#whitt's reply

[whittlorestrash]

Could you draw krossmare 👀?

silly

[ace-malarky]

Assassin

Which really would have been the perfect prompt for Sparkles, perhaps, but that is not how the dice rolled so here we are with Ishal; herbologist, medic, researcher.

this setting is not one of the Mist Worlds but a joint project with an old friend that she seems to think? we've finished with? jokes on her; I kept writing even when she stopped responding to letters

~~

 There were supplies missing from her stores. Not much – not enough to be noticeable, if Ishal didn’t know the weights and placements of everything in her shack intimately.

 Whoever had taken it was good; barely anything else disturbed, which very much ruled out Irith. While he wouldn’t remember to say anything, he wouldn’t have hidden his presence.

 “And I suppose you saw nothing,” she said to Mals.

 Her pentaloft rolled her head towards her and burbled, not shifting from her sprawled out position on the roof.

 Ishal rolled her eyes and returned inside to check. The plants that had been taken nagged at her and she wanted to check her notes before she acted on anything.

 It didn’t take long. Ishal knew her stock, knew her plants. She just hadn’t wanted to believe it before, which was nonsense. She was a scientist, a biologist, a botanist. She knew the use of every plant in here, both on its own and in conjunction with others.

 “Shit.” Ishal ran her hands through her hair – loosened from its horsetail already by frequent use of the same motion – and stayed still long enough to work out a plan.

 Then she bolted from the building, running for the main structure, where she prayed to anyone listening that Ilse or Prianthus are inside. She’d take Ari or Jolek, but–

 Ishal ran.

 Oli was just inside the door, and he pulled to the side as she charged in. “Ishal?”

 “Ilse?” she asked.

 “Upstairs,” he replied, ��she’s with–”

 But Ishal was gone, launching herself upwards along the curving staircase.

 “Wait, what’s happening?” he called after her as he followed.

 Ishal burst into the sitting room, startling the whole group.

 Prianthus and Ari both reached for their weapons. Nyssa grabbed the knife from zir plate. Jolek turned, shifting as if to run. Ilse flinched back in her seat.

 “Ishal,” Prianthus said, recovering first. “What is the problem?”

 “None of you have eaten anything yet?” Ishal asked.

 “No, Olizaar has only just brought it up.” Ilse frowned.

 “Good. Don’t.” Ishal fought not to bend over and pant.

 “What’s happening?” Oli appeared in the doorway behind her.

 “Poison,” Ishal said. “Plants stolen, nasty–”

 “Malle–” Ilse started to say.

 “She wouldn’t,” Oli interrupted. “Sorry. But. She wouldn’t.”

 “I meant it might be for her, we should–” Ilse flicked a glance towards Jolek.

 “She eats with the rest of the students,” Ari said with a growl.

 “She also isn’t our only high-profile student.” Prianthus kept his voice calm and level.

 “Oh, that wasn’t what I–”

 “Ari,” Nyssa said. “Stop.”

 “It’s far more likely to be someone known to take meals separately.” Ishal straightened up, walked further in, and reached for the nearest dish. “Oli, was there anyone new in the kitchen?”

 “I – you know what turnover’s like down there, they don’t outlast Ari for–”

 “With fewer jokes,” Ishal snapped. She would apologise later.

 “Sorry. Um – there might have been – I thought he was just delivering supplies, but they don’t hang around that much.” Oli hesitated. “Unless he’s sweet on someone.”

 “Ari, stay put,” Prianthus said. “Jolek, you go with Olizaar. If he’s still around, don’t let him leave.”

 Jolek grinned and saluted, peeling away from the wall. “C’mon, kiddo. We can grab some food, too.”

 Ishal set down the plate and reached for the next.

 “We don’t have specific plates,” Ilse said, watching her. “If this is targeted, it seems sloppy.”

 “Yes, but–” Ishal froze, a plate in her hands. “Who was going to eat from this one?” She didn’t have to ask, really; the way it was loaded more to a northern palate gave it away as one of two people, and Nyssa had never eaten that much since she’d known zir.

 Ari frowned. “Me, but–”

 “If you are about to ask why, don’t,” Ilse said, sounding as close to snapping as Ishal had ever heard her. “You are one of the founders. You ride an elemental. Your death would disrupt a lot.”

 “Besides which,” Nyssa said, “as far as anyone knows, you are the sole survivor of the Satar clan.”

 Ari looked at her cousin. “Not Malle, then.”

 “She’s supremely uninterested in the politics of any clan outside the true North of the frozen circle.” Nyssa’s tone was arch, gently mocking.

 “I will – dispose of this.” Ishal covered the plate over with a waxed cloth from her pocket. “I advise that you all get new plates, regardless.

#

 It took longer than she would like to neutralise the poison. They’re far more up Irith’s tree, but he’s nowhere to be found. Again. As usual.

 Ishal ignored that, focusing on picking it apart. No one ingested. That’s good. She should, perhaps, teach them a class on identifying poisons.

 Or get Irith to. Maybe that would get him to focus.

 “Ishal?” Oli poked his head around the door.

 “You aren’t interrupting,” she replied.

 “Good. Because we found the poisoner. Ilse wants you there. If you’re… ready.” He didn’t come any further in.

 Ishal swept the remnants of the food into a pouch and sealed it. “Yes. Sorry.” She joined him at the door. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

 “It was a tense moment.” Oli shrugged.

 “Still.” Ishal squeezed his arm. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

 Oli smiled at her. “Well, when you put it like that.” He laughed. “Come on, let’s condemn an assassin and see what passes for justice around here.”

 “Assassin?” Ishal let out a puff of laughter. “Is that what they’re saying?”

 “Well, he did try to kill Ari, so.” Oli shrugged. “It’s accurate.”

 Ishal hummed and followed Oli back to the castle.

 Mals was more alert now, still perched up on the roof above the door but with her eyes focused on the path.

 Oli shouldered his way past the students who were milling about, avoiding their questions.

 “They know something’s happened.”

 “I mean yeah, they’re not dumb. Most of them.” Oli shot her a grin. “Plus, you made a spectacle when you launched yourself across.”

 Ishal hummed again.

 Oli led her into a room that rarely saw use. It was bare stone, thin slits of windows, not quite big enough to be a hall. There had been steps down into it, but not enough to put them fully underground and into the tunnels.

 Ishal started to look for a way down before she realised that the room was already occupied, and snapped her attention to them.

 There was Ilse and Prianthus, standing beside each other, Jolek to the side and Ari in the corner with a cloaked figure that Ishal assumed was Nyssa in her shadow.

 There was one more person; he looked to be from the north, like Ari and Nyssa and Malle, but he was dressed in worn labourer’s clothing and his hair was cropped short. He was standing, arms tied behind him, and was sporting a split lip and a swelling eye.

 “This is our thief?” Ishal asked.

 “Our would-be assassin, please,” Jolek said. “Don’t align him with me.”

 Prianthus shot him a warning glare.

 Their prisoner laughed. “I’d heard the rumours about a criminal in the ranks of these claimed riders. The beast must have been quite desperate. Or an easily led fool.”

 Jolek’s face tightened into a scowl.

 “Don’t,” Prianthus said, and for a moment it was unclear who he spoke to.

 A growl rumbled in through the windows and Jolek frown became a smirk.

 “They’re listening as well. So, you know. Be careful.”

 “Why did you attempt to kill me?” Ari asked. “Actually – why did you come at me like a coward?”

 Jolek muffled a laugh. “Priorities.”

 “Because we don’t want you coming back to claim the throne,” he answered easily enough.

 Ari squinted at him as she parsed his words. “I – I left, I was never in line, you just wanted our whole clan wiped out.” Ari stroked down the haft of one of her axes.

 He tiled his chin up, unafraid or resigned. “That should never have delayed your death.”

 “And then you failed,” Ari said.

 “Did your clan leader send you?” Prianthus asked.

 “He should have.”

 “Is that why you stole supplies from me?” Ishal asked. “No blessing from your clan?”

 “They will award my initiative.”

 “If you’d succeeded,” Jolek said.

 “If you get back.” Ari’s voice was light, noncommittal.

 Ishal shot her a glance; she was still stroking her axe, her face carefully still.

 Ilse shifted on her feet, almost as if she was going to caution Ari, but she didn’t say anything.

 “We don’t have any higher judgement than us,” Prianthus said, seeing Ishal’s glance.

 “Well, the dragons, but I think they’d jut as soon eat you,” Jolek said.

 “This is a Northern problem,” Ari said. “As such.”

 Nyssa placed zir hand on Ari’s shoulder.

 “Are we just here for witnesses?” Ishal asked, folding her arms. “He stole as well.”

 “Would you like his hand?” Ari asked.

 Ishal tilted her head. “What would I do with that?”

 “Don’t toy with your prey, Ari,” Ilse murmured.

 The prisoner snorted. “Children that you are, do you not know how the world works?”

 Ari growled.

 Nyssa squeezed Ari’s shoulder and stepped past her. Ze slipped an axe from Ari’s waist as ze walked on.

 The prisoner frowned at zir. “What are you, her dog? Do you dirty your hands when the failed bodyguard is too much of a coward?”

 Nyssa pushed back zir hood. “No, I’m proof of your failure.”

 He frowned. “You–”

 “Nyssa Satara, heir to the Satar clan.” Ze was smaller than him, slighter, but ze carried zirself with the grace of the whip tailed dog when it knows that a meal is close at hand. “We survive.”

 His eyes widened; he took a step back, as if that would help him avoid what was coming.

 Nyssa drew zir hand back, flipped the axe in zir grip, and sliced it across his throat.

 Ilse let out a gasp and covered her mouth with her hands. Jolek tried to shape his shock into amusement and mostly failed.

 Prianthus and Ari barely blinked.

 Nyssa stepped back to avoid the blood that was spilling down his front, and handed Ari back her axe as the man dropped to the floor behind zir. “I trust no one contests my judgement?”

 Jolek let out a high-pitched noise and then cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s a – a bit late for that, I think.”

 “What do you intend to do with the body?” Ilse asked, fighting to keep her voice level.

 “Feed it to the dragons,” Oli suggested.

 Everyone turned to him like they’d forgotten he was there.

 “What?” He shrugged. “They’ll be hungry.”

 “That won’t even scratch the surface for one of them.” Jolek flicked his gaze down to the body.

 “Can I have it?” Ishal asked.

 “What are you going to do with it? Your penta can’t possibly eat all that.”

 “Oh, it’s not for her.” Ishal shook her head. “Research. It’s not often I get a chance at a fresh corpse.”

 “Horrifying,” Prianthus said dryly.

 “If Nyssa and Ari have no objections?” Ilse glanced at them.

 Ari shrugged. “Let something good come of him.”

 Ishal nodded. Maybe this would get her brother out of his head for a bit.

[woozyhere]

🎶 !! :-)

send me a 🎶 and I'll reply with 3 songs that remind me of our muses <3

🎶 . tonight you are mine - the technicolors

🎶 . rule #34 - fish in a birdcage

🎶 . where the watermelons rot - madelynne whitt

[eris-anansi]

Dreamwood 1999

Episode 1: Déjà Vu, Part 1: American Hero

After settling back into Dreamwood, Detective Parker Caldwell must immediately solve a puzzling murder case linked to his encounter with a strange creature in the woods.

CW: Implied violence and murder, graphic depictions of violence, character death, and the like.

Associated Song: Madelynne Whitt - Where the Watermelons Rot

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

2 years ago…

A loud and sudden crash woke Nathan from his slumber at four in the morning. It was pitch black, and his wife still slept soundly beside him. Groggily he forced himself to sit up with a slightly irritated grunt, his vision a blur as his eyes steadily adjusted to the dark. He flinched when he noticed the small figure standing in the doorway; that of a familiar young boy who must’ve been no older than fourteen.

“Wh-” He blinked, rubbing his eyes. “What’re you doin’ up at this hour? Go on back to bed,” he said tiredly. 

The boy took several steps forward.

“...Son?” Nathan’s voice bent with confusion. He watched him carefully.

“Honey, what’s going on?” A voice softly mumbled as his wife started to wake up. 

“I don’t know, Mariah. The boy’s actin’ strange.”

