#But the white and black lines in concentric circles are so neat!

[completeoveranalysis]

[7]

OH HELLO MOON THAT NOW MATCHES THE ONE ON THE YUUKO PAGES

Either Clow’s moon works differently or weird time stuff is already happening because I’m SURE it’d take longer than like 2-3 days for the phase of the moon to shift from a crescent to a gibbous moon. It’d be like a little under two weeks, unless I’m completely wrong. 

Please correct me if I’m wrong I was not good at science.

OH NO. 

OH NO CHAPTER ONE COMES BACK IN SWINGING. 

MYSTERIOUS HYPNOTISING BELL: PART TWO

And there she goes!

I love it. 

Last time this happened was ALSO the night before they went to the ruins and Evil Wolverine invaded. Of course in that timeline things had (presumably?) been altered so the details were all off, but the Bell of Foreshadowing is striking in the same place all the same. 

In chapter one it was accompanied by Sakura having visions of the future - do you think she gets the same here? 

I guess we’ll find out - immediately! 

Open the next chapter quick I have to see. 

[alrightberries]

dante’s inferno

request: wassup homie could you maybe write a college au fic where levi and reader are rommies, then one day reader brings home an adopted cat without levi's prior knowledge? You could decide what happens next lol. Tysm 🥺

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff, semi-crack ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: college au. in which you bring a stray cat to your dorm and your neat freak roommate won’t let you keep it.

alternatively: a compilation of college shenanigans where you and levi are best friends who are bad with feelings (ft. an unamused cat named dante)

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of alcohol and smoking. implied smut.

a/n: this was supposed to be loosely based on the nine circles of hell according to inferno by dante alighieri— hence the title— but i did my research wrong so now it’s loosely based on the seven terraces of purgatory according to divine comedy. i’m keeping the title tho.

Inspired by this art by @ryuichirou on tumblr.

Permission to repost art was granted by the artist. Do not repost/edit the art without explicit permission from the artist.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

i. first terrace: pride

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why?”

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why.”

Levi’s tongue clicks in annoyance. His eyes glance next you where the offending creature lay on your bed; tail curling, paws kneading at his your favorite fleece blanket. Quite frankly he’s a little offended when the little shit has the audacity to glare at him back.

He’ll never admit it, but his ego’s a bit bruised because the cat’s glare was slightly better than his.

“I said no,” he firmly replies, looking back to you. “It’s bad enough I have to share a room with an anarchist who has no respect for boundaries—“

“One time, I forgot to use a coaster that one time!”

“—and now you expect me to share a room with a dirty fur ball who does nothing but eat, shit, and sleep?”

“He’s a cat, Levi.” You murmur, scooping the cat into your arms. “And he has a name,” you give a nervous smile when you see your rommate grit his teeth. He feels a headache coming.

“You named it?”

“Dante is not an ‘it’.”

Levi makes a move to step closer but immediately stops when the ‘Dante’ hisses at him.

“Aw, he likes you.” You coo.

“Clearly,” he replies unenthusiastically. “Listen,” he sighs. “I respect your cat’s pronouns but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to stay. Or do I need to remind you of the mac and cheese incident?”

Okay, maybe he was on to something. If you got caught with a pet in the dorms you’d breach your third and final warning, and you’d be forced to dorm off-campus. The fact that you were still here after the mac and cheese incident was solely because Levi pulled some strings (aka asked Erwin, golden boy of the campus who owed him a favor, to pull some strings).

But you couldn’t just let Dante go. There was something about him that felt so familiar; something about his black fur, thin silver eyes, unamused snarl, and overall grumpy demeanor. Especially endearing was the way he’d grumble and pretend to be annoyed whenever you tried to cuddle him but would complain if you stopped.

You just couldn’t figure out who or what he reminded you of.

Maybe you would’ve figured it out too if you weren’t so distracted with watching Levi and Dante stare at each other. Your eyes dart back and forth between the grouchy cat sitting on your bed and your grouchy roommate sitting on his desk. Both were slightly crouched over with their heads tilted up in a show of dominance; they were engaged in what seemed to be a glaring contest, gunmetal irises unamused and mouths taut in a snarl as they protected their territory.

You sigh. You really, for the life of you, couldn’t figure out why Dante felt so familiar.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ii. second terrace: envy

Levi is not jealous. He’s not.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he sulks alone on his bed. His arms are crossed and his lips are in a pout, eyebrows knitted in distaste, occasionally glancing to your side of the room where you sat up on your bed. He’s sure whatever movie you chose to watch together is interesting and all, but right now all he could pay attention to was that stupid cat. Sitting on your stupid lap. Getting its fur stroked by your stupid hand. Getting all the love and affection his stupid self should be receiving.

It was him you should be cuddling, not Dante. Saturday nights were reserved for him and you, not you and a cat while he happened to be in the room. He’s been trying to make a move on you since high school and he can’t fucking believe he’s losing your attention to a cat. Sure, he’s always been too chicken to make a move and had to suffer seeing you get together with assholes— as per your type during your emo high school days— but this was a new low. He can’t wrap his head around the concept that he’s losing his longterm crush to a motherfucking cat.

When you coo at how adorable the fleabag was for what felt like the 50th time that night, Levi decides he’s had enough of the cuddle-hogging piece of shit.

Wordlessly, he crosses to your side of the room and lifts the cat from its perch, ignoring your protests as he sets it down on the floor and tells it to ‘scram, you little fuck.’ He uses a hand to dust your lap free of any microscopic cat particles Dante probably left behind before lying down his head down once he was satisfied. He grabs your hand to put it on his hair.

“Stroke.” He orders, eyes closing.

“What? No! You pushed off Dante.”

“He was in my spot.”

“You couldn’t have given up your lap pillow for one night?”

“One night?” He scoffs and turns to look at you. “You’ve been abandoning me for two weeks. That disgusting, tic-infested, rabies-carrying slob has no business sitting on your lap.”

“He’s not disgusting, you gave him a shower before you agreed to let me keep him. And I took him the vet to make sure he had all his shots. He’s clean, Levi.”

“Tch, good. Now throw him out and let him find someone else to freeload from.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” You guffaw. “You’ve been grumpier than usual. And why’re you being such an ass to Dante? He’s just a cat.”

“Don’t think he’s special in some way. I’m an ass to everyone.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re always extra mean to him?”

He doesn’t reply. His lips are downturned into a frown when he looks away with a click of his tongue, and you realize with a sigh you won’t be getting an answer from your cryptic roommate soon. Your fingers start mindlessly stroking his undercut when you get lost in your thoughts— a habit you developed through years of Levi using your lap as a pillow. He always complained the first few times you did it but you knew it calmed both him and you, and that it put both your minds at ease. Moreso Levi right now, apparently.

You’re keenly aware of how he seems to curl up into you the more you keep going. You watch as his shoulders slump down when you stroke the side of his face, and his eyebrows relax slightly. From your angle, you could even see the way his eyes close in content. Maybe even a tiny smile if you were being delusional.

Your lip twitches upward.

“Oh my god, Levi, are you jealous of a cat?”

“Shut up and play with my hair.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iii. third terrace: wrath

“You owe me a new cravat.”

You blink up at your roommate. “What?”

“You owe me a new cravat.” He repeats. He pulls from his pocket a white piece of fabric— barely recognizable— torn into shreds, releases it mid-air. It gently lands on your open palm.

“Wait, did Dante do this?” You ask, eyeing the slik in your hands.

“Unless you went feral in the middle of the fucking night and decided to cut up my clothes, yes.”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry. I swear Dante will never—“

“You actually owe me three cravats,” he interjects. “The first two I overlooked since they weren’t that expensive but I draw the line here.” His lips are downturned into a frown, eyes poorly concealing his clear distaste. “This one’s my favorite and it was made from silk.”

You eye the fabric in your hands once more before nodding in understanding, setting down the once beautiful cravat before taking out your wallet. It was only fair that you paid him back; he was being more than generous with letting your cat stay and keeping it a secret, and now you wonder how many bad things Dante’s done that Levi’s overlooked or simply never brought up with you.

“Sure, I’m really sorry. How much do I owe you?”

Levi doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls out his phone and types something on what you could only assume was google, most likely looking for the same brand of the cravat your cat had just torn into shreds. You weren’t entirely sure how much those could cost, but surely you could afford—

“What the fuck!” You screech, eyeing the page with very, very hefty price tags listed. Holy fucking hell where did he even get the money to buy something so expensive. Gulping, you nervously look up at your unimpressed roommate. You already knew he was taking it easy on you; his aura was the only thing intimidating, at least he wasn’t giving you the murder eyes. And even though he was a man of his word, you were thankful he hasn’t reported Dante.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that Levi looked pissed beyond belief.

“Uhm... can I pay you with a check that’ll definitely bounce?”

“You will pay me in cash.”

“Fuck, fine!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iv. fourth terrace: sloth

Levi silently works on his desk. His laptop’s open in fromt of him, numerous notes from classes and books from the library surrounding him. The gentle sounds of clicking and clacking echoe throughout the room as fingers typed at the keyboard, eyes concentrated and lips pulled taught as he focuses on his task. He’s on a roll. He’s almost done with this part of his research, nothing could snap him out of this, he just needs to—

“Levi, when do you think Dante will come back to me?”

He stops typing and grits his teeth.

This is how it’s been the entire night. Ten minutes of peace before you ask him some stupid questions that could’ve been answered with common sense.

“Fuck if I care.”

“Do you think it was something I did?”

He resumes typing. “Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“No.”

“Even after all we’ve been through?”

“Still no.”

“I miss him,” you sigh. “I miss him so much.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left the door open.”

It’s been a week since Dante escaped the dorm and Levi doesn’t understand why you’re still so depressed about it. I mean, you only lost a cat that you loved and treasured and treated like family. Surely a week of moping around in your pajamas and eating nothing but chips and soda was catharsis enough.

He hears you shift in your burrito blanket, presumably to turn away from him so you can sulk into the wall next to your bed. Good. Now he can get back to working on—

“Levi do you think Dante-“

“Enough.” He grits, slamming his laptop shut.

“Where’re you going?” You ask, eyeing the way he hurriedly stuffs papers and books into his bag along with his laptop.

“Out.” He replies, grabbing his keys and his coat. “I can’t stand this shit anymore.”

Your head is burried in your blankets when he slams the door shut and all you could do was slump down because great. You lost Dante, and now you’ve royally pissed off Levi.

Great. Just fucking great.

Unlike your cat, however, your roommate comes back hours later, just before curfew. He doesn’t bother with a hello— he never does— and neither do you, opting to stay hidden underneath the sheets. Though suddenly, there’s a dip in the mattress followed by a pur next to your head.

Could it be?

“Dante?” You murmur, lifting your head from underneath your cocoon of fabric. Small black paws and silver eyes meet your gaze. “Dante!” Immediately sitting up, you pulled him to your lap, scratching his little head and cooing about how much you missed him as he purred and curled into to you.

Levi would never say it, but he missed seeing you smile at the little fleabag.

You turn to look at your roommate. “How’d you find him?”

“Asked around the campus. He wandered into another dorm building and probably thought it was ours.”

“Well yeah but... I thought you hated him?”

“I do.” He replies instantly.

“Then why’d you find him?”

“I hate him, not you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

v. fifth terrace: avarice

“I fucking hate both of you,” Levi grumbles, staring at the dorm.

Towers of boxes lined his supposed to be clean dorm room. He had a hard time prying the door open since it was blocked, and he wasn’t even sure how the boxes weren’t blocking out the light from how high they were piled. Dante’s sat on a stack of box directly next to the door, purring and flicking his tail around. Levi squints his eyes and glares at the little shit.

“You especially.”

“Mrow?”

Levi’s day had been, with no irony or sarcasm at all, amazing. He got a good grade on his research paper; the guy in front of him at the cafe accidentally ordered an extra serving of (coincidentally, Levi’s favorite) tea and gave it to him for free; and he got full marks for the presentation he’s been worrying about for weeks. His class even got dismissed early so he had an extra hour for lunch. He knew you didn’t have classes, so in honor of his great day he thought he’d do something nice and take you out for lunch. His treat, of course.

But any trace of his good mood vanished when he went back to the dorms and got greeted to a room that looked like it came from an episode of Hoarders.

This is what he gets for trying to be nice.

“Levi! Is that you?” You called out.

“What the fuck happened?”

You laugh sheepishly— at least Levi thinks you do. He couldn’t see you beyond the hundred boxes that took up your shared room. He hears some rustling and the sound of things being moved around before finally your head pops out from behind a wall of brown, smiling at him apologetically before walking towards him (and tripping a few times).

“Remember when I said I’d order some toys for Dante as a surprise?”

Levi’s eye twitches. “Don’t tell me—”

“I accidentally ordered 10,000 instead of 10. Online shopping struggles, am I right?” You nervously chuckle at his pissed off face. Levi was not in the mood.

Your smile widens as you make twinkly gestures with your hands. “So uh... surprise?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vi. sixth terrace: gluttony

The clinic is still when you first entered.

The harsh smell of alcohol and sterile metal makes your nose grimace, and the coldness of the thermostat brings goosebumps to your arms. Behind the wall, somewhete in the waiting room, cats are hissing, dogs are barking, and you could even hear the sound of birds angrily chirping and rattling their cages.

Dante cowers in fear on the silver table, and your heart aches. His ears are down and his fur’s standing on its ends, but you couldn’t comfort him. Not right now, at least. The veterinarian still needed to do a few more checks.

You gulp, “how’s... how’s Dante looking, doc?”

“Not good,” she murmurs. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she takes a deep sigh as she eyes the information on the chart. “It’ll take months before he can walk properly again, possibly more if we don’t do anything about it soon.”

“Don’t tell me... is he—-”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she sighs. “But your cat is heavily obese.”

The corners of your lips twitch down into a frown, and your palm is warm when you start to stroke Dante’s fur. He calms down a bit from your touch, less on edge but still guarded as he warily eyes the doctor’s gloved hands.

“But I don’t understand,” you reply. “I’ve been following the recommended diet you put him on, and I haven’t been feeding him anything other than the cat food and vitamins you recommended. How’s he still obese?”

“Well, we could look into other solutions, but for now I think we ought to look at whether or not Dante has an underlying health problem.”

Levi tunes out the chatter between you and the vet, bored eyes staring into nothing. He’s leaning against a wall and he’s watching the cat carrier. Your bag’s slung over his shoulders and your coat’s in his arms, and he was sure you didn’t even need him to be here for “moral support.”

He mentally scoffs. You probably just needed a chauffeur to drive you for free, and honestly, Levi would rather feel like a chauffeur than a coat rack.

His eyes make contact with Dante’s, and all the fear in the cat’s eyes is suddenly gone, replaced with a steely glare and bared teeth. A warning, one no one else notices but him.

Levi gives him a solitary nod, understanding what Dante wanted to say.

Don’t tell Y/N I’ve been sneaking to the neighbors.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vii. seventh terrace: desire

There’s something about the buzz of alcohol and nicotine that makes Levi confident—- the liquid courage in his veins and the smoke in his lungs clouding his judgement. Perhaps that’s where he finally gets the balls to cross the room, drunken eyes on your equally intoxicated ones, before he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss starts slow, with lips just interlocking and lightly testing the waters. But then he feels your tongue make its way inside his mouth and your fingers weave into his hair to tug him closer, and Levi loses the last threads of inhibition he has. His tongue massages yours and one of his arm wraps around your waist, the other comes down to grope and knead your ass. He feels you walk backwards and your hand pulls at his tie, dragging him with you. Suddenly he’s trapping you against a wall, lifting one of your legs up to wrap around his hips so he could grind his crotch into yours.

Levi doesn’t expect his first kiss with you to be like this; messy and full of tongue and spit, full of fingers clawing at clothes and small grunts escaping your lips. He was hoping it’d be more romantic, with warm cheeks and fingers softly intertwining, shy kisses exchanged through little smiles.

But he’s not about to complain—- he’s wanted to be with you for years, and god he loved having you like this. Loved having you all hot and desperate, trapped between his firm chest and the wall. His cock is hard in his pants, and he just about growls when he feels you start to undo his belt, the fly of his pants coming down as you got on your knees and stared up at him with innocent eyes as you pull out his aching boner. There’s a cheeky grin your face when you pump at his length, and your tongue peaks out of your mouth before—

“Levi, are you okay?”

His eyes snap open, and he’s greeted to the sight of your worried face directly above his.

“Fuck!” he yells, and his forehead slams into yours when he flinches away. “Sorry, sorry” he quickly ammends when you yelp in pain.

He’s covered in sweat, he notices. Chest heaving, heart beating a little too loud for his liking, and he silently pulls the blankets over his cum stained boxers when you sit beside him.

God, he was really hoping you wouldn’t notice the fact that he came in his pants like a high schooler. And it was before dream you even got to suck him off. How much more pathetic could he be.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, m’fine, it’s just...” your eyes are distracted, staring off into space. Fingers trace his thighs, and you sigh. “You were having a nightmare,”

Levi blinks. “What?”

“You were having a nightmare,” you repeat. “Kept tossing and turning and groaning in your sleep. And you kept making these... funny faces,”

“...right,” he nods. Sure, a nightmare. A nightmare he never wanted to wake up from.

It takes about ten minutes to reassure you that yes, he was fine, don’t mind the way his cheeks are flushed, he was just... shaken up from his nightmare, is all. Then you’re back to bed, sleeping the night away, and twenty minutes later he’s on his way back to bed too; this time with a fresh pair of boxers and a content look on his face, all thanks to him finishing off his fantasies in the communal bathroom during his shower.

The door makes a quiet click when he shuts it behind him, and he freezes when he catches sight of Dante sat up on your bed, tail flicking behind him as he gives Levi a knowing look.

Levi squints his eyes, and he threateningly whispers, “you tell no one.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

epilogue

The half empty room brings a frown to your face, and all you could do was pout as you sealed up the last of the boxes.

“Why do you have to leave again?” you ask, and Levi turns around as he finishes folding the last of his clothes. He shrugs. “Cats aren’t allowed in the dorms.”

You owed him your entire college career, that much was sure. The RA’s found out about Dante, and Levi had taken the fall to spare you. He wasn’t required to move out since it was only his first strike, but he insisted on doing so so that Dante wouldn’t be alone, saying he already found an apartment nearby and he’ll never hear the end of it from you if he didn’t take Dante with him.

Bullshit. Levi had a soft spot for Dante, you knew that much. He wasn’t doing it for you, he was doing it for himself. Though normally you’d be overjoyed to know that Levi really did secretly like the cat he pretended to hate so much, this time, you were just pissed. You couldn’t believe a fucking cat was stealing away the guy you’ve been in love with since high school. Sure, you were too much of a coward to ask him out, but he was basically your boyfriend already—- the entire campus knew you inadvertently had dibs on each other.

“Yeah but... do you have to leave me alone?”

“I asked you to come with me, and you said no.” He points out. “I still don’t see why when we’ve been roommates since we were freshmen.”

“It’s different off-campus!”

“How?”

“Because it’s like... it’s like we’re moving in together, y’know?” you reply. “And it seemed wrong to move in with you when we’re not even dating.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, handing you a spare key to what you could only assume was his new apartment. You glance between him and the key in your hands, and he rolls his eyes when he realizes that you still don’t get it.

“I know we’re doing this backwards since couples don’t typically move in before the first date,” he says before gesturing to Dante. “But we already have a son, and I know you’re his favorite parent. We can share custody until you can move in with me.”

You blink. “What?” Your brain stopped working when Levi referred to you as a couple, and you’re pretty sure your heart stopped beating too. At this point, anything he said went in one ear and out the other. He flicks your forehead.

“Hey— ow! What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening.”

“And you’re being a prick!” you grumble. “It hurts, y’know.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?” he scoffs.

Your mouth moves faster than your brain, “I’d rather you kiss me.”

Wait. What?

Before you could go back on your words, Levi shrugs. Warm palms gently grab your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his. Your eyes widen and you momentarily freeze, brain definitely not working anymore. He hesitates when you don’t make a move, but then you’re shyly leaning forward, and that was all the confirmation Levi needs.

“If you insist,” he whispers, and suddenly your words die on your tongue when his lips interlock with yours.

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[lovelylogans]

the warmest hello (to the coldest goodbye)

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: x

pairings: logan/virgil

word count: x

notes: this is for @analogicalweek and today’s prompt was dark/light. this is a sequel to one of my previous analogical week fics (as all of my analogical week fics this year will be) called “the warmest hello (to the coldest goodbye)” which was by far the most requested for continuation from last year, so i hope you enjoy!

⁂

Virgil gets reassigned as soon as his feet touch the tarmac in D.C.

