#never a dent or scratch or dull color

[sug4r-melon]

Posthaste, covered in dents and generally looking worse for wear: are you sure about this

Shrike, stirring what is essentially a giant soup pot: yeah man trust me

“get back in youre not cooked yet”

[nd-of-a-manatee]

Brambles pt. 3

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[ID:

The vines are aware enough to dodge the shot, narrowly dragging Raz out of the line of fire with them. The margin is so close, he can feel the heat as the fireball passes. Lili shakes the flames out of her hand with a look of terrified guilt. Meanwhile, vines begin swarming around her in a circle.

The scare loosened the killer weeds’ grip enough for Raz to desperately hold them away from him, uneasily balanced upside down in mid-air by the tension. He calls down to the ground.

“Lili, I don’t think this is working. We have to get to the root of the problem!”

“I can’t!” she calls back, afraid and exasperated. The vines continue to gather around her, enclosing her.

“I don’t mean the literal root!”

“I KNOW what you mean! I–I can’t do it! You just don’t understand!”

“Then help me understand. It can’t stay like this!”

The sky closes up. Lili is alone beneath a wall of green. The light is even dimmer here without the moon, casting her in dull green colors. Raz’s voice squeaks through the ceiling of compressed weeds to reach her.

“Lili!”

“Raz!” she calls in fear.

She doesn’t notice the knot of vines coming at her until it’s nearly on top of her. She dodges backward with a yelp, and it lands beside her with enough force to send a bunch of nettles into the hair. She runs away. More movement stirs in the darkness.

She tries to explain herself as she dodges wave after wave of vines.

“We’re not like your family. I have to pick a side. My mom’s never going to forgive my dad. If I’m not against him, she thinks I’m against her. Cause she’s just waiting for him to screw up again.”

Her anger resurfaces, and her power with it. Bolts of magenta dance around her head as she faces down another wall.

“He’s not like that anymore, but he won’t say it.” She holds her ground and sends out a TK hand. It slices through the vines like a butcher knife, burning with aggression. It casts hot, vivid light back on her, illuminating the darkness as long as she can keep it up. “He lets her treat him like garbage because it’s easier. So, I have to be the one to defend him. And I can’t stand it!” She starts slicing through wall after wall, the hand growing hotter. “I have to do everything!” It’s all gonna fall apart, and then I’m gonna feel like garbage.” Cauterized vines peel away in layers, still smoking. Lili stares into them with loathing as chunks of plant matter rain down.

In retaliation, the roof comes down on Lili’s shoulders, and she stumbles with a grunt. The incredible weight of it presses down on her. She struggles to keep her legs straight, let alone summon any of the power that was helping her just a minute ago. All she can do is talk.

“Because I always feel like garbage… ‘cause I can’t fix it.”

Raz’s voice slips between the layers of rope that threaten to crush her.

“It’s not your job to fix it, Lili.”

Tears drip from her tightly shut eyes and sink into the grass.

“I just want us to feel like a family for once,” she chokes. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just… shouldn’t be this hard.”

Suddenly, the vines disband. They fall all around her, limp, not even thickly enough to bury her.

Outside, Raz’s captors have also given in, and he’s in the middle of falling into the bushes. With a thrashing of leaves and a metallic “BONK”, he lands in a shrub among the willows. When he gets up, he has a dented watering can in hand (and a sore spot on his head). His clothes and skin are scratched up from the ordeal.

“I found the watering can.”

He looks at the receding mass of weeds where Lili stands at its center. All the plants and flowers have been wrenched from the ground and shoved in piles at the corners of the garden by the wall of weeds. She’s just as torn, beaten, and tired. Tears pour from her eyes as she tries to hold herself together.

Wordlessly, Raz approaches her and wraps her in a hug. She holds him in return and quickly lets herself fall into sobs.

After a while, they unfold a bit and share a quiet moment, still in each other’s arms. Up close, it turns out that Raz is a little shorter than Lili. He smiles patiently up at her as she wipes the tears from her eyes. Her expression is complicated, but appreciative.

Someone from off-screen clears their throat. The kids snap apart with their hands to themselves. Lili’s parents are standing nearby, quiet and humble. We finally see her mom in full detail. She has pale freckled skin, a spade-shaped face, burly arms and legs, and long pink hair with the same style as the flashback. She wears a blue horizontal-striped button-up sweater, rust-red pants, and black strap sandals over white socks. Truman’s wearing a pale green polo with vertical stripes, pale red pants (purple in this light), and old loafers. He hasn’t changed much since his appearance in the games, except that he’s grown a pencil mustache.

“Razputin, could we have some time alone with Lili?” Truman asks.

“Oh! Sure.”

Raz waves goodbye as he sprints off toward the willows.

<Talk later?> he asks Lili.

<Yeah.>

Quick as a cricket, Raz hops from branch to lev ball and sails over the stone stacks and out of sight.

End ID]

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[unitedflooring]

How to Care for and Maintain Your Vinyl Flooring for Long-Lasting Beauty

Introduction

Vinyl flooring has become a popular choice for homeowners due to its durability, affordability, and stylish designs. However, like any flooring, it requires proper care to maintain its appearance and longevity. In this blog, we’ll walk you through the best practices for vinyl flooring care and offer tips on keeping your floors in top shape for years to come.

1. Regular Cleaning Routine

One of the simplest yet most effective ways to maintain your vinyl floors is by establishing a regular cleaning routine. Dust, dirt, and debris can accumulate on the surface, causing scratches over time. Here’s how you can keep your floors spotless:

Sweep Daily: Use a soft-bristle broom to sweep your vinyl floors every day. This helps remove loose dirt that can lead to surface scratches.

Vacuum Weekly: A vacuum cleaner without a beater bar is a great way to get rid of dust in corners and other hard-to-reach areas.

Mop Weekly: Use a damp mop with a mild, vinyl-friendly cleaning solution to clean the floor. Avoid overly wet mopping, as excess water can seep into seams and damage the adhesive layer.

2. Use Gentle Cleaning Solutions

When it comes to vinyl surface care, less is more. Harsh chemicals can strip away the protective coating and cause discoloration. Here’s how to ensure you’re using the right products:

Opt for Mild Cleaners: Choose cleaners that are specifically designed for vinyl floors. A simple solution of warm water and mild dish soap works wonders.

Avoid Abrasive Scrubbers: Never use steel wool, abrasive scrubbers, or stiff brushes, as these can scratch the surface of your vinyl flooring.

Steer Clear of Wax Products: Vinyl flooring already has a protective finish, so there’s no need to apply wax or polishes. These products can leave a dull residue on the floor.

3. Protect Your Floors from Furniture and Heavy Objects

Furniture and heavy objects can easily cause dents and scratches on vinyl floors if not handled with care. Here’s how to avoid damage:

Use Furniture Pads: Place felt pads or protective sliders under the legs of furniture to prevent scuffing or indentations.

Lift, Don’t Drag: When moving furniture, always lift it rather than dragging it across the floor.

Add Area Rugs: Use rugs or mats in high-traffic areas like entryways and hallways to protect your vinyl from excessive wear and tear.

4. Prevent Water Damage

While vinyl flooring is water-resistant, prolonged exposure to standing water can lead to issues. Here’s how to prevent water damage:

Wipe Up Spills Immediately: If there are any spills, wipe them up promptly to avoid staining or water seepage into the seams.

Use Mats in Wet Areas: Place mats near sinks, bathtubs, and entryways to absorb moisture and prevent water from damaging the vinyl.

5. Handle Stains the Right Way

Accidents happen, and stains are inevitable. Luckily, vinyl flooring is easy to clean, and most stains can be removed with the right approach:

For Tough Stains: Use a soft cloth and a mixture of water and baking soda to gently scrub the stain.

For Ink or Paint Stains: Try rubbing alcohol or nail polish remover (acetone-free) on a soft cloth to remove stubborn stains, but be careful not to damage the vinyl surface.

6. Avoid Direct Sunlight

Prolonged exposure to direct sunlight can cause your vinyl flooring to fade or discolor over time. Here’s how to prevent that:

Use Curtains or Blinds: Keep your blinds or curtains closed during the hottest parts of the day to protect your floors from UV damage.

Add Area Rugs: Place rugs in areas where sunlight hits the floor directly to help preserve the color.

7. Prevent Scuffs and Scratches

Daily wear and tear can lead to scuffs and scratches, but there are simple ways to avoid them:

Shoes Off Policy: Encourage family members and guests to remove their shoes at the door. High heels and cleats can cause deep gouges.

Trim Pet Nails: If you have pets, keep their nails trimmed to prevent scratches on the vinyl surface.

Use Entryway Mats: Place mats at entryways to catch dirt and grit before it reaches your vinyl floors.

Conclusion

Taking care of your vinyl flooring doesn’t have to be complicated. With regular vinyl flooring care and a few preventive measures, you can keep your floors looking beautiful and lasting for many years. From daily cleaning to protecting against heavy objects and sunlight, these simple steps will help maintain your floor’s beauty and functionality.

Invest a little time in vinyl surface care, and your floors will continue to impress with their durability, style, and long-lasting charm

[touchwoodfloorings]

Timeless Elegance: The Advantages of Solid Wood Hardwood Flooring for Your Home

When it comes to adding a touch of timeless elegance to your home, few options can match the beauty and durability of solid wood hardwood flooring. This type of flooring has been a popular choice for centuries, cherished for its natural warmth, classic appeal, and longevity. Whether you’re renovating an existing space or building your dream home from scratch, investing in hardwood flooring is a decision that offers both aesthetic and practical benefits. In this blog, we’ll explore the many advantages of solid wood hardwood flooring and why it remains a top choice for homeowners around the world, particularly in bustling urban areas like Delhi.

Natural Beauty and Aesthetic Appeal

One of the most compelling reasons to choose solid wood hardwood flooring is its unparalleled natural beauty. The rich grains, textures, and colors of hardwood bring a warmth and sophistication to any room, creating a welcoming atmosphere that other materials simply cannot replicate. Each plank of wood is unique, offering a wide range of options in terms of color, pattern, and finish, allowing homeowners to select a style that perfectly complements their interior design.

Hardwood flooring offers versatility in design, making it suitable for both traditional and contemporary homes. Whether you prefer the rustic charm of oak or the sleek elegance of maple, there’s a hardwood option that will suit your taste. The ability to stain and finish the wood in various shades means that your floors can be customized to match your home’s decor, giving you a truly personalized space.

Durability and Longevity

When properly maintained, solid hardwood flooring can last for decades, even generations. This incredible durability makes it a wise investment for homeowners who want a long-lasting solution that won’t need frequent replacements. Unlike other flooring materials that may wear out or degrade over time, hardwood flooring actually improves with age, developing a beautiful patina that enhances its character and appeal.

Solid wood is inherently strong and resilient, making it resistant to everyday wear and tear. It handles high foot traffic with ease, making it ideal for active households. Additionally, scratches and dents can be easily sanded out, allowing the floor to be refinished multiple times over its lifespan. This capability ensures that your floors will continue to look beautiful and maintain their structural integrity for many years to come.

Easy Maintenance

One of the key advantages of hardwood flooring is its ease of maintenance. Regular sweeping or vacuuming, combined with occasional mopping, is usually enough to keep hardwood floors looking pristine. Unlike carpets, which require frequent deep cleaning, hardwood floors do not absorb stains and can be quickly cleaned in case of spills. This low-maintenance aspect makes solid wood hardwood flooring an attractive option for busy homeowners who want a beautiful floor without the hassle of intensive upkeep.

The ability to sand and refinish the floor allows you to restore its original beauty if it becomes scratched or dull over time. This process not only revitalizes the appearance of your floor but also extends its lifespan, making it a cost-effective choice in the long run. With proper care, hardwood floors can maintain their elegance and charm for many years, adding value to your home.

Increased Property Value

Investing in solid wood hardwood flooring is a decision that can significantly boost the value of your property. Hardwood floors are highly sought after by homebuyers due to their aesthetic appeal, durability, and low maintenance. Homes with hardwood flooring often sell faster and at higher prices than those with other types of flooring, making it a smart investment for homeowners looking to increase their property’s marketability.

The timeless nature of hardwood flooring means it never goes out of style, ensuring that your home remains attractive to potential buyers regardless of changing design trends. In addition to enhancing the visual appeal of your home, hardwood floors also contribute to its overall market value, providing a strong return on investment. This makes hardwood flooring an excellent choice for those looking to improve their home’s resale potential.

Versatility in Installation

Another advantage of solid hardwood flooring is its versatility in installation. Whether you’re renovating a historic home or designing a modern space, hardwood flooring can be installed in various ways to suit the architectural style of your home. It can be laid in traditional straight patterns, or you can opt for more intricate designs such as herringbone or chevron to add a unique touch to your interiors.

For those in Delhi, finding reliable hardwood flooring services is essential to ensure a flawless installation. Touchwood Floorings, a leading hardwood flooring company in Delhi, offers expert installation services that guarantee a perfect fit and finish. Their team of skilled wooden flooring contractors in Delhi has the experience and expertise to handle all aspects of the installation process, ensuring that your new floors look stunning and perform optimally.

Timeless Appeal

One of the reasons why solid wood hardwood flooring has remained popular for centuries is its timeless appeal. Unlike other flooring materials that may fall out of fashion, hardwood flooring is a classic choice that never goes out of style. Its natural beauty and elegance make it a versatile option that complements any interior design, from traditional to contemporary.

The timeless nature of hardwood flooring ensures that it will continue to enhance the beauty of your home for years to come. Whether you’re decorating a cozy cottage or a sleek urban apartment, solid wood hardwood flooring adds a touch of sophistication and warmth that elevates the overall aesthetic of your space.

Customization and Personalization

Solid hardwood flooring offers homeowners the opportunity to customize and personalize their floors to suit their unique tastes and preferences. From the choice of wood species and finish to the installation pattern and plank width, every aspect of your hardwood floor can be tailored to reflect your individual style.

For those looking to create a truly unique and personalized space, hardwood flooring services provided by companies like Touchwood Floorings offer the expertise and craftsmanship needed to bring your vision to life. Whether you’re looking for a traditional, elegant look or something more modern and contemporary, their team of professionals can help you achieve the perfect result.

Long-Term Cost Efficiency

While the initial cost of solid wood hardwood flooring may be higher than other flooring options, it is important to consider the long-term benefits and cost efficiency. Hardwood floors are incredibly durable and can last for decades with proper care, reducing the need for frequent replacements or repairs. This longevity makes hardwood flooring a cost-effective investment that pays off over time.

In addition to its durability, the ability to refinish hardwood floors means that they can be restored to their original beauty without the need for complete replacement. This not only extends the life of your floors but also saves you money in the long run. When you factor in the increased property value and the timeless appeal of hardwood flooring, it becomes clear that solid wood hardwood flooring is a smart and financially sound choice for homeowners.

Types of Solid Hardwood Floorings

When it comes to selecting the perfect solid wood hardwood flooring for your home, you’ll find that there are several types to choose from, each offering unique characteristics and benefits. Here are some of the most popular types of solid hardwood flooring:

Oak Hardwood Flooring: Oak is one of the most popular choices for hardwood flooring, known for its durability and classic look. It is available in two primary types: red oak and white oak. Red oak has a warm, reddish tone, while white oak has a more neutral, pale appearance. Both types are strong and resilient, making them excellent choices for high-traffic areas.

Maple Hardwood Flooring: Maple is another favorite for homeowners due to its light color and smooth grain. It’s a harder wood compared to oak, which means it’s more resistant to dents and scratches. Maple flooring offers a clean and contemporary look, making it ideal for modern homes.

Walnut Hardwood Flooring: Walnut flooring is prized for its deep, rich color and striking grain patterns. It brings an element of elegance and improvement to any space. Walnut is softer than oak and maple, so it’s best used in areas with lighter foot traffic or where a more formal aesthetic is desired.

Cherry Hardwood Flooring: Cherry wood is known for its rich, reddish-brown hue that deepens over time, giving it a unique, aged beauty. It has a smooth texture and fine grain, offering a warm and inviting feel to your space. Cherry is softer than other hardwoods, so it’s best suited for low-traffic areas.

Hickory Hardwood Flooring: Hickory is one of the hardest and most durable hardwoods available, making it perfect for busy households. It features distinct grain patterns and a mix of light and dark tones that add character and visual interest to any room.

Mahogany Hardwood Flooring: Mahogany is often associated with luxury due to its rich, reddish-brown color and fine grain. It’s a hardwood that stands out for its beauty and durability. Mahogany flooring is perfect for creating an elegant and timeless look in your home.

Why Choose Touchwood Floorings?

When it comes to installing and maintaining hardwood flooring, especially in a bustling city like Delhi, it’s important to work with experts who understand the nuances of the material and can deliver top-quality results. Touchwood Floorings stands out as one of the leading providers of hardwood flooring in Delhi, offering a range of services that ensure your flooring not only looks stunning but also lasts for years to come.

Expertise in Solid Wood Hardwood Flooring: Touchwood Floorings has a wealth of experience in dealing with all types of solid hardwood flooring. Their team of skilled professionals understands the unique characteristics of each wood type and can guide you in choosing the perfect flooring for your home. Whether you’re interested in oak, maple, or walnut, they have the expertise to install it flawlessly.

Comprehensive Services: Touchwood Floorings doesn’t just stop at installation. They offer a full suite of services, including sanding, finishing, and maintenance, ensuring that your floors remain in top condition long after they’ve been installed. Their commitment to quality extends to every aspect of their work, making them a trusted choice for wooden flooring in Delhi.

Customization and Personalization: Understanding that every home is unique, Touchwood Floorings offers customization options that allow you to personalize your hardwood flooring. Whether you want a specific stain color, a particular finish, or a custom installation pattern, their team will work with you to create a floor that perfectly matches your vision.

Professional Installation: Proper installation is key to the longevity and appearance of your hardwood flooring. The wooden flooring contractors at Touchwood Floorings are highly trained and experienced, ensuring that every plank is laid with precision and care. This attention to detail guarantees a smooth, level surface and a beautiful finish.

Conclusion

Solid wood hardwood flooring offers a unique combination of beauty, durability, and versatility that makes it a top choice for homeowners looking to enhance their living spaces. Whether you’re drawn to its natural elegance, its long-lasting durability, or its ability to increase the value of your home, hardwood flooring is an investment that will stand the test of time. For those in Delhi, Touchwood Floorings provides a comprehensive range of hardwood flooring services, ensuring that your floors are installed with precision and care.

