#It was stuff in a sketch book for years after being tapped to my brother's ceiling for like 10 years

[awkwardsonicphotos]

Cyber-Flight has your answer dotheastro. 

[shigarakis-fifth-hand]

Shigaraki x Todoroki!Reader; The Mask

Enjoy the series!<3 one two three four five six seven

Warnings: Extreme abuse, blood, murder, mental issues, cursing

You’ll never forget when your entire life changed for the better. The day you found your purpose, your meaning, your new family.

It all started Friday night, your least favorite night. Your father Endeavor came home early to rest every Friday to check up on your training. Over the week you were required to train 10 hours a day, eat exactly 1700 calories, and to have straight 100′s as grades. Of course, it was almost impossible to maintain such a lifestyle as a 17-year-old, but again, your father was not only the cruelest man alive, but also the 1# hero Endeavor. We’re you almost old enough to leave him? Yes, but at the same time, he would never let you do so. He owned you.

That’s when he first burned your hip.

Your siblings were Natsuo who was 25, Fuyumi who was 27, Shoto who was 20, and lastly your missing brother Touya. Sweet… sweet Touya. Over the years of having children, your father had tried to build the perfect child but had always failed. Fuyumi had been weak, Natsuo had been too kind to hurt a soul, and Shoto was too rebellious against your father. You would be too, but Endeavor had done everything to keep you “right”. 

You were allowed no socializing on the any day except Sunday, you were kept on a tight schedule of modeling, tutoring, interviews, studying, and training, and your father watched you like a hawk.

With you being the last child, he could not mess up with you. You would be the next All Might if it was the last thing he did. He hit you more than any of his children, tortured you more than the rest, and yelled at you more than any of them. And all of your siblings knew that, crying themselves to the sleep at the thought of your bruised and burnt up torso. 

Your father could never touch your face, you did modeling after all. Nobody could know the awful mental issues you had, or the trauma that had scarred you for life. To the public, he wanted you to be the perfect child. Beautiful… brilliant… and powerful. 

God were you ever so powerful.

You took after your brother Shoto, possessing the power to control fire and ice. You could catch things on fire or ice them when you touched things, and once you did, you could control it with your mind. If you tapped the floor with your bare feet, you could start a fire and decide where it went and what it did. You could make it chase someone, make it form a heart, and eventually… kill someone. 

With the power to control it’s movement, you could control the temperature of it as well. You could catch someone on fire and then make it reach over 500 degrees in an instant.

Endeavor loved it, seeing you impress even his fellow pro heroes. Your control over it was amazing, and you were beyond the best they had ever seen. You were a model too, and goodness were you pretty. You had short white hair that went to your shoulders, piercing blue eyes, and beautiful skin. You had been born with red streaks in your hair, but had bleached them out of anger when your father had hit you for not wanting to train. 

You only wanted to have the hair of your mother.

He had knocked the wind out of you with a hard punch to the gut and then burnt your side hip to a crisp when kicked you. “Stand up Shiro. Prove yourself.” He yelled as you used the staircase to pull yourself to your feet, almost falling over in pain. It hurt so much to stand. “Good, now feel the consequences.” As he said that, he pushed you down on your hip, watching as you screamed in pain.

That was the day you ran out of the house, and into the nearby alley, ducking behind a dumpster to breathe. Immediately, you began to switch to a different mindset. You didn’t have DID, but you weren’t normal. One moment, you were crying, and the next you were angry. The next moment, your thoughts would jumble together and you would crave revenge in the form of violence. You had terrible anger issues and a taste of violence, taking after your old man. 

Sure, you were the sweetest thing, but sometimes… you could be cruel, evil, and a demon to be around. But only when you were alone in your thoughts would you allow yourself such cravings as shooting a gun at a bulls-eye in self-defense training, or “accidentally” tripping one of your friends down the stairs.

At those moments, you felt no pity, no love, and definitely no shame in your actions. And outside of those episodes as you called it, you tried your best to ignore it. You weren’t going to stop yourself, because the more you held back, the more destruction you would cause. 

And you didn’t want that, because outside of those episodes, you were sweet, innocent, even fragile. You hated seeing wounded animals, hated seeing your friend get a paper cut, and you never understood your friend’s dirty jokes. You knew what sex was, but why would you want it? 

You had never even felt romantic feelings for someone.

So there you were… sitting behind a dumpster, crying. Pathetic. “Heyyy. Pretty lady. What are you doing out here? Need some help?” A college-aged man started walking towards you, two of his friends following behind. The smell of smoke and alcohol radiating off of them. 

“No, leave me alone.” You insisted, hugging your knees and barely even paying attention as you tried to contain your thoughts about your father, and the searing pain in your hip. It burned like crazy. “But why, you’re pretty and crying. We’re bored and here to help.” 

They kept walking as you looked up at them, shocked and a little scared as they were very close now. “Don’t come any closer! I’m warning you!” You stood up, even though they had you backed up against the dumpster and wall. “Aww, don’t be scared. Now let’s see what’s under that pretty dress of yo-”

In that moment, you sent a spear of ice through the man’s heart, blood splattering all over you in the moment. “W-what?! Hiromi?! Man, this bitch is bat-shit crazy!” As the guys were about to run, you did what your instincts told you. You sent ice spearing through their torsos too, sending them both to the ground. Slowly you walked over to them, rain starting to fall on your head. “I warned you, didn’t I?” You asked, stepping on one of them as they pleaded for you not to kill them. 

��I’m not killing you. I’m just… letting you out of your misery.” Before the rain could start, you set them all on fire. Hearing their blood-curdling screams, you smiled. How nice. They’d be dead before the rain could pick up. Walking down the alleyway, you listened to their screaming of pure music to your ears. You loved every bit of it.

In that moment, your entire life changed. You began your journey on your way to your true passion. You were able to get yourself a custom mask from a shady store in the down-country, and started your new life. Whenever you got bored or your father pissed you off, you would slip on the mask, pull up your hair into your hoodie, and kill. 

Your mask was amazing too. It was a bright red gas mask, which hid your entire face except for one of your blazing blue eyes. It was amazing, watching your victims stare at your one eye as you killed them. They were looking into the same eye as the pro hero Endeavor, your father, and that made you smile. The man who made your life hell had made the latest and greatest new villain in town.

“Again? God, when I get my hands on you I’m going to make you pay!” Endeavor yelled at the tv in his office, sitting at his desk with his feet held high. You were sitting in the chair against the wall near him, sketching in your book. Your father had brought you to work to meet your future teachers, since there was a villain on the loose and he didn’t want you at UA, one of the main targets. Little did he know she was right next to him. 

“What are you talking about Dad?” You asked, looking up from your book. Unlike your siblings, your father made you call him that, since none of his children had ever called him anything near it. He had said it showed that you saw him as a father figure, respected him, loved him, saw him as a caregiver, and gave you an innocent appeal that contradicted your powerful and aggressive quirk. The word had lost any meaning to it.

“Shiro, this villain will be your competitor when you become a pro hero. Look at them. Sources say they’re known for burning their victims bodies so we cannot find fingerprints, or anything. We don’t have a face to go with it, or even a picture of them in general. The only thing is that they believe it may be a female based on the laugh heard, and that they wear a bright red gas mask to hide their identity. It’s brilliant!”

“This bitch has killed over 75 people, and has burnt over 2 million in property damage. This is next level stuff for one person. If we can’t take them down, you will have to.” Endeavor sat back in his chair, returning to his computer. That was about the amount of conversation you would have with him on the weekly.

That was, until you heard an explosion outside, and yelling. Running to the window and standing on your tip toes, you looked out to see the League of Villains on the streets, all running around. Blue flames circled the streets, and you wanted to go join. You had your hoodie and mask in your back pack, and you wanted to get in on the fun, get some promo on the news. The very thought of people seeing your one blue eye was exciting, and sent shivers down your spine. 

“Dad, let’s go o-” You were dragged from the window and thrown to the ground. “Get under the desk Shiro! Don’t be an idiot!” He yelled, not caring that you had hurt your ankle in that moment. With hesitation, you walked behind the desk, bringing your bag with you. “Good, now don’t move. Remember, you don’t get to fight professional villains until you’re a pro yourself.” Endeavor explained, picking up a few things to bring with him downstairs. 

“I don’t want to be a hero.” You mumbled, rocking back and fourth as you held your legs. “What did you say to me?” He screamed angrily as you looked up, not knowing that he heard you. “N-no! Dad! I didn’t- I didn’t mean to say that. I just- eck!” You screamed as his hand came to hit your face, leaving a large bruise. 

“Don’t you dare bitch! You don’t get to say what you want and don’t want! I wanted a son, but look at what I got! Now you’re going to fucking listen!” His hand came to punch the other side of your face, knocking your head into the desk. 

“Fuck, if I had a belt I would whip you senseless.” He murmured as you started crying. “I-I’m sorry… just stop…” You cried, trying to hide your face between your knees. “Oh I’m not letting you get off this easy! Your brother said the same thing, and I’m not making the same mistake again!” 

As you tried to hide, he grabbed a box-cutter off his desk and sent it into your hip. “Now don’t you try to leave this room.” He mumbled, walking out without hesitation, leaving you to bleed on his floor. 

The cut was deep, and you were loosing blood fast.

Only being able to listen to the outside, you could hear the commotion calm down within minutes before your old man walked in. “Get up. Your future UA teachers will be here in five minutes. Put your jacket around your waist.” He threw it at you as you picked yourself up. “Don’t speak unless you’re told to. Got it?” He asked as you slowly nodded, trying to pull yourself together and wipe the tear marks away before two men stepped through the door. 

One had black hair and a man bun, and the other had long blonde hair that he kept down. You recognized them immediately. Radio sensation, UA teacher and pro hero Present Mic with his husband Eraserhead, who was a UA teacher and a low key pro hero as well. 

“Ahh, Shiro! We’ve heard so much about you! Hello!” Present Mic came to shake my head as you shook his, still shaking as Aizawa looked at my bruise. “Ahh, I… fell.” You hesitated, laughing as the two smiled nervously. These two worked with kids… so could they sense your fear. Could they help you?

“Um, let’s sit. Of course you were recommended, but I’d love to see your quirk in more action.” Aizawa motioned to your father’s couch as you all began to walk over there. But in the moment, your jacket fell off your waist, showing your crisped and bloody t-shirt from your father earlier. You could see the burn mark of a hand print even. “Oh my god! Shiro dear!” Present Mic got up to help you before you pushed him away gently. “I fell earlier! If you’ll excuse me I’ll just be a minute!” You rushed out of the room, leaving the jacket on the floor as you grabbed your backpack and sprinted out. You had to get out of the there, to take a break from your father. 

You didn’t care if it ruined your shots at UA or gave you a bad reputation with your teachers early on. You refused to sit there and bleed while they talked about your future. 

As you were waiting for the bathroom, you looked outside to see the League of Villains within the forest. Without thinking, you ran outside and into the forest after them. You didn’t know why, but it felt like destiny was calling you. That was, until you saw Best Jeanist sneaking up on one of the members. 

He had black pointy hair and wore a cloak-like jacket that was also black. Very emo. Slipping on your mask and hoodie before anyone could spot you, you snuck up behind him. Just as Best Jeanist was about to attack and spit cloth strings around Dabi, you tapped your foot, sending ice to Best Jeanist to freeze him like an ice cube. 

“Look out!” You screamed as he turned around to see the frozen pro. “Huh.” He whispered to himself, before turning to face you. With a clear view of you, he could see the red gas mask and knew that you were the one who the news networks had been talking about non-stop. The lonesome villain with a fantastic kill list. But… then he looked closer. He saw how on your hip was burnt to a crisp from someone’s hand, the bruise on your one eye, your bright white hair, and… the bright blue eye. After adding everything together, he realized something. 

“Shiro.” He whispered in shock, before you feel to your knees due to dizziness.

[tibbinswrites]

Suptober Day 25 - Tattoos

“I want a tattoo,” Cas said one morning, completely out of the blue and while Dean was still dangerously in his first sips of his first coffee.

“You’ve got tattoos.” Dean bit back grumpily, though Cas knew better than to take his ire seriously before ten am.

“Yes. I want another one.”

“Okay...” Dean drew out the word like he was waiting for Cas’ point.

“Can I?”

Dean snorted and placed his mug down on the table, “I’m not your mother, Cas. You’re a grown ass practically immortal being. If you want a tattoo you don’t need my permission.”

“I know, but… would you help me? I don’t want to end up disappointed and I don’t know how to tell if a parlour is a good one or not.”

Dean squinted at him through the steam from his coffee, considering.

“Sure,” he said. Go grab my laptop, we can have a look around.”

Xxx

Dean was almost done with his mug and a lot more cheerful when Cas returned a few minutes later, he took the laptop and flipped it open, searching for nearby tattoo parlours and going onto their various websites.

“I don’t suppose sanitation really matters to you,” Dean said, flipping through some pictures of a studio before dismissing it. “Seeing as you can’t get infected and all, but it says a lot about how much a place cares about the art it makes. If you can stumble in there at three am and demand Bob Ross’ face on your ass then you’re not in the right place.”

“Why would anyone-?”

“People.” Dean answered with a shrug. “Those are the kind of places we went to get these,” he gestured at his chest, “but these are practical, they just had to be copied from a drawing we supplied, if you want an actual design, you need to find an actual artist, not just someone with a tattoo gun who can draw hearts and fancy swirls and a passable wolf.”

Cas wrinkled his nose at the thought. He did want a proper design, something beautiful, something meaningful, something his. But the task seemed monumental for him let alone a stranger.

“Here are the ones that look decent.” Dean said a few minutes later, showing Cas a set of six tabs. “What do you want to get anyway?”

“I don’t know.” Cas said, feeling touched that Dean was walking him through this but overwhelmed as he clicked on the first tab and a slew on images popped up. “How am I supposed to choose?”

Surprisingly, instead of mocking him, Dean smiled and shuffled his chair closer so he could see the screen too.

“Look through the artist portfolios,” he directed, pointing to the option at the top of the screen. “Most will have links to their own websites with more of their work. You’re not looking for the perfect design, just the perfect style. Some are better at portraits, others at more geometric stuff, some do different things with colour. You can narrow it down by crossing out the ones you don’t like.”

Cas nodded solemnly and turned his attention back to the screen. The first artist had lots of strong black lines and straight edges. The second a lot of portraits, neither of which really appealed to him.

He seemed to search for hours. Dean was refilling his coffee when Cas found what he was looking for.

“This one.” Cas said, looking up to see Dean jump at his voice. “I want her.” He tried to keep his tone neutral but from the slight crinkle at the edge of Dean’s eyes he hadn’t been able to hide the excitement in his voice.

“Alright, let’s take a look.” Dean said, leaving his mug at the machine and coming over to look at the screen over Cas’ shoulder. “Nice,” he agreed.

Castiel felt a warm buzzing in his stomach, he was glad that Dean liked it too. The image on the screen was a rose, not what Cas was looking for really, delicately done, with a fine outline, but it was the colours that were magical; midnight blue and deep, rich purples blended in the petals, with a shimmer that looked almost metallic, smudging across the lines slightly, not enough to ruin the image but just enough to be imperfect, to feel right.

Castiel booked a consultation for the following week.

Xxx

Cas sat in the waiting room of the tattoo parlour, tapping his foot nervously while Dean sat next to him. Dean had insisted on coming with him and Castiel hadn’t thought to object, the last time he’d gotten a tattoo he’d been alone, and although the pain was minimal compared to some of the torments he’d endured as an angel, experiencing it as human pain was different and he had wished for company, even if Dean only would have mocked him and compared him to an infant.

“What if it turns out bad?” He asked quietly, “I still have no idea what I want, what if I can’t think of anything? What if she doesn’t have the right colours, or-”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted patiently, “it’s just a consultation, no needle is getting near your skin without your say so. If she draws you something and you don’t like it, she’ll change it for you. If she doesn’t have the colours she’ll order them in and we can go back when she’s got ’em. If you don’t have any ideas we can talk it out. It’s gonna be fine”

Cas was grateful for the reassurance, but he was still nervous nonetheless. He just didn’t want to be disappointed. This felt important and he didn’t want to mess it up by choosing the wrong thing. The artist, Giva Chaudhary, was exceptionally talented, but none of the images in her portfolio had really spoken to him. He was worried that they would get there and she would be unable to produce the thing he wanted on his skin forever and he would either have to go home with nothing, or settle for something that was less than perfect.

“Mr Novak?”

Miss Chaudhary was a small woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties, her black hair was bound in a long plait and she had a smile that seemed almost too large for her face.

“Yes.” Castiel said, standing to shake her hand. “Miss Chaudhary, you work is beautiful.”

“Well thank you, but don’t bother with the ‘miss’, Giva is fine.”

“Cas,” Cas offered, and then, because Dean was leaning to shake her hand too. “This is Dean, a friend.”

“Moral support?” Giva asked, her dark eyes twinkling, “Understandable, a first tattoo can be a scary business.”

“It’s not his first,” Dean said immediately, “but this one’s important, he wants it to be right.”

Giva nodded and gestured them to sit, she did as well, laying a sketchbook and some pencils on the table in between them.

“So, Cas, do you know what you’d like?”

Cas felt himself flushing and stammered out an apology which Giva waved away, “Not a problem, that’s what these talks are for, yes? If we don’t figure it out today you can always come back another time. So what drew you to my work in particular?”

So Cas told her, he answered her questions and looked through her books. She made some further sketches as he talked, of nothing in particular, nothing important, and so her sketches, while lovely, were nothing like what he was looking for. Dean was quiet throughout, Cas kept glancing at him to gauge his reaction to each piece but he remained stubbornly neutral. This only added to his confusion, how was he supposed to decide if he didn’t know if Dean would like it or not?

“I wonder if I might ask your friend to go and get us some sandwiches from across the street.” Giva said after thirty minutes of light conversation and not much progress.

Dean was reluctant, but agreed when Cas nodded to him and left with a significant ‘call me if you need me’ look.

The second the door closed, Giva let out a long sigh. “Perhaps you can speak more easily now,” she said. “I notice you very much want his approval.”

“I trust his judgement,” Cas said, carefully.

“I don’t doubt his judgement, only that in this case, his opinion matters less than yours. He will approve the most if you’re happy.” Giva said with a kind smile, as though she saw this kind of thing all the time.

“You care for him deeply,” she said

“I-” there was no sense in denying it. “Yes. Dean and I… we’ve been through a lot.”

“Tell me,” Giva said, sitting back in her chair, sketchbook at the ready.

Cas cleared his throat.

“Err… Well… I suppose you could say I come from a very strict background,” he began, picking his words carefully. “When I first met Dean, more than a decade ago now, I pulled him from a dark place; it was a duty for me at the time, to keep an eye on him, look out for him and his brother, to try and keep them on the righteous path. Dean… Dean disliked being led.” He felt a small smile tugging at his lips. “I found myself admiring that, helping him more that I was supposed to and as I grew closer to Dean, I began to see my family for what they truly were. They tried to get me back, keep be under their control but I fought for my freedom because Dean showed me how.”

