#it's either something i directly wore while doing that content or something that was available there

[abyssal-soul]

In the process of making Qara’s glam timeline I inadvertently made her a little wardrobe of pieces she’s built up over time and can mix and match. I haven’t marked it down anywhere yet (surprisingly) but it roughly works out to a new outfit every x.0 and x.3/5 patch, sometimes bringing in gloves or shoes or pants from a previous outfit. It’s kinda neat tbh!

[courtlyharlequin]

For🌙 - Before me stood the Malleus Draconia himself. He guided me into the more thorny parts of the woods where his castle stood, once inside we had some tea and spent the night talking and cuddling by the fireplace

Aromatherapy

A/N: Not that you need to know, but this fic was inspired by black chamomile bergamot hand soap. It had such a calming effect on me that somehow transferred into my writing. It smells really good I’m ♡♡♡

A/N²: This was a little self indulgent as I wanted to establish some lore of the event into this fic. Also, my writing might be a little rusty after my semi-hiatus so I’m sorry if it’s not up to par as my other works. Thank you for being so patient. I should be able to write more frequently now  <3

A flurry of delicate crystals fell from the sky, nipping the tip of your nose with a slight sting. You held back a sneeze as you quickened your pace. The creatures of the night howled with the wind. You spun your heel, meeting with dozens of glowering eyes that illuminated the forest. They crawled towards you. Each step forward unearthed more grotesque features ranging from more than one set of jaws to foaming mouths. Your breath hitched and you turned around, picking up your pace. Your legs were light as a kilogram of feathers. As the snow fell more vehemently, you prayed that the sun would rise soon.

When the White Rabbit led you into the woodlands, she had stated that you were invited for a tea party, one where you could eat anything you desired– if those things fit weren’t mustard and could fit into the Hatter’s hat that is. Yet here you were, ready to become a night creature’s late night snack. Apparently, slightly crumbled cookies from your basket did not suffice. They discarded the goodies the moment they received the basket. Granted, you did throw it at them as a distraction.

Your foot collided with something underneath the thin sheet of snow. You yelped as you fell to the ground. The snow crunched under your weight as you shifted onto your knees. It was warm, like an embrace. Since when was snow warm?

The beasts’ growls were in earshot. Rising to your feet was a struggle. You scrambled across the snow, but to no avail. At this rate, you were going to be devoured. It was so cold. You were so tired. Perhaps it would be alright to give into a kiss of death. You were alone and lost in the woods, searching for an exit aimlessly. The night creatures inched towards you with precise steps. There were three of them– three ghastly beasts fueled by hunger.  One of them appeared to be the alpha, leading the others towards you. You closed your eyes as it pounced onto you, sinking its jaws onto your calves. The snow was terribly warm. It was almost cozy. You cried into it like a child would into a mother’s sleeve.

Thunder clapped and the night wailed. A flash of green flames illuminated the sky and disappeared as fast as it came. Your legs felt less heavy. Then, the numbness in your leg faded. You groaned. Was that it? Had you perished so soon? 

“Are you lost, little lamb?” a voice cooed.

From the corner of your eye, you saw a figure painted in black from head to toe crouch before you. You felt cold, but it quickly faded as you felt them scoop you up into their arms. You gazed at the ground. They were quite tall or so it would seem. Their warmth differed greatly from the snow’s.

You opened your eyes drowsily, meeting your gaze with your savior. Your senses were hazy, but you were certain that snow was not an ethereal being with long ebony locks, brilliant viridian eyes or sleek horns. Perhaps this being was your guardian angel. Or the devil? Angels didn’t don black cloaks, but he resembled one in every way. Divine. Absolutely divine,

You mewled and hugged him a little tighter, darkness engulfing your consciousness.

There was a bright light. You blinked twice. This was not the afterlife at. Or at least not what you imagined it would be. You thought it would be more extravagant than the interior of a gothic castle. It seemed dull– gray, somber. The candelabras were lit with viridescent flames, adding an eerie and unsettling aura to the bedroom. You sat up, wincing. You felt a small prick against your calves.

You lifted the covers to reveal your leg. It was bandaged neatly and elevated on a small throw pillow. Your eyes drifted to your clothing. In exchange for your cloak and travelling ensemble, you wore an oversized silk dress shirt. The hem barely covered your knees while its sleeves extended to your thighs. It was comfortable nonetheless.

“You’re awake.”

You were alive.

You hugged your legs and nodded sheepishly. There he was, an angel. Your savior set down a tray at the nightstand.

You stared into his eyes. Though you were certain that this was not in the afterlife, this man was an angel. No doubt about it. His presence said it all. It radiated power. He was ethereal. He had long ebony locks and porcelain skin. His eyes were akin to emeralds. He stood tall, towering over you with his arms crossed and a faint pout evident on his lips.

“Well, Child of Man?”

You broke eye contact.

“Child of Man,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“Perhaps you would regain your focus if you help yourself to some hazelnut soup,” he gestured to the tray.

You peered over his figure to examine the foodstuff. He saved you, treated your wounds, and now he offers to feed you. Truly, he was a seraph.

What could you possibly do to repay him? Did he desire compensation? Although you were hungry, guilt swelled in the back of your mind.

“It’s edible. The fair folk have a reputation for being terrible cooks, but I assure you that the fire fairies in my castle are well immersed in human cuisine,” he said.

“Fae?”

“My, you /are/ a lost little lamb, aren’t you?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Wonderland. A forest.”

“Anything else?”

“The White Rabbit said something about a tea party,” you said.

He straightened his posture and bowed.

“So you are the Hatter’s guest. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. One moment please. I won’t be long. Help yourself to the soup in the meantime. I know the fire pixies won’t be pleased if you let it grow cold,” he said, walking out of the room.

Hatter? Fire pixies?

His footsteps echoed throughout the hall. You stared at the tray. Alongside the ceramic bowl, there was a small dinner roll, a side salad, and a cup of tea. You clutched your stomach as it growled.

You swung your legs over the mattress and let them dangle off the bed. Your eyes trailed down to the ornate carpet. You were famished. The man did tell you to eat. It would be rude not to comply with his request after he nursed you back to health.

You bit your lip as you reached for the tray, setting the cool metal surface onto your lap. You took the spoon and raised it to your lips, blowing the ribbons of smoke away as if you were making a dandelion wish. You wrapped your lips around the utensil, taking in the soup’s warmth. It was rich, sweet, and  creamy with an earthy undertone. A sigh escaped your lips.

“Not bad, I presume?” your savior chuckled.

You flinched. He had returned.

He received a hum of affirmation in response. With that, he pulled a wooden chair from the bedroom’s study area and placed it beside the bed, directly in front of you. He sat down, crossing his legs. He opened up a leatherbound book, raising an eyebrow at you. You nervously grinned and fiddled with your thumbs. It was a decent sized book, not too large, but not too small to be a novella either. It was worn and torn around the edges though its gold detailing on the spine was still prevalent.

He met your gaze then snapped his fingers. Your eyes widened as the tea cup on your tray multiplied into two and the contents changed from a murky green to a cozy brown. They then lifted themselves off the tray and waltzed in the air for a few moments before stopping on their own saucers at the nightstand.

“I heard chamomile tea calms the nerves… for humans, anyway. I do love the flavor of it as well. Would you like one lump or two?”

“Are you not human? And two please.”

He blinked. The sugar cubes sunk to the bottom of your cup.

“I am affiliated with the fair folk,” he said.

He waved his hand around, dismissing the fact that he had summoned another teacup along with matching saucers and sugar jar and changed the teas with the snap of his fingers. Having been in this wonderland for a while now, you were familiar with magic. The possibility of fair folk couldn’t be ruled out, but you had never considered much about their existence until now. Then again, you didn’t know what night creatures were either until recently.

“Who are you?”

“A fae who happens to live in these parts and nothing more,” he said.

“And nothing more… then do you have a name?”

“You may call me anything you’d like. I do not have a preference. Names are merely labels no?”

“I suppose so.”

“There once was a little beastie that called me Tsunotaro. You may call me that if you’d like.”

“Tsunotaro?”

“Yes, I’m quite fond of that name too. You remind me of them therefore I shall allow it.”

“Alright then.. Tsunotaro.”

The light in his eyes faltered. He turned past the title page.

“And what do I call you, lost little lamb?”

“(y/n),” you said curtly.

“(y/n)... I like that,” he whispered softly, “Well, then (y/n), welcome to the Tugley Woods. We are in the northern part of Wonderland. It’s a hub for mana which draws in a plethora of characters such as merfolk and beastmen. Are you familiar with mana? It’s essentially a life force used as a catalyst for magic.”

You hummed along to the inflections of his voice.

He continued: “Perhaps you encountered some paragons of mana on the way here. Or wherever your destination was. They’re troublesome bunches, really. They have their own territories. Anything that trespasses those borders is beyond my control, even as the Prince of Thorns, I—”

You fidgeted with the sheets, a minute action and yet the fae’s eyes peeled up from the book.

“Does the origin of the woods bore you?”

You shook your head, “Not at all. I’m just having difficulty visualizing the entire forest and the factions. It must be vast.”

The fae grinned. With a flick of his hand, he conjured green flames within a furnace, illuminating the side of your bed with a faint yet welcoming warmth.

He rose from his seat, edging the covers, ushering you aside as he climbed into the comforters. He shifted around. Once he was satisfied, he propped open the book, continuing on with your history lesson. There was a large map sprawled across the thin pages. The words were racked from Tsunotaro’s memories.

You leaned on his shoulder. He was oddly warm despite his pale, lifeless complexion. Tsunotaro’s voice soothed your soul, spelling away all your fears— no matter how grand or horrible they may be.

“The West is guarded by the beastmen. They aren’t aggressive when you cross borders, only when you mess with their prey. They congregate here due to their affinity towards the mana here.”

Malleus pointed at the map. His fingernail made the book sound hollow.

“This allows them to use their magic easily as the area’s terrain is filled with sand and earth magic despite being surrounded by trees. You could say the same for the merfolk in the East as well. Except that area consists of woodlands with a large loch in the middle. The loch is deeper than it seems. It leads to the Coral Sea, I believe. The ‘monsters’ —”

“Why must they be monsters?”

“Aside from their appearances, the beastmen and the merfolk are experiencing a mana drought as of now as a majority of the magical energy here has ceased over the years. The ley lines have been exhausted due to constant irrigation and migration of the forests’ inhabitants. Nowadays, they attack travelers, driven by their hunger and thirst for mana to strengthen their magic and sustain their own livelihoods. Aside from them, there’s also night creatures. Those were the wolves that attacked you on the first day. ”

“And what does that make you?”

“Certainly not a monster if that is what you were implying. The fae generate their own mana. In fact, this castle is fortified with mana spun on a single spinning wheel. This prevents attacks from the other night creatures,” he said.

“That does not make the others monsters if they were merely trying to survive.”

“Did they not attack you on your journey?”

“They did, but it was the wrong timing. Besides those were wolves, I’m sure the factions have their own reasons.”

“Touché, Beastie,” he said.

Tsunotaro glanced upward.

“Oho?”

“I suppose they all have their reasons. As you said, they might just be doing so for their survival. Though the fair folk could never empathize with them, we are typically not shackled by the limits of age nor are we familiar with death. We create our own mana and we seldom consume food for survival, only pleasure.”

“I see…”

You yawned. He placed a slender ribbon in between the worn pages of the book. It clapped into place as he set it on the nightstand.

“Perhaps I’ve said more than a beastie could handle. Nevermind that. The chamomile must finally be settling in on you.”

For a mere moment, his eyes flashed into silts and glowed. Your lids were heavy.

“Rest well, Beastie—  for you have a long journey ahead of you.”

He rose from his seat, striding towards the door. The candles’s flames extinguished as he walked past them.

“You too, Tsunotaro.”

The fae halted.

“Yes… thank you, Yu—,” he paused, “(y/n).”

He sighed.

“Thank you, (y/n)” he said.

[katzkinder]

Fool’s Gold, Ch 1

Prologue

I should mention that the version up on ao3 has extra content not included in the tumblr updates. The version available on Tumblr is just the story featuring Greed pair, while the ao3 version has some extra bits and bobs. They don’t particularly impact the story, but they do add another layer, and if you like Gear and Youtarou, you might enjoy it! Thank you for being patient with my sporadic schedule ^^

[All That Glitters Is Not]

The first thing Licht noticed upon regaining consciousness was that his head felt like someone had tried to split it open like a melon. The second was that, wherever he was, it was cooler than the weather permitted, and the scratchy sheets beneath his cheek could sorely use a good wash. He wrinkled his nose, groaning as he sat up and clutched his head. The third…

“Ah, good. You’re awake. Was starting to get worried.”

--Was that he wasn’t alone.

Licht whirled, nearly falling off the small bed he had been placed on in his haste and only succeeding in making his aching head spin. The sound of metal clanging against it itself made him grimace, using the sound’s source to finally locate the… Dungeon’s, he supposed, other occupant.

 A suit of armor?

“Hey now, no need to be hasty. You’ll only hurt yourself like that.” The deep voice he had heard was definitely coming from the armor, which sat, almost casually, even, upon a stool with a little wooden serving cart laden down with a pitcher, food, and dishes to serve it on. If he squinted, he could make out the shape of bread and what might have been a block of aged cheese in the darkness, penetrated only by the light of torches placed at regular intervals around the place.

“P… Piss off…” His throat hurt, voice coming out scratchier than he would have liked. “Who are you, and where am I?”

“First, drink this.” A copper cup was pushed at him through the bars, held securely in the jointed fingers of a gauntlet and presumably filled with water. Licht scoffed at it, not budging.

“Not until you answer me. Who. Are. You,” he repeated, carefully enunciating each word as if the man in front of him were some foreign entity just barely capable of understanding him. If suits of armor could look annoyed, this one certainly did, joints creaking as the whole thing sagged with its occupant.

“Do you want the damn water or not?”

“What I want is answers.”

A soft, harsh mutter that was almost certainly a swear, his captor turning to place the cup back in its place amongst the meal’s various other accoutrements. “Listen. If I promise to answer your questions, will you drink something? I don’t need that brat boss of mine giving me an earful over a stubborn kid…”

Licht bristled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed that was, now that he took a moment to look, little more than a cot pushed into the corner, and standing fast enough that the room spun. Stalking towards his unflinching captor, his lip curled back into a sneer, baleful glare trained on approximately where he thought the man’s eyes would be. Gripping the bars of his prison, he pushed his forehead up against the cool metal, duly noting that where he had expected rust he instead found smooth, well cared for material. That would make things more difficult once he was alone again, but it was nothing he couldn’t overcome, he thought.

“I’m not a kid.”

The helmet tilted, arms folding noisily across the chest plate. “You sure are acting like one.”

“I’m not,” Licht insisted. Adjusting his grip, he shoved his face more insistently at the bars, trying to get a look at the layout of the area beyond his cell. It was fairly large, all things considered, with clean, dry stone that looked like it was well fitted together. Directly across from him was a wall with a torch holder, unlit for the moment, though light sources reflected off the silver armor his captor wore from either side of him. To the left and right of that torch were more cells, equally as bare as his own save for a cot and, if he squinted hard enough, the shape of what might have been more bedding underneath.

  No doubt moth eaten and covered in rat shit.

Still, the relatively clean space was… Surprising, and up close like this, he found he was indeed correct in assuming the shape he had seen to be cheese. Bread, cheese, some cured meats, and…

The words he had meant to speak died on the tip of his tongue, facial expression going slack in his befuddlement. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” The man turned at the waist, following his line of sight to a yellow skinned pear sitting innocuously amongst the other foodstuffs, the bottom of which appeared to be colored pink to red at uneven intervals. “... Have you never seen a pear before?”

Licht bit down a snappish reply, stomach giving a sudden rumble in protest to him doing anything that might deny him food he hadn’t until then realized he was sorely needing. “Give.”

“Excuse me?”

“Give me. The pear.” When all that met him was silence, he tore his gaze away, leveling it back again at the other man and ignoring the feel of eyes judging him. “What? You wanted me to eat and drink something, right? So hand it over.”

Slowly, as if he were still putting together the pieces of some sort of complex puzzle, the man moved, passing items through the bars to Licht’s awaiting hands. “You’re… A very strange man.”

“I’m an angel.” And with that, he bit into the fruit’s unblemished skin with a resounding, satisfying crunch. It was sweet, tart, just the slightest bit gritty, but not at all unpleasant as the juices ran down his chin, Licht closing his eyes to savor the taste. “Sho. Ansher my queshons.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full…” was the muttered reply, and feeling eyes boring steadily into him, Licht cracked an eye open, not seeming the least bit sheepish for the halfhearted scolding. “I think it’s pretty obvious where you are, anyway.”

“Hah?”

Shifting to prop his chin in hand, he continued, waving his free round around with a lazy, lackadaisical motion. “Look around. It’s a dungeon-”

“But where, and why, and who the hell are you?”

“Guildenstern.”

Finally receiving an answer mollified him, somewhat, Licht finally picking up the cup to take a drink and, after giving it a cursory sniff, finding that he quite disliked the metallic taste the copper imbued everything with. Still, it was refreshingly cold against his parched throat, so he couldn’t complain too much, all things considered. “Guildenstern, huh… What’s with the armor?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Least comforting thing you could have said.”

A snort, Guildenstern rising to his feet with a grunt and the creaking of nearly every joint in the whole uncomfortable looking mess, in Licht’s opinion. Yet Guildenstern didn’t seem too bothered by what was undoubtedly a getup that only made his life harder. “Wasn’t supposed to be. Behave yourself. Boss’ll want to know that you’re awake.”

Licht rolled his eyes, stuffing a hunk of bread into his mouth next. “Good. Bring him here so I can kick his ass for making me late for dinner. My parents are going to start worrying if I don’t get home soon. Angels don’t make their parents worry.”

For a moment, Guil paused, and Licht got the distinct, infuriating feeling that he was being pitied by those unseen eyes. “... I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be.” Soon left alone with nothing but a quickly depleting meal and his own thoughts as the loud clanking steadily faded away, Licht eyed the door of his cell, slowly chewing in order to better savor the flavor of the fruit while he thought.

Well, he supposed, there was no use in overthinking it. After all, an angel’s power was absolute and he could overcome anything he set his mind to.

Satisfied with his conclusion, Licht stood, wiped the back of his mouth on his grass and dirt stained sleeve, approached the cell’s door… And kicked with all his might. One way or another, he was going to get out. Guildenstern hadn’t been wrong about it being obvious where he was. He knew without a doubt the where, he had an inkling of the why, but he didn’t particularly want to stick around and confirm his theory. Such a nice meal for a prisoner, when provided by a demon, could only mean one thing. He wasn’t about to be the fattened up main course for any monster, and that getting any info out of the man stationed to guard him had been so difficult only further cemented it in his mind.

“Tch.”

The lock held steady. Once more, then. Once more, once more, as many times as it took…

“Stupid piece of… Just-!” Clang! “Die-!” Clang! “Already-!”

“First you steal my flowers, now you try and break my stuff? After I so graciously provided you with food, too. Maaan…”

Licht growled, the new irritating voice prompting him to put even more power into the swing of his leg than he had been. Although the whole door rattled in its frame… It did not give way. He swore, stepping back as a looming shadow approached.

