#and i doubt anyone else knows besides whoever made the logo

[monarchisms]

the achievement times website is so, so incredible, and really inspirational for what can be done with a fansite! it’s so sophisticated and pretty and informative, i hope you guys are super proud of it, because you’re doing an amazing job :)

[twiceblackvelvet]

Walk It Out

A/N; i have no idea what inspired this but it made me very sad then happy and then sad again. apparently the way i cope in life is to write about jeti. anyway, enjoy. 

New York Fashion Week. The epitome of hell if you ask Tiffany. People rushing around everywhere, bloggers furiously typing up reviews on their phone and all for some clothing that is not practical for everyday living whatsoever. If she could skip out on attending, she definitely would. However, it’s become the norm for her to be invited to such events and they always get approved without her being offered a choice in the matter.

Weaving through traffic with only a few minutes left until she’s due to walk into the venue, her manager tries his best to reassure her that they’ll make it there on time. It may be a pain to sit through these shows, but showing up late is simply unacceptable. The majority of the best seats are usually reserved for celebrities with reporters and the like sprinkled in among them, however, if she doesn’t get there soon it’s likely her place will have been taken by one of the many hungry photographers desperate to get closer to the runway to make sure their shots are perfect. Not that she’d mind being stuck toward the back, but, things can be spun so negatively nowadays on the internet that it’ll be seen as her no-showing rather than just not being in her assigned seat.

Between the hours on end it took to get ready because of course, appearance is everything and the thousands of cabs that have decided to suddenly line the streets when Tiffany desperately needs them to be clear, she ends up being the last to walk into the venue where infamous fashion label Yves Saint Laurent is showcasing their latest collection. There are still photographers eagerly snapping pictures outside and even a few fans call out to her as she darts inside, apologizing with every single step that she can’t stop and greet them all. She promises to do so after the show. 

There are arrows and people ready to guide any late stragglers inside luckily. She’s pushed before a large backdrop with the brand’s logo for a few quick pictures before being hurried along inside the darkened room with an enormous runway positioned in the center. To say the place is filled would be an understatement. People are crammed together, photographers huddled over each other, yet, the celebrity tables remain untouched and away from the people actually working and not just here to sit and look pretty. 

A small woman with blonde hair begins to lead her to her assigned seat, though, Tiffany already knows it’s likely taken. As they get closer, she can see that someone with long brown hair is already seated at the table, though her back is the only thing in sight, she can tell that whoever it is, looks expensive based on the way they are perched on their seat and the clothing they’ve decided upon. 

“Here you go.” The guide speaks, her voice barely audible over the people bustling around the room. 

However, it seems that the person she’ll spending her afternoon seated beside managed to hear it also as they turn to face the direction of the voice. In one swift movement, Tiffany is met with a sight she never dreamt of seeing in a thousand years and definitely not in a situation like this. 

“There must be a mistake.” Tiffany tries to inform the blonde woman, however, she’s already turned and waltzed off to likely guide another late attendant. 

“No mistake. Your name is on the card. Don’t worry, I’m just as surprised as you are.” 

Truthfully, Tiffany knew that Jessica would be attending this particular show. She had read the various articles that fans had flooded her Twitter mentions with and proclaiming that they hope for the two of them to interact. But, she didn’t think it would actually happen and would not vote to be seated beside her if she had the choice. Whoever decided the seating plan must hate both of them to pull a stunt like this. 

For a second too long, Tiffany takes in Jessica’s appearance. Half out of curiosity the other half out of self-consciously comparing herself to her. Fans had done it for so long after Jessica left the group and she took over the majority of her lines in their songs that it’s become an unfortunate habit she’s picked up to think about just how she fares against her once upon a time friend. Her skin is without a single flaw which is intimidating alone, though she seems to be slightly more slender since the last time they saw each other. Which, Tiffany thinks, could have ended up being the last time ever if it weren’t for today.

“Are you going to stop staring at me and sit down? Or do the people behind us need to watch the show around you?” Jessica’s tone is without malice, though her words still seem harsh to Tiffany’s ears which have become unaccustomed to hearing it.

“Do you think that’s a good idea? I probably shouldn’t even be stood here beside you.” She answers, finally.

“Well, you already are. You may as well sit. What harm could it do?” 

Oh, Tiffany can think of a lot of harm it could cause if even one person within this room snaps a picture of them seated beside each other so casually as if the distance and lack of interaction between them for the last few years doesn’t exist. Which, they definitely will capture it. It will go viral. They both will be hounded for hours or even days on end about it. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, she does place herself beside Jessica and ignores the consequences her current actions will have. After all, it’s going to spice up what will undoubtedly be a boring experience for her. 

“Thank you,” Jessica states flatly. Her eyes avoid Tiffany’s completely though it’s clear she’s deep in thought. “I suppose we’re both going to have to explain this after we leave.” 

“Well, yes. I can’t imagine people will just ignore us being together, here, and sitting mere inches apart.” 

“No, they won’t.” 

The conversation, if you can call it that, comes to a dull end just as the lights dim further ready for the show to start. Out of the corner of her eye, Tiffany can see that every few seconds, Jessica will spare her a glance looking over her entirely and then tries her best to focus on the show. Her fingers tapping gently against her forearm anxiously as if she’s ready to burst from having to be in her presence. 

Several models make their way down the runway, every outfit growing more flamboyant as the show goes on. Tiffany thinks about how this is Jessica’s dream and how deep down inside, she’s glad that she’s working towards it, though she won’t be telling her that anytime soon. 

The show comes to a pause halfway through to allow the designers to speak briefly. Tiffany takes this as an opportunity to try and talk to the woman beside her once more. 

“I can move if it’s bothering you that much,” Tiffany whispers as to not disturb the person on stage speaking. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You don’t seem fine.” 

“Well, I am,” Jessica shuffles in her seat with every word. “I just wasn’t expecting this.” 

“You didn’t see the articles?” Tiffany asks her voice louder than previously which gains the attention of the people seated in front of them. She mouths an apology and turns back towards Jessica. 

“I saw them. I just figured you’d either no-show or that we’d be on the opposite end of the room to each other.” 

As the two women continue to size each other up, neither of them knowing where this reunion of sorts will lead them. A photographer kneels in front of their table face lined with an insincere smile that barely raises his cheeks.

“Ladies, photo?” He asks both of them, politer than either was expecting. 

“No, thank you.” Jessica offers for both of them curtly. “We’re not here together.” 

“Come on, it’s one photo, surely you can spare me that?” He begs voice lacking politeness and replaced with eagerness. 

“I said no.” 

“Okay.” 

They both answer at the same time and the man decides to only listen to Tiffany’s acceptance of his offer and not Jessica’s denial. He quickly grabs the camera around his neck and points it towards them. They both plaster on faux smiles for the quick picture but Jessica’s ears have begun to turn a bright red. If steam could come out of them, it would have filled the entire room. 

“Thanks.” The man shuffles off almost tripping over his own feet, likely thinking about just how much he’ll make from managing to get a picture of the two of them together. 

“Why did you say yes? Are you insane?” Jessica’s voice is definitely harsh this time, in fact, it’s flat out filled with anger.

“I don’t know, seemed like an easy way to get rid of him.” 

Though she doesn’t say it with words, Tiffany can tell that she’s managed to worm her way out of going against Jessica and that she can’t find a way to fight her reason for allowing someone to no doubt reveal that they’re sitting beside each other today and communicating for the first time in years.

The designers finish up their speeches and once again people storm the runway. Jessica tries her best to remain focused on the show. Tiffany tries her best to remove her focus from Jessica. Neither of them is successful. Luckily, the music accompanying the models walking drowns out their conversation.

“You look well.” Jessica offers first. Tiffany thinks about how difficult it must have been for her to offer the first compliment and decides it’s probably best to reciprocate it even if she’s unsure Jessica will trust her words.

“You do too. Though, you always did.” 

It’s difficult to say whether it’s the lighting or not but Tiffany is sure she can see a light blush rising on Jessica’s fair skin. 

“I don’t know what to say to that. Or to you, in fact,” They both look at each other but avert their eyes once the staring becomes a little too awkward.

“Me either.” 

Jessica ponders on her next words carefully, unsure of whether she should speak it out into the world or allow it to remain inside her head to never be heard by anyone else but herself. Her voice, however,  disobeys her insecurity and releases her innermost thoughts. 

“I… I missed you.” Her voice cracks slightly as she barely stutters the words out but they manage to hit the intended target. “I mean that. I know that it probably just seems like I’m only saying it because we’ve both ended up here but truly, I missed you.” 

Tiffany decides that her eyes must focus on the plethora of women walking upon the stage instead of the one currently threatening to make tears spill from her eyes with her words. Jessica was always described by others as a cold person, yet, there’s nothing but warmth in her words despite them mourning what was once a strong bond and unbreakable friendship that was left in tatters. 

Her heart wrenches in her chest when she eventually does turn towards Jessica as she’s picking up her black clutch bag from the table and standing to leave. Out of instinct she grasps hold of her wrist and forces her back down into her seat. A camera click can be heard in their vicinity but Tiffany doesn’t care if the whole world is to witness this moment, she can’t let Jessica leave without telling her that she has felt incomplete since her departure from their group. 

“Stay, please.” Jessica does exactly that, though not by choice as she’s placed back into her seat by force. “I missed you too. Things weren’t the same for any of us once you were gone. I know that might seem ridiculous to say since we’re all at fault one way or another for everything, but, something was always missing whenever it was just the eight of us.” 

“I figured. I watched a few clips of you guys,” Jessica laughs lightly before continuing. “Is it bad that I always pictured myself in any gaps whenever you were all on stage? Or in photos and stuff?” 

“No. Not at all. I used to think sometimes they’d do it on purpose so fans could photoshop you in,” They both laugh in unison, something neither would have guessed would be happening upon Tiffany’s first arrival at Jessica’s table. “I still get tagged on Instagram in pictures of us two.” 

“Me too.” 

Their eyes meet briefly as the laughter comes to a halt but the air around them feels less like it’s bubbling with tension and more like they’ve just resolved an undeclared war neither wanted to participate in. 

“So, where do we go from here?” Tiffany cautiously asks. 

“When that photo gets out, I’m not sure we’ll be able to continue this stalemate of ignoring the existence of each other anymore.” 

The lights suddenly brighten up the room and both women realize they’ve missed the entire exhibition. However, fixing their issues seems far more important than some hideous blouses. Although, Tiffany is unsure if Jessica will agree as she notices the small scrunching of her eyebrows. They both stand now, though the crowd around them makes it impossible for them to leave yet as they shuffle forward slowly. 

“What are we going to say about that by the way?” Tiffany stops Jessica dead in their tracks this time to try and strategize their next move. 

“Don’t ask me, you’re the one who agreed to it,” Jessica initially brushes off. “Let’s refuse to acknowledge it and say it was our doppelgangers, that’ll work.”

“Very funny Sica.” The shortened version of her name rolling off the tongue naturally. 

Jessica twists Tiffany’s body to face her own so as she can talk in a hushed voice without anyone else around them overhearing her. 

“Look, we have two options. We buy the photo before we leave, it never gets mentioned and we go about our lives as if this didn’t happen,” Tiffany tries her best not to seem hurt by this choice. “Or, we let them release it and we tell the world that there are no issues between us. It’s up to you.” 

Tiffany’s thoughts flash through her mind at a thousand miles an hour. Could she really deal with all of the questions about Jessica that she’s done her best to get out of neutrally over the years again? How will the other members feel about this sudden appearance of Jessica beside her looking as friendly as possible? Can she go back to ignoring Jessica and forgetting that she’s just admitted to missing her? The choice seems obvious and yet she’s conflicted between them. 

Jessica proceeds to walk toward the strange photographer having taken Tiffany’s silence as the answer is the former. But once again, Tiffany manages to pull her back and stops her from erasing their reunion from existence. 

“Stop. I can’t just forget you again Jessica.” 

