#would immortalize them through his woodwork after to remember them

[bread-wizards]

Love Laudna wanting Orym to be the one to cut her down if need be because she feels he can make hard choices, and Travis like "uh hello? What about Chetney? You want to put Orym through that anguish? I am right here" like damn, he right tho

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

Damien Character Bio

Basics

Full Name: Damien

Birthday: It was so long ago he doesn't remember, but he thinks it was a Tuesday

Sexual Orientation: Whatever suits him in the moment

Powers: Telekinesis, Hellfire Summoning, Soul Gaze, Illusions, Immortality

Appearance

Ethnicity: Demon, but currently in the form of a white British man

Skin Tone: Fair

Eye Color: Light Green

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Hairstyle: Floppy

Build: Lanky, arms and legs for days

Height: 6'0''

Style: Hard to find him in anything that isn't a suit and tie

Personality

General Personality Traits: Possessive, Charming, Ruthless

Strengths: Adaptive, Intelligent, Protective

Flaws: Manipulative, Selfish, Spiteful

Habits And Mannerisms: Messes with his hair a lot, Smoker but admittedly more for the aesthetic than anything else, appears as if he's not in full control of limbs when he's not putting in the effort

Secrets: Actually rather likes humans

Regrets: Lying to Cassandra one too many times

Skills/Talents: Can sell just about anyone the Brooklyn Bridge if he talks long enough, proficient dancer, knives

Likes: Cassandra, Ellie, Trashy reality TV

Dislikes: Yes men, Pretentiousness, People who get in his way

Sense of Humor: Dark

Guilty Pleasure: Anything sweet

Defining Moment: Deciding to go against hell and help Cassandra get away with Ellie after she was born

Relationships

Friends: None really, no self respecting demon does

Family: Ellie Jackson (daughter)

Affiliation: Hell

Enemies: Also Hell, The Sorcerer Supreme, Masters of the Mystic Arts in general

Lovers: Cassandra Jackson (formally)

Relationship Status: It’s complicated

Reputation: Charming devil, when he puts his mind to it

Miscellaneous

Current Residence: Hell

Collections: None really, he hasn't got a place to keep them, although he does have a nice array of carving knives.

Accent: British

Voice: Think Matt Smith

Signature Quote: TBA

Song: Play With Fire by The Rolling Stones alternatively Meant to Be Yours from Heathers

Backstory

Damien came into being around the same time many other demons started sprouting form the woodwork. He was just a common foot solider, spreading hell's dominion over the Earth and collecting souls to fuel the war effort.

Over time, thousands of years worth, he grew higher in the ranks, noted for his understanding of humanity compared to his fellow demons.

On the whole demons don't like to leave Hell if they can help it. With no souls of their own, there is the possibility to lose oneself. The longer a demon pretends to be something else, the more that thing gets written into their very DNA. A demon can go native if they aren't careful.

Damien spent centuries towing the line, always making sure to scurry back down to Hell whenever he felt himself becoming a little too human. Until, finally, he was called forward for Hell's darkest mission yet. The time had come for Hell to mount a full assault on the Earth.

A handful of demons could slip through the cracks between dimensions easily enough, but an army was out of the question. Hell's solution? A demon/human hybrid. This child would have all the powers of a demon, with none of the limitations as their powers would self sustain on their own soul. Between their power and their nature as a being of two worlds, the wall would crumble.

Damien was the natural choice for such a mission. He would sire the child and bring it back to hell once it was born. A family was chosen, one that had been making deals with their kind for centuries. All Damien had to do was seduce the most powerful witch in the bloodline.

He came to Earth with exactly that intent, disguising himself as a human and ingraining himself in the small community in which the family lived. It was then he met a seventeen year old Cassandra Jackson on the first day of her senior year.

Her power was the first thing that drew him to her, but what kept him interested was her stubborn intelligence. She would not submit easily, and the challenge thrilled him in a way he hadn't felt in centuries. It forced him to get to know her. He ended up spending more time on Earth than he intended, lingering with her until late into the evening and into the early morning.

She told him her secrets and her dreams, and while he could not tell her the whole truth, in some way he was able to expression his own doubts and frustrations about hell. He found himself telling her things he had only ever thought. Every day it became more difficult to leave her and find himself in the company of his own kind.

But there was still the mission. The child needed to be created.

The time came after her eighteenth birthday. She had told him she had wanted to wait. He made sure to be gentle with her and after, when she told him she loved him, for the first time in his existence, he felt shame. He repeated the words back, not understanding the ache in his chest. He only began to understand after she told him she was pregnant.

He had expected to fight. He had an argument ready for keeping the child, willing to feed her every lie and empty promise necessary. Instead, she came to him eyes shining and terrified. She told him she wanted to keep the child. She told him she loved him and wanted a life with him. She chose him.

Damien didn’t know what to make of it. He said all the things he was supposed to, promising her that he would stay, telling her he wanted the same thing.

During the course of her pregnancy he never left her side. When his superiors question him about this, he explained it away with wanting to make sure Cassandra had no second thoughts about the child. In actuality he found himself unable to leave.

It was growing more apparent that he had never had anything of his own before. Cassandra was his, she told him as much and their child would be the same. They were his and hell was going to take them away from him.

Everything came to a head the day Cassandra went into labor. She had barely had time to hold their daughter before her family pulled her away exclaiming with pride how well she had served her purpose. Tell told her everything about Damien and her daughter’s role in the new order. The look of betrayal on her face drove through Damien like a knife.

He didn’t have a real plan. He just knew he had to get Cassandra and their daughter safe and away from hell’s influence. He didn’t even get to know his daughter’s name before placing her in Cassandra’s arms and telling her to run.

Hell caught up with him, of course. He should had died, but he did what he did best; he started to talk. He convinced his superiors that allowing Cassandra be their daughter to remain on Earth was actually beneficial to hell’s cause. The source of her power was her human soul. She would need to live among humans, experience human love and connection to nurture it and grow in power. Human love was an extremely powerful force after all.

His superiors conceded, but decided he had gotten too close to safely put back in the field and so kept him in hell until the child came into their power.

For twelve years Damien stayed in his own dimension slowly losing the little bit of humanity he had gained. He was then summoned once more to Earth with one simple mission; tear down the wall by whatever means necessary. If human love was so powerful, human grief could break nations.

[secretsinthevoid]

Triggers: mentions of death, paranoia, eating disorder, depression, suicide

I remember that call vividly. It haunts my dreams occasionally. I remember going to sleep the day before and seeing my grandfather in my dreams, surrounded by a soft white light telling me that I would be okay and that he loved me so much. I remember waking up feeling confused as to why I would dream of something like that. At thirteen I couldn’t fathom losing the person who meant everything to me. To me, he could never die, he was immortal, but then again, everyone thinks that of the ones they love the most. 

The next day I got the call that he was gone and it was as if the glass around me had shattered and was just falling to the ground in slow motion. Nothing made sense, everything hurt, I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I honestly had no idea how I was going to survive.  I knew what his death meant for me. I knew that it was only the beginning of the end. 

I had written out so many suicide notes, each one always pointed some blame on Kelly. Would it have been her fault that I killed myself? Possibly. Maybe then people would’ve started to give a shit about me and other kids like me who were suffering at the hands of a manipulative, narcissists who had to be the center of everything and if they weren’t then it was war and nothing would stop them until they got what they wanted. 

When it came time for the viewing and funeral, I was already numb to the point that nothing mattered. I was on autopilot just kind of going through the motions - I lived on autopilot for years before realizing that I wasn’t truly living, I was just surviving. I went to the viewing twice, one with my grandma because Kelly was at work and then again when Kelly got off work. Now, I know she was paying her respects to my grandfather because he was a good man, but I also know the games she plays and that her showing up there wasn’t just for me or out of respect, it was so she could brag and hold it in the family’s face that she was there to get information for her own personal arsenal for later use, and to play the role of mother of the year. She spent her time talking to other family members instead of worrying about her suicidal teen and making sure that I was okay while there with all of the strangers and people coming out of the woodworks. No, instead she was away from me, talking to everyone else while I was extremely uncomfortable with all of the attention. I just wanted to say goodbye to my best friend, to the person who had actually raised me and been there for me when I needed it. 

After the funeral when everyone else was eating, I sat in place with a plate of food in front of me, refusing to eat because I wasn’t hungry. I had no motivation to eat even the smallest of bites and hadn’t really eaten anything sufficent since I was told of my grandfather’s passing. I don’t even think one of those bastards from that side of the family even cared that I was practically starving myself. I know at one point one of them asked why I wasn’t eating, to which Kelly replied with I’d eat when I was ready. I don’t remember eating anything that day. 

 Even as I watched them lower him into the ground I kept thinking he was being buried alive. For months I would wake up in a panic because; what if he woke up and then died because he was already buried. What if they made a mistake and he wasn’t really gone? I was always panicking because I couldn’t deal with my own grief and the thought of him being gone for good. Don’t get me wrong, I understood death, I had lost two family members that I loved two years and the spring before he passed, I just wasn’t ready for his passing. It was sudden and he was literally at the doctors a few days before and was given a clear bill of health. I was just trying to process the fact that I lost my only good link in this world, the one person who could save me from the hellhole that was home. 

Four months after his funeral, I still wasn’t doing okay. I was still very much in denial. I wasn’t myself and anyone who knew me before he died would’ve been able to see that I wasn’t okay. I wasn’t really eating, my Bulimia had gotten worse as well as my depression and just...my will to live was completely gone. I had been in therapy for about a year and a half and the therapist had told Kelly to give me some space after school, to give me some time to just relax before asking me how my day was, nothing too difficult, right? Well, I had practically become a mute because what was the point of saying anything anymore if I wasn’t going to live past a certain age? It’s a miracle a lived this long, what was one more year?  Well, one day, Kelly snapped over me not answering her or not giving her the answer she wanted and looked me in the eyes and said she was tired of walking on eggshells around me. I’m sorry that my entire world just fell apart in a single moment and that I was trying to figure out how to put it back together myself. That night, I wrote the nastiest letter I had ever written and tried to kill myself. 

I still remember that letter and how it blamed Kelly for just about everything and literally cited the way she treated me. No one ever saw that letter. Sometimes I regret throwing it out.

[lumassen]

Suomen Tasavalta

Unlike most other Nations, Finland chooses to live alone and limit his contact with humans and his people. Despite appearing cheerful and happy, Finn struggles with his immortality more than others might think.

----

Cross posted from AO3. Includes lyrics from "Who wants to live forever" by Queen.

Words: 1,930

----

There's no time for us,

There's no place for us,

It was too warm inside his cabin, and Finland felt a bead of sweat roll down the nape of his neck beneath his hair. He knew that he'd got carried away and put one too many logs on the fire that flickered away in the grate, but with no central heating in his house Finland always preferred it to be too warm than too cold. He couldn't help but smile a little though as his gaze fell upon Kukkamuna, his little fluffy companion, as she lay softly snoring out on the rug in front of the fireplace. He sat down on the couch to pull on his wellington boots and stuff his corduroy trousers into the tops. Beneath him, the red leather chesterfield was cracked and worn.

Like so many other things in his cabin, Finland hadn't changed, updated or replaced the couch since 1917 and instead just kept accumulating modernities as and when he needed them. His TV that he eventually treated himself to back in 2006 stood on an antique cabinet that he bought at a woodwork market when he first became independent and moved into this house, and the old refrigerator hummed loudly from the kitchen, the same one he’d always had. It would occasionally leak puddles of water all over the floor, but Finland made do, happy to mop up the water rather than replace the fridge. To him, not much time had passed at all, and the 1930's style fridge and all of his belongings were still relatively new in his eyes.

Tearing his gaze from the fire before he could get lost in thought, Finland stood up, turning his attention to the window to notice that the snow had stopped and the darkened sky was lifting as the clouds cleared.

It was mid December, and little over a week ago a new Prime Minister had been elected by the people of Finland. He eyed the letter on the side table that had arrived the day before last inviting him to meet with her, the edge of it torn accidentally from where he'd struggled to open the envelope with trembling hands.

What is this thing that builds our dreams,

Yet slips away from us?

Unlike the rest of the Nordics and majority of the other nations, Finland had lived in the same house all his independent life, far away from civilisation with no contact with humans apart from his government. He preferred it this way. Denmark teased, calling him a hermit, but he laughed it off, and Sweden always offered him a key to his house every time he moved into a new one, but Finland didn’t want it. He was happy enough by himself.

Happy, cheerful, Finland. That was him.

