as I finish scoping the hall.

A door four down opens up and on instinct I jump back inside my room, bumping into K but I don’t care. I close the door, feeling fear bubble up again in my chest and turn straight into hyperventilating. K looks at me oddly. My wide eyes meet his and he goes to place his hands on my shoulders but pulls back himself when I glitch away.

“Jane. Breathe.” he says, trying to gain my focus.

I hold his stare and obey, inhaling deeply, then exhaling. It works as I feel the prickles of panic begin to disappear.

“I-It was-uh, just a nightmare. I didn’t mean to wake you, I-”

“You already said that,” he smiles.

I breathe out harshly, “Did I wake anyone else?”

“Calm down, would you?” he widens his smile. “I was up training, you didn’t wake me.”

I listen to him again and I breathe deeply through my nose. He waits patiently for me to find my relax as I’m replaying the convincing in my head;

I’m not in danger I’m allowed to be alive right now. There’s a door right there, I’m not locked up.

It’s alright. I’m fine.

“Nightmares are common here. What was it?” he asks me.

I shake my head. “I shouldn’t have woke you, I’m alright, really,” I go to open the door but he backs away from it.

“What was it?”

He stares at me with a soft look like he knows what I fear, like he has the same fears. He seems to drop some sort of wall and some how I know it’s something I’ve forgotten how to do. I can feel himself letting any restraint go and opening up to be vulnerable. Even more so, he is daring me to join him. His arms open up to me, challenging me to be as vulnerable as he is, to share any fear, to allow any comfort.

And then, I can’t stop my feet walking to him or my arms opening for him, I don’t want to stop them. I reach over his head and embrace him in a deep hug. I’m stiff at the foreign contact but then it’s just too easy to relax into him. He feels really warm and he smells like damp forest.

For a moment, I’m not in Neverland. I’m in a different place, a place I haven’t been to in so long or might’ve even forgotten it existed. It’s a warm place, a place I don’t think I want to ever leave. He holds me in this hug until I feel ready to pull away and when I do, it’s nothing but comfortable silence as I walk to the bed. I lead him, somehow knowing he won’t move unless I move him in my room. My eyes glaze over to my torn blankets thrown on the floor again, and the lamp that was once on my night stand beside them.

I clear my throat and sit with him on my bed, “I, I don’t want to remember...”

“We all get nightmares,” he tells me.

I exhale, “There was, I mean... it was too dark,”

He waits.

“It was Pan. What do you think happened?” I say harsher than I meant. I drop my head, exhaling.

“Even more common. It was a dream. It wasn’t real.” he assures me.

I look at him. I find a want inside of me to scoot closer to him, so I do. He doesn’t flinch or stiffen or feel uncomfortable in any way so I relax even more by resting my head on his shoulder. Such new contact and an experience I’ve never had before, it warms my insides. As if some normality finally found me.

“He is real, K, and he’s in the next room,”

K stays quiet for a moment, “What did he do?” he asks finally.

“What he always does. Brings fear, plays mind games on a power high. Makes it impossible to feel any sort of strength, then expects my soul in return,” I spit.

“We know a different guy,” he defends the master of my nightmares.

“He hurts, K,” I say, knowing he can’t deny that.

It’s quiet for a long time as the night creeps on. I begin to feel my eyes drifting close with a heavy sleep. No longer wishing to remain in the pity party, I get up and walk to the head of the bed. I crawl inside of my torn sheets and get comfortable. I want to ask him to continue the contact. A concept so odd to me, I can’t find how to do it.

Just ask.

I bite my lip, searching so hard for the words to say.

Just do it.

I inhale, feeling dizzy from such an unknown request.

Say it. Just say it.

I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue goes dry.

Just say it!

“You don’t have to leave,” I finally spit out.

He looks at me from the edge of the bed, “Jane. Pan, um, wouldn’t, I mean there’s a, type of...”

I stare at him, understanding that of course Pan still has control, but also so saddened by his rejection of my plead for more comfort. A plead that was so, so hard to put out there. It’s only more anger towards Pan. As if he thinks he has some sick claim over me that stops any type of comfort I might find in his camp.

“Right,” I barely whisper and turn the other way.

Try one more time.

I hear him get up off the bed.