“Freedom is an important thing.” Giva said encouragingly as she sketched, “Worth fighting for. But it can be difficult if family disagrees with your choices.”

“I made many mistakes that I can never redeem.” Cas said, “A lot of bad decisions that got people hurt. Dean forgave me even when he had every right not to, while my family betrayed me, cast me out, hunted me.”

“A fall from grace, sounds like.” Giva muttered, Cas looked up sharply but the petite woman wasn’t even looking at him, she was focused on her sketch.

“That would be… incredibly accurate.”

“So why the tattoo now?” Giva asked, her pencil stilling for a moment, “This is your first important one, but you waited ten years?”

Cas tilted his head, formulating his answer before speaking, looking down at his own hands, “For years after I met Dean, my body didn’t feel like my own. Like it was someone else’s and I was just stealing his life. It has taken me a long time to… settle into my own skin, as it were. These clothes are his but they fit me now and so have become mine. My other tattoos are copies, but this will be the first thing about my body that isn’t inherited.”

Giva nodded again and asked nothing more, continuing to sketch in silence, she tore three separate pages from her notebook when she was done and laid them out one by one.

Cas didn’t even look at the third sketch, the second one was perfect.

Xxx

“So I drive all this way and I have to drive all the way back again in four days but you’re not gonna tell me what you’re getting?”

“I don’t want you to see it before it’s done.” Cas said, holding Giva’s sketch tightly to his chest. Before Dean had come back in with sandwiches, they had discussed minor tweaks and colours and Giva had given him the sketch to look over in case he wanted to change anything else before his appointment, she assured him that even the day of, if there was anything that he wasn’t certain of it could be changed to his liking as long as he told her before she got her needles out. In fact, all Dean knew about the piece was that it was going to be large and on his back, and that they would probably need more than one appointment to get it all done.

“If it’s Bob Ross’ face, I’m disowning you.” Dean griped.

“You don’t own me,” Cas pointed out. “So disowning me would be pointless.” And then, “and it’s nobody’s face.”

Xxx

It was worth the wait. That was all Dean could think a few weeks later when Cas dropped his shirt so that Dean could see the healed and completed piece. No wonder Giva had looked so pleased with herself after Cas’ last session, no wonder Cas had been beaming through red eyes.

Wings.

If Cas had asked his opinion he’d have said perhaps a little on the nose but he would have been eating those words.

They covered almost the entirety of Cas’ back with anatomically correct (he was assuming) detail but they were by no means static, the top half was full and thick with shimmering feathers, so dark they were almost black, but whatever ink Giva used caught the light, sending beautiful tones of blue, green, purple and magenta skittering across them. They swept down the curve of Cas’ spine where the feathers began to thin, hints of red and orange entered the mix, not enough to take away from the beauty of the above, just a subtle transition where some of the feathers were burning and curling into ash, then further down still those burnt and falling feathers twisted in the air, transforming into butterflies the same colour as the healthy feathers that weaved around the now bare bones of the wings.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “Cas, they’re incredible.”

“I can’t manifest my wings,” Cas said quietly, “but I want you to see them as I see them. They are perhaps the thing I miss most about my old life; the symbol of what I was, powerful and grand and sure. But I’m not bound by their rules anymore. And what I am has changed into something more compressed, more human but infinitely more free. That transformation is largely because of you, Dean, and I can’t thank you enough.”

Dean barely realised he had reached forward to touch one of the burning feathers until Cas shivered under his touch, his fingers followed the wings in their progression, along their changes, they followed Cas’ story and he was the one who should be thanking Cas for letting him be a part of it. Without thinking, he dropped his lips to Cas’ shoulder and pressed them there. Cas turned to meet him and their mouths fitted together like they were made to, like they had done this before a thousand times, like, perhaps, they should have.

@winchester-reload

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[mysweetestcreature]

Tomorrow Never Knows (President!Harry) Chapter 8: Head Over Feet

(Banner by the wonderful noblewomankat!)

***

Masterlist

***

Thursday, November 13, 2008

In the heat of the blistering summer just before the start of ninth grade, Y/n had experienced her first kiss. It really isn’t anything she would brag about –– she might say that it doesn’t count at all –– just a measly three seconds of her nervous and shaky lips grazed against the red Gatorade doused mouth of Zachary de Gala during a harmless round of spin the bottle. Not much of that night was memorable, maybe with the exception of the cheesiest pizza she’d ever had the pleasure of stuffing down her throat (but that’s an entirely different love affair to be discussed at a later date). 

Her second kiss...well, it was more of an almost second kiss, one that had been interrupted by a cute little six-year-old with an addiction to Neapolitan cupcakes and a knack for capturing the attention of every soul in the room. From the top to bottom of her smallest nail, that’s how close their lips had been to touching. If her brother had only interrupted them two seconds later, or if she’d been even the slightest bit more audacious with her actions, she’s almost certain that it would’ve happened. She still thinks about it quite often, even though she knows that she probably shouldn’t. After all, past is past. Right? 

But every time Harry’s cheeks would dimple, or his eyes would light up at the mention of particularly historic play by the Green Bay Packers, all she can do is sigh to herself because he really is so darn handsome. She just wishes she could do more with how she feels than keep these thoughts so kept that it’s only a matter of time until she loses her mind. 

Her dad, on the other hand, has no problem talking on and on. The way they intrigue about football and World War 2 (she had no idea that Jeremy was so knowledgeable on anything besides computers and NFL players), an outsider would think they’ve known each other for years. And maybe she shouldn’t be feeling a slight pang of jealousy with how easy the two have gotten on. After all, Jeremy had been ready to shut the door in his face when all Harry had wanted was to apologize to her for that pesky misunderstanding. 

Taking that into consideration, she would have never thought they’d be in this place not even a month later. She’s completely torn about how to act with Harry sitting so close beside her with her parents (and Mason) surrounding them at the dinner table. 

“You know, the Packers are playing on Thanksgiving this year,” Jeremy starts, twirling the seafood linguine around his fork. Y/n pauses just as her own utensil clinks between her teeth, eyes darting to her father as he continues to speak. “If you and your family aren’t doing anything, we would love to have you join us. It would be great to have someone to watch the game with who isn’t under four feet.” 

“Really?” Harry gasps, and the crevices in his cheeks concave once more. 

Y/n chokes down a gulp of water, just barely able to stop herself before she spits all her mouth’s contents onto her mom’s plate across from her. Three pair of eyes land on her –– the fourth and smallest pair staring intently at a noodle as it shrinks away through his lips –– and Harry is the one to lightly pat her on the back until the fit of coughs whimpers down. 

“Are you alright?” his eyebrows lift up in concern. Unable to say anything in return, she simply nods and strokes down on his arm as though to tell her that everything is fine. 

Olivia doubles up in amusement but shields it away with the use of a napkin. As if anything could ever be kept from a mother, it’s a lesson every parent will come to understand once they have kids. “That sounds like a great idea!” she elates, but she remains glued to the image the two teenagers exchanging bashful grins as they recoil touches under her husband’s watchful eye. “What do you think, Mase?” 

Face covered in an abundance of marinara sauce, the little boy perks up and displays his teeth for everyone to see. His mom rolls her eyes, taking a napkin and giving him a good wipe down until only the dried streaks remain. Mason grunts, pouting as he tries to break free of the attack. She turns back to the rest of the table. “Hard to say no to a face like this, huh?”

***

“I knew you were into art and stuff, but wow,” Harry stares in awe at all the sketches and paintings that adorn the walls of her bedroom. From pieces he’s seen her work on during lunch, to new and surprising scenes decorated on canvas, he can feel a part of her in each one. “Hey,” he smiles, stopping to admire one in particular. “You finally finished it.” He’d never say it out loud, but something about it makes him feel nostalgic, brightened. It’s almost like he’d seen this image in a book, or maybe in person if he can only remember when and where. 

He looks over his shoulder, only to find her in a complete daze as she stares ahead without true intent. “Y/n?” No answer. Only the sound of gentle inhales through the nose is what keeps the room from drifting into barren silence. The look on her face is far too serious, like all her energy is being channeled into such deep and unwavering concentration. Slowly making his way towards her, he ducks his head lower, trying to intercept the line of her gaze. 

“Wha-” her eyes blink furiously as she snaps out of her trance. For a moment she almost forgets where she is. She shakes her head as to rid herself of the confusion, suddenly becoming aware of all that’s around her. As she meets Harry’s eyes, her lips turn up ever so delicately. “Did you say something?” 

A cheeky smirk spreads across his face. “Only the plans for my next murder,” and he taps the underside of her chin, then curls his finger along the edge. 

“As long as you don’t make me dig up the grave, I won’t say a thing,” she says with a tilt of the head. They hold the gaze, finding comfort in the silence that falls between them. 

Would right now be the best time to ask her? After all, he’s rehearsed it over a dozen times in front of Maxxie (and Cici when she’s not in one of her moods). There’s just an overwhelming desire that blasts through him like lightning, only this keeps occurring whenever he’s able to hold her or even just be a few inches away. He’s pathetic, he knows that, and maybe half of their grade knows it as well. But he could care less what anyone thinks because he hasn’t felt so content ever in his life. 

“I wanted to ask you something,” he begins, slowly lowering his hand from her face until it’s relaxed in his front pocket. 

She cocks an eyebrow as she falls back to sit on the bed. “And what’s that?” she wonders, crossing her legs under her bottom. He lets out a nervous chuckle as he sits beside her. It feels strange to him, the mattress beneath him is almost too soft under his weight. He bounces a bit, as though to test its form as a possible cloud. To be honest, he’s never really stayed so long in a girl’s room before, let alone make himself comfortable on her bed. 

“So, you know how there’s this...you know, this thing next month,” he blushes, already feeling his nerves begin to startle him. 

“Go on,” she prods, doing her utmost best to hide her eagerness. 

The back of his hand brushes along where her knee touches the side of his thigh like a feather. His mouth quirks to the side as he looks up from his actions.

Her eyes gleam with an innocent curiosity, as she gnaws on her bottom lip. She bops her head in anticipation. “C’mon! Don’t just leave me hanging!” And she nudges playfully pushes on his arm. 

“Well, I just wanted to know if you’d maybe consider–”

“Hey, I just packed your bike in the trunk. Are you ready to go?” 

His eyes squeeze shut as his head drops in mild annoyance. They turn to Jeremy leaning coolly in the doorway, his keys dangling from his pointer finger, legs crossed at the ankles. Harry is almost positive that he’d been listening in the hallway, there’s just no chance that he’d be so unfortunate to get interrupted, now of all times. But he’s also become exceedingly paranoid since spending so much time home alone. 

Y/n looks between Harry and her dad. “Um...” she sounds, “Just tell me tomorrow in Algebra?” 

***

Friday, November 14, 2008

“Do you want to go to the dance with me?” 

“There’s a formal in a few weeks, right? Would you want to go...as my date?”

“I was thinking that it would be pretty cool if we went to formal together. What do you say?”

“If you were planning on going to the dance, maybe you’d want to go with me?”

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever hated himself more than he does right now. It’s bad enough that it started raining halfway on his bike ride to school (and that’s not even mentioning how damn cold it is outside), but he thinks the worst part is being put in an all too familiar position. The last time he’d hesitated with Y/n, she hadn’t spoken more than a few words to him over the course of two weeks. Of course, he has a certain red-headed cheerleader to thank for that, but he won’t mention her name at this time. Except now it’s like every single word to leave his mouth makes him want to knock himself over on the head.

The goal is to be straightforward, but he also wants to make his proposal at least somewhat romantic. That’s what every girl wants, right? To be treated well and make this kind of thing memorable? He’d seen a few of the seniors with posters and large bouquets of flowers for their girlfriends when they’d ask them. Does Y/n expect that kind of gesture? Or would that be too much considering he still hasn’t told her that he likes her beyond the boundaries of simple friendship? 

“Just end me,” he groans, banging his head against his locker door. “Put me out of my misery.” The cool metal will at least soothe his aching head as he comes up with a better way to ask her to the dance. How hard can it be, really? It’s not as though he hasn’t had any experience at all. There have been at least a few times where he’d asked a girl he liked to the mall or ice cream or a middle school dance. Why is this any different? Actually, he knows why, but he refuses to say it out loud in fear that he’ll end up jinxing it all. 

“There you are!” 

“Shh!” he hushes, covering his eyes with his forearm. Now really isn’t the best time, not when he’s desperate to get himself together by second period. “Not too loud, aye? I already have a migraine.” 

Maxxie retreats a few steps back, shifting his weight from side to side. “Okay then...” he says unsurely, digging the toes of his shoes into the freshly waxed floor. “I was just going to ask if you were ready for today? Because the bus is leaving in like twenty minutes so...”

“Excuse me?” Harry’s jaw drops, snapping his head up to look at his friend. “Why am I getting on a bus?” 

“Debate with Bayview? Literally all Mr. G’s been talking about for weeks? Pretty important?” 

Harry rummages through his bag for his planner. “That’s next week, though!” He swears he has it marked on the twenty-first of the month! This just can’t be right! He’s usually so on top of these things because of all the activities he’d been taken on since the start of the year. The competition isn’t meant to happen until the... “You’ve got to be shitting me...” Next time he’ll be sending alerts to his phone. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot! You’re literally the best one on the team! Dude, tell me we’ll win this!” Maxxie begins to panic as he brings his fingers to his mouth and bites anxiously on his nails.

“Chill, will you? It’s not that I’m worried about,” Harry sighs heavily, closing the book harshly and tossing it aimlessly into his bag. 

Maxxie pats his friend on the back. “No luck, I’m guessing?”

“It’s like her family knows when I’m about to do something! First when I wanted to kiss her, then when I was going to ask her to formal,” Harry shakes his head as he shuts his locker. He checks the time on his watch, another heavy sigh puffing out of him. “Hopefully we’ll get back before lunch.”

***

“The U.S. Supreme Court has legalized gay marriage, but the issue is still widely debated across the country. At the center of the debate are what the true definition of marriage is and whether gay couples are permitted the same rights and benefits as married heterosexual couples. Some question whether this is a legal issue or a religious issue.”

Harry stands at the podium that oversees the entire auditorium. So many eyes watching him as though he were a caged creature at the zoo. To his left, he sees his teammates, all signaling him their signs of encouragement. The papers in his hands contain all the factual evidence he’ll need to support his argument, but it doesn’t make the constriction in his chest feel any less prominent. 

*** She hadn’t thought much of it when Harry hadn’t been at their lockers before homeroom, although, she had been a bit tardy this morning since Mason had come down with a sudden case of the sniffles. When he hadn’t shown up to Algebra and then Spanish, she started to worry just a bit –– okay, a lot –– but only because he’s usually quite punctual.

It’s just after eleven, and he’s usually here watching her while she bakes whatever goodie Miss Genevra has challenged her to make, or at least doing some last-minute homework on the bench. Yet, here she is, all to her lonesome self, mixing her cookie batter by hand because all the electric mixers are in use. Her arm feels a bit achy, but it’s a pain she can ignore as she continues to think about where on earth her curly-haired crush might be.

There’s one thing that’s been really bothering her since last night, and that’s all to do with the unsaid question she already has an answer for. Because of course Cici gave her the hint that Harry has been meaning to ask her to the dance. (More like sent her a long and detailed text about how Harry had forced her to pretend that she was her while he practiced how to go about asking her.)

“If he doesn’t grow a pair and just do it, I swear I’ll shave all that beautiful hair off,” she had written in conclusion.

***

Harry studies his notes one last time. “What is the definition of marriage? According to Merriam Webster, it’s the “state of being united as spouses in a consensual and contractual relationship recognized by law,”” he reads, then looks up, scanning the room with regard for the genuinely intrigued faces. “Nowhere in that sentence does it indicate a specific gender-gender requirement, nor does it exclude any individual of any background. Now imagine this, not being able to fully commit to the person you love because there are some people that say it’s wrong.”

“The United States has claimed to implement equal rights into the everyday routine of its citizens, and that includes gender, race, religion, and sexuality. And yet, how can a country that defines itself by its desire for equality be so willing to stunt that privilege for a certain group?” he pauses momentarily. “We throw the phrase “freedom of speech” around so liberally, it’s a basic right that we as citizens of this country heavily agree on. Yet, when it comes to same-sex marriage, there’s still such a heavy dispute, and conservative bias becomes the dominant factor in its opposition.”

***

Just as she’s just balled up about a tablespoon of dough, her ears perk at the door swinging open behind her. Excitement takes over her, and she swiftly pivots on her heel in anticipation. 

“I’ve been looking for you all day!” she exclaims. It’s then she realizes that she’s made the same mistake she’d committed once before. She frowns, expression faltering as quickly as her shoulders. “Oh...” she hums, trying her best to hide her disappointment. “Hi, Jasper.”

The older boy smiles at her, placing his book bag on an abandoned bench before making his way towards her. 

“Why do I always feel like you’re always expecting someone else?” he teases, then snags a finger’s worth of cookie dough from the rim of the bowl. “Is this peanut butter?” he asks, face twitching just the smallest bit. 

“Yeah,” she replies, ignoring the first part of his spiel, gently placing another ball on the tray. Her goal is to make all her cookies as identical as possible, which means she had weighed each spoonful beforehand. “These are my brother’s favorite.” She just knows that Mason will gobble all these up when she brings them home at the end of the day.

Jasper slowly nods, bracing both hands on the surface as he leans forward. “I see,” he shrugs. “I’m more of an oatmeal raisin guy, myself.” 

She has to stop herself from grimacing, considering how Mason absolutely refuses anything with raisins in it. Once Jeremy had accidentally put a few in his oatmeal, and her baby brother had cried for ten minutes straight. Sometimes she can get away with putting a few in her carrot cake, but otherwise he’ll absolutely have a conniption. 

***

“The idea of a “normal” marriage only existing between a male and female has become flawed and out-dated. Marriage isn’t the same as it was a century ago, even fifty years ago. We as a society have evolved to become more and more accepting of the changes within ourselves and our peers. The American Psychological Association has continually shown its support for homosexuality and same sex marriage. It is to their belief that same sex marriage is perfectly natural, as opposed to the unnatural light that those in opposition to these rights choose to cast.”

***

“Anyway,” Jasper starts again, and he adjusts his tie around his neck and pulls his beanie down over the tops of his ears. “I actually stopped by to ask you something.” He inches closer until their arms are just barely touching. 

“What’s that?” 

***

“The debate of same-sex marriage stems from the words stated in the Bible. However, we must be reminded about the maintained separation between church and state. We have the right to practice our religion, but that does not extend to dictate how others choose to live their lives. It is the reason why such a demarcation exists. Who is one to tell another what is right from wrong? What is natural and unnatural? Love for another, whether that be between family members, friends, or lovers, is a force beyond the dictation of any religious belief. We are the so-called ‘melting pot,’ we take pride in the diversity that surrounds us, and we accept our neighbors for who and what they are. What doesn’t and what should never have variation, however, are the basic rights that each individual is entitled to.”

*** Her hand is suddenly encased by his much bigger one, and she inspects it with furrowed eyebrows before looking up. Only now does she notice the rose as it sticks out of his back pocket. 

