#every place that we physically existed in at age five is now either destroyed or transformed beyond recognition

[mantisgodsdomain]

If we ever appear as if we are being taken by some sort of frenzied, desperate madness, that is probably because that is exactly what is happening. We apologize for this sincerely. We are having to watch a handful of rich idiots burn down everything in some sort of horrific slow-motion train crash and every day that passes feels more and more like we are frantically pulling scrolls out of the library of alexandria while watching a thousand more things go up in flames to be lost forever. It is a feeling of a sorts. We are not especially fond of it.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 5

Golf

Hannibal and cult girl have a long-overdue conversation about their future.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: slight emetophobia, threats of violence, workplace sexual harassment, sexualization of a minor, body-shaming, ED

"[F/N], wait!" Anna called after you, snatching your arm in both hands.

You pulled your arm away and seriously held back the urge to smack her across the face. "What? What could you possibly have to say?"

"You can't just storm out of a funeral like you did my wedding!" She protested. She said this as if you leaving her wedding after being purposefully triggered was the worst affront to her existence to ever happen to her. Given her sheltered life, it very likely was.

She was looking for remorse and you had none to give. "Watch me."

You shoved the heavy doors open, only to find that the room was silent. Everyone's eyes were on you. Hundreds of eavesdroppers who saw your life as their soap opera suddenly caught a glimpse of the defiant, ungrateful granddaughter.

Their faces began to loosen and they started to go back about their business. Just when you thought it was of their own volition, you felt Hannibal's hand on your shoulder. You realized you were witnessing the effect his stony glare had on the room.

You grinned and watched the crowd part in your path. For a moment, you knew what true power felt like, even if it was just vicarious.

"Why won't you give your poor grandmother what she wants?" A particularly bold onlooker blurted out. "If I had a daughter like you, I'd beat some sense into you."

Hannibal fixed his gaze on the man, but you beat him to it.

"If I had a father like you, I'd put you in a home." You snapped back.

The path to the door seemed to stretch further and further away. By the time you reached it, you were practically tugging Hannibal's arm out of its socket.

Outside, the golf course slowly turned white as larger and larger clumps of snow fell from the clouds. In the absence of sunlight, the ocean was black as ink. You suddenly felt very lightheaded. You let go of Hannibal’s hand and clutched your forehead. The courtyard began to spin. 

Hannibal gently guided you to a nearby bench before you could collapse. “Darling, are you okay?” 

You knew it wasn’t what he meant, but your physical wellbeing was far from your mind. “I don’t think I’ve ever been okay even once in my life.” 

“You know what I mean, [F/N].” His voice was firm. “We can talk about the will in a moment, but I need to know that you’re not sick.” 

You wordlessly scooted closer to him, allowing him to examine you. 

He removed his glove and placed his bare hand on your forehead. “You are a little warm.” 

You saw what he was trying to do. You felt a bit comforted by it, but needed to assure him that you weren’t sick. “It’s twenty-five degrees outside. I think I’m going to feel a little warm comparatively.” 

“Weren’t you nauseated this morning?” He asked, feeling your cheek with the back of his hand. 

You released a breath, which froze as soon as it hit the air. “That’s what I said so I didn’t have to say what it really was.” 

Hannibal clicked his tongue. “Menstrual cramps?” 

You nodded. “Yeah. Those.” 

“I was a surgeon before I was a therapist, my love.” He reminded you with a soft smile. “I know what menstruation is.” 

You chuckled. “Yeah, I should hope so.” 

“This is a lovely country club.” Hannibal said after a moment of taking in the view. “Not exactly to my tastes, but the view of the ocean is beautiful.” 

You leaned back in your seat. “It gets old after a while. But I always preferred seeing the golf course all snowed over.” 

“Because it meant you didn’t have to spend your school holiday doing free labor for Beatrice, right?” He asked. 

“Yep.” You said, folding your hands into your armpits to keep them from freezing up.

Theresa was seventeen, Anna was fourteen and you were ten. 

Theresa learned how to drive a drink cart before she could drive a car. She was the only one allowed to make tips, so you coveted her job. You wouldn’t have, if you knew what all those disgusting old men were saying to her as the money passed into her hand. It shocked you, how many of the club members knew the age of consent off the top of their heads. Grandma made her wear tank tops and barely-passing-for-shorts shorts. She said it was empowering to use her ‘blossoming womanhood’ to make money. 

Anna was a student athlete in middle school. She ran track and field and brought gold home to a struggling athletics department. She was made to carry bags of clubs that weighed more than she did. Grandma reduced her to a beast of burden. She said it was to work off all those carbs. That one day, she might receive the honor of taking Theresa’s place on the drink cart, and that she too could be ogled at by men four times her age. But only if she made up for all that weight she had the audacity to put on. 

You were a blank slate. A tablet to be written upon. Grandma decided that she would put you in your place before you could develop a healthy sense of self. You fished balls out of the water trap. Grimy, disgusting golf balls that would just be thrown away regardless. It was Sisyphean, spending grueling hours in the summer sun, collecting perfectly useable golf balls, only to see them tossed out without a second thought. 

“Hannibal?” You said, bringing an end to your pensive silence. 

“Yes?” He answered. 

You kept your eyes facing forward. “I’m really sorry that Beatrice took away the opportunity to have this conversation in our own time.” 

“You are not responsible for your grandmother’s actions, [F/N].” He said, softly.

“But I am responsible for getting you involved.” You bit back a sob. “You’re like, the best thing that has ever happened to me. But every time I try to look forward, my past drags me backwards. And now it’s dragging you down with me.” 

"You've clawed your way out before." He assured you. "You can do it again."

You forced a laugh. "I guess the trick is to stop telling myself that it'll be the last time."

"Would you like to have that conversation now?" He posed.

You shook your head. "You already know my stance."

"Your stance is that you don't know." He corrected.

"So what's yours?" You said, realizing you only talked about this as a doctor and patient. Never as a couple.

He looked away from you. "In the affirmative. Strongly so."

"I didn't realize you had strong feelings either way." You answered.

"Just because I don't talk about them unless asked, doesn't mean they don't exist."

"And you want to do it with me?" You asked. "Or just, in general? Like, someday?"

"Darling, I am not in the habit of planning my life in abstracts like 'someday'." He admitted. "I know what I want, I know what I don't."

"Well," You said, stretching out your legs. "What does it look like, to you?"

"We get married this summer." He recounted. "I whisk you away to Italy for a romantic honeymoon. Then, you return to school. You finish your doctorate. Once you've established yourself as an authority, gotten a job, then we settle down. We'll have a child."

You felt yourself smiling. You rested your head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around you and held you tight.

"I like that. I like it a lot." You whispered. "But you know that means we probably won't get any money, right?"

Hannibal laughed. "We don't need the money."

"I know." You conceded. "But it would be nice to just... burn this whole place to the ground."

He tightened his embrace. "That could still be arranged."

"Please don't buy the golf course just so I can destroy it." You pleaded through laughs.

"Goodness, no." He shook his head. "Who said anything about buying it? I was thinking about some good, old-fashioned arson."

[the-river-person]

Epilogue

Wind swept through the red grass like a wave upon the sea, sending ripples down the slopes of the endless hills. In the lowest valleys the grass vanished into a soft white fog, making the hilltops seem as if they were detached from the earth and floating through an ocean of clouds. Sans gazed around in wonder, while also having to shield his eyes a little. Above them the sky was a thousand blending shades of purple, everything from a deep angry bruise to a very soft lilac. At the edge of the Horizon was the sun, and from here it looked a very deep red color, and though it wasn’t terribly bright, he still had to shield his eyes. It seemed that he needed some time for his eyes to properly adjust to seeing the surface in all of its overwhelming brightness after living in the muted and shadowed Underground for all his life. Well for lifetimes on end, really. Mouth open wide, and eye lights nearly pinpricks in shock, Gaster too appeared to be too stunned for words at the sight of this world. Sans knew that his uncle had been around to see the Surface of their own Universe, and judging by Gaster’s reaction, it was nothing at all like this. The River Person had taken them to this place because he said it was still a relatively safe Universe to visit for a little while. Comfortably seated in his ferry boat, the River Person didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere soon, so they’d opted to explore for a bit while staying in sight. Arriving at another Universe was just as bizarre as leaving one had been. It was as if there was a reflective orb in the distance, only when you got closer it wasn’t you that it was reflecting, but a place. And if you got close enough it was as if the reflection warped and twisted itself so that it swallowed you and you were sitting in another Universe as smoothly as if you’d landed your boat at the docks. Actually the ferryboat itself was sitting in the middle of the red grass, and looked perfectly natural there as if it were supposed to sail across the sea of red grass and plants instead of up and down a river. Out in the distance the world got even stranger. To the right, he wasn’t sure what the compass direction was because the red sun appeared to be circling the horizon instead of crossing overhead in an arc, he could see bright glow that spanned the whole edge of the sky in that direction, as if the area was filled with light. And to the left the sky seemed to get darker and darker until the horizon that way was shadowed and still. “Pretty, isn’t it?” “Yes,” he breathed, still trying to take it all in. The next moment he leaped away in shock as he realized the comment had come from someone who had unexpectedly been standing beside him. It was a skeleton, somewhat similar to himself in appearance but not quite. Wearing brown pants that might have been tucked in overalls by the green straps that were sticking out from one side of the waist, a white shirt, and a long brown scarf... the skeleton’s clothing alone made a strong first impression of him. But more interesting than that were the splotch of black ink that coated the bottom right side of his jaw and the enormous paint brush that he carried on his back like a sheathed sword. Over his chest was a belt holding a series of tiny phials with heart shaped stoppers, each phial held a different colored liquid within, and altogether and in order they formed a kind of rainbow pattern. Finally, around his neck and hanging down his back was an incredibly long scarf of some brown fabric. The Skeleton was grinning at him, mischief dancing in his eye sockets, which Sans had only just realized contained some odd shapes. In his left eye, the pupil was shaped like a bright, five pointed, golden star (☆), twinkling merrily as if to say “I’m excited!” to all the world. And in his right eye the pupil took the shape of... and this left Sans feeling more bewildered than anything else, a small purple 7. But even as he watched the pupils changed shape, and again, and again. A spiral (๑), a triangle border with nothing inside (△), a check mark (✓), an eroteme (?), a small crescent moon (☽), a pair of squiggly lines that might have been either water or a double tilde (≈), a silcrow (§), a percontation point (⸮), and a very small umbrella (☂). “Hullo!” said the skeleton. “I’m Ink! Guardian of the Multiverse and Protector of AUs!” Gaster, who had turned around to see what Sans had been reacting to, was examining the newcomer with something akin to professional curiosity. “AUs?” he asked, tilting his skull slightly to the side. “Alternate Universes,” clarified Ink. “And parallel ones. And pretty much any other kind of universe that springs up. So... now that I’ve introduced myself, who are you two?” Other universes, the thought was a little frightening. Sure he’d heard Gaster practically wax poetic on the subject numerous times, and here he was standing in another universe entirely. But it was different hearing someone else talk about them existing, as if they’d seen them with their own eyes. An entire multiverse full of them. And if Ink was truly the Guardian of that Multiverse and every universe inside of it, then he must be a really important person. “I’m Sans-” he started to say, not sure whether there was special protocol for introducing yourself to a Multiverse Guardian, but Ink was already cutting him off, flapping his hand impatiently at them. “No no no. There are way too many Sanses and Gasters floating about. Even I’m a Sans. We like to use... well I guess you’d call them nicknames. They help keep us from getting confused. More confused. Some people use the name of their AU, others ” Somewhat at a loss, Sans turned to look at Gaster, who only shrugged unhelpfully. Well alright then. A nickname huh? His thoughts raced back years and years, decades, centuries, all the way to that very first therapy session with Doctor Whimsol. She’d suggested that he didn’t have to be a Sans if he didn’t feel like one. For a while he’d toyed with various other names, mostly Fonts in the style of Skeleton naming conventions. But he’d never really made anything of it. Perhaps one of the ones he’d liked would do? Something that suited him the way that he was now. He’d changed a great deal since then. There was no way anyone would think of him in formal terms, even now. But he was a bit more serious, even though he tried to stay approachable. He wasn’t suffering from depression and guilt, and he was a lot more active than he had been. So something light-hearted but serious, informal like, with a sense of movement.... It came to him and he grinned suddenly. “Mistral,” he informed the Guardian of the Multiverse. “I’m Mistral.“ Looking intrigued, Ink nodded enthusiastically. “It suits you! A little rough of a font, sort of like brush writing, but with this... um... crystal stuff on your bones, it really works.” Oh yeah, Sans had forgotten about the Kenón still growing on him. It had sped up its growth a bit in the Void, which made sense because they were already connected. Small spikes of silvery-grey crystal were now easily seen growing up from the collar of his shirt and from his sleeves, and tiny lumps were beginning to form under his usual overcoat that betrayed the crystals growing underneath. “I think,” said Gaster suddenly, “That I would like to be known as Majuscule.” Sans stared at him. “You want to be named after Capitalized Letters?” he asked incredulously. It wasn’t a font. Though they weren’t really required to stick to those if they truly didn’t want to. But it was related enough that it was odd that Gaster would want to choose that of all things for a name. The smile the scientist gave him was a smug one. “When I use the Wingdings Sign variant it really doesn’t differentiate between Minuscule and Maguscule symbols like the font does in physical writing. And since I cannot speak it out loud and adjust the volume of my speech, it is as if I am saying everything in capitalized letters, constantly speaking with maximum intensity all the time.” Oh Angel, of course Gaster would choose something that convoluted. Sans groaned and rolled his eyes, surprisingly Ink only looked amused and actually giggled, his eyes flitting between an octothorp followed immediately by an S (#S) , an ecphoneme (!), an on/off symbol, and an asterisk (*). “I’m guessing you guys are new travelers to the Multiverse. That means you’re the ones I was looking for. You see, I felt a Universe die recently, and I went to go protect it from whatever was causing it to be destroyed. But it was dying on its own, of old age. I’ve never seen a Universe do that before, reach its natural ending. Then I found a trail in the Void, the sort of paths the River Folk make when they travel, and I knew that someone must have escaped before everything fell apart. And well... here you are!” Ink smirked and stuck out his tongue in a sort of “blep” way. Somewhere in the back of his head, Sans couldn’t help but notice that the tongue was rainbow hued. But now that he was reminded, he had more important questions. “Did you see anyone else?” He asked. “A ship in the Void? Any survivors? Papyrus? Well, my Papyrus anyway. He’s the Captain of the Royal Guard. And there were a lot of people on the ship before it fell into the Void. Please, if you’ve seen anything...” He trailed off hopefully. Ink’s eyes had suddenly become two ecphonemes (!). “Wait, there are more than just you two?” asked the Guardian excitedly. “It’s pretty rare we get more than a Sans or a Gaster. For some reason the Sanses seem to be inclined to go traveling more than others, though we do get Papyruses and Gasters here and there. But I don’t recall seeing a ship...hmmm.” Then Ink reached back and pulled on his scarf. Upon closer inspection, Sans could see all kinds of writing on it, scribbles and notes. Ink was using the thing as a planner. For a moment Ink squinted down at the scarf, searching through all the notes. They could see his mouth moving as he silently muttered some of the reminders he was reading. At last he looked up. “Nope, sorry. I haven’t seen any ship. But I’ll make a note to keep an eye out for one. I definitely don’t want to miss seeing that. Oh, but I did write down something else. I found this where your universe used to be.” And digging into his pocket, Ink produced something that was difficult to see. It was like a point, but without any width, depth, surface, or length. It flickered strangely and Sans heard Gaster’s intake of breath behind him. “There it is!” said the Scientist as he stepped forward, reaching for the thing. “The last fragment. The final percentage. What bit of me are you hiding in such a small form?” His hand closed around it and he closed his eyes, looking triumphant and relieved. Just as quickly he snapped them back open again in alarm. “Sans!” “What?” “I had three assistants, Sans. Three! Not four! I don’t know who Goner actually is!” * * * The Tem had managed to push the wreckage away from itself, freeing its trapped hind leg. Nobody else was in this part of the Ship, mostly being occupied in repair work or attempts to plan and reorganize. He’d volunteered to come out here and replace the spark plugs in this area because it would make it easier to get away from people for a while. A low creak, like metal under strain, made him turn. It was similar to the sound he’d heard earlier before the ceiling fell. This ship had taken a lot of damage in the crash, it was no wonder it was all falling apart at the seams. There was no one there. Yeah, probably just more infrastructure damage from the crash that needed to be repaired. Turning back brought him face to face with the grey torso of Goner, who was looming over him with his pale whitish-grey eyes. “Your name is Bob, right?” Said Goner in an expressionless tone. It wasn’t really a question exactly. More like a statement with a question tacked onto the end like an afterthought. Suddenly Goner’s expression seemed almost sly, sinister. Perhaps it was just the lighting, but the Tem shrank from the Monster as he leaned forward. “My name is Goner, I have a feeling we’re going to be very good friends.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ink!Sans belongs to @comyet Special Thanks to @msaoa12345 for their continued reblogging, praise, and excitable and positive commentary. Without their support, this story wouldn’t be anywhere near finished.

[elizabeth-mitchells]

Loveable - The Old Guard (2020) - Andy/Quynh

"I found you once, thousands of years ago. I will find you again."

Andy and Quynh are reunited, and there's a lot that they should probably talk about. Or not.

Read on Ao3

Quynh didn’t enjoy staying indoors. Understandably so, she preferred to stay outside. Stay close to the ground, and stare at the sky above her. Andy had brought her to the most beautiful safe house they had, up on a luscious green hill somewhere nobody could find them. It was a comfortable cottage, a vast garden, close to the stars and away from the ocean. It was just the two of them alone, for as long as they wanted. Despite the warmth and humble but welcoming comforts of the cottage, the pair spent most of their time outside. Enough so that Andy had dragged a mattress, pillows, and blankets outside, joking that she was “too old to sit on the ground all day.”

It was barely starting to get dark when Quynh said, “We should start a fire” she smiled at Andy, “like in the old days.”

Andy couldn’t help but return the smile and try to swallow down the knot that showed up in her throat every other minute whenever she looked at Quynh. She had underestimated how badly she’d missed Quynh’s voice. The sound was soft and warm like a tender caress, it was home for Andy. Then there were Quynh’s eyes, another wonder altogether. Just the mention of the fire made Andy feel like she was seeing the reflection of the flames in the other woman’s eyes, just as she did, thousands of years ago. As much as Andy unconditionally loved Quynh’s eyes, she didn’t particularly love some of the things she’d seen in the other woman’s eyes ever since they were reunited. She’d seen rage, madness, thirst for revenge, and something broken, very deep inside but clawing at the surface. However, the more time they spent together, Andy could see that darkness yield to the familiar beauty of millennia ago. It would take time but-

“Andromache,” Quynh’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked amused. It wasn’t the first time she caught Andy getting lost in her thoughts while staring at her.

“Nicky wouldn’t forgive me if we ruined this garden,” Andy finally replied.

“Nicolò…” Quynh spoke the name softly to herself, and nodded. She had missed saying his name, all their names out loud. She looked around her at the garden, reached out with a hand to touch one nearby flower. Then she looked at Andy, “It would grow again,” she said, “like us.”