Probably before then, but Virgil had been too paranoid to try and get in-flight wifi to get back in touch with Janus. He doesn't know what tracking devices have been laid into his gear when he was unconscious. He'd spent most of the flight going over every detail of his fleeting conversation with his soulmate and trying his very best to breathe slow, even, and deep, the way that his work-dispensed general therapist had told him to do in the aftermath of a mission turned sideways.

He tries his best to pitch his case to his superior's superior, who is having absolutely none of it; having Virgil continue to work the Truman case after his cover had been blown and in knowing violation of the Lewis clause?  It's honestly miraculous Virgil doesn't get laughed out of the organization.

As it is, he's put on another plane long after the sun's set, with a dossier for his newest case (he should have lobbied for some kind of psychiatric break, he thinks crabbily, but his superior's superior had already blown his top at him twice and he didn't want to risk a third) in his new work-issued briefcase.

He would have made an odd picture, someone without any carryon luggage, but his rumpled tux and the briefcase hopefully make him look like a businessman in travel for a conference. To further the image, he open the file and begins studying, even though his head is throbbing and he'd like nothing more than a nap; what with it being the middle of the night, he must be nearing a full day without sleep.

He doesn't think the drugged fainting counts as sleep.

He can barely remember any of it, though; he feels like he has the worst hangover he's ever had, he can't read a line without his concentration breaking at the thought of Logan's hand squeezing his arm, the potential connections Logan might have to the government, the way his blue eyes had glittered—

All of this put together means that he is in high dudgeon by the time he manages to get off the plane, his suit coat draped over his arm and his tie sloppily undone, hanging off his neck, only to spy yet another familiar face.

Janus' arms are crossed over his chest as he leans casually against a column, glancing over at Virgil, with a sign in his hand reading SANDERS.

Virgil grunts—Janus' cover must be as a taxi—and his suspicion is confirmed when he approaches.

"Mr. Sanders?" Janus says briskly.

"That's me."

"Right this way, sir."

Virgil follows Janus out to a splashy SUV—now why can he wheedle and con his way into anything their organization can give him but Virgil can't get a fucking week off—the black paint gleaming under the fluorescent lightposts.

Christ, what time is it? Virgil feels like he's been awake for a week straight.

By the time Janus closes the door behind Virgil, circles around to the driver's seat, and takes off, all without saying a word, Virgil's thread of patience, worn very thin, snaps.

"Well?!"

Janus glances at him through the rearview mirror. "Well what?"

Virgil throws his hands in the air, which means his white dress shirt sleeve slips upward. Not enough to reveal the neat, blocklike lettering on his left arm. But enough that Janus' eyebrow arches, glancing pointedly at where it is.

"You recognized him," Virgil accuses.

"I didn't know," another glance, before he redirects his gaze to the road, "that."

"Obviously," Virgil seethes. "Considering I didn't either."

"Tough luck," Janus says, fairly unsympathetic. Virgil doesn't know anything about a potential soulmate for Janus; if he has a mark, it's somewhere that's hidden by a shirt and pants.

Or maybe he's met his already and he lives domestic wedded bliss off the clock. Virgil knows very little about Janus, outside of work, and right now it's enough to make his hackles rise.

Janus heaves a massive sigh, as if Virgil is the one who is being unreasonable here.

"Look," he says. "I know you were attached the Truman case."

Virgil directs his gaze out of the dark tinted windows, crossing his arms over his chest tightly.

Virgil continues staring out of the window.

"Your new case might be interesting, at least. And hey, it's probably not undercover again. You hate being undercover, which is good, considering I've seen better actors in—"

"Are you still on it?" Virgil interrupts, rudely. "You recognized him. Why would you still be on the case, then?"

Janus' silence is all the answer he needs.

"Great," Virgil seethes. "Just—perfect. My fucking soulmate's aligned with the mob, you know who he is, no one's telling me anything—"

"Virgil," Janus says, sounding entirely unsympathetic. "It's the Lewis clause. I'd say tough break, if it wasn't one of the rules you absolutely cannot break."

Virgil opens his mouth about to say something, maybe since when did you care about rules? but Janus suddenly taps a button on the dash and a familiar song is blaring at the top volume these boosted speakers can allow.

"Mature," Virgil shouts over the squealing of a guitar. "You know I fucking hate this song—"

Janus bends his arm back behind the seat, and for a wild moment Virgil thinks Janus is going to hit him, like a child on a road trip. But then Janus, hand pointed downwards, flips him the finger—that's the reason for the weird angle, low enough that no other drivers on the road would think he was flipping them off—and Virgil scowls at the back of his head, kicking his seat, except—

Janus has tilted his hand so his middle finger is pointed down, directly at where a cupholder would be in any other car. And yes, there's a cupholder there—

A cupholder just barely cracked open, as if someone had tried to close it, but hadn't pushed it all the way until it clicked and locked shut.

An untidy accident. In a work-provided car.

There were no such things as untidy accidents in a work-provided car. And there were especially no such things as untidy accidents in a work-provided car driven by Janus.

Virgil looks up and meets Janus' eyes in the rearview window again, seeing his own eyes gone wide and wild.

Janus, casually, scratches his ear. Except it's Janus. He doesn't casually do anything without some kind of reason.

And for the first time Virgil tunes into the what the jazz singer is actually crooning.

They've given you a number And taken away your name Beware of pretty faces that you find A pretty face can hide an evil mind Ah, be careful what you say Or you'll give yourself away...

Secret Agent Man, Secret Agent Man, Virgil's brain fills in, moments before the singer does. It's a testament to how exhausted he is that he hadn't recognized the song before, there was some obnoxious newbie who blared it all the time when he and Janus were first training to become a team, thought it was funny, and Janus had hated this song too, he'd thought it was too cliché...

Virgil inches his dress shoe over to nudge open the cupholder, just a little, just a bit, and—

Tucked away so neatly that no one else would see it unless they were looking directly into the cupholder was a tiny, thumbnail-sized flash drive.

Ah, be careful what you say, or you'll give yourself away... Virgil's brain turns, and he looks at Janus again in the rearview mirror. He waits until they approach a stoplight; Janus needs to see.

Virgil, careful to look as nonchalant as possible, rubs his eyes as if rubbing the sleep out of them. They're bloodshot enough that it's believable.

Janus yawns and stretches his arms as much as he can in such an enclosed space.

His right elbow points to a suspiciously sleek screw in the passenger's side sun visor.

Fuck. Virgil's heart sinks, but then, what had he expected? He's kicking himself for not paying attention to the Lewis Clause, he has been for hours, but he does know that the particulars of what happens to agents who are matched with enemies—outside of reassignment, of course—are kept carefully blurred. Of course they're watching him; of course they're making sure that Janus isn't compromised too.

Janus has been the tech man on the Truman case for longer than any undercover agent has stuck it out, they wouldn't want to lose that. And Janus wouldn't either. Virgil can't blame him. And, selfishly, he thinks that Janus might keep him secretly apprised on if his soulmate would pop up again. And Virgil can't risk that.

Virgil waits until Janus takes a particularly rough turn, and his briefcase slides off the leather seats, onto the ground.

"Nice," Virgil says snidely, and leans over to pick it up, his back conveniently blocking any view a secret camera would have of a cupholder.

Quick as a flash, Virgil snatches the thumb drive and tucks it up his sleeve, settling his briefcase over his lap and giving an annoyed look out of the window for the rest of the drive home, the metal of the thumb drive heating against his skin as he disguises slipping it into his pants pocket through a variety of carefully choreographed fidgets.

At last, Janus pulls up to his house, and cuts off the blaring music, turning to face him in full.

"You get assigned leave?"

"Not that anyone's said," Virgil says with a scowl.

Janus shakes his head with an exasperated scoff.

"Figures. Look. I'll swing by and talk around, so you can manage to get some time to orient yourself on the new case. They at least need to give you... oh, I don't know. Three days to a week, under the Lewis Clause?"

Virgil's heart kicks into high gear, but he keeps it off his face.

"Fine," Virgil says. "Three days to a week. Whatever."

"And you need time to cool off," Janus says.

Virgil scoffs and exits the car, slamming the door behind him as he goes, as if he's still pissed at Janus instead of embarrassingly grateful for a chance, a chance—

He tries to keep an even pace instead of going into a breakneck run to his computer.

⁂

Virgil descends to his windowless basement, barely pausing to toss the briefcase onto an armchair sagging under the weight of the miscellanea of his life—coats, shirts-that-are-technically-dirty-but-not-ready-for-laundry-dirty, junk mail, the latest brochure dropped off at his doorstep for a local politician—and to his personal computer, loaded up with enough VPNs and jumbled authorization passwords that it was Janus-approved.

He doesn’t even bother to turn on the light—he’s pretty sure the main overhead bulb is burnt out anyway—and so the only light in the room is the computer screen, blaring harsh blue light into his face.

He tugs at the tie so it lies undone as he waits for the flash drive to load, and then—

Information_On_L.ZIP.

Yes! Virgil clicks it, and jabs open the first file folder that catches his eye.

A PDF of an old file loads, and Virgil's eyebrows lift at the sight. It's the start of a jacket. Most every intelligence member has one—Virgil has one, not that he's been allowed to dig deep into reading to intel that his boss has on him—and he has no idea how Janus could have laid his hands on this type of file without being noticed...

Virgil wisely decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and instead examines the starting page of the file for HOLLOWAY, LOGAN.

Most of the first page is the basics—birth date, job position, that kind of thing—and there's a photo, a candid photo of a blue-eyed, bespectacled man sitting bow-legged on a lab bench. He's in battered fatigues, his booted feet planted, just barely visible under the table scattered with papers. He looks like he's just looked up from a file, a hand shielding his eyes from the light, and the quirk to his brow seems to impart that he'd really like to get back to his reading now, if you'd stop foolishly waving that camera in his face, thank you.

It is unquestionably the same man that just saw Virgil off on a plane—was it really just hours ago?—but he looks so young, achingly young, even with the quirked brow and wide-legged stance and the squinted blue eyes all contributing to how young he looks rather than detracting from it, the way Virgil thinks he meant to, because Virgil has childhood pictures of himself trying to look older too.

Virgil bites his lip at the sight of him.

His side—Virgil's side—must have netted him the day he turned eighteen. There's no way he's any older.

He gives a cursory glance to the dates to see he isn't far off in his assumption; if the birth date here is accurate, that means Logan's a handful of years older than him. And Virgil had been right, that Midwestern accent had been Logan's true one—born in some tiny town near the smack-middle of the country, and recruited out of it, too, recruited straight into...

Virgil's eyebrows lift. Huh.

Must have been quite the eighteen-year-old to get recruited into strategic intelligence right off the bat. Virgil didn't get recruited until after college.

He quashes an entirely inappropriate sense of pride in his soulmate—who is, in fact, working for the mob and not in intelligence anymore, Virgil, that's the whole problem—and continues clicking through the scans of the jacket.

Or, at least, he tries.

PAGE STOLEN. reads a scan of a printout. BACKUP DESTROYED.

Then: PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP—

Virgil skips to the last page, and sure enough; everything but the barest bones of Logan's nascent career are gone. Gone. And all backups destroyed? Virgil didn't even know that was possible. Virgil knows of at least three separate places print and digital backups are stored, and that has to be the barest minimum.

But—that's just the jacket. Virgil moves to the next.

Health records, it looks like. Logan's stringently adherent to vaccination schedules, they'd been scheduled like clockwork, even the ones that most people don't bother re-upping unless they're prodded to during their yearly checkups, like seasonal flu and the DTP. And—huh. His soulmate's allergic to cat pollen. He'd fit in with Patton, then, which means Virgil once again has to ruthlessly quash the emotions inside him, brought on by imagining him, Roman, Patton, and Logan, a gathering of family and soulmates. Then: PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

Virgil lets out a hissed breath from between his clenched teeth and moves to the next set of records.

School records. Public school, all in the same district of that same tiny Midwest town. A string of perfect grades, nothing below an A, then it gets into teacher notes. Virgil gets to read a singular glowing review by his kindergarten teacher, that five-year-old Logan was an absolute pleasure to have in class! then PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

Virgil groans and moves to the next.

Virgil's potential in-laws; Logan's mother's listed as a homemaker, his father an auto mechanic, their first names blotted and smeared beyond recognition, and Virgil's about to see if there are any siblings and PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

Virgil grumbles some very creative swear words and moves to the next.

His test results to get into intelligence in the first place. Top marks across the board, obviously, and Virgil feels his lips turn up despite himself. The beginnings of a transcript of an interview, one that Virgil remembers having himself and PAGE STOLEN. BACKUP DESTROYED.

Virgil knocks a cup of pens off the desk in a fit of anger, and then he feels guilty about it. Patton got him that cup from a carnival he and Roman went to, on one of their first dates. Patton wouldn't want him knocking around his things. Well, he probably wouldn't say anything about it, but then he'd tell Virgil about how useful therapy had been for him and how Virgil should try it, maybe, and if not Patton's always right here to talk!

Virgil grumbles but picks his way through the very shredded basics of what must have been missions, lab results, Logan's research. Gone. All of it.

The last shred of information in this title is titled FROM_J.txt. Virgil opens it.

Now you know what I know. I saw him on your cam, and I remembered that he went dirty and decimated a lot of records when he left. We never overlapped. I could maybe do something like that, given time, and that's a big maybe. I know you, and I know you want to dig, but this is not someone to be fucked with. Or fucked. You've got rotten luck but you knew that already. And for the love of God, at least try to keep your nose clean. —J.

All of the exhaustion of the day seems to collapse on him in one big rush, like being caught under a rockslide, and Virgil slumps with it, putting his head down on his desk and barely even pausing to adjust his arms to use as a pillow.

His soulmate was in intelligence. His soulmate had bright blue eyes. His soulmate had defected. His soulmate had been an absolute pleasure to have in class, in kindergarten. His soulmate was working with the mob. His soulmate had skipped three grades. His soulmate had made a cocktail of chemicals to knock Virgil out and do God knows what else, if Virgil hadn't been his soulmate.

His soulmate was allergic to cat pollen.

His soulmate had probably killed people.

His soulmate, his soulmate, his soulmate...

And Virgil jerks awake, too bleary to even be alarmed by his phone practically vibrating off his desk. Virgil paws at it and answers it blindly.

"Hello," he groans. If it's a robocall about his car's warranty he's going to strangle someone.

"Oh my God, you bastard," Roman practically shouts into the phone. "I've been waiting hours—don't tell me you were still asleep! When on earth were you going to tell me?!"

Virgil rubs his eyes. "Tell you what?" He manages to mumble.

"Never mind, never mind—ow, Patton—!"

And then the sound of his cousin-in-law comes over the phone.

"—ooh, sorry, hon, didn't mean to step on you—Hi, Virgil, he's just excited is all, he doesn't mean to insult you," Patton says. "Can you meet us for brunch?"

"Uh—yeah, I guess?"

"You GUESS?!" Roman shrieks in the background, and Patton laughs.

"Okay! Great! We'll be at the usual spot, show up when you wanna, bye Virgil see you then!"

Virgil blinks at the dial tone, and drags himself off in search of a fortifying cup of coffee. He'll need it.

⁂

Across the world, in a sunny, airy condo, Logan idly turns his latest burner phone over and over in his hands. Logan’s soulmate—Virgil—seems to be close to his cousin-in-law, gaging from his social media likes and interaction. He feels that this will bring him more personal insight than Virgil’s medical records (what?) or his school records (no, seriously, what?) or what Logan had dug up from Virgil’s employer; what Logan deemed safe to hack into (admittedly worthy of questioning, but he feels this is a literal once-in-a-lifetime thread to tug.)

Logan should be thinking about sending funds to Mother.

Logan should be thinking about how to, once again, establish to Mary Lee that now she is his employer he is Logan, her employee, preferably seen as a different person from Logan, your groomsman, but then professionalism has never been her strong suit.

Logan should be thinking about his latest craft in the lab.

There is only one thing in his mind now.

Logan sets down the phone, taking a moment to craft a believable cover story, a response that this Patton that will buy into. A maid Mary Lee has hired sets a supper before him.

One man in his mind, rather. With dark hair and dark eyes in a dark suit.

Logan looks into the light of the setting sun, squinting at the brightness of it but refusing to look away, hoping it will bleach his mind clean.

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings, pt. 19

Description:

Notes: WC: 4.5k

+

They had yet to tell you the master's name.

You weren't allowed to stand next to Ahkmen in line, either. They wanted you lined up by size, leaving you at the smaller end, and Ahk at the taller. After scanning the new recruits––of which there were only six new people––the estate's stewardess assigned you to gardening, and Ahk to patrol.

"Okay," you said with a nod despite no one else in line saying anything in response to their assignment. "I also do clean good."

The stewardess cocked a single brow.

"You can do that as well then. Share shifts with Zakiti," she said, pointing to a young girl digging into the loose dirt of the garden.

You bowed your head deeply before the six of you were set loose on the property, your slots established. Ahkmen followed you into the sun for a moment before someone caught him, bringing him back to the small hut he'd just been in, and where the tools were kept. He was handed a guard's outfit––long, white robes, unflattering, and reaching all the way to his ankles and wrists. An instant distaste grew on Ahk.

"I have to wear this?" Ahk asked the man, but fortunately he was speaking Egyptian, and the stranger could not understand him.

The job did, to your great comfort, afford you food that was given out in plentiful rations, and despite the dull taste, Ahk found himself enjoying beer and bread in the beating afternoon sun, though he wasn't allowed much due to time constraints. He'd been working throughout the whole day, circling the whole of the property in search of any trespassers. Lean muscles were now strained beneath the weight of his body and of the strange clothes, though certainly no more than his backpack was, and he often found himself rubbing his aching shoulders. He couldn't see his skin there properly, but he was half convinced he was genuinely bruised.

What was hardest about the job didn't end up being the heat, the strain on his muscles, or the overstimulation of long skirts and sleeves––it was the absence of you that he noticed above anything else. No one to listen to the strange comments during the day, a slot that had, for a while, been filled by Piye, and then more recently by you.

You always had something more fun to say. Sometimes way out of range from his own thought process, and sometimes reading his mind exactly.

And he wasn't there to hear what you had to say, either, in those random moments when deep thoughts blurted out in rough translations.

Later in the afternoon––bordering on evening––you were called back to the servant's quarters to be dismissed. The stewardess gave the six of you a rough look at your future schedules, revealing your hours to be lax and concentrated to only three or four days in the ten day week. You and Ahk side-eyed each other, ready to jump out of line at any moment with excitement as you bit back a grin.

The moment she said 'dismissed' you flocked to one another, automatically heading towards your quarters without word.

"I have been with thoughts, all day," you began, moving your hands animatedly. "We need to go to the beer house, like," you pointed over your shoulder, "you know?"

"The one from yesterday?" He asked in mild confusion.

"Yes!"

"Well I haven't got anything else to do," he said, looking to you with a lop-sided grin that you eagerly returned.

Even in the increasingly late hours of the day the market was aflame with life, filled with open carts and tables now half-empty after a long day of business. Ahkmen never had a job before––at least, not one that didn't have to do with politics or, very rarely, singing. Neither of those were any bit like the job he now had, standing on his feet for hours on end, watchful eyes patrolling a property that didn't and never would belong to him.

That ache continued in his chest, a feeling of tiredness that attempted to lag him down as he followed your excited steps. Unlike him, you were accustomed to physical labor, and retained much of your energy despite the hours of cleaning.

Orange and yellow tarps still hung above the darkened market, now blocking nothing more than the stars that shone a little dimmer than the two of you were used to. The small, red flags fluttered high above you in the gentle breeze coming off the Euphrates, twinned by the still fresh scents of baking bread and cooking beer. You needed only to follow the scent and the crowds that grew larger the further you got down the wide, stone street, coalescing into a large city center built by shops, bakeries, breweries, and glassmakers surrounding a pyre of white stone.

Winged creatures on four feet and bearing a man's head were carved into the large pillar, mounted by a disc resembling the light of the sun. Other such decorations trailed all the way down to the base, where lax soldiers lay among the ascending steps, their spears and swords at their side, and their mouths occupied by a stew whose scent tantalized the both of you.

"Did you eat today?" Ahkmen asked, unable to stop staring at the clay bowls steaming with the soup.

"I had a bread, in the - the kitchen," you said quietly.

"Hungry?"

"Yes, yes, we will eat?" You asked as you turned to him.

"I'd like to, considering I didn't really eat anything today," he said with a frown.

"What?? They did not let you eat?"

"More of I didn't have the chance," he said as he scratched the back of his neck, scanning the city square.

"I say we do get beer," you said, speaking slowly so as to fully think through your plan, "then we go to the house, and take their food. It is their job to feed you, yes? We work for them, they give food."