“Y/n Y/l/n,” he announces, and all the other students in the kitchen stop what they’re doing to stare at them. He reaches for the rose and holds it in front of her. “Will you go to the winter formal with me?”

***

Harry steps off the stage, feeling much at ease. The looks on the judges faces as he was reciting the final lines of his argument looked very promising, and Mr. G had congratulated him as soon as he’d rejoined the others.

“Never doubted you for a second!” Maxxie cheers.

“Yeah, okay,” Harry chuckles. He glances down at his watch and smiles. “I think we’ll make it back in time.”

***

[fluffynin]

I rolled my eye lights as the three humans bickered. When I had Kris tell them to explain the so-called "strengthening" system of these weapons... Well, all three came up with different answers.

Which, with thinking about Kris and I being technically the same being, but so different... Makes sense as we have confirmed all four of us Legendary Heroes come from different Japans, or worlds to be exact.

So why are they saying the other is lying?

"HEY, HEY! CALM DOWN! WE SHOULDN'T FIGHT!" Sansy floated over with Papy, both brothers pulling at the souls of Ren and Motoyasu to seperate the trio.

"yeah. we are kind of up a shit creek without... oh, wrong saying," Papy flinched as he corrected himself.

Huh? Why was... Oh, yeah. My job as the taxi of the River Maze. I wonder if I can still access that place with our current situation. At least if we can get back to the Void, we can vacate any other Gasters who have ended up in there to this world.

Not a fix, but should be way safer than the constant threat of Anomalies trying to eat whatever code they find. Plus, I rather put my trust in other versions of myself than whatever so-called "help" that lousy excuse of a king was gathering. At least if there are other scientists and doctors like Kris and me, we could look into these Waves of Catastrophe properly instead of the half-assed way these humans been doing with summoning who-knows-what and throwing the poor souls into what sounds an all out slaughter.

Which, oddly, looking at my fellow heroes, they are all so young. Sure, techinically I was once human, but I was at least around Kris's age of about 200 years or so, off a few decades since comparing his now Darkner appearance to what he properly is as a magic skeleton. These three never seen the horrors of war. Hell, with the methods they told me... It almost sounds like they never been in a real...

I clapped my hands together and everyone jumped.

"Huh? What?" I yanked on Kris's sleeve to get his attention to my hands

-I think I figured it out.- I signed and opened up the menus.

Each of the humans said they played a game with similar settings to this world. I, myself, love to play MMORPGs and even got pretty well set up in a guild that got pretty good.

Yet, if I use that as a reference, what if the enhancement methods the trio talked about was not of the games they played... But instead it was the best way of enhancement overall for how the world's operating systems worked.

I noticed glitching and a prompt came up with the question if I wanted to adjust my current and only shield: Small Shield

I confirmed and took in a calming breathe.

I was never really good at this, but I've always done it to myself to keep my LOVe at 1. Plus, I currently have a little EXP to spend from the Anomalies I took out before this mess, so it is worth a shot. All I'll lost is EXP which is a win for me either way.

I touched the gem on my shield and felt myself submerged within the depths of its inner being. A huge web of symbols and lines, almost all dulled out. I went to the one that was dimmly glowed more than the others.

I held out my hand with a spark and pushed into the light. The symbol went ablazed and the flames flickered down the lines to other symbols... And branched into new lines and new symbols. I felt a flood of warmth before my senses returned to reality.

"You okay, Iwatani-san?" Itsuki asked.

Ah, right. I always took much longer than Coordinators. A big reason I never did it to others for payment.

Yet, looking through the menus and manual...

Adjustments and transfering of EXP and LOVe to improve stats and such. As well as new branches that demand... Oh, skulls.

Just what is going on with this weird ass world.

Well, let's focus first on my discovery as Adjustments weren't the only thing added to my menu and manual.

"📖⏺" I let the text boxes float up from my mouth.

"Wha?" Motoyasu voiced the confusion on all three humans' faces. Though, even Kris had a high brow arced.

Seriously? We both speak Wingdings and he never spoke shorthand?

"n says the book records?" Papy translated. "o-kay?" The twin skulls looked at each other with worried looks.

Itsuki and Ren, however, had their eyes widened. Itsuki motioned the air and narrowed his eyes. He nearly fell when something happened on the interface only visible to himself and me.

"Oh! The manual records new stuff as we learn it!" Itsuki grinned. "None of us are wrong, but instead all right!"

"But how?" Ren grimanced at his own menus. "I don't get your methods would work to make our weapons stronger." I motioned to Kris.

"Different operating systems, one unit?" Kris asked with decipering my signs. Oh, good. Was a bit worried as our sign lanuages were a bit different with some words.

However, seemed that got the idea across for Motoyasu and Ren.

"So our weapons act like hardware that can take on various software." Ren said as he gotten a glitchy interface. " Wait... Could this be why we can't work together? Our weapons' original systems conflicts with the others?"

"It would explain why we defaulted to different set ups." Motoyasu crossed his arms. "So to make up for not able to work together, we can share our enhancement methods with each other to increase our strength."

I snapped my fingers and did jazz hands with a grin.

"But, what's your method?" I felt the ice in the trio's glares at me.

"We shared ours, yet you haven't said... Oh, right..." They flinched at my double birdie.

"My method is called Adjustment." Kris translated. "It's a bit hard to explain, so it would be easier if you let me do it. I'm not that good, but it should allow the better users of this the means to do it."

"Wait, this isn't a video game mechanic?" Itsuki asked with a raised brow.

"AH! THAT!" Sansy jumped. "YOU REALLY SURE YOU WANNA TRY ADJUSTING THEIR WEAPONS? THEY AREN'T-"

I tapped my shield's gem and signed.

"They are similar enough. I got it to work." Kris crossed his arms. "But what is this Adjustment thing, dear brother." Kris gave me the "Dad Eyes." I felt my throat tightened into a gulp.

-Explain later. Just think of it as the simple version of what turned you from skeleton to human.- Kris's grimance deepened. -I just never thought I could go in reverse. Usually can get the advance method to work with turning human souls into monster kind.-

"I see. So it enhances the soul aspects of the weapons and users." Kris caught the hint and let it go. "It's magic, so it is a little hard to express it in... Human language?" Kris let out a sigh. "At least from our world, magic is usually more expressive than logically explained. Our kind... Our race of humans are the few able to express magic much like other magical races."

"So... You're mages." Ren said with a nod. "Like how VR is common in my world. In a way, it makes since considering Shields were bad in the game I played."

"Wait, the same for you, too?" Motoyasu asked in shock.

"My game also did Shields badly," Itsuki flinched. "Which makes it worse seeing you in a wheelchair, Iwatani-san. It's like you got no straw at all instead of the short straw."

What? I just raised an eyebrow with confusion.

How was being in a wheelchair bad? Hell, these were the best wheels I had in my life! Custom-made and foldable, perfect for someone like me who uses wheels for ease of life.

"ah, right. humans aren't used to n's type." Papy rolled his eyelight.

"I don't get it." Kris huffed. "Doesn't a wheelchair help increase my brother's abilities?"

"Ah, but we will be in combat." Motoyasu gave me a loot of pity. "How can a crippled person-"

Both twins burst into laughter while Kris glared daggers at the three humans. Ah, right, monster kind is used to having to adapt all sorts of ways to help each other living Underground... Especially after the pollution turned the River into the maze twisted with time and space itself.

"What... Oh," Ren went wide eyed. "Right, a mage. When I think how magic is used in the game... Of course a Legendary Hero specializing in magic would focus on defense."

"Huh?" Motoyasu cocked his head.

"Oh, yeah! Pure mages were always weak to close combat. So, instead of having a staff, you have a means of defense as you lob spells at the enemies."

"Wha? Don't cha mean bullets?" Kris snorted. "Spells are a human thing that lack any expression. Bullets are far faster and effect in combat than chanting stupid phrases." Kris snapped his fingers for a bone bullet to appear and he balanced it on the tip of one.

"B-Bullet?" All three asked before they went pale. "Like in... a bullet hell game?"

I guess one could call my magic akin to a magic bullet hell. I sure know the Eighth Fallen probably saw our fights as such.

"Bullet hell?" The skull twins and once skeleton asked with confused dazes.

Me?

I just gave a devish smile.

"👍"

-----------

Trying to get out of the worldbuilding trap with writing linked short fics. This one came from the sketch above and just snowballed into this. Hope it is enjoyable as it was for me to write this.

PS - Correcting some mistakes.

[theshatteredrose]

Turquoise Lotus Father (Treasure Seekers Saga 2) - Chapter 11 - Etrian Odyssey 5 Fanfiction

AN: Right, long chapter to mark my determination to return to updating at least once a week. Now, we’re getting to the fun stuff :3c Enjoy~!

Ao3 | Wattpad | FFNet

Chapter 11:

“You’re back!” Faelen greeted them the moment Drayce and the others stepped into the foyer of the Crescentia. He hurried straight over to Drayce and looked up at him with expectant and concerned eyes. “Are you all right? Did you meet those bandits?”

“Unfortunately, we did,” Drayce answered before a smile tugged at his lips and he revealed a small silver token. “Fortunately, we got the token. Is everything all right here?”

Faelen looked at the token for a moment, clearly relieved. He spent another moment to ponder Drayce’s question. “Ah, well, there was a strange noise outside,” he replied as he tapped his cheek. “But when Ashton went out to take a look, he said there was nothing there.”

Drayce felt a spike of concerned. “Really now?”

He was sure it was nothing. And Ashton had been around treasure hunters and the art of treasure hunting for years to know to keep himself out of trouble. But Drayce couldn’t help but feel a prang of concern at the thought that there could have been a bandit sneaking around outside.

They couldn’t put it past those bandits to try something like that.

Drayce kept a firm hold on the token as he shrugged off his shield and set his cannon aside. As he turned to go up the stairs, he was stilled momentarily when Ashton appeared. The dedicated caretaker looked relieved to see them all returned safely.

There was a hint of worry, though.

“You’ve returned quickly,” he pointed out with a subtle hint of curiosity.

“Hey Ash,” Drayce returned before he showed him the token. “Your invention with Zohar worked a treat.”

Ashton smiled at that as he reached the bottom step. “Good. After the stunt they pulled, they deserved to be tricked themselves.”

Indeed. While Drayce didn’t like to lower himself to their antics, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, right? And it was just punishment for scaring Faelen like that.

“Everything all right outside?” Drayce asked when he remembered what Faelen informed him. As he turned to give Ashton his full attention, his gaze fell upon his right hand. Where a make-shift bandage was seen. The bandages reached around his palm and knuckles. “Did…something happen to your hand?”

Was he hurt? When did he get that?

Ashton instinctively hid the injured hand behind his back. “Ah, just cut my hand while in the kitchen, don’t worry.”

“I’ll have a look at it later,” Fiorello piped up, yet sounding dismissive at the notion, too.

“Sure.” Ashton, too, seemed rather unconcerned as he simply shrugged. He soon folded his arms across his chest as he turned to give his attention to everyone within the foyer. “I assume you won’t be heading back in the labyrinth today? Why not head to your rooms and get out of those adventuring clothes. We’ve got a long day in the library, it seems.”

Drayce gave a small chuckle at that. “We sure do. Shashi is sure to be happy with our bounty.”

As everyone ventured up the stairs, Ashton stepped to the side. And Drayce waited for everyone to move on before he turned to give the green-haired man his attention once more. He was about to ask if his hand was really ok and to relish in the opportunity to chide the dedicated caretaker about being careful for once.

However, Ashton turned to him first and gave him a rather serious look.

“We had to tell Caelem and Tokala about the existence of the Cursed Blade,” he unexpectedly told him. “It appears the two blades are intertwined. We couldn’t research and talk about one without the other.”

Drayce knew that they would have to tell the two everything soon enough. “No, that’s fine,” he said as he moved toward the stairs. “How did they take it?”

Ashton walked beside him. “They were surprised before growing worried. Especially with these bandits now involved.”

Drayce couldn’t help but clench his hand tighter around the silver token. “Yeah.”

“You wish to head straight to the library?” Ashton asked him as they reached the third-floor landing. “Or to your room first?”

“Just let me drop of my jacket,” Drayce replied, already shrugging off said article of clothing. “And my armour. Shouldn’t keep Shashi waiting too long. I’m sure Faelen has already rushed ahead to tell him, so I can’t weasel my way out of this one.”

That got a short laugh from Ashton. “The map activated, so he’s aware of a token being discovered. But you’re right. He’s going to be coming after you if you don’t show up soon.”

Well, he’d better hurry to his room as not to keep the equally dedicated sigil specialist waiting!

Ensuring that he had a tight grip on the token still, Drayce broke into a light jog to his room. He ducked in to throw his jacket onto the foot of his bed. He spent a minute hastily unclasping and virtually kicking off his armour and shin guards. Dressed in his cameo pants and a black sleeveless top, he broke into another half jog as he left his room.

He reached the stairs around the same time that Blayke did. Though his friend was free of his armour, he still had a slight scowl on his face. No doubt still pissed off after he confrontation with bandit Keita in the labyrinth.

“Ah, you’re back!” Caelem exclaimed with relief as he greeted them on the top step. He paused in front of Blayke and looked between him and Drayce with his ears folded back slightly. “You’re ok, right?”

The scowl on Blayke’s face soon disappeared and he gave Caelem a small, reassuring smile. “We’re fine, don’t worry.”

Salim walked out of the library at a more leisurely manner. “Met some bandits, huh?”

That scowl made a prompt return. “Same shits as yesterday,” Blayke muttered.

“But we got one over on them this time,” Drayce replied as he moved to walk into the library. As he reached the threshold of the doors, Salim unexpectedly pulled him aside.

“Hey, quick question. That guy,” he said in a hushed tone and motioned toward Ashton with a tilt of his head. “Are you sure he's just a scholar?”

Drayce blinked in confusion. “Huh? Ashton?” he turned to look over at the other man, finding him speaking easily with Shashi in the library. “Something wrong?”

“It's just...I dunno,” Salim admitted awkwardly as he scratched the back of his head. “I just feel as though I should ask him to spar with me or something. I've been around pugilists my whole life, and he totally just feels like one.”

“Oh...?” Drayce didn’t know what a pugilist felt like. Ashton had always been ol’ Ash to him. Placid, if a bit too dedicated to the role of caretaker. But definitely a friendly, reliable guy. He couldn’t really imagine him as a scrappy brawler.

Not that it would matter to him if he was. He just…couldn’t really picture it.

“Good to see you’re all back in one piece,” Shashi greeted as Drayce walked inside. “With a token at that.”

“Yup,” Drayce grinned as he revealed the token in his hand. “Did the map activate just like last time?”

Shashi nodded his head. “Yes, briefly. May I see the token?”

Drayce promptly handed over the silver token to Shashi. “Of course. Here.”

Shashi carefully picked up the coin-like token and raised it a little higher to allow him to inspect it more clearly. He examined it for a few silent moments before he made a soft sound of curiosity. “Interesting. There is a unique brand of mana here.”

That was likely the reason why Zohar and Kamali were able to hone in on the source of mana and find the token under a short amount of time.

“Kamali, help me with the sketching,” Shashi requested as he headed over to the large wooden table in the middle of the room, where the map and the myriad of books were found.

“Of course,” Kamali replied as he moved to follow his brother.

The brothers spent a moment to clear area around the map. And to grab the necessary writing materials. Shashi turned toward Drayce suddenly and presented the token toward him. “Drayce. Could you do the honours?”

Drayce was somewhat surprised, but he soon deduced that it was the best. He did something similar with the parchment containing the Moon Legacy. And while they weren’t sure what was contained within this parchment, it would be best that Drayce be the one to activate it. Just in case something untoward happened.

Better him than one of the others.

“Sure,” Drayce dutifully replied as he retrieved the token and stood before the map. “Where should I place it?”

“The map reacted from the bottom left hand corner,” Shashi explained. “Try placing it there.”

So Drayce did just that. He placed the token, with the lotus engraving face up, upon the corner of the parchment. He pressed the token down with his index finger. And as soon as the silver coin touched the parchment, the lotus symbol glowed a gentle light blue.

The light then dissipated quickly, flowing outwards over the parchment. It spread out in a spiderweb like fashion, allowing for symbols that were both foreign but somehow familiar to appear in the soft, pulsating light.

Both Kamali and Shashi furiously sketched the symbols upon their notebooks. But all too soon, the light faded out. Only the black grid pattern was left upon the parchment.

From how things appeared, there were indeed four tokens in total. One for each corner. In order to see the entirety of the map, they needed all the tokens together.

“I think that’s the best we’re going to get for now,” Drayce said as he slowly raised his hand and pulled back from the parchment.

“I managed to catch a few symbols,” Kamali said as he kept his gaze upon his notebook, already making a few notes of his own.

Shashi, too, was assessing his sketches. “As did I. Unfortunately, I am not adept at reading ancient therian. The best I could do was to sketch the symbols.”

“That’s more than enough,” Drayce reassured. “Anything at this point will be helpful. So other than the map activating briefly, how goes the research?”

Shashi put down his notebook only to pick up another, quickly flipping back through the many pages. “We did manage to find some more information. Caelem was the one to discover it first. He’s quite the researcher himself.”

Drayce immediately turned to give Caelem. “Awesome, great job, Caelem.”

The therian was quite obviously pleased at the praise. If the straightening of his ears and the light, excitable flush to his cheeks was any indication. He really was quite the adorable guy, huh? He certainly was enthusiastic. Good to see!

“It seems that the Turquoise Lotus Father is the one to have created the Shining Lotus,” Shashi nonchalantly explained.

Too nonchalantly for such an important piece of information! So not only did he wield the Shining Lotus, he actually created it?

“For his brother’s sake,” Caelem continued eagerly. “And to prevent others from being hurt.”

Shashi nodded his head as he slapped shut his notebook and folded an arm across his torso. “Yes. That is his sole and only reason for becoming a masurao.”

Caelem eagerly nodded his head once more. But then he paused and he stared down at the ground before him with a contemplative expression. “That’s…the true path of the masurao, isn’t it? To fight for others.”

Drayce’s eyes softened. “It is a worthy cause.”

A small smile made its way upon Caelem’s lips as he lifted his head to look toward Drayce. “It is.”

Hm. Not only was Caelem learning more of his ancestor, he was learning more about himself. And his role as a masurao. Which was the reason why he left his village to go on a journey of his own.

Drayce was honestly happy for him.

“Of course, that’s the laymen terms of it,” Shashi stated idly as he set his notebook aside just to pick up another one. “I’d like to know how. Specifically, how he was able to create such a weapon.”

“I’d like to know, too,” Caelem admitted.

Well, that was a hint that they both wanted to return to researching if he had ever heard one.

Drayce left the token upon the map and took a step back so that he wouldn’t get in the way of the enthusiastic and devoted researchers. Shashi and Kamali were sure to be busy inspecting the markings they had sketched from the map, while Caelem was to be looking for more information on his village’s founding father.

The best thing that Drayce could do for the time being was to check on his maps of the second floor. And mark down where they discovered that token.