For what feels like forever since she’d last seen it, Jessica finally grants Tiffany a smile that feels sincere. They stand stuck in place for several moments simply taking each other in. Neither wants to move out of fear that this was all just a fever dream and when they do things will go back to neither knowing one another anymore. Jessica moves first, though, it’s not what Tiffany expects as small arms wrap tightly around her neck and remain there. 

Many people passing by them stare, but Tiffany doesn’t care. Jessica could hug her for the rest of her life and it wouldn’t feel long enough. When it does come to an end, they decide to exchange numbers and agree to keep in contact with one another from here on out. They part upon reaching the doors to the lobby and agree to exit separately so as not to cause the fans still lingering outside to pass out. 

Jessica turns in place before she pushes the doors open to leave.

“Hey, Tiffany,” She simply nods in response. “I can still hit those notes better than you though.” Jessica flips her hair as she strides out of the door and away from Tiffany whose jaw is agape but she can’t help but laugh at Jessica still making things a competition between them even now. 

Maybe fashion week isn’t so boring after all. 

[sahbibabe]

A Mission For One

A Mission For One

Soulmate AU

Sephiroth/Fem! Reader

You are given the details of your mission. It wasn't your intention to be crippling the last of the previous AVALANCHE's funding, nor was it to face the risk of seeing Hojo ever again.

RENO, JUST LIKE RUFUS had said, showed up the very next day, just shy of seven in the morning. He didn't have Rude with him, which was unusual, and instead had a lowly grunt with him. He had a briefcase in one hand and his weapon in the other, shooting you a grin when you opened the door.

     "Ready to get started?" He asked, pushing past you to set up on one of the tables. He opened the briefcase with a flourish. "Might wanna sit down because I have a lot of stuff to tell you and not a whole lot of time."

       You locked the shop door and sat down across from him, eyeing the grunt who positioned his back to it with a rifle in hand. "Was it necessary to bring the gun inside?"

      "Him? Nah." Reno pulled out a file as thick as your fingers put together and set it aside. "Right, first thing I have to tell you is to hold out your arm."

        You did so obediently. "What for?"

      "This." Reno gave you no warning other than a smirk, and plunged what looked like a five gauge needle into your wrist. He injected a clear substance into you and, before you had time to jerk away, was done. "There. Your Shinra access chip. After the fiasco with keycards and AVALANCHE last year, we decided on these bad boys to secure the system. As long as you're alive, calm, and healthy, you can get anywhere you want to. I think the boss gave you B-Level clearance until you pass your physicals, then will up it to A-Level after that."

       You felt dread settle in the pit of your gut. You had never owned anything as much as D-Level access in your entire life, and that was just to attend a small court session to set up your tea shop and legally sell tea from Shinra suppliers. B-Level was a high jump, and giving you A-Level access after? Those were the same permissions that only Rufus's seconds in command got, only less to Rufus himself.

      "Reno," you asked slowly,"what the hell am I going to be doing that requires A-Level access?"

      "A lot of things," he whistled, thumbing through a plastic card case and pulling out an ID card with your face plastered on it. "Assassination, murder, espionage, sabotage, take your pick. The things we Turks can't do and get away with easily."

       The bad feeling in your stomach told you it was a bit more than that. You let it slide when he handed you the ID, noting the fluorescent finish on it and the expensive plastic it was made of, as well as the giant Shinra logo printed beside your head with a script reading 'VIP: DO NOT ENGAGE' along with your VIP permissions underneath, which extended to free hotel stays, you noticed.

       "What's this?" You asked, watching it shine in the light. "I already have an ID."

      "Yeah, but not one that's special like that." Reno then pulled out a manilla file almost as thick as the one he had brought out before, except this one had giant red confidential stamps all over it and was sealed with Rufus's personal seal. "It can get you anywhere and everywhere, just like the Turks, and more. Flash that thing and anyone will think twice about stopping you. Murder is easy with a card like that."

      "I'd imagine," you said, a little choked. You had, quite literally, just gotten federal permission to commit murder. Freely. In an effort to distract yourself from the fact that you'd just been given a 'free for all' card, you tapped the first file he'd pulled out. "And these?"

      "Paperwork for the doctor who does the exam." Reno shrugged when you gawked at the sheer size of it. "I know. It's a lot. But it only takes an hour. Drug tests and blood tests and all that. Even STD tests."

      You placed it aside in favor of the packet he now held. "I'm guessing those are my mission details?"

      "More like your trial targets," Reno supplied vaguely. "You won't officially start them until next week. You'll have a month to finish all of them. You can read up on them and memorize them until then."

      In Reno's hands laid the lives of the people you were about to take forever. Permanently. And it wasn't even what you were being recruited for; they were tests. That was it.

      He handed it to you and you broke the seal, pulling out one of the targets. A photo had been blown up to visible proportions, blurry and grainy, but you could make out the face well enough, recognized it even: one of AVALANCHE's older benefactors, a man by the name of Michael Dallien.

       He had donated a total of three million gil to the cause shortly after the mako reactor went down, you read, and had been funneling smaller sums to them ever since under the guise of fundraisers. At the bottom, stamped in blue, was the price of his bounty: four million gil, plus a bonus for delivering visceral proof.

       Which meant Rufus wanted his head. Literally.

       "As you can see, you'll get paid more than the three million gil for whoever you kill," Reno explained, pointing to a section near the bottom. "There will be others competing with you, though, but they aren't doing it with the accesses that you have. They work for other corporations wanting to overthrow Shinra. If you get to them first, the other corporations won't be able to nab their resources and bam, you get paid and you move on to the next one."

       The more people you found in the packet, the higher the bounties became, until you came upon a bounty on Rufus Shinra himself, priced right around one million gil.

      "What the hell?" You breathed, showing Reno the picture. "What does this mean?"

      "That leads me to your official assignment." The redhead plucked the paper from your hands and pointed to the list of mercs slated for the job; you weren't on it. "Our little Public Relations guy, Heidegger, put this up a few weeks ago. I doubt he knew we bugged his personal computer, but he's enlisted several attempts on the boss's life in the next couple of months. Now, the Turks aren't invincible, some are bound to slip through the cracks. That's where you will come in."

       "You want me to protect Rufus Shinra," you deadpanned,"because the Turks can't."

       "Hey, it isn't for lack of trying. He has so many enemies it's hard to keep track of. We keep eyes on the outside, you keep eyes on the internals. Simple."

      "You mean people like Heidegger and Scarlet," you supplied, realization dawning on you. "It's not because you can't, it's because you can't do it without everyone knowing who did it."

      Reno winked and pointed a finger at you. "Bingo. I knew you'd put it together. Rude owes me fifty gil."

      "That explains the ID," you sighed, waving the card around flimsily. You tucked everything into a neat pile in front of you. "Anything else?"

      "Yep. I took the liberty of pulling some strings and getting you a female doctor to perform your physical." Reno leaned back and crossed his arms, the grunt shifting nervously behind you. "Figured you wouldn't want Hojo snooping around in your insides again."

       The sudden horror you felt had you speechless. Hojo was supposed to do your physical? Hojo had none of the specifications for that, last you had heard, and that was when he was injecting your eyeballs with some dark fluid. To have him examining you from head to toe, even for the gynecology exam because it had to be on there too, made you want to throw up at the idea.

      "Other than that, though, all you have to do is get your Shinra tech fitted and your uniform. It's all unbranded so no one will be able to trace us if you get caught, and made with synthetic material that also can't be traced. You'll have to check with the boss about your weapons. Can't go to Scarlet." Reno seemed to be checking off some list and nodded to himself. "That's it, I think. Rude will drop by later and give you your rental keys."

      You were still caught up on Hojo doing your physical exam, even after Reno dismissed himself and headed out of the shop. It disgusted you on so many levels that as soon as you tucked your files away into your floorboards and put your ID in your wallet, you went to the bathroom to hurl up your breakfast.

      None of what Hojo did to you was memorable after the initial injection, but you recalled him speaking of something like,"Let Her see through your eyes," but it was muffled behind the wall of pain you felt. You remembered the pinch of an IV, trying to open your eyes and only feeling your eyelids as swollen as golf balls, and feeling nurses walk in and out to switch your dressing gown.

      Hojo would check, occasionally, prying your swollen lids apart and testing the tears and occasional pus that would stream out, ignoring your crying and screaming indignantly. He pressed the swelling, irritated them, scraped samples from your waterline, and then fed tubes into them to drain the pus out. It never ended well, because it would soon grow clogged with that black material he had put in, like a coagulated gummy pile of rot. You never bled, but the sheer amount of tears you produced left you dehydrated and desperate for water.

      You were one hundred percent certain he had also done something to your reproductive system, because after that, your cycles just became nightmares, even more so towards you leaving after he deemed you a failure. You never checked, though, too scared and poor to afford an exam, even when you now had the money and means to do so.

     But now you had to because of the stupid physical exam. Hojo had ruined you in more ways than you could say, and it was no wonder you lied to everyone in your life. You were petrified of trust because you, once upon a time, had trusted him to help you. That had been a mistake.

       Never again.

[bandaidsforaids]

Two Ghosts

Note to the reader: This is a travel essay I had passed already. Originally, this was a test blog, but it fit the theme of my blog so much that I decided to keep it. This is not part of the five essays to be graded for this blog. It’s like a free taste of my writing - devour it, enjoy it. 

It had been one week since.

I was in a 13C jeepney, somewhere in between a classmate and someone else. That someone else could have been anyone - a boy wearing a face mask or a girl clutching her Jansport backpack or a child and his mother or his father or hers. Whoever it was, I wouldn’t have known. All I knew was, in that moment, I was staring at the distance as the scenery shifted passed me rapidly. The gasoline station with a couple taxi drivers smoking. The carinderia that housed an annoyed woman swatting flies with her hand. The group of boys coming from their own school, enjoying the walk to wherever. My eyes observed these things, but, if you had snapped your fingers in front of my face, I doubt I would have blinked.

Because my mind was elsewhere.

My mind was sat in an audio visual room, somewhere in between an uninterested college kid and a chatty high school student. Then you over there. You with your ribbed t-shirt and denim skirt. You, getting awarded for having joined a Mathematics quiz bowl. You, smiling for the camera, as I hollered your name from where I was, phone out to film you. You, walking back to me with a playful smile, waving your hand at my camera, telling me to stop.

And we did. We did stop.

“We’re here,” my classmate Anika poked me. As I exited that jeepney with ten of my classmates following suit, and the cloud of black smoke pumping from it vanished, I saw the logo of your school and thought: I’m back. I’m here. In this now-haunted place.

In big, bold letters: University of San Carlos.

Now, mind you, I was there for research. My group wanted to find non-online sources to back our study. It’s just a twist of fate that your school happened to have the biggest library in Cebu (or at least that’s what you told me). Four levels high and digitally advanced - computers flocked the place for identity scanning and resource finding. Nothing like in my school. Your library was so big, they allowed food inside. Your library had dining areas and couches and chat rooms and books of all age and race - first floor: References; second floor: Fiction; third floor: Sciences; fourth floor: Humanities. And that was just one side. The other side was for the Filipiniana section where all the theses and research papers laid to rest, to be brought back to life by the likes of me. Your library was a labyrinth. Did you know that?

Of course you do. Because you were the one who brought me here in the first place.

“After we go to my block, I’ll show you that - our library,” you said as you pointed towards an anomaly of a structure. USC seemed to have no architectural coherence. Every building felt out of place. I didn’t like the look of it at first glance, but you looked so proud pointing it out to me that all prejudgment fell to the hands of pure, undeniable affection.

“Is that it?” Edric asked, pointing to a brown building that sat beside a large patch of grass. It was an understandable mistake. Nothing here made sense. “No,” I told him. “That’s the humanities department. They have book sales there every now and then.” They all stared at it, amazed. I was shocked too - who knew borrowing your words would come so easy to me?

Everyone wowed at the sight of the glassy library as the jeep stopped and ushered us out. I was at the forefront when we approached it. Men ready to embark on a journey - making jokes, pointing at things, laughing. I was laughing too. Nervous laughter. Because when we entered the library it almost felt like a hurricane had befallen.

