#I love to think that his status affords him all the demon ladies he could want

[imagine-darksiders]

Watched Life of Brian for the 100th time last weekend, got inspired.

[giftwrappingpaper]

jiang yanli and lan wangji friendship agenda

summary: lan wangji visits lotus pier and drinks tea with jiang yanli.

jyl and lwj would've been good friends and it's a crime they barely interact w each other in canon. here's my application to the let jyl and lwj be friends club. takes place in a canon divergence of cql ep 24 where lwj visits yunmeng instead of lxc

written for the mxtx remix

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Jiang Yanli finds Lan Wangji at the entrance of Lotus Pier, shoulders straight and fist resting rigidly at the small of his back. A thin sheen of sweat coats his stoic face; it is the height of summer, and even Jiang Yanli, daughter of Yunmeng’s lotus rivers and humid breeze, shifts uncomfortably under the sun’s unforgiving heat.

“Lady Jiang,” he says, punctuating his greeting with a bow. “I apologize for arriving unannounced.”

Jiang Yanli remembers herself. They are not in Qishan anymore, war-weary and conversing over her comatose brother — they are in Yunmeng, and she is the lady of Lotus Pier. “There is no need for apologies, Hanguang-jun,” she says, bowing in return. “You are always welcome here. Please, come in.”

He follows her through the gates and into the central training field, where a group of recently recruited YunmengJiang disciples practice sword forms under Jiang Cheng’s critical sneer. He slaps at a disciple’s weak wrist and locked knees as Jiang Yanli and Lan Wangji traverse the bordering walkway to Lotus Pier’s main hall.

A servant brings them a pot of tea and makes to fill their cups, but Jiang Yanli shoos him off. A rather cruel drink to serve in this weather, but Lan Wangji doesn’t complain when it’s offered to him, so Jiang Yanli lets it be. “Sword Hall was one of the first rooms we rebuilt,” she tells him after they’re settled in their seats. “We deemed it forthcoming to prioritize the rooms used to entertain our esteemed guests.”

Lan Wangji’s eye’s flicker at the newly lacquered wood, the newly minted metalwork. “A show of hospitality to your patrons?” he assumes.

More like a show of strength. Most of the YunmengJiang Sect’s wealth was charred to insignificance, and the reparations they’d plundered after the Sunshot Campaign could only go so far. They could not afford to rebuild on their own, nor could they afford to reveal this weakness to visiting clans. Their status as a Great Sect hinges on their reputation as a sect that can overcome the destruction of their home and the massacre of their people. The first step in doing so: coddling powerful, prying, paying visitors with amenable lodgings and entertainment.

Jiang Cheng had wanted to rebuild their ancestral shrine first, to honor the newly coveted remains of their mother and father. Jiang Yanli had been the one to convince him otherwise.

“Hospitality,” she echoes, serving Lan Wangji a cup. “Hm. I suppose you can call it that.”

They drink their tea. As the minutes pass in silence she marvels at Lan Wangji’s patience, for she is no fool — Lan Wangji hadn’t made the journey to Yunmeng to drink tea with her.

“I believe A-Xian left this morning,” she informs him. Lan Wangji’s already prim posture stiffens at the mention of Wei Wuxian, and she smiles.

He stares at his cup. After a beat he glances up and says, “I did not come bearing ill intentions.”

“I didn’t think you did. You came to play for him again, yes?” She can still hear the echoing twang of his guqin, perfectly measured chords plucked by slender fingers. It had calmed her heartbeat and brought color to Wei Wuxian’s pale pallor. It had been sweet. It had been lovely.

It had helped. Maybe it will help again. Wei Wuxian more often than not returns home haunted-eyed and smelling of liquor.

“I did, yes. Where may I find him?”

“In town, most likely.” She hesitates, then recalls the tenderness in Lan Wangji’s music and face as he played Wei Wuxian a song of cleansing. “Beyond his usual duties, A-Xian hasn’t been spending much time in Lotus Pier.”

Concern pinches Lan Wangji’s brow. “Why is that?”

They had been steadfast in recreating the Lotus Pier they grew up in — an exact replica of the halls Jiang Yanli spent her childhood walking through. In that they succeeded, down to the lotus flowers listing across the courtyard ponds. But the wood is too new, the metalwork too untarnished. Only recently did Jiang Yanli realize what was missing from her usual nightly routine: it was the wayward splinter she’d pluck from her robes before going to bed, pricked from the scuffed flooring worn down by generations of footsteps.

No attempt at rebuilding can truly hide the scorched earth the QishanWen Sect left behind. No freshly dug up lotus pond can make Jiang Yanli forget that the room she and Lan Wangji are drinking tea in is strides away from the spot her parents were killed.

Jiang Yanli traces the rim of her cup with her thumb. “Lotus Pier has been rebuilt, but it is not the same,” she says, her eyes focused on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “A-Xian is not used to it.” None of them are.

“I see,” Lan Wangji says. He rests his hands together. “Moving forward is no easy task.”

Moving forward. They share a look, and she is reminded that the Cloud Recesses had been burned to the ground, too.

“We all have our hardships. But it has been especially hard for A-Xian. He hasn’t told me, but I think he may feel…” she struggles to find the words. “He may feel a sense of responsibility for what had happened. Like it was his fault. Which is — “

“Ridiculous,” they say in tandem. A beat of silence before comprehension sets. Jiang Yanli giggles into her sleeve, and the corners of Lan Wangji’s lips twitch in what can almost be taken as the beginning of a grin.

“Yes, ridiculous.” She lifts her hand down, still smiling. “And while I trust him when he says he has it under control, the demonic cultivation he’s been so fond of as of late is a concern. So I’m glad you’re here.”

His eyes soften at her approval. Who was it that spread the rumors of this man’s aloofness? Lan Wangji was as open a book as Jiang Yanli’s brothers. “I have learned several new pieces of music since Qishan. They may help with lifting spirits and facilitating a clean mind.”

“That’s good to hear.” Her smile turns teasing. “Though I’m sure seeing you is more than enough to help lift A-Xian’s spirits. But perhaps not with the clean mind.”

Lan Wangji’s ears heat into a dusty pink. Jiang Yanli laughs again, not bothering this time to hide behind her sleeve. Oh, these boys.

How long has it been since she had the time to sit down like this? It had to have been before the Sunshot Campaign. Enough time to render this scene unfamiliar: an afternoon enjoying the company of another. Jiang Yanli is the daughter of the YunmengJiang Sect, the older sister of Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, and content with the life she’s chosen. Yet even before the loss and the war and the terrible, unyielding hope, she had long forgotten what it was like stealing an hour for herself.

But enough selfishness; she has already taken enough of his time. “We may go to him now, if you’d like,” she offers, and the way Lan Wangji perks up at the prospect of seeing Wei Wuxian makes her lighten with fondness. “I’m unsure of his exact location, but I do know some of his favorite haunts intown.”

He opens his mouth. Stops. “When will he return?” he asks instead of the eager affirmation Jiang Yanli had expected.

“It shouldn’t be long. Contrary to what he wants us to believe, our A-Xian is a responsible shixiong.”

Lan Wangji nods. “Then I shall wait for him here.”

Jiang Cheng’s barked orders leak through the walls. Had she misheard? But Lan Wangji doesn’t elaborate, and all Jiang Yanli can do is blink and ask, “Are you sure?”

He gestures to their tea pot, still half full. “If you would allow it,” he offers, and there is a trepidation in his voice that makes her realize that ah, this is new for him, too, “I would like to continue enjoying our tea.”

The porcelain of Jiang Yanli’s cup soothes the tea’s residual heat against her curved palms. Warmth of a different sort sails through her veins and nestles near the space in her heart that harbors the love she holds for her brothers. Not there exactly. Not yet. But perhaps one day it can be.

“Yes,” Jiang Yanli says, and reaches forward to pour them both another drink. “I would like that, too.”

----

also posted on ao3

promo post on twitter

fic commissions

[drabbles-of-writing]

Bonesborough’s Resident Troublemaker

This is part of my Four Years AU

AO3

Masterpost

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Bonesborough, even by Boiling Isles standards, was never an incredibly normal place.

First of all, it was the home of Emperor Belos. A town housing a man with such power was bound to be recognizable by name alone.

Second of all, it seems to have a knack for attracting trouble. Even more so than other towns. Small or big, Bonesborough has it. From a thought-to-be extinct basilisk attacking the local school to a cursed owl beast appearing every once in a while to a random human girl of all people staging a prison breakout.

Speaking of the human girl…

Last, but not least, Bonesborough held some of the most powerful and strangest witches the Boiling Isles had ever seen.

The two most notable ones being The Owl Lady, a covenless witch that was once the strongest witch alive. Advanced in wild magic and sharing a half-curse with her sister, also known as the former Emperor’s Coven leader. Until her magic died out. Though there are rumors she is finding a way to regain it.

And then there was her apprentice.

A human girl who appeared out of nowhere and learned her own form of magic. In just a single month she had been banned from Hexside School of Magic and Demonics, somehow managed to enroll in said school, convinced the principal to let students study multiple tracks, befriended the Bat Queen, defeated Grometheus, and fought Emperor Belos himself. And she survived.

To the rest of the Boiling Isles, Bonesborough was a battleground of the strangest people with even stranger stories.

To Bonesborough, however, it was any other morning with the residents of The Owl House. And their most common troublemaker the past few years; The Owlet.

“Owlet, that better not be you.”

Slowly, very slowly, a black and white owl mask poked up on the other end of the stand.

“Hey,” The Owlet waved shyly, slowly pulling her purple hood off.

“Owlet, no.” The greengrocer warned, grabbing her produce at the edge of the stand and pulling it closer today.

“Please?” The Owlet begged, her mask's eyes going as big in her puppy-dog look that everyone knew Eda must have taught her.

“No, bad Owlet.” The greengrocer teased, lightly swatting at the thief's hand as she tried to reach for the vegetables. “Go steal from someone else. Or, you know, pay?”

“But I’m saving!” The Owlet whined. “You see, I had an idea--

“I hate to sound rude but I frankly don’t want to know or be involved with whatever idea you’ve concocted.” The greengrocer butt-in. “I have a business to keep.”

The Owlet whimpered and dramatically lay her chin on the table, staring longing at the vegetables. The greengrocer looked between her produce and the girl for a few moments before sighing and shaking her head.

“If you really need to steal something,” She said slowly, noticing the way the Owlet perked up. “I know of a certain someone who can definitely afford it…”

“Stealing from the rich? Even better!” The Owlet exclaimed, jumping up excitedly. “Where do I find them?”

The greengrocer, surprised and mildly amused, pointed further down the marketplace.

“He sells somewhere down there, closer to the richer side of town. He’s got a big banner that’s cluttered with saying how ‘fresh’ and ‘organic’ his produce is.” The greengrocer huffed.

“Normally I wouldn’t care so much, but the guy literally uses magic to grow his produce and only makes his son do it on the side. I’m not exactly worried about his financial status.” She grumbled.

“Well then, I will be delighted to be of help.” The Owlet grinned, pulling her white staff off of her back. “Thanks for the tip!”

“Now you be careful out there, young lady!” The greengrocer warned as the Owlet rose into the air. “You’re still just an Owlet!”

“Pfft, since when did that ever stop me?” The Owlet replied.

She saluted the greengrocer before flying off, vanishing among the growing morning crowd.

The countdown for morning shenanigans had begun.

“Miss Blight?”

“Owlet again?”

“Yes, Miss Blight.”

Amity sighed and rubbed at her temples from where she sat at her desk.

“What did she do this time?”

“Stolen produce,” The guard said. “We have her bound as we speak.”

“Is that Amity in there?” A voice called from outside the tent.

“Think you can handle her this time?” The guard asked, a smug tone in his voice.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Keene?” Amity demanded, a little too quickly, as she stood up from her desk.

“Nothing, Miss Blight.” The guard said simply, turning his head to the side. “Good luck trying to wrangle her.”

“Thank you,” Amity growled through gritted teeth, grabbing her gray beaked mask from where it hung on the wall and slipped out of the tent.

“Amity!” Owlet grinned.

The thief had her wrists bound together with rope and was being led from said rope by one of the newer guards.

Poor guy.

“I’ve taken all of her glyphs, Miss Blight!” The young guard said happily, waving around a handful of paper cards with glee.

“Good job, Laris.” Amity sighed, knowing very well there was no way he had gotten all of her glyphs.

“Where’s her palisman?” She asked, walking up to Owlet and looking down at her, pulling her best ‘Really?’ face.

“Over here, Miss Blight.” One of the other guards said, holding up Owlet’s staff...with no palisman on the end.

“That’s a staff without a palisman, Xena.” Amity deadpanned.

“What? Where--?” The guard, Xena, began looking around frantically for the snow-white owl, who had somehow escaped her grasp.

“Where’s Snowy, Luz?” Amity sighed, turning back to the Owlet, who was looking very smug.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The Owlet said smugly. “I’m not talking. You’ll have to torture it out of me.”

“I can arrange that!” Xena called gleefully from where she was still searching for the palisman.

“No! No, Xena, we are not doing that.” Amity said sternly.

“Aw,” Xena mumbled.

“Titan save me,” Amity mumbled. “Look, why were you stealing produce?” Amity turned back to the Owlet. “I know why you stole from that guy, but vegetables? Can’t Eda steal her own?”

“Pfft, and let me miss out on all the fun?” The Owlet grinned. “And I’m saving.”

“...is this seriously about the glyph tattoos?”

“Yeah,”

“Oh for the love of--” Amity pinched the bridge of her nose, remembering just where she was and who was watching. Best to not reveal more to a whole squadron of Emperor’s Coven guards.

“You’re impossible,” She grumbled.

“I know,” The Owlet smiled. “Anyway, it was nice chatting with you, and especially you,” She nodded to Laris. “But Lilith’s gonna be mad again if news of my capture makes the news. Again.”

“Hey, you’re not going--”

“Laris!” Keene shouted. “Duck!”

The new guard only froze up before a screech sounded from above. The Emperor’s guards all looked up just in time to see a large snow-white owl swoop down.

It knocked right into Laris’ head, almost knocking off his beaked mask as Amity wisely took a few startled steps back.

With Laris’ hold on the Owlet's bindings loosened, she managed to jerk out of his hold. She dug both her tied wrists into her cloak and revealed a hidden pocket within the cape itself and drew a fire glyph.

“Get her!” Xena shouted as Amity pulled on her mask, becoming invisible among the swarm of guards as she moved further to the back.

She’d tried ‘fighting’ the Owlet before, and it did not end well.

The Owlet only smiled and tapped the glyph, burning the restraints off her wrists and sliding out of the way of a guard lunging for her.

The Owlet darted through the crowd of guards, leaping and kicking a few to get momentum to where Laris was frantically trying to gather up all the stolen glyphs he’d dropped.

“Thanks for holding these,” The Owlet grinned, causing him to jerk his head upwards.

The white owl swooped down again, shrieking as it kicked and clawed at Laris’ mask, making him yelp and stumble back.

Owlet ducked to the side as a guard threw a spear that impaled through one of her plant glyphs.

“Hey, rude!” The Owlet snapped, grabbing multiple glyphs off the ground. “Now I can’t use that one.” She complained before grabbing a new plant glyph and tossing it at one of the guards.

It lit up upon impact and a massive vine exploded from their forehead, reaching out and entangling many of the other guards.

“C’mon now, don’t be shy.” The Owlet said, stepping back and scooping up more glyphs in her other hand and spreading them both out like fans, showing what she had to the guards.

“Who wants to go next?”

“Ten snails say that she’s late again.”

“She is not going to be late again.”

Among the many other things the residents of Bonesborough dealt with were certain...thrill-seekers. Namely kids who had discovered the newest hiding spot of the Owl House and tried to have a little fun. Which ranged from waiting to see if they could catch a glimpse of one of the residents or trying to break in. Yes, that happened.

Twice.

The Owl House may have gotten a new hiding spot every month, but it was never overly far from Bonesborough. And Hooty did his job well.

During break-ins, that is.

“Jorah, I’m telling you, Owlet is definitely going to be late. My uncle said she got caught by the Emperor’s Coven again.”

