#And still see the baskets overflowing with more names. More children

[drumlincountry]

Went to a Palestine solidarity event at the weekend & during the speeches some artists handed out pieces of paper. Each piece of paper had the name of a murdered Palestinian baby. Not just children, babies. All under 2 years old. The idea was that everyone can hold one child. Just one. No one can really hold all of it, all of the violence of the genocide. But I can hold the weight of one murdered baby. That is a horror I can comprehend. Except. There weren't enough of us. Even with everyone gathered in the square. We couldn't hold all the murdered children.

Ceasefire now.

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

Still a Little Bit Yours (Part 1) - fic

Characters: Jon Kent, Damian Wayne, bit of Tim Drake and Maya Ducard Pairing: jondami Summary: Damian broke up with him, out of the blue. It didn’t make any sense. But, as it turns out, there’s a reason why it didn’t. A/N: Damian and Jon are in their mid-twenties and no longer go by Robin or Superboy (but not really Batman or Superman either, Tim’s last line is kind of a joke.) Title, and maybe vibe of this part, is based on ‘A Little Bit Yours’ by JP Saxe.

Part One | Part Two

~~

The phone almost slipped from his fingers.

Damian…did Damian just say what he thought he said?

“…What?” He whispered near breathlessly. “W-what did you just say?”

“I said I think we should see other people.” Damian replied calmly. “It would be for the betterment of both of us.”

“Since when?” Jon snapped, anger flaring immediately, but instantly morphing into confusion and sadness. His heart breaking by the second.

They’d been together for three years. Secretly pined after each other for the two years prior to that. Had recently talked about moving in together. Had been happy.

Jon was so, so sure they’d been happy.

“Since…recently.” Damian hummed blankly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“And the thought of doing this in person didn’t occur to you in your fucking contemplation?” Jon snapped. “Christ, Damian, we were just talking about getting an apartment!”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you. I know this isn’t what you want.” There was a hint of regret in Damian’s voice, but not enough for Jon’s liking, so it only fueled his growing anger further. “I…I don’t know what else to say.”

“Oh, really? Three fucking years and this is all you have to say?” Jon hissed. “I know you’re emotionally constipated, Damian, but…god. This is low. Even for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not!” Jon shouted. A store clerk nearby glanced at him. And that was right, he was in the grocery store. He’d…forgotten. Forgotten the whole world existed, forgot it was collapsing around him by the second, as Damian hummed those words. “Because if you were sorry, you wouldn’t have fucking done it this way in the first place!”

He heard a mother a few aisles down murmur to her children to not use language like that. That people who talked like that were pathetic.

“I…I don’t know what your game here is, Damian.” He whispered harshly.

“It’s not a game.” Damian promised. “I respect you too much to play games with you. I’m just trying to be honest.”

“But you don’t love me enough to break up with me in person, apparently.” Jon countered. He closed his eyes, wouldn’t allow the tears to fall. “I…Damian, I’m going to hang up on you right now. I…I don’t want to say something I might regret.”

“That’s fine.” Damian promised. Then again: “I’m sorry, Beloved.”

Jon scoffed and pulled the phone away from his ear. He hit the call end button so hard the screen cracked under his touch.

…Great.

He stood there a moment, trying to take deep, even breaths. But it wasn’t working real well. Each breath was trembling, and it’s like his lungs suddenly didn’t work, couldn’t hold any air.

Did he do something wrong? Did he say something? They’d fought before, all couples do. They were getting better at communication, Damian was coming out of that emotional shell the League of Assassins put him in.

They’d kissed yesterday. Jon had held him in his arms, had kissed his nose and told him how beautiful his smile was. Damian had laughed and held Jon’s face, stroking his thumb along his cheek.

And now…now they were here?

“…Honey?” Jon jumped as a hand gently touched his elbow. He spun to find an old woman in an apron matching the store’s color scheme glancing up at him. “Are you okay?”

The world around him came whooshing back. He was in the middle of the grocery store. He…he was sobbing in the middle of the grocery store. Fat, ugly tears rolling down his face as he practically crushed his phone in his hand.

“Do you need me to call someone?” The woman whispered.

“No, I…” He gently placed his shopping basket – half full of this week’s groceries – on the floor and backed away. He clumsily ran his nose along his sleeve, a trail of snot left in his wake. “I’m alright. I’m…I’m sorry.”

He turned and barely stopped himself from flying out of the store.

~~

Jon laid in bed for two days, exhausting himself racking his brain, trying to figure out what happened, what changed, what he did.

He texted Damian, almost exactly twenty-four hours after the fateful call, but the other never answered. Never answered any text Jon sent. Or any call that he drunkenly made after that. Didn’t even give him the knowledge of being left on read.

He cried a few times, threw things a few other times.

None of this made any sense.

He thought about going over to Gotham. Walking up to the manor and banging on the door until someone answered. Thought about staging a protest until Damian agreed to see him, if the door answerer wasn’t said boyfriend.

…Ex-boyfriend.

Tears welled up in his eyes every time he thought of the term.

Ex. Boyfriend.

Jon closed his eyes, buried his face in his pillow. Honestly, he thought they were going to get married. He thought they were going to be together forever. He wasn’t ready to plan a life without Damian, not yet. They were supposed to grow old together, die minutes apart like in the movies. Holding hands until the end.

He didn’t lose Damian to death, like he always thought he would. He didn’t lose Damian to space or assassins or even to grief in the potential loss of Bruce or Dick. He lost Damian because Damian…simply didn’t want him anymore.

God. They weren’t supposed to break up after three years. They weren’t supposed to part ways in their twenties. They weren’t supposed to end things for no reason.

He thought he’d gotten pretty good at reading Damian. His ticks, his quirks. What upset him, what didn’t. He thought he was an expert. The world’s leading expert in Damian Wayne.

Apparently he was fooling himself.

He sighed, pressed his face further into the fabric of his pillow. Tried to ignore the memories threatening to overflow. Of he and Damian in this bed. Kissing, cuddling, lazing. Of Jon promising Damian the whole world, and Damian countering with the whole universe instead.

He wondered if he should call Kathy. Or Maya. Hell, one of Damian’s siblings. See if Damian had talked to them, if they had seen any signs. If they knew of anything going on.

He just burrowed under his covers, and kept his eyes closed.

~~

In the end, he didn’t tell anyone about the breakup. Not even his parents. There were intergalactic wars starting and government coups commencing – they had more important things to worry about than their youngest’s love life. And judging by the fact he hadn’t heard from any of the Bats, he had a feeling Damian didn’t mention it to his family either.

Just as well. They were adults. They could handle this as just that. Adults.

So he wallowed in self-pity for a few days, but eventually forced himself up. Took a deep breath, dried his own eyes and distracted himself with continuing his life. Focused on his job, on heroing. The world kept turning, even if he and Damian weren’t together.

His heart hurt less as the days passed on. Not by much, his heart was still utterly shattered after all, but it didn’t hurt as much to inhale. Didn’t hurt as much to smile. Didn’t hurt as much to get a text or a call and it not be Damian.

Damian never answered when Jon tried to contact him. The first few days were understandable, but now the texts were housekeeping. Do you want your shirt back? I think you left Alfred’s cat treats here. I have a box of your stuff and your apartment key, if you’re in town soon, you can stop by and get it.

And still, like always, nothing. Damian was always stubborn, but now he was just being downright rude. It’d been almost a month now! Surely if someone as emotional as Jon could somewhat start to get over it, someone as stoic as Damian had probably completely forgotten about it by now!

He huffed as he watched a couple walk by the park bench he was sitting on, taking the momentary surge of frustration-induced courage to hit the call button on his (recently fixed) phone and hold it up to his ear.

They wouldn’t have to talk. This was just tying up the loose ends. Getting rid of the sentimental things. Getting rid of things that didn’t belong to him. That was all. That was all.

But the line didn’t even ring. It went straight to voicemail. And the frustration turned to hurt. Did…did Damian change his number? No, impossible. It still went to Damian’s voicemail, his phone was just off.

But Damian never turned his phone off. No hero did, and especially no one in the Wayne family. They were always on call, even when they shouldn’t be.

So, for Damian’s phone to be off…was he avoiding someone? Avoiding Jon?

He lowered his phone to his lap and stared at it. He was one of those people who put emojis in people’s contact names. Damian’s name was surrounded by the pink, growing heart, and the cat emoji that looked like Alfred.

He didn’t have the strength to take those away. Not yet.

He swallowed the lump in his throat that he didn’t realize was there, and put his phone back in his pocket.

He’ll just ship Damian his shit, then.

~~

He shouldn’t have. He really shouldn’t have. It’d make him the crazy ex. The ones Taylor Swift wrote songs about.

But at least once a day, he found himself listening. Tapping into his powers and listening for Damian’s heartbeat.

He didn’t do it often while they were together. Mostly because while together they were almost always together. Physically. So he could just reach out and hold Damian’s wrist. Put his ear to Damian’s chest. Watch the pulse as it beat along Damian’s neck.

It was a coping mechanism back then, used to calm himself. When the world got too much. When his day was bad. He could just focus on Damian’s heartbeat in any form. Drown the rest of the noise out.

Damian’s heartbeat now sounded far away, but Jon didn’t feel like pinpointing how far. It was slow and even, and that almost made him angry. Damian was calm. Damian was relaxed. Probably sitting at his easel drawing without a care in the world, while here Jon was listening for him like some kind of fucking lost puppy.

Every time he listened, it was slow and steady.

Stupid Damian, he’d think as he tuned his powers back out, furiously go back to whatever he was doing. Stupid relationships.

Relationships were overrated. Damian was overrated.

~~

“He what?!”

Maya’s shriek had Jon pulling the phone away from his ear with an amused grimace. He laughed as he switched the audio to be on speaker, and absently opened an app on his phone.

(A…dating app.)

“You didn’t know?” Jon hummed. His friend had called to ask some questions on a man she was tracking, someone who rumours said was from another planet. Kathy hadn’t known of the solar system, so she was trying the next best alien. As they talked, something about a crime scene came up, and she asked if Damian could help, if Jon could give him the phone. He had to break the news. “I thought you guys talked like…every day.”

“No way.” Maya scoffed. “Once a month, if that.” Jon could hear the frown in her voice. “And we did talk about a month ago. Maybe a bit longer. He didn’t say anything. In fact, he told me you guys were going to move in together, that he wanted me to plan a trip back to the States for a housewarming party.”

“Well…life comes at you fast, I guess.” Jon chuckled bitterly, remembering that call. He was in the room for that call, dozing in Damian’s arms, half listening to their conversation. He sneered at the choices the app was giving him. None of them were very attractive. “Because about a month ago was when he called it off.”

“Huh.” Maya mumbled. “I’m so sorry, Jon. If I’d had known that’s what he was planning, I would have beat the shit out of him. You were the best thing to ever happen to him, for gods’ sake! What the hell did he willingly throw it all away for?!”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Jon shrugged. This potential match wore a shirt that said Joker’s Biggest Fan on it, and Jon cringed instantly. “He didn’t give a reason. Just said that it was for the betterment of both of us, and that he was sorry.”

“Fucking turd.” Maya sighed. “I’ll call him here in the next few days, and see if he’ll tell me anything.”

“Good luck.” Jon drawled. “He hasn’t answered a single text or phone call since he broke things off. And I don’t know if that’s to just me or everyone.”

“You ask one of his brothers? Which one’s friends with your brother again? Jason?”

“Tim.” Jon corrected. He hesitated on this potential match option. Just stared. It was a woman. Dark hair, tan skin, standing in a desert. She was beautiful. And she reminded him of Damian. “And I haven’t seen or talked to any of them either. No cases have taken me out to Gotham lately.”

The next match had sharp eyes, ones that said they were smarter than everyone else. Cocky. That was like Damian too.

“Eh, they’d probably cover for him anyway. They’re all a bunch of freaks like that.” She grumbled. “Are you…doing okay?”

“I’m fine.” Jon lied, and he knew Maya heard right through it. “Time heals all wounds and all that. Better every day.”

“Oh, Jon…” Maya sighed sympathetically. Jon didn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed at her pity. Not when the next person on the app was standing on a rooftop, flag tied to his neck, blowing gloriously behind him. Looking far too much like every hero persona Damian’s ever been. “Hey – I’ll be back in the States soon. And I promise, I’ll make my first stop coming to see you so we can get drunk and stuff ourselves with pizza and scream about what an asshole Damian is. Okay?”

The next match was posed in the photo in a fencing match. Damian. The next surrounded by Great Danes. Damian. The next playing a violin. Damian. The next wearing a Batman costume at a Halloween party.

Damian.

Damian. Damian. Damian.

He sighed and closed the app. Stupid.

“Yeah. That sounds like exactly what I need, Maya.”

“Great. It’s a date.” She paused a moment. “Love you, dude.”

Jon hesitated, because he hadn’t said those words since Damian. Hadn’t thought them. Hadn’t wanted to think them, not for anyone. Not for family, not for friends. Not for a single person in his life. Still left in his life.

“Love you too, Maya.”

~~

Jon wasn’t a dreamer. He didn’t know if it was his Kryptonian side, or just how he was, but he didn’t dream often. And if he did, if he remembered them, it was only flashes. Only later moments of déjà vu. Never full sequences. Never lucid.

But…this.

They were in Kansas, out in one of Pa’s fields, lying among the wheat. Damian was flat against the ground as Jon laid over him, kissing him as hard and deeply as he could. They both had their arms around the other, grips tight and unyielding. Like if one of them let go, the whole world would disappear.

He doesn’t know why, but it was a noise Damian made. A quiet moan, and his fingers digging desperately into Jon’s shoulders that snapped him out of it. Made him realize.

This wasn’t real.

He began to lean back, pulled his arms from Damian’s shoulders to steady himself. Damian shifted too, but only to hold Jon’s face, to try and chase his lips.

“No, I…” Jon stuttered, his body wanting to do just that. Dive back in and devour Damian whole. But his mind didn’t let him, forced him to continue back until he was on his knees. “We can’t.”

He got to his feet and backed up a step, half turning away. Couldn’t bear the sight of Damian lying in the dirt, shirt half open and hair disheveled, chest heaving from arousal and exertion. “…Jonathan?”

“You’re not real.” Jon almost whined, running his fingers through his hair.

“Is that so?” Damian scoffed. “Since when?”

“Since I know we haven’t been back to Kansas in like a year.” Jon sighed, turning back. “Since I just remembered you broke up with me.”

“Absurd.” Damian laughed. Jon glared down at him, watched as Damian stood, and wiped the dust from his butt. “I would never do such a thing.”

“Well…you did!” Jon spat. “And over the phone! Not even in person!”

“You’re not listening to me.” Damian scolded. He raised his sharp gaze. “I would never do such a thing.”

“…What?” Jon whispered incredulously. “I just…I just told you that you did! And I…” He snorted, shook his head. “You’re not even real. Why the hell am I even trying to argue with you?”

“Because despite what you tell those around you, you miss me.” Damian sauntered over to him with a smirk, and poked at his temple. “Now I need you to use that big brain of yours and focus on what I’m saying. What it means.”

Jon looked down sadly. Gently reached up to take Damian’s hand in his, and turned so he could kiss his palm, could hide his face against Damian’s hand.

Damian just smiled warmly, stepped closer into Jon’s space. Cupped his other hand around the side of Jon’s throat. “Please just remember.” He begged softly. “I would never do such a thing. Never.” He leaned up on his toes, and pressed their foreheads together. “Not to you, Beloved.”

Jon leaned into the gesture, and parted his lips to kiss Damian again.

But then he woke up.

He woke up in the dead of night, with tears streaming down his face, and the memory of the dream burning against his skull.

I would never do such a thing.

“But you did, Damian.” Jon sobbed, clutching his pillow, curling his knees to his chest. Because it felt like his heart was going to tumble out, all the pieces that it had shattered into were going to come spilling out onto his sheets. “You did.”

He didn’t go back to sleep.

~~

Jon let out a low growl as he stomped out of the café. That was a bust. That was a huge fucking waste of his time.

But that’s what he got for trying to jump back into the dating pool.

The girl seemed nice enough in their limited texting interaction. She was cute and not purposefully looked nothing like Damian. She was bubbly and loud, and also not purposefully acted nothing like Damian either.

(Totally not purposefully. Totally.)

But he’d just spent the last hour listening to her rant about conspiracy theories that were already disproven one hundred times over, and rave about how Lex Luthor was the best and coolest and smartest person to ever exist, because he was rich and going to get them all to Mars. She never stopped to let Jon talk. Never stopped to take a breath for herself either.

Needless to say, there’d be no second date. He’d frankly excused himself with a lie to get out of this one early.

(And she’d already texted him about how great of a time she had, and she couldn’t wait to see him again, despite still sitting in the restaurant ten feet behind him.

Jon didn’t like to ghost people – not like certain ex-boyfriends of his – but this one…he couldn’t wait to.)

So it must have been fate that he chose that moment to leave. Not a few minutes before, or decided to suffer through the rest of his rendezvous. Because as soon as he walked out of the café, he spotted one Tim Drake coming out of the building across the street.

Funnily enough, Tim spotted him at almost the exact same moment. Except instead of waving or smiling like Tim normally would, his face visibly paled and his eyes widened, like Jon was the last person on Earth he wanted to see.

Jon frowned when he saw Tim glance around, like he was looking for an escape route. “Tim!” He called before the other could do just that, glancing up and down the street before jogging quickly towards him. “Hey, wait up!”

Tim took a step backwards, like he was going to try to bolt, but in the end stayed where he was, waited for Jon to reach him. Quickly pulled his phone out and scanned the screen before pocketing it again. “Hey Jon…what, uh. What’s going on? How are you?”

“Oh…been better. But trying to stay positive.” Jon laughed knowingly. Tim didn’t react. “How’s the family?”

“Good. Busy.” Tim shrugged. “Lots of, uh…stuff to do. You know how it is.”

Jon nodded, and the two fell into an awkward silence. Tim pulled his phone out again, but quickly threw it back in his pocket.

“How’s…” And Jon didn’t want to ask, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. Wasn’t desperate to actually know, instead of guessing and assuming. “How’s Damian?”

But to Jon’s the surprise, at the sound of Damian’s name, Tim seemed to practically deflate. He threw his hands across his face, began shaking his head. “God, Jon, I’m so sorry. I know we should have called, or kept you in the loop or something. But we didn’t want you to become a target too or get hurt, or…”

“What?” Jon cut off, gut suddenly dropping. “What are you talking about?”

Tim peeked between his fingers, eyes narrowed. “…What are you talking about?”

“I…I haven’t talked to Damian since he broke up with me.” Jon murmured. Tim’s eyes instantly widened even more in surprise. “I just…wanted to know if he was doing okay?”

“Damian broke up with you?” Tim whispered. “When?”

“Um, I don’t know a month or so ago?” Jon shrugged. “Why? Tim, what’s going on?”

“How did he break up with you?” Tim demanded, suddenly all but lunging at Jon. His eyes darted between Jon’s desperately. “Was it in person?”

“No, it was over the phone.”

“What day?” Tim asked, almost giddy now. “What day did he break up with you, exactly? What day did you get that call?”

“Uh…” Jon pulled out his phone, and went to the call feature. He scanned the list until he found the one he was looking for. The one that ruined his whole life. “The seventh.”

“What time?”

“Like three or four in the afternoon?” Jon huffed. “Tim, why is this relevant? What happened?”

“Have you talked to him since then?” Tim continued, undeterred. “In any way? Text? Call? Carrier pigeon?”

“What? No! I…I tried calling him a few times, to return his stuff and all that, but he never answered.” Tim suddenly backed away from him, running both hands through his hair, like a case was just blown wide open. For the third time, Jon asked: “Tim, what the hell is going on?”

Tim hesitated for a moment, then looked Jon dead in the eyes. “Damian’s been missing for a month.” He said plainly. “He disappeared on the morning of the seventh.”

And just like that day on the phone, it felt like the world was being swallowed into a black hole beneath him. That the universe was disappearing around him, that it wasn’t real.

He could barely breath. “…What?”

“He, Duke and Cass were on a case in France. Without warning all three of them went radio silent. When we got there, we only found Duke and Cass half dead in a vineyard. They said they were attacked by a…a shapeshifter or something, lured them in by transforming into members of the Justice League. That they saw the shapeshifter and their crew dragging Damian away, but they didn’t see where to, or even what direction.”

Jon’s head was spinning.

“We’ve been looking for him day and night ever since. And when you didn’t come looking for him…” Tim winced. “We assumed he’d told you that he would be away on a mission, potentially for a long time. So your absence didn’t concern us. In fact, like I said, we were grateful. We didn’t want you getting wrapped up in this too, and potentially hurt.”

Jon was barely listening anymore, too wrapped up in what he’d just been told. That Damian had been missing since that day. That the reason Damian’s heartbeat sounded so far away was because he was, he was somewhere in Europe. That he wasn’t answering his phone because he was being held captive.

…That it wasn’t Damian on that call.

I would never do such a thing. Never. Not to you.

“…Beloved.” He murmured. Tim instantly stopped in his ramblings.

“…What?” Tim asked.

“On the call, when he broke up with me. First, he never gave a reason, which I thought was crazy. I guess…I guess it makes sense now.” Jon said thoughtfully. “But before we hung up. He said ‘I’m sorry, Beloved.’”

“…So?”

“That’s what Damian had me as in his phone. Not my name.” Jon explained. “Why would he still call me Beloved if he was breaking up with me?”

“…He would have said your name.” Tim said, the truth dawning on him. “The kidnapper wouldn’t know that. They wouldn’t know your name. So they called you what you were listed as.”

“And recognized that I was someone important to him.” Jon finished. “But…why? Why call me just to…break up with me? Why call me at all?”

“I don’t know. We can think about it later.” Tim was instantly back in detective mode, holding out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Because we can track where that phone call came from.” Tim wiggled his fingers impatiently. With his other hand, he pulled out his own phone, typing furiously with his thumb. Jon realized that’s why he was checking it so much, that’s why he was in Metropolis at all. He was looking for clues for Damian, anywhere he could. “And that might take us to where this bastard took my brother.”

“...Need a ride to the Batcave?” Jon asked with a sheepish smile. “…The sooner we get there, the sooner we can track this fucker and find Damian.”

Tim pursed his lips in thought, clearly not thrilled at the idea of including Jon, not after they all tried so hard to keep him detached, but eventually returned the grin.

“Get us in the air, Superman.”

[sodalitefully]

Santa Slash is coming to town...

This fic is the Christmas-themed spiritual successor to my Easter Bunny AU.  Special thanks to @slashscowboyboots for supporting all my holiday nonsense! 

Four snapshots from Slash’s Christmas prep marathon through the years:

🎄🎄🎄🎄

Jingle bells.  

Fucking jingle bells.

There were FIFTEEN of them on the stupid-fucking-candy-colored costume he had to wear at this godforsaken excuse for a seasonal job.  “Earn some extra cash,” they said.  “It’s easy, you barely have to do anything,” they said.  "You'll be perfect, you already look the part!" they said.  

"They are about to find a size-ten jingle-toed bootie up their ass,” Axl said – to himself, as he rushed into the storage room turned "dressing room" and buttoned up his itchy red and green vest with one hand while sipping an Orange Julius from the food court with the other.  

“Hey, Axl! You’re barely late today, awesome!”

And then there was this weirdo.

Axl could not for the life of him explain why a shopping mall in Indiana elected to hire a skinny dude in his 20s with a dark complexion and a nose ring to portray Saint Nick himself, but whatever the reason, Axl was stuck working with this fruitcake until Christmas Day.  Sure Slash was nice enough (oh yeah, and his name was Slash, or at least that's how he introduced himself without offering any explanation or even a last name), but he was way too enthusiastic about getting paid minimum wage to let strange kids sit in his lap at a grimy old shopping mall.

Uh, not in a weird way, Slash was good with the kids, really.  But sometimes... it seemed like he was taking his role a little too seriously.  

"How come you don't have a beard?" the first customer of Axl's shift, a little girl in a Tweety bird sweater and blonde pigtails, asked suspiciously.

"That's a good question,” Slash said, scratching at his bare chin. The neck of his Motörhead Beyond the Threshold of Pain Tour T-shirt was visible over the faux fur collar of the Santa costume, and his shiny black boots clearly came from a military surplus store. “I get asked that a lot but the truth is, it just isn't a flattering look, trust me.  I tried it once, and the elves could barely look at me in the eye." To Axl’s incredulity, the girl actually accepted that answer.  "Now tell me, what would you like for Christmas this year, sweetheart?"

As usual, Axl tuned out at this point.  Fake a smile for the overprotective parents, take the painfully awkward commemorative photograph, try not to look like he would rather die than hear Slash try to gently explain that Santa will probably not be delivering a pony this year one more damn time, rinse and repeat – until about an hour later, when the unthinkable happened.

The less said about about the incident, the better.  Suffice to say, one of the darling angels tossed his Christmas cookies, and some of the resulting mess wound up soaking into the front of Axl’s elf costume.  As if he needed another reason to hate his job; this was just adding insult on top of injury (that is, the injury to Axl’s pride as a result of being forced to wear the most ridiculous-looking costume he’s ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on). 

“That’s it. I quit.”  He grabbed the elf cap off his head and slammed it on the ground, then stormed through the exit gate past the sign wishing customers a "Holly Jolly Holiday Season," the bells on his costume ringing merrily as he stomped his feet.

“Hey, wait!”

“No,” Axl growled, but he did turn around to look back at Slash, still sitting in the plastic candy-cane throne unbothered by the mess or the sniffling child now mostly placated by a peppermint candy.  "What."  

Slash offered him a bright, beguiling smile.

"What do you want for Christmas, Axl?" 

-----

Nothing said "holiday cheer" like wandering the tinsel-adorned labyrinth that was a Walmart superstore a week before Christmas, with Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime" echoing through the tinny PA system and surrounded by other last-minute vultures hopelessly scavenging the picked-over aisles.  

In Izzy's defense, he actually finished all his shopping early this year, for once.  But then his two little brothers begged him to drive them around town to find the perfect gift for a girl at school that they apparently both had a crush on, and like a fool he agreed. 

He was regretting it now.  Anything would be better than subjecting himself to nearly an hour of top-40 Christmas music.  The jingle bells were jingling, the carolers were caroling, the B-list pop stars were spitting out god-awful covers of Christmas classics, and don’t even get him started on the commercials. 

He wasn't about to walk around in public with his fingers shoved in his ears (at least, he wasn't that desperate yet), but he did squeeze his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to force himself to relax.  Just take deep breaths and think of The Rolling Stones... 

"Hey, uh, you doing okay?"

Izzy opened his eyes reluctantly.  In front of him was a young man wearing a concerned expression and a Santa hat, stuffed onto a massive pile of dark curls.  

"I'm fine.  Just finding out if it's possible to die from overexposure to Christmas music."

"Ahhh."  The man nodded in understanding.  "It's not, unfortunately.  I've tested it, trust me."

"Do you work here or something?" Izzy asked.  A leather jacket and ripped jeans didn't look like an employee uniform, but his hat matched the store decor and he didn't have a cart or shopping basket.  

"No, I'm actually a seasonal distributor.  Just checking in to make sure everything's in place before that last holiday rush, you know? Shit always gets crazy at the last minute."

"Tell me about it," Izzy responded, as if he knew a thing about marketing as a cynical 16-year-old.  But he had first-hand experience with last-minute crises, and as if to prove it, his brothers came running up to him at that moment.

"Jeff!  We can't find anything good, what should we do?"

"What's the problem?" the stranger in a Santa hat asked, looking genuinely concerned.  

"We don't know what present to get for a girl at school," the boys explained.

"Hmm..." He tapped at his chin.  "Why don't you just – oh wait, you're underage.  Well, how about you bake her some cookies or something?  That's what everyone does for me and I have no complaints."

Desperate to remove himself from this musical hell, Izzy jumped on the idea.  "Yeah, you could do sugar cookies!  And decorate them like horses, she likes horses right?” The boys had only mentioned that a dozen times; Izzy was starting to wonder if this girl even had any other personality traits.  

To his relief, a spark lit up in his brothers' eyes.  Cookies were a perfect idea, and suddenly they were dragging him away to look at cookie cutters and sprinkles.

Izzy turned around to shoot the helpful stranger a grateful look, but when he looked back, the man had disappeared with no trace, leaving not even a furry white pompom behind.

-----

Slash glanced out the window and grimaced – it was cold as a witch’s big bouncy tit outside, nothing but snow and ice as far as the eye could see. He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and took another swig of hot Irish coffee.   Damn the North Pole, there was a reason he took his summer vacations in Malibu.

But despite the miserable work conditions, Slash was nothing if not dedicated to his job.  In front of him was a sack overflowing not with toys but with the most recent letters to Santa, straight from the North Pole's post office.  With Christmas only a few days away, his daunting task was to go through the whole mountain of letters as quickly as possibly in order to take their special requests into consideration before it was time to start loading up the sleigh.  

Well, there was no time like the present to get started.  Slash stretched his back and got comfortable in his coziest armchair (by throwing his legs over one armrest and slouching until his head rested on the other), absentmindedly tapping the end of his peppermint stick on the edge of an ashtray.  He grimaced when he brought the stick back to his lips and realized his mistake. 

With a sigh, he dropped the peppermint stick back in the ashtray already full of cigarette butts and ruined candies, and unfolded the first letter.  In barely legible green marker, the message read: 

Dear Santa Claus,

My name is Steven and I'm 5 years old.  Please give me a skateboard for Christmas.  My brother has one and he won't let me borrow it to learn tricks.

Hmmm.  Five years old was a little young for a skateboard.  Knowing Steven, he'd probably knock his teeth out by New Year's...

...Slash shrugged.  Why not?  All things considered, he would have killed for a skateboard when he was five, so who was he to say no?

-----

Duff was seven years old when his older brothers cornered him in the backyard and gleefully informed him that Santa Claus was a fraud.  It was all a lie made up by parents to convince their children to behave during the year, they explained, and the toys were made on factory lines not by magical elves.  Their mother gave them a hell of a scolding afterwards but it was too late, the deed could not be undone. 

He tried to play it cool, but the truth was, Duff was very distraught as Christmas Eve inched closer.  Could his siblings be right?  He didn't want to believe it, but if he was being honest with himself, he'd suspected as much for some time.  He braced himself to accept the hard truth come Christmas Eve – but only if he was presented with definitive proof.

When the fateful night finally came, Duff and two of his brothers laid out their sleeping bags behind the couch, where they'd be hidden from view if anyone tried to approach the Christmas tree.  They all swore not to fall asleep, not even for a second until Christmas morning... And it wasn't until his brother started snoring that Duff realized he was the only one still awake and silently anticipating the moment of truth.  

It was imperative, of course, that he stayed hidden and didn't make a sound, or else risk giving their plot away.  But... it was past midnight, dinner was hours ago and Duff's empty stomach was starting to distract him from the task at hand.  He couldn't stop thinking about all the food he would get to eat with his family on Christmas Day: the glazed ham, mashed potatoes, apple pie and Christmas cookies... 

In the dim light, Duff could just barely make out the plate of cookies for Santa, waiting in front of the tree.  The cookies were still there untouched, all six of them... Surely no one would notice if Duff ate just one?  

He tiptoed over his sleeping siblings, as silent as the snow falling outside, making his way around the sofa to the plate on the coffee table.  But just as he reached out to pluck a gingerbread man from the assortment, he saw a shadow of movement out of the corner of his eye.  There, beside the Christmas tree in the flickering glow of multicolored string lights, was a mysterious figure in a fur-lined coat and a red cap.

Duff stared at the intruder, slack-jawed.  The cookie clattered back onto the dish, and at the noise the stranger whirled around to face him. 

"Duff!  What are you doing still awake?" he demanded.  Duff took a breath to answer – or more likely to ask how the man knew his name – but before he could, the man peered over the couch, narrowed his eyes and frowned.  "Oh I see what this is. You thought you would catch your parents pretending to be me!" he accused.  "Well, here's the real truth: adults are always wrong and you should never do what they say!" 

The man – could he really be Santa Claus? – he planted his leather-gloved hands on his hips as he scolded Duff.  "And don't even get me started on teenagers..." he griped, casting a stare over Duff's shoulder where his older brother's leg was sticking out from behind the couch, tangled in a blanket.  

Tears started to well up in Duff's eyes.

"Please still give them Christmas presents!  I know they said they don't believe in you, but they've been good, I promise!" he begged.  Santa's expression softened.

"Aw, I know, kid.  I promise they'll still get their presents, alright?  Let me just finish up here and then maybe you can help me out with those cookies, sound good?"

Placated, Duff sniffled and nodded, scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve. He hopped onto the sofa, swinging his feet and watching with awe as Santa pulled beautifully wrapped gifts out of seemingly nowhere and stacked them around the tree, one after another until all eight of the McKagan children were represented. He took a step back to take in his handiwork, made a few minor adjustments, then turned back to Duff: “Voila! That’s the magic of Christmas. Now pass me that plate, would you?”

Santa sat down next to Duff and propped his boots up on the coffee table. When Duff held out the plate of cookies, he selected one decorated to look like Santa Claus, white beard and all, and promptly bit its head off. 

“I love my job, but delivering presents is exhausting,” he sighed, accepting a glass of milk from Duff’s outstretched hand. “I’ve already covered Asia, Africa, Europe, and most of the Americas, so I’d say I’m due for a break.  Cheers, Duff.” He held up his glass and Duff tapped it with his half-eaten cookie. 

“To a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!”

🎄🎄🎄🎄

[siren1song]

@acanvasofabillionsuns​

Finally Got It

Summary: Remus isn't good with sappy, romantic words but he's gonna do his damnedest to overcome that for Patton.

Warnings: None I’m aware of.

Pairing: Intruality

Word Count: 2,095

General Taglist: @emo-disaster​, @greenninjagal-blog​, @jungle321jungle​, @sleepy-sides​, @gattonero17​, @another-sandersidesblog​, @strawberryjellystuff​, @logic-with-a-pinch-of-deceit​, @gr3ml1n-loser​, @main-chive​, @firey-alex​, @spooky-scary-virgil​, @yalltookmyurlideas​, @sanderssidesweirdo​, @stormypaint​, @just-a-little-bit-gay-oops​, @dying-is-a-hobby​, @the-angry-child​

Intruality Taglist: @jessibbb​

Notes: Really loving these songs + ship requests :D also i am definitely considering this an early birthday present to myself.

Commissions!! | Buy Me a Kofi!! | Join Casper’s Crew!! | Ao3 Link!!

Remus, despite being a writer, wasn’t really the best with his words.

