#bat area moving services

[red-archivist]

TMAGP 23 SPOILERS!

i heard those lines and was immediately inspired to make something sad lol

~

Twenty years ago, Jonathan Sims quits smoking.

Twenty years ago, Martin Blackwood’s mother survives her second stroke.

Twenty years ago, Jonathan Sims quits smoking.

It’s not enough to just stop, the shakes and the headaches nip at him constantly, and he reluctantly concludes that bad habits need to replaced by better ones.

That’s where the cycling comes in, to start with.

It’s exercise, it’s eco-friendly, and he can pretend he is literally leaving his cravings behind him as he pushes hard on the pedals.

He does his homework first, researching what is the best option for city cycling, for his budget, for someone that hasn’t ridden a bike since they were nine.

He plots out his paths to the office, the shops, and the nearest puncture repair centre, just in case. He even makes a spreadsheet to keep track of them.

He is sure Tim would poke fun at him for it, if they were still talking, but the organisation keeps his twitching fingers busy and his roaming mind away from the half-finished box of cigarettes in his desk drawer that he promises he will throw away any day now.

What all that planning fails to account for, as soon as he actually gets onto the road, is the rest of the world moving around him.

Every stereotype he has heard about antagonistic drivers is proven ten-fold as he dodges swerving cars and gets sworn at for whizzing past stalled traffic. He soon learns to sneer through tinted windows.

Pedestrians are almost worse. They seem blind to him, stepping out directly in front of his wheels and making him wobble as he overcorrects. As if a bike can’t still do some damage if he were to actually hit someone. Once, he clips the edge of a pram and stops in the street to shout some sense into the careless father pushing it.

He bitches openly about this during his lunches and his coworkers only roll their eyes at him sometimes.

The cycling becomes a bit of running joke in the office when they spot him coming in with his bike shorts and change of outfit, but he ignores them. The shorts are practical. For some reason, telling them that only makes them laugh harder.

He takes the fastest route into the office and a scenic one home. It winds through quiet well-off estates, before opening out to one of the less well-known urban parks. It’s calming, almost meditative, to roll through the cool shade the cluttered trees offer after another meaningless day of data entry.

In those times, he doesn’t think of his empty flat or his dead-end job, he forgets his sniggering coworkers and his ever-dwindling contact list. It’s just him and the wind.

The only thing that could make those moments better, he admits to himself, is a smoke.

The problem with this particular path is how hard it is to see around corners in the park. There is some national re-wilding initiative in the works and the foliage looms over the roads in a way that block his line of sight.

He checks every turn, even though it is rare to encounter a car in this area. Better safe than sorry.

The night he dies is warm but overcast.

He follows his usual route and cranes his neck to see around the overgrown corner he is approaching. A drooping branch grazes his head and something falls from the tree onto his neck.

It could be a leaf, or a twig, or a ladybird, but Jon feels the whisper-touch of something small at his throat and his only thought is: spider.

He has been afraid of them since he was very young and terrified instinct immediately beats any reason. One hand flies up from the handlebars to bat away at his collar. He swerves. Fear makes him pedal faster and the bike speeds onto the junction.

He is so scared of the potential at his throat that he never even sees the delivery truck.

The bike is sent flying from the impact, Jon falls under the wheels.

The driver, to his credit, calls emergency services immediately, distraught.

The ambulance is there within five minutes, but they needn’t have bothered. Jon is declared dead at the scene with a broken neck.

What few friends he has left comfort each other with that fact.

At least it was quick.

~

Twenty years ago, Martin Blackwood’s mother survives her second stroke.

This is a good thing, Martin reminds himself, more than once. It is Good that his mother is alive.

It doesn’t matter that the nurses need to attend to her around-the-clock now. It doesn’t matter that the care home bills have skyrocketed. He is grateful that she is still with him.

He starts looking for a third job. The admin work during the day and the shelf-stocking at night barely covered his previous bills. He’ll have to look for some flexible positions to cram into his schedule.

In the meantime, he cuts back. Eats cheaply, eats less. Cancels overdue check-ups and doesn’t touch the heating.

His days are a current of constant worry, occasionally breached by a wave of panic that he tries to quell by hiding in the office bathroom and digging his nails into his legs.

Panic won’t pay the rent or keep the lights on or remember to call Mum every Sunday. He smothers it deep in his chest and ignores the spasm of pain he gets whenever he forces it down.

He has been getting those more often; sharp, sudden chest pains, numb fingers, dizzy spells, an aching back, shortness of breath.

He had been going to ask the doctor about it all before he cancelled the appointment but. Well. Needs must.

He has his first heart attack on the evening shift.

Pulling a box of washing up tablets from the top shelf in Aisle 4 causes such a rush of agony in his chest that he dares to ask the manager to take his 15-minute break early.

He doesn’t make it to the back room before he collapses.

In the hospital, after he wakes, the doctors ask if there is a family history of heart problems.

If he didn’t feel so weak he would laugh.

He has more in common with his mother then he likes to admit. Of course they share a bad heart.

Or maybe it came from his father. Mum always said he was heartless. Maybe there’s a hole where Dad’s DNA should be.

When the medical team leaves him to rest, all he can think is how much this will cost him.

The NHS is no charity no matter what their marketing says, not to mention how much money he will lose by recovering. He can’t afford six weeks of not working. His first job doesn’t have that much sick leave and his second doesn’t have any.

He runs the numbers in his head, tries to find what else he can hack out of his life to keep his head above water. Occasionally his thoughts swerve, self-recriminating and barbed. He is so stupid for letting this happen at all.

It’s all his fault.

Mum is going to be so angry with him.

His heart pulses in keen pain, bitter and broken.

Somehow, he drifts off, counting figures instead of sheep.

The second heart attack kills him in his sleep.

~

They die on the same day, at nearly the same time (Jon rushes ahead, always too eager, Martin follows inevitably after him).

Their death certificates are filed away alphabetically by a bored clerk in the dusty management system of the General Register Office.

Twenty years later, Samama Khalid exhumes them and examines them, with more curiosity than sense, only to be disappointed by the mundanity of their ends.

He returns them together, heedless of any organisation.

Jon and Martin meet, in the quiet and the dark.

The filing cabinet is a shared headstone, their names rest side-by-side.

~

Also on AO3

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass 9 pt 1

masterpost

The first thing Danny did when he woke up was blink to focus on his breath. Nothing was visible. He vaulted up from his sprawl across the couch and prowled around the apartment, unnerved.

It felt like someone was here, or had been here. It was subtle, but there was a ghostly touch in the area. There shouldn’t be. He had confirmed that no one was haunting this building before they moved in. City ghosts tended to stay in their personal environment, whether that was sitting on a recliner in the apartment they’d died in or forever running a route in a ghostly version of the delivery van they’d worked in for decades. 

He investigated in increasingly paranoid detail, even daring to flick on a bit of smuggled Fenton tech to wave around in search of ecto.

“Whoever came by is gone,” Danny admitted. He stood in the middle of the dinky open plan apartment for a while feeling lost. Then the energy rush left him. He rubbed at his eyes and stretched a little, trying to work up a little bit of enthusiasm for the day. 

It was a Friday morning, not quite 5 am. Damn. He’d really adjusted his sleeping schedule. Jazz would be back from her overnight shift soon.

“I should make her breakfast,” Danny said, half-heartedly hoping that saying it aloud would magically compel and energize him. It didn’t. He eventually shuffled to the kitchen nook, pushed by duty and not any kind of internal motivation.

Jazz was the only one with a semi-legit identity. They hadn’t been able to pay for papers for both of them. Even though he was making the bulk of their money, they were pretty sure that Jazz needed some kind of legal justification for her income. 

Employment options were limited. Without qualifications, she was pretty much only looking at customer service, where hundreds of people would see her face every day. That was a nerve wracking prospect when they were hiding. They were serious enough about restarting that they had both trashed their lifelong career dreams. Jazz was studying friggin’ bridges and whatever, civil engineering. Danny didn’t even know what he would do when it was his turn to get a formal education.

So. Obviously. Standing in front of hundreds of people daily was not the best option for their desired level of anonymity.

Luckily, Gotham had a shitty fast food chain where the gimmick was that the employees were in costume. So Jazz had crammed her class load into Monday-Thursday and she worked overnight Thursday to Saturday nights every week, serving burgers up in a full face mask as a Black Bat. 

He decided to start with coffee. That might help.

Danny filled the water tank, put a filter in, and poured coffee beans in. Then he groaned, took the beans out, and resentfully put them into the dumb hand grinder. He put the powder back into the filter, pressed the button, and watched as nothing happened.

It took a while to notice that nothing was happening.

Jazz came home at 5:22, bringing with her a cloud of fry oil scent. He vaguely heard the door unlock and her kick off her shoes. She paused when she saw the disassembled coffee maker on their table. The old Jazz would have scolded him for making a mess where they ate. The high school version of her would have sighed about the mess.

The exhausted food service version of Jazz took it in stride. “I grabbed food,” she said. “Come on, couch.” She opened a cupboard door and took something out on tiptoes before shutting it near-silently. She put the food down to duck into the bathroom and take out her brown colored contacts.

Danny grunted. A few seconds later her words reached his brains. He blinked. “Right. Thanks,” he said belatedly. He put down his tools and washed his hands. “Should I grab utensils?” he called. He heard the sound of relief as Jazz sat on the couch, off her aching feet. 

“Yes, please.”

He yanked open the drawer, unintentionally making things clatter. Danny winced at the volume and picked out two forks. He grabbed a roll of paper towels and headed over to see what Jazz had brought home. 

She had two styrofoam boxes, clearly from a diner and not Batburger. Fair enough. They were both sick to death of their menu. 

Danny’s box had two pancakes, scrambled eggs, and a side of bacon. He glanced over to see that Jazz had the same thing with sausage instead of the bacon. The syrup was already on the coffee table.

The smell hit him like a freight train. Suddenly, Danny was ravenous. He tore through his eggs and bacon and then went for the syrup, drowning the pancakes. When he was done he put the box down with a sigh of relief and looked over to see that Jazz was slouching, hand thrown over her face. “Long day?” he asked.

Jazz groaned. “Leave me to die,” she begged. She slumped a little more, encroaching into his half of the sofa. Her dull brown hair coiled on the sofa cushion, dryer than it had ever been back in Amity.

Danny took the hint that she wanted the couch. He gathered up their trash and went back to the kitchen. He worked as quietly as he could on the coffee machine and wished his sister was home and awake more. 

If life was just like this, sort of hard but the two of them pulling together, it would be kind of…nice. There was a domestic fantasy element.

But the outside world was going to intrude. Danny put the coffeemaker together and then set it to run. While it worked, he went to the shitty plastic dresser that held his work clothes and changed into his underlayer of t-shirt and soft jogging pants. He stuffed a heavy jacket and thick jeans into a plastic bag and then put that in his work bag. He didn’t want to be late for work. Like, really didn’t want to be late for work. His supervisor coming to find him and meeting Jazz had featured in more than one nightmare. The people he worked for were just plain scary. Danny zipped his bag shut and then poured the entire pot of coffee into his thermos for the day. 

“I’m going,” he called quietly, on the off chance that Jazz was still awake. And then he left to see what the local gang needed built this week.

[applebinnie]

▶︎˗ˏˋ k-k-keep ballin'! >< ´ˎ˗

𖦹 part I 𖦹

ᯤ basketball court regular!woonhak ᯤ ✎wc: 1k+, 12 images attached

→ Living in a small inner-city area, everybody knows everybody. But there's one particular boy that everybody surely knows—the boy who's constantly hogging the court, he basically owns it now. By perchance, you get to see this notorious "court monster" play up-close, after moments of watching him from afar, only to realize that he isn't really the kind of boy that you thought he was.

💭: RAGHHH this was originally written in filo nd I don't think it has the same charm as the filo one TT also, while writing this I found out I'm just Hak's age? I never felt more useless in my life 😭

🐈‍⬛⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ (づ˶•༝•˶)づ 🏀๋࣭ ‧₊˚✩‧ੈ⋆·˚ ༘ *🐈‍⬛

Your grip on the bike steer tightened, preparing to make a turn. You're passing by the village park. A wide playground next to an open air basketball court. In the court is a familliar figure, dribbling and dunking like his life depended on it.

Kim Woonhak.

It's not an exaggeration to say that he's the coolest boy in the block. Everybody knows him, rival teams in the league fear him, and no one watches him up-close. The neighboring town's challengers avoid him like a plague, they know they don't stand a chance against him. He's unbelievably tall for a boy his age, and he uses his height and swift reflexes to his advantage.

It was a perfect all kill. Every dunk was a clean shot. He stopped and took off his beanie, taking a breather while wiping his sweaty hair and eyeing the court. Seconds later two boys entered the court. Myung Jaehyun and Kim Leehan. They're Woonhak's teammates, equally skilled, but they can't beat Woonhak any day.

That was it, you wouldn't want to get caught watching these three play. You started pedaling as you hear more of the boys enter the court.

You head home and open the village forum. The forum was run by the town officials for the villagers to post in. A link in the forum's bio led to a separate forum for the village youth, mainly consisting of teenagers or people in their early 20s. The forum provided an "anonymous message service", sort of like a freedom wall.

"to: mr. court-monster(?)

everytime I pass by the court I always see this boy in playing basketball. he frequents the court, but I heard he doesn't quite like when he's being watched while practicing. is this true? I was zoning out and unintentionally stared, I'm very sorry. Sir, if you ever read this, I really didn't mean to stare, I'm sorry,"

A post wrote. It was pretty recent, just a few days ago. But yeah, you've heard all about it, how he didn't like to be watched.

What if he saw you? what if he thought you were a weirdo? But he didn't bat an eye at you, like he always does. He often tends to silence the entire world when the ball is in his hand, so you don't think he noticed.

At the very least, it was from afar. As long as he didn't notice you, your conscience is clear.