Mariah glanced up at her son, her eyes gliding down to something in his hand. “What’s he holding?” 

“Good question, I-” Nathan paused for a moment. “Boy, what the hell?! Put that thing away!”

He had held up the object for his parents to clearly see; the little bit of light from the window reflected upon the blade of a kitchen knife. 

Mariah shot up, now fully awake. “What are you doing with that thing?!”

“Trying to scare you,” the boy replied in a monotone. His voice was raspy, as though he barely made the effort to speak. 

“Yeah, well it’s working. You can stop it now- it isn’t funny anymore,” Nathan responded, his tone gaining an authoritative quality. 

The boy was quiet for a moment. Then he finally said, “Tough crowd…”

Tired and frustrated, Nathan snapped. “Is this some kind of joke to you? It’s four in the morning, and you’re threatening us with a knife as a joke.”

There were a few moments of silence before Nathan took a deep breath and spoke again, more calmly yet still, very tired, “Just put… put that thing back where you found it and go back to your room… your mother and I would like to go to sleep.”

The son replied, “Do it then.” 

“Huh?”

“Go to sleep.” 

In a swift motion, he slashed the knife across his father’s cheek. Mariah’s piercing shriek filled the halls of the family home only to fall on deaf ears.

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

Monday, September 5th, 1999.

“Parker Caldwell, 39 years old, war veteran. Son of Jackson Caldwell. One highlight of your time in Manhattan was catching the Elysium Killer…”

Parker sat in a dimly lit office painted shades of grey and brown, a bearskin rug resting in the middle of the floor in front of his chair. In front of him, a desk with a chair inhabited by a large and inquisitive man in a blue uniform. He had a bald head and tan complexion, his face weathered by experience. His eyes scanned a paper and his brows furrowed, showing that he was impressed. “This is one heck of a record, boy.”

“Thank you, Chief Bowers,” he replied humbly. 

The man laughed, “Please, call me Benjamin. You’re a Caldwell and a national hero. Your courage in the Gray War will be remembered for centuries in Dreamwood– and hopefully American– history."

Parker gave a nod. “Just trying to live up to the Caldwell legacy. I only wish I could have done more to contribute to the fight…” He practically mumbled that last part.

“Well you're certainly doing a hell of a job. But let me ask you this– what makes you think you’re qualified for this one?” 

“I think if I can handle Manhattan I can handle a town like this,” Parker replied matter-of-factly. 

Chief Bowers snorted and said, “I’m just messin’ with you, Parker. Your background speaks for itself. You ventured into enemy territory and faced evil. True evil. Rest assured we don’t have evil like that here in Dreamwood.”

“I don’t remember that growing up,” Parker nodded. “This was always a peaceful town if I remember correctly.”

“Because of men like your father who upheld order. You said yourself that you wanted to follow in the Caldwell footsteps, correct?” 

The words barely escaped Parker’s mouth before the door swung open and Chief Bowers glanced up at the wild man who stood in the doorway. “Chief,” he began. “We gotta talk–” He trailed off as he noticed Parker. “Oh, hey there. I almost din’ see you.”

Parker blinked.

The man had messy blond hair, a neatly trimmed mustache, and a crazy light in his eyes. He wore a dark brown trench coat over a white shirt and black tie. Atop his head sat a wide-brimmed hat reminiscent of a cowboy. 

“Parker, meet Thomas,” Chief Bowers introduced him. 

“Thomas Wheeler. Detective Thomas Wheeler, at your service.” He offered his hand for Parker to shake. Parker shook his hand, a look of surprise still written on his face. Thomas spared the chief a glance and said, “Our conversation can wait. I’m sorry for bargin’ in.”

“That’s what you always say,” the chief replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “But since you’re here, I guess you’ll be the first to meet our new rookie. He’s Jackson’s son..”

Parker had been silent the entire time, his gaze remaining glued to Thomas. Finally, he spoke.

“...Thomas?”  

Wheeler dropped the act and smirked. “I was waitin’ for you to recognize me.”

A puzzled look came over Chief Bowers. “You two know eachother??”

“Are you kiddin’ me?!” Thomas laughed. “Only since eighth grade!”

Parker nodded in agreement, a small grin forming on his face.

“It’s been a long time, Caldwell,” Thomas said with a smile. “Welcome back to Dreamwood. Welcome home, king.”

“Thomas, you idiot-” Parker snorted, “C’mere.”

Chief Bowers watched as the two men performed an elaborate handshake, like two middle schoolers, before hugging eachother. “Huh. Who woulda thought. You two have history.”

“History is an understatement,” Thomas responded with a chuckle. Then he glanced at Parker. “Is it really true you’re going to be joining the force? I thought you were a New Yorker now,” he emphasized ‘New Yorker’ with an exaggerated New York accent. 

“I was. I just moved back yesterday. It’s a long story I’ll have to explain later,” Parker answered.

“Sooner rather than later, brother. I love a good long story.” Thomas grinned.

“Dreamwood oughta be a much needed change of pace from the chaotic streets of Manhattan,” Chief Bowers added. “The Dreamwood Police Department is honored to have you, sir.” He held out his hand and Parker shook it. 

“When do I start, sir?”

As if on cue, the phone on the desk rang off loudly and suddenly. Chief Bowers picked up and answered, “DWPD, who is this?” The voice on the other line responded, inaudible to Parker and Thomas. Whatever they said, it made the old chief grimace.  The chief turned his gaze back to Parker and asked, “Can you start today?” 

“I’ll need my uniform,” Parker answered simply. 

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

The countryside was lush and green, which contrasted greatly with the gray sky that hung over it. Underneath a sky where the sun was barely visible, the landscape stretched on for miles. A concrete road split through what otherwise would have been nothing but farmland and scenic pastures dividing Dreamwood’s more urban district from its rural outskirts. 

“What the hell happened here?”

Parker, Thomas, and several other officers stood at the wreckage of a silver vehicle that had its front crumpled up against a tall evergreen. Smoke rose from the vehicle’s hood and both front windows were shattered. A misplaced tire rested in the grass beside it. Forensics were scattered about the scene. 

“Looks to me like the car swerved off the road,” Thomas observed. “Ya think somethin’ made it do that?”

 “We wouldn’t be here if they thought this was just a common case of some idiot driving drunk,” Parker said. “Have we identified a body?” 

Just then one of the forensics approached. “We identified the driver as 38-year-old Susan Stephens. We have reason to believe she was driving over 80 miles per hour. Her 7-year-old daughter was in the backseat.” 

���Who speeds with a kid in the car?...” Thomas murmured.

“Who drives 80 on a 30 per hour street.” Parker added.

“We don’t think she was driving under the influence,” said the forensic examiner. “And when examining the daughter’s body we discovered.. abnormal injuries.”

“Define abnormal?...”

“It appears her throat was slashed before the accident. Perhaps with a large knife of some kind.”

Thomas grimaced. “Jesus christ…”

“We found similar wounds on Susan’s arms as well,” the examiner added. “They definitely didn’t get those from the crash.”

“They were running from something,” Parker thought aloud. “Maybe Susan was trying to rush her daughter to the hospital… maybe she didn’t see where she was going.” 

“Is there anyone close to Susan who might’ve known what happened?” Thomas asked the examiner. 

The young man nodded, “Susan was married to one Harvey Stephens. They lived not too far from here, the opposite way down the road.”

“So that’s likely where she was coming from,” Parker concluded. “We have to talk to her husband.”

A distant, “What the fuck!” caught the detectives’ attention. Parker and Thomas snapped their heads in the car’s direction, where two of their men were gazing in both awe and horror at what they had discovered on the side of the vehicle. Whatever it was, the two detectives couldn’t see it from where they stood. 

“What is it?” Parker asked as he approached. 

“You’re not gonna believe this one, man,” one of the investigators motioned to the front door of the car. 

Parker’s gaze followed, and he muttered, “What in God’s name…” It looked as if something– some kind of animal, something huge– had tried to claw its way inside the car. Massive slash marks left tears in the metal of the car door, giving a clear view into the driver’s seat where Susan’s body still sat limp at the wheel. 

Thomas stared for a moment, his mind trying to make sense of the information his eyes were processing. He glanced at his childhood friend for answers, only to see that Parker was having a crisis of his own. “We don’t have wolves in Dreamwood, do we?” 

Parker shook his head, “You and I both know we don’t. And even if we did, no wolf has claws that strong- or that huge…” 

“Then what the hell, Parker? What’re we dealin’ with here??” Thomas questioned. “Ion know what to make of this.” 

Parker glanced back at the forensic examiner. “You said they lived back down there, yeah?” He pointed in the direction the car had come from, to which the young man nodded. “Then we’re paying Harvey a visit.”

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

On the way to the Stephens residence Parker caught Thomas up on everything with his father and even a bit about his time in Manhattan- and his experience fighting in the Grey War. 

“Something my father said to me still lingers in my mind,” Parker told him. “A lot of things do, actually- but this one thing in particular. He said that not a lot of things in this life make sense, and that I would come to learn that with age.”

Thomas snorted, “Well is the old man wrong? A lotta things about this world don’t make sense, Parker. I wouldn’t overanalyze it.”

“You know I’m going to overanalyze anyway, Thomas.”

Thomas knew Parker long enough to know damn well. “Well yeah, but as you do, keep in mind that you shouldn’t.”

The two pulled up in the driveway in front of the address they were given to Susan Stephens’ home. They got out of the car and walked up to the porch, and Parker knocked at the front door. “Dreamwood Police Department! We want to talk to you.”

For a short moment there was no answer. Then, finally, the door opened, and a short man stood in the doorway. “Good morning, officers.”

“Are you Harvey Stephens?” Thomas asked.

The man nodded. He had messy, light brown hair. Freckles dotted his pale skin. He wore a beige sweater vest over a white polo shirt with matching brown pants. His eyes were bloodshot with dark circles underneath them. Parker concluded that he hadn’t slept the previous night, and he understood why. “Then you should know why we’re here,” he said. Harvey nodded once again. “Come in.” 

Harvey led the two men into his living room, a quaint space decorated with potted flowers and old fashioned paintings of farmland and green plains. Some of the potted plants were knocked over and shattered on the floor. Parker noticed distinct claw marks on the walls- just like the ones on the car door. “Please, take a seat. Can I offer you anything? Water? Tea?” Parker gave a, “No, thank you,” as he took a seat on the sofa followed by Thomas. Harvey sat on the opposite side of the coffee table.

Parker took another look at the claw marks on the wall. “Are those from last night?” He asked.

Harvey nodded. “How– how did you know?”

“We found something similar on the car your wife was driving. Whatever did that damage… it was in your house last night. That means you saw it, didn’t you?”

He nodded again. With more hesitation. “If I told you what I saw, I’d be shipped off to Myerscough by the end of the day. I woke up this morning wondering if I had dreamed it all, until I realized that I had woken up alone… and I never heard their voices…” His voice trailed off. 

“No matter how crazy it sounds, Harvey, we’ll believe you,” Thomas reassured him. “You have to tell us what happened that night.”

“I drew a sketch of the monster that killed my daughter,” Harvey said. He stood up and went to retrieve a piece of paper, which he returned with and placed on the table for the detectives to see. “I remember it clear as day.”

They looked at the sketch of the strange animal. It looked more humanoid than anything else, clearly of mammalian origin. It was hairless and pale. Skinny, malnourished even. Its ribs were accentuated and its eyes were sunken. It had three of them. One eye sat directly in the middle of its head, the other two on either side of the center eye. It stood on all fours like some kind of contorted primate, its upper body supported by arms that ended in boney hands armed with long, knifelike talons. 

Harvey watched their expressions. “I believe this is the part where you alert the madhouse, yeah?” He chuckled, but it was void of any lighthearted nature. More defeated than anything else.

Thomas started to say something, but he barely got a syllable out before Parker said, “I’ve seen this thing before.” Thomas’ head snapped in Parker’s direction, “I beg your pardon?” 

Parker stared at the sketch for a moment, recounting the creature he encountered on his way from Nathan’s house– the creature he almost ran over. Thomas stared at his friend as if he had just sprouted a pair of wings. Harvey shared a similar expression. 