Glittering golden scales and wickedly curved horns, razor sharp fangs and eyes that burned like hellfire, all wrapped up in cloth as dark and decadent as the pitch of night…

“You sure are a firecracker who just doesn't know when to quit, aren't ya~? Guil says you think you’re an angel. Ha! That’s a riot! So tell me, lil angel…” The dragon leered at him, curling one clawed hand around the bars of his prison while Licht glared back, baring his teeth at the monster before him. “What kind of punishment is suitable for thieves~?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

A startled laugh, smoke curling out from behind unsettlingly human lips. “Ohh, I am gonna have fun~ With~ You~”

A demon, through and through.

[alarawriting]

Writeober #4: Loud

The children were playing. It was toy hour, so they had out Legos, and dolls, and wooden trains, all that sort of thing. Quiet, by the standards of an orphanage. A couple of Eights were reading, an activity they preferred to playing with toys. Children’s babble filled the air, but not the shrieks they made when they played outside.

And then Jayden started screaming, almost painfully loudly. “I want my mommy! I want my mommy!”

Laurie ran to him and gathered him into her arms. “Oh, Jayden, I know,” she said, rocking him. “I know, honey, I know. But she’s not here.”

Jayden was a Four who had just been surrendered a few weeks ago. “Where is she? I want to see her! I want my mommy!” He thrashed in Laurie’s arms, but the limiter prevented him from exerting any more strength than a normal four-year-old child.

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry. But this is your home now, and any day now, a new mommy or daddy might come through that door and see you and say ‘What a beautiful, wonderful little boy! We want him for our own little boy!’ and take you to a new home with them, and they’ll be your mommy or daddy.”

“I don’t want a new mommy! I’ll kick the new mommy!” Jayden howled. “I want my mommy!”

“I know, sweetie,” Laurie said, sadly. It was all she could say. It was all she could say to any of them.

Several others started crying for their own mommies and daddies. Basil, who’d been in the back working on the finances, came out to help, and the other childcare workers moved around the playroom, soothing children. In her mind, Laurie damned to hell the men and women who’d abandoned these children. How could they do that? How could anyone do that to a child?

But humans weren’t designed to have children who never aged, who lived 40-50 years and grew more knowledgeable but never substantially more mature. Laurie loved the Calvin children desperately, and wanted to save all of them, and if she had been queen of the world she would have made their continued manufacture illegal and had everyone involved in creating and marketing them arrested. There shouldn’t be any more Calvin children coming into the world; it was far too terrible a place for them.

At that, it was better than it had been when Laurie was younger. In her freshman year at college, her roommate Kathy had recruited her in a panic to help her save her little brother, an Eight. Like most families who bought them, Kathy’s had gotten a Calvin child when they’d had no children of their own, but then Kathy’s dad had undergone an experimental fertility treatment, and for him, it had worked. Turned out down the road to cause prostate and testicular cancer, but he’d managed to get his wife pregnant with a healthy baby.

Kathy’s brother had fallen in love with the new baby, playing with her and cooing at her and taking care of her, even learning to change diapers and feed her a bottle. So her parents had kept him, for the help he gave them with her. By the time Kathy was old enough that they didn’t need him to watch her anymore, she’d been so attached to him they hadn’t been able to get rid of him. He’d been Kathy’s older brother that she looked up to, and then her peer that she played with, and then the little brother she protected.

In those days the Calvin Corporation had only leased Calvin Children; you couldn’t buy them. It was intended as a measure to protect the children from abuse, but it almost guaranteed that if parents had their own child, or grew tired of a child who never aged, or were tight on money and needed to cut costs, they would stop leasing, returning the Calvin child to the corporation… where their memories would be wiped, and they’d either be sent on to a new home, or destroyed if they couldn’t be leased. So Kathy’s parents had waited until she was out of the house, at college, and then returned her brother to the corporation. If her brother hadn’t been a model with an internal cell phone antenna, and been able to call Kathy for help, she’d have lost him forever.

As it was, Kathy and Laurie and Basil had had to drive five hundred miles and jump through flaming hoops to get little David back before the mindwipe. As college students without money, they didn’t have the funds to lease him; Kathy pretended to be her mom, got the contract re-activated, and then Basil jailbroke David, replacing his internal antenna with a new one that wouldn’t report his whereabouts to the Calvin Corporation, allowing them to effectively “steal” him. And even then, he’d had to dye his hair, alter his skin tone, and wear glasses he didn’t need and put a thick sole insert in one of his shoes to throw off his gait so recognition software couldn’t find him.

It hadn’t been until ten years later that Kathy, Laurie, Basil and their friends had won the court case that made it possible to purchase Calvin children outright, and with depreciation, and Kathy working at a law firm, and Basil’s IT job, they’d had the funds to buy him, so he’d be safe. He lived with Kathy and Kathy’s girlfriend Imani, and took care of his niece and nephew when Kathy and Imani were at work. They were currently three and five. David was an Eight. Eventually they’d catch up to him and go past him, again, but Kathy owned him outright and loved him tremendously. He was a happy Eight.

The world was full of Calvin children who were not happy.

Parents leased-to-own their children because that was the model Calvin Corporation was currently pushing, with the court order that required them to make full ownership not only available but affordable to their customers. And then, either they had a biological child – most men in the developed world weren’t fertile, but there were plenty of men from all around the world who still had sperm and were selling it, and many men would eventually give in and agree to let their wives buy some so she could have a bio-child at least – or they simply grew tired of a child that never aged. Calvin Children ranged in age from Threes to Tens, but whatever they were, they would be that forever… or at least until their internal battery ran down and their bodies wore out.

(Once, Laurie had gone to visit a brand new care home, for Calvin Children dying of old age. She had never been back. As heartbreaking as it was to deal with children who’d been abandoned by their parents, it was so, so much worse to see those children dealing with their own growing exhaustion and slow decline into death.)

And now, there was a new model of Calvin Child, who could grow older. Their brains were modular, and could be removed from their bodies and put into a new body a year older, every year, updating their firmware in the process to grow more mature – which was costly, but many people were willing to pay. Even if they needed to skip some years, they wanted a child who could grow to adulthood, to take over the family business or help work on a farm or go to college and make something of themselves. No one knew what would happen to the legal framework that allowed people to own Calvin Children once they were “adults”; the fact that Calvin children were chattel didn’t usually conflict with people’s understanding of what adults were allowed to do to their own children. You weren’t allowed to abuse a Calvin child any more than a “real” child, and in general parents of “real” children were allowed to do anything to them that wasn’t abusive.

The only thing you were allowed to do with a Calvin child that you couldn’t do with an organic child was abandon them. People who couldn’t or wouldn’t take care of their Calvin child anymore could return them to the corporation, who would still mind-wipe them and resell them, or, if the thought of their child forgetting everything about them didn’t sit well and they didn’t want to take the risk that the corporation would decide their child was too worn out to resell as used and destroy it, they surrendered them at homes like the one Laurie and Basil ran, where Calvin children would be cared for until an adoptive parent could be found.

Before the new models came out, it wasn’t hard to find adoptive parents. Laurie and Basil charged a pittance for an adoptee, not even enough to cover their costs, mostly because people took better care of things they’d paid for than things that were free. Plenty of people who wanted a Calvin child were happy to give a home to a used one for far less than they’d have paid for a new child, or a used one from Calvin Corp directly. But now that the new models were out… everyone who wanted a Calvin child wanted the kind who could grow up. Laurie had, in desperation, waived the fee, to get someone, anyone in the door to love these children, but no one who could pass the background check had done so in a month.

It burned that she felt like she was lying to Jayden, that maybe there wouldn’t be a new parent for him, that there almost certainly wouldn’t be one in a little while like she was saying. But Jayden was a Four. He wouldn’t understand or appreciate brutal honesty; he needed hope to keep him going. Laurie wasn’t going to lie to him and pretend the mother he remembered, the one he’d spent six years with since his original purchase, would ever come back. But she would try to make him happy, or at least content, to bide his time here until a parent came for him… even if one never did.

Jayden’s sobs wound down. Older children, Eights and Nines and Tens, programmed with an incredibly powerful drive to care for and protect younger children, had reached out to the little ones that Jayden’s outburst had set off, and soothed them, despite their own hearts breaking because their own parents had abandoned them, and they were old enough to know their own parents were never coming back.

“How come she left me here?” Jayden asked, no longer crying, but the streaks of tears still all over his face. They cried, they ate, they pooped, they slept; in all regards but one, Calvin children were virtually indistinguishable from organic children. But it was that one regard – the fact that they’d never grow up – that caused all the problems. “Was I bad?”

“Oh, no, Jayden. You’re a wonderful little boy. It was nothing you did, okay? Nothing you did or could ever do. Your mommy just ran out of money and she couldn’t take care of you anymore.” This was a lie. Jayden’s mother had just been sick of having a four-year-old child for six years. Laurie would never tell any of the children something like that, though.

“I miss her.”

“I know you do. And I know that even if you get a new mommy or daddy to love you and take care of you, you’ll never forget your first mommy, and you’ll always miss her. But there will be a new mommy or daddy someday, and they will love you even more than your first mommy did.” Laurie made prospective parents watch videos of children having meltdowns like Jayden just did, sobbing and begging for their parents to come back, and then impressed on them that this was a lifelong commitment. You were signing on to take care of a Calvin child until you died or they did. Parents who expressed horror or pity or empathic pain for the abandoned children were much more likely to go home with a new member of the family than parents who seemed to shrug it off. Laurie wanted these children to find new homes, but she wanted them to be forever homes, with parents who would never abandon them again.

Laurie stood up. “Now, I think it’s snacktime, kids. Who wants a snack?”

“Me! Me! I want a snack!” children who’d been crying five minutes earlier chorused.  

“All right! Everyone take your seats!”

Children were resilient. Even Calvin children. If she couldn’t give them their own mothers, Laurie would be the best mother figure to them she could be. She’d adopt them herself, but there were so many children who needed help, and a mother with too many children was no different from a child care worker in the attention and love she could give each one. Better to be the mother figure of the orphanage and take care of all of them as best she could.

[star-shaped-thoughts]

Kravitz might look like a skeleton with a hood and glowing eyes most of the time, but sometimes he's so much more than that. Or, Kravitz is a biblical angel.

Read on AO3

In the beginning, there is nothing. Nobody knows who created the first thing to be alive, a beautiful black bird with soaring wings that breathes and has a heart. It’s the first thing to live and the first to die. The moment it’s heart stops beating, the Raven Queen was born.

She’s regal, beautiful as a night sky and created from a dying bird, abstract and not human in any way, but she looks ethereal to even the worst of eyes. There aren’t words to describe her, and there would probably never be. But the Raven Queen is kind and lets everyone see her as they want in their last moments; a woman dressed in red, an old grandmother offering her hand, a man engulfed in blazing flames, whatever each person needs to come to her.

The universe keeps growing, and for each thing born it must also die, even if they’re only alive for a day like a mayfly or live hundreds of years. She takes care of everyone, but it’s not easy and she’s lonely. She doesn’t know when the gods started to appear, or when things like destiny became something everybody had. Things had been simpler back then, straightforward in a way that the universe hadn’t been in a while.  

It takes time until she finds what she needs. A young raven looking at her as it’s dying, and she cradles it close when it’s last breath leaves it’s small lungs. In it’s eyes she doesn’t see a new version of herself, instead there’s the reflection of the night sky and black feathers and everything that makes her the Raven Queen. She looks at it and knows as surely as anything that the bird is meant for more.

For the first time, she creates a life.

The first thing Kravitz says to Taako when they meet is “Don’t be afraid.”

Well, it’s like the first thing he says to Taako after he stopped being a crystal golem. Taako doesn’t really get it because yeah okay a skull with glowing eyes in a cape can be scary but Taako’ seen worse. There’s also the accent, which. No.

When they meet again, much later in a different place and less crystals to worry about and more first date jitters, Kravitz once again says “Don’t be afraid.”

It doesn’t make sense, because Kravitz looks good in his suit and hair braided with golden treads. And then Taako doesn’t really have time to think about it anymore, Kravitz is handsome and caring and laughs with Taako and it’s a perfect dinner. He wouldn’t change a thing even if he could, weird greetings be damned.

The moment Kravitz is drowning in the darkness and Taako is too far away to do anything but hopelessly reach his hand out and watch, it feels wrong. And maybe it’s Taako diving headfirst into too deep feelings too fast, but kravitz looks like a bird trashing in an oil spill, desperately trying to lift his wings and getting his body to work to no avail. For a moment he’s neither man nor skeleton. Then he’s gone.

During the battle with John, The Hunger, the arrival of Kravitz with is something straight out of a vision. Taako gazes at him and he knows without a doubt that Kravitz is something different. There’s a mess of darkness around him unfolding with each step he takes forward and it takes a moment for Taako’s eyes to take it in and he blinks.

Kravitz has wings. Six oily black wings curling around him, feathers ruffled and bird like. But he’s still the same man who wants to heat himself up before kissing Taako, and Taako laughs and ignores the fact that there are eyes covering Kravitz all over- even in between the feathers, all of them filled with adoration.

It feels like Taako should have expected something like this, should have prepared for it and maybe had a moment with himself where he actually thought about what it meant to get involved with a man who works directly for a god. Strangely enough, he finds that he doesn’t really care, Kravitz is the same, even if there’s two eyes on his left cheek that sparkles and blinks at him.

“Don’t be afraid, please.” And Kravitz voice is almost shy, and his wings furrow closer to his back and the rest of his eyes glance sideways. He’s holding Taako’s hands, tracing the veins under the skin with his thumb delicately. There’s an eye on the back of his hand just slightly off center, and it closes, melting in with the dark skin on Kravitz hand so well that it might as well not even be there.

“Ah,” Taako blinks and tries again. “This is how you usually look? Or is it like, more eye-ting more fighting?” So sue him it didn’t rhyme or make sense. But Kravitz face didn’t really make sense either, it was all fair.

“No this, this is how I look, sort of.” Most of his eyes were looking away from Taako, focusing on something to the side of him or behind, his hands a bit sweaty.

Taako raises one eyebrow, or at least tries to. “Mhm, you got any other hidden features I don’t know about?”

“I- not anything you need to be concerned about right now?” There’s a blush high on Kravitz cheeks and he looks so cute, but in a very handsome way. It’s a weird mix that Taako appreciates looking at immensely.

“Yeah we’re gonna discuss that later because there’s obviously something, but like, I’d so be up for kissing you again before that.” Kravitz laughs before kissing him again, and again and again. Taako gets so many kisses that his head is spinning at the end.

It feels a lot like love.

He’s with Lup and Barry being guided through wherever they are by Kravitz to his queen. The floor is made out of branches, some as thin as his fingers and others that takes three steps to get over, and he can’t help but compare it to a birds nest. He gets it though, sticking to an aesthetic is important and the Raven Queen chose a bird theme.

Kravitz has a small spring in his steps, walking the uneven path like he’d done it a million times before. He looks comfortable, shoulders relaxed and hands clasped loosely behind him. As he turns his head Taako can see the small smile on his face, the same he wore during their first date. It makes him smile back, pleased to see Kravitz in his own element back home, because that’s where they are. In Kravitz home, and something burns in Taako’s chest, something warm and filling. He’s sure he looks way too excited to visit the god of death but Kravitz blows him a kiss and Lup rolls her eyes.

Taako feels more content in that moment than he has in a long time.

Here’s the thing: Taako has met gods before. He’s seen Istus, he should be used to them. The Raven Queen is not like other gods. She’s incomprehensible.  

Taako can’t even look at her without his eyes straining and his head violently hurting. She’s too much, and he’s frantically trying to describe what she looks like but it’s impossible. She’s the sky- stretching wide and changing color, a desperate feeling of hopelessness and giving up and coming home, she’s a thousand birds and stars twisted together into a form with wings and beaks and light melted down. She has more eyes than he ever thought existed all looking at him and she’s bone deep exhaustion during the night when he can’t sleep, she a monotone note growing louder and louder until it’s roaring in his ears.

He has to turn his head, focus on something to the side and in the corner of his vision he can see her. It’s not much, and its vague, like being stuck in a dark room with the only source of light so faint you can’t see it by looking at it. There’s still ringing in his ears.

She opens her mouths, beak, throat, and the sound that comes out isn’t what Taako expects. It’s high pitched, loud and like a birdsong. He doesn’t understand it at all but he knows that she’s laughing, the motions vibrating in his chest and releasing the tension in him.

“Don’t be afraid.” Kravitz says next to him, reaching out and grabbing his hand and Taako doesn’t feel afraid. Because Kravitz is there next to him looking the same as always, even if his eyes have the night in them and there are dark wings spread out behind him.

“I’m not.” Taako responds, before kissing the lid of the eye on Kravitz hand. It feels a lot like devotion.

[raindrenchedstories]

Forever home 17

It wasn’t as though Richter was ungrateful. In fact, he was more than delighted to have what he did. But being stuck like he was, he couldn’t deny it would be good to freely enjoy the sun again. Drink a proper cup of coffee. Hell. He could even go for a second romance if he were given the chance.

Instead, he enjoyed his small semblance of normal among the expanse of Bears house. Mostly keeping to his original habitat while his housemate traversed each room with ease. He took long breaths, watching as the lights flickered out for the night. They exchanged their nightly parting and soon, Richter shut his eyes.

Sleep was far from available, however. He wanted so badly to just drift off for the night. Leave these concerns for his breakfast and discuss them with Bear. Alas, sometimes those wants just would not come to fruition. It was exactly that fact that was concerning him.

He wanted so badly to do right by his people. Cut them out of the responsibility act. He might have been content with the way his life was going. So many others, however, weren’t. If he could just give them the chance to break free...

Richters thoughts drifted back to Avery. The tired expression he wore during their last conversation. He could call. Bear had given him a small orb with all the spells in place. However it was late. Avery probably was asleep by now. Or at very least he was trying to sleep. Richters eyes fell on the clear wall.

Nothing was normal any more. There was always that tense weight in the air, reminding him that anything he worked for seamed to go AWOL not long after. With a huff, Richter shot up. Stormed down the stairs, and poured himself a glass of water. Trying to clear his mind.

No use. He was on the train of thought now. Never mind the fact that they were down a single person to actually start the process. No. The rest would lie on his fellow humans themselves. People he didn’t even know. Either raised in an apocalyptic situation, or forced into one while rearing their own kids.

Some were just born into it. Those were probably the lucky ones. They didn’t know there was better. Richters eyes landed on the half full glass in his hands. Hypnotized by the clear fluid, the way he could see right through it. A stark contrast to his thoughts.

Somewhere along the lines, a muffled voice called from his living room. Startling him. Richter strode, water in hand to the sounds of another persons voice. The orb sat atop his table, Avery’s face reflected in it. He gave a small grin to the image, sitting across from it. “God. It’s like you know when I want to talk.”

“Yeah, well. I just needed to chat.” The image shrugged. “You’re usually up for it. Least I didn’t have to send an orb this time. Spoiled lil’ shit.”

Richter burst into soft laughter. Leaning into the sofa with his water in hand. He motioned for Avery to continue. This was a welcome distraction. They spoke for a long while. Mostly about their giants. Avery had plenty to say about Leva. As it turned out, she adored the moody elf. Even if he attempted to convince her otherwise.

“Anyways. What’s up with you? Ain’t it past your bedtime?” Avery concluded. Richter fidgeted with his glass. Long since emptied of it’s contents. He set it beside the orb and huffed. Finally, he spoke up. Emptying his mind of all the worries that kept him up that night.

“Honestly? I’m pretty nervous about this whole thing with the papers. Like. We only need one more talking human to prove our point. But we don’t know any one else. Even after that, well... There’s no guaranteeing my own people won’t fuck it up.” He ran a hand through his hair with a groan.