God, if only it was that easy.

God, if only I had not been thrown into a sea of green uniforms, into a sea of people who chattered and murmured like you. If only I had not been so delusional to assume you would be there, sitting with your friends, with your green polo and skirt, facing me when I arrived, like you had been waiting for me to appear.

Anika had to break me from my trance. “Let’s do this quick. I have to go in a while.”

Oh yes, she was meeting up with her friend Mayol to attend the novena mass in Sto. Nino.

Actually, she was meeting up with your classmate Mayol. Your friend Mayol. I recalled the time you got mad at me for not remembering the names of your friends. Lucky for you, however, I did my homework - I remember Mayol. You’ve done it. Assigned me an insignia. The ability to know names I could never place to faces. Names I can only place to the memory of you.

I thought of all this in the ten minutes it took to scan through three computers for possible resources. In the end, we only came out with two. A thesis and a book - both on the fourth floor. I guided Anika to the stairs, discussing our game plan to find books, when someone broke us off.

“Mayol!” Anika shouted, running towards the girl in question. I was too scared to look back, thinking maybe you were there beside her. Thinking maybe Mayol had told you and you decided you would come along. To talk to me. In the flesh.

But I looked back and it was just her. In a hug with Anika. Her face dug into her shoulders until her eyes met mine. And she knew. She knew who I was.

But did she know what had become of us?

In the jeep, I had given Anika the permission to discuss the sensitive topic. It was their first line of conversation as the three of us made our way up to the fourth floor. I made sure to keep a distance from them, but still I remained attentive to what they were saying. I wanted to know what Mayol would say. I wanted to know if they will be your words coming out of her mouth.

Yet, all I heard was Anika’s confused voice saying, “You didn’t know?”

Then Mayol, glancing carefully at me, whispered, “She never mentioned it.”

It came off her tongue so easily. I journeyed up the stairs faster, passing each level, barely reading the signs. I reached the fourth level, a dead end. As I entered the room to the humanities section, a distinctive jingle from chimes rang in my ear. For a second, I stopped thinking and just let it ring.

You know me, I’m not the type to lose my focus when I need it. But this time it took every single piece of me not to detract from my research. I was reading out every letter, every number on those book shelves precisely, trying not to hear the words from Mayol’s mouth replay.

You. Never. Mentioned. It.

How could you, after two years of being together, not ever have mentioned it? To your “friend”? I sat down, flipping through the book I needed while Anika and Mayol fled to find the thesis paper. They had to go in a while. Good, I thought, I’ll be all alone as usual.

I did my best to focus on the book at hand, but my eyes were getting glassy. I turned on the fan to escape the heat, but the whole room seemed to burn around me. Then, in a hurry, Anika slammed the thesis on my table. I looked up at her and she said anxiously: “We have to leave. I hope you’re okay.”

“Can we hug?” I asked you. It was 4:00. Our day in the sun was coming to a close. We had just finished taking photographs next to the cornelia flowers besde the humanities building. We had finished scouring your arena (which you claim is “huge”). We had finished buying Real Leaf and Coca Cola from your canteen, finished sitting on the first floor of the building nearest the gate. Your car was here. My Angkas was on its way. I don’t even recall when we last hugged.

“We’re in school, Aidan,” you said. “I don’t think it’s appropriate.”

I looked sadly at the floor. I wore my favorite shirt to meet you.

“Plus, I have to leave.” You read my gloomy appearance. “Are you okay with that?”

“I’ll be fine,” I told Anika. I smiled to cement it. I don’t think she trusted my word, but she left anyways. And, yes, I sat there, only then realizing I was indeed alone in the fourth floor, and I began to pace the room. I felt like a ghost. I was walking through the halls of the library, passing the chipped shelves and dusty books, passing the diorama of the history of the Philippines and the Supreme Court, passing the dirt-filled windows that separated me from the gorgeous landscape of Cebu City, and I could not contain myself. I was breathing heavily, trying to match my breath with my heartbeat. I could not keep myself at one place. My feet were moving on their own. My ears ringing. My mind chasing my feet. You didn’t care. By the end of it all, you just stopped caring. Two years and every evening you told me you loved me, but, somewhere along the way, that must have faded. I don’t know when it did. I doubt I’ll ever know. I doubt that if I had not come here to this cursed school I would have ever known you had stopped caring. Because you didn’t bother. And I wish you had told me you didn’t sooner so I didn’t have to bother either.

I looked at the floor beneath me. I thought of the height I was on, like I was on an airplane with the ground so far beneath me. I thought that if I grabbed a hammer and smashed the tiles to pieces, dug a hole that reached the bottom of this school, if I unwired every plug here, uprooted every plant, bulldozed every building, scraped this entire place off - would it stop being so haunted? Would the ghosts of you and I vanish? If I broke every glass window in this very building, ripped the spines off the pages of each book here - would it take away the moments we spent? Would it make you vanish, finally…

Or would it make you stay?

The jingle of the door rang. I crouched behind one of the shelves. For a second there I swore I saw your figure. I swore I saw your signature walk, your casual hair flip, your minute stature. For a second there I swore I saw the girl who I spent two years of my life madly in love with. For a second there I swore I was going to leap from where I was and embrace you and for a second there I swore you would have embraced me too.

But, no. In between the shelves, the figure came to focus and it wasn’t you. Up to this day, I still don’t know who it was. I just remember standing up from where I was, walking quickly towards the door, and letting the jingle of its chimes ring in my ear one last time.

I sat on the second floor, the portion of the library where we were allowed to dine and I watched Nightcrawler. My friends would try to open conversation with me in between their book-finding, but it would be short and pointless. They came and went, each hugging me before they left, until, eventually three of us were left in a dim-lit, closed library.

There were no more jeeps to accommodate Edric, Chantal, and I for our ride going back to the gate. So we walked. The three of us walked the stone-paved roads you and I walked when we were here. We passed by all the landmarks - the humanities building, the canteens (your school had a lot), the arena. Snapshots of the both of us would appear from time to time. Your voice. Your hands. Your laugh. A supercut of the two of us here. When I passed by the same bunch of cornelia flowers we had taken pictures with last time, I dared to pick one out, plant it on the ground, and drag my shoes on it. To destroy the flower from petal to pistil to stem. To let its pollen drown on the floor, break out into the air.

But beautiful things like those didn’t deserve to be disrespected.

As the three of us stood outside the gate waiting for our cars, I told Chantal all about what had happened on the fourth floor. She sympathized with me and her sympathy reminded me of something she used to say before: “In ten years, you’ll forget this. None of this will matter.”

But maybe I won’t. Maybe I won’t not because I can’t, but because I don’t want to. Because what we had was first love. What we had was magic and pain and overflowing emotion.

What we had was beautiful.

And I wasn’t going to disrespect that by forgetting it.

So, here, I write this to immortalize you. To immortalize us. To immortalize my journey back to the place that once contained our love. I write this to immortalize us, so we can no longer be ghosts roaming around the same empty, haunted halls of University of San Carlos.

We would just be humans. Two separate humans. You. And I.

And, for a second there, I decided I could live with that.

I hopped inside my car when it arrived, brought my head to the window, and watched as your school got smaller and smaller, until, finally, finally, I couldn’t see it anymore.

[badstoriesaboutgoodpeople]

The List

Summary: So basically my friend came up with this thing and basically it's a reward list, so every time a player on a team we like scores they get added to the list, which will be explained in the fic. This is basically all smut with a teeny bit of plot. Apologies for not posting this on the weekend, I’m drowning in school work right now. 

Warnings: Just a little heads up Tyler does use demeaning language when dirty talking to the reader (slut and whore) but they are in no way said in a negative context. Just wanted to give y'all a warning in case that bothers anyone. LOTS of dirty talk in one part, semi-public blowjob (is an empty parking lot considered public? Idk), some swearing, mentions of a gangbang with the rest of the team. If I missed anything else let me know.

  You sat in the stands of the American Airlines Centre watching your boyfriend, Tyler Seguin, play against the Washington Capitals. Jamie Benn was out because of an upper body injury, so many people had turned to Tyler to carry his team to victory. It didn't take long for him to score, making the score 1-0 at the end of the first period. At the end of the second it was 1-1, leaving the Dallas fans in the arena holding their breath as the third period ticked away with no goals, meaning the game went to overtime. The atmosphere was tense as OT started, with the puck going back and forth for a few minutes, before Tyler put it in the Capital's net, meaning another win on home ice. You made a mental note that Tyler was on "the list" three times. You and your friend had come up with this list a while ago, before you began dating Tyler. Basically every time a player from your team scores they get added to the list. Whoever is on the list by the end of the night has earned a blowjob. Players who score multiple times have multiple spots, and married men are excused for obvious reasons. Now, this list was usually just fun and games, but now that you were dating Seguin you had an opportunity take it seriously. He had rightfully earned two spots, but because he won the game for his team you felt the third spot was well deserved. You made your way to the locker room to congratulate the rest of the team. You walked up to Tyler and told him in a hushed tone,

"You made it on the list three times tonight, you better be ready when we get home."

"Three? I only scored twice," he whispered back, while beginning to get dressed.

"I feel like scoring the winning goal in OT is worthy of an extra spot, and I doubt you'll disagree," you said as he began to gather his things up and get ready to leave.

"You do have a point. However, I do disagree with something else you said: who says we need to wait until we get home?" asked Tyler, weaving his fingers through yours as he began to leave the dressing room. You were inevitably stopped by the media asking for interviews with Tyler. He obliged, but you could tell this was the last thing he wanted to be doing at the moment. After he was done he hurried out to his car, which was parked in a mostly deserted area behind the AAC. He put his bags in the trunk before turning to you with an expectant look on his face.

"Uh Tyler, aren't we gonna get in the car??" you asked as he folded his arms over his chest before glancing at his watch unamused.

"There's not enough room in there."

"Tyler you drove the G-Wagon today, surely we could make it work," you pled, secretly hoping he'd say no and expect you to get on your knees for him outside of the arena, where anybody could get lost looking for their car and walk by and see you.

"I said no and that's final. Now, you don't want to keep me waiting, do you? This was your idea after all."

You slowly sank down to your knees, feeling the gravel and pebbles dig into your skin through the denim of your jeans. You quickly glanced around and made sure nobody was around before unbuttoning his dress pants. You could see he was already half hard when you exited the arena, so it was no surprise that his cock sprang out when you pulled his pants down slightly. You wasted no time taking him into your mouth, wanting this entire experience to be over as quick as possible in order to minimize the risk of being caught. The possibility of someone walking by and catching you with one of the best players on the team's dick in your mouth was thrilling to say the least, but you didn't want to deal with what would happen if the story got into the media. You relaxed your jaw and allowed Tyler to do what he pleased with your mouth. You felt him hit the back of your throat but he didn't let that stop him, continuing to force your head down until you were choking on him. He pulled you off slightly and you brought a hand up to stroke whatever wasn't in your mouth. You heard him growl slightly when you pulled off far enough to focus on his tip, swirling your tongue around before running it gently through his slit, tasting the bead of precum that had formed there. You took him further into your mouth again before bringing your other hand up to gently cup his balls. That's what did it for him, and he was barely able to choke out a warning before he was coming in your mouth. You tried to swallow as much as you could, but some managed to drip down your chin. You hurriedly tucked him back into his dress pants and ran a finger along your chin, licking it off seductively. Tyler watched you before helping you stand up and get into the car. It wasn't until you went to buckle up your seatbelt that you noticed you had managed to get cum on your jersey.

"TYLER!! You got my jersey all dirty!" you pouted as he got into the car.