Parker looked up at Harvey. “I don’t think you’re crazy, Harvey. I’ve seen it, too.”

“That creature appeared at the foot of our bed late last night,” Harvey said. “Stared at us for what must’ve been two minutes, before scrambling into our daughter’s room and-” His voice broke slightly as memories came flooding back, “I watched her die,” he said. “She was so scared… she kept calling my name, she could barely speak because she was choking on her own blood–” he choked back a sob. “My wife thought we could still save her. She rushed her to the car and sped off, hoping she could reach the hospital in time and… that night I got a call from the police department saying that she had crashed into a tree and neither of them had survived.”

“We’re deeply sorry for your loss, Mr Stephens, but are you sure that what you saw wasn’t some kinda feral dog?” Thomas suggested. “Or a crazed hobo do you reckon? It must’ve been dark when you saw it.”

“I know what I saw!” Harvey almost snapped. “I’m not crazy, even your partner’s seen the thing. There’s… there’s something out there.”

Thomas wanted to curse Parker for encouraging the man whose perception was clearly still clouded by grief. “You’ve told us everything we needa know. Thank you for your time.” He stood up, motioning for Parker to follow. Parker took the sketch and folded it. “Thank you, Mr. Stephens. We’ll be in touch.” The two detectives left the house. 

When they left the porch, Thomas glanced at Parker. “What the hell was that, man?” He chided. 

“I told him the truth,” Parker responded. “Whatever he claims he saw, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it, too. That moment’s been haunting me since I got here...” 

“You saw a deer. A hairless deer, Parker,” Thomas insisted.

“It was by no means shaped like a deer, Thomas. It was shaped like a man. No animal I’ve ever seen has claws like that… or moves the way that it did. It walked like it had a broken spine.”

Thomas tsked, looking around. “What the hell are we supposed to tell the chief?” 

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

“I’m gonna need you to repeat that a lot slower,” Chief Bowers said after Parker got through telling his story. The three stood in Bowers’ office, and Parker had just shown the chief the sketch of their only suspect– a creature that looked like something out of H.P. Lovecraft’s nightmares.

“Harvey claims that this is the thing that killed his wife and daughter,” Parker explained once more, sparing the details this time around.

“And the part where you say you saw it yourself?” Bowers raised an eyebrow.

“I nearly crashed into something standing in the road when I was driving from my brother’s house,” Parker said. “I swear it looked almost just like the sketch… that same boney figure, the three eyes- it’s all too familiar.”

“The man’s done lost his mind comin’ home from the war…” Thomas mumbled.

A dark shadow fell over Chief Bowers’ face. “I hate to admit it, but… this isn’t the first time I’ve heard a report like this.”

Thomas blinked. “And you’re jus’ now tellin’ us about it?”

“All month we’ve been getting reports of strange activity in the woods,” Chief Bowers said. “People going for hikes n’ never coming back. Screams that sound barely human. Animal carcasses with their organs torn to ribbons, almost in a ritualistic sort of way…”

Thomas scoffed. “That’s… that’s crazy. Crazy doesn’t happen in a town like this.”

“It ain’t supposed to,” Bowers replied. “Last week 21-year-old Michael Foster turned up missing. The search is still ongoing. He ain’t even the first. People have been vanishing all month.”

“So we have a trail of disappearances,” Thomas started, “and this three-eyed monster that so far only two people have seen. An’ we think they’re linked?”

“I don’t like it,” Parker said. “It’s the only lead we have, though.”

“Parker’s right. It’s all we have right now,” Bowers agreed. “And all of these occurrences seem to be concentrated in one particular part of the forest…”

“Close to Devil’s Lake,” Parker finished. 

Bowers nodded. “If I were you two, I’d start there. If there is some kind of creature out there you’d best search near Devil’s Lake.”

“We can set up cameras tonight,” Thomas thought aloud. “Fly a couple drones. One of ‘em’s gotta spot somethin’. Then it all comes down to catchin’ the darn thing– or whatever is out there.”

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

That evening Parker visited his father in the hospital. This made his third visit, and his second since he moved from Manhattan. 

Jackson’s condition hadn’t changed for better or for worse; he was stagnant, unmoving. It made Parker anxious. The dull, dreary atmosphere of the hospital room didn’t help much either. A dim ceiling light bathed the room in the most unpleasant yellowish white, a pot of wilting flowers rested on the table beside his bed, and the television they installed played the same channel every single day. Parker wondered if they ever changed it- or if they even could.

“How’s Dreamwood treatin’ you, son?” His father asked. 

To which Parker responded, “It’s certainly treating me.” He kept the answer vague so as not to hurt his father’s feelings. He particularly remembered how fond he was of this town. The way he treasured it. 

Jackson laughed. “That’s what they all say.”

Parker looked at him. “You didn’t tell me about what happened to Nathan’s family,” he said. 

“Yeah? I didn’t.” His father had a matter-of-fact attitude. “Figured it’d be best if you heard it from the man himself. How much did he tell you?”

“He told me enough,” Parker answered. 

Senior hummed thoughtfully. “Shame about the boy. He’s still in Myerscough if I recall…” He trailed off for a moment. “I visited him once or twice. He’s way more pleasant when he’s behind glass.” Parker was surprised that the place ever reopened. Last he recalled, Myerscough was closed down for numerous accusations of mistreatment of patients. He wondered how the old asylum managed to get reopened, or why a facility like that was even allowed to exist in this time period. 

Jacksonr’s attention turned to the TV, where an old reporter addressed the camera with a somber expression. “As tensions in the East reach a boiling point, the president promises a swift end to the war.”

Parker scoffed. “He’s been promising that for almost two years now.”

“Those communists have gone and ruined everything,” Jackson muttered. “You’d think things would’ve gotten better after we got rid of the Soviets.”

“There are scarier things out there than the USSR,” Parker responded, his gaze still fixed on the television.

A knock at the door called for both men’s attention. It was followed by a soft voice, “Hello? Mr. Caldwell?”

Jackson Caldwell seemed to recognize the voice. “Come in,” he said.

The door opened with a creak. That was when a tall woman with long, dark brown hair stepped into the room. She wore a buttoned up black coat with matching boots, and carried an umbrella to shield from the rain. In another hand she held a bouquet of flowers.

“Mariah,” Jackson greeted her with a fond smile. “Always a treat seein’ you.”

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she said.

“Mariah?” Parker thought he remembered that name. He looked at the woman, slowly putting the pieces together. “You’re Nathan’s-”

“Wife, yes,” she answered. 

Jackson glanced back at Parker with a proud grin, “Ain’t she a beauty?”

“I suppose,” Parker nodded. 

It was true, she was beautiful. She would definitely stand out in a crowd, but what Parker took note of the most was the unique color of her eyes. They looked to be a dark brown– almost black– at first glance, but upon further observation he found that her irises were actually a dark purple. He didn’t think he had ever seen anyone with purple eyes before. 

“My boy struck gold with this one, I tell ya,” Jackson asserted. Then he breathed a sigh. “If only you had gone and settled down as well, Parker. I fear I may not live to see the day you get married…”

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “I came to replace the flowers I left last week. I figured they would be dying by now… I know the doctors don’t bother to take care of them.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Jackson smiled at her. “Your visits are growing to be the highlight of each week. Lets me know my son’s also in good hands.”

She laughed softly, “I would hope he is.” Then she glanced at Parker. “Pardon me, I don’t think I’ve met you before.”

“Mariah, meet my son Parker,” Jackson introduced him. “He’s been in the East shootin’ commies and being a goddamn American hero,” the old man declared. 

Mariah smiled, “Well it’s nice to meet you, ‘Goddamn American Hero’,” she joked, offering a hand to shake. 

At first Parker was taken aback by her personality, but he gave a short laugh and shook her hand. “You are certainly my brother’s type of woman,” he replied. “It’s nice to finally meet you. And please– ‘Goddamn American Hero’ is too formal, call me Parker,” he returned the energy.

“Parker. Like Peter Parker. I’ll remember that.”

“Parker just arrived back in town a few days ago and he’ll be workin’ as a detective at the DWPD,” Senior said. “No matter where my son goes, he always makes it his duty to protect and serve.”

“I feel safer already,” Mariah hummed.

In the background, the news reporter on television continued to talk about the war, briefly mentioning the threat of a nuclear missile issued by the Thailand government. Parker grabbed the remote and flipped the TV off. All this time the very sound of that man’s voice was chipping away at his nerves. 

Mariah removed the dying flowers from the pot, replacing them with the new ones. “Out with the old, in with the new,” she murmured to herself, a singsong quality to her voice. “There! Good as new. These doctors should know that your environment is important, and that you ought to be surrounded by beautiful things.”

“Well the head doctor ain’t a woman,” Jackson chuckled. 

She clicked her tongue. “If I have to stop by every single day I will. I should be on my way, though; I promised Nathan I wouldn’t be out too late, what with all of the recent news. It’s starting to get dark.” She glanced back at Parker. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Parker. You have a good night.” 

With that, Mariah left the room and the dreariness soon returned. Parker hadn’t noticed how the room appeared to light up in her presence until now. Now that she was gone. 

“Your brother’s a lucky bastard,” Jackson said with a grin. 

Parker nodded slowly. “I guess he is.”

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

Later that night a squad was dispatched to stake out the northern part of the woods, where Devil’s Lake was located. Several vehicles were parked in carefully picked locations, and deputies covered as much ground as they could setting up cameras along the way. Parker and Thomas were set to keep lookout only two miles from the lake, and just across the water was Nathan’s house. They were accompanied by two more officers and a van with all of the equipment they needed- flashlights, cameras, and monitors to connect them to. 

“I want a clear visual of every deer and gnat that comes through this side of the forest, you hear me?” Thomas called after the men who were placing cameras in trees. 

Parker checked the time on his watch. “It’s 9:30,” he announced. 

“Full moon on a Friday night…” Thomas smirked, looking up at the sky. “The perfect kinda night for some kinda Wolfman or Dracula to pop out I reckon.”

“Even at a time like this, you find some way to be humorous,” Parker gave a sigh. 

“Hey, you wanna make a bet or somethin’?” 

Parker blinked at Thomas. “A bet?”

“Sure!” Thomas grinned. “You believe our culprit is some supernatural entity.”

Parker started to defend himself, “I never said that–”

“Eeehh, you kinda did. Hell, the Captain even agrees! How much do you wanna bet it turns out to be a Scooby Doo scenario?”

“What, like some dude in a costume?” Parker seemed confused.

“What, like some dude in a cos-” Thomas mimicked his best friend’s tone before bursting into laughter. “You spent way too much time in New York, brother! You sound like a proper city boy!” He exclaimed. “Now as I was startin’ to say, if our culprit turns out to be a livin’, breathin’ human being, you gotta take me out to lunch.”

Parker narrowed his eyes. “You’re on. If the creature is real, you have to shave your beard.” 

“Deal!” Thomas held out his hand to shake with a competitive fire in his eyes. “Lookin’ forward to that free hamburger.” 

Parker shook his friend’s hand with the remnants of a smirk on his face. “I wouldn’t speak so soon, Tommy.” 

Right after Parker said that, a grotesque shriek rang out through the forest. Thomas jumped. “Holy Jesus–” He exclaimed, his head whipping in the direction of the startling noise. It echoed seemingly for miles, the trees standing in silent acknowledgement in its wake. Nothing else was heard for what felt like minutes. The air grew cold. 

Then, one of the officers shouted from the distance, “Somebody get over here! Like, right now! You’re really gonna wanna see this!”

Parker and Thomas looked at eachother.

“It’s never good when people say that in movies.”

Parker nodded.

The two trudged across the leaf-covered ground until they reached the edge of a hill. Below them the officer stood face to face with the most malformed coyote Parker and Thomas had ever seen. At least that’s what Thomas thought it was at first. 

Its pale, hairless body gave it away. It looked less like an animal and more like a frail, bald man with three green eyes, just like how Henry drew it back at the house. Those signature, knife-like claws kept it nailed to the ground. 

Thomas’ jaw dropped. The poor man was completely speechless. Meanwhile Parker slowly reached for his gun. The deputy stood there like a deer in headlights.  