The cold air rushed in from outside, swirling around him in the entrance way like an old friend as he opened the door and looked out. A fresh layer of snow covered the ground beyond his porch, and had he not known that the lake was at the bottom of the hill it would be easy to overlook; now frozen over and covered in the same layer of snow. It would remain that way until the thaw. Taking in a deep breath through his nose, Finland found comfort in the way that the sharpness of the cold air stung his nostrils and filled his lungs.

After all he had seen and experienced, there wasn’t much in life that unnerved or scared him, yet when Finland had tried on his formal suit last night before he went to bed to make sure that it still fit and looked back at himself in the mirror he felt the dread building in the pit of his stomach. It hadn’t gone away, and instead had been building ever since, his insides churning to the point that he hadn’t been able to stomach breakfast this morning. Tomorrow he was to meet with the Prime Minister and stand before them as they shook his hand awkwardly, regarding him with either an expression of fear, apprehension or unease; sometimes even all three at once.

He didn’t blame them though, no matter how much it hurt him. He knew that it was strange for them to find out that the country that they had just become head of had a personification. Someone that wasn’t quite human, yet wasn't like anything else. Unexplainable, yet real. Living and breathing but unable to die, walking the earth for eternity.

Who wants to live forever?

Who wants to live forever?

Closing the door behind him, Finland stepped out onto the porch, the wind sending a chill up his spine as it found any hole or gap in his clothing to slip through as he made his way down the three steps at the front of his cabin and listened to the snow crunch beneath him as he sank his feet into it. Quiet. Tranquil. Only the sound of his own shuddered breathing that came out and danced in clouds around him, a visual reminder of the life within him.

Balling his fists, Finland took a step forward, then another, then another, until he broke into a run, his feet burying into the snow before he came to a halt, teetering at the very edge of the lake.

"Miksi!? Minä vitun tätä!!" (Why? I fucking hate this!)

Finland's voice echoed over the lake as he screwed his eyes shut and shouted from the top of his lungs, causing a flock of birds in a nearby birch tree to take to the wing, startled. He watched them through tear filled eyes as they flew to the other side of the lake before settling back down into the trees again.

"Miksi olen täällä? Mikä minun tarkoituseni on?" (Why am I here? What is my purpose?)

This time his voice was little more than a whisper as he swallowed the lump in his throat and looked down at the crescent shaped grooves that his fingernails had left in the skin on the palms of his hands from clenching his fists so tightly.

There's no chance for us.

It's all decided for us.

This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us.

He thought back to that moment in 1917 and could see himself as he looked out at the lake. His younger self was staring back at him as though he were a ghost, an apparition. He'd never felt as alive as he had then as he turned his back on Russia and finally led his people home to his land. To the Republic of Finland.

That had been the last time he'd interacted with them, choosing to live out his life as a free country with just the other nations for company. Sometimes he wondered if it were a mistake, but if the look on his previous Prime Ministers face when they had been introduced for the first time was anything to go by then he stood by his decision. He was a freak, born from the snow and evergreen, his first waking moments spent alone and cold with no idea why he existed or where he came from.

Who wants to live forever?

Who dares to love forever?

Oh, when love must die?

A branch snapped underfoot behind him, and Finland spun around on the spot, swinging his rifle around from where it was slung over his back to aim it in the direction of the disturbance and closed one eye to look down the barrel.

“I’ve already been shot by ya once before and don’t plan to be shot again, so put that thing down. It’s just me.”

Sweden was standing in the clearing just in front of where the trees stopped at the edge of the lake with his hands raised in surrender, yet there was a smirk on his face. Lowering the rifle, Finland flicked the safety on and slowly slipped it to rest across his back once more.

“Ruotsi?”

Taking a tiny step forward, Finland squinted as if it could be anyone but Sweden before him, the bottom of his unmistakable long navy coat dusted with a thin layer of powdered snow from where he’d walked through it.

“Suomi.” he said, stopping in front of him.

It had been a couple months since Finland had seen Sweden, let alone interacted with anyone but Kukkamuna for that matter. He noticed Sweden had cut his hair.

“What are you doing here?” Finland couldn’t help but narrow his eyes as he asked the question, wondering if they had plans that he’d forgotten about.

There was a small silence between them as Sweden reached out and hesitantly brought his hand to Finland’s face. At first he flinched at the touch, but Sweden’s hands were always warm, just as he remembered them as he ran his thumb over the stubble that had grown across his jaw.

“I know you gotta big day tomorrow, and that you don’t like humans.”

If it were anyone else, Finland would have felt the urge to defend himself and explain that he loved the humans and his people. Deep down he did, they were the reason that there was life in his veins, but they made him uneasy and Sweden knew this better than anyone.

“It’s not that I don’t like them, Roo,” he pressed as Sweden let his hand drop back down by his side, “because I do. I don’t mind being around them when they think I’m one of them, but tomorrow…”

Finland dropped his gaze to his hands as they fiddled with the small hole at the hem of his sweater from where he’d been meaning to mend it for the past 20 years.

“Wait, didja come all this way just for me? You’re not here on business?” he looked up again as the realisation hit him, and Sweden just nodded with a faint smile.

But touch my tears with your lips,

Touch my world with your fingertips,

“No, I just thought it had been a while since I saw a birch tree. I heard the best can be found here.” Sweden said as he knocked his knuckles against the trunk of the birch to his left and looked up into its branches wistfully before his eyes slid to look at Finland from behind his glasses, a playful expression on his face and Finland felt his jaw slacken.

“Course I came here for ya.”

Finland let out a laugh as his face crumpled and he wiped his nose that had started to run as a result of the cold on his sleeve, drying away the few tears that threatened to fall at the same time and hoped that Sweden hadn’t noticed them.

“You tried your suit on?” Sweden asked, his voice a little gentler now as he took a step closer to Finland. Finland nodded with a sniffle, feeling his stomach lurch as the thought of having to stand in a stuffy room tomorrow in a three piece suit, lily of the valley in his breast pocket, hair tamed and combed back just as his officials thought it should be.

“Then let's not think about it again until tomorrow mornin’.”

Draping an arm heavy around Finland’s shoulders, Sweden stooped and pressed the softest of kisses to the top of Finland’s head, clearly unfazed by the fact that he hadn’t washed his hair in three days.

“Kiitos, Ruotsi.” (Thank you, Sweden.)

“Ole hyvä, Suomi.” (You’re welcome, Finland.)

And we can have forever,

And we can love forever,

Forever is our today.

[nonsensicalobsessions]

A Symphony without Strings, Chapter 1

Author’s Notes: as ever, I have music selections for you if you care to listen. As you might guess from the title, music will weave its way in and out of the plot and the characters’ lives, the way they speak, and what they do. For this opening, I have two pieces for you. The first is https://youtu.be/ohQSPR0Z1zM, and the secondhttps://youtu.be/srq45XPUNqM is  which is quite short. 

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

Tom received a terse text from Luke:

     Take the call, twat.

He answered with, “Rude. I wasn’t avoiding you, you hadn’t even rang yet...”

Luke had no time for pleasantries. “What are you doing right now?”

“Well, I was...”

“Cancel it. I need you in my office. Now.”

Tom was bewildered. “Luke, what the hell? I have plans for the afternoon, I was...”

“And I said cancel them, and get your ass in here. Now!”

Tom was left staring at his phone. Luke had hung up.

He had just finished cleaning up after his morning run, and was preparing to spend the day with his mother and sister, working in their garden. They were not going to be best pleased about his backing out. He sighed before he rang them, and decided to have them vent all their spleen at Luke. He would make sure they had his personal mobile number. There was no way he was going to take the fall for whatever had Luke’s boxers in a twist this time. His conscience was clean. There had been no incidents with wine, women, or song. 

Quite depressing, really. He needed to get out more.

Once he arrived, he was aware that everyone was avoiding his eyes. Usually there was an air of bonhomie in the office, and he enjoyed the camaraderie. But the tension could be cut with a knife now, and his stomach twisted. What was going on, he hadn’t done anything!

In desperation, he turned to Luke’s executive assistant. “Come on, Carlotta, help a bloke out. Everyone is behaving like I was caught buggering a sheep on the BBC. What in the devil is going on?”

She shook her head and sighed. “Luke is on the warpath, and everyone is seeking deep shelter. Just go on in, he’s waiting for you. And Tom? I know all sheep are safe with you.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’d offer you tea, but...just...go on in.”

Once Tom shut the door behind him, she murmured, “This goes well beyond a cup of Earl Grey.”

Tom entered Luke’s office, demanding, “What the hell, Luke? Your office is behaving like I’m persona non grata, Carlotta said you have your staff looking for a fallout shelter...and I haven’t done a single thing wrong. Not one thing. I’ve been living the life of a fucking monk. I get up, I go to work, I go home. I run, I walk my dog. I visit my family. Why are you glaring at me like this?”

Luke said through gritted teeth, “What is the one thing I have asked of you from the beginning, Tom? The one thing I have begged you not to do, the one thing I have repeatedly warned you against?”

“Not to sing ‘The Bare Necessities’ after I’ve had too much to drink?” Tom quipped.

Luke’s glare deepened to the point that the mild mannered man looked almost demonic.

Tom sighed. “Not to have some woman arrive at your doorstep claiming she’s knocked up. But that is impossible, Luke. I haven’t been with anyone. In months. Christ, it’s absolutely humiliating to think about how long it’s been since I’ve gotten laid, thank you very much. I just can’t take the chance. Obviously someone has come out of the woodwork, claiming that I’m her baby daddy, but whoever the female in question is, she’s a very bad liar, and thank you for thinking so little of me. You should have done your homework better before losing your mind...”

“Let’s hit the way back machine, Tom,” Luke interrupted, his voice a deadly calm. “Five years ago. You were filming and met a young woman who was working as an extra while studying music at the local university. Her name was...”

“Meredith Skye...Merry,” Tom whispered, in shock, as memories came flooding back to him.

He had met Merry at the canteen as they both shivered, getting a cup of tea. It was bitterly cold that day. He thought the way she’d smiled at him and then looked down and away was adorable, although he knew better than to say so. He followed her with his eyes as she took her cup and walked away. Later, he approached her and offered to take her out for a coffee or tea, and she agreed. It was the beginning of an intense but short lived relationship. Both of them knew there was no future for them. She was in graduate school, hoping to be a conductor someday. She as proficient in piano, violin, and a brilliant cellist. It gave Tom the greatest pleasure to watch her perform pieces in her tiny rowhouse, sometimes in the nude, after they had lain in her small bed together...A tiny woman, Tom used to joke her cello would crush her someday...he would get lost in her music, and her eyes...she had such a sweetly lush form, to her despair. He loved that she wasn’t rail-thin, he would praise her, claiming that she had a figure that Titian would have immortalized had he seen her...Tom loved her wild, curly red hair, and her clear blue eyes that he could lose himself in as he lost himself in her body. It was such a wrench when he had to leave, but they both knew it had to be...she could not, would not, leave her studies. She was so close to her degree, so close to attaining her dream, as she was performing more and more, and her talents were being admired and even requested in very high circles...and he had to continue filming. They didn’t even consider trying to keep in touch, but felt it best to accept that theirs was a beautiful, idyllic moment in time. They were young, and had their lives ahead of them.

“No strings.” That was their understanding from the beginning, and sometimes even said with an ironic smile, as Merry would caress her instruments, and he would caress her as she played them...

“I don’t understand,” Tom shook his head. “Why would she get in touch with you now...and why are you talking about babies popping up? Merry and I were careful, and anyway, that was ages ago. We parted as friends.”

Luke’s voice was stern. “She wanted to just give you this letter.” He slid it across his desk. “I strongly advised that she speak to you, in person.”

“Merry’s here? Right now?” Tom’s head spun around, as he searched the empty office. “Where is she?” A pleased smile was on his face at the thought of seeing her again. He’d missed her.

“Which would you prefer, Tom? The letter, or to hear it from her own lips?”

Tom took a deep breath. “I really cared for Merry. If she wanted to tell me in a letter, then I will honor her wishes.”

Luke’s face could not be more disapproving, his lips pursed in a frown, but he slid the envelope towards Tom, who eagerly opened it.

Dear Tom,

I hope this finds you well. I have been following your career avidly, and I have been so very proud to see you go from strength to strength. I have kept our trysting close to my heart, even as I have longed to crow to all I see, “I know this man! He is just as amazing in person as he is on screen! He deserves every accolade, every word of praise...he is truly the best, most accomplished thespian of our age.”

Since we parted, I finished my degree, and was able to achieve my dream: I was honored to be the conductor of the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra. I enjoyed every moment, and confess that I was ever looking upward, hoping to move to an even more prestigious company. You know me, always looking for a bigger brass ring, even while reveling in what I have. Ambition, how we spent many hours talking about it, remember?