From its timeless appeal to its eco-friendly benefits, solid hardwood flooring is a choice that offers both aesthetic and practical advantages. If you’re considering upgrading your floors, there’s no better option than hardwood flooring for adding timeless elegance and value to your home. Explore the many options available and let Touchwood Floorings, one of the leading wooden flooring contractors in Delhi, help you create a space that reflects your style and stands the test of time.

Other Links:

Herringbone Flooring in Delhi

Engineered wood flooring in Delhi

Laminate wood flooring in Delhi

Artificial Grass Flooring in Delhi

[joshslater]

Just a Scratch

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

“Oh, bother!” Sean said out loud as something sharp in the gym bag handle cut into his fingers. It had been a stupid request from the beginning when Mitch, Sean’s girlfriend's immature brother had called him late last evening and asked for a favor. A friend of his would drop off a bag outside the house during the night, and Sean should bring it to Mitch when he picks up her sister for the date. Why couldn’t his friends hand over their items in person? They meet almost every day anyway. And why him of everyone? Mitch didn’t even like him very much, and had even made some threats months ago. It didn’t occur to Sean until just after he had hung up that there might be something illegal going on. But that made even less sense to involve another person. Whatever the reason he would be happy to get rid of the small gym bag. It is only large enough to carry shoes and some training clothes, not that he cares what is in it.

He looks at his fingers, and sees a small scratch and a bead of blood. Carefully he runs a finger along the nylon rope handles, but can’t locate whatever sharpness had cut him. He looks closer at the injury to see any splinters or anything left in the skin, but finds nothing. He continues to his clunker of a car, places the black canvas bag on the passenger seat, and closes the door. He pauses a bit, looking at the bag. It’s been with him all day, and he hasn’t really been interested in whatever was in it until now. He ought to know what he has bled to deliver, not that it was much nor that he has actually done it yet. He grabs the bag, opens the zipper, and peers inside. The faint smell of beach body wafts from the bag, coconut oil and armpits. Just a bunch of shit. Some pink sweatpants shorts, stringer top, a pair of expensive sunglasses, and some other shit below. Nothing that warrants his delivery service. Even more annoyed than before he puts his foot to the gas and makes an uncharacteristically violent start.

It’s a shit car, already when it was new, but this one has had two prior owners, all of whom had made their own marks and dents. It has nowhere near the stated mpg any more, something rattles in the dashboard, and the paint was already scratched on one side when he bought it. Despite being careful one thing after the other stopped working properly, just on schedule according to its planned obsolescence he imagined. Two weeks ago the inside passenger door handle stopped connecting to the mechanism inside the door. This weak one of the radio speakers started to occasionally sound distorted. He’d rather spend all money on a new car, and nothing more on this one though. All of that has to wait until after he has defended his Ph.D.

“Piece of shit!” Sean says out loud in the car, hitting the steering wheel with frustration that even surprises him. A pulse of pain spreads from the hand. The damn finger cut is getting worse. No wonder he is irritable. He hits the wheel again, and another shot of dull pain spreads along his arm. He knows he really shouldn’t, but it’s the kind of pain that feels good in a way. He makes another hit.

Something is itching inside of him. Like something he has repressed for a long time. Perhaps the long hours doing experiment planning and result collation has finally caught up with him. He turns on the radio and hears people talking. Boring. He presses the channel presets one after the others, meticulously configured when he first took possession of the car. Boring. Boring. Country music. Boring. Trash. Crap. Finally he lands on some hip hop he has never heard before and dials up the volume. He starts hitting the wheel to the beat of the track. Pulse after pulse of dull pain washes over him. He doesn’t know why, but it’s somehow exactly what he is craving. He switches lane for the highway. Jenni can wait a bit. He starts feeling hot and unbuttons his shirt while steering with his knee.

More than 2 hours late Sean rolls to a halt outside the O’Hare family house. No sooner has he shut off the engine than Jenni bolts out through the main entrance, running towards the car with a concerned look. She slows down and her facial expression shifts to confusion once she gets close enough to see that she doesn’t recognize the driver. An at least half-naked, heavily tattooed man with bulging muscles and a smug grin is, despite wearing sunglasses, very obviously checking her out from the driver's seat. Hesitantly she opens the passenger door and is hit full on by the smell of coconut and man.

“Hey there, honey. Home delivery of seed refill, extra large.” says the cartoon version of a jock that vaguely resembles Sean, one hand on the steering wheel and the other down his pink sweatpants shorts. “Sean? Sean! What has... How?” his lewd hand movement inside his shorts is as distracting as they are repulsive to her. “Look what I got!” he motions to his pierced nipple with his free hand. “A stud for a stud. Get it?” She gets it all right. “Tell Sean that it was a very funny joke, but a bit in bad taste. If he still wants dinner he can call me. Bye.” and she walks away from the car, door open, and hurries back into the house.

“Fucking bitch” Sean says to himself and reach over and out of the car to close the door, when someone steps out of the bushes. “Hey Mitch! Did someone stick a stick up your cunt’s cunt? Get it?”

Mitch doesn’t answer but jumps into the passenger seat and closes the door before anyone from the house can see him. “Hey bro!” “Sup bro!” Sean replies and slowly starts to drive away. Mitch quickly adjust to the unexpected departure “It’s chill. Yourself?” “Fucktastic. Had to drive a bit to clear my head.” ”Isn’t that bad for the studies.” ”Fuck studies. Pump iron and pump bitches is all I need. If only I could find somewhere to also clear my balls. Get it?” “I do.. I do... I heard Jenni.” “What a fucking bitch!” Sean cut off. “Hey! She’s my sister you know. That’s why I couldn’t have her date such a loser, though you’re a different kind of loser know I guess.” Mitch can’t see the flicker of anger and dying gasps of intelligence behind the shades as Sean slowly turns from the main road into a forest access road. “You fucked my shit up so I’m gonna fuck your shit up. Get it?” All color drained from Mitch’s face as he repeatedly pulled the broken handle on the passenger door.

[somewhere-insnowdin-forest]

Dreammare with "I thought you were gone"