“What are you doing, Quincy?!” Parker shouted at the deputy. “Get outta there!”

The creature responded quite violently to the loud and sudden voice. As it lifted its head in Parker’s direction the three men could hear an uncomfortable ‘snap’, followed by the horrific shriek it unleashed. Parker fired a round in quick response and, almost in a blur, the beast tackled the deputy to the ground. They heard a scream, and then the gruesome, wet sound of flesh. A shrill, choked out scream met the air just barely as the two detectives watched in horror as the poor man’s body thrashed underneath the pale frame of the creature whose talons were now soaked with crimson.

“Good God-” Thomas nearly threw up in his mouth. He had to fight through the natural urge to avert his gaze, aiming his gun and firing at the creature.

“Quincy!” Parker yelled, and before he knew it the ground beneath him gave way- sending him tumbling down the hill. Thomas shouted after him as the creature quickly evaded the gunfire, weaving between trees before returning to Quincy. 

Before Parker knew it he found himself on the ground at the base of the hill, only a couple of feet away from Quincy’s body and the creature crouched not so far away. He watched as the creature’s three green eyes slowly fell on him. He could hear it breathing. Its breaths were slow, rhythmic, and raspy- like it had been smoking for years. Its bones practically poked through its skin, and Parker could see its rigid spine going down along the center of its back. The creature’s body was a light grey color. 

Every bone in Parker’s body told him that this spot on the ground would be the last place he would ever draw a breath. Staring face to face with the three-eyed monster might as well have been the equivalent to facing Death itself. He believed the monster was taunting him, the way it simply stared at him, as if it was waiting for something. 

That’s when Thomas started shooting again. The sound of the gunshots snapped the Parker out of his frozen state, and sent the creature retreating into the woods- dragging Quincy’s body along with it. Thomas stared in disbelief as he saw the creature run off. 

“It… it took him,” Thomas murmured. “What the hell was that thing??”

Parker didn’t entertain that question with a response, instead making the observation, “It’s headed toward the east end of Devil’s Lake.” 

“Hold on a minute,” Thomas caught on. “That’s where-”

Parker finished, “That’s where my brother’s house is.”

To be continued…

[whittlorestrash]

WEEEE I LIKE IT!!! TYSMMMMMM

yes finished it finally.

@whittluvvz

I drew you're OC like I said. but drawing the eyes was a bit hard. sorry if the pupils look creepy I tried fixing it but just gets creepier everytime. but I loved how it turned out. I drew her upside down standing on one hand. don't know why I drew her that way but I felt like it suits the character. hope you like it.

[badideaal]

Good Cover - Short Story

New Post! More flash fiction: Good Cover by Al Whitt. #fiction #shortstory #badideaal

Brianna stares at the middle-aged bank representative in a black polo and dress pants asking for her parents, then looks just left of his bearded face into the tall bushes of big red hibiscus flowers for a good lie. “No,” she replies on instinct, recalling her mother’s voice deep with exhaustion through two pillows and a thick, cream-colored comforter groggily allowing her outside, “she’s at…

[ryqoshay]

Melody Air: Sky

Primary Pairing Trio: YuuAyuSetsu Words: ~1k Rating: G AU: Airline Parent Fic: Melody Air Time Frame: Sometime before the main story Event: Fantastic Departure 2022 Event Source: Idol Fanfic Heaven channel on Discord

---------

Author’s Note: Sixth prompt-agraph entry

Summary: Yuu and Ayumu meet Setsuna

---------

“When I look at the sky, I can't help but let my mind drift away. Maybe it is its vibrant blue? Maybe it is about the clouds taking shapes that make me tell myself stories never put into words? Maybe it is that impression that there is no such thing as an end to the sky? I don’t know what it is and I'm not really sure I want to know.” The young pilot smiled wistfully as she answered the question about why she chose her current career. “But I know I want to be there. In the sky. And since I lack wings to get there myself, I must rely on the ingenuity of my fellow humans and the wondrous devices they have created to reach the sky.”

“Like the SpaceJet M90?” Yuu asked from across the booth where she sat with Ayumu.

Setsuna’s eyes lit up at the mention of the plane she flew for a living. “Yes. Very much yes. They’re wonderful planes. You know, they originally were supposed to only seat 30 to 50 passengers, which I think I might have preferred. I like smaller planes, by the way. Large planes are fine, but the smaller the plane, the closer you feel to the sky, which is why I love flying in the first place. However, the current seating capacity means I get a second attendant in my cabin crew, which means I get to share the sky with someone else.”

“What about the additional passengers?”

“It’s not quite the same.” Setsuna shook her head. “My passengers are flying to get somewhere, for business or vacation or whatever. But you don’t work on an airplane unless you love flying. And those are the individuals who I love sharing the sky with.”

That seems like a fairly idealistic view of the airline industry. Ayumu thought to herself. Then again, why would anyone work on a plane if they hated flying? Ayumu herself enjoyed flying, but she was certain she couldn’t match the passion being expressed from the woman on the other side of the table.

Or the woman next to her, it seemed.

Yuu seemed to be incredibly interested in flying, something she had thus far only expressed interest in possibly making use of Ayumu's employee discount for future travel. But upon seeing a pilot from the airline where Ayumu was now employed and inviting herself into the booth with her, Yuu was suddenly excited about the idea of flying. This was actually the most excited Ayumu could remember seeing Yuu in years. Some spark had been lit within her that made her eyes sparkle as she listened to Setsuna start to ramble about the SpaceJet M90.

Was Yuu possibly interested in Setsuna herself? Something twisted uncomfortably within Ayumu at that thought.

“Oh, sorry…” Setsuna's sudden apology caught Ayumu's attention. “I’m getting carried away again…” Pink dusted her cheeks, which made her look quite adorable as far as Ayumu was concerned.

Yuu shook her head and chuckled. “It’s fine, I'm the one who asked. Please continue.”

“You really don't mind?”

“Yuu-chan is right,” Ayumu heard herself say “it’s fine. You seem really passionate about the plane, so it’s fun to hear you talk about it.”

And I want to see that smile again… Wait, where did that thought come from?

Oh, there it was again, that radiant smile Ayumu had just decided she wanted to see again.

“Uhm, where was I?” Setsuna asked.

“The Whitt & Prattney engines.�� Yuu said.

“The Pratt & Whittney engines.” Setsuna corrected.

“Right, sorry.”

And with that Setsuna pretty much picked up where she had left off. And she continued to talk excitedly until an ash blonde young woman approached the table.

“Captain Yuki-san.”

“Yes, that’s me.” Setsuna replied.

“The delay is over, we need to get going.”

“Eh?” Setsuna grabbed for her phone. “I didn't realize the time, I'm sorry, uhm…”

“Nakasu Kasumi, your First Officer today.”

“Alright, Nakasu-san.” Setsuna nodded before turning to the others across the table from her. “I’m sorry, I need to head out. But it's been wonderful talking with you two. I hope I get to meet you again sometime.”

“Well, you'll definitely see Ayumu.” Yuu responded. “She just started working for Melody Air today.”

“Oh?”

“I’m one of their new attendants.” Ayumu said, just now realizing she hadn't mentioned as such earlier as Yuu had skipped that part of their introductions in favor of getting the apparently easily excitable Setsuna talking about airplanes immediately after they had exchanged names.

“Ayumu-san… as in Uehara Ayumu-san?”

“Yes, that is my name.” Ayumu nodded.

Setsuna grinned. “Then you'll be on my plane today.”

“But we need to get to that plane now.” Kasumi insisted.

“Right, sorry,” Setsuna apologized again, reaching for the bill.

“I’ll get it.” Yuu snatched the paper before the other woman could get it. “You guys need to leave, so I'll take care of the rest here.”

“But…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Yuu dismissed with a smile and a wave. “I’m sure I'll come with Ayumu a time or two again. And hey, your passion for planes and flying kinda has me interested as well. Maybe I'll look into getting a job around the airport. You can get things the next time if you really want.”

“Thank you, Yuu-san.” Setsuna said as she slid out of the booth. She then turned to Ayumu. “Shall we head to the plane?”

“Alright.” Ayumu agreed.

Goodbyes were exchanged and Ayumu followed the pilot and copilot into the airport.

As she walked, Ayumu couldn’t help going back to Setsuna's answer about why she wanted to be a pilot; to share the sky with others. It was a very different reason than why Ayumu had become a flight attendant, which had been more about making use of connections made through a friend of her family and prior experience in customer service positions than any particular passion.

But that passion had apparently inspired an interest in Yuu. Perhaps, maybe Ayumu could be inspired as well to see her new job in a new light? If nothing else, within the hour, Ayumu would find out what it meant to share the sky with someone like Setsuna. And that idea alone, Ayumu did find a little exciting.

---------

Author’s Note Continued: Not all that happy with this one and will definitely need to modify it should I want to add it into its parent fic later. But considering I wrote it on the plane home and am posting it here while waiting for my bags, it's not all that bad.

[haymaker-mva]

– The Pigtails are Off – (4)

Part 4: The three times Luka met Marinette

Now, you may be wondering: How did everyone get their carmines? All of the students found carmines and a note on their front steps the day Marinette reached the end of her rope. It can be assumed that Marinette used her connections to get a carmine to everyone. Except Marc because she wanted to give his carmine to him with Nathaniel at school/in person. Also about that, The Confrontation (As I'm calling it) happens at lunch. Marinette left and didn't come back for the rest of the day. Hope that cleared any confusions up! Sorry for the long notes section.

Also, I planned to post this after having another part done, but I feel guilty having a part ready while having no motivation to write lately. So, take this and prepare for a long wait.

Ao3 - First - Previous - Next

When Luka Couffine first met Marinette, it was years before he met her.

...

For good measure, Marinette slipped a carmine onto his wrist. Just in case.

-

When Luka Couffine first met Marinette, it was years before he met her.

Let me explain.

It was about two years ago, when he was fifteen. He was trying to get into the Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie when he bumped into a girl.

She had long black hair that flowed down her back in waves. It shone with blue highlights that the sun cast, and she wore a jean jacket and a black pleated skirt with pink edges. Her boots were a dark brown, and she also had a pair of pink hoop earrings. Last was her tank top, which was white with a black Jagged Stone design.

Anyway, she was walking out of the bakery with something whitte folded in her arms. She seemed to be glaring at the item annoyedly when Luka opened the door and promptly walked into her.

She fell backwards, onto her butt, gripping the fabric of her item tightly. Luka fell backwards as well, and he just managed to save the guitar that had previously been on his back. Luka looked up at who he had crashed into, and the first thing he noticed was the tank top.

“Sorry… wait, you like Jagged Stone?” Luka said dumbly.

“Ugh.. yeah, I do. What’s it to you?” The girl replied, getting up off the ground. Her voice wasn’t annoyed, just apprehensive. Luka could hear her song stutter, as if she wasn’t used to people asking things like that to her.

“I love Jagged Stone! I wanted to ask where you got that shirt?” Luka asked, finally getting up and slinging his guitar back over his shoulder.

“...I made it. The design is official but It always was too small or the fabric was too rough in official merch.” The girl told him.

“Oh. I asked so I could get one of my own. I agree with what you said about official merch. Jagged really needs to get a better provider or something.” Luka agreed, moving off to the side inside the bakery with her.

“Well, I have a t-shirt that’s pretty much the same that I could give you,” The girl offered, holding out the item that Luka now knew was a shirt. “I originally made it for myself, but I misjudged the measurements and made it too big.”

“That’d be awesome!” Luka said, taking the surprisingly soft t-shirt and holding it up to himself. “How much do I owe you?”

“You want to pay me?” She asked, raising her eyebrows. “It’s a leftover, it’s fine.”

“No, you made it and now you’re just giving it to someone you’ve never met. I’m paying you.” Luka pulled twenty dollars out of his pocket and put it into the girl’s hand.

“It’s honestly fine,” She started, but a ring from her phone cut her off. She glanced at it, and her eyes went wide. “I have to go!” She turned and rushed out the door, not even remembering her resistance to getting paid for her work.

Luka watched her rush off with a small smile, and walked up to the counter to buy something for him and Juleka. Picture day was today, and she probably just got home. Best to stock up on treats.