Just one more time.

“K,” I stop him.

“Yeah?”

“...I won’t tell, if you don’t,”

I hear him exhale and I know I did it, I took control back.

He crawls onto the mattress with me, beside me. Such contact as laying with someone is an entire mystery to me, something I’ve never ever felt before. Never have I ever felt such closeness with any person. The asylum was too hectic to get cozy with the girls and before that my life was too...unstable to bask in boys’ arms. Something inside of me tells me to be afraid, but it’s not loud enough. The yearn for comfort is so much louder. K doesn’t get into the covers with me, he lays on top of the messed up blankets, on the edge of the bed. I turn to face him, testing my own waters. Seeing what feels like too much, and what is not enough. He seems so calm, as if he could fall asleep at any second. It assures my decision to ask him to stay with me. He isn’t the slightest bit interested in doing anything that would be at me. He is only here because it’s what I want, what I asked for. And if he is so calm and collected sharing a bed with me, than I can be to. It only assures me even more when he lets me curl on him as I please, not moving a single inch unless I do it for him. He doesn’t make any move to get closer to me, only lets me get as close I feel comfortable with. It’s nearly perfect.

“Thanks, K,” I whisper to him. “Goodnight,” he whispers back.

I wipe my cheek of the small tear left over from the nightmare. I feel my smile and get even cozier against his chest. I nudge his arm with my shoulder so he knows he can close the cuddle. He obeys and wraps his arm around me when I settle. I’ve never felt so comforted. It’s ecstasy. He is so warm. He doesn’t smell bad but of moss and wet wood. I find the label for the place I’ve never been to. It’s safety. For the first time, in a very, very long, I feel completely safe. Nothing else but safeness, not even stress. No fear, no anxiousness. I’m safe in this bed, beside my friend. I close my eyes and remain lying with my friend until sleep engulfs us both.

I should’ve known Pan would destroy the only comfort, the only safety I had. For the next morning, K was taken away by Pan’s orders. All because I had a bad dream.

[here-have-some-stories]

Silent Laughter: Chap 2

I walked up to her body, hoping that it wasn’t real, that it wasn’t her, that I was just imagining things, that I was crazy or that I was still asleep. But it was real. It was her, and she was dead.

I don’t know why I did what I did next. Whatever compelled me into doing it, I hoped it would never come again. Without thinking much about what was happening, I brought my hand forward, extended my index finger, and stuck it inside of her empty eye socket. I felt tears falling down my face as my finger wiggled around the empty space, seeming to have a mind of its own. I didn’t want to do this. I never would have even thought of it. But it was happening and I couldn’t stop it.

Until eventually it did stop, and I had control over my hand again. I quickly pulled it back and took a look at the substance that was left on my finger. Blood with a mixture of black goopy stuff. I didn’t think that black goopy stuff was normal, but then again nothing about this was normal.

I wiped my finger on my pyjama shirt and that’s when I saw it. It was just staring at me through my parent’s window. The curtains that were supposed to be covering them had been somehow ripped to pieces. Not by what seemed to be long sharp fingers that tore it to shreds, but by something that seemed to be cut with a knife. The thing that was staring at me, I realised with horror, was the thing from my nightmares. But it had what I assumed to be its normal face, not a distorted version of my mum’s. Its normal face was pale, no hair, no eyes, no eyes, no nothing. Nothing but a tiny slit where it’s mouth should have been. As I stared at it and it stared back at me, stared with no eyes, the slit started to get bigger. It widened up to where its ears should have been, opening into the wide smile I would see in the nightmare. 

Its head tilted back all of a sudden in a silent laugh, its face ripping open from the smile. Then half the head dropped to the ground and the rest of the body fell into fleshy ribbons that disappeared, like they always did.

It was only then that I remembered my father, who was supposedly asleep in the bed. I honestly wasn’t all that surprised to see that he wasn’t there. In fact, there was no trace that he was even there in the first place. No wrinkles in the bed sheets, no fresh dent in the pillow from his head, nothing.

Not knowing what to do with my hanging mother, I left the room, leaving her corpse to swing back and forth. 

I walked back into my room, thinking that maybe if I went back to sleep, in the morning I would wake up and realise that this wasn’t real, because how could it? My door was closed, which was weird since I hadn’t closed it when I left. What was even weirder was the note that was taped to it.