As Drayce stepped through the library doors, he unexpectedly found Tokala sat at the top step of the stairs. He had his knees pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. He looked rather…glum, for a lack of a better word. Not something Drayce had seen from the bubbly therian before.

To say he was a little bit concerned would be an understatement.

“Hm? Tokala?” Drayce questioned as he approached the therian, prompting the other to abruptly sit up straight and turned his head toward him. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Tokala immediately insisted, though it did sound more like an answer out of reflex instead of true honesty. Thankfully, Drayce didn’t have to press him and he sighed quietly as he turned his gaze back down the stairs. Yet, he wasn’t actually looking at anything. Just gazing off into space, lost to his thoughts.

So Drayce sat down on the step next to him.

“It’s just…there’s a lot happening here, huh?” Tokala finally spoke. “It’s kinda overwhelming.”

Ah. To an outsider, the task of treasure hunting and gathering of information, sometimes shocking information, could indeed be overwhelming and puzzling. Not to mention that the necklace Tokala had for so long was the key they needed to begin the search of a mythical (or possibly dangerous) weapon created hundreds of years ago.

His search for answers to his origins resulted in him learning about someone he never knew existed. And was likely to wonder why or if he had any connection to said important figure.

“It can feel that way sometimes,” Drayce comforted.

“Do you think I could be from Caelem’s village?”

“I don’t doubt it.”

A truly confused and sombre expression appeared on Tokala’s face and he hugged his knees tighter. “So why…?”

Drayce couldn’t give him an answer. Just a possibility. Or assumption. Or just a guess. “Maybe it was a desperate attempt to protect you?”

Tokala rested his chin atop of his knees, seemingly pondering that notion. He then turned his head toward Drayce, his cheek resting against his knees. “I’m…glad that we ran into you in the labyrinth. It could have just been me and Salim. Those bandits…”

Drayce had allowed that thought to occur to him, too. “I’m glad that we ran into you two, as well.”

A rather sad smile made its way to Tokala’s lips. “…Salim will do whatever it takes to help me. Protect me. But…I’m tired of him getting hurt because of me. But…I also feel bad about dragging you into this, too.”

“Hey now, you didn’t drag me into it,” Drayce promptly insisted as he pointed toward himself. “Treasure hunter, remember? I’d stick my nose into it regardless. This way just ensures that we’ve had a head start and everyone is as safe as they can be.”

That made Tokala relax and a genuine smile appeared. “…Yeah. You’re…really nice.”

“I’m only doing what’s right,” Drayce insisted.

Tokala unwound his arms from his legs and allowed them to stretch out upon the stairs in front of him. He was clearly relaxed and reassured by Drayce’s words. Which Drayce was truly relieved about.

“Your guildmates seem really nice, too,” Tokala added.

“Yup,” Drayce promptly agreed. “I'm a lucky guild leader, that's for sure.”

“Caelem and Faelen are welcoming,” Tokala continued, that genuine smile still upon his lips. “Are they related?”

Drayce shook his head. “Nope, just have similar names.”

Tokala made a sound that was almost akin to a giggle. His became quiet, however, as another look of contemplativeness appeared upon his features. “...I never really had much interaction with Therians before.”

“Because you grew up in an Earthlain village?” Drayce asked with a curious tilt of his head.

Tokala nodded his head. “Yeah. And...”

“And what?”

“W-well,” Tokala stuttered, suddenly appearing uncomfortable as he drew his legs to his chest once more. “My parents, I mean Sal's parents, were protective because there were...certain groups that would, ah, gather Therians and sell them off.”

Gather…?

“What? Slave traders?” Drayce questioned, eyes wide.

Tokala gave a skittish nod of his head. “Y-yeah. Fur traders, too.”

Drayce felt a knot of disgust along with sheer protectiveness appear in his stomach. “That's...”

“But Salim's family are all pugilists!” Tokala exclaimed allowed, purposely but falsely jovial. “So, I was fine, you know? Sal is really strong.”

Good. Any slave trader or trafficker deserved to have the snot punched right out of them. And then some sense punched right into them.

Bandits were bad enough. But traffickers. Those…were just sickening.

“How about you? You want to become a pugilist?” Drayce asked in an attempt to both push back his protectiveness and to change the obviously unsettling subject.

“Huh?” Tokala murmured, surprised by the question. He looked forward into the empty space in front of him as he pondered what he had been asked. “W-well, maybe. I don’t really like confrontation, though. I wish everyone could just get along, you know?”

“Absolutely.”

Nothing wrong with being a pacifist.

“Drayce! Tokala!”

Drayce jumped slightly at the sound of Caelem’s excited voice. He instinctively pushed himself to his feet and turned to regard the animated therian as he approached. “Hm? What’s up, Cal?”

“I just found some information on Tokala’s necklace,” Caelem blurted out as he showed him an open book that he held.

“What? Really?” Tokala asked as he jumped to his feet, too.

“Yes. It’s called the Scarlet Lotus,” Caelem explained as he read from the book. “And it was created by someone called Sorataki.”

Tokala’s eyes widen in excitement. “W-who’s that?”

But Caelem shook his head slightly in disappointment. “Unfortunately, I don’t know exactly. He’s someone close to the Turquoise Lotus Father, though. I thought that maybe that was his brother’s name, but now I’m not so sure. “

Tokala seemed to…deflate upon hearing that. His shoulders sagged and his ears flattened worriedly against the top of his head. “…Could they be the one that wanted to find the Cursed Blade?”

Caelem, however, shook his head again. No disappointment this time as he trailed a fingertip over a paragraph in the book he held. “No, I don’t think so. As I said, he appeared close to the Turquois Lotus Father. It says that he shared a close bond with the both of them after the war.”

Tokala perked right up again. “Really? So my necklace is called the Scarlet Lotus? What’s it for?”

“I’m looking into that, too,” Caelem promptly replied as he half turned to head back into the library. He paused, however, and turned to give Tokala a curious look. “Do you want to help?”

“Ah, sure!” Tokala replied with a slight moment of hesitation.

“Have fun, you two,” Drayce simply encouraged, gaining a happy smile from Caelem and a quick look of gratitude from Tokala.

Drayce took to the top of the stairs as the two therians hurried back into the library. And he soon found himself falling into thought.

Interesting. A third party involved in this? And he made the Scarlet Lotus. That pendant was the key to the small treasure chest that was hidden in a music box. That Sorataki being was likely instrumental in not only creating that chest, but possibly aided in the sealing or hiding of the lotus blades.

“Drayce.”

The sound of Shashi’s voice promptly pulled Drayce from his thoughts. And he blinked in surprised when he found the purple-haired celestian right in front of him. “Yeah?” he asked rather dumbly.

Shashi quickly handed him a parchment. “Here. I did a quick sketch of what appears to be a map. I noticed a slight anomaly in this upper corner. Perhaps if you took to it with one of your maps, you might be able to predict where the next token can be discovered?”

“That’s a good idea,” Drayce said as he quickly took hold of the parchment and immediately studied it with his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll do that. I need to mark down where he found today’s token, too.”

Shashi nodded his head. “I shall return to work, too.”

“Shashi, wait,” Drayce abruptly called to him, prompting Shashi to pause mid move and regard him with a curious tilt of his head. “There’s something bothering me.”

“Hm?” Shashi turned to give him his full attention.

“It's about the lotuses,” Drayce began. “I've noticed a small discrepancy. From research, it's believed that the Shining Lotus was created in response to the Turquoise Lotus Father's brother being used as a Despot General, right? But the Cursed Blade was created out of jealousy for the Shining Lotus, right? Then how or why was the brother used against his will?”

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on one’s point of view, Shashi nodded his head and folded an arm across his chest as he held his chin in thought. “I've noticed that, too. It is entirely possibly that there was another blade that took possession of the brother. Or, the Cursed Blade is the blade responsible, and there is even a darker blade out there somewhere.”

Drayce roughly ran a hand through his hair. So, he wasn’t just misinterpreting or mishearing information. “So, it's possible that we're dealing with three blades?”

“Quite possibly,” Shashi answered simply, in his usual straight forward fashion that Drayce was honestly very thankful for. “That’s something I’ve picked up, too. And it is bothering me. There has been a vague insinuation of a third blade. And by piecing everything together, there had to be one. But what happened, I don’t know.” He abruptly dropped his arms to his sides. “I will keep searching.”

“Ok,” Drayce returned simply, knowing that there was little he could do to stop him. Even if he really wanted to. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

Shashi simply nodded his head in acknowledgement before he turned and re-entered the library swiftly. And Drayce turned to head on down stairs to his room to retrieve his own map of the second floor.

He quickly entered the room and snatched up the map, his mind promptly drifted back to all the information he just learnt. His short conversation with Shashi indicated that sigil specialist hadn’t spoken to Caelem about his concerns. Especially not to Tokala. The mentioning of a third blade would likely be overwhelming for the two.

They didn’t even know if there was a third blade. Best to find solid information and evidence before making any decisions.

And the best thing Drayce could do was to inspect his map. And hope to find something useful.

Returning upstairs and making his way to his office, Drayce quickly gathered a few old parchments and documents he had inspected previous, before he settled himself into his chair. He was likely to be there a few hours.

With the parchment Shashi gave him, his own map, and another older map that seemed to hold dimensions similar to that of the second floor sprawled out on his desk, Drayce began to search for a pattern. A clue of some kind that could help him with his next move.

Two tokens weren’t enough to establish a pattern, that was an unfortunate fact. They found the first token near the centre of the map, within a well-used gathering spot. And the one today a few pathways from there, not at a gathering spot.

The best he could do was guess that another could be found further north. Near a lush area of greenery, yet somewhere not obvious at first glance. Yet, that wasn’t a guarantee, either. Someone else could have picked it up and dropped it elsewhere. A curious animal or monster could have picked it up or buried it. It might not even be on that floor anymore.

They had been both lucky and unlucky so far.

Still…his gut instinct told him that the third and fourth token were somewhere on the second floor. Waiting to be discovered. Activated after the music box was discovered, and the small treasure chest opened.

Drayce leaned back into his chair and stretched his arms over his head. It was getting dark. He had no idea how many hours he had spent in his office. If he didn’t make an appearance downstairs, or at least show himself in front of Ashton, said green-haired caretaker would come after him.

And he was not in the mood to be flung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, thank you very much.

Setting his work aside for the time being, Drayce placed his hands atop of his desk and heaved himself to his feet. He was somewhat surprised that Ashton hadn’t come to check in on him. Though, he was likely attempting to keep an eye on the other researchers of their guild. And maybe keep watch over the Crescentia itself out of sheer protectiveness.

Stepping out into the hallway, Drayce was honestly rather surprised to find it so dark.

“Huh?” he uttered aloud as he glanced in the direction of the library.

The doors to the room were closed, surprisingly. And the lights were off. He couldn’t see any illumination from under the doors. He had figured that Shashi or even Caelem would still be inside the room, roaming the aisles, inspecting the shelves for information. They couldn’t do that with the light off.

The again, maybe Ashton got to them and ordered them to get some sleep. He was, ah, very persuasive after all.

It was likely just his paranoia talking, but he better just take a quick peek inside and check to see if anyone was inside. And to check on them if they were. And why the light was off.

Drayce quickly made his way over to the library and opened one of the doors. “Hey?” he called into the darkness. “Shashi, you here? I know you guys can see in the dark, but isn’t this pushing it?”

No response.

Huh…there didn’t appear to be anyone inside. So maybe Ashton got to them after all.

Just as that though entered his mind, Drayce felt a presence suddenly appear right behind him. That presence was unknown to him. He didn’t recognise it at all.

Before he could turn around, the presence behind him lunged forward to slip their arms around him, and to place something soft but moist against his mouth. “Wh-Mphf!”

Drayce instantly reacted, reaching up to tug at the leather-bound hands that pressed that cloth firmly and roughly against his nose and mouth. He knew that he needed to make some noise, to alert someone. He, unfortunately, took a deep breath in surprise from the sudden assault. And when he did, he felt immediately nauseous.

And dizzy.

C-crap…there was some kind of sleep toxin on the cloth? Who-?

“…I’m sorry…” a soft, wispy voice filled with guilt whispered into his ear.

That voice…an apology? Was that the…harbinger bandit?

Unfortunately, Drayce’s vision began to grey out and his world tilted in ways he hadn’t experienced before. He was vaguely aware that he was slipping, in both the hold of his assailant and in consciousness.

He felt himself slump to the floor before everything went dark.

[yuniesan]

Girl Meets Season 6 - Episode Sixteen – Girl Meets Self-Defense

Synopsis: The Journey from High School and into College will test everything Riley knew about her life, her friendships and her love. What life lessons will she learn in her first year of college?  

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15]

A/N: So in DaisyAngel (on ff.net) said in one of the comments someone mentioned Maya's mother having the baby, because I used the sole focus on the first half of this on Riley, Lucas, and Zay, I never got to tell you all about the little bundle of joy, it's a boy, they named him Jonathan Chester Hunter, it's one of the reasons Maya spent so much time at home in the city on the weekends. Cory and Topanga are his godparents, and while Riley was so mixed up in helping Zay, she didn't miss anything because Josh kept her up to date, along with her parents, and I swear at some point I'm going to have to do outtakes, maybe mini drabbles, on all of these stories, because there was a lot of stuff that I took out from each season that I couldn't put in.

Sadly I couldn't finish both parts to post them today, because someone called out at work and I didn't have time to finish the second part to this.

Big note on this, I planned to write this a long time ago, yes it deals with the possibility of sexual assault, and mentions of consent and drugging, when I have chosen to write this, it had been before well before the hearings back in September. The reason why I had chosen to write this is because where I work, which is a college library, we have to have training for this and many other things that pertain to title IX, if you're not in college yet look up the law, it's meant to protect your rights if someone attacks you on campus. The talk that Riley has with her mother is actually the talk my mother gave me growing up because New York is a big city and there's always the possibility of something happening. The key thing is something I do when I'm walking home late at night, my phone is always in my pocket, and you can tap an SOS signal on the phone by pressing the power key three times and it will alert 911 to your location. I have an android phone but all phones are equip with this feature so look it up. No one ever has the right to take anything from you without your permission.

P.S. There will be more fluffy parts after this, so don't worry about that, this is just something I had wanted to do because they had done it on BMW, except this is a more modern take on the whole thing.

Also three updates in a row!!! I'm getting back into the groove of this, and I will use it to write a million life lessons if I can.

Episode Sixteen – Girl Meets Self-Defense

Riley was sitting next to Maya as her best friend sketched out a picture of her baby brother, she had wanted to use it for a painting for her parents for their anniversary, but Maya was a perfectionist when it came to her art. It was something that Riley had found hilarious at times because watching Maya disregard the world while she drew had become an adventure for the whole campus. It was right after their class, and they were waiting for Smackle and Sam to show up because it was their weekly girls' lunch date. It had started at the beginning of the semester, as a way for them to have at least an hour to catch up while also talking about their love lives.

Every once and a while Riley would refill Maya's drink as they waited, not talking, so that Maya could finish before everyone arrived. Sam was the first to get there a huge smile on her face, followed by Smackle who was engrossed in a book.

"Okay," Riley said once they were all together. "Time to put the work down, that's what we agreed on when we decided to do this."

"Fine," Smackle grumbled, before her stomach made a noise, making the genius blush.

"Don't worry I finished," Maya said smiling down at the picture of her brother. "I hope my parents love this because it's hard enough getting the kid to stop squirming so that I could get one reference shot."

"They'll love it Maya," Riley said smiling at her best friend knowing it was the truth.

"Oh, let me see," Sam said bouncing in her chair, Maya and Sam had gotten closer over the last few months, especially with their upcoming student film in the works. Which Riley opted out of seeing after they showed her one clip that made her run out of the room and towards Lucas's dorm because she was sure that she would never sleep again.

"Aww he's so cute, I could just bite his cheeks right off," Riley said when Maya flipped the picture over. Sam cooing at the image, even though she's met the little boy.

"That's not possible, unless you're a cannibal," Smackle said to them in the only way she could, and it made Riley laugh. "He is cute in the average way that all children are at that age."

"Well, there you go kid you have the Smackle seal of approval," Maya said looking down at the drawing.

"He's going to be a heart breaker that one," Sam said smiling at the image.

"God, I hope not, because from the stories my dad has told me, Uncle Shawn went through so many girls growing up," Riley said thinking about everything she had heard over the years. "And broke a few hearts along the way including Farkle's mom's which is weird enough as it is."

They all laughed at it, because while it was weird it was still a part of their families past that made up their future. As they sat there Riley watched as her friends talked, caught up and generally made plans for other things. It felt like they were all finally finding their footing after everything that had kept them apart their first semester.

"So, I heard something," Sam said to them as they finished their lunch. "Apparently there's been a series of 'hook-ups' around campus," she used air quotes around attacks which meant that there was a possibility that they weren't hook-ups at all.

"I heard about them too, and I talked to a girl who knows one of the girls that it had happened to," Maya said her voice hushed because it wasn't her story to tell. "She told me to be careful at the parties thrown by the fraternities, because someone is drugging girls without them knowing. The houses involved don't want to stop the parties until the person is found, but I don't think we should be going to any parties anytime soon."

"Why do people do things like that?" Smackle asked, because while she studied everything that she could, there were still things that she didn't know or understand. Social constructs were one of them, and she was always asking them to explain things so that she would understand better. "I know that there are certain chemicals in the brain, or how a person is raised by their family, but why would someone go after people without permission?"

"It's just one of the things that girls have to worry about Smackle," Maya said and Riley couldn't help but feel sorry for the state of the world, when girls weren't allowed to freely be themselves because there was always someone out there who wanted to do something to them.

"It's not just girls Smackle, it happens to guys too, no one is safe from a predator," Riley said knowing that after a million talks about the subject with her mother, she knew that there were too many things that could happen while she was there. Too many reasons for someone to go after her or anyone she knew, and she was afraid but she wasn't going to let it rule her heart.

"So how are we going to deal with it?" Sam asked and Riley knew that she was concerned because while no one knew who was doing it, they were all possible victims.

"The buddy system," Riley answered knowing that it was the best way to deal with this kind of problem, because being with someone lessened the risk of someone going after them. "Maya and Smackle live together, so if they have to be out at night, they need to stick close to one another, the same for us Sam, since we have the radio program, or if someone wants to go to a party only take drinks that haven't been opened, and if you see something you call the police."

"You really thought this out, didn't you?" Maya said looking at her.

"My mom talked to me a few times over the summer, there had been an incident when she had been in school, so she wanted me to be prepared if something started happening when I started here," she said thinking of her mom who had something happen to her during freshman year at college, and had told Riley about it because she wanted her daughter to be protected.

"What kind of person would go after your mother, the woman scares anyone who would dare go against her," Smackle said and they all knew it was the truth, there was no going against her in any form.

"From what I know it was a new professor, who got a little too involved with his students, my dad got suspended from school for a day because of it until they realized what had happened," she told them, it was a story that her mother had made sure that she knew because she had wanted Riley to be vigilant about what could happen. She remembered that conversation, it was one that she really would never forget.