-

The second time Luka met her was around a year ago, when he was seventeen and she was sixteen.

This time he had heard of her from Juleka before the second meet. He had been all ready and stocked up for a comfort session because it was picture day for Juleka. But when she got back, she was all smiles. Luka listened to her speak about a girl named Marinette like she was a god on earth. But Juleka also seemed nervous. Like she wasn’t sure if she was doing something wrong or not. But that was just Luka’s guess.

Anyway, Luka was just happy that Juleka finally had a good picture day. Luka was immensely grateful for this Marinette, he would have to make sure to thank her when he met her.

A few weeks later Marinette was walking dejectedly towards the room that she was told Luka would be in. As soon as she was out of sight of the others she straightened her slouched back and wiped the sadness off of her face.

She knew she should be a bit more careful, but it was annoying to act like her life revolved around a guy. It painted her as endearing and not a threat, so it was “worth” it. Some days she got tired of it though. In reality, Marinette only had a small crush on the boy.  She liked his kind personality, but it wasn’t anything as extreme as she played it up to be.

Anyway, Marinette walked towards the doorway to what she assumed was Juleka and Luka’s room. She walked in to see a boy with deep black hair that was dyed teal at the edges. He wore a slightly worn Jagged Stone shirt that looked familiar to Marinette. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be meditating. She shook her head and looked at him calculatingly. This must be Luka. He looked like the calm type. He definitely liked music, she could see a guitar on his bed.

His eyes opened and she immediately scrambled to look like she just got there.

“H-hey! My name’s Ma-Ma-Marinette! It-uh, your Mom sent me down here, the grove, er, um, the group’s- waiting for you.” She stuttered “nervously.”

` -

Luka studied the girl who had just come in.

As soon as she walked in the door, Luka could feel confidence and poise radiating off of someone. His eyes had been closed, but the orchestra that was this girl’s song was unignorable. He opened his eyes after a moment of listening to the carefully crafted sound that flowed out of her. For a split second after opening his eyes he saw her face. She was looking at him with the expression of a scientist, detached and serious. She seemed to be evaluating him. But after that millisecond, she scrambled and started stuttering.

“H-hey! My name’s Ma-Ma-Marinette! It-uh, your Mom sent me down here, the grove, er, um, the group’s- waiting for you.”

He studied her for a moment. This personality was miles away from what he had just seen. Her music was the same, except for a small flute sound that represented her current behavior. This was off. The way Marinette was acting… it wasn’t real. He decided to play along for now though. If her previously seen personality was anything to go by, this girl was confident in herself. Usually there was something to back that type of raw confidence up. Also, he was thankful for what she had done for his sister.

“Hi, Ma-Ma-Marinette.” He said, chuckling behind his hand.

She looked away for a moment, and by the way she stood he would assume she was sad. But her music suggested otherwise. She was angry. Deafeningly angry.

“Sorry,” He backtracked, still trying to act like he didn’t know what she was doing. Not that he did, he had no clue why she was faking her personality. “I didn’t mean to offend. I tend to make more sense with this.”

Luka reached over to his guitar and pulled it into his lap. He readied himself and patted the bed, motioning for Marinette to sit down. She compiled, and sat down with an expression of curiosity on her features.

He started playing the melody he heard from her, although he couldn’t do it justice with just one instrument. He kept quiet, letting the music speak for himself. (He totally wasn’t afraid to say something wrong and anger the frightening girl. Not at all.)

As he played, he saw Marinette’s eyes close, and her hand came up to rest on her heart. She seemed to relax, letting a small smile creep onto her face. It was the first real reaction he had seen her give. (And purposefully let him see, that is.)

He smiled, and closed his eyes too, absorbing himself in the sound of the music.

-

After that meeting, Luka couldn’t keep Marinette off of his mind. What has she been hiding? Why was she wearing such a thick mask? His curiosity with Marinette started as just that, a curiosity. But over time and more encounters, he found himself falling for her. Not her fake stuttering and demeanor, but the snippets of her true self he saw shining through. His heart beat faster when she grew determined or confident.

Luka knew that he was falling hard and fast, and for a girl that kept her guard up constantly. He managed to get more moments of her real personality whenever she got immersed in his music. So, he wrote more music for her. Juleka noticed, obviously, and Luka noticed her nervousness at his new crush (it totally wasn’t growing bigger then that...right?), but didn’t know what to make of it. What he didn’t notice was Juleka’s fear.

-

And now the third and last, yet somehow the first time Luka Couffine met Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

-

Juleka handed Luka the piece of paper.

“What’s this? Is this what Sabrina was here so early for?” He asked, taking the folded paper.

“N-no… Well, yes, b-but it’s from Marinette.” With that, Juleka left the room to meet with Rose, who was standing on the dock to the boat.

Luka looked at the paper in his hand. Juleka’s music had been sporadic, messy. But he could feel relief seeping in. He wondered what was up.

Anyway, he unfolded the note, and read the contents.

“Meet at the Trocadéro at 4 pm. Will explain later.”

Luka’s eyebrows arched. What was this? Was something happening? Was she…? No. Luka couldn’t get his hopes up. He folded the note and slipped it in his pocket.

Looks like he was going to the Trocadéro later that day.

Hours later, Luka sat atop a bench on the bridge in the Trocadéro. He absentmindedly strummed his guitar, letting the music echo around him as he waited.

After around five minutes of waiting, Luka heard the impressive orchestra of Marinette’s song. He turned to see her, and was shocked by her new look. He blinked, getting over his initial surprise, and smiled, patting the spot on the bench beside him.

Marinette obliged, sitting down with an unreadable expression on her face. She closed her eyes and listened to Luka playing her song. After a minute or two, she knew it was time to explain.

“I’m willing to bet you already knew I was faking.”

“Yep, you can’t hide your true self when I can see what displays who you truly are.” Luka realized what he said, and expected to be hit with a, “...what?”, but instead was met with silence. He blinked in surprise at the lack of reaction, and looked to his right to see Marinette staring at the water with a thoughtful expression painted across her face.

“You mean because of my ‘song?’” She asked.

Her question took him off guard, but Luka quickly tried to recover. “Y-yeah, pretty much. I’m not good with words, like I said when we first met.”

She let a small laugh fall from her lips. After that though, Luka desperately tried to stop thinking about her, uhm, lips. He blinked, and she was talking again. “I’m sorry- no, I’m not really sorry. I did what I did to try and experience a bit of normal. Maybe reform myself.” She sighed, a frustrated expression on her face. “But it was hard to keep that demeanor up. Especially once Lila started feeding everyone lies about my ‘actions’ and ‘bullying.’”

“I think you should just be who you are, corny as that sounds.” Luka replied, nudging her with his shoulder. “Or if you really do want to get better, do it little by little. Don’t just jump headfirst into a new personality.”

“Yeah, I kinda get that now,” She snarked dryly.

“But I wouldn’t blame you for being petty right about now. I know a bit about Lila from the rest of Kitty Section, and she seems like a bitch.”

Marinette surprised him by laughing. “You hit the nail right on it’s head, she is such a snake. No wait, that would be an offence to snakes.” She smirked knowingly.

Luka and Marinette talked until it was dark and they had to go home. For good measure, Marinette slipped a carmine onto his wrist. Just in case.

Ao3 - First - Previous - Next

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Tag list:

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@shippernaturalsanderspjoandscifi

[whittlorestrash]

*moot Huggies!*

[lacrossepapi]

6+17 mit Danny/Stiles? Pleeease. I love Danny/Stiles and i feel like having read all of it already.

Hi! So first thing you gotta know is I don’t actively ship Danny and Stiles and I’ve never actually even written Danny before! This was really exciting and a great opportunity to broaden my writing horizons. the second thing you gotta know is I don’t write sex scenes. so I’m sorry if that was something you were looking forward to! but I hope you like what I wrote despite all that! Friends to lovers + Sex then love

ao3: Link

Stiles knew he was bisexual, but he’d only dated and messed around with girls. Every time he thought he wanted to date a guy he would psych himself out. He’d never even kissed a man outside of drinking games, how was he going to enter a mlm relationship when he wasn’t even confident in himself? He needed a gay jesus to be his savior. Someone he trusted and loved had to introduce him to the other side of his sexuality. Jackson was a bastard on a good day, and would only laugh at Stiles like he was a freak if he asked. Isaac was in a relationship, but Stiles didn’t think he could look at Isaac’s dick anyways they were too close for that. Ethan was gone for the summer, studying abroad in Spain, not that he would’ve even kissed Stiles. He was definitely not Ethan’s type. That left only one person Stiles was friends with that also liked men. Danny was actually perfect. The more Stiles thought about how to approach the man the more he realized how easy it was to talk to Danny about anything and everything. He and Danny had always had an easy, flowing friendship, able to riff off each other even in the worst of times. Danny was whip smart, beautiful and attractive, and best of all was that Stiles knew his relationship with him wouldn’t suffer if he asked. 

Just because it made sense in his head did not mean Stiles wasn’t nervous. He sat outside Danny’s dorm for at least ten minutes before the other man heard him mumbling to himself the pros and cons of asking. “Stiles. I really shouldn’t be surprised that it’s you out here muttering to yourself like a serial killer.” Danny’s patented Serious while Joking face was a blessing. Stiles jumped up and pushed passed his friend and into the dorm room, “You know you love when I act like a serial killer.” “Certainly not.” Came Danny’s reply as he shut the door behind them. And just like that Stiles was nervous again. He was alone with Danny in his dorm room, no roommate to worry about interrupting since he had a single. Danny was looking at him and Stiles was starting to freak out again. “I don’t know why you look like you’re about to word vomit, but sit down and take a breath.” Stiles nodded and sat down quietly as Danny went to the little kitchenette and started to make them hot chocolate. “Just like when we were teenagers.” Stiles smiled. “It was the only thing that would get you to stop talking so fast and gesturing all over the place.” Danny’s response was coupled with a smile of his own. “Pleasehavesexwithme!” Stiles blurted out. Danny froze, the heated milk in his hand hovering over a mug, though his face remained impassive. “No.” And then he resumed pouring the milk into the mugs like it never even happened. “What do you mean ‘No.’? You don’t have any follow up questions?” Stiles was less panicky now that he passed the main hurtle. Danny looked at him for a moment before turning to get the chocolate syrup, “You want someone to have sex with you so you can figure out if you really want to have sex with men.” Stiles flailed, his mind stuttering over the fact that Danny had seen right through him. “How did you know that’s why I asked?” Danny sighed, grabbing both of the mugs and coming back into the living room, “I believe I told you when we graduated and you told me you were bi that I couldn’t be your gay yoda.” “Gay jesus was my thought process.” Stiles mumbled into his mug. “You know that you don’t have to be actively having sex with men to be bi, right?” “Yes. I know that, but I want to try being with a man. You know me. I research everything. I have to try everything safely before I can put myself out there. It’s why Lydia has my virginity.” Stiles shrugged, feeling self conscious. “That, and she wanted an excuse to have that V-card made for you to give to her.” They shared another fond smile. “The more I thought about who I would ask the more it made perfect sense to ask you. You never judge me or make me feel weird about who I am. You are always there for me when I need you, and we aren’t so close that seeing your dick would be weird.” Stiles looked at Danny, then back down at his mug before saying one final damning piece of information, “And I’m kind of excited and intrigued to know what your dick is like.” There, he said it. No going back now. All he could do was stare into his hot chocolate and wait for Danny to kick him out or tell him ‘No’ again. “Stiles look at me.” Danny’s voice didn’t sound offended, which was good, so Stiles did as he was told. “Are you attracted to me?” “Yes.” ��Okay.” Stiles blinked. And then blinked again, “Okay?” “Okay let’s have sex. I want your first time to be good, and I know I can give you that.” Danny’s face was calm and collected while Stiles thought his was going to burn off of him at this rate. “I promise I won’t be a pillow princess. I can’t promise I’ll be good, but I will try.” Stiles said earnestly, his free hand coming to rest on Danny’s wrist. “If there’s one thing I’d bet my life on it’s that Stiles Stilinski will always try his best to do something.” Danny smiled at him again.-The first few times they had sex Stiles would sneak into Danny’s dormhall late at night and then leave early in the morning to get ready for his own classes. Eventually Danny noticed how tired Stiles was the next day and decided to change things. Stiles answered his phone of the second ring.“Hey man, what’s up?” “Wanna come do your homework here and stay the night?” Stiles’ mouth dropped in surprise, “You mean like right now?” “No. I mean next Tuesday.” “Oh! Yeah sure, but you’ll have to remind me.” “Stiles?” “Hmm?” “I meant right now.” “Oh! Oh shit, yeah, okay. I’ll be over in ten.” Which is how another month passed, Stiles coming over after class and staying all evening. Sometimes he left after both men were satisfied, but most of the time he left in the morning on his way to class. The next change that over took their friendship turned friends with benefits was due to the fact that Danny always ate dinner right as Stiles got out of class, which left one man hungry. The solution was simple in Danny’s eyes. He just needed to start feeding Stiles. He did it in the typical casual manner in which Danny did everything. Stiles had just entered the dorm room when Danny had him shoved up against the door, their mouths locked in a fiery battle of wills. Finally Stiles’ lips parted with a soft sigh and Danny claimed his mouth with a skilled tongue. “You’re excited to see me today.” Stiles gasped as Danny kissed down his throat. “Mmm. I’m hungry and you took longer than usual to get here.” Danny finished his sentence with a bite to Stiles’ collarbone. “Ah! I got caught up talking to Professor Whitt again.” Danny stepped back and examined his handy work, Stiles was leaning against the door flushed and panting. His chest rising and falling rapidly from his sudden arousal, his cheeks red and his pupils blown wide. He kissed him again, this time softer, “Let’s go.” “Let’s? Go? Wait. You’re actually hungry? Don’t you normally eat dinner before now?” Stiles flailed his hands, knocking their wrists together. Danny gently held the wrist he’d captured for a moment before using it to pull the other man off the door. “I didn’t have time today. Come on. I’m starving and I know you are too.” Their routine had went from late night secretive booty calls to Stiles practically living in Danny’s dorm, and eating dinner together every night. It only took Stiles three months to notice. “Hey babe?” Danny poked his head out of the shower with an inquisitive sound. “How long have we been in a relationship?” Stiles asked, leaning against the bathroom doorframe. “Oh I’d say about two or three months now. Ever since you started staying here more than your own dorm. But we started dating the night we started getting dinner together. Why?” Danny tilted his head as if he was actually curious, even though they both knew Danny was fully aware that Stiles didn’t know they were actually together. “No real reason, guess I just didn’t realize how easily I fell in love with you.” It was Danny’s turn to flail, one of the only times Stiles had ever seen him truly shocked. “What? You didn’t know I love you? What a shame.” Stiles stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the shower. “I guess you’ll just have to show me.” Was Danny’s reply as his boyfriend dropped to his knees in front of him.