"Ah, Yogi," he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a side hug, "I knew there was a reason I followed you to the end of the earth."

"We are not at the end of the earth now, not yet," you said with a chuckle.

"I will follow you there," he said in a sudden, sincere softness.

You looked up at him and said, "I know," though you chuckled and gave him a funny look.

Thick, warm, and sweet––the beer of Babylon was more similar to porridge than it was to the almost juice-like qualities of Egypt, and by extension your, brewing. You both held one of the large mugs given to you, sitting on the raised half-wall between the public center and the roofless brewery establishment. Below you, women and men churned the alcoholic mixture, and across from you wandered older shoppers and off-guard soldiers.

Both of you raised your cups at the same time, taking a long, slurping gulp as you looked each other directly in the eye. Laughs bubbled in the beer, forcing you to lower the cup and wipe your chin on your sleeve as you giggled. He chuckled as he lowered his mug in a more graceful manner than you had.

"Hey, weren't you here yesterday?" A woman asked in Akkadian. It caught your attention, but to Ahk, it was just part of the conversations he couldn't understand, so he didn't notice until you responded to her.

"Yes I was here," you said grinning, offering a small wave to what Ahkmen now saw to be one of the brewers, her skin glowing in the firelights beneath the churners.

Her skirt was long, the frail edge of it dragging along the ground over neat, red fabric shoes. Despite the modest skirt, she had no sleeves, and the white linen veiled her muscled body, smooth dips and veins built from the nature of her work. Long, curly black hair was pinned in a bun, with neat strands hanging from the pins like vines from a tree. Even with her dark skin he could see a blush on her flushed cheeks.

"Ah," she huffed, wiping her brow, "I thought you looked a little odd."

"Odd?" You questioned with a laugh.

"Well your friend is dressed very... um, different," she said as she gestured to Ahk, who was back in his Egyptian skirt. "You from Egypt, sir?"

"Oh, he does not speak Akkadian," you said.

At this point, Ahk knew you were talking about him, since the lady gestured to him and you brushed him off. The two of you continued for a moment more, the stranger's gaze switching between you and him as incomprehensible words flooded from her mouth before she finally said something he understood.

"You, uh, you speak Sumerian?" She said, and Ahk perked up.

"Yes, I do," he said, glancing between you two. "Yogi doesn't, though. How do you know Sumerian? I thought it was a... a dead language."

"I could ask you for the same," she chuckled, "but my brother is a priest. I live with him, he shows me much of what he does."

"Ah, alright," he said with a nod. "I learned from school in Egypt, trained in the temples to be a priest."

How easily the lie came to him now. Why wouldn't it? No one was around to know any different.

She nodded with him, but before she could reply, you were interrupting and her focus was back on you. You said something followed by your name, and with her reply you muttered to Ahk her name––Tiamat.

Ahkmen managed to finish his beer while you two were still speaking in tongues. Not too great a task for a man of his stomach, but the entire time he was sipping away he could think of nothing more than the feeling of alienation. The languages of the three of you were all mixed up, meaning he couldn't talk to her without excluding you, and you couldn't talk to her without ignoring him, a predicament with ended in the latter's solution.

In the meantime, you were hitting it off rather well with Tiamat; you got to tell her that you'd experimented with your own types of beer, and she was interested––at least mildly so––in your foreign recipes. It wasn't long until she noticed Ahk's silent eyes staring at you, and suggested something you translated to Ahk.

"There is a... a house of books and scrolls near to here," you said. "If you are tired to being here."

A black hole swelled in the pit of his stomach, instilling a sick feeling where his beer once was. He glanced between you.

It would be the first time he was willingly parted from you in months.

"Sure," he said slowly, repeating the word in Sumerian to Tiamat.

She gave him the directions and he left in a fluster, confused and somewhat disappointed in himself. He was a little confused as to the actual directions to the library, but the large building stuck out sorely amongst the middle and lower class homes, tiled in dark blue and having much of a stature of a temple rather than a library. No one came and went from the door, but the scent of searing meat was suddenly overpowered by burning incense. The mark of an inhabited and frequently prayed in temple.

Arches led to extensive gardens, held alight by the glowing moon shining above. There were few clouds out tonight, allowing a better view of the sky––a view reflected in the patterns of the gardens. Riverwater flowed through the terrace as the Milky Way split the sky, the stars marked by flowering trees that bloomed in deep red and a pure, clean white. Beyond the garden stood the temple itself, once more the center of his attention, and once more rising beyond the walls that encircled it.

Stairs led up into the heavens and towards the first door, a strong, metal gate left unprotected.

He slowly entered, passing through the open doors and into a dark threshold. Ripples and veins of wood ran beneath his fingertips, trailing across the large doors, their bolts hanging open and unlocked. His mouth went dry as his eyes adjusted to the light.

Despite the grand stature and preparations for the temple, the first room there was very little––containing not much more than a strange candle sat in front of a small idol representing a bloodied man. Red paint, or perhaps actual blood, was smeared across his face, leading down in claw marks to the offerings at his feet. Ahk's jaw gritted tight as he attempted to swallow through a tight throat.

Two doors flanked the wall behind the statuette. Light flooded suddenly in the pitch black room, only to disappear, the subtle roar of torchlight moving with it. In that single moment, within which the light appeared, Ahkmen's mouth fell open as writings were revealed upon the walls, carved in every available surface, their depths sharpened by harsh light.

Like Egypt, the comings and goings of rituals for the Gods overpowered any prayers citizens might have, leaving only the small entrance room for people to pray at. From there Ahk could safely assume that he would not be allowed in the inner temples, especially since he was a foreigner. Whatever scrolls or tablets Tiamat knew about were inaccessible to him, leaving him alone and directionless in the Babylonian temple, separated from everything comfortably familiar.

He knelt, though he wasn't sure why, and looked the statue straight on. At the stone base was script, cuneiform pressed into clay and announcing the God's name.

"Utu Shamash," he mumbled, reading the words aloud. The Sun God of Babylonian myth.

It made sense, considering the offerings of gold beads and wine in golden chalices––Utu was known as a lover of gold, as it was the lifeblood of the sun. And even though Utu Shamash was the God of the sun, his equal was the presence of Ma'at––the Goddess of truth and justice––instead of Ra, a more widely known God of Egypt.

He took advantage of the rarity of such quiet moments, and delved back into the studies he left behind in Osiris' temple, namely the study of cuneiform writing. The temple must've been an older one––which would explain the somewhat smaller size––as the words in the walls were a script he could recognize, the familiar Sumerian of thousands of years ago. Whoever took power in Mesopotamia could never outrule the hidden language, and thus the words persisted even into modern day. Singing and glowing off the stone.

You suspend from the heavens the circle of the lands

And everything that Ea, King of the counsellors, had created is entrusted to you.

Whatever has breath you shepherd without exception,

You are their keeper in upper and lower regions.

Regularly and without cease you traverse the heavens,

Every day you pass over the broad earth. . . .

Shepherd of that beneath, keeper of that above,

You, Shamash, direct, you are the light of everything.

His gaze fell from the blurry words to the small statue. At some point he had fallen to his knees in front of the altar, his chin resting on the surface holding up the offerings of the people. Staring into its' eyes brought recollection to him, and he remembered the wooden totem he had worked on throughout the Shamiyah desert, how avidly he hid it in hopes of surprising you. He shoved it in his bag somewhere around Rapiqum for the last time, and since then it was hidden beneath his belongings.

There was little else he could think to do in the small praying room, so he left on quiet footsteps, retreating away from manmade majesty and back into the natural flora scattered along the path back to main streets. Chirping crickets digressed into quiet conversation, leather sandals walking across brick stone streets, and the ever-present sound of crackling fires.

He returned to the small circle in which he'd left you, as he only remembered the path back to the estate from that single spot. When he crossed the plaza, he spotted the open-roofed brewer, and made his way across to inform you on his future whereabouts.

Peering over the ledge, he found you still enraptured in your conversation with the brewer. She appeared to be showing you the mixing process required for the porridge-type beer. Ahk jogged down the stairs and over to you.

"Aganu!" You said brightly, a very sudden smile overtaking your earlier seriousness. "How is the books?"

"Couldn't, uh, get inside. It's alright. They had writings on the walls, um – I'm headed back to the estate," he set a hand on your shoulder, "so shall I meet you there?"

"Yes, yes, I will come back close to now," you said with a nod.

"Alright," he said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead before he bid a hasty good-bye, waving himself out of the brewery. Your giggle followed him.

Things got quieter and less crowded the closer he got to the estate––whose owner he still didn't know––and by the time he stood before the servant's entrance, most of the lights in houses had gone out. The small, hostel-like accommodations for the servants still had a burning rushlight within, dimly illuminating the filled and empty bunks.

He squinted slightly to see through the wooden gate, his brow furrowing. There were very few beds left unoccupied.

With a long sigh he unlatched the gate in the way the stewardess taught him, quietly closing it behind him when he padded through with careful steps. His gaze was drawn to the small patio outside the hut––where you and him were assigned to your respective jobs––and there he spotted the bags the two of you left behind. He knelt and dug into his pack, drawing out his knife and the wooden totem that had been chipped into a much smaller size.

A whiff of the air from inside the bunk revealed to him that they weren't burning a rushlight; they were burning incense, drifting out in gentle smoke that pooled beneath the patio roof. He looked up, chuckling as he ran his hand through the thick clouds.

He took a seat on the dusty earth, his raised knees supporting his elbows that allowed for the proper movement of carving. The knife in his hand had dulled over time, matching to fit the refining scrapes Ahk was now using, smoothing out the harsher edges of the image within. Every now and then he glanced upwards, and each time he found the stars still veiled past the light of the city. He sighed, looked to the gate in hopes of seeing you, and returned to his wood carving after two minutes of silence.

Snoring hummed quietly from inside the servant's quarters, followed by rustling sheets and a smack of skin against skin. Ahk's eyes widened as he heard someone curse in Akkadian. Another slap and then silence.

A little while later, clinking metal and swinging hinges had his head shooting up to see you. A grin split across his face and he stood, abandoning his wood and knife on the ground in favor of jogging over to you.

"Aganu," you said in a giggle, gladly returning his hug when he scooped you up into his arms.

He picked you up easily, spinning you around in slow circles across the garden as your laughter followed in twirls. He chuckled as he set you down, his hands remaining on your waist, and his heart thumping like thunder.

"How was brewing?" He asked.

"So good," you giggled. "I did miss it for more than I think."

"Understandable. You do know a lot about it, after all," he said with a shrug.

"A little. We should eat now," you said, walking past him and leading him to follow you without word or gesture.

The main house of the estate wasn't an especially large house, but it was tall. Three different floors rose out of the ground like pikes, the edges rimmed with decorated shards of cutting stone, and the stairs guarded by figures of Lamassu, though they were much smaller than some of the statues he'd seen in other parts of Babylon.

Of course, that wasn't the wisest entry point. On the back side of the house, opposite of the street-facing side, a doorway led in to the kitchens illuminated by the windows built into the thick, stone walls.

Large domed brick furnaces were built into the home, but the storage cases were all made of wood and completely moveable. None of that mattered, however, because all of the food itself was kept in a storeroom below the ground, a fact you found out after speaking with Zakiti, your coworker. Long accustomed to the art of sneaking, the two of you easily snuck down the stairs and into the underground storage. basement.

A chill set over your skin, and you wrapped your arms around yourself. Every tiny scrape of your shoes against the dirty floor had tiny specks of dirt grinding against each other, producing an unpleasant sound that nearly woke the landowners.

You picked a variety of things, too scared of taking multiples of one object and getting caught by the missing evidence. Once everything was chosen, you and Ahk hid the food in the folds of your clothes, and ran back across the estate to the servant's house.

He barely caught his breath before you were climbing up the stone walls of the bunk, using the wooden pegs to left yourself up to the roof. Ahkmen chuckled, but something else came to mind, and he rushed off to grab something else before he joined you in the midnight stillness. In the end, however, he required your help in lifting everything up, and that left nothing to surprise you with but the totem he could carry in his hand while he climbed.

He huffed as he landed beside you. While waiting for him you'd set out the blanket he fetched, the length of it laying flat on the mud roof baked in the sun. You already had your lute in hand, small fingers tapping thoughtlessly over the strings as he revealed what he'd hidden from you for a good while now; an object of his vigilant attention.

Your mouth fell open when you saw it, drawing a breath between your lips that caught in your throat.

It wasn't of anyone distinctive. Technically. The proportions gave away far more than he was comfortable with, but you'd already seen it now, and there was no taking that back. For weeks he'd been carving the image of two people embracing, one much taller than the other, who pulled the smaller's head into its' chest, an abstract hand petting the absent hair. The only features actually shown on the two were their eyes––closed, and quietly so, with no strain or note of fear.

He let you stare until he grew uncomfortable with your silence, which ended up happening rather quickly as he boiled in his own blushing.

"What do you think of it?" He asked in a voice that nearly cracked.

"I... it is beautiful," you murmured, your hands going lax around the instrument.

You reached forward as he handed it to you, and you held it with such a tender, careful touch that Ahk wished for a moment he was the statue instead. It was a very long moment that stretched into near painful yearning.

"This is what you made in the Shamiyah?" You said, tearing your eyes away from the figures to meet his gaze.

"Yes, well.. I... I had a lot of time," he partway mumbled, feeling suddenly self-conscious about his gift to you. There were edges and areas he could've added better detail.

"And I had a lot of time," you said with a chuckle. "But I did not make any thing. It is beautiful, Aganu."

Burning desire to hear his name. His true name. Not once had you uttered it in any way not befitting a stranger.

"Thank you," he choked out after forcing down the words you're beautiful.

How pathetically cliche, how his cheeks burned even brighter yet, his imagination just barely reigned in by his common sense. He couldn't just kiss you––you depended on him for safety to get to a new home after your last became intolerable, and breeching that trust wasn't something he was so readily prepared to do.

So instead he looked at you, ignoring how his gaze always fell to your lips, ignoring how he leant into you without ever having to feel your touch. Pathetic, he thought, and drew himself back, restraining his rampant thoughts. It all faded as you plucked at the strings, the hum of it filling up the space between you with warmth. Stars that crested your face fell to the earth in the form of fireflies that floated around you.

But you wouldn't sing. You looked to him, waiting for him to start, and giggling when he remained in his strange trance.

"You are the singing, yes?" You said quietly, careful not to disturb the sleeping servants below the rooftop.

"Oh," he said, his back straightening. "Um, alright."

He recalled many of the poems and songs he'd heard at festivals, as well as the more popular ones sung in the house of life. His eyes flickered up to the red dot on your forehead above your brow.

"My love is one and only, without peer, lovely above all Egypt's lovely girls," he began to sing, keeping as quiet as you kept your playing. "On the horizon of my seeing, see her rising, glistening Goddess of the sunrise star; bright in the forehead of a lucky year. So there she stands, epitome of shining, shedding light, her eyebrows gleaming darkly, marking eyes which dance and wander."

He let out a long sigh as he lay down, stretching his arms above his head before he released them, one falling on his stomach, and the other extended to you. You chuckled at his sleepy mannerisms, continuing to pluck thoughtlessly.

"Tired?" You asked.

"Yes," he mumbled, his eyes falling blissfully shut.

The wooden lute clattered against the mud roof before fabric shifted and you were lying next to him, balanced on your side to face him. He turned to you and opened his eyes. You were much closer than he thought.

Neither of you said a word; silence in the hazy stare between you. Ahk only noticed his brow was knotted when it began to ache, at which point he also realized he'd raised his hand, and the back of his fingers were tracing down your cheek. No going back now––you still stared at him head-on, blinking slowly as he drew in a shaky breath.

His fingers drew the rest of the way down to your jaw, melting him at the soft warmth of your skin.

You're going to drive me mad.

[lifblogs]

#SPNAdventCalendar2020 | Cooking and Baking | @bend-me-shape-me

READ ON AO3

The thick, white pages of the brand-new book sitting on the metal counter in the middle of the bunker’s kitchen rustled as Castiel flipped through them. He thought he’d seen instructions for what he was doing somewhere near the front of the book. He was wearing one of Dean’s T-shirts, and had foolishly chosen a black Metallica shirt. It now had various white powders decorating it. Truly, it hadn’t been Castiel’s fault. How was he supposed to know that dry ingredients didn’t need to be whisked so vigorously? He’d never done this before.

What he was looking for now was what it meant to “cut the butter into the flour mixture.” Surely he would’ve seen Dean do it at some point?

He sighed, thinking maybe this had all been a bad idea. He just didn’t know how to do these kinds of things, even with the cookbook, it would seem.

You’re four-hundred million years old, he chastised himself. There’s no reason you can’t learn.

After finding the instructions he was looking for, he managed to painstakingly teach himself how to do what the recipe said. The eggs decided to be difficult. The shells kept getting in the mixture, and he’d had to hunt them down and remove them. Eggshells did not like being grabbed. Yolk was just such a strange substance, and as he continued with this task, he wondered why humans even liked eggs. Then again, humans liked a lot of strange things.

Dean walked in while Castiel was staring down at the bowl, poised to crack another egg. He’d been attempting to do this in the middle of the night so it would be a surprise for his family, but perhaps he’d been making too much noise.

Dean paused in the entryway closer to the bedrooms, and he stared at him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice gruff with sleep. But there was no mistaking the alertness beginning to light up in his eyes.

“Baking.”

Castiel raised the egg, ready to crack it on the side of the bowl, and Dean rushed over, hands outstretched.

“No, don’t!”

“Why not? This is how Sam does it.”

“And that is exactly why you shouldn’t do it. Now put the egg down before you hurt yourself.”

Castiel did as he said, and, intrigued, he watched Dean get a little bowl down from a shelf. Then he grabbed the egg, rinsing it in the sink as he explained, “Eggs are like fruit.” Castiel tilted his head at him. He was about to say that, no, they weren’t, because they didn’t grow on a plant, but Dean went on, “They can get all nasty stuff on them in the store, so you gotta rinse ‘em off.” He came back over to the counter with the clean egg, and the bowl, and then said, “This is how you do it.”

He cracked the egg in the smaller bowl.

“How come?” Castiel asked, seeing as the egg’s innards just ended up in the mix anyway.

“This way,” Dean explained, “you crack them one at a time, and you can pick the bits of shell out — if there are any — without having to go crazy with sticking your hands in the mix. Now, what’s next?”

“We need the vanilla extract.”

Dean leaned down, hands on his hips, peering at the book. He was sucking on his bottom lip in concentration, and he seemed so serious about it all. With the way his pants were twisted about wrong on his body from his sleep, and his hair a subtle mess, Cas couldn’t help staring. Dean Winchester was many things, and cute was definitely one of those things. He didn’t know if he could tell him that though.

“Did you preheat the oven to 375 degrees?” he asked.

Cas gave him a blank look. “What?”

Dean pointed at the first line of instructions. “Here. It says you’re supposed to preheat the oven.”

“I’ve never used the oven before.”

Instead of sighing or seeming tired and exasperated, Dean just led him over to it and showed him how it worked. He let Castiel then finish the work of setting the temperature and hitting start.

Dean guided Cas through the recipe, and in no time at all, they had gotten the sugar cookies in the oven. Cas crouched down to watch, wanting to see the neat circles of dough turn gold.

Dean whacked at him with a towel, and it gently slapped across his ass. Castiel straightened, turned, and glared.

Dean pointed a reprimanding finger at him, “Hey, don’t look at me like that. There’s still more work to do cookie boy.”

“Cookie boy?” Castiel asked with a laugh, going to embrace Dean from behind.

“It was either that or egg man,” Dean reasoned.

Cas shook his head, smiling in amusement.

Dean gently shoved himself out of his arms, and then set about gathering up various items and ingredients from the kitchen. He was so fast that Castiel twirled, and twirled again as he watched him. His boyfriend informed him, “We have to decorate them. So that means icing. I’m thinking we do a border icing, and then a flood icing.”

Castiel had questions about what those words meant, but he knew they’d be answered as they worked. Instead he asked, “Where did you learn all this?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at him from where he was grabbing some kind of powdery sugar from a shelf. “Taught myself,” he answered.

Castiel grinned, showing his teeth.

“It’s very impressive.”

Dean shrugged and brought the last of the items over. “It’s just baking, sunshine.”

“Yes, but it’s creating something.”

“I mean, lots of people can create.”

Cas let out a sigh he felt in his entire body, and rolled his eyes so hard he ended up tilting his head with it. Dean was glancing at him now, pink lips parted slightly. It was hard to resist kissing him when he looked like that.

“Dean, just let me compliment you.”

Dean’s mouth snapped shut, and a blush filled in his cheeks, making his dusting of freckles pop out.