"Riley," her mother called out from the hallway before walking into her room. "Can we talk?"

"Yeah mom," Riley said automatically walking over to the bay window, the worried look on her mother's face meant that this was the kind of conversation that they should have at the window.

"Riley, I know you're going off to college soon, and I think we should have this conversation before you go," she said her voice serious.

"Mom we had the sex talk already, we don't need to have it again."

"No this is something a little more serious, something that I think you should know about because it's something that's common on college campuses, even when I was going to school."

Riley could feel the change of tone in her mother's words, where it bordered between the lawyer, she knew her mother was and the worried parent that rarely came out because her father worried enough for the both of them. There was a story here and Riley wasn't sure if she would be alright after hearing it, but it was important for her mother to tell her which meant that it was something that should also be important to Riley no matter what.

"When I was a student in college, a professor tried to well get my attention in a way, that I didn't want," her mother took a deep breath. "I sometimes wondered what would have happened if I hadn't gotten away from him in time, or even how your father's anger would have gotten him in more trouble if people hadn't believed us."

"What did daddy do? It can't be that bad, he's a marshmallow," Riley said because she had never seen any other version of her father outside of the overprotective one, she had grown up with.

"He threw him through a glass door, and I was scared not only for what had happened to me, but also what could have happened to him," her mother took a deep breath. "Your father, he's deeply protective, not just of you but also of his whole family, and while he chases Lucas around, I think he just wants to make sure that no one oversteps when it comes to you. He trusts Lucas, I know he does, he may not show it a lot because he's still fixated on that little girl he had raised, but he does trust him."

"Mom, I'm sorry you had to go through something like that," she said taking her mother's hand and putting her head on her shoulder.

"Now for the real talk," her mother said to her, before giving her a sad smile. "I honestly wish I didn't have to give you this talk but there's enough of it on the news... and well I worry about you because you're so trusting, but if you hear about something happening, even if it's a rumor, I want you to stick close to your friends, make sure Lucas is there with you, and if you ever find yourself alone at night take out your phone in one hand with 911 already dialed, and your keys in the other."

"Why my keys?"

"If you put them between your fingers they can be used as a weapon incase anything happens. I know some places ban things like pepper spray so I want you be prepared for the worse."

"Okay so phone and keys in hand, but what happens if I drop them, or if they gain the upper hand?"

"You fight Riley, never let anyone take anything from you that you didn't consent to, and if heaven forbid that something did happen, go to the police right afterwards, and then call me because I will fight heaven and hell to make sure that they burn for what they did. Because I will protect the ones, I love the most, and make sure that you can all protect yourselves."

Riley had found out that day that her mother was fiercely protective, not only of her, but also of her friends. Protect the ones you love, and protect yourself, were words that she would always hold dearly, because her friends were like family and she didn't want anything to happen to them. So, she sat there and told them everything that her mother had said, about self-defense about the buddy system, everything because she wanted them to be able to protect themselves if anything happened.

When they separated right after Riley sent a message to Lucas, because if there was one person, she needed to talk to about this it was him. She had heard about her father's reaction, and automatically knew that Lucas would have the same, if not worse reaction, if anything happened to her. She just wanted to make sure that he didn't do anything too rash if there was someone attacking people or hurting people he cared about. Lucas was standing outside of her dorm room the minute she got there, a soft smile on his face, he was just being the same guy that she's known for years, easy going and kind.

"Hey, I um… heard about something and I want to talk to you about it," she said having the need to rip off the band-aid as fast as she could.

"Um… well sure," he said as she opened the door and let him into her room.

"I heard something from the girls as we had lunch, about… well about attacks on campus, during parties and such, and well I want you to give me your word, that if anything happened to me… that you wouldn't go all Texas Lucas."

"Riley if anything happened to you… and I couldn't stop it… Riles that would hurt me more than you know," he said a sadness in his eyes and she knew that she was asking a lot of him, but she wanted him to have his dreams come true.

"If it makes you feel better I'll take self-defense classes, I'll start a drive for girls to be better protected, I'll even talk about it on the show with Sam, Zay, and Charlie, but under no circumstances do I want you to do anything rash and stupid… please Lucas," she couldn't help how her voice broke in the end, she didn't want him to lose himself to his own anger, not after everything he's done to be a better person. Lucas knew that it was hurting her as much as it would hurt him, so when he pulled her into his arms Riley understood that he was trying his best.

They didn't say anything for a few minutes as he held her, but when he pulled away she could see the war he was having just from looking at his eyes. She reached out and touched his face, giving him a small smile and kissing him on the lips.

"I'll try my best," he said once they separated, his head resting against hers.

After that they talked, like they had promised all of those years ago, she told him about what had happened to her parents, she told him everything little detail, even the things that she hadn't told Maya, Smackle, and Sam at lunch. So of course, like her mother, Lucas set up a plan for her, even if she didn't have the chance to take self-defense classes, he would teach her. He wanted to be sure that she would be safe no matter what, even if he couldn't be nearby.

In the weeks since their conversation, Riley had set up a small network through her radio show, small gatherings for girls to understand their options, for some of the guys to know what was happening. She made sure to include anyone who hadn't felt safe on campus, because organizing things was what she did best. It worked over the years, and she wasn't going to stop now. Lucas had some guys work with their girlfriends on self-defense techniques, Maya made posters for each event, Smackle and Farkle had created little safety alarms that would sound off if the person pressed a button on their phone that signaled an S.O.S. They all worked on it in some way or another, because they all wanted to be safe.

When no other incident had been reported after a few weeks, it felt like all of them could breathe easily for once, they mostly stuck to the buddy system, and if they were alone they did what Riley had told them to do. They had all become comfortable with everything, so in the end they had let their guard down enough to go on with their lives.

It wasn't until a late night at the library, where Riley had felt like someone was watching her, as he hairs stood up almost warning her of what could happen. It was the one night where Lucas had a late class, and because it was still winter, night came a little too quickly for her. She did everything her mother had told her on the walk home, and when she had reached her dorm she had felt silly for even thinking that something could go wrong. She walked up the stairs to her floor, letting her keys dangle, and putting her phone away, because she felt stupid for having it out in the first place.

Just as she reached her door someone grabbed her and pulled her towards a dark corner on the floor, they were just at the stairs again, when she began to fight, scratching at the person who was holding onto her. Her voice muffled by their hand, she could feel them breathing against her neck and it made her want to cry. The person tightened their grip on her and kept pulling her away from the safety of her room, and when they were alone, they forced her to face them.

Riley found herself face to face with one of the dorm advisors, he wasn't the one for her floor, so she didn't really know who they were, but she knew that they were angry judging by the look on his face. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, she wasn't sure if she would have been prepared for this in the end.

"You should have minded your own business," he said, and she knew that she was in trouble, she had blanked out for a moment, before on instinct she kneed him in the balls before taking a swing at his face. She hit him as hard as she could putting all of her body weight into it, even though she didn't have a lot of muscle she knew that she could hit. Lucas had once told her that she had a mean right hook, he had known this first hand because she had used it on him when they had been in Texas.

Once he was down she ran out the door, down the floor until all of the adrenaline that was coursing through her body had run out just as she slammed into a very familiar chest and started crying. Lucas held onto her and she knew that he didn't know what had happened, but there was something in his eyes the minute he saw her face and she knew that he knew. He pulled her into her room and closed the door before dialing 911, as she shook on her bed.

"Someone attacked her, she has a cut on her head and she's in shock," was all she heard before she heard the pounding on her door, making her jump.

Lucas looked to the door, the operator still on the other line, but the muffled sound of a very angry person on the other side made it known that the person had followed her back. She knew that they knew where she lived, he was one of the advisors for the dorm so of course he knew. The moment the sirens went off near her window the banging stopped, and she heard someone running from her door before the police showed up.

Riley could feel her hands still shaking, she didn't want to be scared, but she was, and it was a terrible feeling. Lucas held onto her while the police took her statement, before they were taken to the hospital so that Riley could be examined. It was there that her mother had found her, her mother who had gone through something similar, her mother who she had always thought was the strongest person in the world. It was there that she fell apart in her mother's arms as Lucas and her dad stood in the doorway. She had never felt so scared for her own life, because she had been so close to being attacked and no one would have known until it was too late.

[trashboatprince]

Another little one-shot for Ink Spots (posted up here cause its so short and not plot-heavy), this time it takes place after the previous one where Boris finds them, now showing Henry awake in the safehouse.

Summery: Bendy is happy to see that Henry is awake after that nasty fall, but he doesn’t like the fact that he sees another strange, ink-based mark on his creator.

Luckily, this one wasn’t from the studio, and it has an interesting story to go along with it.

Warning: mentions of drinking and drunkenness, mentions of war, Henry made some silly choices during his time in the service, headcanons and the like, you know the drill

I even included little illustrations for this, sketches actually, cause I draw for the main story. Also I wanted to show Henry’s tattoo.

On with the fic!

--

A Different Kind of Ink

Ink Spots one-shot

--

Bendy yawned loudly as he stretched out on the cot, rolling over to cling to Henry like he had done the last time he rested. Only he realized that there was no Henry with him. He gasped and sat up, looking around, seeing no sign of his human anywhere.

The door to the small room was opened, and he could hear water running down the hall, along with Henry’s voice. “I’ll wash these after mine dry. Thanks for lettin’ me borrow ‘em.” There was a bit of silence before Henry continued.

“Nah, it’s fine, you have a lot of extra clothes here. Were there more people here?”

“…”

“I see. Well, thanks, Boris. I’ll be done soon, just gotta make some attempt at the ink on my clothes, heh.”

Bendy blinked before stepping into the hall, seeing Boris happily walking back to the main room from the bathroom. The little demon approached the bathroom, peeking in to see Henry sitting on a chair at the sink, scrubbing away at his pants with a cleaning brush and a bar of soup. He was happy to see that the other was awake and moving around, he had been a bit out of it for a while since the hall, suffering from a fever from what Bendy could tell through Boris’ pantomiming.

He was coherent earlier but was still recovering from the back injuries he got. Bendy smiled as he watched Henry moving about with ease, seeming to not be bothered by any major pain and aches. From what Bendy could see, Henry was in a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top, allowing him to see the bandaged-up areas on the human. Though something caught the demon’s attention on Henry’s person.

On his upper left arm, near the start of his shoulder, was a black mark. From what Bendy could see, it was shaped like his head, like the inky mark on Henry’s right hand, only this one seemed to have his face instead of being a solid black. Oh… oh no! Did he have a second mark?! Did something happen after all that nonsense they went through the other day!?

He let out a small whimper, which seemed to catch Henry’s attention. “Oh, hey there, bud. Is somethin’ wrong?”

Bendy shifted on his feet before quietly approaching. He looked at the mark when he stopped by Henry’s side, examining it. It was clearly his face, signature grin, pie cut eye, though the left one was closed because the image was winking. There were even a few little stars around the image, and his bowtie was under his head.

“Henry, when did you get marked again?”

“Marked again?” Henry asked, raising an eyebrow, before he noticed what Bendy was looking at. “Oh! Heh, that’s not a mark!”

“B-But it looks like it’s made of ink! It’s gotta be from here!”

Henry laughed a little, shaking his head. “No, bud, that’s not from here. That’s from Belgium.”

Bendy blinked, confused. “Belgium? What do ya mean?”

The animator smiled as he picked Bendy up, setting him down on the counter as he returned to scrubbing at the ink on his pants. “Back in the early forties, there was a war going on and I got drafted. Well, a bit into my service, not too long before I got some nasty wounds that got me sent home early,” he gestured to a few scars on his leg and even lifted up his tank top a bit to show some on his side and stomach,

“I was stationed in Belgium, near the French boarder. My troop found a town to stay in for a bit alongside another troop, a French one, and we all went to a tavern that was open and still serving beer. A bunch of Americans findin’ a bar with beer? Heh, turned into one heck of a night for all of us and the French troop.”

The little demon watched, listening with interest as Henry continued. “Well, while I was there, I brought my sketchbook with me, finally getting the chance to just sit down and draw, ya know? Well, this one French solider sat down next to me, needing a break from his friends and some of mine, and he saw me drawin’ you.

“Turns out, he was a huge fan of the show, sayin’ he always went to the theater to catch the newest one. Let me tell you, the grin on that guy’s face when I told him I was your creator would rival yours, heh. His name is Maurice and we got to talkin’. Turns out he was an artist himself, he even ran a book store with his wife and brother, still does, I think. Anyway, he said he did tattoos as a side job, something he picked up from his father who use to do it himself.”

“Tattoo?” Bendy asked as Henry tapped his arm.

“This is a tattoo, it’s a drawin’ on your skin that’s made with a special kind of ink. A lot of people have them, often of special images and words. Sometimes… they’re not good things, but I won’t go into that. Anyway, well, when he said he did tattoos, my drunken brain thought, ‘hey Henry! You should get one’, and wow, did I not even give that a second thought.”

The imp snickered a little. “You picked to have a drawin’ of my beautiful mug, eh?”

“Well, I was really drunk and wanted somethin’ fun and hilarious, Maurice jokingly asked if I wanted you on my arm, and of course I said yes! He quickly made up a makeshift tool, turns out he had tattooed a few of his friends while on break from the battlefields a few times, and he got to work. I even let him pick out one of your sketches from my sketchbook to draw, and he picked this one.”

Henry smiled, looking a bit embarrassed. “Next mornin’, woke up hungover and found the tattoo. One of my friends who wasn’t hungover told me the story, and now I remember it after havin’ a cleared mind, but man was it embarrassin’ at first. Then it became a little symbol for the troop. We called ourselves the Smiling Demons, Maurice was nice enough to give a bunch of us little stars to match the ones around you. Cheesy, I know, but it was a nice gesture.”

He set the scrub down and looked at Bendy. “I’m actually still in contact with Maurice, ya know? We exchanged addressed and wrote to each other all the time, just updates on life and such. Sometimes we even would draw pictures for each other. A few years ago, me and Linda went and visited Paris, we ran into him and his wife and had a nice time.”

He chuckled a little as he sat back in the old chair. “Oh man, Linda was so furious with me when I told her about the tattoo, until she saw it. Then she just laughed, thought it was the funniest thing to ever happen to me. Oh, yeah, she was worried about my injuries and stuff, but that smilin’ face of yours cheered her up. We told this to Maurice and he looked so proud of his work, what a great guy, still a big fan of yours.”

Bendy smiled a little, kicking his feet as he leaned back on his hands. “Heh, nice to have friends, eh? Hey, whose Linda?”

“Oh, she’s my wife.”

“You’re married?! I didn’t know dat! Where’s yer ring?”

Henry dug into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a silver band. “I took it off on instinct when I came to the studio. I use to keep it off when I worked cause I always hated getting ink on it. I always felt bad about it getting messy when I came home, but Linda never seemed to mind, still, instinct made me pocket it. I’m surprised it survived all of that stuff we went through.”

Bendy nodded. “Say, when we get out, do ya think I’ll get to meet her?”

“Heh, of course you will. I’ll take us home and you’ll get to meet her, and hopefully the rest of my family. Gonna be hard to explain everythin’ that’s happened to us and how you came to me, and, well, hopefully our eyes will be returned to normal by then. Hm, she’s gonna be mad about me being home later than expected, and I doubt there’s a workin’ phone here…”

“Well, I bet she’ll understand when we tell her everythin’! Besides, ya got me as proof that crazy stuff happened!” Bendy grinned, looking excited now. “Golly, I can’t wait to get outta here, see da world, meet yer family, an’ spend time wit’cha without the chance of death bein’ around every corner!”

Henry looked at him, smiling a little. “Yeah, that’ll be nice. I’d like for you to see what’s beyond the studio, bet you’d like what we’ve got nowadays.”

“Tell me! Heck, tell me more about’cha, Henry! I wanna know all sorts of stuff about my favorite human.” Bendy happily yelled, if he had a tail, it would probably be wagging.

Blinking, Henry looked at him before laughing lightly. “Alright, let’s see… ah, when I was younger, I used to be a prankster and a troublemaker, like you…”

Boris peeked in on the two, having heard a lot of chitter chatter from the main room. He watched and listened to Henry as he talked to Bendy about his time at the studio when it first opened, seeming so happy to talk about the good stuff that had happened here. The wolf smiled, deciding to let them be, he was sure both of them needed a moment of peace together.

END

--

Just a little thing, I was thinking about the idea of my Henry having a tattoo of Bendy on his person, but I wasn’t sure what a good reason for it would be. Then I thought about this, and here we go!

That, and I almost, ALMOST wanted to give him something super ridiculous that he’d be embarrassed about cause I was re-reading my copy of Journal 3 and read about Ford’s tattoo. But I decided on Bendy being the design, a simple one, instead of something really silly.

Also, this fanfic was an excuse to establish a few things: Henry got hurt in the war but obviously lived, him and Linda are married (have been since 1930 in my au), and he already had ink in him before getting his mark. I also love the idea that Henry has friends from his army days (and most are still around, they remember Henry the artist, his nickname was Bendy as a joke)

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

[barpurplewrites]

Keep an open mind - Chapter 3

Previous chapters (HERE)

-x-x-x-

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Belle nibbled her bottom lip as she set her pint down squarely on the coaster. She’d been expecting this question, so had given some thought to her answer.

“I used to, in the same way I used to believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. Ghosts are just another fairy tale.”

She’d been focused on her glass as she spoke, when she’d finished she looked up and caught a sad smile on Gold’s face. Was he judging her? No, it didn’t look like judgement, or pity, it was sadder, more personal. How odd.

Jefferson waved an expressive hand; “I take the role of Mulder in our little troop, but for magic not aliens, although I believe in them to, it would be the height of vanity to assume we are alone in the universe.”

Belle hadn’t expected anything less from Jefferson. She’d known him long enough to have heard his excited babbling about various unexplained phenomena.  

Ariel nudged her shoulder; “I’m a full-on season one Scully. The only things that go bump in the night are dodgy pipes, animals and other humans.”

That surprised Belle; her first impression of Ariel had been of a flighty and fanciful woman. Her skill with sound engineering had shown a strong practical streak, but Belle still would have expected her to believe in all this ghost stuff.

Gold sighed; “Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy are lies we tell children to make the world more magical. Ghosts are lies we tell ourselves to make the world less painful.”

His voice was steady, but the depth of emotion in his eyes was heart-breaking. Belle wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she resisted the instinct. She didn’t not know Gold well enough to know if her actions would be welcome, and she didn’t want to overstep on her first day on the job. There was a story behind his words, one that was clearly personal and painful.

Jefferson cleared his throat and said jovially; “Time for trampoline tennis.”

“What?”

Belle looked around the bar wondering what sort of crazy game that could possibly be. Ariel chuckled; “Don’t worry. It’s what we call bouncing ideas back and forth about the episode. Not sure when we started calling it that, but it’s stuck.”

The other three pulled out notebooks from pockets and bags. Belle felt awkward that she didn’t have anything on her, she’d not been warned about this. She was just about to say she’d run back to the motel when Gold slid a brand-new notebook and pen across the table to her. It was a handsome thing, black fake leather embossed with Bumps in the Night logo.