🐈‍⬛⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ (づ˶•༝•˶)づ 🏀๋࣭ ‧₊˚✩‧ੈ⋆·˚ ༘ *🐈‍⬛

Well yeah, he didn't notice you, but his friends sure did.

🐻:

Jaehyun and Leehan entered the court with a large grin.

"What the heck was that?" Jaehyun remarked teasingly, overlapping with Leehan's "You have got to be serious man" followed by giggles and an embarassing amount of head-shaking.

"Seriously, I didn't see anything!" Woonhak protests.

"She was just standing right there dude." Jaehyun says as he points to the spot you stopped on.

"What's that?" Leehan moves forward. He walks to the spot and picks up a single airpod.

"He looks at it as Jaehyun and Woonhak walk to him. He shows it to them with a pouty expression.

"How did she not notice that fall from her ear?" Woonhak remarks.

"Like you didn't see a person watching you like a hawk, you're not one to talk." Taesan joked from behind Woonhak.

Woonhak jumps, "Didn't see you there," he says as he slowly inches away from Taesan.

"You have absolutely no survival skills, I'll give you that." Taesan answers snarkily.

"So, what do we.." Leehan slowly says, lifting the single airpod.

"Woonhak, you gotta give it back, I mean, you're not actually planning on keeping it, are you?" Sungho says.

"Hey! What do you take me for?" Woonhak complains, grabbing the single airpod from Leehan's hand.

.✩✩✩.

As soon as Woonhak comes home he logs into his laptop and goes to the online forum.

🐈‍⬛⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ (づ˶•༝•˶)づ 🏀๋࣭ ‧₊˚✩‧ੈ⋆·˚ ༘ *🐈‍⬛

Scrolling through the form lazily, keeping up with the latest gossip along with threads of people asking questions and anonymous messages. The posts rushed like flood. There were videos too, videos of yesterday's conflict involving two drunk teens from the neighboring town. You decide to watch one of the videos. The quality was low, but how could you not recognize the man?

Jung Sungchan.

He was as notorious as Woonhak, only he was a little older and more known in a bigger vicinity. Sungchan is known to be cold and unlikeable. But one thing is he's really, really good. You've seen it yourself. Because unlike Woonhak, he loves being watched. He loves to bask in the attention even if he doesn't seem like it, and it's something that he will never admit. But it was pretty obvious given the scandalous amount of fights he's been in.

he got into a fight with a guy named yangyang, some eyewitnesses even say that they were attempting to drag some of woonhak's team mates in the mess.

You reach to your pocket for your airpods as you watch the video. The audio wasn't exactly nice. The scream threats might wake up your brother, Yujin, who was sleeping right next to you. He's one of Woonhak's friends, so you figured hearing this might alarm him.

The problem is, where are your airpods? You open the pod, revealing nothing but air. You panic at the sight of the empty pod and reach for your pocket to find it. You did find one, but you couldn't find the other one even if you wriggle and turn the pocket outside in. You accidentally scroll to the very top of the forum in panic, refreshing it. You were then greeted by a post that was made just minutes ago.

You wanted to curse, wrath and hide in embarrassment. This was the last situation you wanted to be in. It was recent, but not recent enough considering how yujin even made it into the comment section. You opened Woonhak's profile and messaged him.

"Seen."

You started to get nervous. You ears turned red as you imagine every possible reaction that Woonhak could make. You can already imagine how awkward the situation would be.

But we're dealing with Woonhak. If he is the Woonhak that people are talking about he'd probably just hand the airpod and get it over with.

And that'll be it. Why did you even get nervous in the first place?

🐈‍⬛⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ (づ˶•༝•˶)づ 🏀๋࣭ ‧₊˚✩‧ੈ⋆·˚ ༘ *🐈‍⬛

🐻:

🐈‍⬛⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ (づ˶•༝•˶)づ 🏀๋࣭ ‧₊˚✩‧ੈ⋆·˚ ༘ *🐈‍⬛

💭: hey guys! this was rushed so it's vv bad and the amount of times I accidentally posted this from my drafts is just criminal (x_x) if by chance you saw the earlier version PLEASE it will be just between us (╥﹏╥) Also, I changed my update schedule to Saturday! How does that sound? thank you for reading and wish you love, lovies!

-val 🧸

[phoxey]

The White Raven (Bada Lee Gang AU)

Bada Lee x fem!reader

CW: violence, angst if you really really squint, mentions of blood

Chapter 2

Chapter 1 - Have you ever killed someone, Bada?

You were tired. It was three in the morning and it was your fourth night shift this week. You worked three jobs. During the day you tutored kids in English, in the evening you worked for a food delivery service and in the night, you worked in a 24/7 convenience store, so you only ever slept from seven to noon, each day. And you were happy if you had one day off in a month. You worked so much because your little brother needed the money for the private school he was going to, which your mom could barely afford. Your brother had all the potential to get your family out of poverty, so you supported him where you could so he could focus on his school.

You were texting with him when a few girls your age came into the store. You knew them, they were rowdies from around here. They came in laughing and talking loudly. You heard the first glass bottle smash onto the ground followed by more laughter. They came after a while to pay for the beer they wanted.

“Sorry, darling, one of the bottles fell to the ground back there.”, the tall girl said and smirked at you. It wasn’t an apologetic smile; it wasn’t even remotely friendly. It was more of a smile like a tigress who was about to eat you alive if you dared to move. Your heart was beating so fast, you didn’t want any trouble.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t worry. I will clean that up.”, you said timidly as she was towering over you.

She just nodded and she and her group left. The last time they have also broken some things and you were sure that they even stole some stuff.

You quickly got a mop and a trashcan to clean the floor in the beer aisle. That aisle was directly in front of the entrance so you could see outside. The group was laughing and drinking outside when another group of older men approached them, they seemed to be angry and the group dropped their beers and started to run. But the tall girl from earlier didn’t react fast enough, the men caught her by her jacket and pushed her to the ground, they started to kick and beat her. One even had a baseball bat.

You don’t know what came over you but as if you were in a fury trance, you stepped outside. Mid-air you grabbed the other end of the baseball bat and pulled strongly once, so it slipped out of the hands of the man, who turned around confused. He wasn’t even fully facing you when the baseball bat hit his jaw and he fell back.

“Homerun.”, you said and stared at the other guys. “I will kill you if you touch him again.” They saw the creepy look in your eyes and grabbed their friend to run off.

You let the baseball bat fall and knelt to the girl who was whining in pain.

“Are you okay? Can you talk? Wait… I will call an ambulance.”, you said and wanted to stand up to go inside to your phone, but she grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t. No ambulance. No police.”, she winced.

“You need medical treatment!”, You said shocked.

“You treat me then.”, she hissed sternly, holding her ribs.

Somehow you brought her inside and sat her down on the couch in the break room. You brought multiple ice packs and gave them to her to hold them to her ribs. She winced again when you cleaned a wound on her lip with a disinfectant. She stared at you as she worked on her wounds. After a moment you met her eyes and blushed at her intense stare.

“You were badass, out there.”, she whispered. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”, You answered simply.

“I’m Bada.”, she said smiling. “You were like an action movie hero. What did you say to him? ‘Homerun.’?”

You chuckled flustered. “I don’t know what came over me…”

“You saved me.”, Bada stated matter-of-factly.

“What did I save you from, Bada?”, You asked.

“A rivaling gang. They think this is their territory, but they lost this area quite a while ago to us.”, she shrugged.

“You are a gang? I thought you were just rowdies!”, You were shocked.

“Rowdies? No. We are not just rowdies. But I won’t bore you with details.”, Bada said suddenly, she must have realized that she had said too much already. She stood up, still wincing and hissing in pain, but she was determined that she didn’t need her care anymore.

She went to the little desk, grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote something down. Then she turned and gave you the paper. “If there is something I can do to express my gratitude, don’t hesitate to call me.”, she said.

“Actually, there is something you can do. My life is stressful enough, so… if you couldn’t come here again with your friends, it would be much appreciated.”, you said sternly.

She looked at you for a moment then she turned around and walked out, yet you could hear Bada's chuckle linger in the room longer than you expected.

For a few weeks, you didn’t see her again. You had almost forgotten about her when suddenly someone leaned on your head with her elbow, as you were mopping the floor one evening.

“Hey!”

Bada just laughed at you and you rolled your eyes. “I thought I said that I don’t want you to come here again.”, you huffed as you walked away.

She followed you, grinning. “I know, I really tried to stay away. Then I remembered that technically you only said that I shouldn’t come here with my friends anymore. And look, it’s just me.”

“Wonderful. Grab a beer, pay for it, and then go on with your night, okay?”, you said. Your eyes shot to the entrance; you almost expected those men from last time to enter seeking for revenge.

Bada followed your gaze and realized something. “You’re safe. They won’t come. I made sure of that.”

A shiver ran down your spine when she said the last sentence. But you decided to be cocky, something about Bada emboldened you. “What do you mean, you made sure of that? I made sure of that. I broke that one guy's jaw.”

Bada laughed at that when she grabbed a beer. Then she threw money on the counter before opening the can.

“That much is true. I must admit, I was very impressed.”, she said. “Did you once play baseball?”

You briefly thought of the real reason, but quickly shook her head, blinked away tears, and put on a smile. “Yes. Yes, I played baseball in high school.”

Bada tilted her head like a curious puppy, certainly not buying that. “Ah. What position did you play?”

You knew nothing about baseball. “Pitcher.”

Bada frowned. Shit, wrong answer, you thought. “I don’t believe you.”, she concluded.

“You’d be scared of me if you knew.”, You said.

“I’m scared of nothing.”, Bada said and sat on the counter with her beer, when You put Bada’s money into the cash register.

Then it was Bada's turn to have a shiver go down her spine when she saw your eyes next. They were suddenly very empty and almost pitch black. “Have you ever killed someone, Bada?”

Continue reading: Chapter 2

[wellgoslowly]

hehehe wrote a "fake dating/kiss" locklyle thing in my campus cafe mwah ha ha

“Lockwood, you have royally screwed us this time.” Lucy Carlyle muttered under her breath. 

Anthony Lockwood scoffed, their forced proximity causing his breath to fan over Lucy’s face. She tried to suppress a shiver at the prolonged contact with his body that she was forced to maintain. 

“Yeah, well- Luce, you might not believe me, but I certainly didn’t have this in mind while we were planning out how the case was going to go earlier.” Now it was Lucy’s time to scoff.

And what precarious situation did the members of Lockwood & Co. find themselves in this time, you might ask? Well, it just so happened that Lucy and Lockwood had to go “undercover”, as Lockwood like to call it, to retrieve yet another dangerous relic that had been stolen from the gravesite of another job that Lockwood had recklessly dove headfirst into, despite both George and Lucy consistently telling him that they were all way out of their depths. 

And now, Lucy Carlyle was stuck in a horribly small broom closet in an intimidating warehouse-turned-banquet hall with Anthony Lockwood, her employer, her best friend, and the man she was extremely attracted to as they tried to evade being caught.

The night was not going well.

Lucy’s breath hitched as Lockwood laid a hand on her waist, trying to maneuver himself closer to the door so he could attempt to hear if anyone was coming down the hallway.

“What-” Lucy began to speak, but stopped as Lockwood put a finger to his lips. His face was the only thing she could see within the dark space due to the bright light leaking in from the gap between the closet door and the ground. “There’s someone coming.” He whispered, and Lucy nodded in understanding. 

Lockwood moved back to his previous position, standing directly in front of her, but didn’t drop his hand from its place on her waist. She was grateful. That area of her body had been extremely, devastatingly cold just seconds before, so he was doing her a service, really, keeping his extremely warm hand on her extremely cold waist. 

“What do we do now?” She forced herself to whisper, attempting (successfully) to find Lockwood’s eyes in the darkness. Suddenly, his other hand was also holding her waist, and thank god for that, because she was just thinking about how terribly cold that side of her was becoming. 

“Plan K.” He whispered, and Lucy’s face contorted in confusion. She furrowed her brow as she searched her brain for whatever he meant by “plan K”. Lucy looked at him, and if she wasn’t so busy being confused, she would’ve noticed just how close his face was to hers. “What the hell is plan K?” She whispered, the rest of her mind catching up with what was occurring. 

Lockwood’s arms were now wrapped around her waist, his forehead close to resting on her’s. Her hands had somehow made their way up and were resting on his chest. At this proximity, she could see everything- the batting of his eyelashes, the slight discoloration across his cheeks that might just be a blush, his open lips. She especially noticed his lips.

Lucy couldn’t breathe, but she felt her heart pounding an increasing staccato and she knew that if someone were to turn on the light, her face would be bright red. But she couldn’t worry about anything like that, because in that moment, Lucy Carlyle saw Anthony Lockwood’s eyes flit from her eyes down to her mouth, then up and back down again.

She was overwhelmed but in the best way possible. Lockwood’s chest was strong under her touch. His arms were around her waist. His eyes rested on her lips. And there were the telltale signs of someone running in the hallway.

“Please don’t hate me, Luce.” He pleaded, almost like a repentant prayer.

And then the door was opening, and Anthony Lockwood was kissing her.

[toxicanonymity]

Hiya honey, could you please do Vampire Michael Myers who finds the reader walking into a castle and gets lost so when she tries to find her way out she bumps into Michael and he traps her against the cold stoned wall inhaling her scent and goes like primal mode or some sort of hunter/prey type deal.. btw I love your writing🖤you're truly appreciated and deserve all the love and support you get <3

Yes, I had no idea I had so many thoughts about Vampire Michael Myers. I’ve never written a vampire before. I added a few HCs at the bottom in summary. And thank you for the kind words 🖤 I appreciate you too! Love you friend. Vampire edit by me lol.