[the-prophet-lemonade]

omg you'd love American Gods, it's one of my favorite books. Basically the gods exist because people believe in them, so all the different groups of people who came to America; slaves, immigrants, the vikings etc brought their gods with them. But as the people who believed in them died off they've grown weak while the "new gods" (media, technology, etc) rise and the book sets up a showdown and it's SO GOOD

what the heckie ??? ??? i am so here for this show, i am gonna watch it so hard ??? ??????? i mean i was gonna watch it for the aesthetic alone but 

[taiblogcomics]

Underground Fighting Circuit

Hey there, a Winter Friends wish. Probably you're preoccupied with other stuff today. But let me take your mind off whatever that might be with just a little Movement~

Here's the cover:

Classic cover subject here. See such topics as Amazing Spider-Man #33 or Secret Wars #4. A superhero trapped under rock and debris, struggling to lift the stony surroundings around them... It's just such a cool bit of imagery, and it's done well here too. Dunno if Burden is that strong without his demonic side backing him up, though. And you might say Vengeance Moth doesn't have any leverage in the legs, but as a wheelchair user, I bet she has great upper body strength~

We open with Officer Yee continuing to block the way for Officer Whitt (the asshole) to go back and attacking the Movement kids. Yee informs Whitt he is a bad cop, which is true. Whitt replies that at least he knows who the good guys are, which is false. He then decks Yee in the face. Now, Yee himself is no saint either (remember how he sleeps with Captain Meers' wife to start the story). But he's the one I'm rooting for here. It isn't looking good so far, though. And since this is only a page, I'm kind of stretching it out to the end of this paragraph~

Vengeance Moth demonstrates that upper body strength I mentioned on the cover and hauls herself back into her chair. She's ready to get back in there and help out, preparing to go retrieve some backup plan they've hidden. She's pretty worried about what the Graveyard Faction might do if they reach the various innocent kids inside their base. The complication, of course, actually being reaching them, since they've got Burden in full hulked-out demon form guarding the entrance. Black skin, eyeless face, glowing symbols, tentacles for abs, the whole shebang.

Arson tries his one trick, puking up fire, but naturally it doesn't work on a demon and Burden just throws the guy into a wall. Pallas steps up and challenges Burden, and Burden just stomps on his chest. Monster Baby kicks him in the face, rambling something about how only she gets to be ugly. And while the Graveyard Faction and Burden (Burdemon?) continue their fracas, none of them notice Moth sneak on by. She's used to that sort of treatment, and right now, she admits it's even kind of useful.

There's a brief interlude where Virtue has to break an apparent date with Rainmaker, since Mouse is still in the hospital. Rainmaker even got dressed up, but she accepts the raincheck--with some sardonic amusement at the pun. But back at the fight, Pallas' big gun makes Burden stagger a bit. With the fear that the Faction might win, Moth makes her move. She approaches Anguish, noting that she seems to be the one they're taking orders from. And with a badass one-liner about needing a crutch, she decks Anguish across the face with just such an instrument.

Fricks, the cop lady who does dispatch, phones in to Captain Meers to report the fight. Meers instantly knows that Whitt is the one that started it, because that's an obvious conclusion. Meers puts his engine in gear to return faster. And while Yee has gotten his ass kicked a bit, Fricks and Pena also prop him up and stand against Whitt with him. Whitt is particularly shocked by this last, since Pena is his partner. And continuing the trend of badass one-liners going on in this issue, Pena retorts that actually he put in a request for a new partner earlier this morning.

Monster Baby and Pallas are continuing to beat on Burden, to the point where he's starting to revert to human form again. Moth is pulling herself into her chair again, and Anguish is getting to her feet as well. Seems some time has passed as, before Anguish can take her revenge and beat Moth with her own crutch, Moth responds that while she was out, she found and broke the signal jammer. The calls can now be coming from inside the lair. And as she falls unconscious, Moth manages to get a call out to Virtue as the ceiling starts to cave in from the battle.

While they're waiting, Mouse starts to come to. He's whispering something, and Tremor leans in close to hear. Like a cheeky bastard, he leans in and steals a kissy, insisting they're in love now. She's mostly that "I'm relieved you're all right, you jackass" kind of annoyed, but the cute tension is broken when Virtue comes in to collect them, having just gotten Moth's call. And off they go, with Mouse even recovered enough to join them. He's not keen on staying in the hospital anyway. Too filthy for his tastes.

With the fight now causing an active cave-in, the Graveyard Faction decides to call this mission a wash and bail out. Arson in particular is looking pretty pitiful, having shattered a leg from the falling debris. Anguish decides to stop a moment and try to take a trophy from Moth before they go, which is her undoing: the Movement arrives in the nick of time, and Katharsis decks her in the face. Lotta face-decking in this issue. But ye, the calvary is here. And without the ability to retreat, the Graveyard Faction attacks.

Virtue uses her powers to borrow some fear from Moth, who has plenty to spare (she even has a legit fear of being buried alive, taphephobia). Glowing with yellow energy, she reflects it all into Anguish, who immediately starts being overwhelmed by fear. And there's plenty to spare. So she gives the Graveyard Faction an ultimatum: get out of Coral City, or live forever thinking you're trapped under a mountain. And if they kill her, the effect doesn't disappear either. They take the deal and get the fuck out. Victory!

Speaking of victories, Meers walks into the precinct, wanting to know what the hell's been going on in his absence. Yee explains about Whitt's plan to go attack the Movement. However, one can't be fired just for talking about committing a crime, which Yee even points out himself. But on the other hand, striking a fellow officer? Immediate dismissal. Creates a hostile work environment, you see. And the security cams caught it all. That's why Yee let himself get decked. Whitt is fired and relieved of duty. Further victory!

While he's escorted out, though, before Yee can finally pass out, he tells Meers some crucial info. He looked into Virtue like he was asked, and there's no record of her--because she's been dead for six years. And on that bombshell, we cut over to the Movement, watching the rising sun on the morn of their victories. They're not trying to be heroes or anything. But maybe once in a while, they can feel a little heroic about what they've accomplished. No one else is here looking out for the city, after all. And the comic ends with someone swinging into the city and stopping before its welcome sign: Batgirl.

Well, we’re two-thirds done with this series now. Two major villains have been defeated. But the Cornea Killer (who doesn’t get even a mention in this issue) is still out there. And now things are gonna get complicated even more than before. Katharsis and Batgirl have scrapped before, so this promises to be a rematch~

[youngtiffany]

notsuchagoodplace replied to your photoset “hyolyn prettier with her own skin tone for missha ugly whitewashing...”

HYOLYN IS ACTUALLY A LOT MORE WHITTE THAN THAT, SHE'S NOT FUCKING ORANGE, HYORIN IS ASIAN WITH A TAN SO STOP BEING DUMB AND MAKING HER ORANGISH

oh really? since when i said she’s orange or colour her as “orange”. bish please! are you freaking colour blind??

i mean look at this??

does it look orange to you? gosh??

please do check your eyes first. then check her unedited skin before coming to me.

[delusioninabox]

A Study in Notes [Writing]

Couldn’t sleep, so did some writing. Channary gets some insight into Menelaus’ and Sol’s process.

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

Menelaus and Sol sat on the floor, a selection of worn-out journals before them. They were organized, in a way, with a variety of different colored strings stuck in between pages throughout. Some pages were dogeared, and others with a corner painted a color. Channary couldn't even guess what the colors or combinations were supposed to indicate, but it seemed to make perfect sense to them. Menelaus found the page he was looking for with ease.

"Interesting," he said, glancing back to Sol. "Whitt indicated he didn't know about the troops approaching the border?" Sol nodded, still flipping through pages of a different journal.

“He’s either a good liar or being kept in the dark,” she said. “I’m guessing the latter. Whatever they’re planning to accomplish, he’s getting setup as the fall guy.” Menelaus scribbled an addition to his notebook.

“Makes sense.” Menelaus flipped past a few pages. “My notes have that he’s not particularly well-liked or trusted. Guy can’t keep a secret.” Sol snickered.

“He’s not the only one,” she said. Menelaus smiled before closing the notebook and putting it aside with the rest of their collection.

“We still don’t know what they’re after,” he said. Channary had no idea what they were talking about. What troops and which border? She picked up one of their notebooks and opened it cautiously. She frowned.

“I have some ideas, but you won’t like them,” Sol replied.

“What language is this?” Channary interrupted. Sol and Menelaus both stopped and stared at her, as if they’d forgotten she was there. Maybe they had.

“It’s a cipher,” Menelaus said.

“So people like you can’t read our notes,” Sol added with a mischievous grin. Channary huffed, still studying the page’s mess of text and scribbles.

“You take notes of everything?” she asked. “Even me?” Sol’s smile widened.

“Of course!” she replied. “We couldn’t steal your identity properly otherwise, now could we?” Channary glared, but Sol ignored her and grabbed a different notebook to flip through. She held it up proudly and read aloud. “Channary Dara Sovanna. Guardian Leilani, earth elemental from the forests of Nais, bonded at age fifteen. Raised to use a sword by Commander Tanus. Mediocre with a bow. Tried to shoot an apple at age eleven and broke a vase instead.” Channary paled as Sol kept reading. “Had a crush on a servant girl. Loves lemon-flavored desserts, has a nervous tick of playing with her hair, prefers cats, hates broccoli, and scared of heights.” Sol lowered the journal, a sly expression still happily in place. “That’s just some highlights. Want me to keep going?” Channary grimaced.