Gold shrugged; “Should have given you this this morning, to welcome you to the crew, but I forgot it along with my gloves.”

“Thank you.”

Belle was a compulsive notebook buyer. She had some lovely ones at home, far too many still unused to justify buying more, not that that ever stopped her. This one was more of a journal, or project book. The paper was a nice thickness, and lightly lined, ideal for making sketches and for taking notes. Pockets inside the covers allowed for the safekeeping of loose paper and there were dividers that could be repositioned. It was something she would have bought for herself.

Gold smiled at her obvious enjoyment of the notebook. He flipped to the back and showed her the printed pages tucked within the pocket there.

“Our most commonly used resources. We do have a few free lance researchers who help out from time to time, but we’re such a small crew that everyone needs to pitch in. I know the pay doesn’t reflect that, but we normally get a decent end of season ratings bonus.”

Belle nodded as she scanned the list. It wasn’t unusual on small productions for everyone to muck in. The experience was always helpful, and the promise of a bonus was a nice thing to look forward to. The list was a mix of normal web addresses for land registry, archives of old maps and ancestry records, then there were the odder items that she supposed she’d have to get used to in this job; Reddit and Tumblr accounts that focused on ghosts and the supernatural.

“With so much of this being on line I surprised you don’t just give us tablets.”

Ariel and Jefferson laughed. Gold rolled his eyes; “You’re not the first to suggest it. I’m old fashioned, I like writing things down.”

“That and he’s terrible for leaving chargers in motels.”

Gold laughed at Jefferson’s comment; “Aye there is that too.”

 They decided to order food before they got started on the trampoline tennis. There was some friendly bickering about pineapple and its place on pizza. Jefferson was dead against it, while Ariel and Belle were indifferent. Gold was for it, claiming that it was vaguely healthy. Food on the road frequently was deep fried, so getting fruit when you could wasn’t a bad idea. A quick look at the menu proved that salad wasn’t an option. Belle made a note to herself to pick up some apples from a grocery store tomorrow.

After everyone had had a slice or two Gold asked: “So, what do we think of our Hanging Figure?”

Jefferson flicked a piece of pineapple off his slice of pizza and shrugged; “I think this one is going to end up being something mundane.”

Gold wiped his mouth with a napkin; “I think you’re right. No deaths in the property, no missing people, nothing that would suggest a ghostly presence.”

“Not even a creepy feeling, just an empty house. Although I wish the owner had left the carpets in place, the echoes we’re getting from footsteps are annoying.”

The heels of Gold’s boots had caused Ariel some major sound problems. Viewers would never know that Gold had done most of the internal shots in his stocking feet. Belle had managed not to giggle at his ghost Pokémon socks, just.

Belle took her camera out of her bag and flicked through some of the photos she’d taken of the window. There was an outline there that looked like a head and torso hanging from a rope. It was visible from all the angles she’d been able to take a photo from, outside and inside. There was nothing on the glass that would rub off, that had been one of the first things Gold had tested. She dipped a pizza crust in the pot of sour cream and jotted down some ideas.

“What are you thinking Belle?”

As was typical of these things Gold asked his question just as Belle had taken a bite of pizza. She chewed and hurriedly swallowed almost choking herself in the process. Gold grimaced and handed her a glass of water.

“Sorry about that.”

She waved his apology away as she glugged the water down.

“No worries, it happens,” – she looked at her notebook, - “If the window hadn’t been replaced twice I’d say that there was a defect in the glass. Is it possible that this is some long running prank and the window fitter has deliberately put the outline there?”

Jefferson thumbed through his own notebook; “Possible, but the replacements were done by two different owners twenty years apart, both used different companies. Nah, I don’t see it. Besides where’s the money?”

Finding out who would profit from potential haunting was the best way to discover the truth. One of the episodes Belle had watched after she’d accepted the job had used this approach to uncover a brother attempting to scam his siblings out of their inheritance by claiming the house was haunted.

Gold tapped his own notebook and shook his head; “There’s nothing like that here. If anything, the previous owners have lost money because of that window, and the current owner is hoping that we find an ordinary explanation, so he can sell up.”

“Okay so that leaves us with damp, or maybe a structural defect in the window frame? Y’know causing the glass to warp?”

Belle felt her suggestions were weak, but everyone else nodded encouragingly.

“We can look into both of those the day after tomorrow, the owner has given us permission to replace the window.”

“I should set up a camera, maybe two, one inside and one out, to film the window over night after it’s replaced. We might see the Hanging Figure reappear.”

She said it with a smile on her face but received serious nods from the others. She was going to need to remember that this gig might feel like a joke to her but two of the people who could fire her believed in this spooky stuff. Just because the content was on the kooky side didn’t mean that she shouldn’t do a thorough job.

While she’d been mental chastising herself Ariel had said something that had made Gold pull a face. Ariel poked in his direction with a pizza crust.

“Look I know you’re not a fan of them Gold, but they’re expected on a spook show, so we will set them up and show that we used them even if we don’t get anything.”

Ah, this was about the EMF and EVP. She was about to ask why Gold didn’t like them, but he spotted the obvious question on her face.

“It’s daft, but those damn machines give me tinnitus, especially the EVP. But Ariel is right they are expected, so we’ll set them up for the overnight, okay?”

Ariel gave him a happy grin; “Good, it’s usually more of a battle than that.”

“To be fair you do normally ask me about it first thing in the morning before I’ve had a cuppa.”

Ariel turned to Belle; “Did Jefferson warn you about that? Gold is a bear with a sore head before he’s had a cup of tea in the mornings. It’s his only diva-like quality.”

Gold gave a over the top gasp and place his hand against his heart; “You wound me Ariel I’m not that bad at all.”

Jefferson and Ariel both cocked an eyebrow and him and nodded. Gold deflated and flapped a hand at them; “Okay maybe I am,” – he smothered a yawn with the back of his hand, - “and I’m going to be much worse if I don’t call it a night and get some sleep.”

It wasn’t late, but it was heading in that direction and they did have an early start the next day. Belle was surprised when Gold collected the receipts for their meal and drinks. That sort of clerical work normally got shunted off on to one of the women. When she mentioned as much to Ariel on the walk back to the motel, she just shrugged; “Gold likes balancing the books, it’s relaxing for him. I suggested he try yoga, but he laughed at me.”

Belle snorted as she tried to picture Gold in various yoga poses. It was all the funnier because her imagination had conjured suit wearing Gold doing yoga. She was still smiling at the idea when she bid everyone good night and headed into her room.

[soysaucevictim]

Some of the Lost Months’ fitness recap, to the best of my fragmented brain’s ability. Writing this just so I can maybe get some closure for that span of time for at least my fitness stuff. Maybe a few accomplishments too. To try not to think this was an absolute grief-stricken void of garbage, y’know?

(Because I try to strive to be evenhanded about stuff, as default.)

--- ---

Exercise Log

July 13

Okay. So. After June 24... I pretty much stopped exercising, I think. I then made a go at returning to things here... outside of records - I won’t bother trying to remember how it felt to do everything, at this point. Too much time has passed for that.

First, today’s DD. 1′ uppercuts with EC. 44 reps.

Second, Day 23 of the AoSP. No levels.

Last Day 22 of the AC.

-

July 14

First, today’s DD. 30″ body saws with EC. 25 reps.

Second, Day 24 of the AoSP. No levels.

Last Day 23 of the AC.

-

July 15

First, today’s DD. 40 around the worlds with EC.

Second, Day 25 of the AoSP. Level 3.

Last Day 24 of the AC.

-

July 16

First, today’s DD. 30 side-to-side lunges with EC.

Last, Day 26 of the AoSP. No levels, but a day that involved push-ups to failure/fatigue. My numbers were: 32-30-26-24-22.

I tapped out of the Agility Challenge, at this point. Determined I lost too much the conditioning I needed to keep this up. Not for lack of trying. Too sore and out of shape.

-

July 17

First, today’s DD. 2′ scissor chops with EC. 288 reps.

Last, Day 27 of the AoSP. No levels.

-

July 18

First, today’s DD. 10 tricep extensions with EC.

Last, Day 28 of the AoSP. Level 3.

-

July 22

First, yesterday’s DD. 40 side bridges with EC (20/20).

Second, today’s DD. 40 donkey kicks with EC (20/20).

Last, Day 30 of the Arms of Steel Program. No Levels.

---

July 24

First, today’s DD. 1′ twist jacks with EC. 110 reps.

Second, Day 1 of Yoga with Adriene’s “HOME” Yoga Program. Nothing to really measure and memory not fresh enough to go into how I felt about what was ultimately to be a false start...

Last, Day 1 of the Easy Cardio Challenge. Ditto.

-

July 25

First, today’s DD. 1′ leg raise hold with EC (supine).

Second, Day 2 of HOME.

Last, Day 2 of the EZCC.

-

July 26

First, today’s DD. 20 single leg half squats with EC (10/10).

Second, Day 3 of HOME.

Last, Day 3 of the EZCC.

-

July 27

First, today’s DD. 20 side plank into reverse planks, modified. I allowed the moving leg to partially bend in the reverse plank (basically a partial one-armed bridge). I distinctly remember this being really friggin’ awkward to execute.

Second, Day 4 of HOME.

Last, Day 4 of the EZCC.

-

July 28

First, today’s DD. 1′ balance hold with EC (balancing table; 30″/30″) .

Second, Day 5 of HOME.

Last, Day 5 of the EZCC.

--

Aug 1

First, today’s DD. 2′ side leg raises with EC (from floor; 1′/1′.) 284 reps.

Second, Day 6 of HOME.

Last, Day 6 of the EZCC.

It was at this point I truly fell off the wagon since... yeah. I do think these will be worth revisiting, in future, though.

---

Summary of Fitness Experience (mostly for the DAREBEE crowd)...

I started the Arms of Steel Program and the Agility Challenge, in May 30.

Due to letting the exercise stuff slide so far off schedule, I had to throw in the towel on the challenge for July 16.

I did however manage to complete the program rather late, in July 22. I’m just happy I managed to complete at least one of these things. Emotional recall is shot. So I’ll just get into numbers:

Lv3 = All 10 Days Applicable

Final Push-Ups: 32-30-26-24-22

I did make a false start to do Yoga with Adriene’s “HOME” Yoga Program and  Easy Cardio Challenge in July 24. But by the time August 1 was over... I fell off the wagon completely...

When... when I think I’m ready to exercise again (maybe after I get back to logging my shit more regularly again, I’ll need to basically be okay with all the ???s on this thing). I may just do the Foundation Program & the DDs again. To start rebuilding the spine of my days’ structure.

I know I can get back on this horse. I know it.

--- ---

Non-Exercise Events & Other Accomplishments...

Had like a few Seeking Safety Groups and appointments. Had a few movie nights, several Hello Fresh Meals, etc. Fourth of July was okay, was tired/nostalgic, apparently. We also got to transferring the brother’s car stuff to dad... and gave a lot of his belongings to his friends.

Oh yeah, did go to a family reunion that I was dreading, but turned out better than I half-expected it to.

Did a few sketches (body horror warning, for the first three) and made that soundscape thing with iZ!Roman. Also managed to make another more polished piece of art, in Roman proclaiming himself a jackass (with all the love on my part.)

I started a Janus vent piece... that I unintentionally stopped working on d/t my energy level and ability to concentrate being shot. I do still want to finish that one eventually...

Designed and crafted a drawstring pouch for some finger cots... that i’ve been inconsistent about using. But at least they’re way more comf than the last sets I tried.

What you’ve probably noticed is me writing a lot more. For GymRat!AU, as evidenced. I still kinda want to keep the Writer Bug around so I can hopefully finish that iZ!AU before the year’s over.

Thought about turning a Goretober prompt list to a writing one or a Bad Things Happen Bingo, one day. But I think I’ve procrastinated enough from that project as it is. Not been in Artist/Illustrator Mode, anyways.

(The glitched screenshots dubiously count, in my book, but will note those too. The addition to the Deluge series also.)

[bonheurideeneuve]

The Eye of Allah

Rudyard Kipling

THE Cantor of St. Illod’s being far too enthusiastic a musician to concern himself with its Library, the Sub-Cantor, who idolised every detail of the work, was tidying up, after two hours’ writing and dictation in the Scriptorium. The copying-monks handed him in their sheets—it was a plain Four Gospels ordered by an Abbot at Evesham—and filed out to vespers. John Otho, better known as John of Burgos, took no heed. He was burnishing a tiny boss of gold in his miniature of the Annunciation for his Gospel of St. Luke, which it was hoped that Cardinal Falcodi, the Papal Legate, might later be pleased to accept.

‘Break off, John,’ said the Sub-Cantor in an undertone.

‘Eh? Gone, have they? I never heard. Hold a minute, Clement.’

The Sub-Cantor waited patiently. He had known John more than a dozen years, coming and going at St. Illod’s, to which monastery John, when abroad, always said he belonged. The claim was gladly allowed, for, more even than other Fitz Othos, he seemed to carry all the Arts under his hand, and most of their practical receipts under his hood.

The Sub-Cantor looked over his shoulder at the pinned-down sheet where the first words of the Magnificat were built up in gold washed with red-lac for a background to the Virgin’s hardly yet fired halo. She was shown, hands joined in wonder, at a lattice of infinitely intricate arabesque, round the edges of which sprays of orange-bloom seemed to load the blue hot air that carried back over the minute parched landscape in the middle distance.

‘You’ve made her all Jewess,’ said the SubCantor, studying the olive-flushed cheek and the eyes charged with foreknowledge.

‘What else was Our Lady?’ John slipped out the pins. ‘Listen, Clement. If I do not come back, this goes into my Great Luke, whoever finishes it.’ He slid the drawing between its guard-papers.

‘Then you’re for Burgos again—as I heard?’

‘In two days. The new Cathedral yonder—but they’re slower than the Wrath of God, those masons—is good for the soul.’

‘Thy soul?’ The Sub-Cantor seemed doubtful.

‘Even mine, by your permission. And down south—on the edge of the Conquered Countries—Granada way—there’s some Moorish diaper-work that’s wholesome. It allays vain thought and draws it toward the picture—as you felt, just now, in my Annunciation.’

‘She—it was very beautiful. No wonder you go. But you’ll not forget your absolution, John?’

‘Surely.’ This was a precaution John no more omitted on the eve of his travels than he did the recutting of the tonsure which he had provided himself with in his youth, somewhere near Ghent. The mark gave him privilege of clergy at a pinch, and a certain consideration on the road always.

‘You’ll not forget, either, what we need in the Scriptorium. There’s no more true ultramarine in this world now. They mix it with that German blue. And as for vermilion——’

‘I’ll do my best always.’

‘And Brother Thomas’ (this was the Infirmarian in charge of the monastery hospital) ‘he needs——’

‘He’ll do his own asking. I’ll go over his side now, and get me re-tonsured.’

John went down the stairs to the lane that divides the hospital and cook-house from the back-cloisters. While he was being barbered, Brother Thomas (St. Illod’s meek but deadly persistent Infirmarian) gave him a list of drugs that he was to bring back from Spain by hook, crook, or lawful purchase. Here they were surprised by the lame, dark Abbot Stephen, in his fur-lined night-boots. Not that Stephen de Sautré was any spy; but as a young man he had shared an unlucky Crusade, which had ended, after a battle at Mansura, in two years’ captivity among the Saracens at Cairo where men learn to walk softly. A fair huntsman and hawker, a reasonable disciplinarian, but a man of science above all, and a Doctor of Medicine under one Ranulphus, Canon of St. Paul’s, his heart was more m the monastery’s hospital work than its religious. He checked their list interestedly, adding items of his own. After the Infirmarian had withdrawn, he gave John generous absolution, to cover lapses by the way; for he did not hold with chance-bought Indulgences.

‘And what seek you this journey?’ he demanded, sitting on the bench beside the mortar and scales in the little warm cell for stored drugs.

‘Devils, mostly,’ said John, grinning.

‘In Spain? Are not Abana and Phar-par——?’

John, to whom men were but matter for drawings, and well-born to boot (since he was a de Sanford on his mother’s side), looked the Abbot full in the face and—‘Did you find it so?’ said he.

‘No. They were in Cairo too. But what’s your special need of ’em?’

‘For my Great Luke. He’s the masterhand of all Four when it comes to devils.’

‘No wonder. He was a physician. You’re not.’

‘Heaven forbid! But I’m weary of our Church-pattern devils. They’re only apes and goats and poultry conjoined. ’Good enough for plain red-and-black Hells and Judgment Days—but not for me.’

‘What makes you so choice in them?’

‘Because it stands to reason and Art that there are all musters of devils in Hell’s dealings. Those Seven, for example, that were haled out of the Magdalene. They’d be she-devils—no kin at all to the beaked and horned and bearded devils-general.’

The Abbot laughed.

‘And see again! The devil that came out of the dumb man. What use is snout or bill to him? He’d be faceless as a leper. Above all—God send I live to do it!—the devils that entered the Gadarene swine. They’d be—they’d be—I know not yet what they’d be, but they’d be surpassing devils. I’d have ’em diverse as the Saints themselves. But now, they’re all one pattern, for wall, window, or picture-work.’

‘Go on, John. You’re deeper in this mystery than I’

‘Heaven forbid! But I say there’s respect due to devils, damned tho’ they be.’

‘Dangerous doctrine.’

‘My meaning is that if the shape of anything be worth man’s thought to picture to man, it’s worth his best thought.’

‘That’s safer. But I’m glad I’ve given you Absolution.’

‘There’s less risk for a craftsman who deals with the outside shapes of things—for Mother Church’s glory.’

‘Maybe so, but, John’—the Abbot’s hand almost touched John’s sleeve—‘tell me, now, is—is she Moorish or—or Hebrew?’

‘She’s mine,’ John returned.

‘Is that enough?’

‘I have found it so.’

‘Well—ah well! It’s out of my jurisdiction, but—how do they look at it down yonder?’

‘Oh, they drive nothing to a head in Spain—neither Church nor King, bless them! There’s too many Moors and Jews to kill them all, and if they chased ’em away there’d be no trade nor farming. Trust me, in the Conquered Countries, from Seville to Granada, we live lovingly enough together—Spaniard, Moor, and Jew. Ye see, we ask no questions.’

‘Yes—yes,’ Stephen sighed. ‘And always there’s the hope she may be converted.’

‘Oh yes, there’s always hope.’

The Abbot went on into the hospital. It was an easy age before Rome tightened the screw as to clerical connections. If the lady were not too forward, or the son too much his father’s beneficiary in ecclesiastical preferments and levies, a good deal was overlooked. But, as the Abbot had reason to recall, unions between Christian and Infidel led to sorrow. None the less, when John with mule, mails, and man, clattered off down the lane for Southampton and the sea, Stephen envied him.

.     .     .     .     .

He was back, twenty months later, in good hard case, and loaded down with fairings. A lump of richest lazuli, a bar of orange-hearted vermilion, and a small packet of dried beetles which make most glorious scarlet, for the SubCantor. Besides that, a few cubes of milky marble, with yet a pink flush in them, which could be slaked and ground down to incomparable background-stuff. There were quite half the drugs that the Abbot and Thomas had demanded, and there was a long deep-red cornelian necklace for the Abbot’s Lady—Anne of Norton. She received it graciously, and asked where John had come by it.