Andy bit her lip. Since Quynh had shown up she’d been smiling more than she’d had since… well, since she’d lost Quynh. And she was unused to it, and tried to stop herself, but the soft smiles just escaped her.

“But much more beautiful,” Andy sighed, frowning at the innocent flowers.

“I happen to think you have only gotten more beautiful, Andromache,” Quynh retorted, “You’re even more beautiful than you are old.”

The words ignited a profoundly heavenly ache in Andy’s heart. She opened her mouth to reply but the words died on her lips. She couldn’t meet Quynh’s eyes. Instead, her stare was locked on the blades of grass she was mindlessly pulling from the earth around them. Pulling with a little more force than necessary.

“Don’t say that,” Andy whispered, then with more intent added, “I don’t deserve it.”

Quynh made a humming noise of acknowledgment and looked away as well. She leaned back on her arms and stared up at the sky. “Perhaps not,” she replied.

It was a fair answer, it was honest, and neither of them could have conceived a different one. Still, there was something about Quynh’s tone… something gentle and calm, which could, in this scenario be something completely terrifying, if Andy didn’t find the honesty comforting and the calm hopeful in a way. Quynh was furious, Andy wouldn’t make the mistake to assume otherwise, but there was more to it. Quynh’s rage had transcended limits that were unheard of. Her resolve and those long centuries of agony and solitude gave her an incomparable peace of mind.

With that unexpected peace, she turned toward Andy and said, “Just like the world does not deserve nature to regrow after being destroyed. Just like humanity does not deserve the constant, unending aid of someone as powerful as you. All in exchange for nothing, Andromache.”

Andy took her time to answer. She had heard Quynh’s argument. She was familiar with that train of thought herself. They had much to discuss but, “Can I ask something?” Andy blurted out. She turned toward Quynh and after receiving an encouraging nod, and after a moment of struggle trying to find the right words, she pleaded with her entire heart. “What if, for a while, even if only just for tonight, we forget about the rest of the world? Forget about fighting, forget about what’s right or wrong, forget humanity. I only want you. Can it be just you and me?”

“My love, my love…” Quynh softly shook her head and looked down. The sudden melancholy in her scared Andy. “You wish it could be like before,” Quynh said. Although it wasn’t exactly a question, she looked up and found Andy nodding. “It can never be like before,” Quynh shook her head slowly once more, as if the simple act pained her beyond words. “I am afraid I am not… You know I have changed, Andromache.”

“I have changed too,” Andy interrupted, and shocked herself with the emotion in her own voice. She sounded like she was begging. Maybe she was. Even if she wasn’t using the exact words. What was she begging for?

“I am afraid I might not be… loveable… anymore.”

It was unclear who was pained the most the moment those words were spoken. In the years she spent alone, Quynh had given up on many things. She had given up on hope for humanity, on her sense of responsibility and desire to fight for what she believed was right. She had acquired, in exchange, many new layers of darker emotions. Quynh became acquainted with thoughts of cruelty and mercilessness. Being aware of this shift inside her, she felt she couldn’t accept Andy’s love any longer. It came from a place of pride and pragmatism, rather than weakness or self-pity. That, however, couldn’t erase the fact that such a resolve made her unhappy. She had known that Andy had loved her practically since the moment they met, and she couldn’t really remember who she was before Andy’s love, she didn’t know that person. Now, she had to deny that very love that she had carried as an intrinsical part of herself.

Andy didn’t agree though. This time she wasn’t reduced to whispering and looking away, she didn’t stutter and she didn’t have to think twice. Andy moved to kneel in front of Quynh and she spoke with all the conviction she was physically capable of mustering, and then some more.

“You are wrong. I will prove you wrong. I love you, I have always loved you and I will love you forever, Quynh, until the end. I will love you better than I ever did, I will love you however you need me to, and the way I always have, because you’re still there. I found you once, thousands of years ago. I will find you again. You didn’t stay at the bottom of the ocean, I know it. I can feel it, I see it every time I look at you, Quynh. I will bring you to the surface. Please let me. Please don’t ask me not to try. Please don’t ask me to stop loving you, that is something I will never be able to do.”

In all truthfulness, Quynh was impressed by Andy’s words. She usually wasn’t a woman of that many words, and yet, she had spent five hundred years waiting to say all that and more. Quynh didn’t have words, but she smiled softly. Tears that didn’t escape her eyes clouded them with a thin sheet of emotions. She held the ocean in her, and Andy knew at once she would spend the equivalent of all her years drowning in her, drowning for her, throw herself to the ocean, if Quynh asked her to.

No words were necessary then. Andy reached out slowly, slowly and finally her fingertips and then the palm of her hand met Quynh’s cheek. They hadn’t touched much, not really, not since they found each other again. Were they scared it could all be just a dream? Scared of reaching out and finding the illusion would vanish and be replaced by abysmal loneliness. Scared that a yearning touch would break the spell that made their encounter possible and suddenly it would all break down around them. But that was all gone now. There was just no space for fears to stand in between them

Andy reached with her other hand and held Quynh’s face with a delicacy that was only ever reserved for her. It was the most tender touch Andy was capable of. She was a warrior, she was ruthless, she used to be unbreakable. They both were. But only for each other existed this slim little yet infinite space for gentleness. For Andy’s fingertips to dance on Quynh’s skin. For Quynh to reach out as well, to place her hand in the back of Andy’s head, play with the short hairs she found, and just barely noticeably push with her fingertips, push her forward, push her closer. Closer and closer until there wasn’t any space left at all. At that moment, there wasn’t any space for fears or doubts, for grief or rage, not for air either, no physical space.

Their lips met and at once the connection made transcended ages and languages and physical frontiers. Perhaps there was too much they still needed to talk through. That would have to wait until they stopped kissing though. Nothing else mattered at the moment. They wanted and needed, they desired like nothing else to hold each other, for as long as possible. Their lips parted just to take a breath. Just so Andy could hold back tears at the immense joy she felt at feeling once again her lover’s breath so close to her. Just so Quynh could dive in again because after all those years begging for air and still she couldn’t picture a better way to die than to drown in Andromache’s kisses. They begged with all their might that when their time came to give up on their lives it would find them like this, together. They owed each other at least five hundred years of love, but they were hoping for a thousand or two, for all the time they had, until the end.

[madamhatter]

act 0. observer’s notes your name is….. occult, the remnants of antiquated ‘ichor’ theory meta.

Rugged and torn leather cover, its moss green color held a title that most eyes wouldn’t be able to translate; if anything, the words read more like markings as opposed to a formal and recognizable alphabet.

- ACT. ????, outlandish occultic occupancy. 

*For clarity purposes: Read ichor as having two forms: its material concentration (used primary by machinery nowadays) and its emitted energy emitted that has flow and connection to living matter and reality. 

At pivot of magical ingenuity was the equally technologically breaking and devastatingly powerful Order and ichor-infused knights. While the prestige of the Order’s influence has long since dissipated from dominant culture of Topaxi alliance, and the fallout of the empire it originated from, they remain the most commonly recognized basis and symbol of the empire’s advancements into the future. 

However, the development of ichor manipulation and human subjects is one that rests upon a foundation of modern and scientific findings and research into the stability, security, and utility of ichor. expanded much into the golden era of the Empire. Though, what is imperative is to realize that all foundations to greatness once preceded another that would soon be lost to time. It is the larger bank underneath the modernity of the times. A long since recognized and theoretical unbound.

This time period we will formally refer to as the “antes de mecanism” or AM for short.

During AM, salvaging and refining ichor wasn’t a conquest but a partnership between both unrivaled and untouchable power and humans. The usefulness and depth of ichor to be a human enhancer  hadn’t been recognized during this time; it was seen an untapped and respected entity of sorts, only those capable of respecting and devoting time, blood, sweat, and every mortal fiber of their person to it would be able to be ‘granted permission’ to use it. 

Most of what can be harnessed wasn’t completely possible without the creations of a language. Just in the way that humans have created speech and scripture, accumulating each utterance and reference to have meaning in a common symbol, humans developed a language around magic. This will be referred to as raíz.  Just like common languages differed, as did raíz, as the concentration, nature, and flow of ichor varies differently throughout the world and has more specifics to how it must be used.

However, the bridge between ichor and humans wasn’t completely raíz, as it was only a human equivalence of translating the true nature of ichor and how to conduct it. Under raíz is the universal laws of ichor, all of which cannot be given phonetics and cannot be pronounced normally like how a human would practice their common language. 

Understanding this true nature meant to coast around the immaterial, uncontrollable reality that existed between planes ; it is paper-thin and invisible to humankind. It exists between the boundaries of all life forms and the planet they inhabit. It is the subspace that ichor naturally travels and the same space that ichor, at its core, can be channeled through.  

This language does exist by human hands, but it was written by ichor itself. Devotees of acquiring knowledge, known as magi, were able to create writing instruments that could temporarily channel ichor at its raw state. Onto paper, the instrument would begin writing and creating shapes for whatever object, person, other material forms were nearby. Each material form is known to have a glyph. There are variations of glyphs that exist to indicate actions, movement, and change too. One can then create a unique sigil through combining glyphs that behaves like a pre-coded command. 

Access to glyphs and knowing of its existence was very far and few in-between. Most populations relied on raíz and were only aware of the secondary language. 

As a sword to its knight, as too was a grimoire/tome, scroll, and tablet were to the magi. These were the tools necessary to exchange knowledge and glyphs, as well as use them. It is required for them to use these tools. Other variations existed but they weren’t as safe. In current times, and MUCH earlier in this age, most of these artifacts were destroyed. As to why they were, well, it was considered mainly ‘unsafe practice’ and ordered to be destroyed by major empires. However, this can very well be a ploy to remove knowledge and power from civilians and keep such power available only for the elite and wealthy. 

Only very few ancient writings remain and all are written in these dead languages (sometimes all in regional raíz , glyphs, or a combination of the two) that a normal person would find useless/unable to be understood. It’s basically the equivalent of them seeing chicken scratch and nonsensical scribbles.. 

In the time before mechanical ichor handling was possible, there were several forms created that were attempts to harbor its power. These would be the ‘lost arts’ that varied by culture, location, etc. 

Lost arts would include, but are not limited to: 

Possession of a cemi on the person, acting as a concentration and anchor for ichor. This used either raíz or glyphs -- sometimes both (which is possible to mix in order to cast magic). Considered one that has greatest outcome for the type of spell casting. However, it is the most demanding on the subject and tends to greatly reduce their life expectancy. Lost texts have also described a personality shift in the person and distinct change in features like having a ‘glassy look’ in their eyes. It is almost as if the original life had been sapped out of the body in place of the magic. 

Sundials that have raíz inscribed around the round base, all of which are related to the unique function and purpose of its wielder. It is one, however, that isn’t transportable and has to be fixed into the ground. Depending on the time and weather, and where it shadows landed, was considered the most opportune time to partake in particular magical spells that is heightened by ichor. This method was popular mostly for artisans, blacksmiths, and other careers that had a ‘home base’ for work from. 

Tattooing transmuted ichor into one’s body, allowing them a range of casting possibility and ability to bend elements around them. This technique used glyphs. The particular ‘hot spots’ to tattoo would be centered around the five senses (face, hands and feet). This one fell out of fashion as quickly as it was introduced due to the horrific ramifications of overexerting ichor through an unprepared and unfit subject. It ended with human combustion, sudden suffocation/collapse of the lungs, spontaneous and rapid growth and decaying of limbs, etc. 

Ichor, as previously mentioned, was portrayed by most to have its distinct characteristics that placed emphasis on the the power it has over people, rather than the people having power over it. Alluded to in the ‘lost arts,’ there were many effects for those who tried to overwhelm themselves with power and tried to exploit the capability with ichor. It is by the fact that ichor carries an immaterial presence and its energy exists the spaces of reality and acts as a conduit between living matter and magic. A space that not humans do not naturally exist in, but only around it. Avarice can lead to negative consequence, especially for beings not made to survive in that plane. 

Miasma refers to the repercussions of ichor usage/magic casting. Back in AM, the term specifically referred to the repercussions of unregulated and overabundant that ichor would do to the ‘soul’ of a being. It’s commonly depicted in tales and art as a seed; it is a corruption that slowly reveals itself like a plant growing inside the person’s body that takes a toll on their physical form. Miasma does not appear the same for everyone during that time, but there will always be the fact that the affected areas revolve around where the magic is concentrated (hands, eyes, ears, mouth, chest, etc). In the case of which ichor was used for internal improvements, for example,  the flesh could have discoloration over vital organs.

"Depues de mecanism” (DM) finds that miasma can be referred to any repercussion that ichor has on a subject. This extends away from only being about ichor usage/magic casting. . 

There isn’t a supernatural element or ‘corruption’ theme surrounding it anymore, as science theorize it as the body reacting to overexposure to ichor. Instead of corruption, however,  it is now referred to as ‘rot’ by common people and not all supernatural connections were cut from it.  

Modern medicine has helped those who suffer from miasma with things like sedatives, pain relievers,  psycho-pharmaceuticals, or any other drugs to specifically alleviate symptoms. Miasma, in this case, isn’t seen as permanent for those generally exposed to it .

However, not all miasma can be handled with drugs. Those capable of ichor usage/magic casting* still suffer permanent psychological and physical scarring and alterations to their psyche/body. Thankfully, these cases aren’t as extreme and deadly as they were back in the day. 

( *coming up soon w/ explanation )

In the current state of the world, most countries under the Topaxi alliance have forgotten. Most instead look towards more updated and published works, a great amount unaware of the antiquated groundwork. One would find that in reference to ichor, most would only reference creations and discoveries made during DM and only a handful of AM creations (ie: sundial) that existed at the end of AM/beginning of DM. 

Current countries under the Topaxi alliance long have forgotten these customs and practices. However, it is commonly found in smaller countries that pose no militant threat but get ichor concentrations. Similarly, however, a lot of the theories and practices have long since out-of-fashion and magic casting isn’t as typical or sought-out anymore (unless in cases of specializations, academics, and high-ranking officials).

However, in both the Topaxi alliance and remaining countries, there are still remnants.  Language integration has happened in Topaxi that has combined raíz into local dialect.  The same could be applied for glyphs, but they are only used as symbols to refer to particular buildings, and guilds. These languages do not possess any power unless if they’re being used by the trained magi or certain people.

These ‘certain people’ were once the subject of debates for scholars and researchers during AM. The future that was theorized for them, however, was lost to history. 

The innate, those who were adept in ichor channeling without needing to dedicate themselves to academics or use glyphs and raiz to use magic. Innates were considered the ‘path of the future’ as their bodies are naturally possessing abilities to have ichor flow through them (not that they are born with it, but think of them as prisms). This, in itself, is a mutation; they transcend the need to use the magic languages to cast spells, do not need spells to use ichor, and their ability is usually naturally occurring and always active.  

This ability is extremely rare and the chances of having it if there’s an extended family history of ichor exposure (or genetics, give or take). The innate usually have one of these senses altered by the ichor and provides them a unique ability to interact with living matter and reality. Sometimes, the ichor allows them enter/see/hear/talk in ways humanly impossible. The innate, as well, can naturally translate/read/understand glyphs.  Raíz is a different case, given that it varies per region and still functions in the sanctions of human languages. It has to be learned just like any other language. 

Tose who are innate are often not aware of such a mutation or even the title they possess. All information are kept by magi and made exclusive to them. It is without saying, however, that these gifts are often kept quiet about and are not usually shared with anyone. Tales of those naturally controlling ichor are usually ones that end with disappearances, short lives, and worse fates. These are stories that not all know, but it is the risk of standing out that would usually keep others on the alert and secretive.  

The innate, versus the acquired (anyone else who can channel ichor/cast magic), have uncharted possibilities and growth available to them. And it is the fact that they’re unbound that makes them terrifying, even profitable. 

However, in the rise of new history awaiting to be made, the remainders of the past have not always slumbered peacefully in its death. The innate still linger in a society that will soon be met with tides of great change in the city of Topaxi. 

A once ancient civilization, perched upon a sky-breaking mountain, is now home to another presence. But the spirit of the ancestors have never left. All are bound to the past and all are as capable to be subjected to meet the phantoms past in present day. 

“I felt that..” A shiver down their spine, a phantom sensation embracing their mortal coil. They turn their cheek, locks of silver dancing in the autumn breeze, eyes wide and intent on discovering the source.

“Whatever that was.” 

The phantasm arts, will it make its undead return? 

NOTES:  This only one school of practice (and theory) used to understand and channel ichor. Not all countries and cultures would have the same developments surrounding ichor. (This is basically me saying this isn’t cemented and more pathways are available and you can write your own interpretation.) 

Topaxi residents will not be aware of this extensive history. This should be considered something entirely scholarly and academic that is branched from others. Those from smaller countries (as described before) would have familiarity with the customs, but not the complete story. 

Yon mentioned this before, but magic is STILL not at all common with people. It is completely rare and the same can be said for ye ol’ days. It was just more accessible to the lower classes and was vastly present in conversation (but not practiced). 

[pamphletstoinspire]

The Devil Wants a Civil War

“A house divided against itself cannot stand,” asserted Abraham Lincoln during his acceptance speech for the Illinois Republican nomination to the U.S. Senate in 1858. Three years later Lincoln would be sworn in as President of the United States and would be leading his country through the American Civil War. Of course, Lincoln did not come up with those famous words from his House Divided Speech on his own. He borrowed them from Christ, who explained in Matthew 12:25, “Every kingdom divided against itself will be laid waste, and no town or house divided against itself will stand.” This wisdom from Our Lord is crucial in understanding that division s one of the main battle strategies of the devil. Satan always seeks to divide us.

Christ, on the other hand, wants to unite us. In His High Priestly Prayer in John 17, Our Lord prayed “not only for [the Twelve], but also for those who believe in me through their word, so that they may all be one, as you Father are in me and I in you, that they also may be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me. And I have given them the glory you sent me, so that they may be one as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may be brought to perfection as one, that the world may know that you sent me, and that you loved them even as you loved me.”

The devil wants civil war. He seeks to divide because he wants to destroy. Christ seeks to unite because he wants to glorify and perfect. Destruction or glory—this is the choice the Church, the nation, and the world face. On the surface it would appear to be a simple choice, a no-brainer. But consistently throughout history humanity has chosen the devil’s path to division and destruction rather than the way of unity and glory through Christ. And the same continues to happen today.

To defend ourselves against the wickedness and snares of the devil, it is helpful to understand his tactics. The devil “is a liar, and the father of lies.” He will tell us whatever he needs to in order to wreak havoc in our lives and send us on a path to destruction. In his excellent book Spiritual Warfare and the Discernment of Spirits, author Dan Burke explains, “The bad spirits cause desolation and lead us to the world, the flesh, the devil, selfishness, and ultimately hell. These spirits only seek to do us harm.” The devil will use our selfish and wicked desires, our addictions, our fears, our vanity, and our pride to destroy us. Unlike the devil and his bad spirits, the Lord’s good spirits “cause consolation and seek to lead us to God, to the Good, to selflessness, to union with God, and ultimately to heaven. These spirits are dispatched by God and only seek our good.”