“I’m not giving up my snails that easily!” The boy snapped, glaring at his other three friends. “I still have three minutes left.”

“You stubborn idiot,” One of his friends shook her head.

“Frances, I dare you to go talk to the tube bird.” A second girl grinned.

“I am not doing that.” Frances shook her head. “First of all, I’ll be caught. Second of all, that thing terrifies me.”

“Then why did you come?” Jorah raised a brow.

“Because you guys would bully me if I didn’t,” She grumbled.

“She’s not wrong,” The fourth kid shrugged.

“It’s just because you’re a wimp.” The second girl taunted.

“Would it kill you both to shut up?”

There was a snap and a thump from far off in the trees, and all four kids went quiet. They ducked down in the bushes that were only a few meters from the house.

Frances slowly stuck her head between the bushes and looked around.

Mere moments later, a figure flew out from the trees and crashed to the ground in front of the Owl House, groaning as her staff clattered onto the front porch.

“Hi, Luz!” Hooty greeted.

“Am I late?” The Owlet worried, taking off her needless mask and hanging it around her neck.

“Hmmm, nope! You got here with a minute to spare.” Hooty said cheerfully.

“I’ll take it,” Luz sighed with relief. “Sorry, Snowy.” She apologized to her palisman, picking up her staff and stroking the birds head.

Snowy chirped and turned her head away grumpily, but didn’t refuse the pets.

“I WIN!” Jorah cheered before slapping his hands back over his mouth.

Luz whirled around, staff raised and body tense as Frances darted back into the bush as her, and everyone else, gave Jorah furious glares and terrified looks.

“Who’s there?” Luz demanded, raising her staff.

“Some kids were betting in the bushes,” Hooty said, head coming out of the door slightly. “They thought you were going to be late again.”

“Oh,” Luz instantly relaxed, looking mildly annoyed at the worst. “Well, since they’re game is over and I’ve got a certain someone who’s going to be visiting and berating me soon, do you mind escorting them off?” She asked the door bird.

“Would I?” Hooty said excitedly.

“No, no! We’ll leave, we’ll leave!” Frances shouted, quickly getting up and already backing away.

“Too late!” Hooty chirped before extending his neck straight-on towards the kids.

They screamed and began bolting back through the woods, Hooty talking gleefully all the way.

“Sorry, kids,” Luz winced, a tad regretful as she placed Snowy back on her staff. She then opened the front door and stepped inside.

“You’re late,”

Luz sighed and looked towards the couch, where Lilith was ‘casually’ having a cup of tea.

“No, I’m not. I had one minute to spare. Could you not hear Hooty?” Luz said, hanging her mask on a hook by the door and resting her staff next to it.

“It was a very close call.” Lilith said simply. “You left, what, over three hours ago? You only went to get vegetables and spoons.”

“...well I got the spoons,” Luz said, sheepishly pulling out a handful of silver spoons from a pocket in her cape.

“Good enough for me!”

King scampered into the living room and climbed up Luz’s leg to snatch the spoons from her hand. She didn’t bother to react or stop him as he dropped back to the ground and hurried into the kitchen.

“Nice to see you still alive, kid,” Eda greeted much more casually as she poked her head in. “No vegetables, though?”

“Sorry, you’ll have to get them yourself.” Luz apologized. “I kinda...maybe…” She glanced at Lilith and weighed her options for a moment. “...got caught by the Emperor’s Coven.”

“Again?” Eda and Lilith accused.

“They got the jump on me!” Luz defended. “Besides, it was only Amity’s group again. Nothing to be worried about.”

“Kid, at this point, I’m convinced you want to be caught just to bug Amity,” Eda snickered, shaking her head.

“Well, it’s not true all the time…”

“You both are ridiculous,” Lilith shook her head. “Eda, you need better control over your apprentice.”

“Says you,” Eda rolled her eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, not every kid is like Amity.”

The front door slammed open, startling the inhabitants as they whirled around. Even King poked his head out of the kitchen.

A rather grumpy Amity stood in the doorway, mask pushed up on her head. She hadn’t even bothered to change.

“Speak of the devil,” Eda muttered.

“Hey, Amity,” Luz waved shyly.

“Again with the glyph tattoos?” She demanded, shutting the door.

“You’re still on about those?” Lilith blinked.

“They could be useful!” Luz insisted, sitting on the couch, opposite of Lilith. “I may have a lot of pockets and places I can stash glyphs, but the tattoo glyphs could be useful! Especially with the stronger ones.”

“We don’t know what something like that is gonna do to you, kid.” Eda shook her head. “This type of magic hasn’t been used in forever, it’s unlikely you could use magic with those glyphs without causing harm.”

“We don’t know that,” Luz said, scooting further into the corner as Amity exhaustedly sat on the couch between her and Lilith. “It could end up being really useful! And if it ends up being a bad idea, I can get a tattoo over it to cancel out the glyph.”

“You're barely seventeen, Luz. It’s illegal.” Amity pointed out.

“Since when has that ever stopped me?” Luz raised a brow. “And can’t I get them with permission from Eda? Or is that just a human realm thing?”

“How much have you saved for one already?” Eda asked.

“Almost two hundred,” Luz said proudly. “I wanted to try and get a less-dangerous spell first. Like a fire or a whirlwind glyph.”

“A fire glyph?” Lilith exclaimed.

“Would you rather I have a glyph that will shoot a spike of ice from my skin?” Luz raised a brow.

“Luz, for Titans sake, my parents are rich ,” Amity groaned, running a hand down her face. “I can pay for any of your tattoos you don’t have to excessively steal while you save.”

“It’s your parents who are rich, Amity. Not you,” Luz reminded. “I’m not forcing you to talk to them for snails for my sake. What kind of degenerate asks her girlfriend's parents for snails to get tattoos?”

“First of all, you’re not forcing me.” Amity raised a hand. “Second of all, I meant I would ask Ed and Em to be the ones to ask for the money. I promised I’d never speak to my parents again, and I’m upholding that.”

“Too bad, I’m paying for this myself.” Luz crossed her arms and turned on the couch so she was leaning against the armrest and lay her legs across Amity’s lap. “So take that, Miss Blight.”

“Shush,” Amity grumbled, cheeks pink as she glanced away.

“Hmm,” Eda thought, leaning on the other side of the couch armrest. “I guess a small one wouldn’t hurt…”

“You can’t be serious?” Lilith demanded. “You’re allowing this?”

“My kid, my rules.” Eda said, giving her sister a righteous look. “It’ll only be a small one, anyway. See how it goes before we try more.”

“You’re the best!” Luz grinned, reaching behind her to grasp at Eda, who stepped out of range.

“I know I am,” Eda said proudly.

“Amity, you’ve dated into a family of morons.” Lilith deadpanned, looking towards her apprentice and taking a sip of her tea.

“You’re part of the family, too.” Eda pointed out.

“Suffer with the rest of us, you fiend!” King called, trotting in from the kitchen and climbing up onto the couch to flop on Luz’s stomach, making her wheeze at the sudden weight.

“I regret a lot of my life choices, but especially the one that led me to this moment.” Lilith grumbled.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have cursed me when I was sleeping, huh?” Eda sneered.

“I don’t think that cemented it in--”

“Irrelevant,”

Luz, Amity and King all silently watched the women continue bantering for a few minutes before they all looked at each other with faces that said ‘well this isn’t going to end soon.’

“Anyway,” Luz sat up more and picked King up to place him on the couch head. “I told Gus I’d be meeting him at the library for more studying. He said he found some old human relics that could be enchanted.”

“Actual enchantments this time, or alleged enchantments?” King raised a brow.

“Actual enchantments, King.” Luz said, swinging her feet off Amity and getting up.

“I’ll come with,” Amity said, quickly getting to her feet as well. “Since you’re going to be using my hiding spot, as per usual.”

“Excuse you, I think the correct term is our hiding spot.” Luz teased, kissing her cheek. “But don’t you have to send in a report later?”

“Keene can take care of it,” Amity waved her hand like it was no big deal. “You’re more important.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” Luz teased, laying her head on Amity’s shoulder.

“Hey, flirting teenagers, could you not do this in the middle of our argument?” Eda snapped her fingers, getting the girls attention. “I’m about to win it.”

“No you are not! I am making reasonable points!” Lilith insisted.

“You’re not even arguing about the curse anymore!” King threw his small paws in the air. “You're just bringing up mild annoyances that happened last week!”

“Your point?”

Luz rolled her eyes before turning and smiling to Amity. She returned her look of smothered amusement.

“Let’s hurry before they start getting into a glyph-fight,” Luz said, grabbing the witch's hand and hurrying to the door, making sure to grab her mask and staff along the way.

“You do know that people recognize you more with the mask than without it, right?” Amity asked, flipping her own mask down.

“I know, but I think it looks cool.” Luz shrugged, bringing up her hood. “Last one to the library has to clean Hooty!” She shouted before throwing open the door and racing out.

“Wha--not fair!” Amity shouted, tearing after the Owlet as she raised her staff and flew into the air, laughing all the way.

Amity summoned her own snake staff from the air beside her and leapt onto it. But by then, the Owlet was already gone, having raced through the trees and into the town.

And aside from the occasional on-looker, nobody batted an eye.

[themurphyzone]

PatB Oneshot: Eurydice

Summary: An alternate scenario for the Halloween episode, loosely based on the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. Mr. Itch strikes a different deal with Brain. If Brain can make it to the surface world without looking at Pinky, the contract will be voided and Pinky’s soul will be returned. And failure is not an option.

Beginning AN: I posted this idea on Discord a month ago and I’ve wanted to write this scenario ever since. I love the Halloween ep so much…so how about some whump? I am not kind to our favorite mice at all, just a heads up. Also there is a serious lack of fics over the Halloween ep. It's prime material for angst.

Big shout out to @plutonis who listened to me cry over torturing these poor mice over DM. 

FFN Link 

                                                      Contract

I, the Brain, hereby agree to a challenge against Mr. Itch, Proprietor of Wayward Souls and Master of Hell, in which the winner shall receive Pinky’s soul. Should Brain win this challenge against all impossible odds, Pinky’s previous contract in which he agreed to submit himself to hell’s eternal torments in exchange for Brain’s dominion over the surface world shall be voided and destroyed, and he may return to the surface world with Brain. Additionally, Brain agrees to forfeit his royal claim on the world and is prohibited from future attempts at global conquest for the remainder of his days.

Challenger Signature: The Brain

Drafter Signature: Mr. Itch

*Mr. Itch reserves the right to set the terms of the challenge at his leisure.

o-o-o-o-o

He’d been too hasty in signing the contract. The combination of brimstone and heat had to be affecting his decision-making process.

It’s not about Pin– the food pellets, he told himself. Absolutely not.

But it was too late. His signature was burned into the page. Five blood-red letters would determine Pinky’s fate.

And even if…no, he couldn’t afford an if…when he succeeded in rescuing Pinky, he’d have to give up the world. He wouldn’t even be able to try and earn his crown, scepter, and throne through his own merits.

Without the nightly ambitions, Pinky might…wish to find a different associate.

Brain’s entire purpose would be gone. Forever.  

He didn’t listen to the convoluted, nonsensical legalese that Mr. Itch’s lawyers provided. There was no need to provide metaphors or explain the situation further.

Brain understood the gist.

No matter the outcome, he would fail. And this time, the consequences were permanent.

“Think of it, Brain,” Mr. Itch sneered, and Brain hated that cocky, self-assured expression that put even the best car salesman in the world to shame. Mr. Itch waved his hand, and a sick, twisted parody of a game show appeared behind him. “You can walk away now and rule the world…or you can risk it all and try to get Pinky back.”

Brain’s vision blurred as he was forcibly thrust onto a tall podium. A spotlight illuminated him, and the demons clamored for his choice.

A tall demoness cheerfully indicated two panels to the studio audience of hell’s denizens. One depicted Brain on top of the world in royal regalia. He could have power to change the world. Admiration from the populace. Endless wealth so they could have the finest things life had to offer.

But the other panel was a portrait of Pinky. Just a misleading, goofy portrait of a smiling Pinky that belied the high stakes of Brain’s contract.

He was chafing under the spotlight. But why? He was king, he was emperor, with everyone at his beck and call! He shouldn’t be afraid of a little spotlight!

Except he wasn’t any of those things here. Just a mouse who’d failed to notice his associate signing his own soul away.

The demons clamored. Brain gripped the podium, vulnerable and ripe for humiliation, for several…seconds? Minutes? Hours?

His voice wasn’t working. He needed his voice, didn’t he? But he could only stammer like a fool. Perspiration built on his fur, and he nearly slipped off the podium, his palms damp and clammy. He didn’t know if it was the heat or the anxiety, but everyone was waiting for his choice.

“Save Pinky!”

“No, the world!”

“Go for cash!”

The demons jeered in a harsh, guttural cacophony. Brain was sure he would’ve been covered in fresh produce and popcorn if they’d had any available. Anything to amplify his current indignity.

He wanted Pinky. He wanted the world. He couldn’t have both.

But in the end, there was hardly a choice at all.  

Ruling the world without Pinky by his side wasn’t worth the castle, the riches, the statues. Institutes of higher learning named in his honor, policies with his seal of approval, ethical practices in scientific fields to enforce…but what good were they to him?

His castle would just be a gilded cage. Sparkling and clean and mighty for all his subjects to behold from afar, but its interior would only contain a gloomy king without an associate, a confidant…

And a kindred spirit.

All or nothing. He had to try. Who knows? Pinky might’ve done the same for him.  

“I’ll try to save Pinky!” Brain shouted, forcing the words past his throat and into the unforgiving outside world.

He wasn’t prepared for Pinky to spring onto the podium. That mindless simpleton was grinning from ear to ear like he was just being called to the stage in The Price is Right! Didn’t Pinky realize his soul was in peril?  

“Oh, Brain! My hero!” Pinky snatched Brain up in an enthusiastic hug. Brain stiffened and tried not to think about the hand currently rubbing his head, and how he would never feel it again if he failed his quest.

They were also surrounded by an unfriendly sort. They would believe this saccharine display was a weakness if Brain allowed Pinky to indulge these childish needs.

He shoved Pinky off, holding him at arm’s length for a moment so Pinky would take the hint.

“…so he can show me where the food pellets are,” Brain added hastily.

That was all Pinky was needed for.

To show him where the necessities laid.

A hellish fanfare played, saving Brain pondering those terrifying thoughts.    

An enormous fiery plume burst onto the stage, then dissipated to reveal Mr. Itch. He conjured a microphone and bowed heartily at the thunderous applause.

“Ladies and demons, we have something very special for your entertainment on this fantastic Halloween night. I trust you’re aware of our newest resident and his…well, can I even call him a friend? He didn’t lift a finger to stop me when I claimed Pinky.”

Brain stared down at his hands to avoid the harsh, mocking glares. This was just the opening act. Mr. Itch was hyping up the crowd for Brain’s ultimate failure.

Mr. Itch strolled around the stage, each movement radiating confidence of a self-assured victory. “Yes, he enjoys having that ultimate power. A glorious statue, his rival in the race for world domination now a lowly jester in court, his name praised on every street corner! Isn’t that a dream come true? And yet...he chose to come into my realm and make demands. Like the world wasn’t enough for him.”

Because Pinky wasn’t there to make the world enough.

A hiss of smoke sprung up by Brain’s foot. He bit his tongue, wondering if part of the challenge was running on hot coals or avoiding random ember spurts. At this point, it seemed very likely. His feet probably wouldn’t survive the night.

In the unlikely scenario that the rest of his body survived of course.

And something wet landed on his toe. Wet? There wasn’t anything wet about hell, unless one counted the boiling lakes. But it evaporated into steam before he could fully process the cool reprieve.

Then he heard it.

A whimper.

From Pinky.

A tear trailed down Pinky’s cheek.

“Pinky?” Brain asked quietly, trying to keep his eyes trained on Mr. Itch, who was currently recapping the tale of Brain’s disastrous attempt at Broadway to the raucous audience. Not one of Brain’s finest moments, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. Better for them to laugh over what was past and done, rather than drawing their attention here.

Pinky clutched his tail in a death grip. Steam leaked under his eyes and around his cheeks, his entire face damp with tears.

“He’s saying awful things.”