oKAY i didn’t mean???? for this to go like this???? the characters took over again. tbh i would mind doing more stuff for this verse-

~~~~

“Nightmare.” Dream greeted. Nightmare looked over him, drinking in every glance as he stared in shock at the Guardian.

“Dream…. I thought you were gone.” Nightmare breathed out, voice barely louder than a whisper, yet still echoing in the empty throne room.

Dream was covered in scars, scratches and dents decorating his bones. He no longer wore his common yellow, and instead wore darker colors, fit for blending into the shadows. The shadows themselves seemed to cling to Dream under his eye sockets, making him appear as exhausted as Nightmare may expect.

“It’s been-”

“Years. I know.” Dream cut him off, with a sharp voice. Nightmare wasn’t certain, but he could swear he heard fondness in Dream’s voice.

“Where have you BEEN?!” Nightmare demanded, finally drawing himself out of his shocked stupor as he practically leapt from his throne. Desperation fueled his actions, yet he did not dare come closer to Dream in fear of this being another elaborate hallucination or illusion.

“Away. Not by choice, mind you my dear.” Dream responded dully, the pet name rolling off his tongue the same way it had years ago. Nightmare couldn’t help but notice that despite Dream’s new appearance, his crown still sat on his head. Of course, it was dull and dented, and in some places scratched, but it was the sentiment that counted. Dream hadn’t forgotten him.

“Who took you? I- We have been searching for years!” Nightmare took a hesitant step forward, still afraid this whole situation wasn’t real. Dream’s eyelights seemed to soften for a moment, before hardening again.

“They never bothered to tell me their names, only what they wanted me for.” Dream informed him, his tone reminding Nightmare of the times his followers would report on something. It pained him to hear Dream speak to him like that.

“And what was that?”

“They wanted to break me. Destroy a being of Positivity, and they could do it to everyone, right?” Dream tilted his head ever so slightly, a dangerous and far away look in his eyelights. “I didn’t let them get that far.”

Nightmare was afraid to speak, afraid that Dream would shatter into pieces. Despite how he appeared on the outside, Nightmare knew him better than that. On the inside, Dream was as fragile as shattered glass, and just as dangerous.

“I killed them.” Dream answered the unspoken question, hands twitching at his sides.

Nightmare took another step forward, drawing closer to Dream. He kept his palms facing outwards, and his posture submissive. It would be no good to set him off, after all. Nightmare just got him back, he couldn’t lose him again.

“I killed them all.” Dream’s eyelights grew hazy, a far away look on his face. Nightmare could recognize this look from years of handling his boys. He drew closer, slowly, in order to not set off Dream.

“Dream, you’re here now, with me, Nightmare.” He attempted to soothe. Despite his words, Dream started shaking like a leaf, staring into the distance at some unseen threat.

“I killed them. Every last one of them.” Dream muttered, before tilting forward, luckily towards Nightmare.

Nightmare only had time to spit out a curse, before racing to catch Dream.

“Dream! Dream, my love, it is alright. I am here, you’re with me, Nightmare. Your husband.” Nightmare cradled Dream in his arms, as Dream broke down into sobs in his arms.

Nightmare held him close, rocking him back and forth while Dream cried.

“Cry as long as you need, my love. I am here now. No one will ever hurt you again.”

[molluskwritesfic]

Between Rivers Chapter Three

A Mandalorian can't show their face to anyone - with the exception of immediate family. Although they haven't known each other long, there's definitely something growing between them. But is it enough? When an ex-spy must look beneath the helmet to save Din Djarin's life, there's only one option that allows him to continue following his Creed. Marriage.

This story can also be found on Fanfiction.net and Ao3.

Chapter One - Previous Chapter - This Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter Three

Morning came gently on Movet. The sun’s rays found the mountaintops long before it reached the valleys, setting the snow on the peaks ablaze with white fire, which in turn reflected into the lower regions and cast them in an ethereal glow. 

Din, of course, was awake long before then. He’d slept well on the bed of soft furs, having removed most of his armor save for the helmet. By the time he’d decided to sleep, he had relaxed enough to believe that the quarry had no ill intentions towards him, but that hadn’t stopped him from wedging the desk chair under the door and drifting off with his blaster in hand. 

He took the predawn birdsong as his signal to start the day. Each piece of armor went back into place like scales. Despite the battered and worn nature of each piece, despite the dents and scratches - some present when he’d received it, others added since - he buckled each in place with reverence. His armor was an extension of himself. It kept him alive. It was his Creed. The Way.

When everything was in place, he was again tempted back into the front rooms by the smell of cooking. He made his way back to the kitchen, only to freeze in the doorway at the sight of a stranger fussing over a pan of bacon and eggs. 

His hand had actually flown to his blaster before he recognized the elegant heart shaped face and squat build. Despite not having looked up at his entrance, a small amused smile twitched on the quarry’s lips. 

“Glad to know my disguise is effective,” she said brightly. 

Her hair was a little shorter now, hanging loose around her shoulders instead of draping down her back in a braid. The auburn hair he’d come to associate with her had been smothered by a rich shade of raven black. It was still damp from being rinsed. Beneath the smell of bacon was the bitter tang of dye. 

Din nodded curtly. “It is.”

He was unexpectedly disappointed. Not that his opinion mattered in the slightest, but he’d thought the original fiery auburn had suited her quite well. 

She hummed her appreciation and slid half of the bacon and eggs into a plate, which she passed to him, saying, “Well, we can’t all maintain anonymity behind a helmet, Mandalorian.”

“I suppose not.” 

Her eyes were different too. Dark brown.

He tilted his head curiously. 

Her brow furrowed for a moment as she studied him, then relaxed with an easy smirk. “Oh, the eyes! Colored contacts.”

“Huh.” He had to hand it to her, if he had just seen her in passing, he never would have known. “It’s… very good.”

She nodded at the half-forgotten plate he held. “Eat. I will tend the olfdo, and then we may leave.”

~0~0~0~ . ~0~0~0~

Half an hour later, they set out to find the Razor Crest. Din described the small clearing he’d landed in and where it was in reference to the river. The quarry said that she already knew.

He didn’t ask how.

As agreed, he didn’t comment on the blaster she tucked in her waistband or the knife hidden within her boot, though he did pay careful attention to them - just in case she changed her mind about their deal.

It was a long walk, but a nice one. Yesterday he had been in hunting mode and couldn’t afford to admire the sunlight filtering through the monolithic evergreen trees - even as he slunk through them. Now, he was able to appreciate the way the spongy carpet of lichen and fallen pine needles absorbed the sound of his footfalls as well as the faint hum of birdsong and summer insects that disguised his modulated breaths. Small mammals scurried through the underbrush, occasionally startling and diving back into burrows. 

Some of the wolves - or olfdo, as the quarry called them - trailed after them for a while, weaving in and out of underbrush and snapping playfully at the insects they stirred up as they went. But eventually they melted one by one into the foliage.

He and the quarry chatted as they walked. Din found himself starting to enjoy her company. Although she neatly skirted any indirect inquiries about why she had a bounty on her or why she chose such an isolated place to retire, she was more than happy to discuss the olfdo, the landscape, and the Movetian lifestyle. 

As expected, she was a jack of all trades. She talked woodworking, hunting, fishing, tanning, and local flora and fauna. Apparently she had a very large  underground greenhouse where she grew vegetables and wildflower seedlings all year long. 

He asked her what else she had hidden underground.

She chuckled knowingly, a sly glint in her dark eyes. “The essentials.”

Din had no idea what that meant, but was privately relieved that she’d been ready to strike a deal instead of making him work for her payload. 

When they reached the energy perimeter, he was surprised to see it live and buzzing with electricity, as he hadn’t put it back up after deactivating it when he crossed. The quarry deactivated it with practiced ease and let him through. 

He looked up from watching her recouple the lines to see Nana, the olfdo from the day before, standing on the other side and looking a little dejected. She twitched her ears at the Mandalorian and wagged her tail slowly.

“They gonna be okay while you’re gone?” 

The quarry didn’t bother looking up from her work. “Yes. They have food.”

He hated to point out the obvious, but did so anyway. “And if you don’t come back?”

She sniffed. “They can also hunt.”

He nodded slowly, folding his arms across his chest. “There enough game within the perimeter?”

She nodded distractedly. “Mhm. Most of the time. The fielkir… the… the elk-deer… They jump straight over the barrier and come in and out all the time.”

Din grunted in acknowledgement.

“And, worse case, the olfdo can leave and hunt beyond,” she went on. “They do not like to, but the electricity doesn’t slow the adults down much…”

Din filed that away for later.

“...but it keeps the young ones in. And most predators out.”

His head tipped to the side. “The Olarba?”

The barrier hummed back to life. The quarry turned to face him, expression dark. “Most of the time.”

From there, it didn’t take long to reach the Crest. By then, it was well into the afternoon and the small clearing he’d stowed the ship in was slanted with golden light. 

The quarry hummed her approval as she padded across the mossy ground, appraising the blaster cannons with an experienced eye. “Pre-Empire. Solid design. You’ve done well to keep her from the Imperial impounds.”

Din tapped at his vambrace, unlocking the hatch and lowering the ramp before leading the way onboard. The darkness within was welcoming after the long trek across unfamiliar woodland. A few of the lights flickered on, but didn’t offer much besides illuminating the dull metal walls and a few of the dusty crates shoved into the corners. It was empty and decrepit, but it was home. Or at least the closest thing he had to one.

The quarry’s soft footsteps on the ramp reminded him that there was more to do before he could relax. Din turned to face her. She stood between him and the hatch, framed by sunlight. He couldn’t make out her eyes in the darkness, but her stance was non threatening and relaxed. 

“What’s the plan from here?” He asked, a little uncertain.

The quarry peered around his shoulder, her eyes flickering around the bay before settling on the carbonite freezer and the other bounties stowed behind it. She nodded satisfactorily to herself.

“Your normal method is the freezer, I take it. We can conclude our business now, then.”

Din frowned. “You sure?”

She felt inside one of her coat’s interior pockets and came away with a hefty pouch of credits. She bounced it once in her hand before holding it out to him. 

When she spoke again, it was without her usual brusque Movetian accent, but with a different lilt that sounded as if it had been derived from Huttese and then lightly textured with slave cant. She delivered it flawlessly.

“Yeah. It’s the easiest way. For both of us, I think.” 

He was still processing the sudden change in tone as she trotted over to the carbonite freezer and settled back into the harness. He finally followed, the credit pouch held forgotten in his hand. 

She looked up at him expectantly.

Din hesitated, but wasn’t entirely sure why. Yeah, it was easier. Especially for him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to being alone on his ship, deep in hyperspace where he could take off his helmet without constantly having to be on guard. But he’d found her to be easy company, something that didn’t happen often in his field of work, and he was at loathe to lose it so quickly. 

A glimmer of surprise crossed her face. She studied him, her brown furrowed with concern. “Is there a problem?”

He flushed hot with embarrassment, but didn’t outwardly express it. 

“No,” he grunted. “As long as you’re sure.”

“I’ve been in carbonite before,” she added. “I know what to expect. When you’re ready.”

He nodded once, then pressed the button on the side of the harness. When the fog cleared, he was left staring at her pretty face, stiff and lifeless under a coat of cold metal. Her eyes had squeezed closed at the last moment, her brow furrowed, frozen in an expression of mild discomfort. 

Despite knowing that this was what she wanted, Din couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Would it have been wrong to insist that she stay out of the carbonite until they reached Nevarro? He didn’t have much to offer, but a part of him would’ve liked the opportunity to return her hospitality. 

He scoffed at himself. Yeah, field rations and an uncomfortable bunk. Nice, Djarin.

The trip to Nevarro felt longer than usual. Din spent the trip doing his best to push the quarry out of his mind. He still had questions, of course. She was strange, yes, but fascinating. The name on the fob was Ena Sma, but from what he’d seen, he doubted that it was her real one. Just how many aliases did she have? And why?

He lost the chance to ask when he turned the fob over to Karga. He didn’t watch her be unloaded from the cargo hold of his ship. 

He never tried to figure out what happened to her after, if she cleaned up the issue with the spice dealers or got killed in the process. He tried to convince himself that he didn’t care, but caught himself toying with the idea of visiting Movet again. 

More than once.

Each time, he roughly dismissed the thought. What did it matter to him? She’d kept her end of the deal and he was 10,000 credits better for it. Part of his end had been to stay away from her little homestead. Not to mention that he had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t be welcomed back with open arms, 

Needless to say, he didn’t think he’d ever see her again. 

~0~0~0~ .

[sunglassesinpakistan]

How to Remove Sunglasses Scratch

Sunglasses usually get scratches due to the regular wear and tear throughout the day. These scratches can make your shades appear old and dull and give a cheap look. However, you do not have to buy a fresh pair every time your sunglasses show the signs of constant wear. Fortunately, there are some easy hacks and remedies that can save your expensive pair of shades. Also, these hacks will make them appear brand new. Some of the best techniques to repair them include:

A mixture of Baking Soda with Water

Baking soda and water are simple items available in every house. The combination used to remove scratches includes a paste of baking soda mixed with water. This hack is particular for the lenses and not the frame. It can damage the color of the frame, so be careful while applying this paste. 

Dishwashing Soap

Take a glass of lukewarm water and add a few drops of dishwashing soap to make a foamy liquid. Use this liquid to clean your sunglasses and make them scratch-free. You can also use the soap directly on the frame and let it sit for a few minutes. Rinse with water once it becomes dry and enjoy a fresh pair of sunglasses. 

Vinegar

You probably have a bottle of vinegar in your pantry used for various purposes. This ingredient has several cleaning purposes on different types of materials. All you need to do is mix vinegar with baking soda or water to clean the lenses or frame. This technique removes the scratches from the surface to reveal a clear and bright color. 

Glasses Cleaning Spray

Another common household item, glasses cleaning spray, can fix your shades in seconds. The gentle action of this spray helps remove scratches without damaging the body or the material. Spray a few pumps of the cleaning agent to coat your sunglasses evenly. Take a micro fiber cloth and gently wipe off the spray to reveal shiny and scratch-free material. 

Alcohol

You can also use alcohol to clean your frame but never apply it directly to the surface. However, mix it will equal water or baking soda and take it off with a gentle towel.

Baby Wash 

This item consists of gentle ingredients to mildly clean any material. Also, this method is perfect for your expensive pair of sunglasses as it does not cause any damage. Apply the baby wash to your sunglasses and wipe the soapy material off with warm water.

Tooth Paste

Take a pea-sized amount of toothpaste and warm it between your fingers. Then apply it to the scratches on your sunglasses and wipe after a while with a non-abrasive cloth. However, you may need to repeat this process several times if you have deeper dents in your shades.

Car Wax 

This easy technique comes in handy when you have shallow scratches on your shades. Run a small amount of car wax and remove with a towel or cloth for brand new sunglasses. 

[chasseurdeloup-retired]

Pixie Your Battles || Bea and Kaden

TIMING: After The Banshee Sitters Club LOCATION: Coffee Plus Plus PARTIES: @beatrice-blaze and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Bea and Kaden meet to try and investigate a way to help their fae partners. And maybe you know chat about that dying thing a little. Maybe.

Kaden wasn’t sure what else there was to find at Coffee Plus Plus, the night after there was hardly anything weirder than a broken umbrella and the server he talked to was hardly helpful. But he was out of leads and going a little out of his mind. He was glad he wasn’t going to be here alone though. Seeing Bea walking and talking was something fucking surreal. Even more so than the current predicaments they were dealing with in regards to their respective partners. “Hey,” he said as she walked up to the coffee shop. “Glad you could come.” Really glad she was breathing, too. He wasn’t over it. Not sure when he would be. If that ever happened. She had mentioned that she felt different, changed. Which made sense, she had died after all. But he thought he could almost see it. He couldn’t say what it was. By all accounts, save for the fact she was covering her neck, she looked the same. There was no denying she wasn’t, though. “Is Felix doing alright?” He wanted to ask about her, too, if she was alright. But he still didn’t really know how to talk to har about… that. The not being dead thing. Not yet.

Bea knew she shouldn’t have expected a quiet week, there was no such thing in White Crest, but she had hoped for it. She wanted a quiet month. Time to refocus herself and figure out how she fit back in the world. Instead, she got a message from her boyfriend telling her that he was a giant, naked and wandering the forest. She could roll with it, she had to. It was, in a way, a relief that Kaden was dealing with this and Regan, though at least Regan was tiny and able to stay inside. Slowly, the exhaustion that she felt when she first came back was easing off her. Thank god for that. She wasn’t sure if she would have been able to meet up with Kaden if it was still as bad as it was before. She paused before Kaden, taking him in for a moment. A memory tugged at the back of her brain, hazy enough to know that it was from when she had been a ghost. It seemed like she had decided to go on a walk with Kaden and Abel, though that was unknown to them at the time. “It’s good to see you,” She told him as she considered whether or not he would want a hug from her. Touch was something that she had given out easily before, but now it was far more intimate. She used it to remind herself that she was alive. She felt wooden now, just as she had with the others she saw recently. They all expected something from her. They all waited with bated breath to see if she was different. “Well, he’s scared a few bears out of a cave and is hanging out in there until we find a solution. He’s doing as well as he can considering he’s naked in a cave and can’t go outside .” She sighed, this was not how she imagined her first couple of weeks being with Felix like. Hanging out with him, naked, in a cave when he’s three times her height was just not in the plan. Her hand flexed,“It’s the first time I’ve had to sleep alone since I came back, so it’s been a learning curve.” She hadn’t imagined that she would be so codependent on her relationship so soon, but she supposed getting beheaded could do that to a person. “How’s Regan? And you?”

It was strange seeing Bea and not feeling her warmth, her pulling him into a hug whether he wanted it or not. Kaden was too unsure to push it. Talking about what was happening now was so much easier than touching on anything that had come before. “It’s a little better to see you,” he said with a small smile. Strange to think this was the second friend he’d seen walking and talking post-mortem now. “He scared bears out of a cave?” It was so absurd, he had to laugh. The whole thing was crazy. It was draining and exhausting but, putain, it was funny in its own way. In that way that if he didn’t laugh, they both might cry a little. “What a fucking crash course to get on dating in White Crest right out of the gate.” His heart sunk watching her. She had enough to deal with right now. This was unfair. Come back from the fucking dead, let the woman have a normal week. As much as he wanted that normal, no supernatural, no nonsense of any sort moment for him and Regan, the kind they hadn’t had in so long now, he’d give it to Bea and Felix in a heartbeat. “You’ve been staying with him this whole time, huh? You know after the-- And before...” He found himself offering her a bit of a sly smile and gave her a small nudge with his elbow. Sure, it sucked knowing she was hurting now, but it was nice to know his friend had found something good in all this shit. This town was a tough place to find it. “I’ve been better. Can’t sleep much. I mean I don’t think they’ll stay like-- But what if--” He shook it off and led them over to the table where he’d found Regan’s clothes the other day. There was nothing damaged or even dented or scratched. The umbrella that was a little worse for wear last time he’d been there was perfectly in place. It was off-putting. He wanted to find a scene. Fucking anyting helpful. “Regan’s screaming. A lot. Thankfully it’s not too bad at her current size. And she’s insisting she should go back to work.” He could feel the stress of all this creeping back in, weighing on him again. “So you know, she’s her.”

Five weeks without her had to have been jarring for those who had seen her constantly before this. Bea couldn’t imagine how strange it must have been for all of them. She was sure it was terrible for them all leading up to the ritual. She shrugged slightly, unsure of how to reply now. Her mouth was dry, this was strange. She had never really struggled to be around Kaden, at least not like this, but here she was unsure of what to say or do. “He can’t be out in the daylight and the only caves that are big enough for him right now were one’s bears like. It was really the only option.” She offered him a small smile, dating in White Crest was always a ride, but she had never dealt with this with her last boyfriend. Felix was worth the effort though, even if it was one of the stranger things she was doing. Kaden’s elbow got a snort out of her,“Yeah, well, when I got out of the hospital I went to his first thing. I might have admitted I was in love with him when I was a ghost. Thought he needed to hear it in person.” She looked at him for a long moment, before smirking a bit,“I didn’t expect the first time I got to see him naked being when he’s fifteen-foot tall, but that’s how it is in White Crest huh?” She understood Kaden’s concern, she had thought of what would happen if they were stuck like this forever, but she was certain they’d find a solution. She figured if she could come back from the dead, she could find a way to bring her boyfriend back to a normal height. She considered attempting to make things normal and offer him some calming words, but it felt weird to now. It didn’t come naturally to her anymore. Her eyebrows furrowed,”This is where it happened? Why does it look normal?” It didn’t make sense. She let out a frustrated huff of air. Couldn’t White Crest be normal for once and let a scene be a scene. “What’s she going to do at work? Crawl in the bodies? Seems a little stupid to go back to work.”