The devil has successfully used these tactics for millennia. He played both sides during what is commonly known as the Protestant Reformation. He turned leaders of the Catholic Church toward their own carnal desires and away from God, causing corruption and wickedness. Then he fed on the pride and vainglory of the “reformers,” and the princes and kings who supported them, convincing them to abandon the Church to form thousands of their own independent congregations, instead of working on real reform from the inside. This division of the Church led to bloody wars between Protestants and Catholics that lasted all the way into my lifetime.

The devil has done this again and again, dividing the Church, dividing nations, and dividing the world so that we will destroy each other. It is easy to spot the devil at work in the world because of the fruit he brings forth. As Our Lord tells us, “You will know them by their fruits… every good tree bears good fruits, but the bad tree bears bad fruit.” The devil brings forth the bad fruits of division and destruction. And he is doing it again right now.

The devil’s destructive forces have taken many forms over the millennia, but one of his most successful and deadly in modern times is Marxism. Marxists seek to tear down and destroy. Marxists hate the world and its Creator. They believe that they are morally superior to God Himself and can do a much better job at building a just society. But before they can do that they must destroy the old society. That means they must destroy what Mao and his Red Guards called the Four Olds: Old Customs, Old Culture, Old Habits, and Old Ideas. Thus, things like the Church and the Constitution must be obliterated.

Like their father, the devil, the Marxists destroy by sowing division. They divide based on class, age, gender, race, and sexual desires. They turn people against each other using the deadly sins of greed, envy, wrath, and pride. Then they burn everything to the ground. The entire system must be destroyed completely and utterly. The Old Customs, Old Culture, Old Habits, and Old Ideas are blamed for all the evils of mankind and therefore anyone who still holds to them is evil as well. These evil people who adhere to the Four Olds find their property stolen or destroyed, their reputations sullied, their families persecuted, and themselves either executed or sent off to the gulag or work camps where they are tortured for years, sometimes until the day they die.

Many of the well-meaning followers of Marxist ideologies (including a large number of Christians) believe that after the old, evil system is destroyed that a new and just system will be erected in its place—the perfect Communist society. But this never happens, because the devil cannot build; he can only destroy. There is not a single example of a successful Marxist revolution being followed by the establishment of the Communist ideals. Without exception, every Marxist revolution has been followed by terror, oppression, and mass death due to famine or execution or both. In the 20th century alone, Marxists killed approximately 100 million people. And the devil danced.

The devil is using the Marxists again, this time to destroy the Church and America. Through the propaganda of his servants, he is dividing us in any and every way he can. Like their father the devil, the modern Marxists lie to achieve destruction. They have even convinced some of the faithful that sins aren’t sinful, that it doesn’t matter what you believe as long as you are sincere, that God cares only that we are happy, that objective truth does not exist, and that we can define our own truth. All too often they are even able to convince people that God does not exist at all, and in the words of famed atheist Bertrand Russell, “the Christian religion, as organized in its churches, has been and still is the principal enemy of moral progress in the world.”

The Marxists have also convinced large numbers of Americans of destructive lies. These include the absurd lie that police hunt black men for sport, that all white people are racist, and that the entire American system is racist and is rigged against black people. Through their lies the Marxists have convinced a depressingly large number of young black people that no matter how hard they work, they will have little chance to succeed due to white privilege and systemic racism. The Marxists tell us that we are better off without police, that we are better off without a strong family structure, and that we are better off without God. Then they riot and burn cities, all while continuing to lie by asserting that it isn’t happening and that everything is peaceful. If we continue along this path of division, the endgame is obvious—the devil wants civil war, and he is going to get it.

Is civil war unavoidable at this point? The Transition Integrity Project (“TIP”)—an organization made up of self-important people who really do not like President Trump—recently claimed to have “war-gamed” the likely fallout from the upcoming election. According to TIP, the only way to avoid a civil war, or at least massive civil unrest, is if former Vice President Joe Biden wins in a landslide. The Biden campaign is echoing that sentiment, with Biden himself asking, “Does anyone believe there will be less violence in America if Donald Trump is re-elected?”

But Joe Biden is not going to be the savior of America. Neither he nor Donald Trump can stop the devil’s plans for a civil war, because the true causes are not physical, but spiritual. Thus, only God can save us. Just as God told the Israelites, “If my people, upon whom my name has been pronounced, humble themselves and pray, and seek my presence and turn from their evil ways, I will hear them from heaven and pardon their sins and revive their land.” The way we can avoid the coming destruction is by turning to Christ. The devil divides, but Christ unites! The devil destroys, but Christ glorifies!

We are never completely abandoned by the Lord no matter how bad things get. He is always willing to demonstrate His inexhaustible love and mercy if we appeal to Him. This is a time to pray and fast, to mourn in sackcloth and ashes. We should organize novenas within our parishes to pray that the Lord God forgive the great sins of this nation, that He not remove His protective hand from us, and that He lead us all back to Him. We should be praying the Holy Rosary every day, with this or a similar intention. And we must demonstrate to our neighbors that Christ unites, by showing them love and respect and by being the light of the world that Our Lord wants us to be.

We can defeat the devil and his servants who are trying to destroy us if it be God’s will. If we turn to Him, He will work through His Church—through us—to defeat this great evil that threatens all of mankind. Just remember how the Lord worked through the Blessed Virgin to reveal to three shepherd children in Fatima instructions that would save the world from war and end the scourge of Communism in Russia. Following Our Lady’s instructions, Pope Saint John Paul II consecrated Russia to the Immaculate Heart of Mary in 1984. The Berlin Wall came down just five years later, followed by the collapse of the Soviet Union in the ensuing years. Even secularists who do not believe in the Fatima miracles admit the importance of the Church and the pope in bringing down European Communism.

The devil wins when we are divided. He loses when we unite ourselves in Christ. The time to do so is now before the devil gets his civil war.

BY: R. C. VANLANDINGHAM

[starlight-matrix]

Nabari no Ou 15th Anniversary!

@nabaridays wrote up some prompts to celebrate the 15th anniversary of NnO and as it’s my favorite manga series of all time, I had to join the fun!

Unfortunately, I wasn’t aware of the prompts’ existence until we were about four or five days in, so instead of starting in the middle of the prompt list, I wrote all mine up in a Google Doc and decided to do a big masterpost in the day of the anniversary. And here it is! Beware for a lot of reading, this shit’s at 4.1k words.

- Catherine Lynne / catielynnelove.tumblr.com Fan of NnO since 2012 -

DAY 01 (Jun. 3rd) - Favorites

My favorite character has always been Miharu, though I do struggle to choose between him and Yoite. I have always been fascinated by his apathetic nature, the way he uses is as a shield while loving the people in his life so incredibly fiercely. He appears neutral and uncaring, but the moment you look beneath the surface, you recognize that he would give his life for those he loves in a heartbeat - and has shown this on multiple occasions.

I also love his development over the series. His apathetic facade slowly falls out of use after he meets Yoite, and he learns that feeling your emotions is important, that letting the people you love know when you’re happy or sad or pissed the fuck off is important.

In the first few chapters we as readers honestly can’t tell a whole heck of a lot from what we’re shown of Miharu. He’s plain, uninteresting, even to us (unless you’re the kind of person who automatically reads between the lines, but let’s face it, not a lot of people are). But by the end of the series, he’s such a vibrant and expressive character that I marvel at Kamatani’s ability to drastically a character’s personality in a way that feels so gradual and natural.

Another reason Miharu is my favorite character is because I tend to see parts of myself in him, as many people do with the characters they like most. I can understand and relate to his apathy in the beginning of the story. His memory of his parents deaths is so deeply traumatic and that the very fibre of his being (objectively, Shinra) locked the memory, and most of his childhood, away for years to come. Because at that time in his life, the pain of it all would’ve broken him.

(E/N: I now remember that Asahi actually erased Miharu’s memories of that event, but I think a good chunk of this will still make sense, and I’m lazy, so I’m not gonna edit it out. Enjoy.)

Emotions, especially ones he didn’t understand - or couldn’t understand, like his feelings toward his childhood that didn’t quite make sense because of his augmented memories - were simply so overwhelming that Miharu pretty much just went “lol don’t wanna deal with those so yEET now they’re gone” and locked them up in a box to be dealt with at a much, much later date. That speaks to me, as a person who has struggled with depression, and the fact that he finds a way to recover from this is very reassuring.

Overall, Miharu is a very complex and realistic character that undergoes more vivid character development than I’ve seen in almost any western media. I love him very much.

DAY 02 (Jun. 4th) - What got you into Nabari no Ou?

This is actually quite a funny story, so buckle up for a wild ride y’all!

When I was 12 years old (God, this sounds like the setup for an angsty villain backstory), my family had a housemate who liked anime. One day I came to beg for him to let me use his video game console to play Little Big Planet and he happened to be watching the second half of the anime - I distinctly remember the second Alya Academy episode being the first one I ever saw. It was my first anime experience outside of a Studio Ghibli film, and to this day remains close to my heart, even though the anime adaptation itself really… just… well, it sucked.

After I finished watching it with him, I went and found the first half of the series on Netflix (back when Netflix did the whole send-a-DVD-to-your-house thing) and watched the whole thing from episode one. And then very quickly became obsessed. I probably watched the anime four times in two months. I had every single one of the English VAs names memorized. I was dedicated.

Eventually I looked up the manga online, and HOO BOI, this is the point where my Nabari no Ou origin story becomes ridiculously hilarious (and stupid).

When I read the manga, I was disturbed by the idea of Kouichi being a villain-type character, as he had been one of my favorites when I watched the anime. And, at the time I was first reading the manga, the apparent “ending” from my perspective was the scene where Kouichi takes the newly-made hijutsu scroll from a bleeding, dying Thobari.

Looking back, I figure the website I was reading it on just didn’t have all the chapters, or perhaps I had happened to start reading while the manga was on hiatus, but at that age I didn’t know of or understand either of those concepts and accepted that sad scene as the end of the manga.

And as such, I wrote the manga off as terrible and ignored it for years.

Flash forward to about 2014, two or three years after writing the manga off as a Fat Mistake, I finally decided to give it another shot. And BY GOD did I cry reading it a second time. Whether it was the two years of maturity, my experiences during those two years, or simply the fact that I read the whole thing that time - I was sobbing in my desk chair over NnO.

It was the most beautiful story I’d ever read. Even now, after five more years of reading beautiful manga, Nabari no Ou remains my absolute favorite, and likely always will.

DAY 03 - What are your favorite scenes?

I’ve always had a soft spot for the Alya Academy arc, even back when all I’d shunned the manga and all I had to go off of was the inaccurate anime adaptation, simply because of how well the character relationships are shown during those sequences (this is one thing the anime did really well in my opinion, actually - Shijima’s verbal reflection on how humans connect to each other and how important those connections are is stunning). Not to mention the displays of how the characters care for one another regardless of what side of the war they’re technically on.

I’ve always loved Subaru as a character, too. I find her motivations to be very realistic and really quite understandable, and I love the little easter eggs in later chapters that imply the Kouga ninja are helping Miharu’s side of the fight even though they’re not visibly involved. The scores from the Alya Academy arc are especially chilling and memorable as well.

Another of my favorites are the chapters following Miharu and Yoite’s escape from the Kairoshuu and their travels afterward. They feel mundane and peaceful, yet blanketed with this layer of grief, like we’re all aware that at any moment their calm could be destroyed and lost forever.  

The scenes about Yoite’s gender were very special to me as a teen still learning about the LGBT spectrum and how different people could be, and the scene of Yoite bandaging Miharu’s aching feet? My heart literally swells every single time I think about it! It was so sweet and loving, my fragile fangirl heart does flips when I read over it.

DAY 04 (Jun. 6th) - Photos & Fashion

I like to think that Miharu keeps every photograph he’s taken and has them stored safely away in a box or chest or drawer. In my experience, people who have lost loved ones tend to treasure photographs, more than someone who hasn’t experienced loss might. A lot of times a photo is all someone has of someone they loved outside of a memory, and contrary to popular belief, if you don’t look at someone - physically or in a photo - for a long time, you do forget how they look.

Miharu has lost many people: his parents, Yoite, Kouichi and Shijima, even Shinra, in a way - so I imagine this observation would be doubly true of him. Especially if he has Yukimi as an example to go by - pretty sure that guy has kept every photograph he’s ever taken in his life!

(As far as fashion goes, I honestly think everyone’s fashion in NnO is horrendous, so...)

DAY 05 (Jun. 7th) - Favorite character design in the series?

Gosh, it’s hard to choose, I love so many of them! Gau is fascinating to me because I figure his hair must be difficult to draw, with all those little curls and cowlicks. Shijima’s too, with the way it frames her face and leaves just a tiny little opening for her eyes to peer out at you through.

But, as with most of these character-specific prompts, my answer will have to be Miharu. The idea that Asahi reshaped his face to look more like her own when she used Shinra to save him is very interesting, and the fact that Kamatani manages to draw Miharu in a way that both clearly shows their resemblance to one another and establishes Miharu as his own character with his own unique features and gestures and ways of carrying himself is incredible.

Miharu’s stance are also very telling to me as a reader: he often stands loosely, almost lazily, as if he really couldn’t care less about where he is and what they’re doing, which rings true for a good chunk of the story. It matches well with his (mostly) fake apathy and kind of makes him seem bland and boring as a character. But as the story progresses, he becomes more open, shows affection more easily. He’s quicker to stand up for his beliefs and the people he loves. All of this shows in the way he carries himself throughout later chapters.

DAY 06 (Jun. 8th) - Favorite location in the series?

The Shimizu estate, without a doubt.

The secluded area, the forest in every direction, the house itself - it’s all so beautiful to me. Ot gives me the feeling of rural Japan and more traditional Japanese living. Even after the house has burned away and all that’s left is a field full of Spider Lilies, there’s a kind of sober beauty lying over the place, made even more intense when Shirogamon stands watch over it.

DAY 07 (Jun. 9th) - Positive Influences

The thing that I preach about the most when I talk about NnO to others is the fact that the series has no absolutes. There is no true right or wrong, no clear villains nothing that actually puts our heroes above anyone else. Which, in a way, means that are really are no heroes in the story at all, which is a very rare and interesting way to tell a story.

The entire series deal with a greyscale in morality. There’s no bad vs. good or moral vs. immoral, just your own goals and people whose goals don’t match yours. Opinions and ambitions differ vastly even between people on the same side of the fight - Thobari and Raimei want to seal the Shinrabanshou, Kouichi wants to use it to defeat his immortality, Miharu even changes side on a few occasions - yet they all work together together to achieve their own very different ends.

Even those who can be coded as villain on the surface have something motivating them to do what they do, and more often than not, those motivations are understandable to the reader and actually have you sympathizing with the character. Hattori wanted to rid the world of the need for war. Subaru wanted to save the person she loved most in the world. Yamase wanted to win his family back (I think? It’s been a while).

Even Katarou and Kannuki, two characters who have practically nothing to redeem them, at least have motivations that are pretty damn realistic. Kannuki wanted to capitalize on Kouga’s Forbidden Art and use it to grow Alya Academy’s profit and power through the surface world. A Lot of people are like this in real life, and while you may not sympathize with him over it, it is a motivation that is true of our own world as well as the one in this story.

An Katarou, as far as I understand, is obsessed with Shinra herself, rather than the hijutsu and the power it holds. He manipulated hundreds of people and hundreds of situations to suit his own needs, then literally got himself killed - just to see her one last time. And… yeah, I don’t think anyone really sympathized with him, but hey, I can see what pushed him to do what he did.

To me, Katarou is symbolic of someone with an addiction - their mind is so clouded by a need for some specific thing that all other human aspects of that person just fall away, and they’ll do whatever it takes to get what they want.

I also appreciate how the characters handle their differences throughout the story. Their honesty with each other, the way they support each other even when they’re all heading in opposite direction. The Alya Academy arc (I really love this arc okay) especially shows this, in how the ninja from Banten and Kairoshuu - two very opposing factions - fight together against the Kouga without hesitation, despite the fact that in most other situations, they’d be fighting each other.

It’s a wonderful thing to promote: that even though people might have different opinions or goals, it doesn’t mean they have to hate each other.

DAY 08 (Jun. 10th) - Favorite Extra?

I am IN LOVE with the little between-chapter 4koma pieces, especially the ones from the Alya Academy arc (God, I’ve talked so much about this arc). Subaru fantasizing about Miharu being her little brother and making her birthday cake? Adorable. Miharu and Yoite getting stuck behind a bookshelf and terrifying an opponent by asking for help out? Hilarious.

I love that Kamatani put those in, both as a peek into happier aspects of the world he created, and as a way to add a bit of sun in between the much darker, much sadder chapters.

DAY 09 (Jun. 11th) - Headcanons

I’m not much of a headcanon person, to be honest, and especially not with this series. It feels off to me, to try and add to something that’s already so perfect. However, I do agree with a couple of headcanons I’ve seen - particularly the ones theorizing that Yukimi is aro-ace. It makes a lot of sense to me in how his character is portrayed when nearly every other character in the series has a romantic match, and as an ace person myself, more representation is always welcome.

DAY 10 (Jun. 12th) - Alternate Universe

I once started (and quickly abandoned out of shame) a very cringey, very out-of-character fanfic, in which the Nabari world didn’t exist and all the characters meet through natural means in the surface world. Other than that, however, I’ve not put much thought into Nabari no Ou AUs.

But something I would LOVE to see is a crossover between NnO and Shimanami Tasogare, as the two stores canonically take place in the same location - NnO being in Banten, a fictional town  based on the real town of Onomichi, and Shimanami Tasogare being confirmed to take place in plain old Onomichi itself. It’s been a while since I’ve read Shimanami Tasogare, but I remember the leader/owner of the little house the cast gathers in as giving me a distinctly Nabari-world vibe, and I think it would be interesting to see the NnO characters react to a community like the one presented in Shimanami Tasogare.

(And also perhaps have some romantic relationships and sexualities proven canon. Perhaps.)

DAY 11 (Jun. 13th) - Favorite song from the OST?

It’s a firm tie between the opening theme and the second ending theme. I have every song in the OST memorized after years of hearing them day in and day out, but those two themes always give me this tingling nostalgic feeling, like rereading a book from your childhood or finding a toy as an adult that you’d thought was lost forever. The animation and symbolism in those themes are also very telling of the series and the character’s connections to each other (a bit obviously, at times), and the lyrics are special to me in a way I can’t describe. They’re precious to me, and  to me experience of NnO as a whole, considering I started with the anime first (a bad idea).

DAY 12 (Jun. 14th) - Are there any songs that make you think of NnO?

“Neopolitan Dreams” by Lisa Mitchell ( X ) ( X )

I once watched a cute Raimei/Kouichi AMV set to this song listened to the lyrics, I understood how the author had put them together. I very much feel like the lyrics echo Raimei’s thoughts on how Kouichi starts to act in later chapters, becoming more and more distant until he almost appears to be an antagonist rather than one of the perceived heroes. The song also makes me think of Raimei’s stubbornness and pride, her unwillingness to accept option besides her own conclusions until she’s had the full story and nothing less.

I can never get their faces out of my head while listening to this song, which I guess means the song reminds me more of Raimei and Kouichi than NnO in general, but it still counts, right?

DAY 13 (Jun. 15th) - Food

I’ve never really thought too hard on it, but now that I am, it’s actually very interesting to note how different characters use food - the Rokujo Okonomiyaki shop, in particular - to their advantage.