Even with their proximity, Brain had to strain his ears to hear Pinky’s voice.

“Don’t bawl, Pinky,” Brain whispered, hoping by some off-chance that the verbal comfort would be enough. “Don’t cry. Not here. Not now. Don’t…don’t be foolish.”

He didn’t know if the reassurance was meant for Pinky or himself. With a trembling hand, Brain reached for Pinky’s back, shuffling closer to make the motion less conspicuous.

But Pinky moved away before Brain could touch him.

“They have to know, Brain,” Pinky said. His voice was far too calm. “I can’t let him tell those awful lies about you.”  

Pinky tried to balance on the edge of the podium, but Brain grabbed him by the tail and hauled him off. But Pinky was stubborn, and he tried again.

“Let him talk, you idiot!” Brain yelled, grabbing Pinky’s tail to knock him off-balance and buy some much needed time before Pinky foolishly tried again, oddly glad that Mr. Itch was enough of a showman to keep the attention away from them.

But Pinky’s huge pain threshold allowed him to recover far quicker than Brain would’ve liked. “Brain, let go of my tail!” Pinky shouted, trying to sweep his tail into a huge arc to dislodge Brain.

“Not until you do as you’re told, for once in your life!” Brain retorted, grasping the wriggling tail. He wouldn’t relinquish it.

Pinky was slippery though, and in one swift motion, he freed himself from Brain’s grip. Realizing he needed a more secure hold, Brain threw himself at Pinky’s right arm. Suddenly, the arm blurred, and Brain couldn’t stop his forward momentum in time. A sharp pain erupted on the side of his head and knocked him against a corner, his face throbbing painfully.

Through his daze, Brain pressed a hand against his cheek and winced at the tenderness. Hopefully it didn’t swell. Ice packs weren’t exactly a common item in this hostile environment.

Then he saw Pinky.

And Pinky was absolutely distraught. Smoke poured out his eyes at a more alarming rate than before. His blue eyes were tinged red. Pinky clutched his elbow with his other arm, squeezing as hard as he could to admonish it.

But it wasn’t necessary.

A microphone was thrust into Pinky’s face before Brain could tell him so.

“How could I forget our little stars of the show?” Mr. Itch asked, a sadistic grin stretching from ear to ear. “That was quite a scuffle there, Pinky. Can’t say I blame you. Revenge for all the times Brain’s bopped you on the head and insulted you?”

Pinky wiped his eyes in a pitiful attempt to get some semblance of dignity back as the demonic crew trained all their lights and cameras on him.

“N-no...” Pinky said weakly. “I mean, he can say mean things sometimes, but the bops-“

Mr. Itch shook his head in a show of mock sympathy. “Your friend-“ he curled his lip as if the word itself was cyanide “-called you a speckless nougat just before you signed my contract. He’ll take everything and give nothing. He’ll send you away only to ask for your services again because he can’t do the manual labor on his own. You’re a talented little guy, aren’t you? You’ve showed the moxie and the know-how to become a Broadway star or president of the good old USA. And instead of putting those gifts to use, you’ve been rotting inside a cage with a failure who leeches on your success.”    

Failure.

One of the cameras trained its unforgiving lens on Brain. He shook away the remaining dizziness and stood up to get some semblance of dignity back. The demons booed and heckled him, but he tried to lift his head in defiance.

He wasn’t a failure. He ruled the world! His word was law, his brilliance unparalleled!

He had it all-

-only because Pinky sacrificed his soul for him. Pinky had taken drastic measures to prove himself when there had been nothing to prove, because Brain made Pinky believe he had to prove his usefulness.

He’d gained the world yet lost Pinky. It was failure.

Which meant he-  

“Stop it,” Pinky begged. Brain’s thoughts came to a screeching halt, and he stepped away from Pinky before reminding himself that he was being illogical. Pinky didn’t have telepathy. He couldn’t have heard all that. But Pinky was glaring up at Mr. Itch with a ferocity Brain had never seen before.  

In the span of a single night, Brain’s entire world had been shaken to its roots.

Mr. Itch raised an eyebrow. “Stop what?” he asked, placing his free hand on his chest like he’d been genuinely offended.

“Stop it! STOP CALLING BRAIN ALL THOSE NASTY MEAN HORRIBLE THINGS RIGHT NOW!” Pinky’s voice rose into a fevered pitch, his fur bristling along his spine.

This was wrong. This was so very wrong. Pinky wasn’t supposed to be the angry one.

Before Brain could stop him, Pinky leapt off the podium and landed on the microphone to the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ of the lesser demons, and even Mr. Itch seemed too stunned by the maneuver to shake Pinky off.

“Pinky, cease immediately!” Brain yelled once he managed to find his voice. “You’re being reckless!”

“I HAVE PLENTY OF RECKS, BRAIN!” Pinky screamed, tightly clinging to the microphone even though Mr. Itch was attempting to pry him off. “CAUSE YOU’RE NOT A FAILURE OR A LEECH! YOU’RE A MOUSE!”

A comforting warmth spread through Brain’s chest at the affirmation, but he pushed those feelings aside. Pinky’s words meant nothing if Brain didn’t succeed with this rescue.

The audience was deathly quiet.

“Yes, Pinky,” Mr. Itch growled, trying to slip a finger under Pinky to dislodge him. But Pinky held on. “Let your friend talk. Let the cameras capture his selfishness. After all, his presence here just means he wasn’t grateful for your gift. That he wasn’t happy with your gift. As I said before, all he does is take, take, and take some more. What’s he ever done for you in return?”

But Brain had been grateful. For a short time anyway.

Until he realized his gratitude came from Pinky’s sacrifice. All of Pinky’s sacrifices that involved no benefit to himself.

Pinky mumbled something that had much of the audience leaning in eagerly, trying to hang onto every word.

Mr. Itch shrugged. “Well, if you have nothing else to say, then-“

But Pinky hauled himself on top of the microphone, clinging to it like a lifeline.  

“Brain gave me my name! He gave me a chance to see the world! He gave me a chance to do things I never dreamed of doing before! I wouldn’t have met Pharfignewton otherwise! Or Winnie or Mr. Sultana or any of the other lovely people we met while trying to take over the world! Maybe Brain can be big-headed and a grump but he works super hard and he’s going to make the world a better place to live! And most importantly, he’s my best friend and nothing you say will ever change that!”

“Pinky…” Brain’s throat closed uncomfortably. It had to be the oppressive, stagnant air. What could he possibly say to Pinky’s emphatic speech?

Even the demons were moved. Some embraced their neighbors, others made sympathetic noises. There were a few who sat with their heads pressed against their knees in a futile attempt to staunch their tears.

He’d never been more grateful for Pinky’s charisma.  

Mr. Itch took notice of his followers’ reactions. A vein seemed to pop in his head, his once casual, lazy posture now stiff and alert.

“Brain only kept you around because you were useful.” A dangerous edge crept into Mr. Itch’s tone. “That’s all there was to your so-called friendship.”

“NARF!” Pinky screeched in defiance.

It sounded all wrong. Fury and fear laced that familiar, irritating monosyllable. Brain didn’t know what narf meant, and he probably never would, but he was certain that narf wasn’t meant to be uttered in such a fashion.

“Narf!” a demon called.

Another demon stood up and pumped his fist. “Poit!”

“Troz! Egad! Narf! Zort!” The demons chanted Pinky’s favorite syllables like the world’s most demented cheering squad.

An inferno burned in Mr. Itch’s eyes.    

“SILENCE!”  

Mr. Itch’s snarl deepened into a guttural and unearthly roar, the entire netherworld quaking in outrage. The lesser demons hastily vacated their seats and cowered behind each other, large boulders, or whatever makeshift shields they could find.

The microphone and a tiny white body were hurled into the empty audience box, crashing into the metallic structure with enough force to leave an enormous dent.

There was no tic-filled laughter to accompany the harsh clang of his body impacting metal.

“PINKY!” Brain screamed, not caring that he tumbled more than climbed down the podium. He landed right on his throbbing cheek and got a mouthful of hot crimson dust for his trouble, but he couldn’t care less.

The physical tortures were just going to build up until Pinky’s body couldn’t handle it anymore. It didn’t matter that Pinky had a near-immunity to pain. Pinky’s body would break and he would never notice.

Brain spat out the dust and hurried over to Pinky, who feebly stirred next to the microphone.  

Mr. Itch loomed above them, an ember casually lit on his finger. “You know what? That’s perfect,” he chuckled, and it was utterly devoid of good humor. “Absolute silence.”  

Brain knelt on the hard ground next to Pinky, who only blinked up at him with those too-trusting blue eyes. Pinky raised a shaking hand, cupping it against the cheek he’d accidentally hurt.

“I’ve sustained worse injuries,” Brain said quietly. Despite the heat, he shivered at the touch. He wished Pinky wouldn’t comfort him. He didn’t deserve it. “You know that.”      

Pinky opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“Speak up, Pinky.” Brain tried to sound commanding, but his voice hitched instead. He couldn’t even keep up a thin illusion of normalcy.

Pinky tried again, but Brain still couldn’t hear him. Not even a cough or a wheeze from smoke inhalation. He wasn’t choking or flailing. There couldn’t be something lodged in his throat.  

“He can’t speak, Brain,” Mr. Itch said. “He’s been silenced per our little agreement.”

Silenced?

Brain snatched the wrist gently cradling his cheek and felt for a pulse, and he couldn’t disguise his relieved sigh once he found it.

“C’mon, just what do you take me for? It’s not a euphemism. Takes all the fun outta the contract.”

“Just say narf, Pinky,” Brain pleaded as he shook Pinky’s shoulder, as if pleading in hell would accomplish anything useful. “Please say narf. Can’t you do that much?”

Pinky mouthed the syllable to no avail. He became teary all over again, his free hand feeling his throat as if trying to coax the narf out. His foot kicked out, yet it made no thump against the crimson rocks.

The demons murmured among themselves, and though they appeared sympathetic to Pinky’s plight, they were too frightened of their master to come any closer.

It was just as well. Brain didn’t want anyone to touch Pinky.

Brain tried to glare at Mr. Itch, but a mouse could never hope to be intimidating against a sadistic supernatural being.

“Don’t give me that look,” Mr. Itch scoffed. “The fine print of our contract lets me set the condition of the challenge. Pinky’s silence is my first condition. If anything, I’m doing you a favor. Awful noisy thing, isn’t he? No wonder you weren’t inclined to get back him back right away.”

Had this been a different situation entirely, Brain might’ve found it relieving that Pinky would have to be quiet for a while.

Cruel irony at its finest.

Pinky touched his nose against Brain’s own, and Brain tried not to think of how Pinky could comfort as easily with a touch as with words. Surely Pinky was just using tactile stimulation for his own peace of mind rather than Brain’s.

“And now for my second condition,” Mr. Itch smirked. He snapped his fingers, the sharp echo promising cruelty yet to come.

The gentle pressure of Pinky’s nose vanished, the feel of his wrist and shoulder gone. The whites, pinks, and reds of his body were now colorless, lifeless. His bright blue eyes faded into a pale, ghostly void. No pupils, no irises…just empty.    

Brain tried to put a hand over Pinky’s heart, desperately wishing for the steady thrum he was so accustomed to. Yet his hand passed through Pinky’s chest like mist. It was neither cold nor hot, simply that there was nothing to feel.

Pinky reached for Brain’s face, looking at him with that strange, milky gaze. But his hand passed through the cheek he’d accidentally hurt, and Pinky’s chest heaved rapidly. He tried to grab his tail, as he always did when he was truly upset, but couldn’t.

No tears came out. Just several silent sobs.

Pinky was just a silent, sorrowful ghost of his former self. The loudest and happiest mouse Brain had ever known was reduced to this shadow, trapped within his mind, unable to engage with the world around him.

It was a horrible, undeserved fate for such a kindhearted mouse. There would be no release, not even from death, if Brain failed his challenge.

He had no choice but to win.

And even that was practically impossible.

“Pinky, I’m sorry…” The words tumbled out of Brain’s mouth before he could think of anything else to say.

Why wouldn’t his mind just work? I’m sorry? Like he’d done nothing more than eat the last food pellet? Sorry didn’t even begin to cut it!

Pinky floated instead of standing, feet skimming just above the ground. He gave Brain a tiny, reassuring smile. Of course he’d find something to smile about in his non-existent state. It probably should’ve annoyed Brain, but it was rather comforting to know that Pinky would always be Pinky.

Even so, the smile faded just as quickly as it came. Pinky couldn’t properly express his joy with narfs and poits and enormous embraces.

Then a fingersnap above his head reminded him of Mr. Itch’s presence.

“We’ve got business to discuss, Brain,” Mr. Itch said as he straightened his lapels. “You should know what your challenge consists of.”

In other words, Brain’s humiliation had hardly begun. But he’d do it. For Pinky’s sake.

Brain tried to hold his head high and show hell that he wasn’t afraid to defy their evil laws, but he couldn’t even find the strength to bring his ears up.  

Another snap, and the microphone soared back to Mr. Itch. He twirled it with a showman’s flair and gestured for the audience to take their seats. The lesser demons obeyed, murmuring among themselves and pointing at the spectral Pinky. They didn’t seem pleased by Pinky’s complete silence.

“Ladies and demons, think of Brain’s challenge as an adaptation of an old Greek story,” Mr. Itch announced. “And I ain’t just talking about a watered-down Heracles here. No, this story isn’t about heroes slaying monsters. Rather, it’s a tragedy. The Greeks were masters of that particular craft, you see. A man goes on a quest, yet his fatal flaw always strikes him down in the end. I trust you’re quite familiar with the concept, Brain?”  

Brain said nothing. No need to give them ammunition.

His temper and pride were the source of many failures. But there was nothing he could do except commit the same errors over and over again.

He should’ve known. It was only a matter of time before the ones he…tolerated suffered the consequences.

As if sensing his thoughts, Pinky wrapped his spectral arms around Brain’s shoulders. He couldn’t feel the saccharine display, and that fact pained him more than he cared to admit.

“Ever heard of cooperation?” Mr. Itch sighed. “You have the starring role in the show tonight. Give us something to work with, at least.”

Brain gritted his teeth. He’d had enough of this delay. “I’m through with this prolonged torture! Just get it over with already!” he shouted. “I refuse to be paraded around like a sideshow attraction!”

“Touchy,” Mr. Itch huffed in disdain. He turned back to the audience. “But I digress. Now, this tragedy involves a man who ventured into the depths of the underworld to retrieve his closest companion. He placated everyone with his music, including Hades himself. And because Hades was a total sap, he allowed the man to lead his companion back to the surface world.”

His arm swept out and a large stone staircase appeared. It spiraled and arched far above their heads, and Brain caught a glimpse of a starry sky hidden among the crimson stone.

Pinky belonged in the surface world, where the grass and horses and inanimate objects he had yet to befriend waited. And he was relying on Brain to bring him there.

Perhaps it was silly to reach for arms he couldn’t feel, but Brain placed his hands atop where Pinky’s fur should’ve been. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d voluntarily touched Pinky without hurting him.

Something to rectify if they made it through this trial.  

“And that brings me to the final condition.” Before Brain could react, darkness engulfed his vision as he was plucked up into the air, his head squeezed by an unforgiving, burning hand. Brain bit the skin like it was just another day of rough handling by some careless scientist, but a fiery pain flooded his throat and he released the hand immediately. It felt like magma had crammed its way into his esophagus, and there was no lifegiving water to relieve him.

Then he was roughly deposited at the base of the stairs.

Brain tried to turn around, but Mr. Itch forced him to stare at the first brimstone step instead. The steps were several inches taller than him, though he could still reach the next step if he jumped high enough.  

“Ah, ah, ah,” Mr. Itch scolded. “I wouldn’t do that if I were a pathetic mortal like you. In this little tale, Hades told the man he couldn’t look at his companion until they were both in the land of the living, lest she be lost to the underworld forever. For your challenge, I’ll be invoking that same clause.”

Brain resisted the urge to bite that supernatural conman’s fingers off. He would only wind up damaging his throat.

“I can hardly expect Pinky to follow me in the presence of distractors!” Brain protested. “He’s liable to find a stalactite interesting, or collect rocks, or do anything else other than-“

Mr. Itch only cackled, pillars of lava erupting alongside his cruelty.