At least, not when it came to romance he wasn’t. Being a horror novelist did nothing in the sappy department and he tended to have more skill in sex than he did in being romantic.

And yet… Patton still loved him. He giggled at his porn jokes and powered through his horror hyperfixation with a smile and a reminder to eat and drink water while he researched. It was honestly amazing how well they could work together.

That isn’t to say they haven’t had their problems of course. When they first met, Patton was so unsettled by Remus that he outright avoided interactions with him.

It had hurt and there was a long trial of them getting closer and Remus would always remember the first time Patton laughed at one of his sexual jokes (it had been a pun, and Remus learned that puns were basically the way to his heart).

God he loved that man so much.

Enough to try and write a stupid sappy love letter  on their third anniversary because Patton was the sappiest romantic Remus had ever met, even worse than his own brother, and he wanted to make him get that bubbly smile he wore when he watched romcoms like they were the best cinematic invention to grace the screen.

Fucking hell, Patton really was too cute to handle sometimes.

But again, Remus was really bad with being romantic in the traditional sense. He didn’t like the smell of roses so he either avoided the flowers or gave Patton dead ones. Then there was the fact he was allergic to chocolate so he couldn’t even consider getting Patton that because then he’d have to go a whole day, possibly longer, without kissing his boyfriend and Remus may be strong but no man who had a similar strength in desire for affection like him could handle that.

Sometimes he just wanted Patton to smother him in kisses and make him break down into wheezy cackling that made his heart overflow with love and his cheeks hurt from smiling.

With a small groan, Remus let his head fall back against the wall, the document on his laptop only having six words on the screen because he just… wasn’t sure how to continue the stupid letter.

“Squid?” Patton called, peering over the counter cutting between the living room and the kitchen, an eyebrow lifted and his smile lopsided in his concern.

“Doing fine, Pat. Just having a hard time thinking.”

“Is this about the thing you asked Roman about the other day?”

Remus cleared his throat a little bit, stubbornly continuing to look at the ceiling so Patton couldn’t see how his face was starting to redden.

“Kinda, yeah,” he answered, tapping his fingers on the corners of his laptop where he wouldn’t risk pressing buttons.

Patton went quiet for a second, and the next thing Remus knew he was thwapped in the temple with a paper ball.

Confusion and amusement distracted Remus from his embarrassment, and he looked at Patton with his own raised eyebrow while he searched for the paper ball with one hand.

When he found it, he brought it to eye level and looked away from his boyfriend to see… a wad of paper terribly decorated like a pokeball.

“What?” he asked his confusion and amusement both increasing as he looked at his now grinning boyfriend.

“Anniversary is coming up. Figured I’d give you your first hint on what I’ll be doing,” was Patton’s answer, which he punctuated with a wink.

Oh God, Remus was so in love with this dork

“With your hint given though, I’m gonna go back to planning my class for the week. Teaching kindergarten is rough work and all that,” Patton joked, blowing a kiss Remus’ way before he hid himself back in his office.

As serious as the word “office” sounded, Patton really had it full of stim toys, children’s toys and bad art and crayons. Said it put him in the environment he needed to get stuff done.

Remus was pretty sure he also just liked playing with the toys, but he couldn’t really fault him for it. Patton was very good at having a childish imagination and Remus loved him for it.

Not the only reason why he loved him, but it was a pretty big one.

If he had to list every reason Remus chose Patton as a lifelong partner, he’d be here… a while.

Chose.

Looking back at the paper pokeball, Remus tilted his head in thought, his brother’s words from the week before coming back to him.

”Look if you want to be sappy just… pick something that reminds you of him and build a metaphor linking it to him and how much you love him. Usually what I do with Janus.”

Hmm… He could work with that.

With a glance back to the doc on his screen, he backed out of four of the six words, set the paper pokeball down on the coffee table where he could look at it between focus bursts of writing and remember just how much he loved his boyfriend, and then got to work.

“Okay Pat the Cat, please tell me you’re not leading me into a cave where I have to outsmart an axe murderer because writing about horror and surviving horror are two different things and dying on our anniversary is not something I want to do.”

Patton giggled, and Remus could tell he was rolling his eyes, even if it was playfully.

“I’m flattered that you think I could get someone to kill for me-”

“You can? I’m right here.”

“Hush you. No, we’re not even in a cave right now? What made you think cave?”

Remus paused, looking in his boyfriend’s general direction, his sight hindered by a blindfold.

“We’re doing a lot of climbing, babe.”

Patton let out an ugly snort, pulling at Remus’ hand to urge him into moving again.

“We’re not going to a cave housing an axe murderer, Remus. Actually, we’re almost there! You’re gonna have to keep close to me though, I don’t want you running into a tree.”

With a fond sigh, Remus let himself be pulled just a little bit closer to Patton and kept himself there without tripping over his boyfriend’s heels.

Not long and Patton gently guided Remus to a stop and pulled him in for a chaste kiss.

He pulled off the blindfold while their lips were locked, and by the time Remus was blinking his eyes open, he felt kind of dumb for only writing Patton a letter because now they were in a clearing big enough to have a picnic blanket on the ground and there were cardboard cutouts of pokemon hanging from the trees.

It was clear Patton put a lot of work into this, and a sappy love letter felt a little inadequate compared to this.

“Do you like it? I remembered you talking about your special interest in the series when you were little and I know sometimes you still like watching the show and you always get the newest games so I just… figured it would be cute to give you something like this after three years of being together.”

Remus didn’t say anything, going up to the Trubbish cutout and lifting it a bit to get a better look.

After a second he looked at another cutout that had a Grimer on it. And another with a Weezing.

“Squid?” Patton asked, a bit of concern in his tone that made Remus turn to face him again.

“Oh honey…” he whispered, coming closer to Remus with his hands outstretched until they were on Remus’ face, thumbs wiping away tears Remus hadn’t even realized he was crying.

With a sniffle and a weak laugh, Remus covered one of Patton’s hands with his own.

“I’m fine. I just… got overwhelmed with how much I love you. You remembered all of my favorite pokemon?”

Patton’s concerned frown turned into an adoring smile.

“Of course! Pokemon is a really easy franchise to get into. There’s so many pokemon with names that are puns! And you get really excited when you talk about it, how could I not remember that?”

Remus kind of wanted to marry this man. Which wasn’t really a thought he had before but it didn’t exactly catch him off guard either.

“All this kinda makes my gift pale in comparison. If we didn’t have a no expensive gifts rule I absolutely would have done better,” he said, thinking to some of the things Patton has gushed over to make teaching his kids so much easier and more fun.

Patton scrunched up his face in distaste, shaking his head.

“Nope! Whatever you did, I’m sure it’s just as good. No self deprecation on our anniversary, mister.”

Snorting, Remus pecked Patton’s nose.

“Alright, alright fine. I’m gonna take a guess though that that picnic basket is full of food and if so I would very much like to eat after giving you your gift.”

“Why yes it is! C’mon, let’s sit down.”

Remus pulled the envelope with his letter out of his back pocket and sat down with his boyfriend, handing it to him before opening the basket so he could ignore his nerves and look at what Patton had prepared for them.

Things were quiet. Not silent, couldn’t be with the sounds of the woods surrounding them and Remus messing with the food containers trying not to watch Patton while he read the letter.

His nerves got worse with each second Patton read and didn’t say anything.

And then finally—

“You wrote this?” Patton whispered, voice hoarse with barely held back tears that Remus could see brimming in his eyes when he looked up.

“Uh… well I mean… I know it’s not the best, pretty sure I couldn’t edit out all of the rambling if I tried, but uh. Yeah, I did.”

Patton looked away from the papers, creased from being in the envelope and fluttering a little in the slight breeze surrounding the two and making the pokemon cutouts dance in the trees.

He was beaming.

“Well, I guess having a lifelong love letter is a good reason as any to give you this,” he said, gently folding the papers and placing them under one of the containers Remus had pulled out before digging into the picnic basket and pulling out a large metal pokeball he hadn’t noticed when he was digging in there.

Remus took it when Patton held it out, giving his boyfriend a questioning look and receiving a “go on” gesture in response.

Guess he was opening it then?

Slowly, he lifted the red top of the pokeball and then nearly dropped it in his shock when he saw a silver band glint in the sunlight peeking through the trees.

“Patton, what is this?” he asked softly, not sure because he could never be sure unless he was told outright what was happening.

“A proposal,” Patton answered, wringing his hands together in a clear display of anxiety, “kind of. I had this whole speech planned but your really sweet letter made me speechless.”

Remus and Patton both snorted a little at the joke.

Taking a deep breath, Remus looked back down at the ring so he could actually gather what it looked like beyond the silver band.

It wasn’t much, the band thick and two tiny gems impressed into the metal surrounded by linked hearts. The gems were blue and green, both Patton’s and Remus’ favorite colors.

He carefully took the ring out of the pokeball, and then slid it on left his ring finger as he felt a grin take over his expression.

Patton then launched himself at Remus, taking him by surprise and making them both fall to the ground.

“Please tell me that’s a yes,” Patton whispered, his arms wrapped around Remus’ waist and his face buried in his neck.

Remus huffed, settling his right hand on the small of Patton’s back, grinning up at the sky broken up by leaves before he brought his left hand in his vision to admire the ring.

“It’s a hell fucking yeah.”

With a squeal, Patton clung tighter to Remus, and he prepared himself to just lay in the grass with his fiance for a while.

Not like he minded though. Not when they were surrounded by his favorite pokemon and able to brush his fingers through Patton’s hair.

Remus finally got one that chose him too.

[mosylufanfic]

Holding Out for a Hero

I’m so proud of myself, I finished a 12 Days of Killervibe prompt at the last minute!

Holding Out for a Hero

Caitlin pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing out against the burn in her eyes. No matter how she juggled the numbers, they always came out red in the end.

"Dammit, Daddy," she muttered.

The bell over the door jingled, and she jerked her head up, pasting a bright retail smile on her face. "Welcome to Jack Frost Toys!" she called out, quickly minimizing the accounting software. "Are you looking for anything specific?"

Usually they weren't. Usually, they came in, wandered around a little bit, and left. If she was lucky, they bought something before they left.

But the man standing just inside the door, snow dusting his hat and shoulders, said, "Yeah, please, I'm begging you. You're my only hope."

She cocked her head and guessed, "A . . . Star Wars toy?" There wasn't any particularly hot Star Wars toy this year that she was aware of, and she followed every toy blog and website she could find. 

He laughed, tugging his gloves off and shoving them in his pocket. "No, just a desperate nerd looking for a Puffy Penguin. My niece is three and she watches the show on repeat. I know Leo Lion is like the hot toy this year, but Maya knows what she wants. For her it's Puffy or nothin', and I couldn't tell if you had any from your website so I came down here just in case and please?" He widened his eyes at her. "Please."

Her heart melted. One of the best things about this store was seeing children find their new best friend. Second on that list was adults who cared enough about the children in their life that they moved heaven and earth to find, not just the latest hottest toy, but the toy that was just right.

She slid off her stool. "I've got some ZooFriends toys right over here. We're sold out of Leo, of course -" Everywhere was sold out of Leo. "But I've got Puffy in a variety of styles."

"Oh my god," he breathed, snatching a Puffy Penguin stuffie off the shelf and holding it as if it were the Holy Grail. "You've got them all. Elly and Slowpoke and Skyhigh - " He stared at the elephant, sloth, and giraffe toys lined up next to the penguins.

She smiled brightly. "Now this one says phrases from the show, but this one is a lot huggier if you ask me -"

"I'll take them both," he said, grabbing the talking Puffy. "Holy shit. Nowhere has ZooFriends anymore. How do you?"

She bit her lip. "Lucky, I guess." She stepped away and grabbed one of the plastic hand baskets printed with the store logo. "Would you like a basket?"

He took it. "Really? Because it's three in the afternoon on the first Saturday of December. A toy store should be wall-to-wall. Where is everybody?"

She turned away. "Amazon," she said. "Walmart. Websites, chain stores -" She shrugged and tried to laugh. "The plight of the modern small business owner. Is there anything else I can help you find?"

"I'll keep looking around," he said, studying the shelf. "So you're the owner?"

She nodded. "This store has been in my family for five generations."

He almost dropped the basket. "Five - Did they even have toys that long ago?"

"Oh, toys have been around as long as humans have had childhood! Did you know they've found marbles in Egyptian tombs? And dolls in archaeological digs. Toys are how children learn about the world, and how they start to decide their identities and practice interactions with others! They . . ." She trailed off, blushing. "Sorry, my major was psychology and I did my senior thesis on the role of play in early childhood development."

He held up a hand. "Hey, I'm the last person to shame anybody for nerding out. That's pretty awesome. You're in the right business."

"For right now, anyway," she murmured. 

"What?"

She smiled brightly. "I don't suppose you have any more nieces or nephews that need Christmas presents?"

He studied her for a moment. "Do you have any action figures?"

"Collectible or to play with?"

"Collectible?" he said hopefully.

She led him down the aisle and to the back wall. His eyes went wide. "Oh my god, you've got Max Mercury, black series." He grabbed it off the wall. "And Brainiac? This is a great section!"

She smiled. "My dad invested in these because he was hoping to bring in the collectors."

"Well, he made good choices." He picked the Braniac from its spot and turned it over in his hands, studying it closely. 

She left him to it and went back to the counter. She didn't feel like agonizing over the accounts when he was still here, so she cleaned the counter, dusted the book corner, and rearranged the ZooFriends shelf to fill in the empty spots he'd left when he took the two Puffy toys.

After half an hour, he came up to the counter with an overflowing basket, most of it action figures. With her heart singing the song of small business owners, she scanned them briskly.  His purchases came out to well over two hundred dollars. It was a drop in the bucket of her costs, of course, but it was a bigger drop than most. 

He handed her his credit card without a wince. When she ran it, his name popped up on her screen. She handed it back with the receipt. "Here you go, Mr. Ramon."

"Cisco," he said. "Please. Mr. Ramon is my pop."

"Cisco," she said. "I can wrap these if you want."

"Just the Puffys," he said. "The action figures are for me."

She grinned at him and selected a print of happy reindeer to wrap the stuffed animals. "Naturally."

He laughed self-consciously. "I'm not sure whether to be insulted or not. I promise I'm a grown-up man."

"Of course you are," she said, hands busily folding and taping. A really nicely grown-up man, too. She battled back her blush and hoped he hadn't noticed. "But I'll never look down on any adult who still likes toys."

"Well, sure, that's a good hundred and fifty dollars of my total."

"There's that," she acknowledged, setting aside the first perfectly wrapped box and picking up the second.  "But toys are important to children's imaginations. And children grow into adults, who still need their imaginations." She nodded at the Max Mercury he held. "I don't think any of us ever really outgrow the desire to be someone's hero."

"Well," he said, "you're my hero today."

She met his eyes and felt the blush rise again. "Thank you."

He grinned and accepted the bag with the two wrapped presents inside. "And come Christmas morning, I'll be Maya's hero."

She smiled. "She's lucky to have an uncle doing his best to find her the perfect present. I'm glad you came by today."

"Yeah, well, it was coming out here or spending a hundred and seventy-five dollars on eBay and hoping like hell it made it here in time." He fiddled with his wallet. "I really don't mean to be that guy, but your website is . . ."

Her face went hot and she made a business of putting away the scissors and the tape and rolling up the rest of the wrapping paper. "Archaic?"

"I was going to say behind the times," he said tactfully. "If you had web ordering, you'd be sold out of ZooFriends and a whole bunch of other stuff."

"I know," she said. "But I really haven't had the time to get a good system set up since I took over the store. I need inventory software that integrates with ecommerce and for that I need technical skills, money, and time, and I don't have any of those."

He leaned on the counter. "You don't have to tell me, but how did it get this bad? You clearly love this place and I really don't feel like you would have let it fall behind like this if you had a choice."

She chewed her lip. "My dad died in September."

Sympathy spread over his features. Not the plastic, practiced sympathy she'd seen so often, but real compassion. "I'm sorry. Was he sick?"

"He had MS," she said. "He'd had it since I was ten, and he'd always kept on top of his medication and his therapy and everything. So - " She looked down at the perfectly clean counter and wiped it off again. "So when I was away at school and he told me he was doing fine, I believed him."

"He wasn't doing fine," Cisco guessed.

She shook her head. Tears burned in her eyes again. "It probably started small. Just little things falling through the cracks. Then the cracks got bigger, more things fell through. . . ."

He nodded. "They tend to do that."

"Mhm. Then last spring, he had an assistant manager who embezzled a lot of money - "

"What!"

"They caught him!" Caitlin assured him. "But most of the money was gone, and the stress of that just sent my dad's health into a tailspin. I'd just graduated so I moved back home to take care of him."

"And I'm gonna guess you were so wrapped up in that, you didn't even realize what was going on with the store until you took over."

She sighed. "Got it in one." She mustered up a smile. "I didn’t mean to dump that on you. It's bad now, but things will come around. They always do. The holidays are the best time of year to be a toy seller."

"Yeah," he said. "They sure are." He smiled back and gathered his purchases. "I'll tell people about this place."

"Great," she said. "Here's my card, by the way."

"Caitlin Snow," he read off the little rectangle of cardstock. 

"That's me. Let me know if you have any particular collectibles you'd like me to obtain."

"Hmm?" He was looking at his phone. "Uh, yeah, if I think of any, I'll give you a shout. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," she echoed, watching him leave. The jingle of the bell over the door echoed in the toy store's emptiness.

**

Walking back around the building to his car, Cisco snapped a pic of the business card Caitlin Snow had given him. Then he dialed a number on his phone and wedged it between his shoulder and his ear as he pulled on his gloves. "Hey, Iris? Got a moment?"

"Hi, Cisco. Half a moment. My editor's breathing down my neck again about finding some heartwarming story to fill up Sunday space."

"Yeah, I remember you mentioning that. What would you say to a struggling fifth-generation local toy store owner who just took over the business after her dad's death, carries everything from ZooFriends stuffies to high-end collectibles, and knows toys backwards and forwards?"

Iris paused and he could practically hear the gears clicking. "Tell me more."

**

A week before Christmas, Cisco finally found a good excuse to drop by Jack Frost Toys again. With the name of a rare collectible action figure in his pocket, he turned into the parking lot and found it jam packed. He finally managed to wedge his little car into a space half on the gravel and climb out.

This was a good sign, right?

When he walked in the front door, the girl behind the counter wasn't Caitlin. "Welcome to Jack Frost Toys!" she called out before returning her attention to the grandma-looking lady at her counter. "We absolutely do gift certificates. How much would you like that for?"

The place was transformed. There was no other word for it.

When he'd come in the last time, it had been neat and bright and colorful, but empty and somehow sad. Now there were people in every aisle, voices ringing off the rafters. He cut down the doll aisle and almost stepped on a kid sprawled out on his belly, leafing through a colorful picture book. A little girl was staring at the Barbies as if she were deciding the fate of nations. A couple of moms were talking to each other over the Lego sets.

"It's just such a cute little place! It was getting so run-down there for awhile, but this new owner’s really spruced it up."

"I used to come here when I was Mandy's age and it always seemed like the most magical place to me. I'd forgotten all about it, honestly, but we're coming back."

Cisco smiled to himself and edged around them to the collectibles wall. 

The door to the stock room opened and Caitlin came out, arms loaded down with what seemed to be flat-folded gift boxes. She stopped short when she saw Cisco. "Hi!"

"Hey," he said, smiling at her. She was wearing reindeer antlers and her hair was up in a bouncy ponytail. "You're busy."

"We are! I'm sorry, I've got to -"

"Yeah, go ahead."

She went to the front counter and stashed the gift boxes underneath. "Allegra," she said to the girl who'd greeted Cisco as he came in. "I just got off the phone with our supplier and they'll have more wrap here tomorrow. Can we hold out?"

"It'll be tight, but we should be okay."

"Great. I'll be back to cover your break in a few minutes, okay?"

"Take your time, I'm good."

Caitlin edged back around the counter and paused to check in with the moms. She considered their questions, looked around, and plucked a few sturdy wooden toys from a lower shelf. "I really like this designer for the textures they incorporate," she explained. "Babies enjoy being able to experience different kinds of material as they explore the toy, and it stimulates their brain development. Have a look at these. I'll be right here if you have any questions."

"Thanks so much."

She beamed and moved on. 

Cisco watched her consult with the little Barbie lover and pick out a second book for the reader, as well as four or five other small interactions. It was like watching Michelangelo paint the Sistine Chapel or Einstein doing calculations on a chalkboard. She was in her element.

She came around the end of the aisle and spotted him again. Her face lit up. "I'm so glad you came by again." She threw her arms around him.

"Uh," he said. "Hi again to you too." He gave her a quick hug back.

She pulled away, blushing. "Sorry. I - I just wanted to thank you. I know the article in the paper was your doing." 

"Oh," he said. "No, that was nothing. I just called up a friend. She's the one who did the interview and that great photo - "

 Iris had been savvy enough to pose Caitlin by her display of the coveted ZooFriends toys. Cisco had noticed how bare the shelf looked now. 

" - and you were the one who made this shop so amazing that once people knew it was still here, they came."

"But none of it would have happened if you hadn't put it in motion. You said I was your hero that day for having the Puffys, but you’re my hero now.

“Pshaw,” he said. “Like you said, nobody grows out of that.”

“But not everybody does something. So. Thank you."

"Well, you're welcome." He looked around. "So you're doing pretty good, it looks like."

She nodded, beaming. "People started coming in after that article, and PalmerTech asked me to purchase toys in bulk for the families at their company holiday party. All my part-time workers are doing as many hours as they can, and I'll be able to pay the rent for January and February, and if it keeps going like this, I can hire somebody to revamp the inventory system for ecommerce." 

She ran out of breath and panted for a moment, her eyes bright.

Cisco had to smile back at her. "That's amazing."

She nodded. "I mean, we're still competing with Walmart and Amazon, and we still took a real hit from what Jay did. So we're not out of the woods, but this - " She looked around, eyes still bright. "This is going to give us some breathing room.   

"I'm really glad."

She turned her smile back on him and stole his breath. "Sorry, I'm just chattering away, and - did you come by looking for something else? Another collectible?"

"Ah - well, I was planning to ask about the limited edition Star Wars figures they're talking about for next year."

"I don't think I'm going to be able to order any of those until March, but I can definitely get your contact information."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But actually it was an excuse."

Her brows crinkled. "An excuse?"

"I really wanted to come by and see if you wanted to go get coffee or something. Sometime." He looked around. "I mean, maybe not right now because it's still December and you're slammed, which is great, but - "

"I'd like that."

His stomach filled up with warmth, like drinking an entire mug of hot chocolate. "You would?"

"Very much." 

They smiled shyly at each other until Allegra called out, "Caitlin? A little help?" She had a line that stretched halfway down the doll aisle.

"Oh!" Caitlin said. "Uh, I should - "

"Yeah! Go. I'll hang around until you're free, and then I'll get your phone number."

"Okay." She gave him one last smile before rushing up to the counter and opening up a register. "I can help who's next over here! Oh, sweetheart, that's a great choice. Your best friend is going to love it."

Cisco watched her for a moment, smiling to himself, and then turned to browse the collectibles. She'd been right, he mused. The holidays really were the best time of year to be a toy seller.

FINIS

[arotechno]

The Heartless: Chapter 3

Read on Inkitt

First | Prev | Next

Chapter III: in which the biggest victories are often anticlimactic

The night before we were set to head out, having mapped out an ideal route through a couple of neighboring villages to the southeast, I simply could not silence my thoughts long enough to fall asleep. Fear had bound me to the limits of the Village and the surrounding woods for years. Who could know how much the rest of the kingdom, so far removed from the tiny, isolated village I knew, had changed in that time? Petra would know what the outside world was like, but admitting my fears to her was out of the question; as the older one, who was supposed to keep her out of trouble, I needed to save face.

I stood up from my cot and began pacing circles around the dining table. I needed to relax; if a child could have that kind of courage, then certainly I could, too. Granted, she was young and naive and had a vastly different childhood than mine--but was that fair of me to say?

My pacing was interrupted by a door creaking. Bertrand emerged from his study, scraggly beard more unkempt than usual. He studied me briefly, grey eyebrows raised.

“You’ll wear a hole into the floorboards,” he mused.

My shoulders sank. “Of course, the floor is your main concern.”

Bertrand paused, eyeing me from across the room for a few silent beats. “You leave in the morning, yes?”

I nodded. “Only for a week or so.”

Several carefully concealed emotions passed across Bertrand’s face; his mustache twitched almost imperceptibly. Then, his usual stony expression returned, and he reiterated, “I was being serious about the floorboards,” and said nothing more before returning to his study and locking the door behind him with a resounding click.

I shook my head dismally and returned to bed.

* * *

I woke up to the same drab, brown ceiling as always, the wood rotting away rainy day after rainy day. Blinking away sleep, I rolled out of bed and changed my clothes in the glow of the rising sun pouring through the window. The door to Bertrand’s study was left ajar, and for a moment I thought about saying goodbye—but I decided against it, for fear he’d only try to change my mind. So I stuffed a few stale crusts of bread and supplies into my satchel and left, not daring to look back.

The heat had begun to set in, and the air was thickening with each passing day as summer tightened its grip on the kingdom. I met Petra at the village gates beyond the great oak tree just after sunrise, with my over-stuffed satchel slung cross-body and my bow and arrow at the ready on my back. Petra greeted me as giddily as ever, bouncing on her heels with unyielding energy.

“Are you ready?” she urged, already hopping the fence to the other side.

I willed my legs to move, but they wouldn’t. “Petra… Are you sure this is safe?”

Petra frowned. “I leave the village all the time. Much longer than you’ve been aware, in fact. No one’s ever watching.”

What did she mean, no one’s ever watching? “Petra, the royal guard patrols this area all the time.”

“Have you ever seen them?”

“I— What? No, I’ve never really—”

Petra gestured broadly with both her scrawny arms. “I have walked through here every hour of the day and I have seen a guard perhaps once or twice, and never have they questioned me. They keep the gates locked as a scare tactic, sure, but nothing is stopping you from hopping the fence.” She put her hands on her hips and frowned. “Have you really never even once tried to leave, just to take a walk down the road?”

I felt exposed. She, a child, had seen right through me. Sure, I had taken walks through the woods on the opposite end of the village, and I could see the gate from the oak tree where I spent most evenings. But never had I even considered the possibility of leaving until Petra had convinced me, and not once had I stopped to wonder whether the royal guard were ever really watching, or if they ever really cared who went in or out so long as we didn’t cause them any trouble. Perhaps as long as we kept our mouths shut and vowed to stay in the shadows and on the fringes of society, they did not care what happened to us. After all, clearly no one was truly preventing Petra’s escapades, nor the entrance of the sorts of troublemakers who chased after her.

“No,” I finally admitted. “I’ve never done this before. This is the first time.”

“Why?”

I did not give a response, and after a few moments Petra seemed to decide not to press me for one; perhaps she already knew the answer. Instead, she stepped back and gestured expectantly at the fence. Steeling my resolve and taking a deep breath, I hoisted one leg over the fence and then the other. My feet hit solid ground, and the world did not come to an end as I once expected it would; for the first time in seven years, I was outside the boundaries of the Village of the Heartless. It felt every bit as anticlimactic as you might expect.

  We headed southeast on foot, down to a border village not unlike my own hometown, full of tiny cottages and dirt roads and street vendors selling their wares in the market square. No one paid us much attention; to the townspeople, we were no different from them, save for perhaps our appearances. Petra’s ill-fitting clothing and my bow and arrow made us stand out far more than the secret we were harboring seemed to be able to. This, of course, had been how I was able to conceal my identity as a child: from the outside, no one can tell how empty you are--it’s only when they get too close that our true selves come out eventually.

From the look of it, none of this was on Petra’s young mind at all. She waltzed through the town’s bustling streets as though she were its divine ruler, with all the undue confidence of someone young enough to believe themself untouchable and the track record to support it. I had once expected that her brief run-in with death those many weeks ago would have deterred her to some extent, but I had been wrong; whereas I was cautious, eyes always peeled, trigger-happy hands itching for my bow at the earliest sign of trouble, Petra was unabashed, brazen, a master of quick escapes and daring pursuits.

Or maybe she was just lucky, and too young to fear consequences. But then again, if there was anything my 17 years had taught me, it was that age and experience are often two vastly different things.

We browsed some of the market stalls from a safe distance (neither of us had more than some spare change to our names). There were farmers selling their early summer crops, bakers with baskets overflowing with still-warm loaves of bread and pastries stuffed with fresh jams. There was even a vendor selling medicinal potions in tiny glass bottles, which reminded me briefly of Bertrand, but I quickly pushed the thought from my mind and continued walking. At the far end of the square, there was a counter lined end-to-end with sweet cakes and fresh-baked raspberry pies that glistened red and moist in the summer sun, just like the ones that once sat sparkling on kitchen window sills as a promised reward for clean plates and helpful hands.

Petra’s stomach growled audibly. I reached into my bag and retrieved two not-quite-stale rolls, one for me and one for her.

“Come on,” I prompted, nodding at the stretch of dirt road that led back out of the market square. “We should go.”

  When we stopped to rest that evening, it was up in the trees on the edge of town, where we would not be disturbed by animals nor discovered by late-night passersby. I watched the people pass by below; workers returning home, couples strolling hand-in-hand, gaggles of laughing children running through the streets, doting parents walking by with their babies. I thought of the Village of the Heartless, its unlit lamps and perilous nights, but also its peaceful mornings and quiet afternoon laughter, and tried fruitlessly to reconcile the two images in my head.

“What was your home village like?” Petra asked quietly, eyes fixed on a group of kids about her age that were playing a game in the street below.

“Not all that different from this one,” I answered simply.

“I see.” Petra fussed absentmindedly with the hem of her shirt, mouth set in a soft frown. “Were there a lot of other kids your age there?”

If I’d had a heart, I imagine it would have clenched. Instead, I felt an aching sort of sadness set deep into my bones. “There were,” I confirmed.

“So you must have had a lot of friends,” Petra pried, both a statement and a challenge in one. She stared firmly into my eyes expectantly.

I sighed. Petra’s budding interest in my past was only going to end poorly for the both of us. “I once thought so,” I replied honestly. “But in the end, when the veil was lifted, maybe it was only ever just Basil.”

Petra hummed thoughtfully, but she did not ask any more questions. Instead, she leaned into the crook of the branches she was perched in, and we sat in silence as the moon rose high above the horizon. Petra closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, while I listened to the steady heartbeat of the village below. I barely slept a wink.

[tommysversion]

Reflections (aka Troy Calypso angst)

So given what we now know about Troy’s tattoos, and the origin of his last name, here’s some angsty stuff regarding his feelings on Leda’s birthday. 

It's the same problem every year, without fail. Back home, he didn't really have the means to do much except put flowers – the bright, weird kinds that she'd always loved – on her grave. Even that had become a corrupted place, eventually, Tyreen hiding their escape plans there so their dad would never find them. Troy missed their father, even though he had never really been of much importance to Typhon. It didn't matter though, he was still their father. Sure, though, Troy had wanted to matter to him, but he had long made peace with the knowledge that Typhon didn't give a damn.

Their mother had been the precise opposite. Whereas Typhon had doted over Tyreen, no doubt fuelling her narcissism, Leda had loved her children equally. Troy had always thought his mother had always had just a little more time for him. Even though it was probably stupid, Troy still talked to her. He had a journal on his echo, triple password locked, full of letters to his mother. Of course he couldn't send them, and she would never read them, but it helped, just a little. He had memos he could have sent to his father, too, but never did. He wasn't sure Typhon cared enough to hear from him, and even if he did, Troy wasn't sure his father would be too proud of what he and Tyreen were using their smarts and powers for.

Taking her name had been his idea; Tyreen hadn't wanted the link to their father, but hadn't thought of an alternative, either. It had been a no-brainer for Troy. The enormous stylised Calypso tattoo across his torso had been the first addition once arriving on Pandora. The others and the piercings had come soon after. Troy wasn't sure his mum would recognise him now, if he was honest. He liked to think she'd be proud of the cybernetic arm he had built himself. It had taken time, given he'd had to build it one-handed, but he was proud of it nonetheless.

The latest addition to his collection of tattoos still stung in the morning air as he made his way through the cathedral. It had been placed on his wrist, amongst his siren tattoos. He had found, amongst her journal that he had taken from home, her name signed in her own hand. Neat print made it seem as though she had written on his arm herself. Leda.

Chances were he wouldn't see Tyreen in the worship hall. If she even remotely cared about the significance of the day, she never showed it. Troy wasn't sure his sister even remembered that it was their mother's birthday. Tyreen had always been selfish, but with every passing day, she seemed more and more distant from who she had once been. Troy worried that one day there would be nothing of his sister left but the God Queen persona he had built for her. Right. Cause that didn't make him feel guilty as hell or anything.

As expected, the worship hall was empty. It was far too early in the day for any of the COV devotees to be packed into the room, lighting candles and leaving gifts at the statues of Troy and Tyreen respectively. Luckily, this meant he would have a little privacy for this ritual. Not like he would be against kicking people out, if needed, but that wouldn't exactly endear him to his followers.

Taking advantage of the emptiness, Troy made his way along the aisle between mismatched chairs and pews. People often fought over who got sitting space, but they could still pack at least three thousand people into the room, if needed. The more the better, in Tyreen's opinion. It would have been uncomfortable. Troy could picture it as he strode towards his statue, picking up a handful of candles from the basket on the stage as he went.

There was an altar between the statues, which mostly went unused. Their followers always seemed to pile offerings on specific statues, only using the altar on particularly important days, when offerings overflowed. Luckily, it served his purpose well enough.

Yawning, Troy set out the candles, pulling the framed photograph of his mother out the deep pocket of his coat. He set it in front of the semi-circle of candles, placing two incense sticks either side. It wasn't much, but it was nice to be able to give her some sort of tribute, even from so far away.

He was glad he was alone; Troy hated the idea of anyone seeing any sort of weakness from him. With a lump in his throat, he lit the incense.

“Miss you, mom,” he muttered to the photograph, plopping himself down in front of the altar. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, exactly. He just wanted to sit until the candles burned out. Maybe, if there was some afterlife, Leda would know that her son still cared, no matter what he had become.

[dailyofficereadings]

Daily Office Readings August 02, 2020

Psalm 93

Psalm 93

The Majesty of God’s Rule

1 The Lord is king, he is robed in majesty; the Lord is robed, he is girded with strength. He has established the world; it shall never be moved; 2 your throne is established from of old; you are from everlasting.

3 The floods have lifted up, O Lord, the floods have lifted up their voice; the floods lift up their roaring. 4 More majestic than the thunders of mighty waters, more majestic than the waves[a] of the sea, majestic on high is the Lord!

