#i also looped his cover of Shape of You for some time because it struck me when i first heard it

[hyper-revenge-sio]

discovered All I See by NateWantsToBattle

(i am in love with this song)

[putridsexobject]

(Male) Shadow Monster X (Female) Reader (NSFW) (Part 2)

Warnings: Mature, Smut, Teratophilia

Word count: 3212

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It doesn't return for a long time. A month has passed already and my previous state has returned full-throttle until I'm drinking 10 cups of coffee daily just to keep my head from collapsing into my cereal bowl. When it gets so bad that I wonder if I should use heavy-duty sleeping agents again, it appears. Its presence mute but identifiable by the air turning cold around it like a radiator polarity. Goosebumps prickle on my skin, stirring me from my very much needed nap. My thinking is sluggish but once I realize what's happening, I feel the wisps of its hands, brushing ever so slightly against my face.

"Wait!" I say. It stops in surprise before collapsing into a puddle of smoke with a hiss, probably thinking I were objecting again. "No! Don't go!" I call out to the darkness, sitting up in bed, "I-I want to stay awake...I want to see you." The darkness says nothing. I huff dejectedly, shoulders slumping. I slide down into my pillows and sit in disappointment. Until a figure steps out of the darkness and I see it in much more clarity despite the dark of the room. It's skin is matte black, permanently etched with shadow. There is no feature on its visage to be highlighted, not even ears or hair. It was like a mannequin had just climbed out of a chimney, covered in soot. Its skin so smooth it's statuesque, as though carved out of marble. Despite its apparitional nature, its body ripples with sculpted muscle in a skinless manner (resembling an anatomical portrayal of the human muscle at subcutaneous expense). It stands at a little over 7 feet, strings of mist like incense steaming off its skin as though it had just been put out of fire. The smoke-like body of substance is a grey compared to its vessel blacker than nothing. It has no eyes, not even hollows where they should be, yet it stares straight at me, taking in my eyes for the first time. 

I hesitate on speaking, soaking in the shock of it, but once it had passed, I instead choke on awkwardness, a thousand questions on the tip of my tongue. "W-What...are you?" I ask, noticing a slight uneasiness in my tone. "I mean...what have you been doing to me? I haven't slept that well in, like," I scoff lightheartedly in an attempt to put my nerves under my sway, "forever," finalizing my inquiry with an instinctive grin. "I...give you...peace. And take away...bad things." It says each word as though with careful consideration, its voice uniform to its shadowy form; dreamy yet raspy, faint and low like the hum of an air conditioner. And broken, with soft edges, trailing off with a gentle blowing sound. "You can talk?" I exclaim in disbelief, eyes widening in surprise that it actually responded. It startles at my raised voice, a piece of its shoulder letting loose a fervent stream of smoke like blackboard erasers banging together to release powdered chalk. It doesn't answer for a moment, but then slowly bows its head once, in a preemptive manner. "Well...thank you," I say amicably, smiling to my eyes with genuine gratefulness. It merely stares; a blank unreadable slate. Silence ensues once again as I sit thinking of what to do next. "You...can touch me if you want," I say, awkwardly clearing my throat a little, "I don't mind. It's actually, uh, nice." It inclines its head slightly to the side, as though in recognition of my words. And slowly it starts to walk towards the bed, it's skin vibrating like the ripples in a river.

I feel a shudder start in my chest and echo down into my core as the air turns cold as it comes closer, unaware of the effect. It reaches the side of my bed and stops, before reaching out its fingers to set them against my thigh in a non-perverse action. I swallow in anticipation at how tortuously soft its touches are. I can't bring myself to fear this harmless thing that's been my walking melatonin inducer, can't even begin to feel anything other than this growing knot of arousal despite the objection of my shame. I see its hands clearly in the orange light: no fingernails, just wispy ends like a flame. It smells like an icebox, but also comforting, like the inside of my closet; dust, laundry detergent, and books. It runs into the crevasse of my inner thigh, probably unassuming to it having such an arousing effect. I spread my leg open on instinct, my quickening heartbeat pounding in my sex in excitement of such close proximity with its cold fingers. It tilts its head down at me in fascination. I look up at it from under my eyelashes, curling my toes and lifting my hips a little so that its fingers accidentally brush against the fabric of my night shorts. It seems to take it as an initiative to further its physical appraisal because it crawls into the bed. 

Despite it's huge stature, it barely makes an indentation on the mattress. It looks like a right beast crouched with its shoulders hunched over. It curls over, its left knee against its chest, and begins to shamelessly runs its hands over my legs again, stopping ever so often to look up at me as though making sure I was still okay with it. "W... arm," it whispers hoarsely, the soothing, yet haunting sigh of its voice sending chills up my spine. I scoot closer to it, bending my knees, its hands limply pulling away as it shuddered, clearly unnerved by how close I was. I reach over and tentatively run my hand against its chest, feeling the smoothness and firmness like rock. It trembles uncontrollably in an excited fashion, smoke shaking off its vibrating body in messy curls. "Do you like that?" I ask curiously, unable to ignore the swell of pride in my chest at its strangely adorable reaction. It ducks its chin in a perfunctory way, and snakes it's hand over mine, pressing it harder against its chest, in response, a quiet blowing sound emitting from no known orifice. I continue the travel of my hand down the smooth contour of its chest, lower and lower, tracing the mound of muscle of its abdomen. I let my fingertips settle on the divet between the end of its abs and the swell of its pubic area, shifting into perverse curiosity. 

Its broad shoulders fold over and smoke hisses off even more, like disturbed dirt. Flattening my fingers against the area where a human male's cock should be, a protuberant mound like a Barbie doll. A sharp whistle cries out in appreciation, before turning into a low humming like a car left on added with the muffler oozing gas. I smirk and bite my lip as its body convulses and it opens its thighs to allow me easier access. It throws its chin back to reveal its mouth for the first time. It's a slit across its face like a dog, a long wild tongue coils out of its maw in a loose ebony ringlet as though it were panting to match, jaw unhinging widely to reveal a collection of overcrowded fangs like upside down pear-shaped onyx  gemstones coinciding with its dark complexion.

I pinch my fingers together, pressing my fingertips flat into the area to massage it in a circular motion, exerting a considerable amount of pressure in my excitement. The experience is foreign; rubbing a smooth hardened area to get the monster off. But as I continue my rapid massage, the waxen plot expands, like molded clay. Until an artificial cock emerges, just as monstrously intimidating as its host. It drips small puffs of smoke in loops out the top of the head, like some abstract version of pre-cum. The base isn't veiny like a human's, but smooth, the shaft sinewy and hard. I shudder at the sight of it, awed by this strange thing, and enjoying the alien texture as I wrap my hand around it and gently squeeze. I push forward onto my knees, tucking them in under me as I scoot closer in between the enigma. One of his long legs is bent lazily on one side of me, tilted open, the other hanging over the side of the bed. He leans backwards on his elbows as I quicken my pace, occasionally swiping a thumb over the tip to clear the string of smoke flowing out of it. And when I drop my head down to suckle the mushroom-shaped tip into my mouth, pursing my lips around it before opening and rolling my hot wet tongue over the sleek skin, then running the smooth underside of my tongue over the smoky discharge, he whistles in a decibel so high the neighbor's dog starts its howls again. 

He bucks his hips into my hand, his cock throbbing in my hand like in one of those cartoons. I pull away from his cock and smile smugly, teasingly slowing my pace to a stop until he stops his wild humping and stares at me with what would probably be a pouting expression. "Needy, aren't you?...First time?" I ask devilishly, enjoying his desperate little twitches into my loose grasp that he attempts to stop. He says nothing, his expressionless face simply looking at me in response before he pushes off his hands and leans forward into me, his size terrifying, especially swollen burly with muscle. He pulls his unfurled leg from the floor and matches it in the position of the other, around me, as he pulls me into him by the hips. He looks down at me in the silence, before pressing his mouth area into my lips sweetly. I'm struck dumb as I feel his tongue dart out and wetly trace the outline of my lips, before withdrawing. My surprise quickly diminishes as I close my eyes and lean up into his mouth, opening my lips to grant his tongue entrance.

He tastes the inside of my mouth, pressing into the soft tissue of my cheek a moment before it entwines around my tongue, clicking his razor-sharp teeth against my own. I enjoy the absolute closeness of him, pushing forward and reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck before he slowly pulls away, a string of saliva connecting our mouths. He backs up and moves his hands from my hips to my thighs, lifting my rear up gently so that it's perched in his lap. When the thick of its cock is only a few inches away from my clothed sex is when he slides his fingers into the hem of my shorts and looks up at me in question. I push myself slightly into his cock, encouraging him to remove them. He runs his hands up my body before running them back down my sides until his thumbs hook under the elastic of my shorts and underwear, slowly pushing them down to my knees, never breaking contact. I lift my legs up as he pulls them off completely, the cool breeze on my newly exposed parts sending shockwaves of pleasure through my sex.

I chew on my bottom lip and watch him through my eyelashes. He opens the gape of his own mouth and lets his tongue slither out like some biblical serpentine metaphor for the lustful sins it were about to commit. He moves with unhurried grace and speed, descending his head in between my legs; the distance taken is astonishing as he lifts the lower half of my body up with surprising strength so that his mouth can reach me, determined to show me what he learned.

I feel his cold tongue prod my clit, rolling and pressing it with the tendril. I jerk my hips forward into his mouth. Not able to grab onto his head because of the distance, I settle on curling my fingers tightly around the sheets. "H-oly...shit," I gasp out, furrowing my eyebrows upwards and letting my mouth fall slack in a mute pleasure.  He traces my slit with the tip of his tongue, swirling and flicking with brute force as though he weren't a novice to the pleasure of a human.

Before seeping his tongues back in between my folds, swirling around in my arousal to taste me. He prods my entrance, dipping slowly into me. I clench the sheets so hard my knuckles turn white with strain, my face twisted in pleasure mid-moan.

 

I feel my body shake, waves of lust coursing through me as I try to breathe through the pulsating bliss. His tongue lengthens completely inside me, first reaching so far it grazes my cervix then shortening to curl, hitting my G-spot. My toes press into my feet as the pleasure explodes through me, shattering me into a million pieces. I cry out and lift my feet onto each of his shoulders, pressing my toes so hard the nails graze his skin."F-uck!" I whine out, my eyes tearing up in pure unbridled ecstasy. He pulls his tongue out of me with a wet pop like a suction cup, only to slam it back into my with an unforeseen ferocity. It all builds up into this aching pulsating ball inside me, all my muscles tensing, my insides tightening around his tongue. I freeze, breath stifling and eyes rolling back into my head as an orgasm washes over me. He doesn't stop his violent lovemaking with his tongue, grabbing my hips and trying to take as much of me into his mouth without accidentally biting me.

My back arches as I let my hands lay limp around my head. I come down from my high, the monster slowly pulls his tongue out, giving me a final swipe up my sex as he straightens his back to its full length, hovering over me like a skyscraper. I must look like a mess; panting, chest heaving, cheeks flush, and strands of hair sticking to my sweaty forehead. He tilts his head again, reaching over to lightly stroke my cheek, over my heaving chest, and down my tummy before laying down onto me, putting most of his weight onto his elbows as to not crush me. He curls his back so that his face is in mine (barely), slipping his tongue between my lips as he wraps his hands in the pits of my legs, bending them to my stomach as far as they can go with my wet sex pressed against his stomach. We continue kissing for a few minutes, I slip off my shirt and wrap my arms around him, his chest pressing lightly against my nipples to create a delicious stimulation. His hand slides over to fondle my breasts in between his hands, kneading them like dough, before rolling the swollen nubs and reaching his tongue down to swirl around the bud. After a minute of this, he slips his other hand down in between my thighs and with slow strokes in my wetness for lubrication, pushes a finger inside me. I arch my back up, pushing my hips down as I slowly ground my sex against his hand, shoving my mouth back against his as I moaning into his throat.

I buck my sex into him furiously, signifying his finger isn't enough. He pulls his finger out and places it back in the divet of my leg, as he lines himself up in between me, folding his legs in half under him. He slowly pushes into me, leaning back over me to study my face and see how I react. I press my lips together, muffling a small grunt as his large girth stretches me. "A...Am I...hurting...you?" He asks evidently concerned as he cocks his head. I look up at him, smiling, "No, no, it's okay...just...a little big," I laugh. He stares back in response and then affectionately wraps his hand on the top of my head and around my waist, pulling in my body, small compared to his giant one. His chin is pressed against the side of my head, muscular body protective around my own. He's slow and sweet in its thrust, allowing me to get used to his size as it pushes deeper and deeper inside me, until at last it's to the hilt, nestled as far as he can go, that he stops. Waiting until it feels good for me. I buck up my hips and whine a bit, "More!" He listens and begins his sweet fuck. Slowly rocking back and forth, each swing forward slamming inside me in a way that feels like I'm tingling all over, pulling out almost all the way before slamming it back in.

 

I clutch his back and moan freely into his stomach. The room is filled with the sounds of my heavy breathing, his windy coos of appreciation, and the lewd wet slaps of flesh on flesh.

The familiar wave of euphoria builds up quickly inside me, a hotness so vehement I clench my teeth to quell the rushing of blood in my ears, and it crashes even quicker, my moans in unison with his rapid thrusts. I feel him tense above me and shake violently, like sand sifting through open hands. His skin so pleasantly cool against my hot burning flesh. He emits a broken whistling, as though choking on his saliva, and spills a liquid inside me so cold it was like Icy Hot gel shoved inside of me. I squeeze my thighs around him to make the feeling last as long as possible, squeezing so hard as though I could morph his body into mine to create some abominable ball of pure unfiltered pleasure.

His muscles relax as he curls over me to put all his weight on his front hands, stomach heaving in exhaustion. After a minute, when both our breathing has regulated, he slips off the bed to leave. I immediately sit up to grab onto its hand and jerk it towards me. "Stay? Please?" I ask, doing nothing to hide the desperation in my voice. He does nothing but turn his head to stare for a while and then look down at my hand pathetically clutched around his. My stomach churns and I feel my face flush, nervous that I'd made an idiot out of myself. I slowly drop his hand and place it on my knee, looking at the floor awkwardly. But then he tilts its head (for the thousandth time) and placidly approaches the edge of the bed, leaning down to pinch my jaw in between his fingers and kiss me in his messy animalistic way, before setting his knee onto the bed and then the other, deepening our kiss. Until he's back in the bed with me, trapping me in a cage of his limbs, and finally breaking our kiss as he turns to his side and holds me into his body in such a  passionate need, "I...won't go...if you...don't want me to." The faint of his humming consoling me into a peaceful slumber.

[oingo233]

You Are Beautiful (1)

Summary: Sirius Black was entranced since the moment he saw you. He had to have you but you are convinced his feelings are fleeting, and will only hurt you. People inside and outside of your relationship meddle in the makings of something that could be beautiful... or disastrous. Will love and confidence win? Or will doubt and uncertainty tear you both down?

Young Sirius Black x Pus SizedFemReader

Warning: one inappropriate joke lol, fluff I suppose and nothing else really. All the real stuff comes later :0

Authors note: I mostly write my xreader fics as neutral but as this is a request, I wrote this as fem. But if anyone would like a male version or neutral version let me know and I will copy this but obviously change readers gender (and it's no burden to me I'd love to make more readers feel included and represented). Also reader is plus sized and she is confident and strong throughout the fic -because plus sized characters aren't represented like that in film/books alot (but if looking for amazing and empowering plus sized female characters Nina Zenik from Six of Crows owns my entire heart and changed how I saw myself personally and I would recommend that book for anyone really)- but as any human she has her insecurities because beauty standards are unattainable and have a way excluding so many people and making us feel less than beautiful. As a plus sized/overweight person myself, I understand how we have to fight to feel beautiful and fight this internalized bias we have when we look in the mirror. But WE ARE BEAUTIFUL. WE ARE WORTHY OF MAGAZINGE COVERS AND COMPLIMENTS AND ABOVE ALL SELF LOVE!! The self insert character in this has fought for her confidence, but it will shake and stumble throughout the series and Sirius and friends are there for her to help her realize for herself how beautiful she truly is, once again. So I hope I didn't stray too far from the request :) Enjoy....

Word Count: 1.8

Authors Note: About halfway through I decided to make it a series oops-

****Blabbering Idiot****

Sirius Black is a man of many, many words. In fact, I'm sure if he was writing this he could quickly turn it into one of the most entertaining novels ever written. He'd describe the laughter of his friends for a whole page. Tell a hilarious joke on the next. Then he'd describe the wind blowing through the open halls and courtyard and the spring sun. He could write about a great many things in great detail. (But he wouldn't because he doesn't quite enjoy writing as much as he does anything else, but that's above the point.)

As I said, Sirius Black is a man of many words. So it was such a curious thing when he first saw you. It was an astounding thing really, because for the first time he found something that rendered him completely speechless.

The sun was peeking through the open corridor and pooled onto you, caressing your skin and hair in an ethereal glow. Highlighting curves that brought both sinful and sweet thoughts running through him. It was as if the universe was telling him, look at what we've created, look at this beautiful creature. But he could hardly believe that this world could create something so lovely and kind. You threw your head back in laughter at something your friend said and suddenly the world is back to normal and all he can hear is your laughter and the sound of his friends curiosity at what could have possibly kept him from the conversation about muggle rock compared to Wizard bands. In fact, James was so passionate about it half the hall turned to listen to his rendition of The Chain by Fleetwood Mac.

But he didn't care, he took a feeble step towards you and suddenly felt so nervous his hands began to sweat. He stuttered and coughed up his words just for a simple "hello" in your direction only for the wind blowing through the halls to carry it away. And his friends laughed at him as he watched you walk too far from where he wanted you. Because, oh did he want you.

Sirus POV:

"I'm telling you, I won't be able to sleep tonight unless I know who she is," Sirius says for not the first time that evening. James started to laugh.

"Why? Because you'll be too busy thinking of her?" James said, laughing as he made a very suggestive hand motion. Peter cackled and Remus rolled his eyes, trying to find the cleaner side of his humor but instead he couldn't help but snort. Sirius pushed James's shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm sure Lily would love to know how familiar with that feeling you are," Sirius says and James stopped laughing immediately, his eyes narrowed.

"Please, you wouldn't dare. And I will deny all accusations, you'll be made out to be a liar. Then the mystery girl will never love you. Is that what you want, Pads?" James joked with a single arch of his brow. Sirius just rolled his eyes. He was only half paying attention, he has been scouring the hallways since he first saw that girl. He wanted to speak to her again, or maybe just stare for a bit. If things went well, he'd be able to do both those things on a date. But he hasn't seen her since that morning and his heart felt oddly shallow. He wanted those butterflies he had when looking at her to come back and overwhelm him again.

"What'll it matter if I don't even know who she is? Or- or if I can't talk to her? No one falls in love with a blabbering idiot," Sirius says. Remus shrugs.

"Lily fell in love with James," he says, Peter laughed again.

"Yeah, regardless of what he does at night," Peter added and now both James and Sirius were rolling their eyes. James and Lily just recently stopped denying their feelings for one another and gave into the sexual tension and mutual pining. Their relationship was still fairly new but they act as if they've been together for years. Sirius supposed that in a way, they have been.

Sirius would watch them giggling, hand and hand in the hall. He'd see them cuddling in the common room, or coming back after dates with rosy cheeks and beaming smiles. Sirius would never admit it out loud, but his heart cried out when he saw them like that. He rarely ever felt lonely. He could have any girl or boy he wanted if he really tried, but for what? One fun night? Only for one more morning where he wakes up alone? He wanted more than that whenever he saw Lily and James, their happiness was palpable. Their love was suffocating.

Sirius always thought he'd find the one after Hogwarts, if at all. But when he saw her... well that changed everything. In a flash he saw himself with her, their hands intertwined and her head thrown back in laughter. Rosy cheeks and bruised lips. Warm beds and making love... being in love. He nearly felt silly after and yet, he knew that even if he did sleep tonight, it would be her he'd dream of.

"Ello' guys!" Lily said, bouncing up to James who kissed her cheek. They walked with their arms looped and Sirius glared at the easy sign of affection. He thought of his parents, how they would be stiff with one another except for in quiet moments, when he'd pass through a hall and glance into their room. He'd spot a quick kiss on the cheek, and soft squeeze of the hand. It were those odd moments for him, that struck him so strongly with a sharp bitterness. They don't deserve softness and love, he'd think, how can such cruel creatures even feel such things? But even then, he'd walk away seeing them as still awful creatures born from the depths of hell, but more human.

"That's her," Sirius whispered so quietly Remus almost didn't hear it. In fact, Sirius didn’t think Remus heard it at all, but it was rather his look of longing towards the Great Hall entrance that gave him away. Because standing right there, was you.

Your hair was a little wind blown, messy around your face, bits of iit shaped your round cheeks and soft eyes. Sirius eyed you up and down and cursed clothes and cursed shyness and cursed his own head for thinking he could even talk to you. But most of all, he cursed a group of boys who walked past you.

Sirius was a confident boy, he knew how to spot someone who held their head up just as high as he did, and you were very much one of those people. You were giggling as you stole a biscuit from a friend and popped it into your mouth, you covered your mouth as you laughed when they complained with a little smile of their own.

"It's just so yummy, and I haven't eaten since breakfast." He heard you say, your friend just shook his head and handed you a plate as you sat down next to him. But right before you could get comfortable a sneering group of boys stole a piece of food from your hand and said something rather rude.

Sirius didn't even realize he had been walking towards you, this girl he has never even spoken too, yet thought of so endearingly, until he was standing right before the boys and had the pack leaders wrist firmly in his grip.

"Drop it boy, c'mon, drop it," he teased. It was humiliating for the boy and he knew it by the laughing and sneering others directed towards the group of boys, but Sirius did not care. The boy dropped the biscuit and looked as if his tail was tucked into his legs. "Good boy," he said, ruffling his hair until it was a knotted mess, the boy winced at just how hard Sirius dug his knuckles into his scalp, Sirius relented with a satisfied smirk.

Sirius’s voice took on a much harsher tone, "Now scram." The boys were out of their seats and in new ones within seconds.

Sirius felt his mood shift completely once they left, because now all eyes were on him, yours included. He looked up at you rather shyly, his hair falling in strands over his forehead. He tucked it behind his ear and found some confidence in the way your eyes followed the movement and how you blushed. He gave you his best smile, hoping his charm wasn't as weak as his legs felt at that moment.

"Hello, I'm Sirius... Sirius Black." Then, like an idiot he put his hand out for you to shake, what charmer just shakes the ladies hand? He stopped belittling himself the moment you softly placed your hand in his.

"It's nice to meet you, Sirius, and thanks for helping me. I know how to handle those filthy 'dogs'" you said, smiling as you remembered the way he spoke to them, he chuckled. "But I suppose it's nice not always having to," you finished with a bright smile on your face. He felt his own cheeks heat up and he nodded but could not think of anything better to say.

"Name," he said, you raised your brows. He cleared his throat, "your name?"

"Oh, how rude of me," you said and then you laughed, that same laugh that caught his attention and has yet to let go. "I'm (y/n) (y/l/n)."

"Nice to meet you," he said, it was as if he couldn't feel the appalled stares of your friends because all he could see was the blush on your cheeks and your head thrown back in laughter. He swallowed thickly before making his way back to his friends. They all wore raised brows and smirks, and he knew they were about to bite into him.

"Treating them like dogs, really? A bit ironic don't you think," Lily said, James shrugged

"That's why it was so good," he said, high fiving Sirius.

"But it admittedly went downhill from there," Peter was sure to add, just like Sirius knew one of them would. Sirius just laughed, too elated to finally know who you were.

"Don't start," he said, but it was too late.

All in union they sputtered out the lame word that will plague Sirius' memory of that moment forever, "Name?"

They cackled at him and ruffled his hair all the way to their seats, but Sirius knew they were pleased for him. And Sirius didn't mind, he could feel the pretty eyes of a pretty girl following him across the room. If only someone told him how important she would become to him, maybe he would have looked back at her and never looked away.

Taglist <3

@enchantedblackrose

[acraftedmistake]

A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM Chp. 15

CHP 15!!!!! Some good times and bad times lie ahead...... 

Enjoy!

“Everything okay?” Jess asked. Aiden was about to leave the house but had stopped halfway out the door, turned back around, and scanned the first floor while Jess and Olivia waited for him.

“Yeah.” Aiden said slowly as he began to close the door, twisting the knob to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally lock the three of them out, “Just thought I heard something.” He walked away from the house and patted his hair down. “You two ready to go?”

“Mhm!” Olivia finished zipping up the olive green jacket Stella had lent her. She was hiding her face with the hood of the gray sweatshirt Cassie gave her the day before as well. She knew there weren’t too many people out at this hour, but better safe than sorry.

Jess was wearing the leather jacket and beanie again, but he wasn’t too concerned about hiding his face this time. Earlier, he made a minor complaint that his clothes felt rather stiff after wearing them for a few days straight, to which Aiden promised that once they got back home he would throw their clothes in the washer.

“Let’s get going!” Jess said, adjusting the beanie on his head. Originally, Jess wasn’t too thrilled at the idea of going out at this hour. Knowing there might be Awakening members roaming around, or his alternate self--who had no problem beating Radar in broad daylight--made Jess uncertain over the safety of Obsidian Town’s streets. Aiden assured him that they’d be alright, it’d be three against one, and--in his words--he ‘Wants to do somethin’ nice for Olivia after last night’.

Jess appreciated the thoughtfulness, and in the end, visiting Olivia’s grave was up to… Well, Olivia, but he’d still be ready in case a creep tried to pull something.  

Jess couldn’t really blame Olivia for wanting to check out her grave. It’s her place of death. When would you ever get an opportunity to visit a place like that again? Not to mention, Jess had been wanting to get a better look at Obsidian Town rather than getting glimpses or constantly staring at the ground.

The three walked to the left and started their journey to the cemetery. Aiden and Olivia were making small talk, so Jess took this time to absorb his surroundings.

Up ahead, he could spot a tall, crooked, ivory colored tower in the distance. That must’ve been the library Olivia mentioned before. Even from all the way over here Jess could see how ruined the place was. Cracks stretched across it, it was riddled with holes, and it looked moments away from collapsing.

Jess scanned the streets. The long, thin black lamp posts on each side had thin string-lights tied to their tops that stretched across the streets in a zig-zag like manner. It’s a shame they weren’t on at the moment, they must’ve been wonderful when lit.

There were empty stalls they’d pass by occasionally. Colorful, patterned tents protected the bare tables, empty boxes, and scraps sitting underneath. Jess noticed each stall had string lights, small lanterns, or candles for light. He’d catch quick glimpses at folded signs tucked away and papers taped onto poles advertising items and prices. Seeing all of this reminded him of the farmer markets Beacon Town. Jess would always act so crabby when he woke up early for them, but it wouldn’t take long for him to get hyped up and dashing around the place until closing time.

The stalls and all were nice, but Jess couldn’t help but find Obsidian Town’s buildings to be… Underwhelming.

Many of the buildings, from what he could see, were constructed with the same materials: stone, wood, bricks, concrete, the occasional polished granite and diorite, and the rare terracotta. There were variations with the colors, but seeing the same materials got real tiring real fast.

And most structures here were just shapes. That’s all that could really be said. Squared, rectangled, plain shapes to fit the equally-plain materials. Even the sizes of the buildings felt plain. Many were one to two stories, a large handful reached three, and hardly any were four.