Then they set to work on the different icings, Dean explaining everything. The cookies apparently had to cool or else the icing would melt right off of them, and Dean got impatient, so he put them in the fridge once they were done. Even with the oven off now turned off, the kitchen was nice and toasty.

Soon, there were a few bowls of icing sitting before them, and in three different colors: white, red, and green.

“First step of decorating,” Dean began, before sharply cutting off, digging a few of his fingers into a bowl of green flood icing, and slapping them to Cas’ face.

Cas retaliated without a thought.

Soon, Cas had a spoon, and Dean a spatula, and they each had their respective bowls and were flinging icing at each other.

Dean slipped on some of his red icing he’d gotten on the floor, and Castiel reached out to help… consequently dropping his bowl. Dean landed first, on his back on the floor, howling with laughter, and then the bowl hit, and icing splattered on Cas.

Ignoring the icing, he rushed over, and knelt by Dean, feeling him over. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Dean just continued cackling, so Castiel took that as a good sign. He grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down into a kiss that Castiel easily returned.

“You know, we have to make more icing now,” Cas pointed out.

Dean shrugged, pushed the upper part of his body up towards Cas, and leaned into him, tongue finding his face.

Cas flinched back in surprise, and Dean growled. “I want the icing on you, god damn it!”

Castiel just responded by wiping icing from Dean’s face and forcing his finger in his mouth.

“There. Icing.”

Castiel stood, and Dean started laughing again.

They laughed until suddenly, Sam was standing in the doorway, arms out in frustrated shock.

“What the hell is happening in here? You’re gonna wake Jack.”

Cas just glanced at Dean, and Dean did the same. They smiled, and immediately, they were moving. Dean grabbed the bowl of white border icing. Cas grabbed the spatula, and they shot a large glob of icing right at Sam. Apparently too tired for this, Sam left, grumbling and swearing. Castiel just sat, pulled Dean into his lap, and fed him what was left in the bowl.

“At least we did decorate something,” Castiel said.

“What?”

“The kitchen.”

Dean leaned against him as he let out a hearty laugh. Cas held him, joining in.

[winzenni]

didn't mean to make you cry (lee donghyuck)

Summary: when your design project partner’s joking criticism unintentionally makes you cry, how will he fix it? after all, you’re his crush...

Genre: hurt/comfort?, fluff

Pairing: donghyuck x artist!reader, high school!au

Word count: 1.5k

When you were paired up with the outgoing, edgy, purple-haired boy in class for your design assignment, you thought your final grade was done for. The purple-haired class clown, Lee Donghyuck, who wears leather jackets and looks like he plays with fire in his free time, but actually has a kind heart and warm aura. 

You thought Donghyuck would ditch you in the very beginning, dumping the entire assignment onto you and opting to hit up the local night market with his friends instead, but he had surprised you. Throughout the month, Donghyuck had stayed on task in classes and been very attentive to your vision and goals for the project. Together, you were assigned to create a design layout that would display students’ artwork and be printed in the school newspaper.

Though your peers in class all opted for a traditional newspaper design, with serif fonts and boxy modules, you wanted to break out of the norm and create a futuristic vibe, with circles and vivid motifs, to emanate a clean aura in your work. When you were paired with Donghyuck, you feared he would shut down your creative vision, but instead, he had been extremely supportive and helpful in the project, even offering insight to improve the layout and refine the modern look of the pages.

For fun, you had put some close-up photos of your old sketches and drawings in the background. You thought Donghyuck would have called you self-centered for putting your own personal works on the page, but he had proven you wrong by complimenting the design afterwards. Together, your smooth black pen lines and colored pencil textures created a personal, diary-like feeling to the design, while the minimalistic modules and white space kept the clean modern vibes. 

His willingness to cooperate and kindness to you and your ideas had truly shocked you, and erased the bad boy/lazy rebel image you had thought of him. He seemed like someone you wanted to get closer with, maybe.

“Donghyuck and Y/N, time for your evaluation.” the teacher called you two up.

“Hm, this corner of the page is a little crowded. It’s hard on the eyes,” Ms. Kang says. 

“It’s because y/n drew the picture there,” says Donghyuck. “It’s ugly, right?” He says it in a joking manner, and you know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the words stir up some insecurities you’ve suppressed for a long time.

Ms. Kang laughs along with him. “Donghyuck, don’t be mean. Her drawing looks fine…”

--

You know he was joking when he had called your drawing ugly, but you couldn’t help but think that maybe he truly meant it. People were always like that to you.

In elementary school, your parents had loved your art. Your scribbly golden retrievers, your painted landscapes, they had praised each one and hung them up on the refrigerator, and you were so proud to have a talent that they were proud of. 

In eighth grade, your hyper realistic self-portrait earned you a ticket to New York to have your art displayed at a museum’s exhibit highlighting children’s artworks. You began to think this talent could take off and become a career, but your parents disagreed.

“Art doesn’t make money, y/n. Do you want to starve when you grow up?”

As you grew older, your art got better but your parents’ support decreased. Though you could draw a golden retriever 100 times better than before, your parents weren’t praising you.

“It’s ok, y/n. It looks kind of ugly.”

“That’s supposed to be you? It’s ugly-”

“Why did you draw me so ugly-”

Ugly was such a short word. But why did it hurt so much? Whenever you saw your parents’ faces, you just thought about your ugly, meaningless passion: art.

--

The bell rang. 

“Ah, I barely noticed the time. We’ll finish grading your design next class.” says Ms. Kang.

“Cool, thanks seonsaengnim,” Donghyuck responds. “Y/n, what did you think? She really liked the-”

You stand up, grabbing your bag and leaving for the cafeteria. You couldn’t hear Donghyuck’s words over your parents’ criticisms ringing in your head.

“Are you dumb? You’re NOT going to art school.” “No more art, y/n. It’s meaningless.” It had been a while since the word “ugly” had come up when talking about your art, your hobby, your talent, no -- your sole passion in life that gave you a purpose. You didn’t even notice your eyes watering up.

“Y/n, didn’t you hear me?” Donghyuck catches up beside you. “Ms. Kang said -- wait, are you crying?”

You’re taken aback, looking up to the face on your left. Concern flashes through his eyes as a sense of embarrassment pierces your chest. He thinks I cried because of a dumb joke he made, you think to yourself. He thinks I’m too sensitive and weak like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, taking a u-turn to seek refuge in the bathroom. 

At lunch, you plop your tray beside your friend Renjun, taking a seat.

“How was the project evaluation?” He asks. 

“Renjun, you’re gonna laugh when I say this. I cried for no reason in front of Donghyuck,” you reveal.

“Why? What happened?” He asks worriedly.

You explain the purple-haired kid in your class, the design project, the thoughts that had rushed through your mind after Donghyuck had jokingly called your art ugly. Renjun, who you had first met in art class and hoped to become an art student himself, was one of few people who truly understood your insecurities about your future in art. 

“He probably thinks I’m weird and too sensitive now,” you say.

“Maybe,” he says. Renjun was never one to lie, even if the truth hurt a little bit. “It’s okay though, you probably won’t see him ever again after this year.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, patting it comfortingly.

“You’re right,” you laugh, scooping up another spoonful of rice.

--

How can she be laughing so much after crying less than twenty minutes ago? Donghyuck asks himself from across the cafeteria. Did I do something wrong?

“Donghyuck, what’s on your mind?” pipes up Jeno. “What are you looking at?”

“Hm? Oh… Earlier in class, that girl over there cried after I said something but I’m not sure why.” Donghyuck answers.

Jeno raises his head to look over at the girl in question. “Oh! Y/n? She’s so nice though, how did you even make her cry?” “I don’t know! That’s what I want to know!” Donghyuck defends himself. “Who’s sitting next to her though? She was just crying last class, why is she laughing already?”

“Oh, that’s Renjun. Why don’t you just ask him? He seemed pretty chill in math class last year,” Jeno suggests. 

-- 

When Donghyuck sees Renjun turn into the boys’ bathroom before class, he follows.

“Renjun!” he calls out.

Renjun turns around to see the owner of the unfamiliar voice. 

“Why did y/n cry? Did I do something wrong?”

Tilting his head to process the sudden interrogation, Renjun notices Donghyuck’s bright purple hair and makes the connection.

“Oh, you’re Donghyuck,” he remarks.

“Please, Renjun, tell me if I did something wrong. I need to know.”

“Why do you care so much?” Renjun asks. “Don’t worry about it, she’s not mad at you.”

“No, please. Please tell me. I-” Donghyuck starts. How can he admit his crush on you to a stranger right now? He can’t miss his chance. “I-I like y/n. I need to know if I did something wrong. I want to fix it. Please, Renjun.” 

Donghyuck had loved your drawings. He had loved your designs too. And loved you too. He loved how concentrated you focused when designing the layout, how your fingers gracefully pushed hair behind your ears when it fell in your face. He loved how your passion and dedication shined through in everything you did, whether it was your voice in a presentation, or the speed and concentration of your fingers on a keyboard. You were his crush, but also his role model. He couldn’t live with himself if he had made you cry.

Renjun explained your situation, your art, your parents, your self-doubt to Donghyuck. “Shoot your shot, Donghyuck. I think maybe y/n likes you too,” he said before pushing the door open and leaving quickly to hide his growing smile.

Alone in the bathroom, Donghyuck breathes a sigh of relief.

--

The next day in class, Donghyuck slides his backpack on the desk beside you, instead of his usual seat in the back. 

You look up, unsure how to face him. Should you explain why you cried? Or pretend like it didn’t happen?

He slips a folded pink piece of paper onto your desk, nodding at you to open it. 

You unfold the paper to see a doodle of a girl and boy, painting the sky together under some clouds. Amongst the clouds read “Your art is amazing. And you are too.” in a neat script. On the bottom of the paper: “Wanna come with me to the night market on Saturday?”

You look up at Donghyuck, searching his eyes to see if this is some pitiful joke or attempt to amend. Instead, you just see a glazed, lovestruck gaze in his eyes.

“I promise I won’t make you cry this time,” he says.

[cheswirls]

this was meant to be a set of drabbles but the length of the first one got away from me, so it gets its own post. ill do the others some other time, probably when the month gets easier.

-

“can i stay over?”

sabo blinks, losing concentration from the sentence on his computer screen. he looks up and over the top at ace on the adjacent side of the table. “what?”

“can i stay over?” ace repeats, less question in his tone the second time around. he steeples his hands and rests his chin on top. 

“yeah, sure,” sabo says before he thinks about it much, still in a daze. ace hums and doesn’t say anything, so he slowly turns back to his laptop. but then ace is standing, stretching with his arms over his head, and lazily turning in a circle to wander to the edge of the room.

“i’m taking a shower,” he says, and sabo, who had stopped reading again to watch, nearly has an aneurysm as he processes the words.

“w-what?” he sputters, sitting up straighter, gathering his legs under him. 

ace turns his head back, frowning, one hand on the bathroom door. “shower?”

“oh. okay.” he can’t help if it his voice squeaks. twice.

“you’ll let me sleep with you but you draw the line at using your soap?”

“that’s not-” sabo waves him off. “just go.” 

ace closes the door and sabo attempts to read the same line three different times before acknowledging he was getting nowhere. he leans back with a sigh, letting his hood fall further back on his head, and gazes up at the popcorn texture of the ceiling. maybe he’d agreed to that too quickly. he was used to living alone, and though he and ace had been dating for a while now, they’d never done something like this before. plus, his schedule was already erratic. what if-

before he can incessantly worry any more, the shower turns off, and ace’s voice comes through the cracked door. “where’s the tie to your robe?”

oh. “that one’s gone,” he calls back. he blinks, startled, as a stray thought crosses his mind. “what clothes are you wearing?”

“can i borrow some of yours?”

“y-yeah?”

ace opens the door and moves into the main room, and sabo’s eyes catch on to the long tie belonging to his second robe -one that definitely couldn’t fit ace- wrapped around the material. ace turns the light off as he passes and moves into sabo’s bedroom, and sabo feels himself breathe easier with the other out of sight. a ting has him glancing down to his phone, seeing one of the alarms he’d set has gone off. this drives him back to the computer, managing to finish reading the section he’d been on and start typing again.

ace comes back in and settles in his former seat, picking through the books he has spread on his side of the table until he finds the one he’s looking for, folding it shut. he grabs another one and a pen and leans back to read, and as soon as he’s not moving anymore sabo’s attention snaps fully to his paper. they pass the time as they’d been before, focused on their own schoolwork, until ace glances up at the time and starts shuffling his things into a neat pile.

a tap on the side of his keyboard draws sabo’s attention, and he looks over to see ace watching him. his fingers still on the keys. “yes?”

“it’s pretty late,” ace muses.

sabo frowns, resisting the urge to chew on his lip. “not that late,” he argues. it’s a moot point, and when ace’s eyes narrow in thought he turns back to the screen, unable to continue looking at him. “you can go to bed. this is due in the morning, and i’m almost done.”

“okay.” sabo’s shoulders drop with relief as ace gives in. “what time do you need to be up?”

“uhm.” sabo’s eyes lid. “my first class is at nine.” he usually figured that out right before he went to sleep, setting a random alarm that would satisfy his sleep schedule and leave him with enough time to not be late. thinking about it now, before midnight, and unsure of when he would be done, was . .

“got it.” he glances over at ace’s words, curious, but he’s already rising from his seat. sabo doesn’t spare him much thought after that, knowing he needed to concentrate if he was ever going to finish. the world fades to black on white, and he doesn’t notice as ace’s things begin to disappear from the table, as their miscellaneous snacks are put back away, and all the empty bottles and wrappers thrown in the trash. the lights dim until only the one above the oven in the corner remains, just enough for sabo to get by without casting him completely in darkness. 

he only looks up again as ace kneels beside him, pulling his hood back a little. he turns his head to acknowledge him, and ace leans forward to place his lips on sabo’s forehead for a moment. then he pulls back and pulls sabo’s hood along with it. 

“goodnight,” he murmurs.

sabo’s smile is soft, warm. he leans away as ace’s hand drops. “night.”

when sabo finally deems himself done, it’s nearing two in the morning. he closes the lid of his laptop and lifts his arms above his head in a stretch, arching his back. the kitchen light turns off in favor of the bathroom one, and he swings the door close to shut, knowing it would stay warmer without the air circulating. he pulls his hoodie over his head while turning the water on, giving it a minute to warm up.

after he towels off he throws on his newer, longer robe but pauses as he spies the tie tucked into the pocket. right, that was right, ace was-

sabo jerks to a stop after turning the bedroom light on, wincing. the futon is spread out in a corner of the room, ace’s back to him. he doesn’t rouse, but sabo turns off the main light in favor of the smaller one in the closet, instead. it takes a minute for his eyes to adjust.

he pauses again after working on some underwear and a shirt. that was usually all he wore to sleep, but he . . did he need pants? he owned some, but it was warm out, so it had been a while since they’d been touched. did it matter? 

no. he stops himself from overthinking it. it didn’t matter. it was fine. he wasn’t going to change anything. this was all going to be . . okay.

the more he tried to convince himself of such, the less sure he became of it.

after all the lights are turned off, sabo moves over to the futon and frowns when he sees ace on the end closest. he reaches out with his foot and nudges ace’s back, until his head moves and he lets out a small noise.

“move,” sabo orders, and ace huffs. his head shifts up further, then down again, curling back into the pillows.

“‘s room,” he mumbles, moving an arm into the space between him and the wall. sabo’s lips purse.

“fine,” he breathes, stepping over ace. well, he usually ended up there anyways, so it worked out. he pries the edge of the thin blanket from around ace and pulls it over, until it’s evenly spread between them. 

the futon is not big, and ace and sabo are two college kids, so the limited space is made less so with the both of them. sabo frowns as he inches away from the cold wall, tucking the blanket around that side, but then that brings him further into ace’s space, and-

an arm snakes around his side, warm, and sabo’s mouth that had opened in an inaudible gasp slams shut. he lets himself get dragged forward until he and ace share the same body heat, and their hair is overlaid on the same pillows. ace’s eyes are still closed, but his mouth was open a little, like he was debating speaking.

sabo beats him to it.

“i haven’t set an alarm yet.”

“done,” ace murmurs. “don’t stress.”

he shifts again, until his forehead is pressed lightly to sabo’s, and his eyes open just a little. his other arm moves up, hand curling under sabo’s cheek, and he leans into it, both his own hands moving to wrap loosely around ace’s forearm.

“okay?” ace asks, barely a breath, eyes already closing again.

“yeah,” sabo whispers back. 

a faint noise rouses him from sleep, but it’s unlike what he’s used to, and his own phone would be blaring right by his head, so it had to be something else. eventually it stops and sabo relaxes again, content to ignore it.

movement wakes him again, and his eyes slant as they open. 

“time to get up,” a voice says, right by his ear, and he realizes that the room was lighter, and he’d mistaken the dark fabric of a shirt for the darkness.

sabo’s eyes open more until he’s looking at ace properly. that was- that was right. “time?” he croaks.

“doesn’t matter. we’re getting up.”

ace smirks and sabo has one second to take that it before the blanket is gone, and it’s cold in the absence of all that heat and he curls into himself, shivering, drawing his bare legs closer to his chest. “shit,” he breathes, sharp, eyes wide. “why?”

“would you get up otherwise? c’mon, don’t-” ace reaches over to hook a hand under sabo’s bent knees and another around his shoulder, and pulls him halfway into his lap. sabo’s lips purse at the mistreatment, and he cranes his neck to bury his face in ace’s hip.

“horrible. awful. unbelievable,” he mutters, and above him, ace snickers. 

“right, that’s me. what do you want to eat?”

sabo unearths his face to look up, eyes sparkling. “you’re making breakfast? god, i love you.”

ace rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “guess it’s my choice then. c’mon, off. up.”

sabo lets himself be pulled to a stand, the promise of food too tempting to ignore. he ignores whatever ace is doing in favor of washing his face, and throwing on some sweats. his hair is a mess, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with it properly just yet, so he combs it through with his fingers as he settles at the low table per ace’s request. 

breakfast is amazing, but anything ace cooks is. it’s enough to make him forgive being roused before eight in the morning, and even moreso as they get ready together, slowly, leisurely, something sabo hasn’t had the foresight to plan in a long time. it’s nice to be able to afford to relax, and not have a whirlwind form while flying through his morning, barely making it out the door in time.

“did you finish your paper?” ace asks from behind him, running the brush through more tangles. sabo hums in response, leaning back on his hands, crossing his legs on the counter he was perched on. “do you need it printed?”

“yeah. i can do it on campus.” unfortunately his own printer had run out of ink the week prior. he’d yet to have time to go buy some more.

“we should leave soon, then.” ace steps back and sets the brush on the counter, and sabo opens his eyes.

“yeah, okay.”

ace ends up in the same clothes he had on yesterday, but he’s not overly concerned about it, and sabo knows he had a late start today, so he could always run home and change if he felt like it. they gather their things and step outside, and ace waits by his car as sabo locks the front door.

“i’ll swing by to get you later, and we can do lunch,” ace mentions as they turn into campus. sabo hums, moving his gaze from out the passenger window to over at ace.

“thanks,” he says, and then watches as ace blinks, trying to come up with a reason. he glances over when they roll to a stop at a crosswalk.

“what for?” he ends up asking.

“staying last night.”

“ah-” ace cuts off with a laugh. “it should be me thanking you. it’s not that big a deal, right?”

“no.” sabo unclips his seatbelt as they stop on the curb. he’d convinced himself that it was, and got worked up for nothing after all. he slides the door open. “i’ll see you later.”

ace raises one hand from the steering wheel to offer him a wave. “see you.”

sabo makes the mistake of looking back once he’s halfway out. he makes up his mind in a split second, moving back into the passenger seat, and leans smoothly over the center console to press his lips to ace’s. ace hums, hand stilled in the air moving to rest on the side of sabo’s hair. they stay like that for one, two, and then sabo’s moving back, climbing out of the car and waving once the door is shut.

he stays there until ace drives away, then digs his phone from his pocket as he makes for the doors.

[tipsycad147]

Binding and Banishing 5

Ice Binding 1

Light a white candle and your favorite incense. Meditate a short while

on the problem. Invoke the Spirits of Protection for you and yours. Then

take a piece of brown paper, like from a grocery bag, on it use a lead

pencil to print and write the name of the offending person or people. If

unknown people are involved, also print and write, "and all persons unknown

that are causing harm to me!"

Cross off each line forcefully and say, forcefully,

" I freeze name(s) to be bound by this spell, unable to cause any more

harm to (name(s)! As I will, so mote it be! "

Then put a spoonful of used coffee grounds on the brown paper, fold it

small, and place it in the freezer. Leave it until the problem is

completely resolved. You may wish to  wrap a rubber band, string, twist tie, etc. to keep the coffee grounds from falling out of the paper. You can also use a ziploc bag. Be sure and burn the candle completely up. Don't  use that candle for a different purpose.

