#might be the same person who owns that goat i saw a couple days ago

[muntzerism-diggerism]

Hard to see but these fuckers are LOADED with bees

[angstsfordays]

Beautiful Pain

The Falcon And The Winter Soldier (TFATWS) Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced! Reader

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1.3k

Prologue

Summary: Post-blip, you started to feel lost when most of the Avengers team are gone. Coping with your loss, you still find hope in the connection with your remaining friends. However, it is not easy as everyone is trying to figure their lives after the blip.

Having a long history with Bucky ever since you both saved each other from Hydra, you were still glad you had Bucky after all this time. However, as you try to give Bucky space to find himself after being pardoned for his past, you start to wonder if you should ever cross the line of friendship before it’s too late.

That thought might have to be put on hold though, when you, Sam and Bucky find yourselves having to deal with threats that continue to rise in a post-blip world.

Notes: This series is based on the Disney+ series with my own interpretation as I include my OC in it. A bit late in the game, but I am back after surviving the whole of last year and now closing into graduation! When I knew that this series was out, I knew it was my chance to make a comeback here! 

This is a prologue to give background on the OC. Also, you will get some insight into her history and relationship with Bucky before TFATWS.

Please enjoy and leave a like, reblog or comment to let me know what you think! 💖

This is also the unofficial series masterlist:

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven |

----------------------------//----—————————

Wakanda, 5 years ago

“Hey, I just fed you!” Your brows furrowed in frustration as the little runt of a goat continuously followed you to nip on your loose cotton pants.

You could hear a chuckle from the corner when Bucky came into your view. He was carrying a large sack of fertilizer that was to be used for your edible garden.

The frown on your face slowly curved upwards when you see the beautiful smile on his face. How can a single smile make your heart stop and beat wildly at the same time?

You quickly walked over to where he was, looking at how he bent over to set down the sack before flashing you another heart-stopping smile. From that moment, you only wished to always see him being this happy.

“Steve just wants you to pay attention to him.” Your lips quirked when you thought about how he had decided to name an annoying goat after his best pal.

“Can’t blame him when there’s a pretty girl around.” He continued before he proceeded to open the sack.

You did not know to respond to his compliment but you knew that you shouldn’t think more of it. Steve had told you before of how Bucky was like in the past before everything horrible that happened to him. How he was such a charmer with the ladies.

—————————----//-----------------------——

You wouldn’t have expected it, especially when you met him for the first time. When your powers first revealed themselves in an accident while you were barely a teenager, you found yourself panicking at what was happening to you.

You started finding yourself on the run from Hydra before S.H.I.E.L.D got to you. Taken under Coulson’s wing, you were only supposed to be an asset under close surveillance so that you would not fall into the wrong hands. When you became a young adult, you signed up to be an agent seeing how Coulson was close to you like a father. You wanted to follow in his footsteps to help the world become a better place.

However, given the fact that powers make you a target for Hydra, Director Fury asked you to keep your powers on the down-low. You weren’t allowed to use them in front of others and it was a kept secret amongst the higher-ups.

That all changed when the Avengers initiative was founded. You refused the title but accepted the offer to be part of the team. You once again find yourself at the hands of Hydra once it was revealed that S.H.I.E.L.D was infiltrated from the inside.

You unexpectedly got kidnapped in the mess. When you met Alexander Pierce, you were promised to become an asset to Hydra whether you were willing or not. That’s when you first met Bucky.

You didn’t recognise him at first but the photos that Steve had shown you coupled with the ones you saw in the museum allowed you to fit the pieces together. You still remembered his expression when you first called him by his real name. He didn’t get it at first before you started shouting his full name. That earned you a slap from Pierce himself before he got Rumlow to haul you back into a cell.

As time passed in a blur, the last thing you expected was Bucky breaking you out of your cell and the two of you escaped together. You two stuck like glue throughout the entire time in Romania before he got involved in a crime he didn’t commit.

You fought for him and revealed your powers publicly for the first time. While he and Steve managed to escape, you were arrested for choosing the wrong side and being deemed a threat to global security.

Fast forward, you were brought to Wakanda with Bucky and Steve trusted you to take care of his best pal while he continued to be on the run.

Here you are now, living on a farm with Bucky ever since his programming has been removed. Even though Steve is his best pal, Bucky still feels a distance between him and Steve. They had been separated for more than 70 years after all.

While Steve had only the best intentions for him, Bucky knew he could never be the same old person he was before Hydra happened. Bucky felt like you were the only one who accepts him for who he truly is.

A broken man still trying to recover from his dark past. A man who will never be the same.

You never expected him to become someone else, but only embraced him for who he is. He was grateful that you were always patient with him when he fell into his terrible moods from the aftermath of his nightmares. Bucky felt even more blessed when he saw how you always make him smile and laugh more, reminding him that he is not truly alone and that you were someone he could depend on.

Bucky still feels like it is a dream that he now has you by his side. Who knew that the S.H.I.E.L.D agent that had been planned to become another fist of Hydra alongside him would be the closest person he had now?

The two of you shared more similarities than you realised. Both of you had dreamed of the day you two can stop fighting. Being exposed to the real world since you were a young teen, you started growing weary of it all. You had hoped to find yourself in social work once you retired from this life of constant fighting. Bucky didn’t have any plans for himself for the future but he always hoped you would still be willing to be there beside him.

It seemed easy to define your relationship, right? You two were definitely friends. Confidants, perhaps? There was a constant gnawing feeling in your gut if you two could ever be more. Your feelings for Bucky became stronger with the time you two spent together, but you weren’t sure if it was only because he has been the only constant in your life for the last five years.

While the two of you had your close moments, Bucky never gave the hint that it could allude to more. You weren’t super keen to ruin your friendship either. Bucky has become someone so important in your life that you did not want to lose him. There was no way you want to change anything even if it meant suppressing the growing feelings you had for him.

The thoughts in your head were suddenly interrupted when you hear people approaching. Turning back, you saw King T’Challa and Okoye approaching with more soldiers following behind carrying a case. Bucky stopped his current actions and the two of you proceeded to walk closer to where they stood. You could see the change in his demeanour when the two of you approached closer and saw the case to reveal a new metal arm- specifically Vibranium.

It was a moment of silence as everyone exchanged looks before Bucky spoke.

“Where’s the fight?” You could hear the dread in his voice. Your heart fell at his crestfallen expression, empathising with what he was feeling.

King T’Challa was not oblivious to it either but proceeded to give his response. “On its way.”

You didn’t realise you were holding your breath all this time until you let out an exhale. Looking over to see Bucky with a conflicted expression, your hand reached out to place your hands gently on Bucky’s left shoulder and gave a soft reassuring pat.

You mustered a brave front and showed him a reassuring smile.

“We will get through this together, Buck. As always.” Hoping your words would make him feel better, you were relieved when he returned a smile back at you.

Seeing your optimism no matter the circumstances (especially when the world might potentially come to an end), Bucky Barnes felt like he could do anything as long you were by his side.

[aliveanddrunkonsunlight]

Prompt: Brienne is a guitarist in a tribute band that has a viral video. Jaime, the guitarist in the "real" band, sees the video and goes to one of their shows.

Sapphire Blue Guitar

Words: 2,690

Notes: Inspired by Liz Phair, Kim Gordon, and the Fender sapphire blue electric guitar. @bussdowntarthiana i hope you like it!

“100,000!” she hears Sansa announce. 

Brienne is still half asleep, but slowly rises upon hearing her friend’s announcement. By the time her feet hit the floor and she staggers out to the living room, she sees her other roommates and bandmates, Asha and Ygritte, shuffling around the kitchen, looking like they are dealing with the same emotional hangover. (Ygritte might be suffering from an actual hangover. She was knocking back shots last night.) They all grab at the coffees Sansa has brought, made to everyone’s order, and demolish the box of donuts. 

“Did you save one for Margaery?” Sansa calls. Ygritte, Asha, and Brienne exchange wide-eyed, guilty looks, and burst into laughter. Asha puts back a chocolate one for Marg. 

“What’s the count at now?” Asha asks as they join Sansa in the living room, flopping down on couches, balancing coffee cups, and licking their fingers clean of powdered sugar or icing from the donuts. 

“105,000.” The three of them nod, trying not to get too excited. Brienne knows it’s the most hits they’ve ever had. Maybe they would finally start booking more gigs at places other than Qyburn’s Goat. 

The set last night was amazing. She wasn’t sure if it was the energy of the crowd or what, but the songs were tight. They stopped worrying about the mechanics and simply let go and had fun.

Perhaps too much fun, judging from the half naked man trying to sneak out of the house right now. Asha lets out a cheer, Sansa turns beet red, and Ygritte waves it off. “Aw, that’s just Jon.” She beckons him over and tips her head over the back of the couch to give him a kiss. 

“Ugh,” Sansa moans, hiding her face in a pillow. “That’s my brother.” 

“I’ll call you later,” he promises. “Great show, ladies.” He smiles at their group before heading out the door. 

“Great show, ladies,” Asha repeats in a mocking, derisive tone, until Ygritte nudges her in the shoulder.

“Do we want to have our decompression sesh now?” Brienne asks, stifling a yawn. She’s half wondering if the number of hits on their video has anything to do with their song choice.

“Margaery’s not even awake yet. Can’t start a band meeting without our lead singer.” 

The four of them met in college due to their love of the rock band, The Kingslayers. One night at karaoke, when they found out Margaery could actually sing, they decided to form their own group. “A kind of gender reversal thing” as Asha had coined it, The Queenslayers. They started out messing around by playing a couple songs at a student talent show, but the response was so great, they kept it up, and started doing more and more covers of their favorite Kingslayers songs. By graduation, they were a full blown tribute band with regular gigs. 

They all had other jobs, but the whole thing, which started out as a college joke, felt like it was snowballing into something serious these last few months. The Kingslayers, who had stopped recording and touring years before, announced they were doing a new album and accompanying comeback tour. Due to The Kingslayers’ return, more people seemed to have gotten wind of their little band, and more and more people were showing up to their sets. 

Sansa was social media obsessed and had been friends with Brienne for years, so it made sense to bring her into the fold, and she had nearly doubled their hits in the past few months.

“Oh my god,” she exclaims, looking at her phone now. “We’re at 250,000. That’s…impossible. When did I check last?” 

Asha’s eyes widened. “Not that long ago! Before Jon strolled through.” 

Chaos erupts in their living room. “Don’t remind me!” Sansa declares, as Ygritte is grabbing for her phone, and nearly knocks over Asha’s coffee before Brienne swoops it up, saving their living room floor from another disaster. 

She glaces up to see Margaery smiling as she comes in, looking perfectly put together as always in an emerald green silk robe, a hint of lacy lingerie peeking out as the robe falls off one shoulder. “What’s going on?” she asks innocently.

“One of our songs from last night has a bunch of hits. Show her, Sansa,” Asha prompts. She hands her phone to Margaery, her fingers trembling a little. Sansa’s cheeks flush before she turns to look at Brienne, who gives her friend a reassuring smile.

“Well, that is exciting.” 

*

“Tyrion.” He shook his brother awake from where he was passed out on Jaime’s living room couch after a particularly fierce night out. 

“Wha-gog?”

Jaime shoves his phone into his brother’s hand. “Just watch this. Addam sent it to me.” He crosses into the kitchen in his giant loft apartment. As he makes coffee, he can hear the tinny strains of the song through the phone’s speakers and hums along under his breath. It finally gets to the part Jaime has been waiting for, the guitar solo. He watched it about five times this morning. The shock of blonde hair falling in her face, the way her fingers fly faster and better than his own. His guitar skills haven’t been the same since the accident. 

“Damn,” Tyrion grunts when Jaime returns and sets a steaming mug in front of him. “They’re good.” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “She is. The guitarist. Their singer could be better and their drummer is shit, but she…” he taps his fingers on the phone over the woman paused mid-solo. “…she’s the key to all of it.”

“Maybe I should hire her for the tour, then,” Tyrion snarks. Squinting, his brother watches the video again. “Gods, they’re young,” he breathes. 

“They’re not. We’re just old. Old and washed up,” Jaime tosses over his shoulder as he heads back into the kitchen to make them breakfast. 

“Speak for yourself!”

*

The past few days have been insane. The video reached two million views (and counting), the local news contacted them for an interview on their morning show, other media outlets have been bugging them for comment, and they still have their regular gig at Qyburn’s on Saturday. Sansa spends most of the week freaking out about whether or not they could be sued by The Kingslayers’ legal team, but the day before their show, she receives a very brief, but nice email from Tyrion Lannister, the band’s manager (and brother to their lead guitarist.) “Saw this. Rock on, girls!” 

“Girls,” Asha sneers. 

“It’s nice,” Brienne replies. “Like he’s giving us his blessing.” She feels a bit uncertain about all the attention and prefers to concentrate on their upcoming show. Their house seems to have fallen into constant bickering about what their future might hold, so Brienne holes up in her room, fooling around with half-written songs. It’s her father’s old guitar, not the sleek blue electric Fender she uses at gigs, the one which matches her eyes. It’s taken her a number of years, but she’s written a few songs, and she only hopes that one day she’ll get to play them. 

*

Qyburn’s is packed. No, packed doesn’t even cover it. It’s teeming. They arrive a few hours early to have time for a sound check and there’s already a line around the block. “Holy shit,” Asha intones.

Nerves begin to prick at Brienne’s stomach. Sansa steers the car as close to the door as possible. Margaery is following behind in a separate car with Ygritte’s drum set. 

After their sound check, she bums around in her old Kingslayers’ t-shirt and jeans for a bit until they all start getting ready. Brienne doesn’t usually put much thought into what she is going to wear for shows, but tonight she put together what feels like an appropriate outfit. She changes into a well-worn striped black and white t-shirt, ripped black tights, and a pair of men’s maroon shorts over the tights. She prefers jeans, but they get hot during shows, and Margaery is always telling Brienne her best feature is her legs. 

During sound check, she noticed her hands were twitchy, almost little muscle tremors. But now they are full on shaking. She has them tucked under her thighs as Margaery does a smoky eye on her. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she breathes.

“Don’t tell the others,” Margaery says very quietly. “But you’re the best out of all of us, Bri. So you can. I’ve seen how strong you are.” With all the bickering lately, it’s easy to forget how long they’ve all known each other and how well each of them know her. It’s comforting. 

Brienne nods, glancing at herself in the mirror. The eye makeup is a lot, but she loves it. “Thank you,” she says, giving Margaery a tight squeeze. “You’re amazing.” 

*

All week, Jaime tries to convince himself not to go, but curiosity gets the better of him and he finds himself ushered into Qyburn’s via the kitchen. He’s wearing a red and yellow plaid shirt and a black baseball cap pulled down over his hair. 

There’s a giant roar from the crowd as Queenslayers take the stage and he laughs, knowing what it’s like to be on the other end of that. His heart clenches when he sees her, blonde hair swept out of her eyes for now, a beaming blush coloring her cheeks as she looks out at the crowd and gives a little wave. She grips her blue electric guitar. Beautiful hands, he thinks. Long, nimble fingers. 

It takes her a couple songs to get into it, but if she’s nervous, he can’t tell. By the third song, she and the bass guitarist are bopping around the stage and his eyes can’t help but travel the length of her legs, can see the lines of muscle in her calves. He feels dirty for even noticing and swallows the rest of his beer.

It’s an odd feeling, listening to songs he wrote years ago, but there’s a pride there, too. They sound better in person than the video. The singer is evocative and flirty, even more so than Addam, which he didn’t think was possible. When they get to the song he’s been waiting to hear, as soon as she starts to play the guitar solo, electricity races up his spine. His heart is pounding in time to the music and he licks his lips, watching her with anticipation. Come on, he thinks. You got this. It’s strange, but he wants her to do well. He hasn’t even met her, but somehow feels he knows her. When she finishes, he gives a shout from the back. “Woohoo!” Others join in and the cheers travel up to the stage. She smiles, a blush rising in her cheeks again. She searches the back of the room, shielding her eyes with her hand for a moment, looking for someone. Looking for him.  

*

After their set, Brienne watches her bandmates. Ygritte finds Jon in the crowd, Asha and Theon are already headed towards the bar, and much to Brienne and Sansa’s surprise both, Margaery kisses Sansa as soon as she steps off stage. The two of them smiling at each other giddily before they find Renly and Loras in the crowd. Brienne tries to ignore the envy which washes over her. Everyone has someone. Except her. Her dad has always been supportive of her music–he had even called her when he saw the video–but he’s busy with his new family on Tarth and she cannot picture him hanging out in Qyburn’s to hear her play. 

Brienne makes her way to the back, getting stopped by a few people in the crowd who congratulate her on the video or tell her “great show” with bright smiles and a nod, but she’s relieved when she arrives at the bar and signals Hodor for her usual. “I’ve got it,” the man next to her gestures to the bartender. 

She’s surprised and surveys him out of the corner of her eye quickly before he turns towards her, flashing her a smile. The smile she would recognize anywhere. It’s dark and he’s wearing a baseball cap pulled low, but there are green eyes peeking out underneath the rim. Ohmygods. It can’t be. 

“Jaime Lannister?” she asks, dumbfounded. Why would he bother? She remembers Sansa’s worries about the Kingslayers suing them and her stomach plummets. But why would they send him? They would send a team of lawyers instead. 

“Shhh,” he presses a finger to his lips, his other hand falling to her wrist to quiet her. 

“Oh my gods,” she replies, her tone muted. “It’s really you. What the fuck.” She covers her mouth with her hand, horrified she just cursed in front of her idol, but he laughs and some of the worry slips from her body. He has the most beautiful laugh. And he’s gorgeous. Not that she doubted he would be, but she can tell, even though his looks are tucked under a baseball cap and his body hidden by long sleeves. “I mean,” she tries again, knowing she’s beet red. “Thank you for coming?” 

“Is that a question?” he winks at her and thankfully their drinks arrive, because she’s pretty sure she’s died or melted into the floor or something. It’s Jaime Lannister. Standing here. Talking to her like they’ve known each other for years. 

“No, really, thank you. What the hell are you doing here?” 

He grins and gods, he’s so fucking easy on the eyes it hurts. She feels like an awkward giant next to him and probably looks absolutely ridiculous in this eye makeup when she’s not on stage, but then he’s speaking and her brain stops freaking out so she can listen. “I saw the video, like the rest of the world. You’re good.” 

“Thanks.” It’s such an automatic response, but she tries to let the simple praise infiltrate her many layers of defense. Tries to truly absorb that her favorite musician told her their band was good. “So has…did the whole band see it?” 

“Of course. Addam’s the one who sent it to me.” He takes a sip of his beer before he turns his whole body towards her, leans in so close she can feel the heat from his skin. She feels dizzy and turned on and confused all at once. “The band is good,” he murmurs in her ear. “But you, you’re truly talented. You know that, right?” He draws back to gage her reaction and finds himself arrested by her eyes. The blue so deep it nearly matches the color of her guitar, the same blue of his mother’s wedding ring made of sapphires and rubies. Her eyes are steady. A calm in a stormy sea. “The guitar solo,” he nods up at the stage. “You’re better than I am. My brother would kill me for saying that, but it’s the truth.” 

“I don’t know what to say,” she admits. Brienne’s half convinced he’s lying, half wonders if he’s trying to get her to sleep with him or if he has some ulterior motive, but the way he’s smiling at her, the way his face softens whenever she talks, she doesn’t think so. He’s a millionaire. He doesn’t have to come to dank bars to see tribute bands play in order to get someone into bed with him. He seems genuine. “Thank you. That means a lot.” She’s nearly finished her beer and glances up to see if Hodor is nearby so she can order another. 

“Let’s go outside,” Jaime suggests. “It’s too hard to talk in here. I want to get to know you, Brienne Tarth.” Her skin prickles with the heat of his voice saying her name. She follows him outside, half laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.” 

He holds the kitchen door open for her and there’s a cool breeze as they step outside. “I doubt that.”

[floridacooter]

It's been a momentous few days on the farm.

Kidding season started with three stillborns. Turns out sweet Cinnamon, who was so large we thought maybe triplets, had five babies inside of her. Two made it.

She was gooping hard by the time we all awoke--I rushed to get the milk out of the dairy does and on ice so I could head to the birthing pen. Contractions started about 8am, by 9:30 we were all crowded around, buzzing--brimming, one might say--with excitement as the contractions increased.

A bubble. The amniotic membrane started to show as she began to push. I kept bouncing about, grabbing Brock, Saylor, whoever was close to me, gasping at the pending new life. She pushed. She pushed. She pushed. The first sack fell and it felt a miracle. Julia rushed over, finally content to break the membrane and let the newborn breathe. But.

It was clear something was wrong, even to us first-timers. The kid had come out backwards: a breech birth. There was no movement, no breathing, no sounds. "I don't know," Julia muttered, getting to work. She started immediately with swinging; when they're breeched they tend to inhale fluid which can be expelled by swinging the newborn by the legs, creating centrifugal force to clear the lungs. She swung hard--harder than I expected when the process had been described to me the week before. We watched the limp head go side to side, flying left and right as various mucuses and slimes flew to the hay below. She dug into the mouth, trying to pull out a potential blockage. But nothing. She placed the stillborn back on the towel, Cinnamon moved over to start licking the kid, cleaning the newborn to no end.

I would have been a doe.

Leslie was there, Laura's--who's been helping at the farm on and off for a decade now, an original WWOOFer so much so that she introduced Julia to WWOOF--daughter who's freshly five years old. Last week she declared--charmingly, childishly--that some of the goats were getting fat. I corrected her, "Leslie, they aren't fat; they are pregnant!" She asked what pregnant meant. I manged to tiptoe around an answer then but here she was looking death in the face as her mother scrambled for an gentle explanation.

"Sometimes they don't come out breathing."

Here comes another sac, here comes more pushing, here we all are again hopeful, staring, waiting as Cinnamon grunts, groans, and births again. Same. Dead and clearly so. Still: the swinging, the attempt at saving. Still: nothing. Another doe.

You average two kids per pregnancy so it wasn't clear what might be yet to come at this point. Cinnamon's licking her second stillborn when I notice the contractions starting again and shift toward her back to see if anyone else is on there way--there was. "Julia, another kid--and it's coming out the right way!" She looped around as the baby plopped out, this one moving, a wheezing boy. Gabi moves in with a towel to start drying him off, Julia starts trying to suction out some of the rattling phlegm.

Brock puts the stillborns in a feedbag.

Julia was repeatedly apologetic: I didn't want this to be your first experience of the season, but while India was crying and Gabi was shaking, I felt fine. Held myself from piping up with something like "what's a couple o' stillborns to a guy whose favorite meat is goat?" but that was, essentially, my thought process. All part of the experience, all part of the education.

Leslie's got more questions. "How does the baby get in the mom?" Laura gives it a shot: "Well, she has to work with the dad." Not good enough for Leslie, naturally, who launches back: "But where does it come from??"  

So Julia's explaining a few things, theorizing about what may have happened (maybe first one died inside, which may have delayed the overall birthing process, which may have caused the second kid to start inhaling fluid..hard to know, really) when another set of contractions start up. Could it be? Yup, here comes another baby-filled bubble; we're alert again and can't believe our luck, maybe it's not such a bad day after all, but, no, another dead goat falls out. Julia does the swinging rigmarole; to her credit, I shouldn't call it that. Gabi's seen it work. It was important to try.

Cinnamon's confused at this point; looking around and moaning a bit. Where are the other babies? Julia tells Brock to bring them back out of the bag; he does, lays the bodies in front of her and she nudges and licks them--happy to have her babies close even if they are dead.

We mostly get back to work; Gabi stays behind to help with the surviving boy, but we spread out over the farm to care for everyone else. The mood is low, and I manage to stop myself from sharing my real thoughts: it isn't so much a tragedy, just the way life goes, I still saw a miracle, it was truly thrilling to observe birth in that way, I can't wait until it's me with Julia in the pen. Maybe I've watched too many nature shows, but there's not too much sad about a stillborn goat. Animals die.