Jess was so used to Beacon Town’s monstrous structures, giant jungle trees sprouting from windows, walls of colored glass creating magnificent designs, and bridges stretching from roof to roof that connected the town together. The fun types of builds! It might sound chaotic but that’s what made Beacon Town feel like home. Obsidian Town was just that. A town.

‘Don’t think the people here can risk being experimental, to be fair.’ Jess told himself as he remembered how often quakes struck. He thought back to his town again. He thought about how so many homes would quickly collapse the moment a strong-enough quake would hit. Beacon Town was fun, but it wasn’t built with ‘sturdiness’ in mind, unlike Obsidian Town.

While the construction and sizes of these buildings were on the more ‘basic’ side, the way the citizens decorated the exteriors of their homes and stores was magnificent. Oh, how he loved their decorations. From markets using barrels, wagons, and carefully stacked crates to advertise their fresh fruit and flowers, to cafes that’d have their furniture with their own color schemes and accessories to make them stand out from one another. Some places had porches decorated with flowers and swinging benches, while others had balconies with tiny lights.

Jess would get a second to peer into windows they’d pass by, catching glimpses of interiors that’d tempt him to come closer and press his face against the glass to get a better look. Actually, he hadn’t noticed it right away, but so many windows in Obsidian Town were colored. They didn’t have any intricate designs--a majority of them were one solid color--unlike the stained glass back at the Order Hall, but they were still charming. He pictured in his head how vibrant the streets must be when night comes… The lights from the inside mixing with the colors of the glass must be magnificent.

One place that REALLY caught Jess’ attention was a stone gray building tucked between two larger ones. It had a simple square base, but had a noticeable tilt to it. It had a staircase that wrapped around it’s walls and led to the roof, where a smaller room sat atop, equally slanted. A wooden sign hung from above the door and had the words “Glass Art” on it. Purple, pink, and blue glass shards and chimes were held by opaque strings from the overhang; there was a large, round, beautiful stained glass window with the same colors beside the door.  

The glass art reminded Jess of Ivor and his potions. Man… How is Ivor? Is he doing alright? Is he worried? Hopefully he’s not working himself to the bone trying to find a way to save him and Olivia. Jess couldn’t wait to get back home and give that old man a big ol’ hug.

Come to think of it, has anyone mentioned anything about potions while they’ve been here? He doesn’t remember Olivia’s book talking about them, nor any of Aiden’s friends bringing them up… Are there no potions here? Or maybe there’s a lack of materials? They couldn’t go to the Nether or mine without a license--which STILL boggles Jess’ mind--so that probably made gathering resources hard. How would Ivor react to this? He’d probably say: ‘Pah! A universe without potions is a miserable one. Back in my day, we’d travel hundreds of miles to find the finest ingredients for our--’

“Jess!” He heard Olivia call his name. He spun around and saw her and Aiden standing under a stone arch. Olivia had her hands on her hips.

“You done dreamin’?” Aiden asked.

Jess didn’t realize how far he had strayed from the two. He hurried over and joined them at the arch.

“Sorry, sorry, I was busy thinking.” He skidded to a halt and fixed his beanie.

“Just glad nobody saw you.” Aiden said, “I almost stopped her from calling you cause I wanted to see how far you’d walk off.”

“Could you imagine if he got caught like that?” Olivia asked, “One moment he’s strolling through the streets, and the next he’s being pounced on by guards all because he was too busy sightseeing.” Her and Aiden chuckled at the thought.

“Oh, so it’s a crime to appreciate a town now?” Jess dramatically placed his hands on his hips, mimicking Olivia’s posture.

“It's illegal for you.” Aiden said, “Now come on, there’s a shortcut through the park.”

Aiden walked through the moss-covered stone arch. On each side of the arch were thick, green hedges that boxed in the park. Olivia noticed that, unlike the buildings in this town, the hedges didn’t form an actual shape; it would jut in and out at random, creating odd angles and corners. It was strange but charming.

A path that started under the arch and looped around the area, creating a horseshoe-like shape. Aiden ignored the path and continued walking straight through the grass. Olivia saw the usual things most parks had: Benches, lampposts, a sign telling people not to litter. She also noticed leftover chalk on the sidewalk, laying right beside children’s drawings of stick figures and hopscotch.

Obsidian Town’s park was small, nice, simple, and… Honestly a little dark. The thick clouds were already blocking most of the sun’s light, but the few, tall, thick trees had branches that hid nearly every inch of the sky. Despite how dim it was, Olivia could still spot wild flowers sprinkled around the grass, along with the bugs buzzing around them.

Honestly--and Olivia felt bad thinking this--she preferred this sort of park over whatever the heck Beacon Town had going on. Yes, Beacon Town was great in it’s own way. People could build whatever they wanted, and that’s wonderful, but sometimes she’d just like to take a walk without a constant ruckus surrounding her. Sometimes she just wanted peace and quiet--

“That guy’s missing his entire head!” Jess suddenly whisper-shouted as he lightly shook Olivia. Her heart started beating frantically as she hurriedly spun her head around. Her mind was going all over the place. Was it a decapitated corpse? A strange, alternate-universe monster? Or--or--

It was a statue.

“Jess, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” She sighed with relief.

“Sorry,” He took his hands off of her and pointed, “check it out though!”

Both Olivia and Aiden were looking at the statue now. It was a man frozen midrun, an axe held back--stuck in a swinging motion--while the other hand held up his battered shield, which covered his face. If he had a face, that is. It had to be The Impossible Man. Olivia wasn’t sure who else it could’ve been.

“He’s definitely seen better days.” She said under her breath. Besides his entire head missing, a majority of his body was covered in dirt, children’s chalk, and other strange stains. Cracks started from his broken neck and traveled to his chest, his armor was chipped and scratched, and a good portion of his axe had broken off as well.

“Yeah, I think there’s a couple more statues around here?” Aiden mentioned as they continued walking, “They’re all in pretty bad shape. The kids like to mess with them.”

Aiden scanned the park. “There’s one,” He pointed to the upper corner on the left side of the park. A statue was placed on a podium right in front of a tree. Despite the fact one of his legs was missing, he appeared to be sitting comfortably, gazing at the tree tops peacefully.

“Annnndddd…” Aiden kept turning his head in different directions, “I’m pretty sure there was a head somewhere… Oh!” He spun around, walking backwards now as he pointed to the direction of the entrance. Jess and Olivia followed his finger, their eyes landed on a wooden bench--and right beside it was a small column with a broken bust of the man on top. Olivia couldn’t make out much of the man’s face from here, but she kept getting the eerie feeling that his fractured eyes were somehow watching her. Constantly. Unblinking. She shuddered.

“You think the quakes are the reason they’re missing some parts?” She heard Jess ask aloud.

“I find it really hard to believe they somehow stood through all of those quakes and just lost a head or a leg. They might've been stolen.” Olivia theorized.

Jess put his hand on his chin, stroking an imaginary beard, “I think I remember seeing Hadrian have a couple of statue parts at his place…”

“What? You think old people just like to steal random body parts during their free time?” She grinned.

“That’s what I’d like to do when I retire!” He chuckled. Olivia rolled her eyes playfully.

The three came to a stop in front of a wall of hedge that stood a couple inches taller than Aiden. Unlike the rest of the hedges, this one probably hasn’t been trimmed in months. The surface was extremely uneven; hundreds of tiny branches and leaves stuck out and got tangled with one another. This hedge was also covered in flowers. Tons of them. Clusters of fluffy-looking, light pink flowers were scattered throughout, and were nearly as big as Olivia’s face. The ground was covered in old petals.

Olivia made sure that every strand of hair was tucked inside her hood. There was no way she wanted to spend the rest of the day picking out the twigs, leaves, and petals that’d get stuck in there.

Aiden walked to the right, staring into the bush and running his hand over it as he mumbled to himself, trying to remember where the shortcut was. Olivia and Jess awkwardly shuffled along. Aiden soon stopped, crouched down, then put his hand into the bush. He then took it out, huffed, scooched over a couple more inches, and repeated the process.

After a minute of searching, Aiden started talking to himself. “Maybe it’s on the left side? I could’ve sworn we--!” Aiden suddenly fell forward and into a large hole in the hedge.

Man, if Aiden hadn’t fell through, Olivia would’ve also thought he’d forgotten where the entrance was. The branches hid the hole well.

Jess helped Aiden to his feet. Aiden thanked him as he moved aside, motioning towards the hole.

“You guys go ahead.” Aiden said, “I’ll wait for you to go through.”

Jess and Olivia glanced at each other before Jess gave her a little bow, “After you.”

“How kind.” Olivia curtsied. She crouched and crawled through. The dirt was already making her pants a little damp.

Luckily, despite a few scratches, the crawl only lasted a few seconds.

She got up, cleaned herself off, and waited for the boys.

Jess’ head soon popped out from the hole. Leaves and tiny branches were caught in his hair. He wriggled himself out and brushed off his clothes.

“Here, let me help with your hair.” Olivia started plucking the sticks out.

“Thanks!” Jess said happily as he took off and shook the leaves off his beanie.

It was quiet for a couple of moments as they cleaned themselves up. Olivia felt her smile twitch.

“Hey, Jess,” She started slowly, “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Jess put his hat back on, “What for?”

“I know you don’t have the best feelings towards Aiden right now,” She stared at her feet, “I hope it doesn’t feel like I’m dragging you along.”

“What? No, no, no!” Jess exclaimed, “Look, I was real mad last night, but I wanted to go with you!”

Olivia brought her head back up to Jess, a tiny smile of relief on her face.

“And I’m sticking to my word. We’ll stick together no matter what.” Jess shoved his hands into his pockets. “And uh… We don’t really have a choice when it comes to trusting Aiden and his friends, but things aren’t gonna get better if I keep blowing up like I did yesterday--” A sudden grunt interrupted Jess and caused both of them to jump.

They turned to see Aiden struggling to get out of the bush. How much did he hear? Hopefully not too much. Hopefully.

Aiden tries to use his free arm to pull the rest of his body out, but after a few more seconds he stopped fighting and let his face fall to the ground.

“... I’m stuck again.” He could hear Olivia and Jess snicker as they grabbed his hand and began to pull. They were able to pull him out in no time.

“Thanks.” Aiden said as he shook off the dirt--and the embarrassment. “The memorials are on the other side of the cemetery. Should only take a minute to get there.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When they entered the cemetery, Jess kept his eyes peeled for any familiar names on the gravestones. A few graves had rather unusual colors to them. There was a dusty red one, an uncommon shade, but not odd. Then he’d walk by a blue one; he’s never seen a grave that color before--well, Reuben’s memorial had bits of blue in it, does that count?--Then he walked by a purple grave, a green one, an orange one?

“This is… The happiest looking cemetery I’ve ever seen.” Olivia said as she beheld the rest of the graveyard.

“Is that a compliment?” Aiden asked.

Olivia kept staring at tombstones until she finally said “I don’t know, I’ve just never seen a place for the dead look so… Lively.”

Taking in the rest of the graveyard, Jess had to agree . What was usually a dark, gloomy, dreary place was so, so vibrant. Even under this cloudy, dull weather, the many colors still popped. This was more like a miniature festival than a cemetery! Many tombstone tops looked like roofs with their pointed tops and little overhangs. Their heights and widths would range from short and broad to tall and scrawny. Heck, Jess could spot a couple of graves as tall as him.

“What the heck are your cemeteries like?” Aiden glanced back at them.

“Plainer colors, I guess?” Jess shrugged, “You know, blacks, grays, browns, nothing too flashy.” The only exception Jess could think of was, once again, Reuben's memorial.

“Really?” Aiden sounded genuinely baffled by this. “We hardly got any of those. What do they mean?”

Olivia and Jess exchanged confused expressions with each other before Jess faced Aiden again, “Sadness? Loss? I don’t think there’s any real meaning behind those colors, honestly.”

“Right, we don’t typically associate bright colors with the dead.” Olivia added in, viewing the cemetery again. Scrawny trees and tiny flowers with stems that reached her knees that were peppered around the area; most were in between the graves. She thought about Aiden’s question, “I’m assuming the colors here represent something specific?”

“Yeah, buncha things. Too many for me to keep track of, but I remember the important ones.” Aiden started as they continued walking down the damp dirt path. “When a person dies, their friends and family can choose the color of their grave. It’s usually… Like… Hm. It’s supposed to show what the person was like when they were alive, ya know? Yellow for the happy people,” He explained while pointing to a shorter grave of said-color, “orange for determination, that sorta stuff. Stella’s memorized ‘em all. If you ever wanna know more, she’s the person to ask.”

As Aiden kept talking, Olivia and Jess kept taking in their surroundings. Jess had noticed something. Every single grave they passed was decorated with gems. The gems were placed close by the names and dates of those who passed, and seeing so many of them in various shapes, colors, and sizes made him curious…

“Hey, uh, what’s with the gems?” Jess spoke up, “Are they real?” He was wondering if maybe they were regular stones that were carved and painted. There was no way Obsidian Town could have an overabundance of minerals, especially since the citizens needed a mining license.

“Nah, they’re glass.” Aiden replied, “I thought they were real myself until we had to choose some gems for Lukas--” He suddenly stopped in his tracks. Jess and Olivia peered over and saw a lit redstone torch placed in front of a grave. Aiden plucked the torch from its place, a scowl on his face as he blew out the flame then chucked the burnt wood across the cemetery.

“Anyways, what was I sayin’?” He began walking again, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

‘What was that about?’ Jess thought to himself. It must’ve been linked to the cult, right? Why else would Aiden have done that?

“Right!” He snapped his fingers,” So the gems are basically like the colors of the graves. We had to go to this special place where the people there pulled out huge chests filled with those things. Took us forever to pick ‘em out.”

“Each color chosen means something for the person that passed…” Jess whispered to himself as Aiden’s words from earlier echoed through his mind. He was rather fond of how Obsidian Town remembered their dead. It was more uplifting than what he was used to. Maybe he could make some changes to the graveyards once they get back to Beacon Town.

Aiden was quiet for a minute before he added, “Gill took the longest. He was real worried his gem wouldn’t be good enough.” He paused. “He… he ended up crying.”

His voice got quieter, “I hated seeing him like that.”

Jess and Olivia both tried to think of what to say, what ‘s the next best thing to do, but Aiden immediately changed the subject.

“What do you guys put on your graves?” Aiden asked, he sounded ‘normal’ again, but kept facing away from the two.

Jess hesitated, “Names. Dates.”

“A description of the person who passed.” Olivia added.

“Just words? Doesn’t that get a little… Depressing?” Aiden narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, you think that’s sad? We once wrote out an entire dictionary on a guy’s grave back in our universe.” Jess answered jokingly. Olivia let out a little giggle, and they even heard a chuckle out of Aiden.

That small chuckle was all Jess needed to hear to continue telling quips and share short, funny stories at Aiden’s way to try and lighten the mood. Aiden was soon sharing his own experiences mixed in with his own humor. Aiden and Jess were bouncing off of each other, making fun of their own universes while Olivia would throw in her commentary every now and then.

‘This is so weird…’ Olivia thought to herself. The three of them laughing while walking through a cemetery… it’s something that’d usually feel inappropriate to do, but here she wasn’t all that bothered.

This whole experience has been surreal. Entering a rainbow of a cemetery through a bush felt like something that’d only happen in her dreams, yet here she was. Honestly, it was a nice change of pace to not feel worried for her and her friend’s life for a moment.

She had nearly forgotten the dread she felt when she originally suggested coming here.

And then Aiden spoke up.

“Okay, okay, we’re finally--” Aiden stopped. “Here.” All happiness in his tone had left.

That didn’t sound good. That didn’t sound good at all. Olivia grabbed onto the string of her hoodie and began to pull on it as she slowly peered over Aiden. Standing before him were two graves. Olivia’s eyes were drawn to the shorter one. She trailed down the grave, the coral color fading into a deep shade of red until she stopped at the flowers laying beside a lit, redstone torch.

Olivia held her breath. Jess got close to her as Aiden approached the torch. He grabbed it by it’s barely-scorched base and brought it to his face to blow out the flame. Instead of throwing it away like the last one, he just placed it to the side, only a few feet away from the grave. He wore an expression neither of them have ever seen on him before. Fear? Heartache? Pain.

“We’re here.” He said again. His voice completely devoid of energy. His body was stiff as he walked to the side of the grave, with his hands curled into tight fists and placed at his sides. There was another redstone torch placed in front of the grave to the right, but Aiden didn’t say anything. Olivia took a few small steps forward and gave him a small nod.

As she knelt down in front of the grave--in front of her grave--she heard Aiden tell Jess ‘Come on’, followed by the sound of footsteps growing distant.

She sat alone at her grave.

She didn’t want to read the text. She really didn’t. Isn’t that funny? That was one of the main reasons she wanted to come here. To see if there was a chance she could read about her death, what happened to her, but now that she was here, she was terrified. She looked everywhere else but the epitaph before her. She stared at the small bouquet of flowers on the dirt--the dirt… She noticed it seemed… Messier compared to the other graves. Like someone tried digging through it. The bouquet, though! There was a mix of flowers held together by a red ribbon. Clusters of tiny, magenta flowers, a few pointed, white flowers with many petals, and a type of flower she actually knew the name of: Lilys.

She then brought her gaze up, catching a quick glimpse of her name written in gold, to observe the gems placed into the tombstone. Two orange gems, one yellow, one gold, another maroon, and the gem in the center was amber. They formed an arch around the words in the center.

‘Stop avoiding it.’ She told herself, but she didn’t listen. She turned to Lukas’ grave. She had to see his. She had to. It was right here and--and he’s her friend.

His grave was turquoise and had thin, white stripes that stretched across the top, and seven gems instead of six. Three on each side, and the last gem placed above his epitaph. He was given flowers as well.

The words engraved in the stone read: “LUKAS: Courageous and loyal. An inspiring leader and a brilliant friend.”

Short but wonderful. It was perfect. Reading it over and over again, she thought about just how lucky she and Jess were with having their friend still around. He’s done so much for them. Constantly helping Jess run Beacon Town, aiding the citizens, always visiting her and Axel whenever he got the chance… He could’ve left them during that Witherstorm. He could’ve ditched them at any moment when things got too rough, but he never did.

‘I need to give Lukas a hug when I get back.’ Olivia thought to herself. Lukas could still leave them one day without warning. He could finally get sick of them, die in a brutal fight, or--or end up being kidnapped like this Lukas--Olivia squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, trying to get those awful thoughts out. Don’t think about that. He’s still alive. He still cares about them. He loves them.

Olivia kept her eyes closed for a moment longer before finally bringing her attention back to her own grave. She forced herself to read the words written for her; “OLIVIA: An intelligent, creative, and hardworking engineer. A bright spark of joy even during the darkest of days.”

Olivia stared at her words. A weird sense of reassurance was arising. She’s never thought highly of herself. She’d sometimes convince herself that others couldn’t tolerate her, and that she was one mistake away from ruining everything. She wondered if this Olivia ever felt a similar way. Was she constantly trying to make sure she said and did the right things? Try to fix any issue immediately so her friends didn’t think she was useless? Always second guessing her own thoughts?

Did this Olivia know her friends always loved her? Or was she riddled with fears and doubts until her sudden end?

‘She died a couple of years ago, didn’t she?’ Olivia tried to recall any mention of her death from Aiden. She wasn’t certain, but whether it was a few years ago, or a few months ago, didn’t change the fact that she died so soon.

She was young.

Younger than her.

To have her life end on an abrupt note… It scared her. It scared her so much. Everything could be taken away one day.

As she sat over her body, she felt her fingers begin to dig into the dirt, like they were trying to reach in and find the other Olivia’s hand. A sick form of curiosity made her want to know more. More about this Olivia. Her life. Her mind. To have a connection with her. It was her body she was sitting over, afterall. Her corpse. Her--

“Olivia?” Jess placed his hand on her shoulder. “Are you doing okay?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Come on.” Aiden gave Jess a light tap with his hand. He started walking away from Olivia. Jess hesitated. He looked at his friend for a second more before leaving with Aiden.

“We just needa give her some space.” Aiden said.

“Right, totally understand.” Jess wanted to stick around for a few minutes longer to study his friends’ graves, but that could wait. He didn’t want to make Olivia feel like he was breathing down her neck.

Jess thought back to the many instances where his friends’ lives were in danger, when they were so close to being taken away from him. He hated seeing his friends’ lives at stake more than anything; he’d go through Hell and back to protect them, and to be in a place where their deaths became a reality was so hard to wrap his head around.

Lukas left without a trace. No familiar faces to comfort him during his last moments, only enemies looming over him while he was in an unknown place. Just thinking about his fate made Jess worry sick about his Lukas back at home.

It was silent for a few minutes. Only their footsteps filled the void.

“So…” Jess started, wanting to make small talk, “What do the colors for Olivia and Lukas’ graves mean?”

“Olivia’s creativity.” Aiden replied, sounding short. “And Lukas’--” He paused and scanned the cemetery. He took a left turn and continued walking between the graves. “He’s…Don’t make fun of us, but his color stands for friendship.”

“Friendship?” Jess perked up at the word.

“I know, it’s probably super cheesy or whatever, but it fits him. It really does.” Aiden said.

“No, no, I completely agree! He’s a great friend--one of the best! If I had to recount all the times he’s been there for me, we’d be here all day.”

“Right. Same here.” They stopped at another grave with another redstone torch in front of it. This grave was short and purple, with many cool-colored gems placed in it. Jess didn’t recognize the name.

Aiden grabbed the torch and blew out the flame. Jess decided to ask another question.

“Any idea why The Awakening puts those torches there?”

“Probably for no good reason.” Aiden answered through gritted teeth as he chucked the wood as hard as he could across the cemetery.

There was something unnerving about the torches left at the grave. Their red glow would take over the colors of the graves, and their light under a thick, cloudy sky would claim your attention and make it hard to pull away. Their soft crackling would fill in the silence whenever he and Aiden didn’t talk; the occasional loud snaps from the flames would make Jess believe there was a threat following them.

Jess stopped at a tombstone and picked up a vase of flowers that had fallen aside. “The gems on their graves, what do they mean? Do you remember ‘em?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’d remember what the gems on my own friends’ graves would mean!” Aiden snapped.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” Jess held the vase tighter. “I was just--I wanted to know more about them.” Great. Now they’re both feeling terrible.

Aiden’s demeanor softened when he saw Jess’ reaction. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’ve been--” He hesitated, “I’ve just been thinking about someone is all.”

“No, it’s no problem.” Jess carefully placed the small vase back upright. He folded his arms and joined Aiden’s side.

“I’m uh, still interested to hear bout those gems if you’re wanting to share.” He said.

“Yeah. I can do that for ya.” Aiden answered.

“For Lukas,” Aiden began, walking through the grass. “Gill chose blue. I remember that one’s loyalty. Gold for compassion. White for safety--he’d always double check our belongings every time to make sure we were prepared.”

Aiden stopped and grabbed a torch, “It was kinda annoying, but I miss it now.” He blew it out and threw the wood.

They kept moving.

“Rose picked pink.” Aiden started running his fingers over the grave tops, “She was real embarrassed when she chose it. Kept refusing to show us cause she thought we’d laugh at her.”

“I’m guessing pink’s for love?” Jess said, trying to make sure he wouldn’t trample any flowers.

“Yeah, and--” Aiden chuckled, “Rose wanted his description to be: Pretty blond dork with a decent sense of style. All of us were actually on board with it.”

“Did you end up pulling through with it?” Jess asked.

“Nah, the guys making the grave wouldn’t allow it.” Aiden spotted a couple of gravestones with torches by them. They were already burnt out. He grabbed two of the torches while Jess grabbed the last.

“What a bunch of killjoys.” Jess joked. Aiden laughed as he prepared to throw the burnt wood. Jess mimicked each step of Aiden’s. Hold, aim, then throw. Once they lost sight of the rubbish, they followed the dirt path to the entrance of the cemetery.

The cemetery wasn’t boxed in by hedges like the park, instead, it had a stone wall.

Aiden leaned against the wall. It didn’t look like the most comfortable surface--the rocks were jagged and would probably fall apart in moments--but he seemed unaffected by it. Jess stood nearby and took a peek through the gate beside them. Unlike the rough, uneven walls, the black fence was tall, sturdy, and had a huge, elegantly curved arch.

“Olivia’s got a few similar gems,” Aiden started, putting his hands in his pocket, “Two golds, yellow… She’s got amber--Man, I always mix those three up. They sound different enough but when they’re placed by each other, they all look the same. Amber’s slightly darker than yellow, but not as dark as gold. Amber’s positivity.”

“Lotta happy ones for her.” Jess commented. He’d been staring at the decorated buildings through the gate’s bars as he listened. He could spot bits of pots filled with flowers on the other side of the wall, their colors as eye-catching as the cemetery.

“Always made us happy.” Aiden said with a shrug. “She also had… Ah…” He pressed his lips together, “Orange! She had that one too. And then there’s…” He had to stop to think again.

“It’s not… Well, it looks like red, but it’s darker… Ah, shoot.” Aiden cursed to himself.

“Carmine? Maroon?” Jess tilted his head.

Aiden snapped his fingers, “Maroon! Right! Creativity; same thing as her grave. Picked it myself.” He said rather proudly.

“You guys really cared about her.” Jess mumbled. He tilted his head towards Aiden, “And I’m sure Olivia loved you guys all the same.”

Aiden stared back at him.

A small smile spread across his face, “Thanks.”

The two became quiet and looked over the array of colorful graves before them. The clouds slowly began to part; gems glistened as the rays of sun shone down on them.

“Should we check on Olivia now?” Jess asked after a few minutes of silence.

Aiden got off the stone wall and stretched his back, “Yeah, let’s go.”

~ ~ ~ ~

When the two returned to Olivia, the last thing they wanted to see was to see her in distress. The tips of her fingers were shoved into the dirt below, her eyes were stuck on the golden words in front of her, her mouth was parted--barely moving--with no voice to match. Jess couldn’t tell if she was trembling or not, but she was scared. Very scared.

Jess bit his lip and approached his friend. Aiden was right behind.

“Olivia?” Jess placed his hand on her shoulder, “Are you doing okay?”

Olivia jumped and jerked her hands out of the dirt.

“Yes--! Yeah, no, no don’t worry, I’m fine. Thanks--thank you for checking on me.” She replied frantically. She took deep breaths.

Before Jess could question anything, Olivia spoke up.

“Aiden, this uh--the substance mixed into the stone,” Her fingers trailed down the tombstone, “is it redstone dust?”

Her voice was shaky.

Aiden glanced at Jess, who was equally nervous as him, then said, “Actually, it is.”

He took a step closer to Olivia, “They don’t usually allow people to mix stuff like redstone or glowstone dust with the colors--especially cause they’re hard to find--but they made an exception for us.”

Olivia nodded along, blinking back tears.

Jess read her epitaph, “Guess all Olivia’s are just the greatest engineers out there, huh?”

“Damn right. She didn’t have a bunch of dust to work with, but she’d still crank out machine after machine like no tomorrow.” Aiden said, “Man, I remember every year for her birthday that’d be all she’d ever ask for. Not weapons, not new journals, not even a dang cake, just redstone dust. Course, the only places you could find ‘em were in caves or old shrines, right?” He asked while facing Lukas’ grave and grabbing the lit redstone torch below.