"A) I don't think that was my fault sweetheart, you're the one that made the mess. B) I can easily get you a new one, and C) keep that one, you can wear it while I fuck you," he said casually, turning out of the parking lot. You said nothing but blushed at the thought of riding Tyler and having him proudly look up at the logo on your chest, or him fucking you from behind and seeing his name and number, just more proof that you were his and only his. You gently ran your fingers up and down Tyler's thigh, at first out of boredom, but as you watched Tyler clench has jaw you realized the affect you were having on him. You started to move your hand up higher, until it hovered over his dick. You started to lower your hand but before you could touch him Tyler grabbed your wrist and placed your hand back in your lap. You met his eyes and behind the look of annoyance you could tell he was enjoying this. You decided you weren't quite done teasing him though. You carefully removed your shoes before placing one foot on his dashboard. You turned your body slightly and spread your legs as much as you could while sitting in the passenger seat of a car. You ran your fingers up the inside of your thigh before ghosting them over where you wanted them. You saw Tyler's eyes dart over to watch what you were doing occasionally, before returning to watch the freeway. You slowly reached up to unbutton your jeans and pulled them off as quickly as possible before moving back to your original position. Tyler did a double take as he watched you toss your discarded jeans into the back seat.

"Y/N, what the hell do you think you're doing?" asked Tyler as he exited the freeway and began driving back to his house.

"Just getting comfortable," you said smugly, eyeing the traffic in front of you. You sat quietly for a minute, scrolling through Instagram and checking Snapchat. This quickly became boring, and you decided to torture Tyler a bit more. You pulled your lacy thong down your legs and dropped it in Tyler's lap. He picked it up and threw a cheeky glance your way before tucking it into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. You felt the car come to a stop and looked at the cars lined up bumper to bumper in front of you and decided to have fun. You let your hand wander down to start slowly rubbing your clit. A smirk grew on Tyler's face but he made no moves to stop you, he merely kept his eyes on the road. You took it up a notch and gently slipped two fingers inside of yourself, letting out a breathy moan. You started slowly, but you quickly decided to pick up the pace. As traffic began to move quicker so did your wrist, and by the time you turned into Tyler's neighbourhood you were on the brink of an orgasm.

"Ty please I-"

"Go ahead baby, make a mess all over my car seat," said Tyler in a husky voice. That was all it took, you came with a shudder and a low moan, feeling your wetness drip onto the leather of the seat beneath you. You pulled into Tyler's driveway and you gently removed your fingers from your wet heat before you watched in amazement as Tyler grabbed your wrist and gently guided your hand toward his mouth, before taking your fingers into his mouth and licking them clean. He pulled into the garage and you moved to reach into the back seat to grab your jeans but Tyler shook his head.

"I closed the garage door, no one is going to see you. Besides, there's no use in putting them on when they'll end up on the floor in a while anyway. You can grab them later when you come out to clean my passenger seat," he instructed as you unbuckled your seatbelt and got out of the car. You quickly ran into the house, your jersey barely covering your bare ass. You quickly moved to sit on the couch and covered your exposed lower half, knowing Tyler would likely continue the tradition of filming his dogs greeting him. Your prediction was correct, Tyler came in with his phone recording, capturing the dogs jumping up and knocking him over, before licking his face and climbing all over him. You watched the videos as soon as he'd posted them on his Instagram story, and let out a choked gasp as you notice the blue lace of your thong was still peaking out of his pocket.

"Tyler? Forget about something?" you asked as he sat down, gesturing to his pocket.

"Oh this? You don't approve of my new pocket square?" he asked with a smug grin on his face.

"What are you gonna say when somebody asks what's in your pocket, huh?"

"I'm sure I can come up with some excuse. Now, I believe you still owe me two more blowjobs, you might wanna get working on that," said Tyler as he walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He drank it quickly, some of in dripping down his chin.

"There, now we're even," he said with a smirk as you got off the couch and let the dogs into the backyard before making your way over to Ty. You came up behind him and gently pulled his suit jacket off of his shoulders before draping it over the back of a chair. He turned to face you and gently pressed his lips to yours. You stayed like this for a minute, kissing him gently until he bit your bottom lip and you gasped. Tyler slipped his tongue into your mouth and the kiss quickly became very heated. You reached down and grabbed him through his dress pants, squeezing gently before you started to run your hand along his growing excitement. He groaned into the kiss, clearly still worked up after your antics on the ride home. You knelt down for the second time that night, the tile flooring of the kitchen cool against your skin. You took your time with him this time, unbuttoning his pants before slowly dragging the zipper down with your teeth. You stood back up and helped Tyler with his dress shirt, before putting it with his jacket. He took the liberty of pulling down his pants and removing his socks and his boxers, leaving him naked in the middle of his kitchen. You raked your eyes over his chiseled abs and toned legs before glancing at his dick, which was now fully hard and beginning to leak precum. You walked back over to him and he placed a hand on your shoulder to gently push you to the ground, his patience wearing thin. You placed a gentle kiss to his tip before licking it gently and taking it into your mouth. You gently swirled your tongue around it and you heard Tyler groan above you, and felt his fingers tangle themselves in your hair. You heard the dogs whining outside and you looked up at him while you started to bob your head rhythmically but he merely shook his head, muttering something about them being patient. You decided to try something, and you took him farther and farther into your mouth until your nose touched his skin. Tyler gasped when you gagged lightly, your throat tightening around him. You felt him wipe away a tear that had begun to drip down your cheek, and you moved to focus on his tip once again. You heard one of the dogs bark and you pulled off of Tyler, your mouth making an obscene pop as his tip left your lips.

"Should I go let them in and put them in the bedroom?" you asked as you looked up at Ty through your lashes, still gently stroking him.

"Nah they can wait. Plus after that little stunt you pulled earlier I'm not going to last much longer," said Tyler, his voice strained. You continued your earlier actions, moving your head skillfully, running your tongue along the prominent vein on the underside of his dick, knowing it drives him wild. A few minutes later Tyler managed to choke out that he was close. You let him fall from your mouth as you brought a hand up to stroke him quickly. He looked confused at first but seemed to get the message when you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. A minute later you felt him come all over your face, his hips twitching and bucking into your hand as he rode out his high. Once he caught his breath you looked him in the eye as you collected some of the cum off of your cheek and licked it off your finger seductively.

"God Y/N, you're such a little slut, aren't you? Look at you, mascara running down your cheeks, my cum all over your face, wearing nothing but my jersey. You're so wet you're practically dripping on my kitchen floor. You love being a little whore, don't you? Love getting on your knees for me and giving me what I deserve. Your mouth feels so good, almost like you were made for this. I wish the rest of the guys could see you like this. I bet you would love letting each and every one of them use you, showing them just how well you can use that pretty little mouth. I'd be the only one allowed to fuck you though, I don't want anyone else trying to claim what's already mine. I'd fill you up with my cum, a reminder that I'm the only one who's allowed to please you. You'd enjoy that wouldn't you, my dirty little girl," Tyler said in a husky voice, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look him in the eye as he spoke. "Next time you walk into our locker room maybe I'll let them. Make sure everyone gets their turn. Maybe I'll even let them touch you, let them feel how wet you can get. They won't be allowed to make you cum though, no, that's my job. I'll make them watch as I eat you out, show them how to please a woman. Maybe I'll let Jamie have a turn, there's no way he'll be able to resist a chance to taste you once he sees how pretty you look when you come and how good you suck his cock. You'd love that wouldn't you?" You nod, unable to form words. Tyler smirks, and grabs his boxers from the pile they had ended up in before putting them on and letting in the dogs. You went upstairs to wash your face and get ready for bed. It wasn't often you saw this side of Tyler; he usually chose to behave like a pillow princess, ordering you around and making you do all the work. You made a mental note to wear this jersey to the next game, hoping he'd been serious about letting his teammates have their way with you. You also made a mental note to discuss it with him later, and to make sure you took your thong out of his pocket before the suit got dropped off to be dry cleaned. You laid in bed and Tyler soon joined you, closing the door behind him so the dogs wouldn't bother you. You both decided the third blowjob you owed him could wait until tomorrow, but that didn't stop him from running his hands along your thighs and over your butt before moving them up to massage your boobs. He flipped you over so that you laid beneath him. He said something about wanting to thank you for making him feel good today and before you knew it his face was buried between your legs and you were moaning loudly for him. He ate you out for what felt like hours until you begged him to stop, the oversensitivity no longer enjoyable. He moved to kiss you, and you tasted yourself on his lips and felt how damp his beard was. He laid down on his side and pulled you into his chest where you soon fell asleep as you listened to his heart beat steadily in his chest.

You woke up the next morning still pressed into Tyler's chest, and you listened to him snore softly. You got up and carefully removed his arm from around your waist before stealing one of his hoodies from the closet and a pair of sweats. You padded down the stairs quietly, before joining the dogs on the couch. You decided to watch The Office for a while, patting Gerry on the head and giving Cash a belly rub. You heard Tyler wander downstairs a little while after 9 AM wearing nothing but his boxers, his hair wild and curly and a tired look on his face.

"Morning, I'm gonna shower, wanna join?"

You simply nodded, giving each of the dogs a kiss before getting up and following Ty up the stairs. You heard the shower turn on, and you began removing your hoodie as you walked towards the bathroom. You slipped off your sweats and left them in a pile in the hallway. You were naked by the time you turned into the bathroom, and Tyler was already in the shower. You stepped into the hot shower with him, and things began as innocently as showering with somebody else could be. You washed Tyler's hair for him, styling it into a mohawk before he rinsed the suds out. He did the same for you, massaging your scalp with his fingers. You put conditioner in your hair, and reached for the body wash but Tyler had beat you to it. He squeezed some out into his palms and rubbed it into a lather. He motioned for you to turn around and he began gently washing your back. His hands slowly wandered further down your body, moving to grab your ass. He squeezed gently before smacking one side. You gasped, not expecting it. He turned you around to face him again so he could wash your front. He scrubbed your arms and legs before washing your stomach and boobs. He began gently at first, ghosting his fingers over your nipples lightly before becoming more aggressive, squeezing tightly. He finally pulled you in to kiss him, and you allowed your hands to run over his biceps and his chest, before drifting over his abs and down to his dick, which was now half hard. You knelt down for him, trying your best not to get water in your face. It was quick and sloppy, the shower not large enough for an NHL player and another average sized person. Tyler enjoyed it nonetheless, coming down your throat with a growl after a few minutes. You both finished showering, and stepped out. You quickly grabbed the discarded clothing the hallway and put it back on, wrapping your hair up in a towel. You walked back into the bathroom and Tyler wrapped you in a hug and pressed a kiss to your forehead, mumbling words of praise and thanking you for being so good to him.

'If it means you'll treat me like this, I have to play that well more often," said Ty with a small smile, placing a kiss on your lips before gong to get dressed for the day.

[thatgirlonstage]

Summary: Lance wakes up in a hospital on Earth to discover he has been missing for four months, with no memory of Voltron or the Galra. Drawn inexplicably to the desert where they found him, he discovers a hut full of research and notes that may provide the key to his missing memories. With secrets and conspiracies surrounding him, and the Garrison potentially hiding far more than he could ever have imagined, Lance grows to trust the notes in the desert - but he may not believe the person who claims he wrote them.

Chapter Four:

The first thing Lance saw was paper.

           There were reams of it scattered across the room, stacked high against the wall, books piled haphazardly in corners and toppling onto each other on shelves, posters covering the peeling wallpaper, rolled up maps and star charts shoved into cardboard boxes, newspaper clippings with headlines circled in red pen, colored Post-It notes stuck on everything, all of them scrawled over with the same messy, spiky handwriting.

           The second thing he noticed was the conspiracy board.

           A massive corkboard covered most of the wall to his right, beside a single narrow door that presumably led to the rest of the hut. Lance gaped at it: it looked like it had fallen out of every crime thriller ever, complete with color-coded string connecting the dots from dirty pencil sketches to photographs to a map that sat dead center, with a giant black circle around the words ENERGY SOURCE and several X’s marking out a triangle.

           The third thing he noticed was how much dust he had kicked up by opening the door, as he went into a coughing fit.