However, there are a couple of things that changed in my life, and they are the reasons that I have broken my promise to not contact you again, and once you hear them, I think you will understand, and I pray you will even forgive me.

The first, and most important. I do not know how to tell you this, Tom, so I will simply come out and say it, and I ask you to please sit down.

Tom, you are a father. You have a son.

Tom stopped reading. Stopped breathing. He looked up at Luke, completely stricken.

“That...this is impossible. It can’t be. We always used protection, always. Luke,  I cared about her, I wouldn’t put her in that situation...”

“Keep reading,” Luke ordered, his voice and face implacable.

I understand your shock and disbelief. I felt just the same when I realized that my symptoms were not some bizarre flu but the signs of pregnancy. The only explanation I can come up with is that night we spent in front of the fire when you were very...playful, before you actually put the condom on...? I don’t know, Tom, that’s my best guess. I will have Liam available for any paternity test that you wish to have run to validate my claim...but I think once you see him, you will know without a doubt that he is yours. Nevertheless, I understand the importance of having the legal proprieties observed.

Liam’s arrival only slowed my stride, he did not stop me. I simply took him along, and I daresay he has not suffered for the ride. He has definitely acquired a taste for music, that’s for sure! At four years of age, he can play simple tunes on both the piano and violin, but I let him set his own pace. He isn’t pressured into anything, I won’t have it. Of course it goes without saying that he is the most brilliant boy that ever was, walking at seven months, talking fluently by fifteen months...but I won’t bore you with my proud mama babble. I have given a photo to Luke so you may see it if and when you are ready.

When he was born, I did not list you as the father. Perhaps that was wrong of me, I don’t know. What I do know is when we parted, it was meant to be for good, and our mantra was, “No strings.” A child is not a string, it is a cable, and I did not wish to inflict such upon you. It didn’t seem fair. You didn’t ask for this. I refused to tie you to me when we had agreed to part and go our separate ways.

So, why am I contacting you now? This brings me to the second reason.

I’m afraid I’ve gone and gotten leukemia, Tom. 

For the second time, Tom stopped reading, the air sucked out of his lungs. “Merry. Merry, no,” he gasped. As much as he was shocked with the first revelation, this one hurt his heart. He had cared deeply for the bright young woman, and the thought of her being mortally ill, her light being diminished and perhaps ultimately leaving the world, was a knife to his soul. He looked at Luke. “You did see her, right? Did she look all right? Does she need anything? I mean, is there...”

Luke interrupted. “Keep reading.”

Tom returned to the letter, anguished.

My prognosis is 50-50. I am hopeful, but I also have to be realistic. Should I not be able to beat this, I have to make sure that Liam is taken care of, and I could not in good conscience give his care to another without telling his father about his existence first.

I am not foisting his care upon you. I am not asking you for a single thing—not child support, not acknowledgment, anything. Tom, you must understand this. All choices are yours. If you would Iike to be a part of his life, that does not mean you have to be an intimate part of mine by extension, whether I live another month or a hundred years. I simply cannot let this situation continue. You can be as deeply involved as you wish. The decision is solely at your discretion.

Please forgive me for the decisions that I made. I always made them with love, with your best interests in my heart. I have always wished you well, and still do.

Sincerely yours,

Meredith Skye 

Shaken, Tom lowered the letter. It was handwritten, on pale blue stationery. Of course, Merry would not have something so personal typed on plain white paper. That was not her style.

“May I see the photo?” Tom asked quietly.

Luke slid over another small envelope. It contained a professionally printed wallet sized photograph.

Tom swallowed hard, and looked, heart roaring in his ears.

It could have been a photo of himself, when he was the same age.

A smiling young boy sat on a chair, with a bear in his lap. He had blonde hair, with a touch of red, cut short but you could see the tips were trying to curl. He had his mother’s clear cerulean eyes, and an open, brilliant smile...but Tom could see his features clearly stamped on the little boy’s face.

A storm of emotions were warring in his breast, but all he could think to say was, “Well, hello, there, Liam. I’m your dad.”

Luke remained silent, even as tears coursed down his best client’s, his best friend’s, face.

Tom scrutinized the photo, looking at the child’s hands (long fingers like mine, if he wants to keep up with his music studies that can only be to his advantage), his legs (I can’t see how long they are in the photo, is he going to be a bean pole too?), his ears (ah, sorry, kid).

Tom looked up and hoarsely asked, “Is Merry here? May I see her?”

“She’s in the conference room,” Luke replied. “She wasn’t certain you would wish to see her. I was certain you would. I was also certain if she left the building, you would go haring off after her and God knows what kind of public scene you would create, so I implored her to stay here and wait for you, which is why I was so adamant you come right away.”

“She’s been there all this time, Luke, that’s uncalled for...!” Tom stood up immediately.

“Stop it, Tom,” Luke stood as well. “I made sure to keep her very comfortable, complete with every refreshment she wouldn’t ask for, and had both a sofa and recliner brought in for her comfort. Come. I’ll bring you to her.”

Like a chastened child, Tom allowed himself to be led from Luke’s office to the conference room, feeling simultaneously as though he was being brought to the headmaster’s office from his past, and about to see his future, all at one go.

Luke opened the door, and stepped aside.

“You’re not coming in with...?”

“Oh, no,” Luke replied grimly. “This is all yours. It’s your life, your decision. I just get to spin it.”

Tom squared his shoulders and walked in, thinking in the recesses of his mind if he had any idea how momentous this morning? afternoon? was going to be, he would have dressed for it. A white button up and black jeans hardly seemed appropriate for this.

Once the door was shut, he looked around, and still saw no one.

“Merry,” he called out softly.

“Tom.”

She stepped out from behind the room’s divider. “I didn’t know who would come in, so I thought it best I slip behind here, just in case.”

As much as Tom had been hit with revelation after revelation, this one was the cruelest.

Merry was but a shadow of how he remembered her. A bright head covering failed to conceal that her glorious head of hair was gone. Her face was pasty white, and her clothes hung on her frail frame. Her once bright smile was tremulous.

“Are you just going to stand there, then?” Her voice was also less sure, not the confident, laughing one that he remembered so fondly.

He crossed the room in four quick strides, and took her into his arms gently but firmly.

“Merry,” he whispered brokenly. “I can’t take everything in yet, but seeing you like this is hardest to fathom.”

“Oh, I know I look...different,” she laughed, and he wasn’t fooled for a moment.

“It’s not that, I just can’t bear to think of you hurting...Come, sit down, and let’s talk,” he urged her.

Merry had been in agony ever since Luke had left her in the room to await either his return, or Tom’s arrival. She had no way of knowing which it would be. The Tom she had bid farewell to had been nothing but warm, tender, and generous, and she hoped that he had remained the same, but it was impossible to say. With his skyrocketing fame, and fairly disastrous love affairs, she could easily see where he might no longer be so. She had sent a missive to Luke’s office, requesting a private meeting with him with regards to her past association with Tom, assuring the publicist she meant Tom no harm and no scandal, but it was important she get in touch him as soon as possible. She gave her name, and the dates and location that they had been together, hoping it would be enough to prove she was legitimately connected to Tom at one point, and not being deceitful. Apparently it was enough, for Luke got back to her swiftly, albeit tersely. Well, she could understand it. She explained she was in the area, and wished to drop off a letter. All she wanted was his word he ensure Tom receive it. Luke was quite firm she come into the office, even to the point of sending a car for her. Once she arrived, she was ushered into his private office. She could tell her appearance took him aback. Hell, it took herself aback, she looked like death on toast these days. She had just gotten the okay to travel after another round of chemotherapy, and she still flew wearing a mask, not that she had any faith in them.

Once she gave him the letter, he skillfully extracted the nature of the contents, and sighed. Merry hastened to reassure Luke that there was no incipient scandal, she was not about to sue for child support, paternity, anything. She simply wanted to let Tom know of his son’s existence. End of story.

“Mr. Windsor...”

“Luke,” he reminded her again.

“I implore you trust me. I know you must meet all sorts of people, with all sorts of agendas, and many of them self-serving. I have nothing but Tom’s best interests at heart. I would never do a thing to hurt him, or his career. The time we spent together was very special, and I hold those memories close to my heart. We parted as friends and I would never do anything to hurt him, it would be like hurting myself. I just cannot take the chance of my health deteriorating and him not knowing, any longer. If he wants to continue his life as it is, then so be it, and no hard feelings. If I had talked with him about Liam from the beginning, that would be one thing...but I didn’t. I took that decision away from him. I take full responsibility. If Tom would Iike to see Liam from a distance, well, all I would ask is that he not hurt or confuse him by being in and out of his life. I don’t see Tom doing that to a child, not with his own background...anything more than that, is his decision.”

“What if Tom should decide to battle you for full custody?”

Merry had grown even whiter, as impossible as it seemed.

“I will cross that bridge when, and if, I come to it,” was her reply. “I would hope it would not come to it.”

“He has more resources than you,” Luke pressed on. “After all, he is well known, and certainly enjoys popular opinion, the Internet’s Boyfriend and all that. He has quite an enviable bank account. The fact that you hid his child from him, well, I’m afraid that it would not look good for you. Combined with your ill health...perhaps it would be best if you, and your letter, simply walk away. Of course, I can help you with any expenses you may have occurred with your journey here, all you would have to do is name the figure...?”

Merry had leaned back, appalled.

“I don’t want to name a figure, I never wanted money, any money. You’re disgusting, Mr. Windsor. I have enough of my own money, and I cannot buy my health back, at any price. My request remains as is was when I approached you. Please just give the letter to Tom. Shit, have him read it in your presence to ensure it says as I’ve told you, or better yet, give me another envelope, I’ll open this one so you can read it yourself and I’ll seal it in another to give to Tom, and then I’m gone.”

Luke leaned back in his chair, and actually smiled for the first time.

“Congratulations, Merry.”

“What?”

“You pass.”

Tom was livid.

“I am going to kill him,” he vowed.

“You will do no such thing. He protects you, Tom. And I daresay he does it not because you are his client, but because you are his friend, and he cares about you. After all,” Merry paused, and looked down and away, in a gesture that Tom remembered painfully well, “you are very easy to care about.”

Tom leaned forward and took her hands in his. “Tell me about Liam.”

“Before I do, do you understand why I made the decision I did?”

Tom looked deeply into her eyes. “No. Yes. I don’t know, I...I want to say no, Merry, I really do. I want to say you had no right to keep him from me, I would have stuck by you, you must have known that. I could have been a part of his life from the very beginning, I could have been there when he took his first breath, I could have been there for you. What was it like for you, going through it alone? Did you have any help, any support at all? I know your family was a non-starter.”

“I managed.”

“I would have helped, though,” he earnestly replied. “You know that...”

“Tom, think. What I know is during that time, you were busy non-stop. You were shooting, doing film promotion tours...I was paying attention, believe me. Every time I thought, this is it, I cannot, I can’t do this alone anymore, I would stop and look to see where you were, and I saw it would be the height of selfishness to drag you away from your work.”

“It took both of us to create Liam,” he reproached her. “And, as you commented, it probably was my carelessness that made the situation possible.”

“Yes, and it was my decision to keep said situation going,” she responded evenly. “There was no way, no way at all, I could reject our child. Not as long as I had breath. Was the timing convenient, no, but...”

“So why does it get to be inconvenient for you, but not for me?” Now Tom was becoming agitated.

Merry shrugged, her expression rueful. “Biology, Tom.”

Tom snorted, unable to argue her point. Merry always did have a trenchant wit. And when he stopped to think about the time frame she referenced, she was absolutely correct. Should she had reached out to him during her pregnancy, would he have been excited? Pleased? It was a safe bet to say his response, at least at first, would have been one of blind panic and agitation, rather than acceptance and support. (His first response would likely have been, “Luke is going to kill me!”) Merry knew it, and had acted accordingly. She had protected him at her expense. It wasn’t fair, but he understood.

“I don’t like it, Merry, but I understand. Thank you, for coming to me now. Please know what Luke said would never, will never, come to pass. I would put ground glass in my tea before I tried to take Liam from you.”

Merry felt an enormous weight fall from her shoulders. “Thank you, Tom, for saying so. I didn’t imagine you would, but thank you just the same.”

“What about you, Merry? What can be done for you?”

She looked away from him, and Tom gently took her chin to guide her face to force her eyes to meet his again. “Please, darling. Seeing you this ill breaks my heart. What is being done for you? Is there someone in your life now, someone who is giving you the love and care you deserve?”

Merry broke away from his gaze once more. “Damn you, Tom. Always with the difficult questions.”

“How are these difficult questions?”

“You asked them before, you know. ‘Where is your family? What do you mean, they abandoned you, who could ever abandon a treasure like you?’ I remember, Tom.”