Kaden wasn’t really sure who had it worse, Regan or Felix. He was also really fucking sure it didn't matter right now. “Well hopefully we can find something today and then no more caves and no more tissue boxes for either of them.” Kaden had been leaned over the table, looking for anything remotely helpful when she mentioned “love.” His head shot up to look at her, eyes wide. “You told him you loved him as a ghost?” He was definitely shocked but a small smile was present on his face. “I don’t know if that counts as moving fast or slow considering you were kind of dead. But uh, yeah, that’s one of the more White Crest ways to first see someone naked.” Shit, he knew this was probably hard on her but if she cared about Felix that much, had to be even worse. At least a little of the rhythm of their friendship was back, rocky and unsteady as it felt so far. It was still hard to remove himself from all the grief he’d felt in that month every time he looked at her and to not just worry how she was doing.  

“Looks like we’re not going to find anything here,” he said with a sigh and waved her inside with him. Maybe they’d have better luck there. As soon as Kaden stepped through the door, he saw her. The face from the carnival. “You!” He said as he charged right towards her. “You want to explain yourself?” Her laugh came out like chirps. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, hon. But take a seat and I can take your order. Let me guess, a large for him and a small for her.” Kaden narrowed his eyes at her and decided they should play ball and take a seat at one of the tables. Worth a shot.

“Apparently death put things in perspective for me.” Bea did wish that it had been different for them. Felix should have gotten more than a dead almost lover telling him she loved him over a make shirt ouija board. “The kind of dead part makes me think that even if it was fast, it’s okay.” This was easy for her, chatting about things that simply just happened instead of trying to talk about how she had been a corpse only two weeks ago. As she followed Kaden in, she simply watched him charge the woman with a dull expression. She wasn’t going to get involved in Kaden’s fight with the waitress, she thought as she adjusted the collar of her white turtleneck, he could handle himself. She really needed to go shopping soon, all she had now was red and the thought of the color made her stomach roll. She raised an eyebrow at the woman,“No. I’ll take a large coffee with a splash of milk, please.” Looking towards Kaden, she tapped her fingers against the table idly, disappointed by the lack of anything helpful. “What did she do to you?”

Kaden had always believed life should end with death. But he also had never been faced with a real opportunity for anyone he cared about to come back from the dead. Not really. Having her back... it was complicated. More than he imagined. He was happy to see her but the shift in her and everything else, it just set a pit in his stomach. He tried not to let the worry settle in, not while they were here. “You’ve got a point. I think you may have out done me and Regan on the melodrama for first I love you’s, though. Which really I’m all for. Morgan was about to submit ours for a made for tv movie or something I’m sure.” Had he even gotten to tell her about everything with his mother? Fuck. He didn’t. It felt stupid to bring up now or even fill her in. It was-- It hardly compared.

It was odd to see Bea sit on the sidelines. By no means did he need her to step in to help him, but she usually did. Butting in was sort of what she did. Whether he liked it or not. And usually he hadn’t but now he was really missing it. His brow creased as he looked at her, almost hoping he could spot a glimpse of his friend before she had been changed forever. She was still there. She had to be. It was still Bea. “Not much. She ran the carnival game that I played when I went with Regan. I won and she gave me a mime plush. With wings.” The thought alone made him roll his eyes. “She said some bullshit about how Regan shouldn’t be dating a human. Crap like that.” Kaden bit the inside of his lip. He hated thinking about that shit. What if she had a point? There was no way they had a long term future, right? Why bother? Before he could even shake it away himself, the waitress came back. “Here’s your coffee,” the fae said with a wink. He noticed she had a set of glasses resting on her head. They were Broken. Before he could ask any questions, she was walking away. “What the fuck, did you see those?” he asked Bea.

“Well, I’ve always had a flare for the dramatic. Just ask my sisters. It was good for work.” Bea said lightly, though she fitted Kaden with a critical look,“You didn’t tell me the story of your’s.” She had to wonder if it had come up while she had been a ghost. It would make sense that she didn’t get to hear about it because of that, but it still left her with a sour taste in her mouth. She had missed so much when she had died. She had no idea how much more she would find out she missed, but she wasn’t looking forward to seeing how much things had changed since she had been gone.

“The mimes strike against you once again. Have you considered maybe that in a past life you were cursed by the first mime? It would make sense.” Her delivery was rather deadpan, but her eyes sparkled with the joke. It was getting easier to talk to her friend now. It was getting easier to be the new version of herself now. Her expression soured then. So she was one of those types. “Sounds like a bitch.” She wrapped her hand around her cup with a quick thank you, before she followed Kaden’s eyes to the woman again. Those were Felix’s. She was standing and moving to cut in front of the woman without replying. A sharp look had taken over her face now. “Excuse me, did you happen to find those glasses here? My boyfriend recently lost a pair exactly like that and we’d like them back.”

“Yeah, can’t deny that.” Kaden hadn’t wanted to dwell on just how much had happened that he didn’t get to talk with his friend about. As much as he desperately wanted to while she was gone, it felt so hollow and shallow to him to dump all his shit on her. After everything. He took a deep breath. She asked, though. “So my mother came back as a poltergeist. Which was a great time. She tried to kill Regan then tried to kill me. It all sort of spilled out after that. A little during. It was also right after she screamed for--” For you. For Bea’s death. He wondered if he had connected the pieces sooner if maybe-- That was stupid. There was no changing fate. There was no going back. And either way she was back. It was all fine in the end.

“Very funny. Yes. The Langley legacy in fact has nothing to do with hunting and all to do with mime curses.” Joking with her was nice, simple. It felt right. Even if she wasn’t quite the same Bea from before. She was still her. And maybe now she wouldn’t blush at curse words. Why did that make him feel a ping of sadness? Before he knew what was happening, she had stood and followed the waitress. Guess those glasses were important after all. “Oh did he? How weird,” the waitress said, pulling them off her head to examine them. They were cracked and a little bent but she shrugged like they were still perfectly usable. “Your boyfriend, hmm? Do you mean that one over there?” the waitress said looking back at Kaden. “I don’t think so. He’s into mimes, you know. And seems to move on fast. You’d better be careful, sweetie.” Kaden rolled his eyes and stood up. “She’s not talking about me,” he said, growing more and more annoyed with this fae by the minute. “But I’m pretty fucking sure those aren’t your glasses. So hand them over. And tell us what you did.” Her chirping laughter made his skin crawl. “Are you sure? They’re in my possession. I think that makes them mine. And I haven’t done anything. Other than bring you coffee. Does it taste alright? I can always remake it if I need to. The ratios might not be right, you know. I could have sworn you preferred a small,” she told him with a smirk. If he could get away with it, he would have leapt at her and torn into her. Instead he settled for digging his nails into his palm as his hand balled into a fist, knuckles growing white.

A laugh nearly bubbled out of Bea as she listened to Kaden. Of course it happened like that because how else would anything happen in White Crest. Her face screwed up a bit as she tried to keep a bitter smile off her face. God, none of them could catch a break. Maybe they should all have a vacation after this is done. They deserved to be away from the bullshit. They earned the peace, even if it was just for a day. “Wow. Your’s is pretty close to being as messed up as mine is. I guess that comes with the territory of dating fae, huh?” She was sure that all those in the supernatural had some strange dating experiences, but she was also very positive that it would compare to the stories that her and Kaden had with this all.

Her eyes narrowed at the waitress and she stepped closer, glaring down at the woman. This was one reason she enjoyed wearing heels constantly, it gave her even more of a presence. She stood at six foot most of the time when she wore her heels and she understood how that changed her interactions. “I don’t think I’m the person who should be careful right now, sweetie,” She replied as her fists clenched. Without realizing it, her magic was flaring and shadows began to pool at her feet. Even if she had noticed, she wouldn’t have understood what was happening. Her magic had never done this before. “I’m going to suggest that you remove them from your possession willingly. I’m not feeling very patient right now and if you aren’t careful, I’m going to take them myself.” Whoever this woman was, Bea was sure that she knew something and she intended on finding out what that was.

“Yeah it certainly wasn’t ideal, that’s for sure. But why expect anything normal in this town?” Kaden replied. Especially not when dating someone who was supernatural. It was amazing to him how often he forgot he was dating a fae, Regan hardly acted like one, bone collecting aside. Still had to wonder if he invited the weird by dating a non-human or just dating in this town. Both. Likely both. “I feel like we should start a fae partner support group at this point. Granted, pretty sure it wouldn’t be anything more than this. Getting coffee, swapping weird stories.” What more could they really do about it, anyway? Sort of had to just live with it. Or leave it, he supposed.

Then again, guess Bea could do something about it if her anger here was any indication. Kaden noticed some movement at her feet and when he looked down, there were dark swirls and shadows flooding in. Alright, then. “No need to blow this out of proportion now,” the waitress said with another chirping squeaky laugh , handing the glasses over to Bea. “Here you go, all yours. I hope they help lift your spirits a little. Toodles.” Kaden thought about flipping her the middle finger as she turned to leave, but it felt almost comically childish. Might have made him feel better, though. Especially right now when he felt so powerless to help at all. “You want to finish coffee or fuck off and get something stronger?” he asked his friend.

Nothing was normal in this town, but Bea had known that to some degree. The past few months had just hammered that point in. “It’ll be me, you, and Morgan at this point, but I think we all might need that sometimes.” Morgan probably was the most adjusted out of them all with this. Still, the witch was sure that Morgan had her fair share of strange things that happened in their relationship. As Bea’s hand curled around the glasses, disappointment pulsed through her. She had wanted a fight. She wanted to get to yell at this bitchy woman and let out all of the building frustration she had. It would have been even better if she had gotten to hit her. Placing the glass on her own head, she nodded at Kaden with a scowl on her face. “I think I need a few shots at this point,” She said, clenching her fist. If she didn’t find some outlet for her anger, she was rather sure she was going to explode. She ripped her purse from the table they were at and swiftly made her way out of the cafe.

“Right. Morgan.” Kaden hadn’t talked to her since the whole thing with that hungry zombie. He wondered if he even mattered to her anymore. So much for having shit in common. “I don’t know that she’ll agree to that anytime soon. Not with me, at least.” Not so long as some monster was more important to her than his well-being. Once the glasses were safely in Bea’s hands, Kaden threw some cash on the table; figured that covered it for the two coffees. “Let’s go, then,” he said as he led the out of the place, one last look at the fucking fae who gave a little wave as they left. “Definitely agree on the shots.” Once they were outside, he couldn’t shake the thought of the shadows and darkness around her. Magic around her wasn’t strange, but it was usually flames and fire. He knew she said it was out, different, whatever, but he hadn’t expected that. “What the hell was that back there?” he asked.

Bea eyed her friend then, she had no idea what happened between him and Morgan, but she was sure it was messy. Things in this town were always messy. There was never anything simple when the supernatural was mixed in. “She’s a forgiving person. Whatever happened will work out,” She told him, voice missing the warmth a sentence like that used to garner. Bea had to hold herself back from baring her teeth at the fae as she left. The rolling anger she had felt before hadn’t lifted yet. Heels clicked against the pavement as she strode quickly away from the coffee shop. “What was what back there?” She knew that Kaden hadn’t seen her quite so angry before, but she didn’t think her actions were so shocking. She got the glasses back and that had been the goal.

Kaden couldn’t hold back a laugh at her statement. “Yeah, sure. Guess we’ll see.” Forgiving. Right. The woman who reduce to fucking apologize for nearly getting him killed was real forgiving. He had to pick up his pace a little to keep up with her. It felt wrong to say she was heated given, uh, everything, but it was clear she was far angrier than he was. Likely only because he was too tired to fully process that he should in fact be quite that angry at the fae back there. “Really?” he asked again. “How about the shadow shit that happened. You know,” he said as he gestured around his knees like swirling cloud shadow magic. Or he tried to at least. He had to wonder if it was something to do with her coming back from the dead. Probably. He sighed and let it go. Likely she didn’t have a real explanation anyway. “Whatever, doesn’t matter. You can tell me over drinks. Or not. We can talk about whatever you want. Let’s go.”

Bea paused to look at him with raised eyebrows. “Shadows? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” As entertaining it was to watch him wave his arms around, she didn’t have the energy to keep up with what he was trying to explain to her. She touched the glasses again, anxious to make sure they were still where she had placed them. “We got a whole lot to talk about, huh?” As strange as it would be, she knew they had to talk about the hard things that had happened.

[nelvana]

In which the god of space is met

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which part of a curse is broken Previous: In which the dungeon of space is explored

Warning! This chapter has descriptions of blood and stronger depictions of violence! Reader discretion is advised.

   Dialga gasped as they hit the ground, landing on their side, but they barely felt that pain. This fall was barely a pinprick compared to the deep claw marks in their skin, dented and torn armor, and bruises that would only grow to feel worse when this encounter was over. But even that was nothing, nothing compared to how their throat throbbed from their yelling and screaming, to how their pounding heart ached and cried out for their friend. Tears clouded their vision, making the dark caverns appear fuzzy and almost dream-like in how the light refracted in the water in their eyes.

   How had everything gone so wrong?

   The beginning started out alright, as alright as something like this could go. Once all those from Team Galaxy and allies had jumped through the portal, Dialga paused, and then went right away to readjusting the portal for themselves. They wished that it would be as simple as to allow everyone to skip the dungeon, but there was no sense in arguing against how their powers connected for portal making; it was simply easier to transport themself and Celebi, and arguably Ceebee as well, but they knew she would want to stay with her friends, directly through, but taking mortals would cause problems.

   “Well… here we go,” Dialga had murmured to Celebi, who still fluttered beside the larger pokemon.

   Celebi had simply nodded, but to Dialga’s surprise, then they smiled softly.

   “I am glad to be fighting for the world’s balance by your side,” Celebi told them.

   And that, that alone gave Dialga so much more confidence. Maybe things could be alright. They could bring Palkia to their senses, and finally, finally Dialga and Celebi could enjoy the future together without any worries. Dialga smiled back, thanking their partner and returning the sentiment, before stepping through their portal. Once Celebi was safely across, Dialga closed the portal behind them.

   At the back of their mind, Dialga worried about how long it would take the others to complete the dungeon, and what state they would be when they did come out, but Dialga knew that they had promised to help weaken Palkia until the group arrived, and they were committed to that promise.

   How had everything gone wrong? How had it all gone so wrong so fast?

   Palkia… was not open to negotiation, as expected. Part of Dialga had still hoped though, hoped that they had not been too late for that option to be completely gone. Palkia was, at first, furious to see Celebi and Dialga arrive, blaming them for bringing back the “anomalies”. However, afterwards they offered the pair a chance to team up, to destroy the “anomalies” together and “fix” the world’s balance. Trying to explain that Palkia was wrong, trying to negotiate, only brought the space god to the conclusion that Celebi and Dialga were enemies to them again, and thus Palkia charged into battle, starting the actual fight far sooner than Dialga would have hoped for.

   Palkia wasted no time in utilising their signature move, as they glowed, glowing pink and orange before releasing a pink crescent-shaped blade of energy from their arm at the pair, tearing apart the cavern and space around it to utilize the attack. Dialga growled, acting swiftly to counter the spacial rend with their own signature attack, charging up a beam of energy and blasting it at their sibling’s attack, reversing time and repairing the damage of the area in the process.

   “I’ll back you up,” Celebi had told them quietly.

   The pixie pokemon darted away so fast that Dialga couldn’t keep track of where they had disappeared off to; though this didn’t worry them, they knew they could trust Celebi. Sure enough, it hadn’t been long before several whirlwinds of bladed leaves were sent out at Palkia, scratching the hide of the legendary, who let out a sharp hiss.

   The battle only started well. It only started that way. Palkia only seemed to grow stronger as their body glowed a stronger and stronger burning red-orange and the parts that didn’t grow began darkening as they lose control over themself to going primal.

   Plus, typing wise, Dialga only had dragon-type moves for super-effective damage against Palkia, and their best move for that was their roar of time, which often missed the target completely. Celebi, unlike Ceebee, did not know dazzling gleam, and could only deal neutral damage to Palkia. Palkia themself, however, knew just the right moves to counter both Dialga and Celebi. Dialga resisted many types, but was severely weak to fighting-type moves, so Palkia made sure to make use of the aura sphere attack, which never missed. Palkia didn’t have any type advantages on Celebi, but the size of any attack coming from the space god was hard to dodge and dealt immense damage, and though Palkia already seemed slightly distracted in the heat of the battle, they still seemed to know enough to choose the right moves to target the mythical with.

   Celebi and Dialga had put up a good fight, but now, Dialga weakly wondered if that really mattered in the end.

   Celebi was dead. Their body, discarded just across the room in such a direct way that while Dialga lay prone on the ground they could not turn their gaze away no matter how much they wished to. It had been a swift end, gored by Palkia’s teeth, leaving their corpse in an almost unrecognizable state from being bitten from something so much larger than them. What could be recognized as the same green that had once been bright, were dulled and wilted, like a leaf in autumn.

   Dialga’s throat felt like it was swelling up as they gasped out another sob. Celebi died, died to Palkia as they had to Primal Dialga in the dead timeline; by the teeth of a primal after opposing them.

   How Dialga had been so happy for Celebi’s second chance when the meteor had been destroyed. Guilt constantly ate away at them once they were aware of themself again for killing their friend in the other timeline, despite not being in complete control of their own actions, and Dialga had vowed to make things right for Celebi again now that time had been altered. Celebi had not lived as long in this timeline as the other, but would they have been happier? To have less days where they could see bright colors and the warmth of the rising sun, than to have more days in a dark world of despair? Dialga didn’t know, and they would never know for sure now.

   Did Celebi know that they wouldn’t make it out of this fight? Dialga was certain that the pixie had attempted singing the perish song, right before being cut off by their untimely death and failing to set up the move. It was hard to piece together the exact memory now between the pain, but if that were the case, Dialga supposed it could have been a good strategy, only as a last resort to knock out the legendaries, but it would have killed Celebi in the end anyway. They didn’t even get that sacrifice now.

   Suddenly, Dialga was torn out of their thoughts as Palkia shoved their upper body weight onto them, pinning them to the ground. Dialga hadn’t even felt the willpower, much less the energy, to get back up again before then, but if they were to try, they had just lost their window to do so.

   “How the mighty have fallen,” Palkia hissed, leaning down to Dialga’s face to utter their twisted words. “You tried to STOP ME! And you have FAILED! Don’t worry, dearest sibling… I will FIX everything, FIX what you wanted to DESTROY. You may hate me now, but you’ll understand later, you’ll SEE! YOU’LL SEE! I am only trying to do what is RIGHT! I will SAVE us all!”

   Dialga could only choke out a weak cough in response. They wanted to argue, but their heart ached and their throat was still sore and Palkia’s claws digging into their neck didn’t help.

   “SAY SOMETHING!” Palkia demanded, “is that it? You’re just going to GIVE UP?” they snapped, digging their claws deeper into Dialga’s skin. “FINE. That makes this easier for me. You will thank me later for this.”

   “They won’t thank you! You aren’t fixing anything!” Ceebee cried out, flying out from the shadows as she rounded the corner to enter the room of the fight.