A hour later, Diana rushed into the kitchen as I'm cutting curds: "ANOTHER BABY IS COMING!!" and I think she must be confused. I de-aproned and de-hairneted and rushed out; sure enough, Cinnamon's pushing out one more and at this point I think myself a fool for running over to see yet another dead baby goat. How wrong I was! Now, finally, here was what we were expecting: a smooth delivery, right side up, breathing well and starting to stretch those hilariously long legs immediately.

A doe. A little girl. Strong. 

So two made it, sister and brother got all cleaned up and nuzzled up and we're getting them ready for life.

Lotta records that day: the farm's never had more than one stillborn from a doe. No one's birthed more than triplets here. 1 in 10,000 they say of a goat having quintuplets.

Next few days were hard on mom and kids alike. The girl took to the teat fast but the boy's been struggling. Had to do plenty of bottle-feeding, lots of holding and nudging to get him to latch. Mom's hurting too: with only one kid feeding but a udder for five, she's nearly as weighed down as before the birth--pain and fever both start kicking in. Two nights ago Julia and I hit 'em with medicine after medicine: antibiotics. Pepto. Safeguard. VetX. Cydectin. Banamine. Worked, though. The next morning the whole group was up and about and the boy managed a bit of feeding on his own. "Out of the woods," Julia declared that day, though we're still trying to clear out the mucusy rattle that doesn't seem to be subsiding. Afterbirth was finally passed (Gabi sat in it and carried the smell all day) and mom's poops are back to normal. Cinnamon's getting whatever she wants to eat--oats, sweet feed, alfalfa...hell, I even collected branches in the dark as rain fell for the hardworking ol' gal. She deserves it.

A boy and girl: that's what everyone says they want, right? We'll be naming them once we get a better feel for their personalities. There's been talk of cheese or spice names; it'll start with a C in any case.

(hello this was a lil email i wrote to a friend from the farm and am c/ping here in hopes that it propels me to a write farm stuff a lil bit more! xo)

Serenity Acres Goat Farm • Pinetta, FL

[no-te-lo-voy-a-dar]

The guild of a Warrior

Words count: 4268

Yoo people! I’m back into writing to post this fic, it seems. This one is for the @linkeduniverse discord weekly writing prompt “Warrior’s week”, I’m still not sure if I got the boyes personalities right, because it’s the first time I write for them but hey! Jojo’s AU is amazing and I need more content of the boys ‘cause it never seems enough  (I stopped writing this at some point to talk ‘bout anti-vaxx people on the discord lmao)

I, don’t think there’s any trigger warning to be added but hey, regular fights, blood and injuries that come with the job ahead.

Also on AO3 

Warriors life with the others was usually a calm one. Sure, they were always tired and having to sleep with watch turns and whatnot, but after traveling by their own, having partners and someone to rely on while fighting was a good thing. A relief even.

And Warrior used to fight endless monsters, so the amount they usually fought against was a mental weight less on him. And, even if he doesn’t say it aloud often, he really appreciates the fact the others are so supportive and would straight up jump to danger in order to save the others, even when they keep secrets from each other.

If you had asked him some months ago, Warrior would have laughed in your face if you even suggested the idea of him fighting and trusting his life over a bunch of boys who he barely knows anything about.

Although...they do know a lot of one another, don’t they? After all, they share the same blessing of the Goddess and have faced trials and gained more power over time in order to protect their lands.

And they do keep learning things from one another!

Thanks to Time, for example, they have learned that love, a happy and more relaxing endgame could be possible for them. They realized, even with all the physical and emotional scars their journeys left them with, they could, can , find a especial other.

In retrospective, Time has taught them a lot of things, or guided them more than they usually realized.

Warrior was aware that Time was some kind of father figure for some of them, and for those who wasn’t, he was a figure to respect, to learn from. To follow.

Of course Twili has told him he was also a leader, a captain, since in many of their scouting missions he was the one who came up with a strategy.

Warrior was obviously gonna come up with stuff like that, and at the moment, he took pride in the compliment and made a comment about how his charms were not only limited to his aesthetical being, after all, he used to live fighting hordes of monsters...but he was no leader to the group. He knew that much. That’s how he really felt about that topic.

Until destiny decided to try him again. An interesting week that one time became, but he didn’t want to go over it again.

First, they have been at Twili’s Hyrule for a while, and he had to admit, the sceneries were beautiful, the people was nice and traveling from one place to another wasn’t that hard.

Wild did complain at the close to non-existence amount of wild horses, but a quick visit to Ordon ranch was all it took for him to stop. He fell in love with the goats immediately. And Warrior could see Twili was amused with how fast the goats were to accept the cloak user hero. Everyone could, actually, but just Wind and Warrior said something to him.

Everything was going smooth as usual. They kept traveling until the local Link felt or saw something odd, out of place; Wolfie appeared to accompany them for a while, Sky was amused by the local “terrenal” creatures, and Wind insisted on going to the Lake, or the biggest water body on the current Hyrule, since he still missed the water and it made him feel closer to home.

When things started to go downhill was when Hyrule and Legend didn’t came back to the camp for two nights straight, and then both Wolfie and Twili went missing too.

“Alright, we can’t keep waiting just for more of us to go missing. We have to split up and try to find them. I’ll go with Sky and Four.” Time was getting up and preparing himself to go looking for the others on a Hyrule they still didn’t quite know.

Wind and Wild didn’t need instructions to know they were meant to team up wit Warrior, who got a solemn look from Time.

“You are in charge. Take care.”

Oh Din.

They started searching on the Hidden Village, that ghostly place filled with cats that Wolfie took them to one day.

“If he showed us such a place, he must have done it for a reason, right? Maybe that’s where he usually lives, in this place.” That's what Warrior told the other two when they decided to go there, but he wasn’t convinced by his own idea. Something told him that they should try and find Twili, not Wolfie.

As expected, there was no sign of any of the missing partners in there.

“I bet Twili is alright. This is his Hyrule after all. Maybe he went to check on some friends of his or something like that. I would have done that.” Wind was making conversation, since Warrior was more busy with thinking of places to look in and Wild was checking the arrows in his quiver.

“But he would have told us something, right? He wouldn’t just, leave us like that.” Anyone who wasn’t aware of the issues Wild had with abandonment and the attachment issues those left, wouldn’t have heard the slight distress in his voice. Some level of fear about voicing out his concerns.

“Maybe not to all of us; to Time he must have said something if that was the case. But apparently we have another situation right here, because Time didn't know anything.” Warriors was on his strategy-man self and was giving even shorter answers than he usually did in this kind of scenarios.

“I hope he’s okay…” Warrior was aware of Wild’s voice: low and filled with doubt. He knew those two had spent more time together, since they were the first ones meeting, and it was only natural for Wild to worry about his mentor and friend.

“Listen Wild, Twili is a tough guy. Nothing is going to happen to him. And even if it does, as Wind said, this is his Hyrule. He knows his way around, and must feel better of being in a place he might know as well as the palm of his hand.” By this point, Warrior had stopped walking and was now facing Wild.

“And he must know we are going to look out for him. I would trust you all with my life. I know you wouldn’t let me alone.” He gave both of the younger than him blondes a sideway smile, and was relieved to see both of their faces a little more relaxed.

“Okay, let’s get to work now. Any idea what path should we took?”

“What about below those crows? Birds flying like that always mean there’s something going on.” Wind was more used to seagulls, but even monster-birds had a tendency to fly in circles around any kind of event going on on the ground.

And so they started walking. The birds were close, and the path lead to what Twili called “Eldin’s Bridge”.

What they saw, they never believe could happen.

Hyrule was holding Legend back using his wind magic, making a tornado cell, but it seemed as if said magic was stronger, the air he handled seemed to have a forest-like smell in it. Legend, on the other hand, was making lighting fall from the sky, and he seemed to try and shoot ice wind at Hyrule with one of his staffs.

Why were they fighting each other? Something happened on the small travel those two were in that lead to this.

“Hyrule! What happened?! How can we help you?!” Warrior called from one side of the bridge to the boy on the middle of it.

“Warrior! I’m so glad to hear you. And I’m not sure. We were in the province of Farore, and were searching for information on this Hyrule’s magic, when Legend found what seemed to be a mirror piece of some short and next thing I know, he's chasing me down all over the place!”

“Shouldn't we try and help him first!? They are fighting over that bridge whose bottom is not even visible!!” Wild was right but, that's not how things are supposed to work.

“Alright, listen. Wind, use your lasso to pull Hyrule over here, then walk enough to were we came from, to stay as away from the bridge as possible. Wild, you and I are going to work together on getting Legend to this side, while Wind does his part. When all of that is done, you are to switch places with him, and treat Hyrule's wounds. When you both are ready, re-join Wind and I.” While Warrior was giving instructions, Wind had already gotten his lasso-claw out and was preparing to shoot it forward.

After Wind pulled Hyrule over to them, Legend took a few seconds to realize his target had moved. Good. That gave them precious seconds to move to a safer zone to keep the plan going.

By the time Wind and Wild had changed places, Legend was already near them. Perfect, thought Warrior.

“We must not hurt him. We just need to tie him up and wait until we can talk to Twi’ and see what happens to him. This is his Hyrule after all.”

And as if that was an instruction, they launched forward, avoiding Legend's attacks, both physical and magical ones, which seemed to be stronger than usual, as well as more dangerous.

To make things worse, Legend didn't seem to have complete control over the magic attacks his medallions were producing, since he hurt himself a couple of times.

Wild and Hyrule were quick to join them, and soon they were trying to tire Legend up, and it seemed it was working. Or at least he was running low on magic, because his attacks started taking place less and less often, and the intensity of their damage kept decreasing.

Wild threw an old shield to Legend’s legs from the back, which made him stumble after hitting behind his knees; followed by that, Wind was quick to use his lasso to tie him up, but it didn’t seem like that would do.

“This is not going to last until we reach the camp. What else can we do?” Worry over both his lasso and his friend could be heard on Wind's voice.

Warrior didn’t have to think it a lot. He remembered Legend had an magical ice staff, and that it could semi-froze people. But he was no magician.

He approached Legend and kneeled down while taking his (precious) scarf off, and proceded to tie it around Legend’s head, covering his eyes and ears.

“I’m so sorry pal, you are not gonna like this”. Was the almost inaudible apology he gave to the possessed like hero while taking said staff from his persona.

He stood up and walked to Hyrule, handing him said object.

“You are the only one of us right here that I trust enough to make sure this works.” ‘Rule grabbed the staff, and immediately understood what Warrior wanted him to do.

“But, this is not the magic I'm used to. We should ask Four to do it, it would-” Hyrule's slightly panic filled speech was cut out by Warrior putting his hand on his shoulder.

They all were used to monsters and nightmare like creatures, but fighting one another, to be in the need of causing some harm to those they already considered brothers... that's something they weren't really prepared for.

“Listen 'Rule. We can't afford to wait for Four to get here. You're capable of this. I've seen you do magic often. I have to admit I'm not sure what most of those spells were, but as little as they are, you are a natural in magic, your skills covering a very good range of it.” Little by little, the worried eyes of Hyrule were replaced with ones filled with amusement over Warrior's words and determination on helping the others.

The brunette nodded to the scarf-less blonde, who stepped aside, and went to stand in front of a struggling Legend, who was trying to release himself from Wind and Wild, who were holding him down.

“Brother, I hope you forgive me.” And so, Hyrule allowed the magic to start flowing from his core, feeling the tingling that it came with it cover the arm holding the staff, and when the cold started to numb his fingers, he raised the staff and made sure of shooting a ray strong enough to froze, him but gentle enough to not, well, kill him.

And it worked.

When they approached their hands with the signature triangles mark to the frozen boy, it felt warm on each of them. They have learned that was a side effect of their “triforce pieces” being too close to one another. Something about powers clashing together it’s what Four said.

“Wild, could you go and get one of the big pigs the bulblins ride please? We need to take him to camp quickly.” Wild nodded at Warrior’s words, leaving Wind with the taller Link.

Once they secured Legend on the pig’s back, the silent walk to the camp took place, with just a comment or two between them to go clear the path, or to switch places with the one currently leading the pig-like creature.

By the time they got to the camp, the sun was setting away, but the relief was to see Twili with the other team. He had his head covered in scratches, and one of his arms was bandaged. It was almost the usual sight they got of each other after a fight.

Warrior could sense that Wild was holding himself so to avoid running to Twili, to check him up.

“Hey! It’s good to see you are fine. Well, mostly. We were worried when you left without saying anything and didn’t come back at night.” Wild, however, took the lead and went straight up to sit besides Twili, who just gave a chuckle at hearing the statement.

“I did plan on coming back at night, but some issues needed to be taken care of. I’m sorry.” He did sound like he was apologizing for something, but Warrior could feel it wasn’t to them, not completely. Something else was on his mind...perhaps a past memory of something that happened during his own journey. Visiting old places could awaken painful memories.

“Hey, where’s Wolfie?” Wind, just catching up, since he was the last to be pulling the pig, that was carrying both Legend and Hyrule, asked about the semi-wild animal.

Time being the perceptive one no matter the lack of one eye sight, was quick to notice both heroes on the pig’s back.

“Wolfie was the one protecting Twili, he went on his own, but he's fine. Most importantly, what happened to those two?” As soon as he pointed that out, the rest of the team was quick to surround the brown animal, and help down Hyrule, as well as carrying Legend to the floor.

“Well, we were searching for magic in this world, Legend wanting to see what he could use to enchant some of his weapons, and I was just looking forward into seeing the differences between our universes, as usual.” As Sky took care of some of Hyrule’s wounds, the later begun telling everyone the story.

“Everything was fine. We just had to cut down some Babas from the path, and scare some Keeses away. Then I got a blessing from some of this land’s spirits, a close one to Farore I think it was, and my wind magic got stronger and, somehow, it felt more alive.” He made his point by creating a small tornado and making it dance among the other Links, who felt indeed how the air was fresher and, for them, gave a sense of calmness.

“And when we got deeper into the forest, near a temple, Legend found was seemed to be a mirror piece, in the shape of a diamond of sorts.” At this, Twili’s eyes shined, and, if he had canine ears, Warrior thought, those would have perked up.

“Both of us could feel magic emanating from it, but it felt...weird. Like it didn’t belong to this world. I told Legend to leave it, but he said it felt similar to the one he felt when he traveled to his Dark World. As if that was reassuring.” Hyrule, now as healed as he could get, stood up and walked, staff in hand, towards the frozen boy.

Everyone stepped aside, to stare and listen to the story from behind, all except for Four, who was now standing to the right of Hyrule, certain cane on his hand.

“And then, he was going to drop the mirror piece by accident, and when he tried to catch it, it cut his palm enough for it to bleed. Next thing I know, Legend is just, not himself. And when I tried to approach him, he snapped and started attacking me. The rest of the story is a mere chase across this Hyrule fields and me trying to find any of you guys.”

Warrior knew, could almost feel how distressed ‘Rule was after what he saw. A perfectly fine hero, a warrior, a loyal companion, being corrupted enough to attack what used to be his friend.

“Are you sure what cut him was a mirror piece?” Twili’s voice sounded almost plain. Too serious, even for Time.

“Yes, but I have no idea what happened to it after it cut his hand. I didn’t see it on the floor.”

“That’s all I needed to know.” With that, Warrior became the audience, along the others, of witnessing how Twili stood up, and took what looked like...a pine cone with orange lines? from under his clothes, and proceed to move it all around the frozen boy.

When it reached the left hand of the boy, the, thing glowed.

“Four, I’ll need you to defrost his head and left hand. When I say it’s done and safe, defrost the rest of him. Then you’ll need to take him near the fire and help warm him up.” Twili wasn’t even looking at them, and that was unsettling for Warriors, because it was a sign that whatever happened to Legend, it was serious. Or had something to do with Twili’s own past in that land.

Wild and Skye were quick to go make sure the campfire was strong enough for the task, allowing Four to use his cane to warm the ice and release both the boy’s head and hand.

Soon enough, Legend woke up, and Twili could see the characteristic black straight vein-like lines going up Legend’s left neck side.

Warriors saw how Twili took a deep breath with his eyes closed, and when he opened them, he was sure he saw a flash of orange on the second leader eyes. Focusing now on Legend’s hand, he saw how Twili magically extracted what seemed to be little black dots, and a black mist too, from the still half frozen boy, whom, the most dots Twili pulled out of his body, more limp went.

It was a quick action, but for Warrior, who was amazed at the fact that Twili was using magic, felt like long minutes. Twili, the one who seemed to despite magic, who refused to use any magical item and prefered to do everything ‘the old fashioned way’ was capable of using magic, and to tame it too it seemed, because Warrior saw how a piece of mirror formed out of thin air when the dots and mist that were extracted from Legend’s body fused together.

���It’s done. Defrost him.” Twili’s voice seemed to break some spell that had fallen upon the boys, who were speechless after the event they just witnessed.

After Legend was safe by the fire, (and that he got his scarf back) Warrior, Time and Wild approached the former farm hand, who has sat down on the grass and haven’t moved since he ‘healed’ Legend.

Wild just sat besides Twili, same as Time. Warriors just stood aside by a tree near them.

None of them said a thing, giving Twili the chance of just stand up and leave, or say something, anything. Warrior could tell Twili was distressed.

At last, he talked, with a shaky voice.

“It’s my fault he got like that. The thing inside him, was a piece of the Mirror of Twilight, the object that opened the gate to the Realm of Twilight. To her home.” Oh Farore, Warrior was already doubting if he should be listening, after all he didn’t consider himself close to Twili. Not enough anyway.

“After my journey ended, I tried to fetch all the tiny pieces. She might have destroyed the Mirror, but not even her could eliminate it from the face of earth. Before I meet you guys, I had barely got a quarter of it. That’s why I left so many times on our time in here. I’m still looking for them, but I’m not sure if I do it for myself or to keep people safe.” Twili let out a heavy sight before continuing.

“What happened to Legend has happened before to the people of this Hyrule. And it’s awful. It’s easier for me to find the pieces as a wolf, since my form is created out of the same magic, but I freak people out like that.” Ok, definitely shouldn't be listening.

That mere sentence was all it took for Warriors to realize that Wolfie and Twili were the same. That’s why they never saw them together. And, if he had been more clever, payed more attention, he could have seen that the mark on both Twili’s and Wolfie’s foreheads were exactly the same.

How a fool he felt like at that moment. It made him realize he really wasn’t leader material if he couldn’t see that kind of stuff. So obvious yet he was so oblivious to it.

“Hey kid, it’s okay to still seek them, even if you are not sure yet why you keep doing so. You are keeping the people here safe, and maybe it will give you time to realise if you need closure or something.” Time, as wise as his adventures had made him, said what made the more sense. But he could see words were not what Twili needed right there, so he rubbed his pupil’s back a little before he went to the fire and tried to help with warming Legend up.

Warrior could see Twili will take a while to recover, and he didn’t seem convinced by Time’s words, so it was his turn to try.

“You know we are a team right?” Both of the sitting heroes turned their heads, as if just realizing Warriors was there.

“And this is your Hyrule. If you need help with anything you can just ask. ‘Course you don’t have to tell us the whole story on why you need this or that thing done, after all we all have secrets. But we are willing to help a friend in need...” Warrior gave a small smirk towards Twili, “...Wolfie.”

Wild just covered his mouth to cover his laugh, and Twili’s eyes went as wide as Wind’s got when he saw a Zora that didn’t fly .

“I forgot you didn’t knew. I…” Warriors put his hand up to shut Twili up.

“Don’t worry, I kind of see why you didn’t want us all to know. I’ll keep it a secret...as much as it is to some I suppose.” He allowed himself to sit down where Time was just moments ago.

“But seriously, there’s 9 of us, and some have knowledge in magical stuff. We could help you find more of these Mirror pieces.” When Warrior shoot a glance towards Twili, he could see he was on the verge of tears. We all are screwed up, huh?

He threw at Twili his scarf, half covering his face, I haven’t used it all day anyway . “Cover your face up; we can’t let the kids see their second leader’s face all red and ugly after such a day, can we?” Wild seemed surprised to see Warriors lend his scarf that easily, and Twili seemed grateful.

Warrior stood up to go sit by the fire, but not without first listening to Twili.

“You are also a good leader to them you know? To us. I'm serious every time I tell you this...You just love being under the spotlight.” Yeah well, maybe…

“That’s right! You really are good with keeping us sane in stressful situations. You are good at keeping your posture when things get too hard for some of  us.” The almost chirp like comment by Wild wasn’t something Warrior was expecting, but in retrospective, it appears the long haired hero was right.

Perhaps I can be a good leader after all. He nodded as a sign of gratefulness to the other two, and started walking towards the fire.

“You better wash my scarf before giving it back Twi’!” After such a departure comment, it was only natural to feel the rock softly hit his back.

As he walked to join the others, he realized this team, this many versions of himself, they made a nice...family, to him. It was something he would fight to protect and oh the Goddess better protect whoever hurt any of them, because he had fight swarms of enemies before, and he would do it again in the sake of any of the 8 boys that’ve been travelling along him these past few months.

A/N: I...was going somewhere different with this, but then I realized I wanted to cover like three different stories and arcs in one, and this one was (is) already pretty long so, later, maybe, in another fic. Besides, if I had done this one longer than it is now, who knows if I may have been able of finishing it up.

This was longer than planned too, but I still like it. Feedback is appreciated!

[bazzledazzled]

Special Cases

This is for the @carryon-countdown Day 4: Fluff!! Now I’m not going to lie, there might be a SMALL bit of angst but that’s because I can’t help myself, but I promise there’s tons of hand holding and cuddles and honestly I just love these dorks. This is an idea I’ve been playing with for a while after I read a couple fanfictions based on it for another fandom and I’ve desperately wanted a Snowbaz one so here it is!

Word Count: 6k Ships: Snowbaz

Summary: When the Humdrum sends a bunch of brightly colored pink and purple bugs after Simon, Baz isn’t sure what to make of it. They seem harmless enough, but when Simon is bitten Baz finds out that they’re the infamous Lovebugs, who cause their bite victims to fall in love with the person they saw last for a week. And that happens to be Baz. 

“SIMON!” This was Baz’s first mistake in the long list of mistakes that would lead to his inevitable doom. And no matter how much he tried to undo it, the list just seemed to get longer and longer.

Baz bolted for the boy with messy golden curls and sky blue eyes that appeared way too often in his dreams. Sky blue eyes that he was practically sick of he spent so much time day dreaming about them. But still, as soon as Snow looked into his eyes, he felt his heart melt and his stomach flutter with butterflies that couldn’t seem to understand subtlety. 

Snow swayed on his feet, his blue, blue eyes fluttering. He seemed like a large tree, about to fall over and crush hundreds of houses under his weight. His magic was overflowing, filling the air with the smell of smoke, and it only got worse the closer Baz got. But nothing stopped him from throwing himself between Simon and the Humdrum’s next monster. It seemed almost harmless. After all, what more could a couple of pink bugs do than scare a couple first years? Baz pulled out his wand, aiming at the bugs. They started to swarm around him and Simon both. Baz turned around to look at Simon. He could barely think, his magic was so thick in the air. Baz knew the look in his eyes. He knew the way his eyes glinted with electricity and the way his edges seemed to blur. He knew what it meant. Simon was about to go off. “Snow!” He growled. And that’s what did it. For a second, there seemed to be a second of silence. A second where the bugs stopped buzzing and the wind stopped blowing as all of the students of Watford held their breath. And then Simon exploded. For a moment, Baz felt himself being suffocated as the sheer force of Simon’s power slammed into him like a wreaking ball, knocking him off his feet. Distantly, he heard Simon call his name and felt the crushing pain fade away, as if something or someone was protecting him. He blacked out. 