She’s the first one.

It’s just a dream, I kept on telling myself as I opened my door and stumbled back into bed, ignoring the note. I curled up into a ball and brought my blankets up over my head and repeated the phrase “it’s just a dream” over and over again. I hoped eventually the tapping on my window would stop.

Next Chapter ->

Please review if you enjoyed it or have anything to say and give feedback or suggestions if you have anything.

[soniccrazygal]

Is wow a new bad guy who could have guessed!! I'm really excited for this one I hope you like it

It took in a while to get away from all the people... When they had gotten back to the car where Charlie waited, Michael could tell she wasn't at full strength. She immediately Hug both of them "Oh my God I was so worried!! I'm sorry! I couldn't come to help I just can barely hold myself together right now! I'm so sorry-" "We're OK Charlie let's get in the car And find another hotel I don't think this place is gonna let us back in..." Elizabeth pointed at the hotel Michael hadn't seen it since he was running but the front entrance had Been destroyed he could also see that there was blood inside... It only took a minute for them all to get in the car Charlie drove and Michael sat with Elizabeth in the back seat as she told her story.. "When you got nabbed by that thing that looks like baby at 1st I wanted to Save you.. But then it stepped forward and its hands turned into a taser and-" Tears collected in Elizabeth's eyes "Hey Liz don't cry... it's OK... That's what I want you to do.. your safety comes 1st" Michael hugged her. the black goo was Gone now most of it had fallen off during their walk, She was still glowing slightly but Michael didn't mind. "foxy continued chasing me... he kept on tearing through cars on the way a-and people to-o it was terrible.. Then you jumped on top of me and bit me.." Elizabeth pointed to her bite mark. Her shirt was torn where it happened and It was Almost fully healed which should be impossible- "I don't know what came over me Michael I just felt something... And I just ripped off its head like it was nothing.." Elizabeth looked at Michael terrified.. "Then I-I Ripped into it right there in the middle of the road.. Couldn't stop it was like I wasn't in control.. When I finally snapped out of it I ran to where you were and ripped that thing stomach open and got you out..."

There was silence for a moment then Charlie spoke."I was right circus baby's remnant definitely affecting you... I've never seen this happen before but.." Elizabeth hugged Michael again moving as close to him as she could. "I don't think we need to talk about this Charlie... Let's just find another shady motel and stay there.. Get our bearings again" Elizabeth didn't say anything just Hugged on as tight as she could to Michael like if she didn't he would disappear...

(Somewhere else in London)

Bethany took a long ship of the "cocktail" Remnant and alcohol mixed together swimmingly.. She could already feel the rot along her body undoing itself as the remnant worked its magic.. "Honestly I liked you better when you were half decayed..." Jack the man across from her gave her a Disappointed look... Bethany gave Jack a foul look and had another large ship. Jack was from America so of course he was crass.. She didn't know too much about him other than; His full name was Jack Davis Kennedy, he what's the product of a Irish businessman father and a East Asian actress, Had inherited his father's company and his mother's good looks, And was an all around @#$#.... "I'm honestly disappointed in you Bethany you didn't just fail spectacularly you killed and somehow altered both of them.. And manage to kill yourself in the process!" Bethany rolled her eyes.. how she had miss the feeling of actually being able to feel.. only a week as a undead undead had been miserable and she hadn't even fully rotted away yet... "I mean Mr. Afton's not too happy about it! But on the other hand he never really cared for the boy much and from the news reports the girl seems to have turned out perfect.." Bethany just rolled her Hold her eyes turning her head to the tv Located on the opposite wall. Footage of the attack and the girl ripping the Fox to shreds had been caught through a shaky home video Cam and The traffic cameras so it wasn't the best footage but Anyone could recognize that bright red hair. "So what are you going to do that I can't..." Bethany said finally feeling comfortable enough to take off her gloves. the skin had regenerated perfectly it still had a slightly purple tent to it but at least it wasn't completely decayed. "I'm going to catch them, take them to the States and take them to their Dad!" Bethany rolled her eyes again again.. the shadows we're beginning to stretch as the sun was setting. (If you were judging just on that there would only be a woman on the roof..)