           When he had cleared his lungs and wiped the tears from his eyes, he took a few hesitant, stumbling steps closer to the conspiracy board. Pictures of lions dominated, some photographs of what looked like cave drawings, others messy sketches that had clearly been rubbed out over and over by an increasingly dirty eraser, creased and torn along the edges. For some reason, the sight of the lions made Lance’s heart jump into his throat, although he couldn’t recall ever seeing something like it before. Annotations in the same spiky handwriting covered them, but none of them made any sense. What did “NAs around?? WHO LIVED HERE?” have to do with what looked like a mathematical calculation? Why was there a yellow Post-It that just said, “changing art styles” with three arrows pointing to different photographs on it? Why was there a photograph of nothing but a cave entrance? Why was there also a world map with the constellations charted across it, showing where they were visible?

           “Does that guy with the telescope live here?” he wondered aloud, and then winced, wondering if he might have alerted anyone else in the house to his presence, but as much as he strained his ears, everything remained silent. “Only if he’s been sleeping in that park for a few months straight, judging by the dust,” he muttered to himself. He turned and surveyed the room.

           He didn’t think he’d ever seen so much paper in his life. If he thought Cal kept an impressive number of physical books even though digital copies were less than a quarter of the price, it was nothing compared to whatever the person who lived here had. They were piled everywhere: on the shelves against the back wall, on the desk and shelves on either side of the front door, underneath the wooden slab sitting on top of some concrete bricks that Lance thought was supposed to pass for a table (helping to hold it up, by the looks of it), even stuck on top of the tower of what looked like Garrison reject tech. Lance frowned, moving closer, and his eyes went wide. This was Garrison reject tech. The two back-to-front G’s that made up their logo were pasted onto the corners, although at least one looked like it had been scratched off. “What the…?” he murmured. The Garrison was dedicated to keeping their technology scarily modern, so it wasn’t unusual for them to donate outdated but still perfectly serviceable technology to the electrojunk yards in the city where people could go scavenge them. Most people in the city probably owned a printer that had been thrown away by the Garrison at some point. This was different, though. For one thing, some of this was a lot more sophisticated than a printer – Lance thought he recognized a machine Hunk had told him could be adjusted to scan for, record, and convert almost any frequency to levels that could be heard by human ears – and he doubted it would get tossed in with the Garrison’s normal electrojunk. For another, some of it wasn’t just old, by technology standards it was ancient. The holoscreen projector looked like it was decades old, probably older than Lance himself, and had clearly been repaired and retrofitted over the years. He ran a hesitant finger along the top of the frequency scanner and it came away coated in dust.

           Rubbing his hand against his pants, he took a few slow steps over to the table. There was an empty water bottle and an open, empty black can that according to the label had once contained beans but now had nothing but some nasty congealed juice at the bottom of it sitting on top of a few sheets of paper. One of them had something written in all caps and red across it, and Lance carefully, with one finger, shoved the bean can aside to get a look. It said: DON’T FORGET – TOMORROW. There was a date written underneath and circled four times.

           Lance’s throat constricted and he wondered if he was going to start coughing again. He stared at the paper until he thought he might burn a hole right through it. The world seemed to tumble into chaos around him. He clenched his fists, trying to hold onto reality with brute force. He could hear his heart thundering in his ears.

           The date written on the sheet of the paper was the night Lance had gone missing.

           He didn’t know how long he stood there staring at this sheet of paper with its frighteningly coincidental date before he reached a shaking hand into his pocket and pulled out the new phone he’d finally bought. He was halfway through typing in Detective Hopkins’s contact before he paused.

           ��What would I even say…?” he asked his phone. “Detective Hopkins” sat at the top of his screen, waiting to be pressed, an alert to the police two taps of a finger away, but instead he deleted the letters of his contact search one by one and slowly put the phone back into his pocket. “Not yet,” he muttered. “I need something more than a piece of paper if I’m going to explain why I’m out here at all. Plus, walking into this hut probably counts as breaking and entering, doesn’t it? Oh, shit, am I breaking the law?” He shifted from foot to foot, suddenly paranoid that Detective Hopkins was tailing him and was about to burst through the door and arrest him. Making a split-second decision, he walked over to the door on the right wall and twisted the knob.

           The door opened onto a sparsely furnished kitchen, boasting nothing more than a single cupboard and a square of counter space, a rickety old gas stove, a rusty metal sink, a mismatched set of two chairs and a table, and a squat little fridge that was making a frightening rattling sound as it ran. At the opposite end of the room another door was cracked open to a tiny square of a bathroom, and a ladder led up to some kind of attic. Lance, still slightly paranoid that the owner of the hut was going to appear in front of him and shoot him for trespassing, walked over to the fridge. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand hesitantly on the handle, and yanked it open. He slammed it shut again as fast as possible, his free hand coming up to cover his nose. Unless the mold in there mutated and came to life and tried to kill him, he was happy to let whatever remnants of food there were rot in there for eternity. It settled one point for him though: he was certain now that no one had lived here for months. And, judging by the mess in their refrigerator, whoever used to be here had left unexpectedly.

           Just for good measure, he finished exploring the hut. The bathroom was miniscule but functional. The water ran brown with rust and sand for the first few minutes after Lance turned it on, but eventually cleared. He splashed his face clean of the dust, although he was careful not to swallow. The cracked ceramic floor was outlined in the sand that had gathered between the crevices. The sink had a glass with a toothbrush and almost empty tube of toothpaste sitting on it, and a comb with four of its teeth missing. The shower was marked only by its wide metal head and a flimsy, tattered curtain hanging off two metal rods; the drain was set into the floor. A few strands of black hair were curled over it.

           Up the ladder, there was an almost empty attic. The slanted ceiling was so low that Lance could only stand fully upright in the exact center. There was a mattress with crumpled sheets and a thin blanket thrown across it, and a cardboard box. A few scattered pairs of socks, boxer shorts, and a black t-shirt made a loose pile of dirty laundry next to the mattress, but otherwise the room was bare. Outside was also mostly uninteresting: a well for groundwater explained how the house had plumbing, and the concrete attachment to the house had a generator connected to a set of solar panels around the back of the hut, which explained how the fridge was still running, as well as containing a few rusty gardening tools, but that was it. Lance went back inside to the main room and stared at the date glaring at him from that sheet of paper again. He reached down, hesitated, and then reasoned that his fingerprints were already all over everything.

           “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he shrugged, and picked it up.

           Examining it gave him nothing new. There were fragments of printed text on the back, but he was pretty sure that was just because it was scrap paper. He sat down on the couch, turning the paper over and over in his hands. DON’T FORGET – TOMORROW. The words mocked him.

           On a whim, he reached over and grabbed the nearest book off a shelf next to him, disturbing a cloud of dust as he did so. The spines of all the books were already thoroughly broken, so it fell open on his lap. It was a history of the region. A quick scan of the table of contents told him that it began more or less in the 1600s and worked its way up through the end of the last century. The earlier chapters in particular were stuck full of Post-It notes. He flipped through it slowly, seeing sections of the text underlined and circled, accompanied by exclamation points and question marks.

           The page it fell open to, the one where the reader’s annotation marks were so heavy they almost obscured the actual text, contained a picture similar to the ones on the conspiracy board and a single paragraph. Lance read.

           One peculiarity is the prevalence of cave drawings of what appears to be a female lion, which fill countless caves in one concentrated area (see Map 2.4). While the scholarly consensus is that they must actually be drawings of cougars, they bear an uncanny resemblance to a female African lion in the proportion of the head and their build. As of yet there are no authoritative studies on these drawings since access has always posed a problem – first because of the terrain and climate, and in more recent years because of Galaxy Garrison’s restrictions on people living or working in the area due to safety concerns over pilot training and weapons testing. The little research that has been done found several patterns that repeat across most of the drawings with slight alterations, suggesting an evolving mythos.14 However, the story depicted does not appear to be tied to any other myths or folktales from the region. Even stranger, recent radiocarbon dating suggests that the very oldest of these drawings might date to roughly 8000 BCE, around 4000 years older than any other cave drawings found in North America, while the newest ones may even have appeared after colonial exploration and settlement began in the 19th century.15 This makes little to no sense given what we know of the movements of Native American populations through this region (see Chapter 3). The working theory among scholars is that the various tribes present at different points in history each discovered these cave drawings, interpreted them, reinvented them to fit their own myths, and then redrew their version in a cave nearby. More in-depth interpretations of the story being told in these drawings, its significance to Native American culture, and the history of the region, will have to await further research.

           Scrawled in the top corner of the page was a handwritten annotation: “If completely fictional, why consistent patterns across tribes/time? What was start of myth?” Lance worried his bottom lip. He set the book down on the table and grabbed the next one without paying any attention. The cover was a startling green on black pattern, with the title written in such big font it almost completely obscured the design: ALIENS: The Secret History of Galaxy Garrison. He groaned, covering his face with his hands.

           “Nope. Okay, if this isn’t telescope man’s house, it’s the house of his even crazier cousin,” he said. “Nope, nope, nope, I’m done. I am… I am done with this. Time to go home.” He shoved the books back onto the shelf, stood up, and marched out the door. The sun was beginning to fall into the west, dipping below the mountains. Lance took a swig from his water bottle, swung himself onto the hoverbike, and took off towards town, refusing to look back as the strange little desert hut shrank into invisibility on the horizon behind him.

*

           Lance was singing, stirring peppers, onions, and snap peas together, when Cal walked in. He gave him a cheery wave, and reached back with to turn down the quick-paced Spanish music blasting from a speaker on the counter, continuing to dance side to side, swaying his hips along, as adjusted the heat on the stove.

           “And I’d never seen eyes like hers before,” he sang, imitating the singer’s vibrato on the last word. “Hey, how was school?”

           “You’re cooking?” Cal asked, dropping his backpack off his shoulder with a thunk. “What is that? It smells delicious.”

           “Nothing special,” he shrugged. “Just kind of a stir-fry, fast and easy. I was thinking of making fricasé de pollo one night if you’d like, I just need to leave it to marinate the night before.”

           “Since when do you cook?” Cal asked, bending over to untie his shoes.

           “Since Hunk.” With a quick twist of his wrist Lance shook some salt over the pan, keeping his hand high to avoid any drops of hot oil. “I had the worst crash in the flight simulator I’d ever had, my advisor told me I’d never get into the Garrison, I got back a theory test that I flat-out failed, hid in a bathroom in the basement for three hours before I limped my way back to the dorms during dinnertime in order to avoid running into anyone, and ten minutes later Hunk turned up with the most delicious black bean soup I’ve ever eaten in my life. Probably would have been even better if I didn’t keep crying into it. Hunk said he’d wanted to do something more traditionally Cuban, give me a taste of home and all, but this was the best he could manage since he wasn’t even really supposed to be in the kitchen in the first place and had to scrounge for ingredients. He kept apologizing, he was so anxious, meanwhile I couldn’t even keep my voice steady long enough to actually thank him for it.

           “So then like a week later, once I’d pulled myself together and convinced my teacher to let me retake the theory test, I was determined I was going to cook something for him, you know, to thank him. I managed to get into the kitchen by telling the chef I was Hunk’s friend – he worked there for some extra cash on weekends and one of his moms was a chef, he could cook better than anyone else in that kitchen – but I ended up with the saddest, driest, burnt-up fried plantains you’ve ever seen in your life. It was a total disaster. I wouldn’t have dared try to make him eat them, I just threw them away. But I must have had the most pitiful puppy-dog look on my face after that because Hunk knew something was wrong, and when I finally confessed what had happened he was so touched that he insisted he get to teach me to cook. We spent Sunday mornings in the kitchen since the simulators weren’t available until noon.”

           “Hunk was your roommate back in prep school, right?” Lance scraped the spoon slowly around the edge of the pan.

           “Yeah. Sweetest guy I’ve ever met,” he said. Cal tucked the laces inside his shoes and set them carefully in a boot tray.

           “I met his moms,” he said. Lance kept his eyes fixed on the pan. “They were lovely people. His brother too.” Lance stabbed a pepper with the fork and sampled it. Almost done, could use another couple minutes, he decided. “So, you planning to share that or what?” He sent Cal a relieved grin.