Avery sat away from the orb, crossing his arms in thought. “So you’re worried about your freedom?” He tilted his head slightly. A lopsided grin on his sharp features.

“Kinda’. I mean. We’re going through all the right channels sure, but would you trust complete strangers who’re in a panic situation?” They both let out a shudder. Avery finally pancaked a hand in the air with a shrug.

“Don’t worry too much about it. If you don’t win it, come see me. Alright? I can stand Williams presence for an hour at least.” The elf waved his concerns away with a smile. “I mean, it’s not the end of the world.”

“Oof. Bad joke man. Bad joke.”  At Avery’s confusion Richter sighed. Leaning his head back into the cushions of the sofa, he explained. “I literally survived an apocalypse.”

That seamed to be enough. The emerald eyed being nodded slowly. His left ear perked up, twisted, then returned to place. Shutting his eyes, Avery massaged the bridge of his nose. “At least now you can make a damn call. Lev’s a sweet heart but gods. I can’t even turn around without her ogling at me.  No privacy.”

It was getting late now, the two men continued their conversation for a long while as it turned out. Richter ended up passing out part way through their chatter. Blissfully unaware Avery was still sitting there. Laying his head on his arms, the elf watched him sleep.

It wasn’t until early morning that Richter even knew he was out. The call long since ended. Bear was tapping lightly against his door. “Come on lil’ guy. Up ya get.” Richters eyes found the massive puff sporting from Bears chin. He stuck out his tongue, and rolled over.

It wasn’t the first time they’d had such an exchange. The access hatch dropped open, and Richter ended up flailing in a loose grasp. “Bear! I swear to god I will bite you again!”

“So bite. I don’t feel it any how.” The man huffed, folding his arms as he was toted around the house.

Breakfast was... Okay. Richter kept sipping his tea with small thoughts here and there travelling to Avery. Why did he want to see the human if things went poorly? He sighed. Leaning his head back against Bears teacup. It shifted away from him a moment, leaving the minuscule man to lay face up on the saucer.

“Mh. Sorry... You about ready to get dressed? I wanted to take you to the store today.” At that, Richter scarfed the last of his meal and stood. Dusting off what crumbs fell onto him. He was easily transported back to the plastic hut, and had time to choose something close to his liking.

“Why do you want me with you?” He inquired, struggling into a mint green polo.

Bear hummed. Leaning on the enclosure wall with his back turned to Richter. “Figured you’d want to pick something to wear for the interview.”

“Yeah alright. But if I start talking in public, won’t that cause a ton of questions to come up? Ready to go.” Richter stood fully dressed beside the wall.

“You forget, the translation spells only work if you want to be heard.” With that, it was final. The two made their way out the door with little time to spare. The store would be far too busy within the hour. And neither Richter nor Bear were particularly social people if given a choice.

Richter was seated comfortably in Bears pocket while they made their way to the daunting warp gate. He eyed the crackling structure with pure, unadulterated hatred. Falling back into the giants pocket with a growl. “Tell me when it’s over.”A quaking shudder told him Bear was laughing.

*

Poor Richter had never been the best with the travel gates. Neil seamed to love them enthusing about how marvellous the magic behind them actually was. But Richter cursed the things out with a passion. Bear wondered if it was a bad experience or the general feel of them that upset the human so.

Aside from that, the trip seamed to be going well. Richter picked out a few small items and a well fitting suit for the meetings ahead. He was making a show of turning this way and that to test the suits flexibility when another voice piped up. “Well look at that.”

Both men stared directly at a familiar giantess, daughter in tow a tiny grumbling red head peeking from the little girls front pocket. The mother smiled towards them. “He looks practically domesticated! We’ve only just recently got Skippy relaxed about handling.”

“It’s MARY dammit!” The tiny woman shrieked from her position. Bear didn’t understand the words, but he heard the fury. Richter, however, had no such filter. He openly winced at the womans harsh tones. Waving a calming hand in her direction.

“Hey... It’s nice to see you again. Mary.” Three faces turned to him. With the fourth member turning her head away arrogantly.

“W- Sir.... Did that come from HIM?” Richter clapped a hand over his mouth, face shifting from tense, to mortified. “Oh gods! It did.”

Bear shushed her sharply. “Listen, we’re working on it. Ricky’s only recently translated. But... Well it looks like there’s another intelligent race out there.” He grimaced. Gesturing to the man to his left. Richter just cleared his throat and waved.

The small child was on him in a second. Hands slamming down on either side of the human and a gap toothed smile blooming in his direction. “Hi mister! I’m Janette. And this is Skippy! Or... We called her that. What’s her real name? Can you tell me?”

“Oh uh... She says her name is Mary.” He answered, probably thankful for the sound proofing on his translation spells.

“You mean you can understand these bastards? Good fucking luck getting them to listen.” Mary folded her arms.

“There’s such thing as a translation spell you know?” Richter snapped in her direction.

“Don’t yell at Mary!” The girl piped up.

“Can we... Please take this discussion somewhere more discrete?” Bear suggested. Reaching to pluck Richter from his place.

They moved to a little hill in the centre of a park, sitting under a small god-oak. Away from prying eyes and ears. The small collective recounting the events that everyone had gone through. Mostly Richter. Finally, the mother, Agatha leaned back. Long timbers that trailed along her arms and legs creaked with the movement. “So... You’re taking this to council right?”

“It’s the whole reason we were buying a suit mam.” Richter shrugged.

“Well, if Mary agrees to it, we’re in.” Her eyes turned to her daughter, who had tuned the conversation out completely in favour of chasing sparrows. “I have to set a good example. After all. Richter? Could you ask her for me?”

He chattered pleasantly, unwilling to be understood just then. The humans conversed before Mary turned to the surrounding giants, grinned, and nodded. Agatha reached down to scoop her, but hesitated, regret crossed her features. Bear patted her shoulder. “All good?”

“I basically just enslaved someone without knowing. Not all good.” She huffed.

“Oh trust me. I know the feeling.” He couldn’t help the grin, glancing down to Richter. The human, in turn just laughed awkwardly.

The trio of giants parted ways. And Bear made his way home. Richter tucked up tightly in his pocket. The travel gate shuddered as they approached. Then sparked and fizzled out. Bear huffed. “Looks like we’re waiting a hot minute for that.”

“What? Why? Did it run out of power or something?” Richter peeked over his pocket with a panicked whimper.

“No. Scheduled maintenance. Our timing was just off by an hour.” He sighed. Richter patted his chest, drawing the mans attention.

“Well. Bright side. We now have five people on board. So... We can proceed. Right?” Bear smirked, nodded, and made his way elsewhere.

“Hey, I’m wanting a coffee, you okay with hiding down there while I order one?” He trailed down a familiar street, with restaurants and coffee shops. Richter readily agreed and stuck himself back into his hiding place. Bear decided to just get one to go and wait in the park for an hour.

He made a point to get something kind of sweet for the day. It felt like a sweets kind of time. The air was just starting to get chilly, and Bear was aware he’d be growing in his winter coat. As well as taking Neil for a few months while Archibald hibernated.

He paused in thought. Tiny snores indicated Richter was out cold as he sipped his drink. Neil. By the end of all this, the man would probably have a home of his own. Little independent bugger. But what about Richter? Would he be warm and safe this winter? What about Midway? Would he celebrate it with everyone else?

A familiar whistle brought him from his thoughts. As Archibald came loping up the cobbled streets of the city. Grinning from ear to ear. A new set of tools in one hand. The other shoved in a pocket. Bear found himself perusing the mans apparel. Long sleeves as always, but as a welcome break, he was wearing red. An indicator he was in a good mood.

“What brings you out this far Will?” He patted Bears shoulder affectionately.

“Suit shopping for Ricky. Gate’s down. But we met someone else and got a fifth member for the council.” He smiled Archibalds grin only grew, and some pit in the giants heart fluttered to the surface. He was content though. He knew Arch was shy. Even a little closed off. So asking could scare him off.

“That’s amazing! Wait. Where is Richter?” An answering snort came from the bearded one’s pocket, then a louder snore. Archibald nodded with a little ‘oh’ on his lips. “Seams like we can’t get a moment without the boys eh?”

“Did you want to? I mean we could meet up for dinner some-” Bear jolted. So much for not asking until Archibald was ready. He gave a glance to his oldest friend. “Time.” He finished.

Archibald fussed. Before heaving a sigh. He made a motion with a finger to his chest. Then flicked it. A signal he wanted to be alone for an answer. Bear hated doing this, but he allowed his magic through him. A light blue glow illuminated his finger. He tapped his pocket. Sending Richter into a deeper, more content sleep. He made a point to affect the dreams so they were nothing but nice.

“There. We’re alone now.” He grumbled.

“Okay...

[unforgetabelle]

A place to land

(4932 w)

ao3   fanfiction

Alya stared up at the flashing screen, her eyes repeatedly skipping between two different departures as the board scrolled through the day’s flights. One to St. Petersburg, the other to Vienna. Both left in thirty minutes, one headed where she should go and one where she wanted to go.

Resigning herself to the option she knew would win out in the end, she walked to sit in her terminal, took out her phone and texted Nino. Pausing only momentarily to gaze at the lock screen, a sunny picture of them both in Barcelona taken months before, she quickly opened up the messenger app and started typing.

How much longer are you in Vienna?

My gig is for another two weeks.  His reply took no more than a minute to come through and Alya smiled, leaning back into her seat. They were in the same time zone for once, but it was nearly 10 in the morning. There was only one reason Nino would be awake at that time on a Saturday, and it was because he was stalking her flight progress. Three years of a long distance relationship, each of them jetting off to often-times far flung places, and Nino still insisted on having detailed flight numbers and schedules of her travels. Without fail, he would track her progress until she reached her destination and called to check in. Her parents often joked that they never needed to worry about her travels because she had an ever present vigilante in Nino.

Her boyfriend wore the label with pride, and while she rolled her eyes at times, Nino was always quick to remind her of when she got stranded on a layover in southern India during monsoon season. Without cell service, and the wifi down, Alya had been sure she would be stuck in the country indefinitely, certainly missing Marinette’s line debut two days later. Nino, having tracked her progress, wasted no time in booking her a train north to an area where flights were not grounded and got her a one-way ticket to Paris. When a member of the airport staff had called for her and then proceeded to hand her a print out of the messengered tickets they received from Nino, Alya had never before been so grateful for Nino’s quirk.

With anyone else, his behaviour might seen crazy, but with Alya flying across the world constantly, to far off and sometimes to unfriendly regions, she knew it was his little way of looking out for her from afar. Besides, crazy was normal for them. And without Nino, Alya would have missed her best friend’s debut as a fashion designer. Without him, Alya would be traveling the word listlessly. She may not have an apartment as home base, but she had a Nino. He was her place to land, always. Her home, and she hadn’t been home in months.

The Austria flight was looking more and more appealing by the second.

Why? Nino texted again. She knew his schedule, so he (correctly) assumed there was an ulterior motive to her questioning.

How would you like an unexpected guest?

Alya held her breath, watching as his typing bubbles appeared on screen.

Depends. Is she a redhead? I have a soft spot for redheads ;)

Alya smiled at the comment. She’d known Nino for over a decade. He didn’t have a soft spot for redheads. He had a soft spot for her.

She’s currently veering dangerously towards a copper-head, she typed back with a grimace. Too much time in that Moroccan sun.

Alya grabbed a wayward curl, pulling it taut and nearly doubling its length. Morocco had been surprisingly humid during her time there and extremely sunny. Her mother would scold her SPF usage to see how dark her complexion had turned, and her hair, usually a subtle auburn, had lightened considerably. While she usually passed as brunette in most lights, there was no denying the decidedly orange turn her hair had taken.

A little more foxy than normal?

His reply came and Alya snorted out loud, drawing a bemused glance from those sitting near her. The word “foxy” took on an entirely new meaning between the two of them and Alya couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the reference. One halloween when they’d both happened to be in the US for work, she‘d thought it’d be funny to dress up and partake in the holiday. Finding a cute little fox onesie, she bought a box of temporary hair dye to match the orange color scheme. The hair dye, as it happened, was not temporary. Nor was Nino’s memory of the incident. Still, remembering him coming home to their apartment and finding her snuggled in the pajamas, with a matching turtle pair for him, was one she cherished. They leaned into the American tradition, watching zombie movies and handing out candy to the never-ending stream of trick-or-treaters that knocked on their door. Better to reminisce on the night itself than on the true horror that came days later when, her hair still orange, a bemused Nino fished the dye box out of the trash and read out her fate.

Choosing to ignore his bait, she responded.

Nothing a nice dose of Viennese winter won’t cure

Nah ;), his text came through with a wink. I’ll pass. Wouldn’t want to make my girlfriend jealous

Alya felt her face drop into a deadpan expression as she responded.

I think she’d be okay with it

I think she has an assignment in St. Petersburg for the next month, Nino shot back. If my calculations are correct, she’s on her way there right now.

Not if she changes course to Vienna

Alya

Nino

You are on your way to St. Petersburg, right?

She pursed her lips, looking up that the monitor that proudly displayed a departing flight to Russia, already starting to board, but felt her eyes wander to the terminal across the way. How hard would a ticket transfer really be? Would it hurt to at least check and see if there were seats available?

Yes, she finally texted back, resigned. But I could be on my way to Vienna. I’m in Prague. It’s a short flight from here!

Alya, don’t, his response came almost instantaneously and Alya felt a pout start to form on her face. Her boarding group was called and she reluctantly shouldered her bag and stood in line. Just to rub salt in the wound, she ended up directly behind a couple, arms wrapped around each other as they giggled at something on the girl’s phone. Alya’s own side felt dramatically cold watching them, but she tried not to be too bitter. How many times had she stood with Nino exactly the same way? Gushing over some comments on her articles or listening along to a new mix he’d pieced together? She’d inevitably laugh at something he said, triggering a chain of events so reliable she could set her watch by it.

His hand would squeeze her side. She’d look up with a smile. He’d place a kiss on the tip of her nose. She’d crinkle it in response and then frown until he gave her a proper kiss.

Someone else might call it predictable, but Alya called it tradition. They’re own little ritual. It had been over a year since she’d been in Paris and seen her family, almost a year since she’d seen Marinette, and four months since she’d seen Nino. She’d been so far from any semblance of home for so long. For someone many would consider rootless, Alya craved her traditions, especially with Nino.

We haven’t been this close in forever. Alya knew her whine would be easily detected through text, but she didn’t care. She rarely whined.  Not a needy person in general, the sentiment carried over to how she was in a relationship. It was a big part of the reason why she and Nino could be apart for long periods without either of them going insane. They found contentment in each other no matter the distance. Even the months they lived side by side, neither was attached at the hip, easily sharing their time while still remaining independent people over all. He was her complement in every way. They both valued their space just as much as their intimacy.

And when they were apart, even in the moments she missed him like crazy, she had very much a ‘keep calm and carry on’ attitude. They were solid, and he was only a phone call away. Their separations were always temporary, and as far flung as they traveled, home was always a call, or a plane, away.

Still, even the calm and collected Alya Cesaire gave in and whined every once in a while when she missed her boyfriend. Balance was the key to any relationship, after all.

Don’t you miss me? She asked, trying to suppress her smile as his response came immediately.

That’s a ridiculous question, the green dialogue bubble popped up, followed aggressively by two more. I haven’t seen you in months, the second read before being pushed up by a third. I missed you as soon as you stepped on the plane in August.

Then it’s decided. I’ll see you in Vienna!

Alya, no. You have to go to St. Petersburg. Nino’s messaged pinged as she handed her passport to the smiling flight attendant.You already accepted the contract. Isn’t this the story for that anthropology magazine you’re trying to work for?

Yes…

And you’re just going to, what? Not do it? Nino’s messages started coming in with a fury, but Alya was having far too much fun to break the news that she was already on the plane.

Alya Charlot Cesaire, he spelled her full name deliberately. Are you running AWAY from a story?

No. She typed back insistently, annoyance at his accusation pricking even as she knew he was baiting her. I’d be running TOWARDS my boyfriend

What happened?

Why does something have to have happened? She asked as she walked onto the already crowded plane, making her way slowly towards the budget seats in the back. A seat was a seat, and for a two hour flight, she was not paying a 150% markup for the promise of 2 centimeters more legroom.

Because Alya Charlot Cesaire does not run from her responsibilities, and she never breaks a commitment once made. Nino wrote back. How do you think I convinced her to stick with this travel weary DJ?

1.Stop referring to me by my full name, you weirdo. I feel like my mother is scolding me. Alya rolled her eyes, typing in her second to the list before stowing her bag in the overhead and falling into her seat with a plop. 2.Let me live my life

The last of her row to arrive, Alya sunk into her aisle seat and buckled up. Sharing a polite smile with her row mates to be civil, she quickly turned back to her phone to protect herself from opening up the floor for any airplane-small-talk--arguably, the worst incarnation of the discourse.  

And you’re stuck with ME, she added after Nino hadn’t responded in a few minutes. Which is why I’ll see you in Vienna in a few hours. BYE!

Alya, his answer came instantly, but she didn’t respond.

ALYA, he tried again. DO NOT GO TO VIENNA

Why :(, she shot back. I’ve never been to Vienna! It’ll be educational!

She saw his typing bubbles pop up, but didn’t give him the chance to interject.

I can even make a few blog posts about it, she wrote.Come on. Show me around your home of the last few months!

His typing progress appeared and disappeared a few times before his answer came through.

Alya, no, he finally responded, just when Alya started to worry she had actually managed to convince him. Nino appeared to be soft spoken to most people, but Alya knew he was as stubborn as she was once he made up his mind. For her entertainment value that morning, she was counting on it.

Please?

No

Nino :(

No

Pleeeaaassseee??? She added the letters to draw out her whine, and smiled when she saw his response hesitate.

...No?

Alya chuckled, mentally amending her earlier evaluation of Nino’s resolve. He was stubborn...until it came to her.

:D That was practically a maybe

That was my will weakening as I imagined your damn pleading eyes, he responded, And that stupidly cute dimple you get in your left cheek when you pout. Alya could practically see him now, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

God dammit, Alya!

Admit it, she texted back, smile on her face in full force now. You miss me

I have admitted it, he wrote back. In this very conversation, no less

She felt a soft smile come to her face, as she leaned back into the seat. The flight attendants were saying something over the loudspeaker now, but she was only paying attention to Nino.

Doesn’t mean I think you should come to Vienna

But, Niiinnnnoooooo

Stop. You have a job to do, his response came through, and Alya knew instantly she was dealing with serious Nino now. One after another, the statements popped up in her messenger.

You have contacts waiting for you

People you’ve been emailing for months in preparation for this

People who trust you

People whose story you promised to tell

Are you really going to up and desert them?

:( Alya texted back with a sigh, and though Nino had ended her fun, her heart warmed. He got it. He understood why it mattered; understood the compulsion she felt to explore the world, telling people’s stories. He understood her, even in the moments she really wished she could be the type of person to throw responsibility to the wind and go see her love.

Just two more months, he wrote, instantly consoling. We’re going to spend all of February together in Reykjavik. 28 whole days. You’ll be sick of me by the end.

Impossible, she wrote back. I will never get sick of you. Of that, I am positive.

Her neighbor opened the visor on the window, and a flash of gold on her finger urged her to add, And I have a ring on my finger to prove it

You have my class ring--which you stole--on your finger, his response came, and Alya imagined Nino rolling his eyes on the other end.