It didn't take long for them to find a new hotel room and for Michael to contact Damian changing the place where the package would arrive. Charlie had went out with him leaving Elizabeth alone in the room. Her veins hadn't stopped glowing but they had dimmed.. As she sat there boardly flipping through channels she could have sworn she saw the figure and a boy in the static.. (Cassidy and Evan are trying to talk to her)

There you go new villain a bit more mystery and all done I hope you like this and interested to see where you take it Signed your Person who keeps on doing this random Tumblr user!

Elizabeth was going to just turn off the tv when she noticed all the static, but then she heard a voice that she hadn’t heard in a long time attempting to talk to her. Slowly creeping loser to the tv, she asked, “Evan?”

[jasper-dracona]

I hadn’t ever really realized how much I hate my body.

I thought that, despite avoiding all things fashion and beauty and makeup for most of my life, that it was just ridiculous ___-industry beauty standards getting to me. Getting under my skin and seeping into my mind, despite my complete rejection of those things and their ideas. And by extension, I thought that my hatred of my thighs and hips, my discomfort and frustration with my chest, my hatred of women’s-fitted tops and how they felt just ever so slightly restrictive in a way I loathed, was just part of the pervasive dissatisfaction that pretty much all women experience. I was just some enraged girl who wanted her jeans to fit, just like every one of her peers.

But then I found out that I was… actually considered hot? That my big hips, while not accommodated by most jeans, were conventionally attractive, that those fitted shirts were flattering and not awkward-looking like I thought.

So was it just personal perception? Well, not really, I had always had a “fuck it” approach to my own image. I didn’t care, and I was convinced that anyone who would care about how I looked more than, or even as much as, what I said or how I acted or what I thought wasn’t worth knowing. If you put appearance on the same level or above personality, behaviour, or ideas, then I didn’t wanna talk to you ever. So I never valued that kind of thing, and so thoughts of “my hips make me look fat and I’m not beautiful” were pretty fucking rare. They also always felt… a little forced? Like that wasn’t what my brain was telling me, that wasn’t a thought that sprung up out of nowhere. It was always something I consciously thought up, in a vain attempt to put words to the feeling I got when looking in the mirror.

But after some time and help from a friend, I can put that feeling into words, 2 of them to be precise.

Gender dysphoria.

And now that it has a name, now that I know what that nebulous gut discomfort and dissatisfaction and unease is, I unfortunately recognize it more often, and I can feel the… severity of it now.

To discover your transness is almost like discovering that you are one with an eldritch horror. You cannot separate yourself from it, and once you’ve learned the truth you cannot unlearn it.

I’ve found myself occasionally wishing I could go back to just being that enraged girl from grade 11 who hated all of her pants. Who wished her mom and her peers would shut up and stop suggesting she buy lace-y, colourful bras. Who met a trans guy and was so intrigued and curious that she was afraid she’d come across as nosey and rude and so she never asked him more than 3 questions, and only spoke to him a total of 4 times. Who always wanted to be one of the boys, and while she didn’t feel quite like one, she felt close enough, she guessed. Who wished above all else that no one ever buy her anything pink ever even once after she turned 10. That didn’t work.

But I can’t. I can’t be her again. Because even though I’ve been using the pronouns that he had at the time of his life I’m talking about, I’ve been misgendering him this whole time. He is a he. I am a boy.

And that hurts. It hurts that my body is wrong. I want to tear it to shreds every day. Back when I was a teenager, I was convinced that my “fuck it” attitude towards my body and appearance was self-love, self-acceptance, but it was tolerance. I ignored my body, I avoided bathrooms so I didn’t have to look at myself too often, I loathed shopping trips because the emotional and mental drain of jumping through mental hoops and convincing myself to play dress up doll with the body in the mirror to make an outfit that was tolerable enough to me and acceptable to others was exhausting.

But now I can’t even tolerate this thing. I want to cut open my chest myself, I want to rip out my uterus with my bare hands and claws I don’t have, I want to slice off my hips and thighs like 2 slabs of meat from a butcher. I’ve learned that it wasn’t about the tailoring of the pants, or the scratchiness of lace, and now it can never be about that again, and it hurts so much that I want to rip something apart.