“Yup, we found a bunch of it yesterday.” Jess said, sitting besides Olivia.

“Right, and since it was so dangerous, she told us to not worry bout gettin’ it because ‘It’d be stupid to risk your life for some red powder’.” Aiden gestured with the torch, the flame getting frighteningly close to his hair.

“Well, I’d always lose track of dates and forget to get her a gift, so one of the other guys would back me up and tell Olivia we bought a gift ‘together’, and I felt so bad.” He thankfully blew out the fire after saying that.

“So then guess what I did one day?” Aiden said.

“Walked out and found a bag of redstone on the ground?” Jess asked sarcastically.

Aiden laughed, “I wish.”  

Aiden began pacing, the trail of smoke whirling around him, “But I decided I’d bust into one of those dumb shrine and find some dust for her, and I didn’t tell anyone bout it besides Jesse. He was on board with the plan, he was great at findin’ stuff, plus two people finding dust was much easier than one.” Aiden fiddled with the burnt wood, “We headed off to the nearest shrine and actually found enough dust to fill up a bag and a half, but cause of the state of that dump, some rooms would collapse after you opened the door!”

“You two ended up getting hurt, didn’t you?” Olivia had her hand on her head, already concerned over the direction of this story.

“Course we did!” Aiden threw his arms up. “I swear anytime the two of us were together, things would fall apart or we’d break a bone--” Aiden stopped his talking to quickly chuck the wood away. “Anyways, anyways, we got back home right on time for Olivia’s birthday and man did we look awful. Clothes were all dirty, got some real bad scrapes on my knees, Jesse grabbed so much dust it looked like his fingers were covered in blood, and I somehow got a black eye? I think the top of a chest smacked me...”

Olivia rubbed her temples, “You two really shouldn’t have risked your lives over a birthday present--”

“That’s exactly what she said!” Aiden exclaimed, “Went through all that trouble, and you know how she reacted?”

“Panicked?” Olivia asked.

“Bet she loved it.” Jess said, giving Olivia a nudge.

“She did--but Hero did she freak out! Dropped her cake and rushed over to get us cleaned up. Olivia was wrapping up one of Jesse’s arms--” Aiden thought to himself for a second, “--I think a big rock landed on it? But she was going off on us. Raising her voice and lecturing us like she was our mom, telling us it’s a miracle we were still in one piece, and why in Hero’s name we did something so stupid.”

“I mean, it wasn’t stupid if things worked out for you.” Jess pointed out.

“Yeah, but still.” Aiden chuckled, “It was stupid. It was so, so stupid. But after that, she loved our present. I’d never seen her smile so much. She was working on her machinery, telling me and Jesse how everything worked while we pretended to understand.”

Aiden carefully leaned on Olivia’s grave, “Hero knows I didn’t understand a single thing she was sayin’, but seeing her so happy…” His smile grew as his voice softened, “It was great.”

“That’s all so sweet…” Olivia spoke softly. “I love it.”

She was shaking again.

Jess turned to his friend to mention something, but stopped when he saw Olivia staring at the ground, fingers picking at the dirt just like she was when they came back. That same, terrified expression on her face.

“Liv--?” Jess mumbled, but Olivia started rambling nonsense.

“I don’t know if my words mean much to you--I know I’m not her--but you’re a good friend, Aiden.” Her nails started to dig into the ground, “All of this, all that you’ve done for Olivia--you--you--Even when I just--” She kept stumbling over her words, “Even when she died one day you kept being so kind to me--”

The more she kept talking, the more concerned--the more scared--Aiden and Jess became.

“Hey, hey are you alright?” Jess reached out to hold her, but Olivia shot her head back up.

“I’m under here.” She whispered. Her voice was so unsteady.

Jess was taken aback, “What?”

“I’m under here.” She said again. “I’m so close.”

Her hand began to claw at the dirt, “I’m so close. My body’s all mangled up in that box below, and--and my hair’s so long now.” She felt sick talking about this, she felt sick thinking about it. “It’d be so easy to just dig myself up. For Aiden to see her again. Jesse--Jess, we’re so close. I could look at myself. Look at my body. I’m--”

“Olivia!” Jess shook her, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Aiden wanted to offer his support, but Olivia instantly got on her feet.

“Yes. Yes I want to leave. I want to go home.” She kept repeating that last sentence while she hugged herself, breathing heavily. She was freezing.

“Right, we need to head back anyways.” Aiden’s stomach was in knots seeing Olivia like this. His hands turned to fists, “I should’ve known better. I shouldn’t have taken you here. I’m sorry--”

“Don’t.” Olivia cut in. “I wanted to go. You took me. I saw--I saw what I needed to. I appreciate it. Thank you.” She was stiff as a board.

Olivia took one last deep breath, “Let’s go home.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Damn them.

Damn them all.

Locked every damn door and window in this house. They’re hiding her, he knows they’re hiding her.

Did they really think locking themselves in would stop him? He used to live in this Hero forsaken house; he knows every nail, screw, and plank that makes up this despicable place.

He still remembers that trapdoor on the roof. He knows how to claw his way up there. He’ll pry it open with his own bare hands.

He’ll find her.

He will.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Tribute to What Almost Was

Dean/Cas 1.6k fic

(ao3 link)

When Cas died, Dean spread his ashes in a field he believed Cas would have liked.

Here's how that went.

           He doesn’t know why he lit the joint. He can’t explain why, when he caught sight of the dealer half-hidden by gas station shadows, palming a dime bag into their buyer’s hand with a jerky handshake, Dean diverted from his path back to Baby. He didn’t remember flashing his fake badge or barking at the pair to face the wall and place their hands on the wall behind them, but he must have because he stood there, watching panic briefly flitting across their faces, eyes screaming for them to flee and legs that refused to listen, before complying. Dean pushed a plastic bag stuffed with jerky and candy and energy drinks he bought up his arm, then, freeing his hands to search their pockets. He stole their weed – evidence, he gruffly explained – and set them loose with a vague warning. Dean’s latest acquisition joined his other purchases, tucked safely inside. He continued on with his mission, climbing into Baby and driving the rest of the way towards his destination. These events replayed in the smoke off his first drag, joint dangling from Dean’s limp fingers. He still doesn’t know why he lit it.

           Dean glances at his watch, then above to see the sun shining in a clear, blue sky.

           A few more minutes, he reasons, bringing the joint back to his lips for another drag. He shifts the jar in his lap, moving Cas so the bits of ash that fall from him toking won’t mix with the bits of ash he gathered long after Cas’s body burned atop the pyre.

           Dean studies his angel, raising the glass jar to almost eye-level. If he imagines hard enough, Dean can discern features from the cinders and clumps. He tries picturing Cas in his glory, in the moments between battles, in times where Dean’s heart skipped. Visions of the other man, his eyes aglow and jaw unhinged by agony, are what appears. Their freshness overpowers his better memories.

           Sighing, Dean sets Cas aside to appreciate the scenery again.

           His gaze barely lingers on the windmill slowly spinning near the edge of the clearing, already too familiar with its shape. Dean pays closer attention to the surrounding plant life, instead. With the hand not currently holding his quickly dwindling joint, Dean runs his fingers down a blade of the tall, reedy grass. He loops it around his finger and then releases it. He repeats this a few more times until he discovers a new distraction. Dean reaches out, a caricature of the First Man, as he tries meeting the thin branch of a wild, overgrown bramble halfway. A soft, hollow laugh ekes out past Dean’s lips when his fingertip brushes against a leaf. Dean sucks in more smoke as his watery eyes bounce around the treetops, stopping only because he feels the joint’s nub burning him.

           Dean squeezes the ends of the joint, snuffing it. He brought just the one with him.

           He glances at his watch, then above to find the sun’s shuffled further along in its journey.

           Dean’s waited all he can.

           Slowly, Dean rises to his feet. The glass jar is heavy in his hands, like it was when he first grabbed it out of Kelly’s cabinets, except it’s Cas making the bulk of its weight and not the jam he tirelessly scooped out of it.

           He stands, fingers laced together on the jar’s surface. Dean bows his head, looking past the hole and at the remnants of his best friend, and is suddenly struck with the need to speak. He tries but can’t utter a single syllable. Those words stay stuck in his throat, colliding into each other; prevented from becoming real, from being spoken now that it’s too late.

           Where words fail, Dean’s actions act as a substitute. He shrugs free from his jacket, one arm at a time, refusing to let go of Cas. Dean drops his jacket to the side, overshirt joining it as he slides that off, too. He unloops his belt, buckle hitting the piled fabric with a soft thwack. Dean steps on his laces, unlooping them without using his hands and kicking his boots far into the field. His socks find their way onto the growing heap of Dean’s clothes, followed by Dean’s t-shirt, jeans and boxer briefs. Finally unburdened of his clothes, Dean breathes deeply, then sinks to his knees.

           He feels vulnerable, exposed and defenseless. It’s the closest he’s come to recreating the thrill of being caught by Cas’s searching gaze. His angel’s eyes were able to peel away the walls and layers of bullshit Dean had built, defenses Dean thought impenetrable that failed innumerably when set against Cas. Cas saw through all, into Dean’s soul and, somehow, stayed. Cas chose Dean repeatedly, and he’ll never hear how much that meant to him, how much Cas meant to him.

           Dean stripped to avoid voicing his thoughts, since he couldn’t. For some odd reason, he overcomes his impasse. Words begin tumbling out of his mouth, filling the silent emptiness of the field. “Y’know, Cas… I always wanted to do this with you,” he says, “never thought it’d… it’d be like this.” He hiccups with laughter, thick and wet. A tear drips down, heading for his chin but interrupted as Dean shudders for breath. It stains the corner of his mouth, forcing it from the false smile and into a more appropriate, more natural, glower.

           “I’m not just talkin’ bout the being naked thing,” he whispers, “When I first passed this here patch of land, I immediately thought of you, about how you’d like it. How you might look if I brought you here. How I pictured it you’d… you get this wrinkle between your brows,” Dean taps at his forehead, his eyes screwed shut, “and your head’d tilt like it usually does when you’re confused” – he mimics Cas by skewing his head to the side – “and you’d ask me why we’re here. And I’d go on about how it might not be the beach, but it’s a little slice of heaven where we can exist outside of the raging shitstorm our lives were, without enemies, without battles. A place us soldiers can go and… not be that, y’know? Some peace… for the both of us.” Despite his eyes being closed, tears continue to fall. “Then, while you were taking all that in, I’d grab your hand real smooth like, tell you I love…” He chokes on it. Dean pushes against his fear, straining. “Telling you I love you, and how loving you makes life feel like being in this field all the time. That, in spite of our pasts, we can have peace and we can be together – we can be Dean and we can be Cas, together, because I’ve never thought I could love anyone like this until you showed me it was possible, Cas and –“

           He stutters to a halt, grip on the jar slipping. Dean places it over his heart, winding his arms around it. “I’m sorry I never took you here ‘till now,” he says, “I was always too afraid. Because after telling you all that, the next thing I’d see was you pulling your hand out of mine, and your face… you’d smile, but it’d be sadder, because you’d have to explain how you don’t feel the same. Angel stuff that I’d tune out since all I’d hear is the echo of my heart shattering.” Dean cries into his shoulder, muffling his next few sentences. “I held it in. Kept it, and this, from you. And now you won’t know about either…”

           Dean clears his throat, uncurling from his position. He rests on his heels, tilting his face towards the sun to let it dry his tears. The sun warms him, allows him to carry on with his goodbye. “I still want you to have this peace. You deserve it… deserve a lot more than what you got, that’s for sure. You deserved a better life, one clear from all the bullshit that I seem to attract… one where you were with someone who could love you proudly, in the open, the way you deserved.”

           A strong gust of wind cuts through the field, cueing Dean to upend the jar in his hands. Ashes pour out its lip. The wind carries Cas and scatters him, leaving Dean with an empty jar in his hands.

           He’s not done.

           Dean roots around his jacket pocket, uncovering the mixtape he made Cas. He pocketed it, refusing to let it burn with the rest of his angel. However, holding it in his hands then, Dean knew he could never listen to it, nor any of those songs contained within, anymore. He saved the mixtape for this moment. Dean digs a small grave for his ‘Top Traxx’, placing it inside and covering his work with a sweep of his hands.

           “I won’t ever forget you, Cas,” Dean releases his words to the wind, too, “I can’t. I’ll love you until I can join you, and then some.”

           It’s like a weight was lifted off his chest. In doing so, however, Dean reveals a hollowness he doubts will ever be filled.

           He glances at his watch, then above to steal a peek at the sun before he leaves Cas’s field.

           Dean gathers his things methodically; he steps into his boxer briefs and jeans, hooks his belt closed tight, and throws on his tee and overshirt. He drapes his jacket over his arm, tucks his socks into his boots and carries them in the crook of his fingers. Dean ambles barefoot towards Baby, not in much of a rush to be elsewhere.

           He’ll have to go back to the Bunker at some point, Sam probably worried since Dean is out much longer than he promised. But Sam also has other worries he can preoccupy himself for a few more hours.

           Dean does, too. He can finish off the weed he stole. Then, after smoking all of it, he can decide on what to do next.

           It’s not a perfect plan, but it works for him.

[imnotcameraready]

chivalry is dead (20)

A/N: BIG YEEHAW HOURS TODAY Y’ALL ITS BALL TIME!!!!!!! AND WE CAN’T HAVE A BALL WITHOUT A PRINCE *stars bawling*

costumes will come in another post bc i. got really excited and then drew them all like, last month (most of them, some were finished last night y e e et)

WARNINGS: remus mention, heist details, wound descriptions, sword mention, scar descriptions, threats of violence, thoughts of dying — alright, im pretty sure that's it, but this chapter has thicc details so if i missed anything pls pls pls lmk

Words: 4550

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing!

enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3 ,3 <3 

Deceit really was right, Patton thought while he looked around at the town. His arm was linked around Logan’s as they walked down one of the town’s side streets, from Dr. Picani’s office, and he was taking the time to admire how intricate all of the architecture had gotten. It was intricate and worn and every building seemed unique now, something that he hadn’t realized was missing during their first pass through. 

There were arch ways, bridges between doors on the third floors of buildings. There were seemingly hand-woven canvases shielding some of the streets from the sun and, if Patton squinted hard enough, he could see actual detailed stitching and some stains of age. They passed buildings that had scratches and chisel marks, and Patton could clearly see that it was made from stone bricks that had been painted over. Twice, actually. Once with a very old and faded blue, then with a lighter cream that still let the blue show through in spots where the paint was gone. 

He wondered a little what had caused those spots. Was it because you weren’t supposed to layer house paint? The spots were different sizes — how many memories were made here? 

Patton stumbled, tripping over his thoughts and heels, and leaned more into Logan’s side.

Logan tugged at his arm. “Don’t ponder too hard, Patton,” his voice was soft, hushed to not draw attention.

They’d figured that the best thing to do was to not think about the world around them. Thinking too much about the world and specifically the things that they would affect about it made their focus wander onto fixing those things. Logan would get a headache, Patton would space out, and Deceit would….well, okay, Deceit hadn’t disclosed how and if he’d been affected. But Patton noticed he’d been sweating like a sinner in church, and how his fist would clench every so often, so it was clear that something was happening with Deceit. He didn’t want to force him to talk; honesty wasn’t Deceit’s strong suit.

The four Romans had agreed that that was the smartest decision; none of them nor all of them together were able to limit the Imagination enough. The Playwright had argued that, had Dragon and Damsel known that it was hurting the other Sides, then they would probably all have a unified thought enough to close up the unused worlds. But that would require discussing the entire matter with them, which, as the Thief pointed out, is “pretty fucking useless where they are now.” 

So the focus thing was their current strategy. Patton grinned at Logan. “Thanks for the reminder, Octo-cutie-pie,” he smiled wider as Logan blushed. 

“I–I’m–Octopi is the plural for octopus and there is only one of me,” Logan bit his lip, then patted Patton’s hand gently, “Thank you.”

Patton giggled, snuggling against Logan’s side briefly as they kept walking. They hadn’t actually talked about the whole love thing, hadn’t really established boundaries, but that seemed like a problem for tomorrow. 

Right now, they were all going across town, invitations in hand, to the ball. And, at the very specific right now, Patton was admiring the Playwright and the Artist’s handiwork. They’d worked together to make everyone’s outfits and he’d be a liar if he said they weren’t handsome and beautiful.

Patton himself was themed after a cat — a grey cat, but a cat nonetheless! His dress had a long train for a tail, made of shimmering silver tulle, the same as his poofy sleeves. The skirt went from his waist to the ground, with a built in flair in his corset at the waist. Like, all of it was sparkling, all three tiers of his skirt, which went from grey to black with an inner layer gradient of blue to grey. His favorite part were his gloves, though. Silver for the most part, but with soft circles on his palms and the tips of all his fingers. His own lil’ toe beans! 

Logan’s outfit was one of Patton’s favorites. His was themed after an octopus (“Known for their intelligence,” the Playwright had explained, face bright red as he tied Logan’s necktie into an Eldritch knot) with a dark blue blazer and slacks. He wore a vest that shimmered royal blue, with a white button down underneath. There was a piece of coral in his lapel where a flower would usually go, and his coat tails seemed to spiral in shapes that resembled an octopus’ arms. There were even rhinestone bubble decals on his shoulders, or suckers, if you wanted to interpret it that way. The Artist and the Playwright had a small argument about that.

He was dashing, in summation. Patton leaned his head against Logan’s shoulder. “Who knew the town was so big!” he said. 

“That’s actually on purpose,” the Playwright said from behind them, “It’s actually not so big as the castle is small, using the same foreshortening techniques used at the Disney theme parks to make Cinderella’s castle, or Sleeping Beauty’s castle depending on which park you’re at—”

“I think he means how far Picani’s office is from the castle, God Mod,” the Thief responded.

The Thief and Deceit were walking in front, swords drawn on the chance that they ran into any guards, and so that the Thief could critique Deceit’s sword fighting skills. Surprisingly, he’d taken to the weapon, something about it being good to have at his disposal while dealing with the Others. The Thief offered to make him one once this escapade was over. 

Or maybe it was an excuse for the Thief to keep touching Deceit’s hand. Because that was happening every so often. A lot more often than would be considered normal. 

It wasn’t like Deceit was complaining about the touching. It was more the other way around. The yearning for physical contact was frustrating, but neither of them were going to admit that they wanted to hold hands. Even though they’d confessed to at least caring about each other. 

“Oh,” the Playwright hummed.

“Cheer up, butter cup, I love hearin’ bout the forced perspective! The Disney parks are so~o~o fun,” the Bard sang out. “When’s the next time we get to go to California? Are we making a trip down to Anaheim? Can we PLEASE take a trip down to Anaheim!”

One of his arms was looped around the Playwright’s, while the other was looped around the Artist’s. They had settled on outfits that complemented each other’s, pulling from the same red and black color palette.

The Artist was the only of the trio in a suit, though his outfit could be considered the loudest. Buttoned down the middle with a high collar, half of his shirt was a solid black, while the other half was a diamond checkered pattern. All of the accents were gold, and his pants were half solid red and half checkered as well. Tonight, the Artist would be a jester. 

An improvement on his self-esteem, the Bard had thought. The Artist had said so, too, saying he’d be dressing like a joke. It...was nice to hear.

The Playwright had also gone with a more light-hearted outfit, pun completely intended. He was dressed as the queen of hearts, with an A-line skirt that skimmed the ground and was almost entirely a replica of the skirt worn by the Queen of Hearts in Disney’s Alice in Wonderland animated movie. His corset had a low scoop neckline with a long heart that stretched down from the neckline to the bottom of the waist. His sleeves were poofy, black with red stripes between. 

It was a deck of cards theme between the three of them. Honestly, they took a bit of solace in their three Musketeers situation. The Bard was dressed like a harlequin in a ball-dancing dress. His entire dress was checkered, a stiff corset traded for a looser fit bodice that was sinched at the waist by a thick black belt with a heart clip. Bits of tulle were attached to his wrists, ideal for dancing in, which was perfect for the plan. He and the Playwright had matching heart chokers, too. 

As he’d said earlier, “We cute.”

Neither the Artist nor the Playwright had argued, and they had yet to pull away from him holding their arms. Maybe they didn’t hate him. 

They didn’t! They were moving beyond all that! 

Because they had to get the Child back, and Virgil back, and save the Damsel and they had a plan. Actually, they should run through the plan again, because the Bard had already forgotten most of it. 

“Thief?” he called ahead. 

“Mhm?” 

“Can we run through the, uh,” they had a code word for it, shoot, what was it? Oh! Oh, right, “The waltz again?”

“Great Mona Lisa, Bard, how the fuck did you forget how to waltz?” the Artist groaned. “We’re going to a ball.”

“No, no, no, THE waltz,” the Bard nudged the Artist’s side with his elbow. 

The Artist shot him a small confused glare, but realization struck his face quick after. “Oh. Oh, that waltz. Yeah, uh,” he turned to the Playwright, who also seemed confused, then to the front again, “Before we get in, we should go over the waltz again.” 

The Thief and Deceit both stopped as well, fingers brushing once again. The Bard saw the motion and chuckled to himself. Sweet Chopin, they needed to just hold hands already. He could envision the love birds flying around their heads. 

He felt a smidge bad, though. After all, he was the lucky Roman who got to kiss Patton. 

Logan and Patton both turned back to them. Patton let go of Logan, then looked around. They weren’t quite at the castle yet; a side alley, wide enough for all of them to stand in and with ample trees, barrels, and an open door beside it would provide good cover. 

“Let’s go over there,” Patton grabbed Logan’s arm again and led them all into the alley. 

They grouped up into a small but tight circle, the Thief pulling them together. He was in a suit, and an ironic one at that. Originally his costume was intended for Deceit, but he suggested switching them, so that the Dragon would think he were Deceit while being less suspicious. He was themed after a snake, though the theming was less noticeable than the color palette; there were yellow sequins arranged in scale patterns across his black blazer’s forearms, and his vest was black as well, undershirt yellow, and bowtie black. It looked a little like a snazzed-up version of Deceit’s lawyer suit and, though he’d tell no one, the Thief loved the look.

Deceit had said it looked nice on him, too. The bowtie, specifically, but also the entire outfit, and also the Thief simply looked good — yeah, they were both kind of messes. Gone was the ability to seamlessly flirt, apparently.

Still, it was nice to see Deceit in something other than yellow for a change, too. He was dressed as a peacock, with no blazer but a side-cape that shimmered iridescent purple and green. Part of it had blue and green rhinestones inching up the shoulder, and his vest beneath was teal, while his undershirt was mint green. There were bands on his upper arms, keeping his shirt bunched back, that were dark blue. Even his ascot was an iridescent purple and blue. 

They leaned against each other in the huddle. Brown eyes trailed all around the group, meeting similar expressions of steely determination. 

They could do this. 

“Alright,” the Thief started, “For the first hour, we’re gonna scope out the room and surrounding rooms. Meet wherever the snacks are in pairs, alternating pairs, and spread details. Patton and I will go twice.”

“Because you and I are gonna peel off after the first hour to go get Virgil and the Child,” Patton said, meeting the Thief’s eyes.

The Thief nodded. He looked around at everyone — Deceit and the Bard had both been fairly defensive about that choice, but he argued that they needed people who were good at causing distractions on the floor. Patton would be the best at comforting both Virgil and the Child, and the Thief was the only one who had any inkling of what the inside of the castle looked like. 

He continued. “Right. We’re gonna try to get out and—”

“Say, what d’ya think that’d make us?” Patton asked, a tiny grin on his face. 

“Oh, no,” Logan groaned, “Not—”

“Cat burglars!” Patton exclaimed with a giggle. 

The Bard immediately broke out into a fit of giggles, leaning into Deceit a little as he did so. Deceit just rolled his eyes and patted the Bard’s back, letting him cling to his side. 

The Artist stifled some chuckles of his own, and the Playwright grinned. Oh. Oh, no, not the idea grin. 

“I think Dragon will be hard pressed to find flaws in our purr-fect plan,” he said, eyes shining as Patton laughed as well. “We’re just gonna have to distract him with our adorable kitty-Pat.”

Logan groaned again, in good humor this time. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side, Playwright,” he grumbled. 

The Playwright immediately sobered up, mouth pressing into a line. “Ah, Logan, darling, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Hey, but,” the Bard raised a finger at the Playwright, smile wide and mischievous, “If he catches wind of anything, you, Artist, and I can pull a wild card and deck him.”

That got the Artist and Patton to both laugh aloud, and even Logan smiled a tiny bit at the Playwright, if only to reassure him that his frustration was not directed at him.  

The Thief seemed actually annoyed, though. He snapped his fingers in the center of the circle. “C’mon, focus here. Patton and I are going to get Virgil and the Child, then we’re going to come back up to the ball room at the second hour. At that point, Deceit—”

“I’ll be dancing with Dragon and, once you’re back, I’ll be distracting him enough for you to get out,” Deceit waved his hand, also slightly exasperated. He wanted Virgil back immediately and, as the time to pull off their hest approached, he grew more nervous.

“Right. Then, Playwright will take you backstage once everyone else has filed out,” the Playwright nodded to the Thief regarding his involvement, and the Thief looked around the group once more, “All of that sound good? Everyone else, be on the look out for Damsel. We don’t know where he’s gonna be. If he’s out on the ball floor, Logan, you—”

“I will approach him and explain that we are here to get him out,” Logan grimaced, “If he is not on the ball floor….”

“Then I’ll be on standby to head into the dungeons,” the Artist said, smile deflated, brow furrowed in thought.

“Good,” the Thief patted his shoulder, gripping reassuringly, “And if Remus is there, then Bard is going into the dungeons with Patton and I’m staying in the ball room to kick his ass.”

“This all sounds like a plan, Thief,” the Bard said, smiling at him, “Logan, thoughts?”

Logan huffed, frowning at the ground. He’d rolled the details over in his mind a few times, so he’d already worked out some of the issues, such as the irrationality of the original plan’s “jump out the dungeon’s windows, really, how large are the windows, and how do we know it’s not underground.” For right now, it seemed as though the plan were efficacious, but they couldn’t be certain until it was enacted. 

But at that point, it’d be too late to change the plan to any degree of impeccability. They would have to wing it. And Logan wasn’t a fan of that. 

But what choice did they have?

“It is as detailed and as faultless as we can arrange for it to be currently,” he said.

The Thief’s mouth twitched into a slight grimace, but he nodded all the same. That was as optimistic as he would be. “Once this is all over, we meet at the tree as fast as we all can get there,” the Thief said, casting one more look around, “If we pull this off right, no one’ll be leaving alone. If your partner gets injured, you carry them to the tree.”

“I don’t think….” the Artist said, frowning a tiny bit as his voice trailed off. 

The possibility of injury was very high, actually. Death for the Romans, at least. And they didn’t know if the Dragon had injured Virgil or the Child. To be honest, they didn’t know if the Child was alive. Oh, goodness, what if Dragon had killed him? 

“It’s gonna work,” the Bard said, “It’s gonna.” 

He squeezed the Artist’s arm and gave him a nod. It was going to be okay. Roman was optimistic by nature, and the Artist did crave that sort of positivity. 

“It must,” Deceit affirmed none too positively. 

“It will,” Patton said, smiling at them all again before clapping, “And break!”

Everyone stood up on instinct. Then, they all shared slight laughs, small smiles.