And Brain remembered why the story was known as a tragedy.

The man looked at his companion just as they reached the surface world. Her soul was forever lost among the dead. Though he tried to reclaim her, the underworld wouldn’t release her again. And he spent the rest of his life mourning her loss.

Hell expected a faithful adaptation. They knew Brain would inevitably lose his temper and forget that he couldn’t look. They knew they’d be able to keep Pinky forever.

They knew.

Yet they put on this charade anyway.

Because false hope was the cruelest lie of all.

“Your challenge begins, Brain,” Mr. Itch declared, and the wicked fingers slowly released Brain’s head. “And remember, no looking at Pinky until you’re both in the surface world. But that’s a moot point, ain’t it? You’re bound to forget soon enough. At least try to go for most of the length before your undeniable failure, okay? We wouldn’t want the show to end too soon.”

Mr. Itch vanished in a puff of smoke.

Undeniable failure.

“I am not a failure,” Brain snarled to himself, more out of habit than belief. But his petulance at the phrase enabled him to climb five steps without pausing for breath.

And he didn’t require Pinky to boost him up! He climbed five steps by himself!

But that thought was banished as he climbed the sixth step. Pinky couldn’t physically boost him, nor provide mental fortitude. The adrenaline rush wore off quickly, and Brain’s feet dangled in the air as he tried to find a grip on the rocky outcropping. But he managed, albeit with difficulty. On the count of three, Brain heaved himself over the ledge.

He laid on the hot stone to catch his breath, face tucked under his hands so he wouldn’t see Pinky.

No words of encouragement. No strange tics. Nothing except the roar of lava, mockery, and his darkening thoughts.

Funny how one didn’t appreciate what they had until it disappeared. Pinky always lifted Brain, boosting him to higher places he couldn’t reach alone. It was something he’d always done, and Brain had let it slide out of practicality. Just treat the action like a living, portable stepstool. It was far better than expending more energy than required during plans.

In hindsight, would it have killed him to say thank you? Or at least nod in gratitude?

There was no time limit, but Brain stood up and dusted himself off, though the crimson dust would just attach itself to his fur all over again within seconds. It was impossible to shake off, and Brain wondered if he would ever be able to fully cleanse himself of it.

Taking a deep breath, Brain reached for a handhold above his head and hauled himself up.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot again. One more repetition. Start all over for the next stairstep.

It was a rhythm. Rhythms weren’t full of what-ifs or what could’ve beens. Concentrate on the rhythm. Nothing else mattered.

He had to keep moving. Keep climbing. It was better than sitting there and doing nothing. He couldn’t rest. He wouldn’t.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

Brain’s throat burned. His fur was slick with perspiration, though it only served as a method to lose precious water instead of cooling him off. His limbs trembled, and it was difficult to keep hold of the unforgiving stone.  

But he’d only completed the first two spirals! There were still several more tiers left, and the starry sky seemed much further away than before.  

“Pinky, if…if we make it out of here-”

Brain shuddered as he laid down to rest. His voice was raspy from the fumes and thirst, but he had to keep talking. Had to say something. Maybe Pinky would listen, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he wasn’t even in earshot.

“-if you want to leave…”

He trailed off, rubbing away teardrops that quickly evaporated into smoke. His chest ached, but he couldn’t say for certain that it caused by physical labor.

Brain couldn’t make an attempt at global conquest even if he succeeded. Pinky’s help would no longer be necessary.

Between the two of them, Pinky knew how to live. He knew how to talk to people, how to have fun, how to narf through his pathetic lot in life with a smile on his face.

Brain only knew survival. Maybe it was his former field mouse instincts that somehow bled into intellect. Maybe his primitive instincts weren’t as gone as he’d like to believe.

He would never be anything else but a lowly test subject. If someone decided to euthanize or feed him to a snake one day…well, it hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. Another mouse would take his place. And when that mouse died, it would be replaced again. And the progress would continue in the name of scientific progress.

Dying for science.

Yes, that’s how he’d meet his end.

But Pinky’s kindred spirit would touch others. Whether it was through an executive office, the lead role on Broadway, or even just helping a stranger on the street, he could do so many good things for the world around him.

The world would love Pinky back.

And if a solitary mouse in a lonely lab happened to turn on the TV and see his former associate surrounded by an adoring crowd, he would be happy to see the world has changed for the better.

So he had to keep going.

He had to try. Try to bring Pinky back to the surface world…and let him go. He shouldn’t keep anything he didn’t earn.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

The halfway point now.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

He miscalculated the distance to the top of the next step and reached too far. He lost his footing and plummeted several inches. Growling under his breath, Brain punched the unfeeling stone, though it only bruised his knuckles instead of making him feel better. Then he tried again.

And again. And again.

He couldn’t grasp these handholds! There was no logical reason why. They were approximately the same size and shape as all the other outcroppings! It shouldn’t be this difficult!  

“Pinky, where are you when I need you? Cease your nonsense at once and help me!” Brain screamed, clutching the stone and closing his eyes so he wouldn’t see Pinky. Eight tries. Nine tries and counting. Why couldn’t he do something as simple as this?

But Pinky couldn’t help. It was useless to ask.

What’s the matter? Can’t manage a simple task on your own?

“Of course I can!” Brain snarled, and he gripped an outcropping so tightly that it broke off in his hand. He hurled the useless pebble into the abyss below, then found a different handhold and successfully hauled him to the next step out of sheer spite towards that nagging, insistent voice.

How do you know Pinky’s following you? How do you know he’s not enjoying his newfound flight capabilities?

He didn’t know. Pinky smiled when he discovered he could float as nothing more than a ghost, it was true, but the smile hadn’t reached his eyes. Pinky was incapable of deception. Even without speaking, the intention had been clear. Pinky only wanted to comfort Brain.

That Pinky could learn to live a life of nonexistence. That somehow Pinky would adapt to no touch, no words, no rest in hell.

If only those blank eyes had been more accusatory. It would’ve been far easier to deal with.

Pinky shouldn’t adapt to this. He couldn’t.

But he might-

No. Brain had to try. He had to try and not fail.

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

The ground quaked beneath his feet, and Brain clung to the crimson ledge he rested on. He wouldn’t put it past hell to throw him to the bottom and negate all his efforts.

Still, he pressed on.

The sky was closer now. Several autumn leaves were blown along the wind.

Are you sure Pinky’s behind you?

Three spirals left. Almost there. They were almost there.  

Failure would come soon. He was sure of it.  

He didn’t know much time had passed in the world beyond. Was it November already? Was it time for the world to replace the witches and skulls with turkeys and wreaths?

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

The navy sky was filled with countless twinkling stars. Lights from a faraway airplane blinked steadily as it flew into the horizon. Ever closer, ever brighter.

“Do you see that, Pinky?” Brain whispered. For once, the stars gave him no existentialist dread. A feeling he dared describe as hope filled his chest and strengthened his limbs. All fears were banished to the recesses of his mind. He climbed with renewed purpose, not pausing for breath. “Just a little farther. We’re almost there. Stay behind me, Pinky. Just stay behind me.”

He’s not behind you.

“Yes, he is,” Brain retorted.

This was important. Pinky always came through in matters of importance.

Always is so absolute. You know those statements are usually false, right?

The ground rumbled, accompanied by a distant outraged roar, but Brain paid no heed to it. He ignored his doubts, he ignored the roars, he ignored everything but the starry expanse above and the rocks beneath his hand.  

Hand. Foot. Hand. Foot.

He could do this. One more ledge. One more handhold. One more foothold.  

The sky was so inviting, so beautiful…

Brain gripped the last ledge. He was filthy with dust and sweat, but he couldn’t care less. He was almost there.

Pinky was almost home. Pinky would be able to feel again.

And he would leave. But that was alright. Pinky wouldn’t suffer in hell on Brain’s account. That’s all that really mattered.

He hauled himself onto the last ledge…

…but he didn’t see the pitchfork’s hilt in time.

An agonizing pain shot through his body as he lost his grip and plummeted to the previous step. His back slammed against the hot stone. A searing pressure in the center of his forehead kept him pinned. He gasped for air, his dry throat throbbing.

An enormous crimson devil blotted out the night sky, and Brain’s fragile hope ripped away from his heart. The Devil’s eyes burned like lava as he glared hatefully at Brain, digging the pitchfork ever so slightly into his head.

It wouldn’t take much force to crush or melt his skull, whatever the Devil fancied.  

“I OFFERED YOU CHANCE AFTER CHANCE TO WALK AWAY WITH THE WORLD. BUT YOU STOLE WHAT RIGHTFULLY BELONGS TO ME. YOUR PUNISHMENT SHALL BE DEATH.”

The silky, snake-oil voice was gone, replaced by the full power of a supernatural entity. What was a mortal, pathetic rodent compared to the Master of Hell himself?

He was going to die. He’d failed to save his friend. His only friend.

If his soul was trapped in hell forever…if he had to suffer for all eternity, he deserved it. For his selfishness. For his callousness. For his failure.  

“Please don’t hate me, Pinky…please don’t…” Brain choked out. He didn’t know where Pinky was. But if Pinky was watching, or listening, he could only ask that Pinky wouldn’t hate him.

He lay there, his determination gone, his lonely demise imminent.

“Narf! Zort! Poit! Troz!”

And the pressure vanished.

“Narf! Zort! Poit! Troz!”

A cacophony of Pinky’s favorite syllables sounded again and again and again. Though Pinky’s voice wasn’t among them, Brain still heard that oddly wonderful Cockney accent loud and clear.  

“NO! PINKY IS MY PROPERTY!”

The Devil roared as dozens of lesser demons swarmed him, the pitchfork swinging wildly at anyone who dared to oppose his reign. Something screamed at Brain to find cover before he was caught in the power struggle too, but his body refused to obey any rational thoughts.

Several demons ripped the enormous pitchfork away from their master, and the weapon crashed into a wall and spiraled into the depths below. Other demons screeched and clawed at every part of the Devil they could reach. The Devil swatted one pig-snouted demon slashing away at a shoulder, and he flew over Brain and tumbled down the stairs, grunts of pain echoing off the walls.

Immediately, his nearest allies howled in fury and attacked with more vigor than before. They chomped on cloven hooves, they fended off every swipe, and shouted warnings to their comrades before the Devil’s wrath could reach them.

No longer was self-preservation their only concern. They were a united force now, one the Devil himself had underestimated severely.

With one final shove, the Devil toppled over the edge. The ground rumbled at his furious roar, which quickly decreased in volume as he fell into the abyss.

Brain’s heart pounded, but the Devil didn’t resurface. A resounding cheer went up from the demons, then two of them rushed past Brain, presumably to check on their downed ally.  

The remaining demons watched Brain closely. He flinched under attention he didn’t want. He just wanted to leave this horrible place. Then he realized they weren’t exactly looking at him, but rather somewhere just above his head.

“Narf!” the demons shouted, hands raised to their foreheads in a salute.

There was only one explanation behind the sudden camaraderie.

Pinky.

Pinky had been helping him all this time. Somehow, he’d influenced selfish demons to unite against their cruel master and protect each other from serious injury. Somehow, he’d found a way to say narf despite his voiceless state.

Somehow, Pinky still wanted to save Brain, even after all he’d done.

“Thank you, Pinky,” Brain said softly.

He didn’t need to question Pinky’s presence any longer.

A cool, fresh breeze blew over Brain’s fur as he climbed the last step. The starry sky was clear once again. It was a nice view.

The demons stood aside to allow them safe passage. He kept an eye out for any hostility, but other than their natural weapons, there was none to be found. Whether it was out of respect for the trial he and Pinky had endured, or if they were just an unpredictable force and Pinky’s presence somehow warded them off, he didn’t know.

Brain stepped onto the cool asphalt of the DMV parking lot, and had this been a different circumstance entirely, he might’ve found it rather ironic that one would be glad to set their sights on a DMV. He shivered from the temperature difference, the chilly autumn air contrasting heavily from the sweltering inferno.

Pinky’s contract shimmered into existence , and Brain’s own agreement followed within seconds. Someone had stamped ‘VOID’ in red capital letters across the top page of both contracts, and fire blazed across the crimson ink and engulfed the papers entirely. The ash and smoke left behind were swiftly carried off by the night wind.

Just like that, their contracts were gone.

In his relief, Brain turned to face Pinky to properly share their victory.

IDIOT! If you turn around, Pinky will be claimed by the Devil. Your entire challenge would be for nothing!

And Brain’s foot stopped mid-turn.

The realization struck harshly.

He didn’t truly know if the Devil had a claim over Pinky’s soul. The lesser demons only bought them time to escape hell. Brain doubted they’d be able to hold their master back forever, even as a united front. But if the Devil came back, what then? Two lab mice couldn’t hope for a permanent victory against a powerful, malicious entity.

There was only one solution.

Brain could never look at Pinky again.

He didn’t trust himself to not slip up. Sooner or later, he’d forget that he couldn’t look. And Pinky would be gone again. Brain’s efforts would be in vain.

Hell wouldn’t be so accommodating the second time.

“Narf! Brain, I can say narf again!” a familiar voice exclaimed behind him.

Brain’s ears perked without any conscious input, but it was a minor loss of control in comparison to everything else he’d endured tonight.  

He heard the clatter of pebbles and a swish of fallen leaves alongside a gentle tap of dancing feet against the asphalt. Pinky could interact with the environment again. He could dance and speak and produce all the noises he wanted. It was a small consolation, at least. The contract never said anything about never being able to hear Pinky again.

“Brain?” Pinky asked again. “Are you alright?”

Brain forced himself to stare at a white line that marked a parking space instead.

Don’t look, he chanted. You mustn’t look.

A featherlight touch landed on his shoulder, a gentle warmth not quite touching his back, but just close enough for him to feel its presence.

Brain hastily pulled away. He hated this feeling of helplessness, of being unable to function without physical reassurance. But he couldn’t accept Pinky’s touch either. It would just lead to further loss of control over his emotions, and he’d forget that he couldn’t look.

Pinky would have to leave ACME Labs and Brain forever. He would probably find it difficult at first, but he’d adapt. That’s just what he did.

Brain’s entire body ached. He just wanted to wash away the fire and brimstone, tend to his injuries, and sleep. It didn’t matter what he wanted to do after that. Even if he ignored the contract’s terms and tried to conquer the world again, it would never be the same.

He set off for the lab. Pinky followed, as always.

Maybe it was a selfish risk to not send Pinky away at this very moment, but he was grateful that Pinky would accompany him for one last after-failure trek.

o-o-o-o-o

He’d completely forgotten about his very brief stint as emperor. The only reminder from that timeframe was Snowball, who’d exchanged his jester cap and bells for the royal crown as soon as Brain abandoned his post to rescue Pinky.

ACME was no longer a mighty castle, but just another underfunded lab. Nobody chanted his name, called for their problems to be solved, or held signs that proclaimed Brain as their ruler. His statue had long vanished.  

He didn’t want to see loyal subjects, enormous wealth, and undisputed power tonight. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever want them again.

Right now, he was just Brain, an exhausted, downtrodden lab mouse who would have to try to live without his only friend.

On the way back, Pinky had chattered about anything and everything, prattling on about cheese flavors, then about an inflatable reindeer someone had put up a month early, and finally to paint swatches so their section of the lab would be, according to him, ‘happy and go-lucky and livelier than a herd of hippopotamuses!’.  

Brain said nothing. He just let Pinky talk. This might be the last time he’d ever hear that silly voice again.

“Maybe we could get some feng shui going, just like on HGTV! Zort!” Pinky said, and Brain could just imagine him scratching his head in a vain attempt to get any thoughts going. “Wait, no…we should paint radish roses on the walls! And make them with our radish rose whatchamawhozits! Twice the garnishes for our dinner parties! What color swatch should they be though? Raspberry rose? Rosemary? Oh, we should get one with a funny name! What do you think, Brai-oh, hey Snowball! Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Snowball scowled, stalking over to Brain and casting a contemptuous glare at Pinky. The loss of the hamster’s usurped power was still fresh in his twisted mind.  