Same thing

Absolutely NOT the same thing, Nino wrote, taking her bait as he always did.(And when I offer you the real thing, you better act excited, and not like we’ve been engaged since uni)

It was an open joke with their friends and families about when the two would ‘settle down’. To Alya, it really didn’t matter. Nino was her other half, and everyone who was important knew that. She didn’t need a slip of paper or a party to announce that to the world. Nino, on the other hand, took the topic of their marriage very seriously. While he hadn’t proposed to her in so many words, Alya never doubted the inevitability of their marriage. The official commitment in the act was important to Nino, so whatever her personal feelings about the redundancy of it, it was important to her by proxy.

Nino, you’ve been stuck with me since lycee, she reminded him gently. Ring or no ring.

But , she added with a smile. I’m a fantastic actress and I promise I’ll give you your movie-magic proposal moment

Remind me how I ended up with you again? His response came, reading in a fondly exasperated tone.

Sheer luck and a bizarre zoo incarceration :)

Nino sent a smiling face back before changing back to the topic at hand.

How much time until you leave for PIE?

A few minutes, she admitted. I’ve been on the plane for a while

I figured

I still miss you. Next time, I’ll actually be getting on the other plane

If you had set your mind to come, there would be no stopping you. I wouldn’t bother to even try

Alya smiled at her phone,

Good, as long as we’re clear

Call me when you get there

Yes, sir

I love you

I love you, too, she typed.Even though you refuse to let me come tell you so in person.

Nino sent an annoyed face, but she wasn’t done.

I’m just so unwanted :(

Believe me, his response appeared. Nothing could be farther from the truth

Oh? Do tell ;)

His typing bubbled hesitated, before a wink emoji appeared teasingly on the screen.

Spoilsport, she responded, her eyes catching the flight attendant as she started to make her way down the aisle, no doubt beginning to instruct them to turn their phones to airplane mode.

It’s a good thing you’re so cute, she continued in a hurry. Otherwise I’d have tired of your antics long ago

Yes. Thank god for my devilishly good looks and charm

Who said anything about charm? She asked, blinking innocently at her phone as if he could see her facial expression through it.

My girlfriend. Do you know her? He wrote.Tall. Red hair. Loves to mock me?

Great ass?  She typed back, just as the attendant passed and gave her the stink eye for not heeding her ‘shut off and store’ warning.

The best

You lucky boy, she risked one last message, catching his response just as she went to switch off her service and the plane began to move.

Don’t I know it ;)

~*~

Nino looked at the monitor to confirm the flight one more time before finding somewhere to sit and wait. He let an exhausted sigh release from his body as he settled into the cool metal bench and let the familiar sounds of travelers calm him even as his fidgeted with the small ring circling his pinky.

Airports had always been a comfort to him. Even in his earliest memories, they were a constant. What started as multiple trips a year to visit family abroad had evolved into his roaming lifestyle, and throughout it all, airports were a constant. No matter where you were, whichever culture and whatever language, airports all felt the same. There was a familiar logic and atmosphere to the transit hubs, and Nino had always felt at home on these cusps between worlds.

In the last few years, airports had taken on even more meaning to him. They represented the worst and best moments in his life. So many times, in the stark fluorescent light and gleam of over-polished tile, he’d watched her walk away from him. His only consolation was knowing that months later, he and airports would once again be on good terms, because as many times as he’d watched her walk away from him, Alya would always walk towards him once more. Nino never had any doubt that she’d be back. Alya always came back to him, and he to her. No matter how long they were apart, or how far they traveled, they anchored each other.

People often viewed the depth of their relationship with incredulity. How could people who were apart so often truly have anything lasting and stable? Even his best friend looked at them with confusion at times. While Adrien was the last person to question their dedication to each other, he often wondered how Nino could stand being away from her so long. His dude was on edge after only a week away from his home and his wife. Nino and Alya’s far-flung relationship was probably Adrien’s nightmare, and a part of Nino understood where he was coming from.

He’d be lying if he said he preferred the long absences of his other half, but it didn’t throw him into anxiety like it did Adrien. Alya had a passion just like he did, both of them chasing dreams and music and stories wherever they called. It was such a large part of what made them who they were as individuals, sacrificing it for the sake of being in the same geographical location had always seemed frivolous.

And while they both had plans to settle one day--or at least, to control their careers enough to be vagabonds together--even if it stayed like this forever, Nino wouldn’t trade it for a stationary life with anyone else. A week by Alya’s side was worth an eternity with anyone else, and despite her teasing, he knew she felt the exact same way. Nino may not always know what city he would live in next, or when the music would call him, but if there was one thing he was forever sure of, it was her. Alya was his home. Wherever he traveled, he knew she held half his heart, a beacon guiding him to wherever she was should he ever find himself too weary of his roaming.

Which, currently, happened to land him in St. Petersburg.

When the owner of a franchise of clubs had approached him about a month-long gig in Russia the week before, Nino wasted no time jumping at the opportunity. His current location had certainly given him exposure over his months there, but he had tired of living his life with the constant possibility of being dropped from the schedule. They contracted him weekly, which wasn’t unheard of in the industry, but after being a regular for two months, Nino had expected some confidence to be reflected in an actual contract. It wasn’t. While he was prepared to finish out the three month engagement they had agreed on verbally, when he was offered the opportunity to move along two weeks prematurely, he felt no remorse about informing the club about his change of plans. He’d appreciated his run, and had secured multiple invitations from talent hunters of other cities while there, but the owners had never felt the need to formally bind him to stay the length, and therefore put their money where their mouth was. Which made it all the easier for Nino to jump at the opportunity that would take him to where he truly wanted to be. And to whom he truly wanted to be with.

A week later he was in St. Petersburg.

A gush of air announced the opening of the automatic doors leading out from the international baggage terminal, and Nino was instantly on his feet. The St. Petersburg airport wasn’t busy in the early afternoon on a Saturday, but Nino would have found her had she been one in a crowd of thousands. Hair knotted in a long braid that fell in an escaping tangle over her shoulder and rucksack secured to her back, Alya walked through the doors in a huddle of other passengers, nose already pointed at her notebook as she prepared for her next piece. As convincing as her promises to drop it all and come find him in Vienna would have been to anyone else, Nino knew better. Nothing could keep her from a story for long, especially not one she’d been preparing for over six months. A decade of growing up by her side, and nothing had changed that.

Which Nino was grateful for, otherwise her impulse earlier would have turned his carefully planned surprise into a unfortunate missed connection.

Nino smiled as he tried to catch up, watching her artfully weave her way around other travelers, eyes never once leaving her notes as she made her way towards the exit. Alya only stopped when the sliding doors opened and a rush of winter air reminded her she certainly wasn’t in Tangier anymore. Tucking her book under her arm, she reached to pull gloves out of her pocket, one falling behind her, directly where his feet had just come to rest. He snapped down to get it and was waiting as she turned to look for the lost article.

Eyes scanning the floor first, Nino tried not to laugh at the comical nature in which her gaze froze as they reached his boots--the same ones she’d bought him for Christmas last year--before shooting to his face. He didn’t even had the chance to speak her name before Alya was in his arms. He buried his nose in her hair as she wedged her face against his neck and Nino took his first easy breath in a month. Yes, they had no qualms about living apart, but that didn’t negate the fact that the shape of her pressed against him was something  his body mourned like a missing limb when she was gone. She wasn’t necessary, but his life was better when she was in it. Only in her presence, did he feel truly whole.

Just as he closed his eyes, savoring her nearness at last, the love of his life and other half of his heart pulled away and deftly punched him in the arm.

“Don’t, Alya,” she glared at him, her voice deepening in the approximation of a man’s. “You need to go to St. Petersburg, Alya.”

“Is that supposed to be me,” he grimaced, adjusting his glasses but not avoiding her gaze. Even annoyed, he didn’t want to miss a second of her.

“You’re a little shit, you know that? I can’t come to Vienna, but you can drop everything and come to St. Petersburg?”

Alya planted her hands on her hips, but didn’t move away when he stepped forward, grabbing her one bare hand and beginning to slip her dropped glove over her fingers. Her nails,  green the last he’d seen her, were now a muted orange. Still chipped at the edges. Always chipped at the edges.

“We both know, had you really intended to come to Vienna, I would have had an Alya on my doorstep, not one texting me what ifs,” he started, slipping her fingers one by one into the glove even as she pouted. “Besides, I was already here when you texted. You were about to ruin the surprise.”

“Because I love surprises,” she grumbled, but he gave her a pointed look. “Okay, fine. I like you surprises.”

He smirked, finally having the the glove securely on her left hand, Alya still completely unsuspecting.

“How about one more Me surprise?” Nino asked, lowering to one knee before her and watching as Alya’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Wha--Nino--”

“Alya Charlot Cesaire,” he began, trying not to laugh at the way her eyebrows shot up in surprise and eyes started to dart around the now-empty arrivals gate.

“Now?” She squeaked and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Now,” he confirmed. “I’ve spent too long waiting for the perfect moment, wanting to give you all the magic you deserve, but every moment with you is miraculous. Good, bad, near or far, you are the home I come back to time and time again. You make my life indescribably brighter, simply by existing. Would you do me the honor of calling me your husband?”

Alya’s eyes shone with unshed tears as she lifted a hand to cup his cheek.

“Dammit, Nino,” she whispered, a single tear tracking down her face as her lips tipped upwards. “I’m supposed to be the level-headed one in this relationship, and here you are turning me into a complete sap.”

“So, that’s a yes?”

“Of course, that’s a yes, you goof,” she rolled her eyes with a laugh, her hands grasping his collar and pulling him back up to standing. “Now are you going to kiss me, or--”

Nino wasted no time, cradling her head in his hands. His lips seeking hers through their pair of ridiculous smiles, and just barely managing some approximation of a kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he tried to grumble even as his shoulders shook with laughter. “Will you stop smiling? I’m trying to kiss my fiancé, here.”

“Oooo, fiancé?” Alya wiggled her eyebrows but held up her left hand. “Such a fancy title, and yet...I don’t see the hardware to back it up.”

Nino lifted an eyebrow, and, with a swift tug, deftly dislodged the very glove he’d put on her hand minutes before.

“Oh, no?”

Alya looked at her hand and gasped, her face dissolving into true shock now as she took in the diamond and topaz ring sitting in place of his old class ring. The same ring Alya had admired over a decade ago at the first family gathering he’d brought her to. The same ring his grandmother had given him when he turned eighteen...and reminded him to use yearly.

“You sneaky bastard,” she cursed, shaking her head with a smile. “You really did it.”

“Gave you a movie-magic proposal?”

“Made me fall even more in love with you,” she replied instead. “And people think I’m the overachiever.”

“I’m only an overachiever when it comes to you,” he grabbed her hand, still suspended in shock between them, and placed a kiss to her palm. “My fiancé is a hell of a woman. It takes a lot to keep her on her toes.”

“So what you’re saying is,”she walked her fingers up his chest as he stepped forward. “I now officially get an eternity of Nino surprises?”

“If you think you’d be okay with that,” he shot back.

“Okay with it?” Alya smirked, her hands having reached his chin to angle his face closer to hers. Her lips caught his in a searing kiss that shot through his body like molten lava, his knees slackening as her arms encircled his neck before she pulled away, breathless.

“I can’t wait.”

[bestillmyslashyheart]

Nell’s Sweater

“I can’t believe you still have boxes lying around.” Trish teased her gently. “It’s been at least six months since you moved in.” 

Trish took a sip of her wine as she turned back to where Theo stood in the kitchen. Theo glanced her way briefly but kept her focus on the stove. She didn’t respond. 

After a long moment, Theo heard Trish clear her throat awkwardly. She closed her eyes in frustration. She had been doing better about being open with Trish but old habits die hard, she supposed. She was too used to being close-lipped about everything that the idea of sharing even the inane stuff like why she hasn’t unpacked all of the boxes was a struggle for her. 

Theo let the silence last while she finished dinner. As Trish settled in at the table, Theo emptied her own glass of wine in a single swallow. She quickly refilled it before taking her place.

“It’s because of Nell.” She started. 

Trish looked up at her with her fork halfway to her mouth, obviously startled. She slowly put her fork down as Theo took another large sip of her wine. “I had some of Nell’s things in my place. She uh she had left them after staying over one weekend. And I don’t remember which box they were in and-”

Trish reached across the table and laid her hand next to Theo’s. She had gotten better about not touching her without her consent. She simply made herself available should Theo want the contact. Right now she did. She turned her hand over and gripped Trish’s hand tight. Instantly, she started to relax. 

She had had a hard time explaining to Trish exactly what happened when she touched people or things and sometimes she was sure that Trish still didn’t understand. But there were times like now when the other woman clearly knew what was happening. She was radiating calm and reassurance and love. And it grounded Theo. Like it always did.

She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to go through the boxes and accidentally touch something of Nell’s and feel that empty nothingness again.” She told her. “I don’t know if I will or if it was just because last time I felt that way it was her body but I can’t take that chance.” Trish squeezed her hand and reached out and placed the other one on top of Theo’s. 

Neither woman said anything immediately. But eventually Trish broke the silence. “I can help.” Theo looked up at her. “I can unpack the boxes and lay everything out so you know where Nell’s things are. You won’t have to touch them if you don’t want to.” She offered quietly. 

Theo felt tears start to fall. Idly, she reached up a hand to wipe them away. She nodded. “Thank you.”

Trish smiled and squeezed her hand again. “But first things first. I’m hungry and there is a full plate of delicious looking food right in front of me, so-” 

Theo laughed. “Food first.” She agreed.

They passed dinner with light, easy conversation. Theo was being honest when she said she was getting better. She may never be an open book but she was learning to share more of herself with people and especially with Trish. It was nice to have a real relationship. Theo couldn’t honestly say if she had ever had one before. 

After the kitchen had been cleaned up, Trish moved to open another bottle of wine but stopped when she saw Theo start moving the boxes. There had been four stacked in the corner of the room but now she set them next to each other in the living room. Trish set the bottle on the counter and went to join her.

“We don’t have to do this tonight.” Trish said gently. “It was an open-ended offer.”

“I know. But I might as well do it now.” Theo looked up at her from her place on the floor. “If you don’t mind.”

Trish shook her head. “Of course not.” With that she settled in next to Theo and one of the boxed. Quickly but gently she opened the box and emptied its contents onto the floor, spreading them out so Theo could see everything.

When the box was empty she scooted back to give Theo some space as the woman examined her things. After a moment, Theo shook her head. “Nothing in here is Nell’s.”

“Okay. Do you want to put them away or-”

“No.” Theo cut her off. “Now that I know what’s in the box I can unpack it for real another time. Let’s just check the other boxes.”

Trish nodded in agreement. Together the two worked quickly but silently. Theo repacked the first box while Trish unpacked the second. Again there was nothing. They repeated the process with the third box to the same result. Both women were beginning to think that Theo had worried for nothing until Trish laid out the contents of the fourth box. Before she had even finished setting everything out, she felt Theo stiffen beside her. 

When the last box was empty, Trish started to get up but Theo stopped her. 

“The uh, the sweater. And the makeup bag. Those are Nell’s.” Trish reached out and picked up the items and set them aside. “I think the brown purse was hers. But we both used it so I’m not sure if it would mean anything.” Trish set it aside anyway. 

“Anything else?” Trish asked. 

Theo nodded. She reached out a hand and let it hover over a necklace. “The locket.” Trish started to reach out for it herself but Theo shook her head. “It was my mom’s. Nell sort of claimed it after she died.”

“Can you uh-not move?” Theo asked. “This is probably a very dumb idea but-” 

Without finishing her sentence, Theo reached down and gripped the locket. She held it for only a moment before letting it go with a scream. She flung herself away from the locket, still screaming. Trish reached for her without thought only for Theo to back away from her too. 

Trish put her hands up and away from Theo. “Theo, honey, it’s okay. I’ll get rid of the locket. It’s okay. It’s gone.” As she spoke she reached behind her for the locket and put it in her pocket. But her words did nothing. She could only watch as Theo cried out in obvious pain. After a moment, she moved closer in case Theo wanted her contact but instead she spooked her.

Trish was about to give her some space when she spotted the rest of Nell’s things directly behind Theo. “Theo, honey. You need to stop moving. You need to-NO!” Theo had continued to back away as she spoke and put her hand right in Nell’s sweater. 

The sudden quiet was disorienting. Where a second ago, Theo was bawling and screaming, now she was utterly silent. Trish froze. She could only watch Theo’s face as it changed. 

A moment ago her face was twisted in utter anguish. Now, she was calm. Her whole body relaxed and though the tears didn’t stop flowing, a small smile began to emerge. 

“Theo?” Trish tried quietly. Whatever was happening was a welcome change from a few minutes ago but she was still worried. 

Slowly, Theo let go of the sweater and sat up straighter. Her eyes slowly opened and she looked back at Trish. 

“I’m okay.” Trish’s face must have betrayed her feelings on the situation because Theo let out a small laugh. “I promise. I’m okay.” She looked behind her at Nell’s sweater. “I’m okay.” She repeated. 

Turning back to Trish, she wiped her eyes. “Can you put everything back. And uh- keep the locket very far away from me?”

Trish nodded. While Theo settled herself into the couch, Trish repacked the box. When everything that was Theo’s was put away, she found a bag to put Nell’s things in. 

“Not the sweater.” Theo’s voice stopped her. “Keep the sweater.” Trish looked back at her but nodded. She folded the sweater back up and placed it on top of the box before putting Nell’s makeup bag and the locket into a bag and setting it by the door. She’d ask Shirley if she wanted the locket but she was getting it the fuck out of Theo’s house tonight. 

When everything was done, she joined Theo on the couch, keeping a careful distance between them. They sat in silence for what felt like hours.

“I felt them both in the locket,” Theo began after a while, “Nell and my mom.”

She shifted in her seat. “It was like - it was like the very worst parts of them both. Or maybe it was what they had in common. It might have been the house that killed them but neither of them was what we might call mentally stable either. And maybe it was that illness that tied them to the house and to each other. And to the locket. I can’t-I can’t explain how it felt to have them both there. I’ve never felt more than one person at a time. And both were-” She took a deep breath. “It was hard.”

“But then there was Nell’s sweater.” At this, Theo smiled. “She was wearing it when she met Arthur. After that she considered it her lucky sweater. She wore it all the time. It was filled with- with everything. With how much she loved Arthur. How happy she was when she was with him. How much she loved her life.” Theo looked at Trish. “I’ve never felt an object hold that much love in it. It’s usually the bad things that stick. Not the good things.”

Trish smiled at her. “So we keep the sweater.”

Theo smiled. “We keep the sweater.”

[misfxts]

Josephine ‘Jo-Jo’ Preston || Osamu Drabble

*Contains blood, and other content that may be considered graphic

*Also really long. Sorry mobile users.

“...What should we do? He can’t just...stop talking..!”

“I don’t know--! Maybe a therapist or something...L-look on the bright side dear, he’s eating, he’s walking...he’s still acting like a little boy shou--”

“But he’s not talking Jirou..! And he hasn’t been talking for months..! What if he’s like this for the rest of his life? How is he going to make new friends?”

“Cut your son some slack Bridget..! It’s been a very hard year on him...he saw his best friend on her deathbed...the court battle...and now he can’t see her anymore..”

“Don’t remind me..”

As his parents tried to discreetly argue about in the living room with no avail, Osamu was quiet as he listened to them bicker about what to do with him as he laid in bed. He should be sleeping, but sleep is very hard to do right now.