He wrapped his arms around her more and gently guided her head to his shoulder, hearing the slight tremor in her voice. She hated to cry, loathed dropping her guard unless she felt absolutely safe. Once upon a time she had felt such with him, but... “I remember, too. It’s still me, you know. Your Tom. I know how you insist on doing everything you can alone, rather than ask for a single bit of help. So I ask again...is there anyone in your life, Merry? I promise not to be jealous. Much.”

She laughed a bit. “No, no one. I was seeing a flutist for awhile. Dreadful mistake that was. Never date a flutist, Tom. The ego, dear God.”

“Noted,” he gravely agreed. “Did you fly here from Baltimore, then?”

“New York, actually. I’ve been going to Sloan Kettering for my treatment. There’s been some breakthrough protocols there and my physician at Johns Hopkins referred me. As soon as it was safe for me to travel, I left.”

“Alone, then.”

“Not alone, exactly,” she hedged. “I did have some travel companions.”

“And those would be...”

He felt her take a deep breath as she sat back to look at him steadily. “Clara, my healthcare provider. Sloan Kettering insisted that I be followed because of the clinical trial I’m in, you see...”

Tom nodded slowly, a sick feeling in his stomach. He hadn’t realized until now her treatment was experimental. It did not bode well for her, the fact she was placed in an experimental treatment, that standard care was no longer a viable option.

“I am glad you aren’t alone,” he replied simply.

“And...” she faltered.

“And,” he gently prompted.

“Aiden...”

“How does Aiden help you?”

“Aiden isn’t here for me, exactly.” She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “Aiden is here for Liam. He’s Liam’s tutor, music coach, and wrangler.”

Tom was stunned. “Liam is here? In London?”

Merry gave a very slight nod. “I never go anywhere without him, Tom. Yes, Liam is here. Right now,” she checked her watch, “they are flying kites in Regent’s Park. Or feeding ducks. Liam loves to feed ducks.”

Once more, Tom’s heart was roaring in his ears. “Can I...may I see him? Meet him?”

She leaned back into the sofa, doing her best not to wince. It was shaping up to be a long day, and Merry was exhausted. “I don’t know, Tom. How do you want to meet him? As a friend of his mother’s? Then yes, certainly. As his long lost father? Then I’m not so sure.”

Tom’s eyes snapped with anger. “Why not?”

Ah, there was the temper she recalled. “Because this isn’t a ‘try before you buy’ situation, Tom.”

“How can you dare say that to me?”

With his rage, the door came open. Tom’s head snapped around, to glare at Luke. “Eavesdropping, then?”

“Please,” Luke rolled his eyes. “Although with that last bellow, I’ve no doubt the entire floor heard you. I opened without knocking when I heard you lose your temper, yes, but I was coming to remind you that Merry is undoubtedly weary and to ask her if she would like to be escorted back to her hotel. If she wants your sorry self to accompany her, then no accounting for taste. If she would to rest for awhile first, I can arrange for a discreet location for you to meet later. If an intermediary is a good idea, I am happy to offer myself, or...”

Tom hung his head. “That won’t be necessary. My apologies, Merry.”

“All is well, Tom. Truly. I should not have been flippant with you. So much has been thrown at you today.”

As both Luke and Tom looked at Merry, they could see how very tired and uncomfortable she looked. Tom spoke diffidently. “Merry, where are you staying?”

When she told him, Tom and Luke exchanged a look.

Luke spoke quietly. “Merry, that is a lovely establishment, and I am ready to have a car drive you back so you can get some rest. But I would Iike to offer you an alternative, at least for awhile. Prosper has a suite on retainer here in the city, and I can get you and Tom there easily, where you can continue your discussion without being worried about being seen by photographers. In fact, if you choose, I can have the rest of your party moved there at your convenience, if you will require any...future meetings to take place.”

Merry’s smile was growing wan at this stage. “Luke, I truly appreciate it, but I need to return to my suite. I have my medications there, and it will be time for my next doses soon.” Tom was crestfallen at her reply, and looked hopefully at Luke, who took a deep breath.

“I will be in touch with you soon then. I have your number, and you have mine. Please do not hesitate to contact me, should you need anything, and I do mean anything, no matter how small.” Luke held out his hand, and ignored Tom’s bristling as he helped Merry to her feet. Both men couldn’t help but notice how she was shaking upon rising. “Dear lady,” Luke murmured sympathetically. “I will help you to the car.”

Tom opened his mouth only for Luke to cut him off. “No, Tom, you most emphatically will not escort Ms. Skye to the vehicle. We are keeping this quiet, remember?”

Pressing his lip into a thin line, Tom quickly circumvented Luke to stand before Merry. “May I have your contact information, at least? And give you mine?”

“I have it in hand, Tom,” Luke scolded him. “She’s exhausted already. Let me get her to the car. I’ll be back shortly.” 

Tom leaned forward and kissed Merry gently on her cheek. “You will hear from me soon. I am not going to let you escape from me so easily, Meredith Skye.”

The flush and smile she gave him was the same as the one from years ago, and made his heart swell in the same manner. “I’ll hold you to it, Tom Hiddleston.”

tagging my beloved cheerleaders, @hopelessromanticspoonie​, @yespolkadotkitty​, and @just-the-hiddles​

[divainity-aa]

reggie  +  old  age  /  death trigger warnings:  death,  abuse mention,  alcoholism word  count: 2080

ACT  I.   THE  MANTLE  EMPIRE  CRUMBLES 

richard mantle gets diagnosed with lung cancer at age 65.   reggie  is  age  30.  the mantle men never had a long life expectancy.  riddled with a history of mental illness and addiction, they were doomed behind the delusion of material wealth and success that they were immortal. drowning in more money than they knew what to do with, though lacking in matters of the heart. it’s the start of the family’s estrangement, long overdue. victoria mantle wipes her tears on the drive home from the appointment. features remain motionless when she delivers the news. his heart seems to have no sympathy as she embraces him, searching for some sort of support. his hands remain at their sides. 

he watches as the disease kills his father, having made him into a senile old man with not even half the spunk and livelihood he used to have as a young, up-and-coming entrepreneur. it eats him alive, taking first his body and then his spirit. the chemo, the hair loss, the medication, the appointments. he finds a reason not to be there for any of it. he can’t help but feel a kind of satisfaction, that it’s the universe doing itself due diligence, paying him back for his suffering all these years that he was made afraid in his own home. it was what he had prayed for all these years, every time he bit his tongue saying his father’s name. 

so why wasn’t he happy?

richard mantle dies at age 73.  on his deathbed, he begs to see his only son, now age 38. you’d think the years of treatment would have given them time to reconcile, to move past their past, but the opposite is quite true. pride seems to be the vice on both ends, keeping them apart. his father finds shame in his illness and need for victoria’s constant assistance and reggie has no interest in making amends even in light of a tragedy. the roles have reversed, reggie now the one never home and his parents never leaving. part of it was spite, wanting to leave them alone the way they left him and part of it was in fear that he would be there when it came to an end. 

one night, he’s told that richard called only for him, the heir to his throne, his so-called pride and joy, mumbling something about seeing him before he met with god. he’s told that his father wanted to tell him everything he should have said, beg for forgiveness while he’s bedridden and his mother called for him profusely. he doesn’t pick up the phone.  he picks up the bottle and brings it to his lips instead, for it is  far  more  comforting, in a bar nearly 20 minutes away. waiting. 

there’s a call later in the night, this time from the hospital. 

hi, i’d like to speak to reginald mantle. it’s urgent. ...  yeah.  sir.. we regret to inform you that your father just passed away.  ... sir ? ...  ... sir are you still— is she still there ? your mother? yes she’s still here. do you want me to hand her the pho— no. don’t tell her i answered. .. oh. okay. is there a message you’d like me to pass on? ..... .... sir is there a message— .... tell her to let me know when i get my part of the inheritance.

he was right. his father’s pride would be what killed him.

reggie  doesn’t  attend  the  funeral.  his mother pleads with him on the phone, begging that he’ll do the right thing and put past wrongs aside.  he’s your father, goddamnit!  but he doesn’t show. he burned the invitation, with a match of his own light, watching his father’s glowing portrait disintegrate upon gloss paper. he stares, hoping that some kind memory, some fond recollection that can guilt him into feeling sorry. but like most times, he feels nothing. 

he spits on his grave and pours his father a drink through the soil. he thanks him for nothing and never goes back.

soon, all of riverdale knows and they begin pouring in meaningless condolences. old acquaintances emerge from the woodwork, knowing of the inheritance he has on its way, and honest friends reach out to apologize for something that isn’t their fault. it’s hard to tell which is which, but it doesn’t matter. he ignores them all, paying mind only to the numbness from hard liquor. he packs a bag with his things, enough clothes for a week, before leaving riverdale without intending to return.

ACT  II.   THE  LAST  MANTLE  STANDING

reggie moves back into the mantle mansion at age 40. it’s not until years later that he decides that he’s ready to even make a reappearance at what was never a loving home. his mother is there to greet him, she herself decreasing in health and taking after that of her husband.  they’ve not been in contact all this time, too painful for both of them, but still she embraces him with tears in her eyes. for the first time in forever, a hand raises to reciprocate,  tears streaming quietly down chiseled cheeks. maybe it’s the sight of his mother, aged but still the same,  maybe it’s her compassion.  he  was  never  the  perfect  son,  nor  she the perfect mother, but grief has a way of bringing families together after setting them apart.  he’s not quite ready to forgive her and she knows it.  

but he’s home. they both are. 

reggie’s mother dies at age 80.  reggie is age 47. no diagnosis, no illness: simply the wrath of father time. her bones finally became to brittle and her heartbeat too slow. she passes away in her sleep. reggie finds her in the morning when he’s bringing her breakfast. there’s still a grape juice stain on the carpet from where it is he dropped the tray.

he calls the family he never knew, her estranged sister and two brothers. they come to riverdale for a private service and he meets them for the first time, having never before because his mother didn’t keep in contact after marrying. they look so much like her it hurts. they share a few embraces and exchange information. it’s the last time he ever sees them until 20 years later.  they collect her things that she left them and leave before the weekend is over, leaving him with the lease. 

he remembers when he thought the house was emptier with his parents in it.

ACT  III.   A  LEGACY  REBORN.

the mantle foundation and recreational center is founded in 2050.  his hair begins to gray and he’s painfully aware that there’s little time left for him to salvage what’s left of his life. it could be over tomorrow  &  he has no heir:  no wife or children.  his fear of a legacy, of a child bearing his name and his burden too great for him, leaving him truly and utterly alone. and with nothing to lose, more importantly. 

he sells the riverdale gazette for a sizeable amount and uses the earnings to renovate an old building, a former warehouse, into a clubhouse, one for kids ages 12-19.  the doors are always open and there’s no entrance fee— only the request that you treat others the way you’d like to be treated. a rule he never followed. the inheritance he receives from both his mother and father are poured into its operation, furnishing it with love & comfort, and its foundation creates countless opportunities for riverdale’s youth. students are given access to endless resources, human and material alike. new school supplies, toys, books for the taking. tutors, therapists, coaches and advisors at the ready. free of charge, at the disposal of those who otherwise wouldn’t have access. 

college scholarship funds are opened in the names of influential people in his life, including the archie andrews scholarship,  the betty cooper award,  and  the veronica lodge fund  ( in partnership w/her namesake ), to help riverdale’s follow their dreams to higher education. every application is read by reggie himself and he interviews every candidate to hear their stories. he often ends up giving more awards than promised, quite literally having money to burn, just not at anyone’s expense but his own. 

he’s there for all of it.  from getting his hands dirty when the building was built to being there to greet kids every day and lock the building when it’s closing : he is invested. his face is no longer attached to misery, but delight. hope. the kids know him by name when they bustle in after school and he treats them like the children they never had. in a lot of ways, they are.

the people of riverdale almost can’t believe their eyes, its once infamous villain now having had a change of heart. some are still skeptical, others have accepted the change and donate regularly to the cause. he’ll never fully undo the wrongs he’s done, but this is where he begins. and better to have started now, than never being given a chance to.

all the while, he lives a quiet life, tending to his kids at the center when he’s not at home. visits are seldom, but each one is appreciated and cherished as time continues its march alongside him. 