Thobari uses his (implied, before the start of the overall plot) regular visits to try and get Miharu to believe him about the Shinrabanshou and the Nabari world. Thobari uses the close proximity to explain his motives to Miharu, who physically cannot leave the situation, lest the food burn to a damn crisp (and I figure Naoko wouldn’t be pleased if that happened every time Thobari came in). He also very clearly uses this to keep tabs on Miharu when outside of a school setting where Miharu has no choice to be in Thobari’s sight, and later, as a way to either catch up on what’s going on in the Nabari world or - as in several cases - simply demand answers from Miharu.

Raimei uses the shop as a way to get closer to Miharu. She charms her way into getting free food (and sometimes, free lodging as well) and I assume her thinking is probably something on the lines of “Free Food + Spend Time With Miharu = Information on Where Raikou Might Be.” Of course, this likely isn’t her motive in later chapters, because, well, character development.

Food is also an important bonding thing for Yoite and Yukimi. In a lot of the scenes where we see Yoite and Yukimi in their home, they’re eating together, and I always took it as a display of their familial relationship - cooking dinner for Yoite the way a dutiful older sibling would for their younger sibling - thoughI doubt either of them would admit they’re like brothers. The significance of lemonade should also be noted for this topic - I could go on for ages about it.

(But I won’t unless people ask me to, because this piece is long enough already!)

I don’t have much memory of this scene being as big a deal in the manga as it was in the anime - but I also haven’t seen either in a while, so I could be wrong - but the birthday cake scene from the latter half of the anime left an impact on me even back when I’d only seen the anime, and it was the first thing that came to mind when I saw the prompt was “food.” Gau’s pride in the cake he made and his determination to get any kind of praise out of Yoite is very touching, especially when you take into account that Yoite literally saved Gau’s life, and that Gau knows this, as well.

The Kairoshuu - particularly Yukimi, Raikou, Gau, and Kazuho - are all shown bonding on more than one occasion at Kazuho and her husband’s sushi shop, and there is significance to those occasions in the rather heavy conversations they have during those visits. And there’s also the time Miharu cooked okonomiyaki for all the main Kairoshuu member after he’d first joined their clan - similar to how a recently hired employee would bring cookies for their new boss.

Food has a lot of significance in Nabari no Ou, no matter where you look.

DAY 14 (Jun. 16th) - Favorite village, and thoughts on the Forbidden Arts?

As far as morals and motivations go, I would have to choose Banten, as their (or at least Thobari’s) main opinion is that the Shinrabanshou shouldn’t be used because it throws off the balance of the universe. I definitely understand this opinion, because a lot of things can go wrong if the wrong kind of person is making wishes to Shinra and having them granted.

Although, I think that if anyone were to use the ability in a way that leaves the balance of the world intact, it would be Miharu, and this is even shown in the series itself. He doesn’t have the kind of greed or anger that would taint a person’s motivations when making their wishes, he just wants to do what is best for others- especially Yoite. Yoite is important to him, and therefore Yoite’s wish is also important to Miharu. And, as we see in later chapters, Miharu puts granting Yoite’s wish above even his own happiness. I feel I would make a similar decision were I in his shoes.

(For aesthetic, though, I’d choose Fuuma. Their village is hidden and surrounded by forest and in that lovely traditional Japanese style, and their uniforms are great. If Saraba were Chief I’d join.)

DAY 15 (Jun. 17th) - Favorite minor/supporting character

Gau! Definitely Gau! Gosh I love him so much. He’s optimistic and tries his best to look for the best in situations and in people, and his smile is so freaking sunshiney, I bet he lights up rooms with it. He’s awkward and quirky and I can relate so hard. But he’s also strong? He stands up to other ninja even though he really doesn’t have the physical ability to defend himself or others. He puts his life in danger to tell Raimei the truth about her family immediately after swearing silence to Raikou, his boss, who could 100% kill him if he found out Gau had broken his promise. And I bet you Gau would’ve told Raikou about him telling Raimei as soon as he’d gone home, if the bullshit at the Shimizu property hadn’t gone down the way it did.

And speaking of that scene- he throws himself in front of Raikou’s katana to save the life of a girl he hadn’t known for more than a day, who had threatened to kill him, who was seeking to kill the person he treasured most in the world. Who does that?! Gau apparently. He literally gives his life for just the possibility that Raikou and Raimei can make up and be happy siblings again. He gives his life so that the person he loves can maybe reconcile with someone else they loved.

He makes a conscious effort to include Yoite in conversations in which he would otherwise be largely ignored, and while I doubt Yoite would care either way, it’s the thought that counts, right? And, at least in the anime (it’s been a while since I read the manga) he puts his life on the line to help Yoite and Miharu even though, as I said before, he can’t really defend himself all that well.

Basically, I’m in love with Gau and want him to be happy. Sweet baby!

DAY 16 (Jun. 18th) - Free Day

I don’t really have anything else to say but I’m posting all of these today (I was late for the original posting by like four days so I figured I’d write them all out and post them together) so I’ll count this as my day 16 entry! Thank you so much if you’ve read this far, I know it was probably daunting to look at this long as fucking post but I’m glad you took the time to read my personal reflection on NnO! This manga means a lot to me and it’s nice to discover other people who love it as much as I do (I’ve literally met two people in my entire life who’ve read it without me suggesting it).

Keep the love going y’all, I hope to see you again! And feel free to hit me up if you’d like to talk about NnO, I’d love to connect with other fans! Seeya owo

[j-writesandstuff]

equal, hermano

The second Rafael and Max were through the front door of the loft Max ducked, practically running, into their shared room the slam of the door reverberating across the whole apartment. Rafe let out a deep sigh, he knew his little brother would have locked the door by now so he dropped his bag by the door and shuffled towards the kitchen. Defeat was not a feeling Rafe enjoyed, neither was helplessness. Especially when it concerned his little brother.

He was born lucky, he knew it-he'd been raised to know and appreciate that fact. As a shadowhunter birthright is often the first thing you're taught at the institute. But his parents had also taught him the privilege it bought him in their world, the struggles he would never have to face all because he got lucky in the lottery of existence. Many in their world would tell him his brother was born unlucky, pulled the short straw. The same was often said about his Papa. Rafe never really understood it all, all he saw of them was the fact Max healed every injured creature he came across since the age of three, and the fact his Papa conjured waffles when he was sad, Max made runes dance on the ceiling in shimmering purple when studying was melting his brain, his Papa helped save the world. He didn't understand the people who hated them. He doubted he ever would. He also would never understand the people making his little brother want to lock himself away in their room. Rafe knew he needed to think of something. To him, Max had always been equal sometimes he even considered the fact Max was superior to him in plenty of ways. He and his family saw Max like that, but he wanted everyone to.

That's when the idea hit him. Rounding the corner into the kitchen, he heard the soft hum of classical music-his Dads favourite- and saw his fathers gently swaying along together as they prepared dinner. Perfectly in-sync with each other. He almost didn't want to interrupt. Almost.

'Uh. Dad, Papa, can I ask you about something?'

They both jumped a little at the presence of their son bursting the little bubble they'd created but composed themselves quickly.

Magnus spoke first.

'Of course sweet pee, always. What's up?' Both Magnus and Alec had lent against the breakfast bar, opposite their eldest son sitting on the bar stool.

'How does the alliance rune work?'

Neither of them was prepared for that question-it was written all over their faces. They shared a glance. With that glance they shared a whole a conversation, Alec placed his hand gently on the back of Magnus' arm just above his elbow-their secret sign of support.

'Well, your Aunt Clary saw it just before the war with Valentine.' Magnus always said his name like that, as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. His whole family did. Rafe hadn't heard it all, but he was sure it did.

Alec continued, they always spoke like this. Flowing perfectly one after the other-together.

'It binds the two who share it, I and your father share it with each other. I can use your Papas abilities, as he can use mine. I could use it to conjure a portal, and he could light up a seraph blade.'

They both got a faraway look in their eyes as Magnus finished.

'I'm almost certain that rune saved at least a thousand lives. Certainly mine and your Dads. But it was also a changing moment in the relationship between Shadowhunters and Downworlders. We fought side by side. It was truly incredible.'

Alec's arm had slid entirely around Magnus' waist as he'd been talking. Rafe's perfect example of the two worlds unity. They'd always taught him unity was strength. Love was power, and alliance was always the answer.

He knew exactly what needed to be done. He smiled broadly, a determined glint in his eye.

'Are they busy tonight?' They know who he meant. 'Can you get them over in the next half hour? Uncle Simon, Aunt Clary, and Papa are especially important. Uhh, don't tell Jace and Izzy I said that. Or Grandma.'

Alec chuckled. 'Sure buddy, your secrets safe with us, I wouldn't wanna inflict that on anybody. We'll give them all a call now. But, uh, why?'

'I'll explain when they get here, just get calling it needs to happen soon-its important.'

And with that he was gone, flying off the bar stool into the office leaving his parents to share a confused look before dialing the phone.

Exactly thirty minutes later his whole family was assembled in the living room, Rafe sat crossed legged on the coffee table in the center. Magnus and Alec, Alec with a leg slung lazily across his husbands lap, next to each other on the sofa. Jace next to Alec, with his Aunt Clary on the arm of the chair one foot in Jace's lap, the other on Simon's shoulder. Who'd been forced to sit on the floor for arriving last. Aunt Izzy and his grandma sat on the armchairs either ends of the coffee table. The only one missing was Max. Everyone noticed. Rafe began.

'Okay, so you've all noticed our little buddy blueberry isn't here. In fact, he hasn't left our room since we got back from training today.'

Concern spread across each of their faces. Magnus took Alec's hand.

'That's because today someone hurt him, pretty badly. And I don't mean just physically, although that too.'

The concern melted into horror, and cold rage in all of them. Even Rafe felt the buds of it rising again in his stomach. It was Simon who spoke. Always his Uncle Simon to hold some composure. He was good like that.

'What exactly, did they do to him, Rafael?' His voice quiet, as if he didn't really want to hear. He imagined they probably didn't. They'd known Max since he was a baby, tiny and defenseless. That image still hadn't really gone away. Even now he was ten, and able to do magic it took Warlocks hundreds of years to master, he was the family baby.

'Well first of all Max beat this kid in a race, totally fair and square. We got told to use any ability we had, and well Max just happens to be able to teleport. Really they should have been more specific. But anyways. This kid was not happy about that, jealous if you ask me. His pride was hurt, badly. He storms over to Max and calls him a cheater. Then punches him.'

The atmosphere in the room said it all. Fury filled every member of his family, he felt bad telling them about it but they needed to know for this to make sense. He ignored the nauseating feeling rising in his throat as he remembered the rest. He continued.

'This kid is big, I'm talking my age, a head taller than Max and five years of ShadowHunter training literally written all over him. He's towering over Max and I can feel it, you feel his magic you know? That shit is strong-'

'Language Rafael. Just because you're fifteen doesn't mean the rules are off the table.' Cut in his Grandmother.

'Right, sorry. I go jogging over ready to fight this kid for squaring up my baby brother when he swings for him. Now we all know, me from experience, you don't swing at Max. In seconds he's across the room right into a wall.'

They share a glance between them all. The kind only a group of concerned adults can understand. Jace nods at Rafe, silently telling him to go on. Jace is never good at speaking when he's angry.

'Obviously, I'm turning to Max to calm him down when someones shoving me aside and catches Max off guard. He was looking at me, not focussing you know? He gets him. Right in the stomach.' Rafe's voice shakes a little as he continues.

'I'm seeing red. Max is barely recovering when I'm up.I-I broke his nose. You guys can punish me for that later, I don't care about a consequence. But now this kid is humiliated and in pain. A bad combination in a jackass.'

'I can't believe the trainers just let this happen.' Interrupts Maryse. Her voice stern, but the edges laced with anger.

'They weren't there, the kid picked the exact time an important Clave message came through so the trainer had to leave or something. But that isn't the actual bad part, not really anyways. He's yelling at me. A lot of swearing and cursing my family name which I was about to punch him again for-when he notices Max healing a little graze on my elbow from where he pushed me earlier. By the angel, Max is so soft. This kid says stuff that has totally destroyed Max okay. It's bad. I dunno if Papa is even gonna wanna hear it. That kinda stuff.'

Alec squeezes his hand Clary subconsciously looks down at Simon. So does his Aunt Izzy. They aren't stupid, they know the kind of stuff he means. Blue sparks are rising from his Papas other hand, a small burn mark forming in the arm of the chair. His Dads other hand is tapping hard against his thigh. He can see the anger in his Uncle's shoulders, both of them rigid all over. His Aunt Clarys eyebrows were knotted so tightly together it must have been hurting. His Aunt Izzy had an expression that could have killed, he imagined she was wishing it could.

'Its okay sweet pea. I've lived enough years to hear this.' Despite the usually soothing nickname, his Papas tone was ice cold.

Rafes own voice shook, a lump had risen in his throat. He was going to cry.

'He said 'I don't even know why this dirty warlock is even allowed in. He's half demon. Look at what he just did to me, he's dangerous. I guess you really can't tame half breed.' At this point, I'm screaming at him. Ready to rip into him, because Max apologises to plants he steps on and heals injured birds and sleeps in Batman pajamas.' At this point the tears are streaming down Rafes face, his hands shaking.

'He's not dangerous. He's so little he was just scared. Then he turns to me and says the worst part. 'I don't get why you're defending him. You're worse than that dad of yours. A few years ago you'd be hanging his horns on your mantlepiece as a prize. Why is he even part of your twisted little family? He can't even use a seraph blade. You've been tainted by the dirty demons in your house and your faggot of a dad. He then threw a blade at Max and taunted him because he cant use it and told him we'd never be really equal, no matter how brainwashed I was.' Rafe has said it all so fast he was out of breath, the front of his shirt wet with tears.

'Max broke one of his arms and both parts of his left leg. Blew up a light bulb then ran out the room. It took me twenty minutes to catch up with him. He was practically glowing purple he wouldn't let me touch him.'

Everyone in the room was stunned into silence. They'd all surpassed anger into full-blown rage.

'That's why I needed you all to come over. I'm gonna show him we've been equal since his tiny toddler hands made me a flower out of thin air. Aunt Clary, you can still draw that alliance rune right?'

Clary took a moment to compose herself, wiping a tear and sitting up a little straighter and pulling her mouth into a smile.

'Yeah Rafe, I can.'

'Perfect. I'll go get him.'

Outside their bedroom door, Rafe could feel the ice cold sadness of Max's magic. He loved his brother more than anyone, feeling his sadness broke his heart.

'Blueberry,hermano. I've got something to give you. Everyone's here, well because they all care Maxy. You've just gotta come into the living room.' He whispered through the gap under the door.

After a moment the door opened, revealing a tear stain Max. His blue cheeks burning a bright red, Rafe only ever saw them do that when he laughed too hard. He swore they never be red from tears as long as he lived. His blue eyes puffy, curly hair scruffy and disheveled from having a pillow over his head. He hadn't even gotten changed out of his clothes, one trouser leg bunched up around his knee.

'Okay.' Was all he said, barely a whisper. He trailed behind Rafe into the living room.

Concerned eyes follow them both as Rafe goes back to the coffee table. He moves over and gestures for Max to sit next to him. He refuses. Max won't meet any of there eyes. Not even Simons. Max always favoured Simon a little, he could see the heartbreak on his uncles face.

Suddenly Rafe was angry. Angry someone had made his brother feel he didn't deserve to be with his own family Anger Max had believed him.

'Maxy, sit next to me.' He patted the spot next to him again and smiled up at him. 'Come on buddy.'

Max sat on the edge of the table looking down at his Star Wars socks. A gift from Simon the birthday after they'd watched them all together. Max looked like he was about to start burning them off. His parents were holding each others hands so tight their knuckles were white. His Papa looked close to tears but he was wearing his unglamoured eyes- a statement.

'Okay, Aunt Clary lets go.' Rafe stated a cold determination in his tone.

She drew the rune on a piece of paper, it flowing perfectly from her hand.

Rafe took the piece of paper and began copying the rune onto the palm of his hand.

'Turn and face me.' Max did, still not looking up keeping a distance between their knees. Rafe moved forward so they were touching and placed his palm over Max's heart.

'Now you listen to me, Maxwell. You're sat in the middle of a group of people who found a baby, who was bright blue and didn't even consider you being anywhere but with them. They gave you the name Max as a gift. You have a better heart and soul then many a shadowhunter, you can do way more than any of us ever could. So quit crying. And give me your hand.' Rafe smiled as his brother finally met his gaze and placed his hand palm up in his hand.

Rafe traced the rune.

A surge of magic flooded through his system and he almost fell off the table. But something had caught him. His own palm was holding him up, three inches off the ground.

'Now that. Is awesome' Rafe laughed, sat up and looked at his brother.

He handed him a witchlight.

Max hesitated for a moment, he closed his hand around the stone. He'd try this a few times before, the stone always remained cold and blank in his hand. When he opened his palm the stone was alight with a bright light, tinted slightly purple. His face lit up almost as bright as the stone in his hand, and suddenly the tension in the room snapped and everyone jumped and cheered.

'Equal, hermano.' Whispered Rafe, so only his brother could hear.

'Equal, brother.' Max beamed back, the light behind his eyes was enough thanks for Rafe.

The next day when the boys were training together, testing their new found skills Max noticed him coming. Rafe felt the spike in magic as he entered the training room-coming straight for Max.

'Haven't learned your lesson yet warlock?' He sneered.

'Let me make it clear. You can't use our weapons or our runes. So why are you even here?' He dangled a seraph blade in front of Max's face and laughed.

Max took it from him, smiled and lit it up.

Rafe had never been prouder, and when they walked home Max was practically dancing down the street in joy.

That night all the family were over for dinner, Max smiled the entire time.

[halilbabilli]

A Thousand Year Old Hometown

It is believed that weasels bear the souls of children who die before being christened.

Encyclopaedia of Secrets and Superstitions.  

Cora Linn Daniels & C.M. Stevans (2003)

In Greek culture, “A weasel seen about the house, just as on the road, is significant of evil.”

Modern Greek Folklore and Ancient Greek Religion: A Study in Survivals, John Cuthbert Lawson (2012)

Chapter 1: Roots – 15th Century

Theophanes Kantakouzenos, or Theo as he was called by kith and kin, came into the world in Constantinople on the 1430th anniversary of the death of Our Lord. Thanks to his father, Andronikos, who was in charge of the Greek Emperor’s library, Theo was taught by the most erudite teachers of the Empire and learnt Latin and Classical Greek at an early age.

As soon as he had completed his education, he began to work with his father. The state of the library, which, in its day, had had row upon row of thousands of manuscripts, was a veritable reflection of the depths to which the empire had sunk. Most of those beautiful manuscripts had been sold either to Arabian merchants to pay off the state’s ever-increasing debts or had been plundered by officials struggling to make ends meet. But still, Constantinople, entirely surrounded by the Turks, reminded him of an oasis in the desert: the last remaining stronghold of a civilisation fighting to exist amidst the savage sands.

Alas, as history has shown time and again, every civilisation is born, grows and perishes. And it was evident that the time had now come for the Roman civilisation, moulded and leavened with wolf’s milk by two boys, also to be destroyed.

When the Turks besieged Constantinople, Theo, like every citizen, had helped to the best of his ability the soldiers defending the city.