The Bard leaned over and hugged Deceit with an arm, reciprocated a little. Patton leaned against the Artist, who didn’t hug back, but also didn’t flinch finally. 

They were getting somewhere. It was going to be okay. 

It was going to be okay. 

….Without Virgil, they all felt as though their optimism was naively placed. But that was why they were going to get him back! 

Once he was back, Deceit thought, he was never letting go again. If he was back. No, no, once he was back. He was coming back soon. 

“Let’s go,” the Thief pulled his mask out from his coat, a black half-face mask covered in yellow sequins arranged like scales.

Everyone shared looks, nodding to each other as they slid on their own masks. Logan, Patton, the Artist, and the Playwright all had special masks that mimicked their glasses prescriptions so they wouldn’t need contacts, too. With faces obscured, they nodded once more, squeezing arms in reassurance and patting backs and giving smiles, and hurried out of the alley. 

The Playwright walked at the front of the group, the only one not paired to any Side. He looked up at the sky. A storm had grown, clouds angry and grey above the castle, which was only a few blocks away now. Perhaps it would thunder during the ball. 

He wondered vaguely what had caused the sudden shift in weather. During their week alone, it was all sunny skies. 

Was it….

No. No, no part of Roman was that desperate, to have gone to Remus. Right? He’d been telling himself that ever since they’d begun this game, but the darker their future seemed, the more he worried about the Duke’s involvement. 

The Thief seemed to think it was very real, enough to have a back-up written into the plan. C’est la vie. Such was life, he thought, the show must go on.

They walked quietly for only a few minutes. The closer they got to the castle, the more Imagination inhabitants they saw walking around them, some in pairs, some in groups, some alone. Everyone was in costume, most intricate. Good. This would be good, for coverage. The Thief had been a little worried that the ball would be sparsely attended, but this was good. 

It was going to be okay. 

They approached the drawbridge. Patton leaned against the Artist, gripping his arm tighter as the wind picked up. The Thief and Deceit were stoic behind them, and Logan and the Bard were simply quiet, though their hands were interlaced tight. It was going to be okay.

A line had formed on the bridge, in front of one man in a suit, perhaps the medieval equivalent of a bouncer. The group shuffled into the line, looking around at the castle, at the moat (“I think it’s filled with alligators,” the Bard murmured to Logan, who shook his head and was about to respond that that didn’t make sense, until an alligator’s maw jumped up and snatched a low-flying bird) and at the sky. 

Angry, angry clouds. 

It took an excruciatingly long eleven minutes for the Playwright to finally reach the front of the line, but when he did, he immediately grinned. He had to hand it to the Dragon. 

“May I see your invitation?” Zac Efron asked, dressed in a black butler’s outfit.

Bless the Imagination’s castings. The Playwright handed over his invitation, and Zac looked over a list in his other hand before handing back the invitation and checking off a name. “You may enter to the ball room,” he motioned to the door. 

The Playwright curtsied and hurried in. Behind him was the Artist and Patton, both of whom gasped a little, becau se holy shit, it’s Zac Efron. 

The Dragon was really out here casting Thomas’ celebrity crushes as butlers. It was the first thing that the Artist had wholly agreed with the Dragon on, actually. Once they were Roman, they were going to have to look into that as a possibility. 

One by one, each entered, walking down a grand hall with a ceiling so high and so vaulted that there seemed to be a sky inside. But, then again, there probably was. This was the Imagination. It looked somewhat like the Great Hall from the Harry Potter movies, this time shining with stars and constellations. 

Logan could identify Aries and Pieces. That was actually accurate for the season and hour, so he gave a mental kudos to Roman for his design, then considered if it were his knowledge that had been used to perfect the stars. Well. That was inconsequential, I guess?

The hall was also lined with suits of armor, and bannisters adorned with Roman’s full crest. Though, Deceit noticed while he walked through, the entire crest was outlined in gold and the castle in the center was colored with grey and brown and black. He thought the Dragon was only supposed to be the outer tower and walls. If the Dragon called all of the shots around here, then why was the center tower also colored?

The walk was long, heels clacking against the stone. They turned with the carpet to the left and entered through a pair of double doors that had to be at least two floors high. 

Inside was life. The room was massive, stretching almost the size of a football field. There was a stage near the entrance door where there were musicians (with undetailed faces, Deceit noticed) were playing loud enough to echo across the room. The dance floor seemed to take up about half the room. 

Farther away from the entrance were some circle tables, arranged around with some citizens already sitting down. Further back were some long tables, food stacked atop them, and even further….

The throne was elevated so the Dragon could see across the hall to the dance floor. The Thief’s fists clenched immediately upon seeing him wearing the Prince’s attire, white uniform a stark contrast to the black he was typically adorned with. It was a jarring difference. 

He was taunting them. By Doc Holliday’s pistol, they were gonna take him down.

Beside his throne was a large Ottoman seat, where there was another figure. The Damsel, most likely, though his face was obscured by a sheer red veil and distance. He was wearing a large dress, which had a triple-tiered skirt that seemed to flare out orange, then red, then black. His corset was decorated with red and orange and yellow rhinestones, and raised behind his head. It almost looked like flames. 

Burned. The Damsel’s scars were also entirely visible, scabs on his arms angry and red, clearly not fully healed. They weren’t openly bleeding, but the Playwright could tell that they would start bleeding at some point in the night. 

His nose scrunched as he examined the pair. They didn’t seem to notice him, the Damsel leaning against the throne’s side and not moving, the Dragon stroking his chin and looking across the hall absently. He had a sword sheathed beside the throne, too, with its handle sticking up in an easily accessible manner. 

He was waiting for them, he realized. Of course he was, this was a trap, you fool. You knew this. You’d planned. It was going to be okay.

The Playwright turned back to the group just as the last pair, Logan and the Bard, entered. 

“Okay. I am going to move toward the snack table,” he nodded toward the thrones, “Octopus, would you like to join me?”

Logan let go of the Bard, who curtsied and stepped back, and then offered a hand to the Playwright. “It would be my pleasure,” he said, “How about we acquire a table, Hearts?”

The Playwright nodded, then shot the Thief a look. “Snake,” he said, a promise, a warning, “Let’s waltz.” 

“Let’s,” the Thief responded, squeezing Deceit’s arm. 

The Bard and Patton had already taken each other onto the dance floor, hoping to not be conspicuously waiting in a group by the door way, and the Artist was meandering around — nope, no, he just asked an Imagination citizen to dance. Blending in well. 

Operation save Virgil and the Child was a go. 

Virgil could hear the faint music from above. He squinted up, then closed his eyes and exhaled. What’d that matter? 

His side was throbbing. It seemed that just wrapping a bandage around a wound did fuck all to stop it from hurting, or bleeding, especially if it was just wrapped once and around the front. Virgil would have to remember that for the next time he got stabbed by an evil Dragon, he thought snidely. 

He and the Child had relocated themselves to the bed. Pretending to not be panicking was tiring, but luckily for him, the Child had fallen asleep. 

He sniffed quietly, rubbing his eye with the butt of his palm. For the past half an hour, ever sine the Child fell asleep, Virgil had been silently crying. And there was no Damsel to conjure him a glass of water or tell him it’d be okay. Because he knew it wasn’t going to be okay. 

Even if he didn’t die in the Imagination, he’d be exiting it alone. And that was fine! 

The Child snuggled closer to his chest, tiny arms wrapped around him. Virgil sniffed again and hugged him tight. 

If he did nothing else, he’d at least protect this Roman. 

He wished he’d at least told Roman how he felt. 

Maybe he’d never get the chance. 

Gosh, this was really fatalistic, even for him. It wasn’t like he was gonna die in the Imagination. 

Virgil shielded his eyes with an arm and, as illogical as it was, wished that he could use that one arm motion to block out the sounds of the ball going on above. Shit, he was gonna die in the Imagination. 

….Usually that’d freak him out a bit more. Maybe he’d bled out to the point where he was too tired to be worried. And, maybe it was childish, but he really did want to dance with Roman. 

taglists!

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda @askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil @theobsessor1 @ninja-wizard101 @fandomsofrandom

general taglist: @jemthebookworm @okay-finne

[your-iron-lung]

Survivor Blues

also available to read on AO3 HERE

You call that a scar? A bruise? A tear? Pillow-marks. Souvenirs. 

Story Synopsis: 'What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger' is a philosophy Billy's father has been beating into him for as long as he can remember. If you get hurt, suck it up and walk it off. Take the pain and live with it. Grow with it; let it make you a better person.

Surviving the Mindflayer hurt. He should've been able to adapt to the pain; should've been able to let it shape him and make him stronger, but he can't. It's too much. The pain is too great and all consuming, and Billy has far too many things that need to be healed at once. 

In the end, what didn't kill him only makes him wish he'd died.

Word Count: 3416

Pairings: Light Harringrove

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, light angst (but with a happy ending- SOMETHING I DONT USUALLY DO)

Notes: this was just supposed to be a small thing, like, 4 paragraphs max, but it blew up and welp here it is. title comes from the song ‘Survivor Blues (the after hours)’. UHHH ENJOY **************

Surviving hurts.

Laying down, standing up; simply existing hurts him immeasurably. It’s like he can’t get comfortable anymore. Walking, talking, resting, sleeping, eating (especially eating) - anything and everything he does causes him more pain than he knows what to do with. But what else can he do? He’s alive, after all. He survived.

He tries to carry on like nothing’s wrong to prove a point, like, by pretending he’s not in constant pain it’ll somehow prove that he’s still as strong as he used to be, but it makes it all worse. Despair creeps in with the hurt, but before it overwhelms him he adopts it; uses his pain as penance, abuses this new sick form of self-flagellation to try and convince himself that he’s only getting what he deserves for all the hurt he’s caused countless others.

The doctors that saved his life had told him that recovery wouldn’t be easy, but still, Billy thinks, maybe he’d have been better off dying. Some days it hurts even to breathe, and if this is the way he’s going to be for the rest of his life, then he hopes he lives a short one, absolution be damned.

His dad still hits him. It hurts.

For a while after he’d been released from the hospital, things had been fine at home. Tense, but no voices raised. No hands raised. Some semblance of peace descending upon father and son until the bills from the hospital come in and Neil just loses it. Rages for hours. Just yelling, at first, but eventually his hands come flying and Billy is too hurt to escape them.

It becomes routine after that, although Billy notices that his father’s fist is a little bit gentler as it collides into him. Almost like he’s mindful of the places he’s already been hurt, as though by striking him in the places he still feels solid he’s showing his son some kind of mercy. It could be worse. Maybe Billy should be grateful. He isn’t.

Redemption is a far off dream that grows dimmer by the day whenever his father finds cause to blacken his eye.

 ***

He hears about Harrington through Max occasionally. Sees him around town sometimes when his dad drags him out. It hurts.

Part of that hurt stems from the unresolved things he did to Steve that night at the Byers’ place, but most of it actually stems from the night he almost died- should’ve died. It comes from where he’d been lying prone on the floor of the Starcourt Mall, bleeding out corrupted, blackened blood with Max crying over him. He couldn’t move his head after being impaled by so many cruel appendages, but even as his gaze had been fixed firmly upwards, he’d seen that pretty, pretty face of Steve’s looking down at him from over the railing of one of the upper floors. If Billy remembers right (and he does), Steve had appeared stricken. Horror-struck and dumbfounded. Billy pictures that look of terror on his face and feels his chest constrict painfully, because whenever he sees Harrington around town these days, he looks happy. Content. Like nothing ever happened. It pains him to see that he’s somehow made his life livable despite the things he’s seen, but it hurts more when he realizes Steve doesn’t ever look his way, even though he knows, he must know that Billy is near.

They hadn’t been friends before any of this, but rather, they’d been close to being something more.

 ***

It feels like he has nothing left to live for. It hurts.

He makes a list one day and runs down all the things he used to take stock in before his flaying and can’t find one single thing that stands up. His looks? Ruined; his body riddled with deep, ugly scars and a stomach devastated by irreversible chemical damage that leaves him barely able to eat anything. His car? Totaled beyond repair when Harrington had to T-bone into it to save those kids’ lives (and even the memory of that hurts). His friends? Tommy H. had gotten out of Hawkins while the getting was good and took Carol with him; probably the only smart thing he’d ever done in his life. High school was over, the crown he’d usurped passed on to the next sniveling bastard in line who wanted to be king.

He’s bitter when he comes to terms with the fact that he has nothing. Has no one. Can’t even tolerate looking himself in the mirror to see what being flayed has done to him. He’s too thin. Torn. Unrecognizable and dead around the eyes, haunted by the things his handler made him do.

His gaze is drawn to the necklace that keeps his Saint medal close to his heart and hates the way that it hangs heavily around his neck. It gets heavier every time he remembers it’s there until finally it feels like the chain it’s looped on is digging into his skin. He takes it off when he can’t stand it any longer; doesn’t think ol’ Saint Christopher can do anything to help him anymore. Hasn’t helped him in a long time, actually, when he thinks about it.

 ***

He almost kills himself one night. Accidentally, but still as an indirect result of all the accumulated traumas and hurts he’s still struggling to contend with months later. It feels good for once.

Max finds him, of all people. Walks right into his room without knocking to ask if he’s seen something of hers she just can’t seem to find but knows is in the house somewhere. She stops talking as soon as she sees him splayed out on his bed, foamy vomit trickling out of his mouth, empty bottles of beer littering the floor and a stomach full of prescribed pain medications that don’t fucking work.

“It wasn’t on purpose, it just never stops hurting. They don’t help,” he tells her later, after his ruined stomach gets pumped and his dad wails on him for that added cost to his already large hospital tab. “Nothing works. I thought maybe more would.”

She looks at him differently after that. No longer cold. No longer calculated; just thoughtful. Contemplative, but not in the same way where, in the past, she’d had to tread on eggshells around him or he’d hurt her in much the same way Neil hurts him. She becomes surprisingly loyal after that, even after all he’s done to her- done to her friends- and that hurts.

She becomes the support he hadn’t realized he needs. Convinces him to try the recommended physical therapy to hopefully get to a place where it doesn’t hurt for him to simply exist anymore.

“I’ll get a job,” she promises him, knowing full well that whatever place willing to hire a 15 year old won’t pay nearly enough to cover the cost of continual therapy sessions. “We all can; we didn’t know how to help you before, so we didn’t, and I’m sorry, Billy, we were so scared- but we know what we can do for you now. We can help you.”

Her words hurt. At first because she’s confirmed for him what he’s suspected all along: that they hadn’t even tried to help him, but before that old semblance of anger he used to rely on can surface, she’s hugging him, and he realizes that the hurt this time comes from a place of emotional vulnerability too deep within him to pinpoint exactly.

It hurts, is the bottom line- but this time it’s a good kind of hurt. The kind that has him hugging her back.

 ***

Slowly, he begins to heal. The pain doesn’t lessen, but other things he hadn’t realized were hurt begin to mend.

He gets to know her friends; manages to apologize to Lucas for all the shitty things he’s said and done specifically to him. In turn, they begin to help him, but all the paper routes, lawn mowing gigs, and occasional pet sitting opportunities they take up don’t really amount to much in the long run.

But he still continues healing.

They try to recruit the teens. Nancy gives what she can, but most of the money she makes goes towards traveling costs so she can continue to see Jonathan without having to rely on her parents. Billy refuses to take her money anyway; he’s not a goddamned charity case, but unbeknownst to him she puts what she can afford to spare in Mike’s hand for him anyway. Not that she’d had anything to do with what happened to him, but some people are just good at heart- something Billy hasn’t had a whole lot of experience with.

They don’t hear back from Harrington.

It helps. He heals. It’s close, but it’s not enough.

He still hurts.

They all struggle to get him through the initial assessment appointment with a therapist, and it doesn’t go well. Billy hates it; hates the fact that he has to rely on other people for the betterment of himself, but he doesn’t want to squander all the hard work those damnable kids are doing for him. It drains him. It drains their funds. He doesn’t know what to say when the secretary asks what day she can schedule his next appointment for. He almost tells her ‘never’, but settles for ‘same time next week’ when Max takes his hand in hers and looks up at him with that determined, patented Mad Max gleam in her eye.

She knows as well as he does that they won’t be able to raise enough money in time for it, but he goes anyway when ‘same time next week’ inevitably rolls around. Somehow, miraculously, he’s able to afford it. When he asks Max how that’s possible, she stays suspiciously quiet. A mysterious benefactor has started funding his therapy visits, he realizes.

He hates it. The knowledge that he can’t know who he’s become indebted to hurts what’s left of his pride.

 ***

Weeks pass and the results of his therapy visits manifest in little ways. He can take deep breaths without his chest and lungs constricting too sharply. It doesn’t hurt as much to walk. On good days he can even laugh without that deep pain blowing up inside him. Not that he laughs all that much anymore.

Max remains quiet whenever he asks her who’s doing this for him.

“A friend,” is all she says whenever he tries to corner her about it.

“I don’t have any friends,” he informs her, to which she shrugs and replies, “You have one.”

He heals. Day by day as he learns the exercises, he heals. But still he wonders who.

Who the hell cares about him that much to help him? Not Neil. Not Susan. Max was already doing her best for him, but her best wasn’t enough. To think that someone out there could care so much about his recovery leaves him feeling oddly funny. He both likes and dislikes it.

The mystery doesn’t stay unsolved for long.

When school starts again, Max can’t go with him to his appointments anymore. She becomes afraid that he won’t go if someone doesn’t go with him to make sure he does (and she might be right about that), and arranges for someone else to take him but declines to say who.

He waits outside on the porch for them, smoking lazily now that it doesn’t hurt him to breathe in deeply anymore. Sunglasses on even though it’s overcast because that fucking thing left its aversion of sunlight in him when it died. Coat on, collar up. Trying to reclaim the air of confidence he used to live by even if he doesn’t quite fill out his clothes like he used to anymore.

He waits until he sees his ride pull up to the curb in front of his house. He lets his cigarette smolder on his lips, lets it burn right down to the filter before he flicks it away as he belatedly comes to understand just who has been helping him.

Harrington honks at him, pokes his head out the window and says, “Shake a leg, Hargrove, let’s get a move on.”

Billy wants to be angry. Wants to be obstinate just because he can, but he’s tired and only has so many spoons left to get through the day with. He goes with him without much of a fuss, but has about a hundred things he wants to say to him as they ride.

It hurts that he can’t get any of them out.

 ***

Recovery is a slow process.

The drives to his therapist aren’t long, but there’s still room enough to hold a conversation if they ever chose to do so. They don’t.

Neither one of them is able to say anything to the other for days until Steve finally takes the initiative to breach that wide, wide gap that didn’t used to be between them.

“So… I’ve been seeing a guy,” he starts, side-eyeing Billy as he speaks to take stock in his expression.

They’re stuck at a red light that hasn’t turned green for two minutes. It’s divine. It’s torture.

It hurts.

“That’s… nice,” Billy says slowly, unsure of what Steve’s getting at. If it’s relationship advice, he has nothing to give.

“No! No, not like, uh, not like that,” Steve stutters. Drums his fingers against the steering wheel. Nervous. “Not that there’s anything… wrong with that, but, no. Not like that.”

“Okay.”

“More like, your kinda guy.”

“’My kinda guy,” Billy repeats dully.

The light remains red.

“Yeah, like, y’know,” Steve continues, still nervous, face colouring with embarrassment. Still waiting for that light to change. “A therapist, but, like, for my brain, or whatever.”

“A psychiatrist?”

Steve winces at the word, looks away, and rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah. A psych.”

“Okay,” Billy says again. He doesn’t know where Steve’s trying to take this. A show of solidarity? Some sort of admission?

Steve’s quiet for a moment up until the light finally, blessedly, turns green. The car lurches awkwardly forward in Steve’s enthusiasm to get going.

“Yeah, so, I’ve been seeing a guy.” His fingers never stop tapping, playing out the rhythm of his anxieties. “And we’ve been talking uh, a lot about you.”

“Me?” He’s surprised, then, suspicious. “Why?”

“You keep me up at night.”

But before Billy can ask what the hell that means, they’re there, and Steve’s already wishing him good luck.

*** 

He’s lying in bed later that night, reveling in the fact that it no longer hurts to do so when Max knocks and enters. She’s holding something big and boxy in her hand and looks kind of confused about it. A little awkward.

“It’s for you,” she says and waits for him to sit up and take the bulky two-way radio from her.

“What?” he asks stupidly, turning it over in his hands.

Max shrugs. “He said he wanted to talk to you.”

“Who?”

“See for yourself. Give it back when you’re done,” she says, and then leaves.

He waits to hear her footsteps pattering down the hall, back to her room, before he presses down on the communication button uncertainly.

“That you, Harrington?”

“Don’t cream yourself. Yeah, it’s me.”

A ghost of a smile works its way across Billy’s face at the familiar words. He takes a seat on the side of his bed, holds the radio close to where his medallion used to hang.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do this in person,” Steve says, his voice coming through in crackles and static. Still legible. Still determined. Billy ignores the pounding of his heart. “When I said that you keep me up at night, what I meant was…”

Billy hears him sigh before trying to finish his thought.

“What I meant was that I kept seeing your body on the floor at the mall whenever I closed my eyes, and not being able to do anything about it. I started having dreams where you actually fucking died or some shit and I got all fucked up about it when I remembered how close we were to being- well, you know. But I couldn’t figure out why that kept happening; it’s not like any of that shit was my fault, right?”

“No,” Billy agrees, swallowing hard. “Wasn’t your fault.”

He thinks he can hear Steve exhale a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, so, I don’t know why but it just kept sticking with me. I started losing sleep because you were always there. I didn’t even know you were involved at all until-”

“Until I tried to kill those kids.” Billy finishes his sentence for him, trying his best to ignore the lump forming in his throat as he says it.

“That wasn’t you,” Steve says quickly, and gives Billy a moment to collect himself. “It wasn’t. But, I thought maybe if I just, I don’t know, avoided you, then maybe the nightmares would stop.”

A slight blossom of anger. He quickly discards it; that’s not what they need right now. “Did they?”

“No.”

The lump in his throat doesn’t go away. He swallows it down, but then it grows and starts to take up space in his chest. It pushes down the anger, and pushes the hurt he’s been internalizing up and out. His eyes grow wet. He blinks the tears back.

“I ignored you for so long,” Steve says in a hushed whisper.

“I know,” Billy replies and tries to keep the hurt that’s threatening to bubble out of his throat down.

“And then Max told me you tried to kill yourself-”

Steve’s voice catches, and Billy can hear the hurt that starts spilling out of him. He’s crying. Billy sniffs and stops blinking his own tears back.

“It was an accident,” he tries to tell him, but his voice gives out part-way through. “It was an accident,” he repeats as he clears his throat. Hot tears begin to streak down the sides of his face. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I didn’t know what to do. I tried to talk to Robin but she said she couldn’t do for me what a therapist could, but I’ve always heard that that shits for crazy people, and I’m not crazy, just miserable and then Max came to talk to me about you again and I just. Saw my chance, I guess.”

Billy holds the radio in one hand and his head in the other. He can feel a headache coming on. Steve rambles on, about how the guilt he feels manifests the horrific visions of Billy lying dead on the ground in that shitty mall and how his shrink suggested that maybe just talking to Billy about it might help.

“I could’ve killed you that night,” Steve says at the end of his rant, sniffling uncontrollably. His voice sounds hoarse, but at least they’ve both stopped crying. “I almost drove right into you.”

“You kinda did. Eye for an eye, though. Guess that makes us equal,” Billy replies, and Steve laughs.

His laugh is cheery despite the dark tones of their conversation. Light. It lifts Billy up.

“It could’ve been way worse, though.”

“Yeah,” Billy agrees, breathing deeply. His eyes feel crusty with dried tears. He wipes at them and feels how sore they are. “Yeah, you could’ve missed. You wouldn’t be so sorry if you had.”

Steve gets really quiet at that. Billy knows that Steve knows he’s right. He would’ve killed them if Steve hadn’t done what he did, but it doesn’t change the fact that it hurt the both of them when he’d had to resort to such drastic measures.

“But I didn’t.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“You survived.”

“So did you.”

“Fuck it. I miss you, Billy. I wasted so much time trying to get over the part of you I thought had died.”

They stay up all night after that. Just talking. Catching up, making amends. Healing.

The conversation only ends when Billy realizes Steve’s fallen asleep on his end. He’d been slowing down gradually as the hours passed, so it doesn’t come as a surprise, but still Billy wishes they could’ve talked more.

And they can, he understands. They can talk the whole rest of their lives away if they wanted to, because they survived. He sets the radio down on the floor beside his bed and slips in between the sheets. He closes his eyes and smiles. They survived.

When he wakes up, he realizes he no longer hurts.

[post-itpenny]

Nine in the Afternoon

The next part is here at long last!

Geeze this got really long.

@grotesquegabby @clownsgobeepbeep because so many of yours are here. I hope I got everyone’s reactions to things correct. uwu

Eight was a lot of people Vespers had to admit. But it seemed rather appropriate considering who it all was.

When Vespers announced he wanted to go to Blackwood’s home and get Magpie he wasn’t surprised Maggie wanted to come, and was grateful Juno volunteered. 

But then nearly everyone else offered to come. 

To see so many people worried for Magpie or missing her honestly made Vespers start to cry, Cosmos holding his hand tightly has he did so.

Why would she leave when she had so many friends that cared about her?

They all met at the observatory. It was decided that one group would stay to care for the little ones while the other group went together.

This was something Vespers’ grandfather insisted on. Go as a group rather than alone.

Kestrel had been the last of Vespers’ immediate family to visit the elder. Passing along a small box to Juno who went to see him.

“The planet changes according to his whim. I can’t say what it may look like now but remember to be polite. He doesn’t like conflict but still should not be angered.”

Vespers and Juno looked at the little box, it didn’t seem to be anything special however their grandfather had instructed not to open it until they were ready to leave. 

Vespers looked around at all the people currently in his home. He wanted it laugh, any other day he would think they had come together for a party. 

Cosmos clasped a had on his shoulder, “You good Vesp?”

The moth nodded, ignoring the anxiety that was curling around in his stomach. “Cosmos this just isn’t like her. She promised to be home three days ago. I just don’t understand.”

But it was more than that, it wasn’t like Magpie to just leave without a goodbye, just Blackwood passing along the message through his father who was the last to be visited. 

“Tell Honey and Brie to watch the house and not overfeed Trouble. Back in three days.”

She didn’t even say goodbye to him, she didn’t really say goodbye to anyone.

Why.

Maggie stood in the corner of the room whispering intently with Billy. Vespers watched them curiously, what could they be talking about?

Soon they stepped outside. Vespers, Juno, and Maggie were going along with Billy, Pepper, Cecilio, James, and Alex.

Eight people seems like a lot. But perhaps there was safety in numbers.

As they stepped out the door Calliope quietly pulled Maggie  aside. 

“Listen please,” she whispered to her. “Blackwood is not a violent creature by any means but still be cautious. He is very… he can be a lot to deal with. And clever, he’s more shrewd than one would think.”

Maggie nodded, arms wrapped tight around her waist. Calliope had wanted to come and to be honest they would have all felt better if she had. But in her condition it was not wise. Plus trouble between elders could mean trouble for everyone.

“One more thing,” she quickly added. “He and Bridgette… has she told you?”

“Told me what?”

Calliope sighed, “let’s just say there is history.”

Vespers took a steadying breath and looked back at Cosmos who stood at the door with the others. Cradling Phoebe who was peeking out of her blankets as she watched her moth-father with large eyes.