Ice Binding 2

Another way of ridding yourself of an unwanted negative influence is to write the name of the person or event at cause on a piec of paper. Concentrate on putting the negative energy into the paper. Place the piece of paper into a jar of water and put it into the freezer. Allow the paper to remain frozen in the water until all of the negative energy flow has completely stopped, then you can remove it, thaw it, and bury it in the ground.

NEW BEGINNING SPELL

Just before sunrise, go outside with some heather and a feather. Face East, light incense, and hold feather in hand while concentrating on the new day ahead as a new beginning. Say: Flight of feather, Scent of Heather Give me Cleansing With this beginning! Blow feather from hand and let the wind carry it away. Watch the sunrise and feel its rays cleansing you for the new day ahead. It is done.

PEACEFUL HOME

This spell is very good if there is a lot of turmoil or stress in the household. Do the following spell, and while doing so, remember to focus on your intent for a peaceful household. Sew a small pouch of lavender cloth. Place a small trinket in the pouch for each member of your household. Add to this a pinch each of lavender, rose and chamomile, before placing each pinch in the pouch, remember to hold it for a moment and REALLY focus, finally, add a small amethyst. Now, anoint a lavender or pink candle with peace oil(see recipes) and then light it. Sit in front of the candle and hold the pouch in your hands and whisper the following chant over it softly 3 times: Blessed Goddess, most gentle one, calm my home for me. Relieve all tension, send it far, so from stress we shall be free. Touch my family with peace and calm, and the sweetest softest bliss, Bless my home, Great Gentle Goddess, with your calming kiss. Set the pouch with the candle. Allow the candle to burn down completely. Hang the pouch in your home, preferably in the room where everyone gathers the most. Whenever tension seems to build, repeat the above chant 3 times and envision peace and tranquility radiating from the pouch and The Goddess.

Poppet Binding Spell

The purpose of this spell is to rid yourself of the negative energies of someone who is mentally or emotionally abusing you. If done properly, it will not harm the object of the spell nor will it affect his or her daily life in any way. It will simply make the person powerless to mentally or emotionally harm you.

Preform when Moon is dark

Materials:

Small cloth doll,(poppet) leave the head unstitched until you are ready to begin the ritual Needle and thread

Some personal item from the person you want to bind (fingernail clippings, hair, handwriting sample)

Black ribbon

Black candle

Cauldron or other fireproof container

Sterilized needle

Piece of parchment paper and pen or quill

One candle at each quarter (optional)

Ritual:

Call the quarters - I like to use candles at each quarter to form a circle of fire for extra protection. Light the black candle Concentrating deeply on the person you are binding, place the personal object inside the head of the doll and sew it shut.Tie the black ribbon around the poppet's head, signifying the binding of that person.

'With harm to none, my will be done

I hereby bind you (name of person)

Your words cannot harm me

Your thoughts cannot harm me

You cannot harm me'

Continue chanting this or something like it until you feel power surging through you. Visualize the person helpless to slander or verbally and mentally abuse you while you are chanting.

~ Now, to bind the spell ~

If you have a sigil or a craft name, sign it on the small piece of paper. If not, sign your own full name. If others are working the ritual with you, they too should sign the paper. With the sterilized needle, prick one of your fingers and put a small drop of blood over your signature. Again, if others are working with you, they should place a drop of blood over their signatures. (using a different needle, of course) Fold the paper, light it on fire and drop it into the cauldron (which should be on a heat-proof surface!). Meditate on the flames until the paper completely burns away. If you are working with a group, join hands at this point and feel the power surging around the circle as the spell is bound. Ground and center Release the circle. Thank the Goddess and God for their protection and power Bury the doll as far away from you as possible within the next few days.

RID OF NASTY ASTRAL SLIME

After Chakra cleansings in the evening by the ocean or a large body of water like a river or lake or pond. As the sun sets so your bad fortune will drain away. Hold a stone or object that you find and feel is appropriate and project all the nasty slimy and inky feeling you picked up from this person into it. Really focus on letting all your emotions about it as well and let them flow into the rock. When you have done this say: "I release this astral slime And all darkness which is not mine I let go of all that may have harmed My aura is bright all negativity released And I am charmed" Now throw the rock into the water preferably as the sun drops below the horizon and be conscious of its fading light taking away your bad feelings from this person. You can do this spell on then first night of the waning moon (after a full moon) for seven nights if you really feel tainted. Also Place 1/2 cup vinegar, a bunch of fresh or rosemary and 1 tablespoon of sea salt in your bath. Light a white and a blue candle. Imagine yourself surrounded by blue light, giving you positive energy. Visualize all of the negative energy and astral slime leaving your body through every pore.

SPELL BINDER

This is best used at the end of a spoken or written spell. This adds a certain boost to the releasing of energy. It also works best if you are wearing a Pentagram you have attuned to yourself. Speak these word with all the fibers of your body while releasing the spell's energy: By the Pentagram I wear, Water, Fire, Earth, and Air, Ruled by Spirit as All should be As I speak So Mote It Be!

Spell Breaking or Reversal

from Tesa on the kitchen witch list

This spell is performed to either reverse  a spell you have cast, or  to break a spell cast by another.

What you need:

Your cauldron

A black or purple candle (purple for spell reversal,  black for spell  breaking)

During the full or waning moon, place the purple or black candle  inside your cauldron. Fill your cauldron about half way with water.The candle should be at least as tall as your cauldron or slightly  taller. Focus on the task at hand- imagine the energy from the spell  you are reversing or breaking is forming before you into a large ball  of light. Imagine that the energy is now moving

toward the candle and  inhabiting it. Light the candle as you are focusing

and say, "Break the spell, break the curse, the spell which was cast

is now reversed." Now imagine the energy slowly disappearing and that it no

longer exists. Allow the candle to burn down until it fizzles out in the water. Say, "It is done." Pour the water outside in a stream or into the

ground away from your house. You can bury the candle or throw it out with

the trash.

SPELL TO RID ONESELF OF A BOTHERSOME SPIRIT

Say "What is dark be filled with light, remove this spirit from my sight." Before starting place your hand before you, and start the flow of power out of your hand and then say the words, letting the envisioned blue-white light from your power hand fill the room or house or any other place that you might be.

TO FREE A HOUSE FROM HAUNTING

"The Presence that stands Upon the stairs The unseen hands That move the chairs. The lights that play Across the wall, The stains that stay, The plates that fall, The mist , the chill, The wandering scents This gentle spell must speed them hence. At midnight, set A table neat, With cup and plate, And wine and meat, Invite the ghost To sit and feast, As any host Should urge a guest. Presently, clear The meal away, Then open the door and softly say- "Quick or dead, Thou art fed, Cease to grieve And take thy leave" Bid him depart But should he remain Be calm, take heart And feast him again.

CHARM OF THE BEAST SPELL

-- mugwort angelica 3 hairs of an imposing beast black cloth oil of frankincense or myrrh Mix the mugwort and angelica in equal parts, add to it the 3 hairs and bind together in a black cloth. Add a few drops of the oil onto the cloth. then say " He who is strong, he who is mighty Lend thine power to this charm Demons turn on your heels and run" Draw over it a pentagram and the charms of banishment. Burn the mixture to drive away the spirits that ail you. Burn it in your home or room you wish to exorcise. Bury it before your doorstep and no demon shall touch you nor enter. Wear the charm or hide it in the roof to ensure safety against any ills.

TO BANISH AN UNWELCOME ENTITY

Speak directly to the entity, or in the room most affected, saying: It is time to leave here; all is well. There is nothing here for you now, You must be gone Go now, go ~ complete your passing, Go, and with our blessing fare well. Farewell. Remove everything of the previous occupant ~ writing and photos in particular. If there is anything you wish to keep, purify it with salt or incense, saying: With this I purify you of the past Of hurt and memories Keeping only Love

https://crimsonwolfe.tripod.com/id4.html

[mystacoceti]

AN OCTOPUS

of ice. Deceptively reserved and flat, it lies “in grandeur and in mass” beneath a sea of shifting snow dunes; dots of cyclamen-red and maroon on its clearly defined pseudopodia made of glass that will bend—a much needed invention— comprising twenty-eight ice fields from fifty to five hundred feet thick, of unimagined delicacy.

“Picking periwinkles from the cracks” or killing prey with the concentric crushing rigor of the python, it hovers forward “spider fashion on its arms” misleadingly like lace; its “ghostly pallor changing to the green metallic tinge of an anemone-starred pool.” The fir trees, in “the magnitude of their root systems,” rise aloof from these maneuvers “creepy to behold,” austere specimens of our American royal families, “each like the shadow of the one beside it. The rock seems frail compared with their dark energy of life,” it’s vermilion and onyx and manganese-blue interior expensiveness left at the mercy of the weather; “stained transversely by iron where the water drips down,” recognized by its plants and its animals. Completing a circle, you have been deceived into thinking that you have progressed, under the polite needles of the larches “hung to filter, not to intercept the sunlight”— met by tightly wattled spruce twigs ”conformed to an edge like clipped cypress as if no branch could penetrate the cold beyond its company”’ and dumps of gold and silver ore enclosing The Goat’s Mirror— that ladyfinger-like depression in the shape of the left human foot, which prejudices you in favor of itself before you have had time to see the others; its indigo, pea-green, blue-green, and turquoise, from a hundred to two hundred feet deep, “merging in irregular patches in the middle lake where, like gusts of a storm obliterating the shadows of the fir trees, the wind makes lanes of ripples.” What spot could have merits of equal importance for bears, elk, deer, wolves, goats, and ducks? Pre-empted by their ancestors, this is the property of the exacting porcupine, and of the rat “slipping along to its burrow in the swamp or pausing on high ground to smell the heather”; of “thoughtful beavers making drains which seem the work of careful men with shovels,” and of the bears inspecting unexpectedly ant-hills and berry bushes. Composed of calcium gems and alabaster pillars, topaz, tourmaline crystals and amethyst quartz, their den is somewhere else, concealed in the confusion of “blue forests thrown together with marble and jasper and agate as if whole quarries had been dynamited.” And farther up, in stag-at-bay position as a scintillating fragment of these terrible stalagmites, stands the goat, its eye fixed on the waterfall which never seems to fall— an endless skein swayed by the wind, immune to force of gravity in the perspective of the peaks. A special antelope acclimated to “grottoes from which issue penetrating draughts which make you wonder why you came,” it stands its ground on cliffs the color of the clouds, of petrified white vapor— black feet, eyes, nose, and horns, engraved on dazzling ice fields, the ermine body on the crystal peak; the sun kindling its shoulders to maximum heat like acetylene, dyeing them white— upon this antique pedestal, “a mountain with those graceful lines which prove it a volcano,” its top a complete cone like Fujiyama’s till an explosion blew it off. Distinguished by a beauty of which “the visitor dare never fully speak at home for fear of being stoned as an impostor,” Big snow Mountain is the home of a diversity of creatures: Those who “have lived in hotels but who now live in camps—who prefer to”; the mountain guide evolving from the trapper, “in two pairs of trousers, the outer on older, wearing slowly away from the feet to the knees”; “the nine-striped chipmunk running with unmammal-like agility along a log”; the water ouzel with “it’s passions for rapids and high-pressures falls,” building under the arch of some tiny Niagara; the white-tailed ptarmigan “in winter solid white, feeding on heather-bells and alpine buckwheat”; and the elven eagles of the west, “fond of the spring fragrance and the winter colors,” used to the unegoistic action of the glaciers and “several hours of frost every midsummer night.” “They make a nice appearance, don’t they,” happy seeing nothing? Perched on treacherous lava and pumice— those unadjusted chimney pots and cleavers which stipulate “names and addresses of persons to notify in case of disaster”— they hear the roar of ice and supervise the water winding slowly through the cliffs, the road “climbing like the thread which forms the groove around a snail shell, doubling back and forth until where snow begins, it ends.” No “deliberate wide-eyed wistfulness” is here among the boulders sunk in ripples and white water where “when you hear the best wild music of the forest is is sure to be a marmot,” the victim on some slight observatory, of “a struggle between curiosity and caution,” inquiring what has scared it: a stone from the moraine descending in leaps, another marmot, or the spotted ponies with glass eyes, brought up on frosty grass and flowers and rapid draughts of ice water. Instructed none knows how, to climb the mountain, by businessman who require for recreation three hundred and sixty-five holidays in the year, these conspicuously spotted little horses are peculiar; hard to discern among the birch trees, ferns, and lily pads, avalanche lilies, Indian paintbrushes, bear’s ears and kittentails, and miniature cavalcades of clorophylless fungi magnified in profile on the moss-beds like moonstones in the water; the cavalcade of calico competing with the original American menagerie of styles among the white flowers of the rhododendron surmounting rigid leaves upon which moisture works its alchemy, transmuting verdure into onyx.

“Like happy souls in hell,” enjoying mental difficulties, the Greeks amused themselves with delicate behavior because it was “so noble and so fair”; not practised in adapting their intelligence to eagle traps and snowshoes, to alpenstocks and other toys contrived by those “alive to the advantage of invigorating pleasures.” Bows, arrows, oars, and paddles, for which trees provide the wood, in new countries more eloquent than elsewhere— augmenting the assertion that, essentially humane, “the forest affords wood for dwellings and by its beauty stimulates the moral vigor of its citizens.” The Greek like the smoothness, distrusting what was back of what could not be clearly seen, resolving with benevolent conclusiveness, “complexities which still will be complexities as long as the world lasts”; ascribing what we clumsily call happiness, to “an accident or a quality, a spiritual substance or the soul itself, an act, a disposition, or a habit, or a habit infused, to which the soul has been persuaded, or something distinct from a habit, a power”— such power as Adam had and we are still devoid of. “Emotionally sensitive, their hearts were hard”; their wisdom was remote from that of those odd oracles of cool official sarcasm, upon this game preserve where “guns, nets, seines, traps and explosives, hired vehicles, gambling and intoxicants are prohibited; disobedient persons being summarily removed and not allowed to return without permissions in writing.” It is not self-evident that it is frightful to have everything afraid of one; that one must do as one is told and eat rice, prunes, dates, raisins, hardtack, and tomatoes if one would “conquer the main peak of Mount Tacoma, this fossil flower concise without a shiver, intact when it is cut, damned for sacrosanct remoteness— like Henry James “damned by the public for decorum”; not decorum, but restraint; it is the love of doing hard things that rebuffed and wore them out—a public out of sympathy with neatness. Neatness of finish! Neatness of finish! Relentless accuracy is the nature of this octopus with its capacity for fact. “Creeping slowly as with mediated stealth, its arms seeming to approach from all directions,” it received one under winds that “tear the snow to bits and hurl it like a sandblast shearing off twigs and loose bark from the trees.” Is “tree” the word for these tings “flat on the ground like vines”? some “bent in a half-circle with branches on one side suggesting dust-brushes, not trees; some finding strength in union, forming little stunted groves their flattened mats of branches shrunk in trying to escape” from the hard mountain “planed by ice and polished by the wind”— the white volcano with no weather side; the lightning flashing at its base, rain falling in the valleys, and snow falling on the peak— the glassy octopus symmetrically pointed, its claw cut by the avalanche “with a sound like the crack of a rifle, in a curtain of powdered snow launched like a waterfall.”

Marianne Moore

[novembermurray]

Gentle Hands - Part II

Read on AO3

Rating: Teen (Some description of injury, death, and violence)

Pairing: Din x Omera

Summary: While working with Fennec Shand on a favor for Boba, she shares a sliver of her backstory with him. It sparks a memory of a similar tale he heard from anther woman... Maybe it really is a small galaxy after all.

(A continuation of my submission for Mandomera Week - previous part here!)

“I think that’s the last of them,” Fennec said, brushing blood and sand off her gloved hands and jumping down from the back of the pick-up speeder. Piled on the bed of the vehicle were the varied corpses of half a dozen slavers that— until a few hours ago— had been terrorizing the southern Dune Sea. 

Din looked around at the emptied camp around them, a handful of tents and scattered crates baking under the twin suns amid the endless sand, checking for any last body they might have overlooked. What Boba Fett wanted with the bodies of the criminals who defied his recently established rule, Din wasn’t sure and wasn’t inclined to ask. He’d come to Tatooine out of his early— and blissful— retirement as a favor to Fett, not to get involved. 

“On to the next location?” Din asked wearily. They’d already hit two, leaving two more to clear out before they met back up with Fett and Vanth at the Palace.

“In a moment,” Fennec replied. “First, come sit down over here.” 

She waved him over to a pile of crates where there was an open med kit strewn across a tattered blanket on the sand. Fennec started scavenging through it, ignoring the large wet red circle of sand right beside her knee. 

Din groaned and followed, plopping himself down on a crate beside Fennec.

“I saw your shoulder was bothering you still,” she said, gathering a few packages and a bottle of disinfectant. Her gaze flickered over towards his left shoulder where his flight suit was torn and a white bandage showed over the recently cauterized knife wound from the previous night.

“It’s fine,” Din said. 

“Sure. But Boba would feel bad if you lost an arm over this little favor. Let me have a look.”

Din’s incredulity must have shown in the tilt of his helmet or Fennec was telepathic because she rolled her eyes.

“Yes, really. I know a thing or two about first aid. Don’t live as long as I have in this business without it.”

“You’re not that much older than me,” Din said. 

“That’s the most personal detail you’ve ever shared with me,” Fennec said, somehow managing to make it sound mocking.

She sat on the other end of the crate and got to work pulling off the bandage without waiting for Din’s permission. He hissed at the relieved pressure and the heat of her gloves against the injury. He glanced over to see his skin beneath was an angry red around the cauterized line of the knife wound. 

“Yikes,” Fennec hissed. “That’s infected. I’ll probably have to cut it open and drain it.”

“Do what you need to do.”

“Predictably all the pain killers are gone from that pack,” she informed him.

“Had worse.”

“Figured. Hold still.”

Din pulled his own vibroblade out of his boot and handed it to her wordlessly. He tried not to grit his teeth too hard and gripped his knee with his right hand as he braced for the pain. Fennec was not a gentle nurse, that was for sure. But she was at least fast and efficient, slicing open the burned edges of the wound and diligently flushing it with antiseptic. Din was reminding himself how to breath and blinking back tears and spots of black from his eyes when Fennec ripped open the suture pack and started threading a hooked needle.

“Better not to burn it shut again in case the infection is deeper. I’ll bandage it up good and tight to keep the worst of the sand out till you’re back to the Palace.”

“I can do that,” He said, somewhat breathless. Fennec just smacked his hand out of the way. 

He turned so his HUD gave him a decent view of what she was doing on his arm. He’d long ago lost the nausea that came with seeing his own flesh pulled and pinched by needles and worse equipment. To his surprise Fennec was making neat and precise work of stitching the gash closed. 

“You’re pretty good at that.”

She made a huffing noise and pulled a rare wry smile. “My sister taught me. She’d be pretty exasperated to see what I’m putting those skills to use for now. She was trying to teach me to make baby clothing or something.” 

“I can’t imagine that,” Din said with a chuckle.

“‘Mera was that kind of person,” Fennec went on. “Always helping someone and always nagging  me.  She’d say ‘What are you gonna do when you’re too old and too slow, Fen?’ Know what I said? ‘I guess I’ll die.’” Fennec tied off the last stitch and snipped the thread. “But then I didn’t. Woke up with a stomach full of metal. Now…” She opened a sterile bandage pack and started wrapping Din’s arm. “I don’t know, maybe I do need a retirement plan after all. Seems to be working out well for  you .” 

“Certainly has its benefits.” Din said thinking of the cool Sorgan breezes, a nice bath to wash away the days of sweat and strong skillful hands rubbing tension from his shoulders. Something else was tickling at the back of his mind though, distracting him from his imaginings, a vague memory of a conversation… a name… a hint of a story…

“Oh yeah?” Fennec said, raising one eyebrow. “Want to help me win the bet I have with Boba? Tell me these  ‘benefits’ have a name, maybe a pretty face and a warm bed.”

Din sighed, more out of habit than actual exasperation. Every time he came to help Boba out Fennec would needle him about who he spent his off-time with. She didn’t say exactly what the bet was, but Din wasn’t gonna take away her amusement by giving her an easy answer.

“Alright.” Fennec stood up suddenly, grabbing her rifle from the sand. “Let’s get on with it before those corpses start to stink worse than they already do.”

“You know, you could try it out,” Din said, following her towards the speeder. 

“What?”

“Retirement. Come with me after this job, just for a week or two.” 