ACT  IV.   A  SOLEMN  REPRISE.

reggie is diagnosed with liver cancer at age 70.  and it seems with every day that he may not outlive his father. damaged by the consumption of hard liquor from premature age has caught up and it’s eager to collect its dues. he lived comfortably in the delusion that illness had skipped his generation, that he was where it ended, but he is sorely mistaken. he refuses all treatment, remembering how it is his father died, under flourescent lights that burned his eyes, and he grimaces. he’d rather die able-bodied, than drag out his suffering. though fearful, he is accepting and continues business as usual. the world still turns and it will even after he goes. 

reggie dies at 75.  it’s in his sleep, the same as his mother. a night he never woke up from. suspicion grows when he’s not seen around town, nor at his own foundation’s headquarters. a coworker finds him after he doesn’t pick up any calls and alerts authorities.

the town comes together for the funeral, knowing there’s no family of his that would do it himself. archie, betty, jughead and veronica help plan it with the help of the lives he’s touched. the scholars he’s changed the futures of return home without a second though and pay their respects. there’s an exchange of stories, recounting every part of his life. the core four give eulogy together. riverdale high pays tribute to him not just as a public servant but for the stellar athlete and leader that he was. there’s a plaque dedicated to him at the mantle foundation center and a portrait painted of his likeness hung to remind all its guests why it is they have what they do. 

ACT  V.   A  NEVER - ENDING  STORY.

his will. he’s cremated, the way he wanted to be, and his ashes spread in the wind, on the shore of his favorite beach. a free spirit while alive, he wanted to same for his soul. he’s also given a gravestone next to his family, just for looks. 

in his will, he leaves the mansion to the next CEO of the mantle foundation, instructing that it’s used to expand their headquarters whether it be to create a second location or another office for its business staff. he leaves each of his three cars to archie, betty, and veronica, telling them they can give it to their kids for their 16th birthday, keep them for themselves, or sell them at market value. whatever works best. his motorcycle goes to jughead. 

he leaves a video for each person who’s stuck around this long behind, on a thumbdrive that’s mailed upon his death. each video is personal, with things he just wants to make sure are known, even after his passing, and heartfelt in its own way. each of the core four receives one and so does his foundation staff.

his personal funds to be completely depleted after this division of assets. the remaining funds are all left to the foundation to ensure it’s kept running until the next person takes charge. 

the empire ended with him, but its name will last forever now because of it.

[swampgallows]

quick lore question if you happen to have a moment - I was reading maiev's will article and apparently in one of the books she had a plot to straight up murder malfurion and almost did it. am I reading this right/is this canon? if so, why does the alliance still trust her? why are we so friendly with her in legion?

bruh omg my elf lore is so shitty… ughgghg youll have to excuse me i just woke up and i think i have strep throat… the most i remember about maiev mercn people was in wolfheart but i didnt even finish that book past the point where garrosh was crowdsurfed to safety because it was AWFUL to get through. i picked up wolfheart hoping it would be about varian and 90% of the book was elves arguing. knaak always makes it about ELVES!!! this is also why my elf history is so poor: the majority of elf-related books and old warcraft history are written by knaak, whose writing i find to be a trudge to get through. 

lucky for me it’s actually in wolfheart, the ONE knaak book ive read, where she plots to kill malfurion on the heels of killing all the other highborne. she’s still pissed that malfurion let illybeans get away and was merciful to him and also kinda cursed her with this ‘vengeance of the hunt’ or some shit, like maiev just has to compulsively be on the hunt now or some garbage, i dont know. blizzard.

so this is kinda convoluted, but bear with me here (it is ten thousand years of history after all). 

Maiev has a brother named Jarod Shadowsong. After the war of the ancients (10k years ago), Jarod left in “self-imposed exile” with his wife, who was a priestess, and lived with her gallivanting around in the forest all that time. He didn’t like the schism happening between the night elves and Highborne and—like his sister—didn’t agree with Malfurion declaring “nature magic is best magic” and kicking out the Highborne. So 10k years go by and all of a sudden they hear rumors that night elves are mortal now (thanks Archimonde) and Jarod finds out it’s true when his priestess wife starts getting old and dying. He’s like, oh fuck. And she’s like “bler bler i want to die in tyrande’s arms with the other priestesseseses” or some shit. So he comes back after [illidan voice] TEN THOUSAND YEARS to bring his dying wife to Darnassus. 

Maiev is FUCKING PISSED. because what’s she been doing for the last 10k years? Guarding and subsequently hunting down Illidan (after Tyrande released him from the prison that Malfurion—HER HUSBAND—put him in!), losing many of her watchers (who she considered family) in the process, killing demons, being imprisoned and tortured back and forth, and basically going crazy over the fact that she wouldn’t even have to DO this shit if Malfurion wasn’t such a dickhead and just executed his brother, or if he worked with the Highborne and the arcane to preserve their world tree (and therefore their immortality) instead of deciding he knew what was best. Had Jarod not left because of his discomfort with the schism, he would have easily become leader of the night elves and changed the course of history. 

like basically, yknow how people were like “boy if thrall just stayed warchief instead of ducking out to start a family or whatever, the horde would have avoided like SO much conflict”? That’s essentially what the deal was with jarod. Incidentally, this is all happening at the same time: Thrall steps down from being warchief, Highborne mages and worgen are welcomed in darnassus, jarod’s wife is dying, and maiev and her watchers are bearing witness to it all.

you’ll notice that night elf mages were not playable until cataclysm, and it’s because of the kaldorei vs highborne spat as to why this is so. previously all the highborne either:

sipped the demon jungle juice with azshara and plunged into n’zoth’s fishland (which is new lore btw lmao, previously it was the demonic energies of xavius’ arrival that disfigured and transformed the highborne into naga but now it’s a pact azshara makes with straight up fuckin n’zoth)

OR they were holed up with the shen’dralar in eldre’thalas/dire maul where they were grounded by papa malfurion for using that horrible no good arcane magic

OR they were highborne who did not become naga, later becoming quel’dorei that subsequently became sin’dorei (blood elves).

but then when deathwing fucked everything up and the twilight’s hammer were trying to use their scary magic, the night elves were like “oh fuck lmao” and invited the (night elf) highborne back into darnassus and, ultimately, the alliance. (this is why void elves are like… just so funny to me. purple alliance elf becomes blue-eyed neutral elf becomes green-eyed horde elf becomes more different purple alliance elf. nature is amazing.)

SO, hearing that jarod is back in town and being pissed that the highborne are chilling in darnassus, maiev goes around killing a bunch of highborne. She throws all her own Watchers under the bus to do so, but it lures Jarod toward her, and the two of them end up looking for each other while searching for the murderer. Jarod goes “Maiev is the leader of the watchers; she’ll know who’s behind this!” and Maiev is like “yes, come to me you lil bitch”. they’re like “who dun it maiev?” and she’s like “me lmao” and backflips out of there. nobody catches her, but with her watchers dissolved and her relationships with her brother and the rest of the night elves strained, they essentially let her go.

FLASH FORWARD TO LEGION

the burning legion attacks! again! but like really bad this time!!! they plunder the shit out of the vault of the wardens and run off with illybeans’ corpse. maiev BIG mad. she comes out of the woodwork to team up with khadgar in the broken isles and overpowers gul’dan. then she goes “oh fuck, i gotta go to the vault and help them” but goes missing along the way. she’s later found imprisoned in black rook hold, where her brother JARRROOODDDD is back on the scene and frees her. he felt bad for going awol for 10k years while his sister was being tortured by illidan and driven insane and wants to make it up to her. 

Ultimately, when illidan joins the brigade as the “chosen one” by xe’ra, it’s generally accepted that the two of them are the only ones who can keep each other in line (nor would maiev ever let illidan out of her sight again), and all things considered maiev is incredibly powerful. She’s also responsible for freeing all of the demon hunters from the vault (essentially having no choice but to do so after the vault is ransacked) and is the best at handling illidan. After illidan flies off to space to fight sargeras for eternity or whatever, maiev is kept in check by jarod. She doesn’t exactly join the alliance again but she’s one of the people who helped find the old text with the night warrior ritual for tyrande in BFA, and agreed to stymie the assault on darkshore. 

ULTIMATELY, maiev has always had her allegiance to her people at heart. she has always wanted the best for the night elves and has seen too much ruin come to them to let injustice continue. With the rest of the alliance’s reluctance to assist them and the continuous assaults from the horde encroaching on what little remains of their homelands, the night elves are pulling out all the stops to protect what they have, even if that means puttin the bitch who wanted to murder your husband at the helm of the resistance. 

tyrande hungers for vengeance for the night elves, and there is no better paragon of that than maiev shadowsong.

[bffhreprise]

Entry 355

 A week ago, I joined Best Friend For Hire.  My parents insisted on helping me move in, which quickly had turned to the group of us standing around and watching as everyone else moved my stuff.  Once inside the mansion, I made some introductions as my stuff was unloaded before we ever arrived in my rooms.  Marco was more than happy to oblige in distracting my parents from anything unusual happening, and his cooking could be very distracting for hours, as it turned out.

 Mom and Dad were just as overwhelmed as I was, maybe even more so.  Just the sight of Best Friend For Hire’s headquarters was enough to awe a casual visitor.  Though only three stories high, the building seemed enormous, stretching on and on both ways from the entrance.  Part of that effect came from the wings, which weren’t as deep as the main building, but they still added substantial space.

 Once inside, the mansion was absolutely lavish.  The entrance hall was very open, allowing us to see the second story ceiling as we took in the balcony.  The other halls had carved ceilings that appeared to be telling a story, the tiles on the floor were ornate and polished to a shine.  The walls varied in different areas, but fancy woodwork was common.  Even many of the doors here were ornate rather than being plain wood.

 Mila, of course, was needed to help explain the different rooms.  The idea of a self-aware computer system aiding with everything made my parents think of several Sci-Fi stories they both enjoyed.

 When we finally reached my apartment, they were surprised by the amount of space I was allotted with so much else available to me.  Mila explained that best friends were expected to be comfortable in their own rooms when they wanted time alone.  The few additional furnishings I had requested were already in place, making my old stuff look cheap in comparison.  Emma had demonstrated her woodworking skills in front of me when making the furniture.  Through her magic, everything was grown as a whole piece in barely a second.  She took longer verifying patterns for the “carvings” with me than she did creating anything.  Even the staining and finish were plant-based components that simply happened at her desire.  Every piece was seamless, and I declined her offer to make the appearance of seams.  The Wood Family adored finely crafted woodwork, and my parents gushed over my new armoire, tables, and bedframe.

 Mom asked why I had chosen a Japanese-style table by the TV, so I just had to show her my gifts from Raine’s trip to Japan!  I had a matching set of zabuton, floor pillows.  Going by the conversations I overheard when Raine called people for verification, I didn’t want to consider the price of what I’d be sitting on.  I also didn’t mention to my parents that Raine visited the entirety of Japan in a single day, dropping off purchases as she made them.  I still had difficulty believing that she wasn’t actually teleporting.

 I didn’t let Jemal escape meeting my parents after catching sight of him down the hall.  Mila was more than happy to stop him for me.  Luckily, he was dressed, being on his way out for a job.  There was little chance that he made a very lasting impression on my parents just yet, but Mom seemed to remember me mentioning him to her a few years ago.

 The days after my moving day were very busy, and I finally understood why Jemal felt he’d never catch up on the training courses.  Instead of working myself to the bone, I took James’ comment that finishing all of the courses was impossible at human speed as a fact.  Eight hours of studying was enough per day.

 I really would have liked to warn my guild on Ancient Tribes of Earth about the rising vampire guild, but I just couldn’t until someone slipped up.  All of them were totally jealous over my new job after hearing what I was allowed to share.  Meeting Aaliyah was a highlight everyone kept coming back to.  I hadn’t known to tell them that our group would be taking a leisurely ride ot the airport in limousines for our trip to France.

 “Why aren't you hurrying?” questioned Iris shortly after leaving our limo.  “We still have to make our way through security before our flight.”

 James smiled and assured her “Don't worry.  We'll be heading to an exclusive wing, and security won't bother us.  My wife and I have a great deal of experience flying.”

 My family hadn’t flown very much, but I never knew anyone could be as relaxed as he seemed about flying somewhere.

 “Daddy!  We may starve to death before we even arrive at this rate.  Traffic is sooo slow.” complained Dani.  For the moment, she wasn’t pink.  There was an illusion spell over her that made her appear human, though still strikingly beautiful.

 “Wow.  Do you two really only have one bag?” asked Brandon, eyeing the bag severely.  Despite Brenna’s warnings, Brandon seemed like a totally okay guy.  He was somewhat tall, redheaded, and occasionally crude, but he was also willing to help in any way he could manage when not doting on his girlfriend, Deyanira.

 Laughing, Alma said, “We're planning on shopping.  This may surprise you, but I have been to France before.  I know of a few stores in Paris that I find entirely lovely, so we'll just buy what we want to wear there.  Our luggage contains gifts for family.  James and I will be expected to pay our respects before roaming the country.  Jarod, Ai, and Mai probably should as well.”