“Please don’t,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Sol waggled her brows. Channary slammed shut the journal she was still holding.

“How do know all this?” she asked. “Surely people can’t have that good of a memory or be willing to tell you.”

“That’s what records are for,” Menelaus said. “Stuff like your date of birthday and bonded are easy. Others are less obvious. That you like lemon and hate broccoli? That’s all educated guesses based on information we can get. Recollections from people we can talk to is helpful, but a record of food orders also helps.”

“It’s not like they stopped ordering broccoli because I didn’t like it.” Channary crossed her arms. “The castle had plenty to cook for.” Menelaus smiled, unperturbed.

“They don’t order produce from the same places for servants and staff,” he said. “They get more long-lasting staples. Only the top ranks get the best and fresh – which is a much shorter list to study. And if the chefs had a stash or recipes where they marked favorites? Even better.” Channary furrowed her brows and deepened her frown.

“But how could you possibly get that information? No trusted staff would betray royal confidentiality. Fewer still survived the assault!”

“Tsk, tsk. You’re thinking too simple, princess,” Sol said with a shake of her head. “Sometimes the people you think of least are the ones who know the most. You hardly noticed they were there, and to the enemy they weren’t even worth killing. Sure, they know no state secrets – but they can be an observant lot nonetheless.”

“If you want your country back, I suggest you learn from that,” Menelaus added. Channary’s fists tightened on her knees. She did, but right now they were her biggest obstacle. How was she supposed to prove herself worthy over two people who were better at being her than she was? She felt a light tap on her head and glanced up. She met Menelaus’ gaze as he patted the top of her head and smiled lightly.

“Stop overthinking,” he said. “History is to be learned from.” Channary couldn’t help but smile back.

Damnnit.

Why did they also have to be nice?

[once-upon-a-spemily]

She Drives Me Crazy

Roommates AU Part 1/2: Spencer and Emily live together and have a very agreeable arrangement between the two of them.

Summary: In Spencer’s eyes, they were good roommates. They didn’t bug or pester, they tried their best to communicate, and of course there was the matter of their sleeping together. That wasn’t going to blow up in their faces at all. 

Author’s Note: The rating on this one is a littler higher than most of my fics. There’s no graphic sex scenes, as I basically do a literary fade-to-black, but there is some pretty explicit references to sex, and some heated scenes between Spencer and Emily. Just warning in case that’s not your thing.

Spencer and Emily were shockingly good roommates.

Both of them were studious but not holed up without a social life, timely when paying the bills, good at splitting the groceries and never – well, almost never – stole the other’s food. Both were organized without being anal, and when Spencer was overly stressed and thus became like a tornado, Emily understood. She was a good roommate. Who else would freeze full meals with a note telling Spencer how to properly reheat? Honestly, sometimes Emily was the only reason Spencer would remember to eat during midterms or finals. And Spencer paid her back in kind, making sure Emily got eight hours of sleep and a balanced diet during champs.

And yeah occasionally one would go a little off the rails, or they’d fight, but it always evened out. And their fights were always well intentioned.

They had the same taste in wine. Or whiskey. Or gin…or…well, the list went on. They generally liked the same movies and tv, and Spencer didn’t mind suffering through Emily’s guilty pleasures, and for her part, Emily had not once complained when sitting through countless documentaries or period pieces.

Yeah, Spencer thought. They were good roommates. They didn’t bug or pester, they tried their best to communicate, and of course there was the matter of their sleeping together.

Right. That thing. The no-strings-attached, friends-with-really-good-benefits, I-scratch-your-itch-you-scratch-mine deal they had between them.

It was an efficient, purely logical deal. They were in proximity to each other more often than not, obviously, and they were young and attractive, and they’d known each other forever. They were busy people with needs and this fulfilled those needs. Nothing complicated about it, in Spencer’s eyes.

They worked as well in bed as they did as roommates, to be honest. Spencer’s relentless, perfectionist nature ensured Emily got off at least once, and the more experience she got with Emily’s body, the easier she was able to read it. It was like Latin, or French, or any of the other languages Spencer took. She studied, and worked her way to fluency.

For her part, Emily’s compassion and tendency to give, made her a great partner, and something about her – maybe it was the eyes – made Spencer stop overthinking, get out of her head and get what she needed.

Basically, it worked well, it made their lives easier, and no one but them knew about it. Spencer wasn’t sure they’d ever tell Hanna or Aria. She didn’t see that going well.

“Spencer?”

Spencer looked up from her spot on the couch, where she was curled up with a book just in time to see Emily walk in the apartment, looking weary, and dropping her backpack on the floor as she kicked the door closed.

“Welcome home,” Spencer said, turning back down Herodotus’ histories.

“I had,” Emily said, toeing out her shoes, “the worst day.”

Spencer’s quirked one brow, unable to contain a smile. She was used to hearing that. And she knew what usually followed after. They’d only been doing this for three months, give or take, but routines had started popping up. “Oh?”

“Don’t get excited, Hastings, I’m being serious,” Emily said, scowling at her.

Spencer dropped her joking demeanor and tucked her feet up so Emily had room to sit on the couch. Emily dropped down, sighing, and raked her hands through her hair. The thought flittered through Spencer’s mind that Emily was probably the prettiest girl that Spencer had ever seen.

“Want to talk about it?”

 Emily just sat there for a moment, steaming.

“My psych professor is an asshole, my partner in peer review today was a homophobic psycho and I did not get enough sleep last night to put up with this,” she said.

Spencer frowned, putting her book down. “What’s with your partner?”

Emily shrugged, “Just what it sounds like.”

“Give me name, I will destroy her. Quickly and easily.”

It, at the very least, drew laugh out of Emily. That always sounded wonderful. Emily leaned over, dropping her head onto Spencer’s shoulder. Then she mumbled something inaudibly.

“What?”

Emily sighed, resting her chin on Spencer’s arm, looking up at her. “I said, thanks, but I’d rather just forget about it. Her and Professor Whitt”

Spencer nodded, pressing a perfectly platonic kiss to Emily’s forehead. “Let’s have a night in. Breakfast for dinner. Shitty tv. Beer. You can forget all about Professor Shit and your English partner.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Where’s your roommate at?”

Spencer turned to look at her friend Katie. They’d bonded in their freshman year history class when they had to suffer through everyone’s idiocy together. Their extreme exasperation had solidified and casual friendship that had lasted two years so far.

“Emily? I don’t know, she was just here,” Spencer said, looking around the party they were at. They were all squeezed into the apartment of Katie’s brother Peter. Most people Spencer only knew on acquaintance-basis, then there were a handful of strangers, and a slightly smaller handful of people she actually liked.

Emily was here somewhere, Spencer didn’t keep track of her every movement at these things, but she also knew more of these people than Spencer did, so she had more to do here.

“You know, when I first met you two I thought you were dating?” Katie asked, punctuating her thought with a giggle.

Spencer snorted. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

They hadn’t even been sleeping together when Katie met them. Ridiculous.

As if on cue, a very, very tipsy Emily appeared from the crowed, a little flushed, lips a little swollen, and bubbling with laughter.

“Hi,” she said. Other partygoers were crowding against her on either side and Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle at the sour looks Emily gave them. Then she promptly swooped down so she was sitting on Spencer’s lap. “Let’s go home soon.”

“What?” Spencer asked, trying to think through her rum-haze to focus on not resting her hand on Emily’s hip, or waist, or legs. “It’s only eleven.”

“Yeah,” Emily replied, eyes not focused on anything in particular as she talked, “But I’m bored. Everyone here is boring.”

Spencer looked over at Katie, who only raised her eyebrows as if to say, See? Spencer rolled her eyes, because she was being ridiculous.

“If they’re so boring,” Katie started, “whose lipstick are you wearing?”

Emily sighed like Katie was being purposefully stupid, “A mistake’s.”

Spencer laughed even harder. Emily was always funny when she got a little drunk. She wavered between giggly and cranky, blunt and overly affectionate. It was always a ride.

“Alright,” Spencer said, nudging Emily’s hip so she’d get off of her, “let’s go.”

Emily stood up, sliding her hand into Spencer’s to pull her up and then guide her out of the party. She didn’t let go even when they were outside, walking the two blocks to their own building. She moved their hands, still clasped, so that Spencer’s arm was around her and she could rest her head on Spencer’s shoulder. The chill from the early-October air was actually pleasant after being in the stuffy, overcrowded apartment.

“Good night?” Spencer asked.

“Yeah.”

They walked into their building, and it wasn’t until they were in the elevator that Emily talked again.

“It’s about to be a great night.”

Spencer looked over at Emily. Her eyes were dark, and a smile teased across her lips. Spencer felt warmth surged through her in anticipation. As the doors slid open, Emily slipped her hand into the back pocket of Spencer’s pants and pressed her side up against her as they walked.

As soon as they were in the apartment, door locked and closed, Emily was pawing at Spencer’s shirt, pulling it up and over her head.

Spencer wasn’t sure which girl it was that had been making out with Emily, getting her hot and bothered but failing to seal the deal, but whoever she was she left an itch that Spencer was getting to scratch. Maybe Spencer should send her a thank you card.

“Hey,” Spencer breathed as she combed her fingers through Emily’s hair, tugging just hard enough so that Emily’s head dipped back, extending the column of her neck so Spencer could leave a trail of messy kisses there, “apparently when Katie met us, she thought we were a couple.”

Emily laughed and Spencer could feel the sensation under her lips, sending sparks down her spine.

“That’s ridiculous,” Emily said, grabbing onto Spencer’s waist as she guided them both to her own bedroom.

Spencer had thought the same thing, but Emily’s dismissive tone made her heart squeeze for a second. Spencer didn’t let herself pause to wonder why. She chalked it up to alcohol, or just a weird quirk, and focused on the way Emily kept canting her hips forward to find friction.

After all, Spencer thought as she carefully undid Emily’s pants and started kissing down her body, the thought of us being together is ridiculous.

Spencer spent most of freshman year studying by being holed up in room for hours. Now, though, she found she studied best in the living room of their apartment, stacks of books around her, with color-coded post-its and highlighters, and Emily on the other end of the couch, doing her own work.

Currently, Emily was at one end, typing up an essay, her legs stretched across the length of the couch and resting on Spencer’s lap as she annotated Anna Karenina.  She hated Tolstoy, but she would get through this if it killed her. Which it might.

“Hey,” Emily said, nudging Spencer with one of her feet, “pass me a twizzler.”

Spencer obliged, still mostly paying attention to her book. “I’m gonna make coffee in a little bit, you want some?”

She didn’t have to look up from the book to know that Emily was giving her a pointed look.

“If you drink coffee you’re gonna be up all night and be miserable tomorrow.”

“Well, then, that’s my cross to bear.”

Emily rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, and she went back to writing her essay.

Aria and Hanna visited in November for Emily’s birthday. Which meant no sex for Spencer and Emily. Well, no sex with each other.

“I still can’t get over how cute your place is, my apartment is so crappy,” Aria sighed, grabbing her third glass of wine.

“Yeah, it’s nice. Spencer and I agree on most decorating decisions. Though our first big fight as roommates was over throw pillows. So,” Emily said, nudging Spencer.

“Typical,” Hanna grinned, looking at both of them. “I’m so glad we all got together, though, it feels like ages.”

She wasn’t wrong. Between internships in the summer and family vacations over breaks, it was hard to get them all in the same place at the same time. And reunions over skype just didn’t feel the same.

They spent the rest of the night talking about Hanna’s fashion design classes, her bitchy classmates, and how glad they all were to be out of Rosewood. Hanna bugged them about how single they were, and Spencer was almost surprised at how good Emily’s poker face was.

The next morning, which was Emily’s actual birthday, they all got ready to go to the local greasy spoon for breakfast.

“Em, hurry up. You may be the birthday girl but we’re hungry out here,” Spencer called.

“Is it cold out?” was Emily’s answering reply.

“I told you the weather four times. I’m not telling you what to wear, you’re an adult!”

Hanna rolled her eyes, “God, could you two be any more married?”

Spencer thought about being offended for half a second, but she had to admit that the bickering, which wasn’t too bad, and was always quickly forgotten, made for a strong case against her. She just let it slide.