   “You brought OTHERS here?” Palkia shrieked at Dialga, who could only desperately stare out at the other celebi, the shiny one not their Celebi but the next celebi generation afterwards.

   Ceebee didn’t react to the corpse of Celebi, though she seemed already aware of it despite not even looking at it. She knew Celebi was dead the very moment it happened; had she not been brought back to existence then this would have been her birth in this timeline. So, she stubbornly did not look down at the body, as to not scare herself at the sight.

   As the rest of the group entered, however, it was hard not to look at their fallen ally. Dialga’s stomach only seemed to twist further at the audible reactions of horror, and how the concern and fear and confusion was all brought together only to see Dialga pinned against the very pokemon they were supposed to beat.

   “YOU BROUGHT THE ANOMALIES HERE? HERE, in MY domain?” Palkia roared.

   “They aren’t… anomalies,” Dialga wheezed, doing their best to lift their head defiantly.

   Palkia let out a low growl, watching as everyone entered, though fortunately, the legendary did not attack them straight away, and only studied them for a few moments, unintendedly giving them time to take in the scene in front of them instead of being caught off guard by being involved in battle right away.

   “You will be stopped,” Dialga continued, twisting their gaze to stare Palkia in the eyes.

   Palkia laughed, “by WHO? These MORTALS and ANOMALIES you have brought with you?” they sneered, turning to meet Dialga’s gaze again.

   “By them, yes. By them or by Arceus. You know that they will not stand for this, you are destroying the balance that holds space together,” Dialga responded, baring their teeth boldly.

   “By ARCEUS?” Palkia repeated, something unfamiliar crossing their expression. “Do you REALLY think they will come to help YOU? Arceus will never arrive here! You know WHY? You know WHY Arceus cannot come to stop ANY of us?” they yowled, “Arceus is DEAD!”

   Dialga paled, and they could already feel their throat tighten again and head spin.

   “You’re lying,” they managed to hiss back.

   “I’M NOT! WHY DO YOU THINK THEY NEVER SHOWED UP WHEN YOU SENT THE WORLD INTO DARKNESS FOR CENTURIES?” Palkia cried out, their rage melting momentarily into something far more desperate and mournful. “I SAW IT MYSELF AND I WAS THE ONLY ONE AND I COULD ONLY WATCH AND DO NOTHING!” they howled, eyes welling up. “YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING! ARCEUS IS GONE AND I’M THE ONLY ONE TRYING TO FIX THINGS!”

   For what felt like ages, Dialga could only stare blankly back at Palkia. The illusion vision they had been warned about… had already happened, long in the past it seemed. How could Dialga have not known before? In hindsight, it made sense, it made sense that that was why Arceus had never helped fix things in the dead timeline, but Dialga still could not wrap their head around the idea. Arceus had always been there, the only being to have come before them being Mew themself. Legendaries of their kind had never died before at any point in history, and the idea that something out there could kill gods of this power sounded both impossible and terrifying.

   And yet, and yet, the raw tone in Palkia’s voice, the heartbroken look in their eyes… Dialga knew they were being honest, that this wasn’t something they had been tricked to believe as a strange result of beginning to turn primal.

   “How… How did they die?” Dialga asked quietly, finding themself looking at Palkia with a far gentler expression than they had in a long time. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.”

   Palkia turned away, screwing their eyes tightly shut in an attempt to rid them of the tears that had sprung up during their outburst. They swallowed a breath, hiccupping slightly as they seemed to consider what to say. As they did this, the weight pushing Dialga lessened slightly, making them wonder if maybe this could be it, if they could turn things around.

   Finally though, Palkia looked back down at Dialga, and though it was hard to see at their angle, Dialga could make out their sibling’s face turn into a scowl.

   “You cannot help. Not anymore. I will deal with this… You are fortunate you cannot die… at least not by me, not that I would want that, I still need you, but… I at least need you out of my way for now, which I can do,” Palkia grumbled.

   With that, Dialga felt dagger sharp teeth sink around their throat. They struggled feebly for a few moments, eyes widened in horror, but it didn’t take long for their eyes to shut and body to go limp as darkness overtook them.

   Palkia stood up, stepping back from their unconscious and wounded sibling and looking down at their handiwork. After simply staring at Dialga for a few moments, they opened a hole in space below the god of time, dropping them into the void and sealing the tiny portal behind them, sending Dialga off to some unknown place in the Spacial Rift. There were a few quiet gasps from the group, though Ceebee was quick to assure them through telepathy that Dialga had not been moved far.

   Finally, Palkia turned back to the group, licking the blood from the lips, smearing the crimson liquid on their face instead of cleaning it in a few spots. Their orange eyes were sharp as they stared down at the group, and glowed dimly in the darkness of the cave.

   “I suppose…” Palkia began, “…that having you here isn’t THAT bad. I can REMOVE the ANOMALIES easier here MYSELF. Especially seeing as my own allies seem to have FAILED me.”

   At being mentioned, the Lake Guardians cautiously floated out from another corridor and into the room. The ditto trudged along much slower behind them, dragging themself across the ground to join the others. It was evident they had been here for awhile, as at the very least, Ditto could not enter the Spacial Rift on their own and would have had to have been brought here by Palkia before all this, though whatever the quartet had been doing before entering was beyond the party.

   “We apologize, Master Palkia,” Uxie told them, “we failed to locate them before they arrived here, but we returned as quickly as we could to help you; as you know. We were unaware that they would come here to disturb you…”

   Palkia narrowed their eyes, “…I will give you three… you three and that THING you’ve gotten another chance to help me make this RIGHT. This time. But you better not fail me here.”

   “We will not fail you, Master Palkia,” Azelf assured them, bowing slightly towards the legendary.

   “Good,” Palkia growled back, barely glancing at the trio floating beside them.

   Turning to focus on the group again, Palkia let their gaze wash over the eight pokemon momentarily before smiling and speaking again.

   “There are… MORE of you than I need to REMOVE. Though only…” They trailed off, eyes darting from ‘mon to ‘mon, and then a second time as if Palkia had forgotten how to count. “…only four of you that are here are PROBLEMS.” They focused their gaze on Ceebee for a moment. “I suppose now that that other celebi is gone, YOUR existence isn’t as PARADOXAL. So, let’s save some trouble, Celebi, Torchic, Absol, and Duskull, if you wish to LEAVE now, no harm will come to you. If you choose to stay and fight with these ANOMALIES, we will be forced to REMOVE you with them,” Palkia offered.

   Keahi, though with shaking legs after what zie had already witnessed, stepped forward and held zirself high, glaring against the powerful being with only a stubborn determination that burned in zir eyes.

   “We’ll never leave them! They are our friends, not anomalies, and we will prove it to you!” zie yelled.

   Tsuki stepped up beside the torchic, “they are not what causes the imbalance of the world, you are. We will fight you to fix the disasters that have befallen this world.”

   “Y-Yeah! We didn’t come this far to just give up here!” Edgar added, voice wavering slightly, though he did not back down. “We aren’t going to abandon our friends!”

   Ceebee’s expression hardened, “what you’re doing here is wrong, Palkia. You may not see it, but your ‘help’ is only tearing everything apart further. We’ve already seen it firsthand.”

   The four of them stood in front of their remaining allies, staring defiantly up at Palkia and their own allies. They were well aware of the risks, but they knew that before coming here. Seeing Dialga and Celebi both fail to come close to beating Palkia had certainly hammered that home, but at least that pair had weakened this legendary. They weren’t going to suddenly turn around now, even with the stakes displaying so horrifically in front of their faces. Behind them, the other four felt a newfound confidence at being backed up.

   Palkia snarled back at them, “you are all FOOLISH! I offered you a chance to SURVIVE and you choose to stay and DIE? You will all DIE for the wrong side? Dialga is foolish too; they have lied to you. I am FIXING everything! You are all only RUINING what I am trying to FIX! All for what? FRIENDS? You are FOOLS! I offered you a chance and you THREW IT AWAY!” they snapped, and then seemed to calm slightly. “Fine, you’ve made your choice. We will offer no mercy now!”

   “We expect that, and will offer you none either,” Ceebee growled, eyes and antennae already glowing with intent.

First [ARC 1]: In which the human is transformed First [ARC 2]: In which a present is prepared Next: In which part of a curse is broken Previous: In which the dungeon of space is explored

[foreheadtouch]

i don’t want your memory. (i want you here with me).

Why do you want to learn Russian? With that question I was suddenly transported to a cold, metal police interrogation room to confess for a crime I was most definitely guilty of committing. I was handcuffed and trapped. Exposed.

*3k words of pure angst* 

———

It was an eerily frigid January night—black and silent—like drifting out in the middle of space. People doing everything in their power to escape it. The wind chill burned against my cheeks and the freezing air seemed to shrink my lungs to the size of lemons. Each breath I drew was sharp and labored.

Inside Hobie’s apartment wasn’t much better. My blood felt hot and thick underneath my skin—the heat was turned up slightly too high, so as to make me sweat underneath the itchy sweater that I couldn’t take off, because then of course, I'd be cold again.

The sky was deep and dark and not a single star was visible. I felt that if I stared too long, its vastness would swallow me whole. Only the bright white headlights of whirring cars seeped through the window and bounced across the walls of my bedroom in a series of dizzying flashes.

I sat on my bed with a half empty bottle of vodka, feeling claustrophobic in an empty room.

The heat made me hyperaware of any nagging discomfort that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. Every itch and ache was pulled out of me, like a magnet with scraps of metal.

I tried readjusting the neckline of my wool sweater, but it would not stop scratching and clawing against my skin, almost choking me. Had it somehow gotten tighter during the day? Why couldn’t I breathe?

I was just drunk enough that my movements were sloppy and my fingertips felt slightly numb.

I looked over at my desk, where a brand new copy of Dostoevsky’s The Idiot was resting, the lamp shining directly on it, like an ironic spotlight, and I felt the walls close in on me.

I didn’t want to, but I thought back to the conversation I had that afternoon.

It happened in the campus bookstore. Dozens of hasty university students were furiously barreling through the narrow passageways between shelves filled with books like Guide to Financial Markets, Plato’s The Symposium, Multivariable Calculus Volume 1, Shakespeare’s King Lear.

How was your break? Did you get the classes you wanted? Oh, I’m actually working at this bank. Doing research in this laboratory.

Their obnoxiously eager attitudes and bright eyes bore a sharp contrast to my own. I couldn’t remember the last night I had gone to bed sober. My eyes were sunken and glassy. Plum-colored patches formed under them and had not gone away. My skin had developed a grayish, sickly looking tinge that caused Hobie to insist I take a multivitamin in the morning. And how many days in a row had I worn this sweater?

I moved, begrudgingly, against the grain of the crowd, and slumped through the shelves while people forcefully shoved against my shoulder and scoffed at me under their breath for going the wrong way. But who cared what these crappy trust-fund kids and pompous brainiacs thought of me. I drowned out their complaints and dragged my fingers across the spines of the books, until I had successfully collected all the necessary novels for the upcoming term.

“Wow! That’s a lot of Dostoevsky! Let me guess… Based on your reading list I’d say… Intro to Russian Lit and… maybe Conversational Russian with Professor Khachanov?” the bubbly girl at the checkout asked as she scanned my stack of books. I wasn’t expecting her to actually pay attention to them.

I wondered how many espresso shots went into her morning coffee or if she was this energetic naturally. She seemed like the kind of girl who kept her customer service smile on 24/7. I could not bring myself to muster up enough energy to match her excitement.

“You guessed it.” I replied with a stiff, lifeless smile and apparently, less enthusiasm than she had hoped for, judging by the little twist her mouth did. She began transferring the books into an ugly canvas tote bag with the university logo on it that I knew cost extra money. I didn’t ask for it, but I also didn’t care enough to tell her to stop, so i just watched her silently and adjusted my glasses.

I thought my curt reply would signal that I wasn’t in the mood for small talk, but she started up again: “You now, that’s not very common. I see a lot of Slavic Studies and International Relations students take Conversational Russian, but not English majors. You guys usually just take Intro to Russian Lit. Why do you want to learn Russian? Is your family Russian or something?” She stuck her hand out for my student ID card.

Immediately after she stopped speaking, my palms grew sweaty and my pulse thumped throughout my body and I felt its rhythm pound in my ears. My mouth went dry and I felt a lump form in my throat. I was suddenly transported to a cold, metal police interrogation room to confess for a crime I was most definitely guilty of committing. I was handcuffed and trapped. Exposed. The harsh fluorescent lights of the store glared and pierced my brain.

I cleared my throat, which felt like sandpaper, unable to force any words out, so I stood there, like a dumbstruck idiot, blank-faced and silent, for an uncomfortably long amount of time.

Finally I managed to stammer, “I uh, I want to be able to read the original translations. At some point, I guess.”

With my head down, avoiding eye contact, I quickly snatched the receipt from the girl, shoved it into the canvas bag, and hurried out the door. God, she probably thinks I’m a psycho. But it didn’t matter. I desperately needed to get away from there. Away from that question.

Now, hours later, in my stuffy bedroom, I sat confronted with my crime, suffocated by the truth. Why had I really signed up for conversational Russian?

———

It was the same reason I found myself buying the cheap brand of vodka that we used to drink together, even though I could afford better stuff now. It tasted like jet fuel and burned my throat, but it was familiar and reminded me of the countless, blurry days we spent in a state of drunken stupor.

It was the same reason that on my way home, I would hesitate and then walk to the gas station around the corner for a pack of Marlboros, even though Hobie had taught me how to hand roll my own cigarettes. “They’re much better this way, Theo. It’s all about the craft. About paying attention.” And it was true, they were better, way better actually, but that didn’t stop me. I didn’t want better, I wanted him.

It was the same reason I took the subway down to Brighton Beach and the Lower East Side on weekends and wandered through the Russian neighborhoods, pretending like I was meant to be there. Because maybe, just maybe I was.

It was the same reason I would lie down with Popchik on my chest and close my eyes, feeling the weight against my lungs as I inhaled and imagined the warmth of him pressed up next to me, boney arm draped over me, holding me.

It was the same reason I curled up in bed at night with my earphones in—the Velvet Underground’s entire discography lulling me to sleep. Except for “I Found a Reason.” I recognized it by the first note and would immediately skip it. I couldn’t listen to it.

The habit we had of maintaining a constant level of drunkenness and snorting whatever we could find up our noses had unfortunately stuck with me. When I removed myself from my own depressing turmoil and looked at my life like a stranger would, I knew it was a problem. Without me realizing, it had spiraled from being a vice to a legitimate addiction.

But I didn’t have a reason to stop.

I tried so hard to forget him. I really did. Every time that feeling started to creep up, to gnaw at me, I would try to press it as far down as it could go. I would crumple it up into a tiny ball and throw it far far away. I would hold it underwater until it hung limp and lifeless.

I had no choice, because if I let it linger, just for one moment, it would consume me entirely.

It was a dull ache that never went away. The sting of tears welling up in my eyes. A lump in my throat. A knot in my stomach. Weak knees, like right before you’re about to faint. Heartache.

Sometimes he would come to me in a dream or in a nauseating, intoxicated hallucination. It was like looking at a reflection of him on water or through a mirror. It was almost real and I could have pretended he was there until, looking at him wasn’t enough and I greedily reached out to touch him. Suddenly, the water around my hand would ripple in expanding orbits and he would vanish.

We existed on two different planes now. I was here, doomed to live in this reality, where at one point, we had faced the disorder of life together, but now he was reduced to a figment of my imagination, a cursed dream, a memory of what once was.

And so that night, I gave in. I surrendered.

While I stared at that book, I let the memories wash over me with a force like a wave, crashing violently against a cliff. The rock I was grabbing onto crumbled beneath my finers and I was ripped away from my pretense of safety and pulled back into the sea—back to Las Vegas. Back to Boris.

———

“Potter. You can’t ask me to read to you and then just… fall asleep.” Boris said, through laughter, as he flicked my head.

My dad and Xandra had gotten into a big fight. It wasn’t their usual bickering about him watching too much football and not paying enough attention to her. Or about her staying out too late after work with friends and forgetting to make him dinner.

I couldn’t quite make sense of the full argument, or even remember why they started yelling. From the broken shouts, I figured out that my dad had lost a lot of money. And he had used some of Xandra’s? Or was about to? I wasn’t sure.

All I knew was that when Boris and I came home that night, there was a dent in the drywall of our living room and they were shouting. Judging by the accumulation of beer bottles on the coffee table, my dad had been drinking. A lot. They hadn’t even noticed us walk in.

We grabbed Popchik, who was a shaking mess in the corner of the kitchen, and we went back to Boris’. His dad was away on “special business.” I knew enough by then not to question it.

“Is great, actually,” Boris said, “when he is gone, he leaves money. 30 bucks this time.” He looked at me with his wide, dark eyes, sparkling with childlike excitement, as if we had just won the lottery.

We got started on our usual routine when we had extra money. Getting fucking blasted and buying cigarettes and a family sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.

We were passing a cigarette back and forth in his bedroom, sitting shoulder to shoulder, faces inches apart. Boris was slouched next to me, in silence, but a comfortable silence.

The air was charged with something electric that I couldn’t find a word for. I turned my head and traced his profile with my eyes. I didn’t realize how long I had been staring, but when he slowly turned and looked up at me, softly, my stomach jolted.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” He asked, sitting upright, still maintaining his gaze. I liked how he could read me so well. It was a mark of how close we had gotten, how we moved in and out of each other’s minds with little effort.

“Yeah. I think I’m too wasted” I said, looking away abruptly and taking another drag of the cigarette before passing it to him, our fingers brushing, as he took it from me and brought it up to his lips.

“Stay here, Potter. I have great idea. You’ll love this, promise. Will cheer you up right away.” He got up quickly and handed the cigarette back to me.

“Where the fuck would I go?” I laughed and watched him slip into a room down the hallway.

He came back smiling and holding something behind his back.

“Please don’t tell me that’s more vodka.”

“Is not vodka. Guess again.”

“Boris, I have no fucking clue.”

He rolled his eyes and held out a thick book. The title was in Russian but fortunately, it was one of the words Boris had taught me. Идиот.

I was a little confused. What did this mean. Where was he going with this. I scrunched up my nose and said, “I don’t know enough Russian to read a whole novel.”

He sat down next to me and shoved me a little.

“No, идиот. I read. You listen.”

So I did. I slid down the wall and rested my head in his lap. Boris put one arm over mine, held the book in his other hand, and began to read the opening chapter.

I always appreciated how he was so forthright and unapologetic with his movements. He didn’t hesitate when resting his hand on mine. Or playing with my hair. Or stroking my arm.

He didn’t leave room for me to resist, not that I wanted to, although my first instinct was usually to pull away.

“This book. My favorite.” He started reading: “В конце ноября, в оттепель, часов в девять утра, поезд Петербургско-Варшавской железной дороги на всех парах подходил к Петербургу…”

I couldn’t understand a single word, but I didn’t care. I liked the sound of his voice when he spoke Russian. The way his mouth shaped the letters was firmer and smoother in Russian than in English—it was sultry, almost hypnotic. I closed my eyes and felt the soft vibrations of his voice wash over me.

I also liked the way I felt in his arms. Safe, cared for, loved, even.

———

That was, after all, why I signed up for Conversational Russian. Because of Boris. Because I might not ever see him again, and the thought of that was too unbearable, so I did everything in my power to feel close to him. To stay connected to him in some way. Any way.

Because I was in love with Boris but somehow I had lost him, caught up in the tangled tragedy that was my life.

I didn’t know if it was for good, but how would I ever find him in this great big world? It had been years since I last saw him and months since I last heard from him.

One day, I realized his face was becoming fragmented. I tried to construct and image of what he might look like now, like I was collecting scraps of torn up newspapers and piecing them together with glue.

Dark wavey hair against translucent ivory skin, a sharp contrast like an old film photograph taken in black and white. I could see the blue and purple veins underneath his skin. I could see his ribs poking out. I remembered his striking but soft eyes, always filled with a glimmer of curiosity—an inextinguishable thirst for life and all its excitement. The way they could communicate thousand of phrases in just one glance. His full lips that were often chapped and bleeding. But I miss them. The way the felt against my own that night. And the many nights before.

The image of the fourteen year old Boris I knew would forever be seared into my memory, in the way cattle were branded with molten hot metal. But what was he like now?