I think one of the worst parts is my fear of people thinking that it was a shame that I changed my body. When I was a teenager I remember female family members boasting about how I got their “good genes” because I had big boobs like them and an hourglass shape. They made it sound like a gift they gave me, something I should express pride in back to them so they could feel they contributed something to my being and my happiness. So I mimicked that for a long time, I learned how to joke about and subtly boast my feminine characteristics, but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t taste a little sour in my mouth every time. But now that I mimicked that convincingly enough for like maybe 6 or 7 years, I fear that my family will think I’m making a mistake, or keep trying and trying and trying to convince me not to transition at all because they don’t want me destroying their gifts, which to them I liked for so long.

My realization was only in February, but honestly I’ve been willing to pull the trigger on my uterus at least since I was 13. What’s some breasts to go with it?

Being conventionally attractive for a girl makes being a trans man really fucking scary as it turns out. I mean, it would be even if I wasn’t, but it doesn’t help. I just think I’d commit murder and arson if anyone ever used before and after photos of me in the future to say something like “oh what a shame, we lost such a pretty girl to the trans agenda again.” I think I’d rip that person’s throat out with my teeth.

So I guess what I’m saying is I’ve got a long climb ahead. Both to transition, and to learn to love whatever my trans body turns out like. And unfortunately I’m gonna have to wait before I can start either.

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 53

Chapter Highlights (though kinda more like low cause ow)

Someone had set fire to her thigh. Not Aelin, because Aelin was gone, sealed in an iron sarcophagus and taken across the sea.

"Easy," a deep voice rumbled.

She knew that voice. Knew the scent—like a clear brook and new grass. Aedion. She dragged her eyes, heavy and burning, toward the sound.

His shining hair hung limp, matted with blood. And those turquoise eyes were smudged with purple beneath—and utterly bleak. Empty.

A rough tent stood around them, the sole light provided by a lantern swinging in the bitter wind that crept in through the flaps. She'd been piled high with blankets, though he sat on an overturned bucket, still in his armor, with nothing to warm him.

The last she remembered, she'd been facing those ilken, never so aware of the limitations of a mortal body, of how even Aelin, who seemed so tall as she swaggered through the world, was dwarted by the creatures. Then those claws had ripped into her leg. And she'd managed to make a perfect swing. To take one of them down.

"You rallied our army," he said. "We lost the battle, but they didn't run in shame." Lysandra managed to pull a hand from beneath the blankets, and strained for the jug of water set beside the bed. Aedion was instantly in motion, filling a cup.

"They all know?" A solemn nod.

"What did you tell them—about Aelin?"

"That she has been off on a vital quest with Rowan and the others. And that it is so secret we do not dare speak of it."

"Are the soldiers—"

"Don't worry about it," he repeated. But she could see it in his face. The strain.

They had rallied to their queen, only to realize it had been an illusion. That the might of the Fire-Bringer was not with them. Would not shield them against the army at their heels.

"I'm sorry," she breathed.

Aedion took the empty cup of water before he gripped her hand, squeezing gently. "I am sorry, Lysandra. For all of it." His throat bobbed again. "When I saw the ilken, when I saw you against them…"

Useless. Lying bitch. The words he'd thrown at her, raged at her, dragged her further from the haze of pain. Sharpened her focus.

"You did this," he said, voice lowering, "for Terrasen. For Aelin. You were willing to die for it, gods above."

"I was." Her words came out cold as steel.

Aedion blinked as she withdrew her hand from his. Her leg ached and throbbed, but she managed to sit up. To meet his stare. "I have been degraded and humiliated in so many ways, for so many years," she said, voice shaking. Not from fear, but from the tidal wave that swept up everything inside her, burning alongside the wound in her leg. "But I have never felt as humiliated as I did when you threw me into the snow. When you called me a lying bitch in front of our friends and allies. Never." She hated the angry tears that stung her eyes. "I was once forced to crawl before men. And gods above, I nearly crawled for you these months. And yet it takes me nearly dying for you to realize that you've been an ass? It takes me nearly dying for you to see me as human again?"

He didn't hide the regret in his eyes. She had spent years reading men and knew that every agonized emotion in his face was genuine. But it didn't erase what had been said, and done.