“My statue is gone thanks to whatever you did!” Snowball jabbed a finger into Brain’s chest. But Brain barely felt it. He didn’t feel anything towards Snowball at the moment. Not betrayal, not hatred, not even bittersweet nostalgia.

Brain only wanted rest.

“You should’ve stayed in hell,” Snowball growled. “He promised he’d keep you there.”

Brain placed his hand over Snowball’s finger, but he didn’t have the strength to push it away. The hamster raised an eyebrow at the lack of resistance.

“And he kept that promise, Snowball,” Brain said quietly. “Perhaps not in the way you expected, but he kept it.”  

Snowball scoffed. He wasn’t convinced in the slightest.

The laboratory doors were wide open. It was a small consolation that he wouldn’t have to go through the mail slot.

“But…our contracts went up in smoke, Brain. Literally.” Pinky’s voice quivered. “And we’re on the lab’s doorstep too.”

It was time to break the news. Maybe he shouldn’t prolong the goodbye, but Pinky needed time to clean himself and pack his belongings.

“I wish to speak with Pinky. Leave, Snowball.”

“Fine,” Snowball spat, shoving past Brain. “I’ll talk to that blasted devil myself. Even his lawyers will have a difficult time against an entire corporation’s legal team.”

Once he was gone, Brain gestured for Pinky to follow him inside. The interior no longer held a throne, red carpet, or a golden wheel. Just their cage, several counters, and standard laboratory equipment.

Pinky made a valiant effort to hold his tears back, though he couldn’t completely stop all the whimpers from escaping. “P-poit. Nothing good ever comes out of wanting to talk,” he chuckled weakly.

“No, I suppose not,” Brain said. He gripped the side of a bottom drawer to give his hands something to do. His hands were scraped raw from climbing, though he relished the sting. Stings were only a small pain. He could handle small pain. More importantly, he couldn’t turn around, not even to see Pinky off for a proper goodbye.

You have to leave now. Thank you for everything. Goodbye, Pinky, his mind supplied.

It wasn’t enough. Whether it was one word or a million, they would never properly express everything he never said. What was he supposed to say to Pinky, who gave his soul away for Brain and never asked for anything in return?  

“Brain, are you mad cause I didn’t help you?” Pinky asked. “Is that what this is about? Cause…I wanted to. I tried to push you up the steps, but I couldn’t feel you…and I tried shouting and cheering and yelling too! I…I don’t think you heard me. I’m sorry for being useless, Brain. You struggled so hard for me, and I was just useless!”

When Mr. Itch imposed his horrible terms, Pinky tried to cheer up Brain. Even when Brain had doubted, Pinky had been by his side. And he’d somehow inspired the demons to come to their aid.

That wasn’t useless. Not at all.    

Even if Pinky hadn’t done all those things, Brain wouldn’t have held it against him. His anger was directed entirely towards the Devil himself.  

“You’re not useless, Pinky,” Brain admitted. “I never should’ve implied it before this entire mess started. I’m sorry.”

There was silence for a while, only broken by the tap of Pinky’s feet on the tiles.

“Okay, I forgive you,” Pinky said. There were no strings attached. It always took Brain by surprise, how there were no additional requirements for Pinky’s forgiveness. “How come you won’t face me, Brain? I wanna see you.”

Brain took a deep breath. Best to get it out of the way. Get it done.

He couldn’t say done and over with. There was no over. He would never be the same without Pinky.

“I can’t see you, Pinky. I can’t look at you. Ever again. ” Brain pressed his head to the drawer, fighting the urge to turn around. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll just…it’ll make it harder on both of us.”

But Pinky’s footsteps drew closer. Of course they would.

“Make what harder?” Pinky echoed.

A warm hand fell on Brain’s shoulder, so different from blazing fire and cold wind, and something inside him broke.

“This goodbye, you idiot! He’ll come and he’ll take you again if I look at you! So leave at once for your own safety!” he yelled. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears, parched from thirst and raw from fumes.  

“Then what was the point?” Pinky’s hand tightened around Brain’s shoulder. “Why would you rescue me only so you could tell me to leave? Why would you come after me and get hurt so much? At least you’d have the world if I’d just stayed there!”

“I WOULDN’T HAVE THE WORLD IF YOU REMAINED IN HELL, PINKY!” Brain screamed back. “I WOULDN’T HAVE ANYTHING!”    

Not the one that truly mattered, anyway.

Pinky’s long tail drooped, ears falling back. Tears spilled out of his blue eyes.

And Brain’s anger melted away, replaced by all-consuming fear. His temper struck again, and he’d forgotten.

He’d turned around.

And he was looking straight at Pinky, right into the sorrowful expression he wore.  

“No,” Brain whispered, shaking his head as he put as much distance between himself and Pinky as he could. But his body wouldn’t cooperate. He only managed a few shaky steps backwards. The lab was always so big. Why did it feel so tiny now?

Pinky was close. Far too close.

He’d looked.

The Devil was coming.

Lurking in any shadow, ready to snatch Pinky.

“He’s coming, Pinky!” Brain cried. “You have to get out of here now!”

“Who’s coming?” Pinky asked, reaching for Brain again. “Brain, are you alright? Your ears are floppy.”

He wasn’t even trying to run.

“No, I can’t let him take you. Not again!” Brain quickly glanced around the room. Surely there had to be plenty of places for a mouse to hide!

But the drawers were far too obvious, desk items could be moved easily, and his mind wouldn’t work just like every plan he ever came up with didn’t work and his attempts to protect Pinky would end in failure and he failed even when he wasn’t after the world and he just wanted to do something good for once without failing miserably-

White filled his vision as he was pressed against a warm chest by a gentle arm. A strong heartbeat thumped against his ear. A hand gently slipped under his chin, tilting his head up until he was looking into reassuring, sky blue eyes.

Despite the tears, Pinky’s gaze promised only hope and light and companionship.

Then Pinky carefully touched the area Snowball had jabbed, the center of Brain’s forehead where the pitchfork almost crushed him, until his hand lingered on the cheek he’d elbowed during their fight on the podium.

Gentle. Kind. Worried.

And Brain cried. Pinky held him close, not complaining when Brain’s tears dampened his fur or when the leftover crimson dust smudged against him. Tears splashed against Brain’s head, and he wrapped his own arms around Pinky, just to let him know it was alright if he needed to release his tears too. He didn’t know if he was hugging too tightly or holding too loosely, nor did he know if his arms were in the correct position at all.

Brain stroked the fur along Pinky’s spine, hoping the gesture conveyed that he forgave Pinky for accidentally hurting him. He took Pinky’s tiny hum as a good sign.  

Pinky had been deprived of all sensation. This was comfort for him, just the reassurance of touching Brain. Of being close to him.

They stayed that way until nothing was left but exhaustion and damp fur along their cheeks. Brain’s legs buckled, unable to hold him up any longer.

Pinky caught him. “It’s okay, Brain. I’ll carry you,” he said, and his tone left no room for argument.

Never once did Brain feel like he was going to fall during Pinky’s climb up the counter. He only relished the close contact.

But he had to let go all too soon.

Pinky set Brain on the counter, then brought him a thimble of water from their bottle. The cool water flowed down his throat, bringing him much needed relief. He sipped slowly, giving Pinky time to dampen several fluffy towels in the sink.

“Pinky, aren’t you tired?” Brain asked as he exchanged the thimble for three small towels. One was damp, another held strawberry-scented soap, and the last one was dry.

But Pinky shook his head, yawning loudly as he skipped away to clean himself as well. He made lots of noise as he freshened up, just to let Brain know he was there.

And with his mouth wide open too. It was rather uncouth, and despite his exhaustion, Brain rolled his eyes at just how Pinky-like that action was.

Brain made sure to use all three towels the way Pinky intended, scrubbing out the dust with the damp towel, and to his surprise, it came out rather easily, then rubbed the strawberry scented soap and clean water into his fur, and finally dried himself off with the last towel.

As he patted down his fur to try and get it into some order, Pinky came back. The messy tuft on his head stuck out in every possible direction, and so did the rest of his fur.

“You’re a mess,” Brain sighed as Pinky picked him up and carried him back to the cage. Pinky laughed softly as Brain flattened a particularly egregious tuft on Pinky’s shoulder. The acrid fire and brimstone scent was gone, and now they smelled of fresh strawberries.  

They settled into their shared bed. Pinky set Brain down on his preferred side, then pulled away. Pinky frowned for the barest second, but it was quickly replaced by a gentle smile.

Yet he knew Pinky still needed physical contact.

And so did he.

“Pinky?” Brain whispered.

Pinky took that as an invitation to pull Brain into a secure hold. “Yes, Brain?”

“Don’t go…” Brain nuzzled into Pinky’s chest, into the odd yet comforting warmth he freely gave. One last stray tear slipped from his eye. “Please don’t go.”

Instead of replying with words, Pinky rested his jaw on top of Brain’s and hummed softly, the vibration soothing to his worried mind. His tail draped over Brain’s waist to anchor him.

“Just say narf, just say narf.

We’re alright, we’re okay, so let’s say narf.

You and I will have tomorrow nights again.

No matter what happens, I’m always your friend…”

The melody was soft, the rhythm reassuring. Brain closed his eyes and believed in Pinky’s familiar song.

They were together. Tomorrow night would come. He was sure of it.  

End AN: So...I’ll be real, some parts of these were really hard for me to write cause I feel so bad for torturing them like this. Give them love guys. They need it. 

[mordellestories]

Bless the Fallen

[myaekingheart]

39. The Worst Three-Legged Race

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3

index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

               Kakashi turned the lightning barrel over in his hands, perched on a tree overlooking a forest pass. He wondered how the others were doing, Naruto and Sakura and Sasuke. He had worked hard to drill the importance of teamwork into their heads and hoped now would be the time when it really showed. Their mission was to locate a band of thieves and retrieve a stolen gold statue belonging to the daimyo’s sister. So far, all was quiet on his end of things.

               Working alone allotted endless time for Kakashi’s to mind to wander, and wander it did. Ever since the Hanare incident two weeks before, Kakashi been given a lot to think about in regards to his relationship. He had scarcely seen Rei so distraught, especially over the subject of him potentially leaving her. He never wanted to hurt her, nor did he think it was necessarily in her best interest to spy. He couldn’t argue with her, though. It seemed everyone thought he and Hanare were an item. The kids definitely overestimated their relationship. They way they reacted made him wonder if keeping Rei a secret was really such a great idea, after all. He hadn’t expected them to be quite so invested in his personal life, but the way they acted proved that whatever he was doing wasn’t working. They were tenacious little gremlins; if they detected some sort of issue or absence in his life, they had no problem swooping in and trying to fix it. And in this case they were hellbent on his romantic endeavors.

               He looked up at the clear sky overhead and wondered what Rei might be doing now. Likely working, per usual. The ANBU were often busy with one thing or another. He truly missed her, though. That was the trouble with dating shinobi—whatever time you get together is brief. Work dominates. He hoped to the high heavens that the separation wouldn’t be the death of them. Sure, they had their chakra plants but it wasn’t quite the same as face-to-face quality time. Would things be this way for the rest of his life? He had already spent so much time away from her, abstaining from her in their youth. He still couldn’t forgive himself for that, for all the pain his neglect put her through. He had made a lot of mistakes, and knew he would likely spend the rest of his life atoning for them.

               Kakashi sighed and leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree. It was during times like this, in the quiet of his own solitude, that the weight of their history really began to affect him. He was twenty six years old and she, twenty four. He had known her since she was an infant of barely six months. Even in their distance, they had been through so much. For the rest of his life, he knew he would consider their reunion the best thing that ever happened to him, a true blessing he wasn’t sure he even deserved. There was no real reason for her to want to enter back into his life. He had made so many wrong turns, but also lost so many loved ones. Now that she was back within his reach, did he really want to risk losing her again?

               Hanare made him realize just how important this was for not just Kakashi but for Rei, as well. She clung to him in the same way that he quietly, softly did to her. They needed one another. They loved one another. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, envisioning her before him now, then in a year, two, five, ten. His future in cut scenes: damp foreheads pressed together with heavy breaths, cherry blossoms floating around a white kimono, holding her hands and repeating that promise from his youth, domesticity and kindness and subtlety. Happiness.

               Kakashi had no idea what the future held for him, but all he was certain of was that it must involve Rei. It needed to involve Rei. Without her, he would surely be reduced to nothing. He would have nothing. His life would become meaningless. She was the rock that grounded him into his sanity, kept his heart from freezing over, kept the demons in his head at bay with her own kunai in hand. He had vowed to protect her, but all this time he hadn’t realized she, too, had been protecting him. A mutual commitment, a mutual respect. They were comrades not just as shinobi but in life, in the most basic form of living, in humanity. She meant everything to him, and the more he recounted those halcyon days and those dark days and those subtle days, the clearer his intention slowly became. He needed her by his side always, for the rest of his life.

               Kakashi almost felt disappointed in himself when he finally reunited with his students. Sakura had been held hostage, and Naruto and Sasuke inseparable—literally. The point, though, was that they had worked together. They had no choice. And they succeeded. Kakashi considered the statue in the sleepy sunlight, the irreparable damage it had suffered. He was sure the daimyo’s sister would not be pleased. “Well…maybe it can be melted down and recast” he pondered. “Although that’s a pretty big maybe.”

               The daimyo’s sister frowned as she inspected the thing, turning it this way and that. “Such a shame” she sighed. “All that hard work, and now it’s completely useless!”

               “Now, sister, let’s not be hasty” the daimyo reassured. “I’m sure it can still be salvaged.”

               The woman shook her head. “It’s beyond repair! There was really no use in bringing it back now. I don’t want it anymore!”

               Naruto clenched his fist at his side. His other hand was still attached to Sasuke. “What?!” the jinchuriki shouted. “We went to so much trouble on this mission for you and now you don’t even want it?!”

               “Typical” Sasuke scoffed. Kakashi whacked them both lightly in the backs of the heads, a signal for them to shut up.

               “What’s going to happen to it now?” Sakura asked. “What are you going to do with it?”

               “Probably send it where everything else damaged goes: the dump” the woman said.

               Kakashi felt his throat tighten and his hand began to quiver. “Actually” he spoke up, “I wonder if the material can be made into something else. I’m sure there must be some way to recycle the gold itself.”

               “At this quality?” the woman asked. “Anything it would be made into would be worth nothing. No, I simply must just throw it away!”

               Sakura caught something strange in Kakashi’s eye, a desperation. She didn’t quite understand it, but it moved her. “Lady Daimyo, wait!” she called. The woman peered over her shoulder quizzically, curious as to what this young girl needed to say. “It may be worth nothing to you, but I’m sure others would really appreciate whatever that can be recycled into. Not everyone can afford something so nice.”

               The woman blinked a few times, then stared at the damaged statue. A sly smile crossed her lips as she then turned her attention to Kakashi, trying to mask his rising panic. “Okay…” she said slowly, voice dripping with intent. “How about we make a deal then? If you want this statue so badly, then you can have it. But in the stead of your monetary payment for this mission.”

               Naruto gulped. “Forget the bear, we’ll take—” he started, but Kakashi slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish.

               “We’ll take it” the copy ninja said. The kids looked at him with wide, dumbfounded eyes.

               Sakura couldn’t stop thinking about it the entire trip home. “Kakashi-sensei, what exactly are you going to do with that thing, anyway?”

               “Oh, you know…” Kakashi said casually. “I might sell it, or take it to a silversmith and see if he can do anything with it. I’m sure it would make a nice bookend.”

               Naruto clenched his teeth. “You don’t just give up your paycheck for a stupid bookend” he grumbled.

               In the back of his mind, however, Kakashi had no intention of using it for any of those petty options. Really, he would only need a fraction of the material. He wasn’t even totally sure if this was the right time to do something like this, regardless of his students’ protests, but he had thought perhaps a little too much in his alone time. He didn’t want to let an opportunity like this slip away. He patted the statue clunking around in his back pouch and hummed softly, fighting a smile. Perhaps he could sell the rest of the material and then return the money to the kids as repentance for skipping out on their payment. He was sure they would forgive him after that, or at least he hoped so. It seemed only fair not to put the rest to waste. After all, it didn’t take much to forge a ring.