Vespers opened the box.

It was a key. A plain looking key.

“Whelp, I can tell right now this is going to be stupid.” Juno sighed as she picked the key up from the box.

A set of gates appeared.

Vespers jumped back in surprise. The gates were tall and made of curling wrought iron. The top adorned with metal thistles instead of more traditional spikes.

The gate was unlocked.

“Look it’s stupid. Why the hell-“

“Juno!”

“Why the heck have a fancy set of gates appears that are unlocked?”

“Maybe picking up the key unlocked it?” Pepper offered. 

Juno rolled her eyes but said nothing, reaching out to grab Pepper’s arm. “We’ll go in groups since we can’t all go through at once. Vespers you want to go first or me?”

“I will,” Maggie insisted.

Billy frowned and stepped in front of her, “maybe you should stay. I’m sure-“

“I’m going and I’m going first.” Maggie insisted. 

Billy held onto her hand and followed her through the gate. The last thing either of them saw being the observatory doorway filled with their friends and family.

Maggie walked through darkness. Aware she still had a hold of Billy’s hand who had sped of his pace so they could be side by side. Behind them came Alex’s voice:

“Marco!”

“Polo!” Maggie called back.

“Marco!”

“Polo!”

“Mar- oof! Cool here you are.” Alex chuckled as he crashed into the couple. 

They were at some invisible wall. They all crowded around. Not finding any way around it. 

“Damn this place is dark even for me,” Alex observed. “Who’s got a light?”

“I gotcha.” Cecilio announced as he struck a match. 

Maggie stifled a laugh which, the other’s turning to her in confusion.

Maggie giggled “whose not dead, sound off.”

Vespers rolled his eyes, Pepper laughed, James was extremely confused.

“But none of us are dead?”

“Just don’t worry about it man,” Vespers signed, turning to look up at what they had run into.

It was a set of doors, towering and covered in thistle flowers, live ones.

How were they growing here?

Juno reaches out and knocked.

The doors swung wide open, bright light spilling  forth forcing them to close their eyes. 

There were sounds: screaming, running….

Laughter?

Vespers opened his eyes. Gapping at the scene before him in shock.

Behind him the other’s gasped, someone whistled.

Pepper blinked as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. “What the fuck?”

They stood on top of a tall hill, looking down on a massive carnival, one that seemed to span for miles and off into the distance.

Blackwood’s planet was one giant carnival.

They walked down the hill on a path surrounded by deep purple thistles that swayed in the breeze. The weather was bright and sunny but not two hot, clouds forming the shapes of different animals. 

As they entered the carnival a manger of all beings moved to and fro from booth to booth to ride. Some were human or human like, others alien-looking in features. None of them seemed to notice the newcomers

Cecilio’s stomach growled, the smell of Joy was so strong, Pepper’s stomach growled for and different reason.

“Cake!” He cheered as he ran to a booth piled high with every type of cake one could imagine. He grabbed a nearby plate and immediately began to pile on slice after slice before Alex pulled him away. 

“Hang on there buddy. Pretty sure all the sugar here will jack you up.”

Pepper frowned, “but-”

“No he’s right,” Cecilio stated. “Look at the people here.”

Pepper looked around him. Everyone looked like they were having a great time. Talking and laughing as they explored the carnival. Pepper watched a woman walk up to the candy apple stall across from them. Taking one of the tasty treats from an unseen hand and leaving without paying.

Huh…

The group observed the people around them. Big smiles on their faces but their eyes blank. Two people ran into each other and didn’t even notice in their rush to get to different destinations. 

“It’s not quite right is it?” Billy observed. “Half the sounds that should be here are missing. Where are the crying children or their tired parents? Where are the swindlers and pickpockets? I also would have expected to see someone vomiting after riding that.” He said as he pointed his cane at a monster of a roller coaster at the end of the isle. Billy gave a small smile, “though it does look like fun.”

Maggie watched as the coaster did loop after loop, “yeah it really does.... One ride?”

Billy looked at the line that never seemed to hold up in its smooth flow of putting people on the ride. A standard warning sign was placed at the entrance like some afterthought.

Billy frowned, “no perhaps not.”

Maggie pouted and looked back to the cake stand Pepper still gazed after longingly. 

“Hey Vesp?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember The Goblin Market?”

“The what?”

“We must not look at goblin men,

We must not buy their fruits:

Who knows upon what soil they feed their hungry thirsty roots?”

The group turned to quiet James in surprise. He cleared his throat, “I’ve read it before.”

Maggie shrugged, “Magpie said it was about not talking to strangers.”

Billy smirked, “it's about temptation but yes also strangers I suppose.”

“Magpie read you that?”

Did you say Magpie?”

They turned. Surprised to find two clowns walking towards them. The smaller one was wearing an over-sized sweater that covered half their face save for their cat-like eyes and a puff of curly blue hair. They held the hand of a taller clown. She wore a short pink dress with an over-sized sweater as well. Her pink hair tied up into two buns and across her ears and face were several piercings. She smiled and pulled the shorter clown along with her towards the group.

“Hey there name’s Cecelia, this here is little Risby. Say hi Risby.”

Risby waved their hand in greeting but said nothing, looking up at Vespers and Juno specifically. Risby tugged on Cecilia’s sleeve and pointed to Vesper’s white hair. Cecilia smiled. “Risby wants to know if you’re related to Mr. B?

Vespers blinked “Mr. B? Uhh, you mean Blackwood? Yeah he’s our elder.”

Cecilia grinned and, to Vespers surprise, pulled him into a hug. She turned and hugged Juno, only Juno was much taller than Cecilia leaving to hug Juno around the stomach. 

“This is so cool! Geeze the old guy is gonna do somersaults he's gonna be so excited. Risby go find Mr. B. and tell him!”

Risby nodded and ran off into the crowd. Cecilia turning back and looking up at Juno who stared down at her rather speechless. 

“So you’re here to see Magpie? She’s so, so great.”

Maggie perked up, “so you do know her then?”

Cecilia nodded with a grin, “oh yeah she’s like, really popular here. C’mon I think I know where to find her.”

They followed Cecilia through the crowd. Juno watching her closely as she followed along like a lost puppy. Alex leaned towards Juno with a chuckle. “She’s certainly fun to watch leave, you know what I mean?”

Juno turned bright red and shoved him, “sh-shut up.”

Vespers jogged to catch up with Cecilia. “So do you work for Blackwood? Or live here?”

Cecilia smiled, “yeah yeah it’s both. Risby is my tiny sibling, we needed a place to call home and Mr. B. gave it to us. I’m the official groundskeeper around here,” she proudly stated. 

They rounded a corner to find a large crowd cheering, and the familiar sound of snapping fingers.

Vespers’ heart leaped into his throat. He pushed through the crowd but stopped short, the others stumbling to a stop behind him.

Pepper’s eyes widened, “is that her?”

The woman in the center of the crowd looked nothing short but like a rainbow that had exploded. The locks of her hair were each a different color, her dress a mess of ruffles and different hues, she turned and looked at them with bright blue eyes.

Magpie gasped in surprise, as if not really believing that she was looking at her family and friends. But then:

“Hey chica! Look at you all stylin!”

Magpie grinned, “Alexander!” She shouted in joy as she ran forward and crashed into the party clown with a hug. Magpie laughed as turned towards her niece and nephew and hugged them tightly as well. “Oh my dear ones. My sweet little bugs I can’t believe it!”

Vespers and Juno hugged their aunt tightly, running fingers through her hair and holding her face all three starting to cry.

Maggie stood aside with a sad smile and watched, Billy stood next to her with an arm wrapped around her shoulders. He gave Maggie a pointed look but she shook her head.

Cecelio came up next to them, scratching his head in confusion. “So what's going on?”

Maggie looked up at him with a sigh, “this is what Magpie used to look like. I remember her looking like this as a kid.”

James shook his head in disbelief, “she mentioned being locked up but- I must ask, how long?”

Maggie frowned, “a very long time.” 

Magpie turned and greeted the others with hugs and laughter, her smile like warm light she seemed so alive. She stopped at last before Maggie, pulling her into a hug. 

“My little poppy flower why are you crying?”

Maggie sobbed into Magpie’s shoulder, hugging her tight. 

“I’ve missed you so much!” Maggie cried. Her tears staining Magpie’s colorful dress. “And I’ve just really needed to talk to you about things.”

“Magpie smiled and smoothed Maggie’s hair, “I’m here now my darling. What’s wrong?”

Maggie took a gulp of air to calm herself, “I-

“What’s all this about crying then hmm?”

They looked up. Blackwood stood atop a cable car that was passing over them. He leaped gracefully into the air, touching down with ease. Magpie smiled and moved to stand with him.

“Risby told me there were visitors! How wonderful! Look at this! Why Vespers and Juno long time no see!” Blackwood laughed as he pulled the two into a hug before turning to the others. “You must be one of the D’Vitts! Sorry I could not meet the new father but I’m simply delighted to get to say hello!” Blackwood greeted as he vigorously shook Pepper’s hand. Pepper himself relieved he was not pulled into a bone-crushing hug like the others. 

Blackwood seemed to like everyone immediately. Greeting James in a way that put him at ease and sharing cheesy jokes with Cecilio right away. He turned to Alex with a look of surprised. “Well goodness me, I must say you take quite a bit after your father don’t you my boy?

For once, Alexander’s signature smile dropped just slightly, “so you know my old man?”

Blackwood chuckled, “well of course I do. Chap certainly knows how to keep things lively though if I’m honest I think he and I have different ideas on a good time.”

The smile returned, Alex gave a short nod “cool.”

Blackwood shook hands with Billy, the two tipping top hats to each other. Then at last came to the short redhead. His smile faltering slightly.

“Hello,” Maggie greeted.”

“Hello there my dear,” Blackwood gave in kind. “Might I ask what your name might be?”

“It’s Maggie sir, I’ve come to bring my mother home.”

Magpie grew still, eyes wide. Vespers smiled and even Juno have a shrug with the smallest smirk.

“Did you now?” Blackwood asked, “I must say you put together quite a party to do so.”

Maggie shook her head, “no sir that was Vespers and Juno. But a lot of people were really worried with her gone for so long.”

Magpie smiled, “It’s only been maybe three days.”

James frowned, “Magpie it's been five.”

Magpie gasped in surprise, a look of horror passed over her face, “A week! Oh no the girls! Are they alright? How is my dog? What's been happening?”

Magpie turned to Billy in panic, clutching his sleeve. “Honey and Brie are they okay? I didn’t mean to leave them a whole week! Have you spoken with them?”

Billy placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly, “they’re alright Magpie. They just miss you, from my understanding so does your puppy.” 

Magpie gripped her hair in panic. “Oh no, oh no. I’m so sorry I-”

“Hey now it’s alright, no need to panic my dear.” Blackwood reassured her with a calm smile. “Everyone loses track of time, may I suggest this: Tonight we shall all have dinner together and then if you wish then yes you can go home. In the meantime why not show our guests around? There is something here for everyone after all.”

“B-But the girls! I need to-“

“Tut, tut! I shall see you all soon!” With a dramatic bow Blackwood was gone in an explosion of confetti.

Juno looked to her worried aunt, then to the confetti on the ground, then shrugged. “Whelp, if you’re ready to go then lets go.”

Vespers frowned and checked his pockets, “Juno do you have the key?”

Alex smirked, “key or no key it's all good moth man. We’ll just pop over to the next planet and-”

Alex was gone in a snap, only to reappear one foot away from where he had previously stood.

The part clown frowned, “not cool. So guess we do need the key then, huh.”

Cecelia grinned, “this planet sits in a locked pocket dimension, no teleporting without boss man’s permission.”

Juno frowned, “well, that's an ass move.”

Cecelia whipped around to Juno, eyes blazing. “Excuse you bitch have some respect.” 

The pink haired clown stormed off leaving Juno stricken. “Oh no,” she groaned.

Vespers shook his sister’s shoulder, “hey Juno? Hey what's up, talk to me Juni.”

Juno gave another defeated groan, “she’s hot.”

They were left with no choice but to go to Blackwood’s home and ask for a new gate key. As they walked Magpie did end of playing tour guide as requested of her. Pointing out different rides and attractions. People saying hello to her as they passed. Vespers watched his aunt as she gushed about a ride she herself had made. Something he could only describe as five ferris wheels circling each other. Magpie looked so happy as she shared with them the world she had been staying in for the past week. Vespers frowned, what if she didn’t want to come home? Would it be right to make her?

Soon they arrived at a tall set of stairs that lead to a shining castle. Vespers choked back a laugh. His family lived in a ruin pretending to be important yet here was the real deal. 

In the entry hall stood Blackwood gazing up at a large golden tree, he turned in surprise at their arrival. 

“Oh is the tour over already? I can have Cecelia show you on a tour of the castle next if you would like?”

Magpie stood tall, “actually Blackwood I was hoping-”

“I’m here!” Cecelia shouted with Risby in tow, “what I miss? Whats shakin bacon?”

“Blackwood just a second-”

“Oh no need to worry my dear But do you recall what we discussed about the tree the other day? I do believe there is something you might wish to see?”

Vespers clenched his fist, stepping forward. “Blackwood sir my aunt is ready to come home. Could you please give us a new key?”

Blackwood blinked, “why leave right when you’ve just arrived? There is still so much we can do!”

Vespers frowned, “yes but-”

“Tell me moth child how about fireworks? I know they’re your favorite and each night I like to put on a spectacular show of them under the planet’s five moons. Every color imaginable! It’s about nine in the afternoon now but just wait!”

“That is nice but!”

“Oh and Juno I made the best rock climbing area just last year!”

Juno stepped back, “that's cool but-”

“Plus there's the raves on the planet’s south side, and we haven’t had dinner, then there were these new constellations I would really like a second opinion on-”

As Blackwood talked he floated up in the air, neon lights, stairs, cupcakes, and all manner of things began to appear and float about as if Blackwood’s thoughts were coming to life. Maggie pulled away from Billy and stamped her foot on the ground, “Blackwood sir please!”

Blackwood chuckled, “little seer what’s wrong? Did you have a bad vision? Will the fireworks get rained out?”

Small fireworks began to explode around them forcing the others to duck.

“No I. Will you please-,” Maggie growled and tugged at her hair in frustration.

“Stop, stop! ENOUGH!”

The world froze, the colors dulling. Outside the rides and people came to a stop. Freezing in place.

Inside the same happened to Cecelia and Risby, Juno waiving a hand in front of Cecelia’s face with no response.

Magpie felt a command in the back of her head, and order to freeze, some will that was not her own urging her limbs to lock up. She clasped the sides of her head, shaking her head no as she fell to the floor.

Vespers moves to help her but stopped, what was happening?

Blackwood floated down to where Maggie stood. Her bright red hair standing out like fire against the dull colors of the world.

“What is wrong with you?!”

Blackwood stepped back in surprise. No one really challenged him, not in a long time at least.

Funny who stood before him now.

Blackwood frowned, the floor beneath him cracking.

“Oh you’re just like her.”

Maggie blinked in surprise, just like who?

“Not everything has to be about the things you want little seer,” Blackwood hissed. “Can't I have some fun? Can’t the universe be a little happier? We follow fate like good sheep but what happens to the people given a bad path huh? On my planet I work hard to make everything perfect every day! I give whatever anyone could want! No sadness, no hurt!”

“But that’s not right.” Maggie timidity argued. “Bad things have to happen-“

“Why?!”

“Because without both there isn’t a point to living.”

Blackwood gaped at her, speechless.

“People who know how to be sad know how to be happy,” Maggie continued. “I mean really happy, because they know how to cherish it. But what you’ve made is… shallow.”

Vespers stood watching his aunt as she sat on the floor, hugging herself tightly as the colors began to fade away. Her bright blue eyes turning white and the rest of her following suit.

Maggie glanced at Cecilio who motioned for her to continue. Maggie took a breath. “It’s not fair I know that. But it’s how the universe works.”

“And if I don’t like the way the universe works? You don’t think I couldn’t just reach out and start rearranging everything one planet at a time? Changing the rules how I see fit?”

“You’re not a god so lay off with that,” Maggie frowned. “Besides you would just be miserable trying to maintain it all. Why else would you have deadlights here to help you manage things on one single planet?”

“Child, do you not think I am merely charitable?” Blackwood growled, the shadows of the room twisting and reaching out towards Maggie. Billy tried to move to help but found himself rooted to the floor, the tiles having melted remolded themselves around his feet and ankles. He panicked as a shadow shot out to wrap itself around Maggie’s neck.

But stopped.

Blackwood turned in surprise at the sound of a “snap” as the shadows receded. Magpie stood with her hand held out, her bright colors all gone as she had returned to her normal faded- out self. She wore no gloves revealing blackened hands that were riddled with the white lines of her veins. Around her static crackled as she glared at the elder.

“Do not touch my girl.”

Blackwood gasped but then seemed to deflate. Sitting down on the floor with a groan. 

“Magpie my dear, I’m just trying-“

“I don’t care, you will not touch what’s mine.” Magpie insisted. “Blackwood I want to go home.”

The elder groaned again with his face in his hands, outside it began to softly rain. 

“Magpie you were the one that told me you were so miserable.”

They all turned to Magpie in surprise, Vespers flinching at the statement. 

Magpie squared her shoulders, “and I still am. Please don’t misunderstand me, I do love it here. But it’s not like you magically “cured” me or anything. You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

Outside it began to pour. Cracks forming in the ceiling as water seeped in around them. The floor soaked in seconds, Blackwood himself drenched. 

He gave a quiet “oh,” and nothing else.

Maggie sighed and walked to him, holding a hand out.

“Can- can we talk in private?”

They all sat around the entry hall while Maggie when off with Blackwood to speak. Magpie introducing Vespers, Billy, and Pepper to the family tree. 

“So gold leaves are blood line, silver are mates, bronze are extended family-”

“What is that green leaf?” Billy asked as he pointed at a particular branch.

Magpie smiled, “the adopted, that leaf is Maggie.”

Billy observed the little green leaf, noting with a smile that a silver one was attached to it.

Blackwood and Maggie returned looking thoroughly worn out. As if the conversation had been too much for them. Maggie took Magpie’s hand and pulled her aside from the other’s, Blackwood came to stand beside Billy. “By the way, congratulations to you.” 

Billy nodded to him with a particularly smug grin, Vespers watched them in confusion before hearing a soft gasp. He turned, Magpie was in Maggie’s arms crying.

“Wait what happend, is she ok?” Vespers worried only to be stopped by Blackwood. 

“Just tears of joy my boy.”

What?

“CECILIO!” Magpie screeched as she charged across the room towards the clown, launching herself at him in a hug.

“Ah! My back! Be careful!” He cried as he had no choice but to catch Magpie who was crying and laughing at once. “Where's the fire? What's going on?”

Maggie came to stand by Billy who wrapped his arm around her. She blushed as she patted her stomach and smiled at him.

Cecelio looked to Magpie, then to Maggie and Billy. A big grin made its way onto his face.

Vespers watched them all in confusion before Blackwood slowly tipped his chin up. Vespers observed a little green leaf that had a silver leaf right next to it.

Underneath was a new bud.

Oh

“Maggie holy fuck!” Vespers screamed just as Cecelio scooped Maggie and Billy up into a hug.

Alex doubled over laughing as the others watched in confusion as realization came over them one at a time.

Blackwood stepped back with a sad smile, musing over the conversation with the little seer.

Oh she was so much like her elder.

[cjostrander]

Disturbed: Evolution

Hey guys i am back from a small vacation to bring back some reviews for you. I havent been getting much motivation from my anniversary list so i am going to press on with the newer albums for promo. This is the latest album from Disturbed and features a shift towards a much more soft rock sound than prior releases. It still has some of your typical songs but on this release they decided to experiment more heavily with the success they had on their cover of The Sound of Silence. I haven’t listened to this one much but hopefully it proves to be an interesting risk from the group. They have described it as being their version of Metallica’s Black album which is fair; but i would likely align it closer to Megadeth’s Risk album.

Are You Ready (Single): The album begins pretty ambitiously with a hard hitting rocker similar in spirit to their previous track Indestructible. It begins with a nice electronic tinge to open up before David enters to rile to listener up. The instrumentals are pretty basic and straightforward but provide ample support for David’s vocals. His energetic delivery provides a very firm focal point for the listener to enjoy and it delivers an interesting sense of hidden catchiness that showcases nicely during the chorus segments. This would be a decent track to open up a live show with due to its straightforwardness and ability to energize a room. I do wish that the guitars had a little more teeth to them in order to really cement this as a highlight piece but its a decent beginning to this album thus far. 8.5/10

No More (Single): This next single continues to more energetic rock direction of the album before venturing into their melodic acoustic and melodic centered tracks. It starts off with a rather danceable guitar rhythm that showcases the guitars rather nicely. The dance vibe to it will showcase very strongly during a live performance and David’s vocals match in catchy swagger. He continues to stand out very highly on this album and uses some very strong lyrics to provide a powerful presence on the track for the listener to rally around. This is definitely a nice pick for a single and hopefully will set the album up to continue with a nice momentum. I would definitely recommend checking this track out if you are in a mood to just browse; because its one of the track’s i’ve remembered the most so far besides In Another Time. 9/10

A Reason to Fight (Single): Acoustic melodies begin with a rather rustic, almost celtic like vibe and David arrives to deliver some rather catchy vocal harmonies. It is a very risky approach for the band but he continues to be consistent with strong lyrics and a solid vocal performance in order to make it work out well. The acoustic elements give a nice texture to the song that supports David more firmly than expected and helps to provide the album with an interesting sense of hidden complexity for the listener to soak in. It will surely be a polarizing track to older fans but it is a smart choice as a single to showcase this newer side of the band. It also brings forth something new the band’s catalog that can’t immediately have several tracks already compared to it. The closest i can think of off the top of my head is the classical track Darkness off of their second album Believe. Though even that track was very unique to itself as well. 8.5/10

In Another Time: Melodic loops begin this song off with a rather soothing tone and develops a nice sense of poppy class before aggressive guitars arrive to sink some teeth into the track. The use of electronic beats underneath the guitars give it a very nice texture for David to thrive on. They use these electronic elements sparingly so as to not take away their standard rock structure and that should leave older fans feeling interested in it. Other than that this is pretty decent half rocker/ballad piece for the listener to be engaged by and the more raw guitar solo is a nice moment to be struck by before the chorus proceeds to finish the song off. 8.5/10

Stronger On Your Own: This middle track begins with a muffled guitar rhythm and begins to develop a nice rock rhythm texture with the spaced drum beats. David takes his time in building the song up and manages to create an interesting sense of tension and motivational swagger. I gotta give him props on this album because i have yet to really find any weakness in his vocals and his lyrics have proven consistently solid on each of these track to make him the real highlight on this album thus far. It does show that this album is mostly composed of inspirational ballad centered tracks but David’s strong presence really makes it a worthwhile effort otherwise; it would be a lackluster album. 8.5/10

Hold On to Memories: Acoustic melodies begin this track on a very relaxingly peaceful note. David changes his vocals up a hair to bring a different vibe into the album. He manages to make this vocal style work very well in presenting a very theraputic set of lyrics to the listener to decompress to. Despite being a very subdued track; i would be interested to see it being done live. The ironic part too is that i can pretty much imagine this being a solo album for David if his other band mates weren’t involved. I will also give the instrumentals props because they deliver a very strong support for the vocals and energetic melodies to really cement this as a solid track for the listener to appreciate. Even if you are expecting heavier material; you can at least acknowledge that their intentions with this album are working out pretty well. 8.5/10

Saviour of Nothing: Guitars arrive with a decent build up and David arrives to deliver a balanced dose of inspirational verses. The guitars have a little more rawness to them that will mesh with their stronger energy decently. They do take the focus away from the vocals this time a bit; but the chorus will stick out for people that are enjoying David’s presence on the album.I will note this track as probably one of the weaker ones but not to the band of being a throw away track. Probably bonus track level but nothing filler. The drums do have some nice moments to bash around with the guitars so pay attention to that segment when it comes; because the solo is really nice and technical with subtle electronic elements added to spice it up further. 8/10

Watch You Burn: Energetic acoustic riffs begin that bring in more of a pop rock vibe (think goo goo dolls lol). David arrives to deliver some very soothing verses that will help to further ease the listener during a tense day. He does get a hair carried away with his high notes at times but with a slightly stronger instrumental support it would of blended in smoother. The bass rhythm does stick out rather decently on here so it will give a decent foundation to get a little slow dancing to with your significant other. I could of actually pictured a good music video for this one centered around an outdoor campfire due to its lyrical structure. They bring in another surprise with a modest orchestral solo to enhance the complexity of this track further. It’s an interesting surprise that will make this a more memorable track than initially expected. Definitely can’t say that this album will bore you if you listen to it open-minded in album sequence; because doing so on shuffle really doesn’t work well on this album. 8.5/10

The Best Ones Lie: This track begins with energetic electronic loops before the guitars arrive to pour and aggressively energetic rock presence. The drums bash along rather nicely and David arrives to present the listener with a more back to basics Disturbed track. The lyrics don’t stick out as heavily on here as on previous tracks but they still do develop a nice texture as they rant along convincingly. The instrumentals will be a stronger focal point due to their more dramatic draw. It contains some rather nice jam elements that will really showcase nicely during a live performance. It is placed smartly in the album since it injects a heavy dose of power into the album; which sets it up very strongly for the finale track. 8.5/10

Already Gone: This finale track begins melodic strings and a classically sound guitar presence. David uses a deeper vocal melody which has infuses a compelling sense of darkness into the atmosphere. This one really shapes up to be a beautiful highlight that conveys a strong level of emotion for the listener to be astounded by. The lyrics are perfect for the mood of this track and David really takes advantage of them to end this album on a solid note. I would highly recommend checking this track out because it is a really nice surprise that justifies the band’s focus in this album. 10/10

Overall album rating: 8.7/10

Well this one had a very surprising score from what i was expecting (7.8-8.1 range) and is just .1 of matching my score for their highlight album Indestructible. This is a very solid album from the band that takes a very risky experiment and pulls it off very well. David is terrific in his vocals and lyrics and the band provides a solid support so that he can work his magic with ease. I highly recommend checking this album out because it will surely surprise you with a love it or hate it impression; though there will be little doubt that it is a complex work. I will stay open minded on where they go from here on their follow up album since this worked out as well as it did. Enjoy your weekend guys and i will get more albums out next week since i am off from work.

*Reviewer’s Pick*

[phyrexian-mama]

Fanwalker Friday - Whisper

I haven’t really done fanwalker friday before because I don’t really have the skills to illustrate them and was insure if people really wanted to read about them. BUT fuck it - I want to talk about my characters even if no one cares :p

Description first - backstory below the cut

Whisper is a Lorwyn elf. His pale skin is marred by rough and jagged scars that cover both forearms and travel up over his right shoulder where some of the skin no longer grows. Similar scars can be found across his body, but that is where they are most notable. He is missing his left horn, which was snapped off abruptly near the base, and another scar runs across his right cheek and through his hair below his right horn, causing the hair to grow unevenly. Most notably, however, are the bright white burn scars that blossom over his throat and into the soft tissue underneath. These scars make him unable to speak louder than a soft whisper - hence the nickname he goes by.