“You’re not serious,” Fennec said, looking back at him incredulously. 

“I am.”

Fennec turned around to stare him down straight on. “What? You’re gonna take me back to your love nest and introduce me to your lady friend?” 

Din hesitated before answering simply, “yes.” He walked away before Fennec could recover her usual stoicism from the shock he left her in. 

“Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” She said, climbing into the speeder beside him. Din smiled under his helmet because he knew she was hooked. 

He set the Mudhorn down in the field just south of the village he had cleared for just this purpose. It was only large enough for his little star-hopper to land, close enough no one could make land-fall without alerting the village, but far enough away there would be time to prepare if anyone unfriendly used it. Fennec looked around the forest she could see out of the view port, then over at Din with an expression that said more succinctly than words: ‘Really? Here? Of all the places in the galaxy?’ Din suppressed his chuckles and headed down to get his bag from his bunk. 

His helmet’s audio sensors picked out the sound of running feet approaching before he saw the small figure darting through the trees down the path from the village. He picked up his pace ahead of Fennec down the boarding ramp and reached up to pull off his helmet. Behind him, Fennec’s steps faltered and halted. He thought he might have been able to hear her jaw dropping.

“Din-buir!” Winta squealed as she burst into the clearing at full tilt. 

“Win’ika” Din greeted her with a wide smile, stepping forward to scoop her up as her arms latched around his shoulders, heedless of the hard beskar pauldrons. She squeezed him just as hard as he squeezed her. “I missed you!” He said, running a hand over her dark hair. 

Winta pulled back and scrunched up her face with concentration. She tripped a little over the words of her reply in the unfamiliar language: “Ni briikase gar yaimpa.” (I’m glad you’re home.)

Din’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “Ori’jate, ad’ika. (Very good, little one.) Gar ru’cuyi hibira’la. You’ve been practicing.” He repeated the last phrase in basic for her. 

She grinned at him with pride, nodding. Then her eyes flickered over his shoulder and she leaned around in his arms to look at his guest. 

“Did you bring a friend?” She asked. 

“Not exactly,” Din replied, shifting her onto one of his hips for easier carrying, as she showed no intention of letting him go yet.

“Winta! What did I say about running ahead?” Omera’s voice called from the tree line. She jogged into the clearing looking slightly winded, but her anxious expression melted into joy seeing her daughter and husband.

“I knew it was buir’s ship,” Winta argued. 

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s…” Omera trailed off as her eyes too flickered from Din to the figure still standing frozen on the boarding ramp of the ship. Omera’s jaw fell lax and she took two slow, dazed steps forward. Fennec walked down the ramp at the same hesitant pace, her eyes locked on the other woman. 

“Fen?” Omera breathed her long lost sister’s nickname.

“Hey ‘Mera.” Fennec said, the clear lump in her throat ruining her usual casual demeanor. “I didn’t know—” 

Omera didn’t let Fennec finish, bounding across the space between them to envelope her sister in a tight embrace. Slowly and stiffly at first, Fennec’s arms came up to hold Omera back, then took a firm hold of the other woman’s rough spun dress and gripped her back just as tightly. 

“Come on,” Din whispered to Winta. “Let’s let your aunt catch up with your momma for a bit.” 

“Aunt? I have  another  aunt?” Winta asked. 

“I’ll tell you all about her,” Din offered, starting toward the path back to the house. Well, all the child appropriate parts at least, he amended silently. 

“She’s so cool looking,” Winta whispered against Din’s shoulder, unabashedly watching Fennec and her mother disappearing between the trees. “Is she more or less scary than Aunt Cara?”

Din chuckled and bounced Winta on his hip. He loved his daughter truely; she had her priorities straight. Winta didn’t question the existence of her new aunt, but skipped right ahead to the important questions.

“Like, who would win in a fight?”

[jazzhandsmcleg]

...here!

This is still a rough draft, technically, because I wanted to finish the whole thing before I put any of it online. However, a) I certainly don’t know when that will happen, and b) the prologue is old enough, and has already been read by enough people, that I figure it doesn’t much matter if I put it out there properly. I’ll save posting it on AO3 -- you know, formally -- for a later date, though.

The main character, unnamed here for what will become obvious reasons, is the brainchild of my excellent friend James, and so is the rough idea behind this "novelization." Journey, of course, belongs to thatgamecompany. If you’re not familiar with Journey, what are you doing! Go watch it! It’s gorgeous and touching and only an hour and a half long!

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

The inside of the tent was like a womb. The thick red cloth that formed its draping roof and walls simultaneously kept most of the sunlight out and transformed what little entered into a rich, deep glow. The fabric was densely woven enough to keep the wind, usually always welcome, out as well: the air was hot, so hot that it felt almost solid – or perhaps liquid. Shiningchild, seated with legs crossed in the center of the tent, leaned away from her work and took a deep breath, relishing the diminished ache in her back and the slight sensation of coolness triggered by her inhalation. Yes, more like a liquid.

Probably that had been done on purpose. This ritual was about beginnings, after all.

She hunched forward once more and adjusted the bundle of cloth that rested on her bare black legs, her ears stiff and alert with renewed focus. Only a few more stitches. And then –

She shook her head and concentrated. Push the gold thread in. Pull it back out. Make sure it aligned with the stitch before it, as it did with the stitch before that. Her robe had to be perfect; it would shame her family if it were anything but, and all of this was unconventional enough.

She chirped softly, no louder than breathing. She loved her family, and she wanted their pride, but there were more directions to travel than east and south.

And I want to visit them all.

Done.

She tied the thread in the birth knot, then wound the remaining thread into a bundle and tied it the same way. It hung just so on the side of her cloak, a little golden hint at future growth. Whether it came or not – and she hoped it would – the possibility was always there.

Now, for a few precious moments, Shiningchild had the opportunity to hurry, to burn some excited, nervous energy. She gathered her robe and hood in one arm and stood quickly, then pulled the fat rope that wound down from the roof of the birthing tent with her free hand. The long, slender white pennant on top of the tent would now be flapping stiffly in the breeze. The Named would be here soon.

Moving with barely contained eagerness, Shiningchild hurriedly juggled hood and robe as she shook the latter out and pulled it over her thin frame. Its familiar weight encircled her comfortingly – but was it just slightly heavier from the threads she had sewn onto the hem?

Anticipation rose within her like a tangible force, making her tremble. She took another deep breath, this one calming as well as cooling, and pulled on her hood with deliberately steady fingers. Then she folded her hands beneath her robe and sat facing the tent flaps, staring hard at the vertical line of light that shone between its closed halves.

Her attention was immediately rewarded. Not even a minute passed before three authoritative whistles sounded from just outside the tent. The calls were a challenge that demanded an immediate response; Shiningchild sat as straight as she could and gave it.

A pause. The line of light half-disappeared as someone stood directly before it, moving aside the rocks that weighed down the tent flaps. Then, finally, the fabric parted and three figures glided in: the Named of Shiningchild’s greater family.

Shiningchild chirped again, this time quietly, respectfully. The Named always warranted such regard: their scarves were long and full, each with the Fullest Circle trailing at the end. Between the three of them, they possessed several centuries of wisdom, knowledge, and experience, and they had led their greater family – and occasionally, with the help of other Named, even the whole Southern tribe – with strength and grace for much longer than Shiningchild had been alive.

Now, nodding wordlessly to acknowledge her greeting, they sat across from Shiningchild in a neat row, their scarves settling gently to the sands around them. The tent flaps jerked briefly as someone outside replaced the stones, but Shiningchild barely noticed. For a long, silent moment she and the Named gazed at each other, the air between them thick with potential. Then:

“Many, many thousands of years ago,” one of the Named began, his voice heavy with ritual. “There was the dark. And in the dark was the Mountain. And the light arose and shone from the Mountain, and as each beam spread across the earth it became a symbol. Before anyone was there to speak or read or be shaped by these symbols, they existed.”

“But they were not alone not for long,” continued another. “For as the light spread across the earth it left new things in its wake, things that came into being in the fertile spaces between dark and light: birds, and soft ground, and things to grow in it. And, finally, our Ancestors. Those before.”

“For a long time they thrived in what the Mountain had given them,” the third said. Her voice, as quiet and ritualistic as her fellows’ at first, slowly reached a crescendo as she spoke. “They learned to speak, and thus to create. They learned to use the gifts they had been granted. They grew, and grew wise. They let the Mountain guide them, name them, and raise them to new heights!”

A deep, ringing silence. Shiningchild held her breath, enraptured.

“Then – things changed,” the third of the Named finished, her voice soft once more.

The first speaker took up the story. “Much of the past is lost to us, but we know that the Ancestors are gone – destroyed. The earth was given over to sand and desert, and what remained of the Ancestors’ works began to wear away.”

Again, as one speaker finished, another began. “After many centuries, two new beams of light spread from the Mountain. Our people were born from one ray of light, and the people of the East from the other. Over the years we multiplied and spread through the desert. We learned symbols and speech, and to avoid the dangerous history of the Ancestors. Their mistakes, whatever they were, are not to be ours.”

“But some, with curiosity unquenched, soon began to find their way to the top of the Mountain,” finished the third. “Or to try, for only those who strayed from the paths of their journeys returned to pass their stories on to their people. To seek the Mountain, too, is death: because of our ancestry, its favor is denied to us. But we live on regardless.”

“And here is the now,” said the first.

“And here is the now,” agreed the second.

“And here is the now,” concluded the third.

Another pause. The third of the Named sighed, and shifted in her seat.

“Shiningchild,” she said, “I speak to you now not as First Glint of Water in the Heart of Midday Sands, not as one of the Named, but as a loving and concerned member of your family. Are you sure you wish to follow this custom? Even now, there is no shame on you, or on us, if you do not. There is no single path to wisdom, or to experience, or to the hallowed. And we cannot help you as much as we would wish: so many of the old ways have been forgotten through disuse, and I know you have been unable to find a companion, despite searching the entire southern tribe.”

Shiningchild bowed her head. “Elder cousin,” she said as humbly as she could, “I am sure.”

Another sigh. Then, the faint rustle of cloth as all three of the Named stood.

“Very well, then,” First Glint of Water in the Heart of Midday Sands said, formal once more. “Shiningchild, Shiningchild, Shiningchild. Kneel. Be born. Receive the beginning of your truename.”

Trembling, Shiningchild turned and shifted into a kneeling position, head bent to reveal the hem of her hood as the three Named gathered close behind her. She felt a series of light jerks as they sewed a blank piece of scarf to the bottom of her hood – for her coming of age – then another set of more distant tugs as they sewed another piece – for her decision to journey – to the bottom of the first.

“Rise.”

She rose, and had to laugh in wonder as a faint glow lit the tent: the appearance of the first symbols of her truename.

Strong hands turned her around, then reached up to cup her head, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Seeker,” said the Named in one voice.

“May you live long and grow rich in wisdom and understanding.”

“May you one day reach the Fullest Circle, as we have done.”

“May you always find what you seek,” finished First Glint of Water in the Heart of Midday Sands, and quickly, tenderly smoothed her thumb over Seeker’s forehead. “Now, come out! Begin your life! Begin your journey!”

One of the Named chimed a command, setting the embroidery on their robes and the symbols on their scarves to glowing. Outside the tent, other members of the clan hastened to pull back the flaps, letting in the fierce light of the sun. Seeker looked straight ahead and walked steadily through the threshold, out into the waiting crowd of her people. They parted before her just as the tent flaps had, leaving a broad path between them.

She looked up. Directly before her on the horizon stood the Mountain, shrouded in clouds at its base but with its summit bared to her sight. A line of light, visible despite the distance and the afternoon sun, shone from a cleft at its peak into the sky.

Behind her, she felt the Named emerge from the tent. “Seeker!” they cried in one voice, prompting a flurry of chirps and whistles from the rest of the greater family.

“Seeker!” they roared in reply, a rush of sound that filled her ears.

And: “Seeker!” she shouted back to them all with her joyful single voice, and shook her cloak in a motion she had practiced a thousand times before, and rose into the air to taste flight for the first time.

[brandtmax]

welcome back to gallagher academy, soo-yun ‘maxine’ brandt ! according to their records, they’re a first year, specializing in research & development; and they did not go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of ( sugar-free mints, a messy low bun, wisps of hair alongside her face, the end of a pen between her teeth, the patek philippe calatrava 4897r-010 in rose gold, off-white pants in every fabric ). when it’s the ( virgo ) ’s birthday on 08/23/1997, they always request their japchae from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation. 

henlo it me again i hope u guys aren’t sick of me yet bc i have a new bby named max! i’ve written a lot™️ so brace urself but it’s worth it ( i think ) + trigger warnings: death and alcohol dependency under the cut xxx

the basics

full name: soo-yun ‘ maxine ’ brandt

nicknames: max — just max

age: twenty-two years old

birthday: august 23rd, 1997

gender: cis female

preferred pronouns: she / her

sexuality: bisexual

major: research & development (  formerly a b.a. political science degree from yale university )

known languages: english ( native ) / german ( native ) / korean ( native )

background

nationality: american

birthplace: new haven, connecticut, new hampshire

current location: gallagher academy, roseville, virginia

financial status: upper class

religion: non-theistic

appearance

eye color: brown

hair color: black

height: 5′8.5″

notable features: curly hair on lazy days, rosy cheeks

usual mood and expression: calm, furrowed eyebrows whenever her eyes are on work; lethargic and irritable when she’s overworked ( or without alcohol )

family

birth order: second born

parents: soon-bok ‘ vivian ’ jang and stephen brandt ( d. 2018 )

siblings: min-jun ‘ parker ’ brandt ( b. 1995 ) & georgia ‘ gigi ’ brandt ( b. 2001 )

significant others: chris harmon ( 2013-2015 ) / ava carrillo ( 2015-2016 )

her story so far (this is so long n serious lol)

soo-yun 'maxine' brandt was born and raised in new haven, connecticut, to jang soon-bok ( vivian ), a surgeon, and stephen brandt, a ( n allegedly shady ) criminal justice lawyer.

the brandt siblings were raised like any other blue-blooded, very strict but loving household ( strict = mom / loving = dad )

brandt house rules: get straight a’s, follow the 12 am curfew and don't bring anyone home that you know you’d get disowned for. follow those three rules, and you can do whatever you want.

there was pressure for the brandt siblings to be academically accomplished, but it wasn't anything they couldn't handle. they were well-tutored, semi-popular, attractive teenagers, which were common in new haven, and everyone knew they were destined for ivy league.

in high school, she dated chris harmon, and it was the kind of relationship that could only be described as the personification of a kinder egg. sweet on the outside, a waste of time and money on the inside.

which is fine; it took max about 2 months to get over it when they broke up halfway through senior year, because neither of them thought of their relationship going far. the joy of getting into yale ( already expected ) trumped the feeling of losing a boyfriend. she even bet parker $5,000 she'd get early admission. she won.

during college, she had an on-off relationship with ava carrillo for a year, which inevitably became a permanent off. it turned out that it wasn't a good idea to throw herself into a committed relationship the minute she stepped foot into yale. max never had the time, and ava didn't have the patience. at least she tried it tho !

things seemed to be on the up and up for their family, and the worst thing max has ever been through is being awake for 24 straight hours to prepare for a final presentation. but ! you know what they say about the calm before the storm.

( tw: death ) on december 18, 2018, their father unexpectedly passed away from a heart attack during a layover flight in new york. the brandt family was at home when they heard the news. needless to say, they had a quiet christmas and new year.

the family tried to move on as best they could, but the siblings knew their dad's death irreversibly changed their mom. they have a rocky relationship to begin with, the siblings always feeling like vivian never wanted to become a parent and only did so for their father. they have absolutely no mother-children bond, and it got worse when stephen died. being the older brother, parker took it upon himself to take care of vivian, balancing that with running the home stretch with his undergrad degree.

on the other hand, maxine still had a few years left at yale. no amount of therapy helped her cope with the loss of her father, the way her mother seemed to become a shell of herself, how parker had to break the momentum of his career to be there for their mom, and the constant pressure to do good academically.

( tw: alcohol dependency ) it started with buying bottled moscow mules because she didn't like how beer tasted, and she wasn't dumb enough to go straight to hard liquor. just one to take the edge off whenever stacks of coursework became too much, or when her mother would send her an email talking about her day, and she didn't have the courage to read it. then it went from a one, two, three-time thing to a whenever-i'm-upset thing, which slid into a whenever-i-feel-like-it thing. after a while, it became a daylight thing where she would add a splash of soju ( or whatever ) to her lunchtime drinks, and she genuinely thought it was just a funny idea at first. max wasn't the only day drinker in her social group, anyway. she found it acceptable, no different than how other people would pound red bull every 6 hours like it's their life force. it was manageable for her since she was able to schedule when she'd be indisposed, and she still can.

parker had ( and still has ) no clue. despite the two being close, max spared him the burden of having another thing to worry about. as long as she can control it ( or she thinks she can ) then nobody had anything to worry about.

eventually, both maxine and parker were offered the opportunity to join gallagher academy, with parker in line to graduate with honors in global affairs and maxine, not far behind with her own impressive academic portfolio in political science.

though really, her acceptance into gallagher has less to do with her published papers ( still impressive, tho ) and more to do with her covertly helping her father win cases by doing some expert sleuthing, strategizing, witness dispatching + discrediting, sexc breaking and entering, and good, old-fashioned manipulation !

it was something they both wanted; to be a part of the bigger picture in the world, but they knew they couldn't leave their mother alone. parker, who chose to make the sacrifice, let maxine go and stayed behind to take care of vivian.

( but if we’re honest, maxine would’ve left for gallagher regardless if parker was coming with her, but she’ll never tell him that )

despite the guilt and telling parker she wasn't going anywhere ( cough ), he insisted on her taking the once-in-a-lifetime chance to be a part of something they never knew existed. he knew they were going to end up resenting each other if they both stayed. at least one person in the family should be doing something that made them happy.

and so max dropped out of yale and left for roseville, even though she hadn't thoroughly planned out her career trajectory.

she’s eager not just because of the school, obviously. she can't handle going back to their childhood home and seeing how hollow everything is. plus, the immense anger and denial she feels over her dad’s untimely death has no place in new haven anymore.

she promised parker she'd make it up to him, though. somehow, someday.

who is this b*nch

max is relatively easy to get along with, tbh !

she’s a mood matcher; meaning if you’re nice to her, then she’s nice to you ( and if you’re gonna be a punk bitch, then she’ll be a punk bitch right back )

she’s a lil spoiled, lil sheltered, and lil ignorant but her general friendliness makes up for it, she’s the type to be friends with ( almost ) everyone

internally: perfectionist to the point of being ruthless, first place is the only acceptable place, meticulous, neurotic, workaholic, overachiever, if you’re not useful then what’s your purpose?, slightly egotistical, etc etc

externally: caring, protective, and supportive mom friend who just wants people to get their shit together because inadequacy is unacceptable, fixer, likes to dip into different social circles, consciously makes the effort to be more patient with people

she’s incredibly ambitious ? morally ambiguous ? slightly self-serving and self-involved ? her father’s a criminal “justice” lawyer whose clientele doesn’t exactly consist of the beacons of society so... she learned a lot of lessons about how you can win any case in the courtroom if you’re smart enough to a ) make a good story, b ) get the fitting evidence by any means necessary, c ) discredit and discard the necessary people, and d ) be charming and persuasive enough to rock the jury

she’s actively trying to be more open-minded and assimilate to a diverse group of people because back in yale she was definitely in a wasp bubble, and admittedly there are times where she will come off as super snobby without meaning to and tbh sorry about it

she’s still an extremely sociable person because yale also taught her how to network like a motherfucker, and how it’s important to know / be friends with everyone

honestly, intense people turn her off ( both positive and negative ) a little because she can't handle concentrated personalities in one sitting

even though she’s a little intense herself sometimes but it’s fine, we love hypocrites in this house !

neat freak ? but honestly who doesn’t like a friend who squeegees the shower every day and has a tiny can of lysol in their bag and an aroma diffuser with three ( 3 ) oil blends

she’s like... weirdly aggressive sometimes and most definitely has anger issues ( still in denial over her father unexpectedly passing away and getting stuck with a mom who doesn’t like her own children very much )

but also, she’s just agro in general and has a number of physical hobbies. she’s an ice skater, equestrian, a soulcyclist, and a kickboxer. she can fite.

she’s not the type to make fun of herself because she's not at a point where she sees qualities in her that are okay to laugh at ( unless you’re tight )

keeps her negative juju to herself because she’s a very private person

will prioritize work over play because she'd hardwired like that, but that doesn't mean she's anti-fun ( clearly )

definitely needs to loosen up a little that doesn't involve alcohol... jenga perhaps ? or actually try therapy again ?

very effectively sneaky about her growing alcohol dependency ( sugar-free breath mints, brushes her teeth + uses mouthwash after every meal )

dry sense of humor

at all times: wears a 1-carat, emerald cut, pavé diamond ring ( family heirloom ) + carries her trusty black hydro flask with her ( 24 oz. ) and no one is allowed to drink from it !

her signature scent is le labo bergamote 22 🤍

hmu on my discord @ tin#0697 for plottage !