           “Patience, patience,” he admonished, waving a spoon at his brother. “It’s not done yet.” Cal slid onto a chair and crossed an ankle over his knee, watching expectantly.

           “Cooking, speaking English in the morning, you really have changed a lot,” he mused. Lance shrugged.

           “None of this is recent,” he said.

           “Guess we don’t see each other all that often anymore.” There was a moment of quiet, the Spanish singer still crooning gently from the speaker. Lance murmured the lyrics under his breath, swaying almost imperceptibly. He felt Cal’s eyes on the back of his neck but didn’t turn around. Another few stirs around with his spoon and he stepped back, satisfied.

           “There’s rice in the pot,” he gestured. Cal grabbed a plate and helped himself. The two of them moved around one another in sync, navigating the compressed little apartment kitchen to set out silverware and water, Lance dropping a used cutting board and knife into the sink to be washed later. They ate in comfortable silence, the muted sound of a guitar from the speaker and the indistinct noises of people having their own dinners in the apartments above and below providing a soundtrack to their quiet company. Only after both their plates were scraped clean did Lance sit back, crossing his ankle across his knee to match Cal, and ask if he had any critiques.

           “Not a one. You know I’m terrible at cooking, why didn’t you do this before now?” Lance shrugged, throwing his arms over the back of the chair.

           “I was recovering from being an invalid. Show some consideration to your little brother.” Cal rolled his eyes.

           “Right. Well, you’re cooking dinner from now on. You want to stay in this apartment, you’re going to earn your keep.”

           “Hey! That wasn’t in my contract!”

           “I’m changing the terms of our agreement. Older sibling privileges.” Lance could have sworn the glint in Cal’s eyes was almost mischievous.

           “You are the most— the most insufferable— you dirty little f—”

           “Lance,” Cal gasped in mock horror. “Language, please.”

           “I’ll language you!” Lance growled. He launched himself at Cal, trying to yank him off the chair, but couldn’t make him budge.

           “Please, Lance, you know you could never win when we fought.”

           “Maybe not. Buuuuuuut… I do know your weak spot,” Lance gave Cal the evilest grin he could and Cal met him with a glare.

           “You wouldn’t dare,” he said suspiciously, slowly placing his foot on the floor.

           “Oh I would,” Lance said. He went to his knees, grabbed Cal’s foot, and tickled the bottom. Cal shrieked, kicking at him, but Lance hung on grimly to his leg and continued to tickle. Cal was somewhere between screaming and laughing, trying to shove Lance away, but his position from the chair was too awkward and he couldn’t get to his feet with Lance hanging on to his leg.

           “You absolute ass,” he cried. “Two can play at this game, you know.”

           “No!” Lance shrieked as Cal bent over and reached for his ribs. He let go of his grip on Cal’s leg to knock away his hands. “Sorry, sorry, truce!”

           “Not a chance,” Cal said, jumping to his feet. Lance crab-walked backward until he managed to flip over, trip up to his feet, and attempt to sprint away. Cal caught him and knocked them both onto the air mattress, his fingers tickling agony into his sides.

           “Let goooooooo,” he groaned through involuntary laughter, slapping ineffectually at his brother’s arms. “You’re an adult, you’re supposed to be too old for this.” He squirmed, trying to wiggle his way out of Cal’s grasp, but he had Lance pinned down, still digging his fingers mercilessly into his ribs. “Calixto Sanchez, if you don’t stop I am going to burn every single one of those dinners you want me to cook for you.” Cal paused, squinting at him, his knees digging into Lance’s hips.

           “You wouldn’t eat burnt food for the next two months just to spite me.”

           “Try me,” Lance dared. Cal stared him down a moment longer, then flipped off of him. Lance sighed in relief, gave it a single beat, and dove for Cal’s feet, throwing his torso across Cal’s legs to keep them in place.

           “You CHEAT!” Cal shouted, trying to shove him off. Lance couldn’t hold his position long before Cal managed to pull him away and they devolved into wrestling. Lance discovered there was a lot more of him since the last time they did this: his limbs had stretched long and he was all angles now, all elbows and knees and bony shoulders that he could shove up against the block of muscle that was his brother to try and push him off the mattress. They were almost evenly matched for a few minutes, but Cal eventually managed to shove Lance onto his stomach and pull his arms behind him. Lance kicked ineffectually for a few seconds, like he was swimming, but Cal was sitting on his back and he couldn’t reach him.

           “Okay, okay, you win, you always win, I’ll cook nice things for you,” Lance groaned, and buried his face into the air mattress. Cal didn’t say anything, only released his grip, but Lance could feel the smugness rolling off him in waves. “No need to be so damn proud of yourself.”

           “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cal said in a tone that told Lance he knew exactly what he was talking about.

           “Suuuuuuure,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. He flipped himself over onto his back. “You wanna watch a movie tonight?” he asked. Cal shook his head.

           “Some of us have homework to do. On Saturday maybe. Oh, speaking of which, Louisa’s said she’s going to come visit on Saturday. Midterms were this week so she can take a bit of a break.”

           “Sweet,” Lance said, spotting the pot of rice still sitting on the stove and remembering he still had dishes to do. He sighed, pushed himself to his feet, and ambled back over to the kitchen. He pushed the volume on the speaker back up, rolled up his sleeves, and turned on the sink, running the water over his fingers until it got hot. “You know, it’s a pretty dumb idea to build a school out in the desert,” he reflected. “The town has the lake, I know, but the Garrison’s far enough out that it can’t be easy to cart all the water they need all the way out there.” He said nothing about the strange little hut with its personal well that seemed so wildly impractical, so far from everything.

           “Well they needed a big open space that no one else wanted so they could just claim it as theirs and then they wouldn’t ever have to worry about flight regulations or anything,” Cal said offhandedly, opening up his computer. Lance paused, hands submerged in sudsy water.

           “Wait, so, how much of the desert is the Garrison’s private property?” he asked. Cal frowned at him.

           “I don’t know exactly but it goes on for miles. I mean, that’s how they keep the town from expanding out in that direction, they own all the land.” Lance felt his breath hitch but tried to keep his voice calm.

           “So… If someone were… living out in the desert…” Cal shook his head.

           “They couldn’t be. Well, not legally anyway. But like you said, why would anyone want to live out in the desert anyway? There’s nothing out there.”

           “Right,” Lance muttered, scrubbing oil residue forcefully off a pan. “Nothing but a whole lot of sand.”

*

           He spent almost ten minutes standing on the porch without quite managing to grab the doorknob. He very nearly convinced himself to turn around and go back to the city. This was almost definitely the worst idea he’d ever had. The knowledge that he was now trespassing not just on the abandoned house of some weirdo but also technically on Garrison property, in a house they couldn’t possibly know about because Lance was sure they would flip their shit if they did, full of what might, he was realizing, be stolen Garrison tech, and books all about how the Garrison was really an alien cover-up organization or something of the kind, made his heart pound painfully against his ribs every time he started to move toward the door. He paced on the porch, muttering to himself.

           “Maybe someone built this house before the Garrison even got here? And then just… refused to leave? Because clearly someone’s been living here within the last year even if they’ve been gone for a few months at this point. But how did the Garrison not notice it ever? We are pretty far out, so I get why they might not have noticed it since they arrived, but they must have, have surveyed the property or whatever you call it when they first bought it, right? Okay, so if the house wasn’t here when the Garrison arrived, who built a house in the middle of the desert on government property? Who does that?” He turned back and caught sight of the broken-down fence, partially buried in sand, that marked out what he thought must have once been a garden. “Some, some weird… hermit… farmer… obsessed with aliens… Okay, Clark Kent or whoever the fuck…” He turned, faced the door, and before he could think any more about it, shoved it open.

           He half expected to see some wild man with long wiry hair asleep on the couch, or Garrison lieutenants waiting to arrest him, but it looked exactly the way he had left it yesterday. He picked his way gingerly across the room to the stacks of paper against the back wall. Brushing away the dust, he grabbed a handful of pages off of the first stack, settled on the couch, and started to read.

           The same date that he had gone missing, that was written on that “Don’t forget” paper, was written in bold across the top of the first page and circled. There were a series of calculations written out, all in that same spiky handwriting. At one point, the writer seemed to have made an error or a series of errors, because the math got so crossed-out and scribbled over that it became nearly illegible. Lance, glancing around, spotted a pencil lying on one of the bookshelves, seized it, and finished out the calculation in the margin so he could read the whole thing. It took him a couple pages to figure out exactly what he was calculating: this guy was, for some reason, tracking the movement of stars by hand, calculating, if Lance had to guess, how they would appear in the sky on that particular date. Hit by a thought, he jumped to his feet and walked over to the star chart superimposed on a map of the world pinned up on the conspiracy board. The star chart hadn’t been printed off the internet, he could see now, it had been rendered and printed off on this guy’s own computer, from his own calculations. Lance whistled.

           “Wow, okay Kent, can I call you Kent? I’m going to call you Kent, it sounds better than ‘freaky conspiracy guy.’ You really do not trust the Garrison, or… anyone, do you? How long did this take you?” he wondered, looking at the sheaf of papers in his hand. True, it wasn’t like he had tried to chart every single star in the sky, mostly just the big constellations and the planets, but it would still have been painstaking to finish – and clearly, judging from Kent’s endless errors and redo’s, math was not his greatest strength. One margin next to a particularly blacked out scribble had “WHY THE FUCK CAN’T I DO MATH” written next to it.

           “Okay, so, you plotted the stars on this date. Whoop-de-do. What of it?” Lance chewed his lip, looking at the map that took up the center of the conspiracy board. He touched it lightly with the tips of his fingers. “Maybe I should…” He let the thought trail away. Taking off on his rental hoverbike into the middle of the desert, again, without a clue what he was looking for or if there even was something to look for, on the basis of a map in the abandoned shack of a crazy person, seemed like seriously pushing his luck. “Save it until I’ve worked out what Kent here was up to,” he decided, and then turned back to survey the chaotic room with its piles upon piles of paper in dismay. “…If I can,” he muttered.

           He plopped back down on the sofa, setting the star chart calculation sheets aside on the table, and reached for another handful of paper. This one was topped with the question “What does ‘arrival’ mean?” and that same date. Underneath, there were bullet points brainstorming an answer.

The lion?

ALIENS?

(The lion could be an alien???)

A message?

A disease?

A meteor / some other kind of disaster?

Some kind of ‘chosen one’ bullshit?

People?

People returning to the caves?

           The bullet points went on, each straying further into desperate imagination than the last. Lance flipped the page, and found a grocery list scrawled on the back:

—ramen

—jerky

—batteries

—frozen pizza

—mac & cheese

—potato chips

—eggs if they’re cheap

—toothpaste

           Lance raised his eyebrows, spinning the pencil between his fingers, and after a moment’s hesitation, set it against the page and wrote in small, neat letters, “Your insides are rotting, Kent.” He shook his head, setting the sheet of paper aside, and picked up the next one, turning it horizontal to read it. This one had “THE THEORY OF EVERYTHING” written in the center, and “PROPHECY” written at the top, surrounded by question marks. There was a dotted line drawn between them. Next to it were various thoughts: “If you had the ToE you could predict the future,” “Is a partial ToE possible?” “We can predict the movements of the stars, stands to reason there are other steps between that and a complete ToE that would allow you to predict other things,” “Attractions like gravity? Forces in the universe with predictable patterns we just haven’t documented/understood yet?” and then, in the corner, in very small letters, Kent had written, “Maybe it’s just magic.”