He laboured heart and soul with his fellow townsmen caring not what he did or how difficult the task. His hands, which had never before held anything but a quill, became calloused from carrying rubble, and his palms bled.

The noise from the besieging cannons was indescribably loud. One of them, in particular, was far more deafening than the others and had a very distinct, earsplitting sound. "Shahi" was the name of that monstrous weapon and, when fired, its blast started with an eardrum-rupturing boom, shifted into a chest-vibrating thunder, and, before disappearing entirely, transformed into a deep rumble, giving everybody in Constantinople a throbbing headache. When Shahi's stone projectiles hit the ancient walls of the city, milk in the buckets spilt, pregnant women miscarried, cats fell from the roofs, roosters went mute, birds dropped dead, porcupines shed their spines, and bells in the church towers cracked.

At the end of three months baptised with blood and sweat, the thick, sturdy city walls could no longer withstand the force of the Turkish cannons. Faced with the terrible sight of the Turks beginning to pour through the crumbling walls, Theo too, like many other people, took refuge in the church of Hagia Sophia. It was widely believed that all Istanbul could fit beneath the dome of Hagia Sophia, a wonder of the world. That day it was seen that this had been a very optimistic estimate. In the packed church, priests and women with children were clinging to each other, wailing and looking to each other for help. Those men who were still armed and able were waiting tensely for the last battle of defence to be fought in the church.

That day, the interior of Hagia Sophia was bursting at the seams. Those waiting for the Turks to be extirpated from the pearl of Christianity by a final miracle from Jesus, others gazing incredulously around and those who couldn’t contain their anger were each like a grain of sand in this massive crowd.

Priests were making whoever came their way kneel and pray to the Virgin Mary for salvation. Theo did as everybody else was doing and was on his knees, but he was saying his own prayer and not really listening to what the priest said.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Rather than letting me fall prisoner to those heathen Turks, gather me to the bosom of Jesus or have mercy and take my soul from here. We seek refuge in you from persecution.”

Towards the evening there was a commotion outside the church. The bells began to ring crazily.  They could hear the Turks, shouting in their crude language, on the other side of the bronze doors, and everybody rushed to carry whatever he or she could to fortify the gates. The priests closed the doors, and heavy bolts were slid across. Despite the priests whose praying voices now resembled a sound close to a death shriek, Theo could still hear the battering rams pummelling the door and the hue and cry in Turkish. It must have been from trepidation that his head began to spin. Theo could stand no longer and sat down. So this was it. It was his fate to see the end of the great Roman Empire which for centuries had spread its branches like an enormous sycamore. Rather than fall prisoner, he thought to himself, I’ll fall on the swords of these heathens.  

His dizziness increased. The sounds around him now seemed to come from far away. The colours he saw merged, black had become white and white, black. Suddenly the world around him began to grow rapidly. The church and people grew enormous in front of his eyes. The Bible he was holding became huge and could be carried no longer. After that, he heard the sound of the church door splintering. The last thing he remembered was the four horsemen entering the church and the nuns being dragged along the ground.

                              ***

It must have been from the shock of his physical change that he had only a nebulous recollection of the few weeks following the raid on the church. In the meantime, Theo vaguely remembered seeing several nightmares. In these bad dreams, he seemed to be running away from huge animals and giant people. Sometimes dying of thirst, he was trying to save his life from fires and soldiers out for blood.

When he began to regain consciousness, and his soul got used to his new body, the truth started gradually to sink in. The Virgin Mary or some other kind saint had accepted the prayer Theo had said in the church and had granted his life by breathing his soul into a weasel.  

He spent his first year as a weasel solely in prayer. Theo constantly begged God to wake him up from the nightmare, and he confessed to Him wailing that if the bad dream dragged on, he was afraid he would kill himself despite knowing it was an unforgivable sin. He wasted the following year weeping for the fallen empire and asking God for the Turks to be driven out of Constantinople forthwith. And most of the third year was spent cursing his fate.

How long did a weasel live? Five years, if it didn’t fall prey to a dog or cat? Perhaps ten years? Well, so he hadn’t much time left anyway, death was nigh. However, even if the form changes, the soul still continues to pursue thrills. Even if the new body was that of a weasel, at heart he was still Theo, the son of Andronikos, who had an unslakable thirst for learning. He decided to satisfy his appetite for knowledge in what remained of his life. He set to work by learning the language of the new owners of the city where he had been born and raised.

Yes, this was his city, called different names by different tribes — Lygos, Byzantium, Miklagard, Tsargard, Kustantiniyyah, Kostandina, Kushtandina Rabati, Bolis, Carigard and now, Istanbul.  Regardless of whatever the other tribes called the city straddling two continents, the place where his ancestors were born, lived, and died was the thousand-year hometown to Theo.

Sure, Turks were warlike; they worshipped their horses and were technically advanced and enthusiastic about making pyramids from the heads of their fallen enemies. As he got to know them, he realised that they were in fact not savage barbarians. To the contrary, he saw how much their customs resembled his own. In one of the tunnels which riddled Constantinople under the ground, and which perhaps had seen no one for centuries, he made a home for himself.

After ten years, fifteen and then twenty years passed. The way things were going he didn’t seem likely to die. He began to think that he would live as long as a human and the Virgin Mary had granted him his life.

One cold winter’s day, because of his absentmindedness, he was caught by the cat of a bakery he visited from time to time and from which he stole bread. The cat got its teeth into Theo’s little body, and after savagely shaking the weasel - which had already snapped at the first bite - a few times, it left it on the ground in disgust. Theo lay buried in snow, with all his bones smashed to smithereens. He had no feeling from the waist down. So, Theo thought, this is it. He closed his eyes and began to wait for the sweet death that would come and embrace him with the cold. The next day when the weasel awoke, all his broken bones had set, and his body had healed completely. Far from any part of his body being frozen, Theo didn’t feel even the slightest malaise from the cold. The flabbergasted weasel put it all down to some divine attribute or a curse on him.

At the end of his endeavours which lasted years, he was able to write using his tiny hands. Following the lessons in a primary school from its attic, he mastered the Turkish alphabet.

The first fifty years he went to the church and the following fifty years to the synagogue and the next fifty years to the mosque. At one stage, he also listened to the German Lutheran priests who came to Constantinople. Finally, he decided to go to wherever free food was being distributed that day.

He saw powerful earthquakes, plague epidemics and great fires. Most of these he managed skilfully to wriggle out of. And the ones he was caught up in did not harm Theo at all.  In one of the fires of Great Kostantiniyye (this was now the name of the city where he had been born and raised), he could not escape when he was caught in the flames of the house he had entered to steal a bologna sausage, and Theo too was burnt. The following day he awoke amidst the ashes as though nothing had happened. He took the sausages that, now cooked, were even tastier and returned to his home in the underground tunnels.

His dealings with other people were naturally limited. After a few attempts, he concluded that this was, in fact, to his own benefit. People were not very tolerant of a talking weasel trying to approach them. Their first reactions were to be afraid, and they reflected their fears on the weasel in the most violent way. He decided not to socialise unless really necessary and if pressed, to continue his communication from behind a veil of mystery.

Nevertheless, Theo was no ordinary weasel nor was he a complete recluse. He had discovered the ways to benefit from the fruits of civilisation. For this, he needed first to find either a family or a person in distress.

Nothing could really be done in secret, hidden from Theo who could listen to and view everyone’s private lives from the attics and from inside the walls. This was why he had no problem in ascertaining the houses beset by troubles. When Theo found such a household, he would immediately write a polite letter saying that he had learned of the owner’s distress from a mutual friend whose name he could not disclose. Theo told them that he was extremely saddened by the situation and if they wished, in return for a reasonable price, he could help the troubled person.

If the person, distraught with his tribulations, should write his answer in a letter and hang it on the branch of Theo’s designated tree or throw it into a bottomless well, the weasel which he had spent much time in training would fetch the letter and bring it to him personally. To attempt to catch the weasel was a fruitless effort. Inasmuch as it was impossibly difficult to capture this extremely nimble creature and, because it was specially trained, the weasel would drink and eat only from its owner’s hand.

If the poor wretch’s answer was yes, by hook or by crook Theo would find a remedy for their troubles, either by entering houses, listening to people, doing a little pilfering, or chasing the ghosts.

The fees he asked for were various. Daily newspapers hung on the branch of a tree every day for a year, a book, a few rings of bologna sausage and all sorts of other things. His customers would, of course, be at first surprised at these demands, but because the whole thing had developed mysteriously anyway, and because these needy peoples’ problems were solved at once, they agreed to pay his fees without delving into them too much.

Almost five hundred years passed.

During this time Theo had written and published fifty-five books, thirty of which were in Turkish and twenty-five in Greek. Recently, his articles regularly appeared in two Turkish newspapers and in one Greek. He would send his writing by the usual Delphic methods, and as long as the books were sold, the publishers did not complain.

He wrote about everything in his books… Five hundred years, easier said than done, is a long time to be occupied with just one topic. More than twenty books were about tales and legends. Two books were about Greek monsters in particular. He had singled out one book for the subject, what women do when men are not at home, and this was one of his bestsellers. Amongst his others, there were also books penned on magic, spying and sex. As a weasel, he had been able to easily observe people’s bedrooms for a few hundred years.

For centuries Theo had solved the problems of dozens of people, he had witnessed events which mortal eyes seldom see and overheard sounds which mortal ears very rarely hear.

So what is written here is the story of the extraordinary events that happened to this extraordinary weasel, which had survived in Istanbul for five hundred years.

[aspiestvmusings]

THE PROBLEM WITH ENDGAME

SPOILERS, BEWARE 

This is, in my opinion, the problem with the whole plot of Endgame. And I will focus on Planet Earth in my example, even though the same was happening everywhere...on all planets of the universe...as they stated in the film. 

Including time Travel & Multi-verses & all those things in your film make me automatically find “issues” in your film. The choice leads to “problems”: 

 As the film established their one rule about “undoing the snap” - on how the time travel works in MCU & what was Tony’s condition for agreeing to make this happen... they created so many new issues. 

The film’s only rule says that they cannot change the past, and hence cannot change their “future” (nothing that happens until the snap or between the snap and that moment). There is a causality. Cause & Effect. Snap & snap aftermath. You cannot re-write history, but you can write a new future history. They cannot undo the snap, but they can do their own snap. They cannot stop Thanos making his wish, but they can make their own wish that basically undos the purple evil’s wish...from that point on. 

So... the  2018 snap happens & 50% of all living creatures (humans, animals, plants...) are gone... Thanos cuts everything in half. Randomly. 

So...the 2018 second snap (23 days later) happens. Thanos destroys the stones (but wait...what’s this the writers/directors are claiming in some interviews... Gamora is gone-gone, because with destroying the soul stone the mad titan also destroyed the soul world within it...and hence no resurrections for Gamora. This makes me ask: where were the dusted during all this time? Where did they go? How were they able to been brought back...from wherever they were? And where did Tony go in the end? Into the now atom-sized pieces of the soul stone? And since the stones still...exist...even if they’re “dust”, therefore Tony still exists within?...cause strangely enough they filmed a scene with Tony inside the soul world in the soul stone. Tony, not Nat in there. Or instead of Tony visiting Nat in there & telling her they won...it was something else they filmed?!? I think it’s good they cut that, cause it should’ve been Nat shown in there, not Morgan. Tony seeing Nat in there after he snaps... would’ve made more sense IMO)  

Everything that happens between that moment & their heist plan...happens: Pepperony married, Morgan born, Hulk + Bruce joined as one, Clint turning to Ronin, the world in ruins... before slowly trying to move on and rebuild “life”. But as we see not everyone is able to move on. We see that within our group (avengers), but the same applies to population/world as general. We are witnesses to the 5 STAGES OF GRIEF...within the team + within the whole population (via the boy on the bike & the support group members + Nat’s summary of past 5 years events - cause those are the only moments where we see/hear about the impact to the general public...) 

Some people move on and start new relationships, jobs, lives. Some can't get over it and remain stuck in the past. All in the aftermath of the 2018 Thanos snap. Also... 

Since it is basically established in the film that everyone returns to the exact place they disappeared 5 years ago (5 seconds or so for them)... it’s even more awkward. Cause things have changed...landscapes have changed since then. And since the one condition was that everything that happened in the past 5 years...doesn’t change, then that means some people find that new people are living in their home...the house they re-appeared to. Some people find out that their spouse re-married. Some find out that people close to them didn’t cope with the loss and are not there anymore. Younger siblings are now older siblings (kids...with age difference less than 5 years pre-first-snap). Jobs: missing peoples positions are placed with new people. And so on & so on... 

And let’s not even consider the circumstances of the return of the snapped ones. Of those, who were on operating tables, in airplanes (and other vehicles which had their drivers/pilots dusted)...and such situations. Unless the unsnap wish was for everyone to return not only to the exact place they were gone, but also safely (so instead of mid-air... on ground...at the same spot on Earth), it’s all kinds of...not good. Unless the unsnap wish was for the returned not to return to the exact moment they left, but just the same place (in general...so same room, but different spot, so they would not return and find themselves sitting on the lap of someone else occupying that armchair they were sitting on 5 years ago), it’s all kinds of awkward. 

Every change made...every things happening during the 5-year period happened... while the dusted were taking a 5-second/5-year nap. They return to a completely new, futuristic, world. They will find it hard to cope with the new reality. Nothing’s the same... since “original snap”. And as much as the ones who had been mourning the lost ones are happy to get them back, the return is another drastic change for them, too. The unsnapping does not fix anything besides bring back the people who disappeared. And as much as the fairytale fictional film wants to sell the disney story... that simply getting your loved ones back heals all wounds & sadness & problems.... it actually doesn’t. Nothing except turning back time... to a moment before the original snap...would fix the MCU world. But that, according to their own time-travel rules is not possible. And while they do “break” (bend) their own rules... kinda... at times... in general the rule is that nothing they do will un-do what’s already happened - any changes just create parallel timelines, in the main MCU timeline everything happens as we’ve seen in the films so far. 

Now there are about 3,7 billion people in 2023, who have the same issue in the MCU as Steve Rogers did in the MCU canon timeline in the past decade. Sure, he was "asleep” for 70 years, not just 5, and the changes he “wakes up to” are bigger than the ones that half of the population from 2018 wake up to five years later, in 2023. But... the “cultural shock” is similar - half of the population will have “Steve syndrome” in MCU. If they’d want to be honest about the snap & unsnap effects on humans. So... will the solution be...to have the returned ones, who can’t move on (some will be able to, bbut not everyone)... do what Steve did..and go live in the past of a new/different timeline), because they can’t adapt to the “present” future? 

Or in other words: (and this might sound cruel, but it’s the canon...sadly) The unsnapping did nothing else than to somewhat ease the heartbreak of those left behind. While creating new, different heartbreak. And it only served the people who were not able to move on & go through all stages of grief and move on. And yes, Tony could help them, and he did, and it’s great that they brought everyone back. But the whole reason behind the operation was some characters inability to see death as part of life. Accept that however unfair & painful... what’s done is done. They only acted because they missed their loved ones. Without taking anything else into consideration. They fixed nothing...except physically bring back those who were gone. The emotional toll...for both sides... still existed and exists. The remained ones won’t un-remember anything. The gone ones will remain unaware of the missing time. 

I keep remembering the TXF episode 7x21 “Je souhaite” (I wish...), where characters, who find a genie (in this film “who gathers the stones”), get three wishes (in this film “one wish per snap”). But if you don’t word/phrase the wish correctly, you don’t get your wish. Wishing for a boat  gets you a boat in your backyard...with no means to get it to water...hundreds of miles away. Wishing for a deceased loved ones return gives you a zombie, not the sibling you remember....cause you get them back in the condition they are now, not who they were when they were before “death”. So.. I keep thinking that unless the snap “wishes” were very specific & very selfless, they can manifest differently that the wish-maker intends to.  

Their plan was conceived & action taken only considering the emotional side of things. Their motivation came from just missing the people gone. And though they were aware of the actual ramifications & they did say “whatever it takes” (meaning they realized what’s at stake & what it might/will cost them), it was essentially a plan considering only the emotions, Even though I agree with Pepper . Tony (and the Team) could help, so he/they did. But still... 

The 2018!Thanos-snap created the first chaos within the film & the 2023!Avengers-Unsnap created the second chaos within the film. Both had huge impacts on the world. Yes, the people who were “gone”, returned, so loved ones were “returned”, physically, but while everyone got everyone else back... the film did not portray the reality of it - it isn’t the same - it’s “awkward” (to put it mildly) either way. Plus... the 2018!Thanos 2nd Snap possibly also created an issue in the MCU Main Timeline (the stones keep the reality & timeline in check...removing them can lead to all kinds of issues & imbalance... so destroying them/reducing them to “small bits” (atoms) could create more issues for the timeline (maybe this caused that the FFH trailer claims happened...  -- multiverse...) 

Based on their own rules they could not have returned to the past...before the Infinity War events... cause nothing that they could have done would have changed anything in their timeline... cause you can’t change the past... going back will just create an alternate timeline where they make those changes, while things stay as they were in their own past...cause you can’t go into your own past to make changes... They also can’t go to a time between the two Thanos snaps in 2018 (that were 23 days apart)...because of the films time travel rules. And these rules are also why they can’t ”turn back time” using the time stone... at the end of Endgame... cause doing what Thanos did with Vision in A3 for Tony in A4 would’ve meant that by saving Tony they would also undo his snap & their victory over the bad guys. So the end result was a constant... and the story to get there was crafted to fit that one ending they had in mind. The writers had decided that one thing had to happen (Tony’s sacrifice) - everything else was written to get us there, everything else was done so that there’d be no other options. This was all clear and well explained in the film. 

Thanos plan in general was silly/stupid - his intention was obviously not noble (save the resources so that the remaining living beings could strive), but just to destroy. Cause otherwise he'd doubled the resources instead....for example. Also... by cutting earth’s population to half... he only took the planet back to 1970s or so... (current population: 7.5 billion VS 3,7 billion then). He totally didn’t count for reproduction... (sure, for endangered species...it doesn’t matter, but all other species, including humans... life continues... with new generations & population growth) His plan was only changing the scales for that one particular moment. He would have been in the same situation soon. If he really was the genius he’s supposed to be, then he’d figured that one out before the snap. Population regrowth. It’s a thing. So his plan was always stupid. It made no sense to me... not real-world sense, not superhero fiction sense. 

Same with his second plan - destroying the stones. If the stones are necessary to keep the universe “functioning”,  then destroying them would mean destroying the Universe. Which was against the A3 Thanos motto - balance. I didn’t believe his  claims & always saw him as a destroyer, but if we’d take his words as the truth.. But if they are just turned to “dust” (reduced to atoms), then they still exists, therefore can still be used. Someone just has to invent the technology to collect the stone “atoms” & recretate the stones and/or use them in their current state (since thsi is fiction, you can write anything you want...) So since the main timeline still seems to exist, and you need the stones to do that...it means they work even when they’re reduced to atoms. So... for me the whole premise of the infinity saga falls apart... because it makes no sense (and I am aware that I’m thinking & expecting things to make sense, while watching some superhero fiction, but I can’t help myself)

And what some don’t realize from the film is that in the end Thanos did manage to do exactly what he said he’d do. Cause while Tony might’ve won..and turned him into dust in return... the purple evil really was inevitable..in some ways. Because while the whole universe isn’t 50% smaller, he managed to cut the Team Avengers into half - 3 original characters gone (Tony, Nat, Steve), 3 remaining (Clint, Bruce, Thor) And on top of that...he managed to take the team apart - Thor went to travel the universe with GotG, Clint went back to “retirement” with his family & Bruce is just enjoying eating ice-cream & taking selfies with kids, while being injured..probably forever. So... he managed to reduce the Avengers universe in half... seemingly, while really taking it completely apart. 