5 Your decrees are very sure; holiness befits your house, O Lord, forevermore.

Footnotes:

Psalm 93:4 Cn: Heb majestic are the waves

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 96

Psalm 96

Praise to God Who Comes in Judgment

1 O sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth. 2 Sing to the Lord, bless his name; tell of his salvation from day to day. 3 Declare his glory among the nations, his marvelous works among all the peoples. 4 For great is the Lord, and greatly to be praised; he is to be revered above all gods. 5 For all the gods of the peoples are idols, but the Lord made the heavens. 6 Honor and majesty are before him; strength and beauty are in his sanctuary.

7 Ascribe to the Lord, O families of the peoples, ascribe to the Lord glory and strength. 8 Ascribe to the Lord the glory due his name; bring an offering, and come into his courts. 9 Worship the Lord in holy splendor; tremble before him, all the earth.

10 Say among the nations, “The Lord is king! The world is firmly established; it shall never be moved. He will judge the peoples with equity.” 11 Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice; let the sea roar, and all that fills it; 12 let the field exult, and everything in it. Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy 13 before the Lord; for he is coming, for he is coming to judge the earth. He will judge the world with righteousness, and the peoples with his truth.

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Psalm 34

Psalm 34

Praise for Deliverance from Trouble

Of David, when he feigned madness before Abimelech, so that he drove him out, and he went away.

1 I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth. 2 My soul makes its boast in the Lord; let the humble hear and be glad. 3 O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together.

4 I sought the Lord, and he answered me, and delivered me from all my fears. 5 Look to him, and be radiant; so your[a] faces shall never be ashamed. 6 This poor soul cried, and was heard by the Lord, and was saved from every trouble. 7 The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and delivers them. 8 O taste and see that the Lord is good; happy are those who take refuge in him. 9 O fear the Lord, you his holy ones, for those who fear him have no want. 10 The young lions suffer want and hunger, but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing.

11 Come, O children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord. 12 Which of you desires life, and covets many days to enjoy good? 13 Keep your tongue from evil, and your lips from speaking deceit. 14 Depart from evil, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it.

15 The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and his ears are open to their cry. 16 The face of the Lord is against evildoers, to cut off the remembrance of them from the earth. 17 When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears, and rescues them from all their troubles. 18 The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves the crushed in spirit.

19 Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord rescues them from them all. 20 He keeps all their bones; not one of them will be broken. 21 Evil brings death to the wicked, and those who hate the righteous will be condemned. 22 The Lord redeems the life of his servants; none of those who take refuge in him will be condemned.

Footnotes:

Psalm 34:5 Gk Syr Jerome: Heb their

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Judges 6:1-24

The Midianite Oppression

6 The Israelites did what was evil in the sight of the Lord, and the Lord gave them into the hand of Midian seven years. 2 The hand of Midian prevailed over Israel; and because of Midian the Israelites provided for themselves hiding places in the mountains, caves and strongholds. 3 For whenever the Israelites put in seed, the Midianites and the Amalekites and the people of the east would come up against them. 4 They would encamp against them and destroy the produce of the land, as far as the neighborhood of Gaza, and leave no sustenance in Israel, and no sheep or ox or donkey. 5 For they and their livestock would come up, and they would even bring their tents, as thick as locusts; neither they nor their camels could be counted; so they wasted the land as they came in. 6 Thus Israel was greatly impoverished because of Midian; and the Israelites cried out to the Lord for help.

7 When the Israelites cried to the Lord on account of the Midianites, 8 the Lord sent a prophet to the Israelites; and he said to them, “Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel: I led you up from Egypt, and brought you out of the house of slavery; 9 and I delivered you from the hand of the Egyptians, and from the hand of all who oppressed you, and drove them out before you, and gave you their land; 10 and I said to you, ‘I am the Lord your God; you shall not pay reverence to the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you live.’ But you have not given heed to my voice.”

The Call of Gideon

11 Now the angel of the Lord came and sat under the oak at Ophrah, which belonged to Joash the Abiezrite, as his son Gideon was beating out wheat in the wine press, to hide it from the Midianites. 12 The angel of the Lord appeared to him and said to him, “The Lord is with you, you mighty warrior.” 13 Gideon answered him, “But sir, if the Lord is with us, why then has all this happened to us? And where are all his wonderful deeds that our ancestors recounted to us, saying, ‘Did not the Lord bring us up from Egypt?’ But now the Lord has cast us off, and given us into the hand of Midian.” 14 Then the Lord turned to him and said, “Go in this might of yours and deliver Israel from the hand of Midian; I hereby commission you.” 15 He responded, “But sir, how can I deliver Israel? My clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my family.” 16 The Lord said to him, “But I will be with you, and you shall strike down the Midianites, every one of them.” 17 Then he said to him, “If now I have found favor with you, then show me a sign that it is you who speak with me. 18 Do not depart from here until I come to you, and bring out my present, and set it before you.” And he said, “I will stay until you return.”

19 So Gideon went into his house and prepared a kid, and unleavened cakes from an ephah of flour; the meat he put in a basket, and the broth he put in a pot, and brought them to him under the oak and presented them. 20 The angel of God said to him, “Take the meat and the unleavened cakes, and put them on this rock, and pour out the broth.” And he did so. 21 Then the angel of the Lord reached out the tip of the staff that was in his hand, and touched the meat and the unleavened cakes; and fire sprang up from the rock and consumed the meat and the unleavened cakes; and the angel of the Lord vanished from his sight. 22 Then Gideon perceived that it was the angel of the Lord; and Gideon said, “Help me, Lord God! For I have seen the angel of the Lord face to face.” 23 But the Lord said to him, “Peace be to you; do not fear, you shall not die.” 24 Then Gideon built an altar there to the Lord, and called it, The Lord is peace. To this day it still stands at Ophrah, which belongs to the Abiezrites.

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

2 Corinthians 9:6-15

6 The point is this: the one who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully. 7 Each of you must give as you have made up your mind, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver. 8 And God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share abundantly in every good work. 9 As it is written,

“He scatters abroad, he gives to the poor; his righteousness[a] endures forever.”

10 He who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food will supply and multiply your seed for sowing and increase the harvest of your righteousness.[b] 11 You will be enriched in every way for your great generosity, which will produce thanksgiving to God through us; 12 for the rendering of this ministry not only supplies the needs of the saints but also overflows with many thanksgivings to God. 13 Through the testing of this ministry you glorify God by your obedience to the confession of the gospel of Christ and by the generosity of your sharing with them and with all others, 14 while they long for you and pray for you because of the surpassing grace of God that he has given you. 15 Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!

Footnotes:

2 Corinthians 9:9 Or benevolence

2 Corinthians 9:10 Or benevolence

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Mark 3:20-30

20 and the crowd came together again, so that they could not even eat. 21 When his family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, “He has gone out of his mind.” 22 And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem said, “He has Beelzebul, and by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons.” 23 And he called them to him, and spoke to them in parables, “How can Satan cast out Satan? 24 If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. 25 And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. 26 And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but his end has come. 27 But no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered.

28 “Truly I tell you, people will be forgiven for their sins and whatever blasphemies they utter; 29 but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin”— 30 for they had said, “He has an unclean spirit.”

New Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition (NRSVCE)

New Revised Standard Version Bible: Catholic Edition, copyright © 1989, 1993 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

[dragonsaphirareads]

I Am Creativity (3/5)

I didn’t post this originally cause it’s so long and copying it was a pain. But I figured out formatting without doing it manually!

Read the fic on AO3

The soft scratch of a pencil on paper was the only sound in the room, punctured occasionally by the harsh rip and crumple of paper.

The young kid sitting at the desk groaned, putting his pencil down and rubbing at his eyes. He glanced at the waste basket next to his desk and pouted when he saw it was overflowing, crumpled balls of paper strewn all over the floor.

He huffed. He would come up with a good idea for storytime tomorrow. He would come up with the best story any of Thomas’s classmates had ever heard. He just... needed to focus.

Footsteps came down the hall and stopped outside his door. The young kid panicked, switching off his lamp and hurling himself across the room onto his bed, kicking the blanket over himself as his visitor slowly opened the door.

“Creativity? Are you still awake?”

He tried to steady his breathing, to pretend he was asleep.

“I can see you’re still wearing your day clothes, Creativity, you aren’t fooling me.”

Dang it, he was busted. Creativity sat up in his bed, pouting at his bespeckled visitor.

“I was just trying to brainstorm for tomorrow! Just a little longer, Logic, I know I can come up with something good!” The young kid insisted. Logic shook his head.

“Thomas needs to sleep, and he can’t do that if you’re keeping him awake and giving him ideas. Just go to bed, you can work on it tomorrow.”

“But Logiiiiiiic!”

“Don’t make me get Morality.”

Creativity huffed, collapsing back on the bed. “Fiiiine!” He whined.

“Good night, Creativity.”

Creativity didn’t respond, instead rolling over and facing away from the door, pouting. Logic just rolled his eyes and left, closing the door quietly.

Creativity laid there and listened for Logic’s footsteps to leave, and when he heard a door close he leapt out of bed and dove for his desk, switching on the lamp and going back to his notetaking. He would come up with something for Thomas tonight, so he could sleep peacefully.

After about an hour, Creativity was nodding off, head bobbing up and down as he tried desperately to stay awake. The notebook in front of him was still blank and the waste basket’s contents had only grown. All the ideas that had popped into his head were immediately rejected by Thomas, and he was just tired.

His head hit the desk with a soft thunk and Creativity started snoring.

Soon after he fell asleep, the kid started whimpering. His eyes darted around under his eyelids, and he curled his hand over his heart. His breath became shallow and he started hyperventilating, his body heating up uncomfortably.

There was a loud crash, and Creativity started awake to see the sun streaming through his window and a small puddle of drool that had seeped into the paper. His heart raced, and Creativity felt like there was a hole in his chest.

A quiet cough startled him, and when he looked down at the floor he couldn’t believe his eyes.

There was another kid lying on the floor, next to the upset waste basket which had probably made the loud noise. He wore the same outfit as Creativity, though it was gray rather than white. Creativity watched as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes sleepily.

“Who... who are you?”

The kid on the floor looked up. “Me? I’m Creativity.”

“H-huh?! You can’t be Creativity! I’m Creativity!”

The gray-clad kid stood up, putting his hands on his hips. “Yes I can, because I am!”

“No you’re not!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No--”

“Creativity, who are you talking to?”

Logic’s voice came from the door, and the two arguing kids looked at each other with wide eyes.

“Uh... myself?” The original Creativity said, and the other snickered.

“Alright then... Morality’s making breakfast. I’m going to wake Passion.”

“Ok!” Creativity listened for the footsteps to retreat before turning back to the new kid. “So... we’re both Creativity? But how?”

The other shrugged. “I dunno! But I’m hungry, are we going to eat?”

Even though he was still confused, Creativity couldn’t help but agree. They could figure this out after breakfast.

~~~

“Morality! Morality! Look, I have a new friend!”

Creativity called out as he entered the kitchen, his twin close behind him. Morality didn’t turn around from the stove where he was making breakfast.

“Oh really? That’s good!”

“We’re hungry! What’s for breakfast?”

“Pancakes!”

“With Mickey Mouse ears?”

“Of course!”

“Yay!” Creativity cheered, turning to look at his twin. He stopped when he saw his eyes narrowed, staring at the back of Morality’s head. “Uh, are you ok?”

“I’m fine, Creativity, why don’t you go sit down?” Morality answered, making a shooing motion.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Morality! I was talking to him!”

Morality laughed. “Oh, right, your new friend! What’s their name, Creativity?”

“Uh… Creativity.”

The moral side paused, laughing awkwardly. “That’s a bit confusing, don’t you think? You’re Creativity, there can’t be two of you.”

“Well… there are.” The darker twin said, hands on his hips. Grabbing the plate of hot pancakes, Morality turned around to gently persuade Creativity to maybe pick another name for his new friend. Instead, he froze. There were… two… Creativities…

His hands shook, and his grip faltered. The plate of pancakes plunged to the ground, shattering into pieces with a deafening clatter.

“Five second rule!” The gray one cheered, diving to grab the hot cakes. The one in white stood stock still, meeting Morality’s eyes with a shrug.

Morality couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say in the situation, so instead he reached out to the kid in gray and attempted to take the pancakes from him. “Don’t eat from the floor, there’s broken pieces!”

The kid dodged out of his reach, sticking his tongue out and wrinkling his nose. He shoved a full pancake into his mouth, unbothered by the pieces of ceramic stuck to it or the steam still rising from them.

“They’re mine!” He exclaimed through the mouthful. Morality took a step back, looking between the twins in surprise and fear as the one in white reached for a pancake from his brother’s arms, and promptly got his hand slapped away.

“Logic!!!” All Morality could do was call for backup. Thankfully, a voice answered him as he heard two pairs of footsteps come into the kitchen.

“Yes, Morality? I heard something break, is everything alright?” Logic asked. Passion peeked around him and he gasped. He dashed past Logic and ran up to the twins, eyes twinkling.

“Creativity! There’s two of you?! Since when?!”

The white clad one spun to face his friend. “Since last night! I fell asleep at my desk and when I woke up, he was lying on the floor!” He pointed to his twin, who nodded, mouth still stuffed. Passion smiled widely, clapping.

“That’s so cool!”

“Creativity, are you saying you went back to your desk even after I told you it was bedtime?” Logic walked up, eyebrows raised. The white Creativity laughed nervously, but before Logic could scold him, he was yanked away.

“Logic, what do we do?!” Morality hissed, keeping his voice low as the other three sides went back to their own discussion. Logic looked at him through the corner of his eye, thinking.

“We haven’t had a new side join us in a while... not since Passion arrived a few years ago. I guess we’ll have to make a new room.”

“But he’s not a new side! He said he’s Creativity! There’s two of them now!”

“That’s... not possible. We’re all different, there cannot be more than one of each of us.”

Morality shrugged helplessly. “Well... there are!”

Logic sighed, easing his arm out of Morality’s vicelike grip. “There’s nothing we can do right now. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens. For all we know, this is a prank Creativity is trying to pull on us. There’s no reason to worry. Even if there are two Creativities now, why does it matter? It’s unlikely they’ll cause more trouble than before.”

The two looked over and realized that the twins and Passion weren’t standing there anymore. Then they heard a loud crash from somewhere in the mindscape, and the start of an argument. Logic pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You were saying?”

~~~

That was when we split... when we became brothers, rather than one single person. We never really knew why it happened, but then again, we were just kids. What else could we do but accept it?

We got along in those days. Even though we were split, we were still joined at the hip. I think we gave Morality and Logic a headache.

~~~

“We need names.”

Creativity looked at his gray-clad twin, tilting his head up from where he was drawing on the floor to the bed where the other Creativity was lying upside down watching.

“What do you mean? We already have a name, it’s Creativity.”

The one lying on the bed huffed. “But we can’t both be Creativity! It’s so confusing!”

“Well, that’s what we are! We can’t call ourselves Logic or Morality, that’s not what we’re for!”

“But what if we had other names besides Creativity? That way they can tell us apart!”

The Creativity on the floor stopped, his pencil hovering over the paper. “We can… do that?”

“Why not? Who’s gonna stop us?”

“I guess so… did you have an idea?”

The darker of the two grinned and grabbed the book he’d been reading earlier and held it up for his twin.

“Did you steal that from Logic?”

“That’s not important. Look.” He flipped through the pages, opening it up to a pencil illustration of a wolf and two young children next to her. He held it out to his twin, who rolled his eyes.

“It’s upside down.”

“You’re so picky!” The gray twin groaned, rolling over on the bed so both he and the book were right side up. “There, happy?”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“It’s the story of how Rome was made. There were these two brothers, Romulus and Remus, and they were raised by a wolf, and then they went on to create the huge Roman Empire!”

The lighter one seemed unconvinced. “Ok, but what does that have to do with us?”

“Isn’t it obvious, dummy? We’re going to create things that are just as great as they did, don’t we deserve to have cool names like them?”

“I get to be Romulus!”

“Wha-hey, no fair, why do you get to pick first?”

Creativity sat up, crossing his legs and puffing his chest out. “Because I’m older and that means I get to pick first!”

“We’re the same age! Ugh, fine, Remus is the name I wanted anyways! Romulus sounds like a grandpa!”

The white-clad twin pouted. “No it doesn’t!”

“Yeah, it does!”

“Well, then, I’m not gonna use it!”

“But we have to match! We’re Creativity, we both need to have names that fit!”

“Fine! Then I’ll change it to sound cooler! How about... Roman?”

The gray Creativity - Remus - nodded. “Ok! Let’s go tell the others!” He rolled off the bed and grinned. “Race you!”

The white Creativity - Roman - jumped to his feet and chased his brother out the door.

~~~

“I win!” Remus cheered, throwing his hands up in celebration as Roman groaned.

“No fair, you pushed me against the wall!”

“You tried to trip me!” Came the reply.

Logic closed the book he was reading and looked up from the couch at the two of them. “What’s going on? Why were you running?”

Roman stepped forward, putting an arm in front of his brother and not so subtly shoving him to the side.

“Morality! Logic! Passion! Gather round, we have something to tell you!” Roman said in the proudest voice he could. Passion glanced at him from where he was seated on the ground in front of the TV, and Morality peeked his head out from the kitchen.

“What is it kiddo?”

Roman opened his mouth to announce the news, but Remus beat him to it.

“We have names now!”

Logic raised an eyebrow. “Of course you do, you’re Creativity. That’s not new information to us.”

Roman shook his head. “No, he means we have different names now! My name is Roman, and this is Remus!” He gestured to his brother, then took a wide bow. He heard Logic mumble something about a missing book under his breath.

“Does that mean you’re not Creativity anymore?!” Passion asked worriedly, leaning forward with his hand over his heart.

“No, we are! But it’s too confusing if we’re both named Creativity! We never know which one of us you’re talking to! So we picked new names, names that we can use besides Creativity, so there’s no more confusion!”

Morality stepped into the common room, eyes full of confusion and concern. “But... you two are Creativity. You can’t just change that because you want to.”

“Why not?” Remus challenged, puffing his chest out and putting his hands on his hips. Morality looked down at him, chewing his lip.

“Well, because... because we’re just sides of Thomas. If we have names, it’s like we’re saying we’re our own people, and we’re not.”

“But Thomas doesn’t need to know! He can just know us as Creativity! The names are just for us to use!” Roman said, slightly worried that Morality wouldn’t let this go.

From the couch, Logic cleared his throat. “Morality, it’s alright. I think it’s a good idea.”

“Wh-what?”

“They’re correct in that it’s been confusing to refer to both of them as Creativity. If they want to give themselves names to differentiate from each other, then I don’t see why we should say no.”

Remus grinned cheekily. “Good! Cause we were gonna do it whether you liked it or not!”

Morality scowled, but Passion stood and raced over to the twins, grabbing their hands and squeezing them tightly. “I want to have a name too! Can I have one? Please? I promise I’ll pick a good one!”

“Hey now, I don’t know about that--” Morality started.

“Yes!” Roman cheered. “We should all have names!”

“No!” Morality said sternly. The trio looked at him, Passion pouting.

“Why not?”

“Those two are only allowed names because there’s two of them, and they’re both Creativity. Is there another Passion I should know about?”

“Well... no, but... it would be fun to have a different name...” Passion mumbled, eyes staring at the floor. Morality smiled softly, ruffling the younger’s hair.

“Maybe, but we were just talking about clearing up confusion. Wouldn’t it be more confusing if we now knew you by two different names? How would we know what to call you each time?”

Passion huffed. “I guess...”

The twins shared a glance. Well, they had their names! As long as they got to keep them, that’s what they cared about. Roman took Passion’s hand.

“C’mon Passion, let’s go to the Imagination and play!”

Passion brightened immediately, nodding. “Ok!”

Logic watched as the three took off for the doorway to the Imagination, and Morality collapsed onto the couch with a sharp exhale.

“Those three sure are a handful, aren’t they?” Morality smiled. Logic opened his book again, picking up where he left off.

“Would it have been so bad to let Passion pick a human name for himself?” He asked after a moment.

“We can’t just let them do whatever they want, Logic. There needs to be some line.”

“A harmless name that would function as no more than a nickname seems like a strange place to draw that line, Morality.” Logic stated, turning the page.

“W-Well, that’s where it is. Creativity is just confused right now. He’ll figure it out eventually and then we’ll go back to how we were. Everything will turn out right in the end.”

Logic lifted his head, staring over at Morality cautiously. “I know you’ve had a hard time accepting it, but Creativity is no longer one person, Morality. For whatever unknown reason, he was split into two distinct sides, and we should be treating them as such.”

“But I still don’t understand why?! If they’re both Creativity, why did they split in the first place?” Morality twisted his hair between his fingers, clearly stressed about the question. Logic sighed.

“I don’t know yet. But regardless of the reason, they are separate people now. Crea-- Roman and Remus deserve to be treated the same as when they were a single Creativity.” Logic corrected himself, staring at Morality and leaving no room for debate.

The moral side pursed his lips, but before he could think of another way to explain his point to Logic, the scent of burning sugar wafted to him and he jumped to his feet.

“The cookies!”

~~~

I’d forgotten... the names, they were his idea. I wonder if that was why Patton was so against them at the beginning.

He’d never liked me, not since the day I showed up. I didn’t care - as long as I had my brother, that was all I needed.

~~~

“Hyah!”

Remus called out a battle cry as he swung his playsword at his brother, who blocked it. Roman pushed him away, swinging back with a cry of his own.

The twins raced down the hallway, swatting at each other and laughing. They were covered in scratches and bruises, with a particularly dark one on the side of Roman’s jaw and a long one developing on Remus’s lower back, but it didn’t deter them from their game.

“You shall perish, you dastardly villain!” Roman recited, holding his sword up in triumph. Remus laughed, dodging a strike.

“You’ve gotta catch me first, slowpoke!” Remus taunted, sticking his tongue out. Roman ran forward, clashing against his brother and throwing them both to the floor. Remus puffed out a breath as he landed, grappling against Roman to shove him to the side.

The younger ended up on top of his brother, his knee shoved into the other’s rib cage and his arms pinning Roman’s to the ground. Roman coughed, trying to kick his way out of the hold.

“I’ve got you!” Remus crooned.

“What’s going on here?”

The twins looked up at the voice, with Roman having to tilt his head backwards to see Morality staring down at them, eyebrows furrowed.

“We’re playing!”

“You’re covered in bruises! Remus, get off of him!” Morality scolded, pulling Remus off by his shoulder. The gray clad Creativity fell hard on his butt and whined, but Morality’s attention was focused on Roman. He helped the side sit up and gently prodded at the bruise on his cheek.

“What did you-- I mean, what have you two been doing?” Morality caught himself, directing his glare at Remus. The side crumpled slightly under his gaze, though his eyes burned with resentment.

“Please don’t be mad, we were just messing around!” Roman tried to explain. Morality sighed, gently looking over Roman one more time.

“I don’t like you two fighting like that, you could get seriously hurt. Why don’t you two play a game that doesn’t involve hitting each other? Logic has some board games in his room.” He suggested.

Remus wrinkled his nose, crossing his legs and pulling his ankles towards him. “But that’s so boring! You never let us do anything fun!”

Morality recoiled slightly, recovering with a forced smile. “But it’s not fun to hurt each other, right? Why don’t you play something else?”

“But I’m a prince, Morality! I need to be able to defeat evil and protect my kingdom!” Roman argued, waving his play sword around for emphasis. Morality raised an eyebrow.

“A... prince?” He asked, confused. Roman nodded emphatically, jumping to his feet and pointing his wooden sword at his brother with his chest puffed out.

“That’s right! I’m Prince Roman, heir to the kingdom, and I will protect you and everyone else from... uh... from...”

“From the bad guys!” Remus offered, standing up and grabbing his own sword. Morality chuckled.

“What bad guys? We don’t have any of those, we’re all family here!”

Remus tilted his head. “What about the sides that sneak around here at night?”

Morality stiffened, laughing nervously. “What are you talking about, Remus? There’s nobody around here at night. Your imagination is just playing tricks on you.”

The younger twin narrowed his eyes, staring at Morality. “Yes there are. I’ve seen them. They live down the hallway, past our rooms. They stole my peanut butter.”

Morality stood, shaking his head firmly. “It was a dream, Remus. There’s nothing down that way but empty space. You shouldn’t go there.”

“If there’s nothing there, why can’t we explore there?” Remus challenged, hands on his hips. He had a triumphant, cocky grin on his face. Morality cleared his throat, standing straight. He was several inches taller than the twins, not to mention a few years older. He didn’t like that Remus was getting so mouthy.

“Because I said so!” Morality said, parroting the words Thomas himself heard so many times from his guardians. Remus and Roman pouted, and his face softened. “Because if you go too far, I can’t find you as easily and call you for dinner. Now, why don’t you two go play together in the Imagination? Maybe you can come up with a new game, one that doesn’t involve hurting each other?”

The twins shared a look. “Ok, Morality, we’ll try. C’mon Remus, we can go make a castle! We can play rescue!”

“I’m not gonna be the princess again! You can get Passion to do that!”

The twins bickered as they ran off towards the door to the Imagination, which was thankfully far away from the dark hallway where the other sides resided. Morality took in a slow breath, pushing his glasses up and rubbing at his eyes.

Being one of the first sides to exist, Morality felt obligated to look after his fellow sides. Alongside Logic, who’d appeared shortly after he did, he made sure Creativity and Passion were safe and happy. He had to protect them. But ever since the split, he was finding it harder and harder to keep his temper in check.

He wanted to separate them, keep them in soft rooms and stop them from hurting each other. Morality didn’t – couldn’t – understand why they found it necessarily to fight like that. Well, they called it playing, but Morality knew better than them. One of these days, it would go too far, and one of them would get hurt. Remus would swing just a little too hard and Roman would be gone. If that happened, Thomas would never be the same…

Morality shook his head harshly, casting a scared glance towards the dark hallway, where he could feel a cool breeze chilling his spine. He couldn’t think like that, it would bring him.

Right. To keep him at bay, he just had to keep everyone happy. He’d been doing pretty well, but he knew he could do better. Passion was still begging him to let everyone pick a human name for themselves… maybe he could reconsider his position. If it would make him happy.

If he was honest, the idea was starting to grow on him. Perhaps Roman was onto something after all.

~~~

The twins heard Passion before they saw him. Logic’s door was sitting open and they could hear his excited voice from inside.

Roman peeked his head around the doorframe. Logic was sitting at his desk, pencil in his one hand and the other twisted in his hair. Passion sat behind him on the bed, chatting away about the TV documentary Thomas had watched earlier. The room looked as organized as ever, though there was a chess board sitting on one of the tables, clearly in the middle of a game.

Logic heard footsteps and turned to them, seeming to sigh in relief. “Oh, it’s you two.”

“Sorry, we just came to see if Passion wanted to play in the Imagination with us.” Remus explained, poking his head in as well.

Passion lit up. “Yes! I’m coming!” He chirped, scrambling off of Logic’s tall bed and running over to Remus. “What are we gonna play?”

“We’re gonna make a new game! Do you wanna help?”

Passion nodded. “Of course! Let’s go!”

Logic nodded. “Be careful you two, I see that bruise on Roman’s cheek.” The twins nodded, and Passion all but pulled Remus towards the door to the Imagination. Roman started to follow. “Roman, hold on just a moment.”

He paused, looking back into the room. “Yes, Logic?” He asked, wary of another lecture. Logic sighed, tapping on the open book in front of him.

“Please try to keep Passion distracted for a while. At least until dinner time, if you can. Thomas has a test tomorrow and he needs to focus on studying. He can’t do that when Passion is distracting him with needless facts about space or whatever it was he was rambling about.”

Roman flinched back, slightly hurt by that. Passion was his best friend, after his brother. He adored the things they made, and always had the energy to talk about the things he loved. He was what spurred Roman on, more often than not.

“But he makes Thomas happy when he talks about those things.”

Logic sighed, pushing up his glasses. “Yes, but right now it’s more important to focus on school than cartoons. Once Thomas is done with his test, then he can resume whatever it was he was so invested in today.”

There was a hint of scorn in Logic’s voice. Roman nodded slowly. “Ok Logic, we’ll stay with him.”

“Thank you. That’s all I needed Roman, you can go play now.”

It was probably supposed to be an excuse to leave, but Roman couldn’t shake the feeling of being dismissed.

“Right... ah, work hard, Logic!” He cheered, closing the door quietly.

Roman took a moment to collect himself. It hurt him to think that Logic didn’t like Passion. He shook his head. No, that wasn’t it. Thomas was just stressed about his test tomorrow, so Logic just wanted to help!

Even still, he decided to keep his mouth shut about it. It made him feel icky, but it would be for the best.

~~~

When Roman found his brother and friend in the Imagination, they were already deep in very serious discussion.

“I'm not playing Princess and the Frog! I don’t care if it’s fake, I’m not kissing a frog!” Passion stomped his foot, and Remus pouted.

“Aww, c’mon Passion, even if it turned into a beautiful prince?” Remus teased, wiggling his eyebrows and puckering his lips. Passion shoved him back.

“No way! Roman, tell him I don’t want to be a princess today!”

Roman grinned widely, stepping in between his brother and best friend. “We’re going to invent a new game, something that doesn’t involve kissing of any kind! I got an idea when I saw the chess set in Logic’s room!”

Passion leaned in, excited about any idea that didn’t involve him kissing a slimy frog. Remus didn’t look as impressed.

“How are you planning on making chess interesting?” He asked, unconvinced.

“You have little faith! Just listen to me. Each of us will be on our own team. We’ll mark out a part of the Imagination as our play field. We start a timer, and within the time we have, we get to make whatever we want! It can be a building, or a maze, or a giant dragon! After the time is up, we stop creating and we use our creations to fight each other!”

Remus crossed his arms. “But how do you win?”

Roman paused, thinking. “Ummm... how about this! We hide something within our area that the other people need to find. Like a flag or something. The goal is to get everyone’s flag back to your base!”

Passion chewed his lip. “But I’m not as good at making things as you are... could I be on a team with one of you instead?”

“You can be with me, Passion—“ Remus offered, but Roman shook his head.

“No, it’s not fair if it’s two against one!”

“But it’s not fair to Passion is he has to play against us!” Remus argued back.

“That’s true... oh! What if Passion was the ref? That way he’s not on a team but he still gets to play!”

Passion beamed. “That sounds perfect!”

The trio immediately started discussing the exact rules. Roman laid out lines through the field to divide it up into two even areas, and Remus created trees and bushes to make it easier to hide. Once everything was decided, the twins went to their respective sides of the field and Passion started their timer.

They played their game for hours, round after round and victory bouncing between the two as they tweaked the rules. Somewhere along the line the goal of the game went from getting a flag to tagging the other, at Roman’s suggestion. The game wasn’t nearly as fun if he couldn’t get involved in the battle himself!

Thankfully, though the twins liked to play rough with each other, the new bruises they both received were easily hidden by their outfits. Passion was worried about them both, having witnessed the blows in person, but the twins reassured him they were fine. When Morality called for them for dinner, they made Passion promise he wouldn’t tell Morality exactly what they’d been doing, because he might make them stop.

Passion agreed - this had been the most fun game the twins had come up with, but Morality probably wouldn’t approve. With their little secret in place, the trio scampered out of the Imagination and into the kitchen, the scent of garlic bread making their stomachs growl.

The sides didn’t need to eat of course, but when Thomas was having dinner with his family, his sides liked to gather around the table as well. Morality turned as he heard the trio come into the kitchen, setting down the bowl of spaghetti noodles on the table.

“You three have been gone a long time! What were you doing?”

“Playing in the Imagination, like you told us to!” Remus told him, a hint of sass in his voice. Morality opened his mouth to scold him, then thought again and closed it, offering a tight-lipped smile instead.

“Well I’m glad you two were able to find a less destructive way to play together. I know you have fun, but it’s dangerous for Thomas if one of you gets hurt. Now, go wash your hands and we can eat!”

Logic arrived in the time it took for the three of them to wash and dry their hands, and the five of them dug in eagerly to the meal.

As they were all finishing, Morality cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention.

“So I’ve been thinking recently... And I was wondering. Passion, do you still... want to have a human name?”

Passion curled in on himself slightly, hesitantly nodding as if afraid he would get in trouble for admitting it. Instead, Morality smiled softly at him and nodded.

“Alright then.”

The twins looked back and forth between Morality and Passion, confused. “Wait...” Roman said slowly, “I thought you said we were the only ones who got to have names?”

“I did, yes. Originally I thought that it would only confuse things if we had more than one name. Or that somehow, we may lose our purposes if we didn’t use our titles. But clearly I was wrong. So, if you still want to choose one, Passion, you can.”

Passion’s eyes lit up and he clapped his hands in front of his chest eagerly. “Yay! Thank you Morality!”

“Does that mean you two are gonna pick names too?” Remus asked, using his fork to point at Logic and Morality. The older sides glanced at each other.

“I guess we could!” Morality said. He wouldn’t deny he’d been considering the possibility for a while. He even had a few names he liked lined up.

Logic shrugged. “I suppose I can join in, though I don’t see much point in it.”

“I’ve got one!” Passion exclaimed, pounding his hands on the table and half-standing in his chair. Morality leaned over on instinct to catch him if he lost his balance. Passion lifted his chin, grinning brightly at the rest of them.

“Hello everyone, I’m Valentine Sanders! Nice to meet you!”

The twins looked at each other and grinned, clapping as their friend took an exaggerated bow. Morality smiled as well, helping Passion - Valentine - back into his seat.

As the discussion turned to possible names for Morality and Logic, two figures sat quietly on the stairs, listening in on the lively conversation. The older one was hunched over, arms wrapped around himself tightly, trying to soak in as much warmth from this side of the mindscape before they needed to go back. The smaller of the two poked his head through the banister, trying to get as close to the noise as possible, drinking it in. The scales on the side of his face glinted in the dim light that hit them, his scar bright red and angry.

“Names, huh?” The older said, tugging on the back of the younger’s shirt weakly to keep him from being seen.

“I want one too...” The younger told his friend softly, moving away from the banister and curling up against him. He instinctively put an arm around the smaller side, offering the little warmth he was managing to get.

“Then let’s pick one. For ourselves.”

The younger smiled up at him, canine teeth sharp. “It’ll be our secret.” He agreed.

The sides at the dinner table stood up to clear their plates, and the elder side on the stairs stood as well, grabbing the other’s hand. The younger one whined.

“Do we have to go back, Fear? It’s so cold in my room!”

Fear sighed, pulling him along towards the dark hallway where their rooms resided.