Michael's Castle

3k | Vampire!Michael Myers x Fem!Reader | NSFW 

Warnings: unsafe piv, period stuff / cunnilingus, weird ritualistic stuff, manhandling, dubcon/noncon

You’re vacationing in Romania, and your hostel isn’t far from a forest.  You go for a hike alone, and there’s a strange feeling in the woods.  Time seems to move differently.  It starts getting dark long before you expect. Your compass stops working and your phone doesn’t have service.  Your period cramps are getting worse.  The forest is dense, but it’s thinning up ahead.  You feel like you’re almost to civilization, so you keep going instead of turning around, thinking you’ll get a cab back to the hostel.  It would be too risky to get lost deep in the forest. 

At the edge of the woods, there’s a path. It’s dusk, there’s no lighting, and you can’t see far. You start walking along the path and it turns into a drawbridge over a canal, where a dense fog is settling.  A large building looms ahead.  As you walk further, you can see it’s a stone castle.  The canal was a moat.  There are two flickering lights.  You quicken your pace and walk toward the lights.  The lights are two gas lamps on either side of a giant, double wooden door. 

You knock and there’s no answer, but it creaks open.  After waiting a few seconds, you step inside.  The air is cool and dry.  Pillar candles sparsely adorn the walls, not nearly enough to illuminate the whole area, but there are a few openings in the ceiling that would provide sunlight if it weren’t dark out.  

The candles are lit, so someone must be home.   You call, “Hello?” but no one answers. 

The large wood door slams shut, startling you along with a few bats, which screech and fly up to the ceiling.  You turn around and see no one.   You follow the candles to a hallway. Your footsteps echo.  The hall is lined with crevasses you can’t see into.  A sense of dread sets over you, and you decide it’s time to leave rather than walk even deeper into this gloomy castle.  

🦇🦇🦇🦇

When you’re almost back to the main entrance, you bump into an enormous human shape and your heart goes to your throat. 

You stare straight up at the looming figure.  He might be the largest man you’ve ever seen. 

“I, uh, seem to be lost," you say. "I didn't mean to intrude.  I just need to call a cab back to my hostel.” 

In the flickering candlelight, you see the pale face of a man.  His mouth is obscured by a tall, dark collar, but from the nose up, he looks like notorious escaped killer Michael Myers.  Has he been hiding out here all these years? 

The man sniffs the air like an animal and his nostrils seem to flare.   

You swallow and begin to back up, but he grabs you by the throat.   He slams you up against the cold, stone wall right next to a candle.  His grip on your throat tightens and you squirm.  He raises you up at least a foot off the ground to look at him face-to-face. You cough and gag and he loosens his grip, holding you instead with his hands on your arms. Your breath is visible in the air between you.

There’s no doubt in your mind it’s Michael Myers.  He has the exact same features as Michael’s mask, and a scar on one eye.   Something is off about him, though. He licks his lips.  It’s not a mask.   It’s his actual face, with the exact same features. 

He leans in and you think you see a flicker of beautiful human eyes gazing down from above the collar, but he sniffs you and his eyes darken entirely.  Even the whites of his eyes are black.  Something feels very wrong about him, and yet  something also stirs between your legs. There’s also an air of sensuality about him.  

The stone is cold and rough behind your head.  You’re grateful to be wearing your hiking clothes.  Your sweatshirt allows you some buffer from the stone, but it still doesn’t feel good. Michael releases you and you fall to the ground.  You start to stand up and wonder if he’s going to let you leave him in peace.  

No, he doesn’t.  

🦇🦇🦇🦇

He blocks the hallway so you can’t get back to the front door.  He lets you walk the opposite direction, deeper, and darker into the castle, then follows after you.  He’s not walking fast, but his stride is so long that he’s gaining on you as you run down the hall.   You stumble over what feels like uneven cobblestone, unable to see, with Michael lumbering behind you.  You hit a dead end and your only choice is a spiral staircase that only goes down.  

You look back to see how close Michael is and you do a double take.  His collar is enormous, making him look even larger than he is.  He takes up the whole staircase.  The stairs finally end and your stomach drops when you see iron bars in front of you.  You’re in a dungeon.  You scurry around looking for an exit, but there isn’t one.   There are several cells, and each looks worse than the last.  There are also a bunch of big metal hooks hanging from the ceiling.  You don’t know what the equipment is, but it doesn’t look good.  Iron, sharp objects, balls and chains, saws.  

Michael looms patiently, blocking the exit, watching you.  You get the sense he’s waiting for you to choose a cell for yourself.  There’s nowhere for you to run, so you just stand there. Eventually, he forces you into a cell that has an awful looking chair with iron restraints and a cream-colored nightgown hanging from a hook. 

He crowds you up against the wall and pulls a metal lever on the wall, which turns on a gas lamp.   God, he’s huge.  His jumpsuit is black.  He licks his lips again and stretches his jaw.  That’s when you see them – two small, sharp fangs.  His tongue caresses the sharp point of one of them as he bends down and sniffs you, then lifts you up again.  You whimper in horror. He brings his face to your jaw.   His breath is ice cold on your neck.  It sends a shiver down your spine and your nipples pucker.  Blood rushes to your loins.  Your body is confused.  

“Wait, wait, wait,” you plead.  

You urgently unbutton and unzip your pants, dip your finger inside yourself and bring it out so he can see your blood.  “Here,” you say.  “Take all you want.”  You kick off your pants entirely.  Your heart is racing but you pray this works.  

He takes a long, hard sniff, closing his eyes.  He likes what he smells. He puts your fingers in his mouth and sucks, giving you butterflies in the stomach.  Then, he throws you down on the floor.  As you look up at him, you see a bulge swelling in his jumpsuit.  You scramble back into the corner and he prowls toward you.  The scarred, white skin of his face moves as he clenches his jaw and flares his nostrils.

His massive, icy hands spread your knees apart, then he buries his face between your legs, nose first, drawing a long inhale.  He growls, then digs in. His lips and tongue are cold and make you tingle.  He laps every crevice of your folds.  He plunges his tongue inside you and a knot forms in your core with his nose digging into your clit.  He absolutely devours your cunt.  He sucks harder and harder and periodically uses his fingers to pillage you for more blood. His enormous middle finger reaches all the way to your cervix.  You’re throbbing and weak. Your thighs tremble.  A large vein throbs across his forehead.

 He unhinges his jaw and his mouth covers your entire seam like a vacuum.   He sucks with so much pressure it feels like your whole uterus is emptying into his mouth.  The suction does something to you.  You tingle and throb and want more and more.    He continues to suck with his mouth sealed around you, his fangs pressed into your folds, while his tongue violently scrapes your walls clean. The next thing you know, you hear your moan echo through the dungeon as you come in his face.  He doesn’t let up.  You writhe and pulse and your hips roll into his face until you can finally relax. 

When he’s finished, he looks up at you with the lower half of his face covered in blood as you finish coming.   His chest rises and falls. He picks up your underwear and jeans and smells them. He tears off your hoodie, shirt, and bra.  He tosses the thin nightgown at you and takes your clothes with him as he leaves and locks you in the cell.

🦇🦇🦇🦇

You shiver and cry on the cold stone floor for what feels like hours.  Your cramps are gone, but you’re freezing and scared.  It’s so dark.  You try opening the cell door, and you can't make it budge.  You try to sleep, but  you can’t get tired. Eventually, you explore the rest of the cell and find a sharp object that allows you to open the lock with some difficulty.  You try to open the door as quietly as possible, but the scrape of metal on stone still echoes. 

There's only one way out – up the spiral staircase and down the hall.  You make it up the staircase, your heart pounding. Then you hear the thud of boots in the distance.  There's nowhere for you to go, so you cower against the wall, making yourself as small as possible as the footsteps get louder.  You dip your fingers into yourself and frantically check for blood, but there’s none.  He took it all.  What you do find is arousal.  You feel a pang of shame, but it’s natural for your body to respond this way to a hot, hulking vampire that oozes sexual energy and already ate you out within an inch of your life.  

🦇🦇🦇🦇

The footsteps stop, and you try to creep down the hall silently.  You make it all the way to the front entrance, and as soon as you’re about to step into the large, open space, a massive hand shoots out and grabs you by the throat.  He was waiting for you.  

Once again, he slams you against the cold wall next to a pillar candle.  You thrash and choke, and he releases his grip, catching you with his knee between your legs and his hands on your arms. The flame illuminates his haunting face.  You stare into his black eyes and feel something happening to you.  His nose comes to your neck and you feel the suction of his nostrils as he inhales your scent.  

He grabs the candelabra on the wall and pulls it. The wall behind you begins to lower into the ground, and he throws you over his shoulder.    The lowering stone sounds like a large drawbridge creaking and grinding.  His hand slips between your legs while he waits for the secret door to lower completely into the floor.  A large finger glides against your slippery clit, and you feel like you could pass out.  He steps into the hidden passage and pulls another candelabra on the wall. 

Gas flames flicker to life.  He lumbers down the dimly lit hall.  He's so tall, you feel like you're too close to the ceiling. You're afraid of where he's taking you.  You pray it's not a shortcut to the dungeon.  

Your hip rests against his stiff collar.   Since you're facing backwards, you can't see where you're going, but you can see the walls of the passage are made of bones like an ossuary.  Your heart sinks.   What is he going to do to you?  

🦇🦇🦇🦇

He bends his knees to crouch under an archway and comes to a stop.  He  pulls another candelabra and there’s more creaking and grinding.  Then, he throws you down and you brace for impact but your back lands on something soft and velvet that continues to rise a few more inches before coming to a stop.  When the grind of stone-on-stone stops, you hear faint organ music in the distance.   You're lying face up on a padded, velvet altar of sorts.   Your ass is at the edge with your legs hanging off.    You try to sit up and he forces you back down. 

He takes the nightgown off you and spreads your knees,  wedging his enormous form between them.  The altar is the exact height of his inseam.  His pelvis presses into you, and the fabric of his black jumpsuit is silky and smooth against your dripping seam.  His enormous package hardens right between your legs, and your whole body feels weak with arousal.  The bulge is thick and pulses against you.  All your blood rushes to your loins and your hips tilt, reflexively seeking more of him.  He pushes into you harder, rolling his hard, satin-clad member against your naked, slippery clit.  

He looms over you, observing you.    His black eyes glisten and he tilts his head. He has the nicest Adam's apple, too, perfectly framed by his collar.  He adjusts his collar, then begins to unzip his suit.  His pale skin glistens in the flickering light.   He brings the zipper down past where you can see and his monster cock springs out and slaps your clit, sending a rush of pleasure through you.  He nestles the tip at your entrance.  You throb with need and whimper in fear.  

His large hands grab hold of your hips and jerk you toward him at the same time he thrusts forward,  plunging his entire length into you.  Your body screams and so do you as his obscene length splits you in two.  He retreats then pushes in again and you whimper and cry.   He puts his hands on your abdomen and slides them onto your breasts as his hips rock into you.  His icy palms pucker your nipples. He explores your body, and you wince a little less with each thrust. 

He lowers his head to your chest.  Your body is starting to enjoy the feeling of his cock filling you up in short, slow thrusts.  His mouth hovers over your nipple and his icy breath makes it painfully hard.  He brings his face directly over yours and his soft thrusts turn into harder jabs..   Tension builds deep inside you.  

His black eyes penetrate yours with his cock deep inside you.  He opens his mouth and licks his lips.  Your whole body prickles in goosebumps when you see his fangs again.  There's a flash of something behind his eyes, something other than black.  All the lights flicker out at once, but not before you see his collar drop and his jumpsuit fall around his waist.  The faint music sounds louder with the lights out.  

The pitch dark also makes his shaft feel even better as he rams into you.   The cool skin of his chest meets yours, then his lips brush against your mouth.  He slows his hips but continues to fill you to the brim with each rut.  The tension inside you is overwhelming. You’re aching for release and your hips roll into him needily. 

His cool tongue gently breaches your mouth and he kisses you passionately.  His fang pricks you on the lip, then sucks it feverishly, and his already-hard cock swells even bigger and harder inside you as he fucks you and you start twitching on his cock.    

When he’s done with your lip, he stills himself, taking an enormous breath in through his nose and slowing his hips almost to a halt, but not completely.  You don’t want him to stop.  Your hips rise into his and your legs wrap around him.  He brings his lips to your jaw and drags them lightly down your neck, his nose brushing your chin as he moves his lips to the other side. He buries his steely cock inside you at a crawling pace that’s driving you mad. 

He unhinges his jaw and seals his lips in the crook of your neck.  His tongue circles your skin and his cock twitches inside you then slowly retreats and stops, half-in.  His fangs graze you, then sink deep into your delicate neck at the same time his cock slams back into you.  You jolt in pleasure.  He moves his hips as he sucks your blood.  A new life force surges through you and something old spills out.  His cock erupts and so does the tension in your core.  His fangs sink deeper and he sucks with superhuman power.  He pulsates enormously inside you while you contract around him and cool waves of relief wash over your body.  It’s not just physical – his fangs are drawing out all your fears and anxiety.  It’s just fading away.  

When he’s finished, the candles flicker back on.  There are several large veins across his forehead and cheeks that deflate back into his smooth, pale skin as he stands up.  You admire his ripped body and bullet wound scars as he pulls his jumpsuit sleeves back on.    When he turns up his collar, a gust of wind blows out all the flames again and you feel a rush of excitement.  But what’s strange is that somehow, you can still see his pale face.  Not very well, not very much, but the darkness is no longer pitch-black.  

🦇🦇🦇🦇

Vampire Michael HCs:

Hybrid 1978/2007. His face IS the mask. It’s smooth like the 1978 flashback in Halloween Kills, but he has veins in his face that bulge in the pattern of the RZ  mask.  Eyes are black, including the sclera.  You rarely think you catch a glimpse of something else.  Hot AF almost 200 cm, muscular, super strength. 

Black jumpsuit, style of mechanic suit but in smooth, vampire uniform material. Enormous collar instead of cape.