His first “walk” after his spark ignited was to Ravnica, where he met with the Selesnya Conclave. He felt at home with them, because unlike on Lorwyn, he was not critiqued for his appearance, and instead was able to be comfortable cultivating the culture he loved. He has a tall staff with various loops and knots that he grows various plants on - flowers, moss, vines, and fungus. His pride and joy… and the eventual source of his revenge… are a small number of Moonglove blossoms that crown the top of the staff.

He is incredibly thin with high cheekbones and pointed features. He wears varying layers of cloth and leather to hide his small frame, and to protect him from the elements.

He is centered in green, but is also black and white (speaking about magic colors, of course)

And now, for Whisper’s story.

Whisper was an elf from Lorwyn - no one important, only of Faultless caste. But he was happy and had his friends, and that was enough.

Whisper wasn’t his given name, of course. He couldn’t remember his given name anymore. Not that he cared to. It no longer mattered.

See, Whisper and his friends spent years maintaining a beautiful garden together that sprawled carefully through the Gilt-Leaf Wood. Truly it was Whisper’s work that kept the garden flourishing - whether it was magic or natural talent that allowed him to tame even the most stubborn of plants was hard to tell - but they all owned it in some way or another.

As he was tending the garden one day, a pack of boggarts began to tear through the carefully manicured and stylized garden. Whisper watched in horror as the beautiful flowers and vines he and his friends had worked together to grow were tossed recklessly into air by the cackling creatures. Having no choice, he threw himself into their path, attempting to beat them back.

Having no combat skills to speak of, he was easily overwhelmed by the horde. He watched in horror as his slender, flawless arms were torn into with stone and wood, exposing bone and sinew in a horrific display. He felt tears sting his eyes as a particularly large boggart snapped off one his horns with glee. But he would not fall - and after a time, after countless wounds, the boggarts grew weary of this plaything, and Whisper was able to chase them off.

He was in poor shape. A glance at himself in a nearby puddle of water caused him to recoil - surely that unkempt, asymmetrical monstrosity wasn’t him? He couldn’t return home like this, so he waited in that precious garden, repairing the damage the boggarts had wrought, until his friends could come and help them.

The hours were long, but just as the sun began to set he heard footsteps and the beautiful flute-like timbre of his friend’s voices approaching. He could feel relief envelope him as he stood shakily, leaning onto a fallen branch for support, and went to meet him.

“Tyra, Kriss, Nyila - I’m so glad you’re here! These boggarts came and-” but Whisper lost his words as he saw the faces of his friends contort in disgust.

“… what have you done to yourself” Kriss spat, as though the act of speaking to Whisper filled his mouth with a foul taste. Whisper looked down at his dirt caked clothes, his arms that were already beginning to scar from the boggart’s attacks. He felt tears rising once more as he looked up.

“I… the boggarts, they tried to ruin the garden, but… but I stopped them! Look, our precious gard-” but he was cut off by a sharp slap, delivered by Tyra’s delicate hand. Hatred burned in her eyes.

“Do not call this your garden. Not anymore.” Whisper was stunned. These were his friends. How could they turn on him so quickly, after all he had done. “You were a friend once, so I give you this one mercy - leave the woods. Now. And never return”

He felt the blood in his veins turn to ice as Tyra’s words struck him deeper than any wound the boggarts had inflicted. He scanned the faces of those before him, desperate to find a sliver of compassion, of the friends he thought he knew. But all he found was contempt, pity. Disgust. Hatred. He stood tall - as tall as his injuries would allow - and set his jaw.

“No. I’m not leaving. This garden is my work. I won’t be chased out like some common eye-blight for defending it” Nyila stepped forward, her face cold with resolve.

“Then you leave us no choice. Kriss” with no more peompting than the sound of his name, Kriss quickly grabbed Whisper by the hands and flung him onto the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs and pinning him to the earthen floor. Tyra braced her hoof over his hips, keeping his weak body locked in place as Nyira plucked the pristine white flower of a Moonglove plant off of a nearby bush.

Panic began to rise in his chest, and before he knew it he was crying and gasping out “please, please, no, don’t do this. Please, we’re friends” as the words left his mouth, Nyira crouched over his torso, looking at him like one might look at a particularly disturbing bug in the rubbish, and held the oozing flower aloft.

“We’re not friends, little eye-blight. And I’ll make sure you don’t decide to say something so insulting ever again” she crushed the flower, and Whisper watched in horror as the silvery white fluid from the bulb of the Moonglove came pouring out, hissing as it sliced through the air.

He had seen artists use diluted Moonglove extract to trace delicate patterns on skin - it was a painful and risky process that resulted in stunning pure white works of art displayed on the body.

This was not art.

This was pain.

The extract splashed across his neck and began eating into his throat without pause. He felt cold fire rip a scream loose from deep within his chest, before the unbearable pain in his throat silenced it. And as quickly as they began, his screams became whispers.

But the pain was only beginning. A cruel smile played over Nyila’s delicate features as she watched the scar tissue blossom across his throat and eat through his flesh. Whisper writhed in panic, his instincts going wild as he grasped desperately for some escape.

The burning in his throat grew, and spread, until his entire body felt engulfed. He wept, he screamed, and he begged the earth to consume him.

And suddenly he was weightless. Numb. All he could see was white as he fell through nothingness.

“Am I dead?” He wondered. Unsure if that would be such a bad thing if he was. But soon the nothingness took shape, and before he knew it he found himself lying in a well manicured flower bed - white flowers with broad, soft petals seemed to cling to his every movement as he hesitantly sat up and looked around.

“Well you’re the strangest flower I’ve ever seen” a gentle voice spoke up from behind Whisper. He turned to see a tall woman, who reminded him of the elves from home in stature. But her ears were small and pointed, and she lacked horns and hoof. She was wearing strange layered robes of deep, mossy green and cream white, and seemed to be coming to tend the flowers Whisper had found himself.

Embarrassed, he crawled out and brushed the loose petals from his clothes. Not daring to meet the eyes of someone so beautiful, Whisper cast a shameful look towards the ground and attempted to apologize.

“I’m sor-” the words burned in his throat, and he gasped in pain, clutching at the burned and scarred flesh that now blossomed over his neck. The woman was quickly at his side, her hands guiding him gently to a bench just a few steps away.

“Don’t force yourself. Whisper if you must.” He took a seat, nodding as tears stung his eyes, threatening to spill down his raw cheeks. She was patient, and kept her hand resting on his back as she waited for him to find his voice. In the silence, Whisper became more aware of the ambient sound around him - unlike the quiet rustling of leaves found in the Gilt-Leaf Woods, this was a medley of voices and animal cries, of booming construction and travel, of energy. He finally forced himself to lift his eyes from the ground, and was struck by the wonder of what he saw.

Before him was a massive tree - larger than anything he had ever found on Lorwyn - that towered high into the sky and branched in every direction. Carefully designed trellises and gates created areas to lounge and live among its branches, and carefully cultivated gardens seemed to flourish across its bark. But what truly caught his eye, was the skyline beyond the tree.

In every direction as far as he could see, spires and towers stretched into the sky, circled by all manner of winged creature. Streets could be seen past the garden everywhere he turned, and were crowded with people of every race imaginable, as well as many he could never have even dreamed of. Whisper turned to the elf woman beside him, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Where…. where am I?” He forced the hoarse whisper from his throat. The woman smiled, and held aloft an ornate wooden pendant hanging from her neck.

“You are in the Selesnya Conclave gardens. Not from from Ravnica’s tenth district. Were you part of some Izzet experiment gone wrong? You seem awfully confused…” Whisper shook his head, trying to process what he was being told. He had never heard of Ravnica before. Admittedly he had never traveled too far beyond the woods he once called home, but surely he would have known about something like this.

“How far is it to the Gilt-Leaf Woods from here?” He asked, and the woman frowned, her head lilting to the side.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of that. Gilt-Leaf… sounds lovely though! I should visit some time!” The woman continued on pleasantly, as Whisper sunk in on himself. He wasn’t sure how, or why… but he was beginning to realize that Lorwyn was long gone.

It had been a year since Whisper had found Ravnica. Not knowing what else to do, he had joined the Selesnya Conclave, and had quickly become a beloved member for his skills with the plants. He had been hesitant at first, after his interaction with his friends. Well… not friends, not anymore. Not ever, he had realized. But he quickly came to find that those hear did not care about the appearances of their members. They believed that nature had a purpose for everything - it was your job to guide it to that purpose, and take even the most despicable looking plant, and cultivate it into something beautiful. And so he did just that.

He eventually came to understand that he was a planeswalker, and what that meant. He had traveled to other planes on occasion. Never for long, and he always returned to his new home on Ravnica. But on his travels, he collected plants for his personal garden. He carried with him a gnarled staff, lovingly crafted by a woodshaper who seemed to enjoy his company from a fallen tree. He took inspiration from the design of Vitu-Ghazi, and crafted small barriers into the wood, where he cultivated small samples of plants. Rare moss, potent fungus, striking flowers, and creeping vines all found a home on his staff. He took great care in creating a small garden that seemed wild to the untrained eye, but was expertly planned and maintained.

He did not maintain this project out of whimsy, however. Every plant here served a purpose. Every one of them could be crafted into a potent poison - many of them dangerous to even touch and grow. He had the scars on his fingers to prove it, in fact. The crowning example of this, and the reminder of why he did it all, was the crown of Moonglove that beautifully circled the top of the staff.

He had come to find peace with his appearance, and had accepted that the elves of Lorwyn were no friends of his. He no longer burned with anger or shook with fear. Instead, he did what he did best - he cultivated the dark seed of hatred that had taken root in his core. He waited, patiently, and plotted his revenge. And one day, he would take back his garden, and show those who had once deigned to call themselves his friends just how fragile their supposed perfection was.

Touch of Moonglove by Scott Murphy

[180abroad]

Day 178: ...and We’re Still in Bruges

After a pretty intense day visiting the WWI battlefields and memorials of Flanders Fields, Jessica and I decided to spend our last day in Bruges enjoying some of the lighter things it had to offer: chocolate, fries, and a whopping bell tower.

After a return trip to the I Love Coffee espresso bar and a walk through the market square---this time filled with stalls of flowers and produce---we started the day with a trip to Bruges's Choco-Story museum.

We'd visited a different chocolate museum back in York, so we were interested to see how the chocolate museum in this other world capital of chocolate compared. A lot of the subject material was similar---obviously---but we found the Bruges museum much more interesting. Instead of a flashy guided presentation like we experienced at the York Chocolate Story, the Bruges Choco-Story is an actual museum filled with informational displays that we could take in at our own pace.

As we already knew, the earliest form of chocolate was a sort of cold bitter tea brewed in Central America from cocoa nuts.. What I hadn't known is that the word chocolate is derived from the Nahuatl (Aztec) word cacahuatl, meaning "cocoa water." The earliest known use of cocoa was by the Shuar people of Ecuador around 5,000 years ago. Archeologists have found traces of Shuar pottery still coated with traces of brewed cocoa.

The later Mayan and Aztec civilizations especially favored a type of foamed cocoa made by churning it with a special whisk. The foam apparently cut down the bitter taste of the unsweetened chocolate.

In addition to the more typical museum displays, the Choco-Story also had some delightful Duplo block dioramas.

Much later, Spanish nuns in Oaxaca were the first to add sugar to their cocoa. The drink became so popular among female Spanish colonists that they couldn’t even make it through church services without taking a break for their servants to bring them more. A local bishop tried to crack down on the problem by banning cocoa in church and was found murdered shortly thereafter. (An important lesson about men trying to get between a woman and her chocolate…)

It was nearly a century after Columbus’s first voyage before cocoa made it back to Spain, and it was another century after that before it became popular outside of Spain. But when it finally did, it quickly became a sensation across the continent. In the 1700s, the French philosopher Voltaire mixed cocoa with coffee to create the world’s first mocha. He drank over 40 cups of it per day---to his doctor’s great distress.

Apparently, people were so afraid of spilling their cocoa that a new type of saucer was invented with a basket or cup for holding the cup secure. Maybe they were so afraid of spilling it because it was so expensive. In 1800, a pound of chocolate cost five times the average daily wage.

It wasn't until the mid-1800s that solid chocolate as we know it was first developed by the Quakers of northern England, whom we'd learned about at the Chocolate Story in York. But even though the English invented solid chocolate, the Belgians would argue that they perfected it.

Belgian chocolatiers pioneered the use of fun shapes and fillings to make chocolates even more enjoyable. Belgium was also one of the first countries to impose strict purity laws governing the production of chocolate---sort of like what Bavaria did with beer centuries earlier.

We also learned a bit about the process of making chocolate. (Or rather, I learned, since Jessica was already well-versed in the making of chocolate as a former chocolatier herself.)

I learned that there are three main varieties of cocoa plant: Criollo, Forastero, and Trinitario. Of these, Criollo makes the best chocolate and Forastero makes the least-good chocolate. Still, Forastero is much easier to grow than the other two, so the vast majority of chocolate is made from Forastero beans.

On average, one cocoa tree produces enough nuts to make just one pound of dark chocolate per year. That means that it takes literally billions of cocoa trees to feed the world's sweet tooth.

They also had a diagram showing the composition of dark, milk, and white chocolate. I knew that milk chocolate has a lot more sugar and less cocoa than dark chocolate, but seeing the pie charts really drove the difference home for me.

We also got to eat as many sample pieces of dark, milk, and white chocolate as we wanted, which was nice.

The museum ended with a walk through some incredible chocolate statuary and a demonstration of how to make Belgian pralines. It was pretty much exactly like the demonstration we saw in York---the chocolatier filled a mold with chocolate, poured it out, filled with filling, then filled with chocolate. But it's always fun to see people make chocolate, and it's even better to get free samples afterward.

On our way out to the gift shop, a set of computer terminals offered to reveal our perfect origin chocolate based on our taste preferences. Apparently mine is Venezuela and Jessica’s is Vietnam.

Our next stop was to climb the iconic bell tower that overlooks the market square. I have to admit that I spent a lot of that time thinking about the movie In Bruges, in which the tower plays a prominent role.

Crowds have apparently become more of an issue in the ten years since the movie was released. It was about a thirty-minute wait in the newly installed queue room before we could climb the tower. The price has also grown along with the crowds–twelve euros per person instead of the five quoted in the movie.

While we waited, we watched a looping video showing how the design of the tower has evolved over time. It was once actually even taller than it is now.

During the Middle Ages, a lot of towns around Belgium made deals with the local lords. The lords gave the towns economic autonomy, and the towns used this freedom to make astronomical amounts of money that the lords could use to raise armies when necessary. Each town had a market hall where local merchants would keep their wares safe during winter, and it became a point of pride for each town to build the biggest, most elaborate tower possible on their market halls.

As we climbed up, we got to see some exhibits along the way. We saw an old lock-box and the original wrought-iron doors dating back over 700 years to the hall’s original construction. Back in the day, this chest would have contained important contracts and decrees, and it would have required multiple respected members of the community to open it together, since they each would carry one of several keys that were all needed to open it.

We also saw the giant brass cylinder that runs the tower’s carillon bells just like a music box. I hadn’t known before this trip that that was how they worked!

It's very clear from the inside how much the tower has been expanded and renovated over the centuries. The designs and angles of the staircase change dramatically every few floors or so, seemingly without any care for convenience or continuity. It clearly feels like a place that was originally intended to be behind the scenes and not seen by visitors.

Also, as far as I could tell, there wasn't any point along climb where the stairway matched the one shown in In Bruges. Oh well.

The view from the top of the tower was just as spectacular as we could have hoped. There was a web of wire mesh covering all the windows, possibly to prevent people from inadvertently reenacting the film’s climactic scene.

Still, we were able to get some spectacular shots of the surrounding town and skyline.

Back on the ground, we bought some fries at one of the stands flanking the entrance and sat down in the bell tower's courtyard. Fries are a big deal in Belgium, and there are dozens of condiments to choose from. There's the American staple of ketchup, the Belgian staple of mayonnaise, and a host of other sauces we'd never heard of before. Thankfully we had plenty of time in line to do some quick research on our phones.

We both settled on “Andalouse sauce”–a blend of mayonnaise, tomato sauce, and peppers. If you've ever tried Red Robin's Campfire sauce before, it is very similar to that. They were easily the best fries either of us have ever had.

After doing a bit of final shopping in town, we headed back to our Airbnb to rest up and get packed for the next day's trip up to Amsterdam, where Jessica’s brother Nic was already waiting for us. We were leaving a day earlier than we had originally planned at the beginning of the trip since we'd gotten tickets to a soccer match in Amsterdam tomorrow night, but we still had a great time. Belgium seems to have a bit of a reputation for being an underwhelming tourist destination, but we had a fantastic time. The people were great, the food was great, the beer was great, and the scenery was great.

Speaking of beer, we didn't do any other beer-related activities after the De Halve Maan brewery tour, but we did our best to sample the local offerings back at our Airbnb in the evenings. We enjoyed a bottle of Kasteel Rouge, the cherry-liqueur-fortified dark ale we'd tasted back in Prague. Just like before, the first sip was heavenly, but each sip afterward was increasingly cloying. It would make a great digestif, but a full bottle---or even half a bottle---is far too much.

Another ale we enjoyed was the ubiquitous but still impressive Leffe Brown. It is the standard dubbel offering of the Belgian abbey-style macrobrewery Leffe, part of the Anheuser-Busch InBev family. But like I said, it is still really good. As long as you like dark ales, that is. The first thing that struck me was just how appropriate the name was. Sure, "Brown" doesn't seem like the most unique or descriptive name for a dark beer, but I can't think of a better word to encapsulate its flavor. It's earthy, bready, and nutty---like drinking a fermented organic bakery.

And of course, we got some Lambic beers. Jessica had gotten me into Lambic beers back when we were first planning this trip. Technically, Lambic beer is just beer that's produced in a very specific part of Belgium using wild yeast instead of brewer's yeast. But commercially, Lambic beers are known for being mixed with fruit syrups to create a deliciously refreshing beverage that even people who don't normally like alcohol can enjoy. The main brand you can find in the US is Lindeman's, and one of the first drinks we opened upon our arrival in Bruges was a Lindeman's Framboise (raspberry). It tasted pretty much the same as it does in the US--which could be seen as either mildly disappointing (since it wasn't any better) or moderately encouraging (we don't have to feel depressed for not getting "the good stuff" back home).

Plus, we also had a ton of chocolates we had to eat our way through. Yeah, life was pretty hard for us in Belgium. But all good things in this life must come to an end, even if it is only to move on to the next good thing. And the next good thing for us was Amsterdam, a family reunion, and my first European soccer match.

[yuzusorbet]

My Sendai Holiday (April 2018) - Part 3: Weekend Sendai

Part 1 was about Yuzuru’s Olympic Victory Parade and Part 2 was about Ice Rink Sendai (links are at the end of this post).  This part is about the rest of my trip. 

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

I flew into Sendai by ANA;  the cute plane below was my connecting flight from Tokyo Haneda to Sendai.   

Entering the airport, I saw a poster of our dear 若様 (’waka-sama’ = young master).  What a beautiful start to my holiday. :)  

Sendai Airport is small and beautiful.  The roof is like the waves of the sea.   And it’s very convenient too.   A linkway connects it to the train station just across the road.  (Pic below taken from linkway.)

After a short train ride, I reached Sendai Station, the main station of the city.   This is also the shinkansen (bullet train) stop.   I love Sendai Station.  It’s so pedestrian-friendly due to a huge walkway that sprawls over the roads and traffic outside, connecting the station to the malls and buildings around it.  

Inside, there are many shops and eateries.  Pic below: shops selling ‘zunda mochi’ and ‘hagi no tsuki’.  (further down this post, you will see more zunda mochi.) (hagi no tsuki is a snack that Yuzu loves.)

In the station, there is an awesome tourist information centre.   Young master Yuzu is there saying “Welcome to Sendai”..... and sometimes there are samurais there as well!  When I took this photo, instead of saying “cheese”, these guys said “zunda mochi!!!”  XD

The tourist centre was giving out beautiful leaflets with suggestions on places that fans can visit, like Goshikinuma Pond, Ice Rink Sendai, Nanakita Park and Yuzu’s monument at International Centre Station.  The words on the right-hand leaflet say “Sendai City supports Hanyu Yuzuru-senshu”.

The centre also had big stacks of ‘Weekend Sendai’!  (the travel magazine with Yuzu;  it’s free)  I already have a copy at home but I took one for a friend. 

Yuzu is eating zunda mochi in the photo above.  It’s a Sendai specialty, mochi covered with mashed edamame, and it’s sweet like a dessert.  I love it!

“Itadakimasu.” (See the white mochi under the mashed edamame?)

The photo below is the take-away cup;  the mochi inside is smaller but it tastes just as good.  Ate it a few times during my holiday, and also tried zunda shake and zunda pudding.  They were all nice, but I like zunda mochi the most.  

Next to Sendai Station, on the 4th floor of Parco shopping mall, Yuzu’s signed skate boots were on display.  He donated them for an auction in March this year to raise funds for Tohoku earthquake recovery (3.11).  The successful bidder was Japanese fashion house, Samantha Thavasa Japan Limited, and the final amount was 8.5 million yen (about US$76,000).  According to Oricon news, the money was from the staff of the company inside and outside Japan who donated their money to support this good cause.  [thanks to fan Shuko for the info] [pic below from Yahoo Japan] 

After the auction, the company decided to bring the boots to different parts of Japan to be on display and they were in Sendai during this period.   Here are the boots that raised 8 million yen: (8,501,000 to be exact)      

Near the boots display area, Yuzu’s parade T-shirts were on sale.  I had already bought mine online and they were delivered to the Sendai hotel that I was staying in.  

My first dinner in Sendai.... gyu-tan of course!  Grilled beef tongue is a Sendai specialty and oh so delicious!   Had it at a restaurant in the station.

The gyutan in the middle is the usual one flavoured with salt, the gyutan on the right is flavoured with miso.  The white thing on the left is another Sendai food, sasa-kamaboko which is grilled fish cake (kamaboko) in the shape of a bamboo leaf (sasa), believed to be inspired by the design in the family crest of the Date clan who ruled Sendai Domain in the Edo period.  It can be eaten on its own as a snack.  The rice was also very special; it had some barley mixed into it, giving it a different texture and fragrance.  Everything was very, very oishiiiiiii~~~~~ 

I ate this with my friend Ella who was in Tokyo just the weekend before to watch ‘Continues with Wings’, so you can imagine what our chat was about.  The last time we saw each other was one year ago.  So much Yuzuru to talk about. :D

The next day was the first day of sale of parade wristbands.  There were several sale locations and I went to one near my hotel.  On the way there, I saw some Yuzu-banners.  This one below says: 

“Hanyu Yuzuru senshu, thank you for touching and inspiring us. PyeongChang Olympic Gold Medal, 2 consecutive victories, you are the pride of Sendai, Miyagi and Tohoku.”  

This banner below is about Yuzuru’s photo exhibition coming to Sendai at the end of June.

And this is the line I saw when I reached the sale location at 7.45am, not too bad!  The start of the line is on the left where people are sitting on the ground, near the closed shutters of the department store.  Sale would start at 10am.  

The wristbands were sold in sets of 2 at 1000yen per set.  Only 10,000 sets were made (compared to 80,000 tees).  So these early birds like myself just wanted to be sure of getting them. :D  My friend Ella was at another sale location and she said the line was snaking up and down stairs and around the building!  xD

While standing there in line, I ate my breakfast and also shared my food with the woman in front of me and the man behind me.  They were both of middle-age and were local people living in Sendai, and since we were waiting together for more than 2 hours, I chatted with them to pass the time (and to practise my Japanese, haha).  Some things struck me from the chat that morning.

I was telling them a bit about myself, that I have been a Yuzu-fan since 2014 Sochi Olympics, and I naturally asked them, so when did you become fans?  They didn’t reply..... I was a bit surprised as I waited for their answer.  They were both thinking very hard, with a slight puzzled look on their faces, like they were trying to recall.....  And then I realised, they live here in his hometown!  Which means they would have seen him in the local Sendai news since he was very young and they have been watching him grow as a skater and they have been naturally supporting him since who-knows-when!  There is no clear-cut point like us who happened to see his performance one day and got zapped.  With that sudden realisation, I quickly said, oh you live here, so you have known him from way back!  They both nodded and looked pleased that I understood.  I guess no one has ever asked them that question before!  The man added that when Junior Nationals were held in Sendai in 2007, he went to watch and he was so impressed by Yuzu’s performance.  (Yuzu was only 12 then;  his SP was ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’ and FP was ‘Firebird’.  I translated about this competition from his biography; will include the link at the end.)  I told them I was so envious that they live here and have known him for such a long time!  You lucky Sendai people!!!  

Besides asking that stupid question, I also made some stupid assumptions.  I told them, I plan to go to Nanakita Park to sit on ‘Yuzu’s bench’ and then go to Ice Rink Sendai to skate and then have dinner at the gyu-tan restaurant with his signature.... you two must have been to these places, right?  They both smiled and said no.  (What????)  The look on their faces seemed to say they never thought of doing that and there was no such need.  But they were very impressed that I knew these places.  The man took out his phone to try to help me with directions.  He wanted to make sure I knew the right route to take. Really nice people. :)  

At 9.30am, staff of the store came to set up the area and we got really excited! Soon we would have Yuzu-bands on our wrists!  The Sendai lady asked, how many sets of wristbands are you buying?  I said two of course!  But the man said ONE.  (What???)  I assumed everyone would get 2 sets each (maximum).  Especially after lining up for so long and it’s in limited stock.  I said, ONLY ONE? REALLY?  He said, yes I just need one set because there are 2 bands, one for me and one for my wife, just nice.  Oh......... somehow I was touched by that.  Their support for Yuzu is so sweet and simple.  They don’t need to go to his home rink nor all the places that he has been to, but they will line up for a few hours to buy just one set of his parade wrist bands..... These Sendai fans touched my heart..... :’)  

Since he was only buying one set, I asked if he could buy one more set for me.  I wanted to send them to overseas fan-friends who couldn’t come to Sendai and he was very happy to help. :))  

Besides wristbands, there were also parade tees on sale (only S size left). Some reporters came to interview the people waiting.  The line had grown really, really long by now, looped to and fro a few times, but still very neat and orderly.   

At 10am, sales started and the staff was so efficient.  Very soon, I got my wristbands!   Plus an extra set from the really nice Sendai man!  I was so lucky to be standing in front of him!   And much thanks to him and the lovely lady for a good chat!  

I took the above photo after I bought my bands.  There was a staff holding a big sign with the words “end of line”, so it was clear to all where to join in if they wanted wristbands.  He also held a tally counter to count the number of people in the line.  As it approached the number of bands that was available in that store, he would tell people who came to join the queue that they might not get the bands but they could try if they didn’t mind waiting in line.  I love Japan, these things are always so well-organised!  

After this, I met up with Ella and we went to Sunao Noto-san’s photo exhibition which was held nearby.  (Admission was free.)  It was a very small exhibition but the outside already took my breath away.  