Breakfast went smoothly enough. Hanna kept trying to get the waiter’s number for Spencer, but if she was being honest, Spencer was almost numb to Hanna’s antics at this point. Hanna did get the number, and made Spencer take the scrap of paper with the digits.

Spencer just rolled her eyes and stole a bite of pancake from Emily’s plate.

The apartment felt strangely empty once Aria and Hanna left. It felt like a relief and sad all at once. Spencer had a small hole in her heart and a three-hour lecture the next day that she was absolutely dreading.

“Thanks for a good birthday,” Emily said, smiling brightly at Spencer. “I loved my presents.”

“I am literally the best at buying gifts, so I should hope so,” Spencer shrugged. “But seriously, you’re welcome. You know I want you to have a great birthday.”

“It was great. I’m glad we got everyone back together,” Emily said. Then her tongue darted out, moistening her lips. “But it’s also kind of nice that they’re gone.”

“Yeah?”

Spencer was only half paying attention, mostly focusing on loading the dishwasher. Until she felt Emily pressed up against her back, hands settling on her hips.

Spencer closed the dishwasher and turned around to look at Emily. “Now?”

Emily gave her a look that was somehow innocent and filthy at the same time. “It’s my birthday,” she shrugged.

Spencer barked out a laugh, but couldn’t fault her logic. If the tables were turned and it was Spencer’s birthday, she’d probably want the same thing. So she’d oblige. She’d let Emily lead her back into her bedroom, and then inevitably wake up in her own bed the next morning. They never shared a bed overnight after sex. It was one of their unspoken rules, one of their boundaries that kept their friendship from being awkward.

But when Emily was sprawled out on the bed, writhing and sweaty and urging Spencer on, it was hard to complain about sleeping arrangements. Her laser-sharp focus was on Emily, and Emily alone.

The Hastings Annual Christmas Party was really just for show. It was a time for Peter and Veronica to show off their house, their family, their money, their class. They decked the house from roof to basement, opened the doors to basically all of Rosewood, dressed up nice and pretty, and always ensured that Melissa and Spencer were there to complete the pretty picture.

Despite the performative nature of the party, Spencer did enjoy it. The house felt cozy and festive, and as long as she avoided people she didn’t like, it was a good time. She could get a little buzzed and eat gingerbread and listen to her favorite Christmas carols.

Ashley Marin was there. And the Montgomerys, and the Fields. Hanna and Caleb were milling around somewhere. Aria hadn’t come back for Winter Break yet.

Emily was currently caught up in a conversation with her mother and also Veronica Hastings. The Hastings adored Emily, understandably, and the Fields loved Spencer, and both families were beyond thrilled that they were both living together.

Every so often Emily would look over at Spencer, their gazes locking, and offer a small, mischievous smile.

She was doing a shockingly good job of pretending she was stone-cold sober in front of their mothers.

Something about the evening – maybe the spiked eggnog Hanna made her drink, or the Holiday Cheer – made Spencer feel bold, and she stood up from her perch on the couch, not bothering to pull down her skirt to a more acceptable length, and strode over to Emily, smiling politely at her mother and Pam Fields before plucking the champagne glass from Emily’s fingers and take a sip.

“Seriously?” Emily asked, making to grab it, but Spencer was to fast, sinking another sip before giving a cheeky smile and handing it back. “Get your own.”

She didn’t sound too irritated, so Spencer didn’t feel bad. Their mothers were laughing at them. Spencer shifted just a little closer, letting her leg brush against Emily’s, because she was craving the skin contact but needed to be subtle about it.

“Spencer,” Veronica said, drawing Spencer’s attention away from the curve of Emily’s back that was very visible in her dress, “Ms. Thompson is leaving, will you go find her coat?”

Spencer nodded, moving away from Emily and towards the den, where all of the coats were being kept. There was a toy train running around the low-shelving in the den, and fake snow had been deposited almost everywhere. She could hear the echo of Johnny Mathis from the rest of the house, but the chattering and the closed door muffled it.

There were coats everywhere. What had Ms. Thompson been wearing? Some ugly, garish, red thing, if she was remembering correctly. All baubles and fake fur. Spencer was so focused on finding the coat that she didn’t even hear the door open and then close once more. She found the coat, finally, but before she could turn around, something icy cold pressed against her shoulder.

Spencer jumped, nearly dropping the coat, and whirled around to see Emily, with a new champagne flute in one hand and her own in the other. The hand with the new champagne was outstretched, clearly having been the culprit.

“Payback, huh?” Spencer asked.

“Bringing you a gift,” Emily quipped with a smile, offering the glass to Spencer.

Spencer smiled as she took a sip, watching Emily sway a little bit. Spencer’s eye caught sight of a little sprig of green over Emily’s head.

“Hey. Look up.”

Emily did as told, and when she spotted the mistletoe, an unreadable expression crossed her face. “We shouldn’t…” she said slowly.

“Right. Of course,” Spencer agreed. But when Emily looked back at her, biting her lower lip and looking torn, Spencer gripped the ugly jacket in her hands harder. “Then again, it is tradition.”

“True,” Emily agreed. “It would be festive. We don’t wanna be Scrooges.”

“Certainly not.”

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

“Just kiss me.”

Spencer didn’t need to be told twice, and closed the gap between them, swiftly setting down her drink and then lifting that hand to cup Emily’s face and hold her close. They didn’t usually kiss like this. They never kissed unless there was sex involved, and they usually spent most of their time kissing almost any other part of the other’s body except for their lips. Another of their unspoken rules.

Still, it was familiar enough, feeling startlingly intimate, while still making Spencer’s whole body hum. She teased at Emily’s lips, tugging just a little on the bottom one, and when Emily moved to deepen the kiss, Spencer pulled back, drawing a small whine out of Emily that she loved. It made it that much harder to stop.

“We should, uh, probably get back to the party,” Spencer said, lowering her hand and settling it on Emily’s bare back. They didn’t do this. They weren’t…they were friends who occasionally used each other to get off. “Ms. Thompson needs her coat.”

Emily licked her lips, slowly, and nodded. Then she looked down at the coat for the first time. “That is the ugliest coat I’ve ever seen.”

Spencer couldn’t help it – she laughed a little too hard at that. It was too true.

She let her hand drop away from Emily’s skin, and they both took a step back. They shared a small smile before picking up their drinks again and slipping back into the party without a word.

Spencer gave Ms. Thompson her lovely coat back, and found Hanna and Caleb. Emily was off…somewhere.

“We might head out soon,” Caleb said, looking down at Hanna who was tucked against his side. “She may have had one too many cups of your spiked Eggnog.”

Hanna hit his side, affectionately, and looked back at Spencer. “He just has no reason to stay now that the sugar cookies are gone.”

Spencer shook her head, smiling. “Go whenever you need too. We’re gonna hang out in a few days anyway. And it’s mostly old people here now anyway, so I’d get out before you get roped into a conversation about crochet.”

Both Hanna and Caleb looked horror-stricken for half a moment, before sharing a look and nodding. Spencer knew she was right. Better to get out of dodge than be stuck talking to one of the older people who always stuck around too long. Even her own parents hated having to put up with them.

Of course, it wasn’t just old people yet. Their parents were all still here, Melissa was around here with a few of her friends. But the party was seriously lacking in people their own age.

“Mom?” Spencer asked, once Hanna and Caleb had gone to find their coats and some cookies to go, “have you seen Emily?”

Veronica looked around absently, “I think she went upstairs.”

Spencer nodded and slipped upstairs, trying to find Emily. She opened the door to her bedroom to see Emily smiling down at a picture of them, Hanna, and Aria from high school graduation. Spencer cleared her throat to announce her presence.

Not even Spencer’s room was spared from Veronica’s festive decoration mania. Soft lights had been strung throughout. Now, when they were the only lights on, it cast a soft glow over the room. And a few, intricate, glass snowflakes that had been hung from the ceiling also caught the light.

“Hi,” Emily said, and when Spencer looked at her, she saw how dark her eyes were. She swallowed thickly. “Got distracted.”

“No worries. You going home soon?”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Emily teased. She turned to face Spencer fully, and Spencer had to take a moment.

Emily had pulled her hair out of her updo, letting it billow down her shoulders. Her dress, backless and clingy, was breathtaking. Her heels only accentuated her legs, and the glow from the lights made her shine.

“Not at all,” she said, stepping further into the room and closing the door. Emily dragged her own eyes up Spencer’s frame, taking her sweet time, and making heat pool in Spencer’s stomach. “What?”

Emily shook her head, stepping out of her heels. “I’m literally dying right now.”

“You could not have used that word more incorrectly.”

Emily rolled her eyes, fondly, and stepped forward, stealing Spencer’s lips in a frenzied kiss. Spencer responded in kind, reaching behind herself to lock her bedroom door before bringing her hands back to start to lift Emily’s dress higher.

There were still people downstairs. Half of their neighborhood, their parents, probably Hanna and Caleb, Melissa and her friends. This felt different. The first time it didn’t feel so secret, yet it also felt wildly more intimate.

Spencer backed Emily up against the bed, her brain feeling hazy. This was the first time it didn’t stem from needing to scratch a random itch. They had put each other in this place. They had been the one driving the other wild.

Emily pulled back, moving them so Spencer was seated on the edge of the bed, and Emily moved to straddle her. Spencer, per usual, raked her hands through Emily’s dark hair, feeling flushed as Emily’s hands ran over her, trying to touch every inch of skin that she could.

Spencer stilled her hands for a moment, causing Emily to pause everything, and look down into Spencer’s eyes, breathing hard.

“Happy Holidays,” Spencer whispered, and Emily cracked a smile. Spencer raked her fingers down Emily’s back, but tried not to hurt her. Emily sat above her, glowing and gentle, and Spencer’s heart squeezed. Then Emily leaned forward, so Spencer was laying on the bed, and angled their mouths together once more.

[grootpoepjeplasjehoofd]

When he attacked Fort Pillow in April 1864, Forrest encountered a garrison that wouldn’t surrender, and was half African-American. The black troops were from two artillery units, backed up by raw infantry. Forrest’s raiders outnumbered them, 1,500 to 600, and Forrest expected to win easily. He issued one of his standard threats after initial skirmishing, telling the Union commander he and his men had fought well enough to be “entitled” to be treated as POWs if they surrendered, but if Forrest was “forced” to attack, he couldn’t guarantee their safety.

It worked, many times, but it didn’t work on the second-in-command at Fort Pillow, who replied, “I will not surrender.” Forrest’s men overran the fort and killed every black soldier they could find. One of the Confederates who took part in the massacre reported it like this:

“Words cannot describe the scene. The poor deluded negroes would run up to our men fall upon their knees and with uplifted hands scream for mercy but they were ordered to their feet and then shot down. The whitte [sic] men fared but little better. Their fort turned out to be a great slaughter pen.”

After a half hour of slaughter, Forrest resumed command, and sent a proud dispatch boasting that the “river was dyed red” with the blood of the African-American soldiers. Forrest was a master of terror in war, and saw the massacre as a good way to neutralize the growing number of African-American soldiers the Union was recruiting. He wrote, using the modest passive mode, “It is hoped that these facts will demonstrate to the Northern people that negro soldiers cannot cope with Southerners.”

Forrest later realized he might have gone too far for his own safety and started backpedaling. In a less than coincidental incident, Bradford, the Union commander who’d witnessed the whole massacre, was shot “while trying to escape” from Forrest’s men.

So by the time of Lee’s surrender, Nathan Bedford Forrest was guilty of murder several hundred times over. He was kill-able. He was the most eminently kill-able man who ever lived. He deserved death many times over. But he was allowed to return to civilian life, which for him meant becoming the First Grand Wizard of the KKK. And please, don’t go on about how he “later renounced the violence of the Klan.” What Forrest didn’t like about the evolution of the KKK was that he, Forrest, wasn’t in complete command of it, and that he felt its violence was amateurish. He was a pro, and he wanted artistic control over the symbolic violence in which the Klan traded.

Forrest’s survival after the war was a disaster on any level you want; legal, moral, political. Nathan Bedford Forrest should have graced a gallows in the spring of 1865, and that should have been clear at the time to any resolute Union government.