Doesn't use electricity.  Super high tech castle considering it's all totally analog. Has an altar that comes up out of the floor with handles each side conveniently placed for leverage as he fucks you. 

And bonus version.of the cobbled together pic lol

almost forgot my little tag list lol Michael tag list: @ethanhoewke @rebel-blue @wolvesandvampires

[ohraicodoll]

Interwoven | Chapter 5

Chapters:  5/6 Fandom:  The Sandman (Comics & TV 2022) Rating:  Mature/Explicit Relationships:  Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Original Female Character, Dream/Reader Characters:  Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Original Female Character, Hob Gadling, Original Characters, Matthew the Raven, Lucienne, Calliope, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Calliope, The Endless, Eve, Delirium, Death, Desire Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Explicit Sexual Content, Past Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Possessive Behavior, Domestic Abuse, Domestic Violence, Jealousy, Trauma Responses Tags: Character Development, Established Relationships, General complicated feelings, meeting the family, meeting the friends, talk about fantasies, domestic life, fluff, past Relationships, ANGST, OFC: Dahlia, Named Reader, 1st POV

Summary: She had very few people in her life and while he denied it, Dream had so many. People that cared for him, people that warned her. Or in other terms, Dream and Dahlia’s casual relationship is turning not so casual. Chapter Summary: The past and present collide. CHAPTER WARNING: References to Domestic Abuse, Violence, Assault, Graphic Descriptions, Trauma Depictions

4th in the Fragments Series | Read on AO3 Writing Masterlist Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 Previous in Series: Possession Next in Series: The Complications of Family Chapter 5: Calliope and-

As I often did when faced with having to have a hard conversation, I pushed it under the rug and moved on, content to let the unease stay under the surface. Fear and uncertainty won out and it wouldn’t change anything, bringing it all up. Going back to the Waking World was surprisingly difficult but life called. I had work and bills and it’s not like there was cellphone service in the Dreaming so I had to make sure Anissa or Hob weren’t blowing up my phone or freaking out that I’d disappeared. Morpheus eventually fixed that issue through…magic? I wasn’t sure, but he was able to contact people with glowing orbs so it wasn’t too much of a stretch. The orb system wouldn’t quite work for Anissa unless I wanted to spill the news of who he was or give her a heart attack so we went with making my phone reachable in the Dreaming. But life went on. Morpheus didn’t open up about his sisters though I knew something was bothering him and I didn’t bring up Alianora. It was easier to face the insecurity eating me away than the potential argument that would ensue. He was on edge, simultaneously aloof and more protective and I wasn’t sure how to approach him. The holiday months came and passed, one after the other, and time marched ever on. When most people gathered with their families, I stayed in the Dreaming with Morpheus or we’d go to Hob’s flat above the New Inn. Two family-less mortals and an Endless who didn’t seem to care for his. Dream didn’t particularly care if it was a certain holiday, I think using it as an excuse to get away and be with us. Celebrating mostly involved listening to the immortal talk, us bickering, and too much drinking, but for once the holidays didn’t feel as lonely as previous years. Anissa tried to drag me to her family gathering but I declined, not quite feeling like being an outsider and watching what I had lost. It turns out the Dreaming did seem to celebrate certain holidays, or at least some areas of it did. Abel was the main facilitator, going around and decorating furiously and getting the staff involved. Lucienne even wrote out holiday cards for the Dreaming residents. Most of them visited the Houses of Mystery and Secrets for Christmas and ice skating, the large lake nearby frozen over and the area covered in snow. Watching Merv and his Guano Gang of bats try to help hang up lights and decorate trees was particularly entertaining and even if Morpheus didn’t fully participate in all the activity, choosing to work instead, he’d joined for parts of it and stood at my side or watched Lucienne attempt to teach me to ice skate. I knew that even if he seemed disinterested, there was no way the weather in the realm magically became a winter wonderland without his help. It was a small thing, but I noticed it. And as the new year came and went, as I spent time where I could in the Dreaming and Morpheus became a more solid presence in my life, this thing between us felt like an expanding bubble. It was getting harder to ignore, harder to swallow and say we were nothing because we didn’t feel like nothing. We felt like too much. The Dreaming was feeling like home. He was feeling like home. I’d gone from being hollow and going from one empty relationship to another, desperately seeking some sort of affection after Aiden, empty and craving something to make the world less gray. Now life was magic and stories and immortals and people who genuinely cared for me. Anissa, though not his biggest fan, stopped ribbing me about Morpheus and seemed to accept him in a passive aggressive way. Though she didn’t stop giving him shit when the few times she was around him. Hob was quickly becoming a close friend and confidant, someone that understood having a secret and being tied to magic. He’d seen and experienced so much but was still full of light and kindness. Lucienne and Matthew and all of the Dreaming accepted me and seemed happy enough for me to be around. And Dream, he cared. Cared so much that it felt like I would be swallowed whole by the endless stars and sky that burned in his eyes. He hated me being away, I could tell. Each time I left the Dreaming, he seemed to cling tighter and when he would leave, he’d linger longer. I knew he was aware of the bubble growing as well, this building thing between us and I wasn’t sure how he felt. Morpheus was simultaneously desperate to have me at his side and mysteriously distant at times, doing work that he wouldn’t share or expand upon when asked. It felt like he was hiding something and I wasn’t sure how to feel. Complicated. Attached. Mine and his. Words I’d used to describe us seemed too simple now. They didn’t fit. But different words, words that lingered on my tongue when I smiled at him wide with utter abandon or felt his lips on my skin in worship, felt too big. Like I would choke on them if they left my lips. Like he’d vanish if he attempted to utter them. Thus, we stayed in limbo, too big and too small, but knowing something would change soon for better or for worse. A car crash waiting to happen. I chewed my lip as I left my office building, the air outside warmer in the evening now. Spring had come slowly but a few tendrils of Winter still clung, the slight bite in the morning hanging in the air by lunch and now gone entirely by evening. The day had been slow, boring, and I’d spent a dumb amount of time at work arguing about an old collection of fairy tales over text with Hob in between his lectures. I had no doubt it would continue when he came over for dinner with Dream, who would no doubt settle it between us, but I was determined to be right. I had even called the local bookshop I frequented close to my apartment to see if they carried the book I was thinking of. He was stubborn but so was I. Anissa was out on vacation for a week, leaving the office stuffy and boring so I was eager to leave as soon as the clock turned. I sighed and checked my phone before entering into the small bookshop down the street, the bell ringing overhead. I had a bit of time before both immortals came over. Hob was going to be doing the cooking so he had plans to come over earlier to start, Morpheus showing up whenever he deemed he could get away. He didn’t eat with us but usually drank wine while we did, choosing to enjoy the company instead. We’d learned better after making him try the food once, overly excited to see him change his mind and only getting a bland reaction in return. Unless it was on my skin, he wasn’t a fan of human foods. There weren't a lot of people inside, most customers already headed home for the night rather than stopping in to shop. I twiddled with the black stone on my necklace and went to the isle where the book would likely be, skimming over the titles and slightly smiling at myself while thinking of the two men that simultaneously annoyed me and kept me on my toes in different ways. But I was determined to be able to throw this book in Hob’s face if only to see his reaction. I chewed my lip and then made a small noise of satisfaction as the title fell under my fingertips, the book obviously second hand and well loved but the golden foil of the words holding up. I flipped through the pages anxiously, grinning when it found the one I knew had been in this collection. He had been so determined to say it wasn’t included, it was going to be so satisfying to prove him wrong. “I take it you found what you were looking for?” a soft feminine voice spoke behind me and I jumped, hugging the book to my chest and knocking into the shelf. I winced as my elbow connected to the wood and some of the books jostled together. The woman standing behind me was beautiful, dark hair falling around her shoulders and some pinned back in intricate braids. Her brown eyes were warm as she looked on with a slight smile, a white sundress falling to her feet. There was a grace and light that emanated from her, ease and comfort surrounding her like a well loved blanket. I smiled, laughing nervously, and clung to the book in my hands. “Uh, yeah, I was hoping they had this copy. I was needing it for a friend,” I replied, tongue explaining without even thinking. She smiled and nodded, hands clasped in front of her and looking at the title I held, “That is an old one, but a beautiful collection.” I wasn’t sure why I was nervous. Words tumbled from my lips unbidden and I couldn’t help smiling, a little bashful, “I read it a long time ago when I was trying to get a story sorted out, but I think I just ended up devouring the stories instead. I love old folk tales.” In truth, I’d read it all over and over again until Aiden had tossed it in the trash. I had become distracted from him and like most things I loved, he got rid of it. Her brown eyes lit up and a tinge of amusement danced along her lips, “Oh you’re a writer?” I chewed on my lip, shrugging, “Sort of. Nothing published or really finished, more like I write in my past time.” My past time which had been dwindling over the past year, now relegated to when I would spend time in the library with Lucienne or the few times I was alone at home, “I work at the book publisher a few blocks away! It was the closest I could get to working with stories outside of writing and reading them.” That amusement on her face grew but there was a hint of bitterness at its edge. I wasn’t sure why I was telling her this, almost as if it were unbidden. One of my hands went to fiddle with the black stone necklace, the obsidian cool under my fingers. I watched her eyes follow the movement and fixate, her brow furrowing. “A writer and a lover of stories,” she sighed almost sadly even while slightly smiling, warm brown eyes flickering up to meet mine once more, “I could see why Oneiros would take an interest in you.” The name clanged through me, harsh and sharp, severing the connection between us. Almost as if the temperature had dropped, it was instantly colder and I could feel the slight tingling of Dream’s power emanating from the stone necklace. Oneiros, another of Morpheus’ names. My fingers tightened around the book. I was on guard immediately and shut myself off, face becoming stony, “It was nice talking to you but I have somewhere I need to be.” Before she could reply, I took the book and almost walked out of the store, stopping briefly to remember where I was. The cashier didn’t comment on the fact I was shaking, quickly ringing me up and completing my purchase, and then I was pushing the door open to leave the small bookshop with the book shoved into my bag. I was alert, flight or fight running through me. Normal people didn’t know about Morpheus. She couldn’t be human, could be any manner of thing. And I wasn’t about to stick around to find out if she meant to hurt me, maybe even use me against him. Morpheus’ paranoia was rubbing off on me. Dream’s necklace was clutched in my fingers and I wondered if he could feel the sharp tick in my anxiety, glancing up to see if I could spot Matthew anywhere. I wasn’t sure exactly how his connection to the jewel worked, only that it would lead him to me in case of emergencies. Another of his precautions. The door chimed behind me and footsteps raced before a gentle hand grabbed my arm. I whirled and backed up, breaking contact and instantly defensive. The woman held her hands up, face apologetic and beseeching, “I mean you no harm! I did not wish to frighten you at all, I had simply wished to speak with you.” Her voice was gentle, pleading, and there was a calming effect to it that I tried to shake off. It could be natural but could also be magic. I didn’t relax, eyes wide. Even in the brightness of the dying sun with other people around, I was fully on my guard, “You mentioned Dream, you know him.” She let out a huff, half a laugh and half a sigh, while slightly lowering her hands, “Yes, I do know him. I would have said rather well, but I’m afraid not quite so much anymore. My name is Calliope. Do you know who I am?” The world tilted. My breath caught and eyes widened, heart thumping rapidly in my chest. Did I know who she was? Yes, I did. Her name had rattled in my brain for an entire night while I sat in Morpheus’ empty chambers, waiting for him. Wondering what he was doing, running off to his ex-wife, leaving me without even a word. His former lover and wife. The mother of his child. A muse, a goddess. It all fit now that I was looking at her with fresh eyes. She was beautiful, a hint of etherealness underneath her rich tanned skin, with an elegant face and regal-ness. Even in more modern clothing, it fit her and didn’t hide the classic look of her. The calming nature of her made sense. I could only whisper out a reply, eyes quickly cataloging everything about her all the while finding myself lacking, “Yes, I know of you.” Morpheus had loved her once, loved her long enough to marry her and then father a child with her. We had never broached the topic again after our last blow out concerning her, when he’d disappeared to help her, so I wasn’t sure how they had fallen apart, how their marriage had crumbled. I knew it had to deal with their son but that was a dangerous topic and I never brought it up again. But looking at her, I could see why he had been with her. There was tenderness, compassion alongside her beauty, but confidence and a hint of defiance in her eyes. A muse and the Prince of Stories. It was fitting. More fitting than a human and King of Dreams. Her lips pressed together and she tried to smile at me but it was a bit sad and sympathetic, “This is a bit of a mess, is it not? I am sorry. I had heard of you- of both of you and…was curious as to who had attracted his attention. I truly only wished to talk.” She was pleading, hands open as if to show she truly meant no harm. I chewed on my lip, feeling small and awkward in front of her, as I processed her words. She had heard of us which meant word had spread beyond the Dreaming and the Endless. Otherworldly beings turned out to be huge gossips and I was finding myself at the center of that. I knew that would upset Morpheus, either because people were intruding on his personal business or because it meant people knew he was with a human. I wasn’t sure and didn’t know if I wanted to find out which. In all honesty, I didn’t know what to do or how to feel. This woman did nothing to me beyond spark jealousy and insecurity but that wasn’t her fault. I knew she had been in trouble, imprisoned against her will for years until Morpheus had at last saved her. Sympathy and jealousy warred until all that was less was awkwardness. “I’m Dahlia. I…don’t really know what to say to you. This isn’t exactly a normal occurrence for me,” I mumbled and almost hugged myself if only to feel some semblance of grounding. “Meeting a former lover of Dream’s?” Calliope offered with a slight smile. I shrugged, “More like meeting a goddess but that too.” We both sort of laughed under our breaths, the tension easing a bit. Sighing, I looked up at her from under my lashes and chewed on my already raw lip, “He didn’t tell me exactly what you went through but…I’m sorry, either way. I’m glad he helped free you.” A shadow passed behind her eyes and she briefly looked down, swallowing visibly, before offering a solemn smile, “It is unnecessary but thank you. I did not believe he would come, that he would help. But he has changed. I can see that now.” “How so?” I asked. I kept hearing over and over that he had changed, but this was the only version of him I ever knew. Everything I’d been told so far had been so different from the man I’d come to be with. She looked me over then looked around us, people walking past on their way home along the sidewalks, “May I walk with you?” In the back of my mind, I reminded myself Hob and Dream would both be at my apartment soon so maybe heading that way wasn’t a bad idea. I could only hope he wasn’t near and didn’t see Calliope. If he was mad at Delirium and Death for being around me, I wasn’t sure how he’d react to his ex wife talking to me. I nodded and she stepped forward, falling into step at my side as we started to walk down the street. “He is no longer the man I once married,” the goddess began, eyes distant, “When he pursues you, he is fire and overwhelming. Almost suffocating with how much he loves, but once that fades, once it all settles, he could be so cold, so strict. It’s a miracle we stayed together as long as we did. Now there is almost a…gentleness to him. Oneiros is not as hard as he used to be. Maybe not as cruel.” Cruel. This wasn’t the first time I had heard that description of him. It’d been said about Alianora. He was fire, bright and burning and all consuming. While I’d been told in the past he would hardly touch anyone, didn’t seem to like it himself and wouldn’t permit it, he almost seemed desperate for contact now. He was always touching me in some form or fashion, even if it was only a simple brush against my side. I couldn’t see this Morpheus she was describing, but then again she was speaking of love. We weren’t like that. Either way, this was probably my only chance to learn more about their relationship. I was learning a lot about Dream’s previous lovers, most likely learning more than I should, and a part of me said that sometimes knowing too much would only hurt. Another part though couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the comparisons or learning how he may one day leave or hurt me, learning the differences. Maybe it was the broken, leftover parts of my previous relationship that made me want to prepare for the worst instead of enjoying what I had. Like I was bracing for impact. But I couldn’t stop it. Fear had a hold of me and said to prepare because he would leave one day like he did with all the rest. Each step felt like it weighed a ton, but I kept walking, glancing at her from the side of my eyes, “But you did stay together for quite a while. I’m sorry if this is intrusive. He just never talks about…anything.” Calliope smiled, almost knowing, letting me guide the direction we walked, “No, he doesn’t. Sharing parts of himself was never something he did. But it’s fine, I understand wanting to know and I don’t mind.” She took a deep breath, breathing in the cooling air of dusk, “We did once love each other, but I wished to keep my life even while we were together. It made each meeting more special in my mind and I did not wish to live in the Dreaming. I lived in the Waking world with my sisters and he stayed in his realm. But once the passion faded, I think the distance became a wedge.” “Oneiros traps himself in his rules and routines and work, desperately clinging to them while also desperate to break from them. I think in the beginning I was a distraction from that work, a distraction from the Dreaming. I tried to be considerate of his responsibilities, was obedient and caring as a good wife is, but it was not enough. I think he became bored of it all, of our domestic life. He slowly stopped visiting and I had to go to him if I wished to see him.” “Wait, weren’t you Queen? Of the Dreaming?” I asked tentatively. I wasn’t sure if that was even a thing, but the fact she stayed outside of the Dream even while married was odd to me. I couldn’t imagine not being a part of the realm while with him. The place was magic and I knew Morpheus loved sharing it. But I wasn’t a goddess and I was sure she had things to do besides being his wife. Calliope shook her head and lifted her head, taking in the dying sun, “No, I was merely his consort. I had my own responsibilities as a muse and let him handle the Dreaming but back then he was less willing to share. Whether it was the realm or himself. It was his burden to bear and only his. Maybe it was partially my fault for not becoming more a part of his life, the distance, not pushing. It wasn’t our way back then to push, even as his wife. I was there to help and serve him.” The thought rankled me, bitter in my mouth. I knew how that was. More a maid and less a partner, there to help and be a decoration. I didn’t see her as being obedient but times change. Even the person I was a few years ago was so different from who I was now. She looked at me as if she knew the comment had annoyed me and smiled. The streets were clearing out as dusk fully settled in. We were walking slowly, taking our time while still headed for my home. One by one, street lamps turned on and we savored the low lights and warmth of the breeze. Sighing, the muse fiddled with her fingers, brown hair cascading over her shoulders, “I had thought perhaps a baby could repair the strain. It was my wifely duty but I wanted something that was both of ours. And for a time, it did. He was a wonderful father, but the distance only grew until it became a chasm.” “I-” the words stuck in my throat, choking, but I pushed on, “He doesn’t talk about your child and I’d prefer if when he does tell me about him, it’s on his terms. If that’s okay?” Calliope paused and the sadness was apparent even in the dim lighting. There was pain there, bright and sparkling as if whatever had happened was fresh. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was. If their son had died or something worse had happened. Morpheus didn’t speak of him at all and I could see in her face that whatever had befallen the boy, it hadn’t been good. I didn’t want to learn second-hand. It was too big, too important. I’d wait for him to tell it when he was ready, if he’d ever be ready. And so she nodded, “Of course. It is…difficult for both of us. But it should be something he tells you himself.” We were getting closer to the area of my apartment, but I wasn’t feeling as anxious anymore. Her presence was nice, reassuring even if an air of sadness hung around her, “I must not quite be what you expected. I’m so very human.” She smiled, eyes brightening, “You say that as if it’s a bad thing. Being human is wonderful, but yes I am a bit surprised. I wasn’t expecting him to be with a mortal given-” The muse seemed to cut herself off, looking unsure and hesitant. I raised a brow, confusion coloring my eyes, and she ducked her face away before shaking off the look, “Given who he is. But he has changed so much, even if he doesn’t believe so. Even if I didn’t believe he could. Have you met his family yet?” The change in topic was obvious. There was something there she had wanted to say but stopped herself. It kicked up my anxiety but I didn’t know her well enough to push and let it slide, going along with it, “I met Delirium and Death very briefly, but that’s been it. It was more accidental so nothing formal, but they were nice.” She smiled tightly at the older Endless’ name, nodding, “I was never very close to them. They kept their distance for the most part but were a part of my son’s life. They are…strange. For a long time I blamed them, and maybe Oneiros as well, for the things that went wrong. Their involvement in our lives and the way they acted. Even their help can hurt. But it is their nature to be as they are and they can never truly change from their function. I would keep that in mind for the future.” The warning was clear and my brow furrowed, not sure exactly what had happened with her and the family. I knew some things about how they were. Desire and Dream seemed to butt heads the most, bad blood flowing between them, Despair usually getting dragged into it being Desire’s twin. Death was his favorite and who he was closest to. Delirium was spoken less of as well as Destiny and then Destruction…he had only been mentioned once and bitterness had coated his name. I wasn’t sure what had been done, but they were a dysfunctional bunch. But weren’t all families?