           Lance sighed, setting the paper down. “I could spend months trying to pick apart this guy’s mind,” he said to himself. “Kent, what the hell were you trying to figure out? What do you mean by prophecy and arrival?” He stared forward, zoning out, when the corner of a newspaper peeking out from under a photograph on the conspiracy board caught his eye. Curious, he pushed himself to his feet, and pulled up the picture of the mountains to find himself confronted with the sober face of Takashi Shirogane, staring out from over the top of his obituary. Although the picture had been left untouched, the writing was scrawled over in red Sharpie. Kent had written himself a reminder in huge, bold strokes: “REMEMBER THE GARRISON LIES.” Lance caught his breath. No one had quite believed it when the Kerberos mission had been reported to have crashed. No one could believe that Shiro, first in his class and the best pilot the Garrison had seen in a decade, would make a ‘pilot error’ that would get himself and his whole crew killed. It simply didn’t make any sense. It sounded crazy, it sounded like a conspiracy theory, and they would never have really questioned whether the Garrison was telling them the truth, but the doubt lingered in people’s voices when they talked about it, in people’s eyes when they glanced at each other as they heard the news.

           Had Kent discovered something? Did he know something, have some concrete evidence that the rest of them didn’t know about? Almost everything else in this shack was covered in question marks, confusion and uncertainty bleeding out of every line of writing. There was absolutely no doubt in the bright red Sharpie. Shiro’s picture watched him, his young face serious and proud. REMEMBER THE GARRISON LIES. Lance touched the newspaper clipping lightly with the tips of his fingers.

           “Okay, Kent,” he said softly. “I’m listening.”

[occupyscifi]

A boy and his destiny

When I was 15 I had the same recurring dream where I was a god. I remember crowds of worshippers in temples of concrete bowing down at my feet and calling my name over and over again. I walked through them and they parted like the Red Sea as they reached out to touch the hem of my clothes in finger trembling awe. And as I walked I saw a great destiny ahead of me, where I’d be leading armies of men to great future victories in countries I didn’t recognise. I saw myself sat on a golden throne, dispensing harsh justice over millions of my fellow human beings. I saw myself living forever- unkillable, unageing. A leader of men. A tyrant. A monster. A god. The people around me were nothing but cattle, tools for me to use for my awesome purpose. In fact their very adoration of me only made me want to use them more. They were so very biddable, so very humble- it was impossible not to hate them a little bit. They were a carpet of flesh to be used for whatever I saw fit, toy soldiers for a boy Emperor. And use them I did, throwing them into wars like they were the plastic soldiers of my early childhood. Wars that I fought just for my pleasure at their destruction and to stave off the boredom of immortality. I saw myself raze cities just to build them up again, and then tear them down a century or so later because I had grown tired of them. I watched myself and I felt appalled at these genocidal crimes, terrified that I could be capable of such cruelty. Yet when I awoke the thing that horrified me the most, that chilled me to the bone was one simple fact. I had enjoyed being that tyrant. I had enjoyed treating people like little more than pieces on a chessboard. Had enjoyed using and abusing my fellow human beings, just for fun. What kind of person did that make me? “messiah complex” diagnosed my father one morning when I confessed my dreams to him “perfectly normal at your age. Comes from reading too many fantasy books with epic heroes in them. All this chosen one, once and future king nonsense. You want to watch that, next thing you know you'll be wanting extra bacon" "as if" I replied, looking at the burnt squiggles in the pan. My father is no great cook, and besides the taste in my mouth was already bad. The dream lingered there, an unpleasant tingling that I usually associated with waking up to find my bedsheets messed. I didn’t like the idea that my mind seemed to equate lust and power together. That didn’t seem healthy at all “more of your bacon’s a punishment, if anything” "smartarse" said my father, ruffling my hair "dreams are just dreams, usually a dream like that is your brain's way of telling you not to get too big for your boots. That you’ve got delusions of grandeur and need to be brought down a peg or two" "but it was so vivid…" I replied, looking out the kitchen window. The day outside was bright, the summer sun already making the world look slightly wilted and dusty. The bright light showing up the faded paint on the fences and the peeling walls of next door’s house. Too bright, like someone had got the saturation and contrast wrong on a TV. Summer does that, the heat makes things unreal. Heat haze puts things out of focus, makes your body feel heavy and useless. Give me winter cold any day, the lethargy of summer always made me feel unreal and the thought of the dream wasn’t helping. “dreams always are” continued my dad, matter of factly “it’s not like watching a film, is it? You feel the emotions, and not just the emotions…” “yeah” I replied, thinking about some of the lives I’d dreamed I’d lead. It hadn’t just been killing people, some of those adoring worshippers had been very nubile and very eager to please. And not just the female ones either. I’ve always been pretty sure I know which way my bread was buttered but in the dream, well, in the dream I could have my bread any way I wanted it “yeah I suppose” I concluded, munching on the bacon. It didn’t taste quite right either but that had more to do with my father’s cooking than the dream. “get yourself ready and get to school” said dad, moving off to rinse the frying pan in the sink “you'll feel better once you get out” I nodded in agreement, but still my legs felt wooden as I left the table, and my school uniform felt like it had shrunk in the night. Afterimages of dream kept jumping out at me as I left the house, the voices and faces familiar but unnameable. That uncomfortable feeling of everyone staring at me, expecting something great of me. "spooky" I shivered, grabbing my bike and kicking off onto the street "what kind of person wants to rule the world?” I muttered as I passed the neighbours bungalows, their brightly painted facades making them look more like stage props than real houses. "who gets a kick out of everyone being scared of them?" But the fact remained, an uneasy lump in my stomach as I let familiarity guide me to school, that I had enjoyed the dream. I had liked telling people what to do, liked the way the roaring crowds had cried out my name. Of course the name they'd shouted wasn't exactly mine, but dreams don't always get everything right.

"school" I said to myself as I passed the parade of shops and then across the weedy wasteland that people sometimes called a park if they were being generous "that'll stop me feeling weird" if there was any place that would take away my feeling of being something special then it would be a double maths followed by science. School was many things, but it certainly was not a place filled with willing worshippers. The familiar concrete block of Stanton Secondary School reared up, grey and ugly and utterly familiar. But then again look at anything familiar long enough and you start to question it. Was the place always so battered looking, were the walls always so cracked and the paint so faded? I didn’t want to go down that road, doubting reality only leads to one thing - boring philosophy discussions and bad science fiction. “Yo, Anton!” called a familiar voice and I turned to see Eric Larson, current best friend and sometimes worst enemy. Good old Eric, always firmly on hand to call me a twat if I got any ideas above my station like talking to girls or having an opinion of my own. “Eric, dude” I said, high fiving him. Eric then got into a rambling conversation about premier league football that I’d never followed but knew how to nod along to. Part of friendship is pretending that you care about whatever your mates care about no matter how obviously stupid it was. It also meant that I could stare about the playground, and more specifically stare at girls without looking like I was staring at them. I was just idly eyeing up Lindy Liu, who excelled in wearing skirts that were far too short for her long legs, when someone else caught my attention. The girl was not attractive, and she certainly didn’t have the unique way of wearing the school uniform that Lindy possessed. But there were two things that automatically got my attention. The first was that she was looking at me with that same look of adoration that I’d had seen all my followers wearing in the dream – even those whom I’d had killed for fun. The second was that I had no idea who she was. And while there were sometimes new students I couldn’t recall any that looked this, well, new. “Eric?” I interrupted as my friend was in full flow about the beautiful game “……and he’s been playing centre forward for, like….” “Eric, shut up and pay attention” I snapped, my voice sounding strangely authoritative. Clearly Eric thought so too because he stopped talking immediately “the girl. Over there. Who is she?” I made sure my back was to her so she couldn’t see me point her out. “who?” asked Eric, his forehead creasing in confusion as he looked across the playground. “the new girl. Sharp faced. Looks like her mum bought her uniform in a charity shop” “I don’t see anyone there” said Eric “and there isn’t anyone new” “well who do you  call….”  I began, turning around to point out the obvious only to find that the girl had completely vanished. Only the familiar faces of the school, people that I’d known and disliked and felt jealously towards, remained. “you’re imagining things, mate” said Eric, not unkindly “but she was here…” I began and then thought better of it. I was feeling weird enough already, I didn’t want other people thinking I was weird too. If the girl was real then she’d turn up, and if she wasn’t then, well then I had bigger problems to worry about.

I’d received many anonymous notes during my time in secondary school. Most of them informed me how much of a bell end I was, or other insults intimately related to my various failings as a human being. I had even occasionally received one or two that were positive but being as they always anonymous it was impossible to tell who they might have come from. However the note I found tucked inside my locker after double science was altogether new- not only did it not have any insults on it, it also only had two pieces of information. The first was a set of directions and a time. The second was a symbol, hastily scrawled across the top of the page. If it hadn’t been for that symbol I would have casually crumpled and then disposed of the note as being some trolling attempt by my so called best friends. Instead I kept the note in my pocket where it nagged at me as I walked to my next class. I’m sure I knew it from somewhere, though what game or movie I couldn’t at that moment remember. I certainly wasn’t going to show it to anyone to get their opinion – for all I knew it actually might be from some girl who for whatever reason wanted to meet up and confess her undying love for me. It was only mid way through Maths that I realised where the symbol had come from, and that it wasn’t from some game or movie. Either my subconscious was plagiarising another well known logo or whoever had written the note had a direct line into my dreams. That symbol, I now remembered, had flown on the banners of my armies and above the palaces and cities that they had conquered for me. I wasn’t sure which was more likely, but I knew I had to know for sure. So instead of hanging around with Eric and swapping witticisms at lunch I hurried away to follow the directions on the crumpled piece of paper – ending up in a secluded area near the bins behind the canteen. Hardly the most romantic location but when you are a teenager you grab what you can get. Usually what you get, however, is humiliation and I was ready to get a big dose of it. Therefore it was something of a relief to see the person waiting for me wasn’t a guffawing group of my so called friends calling me a twat. It was a relief, however, that was not to last for long. "you came" said the girl, the same look on her eyes as I’d seen in her earlier. I’d never had a stalker, or even a girl that had a crush on me. I wasn’t exactly sure how to react, and the fact that she seemed to have peered into my dreams made things even weirder. “I got your note" I said, unable to think of anything else to say. I held up the note, pointing at the symbol "the symbol. I think i….” I swallowed, not sure what to admit “what's it mean?" "it means you're special" said the girl, stepping close to me. That look on her face, the thrill of power it sent running through me. I felt a queasiness at realising how easy it is to lose any moral sense when someone else opens themselves up to you that way. The lure of power over another human being is almost too much to resist. The knowledge that I could do anything I wanted filled me with both horror and desire “your destiny. Its written. What was once will be again” “my dreams” I said, feeling the words pulled from me by girl’s wide eyed stare “the things I saw, are they… will they…?” “they’re real” said the girl “every moment of it. You are the once and future king. The immortal. The special one” “but how do you know?” I gasped, intoxicated by the girl and her promises of immortality. What else could a thirteen year old boy want but unlimited power and infinite time? “we have known of your legend for many generations” said the girl, stroking my face gently “I have searched for you as my parents searched for you. My whole tribe has sought only to find you and bring you back. After so long I have succeeded” “back?” I asked, looking around me. Talk of chosen ones and immortality looked strange standing by the bins and with boys playing football on the field nearby “where? I mean, I’ve got lessons….” “lessons?” said the girl with a contemptuous snort “what can they teach you that you do not already know? As if any of these old frauds have the right to do anything but bow down at your feet" she moved in even closer so I could feel the heat of her on my skin, see the flecks of pale gold in her eyes and her breath soft on my face "I'm here to set you free. I'm here to help you follow your destiny. We have to go now, before they notice I’m talking to you” “well I don’t think anyone minds” I said, not wanting to move in case the spell was broken but also because I was afraid it would reveal the stiffy I was concealing in my trousers. Either it was the talk of power or her proximity but it was hard to think of a time I had been more aroused “I mean, I am allowed to talk to girls…” “we have to go” she said urgently, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the gates at the back of the school “if any of them notice you with me then they’ll alert the high priest” “high priest?” “you don’t think I’m the only one who knows what you are?” said the girl, her face flushing red “every prison has its jailers and they are always watching. They’ve grown complacent but if they see me then they’ll know I’ve come for you” she looked fearfully at the field where now the boys had stopped playing football “shit, they’ve realised” “yeah, that I’m talking to a girl” I said with a smile “at last. Maybe I’ll finally get some respect” “you’ll get nothing, my lord, if you just stand here” said the girl. Running forward to the fence that went around the school she skilfully ducked under the wire “come with me if you want to meet your destiny. If you’re only interest is double English then stay here” I took one look back at the field and the concrete mass of the school shimmering in the summer heat. On the one hand dad would kill me if I got caught truanting, but on the other how often did a cute girl want me to follow her? Course she was convinced I had some supreme destiny or other but who knew, maybe she was right. There was only one way to find out. I ducked out after her. Even if she was crazy I might at least get a hand job out of it, and that was worth a month of detentions.