Simon’s brain felt fuzzy. It always did after he went off. It felt like someone took his brain out, stomped on it, and put it back in, his thoughts never finishing and words getting jumbled up. There was a hollow ache in his chest. A kind of ache that pounded steadily with the pulse of his heartbeat and made his throat seem to choke up. Blearily, he opened his eyes, seeing a shadow of a figure in front of him. “Ba-Baz?” He says, feeling a swell of hope inside of him. That’s not right.... “Oh thank god,” He hears Penny says, sighing in relief. “You’re okay.” Simon’s eyes adjust to the lighting and he focuses on Penny. She looked both worried and relieved at the same time and her curly hair was up in a messy bun, a thing she only did when she was stressed or anxious. Which was more than one would think, considering Penny was always stressed about school work. Her glasses were smudged, hunting that she must’ve been here since whenever they brought Simon in or else she would’ve cleaned them in her room. Penny hates getting smudges on her glasses. “What happened?” Simon says, rubbing his head. The hollow feeling in his chest seems to grow bigger. Like a void. Simon almost would describe it like the Humdrum’s dead spots, but this was more. It was more painful. It felt like someone was pulling him in a certain direction, and he had no idea where that was. Also where was Baz? “The Humdrum attacked and you went off,” Penny says with a shrug. “It’s kind of weird that he sent bugs, don’t you think?” Simon was nodding, but he was no longer listening. Because now the pounding of his heart was beating to a steady rhythm, a rhythm that said the same thing over and over. Baz, Baz, Baz, Baz, Baz, Baz. “Where’s Baz?” Penny frowns, getting her typical “concerned” face. She always does this when Simon talks about Baz. She says it’s because he has an obsession. Simon says he’s rightfully obsessed, considering Baz was a vampire that was trying to kill him. Probably. “He left just a little bit ago,” Penny says, blowing out a puff of air. “He left for the dorm.” Simon felt his heart start to scream Baz’s name. He was so confused and his head was starting to pound too. Where was Baz he needed Baz why wasn’t Baz here— Simon starts to stand up, and Penny immediately starts to push him down. “Woah woah woah where do you think you’re going?” Simon tries to get up again, this time getting shakily to his feet. “I’m going to my room.” “You can hardly walk. Rest.” Simon does not do that. He tries to push past her, his mind screaming at him about Baz. He couldn’t understand why, but he felt it push him to tears. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. He feels like his brain is being pulled apart. “Simon?” Simon stumbles away from Penny, not daring to look back as he bolts out of the door to the infirmary, running as fast as his legs would carry him to the Mummers House. He made it halfway up the stairs to the large tower before his legs finally gave out. He cursed and swore, stumbling up and trying again, making up a few more before swaying on his feet. His head was spinning and the room was spinning and everything— Then everything suddenly stopped. He felt a rush of warmth as suddenly a hand grabbed his, steadying him. The fog in his brain lifted and the hole shrank. He looked up at the person, who’s scowling down at him. “Can’t have you falling down the stairs all on your own, Snow. That’s my job.” Simon just gaped for a long moment, a flood of thoughts filling his mind. He’s so pretty, I bet his hair is soft, I bet he’d let me hold his hand and— No. What was he thinking. That was ridiculous. “Snow?” Baz says, raising a perfect eyebrow. Simon felt himself gasp at the way he said his name, the way it rolled off his tongue and filled the space between them. “Your eyes are pretty,” Simon says sheepishly, not even realizing it slipped out. Baz dropped his hand from his shoulder, his scowl deepening. Immediately the fog returned and Simon whimpered as his stomached seemed to contract on itself. The choking feeling was back. “Woah woah Snow you don’t look so good—“ Baz jumps a little when Simon grabs his hand, twining their fingers together and practically sighing in relief. He leaned the slightest bit towards Baz, who stiffened. “Okay uh... lets get you upstairs...” 

Something was wrong with Simon. Not wrong as in just went off wrong, but a kind of wrong that Baz wasn’t even sure to explain it. He had this sort of far off, dopey expression on his face that didn’t seem to go away unless Baz let go of his hand. And when Baz did Simon’s face twisted in agony, his eyes glossing over, becoming glassy with tears. Baz could almost imagine fissures in that glossy surface, just a hint of the cracks tearing Simon from the inside out. They get to the room and Baz sets Simon on his bed, not really sure how to do this. Him and Simon never walked up the stairs together, let alone took care for the other when they were sick. Baz sighs, running his fingers through his hair. Simon whimpers a protest as Baz pulls away from him. “What happened, Snow?” Baz says, standing over him, a deep frown on his face. He looks Simon over for any damage. Then he sees it. A small bite, on his neck right before his shirt collar begins. He frowns, sitting down next to Simon and examines it. Simon automatically relaxes. The bite looks red and swollen. Baz is almost certain that Simon was not ready to leave the infirmary, but here he was anyways. Simon was always like that, putting himself in danger for stupid things even if he had a broken leg and couldn’t walk. Sometimes he was so stupidly brave Baz just wanted to put him in a safe little cottage in the countryside with goats or something since he seemed to love them so much. “Baz you’re so pretty,” Simon slurs. His brows furrow, seeming confused for a moment, but when he looks over at Baz it smooths out. “Like really pretty.” Baz stands up suddenly, causing Simon to loose balance for a second. He cannot deal with this... whatever this was. And if it was some sort of trick he definitely wasn’t going to deal with it. “Baz!” Simon says, stumbling up and wrapping his arms around Baz. Baz intakes sharply, his entire body freezing up. Simon was hugging him, actually voluntarily hugging him. Aliester Crowley, what was going on? Simon looks up at him, a smile on his face. Baz pats his head awkwardly. This was weird, even if this was one of Simon’s plans to throw him off his game. There has to be more to this story, and sadly the only person who would know anything would be the other person who Simon would hang out with. Baz groans. “C’mon Snow. Let’s find Bunce.” Baz pulls him off of him. Simon gets a sort of bewildered expression on his face and it almost looks like his emotions are at war with each other. But then Baz slides his hands into Simon’s and all of that melts away.

“Bunce,” Baz whispered scream, peaking out from a hallway. He wasn’t sure what this situation was, but he was pretty sure the other students would flip when they saw him and Simon holding hands. 

Merlin and Morgana... “Baz?” Baz tries his hardest to suppress a groan. Why couldn’t anyone understand this was a dire situation? Baz grabs Bunce, pulling her into the hallway with him and Simon. Penny flashes him an annoyed look, then looks over at Simon, then back at Baz, then down to their hands.... “You’re... holding hands with Simon.” “Yes I’m aware of that.” Baz says, flashing a glare. There’s a moment of silence, where nobody says anything, except Simon. He’s humming to himself in a way that is frustratingly adorable it was really becoming a distraction. “Will you shut it?” Baz hisses. Simon looks taken aback. Baz almost hopes, hopes he’ll come back with one of his snappy comebacks that are awful, but they’re normal. “Okay.” Baz groans, leaning against the wall. “Okay is there an explanation for this or am I just supposed to go with it?” She’s looking at Simon when she says it, but Baz is the one who answers. “I was hoping you would have one,” he says miserably. Bunce frowns at him. “What did your burning hatred turn into burning passion?” Baz almost, almost wanted to light her hair on fire. But he was a nice person, and didn’t want to have that put on his record. “Bunce this is serious.” She pushes her glasses up, a hand on her hip. “I still don’t understand what you’re on about.” “Something happened to Simon and now he won’t let go of me.” Bunce raises an eyebrow. “I’m serious!” It was remarkable how Bunce could manage to make him feel like a child sometimes. Honestly, he was almost a little afraid of her. “Okay but that doesn’t explain why you’re holding his hand.” Baz groans. “Because whenever I let go, this happens.” Baz lets go to demonstrate and Simon gets that look in his eyes. He doubles over, falling to his knees in pain. Immediately, both him and Bunce react, dropping to their knees. Bunce is the first to reach for Simon, putting a hand on his cheek and calling his name over and over. When he doesn’t respond, Baz puts his hand on Simon’s back. Simon responds immediately, his muscles relaxing as he leans into Simon’s touch. Baz and Penelope share a look. “Let’s get him to the infirmary.” 

Simon’s dreams were worse than usual. He saw flashes of wars and destruction and had a sinking feeling that all of them were his fault. He saw his friends sacrifice themselves for him, saw Baz sacrifice himself for him. It was too much. He wanted to scream, wanted to yell, wanted to go off. But he was frozen in place as he watched the events play out, doubled over in agony as pain filled his gut. A bug like the one from earlier landed on him. It had pink wings and purple spots and it crawled up his arm. Another landed. Then another. Soon he was covered in them and he couldn’t stop screaming and screaming and his heart pounded, calling for the same person over and over and over. And then everything faded away and a dreamy haze settled over Simon. The pain was gone, and so was the war and the bugs. He was holding someone’s hand, dancing in a field of flowers. He smiles up at the person to find that it’s Baz. For a moment he feels confused. Wasn’t he supposed to hate Baz? But then Baz twirled him around and he wanted nothing more than for a Baz to do it again. He giggles, his heart pounding with the same name, but this time not with desperation, but with love. He sighs happily, wanting it to always be like this. He remembered hating Baz, hating everything about him, but well... that wasn’t right was it? Do I really hate Baz?

“I think I got something,” Bunce says, running into a room with a book in hand. After leaving Simon alone for a few minutes for Baz to give Penny the full explanation of what was going on, Simon began screaming and thrashing. Baz’s heart twisted painfully and he didn’t even try to hide it as him and Penny rushed to Simon’s side, Baz placing a gentle hand on Simon’s arm. Immediately, he calmed down. Penny frowned at him, announcing that she was going to do research while he stayed here and watched over Simon. Baz sighs, beyond tired. Having Snow cling to him like he was a lifeline really was starting to exhaust him. He was finding it hard to hide his feelings when Simon was snuggling up to his arm or saying things like he said earlier. Seriously why? “What is it, Bunce?” She takes a deep breath, pushing her glasses up. She flips to a marked page, looking for a specific line. She clears her throat and reads it out loud. “The lovebug is a pink and purple bug similar to a ladybug. These bugs most often travel in hoards and can take out many persons at once. It’s power is, for the most part, quite harmless as long as victims perform the proper recovery procedures.’” “What are the procedures?” “I’m getting there!” Penny says irritably. She turns back to the book. “‘When a victim is bitten, common side effects include blacking out, powerful emotions, as well as swelling around the bite. Victims may have a hard time distinguishing thoughts or forming words. This leads them into the second phase of the lovebug bite. “‘The bug gets its name from the powerful effects it can have on emotions, specifically the emotion of love. Typically, once bitten, the first person the victim looks at becomes the person they attach themselves too, though there are special cases. The bite’s venom messes with the brain and stirs up emotions for this specific person, making the victim want to be near them at all times. While this seems harmless, if the victim is rejected or ignored, it can have disastrous effects. Typically victims experience extreme agony when parted with their chosen partner that can, in some cases, be fatal.’” The blood drains from Baz’s face. “So... Snow thinks he’s in love with me?” Penny purses her lips and nods. “I mean, that’s only from one source, but it seems accurate enough. It would explain why Simon gets so worked up when you leave him.” Baz runs his hands through his hair. “How long does it last?” “The book said that it can last for about a week, sometimes less depending on how much time you two spend together,” she says with a small smirk. Baz glares. “So I’m stuck with this? For a week?” Pennelope nods, looking a little sympathetic. “If it makes you feel any better, the nurse says you’re both excused from your clases until Simon gets better.” Baz scoffs. “And break my perfect attendance? Nice try Bunce.”

Managing Simon Snow proved to be fairly easy. Baz tried not to read too much into how easily he fell into the habit of taking Snow’s hand as they climbed the stairs to Mummers House or not even flinching when Simon leaned into him, head on his shoulder. Getting his feelings under control was another story. Bunce kept flashing him glances and Baz couldn’t decern their intentions. She probably thought Baz was going to try and use this against Simon, find some way to embarrass him or flat out reject him, making the damage worse. She hardly would leave Baz alone, asking for reassurance over and over that Baz would help Simon recover. Penny didn’t have to worry. Baz hated to admit it, but he would save Simon in a heartbeat, even if it meant sacrificing himself. Neither of them ever could know how much Baz loved Simon, how much he dreamed of the moment Simon would twine his bony fingers through Baz’s and smile a goofy smile up at him. Baz desperately wished it was real. Penelope finally left them alone around dinner time, but only after Baz insisted she go down and bring back food for Simon. She didn’t seem happy about it, but didn’t argue. Baz relaxed as soon as she left the room. Simon was sitting next to him and it took everything in Baz not to stare. Because Simon was sitting next to him, playing with Baz’s fingers and humming thoughtfully to himself. His eyes were closed and his hair glinted in the setting sunlight. A smile pulls at his lips as he opens his eyes slightly, looking at Baz. Baz tries to push down a blush. “Like what you see?” Simon says, sounding so stupidly drunk it was hard to believe he wasn’t. Baz couldn’t stop the snort that escaped his lips. If Snow remembered any of this.... Would he? Remember it, that is. He seemed so out of everything that it was hard to believe he would. “Sod off, Snow.” Simon giggled a pure little laugh that made something in Baz’s chest tighter. Simon rubs Baz’s hands. “Git.” There’s a beat of silence between them. “Your hands are rough,” Simon says finally. Baz sighs. “Fire burners hands. Also a side effect from the violin.” Simon’s eyes are wide and curious. “It’s so cool that you play.” Baz feels like he’s going to melt. Like, literally melt, Wicked Witch of the West style. “I guess,” Baz says, his voice cool. “Can you play for me?” Baz sucks on his fangs. “Maybe later. I don’t want to hurt you.” Simon seems a little confused by this statement, and for a moment Baz thinks he sees a bit of the old Simon shine through, but then this Simon, the stupidly in love kind of Simon that Baz has never seen comes back. Baz sighs as Simon smiles up at him. He really wishes this was real.

Simon couldn’t ignore it any longer. His thoughts had cleared just enough where he could finish a thought to the end of a sentence. He knew that he was acting dopey and stupidly in love with Baz, his arch-nemesis, his enemy. And he knew it wasn’t an act. He knew that the first two or three days were fed off of the burning desire that  suddenly spread through his heart, completely foreign and unwanted, but the days that followed were different somehow. Baz was kind to him. When Simon started coming to his senses, he realized how horrible this could’ve ended. Baz could’ve taken advantage or left him alone to suffer. Sure, he could still hold this over Simon’s head, but Simon didn’t think he would do that. He held his hand when Simon asked. He spoke to Simon in a soft voice. He didn’t hesitate to pull Simon back into a hug when Simon started to whimper in pain. He even slept on the floor by Simon’s bed when they realized on the first night that the pain would come back if Baz wasn’t close, even while he was sleeping. None of it lined up. Baz was doing everything for Simon, even though it completely messed up his schedule without complaint. He didn’t make fun of Simon, just rolled his eyes and laughed softly as he pulled Simon into a hug, threading his fingers through his hair. And Simon loved it. More than he should. He loved it so much, he loved the feeling of being in Baz’s arms and feeling safe and secure. He loved staying up late as they whispered to each other, Simon rambling sentences that maybe didn’t make sense, but Baz listened anyways. And there was one thing that Simon couldn’t deny. Something that he knew, knew lurked in the back of his mind since fifth year, something that was always there, but never got the right attention. Simon loved Baz, that bastard. 

It was Monday, which meant that Baz was going to have to do the inevitable. The past three days were fine. It was the weekend and Baz and Simon were perfectly comfortable staying in their room and letting Penny bring up meals for them, not yet ready to face the world. But now it was Monday, and they had school. Baz sighs, looking at Simon. He was sleeping soundly, no different from any of the other times he slept. His hair caught the sunlight and glimmered like some majestic unicorn. Baz stands from his spot on the floor. He takes a deep breath before hesitantly letting go of Simon’s hand, hoping he could get a moment to shower without all hell breaking loose. Simon’s brows furrowed, but other than that he didn’t stir. Baz breaths a sigh of relief before grabbing his clothes and quickly heading to the bathroom. He showers as quick as possible and gets dressed before heading back in the room. When he gets back, Simon is awake and there’s a pained expression on his face. Baz swiftly walks over to him, sitting down and placing a hand on his shoulder. Simon looks over at him, a small smile on his face. “You closed the window.” Baz rolls his eyes. “Yes Snow I don’t know if you know this but our room gets exceedingly cold.” “‘Cause your a vampire,” Simon says with a condescending smirk. Baz scowls, easily falling into their old habits and forgetting their situation entirely. “If I was a vampire, Snow, I would’ve bitten you by now.” “Arse.” It was only after they made it to breakfast that Baz realized that Simon didn’t act like a hopeless romantic. He acted exactly like the Simon Baz has known for eight years. 

Something hit Baz’s cheek. He opted to ignore it in favor of listening to the teacher ramble about their lesson plan.

Then it hit him again. Baz got mildly irritated, but again, he did not care. He tried to continue to take his notes like he always did.

The piece of paper hits his cheek again and Baz finally gives in. He turns around, a sneer on his face.

“Quit it, Snow.” Simon sticks his tongue out, putting his hands on the side of his head and wiggling his fingers. Baz huffs, turning back to his work. Simon bumps their knees, then flicks the paper at him again. Baz clenches his teeth.

“Snow.” Simon pretends not to notice, looking ahead with a pencil in his hands as if he’s taking notes. Baz knows he isn’t. He’s pretty sure Simon has never taken notes in his life. He crumples up the paper, throwing it back at Simon. It hits his shoulder and lands on the desk in front of him. Simon flashes him an offended look, but Baz is back to doing his notes.

Simon tosses the ball of paper back to Baz one last time. Baz’s nostrils flare as he rounds on Simon, ready to punch.

“Read it,” Simon mouths. Baz huffs, rolling his eyes. Why was Simon always so persistent? He picks up the piece of paper, unfolding it slowly to watch Simon’s face twist in agony. On it there was one single word. Baz turns to Simon, who is chuckling  wildly because he passed a secret note to Baz that just said “Prick.” Baz sighs.

“Honestly Snow, you talk about yourself too much.” The expression on Simon’s face was absolutely priceless.

The rest of their day went very similar to how it began. They fell into easy, teasing banter as they held hands or bumped shoulders. Baz found himself smiling, being put at ease by the familiarity of it all. It just seemed… right. They didn’t fight to the extreme like they did before, but Simon also wasn’t draping himself across Baz like someone who’s been struck by cupid’s arrow. It was nice, and a small part of Baz wondered if this, the small banter over something stupid followed by lots of hand holding, is what it would be like to date Simon Snow. For a moment, he let himself pretend that it was true.

But he knew it wasn’t, because soon Simon would snap out of it and, more likely than not, run him through with his sword.

Baz however, did not think much of Simon’s behavior until they sat down with Penny for dinner. They continued to hold hands under the table as they ate, flashes of pain still crossing Simon’s face whenever Baz let go, but their chatter remained the same.

“So it wore off?” Penny asks, flashing them a questioning glance. Both Simon and Baz stared at her blankly.

“What?”

“The lovebug venom. Simon’s acting normal again and not… freakily obsessed with you.” Simon scoffs.

“Bold of you to assume I’m not always obsessed with him.”

“See what I mean!” Baz frowns at her, an eyebrow raised.

“What are you suggesting? That it’s wearing off?” Penny’s brow furrows in thought.

“I don’t think that’s it. It’s too soon…” She stares down her chicken, before standing up quickly and grabbing her bag.

“I’m going to the library.”

“Don’t need a play by play, Bunce,” Baz says with a sneer, but Penny is already darting out of the dining hall.

It’s almost the end of the week, which makes Baz nervous. He doesn’t know how Simon will react once he finally snaps out of it. Baz doesn’t even know if Simon will remember, but even if he didn’t it would still be a disaster.

Because Baz doesn’t want this to stop. It’s selfish and he hates himself for even thinking about it, but he wants things to stay like this. He wants Simon to distract him with stupid notes during class. He wants to hold his hand as they walk down to breakfast, completely ignoring any whispers around them (they’ve been constant all week. Nobody is really sure what happened, but it sets them on edge seeing Simon and Baz, who are always fighting, holding hands and acting as if everything were totally normal. It’s been kind of funny, seeing the shock on everyone’s faces).

Baz wanted to make Simon happy. That was the real reason why he was still doing this, even though Simon seemed well enough. Being apart didn’t seem to bring Simon too much pain, but every time Baz pulled away Simon looked almost heartbroken. He knew, knew it was just the venom, but he still didn’t abandon Simon, letting him hug him and hold his hand as much as he wanted.

It’s Saturday again. It’s been a little over a week since Simon has been bitten, and him and Baz were minding their own business as they ate breakfast when Penny came rushing into the dining hall, a book clutched in her hands tightly. Her hair was wound up in a bun but stray hairs were poking out everywhere and her glasses were even crooked. She sat next to Baz, breathing heavily. Baz frowns at her.

“You look terrible.”

“Not looking so good yourself, Basilton.”

“Touche.” Penny’s eyes are alight with life and she’s clutching the book in a tight grip.

“What is it Bunce you look like you’re going to explode,” Baz says tiredly. Penny pushes everything out of the way and sets the book on the table, flipping to a page. On the top of the page there’s the word “Lovebugs” written in elegant script, followed by a sketch of a small insect. Baz raises an eyebrow.

“I thought we already knew what bit Simon?”

“Not that! Look!” She points to a section titled “Special Cases.” Baz flashes her a look.

“This must’ve been what they glossed over in the other book.”

“Okay…?” Baz turns away from her, focusing back on the book.

“While usually the feelings stirred up by the lovebug tend to be fake or nonexistent, there are some special cases. These typically occur in someone who is attempting to suppress feelings towards any individual they may feel complete and genuine love towards. The lovebug acts on those feelings and, rather than having their fixation be on someone they see when they first wake up or someone they saw before they were bitten, their attention will turn towards the person they have repressed feelings for.” Baz scowls at Penny.

“Simon saw me before he was bitten this doesn’t apply to him,” Baz says, crushing any hope that had blossomed in him. Penny glares at him.

“Keep reading.” Baz sighs, but does. He doesn’t know what this has to do with anything.

“At first, a victim in this particular situation will behave much like any other lovebug victim, becoming obsessive of their person and craving attention and acting genuinely romantic. This will generally wear off within three days and the victim will be able to form logical thoughts as well as converse with those other than their chosen person. They will still need physical touch to keep their pain at bay, however they will be more aware of it and may be more hesitant about physical contact.

“Once the victim begins to form logical thoughts once more, they will start to behave more and more like themselves, but less constricted. They will do things they want to do, say things they want to say, with minimal influence from the lovebug. To put it simply, the lovebug simply gives them a boost of confidence to pursue their desires if they happen to be one of these ‘special cases.” Baz stares at the page blankly, looking it over again and again. He feels like he’s going to puke. All of his emotions seem to be overwhelming him. It couldn’t be true. Simon couldn’t have meant all the complements he gave Baz, but at the same time everything matched up. It was the only logical explanation for all of this, but there was no way Simon had repressed feelings for him. It just wasn’t possible.

Suddenly, from beside him, Simon grunts in pain and Baz’s eyes widen in panic. Penny looks at Baz, also looking concerned. Baz starts to reach for Simon’s hands, only to realize he was already holding them. Why is he still in pain?

“Simon--” Baz says softly, too scared to do anything. He doesn’t know what’s going on.

Then Simon drops his hands. He blinks his eyes, once, twice, and focuses on Baz. He looks like he just woke up from a dream and his mouth is open wide, his brows pulled together in confusion.

“Baz?” Baz doesn’t even hesitate. Swiftly he stands up, darting out of the hall before Simon can even do anything. He can hear Simon’s loud, clobbering footsteps behind him, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t turn back. Not until he’s safely in the Catacombs, hoping Simon can’t follow him. 

“Simon--” Penny hisses, pulling at his arm. Simon doesn’t want to let Baz leave, but he doesn’t seem to have a choice. He turns to Penny, exasperated.

“Baz--”

“Simon,” Penny says, this time more forcefully. Simon bows his head. “Simon you just finished recovering we need to bring you to the nurse--”

“But Baz--”

“Baz can wait, Simon. Please I don’t want you to get hurt.” And Penny looks genuinely concerned, but Simon can’t bring himself to feel touched.

“He won’t hurt me,” Simon mumbles, looking away from Penny. He feels a little bad about leaving her like this, but he can’t just let this sit, whatever this was.