 “Mind showing me some of these stores?” asked Brenna with barely contained excitement.

 Mila had shown me some of Brenna’s portfolio when I asked out of curiosity this past week.  She had actually appeared in a couple magazines I occasionally read, though I didn’t have those specific issues.  I still didn’t really understand how the various deals worked for our company to make much profit from assisting others, but things were obviously going well.  I suspected James’ ability to win people over helped.

 “I probably already know them and can show you if she's too busy.” stated Maxine, making me cringe slightly.  She was wearing a wig and sunglasses as a disguise, but that certainly didn’t make me trust her.

 “Don't try to escape me.” warned Portentia.

 “Of course not, cretin.  I'll enjoy watching you suffer as we shop.” replied Maxine with a warm smile.

 “How will you even afford anything?” demanded Portentia.

 Maxine’s smile turned smug as she said, “I'm owed favors around the world.  Mila allowed me to call one.”

 “James!  Did you hear that?” asked Portentia indignantly.

 “Mila wouldn't allow anything criminal on her watch, and Maxine's been well behaved.  I think we can afford to trust her intent here.  She knows not to cause trouble.” insisted James in a tone that allowed no further argument.

 Portentia looked like she wanted to argue more, but she just said, “Fine.”

 Maxine worried me because she was a famous enough criminal that I had actually heard of her.  When I asked why she wasn’t turned over to the police after Portentia captured her, I received an explanation on the regenerative powers Maxine and Portentia shared.  Unfortunately, I had had doubts and said as much.  Without a care, Portentia sliced off her own finger with the steak knife she had been using to eat.  The finger was back in no time, and touching the new one didn’t make me feel any less queasy.  I mentally forced myself to accept their immortality.  Prisons were out for Maxine.

 As we boarded our “aircraft”, James watched in amusement.  The ship was huuuge and nothing like a typical airplane.  The shape was completely wrong.  Plus, there was a full kitchen, sleeping quarters, and open space with seats bolted to the floor around tables and other things.

 While we gaped, James explained that none of the systems could be examined due to an agreement with Aaliyah, who had apparently designed some of it herself.  Though I had known Aaliyah was an engineer as well as the world’s foremost game designer, I still felt a little uncertain.

“Are you sure it's safe?” I asked, knowing that Aaliyah was still a little girl despite her genius.

 Jarod laughed and said, “I trust her tech more than anything else on the planet.  Just don't try to disassemble anything.”

 “Why isn't she with us?  I thought she was meeting us at the airport.” commented Iris as she looked around.

 Mila frowned and said, “She'll meet us in France.  Mother likes taking commercial flights to annoy customs.  Her flight left hours ago.  I'm on it, unfortunately.  Please follow me.  We'll have a brief tour before take off.  The master has graciously allowed use of the bedrooms if you wish to nap, since he and Alma will be on the bridge.  The kitchen is out-of-service, unfortunately, but Marco came prepared with drink and snacks.”

 Getting used to Mila being numerous places at once was still taking some effort, but I understood how she could be in a vague sense.  Understanding how Aaliyah could possibly have the time for everything she did was harder.

 Alma being the pilot was far less surprising to me.  Mila had explained a little of the Pendreigh Group to me when I had asked about her life before meeting James.  Unlike James, she had always been extraordinarily wealthy and possessed superhuman abilities far beyond most of us.

 Shortly after takeoff, I stopped caring about being in the air at all.  Mila started running a Pathfinder RPG session during the flight.  As Aaliyah had promised, her “daughter” was an incredible Gamemaster, carrying me away in her story within the first few sentences.

[thunder-the-ranger-wolf]

Possible snippet from Brothers in Arms: The Iron Man Dilemma

Summary

Next

He should have seen it coming. Looking back, it was obvious. He’d even caught on to the fact that something was up. But sitting here with a bag over his head and people speaking around him in words he couldn’t make out (Even with Frigga’s grace, he never learned.) it was clear that whatever he thought he knew was only the beginning of what was really going on.

But that’s… that comes later. He can berate himself eternally once he figures out what these people wanted and how he (they, because of course, the doctor was a hostage) would get out of here. And let Eir grant him mercy and luck because he couldn’t afford to shift in the meantime. 

It started with the award show. Granted, it started long before that. It technically started when he found out that Howard left him control of Stark Industries. Being immortal, or as long-lived as a Wolf could get, definitely had its uses and Howard saw one that Tony hadn’t. Tony could use the knowledge gained from Howard to run the company far longer than the original Stark heir ever could. Wolves rarely died of old age, after all. Their bodies were tougher than most, but immortal did not mean invincible. Neither, as Tony found out from SHIELD files detailing his autopsy, did it mean bullet-proof. 

Originally, Tony had every intention of tracking down whoever had staged the accident and shaking them down to their roots, but the Chief Operations Officer of Stark Industries at the time insisted that Tony was the only one who could take over for Howard. 

“Why don’t you do it?” Tony drawled. “I was an engineer back then, and I know Howard dabbled in science and business was his thing, but it’s not mine.” 

“You’re his apprentice-.” 

“For engineering. I was one of many. We worked as a team and I was never the leader of anything.” 

Tony didn’t want to lead anything ever again, least of all a company. 

“You’re the only one he trusted to run the company, Mr. Stark. He put it in his will and everything. It hasn’t changed since he first wrote the original and throughout every rewrite, that has been the same. It has to be you.” 

“I’d have thought you would jump at the chance, Stane,” 

“I’ll do it if I have to, but you would have to relinquish control fully and divest yourself of everything, up to and including the name,” Stane informed him.

“The fuck I will,” Tony sneered. “Even if that wasn’t a huge lie, you need to get it through your head that I am not a businessman. I am not a leader, and I want no part of this. The only reason I’ve let this go on for so long is to make sure the company ran in Howard’s image.”

“This is how you do that.” 

“Bullshit,” Tony exhaled roughly. “Where do I start?” 

The rest wasn’t quite history. Some things remained company secrets. Some things never came to light. Like the fact that Obadiah Stane had lied from the beginning, even back then. The only thing that Tony couldn’t figure out is why. Why set things up like this if he was just going to pull the rug out when he didn’t like the direction Tony took? Was his goal to take control of Howard’s legacy or destroy it for good? 

The first, Tony had originally figured he could abide by. The second, not so much. 

He’d slowly but surely been turning the company toward what he saw as better investments. By 2008, along with weapons, there was a thriving department for armor and medical supplies, and most Army communication devices had Stark Industries’ logo branded onto them. These weren’t just supplied to the military, though it had started out that way. Most hospitals were clamoring for medical supplies and while the phones took longer to catch on, by 2008 the fourth edition of their cellphone model was on the market. 

So it was safe to say that SI was doing well in the grand scheme of things. This would serve them later, but Tony’s gift of foresight was finicky at best. There was no way for him to know what would come next. 

So it started at an award show. He doesn’t remember what the award is for, but he does know that it’s his brother’s birthday and he is going to get as blasted as possible and do stupid shit. He cannot handle the godsforsaken introspection sessions that his tribe’s Healer wanted to do. If there was one thing the kid knew how to do, it was getting on his nerves by talking about their shared past. He wouldn’t have it. So he found some hole-in-the-wall craps joint that didn’t mind the extra attention and won bet after bet placed by foolish kids and a few stubborn assholes who didn’t know when to quit. He turned the money over to the dealer with a little extra and told the guy to give it back at the end of the night. It’s not like he needed it. 

“Really?” Came the unamused voice of a newer friend of his. James Rhodes was a high-ranking officer in what is now known as the U.S. Air Force. 

That came about after Tony did his time and since Tony had done time, he wasn’t required to do it again. And goodness did they fucking try to make him. He got out of Korea on the slimmest technicality. They exempted soldiers from World War II.  Vietnam was… well, the late sixties were a hell of a time to be an American and he was no exception. They wanted their “super-soldier.” The cover story that he and Howard had come up with was a good way to explain his longevity while keeping him in the spotlight.

It was also a way for every Captain America fanatic to come crawling out of the woodwork begging for a tale about his brother. The Original, they called him. What was Tony, the remix? It’d be the other way around if they were going by age and he’d definitely injected himself with one of the weaker batches that Erskine had whipped up in preparation for whoever would take it. That turned out to be his youngest brother, much to his consternation, and the fame Socren garnered came back to bite him in the ass. He avoided getting shipped out by virtue of his job. One of the few benefits of following Howard’s will. 

“You with me, buddy?” Rhodes prompted. They were around the corner from the craps place, still walking. Tony could call the driver who’d brought Rhodes here at any time, but he figured he could use the fresh air for a bit. At first, he thought it would take his mind off things but that was a bust. 

“Yeah,” Tony yawned. “Just thinking.” 

“About?” 

“My youngest brother.” 

“His birthday is in June, right?”

“July, I think,” Tony mumbled. Like he didn’t know. Like it wasn’t celebrated as a national holiday. But nobody knew that part. They just celebrated. At least no one was making him celebrate Joclar’s birthday. Or his own.

“When’s yours?” 

“I was born late winter,” Tony offered vaguely. For a given definition of winter. March was still freezing cold in some places but others had it down as springtime. 

“That’s not a date, but okay.” 

“Nobody alive knows and everyone who knew is dead.”

“That makes no sense at all whatsoever but I’ll take your word for it.” Rhodes offered. 

“Can you just let it be? On record, my birthday is May 29. Let’s keep it that way.” 

“But that’s not when you were actually born.” 

“I don’t remember it, no one can tell me, there’s no point in bringing it up.” Tony snapped. 

“You don’t want to find out?” 

“No point,” Tony grumbled. “Weren’t you going to lecture me about something? I think I’d prefer that.” 

“I was going to say that you should have been at the award ceremony because I don’t like looking stupid, but now I know you have a reason.” 

“Do I have to?” Tony drawled. 

“What?” 

“Have a reason. Do I have to?” 

“Never change, Tony,” Rhodes chuckled. “You’re hilarious.” 

“That’s what they tell me.”

“Well, we need to get your hilariously old ass to bed. Hopefully you get some sleep before tomorrow.” 

“What? Why tomorrow?” 

“The Jericho presentation.” 

“That’s on Friday. I remember because they wanted to end the week on a high note or some bullshit.” 

“They want us there early. No point in asking why.” 

“For you, maybe. I’ll get out there when I want to.” 

“You do remember that we have to keep that contract, don’t you?” 

“Look, kid, this is the first major weapon I’ve released in almost a decade. It’s the biggest, it’s the best, they’re going to love it. You don’t have to worry, all the things will go boom when required.” 

“And no other time?” 

“Scout’s honor,” 

“I doubt that.” 

“Your loss, kid. That was a genuine promise.” 

Tony tapped a key fob on the inside of his wrist and waited for the car to come. By tomorrow, he and Rhodes would be off to Kumar. He hoped to get this over with soon. He wanted to get back to the watch schematics he was working on. 

[harry-meepmeep-dresden]

Serious Question

If I started posting some of my original content on Patreon or somewhere, how many people would be interested? Example of my original work below the read more. Please do not steal it. Still working out the kinks of some of the grammar software I use so please forgive me for anything that I’ve missed. I’ll try to get it fixed asap.

Please let me know if you like it as well <3

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Running for your life is not the best feeling or reason to run. That’s what Tham always said. Elves possessed a messed up view on the death thing since immortality gets boring after a while. The immortal pointy-eared humanoids only faced death when they wished too. Tham might end up laughing, dashing ahead, and even running backward most likely in this plight, but she wasn’t here. I, unfortunately, was. Legs burning as my feet hit the ground hard. A glance back at the screaming goblins let me know just how much ‘fun’ I'd have if I stopped running. It took most of my strength just to hold the large pack filled with a few valuables of questionable ownership.

All right, more than a few. A heavy few things.

If I wasted even a single precious bullet Tham‘d take it out of my hide, or worse my pay. She’d likely show even more anger if the items didn't get delivered. So for the sake of profit and the higher chance of survival the gun came out of the tight leather holster.

A risky chance to take, slowing enough so the goblins got in range, I peered over my shoulder and fired. One of the five shots expelled and a small cracked stone popped out of the gun. Lightning struck out from the muzzle and hit the first goblin, turning him into a gnomish lightbulb for a moment. The greasy hair stood up because of static before bursting into flame. Two others didn’t dive out of the way fast enough and became toasty. Luckily, while running, the stench couldn’t reach me.  