“We don’t belong here, Deceit. Come on, you can stay with me tonight. I’ll keep you warm.”

With that promise Deceit followed Fear down the hallway, letting the cold shadows swallow them as they left the warm, welcoming scene behind them, unnoticed.

Almost.

~~~

Back then, we thought Patton was afraid of the dark. Or maybe the spiders that were down the hall. He never did like spiders much.

What we didn’t realize is that nobody’s really afraid of the dark. No, they’re afraid of what might be hiding in that darkness. Watching. Waiting. Isn’t it fitting that he hid those he was afraid of in that darkness, and refuse to let anyone see what he hid?

~~~

As Thomas grew up, he started calling on his Creativity more. Roman accepted the task of helping their host, offering his input on school projects and personal ideas.

Remus said he didn’t mind. While his brother took the reins and worked hard to brainstorm, Remus could wander the mindscape, offering up ideas as they came to him without any restrictions.

“Remus, please stop pacing, I can’t think!” Roman groaned, heel of his hand pressed against his cheek as he stared at his notebook, the page covered in disjointed notes and ideas. Remus stopped moving, pouting.

“I’m trying to help! I can’t think if I don’t move around!” He shot back, to which Roman sighed. The white clad side of Creativity turned in his chair and gave his darker clothed brother a tired smile.

“I know you are,” he said softly, “but it’s making it hard for me to think. Why don’t you take a walk and see if anything comes to you? Here.” Roman offered a small notepad and pencil to Remus, which he took quickly. Roman smiled, making sure Remus knew he wasn’t mad. “Once you come back, we can compare notes and help Thomas together, ok?”

Remus deflated a little, feeling as if he was being sent away like a child. Regardless, he wasn’t getting anything by pacing here anyways. He stuck the notepad and pencil in his pocket, shrugging nonchalantly and flashing Roman a bright smile.

“I’ll be back! Don’t finish the project before I get back!”

Roman chuckled and waved to him as he left the room, turning back to the desk and stretching before going back to his notebook.

Remus let the door close behind him, leaning against it for a moment. He didn’t really want to take a walk down to the common room where Morality was likely to be. Ever since that night where they had chosen names for themselves, Morality - no, Patton - had started to treat him different. It was like he had forgotten that he was Thomas’s Creativity too.

He turned his head the other way, towards the darkened hallway where they were forbidden to go. There was cold oozing from the shadows, and it sent a chill down Remus’ spine.

Patton would be furious if he went down there.

Remus grinned wickedly. Good.

With head high and shoulders back, the darker Creativity started down the hallway, feeling the shadows curl around him and swallow the light behind him until he was surrounded by cold, pure blackness.

~~~

Remus blinked, trying to let his eyes adjust to the shift to complete darkness. He looked over his shoulder to try and catch the light from where he entered, but there was nothing but a faint pinprick of light in the distance. For a moment, he pondered whether he should go back. Already he could feel the warmth being leached from his body.

Then he shook his head, turning forward and marching on. He kept one hand on the wall, figuring that if he didn’t find anything, he could just turn around and follow it back out.

His footsteps were muffled, as if the darkness itself was swallowing the noise. It unsettled him, so used to the Imagination where everything was always so bright and stimulating. Strangely enough though, there was something comforting about the darkness. It was cold, but welcoming.

As he kept walking, Remus started to believe Patton was right about this place. There was nothing here, at least nothing that was interesting. The only thing that kept him going was the two shadowy sides he’d caught glimpses of over the years.

He’d only ever caught one good look of them. One night, after everyone else had gone to sleep and Remus was drifting off, he’d heard footsteps and soft whispers passing by their door. Curiosity had driven his exhaustion away in an instant, and he quietly climbed down the bunk bed ladder and snuck out of the room without waking Roman.

Quiet voices and the sound of shuffling feet came from the kitchen. Remus had snuck closer and crouched low on the stairs, looking through the banister at the intruders.

One wore a thick hoodie, zipped tightly up to his throat and hood thrown over his head. He was tall, at least as tall as Morality or Logic was. It wasn’t easy to recognize that though, as he kept his shoulders hunched, like he wanted to be smaller. He was grabbing things from the cupboard and shoving them in his pockets, as well as handing them to his partner.

The other was shorter and looked slightly younger, probably close to him and his brother or Passion. He wore a long cape that fell at his wrists, made of some thick fabric. At the time, Remus had wondered how they weren’t melting, considering how warm it was in the mindscape.

Now he was starting to understand. He rubbed at his bare arms, goosebumps crawling on his skin. Then something shifted, and he was jolted back into the present. Remus blinked, looking ahead where the faintest glow of light was emanating from the wall. Keeping his hand on the wall, Remus sped up to investigate. So, there was something here after all!

As he approached, he realized the light wasn’t coming from the wall, but rather seeping under the crack of a door. Remus tried to read the sign hanging on the door, but the light wasn’t bright enough.

After a moment of hesitation, Remus knocked. Then he knocked again. “Hello? Anyone there?”

There was no answer. Not even his own voice echoed back to him.

Remus groped blindly for the doorknob, turning it and opening the door. He gasped at the sight that he was met with, squinting at the light that poured out.

It looked like a normal bedroom on the floor, but instead of a ceiling there were glowing balls of light floating lazily above him, casting golden light down onto the floor. They didn’t seem to emanate heat though, as the room was even colder than the hallway. Despite that, Remus felt drawn in, and he started to take a step forward into the room. He needed to see one of the spheres. Just one, that would be enough.

“Stop!”

The voice startled Remus, and he jumped back, away from the doorway as he glanced around frantically to find the source of the voice.

From the darkness down the hallway beyond the door, two glowing purple eyes shone brilliantly. Remus let out a breath - there were people here after all!

“Hi, I’m Remus! I’m half of Thomas’s creativity!--”

“You don’t belong here.”

Remus paused, blinking. “Huh?”

“You need to leave. Now!”

The creative side took a step back. What just happened? Suddenly his heart was racing, and he felt an overwhelming urge to run away, back to the light and warmth of his room. Yet he was frozen, feet planted firmly as he shook. Whether it was from the cold or fright, he couldn’t tell.

“What are you doing? Leave! You don’t belong here! You need to go!”

“Fear, what are you yelling about?” A new voice came from the darkness. The purple eyes turned away from him and it broke the spell holding Remus in place. He stumbled, taking a step back as a single golden eye appeared. The person it belonged to walked forward, and Remus realized with a start that he had snake scales crawling up from his collar, stopping right below the curve of his cheekbone.

“I’m sorry about that, Fear just wanted to make sure you didn’t step in my room. It’s not good for people who aren’t used to it.” The side explained, reaching forward and pulling the door closed. The hallway was plunged into darkness and the creative side blinked, reaching for the wall again.

Instead he felt a gloved hand grab his and start pulling him past the door, back the way he came.

“He is right though, you shouldn’t be here. It’s not good for one of you to be on our side of the mind. I’ll lead you back.”

“W-Wait, I’m not going back yet! I just got here, and I have so many questions for you two!”

“Well, we don’t want to answer them!” The purple-eyed one snapped, but the one who held Remus’s hand paused.

“What kind of questions?”

“Well, like, who you are! Why do you stay here where it’s dark and cold when you could come out and stay with us? Why do you sneak into the kitchen and steal food at night? Why do your eyes glow? Why—“

“Enough!” The glowing purple disappeared as the side squeezed his eyes shut, hands clamped tightly over his ears. “Go away, now!”

“No!”

“Go home!!”

Again that gut wrenching fear shot through his bones and made Remus want to bolt, but the gloved hand held onto him and kept him grounded.

“Fear, please, it’s alright. He’s not here to hurt us.”

“You’re wrong! I know Morality sent him here to spy on us! I told you he knew we took food!”

Remus’s eyes widened and he stomped his foot. “I’m not here for Patton! I would never do a favor for him! He’s a jerk!”

The golden eye turned to him, staring into his soul. “You don’t like him? But he’s the leader of Thomas’ sides, we have to respect him.” Remus laughed.

“Leader? He’s useless without Logan helping him out! And all he ever does is nag! I can never do anything right according to him. He would never let me come here, but he’s not the boss of me!”

“I see... why don’t you follow me, then? I think we have a lot to talk about.” Remus was pulled down the hall, away from the door with the starry sky and further into the darkness. His heart was racing, but this time it was from excitement rather than fear.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” The purple eyed one - Fear, Remus recalled - hissed through his teeth as they passed him, and his guide’s glowing eye tilted up to look at him.

“Go to your room, Fear. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything.” Despite being shorter and seemingly younger than Fear, Deceit had a confidence to his voice that reminded Remus of Morality.

“No way am I leaving you alone with one of... them! I’m coming with!”

“Suit yourself!” He chirped, pulling Remus forward. “I’m Deceit. The scaredy cat following us is Fear.”

“Shut your little mouth.” Came the snarky reply. Deceit snickered.

“I’m Creativity! But you can call me Remus too.” He told them, trusting that Deceit wouldn’t lead him straight into a wall. “How can you see? It’s pitch black!”

“We’ve lived here a long time.” Deceit answered, turning a corner and tugging Remus along.

“But why? There’s plenty of room with us! We could make rooms for you two, no problem!” Remus boasted, puffing his chest out a bit.

“We like it here. Watch your head.” The warning came just a moment too late as they walked through a low hanging doorway and Remus ran straight into the top of the doorframe. He sank into a crouch, holding his forehead and groaning.

“Ow ow ow…”

Deceit sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Sorry, forgot about that. Here, come sit on the couch. Fear, do we have any more ice?”

“Uh, I’m not sure…”

“Can you check?” Deceit asked, grabbing Remus’s elbow calmly to lead him to the couch, where he leaned back and kept rubbing at the aching area. Fear mumbled something and Remus heard footsteps shuffling away. “Sit right there.”

Then Deceit’s hand was gone, and suddenly a soft light bloomed in the corner of the room. Remus blinked, already used to having no light at all. A shadow passed in front of it as Deceit moved around, lighting candles until the entire room was dancing with flickering shadows.

“Woah…” Remus breathed, a smile growing on his face. “This is so cool…!”

Deceit turned back to him, shrugging. In the candlelight his scales glittered like gemstones, and Remus was entranced. As the side came over and sat down next to him, the creative side couldn’t help but stare.

“Does your head still hurt—”

“Can I touch your scales?”

Deceit blinked, flinching away. His gloved hand snuck up to his face, protecting himself. “W-why?”

Remus tilted his head. “Because they look cool? I wanna know what they feel like! Can I?”

“I, ah... I don’t see why not...” Deceit slowly let his hand fall into his lap.

Remus needed no further invitation as he shifted himself on the couch to be within reach. He eagerly held his hand out, running a finger along the curve of Deceit’s cheekbone where they stopped. The transition between skin and scales fascinated him, and he leaned in to try and see them better in the dim light.

“You... aren’t scared of me.” Deceit noted, sounding confused. Remus glanced over to meet his eyes.

“No? Why would I be?”

“Because... everyone else is?” Deceit sounded incredulous. Remus shrugged.

“Well, I’m not like everyone else then.” Remus’s fingers trailed lower and traced over the scar cutting from the corner of Deceit’s mouth up to his ear. Deceit winced. “What happened?” Remus breathed.

Deceit was intentionally avoiding looking at Remus. “Even we run into things sometimes.”

Remus paused, then tilted his head so he was in Deceit’s line of sight. “You don’t need to lie to me! I promise I won’t judge you, I’ve got a bunch of embarrassing scars too!”

“That’s his thing.” Fear stepped into the room, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets. He fell back into an armchair, sitting across it and hooking his legs over the armrest. He trained his eyes on Remus, crossing his arms and scowling. “Lying, I mean. That’s what he does.”

Deceit cleared his throat. “It’s not important anyways, it’s healed up and not a big deal. I’m more curious about you. What made you want to come into this place?”

Remus pouted. “Hey, no fair, I’ve got questions too!”

“Then you can ask one after you answer mine. We’ll go back and forth. Deal?”

The creative side thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, sure! I came down here cause my brother kicked me out of our room cause I was distracting him, and I didn’t want to go downstairs cause Morality was down there and he annoys me, so I decided to come here because he told me not to and that just made me curious!” Remus spouted all in one breath. “My turn! Why do you two live here, instead of with the rest of us? There’s plenty of room!”

Deceit’s eyes flickered over at Fear for a moment before fixing back on Remus with a small – fake – smile. “This is where we belong. We wouldn’t fit in with the rest of you, so we stay here.”

Remus licked his lips. He didn’t like that answer for some reason. “But... we’re all Thomas’s sides, aren’t we?”

“Unlike you, we’re not good for Thomas. He doesn’t like us. It’s better if we work from the shadows.” Fear spoke from the corner. Deceit sighed quietly.

“You have your world, and we have ours. They don’t need to overlap.”

Remus shook his head. “That’s not true. Because I’ve seen you guys on our side a bunch of times. You sit on the staircase and watch us during dinner, and you sneak into the kitchen at night and take food. I’m not mad! But... don’t you have food here? And if you really don’t think we should overlap, then why do you come and watch us eat?”

“I told you they knew.” Fear shot at Deceit.

“I know. And I think Morality might know about the food thing. But the others don’t. Or at least they’ve never said anything. So why don’t you have food?”

“This side of the mind is unpredictable. It doesn’t make sense like... like your side. It doesn’t always provide things that are... edible.” Deceit said slowly, picking his words carefully. “As for... the dinner thing, well... it gets cold here.”

“So you come over so you can warm up? Why don’t you come downstairs and introduce yourselves, then?”

“What about ‘we don’t belong there’ do you not understand?” Fear snapped, swinging his legs over and sitting up straight. “We aren’t like you! Thomas doesn’t like us or what we do! This is the place for sides like us!”

Deceit flinched as Fear shouted, bringing a hand up to scratch at his scar.

Remus narrowed his eyes. “Thomas doesn’t always like us either. Doesn’t that mean we all belong over here then?”

Fear growled, fists clenched. Deceit, realizing Fear was at his limit, stood up and took Remus’s hand to pull him to his feet.

“I think it’s time for you to go back. You wouldn’t want someone to come looking for you and get lost here.”

Remus puffed his cheeks out but stood up, realizing with a start that he had been meant to be thinking of ideas to help Roman, but he’d gotten completely distracted. He let Deceit lead him back into the dark hallway, but found himself surprised to find that he could actually see. It wasn’t very bright, nothing more than a dim glow, but it was enough to see the width of the hallway and the turns they were taking before they hit them.

Deceit was silently watching him as they walked back to the doorway between the sides of the mind. He noticed that Remus’s eyes were following the line of the hallway, rather than darting around blindly. He pursed his lips, curious.

“Here’s where I’ll leave you. Keep walking forward and you’ll be back on your side of the mind,” Deceit stopped, letting go of Remus’s hand. The creative side turned and smiled at Deceit.

“You know, I could leave some food for you guys sometimes, right here. Or you could come to dinner, Morality’s a pain but he does make some good food!”

Deceit chuckled lightly. “That’s... kind of you, but we can take care of ourselves.”

“If you say so. I’ll do it anyways. You like peanut butter, right?”

Remus didn’t wait for a response, winking and leaving the hallway, practically melting at the sudden blast of warmth.

Deceit stood there for a long time after Remus left. There was no way... he must have been imagining things. Remus was part of the others, the ones of the light. They didn’t belong on this side, they didn’t adjust to the darkness.

So why, then, had there been a green glint in Remus’s eye?

~~~

Remus eased open his bedroom door slowly, wincing as it creaked. He peeked his head in and saw Roman bent over the desk, hand moving furiously as he wrote in his notebook. He didn’t look up as Remus flopped onto the lower bunk, propping his feet up and closing his eyes.

“You were gone a while. I practically finished this project while you were off doing whatever you were doing!” Roman reached his arms into the air and stretched, groaning as his muscles popped. He twisted in his chair, throwing an arm over the backrest and looking back at his brother. “So, where did you... go...? Remus, what happened to your clothes?!”

Remus opened his eyes and lifted his head to glance curiously at his brother, but his gaze was drawn down to his chest and he sucked in a breath.

His normally light gray outfit was stained black, like someone had thrown a bucket of ink over him. He scrambled off the bed and checked the covers, but it hadn’t leaked onto them. When he scrubbed it with his palms, a thin, almost oily coating came off onto his fingers.

Roman stood up so fast his chair fell on its back, striding over to Remus and grabbing his arm, trying to brush the oily dust away but only managing to smudge it more. Roman’s hand tightened around his brother’s bicep, eyes staring down but not seeing anything.

“Where did you go?” He growled low. Remus tried to grin, but it became a wince.

“I got curious! You didn’t want me around and Patton was downstairs, so I just went exploring!”

Roman narrowed his eyes. “You went into the hallway. We aren’t supposed to go there, Remus.”

“But there’s nothing bad there! I met the sides who live over there, and they’re really nice! Well, Fear is kinda rude, but Deceit is really nice! I promised them I’d bring them some food!” Remus found himself telling his brother everything. He didn’t notice how Roman’s grip was tightening painfully on his arm until his fingers started tingling. “Uh, Ro? Let go, that hurts!”

“You weren’t supposed to go over there, Remus! Patton told us we weren’t allowed to because it’s dangerous! Now look what happened!”

“But Patton’s wrong! There’s nothing scary over there!” Remus raised his voice, pushing Roman away as the grip around his arm became painful. “We don’t always have to listen to Patton, you know! He’s not our dad, we’re all parts of Thomas!”

Roman gaped at him, he couldn’t believe his ears. He took a breath to say something, probably to scold him again, when there was a knock at the door and he jumped.

“Are you alright, Roman? I heard you shouting.” Patton asked through the door, worried.

“I’m alright! We were just excited about the idea we had for Thomas’s project! Right, Remus?!” Roman said shrilly. Remus stared at his brother – now he was the one who couldn’t believe his ears. Was he… lying? To Patton?!

He tried to open his mouth to tell Patton the truth, but suddenly a hand shot up and slapped over his mouth, muffling his words.

“Well, alright, if you’re sure you’re ok. Don’t overwork yourself! I’m going to get dinner started.”

“Ok!” Roman held his breath until he heard Patton walk away and back down the stairs. He glanced back at Remus, raising an eyebrow as he saw his brother fighting to pull his own hand off his mouth. “What… are you doing?”

As if released from some spell, Remus was finally able to tug his hand off his mouth, huffing in annoyance. “I wasn’t doing anything! My hand wouldn’t move!”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Sure.” Then he sighed, moving to fall back dramatically onto his bed. He tilted his head to the side, watching Remus as he went back to trying to brush off the black substance stuck to his clothes. “Why did you really go over there, Remus? You can tell me.”

“But I did tell you. I’ve been curious about that hallway for years, and I didn’t want to go downstairs and deal with Morality. So I went exploring.”

“Why didn’t you want to talk to Patton?” Roman sounded genuinely confused, and Remus grimaced at him.

“You’re kidding, right? He hates me, why would I want to go talk to someone who hates me?”

“He doesn’t hate you! Patton doesn’t hate anyone! He just… thinks some of your ideas are a bit… extreme, that’s all.”

Remus rolled his eyes, deciding that these stains weren’t coming out and he just needed to change. He tugged his shirt off, going over to their closet and searching for something else. He found an older costume of his hanging in the back. It was slightly too small, but it would work.

“Same thing. He doesn’t like it when I help you, even though I’m Creativity too. It’s like he forgot that we used to be the same person!” Remus growled, a sudden rush of anger coursing through him. He clenched his teeth, hands balling into fists.

“Remus, come on, we both know that isn’t—”

The younger twin whirled around, glaring daggers at his brother. “And you’re not much better! You barely let me help Thomas at all anymore! I have ideas too, you know! I want to help him achieve his dreams too! But you just shove me out of the room and tell me I can leave everything to you. What if I want to help, huh?!”

Roman sat up, hands covering his mouth as he watched Remus duck his head, squeezing his eyes shut and taking heavy breaths. “Remus…”

“Maybe I do belong with them after all…”

The elder twin stood up, moving to Remus and wrapping him in a hug. “I’m so sorry, Remus. I didn’t realize… but I’m going to stop. We’re going to work together from now on. You belong here, with us. With me. You’re my other half, after all.”

Remus lifted his head, looking Roman in the eye. “Promise?”

Roman smiled softly, ruffling his brother’s hair.

“Promise.”

~~~

We had always been so close. It was like we could read each other’s minds. For years, it was like we were still just two halves of a single whole.

Unfortunately, we found out soon enough that that bond had dissolved over the years. Before either of us knew it, it was like we were from completely different planets. And neither of us knew when or how it happened.

~~~

“Roman!”

“Yeah?” The creative side called back, looking up from where he was lying on the floor working on a new idea with Remus.

“Can you come here for a moment?”

“Be right there!” Roman hopped to his feet, tugging his shirt down where it had ridden up. “I’ll be right back, ok?” He told his brother, who hummed.

“Grab some water while you’re down there?”

Roman grinned. “Sure!”

Patton was sat on the couch as he bounded down the stairs, and the moral side patted the spot beside him. “Come take a seat, Roman.”

His heart jumped into his throat. Patton sounded serious – had he done something wrong? All his excited energy disappeared as he gingerly took a seat on the couch. Patton passed him a crumpled piece of paper.

“What is…?”

“Just read it. Tell me what you think.”

Oh, had Patton written something? Did he want feedback? He took it carefully, smoothing it with his fingers before scanning the page.

Roman’s face morphed into shock as he read, and he looked up at Patton with wide eyes. “Patton, I… I can explain!”

The moral side held up a hand, and Roman shut his mouth quickly. “You don’t have to say anything. I know what happened.”

Roman hung his head. “I’m sorry, Morality, we were just… trying to have some fun with the project. We didn’t mean for Thomas to get in trouble.”

Patton sighed, resting a comforting hand on Roman’s shoulder. “You’re not in trouble, Roman. But I wanted to talk to you alone… about Remus.”

“What… about him?” The creative side ventured cautiously. Patton sat up straight, prompting Roman to look at him.

“You need to stop letting Remus help you with projects like this.”

Roman’s mouth gaped open as he comprehended what Patton had said. The moral side tapped the paper in Roman’s lap.

“Because if he keeps helping, Thomas is going to get more of these sent home to his parents. We both know it was because of him that the project turned out the way it did. I’m not blaming you, I should have been more careful and kept a closer eye on what Thomas was doing.”

“But, Patton, you don’t understand, we—”

“You can still spend time with him if you want. As long as he keeps his brand of creativity confined within the mindscape, it’ll be alright. Thomas is a good person, I can’t let Remus ruin that for him.”

Roman couldn’t believe his ears. Was all of this really coming from Patton?

“But I promised him I’d let him help Thomas more, what am I supposed to do?”

Patton winced. “Roman, why did you go and do that? You know how I—Thomas feels about some of the things Remus comes up with.”

“Because he helps me! He comes up with ideas better than I ever could sometimes!”

Because I wasn’t complete without him.

The moral side chewed on his lip, thinking. Then he huffed a small sigh and smiled at Roman. “Alright, then how about this? Remus can help you when you’re brainstorming, but things like this,” he pointed to the letter, “have to get run through me before Thomas starts working on them. That way, we can avoid doing something wrong like this again. Fair?”

No.

“…Ok. I’ll make sure to run things by you first.”

Patton smiled wider, and he pulled Roman into a tight hug. “I’m proud of you, Roman. You create so many things that make Thomas happy. We’ll get past this just fine.”

Roman swallowed past the lump in his throat and smiled weakly. “Y-Yeah, ok. Can… I go back to my room now?”

He was released from the hug and with a last ruffle of his hair, Roman was allowed to stand up. He stood tall, keeping his hands curled tightly at his sides to hide how he was shaking.

In his foggy state, he didn’t notice the figure looking out from the banister dart up the stairs, nor did he hear the door slam down the hall.

Remus glanced up as his brother entered the room, sitting up and crossing his legs. “Told you he didn’t like me.”

Roman jumped, rubbing his arm guiltily. “You heard…?”

The younger twin stared at Roman, intent. “You’re not going to listen to him, right? We can’t let Morality tell us what to do. He doesn’t get to decide what ideas Thomas has, what he gets to create. That’s our job.”

“Well, we can’t just ignore him either. Thomas got in trouble because of us, Remus. Because of our project.”

“Because of me, you mean.”

Roman hesitated, staring at the ground. “I… I don’t know.”

“Oh, but I do. Morality doesn’t like anything I do. He doesn’t like how he can’t control what I do. I do what I want, when I want, and there’s nothing he can do about it!”

“Remus—”

“It’s true! Why do you think he just called you down to talk, when I’m the one he’s mad at? It’s cause he thinks he can control you too. But he’s not the boss of us! Now come on, let’s get back to this, Thomas is waiting!”

Remus threw himself back onto his stomach, grabbing his pencil. Roman stayed where he was, watching Remus add to their joint art project. He looked up after his brother didn’t move. “What are you doing? Come on, help me out!”

“I… I can’t.”

“You… can’t help me?”

“No—Yes—That wasn’t what I meant!”

Remus narrowed his eyes. “Ok…?”

Roman took a deep, shaky breath. “I meant… I can’t just… do whatever I want. We need to listen to Morality.”

His brother’s eye twitched, but his expression otherwise remained neutral. “No, we don’t.”

“Patton knows what Thomas wants better than we do. If he says that we need to hold back a little, then we should.”

Remus watched him for a moment before he silently got to his feet. He stalked up to his brother, shoulders back and chin raised.

“Fight me.”

Roman blinked. “What?”

“Fight me. If you win, we do what Morality says.” Remus mocked, a glint in his eye. “But if I win, we do what we want, and forget about trying to please Morality. Or any of the others, while we’re at it.”

“Remus, please, I don’t want--”

“Are you agreeing with me then?”

“W-Well, no, but--”

“Then we have no choice. C’mon, the Imagination is waiting.”

Remus’s voice somehow held its usual energy with none of the warmth. He shoved his way past Roman, glancing back at him expectantly. Realizing his brother wasn’t giving him a choice, Roman followed him with a sinking feeling in his stomach that, no matter who won this match, things would never be the same.

~~~

Throughout the years, the twins had both grown adept at manipulating the Imagination. It was their second home, their safe place, somewhere they could be wholly, unabashedly themselves without scrutiny.

Roman, as the Creativity Thomas called on the most, had grown to be disciplined. Organized chaos, as Logan had once described him. Ideas filtered dozens of times before they were allowed through, already fully formed. He was fantasy worlds, built with careful precision. Every piece in its place. He went to great lengths to protect his ideas, hypersensitive to criticism and critique.

Remus was the exact opposite. With no filter in sight, he let any and all thoughts he had spill out without a care in the world. He was pieces of dialogue or character that come in the shower or late at night, there one moment and gone the next. Fleeting, constantly jumping from one idea to the next without stopping to build foundations along the way. He didn’t care what others thought of him or his ideas, deaf to cries of disgust or suggestions to improve.

When they worked together, they could move mountains.

When they fought…

The Imagination shook with the sheer energy the two were exerting. Remus battered against Roman’s defenses with everything he could think of. Monsters, explosions, even his own weapons. No matter what he did, the castle walls Roman had thrown up stood tall, unyielding.

Remus, however, couldn’t handle that kind of beating. After rounds of constant attacks, the younger twin was finally taken down by a blow to the head that left him seeing stars.

He laid still, staring up at the sky. Storm clouds were rolling in. Not surprising; the Imagination was connected to their emotions, and tended to reflect their moods.

The remnants of their battle faded into dust and Remus rolled his head to the side, catching sight of Roman as he walked towards him. The elder twin’s face was schooled into a neutral expression, jaw clenched tight as he stopped at Remus’s feet and stared down at him.

Remus let a humorless laugh slip out, eyes sliding shut. “Kill me now. I’d rather die than have to listen to Morality.”

He heard Roman swallow, and felt a soft kick to his foot. “Get up.”

“Nope.”

“Get up, Remus.”

He cracked an eye open, and saw Roman had turned around.

“We’re going to be late for dinner. Let’s go.”

“Forget it. I’m staying here. Morality probably won’t even notice I’m not there.”

Roman rolled his shoulders back, standing straight. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

Remus closed his eyes again, not wanting to watch his brother walk away. Cold drops of rain started to fall, burning like ice against his skin. They ran down his cheeks, mixing with salty tears and falling to the muddy ground.

Roman stepped out of the Imagination, the dirt and dust that had gotten on his clothes vanishing as he did so. He heard someone knock at the door and he told them he’d be down in a moment. Footsteps walked away, and it was all Roman could do to not collapse into a heap right there.

He had to be strong. That was what everyone expected – needed – from him. He couldn’t show weakness or back down from a challenge, even something like this.

Wiping the moisture from his eyes with the heel of his hand, he plastered a confident smile on his face and left the room.

~~~

Dinner was a quiet affair. Patton tried to engage Roman several times, asking about his latest projects. After receiving one word answers to his questions, the moral side realized that Roman wasn’t in the mood to talk. He tried to turn the conversation to Valentine, but he was equally quiet. He scarfed down his food and excused himself quietly, leaving his dishes in the sink.

Patton chewed on his lip as Roman followed suit. Soon he was left alone with Logan, who didn’t seem concerned at the strange behavior.

“What’s up with them? I haven’t seen either of them all day, do you think something happened, Logan?”

The logical side adjusted his glasses. “I haven’t seen Roman today, but I do know that Valentine is sulking because I asked him to leave me alone while I was working with Thomas on his homework.”

Patton sighed – that wasn’t new. Logan had never been very keen on listening to Valentine’s excited rants, even when he wasn’t on a deadline. “You know Logan, you should try and indulge him every once in a while. I know you take your work very seriously, but Thomas needs to take breaks sometimes.”

“I allow him to take breaks. And Roman takes him off on wild adventures, that’s more than enough of a stress reliever. All Valentine wants is to keep Thomas in front of the TV all day watching any number of ridiculous shows and movies. He’s going to ruin his vision at this rate.”

At any other time, Patton would have made a joke about that, given that both he and Logan had taken to wearing glasses themselves in the past few years. Instead, he pursed his lips, setting his silverware down.

“Logan… you of all people should know that’s not true. Valentine keeps Thomas happy and he offers a distraction when things are hard.”

Logan rolled his eyes dismissively. “But Thomas doesn’t need a distraction, he needs to focus! He’s started thinking about what he wants to do as a career, and Roman has gotten it into his head that he wants to do something creative. That takes a lot of work and time, we can’t waste that precious time on the couch doing nothing!”

Patton held his hands up in surrender. “I’m not trying to fight with you Logan! I just… think you might be selling Passion short, that’s all.”

The logical side narrowed his eyes. “Well, you certainly can’t lecture me about that then.”

“H-Huh?”

Logan pushed his plate to the side, having finished his meal, and set his chin in his hand. He stared at Patton with an unimpressed look. “If I’m selling Valentine short, then you’re doing the same with Remus.”

Patton spluttered, waving his hands around as if to clear the air. “Those are two completely different things!”

“Are they?”

“Yes! Valentine may cause Thomas to be lazy sometimes, but that’s nothing compared to the trouble Remus causes! Thomas got a letter sent to his parents because of his contributions! He doesn’t listen to anyone, Logan, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Limiting him is not going to be good for Thomas in the long run.”

“And that goes for Valentine too!”

They stared at each other for a long moment; two strong wills incapable of backing down from their particular stance. Eventually, Patton gave a huge sigh and let his shoulders drop.

“Look, let’s just… talk about this tomorrow?” Logan nodded silently, gathering both of their plates and taking them to the sink. He rinsed them off and grabbed a cloth to wash them.

Patton packed away the leftover food in Tupperware, knowing as he did so that it would be gone the next morning. He’d long given up trying to catch the thieves – they somehow knew when he was waiting up for them. Anytime he did hear someone pass by his door and sneak downstairs, it ended up being Remus up for a midnight snack. It was impossible to feed the side enough to keep him full, apparently.

At least it was usually healthy food. Or he was very good at sneaking the cookies, because Patton never caught him with one.