Pic above: the Japanese words over “Stay Gold” say “Congrats and thank you”.   (We could take photos of the outside but photography is not allowed inside.) In the small room, there were some beautiful photos of Yuzu from PyeongChang Olympics.  There was also one photo that I had not seen before and it brought a lump to my throat..... Yuzu was standing with crutches and looking at his own photo exhibition.  It was the exhibition held in Sendai from November 3 to 21 last year.  On Nov 9, he injured his ankle and withdrew from NHK Trophy the next day.  Then it was reported that he went back to Sendai and visited this exhibition after it was closed for the day.  He also wrote a message thanking fans for their support, dated 12 Nov 2017, and it was displayed at the exhibition.  (I posted about this last year; will include link at the end.)  This photo must have been taken that evening, just 3 days after the injury.  Looking at him in crutches at that November exhibition, the emotions of those few months rushed back into me.  How high was the wall that he surmounted.... I felt so keenly the heartache..... and also deep, deep admiration and respect.  Tears started prickling my eyes.  Oh Yuzu.... you made me cry again!  Later, Ella said to me, Sunao Noto-san’s photos always tell a story. Indeed. 

That was my first Yuzuru Hanyu photo exhibition.  Thank you very much, Noto-san.  

When we left, a girl approached us and gave us this beautiful newspaper:

She is a Waseda University student and was carrying a backpack full of her school newspaper to give away to Yuzu-fans!   She said she gave us the paper because I was wearing a CiONTU tee!  Much thanks to dear Ella who gave me the tee last night and I wore it as soon as I could. xD   And thank you, dear Waseda schoolmate of Yuzu!   You made many Yuzu-fans very, very happy!

So much emotions.... and it was not even 12 noon yet! xD

From this lovely shopping area near Sendai Station, we went for a walk.  Along the way, we saw the most beautiful 7-11 store.

Many shops had signs like that, saying ‘Hanyu Yuzuru senshu, congrats!!’

勾当台公園 Kotodai-koen (park) was beautiful.  There was a farmers’ market, cherry blossoms were still in bloom, and someone was playing the guitar and singing!

More photos I took along our walk, from the park to the next subway station.

(Above: another “Omedetou!! Hanyu Yuzuru senshu”)

Then we took the subway to 泉中央 Izumi-chuo Station (N01).  From there, it’s a 20-minute walk to Ice Rink Sendai or you can wait for the bus.   For people who like to look at maps, 2 photos here:   (We were at Kita-Yobancho station, N07.) (The main Sendai Station is N10.)

I wrote about Ice Rink Sendai in an earlier post (link included at the end).  After our visit, the queue for the bus was very long (all Yuzu-fans, haha), so we made the 20-minute walk back to Izumi-Chuo Station and took the subway one stop down to 八乙女 Yaotome.  A short walk from the station was 利久 Rikyu (Izumi main branch), a restaurant with Yuzu’s signature. 

Grilled liver (square plate) and gyu-tan (round plates).  The meal was soooooo delicious, especially the liver.  I told myself that I must eat here one more time before I leave Sendai.   Yuzu, thank you for your recommendation! :)

When we were leaving the restaurant, there were some people coming in and I suddenly realised one of them was another good fan-friend K-chan!  She saw me at the same time and we screamed (or maybe only I screamed, haha) and we hugged each other!  It was so good to see her again!   And I wonder if the restaurant was just filled with Yuzu-fans that day. :D

On the subway back to Sendai Station, we saw Vegatta-kun.  (If you have not seen the video of Vegatta and 15 year-old Yuzu, please search for it. xD)

Coming out of the subway exit at Sendai Station, we saw handsome Sendai travel ambassador Hanyu-kun. :)

End of a marvellous day.  The highlight had yet to come!  Next day = Sunday 22nd April = Yuzu’s parade day!!  (link at the bottom of this post)  

A bit more on food: at the end of parade day, I met up with K-chan and, thanks to her suggestion, we had the softest, puffiest pancakes I’ve ever tasted.... they were light and puffy like clouds!  The fruity topping was sold out, so we had the plain version.  Very yummy!   

.... in this cute little bakery-cafe near Sendai Station. 

I will end this post with Sendai Station at night plus the walkway that crosses roads and connects it to the surrounding buildings:

Will do a Part 4 because it’s too long to put it all here. :D   Last part: 2 places with Yuzu’s signature (restaurant and sports shop), a shrine that he has visited before, his monument at International Centre Station, a historic pond and a castle hill..... coming next. :)  

(Please do not use or re-post my stuff without permission.) (Photos are taken by me.) 

Some links mentioned: Part 1: Yuzu’s parade day  Part 2: Ice Rink Sendai 2007 Junior Nationals and 12 year-old Yuzu Nov 2017 photo exhibition: news pix and fan account 

Update: Part 4 is now done.

[esselley]

Happy birthday @allykat023​! I’m so glad I snuck into your DMs all those months ago <333 LOVE YOU LOTS!

[Now on AO3!]

[*clears throat* the context for this fic is that Oikawa is a psychic single dad trying to raise two annoying ghost kids, and the ghosts are winning]

It is beginning to become clear to Tooru that there is, in fact, some absolute bullshit going on, and he is definitely not amused by any of it.

This is the fifth time in a little over a month he’s had to have a plumber come to look at his apartment—he’s even had to reschedule tarot readings—and yet, as far as anyone can tell, plumber included… nothing seems to be the problem.

Which means that the only problem, then, is the bright and unabiding torch Tooru seems to be unable to set down, in regards to the plumber himself.

“So…” the man says, wiping his hands dry on a towel in his belt loop. Tooru has to tear his eyes away from the prominent flex of his biceps as he does so, the swell of his pecs beneath his uniform polo shirt. The name tag on it reads Iwaizumi. “Can you walk me through what happened again?”

Tooru almost offers to walk him wherever he wants to go, up to and including the bedroom. He clenches his jaw shut so the words don’t escape. Now is not the time to be thirsty—he doesn’t even have running water.

“I was in the shower,” he says, and feels his cheeks go distinctly pink just from the suggestion of nakedness, and forces himself to look at the man. Mistake. He finds his gaze being met by a pair of serious, attentive green eyes; Tooru feels like he’s baring his soul, not recapping the issues with his faulty water line. He clears his throat, hoping Iwaizumi has not noticed the unnecessarily long pause while he gathers himself. “I was… showering, when the water started to feel—strange? I don’t know how to describe it. And when I looked, it was… purple.”

“Purple,” Iwaizumi repeats, deadpan.

“Yes.”

“Well,” Iwaizumi says, turning the shower knob to the side. Out the water comes, clear as usual. “It’s not now.”

“I can see that,” Tooru sniffs. It’s one thing to have a crush; it’s another thing to have a crush on someone who clearly thinks he’s an idiot.

“Just like,” the distressingly attractive handyman continues, and oh, no, Tooru can see what’s coming next, “last week, when not only did the water not run cold when you tried to turn it hot, but the toilet also flushed the correct way. Which is to say—”

“Down, yes, I know,” Tooru cuts him off, feeling increasingly mortified. Last week had really been a nightmare—frigid water every time he tried to shower, and toilet geysers every which way he looked. “Look, I’m just as confused as you are! One of your colleagues who came the… second time, was it? He said it could be something to do with the pipes. Mold, or something!” He shudders at the thought. “Maybe he could give a second opinion?”

Iwaizumi scoffs. “He’s not coming back. Why do you think I’ve been here four times already?”

“I don’t… know?” Tooru says. “I figured—scheduling?”

“Yeah, he’s been scheduling himself other jobs so he doesn’t have to come here,” Iwaizumi says. “He’s superstitious. All your weird, mystical stuff, it freaked him out.”

“What—” Tooru can’t believe this. “But it’s not dangerous!”

“You try telling him that,” Iwaizumi says, shaking his head. “He kept telling me he felt a presence.”

“But I would have felt it, too,” Tooru insists. He knows people tend to take one of two routes with this: skittish, like the other plumber. Or skeptical, like Iwaizumi. But he seriously needs his house fixed, or he’s going to lose it. “There’s no other presences here, besides me and—”

He trails off. Wait just a fucking second.

“That’s what I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t bite. So, good luck getting him back here…” Iwaizumi shrugs. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Tooru waves a hand vaguely. “Oh, I don’t mind that.” He peers around the room, turning in a slow circle.

“You… don’t?” Iwaizumi asks, eyebrows raising in surprise. When Tooru doesn’t answer, he glances around the room suspiciously, too. “What are you doing?”

“Shhh...” Tooru says, holding up a hand. “I’m divining for spirits.”

“Are you serious,” Iwaizumi says flatly. “Listen, I’m gonna pack up and head out—I won’t bill you for today, I barely—”

“Shhhhh!” Tooru hisses, silencing him. The air in the room feels very still, to him—still and pitched high, like a tuning fork being struck although in reality, all is quiet.

He spots movement at the edges of his vision and whips his head sharply to the side, where he sees them—two wide, floating pairs of eyes in the bathroom mirror, not a reflection, but an impression. One pair deep and dark, the other sparking and bright. Two little souls, bound to him by choice.

He flings out a hand and points dramatically at the mirror. “It’s been YOUUUU!” he howls, startling Iwaizumi, and both pairs of eyes dance about in silent panic before blipping out of existence. Only they’re still there, he knows, just hiding.

“What the fuck—” Iwaizumi says, but very unfortunately, Tooru doesn’t have time to devote to him anymore—he needs to figure out how to murder someone who is already dead. An exorcism is too good for these little shits.

“Sorry, Iwa-chan, but I'll have to say bye for today—” Tooru tells him as he rolls his sleeves up menacingly.

“Iwa-chan?”

“The spirits have turned against me!” Tooru yells, shoving him towards the door. “This is no place for a normal person, quickly, escape!”

“Wait a second—”

“I'll be fine!” Tooru insists, before he bodily shoved Iwaizumi out into the hallway. It's not easy—Iwaizumi is solid. “Forget what you saw here today,” Tooru hisses ominously at him through the crack in the door, before slamming it shut in his stunned face.

Now. To deal with his little ghoulish problem.

He yanks the plush tablecloth and all his seance equipment off his dining room table and locates a piece of ordinary chalk. After several moments of frantic scribbling, it is covered in the symbols and sigils of a powerful summoning circle. He places candles around the edges, and begins to chant a binding ritual ominously. The candle flames flicker, and his hair blows in the gathering breeze inside his living room.

A noise begins to build as well, a terrible, scraping, screaming noise, filled with agony and tumult. It gets louder as he chants, and as it grows, so too do two indistinct shapes in the center of the summoning circle. They writhe and tremble, shapes at once frightening and pitiable, carving to his whim at the same time that they fight it with all their might. The flames suddenly surge upwards, bursting to life, and Tooru slams his hands down on the tabletop.

“Would you give it a rest with that?” he says crossly, and the unearthly screeching stops at once. “The neighbors are going to complain again!”

“Why couldn't you just call us normally?” Kageyama asks him. His ghostly form bubbles sulkily, like seething, purplish-blue lava.

“Because,” Tooru says, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “you two never come out when you know you're in trouble, you just make me follow your traces all over the apartment—”

“Are we in trouble?” Hinata asks. He is light made solid, a fizzing sine wave of glinting gold.

“Obviously!” Tooru says, and both ghosts wobble flinchingly. “What on earth are you two trying to do? Do you know how much money I've spent on repair company appraisals that all lead nowhere?”

Honestly, even he isn’t sure what they’re up to. It's not like them—they aren't poltergeists, they're not malicious. For all that Tooru pretends it's a chore having them around, he's constantly surprised by how little he actually does mind. Since the two of them unceremoniously crashed his life as an (extremely) eligible bachelor and practicing psychic, they've been content to just keep each other company and learn how to be better ghosts. Unfortunately, this seems to have included manifesting the ability to haunt his plumbing.

He shakes his head. “This isn't like you two. I'm… frankly, I'm disappointed.”

The candles flicker morosely and the chandelier directly overhead sways in remorse.

“We… we just wanted to help,” Hinata says eventually.

“Help with what?” Tooru asks, blankly.

“You just seemed lonely!”

“He’s gonna get mad…” Kageyama warns.

“I seemed lonely?” Tooru repeats, sputtering. That's preposterous, to say the least. “I'm certainly not. I could never be lonely with you two—” he catches himself just in time, “—with you two constantly pestering me!”

“It's not the same!” Hinata says.

“Trust me, Shouyou-chan—”

“We noticed the way you stare at the repairman,” Kageyama interjects.

Tooru's mouth falls open. He cannot believe he is being set up with his plumber by two dead idiots who still haven't realized they are in love with each other.

“Have you, Tobio-chan?” he replies, with a silken smile. “Recognize the feeling, do you?”

Kageyama must realize the danger he's in, because he stops trying to argue. Tooru drops his smile.

“You two,” he says, “are going to stay in the circle for awhile and think about your actions. Also, there is to be no possessing of any household objects for one whole week, effective immediately.”

Kageyama and Hinata both whine something awful at this, and Tooru crosses his arms and basks in their misery for a few glorious moments. They love racing each other to possess things right before Tooru uses them, but they’ve never try to make anything malfunction before, so he allows it. Hinata's favorite is the teapot, because it tickles when it starts to boil. Kageyama likes the aging washing machine. He's never said why, but Tooru suspects it's because the old thing sounds nearly as grumpy as Kageyama himself does when it really gets going on its spin cycle.

“Keep it up,” he sings, as the candles start to turn an odd shade of green, “and it's gonna be two weeks.”

The whining stops, but Kageyama does throw a “You know we're right,” at him as he leaves them there in the summoning circle. Tooru does not deign to respond.

“How long before we can come out?” Hinata calls after him.

“Until I say you can,” Tooru replies. He ignores their ghostly wailing for the rest of the afternoon, until they have settled down and started to play I, Spy with each other. He refuses to admit that he finds it adorable when they get along, even if it's mostly because they're plotting against him together.

Unfortunately, the plotting does not end there. A few days pass without incident, and Tooru is lulled into a false sense of security. The week comes and goes; Friday arrives in a leisurely fashion. So leisurely, in fact, that Tooru decides to take a luxurious bubble bath to pamper himself. He spends a long time soaking in the tub, and is slightly surprised to see no signs of his two ghosts anywhere—normally, they would get into a game of Bubble Wars while Tooru relaxed, watching the massive orange and blue soap bubbles floating around the bathroom, trying to ram each other to see who would pop first. Today, all is quiet, and so Tooru enjoys a glass of wine in peace.

He finishes his bath and lets the tub drain, wrapping towels around his waist and his wet hair. He will need to blow dry it and make sure it looks appropriately dashing before his evening client appointment, and he’s about to dig the hairdryer out from under the sink when there’s an odd rumbling sound from behind him. He turns, frowning, to look at the toilet.

Naturally, this is the point at which the toilet attempts to murder him.

“WHY?!” he shrieks, devoid of anything else to say in his panic, as twisting tendrils of water burst from the bowl, latching around his arms and legs, dragging him towards it. Try as he might, he can’t break free, and as he is wrenched closer and closer, the entire opening of the toilet seems to yawn, wide—he can see blackness and light swirling in its depths, and he realizes, shit, spirit portal— “Tobio-chan?! Shouyou?!”

The entire bathroom is flooding with water. There’s a horrible, slurping, shloomp-ing sound as Tooru hits the rim of the bowl and starts to get sucked inside of it. He can feel the vacuum of empty space seizing onto him, an unstoppable force.

“You little shits, I’m going to make you corporeal long enough to punch you both in the face—”  

He hears a loud banging from far away, and wonders, what now, but then comes the sound of something splintering, and a moment later a voice bellows, “OIKAWA?”

Tooru gasps. “I-Iwa-chan?!”

He hears someone running, and then Iwaizumi—how is he here, Tooru wonders—bursts onto the scene, framed in the doorway, bearing a stunning resemblance to an angry bull. He takes in the sight before him quickly—the toilet, the spirit portal, Tooru’s hair in a towel cone—and leaps into action. He wades through the flood, reaching out, and Tooru stretches out his hands—Iwaizumi grabs his arms and heaves, and Tooru begins, ever so slowly, to pull free of the portal.

“GRAB ON, STUPID!” Iwaizumi shouts at him, and Tooru throws caution to the winds and flings his arms around his neck, and Iwaizumi seizes him around the waist and yells bloody murder as he leans all the way backwards—and then they’re falling free, onto the bathroom floor, Tooru crushed to Iwaizumi’s extremely firm and noticeably broad chest. There’s a howling, rushing noise, and all the water on the floor recedes whiplash fast, suctioned back into the toilet, which then closes its lid with a sassy and decisive snap.

For a moment, neither Tooru, nor Iwaizumi moves. They just lay there, panting and exhausted. Iwaizumi lets out a slow breath.

“Holy shit,” he says, “your apartment is haunted.”

Tooru sighs. “It’s not haunted. It’s being visited by spirits.”

“That literally is what haunted means,” Iwaizumi points out.

“We’re not visiting, we live here!” Tobio’s ghostly voice shouts in Tooru’s ear.

“I’m evicting you!” Tooru shouts back, incensed.

“Are you talking to the—” Iwaizumi says, before sitting up abruptly, causing Tooru to roll off of him. He hastily readjusts the towel around his waist—he’s lucky it stayed on at all. Iwaizumi swats at the air. “Hey! You fucking ghosts! What the hell is your problem?!”

“They’re trying to get me to—” Tooru pinches his lips shut, irritably. He settles on redirecting the conversation. “Why… how did you know I was in trouble?”

“I didn’t,” Iwaizumi says. “I mean, not until I heard you screaming.”

“Screaming seems like an exaggeration—”

“I thought it was the fire alarm at first,” Iwaizumi says. He is ruthless. Tooru likes it.

“Okay,” he concedes, “but that doesn’t explain why you were here.”

“Ah,” Iwaizumi says, “well… the days have been alternating.” When Tooru continues to look confused, he elaborates. “The first time you called us was on a Monday. Then Thursday of that same week. Then the next week, Friday. Then last week, back to Monday, then Thursday. Now it’s Friday, so I just thought…”

“Of course.” Tooru snaps his fingers in realization. “Spirits can’t tell the flow of time like you or I, so often, they’ll develop certain predictable paths of behavior… you must be sensitive to their ways in order to have seen that!”

Iwaizumi stares at him. “Or… I’m just better at pattern recognition than you are?”

Tooru waves a hand. “Whatever. Second question: did you break my door down?”

Iwaizumi’s expression turns slightly shifty. “Kicked it off its hinges, actually… I can fix it.”

Tooru only wishes he'd been there to witness it. Iwaizumi stands, and Tooru allows himself to be helped to his feet, Iwaizumi’s strong, sturdy arms steadying him after he pulls Tooru off the floor. He notices, then, two fuzzy gazes peering out of the mirror at him, and scowls at them. He can’t decide how angry he is yet. On the one hand, having Iwaizumi come daringly to his rescue is hardly the worst thing that could be happening to him on a Friday afternoon. On the other hand, he’d been stuck inside of a toilet when it had happened; not quite the stuff of romance novels.

Iwaizumi notices him staring, and turns to look curiously at the mirror. “You don’t act like they’re evil.”

“They’re not,” Tooru says, rolling his eyes. “They’re just meddlesome and stupid.”

“Hey!” Hinata yelps.

“Well, you are.”

Iwaizumi’s lips twitch. “So… mind telling me what they were meddling for?”

“Um…” Tooru does mind—but unfortuately, it doesn’t seem as though this is going to stop unless he does something drastic. Like telling Iwaizumi the truth. And so, because he doesn’t want some innocent civilian constantly being pulled into the affairs of ghosts, he says glumly, “They want me to ask you out.”

There. Now, Iwaizumi will reject him, and Kageyama and Hinata will finally get out of his business.

“Well, why don’t you?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Why don’t I what?”

“Why don’t you ask me out?”

Tooru opens his mouth to explain why he’s not going to ask Iwaizumi out, when his synapses finish firing properly. He blinks. “...I thought you’d say no.”

“Okay…” Iwaizumi says, and though his expression is completely serious, Tooru swears his dark eyes are gleaming a bit in amusement. “Why would I say no?”

“Because I’m weird,” Tooru tells him. Is he being made fun of?

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Everyone’s a little weird,” he says. “You talk to ghosts. I get crushes on idiots who can talk to ghosts. While I’m trying to fix their haunted toilet.”

“You—have a—” Tooru splutters. “On—on me?”

“Yeah, so, I may not have been totally honest before?” Iwaizumi confesses. “You did freak my colleague out, but I offered to take the house calls from you… I was pretty curious.”

Tooru gapes at him for a few more seconds, before composing himself. He attempts to sweep his hair back, but just ends up knocking the towel off his head. He acts like this was intentional.

“Well, then,” he says, “I’m glad that’s been resolved.” He turns to address the room at large. “You hear that, you monsters? I told you I’d take care of it, so you can stop being the worst, now.” Oh, my god, Iwaizumi is into him.

“You didn’t take care of jack shit,” Kageyama says.

“Language, Tobio-chan!”

“You swear all the time!”

“What… are their names again?” Iwaizumi asks.

“The stupid one is Shouyou,” Tooru says, ignoring Hinata’s continued protesting. “And the stupider one is Tobio.” Tobio joins in.

Iwaizumi tries unsuccessfully to bite back a grin. “Okay. Well… Shouyou, Tobio, I’m Hajime. It’s, uh—nice to meet you?”

The discarded towel suddenly lifts at the corners, like it’s waving at Iwaizumi. He takes a reflexive step backwards, before laughing, somewhat in shock. He waves back.

It makes Tooru feel terribly fond, which he hates; not just because he's only spoken to Iwaizumi five times so far in his life, but also because Hinata and Kageyama deserve an exorcism, not an introduction. But Tooru thinks he will let it slide, this once.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asks Iwaizumi.

“I would…” Iwaizumi says, “but I should probably head home to shower…”

“Stay,” Tooru says lightly, even though his heart is pounding, just a little. “And use mine?”

Iwaizumi grins. “Might as well. I’m pretty familiar with it already.”

This is actually a continuation of a previous ghost!KageHina fic I wrote, which can be read here! And has a sequel here~

[For easy-to-find updates on fic, I have a writing-only blog: @esselle-hq!]

[kbox-in-the-box]

Austin Kingsley: Star Prodigy — Episode 1, “Saving Alexandria,” Part 5

Sept. 8, 1987.

The first day of school.

“Your dad seems like a really great guy,” Mitzi Klingfeld smiled sadly, as she dabbed discreetly at her mascara-lined eyes with a tissue from the office desk Austin Kingsley had unearthed and proceeded to partly stock up for her at the Bookhouse.

“Both my parents were good people,” Austin agreed briskly, as he loaded the desk with both heavy bound volumes, complete with clasp locks, and string-tied loose-leaf binders, so overstuffed and barely organized their pages threatened to spill out.

“It's okay to cry, you know,” Mitzi sniffled and chuckled all at once, with a mix of gentle chiding and encouragement. “I didn't even know the guy, and I've been bawling my eyes out over here.”

“You actually sound like my father right now,” Austin sighed, offering her a tired smile of his own. “He used to tell me the same thing. And I absolutely agree; there is no shame whatsoever in shedding tears, if it helps heal your hurts. The problem is, it doesn't do anything for me.”

Mitzi blinked with disbelief. “So, you're telling me you've never cried?”

“I didn't say that,” Austin rushed to correct her. “What I am trying to say … is that I haven't cried since my mother died, when I was 13 years old.”

Mitzi gaped at this admission. “But … I mean … what happened?” was all she could think to ask.

“She was conducting covert scientific research of some kind,” Austin threw himself into unfastening the supple leather covers, and spreading open the wrinkled handwritten pages, “right here in the Bookhouse. It was dangerous enough that she didn't even tell my father, probably because she knew he'd plead with her to stop, for safety's sake alone. And … there was an explosion. A pretty big one. You can still see some stray scorch marks, on exposed sections of the concrete.”

Mitzi squeezed his shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

Austin squinted quizzically at her. “Why? It wasn't your fault.” He shook his head, as if to clear it. “Anyway, I must have cried for something like three days after she died, but once I finally got to the point where my body literally could not sustain the physical effort of crying any longer, I realized that my mother was still just as dead, and I still felt just as badly about that fact.”

“So, you really haven't cried, in all the years since?” Mitzi fixed him with a pitying gaze.

Austin's brow furrowed in confusion at her reaction. “If it doesn't bring back who or what I've lost, and it doesn't even make me feel better, then please tell me, what exactly is the point of the exercise?”

Mitzi's jaw dropped, but she nonetheless managed to hold herself back from passionately hashing out the issue on the spot. “To be continued,” she instead declared firmly, shutting her eyes tight as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Moving on to more productive topics, you and your dad called it the Star Point Portal. Does that mean that he got, like … whoosh, transported into outer space?”

“To another planet, you mean?” Austin checked, before shrugging and settling on a grudging nod, as he pored over the sea of text laid out before him. “That's my leading theory, albeit mostly by default. He made a handful of scattered notations about what he termed an 'Otherworld,' in quotation marks, possibly named Thel … or Quadris, or Aurica, or Eldebran … maybe even Aetheria,” he pointed to different pages for each one, “but even those are ambiguous about whether it's simply another world, or possibly even in a different dimension —”

“How are you not able to narrow down your search any further than that?” Mitzi's exasperation at last overwhelmed her patience. “With all these books in front of you —”

“In case you hadn't noticed, we left the realm of legitimate archaeology behind a while ago,” Austin countered, with a measure of peevishness to match her own. “We're now squarely within the realm of myths and legends. Any remotely credible accounts concerning the Star Point Portal simply state, straight out, that it cannot, does not and should not exist.” His shoulders slumped. “Besides, my father's notes don't tell me anything he didn't already tell me himself. There's speculation that the Star Point Portal enables not only interstellar travel, but could also allow entry into alternate timelines, perhaps even parallel universes.”

“The ancient Egyptians couldn't have built something that sophisticated, could they?” Mitzi guessed.

“The ancient Egyptians were perfectly capable of building the pyramids and the Great Sphinx of Giza all on their own, without any extraterrestrial intervention,” Austin assessed, “and indeed, I'd suggest that's precisely why they were contacted, but no, something as advanced as the Star Point Portal was well beyond their grasp.”

Mitzi wheeled the nearest whiteboard next to the desk, flipped it over to its blank side, and started scribbling notes of her own on it with a dry-erase marker. “So, this Star Point Portal … beams your dad up to 'Otherworld,' maybe?” she collected her thoughts, more for her benefit than his, as the words she wrote mirrored those she muttered aloud. “Another planet, or different dimension … question mark?”

“What is this, that you're doing here?” Austin wondered, echoing her earlier question to him.

Mitzi rolled her eyes, without slowing her cursive loops. “You're so much like my daughter, it kills me. You're both geniuses, but neither one of you has got common sense enough to keep all those details straight in your heads by diagramming them out. At least she has the excuse of still being a kid.”

As Mitzi's felt-tip pen squeaked out the words, “Star Point Portal built by … WHO?”, Austin took up an eraser pad and a magic marker of his own, to replace the word “WHO?” with “Ancient Astronauts.”

“Aliens?” Mitzi asked aloud, as she wrote the word at the end of the whiteboard sentence, complete with question mark.

Austin recapped his pen, and raised his hands in helpless resignation. “Again, that'd be my best-guess hypothesis, but … my father always referred to them as Ancient Astronauts, and regardless of whomever or whatever they were, I tend to agree with my father, that they were drawn to Earth by the intelligence that the ancient Egyptians demonstrated, through the peerless precision of their architecture.”

“Okay, so, the Ancient Astronauts built the Star Point Portal, which they left behind with the ancient Egyptians,” Mitzi summed up, drawing an arrow from “Ancient Astronauts” to “Ancient Egyptians” on the whiteboard, “and when you and your dad dug it back up last month, the Star Point Portal zapped your dad into … parts unknown,” she circled a trio of question marks, reading “???” on the board.