[jfastereft]

"A TRINITY OF EASTER BONNETS* - FOR THE NEWLY RESURRECTED!?"  Easter Sunday: April 21, 2019 [Monday!   in Australia!!]

 "NO, IT'S NOT!" a poem  a.k.a.: "You Mean It's NOT Halloween?  Oh, That's Why!"

 "'No, it's-NOT-Halloween!-It's-EASTER!!'    "Oh, sorry, that-must-be-why,

There-hasn't-been much spooky-candy  in-The-Store, as-I've-wandered-by,

And Dracula's teeth (generally-a-good-seller) are-half-price-off-on sale,

While little Bunny-People-are-out, wig-gl-ing their tail[s]!

And The Zombie Crawl's unusual, for it's-being done with a cross!

Dang! I-really-missed-it-this-year! But it's-not a total loss!?

 Yet, it-explains-a-lot, for, in October, when-I-really-thought-it-was-Easter,

I got no eggs-and-one-girl-was-annoyed, when-I-taped-a-tail-on-her-keister,

But, eventually, she-dressed as a bunny      and shook it pretty well!

Dang it!  Yeah!  I-wonder - if I will go to H - L L -

For mixing-up these holidays, in such an-unrighteous-fashion!

I've missed the candy, and now my dandy     costume     I-can't-cash-in!!

 So, I-better-get-t'-thinkin'-'bout going to Church, [early] Sunday morning,

When Jesus was tri-um-phant, as-a-vampire, without warning!

LIVE FOREVER, BUT DON'T BITE TWICE,

'CAUSE YOU-ONLY-LIVE          FOREVER!           So-try-and-be-nice!

 THEY-say HE-had-some-candy though, when-he-came-out-from-The-Tomb,

But no one would approach-eth Him!  We're-so-cautious-from-the-womb,

Afraid that we might just-get-"bit," turned-into-Deathless-" Folk!"

They-all-thought-The-Resurrection [Thing]      must-be a-media-joke!

 Y'-know, just like Mich[ael] Jackson,     That Guy could really sing!

And-a-a-rou-ound-Hal-lo-ween,    He-was-The-Trick-or-Treatin'-King!**

 fin   <3

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYac9O3GYTM

* - or is that Sonnets?

** - King-Of-The-Chew, The Candy Chew, with-Chocolate-Mashes-and-lic-or-ice;

And He was real great at parties!  One word, Sweetheart: "FOOT-FE-TISH!"

  "THE WAY!" a poem, a.k.a.: "Party Hardy If You Want Your Lordy, Lordy To Wakey-Wakey!"  

 HE's risen!!   Dang, He's UP AGAIN,

Walking here, amongst all men!

'Tis-no "party trick," for The Son's Arisen!

The rock is rolled! It's-a-ROCK-&-ROLL-vision!

As Jesus Christ (That Guy's Alive),

As He steps from the tomb, He "takes a dive,"

In-the-flowers       over there,

And-when-He-looks-up,       there's HER stare!!

 With His face all dirty - and stinky too,

She sees Him there, &-says: "What-did-you-do,

With-My-Lord,     you garden-er?!"

And Jesus sees [that] He-can-fool-her?

 "Well, yes!" He lies; "I'm-the-land-scrape-designer,

But I did see Your Lord, OFF his recliner,

Walking-over-there - and-saying GOOD BYE!"

(But This Girl can-see The Glint in His eye!!)

 Since-Jesus-is-a-lousy-liar, She knew it was Him!

"Oh, Lord, [you're] such a kidder!"  and, although-proper-&-prim,

She-made-a-run-for-Him, and-He-said: "HOLD ON!

You've-got-[on]-your-"Sunday-Best," and-I'm-covered-with-lawn!

So, don't touch me now; I'll clean up pretty soon,

But - JUST GO-TO EVERYONE, & WE'LL FLY TO THE MOON!"

 "Well-NOW, take you time, Lord!  Everyone's mostly in jail!

They were celebrating YOUR WAKE!  I-will go-get bail!"

 Anyway!  That girl wasn't actually MARY!  Her-name was: Dory,*

(I just thought you-might be interested in getting The True[r] Story!)

 Anyway, eventually, Jesus DID "clean up" and He did realize,

WHY HE AROSE!!!   This-here's a big surprise!

You-see, it was REALLY because of the drunken orgy wake,

Because they all were drinking - and SHOUTING, for Goodness' sake,

And Jesus, dead and sleeping, must-have-heard-something-like this:

"A WAKE!  A WAKE!" and-it-must-have-filled-Him-with-[such]-bliss,

To-know-{that}-everyone-wanted-Him-to-wake-up, come-out-[of]-The-Tomb-&-party!

Strange, but true:     IF YOU-HAVE-A-WAKE, BE REAL HARDY,

For your exuberance can be infectious - and even wake The Dead!!!

And I got this from A REAL GOOD SOURCE!  It's-what-an-"ancient-text"-said!

 [And I've ALSO got some REAL-QUALITY, residential property, a-Florida-estate,

Nestled in some once-wet-land, and the-scenery is GREAT!

We can ALL live there, praising The Lord each day,

And PARTY HARDY, Lordy, Lordy!   It-is: THE JESUS WAY!         :) - Hooray!  OK?

 fin <3

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_krpSi8o1Qw

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Lu41LulQos

* - Keep on swimmin'!

  "NO APOLOGIES NECESSARY!"  a poem   Easter Sunday!!

 That's right! Complainers love-to-complain, and-coughers-love-to-cough!

Another-Easter-Time-arrives where JESUS-WOULD-LOVE TO-GET-OFF,

Being-hung-UP-on-that-pole [AGAIN!] spending (I imagine) too-much time,

Suffering      and bleeding,         so churches-can-celebrate-and-pine,          

And think-about-and-focus-on           Their-Crucified-Lord, again,

Crying into their "GIVING cups," lamenting all their sin!

 We-are-the-soldiers, as before,    pulling-the-garment-of-The-Lord,

And we PLAY FOR IT - and laugh and sing, and hope we can afford,

A-lot-of-drinks, at-our-favorite-pubs, when we exchange THE garment;

Let's take our helmets from-these-spears - and plunge-[them]-into-this-varmit!

 With swords and shields and spears -        Let's have a bloody, good time,

And, if we're lucky, at the local bars,   we'll-commit-a-little-crime!

Some rapes and mutilations! Perhaps, a-young-girl-can-be-"groomed!"

I just-love-another-Sweet, Sweet Easter,   especially-as-HE-lies-"entombed!"

 And, then, after all the rapes and murders, we'll [REALLY]-celebrate-The-Season!

SUNDAY MORNING SURFACES! and things are calm!  The reason?

Every-one's passed-out or dead, but few of them are "giving!"  

And here comes Jesus, out-of-The-Tomb, Yes, sir!  He's really LIVING,

The-Good-Life, and-a-once again, He greets His friend named "Mary,

and He says (for-the-2000th-time), "I beg you, Friends; don't tarry!

FOR, I'VE DEFEATED 'SATAN,'       & I ' M PUTTING-HIS-FEAR-AWAY!

This is IT!  Welcome, Everyone!  to-a GLORIOUS, BRAND NEW DAY!

Where NOW there is no need to suffer!  You-don't-have-to any-more!"

He tells all this - to-the Disciples,    but Satan      will just snore,

Knowing that he's surely got - [another] 3 hundred, sixty five,

Days-to-convince EVERYONE(?) that-ANOTHER-Easter's-not-no-"jive,"

That-is THE WAY! The-Way-Of-The-World,    Of-This World of HIS:

"[Let's] just-keep-re-enacting  the-same-old    [liturgical]-Show-Biz!!!"

Until THE BLOODY END OF TIME - or-until someone gets wise,

Declaring-this,   that: "Heavenly existence       is HERE, before our eyes!"

 We need-not keep a-spinning - the same old Ritual Wheel,

For Jesus has declared [triumphant?]  His-ancient "Brave New Deal!"

We just need     to accept it,    and stop-all-this   being fooled,

BUT!!  We-DO love celebration SO MUCH     - and of-being-RULED,

By systems-of-government, and-medicine - and, of course, pompous-religion!

CAN'T WE DISCOVER? Let's open our eyes: THE DOVE IS JUST A PIGEON!

And-haven't-we-been-"pigeons," My Friends!  PIGEONS!? long enough?

Turning-over ALL our lives     to Demons, who-love-to "bluff,"

And say [that] They're "in charge - and they've got a REAL GOOD plan,

IT'S: THE SACRED! Yes, THE-sacred-STATUS QUO,   for-ev-ery  girl and man!

And - Let's just keep-on going -             down the same old road!"

 Will-we-always-bow-to-temptation?                You-know, we're often told:

"That PROS-PER-ITY (whatever THAT is)     is JUST AROUND THE CORNER!" Why-don't-we-stop and look-'round-there,     but NOT as some, poor mourner!

 Yet [everyone's-shouting] "No!    (pause) There-must-be-more-we-must-DO!"

 No, NOTHING MORE! just-NO-APOLOGIES, for-liking-to-EAT-&-S - R - W!*

 So, anyway!  Happy Easter AGAIN!  It's almost 6 A. M.!

Which is - time-to-eat-and-get-dressed-up - and-to-practice-another-AMEN!

And-when-you-go-to-church-and-sit-in-your-P'EW, counting-blessings in your life,

Remember, that   each-GOOD-Nazi         sat-with-his-good wife,

And they would sit there and worship -     for as many Easter morns,

As The World would allow!         While angels blew their horns!!    

 YET, HERE, DEAR FRIENDS, I DON'T SUGGEST - that-you-skip-Church-today,

But-you-should-know, It's-a-social-convenience!  So weigh what they-all-say!

TAKE GOOD ADVICE - and apply it,         with-what "free will" you got,

But don't buy in - to politics!   For LOVE's what Jesus sought!          :) - Happy Easter!

 fin  <3

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-ayuqk8Y20

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=686k9qcmzkw

 * - Of course, now-The-Bible    don't say much -   'bout Jesus and the ladies,

But-He-ate-a-lot, for-THEY-called-Him-"A-Glutton," &-He-surely-did-like-babies!!

[itshauntedme-blog]

Lively Fears

Preface This memoir is about a specific paranormal experience I had growing up and how it has affected me since then. I was dealing with a lot of what I thought was paranormal occurrences when I first started writing this memoir. I was pretty scared as to what mental doors it would open and the outcome of it. But after finishing I have been more at peace.

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

Growing up with an extremely devout Catholic grandmother was far from ideal if you ask me. She was always in fear of my eternal damnation and never shy about letting me know that I would be going to hell if I didn’t start attending church. I can’t remember how many times I was told that a demon was going to drag me from my bed straight to hell. You would think that being threatened with creatures straight from the underworld at a young age would’ve made me actively seek a relationship with God. That’s what my grandmother hoped for, but it only introduced me to the more sinister side of things.

I became fascinated by the supernatural, from ghost folktales to demonic possessions. If there was a haunting story to be heard, I was there. The tales were just pure entertainment, at first: something to feed my fears, I suppose. However, after hearing so many stories, one comes to realize how much information could be obtained about the paranormal world. I studied the difference between a lost soul in limbo and a malicious entity that may dwell in your attic, the warning signs of an infestation, even the forms a demonic force is keen to take. All vital information that I would need if my grandma’s threats ever came true. But that’s the thing: it was all meant to be fun in games, an empty threat to scare me into the arms of God. It was a good thing I was decently equipped - not that an actual demon tried to drag me to hell in the middle of the night, but it might as well have been.

It all started in the first house my parents bought, the very house that I helped pick. It was a red brick one story with a rolling gate that opened up to the driveway, a gigantic backyard, and a shed the size of a warehouse. I remember every inch of that house, from the dark wood beams that supported the high ceilings, to the mustard color walls in my bathroom. Besides the large space it afforded us, there wasn’t much else that stuck out about that house; and yet, it seemed to call out to me. Anything my parents saw wrong with the place, I looked passed, there was no way of talking me out of my decision.

Although I loved that house, there was an odd aura you could feel once you walked in. It wasn’t a feeling that engulfed you, but it lingered in the background: something you could never completely shake. It was as if there was always someone in the room with you, observing your every move like a lab rat. It wasn’t so heavy a presence that it would be of any bother, but enough to make you wonder if any weird business ever went down on the premises. In spite of the floors being either tile or carpet, the house still spoke to you through the walls but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be rationalized as rodents at the time. For the first couple of years, all I did was think of every logical reason for something unsettling. The scratches in the walls were rodents. The pots and pans rattled because they were settling from being unbalanced. The door moved ever so slightly because of the pressure from the AC unit. Logic was met with every noise or movement, even when the tv would randomly turn off on its own. There was yet to be anything that I couldn’t explain, no way is my home haunted. Ghosts aren’t real, they were just stories to scare kids.

When we first moved in and sometime on, I had shared a room with my little brother; then, about two summers later, I finally decided to sleep in my own bedroom, alone. For the first month everything went as would be expected in a ghost free home, fine. Then one fateful night, I woke up in the middle of the night, at 3 a.m., otherwise known as the start of the Devil’s hour. I didn’t think much of it being that I was not yet a true believer of the paranormal, so I attempted to go return to my slumber. As I completely immersed myself under the covers and close my eyes, I heard a ghastly moan right next to my ear. It sounded exactly the same as the moan that we used to mimic the sound of a ghost.

For a moment I was as still as a statue under the blanket, trying to think of ways to explain where the noise could’ve come from. The only logical thing I could think of was my dad was trying to pull his usual pranks on me, but even that was a bit of a stretch considering the hour. Regardless of the time and silence that engulfed the house, there was no doubt in my mind that it was my dad trying to pull a fast one on me. With sweaty palms and trembling legs, I made my way towards my parents’ bedroom door only to hear my dad’s snoring faintly coming from the other side. Still thinking that it was a prank I barge through the door expecting my dad to be sitting up laughing at how good the prank turned out to be. To my dismay, I was not only met with the snores of my dad in a deep sleep, but my mom was also fast asleep with my little brother sprawled out between them.

At that moment, the presence that I was never really sure of, the one that lurked in the background was suddenly breathing down my neck. As a numbing chill began to creep into my body, I did the only thing I could think of to do. I sprinted into my parent’s king size bed, yanked the covers over me and anchored myself to the first body I could wrap my arms around. Even under the blanket I felt like there was something hovering over me, amused at my petrified state. So, under the blanket I stayed, for hours, wide-eyed, unable to sleep until light returned to the skies.

I’ve replayed that night over a hundred times only to come back to the same conclusion. My worst fears are real, and whatever that noise was, it was not from within our realm of existence.

Before I continue, there are a couple of things to understand. My whole family is quite superstitious, and they don’t play any games when it comes to paranormal allegations. Believing in superstitions and the afterlife is just part of the Vietnamese culture. It allows us to bribe lady luck into being on our side, help our loved ones that have passed, and keep the balance in our homes. But to live in a haunted home would mean an outside force could tip the scales.

So, I didn’t dare to speak a word of the events of the previous night to my parents when they woke to find me in their bed the next morning. How could I tell them that our home was haunted without seeming insane or childish? To be the only person to have a paranormal experience when there are three other people in the house and plenty of overnight guests, that’s far-fetched even by Hollywood standards. So, I kept it to myself, waiting for the moment for someone else to come and sound just as crazy as I felt.

A year or two after, my mom, little brother and I ended up moving back to South Carolina with my grandmother. My dad had stayed back in Houston for work and was planning on moving into a smaller place. So that summer my mom flew back to help him put our stuff into storage. Who would’ve thought that that trip was to bring me back my sanity, and so many answers to my mom.

As soon as my mom stepped foot into the house, I could tell that trip had revealed more than just a clean house. In the same breath that greeted us, she blurted out the words I had been waiting for what seemed like eternity to hear.

“That house is haunted.”

Before we could ask any questions or make any comments, she had already begun to tell us of her own eerie tale.

“I was in my room just browsing the internet like usual and I heard pots and pans rattling in the kitchen. It was close to midnight at this time and I assumed your dad was about to whip up something before going back out to the shed to work. So, I went out to see if he needed help or wanted me to make it, but when I got to the kitchen where was no body there.” With each word, her forehead became more creased with doubt and worry. I went back into the room and I started to hear the pots and pans again. I started yelling at your dad to stop trying to scare me as I made my way back to the kitchen, only to find no one in the kitchen.”