Simon loved Baz. He loved him so much and he didn’t want the past week to disappear. He didn’t know if Baz felt the same, but he wasn’t just going to leave it unspoken. He needed to know.

Simon knew exactly where to find him. It really wasn’t that hard. He goes down to the catacombs, trying his luck with a finding spell. Of course, the spell backfires slightly and Simon feels himself actually being pulled towards Baz. He stumbles, rounding a corner. He knocks both himself and Baz to the ground. Baz looks dazed as Simon scrambles off of him, but there’s tears in his eyes. Simon puts his hands on Baz’s cheeks, wiping them away.

“What are you doing here, Snow?” Baz says, giving him a half-hearted scowl.

Simon answers with a kiss. Because he wants to. Because he’s wanted to kiss Baz for as long as he could remember, yet he still hasn’t. Because he’s terrible with words and has no idea how to tell Baz about the emotions swirling in his chest.

Baz pushes him away and fear claws at Simon’s gut. He messed up he messed up a lot. Baz looks at him, his cheeks tinged pink, looking at Simon with an unreadable expression. Simon hated how good Baz was at hiding his emotions.

“Are you still under the lovebug’s spell?” Baz whispers softly, his voice sounding uncharacteristically sad. Simon shakes his head and keeps shaking it as the words, “no” tumble from his lips. Baz looks at him with wide eyes and Simon doesn’t even know what to think anymore. Baz moves closer and Simon isn’t sure if he’s going to kiss him or bite him.

And then Baz’s lips are on his and Simon feels his heart stutter in his chest. He can’t believe it. Baz is kissing him. He’s kissing Baz, and the world is upside down.

Baz is kissing Simon and the only thing he can think about is how Simon said the lovebug venom wore off. This wasn’t bitten, love spell Simon. This was the real Simon.

And he wanted to kiss Baz.

Baz burst into a fit of giggles, his hands knotted in Simon’s hair. Simon didn’t know what was going on, but he felt himself giggle too, his arms draped around Baz’s neck. He felt so inexplicably happy that he could barely contain himself. Because he kissed Baz and Baz kissed him back. Because this has been the best week of his life, and he wanted every single day to be like this. He wanted to hold Baz’s hand and hug him and kiss him until his lips were sore.

He sighs, leaning into Baz and Baz doesn’t even hesitate to wrap his arms around him, burying his face in Simon’s curls. Simon smiles, taking a deep breath.

“Can everyday be like this,” Simon whispers into the silence. Baz chuckles a little. It’s so soft and loving it makes everything in Simon melt.

“Maybe not exactly but… yes.” The last word comes out in a breathless whisper, as if Baz couldn’t believe what he was saying. Simon pulls back, looking at him with a wide grin.

“Good.” And then, Simon kisses him again, the kiss holding the promise of many more like it to come.

[nerdywriter15]

Once Upon a Stardust: Chapter 8/?

Summary: Follows the basic plot of the movie Stardust with a Captain Swan twist. In an attempt to win the affection of Neal Cassidy, Emma Swan leaves her home in the town of Storybrooke and travels to the Kingdom of Misthaven in search of a fallen star. Once there, she discovers that the star is in fact a person, a man who goes by the name of Killian Jones. Together, they must face many dangers, including sorcerers and pirates, in an attempt to return Emma to Storybrooke and Killian back to the sky.

Rating: T (It’s probably more K+ but I want to be safe. Also, the rating will remain the same throughout the whole thing.)

Word Count: ~ 2,731

Catch Up: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Read on FanFiction, AO3

Notes: Hi, everyone! I’m finally back. I’m so, so sorry for the long wait, but I have finally returned to this story. If you’re still with me, thank you so much for sticking with it! I’m going to have a lot of free time over the next couple months so I’m going to do my best to finish this story up within that time. Even if that doesn’t end up happening, I promise I will finish it eventually! Hope you enjoy, and thanks so much for reading! Also, I apologize for any errors! I was really excited to post so I didn’t edit as much as I normally do!

Rumplestiltskin stood atop a large hill, looking around as he inhaled the cool, crisp air. It had been necessary to retreat from society once his appearance started to deteriorate, both to conserve energy and to keep prying eyes from inquiring about his strange looks. While scales covering a person's face was not unheard of, it was certainly not something that one saw every day and was sure to attract some unwelcome questions. And unwelcome questions almost always led to unnecessary deaths.

He couldn't dally for too long though. He knew with no amount of uncertainty that at least one other person in Misthaven must have seen the falling star. Time was of the essence.

As he made his way down the hill and toward the road, he noticed a small white cottage about a quarter of a mile ahead of him. The house had a pen in front of it, which contained a brown goat. Off to the side of the pen stood a small cart.

As he neared the house, he considered continuing on foot, but quickly decided against it. Any trouble that came from acquiring the cart was sure to be minuscule in comparison with the time (and magic) he would save. And saving magic was indeed imperative. The more magic he used, the faster the star’s magic would wear off and the faster he would return to his former scaled state.

Figuring he might as well try his luck, he approached the cart and began quickly untying it from the tree. He then walked over to the pen, opened the gate, and began leading the goat toward the cart.

"What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?" he heard someone from behind him shout.

He turned around to see a sandy-haired man with blue eyes walking around the side of the house, his arms crossed over his chest. Rumplestiltskin barely suppressed rolling his eyes as he plastered what he hoped was a remorseful look on his face.

"Begging your pardon, sir," he said. "But I’ve just gotten word that my son is deathly ill and in need of my help. I’m trying to get to Brooke. But it’s a long journey for an old man with only his feet."

The man’s expression softened. "I really wish I could help you," he said. "Truly, I do. But I’m afraid that cart requires two goats to pull it and my other one just died a week ago."

It wasn’t the ideal situation, Rumplestiltskin thought, but it could be easily remedied.

"Well if all I’m missing is a goat…" he said, waving his hand and enveloping the man in a puff of smoke. When the smoke cleared, it wasn’t a goat standing in front of him, but rather a fox.

"Must be a little rusty," he said waving his hand again and generating another cloud of smoke. When the smoke dissipated, it was indeed a goat standing before him, its coat the same sandy color as the man’s hair.

"Come on," he said, guiding the newly formed goat toward the cart and fastening him in. Once that was done, he proceeded to hitch the other goat to the cart and then headed to the back and took the reins. Looking down, he saw that the green scales had returned to his right hand, starting at his fingertips and extending down to the center of his palm.

"I’ll have to be more careful going forward," he murmured to himself before urging the goats onward.

He rode for about an hour before he spotted a covered wagon in the distance. He could see a steady rise of smoke from behind it, which meant there was a fire going. Hoping he could perhaps hustle his way into a meal and save himself the energy of conjuring one out of thin air, he directed the cart in the direction of the wagon.

As he got closer, he could feel a hint of magic in the air, the force of it getting stronger as he approached. It wasn’t light magic, but dark, like his. For a moment, he considered turning back. Interacting with another magic user seemed risky, especially with something as precious as a star on the loose. Still, it might prove to be an opportunity to get some information about the star’s whereabouts.

"Who goes there?"

A woman with blonde, curly hair came around the back of the wagon. She wore a flowing purple dress with an ornate crown atop her head. But the thing that was truly striking about her was the large fireball, also tinted purple, that burned in the palm of her right hand.

Although it had been many years since he’d ventured outside of his lair, Rumplestiltskin knew exactly who the woman standing before him was.

"Put your fireball away, Maleficent," he said. "I swear to you on the laws that bind all magic users that I mean you no harm. I simply wished to see if I might share a meal with you before continuing on my way."

She looked at him for a moment, clearly trying to parse out whether he was telling the truth, before extinguishing the fireball.  

"Right this way," she said beckoning toward him before disappearing to the other side of the wagon.

Rumplestiltskin dismounted the wagon and led the goats forward, tying them to a post that Maleficent had fastened her own horses too before following her around to the wagon’s other side. He saw an open fire with some type of creature — a rabbit he would guess — roasting on it. Maleficent was sitting on a stool right beside it. On the ground right beside her foot was a small, white bird.

With a wave of Maleficent's hand and a puff of purple smoke, the bird transformed into a woman. She was in her mid to late thirties and had pale white skin and a mane of long, dark hair. Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help but think that she looked somewhat familiar.

"Get our guest a seat," Maleficent said to the woman, who nodded and hurried off to the wagon. Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help but notice that a small silver chain, which was attached to the wagon’s wheels, rested around her ankle.

So the woman is Maleficent’s slave, he thought. This made the fact that she seemed familiar even more intriguing, but he couldn’t quite place her, even when she returned with a stool for him to sit on.

"That will be all," Maleficent said, and with another wave of her hand and puff of purple smoke, the woman once again transformed into a bird.

"What would you like?" Maleficent asked, gesturing toward the rabbit as Rumplestiltskin took a seat on the stool. "Heads or tails?"

"Heads," he answered, and Maleficent nodded before waving her hands yet again. A plate with the rabbit’s head appeared in his lap while another plate with its lower half appeared in Maleficent’s.

Not bothering with table manners at all, Rumplestiltskin grabbed the rabbit in his right hand and took a bite, closing his eyes and giving a sigh of pleasure as the food met his tongue. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. He brought it back up to his mouth and began to eat ravenously.

"So what brings you to Misthaven?" he heard Maleficent ask.

"I seek a fallen star," he said, his mind more focused on his meal than what he was saying. "And when I find her, I shall cut out her heart, become immortal, and…"

He stopped short, realizing what had just escaped his mouth. He dropped the plate on the ground and looked up to see Maleficent staring at him with a wry smirk on her face.

"Limbus grass!" he exclaimed. "You dare to make me spill my secrets to you by using limbus grass?"

"Yes," Maleficent replied defiantly. "And it was indeed worth it. A fallen star is not common in these parts."

Feeling anger pool in his belly, Rumplestiltskin raised his hands. Storm clouds gathered behind him and lightning coursed through the sky, followed by a clap of thunder. Maleficent fell to her knees and stared up at his face in horror. He himself was, of course, unable to see his own face, but he knew that Maleficent was seeing his true form.

"Rumplestiltskin!" she exclaimed. "I had no idea! Had I known I was in the presence of someone so great, so powerful, I would never have dared! I swear to you, I will not seek the star!"

"Oh, no, you won’t, dearie," he said, pointing his finger at her, hitting her with a blast of burgundy lightning. "You shall not see the star, touch it, smell, or hear it!" he said as the lightning pulsed through her body, raising her slightly off of the ground. "You will not perceive them even if they stand before you!"

With those final words, the lightning disappeared and the storm calmed. Maleficent fell to the ground, unconscious but alive. Rumplestiltskin briefly thought about killing her, but he had already sworn upon the laws of magic not to do so. It was best not to trifle with such promises.

With a reluctant sigh, he turned around, and got back in his cart, unfastening the goats with a wave of his hand. He grabbed hold of the reins and urged them forward.

~/~

Regina sat astride her black stallion Rocinante, urging him forward as he thundered along the edge of a white sand beach. She could feel the wind rushing past her face and tangling in her long, dark hair. When she was around others, she always had it pinned up, one of her many tactics to inspire respect and fear amongst the kingdom’s subjects. But she was all alone now. And the mission that she was currently on required her to look less intimidating than she normally did. She wanted to lull the person she was seeking out into a false sense of security.

She urged Rocinante on, toward a wall of cliffs that sat along the edge of the water. As they approached, she slowed him down and dismounted. She gently patted him on his snout, taking his bridle off. He was a loyal horse and could be trusted not to run off on his own. Giving him a chance to wander around a bit was the least she could do for the horse that she considered a better companion than most humans in her life.

After parting with the horse, Regina made her way along the edge of the cliffs until she found her destination: a small cave. To the untrained eye, it would be difficult to even know it was there. But Regina had been here many times before. The cave was home to a fortune teller whose predictions were always accurate. As soon as her mother had died, Regina had sought him out, hoping to find the whereabouts of her mother’s stone. But so far, none of the advice she had received had helped her.

"Welcome back, my child," she heard someone mutter as she entered the cave. At a small wooden table in the center of the table sat a haggard old man, with scraggly grey hair and an even more disheveled beard. Across the table was strewn a variety of brightly colored bottles and different herbs and spices. A small hammock hung in the corner, alongside a small fireplace that Regina knew must have been magically conjured. On the opposite wall was a shelf hewn out of the rock, on which rested different a pile of small stones with various markings on them -- runes -- and a few large books.

"I trust your quest for your mother’s stone has proven fruitful?" the fortune teller asked.

"That is why I’m here," she said. "Your runes seem to have pointed me in the wrong direction. I have had no luck."

"Reading the future can be a tricky thing." He rose from his seat at the table and headed over to the shelf, picking up some small stones with various markings on them. "Shall I consult the runes again?"

"Yes, but I want to try something."

"I’m here to serve you."

"Try throwing them in the air," she said. "Throw them high."

He did as she asked. As they came down, she asked, "Is my name Regina?"

The fortune teller caught the runes in his hand. All of them had fallen so that she could see their symbols.

"Let’s try this again," she said.

The fortune teller regarded her dubiously, but once again threw the stones in the air.

"Is my favorite color blue?" she asked.

The stones fell into the fortune teller’s palm again. This time, their blank sides were all facing up.

"One last thing," Regina said. "This time throw them even higher."

The fortune teller opened his fist and launched the runes into the air. Regina waited until they stopped rising and then spoke.

"Are you working for my sister?" she asked before pushing the fortune teller to the floor and sticking out her hand to catch the runes.

They landed in her hand, each and every one facing up.

Regina let the runes fall to the ground before dropping to her knees and shoving her hand into the fortune teller’s chest. Her fingers closed around his heart and she heard him let out an audible gasp.

Normally she would have pulled the heart out and crushed it, as she had done with so many others, but his gasp of pain — so similar to Johanna's just a few days ago — gave her pause.

She’s not here anymore. You don’t have to act cold and cruel to get her approval.

Johanna’s dying words played in her head against her will. She tried to brush them aside, tried to pull the heart out, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

With a growl, she withdrew her hand and stood.

"I should kill you for this," she said, watching as the fortune teller lay back on the floor, panting as though he had just sprinted a mile. "I won’t today. But if I get wind of you helping her ever again, I will not hesitate to come back here. And you will wish that I had crushed your heart today."

And with that, she scooped the runes off of the ground, stuffed them into the pocket of her dress, and stalked out of the cave. Now that she had them, the stone was as good as hers. She just had to ask in which direction she should travel.

~/~

Killian sat with his back against the tree. The Swan girl had been gone for what felt like hours. He was starting to wonder if something had happened to her, and if so, what would happen to him if she didn’t return.

Would he die of hunger? Thirst? Would a wild animal eat him before either of those things happened?

The sun fell below the horizon and with every rustle of the trees, his imagination ran wild. Was there someone out there? Did they know he was a star and were they coming to cut out his heart?

Eventually he heard the unmistakable sounds of something walking through the bushes ahead of him. There was definitely something there this time. Even though he knew it wouldn’t help him any, he stood to meet his foe. His body trembled and he could hear his breathing speeding up. All of those noises ceased, however, when the figure finally emerged from the bushes.

A white unicorn walked forward, stopping right in front of him. Killian reached his hand out to stroke its main.

"Care to help me with this?" he asked, gesturing toward the chain.

The unicorn looked him straight in the eyes before turning its horn on the chain. With a sharp swipe, it fell to the ground. Killian knelt down and gathered it up, wrapping it around his wrist before standing up again.

"Thank you, my friend," he said. "I don’t suppose you could help get me out of here?"

The unicorn moved its head up and down in what seemed to be a nod. Mindful of his injury, Killian hobbled over and successfully — if albeit clumsily — mounted the creature. Once he was comfortable, he tapped the unicorn lightly on the neck. It whinnied in response and trotted off at a light pace into the night.

[pinkpoundcake]

DESERT DEVIL

CH. 1 THE HISS

All Might/ Reader as Female OC

NSFW AU ( Yes there’s smut)

4k+ words

Here’s the first chapter of something I’ve been working on during off time at school. I like writing drastically different AUs, because they give me a lot liberties. I intend for this to be a short series, so maybe two or three more chapters after this one. Hope ya enjoy if you read! 

I’m not sure if FF.net will allow second person, so I’m posting it here. I aint got no AO3. I also apologize for any mistakes! I’ll go back an’ fix as I see em. 

EDIT: Went back and fixed some things. Also, I changed the category of this fic. I’m warning the reader that you’re an OC! Kinda like you’re a preset character in a dating sim? If that makes any sense. Those be my only terms of free service. 

I.

Dusk had gone and night finally draped over the still view of the valley. You were a silly girl, really. No one in their right mind would pick now of all times to draw water from one of the wells. Maybe once upon a time they would have. It wasn't impractical to wait until the sun stopped cracking its infernal whip to get things done, but once upon a time, the valley had nothing to fear.

II.

You were walking quickly. You kept your wooly head low as you neared the crudely built structure. Only one bucket of water. No one would mind. You just couldn't go to bed with a clear conscience without finally giving your poor, overworked horse something to drink. You'd take the risk, because glory knows you hated having cottonmouth. It was cottonmouth season...all year round it felt, except for the few praise inducing weeks the sky would show mercy and weep. Dry mouth, dry eyes, dry coat, dry everything. Such is the way of the desert.

You gave your heavy water bag a hard yank to make sure it was sealed before you hightailed it back to your plot. The locust had stopped gossiping in the weeds, and it was making you nervous.

III.

You were the sort of gal who liked to blend in, but your talents made that hard. You had an ability, A Gift, as folks liked to call these sorts of things, that made you incredibly valuable for trade.

You engaged in it as well, because you had to, to get along, but it made you an easy volun-telling target for other croppers and craftsmen and all manners of citizens with business

“Could you chat with this fellow for me? He speaks...sumfin’. The hell if I know. He owes me money.”

“Tell that eastern cheapskate I won't go any lower on price!”

“Hey, goat girl, tell the front counter dame in the Apothecary she's welcome in my bunk any time of day~”

First of all, you were a sheep. Second of all...fine.

IV.

Your Gift was nice for the most part. You had your own upper hand when it came to sale. You could understand anyone, no matter the spoken language. Absolutely essential for such an oddly diverse patch of scorched Earth. You could even help filter a speaker to an entire audience if you held their hand. You didn't like to advertise that though, otherwise the mayor and sheriff and whoever else, would be breathing down your neck even more than they did now.

If no one around knew you, then they usually assumed your appearance was all there was to your Gift. So, what you loved most was eavesdropping. Conversations were mostly mundane in other languages. That's how talking worked, but there were days when you were served some pretty interesting dirt or juicy news by unknowing hosts.

They're going to start rationing water tomorrow. Some serious limits, I reckon.

I didn't think it would be this bad this year?! It rained just enough in the early season, didn't it? I wonder where it all goes.

You wonder the same. It gets worse and worse every year. Every year it's a point of serious tension. They don't call this valley Struggler for nothing. Struggling was this town's first, middle, and last time. Maybe it's old maiden name, too.

The commonality is, is that if you made it halfway through the desert, you stopped in this crowded, little town and clung to it for dear life. You personally knew what it was like. Everyone knew what it was like, to fear that you weren't going to make it to The Oasis at the end of your journey. After the promenade that chewed you up, and spat you out, you don't even try.

We don't have enough water for all the people we keep letting stay here!

But what kind of person could keep a cold heart here? What would it take to let someone waste away elsewhere, or worse, face the beast this desert had to offer.

The Hiss.

More chilling than a rattlesnake's warning.

V.

This broad blue sky. The hard clay and sand beneath his form, the cacti, the dry bones and evaporated watering holes. Every scavenger to circle overhead belonged to him.

The hard, hot wind. The mirages that danced in nauseating ribbons. They were his. He could lift his head, and think about howling to his old lovers, the stars, if he still had the singing voice. But he lost that a long time ago with one of his lungs.  He was getting old, too, but his bloodlust was getting stronger every year, along with a lot of puzzling urges.

He hated that he could only claim his seared kingdom at night, but it couldn't be helped. He was a partial coward who couldn't hope to understand himself. He still had a deep sense of decency. He was a hypocrite, in a sense. He didn't want to be a bother during the day, if he was such a big bother at night. But being a menace at night was to be a nuisance in the day, regardless.

And nuisance was...too light of a word. Far too light. Crows in his sunflowers were nuisances. Locust in his house were nuisances.

Him?

Oh, he was

VI.

“A killer...A fuckin’ killer!”

You watched as the town sheriff swore and covered the body of a, now former, foreman with a bit of canvas. Splotches of blood bloomed in the fabric over the inclines of the older man's face. From what you saw, he was mauled real good. Or...bad. A big bite right out of his jugular, clavicle, and most of his left shoulder. You weren't the only sick one in the crowd. You would have upchucked your breakfast if this wasn't something you were becoming accustomed to.

First it was Mr. Dandy, gnawed out chest, who used to rally up hunting parties with the German twins who could shoot right out of their fingers, no guns needed. Then it was Eclair, you didn't know her last name, who sold pungent perfume from her own sweat out of her tacky little shop. Y'all never found her head. Big Cat Capri from Cameroon, was torn in two. Though he was a menace with a forgettable Gift that wasn't much missed. Then there was another fellow. Japanese you think, but actually he was still limping around somewhere.

The only one to see The Beast and live… The fella's pretty busted up as far as you know.

Anyway, time for another funeral.

VII.

Speaking of that old Japanese fellow…

You didn't give him much of a glance at any given day, but you could see him  out of the corner of your squared pupils, watching you hand off chunks of unwashed wool to craftsmen who were probably going to fashion saddles or boots. It wasn't quite the right time to start plucking from your melon patch, or any of the desert dates, so you were selling off some old stock of your hair. Everyone knew it was your hair, and no one really cared.

God, you couldn't recall his name. You've never actually heard him speak, but the fella always sat at the posts near the trading square and just watched the street; waiting for someone with their hands full to need help lacing up their boots. Or for someone's goat to go astray so he could bring it back to them. Or to help some kid out on errands tether their family horse. You wonder why he would go through those little efforts on a limp. He walked with a cane, bright red like a dragon, with a yellowing cattle horn handle. He wore a big brimmed, leather hat so that he didn't catch perpetual sunburn, thick slacks, a poor fitting button up that used to be white, and strapped riding boots, too, but no spurs.

He was a strange sight, you noted with slight nervousness as he stood, and then made his way over to your shabby booth. He was a tall, tall, tall fella. Tall and skinny, like he didn't fancy eating much. You knew a couple of people who were like that. He had wild, blonde hair, he obviously didn't comb. And honestly, he had the prettiest blue eyes. At least you assumed they were. He was swallow enough that his eyes were sunk deep beneath his brow, but that blue struck out like an aimed double barrel. It made you wonder what he looked like when he was a colt.

“Afternoon, sir,” You cleared your throat. You watched his face to gauge how much he understood you. You didn't want to be rude. “No food. Just some wool today.”

The older man, squinted, seemingly thinking, and then gestured to your freshly sheared head with the handle of his cane.

“It's all mine, yes.” You laughed and scratched one of your horns to release some of your anxiousness.

“How...How much for it?” His accent was somewhat thick, but you were happy you wouldn't have to reach out and grab one of his massive hands to get on some equal ground.

“Five pieces for a small bundle. Ten for the big bundles there.” You watched the fellow consider which size, and then finally he made a decision. Slowly he lifted one of the large cottony wads, and then absentmindedly brought it to his nose. He gently inhaled the intriguing scent there.

You stared, perplexed, and confused. He seemed to pick up on your confusion, and righted himself. He gave you his own awkward smile, almost an apology for…whatever that was. He counted out ten small pieces for you, politely dipped his head with a thank you, and then moseyed along.

Strange…

VIII.

He was drunk. Absolutely drunk, and he'd never had a drop of liquor in his life. Tequila couldn't have been stronger than this. Your scent, your scent was so...He didn't know.

Good.

It made him hungry for things he'd forgotten the name of, forgotten how to describe. He didn't know what he was doing alone in the shack he called his home. Hiding his shame maybe. He'd locked the door with the big expensive chains and padlocks ( that were decor at this point) from the top shelf hours ago as night began to fall. He was paranoid, and feeling ravenous for a completely different, mysterious reason from what he was used to.