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see how fast everything changed for him.

And for Jo-Jo.

Her name was Josephine Rose Preston, but preferred to be called Jo-Jo. She was Osamu’s next door neighbor and Osamu’s best friend. She was considered a strange girl, not counting the obvious vitiligo patches on her body and the vibrant green of her eyes. She liked the color orange-- of all colors. Her more normal likes were bunnies and dancing.

There was many a day after school where the pair spent time in the study of Jo-Jo’s home, with Josephine dancing to the tune of Osamu playing Hot Cross Buns on a piano. Or other nights spent at Osamu’s house, watching cartoons together.

“I wanna be a ballerina when I grow up. What about you Ozzy? What do you wanna do when you grow up?” Josephine asked one day.

“I wanna be a doctor Jo-Jo, just like Otousan and Okaasan!” Osamu stated with his little chest puffed out, causing his friend to giggle.

“Oooh, that sounds like a lot of hard work Ozzy...I wanna help you become a doctor! Let me help you!”

Osamu almost immediately nodded at the proposal. “Of course you can help me! As long as I get to help you become the best ballerina ever!”

“Deal!” They said at the same time, laughing up a storm at how they spoke at the same time.

Josephine helped Osamu with studying from the complicated medical books they found in his dad’s stuff, despite not fully understanding the material. While Osamu helped Josephine sharpen her dancing skills by playing the piano with all the classic ballerina songs. He wasn’t skilled enough to play it, but Josephine didn’t care, just as Osamu didn’t care if Jo-Jo didn’t get what she was helping him study with. The system the two had worked great for the both of them.

Until one day Josephine stopped dancing.

The change was slow, at first she was just exhausted all the time. Then she kept going home early from school, then away for days on end. Only when she collapsed at school did her parents finally take the hint and took her to the hospital. Conveniently the hospital where Osamu’s mother worked.

The doctors weren’t sure what to think of Jo-Jo’s condition, but they did agree on one thing-- Josephine would have to become a permanent resident of the hospital so she can be monitored closely.

It was hard on Jo-Jo; being away from her home and school, being hooked up to big beeping machines, having doctors and nurses going in and out of her room...It was all very stressful for a young child to go through. Thankfully, Osamu tried his darnedest to be there for his friend as often as he could-- Always going to visit her after school and filling her in on the latest schoolyard gossip, helping her with homework, even sleeping in the same bed as Jo-Jo to calm her nerves. It was comforting to the girl to have her best friend there, even more so since he was so comfortable in that environment. If he felt safe, then there was no reason for her not feel safe either.

Osamu’s mother was another familiar face for Josephine in this sterile place, Bridget specifically requested to be assigned with her care just for that reason. It was a relief for Jo-Jo’s parents also, to know that one of the best nurses they knew was taking care of their little girl.

Among the medical team in charge of Josephine’s care, there was one particular doctor that stuck out like a sore, egotistical thumb. 

His name was Doctor Keaton Tenamore, a brilliant doctor who was good at his job. But was an awful teammate; convinced he knew everything, a lone wolf, and above all else-- he hated children.

He never outwardly showed it to anyone, but anyone could put it together that he had a very particular dislike of them. Scowling, harsh words to the child, a push that was more forceful than it should’ve been..yes, Dr. Tenamore hated children, and he made sure that they were aware of it.

Osamu had to put up with Dr. Tenamore’s subtle hatred of children more than any other child within the hospital. Probably because Osamu was a constant in Tenamore’s professional life-- a constant squeaky annoyance that is. Osamu tried to not let Tenamore bother him, so long as Tenamore directed his anger towards the boy and not the other kids with lots on their plate to begin with, Osamu would bear it for them. 

This also meant not telling his parents of what Tenamore said or did to Osamu or the other kids. They didn’t need to know, what if the subtle hatred became a lot more obvious if he told someone? 

He really wanted too though. It hurt the little boy to hear Tenamore call his best friend ‘a drain on the hospital’s resources’ and there was nothing he could do aside from comfort Josephine.

“Don’t listen to him Jojo...there’s enough stuff for everyone at the hospital..you’re not bad for being sick..” He spoke softly to his friend as Jo-Jo clung to him, whimpering quietly.

“I wanna go home Ozzy, I wanna go home so bad..” She muttered, her voice soft and weak, little body wasting away from the illness.

“I know Jo-Jo...I know..”

It was the night shift, Osamu had elected to have another sleepover with Josephine, he wore his nicest pajamas and gotten himself comfortable under the covers of Josephine’s bed. The boy was slowly drifting off to dreamland until Jo-Jo’s coughing snapped him out of it.

He didn’t mind, Jo-Jo couldn’t help being sick. Osamu sat up right on the bed and patted Josephine’s back, reassuring her that everything was okay and that it was normal for her to be coughing as Josephine coughed into her hand.

Then, Josephine stopped coughing, slowly moving her hand away from her mouth..to reveal a small splattering of blood on her hand.

Osamu and Josephine stared at each other in horror. Jo-Jo was terrified, and Osamu was terrified for her! What were they supposed to do? Both were too scared to move-- frozen in time. It felt like they were staring at each other for eons..then more bloody coughing erupted from Josephine brought them back down to earth.

“Ahhh--!! Jo-Jo!” Osamu jumped out of the bed, looking for something to hold the blood, eventually settling on a kidney dish and gave it to his friend to hold under her mouth. Loud beeping from one of the machines highlighting the urgency of what was happening. “E-everything’s okay Jo-Jo--! I promise!”

“G-get...” Josephine managed to mutter out, blood dripping from her lips. “Get...help...Ozzy--!! Help m-me..!”

Osamu nodded quickly. He rushed out into the hallway. Looking around for a doctor or nurse, eyes falling onto Dr. Tenamore. He sprints as fast as his little legs could carry him.

“Dr. Tenamore--!! Dr. Tenamore--!!” Osamu shouted, grabbing Tenamore’s coat-sleeve and tugging on it. “I-It’s Jo-Jo--! She’s...she’s..!”

“Get off of me--!” Tenamore shoved Osamu to the ground. “Just because you’re little boy blue doesn’t mean you own the place, you little shit.”

“N-No--! There’s something wrong with Jo-Jo--!” Osamu begged, tears pricking the sides of his eyes.

“Yeah, what else is new.” Tenamore rolled his eyes. “Don’t think she’s getting special treatment because you’re royalty around here. Get lost!!”

Osamu scrambled to his feet and ran away. The tears making their way down his face, coating his cheeks with glossy lines. He didn’t know where else to go, so he ran back to his friend, who continued to cough.

“Jo-Jo...please hang on okay? I-I’m gonna find some help--”

Josephine spat blood in Osamu’s face. 

Then Osamu heard screaming.

It wasn’t until his mother came in and pulled Osamu away did he realize the screaming was his own.

Court rooms were scary.

There were so many people staring at him, eager to hear what he had to say about Dr. Keaton Tenamore, who was on trial for the mismanagement of his patients, many of them children. What Osamu wouldn’t give to hide himself under his mother’s coat and just disappear, he would have to settle with her sitting beside him, holding his hand.

Osamu’s parents were hesitant to have him on the stand (or to have him in the courtroom to begin with), but as the prosecutor reminded them beforehand: Osamu had valuable testimony, and was gonna give them the edge they needed to put Tenamore in jail.

Osamu agreed to this too, he wanted Tenamore to get in trouble for letting Josephine get hurt because he didn’t like the young boy. But it was still scary.

“Hey...Can I call you Osamu?” Spoke the prosecutor, voice soft as to not scare him.

“...A-Ah...y...yes..sorry.” He didn’t realize he zoned out.

“It’s okay. You’re nervous, it’s okay to be nervous Osamu, no one’s gonna hurt you here. You’re safe.” The prosecutor assures. “Now..you told us when you saw that your friend was coughing up blood, you went to go get a doctor to help her...is that doctor here in this court room now?”

“Yes..”

“Can you point him out for the jury Osamu? Don’t be scared, you’re protected here.”

Osamu shifted in his seat nervously. He didn’t move for a moment...then he felt his mother give his hand a reassuring squeeze. Taking a deep breath, he slowly raised a finger and pointed to Tenamore, who was donned in a orange jumpsuit and directly across from him in the courtroom.

“T-there...it was Doctor T...Tenamore...that I went too..”

“Without a doubt?”

“..Yes..W-without a doubt..”

Tenamore slammed his hands onto the table and started shouting. The entire court erupted into chatter as the Judge slammed his gavel, demanding order. Osamu buried his face in his mothers side, he couldn’t hear what everyone was yelling about. But there was one voice that rose above the rest that Osamu could make out, it was the prosecutor.

“Let the record show that the witness has pointed directly at the defendant.”

Osamu’s testimony was all the jury needed to lock Tenamore up for four years-- the standard for medical malpractice. Tenamore lost his medical license and wouldn’t be able to practice for a long time. Which was a relief, the kids at the hospital wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore (or any other patient for that matter). 

If only it happened sooner.

In the weeks during the court battle, Josephine’s condition only worsened. Her parents had decided that it was best for her if they moved somewhere else. A city with a children's hospital where Josephine was going to get around-the-clock care. They didn’t want to pull her away from her best friend, but the hospital where she was staying at currently could only do so much, it was their best option for the health of their child.

It doesn’t take much to understand how Osamu was feeling. Watching his friend waste away, to see her on her death bed, to have Tenamore scream at him across the courtroom floor as he feared for his little life....only for his best friend to move far away at the end of it all, where he wasn’t going to be able to see her anymore.

It was enough to stun him into silence.

A few months had passed, and Osamu refused to talk. No matter what, he couldn’t open his mouth to speak. Only to drink and eat, never to utter a word.

It was concerning enough to his parents that they spent many nights arguing about it as they were now. Osamu felt guilty about it, but he just couldn’t talk, no matter how hard he tried. His mind was always racing about those events...about Jo-Jo...his best friend..

Then Osamu had a thought. Multiple actually-- a train of thought.

‘Why was Tenamore so mean to those kids? He was a doctor, he was supposed to heal them! Not treat them as burdens! What was the point of becoming a doctor if he didn’t have a heart?

What was it about heartless people getting jobs that require a heart? And why are there so many of them running the world?

Maybe...maybe they need an example..someone to show them how it’s done. Remind them that this was a job of..what was that big word? Come-pass-shun?

Maybe they need Doctor Osamu.’

It was a chilly but sunny fall morning. Osamu stumbled out of his room and sat at the table. Yawning quietly.

“Good morning Osamu.” Jirou nodded to his son as he read the morning paper.

“...H-Hello Otousan..Okaasan..”

Jirou and Bridget tried very hard to contain their shocked looks and the excitement they felt upon hearing their little boy talk for the first time in months.

“A-ah..Good morning dear!” Bridget piped up, soft smile on her face. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“Um..” He looked around for a moment. “D...Doctor Osamu would like some cereal for breakfast, p-please..H-He wants...he wants c...cheerios today..”

Jirou and Bridget shared a confused glance. But did get their son his bowl of cereal as he asked.

They were just happy he was talking again.

[arrowheadproductions]

Percabeth arranged marriage au?

This turned out… differently than what I expected… And probably different from what you wanted, but it’s still an arranged marriage. I might make this a bigger piece because I liked this concept so much.

Crossed Unions- Rated T

I met Percy Jackson almost 6 years ago when he was discovered as the sole heir to the Atlantean throne. He, like every other heir to an Olympian throne, received a banquet in his and his father’s name. My mother, Queen of Athens, begrudgingly took my siblings and I to this event out of sheer respect for the virility of the crown. She and the Lord of the Sea never saw eye to eye on much, (outside of a brief project that included the invention of the chariot- but I digress) so it was no question that this was purely out of formality and respect to the High King, Zeus. 

He was a scared little boy no older than 12, like myself, and I didn’t regard him as royalty material. He looked like he’d been taken off of a farm after wrestling with some pigs, hosed off, and wearing clothes that didn’t have holes in them for the first time in his life. His hair was deliberately unruly and dark as the deepest depths of the ocean. He looked absolutely terrified and positively unaware what in the name of the River Styx was going on.

I scoffed. It wasn’t unlike Poseidon to make such a brash decision at claiming this boy as his own. He was better off giving his kingdom to the children of his wife, who at least grew up in that environment and would know how to manage an entire group of people. Instead, like with many of the fine rulers of Olympia, pride got in his way and he was determined to find his singular bastard child.

Mother finds it unlikely that the Sea Lord has just one illegitimate child out there in the realm, but somehow he’d managed to convince his brother, and that was what truly mattered. This was especially scandalous, as the three offspring of the fallen Lord Kronos took a binding oath of loyalty to their wives. 

This led everyone in the kingdom to either hate or love young Percy Jackson, which was a situation he’d never been in before as squalor. He was used to being underestimated and ignored, not plastered on every flyer in town about every movement he made. 

One of the dangers of being claimed as a son of the higher lineage (also known as the “Big 3″) was the idea that he would have to prove himself worthy by fulfilling a prophecy along with 2 companions. He chose a satyr named Grover, despite his father’s insistence he take one of his noble half-siblings, but Percy Jackson was loyal more than anything and Grover was trying to earn his searcher’s license like many other satyrs. To do that, he would need to fulfill a quest alongside a hero.

As for the third companion? Well, he didn’t get much of a choice. His quest was to recover Lord Zeus’ stolen lightning bolt to prevent war amongst the 12 kingdoms. It was a heavy one and I felt it was unfair to bestow this upon a kid so new to this world. He barely knew how to swing a sword. I was the most capable and readily available.

The court was pretty against a girl going, which was super annoying since I’ve kicked all of their sons’ butts in dueling, but Athena sided with me and relented that it was high time I prove myself in her name.

I can’t say I liked him very much upon meeting him, though I will admit to some flickers of jealousy that he was inevitably getting a quest and I haven’t seen the outside of Athens since I was taken in by Lady Athena. 

“So, you’re a daughter of…?” He trailed off as he approached me. I analyzed him carefully and could tell he was obviously nervous. He couldn’t stop alternating between staring a beat too long at me and quickly reverting back to looking at his shoes. They were shiny and all, but not worth gazing at. I would have argued that I wasn’t exactly worth staring at either, but the boy seemed dumbstruck.

“Athena.” I supplied.

He blinked.

“Of Athens.” I said more impatiently. Maybe he was just dumb.

He wrinkled his brow and I could almost see the wires in his seaweed-filled head trying to make out just how that was possible.

“Oh.” He said stupidly and his face reddened. I could tell he was battling between asking me or not. “I thought she was a… Nevermind.”

“I’m adopted.” I sighed, taking pity on him. “We all are, technically.”

“Oh.” He said again. Didn’t he have anything else to say? He was about to embark on a dangerous quest, after all. It would do a lot better to ask someone as trained in the arts of planning and history of our land to converse with me about it. Actually, I had mistakenly believed me was going to do just that at first. 

Nope, instead there we were making weird small talk.

“You drool when you sleep.” I offered, like he needed to know it.

His green eyes widened and it was the first time I’d noticed their impressive likeness to the actual sea. There was no question this was Poseidon’s boy. Though, he could use some training on how to act like a capable person.

“H-How do you-?”

“Who exactly do you think helped nurse you back to health with Chiron after that Minotaur attack, Seaweed Brain?”

“I’m not a Seaweed Brain!”

“Could have fooled me.” I shrugged and slunk away before anyone thought we were getting too comfortable. Had I only known that I’d just met my best friend.

Athena is a virgin leader, so all of her children are actually unrelated to her directly. Those that biologically produce the children are doing so as surrogates and are always the wisest and most intelligent people with whom Athena has built a mental connection with. She is always present at the birth and retrieves her child to Athens. It is as though we are hers through something bigger than blood- fate. 

I am forever grateful to be hers and am rightfully placed, however, I have been waiting for my chance to prove my wit and my strength for the past few years. I am the best swordsman (or woman) in Athens even if I prefer to fight with a knife. No one outside of the great lady herself strategizes like me. I spend all day reading and training, even if mother does not always know it. She is certainly more progressive than some of the other figureheads and wants her daughters to be just as intelligent as her sons, but there is still a standard to be made. She does not think with love like a typical mother might, but in what is strategically best for the good of mankind. 

My mother was unlike many of the other Godly leaders and placed her children with a choice. We were to either marry in the name of strategy and arrangement or to be virgins forever and focus solely on enriching our minds and bettering humanity. At 10, I chose marriage, as it seemed like the best thing for the current climate of our kingdom. Mother had certainly approved of my decision and that was enough for me back then. Hermes had an eldest son a few years my senior named Luke Castellan who was directly in line to obtain his throne. Mother and King Hermes got along well enough and it was always ideal for wisdom to spread beyond the gates of Athens. It was always a goal for the higher up’s to get their children on as many thrones as possible. If I were to marry Luke, I would be in line for Queen of Arcadia. 

This was all good and great back then. I even developed a fixation on Luke Castellan. He was tall, blond and good-looking, not to mention seemed to carry a protectiveness of me that seemed fit in a husband. I was 10 though and more than trying to rationalize the idea that the then 15 year old guy would be my betrothed. I’m sure he didn’t see much in me back then. We were not to marry until we were both of age at 18 and at 10, this seemed like lifetimes away. 

And what does any of this have to do with Percy Jackson? Well, I did my best to dislike him as Mother vehemently dislikes King Poseidon, and at first, I did. I couldn’t stand Percy Jackson. He was ridiculously brash and impulsive, but so thick skulled that I wanted to shake him senseless just about every time he spoke. He wore this stupid smirk that exposed himself with those stupid bright green eyes that told anyone in sight that he was up to no good. I thought he was ridiculous and was glad to be marrying a respectful knight in Luke.

And then, a very dangerous thing happened.

Well, two very dangerous things happened in line with one another. Luke began to betray his father’s realm and planned to overthrow the High King. And, I fell madly, truly, hopelessly in love with the son of the Sea King. It was a slow progression, but it happened and I fear I cannot think my way out of it.

Worst of all? He fell in love with me too.

My engagement to Luke fell through the wayside, due to his own death during his attempted uprising, but our problems in this matter did not end there. I was suddenly supposed to marry the son of King Apollo in an attempt to achieve his throne. Percy was set to be married to a princess from a different country altogether in an attempt to create peace between the Greeks and the Romans. He and Princess Reyna were to be married when they are both 18.

We’re 17 and marriage is no longer lifetimes away, despite how much we pretend it is when we sneak around. When we hold hands and walk together, we pretend we are a normal couple living a content and unplanned life. When we steal dances at galas, we pretend everyone knows about us. When we make love in the protective confines of my room in the high tower, we pretend it’s practice for something bigger than the two of us. There’s a bit of security in knowing I’ll always have Percy as a first everything in my life and likewise. That is something no amount of arrangement can change.

We wear promises that don’t come in the name of rings, but in symbols. I wear a necklace with a coral pendant on it while Percy in an impulsive (it’s become mostly endearing at this point) stunt, permanently branded “AOE” in small letters right over his heart in dark ink. This typically stands for “Of Athenians” and is often accompanied with the owl.

“What if somebody sees this?” I asked one time while we were sweaty and still recovering from being wrapped up in one another. He hovered over me, his muscular chest on full display and I traced patterns into his bare back. 

He smiled that lopsided grin that now made my heart melt and heat grow between my legs if he caught me in the right mood. Sometimes I think he knows what he does to me, but he’s too thick-skulled to see his own beauty and is honestly somewhat surprised every time we arrive in an intimate situation.