I wasn’t sure. It’d been so long since I had one. The sky was dark as we came closer to the apartment, the air cool on my skin. I was probably late and even if Hob knew where the spare key was, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was blowing up my phone. But it was in my bag, tucked away while we walked. Sighing, I looked at Calliope at my side and the way the light illuminated her features. The insecurity was at an all time high, and had increased since learning of her because standing next to the goddess I couldn’t help but feel lesser. I opened my mouth and asked softly, “Do you still-” “Lia?” The name is a stab, sharp and quick, and my body almost jerked as the sound reached me. I whirled around quickly, looking at the dark street behind me and seeing nothing. Lia, no one called me that. No one was allowed to call me that, not in the years since I’d gotten free. My breathing was quick and shallow as I combed through the area with my eyes, Calliope’s  questioning voice muffled under the high pitched whirring in my head. I couldn’t see anything but knew I had heard it. Maybe it was a stranger talking to another, the name bouncing to hit me unintentionally. A hallucination. My therapist had once said that could happen. Swallowing hard, I turned back to Calliope and could see the concern bright on her face, “Are you okay-” The question had just finished when a hand gripped my arm and I was jerked back roughly, another going around my waist and pulling. My brain went into a scrambled panic, her fearful eyes burned into it as I was dragged back and back into the darkness. I could only register her yelling my name, the painful grip of my arm and the sound of my shoes scraping against concrete as I was pulled roughly into a side alley not far from where we stood. The hands shifted and then I was pushed backward, my back hitting brick and head roughly bouncing off the wall with a sharp crack. Pain flared, hot and bright, and white flashed over my vision for a second. It all was happening so fast and I couldn’t get my bearings, couldn’t breathe or process. But then he was there, standing before me like a nightmare made real. Aiden. He was pressed up close, arms barricading me to the wall, but I could still see him clearly. This wasn’t a dream or nightmare or memory. No, those were images frozen in time from years past. He’d changed. His hair was longer, a mess of stringy dark hair falling around his ears and he had a thick coating of hair along his jaw. Dark circles lined his green eyes, puffy and worn, the skin of his face chapped and like leather. While he had been thin with a bit of muscle, now he was bigger, more filled out but strong. His shirt was ragged and torn along the collar, stains along the fabric. No, this was him in flesh. Older and rougher and so angry as he pressed down against me. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see clearly, eyes locked onto his and the darkness there, “Aiden?” Calliope was calling my name from a distance but I couldn’t process it, could only see the hatred and malice in my ex’s face, “Do you know how long it took me to find you, Lia? Did you really think you could ruin my life and leave like you did?” His voice cut through me like an echo through time. So familiar, stripping the years of my freedom down and away from me. Tangible, he was tangible and in front of me and his presence hurt so much more than the nightmare of him had. Fear pulsed through my body like ice sliding along my bones. “I didn’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stuttered, pain still radiating from the back of my skull, “Let me go.” I was twenty four again, standing in that dirty apartment and begging him not to hurt me. I was twenty, clinging to him and pleading to stop being angry. I was seventeen and alone, thinking he was the only person I had left even as he screamed in my face. This wasn’t a nightmare I could pull myself out of or Morpheus could save me from. He was here, standing before me, and I was stupid to think I’d ever be free. “You didn’t tell anyone about what happened, right?,” Aiden mocked and hissed in my face, spit raining onto me, “You fucking liar. Someone sure as hell reported it. I got arrested for attempted murder because they said I stabbed you and even if you didn’t show up, they had evidence connecting me to some other bullshit. Five years, Lia. They locked me up for five years because of you.” A small part of my brain said five years wasn’t enough. Morpheus had been locked away for over a century for doing nothing wrong. Aiden got off easy. But I was shaking, trying to make myself small and sink into the bricks at my back and he was so close and his breath stank of alcohol and rancid meat and I wanted to disappear, “I didn’t, I swear -” “Shut the fuck up,” he yelled into my face and tears unwittingly slid down my cheeks, my body seizing in fear. The urge to beg, to apologize, to try and coax him down was there inside like an old cat crawling from the darkness and I pushed it away. That wasn’t me but I wasn’t even sure who I was. “You left and suddenly I got put away and you think that’s what? A coincidence? And you think you can simply move on and have a happy little life?” The words were mocking and my nails scraped against the brick as I tried to keep myself from sinking into a ball. There was some strength left in me, some part of who I was now after leaving that reared its head forward and forced myself to plant my feet in the ground. I tried to get me to breathe, to swallow the fear and set it aside, to remember all I had accomplished while pushing out the words, “I left because you were hurting me. I didn’t report anything.” His face twisted in anger but he didn’t have the chance to do anything. With a sharp cry Calliope shoved into him, trying to force him off me. Her shoulder rammed into his and he stumbled back a few steps from the effort. But he was so much bigger than us, stronger now. She managed to put distance between us, pushing and clawing while screaming for me to run. There was no time though and he grabbed her shoulder and easily tossed her across the alley, body skittering over the disgusting floor. I watched her roll across the ground, that beautiful white dress now covered in dirt and felt bile in my throat. He had most likely forgotten about her or hadn’t cared if she was there, but she wasn’t nearly as scared as I was. Her face twisted in fury even from the floor, brown eyes dark with anger, as she shouted at him, “Leave her be!” Aiden smirked and advanced on her, all menace and cruelty in his eyes, “She’s mine, I can do what I want.” I could see it then, in his steps as he walked closer to the goddess, that he’d hurt her. There was no hitting him and getting away with it. There was always punishment but Calliope had already been through so much. She’d been caged and tormented and then thought to seek me out, not out of jealousy but some sort of common thread. I couldn’t let more happen to her, couldn’t let her be dragged into my mess. My head screamed at me but I launched myself forward at Aiden. There was no plan, no reason, only one thought pulsed through my head and that was to get his attention off Calliope. He could direct his anger at me, I could take it. I’d taken it before for years and years, knew the brutality of it. But she didn’t deserve to be hurt, especially not because of me. I tried to leap onto his back, arms wrapping around his neck and nails sinking in. It was a clumsy attempt but I managed, putting all my strength into pulling him backwards. Back and back and away from her, scratching and clawing and trying to bring him down. I think I screamed at Calliope to run, to leave, but couldn’t remember doing so. Skin tore under my nails and Aiden hissed. He growled and tried to grip my wrists, stumbling and turning as I dangled from his back. In one quick move he rammed us both against the wall, my breath leaving me in a single exhale as my back impacted with all his weight against me. My lungs were on fire, desperately trying to refill as all the air left me and I dropped to the ground hard and wheezed. I wasn’t a fighter, had never been strong, but I had tried. He kneeled and then his hands were on my neck, squeezing and squeezing while I kicked and flailed. The darkness encased us, the lamps not reaching where we were in the alley and hiding him thoroughly. I would die by his hand in the end, like I had always believed. For so long I thought he couldn’t do worse but he’d always proved me wrong. This was always going to be end game. Maybe there really was no escape. My hands clawed at his wrists while pain blossomed from my throat, air unable to choke through his grip. I kicked and bucked but he was so heavy on me, unmovable. One of my fingers had hooked into my necklace and it tangled in my fingers while I scratched at Aiden’s arms. I couldn’t leave like this, on a dirty alley floor so close to home while Dream and Hob waited for me. Would Dream know when I died? Would Death come to me first or would she tell her brother? Would I even get to say goodbye? Tears leaked down my cheeks while my lungs burned. Stars and colors danced in my vision and in the haze…I thought I could see a door. Almost like in the Dreaming, it stood in the middle of the alley, plain but luring. Waiting. It was fuzzy along the edges, flickering slightly with the pain and colors, but it was there. I gasped whatever little air I had, whispering out a single word like a plea. “Morpheus.” The word was strained, broken, lost in Calliope’s cries as she tried to get up and to me. But it left my lips, painted my tongue. My dreamlord. The door vanished as darkness began to creep in. Then there was lightning along my skin. It crackled and split the air even while the darkness pulsed and writhed like a living thing. The hands were gone from my throat, air rushing back in as the body above me was jerked away. Aiden was thrown brutally to the ground a few feet away and his body audibly bounced off the floor from the force of the impact. I gasped in the air desperately and touched the tender skin of my throat, coughing through the burn.