Lysandra put a hand on her chest, right over her own shredded heart. "I wanted it to be you," she said. "After Wesley, after all of it, I wanted it to be you. What Aelin asked me to do had no bearing on that. What she asked me to do never felt like a burden, because I wanted it to be you in the end anyway." She didn't wipe away the tears that slipped down her cheeks. "And you threw me into the snow."

Aedion slid to his knees. Reached for her hand. "I will never stop regretting it. Lysandra, I will never forget a second of it, never stop hating myself for it. And I am so—"

"Don't." She snatched back her hand.

"Don't kneel. Don't bother." She pointed to the tent flaps. "There's nothing I have left to say to you. Or you to me."

Agony again rippled across his face, but she shut out what it did to her. What it did to her to see Aedion rise to his feet, groaning softly at some unspecified ache in his powerful body.

For a few breaths, he just stared down at her.

Then he said, "I meant every promise I made to you on that beach in Skull's Bay."

And then he was gone.

Aedion had spent a good portion of his life hating himself for the various things he'd done.

But seeing the tears on Lysandra's face because of him ... He'd never felt like more of a bastard.

He barely heard the soldiers around him, tense and skittish in the snow that blew between their quickly erected tents. How many more wounded would die tonight?

He'd already pulled rank to get Lysandra care from the best healers they had left. And still it was not good enough, the healers not gifted magically. And despite Lysandra's quicker healing abilities, they'd still had to stitch up her leg. And now changed the bandages every few hours. The wound had sealed, mercifully, likely fast enough to avoid infection. Many of the injured amongst them could not say the same.

Aedion aimed for his own tent, set just outside the healers' ring of tents where Lysandra lay. Giving her a private tent had been another privilege he'd used his rank to acquire.

He'd almost reached the small tent —no use in building his full war tent when they'd be running again in a few hours-when he spotted the figures huddled by the fire outside. He slowed his steps to a stalking gait.

Ren rose to his feet, his face tight beneath his heavy hood. Yet it was the man beside Ren who made Aedion's temper hone itself into a dangerous thing.

"Darrow," he said. "I would have thought you'd be in Orynth by now."

The lord bundled in furs did not smile. "I came to deliver the message myself. Since my most trusted courier seems inclined to select another allegiance."

The old bastard knew, then. About Lysandra's masquerading as Aelin. And Nox Owen's role in moving their army out of his grasp.

"Let's get it over with, then," Aedion said Ren tensed, but said nothing.

Darrow's thin lips curved in a cruel smile.

"For your acts of reckless rebellion, for your failure to heed our command and take your troops where they were ordered, for your utter defeat at the border and the loss of Perranth, you are stripped of your rank."

Aedion barely heard the words.

"Consider yourself now a soldier in the Bane, if they'll have you. And as for the imposter you've paraded around..." A sneer toward the healers' tents.

Aedion snarled.

Darrow's eyes narrowed. "If she is again caught pretending to be Princess Aelin" —Aedion almost ripped out his throat at that word, Princess— "then we will have little choice but to sign her execution order."

"I'd like to see you try."

"I'd like to see you stop us."

Aedion smirked. "Oh, it's not me who you'd be dealing with. Good luck to any man who tries to harm a shifter that powerful."

Darrow ignored the promise and held out a hand. "The Sword of Orynth, if you will."

Ren started. "You're out of your mind, Darrow."

Aedion just stared. The ancient lord said, "That sword belongs to a true general of Terrasen, to its prince-commander. As you are no longer the bearer of that title, the sword shall return to Orynth. Until a new, appropriate bearer can be determined."

Ren growled, "That sword is in our possession, Darrow, because of Aedion. Had he not won it back, it would still be rusting in Adarlan's trove."

"He will always have our gratitude for it. If only in that regard, at least."

A dull roar filled Aedion's head. Darrow's hand remained extended.

He deserved this, he supposed. For his failure on these battlefields, his failure to defend the land he'd promised Aelin he'd save. For what he'd done to the shifter who had held his heart from the moment she'd shredded into those Valg soldiers in the sewers of Rifthold.

Aedion unbuckled the ancient sword from his belt. Ren let out a sound of protest. But he ignored the lord and tossed the Sword of Orynth to Darrow.