He leaned down to kiss a growing mark on my neck. “Who’s going to see it, but you?”

Your future wife.

I didn’t say it, but I don’t think I had to. His smile flickered a bit in his gorgeous eyes and it yanked at my heart strings. Maybe sometimes we pretended a little too well.

Worried I’d ruined the otherwise pleasant mood we’d cultivated in the wee hours of the morning, I leaned forward and kissed the engraving.

“I like it.” I decided. “Now you’re mine forever.”

He leaned in close so our noses were brushing against each other. “As if I ever wasn’t.”

I grow increasingly bitter about the situation as the days go on, even if it could be worse. I am now betrothed to the son of Apollo, who does not lust after me either, but for the son of Hades. For obvious reasons, he does not come out with this claim either. Percy’s bride to be is in love with a lady of the hunt, Thalia Grace, daughter of Zeus. For the same reasons as well as a shared duty to her country, she remains loyal and quiet. 

I toy with the idea that we can time things just right. After all, a baby will be expected from both of our ends. If I were to have Percy Jackson’s baby instead of Will Solace’s, it would not be a problem. Unless, of course, that baby popped out with his beautiful dark locks. That wouldn’t solve Reyna’s predicament either. We get together and vent, occasionally, though all of us return to this binding loyalty we have to our parents. What would we sacrifice in order to protect the greater good? What would we lose? Would we regret it?

It’s hard to think I wouldn’t when Percy’s hands slip so perfectly in mine as we stroll in private by the water.

I no longer side with my 10 year old self, unsurprisingly, though my Mother will hear none of it. Strategically, this makes sense, but I am not thinking that way anymore. My siblings know of my affair and tease me by accusing me of being a child of Aphrodite instead. It isn’t like the Sea King’s son and Wisdom’s daughter as a union would be negative. In fact, it might force the two to actually sit down and get along for a change. It would just be unprecedented. 

We weren’t meant to get along and we certainly weren’t meant to fall in love. 

[edogawatranslations]

999: Alterna (1) - Part 1, Chapters 7-9

Table of Contents | Previous: Part 1, Chapter 6

Chapter 7

"Enough stalling. Hurry up and open the door," Dancer demanded.

"I know. You don’t have to tell me, woman," Mountain retorted.

He approached the door with a [4] and pulled the handles with tremendous force. However, the door wouldn’t move an inch.

"Damn!"

After taking a few steps back, this time Mountain rushed at the door at full speed. Even after multiple body-slams, the door stood unwavering.

"Don’t just stand there, help me out here!" Mountain yelled, turning towards the rest of us.

I walked up to the [5] door. Despite thinking that it’d be pointless, I pulled on the handles. The door wouldn’t open. Pushing didn’t work either. I grabbed the handles once again and threw my entire body’s weight onto it, but the door still didn’t budge.

I stepped back and examined the door more closely. On the wall was some sort of authentication device, similar to the one in the room where I woke up.

"What if...!"

An idea flashed in my head. I reached inside my pocket and pulled out the keycard from earlier. Just as I had done before to escape, I slid it through the small gap in the device. Nothing happened. I tried once more, to no avail.

"I don’t think the doors will open..." Pink Hair murmured quietly.

"And just how do you know that?" Mountain shouted, taking his beanie off to scratch his head. He must have used too much force in his battle against the door; his overalls frayed at the seams and his suspenders were on the verge of completely ripping apart.

I turned and glanced around at everyone. Something felt odd. In this kind of situation, wouldn’t everyone normally react more strongly and work together to find a way forward? So why was it that other than me and Mountain, nobody bothered to even approach the doors? Everyone else had forlorned expressions, as if they had long given up on seeking a way out. Even Silver, who made an effort to rescue me earlier, was sitting by the passageway blankly staring off into space.

"It appears that these doors will not open either.”

An unfamiliar voice broke the silence.

I gulped. Two male figures slowly descended the staircase. The strong-looking man whom I had met earlier, Lion, led the way. Behind him was a tall and slender young man in a navy blue jacket with gold yellow lines, complemented by grey trousers. His appearance resembled that of a stately [prince]. Yet, a tinge of sorrow seemed to underlie his handsome visage.

"...Brother!"

Pink Hair’s expression changed in an instant. A glimmer returned to her eyes, which previously had grown dull and lifeless. Upon hearing those words, Prince’s body started trembling, as if an electric current coursed through his body.

"You should refrain from saying unnecessary things. Right now, your efforts should be focused on seeking a way out of here," Prince said coldly, adjusting his necktie.

"...Huh? Why?" A puzzled expression formed on Pink Hair’s face.

I redirected my attention to Lion and Prince’s left wrists. The two of them also wore numbered bracelets. I didn’t notice it before, but Dancer also had one hidden under her many accessories. All eight of us were wearing the same type of bracelet. What did it all mean?

"And you are...?" Lion spoke, staring at Mountain with a confused look. Lion paused and inquisitively squinted his eyes.

"What’s wrong, old man?" Mountain asked, putting his beanie back on his head.

"Oh, no... It’s nothing." Lion cleared his throat and turned away.

"You... Are you blind?" Mountain asked suddenly.

Lion quickly snapped his head back. "How absurd! I-"

"Not you, old man. The boy." Mountain walked up to Prince.

"You idiot, what are you saying?" Dancer scoffed. "He’s been running around with us this entire time! How could he possibly-"

"Oh? How perceptive of you," Prince interrupted, smiling. "Even though I was trying my best to hide that fact."

"What?" Dancer put her hand over her mouth in shock. "No way..."

Amidst the back-and-forth conversation, I took a closer look at Prince’s face. His eyes remained motionless.

"There is no reason to be worried," Prince reassured. "This handicap hasn’t hindered my daily life."

"You don’t gotta act strong. There’s no shame in asking others for help," Mountain snorted. He turned to Lion, and continued. "Old man, this floor’s no good either. There are doors, but we can’t get ‘em open."

"Are there really no other doors here?" Dancer asked while fidgeting with a gold piercing on her navel.

Thinking back, I remembered seeing a black door when passing C-Deck...

My body started moving on its own accord, weaving through everyone on the way to the staircase.

"Hey, what happened to the girl?" Mountain’s voice boomed from behind me.

"Her fever hasn’t gone down. She barely has the energy to stand, so we found it prudent to have her rest on the landing," Prince replied.

My gaze shifted to the landing, where the grandfather clock was set into the wall. There, a single figure sat on the steps.

Sensing my footsteps, that person slowly looked up. A girl. Light seemed to shine right through her soft face. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

It wasn’t because I was captivated by her beauty. No, I continued staring for a different reason.

I recognized her.

Chapter 8

My mind trembled as it quickly scanned the inner depths of my memory.

Who was she? Impatience gnawed at me. The girl appeared to share my frustration; she stared straight into my eyes with her jaw agape.

With neither of us uttering a single word, I approached her. I didn’t know what to say. She sat perfectly still, as if frozen by magic.

All of that changed once I reached the bottom of the stairs.

The sound of an explosion rang out, and the floor beneath me began to shake violently. A second quake.

The world suddenly turned on its side. I grabbed onto the railing and stood firm. However, the girl wasn’t so fortunate. She slipped from the landing and flew into the air as if on an invisible sled. However, she wouldn’t be landing on soft snow. All that awaited her was the stiff, deadly surface of the floor.

A loud shriek pierced my eardrums. The girl’s fragile body struggled in midair, her limbs frantically flailing around to try and swim towards me.

I quickly extended my arms in an attempt to catch her. But in real life, things never go as smoothly as they do in movies. Unable to withstand the force of her body, I fell backwards and the two of us tumbled to the floor.

My head slammed against the ground, causing everything to go dark for a moment.

"Are you alright?"

My eyes fluttered open, and I found myself less than four inches from her face. As her body rested on top of mine, an expression of great concern and confusion about what had transpired spread across her face.

We stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity.

At some point, the shaking stopped. Silence filled the room. The faint sound of trickling water bubbled up from beneath the stairs, but that too ceased before long.

In the midst of the tense silence, the girl started moving her lips.

"Are you... Jumpy?"

The girl slowly pushed herself off of my body.

Jumpy.

A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over me.

Only one girl ever called me by that name. The buried memories I had been seeking finally came rushing back.

"...Kanny?"

Akane Kurashiki. My childhood friend with whom I spent six years surviving the chaos of elementary school. Her mother had died of an illness just before our graduation, and she was sent far away to live with her father soon afterwards. Although she had just lost someone dear to her, she put on a brave face. When we bid each other farewell, she shook my hand while displaying the warmest of smiles. Almost ten years had passed since I last saw her.

Straight black hair. Pure, untainted eyes. A small nose. A lovely round mouth. It seemed like nothing about her had changed over the years.

Kanny... What are you doing here?

Just when I was about to ask, an ominous voice spoke out over harsh static.

"It appears that all of the pieces have finally been gathered..."

Akane and I looked at each other in shock, and we slowly got up off the ground.

"Who are you!?" Mountain’s voice echoed from the passageway.

"From the bottom of my heart, I warmly welcome you aboard this vessel."

I grabbed Akane’s hand and pulled her to where everyone else was gathered. The seven of them stood frozen in place. I frantically looked around for the source of the voice.

"My name is Zero. The captain of this ship."

The voice was coming from above. I spotted a speaker attached to a corner of the ceiling.

"It was I who invited all of you here."

The slightly muffled words flowed out slowly and unnaturally. Whoever it was must have been disguising their voice through some machine.

"Where are you hiding? Show yourself!" Mountain shouted.

"What are you planning to do with us?" Lion asked.

The voice continued, seeming to directly answer Lion’s question.

"I will have you all participate in a game."

"A... game?"

Those words triggered commotion among us.

"Some of you should already be aware." The voice continued, devoid of emotion. "The Nonary Game. A game of fate where all of you will place your lives on the line."

Chapter 9

Me.

In front of me is another me.

But if that’s true, then who am I?

Next: Part 2, Chapters 1-2

[fandom-smut-shots]

Two For the Show chapter 4

Title Two For the Show Monte

Pairing Peter Pan x Reader x Felix

Fandom Once Upon a Time

Monte A/N: Don’t worry, this isn’t the end. It just sounds like it. There will be more.

The couch cushions huffed as you dropped your weight onto them, lifting your legs to rest your feet on the coffee table. A bowl of your favorite pasta, homemade, sat on your lap. In your left hand was the TV remote, which you held parallel to the cable box so that you could find something to distract your wandering thoughts. Channel surfing landed you with Falling Overnight, which you were content with watching. Setting the remote beside you, you dug into your pasta. As the movie progressed, you wished you had an Elliot - someone who liked you for who you were, someone to have adventures with and not worry about anything. Well, except the end of the movie, but it was romantic up until that point. (1) Why were guys always jerks to you? They either cheated, or tried to make a move, or otherwise disrespected you. You came to realize that you’d never had any luck with guys. Maybe you should just stop looking. But you were lonely and in need of affection, so all logic flew out the window when your phone buzzed to alert you of a text. ‘Hey (y/n) its Monte. Wanna go out tonight?’ Pan and Felix were gone for the night, hanging out with some of the other lost boys at their place. So you were free to do whatever you felt like. 'Sure, that sounds fun.’ 'great. How about the park? Pick you up in an hour.’ 'I’ll be ready.’ You finished your pasta and got up, setting the dishes in the sink before heading to your room to change.

You wore a simple dress that accented your body without revealing anything. After Emmett, you were sure to be careful. You brushed your hair and twisted it up into a ponytail, slipping on your favorite sandals as you waited for the hour to tick by. A knock came upon your door and you had to force yourself not to rush. You didn’t want to seem too eager. You opened the door to reveal Monte. He was as handsome as you remembered him as he smiled cheekily at you and offered his hand. You accepted it, locking your apartment on the way out.

He walked you down the road to the park, playing the part of a perfect gentleman. He held your hand, squeezing your fingers every so often. He walked closest to the road so that he could protect you should anything happen. He talked about anything and everything, from family to school to future careers. Once at the park, he let you choose where to go first. You opted for the swings, sitting down and looking up at him. He plopped down on the swing beside you, reaching out to intertwine your hands once more. You smiled shyly, allowing him to hold your hand. A tingle ran up your side at his touch, and you felt a sense of comfort around him. Something nagged in the back of your mind, making you second guess yourself. You brushed it off as nerves resulting from your last date. Monte rose from his swing, keeping a hold of your hand. You followed suit, letting him lead you across the park to a bench. He sat down, pulling you down beside him. As soon as your butt hit the seat, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, tugging you to his side. You didn’t want to pull away, but you felt like something was missing. “I’m glad I asked you out,” he admitted, giving you a charming smile. You nodded. “Me too. But I thought you had a girlfriend?” He shrugged. “She broke up with me a week ago.” /Woah, (y/n). Red flag. They only broke up a week ago and he asked you out?/ You nodded softly. “I guess that worked out then.” There was something uncertain in his eyes, some sort of hidden intention that you couldn’t place. You shrugged it off and told yourself to just be happy. As you tried to distract yourself, you heard someone approaching you. You glanced up to see Monte’s ex Alli standing before you, slim hands on a thin waist, slender hips cocked to the side and a prominent pout on her plump lips. “What are you doing out with her when you should be having fun with me?” she demanded, looking directly at Monte. Monte shrugged. “You broke up with me. I found someone new.” She sat on his other side on the bench, perfectly tanned arms wrapped around his neck. She pressed her lips to his cheek, and your brow furrowed as you noticed he wasn’t pulling away. “You know I’m more fun than she is,” Alli murmured in his ear. He smirked. “Is that an invitation?” She grinned, turning his head to capture his lips. He pulled back from the kiss and stood up, wrapping an arm around Alli’s waist. “Let’s go, babe.” You stared in horror at them. “What the hell, Monte? What about me?” “I just needed to get her attention,” Monte shrugged. “You were available.” With that, the pair walked away, laughing obnoxiously. You brought your knees up to your chest, softly crying into them.

Pan and Felix were on their way to your apartment. They had finished their work for the day, and all they wanted to do was spend time with you. They passed by the park on their way, and something caught Pan’s eye. He saw a familiar mop of (h/c) hair and nudged Felix’s side. The taller boy turned, and after sharing a look of concern, they ran towards the park. You heard people sit down on either side of you, and without looking, you knew who it was. Warm arms wrapped around you and your ere sandwiched between two comforting boys. One hand carded through your hair. “What happened, (y/n)?” Felix murmured. “Why are you crying, love?” Pan inquired. All you could do was whimper in response. Before you could register what was happening, arms wrapped around your back and under your knees. You looked up to find yourself cradled to Felix’s chest. He smiled softly at you and you collapsed, sobbing into his cloak. His brows furrowed in concern as he looked to Pan, who nodded. They headed to your apartment, carrying you the whole way.

Pan tried to open the front door only to discover that it was locked. You shuffled into your pocket and handed him the key. He unlocked and opened the door, stepping aside to let Felix carry you in first. He went straight to your room, sitting on your bed with you on his lap. Pan followed quickly, closing both the front door and the bedroom door and sitting beside you and Felix. By then you had managed to control your breathing enough to speak. “Monte asked me out,” you breathed. They shared a look before letting you continue. “We went to the park. He was a gentleman. We talked and he listened to me…” Felix kissed your head. “What did he do?” “His ex girlfriend showed up, and she kissed him and he began walking off with her. Then he told me that he needed to get her attention and I was available.” Your sobs had stopped, but tears still dripped down your cheeks. Pan leaned forward, wrapping his arms around you. Your head buried in his shoulder and you immediately felt comforted by the two pairs of arms holding you. “Can we be honest?” Felix asked softly. You looked up at him in confusion. “Honest about what?” “We’ve liked you for a long time, (y/n),” Pan began. “And we know that you feel something for both of us,” Felix added. “We’ve discussed it, and we have a proportion for you,” Pan concluded. “Proposition?” you repeated, eyes darting between the two handsome boys holding you. “We want to be with you,” Felix explained, one hand grasping your chin. “We want you to be ours and we’ll both be yours.” “You know we’ll treat you right,” Pan whispered. “None of those guys deserve you, and it kills us to see you hurt like that.” “You’ve always been there for me,” you nodded softly. “I think this is what I’ve been missing.” “Missing?” Felix inquired. “Earlier, Monte held my hand. It was a nice feeling but it wasn’t… what I wanted. I felt empty, like I wanted that contact from someone else… I wanted it from you guys.” They shared a proud smirk. Pan ran a hand down your cheek. “Is that a yes, love?” You looked between the two of them with a nod. “Yes.” They leaned in to press simultaneous kisses to your cheeks. You blushed brightly, earning chuckles from both of them. Felix used his hand on your chin to turn your head towards his. Your eyes widened as you gazed into his, your heart hammering in your chest as you realized what was going to happen. Your blush darkened as he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. He was teasing you and you knew it, and he knew the affect it had on you. “Don’t play with her, Felix,” Pan chuckled, seeing the expression on your face. The blond grinned, tilting his head and pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t control gasping in response as you leaned in, eyes fluttering closed. You returned the kiss, gripping the front of his cloak. He pulled back to let you breathe while Pan turned your head to face him. He didn’t waste any time in capturing your mouth, nipping your lower lip and drawing a whimper from your throat. He pulled back and kissed your forehead. “You should rest, love.” You nodded, sliding off Felix’s lap. You settled in between them, lying down beneath the covers. They turned off the light and covered the three of you. You used Felix’s arm as a pillow while Pan draped an arm around you, both of them keeping you warm.

(1) If you haven’t seen the movie i recommend it and I’d be happy to explain it.

[writersindigestion]

teased | edward nygma x reader

“was it even regret, anymore?”

reader gender: female

words: 4362

warnings: trauma, substance abuse, paranoia, PTSD, minor violence, minor blood, Edward is still Mean and Green

notes: hey there again, everyone. once more - for your ease of reading, i’ve split this chapter into another two parts… because it was almost at 10,000 words. :////’ sorry i suck so much. but i’m nearing the end… i think. expect another part within the next week or so.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE | PART SIX also available on: AO3

For [Y/N], personally, the following weeks were filled with inactivity. She continued on her previous schedule as she’d been doing since her friend was killed, only making sure to at least sometimes talk with the people outside of her apartment. There were some good films that she saw in theatre, though she spent the whole time snogging her girlfriend, and had only assumed that the movies were “good”. There were some sports games she cheered on, some museums she visited, some books she rented - but nothing felt normal. The manic woman was beginning to realize that she’d likely never feel that way again.

More beers, more wine, more snakes at her spine, and the crucifix ever-taunting her from across the street.

For Gotham, however, the weeks were bigger than they’d been in recent history. They saw the escape of the Arkham monsters (Nygma not included, thank the Lord), they saw the rise of Fish Mooney’s escapees (undead or otherwise), and, most importantly, the catapulting of Oswald Cobblepot to the mayoral throne.

[Y/N] had long since chosen to remain oblivious to the goings-on in her hometown, having spent an exorbitant amount of time with the news droning on in her empty headspace - politics, theft, murder, mass homicide, life-threatening magicians and several attempts at axing Jim Gordon and Bruce Wayne. Then there was Theo Galavan - even for a criminal, she didn’t like him. Had she not been too afraid to leave the house, she wouldn’t have voted for him. Not that it mattered, since no one else had been alive to challenge him.

Little did she know, her ignorance would be her downfall.

“Babe, you’ve got a letter!” Chryssie called from across the apartment, sauntering into sight with silky, pink pajamas floating around her form.