Sometimes I would pull out my old phone and read back through our conversations, then close my phone, and hold it over my chest while tried to hold in tears and catch my breath.

Other times I would look up at the moon and wonder where in the world he was. And if he ever looked up at the moon and thought of me.

Did Boris think of me? Did Boris miss me? Was Boris breaking apart and tearing up inside too?

Oh, the countless nights I would type out long messages with no intention of ever sending them. Are you okay? Where are you? I miss you.

I knew what loss felt like. That’s wasn’t unknown to me. I had lost my mother. For good. But the thing about Boris is that I didn’t know if it was for good. And that small chance is what was killing me and eating me away, but it was also the only thing keeping me alive. Because there was still a chance and I wanted to believe in it. I needed to. Things fall apart. But things come together too. But how many times? Had our time come and gone?

Maybe I would go the rest of his life wondering what could have been. That would be a death sentence I was sure of it. Because it was torture not knowing.

How would I ever be able to know peace when there was that small chance—that infinitely small chance we could meet again.

I wanted so badly to get a text one day from an unknown number. Potter. Is me.

I wanted to shout across the world. Here I am. Here I am. I won’t ever stop looking for you. I love you.

So I would continue hoping. I would keep going to Brighton Beach. I would keep searching the ends of the earth, forever.

But as for now, I had to learn how be content with the memory of him.

[splat-dragon]

I don't have to stay and die like cattle ~Dead Girl Walking, Heathers

John goddamned Marston.

‘Well’, she thought hysterically, ‘why the hell not?’

She’d woken up as a dog in the desert. Why wouldn’t she be saved by a video game character? Much less one of her favorites? Really, it was probably the least strange thing to happen to her since all of this had started.

And everything was starting to come together, dominoes falling against each other in her feverish mind. The men that had kept her, had always felt familiar, as though she’d seen them once, but only in passing. The shed that she’d stared at, day in and day out, painfully familiar and on the tip of her tongue, but why would she have ever put it together? It was so far fetched that she would never have thought of it! This was Beecher’s Hope! Those men, the squatters that John tried to chase off, only to have to shoot dead. And so… did that mean she was in the game? In the very beginning of the epilogue?

No, no, not the very beginning, that would have meant she was at Pronghorn Ranch, and this was in no way, shape, or form, Pronghorn Ranch.

She was in a video game.

Unbelievable.

But his arms beneath her, forcing a wheeze from her lungs as he scooped her up, were undeniably real, the fabric of his shirt scratching against her stomach, muscles bunching and releasing as he slung her over his shoulder leaving her to slump, too weak to struggle, not willing to even if she could. She was… so hot… so thirsty... so tired… 

She woke up as he set her on the ground, finding herself much cooler than before. It wasn’t cold, and any other time she probably would have still considered it ‘hot’, but it was so much cooler than outside that it might as well have been Alaska, so she allowed herself to bask in it, closing her eyes despite the wood that dug into her stomach and made her groan, John’s voice a dull buzz somewhere nearby.

If she were stronger, had more energy, she would have gone out of her skin when his fingers suddenly pressed against her side. As it were, she flinched, opening her eyes to find that he’d knelt beside her while she was distracted, and though she eyed him warily his touch was gentle, so she laid still and enjoyed the first friendly touch she’d felt in a decent amount of time.

Now, though, without the sun baking her fur, the fear of the men, there was nothing else to focus on, and her thirst clawed at her mind. Her tongue might as well have been jointed wood, the inside of her mouth leather, and she licked her lips fruitlessly, seeking moisture that wasn’t there. Surely, John had to have some water on him? she thought, and looked up at him pleadingly, with what she hoped were puppy-dog eyes, although she hadn’t had much practice in emoting with her new face. Whether she’d succeeded, or if it was just coincidence, he asked “You must be thirsty, huh Lady?” and she could have cried—she’d have taken Guarma Rum at that point, or even straight up swamp water. Anything wet, so long as she could swallow it.

He left the cabin, and though she knew he couldn’t have been gone long, it felt like forever. But when he returned it was with a canteen in hand, and she could’ve kissed him, and the time it took him to putz around the cabin and find a bowl felt like even longer—she couldn’t take her eyes off of the canteen that never left his hand. The bowl he finally found and cleaned was disgusting, dented and so filthy that she couldn’t tell what color it may have been when it was new, but she’d have drank water out of one of the dead men’s skulls, so she watched eagerly as he poured water into it. The water was tinted yellow, and any other time she would have turned her nose up at it, but at that moment it looked like the most beautiful, delicious water she’d ever seen.

It smelled musty, as though it had been sitting in his canteen for a while, but she couldn’t care less and raised her head to drink—or, at least, tried to. Less than an inch off the ground and her muscles gave out, leaving her head to thump against the ground, and oh! but she felt weak, as though all her strength had left her the moment she’d been carried into the shack. A moment later, a hand cradled her muzzle, supporting her head and lifting it up, setting it down in the water and oh , but even that was refreshing. Even still, she hadn’t the energy to drink, and could only loll her tongue out, soaking it in the water; it wasn’t much, warm and metallic and stale, but it hit her throat like the finest wine and she could feel it slip down her throat, giving her the energy she needed to raise her head enough to drink, gulping down the water as fast as she could.

Movement from the corner of her eye made her hesitate, eyeing John, but he’d only ever been trustworthy and she’d never seen him harm a dog unless he had to, so she continued to drink, finding that she enjoyed the friendly touch, the gentle stroking on the top of her head. And, even if she hadn’t, she was too busy wolfing down the water to care, finding her mind slowly clearing, some of the ache leaving her muscles.

He topped off the bowl, stood and walked away with something called over his shoulder—she wasn’t paying too much attention, honestly, greedily finishing off the water before curling into a ball, eyes dragging shut as though they had lead weights attached and

she didn’t even know when she fell asleep.

[obsidianapanthera]

A small chime tinkled within brass colored walls, the all too familiar x shaped hole cut out at the bottom of a sphere stared at him with an odd cruelty. The sunlight glistened off a polished surface, marred only by scratches and dents that came from weathered use.

One finger dared to reach out, delicate in it’s idle playing of rolling the spherical bell over and over along a worn table. It was small.. the tiniest of tones whispering out the longer Kuro continued in his mindless doting. The attached ribbon had lost much of its original color, the brightness of a canary yellow dulled to a faded out hue. Tears had cut into the strip of cloth, the edges frayed from the days spent hoarded close to his person. At first glace it might’ve been the perfect thing for a pet, with the ends tied into a knot though the length had been cut shorter than it originally had.

He of all people would know how long it was.. the way it fitted nicely around a slender neck.

The man’s eyes softened, bearing a rarely seen remorse for someone possessing a blackened heart. Dare they water? Perhaps a solitary tear threatened to trespass further than it should’ve, collecting at the edge of a lower eye lid before a blink broke the droplet free. Silence prevailed, the journey of a single, minuscule collection of water and salt fell along the contours of a well defined cheek and ended at the cleft of a slender chin. Hazel eyes stared at that shiny little bell..

Admiring the effects of Time inscribed, admonishing the harshness of his own words back at that moment. A slow inhale led to an equally despondent exhale, slender digits joining in to clasp in a slow reverence for who that little bell belonged to.

They were long gone.. obviously so, and perhaps in his growing age, he’s been getting sentimental as the years pass.

Indeed.. a wretched heart like his bearing the pains of loss shouldn’t be affecting as it does but.. It simply Does.

It hurts.                    It pains.                                       It agonizes.

And there was no one but himself to blame for..

A soundless reprisal, repeated many times when the sun was high and the ticking of time decided to slow. A moment of weakness no eyes would dare to witness from him, not with their life intact, that is. The male hummed quietly, the fragrant hint of blossoming flowers were a nostalgic reminder for the days that had been and never will be. 

Pursing a fruitless endeavor was never something he considered useful.. but just this once..

                                                                                        Perhaps...

[holy-honeybees]

Snowdrift

AO3

Rating: T+ (for swearing)

Summary: Three friends and  their dog get lost in a snowstorm while investigating the paranormal. Amidst swirling flurries of white, some lose their way and get lost in their memories, others lose sight of their friends and loved ones, and an unforgiving winter quickly fills in the footprints one would follow to get back home.

A/N: I started this back in November but sadly never finished the work. I was thinking of holding off till it started to snow again, but figured now was as good a time as any to try and finish this.The title is taken from Snail's House song "[snowdrift]" which you can check out here! 

EDIT: I realized after I posted that the way this ended didn’t transition to the next chapter well, so had to go in and change it. 

EDIT Part 2, The Return of the Edits: Someone was kind enough to point out that I had used the wrong name for the devilish darling of the Pepper household. I must have gotten mixed up with Carolina Reapers, whoops ^^; Her name has since been corrected.

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Chapter Two

The snow was starting to come down much steadier than it had just a couple hours earlier, already beginning to accumulate along the road banks. Swirling white eddies were left behind in the van’s wake as Lewis Pepper drove onwards to their destination. He was paying half a mind to Vivi’s excited chattering, emitting the occasional hum of agreement as her stream-of-consciousness-styled ramblings flitted from whatever thought grabbed her attention to the next. One minute she was gushing about the snow falling down around them, caught up in a story shared by her grandmother about Japanese legends of snow hags, the next minute spent wondering where the turtles went in winter. Then she was theorizing about what was behind the mysterious haunting she had determined their group was going to be looking into up north, weighing the odds that it was actually a ghost against just another cranky old man in a rubber mask. 

Even if Lewis had been able to give her diatribe his full attention, the ghost never would have been able to keep up with her train of thought. Still, Vivi was undeniably adorable when she spoke about something she was truly passionate about, and luckily, Vivi was truly passionate about a great many things. Their relationship may have been put on hold while they came to terms with his own death and Vivi’s returned memories, but it was hard not to enjoy spending time around somebody so full of life. Lewis was reminded time and again of why he’d fallen in love with her in the first place. He admired the gleam in her eyes, the animated way in which she spoke with her hands waving through the air, and the conscious effort she was currently putting into keeping her voice down so as to not wake up their passenger sleeping in the back of the van, having to check herself every few minutes as her voice climbed in volume in direct relation to her increasing excitement. He also appreciated that Vivi was okay with mostly just talking to herself, allowing his own mind to wander, watching the gathering snow with excitement. 

Lewis had never seen snow before. He’d never been farther north than Texas prior to joining the Pepper household, but even after having become part of the family, there was always work to be done in the restaurant, especially around the holidays. It was rare that Ma and Pa Pepper were able to take time off to travel far enough away from home to see snow, and even after Lewis had gotten his driver’s license and gained that modicum of independence, he’d never strayed far in case he was needed for babysitting his little sisters or bussing tables. Even their most daring paranormal escapades hadn’t lead them far enough north to experience winter. He had always dreamed of travelling one day, exploring someplace new and exciting with his friends or taking his adoptive parents on a badly deserved vacation. Now he’d never get the chance, his life cut too short at twenty-one-years-old. The thought came into his head, unbidden and unwanted, and Lewis tried to tamp down the responding flicker of anger that flared to life in his chest. It wasn’t Arthur’s fault, he reminded himself, I have a second chance, I can make the most of it. Deep down, Lewis knew it was true. Even if the most he did to blend in with the living was to stick a bandage over the hole where his heart used to be, Arthur and Vivi would gladly stand by him, accompanying him to even the kitschiest of tourist traps. If he wanted to take an extra day or two to enjoy the snow after they wrapped up their current adventure, Lewis was certain his friends would be more than willing to indulge him. He felt the last vestiges of the familiar burning rage slip away at the happy thought, quelled back to the ever-present ember that seemed to give him life. He gave another contented hum as Vivi’s self-sustained conversation switched topics to the latest batch of used books that had been delivered to the Tome Tomb, a series of increasingly laughable and cringey erotica novels that Duet had pushed to the far back of the store. The snow had begun to fall in earnest now, the first sparse spitting of snowflakes having evolved into a dizzying flurry. It was incredibly beautiful Lewis decided, the ground already covered in a couple inches of the quickly accumulating snow, blanketing the dull, flat plains they had been seeing over the past several hours. The ghost would have smiled at the wonder of it all had he the ability to do so.

Then it all went to hell.

In the increasing onslaught of snow, their surroundings became more difficult to see as the color white took over the landscape. The yellow sign pointing him in the direction of the curving road wasn’t visible until Lewis was almost on top of it, the guardrail marking the edge of the asphalt suddenly coming into view. He cranked the wheel hard to the right to avoid it, the van fishtailing wildly, and slammed his foot down hard on the brakes as he lost control. Lewis could feel the wheels lock up as the car began to slide. Vivi screamed beside him as Arthur popped his head up from the back, desperately grabbing onto the seat in front of him as he shouted,

“Pump the brakes, pump the brakes!” Lewis lifted his foot and pressed it firmly down on the brake pedal again, pulling on the wheel to try and get the van angled back towards where he hoped the road was. There was a loud bang as something hit the side of the vehicle, followed by a long scraping sound, before the car finally came to a stop. For a moment, they all sat in the van, quiet save for the mechanic’s rapid, shallow breathing. Lewis could see the wild, swerving path cut by the car’s tires through the snow behind them in the rearview mirror and quickly phased through the door to inspect the damage he’d caused. The guardrail he’d seen too late was bent at an odd angle and had left a large dent on the side of the van, as well as some scratched paint and a broken taillight. The scratches alone were sure to cause their resident mechanic some grief. Still, he knew it could have been much worse. He remembered driving this same vehicle off the road before as he had pursued it with a ghostly semi-truck, hellbent on tracking down his murderer. Thinking back to the sight of the van crashed into the side of Kingsmen Mechanics, the windshield shattered and Arthur slumped over the wheel in a daze…it had been inconsequential at the time when his desired revenge was so close at hand, but now the thought was terrifying. He’d been so absorbed in his misguided pursuit of justice for himself, he hadn’t even thought that Vivi was there, tossed about like a rag doll in the back of the van as it was forced off the road. The thought of how close he’d come to hurting his friends in his blind rage still haunted him. He gave a heavy sigh and phased back in through the side of the vehicle, not even halfway through before Arthur started peppering him with questions as to the van’s condition, his expression mournful as Lewis provided his assessment.

“What happened, Lew?” Vivi asked from up front, her eyes wide as she clung to Mystery, the dog letting out an irritated sounding wheeze.

“I can’t see the road very well and I lost control of the car,” Lewis admitted, abashed.

“You gotta be careful slamming on the brakes like that,” Arthur cautioned, “You’ll just skid in the snow if you do.”

“I’ll be more careful,” Lewis promised, reclaiming his position in the driver’s seat.

“I don’t think so,” Mystery said, wriggling free of Vivi’s death-grip on him, “Unless your ghostly abilities now include the power to actually drive in the snow, I suggest you Texas natives stay put.” Lewis had to agree that staying in place may be for the best. The snow didn’t appear to be letting up, and if they were down to Vivi as their backup driver… As he mulled over their options, he could see Arthur offering a tiny nod of agreement with the dog, and even Vivi looked like she was considering a delay in their arrival to their final destination. For her to seriously be considering postponing an investigation, the decision had to be clear.

“Alright,” Lewis said, “We should go a couple miles further, see if we can find a place to stop for the night.”

“Uh, Lew?” Vivi said, “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’re in the middle of nowhere. Last I checked the map, civilization is a couple hours away in either direction.”

“Well, we can’t stay here,” he reasoned, “Someone else could miss the turn and run into us. Just give me a few minutes, we’ll find a better spot to park the van until it lets up. I’ll drive slow.”

---

After crawling further down the road at an excruciatingly slow pace, Lewis had spotted a small clearing to park the car in. Mystery and Vivi had jumped out of the van almost as soon as it came to a halt, excited to be able to relax and move around after having been cooped up for so long. Lewis could hear Vivi’s excited whoops and yells, even from inside the vehicle. He chuckled as he opened up the laptop he had borrowed from Arthur, using the address book saved to the computer to call his mom. The mechanic huddled towards the opposite side of the van to give Lewis at least the illusion of privacy as he spoke to his parents, the cat-ear headphones which Lewis thought were so cute clamped firmly over the other man’s head. The ghost wondered if it would prove to be a moot point though, as the laptop struggled to make the connection needed to dial home. Eventually, the ringing ended, and a pixelated, broken-up picture of his mother appeared on the screen.

“Hey, Ma,” Lewis greeted as she came into view. He could just make out through the badly distorted image the smile that appeared amidst his mother’s stern features.

“Lewis,” she greeted warmly, “We didn’t expect to be hearing from you so soon, let me get your father.”

“Is that Lewis!?” He heard the excited, high-pitched voices of his sisters in the background as they rushed their mother, seeing glimpses of little fingers and hands as they scrabbled for the cell phone Ma Pepper was holding.

“No fair, I want to hold the phone!"

“You’re too little, you couldn’t reach it anyways!”

“Can too!” Belle suddenly came into view as Cayenne and Paprika continued to squabble, squealing in delight at the sight of her adopted brother, his other two sisters ceasing their bickering so that they could crowd around the phone’s screen. In the background, he could hear his mother tut at their antics, and his heart throbbed with the familiarity of it all. Returning to his family after having been missing for years, and returning as a ghost after all that time…Lewis hadn’t been sure what kind of welcome home he would receive. Would his parents be too heartbroken at their son’s death to embrace his new afterlife? Would his sisters be scared of him? Would Paprika even remember him, as young as she was? But when Vivi and Arthur had brought him back, the minute he’d stepped through the door of the Pepper Paradiso, he’d been tackled nearly to the ground by three very excited sisters, not as little as he’d remembered them. His father had cried and his mother had wrapped him in one of her famous hugs, the kind that had made him feel safe and secure ever since he’d showed up on their doorstep and she’d wrapped her strong arms around him for the first time. There had been questions and anger borne of worry, then things had largely gone back to normal. He told his family as much as he felt was necessary about his death, as much as he thought they could handle, and after they couldn’t get anything more out of him, like his past, they’d stopped trying to good-naturedly pry and respected his privacy. Some things they just didn’t need to know. He’d heard secondhand how hard it had been on his family when his friends couldn’t provide any ideas as to his whereabouts after he’d disappeared, even more so when Vivi, his girlfriend whom his family cared about as one of their own, couldn’t remember their son at all. Lewis had decided it was best for them not to know about his exact cause of death, or that Arthur had a role in it. He knew the mechanic still carried a lot of guilt about the incident, and Lewis wasn’t sure how his parents and sisters would respond if they found out that while it wasn’t Arthur’s will, it had been his hand to push Lewis off the cliff.

“Lewis!” His sisters cried joyfully, causing the laptop’s speakers to crackle.

“Lew, I miss you! When are you coming home?”

“Lewis, did you make it to that haunted house you guys were going to yet?”

“Yeah, did you kick that other ghost’s butt?” Lewis chuckled at his sisters’ antics.

“I miss you too, Paprika. All of you. It’ll still be a few days before we get home, we haven’t gotten there quite yet. We ran into a little delay…” Lewis leaned in conspiratorially towards the camera of the laptop.

“It’s snowing,” he said, satisfied by the squeals of excitement he heard from his sisters.

“It’s snowing!?”

“You should have a snowball fight!”

“Make a snowman!”

“A snow angel!”

“Throw a snowball at Arthur’s face!” Lewis gave Cayenne a mock glare for her suggestion. He had to wonder why she had it in for Arthur so bad sometimes.

“Lew, I wanna see the snow!”

“Yeah, Lewis! Show us the snow!” Even Cayenne looked interested, the devilish grin she’d been wearing slipping into a more sincere smile.

“Alright,” the ghost said, “I’m not sure how much you’ll be able to see though, the connection’s pretty bad.” He maneuvered towards the front of the van, positioning the computer so it was facing out. He was pleased to hear three distinct gasps of delight from the laptop’s speakers as they looked out at the winter wonderland through the windshield. Vivi and Mystery raced into view, pausing to wave from the other side of the glass.