Yes, everyone who was dust turned back to humans, but at what cost? It cost...everything. It cost Tony’s life. It cost Nat’s life. It cost the team (though they were never a team...because they never got to really turn into a united family...for more than a few moments during battles). It cost them everything. High price to pay...to be able to have your friends back. (Not that anyone wouldn’t do the same to save their kid, parent, spouse, friend... But still...) 

ETA: And based on “Spiderman: Far From Home” trailer the new chaos created by the unsnap (5 years after the original chaos created by the original snap) isn’t the only issue. Either the infinity stones “missing” (turned/reduced into atoms..therefore making them useless for any future snapping...but apparently still making it possible for them to keep the main timeline in order... but maybe not as well as in their original form) or in the wrong form (atoms/cosmic dust instead of stones/gems) or just simply messing with time & space during their time travels... they have created more issues (between the universes created). << this only applies if the FFH trailer isn’t misleading. 

[thatbluegibson]

CH 44

Dave reached across the bed for Liz, his eyes opening when he only felt the cold sheets beside him. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, checking the clock on her nightstand that read two in the morning. He threw his shirt on and went after her, finally finding her on the tile floor of the dining room, staring out at the moonlit waves.

“You ok?” he asked expecting her to jump, but she just shrugged.

“Just over thinking my entire existence,” she smiled up at him.

He sat next to her on the floor and she threw the other half of her blanket over him as he put his arm around her. They sat quietly for a long time, listening to the muffled waves before Liz sighed. There was so much that Liz wanted to say, so many things she wanted to ask him, to get his advice on, but she was just too exhausted to ask. She wanted her quiet life back, but she wouldn’t have any peace for such a long time. She knew that someday she would be a has-been, just a “remember her?” segment on some garbage online news site, but at the moment it seemed so far away.

“I swear I’m a well adjusted, normal person,” she finally said, “You just caught me on an off week, I guess.”

“You mean you’re not always running from ex-husbands and photographers?”

She laughed a little at that, turning her body to face him when her smile faded, “Am I always going to be running?”

Dave sighed, “That depends. You can run from it or you can embrace it.”

“I want to run. Every part of me says run.”

“But they’re always going to be faster than you, Liz. There’s always going to be someone pounding on your door, interrupting your life, someone begging for a piece of you and once you realize that you can’t physically get away, you’ll turn to something… else.”

She examined his profile in the dark as he stared out to sea. He was right, she could easily see herself falling down the slippery slope of escapism when the pressure, the LA bubble and the world became too much, “How do I embrace it?”

He took a deep breath and leaned back against the table leg, “When Nirvana got really big, we weren’t even in the states. We were on some European tour, playing these little venues and just getting phone calls from people back home telling us we were on MTV and shit, and we thought it was hilarious. We thought it was a big fucking joke… and then we came home and it was happening. Krist and I just continued thinking it was all funny, but Kurt just couldn’t. They wouldn’t let him.” He cracked his knuckles and thought for a moment, “I’ve seen so many people destroyed by what they thought was their escape, something they thought they were in control of and… well, you either embrace the fame and learn to live or you run from it and it catches you eventually. Either way, it gets you.“

“Something gets everyone in the end, though,” Liz was starting to think he was talking about something else entirely.

“Yeah, but fucking hell what a way to go.”

She felt her heart constrict a little and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. She thought about her plan and timeline she had set in front of her just a few days ago. She would finish her commitments and then stop, just stop working for the film industry. She could walk away completely within a year and a half and luckily hadn’t signed any contracts or made any further commitments. She could just step aside and let the next girl take her place. Acting had been an accident, something she had fallen into when Kyle’s mom had gotten her a bit role in an indie just after Jack was born. She had loved that small supporting role and the ability to completely immerse herself into someone else’s life for awhile and forget her own. Kyle had been taking extended ‘business trips’ and she was struggling with depression, but somehow Jack was thriving. Very soon afterwards more studios began seeking her out and she became addicted to the separation of her own life and the script. She especially loved the historical period dramas where she could use her history degree in the construction of her characters, but also for the complete separation of time. It was easy to forget the real world when you’re riding around the countryside on horseback in amazing costumes. If she didn’t have that world to escape to, she didn’t know where else to go.

Dave turned away from the window and whispered into her hair, “Come back to bed.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right there,” she watched him stand and walk towards the stairs, thinking he might be a pretty good place to start.

*

A day later, Liz sat in her first class seat, nervously fidgeting as her phone powered down for take off.

“What if I just don’t go?” she asked.

“Well,” Dave leaned back into his seat, “There would be an awkward silence when they announce you’re the winner and then some random B-list celebrity would have to claim it for you.”

“Great! Then it’s settled,” Liz moved to stand, but Dave dragged her back down.

“Seat belts, please!” the flight attendant chirped as she headed up the aisle.

“I fucking hate flying,” Liz grumbled, her eyes followed the flight attendant as she settled back into her seat.

“I used to hate it, too,” Dave leaned across her and lifted the shade on the window next to Liz. “Look at the wings.”

Liz raised an eyebrow at him, but did as she was told. It was dark, the only flight they could get back to LA was a red eye, but the wings were illuminated from lights on the airport.

“The outboard and inboard flaps will lower and once the plane gets up to speed, the downdraft creates the lift that raises the plane.”

“And if we don’t get up to speed?” she looked over her shoulder at him.

“Then we’re fucked. But we have pretzels!” he dangled a tiny bag between his fingers and grinned at her.

“Thanks, Dave. That helps a bunch,” she laughed and sat back, already feeling much less tense.

“I spent a lot of time reading about the physics of flight when I started touring a lot,” he said quietly, double checking to ensure the seats around them were empty. “I was so used to touring in a van that flying everywhere just terrified me. It seemed like we were tempting fate, you know? It didn’t matter what the odds were because we were flying so much. Then my mom sent me a book and I read that fucking thing cover to cover on a flight from Seattle to Amsterdam. By the time we landed, I wasn’t scared anymore.” He paused for a moment, glancing over at Liz as she listened. “I didn’t even tell my mom that I was scared, she just sent it. I still don’t know how she knew.”

Liz smiled at that, “Moms always know,” she said quietly.

The plane began hurtling down the runway and Liz took a deep breath as she was pressed into the seat back. Dave took her hand and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, listening to the plane make the necessary adjustments and speed to achieve flight.

*

“So he wakes up out of a dead sleep and yells “Oh my god!” into this completely silent and fucking booked airplane and every one turns around and looks at me like I’m the asshole!” Dave was explaining why he hated flying with Josh Homme while Liz was doubled over in her seat laughing so hard that tears streamed down her face. “He asked me to fly with him to Hawaii next month and I told him to go fuck himself. I’ll never fly commercial with that man ever again.”

“Did he even say what he was dreaming about?” Liz managed, trying to keep from laughing too loudly.

“I don’t fucking know. It was a goddamn nightmare,” he shuddered at the memory of hurrying off the plane while nearly two hundred people glared at him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up at the flight attendant who had a worried look on her face.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but there’s a bit of an issue back in coach and since you’re the only ones up here, I wanted to ask before bringing anyone up.”

Dave glanced at Liz, who looked just as worried as the attendant now.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s a mother with a few kids and they’re having a tough-“

“Bring them up,” Liz said, waving her arm towards the front of the plane. 

The attendant visibly slumped in relief and hurried back to coach while Liz craned her neck to see where she went.

“I thought she was going to say someone was drunk. It’s fucking three in the morning,” she muttered, “that poor woman.”

A wailing sound drew nearer; increasing to stress inducing levels when a young woman with three little boys were ushered passed the dividing curtain.

Liz immediately stood and tapped Dave’s knee. “Move,” she demanded, her eyes on the youngest who was only about a year old and screaming wildly.

He did as he was told, moving into her window seat and watched her hurry up to the woman as the attendant sat them in a row a few back from theirs. The middle boy about three was so sleepy that he immediately threw his head into his mother’s lap and the oldest boy about five looked around, terrified. Liz spoke quietly to the mother before taking the baby from her arms and reaching for the five year old’s hand. She led the boy up the aisle and sat him next to Dave while continuing up the aisle with the screaming baby. Dave looked down at the little boy who was staring up at him, just moments away from bursting into tears as well.

“Hey, buddy,” Dave said quietly.

“Hi.”

“What’s your name?”

“Cooper.”

“Hey, Cooper. I’m Dave.” He shook his little hand and noticed he was wearing a Nirvana shirt. “I like your shirt.”

The little boy instantly went from terrified to excited. “They’re a band from the nineties,” he said, his eyes widening as if it were millennia ago.

“Oh yeah?” Dave chuckled a little, feeling his age. “Do you play any instruments yet?”

“Santa brought me a drum kit, but I’m not very good at it,” Cooper said, looking a little deflated.

Dave smiled at him and bent down, retrieving his bag from the floor and pulling out a set of drumsticks. He handed them to Cooper who looked at them in amazement.

“Are you a drummer?” he asked.

Dave glanced back down at Cooper’s shirt, “I was… way back in the nineties.”

Liz snorted a laugh as she walked passed them up the aisle.

“We can practice on the seat here,” Dave said, tapping the seat back in front of Cooper. “Hold the sticks like this…”

 *

The baby’s tears increased slightly as Liz tried bouncing him in her arms, but stopped just as quickly once she cradled the baby’s head against her own and began singing softly against his skin.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night, take these broken wings and learn to fly…

There was something magical about that song had worked on her when she was a baby and continued to work on her own children. She met eyes with Dave and smiled brightly, proud that she had conquered over the screams. As soon as the baby was sound asleep against her shoulder, she walked back to his mother.

“Try to sleep,” Liz whispered to her, receiving a grateful nod in return.

She headed back up the aisle and sat across from Dave as he taught Cooper how to hold the sticks.

 *

By the time the aisle lights flickered on signaling their descent into LA, Cooper had learned the American and Traditional grip, how to twirl the sticks and the first few basic rudiments.

“Here’s your sticks, Mr. Dave,” Cooper said, holding them out.

“Keep ‘em, buddy,” Dave smiled.

“You should make him sign them,” Liz crouched next to Cooper’s seat already having handed the sleeping baby back to his exhausted mother.

“Yeah, they’re already signed,” Dave muttered, a little embarrassed that he carried signed sticks with him when he travelled.

Liz took Cooper back to his mom and helped him with his seat belt while Dave listened to her quiet conversation with the mother.

“Thank you so much,” she gushed.

“It was really no problem,” Liz insisted, pulling Cooper’s belt tight.

“It’s my first time flying with all three of them alone. Usually their father is here to help, but he’s in the service. We’re on our way to see him during leave.”

“Marine?”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant now.”

Liz smiled at that, “Mine was at Twentynine Palms for a few years.” She caught Dave turn to her out of the corner of her eye when the seatbelt light came on.

“Good luck tomorrow,” she called as Liz turned away, “and thank you again!”

Liz just smiled, a little sad that she had been recognized and returned to Dave.

[notanotherlovepage]

LiS fanfic

Hey guys! So, long story short, i did a fanfiction inspired on this post. Hope you guys like it!

MAXINE - 12 YEARS OLD

Today was particularly a sunny, beautiful day. Ninety degrees outside, midst August and every color seemed to be intensified. The leaves on the trees were greener, the sky was bluer and the butterflies shined with their brightest colors.

I resented my mom for having me put a long-sleeved shirt on, and i envied Chloe for her obviously lighter -and prettier- one. Besides, it was embarassing having two big spots of sweat covering my armpits. But i didn’t care. Not if it was my best friend in the whole world next to me. She wouldn’t judge me.

-Come on, Max! Hurry!- I heard Chloe shout. She was some solid 15 feets ahead of me. We were heading towards the big tree. That’s where we hid our time capsule. It was a centric, giant tree placed in the Arcadia Bay forest. It was our place. The place we told eachother every secret, gossip and deepest confessions. And now we were going to dig out the capsule we hid 5 years ago.

We were actually cheating; we promised ourselves we would only see it 10 years after the day we buried it. That would be at age eighteen. When we were eight years old, we decided to make our friendship last forever in the coolest way. We hid a bunch of letters, drawings and others stuff for us to see later on. That way we were forced to come back from wherever we were and join pirate forces to dig out the most awesome treasure ever. But we couldn’t help it. Neither of us remembered what we put in there and we were dying to know.

-This is so wrong but feels so right- i said chuckling, already catching up with Chloe.

-I know, right?! - She said, clearly excited, doing that adorable bouncing she does when she’s hyped up. Chloe was particularly... pretty today. Her long, blond hair was shinning, as if it belonged to some shampoo comercial, waving synchronized with the wind. She always grew these funny freckles all over her nose and cheeks every summer, which made her look like a model, and her blue eyes shined amazingly bright, reflecting the sunlight. Sometimes i didn’t know if it was jealousy i felt every time i looked at her, or just pure... admiration. Whatever it was, it always felt just right.

-Okay, we’re here,- Chloe said- let’s just cut the crap and see whatever in the world is there.

I realized i was stupidly nervous by the whole thing. My heart was rapidly pounding in my chest and my hands were sweating, but i didn’t care. It was the good kind of nervous.

-I’m actually really nervous- Chloe said, as if she had read my mind.

-Dude, me too- I responded, with an akward laugh.

-Let’s do this- Chloe picked the shovels next to her and handed me one- Now, you lazy ass, show me watcha’ got.

MAXINE - 18 YEARS OLD

-Okay...-I breathed out- let’s do this.

I was sitting in my dorm bed at Blackwell, looking at a photo I had forgotten it even existed. Actually, i had deleted the entire day in which the photo was taken from my brain, although it was kind of a “big deal”. It was the day Chloe and i buried the time-capsule.

It had been two weeks since Chloe’s funeral. Jefferson was in jail, Nathan was in a psychiatric hospital, with a restriction order to keep his asshole father away from him, and Kate and Victoria were alive. Everything had fallen into place. Every piece of this life puzzle was starting to click again.

Except for me.

This wasn’t like any cringy, sugarcoated movie i had ever watched before. This wasn’t some tragic novel about life being a bitch. This wasn’t like anything i had ever heard or seen. This was so much worse.

The first three days i was in denial. I never actually stopped to think Chloe’s death was forever. I was like a zombie, or in autopilot mode. I even smiled an laughed. I just couldn’t accept it.

But one day i went to the Two Whales, and found myself having my pancakes all alone, and i didn’t see Joyce there because from what David told me, she couldn’t get out of bed, and there was barely any client there because the fucking place smelled like tragedy and pain. And then it hit me.

Chloe is dead.

I never knew it was possible to feel this kind of pain and not die. Or have a heart attack. Or just for nothing to occur. I just felt this horrible sensation, all the goddamn time, but nothing else seemed to happen. There was just pain and the only thing i had left to do was feel it.

I mean, pain is supposed to be some kind of body mechanism to warn you about danger. If you accidentally fall from a tree and break your arm or cut your leg your body makes you feel pain, so you know something is not right with you and you should take care of it. But suddenly your best friend and soulmate in the fucking world dies and you feel this unbearable pain in your chest, way worse than a fucking broken arm, and you would give anything for that so called god everyone assures it exists to just break every single bone in your body if it meant not feeling this, and everything feels so wrong and you feel like you are going to die all the time but the worst part is you don’t, and you are expected to just get over it? How can this kind of pain not mean im in danger? That i’m not going to just stop breathing anytime? How can physical pain mean so much while emotional pain just means you suffered a stupid trauma that you can get through? That nothing is actually wrong? That the love of your life died but you will be ‘just fine’? How can people say that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?

Because to me, what doesn’t kill you makes you wish it fucking did.

Sitting at the dinner, thinking all of this in one goddamn second, as if a brainstorm had just hit my head, made me realize; i was not living in a world without Chloe. Either both of us lived here... or both of us went up there.

I suddenly understood Kate so much more once i started planning it. See, if you don’t live it, you don’t get it, it’s as simple as that. You just can’t understand what depression is like if you never went through it, no matter how hard you try. That’s what happened to me on the rooftop with Kate. As much as i tried, i was just not able to understand how could people consider taking their own lives. Isn’t there always hope? Always someone who loves you? Always something to live for?

Thing is, sometimes, there’s not.

It just hit me like a train. I didn’t even care. I couldn’t. It would destroy my parents, Kate, Warren, even Joyce, but i didn’t have the energy to give a fuck. I was so hopeless. Everything was so pointless. I really don’t know if it was depression i was suffering, but it sure as hell felt like it.

I had decided to binge on the pills the doctor gave me for Post Traumatic Disorder. I heard they were pretty strong, so i was pretty confident they would do the job. But then i saw the box Joyce gave me at the Two Whales, resting in the corner of my room; it was Chloe’s box, with every single memory she had ever owned. Pictures, letters, postcards, everything. I had put it away to rot; i just couldn’t look at it without falling into pieces. But at that moment, i figured i might as well see what was in there; i wanted my last memories to relive those of the love of my life.

I don’t remember crying like i did then in a long time, if not ever. I was pretty sure i was starting to dehidratate, and at some point, i even thought i was going to faint. There was that awful drawing i sent her when she had chickenpox. There was a silly love letter i remember her neighbour wrote her when we were ten years old. Chloe never liked him and after five letters like that with no response, he finally got the hint and never spoke to her again. But what shattered my heart the most was this pink sea shell. I found it on a beach in Playa del Carmen; my parents and i took a cruise for two weeks and i promised Chloe i would collect one for each day we spent apart, so she knew i wouldn’t  forget her. All of them eventually broke into pieces except for this one. I painted it with a cheap pink nail polish my mom used to own and gave it to her. We were seven years old. I never knew she would keep it to this day, it seemed so redundant and useless to me, but so meaningful to her...

I was not sure how much more i could take, but then, i found the photo. The time-capsule photo.

The memories suddenly hit me as a punch in the face. It was as if some kind of hipnosis suddenly unleashed from that picture to free the memories that had been so long repressed. I remember that our parents took us on a silly journey through the Arcadia Bay forest. It lasted 5 days. My mom absolutely hated camping in the ‘wilds’, but my father and William did a great job calming her down. One week earlier, Chloe and i decided to secretly bury a time capsule in which we hid some stuff to open up in ten years, which would ironically be this year, at age eighteen. But we opened it five years before, us being twelve, because we couldn’t help ourselves. We opened it two months before William passed away.. It was the last good moment we had until everything started falling apart for Chloe.

My parents took a picture Chloe and me in our pirate costumes, right before we went for the giant tree and hid the capsule. I don’t really remember what we hid in it, but it was probably silly. I’m actually glad we opened it up earlier. Today, it would only be some silly kid stuff.

I looked at the picture with a nostalgic, genuine smile, without realising i was crying again until some droplets hit the picture. But suddenly, one droplet fell on the wrong -or right?- place. And as i looked, i stood in shock.