He held your wool in one hand, pressing it flush to his nose as he paced from one side of his home to the other. The misaligned floor groaned and weazed beneath his heavy, bare footsteps. His shadow, flickered from a candle or two, and swept the peach papered walls like a dark, lumbering menace.

What was it that he wanted now?!

He didn't understand himself anymore! There was no one to teach him his purpose.

He inhaled again, deep. His exhale emerged with a low rumble.  It rattled the chains strapping the front and back door, and shifted the glass in the kitchen window.

It was happening again much too soon.

There used to be a time when he could command the other half of himself. Where he could be whoever he wanted, whenever, but now he was stripped to nothing but incomprehensible impulses.

His wrath. His hunger. His pride.

Something new. His lust.

IX.

You just finished putting the blanket on Kissy, your horse, when the stars began to rub the long day from their eyes and glint down at you. Though still warm, the wind rolled over your fuzzy scalp and settled in the cooling sweat beneath your dark hide. You rubbed your arms, figuring you could use a blanket, too. Your draft's loud chewing in the stable cover was a calming background noise as it mingled with your thoughts. The flat distance, with it's mountainous levels was a pretty sight, despite being empty.

You've always wanted to roam at night, finally figure out what that fabled Oasis was on the other side of hell. You hoped it was heaven, or something close.  You wanted to explore more than your town, to see what was out there while the sun wasn't scheduling your funeral. You were bored of being too scared. Stressed with not having enough of the bare minimum essentials. Lonely, too. Kissy kept you company, maybe, but he wasn't all that good with conversation or cooking.

He wasn't good at stopping you from taking 'walks’ either. You found all sorts of excuses for yourself to roam at night. Kissy needed more water, or you needed to find some wild aloe for a wound, or you needed to find sand grubs for your greedy gossip of chickens.

Excuses, excuses.

Mr. Aizawa, was another Japanese fellow (you think), who wasn't the sheriff, but probably could have been. He'd tell you you were full of excuses. The town had a curfew of sorts to 'keep people safe’. Under what authority this curfew came from, you had no clue. If you were caught, the runner up sheriff hogg tied you with a lasso and a warning, and dragged your sorry, law breaking ass back home. Or fined you. Something like that.

He had an annoying Gift that kept others from using their Gifts to get away. You didn't know how he did it. Much to what was probably Deputy Aizawa's disdain, he was plucked out of the crowd the day he arrived. He had a scruffy grifter appearance, but the fellow was awfully strict, perfectly bilingual in relation to you, and knew  exactly what your own Gift entailed, so you couldn't pretend you didn't understand any of his honorary demands.

You didn't even give yourself a chance to consider he might be out and about on patrol. You didn't even consider where the hell you were going. All you knew was that you were:

Literally and figuratively hard headed.

And

Dumb as rocks because it was half past night noon, and anywhere beyond the aloe thicket was Hiss county.

The danger zone.

X.

A scent was a scent was a scent. Something to follow to a target. His prey were rotten. He caught the next foul stench on the hit list floating on the western wind. It filled his flared nostrils and made his mouth water with anticipation. His long, thick fingers were still raw and full of splinters from clawing his way out from his pathetic attempts at shutting himself in.

The night was a blur. He was unbothered by the grit he kicked up in his full run. Adrenaline pumped in his veins with the incredible accumulation of power that drove him. There was a roar in his ears. Something he rushed by sliced him; thin little scratches in several places, but he didn't notice. His heart thrashed beneath his ribs as he sensed himself drawing closer and closer.

Wait.

Suddenly, he came to a halt, giving the surrounding weeds severe whiplash.

Everything aside from his heart and his laboured breathing were still. Not a sound from any creature. Nothing was brave enough to disturb him.

There was something... something else on the wind he wanted much, much more that seemed to be coming from the same direction.

XI.

The last thing you wanted to hear was a voice while you were trying to be sneaky. You kept your body low and tucked your tail close to the full round of your bottom. It was going so nicely, your 'stroll’. You were going to take some notes in one of your books, maybe stuff some natural souvenirs in your pocket, and then head back home.

You held still for a while and used a few big, healthy stragglers of agave as your cover. You were hearing the voice again, now two voices. You didn't know what dialect they were speaking, so you closed your eyes, and used your Gift.

He's been shelling out a lot for this reroute. Keeping a lot of people's mouths shut. It's gonna be a lot harder to get this done without the foreman.

Yeah, I thought that, too. It's strange. I'm sorta...spooked. Mr. Dandy and now him. You’d think this whole thing was cursed.

Or someone knows…

They looked mauled, couldn't have been some poor bastard with a pistol.  What do they call the thing that's been chewing people up?

Depends on who you talk to. Yok... something. Yokay? Yokai? Chupacabra, though it's not gettin’ goats, that's for sure. Werewolf. Howler. Beast. Plain old monster.

I just hope it's a coincidence. I don't want to be next…

Now...what in the world we're these fellers talking about? You frowned while quietly slinking around to another perch. You watched your footing and hoped they would talk more, but now they were getting further and further away. Headed…somewhere.

Somewhere you kept your eye on. Might want to check it out next time you take a stroll.

XII.

The air pressure flipped like a coin  and cut through your moment of reprieve.

Bullseye.

You were so shocked you couldn't even scream. It was caught in your throat with a pinch of desert sand. Something massive and unyielding and menacing had ripped the ground from beneath your feet.

The sky was spinning round and round as the earth teetered wild on its axis. The moon was mocking you. The stars cackled as they danced, blurry streams trailing like faded candle lights behind them.

There was a black patch of sky that didn’t budge, and it only held two stars far above that didn't move either. Because they weren't stars,

they were vivid blue eyes.

XIII.

This was it. This was how you were going to die.

You were already nauseous from hitting you head, and now you were nauseous from hitting reality. You couldn't make a sound, could hardly breathe. Your throat burned like a shot of fireball. Your eyes were wide as you tried to make out the Beast's form. It was hard, with hot tears in your eyes, now shrouding the moon’s pale light. You could hear him, though, the hiss of death. It was high pitched, akin to the sizzle of a hot brand.

Would it have ripping fangs when it bit you? We're those its claws digging into your ankles as it dragged you elsewhere? You were in a bit of pain, and you could sense the stickiness of blood on your back, but you were mentally preparing yourself for a lot more. Images of the sheriff draping canvas over your mangled body caused you to wretch.

You were so stupid!!!!! SO GODDAMN STUPID. HOW COULD YOU PUT YOURSELF IN THIS SITUATION? NO WEAPON. NO NOTHING.  THIS IS WHAT YOU GET. HOW COULD YOU-

It stopped.

You stopped.

Confusion boxed you good over the ears.

You were staring up into the face of a man now, and he was staring right back at you.

Your confusion subsided into renewed fear. He was just a man, but the most unnaturally large man you had ever seen. Large was the wrong word. He was...immaculate. A threadbare shirt was struggling to hold itself together as his massive chest flexed. He had a heavily shadowed face and unreadable, though somewhat tense expression. His golden hair stood upright on his forehead head, like a red bat's ears or jack rabbit. Pure, wild, chaotic energy wafted from the heat of his skin. He shifted slightly while sizing you, and your eyes darted to the massive, bear paw of a calloused hand on the other side of your head.

He could sneeze and snap your neck. You believed he could tear a man in two. Oh God in heaven, he did! And you were next!

The Beast made a sudden movement, and you shut your eyes. You clenched everything from your horned head, to your cleft, hooven toes, and waited.

You had no choice but to hold your breath as his big, otherworldly body pressed into yours. It felt like being pressed between something more solid than a rock, and a really hard place. His breath, that you realized was rushed, cooly ghosted your forehead. Was he going to take your noggin like Eclair and mount it over his fireplace?

Greedily, he was drinking in your scent. So much stronger, so much better right from the source. He had to sample more of you. Sip you. Lap you up.

Where was it?! Where was more?!

You didn't think you could tense beyond how much you were tensed now, but you did as his nose left your head to wedge its way up into your neck. You felt the unnatural rumble of his voice in the hollows of your bones, filling your throat and chest. You prepared for hard, life ending bites, but all you received we're moderately painful nips and what could only be described as sloppy kisses. He received the sensation of kissing your fur with intrigue and almost groomed it with a big, wide tongue.

You didn't know what to say, or what to do. He hadn't said a word. You didn't know if the brute mounting you was really human, or …Something. Was all of this even real? Or were you home, wet dreaming about a good rut in your bunk again?

He needed more! More! More! More! Where was more of you?!

He left you one last bite on your shoulder that you were ashamed made you bellow out like the animal you were similar to. You slapped a hand over your mouth, but it was too late, the sound excited him. His nose grazed you, his rapid breaths through his nose like the pumping steam from a piston, a panting dog, frantically looking for more of your tastes and smells. Your clothes were in his way, but he didn't have the patience or current cognition to remove them.

He rubbed his cheeks against your generous chest, nipped your stomach through your tattered apron, and then zipped straight to your crotch. You were shocked as he unashamedly, obliviously, pressed his face there and very audibly inhaled. There was another rumble, loud enough to buzz through your entire body.

“A-Ah!” You cried out. The sharp, pleasurable tingle and sting from his deep voice, the pressure from his cheeks, and the heat of his breath was sudden. You were so…you were…

You could end this year's drought right here, right now.

You bit your lip, desperately wanting to access the situation. To think! To sort out what in the HELL was happening, but he had ripped through your overalls with his teeth and was lapping at your plump pussy through your knickers. He'd sniffed out the wetness that had slickened the fabric and was eager to taste. You moved closer and hissed out a pathetic Yeeessss!

Whimpering, you tried to push yourself up on your elbows. Your shoulders hit some hard, cool clay and the back of your head scraped more of the rough rock there. He was suckling like a thirsty calf, drawing the fabric of your knickers into the heat of his mouth along with your long, throbbing clit beneath. The suction was strong, unrelenting, almost painful.

“H-hey, hey! Easy, partner!” Your thighs  involuntarily snapped around his head, but he was undeterred. You shoved your hands against his brow, trying to get him to release.

“Please!” You were relieved when he finally did, but it was only for some adjustments. The brute drew his hands beneath your legs and dragged you further into the shadow so he could keep his meal all to himself.

His mouth attacked you again and you wriggled and writhed. Your own breath matched his labored huffs. You bit chunks out of your sense of morality while you bit your lip. With a shaking hand, you brought your clawed fingers to your crotch. His thick tongue grazed your knuckles as you worked to tug the fabric aside and reveal your dark, generous lips, and generously engorged clit beneath. He immediately took what you revealed to him, going from hungry to downright glutenous. You couldn't tell if the additional wetness you felt was from your own cyprine or slobber on his chin.

XIV.

“GOD!! Who are you?! What is your name?” Now was not the time to be asking these sorts of questions, but again, you did say you were a silly woman. You gritted your teeth to attempt to contain your cries. He didn't respond at first. The only reply for several deliciously, agonizing moments was the thick, slurping sound of his attention between your legs. This stranger, no demon,  was trying to shove his tongue as far up your womanhood as he could, and at this point, he had your loud, keening permission.

“AH! AHH!” Your slapped the hand that wasn't buried in his hair over your mouth again. You couldn't contain yourself. You'd never felt something like this before. You were a maiden who could only daydream, and you weren't sure if you could consider this that, or a nightmare.

“I said!” Your voice cracked and your back arched from the ground as you racketed up to an orgasm. Your voice was weary and hoarse. You were shrieking “what is your name?!”

He still had yet to respond, but if he chose now, you wouldn't have heard him. You came for the first time in your little life ( bless your heart); your mouth stretched wide open, waiting to catch flies. But all you caught was a big, wet kiss.

You could taste yourself. Taste his breath. Your legs were shaking. You were high like you'd been huffing gasoline, so you didn't put up a fight when he lifted you to his chest.

Someone was coming…

He had to take you elsewhere.

The open night sky. The owl judging you both from the whole it ate out a cactus. The earth beneath his feet. The howl of the wind as he ran and you both became a blur.

And you, clinging to his chest:

Belonged to him.

--

Chapter 1 End

[zukadiary]

Hustle Mates ~ Cosmos Troupe 2018

I know I'm here so often it's hardly special anymore… but this trip had the distinction of being my first VACATION in Japan in 5 years. I'd forgotten what mornings look like in this country (and as I'm now back at work for the remaining few days, I already miss them).

It also had the distinction of being Kazuki Sora's first lead. Of my standout favorites in my life thus far as a Takarazuka fan, Sora is the only one who, by some witch magic, grabbed me when she was a tiny child—before I ever set foot in a theater here, before she even got a shinko lead. After growing quite used to following her around the edges of the stage with my opera glasses and mentally cursing camera operators for not panning two inches to the left to get more than a sliver of her arm in some great dance scene, this year brought first an absolute dream role in Anita, followed by the center spotlight that I honestly wasn't convinced she'd ever get. It's been vindicating seeing her immense talents displayed so prominently, and deeply moving in ways utterly different from any of the other cyclones of emotion Takarazuka fandom has thrown upon me. A very non-Soragumi friend had a chance to see the show, and I felt nervous and wary like I was taking an acquaintance to my own child's recital (someone please tell me when I got old enough to experience THAT feeling). And much like a mom, I plan to throw out any attempt at objectivity and rave about my girl until you don't want to listen anymore.

Hustle Mates was primarily a collection of songs and dances from Soragumi history, with a few non-Takarazuka songs, MC sections, and mini skits thrown in. It's a tiny cast of 16, so if you like anyone in it you have a good chance of seeing her featured. Long-time Soragumi fans will likely find it very fun and nostalgic regardless. Sora leading a show about the history of Soragumi which contains a great number of songs with the word sora in them made it kind of sound like she was singing about herself for two hours, which greatly amused me (and apparently tickled Ishida-sensei too).

Act 1 opens with two original songs—the very upbeat Hustle Mates theme, and then more of a ballad (also with ample use of the word SORA)—followed by a selection of songs from some of the most well-known Soragumi musicals: Copacabana, Phantom, Top Hat, Singin' in the Rain, and an Elisabeth medley, which despite the general overuse of Elisabeth songs was still my favorite. Watashi Dake Ni was a group musumeyaku number, Mikaze Maira got to unleash her very impressive pipes on that last note. Saigo no Dance also started as a group otokoyaku number. Moeko entered partway through for a solo line, and I know she has the shinko Tod experience under her, but since I've never seen that, it was maybe the most surprising and powerful few seconds of Moeko I've ever witnessed. Then Sora came in to finish the song, and in some alternate universe where she's in a different class and tall enough to be a top star I'd sell both of my kidneys to see her Elisabeth every single day of the run. Sora solo Kitsch came next and was likewise flawless, so I guess I'll be satisfied with keeping my kidneys if they finally air that dang shinko in the next couple of months while Tsukigumi is playing.

Then we have a skit… I'm a bit fuzzy on exactly what went on in it, but I suspect I might be looking for sense where there was none. Setohana Mari enters dressed like a dominatrix, loudly cracking whip and all, with two other musumeyaku guards of Partial Time Prison. They do a roll call of past Soragumi characters who come out one by one and make meta jokes about themselves (discussing their offenses?) while the three guards smack them around. Sora is brought out last, as Lucheni, and gives a long speech, the punchline of which is he's on the path to reform thanks to his new life selling green juice mix in what is probably a pyramid scheme. Each performance she ad-libbed Louis and Marie Antoinette off the stage.

Moeko and Mineri who were playing Jose and Carmen in prison stick around to sing Temptation (GREAT song, I wanted a little more from these two) while the underclassmen get ready to sing Amapola a cappella conducted by Homare Seri. This was QUITE impressive, and I love it when they use Bow to give underclassmen little challenges like this. Act 1 ends with a medley of the Soragumi revue songs that got the most votes in the internet poll they ran a few months ago. They aren't listed individually in the program and I'm probably missing something, but off the top of my head I remember Millennium Challenger, Dancing For You, Funky Sunshine, Nice Guy, Phoenix Takarazuka, and Hot Eyes. Sora singing Funky Sunshine (SO—RA— POWER) was HIGHLY satisfying. They finish on Asu e no Energy, which still made me cry even though I JUST saw Citrus Breeze… but put my kid in the center of a song that always makes me cry anyway and I guess that's what you get.

Act 2 was less nostalgic and more interesting to me, probably because Sora's dance scenes multiplied significantly. They opened with a nihonmono medley, beginning with a Soran dance which I LOVED (the one from Viva Festa always gets me hyped too). Sora entered Takarazuka with a background in hip hop dance which I think always gives her movements a particular dynamic energy and a sharpness that sets her apart even from the other great Takarazuka dancers, but it stood out to me even more than usual in the Soran scene, probably in contrast to the traditional Japanese garb. I REALLY LOVED IT (even if I can imagine nichibu purists cringing). During my first two viewings of the show I was mostly overwhelmed and ecstatic that Sora had gotten a lead at all, but the last one, particularly in the Soran scene for whatever reason, it hit me HARD how much she's grown and how commanding and enthralling she is on stage.

After we spend a bit more time reliving Soragumi's very brief nihonmono history through song, there's a "rain corner" featuring a folk song that I rather like and a skit that made me feel COMPLEX THINGS. Mappu (Matsukaze Akira) plays some kind of rain god/wizard/???, in a whimsically decorated raincoat with two cute little ghosts hanging off her umbrella. Sora enters playing a guy out for a walk in the park in the rain where he meets a girl (Mineri) who lets him share her umbrella, and when the rain stops she asks him what he's doing in the park in the rain without one. BEAR WITH ME HERE: he explains he felt like coming to visit the spot where his dog Liza died, on a rainy day just like this one, after running away from their car (side note, I hope they named the dog Liza because Mineri's name is a play on Minelli?? Is it even?? There's a good ochakai question 6 days too late). He reminisces about all the tricks Liza could do, and Mineri imitates them. He shows her a picture of Liza, and surprisingly they're wearing the same dress?! It becomes evident that Mineri is actually the human form spirit of Sora's late pet, granted a few precious moments on earth by Rain Wizard Mappu to talk to her former owner, thank him, and say goodbye… she disappears with Mappu before Sora fully figures it out. HERE'S THE THING: As WTF?? as this entire concept is, Sora's acting was so damn heartbreaking I TEARED UP on the THIRD VIEWING even though I TOTALLY KNEW WHAT TO EXPECT?? I'm GENUINELY ANGRY that she took THIS SKIT and managed to MAKE ME CRY, and now I'm also praying to all the gods that this isn't her last lead, because I NEED to see her in a proper play with a proper partner. Where do I sacrifice the goats?

Next the whole team sings a song from Never Say Goodbye, leading up to Sora coming out for a solo barefoot dance, custom engineered to wound me as gravely as possible. Setohana Mari follows this up with an attempt at If I Were a Bell from Guys & Dolls, with brilliant all-in drunk acting but barely recognizable English (A for effort given the speed of the song though).

AND THEN

Okay. There's a rare special thing that I've now had the… fortune? I guess? of experiencing twice, that I hope you all get to experience someday, not because it's good or fun but just because it's An Experience. Sometimes there are secret little treats hidden in Takarazuka shows just for the foreigners. They're secret because I am pretty sure the directors have no idea what treats they are. And sometimes, through a combination of luck and the kindest friends, you make it to your first viewing with no spoilers, and a song starts playing that you recognize within half a note, and you begin having an experience so separate from every other person in the theater you feel as though you might as well be floating above the audience with all their disapproving gazes drilling into you, wondering what the heck you're doing up there when clearly the place for you is down here. The first time was when I waltzed unassuming into HOT EYES!! in an era when my feelings re: Soragumi were "I guess I have to watch them if I want to see Sora," and in my heart-pounding state of shock brought about by the first however many scenes Eye of the Tiger began to play, and out came involuntarily a VERY noticeable raspberry spit of quickly stifled laughter (before Makaze's everything shut me right the heck up).

The second was when amidst the polite applause following Secchan's Ding Dong Ding, the curtain rose on the remainder of the cast beginning a fiercely literal staging of the entirety of Bohemian Rhapsody in English. There are so many things to unpack:

Mikaze Maira, playing a literal mother, opens the number by emotionally reading a literal letter from her literal son who has literally gone off to war

The others, with Sora in the center, are playing soldiers armed with sizable rifles, portraying the horrors of war via aggressive interpretive dance

Sora's English, while certainly not flawless, was SO PASSABLE, especially when compared to a) history in general and b) specifically Can't Take My Eyes Off of You from 2 years ago, I was FULLY SHOOK

Her dancing and acting in this number were SO FRIGGIN GOOD I could DIE

The performance overall was SO PASSIONATELY ACTED and thus SO DISTRESSING that people in the audience were CRYING from BEING MOVED to the point where later in the run they BEGAN SNIFFLING BEFORE THE NUMBER EVEN STARTED

It forced me for the first time in my life to sit down and hella contemplate the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody, the conclusion of which was a) yeah that sure was a 500% valid interpretation of the lyrics and b) there is absolutely no way I could ever begin to explain to a Japanese person why in my culture it's a FUNNY SONG

I was EXTRA TICKLED that Kotti, who can't speak above a whisper off stage, was the one who got to run up onto a box and scream SO YOU THINK YOU CAN STONE ME AND SPIT IN MY EYE

Every viewing my body shook so hard from the effort it took to keep myself from making any sort of noise I wouldn't be surprised if everyone in my row could feel the tremors and I am honestly still tired just thinking about it

If this is cut I’m making a GoFundMe for the rights. Everyone start saving now please.

As a palate cleanser, Mineri sings a pop ballad in a gorgeous gown before the proper kuroenbi to Ai, which is a song that has a lot of nostalgic value for me personally, making it a very emotional backdrop to Sora leading an otokoyaku dance with the top star sparkles on her tailcoat and hitting that final pose with a heart-shattering bang. They reprise the two original theme songs for the parade, and that's Hustle Mates.

Additional notes from my particular viewings: I had a lucky aisle seat where Hanaki Maia, who I'm pretty obsessed with, serenaded me, and Mappu gave me a great smile and a little hand squeeze in lieu of a high five. I am completely charmed by Kotti, she's like a Great Dane that grew up and still thinks it's a lap dog—striking otokoyaku on the outside and a sweet shy earnest inside that hasn't quite caught up yet. Senshuuraku should be the day that shows up on Sky Stage eventually, but in the Partial Time Prison scene Homare Seri (playing Rhett Butler) started a really awkward slow clap with the audience in an attempt to ad lib, then had no idea where she wanted to go with it so she just gave SoraLucheni a big hug, and Moeko got flustered, decided that was enough, and cut off everyone’s laughter and applause by stepping in front of the action and saying her next line as loudly as possible.

My raku seat was close range, and after watching Sora’s perfectly calculated facial expressions, and the tiny backlit beads of sweat flying off her brow as she danced her heart out in HER SHOW, I'd sit in lava for her I love her so deeply.

[veryangryhedgehog]

“The Priestess, the Emperor, the Empress,” an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

“You want me to do what?” Cindy blinked at Niko from across the dining room table. It was December, and finally the first real snow of the year was falling outside the frosted windows.

“Just... you know, back me up,” Niko shrugged. “I’m gonna be goin’ into some pretty dangerous turf, and I need all the firepower I can get.”

Cindy frowned. “Well... what about Lila? She can take down pretty much anything, right? Besides, I got shit of my own to deal with.” Like an ever enigmatic quest for “the Truth”, whatever that meant, and a long-lost brother who hadn’t called her in the last forty-eight hours, she added to herself.

“I’m not worried about getting jumped,” Niko explained. “I’m more concerned about being intimidating. This guy’s not violent, as far as I know, but a hard customer to crack. I just need him to know we mean serious business.”

“You’re the spectacle, and I’m the steel,” Lila added from between them as she took a bite out of an especially crunchy bagel, which sort of temporarily cancelled out her badass persona.