I could see the fear in her eyes and her body shaking ever so slightly as she tried to finish her story. “So, I went out to the shed to ask your dad why he kept coming in and out the house and making so much noise in the kitchen. But when I confronted him, he said he hadn’t been in the house for the past two hours.” “I must be going crazy.” she whispered to herself.

To hear my mom, think that she was going crazy was heartbreaking but I finally saw my chance to tell her my story and not have the story fall on death ears. As I began telling her my story, I could see the relief wash over her and her state of mind return to normal. She wasn’t too happy about me keeping it to myself for so long but it gave her the answers to the health issues that riddled her in the house, and the reasons for a failed business venture. Most importantly, I gave her peace of mind.

While my mother may have found her peace since leaving that house, I seem to have strayed further and further away from that concept. In the past few years, I’ve had more of these strange occurrences which was able to turn my little brother into a believer of the supernatural and ghosts. All of these experiences have left me on constant high alert, making certain sounds and feelings leave chills riddling my body until I can no longer fight the sleep my body is lacking. I still try to rationalize these incidents before jumping the gun and falling into my own fears. I’ve even begun to share my stories with close friends and family, in hopes that someone would be able give me solace by definitively debunking some of the happenings or even just acknowledging my experiences for what they are.

The only problem with wanting solace or acceptance is not everyone is willing to have an open mind and listen with unbiased ears to level with you, especially on such a matter as ghouls and ghost. Most of my friends think that I just have an over active imagination and it’s all in my head, others simply belittle me for even believing in such “nonsense.” While everyone has an opinion on my state of mind, no one has an opinion on the actual matter at hand.

The scrutiny of me and my experiences from all around have left me to doubt my own reality at times, for I seem to be the only one to believe in such absurdity or claim to be witness to it aside from my own family members. But, who can say crazy doesn’t run in the family? Maybe everything I’ve claimed have all been hallucinations. I’ve battled myself about this same argument countless times, so why couldn’t it be true? It’s the most plausible thing next to what I’ve asserted.  

But it is this doubt that puts me in this predicament in first place. My doubts about a higher being and my faith in God that my grandmother had so hopelessly wished for. The people who asked me questions about my grandmother’s faith were also asking me about my beliefs regarding the paranormal. How do I believe in something with no evidence and no proof? How do I believe in something that I do not know is definite or cannot see? How do I know this entity that I fear even exists?

It all boils down to one thing which is my faith. Like the devout who attend church every Sunday to listen to the gospel word, it is the way the paranormal makes me feel that lets me know it is real. It is the fear that takes over, the unsettling nerves that lets me know it is real. It is the lack of sleep, the constant feeling of paranoia that lets me know it is real. No amount of evidence could convey the same consciousness that is felt in my bones. No amount of evidence could make the feeling any more concrete.

It was the repudiation from others that caused the uncertainty within me. There’s something about opening up to people and being called crazy a hundred times over that makes you start to question everything. After contemplating for quite some time, it seems that I am only crazy because I believe in something different from the norm. Although it’s not unheard of, it is still frowned upon and that’s enough for people to see you differently. There’s a habit among the human race, where we want to conform those whose views are different from our own, and if they can’t be submitted to the norms of society then they are judged, in which creates a bigger fear of being ostracized.

I no longer have that fear. After years of being laughed at for my beliefs, I’ve come to find that I rather be laughed at then agree to nay-sayers that can’t open their minds to the possibilities of a world that exists along with ours. You can’t make people believe you, and you shouldn’t hold regard to statements made by people who pass hasty judgments. At the end of the day you are you, opinions are what you make them, and no one should be allowed to make you feel as if your fears are invalid. We all live with demons but everyone chooses which ones are worth the worry.

[bythexdreadwolf]

SOMETHING JUST LIKE THIS || AO3 LINK

CREMISIUS “KREM” ACLASSI/INQUISITOR EVANNA TREVELYAN WORD COUNT: 2,052

She’s been to every corner of Thedas, sometimes dragging him along, most times not.  She always comes back, covered in dust or blood or ichor or all three, her eyes lighting up as soon as she reenters Skyhold’s gates.  He wants to do something for her, to show her how much she means to him.  She’s always trudging around, doing things for everyone but herself, and he wants to give her the break he knows she needs, to take her somewhere as special as she is.  She’s more than just a quick fuck in an unoccupied hallway.  She always has been.

But Maker-help him, he’s got no sodding clue how to do it.  Each time he’s tried to broach the subject with her, he’s gone chicken shit, and ended up back in his little corner by the door to nurse his pride and a bottle of wine, or she’s being carted off to some other part of the country for weeks.  It shouldn’t be this bloody hard to court a pretty girl.  He certainly doesn’t ever remember it being this hard.  

The Chief just gives him a knowing, pitying look accompanied by a shit-eating grin that’s no help at all.

“You’ve got it bad, Krem de la Creme,” he tells him, clapping a massive hand on Krem’s shoulder.  Years of conditioning his legs and knees for the blow are the only reason they don’t buckle from the force.  

“It’s so cute, though,” Dalish grins at him.  “Look at him, he’s blushing.”

“Oh, piss off, the lot of you,” he snaps.  He doesn’t even have a smart-ass comeback either, because he knows they’re all right.  All it does is earn him a hearty guffaw from Bull and Rocky as he slides onto the bench across from Dalish and Skinner.

“If you want real advice,” Dalish continues, leaning forward across the table at him, her tankard clutched in both hands.  “Here’s mine: you’re reading too much into it.  Evanna is just a girl.  Forget, for a moment, that she’s the Herald of fucking Andraste or whatever else it is that they’re calling her these days.  She’s just a normal girl.  Just do something she likes, you lovesick idiot.  You’re handsome and charming, and if I’m not mistaken, you’ve already swept her off her feet, if the pining looks she gives you from across the tavern are anything to go by.  And don’t think we’ve not noticed you two sneaking off whenever you think no-one’s looking.  Take her someplace nice, though.  Somewhere she likes.  The rest will sort itself out.”

“Yeah, Krem, you won’t know until you try,” the Chief tells him.  He groans and buries his head in his arms.  “And if all else fails — you’ve always got Rocky as a rebound.”

“Very funny,” he grouses, voice muffled against his vambraces.

He doesn’t sleep at all that night, his mind running rampant with ideas of what they can do and where they can go.  His first thought is Orlais, but he remembers the way her nose crinkled in distaste when she’d gotten back from Val Royeaux the first time and the way she’d groused about it to him after.  She likes those little frilly cakes well enough, but as far as Orlais itself goes, he knows she hates it.  

Not Orlais, then.

He wants to take her to places like Nevarra, Rivain, Antiva, let her taste the food, watch those grey eyes drink in the vibrant beauty of their cultures, kiss her as they watch the sunset.  But he’s not exactly rich, even with the decent pay the Inquisition is giving the Chargers.  And he doubts whether Thedas can afford for her to be away for so long.  Then there’s the matter of the Antivan Crows, the fact that someone could put out a bounty on her head.  She’s more than capable of protecting herself, and if he’s with her, she’s at even less of a risk, but he doesn’t really want to be the one who comes back with the news that he got the beloved Herald of Andraste killed.  

Andraste’s tits, he’s overthinking this.

He rolls over and punches his pillow in irritation.  She’s a noblewoman from birth and he’s just a poor mercenary.  She deserves the world and he can’t give it to her.  

And that’s when he comes up with a plan.  But he’s going to need help.  And a lot of it.  And it’s going to take time.  The Chief is never going to let him live this down.  It’ll be worth all of the teasing, though, to see her smile.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair over and over again, mussing it up from where he’d so meticulously styled it not even an hour before.  She’s going to hate it.  He’s going to get tongue-tied and put his foot in his mouth.  He’s going to trip down the stairs and literally wind up with his foot in his mouth.  

Why did he think this was a good idea, again?

He’s hovering just outside of the door to her bedchamber, pacing back and forth, trying to bring himself to knock.  Stop fucking around, Aclassi.

His hand is poised to knock, but before he can manage to do so, she flings back the door and he just stands there, frozen, the wind completely knocked out of him as he drinks her in.

Fucking hell, she’s beautiful.  

He’s never seen her with her hair down; she always wears it in a complicated series of plaits and twists when she’s out in the field, and he’s never fully appreciated just how long it is.  It brushes that delicious dip at the base of her spine just above her ass, and he’s seized with the insane urge to tangle his hands in it and kiss her until she’s as breathless as he is.  Pulled back, she’s the picture of Andraste’s chosen, but with it down, she looks younger, more vulnerable.  More like the Evanna he’s come to know and less like the figurehead everyone makes her out to be. It makes his heart skip a beat.  She’s dressed simply, in a grey tunic and supple black leather trousers as opposed to her Circle robes, but it suits her.  He swallows.

“Ah, er—Good evening.  Your Worship.  You—you look nice.”  His hand is still balled in a fist as though to knock and he lets his arm fall to his side, heat creeping up his cheeks.  She bites her lip in a futile attempt to keep the smile tugging at the corners of her lips contained.

“You can relax, Lieutenant.  No-one here but me.”

That’s exactly why I’m so on edge, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it.  Her small, pale hand takes his much larger one and he swallows again, ignoring the swooping sensation such a simple gesture causes in the pit of his stomach.

She gives his fingers a light squeeze and settles into her place at his side, seeming completely at ease.  He feels as if he’s on fire, his anxiety making him feel uncertain and awkward.  He can face down an army of Venatori, take on a horde of demons without blinking.  But this…this is uncharted territory.  Sure, he’s been with women before.  But he’s never felt the way she makes him feel.  

“So,” she nudges him with her elbow, and he’s suddenly very aware of just how silent he’s been the entire time they’ve been making their way through the bowels of Skyhold.  “What is it that you want to show me?  I swear on Maferath’s beard that Cassandra was practically swooning when I told her you’d asked me to dinner.”

“R-really?” His throat feels dry.  

“Mm,” she hums, wrapping her arms around his arm and leaning into him as they wander through the castle.  He’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s supposed to be leading them, and he’s glad that his feet seem to have remembered, because he may have left his brain back on the threshold of her bedchamber.  He can feel the heat of her through his doublet — Bull had coerced Dorian into finding one for him (he doesn't want to think about what that had involved) — and it’s all he can do to convince himself to keep leading her to the Herald’s Rest when all he wants to do is run his fingers through that hair of hers and make her moan his name.  

They’ve had their fair share of stolen kisses.  Physicality — sex — was easy, all things considered.  Sex was primal, instinctive, easy to navigate.  And, as he’s been told in the past, he’s very good with his tongue.  But courting her is something completely foreign to him, and she’s the first person who’s made him actually want to try.  He wants so badly for this to go right.  

He nearly trips over his own feet and down the stairs out of the keep when the realization that he might be falling in love with her hits him like a war-hammer.  If he wasn’t nervous before, he certainly is now, and he hasn’t said a single fucking thing in a solid five minutes, and Maker — he’s already buggered it, he knows it, and they’re not even through the door to the Rest and —

She lets go of his arm on the threshold, and her hands fly to cover her mouth in what he hopes is awe.  Her grey eyes are wide as she drinks it in, the lengths he’s gone to to make something special just for her.  They’ve draped the entire first level of the tavern in Rivaini silks.  Two bottles of Antivan wine sit on a table he’s set for just the two of them, laden with foods from every part of Thedas, including the little pink frosted cakes she’s so fond of from Orlais.  It’s definitely too much for the two of them to eat, but he’d wanted options in case there was something she didn’t like.  Various other trinkets from different countries — rugs, lamps, little statues, procured with the help of Sister Nightingale, Lady Montilyet, Cassandra, and, of all people, Varric — are scattered around the room, transforming it into a sort of bazaar where they can sit and pretend they are anywhere they wish.  It’s the best he can do.  (The real miracle, he thinks, is that Bull’s managed to make good on his word to make sure the tavern is cleared, and he makes a mental note to buy that brilliant, beautiful asshole the biggest cask of Chasind sack mead he can afford).  It actually…looks pretty good, he thinks, smirking a bit as he gauges her reaction.

“Maker’s breath,” she exhales, her eyes unable to stop flitting from the Nevarran lamps to the silks to the food and, finally, up at him.  “You did all this?”

He shrugs, the smirk turning full-on smug grin.  He can’t believe he could ever have been so nervous before.  Dalish was right.  Not that he will ever tell her that.  “I had a bit of help, but yeah.  Wanted to take you to Rivain or Nevarra or Antiva myself, but, circumstances being what they are, I figured I’d bring a little bit of them to you.”

There’s barely a heartbeat that passes before she flings her arms around his neck and she’s kissing him like she’s drowning and he’s the only thing that can save her.  He grins against her plush lips, his own arms snaking around her waist and lifting her off of her feet.  It’s brief, but it’s enough to leave them both panting.  She runs a hand through his hair and rests her forehead against his as she pulls away, pink high on her cheeks.  He nuzzles her nose with his own, that unknown feeling washing over him again as he holds her.

“You know you didn’t have to do all of this.”

“Nah, but I wanted to.  If I could give you the world, I would,” the confession is quiet, barely above a breath, but she hears it nonetheless and places a kiss to his cheek.

“I don’t need the world, you silly sod,” she snorts.  “I’ve seen enough of it to know what I want, and what I want, Cremisius Aclassi, is you.”

[postapocalypse13]

sex as power (#MeToo)