[Y/N] leaned backwards to peer over the cushy loveseat she sat on, her form having been curled up over a popular sci-fi novel. She dogeared the corner of the page and set the book down on the coffee table, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “Really? Who’s it from? Not many people have gotten the memo about my new address.”

The envelope was heavy - clearly a fancy type of cardstock. She glanced over the off-white surface, her eyes catching the tiny, decorative speckles that blended into the background like an impressionist painting. The return address read ‘City Hall’.

“Ugh, government letters,” [Y/N] growled, making her girlfriend turn towards her.

The larger woman tutted, then chuckled, reaching for a pot to boil pasta in. “You probably have jury duty. Aren’t you special, babe?”

Her groans of disdain intensified, but she sliced delicately into the package, pulling out the paper that rested inside. Cramped fingers unfolded the letter, and she cleared her throat dramatically,

“Dear valued citizen,

You have been invited to a celebration of Mayor Cobblepot’s victory in the recent elections. We have hand-selected a number of individuals based on their contributions to Gotham City. The mayor’s home welcomes you to join us this following Sunday, provided this message reaches you safely. It would be an honor to have you.

No reply is needed, and plus-ones are accepted.

Warmly,

Oswald Cobblepot & Team”.

The pair couldn’t help but laugh at the card, practically bent in half with hysteria.

Chrysanthemum broke through her giggles first, “No offense, [Y/N], but what have you ever done to help this city?”

The seated woman spoke between wheezes, “Well, I was a member of the safety patrol in Junior High - clearly worthy of a Nobel Peace Prize.”

“You sure kept those hallways safe.”

“Hey! That was an important job! Think of all the collisions I stopped.”

“God forbid those clumsy preteens gently bump into each other.”

[Y/N] grew facetiously irate, “I prevented FATALITIES - I wore a BADGE! And a NEON VEST!”

Chrysanthemum paused for a moment before commenting, “Seriously, though, you probably got an invite for your work at the GCPD.”

Her partner rolled her eyes, tossing the letter onto the coffee table. “Oh yeah - my ‘work’ - delivering mochas.”

“Hey, now… We are only half as strong as our errand boys!” Chryssie exclaimed, stirring a spoon around in the pot of noodles that she’d nearly forgotten. “So what dress should I wear?”

The other woman sputtered, “W-What? I don’t want to go to this ‘party’! What if they make me wear a button? It probably wouldn’t even match my outfit. Not to mention…” She hesitated, grabbing the envelope again, pointing to the included address, “This guy isn’t celebrating in City Hall - he is partying in his house, which I’m positive is filled with breakables!”

“They need a safety patroller to stop guests from running into their precious valuables.”

“A neon vest really won’t match with anything I own…”

And so the couple decided to attend the celebration - well, one did, and the other begrudgingly followed.

The mayor’s mansion was indeed grand, and filled with fragile objects. [Y/N] kept her arms locked close to her body, and her body away from the walls - it would be just her luck to accidentally break something.

Both women wore black dresses (“In case either of us needs to don that sacred vest.”), their skirts coming to rest just above the knee, with the rest of the bodice fitted to their personal shapes and tastes. [Y/N]’s outfit, while beautiful, was slightly more conservative than her partner’s. She wondered, anxiously, if it made her appear insecure.

Of course, nobody would think anything of it, but her paranoia was potent, personal, and positively irrational.

She kept a stiff arm locked into the larger woman’s, content to let herself be dragged around, as if Chryssie was the one invited in the first place. Bodies swam gracefully between each other, every person grinning like they were actually excited to be there - [Y/N] didn’t believe it.

After awhile of being at the party, she felt comfortable enough to unwind from her girlfriend and mingle with the unfamiliar faces.

Where were the people she knew? If other precinct employees weren’t there - why was the former secretary - who left without warning and refused to answer any and all calls about her absence - invited?

The neurosis settled in full-force this time, and her shaking hand found its way back to the crook of her lover’s right elbow. Between mingling, she whispered these misgivings frantically in Chrysanthemum’s ear, but only got scoffs in return.

Frustrated, she kept her further concerns bottled up, and neglected to speak to most of the people they were now passing by.

Eventually, the feedback of a microphone drew the party-goers’ attention to the front of the room. [Y/N]’s anxiety was somewhat soothed at the hush that fell over the crowd, her senses no longer being assaulted by unrelenting stimuli. A deep breath in, and back out - she was going to get through this.

A man limped up to the mic stand following an over-exuberant introduction from a colleague. He was rather short, for the typical grown male, and had the haircut of someone far too deep into their grunge phase. His grin was proud, bordering on arrogant, but she’d already seen him an innumerable amount of times. Hard to forget the face of a known criminal and gangster when he had shown up so frequently at her place of employment.

Oswald greeted his guests, offering a sincere welcome, “Thank you all for coming - it means the world to me that I have your support…”

[Y/N] tuned out his babbling, staring politely in his direction so as to feign alertness. Absentmindedly, she noted him talking about his mother, his campaign team, and those who voted for him. She swirled the champagne around in her glass, gaze now drawn to the bubbly drink as opposed to the new mayor. Yeah, yeah - when is the buffet open? I’m starving.

“… And most of all, I want to thank my chief of staff, Edward Nygma, for believing in me, especially when it felt like no one else would. Without his faith - none of this would have been possible.”

But she didn’t hear anything past the moment when the mayor mentioned his name. Suddenly petrified, [Y/N] bent to the floor, staying on her feet as she pretended to search for an earring. Chrysanthemum had already realized the issue, crouching next to her as well. Applause erupted around them, and the larger woman grasped her friend’s hand tightly, pulling her away from the noise, their escape hidden under the cover of the crowd.

[Y/N] broke into a near-run as soon as they were out of the room. Chryssie almost had to jog to keep up with her partner, not wanting to risk the two of them being separated. Especially when she knew what was coming.

With the other woman unaware, Chrysanthemum held her breath, waiting on the edge of her seat as they finally reached the exit.

“Isn’t it a little early to be fleeing the scene? We haven’t even served dinner yet.”

[Y/N] didn’t bother turning around, she immediately placed her hand on the doorknob, twisting it with purpose. And it moved - she wasn’t locked out at all, but her girlfriend’s hand on hers rooted her inside the building. Panicked, she cast an alarmed look at Chryssie, seriously debating whether or not she wanted to physically attack her partner, but the look in the other woman’s eyes stopped her from acting.

She could see the devil in her peripherals, but she’d already made up her mind that if she didn’t look directly at him, maybe he’d cease to exist. Instead, her gaze bore deeply into her friend’s, finding grief, finding guilt, finding fear where she thought she’d find malice. Immediate remorse flooded through her - there was no way Chrysanthemum was doing this on purpose. She was no traitor.

What the fuck did he do to her?

Swallowing thickly, [Y/N] questioned her lover, “Can you tell me what’s going on? Did he hurt you?”

Chryssie’s face screwed up - silent, tense tears leaking down her cheeks. She tugged the smaller woman closer, grasping now with both hands. Her voice was quieter than feathers fluttering to the floor, “He didn’t hurt me… He said he didn’t care about me.” The couple’s eyes locked together. “But that if I cooperated, he wouldn’t hurt you.”

[Y/N]’s stomach dropped, and her palms twitched with an ugly anticipation. “You shouldn’t have worried about me. You should’ve taken care of yourself. I would never live it down if something happened to you. Maybe we could’ve gotten away.”

“You know we wouldn’t get away. We wouldn’t make it outside of the city before he found us.”

“We could have tried, Chrysanthemum! We could have tried! He’s not omnipotent-”

“He might as well be - what if we-”

Edward Nygma interjected himself back into the conversation, now standing only inches away from the couple. He fiddled with his cufflinks, giving a calculating, close-lipped smile to the both of them before he spoke, “If you two are done bickering, I have some things to attend to.” His large hand pressed against Chryssie’s shoulder, easily creating distance between the lovers. She looked confused, afraid - he enjoyed it. Always a pleasure to present dilemma to the simple-minded.

[Y/N] made a grab for her friend’s hands again, but was cut off from her side - a criminally tall man instead taking her outstretched arms. She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at him. All she saw was the green of his suit tie, and even that seemed to dissolve under the weight of her renewed trauma and overall dissociation.

“Wait, wait - what the hell are you doing?” Chrysanthemum called, trailing after the murderer as he pulled her girlfriend into a separate room, “You said you wouldn’t hurt her. Are you a liar and a crook?”

For just a moment, she had his attention, and he turned to her with a flourish, hands still tugging the stumbling [Y/N] along. Edward’s smile was dazzling as he quipped, “Naturally.”

Chryssie was removed from the mayor’s grounds shortly afterward, not being given the chance to get a word in edgewise. She caught her best friend’s gaze before a closed door blocked her from sight. Never before had she seen someone more shell-shocked in her lifetime, and she never would again. After hours of waiting outside the mansion gates, she hailed a taxi, choosing to return home after the guards threatened to call the cops on her.

[Y/N] could only wish that she were being arrested. The hard, unforgiving seat of a police car would have been a welcome comfort against the capture of Nygma.

“I honestly hadn’t expected you to run away so quickly after that day. Smart of you, though - I was a little busy with some things anyways,” Ed started, releasing one of her wrists in favor of sending a short text message. He held up a finger for a moment, as if telling her to quell her thoughts until he was finished typing.

She didn’t have any thoughts. She didn’t have any senses. Everything seemed just a little too far away from where she was standing. All she saw, all she could concentrate on was red - and it was probably her own blood, as opposed to his, that was painted across her psyche.

Long fingers folded the phone closed, placing it in his left pocket with an uncanny amount of grace. He ran a thumb along the inside of [Y/N]’s arm, humming idly.

They came to a stalemate, neither bringing forth any conversation for the sake of letting the other suffer. Unfortunately, for the smaller of the two, Edward had all the power in the situation, and he intended to get what he wanted. He always got what he wanted.

She let out a yelp, trying to pull her wrist out of his grasp as a dull thumbnail started digging angry, red circles into her skin. Her failed attempt at release only served to make his scratching all the more painful, his nail dragging down the length of her forearm as she closed her free hand around his, grabbing his middle finger and yanking it backwards until it nearly touched his carpals.

Ed let her go, his finger on the brink of breaking, and took a surprised step backwards at her sudden display of violence. He looked her up and down - this was not the same woman he left in the precinct basement, crying over her dead friend and chained to some leaky pipes. She had vanished to a far corner of the closed room, soothing the angry marks on her arm like a feral cat, licking its wounds.

[Y/N]’s lips curled back over her teeth, and she snarled as she spoke to him, “You should have died in Arkham, you evil, conniving bastard.” Her breaths came in heavy pants, scraping past her teeth so sharply that the nerves behind her enamel started to ache. “You deserve to suffer for the rest of your life, and then you should be brought back from the dead so you can suffer all over again.”

Something dark - darker than usual - passed through his scrutinizing, brown eyes. She saw the tightness in his jaw, the flexing in his neck. For a second, her fear and rage-induced bravery wavered, but she swallowed, a flagrant attempt at steeling herself against Edward.

But he didn’t advance on her, allowing the frightened woman her space, if only to help push her guard down. He kept himself in check, positive that the end would justify the means.

“I’ll allow you that one. I’m sure that you aren’t happy to see me,” He deflected, settling the topic back on [Y/N], “So how are you? It’s been quite a long time since we last met.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she took another step backwards, hands reaching out behind her for any unseen obstacles. “I think you know how I’ve been, Nygma.”

Ed clicked his tongue at her indignance, flashing a smile that hardly reached his cold, dead eyes. “Now, how are we going to understand one another if you won’t communicate with me. We didn’t keep in touch - how would I know what’s been going on in your life?”

“Because you’re smart. You know you’re smart. I know you’re smart,” She snapped, “What good does it do to tell someone what they already know?”

Another smile - this time twice as unfeeling, as unforgiving. “Humor me.”

It didn’t sound like an invitation. Everything Edward said sounded like an ultimatum. She didn’t know what she’d be sacrificing if she refused to play his games. What were the rules? How did she participate if she didn’t know what the penalties and rewards were? Her head hurt.

“I’ve been terrible,” [Y/N] started, words clipped and enunciated, but she thought better of her decision to enlighten him, “I haven’t been sleeping well. There is a draft in my bedroom.”

She watched him nod, his face feigning grief, feigning sympathy. He’d gotten his hair cut since going to prison - the shaved sides and voluminous top made his cheekbones all-the-more severe, his features all-the-more sharp. Ed had seemingly shed his geeky exterior in favor of a more threatening, business-like persona. It was sensible, she supposed, being that he was the mayor’s chief of staff - but it was much easier to have courage against a mathlete than a mobster. The woman found herself missing the days when she got to be the bully. If she’d known how events would pan out, perhaps she would’ve been meaner to him.

Begrudgingly, she wondered if being nice would’ve helped at all. It was likely that any kindness shown towards him would’ve resulted in a different, more co-dependent type of fixation.

He’s a murderer, a terrorist, a liar, a cheat, a thief, a hypocrite, a traitor, an abuser - there is no need to feel sorry for him, not even in retrospect.

He hummed, drawing the attention of his verbal opponent. “How tragic,” Edward mocked, his feet beginning to creep in her direction, “Sleep is very important to the human body, Miss [L/N]. Perhaps you need better insulation in your home? I could get you some help with that.”

“I’m quite alright, thank you. My girlfriend and I simply wear a few more layers,” [Y/N] vibrated, leaning away from him, but not wanting to box herself in a corner again.

He stopped in his forward assault about two feet in front of her. “Ah - yes, your girlfriend. You know you’re lucky, right?”

She refused to feed into his taunting, angry with herself for even mentioning Chryssie. “Yes. Very lucky. She’s terrific.”

“Chrysanthemum - a lovely name for a lovely person,” Ed drawled, caring little whether or not this woman played into his words, “She looked at her most lovely when she was begging for your life.”

He’d barely gotten his taunt through before [Y/N] launched herself at him, catching the lanky man around the waist and toppling the both of them. She reacted far quicker than he did, taking his shock as an opportunity force her palm into the underside of his nose. The man beneath her let out a cry of pain, and god did she relish that sound. It was even better the second time, when she closed both of her fists and smashed them down across the middle of his face.

He was reeling from the affliction, but thought rapidly, using her lack of grip to throw the woman off of him. This was not going as he had planned. Edward had to regain control of the situation before she ruined his plot any further. The towering male clambered back to his feet, hand pressed against his visage to soothe the aching.

[Y/N] had found footing long before he had, and used the discrepancy to put distance between them once more. “Did that hurt, you fucking moron?“ She growled, spit flying from her lips, cheeks flushed a deep shade of maroon, “I’ve seen middle-schoolers with more guts than you.”

His eyes narrowed, and he let go of his nose in a fit of egotism that he couldn’t quite catch - not that he’d ever been good at that. He sniffed, reaching for his pocket handkerchief, “Impressive, Miss [L/N], I must say that I’ve been caught quite off guard. Are you legally prepared to deal with me when I press charges against you?” Nimble fingers folded the kerchief long-ways, and he dabbed lightly at the blood that dripped from his nostrils. “I imagine your wallet isn't very well-lined from selling coffee.”

She didn’t flinch at his threats. “Go ahead - sue me. Send me to prison. I dare you,” [Y/N] barked, her hands still balled into tight, angry fists, “The only place I can think of that would keep me safer from you is death.”

“Death is not a place - it is a state of being.” Ed was then quiet for a moment, his head already leaps and bounds ahead of the woman. She was brave, yes, but she was still an idiot. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” He quipped, his rhetoric short as he started circling around to his opponent’s side.

She mirrored him, stalking in the opposite direction to avoid letting him get too close. Her palms were beginning to sweat. Maybe she’d managed to land a good punch, but she would never be able to match him in an intellectual battle. He underestimated her - she knew that - and it was probably the only advantage she had against him.

His long legs stopped in their assault, and he changed directions, heading towards the door that they’d only just entered through. With a twist of the knob, it was open, and he stepped to the side, gesturing for her to exit.

[Y/N] squinted at him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Edward didn’t hesitate to answer. “You’re free to go.”

Her mind shut down entirely, her fists uncurled, her face unscrewed. “I’m free to go?”

Momentarily, his indifferent expression darkened. “Don’t make me repeat myself - I didn’t stutter.”

“Just what are you playing at? What am I going to find if I go out there?” Contrary to his offer of escape, she moved further away from Ed, his sudden complacence painfully suspicious.

“I’m not playing at anything. You want to leave, and I’m offering you a chance to leave.”

“That’s a load of bullshit - we both know it. What reason do I have to trust you?”

He smiled, his face lacking warmth almost entirely. In fact, the man’s personality seemed encapsulated in sub-zero temperatures. “I’m not asking for your trust, Miss [L/N], it’s something I simply don’t require…” Brown eyes settled idly on their prey, an unfriendly sort-of mirth lacing their irises. “What I’m asking is for an unwelcome woman to leave the mayor’s home.”

She bristled, but didn’t bother to test his patience any longer. Though reluctant, her unsteady legs drew past the hateful, worthless man, and she heard him follow her out of the room.

He watched her as she stiffly made her way down the front steps, [Y/N]’s entire body alight with anxiety. She paused for a moment, taking a glance backwards at him, and Edward tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I’ll be seeing you, Miss.”

Her steps quickened after his goodbye, and she had to hold back tears until she was off the property.

Chrysanthemum didn’t let go of her for a second that night, and in the following couple of weeks, she watched her companion deteriorate faster than she had after Kristen’s death.

[Y/N] quit her job. She canceled her gym membership. She gave away and donated practically all of her belongings, no matter their worth, not matter their sentimentality. She stopped speaking with friends. She stopped speaking with neighbors. She stopped leaving the apartment. She stopped communicating with her girlfriend. She stopped smiling. It hardly seemed like she breathed anymore, and she definitely didn’t sleep.

When slumber took even a moment to grace her eyelids, all she saw was Edward Nygma. It was a nightmare that she could neither wake from, nor rest from.

The familiar shape of a beer bottle found its way back into her limp grip, her body conforming into the chair that she’d spent so many long days rotting in. Tired eyes found their way back to the Catholics wandering in and out of the cathedral. And the will to live lost its way back to her heart.

She was exhausted in her lethargy. All she did was think - of ways to escape, of ways to beat him, of ways to recover, of ways to get help. There was an outright guarantee that if she even attempted to contact the police, it could mean death for the woman she loved - [Y/N] didn’t have to ask Nygma to figure that out. He meant to see her again. No one could offer sanctuary from a man that seemed to have buried his grubby hands in every niche of Gotham City. So quickly he’d managed it, too.

A happy family walked out of the doors to the church, smiles on their faces and their heads in the clouds. Inwardly, she asked herself if even God himself could save her from Ed’s disgusting, bruising clutches.

She asked herself again.

She asked herself again.

She asked herself again.

Her tongue darted out to run across chapped lips, and she set the beer bottle on the side table, rising slowly from her seat. Bare feet brought her to meet the broad face of the packed, homey-looking bookshelf. Her fingers skimmed the bindings, looking for something particular. After several moments of searching, she felt it - a worn, faux-leather covering, a little handle sticking out for ease of transport. She pulled the book from its space in the collection, warming her palm over the canvas as she brought it back to her seat, opening the aged pages with care.

Her eyes did not comprehend anything they were reading, she was so wrapped up in her thoughts. This was her chance. Maybe she could get away with this - ’God-willing’.