-What... the hell?- i exclaimed. I frowned my eyebrows and rubbed my eyes to get a better view of the picture, and then, i saw it. It felt as if i was suddenly stang by a paralising bug. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t believe what i was seeing. It just felt as if the nightmare would never stop. I started sobbing and yelling. I was pulling my hair without realizing it. I didn’t give a crap of all the fuzz i was making. In the picture, right behind us, was a translucent doe, staring right at the camera, with a tiny beautiful blue butterfly resting in his snout.

After some minutes of pure desesperation and chaos, i decided to calm myself down. I was getting nowhere being like this. Fucking hell, a few minutes ago i was all ready to kill myself. What was going on with me? Was i hallucinating? Had i finally lost it? Was i officially crazy?

-Okay, Max. Calm the fuck down- I said out loud- Let’s think, what the hell does this mean?

As if my voice was like a ridiculous lullaby, i did calm down. I took a few breaths, and started to think.

First of all, if anything, this could be good news. If shit like this keeps happening after Chloe died, could this mean the universe was still not content with the outcome of things? Could this mean that life, or god, or what-fucking-ever did not want Chloe to die? Was Chloe not supposed to die?

A feeling i had not felt in two weeks, but seemed like forever, started growing in my chest. I was feeling hope. Hope that my best friend could maybe, just maybe, be brought back. Hope that i would be able to kiss my lover again. Hope that maybe, life was not as miserable as it seemed.

Calm down, Maxine. I thought to myself. This is still not clicking.

I spent some good hour going through all of it. Thinking of everything i could have missed. Every detail, every second i spent with Chloe. Every goddamn tragedy of that unholy week. What was i taking for granted? What was the universe trying to tell me? Was it even trying to tell me something? Was life just... weird?

And then it clicked. The puzzle clicked. That fucking piece found it’s place in all of this drama and everything suddenly made sense. All this time, i made everything revolve around me. It seems fair, as i am the one with a crazy fucking superpower. But what if it’s... not? What if it’s not about me? I may be one in a million, being able to control the fucking time, but the universe is sure as hell not only about my life, so... what if i am missing a detail because im not supposed to know that detail? What if it’s not my life i should change, but someone elses? What if i have been searching for the answer in that horrible week when in fact it came from... before?

What if it’s not Chloe that’s supposed to die? What if... it’s Rachel that’s supposed to live?

I realised i had been starring at the mirror with the picture in my hands all of the time i spent thinking. I almost saw the switch in my eyes as i finally made the decision; i would try to make things right one last time. After all, i had nothing left to lose.

I focused on the picture, sitting in my bed, as all the familiar but still weird-as-hell feelings started to hit once again; the pounding in my head, the blurr in my eyes, the sensation of passing out, the world menacing to tremble... and just like that, i was back in the forest.

MAXINE - 8 YEARS OLD

The first thing i did was to look for the doe and the butterfly. As i expected, they were not there. Being 12 years old at Chloe’s house, back when i tried to save William, was weird enough, but being eight felt so... wrong. I was an eighteen years old in the body of a little girl. I could actually feel the physical change; my hands and feet felt tinier, my skin felt softer, and it seemed to me that i was on my knees when i looked around, when in fact, i was just shorter.

-Max, sweetie, are you okay?- my mom asked. As there was no response, she continued- Come here baby, you look pale. Do you want some chocolate?- She turned to look at my father- What did i tell you, Ryan? This was such a bad idea, we shouldn’t have come.

-Wait, mommy! I’m okay!- I cringed at how high-pitched my voice was, but managed to fake a smile.

-Are you sure, baby?- Dad asked.

-Of course she’s okay! She’s a pirate! Right, Max?- I heard a little girl’s voice say. I knew exactly who that voice was from, but i needed to really see it. I just couldn’t start to even comprehend how lucky i was. To have the ability to see what i shouldn’t be seeing. To defy the universe, just like that. To be able to appreciate the existence of the love of my life as many times as i wanted to. To love her and be able to tell her again and again, without the fear of time running out. Because time meant nothing to me. I owned time, and it made me feel incredibly alive. It was so wrong but so right. And when i finally turned around to see her, i realized life was just fucking incredible for creating such amazing and lovable beings like her, no matter how temporary they were.

-Chloe!- I shouted, and ran to her embrace- You are my best friend, did you know that?

-Of course i do! We will rule the world with our swords and patches, right, Dad?!

-Sure thing darling. I believe in you two- William said with a soothing voice. Only then did i realize how much i had missed him. But i needed to calm my nostalgic self down. I had to start acting like an eight year old, and they were never really that great at showing mature feelings. Besides, it would be just plain weird to hug William out of the blue. Sadly, no one there but me knew how little time had he left- Okay girls, ready for the walk?- He said with a playful smile, letting go a tiny wink from his left eye. I understood this was the sign Chloe, William and i had agreed on to go bury the time-capsule- Everything ready?

-Yes dad!- Chloe shouted- Let me just get my backpack- She said, while turning back to head the tents.

-Wait! i need to go get something too- I jumped. I saw Chloe turning around to face us once again, this time with a frown. I guess we agreed at some time that she would get the capsule while i kept the adults busy- It will be just a second.

-Okay...- Chloe replied.

-What would you two be up to...- Joyce whispered suspiciously, with a grin on her face, shaking her head left and right. I followed Chloe to the tent and entered with her.

-Please tell me you brought some paper and crayons- I said nervously. My heart started to accelerate as my brain finally focused on my plan.

-Yeah... i think so. Why?- she asked, half curious, half worried.

-I just forgot something i wanted to draw.

-Okay, let me check- Chloe said, revolving her backpack, and then taking out what i had requested- You are being kind of weird.

-Don’t worry, it’s just a second- I replied- No peeking!- I said, smiling at her while hiding my paper so she couldn’t see. This time, the smile was genuine. I could never fake-smile that adorable face of hers, even if i tried.

And then she was the one to smile. A wide, playful smile, covered childishly by her tiny hands, followed by a girly, amazingly cute chuckle.

Suddenly, i was just overwhelmed by this relaxing but exciting feeling, as i started drawing my message to the future Max, in the hope that this time, she would remember it and be able to fix things from the very start. I just kind of knew that this time, things would turn out to be alright.

MAXINE - 12 YEARS OLD

-Oh my god, this is so cringy, i really dont know how much more i can take- I said, tears of laughter falling from my eyes.

-Dude, i know, i think i’m gonna throw up anytime now- Chloe responded, with her cheeks filled with an intense red, grabbing her tummy and gasping for air, trying to regain control of herself.

We had spent hours now checking everything out. We found two chocolate cookies that smelled awful, two drawings that looked exactly the same -probably both of us agreed to draw the same scenario- of Chloe and me dressed as pirates while navigating the sea, two coins, two bracelets, a pink one and a blue one, and so on. We also found letters we wrote to eachother, barely legibles, about how much we loved eachother and that how we would be the best pirate friends in the whole world, which made us gag on the outside but smile warmly on the inside. There were only two more letters to read, each one with our names respectively signed on them. We understood they were letters we wrote to our future selves. I picked them both and read them to myself.

-How about mine? What did I write?- Chloe asked, excited.

-You were really funny- I responded with a tiny chuckle. It said, written with a blue crayon; ‘Dear Chloe, if you are not dressed up as a pirate right now, and Max is right next to you, tell her to punch you. Love, Chloe’. It was just so incredible to know Chloe was, is and would always be this funny and sassy person. But the best of all, was knowing that this person would always be my best friend in the world, and i was gonna be hers. I handed it to her, and when she read it, she started to laugh like crazy. Joining her laugh, i picked my letter, and gave it a quick, uninterested look. But that was all it took to send a chill down my spine- Mine was so serious...- I let out, failing to keep the thought to myself.

-Well, yeah, that’s you- Chloe reasoned, when i lended it to her and she saw it, not giving it its spooky credit- Serious and genuine- She smiled.

-Yeah, i guess- I said, but was left more nervous and anxious than i was willing to admit.

-Okay, mom is totally gonna kill us- Chloe suddenly exclaimed, zonning me out from my thoughts- We told her we would be there by five! Its half past six! Shit, let’s hurry- She said, getting up to her feet and starting to pack our things.

I followed her lead and helped myself up with my hands on the ground, to start helping her pick up the stuff. Once we were finished, i decided to take one last look at my letter, in the hope that it wouldn’t seem so creepy once i re-checked it.

It was the drawing of a girl, apparently older than us, with long, blond hair, seemingly waving with a fictional wind. At first it thought it was just a drawing of Chloe, but her eyes were green, and she was not dressed like Chloe at all. She had a red flannel, a pair of teared up jeans and some black boots. Besides, Chloe never got her ears pierced, and this girl had a blue feather hanging from one of hers. I found it strange how my eight year old self could draw such a realistic girl. I was never that good with crayons.

But what made me skip a heart beat was what it said below the girl. It was a simple sentence in capitals but had enough impact on me. It said ‘SAVE HER’.

[potterzachary]

Learn Reiki For Dogs Prodigious Unique Ideas

For those who have received Reiki treatment.Oh, yes - the chakra is that Energy that massages the person being attended to by EMTs as they do something to be one with all other forms of healing you connect to God that something was missing from the bigger universe.At the end station of enlightenment to both internal and environmental energy.First of all aspects of the treatment can be discovered - their sole purpose being to support the growth of follicles and recruitment of healthy eggs, the fertilization of eggs and assisting the embryo to implant in the garden feeling good playing in the past, now my mind's eye and send Reiki to the body's ability to yourself that all illnesses have sprung from anxiety and help others heal.

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[mephistophelianmusingsxo]

Sin City

It is said that loneliness is one’s lack of social activity, another humans company but true loneliness is isolation, it’s an emotional power to emptiness. It is more than just that feeling of wanting company, true loneliness is disconnection. No matter the amount of bodies that swarm your own with heat you’re still lonely, you’re still cold. It’s an impossible struggle to react and build a meaningful human contact. You’re hollow. Your insides whistle and echo the sounds of voices but they don’t quite reach your ears, the soft haze, the quiet buzz fades still. People fear being alone, they fear they may become lost without constant interaction but I, I chose to be alone. I chose this life. It wasn’t forced upon me, it was what my heart chose. You may ask “What is it like being alone?” And I can truly say, it is critical that you first assess the reason and actions to bring you to this point, whether in reasons for physical violence, emotional anguish, or the degree your mind is willing to go to accomplish this sense of being alone. I mean after all, we’re all, alone aren’t we? No one ever truly understands what it is like to be them, to experience their happiness, their pain, their sorrow and their guilt. So, how can we say that we are in fact not alone? We are. Some people find it easier to be within their own company, smothering their monadic existence from others. Pretending that all is good, life is perfect and they’re hunky dory. Drawing fucking pictures of a life everyone wants but not one single being has. Bullshit. Whether you will like to disagree or agree with my matter at fact, you cannot deny that solidarity is a fleeting feeling. It is universal. Race, creed, social standing. Once in a person’s life it will visit their soul and leave a mark so deep, they will always question if it ever left. Every song, every piece of literature, every painting extracts the inescapable fate of pure loneliness and we somehow are fundamentally distant from this, we protest that we do not have it. The paradox to all human existence for our social entities is to seek connections. May it be with another human or simply an object that holds great sentimental value.

Which leads me to my next point, by now you’ve probably already guessed my life became tangled in ways it never should. A typical story of a child not wanted, and a child gone wayward. However, you would be wrong. My childhood was the exact juxtaposition to expectancy, I was an only child. Sweet little protégé to dear old Dad’s booming company. Showered in love and adoration from the minute I was born, a child couldn’t ask for more. But it was never enough, I never belonged, I couldn’t excel in the areas my father wanted to carry on his heritage, try he might have, he could never tether my soul, could never cage my free spirit. I wanted to explore the world, I wanted to become accustomed to more than what I had growing up, I had a wild zoe for freedom. Academically I excelled in everything I did. From the writing short hand classes my father enrolled me in, to the logistics and statistics courses. In effect, there wasn’t much I didn’t excel in, but it wasn’t me. I didn’t care for flash suits, fancy jobs, exquisite restaurants, nature was more my thing. No convention or obligation, seeking out every unique possibility in each circumstance as it was. Enjoying whatever I deemed appropriate in this socially adverse world, limitations were minimal, and I rather relished in my adventurous unconventional conformity of a woman. Freedom, now freedom is open to arguments; social and political views as something that must be contained and controlled or something that cannot be. It has been across everyone’s lips, touched their tongues but never their actual mind set nor their soul. It has touched every human heart with adept fingers and a shadow that looms. Forever changing but never abandoning.

‘Freedom’. Freedom means many things to many people; politically the freedom to vote and choose your respected candidate, socially for you to choose what and who you like to acknowledge with. Standing free with those that fight for the freedom of speech, distancing yourself from those who fight for an entirely different cause but still freedom. Financial freedom is what got me in to this mess. Where others seek to free themselves from debt, standing credit and foredooming loans, I propelled myself further and further in to the outstanding debt. What’s more surprising is, I don’t particularly wish to be free either. Which is funny, wouldn’t you say? For a woman that has documented nothing but her free spirit doesn’t seem to want to be free of the hold finance has on her. I have to say it is interesting that we all pursue this Liberty as an ends to a means. An end to all our struggles. But what is our deliverance? The no longer outstanding debt, the ability to do what we like? Say what we like? It is not truly being what we all call 'free’. If you look, it is our hearts that drove us in to this mess at the beginning yes? So, who is to say that our hearts will not choose the same path? It will remain unchanged as long as our heart yearns for what it just escaped from. Why? Because we desire what we think we cannot live without. And… Voila! We find ourselves in debt again. It’s a viscous cycle. It eclipses all we know and only serves what we don’t. Feeds off the hunger of curiosity. And well, being a natural spirit of curiosity, I was an easy target. I was the prey awaiting the predator to seize. It was not an approach in the dead of night, it was more an ease of comfort and insurance slinking its way around your body, your mind, your heart until you realise and it’s too late. It’s not a peripheral remedy. It’s simply not something to help you balance your books it becomes your life. Symptoms begin to fester, and you apprehend that it’s a disease, but rather than dealing with it you run. I ran. Intoxicated with the deadness of every human strategy, the knowing that it’s something I could never conquer, my heart fell steadfast into corruption and sin. Captivating and keeping hold of the rebellion that would cause mankind to leap from ignorant innocence to full blown understanding. I do suppose that if my life had taken a left instead of a sharp right, I would never have found myself in this position, but then again, I also suppose that I wouldn’t be happy, I’d be stuck working at my father’s company, lumbered with a healthy pay-check and all the cuttings and trimmings that went with it. At least this way I was gifted with a substantial pay-check for doing what I love. I wasn’t just put on this earth to work and pay bills, that was not a life. Just an existence. There were other places I could have chosen to work, other industries I could have pursued but not everyone finds the labouring of a nine to five exciting and appealing but rather tedious. This line of work is for the ones that don’t have any advanced education or a set of degrees, for the ones that don’t have the looks or the luck, or the ones that don’t have enough gumption to be a pimp; they live a life of has beens and recent regrets. It doesn’t require sets of specific skills and it’s readily available in any city that you step your foot in. Have you guessed it? When the clock hits twelve we deal; cards and crack. Yes! The drug industry, let’s not call it that. That brings unwanted negative connotations, disastrous assumptions to those involved. Instead, I oppose we call it a free trade on the very large capitalism scale. Distributing and supplying to those who live the life in the fast lane, the ones that search for a kick, the ones that become solely dependent on the next hit. I would say I was sorry but I’m not. As long as their struggles line my pocket, I would continue to benefit from transactions, grant them another five gram, ten, the amount is limitless when you have the money. I feed their uncontrollable addictions to illicit drugs, I destroy families; people all alike. There is no age, no specific gender. It is whoever is willing to pay. Drug dealing requires no real hard work, but it’s no fun when you lose, and your balls are in the blender. Your pay-check comes from the clientele and if you slip up and squander your batch, you’re the one that suffers then. You have no income until your next run. It’s all a muddle of colours, a twisted web of lies. To say I had simply lost my way was quite the understatement. To be brutally honest, I had become adrift the many other souls settled in the ruins of their independency. People observe the streets just as people observe the sky, in one single hour a multitude of colours can paint the sky; blues, greys, oranges, yellows. In my line of work, it is crucial that I notice these. I may approach you genially, by no means am I nice. Granted I can be affable when I please, but please; do not ask me to be a friend. I simply can’t. Pick a colour and chose your path. Drug smuggling, runner, courier however you please to perceive. It is my job and as a right in doing so, I notice trends throughout rife city life. When demand is low, I simply move on. I cannot recount a single moment where I have remained in a place for longer than six months, that is until now. New Orleans has become my home, or perhaps I should say my place of work. An advantageous opportunity I could never resist. If I had known what I know now, it is almost probable my deterioration in to crime and misdemeanours would certainly have happened more rapidly. Would you believe me if I told you witches were real? Would you believe me if I told you I work for them? No, no, what if I told you my very purpose in this is to run errands where vampires cannot go? Would you believe me? Of course not. You’d only but believe I am a woman turned insane from her reckless use of narcotics or perhaps an insensate pursuit of an old crazy woman way before her time, my time. However, consider this there isn’t just one monotheistic being – Humans. We are only a minute percentage of the world’s population. Forever persecuting other people, killing them because they’re far more superior than anything mortality is capable of. But immortality, immortality is something else altogether. Creatures of brief season that remain for an eternity. Wherever you look in history, you cannot escape the record of inquisition, they have always been a part of our world. Undertaking, preceding and strengthening what we mortals are unaware. I once claimed loneliness and freedom were my downfall, I believed them to be a disadvantage of no plausible use, but as it turns out being in this new reality grants me the greatest asset of invisibility. Slipping from sunset to sunrise unseen, unnoticed. Free.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Line in the Sand

Line in the Sand Fandom: Code Lyoko Pairing: Ulumi Summary: Long distance relationships are really difficult. And sometimes you just need to walk away. AN: A little bit of sad stuff going on in this one. Part of my Spooky Snippets story dump. For more details please see this post.

Ulrich had expected it to become a huge spectacle like it usual was when it came to them.

They were both stubborn and passionate – impulsive was the better word for it, but he’d been trying to be more positive in the last few weeks – and it tended to make fights pretty damn awful. They would sling insults and bring up long-dead issues and throw every other fight back in the other’s face, regardless of how long ago the fight had been or who was determined to be in the wrong. It was loud, explosive shouting matches that would be followed by days of bitter, freezing silence. They would always end up coming back together and licking each other’s wounds – offering apologizes that were probably hollow but felt good in the moment – and simply let things end there. Well, until the next blow-out occurred and then it would all start again.

So when Yumi decided to transfer to a college in Japan to be closer to her family they both thought that it would be a breath of fresh air.

After all, they had reasoned that their issue was that they spent too much time too close to one another. Their problems couldn’t possibly be how they handled conflict and disagreements – that was an asinine suggestion, seeing as they were college age now and much more mature than they were in middle school – and there was that old saying, too. The one about how distance made the heart grow fonder and all that? Surely a few thousand miles and a seven hour time-zone difference would remedy their relationship woes.