After grabbing a towel and drying the dishes silently beside Logan, they went back to their own rooms to think, and plan what they would say the next morning.

~~~

Remus awoke to a dark, quiet room. After he’d left the Imagination, he had climbed up to his bunk and swaddled himself in blankets, hiding from the world. His chest was aching, and he had a splitting headache that had only gotten slightly better with sleep.

The side sat up, extracting himself from the blankets as he tried to determine what time it was. A glance at the clock below him told him it was past midnight. He groaned quietly – god, he was hungry. Why did he think skipping dinner was a good idea?

That coupled with his headache made for a very grumpy Remus. He clambered down the bunk bed ladder and barely spared a glance at his twin sprawled none so gracefully on his own bed.

Remus crept out of the room, easing the squeaky door closed without a sound. He’d become practiced at this over the years – the darkness no longer bothered him. In fact, he’d grown accustomed to it, his eyes adjusting to see in dull shades of gray.

He knew that Patton knew he snuck downstairs for food, but he had yet to realize why he did so. Thankfully, the few times he’d been caught, he was hungry enough to use the late night snack excuse. Remus tiptoed down the stairs, skipping the one that creaked and stepping on the outside of the last two to keep them silent. Then he heard a small sniffle and Remus froze. He wasn’t alone.

Though it was pitch black, Remus could make out a shadow on the couch, hunched over with his head in his hands. There was another stifled cry, and Remus knew immediately who it was.

“…Val?”

Remus heard him suck in a breath through his teeth and saw him look up blindly towards the stairs. “Remus? Is that you?”

“What’s wrong? Are you ok?” Remus asked, shuffling over to the couch and perching on the armrest.

Valentine shook his head and laughed softly. “No, but… you don’t wanna hear me talk about it. Nobody actually cares about what I have to say.”

Remus narrowed his eyes, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Who told you that?” He shook Valentine slightly when the side remained quiet. “Val, who told you that? I’ll kill ‘em for you.”

“Don’t kill anyone, Rem. I’m fine, really.” The statement didn’t convince him, considering his voice cracked and Remus could hear him struggling with every word.

“Valentine Sanders. Tell me who told you nobody cares. Now.” He didn’t bother trying to hide his building anger. Valentine shrunk, hanging his head.

“Lo…Logan did. He said that… all I do is make things harder for everyone else, make it so you guys can’t do your jobs because I always distract him from what’s ‘important’…”

“You know that’s all bullshit, right?”

Valentine gasped. “Remus!”

“It’s true! Listen, if Thomas really didn’t need you, then you would have faded away a long time ago! The fact that you’re here means you do things for Thomas that none of us can do for him!”

“But they don’t like what I do…” Valentine mumbled, and Remus groaned. He hopped off the couch and went over to flip on the lights. Everyone was asleep anyways, and he knew Valentine couldn’t see in the dark like he could.

The side on the couch flinched as the room was flooded with light, covering his eyes. “Remus, what are you doing?!”

The creative side stalked back over to Valentine, plopping down on the floor in front of him. He waited until his friend was able to open his eyes without being blinded, staring at him with an intense gaze.

“Do you think what you do is important?” Remus asked, putting his hand on Valentine’s knee. Valentine twisted his fingers in his hair, not meeting Remus’s eyes.

“Well, yeah, I do, but Logan—”

“It doesn’t matter what Logan thinks. He can go suck a—”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Valentine cut him off, shaking his head. “Thomas actually listens to you. He’s been ignoring every attempt I make to get him invested into something! It’s like, every time I open my mouth, there’s someone else who’s talking louder and has his attention.”

Remus snickered. “Yeah right, Thomas doesn’t listen to me.”

“But… you’re his Creativity…?”

“Morality made a deal with Roman that anything I help with, he has to look at before we give it to Thomas. And for years, he’s always tried to keep me quiet, away from Roman and anything that might make it to Thomas. He thinks I’m dangerous.”

Valentine snapped his head up, staring at Remus with wide eyes. “That’s how Logan treats me! He thinks I’m lazy and all I do is distract Thomas from ‘more important’ things. All I want is for him to be happy! Ugh, why do we have to listen to them? They don’t care about us!”

“We don’t.”

“Yes, we do. After all, they’re the ones who are in charge, if we don’t do what they say we’ll just continue to be ignored.” Valentine sighed.

Remus had an odd look on his face. “No, we won’t. Morality and Logic aren’t the only ones who control what Thomas thinks and knows.”

“If you’re talking about Roman, I doubt he’s gonna help us go against those two. He’s their favorite, he’s not gonna give that up.”

The creative side shook his head, a grin slowly growing on his face. “No, I don’t mean Roman. I mean the others. The ones who live in the hallway past our rooms.”

“Remus! Patton said we aren’t supposed to go down that way, it’s dangerous, you could get hurt—”

“I’ve been there every week for years. Do I look hurt to you?”

Valentine’s mouth gaped open, and he dropped his voice into a hushed whisper, as if he would get in trouble if the walls heard his words. “What’s it like there? Is it scary? What are… the others like?”

“Well, it’s dark. But you get used to it – I’ve been able to see in pitch black for a while now. There are two sides who live over there. Fear’s… well, I don’t see him much, honestly. But Deceit is amazing. He can control what we tell Thomas. If he doesn’t want to know something, then it’s Deceit’s job to make sure we don’t tell him.”

“But I thought that was Morality’s job?”

Remus shook his head. “No. Morality can ask us to stop, and we do because we think he has power over us. But Deceit can actually stop us from talking, if he wants to. But,” Remus’s grin grew wicked, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “that also means that he can make sure that Thomas doesn’t ignore us.”

Valentine was shaking with barely controlled excitement. “He can make it so Thomas doesn’t ignore me anymore?! Please, Remus, you have to take me there! That’s all I’ve wanted for so long!”

“I can, but Val, if I do… you probably can’t come back.”

That made him pause, staring at his hands. “You mean…”

Remus sighed. “Morality and Logic both know what’s over there, and most importantly they think the sides over there are dangerous. If you’re gonna ask them for help…”

Valentine swallowed hard. “I… If I leave, they’ll think I’m a bad guy too. Roman, he’ll think I abandoned him.”

“Well…”

Valentine whined in the back of his throat, rubbing at his eyes as tears welled up again. “Oh god, Remus, I can’t leave him alone! But I can’t stand staying here anymore! What am I supposed to do?!”

Remus shrugged helplessly as his friend broke down in front of him. This was not his forte – Passion had always been the most emotional one of them all, being largely responsible for many of Thomas’s feelings. All he could do was gently pat his knee in a vague attempt to comfort him.

“I mean… I think Roman would rather you do what’s best for you, rather than suffer here just because of him. Cause he’s got that whole ‘chivalry’ thing going on. And besides, your room and a lot of your stuff will still be here, he’ll still have pieces of you to remember.”

The words sounded weak to him, but something about what he said made Valentine freeze, slowly lowering his hands from his eyes.

“Remus, that’s it! You’re a genius!”

“Uhhh…”

“If I give them my responsibilities, it’s like I’m not really leaving at all! But I won’t have to be ignored for them anymore!”

“W-What are you talking about?” Remus asked, confused at Valentine’s constant shifting moods.

“It’s perfect, Remus! Thomas needs the things I do, but I don’t want to do them anymore because the others don’t know how important they are. But if I give it to them, they’ll have to realize! Then once they do, I can take them back and everything will go back to normal!”

“But they’re not you, Valentine, how are they supposed to do your job?!” Remus couldn’t imagine ever doing someone else’s job – they had their titles for a reason!

“I’ll give them things that are close to what they already represent. Like, for Roman, he can get all the love of cartoons and movies and things like that, since he already likes fantasy it’ll be easy for him! Morality already looks out for Thomas and his friends, so what’s the difference if he now feels the emotions that come along with that? And Logic…”

Valentine started giggling widely, and Remus hoped that everyone else was fast asleep and wouldn’t come down to check on the noise.

“Logic… he’ll get what I’ve been trying to tell him all this time. He likes making sure Thomas can focus on the things he needs to learn, so I’ll give him that drive to learn. See what he thinks when he finally feels some emotion in that stone-cold heart of his!”

His eyes were wild and his smile was too wide. Remus started to wonder if he should have just kept his mouth shut. “Val, what does that leave you? You’re giving away everything! You could die!”

“No… No, I’ll keep something. I’ll be alright! After all, it’s just for the time it takes for them to realize that they need me. Then I’ll come back and everything will go back to normal!”

He paused, chewing his lip. “But, they can’t know where I went. If they know I went to the other side, they’ll just try to bring me back. So, Remus... I need you to promise me that you won’t tell them where I am. No matter what, you can’t tell them I went to the dark side.”

Remus stared at him. “...I can’t.”

“Remus, please, if they wake up tomorrow and find me missing they’re going to go searching and you know that they’ll ask you--”

“I’m coming with you.”

Remus’s voice was steady, and he met Valentine’s shocked expression with a confident smile. “I never belonged here anyways. It’s surprising I lasted this long without being kicked out. But Deceit can make it so Thomas will finally listen to me again.”

Valentine took a look, deep breath. “...What about Roman?”

Remus huffed, trying to play it off. “It’s like you said. He’s their favorite. He’s already chosen his side. It’s just up to us to choose ours now.”

They stared at each other for a long, quiet moment. They both came to the same conclusion, and nodded at each other.

“Let’s go.”

Remus told Valentine about his weekly food runs he’d been doing for Deceit and Fear, and about how the other side didn’t often have food. They raided the kitchen, stuffing their pockets and arms full of food. The kitchen would restock itself in time, Remus knew they would manage.

The two snuck upstairs, past the closed bedroom doors. Remus had Valentine walk in front, realizing that if he went first, they ran a high risk of Valentine running into him and making noise.

Remus paused at his bedroom door. He turned to face it, staring blankly.

“...You don’t have to come with me, Remus.” Valentine mumbled quietly, eyes soft as he heard the creative side stop moving behind him. “I’ll be alright on my own.”

Remus sucked in a shaky breath, trying to steady his hands so he didn’t drop anything. He could stay. He could go back to sleep and pretend this was all a dream. Give Valentine the food in his arms and tell him how to find Deceit. And when he woke up in the morning, he would feign ignorance. Maybe even tell them that he’d witnessed Passion fade away right before his eyes, all because of their ignorance and willful neglect.

He could hold it against them. He could use it as leverage. He could prove that he’s not the one who’s dangerous to Thomas. Maybe it would be enough to get Morality to give up on trying to control him and his brother.

They could stay together, and they could take control. No longer would Patton be in charge.

Remus snickered and shook his head, turning back to Valentine and marching into the hallway with his head held high.

Maybe he was the evil twin after all.

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 18

AO3 link here

“The party’s downstairs, you know.”

“Well, I’m up here, so—” Tony sips audibly from his champagne glass, spreads his arms wide. “I think the party’s actually up here now.”

He watches as his godfather walks across the gallery toward him. Uncle Steve wears a tux pretty well for an older guy, especially one who’s always preferred the comforts of home to a night out. Probably all those years of being Aunt Peg’s plus one. There’s still something strong about his carriage, a reassuring lack of hesitancy to his step, even though he has quite a few more wrinkles than he did during Tony’s childhood.

Steve stops beside him and looks up at the piece too. “See how the waves look like fingers?” He traces his own through the air to draw attention to them, as if Tony hadn’t noticed their ever-reaching grasp. He takes down the last of the champagne.

“They’re going to bring out the cake soon,” Uncle Steve finally continues when they’ve been standing in silent artistic contemplation for a while. “Your mom is going to notice that you’re gone when you’re not there to sing Happy Birthday to her. Robin might have noticed already.”

“Yeah,” says Tony absently. He almost wants to touch the painted screen in front of them, although even he, who had ducked unconcernedly past the ropes blocking off the stairs to the Met’s upper floors, holds himself firm against giving in to the instinct. His mind finds its way back to itself after a minute and he asks, “How did you know I was here?”

“You didn’t really seem in an Arms and Armor mood earlier.”

Tony’s face twitches as if it can’t decide whether to smile. “You like Robin, don’t you?” he asks instead.

“I always have,” says Steve in that easy, honest way of his. “Everyone’s glad to see her. She managed all of Rose’s questions without running, and I think Layla still wants to adopt her.” He takes in the details of the waves once more before he turns to look precisely at Tony. “But the real question is, do you like Robin? Because if you want to go through with giving her that ring you have in your pocket, you should probably be sure.”

The box, when he automatically pats at his pants, is just where it’s been each time he’s checked it tonight.

“Guess one of the grandkids found you a Super Detective magnifying glass in a cereal box,” he says to cover up the way he’s been caught off guard.

“No,” says Steve. “I know it’s been a few decades, but I once carried around a box just like that, waiting for the right moment.”

“Aunt Peggy says that she was the one who popped the question,” Tony points out.

“Well, there’s a reason we don’t listen to everything she says.” The smile gives just that little extra crinkle to his eyes. “Only most things.”

Tony lets out a little sound that doesn’t quite make it beyond the beginnings of a laugh. “You know that my—” He clears his throat, looks over toward the display without paying attention to it. “My first date with Robin was maybe three weeks after Dad died? We’d known each other a little at school and I’d seen her when I was in Boston a couple months before, so when I heard she was in town, I set it up…And I wasn’t—I wasn’t ready for any of it. I’d just been handed my father’s life’s work, I was trying to make sure Mom was managing, everything was starting with Jarvis. I was sure it was going to be a disaster. But that night at dinner, I had fun. She was fun. We could just talk - about her latest coding project or the Three Laws of Robotics, whatever.”

“And has it stopped being fun?” Steve’s head is tilted just a little, casual, patient, as if he already knows what Tony is going to say. Tony swallows and says it anyway.

“I don’t know if it ever really got past fun.” He thinks of the two of them yesterday evening. Robin had been fizzy after the train trip down from Boston, the way she always was. She’s the only person Tony knows over the age of five who regards trains as anything more exciting than a convenient way to get from here to there. They’d gone to a little burger place they liked (made the world’s most perfect steak fries and served them up in overflowing baskets), got into another good-natured debate over the implications of human cloning, stopped by to see if his mother needed any more help before the party, and went back to his place. It had been fun. It had been a good time.

“She’s sharp as hell, and that punk rock thing definitely does it for me." He risks a glance over, waiting for his godfather to clear his throat awkwardly the way he does when Tony brings up anything sex adjacent, but Uncle Steve is still watching him with that quiet, patient look. Tony finds that as he continues, he cannot look back. "Things are great when she’s here. But I don't think she knows what it would be like to be a Stark all the time, what it would be like to be married to someone who’s a part of that. Would she change for it? Would I like her the way I do if she did?” Tony wants to put his hands in his pockets despite the box taking up real estate in there, but he is still holding the champagne flute and the darkened gallery is not exactly bustling with passing waiters balancing conveniently extended trays.

“People change all the time,” Steve points out, and instead of a rising fury at the triteness of the statement, the calm around the man, Tony finds his tension beginning to unravel in response. There’s something soothing about the lack of surprise, a peaceful cushioning inside of him. It’s as if they are discussing theory, like they are back on the floor of his childhood bedroom, Steve sitting through another of Tony’s exhaustive explanations of his latest Rube Goldberg machine.

In that sort of space, even though his voice creaks as he speaks, he says, “I don’t know if I’d want her to change for me. But I don't think I'd change for her either."

“Then why are you trying to propose?”

"Gotta try to find your person, you know?" He runs a finger around the edge of his glass, looks back over. "Dad always said he regretted not finding Mom sooner. I'm trying my best here. "

"But if he had met her sooner," Steve reminds him, "I don't know that he would have been the right person for her." He shifts, and Tony remembers that however straight-postured the man stands, he's also a million years old and been on his feet all night. He's about to suggest that they go take a seat, but Steve pins him with a stare. "I've been luckier in this area than I can believe, luckier than you can understand, but I'll tell you that I knew when I had found my person. And all of these doubts you have, Tony, it sounds as if you haven't yet."

In some ways it is a relief to hear it outside of the suppressed corner of his own mind, to have the words brought into the open air with no condemnation in the tone. In others, it is as if Steve has swung the door wide and invited in all of Tony’s fears.

He can’t speak for a minute. When he does, his words are slow.

"I have this memory," he says. "I must have been really young - I don't even know if it's actually real or something my brain just pieced together. You'd brought the whole gang up to the Maine place for Christmas - no idea why, we could have all been snowed in and died - but that's where we were. And then Dad and Aunt Peggy got called somewhere and disappeared for a few days, made it back just in time for Christmas Day. I was under the kitchen table and you were cooking when they got back, and she came in to say hi to you. She just—She gave you a kiss and you whispered something to her, and she touched your cheek. Didn't really do anything, just put a hand there and looked at you. And you know, I was probably too young to know anything, but I knew that you loved each other."

Steve is quiet. "It was real. You remembered it right," he says finally, a little huskiness to his words, as if this decades-old memory is still entirely fresh for him

"No way you could have been like that in the beginning," Tony says, abrupt bravado covering the vulnerability. "I've heard all those old war stories. But you had something and you grew into it together. So why can't I—Why can’t we try to grow together like that?"

"You can, Tony.” Steve turns to him fully, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You can. But you have to want it.” In the dim light of the spot aimed at the artwork in front of them, he can read his godfather’s eyes: not solemnity or reproach, but hope for him, whatever he chooses.

He clears his throat, clears it again. “Might be that I want to want it more than I actually do.”

He thinks of Ana calling Jarvis pet names, fluttering her lashes at him as they passed in the hallway so that he stuttered and blushed. He thinks of his parents coming home from some event or another, his father’s suit coat around his mother’s shoulders. He thinks of the people who have been raised beside him as family: the Barnes’s, a carefully expanding unit, the Carters with their spouses and children and deeply committed friends.

He thinks of Aunt Peggy’s hand on Steve’s cheek all those years ago.

“Someday,” he says, a promise in a way he doesn’t entirely understand. “Someday I’ll really want it.”

“You will,” Steve says back with such certainty that Tony lets out a breath. “But for now, we should go back downstairs. We’ve been gone for a while.”

Tony waits until Steve turns, then follows him toward the doorway. “Aunt Peg will have definitely noticed we disappeared by now.”

“Who do you think told me that I should come look for you?” Uncle Steve smiles over his shoulder, hands in his pockets.

“Only right most of the time, huh?”

“Don’t tell her.”

And Tony smiles too, and shakes his head, and walks down to stand with his family and eat cake.

More chapters here

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Hi! I'd love to see more Homecoming! Maybe William can have that conversation with Bree... or maybe he can stop avoiding Rachel ^^ Thank you so much for all your work!

Book 9 speculation; William arrives at the Ridge with his cousin Dottie the same day that the MacKenzie family has made their unexpected return.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Homecoming - Part Eight

“Would ye no rather be helpin’ yer sister-in-law and her bairn to settle?” Roger asked of Ian and Rachel as they followed the children through the woods back to the big house.

“Mam has it all in hand and… if I’m bein’ honest…” Ian confessed quietly, “it’s a relief to have a break from her. I love her dearly but I’m no used to bein’ the only of her bairns wi’ her attentions. I think she’s in need of a wee change too and cleanin’ the cabin for Dottie while she and the bairn rest are as good for her as us.” Ian glanced briefly at Rachel who was preoccupied with Brian who’d sneezed. “Give her some time to adjust to what ye told her last night,” he added in a whisper.

“Well, I thank ye for letting me and the kids stay wi’ ye last night. Easier’n havin’ the carry ‘em all the way back.”

Germain and Jemmy had run ahead and were seeing who could climb a nearby tree fastest while Mandy hurried after and jumped to try to catch the lowest branch. Fanny appeared to be offering Mandy a lift but the youngest Mackenzie stubbornly refused the help.

“I am happy to have had the chance to meet thee and spend time coming to know thee,” Rachel said as she patted Brian’s back in the sling she wore across her front. “My husband has told many stories of thee and thy wife. I know he was sorry not to have thee with us when we were wed.”

“Aye well, there were many days when we would ha’ liked to have had him and the rest of ye wi’ us as well. Glad to see he’s found himself a wife and settled down proper,” Roger teased. “Puttin’ down roots.” The relief of being with family again was as heady and intoxicating as the whisky they’d shared the night before.

“Mama!” Roger heard Mandy shriek as the big house came into sight.

Brianna was in the yard with Claire and William, a basket over her arm already overflowing with greenery from Claire’s garden.

“Who’s that then?” Germain asked, dropping to the ground with a plop.

Jem dropped too, and landed right in front of Roger so that he jumped back before reaching out a hand laying it heavily on his son’s shoulder. Jem looked back at his father and gave him an apologetic smile.

“That… is a… visitor,” Roger answered awkwardly. He wasn’t sure how William would want to be introduced and hedged against his own inclination to call him the lads’ uncle. Germain frowned and looked to Jem who shrugged, still uncertain about how the young man was related to them himself.

Fanny recognized William immediately and was torn between running to him in her excitement and showing how she’d grown in his absence by demonstrating the proper decorum.

“Are ye sure ye dinna want to turn back?” Ian asked Rachel. “We’ve seen them safe back and Uncle Jamie and Auntie Claire willna mind.”

Rachel gave her husband an unamused look that Roger recognized well. He turned his attention to the children and his own wife, politely pretending to ignore the marital exchange happening beside him.

“If thee does not wish to see him then hurry thyself home,” Rachel retorted. “I believe that avoiding him will only prolong and call undo attention to any awkwardness there may be.”

Another sneeze from Brian punctuated his mother’s point and Rachel strode toward Claire, Brianna and William with greater purpose, quickly outpacing Roger and Ian. Roger watched William glance up from Fanny’s excited chattering and spot Rachel approaching. The color rose in the young man’s face as he bowed a greeting to Rachel then looked out to find Roger and Ian still making their approach at a leisurely pace. He nodded to the pair of them as well.

“I take it there’s history between ye?” Roger prompted.

“Aye, and a long one dependin’ on how far back ye wish to go,” Ian explained. “Strictly speaking, I was partly to blame for an embarrassing incident when he first visited ten years or more back.”

“Tha’s a ways alright,” Roger said with a snort. “Ye think he holds a grudge that long?”

“Well, it’s more to do wi’ the fact he fancied Rachel for a time… and likely still does. That I can tell her tales of his childhood humiliation doesna help.”

“What in heaven’s name did ye do to the lad?” Roger asked, glancing across at Ian who couldn’t conceal his amusement at the memory.

“All I’ll say is it ended wi’ him landin’ at the bottom of the privy and me down there soon after, though wi’ a wee bit more of my dignity intact,” Ian chuckled.

Roger snorted. “There’s nae dignity to be had if ye wind up covered in shite, no matter how it happened.”

“Mother Claire did a wonderful job,” William agreed with Fanny as she rattled off some nonsensical tongue twisters to demonstrate her newfound command of speech. “And you appear to like it here,” he added, a hint of question in his voice.

Fanny beamed. “I do. It can be as mad as the brothel and as loud, but I know Jane would have liked it here.” The girl’s smile faltered and her eyes shone as she looked away and took a deep breath.

“I’m glad,” William told her, reaching out and mussing her hair in a playful attempt to bring her back to lighter spirits. “Do you play with the other children or are you in charge of keeping them in order?”

“There’s none will keep Germain in order,” she muttered and Brianna snorted behind her.

“I’m afraid with Jem here it’ll only get worse,” Brianna apologized.

“Fanny, this is Mrs. Mackenzie,” William said by way of introduction. “She’s Mr. and Mrs. Fraser’s daughter.”

“I saw you last night,” Fanny noted. “You came down with Jamie and some others.”

“That’s right,” Brianna nodded.

Fanny turned to William. “Is she your sister? You call her mum ‘Mother Claire,’” Fanny pointed out.

Clearing his throat, William looked to Brianna and caught her smirking with satisfaction. It made him want to laugh as well as groan but the warmer of the two won out.

“Yes, she’s my sister… in a way. Not the same way that Jane was your sister,” William struggled to explain.

“Friend Claire,” Rachel called as she approached the house and garden with Mandy straggling beside her on tiny, tired legs.

Claire rose from a patch in the corner where she’d been weeding and wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, smearing a bit of dirt over one eye like a second eyebrow.

“Rachel! I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” Claire exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron and scooting around the edge of the fence. “I thought you’d be helping Dottie and Minnie to get settled.”

“My husband’s mother took it well in hand and I was eager to meet thy daughter as thee has told me so much about her,” Rachel explained and smiled at Brianna. “And I must apologize to thee for neglecting thee in my duties as hostess last night. Sister Dottie and the baby took more of my attention than I expected. But I’m glad to finally meet thee… and to see thee again, Friend William,” Rachel added, turning and smiling at him.

“You’re looking well… Mrs. Murray,” William greeted her awkwardly. “And it would appear congratulations are in order,” he nodded to the squirming bundle swaddled against her chest.

“I thank thee. It took us time to settle on a name for him. Brian James Hunter Murray,” Rachel cooed as she looked down at her contented and slumbering son.

“Named for our grandfather,” Brianna said quietly, coming up beside William, Mandy on her hip. “Same as me.”

“Issa bairn,” Mandy informed her new uncle. “He’s too wee for me to hold him yet.”

“It’s more that you’re too wee and not quite gentle enough to hold him yet,” Brianna corrected Mandy.

“He’s no too wee to hold him, is he?” Mandy asked, glancing to William. “Have ye ever held a bairn before?”

William wondered if the child was trying to see how dark a shade of red his face would go.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” he told her. “I brought my cousin and her baby daughter with me yesterday, do you remember?” Mandy nodded. “Well, she couldn’t carry Minnie the whole way by herself.” William thought back to the first terrifying moment Dottie had handed Minnie to him while she’d gone off to relieve herself behind a tree and the way she’d laughed finding he hadn’t moved a muscle in her absence. He had grown more comfortable with practice, however, though he remained paranoid that he would cause some sort of damage to the delicate and vulnerable baby. Every whimper and cry Minnie let out in his arms felt like an accusation.

But they’d been alone then, he and Dottie with the baby, either in unfamiliar towns and settlements or in the wilderness where he was their only source of protection. The weight of that responsibility had been heavier than he realized.

“Would thee like to hold Brian?” Rachel asked, surprising him. She was already pulling the baby free of his sling, his legs pulled up to his belly and his feet curling with what William saw as reluctance.

“Oh… That’s… I don’t…” William sputtered.

“Go on,” Brianna urged with a light bump from her elbow. “I don’t think Mandy’ll believe you till she sees it done.”

“He will be fine with thee,” Rachel insisted, gently settling the baby in William’s arms. “He’s not so breakable as he might seem and I have faith in thee.”

Brian peered up at William with a wariness that suggested he wasn’t as sure about William’s abilities as his mother. But he didn’t fuss or wriggle, just watched William and relaxed as the tension in William began to loosen as well. Brian was heavier than Minnie and longer, but then both Rachel and Ian were taller than Dottie and Brian might be a week or so older than his cousin.

“It would appear you are a natural,” Claire remarked with a smile and rested a reassuring hand on William’s shoulder.

“Mam, I wasna tha’ small too,” Mandy stated, peering down at Brian with skepticism.

“You absolutely were,” Brianna contradicted. “Smaller even. Jem too though he was less inclined to be agreeable at that size. Hungry all the time and hollerin’ for me to feed him.” She gave Rachel a look of commiseration.

“Jem does ‘at now,” Mandy said inspiring a chorus of laughs.

“Wha’s funny?” Jem panted as he and Germain reached the group.

“Nothing. Had enough of climbing trees?” Brianna asked with a tone that told her son what the correct answer to the question should be.

“Aye. Gran, is there anythin’ in here we’re allowed to eat?” Jem turned to Claire, eyeing the stems of some carrots that were in one of the baskets on the ground.

He didn’t seem to notice the renewed laughter as Claire ushered the children to the house with the promise of bread and honey, Brianna following with Mandy still on her hip.

“I can take him back if thee would like to go inside as well,” Rachel offered but William shook his head.

“We’re fine for now,” he assured her, watching the baby blink at him and yawn. “You probably already know this,” William mused quietly, not looking at Rachel who had stepped closer and was leaning over her son to watch him, “but he has your eyes.”

She smiled though he couldn’t see it. “That’s what Ian says. My eyes and his father’s disposition.”

“If tha’s the case ye’ll be in trouble before long,” Roger said, teasing Ian who walked beside him. “Or should I say, he’ll be in trouble before long?” He elbowed Ian lightly in the ribs.

“Tis a trait Friend Claire says men with Fraser blood share,” Rachel agreed with a laugh, smiling at William to show she was including him in her generalization.

“Perhaps tha’s so,” Ian conceded, striding over to William’s side and putting an arm around his shoulders in a familiar and jovial way. “It’s why we must find ourselves women as will follow us in our trouble gladly—or those wi’ a knack for helpin’ us find our way out of it once more. If we’re lucky.”

“It’s clear you have been,” William said with a sincerity that altered the mood. He offered Brian to his father who took him with a confidence born of practice.

“Ye will be too… cousin,” Ian replied, confident in the first sentiment and hesitant in the latter.

William didn’t rebuke him or walk away. Instead he smiled. “I can only hope to be half so lucky.” He glanced to Rachel who beamed at them.

Ian took hold of Brian under his arms and lifted him up to look him in his pouting face. “That would be lucky indeed, would it no?” he asked in a sing-song tone.

Brian sneezed in his face. William watched Rachel as they both laughed and realized he was genuinely happy for her and for Ian. 

[obsidianarchives]

The Sneak

It was nearly half past midnight. The unseasonably warm evening had approached so gradually that it couldn’t have been predicted. Marietta lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling of her room. The glow-in-the-dark star stickers that she had placed there nearly eight years ago had not lost any of their luster. She laid there, hoping that she could absorb even the tiniest morsel of hope that she had felt when she put them up. This was the third time this week that she had found herself in this position, woken up by a nightmare in a cold sweat. She had been plagued by terrible dreams for months now. The ever increasing mysteries that seemed to litter the Daily Prophet did nothing to relieve her mind of its anxieties. Turning to her side, she gripped her ears, unable to rid them of this constant ringing sound. What was I dreaming about? The dream seemed to Disapparate from her mind. She couldn’t remember anything except…Laughter. In her dreams, the laughter had become so loud, so overbearing that it completely eclipsed any rational thought that she tried to pull forth.

Tossing once more, she became frustrated with herself. “Might as well clean my ruddy room, since I can’t sleep.” She thought to herself.

With an outstretched hand, she grasped at her wand, which had rolled a few centimeters past her fingertips on her bed. She tugged at the quilt with more force than necessary, which sent her wand in the opposite direction. It landed with a sickening thud that caused Marietta to lunge forward, going head first off the bed. A yelp turned to stifled laughter, her wand lying next to her in perfect condition. She glanced at the door, expecting her mum to have appeared, bleary-eyed in the doorway. Luckily, it seemed as if the prescribed sleeping draught had worked. Marietta didn’t want to disturb her. Sitting up, she reached for a nearby scrunchie and tied up the mass of reddish-blonde curls that had been sticking to the sides of her face.

From this angle, she was able to see the remnants of her depression. The floor was cluttered with cups, bowls, and plates. Several outfits and shoes were scattered, dropped after only one use. And her Hogwarts trunk lay in the corner, overflowing with books, cloaks, quills, and parchment. She rose solemnly, marching towards it. The trunk had grown quite dusty. It had been sitting this way for almost a year now, abandoned in the corner of her room since leaving Hogwarts.

Her finishing ceremony had been a glum one, the more formal celebration forgone since the passing of Dumbledore was still fresh on everyone’s minds. Many parents had taken their children and fled shortly after paying their respects, which Marietta found strange because where, if any place, was safe? The students that had stayed behind received their certificates of completion with little fanfare and returned home to a brand new wizarding world. A world where even the most powerful and respected wizards were no longer able to contain the threat of the Dark Lord’s uprising.  

Grabbing the nearest t-shirt, she began wiping the trunk gingerly. The dust clung to the shirt without much hesitation and Marietta began organizing the contents of the trunk. First, she took out the cloaks, shaking them slightly and placing them to the side to be hanged. Next, the books. She gathered them by subject matter and walked them over to her book shelf. For a moment she hesitated on whether to line them by height or color. The work moved quickly and she realized that a sense of lightness had filled her as she could now see more of the floor. She gathered her hangers from her closet and eagerly began to hang the various cloaks and jumpers that were now in a pile in the middle of the floor.

In search of more work, Marietta eagerly scanned the room until her eyes landed on a stack of mail that had been neatly laid on her dresser. She had stopped opening them after receiving nearly two months worth of rejection letters. At every interview she had attended since leaving Hogwarts, she saw the way people took in her overall appearance. Their eyes would fall on the scar that had been painfully seared into her face, the word “sneak.” The word had made her untrustworthy to any and every new person  she came in contact with. She had taken to wearing a balaclava but even in the wizarding world, the accessory seemed out of place. For a fleeting moment, she thought bitterly of Hermione Granger and the other members of Dumbledore’s Army.

An envelope in the shade of a very pale pastel pink stood out amongst all the letters. Quickly, she grabbed it, ripping it open, hoping for good news. A piece of parchment in the same shade of pink slid out of the envelope. At first glance, Marietta was distracted by the enchanted kittens playing with a ball of yarn along the bottom of the sheet as she unfolded the letter. She soon regained focus and began to read.

Dear Miss Edgecombe,

It has been brought to my attention that you are currently seeking a position within the Ministry of Magic’s Research Committee. I regret to inform you that at the moment, we do not have an opening within that department. The position has been filled.  However, if you would like to join me, I am in need of an office assistant, as I am back in my position as the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. The position is yours pending the results of both yours and your father’s trial before the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. I see that there are some questions regarding your father’s parentage.

Signed,

Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic

Though dated nearly three months ago, Marietta felt her throat constrict. Tears blurred her vision and her breathing was shallow. Another threat to her family. Not only had Professor Umbridge alienated her from those that she had cared about at Hogwarts, she seemed to get a sort of twisted pleasure from reminding Marietta that she was now alone.

This wasn’t the first time that Umbridge had used the post to send seemingly non-threatening letters to her. Marietta had embarrassed her, and embarrassing Umbridge had put a target on her back. Near the beginning of last term, Umbridge had sent a letter to her parents, praising them for the way they had “brought up such a lovely and smart young lady,” but who had unfortunately been seen hanging around with some undesirables. The news had sent shockwaves through her parents. They had explicitly told her to keep her head down and her nose clean. Sticking to Umbridge’s good side were her marching orders and Marietta, ever the good daughter, stuck to them.