The lightness where that sword had been threw off his balance.

The old man stared at the sword in his hands. Even went so far as to run a finger over the bone pommel, the hateful bastard unable to contain his awe.

Aedion just said, "The Sword of Orynth is only a piece of metal and bone. It always has been. It's what the sword inspires in the bearer that matters. The true heart of Terrasen."

"Poetic of you, Aedion," was Darrow's reply before he turned on his heel, aiming for wherever his escort waited beyond the camp's edge. "Your commander, Kyllian, is now general of the Bane. Report to him for orders." The swirling snows devoured the old lord within a few steps.

Ren snarled, "Like hell you aren't general."

"The Lords of Terrasen decree it, and so it shall be."

"Why aren't you fighting this?" Ren's eyes blazed. "You just handed over that sword—"

"I don't give a shit." Aedion didn't bother to keep his exhaustion, his disappointment and anger, from his voice. "Let him have the sword, and the army. I don't give a shit."

Ren didn't stop him as Aedion ducked into his tent and didn't emerge until dawn.

The Lords of Terrasen had stripped General Ashryver of his sword.

The word spread from campfire to campfire, rippling through the ranks.

The soldier was new to the Bane, had been accepted into their ranks only this summer. An honor, even with war upon them. An honor, though the soldier's family had wept to see him depart.

To fight for Prince Aedion, to fight for Terrasen—it had been worth it, the weight of leaving his farmstead home behind. Leaving behind that sweet-faced farmer's daughter whom he'd never gotten the chance to so much as kiss.

It had been worth it then. But not now.

The friends he'd made in the months of training and fighting were dead.

Huddled around the too-small campfire, the soldier was the last of them, the fresh-faced recruits who'd been so eager to test themselves against the Valg at the start of summer.

In the dead heart of winter, he now called himself a fool. If he bothered to speak at all Words had become unnecessary, foreign. As foreign as his half-frozen body, which never warmed, though he slept as close to the fire as he dared. If sleep found him, with the screaming of the wounded and dying. The knowledge of what hunted them northward.

There was no one left to help them. Save them. The queen they'd thought amongst them had been a lie. A shape-shifter's deception.

Where Aelin Galathynius now fought, what she had deemed more important than them, he didn't know.

The frigid night pressed in, threatening to devour the small fire before him. The soldier inched closer to the flame, shuddering beneath his worn cloak, every ache and scrape from the day throbbing.

He wouldn't abandon this army, though.

Not as some of the others were murmuring.

Even with Prince Aedion stripped of his title, even with their queen gone, he wouldn't abandon this army.

He had sworn an oath to protect Terrasen.

To protect his family. He'd hold to it.

Even if he now knew he'd never see them again.

[beastscribbles]

spiraling

I’m becoming increasingly aware of the soul-crushing pain that comes with “friendship”

In specific, when someone was a whole chapter in your life but to them,

You’re just a footnote.

A brief phase,

A temporary solution.

And it destroys me every time

This imbalance scares me.

 That i could feel so deeply about someone for them to barely consider me a friend. 

Putting all your love and care into someone else.

And im so stupidly sensitive. Just this thought is driving me to tears

To love so deeply, just for it to be unreciprocated

Im terrified for this to happen, and maybe it already has

But its so tragic,

And its ripping me to shreds 

Because that is me. 

I put in effort. 

I try. 

I tell them what i like

In ask them what they like

I make gifts

I share whats important to me.

Only for,

Stop talking,

Literally no one cares

Or she just ignores me. 

Why.

Why am i so hard to love. 

Why do i feel so deeply

Why do i get attached so quickly.

I really hate it. 

The ephemerality of it all. 

Of high school.

Of life.

Of people.

And why cant i seem to make the 

long lasting,

Ride or die,

Deep, 

Emotional,

Friendships

I hate how people pass in and out so quickly.

I remember when i was younger,

I had stopped talking to a friend

And i was so torn.

My parents said,

the friends you make will change

So i nodded, and i agreed.

But again i ask why?

Why do they pass in and out so quickly. 

Is it me?

Am i doing something wrong?

Am i simply unloveable?

My mind is often consumed with the thought of,

I wonder, do they even remember me?