Hands -different hands, fingers long and thin, touched the skin of my neck and I blinked up into Dream’s starlit eyes as he softly urged me to breathe. His power coasted along my skin, gentle and soothing, and I knew he was holding it back from me. He was angry, furious, but kept that away from me. He cupped a hand against my check, forehead pressed to mine, and slowly helped me sit up, his skin cool against my heated skin. It was like trying to swallow nails, my throat painful and raw. I was crying, clinging to him, as he righted me against the wall. “You- you’re….here,” I stuttered out with a wince, the words dragging from my lips like sharp edged glass. “I am,” Dream whispered, sorrow and pain and rage lining his voice. He brushed the hair back from my face, from my neck, and seemed to be inspecting the damage. His rage grew. Aiden shifted not far from us, orienting himself on the ground, clumsily trying to sit up. Like an angry storm cloud made of nightmares and power, Morpheus stood and moved before him with a look so furious I couldn’t believe the man was alive. There was no solid edge to him, his cloak merging and shifting with the shadows around his, eyes pure black and stars red. His skin glowed in the darkness and he was purely Dream of the Endless, Ruler of the Nightmare Realms in that moment. Aiden groaned and blinked, trying to scramble to his feet in front of the dreamlord. The impact had hurt but he wasn’t fragile, could no doubt take the blow. But I could see the fear in his eyes, creasing in his brow as he took in the being before him. The Nightmare King slowly advanced and the air was thick with his power building, each step a warning bell. He was fear made flesh, darkness and the things hiding under your bed made real. And his eyes were solely on Aiden now, fingers clenching at his side. Calliope’s voice rang out, closer now, slightly pained, “Oneiros, stop! You cannot kill him!” His head quirked ever so slightly as he registered her voice, making him pause. The shadows slid along the ground and twisted in the air like a cat’s tail angrily flicking in distaste. Aiden took the opportunity to get to his feet, eyes glued to the Endless being in front, but some semblance of self coming back. He was evaluating the situation, taking in the distance to the end of the alley, to me, to Morpheus. I wheezed and attempted to climb to my feet, stumbling forward, knees pressed into the dirty concrete. I was so weak. I couldn’t do anything. Dream started to advance again and stopped almost like he was fighting with himself. Calliope was close now and the dim light reflected off her white gown enough that I could make out her form. She was taking him in, taking in the rage and Aiden before him, and yelled out, “He is not a threat to your realm, you cannot take his life! You cannot break the rule!” Aiden’s confidence was building at the words, his eyes swiveling to find mine briefly. Even when faced with something like the Dream King he still thought he had a chance and could win out in the end. I could see it, the confidence growing in his stance. “There are worse things than Death,” Morpheus growled and looked back at the goddess. The move was a mistake maybe. I could see it in Aiden’s stance like a memory. I could always read his body language, had committed it to memory to know when he’d strike, when he was buying time, when he was lingering in the hopes to draw out the anticipation. Maybe he’d run. Morpheus wouldn’t abandon me to chase after him, wouldn’t leave me. In the few seconds I had my eyes flicked to the ground and I could almost feel time pause. Not far from my scraped knees within grabbing distance were a stray plank of wood and a chipped, broken brick. Even in the scramble of the moment Delirium’s words echoed back clearly. “Oh we can ask if bricks or planks would be better!” It couldn’t be a coincidence. It had been a small offhand comment in her ramblings, but what were the odds? Yet everything clicked into place as I watched the turn of Morpheus’ head, the shifting in Aiden’s feet, the slight lifting of his lips into a smirk. He’d get away and would forever haunt me, would continue to lurk in the darkness. Escaping hadn’t been enough to be free of him. The world was an echo chamber. Silent. We were frozen in place as if time had fallen still and then in a blink everything was moving so fast. And like watching a movie, disassociated from the action, I watched as I picked up the brick and threw myself forward. I swung, it connected. Aiden’s head jerked and I could hear a crunch. I watched separately from my body almost as momentum carried me forward and I was stumbling, but not fully down. The man was bleeding, disoriented, and I swung again though the blow had less power. I swung again and again and a body hit the ground. I wasn’t sure if it was his or mine but then the brick was wrenched away and arms wrapped around me even as I kicked and screamed and cried. I was a wild animal, howling and snarling and pleading to let me finish it. It wasn’t happening to me, it was happening to her. The broken girl who thought she had survived her abuser. I watched as the dreamlord solidified and wrapped the shadows around her, muffling her sobs as he set her down on the floor against the wall. Tears and blood poured down her face and her neck was ringed in purple and red, breath coming out in gasping pants. Hyperventilating. Calliope was rushing over, crawling along the ground under she was at the broken girl’s side calmly urging the girl to breathe. She was having a panic attack and couldn’t be soothed. I was having a panic attack? I thought I could feel my lungs constrict and air try to push in and out but it was all muffled and numb. I was in my body and not, feeling everything and feeling nothing. Existing but watching from the outside. It couldn’t be me, couldn’t be me crumpled on the ground like a broken doll. But even so, she looked like me, had Morpheus’ attention as he combed back her hair and whispered that he was there and it was okay and I needed to breathe. In the distance, I thought I heard a raven’s cry. I could hear their words like they were in my ear. Dream hissed angrily at the goddess, “What are you doing here with her?” and I tried to force my hands to move, to grasp onto him and get his attention. I didn’t want him to be angry at her, I couldn't allow it.

Sobs poured from my lips, hindering the air trying to get in, and with a scratchy voice I attempted to beg him not to be angry. I watched myself do it and felt it too. She had tried to save me. Perhaps had saved me if I had been alone. None of it was her fault. “I promise, we were only speaking. I did not know this would happen,” Calliope tried to explain, her hand clenching mine tightly to ground me, “Is your sister coming?” He turned from her and focused solely on me, black pits having slid back to human icy blue. He didn’t answer. The tight fist in my chest was starting to ease, whether it be time or the soothing touch of Morpheus’ fingers in my hair or Calliope gripping my hand. Breathing became easier if not still painful and I slid back into my own skin. Everything hurt and my brain felt like jello, sloshing around my skull. I think there was blood soaking the back of my head. I tightened my fingers around Calliope and she forced a soft smile at me, “You are okay. He won’t hurt you any longer. You are safe.” She turned to the Endless at her side, both of them hovering over me and smiled sadly, “Take care of her, Oneiros. She needs you now.” His lips turned down and he nodded, but he didn’t meet her gaze. The anger aimed at her lessened, disappearing from the furrow of his brow. The muse moved to stand up but I gripped her hand, swallowing through my pain and tears, “Calliope.” She froze, eyes soft, and I continued, “Thank you.” I don’t remember her reply. The world shifted and turned, darkness blanketing me. I felt like a gravity sinkhole, weightless while also being too heavy. I think I passed out but at the same time, I remembered bits and pieces of what was happening around me. Arms lifting me up, tucking me close, as we climbed a set of stairs. The chest against my cheek emanated warm power, my necklace echoing it back. Hob’s panicked voice as fingers poked at a painful spot on my head. Him shushing and consoling, “darling” and “sweetheart” whispered into my ear and coated in pain and heartbreak. Water, cool and shocking, running through my hair as calloused fingers tried to untangle the matted blood. Morpheus’ own hands brushing the water or tears from my cheeks as he did so. I was held between them, cradled almost. Dream and Hob’s voices going back and forth, tense but resolute. Words like “done it before” and “take care of it” and “for her” stuck in my head before the door shut with a loud bang. Lips pressed against my forehead. The immortal man urging me to focus on him and stay awake, arms wrapped around my small frame and holding me to his chest as he sprawled us out on the couch. Morpheus wasn’t there, his absence noticeable. He talked and talked, voice wavering underneath the false cheer. Hob was gone and I was wrapped in shadows, warm and protective while long fingers skimmed over the bruises on my neck. I think we were on the bed, my cheek pressed against Dream’s chest and his cloak spilling around us like ink. Or blood. Any attempts at holding a normal form in the Waking were gone and I was wrapped in the King of Dream’s arms. His lips were against my temple and I could feel how he wished to hold me tight but was afraid it would hurt me. Could feel him holding back but was unable to stop touching, assuring both of us that we were safe and whole. In the twilight, he whispered that I was okay. That he was sorry for not being there sooner. His words were soft promises in the shadows of the room, pledges, and he told me how important I was, how he would never leave me, and that no one would ever touch me again. I’m not sure if he knew I was conscious, if the words were for my ears or for himself. But they lingered in the air nonetheless. Then I fell into darkness.

[ejzah]

A/N: Based on a real life story about myself I shared with @mashmaiden and she then suggested would make a fun fic.

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It’s All Fun and Games

June 2015

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“Wow, you take me such romantic places,” Kensi drawled as Deeks pulled into the parking lot of the “Family Fun Center”, which boasted an arcade, bumper cars, cafe, batting cages, and a full mini golf course. On a Saturday afternoon, the lot was nearly full, parents with varying numbers of excited children darting from between cars.

“Hey, I spent hours here as a kid,” Deeks defended himself cheerfully. “Of course, back then the games were a little less high tech, but we could spend a whole day here when it wasn’t good day for surfing.

“I’m kidding,” Kensi assured him, lightly touching his shoulder to let him know she wasn’t truly dissing one of his adolescent staples. “How did you afford coming so often?”

At another time, Kensi would have edged around his lack of money. Oddly enough, he found it encouraging that they’d come this far.

Lowering his voice and looking around him to make sure no one was in hearing distance, he nodded to the back of the lot. “We used to hop that fence, join a big group of people, who were almost finished and somebody would take pity on us, and pass on a couple clubs and balls.”

“Martin A. Deeks!” Kensi exclaimed. “I’m shocked.”

“Hey, you know Ray and I got into trouble sometimes. Besides, we could have been doing so much worse than not paying for a couple rounds of golf,” he defended himself. “If we had a little extra money, we’d play a few arcade games.”

“And no one ever caught on or sold you out?”

“You’d be surprised at the average teenager’s desire to “stick it to the man”. Plus, we usually chose times when it was busy enough that the staff wouldn’t be likely to recall if they sold passes to another couple of kids. We didn’t go every week either.”

“Amazing the things you find out about a guy once you start dating,” Kensi said, shaking her head with mock remonstration in her voice

“I’ll have you know I made an anonymous donation once I graduated from law school,” he told her.

“Well, I suppose that’s something.”

Then finally made it into the main building, which was overrun with kids and teenagers. It brought back a wave of nostalgia.

Deeks nudged her shoulder, neatly moving them to the side to avoid being run over by a group of kids heading for the arcade.

“What about you? Any good memories from mini golfing?” Deeks asked.

“Actually, I’ve never been before,” Kensi responded.

“Seriously?” Kensi shrugged, and he chuckled, taking her hand to pull her towards the service counter. “Oh, then this is going to be amazing.” He stepped up to the counter. “Two passes for the golf course, please.”

Kensi Blye was amazing at a lot of things, particularly of the physical variety. She can run, fight, and shoot better than just about anyone. Even though she’d never really surfed before a couple years ago, she’d picked that up with surprising speed under Deeks’ tutelage. He was still better than her, but she could pull it off if needed.

Mini golf though, not so much. It was a revelation to watch Kensi struggle to hit the little ball across the small areas of green, needing several tries to make through the hole in a structure built to resemble a miniature wharf.

“Alright, bend your knees a little more, keep your head back, and aim slightly more towards the left,” Deeks instructed as Kensi walked to her golf ball, having bounced off the rock placed between the tee and whole 11.

Kensi sent him a swift glare, clearly in no mood for tips. “Deeks,” she said warningly.

“Sorry, sorry. Go ahead.”

She swung again, the ball somehow coming a few inches within the hole, but swerved to the right at the last moment. Kensi let out a frustrated growl, muttering under her breath. It wasn’t quite intelligible, but Deeks was pretty certain her words shouldn’t be spoken around small children.

A small crowd had begun to form behind them, waiting for their turn as Kensi continued her attempt. After a few minutes, they apparently gave up on waiting and moved on to the next spot.

Kensi lined up her next shot, bending her knees, and swung gently. It dropped in and Kensi shouted in victory, only for the ball to pop back out the other side of hole. She stared at it for a moment, her expression blank.

Then she raised the golf club above her head, let out a primal yell, and beat the green with the club repeatedly. Just leaned back slightly in surprise, but didn’t attempt to stop her. Maybe 20 seconds later, she dropped the club to her side, breathing heavily.

Deeks pressed his lips together, holding back a smirk with all his light. “Feel better?” he asked mildly.

“Yes,” Kensi said succinctly, tucking a few stray pieces of hair behind her ear. “I do.”

“Maybe we should switch to bumper cars,” he suggested.

“Yeah, that might be best.”

“Ok, I’ll just take that for you.” He gingerly removed the club from her hand like he was disarming a bomb.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, looking sheepish.