Shaking her head, Cindy folded her arms. “Witchcraft isn’t even remotely ‘spectacular.’ I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“Not spectacular?” Niko scoffed. “What do you call the fire that comes out of your friggin’ hands then?” He wiggled his fingers dramatically. “5 out of 10? Lacked a certain pizazz?”

“Oh, that? It’s not as great as you think it is,” Cindy shuffled in her chair. “I mean it’s fire, but... look.” She reached for the chain she kept around her neck and showed them the yellow-orange amulet that dangled from it. “It works through one of these, but they don’t have much power. I only had a little to work with, after all. Anything big will expend most of its juice. I mostly keep it for emergencies.”

“Perfect, wonderful. Listen: I don’t care if it only burns at room temperature,” Niko leaned towards her, grinning. “I just need it to look like it’s something.”

“I dunno...”

“Okay how about this: if you use it all up, I’ll get you the shit to make a new one free of charge. Better yet, a better one.”

Frowning, Cindy thought for a moment. She had a bad feeling about this. But at the same time, Niko and Lila had become her friends, and if they needed her help...

“Alright,” she said finally, sighing as she leaned forward on the table. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Yes!” Niko stood, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “This is the big one, ladies and, uh, ladies. I think some celebration is in order. I’ll go make some pancakes.”

Cindy raised an eyebrow. “Pancakes? Why that of all things?”

“It’s the only thing he knows how to make,” Lila supplied.

“Hey! That’s not true,” Niko pouted. “I’ve learned how to make a lot of stuff in the last couple months.”

“My apologies, young master,” she bowed as much as she could while sitting. “It’s the only thing he knows how to make well.”

Nodding, Niko seemed satisfied. “Much better,” he replied, before disappearing into the kitchen.

Once he was gone, Cindy turned to Lila. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” she asked. “I feel like I’m kind of taking your job.”

“Oh, no,” Lila smiled, “it was my idea, actually. I’m...” she paused, looking back into the kitchen. “I’m afraid Niko’s getting a little in over his head with this one. People with guns I can, and have, dealt with, but this is... something more along the lines of your expertise. I’d feel much more confident if you were there, for your knowledge if nothing else.”

“And are either of you actually going to tell me what it is we’re walking into?” Cindy asked.

Lila sighed, as if she didn’t quite believe what she was about to say. “We’re going to conduct business. With a daemon.”

Cindy blinked. “Oh shit.”

So it was with great reluctance the following afternoon after school that she met Niko and Lila at the house and together they walked down to the old part of town. Lila had her katana strapped to her shoulder like a backpack, and certainly had several weapons besides on her. Though Niko seemed less armed, there were several suspicious lumps under his trench coat that Cindy suspected were guns. Cindy felt positively naked with only the fire amulet and the hasty protection charm she’d whipped up for the three of them last night.

Meanwhile, Lila was feeling just as nervous, if not more so. She wasn’t used to not being the toughest person in the room, and her every instinct was screaming to bodily grab Niko and run. But she didn’t.

Niko had found himself a real niche here, in this small, unimportant suburb, selling substances of an... occult description, mostly just because this town was so gosh-darn weird. With the exception of that one family down the street from the abandoned house—what was their name? The Jeffersons?—she suspected that there wasn’t a single ordinary person in the whole of Ede Valley.

She knew that he’d been saving the money he’d been making until his eighteenth birthday rolled around and they could get a place that didn’t have more cobwebs than a football player with a concussion. If he could get a daemon in the chain of supply and demand, that would be huge.

But still, it was one of the more dangerous things she’d done in her life, right up there with trying to steal the watch off a rich mob kid with a heavily-armed bodyguard. Daemons, to put it lightly, weren’t human, they didn’t think like humans did, and most could probably tie her up in a knot of words before she’d even drawn her katana. Niko might fare better, he was good at that kind of thing. But Lila was afraid, even for him.

Lila was so lost in thoughts that she didn’t realize they’d reached their destination until the hum of the neon sign cut through the haze. Blinking, she saw with a start that she recognized that image of a scrubby goat. This was the bar right below the safe house, err well, ex-safe house. She glanced over to Niko and briefly caught his eye, trying to convey just how dangerous this was. True, it had been almost four months since the “Vincent Incident” but she was still paranoid that they might be recognized.

Niko nodded, ever so slightly, probably telling her to keep her cool, and then carefully stepped over the threshold, into the Smiling Goat.

Apt name, Lila thought, almost bitterly as she followed suit with Cindy behind her, though she had no idea whether the proprietor had any real associations with the land down under. From the décor, it certainly didn’t seem like it. If anything, the place had a worn-in feeling; Lila would have called it homely if not for the crawling feeling that something dangerous lurked in these walls.

Niko gestured for the two of them to hold back, and Cindy and Lila obliged, glancing around the place while Niko approached the bartender, a tall, dark-haired kid with an exceptional amount of tattoos. He leaned on the counter conspiratorially, a smirk that seemed to say he already owned the place painted on flawlessly. “I’m here to speak to the boss,” he said softly, but firmly. “He knows we’re coming.”

So far, so good as the bartender nodded. But Lila shouldn’t have dared to even think it, because just then Cindy happened to glance over at the bartender, her mouth dropped open, and she almost shouted: “Tommy?”

Annnnd the spell was broken. They had lost the intimidating edge. They had ceased to be dark, mysterious strangers and had become teenagers playing as them. But surprisingly, the bartender didn’t scowl, or scoff, he looked kind of sheepish, and almost a little scared. “Cindy,” he said, “what are you doing here?”

Swiveling back and forth between the two, Niko looked just as confused as Lila felt. “You two know each other?”

“He’s my brother,” Cindy provided before turning back to the bartender, Tommy. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I, uh...” Tommy began.

“Wait, your brother?” Niko interrupted over the top of him. “I thought you only had one of those!”

She shrugged. “I thought I did until two days ago.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means,” came a new voice, “that dramatic irony is still functioning as it should.”

All eyes turned as the black curtain at the back of the bar was pushed aside and a tall man with round spectacles slunk out. Said curtain was then nearly set on fire a second later out of sheer reflex.

“Oh hell no,” Cindy said, a jet of flame separating her and the newcomer. “Not you too.”

“Cool your jets!” Niko yelled. “Are ya trying to set the place on fire?”

“I would if it would burn this son of a bitch with it.”

The newcomer chuckled. “I’m a little tougher than that, I’m afraid.”

As Cindy hesitantly put out her flames, Lila took a small step forward, her hand twitching near the hilt of the katana. She could see why Cindy had reacted the way she did, there was something about this man that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. At first glance he appeared harmless, even a little foppish with his dishwater blond hair flopping over his round glasses. But there was something about his eyes. They were too sharp, too focused for the persona he was trying to display.

Niko, on the other hand, didn’t appear to be picking up on any of this. “Do you know everyone in this town?” he asked Cindy.

“Apparently so,” she glared at the newcomer.

He shook his head. “And you’re not even going to introduce me? That’s a little bit rude.”

“No offence, but I met you two and a half years ago for two minutes, and that meeting ended with me in a mental ward for three months.”

“Fair point,” he nodded.

Lila paused mid-breath. This man was clearly the daemon they were looking for, and if Cindy had met him two years ago... she nodded to herself, the pieces falling together. A brief glance over to Niko revealed that he had come to the same conclusion.

“The name’s Cowell,” the daemon continued. “And I’m the proprietor of this establishment.” He turned to Niko. “I believe you are...” Lila froze as his tongue closed around the first syllable of Niko’s name. The pub seemed empty, but who knew who could be listening at this very moment. “Looking for me,” he said instead, seeming to enjoy the momentary panic that had sprouted on their faces.

“That’s right.” Niko recovered quickly. “We spoke over the phone. I’m very interested in this place, and all the... things you’ve got inside of it.”

Cowell simply seemed bemused from the many inches of height he had on Niko. “Ah, I see. A connoisseur of the more... obscure trinkets, are you hmm?”

“More of a... business man, I’d say,” Niko matched his tone with ease.

“Mhm,” Cowell nodded. “Then let’s talk in my office, shall we?”

He beckoned Niko to the back curtain, but quickly stepped in front of it as Lila—and Cindy, a little more hesitantly—tried to follow. “Ah, ah, ah,” he intoned. “I don’t let just anyone back here, you know.”

Frowning, Niko stared at Cowell for a moment, trying to read the vague smile. But he quickly gave up. “Cindy?” he asked. “You’re good with doin’ a little catch-up with your bro, yeah?”

She looked a little relieved, and nodded.

“Good. But Lila’s with me.”

It was now Cowell’s turn to eye Niko. He seemed just on the cusp of refusing, but then smirked a little and nodded. “Alright then, the two of you follow me.”

Across the pub, Cindy watched them disappear behind the curtain. With anyone else she would have been worried. But this was Lila, after all, and Niko was no slouch either. After a moment, she turned back to Tommy, who had been polishing the same glass for about ten minutes now.

“Sorry I didn’t call,” he muttered finally, after they sat in silence for a minute.

“I was worried, you know,” she admitted, “that you’d disappeared again, or worse, and that I’d never see you again.”

Tommy looked up from his glass. “It’s just... it sounds like you and mom and Mike have a nice life now, one that I’m not a part of, and I would just bring back memories.”

Though she nodded, Cindy still wasn’t fully convinced. “You saw dad, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not like him, you know. I know you worry that you are.” She neglected to elaborate why she was certain of this. “There’s someone else you take after, but it’s not mom either. I don’t know who it is.”

“Thanks.” Even if she didn’t, Tommy seemed to know who she was referring to, and he brightened up a little.

“Look,” she sighed, “I see what you mean about coming back from the dead and all, so I’ll make you a deal: I won’t tell mom you’re here, but in return, you need to tell me the whole story, where you’ve been all these years, all of it.”

Tommy paused, staring off into the distance for a moment, before he finally nodded. “Alright. Deal. But I can’t just ‘tell’ you. I kinda have’ta show you. Once Cowell comes back, I’ll see if I can get off early.”

And so they waited. They would be waiting awhile, because back in the office, there were some... complications.

Cowell led Niko and Lila down the black hallway and into the last door on the left. Lila’s hand twitched, ready for anything as the door opened into... a small, cozy office. The only off thing about the whole affair was the shelves upon shelves of jars containing, what else, souls. They were of all colors and consistencies, some adrift peacefully while others almost seemed to be fighting to break free.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” Cowell said suddenly after he noticed Niko and Lila’s transfixed gazes. “How each one is so unique? I sometimes take them just because I’m curious about what they look like. And taste like,” he added, grinning to himself.

He didn’t seem aware of just how odd that sounded.

“Funny,” he continued. “Most people are a bit scared once they find out what’s in those jars, but not you two, eh?”

Niko scoffed, drawing his gaze away. “After the things we’ve seen, this is downright calming.” He plopped down in the chair in front of the desk without waiting to be invited. “But neither of us are starry-eyed kids you can con out of our essences or whatever the hell. We’re here for business.”

“Yes, yes. Of course.” Cowell grinned, sitting as well. “The young mob heir, striking off on his own, to prove to them all that he too can construct an empire with his own two hands. Thrilling stuff really, though the plotline’s been done before. Though never with this specific ‘occult’ twist.”

Raising an eyebrow, Niko shook his head. “Whatever you say, pal. Now, seems to me that you’ve got a lotta souls, uh, hanging around. I could take some off your hands, cut you a really nice deal...”

Lila remained standing, and listened with half an ear as she continued to glance around the room. She had never had a mind for this business stuff like Niko, so she let him work his magic while she prepared to back his honeyed words with steal if necessary.

The souls were really quite mesmerizing. They seemed to be in a bizarre half-state between liquid and gas, though some leaned more one way than the other, floating in their jars like hair immersed in water. But now something else caught her attention: a small, mahogany cabinet opposite the desk. She narrowed her eyes, attempting to see past the frosted glass. But, to no avail.

When a lull appeared in the negotiations, Lila took her chance. “Forgive me,” she said, “but what’s in there?” she gestured to the offending case.

“Ahhh....” Cowell’s smile grew even wider. “That’s where I keep the more... interesting things I’ve collected over the years.”

“Do you mind?” she asked, reaching with trepidation towards the cabinet.

“Be my guest.”

The doors swung open with a quiet creak, and Lila frowned at the contents beyond. Small, glass bottles glowed in the pale light, each containing... something. They looked a bit like the souls, vapory and translucent, but these things had different textures to them.

Lila picked up one of the vials. On it was a thin, paper label which read in a scratchy hand: “Loyalty, Penelope Blanchett, 2017.” Inside, the loyalty glowed a soft pink, but there seemed to be something darker at the center, almost like a heartbeat.

“Loyalty?” she asked. “What does that mean?”

Cowell rose to join her at the cabinet. “It’s all the little bits of people I’ve collected. Things they can, but probably shouldn’t, live without. Bit of a macabre hobby, but there it is. Courage, knowledge, fear, I’ve taken them all. Oh, this one’s my favorite,” he pointed out one of the taller, thinner vials. “A teenage girl’s perspective. A genius move if I do say so myself.”

Immediately, Lila and Niko caught each other’s eye. A teenage girl missing her perspective? They knew someone who fit that description. Without words, a plan was formed.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Niko interrupted. “I know a lot of people who would pay big bucks for something like that. Come on, let’s get back to business.”

As Cowell turned his attention away from Lila, she took the split second chance and snatched the vial before closing the cabinet, then focused once more on the conversation. All seemed to go well, Cowell didn’t spare even a glance in her direction.

Eventually, Niko and Cowell came to an arrangement. And just like that, Cowell became part of the ever-growing supply chain. Those... acquaintances of Niko’s that were willing to pay for genuine human souls would finally get them. What they were actually going to do with them, Lila didn’t even want to guess.

Niko and Cowell stood and shook hands. “We’ll be in touch,” Niko smirked.

“I await with anticipation.”

Turning to leave, Lila followed Niko to the door. She finally felt herself begin to relax. This had been a highly successful endeavor, after all.

“By the way...” Cowell said, and Lila’s heart sank right back down as she heard the smile in his voice. She had relaxed too soon. “That bottle you’ve got in your pocket isn’t what you think it is.”

“I... what are you...?” Niko tried desperately to say something, but Cowell simply held up a hand, staring intently at Lila, and Niko fell silent.

“Check the label.”

Hesitantly, Lila pulled the vial from her jeans pocket. Inside, the only thing she could see was an almost clear sheet, slightly tinted a rose color, almost the most solid thing in Cowell’s collection. She turned it over in her hand and read the faded paper: “Perspective, Agnes May, 1975?” Niko leaned over and stared at it as well.

“Wait, this isn’t—” he began, before he realized what he was saying and shut his mouth.

“Your friend’s?” Cowell continued for him. “Afraid not.”

Lila took a step towards him, her face set. “Where is Cindy’s vial? We know you have it,” she growled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His smile said that he knew exactly what they were talking about.

“Bullshit.” Niko stepped in. “We know you’re the daemon she made a deal with, you bastard.”

“I don’t have it.”

Oddly, it seemed as if he was telling the truth. “What?” Niko asked.

“I never had it to begin with,” Cowell shrugged. “You can’t take someone’s perspective if they can already see the Truth. You just need to give them a little push.”

“But... why?” Lila shook her head. “Why would you just ruin her life like that?”

“I wouldn’t say I really ruined it, per say,” Cowell grinned. “I mean, I’d say that you two are probably the closest friends she’s had in years. And believe me, you’ll see someday. Now if you’d kindly hand me back poor Agnes May’s perspective, thank you, then I’ll show you out. I’ve had quite a bit of excitement for one day.”

Grabbing both of their shoulders, he guided Niko and Lila out of the office and back to the pub. And a silent vow was passed between them: don’t tell Cindy. After everything she’d been through, finding out that it had all been a lie, well, they weren’t sure what she would do.

Niko made a mental note to not get the ingredients for too big a fire amulet. He did not want to be witness to that explosion. Better to wait until the time was right.

“We’ll, uh, get out of your hair, then,” Niko said. “A real pleasure.”

“Oh no,” Cowell’s smile grew even broader. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

[thelastspeecher]

The Six Senses - Chapter 1: Shake the Blinds

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   AO3

I actually posted a snippet of this first chapter on here, but didn’t really do much with it after.  Yesterday, I randomly got inspired to work on it again, and ended up finishing this chapter, coming up with a title, and even working on chapter names.  Don’t worry, I’m still working on “Stan-at-Home”, but I thought you guys deserved a fic chapter of some sort while I slowly chip away at it.

---

Summary: A shady company turns its eye towards the rare humans born with psychic abilities, and kidnaps them as infants on the day they are born. Only three people have ever escaped. On August 31, 1999, two newborns are taken from Piedmont, California. Two men, determined to bring the newborns home, find themselves back at the company that stole their childhood. Their names: Stanley and Stanford.

The evening wind will shake the blinds You're stirring from your slumber We've got something hateful on our minds - The Mountain Goats, “Alpha Rats Nest”

1999

               The phone rang.  Stan let out a loud groan.  He blindly slammed his hand down in the general direction the noise was coming from. His fingers finally grabbed the phone, and he put the receiver near his ear.

               “Uh-huh?”  His voice was thick from sleep.  

               It’s a miracle I was even able to get out those two syllables.

               “Stanley, sorry to wake you.”  Stan frowned.  He recognized that voice.

               “Stanford?  Surprised you’re actually using a phone,” Stan said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes tiredly.  “Instead of getting ahold of me through the usual way.”

               “Yes well, the usual way has its downsides.  One of them being that I can’t let others talk to you.  And there is someone here that you need to speak to.”

               “Uh-huh?  And who’s that?”

               “Our older brother.”  Stan’s heart suddenly began to race.

               “Wait, older brother?  You- you actually managed to track down our family?” Stan asked, startled out of sleepiness.  Ford chuckled softly.

               “It certainly took me long enough.  By the way, found out our last name, too.”

               “What is it?”

               “Pines,” Ford said, in a tone that suggested he was still getting used to the concept of having a last name.  Stan mouthed the name himself, hoping for yet at the same time dreading a connection to this, one of the few remnants of the life he could have led. “Regardless, Mr. Pines-”  Stan snorted.

               “Can’t really take you seriously there Sixer.”

               “Mm, it doesn’t feel familiar, does it?”

               “Nope.  Not at all.”

               “Well, regardless, Stan, our older brother wanted to talk to you. Here he is.”  There was a shuffling over the line.  Stan swung his feet over the side of the bed, putting himself into a bit more formal position.  Something that suited meeting a long-lost brother better.

               Not wearing pants, though.  

               “Stanley?” a voice said.  Stan’s heart, which had slowed down somewhat, began to pick up in pace again.

               “Yeah, it’s- it’s me.”

               “Holy Moses, I- Mom and Pops, they told me that you and Stanford were lost. Stillbirths.  Never thought I’d hear your voice.”

               “I’m in a similar boat here.”

               “Yeah, I suppose you are.  Anyways, my, uh, my name is Sherman.  But please, call me Shermie.”

               “Shermie.  You got it.”

               I have an older brother named Sherman Pines.

               “And this- this is all going to sound awful but, uh, Stanford got a hold of me at a pretty pivotal moment.”  Shermie let out a dry laugh.  “I mean, the first time I meet you guys, and it’s to ask you a favor.”

               “Uh, I dunno what sorta favor I could do for you.  Not exactly rolling high here,” Stan said, eyeing his too-small apartment.  

               “This doesn’t have anything to do with money.  It has to do with, well, the way you grew up.  Both you and Stanford.”

               “Whattaya mean?”

               “The company,” Shermie said quietly.  Stan’s blood ran cold.  “You and Stanford, you know them better than anyone.  Hell, you’re the only people that ever managed to get away from them. I need your help to find them.”

               “You don’t wanna find the company,” Stan said in a low tone.  He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.  Even mentioning the company made him feel like there were eyes on him.

               “No, I do.  I have to.”

               “Why?”

               “They took my grandkids.”

               “Your…what?”

               “My grandkids.  Mabel and Mason.  Twins. They were born a couple days ago. And now they’re gone.  Caleb – my son – he says he saw a suspicious van leave the hospital, around the same time his kids disappeared.  I talked to Stanford, and he says that the description of the van matches what the company uses.  I need to find the company.  I can’t let Caleb lose his kids.”  Stan rubbed his face.

               “I- I get that.”

               I have a niece and nephew?  Well, I’ve at least got a nephew, as well as whatever you call your brother’s grandkids.

               “But the company, it-” Stan started.  He broke off upon feeling a familiar nudge in the back of his mind. “…Stanford agreed already, didn’t he?”

               “Yes.  He said he wanted to take down the company anyways.  This way, he could kill two birds with one stone.  And he says he needs your help.”

               “No shit he needs my help.”  Stan groaned. “Okay, fine.  I’m not gonna promise anything, but I’ll at least come to talk to you guys in person.”

               “Thank you, Stanley.  Thank you so much.”

               “Yeah.”

               “It- it was really nice to meet you, even if it was just over the phone,” Shermie said.  Stan smiled despite himself.

               “Yeah.  Nice to meet you too, Shermie.”  There was more rustling over the line as Shermie handed it back to Ford.

               “Thank you for agreeing, Stan,” Ford said quietly.

               “Nuh-uh.  All I’ve agreed to is to meet you guys.  We can talk whether I’m actually gonna do anything after. But, uh, Ford, we won’t be able to take on the company on our own.  We’ll need the kid, too.”

               “I already spoke to her.  The usual way.”

               “And what’d she say?”

               “That there’s no way in hell she’d ever go back to the company.”

               “Can’t really blame her,” Stan said quietly.  “She found everything she was missing, right off the bat.  I wouldn’t be willing to give it up either.”

               “Hmm, well, you knew her better, that’s for sure.  I thought she’d jump at the opportunity to take down the people who took everything from her.”

               “Well, yeah.  Just not in person.  You know how she is.  She won’t do shit that could draw attention.”  Stan leaned back.  “I could get a hold of the geek, though, if you think he could help.  I mean, he’s not the kid, but he still led the prison break.”  He rubbed his forehead.  “And he and the kid are pretty close now, right?  Maybe he can talk her into helping out.”

               “Maybe.  If you want, Stan, I could talk to him.”

               “Whatever floats your boat, Sixer.  But don’t do it the usual way.  That freaks him out.”

               “Yes…I recall.”  There was a pause.  “I’ll let you know if I have any updates.”

               “The usual way?”

               “Yes.  The usual way.”  Ford hung up the phone.  Stan rubbed his eyes.

               Let’s see if I can talk any sense into the kid.  He dialed a number.  The phone rang two times before it was picked up.

               “‘S Wendy, who is this?” a high-pitched voice said.  Stan felt a grin creep across his face despite his tiredness.  

               “Wendy, it’s me.  Uncle Stan.”

               “Uncle Stan!”

               “Yep.  Is your mom around?”

               “No.  Yes.”

               “Which one?”

               “Yes.  But Daddy says she needs sleep,” Wendy said.  Stan sighed.

               “Is the baby being mean to her again?”

               “Yeah.”

               The issues she’s been having with her pregnancies…did they mess with stuff other than her head?  Stan felt that familiar nudge again.  No.  I don’t wanna know.  The nudging grew stronger.  Fuck off!  The nudging gradually faded away.  Damn clairvoyance.

               “Uncle Stan?” Wendy said hesitantly.  Stan suddenly realized he had been quiet for a while.

               “Just tell your mom I called, okay?  I wanna talk to her.  It’s about- tell her Ford found our older brother, and he needs help.”

               “Mama can’t help.  Not supposed to walk.”

               “That bad, huh?”

               “Doctor says the baby is safe.  But Mama has to be really careful,” Wendy said solemnly.  Stan punched the bridge of his nose.

               So even if she was willing to help out, she couldn’t.

               “Okay.  Just tell your mom I called then.  And I said good luck, or congratulations, or whatever.  You can pick.”

               “Okay!”

               She sounded way too happy about that.  God, she’s going to tell her I said something weird, isn’t she?

               “You take care, kiddo.  Have your mom call me back when she gets a chance.”

               “‘Kay.  Bye, Uncle Stan!”

               “Bye, Wendy.”  Stan hung up the phone.