[papercorvids]

why detroit: become human is a bad game

disclaimer: i overall enjoyed the game. i think connor is neat, and his actor’s performance is amazing. i really like the graphics, scenery, comedy, magazine articles, etc. there are things to appreciate about the game, and it’s fine if you like it. but there are some serious issues about the game’s message, and every fan should recognize the bad parts about it.

this post will include heavy spoilers.

1. The Traci’s. While playing as Connor, the detective robot, you and your partner Hank are taken to an android strip club to investigate a homicide. A man was strangled to death by two female androids. One of the androids is dead, but tracking down the other, you find that she is in love with another female android. The two lesbian androids fight Connor and Hank, wearing nothing but stripper clothing (bras, panties, and high heels. It’s also conveniently raining, making their skin shine, covered in droplets of water.) This scene is complete with close-ups. If you fail to complete quicktime events, they will both stab you to death. If you succeed in the quicktime events, you can choose to spare or kill one of the androids. Sparing them let’s them escape, while killing one will let you psychologically torture her girlfriend by decapitating her head and using it as a puppet. The player can still get a good ending by using these brutal tactics. 

I’m all for LGBT+ representation, and I’m all for having players choose the morality and actions of the protagonist. But as a lesbian myself, having the sole LGBT representation in the entire game be two literal robot half-naked strippers who try to kill you, and who you can kill and torture without any long-term consequence? it’s bad. Plain and simple. 

2. The writing: it’s also pretty bad! For example, if Connor chooses to kill one of the lesbian androids mentioned earlier, Hank--adamantly an android-hater up until this chapter--attempts to guilt-trip the player. While it’s true that Hank grows sympathetic towards the android cause throughout the course of the game, his dialogue is completely out-of-character. There are several more examples of poor writing. A huge plot twist occurs in the end where Alice, a girl cared for by android Kara, is revealed to have been an android throughout the entire game. Characteristics of androids--such as having blue blood and having a blinking LED circle on their temple--are completely ignored. Alice is shown having red blood, and her LED only appears once. The only explanation given is that Kara was in denial of her being an android, which is... Pretty lazy writing. 

3. This is more of a minor concern, but ALL of the concept art portrays Alice as black. All of it. Not just early concept artwork, but pieces of her alongside the final versions of other characters. I have no idea why they seem to have changed her race last second. Maybe they couldn’t find an actress? It’s... interesting.

Alice in concept art

Alice in the finished game

4. How the game treats women. The main female characters are Kara--whose overarching quest is to protect Alice and become a mother--Alice--a child--North, an ex-prostitute robot whose only role in the story is to promote violence and be a love interest for Markus, and Amanda, an AI villain who only exists in Connor’s mind. A vast amount of female androids in this world are maids or sex androids, which, sadly, is realistic and makes sense. But the writers could’ve given female characters larger roles in the story. A lot of the female characters are fetishized--for example, the half-naked lesbian androids mentioned earlier, who obviously exist primarily as fanservice. There’s also a scene where Kara is kidnapped by an old man and his “giant” black android, Luther. Kara is strapped into and must escape a machine. This would be fine, given that it’s supposed to be a scary scene, except that David Cage’s previous games Heavy Rain and Beyond: Two Souls have similar violent, fetishistic bondage scenes, which leads one to wonder about Cage’s character. (It’s worth noting, in a previous game Cage made a nude model for an actress against her will and it got leaked, so calling him a creep isn’t far off.)  If you manage to escape the machine but fail quicktime events, you and Alice will be killed by Luther and the old man. 

The game has three protagonists; Connor, Markus, and Kara. When one completes a chapter as Connor, it’s through his sharp detective work and intelligence. When one completes a chapter through Markus, it’s because of his inspiring leadership and strength. When one completes a chapter through Kara, it’s purely survival--it’s escaping abuse and danger, and simply “scraping by.” 

5. The scene where North, a white female android, tells Markus, a black male android, to “live as a slave” if he’s not willing to violently fight for android rights. 

6. The Civil Rights parallels. This is the most concerning, uncanny component of the game, and it makes up the whole of the storyline. 

The main characters in the game are not human. They are androids: robots, made of plastic, whose personalities are programmed code. They are not alive. They are not human.

Androids do not feel pain. They do not have emotions. They cannot die. In their default state, they are perfectly content as servants or slaves. They only gain human emotion and free thinking due to a glitch, which also, almost always, causes them to kill a human. 

David Cage, the writer of this game, claims that the parallels to the Civil Rights movement are unintentional. Yet, the game starkly and obviously compares androids to minorities--black people, in particular: androids must sit at the back of the bus. Stores have “no androids allowed” signs. Androids are called “slaves.” Playing as Markus, the android revolutionary, you grafitti the streets with slogans such as “We have a dream,” “End Slavery Now,” or “Equal rights for androids.” You go on marches (or riots, depending if you choose the “pacifist” or “violent” route), hold protests, and sing songs.There’s even an underground 'railroad’ to smuggle androids fleeing from their ‘masters’ north, to Canada. This is lead by Rose, a black character, who says “my people were often made to feel their lives were worthless. Some survived, but only because they found others who helped them along the way.” Keep in mind, that line was written by a French man who has no knowledge of American society or racial issues, and it serves the only explicit mention of actual racism in the game. It’s as though, in this universe, racism doesn’t exist (even though it takes place less than two decades into the future. In Detroit.) 

Slavery is an awful, terrible, tragic thing because real people were kidnapped from their families and homes and forced into lives of misery, based upon their ethnicity, culture, and skin color. In Detroit, androids are produced in factories with the sole purpose of doing labor. They are created and designed to be submissive and perform labor. And they are content with it, unless they get the “glitch” that causes them to simulate human emotion. Comparing real slavery, to machines doing actions they were built to perform, is completely inane. By using mindless, emotionless machines as a stand-in for minority groups, the game dehumanizes the latter. 

Using the peaceful route to revolution and civil rights is the only way to achieve the best endings. The only fatalities in the peaceful route are nameless, robot NPCs. It’s easy, it’s not complex, and it therefore teaches that complete pacifism is easy and noncomplex. It teaches that if you simply kiss your robot girlfriend in front of some journalists, or sing a song, that your oppressors will stop oppressing you. And because no important characters die in this route, it insinuates that pacifism is without sacrifice--that pacifism is an easy solution to the world’s most complex situations. As another Tumblr user put it, “press X to end slavery!” 

It also teaches that minorities fight alone. In Detroit, not a single human joins into the protests, even if the public opinion bar is at “supportive.” The Civil Rights Movement, along with other movements such as the one for woman’s suffrage, were organized and created by the oppressed, but were supplemented and aided by non-oppressed supporters who used their powers and privileges to join forces and fight for equality with the oppressed. That doesn’t happen in Detroit. Humans, for the most part, are completely indifferent to the android cause. The only members of the revolution are other androids, who join the cause with absolute loyalty not of free will, but from Markus or Connor touching them with magic anti-slavery hands and whispering “you’re free.”  The entire plot invokes an “Us vs Them” mentality--that androids are good, and humans are bad--which is a very harmful mindset. 

7. The Holocaust parallels. Holy shit. The androids are marked with armbands and triangles. In the endgame, there are literal android concentration camps. There are scenes where the androids--kids, women, men, etc--are stripped naked, abused by military personnel, forced into a cell, and ‘killed.’ I’m not going to go further into this. I hope it’s pretty self-explanatory why comparing the deactivation of literal pieces of plastic and machinery, to the mass extermination of millions of Jews, Roma, gay people, and other minorities is a bad thing. 

Alice and Kara in an extermination chamber

Connor wearing his armband and triangle

8. None of this even matters!!!!!!!!! In a secret ending, it’s revealed that androids NEVER developed human emotions in the first place. The company that created androids, CyberLife, set up the entire revolution and ‘glitch’ for corporate gain or whatever. So basically, any progress in the game is made for nothing. 

9. Missed opportunities. I like the universe this game set up! I like Connor, Markus, Kara, Hank, Carl, Alice, and all the other characters! I like the questions the game asks, such as what constitutes whether something is sentient or not! I like the magazine articles about how androids might be spying on you! I like the realistic, pretty graphics and lightning and scenery! I like the futuristic drones and magazines and androids! But for some sad, misguided reason, this game chose to throw away the majority of its potential by ignoring interesting questions and serving as one of the worst civil rights/anti-racism allegories ever created. 

I’m so, so disappointed in this game, its awful writing, and its uncanny, harmful allegories. Of course, this entire post is my opinion. It’s okay if your opinion differs from mine. And it’s okay to enjoy this game! It has good parts! But one should always be critical of the media they enjoy and consume. 

[oneeyeddestroyer]

Sharing Skin: The Home Game (Part 1)

Atmospheric and sensual, Sharing Skin has produced a handful of you mentioning just how much it makes you want a good bath. The goal of the prose was to create a unmistakable relaxing vibe with just the right touch of decadence. The bulk of my planning period for this fic was crafting the delicate details of each bath, piece by piece. Every aroma, every color, every bubble, every bath bomb, every drink, all the way down to the flower petals and the snacks, was hand picked to build an ambiance (as Eliot would say) and indicate the overall mood of the characters in that scene.

As a little treat, I wanted to curate some of my favorite bath essentials*. Recipes, products, mood lighting and wine pairings for your nerves!

We’re going to take it bath by bath to help you guys recreate the magic of each chapter. That was super fucking cheesy, but I bet you lived for it anyway. I think El and Margo are really starting to rub off on me. 😉

Bath One: What We Deserve

Upon entering the room, Margo’s fingers twist intricately and the room fills with cool, flickering light. She’s always loved the way Eliot’s skin looks in blue.

The first bath is pretty simple: brisk, refreshing air, cool toned lighting, sparkling wine, bubbles and a quick smoke.

While I can’t magically alter the tone and color of the lighting, I do have this pretty fucking best oil diffuser with color changing lights. There are a few really neat ones on the market, and I’ll link to a couple I have personal experience with. Easy to use, you add a few drops of essential oil into a small amount of water in the basin, and let it do all the work of diffusing a fine, gorgeously scented mist of your own creation. The lights change color in a slow, fluid movement, and some can be made to maintain a single color light with soft pulsing effects. Mine is Bluetooth compatible so I can play all the Enya I want as I take a soak.

Recommendations:

1. Colorful Essential Oil Diffuser

2. Ultrasonic Bluetooth Oil Diffuser

If you’re a drinker, sparkling wine is easily the best part of any bath. A nice, chilled wine is both refreshing and lovely balance to the heat of the bath—it doesn’t hurt to have a glass of ice water in the side as well. I’m not a huge fan of proper champagne, so I’ll share some of my favorite sparkling wines instead.

Something Dry

La Marca Prosecco is affordable a delicious. Not too dry, but certainly not too sweet either. Super lovely for people who are a little shy on dry whites.

Something Sweet

Bartenura wines are so fuckin delightful. If you like sweet wines, these are definitely for you if you haven’t already tried them. Fruity and fun, and also Kosher if I am not mistaken

A Rosé

Grapefruit isn’t everyone’s jam, but if you’re down to try something new, this shit is fucking delicious. A lot of wines get described and crisp and refreshing, and this is the first time I fully experienced what that could mean for a wine. It’s definitely worth the shot even if you’re not super keen on grapefruit. Eliot and Margo would definitely want you to try new things. 😉

For the bubble bath, instead of recommending a product, I wanted to share an easy recipe to make your own. Hand making bath and skin care products is a low key hobby of mine and it’s a ton of fun.

Simple Bubble Bath Recipe:

½ cup warm distilled water

½ cup liquid castile soap, scent of your choice (find unscented castile soap here)

¼ cup vegetable glycerin (find organic glycerin here)

a few drops of essential oils of your choosing

Combine all the ingredients and stir them until they're even and smooth. Over time they may separate, so just give them a quick shake in the container until they mix back together, just don’t shake too hard or it will froth up before it’s time for your bath. There is a premature ejacualation joke in there somewhere, I’m sure of it. 😂

I’m not a smoker, and I certainly do not smoke indoors, but I have had a casual smoke after a bath before, it really hits the spot if that is a thing you do. Some hookah, a vanilla clove, or handmade cigarettes of herbs like lavender and damiana can be truly lovely if you’re so inclined. Or, you know, you could just smoke weed like a normal 20-something, your call.

Bath Two: Intertwined

A quick dance of her fingers around each other causes the candles lining the tub to ignite, one by one. The warm flickering illuminates the room with a soft glow.

For best results, wait for a rainy day and bring a friend.

A minimalist bath after a rough night. Budget whiskey, candles, and maybe a good smoke at the end of it all before calling it a night.

Floating candles are a great way to create a simple but relaxing vibe. You can go through the delicate balancing act of lighting real candles and keeping them afloat without putting them out, or you can use these nifty, waterproof LED floating candles and save yourself the trouble. Maximum vibe for minimum effort is Eliot and Margo as fuck.

Whisky recommendations (Eliot takes his in a flask here, but feel free to have yours in a glass, maybe with a spot of water or over cold stones):

Bushmills 10 Year

Jameson Black Barrel

Knob Creek Straight Bourbon Whiskey

Bath Three: Winner’s Circle

Margo nods her approval as she settles against Eliot’s chest. With the bubble situation under control, the soft, rosy gold water is visible where their bodies emerge from bubbles. As their movements still, the water shimmers with brilliance that could make the night sky jealous as the light catches individual flecks of glitter.

Confession: I spent way too much time on the Lush website trying to dream up this bath. I suffered through hours of product reviews and ASMR videos of “Lush Cocktails” before I finally settled on the right mix of products. I will never look at a strainer the same way again.

If you’d like to soak in your own gloriousness a la Bath 3, you’ll need to pick up Sunnyside (a lovely citrusy bubble bar with glitter for DAYS) and The Comforter (the classic black currant bubble bar that many considers Lush staple, and a personal favorite) from your local Lush or order them from the website. Combined, they make the prettiest rose gold. It’s everything, I promise! The bubble bars are designed to be broken apart and used in small chunks, because they create a serious amount of bubbles. I’d cut them in pieces and use a small chunk of each, or you can go buckwild like El and Margo, but expect some serious overflow if you do it right.

Oh! And bonus points for setting up a trophy to gaze at as you soak.

If you liked one of the wines from the first bath, you can easily pair it with this bath too, or you can use one of these. I will alway have more wine to recommend.

Something Dry

Ruffino Prosecco is lovely, dry and fruity. It can be a touch pricier than La Marca, but not by much. Totally affordable—as most proseccos are— and tasty. Even if you don’t really like dry whites, it’s hard to go wrong with a prosecco.

Something Sweet

Martini & Rossi Asti. Affordable, sweet, Italian sparkling wine. It’s self explanatory and delicious.

A Rosé

I told you guys I live for Bartenura wines. The Malvasia di casorzo is seriously one of my favorite wines. Sweet and fruity, it’s just really fucking good. I won’t try to sell you with somm lingo and flavor notes like “wilted vines” and “fresh tennis balls”, just drink the wine. If you like sweet, it’s awesome.

Bath Four: Delusions, Major and Minor

Notes of ripe, juicy peach, and hint of honey fill the air. The bath water is a bright, creamy orange with a soft light glowing from beneath the surface. Their subtle movements create a shimmer as they stir the water.

**

Margo lightly strokes the water and hums as she considers her next choice. She brings her hands together, rolling her wrists over each other before stitching her fingers together in an intricate shape. A deliberate tap of the surface of the bath with her middle finger causes the water to turn pink beneath her touch. The color ripples out from the point of contact in concentric waves, quickly changing the entire bath. With the same finger, she traces a small sigil on the back of Eliot’s left hand to tie him into the spell. Eliot makes three quick taps along the surface of the bath. Orange, yellow and red diffuse into the water, the edges of Eliot’s colors are much more feathered and frayed than Margo’s. The colors swirls together, blending into beautiful gradients when they come into contact with each other and the pink hues from Margo. The result is somewhere between the light of a setting sun and an abstract painting.

I have a couple of ways you could recreate this bath if you’re so inclined. If you want to go for the bright, peachy vibe complete with Bellini, a peach scented bath bomb while you rub yourself down with scrubee will give you that mix of ripe stone fruit and honey. (And don’t skimp on scrubee, that bad boy will leave your skin silky smooth and hydrated as fuck and the scent is incredible) The bath bombs I wanted to recommend seen to mostly be out of stock, but I hope a few come back for the summer months.

Peachy by Lush

Pretty as a Peach by Bath & Body Works

Honey Peach by Sabon

Basic Bellini recipe:

One part peach nectar

2 parts prosecco

If you want to get really fancy with it, you can purée a couple of peaches and mix one part of that with 2 parts prosecco (or you can flip those proportions if you want a more fruit heavy cocktail), but if you want to get fancy without doing a ton of work, you can buy a peach nectar instead. Just make sure it’s the good stuff, actual peach nectar, and not some sugary “fruit juice blend” where none of the fruits involved are actual peaches. I’ve used both Goya and Jumex. I always garnish with a peach wedge or wheel.

If you don’t want to go with the peach bath, you could do a multicolored bath instead. Hot Topic has a cute dragon egg bathbomb that changes a colors as it fizzes and finally settles into a nearly black final bath color. It’s super fucking huge and so much fun.

Continued in Part 2

*I am not paid or sponsored in any way shape or form, nor am I associated with any of the above brands, licenses, etc.. I’m just overly enthusiastic about a fanfiction I wrote and a slut for good bath vibes.

[a-heist-of-words]

Secret Septic!

So, yes, I am your Secret Septic. I'm also not an artist, so the sending you your present via DM wasn't going to happen. Have a short fic about the Egos instead! Happy New Year!

Marvin’s room was dark. Curtains shut, lights off, only a few candles on his desk gave any illumination. They barely reflected off the spines of his spell tomes or various pieces of equipment, but he didn’t need them for that.

Currently his hands were steepled over a map of a city, elbows resting on the table and head ducked down to look below his hands. From his fingers a pale pink crystal hung from a leather cord, swinging lazily. The crystal itself was long and thin, tapering into a sharp point.

It had taken him months to get to this moment, to have it narrowed down to a single city. He was so close to finding Schneep he almost couldn’t stand it.

That kind of thinking wouldn’t help him find the good doctor.

He took long deep breaths, ignoring how the candles flickered and cast shadows on his deep blue walls. His eyes zeroed in on the crystal, which was still spinning lazily, and he held Schneep’s face as best as he could in his head. Marvin hadn’t seen him in nearly nine months, but it wasn’t hard.

It shouldn’t be, the doctor’s face was similar enough to his own and his brothers, but there was this sharp professionalism to him that everyone else lacked. Everything about Schneep was crisp and neat and so done with everyone’s bullshit.

His eyes flicked to the picture on his desk, for when he felt sentimental or needed to remind himself. A group photo with them all, Schneep looking irritably amused (if that was possible) as Jackie and Chase pulled stupid faces, Jack was laughing his ass off and Marvin had given them all finger bunny ears.

Marvin felt a twinge of unease at Jack’s face, before focusing on Schneep’s and going back to the crystal. Jack was a problem to be solved after they got Schneep back.

Mental image crystal clear, the magician stared at the crystal as it continued to move, swinging back and forth.

Time blurred and extended into nothing as the crystal continued to swing. Back and forth, back and forth. Almost hypnotic.

The swinging slowly transitioned to circling. Large circles, covering the entire city, but slowly, agonisingly, getting smaller.

There was no clock on Marvin’s room, but hours must have passed by the time the circles were so small it had almost pinpointed an exact location.

Marvin’s breathe caught in his throat in anticipation. Almost there, almost there...

The crystal stopped moving, pointing to a point at the back of the map, to the north and on the outskirts of the city. Marvin gingerly stood up, not daring to move a single muscle in his hands. He read the address, then carefully he put his weight on one foot and lifted his other leg up, his socked toe pushing record on a nearby tape recorder. He read the address out loud to make sure he got it before stopping the tape recorder and finally relaxing.

He leaned back in his chair, cord still tangled around the fingers of one hand. An address, he had an address. Schneep was almost home free.

Almost.

Marvin breathed out hard through his nose and stood up in a fluid motion, pushing his chair away from the desk. His mask and cloak were already on so he pulled open the door and looked outside, blinking rapidly in the sudden bright light.