Times had changed dramatically since those long ago months at Hogwarts. Her parents had gone from being happy Ministry employees to frightened worker bees. Unknown to them, Marietta had overheard them speaking in hushed tones about the change of environment in the Ministry. Mr. Edgecombe, a short and stumpy man with greying red-blonde hair, had started to lose the rosiness of his cheeks. His eyes were now dark and framed by heavy bags underneath. And he had sunken in cheeks from the significant amount of weight he had lost since receiving a letter on official parchment nearly one month prior.

“I don’t know what I am going to do, Marjorie,” he said, frightened, “ I don’t know much about my mum and da. I was left at St. Catherine’s…”

“I know, darling. I know. Surely there’s something we can do.” Mrs. Edgecombe whispered, slightly squeezing her husband’s hand, “We have worked for the Ministry for decades now. It has to count for something.”

The moment was quickly cut short. A floor board had groaned loudly as Marietta shifted her position in the hall, alerting her parents that they were no longer speaking in private. Acting quickly, she had strolled into the kitchen, eying her father as he quickly stashed the letter into the pocket of his cloak. They ate breakfast in silence. Neither parent had asked about her plans or about any upcoming job interviews that morning, or tried to boost her confidence.  

—

Blinking back her tears, Marietta pulled herself from the memory. It left just as quickly as it had arrived. She decided it was best to push down the upset feeling that had made itself known in the pit of her stomach. The idea of never again seeing her father was painful and she would not subject herself to it if it wasn’t necessary. Father had spent the majority of the last few weeks trying to find information on his family to no avail. The nuns at St. Catherine’s had only been able to repeat the same story that he had heard all of his life. Edwin Edgecombe had been abandoned on the church steps on a warm summer evening in July. He seemed to be mere days old, swaddled and placed in a basket, sleeping ever so peacefully. There was a note containing only his name and a smeared “sorry.” This was not nearly enough for the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. Edwin had been arrested and taken to some unknown place that they presumed to be Azkaban. Her mum had returned home with soaked clothes, having walked home alone in the rain without her umbrella, tears streaming down her face. With Mr. Edgecombe gone, she’d grown increasingly clingy and jumpy, losing many nights of sleep counting down to Marietta’s fast approaching trial.

Marietta sighed. Glancing towards the wardrobe and catching her eyes in the mirror, she turned her face away. She had become a pro at avoiding her own reflection. A warm sensation began to radiate from the middle of her hand and out towards her fingertips. She jumped, staring down at the carpeted floor of her bedroom. Where her hand had just been lay a small golden coin. She picked it up, holding it high and examining the surface of it. It dawned on her slowly, it was her Dumbledore’s Army galleon!

Quick as a flash, Marietta was on her feet. What did this all mean? Was somebody in trouble?

Stumbling, she grabbed her trousers and began pacing the room. The faces of all of the D.A. members raced through her mind. Luna, Neville, Dean, Cho…Cho? They hadn’t spoken in months. Cho had reached out a few times but, Marietta, hunkered down in depression, had ignored her friend’s attempts. The last she had heard, Cho had gone on holiday in Paris.

Marietta, picked up the coin and, holding it high in the air, examined it once more. It was still radiating heat. She had half hoped that it was her imagination. A warm yellow light outlined the small dragon emblem on the surface of the coin and slowly dimmed. There was nothing to do now but to answer the call. But, who exactly was calling?

Hogwarts! I’ve got to get to Hogwarts. It was the only option. Everything happens at Hogwarts. It had been that way since her second year.

An overwhelming sense of duty flooded through Marietta’s mind. Her father, her upcoming trial, the news in the Daily Prophet, people needed help. This wasn’t the time to sit back, there were things worth fighting for. She had knowingly signed up to be able to defend her family and her friends back at Hogwarts, partially out of teenage rebellion but mostly out of fear. The writing had been on the wall in fifth year when Harry showed up at the end of the Triwizard Tournament holding Cedric’s body.

In a flash, Marietta had pulled on her trousers, a jumper, and tied her trainers extra tight. She was panting from both fear and excitement. She approached her dresser, looking for a scarf to tie around her face and head. Her hands were shaking so much that the scarf felt impossible to get on. In pure frustration, she ripped it off and tossed it aside.

“If I’m going to die tonight, I’ll will face them fully,” she said aloud to herself, thinking of the Death Eaters.

The words hit her like a brick. She could possibly die tonight. Puffing out her chest, she scrawled a note, a goodbye letter to her mother. She placed the note on her dresser with great care and took one last look at her bedroom. It was now spotless and she noticed a photo of her and her friends cheering on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team on her bulletin board. Smiling sadly, she closed the room door and headed towards the family room. With a swish of the wrist, she cast Muffliato, reached into the pot over the mantle, and tossed Floo powder into the fireplace. Green sparks shot up and turned into great flames, She cast one more doubting look around the room and stepped inside.

“Hogsmeade!” she said boldly and disappeared from view.

—

“Who’s there?!” cried a frightened voice in the darkness.

Marietta had landed with a large thud in an unknown dark room. Why didn’t I think of a specific shop? She thought as she filled with panic. Rolling out of view, she gripped her wand at her side and placed her back against a solid structure. Struggling with all of her might, she held her breath.

“Lumos,” said the frightened voice. “I know you’re in here. I heard you!”

The light moved, casting shadows onto the surrounding walls. The dim lighting revealed a big room filled with tables and chairs. The footsteps grew closer and Marietta’s heart beat hard in her chest.

“Lumos Maxima!” she roared, stepping out into the open.

Madam Rosmerta yelped, covering her eyes. She stood there for a moment, trembling in her dressing gown, deep emerald robes and satin bonnet. Marietta took notice of her fear and lowered her wand.

“Nox,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Nox,” repeated Rosmerta. Her wand extinguished. “Who are you? What do you want?” her voice trembled.

“My name is Marietta Edgecombe. I used to go to Hogwarts and I have a feeling that I’m needed here tonight.” Marietta said bravely, thinking of the warm coin in her left hand.

“Is that so?” Rosmerta snorted, wand still pointed dangerously at Marietta. “Well it seems as if there is a rough lot around here tonight. You wouldn’t happen to be here with them?” She said squinting.

“No, I’m not,” Marietta said, gripping her wand tightly again.

“Very well then,” Rosmerta said suddenly dropping her wand. “Looks like we’ll need a drink then.”

She crossed the room and strolled behind the bar. With a flick of the wand two mugs slowly lowered from the shelf to the counter. Rosmerta walked to a nearby sink and rinsed them. Summoning a towel, she dried them by hand and set them before Marietta.

“You like firewhisky?” she said searching the shelves.

“Uhhh...”

“Good. Me too,” she chuckled.

With two very generous helpings served, she said, “Cheers!” and downed the glass.

Marietta stared at the mug and winced. She hesitantly took as sip and immediately began sputtering. The whiskey burned from the moment it touched her lips and a warming sensation was lodged in her chest. She needed more time to think. Where would the other D.A. members meet? They had never planned on being out of Hogwarts when the attack happened.

“Atta girl!” said Rosmerta laughing and pouring herself another mug.

“So, what happened here?” said Marietta looking around distractedly. The Three Broomsticks, once lively and warm, had an overwhelming feeling of sadness.

“I closed down last year, wasn’t really any reason to keep this place running,” Rosmerta said, staring off into space, “Not after everyone found out that I was responsible for Dumbledore’s death.”

“But. You didn’t—” started Marietta.

“I did enough!” Rosmerta cut in. “One of the most brilliant wizards of our time, Dumbledore was.”

They drank in silence once more. Unfortunately to Marietta, the next sip was just as horrible as the first. She pushed away the glass. A slight crack outside the pub turned their attention. They jumped up from their positions and pointed the wands in the direction of the noise. Hushed whispers could be heard from outside. Marietta moved quickly, pressing herself against the walls, she made her way to the curtained window near the door.  From her vantage point she was able to make out a group of about three people, running in a serpentine pattern, ducking in an out of the shadows. Marietta stared, squinting into the darkness to try to make out who they were.

Marietta waited with bated breath as the trio moved silently down the road. The smallest of the group stumbled slightly, betraying herself in the glow of a nearby torch.

“Cho,” gasped Marietta.

As quickly as she had appeared, Cho was back in the shadows, racing in the direction of Hogwarts. Without thinking, Marietta Apparated into the next alley. They slammed into one another, causing Marietta to land roughly onto the cobbled street. Regaining focus, she noticed not one but three wands pointed in her direction. Dean Thomas, Luna Lovegood, and Cho Chang stood above her, wands aimed at her chest.

“M-Mari?!” Cho sputtered.

“Hi,” Marietta said weakly as she rose to her feet.

Cho quickly embraced her. “What are you doing here?” she said in a hushed whisper.

“The coin,” Marietta said, pulling the galleon from her pocket. “I knew that it had to be Hogwarts. We trained all that time. They took my dad.”

The words felt fragmented and suddenly Marietta became aware of who she was talking to. What if they didn’t accept her? What if they thought that she was working for the other side? She thought of the branded “sneak,” on her face. Why would they believe her for even one second?

As if reading her mind, Dean smirked knowingly. “Come on, Sneaks, we’ve got work to do”

3 Weeks Later…..

“Where is it? Where is it?” Marietta said, frantically running around her house.

She had scrubbed the house from top to bottom and spent more time than necessary fluffing the pillows on the couch. There were flowers, balloons, and cards covering every flat surface in the living room and kitchen. Her father was coming home today. After the Battle of Hogwarts, it had taken about a week for the Ministry to find him and the other missing wizards that had not been successful in their meeting with the Muggle-Born Registration Commission.

The unfortunate wizards had been found in the dungeons of Azkaban, locked away with less than the necessary amount of space. They were hungry and dehydrated but, thankfully, still alive. Edwin had been whisked away to St. Mungos with the severely injured, having been subjected to a few beatings for standing up to their Death Eater guards.

The kettle screamed loudly as Marietta had taken to searching the coat closet. Her father’s favorite throw blanket had been put away as warmer weather prevailed but she could not for the life of her figure out where her mom had put it.

“Ha!” She screamed in victory as the blanket toppled onto her head from the top shelf.

Racing to the kitchen to remove the kettle from the stove top, she sighed. Everything looked great and her parents would be home very soon. She went about setting plates full of her father’s favorite things. It would be a lovely brunch. Veggie frittata, sausages, fresh squeezed orange juice, and giant slices of banana bread, fresh from the oven. She was so excited that she almost missed the sound of the doorbell and two large knocks that echoed throughout the hallway.

She ran, skidding to a halt at the door. “Mom you’re back so soon, I can’t belie—” she stopped midway as she opened the door.

The smile faded from her face, a feeling of disdain  taking over.

“Umm…hello,” said a very unsure looking Hermione Granger with a weak wave.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Marietta roared. She slammed the door with so much force that it seemed as if the glass would break.

Frantic muttering could be heard as she had stormed back into her living room. Mrs. Weatherby, annoying neighbor and gossip extraordinaire, suddenly popped into her mind. Marietta could envision her looking out her window at this moment and seeing Hermione Granger flailing around on her doorstep. It was at the precise moment of this thought that Hermione began to annoyingly ring the doorbell and knock louder than was necessary.

“MARIETTA! PLEASE, I JUST WANT TO TALK!” she yelled from the porch.

Rolling her eyes, Marietta pivoted and started once again toward the front door. She swung it open to reveal a very red-faced Hermione, who had been so busy ringing the doorbell that she hadn’t noticed the open door.

“You have five minutes.” Marietta said warningly. She opened the door wider to let Hermione slip in.

—

Taking her place across the table from Hermione, Marietta slid over a cup of tea. Hermione had been sitting, anxiously looking around the room.

“Your home is lovely,” she started.

“Is that what you came here to talk about?” Marietta said with raised eyebrows as she sipped her tea.

“No.” Hermione sighed. She reached for her own cup, taking a sip and choking slightly.

“Sorry, my dad likes a bit of dragon’s breath chili in his tea,” Marietta smirked, taking another sip.

Hermione grabbed the nearest napkin and began dabbing her eyes. “I have been trying to get in contact with you,” she said.

“Mmmm… well?”

“Listen, I know that we didn’t get off on the right foot—”

Marietta snorted.

“—but, it has been absolutely my fault. “ Hermione finished.

Marietta was so stunned she didn’t really know what to say.

“We were all doing what we thought was best and…I treated you unfairly. I should’ve told you, told all of you, what you were getting into by signing up for the D.A. I had convinced myself that it was for the best. It was for the safety of all of us. I should’ve been more straightforward and I’m sorry.”

More silence.

“And you showed up to Hogwarts—”

“That wasn’t for you!” Marietta snapped.

“Of- Of course not” Hermione said, looking down at her hands in embarrassment. “Anyway, I really came here because I think I figured out a way to get that off of your face,” she said, indicating towards the marks.

“Excuse me?” Marietta said confused. She had tried several remedies and none had had any effect, and now Hermione was offering a cure?

“I’m sorry that it took so long, busy year,” Hermione said with a slight chuckle. She reached in her bag and pulled out a small pot of cream. “May I?”

Marietta gave a slight nod, Hermione opened the jar and spread a small amount of the substance over Marietta’s scars. There was a warming, then cooling sensation. As she looked across the table, Hermione burst into a smile.

“See?” she said, handing a small compact mirror to her.

Marietta stared back at her reflection, unable to believe her eyes. She slammed down the compact and ran into the hallway. Hermione rushed after her, almost falling as she slammed into the now frozen Marietta in front of the mirror. The scars had almost completely vanished.

“You may need to do it one more time to get them off thoroughly,” Hermione said sheepishly.

As Marietta stared in shock at her reflection, Hermione quietly gathered her belongings and started to head for the door. As she reached it, Marietta called out.

“Hermione, wait.”

Hermione turned around with a slight grimace.

“Thank you.” Marietta said softly. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I did,” Hermione said.

Suddenly, Marietta was struck with an idea.“Can you do something else for me before you go?” she asked.

—

A cab rolled slowly to the front gate of the Edgecombe home. Mr. and Mrs. Edgecombe slowly, with the help of the driver, began to exit as Hermione and Marietta walked onto the porch.

“Thank you. Again,” said Marietta as she stuck her hand out to Hermione.

On her forearm was a delicate tattoo in the shape of a wand. As she and Hermione shook hands, sparks flew from the tip of the wand and the words “Dumbledore’s Army Est.1995” formed above it. They disappeared and another spark formed the word “Sneaks.”

“I’ll be seeing you then.” Hermione said as she walked down the path.

“See you,” Marietta said with a wave.

[melancholicvampires]

The forest was quiet in the morning. The sun was still low, only a few birds sang their song to awake their fellow friends and fog covered in a light white veil the otherwise colourful ground. Rustling leaves and picking of flowers, herbs and mushrooms disturbed the harmonic melody of the forest. Gwen collected them for medicine and new potions. Mostly to ease wounds of younger nymphs and dryads. Every other day there seems to be a new scratch on their delicate arms. Their older sisters are known for being wild and whitout consideration of the younger ones, still so inexperienced in the woods treacherous nature and the skill of bow and arrow.

They are peculiar patients, however, they pay well in elaborate trinkets and meals, filling for many days. And their company. Gwen never bothered with being alone, after all the forest was around her. She often whispered tales and songs of a long time ago. Gwen loved to listen to these stories, but the forest was still asleep, her cold breath all around Gwen and her hands and fingers still high up in order to protect her children from the sun. „Sleep a little longer“, she'd say.

Now Gwen felt the silence. This dreadful silence and unsettling loneliness. She even misses the company of the nymphs and dryads, although they are extravagant to say the least. They talk too much, touch everything and bring pure chaos to every unopened jar.

She didn't realize how the mushrooms she added fell from the little mountain of ingredient in the basket. She flinched when she heard the thudding and sighed as she noticed how she got lost in thought, putting the ingredients in the gras in her pockets and carrying the now heavy basket.

The way to her home was already well-trodden. She hummed a song Célestin sang to her once. She forgot the lyrics and story of it. She only remembered the melody and liking it. The melody sounded happy and at ease, but the story of the song was sad. She didn't understand it. Why cover emotions like this? Célestin explained it to her. Something with artistic stylization. But even he didn't seem to know a satisfactorily answer to her question and eventually just said, that people are like this and not everything could be understood.

As she came closer to her house, she noticed how the door was slightly opened. Did she leave it open or was it one of the younger nymphs, playing pranks?

In expectation of a nymph or dryad in the middle of a mess she opened the door with a sigh.

Instead there was a familiar person in her room looking at the different bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling and turning to Gwen as she entered the room.

„Mademoiselle, I was awaiting you“, Valère said as he came closer to her.

„I didn't know you were coming on this day", Gwen said, looking in slight confusion at him. The forest kept quiet about a stranger. Or the forest's eyes and ears weren't aware of his presence.

„You couldn't know. I didn't send message of my arrival. It was a rather haste decision one might say. I apologize for my unannounced visit“. As he took her hand she noticed how cold they were, but they also gave a feeling of being secure and protected. He kissed her hand softly, almost careful like she was a precious treasure.

„Is everything alright, Mademoiselle? Your cheeks are glowing. Are you not feeling well?“, Valère asked.

„What? No, I'm fine", she stammered, not realizing how she was blushing and kept staring at Valère. „Do you want a cup of tea? I can make you one. I have plenty of teas".

„That would be lovely, however, I'm the one who came into your house without an announcement. You shouldn't feel obligated to do any more effort than needed, which is already a high request for my uncouth behaviour. I should be the one making tea for you, Mademoiselle. Your kindness is too great“, he insisted.

Gwen couldn't avoid feeling reminded of how Célestin talks, when he shows her scenes from a play he's acting in. She wondered, if Valère liked plays too and which one he liked best.

„It's alright. I like making tea and it's quick to make“. However he still seemed unsatisfied with the situation. She lifted the filled basket in his direction. „You can lay the herbs and mushrooms to dry, uhm, Monsieur".

„Of course, Mademoiselle“, he bowed slightly and took the basket. For a short moment she felt the comforting cold of his touch again.

The several bundles of herbs rustled as she rummaged though them, grinning and searching for the one with the finest scent and taste. So rarely there's an oppurtunity to serve a more special tea. The young dryads and nymphs seem to avoid any other tea than black tea. Gwen suspects it's because of the effect keeping one awake and active. Célestin has a dislike in tea altogether.

„You don't need to call me Monsieur. Call me by my name Valère. I so seldom hear that name in present days“, he said.

She filled a pot with water on the stove, wondering how he meant that. Why wouldn't others call him be his name?

„Alright. Then I want you to call me Guinevere, Valère“.

„My pleasure, Guinevere", he smiled. It was an honest, warm smile. Different than the forced smile among the crowds on the masquerade. She smiled back at him.

How he  of her name was what she loved. Most people pronounce her name rather clumsy, but he said it so smooth, almost elegant even.

There was a harmonic silence. No need for senseless conversation only to avoid the lack of spoken words. Gwen thought about how it would be if he lived here in the village, the forest or maybe even with her in the house. She started blushing again, shaking her head slightly to get clear again. He's only there for an appointment, she reminded herself.

Valère broke the silence eventually. „You might remember the reason why I came here. I need to talk with you about-", he took a short break like he was searching for the right word, „the condition I'm under“.

„Yes, I remember. But you didn't tell me much about your condition. So I wasn't able to prepare for it". She slowly poured the steaming hot tea in her favourite tea cups in an attempt not to end this moment. They had a few tears, but she loved the patterns on them, depicting flowers and herbs.

„Did you tell anyone, that I would seek your help?“. It was the same question he asked before he vanished at the masquerade.

„I promised!“, she repeated what she has already said on that very evening. She knew how precious promises are. And she knew how promises often hide secrets, which are even more precious, only revealed to few. Gwen felt a little proud about herself and couldn't stop herself from grinning, although it was merely a second.

She made a gesture to take a seat at the table, to which he followed. As she put the tea cups onto the table, Valère nodded and thanked her. When she looked down on the surface area, she couldn't but notice just how much dust there was on it. Whenever she's meaning to free the furniture from her neglection, she's telling herself there are more important things to do instead, like sorting books in alphabetical order, looking outside the window at her garden or laying in bed and daydreaming. Not only was a thick layer of dust on the table and shelves, but also the kitchen was overflowing with filthy dishes and covered in flower pollen and she forgot about the dirt from her daily forest walks weeks ago. Boots, filthy with dried mud and a worn apron laid tossed on the ground. Her face turned bright red. He must be used to much better establishments and think of her home as the very definition of the chaotic hell. If he was bothered by the mess, he didn't show it. Gwen sent a quiet prayer to the Fae Queen he wouldn't notice or at least not comment on it.

„It's not my intention to offend or doubt your obligation to secrecy. Quite the opposite. You appear to me more trustworthy than other doctors I made the acquaintance with. Unfortunately the majority of those doctors value money more than the vice of respecting their patients. In the end their grief rarely pays off. Most of them land on the street, ending up as beggars. Word spreads fast among people. Especially when they are in malcontent“. He took a sip from the tea. „The tea is excellent. Much better than those served in aristocrat circles“.

„Thank you! I made it out of rosemary, fennel and elder flower. They are calming and comforting. I dry the herbs myself“. She pointed to the ceiling, decorated with tied up herbal goods, gifting the whole house with a delightful scent. She turned her head back at his direction and looked him into the eyes. „Why do you think I would break the promise?“

Valère took another sip and carefully placed the tea cup back on the table. „It's not your silence I'm concerned about, but rather the ability to keep quiet of your chatty friend“.

„You know him? Did you see him in a play?“. Suddenly Gwen's eyes grew bigger and she placed her elbows on the table in order to prop up her head.

Célestin didn't talk much about Valère, only to „stay away from him", but he didn't mention a reason. Also she rarely hears others talk about his acting other than him. His sister mostly critiques minor things and Enzio doesn't seem to be able to express any rational thought when it's about Célestin. She was always in awe after seeing him on stage. Standing in front of so many people and pretending to be someone else appeared to be an impossible task to her.

He nodded. „With exception of the interruption of our conversation he caused, yes, I did meet him before. I saw him on stage once of a play I can't remember the name of I'm afraid. It was horrible. The press called it a waste of time and a sorry tale of the theater. Yet your friend managed to keep the audience entertained. So I wonder to this day, why does an actor as skilled as him and with such memorable charisma, squander his talent on bad plays?“

„Célestin? I thought he only participates in well known plays, like Shakespeare or greek tragedies", Gwen commented, „He named the exact same reason, that he would be too extraordinary to be part of pitiful plays".

„He must have decided for another path then". He raised an eyebrow and added in a low mumbling voice, „In more than one way“.

Gwen tilted her head slightly. It was like he talked about someone else, someone who is different than the person she knew, yet there was a distinct resemblance.

She realized how Célestin never talked about the far past. Maybe she ask him about that next time he visits her. The thought never crossed her mind that he played in poor plays. She had to suppress a laugh at the thought of it.

Valère cleared his throat. „Your friend, Célestin, he is much smarter than one would think at first glance. He achieved popularity and high esteem, although he has a loose tongue, draws the anger and disapproval of influential people easily at him and courts every person that merely lays a brief glance at him“.

„That sounds like him", she snickered. It reminded her of a saying. Old habits never die.

„What I meant to say is, no matter how trusted of a friend he is to you, he is not one to keep a secret“, he concluded, „And I would prefer this matter stays within these walls".

Gwen wanted to ask more questions. She just wanted to sit with him, while looking at him, seeing and hearing the way he talks. There was still no clear answer how he met Célestin. Is that the reason he has a dislike for Valère?

„You don't need to worry. I will tell no one, not even him“, she swore and put her hand over the place of her heart. Even if she wanted to tell him, she couldn't. He would be upset to find out she's been meeting the person he told her to stay away from. Maybe she wouldn't even get a chance to meet him again. That's the last thing she wants.

„Are you feeling ill? You appear pale". Valère’s voice pulled her out of her dilemma.

„No, I'm alright“, she replied and shook her head as in to clarify her point' „Must be the light shining through the window“.

The sun was almost at it's highest point. The otherwise bleak appearing room transformed into a friendly cozy room. Gwen had to think of the flowers in her garden. They welcomed the change. The thick leafy canopy makes it hard for the sun rays to reach the flower down on the ground. Now the flowers would try extending their throats the get every bit of the rare warm gift. Gwen preferred the early and the night hours. Rare and shy flowers showed their countenance to those who are patient and quiet. How she would love to show them to someone. She quickly glanzed to Valère only to withdraw her eyes back to the cup of tea in front of her.

„It stays our secret", Gwen smiled, feeling satisfied when she uttered the words ‚our secret'.

„I'm glad I met someone as trustworthy as you at the masquerade. It's not an easy task to find liability and loyalty anymore“, Valère said, visibly at ease. His slight smile and relieved eyes changed to a serious expression. „I assume there is no other simple approach as to tell you directly of the circumstances that brought me here“.

Gwen leaned a little forward and kept her stare into his pale eyes as if to tell from the slightest movement of his eyes what the answer will be.

„So, Mademoiselle Guinevere“, he continued, „let me ask you, are you in position of knowledge about blood curses?“.

Gwen's eyes widened in surprise. Blood curses are forbidden knowledge, only accessible to very few, who guard every text and trace to keep it from the wrong hands. This unspoken law is common even among the feys. The Queen once explained it to Gwen, when she was still small and at the beginning of learning about magic. Blood curses are never to be used by anyone for the consequences of the cursed are an endless suffering, even surpassing immortality. So she never asked about it nor had the thought of gathering information about it.

„You don't appear to be familiar with this matter“, he sighed in conclusion of her silence and startled expression, „Pardon my intrusion and for having asked this question. It was presumptuous of me to conceive you to carry forbidden knowledge. I thank you for the tea and your time“.

He got up from his chair with a smile that was thankful, but his eyes spoke of sadness. It probably wasn't the first time he received this answer. He was about to leave as Gwen in an impulse quickly stood up and rushed to him, grabbing his arm.

„No wait!“, she exclaimed, „I might be able to help you".

He turned his face to her. His eyes seemed to have a subtle shimmer of hope.

„I know where to get information about this kind of curse“, she continued.

„I do not doubt you do, however, it interests me where such a place may be. I've been asking people with arcane knowledge with no success for quite some time and none even considered giving a hint that might be of use“.

„The forest holds many secrets. One just has to find them. And to whom the forest is sympathetic, will find what they are looking for“, Gwen straightened her back and crosses her arms behind her back, smiling confidently.

A realization struck her and she looked up with shining eyes to Valère, who gave her a confused look. She gasped, „Maybe that's how you found through the woods to my house!“.

He now appeared completely lost. „I'm afraid I can't follow".

„The forest likes you. You're a good person. I knew it when I first saw you“. Gwen grinned in her triumph over the exaggerated warnings Célestin gave her. As much as she would have liked to tell him he was wrong, she couldn't. She promised to keep it a secret after all.

„Well, I'm not aware how I deserve this compliment, but I thank you for it“, he said with doubt in his voice.

Gwen took his hands and smiled at him the brightest smile. „The forest’s voices never lie. They only speak the truth. You don't need to doubt their words“.

Valère quickly turned his face, drew away his hands and cleared his throat, however, Gwen didn't overlook the light touch of red on his face.

„I believe, I must go now", he stated, still looking in the other direction.

„Must you already? There's still so much time".

„I must. Unfortunately I can not be away for a long time. The work I must fulfil is keeping me from it". Before he opened the door he turned his gaze back to her, noticing her looking to the ground and added, „But I will be back. I promise it to you as you gave a promise to me".

„When you promise me, I will be here waiting for you“. She lifted her head again.

„I do", he smiled, „Thank you for your hospitality and the fantastic tea. You are a charming young lady, Mademoiselle Guinevere".

Gwen’s face turned red and she snickered. „You're weird".

After processing what he just heard, he laughed. „That's what many people whisper behind my back I never heard it someone confess to me so bluntly".

„Did I say something wrong?“.

„No, you didn't. In fact I’m intrigued for our next conversation“. He wiped a tear away. „Well, I must be on my way now. I won't repeat my mistake and keep you waiting for so long. I hope to see you soon again".

Gwen waved her hand slightly to say goodbye and followed his silhouette as he turned on his heel to walk the path out of the forest. Out of her world. She still was a little upset to be alone again, but the promise of seeing him again brought comfort to her.

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

The Parting Chapter Four

Description: The only certainty in life is death, and it seems to follow Park Jimin. All his life, the icy shadow of death has hung closely by his side, along with the shadow of…something else. Reapers exist to guide the souls of the living to the world beyond. But what happens when a particular Reaper tampers with the natural order and saves a mortal boy’s life? What will they do once their fates become inextricably linked?

Genre: Supernatural, Drama, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jimin x (f) OC

Word Count: 9.9k

Tags: Flower Shop Owner!Jimin, Reaper!OC, Non-Idol!AU, Cop!Yoongi, Supernatural!AU

Warnings: Death, swearing and mentions of alcohol, although infrequently

A/N: Alright, it’s real emo hours since Epiphany dropped. I’m consistently amazed with their work. Anyway, I hope you guys are doing well. I’m a wee bit stressed, but it’s nothing major! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. As always, I will respond to all asks received within a day of receiving them, so feel free and feel comfortable sending me anything! And please send feedback, criticism, comments or concerns my way so I can address them.

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Chapter One

Masterlist

Weekly updates: Sunday, 1PM (PST)

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong.

Something felt very very wrong.

Namjoon continued chatting beside me in the patrol car, but my focus was missing, drifting elsewhere. Possibly deliberately, Namjoon had avoided mentioning the arrest for the duration of the drive. He seemed quite shaken about the issue back at the cafe, but he was careful to collect himself as soon as we were alone in the car. I wondered vaguely if he was being conscious of me, trying not to upset me. But then a new, more uncomfortable thought occurred to me; what if he wasn’t talking about it because he’d grown suspicious of me?

He parked the car and I exited quickly. Regret began filling me up. I had revealed too much needlessly. Yoongi had already gotten the information from Jimin by the time I’d told it to Namjoon. The only thing I hadn’t gotten the chance to mention was-

“Namjoon,” I said, leaning back inside the car to stare at him seriously.

He turned to give me a big smile. “Yeah?”

“As Jimin left the bar, one of the boys with him stood to leave. I didn’t see which one,” I said, meeting his eyes seriously as his smile fell.

His eyes went wide. “Wait-uh,” he started, then struggled with his seatbelt.

“No, it’s okay. You don't need to get out,” I said, shaking my head. He stilled and looked at me. “Just…just make sure you catch the right person, okay?”

He shook his head. “I will, but…,” he began, then sighed. “I’m sorry, but it’s gonna be a lot harder without your testimony.”

I inhaled long and slow. “I…Namjoon, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you. I desperately want to,” I said, searching his face. I wanted him to trust me. To believe me. His eyes were foggy with worry. “But it’s not as simple as that. There are things I simply cannot explain.”

He nodded. “I understand. And I won’t push you,” he said. “But…in the future, you might be the only thing that stands in the way of a criminal getting justice.”

My brows furrowed and I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. “I see.”

He reached out and patted my hand as it rested on the dashboard, my body hovering halfway inside the car. “Don’t worry too much, okay?” he said, then smiled brightly. “Nothing you said today will be used. I’ll keep it to myself, okay?”

I nodded. “I’m trusting you.”

“I’m happy you are.”

Again, I nodded before pulling myself out of the car. I waved over my shoulder as Namjoon pulled off onto the road, quickly racing towards the police station. I sighed after him and turned towards the shop. The flowers in the front of the shop were beginning to droop slightly. They needed tending. With a quiet sigh, I pulled Jimin’s keyring from the big front pocket of my dress and, as I did, I noticed my empty hands. I groaned.

“Dammit,” I mumbled to myself, unlocking the door to the shop and propping it open so the place could get some fresh air. I’d left the bag of groceries at the cafe by the beach. Namjoon and I had left in such a hurry that I hadn’t thought to grab it.

I wandered around the shop, running my fingertips along the countertops atop which pots of flowers and various plant life sat comfortably. Beside each were hand-written price tags. I couldn’t help but smile at the way Jimin’s handwriting curved here and dipped there. It was animated and bright, like him. With a quick sigh I turned towards the workroom and walked inside. I walked to the back and grabbed for the old yellow watering can, filling it quickly in the large sink by the window. I glanced outside. The very same window where Jimin’s father had placed those delicate, wilting peonies four years ago. It was strange, even nostalgic staring at that space. I glanced towards the ground, my sneakered feet sitting right beside where his father had fallen. Unconsciously, I inched closer to the sink’s wide basin. The windowsill, now empty, now gathered dust. It remained unopened. I watched the world outside, winding streets, swaying trees vibrant with springtime life, children playing on the sidewalks, weaving all the way down to the beach.

And this window was closed to it all.

“Ah!” I exclaimed as the watering can overflowed into the sink.

I shook my head and grabbed its slippery handle, finding it quite heavier than I expected. I walked carefully back into the store and gingerly lifted the weighty can, dousing each plant along the walls with water. How Jimin managed to reach those high planter baskets overhead was beyond me. I stood cautiously on tiptoe to tilt the can towards a row of daisies on a chest-high shelf and slipped a little, water sloshing over the side and splashing onto the dusty floor. I righted myself quickly, but before I could give it another attempt I felt the weight of the can lift in my hands and, amazed, stared at it for a while before noticing an extra pair of hands on the handle.

I gasped and jumped backwards, colliding with the stranger behind me. Gracelessly, water spilled out from the top of the can and drenched my face, dripping down towards the dress.

The dress!

I slipped out from beneath the stranger’s arms and rushed to the workroom, grabbing for a clean towel. I dabbed the water from the collar of the dress and, thankfully, found that it hadn’t stained. Such a precious dress should not be damaged by the likes of me.