               The kid’s a no-go.  But the geek…  He was always pissed about what they did to the kid.  Stan chewed his lip thoughtfully.  He might be down.  He’s got more anger in him than you’d think.  Stan rolled back onto his bed and buried his head in the pillow.  Whatever. Ford’s gonna handle that.  Just get some more sleep before-  The alarm clock on his bedside table began to screech.  Dammit.

-----

               Stan nursed his beer, watching children play in a park across the street. It had been about half an hour since he’d arrived and sat down at the outdoor table like planned.  He was supposed to be meeting Ford and Shermie at this restaurant in Piedmont.  But so far, he hadn’t seen either of them.

               I mean, maybe I saw Shermie and just didn’t recognize him.  Never met the guy, so I don’t know what he looks like.  A small girl in the park let out a screech as she tackled another child. Stan felt a smile play at his lips. Cute kids.  He let out a sigh.  Don’t go down that path, Stan.  It’s for the best you didn’t have any.  You’re too fucked up to take care of ‘em right. Stan was thankfully brought out of his negative thoughts by a shout.

               “Stanley!”  Stan looked over.  He grinned.

               “About time you lazy bums showed up,” Stan said airily.  Ford and Shermie finished approaching the table.  Stan looked Shermie over.  “Since you look just like me and Ford, I’m guessing you’re Shermie?”

               “The one and only,” Shermie said jovially.  Stan raised an eyebrow.  “What?”

               “You seem kinda…what’s the opposite of intense?”

               “Stanley, don’t be rude,” Ford chided.  Shermie chuckled.

               “It’s fine, Stanford.  I know I can be rather mild-mannered.  Although I imagine I seem even more so, compared to the two of you,” Shermie said.

               “I mean, yeah.  You’ve never staged a breakout in your life, have you?”

               “No, I haven’t,” Shermie confirmed.  He swallowed nervously.  “But I want to.”  Stan nodded.

               “Take a seat, then.”  Ford and Shermie sat at the table.  

               “I have to ask,” Shermie blurted out.  Stan rolled his eyes.

               “Yes, Shermie, it’s true.  I can see the future.  And I know stuff I can’t possibly know.”  Stan huffed. “It’s more annoying than anything.”

               “You try being a telepath, surrounded by people 24/7,” Ford retorted. “You’re never alone when you catch glimpses of everyone’s thoughts.”

               “Sorry, I just- I know you’re my brothers and all, but, I-”

               “We’re legit, Shermie,” Stan interrupted.  Shermie opened his mouth.  “Proving it will have to wait.  Business first.  Gimme the rundown of the situation.”

               “My grandkids were kidnapped by the company,” Shermie explained.  “I need to get them back.  But I’ll need your help to do so.”

               “Yeah,” Stan said, glancing back at the children playing in the park again.

               “…To what?”

               “Yeah, you need to get them back.”  A sour expression twisted Stan’s face.  “The company can’t be trusted with ‘em.”

               “What did the company do to you?” Shermie asked quietly.  Ford looked away.  Stan took a sudden interest in his drink.  “Was- was that rude to ask?”

               “I don’t think you really wanna know what the company does to the kids it takes,” Stan said in a low voice.  Shermie sat up a bit straighter.

               “I do want to know.  I need to know.”

               “Fine.  But you asked.”  Stan rubbed a thumb along the label on his beer bottle, trying push back that familiar nudge at the back of his mind.  “They weren’t so harsh on me, when they figured out my whole deal.  Ford got it rougher.  But since he was quiet anyways, didn’t do much other than the telepathic equivalent of passing notes in class, they weren’t as bad as they could have been. Not as bad as they were to the kid.”

               “The kid?”

               “This girl.  They brought her in as a baby, like they always do, when we were about, oh, six or seven?” Ford said.  “I was able to communicate with her some before meeting her face-to-face.  I knew she started out as a regular, hyper little girl.  Stubborn and excited and happy.  But then, when she was four, it started.  Any time she had a temper tantrum, the lights would flicker.  When she cried, things would hit the walls.  Her room was next to ours, so we could hear it.  They took her away from her room, and hid her behind power dampeners.  I couldn’t communicate with her anymore.”

               “She was six the first time we actually saw her,” Stan said quietly. “They took us to the playroom.  We were basically teens at that point, and didn’t want to spend time in the room with the building blocks and coloring books.   But they made us go.  And she was in there.  Sitting in a corner, holding onto this stuffed animal rabbit like it was the only thing in the world keeping her safe.  We were told to talk to her, to socialize.  That it would be good for all of us.”

               “She didn’t look us in the eye for weeks,” Ford said.  “Didn’t say a word for months.  It was the same girl that used to live next to us, but she sure didn’t seem like it.”

               “Never showed a lick of emotion aside from being scared until the day her family tracked her down and rescued all three of us,” Stan said.  “I don’t know what they did to her.  I don’t want to know what they did, to break a little girl’s spirit like that.”

               “She’s free then, like you?” Shermie asked.

               “Yeah.  More well-adjusted than either of us, if you’d believe it.  Got an education, found herself a family, settled down in some town in Oregon.  Lotsa therapy went into fixing things for her.  But she’s still not who she should be.  Don’t know if she’ll ever be.”

               “I take it you’ve been staying in touch,” Shermie said.  Stan nodded.

               “The kid’s basically our little sister.  I care about her.  Drove up to visit her a few times even.  She’s got a good life now.  A husband, a daughter, and a son on the way.”

               “They found out the sex?” Ford asked.

               “Yup.”

               “I’ll bet Dan’s excited it’s a boy.”

               “Yeah, he is,” Stan confirmed.  He picked at the label on his bottle again.  “But the doc put her on bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy. This one’s been rough on her, just like the first one.”

               “Do you think the company-” Ford started.  

               “Don’t go there,” Stan said quietly.  “I don’t wanna know, and if you ask, I will.”

               “You can’t control it?” Shermie asked.  

               “Sometimes.  Most of the time, if it’s something I don’t wanna know, I can push it back.  Visions…I don’t get ‘em very often, and when I do, I can’t even move.  I just see whatever I’m gonna see.”  Stan smiled faintly.  “The last vision was nice.”

               “What’d you see?” Shermie asked, leaning forward.

               “It was before the kid’s daughter, Wendy, was born.  She called me all excited to tell me she was pregnant, and she wanted her baby to call me Uncle Stan.”

               “That’s sweet,” Shermie said.

               “Yeah.  When she told me, I got a vision, of her in a hospital bed, holding her baby, and introducing the baby to me.  She said ‘Wendy, this is your Uncle Stan.’  Everything felt right during that vision.”  Stan’s expression soured.  “Most of the visions aren’t good, though.  And even if I try to push back knowing something, I can’t do it forever. The more it comes up, the more difficult it is to ignore.  Or, like when we escaped, if I haven’t used my powers in a while, it all shows up at once.”

               “How did you escape?” Shermie asked.  Stan looked at Ford.

               “The kid,” Ford said.  “Her family came.  Apparently her twin brother found out he had a twin sister who disappeared from the hospital when they were born.  Her twin and her older siblings did research and hacked records, trying to find her. Her older brother, Stan calls him ‘the geek’, finally tracked her down.  They got in the family truck and drove over.  They came back home the next morning with their baby sister and the two of us.”

               “…Some teenagers broke you three out?” Shermie said, confused.  Stan shook his head.

               “The kid’s got five older siblings.  All of them were adults except for her twin.  They’re scary smart, and stronger than they look, from farm work.”

               “…Wow.”

               “The kid had an army to break her out.  If we do this, we won’t.”

               “Fiddleford agreed to help,” Ford put in.  

               “Who’s Fiddleford?” Shermie asked.

               “The geek,” Stan said.  “Did he finish that techno-whatever he was working on?”

               “Yes,” Ford said with a nod.  “He feels confident that he can help us rescue Mabel and Mason.”  Ford looked at Stan with a careful expression. “What do you think about that?” Stan closed his eyes, waiting for the information to wash over him.

               “We probably won’t die gruesome deaths,” Stan said after a moment.  “I’d put the odds at 3-5%?”

               “What are the odds of success?” Ford asked.  

               “25%.”

               “The kid said she has the schematics of the building, and Dan can get us there and keep the car running,” Ford added.  Stan nodded.

               “75%.”

               “With this, whatever you’re doing, are you having me be part of the crew that breaks in?” Shermie asked.

               “Yeah,” Stan said.

               “Remove me from the equation.”

               “Are you sure?” Ford asked.  

               “Yes.  I’m a middle school English teacher.  I don’t have any sort of powers.  I know I’ll just slow you down.”

               “92% chance of success,” Stan said.

               “That’s above your minimum of 80%,” Ford pointed out.  Stan glanced at Ford.

               “I knew telling you about the minimum was a bad idea.”

               “So, you’re in?” Shermie asked.  Stan let out a sigh and downed the rest of his beer.

               “I’m in.”

[omuii]

The Northeastern United States and Its Cryptids - Part 1

I don’t know about you guys, but I love cryptozoology. Bigfoot, Loch Ness, Mothman - you name it, I love it.

Whether you share that same love or not, cryptozoology and urban legends play a big cultural part in places all over the country, and the northeast is no exception.

If you guys like this kind of thing, I’ll gladly do more in the future.

Let’s get started 😎

New Jersey - The Jersey Devil

Starting off with my home state, I of course have to bring up the classic Jersey Devil.

In New Jersey, there’s a large area of land known as the Pine Barrens, which is a massive forest stretching through several counties in the state. It’s a beautiful natural landmark with a very unique ecosystem and a lot of history. More importantly, the Pine Barrens are the host of many local legends and folktales.

The story of the Jersey Devil goes back to the 1700s and starts with a family known as the Leeds Family. A large family consisting of a couple and their 12 children, the Leeds Family was pretty run-down from being so large, and meeting the demands of such a big family was a strenuous task. So when Mother Leeds found out she was pregnant with a 13th child, you can imagine she was very upset.

In her anger, she cursed the child, hoping for the devil to take it so she wouldn’t have another mouth to feed. Nine months later, the 13th baby was born. At first, it was a normal baby, but minutes after being delivered it began to transform and take on a horrifying shape. The baby grew a goat head and horns, hooves and a forked tail, and a set of bat-like wings.

The devilish creature that had transformed before their eyes killed everyone in the house: Mother Leeds, her husband, her previous children, even the midwife who was present for the birth. With the blood of all those on his hands, he climbed through the chimney and flew off into the Pine Barrens.

That was the night the Jersey Devil was born. Originally, he was dubbed the Leeds Devil, but when a sudden outcrop of sightings all across the state began in the late 1800s and early 1900s, he soon became known as the Jersey Devil instead.

To this day, it is said the Devil roams the Pine Barrens, preying on animals and leaving bloodbaths in his wake. He jumps from rooftop to rooftop in neighborhoods all over the state, and it’s said that if you go into the Pine Barrens at night, you might here the blood-curdling scream of the Jersey Devil himself.

You’re safe if you stay out of the Pine Barrens. People from all over the country who know of the legend will tell you that he is only in the Pine Barrens, but when you’re actually in Jersey, there are some who claim that the Pine Barrens is the only place the Devil can’t go...

Pennsylvania - The Green Man

Urban legends about cryptids are usually based on real life people or events, if only loosely. In the case of Pennsylvania’s Green Man, this ‘cryptid’ really wasn’t a cryptid at all.

In a rural area in Western Pennsylvania, an urban legend tells the tale of an ominous, inhuman being that would wander the woods at night, omitting a strange green glow. Called The Green Man as a result of his skin, people would actively seek out this cryptid at night, and many actually saw him.

However, The Green Man wasn’t a cryptid at all.

In fact, he was actually a man named Raymond Robinson, a gentleman who lived alone in the woods. As a child, Robinson climbed a telephone pole and got severely electrocuted, ultimately losing his nose and eyes and becoming permanently disfigured. Some inconsiderate people called him a monster because of his appearance, and in time, the legend of The Green Man came to be. The glowing green light he allegedly omitted was an addition made based on the fact that he was electrocuted.

Robinson only left the house at night due to his appearance. He didn’t want people to see him and be afraid, so he’d only go out at night when nobody was around. Many people taunted him and treated him awful, but there were many others who treated him like any normal person should be treated. He had friends and loved ones, and some claim that every once in a while he’d pose for a picture in exchange for beer or cigarettes.

Though it was revealed long ago that the so-called “Green Man” was simply a tale made up based on Robinson, the story spread so far and wide and was passed down through so many generations that to this day, despite Robinson having passed decades ago, there are still people who claim to see The Green Man in the woods.

New York - Champ

In upstate New York in the grogeous Adirondack mountains is Lake Champlain, the biggest lake in that region. Renowned for its fishing, boating, and beautiful scenery, Lake Champlain is a wonderful spot to visit, as well as the home of a creature named Champ.

The legend of Champ goes back centuries, starting as a legend for both the Iroquois and Abenaki natives in that region. They told stories of a large creature that inhabited the lake, called Tatoskok by the Abenaki tribe. Over time, Tatoskok came to be known as Champ, a nickname derived from the lake’s name: Champlain. Originally it wasn’t called Lake Champlain, a guy from France “””discovered””” it and it got named after him, but I digress.

The first specific sighting of Champ came in the 1800s when a captain was on Bulwagga Bay. He reported a massive black serpent in the water almost 200 feet in length that rose high out of the water. The captain reported “a black monster, about 187 feet long and with a head resembling a sea horse, that reared more than 15 feet out of the water. He claimed the monster he saw had three teeth, eyes the color of a ‘a pealed [sic] onion,’ a white star on its forehead and ‘a belt of red around the neck.’“

Over the next 100 years, a number of sightings were reported, and even to this day there are still reports of people spotting Champ swimming around in Lake Champlain. And then, as the world entered the 21st century, even more sightings surfaced, drawing attention from places as far away as Japan. To this day, many say that Champ still swims in the lake. Essentially, Champ is America’s Lock Ness!

Connecticut - The Melon Heads

The legend of the melon heads comes from Michigan, Ohio, and the Connecticut. Generally, they are described as small beings with unnaturally large heads, similar to some depictions of aliens. The legend itself varies in each of these states, but since we’re talking about the northeast, I’ll just talk about Connecticut’s version of the melon heads.

One of Connecticut’s stories behind the melon heads is that in the 1960s, an asylum for the criminally insane burned to the ground, everyone perishing in the fire save for a dozen or so unaccounted for inmates. It is said that those inmates survived and ran off into the woods, keeping themselves alive by cannibalizing each other and eventually inbreeding, resulting in hydrocephalus, a condition in which fluid fills part of the brain.

The second version of the history of Connecticut’s melon heads is that, back in the colonial days, a family was banished into the woods because they were allegedly performing witchcraft. Like the previous story, hydrocephalus as a result of inbreeding is claimed to be the reason behind their appearance, as it is said that the banished family began breeding among themselves to survive.

In Connecticut, the melon heads live in wooded areas at the end of dirt roads, and in certain towns, the said dirt road is called Dracula Drive. If you enter their territory in the woods, they will immediately attack, biting and even eating their victims.

Massachusetts - The Dover Demon

The Dover Demon is a strange creature that’s only been see twice, both times in the same night.

A little past 10pm on a spring day in the 1970s, three teenage boys were in a car heading down the road. The driver, Bill Bartlett, was driving his two friends home when he spotted something strange out of the corner of his eye. Along a stone wall on the side of the road, a small creature was slowly crawling by. For a split second in the headlights of his passing car, Bartlett described seeing a creature with an unusually large head and a disturbingly lanky, thin body. It’s skin was peach-colored and appeared to have a rough texture, its hands seemed to curl perfectly around the rocks beneath it, and it’s eyes were two glowing orange orbs.

Before Bartlett could say anything they had already driven past and the creature was gone. His friends hadn’t seen it. He dropped them both off at their homes and then returned to his own home, visibly shaken as he described the sighting to his father and drew a sketch of it.

In his sketch, he describes the creature, then he also writes, “I, Bill Bartlett, swear on a stack of bibles that I saw this creature,” followed by his signature.

That same night only a couple hours later, another teenage boy in the area by the name of John Baxter left his girlfriend’s house to walk home alone. After walking about a mile, he sees a small figure approaching him on the road. Based on its height, he assumes it’s a younger kid he knows who lives on the street and calls out. There was no response, and both parties continued towards each other when suddenly the shorter being stopped, causing Baxter to stop as well.

He called out again, and this time the being made a run for it. It runs off into the woods and down a slope, and Baxter follows right behind it. When he gets to the bottom of the slope, he manages to get a good look at the being. It’s small and lanky, with extremely thin, “monkey-like” limbs, a head shaped like a figure eight, and feet that curled perfectly around the rocks it stands on.

Baxter immediately backed up the slope, knowing that he had spotted something that wasn’t human. Afraid of what it might do, he made his way back to the road, hurrying down the street towards home until a couple driving by picked him up.

Popular cryptozoologist Loren Coleman later investigated the incident, and deemed the creature, dubbed the Dover Demon, to be an “unknown phenomenon.” It has not been seen since.

images: x, x, x, x, x, x, x

[ebenpink]

I Saw the Extra Weight I’d Carried My Whole Life Slip Away https://ift.tt/2Umr7tu

It’s Monday, everyone! And that means another Primal Blueprint Real Life Story from a Mark’s Daily Apple reader. If you have your own success story and would like to share it with me and the Mark’s Daily Apple community please contact me here. I’ll continue to publish these each Monday as long as they keep coming in. Thank you for reading!

My visual transformation isn’t all that impressive. In fact, despite having a completely different body composition, I weigh more or less the same that I did six years ago.

My real transformation has occurred on the inside and in the way that I try to embody the Primal Blueprint principles in the way I live my life.

Before Primal Living:

Out of shape

Abysmal self-esteem

Without a clear life path

6 Years Since Discovering Mark’s Daily Apple:

Owns a Health & Fitness blog and coaching business

Inspires others to find their self-esteem through leading by example

Recreational athlete in Powerlifting, Strongman and Highland Games

Loving life every day

I first heard of Mark and his message about primal health back in 2013. At the time, my husband and I were living in a modest cabin in the woods of Northern Maine and the extent of my fitness routine was the obligatory jog now and then or some exercise videos that mostly involved bodyweight training. Our cabin had no electricity or running water which meant that we were gathering, cutting and stacking firewood by hand so that we could stay warm during the long winters. Turning manure, bending over in the garden, hauling hay for our goats and clearing woods for future pasture were serious back killing chores and we knew we needed to find a way to get stronger in order to support our active lifestyle. Coupled with this was my husband’s chronic GI distress and autoimmune condition, Reactive Arthritis, which led us down the road of research into how a grain-free, sugar free diet could improve those ailments.

As is often the case, primal nutrition and heavy lifting principles were deeply entwined from the very beginning of our journey towards optimal health. And as we cut out wheat and sugar, we also began learning the functional movements of the squat, deadlift and pull-up. With a manual treadmill we found in the barn, we regularly blasted ourselves with intervals after reading from you the importance of sprinting. Your fitness principles of walk far, run fast, lift heavy came so naturally to us and in the setting of the lush, Maine woods, it felt that much more primal to get in tune with our ancestral physiques.

You might imagine that the stronger and more fit we became, the more we wanted to eat better to support that. Before long, our backs felt bulletproof chopping and stacking piles of firewood. My husband’s arthritis improved. I was seeing the extra weight I had carried my whole life slip away. We had gone to the woods to seek a lifestyle where we could call the shots and pursue our healthiest existence. But in the process, we had the rude awakening that our bodies were the weakest link in the chain of health. Our minds were strong and our homestead was strong, but our bodies were not. And so when we saw the benefits of the Primal Blueprint massively improve our existence, it was like coming out of a bad dream and I woke up one morning thinking “hey, this is really something to live for.”

While I graduated college with a degree in writing, I never really had found my purpose or a career I was passionate about giving my 9 to 5 energy to. I always believed that I had a lot to share with the world, but couldn’t conceive of what avenue to take, but with this new primal lifestyle, I discovered a completely unexpected passion. Always the chubby book nerd my whole life, taking on sports in school out of social pressure and obligation but never out of true interest, here I was, suddenly wanting to pursue fitness and wellness as a career.

We ended up leaving our little homestead for my husband to travel down the long (and still not complete) road of becoming a Dentist. He studied for biochemistry and tests and I studied strength and conditioning in between my long hours at Starbucks. (Side note: I managed to make it 2 years working there without consuming sugar and my coworkers would always marvel at my dedication of turning down a free Frappuccino. I explained to them that eating primal, my energy was consistent throughout the day and better than ever and seeing the positive effects of my nutrition in my day to day life was all the motivation I needed to persist.) The years we spent studying for our individual pursuits, we also spend wrecking ourselves on the barbell and on the field doing sprints and without following any strict program, we simply tried to remember to walk far, run fast, lift heavy. Slowly and surely, our body composition improved and I took on my first personal training clients.

Now living in Salt Lake City, I think of myself more as a Strength Coach than a personal trainer and before walking that road I didn’t even realize there was a difference. I see my colleagues often get wrapped up in ideal programming principles and I try to remember the basics: pick up heavy stuff and put it overhead using good technique, train for explosive speed and go on long hikes outdoors.

I use my personal experience to help guide my athletes on the emotional journey of becoming strong and realizing their physical potential. I have so many people, primarily women, come to me saying they want to lose weight. But as we begin working together, they quickly see that in fact their goal is much more complex that a number on the scale. They learn that it feels good to get strong and learn how to move in ways they never thought possible. I see the look of fear in their eyes at approaching a back squat for the first time and I recognize that look of fear because it’s the same one I felt when I started my journey. I see timid women who hate their bodies do a pull-up for the first time after working hard for a year and then it’s like poof… now they love their bodies because they unlocked this talent for strength they never knew they had. When that happens, the number on the scale matters so much less to them because now they have a performance goal. Now they are pursuing health rather than weight loss.

Although I am not strictly a Primal Blueprint coach, I still hold onto those principles while I teach other people how to lift and what strategies they can use to build balanced nutrition. I encourage them to seek nutrient-dense foods rather than counting macros or calories and to eat when hunger ensues naturally rather than adhering to six small meals a day. I feel confident coaching strategies like Keto and Intermittent Fasting because I have done the research on the health benefits and have the anecdotal evidence to back it up from my own experience. I am always trying to do what your blog did for me, which is to teach them ways they can figure out what health uniquely means to them. I still try to embody the idea that you instilled in me: study how our ancestors thrived to learn how to seek our healthy existence in a world that can often be toxic.

My transformation doesn’t come through in a before and after photo, but I believe I have gained a million times more than if I had lost 100 lbs and cured 10 autoimmune conditions. I discovered my life’s path and spend every day trying to guide others to do the same.

Thank you, Hill

primalpillarsstrength.com Instagram @primalpillars

The readers featured in our success stories share their experiences in their own words. The Primal Blueprint and Keto Reset diets are not intended as medical intervention or diagnosis. Nor are they replacements for working with a qualified healthcare practitioner. It’s important to speak with your doctor before beginning any new dietary or lifestyle program, and please consult your physician before making any changes to medication or treatment protocols. Each individual’s results may vary.

//

//

The post I Saw the Extra Weight I’d Carried My Whole Life Slip Away appeared first on Mark's Daily Apple.

from Mark's Daily Apple https://ift.tt/2TO88Uf via IFTTT https://ift.tt/2JF13VL

[tamaramalara13]

Chaos’s Assassin 9

Half an hour after successfully retrieving the information from Rose Song we were all sat around a table in a little coffee/tea shop a couple of streets down from the Agent's house. The tea shop itself was nice; small, with tables lining the windows and a cute little bar by the door. The tea's they sold were even cuter, they were little bubble tea's of different colours and flavours. Not exactly my style, but it would do.

“So, what's the plan?” Piper asked, tugging at the feathers braided into her choppy chestnut hair. There seemed to be some kind of unspoken agreement between the six of us, the two quests were meant to come together. And seeing as the prophecy had mentioned that we would “travel with six” we were pretty sure that we were on the right track.