I was all right until we reach the line of trees that separated the town from its nearest neighbour. The girl had bounded up to the line of pines that marked the border between my home and the A road leading to Sturridge. It was also a psychological border, once I cut through here there was no turning back. Whatever craziness the girl was into would take over and great destiny or not, there was no turning back.

"umm, I'm not sure about this" I said, glancing back at the school through the trees "maybe we could just hang out here. Get to know each other a bit…" "don't let them put the fear on you" said the girl, breathing heavily "that's how they trapped you here. You won't ever regain your destiny if you keep doing what they say. You've got such powers in you. It would be criminal to waste them here" she stepped back down to me, coming close again and touching my face as if in awe "think what gifts you still have to give the world" “gifts?” I said, remembering my own mediocre life thus far. There was no evidence of any greatness that I could think of in my school results and my inability to even get into the school football team “why the fuck do you keep going on about me as if I’m the second coming?” “because you are” said the girl simply “can’t you feel it within you?” she placed her hand on my chest “can’t you feel the powers you have? Can’t you remember them? How you can turn men’s minds to your will just by words alone?” I wanted to say no. I wanted to say that I was just a normal kid from West Sussex who played football badly and couldn’t talk to girls. But that was just it. the dreams hadn’t just been dreams, I could feel that. They had the taste of real memories to them- memories of the future perhaps. They had the ring of truth where most dreams were just bundles of emotions  badly cut and pasted together. “no, look I’m…” I began, but couldn’t continue. I remembered now things that I’d buried deep. The times I’d known things other kids had not, had said something that had the other children look at me in horror . How I’d sometimes seemed to know things were going to happen before they did. That sense of déjà vu that had made the other kids look at me awkwardly. What had happened when I lost my temper that time last year. How could I have forgotten that? Another boy had nearly died because of me and I’d forgotten. How did that work? “you’re remembering, aren’t you?” said the girl “who you really are” “no” I lied “anyway, what do you know about it? what the fuck do you know about my dreams?” “because they’re my dreams too” she said, moving close so that she was pressed against my body, her eyes looking up to me, adoring and subservient “Ever since I was little, I dreamed of seeing you there. On your golden throne. The city of Kirsk being levelled. The annihilation of the Sendai rebels. How I longed to see them burn in their millions” “they aren’t real. They were just…” I began, but I saw them in a flash that could only be reality. I saw myself at the head of an army blasting down armed soldiers like they were nothing. The flash of laser beams and energy shields in the setting sun. Soldiers shouting in a language that certainly wasn’t English and had probably yet to be invented. “I know you can be great, that this is not your life” she whispered, pressing against me and nodding at the village down the hill “leave them behind, build a kingdom out of the world that will echo down the centuries. Be that great man I know you to be…” “yes” I said, feeling now the sweet taste in my mouth. The taste of power, the realisation that I could do what I wanted. That the world around me had felt unreal precisely because it was just a stage prop between me and my ambition. All that I had to do was to tear it away, to use my powers to sweep the governments of the world away like they were nothing. I would gather myself an army of zealots, burn down anything that opposed me. In my mind’s eye I could see it as clear as my dreams. Cities aflame as my followers rioted, a triumphant procession through London. Washington. Beijing. All things were possible “yes. We can do this. It begins now” I pulled away from her, ready to go out there and seize my destiny. Ready to make myself king of the world. I was somewhat put out, however, as I reached the top to see my dad, leaning casually against a tree. “the high priest of lies!" hissed the girl, grabbing at my sleeve "he is your jailer, your enemy. He is…” "he's my dad" I said, looking at him as if for the first time. I saw the fear he was masking in his face, and the love too. I knew that he understood my destiny, I just didn’t know whether he agreed with it "you know, don’t you?” I said “about me” “that’s right son” he said sadly “but it’s not quite like she says….” "don't trust him" said the girl, making an awkward warding off gesture. As if my dad in his jeans and shirt were some kind of evil demon "he lies with every word. He’s been lying to you all along…" "fair's fair love” said my dad firmly "you didn't exactly tell him the truth either" "I told him he had a grand destiny, that he is a leader of men. That he is our once and future king, that he will deliver us from….” "and what you didn't say" he interrupted "is that those visions he has been having aren't of his future" "they could be. What will come again can surely….” "no" he put his hand on my shoulder as he addressed me "you know the truth son, deep down. Think about it" "the visions, the dreams. I…." he shook his head "I don't know" "your memory's not what it was" said my dad kindly "that's hardly a surprise. Age does funny things to your memories. It’s the earliest ones, they stay the clearest. Some days I forget what happened last week. Couldn’t remember where I’d put my keys five minutes ago. But ask me what I did that summer when I was nine years old and I could tell you in total clarity” he sighed “and I’m barely fifty.  What it must be like for your…" he trailed off "what do you mean?" I said, feeling the ground fall away "my visions. The future…" "they aren't visions. And they aren’t the future” he said "they're memories. They’re all the things you've done over the centuries - the millenia. All the people you've been. All the lives you've lead" "lives?" I echoed. I started to feel it then, the visions. The dreams. The memories. Not other lives. Not really. Still me. Always me. Forever. With each revelation I felt new ones surfacing, whole icebergs of memory that threatened the fragile ship of my sanity. The century when I had ruled over most of south America. The wilderness years after I’d lost the Chen war. The cannibal times. All of them slammed into me one by one. "it’s not something I'd wish on anyone" said my father sadly “immortality. No wonder you chose to come here” "this is a gift you have" hissed the girl, her face transfigured with hate for my father “a gift that can be used to make the world great again. To lift us up from barbarism…." "I think we've had enough of all that" said my father “too many tyrants make that promise only to deliver more barbarity” "you would say that" snarled the girl "you, who keeps him prisoner. Who lies to him everyday. Who keeps him in this make believe world. Who treats him like a child…" "yeah"  I said, knotting my forehead "why'd you do that? Why'd you keep me in school and all that crap if I’m really this super immortal guy?" "oh son” said dad "you always forget, don't you? It was you who designed all this. You who got us all to play these roles. Who made us pretend to be people who’ve been dead for a thousand years or more. Who designed the school and all the houses. Even the plants. There haven't been plants and trees like this on earth for, oh, hundreds of years. You aren't a prisoner of anyone" he gestured about him "this is all your doing. This is your home. You made all this. Its not a prison, it’s a shrine. To you. To your childhood, long gone as it is. We play along because we love you. Because we’re the last of your adoring congregation" "no…no that can't be true" I said “i''d remember" "you do" he replied "and then you forget" "but…but you're my dad" "yes, I know" he said kindly "and before I was your dad it was my uncle who was your dad for, oh, about thirty years. And then before then it was his grandfather. Ten generations we've served you in this place. Ten generations pretending to be a man so long lost to history we don’t even know his name. all we know is somehow he produced you, and he made enough of an impression that even know you remember everything about him" "but…but this is my home. I remember it all clearly. I remember…" "like I said, memory loss is funny" said my father, almost conversationally to me and the girl "it’s the most recent events that go first. The earliest memories that last. Your memories of this place have lasted longer than all the countries of the world and all the human beings that ever lived – except you, of course. You’ve outlasted everything" "no… no this can't be true" I said, looking at my arms and hands. They didn’t look any different to normal or any different to the other children in my class "look, I'm just a teenager. I couldn’t have designed any of this. I failed art class” I gulped as I looked at my father, his face swam but it was just the tears in my eyes and I wanted to tell him his name but suddenly I couldn’t remember it. He was dad, just dad “this is my home…” "don't listen Anton" said the girl, grabbing me and pulling up towards the trees “he can’t stop you... he knows that. His words are pointless. You have a destiny. We need you to rule us. The world has fallen apart without you” “is it like he said?” I asked the girl, feeling her pull me forward “did I really do those things? Fight all those wars? Kill all those people?” “the past doesn’t matter” she said “it’s the future that is important. There are people out there who need you, who are just waiting for the chance to have something worth dying for. This is what we need. Enough of stagnation, people grown fat with peace and plenty…” I stumbled forward, my mind blurred in memory. The things I had done. The people I had enslaved. What world even still existed out there? I had memories of blasted heathland and ruined towerblocks running right to the horizon. Of skinny people with scared eyes, all the zealotry burned out of them by centuries of war. Did I want to bring that down on them again? Could I ruin the world a second time? “no. No I don’t think I want…” I began “you have to!” said the girl eyeing my father, who had not moved to follow us “this is no time for sentiment. The world out there needs a strong leader. It needs passions and it needs you to lead them. Otherwise it’s all senile old men like him” “they don’t need me” I said, thinking of the adoring crowds with a sickening feeling in my stomach. How they had all called out to me, even as they died in my name. Till all that were left were a few hundred where there once had been millions. Even then they had been willing to die for me. It was only my weariness with all the destruction that had saved them. “they don’t know what they need” said the girl “they’re like cattle. Leave them be and they’ll breed aimlessly for aeons, pretending that happiness is families and a full belly. You are destiny, you are purpose. You are greatness” “and that’s why I’m not going” I said, reaching a decision – or the memory of a past one. There was a reason I had retired here and built this shrine to my childhood. It wasn’t just that my memory had been going. It was that I’d grown tired of the wars and the conquests, of the throwing armies against each other like children’s toys. A millennia of life had brought me many things but it hadn’t brought me the kind of happiness that being just an ordinary kid in an ordinary town ever could. And it certainly hadn’t brought happiness to the millions who had died because of me. "My Lord, wait!" began the girl as I turned and began to stump down the hill. I stopped with a view over the town. The town that had vanished into dust a thousand years earlier but that I had meticulously rebuilt. It could do with a lick of paint, but it wasn’t bad for someone who’d never had the knack for art. "I don't think so" I heard my father say as the girl tried to come close to me "what? You'd decide what was best for the immortal?” she screamed at him “You'd choose for a god?" "he's already chosen" my father said "he's chosen peace and retirement. Chosen to give the world a chance to live without warring gods and immortal kings. We should respect that choice" "and what if we don't want to?" growled the girl "you don't get to make that decision" said my father “you don't remember what it was like, none of us do. There are records. Mass graves and bomb craters where cities had stood. Irradiated wastelands covering half a continent. I'm not going to let that happen again" I looked up to see the knife in my father’s hand and for a horrible minute I thought it was for me. Then I remembered the enemies I’d bested in the past, the blades they’d buried in me to no avail. And I remembered that my father and his people had sworn to serve me for the rest of time. To serve me in whatever form I chose. So when he turned to the girl I looked away. “I’m sorry” I said, looking over the village while the man who was not my father murdered the girl who wanted to make me a monster again “I didn’t want to do this. But it’s a mercy” I didn’t say who it was a mercy for. Not for the girl bleeding out on the grass on the hill. Perhaps not even for me, an old senile god living in a fake town surrounded by fake people. But for the remnants of the human race that lived out there. They deserved a chance for peace, to be free of great destinies and leaders and gods. Then when my father was done and the girl safely buried I started back down the hill. If I hurried I could play a bit of footie and then it was double English. I liked English because I was sat near Lindy Liu and if I leaned back just right I could almost see down her top. And I knew that by the time I got there all memories of the girl and my genocidal centuries would be gone, and only innocent childhood remain.