“Hi Vivi! Hi Mystery!” The girls chorused. Lewis chuckled again, turning the computer back towards the interior of the van as he settled back down. His mother reappeared on the screen with his father in tow, the small man wringing his hands nervously.

“Is everything alright, Lewis? We weren’t expecting your call for another couple of hours,” his father asked.

“Dad, it’s snowing where Lewis is at!” If anything, Pa Pepper looked even more nervous.

“Oh, that’s nice, Belle. You all doing okay up there? I know you kids don’t have a whole lot of experience driving in the snow.”

“Yeah, it’s, uh, coming down pretty good here, so we’ve decided to stop for a little while. Wait until the weather lets up to start driving again.” Lewis thought it would be best to leave out the mishap they’d had earlier, but his attempts at reassurance fell flat as he saw his father’s eyes dart nervously to Ma Pepper.

“Maybe you should all come back home. Lance, he’s in the dining area now, he keeps checking the radar where you’re at and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to stop anytime soon.” His father’s face brightened as a thought came to mind.

“We could even come to get you! If you’re having any trouble with the roads, that is.” Lewis sighed to himself quietly. One of the many things that hadn’t changed in the Pepper household after he had returned as a ghost was his father’s constant worry over his well-being. If possible, his father fretted even more now that he no longer had a life to lose. Before Lewis could respond though, he watched as his mother laid a heavy hand on her husband’s shoulder, causing him to stumble briefly.

“Lewis is fine, dear,” she reassured her spouse with a calm voice that brokered no argument, “He’s an adult, and he can take care of himself.” It sounded like a conversation they’d had more than once.

“Right,” Pa Pepper responded, “You’re right, of course. You know how I worry though!” The pink-haired man gave a nervous laugh.

"You will call us if anything happens, right? You know we’d drop everything if you guys were in a bind,” Lewis’s father asked beseechingly. The constant loving care of the Peppers, as differently as his mother and father expressed it, reminded Lewis all over again of how much he loved them.

“And deny the Pepper Paradiso of its head pâtissier and capsaicin artist? Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lewis said, “We really are fine though.”

“Well, alright…You be careful out there though, you hear? I’ve got to get back to work now, but I’d like to hear from you when you all hit the road again, okay?”

“I’ll give you guys a call,” Lewis promised, “Bye dad, love you!”

“Love you too, son.” Pa Pepper gave the screen a small wave before exiting from view.

“You will take care of yourself, won’t you Lewis?” His mother asked once his father was gone. It sounded more like a command than a question.

“I will mom,” Lewis responded, “We’re being careful. Arthur’s got the van fixed up so it’s like a tiny fortress against the cold, and Vivi and Mystery seem to actually be enjoying the snow so far.” His mother gave a hum to indicate she had heard him, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“Can you put Arthur on?” She asked to Lewis’s surprise.

“Uh, yeah. Is everything okay?”

“As your father mentioned, Mr. Kingsmen has been checking the weather radar in your area ever since you left, and it looks like things are going to get worse before they get better,” his mother said, “It’s not just your father who’s worried. Old fool is just too stubborn to admit it.” Lewis smiled; he had a feeling that Lance wasn’t the only one worried for Arthur either.

“Yeah, I’ll put him on. Hold on a minute.” Lewis picked the laptop up from where he’d sat down on the floor of the van, shuffling to where Arthur was still curled up by the doors. He waved to get his attention, and the mechanic hurriedly took off his headphones, looking up at Lewis curiously.

“Ma wants to talk to you,” Lewis said, setting the mechanic’s laptop in front of him before he could ask for an explanation.

“H-Hi Paprika, Belle, Cayenne,” Lewis shook his head in exasperation as Cayenne stuck her tongue out at Arthur in greeting.

“Hi Mrs. Pepper…”

“Girls, why don’t you say bye to Lewis now and go back to help your father.”

“Aw,” Belle whined, “I wanna keep talking to Lewis!”

“Me too!”

“Me three!”

“He won’t be able to call us again if he runs down the battery on the computer too fast. Now say goodbye, girls. He’ll be back soon.”

“Bye Lewis!”

“Be back soon, okay?”

“We love you!” The three little girls scurried off screen after having said their farewells. With them gone, his mother turned her full scrutiny onto his friend. Lewis could hear it as the mechanic gulped.

“Arthur,” she said sternly, “Have you been sleeping?”

“Um,” Arthur stammered, seemingly taken aback by Ma Pepper’s intense interest in his wellbeing, “Y-Yeah, I took a nap while Lewis was driving, until we—”

“He hasn’t been sleeping a lot, no,” Lewis interrupted before Arthur could say something to worry his parents even more, offering a silent apology as his friend shot him a betrayed look.

“I don’t need you to tell me that, Lewis,” his mother chastised, “I can see the shadows under your eyes from here, Arthur.”

“I’m really okay…” Arthur tried to defend himself. Lewis’s mother merely levelled an eyebrow at him.

“Good,” the woman replied, “Then you will sleep tonight.”

“Y-Yes, ma’am…”

“And you will eat.”

“Yes ma’am…”

“And you will wear more than just that vest if you go outside.”

“Yes ma’am…”

“Good,” she said again, giving a nod in satisfaction. Lewis knew she would be relaying the information to Arthur’s uncle, the older mechanic too emotionally constipated to do the asking himself, though he was doubtlessly fretting over Arthur’s well-being.

“You be careful out there,” Lewis’s mother said, her tone severe, “Lewis, look out for your friends and yourself. Arthur, take care.”

“I will,” Lewis replied earnestly.

“Bye, Mrs. Pepper.”

“Bye, mom!” Lewis said, “We’ll be back soon. Love you!” A warm smile flickered to life once again, momentarily softening her severe expression.

“I love you too, Lewis,” she said. With that, the video call ended. Arthur leaned back with a sigh, finally freed of Ma Pepper’s somewhat frightening concern.

“Your mom is scary,” he told Lewis. The ghost merely chuckled.

“Better do what she says then,” Lewis warned, “She’s even scarier if you don’t listen to her.” The mechanic offered him a small smile Lewis wished he could return, though he relished the warm feeling it gave him. Back at home, Lewis was sure his mother was already relaying a report of Arthur’s condition to the mechanic’s eagerly waiting uncle. As gruff as Lance was on the outside and as much as he tried not to let it show, he cared about Arthur, Lewis, and Vivi a lot, his skittish nephew most of all. Lewis had to wonder if Arthur knew just how much. How much they all cared. Lewis was sure his parents were now personally almost as invested in his friend’s health and safety as Lance was. Suddenly, the doors of the van flew open, causing the mechanic to let out a shriek and Lewis’s spectral hair to flicker as a flurry of snow and cold air swirled into the van. Vivi stood just outside the doors looking satisfied, her hands on her hips, Mystery excitedly prancing through the snow at her heels.

“C’mon, guys!” She said, “You’ve gotta come see this!” Lewis chuckled again, propelling himself out of the van, dumping Arthur’s orange hoodie on the already shivering mechanic as he floated out the doors and into the snow.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

with you [5/6]

Summary: Clementine pops the question. 

Preview: 

“Ruby’s going to see Clem, and the others are in the music room, so steer clear.”

Louis doesn’t know how he did it, but he actually convinced Aasim to let him wander off.

Of course, he promised that he wouldn’t go near the music room or go see Clementine, and he practically got on his hands and knees and begged to leave the comfort of Aasim’s room.

Aasim eventually gave in once Louis was dressed in the attire picked out for him; a dark green button down shirt tucked into his jeans and his signature jacket.

The yard is empty with the exception of Willy on watch. Before the young boy spots him, he makes a quick turn to the right and heads down the sidewalk towards the graveyard. 

All the graves have fresh flowers on them, white ones with long stems. Louis places himself on the ground, not bothering to care if dirt clung to his jeans or jacket.

“Hey, Marlon.”

Warnings:  Louis has a disturbing nightmare. Aasim can’t dance. Ruby’s super oblivious [or is she...?]. Mitch still doesn’t know how to handle gross feelings. Marlon’s grave makes an appearance. Clementine and Louis are separated because Ruby’s superstitous about bad luck, I guess.

Author’s Note: Y’know, it’s amazing any of you still follow me because I am a big dummy liar pants. After playing ep4, I went back to work on this and get more ideas to fully tie it together but as I was, it became ridiculously long. Too long to even be enjoyable to read. So. Here we are. 

Thank you for all the nice comments and messages I’ve gotten for this story. The support you guys have given my dumb ass has turned me into a little ball of feely mush that can’t express words, so... thank you. Really. Every read, every like, every comment has meant so much. Hope you enjoy, and I’ll see ya next time!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad | Read on FF.net

---

There’s a heavy pressure building up in his ears, damn near deafening the sounds of excited voices and off-key piano. The weight of his own head brings a throbbing ache along his neck, falling forward to gaze through lidded eyes down at the wooden floors.

He’s in the music room. No question there. Several pairs of feet shuffle by in a blur of muted colors, stopping in front of him every so often before turning away to continue their business.

Whoever’s playing the piano clearly has never pressed a proper key in their life, instead opting to slam both hands over as many of the keys as they possibly can. The sound, so awful, so quick it’s enough to make him sick, spoiling the insides of his stomach until the acids are boiling up.

Louis swallows, though his mouth is so dry and sore that nothing goes down to ease the bitter burn bubbling in his throat. His tongue feels swollen, too heavy for his jaw to handle, too plump to allow the necessary amount of air to push through.

The stress pulsating in his ears and head worsens when the music grows louder, harder with each slam of the keys. Louis’ legs buckle, giving out and sending him backward. No one wandering around seems to take notice of his fall, still hurrying and still chatting gleefully. He tries to fully open his eyes, to see their cheerful faces, but the effort to even do that has left him drained, sore.

The shoes that approach him, oddly pristine, take hold of his focus. The figure standing before him isn’t threatening, nor is it kind. It’s just there, waiting patiently for his undivided attention.

Louis can’t bring himself to look. His arms, the only things holding his upper body up, tremble violently with his vain attempt to not completely crumble.

The figure kneels down before him, a gentle hand reaching out to lift his chin.

His father smiles at him.

It’s cold, unnatural.

His once handsome face is practically gray now, gaunt and leathery, and his teeth are rotten right down to his bleeding gums. His eyes, now sunken and bruised, are dull, clouded over.

Louis’ chin quivers as the heat spreads behind his widening eyes and down his nose. He takes a shaky breath, lips trembling without a sound as he tries to say, ‘Dad?’

He coughs, tries to clear his throat, tries to speak.

And that’s how he knows none of this is real.

He never has a voice in his dreams. He never makes a sound, no matter how hard he tries.

‘Dad…?’

His father’s boney thumb brushes his cheek, leaving a chill and a rise of goosebumps along his flesh.

Louis reaches out an unsteady hand to grasp the front of his father’s suit, trying to hold on with all his might, but he’s just too damn weak. His whole body shudders as his father fixes the tie around Louis’ neck, straightens his suit jacket, and stands. Louis’ arm falls useless into his lap as he hunches over.

‘Da-dad…’

He’s sobbing, unable to breathe as he silently wheezes and coughs. The tears burn hot against his skin, slipping over his cheeks and jaw, down his neck. His nose runs, and no amount of sniffling prevents it from dripping.

Blurred through his teary vision, he can make out his father’s offering hand. Louis blinks up at him, trying to see his face, his smile.

“C’mon, Lou, get up.”

His father’s voice is garbled, almost robotic.

Something glistens, catching Louis’ eye.

It’s the dented and loose band around his father’s finger. A wave of emotion crashes over him, shooting straight through his heart as he holds up his hand to admire his own ring. He’s horrified to find it rusting, tainting the surrounding flesh down to the bone.

The keys pound, harder and harder, and the chatter grows louder to compete.

Something hits his thigh, and when he looks down, he sees his father’s severed finger with the ring still attached, oozing dark blood and staining his pants.

He gasps, chokes and kicks his leg out to get the finger off him, snapping his eyes up to his father’s.

That cold, pseudo smile stretches unnaturally, his jaw dislocating and slowly gaping, tearing the flesh of his cheeks before falling onto Louis’s lap.

As Louis tries to find the strength to scoot himself away, crying out in both silent terror and agony, his father falls apart, limb by limb, soaking his suit and beating down against his legs.

‘Shit! Shit-no! Dad!’ he tries to scream. ‘Please, no!’

Squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head so hard it rattles his brain, putting him in a dizzy haze, Louis tries to wake up.

‘I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry!’

There’s clapping, sharp smacks that beat in time with his hard and fearful heart.

They’re standing, all of them, applauding. Faceless figures, familiar and slathered in shadows.

Banging on the doors. Shaking wood, muffled crying. More bangs.

Louis covers his ears by tucking his head between his knees, frantically murmuring, ‘Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!’

The doors open, and there’s a heavy thud of a body crashing through.

When Louis dares to open his eyes, that dread rushes black, heavy and throbbing, through his veins.

Clementine’s beautiful white dress is shredded, hanging loosely over her shoulder and falling over one side of her torso. On her hands and knees, arms and legs bruised and scratched, she’s crawling towards him with pleading, golden eyes. The wound, the bite, rots the skin around her neck and shoulder.

She gasps out, “Louis!”

But, he can’t move. He can’t go to her. He can only watch her collapse in front of him.

He’s shaking, shaking, shaking-

“Hey-!”

-shaking, shaking, shaking-

“Louis!”

-shaking-

Louis jerks up, gasping for air.

Firm hands grip his arm. Instinctively, he pushes away, crashing to the ground and taking the chair he sat upon with him. His calf smacks hard against the leg of the table, sending a jolt of pain through his thigh and up his side.

“Dude, shit!”

Louis scoots away disoriented until his back hits the closet doors. Heart racing, smashing brutally heavy in his chest as he takes in as much air as his lungs can handle. The muscles of his neck and back are tense, tightening with each movement. He grasps at his throat as his wide, teary eyes search desperately within the dark room for his father, for Clementine, but all he sees is Aasim’s panicked face.

“Louis, calm down!” Aasim kneels in front of him and raises a trepid hand, hesitating to actually touch him.

“ Shit -” Louis croaks out, coughing. He rubs at his face, wiping away the cold sweat clinging to his skin and tries to settle his breathing. He can feel Aasim move close, tentative and confused.

Under that questioning gaze, all Louis can give is numerous heaving huffs as he tries to calm himself down.

“You knocked over my pencil can,” Aasim says slowly, leaning forward to try and read Louis’ expression. “It woke me up. You were freaking out and- shit, you scared the hell outta me. I thought-”

The sudden pause is obvious, as is the confusion melting into deep concern. When hotness drips down his cheeks, Louis realizes that he’s crying. Not the choking, can’t breathe kind of crying, but one stemmed from shock and humiliation. Quiet, slow tears.

“Hey…” Aasim’s voice is soft, unsure. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Shame warms his skin as Louis glances away, lowering his head and wiping his eyes.

“I-I’m sorry.” His throat is so unpleasantly hoarse that it hurts to speak too loud. “I’m sorry.”

Aasim scrambles to a stand, pausing only briefly to shoot Louis another apprehensive look before grabbing his water bottle off the nightstand. This time he sits cross-legged in front of Louis as he offers him the drink.

“Here.”

Louis only looks at it until Aasim motions it towards him, silently telling him to take it.

He takes a small sip, grimacing at how hard it is to swallow, but after a few attempts, he’s chugging the whole thing, no longer caring how desperate or foolish he looks.

Louis breathes in deeply, mouth and throat sated and his pulse beginning to calm. He avoids Aasim’s eye, instead glancing over at the mess of pencils on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles again, sniffling.

“Uh,” Aasim scratches at his scruffy chin, “Are you- uhm…”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, coughing, “I should’ve warned you, but,” he cuts himself off, biting his bottom lip.

Fuck.

It was stupid to think he could have a peaceful rest the night before his wedding. Luckily, the dream wasn’t one that paralyzed him, unlike ones he’s had in the past. Parts of it were already beginning to fade, leaving only the prominent details to haunt his mind.

His father, or rather, the thing that resembled his father and the rotten finger, Clementine crawling towards him; those are the things standing out now, engraved in his memory.

“Warned me?” Aasim mumbles to himself, cocking his head curiously.

“About… this.”

“Wait, this happens a lot?”

Louis hesitates. “...Yeah, uhm, it’s- I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you up.” He gives him back the empty bottle, murmuring, “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Aasim says, but makes no move to get up.

They sit there in awkward silence, and Louis can see that Aasim’s racking his brain for something to say.

“You had a pretty bad nightmare, I assume?”

Louis nods.

“That makes sense,” Aasim says slowly, eyes sliding awkwardly, almost afraid of contact. “What was it about?”

Death. Misery. Guilt. Everything else in between.

A manifestation of what he’s truly afraid of.

It’s definitely not the first time he’s dreamt of his father. Back when he was younger, he had much fonder dreams about his parents; eating dinner together, going on vacation, swimming in their pool on the hottest days of summer.

God, he had loved that pool.

On weekends, when his father was home, Louis would drag him outside and beg him to throw him in, sometimes crying fat tears when his father snapped a “no” at him.

But, on rare occasions, his father would laugh and say, “That’s what the diving board’s for,” but it was never the same as when his father picked him up and tossed him in himself.

Sometimes he could even convince him to swim with him, teach him how to float on his back, how to flip himself around off the diving board, have contests to see who could hold their breath the longest.

After he ruined everything and they sent him to Ericson, and the world went to shit, he forced himself to only think about good things. He’d pretend that he hadn’t destroyed his parent's lives, pretended that they were on their way get him and apologize for leaving him there in the first place.

And they never did.

So, Louis’ willpower to only think about the good things cracked, then shattered.

Spoiled, vindictive, unapologetically cruel.

That’s the kid his parents left behind and next looked back.

That’s who Louis was.

And that’s only the beginning of the universe punishing him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Aasim tries again.

“Do you really wanna hear about it?”

“Yes.”

Louis shoots him a skeptical look.

“Sometimes you feel better when you get it all out on the table,” Aasim elaborates. “As I said before, it’s probably the pre-wedding jitters that’s got you freaked out.”

“And you want to listen to me?”

“Yeah,” Aasim frowns. “I haven’t seen you this scared since-” he bites his lip, glancing away, “-since what happened on the delta.”

“When I killed Dorian.”

“...Yeah.”

There are times where Louis forgets he wasn’t the only person there at that moment, that Aasim and Omar watched him as he pulled the trigger that sent the arrow right through her mouth and into her skull.

He didn’t see their reactions or even hear them. The moment she fell onto the ground before him, motionless and bleeding out, nothing else existed.

That’s where the real swelling shame came in.

He just sat there in absolute shock, frozen and nearly faint, and even tossed away his weapon.

In those seconds of hesitation, had Minerva not been distracted by the death of her apparent delta family member, Clementine could’ve been killed.

All because he couldn’t do one goddamn thing right.

“Was it about her?” Aasim softly asks.

“No.”

For once, Dorian left him alone.

Aasim shifts then crawls over to sit beside him with their shoulders touching.

“You’re not a murderer, you know.”

Louis scoffs. “No?”

“It was self-defense.”

It was self-defense.

She would’ve killed you if you hadn’t reacted.

It was her or you, Louis.

“That still doesn’t make me feel good about it,” Louis brings his knees closer to his chest, resting his chin on them and closing his eyes. “The one thing I’ve always been afraid of after the world went to hell was that I’d have to kill somebody. Doesn’t matter why or how, it’s just something I never, ever wanted to do.”

He stares forward, focusing on the darkness behind the window’s thick curtains.

“You’ve never had to do it,” Louis mumbles.  

“We killed the rest of them.”

“Not like that, not personally. We injured and left them to the walkers.”

“Some might say that’s worse, but we couldn’t just leave them alive. Shit, just- just like how we couldn’t take Minnie with us after she passed out.”

“I know.”

Aasim stretches his legs out, leaning forward in an attempt to de-stress his stiff back. “Look, you’re right. I don’t know what it’s like,” he admits, “but it doesn’t change the fact that what you did helped break us out. Who knows what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shot her. We would’ve blown up with the boat, just like the rest of them.”

“I know,” Louis repeats, this time more harshly. “But that also doesn’t change the fact that I still have fucking nightmares about it, some so bad I can’t breathe or see straight. You have no idea how many nights I’ve woken Clementine and AJ up because I still can’t get my shit together and- fuck, they deserve a peaceful night of sleep, not a blubbering idiot who can’t get out of his own damn head.”

His throat’s tightening again with each emotionally bitter word he spits. Meeting Aasim’s wide eyes, he adds, “I know you’re trying to help, but there’s nothing you, or anyone- not even Clementine- can say that will ever make them go away.”

Aasim listens,  really  listens to every word he says, never once looking away from him. He’s hesitant but places a wary hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Louis sighs. “Ruby insisted I stay here, but I should’ve just slept in my old room. I’m just sorry that you had to see that.”

“I’m not,” Aasim replies. “I had no idea this was even a thing for you.”

“No one does, ‘cept Clem and AJ.”

Aasim pulls his hand back, curling his fingers together to rest in his lap, staring down at them with a contemplative frown.