Slowly, I exited the workroom and found a tall, broad-shouldered man watering the plants which were too tall for me. I watched him from the doorway for a long moment, eyeing him. He seemed rather…odd. He hadn’t spoken a single word as long as he’d been in the shop, hadn’t greeted me, hadn’t even apologized for startling me.

I approached him and he turned only his eyes towards me. “Hello,” he said.

I blinked up at him. “Um…,” I began, then shook my head. “Hello. Who are you?”

He halted his watering and turned to face me properly. “I’m Kim Seokjin. I work here,” he said, then bent at the waist to look me in the eye. “And who are you?”

I swallowed something uncomfortable in my throat and glanced away, towards the daisies. “I’m…I’m Nari.”

“No last name?”

“I’m afraid not.”

He nodded and returned to the plants, gently guiding the water over them. “You’re the one who they found with Jimin, right?” he asked.

“Oh…yes, I suppose,” I said, following him closely as he continued watering diligently.

“Did Jimin give you the key? I’ve been trying to meet up with him for the past few days, but the hospital says you have to be on the list and the little shit didn’t put me on,” said Seokjin with a begrudging sigh.

I nodded. “I’m staying here for a while. I have-,”

“Amnesia, right?” he asked, turning to me. “It’s all over the paper.”

I raised my brows. “Really?”

He nodded and gave a light chuckle. “Small town.”

He turned to walk towards the flowers in the window, giving them an extra spraying of water. I kept close to his side, watching his every move. He rolled the sleeved of his pink shirt up to his elbows, passing the watering can from one hand to the other. He pushed his hair from his face and continued.

“You’re a good worker,” I observed, once again unable to stop myself from speaking. I needed to be more mindful about allowing my inner dialogue to become outer dialogue.

He glanced at me and raised his brows. “What makes you say that?” he asked. “I’m just trying to take care of things so he doesn’t have to.”

“That’s what I was doing too,” I said, then glanced towards the open door. “Is that why you came in?” I asked, pointing to it.

He followed my finger and nodded. “Yeah. I was walking by on the way back from my other job,” he said, then sighed. “I kinda freaked out when I heard about it all. Like…why would someone target him?”

I recalled something in my distant memory. A phone call Jimin had taken on the day of the incident. He’d called someone. Someone named Jin. “Jin…,” I repeated, thinking on it.

He turned to me with wide brown eyes. “Hey, that’s my nickname,” he said, shaking his head. “Only friends call me that.” He began watering again and, again, I kept close. He tossed his head this way and that. “I mean, I guess we can be friends if you want.”

I furrowed my brow and crossed my arms. Something was weird about it. I tried to remember the call. “So you work here?” I asked, trying to pry for information.

He nodded, turning from the plants on the walls and turning towards the ones in the center of the shop. “Yeah, part-time. I was supposed to work on the night he was stabbed, but he called and told me not to.”

That was it! Jimin had said something about being a target…

“Ah,” I said, summoning all my tact to attempt a subtle question. “Do you feel guilty, perhaps?”

He nodded. “Yeah, pretty bad,” he said with a sigh. “I told him to be careful since the weather was bad and he seemed like the killer’s type.”

“Is the killer that well-known here?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Like I said,” he said, turning to me with a half-smile. “Small town.”

“Ah.”

“Things like that don’t happen here. Nobody can figure out why now, of all times, this place is getting so scary,” he said with a shrug. “We’ve never had a serial killer before.”

I nodded. “I suppose it’s shocking.”

“It’s been hard on the whole community,” he said. “Lots of people are blaming the kids.”

“What kids?” I asked, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

“The local kids. Taehyung and his friends,” he said.

I glanced at him. He was very well-focused on his task, eyes trained on the leaves as they dipped under the pressure of the water. “Taehyung,” I said, nodding. That was the other one at the bar, wasn’t it?

“They’re just dumb kids. Doubt they’d do something like this,” he said, then looked at me with a laugh. “Not quite smart enough.”

I raised my brows. “Does someone have to be smart to be a killer?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not to be a killer,” he said, then paused to think over his words. “But to be a killer and not get caught.”

“Were you worried about Jimin?” I asked, peering at him.

He nodded, rubbing his forehead with a long exhale. “So worried. I felt like I should have done something more.”

“What could you have done, really?” I asked, thinking back. “He’s your boss.”

“I know,” he said. He set the watering can on the table beside a bouquet of pink and yellow tulips. “Still, I wish I’d come to work anyway.”

I nodded. Truthfully, I wished I’d done more myself. I wished I’d simply stopped the assailant before he could attack Jimin. I wished I’d been able to solve the problem cautiously, without risking myself. I wished I’d been able to spare Jimin from pain.

A low groan rumbled from my gut and I glanced down to it in shock. The area began contracting in light aches and my eyes went wide. Seokjin laughed and leaned back against the table. “Hungry?” he asked.

I stared at him. “Is that what it is?” I asked.

He laughed again and nodded. “Yeah. You should go eat something.”

I shook my head. “I can’t. Jimin has no food.”

Seokjin’s brows raised and he shook his head. “Oh, well let’s get you some groceries then!” he said.

I grabbed his arm as he turned towards the open door. “No, really. It’s okay. I don’t want you to waste your money.”

“My money?” he asked, furrowing his brows. “I’m not paying. I expect you to buy the ingredients, plus an hourly rate for my time.”

“H-Hourly rate?” I asked, feeling around in the pocket of the dress for the rest of the money Namjoon had given me. Not much.

Seokjin nodded and held his hand out to me palm up, crossing his arms and tilting his head to the side. “I’ll accept the federal minimum wage.”

“Minimum wage…?”

He nodded again and shook his hand a little. “Mhm.”

We locked eyes for a long moment, his serious and mine panicked, before his expression broke and he laughed, shaking his head and turning on his heel. “I was teasing you.”

My heart which had begun to race settled and I followed him. Something in me was a little…upset? “That wasn’t very kind,” I said.

He turned over his shoulder and, smiling brightly, shrugged his shoulders. “I thought it was funny. You should’ve seen your face. All-,” he paused to offer a horrified expression before laughing again. “It was great.”

I crossed my arms but followed nonetheless, locking the front door behind me.

Seokjin focused keenly on the stove, watching the fish cook on a searing pan. I sat at the table, watching him just as keenly. “Why is Jimin letting you stay here?”

I kept my eyes trained on him and thought a moment. “Because he is kind.”

“Yeah,” said Seokjin with a laugh. “But there’s gotta be another reason for him to take in a stranger with amnesia, right?”

“I believe that would be a question better directed toward him,” I said, nodding.

But the more I thought about it, the stranger it was. From the years I’d been watching over him, Jimin had never been the naively kind type. He was thoughtful and compassionate, but never at the expense of his safety and good judgement. Like that night with Jungkook. He’d done the right thing telling him to stop smoking, but mostly for the sake of his own shop. Perhaps there was another reason I hadn’t realized yet…

I sighed, resting my cheek in my hand. “I got a text earlier,” said Seokjin. He peeked at me over his shoulder. “They arrested Jungkook.”

I stiffened. Had he read my thoughts? “I…yes.”

He nodded, poking the fish with his spatula. “Doesn’t seem right, does it?”

“Do you know him?” I asked.

He chuckled. “Of course,” he said. “Everyone knows everyone here. I watched Jungkook go from a quiet student failing math to a delinquent dropping out of school altogether.”

I laced my fingers and rested my chin atop them. “Was that what he was like?”

Seokjin nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “But Jimin…somehow, Jimin seemed to be a good influence. When Jimin graduated high school was when Jungkook started to spiral.”

“They were good friends?” I asked, something uncomfortable nestling in my stomach. I rubbed it.

“More like a mentor-mentee relationship,” he said.

I exhaled slowly. In the hallway, I heard the distant tumbling sound of the washing machine at work. Another thing Seokjin had helped me with. Still, having him in the apartment felt strange. I wasn’t sure why, but he made me uneasy. Perhaps it was the way he seemed to see through me. I had many things to hide, after all.

“Jimin has lots of friends right?” I asked, more for my own peace of mind than anything.

Seokjin nodded. “Friends, acquaintances, loved ones…he has a few,” he said. “But none are all that close. That’s why it’s…kinda hard to hear that Jungkook was arrested. It would be hard for Jimin to accept if it’s true.”

Nobody close…

“Why is that, do you think?” I asked.

Seokjin shrugged, placing the fillets onto two plates atop freshly cooked rice. He approached and placed a plate in front of me, setting the other one in front of his seat as he sat down. “He’s lost a lot of people.”

I nodded. “Is that the reason?”

“I’d say so,” he said, then met my eyes as he stuffed a bite of fish in his open mouth. “Imagine loving someone deeply only for them to disappear?”

“Isn’t that…the nature of life? Transiency?” I asked, furrowing my brow. I’d never given it much thought before: the pain of grief on those left behind.

He chuckled. “That’s too simple,” he said, sipping some water.

“How do you mean?”

“People are really complex. We can’t just experience devastation and think: huh, yeah that’s just life I guess! Ho hum,” he said with a laugh. “It’s easy to say it when you haven’t felt it before.”

I nodded. “I didn’t realize it was that complicated,” I said.

He smiled. “I’m glad I could teach you,” he said, returning to his food.

But I began to worry. Jimin was much more isolated than I thought he was. He was sadder than I thought too. Smiling brightly…the longer I lived among humans the more I realized the artifice of it. How many people did Jimin have, really? How many people cared for him? How many people did he care for?

“Family,” I said, rubbing my neck as my fish began growing cold. “Does family make the pain easier?” I asked.

Seokjin nodded. “Sure,” he said. “Having a family means having a place.”

A place…

Jimin’s place…I’d always thought it was this shop, this apartment. But perhaps it was more difficult than that. Perhaps he had no place. “It’s good that Jimin has Injung,” I commented.

Seokjin met my eyes and scanned them. “His uncle…?”

I nodded. “Yes. It’s good at least that he has someone.”

He smiled. “It’s better that he has someone worrying about him as much as you do,” he said. “Family doesn’t always have to be blood. Sometimes, it’s forged. We can make our own family.”

“Make our family…?”

He nodded and pushed my plate towards me. “I wonder why he’s letting you stay here,” he repeated with a small smile. “Eat up or you’ll get skinnier.”

Seokjin left after cleaning up the kitchen and hanging my laundry up to dry on a rack in the living room. Night fell and so did I against the plush bed. As I fell asleep, Miso curled up beside my nose, her whiskers tickling my cheeks. I opened my eyes and stared at her for a moment. The room was navy blue, nearly black, but her eyes were shining bright in the shafts of moonlight that stretched through the window. She stared at me, her pink nose twitching as she began to rest.

I reached out and smoothed my fingers against her small head, petting her lightly. “Miso,” I said, to which she shut her eyes and began purring. “Thank you for looking after him.”

She continued purring, leaning into my hand. I’d always found it strange that Jimin would assume responsibility for a cat when he was struggling to care for himself, but after speaking with Seokjin…I felt understanding beginning to take root in my mind. I’d never realized how important companionship can be when loneliness hits. Seokjin was right. Jimin had lost a lot of people in his life. Perhaps because the full scope of grief was becoming clearer to me, or perhaps because I was tired, but I felt a stinging in my eyes before a few stray tears wetted my cheeks. I continued petting her soft head as she purred. I stroked her head until her purs turned to deep, long breaths. Inhales coming more slowly, exhales lasting longer.

And at some point, I fell asleep with scarce tears drying on my skin.

“Oh! A new dress,” remarked Jimin as I entered his hospital room.

Injung turned to me and smiled, in the process of packing Jimin’s clothes into a backpack carefully. I nodded at each of them with a soft smile. I’d cautiously rifled through the dresser in my bedroom that morning, having touched the freshly washed clothes only to find them still heavy with water. It would take a good while more for them to dry. Instead, I reached inside the drawers and found an old black pinafore, something reminiscent of older times, and a blouse that fit too loose. Jimin too had changed out of his uniform, replacing his pastel hospital pajamas with a comfortable pair of jeans I recognized and a shirt I was sure didn’t belong to him. Like me, it was too big for him.

“I brought a peach,” I said, reaching into the canvas bag I’d found on the coat rack and handing it to him.

Jimin glanced down at the fruit and smiled. He turned it over in his hands and chuckled. “You get me lots of gifts,” he commented.

My cheeks flared. “Well…,” I began with a shrug. “Peaches are good for your cells. They have thiamin and-,”

“Thank you,” he interrupted with a laugh, taking a hearty bite. “Where’d you get it?”

I crossed my arms and thought. “Your employee came by while I was watering the plants. We went to the store together. Seems he is a fairly good cook,” I said.

“Jin?” he asked, brows raised. He thought a moment. “He didn’t say anything embarrassing, right?”

Injung laughed and clapped his nephew on the shoulder. “Are you nervous? Scared he told her you used to read those girly comics?”

“Injung!” shouted Jimin, quickly clamping his free hand over his uncle’s mouth. He glanced at me before smiling quietly and laughing a soft laugh. “He’s joking.”

I blinked between the both of them. “I don’t really see why that would embarrass you,” I said, then shrugged. “Seokjin only had good things to say about you.”

Jimin’s cheeks flushed and he removed himself from Injung’s side. He chuckled and ruffled his hair which had gone fluffy with the humidity. “That doesn’t sound right,” he said, then smiled my way. “Anyway, I’m glad you got a proper meal. Once I get home today I’ll make the place a bit nicer for you.”

I shook my head quickly and grabbed for his arm. “Absolutely not! You are still recovering. No strenuous activity,” I said.

He glanced down at the place where my fingers met the exposed skin of his arm before meeting my eyes with his wide ones. “Uh…,” he began, then laughed, eyes nearly disappearing. “You don’t need to be so worried about me. I’m pretty strong.”

Injung scoffed. “He’s only saying that because he wants you to think he’s cool,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Jimin whipped his head towards his uncle, but as he did I placed both hands on his cheeks and felt carefully. With furrowed brow, I focused on the sensation in my palms. Jimin turned back to me and a pinkish blush bloomed across his cheeks. His eyes scanned me from above, endless pools of deep brown. I focused my gaze on his skin, then sighed and pulled away, crossing my arms.

“But he doesn’t feel cool at all,” I said, shaking my head. “If anything, he’s a little warm. Jimin, do you feel feverish?”

Jimin smiled and shook his head, a bashful warmth in his eyes as he quickly swept them away from me, glancing towards the wall with a breathy laugh. “No, I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

Injung looked as if he was struggling to contain laughter and nodded, slinging the backpack over his shoulder. “Come on, you dorks,” he said, jerking his head toward the door. “I already took care of the paperwork.”

We left the room together, but in the silence I watched Jimin become pensive. He seemed to have something on his mind and I could venture a guess about what it was. He wrung his hands and sighed slightly, eyes on the linoleum floor. I was certain his guilt was tearing him up. But as he caught me watching him, he simply offered a painfully bright smile and ruffled my hair slightly. And I could do nothing but smile in response and let him be alone with his complicated thoughts.

Jimin and I followed Injung down the hallway. As we approached the lobby, Doctor Jung and his son stood, lingering by the checkin desk. “Ah! You’re discharged today,” remarked Doctor Jung with a bright smile.

Hoseok glanced at the three of us and nodded, bowing his head slightly. “Thanks to you,” said Jimin, returning the smile.

Doctor Jung patted his shoulder. “You’re lucky to be alive, Jimin.”

He nodded. “I know,” he said. “I plan to live every day like a blessing.”

Something hot and bitter and unpleasant knotted in my chest. I knew what it was. Guilt. “Good, then,” said Doctor Jung. “I hope I’ll see you around, then.”

“Just…not as a patient,” added Hoseok with a soft smile Jimin’s way.

He laughed and nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

The three of us walked out into the street and began the walk towards Jimin’s apartment. The sky was an edgeless blue dome above us, dotted with clouds and a few jet streams. Living every day like a blessing… I wasn’t sure what that meant. But I knew that, walking beside him, staring up at the sky, feeling the breeze against my skin…I supposed it did feel like a blessing after all. I watched the sky for a few steps until my toe caught on the uneven sidewalk pavement and I lost my footing. I reached out and my hands clamped on both Jimin’s sleeve and Injung’s arm.

Jimin placed a hand on my back and, worriedly, scanned me. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Jeez, you gotta look where you’re going.”

Injung chuckled. “Be careful. If you’re distracted it’s easier to get hurt,” he said, meeting my eyes.

I nodded. “I’m sorry. I should have watched my step,” I said, then sighed. “I was just…I guess I never realized how beautiful the sky was.”

Jimin watched me and a smile teased the edges of his lips. “Nari, were you always sentimental?”

I shook my head. “Oh no. This is…I think this is new,” I said with a nod. “I was just caught off guard I suppose.”

Jimin chuckled and removed his hand from my back, choosing instead to level his eyes with mine and smile gently. “I hope you find more things that catch you off guard.”

Oh no, what was that? A fluttering in my chest? Another heart palpitation? I stared at him for a long moment and as time passed his easy, confident smile morphed into a slightly awkward one, a few terse chuckles escaping him as he cleared his throat and continued walking down the way. The air was soft and warm and the breath entered and exited my lungs comfortably. We passed sun-bleached buildings the color of bone that had become familiar to me in the past days. Perched atop the cliff, overlooking the beach and the water and the endless expanse of ocean beyond I found the walk…

Pleasant.

“Who’s outside?” asked Injung, brows knitted as we approached the flower shop.

I hadn’t noticed before, but he was right to take note. A small crowd of people was congregating outside the greenhouse beside the shop. Here and there I caught plumes of smoke floating into the air. The last person I’d seen smoking was…

I turned to Jimin and raised my brows. “I think it’s-,” I started, then stopped and crossed my arms, glancing away.

Jimin stared down at me, confused for a moment. “Nari, do you know those guys?” he asked, pointing to the group of five who, upon closer inspection, resembled Jungkook not only in age but in blasé demeanor.

I shook my head. “No. I…I don’t know what I was saying,” I said, tossing my eyes seaward.

Injung watched me for a moment before sighing and patting Jimin on the chest as he began walking towards the group. “Don’t provoke them, alright? Let’s just call that cop.”

“Call Yoongi?” asked Jimin with wide eyes. He shook his head. “Definitely not. He told me he’d be busy once he arrested Jungkook-,”

“You don’t think they’re here to retaliate, do you?” asked Injung.

I raked my hands through my hair and, as we walked ever nearer the crowd noticed us at once and began to jeer. “Oh here he comes!” called one, singsongy.

I glanced at him, arms crossed, and scanned his face. Nothing remarkable. Just a young guy with a bandana tied around his bicep. We walked closer, but Injung edged away, seeming uncomfortable. “Poor Jimin,” shouted another. “How’s your chest, buddy?” he asked, taking a wide step forward and shoving Jimin’s chest hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

“Hey!” I shouted as Injung grabbed Jimin by the shoulders, helping him regain his footing. “Is this some sort of show of bravado? Retribution for one of your own?” I asked.

The one with the bandana around his arm gave me a look up and down before scoffing. “Alright, whose girl is this?” he asked the guys with a laugh. “Looking like The Grudge.” The boys behind him chuckled.

Save for one.

I noticed, taking up the edge of the small party was a face I recognized. Handsome, tan, with smart eyes and heavy brows. It was the boy from the other night. Taehyung. He and I exchanged a look and something passed between us that made me shudder. He had his arms crossed over his chest, eyes cast low, mouth clamped shut. It seemed he wasn’t participating.

“I think it would be best for you to leave immediately,” I said, taking a step towards the ringmaster. I raised my brows. “Unless your group wants more trouble with the law.”

He rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Oh come on,” he said, looking over my shoulder at Jimin. “Having a girl fight for you? You too scared to face us yourself?”

He moved to step towards him and I placed a hand on the stranger’s chest, lifting my eyes slowly to meet his. As I did, I caught a brief flash of something in his eyes and I watched goosebumps raise on his skin. “Leave,” I said, voice low.

The others chuckled behind him. “Hyungwon, looks like you’re getting pushed around by a girl too,” teased one of them.

I peeked around this boy, Hyungwon’s, chest and furrowed my brow at the rest. “What is it about my being a girl that bothers you all so much?” I asked.

They were silent for a moment before Taehyung chuckled and rubbed his forehead. “This is stupid. Let’s just go,” he mumbled.

Hyungwon turned to him and crossed his arms. “What’s stupid about defending Jungkook from this bullshit liar?”

Jimin approached my side as Taehyung and Hyungwon went back and forth bickering. “Stop, okay? Injung is gonna call the police,” he said carefully from beside me. “They’re not gonna leave until they’re forced to.”

I shook my head. “And what happens in the meantime? Just stall them and hope they don’t hurt you? I’m sorry, but I won’t let them affect your health.”

He sighed and gripped his nose bridge. “Jesus, why do you even care? What’s it matter if they hit me?”

I turned to face him seriously and he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I care because you did nothing wrong. And furthermore, you’ve been through a trauma. You have a basic right to safety.”

He scoffed. “Can you just knock it off?” he asked, pulling his hair between his fingers and shaking his head. “They have every right to be upset. Jungkook didn’t do it. I’m certain.”

“Did you ever say he did?” I asked.

He sighed. “Doesn’t matter. The result is the same,” he said, then met my eyes with a heavy frustration I couldn’t recognize. “Now stop it,” he whispered, voice stern. But as he leaned away, with an exhale that shook slightly, he added in a mutter, “Haven’t you caused enough trouble for me already?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words emerged. Simply silence. I blinked up at him as he took a few steps away from me, standing with arms crossed over his chest beside the entrance to the greenhouse. I glanced back down the sidewalk where Injung once was, and found it empty. He must have left to make the call to the police. I supposed that was the reasonable reaction. But I hadn’t been able to remain reasonable. Not when it came to Jimin.

But in the end, had my care become a burden?

My chest hurt.

Hyungwon turned back to us after conferring with Taehyung and pointed at Jimin. “You gonna come clean or what?”

Jimin nodded, bending to their intimidation. “I told the police that I was out with Jungkook the night I was attacked,” he conceded, eyes shut.

I watched him, unable to intervene, as Hyungwon approached and knotted his hand in Jimin’s baggy shirt. “Look at me when you’re talking,” he ordered, shaking Jimin slightly.

He opened his eyes and nodded. “I sold him out.”

Hyungwon’s eyes flared as he stared down at Jimin. “You’re admitting it that easily? Not even ashamed?” he asked.

Jimin’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not happy about it either.”

“He probably got strong-armed,” said Taehyung, sensible, from over Hyungwon’s shoulder. The other guys, still engrossed in the action, acknowledged Taehyhung’s words with various grunts. “You know that detective? Min Yoongi?”

Hyungwon rolled his eyes and spat at the ground beside Jimin’s feet. “Who cares? A rat’s still a rat.”

“I say we teach him a lesson,” said one idly from the sidelines.

Horrified, I looked towards the source of the voice but as my gaze swept across them, none of the boys would look at me. I inhaled sharply and bit hard on the inside of my cheek. I felt my toes digging into the bottoms of my shoes and as I uncrossed my arms I noticed reddish half-moons in my forearms from my nails pressing into them. I clenched my fists instead and set my jaw, watching Hyungwon carefully.

“An excellent suggestion,” he remarked with a laugh.

Jimin exhaled slowly and looked down to the ground. I’d never seen him so hopeless. Too much had happened to him recently, perhaps. The shock of it all might have finally gotten to him. But why was he so resigned? Why did it seem as if he felt he deserved the punishment?

Hyungwon poised his arm in the air, angling it down towards Jimin’s face. Anticipating the impact, Jimin squeezed his eyes shut and turned his cheek to the oncoming strike. A tight ball rose in my throat as if I may cry and I bit my lower lip. This was what Jimin wanted. He wanted me to stay out of it. He wanted me to watch passively as I always had. He wanted me to stop interfering.

But as the bandana around Hyungwon’s bicep strained against the coiling of his muscles, I really couldn’t help it any longer.

I hopped from foot to foot for a moment, begging my body not to do what I knew it was going to do. With a frustrated grunt, I sighed and ran towards where they stood beside the greenhouse and, without a single thought, pushed my way between them, wedging them apart. Hyungwon watched, shouting at me, as I shoved him back by the chest with all my might.

“Nari!” yelled Jimin, voice deep and sharp. I felt a fear creeping into my body. Would he scold me more?

Would he hate me…?

“What the fuck is up with your girl, Park?!” screamed Hyungwon, fighting against my hands on his chest.

But I was stubborn, forcing him back with everything I had. “If you’re gonna talk about me, then say it to me!” I shouted, giving his chest one last hard shove, sending him stumbling only slightly backwards.

He fumed down at me, eyes alight with rage, and took a deliberate step towards me. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“You’re not involved, Nari! Jesus, just go inside!” called Jimin from behind me.

I glanced back at him and saw something in his expression that sent a cold sadness through me. Disappointment. His brows were knitted, head tilted to the side, lips parted and arms limply laying at his sides. He shook his head as we locked eyes, and despite his clear discomfort, I couldn’t bring myself to stop.

A vision suddenly flashed through my mind. Jimin’s face, contorted in such a way, an identical way to the one before me now. Disappointed, frustrated, upset…with me. Had I indeed seen this face of his before?

Hyungwon shoved me slightly out of the way, making a clear path towards Jimin. But before he could reach him, I grabbed onto his arm tightly, holding it close to my chest and leaning as hard as I could backwards.

“Can you please fuck off?!” he yelled down at me, shaking his arm.

I glared up at him. “You won’t hurt him,” I said. My voice was strong and steady and…frightening.

Again, something passed through his eyes. He continued pushing against my force, but as he remained relentless I began growing angry. The thought of Jimin hurt, Jimin in pain, Jimin attacked…it sent an icy shiver of rage through me. As Hyungwon shook me, I quickly clamped my teeth down on his upper arm, biting as hard as I could.

“Agh!” he screamed, stumbling away from me as I pulled away, the faint taste of blood on my tongue. Stunned, he turned to look at me, eyes wide.

“Hyungwon, just leave them alone,” said Taehyung, almost sounding bored.

I never broke eye contact with Hyungwon as he scoffed down at me. “You gotta death wish?” he yelled, fists clenched.

I nodded. “I won’t allow someone like you to hurt him,” I said.

At this he fumed, nostrils flaring. Without so much as a warning, he came down on me and struck me hard on the side of the head. Fist on bone, brain jostling, pain immediately radiating from my left temple. I lost my balance and with the force of the punch I was sent flying down towards the ground. I tumbled onto the concrete, my head colliding with the facade of the flower shop. I sat stunned for a painful moment, hands touching my head. My vision was blurry, spinning. I could hear only muffled shouting, arguing. The pain was horrible, but I’d felt far worse. The day I’d awoken…

Compared to that, anything was bearable.

But damn, it didn’t feel nice.

Soon, my vision returned and so did my hearing. Disoriented, I stood to my feet unsteadily and saw an unexpected scene unfolding on the sidewalk. Hyungwon, restrained by Taehyung who was shouting reprimands over his shoulder.

“Why the hell would you hit her?!” Taehyung yelled in Hyungwon’s ear.

Hyungwon, however, hadn’t had his fill of violence and was thrashing against Taehyung’s grip. “Nari!” Jimin called as he slid to his knees beside me. He took my cheeks in his hands, brows furrowed, and tilted my head side to side. “Are you okay? Oh my God, I’m calling the hospital. Oh my God-,”

I brushed his hands away and shakily stood to my feet. He joined, hands touching any part of me he could grab and examining it. I shook him away as I walked carefully towards Hyungwon who, still thrashing about, spat at me. Luckily, because of the restraint his saliva couldn’t reach me. He looked like a an animal in chains, ravenous and insatiable. I swallowed the iron-like taste of blood and wiped some more off my brow. He laughed down at me, still wildly moving around trying to escape.

I simply stood before him, locking my eyes on his. He met them, but the longer our gazes remained steady on one another, the stiller he became. First it was his hands, going limp. Then the arms. After a moment, he had stopped moving altogether. Jimin approached behind me and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I couldn’t look at him. I stared at this boy, into the core of him, the angry, flaming, red, insecure center. I could see it all in his flashing eyes.

I felt my hair falling into my eye, sticking to the bleeding spots on my forehead. I couldn’t even bother moving it. “If you even think about touching him again,” I spat, voice low, leaning up towards his face, now only centimeters away, “I’ll kill you myself.”

I watched a shiver run from the bottom of his spine to the crown of his head. His dark eyes went wide as he realized there was no hyperbole in my words. I meant it. And he could feel it. Goosebumps on his skin, irises shaking, mouth ajar.

He was terrified.

I smiled.

“Oh Jesus! What happened?” called Injung from behind us.

I gave a final nod to the frightened boy and turned away. “Let’s go, Hyungwon,” said Taehyung quietly.

This time, Hyungwon didn’t fight. He didn’t do anything, really. Simply walked back with his friends and disappeared down an alleyway beside the greenhouse.

“Do you have any idea how stupid that was?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know how bad that could have been? God, not to mention you already have amnesia.”

“I know.”

“Do you even care that you were hurt?”

I blinked, sitting atop the counter in Jimin’s kitchen, sweet afternoon light streaming hazily through the window. Injung sat in the living room, ear pressed to his phone, still explaining the situation to Yoongi on the other side. Jimin insisted that Injung tell them not to come once things deescalated, but nonetheless Yoongi demanded that all information be relayed to him for record-keeping.

Jimin stood before me, standing between my knees with a wet rag pressed against my forehead. Peroxide, he had said. To disinfect the wound. I knew he kept it handy for the times when thorny plants gave his skin a knick. He exhaled, still staring over my shoulder into the apartment. He hadn’t looked me in the eye since we’d gotten upstairs.

I felt a strange hollowness in my stomach. Dread perhaps. I knew I’d done something to upset him, and the thought of him hating me was horribly uncomfortable. I preferred it when he didn’t even know I was there.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t especially care,” I said.

Finally, he met my eyes and what awaited me was pure disbelief. “How can you say you don’t care? We don’t even know each other and you’re acting like this,” he said, shaking his head with a sigh. He removed the rag and examined it. “Look at how much you’re bleeding…”

“But I do know you,” I insisted.

He sighed once more and turned toward the opposite counter, waving his hands. “Sure, sure. Whatever,” he said. He grabbed a few bandages from his first-aid kit and returned to his spot between my knees. Why did my heart flutter? “You’re so weird.”

He lifted his hand to my forehead, blowing gently against my skin. But I felt…frustrated. Hurt. How could he become so cold after I’d defended him? Was that fair? As he approached with the bandage, I swatted his hand away and hopped onto the floor. Shocks rain up my legs from the impact. I paused to give Jimin a glare.

“Sorry for trying to help you,” I said quietly, brushing him off as he followed me with the bandage.

He groaned. “Jesus, no! No, come back. I shouldn’t have acted like that,” he said, grabbing for my arm and shaking it slightly.

I turned to him and shook him off. “I’m fine. I’ve stopped bleeding so don’t waste your supplies on me.”

His expression fell and he tilted his head back, seemingly exhausted. “Why are you being so difficult?” he asked.

I scoffed and pulled my arm from his grasp. “Weird and difficult,” I said with a nod. Where was this frustration coming from? When had I ever been upset with Jimin? “I’m fine. I’m gonna go take a shower.” When had I learned to say things like ‘gonna’?

I walked briskly past Injung who, still locked in dialogue with Yoongi, paid me no attention. I heard Jimin exhale sharply with a humorless laugh as I exited the scene. As I shut the bathroom door behind me, I clutched my chest and struggled to control my breathing. I was so frustrated. And I was frustrated with the person I’d risked everything for.

Why did it feel so familiar?

I’d never noticed it before, but the ceiling in my bedroom resembled very fine popcorn. It also had a slight indentation, a sagging, in the corner beside the bed where it had been damaged by rainwater. I’d never noticed it before, but the ceiling in my bedroom was horribly, dreadfully, painfully boring. I sighed, arms and legs splayed out as I lie on my back like a starfish, beached on a drying rock. I couldn’t bring my eyes to close and, as time passed, the injury on my forehead was growing more and more painful. It was aching, dull but noticeable.

More than that, however, my brain was busy. As a Reaper, I’d been able to wander and think all night. But now, my human body was exhausted, longing to rest. My limbs felt heavy, sinking into the bed below me. My eyes kept slipping shut, but my brain simply would not keep quiet long enough for me to fall asleep. I’d heard humans complain about insomnia plenty of times, but experiencing it myself made me feel almost sympathetic towards them.

I sat upright and ran my fingers through my clean hair, releasing the scent of strawberries which, strangely, stimulated my appetite. Hadn’t I heard about something called a ‘midnight snack’? I glanced at the clock beside my bed and saw the sharp numbers bleeding into the inky darkness. 12:54 AM. Close enough, right?

I sat upright and pulled my soft shorts up. After I’d finished showering, Jimin had been missing. Injung told me he’d left to care for the shop, but I knew he was simply avoiding me. Had I always been so pessimistic? Nonetheless, when I’d returned to my bedroom I’d found a set of pajamas laid out, folded at the foot of the bed. They seemed to belong to his mother, as the dresser drawer was left slightly ajar.

I sighed as I felt the pajamas now. Why was he so inconsistent? Did he like me or find me burdensome? I shook my head. These thoughts had plagued me all night. There was no use in lingering on them. I padded quietly out into the living room and, silent as a mouse, crept behind the sofa on which Jimin slept. Miso slept comfortably atop his chest, curled up into a small crescent. I stepped into the kitchen and pried open the refrigerator door, mindful to keep the light from reaching Jimin by placing my body in between. I rifled through the shelves for a moment before grabbing a cup of strawberry yogurt with a sigh.

I turned around, shutting the refrigerator on my way, but gasped when I bumped into Jimin’s chest. I grabbed my nose and stared up at him with wide eyes. “What are you-,”

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

I blinked a few times before shaking my head and shuffling around him. “No,” I answered.

“Me either,” he said, mimicking my previous position in front of the refrigerator. He grabbed the same brand of yogurt, shutting the door and grabbing two spoons. He settled onto the counter. Wordlessly, he patted the spot beside him.

I glanced at him for a moment before, with a sigh, I joined him and grabbed the spoon he extended my way. “I’m…I am upset with you I think.”

He chuckled. “You’re very honest.”

“I don’t really know how to be anything else right now,” I said, letting my posture slump as I spooned bites of yogurt into my mouth. “I’m not used to anything yet.”

“I know,” he said softly. “Which is why I should apologize to you.”

I peered at him. “You should?”

He smiled and nodded, moonlight glowing silver in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have gotten so mad. I’ve got…a lot on my mind and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair,” he said.

I felt my eyes welling up with tears. What was this? Relief? “I thought you hated me,” I said quietly, rubbing at my dry eyes before the tears could fall.

He laughed lightly and gave my knee a squeeze. “Not at all,” he said. “I’m really sorry I made you think that.”

I nodded. “Good,” I said. “Live your life being sorry to me.”

He laughed again and nodded. “I will.”

I glanced at him, brows furrowed. “What would have happened if I didn’t step in? You would have been hit. Maybe you would have ruptured your stitches. Ended up back in the hospital, bleeding. You would have had to have another lengthy stay. More interviews with policemen. And for what? For…penance or something? Why would you-,”

He interrupted me with a laugh, placing his hand over my lips. “I know, okay?” he asked with a smile.

I felt my skin heat up and glanced away from him, nodding. “If you know, then that’s enough.” His hand fell back to his thigh.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

I shrugged. “It aches,” I said. “But it’s expected.”

He sighed. “I should have given you some ice.”

“I’m fine,” I said, then rested my head back against the cabinet, taking another hearty bite. “In exchange for hurting my feelings, tell me what’s on your mind.”

He laughed lightly, stirring his yogurt with a soft smile. “You’re kinda cute, you know?” he asked.

I stared at him before giving his leg a smack. “Tell me.”

He laughed again before shrugging. “Just…I had to put an old friend of mine in a difficult position,” he said.

“You mean telling Yoongi about Jungkook asking you out for drinks that night?” I asked.

He turned to me with wide eyes. “Huh? How did you know?”