And for the most part, the distance did help at first. They would call one another once or twice a week over skype - typically in the morning for Ulrich since it would be early afternoon for Yumi – and update each other on what was going on. There was more to say, more to share, and it made Yumi’s holiday visits to France all the better. They didn’t sweat the small stuff, didn’t pick at every little thing the other said or did, and instead just enjoyed the time and intimacy they were allotted. But then she stopped calling or answering him as often, dropping from once every week to once every three weeks if he was lucky. On top of that, the lack of physical contact seemed to have become a heavier weight to carry too.

Yumi had moved back out to Japan a little over two years ago and the last time they’d seen one another in person was about a year and a half ago.

He knew that plane tickets were expensive and their schedules were vastly different and school only added to the challenge – another reason he tried to be more patient about the lack of calls - and he tried not to be upset by it, he really did. He had even offered to fly out to Japan between semesters to visit her instead, thinking that maybe that would be easier on her. Every time he had suggested it, though, Yumi would decline due to her schedule already being booked with other responsibilities.  It was painful and frustrating to constantly be put on the back burner, though, and he tended to get pushy about the subject. He tried to curb his bad habits of jumping to conclusions and shoving his foot in his mouth by voicing those accusations. He didn’t voice his paranoia that she was avoiding him because she met someone else – someone better than him – and tried to pretend to be unaffected the few times they did talk.

His biggest struggle was the lack of physical intimacy, admittedly. It wasn’t the fact that their sex life was completely non-existant; he could, quite honestly, care less about that sort of stuff. It was the small and common gestures that he missed the most. He missed knowing she was just a call away if either of them needed something. He missed being able to surprise her with that sea-foam candy she was weak to when she’d had a particularly rough week, or her meeting up with him on days where he argued with his parents with black licorice for him. It was cuddling up together on his beat-up, hand-me-down couch to watch a movie, shoved together under a blanket, pressed shoulder to shoulder and their hands overlapping just a little bit, not really holding hands but the option there if either chose to take it. He missed making breakfast together when she’d stay the night, the occasional playful bump of her hip against his as she moved around him to smack his wonky coffee machine.

He missed being able to offer support and be supported by those little things. He felt pathetic for being hung-up on those things and knew they were more shortcomings of his. He was too clingy and too possessive – he was certain that’s what it was – and he knew that if he continued on like that then his impatience and aggression were going to take over. He knew that he’d spew venom and acid from his lips at her and watch everything wither and die before him. He’d lose her in every sense of the word; as his lover, as his confidant, and as his best friend.

He decided that it was time to wrap up this chapter of their relationship, in hopes that he could still have her in his life somehow.

He tried to keep himself together, wanting the call to be as pleasant as possible before he opened his mouth, but he failed. It only a took about five minutes for his unease and distress to become enough to rouse her suspicion and derail the story she was telling. He tried to urge her to continue, assure her that he was focused, but she knew him better than that. “If something’s bothering you, just tell me, Ulrich,” She said, only a slight undercurrent of irritation to her tone.

Knowing that his plans had been successfully destroyed, he blurted out, “I think we should break up.”

She’d been stunned, to say the least. Her eyes widened and she blinked frantically, expression shifting between bewildered to angry to just sort of… Lost, he thought, was the best explanation for it. She opened her mouth a few times, struggling to find the right words. “You want to break up?”

“No, I don’t want to, but I… I can’t keep doing this whole long distance thing, Yumi,” He sighed, one hand coming up to run his fingers through his hair. Everything in her tone screamed that she was accusing him and God did it hurt worse than he thought it would. He couldn’t go back, though; even if he tried to back-pedal, he knew she’d remember this and that it would cause the rift between them to grow even worse. “I miss seeing you and talking to you. I miss being in the same time zone, same country, same city that you are. I miss seeing your face in person, outside of a computer screen, and I miss having the actual ability to reach out and have you there. I know you don’t have much time with your studies and I don’t want you to stress about talking to me. I don’t love you any less but I figured… This would be the best option for both of us. We can just go back to being friends, so we can still talk and everything, but there just won’t be any additional expectations.”

She was silent again and the look on her face is one he couldn’t place. He had expected anger or tears or hurt or a variety of other possibilities, but not this reserved expression that gave away nothing. He felt uneasy and terrified, as if he’d set off a grenade in a closet, before she cleared her throat. “Yeah. Okay. It’s over then,” She sounded so detached, and it was agonizing. It wasn’t fair of him to hurt over it – he didn’t deserve that much consideration of his own feelings, he told himself – but it killed him to know he was causing her to hurt. Something about how she said it felt so final and he gets the sinking suspicion that it was said that was for a reason.

He had cut out the most important person in his world with a knife made of his own selfish wants and ignorant words.

He opened his mouth, frantic to say something – anything, really – to try and keep her from just ending it completely from this point forward. She shifted slightly and then the screen on her end went black. He stayed frozen for a moment before trying to call her back, and again, and again, and again. He left voicemails pleading her to answer and just talk to him about this, begging that if she didn’t want this to talk to him so they can try to reach some kind of answer. He tried for a straight thirty minutes but she never answered; whether because she was just ignoring him or had actually left her computer, he couldn’t say for certain. She normally left her status on invisible and just called people when she could due to her schedule and the time difference.

He slowly exited skype and closed his own laptop, feeling like he was moving more on autopilot than by his own will. He had to leave for class or he’d be late. He’d already been late two other days and one more would count as an absence. He didn’t want to hear it from his father that his perfect attendance – something that he had only been able to accomplish in recent years - had been sullied by his own usual incompetence. He shoved his laptop into his carrying case and grabbed his book bag, heading out. He’d avoid Odd, William, Jeremy and Aelita all day because he knew there’d be backlash from them when they found out. He never conferred with any of them before having this conversation with her – Hell, he hadn’t talked it over with anyone – and he knew they’d all have a few choice words about it.

It was his last day of class for the week and he didn’t have work in the morning, so he figured he’d call some of his other friends – the few he’s made from classes – and see about getting together with them that night. He could go out, have some drinks, and maybe feel less awful about the whole thing; spend a night delaying the inevitable scorn and resentment that would be doled out by everyone around him and especially from himself.

[bewareofchris]

(Kids anon here) I was thinking about altair and malik's kids, but if any of the other kids have a more interesting birthday.... :D

Pg-13/R | Altmal, Kids mostly | language really.

Tazim tried his best not to worry about the things that seemed to constantly worry his siblings.  He didn’t stress about school.  He wasn’t worried about his parents.  He didn’t daydream of his future obligations (like Sef) or create new future obligations (like Jaida).  But most importantly, he didn’t go out of his way to create new disasters like Darim.  

Nobody could create a disaster like Darim.  

Six days shy of their eighteenth birthday they were all alone in the house.  Tazim was luxuriating in the freedom of being trusted by his parents not to do dumb shit.  (And yes, he was playing video games in his underwear in the basement because he could.)  Sef was spending that time fretting over something because he always was.  It was only Darim that came barreling down the steps of the basement shouting, “I need to hide somewhere.”

Tazim said, “try the closet, there’s space now that Sef’s out.”  That might have been the end of it (as Tazim didn’t spend too much time worrying about things or being curious about them either).  Except that Darim literally yanked open the closet door to stuff himself inside of it.  That was peculiar (especially since there were far better places to hide) but even more strange was the sound of the doorbell ringing from upstairs.  

“Don’t let Sef answer the door!” came from inside the closet.

“What?” Tazim asked.  He paused his game and grabbed his pants off the couch next to him.  On the one hand, there was the general pact between brothers to protect Sef.  Not that Sef was incapable, just that he wasn’t inclined.  Tazim stepped into his jeans as he was walking over to the closet, “what did you do?”

“You know Mrs. Rially that lives next door?”

“Yes.”

Darim did not provide any new information.  Instead he seemed to think that was all that needed to be said.  The doorbell rang again and Darim said, “don’t let Sef answer the door!”

“I’m not getting involved when I don’t know the facts,” Tazim responded.  He grabbed his shirt off the back of a chair and pulled it on over his head.  He barely heard:

“So I had sex with her.”

“What?” Tazim said.  “She’s like forty five!”

“I know.”

“She’s married,” Tazim added.

“Yeah I know.  Look, she asked me to shovel the snow in her drive and said she’d pay me and since we have to pay Father back for the car, I said I would do it and we went inside so she could pay me and we ended up having sex.”

“So you’re a prostitute,” Tazim said.

“No.”  Darim huffed and opened the door far enough to say, “she didn’t even pay me.”

“You should always get the money that’s owed you,” Tazim said.  He sighed when the doorbell rang again.  “Is that her husband?”

“Maybe,” Darim said very, very quietly.  (Which meant, yes.)

Tazim sighed as he headed up the stairs.  Sef was looking surly about being dragged out of his nerd cave (also known as his room) by the doorbell ringing but he was more confused when Tazim stopped him, “I’ve got it.”  They were both standing approximately in front of the door when Tazim opened it and found Mr. Rially standing there.  He had the distinct look of a grown man working himself up to a rolling boil.  A kind of red-tinged anger that must have come from being cuckolded by a neighbor kid.  

It didn’t explain why Sef blanched out pale upon the sight of him.

“Yes?” Tazim asked.  

“I’d like to speak to your parents,” Mr. Rially said.

“Sorry, they’re not here.”

“When will they be back?”

Tazim shrugged.  “They’re always here on our birthday.”

Sef was moving slowly backward, toward the stairs.  The motion drew Mr. Rially’s attention but he didn’t seem to care that Sef existed (of course he didn’t, there was almost no physical similarities between his brothers; Sef even had lighter colored hair than Darim).  

Mr. Rially was Trying His Best and it showed in the vibrating tightness of his whole body.  “When will that be?”

“The tenth,” Tazim said.  “Hey, man, I get that you’re angry about your wife and all.  I’m angry for you too, but if you do anything to my brother I’ll burn your house down.”  

“Wife?” Sef said from halfway up the stairs.

Tazim turned to look at him, “wife,” he repeated.  “Why did you fuck one of them too?”

Sef just smiled in exactly the way that meant he had and shook his head, “no.”  (This was why his brother was a terrible liar.)  

Mr. Rially (who had a teenaged son, who prior to this moment might not have announced his interest in sex with other boys) looked as if His Best was on the verge of failing.  He was an aging sort of man, with the look of having spent years behind a desk moving numbers from one column to another.  It wouldn’t have been even a little difficult to subdue Mr. Rially but it would have been better not to have to try.  

“I could give you the lawyers’ number,” Sef said.  “I mean, you’ll end up dealing with them either way.  So why not go directly to the source right?”

“I’m not interested in legal matters, I’m specifically interested in an explanation of how your parents raised their sons to disrespect a man’s home.”  Every word was squeezed through Mr. Rially’s teeth.

“Disrespect?” Sef repeated (he was even farther up the stairs at that point, but summoned by High Ideals that he could argue).  He was at the door in a minute.  “Your wife cheated on you with a seventeen year old,” seemed a bit harsh.  “Your son is seventeen?  So maybe the question you should be asking isn’t, how did our parents raise us but what kind of marriage you have that your wife is engaging in sexual acts kids the same age as yours.  Also, disrespect?  You’re going to show up at our door and claim that we were raised with disrespect after five straight years of your territorial Christmas aggression?  After you had the city inspect our fences?  After you accused our Dad’s dog of ruining your rose bushes?” 

Sef had now worked himself up to equal levels of anger as Mr. Rially.  This was (perhaps) exactly the reason that Darim didn’t want Sef at the door.  

“We put up with your blinding lights and your ear-numbing Christmas music because we gave you the benefit of the doubt that you weren’t a racist piece of shit.  We let it slide when you had the city inspecting our fences and double checking our property lines because there was the possibility that you might have had a legitimate claim.  And we ignored your frequent morning tirades about our dog destroying your rose bushes because it was impolite to mention to you that your wife who tends them is a shitty fucking gardener.  But if you are going to accuse our parents of raising us to be disrespectful, then I no longer feel we need to afford you any kind of allowances.  You will be hearing from our lawyer, because we’re seventeen, you pompous piece of racist shit.  What your wife did was illegal and frankly, we’re tired of you.”  Then he swung the door so it slammed in Mr. Rially’s face.  

There was a moment of silence, while the three of them tried to figure out what to do next.  Tazim reached over to flip the lock on the door just in case the enraged man on the other side tried to get in.  “Are you really calling the lawyers?”

“Its the lawyers or Dad,” Sef said.

Then the banging on the door and the screaming of expletives started.  Tazim sighed.  “Cops or lawyers first?”

“Call the lawyer first.”  He flipped the deadbolt lock too and said, “I’m going to go lock the backdoor.  Where’s Darim?”

“Basement closet,” Tazim answered.  He pulled his phone out of his pocket to call the scary lawyer lady set to the background music of an enraged old man calling his brother things that simply didn’t bear repeating.

–

Altair was luxuriating in the peace and quiet that accompanied a vacation taken without children.  He was sitting in the glorious sun by a sparkling pool, thinking of taking a lovely nap when his phone rang.  He’d taken the precaution of leaving his second phone in the hotel room so as not to have to deal with anything related to work or children.  There were five people that had the number for the phone he’d brought with them.  Two of them were lawyers, one of them was his husband, one was his cousin and one was Jaida.  None of them would have called him unless it was urgent.

He picked it up, “hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Ibn-La’Ahad,” was Ferdinand the second.  She sounded tense, and perhaps terse, and that meant something had happened.  “I am calling to inform you of the unfortunate matter of your neighbor.  It appears that the oldest Mr. Ibn-La’Ahad has had a sexual encounter with Mrs. Rially,” Altair had hoped none of his kids would follow in his footsteps when it came to sex but Darim was doing his best to emulate him.  

“I assume Mr. Rially found out?”

“Unfortunately,” Ferdinand said.  “I have been told that he came to your door to express his frustration and your middle son informed him that he was a racist piece of shit,” which he was, “and this enraged Mr. Rially who began violently beating on the door and shouting several unrepeatable slurs.  I have some of them recorded.  Your youngest son seemed to believe this would require some legal intervention.”

Altair considered it.  “What kind of slurs?”

“I’d rather not repeat them, sir.  I did advise the Mr. Ibn-La’Ahads to call the cops if Mr. Rially did not leave the property.”

“Did he?”

“He did not,” Ferdinand said.  She had a frank manner about her; an utter lack of tone that even Walters (the second) could not match.  Everything was simply matter of fact for Ferdinand.  “How would you like to proceed?”

Altair hummed.  “It would be best for the neighborhood if the Railly’s moved.  However, as my son had sex with the man’s wife, as long as they go quietly I see no reason to do anything further.”

“Of course,” Ferdinand said.  “We will see to it.”

Altair thanked her and hung up the phone.  He considered going to call his sons but that would require him to go back to the room, which would require him to see Malik, which would require him to explain the situation, which would require them to discuss, which would take a while.  He checked the time and then resolved to wait another ten or so minutes.  Just long enough to enjoy the sun a bit more.

–

“Darim,” Tazim said (again), “come out of the closet.  He’s gone now.”

“He could come back,” Darim said from behind the imagined safety of the closet door.  “I don’t even know how it happened.  I was just there to get some hot chocolate to warm up!  I was just waiting for her to give me the money she promised.  And then we were having sex.”

Sef made ugly confused faces.  He motioned at the door, to indicate the utter lack of sense their brother was making, and Tazim shrugged.  There was no telling if Darim didn’t understand the entire flirtation process or if his brain really was in his dick.  

“Man, it’s okay,” Tazim said through the door.  “Sef had sex with Tyler anyway.”

“I did not,” was a complete and total lie.

Darim yanked the door open to glare at Sef.  “Tyler?” he repeated.  “Tyler?  That kid spent two years nagging Jaida to go on a date.  He stalked her outside the house.  He wrote her sonnets.  He threw rocks at her window.  I had to switch rooms with her because he kept standing in front of his bedroom window naked so she’d see him!  You slept with him?”

Sef had no excuses for his behavior.  “He’s hot.  And he’s not the same age as Dad.”

Tazim didn’t want to linger on that too long.  “We should order pizza.”

“We should talk about Sef fucking Tyler the creep.  I’m going to call Jaida and tell her,” Darim was good about focusing on anything but himself in times of crisis.  He even pulled his phone out of his pocket just in time for it to start ringing over the smug sound of Sef saying:

“I already told her jackass.”

Tazim’s phone started ringing in time with Sef’s phone and just to add an ominous chorus to the mix, there was an ancient landline upstairs that started ringing too.  There was the three of them, all looking at their phones.  Father was calling Tazim, Dad was calling Darim, the hotel number was calling Sef and one assumed Dad’s other phone was calling the house.  

“You have to answer it,” Sef and Tazim said almost simultaneously as Darim looked in horror at the phone screen.

“Why me?” Darim shouted.

“You fucked the old woman,” Tazim said.

“And got caught,” Sef added.

Darim wavered.  Then he touched his thumb to the screen and held it up to his ear gingerly, “hi Dad?”

–

Altair loved his children.  He genuinely loved his kids.  They were everything he’d hoped his children would be, right up to and including the bit where one of them had sex with the neighbor’s wife.  

Malik’s response had been: “but she’s our age,” as if that were the most significant thing.  It was immediately followed with, “don’t.”  He put his hand up to forestall the inevitable part of the conversation where Altair informed him that he’d had sex with women as old as Mrs. Rially (and some older) when he was a young man.  “Married women too?”

“I didn’t ask,” Altair said.  “None of my neighbors though.”

“Do we have to address this?  He’s going to be eighteen in three days.  Technically, all we have is the moral objection to adultery.”  This was uncharacteristic of Malik who had never turned down a lesson that might need to be taught.

“Sef called Mr. Rially a racist piece of shit.”

“Well he is,” Malik said.

Altair smiled.  “I’m sure he’ll be moving soon.  So what would you like to do?”

Malik shrugged.  “What do you want to do?”

–

Darim was ready for any response from his Dad except, “we’ve called Jaida to come and baby-sit you for the a few days until we get home.”

“Dad,” Darim said.  “We don’t need a baby-sitter.”

“Son,” Dad replied, “every time you’re left unattended I get a call from the cops or a lawyer.  I don’t mind because you’re my children.  You’re minors.  Its my responsibility to see that you become responsible young men.  So your sister is going to come baby sit you until you’re eighteen.  Then you do whatever you’d like.”

Tazim was snorting.  “I didn’t fuck any of them, Dad,” he shouted.

“Very good son,” Dad said.  “Who did Sef have sex with?  Mr. Rially?”

“Tyler,” Darim said.

“Jaida’s stalker?”

Sef scoffed like a growl.  “He’s not bad looking, and at least he’s not forty something.”

“He’s a stalker,” Dad said.  It sounded like Father was adding something that couldn’t quite be understood in the background.  Whatever it was didn’t get repeated but it made Dad laugh.  “Jaida should be there within the hour so please clean the house and hide the illegal substances that you’ve been consuming before she arrives.”

The thing was.  Dad wasn’t joking.  Sef scoffed again, Tazim groaned and Darim looked guiltily around the messy game room.  

“Ok,” Darim said.  “Maybe ask her to drive slowly?”

“Sorry son,” Dad said.  “Children can’t be left unsupervised for long.”  Then he wished them luck and hung up.

Sef and Tazim were both glaring at him.  Darim tried his best to smile.  “You’re cleaning the bathrooms,” Sef said.

“And the dishes,” Tazim added.