‘Near Granada,’ he said.

‘You left all well there?’ Anne asked. (Maybe the Abbot had told her something of John’s confession.)

‘I left all in the hands of God.’

‘Ah me! How long since?’

‘Four months less eleven days.’

‘Were you—with her?’

‘In my arms. Childbed.’

‘And?’

‘The boy too. There is nothing now.’

Anne of Norton caught her breath.

‘I think you’ll be glad of that,’ she said after a while.

‘Give me time, and maybe I’ll compass it. But not now.’

‘You have your handiwork and your art, and—John—remember there’s no jealousy in the grave.’

‘Ye-es! I have my Art, and Heaven knows I’m jealous of none.’

‘Thank God for that at least,’ said Anne of Norton, the always ailing woman who followed the Abbot with her sunk eyes. ‘And be sure I shall treasure this’—she touched the beads—‘as long as I shall live.’

‘I brought—trusted—it to you for that,’ he replied, and took leave. When she told the Abbot how she had come by it, he said nothing, but as he and Thomas were storing the drugs that John handed over in the cell which backs on to the hospital kitchen-chimney, he observed, of a cake of dried poppy juice: ‘This has power to cut off all pain from a man’s body.’

‘I have seen it,’ said John.

‘But for pain of the soul there is, outside God’s Grace, but one drug; and that is a man’s craft, learning, or other helpful motion of his own mind.’

‘That is coming to me, too,’ was the answer.

John spent the next fair May day out in the woods with the monastery swineherd and all the porkers; and returned loaded with flowers and sprays of spring, to his own carefully kept place in the north bay of the Scriptorium. There, with his travelling sketch-books under his left elbow, he sunk himself past all recollections in his Great Luke.

Brother Martin, Senior Copyist (who spoke about once a fortnight), ventured to ask, later, how the work was going.

‘All here!’ John tapped his forehead with his pencil. ‘It has been only waiting these months to—ah God!—be born. Are ye free of your plain-copying, Martin?’

Brother Martin nodded. It was his pride that John of Burgos turned to him, in spite of his seventy years, for really good page-work.

‘Then see!’ John laid out a new vellum—thin but flawless. ‘There’s no better than this sheet from here to Paris. Yes! Smell it if you choose. Wherefore—give me the compasses and I’11 set it out for you—if ye make one letter lighter or darker than its next, I’ll stick ye like a pig.’

‘Never, John!’ The old man beamed happily. ‘But I will! Now, follow! Here and here, as I prick, and in script of just this height to the hair’s-breadth, yell scribe the thirty-first and thirty-second verses of Eighth Luke.’

‘Yes, the Gadarene Swine! “And they besought him that he would not command them to go out into the abyss. And there was a herd of many swine”’—— Brother Martin naturally knew all the Gospels by heart.

‘Just so! Down to “and he suffered them.” Take your time to it. My Magdalene has to come off my heart first.’

Brother Martin achieved the work so perfectly that John stole some soft sweetmeats from the Abbot’s kitchen for his reward. The old man ate them; then repented; then confessed and insisted on penance. At which, the Abbot, knowing there was but one way to reach the real sinner, set him a book called De Virtutibus Herbarum to fair-copy. St. Illod’s had borrowed it from the gloomy Cistercians, who do not hold with pretty things, and the crabbed text kept Martin busy just when John wanted him for some rather specially spaced letterings.

‘See now,’ said the Sub-Cantor improvingly. ‘You should not do such things, John. Here’s Brother Martin on penance for your sake——’

‘No—for my Great Luke. But I’ve paid the Abbot’s cook. I’ve drawn him till his own scullions cannot keep straight-faced. He’ll not tell again.’

‘Unkindly done! And you’re out of favour with the Abbot too. He’s made no sign to you since you came back—never asked you to high table.’

‘I’ve been busy. Having eyes in his head, Stephen knew it. Clement, there’s no Librarian from Durham to Torre fit to clean up after you.’

The Sub-Cantor stood on guard; he knew where John’s compliments generally ended.

‘But outside the Scriptorium——’

‘Where I never go.’ The Sub-Cantor had been excused even digging in the garden, lest it should mar his wonderful book-binding hands.

‘In all things outside the Scriptorium you are the master-fool of Christendie. Take it from me, Clement. I’ve met many.’

‘I take everything from you,’ Clement smiled benignly. ‘You use me worse than a singing-boy.

They could hear one of that suffering breed in the cloister below, squalling as the Cantor pulled his hair.

‘God love you! So I do! But have you ever thought how I lie and steal daily on my travels—yes, and for aught you know, murder—to fetch you colours and earths?’

‘True,’ said just and conscience-stricken Clement. ‘I have often thought that were I in the world—which God forbid!—I might be a strong thief in some matters.’

Even Brother Martin, bent above his loathed De Virtutibus, laughed.

.     .     .     .     .

But about mid-summer, Thomas the Infirmarian conveyed to John the Abbot’s invitation to supper in his house that night, with the request that he would bring with him anything that he had done for his Great Luke.

‘What’s toward?’ said John, who had been wholly shut up in his work.

‘Only one of his “wisdom” dinners. You’ve sat at a few since you were a man.’

‘True: and mostly good. How would Stephen have us——?’

‘Gown and hood over all. There will be a doctor from Salerno—one Roger, an Italian. Wise and famous with the knife on the body. He’s been in the Infirmary some ten days, helping me—even me!’

‘’Never heard the name. But our Stephen’s physicus before sacerdos, always.’

‘And his Lady has a sickness of some time. Roger came hither in chief because of her.’

‘Did he? Now I think of it, I have not seen the Lady Anne for a while.’

‘Ye’ve seen nothing for a long while. She has been housed near a month—they have to carry her abroad now.’

‘So bad as that, then?’

‘Roger of Salerno will not yet say what he thinks. But——’

‘God pity Stephen! . . . Who else at table, besides thee?’

‘An Oxford friar. Roger is his name also. A learned and famous philosopher. And he holds his liquor too, valiantly.’

‘Three doctors—counting Stephen. I’ve always found that means two atheists.’

Thomas looked uneasily down his nose. ‘That’s a wicked proverb,’ he stammered. ‘You should not use it.’

‘Hoh! Never come you the monk over me, Thomas! You’ve been Infirmarian at St. Illod’s eleven years—and a lay-brother still. Why have you never taken orders, all this while?’

‘I—I am not worthy.’

‘Ten times worthier than that new fat swine—Henry Who’s-his-name—that takes the Infirmary Masses. He bullocks in with the Viaticum, under your nose, when a sick man’s only faint from being bled. So the man dies—of pure fear. Ye know it! I’ve watched your face at such times. Take Orders, Didymus. You’ll have a little more medicine and a little less Mass with your sick then; and they’ll live longer.’

‘I am unworthy—unworthy,’ Thomas repeated pitifully.

‘Not you—but—to your own master you stand or fall. And now that my work releases me for awhile, I’ll drink with any philosopher out of any school. And, Thomas,’ he coaxed, ‘a hot bath for me in the Infirmary before vespers.’

.     .     .     .     .

When the Abbot’s perfectly cooked and served meal had ended, and the deep-fringed naperies were removed, and the Prior had sent in the keys with word that all was fast in the Monastery, and the keys had been duly returned with the word, ‘Make it so till Prime,’ the Abbot and his guests went out to cool themselves in an upper cloister that took them, by way of the leads, to the South Choir side of the Triforium. The summer sun was still strong, for it was barely six o’clock, but the Abbey Church, of course, lay in her wonted darkness. Lights were being lit for choir-practice thirty feet below.

‘Our Cantor gores them no rest,’ the Abbot whispered. ‘Stand by this pillar and we’ll hear what he’s driving them at now.’

‘Remember, all!’ the Cantor’s hard voice came up. ‘This is the soul of Bernard himself, attacking our evil world. Take it quicker than yesterday, and throw all your words clean-bitten from you. In the loft there! Begin!’

The organ broke out for an instant, alone and raging. Then the voices crashed together into that first fierce line of the ‘De Contemptu Mundi.’

‘Hora novissima—tempora pessima’—a dead pause till the assenting sunt broke, like a sob, out of the darkness, and one boy’s voice, clearer than silver trumpets, returned the long-drawn vigilemus.

‘Ecce minaciter, imminet Arbiter’ (organ and voices were leashed togethor in terror and warning, breaking away liquidly to the ‘ille supremus’). Then the tone-colours shifted for the prelude to ‘Imminet, imminet, ut mala terminet——’

‘Stop! Again!’ cried the Cantor ; and gave his reasons a little more roundly than was natural at choir-practice.

‘Ah! Pity o’ man’s vanity! He’s guessed we are here. Come away!’ said the Abbot. Anne of Norton, in her carried chair, had been listening too, further along the dark Triforium, with Roger of Salerno. John heard her sob. On the way back, he asked Thomas how her health stood. Before Thomas could reply the sharp-featured Italian doctor pushed between them. ‘Following on our talk together, I judged it best to tell her,’ said he to Thomas.

‘What?’ John asked simply enough.

‘What she knew already.’ Roger of Salerno launched into a Greek quotation to the effect that every woman knows all about everything.

‘I have no Greek,’ said John stiffly. Roger of Salerno had been giving them a good deal of it, at dinner.

‘Then I’ll come to you in Latin. Ovid hath it neatly. “Utque malum late solet immedicabile cancer——” but doubtless you know the rest, worthy Sir.’

‘Alas! My school-Latin’s but what I’ve gathered by the way from fools professing to heal sick women. “Hocus-pocus——” but doubtless you know the rest, worthy Sir.’

Roger of Salerno was quite quiet till they regained the dining-room, where the fire had been comforted and the dates, raisins, ginger, figs, and cinnamon-scented sweetmeats set out, with the choicer wines, on the after-table. The Abbot seated himself, drew off his ring, dropped it, that all might hear the tinkle, into an empty silver cup, stretched his feet towards the hearth, and looked at the great gilt and carved rose in the barrel-roof. The silence that keeps from Compline to Matins had closed on their world. The bull-necked Friar watched a ray of sunlight split itself into colours on the rim of a crystal salt-cellar; Roger of Salerno had re-opened some discussion with Brother Thomas on a type of spotted fever that was baffling them both in England and abroad; John took note of the keen profile, and—it might serve as a note for the Great Luke—his hand moved to his bosom. The Abbot saw, and nodded permission. John whipped out silver-point and sketch-book.

‘Nay—modesty is good enough—but deliver your own opinion,’ the Italian was urging the Infirmarian. Out of courtesy to the foreigner nearly all the talk was in table-Latin; more formal and more copious than monk’s patter. Thomas began with his meek stammer.

‘I confess myself at a loss for the cause of the fever unless—as Varro saith in his De Re Rustica—certain small animals which the eye cannot follow enter the body by the nose and mouth, and set up grave diseases. On the other hand, this is not in Scripture.’

Roger of Salerno hunched head and shoulders like an angry cat. ‘Always that!’ he said, and John snatched down the twist of the thin lips.

‘Never at rest, John.’ The Abbot smiled at the artist. ‘You should break off every two hours for prayers, as we do. St. Benedict was no fool. Two hours is all that a man can carry the edge of his eye or hand.’

‘For copyists—yes. Brother Martin is not sure after one hour. But when a man’s work takes him, he must go on till it lets him go.’

‘Yes, that is the Demon of Socrates,’ the Friar from Oxford rumbled above his cup.

‘The doctrine leans toward presumption,’ said the Abbot. ‘Remember, “Shall mortal man be more just than his Maker?”’

‘There is no danger of justice’; the Friar spoke bitterly. ‘But at least Man might be suffered to go forward in his Art or his thought. Yet if Mother Church sees or hears him move anyward, what says she? “No!” Always “No.”’

‘But if the little animals of Varro be invisible’—this was Roger of Salerno to Thomas—‘how are we any nearer to a cure?’

‘By experiment’—the Friar wheeled round on them suddenly. ‘By reason and experiment. The one is useless without the other. But Mother Church——’

‘Ay !’ Roger de Salerno dashed at the fresh bait like a pike. ‘Listen, Sirs. Her bishops—our Princes—strew our roads in Italy with carcasses that they make for their pleasure or wrath. Beautiful corpses! Yet if I—if we doctors—so much as raise the skin of one of them to look at God’s fabric beneath, what says Mother Church? “Sacrilege! Stick to your pigs and dogs, or you burn!”’

‘And not Mother Church only!’ the Friar chimed in. ‘Every way we are barred—barred by the words of some man, dead a thousand years, which are held final. Who is any son of Adam that his one say—so should close a door towards truth? I would not except even Peter Peregrinus, my own great teacher.’

‘Nor I Paul of Aegina,’ Roger of Salerno cried. ‘Listen, Sirs! Here is a case to the very point. Apuleius affirmeth, if a man eat fasting of the juice of the cut-leaved buttercup—sceleratus we call it, which means “rascally”’—this with a condescending nod towards John—‘his soul will leave his body laughing. Now this is the lie more dangerous than truth, since truth of a sort is in it.’

‘He’s away!’ whispered the Abbot despairingly.

‘For the juice of that herb, I know by experiment, burns, blisters, and wries the mouth. I know also the rictus, or pseudo-laughter, on the face of such as have perished by the strong poisons of herbs allied to this ranunculus. Certainly that spasm resembles laughter. It seems then, in my judgment, that Apuleius, having seen the body of one thus poisoned, went off at score and wrote that the man died laughing.’

‘Neither staying to observe, nor to confirm observation by experiment,’ added the Friar, frowning.

Stephen the Abbot cocked an eyebrow toward John.

‘How think you?’ said he.

‘I’m no doctor,’ John returned, ‘but I’d say Apuleius in all these years might have been betrayed by his copyists. They take short-cuts to save ’emselves trouble. Put case that Apuleius wrote the soul seems to leave the body laughing, after this poison. There’s not three copyists in five (my judgment) would not leave out the “seems to.” For who’d question Apuleius? If it seemed so to him, so it must be. Otherwise any child knows cut-leaved buttercup.’

‘Have you knowledge of herbs?’ Roger of Salerno asked curtly.

‘Only that, when I was a boy in convent, I’ve made tetters round my mouth and on my neck with buttercup juice, to save going to prayer o’ cold nights.’

‘Ah!’ said Roger. ‘I profess no knowledge of tricks.’ He turned aside, stiffly.

‘No matter! Now for your own tricks, John,’ the tactful Abbot broke in. ‘You shall show the doctors your Magdalene and your Gadarene Swine and the devils.’

‘Devils? Devils? I have produced devils by means of drugs; and have abolished them by the same means. Whether devils be external to mankind or immanent, I have not yet pronounced.’ Roger of Salerno was still angry.

‘Ye dare not,’ snapped the Friar from Oxford. ‘Mother Church makes Her own devils.’

‘Not wholly! Our John has come back from Spain with brand-new ones.’ Abbot Stephen took the vellum handed to him, and laid it tenderly on the table. They gathered to look. The Magdalene was drawn in palest, almost transparent, grisaille, against a raging, swaying background of woman-faced devils, each broke to and by her special sin, and each, one could see, frenziedly straining against the Power that compelled her.

‘I’ve never seen the like of this grey shadowwork,’ said the Abbot. ‘How came you by it?’

‘Non nobis! It came to me,’ said John, not knowing he was a generation or so ahead of his time in the use of that medium.

‘Why is she so pale?’ the Friar demanded.

‘Evil has all come out of her—she’d take any colour now.’

‘Ay, like light through glass. I see.’

Roger of Salerno was looking in silence—his nose nearer and nearer the page. ‘It is so,’ he pronounced finally. ‘Thus it is in epilepsy—mouth, eyes, and forehead—even to the droop of her wrist there. Every sign of it! She will need restoratives, that woman, and, afterwards, sleep natural. No poppy juice, or she will vomit on her waking. And thereafter—but I am not in my Schools.’ He drew himself up. ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘you should be of Our calling. For, by the Snakes of Aesculapius, you see!’

The two struck hands as equals.

‘And how think you of the Seven Devils?’ the Abbot went on.

These melted into convoluted flower—or flame-like bodies, ranging in colour from phosphorescent green to the black purple of outworn iniquity, whose hearts could be traced beating through their substance. But, for sign of hope and the sane workings of life, to be regained, the deep border was of conventionalised spring flowers and birds, all crowned by a kingfisher in haste, atilt through a clump of yellow iris.

Roger of Salerno identified the herbs and spoke largely of their virtues.

‘And now, the Gadarene Swine,’ said Stephen. John laid the picture on the table.

Here were devils dishoused, in dread of being abolished to the Void, huddling and hurtling together to force lodgment by every opening into the brute bodies offered. Some of the swine fought the invasion, foaming and jerking; some were surrendering to it, sleepily, as to a luxurious back-scratching; others, wholly possessed, whirled off in bucking droves for the lake beneath. In one corner the freed man stretched out his limbs all restored to his control, and Our Lord, seated, looked at him as questioning what he would make of his deliverance.

‘Devils indeed!’ was the Friar’s comment. ‘But wholly a new sort.’

Some devils were mere lumps, with lobes and protuberances—a hint of a fiend’s face peering through jelly-like walls. And there was a family of impatient, globular devillings who had burst open the belly of their smirking parent, and were revolving desperately toward their prey. Others patterned themselves into rods, chains and ladders, single or conjoined, round the throat and jaws of a shrieking sow, from whose ear emerged the lashing, glassy tail of a devil that had made good his refuge. And there were granulated and conglomerate devils, mixed up with the foam and slaver where the attack was fiercest. Thence the eye carried on to the insanely active backs of the downward-racing swine, the swineherd’s aghast face, and his dog’s terror.

Said Roger of Salerno, ‘I pronounce that these were begotten of drugs. They stand outside the rational mind.’

‘Not these,’ said Thomas the Infirmarian, who as a servant of the Monastery should have asked his Abbot’s leave to speak. ‘Not these—look!—in the bordure.’

The border to the picture was a diaper of irregular but balanced compartments or cellules, where sat, swam, or weltered, devils in blank, so to say—things as yet uninspired by Evil—indifferent, but lawlessly outside imagination. Their shapes resembled, again, ladders, chains, scourges, diamonds, aborted buds, or gravid phosphorescent globes-some well-nigh starlike.

Roger of Salerno compared them to the obsessions of a Churchman’s mind.

‘Malignant?’ the Friar from Oxford questioned.

‘“Count everything unknown for horrible,”’ Roger quoted with scorn.

‘Not I. But they are marvellous—marvellous. I think——’

The Friar drew back. Thomas edged in to see better, and half opened his mouth.

‘Speak,’ said Stephen, who had been watching him. ‘We are all in a sort doctors here.’

‘I would say then’—Thomas rushed at it as one putting out his life’s belief at the stake—‘that these lower shapes in the bordure may not be so much hellish and malignant as models and patterns upon which John has tricked out and embellished his proper devils among the swine above there!’