I pursed my lips. “Namjoon told me yesterday, and Jin explained that you two used to be close,” I said with a nod. “I figured you were having a hard time.”

He scoffed. “I know you say you know me, but just how well do you know me?” he asked, laughing. “I just…I feel like I betrayed him.”

I shook my head. “Jimin, what else could you have done?”

“Yoongi already knew we went out together, but I kept saying I couldn’t remember anything,” he said with a sigh. “It’s true, but I did remember Jungkook asking me to go out. That much I really did remember the whole time.”

“You didn’t have a choice, did you?” I asked. “If Yoongi knew that much already, then all he needed was your testimony. I’m sure he pressured you quite a lot.”

Jimin nodded. “But in the end, I’m the one who sold him out,” he said. “And now he’s at the police station, probably getting grilled by Yoongi and Namjoon for a confession that he can’t give because it wasn’t him.” He raked his fingers through his hair, yogurt forgotten as he shook his head, brows knitted. “And it’s all because of me. I’d come after me too, if I was his gang.”

I turned to him quietly and watched his features as he gazed at the floor, expression contorted with guilt. “It must have been hard,” I said. “Holding onto this feeling all alone.”

He stared down at me, eyes round, skin glowing in the soft moonlight. He scanned my face for a moment and again my heart raced. “Nari you…really, why do you care about me this much? What did I do?”

I swallowed hard. “That is…a difficult question to answer,” I said with a nod. “I suppose…well, if you really need an answer it is probably…because I’ve seen in you something very…pure.”

“Pure?” he asked.

I nodded, thinking back to the first time I’d seen him, crouched over his father’s body. I remembered watching the life drain from his eyes as he watched the man collapse onto the ground in a heap, watched him convulse, watched him die. I remembered that horrible sorrow. That loneliness.

“Something pure…,” I repeated, recalling that loneliness in particular. That eternal isolation. “Something that…I could understand.”

“What do you mean?”

I glanced at him. “Alone and cold and frightened and terribly small in a world that’s terribly big,” I said with a nod. “I guess I’ve felt that for a long time. Longer than I even realized.”

He stared down at me as his gaze softened, brows lowering and eyes growing warmer. He inhaled slowly and nodded even more slowly. “I’m sorry I called you weird,” he said quietly. “You’re not weird at all. You’re just sincere, that’s all.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded, taking another big bite of yogurt. “I accept your apology.”

“And…well, I guess…I hope that you don’t feel so alone anymore,” he said, taking a peek at me out the corner of his eye, the gesture almost shy. “I feel bad that the thing that ties us together is something that sad.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not sad really,” I said, then shrugged. “I think…seeing that you felt that way too made me feel less alone myself. It’s counterintuitive, but…”

He smiled gently and, his touch featherlight, guided a strand of dark hair behind my ear. “Having you around makes me feel less alone too.”

I met his eyes and smiled despite the jittery nervousness that seemed to occur whenever I looked at him too long. “I’m happy you have people like Injung and Seokjin in your life.”

He chuckled and hopped down from the counter, holding out his hand to help me down. I grabbed it, but as we stood he didn’t release it. I felt flush. “Yeah, me too. Except when Injung’s in my bed and I have to sleep on the couch.”

I blinked at our touching hands and clenched my free hand into a small ball. “Ah…that must be uncomfortable.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m just teasing,” he said, smiling. Then he noticed where my eyes had fallen and he gasped a little. “Ah,” he said, loosening his grip on my hand so it fell to my side. “Sorry.”

“No, uh…it’s fine,” I said, smiling up at him. “I think I feel better now.”

He returned it and nodded. “Me too.”

“I’ll go to bed now then,” I said. “Goodnight, Jimin.”

He grinned and tossed the yogurt cups into the trash. He turned to face me fully and offered a soft, tender smile that bloomed, fresh in the dark night light. “Sweet dreams, Nari.”

Again, I felt flush and instead of staying to chat longer I simply bowed my head and hurried back into my bedroom. My heart, while much more at ease after reconciling with Jimin, was now racing in my chest. I shook my head and shut the door behind me, running my hands through my hair. How shameless this heart was. What was it that it wanted desperately enough to hammer this loudly in my ears?

“My…seems you’re adjusting just fine,” remarked a voice I recognized too well.

I sighed and turned towards my bed where Zero sat, legs crossed, tabbing through The Book under the dull glow of my bedside lamp. “Hello, Zero.”

“Hello, Nari.”

I cringed. “It is…strange for you to call me by that name.”

He glanced at me, deathly smile on his lips, and tilted his head to the side. “Oh, but isn’t it nice that you’re becoming comfortable enough to even adopt a human name? Isn’t that just…nice?”

I sighed and sat beside him. “I apologize. I simply…cannot do as you’ve asked.”

He nodded. “I understand, my dear. Entirely,” he said with an easy shrug. “This boy’s life is just too important.”

“Yes.”

“Much more important than the balance of the very universe itself,” he said with a smile my way. “I understand entirely.”

“Zero, please-,”

“Why is your beloved friend sleeping on the couch tonight? I wanted to get a proper look at him, but found a fully-grown adult in his bed,” he said with a laugh. “Gave me a fright.”

I sighed, gripping he bridge of my nose. As I did, I realized how silly and human that gesture was and returned my hand to my lap, clearing my throat. “That is his uncle.”

“Ah! He has an uncle. Marvelous,” he said, rolling his eyes. “As if this web wasn’t complicated enough.”

I stared at him. “Really, Zero. Can you be this apathetic? These are real, human lives.”

He smiled and nodded. “Precisely. Human lives, just like any other. If I allowed myself to become attached like you have well…,” he paused to laugh. “Well, you’re proof of how well that works out.”

I crossed my arms, frustration again taking hold. When had I ever been this brazen with Zero? “Why are you here, Zero? To tease me?”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “No, dear,” he said. “I just noticed something quite odd in The Book that may be relevant to our predicament.”

I glanced at him. “Odd?” I asked, suspicious. He’d proven himself to be quite impetuous since I’d arrived in this human body. I wondered if he was simply toying with me.

He nodded and opened The Book to a page somewhere towards the middle. “Let me quickly find it,” he said under his breath before smiling with a long, “Ah.”

I followed where he pointed and saw a clock running down at an alarming rate. Each second was doubled, two seconds lost for every one second lived. Realization struck me quickly and I turned to Zero with wide eyes. “This is…”

“The person whose time your friend is stealing,” he said with a nod. “Precisely. How clever of you to catch on so quickly.” He grinned and patted my head, however unlike when Jimin did it the feeling was condescending rather than comforting.

I sighed. “So then…this person’s life is being cut short.”

“Yes,” he said.

I scratched my head and watched the numbers fall. 59 years, 363 days, 24 seconds. A long life…

Cut in half.

I rubbed my forehead. “And nothing else is strange in The Book?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not a thing,” he said, then snapped. “Ah, unless you count the clock stuck at zero which…well, I suppose we have spoken about this at length already.” He laughed and flitted his hand.

I sighed. “What is it about this person then?” I asked. My eyes grew wide as I glanced to the side to read the name. Icy chills ran through my body as horror overcame me.

No.

Anyone but him.

Anyone but this person.

Beside the rapidly decreasing clock was the name Ahn Injung.

[kbrown78]

Yearly Wrap Up: 2018

Sorry this post is so late, it took awhile to get all the information I needed and I kept going back and forth on the format I wanted to do for this post, but I finally have an end result I am happy with. In this post I will be going over all the books I read in 2018, all the stats, completion of 2018 reading goals as well as 2019 reading goals. Also fair warning, this is going to be a long post. So to begin with I'll talk about my 2018 reading goals and of I was able to accomplish them. This year was the first year that I did the Goodreads Challenge, I thought it would be good to see how many books I could read in a year. My initial goal was 50 books and I ended up reading 80 books, so I was definitely able to tackle my Goodreads goal. Unfortunately that was the only reading challenge I was able to finish. One of my reading resolutions for 2018 was to finish a reading challenge and I did that with the Goodreads one, but I also did the PopSugar 2018 Reading Challenge. That one provided a large number of reading prompts that I hoped would help expand the genre of the books I was reading (which was another reading resolution of mine) and of the 50 prompts I was only able to complete 34, which is not bad, it's more than half, but I still wanted to complete all of them. As I mentioned I wanted to expand the genre of books that I read, since I mostly read YA fantasy, and I do think I achieved that goal by trying to read more adult fantasy, science fiction, different fantasy sub genre's, and a few books in other genres, but I will go more into that when I do a break down of all the books I read this year. I also wanted to go to more book events and that did not really happen. I only went to 1 this year and the rest I was unable to go to for various reasons, so I need to get better with planning in order to go to more events this year. I did want to be more active in the book community and I definitely think I achieved that, with providing regular posts and book reviews. I was originally going to do a channel on YouTube but I suck with editing software and I honestly prefer writing. Finally my #1 resolution for 2018 was to tackle all the books in my physical TBR, with books from 2017 and 2018, I was able to narrow down my overflowing basket to just 5 books. Since I now have a rule where I have to read 10 books before I buy a new one (holiday's are an exception) I'll probably have the rest of those books read by the end of 2019, so that all new books in my TBR pile will all be from 2019. Now that I've summarized my status on all my reading goals for 2018, I'm now going to start going into the actual books. I'll begin by listing all the books I've read and putting them in different groups based on their star ratings. Then I'm going to go into the statistics of all the books, like genre, authors, status, and other things.

Ratings:

5 Star Books: These are without a doubt my favorite books of the year, the cream of the crop, and some of them are possibly my new favorite books or series of all time. 

A Natural History of Dragons (Memoirs of Lady Trent #1) by Marie Brennan, The Tropic of Serpents (Memoirs of Lady Trent) by Marie Brennan, The Tethered Mage (Swords and Fire #1) by Melisa Caruso, The Defiant Heir (Swords and Fire #2) by Melisa Caruso, East by Edith Pattou, The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories by Ken Liu, Every Heart a Doorway (Wayward Children #1) by Seanan McGuire, Beneath the Sugar Sky (Wayward Children #3) by Seanan McGuire, The Star Touched Queen (Star Touched Queen #1) by Roshani Chokshi, Crown of Wishes (Star Touched Queen #2) by Roshani Chokshi, The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet (Wayfarers #1) by Becky Chambers     

4.5 Star Books: These are the books that I did really love and couldn't find much fault with but I couldn't fully connect to the story (would still recommend all).

A Closed and Common Orbit (Wayfarers #2) by Becky Chambers, Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach, The Shadow Queen (Ravenspire #1) by C.J. Redwine, The Voyage of the Basilisk (Memoirs of Lady Trent #3) by Marie Brennan, Rosemary and Rue (October Daye #1) by Seanan McGuire, The Call by Peadar O'Guilin, Robots vs Fairies

4 Star Books: This one is a bit split because some are books that are solidly 4 stars and lean more toward the 4.5 star rating, and other were saved by a fantastic ending from a 3.5 star rating. There are things that could have been improved on within the story but overall I enjoyed reading all of them.

Beauty Queens by Libba Bray, Down Among the Sticks and Bones (Wayward Children #2) by Seanan McGuire, Ignite Me by Tahereh Mafi, Vivian Apple at the End of the World (Vivian Apple #1) by Katie Coyle, A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1), Ice Like Fire (Snow Like Ashes #2) by Sara Raasch, Frost Like Night (Snow Like Ashes #3) by Sara Raasch, Uppity Women Speak Their Minds by Vicki Leon, Invisible Planets translated by Ken Liu, In the Labyrinth of Drakes (Memoirs of Lady Trent #4) by Marie Brennan, Record of a Spaceborn Few (Wayfarers #3) by Becky Chambers, Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone (Harry Potter #1) by J.K Rowling, Tales of the Peculiar by Ransom Riggs, Code Name Verity (Code Name Verity #1) by Elizabeth Wein, The Silk Roads: A New History of the World by Peter Frankopan

3.5 Star Books: This is a bit of an unusual rating because it usually means that I was expecting to be disappoint by these books, and while there were still issues that I couldn't ignore, I surprisingly enjoyed.

The Registry (The Registry #1) by Shannon Stoker, Caliban's War (The Expanse #2) by James S.A. Corey, Snow Like Ashes (Snow Like Ashes #1) by Sara Raasch, You Are a Badass by Jen Sincero, The Language of Thorns by Leigh Bardugo

3 Star Books: These were books that I thought were decent, but they had flaws in them that I was unable to over look.

A Court of Wings and Ruin (A Court of Thorns and Roses #1) by Sarah J. Maas, Walk on Earth a Stranger (Gold Seer #1) by Rae Carson, Like a River Glorious (Gold Seer #2) by Rae Carson, Children of Blood and Bone (Legacy of Orisha) by Tomi Adeyemi, An Unkindness of Magicians by Kat Howard, After: 19 Stories of Dystopian and Apocalypse, Illuminae (The Illuminae Files) by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff, The Wrath and the Dawn (The Wrath and the Dawn #1) by Renee Ahdieh, Uprooted by Naomi Novik, Red Sister  (Book of the Ancestor #1) by Mark Lawerence, Sabriel (The Abhorsen #1) by Garth Nix, Monstress Volume 3: The Blood by Marjorie Liu, The Red Tent by Anita Diamant, Nightfall by Jake Halpern and Peter Kujawinski

2.5 Star Books: These are books that I had a lot of issues with but were redeemable enough that I would still give them a try.

The Collection (The Registry #2) by Shannon Stoker, Three Dark Crowns (Three Dark Crowns #1) by Kendare Blake, Dreams of Gods and Monsters (Daughter of Smoke and Bone #3) by Laini Taylor, The Bone Witch (The Bone Witch #1) by Rin Chupeco

2 Star Books: These are books that I had lot of issues with but it didn't upset me enough to make me want to quit it. These books and downward I personally wouldn't recommend reading, but that's just my opinion.

Princesses Behaving Badly by Linda Rodrigez McRobbie, Days of Blood and Starlight (Daughter of Smoke and Bone #2) by Laini Taylor, Vivian Apple Needs a Miracle (Vivian Apple #2) by Katie Coyle, The Knife of Never Letting Go (Chaos Walking Trilogy #1) by Patrick Ness, Leviathan Wakes (The Expanse #1) by James S.A. Corey, Bitterblue (Graceling #3) by Kristin Cashore, Sandry's Book (Circle of Magic #1) by Tamora Pierce, Lirael (Abhorsen #2) by Garth Nix, Torn (The Unraveled Kingdom #1) by Rowena Miller, Into the Bright Unknown (Gold Seer #3) by Rae Carson, Front Lines by Michael Grant, American God's by Neil Gaiman, The Falconer (The Falconer #1) by Elizabeth May  

1 Star Books: These, sadly, are the bottom of the barrel. I had a hard time finding good qualities with these books and some of them I got so frustrated by I ended up quiting them.

The Wicked and the Divine Volume 1: The Faust Act, Our Dark Duet (Monsters of Verity #2) by Victoria Schwab, Truthwitch (The Witchlands #1) by Susan Dennard, Rebel Angels (Gemma Doyle #2) (DNF) by Libba Bray, The Virgin Suicides by Jeffery Eugenides, Under the Never Sky (Under the Never Sky #1) by Veroncia Rossi, The Library at Mount Char (DNF) by Scott Hawkins, Daughters of the Storm (Blood and Gold #1) (DNF) by Kim Wilkins, The Legend of Holly Claus by Brittney Ryan, Ancillary Justice (Imperial Radch #1)(DNF) by Ann Leckie (I didn't hate this book, it was just too weird and confusing to carry on)

Statistics:

This is the part where I'll break down authors (gender and ethnicity), status (finished or not finished, companion, stanalone, special cases), and genre of the books.

AUTHORS: (Not counting anthologies with multiple authors, also series counts as one)  

Male: 16

Female: 42

White: 48

POC: 10

STATUS:  

Finished (If the book was part of a series that ended than had a companion series follow it, I'm still counting that as a finished series, also I'm counting anything 2 or more books as a series): 8 (A Court of Thorns and Roses, Gold Seer, Monsters of Verity, Daughter of Smoke and Bone, Vivian Apple, Snow Like Ashes, Ignite Me)

Unfinished and Completed (Unfinished means that I haven't finished reading the series, uncompleted means that all the books in the series haven't been released yet): 12 (Gemma Doyle (won't be completing), The Knife of Never Letting Go (won't be completing), The Wrath and the Dawn (won't be completing), The Facloner (won't be completing), Under the Never Sky (won't be completing), Abhorsen, Memoirs of Lady Trent, Imperial Radch (won't be completing), Harry Potter, Front Lines (won't be completing), The Registry, Circle of Magic (won't be completing))

Unfinished and Uncompleted: 10 (Legacy of Orisha, The Witchlands (won't be completing), The Bone Witch (won't be completing), The Expanse, Swords and Fire, Book of the Ancestor (won't be completing), The Unraveled Kingdoms, Three Dark Crowns (won't be completing), October Daye, Blood and Gold (won't be completing))

Companion series: 8 (Wayfarers, Wayward Children, Star Touched Queen, The Illuminae Files, Code Name Verity, Graceling, Nightfall, Ravenspire)

Stand Alone (includes non fiction): 13 (Princesses Behaving Badly, Beauty Queens, An Unkindness of Magicians, Uprooted, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Uppity Women Speak Their Minds, The Virgin Suicides, The Silk Roads: A New History of the World, You Are A Badass, The Library at Mount Char, American Gods, The Red Tent, The Legend of Holly Claus)

Anthologies/ Short Story Collections: 6 (After: 19 Stories of Apocalypse and Dystopia, The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories, Robots Vs Fairies, Invisible Planets, Tales of the Peculiar, The Language of Thorns)

Comics/ Graphic Novels: 2 (Monstress Vol 3: The Blood and the Wicked and the Divine Vol 1: The Faust Act)

Special cases (Special cases are for books that I'm leaving as a self contained standalone even though they have a sequel): 2 (East by Edith Pattou, The Call by Peadar O'Guilin)

GENRE: I'm going based off of where these books are shelved in stores, even if I don't agree with some of them.

YA: 44

Adult: 33

Fantasy: 42 (A Court of Wings and Ruin (Epic fantasy/ Romance)(YA), Every Heart a Doorway (Portal fantasy/ Contemporary fantasy/ Mystery)(A), Down Among the Sticks and Bones (Gothic fantasy/ Mythic fantasy)(A), Beneath the Sugar Sky (Portal fantasy)(A), Walk on Earth a Stranger (Historical fantasy)(YA), Like a River Glorious (Historical fantasy/ Romance)(YA), Into the Bright Unknown (Historical fantasy/ Romance)(YA), A Crown of Wishes (Epic fantasy)(YA), Day's of Blood and Starlight (Epic fantasy/ Portal fantasy)(YA), Dreams of God's and Monsters (Portal fantasy/ Epic fantasy)(YA), Children of Blood and Bone (Epic fantasy)(YA), Truthwitch (Epic fantasy/ Romance), A Great and Terrible Beauty (Historical fantasy/ Portal fantasy)(YA), Rebel Angels (Historical fantasy/ Portal fantasy/ Romance)(YA), The Bone Witch (Epic fantasy/ Romance) (YA), The Wrath and the Dawn (Retelling/ Romance/ Historical fantasy)(YA), East (Retelling/ Historical fantasy/ Romance)(YA), The Falconer (Historical fantasy, Steampunk, Romance)(YA), Uprooted (Epic fantasy/ Retelling)(A), Tales of the Peculiar (Fairy tales/ Short stories)(YA), The Tethered Mage (Epic fantasy/ Mystery)(A), The Defiant Heir (Epic fantasy)(A), The Library at Mount Char (Urban fantasy), Circle of Magic: Sandry's Book (Children's fantasy)(YA), Sabriel (Epic fantasy/ Gothic fantasy)(YA), Lirael (Epic fantasy/ Gothic fantasy)(YA), The Star Touched Queen (Retelling/ Romance/ Epic fantasy)(YA), Nightfall (Thriller/ Low fantasy)(YA), Monstress (Epic fantasy/ Horror/ Comic)(A), The Wicked and the Divine (Urban fantasy/ Mythology/ Comic)(YA), Torn (Romance/ Epic fantasy)(A), Three Dark Crowns (Epic fantasy/ Gothic fantasy/ Romance)(YA), Rosemary and Rue (Urban fantasy/ Mystery)(A), A Natural History of Dragons (Fantasy of Manners)(A), The Tropic of Serpents (Fantasy of Manners)(A), The Voyage of the Basilisk (Fantasy of Manners)(A), In the Labyrinth of Drakes (Romance/ Fantasy of Manners)(A), American Gods (Urban fantasy)(A), Daughters of the Storm (Epic fantasy)(A), The Shadow Queen (Retelling)(YA), The Legend of Holly Claus (Juevnile fantasy)(YA), The Language of Thorns (Retelling/ Short Stories)(YA)  

Science Fiction: 10 (The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet (Soft SF)(A), A Closed and Common Orbit (Soft SF/ Biopunk)(A), Record of a Spaceborn Few (Soft SF/ Generation Ships)(A), Leviathan Wakes (Space Opera/ Crime Noir/ Alien Invasion)(A), Caliban's War (Space Opera/ Alien Invasion)(A), Invisible Planets (Anthologies/ Translated/ Soft SF/ Hard SF)(A), Ancillary Justice (Hard SF/ Space Opera)(A), Under the Never Sky (Survival/ Romance)(YA), The Knife of Never Letting Go (Survival/ Alien)(YA), Illuminae (Survival/ Soft SF/ Cyberpunk)(YA)  

Science Fantasy: 3 (contains magic and technology): 3 (The Paper Menagerie (Short stories)(A), Robots vs Fairies (Anthologies)(A), Red Sister (Grim dark fantasy/ Epic fantasy)(A))  

Dystopian/ Post Apocalypse: 8 (survival's the name of the game): Our Dark Duet (urban fantasy/ post apocalyptic)(YA), Vivian Apple at the End of the World (Contemporary/ apocalyptic)(YA), Vivian Apple Needs a Miracle (Contemporary/ apocalyptic)(YA), After (Anthology/ dystopian/ apocalyptic), The Registry (Dystopia/ Action)(YA), The Collection (Dystopia)(YA), Ignite Me (Dystopian/ Science fiction/ Romance)(YA), The Call (Contemporary fantasy/ Portal fantasy/ Horror/ Apocalyptic)(YA))

Literary Fiction (lacks magic or new technology): 6 (Beauty Queens (Contemporary/ Satire)(YA), Code Name Verity (Historical fiction)(YA), Jonathan Livingston Seagull (Philosophical fiction)(A), The Virgin Suicides (Contemporary)(A), Front Lines (Alternate history/ historical)(YA), The Red Tent (Historical/ Biblical fiction)(A), The Giving Tree (Poetry)(YA))  

Non Fiction: 4 (Princesses Behaving Badly, The Silk Roads: A New History of the World, Uppity Women Speak Their Minds, You Are a Badass)

2019 Goals:

I did a T5W outlining my 2019 reading goals, and I promised I would talk about them more in this post. So I'm going to conclude my Yearly Wrap Up post by discussing what I hope to accomplish in my 2019 reading year. For starters I have a goal that I'm carrying over from 2018 and that is to read a wider genre of books. I wanted to accomplish this last year, but going into 2019 I have a better idea of what specific genre's I would like to try more of. This year I really started to transition from YA fantasy to Adult fantasy, but I haven't given up on YA yet. I want to try some YA contemporary and magical realism, but as of right now I only have specific picks in mind for this. I want to read more historical fiction and historical fantasy, like the Golem and the Jinni. I enjoy reading about settings from different time periods, especially if they have magical elements, I just need to be careful about finding books that don't get heavy handed with a crappy romance. I want to read more science fiction, specifically Adult Science fiction, since I haven't come across a YA science fiction that intrigues me. I'm sill trying to learn what exactly I like in science fiction, but I know I like character driven stories, like Becky Chamber's series. I knew I would like to attempt the New Weird and Hard science fiction genre's but at the same time I'm a little intimidated by them. I also want to get back into literary fiction, including adult dystopian's and classics. I used to have no problem reading classics and would read 1 or 2 a month, then I just got burned out by it, but I want to pick up that genre again. In terms of fantasy, I still expect that to be the genre that I read the most of put there are still some things I would like out of 2019. I've already said that I'm leaning more toward Adult fantasy and wanting to read more historical fantasy, but I would also like to read more fantasy standalone's. That's something I wanted to do in 2018 but sadly did not find any new ones that I really loved. I also want to read more anthologies or short story collections, in any genre really, because that was something that I discovered that I really liked in 2018 and want more of. The next reading goal I want to accomplish in 2019 is to complete is to finish at least 5 series. For this I'm counting anything that is 3 books or more as a series. I finished 7 series in 2018 but 2 of those were duologies, and I feel like those are super easy to finish. There are several series that I started I won't be completing or the series isn't completed yet. Fortunately most of the series that aren't completed yet I already know I'm not going to continue, and the rest are either being completed this year or have a large number of books that I need to get through for me to catch up with the series. With that being said there are at least 3 series that I will definitely be finishing this year: the Memoirs of Lady Trent, The Registry, and the Swords and Fire series, and I have also already completed one series, so this is goal I can definitely tackle by the end of the year, maybe even half way through the year.  Something else I want to accomplish this year was to go to at least two book events, but that's going to be difficult to do. Most of the bigger book events or conventions, are over 8 hours away. I could also attend book signing events but all of the others that I want signatures from are either not doing events or are doing ones not within a close driving distance for me. That might change as the year progresses, but for now I'm not expecting to be able to accomplish this goal and will instead invest my time in completing a reading challenge, which I was not able to accomplish this year. Another goal for 2019 is to read more diverse books. I want to read more books with POC people as POV characters, or disabled characters, or on the LGBTQ spectrum. I think I've been progressively getting better about that over the years but where I really want to focus on is more diverse authors. As you can see from the statistics section my reading from last year was heavily skewed toward white authors. I want to change that and work toward at least having more POC authors, and almost all the brand new books on my TBR pile are from POC authors and I'm excited to get to most of them (although all authors I've read this year so far are Caucasian). I would also like to read more books by authors that are diverse in other ways beside their ethnicity but it's more difficult to identify those things. Like last year there's only a few couple authors that I'm pretty sure qualify in that way, but I'm not absolutely sure. My final reading major reading goal of 2019 is to get through half of my reread TBR pile. About half way through last year, I decided to go through all my books that I hadn't tabbed and reread them. I wanted to do this for a few reasons. I have a small bookshelf and large container and that's about all the room I have for books, including my non fiction ones. As I read more new books and find new series that I enjoy, that means that there will need to be more room. So rereading books will hopefully help me be able to tell which books I should keep and which ones I should give away. I also want to reread all these books in order to better review them and have a fresh opinion of them. At the beginning of this year I have about 50 books, and I know I'm not going to get through them all this year, so I set a more realistic goal with tackling half of my TBR which would be about 25 books. The last thing I want to talk about is the reading challenge's I'm currently participating in. On Goodreads I have set the yearly amount of books I read to 50. That was my goal last year, and I ended up reading 80 books, so I think setting it at 50 again is something I can manage. I'm also doing the PopSugar 2019 Reading Challenge, which I tried to do last year but failed to complete. How I want to accomplish that this year is by always reading a book that is can be applied to one of the prompts, that way I'm knocking out these prompts as quickly as possible. The last reading challenge I'm doing is a group on Goodreads called The Reading Frenzy, which I joined toward the end of last year. They have several monthly reading challenges, but this year it has been announced that every month there will be a pick my TBR Reading Challenge, which means every month you will be randomly matched with a person, and will pick one book for the other to read that month. I look forward to doing this, just because I like that random element to it, and this will help my slim down my Goodreads TBR (as long as I can get a physical copy of the book). So that sums up my 2018 reading year as well as what all I hope to accomplish in 2019. I look froward to it, and hopefully it's going to be a good year for everyone.  

Thank You Everyone

Keep Calm and Keep Reading

[newstfionline]

Monday, September 27, 2021

COVID-19 vaccine boosters could mean billions for drugmakers (AP) Billions more in profits are at stake for some vaccine makers as the U.S. moves toward dispensing COVID-19 booster shots to shore up Americans’ protection against the virus. How much the manufacturers stand to gain depends on how big the rollout proves to be. No one knows yet how many people will get the extra shots. But Morningstar analyst Karen Andersen expects boosters alone to bring in about $26 billion in global sales next year for Pfizer and BioNTech and around $14 billion for Moderna if they are endorsed for nearly all Americans.

So close! Iceland almost gets female-majority parliament (AP) Iceland briefly celebrated electing a female-majority parliament Sunday, before a recount produced a result just short of that landmark for gender parity in the North Atlantic island nation. The initial vote count had female candidates winning 33 seats in Iceland’s 63-seat parliament, the Althing. Hours later, a recount in western Iceland changed the outcome, leaving female candidates with 30 seats. Still, at almost 48% of the total, that is the highest percentage for women lawmakers in Europe. Only a handful of countries, none of them in Europe, have a majority of female lawmakers. According to the Inter-Parliamentary Union, Rwanda leads the world with women making up 61% of its Chamber of Deputies, with Cuba, Nicaragua and Mexico narrowly over the 50% mark. Worldwide, the organization says just over a quarter of legislators are women.

Copenhagen’s hippie, psychedelic oasis Christiania turns 50 (AP) After a half-century, the “flower-power” aura of Copenhagen’s semi-autonomous Christiania neighborhood hasn’t yet wilted. “It has become more and more an established part of Copenhagen,” said Ole Lykke, a resident of 42 years at the enclave near downtown Copenhagen. “The philosophy of community and common property still exists. Out here we do things in common.” It all started as a stunt 50 years ago, when a small counterculture newspaper that needed an outrageous story for its front page staged an “invasion” of an abandoned 18-century naval base. Six friends with air rifles and a picnic basket entered the former military facility base, proclaimed it a “free state” on Sept. 26, 1971, took some photos and went home. The paper ran the story, urging young people to take the city bus and squat the barracks. Hippies flocked to what they dubbed Christiania—no one remembers why they picked that name—that evolved into a counterculture, freewheeling oasis with psychedelic-colored buildings, free marijuana, limited government influence, no cars and no police. In 1973, it was recognized as a “social experiment.” After more than four decades of locking horns with authorities, Christiania’s future was secured in 2012 when the state sold the 84-acre (24-hectare) enclave for 85.4 million kroner ($13.5 million) to a foundation owned by its inhabitants. The residents—nearly 700 adults and about 150 children—now rent their homes from the foundation and are financially responsible for all repair and maintenance work to the roughly 240 buildings.

UK gas stations run dry as trucker shortage sparks hoarding (AP) Thousands of British gas stations ran dry Sunday, an industry group said, as motorists scrambled to fill up amid a supply disruption due to a shortage of truck drivers. The Petrol Retailers Association, which represents almost 5,500 independent outlets, said about two-thirds of its members were reporting that they had sold out their fuel, with the rest “partly dry and running out soon.” Association chairman Brian Madderson said the shortages were the result of “panic buying, pure and simple.” “There is plenty of fuel in this country, but it is in the wrong place for the motorists,” he told the BBC. “It is still in the terminals and the refineries.” Long lines of vehicles formed at many gas stations over the weekend, and tempers frayed as some drivers waited for hours.

U.K.’s Migrant Boat Dispute Has Eyes Fixed on the Channel (NYT) Using high-powered binoculars and a telescope, three volunteers from a humanitarian monitoring group stood on the Kent coast, peering across the English Channel. The looming clock tower of the French town of Calais was visible on this clear morning, but so was the distinctive outline of a small rubber dinghy. The volunteer group, Channel Rescue, was set up last year to watch for the boats packed with asylum seekers trying to cross this busy waterway, to offer them humanitarian support—like water and foil blankets—when they land on beaches, or to spot those in distress. But they are also monitoring Britain’s border authority for any possible rights violations as the government takes an increasingly hard line on migration. For much of the year, the numbers of migrants crossing the channel in dinghies has risen, brewing a political storm in London and leading Home Secretary Priti Patel to authorize tough tactics to push boats back toward France. The authorization—not yet put into effect—has stirred anew the national debate over immigration and created a further diplomatic spat between Britain and France, whose relations were already strained after Brexit over issues including both fishing rights and global strategic interests.

German elections (AP) Germany is embarking on a potentially lengthy search for its next government after the center-left Social Democrats narrowly beat outgoing Chancellor Angela Merkel’s center-right bloc in an election that failed to set a clear direction for Europe’s biggest economy under a new leader. Leaders of the parties in the newly elected parliament were meeting Monday to digest a result that saw Merkel’s Union bloc slump to its worst-ever result in a national election, and appeared to put the keys to power in the hands of two opposition parties. Both Social Democrat Olaf Scholz, who pulled his party out of a years-long slump, and Armin Laschet, the candidate of Merkel’s party who saw his party’s fortunes decline in a troubled campaign, laid a claim to leading the next government. Scholz is the outgoing vice chancellor and finance minister and Laschet is the governor of Germany’s most populous state, North Rhine-Westphalia. Whichever of them becomes chancellor will do so with his party having won a smaller share of the vote than any of his predecessors.

Basta! Romans say enough to invasion of wild boars in city (AP) Rome has been invaded by Gauls, Visigoths and vandals over the centuries, but the Eternal City is now grappling with a rampaging force of an entirely different sort: rubbish-seeking wild boars. Entire families of wild boars have become a daily sight in Rome, as groups of 10-30 beasts young and old emerge from the vast parks surrounding the city to trot down traffic-clogged streets in search of food in Rome’s notoriously overflowing rubbish bins. Posting wild boar videos on social media has become something of a sport as exasperated Romans capture the scavengers marching past their stores, strollers or playgrounds. Italy’s main agriculture lobby, Coldiretti, estimates there are over 2 million wild boars in Italy. The region of Lazio surrounding Rome estimates there are 5,000-6,000 of them in city parks, a few hundred of which regularly abandon the trees and green for urban asphalt and trash bins. In Italy’s rural areas, hunting wild boar is a popular sport and most Italians can offer a long list of their favorite wild boar dishes. Those beliefs are not shared by some urban residents.

Taiwan says China is a ‘bully’ after one of the largest PLA warplane incursions yet (CNN) Taiwan on Thursday accused China of “bullying” after Beijing sent a total of 24 warplanes into its air defense identification zone (ADIZ), the third-largest incursion in the past two years of heightened tensions between Beijing and Taipei. The People’s Liberation Army (PLA) aircraft, including bombers, fighter jets, anti-submarine planes and airborne early warning and control planes, entered Taiwan’s ADIZ in two groups—one of 19 planes and a second cohort of five jets that came later in the day. The air incursions came a day after Taiwan officially submitted an application to join the Comprehensive and Progressive Agreement for Trans-Pacific Partnership (CPTPP) free-trade pact. China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs signaled its strong opposition to Taiwan’s application. “We firmly oppose official exchanges between any country and the Taiwan region, and firmly oppose Taiwan’s accession to any agreement or organization of an official nature,” ministry spokesman Zhao Lijian said.

Taliban hang body in public; signal return to past tactics (AP) The Taliban hanged a dead body from a crane parked in a city square in Afghanistan on Saturday in a gruesome display that signaled the hard-line movement’s return to some of its brutal tactics of the past. Taliban officials initially brought four bodies to the central square in the western city of Herat, then moved three of them to other parts of the city for public display, said Wazir Ahmad Seddiqi, who runs a pharmacy on the edge of the square. Taliban officials announced that the four were caught taking part in a kidnapping earlier Saturday and were killed by police, Seddiqi said. Since the Taliban overran Kabul on Aug. 15 and seized control of the country, Afghans and the world have been watching to see whether they will re-create their harsh rule of the late 1990s, which included public stonings and limb amputations of alleged criminals, some of which took place in front of large crowds at a stadium.

UN and Afghanistan’s Taliban, figuring out how to interact (AP) It’s been little more than a month since Kalashnikov-toting Taliban fighters in their signature heavy beards, hightop sneakers and shalwar kameezes descended on the Afghan capital and cemented their takeover. Now they’re vying for a seat in the club of nations and seeking what no country has given them as they attempt to govern for a second time: international recognition of their rule. The Taliban wrote to the United Nations requesting to address the U.N. General Assembly meeting of leaders that is underway in New York. They argue they have all the requirements needed for recognition of a government. The U.N. has effectively responded to the Taliban’s request by signaling: Not so fast. Afghanistan, which joined the U.N. in 1946 as an early member state, is scheduled to speak last at the General Assembly leaders’ session on Monday. With no meeting yet held by the U.N. committee that decides challenges to credentials, it appears almost certain that Afghanistan’s current ambassador will give the address this year—or that no one will at all. The U.N. can withhold or bestow formal acknowledgement on the Taliban, and use this as crucial leverage to exact assurances on human rights, girls’ access to education and political concessions.