-

What. The. Fuck? Ed. You’re a prick. And… You look like a string bean. >://’ Anyways - let me know if you enjoyed this part! I’ve been working real hard on this story! Once again - I am taking requests, and would probably cry if you left me some. Also - still interested in a beta reader to help me check for continuity and grammar, ect… Love y’all. - writersindigestion

[itcowcer]

Elagabalus

The following was sent to me anonymously after my original posting about PP on r/NoSleep. Strangely enough that original post was taken down shortly thereafter. For those of you that missed that posting I will include a link at the end of this story. I do not believe it is necessary to read this to understand the horror of this content. However, for those interested it may provide some context.

What I have here appears to be an excerpt from a yet unfinished, yet unpublished book by an independent author named Paul Holland. Holland went quiet some time ago and many believed this was because of some kind of self-imposed seclusion done in order to finish his latest work. This speculation was not voiced by the author’s small –time publisher Mark Gergich, who was very vocal in his belief that Holland had been abducted and was in mortal danger. Gergich was not able to tell officials the last known location of Holland, however he did direct detectives to the website of The Pumpkin Patch. The Pumpkin Patch is a cultish arts movement allegedly responsible for the ritual murders Holland was investigating. The detectives hit a wall when they found that the site was no longer available (Apparently previous actions had been made to take down the site when a buyer discovered that the artwork he purchased was painted using human blood and refuse.) As of now there are no leads on Paul Holland, although I have heard rumors that the PP website still exists on the Dark Web. If this is the case, anyone with the capabilities to reach this site will likely find more answers than I am capable. Good luck.

 Elagabalus

Paul Holland

 Chapter VI

 I had managed to find the dark place described in the journals. It was apparent that I was not looking hard enough during my first few perusals of Kathryn’s entries, because all of the clues were there. My greatest mistake was in assuming that the only important sections were those pertaining to her diabolical club. I made a point to shy away from entries that were too personal in some kind of late respect for the deceased girl. In doing so, I missed some of the more important details leading to her death; in particular the location of “The Studio.”

On August 14th, Kathryn described a penultimate meeting with her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend Brian. It was a pleasant day by the James River, but despite this, Kathryn had felt a great amount of discomfort with the meeting. It had been a few months since the two had been separated by a summer intersession. Kathryn had returned to her family home in southern Virginia, whereas Brian remained on campus. Though Kathryn tried to continue communication with the man that she loved, she found it more and more difficult to keep his attention as the weeks wore on. Eventually the two drifted apart. Even when she returned, she felt immense difficulty when re-establishing communication with the boy she had once felt so free and open with.

As Kathryn waited on a park bench overlooking the rambling rapids of the James, she could feel a heavy, sinking discomfort in her stomach. She did not know what would become of this meeting. She did not know whether the boy felt the same way about her, as he did before, or even if she still felt that way. As the minutes wore on, and he finally appeared, she could tell that everything had changed. He was not the same Brian. Although he spoke warmly to her she could tell his mind was adrift somewhere else. Even so, she decided to stick with him through the rest of the evening, under the presumption that trying was the least she could do considering all they had been through together.

The night wore on and though the evening was pleasant, the spark had been gone between the two. Both were very aware of this as they walked back to the place where her bike was chained, near the old civil war exhibit by the river. She fumbled the lock of her bike, her mind reeling over the thought that their once electric relationship would end without a word, aside from the possible wave good bye as she rode her bicycle out into the night. She thought that Brian felt this as well, which is how she rationalized his next, eccentric actions. He begged her to spend some more time with him, coaxed her to follow him to some dark place by the riverside, and convinced her that he had something to show her.

Though Brian had been acting strangely the entire day, Kathryn still hoped that there was some way they could remedy the situation and go back to the brilliant winter and spring they had shared together. She followed him to a dark place beneath a foot bridge. She had been here numerous times with her friends when they adventured to the small island situated in the middle of the James. Although she had been here often, she was surprised when Brian pushed aside some corrugated metal revealing a dark, yawning tunnel leading downward.

Brian looked at her desperately and petitioned that they both explore the creepy forgotten place together, implying that it was something they would have done before. Kathryn took one look at the tunnel and, seeing only darkness, decided she would have none of it. She left him there then, riding up to the city above while he descended alone into the tunnel. The two would officially break-up a few days later through a slew of vicious text messages, and Kathryn would push the memory of the evening off as much as she could.

That would be until a few weeks later, when Kathryn and her friends were spending a day by the river in a bid to make the most of the now dwindling summer heat. This day had been going much smoother for the girl, but she had been trying desperately to close the wounds she had felt from her breakup. She had been trying her best to show her friends she was happy. She laughed at all of their jokes, and even tried flirting with some of the boys, at the suggestion of Trisha. This seemed to work as she was beginning to convince herself that she was getting over it all. These attempts were all but ruined when she noticed a figure moving just in the distance. She could tell that the figure, even if it were just a silhouette, had been Brian.  Her stomach lurched. He did not seem to notice her, which only proved to sharpen the blow, but continued his path to the place where they had departed some time before, disappearing behind a sheet of corrugated metal.

This vision haunted her, and she would spend the rest of the outing, and the hours that followed, replaying the image in her head. She could not stop herself from thinking about it. The sight of Brian descending down that dark tunnel had struck something in her. It was like some long grey finger had reached out from the blackest part of her subconscious and scratched that part of her mind that craved the mysterious. It would scratch until she had found answers to some of her most pertinent questions. What had really happened to Brian, and by extension the Pumpkin Patch, while she was gone? Why had Brian insisted they meet by the river for their last meeting? What was Brian dying to show her that night? And why was he going into that dark place again? Why was it important to him? Ultimately this line of thought would poke and prod Kathryn Mason down the path that led to her death.

The day I decided to investigate the area by the river, the weather had been quite unpleasant. The sky was grey from clouds and, although a greater storm had been threatening, there was little but the occasional drizzle. To the south and below me roared the white capped rapids of the James, now reeling from the encroaching storm. Just beyond their cacophony stretched the lonesome island the locals called Belle Ilse, a name that I couldn’t help but notice shared some similarities to the diabolical Belial. I trained my gaze along the foot bridge where it stretched from the lonely island to my side of the water. Above it, the noisy overpass of US 301 loomed. At the end of the foot bridge was a stair way leading down to my level of the street.

Behind me Trisha was leaning on the side of her red Honda accord lighting a cigarette. She had driven me here, and was now determined to wait it out until I returned from my mission. I told her there was nothing to worry about. It was broad daylight and I felt like there was no chance of danger. Even if this place had once been the location of the Pumpkin Patch’s base of operations, “The Studio”, it would be unlikely that they remained here after the murders. Regardless, Trisha remained stubborn. According to her, any friends she knew that entered that place either died or disappeared. She did not want to lose the only other person who was still looking into the murder of her friend Kathryn. Eventually I caved, but I reiterated to her that if I did not return in an hour or two, she should go directly to the police, and not come in after me. She begrudgingly agreed.

The entrance was actually a lot trickier to find than we had assumed. It took a good fifteen minutes to find, although it would have been longer if it weren’t for the help of the lovely Trisha. Once we discovered the place, Trisha and I exchanged one last, apprehensive look. There was no telling what I would find down there, and although I was sure the place would be abandoned there was still a sense of dangerous foreboding in the air. After a brief pause to prepare myself, I fired up my flashlight and began my descent down the long dark corridor before me.

During my time at college, I studied all sorts of literature. Most of my favorite stories were myths and folklore that families historically recited to each other by dancing fire-light. These stories were often similar to each other in many areas. The tales would include some great hero, a monster, and some impossible journey to vanquish evil and return to normal life. One of my favorite stories spoke of a goddess who descended into the underworld to meet with her once forgotten sister, the keeper of the underworld. Often this story was stated to have metaphorical meaning. It was said that the underworld was truly an analogy for the goddesses’ own subconscious, and that she had to travel into this underworld to discover some kind of long forgotten, long suppressed part of herself. Her hero’s journey was only accomplished once she had communed with this part of herself and brought it to the light. She had to journey into the realm of death and return changed.

I thought of this story as I began to maneuver through the expansive tunnel system of the city. I wondered how many other cities had tunnels like these. Long forgotten passages that stretched miles beneath their respective city-scapes, containing crimes and secrets long since shunned by the people who lived above. Like some deep, primal sub-consciousness lurking at the heart of every metropolis, rarely seen or spoken of but always present and felt. It seemed to me, as I waded through the dark passage way about me, ankle deep in sludge, that there was something fermenting in this place. Something was festering down here in the darkness beneath the city, amassing itself and gaining strength before its inevitable return. Perhaps the murder of Kathryn Mason had ignited that return.

In the dead girl’s journal, she had referenced a series of glow in the dark markers which traced her way through the tunnels. At my first large intersection, I followed the dead girl’s path and trained my flashlight to the top right corner of the passageways. I only had to hold my light on the spot for a few short minutes before turning my flashlight completely off. I was both relieved and anxious when, after doing so, a symbol appeared ghostly green over the left most passage. According to my later research, this symbol was the alchemical rune for phosphorus. I continued this process at a couple of other intersections. At one place was the zodiac symbol for the Scorpio, while another was decorated unceremoniously with an upside down pentagram. My favorite had to be the enigmatic “666” scrawled out in wispy green script over a particularly fungus covered passageway.

There was only one time that I felt particularly scared within that system of tunnels. I will not lie, the whole situation was suitably creepy. I found myself fighting to press onward into the unknown place. Often I could hear the scratching of insects around me and the rhythmic drips of water from above. At one intersection, with my flashlight off, I could hear the distinct sound of something large crashing into the water just ahead of me. I quickly jumped to shine my flashlight in the direction of the sound. I probably scared the thing in the process, as all that could be seen was some furry, distinctly four legged creature retreating into the darkness away from me.

Eventually I had reached my destination just beyond an intersection marked by a glowing devil emoticon. While most of the tunnels had been cement constructs the last bit, just past this intersection, had been carefully fashioned from stone bricks. The passage continued around a bend before it opened up to a raised area just past an arched portal way of masonry. At the top right corner of this arch was a sneering glow-in-the-dark jack-o-lantern. The room itself was fairly large and musty smelling. There was still a rather waterlogged, roach infested couch sitting on the left most wall of the room. This was described in the journals. A generator was also there in the right most corner, just by the entrance. I checked to see if the thing had any gas but, unfortunately, it was empty. All in all the place looked abandoned. Although that was what I expected, I still felt the slight jab of disappointment.

There were a couple of easels propped up in random positions around the room, with one laying awkwardly on the ground, looking like some kind of dead thing. The walls were painted very darkly with splotches and patches left bare here and there. For a second I thought that the walls were just lazily covered, like the painting was done by some three year old with a crayon who was used to scribbling in a coloring book. As I got closer I realized that this effect existed because the walls were covered by a script of close together, overlapping words and sentences. This was also described in the girl’s journal, but she never properly described their effect. Perhaps she was un-phased by the design choice because she had a friend with her, or else because she was once a member of the group herself and did not fear them. As I was alone during my visit, I couldn’t help but feel the wicked lunacy evoked from painting a wall in this manner.

Out of the whole, incomprehensible mass, there was only one spot of wall that was left completely bare. It was on the wall straight back from the entranceway, just past the four stone columns in the center of the hold. Here, all of the wall scribbles stopped to form a single rectangle of empty space. I cannot explain why this spot unsettled me so, but to me it was the most unsightly aspect of all I had seen in the “Studio”. Perhaps it was the strangeness of it. In a room where every wall was covered by the noisy scrawl of threatening and damning messages, there was only one part left completely bare, pristine, and blank. The rectangle was about twenty six by twenty eight inches, the correct size for a large painting. Just beneath it was situated a small golden plaque, about four inches long, that was screwed into the wall. The plaque had only one letter engraved on it, and the letter was “E”.

When I emerged from the bowels of the city, I had found that the weather had cleared up considerably. It was about noon and, to my luck, Trisha was still waiting there by her car. Together we drove back toward the college campus, and found a small coffee shop where I explained to her what I had found. She did not seem all that surprised that the place was empty. She assumed that place might have been abandoned when the group went, way underground a few months prior. She also had some insight into the identity of the enigmatic “E” painting.

“It’s Elagabalus!” she said, her green eyes flashing excitedly. I had shown her the journals before, when we first met and this whole journey started. Even then this word “Elagabalus” had been of great interest to her. For a while she seemed obsessed by it. It was only mentioned once in the journals, however, and until now I wasn’t so sure of its importance.

“You think that the painting is called Elagabalus?” I asked her quizzically

“Well why not?” She challenged with a confident smirk. It took me a moment to take in her response. In the entry where Elagabalus was mentioned, it seemed to me that the name referred to a person. As we looked at the journal again in the coffee shop, I was not so sure. This assertion, that Elagabalus was in fact a painting, raised more questions for me. Where did it come from? Why did the group hold it in such high regard?

We decided to journey to the public library in order to research the location of a new Pumpkin Patch den and learn more about the Elagabalus painting. I got busy trying to find whatever I could on the name in question. Trish, the local, set off in search for the next likely place for a murderous art-cult to be hiding. While I spent most of my time on the public computer’s search engine, Trisha spent her hours in the archives reviewing old city surveys and maps. When we reconvened in a few hours, Trisha had amassed an impressive list of possible “Studio” locations that put my few articles of Elagabalus to shame.

“Okay so where should we start?!” She asked enthusiastically with an arm full of books and notes.

“You’re really enjoying this aren’t you,” I teased. To this she only shook her head.

We decided that I would go first. I had the least information to present, and we were afraid that the discussion of Trisha’s findings would get lengthy and get us side tracked. There were only a few hits on the subject of Elagabalus. The first referred to a roman emperor, also known as Heliogabalus. Apparently he had been a rather controversial figure during his reign from 218 to 222. His reign began when he was declared an illegitimate heir to the empire, and fought a rebellion for the throne. He had also overthrown the religious order in Rome, installing his own deity in place of the customary Jupiter. This deity had the extravagant name of Deus Sol Invictus, or “God, the Undefeated Sun”.  

A second controversy was started when the Emperor was found to have been sleeping with his chariot driver. The reign ended with an assassination, and much of Elagabalus’ rule was apparently stricken from the public record. Perhaps the painting was of this controversial figure? If the painting was of a person, then it would makes sense why I would confuse the painting for a “who” instead of a “what”. The only issue is that the figure in question seemed quite random. The only thing that had stood out to me was Deus Sol Invictus, but I had yet to see any reference to this in Pumpkin Patch’s archived works, and I had not seen any other themes of the emperor’s life aside from the use of his name.  It was a mystery to determine why this particular figure was so important to the group.

The only other article was a strange one regarding an occultist named Eliphas Levi. According to Levi, in his book Dogma et Rituel de la Haute Magie (What a mouthful), Elagabalus refers to a stone which was worshipped for it properties. Apparently the stone could prolong life and served as the font of all wisdoms. This metaphysical “stone” also served as the basis from which all magic could be built upon and was at the cornerstone of human subconscious and conscious of being. Elagabalus, for Levi, was nothing less than the famed philosopher stone, and its power could be found within the human mind. While it seemed to me a stretch, this definition of Elagabalus seemed to be the closest fit to explaining the painting. The group certainly held it in high standing, as though it were the mythical philosopher’s stone. Trisha agreed that this explanation, though imperfect, seemed like the best fit.

Next we turned over to the locations for the Pumpkin Patch’s new studio. The locations in question all catered to the eerier side of the city’s history. Among the locations were an old civil war prison on Belle Isle, the magnificent Hollywood Cemetery, and several locations close to the Poe museum, a place where the Pumpkin Patch was once show cased in their earlier, non-murderous days. I asked about Lumpkin’s Slave Jail and Trisha pointed out to me that it was under a parking lot, and there was no physical place for a killer cult to hide.

Eventually we decided that the old train tunnel, beneath Church Hill, was the likeliest place for the group to be hiding. The Tunnel was subject to a catastrophic collapse in the 1920’s, resulting in the death of four people, and it has been the subject of urban legend ever since. According to one story, a first responder to the disaster arrived at the seen only to discover a strange, deformed, humanoid being crouched over a victim of the crash. This creature reportedly fled the scene and set up shop in Hollywood cemetery, which is one explanation for the Richmond Vampire. Anyways, we decided to leave immediately to investigate the place.  

By the time we arrived at the place it was dusk. Not wanting to attract attention, Trisha suggested we park the car and walk to the tunnel entrance. I asked her how we would enter the place, and she said she used to do it all the time; there was a hole in the fence and the lock on the gate was often replaced because of trespassers. She was right, of course. The chain-link fence, which warded the area, was compromised. It was fixed half-hazardly with zip ties and blue wire. The gate itself was held shut by a simple combination lock. Trisha informed me that this entrance was supposed to be for service and maintenance. The actual tunnel opening was apparently sealed sometime after the collapse by cement. We were able to break open the lock and enter the maintenance tunnel with our flashlights at the ready.

“It’s funny,” I said “I thought the gates of hell were supposed to say something like ‘abandon hope all ye who enter here’?”

Trisha did not think my joke was funny and chose to ignore it.

What followed seemed to occur in a dreamlike trance. We passed through the gate and were soon descending down a winding passage way into the dark tunnel. Aside from our echoing footsteps, we could hear the unnerving chatter of rats, which scurried away from us somewhere just outside the reach of our flash lights. As I moved through the tunnel, I became painfully aware of this feeling that I was being watched. I tried to push this anxiety aside and was assured by the sound of Trisha’s footsteps behind me. That was until I turned around and discovered she was not there.

I must have been halfway down the access tunnel by that time. I tried calling her name but got no response. Actually I was quite sure, at one point, that I heard a muffled giggle in response, but perhaps that’s just a detail I added after the fact. Looking back now, I do not know what overtook me as I decided to move further into the tunnel proper. The place was not as large as I thought it would be. I followed the ruined trackway down to the center of the tunnel, altogether too aware that someone, or something was watching me. Eventually I could make out the flicker of candle light in the distance and, I suppose, I was drawn to the light like a moth to a flame.

What was once a small flicker soon became a roaring flame as I trudged down the cramped stone tunnel. There, at the end of my journey, was a circle of red, glowing candles with a lone easel at their center. Upon this easel sat a covered painting. I was so transfixed by the scene that it took me a few minutes to process that there were others in the chamber with me. Just at the outer edge of the glowing candle light, there moved figures and shapes of masked individuals, who seemed to be assessing my every move. Among the masked faces I could see a rabbit, a clown, a skull, an assortment of hand carved tribal-looking masks, and the shriveled husk of a face which I knew belonged to someone called Hungry Preta.

I was eventually approached by one of the figures, undoubtedly female, who wore a handmade crow mask. She seemed to be far too familiar with me, as she stoked my arm indulgently, leading me closer to the painting at the center of the space before stopping to press herself close behind me. She nestled her chin upon my shoulder and stretched her arms, caressingly, across my chest in a gentle but inescapable embrace from behind. I was not altogether unnerved by this experience, I had gone numb to the fact that any of it was really occurring. Had I really wandered into this dark and diabolical den? Had I really lost Trisha in the passageway? Had I so foolishly wandered into my own death, as Kathryn had? Was this the end? I would soon discover that it was not the end but rather some type of beginning, as the other figures slowly removed the covering of the painting, and my captor began to lovingly stroke my hair. There before me was the face of the thing I recently learned had been called Elagabalus. And as I stood there dumbstruck, taking in the thing, I thought it was magnificent.

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