“That's … about the size of it, yes,” Austin ran his hands through his hair, until his fingers interlaced at the back of his neck.

After Mitzi had replaced her own marker on the whiteboard tray, she stopped short, struck by a sudden thought. “Oh my God,” she gasped, her hands rushing up to her mouth, “you had to come back home without your dad, and then try to explain to everyone what had happened. You couldn't tell anyone the truth, because nobody would have believed a sci-fi story like that —”

“And even the least discerning ones among them could easily tell that the explanations I was supplying were far from the truth,” Austin flashed a rueful smirk. “I'm not an especially gifted liar, so my obvious dissembling, about my suspiciously missing father, gave the Van Dorens all the justification they needed, to argue that the Athenæum would be in better hands with their family steering its course.”

Austin wandered back to the desk, planted his hands on the desktop, and stared down wearily at the piles of pages that covered its surface. “Five pyramid-shaped segments, which come together to form the five-pointed star at the heart of the Star Point Portal,” he repeated his father's words, before pushing himself away from the desk. “I've tried opening the Ouroboros on my own, hooking myself up to it, like I was jump-starting a car battery, but without that key … even with me and my father working together, it took us forever to find the hidden entrance to the Hall of Records beneath the Sphinx. The window of the Harmonic Convergence had nearly closed by the time I finally located the Ouroboros.”

Mitzi snorted mirthlessly. “And here I thought the Harmonic Convergence was just another Woodstock, for New Age gurus to wave their cleansing crystals over each other.”

“My parents tried to explain Woodstock to me,” Austin rubbed his bleary eyes, “but I suspect it's the sort of historic event that only makes sense if you've lived through it.”

“Oh, honey, you're so young,” Mitzi couldn't resist giggling. “Speaking as someone who was actually old enough to have lived through it, it never made any sense to me, then or now.”

Austin cocked his head curiously to one side. “How old are you?”

Mitzi slapped his shoulder, hard. “RUDE! You don't ask a lady her age! How would you like it if I asked you YOUR age?”

“I'm 24,” Austin responded by reflex.

“Yeah, well, I'm thirty-niii — I mean, what I meant to say was, I'm … almost 30, so I'm, like … 29?” Mitzi ventured tentatively, after her initial series of stumbles.

Austin narrowed his eyes skeptically. “Hm. That'd make you the same age as Nora, then. Funny; you seem younger than her.”

“Oh, really?” Mitzi resisted the impulse to preen, biting her lower lip to keep from beaming openly, even as her attempt at pursing her lips broke into a huge, goofy grin that spread all across her face.

“Are you okay?” Austin asked, out of what sounded like equal amounts of clinically scientific curiosity and earnest concern for her welfare. “You appear to be … blushing —”

“No, yeah, sorry,” Mitzi cleared her throat and inhaled sharply, straightening herself up and crossing her arms over her broad chest in mild embarrassment. “So, what I'm hearing is, you're gonna have to hunt down all five of these ancient artifact thingamajigs, and that's gonna take some time.” Here, she adopted the same professional tone to which she'd been subjected by so many workplace motivational speakers. “So, in the meantime, as long as you're gonna be spending all that time searching anyway, why not make that time work for you?”

Now Austin was finally, fully lost. “I … am not sure that I follow.”

Mitzi slid her smaller hand into his gentle grip, and led him out onto an open space on the concrete floor. “Austin, you can literally spin planets out of pennies,” she laughed, raising his arm so she could twirl in place while still holding his hand. She then grabbed both his hands, and tugged him closer to her. “Have you even bothered to try and figure out how many other powers you might have?”

Austin's expression grew more confident, as he was able to return to more comfortably familiar footing. “Actually, I've been using an updated version of my father's old Quest Tracker computer, to keep track of all the abilities I seem to have manifested so far,” he pointed to the large upright metal ring, taking the lead in their dance by tugging Mitzi with him, while he took a few steps toward the assembly, until he was near enough to scoop up the Ouroboros from the floor.

Mitzi tested the granular texture of the carved stone relic with her fingertips, jerking her hand away when its neon yellow light trails pulsed in response. “So, when this whatsit opened, during the Harmonic Convergence, it basically bathed you in, like, cosmic rays?”

“That's about as accurate an explanation as any I've been able to come up with,” Austin admitted, with a self-effacing grin. “You're not a half-bad scientist, Mitzi Klingfeld.”

“You really do mean that, don't you?” Mitzi brushed his floppy bangs back from his eyes, momentarily taken aback by the sincerity of his compliment. “It's not just a line, or a come-on.”

Austin winced apologetically. “I recognize those are probably idiomatic phrases, but … I can't parse their meanings from the context provided.”

Mitzi patted Austin's cheek. “Never mind. It doesn't matter. What does matter, Mister Kingsley,” she took hold of his wrist, and lifted his arm to bring the Ouroboros to eye-level between them, “is what you learned about your powers, through your mad science experiments. So spill.”

Austin took a deep breath. “In simplest terms, it appears my exposure to the extraterrestrial energies released by the Star Point Portal … has altered my relationships with matter and energy,” he struggled to summarize his findings, as Mitzi spotted the pattern behind his fidgety habit of tapping each of his fingertips, twice in a row, against the flat of his thumb, in a repeating sequence. “It's … difficult to get much more specific than that, except to point out how the potential applications of such powers are obviously profound, even if my current capacity to tap into those powers seems severely limited. Because unfortunately, this,” here, he briefly waved the Ouroboros, the wrist-twisting gesture reminding Mitzi of a tambourine player, “didn't come with an instruction manual.”

“But even if you didn't have bona fide superpowers, which you do, you've got some seriously super skills and gifts, that you could already be using to do good,” Mitzi began to list them, ticking them off on her fingers, one by one. “You're brilliant, you're rich … I mean, even after the hostile takeover of your family's company, I'm guessing you're still loaded, yeah?”

“I have an inheritance that's independent of the Athenæum,” Austin confirmed. “I have absolutely no idea what its financial value amounts to, but my parents assured me it would pay for the Bookhouse's rent, utilities and any future permutation of telecommunications fees into perpetuity.”

“In other words, you're so rich, you can actually afford to not even know how much money you do have,” Mitzi marveled, her tone wavering between scorn and admiration. “Plus, you're mourning the loss of your parents, and you've got an honest-to-God secret lair. You're basically Bruce Wayne, before he picked out a costume and a cool car.”

Austin hesitated to reveal even more of his ignorance to Mitzi, but his next question was unavoidable. “Who is Bruce Wayne?”

Mitzi clutched her temples, to fend off the stress headache she felt coming on. “Okay. Let's try this instead; if you had the power to do anything you wanted — and after you used that power to bring back your dad, because of course, that's a given, I totally get that — what would you do?”

“Well, for a start, I wouldn't waste that level of power on a task that I'll be able to accomplish without it,” Austin scoffed. “My father trusted me to track down and reassemble the pieces of the key to the Star Point Portal. It'll happen. As you said, I just have to put in the work in the meantime.” He paused, and a dawning realization crept across his face. “But if I could travel back in time … I could use those powers for saving Alexandria.”

Mitzi caressed his cheek. “Oh, honey … was Alexandria your mom?”

“What? No,” Austin unwittingly disregarded her empathy. “The Royal Library of Alexandria, founded probably not long after the start of the Ptolemaic dynasty in Egypt, circa 3rd Century B.C.”

The way Mitzi set her jaw would have been recognized by any of her exes as a warning sign. “So, what you're telling me is, if you could do anything you wanted, you would use that power … to bring back a library?”

“Not just A library,” Austin enthused, “THE library. The library against which all other libraries in history have been judged. For more than two centuries, about the same age that the United States of America is now, the Library of Alexandria served as a repository for all the knowledge in the world, that had been recorded at that time. To this day, we're still relearning discoveries that were already made millennia ago, and then lost when the library was destroyed by the fires of Roman armies. If those insights could have been preserved and carried forward, human civilization could have had a two-thousand-year head start on where we are now.”

“And what about where we are now?” Mitzi shot back. “What about the real world, outside this warehouse, the way it is right now? You and your dad spent so much time digging in the dirt, it's like all you know how to do without him is just … bury yourself in the past.”

“That's not what this is,” Austin denied, as he set the Ouroboros down delicately among the aged pages on the desk, causing them to crinkle like autumn leaves. “You're acting like I've lived my whole life in the Bookhouse, when I've been traveling around the world with my parents since before I could even walk.”

On a shelf next to the desk, Austin spied a child-sized globe that seemed familiar to him. Even before he fetched it, and ran his fingers over the multitude of red pins stuck into its soft cork surface, Mitzi had gathered that each pin marked a spot where he'd stopped on his travels. “I was 9 years old when I climbed up the side of the Great Pyramid of Giza. I've bedded down in the Sahara desert with roaming Bedouins, and foraged for food alongside otherwise isolated tribes in the Amazon rainforest. I've long since lost track of how many languages I've learned, and how many different cultures I've encountered firsthand.”

“And in all that time, you never saw something that you thought needed fixing?” Mitzi pleaded.

“It's too complex!” Austin threw his hands in the air. “The more I learn — about the world, about other people — the less I understand. I'm not qualified to diagnose what ails modern human civilization.”

Mitzi stroked his forehead soothingly, as she prized the globe from his grasp, to place it on the desk. “Austin, you don't have to solve all the world's problems at once, you know. It's not like I'd have the first clue how to tackle the big picture, so … let's start small. How about helping out the city?”

“Why this city in particular?” Austin inquired, more intrigued than dismissive of her suggestion.

“Why not?” Mitzi swept her arms out expansively. “It's where we both rest our heads at night, isn't it? Besides, there are people out there who are homeless, and hungry. And if you live in the big city, you're always at risk, of getting robbed, or shot, or worse. Imagine what could happen, if this city had its own superhero?”

“I have to tell you, I don't think I know a single thing about this city,” Austin freely confessed, feeling steadily less embarrassed by the gaps in his knowledge, and instead, increasingly eager to delve into new discoveries.

“Well, I may not be the highfalutin academic that you are, Mister Kingsley,” Mitzi's lips curled into a mischievous smirk, “but there was one subject in school I always excelled at, that I think you could learn some lessons from.”

“Which is?”

“Field trips.”

[asterinjapan]

Stars over Sendai

A good evening after a long day again!

I had agreed to meet up with my Japanese friend at Sendai station, so I got up early and drove the (this time correct) train to Omiya in Saitama, from where I caught the Hayabusa shinkansen to Sendai. It took slightly over an hour then to make it to Sendai at 10 AM, just when all the festivities would have started. I met my friend and together we quickly already reserved train tickets for the way back, since the Tanabata festival draws in about 2 million visitors each year… Obviously not all at the same moment, but the trains were definitely busy.

After that, travel time! We sought out the bus stop for the loop bus, very creatively called the Loople Bus, which looks like a cute retro bus and loops around the main attractions in the city in one direction. You can get a day pass which also gives you discounts, so naturally, we went with that.

Our first stop after early lunch was the Zuihoden mausoleum. It’s actually a complex of several mausolea of Date Masamune, a famous samurai lord, and his heirs. Masamuna was known as the ‘one-eyed dragon’ (since he had one eye, you see), and was one of the most powerful daimyo (lords) in the region. He was the founder of Sendai city, so it’s a name you see a lot here. His traditional appearance is very striking since he’s known for his golden headgear, shaped like a crescent moon. He’s also the one who appreciated the Tanabata festival so much that it became such a big deal in Sendai, though we’ll be getting to that later.

Actually, the Zuihoden and the other buildings are all rebuilt: at the end of World War 2, Sendai was bombed and the buildings burnt down. The reconstructions were done in the original style, and though that does mean they look very flashy and new, it does give off a genuine feeling.

It is quite the uphill walk to the Zuihoden, the actual mausoleum of Masamune where they’ve enshrined a wooden statue of him. On the corners of the mausoleum, you can spot dragon heads, true to his nickname. There’s also a museum right next to it, which opened with information about Tanabata until you got into the real exhibition: that of excavated items found when the mausolea for the second and third Date lords were reconstructed. This was super interesting, because they’d found remains of both the three lords as well as their swords and armors. No replicas, but the real deals, and in pretty good condition at that. They also had replicas of their skulls on display along with facial reconstructions, and actual bone and hair fragments of Masamune, which is both a little creepy as well as fascinating, because he lived in the 17th century. And here we were, four hundred years later, and they had been able to tell from his bones exactly how tall he’d been and what his blood type was. Masamune also sympathized with foreign causes, meaning he was interested in technology from outside Japan and didn’t exactly like the presecutions of Christians that the shogun Tokugawa Ieyasu insisted upon, although there was little he could do about it. (Make no mistake, he was still a brutal warlord.) Anyway, it also meant that they’d uncovered the remains of a pair of glasses for one of the other two lords. Impressive.

We made our way to the other two mausolea next, the Kansenden for Date Tadamune and the Zennoden for Date Tsunamune, second and third daimyo respectively. They look pretty much alike, and these too are rebuilds after being destroyed in the fires. There were also stone tablets for numerous other Date lords, including one that only lived to the age of 17. Nice times, you can tell.

Anyway, after the interesting history lesson, we made our way back out again, past the now put up Tanabata decorations and the warning plates for wasps (understandable), snakes (… right, we’re on the other side of the planet here), and bears (wait, come again?). The Loople Bus had just arrived, so we ran for it and made it, along with the fifty or so other people who wanted to get on. I’m still amazed that we all fit, because these buses look tiny, but I guess the Japanese are just used to being crammed into vehicles? Anyway, we got off two stops later, to something I had been really looking forward to: Sendai or Aoba Castle.

Truth being told, not a whole lot is left of it. Very unsurprisingly, Date Masamune started the construction of this castle, although a main keep was never finished. The whole castle mostly served as headquarters and administrative center rather than a defensive force, and it was destroyed a couple of times in earthquakes and fires. By 1870, most of the castle was dismantled after the downfall of the shogunate, and in 1945, whatever remained was destroyed completely.

All that’s left is the outer stone walls and a guard tower, and it’s quite a climb to get there as it’s on a mountain top (Aoba mountain), looking out over the city of Sendai. Atop is a statue of Masamune on horseback, which is a pretty iconic statue you’ll see constantly if you visit Sendai.

The view was great, and we could actually spot the great Kannon statue in the distance once the clouds shifted a bit (it was cloudy all day, but not a drop of rain). It’s white, so that was a startling sight, haha. (I wanted to visit it, but it’s on the opposite end of the city. It IS the second tallest statue in Japan though, at 100 metres tall. Maybe next time!)

Walking around the premises, we came across a group of actors carrying a paper mached version of Masamune over to the main area, where they re-enacted one of the famous battles, haha. It was fun, though mostly for the kids present. Instead, we made our way to the Aoba Castle museum, which has assorted artifacts and scale models of the castle. It’s a bit tricky if you don’t speak Japanese (or are too tired to really focus at this point, like me, haha), because there’s no information in English at all. There’s a movie playing with more information about the castle, which is really interesting, even if it’s narrated by two talking birds and a talking soy bean, haha. Apparently head sets with English audio were available, but I missed out on those. Just for the record!

I was getting pretty tired, but I really liked the visit to this castle, even though not a whole lot is left of it. (It still made the Top 100 anyway, because half that top is ruins, I swear.) With it being close to 5 o’clock, all major attractions were closing anyway, so it was time to go into the direction of the station – time for Tanabata!

The Tanabata Festival finds its roots in a star-crossed lovers story, literally. It involves the stars Vega and Altair, or Orihime (the weaving princess) and Hikoboshi (cow herder). Orihime weaved clothes for her father the sky king, but once she fell in love with Hikoboshi from across the river known as the Milky Way, she neglected her weaving and Hikoboshi let his cows run wild. Thus, Orihime’s dad separated the two using the river, but struck a bargain with them: if they fulfill their duties, they’d get to meet once a year on the 7th day of the 7th month, when a group of magpies will make a bridge with their wings so Orihime can cross and meet Hikoboshi. Unless it rains during the festival, in which case they have to wait another year. During this time of the year, the stars Vega and Altair are shimmering on opposite sides of the visible part of the Milky Way in the skies – that is, if you’re in an area with a clear sky and no light pollution, haha.

So that’s why it’s the star festival! It’s also a summer festival, so that means a lot of food and game stands, open air musical performances and lots of people in yukata. It was a fun sight and I really enjoyed being able to attend an actual summer festival in Japan, because I’ve always missed out on them by a hair (never been in Japan at July 7), and the fireworks festival at Asakusa is so huge that you kind of lose the feeling of an actual festival.

After lingering around this park area for a while and having a super responsible dinner (I had an omelette-clad sausage, takoyaki (octopus dumplings) and a chocolate covered banana, and it was pink too), we slowly made our way back to the station, but traveling the decorated shopping roads.

This was pretty amazing! The streets were lined with countless kushidama, large paper balls with long streamers. Those streamers are meant to represent the string Orihime uses in her weaving. They are donated from all over Japan; I just read up on it and found out that the ones featuring cranes most likely came from Hiroshima and Nagasaki, as paper cranes symbolize the lives lost in the atomic bomb blasts. And well, Sendai was the biggest city hit by the earthquake in 2011 – no doubt there were decorations for them, too.

On a more cheerful note, these decorations were amazing and seemingly endless; all colourful, some simple, some extraordinarily detailed, and some featuring historical figures or well, Pokemon, haha. You can also find racks of bamboo, where you can write a wish on a slip of paper and hang them on the bamboo. These will be either burnt or set adrift down the river at the end of the festival to carry your wish.

Just talking about it doesn’t really do it justice. I realize that saying ‘yay food and pretty decorations’ doesn’t really sell a festival, but actually being there made me realize just why this is considered one of the biggest festivals in the country. I really loved it and I was super glad to have made my visit to Sendai in this time.

Sadly, our train was scheduled to depart, but I’m far from done with Sendai and I’ll definitely be back here, whenever that might be.

And now, time for bed, although I have no idea yet what I’m going to do tomorrow. I’m getting kind of worn out, haha. Tomorrow is the last day I can use my JR pass, so I might go do my Kamakura-Ofuna-Enoshima route, or just skip around Tokyo a bit, who knows. On Wednesday, I’ll be meeting up with my friend one last time in Yokohama, and then Thursday is my last full day in Tokyo… I think I’ll use that time to go visit Shibuya once more and say my goodbyes to Ikebukuro. It already makes me sad thinking about it, actually. Let’s not and let’s just enjoy these last couple of days to the fullest!

[rhnuzlocke]

Episode 23

Scene 2:

[They say their goodbyes outside with all of the pokemon gathered around them. Steven shakes Zinnia’s hand and she gives him a playful cuff on the shoulder. He pulls his keystone out of his lapel and holds it out to her. Zinnia takes it, dipping her head and thanking him for everything. Ren hugs Steven tight, rumpling his freshly pressed suit, but he hugs her back tighter if anything. Ren withdraws her pokemon and climbs up on Latios and Zinnia withdraws hers except for Aster and hops up on Latias. Aster scrambles up after her and once she is situated in front of Zinnia, The Eon Guardians take off and zip away southwest. Sootopolis and tons of tiny islands and rocks and bits off reef steak by below them. Zinnia gets a big kick out of the speed and hollers into the wind. Latias does some loop-da-loops, rolls, swoops and dives in response and Zinnia looks as though she is having the time of her life. Ren smiles but Latios looks on with disapproval. They arrive at the Sky Pillar and the Eon Guardians land at the base where Ho-Oh, Lugia and their partners are waiting. Zinnia bows her head to both gods and Kaspa and Dizzy bow deeply to her. All stand aside as Zinnia approaches the entryway to the tower. She bows her head and chants softly until a wind blows out from the tower. She steps inside and beckons Ren and Aster to follow while the others remain outside. The Sky Pillar is ancient and crumbling in places, but well lit and airy from the many open windows on each level. The stairs and walkways spiral up the sides of the tower, leaving the middle open all the way to the top.]

Zinnia: Normally I would have battled you before bringing you in here, but we took care of that formality yesterday.

Ren: How did they build it so high?

Zinnia: The walls are thick and the bricks have a double interlocking pattern that remains stable while allowing some movement. The windows are also arranged such that the prevailing winds easily pass through instead of pushing against the tower.

[Wind whistles and howls through the many openings and Ren can see the tower sway as she gazes upward. She swallows and decides to examine the walls instead, which are covered with murals as far up as she can see.]

Ren: Will you tell me about the paintings?

Zinnia: Certainly.

[Aster wanders on ahead of them and Ren and Zinnia follow along the wall.]

Zinnia: Here is the beginning where Groudon and Kyogre formed the land and sea and Rayquaza flew above them creating the atmosphere. During that time, the world was overflowing with natural energy which now lies much deeper beneath the surface, only accessible through certain wellsprings like the Cave of Origin. But then it was freely available and the climate titans used it to fuel their endless feud. During this same time, our planet was still undergoing bombardment from a great hail of meteoroids. Even with all of their power, the other two part of the trio could do nothing but watch as these meteoroids smashed into their creation and undid their work even as they completed it. But Rayquaza swallowed some of these meteoroids as they came down and absorbed their energy as their siblings absorbed energy from the planet and became stronger. With this power, they created an atmosphere thick enough to burn away the smaller meteors so that all could finish their work.

[Zinnia reaches the stair and starts to ascend and Ren follows behind her.]

Zinnia: Then the trio rested and the planet flourished. Life of all kinds sprang up and spread across the Earth. But after a time Primal Groudon and Kyogre awakened once more and began to clash. Their battle threatened to wipe the slate clean, but highest Arceus wished for life to continue and so beseeched them to cease. But created as they were to feud forever, they would not calm. But Rayquaza headed Arceus wishes and used the energy of the meteorites within them to do battle with their siblings and stop them from destroying life at every turn. Arceus, seeing that Rayquaza was attempting to honor their wishes, granted Rayquaza the power to negate the climate effects of the other two. With this new ability, Rayquaza was able to subdue their siblings and Arceus took from each a great part of their power and sealed it away so that they could not so easily disobey their creator again.

[Ren spots the red and blue orbs as they reach the next set of stairs and Zinnia takes a short pause in the story to catch her breath before continuing.]

Zinnia: And so all three rested once more and the Earth flourished anew with the energy they had brought forth. The cycle of battle and hibernation continued, each time shaping the course of life on our planet until we emerged. Our first great threat came when a giant meteor streaked across the sky and plowed into the ocean, sending tidal waves to flood all the islands of Hoenn. The meteor strike cracked the mantle of the planet beneath it and a great welling of natural energy poured from beneath Hoenn. Thirsting for that energy, Primal Kyogre and Primal Groudon once again woke. Each sought their orb, found it, swallowed it and regained their primal forms. The ancient people of Hoenn were witness to the beginnings of their battle and saw that it would soon overwhelm them and the rest of the planet, but were helpless to stop it. It is then that that, as if drawn by the battle, Rayquaza descended from the heavens in a blazing emerald bolt. They consumed the meteorite and with that great rush of power, overwhelmed that of the two Primal Pokémon. Peace returned to the world and the people of Hoenn revered Rayquaza as a true savior.

[As they mount the next set of stairs, the mural depicts a huge meteor shower with streaks of light falling down to smash against the steps.]

Zinnia: When the next bombardment of meteors came, many were burned up before they struck and others burned away to a size that they would not threaten life on the planet. The people sought out these meteorites that had been shaped by Rayquaza’s creation and held them as sacred. One meteorite in particular that landed in the heart of Sootopolis gave off a boundless brilliance. Its rainbow glittering resembled a vast and powerful keystone and an altar to Rayquaza was built around it. As the people watched the skies for further gifts, a giant meteor fell, as large as the one that had awakened the Climate Titans, and the people knew it would bring terrible disaster. But the people had a wish—a memory from a thousand years before. They wished that the legendary pokémon clad in emerald light would appear again to save them and gathered around the keystone to pray. Its power carried their prayers upward and once again, Rayquaza descended from the heavens. They ate the meteorites the people had so carefully gathered and one person offered up the great keystone to Atua Rayquaza and added their prayer for salvation to the others. As they did, a great change came over the legendary pokémon. The god was enveloped in blinding light and as the light receded, they beheld a Rayquaza beyond all knowledge— a sublime figure, incandescent with overwhelming life force. It was humanity’s wish that brought about Rayquaza’s transformation in the face of the rainbow stone. A wish, invisible and intangible, that bound human and pokémon together, enabling the Rayquaza to change its form: the very first mega evolution.

[Zinnia touches the wall reverently and Ren looks up at a painting of Rayquaza unlike all others she has seen.]

Zinnia: After being transformed by the wish of the people, Rayquaza bowed their head and allowed the human who had offered up the keystone to climb aboard them, the first Draconid. They ascended to meet the meteor and the golden filaments that sprang from Rayquaza’s body covered the sky. They rocketed upward and shattered the meteor into many harmless pieces and so the people were saved. Though the first Draconid never returned, the keystone that had enabled Rayquaza to transform fell back to Earth and landed on an island. That was where the people, constructed this great tower to hold the rainbow stone and to try to get a little bit closer to Rayquaza in the heavens above. To honor Rayquaza and the one among them who had given up their life, they began to train dragon-types to help them become stronger like the great dragon that had saved them, and became Draconids.

[They walk along the last level platform towards the final flight of stair and progress through more recent history.]

Zinnia: A thousand years of peace followed, but the Draconid people, learning from their long history’s cyclical nature, knew that one day another meteor would and they would need Rayquaza’s help again. They carefully preserved all knowledge of the event in stories and appointed one dragon trainer in each generation to be Rayquaza’s ally should the need arise, a position now known as Lorekeeper. My ancestors migrated to meteor falls where they could gather the meteorites that fell there. At several more points throughout our history, Rayquaza has been summoned to save us from either their siblings or a threat from beyond our world and each time the Lorekeeper has helped Atua Rayquaza to mega evolve and quiet its siblings with a terrible wind or shatter a meteor with their strongest move, dragon ascent. But as I told you outside Granite Cave, the last time a Lorekeeper went up with Rayquaza, the meteor destroyed them and the great rainbow stone. It rained down in pieces too small to be found and Rayquaza returned to the heavens to recover.

[They mount the final flight of stairs along which there are no paintings.]

Zinnia: My grandmother was Lorekeeper over a time of peace and for a time I thought I would be as well. But when we discovered a meteoroid large enough to break the world forever, I knew I must rise to meet my fate. Because this threat was greater than ever before, I thought Rayquaza would need more time to grow stronger and prepare, so I looked for a way to summon them as soon as possible. Without the rainbow stone, my path was unclear, but through my study of the lore and the training of my own pokemon, I realized the truth of Rayquaza’s change in form and attempted to use my own keystone to summon them. When that failed, I delved deeper back and saw that the warring of their siblings could also draw Rayquaza down from the sky. That failed as well and so for my next plan I had to get really creative, devising a method unlike any other. Since you defeated Groudon, I have been gathering keystones and meteorites for the final attempt.

[Zinnia pauses near the top of stairs before her head rises above the ceiling. She takes a deep breath and her eyes squeeze shut. Ren steps up and takes her hand while Aster hops up the last few steps. Zinnia looks up at the whismur waiting for her and squeezes Ren’s hand before leading her up and out onto the top of the tower.]