I wonder if my elementary school best friend even cares any more.

If those 4 years spent together even ment any thing.

Because how? I ask myself? how do you just move on from someone like that. 

Just let them go,

Like a fire fly you capture in your hands, on summer evenings. 

You marvel at it, and them release it. 

After that its been forgotten.

And i wonder did my past friends share the same, 

Subliminal sentiment.

I also wonder for how long. 

How long will i just be footnotes and after thoughts.

And one day after i have lived a long life and died, will any one remember?

Am i just someone to disappear into history,

Fading into oblivion?

                                Will i ever even matter to anyone besides myself?

[multiplegraveyard]

I just came across this wild story I wrote when I was 12 and I couldn’t not share it with the weirdos of tumblr because what was even going through my mind when I wrote this

The beluga whale swam lazily away from the cacophony that was his front yard, where flower demons were screaming at the house. He had woken up to a high pitched screech that hadn't stopped in five minutes. After some time, he'd gotten annoyed, grabbed his fanny pack and left the place. The demons continued to screech at him. "Ughhhhhhh," the beluga whale had mumbled. "I am SO not in the mood for this right now." Off in the distance, he spotted a plethora of children playing innocently in the lake, giggling as they tossed a ball around. He swam over and slapped a kid across the face. "AAAAAAA!" They screamed, attempting to rush out of the water, cowering as they splashed to shore. There was one little kid that was lagging though. The perfect target. Roast swam in front of him, blocking his path. "Back off, ye who dares cross I!" yelled the impertinent individual. "Chill bro," replied the whale calmly. "I just need to use you as bait." "Me?!?!?!" The kid gasps. "How DARE you? Do you know how rich my father is?" He held his chin up haughtily. Roast sighs. This is why he hated children. "Don't know, don't care. Now come with me." "I shalt never surrender myself, for I am the great William Chad Peter Douglas the fifteenth!" He swam in the opposite direction, away from Roast. Roast sighed again. "Come on, mate, I haven't even had my iced coffee yet!" The kid did not slow down. "UGHHHHH". The beluga whale was not having this anymore. In one swift motion, he swam in front of the kid, accentuated his fanny pack, pressed a button, and bamboozled him with water proof gummy worms. "Oops. Wrong one." He pressed another button. Bungee cords sprung out from his pack, wrapped themselves around the kid, and tied him to the fanny pack. "Hey! This is unacceptable! I express outrage!" "Go ahead I guess." The whale dived under the water and the kid's eyes went wide. He quickly held his breath. They got back to his house and saw the flower demons, still screaming. "Here, take this as a peace offering" communicated the whale telepathically. "K" answered one demon. Roast released the kid and the demons grabbed him, dragging him off into a hidden cave, presumably to be ripped to shreds and devoured. "Alrighty. Now that I've got that settled, I'm thinking of grabbing some iced coffee over at the Broken Seabass", though the whale to himself. "No!!!! Help me!!!", yelled the kid as he clawed at the rocks, using all his effort to try and get away from the flower demons. Roast took one look at his shirt, which had the phrase 'Boss Man' written across his chest, and said "Nah". He swam off, the kid's voice suddenly muffled behind him. "Iced coffee, here I come," sang Roast to himself. Suddenly a weird purple blob appeared in front of him. "It is I, the great wizard of the west, here to tell you that you have the task of saving the world." The whale looked the blob up and down. "From who?" "Demons," replied the blob mysteriously. "Those guys? Oh, we're cool now. Its actually kinda funny. They were like, yelling at my house so I gave them a kid as a peace offering and now they don't bother me anymore. Now can I PLEASE go buy my iced coffee?" "Not yet, young lad, for I can see into the future. Let me take a quick look... AHA. In seven minutes, the demons will be back. To corrupt the entire world and kill everyone they find." "Seven minutes is plenty of time to get to Broken Seabass and maybe make it back in time to "stop the demons" or whatever you just said, I wasn't really listening. So I'm going, whether you like it or not." Roast effortlessly maneuvered around the blob. He had an aptitude for these sort of things. The blob was too slow to catch up to him, so the whale was home free. He zipped through the waves, catching the currents, until he reached the Broken Seabass Grill and Bar.

(Continued in next post)