“I guess we need to find a way to get down to the Whitehouse today.” Annabeth answered, her grey eyes deep in thought.

“We could always get a bus.” Jason contributed, sipping quietly on his strawberry bubble tea. It was an odd choice, but one we all accepted readily.

“The bus station just got shut down,” Hazel said, “apparently there was some robbery in the corner store right next door to it so they shut it down for the investigation.”

“How do you know that?” Leo asked, edging to see what she was looking at in her hands. It was a newspaper, and front page was a photo of the corner store.  

“That may have been us,” Piper said, raising her hand slightly, “does it say if they have any leads?”

“No, luckily none of the witnesses pegged you guys as the robbers, so they have all just got different descriptions for the monster you were fighting. ”

“Lamia.” Piper contributed.

“Nice…” Jason complimented, high fiving Leo across the table.

“Well I wish the detectives good luck with that case,” I said, looking up from my black coffee, “What are you guys doing in Boston anyway?”

I had to ask, it had been on my mind all day.

“Same reason as you.” Annabeth answered with a cold glare in my direction.

“Well, not exactly,” Jason offered with a slightly nicer attitude, “Octavian is from our Camp, so he's our responsibility. It's only natural that we have to go get him before this gets too far.”

“Rose Song called both camps.” Hazel clarified.

“How does she know about us anyway?” Leo asked, his decaffeinated green tea and croissant left untouched (because we all know what happens when he has too much caffeine).

“I think Chiron said something about a younger brother who was a half blood during the Battle of the Labyrinth or something… and with all the ruckus during the Giant War, I would be surprised if she didn't know about the Roman Camp.” Piper piped up.

“There were apparently a lot of unregistered deaths during the Labyrinth’s Battle.” Leo said, nodding matter of factly.

“It was practically slaughter,” Annabeth muttered, the air getting tense. Then, with new vigour, she asked, “How old was he?”

“He died at 15.”

No one spoke for a long time, Annabeth's eyes stared into the distance, and I couldn't help but feel guilty. It was a time when people were disappearing all over the place, many just not returning to camp. People were going on quests without prophecies and deaths were not taken into account. But still, I felt as if I was once again carrying the sky on my shoulders, and this time it was permanent. I had to live with my mistakes, so many deaths, the least I could've done was remember their names… but I didn't. I guess I was just selfish.

“Okay,” Hazel said, having not known about the Camps at the time. The others, apart from Annabeth and I, snapped out of it quickly, “So where do we go from here?”

“We could just hitch a ride,” Jason suggested, “It's not uncommon, a lot of the time there are many tourists that are willing to take a couple of people along. We might be lucky and find someone heading for Washington.”

“I would be surprised if we don't,” Piper said, agreeing with her boyfriend and sipping on her camomile tea, “That's tourist destination number 1.”

“Okay, and how long will it take us to get there? Does anyone know?”

Leo smirked slightly, before saying in a bad robotic voice, “I estimate, around 7 and a half hours.”

“Well it's almost 9 o'clock,” Annabeth said, beginning to put things in her bag, “so if we leave now we could get there before 8, and that would give us time to quickly catch a bite and then kick some ass. Remember, we have to get Omega’s friends out before sunrise tomorrow. So let's do this quick.”

 It had been surprisingly easy to find a family to allow us to crash their little road trip. After we mentioned chipping in on gas money, they were happy to bring us along. Due to this, 2 hours after the discussion at the tea place we were already on our way to Washington in a large black and grey camper van with a family of four. Hazel had very kindly spun the mist so the people that were helping us saw a random person’s face, instead of a shady hood. However, in the end it didn't seem like it was really needed, seeing as I mostly stayed in the back where the ‘living room’ area was. If you'd ever seen ‘We're The Millers’, it was basically that truck.

Piper and Jason stayed upfront, talking to the parents and Hazel and Leo stuck close to the main door, having a conversation with the two teenage kids about the “New Era of Electronics”, whatever that was supposed to be. At first Annabeth stuck with Jason and Piper, but after a while, upfront seemed to be a bit too cramped for her. So she then decided to join me on the couches at the back of the bus, the furthest away from the commotion. I wanted to complain, but honestly, I had missed her so much, I was kind of craving her company…

“So what's your deal?” she asked bluntly, her face betraying her badly hidden curiosity.

“My… deal?” I replied cautiously.

“Yeah, your story. Tell me how you are connected to Chaos.”

I looked at her, it wasn't as if she was giving me puppy dog eyes or anything. It was nothing like that in fact. Her stare was one of a warriors, and she was not backing down. That alone reminded me of the good old days, stuck in trucks similar to the one we were caged in at the moment.

“How about this, I'll tell you what you want to know. In return, you tell me what I want to know.” I said, coming up with a compromise.

“Alright, deal.” she said smirking slightly.

Upon feeling her curiosity, I paused for a second, thinking about how to explain my situation without giving too much away, “You know how there's that one person in the whole wide universe that you would sacrifice everything and everyone for, just to keep them safe. You would even give your life for this person. You know?”

She looked at me for a moment before leaning back slightly and ducking her head to her lap.

“Yeah” she said.

“Well, I almost lost that person. I’m not the kind of person to let someone I love suffer, so, as payment for their safety, I gave up my life and joined Chaos’s Army.”

Sensing the fragility of my confession she chose to move the subject along, “So you were recruited then? For the Army.”

“Yeah, but I had to go through the same procedure as the others.”

“Wait, I don't understand, what  ‘procedure’?” It hit me that she probably thought it was some kind of operation. I couldn't help but released a short, quiet laugh at her shock, before clarifying.

“We spend 385 days training in the school they have there.”

“Okay, then how come you aren't the regular soldier? How come you're a-”

“An assassin?”

“Yeah...”

“I was given the choice after I graduated, either join the army like the other recruits and start from the bottom working my way up, or just become his Assassin. That was about 11,615 years ago.”

“So, you just kill people in cold blood?” As she said that her eyes glazed over with a frozen kind of hatred, one that I knew wasn't caused by my character, but rather by what she assumed were my actions.

“Not really, I do what the Army can't. I take care of the threats to the universe, the army takes care of threats to specific planets that could eventually grow to something more. Like this planet and Octavian. Basically I have smaller, more skillful targets. Assassin is just a title. I mean, I guess in some sense it's accurate… look, the people I kill are killers, they’re criminals in the eyes of Chaos. So I get rid of them.”

“Does that not have an effect on you?” She asked, her eyes turning from icy to troubled, “You’re from earth right? Humans aren’t born killers.”

“No species’s are born killers, but, depending on the circumstances, they can be taught to be, even if that's not what you thought you were doing. Anyway, if by killing these people I’m saving an innocent person's life? Then, It’s worth it.”

She looked at me for a couple more moments, her legs crossed from where she sat on the beige seats across from me. All of a sudden her stone faced expression crumbled and another Annabeth emerged, the Annabeth I was in love with. Then, without any warning, she started to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” I couldn't help but ask, the infectious laughter threatening to spill from myself as well.

“This situation just reminded me of a very similar scene from a couple of years ago, it was on my first ever quest. I had gone with my two bestfriend’s, although I hadn’t known that at the time, to go retrieve a stupid lightning bolt and somehow ended up in the back of a van slightly different from this one (if you count goats and hay stacks as different), driving halfway across the country, filled to the brim with barnyard animals. It stunk. But ironically our friend Grover blended right in. I remember sitting there with Percy and just talking about anything and everything, it was the first time we had really even clicked, you know? Right now, I can't help but miss him.”

Throughout her speech she had subconsciously ended up with a peaceful expression on her normally anxious face. She had been in her own world, I could see that much, but when she was brought back to the terrible, harsh reality that is life, the only thing in the whole universe that I wanted to do, was hug her. Hug her and tell her everything was okay. I would crack a terrible joke, get her to laugh, get her to feel the same peace, the same happiness, she had felt when she told her story.

Reality didn't feel the same anymore. I had left everything, just for it to end, but now she was all alone, suffering, and I was the cause. I didn't really regret leaving, if it meant all was well, then perhaps it was for the best. But what about her? What had she wanted? What had my family wanted? I hadn't even taken that into consideration. What did she think happened? Where did she think I had gone?

[innuendostudios]

I Want It To Hurt: Thoughts on Night in the Woods

[massive spoilers ahead, but I’ll warn you before we get to them.]

I’ve been thinking a lot about the ending of Night in the Woods. Finished the game a couple weeks ago; it’s pretty much the only game I’ve managed time for other than 20-minute bursts of Nuclear Throne when I’m waiting for footage to render or just decompressing between obligations. I have a weird jumble of feelings about the game, many of them deeply appreciative and some... confused.

These capsule reviews aren’t meant to be any kind of consumer advocacy, but if you’re waiting for me to tell you whether or not you should play the game: yes. Whatever else I say, yes, you should go play Night in the Woods. You may not know what you think of it by the end, but if you’re the kind of person who reads my stuff, you aren’t going to regret playing it.

The game’s protagonist, Mae, seems exquisitely designed to remind a certain type of person of themself. I might be one of those people, or, at least, I was when I was Mae’s age. Mae is a 20-year-old college dropout living with her parents in her jerkwater hometown, unsure of what to do with herself and generally unwilling to talk about it. Her town's economy is drying up and it’s a lingering question whether it will still exist in a decade or two. Everyone’s out of work or working for less than they deserve. Most of her friends from high school are still there, working the same jobs, playing in the same bands, eating the same crappy pizza.

It’s horribly familiar. When I was 20, I was piddling around community college with no motivation to transfer to a university. My dad had been laid off during the pre-Recession recession and hadn’t seen comparable pay since. I spent most of my time hanging out in coffee shops in my own jerkwater town, chatting up all the kids who’d never moved away, killing time. I worked my first job at the video store that was also a liquor store, around the corner from the hardware store that was also a deli. Our local businesses were also dying, save the few that secured a spot on Main Street, though by the time I was 20 my town was becoming a bedroom community for San Francisco and, instead of turning into vacant buildings, the local shops were getting muscled out by Peet’s Coffee and Jamba Juice. We even had our own parallel to NITW’s annual Harfest, but we called it Pumpkin Festival.

Admittedly, I was never a delinquent like Mae, and never managed to play in a band, even badly, so the sequences when I got to smash fluorescent lightbulbs and play bass were a kind of wish fulfillment (Mae’s bandmates sound for all the world like they’re covering Joy Division). And it’s moments like these that create the simple pleasures of Night in the Woods. It’s a game where stealing pretzels to feed to some rats you found in an abandoned parade float constitutes a major time sink and a minor, beautiful victory. Like, maybe I’m a fuckup but I can keep some rats alive and that’s not nothing. It’s a game where the conversation trees talk about the selling out of the working class, about punching fascists, about anarchy. It’s a game where the critical decisions you make are about who you want to hang out with on a given evening. (For the record: I agree that Gregg rulz ok but as soon as I realized that Bea didn’t like me very much I decided, oh no, I’m gonna make this girl my friend. So I saw pretty much none of Gregg’s or Angus’ optional content in my efforts to be best buds with Bea, and I regret nothing.)

So this game is something special. Play it. Let’s talk about the ending.

*SPOILER TOWN*

If I had sum up my overall impressions of Night in the Woods, I guess it’d be a more extreme version of my feelings on Oxenfree - somewhere over the course of the game I went from actively liking it very much to just kind of respecting it. Only more complicated than that.

OK, so Night in the Woods hints at a larger, darker plot from pretty early in the game, and such a thing was directly teased in the Kickstarter pitch, so by the time such things make their way into the game we’re all amply prepared for it. We’ve known all along that "there’s something in the woods.” I’m still not sure how to put into words my feelings on what that something is.

OK, OK, here goes: in the early stretches of the game, Mae has dreams that hint at what her mental state is up to, but as the game goes on, the dreams become more and more consistently about confronting giant animal gods. She also sees what appears to be a ghost man kidnap a kid at Harfest, but no one else sees this. Mae becomes convinced that there’s some kind of ghostly power that’s getting inside her head, while her friends worry that she’s cracking up. Still, they help her investigate various ghost stories around town, for her sake, and Mae’s health visibly declines and her dreams get more intense, until one night she finds herself communing with what may or may not be an utterly indifferent God who does not care about her or anything that lives on Earth.

Eventually, Mae and her friends track the ghost men into the woods and it turns out they’re not ghosts, they’re local men in hoods who are some kind of death cult. They believe they can keep the town from dying by kidnapping and sacrificing undesirables to the demon goat who lives deep beneath the old mines. They tell Mae that this is what’s been visiting her in her sleep.

So: Mae thinks she may be dealing with ghosts or God, the cultists think it’s a demon. Meanwhile, Mae’s friends think she may have some poorly-treated cognitive issues - turns out Mae had some kind of psychotic episode years back where she hospitalized a boy because she just couldn’t see other people as people anymore, and she’s been grappling with this disconnection for some time and going to college without good treatment may have made it all much worse. And maybe all this talk of careless gods and demon goats is just Mae dealing with the ugly parts of her own psyche.

Anyway, so Mae’s friends straight up shoot one of the cultists with a crossbow and then cause a mine cave-in that dooms the rest, which is, no matter how you slice it, a pretty sharp tonal shift from what most of the game has been. And, before escaping, Mae has a vision of sorts, where she feels herself sucked underground and once again confronting some kind of supernatural being.

And she just talks to it. She says she’s done disassociating from people. She knows that maybe nothing lasts, that maybe her friends will all drift apart and her town will die, but if that’s what’s going to happen, she wants to accept it. If everything disappears in the end, she wants it to hurt when it does.

The question, then: in this moment, are you, the player, talking to God? A demon goat? Or the dark parts of a mind in need of treatment? Or, a similar question: is the town dying because of the stagnation of wages, the shipping of jobs overseas, the failure of government to support small towns? Or is because the town needs to sacrifice to the beast that lives in the mines?

The game doesn’t have an answer for you. Instead, the game’s stance seems to be: whatever the answer, it’s out of your control. Be it economics, fate, religion, superstition, or mental illness, it is not a mystery you can solve, a villain you can shoot. It’s something you will have to live with, day by day. It is inexorable that, on a long enough timeline, everything ends. Maybe it doesn’t matter why. When you stare into a void, maybe it doesn’t matter whether you’re talking to God, a demon, or your own broken mind. Maybe what matters more is what you say.

You may never know the truth. So hold on to what’s good and live with uncertainty.

I feel like this is a very profound thing for a game starring an anthropomorphic cat to say. I also can’t shake that it felt more profound when I typed it out just now than when I experienced it myself.

As a person from a jerkwater town, who’s spent his entire adult life working his ass off and yet perpetually broke, who’s spent the last five years grappling with depression and anxiety and the radical acceptance it takes to know that his thoughts can sometimes be extremely alien to him, and who has walked the long path from Christianity to wishy-washy agnosticism to weary atheism, I feel this moment should have slugged me in the gut. I can’t think of a single game that would say such things, and I can’t think of a game that seems more explicitly tailored to my sensibilities and experiences.

But while I respect the hell out of Night in the Woods’ ultimate message, I still feel conflicted about how it plays out. I don’t think the game is wrong to veer into odd genres at the end - so many of its themes are internal and philosophical that literalizing them in order to build to a climax feels like a smart decision. I don’t know if it’s that the game spends such a long time raising questions and then kind of rushes the answers. I don’t know if it’s that Mae and her posse seem a lot more credible cracking wise and worrying about money than shooting people with crossbows. It’s certainly hard for a game about normal people with normal problems to throw in highly abnormal problems for the final hour.

I don’t know if I maybe just need to play it again.

I feel like the more I think about the ending, the better I understand it, but I still can’t say with confidence that I like it. And my appreciation of the game seems deeply rooted in the front half and not the final third.

And I don’t know when I’ll have time to go back in and play it again. For now, I’m glad I played it once. Whatever it was, it was certainly something.

[ecotone99]

[NF] A Journey Through India

“Can we switch now?” I muttered as I rolled my head over on the cement floor. The florescent lights of the train station pierced my squinted eyes. Thale didn’t react so I reached up to nudge her. She looked comfortable on the table. I decided to let her be. I wasn’t getting any sleep so I sat up on the floor. I was disappointed to see a few men around, naively having thought that the women’s waiting room would be strictly for women. There was apparently no escape from the incessant gaze of men in India.

Men stared at me everywhere I went and they kept staring until I was out of sight. I would like to say that I got used to it eventually, but really I just got more irritated and uneasy with every passing day. I would also like to say that these men were staring at me out of curiosity, and perhaps they were, but it didn’t feel like that. It had been a few years since I had left my home country to explore other parts of the world. I was used to the puzzled look on people’s faces as I gurgled unfamiliar words in my mouth. I was comfortable in my role as the peculiar foreigner. These men never smiled at me or tried to make friendly contact with me. They just stared and occasionally made lewd gestures. This didn’t feel like curiosity, it felt like a threat.

I pulled my camera out from my oversized purse and started to thumb through pictures from our sunrise visit to the Taj Mahal that morning. I could feel the stares. Our midnight train was supposed to leave hours ago. I was desperate to get out of India. I knew I was in way over my head. Rajasthan is no place for two teenaged girls, especially not in the summer. The burning temperatures kept most Westerners away from northern India in the summer months. A lack of tourists sounded appealing at first. We had imagined having palaces all to ourselves and absorbing the local culture without the distraction of other travelers. What a lack of tourists really meant was that our pale white skin and golden locks would be in stark contrast to the local population, making us the main attraction at the palaces.

“What time is it?” Thale’s vocal chords were strained. She broke my concentration on my tiny camera screen. I looked down at my watch.

“4 AM. The luggage guys came about a half an hour ago to say that our train got delayed again.” She rolled over and went back to sleep. I kept flipping through my photos of spectacular palaces and bustling markets, as well as some memories with some friendly people that I had met along the way. There were some beautiful sights in India, that was undeniable. There were also some disturbing ones, which made the great ones seem even better. The dazzling sunsets over the Ganges river almost made me forget how miserable I was in Varanasi, a holy city where holy mangy cows fend for themselves in the city streets and junkyards. The roads were mud paths covered in a blanket of trash. And where there was trash, there were cows eating trash. Goats and humans occasionally showed up to join them in feast. There were no trees and no greenery. What photos didn’t capture were my constant migraines from the heat. I couldn’t be outside in the middle of the day without feeling agitated and nauseous. People were dying from heatstroke. We had air-conditioning.

The door of the women’s waiting room started to open. I recognized our backpacks through the clear glass door. They were perched on the shoulders of two tiny men.

“Come now. Train coming now,” one of the men said before turning around and back out the door.

“Thale, wake up!” I nudged her harder this time.

“Uhhhh,” she grunted.

“C’mon, our train is coming!” I urged her to get up as I threw my camera into my purse and shot up on my feet. I marched towards the door. Thale got up in slow motion and followed me sluggishly. I scanned the many platforms of the open-aired train station looking for the men with our backpacks. The lights were flickering and the sunlight was slowly starting to creep in, reflecting off of the tracks. There were small groups of families scattered around the station and some single men. The muffled announcements echoing in a language I didn’t understand drowned out the conversations between fatigued parents and their children. I spotted our backpacks waving to us from one of the faraway platforms.

“I see them,” Thale stated, suddenly more alert, “Let’s go.” I followed her this time. We walked past the tracks and down the stairs leading to the other side of the platform where we met our luggage carriers.

“Train not coming now,” The same man informed us. The mute man frowned at us in solidarity. Thale and I made our way towards a nearby bench, sulking. We were growing impatient. All of the benches were occupied. We were too exhausted to stand any longer so we sat down on the floor as far away from others as we could.

In various cities in Europe or the United States, I usually found comfort in being surrounded by other people when I walked home at night. I felt no such comfort in India. It is not unheard of that girls have been gang raped in India as passersby mind their business, afraid of getting involved and subsequently becoming a target. There was no safety in numbers there, and there was no relying on strangers to protect us.

Thale sat facing me so that we could keep an eye out on what was going on behind one another. She pulled out a sandwich from her bag. It was from Subway. We had stopped there on our way to the station. The area around the Taj Mahal was full of tourist friendly establishments. Like a homemade meal after a long day, a soggy sandwich from an American chain restaurant gave us comfort. That’s not to say that I ever got sick of Indian food. I was bedridden for three days because of it, and still continued to eat rice and some type of stew for breakfast, lunch and dinner. But a Subway sandwich that day, something I rarely if ever ate at home, felt right.

When the lights flickered bright I could see the despair in Thale’s eyes. She jittered nervously as a rat scurried by. I looked around to see them everywhere. I could also see the lower halves of some people. Men that were once standing with their families started to separate from them.

“Are they pointing at us?” I needed Thale to reconfirm that I wasn’t imaging this out of paranoia.

“They’re coming closer.” I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the rats or the men. The lights flickered and I could see that the men had subtly started to form a circle around us. The rats were mostly gone. There is always a silver lining.

There we were, sitting on the floor in our tethered clothing that had been sweat through many times without having received a better wash than what we could make due with a bar of soap and a bathroom sink. Nothing more than our toes, hands and faces were exposed, but they saw us. They didn’t see us how I wanted to be seen. I wanted to be seen as a person with ideas and experiences and needs and desires. They saw a button-nosed girl with bone white skin and luminescent hair that had enough money to travel far. They saw a woman with the nerve to leave the house without an escort. She must be begging for attention. Maybe she’s a whore, or maybe she is looking for a man to marry her and keep her safe from the dangers of other men. Maybe she is just stupid.

A flash of bright light struck down on us. I turned around to see men hovering over us with their cellphones.

I was taught that people live differently in different parts of the world and that when traveling, one shouldn’t judge or complain about the local culture, but rather adapt to it and embrace it. I was taught that although these cultural differences may make people seem different, deep down we all want the same things. We are all equals, deserving of the same respect and kindness. One shouldn’t judge another human based on where they come from, how they dress, look or how much money they have. There are no bad people, just misunderstood people. I was taught that as a woman, I could do anything that a man could do. These are the ideologies that led me to think that I could handle India on my own. I had underestimated what these men were capable of in the name of staying woke.

“I don’t know what to do. I’m scared. Should we run?” I looked around to try and see if there was anywhere to turn to. I looked for another group of travelers or maybe a woman with children. There was a white couple with big backpacks on another platform, but they were getting on the train. There were no women without men in sight. After all, Indian women don’t go out alone, and I shouldn’t have either. I needed a hug so I clenched my purse instinctively. I was always on the lookout for thieves in India. In it was my camera that I had gotten from my parents just a few weeks prior on my nineteenth birthday. It could probably be sold in India for enough to feed a family for a long time. However, I knew that it wasn’t my bag that they wanted. I was ready to get up and leave when I heard Thale chanting into her phone in her native language. I couldn’t understand her words, but I could understand her tone, solemn and apprehensive. They were getting closer.

“Who was that?”

“My dad. I was just telling him where we are, just in case.” That’s when I realized that I wasn’t being irrational, or paranoid or racist. I sat there, feeling small. I hugged my knees and draped my translucent blue scarf over my face and body, in an effort to block the stares. I hoped that if I could curl myself up small enough, I might just melt into the floor. Was this the end? Would there be headlines across all major American newspapers about a stupid girl that thought she could survive India? They were too close. The circle was getting smaller. I was reluctant to make any sudden movements in case that prompted them to act instinctively.

“Let’s move. Let’s go, now.” I demanded, leaving my better judgement behind. I grabbed my things and stood up. A gust of wind nearly knocked me back down. It was a train passing by. Was it our train? Incoherent voices echoed on the intercom. I looked over to the luggage carriers. They signaled us to get on. We hurried over to them and followed them onto the train and didn’t look back.

We squeezed our way through the center aisle that was designed for much smaller people with much less luggage. As the train started to move we found our seats. Thale talked into her phone again as I looked out the window. We were headed towards the Nepal boarder. After a few minutes, the view of the outer city slums had transitioned into a view of the countryside. The sun was peeking over the horizon. Plump cows grazed in the sparkling green grass. Neatly plowed farms were being looked after by early rising farmers. India was a land of many contrasts.

submitted by /u/designerbabyy [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/3fuqKnK