Not much farther until I'd reach safety. Keep moving. Tham owed far more than proposed for this job. Foot massage, hot bath, and maybe even those fancy coffee beans the satyrs grew. Expensive stuff. Great distractions to think on instead of the pounding foot pain. The wagon soon came into view. The cliff took a higher drop than I remembered. Must have taken a wrong turn. Since the survivability, if I turned around and ran towards them, rested at zero to none, the alternative possibilities remained limited.  

“Luey!” my shout startled the driver making him stare up towards the short cliff to his right.

He caught the bag of goods I threw at him. I leaped. I considered jumping still carrying everything, but I didn’t want to risk a landing on top. Instead, I fell onto the softer items we stored in the back. Gold encrusted boxes, with the gems, tended to break bones if you landed on them from a high, or even a regular fall. Learned from experience. A few experiences.

Upon my safe landing, Luey got the wagon moving as quick as possible. The goblins, not having soft items to land on opted not to follow, but hurled rocks at us. With a heavy sigh, I closed my eyes and tried not to let the bumpy road bother me.

“Um, where are your shoes? And one of your socks is missing too,” Luey, kept around for his outstanding observational skills.

“Oh you know, crawled through a narrow goblin hole. Gave them my shoes as a toll,” they’d pulled them hard enough they came off with one tug. The boots weren���t worth stopping and getting eviscerated to retrieve.

“I don’t think those shoes will fit them. Weren’t they brand new?”

“Luey, shut up please.”

“I mean you said you didn’t need help. With me there we might have killed most of them and made the others run. But no, ‘just a pickup job’ and-”

“Shut it. I will not admit I needed your help. I got out of there, didn’t I?” I attempted to end the conversation and succeeded with my interruption.

Never understood his overwhelming urge to be right. Then again, I think he just liked the sound of his own voice saying ‘I told you so’. His little snort made me want to use another bullet, but I opted to find one of the water skins and take a few long drinks.

After removal of the remaining sock, it ended up getting tossed overboard. What’s the point of keeping a single sock? I’d add the cost of the boots and a new pair of socks to the charge for the chest. Those were custom-made boots. My feet weren’t the normal size for more durable footwear. It took the cobbler over a month to make the forsaken pair. They fit perfect. If they were on my feet, then the soreness wouldn’t even be an issue. Most people‘s feet after running for three miles over the stones, sticks, and who knows what else would be sore, and bleeding. Boots would have prevented all of that.

With thirst satisfied I tried to get comfortable in the wagon. With my eyes closed, it didn’t take long to fall asleep.

“Dion, we’re here. I can’t find our papers from Tham. Where d’you put them?” Luey kept messing up my hair until I stopped pretending to be asleep anymore, even moving his hands to grip my shoulders and shake me just to make sure.

“Papers? You’ve got to be-” looking up as I spoke, my words caught when the bane of the current situation looked at me. “Hello, Raflinel.”

“It’s Rafinielle,” he gave me the normal disdain filled look as he corrected my purposeful butchering of his name. I didn’t like the guy, so making his life difficult filled mine with a hint of joy.

“That’s what I said. You needed our papers, right?” I sighed and began to dig into smaller crates.

For how much Luey deserved a throttling for his asinine superiority complex the man hid our goods well. I didn’t even have to worry over exposing them as I dug around inside the bag and brought up a scroll with a distinctive wax marking on it. A corner missing from being chewed off the paper. Transported worg puppies a couple weeks prior. Like every animal baby, they caused destruction to everything. The scroll gave us free passage to come and go without being searched or halted for more than an hour. The council, more concerned over weapons than any other illegal goods, meant the lovely sidearm might end up being confiscated by the guards until departure without that paper.

Sometimes the guards got greedy which is why Luey hid the bag with the chest in it. The goods we got weren’t always the kind guards enjoyed letting into the city without a cut. The guards made dirt for salary, but their jobs were to stand there and whistle if an attacks were inbound. Most of them didn’t even know how to wield the weapons they carried, so my sympathy for their lack of wealth is non-existent. They charged high, fake taxes and other miscellaneous amounts the city council didn’t demand and put it right into their own pockets. Travelers with an abundance of expensive objects have large purses and not knowning any better fell for it. In Faethes, a town between giant filled hills and goblin rich forests, the con artists were the real monsters.

One particular guard just liked to give people a difficult time. Something about him being one of the high guards of the capital or other nonsense. Not saying he’s a liar, he knows how to use the sword and bow, and might be the only non-corrupt member. This guard, Rafinielle, scrutinized the paper. He attempted a more serious approach to the job. Most of the other guards just let us through. Luey and I come here because it happens to be Tham’s preferred trading post.

“Rafi-nelly, we’ve come through here a dozen times and you know we have that paper. It makes no sense why you don’t just let us go through,” the same thing I say every single time he’s passed the paper back to me.  

“Protocol. Without protocol and order, there’d be a mess. As a human, I don’t expect you understand any of that. Even if you have magic secret to longevity. Now be on your way. You cause any trouble and I’ll volunteer to be the one to throw you out of town. I’d take that weapon, and tear that damn paper to shreds," Rafinielle said. He's shorter than me while I sat in the wagon, but still managed to look down on me.

Pure, annoyance driven hate filled my thoughts as I shoved the paper back into the water safe pouch in the wagon. Luey, bless his soul, started the horse moving before I said a word. The movement caused me to bite my tongue and cut off the trouble filled words bouncing at the forefront of my thoughts. Once speaking proved out of the question I opted for a few lewd hand gestures instead. It’s rare when you can see an elf get flustered to the point their face goes red. The ability to annoy Rafinielle into embarrassment, I’m an expert at.  

When we were far enough away Elven eyes couldn’t see finite gestures, I moved to dig through the packs to find a snack to eat. Didn‘t want to give him any reason to be suspicious.

Luey directed the horse through the large gates of worked wood and earth that marked the entryway of Faethes. Thirty feet tall hardened wood, grown straight from the ground and shaped into the protective walls of the city. The walls circled the entire expanse, except the three gates, which were open. When you live near giants, it only makes sense to have something just as big to keep them out. Entering the city always held a moment of awe for me. The patience the wall woodworkers possessed to create such a magnificent accomplishment is unimaginable. The walls, being living trees (although what kind I don’t know), grew an extra few inches every year, so in time, they might even touch the clouds.

Inside the city, all sorts of bustling occurred. Gnomes, elves of different races, dwarves, the half-breed something or others, and humans roamed and haggled. Yet no other human such as myself. Human, yes I am, but I lack the regular human lifespan. It made a few people angry and demand the explanation. If I had one, I’d give it in a heartbeat. For a price that is.

Speaking of prices, Luey stopped the wagon in front of Tham’s Treasures and Artifacts. Time to negotiate my way into getting a new pair of boots.

Chimes sounded as Luey and I entered the shop. Glowing orbs provided enough light for shoppers to browse the wares.

For the number of things available, there were far too many shelves lining the walls. Each item appeared to have a solid foot of space around it. Valuables were breakable. To make sure a person didn't bump and break something providing enough space is essential.

People journeyed to Faethes to purchase rare items at Tham's place. Containers, clothing, jewelry, and far more sat on display. Tham kept most of the rare loot in the back. This included spell bullets, enchanted items, rare gems, and weaponry. To discourage thieves, Tham secured her rarer wares in a room behind the counter. I wouldn't suggest trying to get into that back room either. Tham kept a ward on the passageway. Even if I tried, no way could I live through the attempt to break in. Rumor is that she made the ward herself. If Luey didn't stop me on our first visit my extra-long life might have met a quick end.

A few travelers were talking with Tham. It looked as though she had a chain with a green crystal hooked on the end. Most likely they wanted the crystal. Our business isn’t urgent so Luey and I waited.

Travelers from other cities came to Faethes often. Many considered Faethes the capital city of Constalence. Faethes, on top of being the capital, more humans lived there than any other city. Might be because of how safe the tall walls appeared. As short-lived beings, humans did not occupy many positions of power. The highest ranked human represented all the humans on the city council. They deserved at least one vote.

Humans, such cowards. Most didn't chance to leave the safety and remained content with manual labor. That small fact might be why Rafinielle hated me. If I acknowledged his opinions on me that might hurt my feelings.

The elves finished their purchases and began to leave, eyeing me on their way out. It’s great being considered a second-class citizen. Even if humans made up a large part of the population of Faethes, most unable to afford to shop at Tham's. If I told them I'd provided Tham with that jewel they'd laugh. No need fussing over it.

Tham looked to us and smiled. She wore her hair up in braids today. Tham's ears poked out of her hair. Tham adorned the two points with mithril clips. Her skin showed the immortal radiance of the elves with how smooth it appeared. She wore powder on her cheeks and a green shade on her eyelids. Never understood the urge to wear different colored powders. Sometimes it looked nice, but it wasn't for me.

"Dion!" she exclaimed and moved around the counter. "How's my favorite human thief?"

“You have more than one human thief?” I grinned. “It's more of a treasure hunter instead of a thief.”

"You take goods never in your possession prior. You can call it whatever you'd like, but that still screams 'thief' to me. If I had another, you'd still be my favorite," she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and brought me in for a hug.

Tham stood a few inches taller than me. Elves' natural height might make a human feel short, even if the human is of average height. I looked up to meet her sparkling blue eyes and couldn't help but smile. Tham acts selfish, impulsive, and underestimate the danger retrieving boxes filled with who knows what. She remained one of my closest friends despite those traits. However, the idea she might sell me out if offered a good price didn't escape my attention.

My smile faded as she moved to take the box.

"Hey now, no business just yet. We have to renegotiate the price. Getting this took far more effort than initially advertised. I lost my shoes. So we need to chalk a pair of custom leather boots onto the bill," my smile came back when she pouted.

She hated negotiations because that meant someone possessed something she wanted. Neener, neener I've got the pretty box.

Her pout broke as she sighed before speaking, "You are an exasperating human, aren't you, Dion? Fine. New boots added onto the bill."

“Brand new, custom, leather boots.”

“Brand new. Custom. Leather. Boots,” she confirmed.

When dealing with elves or any merchant, a person needed to make sure that their demands were meticulously precise. Merchants might act like a djinn towards a helpless buyer. By this I mean they could give a person what they wanted, without it being what they wanted. I wanted new, custom boots. Tham said 'new boots'. If I accepted the proposal, she could end up giving me the cheapest new boots she could find without breaking the verbal contract. The boots didn't even need to fit me. The boots could end up crocheted instead of leather. So always double check your accords.

"Deal," I passed her the box.

Her smile grew immensely when she got to hold the small chest. It didn't appear as anything out of the ordinary. Then again, she desired what’s tucked away inside the chest. Tham moved to set the box on the counter before reaching into her pocket. She drew out a few small crafting tools for lock picking. Although she could have asked me to pick the lock, she attempted to do it herself. Refusing to ask the professional, me, to do their job only hurt my pride a smidge.

Luey looked around while I kept my eyes on Tham and her attempts. When a small 'snap' sounded her face turned pinker than the powder made it appear. After a couple of minutes, two 'snaps', and a couple tiny broken tools she raised an eyebrow at me. Her eyes narrowed, and I tried not to smile. I swear, I tried not too. Her little huff made it that much harder to fight off a grin. She stepped back from the counter. With my pride bandaged, I moved to get out my own tools to unlock the chest. I moved to take up space she'd left so I could get to work. Trap dismantling and lock picking were art forms. Any idiot could throw paint on a canvas or shove two metal parts into a hole. That didn't mean they'd get the desired results. Just a slight twist and-

"OW!" I jumped back and looked at my fingers.

The chest’s defenses relied on more than a solid metal lock to keep people out. My tools rested inside the lock. A shock of light snapped between the two metal parts. Lightning magic triggered by all other means, but the right key. That made things more interesting.

Tham looked at me with a smug expression. The corner of her lip drawn up in a smile and one of her eyebrows raised. No way I'd admit this might be difficult. Instead, I drew out my thick gloves and went back to work. The leather began to heat as I continued working. A rather dramatic 'click' sounded as the lock popped open. Okay, maybe it might have been less dramatic than I thought, but still dramatic. With my still gloved hands, I opened the box.

Foam padding surrounded glass orbs inside the chest. The foam protected the orbs from damage. No doubt the foam did its job since the contents appeared in prime condition. A lump formed in my throat when I remembered how roughly I'd treated the chest on my escape. Tham’s chances of murdering me if the treasure inside ended up damaged rather high.

“I thought you said this‘d be a treasure. Rubies and diamonds. What’s in here are glass globes with some kind of liquid inside," reaching into the chest I intended to pick one up to look closer at it. Luey's hand grabbed my wrist and prevented it from going any closer to the glass. "Hey! What's the matter Luey?” "You shouldn't touch those," he looked at Tham. "You lied to us."