“Don’t worry about it. It was actually kind of entertaining to see Kensi Blye not be absolutely amazing at something,” he said.

“Oh hush.” She knocked his shoulder with her, the gesture affectionate. “I guess I do have to give concede that you are better at mini golf than I am.”

“I’m honored,” Deeks teased. “Now, how do you feel about bowling?”

***

A/N: I don’t know if there if a place called the Family Fun Center exists in LA, but there used to be one near my childhood home.

If you’re wondering, yes, I did once beat a suspecting mini golf course with my club. Bowling has been a source of frustration as well, but as of the other day, I have learned to curb my rage.

Hope you enjoyed this silly little fic!

[chaoticbooklesbian]

A cousin I've never met, but whose grandparents I grew up very close with, had her bat mitzvah today, and I'm having A Lot of Extremely Big Feelings around it.

My mom grew up in a way that left her very disconnected from Judaism. She had her bat mitzvah, her brothers had their bar mitzvahs, and that was pretty much the end of their attendance at synagogue. As a result, I was never connected with it growing up, either. I went to Hebrew school for a year because I decided I wanted to have my bat mitzvah, and my mom signed me up and paid dues to the local Reform synagogue so I could attend, but I was eight years old and decided I didn't want to anymore after a year, so she let me stop and that was that. I regret that so much now, as an adult. I want to go back and have it, but I have so many other things I need to focus on that I can't right now, and it just hurts.

My cousin and her brother and their parents and their grandparents all live on the other side of the country, and their synagogue has two women rabbis, one of whom is also the cantor. They set up a Zoom call so that those of us who love my cousin but live far away could still be part of her bat mitzvah. At one point during the service, my mom commented that if her synagogue growing up had been like that, maybe she'd still be going. They're a Reform congregation, so I said that I'm sure we could find a Reform congregation nearby and would be welcomed to attend. She reminded me that the synagogue I went to Hebrew school at is Reform, and I reminded her that we only ever went when I had classes, never for services.

I'm grieving the Jewish community I never had growing up, despite living in an extremely Jewish area. I'm missing my great aunt and uncle, my cousin's grandparents, who I haven't seen in person since they moved to be closer to their grandchildren. I'm missing my cousin and her brother, who I've never met, and their parents, who I haven't seen in years and years and years. I'm missing connection with other people in general, and especially the Jewish community I could have now if my life had gone differently. I'm also feeling extremely Alone right now, for other reasons, and that feeling is melding with these feelings and it feels like all I can do is cry.

My cousin and her brother are growing up into really, really great people. I wish I knew them enough to justify how much I miss them. I wish I'd grown up the way they're growing up, surrounded by and part of a community. I want to be able to give that to my children, if I ever have them.

I just feel so isolated. I can't stop crying.

[valeriel]

happy international bat day! here’s a reminder to all my cave enjoyers that it’s important to decontaminate yourself + gear before traveling to protect our bats from white-nose syndrome </3

the white-nose syndrome response team has some useful resources on decontamination here!

im inserting a readmore here for WNS info

WNS occurs when bats are infected by the fungus pseudogymnoascus destructans (Pd), which often appears as a white fuzz around the bats’ noses. the fungus forces the bat to act strangely and to move more while they are preparing for hibernation, causing them to use up fat they need for the winter. (photo from united states fish and wildlife service)

according to USGS, millions of bats in 40 US states and 8 canadian provinces have died from this disease. the local bat population from one of my favorite caves has gone from over 100,000 bats to 48 appearing in the last bat survey. there are studies for vaccinations and other ways to mediate the disease, but so far there is no cure.

Some states like california have field survey forms that you can submit if you have seen bats in your area! these are helpful for monitoring and providing data for groups working on mapping bat populations and WNS cases!

if you find dead or dying bats, with or without visible symptoms of WNS, USGS recommends contacting your state’s wildlife agency!

personally i don’t like touching dead animals, but some states recommend (if you are comfortable AND have gloves on you) putting the bat in a plastic bag, freeze it, and reporting to local wildlife staff.

happy international bat day! im not going to stay on my soapbox any longer so here's a cute bat photo of the pacific sheath-tailed bat <3

[subcdkate]

31 Dec 2014 (2)

Entering the lobby of the Hotel Cecil I looked around and took in the early 20th century architecture, but after all of this time it was showing its age, a shadow of what it once was back in Los Angeles when it opened in the 1920's. Waiting for me across the room was a sleazy manager behind the front desk. This was where I had been directed, so I went along with the instructions. My main concern was how was I going to try to hide my made up feminine face with this older slobbish man, "Yeah, you want to check in? What's it going to be . . . by the hour or?" What was I suppose to answer? He just stared at me blankly and I finally pulled the cap off of my head and tugged off my big sun glasses, "Just for one night. a guest of Mr. Paul." He looked up and down and it made me feel like a whore, "Sure you don't need the room for few more days than that? We've got low weekly ." I batted my long lashes and played his game, "I saw that on the side of the building. No, just here for the January first celebration."

He looked down at a ledger on the desk and pulled an envelope from the back of it. Writing something down on the top page before handing me the envelope, but holding back the key for a moment, "It's a fifty dollar deposit. I'll keep your account active just in case you want to stay over past the first." We've got you booked in our most elegant room. It's our Presidential Suite located on the the top floor. I attempted to stifle a grin as I was thinking 'how much could the most expensive room be with that sign on the east side of the building. Low daily - weekly , and now it's also hourly'.

I was pleasantly surprised when I open the door to the suite as it was much more spacious than I had anticipated. The bedroom was set off slightly from the sitting area by a Chinese blind, and was actually quite livable for an out-of-date hotel until I looked out one of the windows and remembered I was in the rundown area of downtown. I could look down on the parking structure where my car was parked and also where the extra car key was hidden. Just seeing both from my room gave an added feeling of security if things went bad when I would make my permanent break before the end of the night.

As I checked my makeup in the mirror I started to wonder just how many women had been ducked in this room over the years, and just how much money changed hands for these sexual favors. It made me wonder what fate lays before me. Plus, weekly rates suddenly sounded like a good deal. I got lost in the fantasy for a few minutes which had getting the sissy slut in me a bit horny when the phone by the bed began ringing. It was Mr. Paul, "Gentlemen's Club, two blocks south of the hotel, it's located on the same side of the street as the Cecil. You'll need to quickly change into tonight's uniform back stage with the rest of the girls when you arrive. You have fifteen minutes to get here." Before I could say anything the phone connection was broken leaving me standing there with the phone buzzing.

As quickly as I could possibly move I grabbed the room key and exited the suite while pulling on my trusty ball cap disguise to help obscure my cover girl look. When I reached the elevators and pushed the down button nothing happened. I pressed it several times expecting the button to light up, but still nothing. I leaned in close to listen for the elevator, but again still nothing. I spotted a courtesy phone on a small table at the end of the hall and rushed over to it. When the hotel operator finally answered she explained, "Sorry, but the elevators are out of service right now for our yearly inspection."

Rushing to the door leading to the stairs, my mind was already running the numbers, ' floors, twenty seconds floor, and I already wasted more than two minutes on the elevator and still had two congested downtown blocks to still arrive ahead of the deadline. I almost immediately nearly took a tumble, so I had to slow down the pace of my decent. Fighting through the late afternoon pedestrians on the sidewalk was a battle, and of course when I finally saw the buildings sign the Gentleman's Club was located at the far end of the second block.

Upon rushing through the front door I was immediately met by Mr. Paul, who didn't look pleased with my late arrival, "What's your excuse Kate?" I quickly explained, "The elevators at the hotel were being inspected." He wouldn't even look at me as he stared at his watch, "That's still no excuse. You were thirty two seconds late. Another twenty right seconds and Fred would have done something drastic." I realized he was serious by the expression on his face, "We'll check your story. If you are telling the truth your safely on your way toward finishing your last night as our little Katie, but if you lied . . . " Mr. Paul trailed off his speech and pointed toward the doors leading from the tiny entry.

When I entered the main room of the strip club I was overwhelmed by the decorations for this party as the entire room looked like a scene of the 'Arabian Nights'. Mr. Paul walked up to my side and quietly told his little girl, "I'm hoping, whatever final decision you make, if you decide to permanently step away that you won't mind giving me a call from time to time?" I felt a smile cross my lips as I replied, "Nothing's been decided on my part, it will also depend on what everybody else wants." Mr. Paul patted my lightly on the ass and told my feminine self to get dressed, "You're no bimbo Kate, and smarter than most. Those brainless women always believe they are in complete control of the situation right up until they land on the auction block, and always thinking 'how did I wind up here?' My mind was made up now more than ever as I told myself under my breath, "And I WILL end this once and for all tonight."

[softquietsteadylove]

For the Maleficent AU:

Gil sneaks away to learn more about the humans who harmed Thena! And after he learns what happened and what kind of tradition is going on he decides to teach them a lesson 👀

"Why, thank you, dearie," the older woman smiled as Thena drifted down from the apple tree with a full bucket. The shorter, grey haired woman patted Thena's arm as she accepted the bounty picked for her. "So helpful."

Thena smiled at the woman as well, walking to her now-filled produce cart with her. "I am happy to lend my service."

She helped the woman push forward what was already in it, baskets of oranges and pears and grapes already picked. "You lot have all been very kind since you started showing up here."

Thena would be lying to say she wasn't relieved that the presence of fae like herself had been declared positive for the humans in the area. "I hope you'll let me continue to come and help."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll be counting on it," the old woman laughed and batted at Thena's wings the way she might slap someone's arm. "You and that strong fella you bring with you are most welcome!"

Thena clasped her hands together, smiling at the ground. Gil had obliged her at every turn in her desire to spend more time with humans, often 'escorting' her further and further inland to do it.

"Where is that handsome specimen of yours?"

Thena frowned, looking around the field. A few other fae and humans were mulling about, but she was right; Gil was nowhere to be found. Thena adjusted her wings on her back, "hm."

"Oh, I'm sure it's fine, dearie," she offered as she moved towards the front of the cart. "My husband wanders off all the time, but he always finds his way home to me."

Thena smiled, helping the delicate woman ascend to the cart's front seat. "Thank you; I shall see you on our next flight from the nest."

"You fly safe, now!"

Thena laughed faintly, waving at the woman until she was turned around and guiding the horses pulling her into the city paths leading to the market. Once she was turned, Thena stretched her wings out.

It wasn't like Gilgamesh to drift away from his flock, even under the most peaceful of circumstances. In all the times they had flown to the mainland, he rarely strayed from her side at all.

She kept her eyes on the ground as she flew in wide circles, trying to survey the area through the treetops of the forest. It wasn't nearly as thick as the mystical Moors with their thorn walls, but it still wasn't easy to navigate.

She swerved towards a fairly solitary little house on the outskirts of the village nearest the city walls. She listened past the sound of the wind bending around her, her feathers rustling and the woods below.

The house was clattering from within.

She startled as two humans tumbled out of it, the door coming clean off as someone inside kicked it down. They scrambled in the dirt to escape but two massive wings with black feathers walked out behind them.

Thena dove.

"Please!" the older human - barely a man of twenty, by the looks of it - held out his hand. "Please, I'm sorry!" We didn't-"

Thena skidded in the dirt to land between the pathetic little humans and their predator. "Gilgamesh!"

"Thena," he frowned, not looking all that surprised to have been caught terrorising a couple measly mortals. "What are you doing here?"

"The farmers noticed you had slipped off," she clarified, still standing in front of the humans on the ground. She looked over her shoulder, "what in all spirits' name are you-"

The older one had a length of cord around his neck, holding a pendant of sorts. It was paler than ivory and larger than the fang of any beast. It was curved and pointed, although clearly aged.

Thena blinked, "is that-?"

Gil nodded, walking past her and leaning down to the snivelling boys. He pulled the cord right off the older one, "I asked around. A few pixies told me that they knew of some humans who told stories of their grandfather fighting in a great war in the Southern Isles."

Thena accepted the tip of her horn from him, shaved down and bound in the leather cord to be worn like a good luck charm.

Gil glared down at them, "maybe I should fashion something similar out of your teeth--see how you like it."

"Gil, stop it."

All three of them looked at her as she rolled her eyes as if they were young boys tousling for fun. Gilgamesh balked at her, "they were wearing your horn as a trinket, Thena."

"After their grandfather broke it," Thena finished, no latent trauma surrounding such an old injury. She met Gilgamesh's eyes, "more than a century ago."

"Y-Yes!--yes, exactly!" the younger one attempted to speak now that his brother's words had left him. "I-It was passed down to us, but we didn't-"

"I was told you parade it around proudly," Gil leaned down to glare at the younger boy in all his intimidating might. His wings bristled, "you stand in the town square and regale the people about how your grandfather felled a faerie and made off with this as his prize."

Thena sighed, pulling the boy back and away from Gil's snarling. She picked him up by the back of his tunic, although he wasn't entirely ready to stand on his own legs again. "Boys are showoffs when they're young. Ikaris used to ask people to dare him to see how far down he could swim before his wings became too heavy to resurface."

"Thena," Gilgamesh crossed his - massive - arms at her.

"Gilgamesh," she said much more gently, nudging the older one behind her as well. She tipped her chin up faintly, "I know they're wrong for it. I'm not saying I'm happy to know what they've done. But the crime isn't theirs."

Gil eyed the piece of horn in her hand. He shuddered, "it's detestable."

"That, it is," she sighed, looking down at it as if it were just some trinket and hadn't once been a part of her. "But it won't do anyone any good if you hold them responsible for the crimes of someone else's past."

Gilgamesh wilted, and she smiled at the resurfacing of that gentle heart he had. He was a strict guard and a valiant fighter, but she had come to learn that he was very sweet in nature. He stepped closer to her, "are you sure about this?"

"Quite," she promised, not moving in the slightest as he bent his face close to hers. Her eyes flicked up to his to prove her resolve. He had nice eyes.