‘And that would signify?’ said Roger of Salerno sharply.

‘In my poor judgment, that he may have seen such shapes—without help of drugs.’

‘Now who—who,’ said John of Burgos, after a round and unregarded oath, ‘has made thee so wise of a sudden, my Doubter?’

‘I wise? God forbid! Only John, remember—one winter six years ago—the snow-flakes melting on your sleeve at the cookhouse-door. You showed me them through a little crystal, that made small things larger.’

‘Yes. The Moors call such a glass the Eye of Allah,’ John confirmed.

‘You showed me them melting—six-sided. You called them, then, your patterns.’

‘True. Snow-flakes melt six-sided. I have used them for diaper-work often.’

‘Melting snow-flakes as seen through a glass? By art optical?’ the Friar asked.

‘Art optical? I have never heard!’ Roger of Salerno cried.

‘John,’ said the Abbot of St. Illod’s commandingly, ‘was it—is it so?’

‘In some sort,’ John replied, ‘Thomas has the right of it. Those shapes in the bordure were my workshop-patterns for the devils above. In my craft, Salerno, we dare not drug. It kills hand and eye. My shapes are to be seen honestly, in nature.’

The Abbot drew a bowl of rose-water towards him. ‘When I was prisoner with—with the Saracens after Mansura,’ he began, turning up the fold of his long sleeve, ‘there were certain magicians—physicians—who could show—’ he dipped his third finger delicately in the water—‘all the firmament of Hell, as it were, in—’ he shook off one drop from his polished nail on to the polished table—‘even such a supernaculum as this.’

‘But it must be foul water—not clean,’ said John.

‘Show us then—all—all,’ said Stephen. ‘I would make sure—once more.’ The Abbot’s voice was official.

John drew from his bosom a stamped leather box, some six or eight inches long, wherein, bedded on faded velvet, lay what looked like silver-bound compasses of old box-wood, with a screw at the head which opened or closed the legs to minute fractions. The legs terminated, not in points, but spoon-shapedly, one spatula pierced with a metal-lined hole less than a quarter of an inch across, the other with a half-inch hole. Into this latter John, after carefully wiping with a silk rag, slipped a metal cylinder that carried glass or crystal, it seemed, at each end.

‘Ah! Art optic!’ said the Friar. ‘But what is that beneath it?’

It was a small swivelling sheet of polished silver no bigger than a florin, which caught the light and concentrated it on the lesser hole. John adjusted it without the Friar’s proffered help.

‘And now to find a drop of water,’ said he, picking up a small brush.

‘Come to my upper cloister. The sun is on the leads still,’ said the Abbot, rising.

They followed him there. Half-way along, a drip from a gutter had made a greenish puddle in a worn stone. Very carefully, John dropped a drop of it into the smaller hole of the compassleg, and, steadying the apparatus on a coping, worked the screw m the compass joint, screwed the cylinder, and swung the swivel of the mirror till he was satisfied.

‘Good!’ He peered through the thing. ‘My Shapes are all here. Now look, Father! If they do not meet your eye at first, turn this nicked edge here, left- or right-handed.’

‘I have not forgotten,’ said the Abbot, taking his place. ‘Yes! They are here—as they were in my time—my time past. There is no end to them, I was told . . . . There is no end!’

‘The light will go. Oh, let me look! Suffer me to see, also!’ the Friar pleaded, almost shouldering Stephen from the eye-piece. The Abbot gave way. His eyes were on time past. But the Friar, instead of looking, turned the apparatus in his capable hands.

‘Nay, nay,’ John interrupted, for the man was already fiddling at the screws. ‘Let the Doctor see.’

Roger of Salerno looked, minute after minute. John saw his blue-veined cheek-bones turn white. He stepped back at last, as though stricken.

‘It is a new world—a new world, and—Oh, God Unjust!—I am old!’

‘And now Thomas,’ Stephen ordered.

John manipulated the tube for the Infirmarian, whose hands shook, and he too looked long. ‘It is Life,’ he said presently in a breaking voice. ‘No Hell! Life created and rejoicing—the work of the Creator. They live, even as I have dreamed. Then it was no sin for me to dream. No sin—O God—no sin!’

He flung himself on his knees and began hysterically the Benedicite omnia Opera.

‘And now I will see how it is actuated,’ said the Friar from Oxford, thrusting forward again.

‘Bring it within. The place is all eyes and ears,’ said Stephen.

They walked quietly back along the leads, three English counties laid out in evening sunshine around them; church upon church, monastery upon monastery, cell after cell, and the bulk of a vast cathedral moored on the edge of the banked shoals of sunset.

When they were at the after-table once more they sat down, all except the Friar, who went to the window and huddled bat-like over the thing. ‘I see! I see!’ he was repeating to himself.

‘He’ll not hurt it,’ said John. But the Abbot, staring in front of him, like Roger of Salerno, did not hear. The Infirmarian’s head was on the table between his shaking arms.

John reached for a cup of wine.

‘It was shown to me,’ the Abbot was speaking to himself, ‘in Cairo, that man stands ever between two Infinities—of greatness and littleness. Therefore, there is no end—either to life—or—’

‘And I stand on the edge of the grave,’ snarled Roger of Salerno. ‘Who pities me?’

‘Hush!’ said Thomas the Infirmarian. ‘The little creatures shall be sanctified—sanctified to the service of His sick.’

‘What need?’ John of Burgos wiped his lips. ‘It shows no more than the shapes of things. It gives good pictures. I had it at Granada. It was brought from the East, they told me.’

Roger of Salerno laughed with an old man’s malice. ‘What of Mother Church? Most Holy Mother Church? If it comes to Her ears that we have spied into Her Hell without Her leave, where do we stand?’

‘At the stake,’ said the Abbot of St. Illod’s, and, raising his voice a trifle ‘You hear that? Roger Bacon, heard you that?’

The Friar turned from the window, clutching the compasses tighter.

‘No, no!’ he appealed. ‘Not with Falcodi—not with our English-hearted Foulkes made Pope. He’s wise—he’s learned. He reads what I have put forth. Foulkes would never suffer it.’

‘“Holy Pope is one thing, Holy Church another,”’ Roger quoted.

‘But I—I can bear witness it is no Art Magic,’ the Friar went on. ‘Nothing is it, except Art optical-wisdom after trial and experiment, mark you. I can prove it, and—my name weighs with men who dare think.’

‘Find them!’ croaked Roger of Salerno. ‘Five or six in all the world. That makes less than fifty pounds by weight of ashes at the stake. I have watched such men—reduced.’

‘I will not give this up!’ The Friar’s voice cracked in passion and despair. ‘It would be to sin against the Light.’

‘No, no! Let us—let us sanctify the little animals of Varro,’ said Thomas.

Stephen leaned forward, fished his ring out of the cup, and slipped it on his finger. ‘My sons,’ said he, ‘we have seen what we have seen.’

‘That it is no magic but simple Art,’ the Friar persisted.

‘‘Avails nothing. In the eyes of Mother Church we have seen more than is permitted to man.’

‘But it was Life—created and rejoicing,’ said Thomas.

‘To look into Hell as we shall be judged—as we shall be proved—to have looked, is for priests only.’

‘Or green-sick virgins on the road to sainthood who, for cause any midwife could give you——’

The Abbot’s half-lifted hand checked Roger of Salerno’s outpouring.

‘Nor may even priests see more in Hell than Church knows to be there. John, there is respect due to Church as well as to Devils.’

‘My trade’s the outside of things,’ said John quietly. ‘I have my patterns.’

‘But you may need to look again for more,’ the Friar said.

‘In my craft, a thing done is done with. We go on to new shapes after that.’

‘And if we trespass beyond bounds, even in thought, we lie open to the judgment of the Church,’ the Abbot continued.

‘But thou knowest—knowest!’ Roger of Salerno had returned to the attack. ‘Here’s all the world in darkness concerning the causes of things—from the fever across the lane to thy Lady’s—throe own Lady’s—eating malady. Think!’

‘I have thought upon it, Salerno! I have thought indeed.’

Thomas the Infirmarian lifted his head again; and this time he did not stammer at all. ‘As in the water, so in the blood must they rage and war with each other! I have dreamed these ten years—I thought it was a sin—but my dreams and Varro’s are true! Think on it again! Here’s the Light under our very hand!’

‘Quench it! You’d no more stand to roasting than—any other. I’ll give you the case as Church—as I myself—would frame it. Our John here returns from the Moors, and shows us a hell of devils contending in the compass of one drop of water. Magic past clearance! You can hear the faggots crackle.’

‘But thou knowest! Thou hast seen it all before! For man’s poor sake! For old friendship’s sake—Stephen !’ The Friar was trying to stuff the compasses into his bosom as he appealed.

‘What Stephen de Sautré knows, you his friends know also. I would have you, now, obey the Abbot of St. Illod’s. Give to me!’ He held out his ringed hand.

‘May I—may John here—not even make a drawing of one—one screw?’ said the broken Friar, in spite of himself.

‘Nowise!’ Stephen took it over. ‘Your dagger, John. Sheathed will serve.’

He unscrewed the metal cylinder, laid it on the table, and with the dagger’s hilt smashed some crystal to sparkling dust which he swept into a scooped hand and cast behind the hearth.

‘It would seem,’ said he, ‘the choice lies between two sins. To deny the world a Light which is under our hand, or to enlighten the world before her time. What you have seen, I saw long since among the physicians at Cairo. And I know what doctrine they drew from it. Hast thou dreamed, Thomas? I also—with fuller knowledge. But this birth, my sons, is untimely. It will be but the mother of more death, more torture, more division, and greater darkness in this dark age. Therefore I, who know both my world and the Church, take this Choice on my conscience. Go! It is finished.’

He thrust the wooden part of the compasses deep among the beech logs till all was burned.

[sweetie-skullz-blog]

HAPPY ONE YEAR OF ILLUSION ASSIGNMENT~

It's been one year of Illusion Assignment. We may not have much of a following, but we’ve been having fun working on IA.

Sadly, Diancy’s sketch files haven't been retrieved from their old laptop yet, so you get to see it another time.

Thankfully, we got this back-up plan: The characters and when they were kids. Little snippets of their childhood. These memories vary from age to age.

Gambling King/Nigel Hillingham (7)

I watched as Devin and Nathaniel ran around. Devin was busy chasing Nathaniel with a toy rat, while I just laid underneath an oak tree with a book in my lap.

Now this book wasn't something that other kids read. I didn't really like those fairy tales as I was more interested in these murder stories, more specifically around casinos.

“Ni-ni! Help me!” Nathaniel shouted as he ran right towards me and right up the tree.

“You’re fine.” I replied going, back to my book.

We may be considered monsters, but we still have a right to have a childhood. Doctor Vienna and Doctor Talin are doing their best from what I understand. I’ll take them over my actual parents any other day.

C-Sharp/Nathaniel Keen (7)

“Amazing Natty.”

“Really Uncle James?” I asked, beaming up at my uncle as he fixed my fingers position on the guitar. He was happy to teach me music and my little five-year-old mind loved making noise.

“Of course Nathan!” Uncle Lee piped up from the wall, “Absolutely beautiful. Maybe better than James.”

“He has a long way to go before he’s in my ranks.” Uncle James defended.

I chuckled and looked up at him, “I’ll be the best when I’m older.”

Uncle James  smiled at me softly, “Then you got a lot of practice to do kiddo. Oh right! I have some extra backstage passes to Dezio Angelo show. Want to join me?”

I instantly tackled him and laughed alongside Uncle Lee as we both shouted yes.

Arachne/Kenta Norm (8)

Daddy lifted me up and spun me around as the song continued to play. Ma used to play this song all the time..

“Cévon! What's cookin’ brother?” Miguel greeted as he waltzed into the room, “I thought I was gonn’ be the little lady’s dance partner.”

“Uncle Miguel!” I quickly hopped out of my dad’s arms and ran to Miguel, “Are you coming too?”

“Of course sweetpea. He always come with. Should we get goin’?” Daddy asked.

Miguel lifted me up and chuckled, “Let's go visit your ma!”

It wasn't too far and smiled as I knelt down. I took off the ribbon around my finger and wrapped it around some flowers that my daddy handed me.

"Hi ma..." I whispered, setting the flowers before the tombstone, "I have a lot to tell you.

Masque/Luis (9)

I watched as Elodia placed the mask over my eyes.

“You look like a superhero!” Julio said as I looked over towards him and the others.

“I don't feel like one…” I sighed.

“Aw, don't say that Lulu!” Kamryn beamed, “You look like a one of my dads showguys! The fancy ones that are really formal, but super nice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! What Kam said!”

I spun around to see ****** smiling right at me.

“Are you sure?” I asked again, this time sounding a bit better.

****** just flashed me a smile as Kenta came up, “Come on Lu, you look really cool!”

I made my way to the mirror in Kamyrn’s room to look at myself in the mirror to see myself. The mask didn’t go with my clothes, but if I was at a costume party, I would be sure to wear this mask.

Visage/Cyril Theil (11)

“Pretty…”

I looked away from my art to see a girl, a little smaller than me and maybe younger.

“It’s sad.” I replied dimly.

“Winter is sad, but pretty. Storms are bad, but pretty. Death is sad, but can be pretty if she wants to.”

I watched the girl for a bit before looking back at my art. Maybe she was right.

“I guess so…”

“Why are you alone?” She asked.

“I don't know.”

“Why do you wear a mask?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you have any friends?”

“No.”

“Liar! You have me!” The girl grinned, she was missing a tooth, “I’m Elodia Akinci Callejo Wolfgang.” She held her hand out.

Slowly I took it, “I’m Cyril… Um… Wanna paint with me?”

“Sure.”

Angel’s Shadow/Elodia Akinci Callejo Wolfgang (9)

I can hear shuffling from behind me as Damario knelt down on my bed and sighed. In the reflection of my window, I could see that Damario had a sheepish smile as he looked over my shoulder.

“Come on, baby sis… Are you really mad at me?”

“Hmph.” I turned my head away from his.

Damario just sighed before I could feel him get a bit more comfortable.

“Alright… Guess I’ll go ahead and leave you alone with the-”

“Dama…” I interrupted, warning him. I may be nine, but I’m not stupid and being an illusioner is much worse.

“What? Did you think that I was gonna say the tickle monster?” He mused, but pouted when I gave no response “Fine.” He got up and I heard the door shut.

Slowly, I turned around, only to get tackled into my pillows as hands started to wiggle against my sides.

“Da-Dam-” I couldn't even finish his name as laughter took over.

“Laughing Taffy is here!” Damario shouted with glee as he continued to tickle me.

Devil’s Light & Dagger/Devin and Luca Dalton Batts (8)

The two watched as their sister walked out with their dad. They weren't very happy.

“Definition of a daddy's girl!” Their grandfather growled, “Honestly.”

“Dad stop.” Their mum sighed, “Just go drink your brandy and leave mum and I to fix this. Devin, Luca, come here.”

The two walked to their Mum.

“This is going to be tough, but we’ll power through.” Mum started, “I love you both dearly and I forgive your father, but that doesn’t mean what he did is good. I want both of you to grow up with the sweetest of minds and hearts towards others no matter how different.” She knelt down and hugged us.

We hugged back.

Selkie/Kamryn Dakota (10)

I danced around the room as my father followed around with the camera. He was always so happy to record me, to have these memories of me as illusioners, especially kids, never get a chance at a good childhood.

“Kammy! Give your old man a little spin in that new costume!” Father flashed me a smile.

I ran over to in front of him and spun in my marching band out that I made myself with Elodia’s help.

“Think that I can help out in the show?” I asked.

Father chuckled and nodded, “Of course! The Deaf Jewel is catering for the food and Firefly Bites is catering the desserts. All such good friends.”

“I get to see some of my best friends! Yay!” I started to dance around, screaming happily.

Bullet/Atlas Holloway (8)

I watched as my grandma continued to sew beautiful designs on my jacket. It was nice to watch her, she always knew what to do.

“Will you teach me that one day grandma?” I asked.

Grandma looked over and smiled, “I thought that sewing was for girls?”

“That’s what Mister Ackley says… But, I don’t believe him!”

My grandma smiled and nodded thoughtfully, “Good. Learning stuff like this is a good thing for anyone. Come here.”

I walked over and sat next to her when she handed me some fabric and sewing needle that was already threaded, “What do I do?”

My grandma placed hers down and scooted over a little bit before reaching over. She started to lead my hands to start a simple stitch, “Alright sweetheart.First let’s teach you the basics…”

Venin/Julio Bezerral (9)

I watched as Elodia handed me another cookie.

“Try this one!”

I took a bite and savoured the flavor of bitter berries and caramel. Elodia has been experiemnting and I always loved her cookies.

“Good!”

Elodia nodded, pleased with my answer, “Happy birthday!” She reached over to hug me then pulled away afterwards, “Cookie taste-testing is better than any gift combined. Right?”

I smiled and nodded. I was spending the night at Elodia’s after the party and was happy that she was a good friend.

It was fun. Since all of my friends were there and Elodia’s dad loved me as if I was their own child and she treated me like a brother.

“Hey you two! Get to to the living room. Time for bed.” Damario called out as he walked into the closed bakery.

Pyro/Ashton Burns (10)

I cried as the doctor rubbed some bad smelling cream on my shoulder. It hurt, a lot.

“It’s alright sweetie. You’ll be fine.” He says as he called a nurse over, “Can you get the poor girl something sweet and some water?”

The nurse nodded and walked off as the doctor gently rubbed my back, “All done sweetheart. Care to tell me why your parents did this?”

I remained silent.

“Alright… Well social services will be here soon and will be assigning you to someone on Veskia.”

I looked up and saw the mirror across from me. Long red hair and just towels wrapped around my chest and legs. A large burn mark settling on my shoulder... I never wanted my long hair and I never wanted any of this this. I need to change.

Sunshine/Joshua Wenkert (10)

I watched as Drayson tapped on the tarantula's tank.

“Please don’t do that. My uncle won’t let you hang over her again.”

Drayson turned and pouted, but stopped nonetheless. He walked over to where I was and turned on the tv, “Can we watch cartoons?”

I shook my head no, “Not allowed to.”

“Movies?”

“Documentaries.”

“Anything fun?”

I frowned at that description, but sighed, “We can watch something from the geographic channel. You like volcanos.”

Drayson smiled and changed the channel as he reached over to grab his juice, “Why won’t your uncle let you do anything and why does he make you take those stupid pills?”

I shook my head no. I wasn’t so happy with the pills, but he still took care of me.

Lady/****** ******** (9)

I laughed as Elodia and Kamryn continued to put Bean in silly outfits. Bean just took it all, not a care in the world.

“Won’t Dama be mad?” I asked.

“Nah. He’ll take photos and laugh with us.” Elodia answered before hugging Bean, “Bean loves me more anyways.”

I nodded and walked over to pet Bean. It was nice to be around friends when everything is happening so fast. I knew what I wanted to do instead of being a famous actress.

“I want to help everyone.” I suddenly stated, “We should all help everyone! Become great groups among the bad things!”

Elodia and Kamryn watched me for a bit before grins started to grow on their faces, “Yeah!”