Rape is a political statement. It says: "I am everything. You are nothing." God of Sky and Rain Women hold up half the sky? In His world women hold up the sky. Men sit around, masturbate, watch football, occasionally, go out and rape lowering that small part of the sky. Rose Red I am prickly, admittedly. I come by it rightly. Organically evolved defensive weapon (note, no offensive weapon attached). You must approach me with care. Feel the velvet of my vibrant leaves, gently. My flower, radiant in grace and wonder. Musical poetry wafting, my enchanted perfume calling for the discerning touch. But grasp too hard, too clumsily, without reflection, a thousand tiny cuts push you far away. In no time, you will heal, leaving me to bleed forever, attempting to clear from my system your poisonous residue. Bitter Dregs You don't get it. You don't want to. It would be too much to bear if you let your thought go there. Briefly unconscious, awakened to hard concrete ground surrounded by heels and toes, amazing they don't crush me, but no, like clockstep they walk around though occasionally a(n unmeaning?) shove -- I'm not a someone, just a minor obstacle unnoted in their busy day. No worries. Not like shoved down under hard muscle, jutting bone, stinking of beer and rage; or waking from too brief oblivion, broken pain, bleeding tears, torn, bruised, a colorful toy made for pleasure. Then the voices, echoes. Harpies and Sirens, Furies and sad old women. Fingers shake in disapprobation. Shrill voices call me beautiful, in the way that ugly things are. So bad, so pitiful, cardinal status among the neverweres. Struggling shadows, whispering curses demurely lest anyone notice and throw them further down, below duration. Never easy, confessing degradation. The sin adheres. No one wants to know. logic of rape culture I don't know. Would it be morally acceptable to destroy a person's mind while they sleep, because they'll never know they had one? Would it be morally just fine to cruelly use people's lives while keeping them unconscious without consent or prior knowledge, because unexplained pain won’t rise to legal proof? Is there value placed on personal integrity? Must boundaries that make individual beings complete with self-control, define a zone of self to be respected? Do conscious beings own a right to privacy, a zone of personal integrity, sacred space for self-discovery: “This is mine. This is me.” When we choose to agree for common utility, what inner prize do we remember to defend? Or do we prefer to behave as a bunch of random beasts, subject to convenient moral rules, precepts to defend hierarchy of self-proclaimed reasonable men? I am beginning to think that this whole anti-abortion, anti-contraception idea is about rapists who want to impregnate their victims and then have access to torture them for life. Mighty big hate on. Dazzling glitter of star light is doing its job: distract and divide while they rape, kill and rob. Ascending spiraled steps in hope of eventually reaching a solid surface, more a chore than a mission as we continue inexorably day by day. Or is that eternity by eternity? There's not much choice, as these stairs, though solid and seemingly endless, do not provide enough solidity, enough surface, for other sustained activity. There is not even room to climb by twos, thus enabling the solace of close companionship. Certainly there is no room to make love between, stair to stair, to find what respite or pleasure such loving might provide. Perhaps for some of the more daring an occasional rearguard rape may be accomplished, coming from behind as it were, never seeing the face of the victim, so that's alright. A temporary digression from the rote work, hand over hand, leg up and leg up, monotonous unfulfilling dance. The land, when we found her was warm and inviting. We felt safe, supported, encouraged to grow. We ate of her fruit, fish, herds. We built with her trees, stone and clay. We drank from her beautiful streams which we soiled with our waste. Gaea was saviour and womb. We repaid her with rape. We didn't understand, thought her merely land, thought ourselves masters from afar. Perhaps it is not so much a war on women as another front in the war on people with lesser means. I mean, how dare a woman be raped if she can't afford her own treatment? Women are raped by husbands, strangers, dates, bosses, family members, often seriously injured or killed in the process. Implying we have nothing more serious to protest about than "glass ceilings" is a macabre insult. Small girlchild, rags and dust – follow her morning of traverse, this tiny world allowed. Each tent flap reveals fester of wounds deep and shallow, ravage disease. Senses, thought, subsumed to beat of breath outside rational context. Stuck in the dirt, her worth a hole where she bottoms out, tributary blood expelled. It could be rape; it could be terrifying violence. But you got it wrong. You blamed yourself. And the reasons you got it wrong go back to that world, not to you. Cross Purpose At time's crossroads, Reason drowns in rage, pain, radiated rain, treasonous air. Weary of care, of punishing, bottomless anger, of sobbing men robbed of their right to give birth. Taken from Mama's warmth, from the cave, to play brave. And it's ladies' choice as you squirm in fool's corner. Such a chore -- kissing at this and that for a chance to score the shame, the blame from stuck-out tongues, the bloody laughter "I could bite off that little thing -- make you squat to pee." Wired to fight, at any cost, because, of course, the Cross proclaims "We're right. They are inherently wrong." "Those below must be taught to obey our superior tools, to be broken, that we may ride." Against our better fate, our race divided along strict lines, by difference nature instilled to make us strong Our Gang Outrage Depression facing outward Taking power to give it away. This entrained impulse See them crackling, jangling puppets at puppy play, bite, bark, entangle, grab and tussle, growl, muscle in for the kill. Bloodlust arousal. Natural as puke, as death, violation as violent orgy violation as ecstatic initiation to the brotherhood. Life elevated to dreams, goals, careful weighing of coin and hours, dependable plans, actions that honor can favor, love, duty, allegiance to the rules of sanity and kind regard have no purpose here. Men of blood and battle fluid need no fine speeches, no valor -- only food and receptacles for their waste. Capital Crime Sweet old daddy Doing his will in the night Keeping the mamas afright for the plight of each beloved child, so tender so young He really oughta be hung! so say the neighbors, clicking their tongues Take him to the magistrate Fill his ears with the voice of hate while he's tied, defanged, prostrate Let our will be done! Tie him down in a prison cell Make him feel the wrath of Hell 'til we all are bloody well exhausted of our fun. No need to delete old daddy sweeping shit and burning bones any toil we deem atones to repay society's loans of wicked sowing days assuring he damn well pays for the pain and loss his wicked ways marred our happy homes. Trial It was said, everyone knew, some whispered in my presence, that I was born a bastard of rape. My mother, a pious maiden, in penance gave me into servitude to the Brotherhood. Thus she was allowed to return to her Sisterhood’s life of humble ministration. I never knew her, or have no memory of such an early time in my life. I knew nothing of the treasured childhood that comes with family. I was a low thing, circumscribed by duty. I was educated, taught to read, write, do sums, memorize long passages of scripture, sing in the Holy Choir, take my part in ceremonies, taught for useful service. I was taught to please my masters as my only worth. Any modification to please their plans was my sacred duty to undergo. Any master. Any metamorphosis. Any mutilation. Accept. When he bit me, as the fast-acting soporific emitted from his fangs entered my artery, I hoped this was my end. It wasn’t. He did not drain me, but woke me to force his blood into my sagging mouth to remake me in his image: immortal, powerful, supernatural, outside of the laws of man. I learn to create my own sacred place, free of duty, free of the yoke of belief. I am my own silent sanctuary beyond the touch, the reach of their world. What good am I, have I, what good does it do me to have a conscious me apart from my puppet role, plaything of powerful forces and men? Perhaps after all the trials of my journey, it is enough to have a consciousness that knows me so well and feels a kind of comforting love. Perhaps the kind of love a mother feels for a child she never wanted, who is yet of her, a companion to her trials. They arrive, enter a door next to a large glass window decorated in bright colored paint. It is a portrayal of a man on a cross. Bloody red holes mar his hands and feet. A thorny green crown sits on his head. Inside are cakes and hot black drinks on a short table. A few others are also eating and drinking. On the floor, next to a large, tattered chair, a woman sits, rocks, dirty and worn looking. Her shaking hands make attempts to feed coffee to her lips, but more is spilled on her worn and spattered dress. She has been mumbling incoherently. She is getting louder. Renata starts to make out words. "They fill yer belly with their babies. No more babies. They hurt and make me so sick. The men, they fill me with their nasty liquid babies. They make them grow in me, take over my body, make me sick, and cut so hard to get out. I won't take them, horrid demons. So they throw me back in the street for the men to fill me again, hurt me again. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. No more babies. No more pumping out their nasty babies. I won't. I won't go there. You can't make me leave." She burbles, gasps, cries, mumbles, and repeats her litany. She rocks her body, suckles on her fingers and strands of long, lank hair. She seems in a trance, perhaps poisoned, perhaps cursed. From further back in the room, a man dressed in black, prominently carrying a black book, approaches the group around the table. "Don't mind Betty. She's a hard case. We can't find anywhere that will take her." He seems perturbed by this inconvenience, embarrassed by this woman's plaint. Thoughts of keeping still while learning how to blend in have flown from Renata's mind. She goes quickly, yet with gentle motion, to sit beside this Betty. Close up, she is surprised to see this woman is young, certainly no longer a child, but not the old used up hag she had appeared to be. Her burbling snot and tears mixed with spilled coffee and older stains make her an unappetizing sight. Yet, there is something so fragile, so sad and affecting in her defiantly defeated form, Renata can not help but reach out her arms to comfort. Nobody likes to talk about Betty; but you can bet we cream over her (secretly, all cozy in our beds, in our heads and groins). Nobody likes to admit what casual cruelty we are capable of. Gang-raping children because we can doesn't appeal to our desired self-image. Her mother allowed it in exchange for food, a place to sleep, the blessed drugs to keep away the pain of knowing the endless, hopeless misery life had become. Or, she was alone on that dark street, lost and frightened, with nowhere safe to go, no one protecting her just then. Her sexuality tempted me, in all that frenzy of bonding blood cries, heightened primal energies, hot insistent bodies falling under ritual spell. She is but a sacrifice, a holding cell for sin. There is no freedom for will to grow within her, only unwanted, tainted seed, thrust outward from the nauseous collective psyche to poison her potential. Does she need to be defined by what has been done against her nascent will? Is there salvation in finding a slim, hiding, healthy cutting from her core, carefully planted and watered in hallow grounding? And what of all those other sacrificial lambs? What cosmically sympathetic vibration can be turned to healing, calling forth a will to grow whole, to become one's own desired destiny? Mothers' Night cascading shards uneasy echoes falling "It's our calling." Rape of Earth, hot spurts of words savage knives Abiding Mothers, sacred and mundane twist into harridan cold stars wail, hurtling waves Sad, old, crust of ages sliced, screwed, carved up for profit "It's not the color of the skin, the culture of the smile" the scent of danger, the inborn stranger -- all excuses for Us (superior) and Them (inferior) "They are not like we; but lower curs." we may harm with unfettered glee Cursed to be cut to our requirement. Borders clear "Here, fear fences in our livelihood and wives." Leave THEM to putrid pits cunning jabs, our pleasure. Thus, all treasure that might regale, heal, reveal true worth, of man and Earth sold for pittance of potash to dance a weary jig Post-trauma A child of my own rape, it shaped me, made me less and more Memories stored, to when I can't go on implore: "You'll feel better when you're gone."

[ask-silverfire]

Addictions - 28th June 2017

Rei'ann rested her hands against the banister of the balcony outside the Sunfury Spire. She stared at the Court, observing the passers-by dimly illuminated by the lamps around the buildings. A single cigarette - unlit - dangled between the index and middle fingers of her partially gloved right hand. Occasionally, the odd passing mage would greet her. She spared them a bare glance and a nod in return.

She remained that way for a long time - a living statue, regal and unmoving - as she usually was. Faint lines of fatigue rim the lower lids of her eyes, hooded slightly by long dark lashes. They detract not from the piercing glare, that was never meant to be deliberately penetrating most of the time, but became well utilized for most of her purposes regardless.

There was a certain peace to be found in doing absolutely nothing at times. But there was also a certain hollowness.

Rei'ann heard the sound of familiar footfalls approaching her. She nodded at Narindiel as the younger Magistrix appeared beside her, robes singed and slightly soiled from a very recent mission. Narindiel folded her arms and likewise rested them on the banister, her slightly greater height affording a more hunched posture than Rei'ann.

“I thought you were leaving on a campaign.” Narindiel was the first to break the silence.

Rei'ann’s eyes moved towards Narindiel, impassive as ever. “I’ve been busy.” Narindiel rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, apparently uncaring of who saw them at that time of night. She peered at the fresh cigarette in Rei'ann’s hand.

“You’re not here to convince me to join your cause either, are you?” Rei'ann dryly observed Narindiel’s frown in response to her sudden question. 

“I’d only convince you to do something if I thought it’d be wrong otherwise.” Narindiel replied plainly. There’s something off about her tonight, Rei'ann thought to herself. Narindiel’s usual formal stiffness was not present. She looked as if a certain weight had been lifted off her shoulders, even though a thousand burdens still appeared to occupy her mind, if the shadows around her eyes were anything to speak of.

“Do you think it’s wrong of me not to, then?”

Narindiel straightened herself. She puffed out a tired exhale and shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be what you wanted, because the reasons why it would be are obvious enough.”

“I’m currently committed to another order, one that I tried to commit to before I remarried." 

"And would they understand your difficulty in this commitment, knowing that you are juggling multiple responsibilities at once, including a child?” 

Rei'ann kept her eyes on Narindiel for a moment before she slowly looked away. 

“Why them? We are your family. Who else would you prefer to fight alongside? Who else would you want to protect at your side? It isn’t as if we don’t share the same ideals. Furthermore we’re not under the same constant scrutiny that a number amongst them are, for valid reasons.”

“Windblaze, I left them before, and I returned to them after some measure of convincing for them to allow me to trial once again. It would be more prudent for them to remove me for my inability to commit to their missions, than for me to walk away for a second time. It would reflect badly on me and therefore the name that I carry. At the least if they deemed me unsuitable, then it would be their decision, not mine.”

Narindiel had nought to say against that, though she appeared reticent. After a while, she spoke again.

“Is that the sole reason?”

Rei'ann’s stare hardened. Narindiel stared back, unrelenting in her question. “You’ve been in the background for too long, and for justified reasons. I don’t dispute your longing to return to active duty, because I know you’re not a trophy wife. And I suspect I know your reasons why you’re reluctant-”

“Are you once again presuming to know what I’m thinking, Windblaze?” Rei'ann arched a brow, stare unchanged.

“Yes.” Narindiel refused to back down. “You don’t want to be a trophy wife. You want your autonomy. You don’t want to be a crutch for your husband, whom you know loves you and your children more than his own life. And it’s my duty to tell you that it is all right to be the lifeline for someone, that you’re not alone in being the pillar of support for him. You have the rest of us too. At the very least, we have never left your side, through everything that happened, and he has those who will never leave his either." 

Rei'ann’s demeanour, gaze as penetrating as ever, remained unflinching, even as Narindiel held her eye contact. Somewhere within the depths of the warmage’s chest was a swell of pride, the very same pride she felt when she first saw Narindiel rise above her in strength, and in both political and magical power. It was the same pride she felt when she saw Sylvarys and Natsanna climb their way up their respective ladders in the Spire and the Sunreavers, becoming powerful magi in their own ways. It was the same pride she felt when she watched her own son step up to become Lord for a short while, demonstrating his own talents, without Illethiann or herself ever needing to resort to the harsh methods they themselves were subjected to when they were younger.

But Narindiel, though honorable in her intentions, though good was her heart, was wrong in her presumption.

Although there was a certain peace to be found in doing absolutely nothing at times,  there was also a certain hollow sensation. At times, doing absolutely nothing meant to save an explanation, and allow the other party their misguided train of thought. It made life easier for everyone. Rei'ann would not have to show her own vulnerability. She could not afford to.

Thus, she allowed her expression to soften - forced it to, as she easily could, when she wanted. "I’ll bear that in mind,” was the succinct reply she gave Narindiel.

She felt the blood mage’s eyes on her back as she left, knowing that Narindiel suspected the authenticity of her answer, but also knowing that she would not pursue it, at least not for now.

…

Iridiel Sunglance’s coffin caught the stars’ reflection, in addition to the single lamp that gently illuminated the surrounding patio. The peaceblooms bowed gently in the breeze coming from the sea. The body -preserved by enchantments - appeared to be sleeping.

It was a fitting place of rest for a selfless wife, mother and daughter.

“Don’t be like me.”

Rei'ann could count the few times she said this to those whom she cared about, especially Taryane and Narindiel, when she saw them treading the same paths as herself, in becoming the people they were. 

Although there was a certain peace to be found in doing absolutely nothing at times,  there was also a certain hollow sensation.

And so she discouraged them from the same attitudes, the same trains of thought. She counseled where she could, where her counsel was wanted. 

Amidst her upbringing, Rei'ann was taught to be selfish in order to be selfless. “You cannot rule a House if you cannot look after those within it. You cannot look after those within it if you cannot protect it. You cannot protect if you are yourself vulnerable. Never be vulnerable. Never be weak. If you know you are weak, you will never show it." 

She could not remember the former Lady Silverfire, her grandmother. She never existed when she was born. Died, it was said, when she birthed her father - unusual for an elf to die from such a cause, but no one questioned it. She remembered her mother, from her early childhood, who gradually became a non-entity as she grew older, kept away from her for fear of ruining the esteemed way a Silverfire was brought up.

Rei'ann’s greatest desire was to see her family thrive and live. It was her purpose to protect House and home, to protect their land. Even if she gave her life to do so, she would have fulfilled her purpose. Her grandfather, though he showed no affection, did not mean that he did not care about the same.

While Rei'ann knew both her father and grandfather loathed her mother, she  wondered for the first time, whether her grandfather ever loved her grandmother when she was alive.

She wondered for the first time, how her grandfather would have reacted if he had survived the Fall. He could not have protected his entire House and home against the Scourge, but he did protect part of it, by establishing a a part of his household elsewhere. It was because of him that Rei'ann and many others, including Narindiel, still lived today.

Narindiel was wrong in her presumption that Rei’ann feared being a crutch for Illethiann.

It was Rei'ann herself who feared that Illethiann had become a crutch for herself, to the point that she could not imagine a life without him. To the point that when the time came, she would not be able to let go, that she could not fulfill her purpose because of her emotions.

Her emotions that made her try to find her ex-husband when he disappeared, bringing unwanted side effects to her son. Nivendi’en’s condition was her fault.

Her emotions that saw her try to protect Narindiel when the latter lost her temper and nearly killed them both.

Her emotions that prompted her to find Vellidan to track down a demon in order to save Illethiann's life, at any cost, completely disregarding her own safety at that time.

“Don’t be like me.”

Rei’ann brought the unlit cigarette to her lips. It ignited at the end and smouldered.

Don’t be a coward like me, too proud, too broken, too full of regrets, too torn between tradition and reality. Too undeserving of a husband who does not fear like I do.

She took a deep drag.

Be like Iridiel.

She held her breath, letting the familiar burning sensation penetrate her airways, before exhaling a stream of smoke. She eyed the cigarette.

Is a bad habit stronger than myself?

She pondered the question.