Gil just barely moved his eyes from hers to the humans behind her, huddled down behind the protective veil of her wings. Gil took the liberty of moving them so he could glare at the boys unobstructed. "You're lucky. If she weren't here I'd be flying you out over the cliffs and dropping you in the sea."

The humans didn't need any more reason to turn and flee, their family heirloom all but forgotten.

Thena resettled her wings, giving him a reproachful smile, "you'll undo all of our hard work to improve our reputation in the area."

Gil sniffed, still watching the human boys run for their lives. He rolled his shoulders and his wings before chuckling, "that's not true. The humans here love you. If they need to think me a beast, then let them."

Thena shook her head with a smile. She moved behind him, finding his wings ruffled from the tussle of earlier. Her hands moved delicately, righting his feathers for him. "You are not a beast."

"No?" he asked over his shoulder as he let her preen his wings for him. He sounded humoured. "You don't find me scary?--even a little?"

"Please," she let out a tiny laugh as she moved her fingers over his shimmering black feathers with their earthy undertones. They were beautiful. "You are no more frightening than Druig thinks he is."

He hissed as if she had struck him, and her hands flinched back for a second, worried she had plucked something the wrong way. He laughed again, though, "comparing me to your brother? And the younger one, at that?"

Her laughter joined his, "only in that you might think yourself frightening, but I know for a fact that your heart is quite magnanimous."

With her hands done their work on his wings, he turned to face her again. His wings flexed behind him, refreshed. They really were beautiful; Thena clasped her hands behind her. He grinned at her, "know my heart well, do you?"

Thena gulped as he stepped closer. Her wings reflexively twitched, but she had them pinned against her back for exactly this reason. Their eyes danced around each other's faces. "I think I know it better than most."

It seemed her answer had succeeded in charming him--humouring him, at the very least. He reached out, and for a moment she thought he was going to touch her cheek. But his hand continued to the bone of her wing, smoothing out some of the small, downy feathers he had touched when he moved her wing before.

She shivered; no one had ever touched her wings like this before. Was this what it felt like when she had preened him?

He pulled his hand back and looked as if nothing had happened at all, "ready?"

"Hm?" she blinked, having lost all previous trains of thought.

"Ready to head back?" he asked with a nod of his head, and another smirk threatening to spread over his face.

Thena just nodded, offering a smile she hoped didn't look ruffled. He took off first, his wings spreading and lifting him into the air in one strong motion. They were really were beautiful wings.

[todaviia]

Like sorry I have to keep talking about how insane the Tel Aviv Central Bus Station is. To quote Wikipedia:

"In earlier stages of planning, the station was intended to have just two stories, one for commerce and one for buses. Disagreements between the two main bus companies led to a third floor, so there would be one floor for each bus company. To obtain more funding after construction stalled in the 1970s, an extra floor of retail was added. This process was repeated several times, until the station had six floors total. The seventh floor was added to replace the bottom two floors, after high pollution levels were discovered on those floors.[1] The station was deliberately designed to be confusing, so that commuters would spend more time around the stores, and thus more money.[4] When designed the station was in Tel Aviv's downtown, but by the time it opened the business center had migrated north, and the station's neighborhood had become peripheral and impoverished.[4] One abandoned area of the station has been occupied by a bat colony.[5]

In January 2012, the owners of the station filed for its bankruptcy.[3]

On 24 October 2021, the Tel Aviv Court for Local Affairs has issued a closure order for the New Central Bus Station from December 2021. Consequently, the Tel Aviv-Yafo Municipality and the Israel Fire and Rescue Services have told the store owners that they would have to close from 5 December and the bus companies would also have to make alternative arrangements. Earlier that month, the Tel Aviv - Yafo Municipality, Ministry of Transport and the Israel Land Authority announced that the station would close down, and a new terminal near the Panorama Center in southern Tel Aviv would be set up. That move is to be sped up because the Fire Service has refused to give the Central Bus Station a license to operate"

Just for the record, there are still buses going from there. Every five minutes the entire Yiddish library rattled whenever one passed by.

[forthegothicheroine]

I need to share with you all an Ask a Manager letter from a person working at what seems to be a costume/prop store and is irritated by what horror nerds their coworkers are. I am actually sympathetic to a certain extent (everyone endlessly repeating movie quotes would get old even if I like the movies) but it raises many questions.

I live in a small city which doesn’t have many employment opportunities. The city has a high unemployment rate, and it’s rare to find work that isn’t in shops, farming, etc. Six years ago, the city council launched a project to fund start-up business ideas for marginalized individuals, including those with disabilities.

One of these ideas has become extremely successful. It’s essentially four neurodivergent eccentrics who live every day like it’s Halloween. They are commissioned by various organizations around the state to create bespoke services and goods. They’ve attracted something of a following with projects coming in all year in preparation for October. Jobs include making props for a small amusement park, making decor for a children’s hospital, local authorities hiring them to run haunted houses, etc. Because it has council funding, the start-up needs a couple of additional employees for administration. I accepted one of these admin roles as there are so few office-based jobs in the area.

I have worked there for two years and I feel like I’m in some sort of alternative reality. The office is filled with robotics, costumes, and prop projects. I’ve kept my complaints to what I thought was minimal, but the number of official logged complaints about the four people is in double digits. As an example, one was about a ruined handbag that had been seized as a prop and filled with jelly and rubber eyeballs. The other admin worker isn’t helpful — he has multiple Halloween-themed tattoos and named his kids in obvious tribute (think names like Casper, Salem etc.).

The entire city sees the team as underdog heroes and they really are involved in worthwhile projects. I appreciate that they probably have been excluded through their lives and have finally found an opportunity to form a community and work in a field they love. But my nerves are in shreds with the constant screams and cackles emitted from every corner of a small office. The latest is a wildlife charity wanting to put nesting boxes for actual BATS! in the office. They’re paying for it as a promotional/marketing service, with the resident ghouls blogging about and videoing the bats. Am I nuts, or is this completely bizarre?

After I submitted a complaint about the plans to move bats in, the local newspaper ran a massive double spread about the Halloween grinch trying to destroy this deeply loved community enterprise. They took the stance that I am some stuffy busybody ruining disabled people’s opportunities to shine and create joy and community spirit. I wasn’t named in the article but it was obvious to locals who the villain was.

Quitting means I’d be signing up for many years in a manual or service job in a city where everyone hates me. My son is counting down the days until he can legally change his name so he won’t be recognized. I had minor surgery last year and the week off felt like the first time in two years I could breathe.

As I’m writing this to you, my coworkers are bellowing out lines from films at each other repetitively, then identifying them. Here’s a sample:

A : What an excellent day for an exorcism! J: The Exorcist, 1973!

T: Listen to them, children of the night! J : Dracula, 1931!

Help!

The advice given is basically “If you work at a Halloween place they’re going to be into Halloween, you just have to decide if you can stand it or not.” But questions people in the comments are raising are:

1. Was that “ruined purse” something that belonged to someone and coworkers filled with jelly, or was it a discarded item that they repurposed into a prop?

2. Putting bats in the office? Really? A real charity wants to do that? Or is this hyperbole for putting bat boxes outside?

3. Were those “double digits” of complaints from different people, or all from the letter writer?

4. Are all these details just changed to avoid identifying anyone, and is this really a Christmas prop place?

What do you all think?

[hanchewie]

It’s been a while since I’ve posted regularly on here, let alone shared a life update. And honestly, this one’s mostly just for me. (Though I appreciate anyone who cares to read!)

This past year was a year of change - of rearranging my life in ways I’ve been wanting to for years. I got a new job, moved to a new city, finished my conversion to Judaism. I made friends and read books and started learning a new language. I realized, inexplicably, that I love to sing.

Last night I was at a Pesach seder, and I sat next to two people who go to the same college I used to. They’re only about 5 years younger than me, but it made me realize my time in school feels so distant. Back then, I was so obsessed with finding my passion. Wildlife biology, ASL, archaeology, GIS, environmental studies... it felt like I discovered a new interest every other month, and I’d obsess over building my life around it. I had a few close friends, but I never seemed to find a community where I could set down roots. Looking back, it’s so clear to me that I was hoping to find my One True Passion that would lead to a career I loved, which would then lead to finding My People.

Maybe that works for some people... but for me, the whole thing fell apart after I graduated. I had too many niche interests that shifted as soon as something new caught my eye. I eventually got a job in higher ed admin (student services). It was a stable, predictable job that was completely unrelated to my degree or my myriad interests. And I loved it. It wasn’t the same passionate fascination that I felt for the archaeology digs or tree mapping... but I loved it because I was helping people. I was making connections and listening and learning, and doing what I could to make the path forward a little less overwhelming for the next generation.

Somewhere along the line I started my journey to becoming Jewish, which could honestly be its own separate post. (I’ve shared quite a bit of the story on my sideblog, if anyone’s interested.) But to summarize.... You know how sometimes, there’s something that comes out of nowhere and slots naturally into your life? And looking back, it kind of blows your mind that it wasn’t there all along? Judaism was like that for me.

Several people at my synagogue have asked me if I’d be interested in doing Judaica work. I’ve been asked if I’d like to teach the bar/bat mitzvah kids; if I’ve ever considered rabbinical school. They tell me I have the passion and temperament and thirst for knowledge that’s needed in those areas. And the thing is... yes, of course I’ve considered it. I’m still the same person who spent 5 years in college obsessively searching for a passion I could build my life and career around. But I hesitate to go down that road again, because I don’t want to restart that obsessive (and frankly, unhealthy) cycle. 

But at the end of the day, Judaism feels different from all my other interests. It’s more steady. I’m connected with the community and have built genuine connections. I feel at home. 

I want to use 2023 to settle after a year of so much change. I don’t have to decide now. But this has all been rolling around in my head for a while, so I’d like to give it some serious thought.

[nebulousfishgills]

for the random ask game!

2, 4, 5, 26, 35, 43, 58

Thanks bestie! The other asks are gonna get done eventually, brain has just noooot been letting me do shit lol.

2 - Do you have an accent?

Not really. Although technically my state has an "accent" that people kind of unofficially adopted. Sometimes my "a's" sound like "o's." It's not like southerners saying "wooter" and not "water," but the most obvious example is saying the name of my state itself.

4 - Have you ever slapped anybody?

I don't think so. Definetly not in a real, serious way, but I can't remember if I've done a stage slap or not.

5 - Did you learn a skill or get a new hobby during lockdown?

Honestly... I don't think so. Lockdown was really hard on me even being as big of an introvert as I am. I was depressed and mostly did what was familiar rather than doing new things. I've blocked most of 2020 out tbh.

26 - Have you ever won a contest?

Actually yes! Our big botanical gardens was opening a kids area and they needed a name for their mascot, a Marmot. The name I suggested was picked and I was there to attend the grand opening. It was televised and everything. I was gifted a marmot plush that I still have to this day (this was thirteen years ago).

I went there a couple years ago and the kids' section is still there and the mascot is still around here and there, although I don't think my name is anywhere. I can't even find articles about it.

Here's the little lad:

35 - Favorite dessert?

Fuckin Cinnamon Buns. I could eat so many of those, especially the ones from Cinnabon.

43 - Is there a movie you detest for a very specific reason?

Fucking "Sound of Freedom." As most of you know, I worked at a movie theatre this past summer and it was the bane of my existence. It's about child trafficking and it released on the fourth of july. And as you know, Americans see the word Freedom and go ape shit. And it's a very specific crowd: Conservatives. Your religious grandparents, military members, Blue Line Supporters...

And the tRump/QAnon crowd.

I extend my customer service to everyone but these people were/are ASSHOLES. Getting mad at me when showings were sold out (my co worker even had people ask if she could *move other people* from their seats so she could sell them to this old bat and whoever was with her).

On my last day I had two women buy tickets for it and try to trick me into free food by saying they ordered pretzel bites when they most certainly didn't, thinking I was too stupid to realize otherwise... I read their order back to them twice and they said it was fine both times. Jokes on them cause I rang them up in a separate order so they still paid...

Oh and our ushers have seen SEVERAL religious pamphlets and scriptures left behind on the seats.

But it did lead to this funny story:

When I was working on the 4th of July, every showing was full or almost full. This one dude with a Trump hat and a cross around his neck the size of my palm asked about a solution to the problem of his wife not liking butter on her popcorn but he did. I poured the popcorn into a paper bag we give out so people can share easier and let him use his free refill to fill the bucket again, so two buckets of popcorn.

He called me smart, asked for my name (since I didn't wear a nametag) so he could thank me properly, and gave me candy. I wished him a happy fourth since I really was hoping he would tell my manager I did a good job (praise is praise even if he wears a red hat) and he just bellows "AND A HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY TO YOU AS WELL, MA'AM!"

...so there was a thin veil made of ignorance and my own resourcefulness that prevented me from getting hate crimed at work since if this man knew a gay pagan had helped him out...

And no I don't think he actually talked to my manager about my helping him.

I seemed to get more respect from these people seeing this fucking movie than others (which says a LOT cause I had so many dicks I had to help) and I've theorized that maybe these nut jobs thought I was religious cause they saw the pin on the hair scarf I wore and assumed it was representative of some Christian sect...

...It's a Volturi crest pin.

But, yeah, to sum up, fuck this movie and the crowds it brings. I knew it was gonna be bad when I read the synopsis on my monitor the morning of the 4th and saw Jim Caveziel was the lead, fucking JESUS in "The Passion of the Christ..." and what's even WORSE is that he's the lead of "The Prisoner," the show I wanted to watch because of baby JCB.

Working Barbenheimer was like a doomsday for me, but Sound of Freedom was a chronic and horrid pain...

Although this happened, so that's horribly ironic:

58 - Are you or were you a good student?

Yeah basically. I was kind of universally known as the smart kid nobody talked to but everyone wanted in their group projects. Finished high school with a 3.97 GPA, but most of that can be credited to my extreme fear of failure. College has been no different lol.