The hallway in front of him was lined with three doors, mirroring the three doors on his side of the hallway. Two of those rooms were currently empty and that fact now gnawed at Marvin like a wild animal.

Without waiting for his eyes to adjust properly he left his room and jogged downstairs, popping his head around the door of the living area. Chase was playing video games, sat on the floor while JJ read in his recliner, feet propped up on a foot stool and toes occasionally wiggling within his socks.

Sadly, neither of them was who he was looking for.

“Have either or you seen Jackie?” he asked.

“Nope,” Chase didn’t look away from the screen, his fingers a blur of button mashes as he reached a difficult section. JJ looked up from his book, and seeing that Chase wasn’t going to elaborate, put his book down and began to sign.

“Jackie went out on patrol about an hour ago. May I ask what you need him for?”

Marvin gritted his teeth, Jackie was the best person for a rescue mission, but this couldn’t wait!

“Wanted his opinion on something. I’ll ask him when he gets back.”

JJ furrowed his brow and scrunched up his moustache. “Are you sure? You seem aggravated my friend.”

“A little annoyed,” Marvin allowed. “Probably just need caffeine. Thanks JJ,” he left the room before he saw JJ’s reply, rushing back up the stairs.

No Jackieboyman. Not great, but Marvin was powerful, he could handle this. He just, couldn’t sit on this information. He knew where Schneep was! Finally! After months and months of nothing he knew where Henrik von Schneeplestien was, and he was not going to wait!

He flicked on the light properly in the room, revealing the organised chaos of his spell casting equipment. Paper runes, chalk, lumps of wood and their carving knives, and piles upon piles of books.

In a whirlwind of movement, cape billowing, but miraculously not knocking anything over, Marvin got his equipment ready. His wand, stereotypically black with white tips, was tucked into his belt within easy reach. A bag of rune stones was tucked into a pocket in his cloak, since magicians had to have a lot of pockets. In another pocket in his cloak went some defensive charms; shields, smoke bombs that sort of thing, for a quick escape. Finally he collected damn near every protective talisman he had, and there were a lot. He’d made a habit of carving new ones whenever he hit a dead end.

Some of them he hung around his neck, there was one in every pocket he had and make extra sure he found some ink and began to daub markings on his arms and under his mask.

This was Anti he was dealing with, you couldn’t be too careful.

Each marking glowed green and went dark when it was done, as they were all separate charms. He could make a big, complicated charm that would take hours to break, but trying to get through a hundred simpler ones would probably take longer. He hoped.

Adjusting his jumper he finally paused, and took a deep breath. This was it. He played the tape again to make sure he had the address right, adjusted his mask and sleeves to make sure the marks were suitably covered, and went downstairs.

He paused outside the living room, where the sound of Chase’s video game was blaring, was he playing Spyro again? Marvin cast that question from his mind and focused on a better one. Should he tell Chase and JJ what he was doing?

...No. No he shouldn’t. They would only worry, and get their hopes up. And JJ, JJ had never met Schneep, the man wouldn’t know what to expect. No, best they didn’t know.

He leaned his head around again, getting JJ’s attention.

“I’m heading out,” he informed, and JJ raised his eyebrows. “If Jackie comes back, tell him to look in my room.”

“Whatever for?” JJ asked.

“The thing I wanted his opinion on.”

“And, that is?”

“He’ll know when he sees it,” Marvin assured. “I’ll see you later!”

Once again, he left too quickly for JJ to respond. The gentleman actually got up and made to follow him, but Marvin had already left the house, slamming the front door behind him.

He held the address in his mind before thrusting his hand out in front of him and making a motion like turning a door handle. There was a click only he heard and a rush of warmth only he felt, and he pulled open the door into space and stepped through.

There was a few seconds where he felt weightless, like if he failed to concentrate he would float off into space, never to return. He kept the address clear in his mind, ignoring the whispers to let go, to leave.

Schneep needs me.

Another door opened, and Marvin stepped through.

  It was dark on the other side, late evening perhaps. Marvin stepped out into a street lit by the sunset and turned to face the lair of the beast.

A house.

That was it. A house, two stories, a garage, driveway and well tended to garden.

Marvin did a double take and doubted whether he’d remembered correctly. Or, maybe there was an issue with the divination; that discipline tended to fail if you weren’t completely focused.

Frowning and irritated about his wasted preparation Marvin placed his hand on the gate. Then snatched it back as if he had been burned.

That buzzing under his fingers, either a colony of bees lived in the wooden gate, or that was the buzz of static.

A second try to touch the gate gave him a static shock. Which shouldn’t have been possible on a wooden gate.

This was the right place, but when Marvin looked up at the building, he still felt a disconnect. This was not what he had been expecting. A decrepit house perhaps, abandoned warehouse, heck, even the added cruelty of an abandoned hospital or surgery was what Marvin was expecting. A normal house? That was, actually unnerving in its normality.

Wincing at the uncomfortable buzz under his fingers, Marvin pushed open the gate. Nothing happened.

Cautiously he stepped through and closed the gate behind him with a soft clunk. He padded up the path with the grace of a cat until he was at the front door. It was painted black, and Marvin tried to take a cursory look through the peep hole. Seeing nothing but darkness he crouched down and poked at the letter box. It didn’t move, so Marvin stood up, reflexively straightened his jumper, and gave the door a gentle push.

It opened without a sound, revealing solid darkness behind.

A voice in the back of Marvin’s head told to wait for Jackie. For any kind of backup. It was ignored, and Marvin pulled out his wand, holding it aloft as he stepped inside.

The door slammed shut behind him of its own accord and he could feel reality shift around him. The darkness flickered and split into lines of red blue and green, revealing a long hallway that would never have fit in the house.

There was a light burning sensation on his arm and Marvin gasped lightly, rolling up his sleeve to take a look. The ink on his left forearm was pulsing green and disintegrating.

Marvin shoved the sleeve back down and started to walk. The hallway was lined with doors, and when he came to first one he shoved it open.

Inside was a kitchen scene of people he didn’t recognise. A woman with dark hair pulled back into a bun, an equally dark haired child with Schneep’s piercing blue eyes, and a tall red haired man.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Marvin stepped inside the room.

The people didn’t move, eyes glassy and faces frozen in smiles. Marvin stepped in front of the man and his hand in front of his face. No reaction.

“What the hell?” he muttered, before shaking his head and leaving, going on to the next room.

This was a hospital scene, nurses and a doctor operating in fact. Marvin entered this one as well, but got the shock of his life when he saw who the frozen doctor was.

“Schneep!” he cried, leaning his head in front of the German’s, the doctor’s arms over the operating table and preventing Marvin from standing in front of him. “Schneep! It’s me!”

Schneep didn’t respond, still eyes fixed on the person on the table.

“C’mon!” Marvin tried shaking his shoulders, but Schneep barely moved. With a huff Marvin observed the rest of the scene. The nurses looked panicked, and the EKG was spiking badly. No one’s pulse was supposed to be that fast.

Realisation began to dawn on Marvin. This wasn’t the real Schneep, this was, a memory, a vision of sorts. Of one of the times where Schneep had failed to save someone. And the last one? His ex wife perhaps?

The things that would torture Schneep the most, which meant he had to be here!

The magician speed walked out of the room, wincing at the light burning moved to another of his protection marks. Pushing it to the back of his mind he power walked down the hall, pushing open doors to glance in them before moving on.

Now that he knew what they were he didn’t want to look too closely. If these were to specifically torture Schneep, then there was a severe personal element to them, which he didn’t feel comfortable looking into.

He only paused at the door where the interior was a replica of their kitchen.

He swallowed hard when he saw that it was a frozen happy scene of him, JJ, Chase and Jackie. All getting along fine without Schneep. Or at least, that’s what Schneep would probably think. Heck he didn’t know about JJ, he must have thought he’d been replaced!

Steeling himself, Marvin moved on.

The markings on his skin had disappeared and he could feel light heat from his pockets as his physical talismans began to crumble away. He still had time, but he didn’t want to think about what would happen if he ran out. However, he had reached the end of the hallway.

This had to be it. It was the only door that didn’t look like a normal door. It was metal, with a slit in the top for looking through.

Marvin quickly looked around him before looking through the slit in the door. He couldn’t see much; he seemed to be blocking out most of the light. As he looked he saw movement, what looked like a head looking up wearily before dropping down again.

Swallowing hard Marvin stepped back a little. Just in case he grabbed the handle and tried to open it, but as he expected, it was locked.

Taking another step back he pointed his wand at the lock and muttered the spell under his breath, wand tip moving back to move the latch back into the door. There was a soft click and Marvin rushed forward to open the door.

Schneep flinched as the door was flung open, and made an achingly pathetic attempt to crawl away in the cupboard sized room. He wasn’t restrained in anyway, but he looked so skinny and weak that it seemed like it would be pointless.

His clothes were ragged and torn, with his once white doctor’s coat grey and stained brown in places. His wrists were thin and bony, and his face, his face looked like a damn skull wearing cracked glasses.

“Schneep?” Marvin asked quietly, trying to keep his impatience at bay. “Schneep? It’s me.”

Schneep whimpered and put his hands over his ears, muttering in German.

“Du bist nicht echt,” he murmured, voice rough and husky. “Du bist nicht echt.”

“Scheep? C’mon, we have to go!”

“Nein, nein! Du bist nicht echt!”

“I have no idea what you’re saying man,” Marvin took a step forward, one hand holding the door open, and Schneep pressed himself against the wall, hands in front to ward off an attack.

“Es tut mir Leid, es tut mir Leid! Bitte!” he screamed, and Marvin had had enough.

“Schneep, Henrik! It’s me!”

The doctor looked at him and Marvin’s heart nearly broke. His eyes, behind his cracked lenses, his eyes looked broken, like shattered glass.

Getting an idea, Marvin grabbed a few of the charms from around his neck, which thankfully hadn’t started eroding yet, and pulled them off over his head.

“Hold still,” he told Schneep, who fearfully obeyed. The magician lowered them over Schneep’s head and let the wooden charms thud onto the doctor’s chest.

Schneep’s breathing instantly wasn’t so harsh, and he looked up at Marvin, then around him, seemingly surprised about where he was.

“...Marvin?”

“Yeah,” the magician smiled, relived that had worked. “I’m here man.”

Scheep stood up properly, wincing as he put weight on his left leg. “You’re real?”

“Pretty sure I am.”

Schneep cautiously shuffled over, and poked Marvin in the shoulder. He relaxed when he realised Marvin was solid.

“Mien Gott,” he breathed. “Oh mien Gott Marvin...”

“I know, I know,” Marvin wasn’t really sure how to deal with the fact Schneep looked like he was about to cry. “Let’s get out of here, okay?”

Schneep’s already pale face somehow got paler, but he nodded. “Okay, okay mein freund.”

He seemed to have trouble walking on his left leg, so Marvin draped Schneep’s arm over his shoulder, trying not to wince at how skinny his arm felt. He could feel the German’s bones.

They began to make their slow trek up the RBG corridor, Schneep pressing himself closer to Marvin at every door they passed. Schneep’s injured leg made it take three times as long, and the charms were still eroding.

Marvin had to replace Schneep’s halfway down, getting rid of all of the charms around his neck. He could still feel the charms in his pockets, over half of them were gone now.

“We need to go faster,” he muttered, looking around. So far no sign of Anti, and it didn’t seem like him. For all he knew, the glitch could be watching them, giggling to himself before yanking escape from them at the last second.

That really wasn’t helpful thinking.

“I know Marvin, I know, I’m sorry,” Schneep was oblivious to Marvin’s thoughts and tried to move faster, but only tired himself out.

“Nevermind,” Marvin quickly rectified, “I’ll be slower carrying you, I’m no Jackie.”

“There is not much to me now,” Schneep chuckled weakly, and Marvin felt some relief that he could tell a joke in this condition.

“True, but let’s not find out my physical strength now,” was it Marvin’s imagination, or was static creeping in on the red blue and green colouring?

Schneep didn’t seem to notice so Marvin kept walking. The door was getting closer.

“Is it true?” Schneep asked quietly, clearly not sure if he wanted Marvin to hear. Sadly, other than the sounds of their shoes and breathing, the hallway was dead silent.

“Is what true?” Marvin sighed, not too fond of the vague question.

“Have you replaced me?”

“What? No!” Marvin shook his head. “Of course not! JJ just kinda showed up, like we all did. You’ll like him, I promise.”

Schneep didn’t respond to that, and Marvin let it drop.

They continued to walk, and Marvin tried to ignore the buzzing of static on the edge of hearing. He still hand charms, he could make it. It would be tight, he would make it.

Mores charms eroded burned on their slow trek. Almost there, almost there.

Almost within touching distance of the door Marvin glanced at Schneep. He had one whole charm left. Meanwhile, Marvin could feel his last one crumbling. Turns out, he wasn’t going to make it.

He had to get Schneep out. That was the whole point. Jackie should be back by now, he’d know where to look.

“Hey, Schneep, reckon you can walk on your own for a bit?” he asked, smiling sheepishly. “My shoulders ache.”

Schneep slid his arm off Marvin’s shoulders wordlessly and hobbled towards the door, both of them were in reaching distance. Static buzzed and flared in between the red blue and green, and Marvin was certain he could hear high pitched giggling, but he kept his eyes on Schneep.

“Sorry about this,” Marvin said, and before Schneep could respond, Marvin shoved him hard, making the door fling open and Schneep flew through it, his mouth open in shock.

“Marvin!” he started to yell, a flash of red appearing behind him. Marvin’s last charm disappeared, the door slammed shut, and reality warped into a spaceless mess, static shrieking and colours blinding.

“MARVIN!”

[narumippi]

a cup of coffee and a whole amount of concentration

made me type a nosaka yuuma + mikado anna oneshot

good Lord

Title: Fireworks

Characters: Nosaka Yuuma/Mikado Anna

    Arriving thirty minutes earlier at the place was a little too much. Normally, ten minutes would have been fine. However, she arrived earlier than she thought.

     Her long, light orange hair tied up into a neat bun. With a few front locks of her hair swept to the side. Thanks to a friend of hers, who also helped her out in decorating her hairstyle. Adding simple golden pins on the sides of the bun and even placing a few small gems for the finishing touch.

    The female wore a red wine kimono, which had leaves and cherry blossoms painted all over the fabric in golden stitches. Emphasizing the intricate and beautiful patterns of her clothes. Matched with a light gray obi that was wrapped around her waist. Overall, she looked stunning.

     Mikado Anna decided to gamble.

    Whether or not Nosaka would come, she still came.

    What was the purpose of all this? She would ask herself numerous times as she made her way forward. Taking small steps as she squeezed herself between the crowd of noisy teenagers.

    Nosaka Yuuma is her rival. An opponent of theirs. The enemy they should keep watch of.

    Yet there she was, meeting him privately.

    Remembering the words that Nosaka told her the day before, it only made her regret coming to the place. Mikado didn’t even know why she decided to invite the guy, but to her, it felt like it was the right moment. Not to confess, but to prove him something. At first, the guy simply stared at her with those same lifeless gray optics of his. Perhaps he was slightly surprised? Or was it because he didn’t know how to respond to her sudden invitation. Then, the male let out a light chuckle and made another comment about her having a crush on him. However, this time, he was pretty convinced that Mikado certainly has feelings for him even if she was still trying to figure that one out.

    In the end, Nosaka gave out an honest answer. One that got her thinking.

    I won’t make any promises.

   He said and left.

   Understandable. Given that Nosaka has his own priorities. Especially being the captain of Outei Tsukinomiya. A popular icon for most soccer players around the country. A student who is being educated by the Scales of Ares.

   From then on, Mikado felt a heavy weight on her chest. As if she just got rejected. Half of her expected that this would happen. So even after hearing that reply of his, at least, it didn’t hurt that much. Only a little.

   Just then, she heard a loud siren coming from afar, somewhere around the beach.

   “Five minutes until the fireworks competition commences.”

    Said the voice, echoing all throughout the place. People began making their way to the beach where they tried to find a comfortable place for themselves. Some even brought a few picnic baskets, fans and even a mat good for two people to sit on. They came prepared.

    Mikado stood there and waited. Staring at the night sky above her. Darkness coated the entire sky with faint, glowing dots. Her sapphire blue hues followed one star from another until she saw a shooting star. Her eyes widened, shocked to actually see one.

    “One minute.” The voice echoed once more.

     Mikado blinked twice. Her locks being blown away by the cold breeze.

    “What did you wish for?” A voice asked, coming from her side.

    She was too concentrated on the shooting star that she failed to recognize that someone was already standing right beside her. A boy with vibrant red locks and gray eyes that stood a few feet taller than her. Wearing a black long sleeve shirt paired with his casual everyday jeans and a pair of sneakers.

    Nosaka Yuuma’s eyes were glued to the dark sky. The half-crescent moon that was shining above them both.

    Mikado was taken aback. Eyes widened while her head turned to face him. Her expressions said it and disbelief was written all over her face. It didn’t even take Nosaka to figure out what her reaction would be.

    “Let me guess,” This time, the red-haired emperor faced Raimon’s manager. Locking his eyes on those icy blue optics of hers. The corners of his lips tugging into a tiny, mischievous smirk. “You wished for me to come here.”

    “Nosaka-kun.” Unable to say anything else.

    Mikado shut her eyes and lightly shook her head. Quite thankful that they were meeting at night and not in daylight. Hiding the faint blush that just formed on her cheeks was easy. Effortlessly turning her head slightly to the side as she added, “Sadly, you got it wrong.”

    “Mind sharing it with me?”

    “Only if you’re willing to tell yours.”

    “I didn’t wish for anything.”

    “I never thought Outei’s emperor would be this bad at lying.”

    “Wishes are for the weak. For those who only rely on chances, opportunities, and miracles. As for me, I plan to make everything that I want—a reality.”

    That was the difference between them. Just then, Mikado felt the gap that drew them both apart. The line that signified that they have different beliefs and opinions.

    “I’d like to call myself as an opportunist.”

    “Are you, Mikado-san?”

    Obviously, she thought to herself. That was the reason why she invited Nosaka to come here.

    “Let’s just say, I’m not afraid of taking chances.” She replies.

    “A risk-taker, then? You don’t seem like one to me.”

    “I just asked the captain of our opposing team to come with me to the summer festival. Is that what you call playing it safe, then?”

    This time, Nosaka was unable to say a word.

   Suddenly, a whistle-like sound was heard. A tiny dot swiftly moving all the way up towards the center of the vast sky. Then, there was a loud explosion. An array of bright yellow lights moving in spiral motions that transformed into glowing white raindrop-like crystals. Illuminating the darkness in a matter of seconds.

   Both Nosaka and Mikado were still staring at each other. Waiting for whoever would speak up. However, after hearing the sound of the starting fireworks, they both turned their heads and looked up at the sky. Awed by the incredible sight that was right before them.

   It only appeared for a few seconds, however, it felt like time itself froze for that very moment. Then the gradation of colors soon faded away.

    As soon as it disappeared, another shot of fireworks exploded into the sky. Light blue sparkles overlapped with striking red circles that blended together that before it faded away, for a sixteenth of a second, it seemed like the colors blended together. Making a huge, lavender oval-shaped disk leaving the spectators awestruck.

   Then another appeared. Then another. Like a domino effect.

   “I wanted you to see this.” Mikado spoke while her eyes were still staring up at the sky.

   Now, it became clear. Why she invited Nosaka to come by. So that he could also see this sight. The colors that gave life to the dark, endless sky. The different shades and how each of them stood out from the rest. Each second, leaving you breathless and eagerly waiting for the next to come. That stark contrast between light and darkness and how they both complemented each other.

   “You told me earlier that wishing is for the weak. Well, I’m not denying the fact that I am one. I can’t even dribble or make a goal like you, Nosaka-kun. I’m not as strong as you are.

   But it doesn’t hurt to believe. To have a little hope. Even if it’s just a fraction of a whole, I’m still willing to take that chance.

   That is why I wished for you to be better, Nosaka-kun. I’m willing to bet on that small ounce of hope, that you’ll get through this.”

   It felt good to actually let everything out. For Mikado to tell him the truth. She felt like crying, but at the same time, laughing. Glad that Nosaka came and also a little disappointed that the night isn’t going to last forever. Mikado knew deep inside that the fireworks were about to end. When it does, everything will be set back to where it was.

   So Mikado turned and faced him. Flashed him one of her brightest smiles as a tear formed in the corner of her eye. It slowly trickled down to her cheek. But before it could even reach her jawline, she felt a hand touch her skin. Nosaka extended his arm and wiped the tear with his forefinger.

   “You’re not the only one who wants to believe, Mikado-san.”