The tone of his voice, so deep and emotionless made me swallow a sudden lump in my throat. Simultaneously, my mouth felt dry. Luey never got angry in the years I'd known him. The immortal man of stranger unknown origin than myself never got angry. Not until now.

"I said there was a treasure. If Dion and yourself thought it mean jewels and coins, then that is your mistake," Tham pulled the chest across the counter to rest in front of her. "Honestly, I thought the contents of the chest were likely worthless bobbles."

"Those are nowhere near bobbles," he growled deep in the back of his throat and reached to take the box back. "I should destroy These."

"I'm sorry, but no. They're my property now," Tham argued although her hands trembled as Luey stood up straighter.

Luey towered over most, including elves, and because of that, few people knew he often slouched. When he stood up straight, he almost gained another foot in height. Slowly, I began to back away. This might not end well if Tham continued to argue.

"Fine. I’ll get to research them first. I also want to see how you 'destroy' them and tell me everything you know for this exchange and will not pay you for the job," she bit her bottom lip.

"Custom leather boots are not negotiable," Luey said before releasing his side of the chest. "You owe us that much for the trouble of getting these. I would never have let Dion accept this job if I'd known."

Okay, now he might take it too far. I'm an adult thank you very much and can make my own stupid mistakes. By human standards, I’m an elder. Not that it made me any smarter, but Luey didn't have to rip the bandage off of my pride that quick.

“Uh, Luey, I agreed to it. You don't have a say in what I agree or disagree too,” a simple argument that started and ended as he turned to look at me. No way I‘d be stupid enough to continue when he gave me that look. “Even if you refused, you don't control what jobs I accept or not. It's my choice. You might be my friend Luey, but you are not my keeper.”

My mouth beat my brain to the punch.

“You're right on that account, but as a friend, I wouldn’t let you accept,” Luey said, his voice softening to a father-like tone. “It is something that humans shouldn’t touch or worry over.”

"So what are they?"

"That is not important," he reached into his pocket before bringing out a few gold coins to hand to me. "Go get your boots."

I was not a child. Luey looking so worried that it made me scared. Not trembling in my boots scared, more ancient curse fear. I'd handled dangerous items before, things that almost killed me, and yet he basically forbid me to touch one.  His eyes looked at my own, his stony features standing firm and immovable.

Taking the gold I left to find the cobbler.

[spacepissbabies]

Mordesh RP Questionnaire: Hedeon Gregsky

Pre-Outbreak

What is/was your character’s name? Hedeon Gregsky.

How did they grow up? Rich? Poor? Hedeon grew up the third son to a noble family.

Was your character religious? (Mordesh society worshiped the elements, had alchemist circles for churches and alchemists for priests basically) Hedeon was mildly religious, upholding his family's beliefs.

Did they hold any sort of power or have a job? He never worked a day in his life, he was in a university to excuse himself from ever working or making something of himself. He was close to graduating with a doctorate in literary studies, and played sports on a team in the meantime.

What were their personal tastes? Hedeon liked the outdoors, hanging out with friends, and playing sports. He also liked books and was interested in literature so he stuck with it to keep his family paying for his school and his dormitory living with friends. He was a star in his team in a game akin to rugby on Grismara.

Married? Single? Single. Sweet on another student younger than him but too shy to walk up to them. They were of a lower class, a ‘nerd’ stringbean on a scholarship to this pretentious university of lordlings who was picked on by upperclassmen like him. Hedeon fought the dudes in the background and got a reputation for being an aggressive guy, as he pined for an underclassman who never noticed him.

When Lazarin unveiled his Everlife Elixir, how did your character react? Hedeon had mixed feelings about it that he kept private to himself. He was happy to have a way to keep being young, healthy, and in his prime forever, but it felt morally wrong to his values. It was just an inkling, and peer pressure kept him silent.

What was their opinion on the Dominion? Hedeon found their literature much easy to read through than Grismaran ancient text, so he had high opinion of them for that. He hardly thought of them, however.

Did they look forward to joining them? Again, hardly thought of them. Big things like that went over the brute’s head. He cared about books or sports.

How old were they when the Outbreak struck? Twenty seven.

When news of the ravenous reached them, what was their first reaction? Disbelief. His friends he surrounded himself with were sure that it was a hoax. News from his family's estate went silent, and as the spread continued Hedeon eventually came home to more than three of his fraternity friends tearing apart another, and Hedeon had to defend himself before making a run for it.

How did they survive? The university was boarded up by the few survivors left in the area. Hedeon acted as muscle and protection while alchemists and engineering students attempted to fashion ways to defend themselves from breaks through their defenses.

Were they angry as Lazarin and the Mordesh government for releasing the Elixir before it was proven a success? Incredibly.

Did they lose anyone in the chaos? The scholarship student was never seen by Hedeon after the outbreak. Hedeon guesses he is long dead. Peers, professors, and friends were lost as well--not a single person is left that Hedeon was close to, after being rescued from the university by the Exiles. Hedeon never heard from his family.

Post-Outbreak

How did they react to becoming undead and the physical and mental changes that resulted? Hedeon was bitter with ptsd and the pain coming from the metal stapled into him, the chemicals pumped into him. Yet he was still managing to keep his amiable, social disposition up until the vitalus completely took over his system. His reaction to it was painful; while not threatening his life, his body rejected it and caused him a great deal of pain from it. He became extremely aggressive, unable to stop bouts of temper tantrums or self harm done to his body to attempt to claw at where the pain was coming from. A suppressant had to be mixed into his vitalus, turning it a calm jade green; with it, he is more in control of his aggression and the pain is mild. It has, however, caused most of the cocktail of his change in personality and behavior. Self-loathing, vanity, and a dislike for people fearing him or staring at him helped as well.

How did they cope with the lose of loved ones and/or their planet? Hedeon, lying in medical cots among Exiles and Mordesh as he was between operations, had a lot of time to think on the outbreak and mourn his family, his friends, his life, and the guy he was sweet on. When the vitalus had a bad reaction within him, he found those memories distorted or ‘fuzzied’. He lost the ability to care for others, and became a loner when he used to be a friendly ‘good ole boy’ on Grismara.

Did they bring anything off-world with them? If so, what? Hedeon wore a sweater with his university’s insignia on it through the outbreak. He also has a college ring.

What were their reaction to the other Exile races when they arrived? (lore states the Mordesh were technically the second race to join the Exiles after the humans) Hedeon found himself as big as some Granok, so they didn't intimidate him. In fact, they were typically the ones, after his suppressants, who could tolerate his abrasive behavior. But his rebuffing of their attempts to get to know him better got him a constant reputation of being an unlikable loner. Humans feared him mostly.

Did they take part in helping the Aurins evacuate Arboria? No, by then he was ‘put on ice’ constantly for bad behavior among his people, or working as a Reaper. Probably better he hadn't.

What if their opinion on the search for a cure? Will it ever be found or are the mordesh destined to have nothing but a constant succession of bandaids to keep them living? Hedeon thinks it is a loss cause. He is positive that they will all die like this, like monsters that shouldn't be, and in his mind he is always ready to end his before he loses it or turns. It used to be from a valorous belief that he would protect others from himself by isolating from them to keep away the danger of himself turning Ravenous… Now he's not sure. He just can't stand people anymore.

What does your character do now? He's a Reaper. Being he protected others from Ravenous in Grismara, and had the build for it from years of playing a rough sport, he felt it was ‘what he was meant to do’. And he wanted, at first to do it well. Yet it quickly became the only thing that let him have the fame and usefulness he had on Grismara, the only thing he had left to let him feel alive. He's become arrogant, unruly, and purposeful in his misbehaving as he causes damages to his team and property from his feral aggression and delight in violence. He may get the job done, but his record is a colorful display of forced cryo naps between missions and suspensions, write ups and complaints.

Did their previous occupation on Grismara prepare them for their current job/hobby or did they start fresh? (Read above.) Being a small time sports star built him for it. The woodworking hobby, however? And the carpentry? From his love of fiction having to do with adventure and survival on Grismara, and his research of the two subjects. Nexus is his playground now.

Did they change their name? No.

Have their tastes changed since the Outbreak? A lot about him has changed; it's easier to find what's stayed the same. His taste in those an affectionate feeling or attraction drums up with (he will always gravitate to nerds), his love of being outside and working his body with something, his same taste in books although he doesn't read much anymore, and his love of the color orange.

Do they care about their appearance? To a degree. His care for his appearance is embedded in him from years of looking a certain manner. He preens himself for an ironic sense of feeling ‘good looking’, finding it to be one big funny joke to pomade his hair and keep himself looking well despite his state. Irony is kind of his thing.

What is your character’s most cherished memory pre-outbreak? All of his memories are hazy, but he remembers times with his family in their winter home in the snowy mountains of Grismara when he was a child.

What is your characters goal in life now that they’re immortal? Fight. Live. Be the best Reaper. Fix up his remote cabin in the mountains. Fuck else.

[secretsinthevoid]

Tw: Suicidal thoughts, Eating disorder, loss of a loved one and grieving

I remember that call vividly. It haunts my dreams occasionally. I remember going to sleep the day before and seeing my grandfather in my dreams, surrounded by a soft white light telling me that I would be okay and that he loved me so much. I remember waking up feeling confused as to why I would dream of something like that. At thirteen I couldn’t fathom losing the person who meant everything to me. To me, he could never die, he was immortal, but then again, everyone thinks that of the ones they love the most. 

The next day I got the call that he was gone and it was as if the glass around me had shattered and was just falling to the ground in slow motion. Nothing made sense, everything hurt, I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I honestly had no idea how I was going to survive. I knew what his death meant for me. I knew that it was only the beginning of the end. 

I had written out so many suicide notes, each one always pointed some blame on Kelly. Would it have been her fault that I killed myself? Possibly. Maybe then people would’ve started to give a shit about me and other kids like me who were suffering at the hands of a manipulative narcissist who had to be the center of everything and if they weren’t then it was war and nothing would stop them until they got what they wanted. 

When it came time for the viewing and funeral, I was already numb to the point that nothing mattered. I was on auto-pilot just kind of going through the motions - I lived on autopilot for years before realizing that I wasn’t truly living, I was just surviving. I went to the viewing twice, one with my grandma because Karen was at work and then again when Kelly got off work. Now, I know she was paying her respects to my grandfather because he was a good man, but I also know the games she plays and that he showing up there wasn’t just for me or out of respect, it was so she could brag and hold it in the family’s face that she was there to get information for her own personal arsenal for later use, and to play the role of mother of the year. She spent her time talking to other family members instead of worrying about her suicidal teen and making sure that I was okay while there with all of the strangers and people coming out of the woodworks. No, instead she was away from me, talking to everyone else while I was extremely uncomfortable with all of the attention. I just wanted to say goodbye to my best friend, to the person who had actually raised me and been there for me when I needed it. 

After the funeral when everyone else was eating, I sat in place with a plate of food in front of me, refusing to eat because I wasn’t hungry. I had no motivation to eat even the smallest of bites and hadn’t really eaten anything sufficent since I was told of my grandfather’s passing. I don’t even think one of those bastards from that side of the family even cared that I was practically starving myself. I know at one point one of them asked why I wasn’t eating, to which Karen replied with I’d eat when I was ready. I don’t remember eating anything that day. 

 Even as I watched them lower him into his ground I kept thinking he was being buried alive. For months I would wake up in a panic because; what if he woke up and then died because he was already buried. What if they made a mistake and he wasn’t really gone? I was always panicking because I couldn’t deal with my own grief and the thought of him being gone for good. Don’t get me wrong, I understood death, I had lost two family members that I loved two years before he passed, I just wasn’t ready for his passing. It was sudden and he was literally at the doctors a few days before and was given a clear bill of health. I was just trying to process the fact that I lost my only good link in this world, the one person who could save me from the hellhole that was home. 

Four months after his funeral, I still wasn’t doing okay. I was still very much in denial. I wasn’t myself and anyone who knew me before he died would’ve been able to see that I wasn’t okay. I wasn’t really eating, my Bulimia had gotten worse as well as my depression and just...my will to live was completely gone. I had been in therapy for about a year and a half and the therapist had told Karen to give me some space after school, to give me some time to just relax before asking me how my day was, nothing too difficult, right? Well, I had practically become a mute because what was the point of saying anything anymore if I wasn’t going to live past a certain age? It’s a miracle a lived this long, what was one more year.  Well, one day, Kelly snapped over me not answering her or not giving her the answer she wanted and looked me in the eyes and said she was tired of walking on eggshells around me. I’m sorry that my entire world just fell apart in a single moment and that I was trying to figure out how to put it back together myself. It was then that I first started to realize just how horrible she was and that she was only worried about herself.