Then, he shrugs and quietly confesses, “I have them, too. About the delta.”

Louis lets go of his knees, his legs sliding down to stretch out into a position similar to Aasim’s. He cocks his head, waiting for him to continue.

“They’re fuzzy, most of the time. I’m back in that cell by myself and Lilly comes in to ‘talk.’ She always tells me that she killed you guys, all of you, and once I see your bodies, I’ll ‘understand,’” he grimaces. “She’s going to ‘turn me into the best damn soldier the delta’s ever seen.’”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Aasim rubs at his tired eyes. “But, then I wake up in my own bed. No Lilly, no boat, you guys are alive, and I’m not a soldier. I’m still me.”

“Does it ever keep you up at night?”

“It has. Usually, I can’t fall back asleep. Too scared,” he shrugs. “So, I just grab my book, write down what I remember, and get an early start on the day and try not to think about it.”

“That easy?”

“What else can I do?”

Louis chews on his lip, turning away again. “You’re a lot stronger than me.”

“No, we just- we’re different. We saw and did different things, and, as you know, we’re not exactly two peas in a pod when it comes to thinking or reacting.”

That gets a breathy laugh out of Louis, which Aasim’s pleased to hear.

“No, we’re not,” Louis agrees.

It feels good to laugh, even if it’s barely a chuckle. The exhaustion that usually grabs a hold of his after a nightmare is present in each of his limbs, weighing him down.

“Sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay.”

The boys stand now, muscles sore and stiff from sitting on the ground too long. Louis moves to pick up the pencils he knocked over, slipping them back into the can and placing it back on the desk.

The notebook he’d been writing his vows down is still open. He glances over the works with a tiny grin, hearing Aasim sit on his bed with a huff, repressing a yawn.

He doesn’t want to think about nightmares anymore. He wants them all to go away, leave him alone and let him live in peace. It’s the night- or is it early morning now?- of his wedding, his marriage to the love of his life. He shouldn’t be here thinking about his father or Clementine dying or the repercussions of what he did as a child coming back to haunt him.

He should be smiling, worrying about not getting enough sleep because he can’t wait to see her walk down that aisle towards him.

He needs a distraction.

“Can I ask you something?” he asks, turning back to Aasim.

“Sure.”

“How come you never told Ruby you liked her?”

The question isn't teasing, but genuine.

Aasim’s silent, but even in the dark Louis can tell from the thoughtful raise of his brows that he didn’t know that answer himself. He ponders on the idea, drumming his fingers on his knee.

“Honestly?” he finally says.

“Yeah.”

“I was scared. When I stayed with her to patch up Omar’s leg, she hugged me and told me how happy she was to see me alive and- and I knew I probably could’ve told her, but it didn’t feel right. It never feels right.”

“I don’t think there’s a single right moment, Aasim,” Louis says. “You should tell her. She might like you, too.”

“Doubt it.”

“Why?”

“Have you met me?”

“You’re a bit of a sourpuss, but it’s part of your charm.”

Aasim scoffs.

“And you’re smart,” Louis continues. “Like, really smart. You’re reliable, honest, a damn good hunter, you know how to be kind, and you’re not bad looking.”

“Dude.”

“Looks, brawn, kindness,  and  smarts. You’re the complete package. In fact, how come Ruby's not the one who's head over heels?”

“She doesn’t care about any of that,” Aasim rolls his eyes. “Why are you asking, anyway? I think I’ve made it pretty clear I don’t like her anymore.”

Even Aasim himself didn’t believe the words as he spoke them.

“I was just thinking… I have someone to help me through the nightmares, but you don’t, and that kind of sucks.”

“And, your point is?”

“My point is I think you should go for it.”

Aasim looks away, scowling.

“I’m serious. Look-” Louis approaches the bed, hands on his hips, “-you’re not fooling anyone. Admit it, you still really like her. I’m not saying you have to confess your undying love, but maybe you could show your interest a little more? Like, for example… asking her to dance tomorrow?”

“I don’t dance.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Aasim refuses to look anywhere but the floor now, absently scratching at his wrist.

“I don’t know  how  to dance,” he timidly admits.

“So? Ruby can teach you. It’d be a nice bonding moment for the two of you.”

“That’s embarrassing.”

“How?” he laughs. “She’d probably think it’s cute.”

“Or lame.”

Then, Louis gets an idea, and Aasim must see the gears turning in his head because he thrusts his hand up towards Louis’ mischievous face.

“Whatever you’re thinking,  no .”

“You don’t even know what I was going to suggest!”

“I don’t need to because the answer is still no!”

“That signature sourpuss isn’t going to win over sweet Ruby’s heart, y’know.”

Louis moves across the room, leaning against the bookcase and folding his arms over his chest. “Now, seeing how I’m probably not going to be able to fall asleep anytime soon after my freakout, why don’t we play a little game? I’m going to stand over here and pretend I’m Ruby-”

“Dude,  no -”

“-and you’re going to ask me to dance.”

“Uh, no, I’m not!”

“ Oh, Aasim, ain’t this just the most rootin’ tootin’est hootenany you’ve ever seen ?”

Aasim gapes up at him, on the verge of a dry laugh at the terrible accent Louis’ trying to pull over.

“That’s- that’s not what she sounds like!”

“Close enough,” Louis winks. Dramatically pressing the back of his hand against his forehead, he laments, “ Oh, look a Lou and Clem dancin’ so perfectly together! If only there was a devilishly handsome -”

“Oh my god-”

“- young fella who would come ‘n sweep me off my feet -”

“You’re fucking ridiculous-”

“- and dance the night away with me !”

Aasim can’t help it.

It might be from lack of sleep or from nerves, but he’s wheezing at the stupidity before him. Louis has said some idiotic things before, hell, some that even got a chuckle out of him, but this-

How the hell did they go from exhaustion-inducing nightmares to  this ?

Louis breaks character to laugh along with him, not caring if they’re being too loud.

Of course, if anyone walked by their room, they might think two madmen live inside, one with a very poor, very fake southern drawl and the other an old chain smoker who can’t breathe.

“We’re not doing this,” Aasim coughs, chuckling into his hand.

“C’mon, man, it’ll help! I swear!”

“Do  you  even know how to dance?”

Louis proudly grabs the openings of his jacket, shooting him a wide smile.

“Nope!”

“Awesome.”

“Hence why we should practice. It can't be that hard,” Louis clears his throat. “ If only Aasim would notice me over here all by my lonesome !”

“This is so stupid.”

“ All by my lonesome! ”

Aasim rests his head in his hands.

He can’t believe that he’s actually considering going along with this nonsense.

But he does. 

"Now, ya just put yer hand here-"

"Please stop talking like that."

"Makin' fun of a girl's accent is really rude, mister."

"Louis."

"Don't go steppin' on my toes!"

"Louis."

Aasim presses his heel into Louis' boot.

"Ow! Okay, I'll stop."

It's strange, a little unpleasant, but at least Aasim learns what not to do when dancing within the hour or so of dance practice before the exhaustion send both of them plummeting down into their respective beds. 

---

“Alright, Willy, yer all set.”

Ruby pulls the sheet off from around Willy’s neck as the young boy excitedly hops up from the stool, his eager hands reaching up to feel his head.

He agreed to a haircut on one condition: mohawk.

Ruby didn’t fight it. Anything’s better than the dirty, scraggly mess he had before, and the style did actually look charming on him. Studying him now, she thinks it makes him look tougher, meaner. In a good way, of course.

“Woah,” Willy grins far too wide as he feels the short, prickly hairs on the sides of his head. The top strip, still damp from Ruby’s spray bottle, lays flat until he runs his fingers through it, spiking it up.

“See? Don’t’cha feel much better?”

“It looks cool, right?”

“Real cool.”

Willy gives Ruby a big smile before hurrying over to the ladder in the center of the room where Mitch is quietly working on attaching the smaller string lights to the chandelier.

“Mitch!”

“Hm?”

Mitch’s tired eyes glance away from his work and down towards the young boy. Upon seeing him, he smirks.

“Shit, look at you,” he says. “Badass.”

“Yeah? You should do it, too!”

“Pfft, yeah, probably not-  shit !”

One of the small battery packs comes loose, causing it and the lights attached to it to fall to the ground. Willy’s quick to move around the ladder and examine the battery pack.

“Did it bust?”

“No, it's okay.” Willy reaches up to hand it to him after wiping it on his shirt. “Do you need help?”

“Nah.” Mitch shakes his head, pausing to suppress a yawn. He jerks his chin over towards the doors. “You can start lining the aisle.”

When Willy doesn’t respond or move, Mitch peers back down at him with a raised brow. Willy’s gazing up at him with his head cocked, a question lingering in his eye. When he opens his mouth to speak, Mitch cuts him off.

“Make sure the batteries are near the doors, then line them up coming this way.”

Willy frowns, but nods and does as he’s told.

With a small sigh, Mitch rubs his eyes and nose on his sleeve, mentally cursing himself to snap out of this haze. Grabbing more black tape from his belt, he secures the battery pack to the chandelier. He leans away to study his work, keeping his grip firm on the ladder as to not wobble backward.

He decided that they’d use the small, dainty lights to hang down above their heads, figuring that when it got dark enough, it’d look like little stars or fireflies floating in the air.

He reaches into his pocket to pull out the last one. He doesn’t have enough room to attach it, but he’s sure he can find another use for it somewhere in here.

Before he climbs down the ladder, he checks to make sure the other lights he has attached, the bigger ones, are fixed tight.

He stayed up late attaching all the lights to the chandelier before sticking the batteries to the walls. When he checked to make sure they were all still working, lighting them up one at a time, the room lit with a golden glow prettier than anything a candle could give.

It’d been quite a sight to just stand there alone, staring up at the bright ceiling.

“Mitch!” Ruby calls. “Yer turn!”

He scowls, lowering his head. Another yawn builds in his throat.

Without a word, he drags his feet over to Ruby and plops down on the stool, crossing his arms and staring off at the wall covered in white and gold hearts.

Ruby waits for the complaints, the argument, the curses but they don’t come. Mitch just sits there, waiting.

She drapes the sheet around his front and secures it behind his neck, pulling out the locks of hair caught under.

Dampening the hair with her spray bottle, she combs through it to work out any knots. Surprisingly, his hair isn’t that tangled. It’s the longest it’s ever been, damn near touching his shoulders. In fact, when was the last time she gave him a haircut? A year ago? Year and a half?

He’d really complained then. She remembers having to threaten to shave his head in his sleep to get him to cooperate. That threat prompted the little mishap in the greenhouse the next day, but she tries not to think about that. If she does, she’ll end up pissed and ready to yank the brown locks right out of his head.

So, instead of that, she attempts to make conversation.

“The lights turned out better than I thought,” she says, gently pressing his head forward to give better access to the nape of his neck. “Gotta say, I’m real impressed.”

Mitch grunts, grumbling, “And you wanted to use candles.”

“We’re still usin’ some, and I got the box over there incase any’a them go out.”

“They won’t go out. Checked ‘em last night.”

“That why yer so tired?”

Mitch doesn’t reply.

She can’t help but notice how off he’d been acting since he walked into the music room this morning. She’d been bursting with energy, thrilled that the day’s finally here. She listed off all the things that still needed to be done and all he did was look at her. He’d heard her, sure, but didn’t say much.

Usually, they would’ve been snapping at each other about this or that, but no.

Mitch didn’t even mumble to himself the entire time he worked. He  always  mumbles to himself when he’s working.

What could he be so sore about on a day like this?

It’s not like she could ask him how he’s feeling; for whatever reason, that always pushed the defense button for him.

Of all the kids she’d grown up and survived this nasty world with, Mitch was one she could never truly figure out. Sometimes she can guess his next move, other times he does something so bizarre that it actually hurts her brain when she tries to wrap her head around it.

“Gonna go see Clem later,” she says. “Fix up her hair real nice. Wonder if she’s picked out her shirt yet.”

Mitch shrugs a shoulder in response.

“Oh, and don’t ferget, I left some clothes in yer room. I’m thinkin’ that black button down shirt’ll look nice on ya. If that one don’t fit, wear the blue one.”

“Fine.”

They finish the rest of the haircut in silence.

Ruby brushes off the chunks of hair from his shoulders before pulling off the sheet. Mitch stands, rolling his shoulders and neck before turning to her.

He looks so much better, she decides. While still short in the back and on the sides, she let him keep some of his bangs, which he now pushes back. With it still being damp, it stays that way, revealing his whole scowling face.

Ruby smirks. “Y’know, you could be real handsome if ya smiled more.”

He doesn’t find that amusing.

“Shut up.”

“Jus’ sayin’.”

They hear Willy snickering over by the door, covering his mouth to try and hide it as he lines the aisle with lights.

Ruby sets aside her scissors, keeping an eye on Mitch as he feels around his neck.

Boy, he does look tired.

Now that she’s seeing him up close, the darkness lining his eyes is prominent, and his sunken posture is more than noticeable. She didn’t think working with those lights all week had taken that much of a toll on him, especially since he seemed perfectly fine yesterday.

She lightly hits his arm. “Hey? You okay?”

“Fine.”

There goes the button.

Ruby sighs. “Said ya were up late last night, right? Why don’t’cha go rest a while.”

Mitch crosses his arms again, glaring down at the floor. “No. I-” he glances up at the chandelier, “I got other things to do.”

“Like what? Aren’t’cha done with the lights?”

“Yeah.”

“Are ya gonna help the boys with the arbor?”

“No.”

Ruby quirks a brow. “So…?”

“I’m goin’ hunting. Someone’s gotta catch something for Omar to cook tonight, right?”

“Oh,” Ruby raises a curious brow. “I was gonna send Aasim and Louis out. Y’know, make sure Lou don’t try ‘n sneak a peek at Clem before the weddin’.”

“Doesn’t he have groom stuff to do?”

“Like?”

“Shit, I don't know, groom stuff. And, isn't Aasim’s his babysitter?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that-”

“Then, they’re busy,” Mitch says firmly. “I’m going. Besides-” he finally meets her eye, “-been cooped up here all week. Need to get outta here a while.”

“Well,” Ruby frowns. “Alright. Who ya takin’?”

At that, Mitch’s shoulders slump further.

“I can go,” Willy volunteers.

“No,” Mitch snaps harshly, startling the both of them. Upon seeing Willy’s wide eyes, his face softens just a bit. “I mean, you gotta stay and help Tenn and AJ with the arbor. I-” he breathes a frustrated sigh and heads for the door, “I’m taking James.”

Before either of them can say anything, he’s gone.

“Any idea what’s up?” Ruby asks, sharing the same concerned look as the boy beside her.

Willy shrugs. “No clue. But, is James even back yet? He left last night without telling anybody.”

“Haven’t heard.”

“Oh.”

Willy returns his distressed stare back to the open doors, thoughts still stuck on Mitch.

“Is- is he gonna be okay?”

Ruby turns to peer up at the chandelier with a thoughtful look. “I think so. Nothin’ bothers him fer too long, right?”

“Maybe,” Willy frowns. “He was being weird last night, too.”

When Willy got off watch and went to check on him in the basement, he’d heard a small crash followed by a string of curses. When he rushed down there in a panic, he found one of the shelves on the bookcase they kept down there broken in half and Mitch sitting on the stool, holding his foot.

He hadn’t hurt himself too bad, but that did nothing to ease Willy’s growing worry.

“That so?”

“Yeah… didn’t wanna talk about it.”

“Whatta surprise.”

Ruby decides not to fret. Whatever it is that’s bothering him, he’ll work it out. Maybe it’s a good thing to send him and James out instead. The fresh air will perk him up and he can blow off some steam, and if James is with him, she doesn’t have to worry about him getting hurt.

If he came back with that sourpuss still tugging on his face, then she’d talk some sense into him. Right now, she has to focus on getting everyone ready and working on the final touches of the music room.

If Clementine and Louis thought the place was beautiful for the proposal, then they’re going to be floored at how downright gorgeous it’ll be for their wedding.

As she sweeps the clumps of hair off the floor and into a dustpan, she realizes that she won’t be able to do anything with her own locks, at least, not by herself. While she was fairly good at doing the other kids hair, she could never seem to do much with her own.

However, there’s an easy solution.

The only person she’s ever dared let cut her hair in the past is Aasim. To make matters even better, she knew Aasim could do lovely braids. She watched him to it to Sophie’s hair years ago.

A smile stretches her lips at the thought.

“Willy, go out ‘n help the boys. I’m gonna go check on Lou and Aasim.”

---

The ceiling slowly comes into focus.

Clementine’s laid awake for a while now, comfortable on her back with eyes kept shut, only blinking up at the dust particles floating through the air whenever the curtains flutter, letting in more light.

She hasn’t woken up so calm, yet so restless in a long time. Even in her empty room, her empty bed, she finds herself at peace with a tiny grin adorning her lips. When she sits up, there’s no grogginess, no temptation to cover her head with the pillow and try to find sleep again.

Talking to Lee always makes her feel like this, even though she knows it's not real. 

Even so, the images of her dream fade in and out, bleed together into an emotional mess. 

She wonders to herself, or more so worries if Louis slept as well as she did.

Not that she could go find him and make sure. Ruby would throw a fit if they saw each other before the wedding. She doesn’t know if it’s really bad luck, because how could it be?

Then again, the bad luck might come in the form of a wooden spoon, courtesy of Ruby.

The door inches open noisily. AJ slides in, attempting to close it as quietly as possible. He’s carrying a cup of steaming coffee, the strong, bitter scent wafting through the air. When the hinges of the door continue to make more awful creaking noises, he shushes the inanimate object.

“It’s okay, goofball, I’m awake.”

AJ jumps at her voice, nearly dropping the hot mug. Whipping around, he pouts, “I told you I don’t like that name.”

“You’re right,” she smirks, leaning up on her elbows. “It’s okay,  shitbird , I’m awake.”

“Hey!” AJ giggles, playfully glaring as he hands her the coffee. “That’s mean!  You’re  a shitbird!”

“Not as much as you are.”

As she sips the coffee, AJ hops up beside her.  

"Today's the day!"

"It is."

“I’m excited. Are you excited?” he asks eagerly, practically bouncing. Seems he’s already forgotten about the shitbird insult, his zealous anticipation of what’s to come later today taking over.

“More than you know, kiddo,” Clementine beams. She downs the rest of the coffee, savoring the heat as it fills her belly and spreads warmth throughout her. “You know everything you’re supposed to do?”

“Yep! I’m helping the others and keeping an eye on you until we’re ready, then when it gets dark enough, I gotta come get you so I can walk with you and, uh, give- give you something?”

“Give me away,” she corrects.

“Give you away,” he says firmly, then cocks his head to the side with that thoughtful look he gets when he’s attempting to understand something alien to him.

“Give you away,” he repeats. “That sounds weird, like you’re a toy or something. Give you away.”

Clementine laughs, saying, “Well, you’re not literally giving me away, AJ.”

“I know. It’s just a weird thing to say. Why do they say that?”

She studies him for a moment, trying to piece together the right way to explain it to him.

“Remember when I first told you that I was going to propose to Louis?”

“‘Course I do.”

“And remember when I asked for your blessing to marry him?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, think of it like that, but this time you’re giving  Louis  your blessing to marry  me . That’s basically what it means, like, you’re ‘give me away’ to him to show that you’re okay with us getting married.”

“Oh,” AJ nods. “Oh, okay. Yeah, that makes more sense. I’m giving you guys my blessing.” He smiles brightly, leaning over to hug around her waist. “I’m gonna give you guys my best blessing!”

She holds him back, chuckling. “How’s everything else looking?”

“Well, I can’t tell you too much because it’s a surprise, but me and Tenn made something super awesome last night and- and we’re working on something even cooler today!” he gushes.

“Well, I can’t wait to see it.”

“You’re gonna love it! Louis, too!”

“Have you talked to him this morning?”

“No,” AJ shakes his head, pulling back to look up at her. “He and Aasim are still asleep.”

“Really?”

Clementine stands to look through the window. The full daylight shines brightly over the school, leaving behind any chill morning brought. While not quite noon, it’s still a little late to sleep in, even for Louis. That knowledge does nothing to ease the anxious tightening within her.

“Can you go check on him?”

“Yeah, I can.” AJ presses his fingers together, picking at the skin around his nails as he asks, “If he had a bad dream, he’d come get us, right?”

“Well,” she starts, glancing back at the boy, “given what’s going on, he might not. He’s probably fine, I just want to make sure.”

“I’ll go after I help Tenn. I told him that I’d meet him out there soon, but I wanted to see you first,” AJ says, then his brows knit together earnestly. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“Oh yeah?” Clementine asks as she leans against the dresser. “About the wedding?”

“That, and some other stuff. I know you said not much is gonna be different afterward, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean- well, I was thinking- actually, Tenn and I talked,” AJ stumbles over his words. “You and Louis like to be alone, right?”

“Sometimes,” she replies hesitantly. “Why?”

“Tenn was telling me some stuff, like how married people like to spend more time alone together in their rooms.”

Heated dread tingles along her neck.

She knows her mind might be rushing straight into the gutter, but the possibility of Tenn telling AJ about  certain things  isn’t unthinkable, and if he’s about to ask her questions referring to-

“And I realized something,” he stands up from the bed and walks towards his own, “I bother you guys sometimes, don’t I?”

“What? AJ, you don’t bother us.”

“Yeah, I do. Sometimes I walk in and you two move away from each other really fast and you say weird stuff and it’s… weird.”

“Uh, well-”

“I know you guys like to kiss. A lot.” AJ crosses his arms, staring up at her with a ‘don’t even deny it’ look. “And I know you don’t like to do it in front of me, and if I’m always coming in here and bothering you…”

“AJ,” Clementine sighs. “Look, Louis and I do like to spend alone time together, but that doesn’t mean we don’t like hanging out with you, too.”

“I know.” AJ unfolds his arms, glancing over his shoulder and back at his bed. “I’ve been spending the night at Tenn’s a lot. Having sleepovers, I mean.”

“Yeah?”

AJ faces her now, saying, “Tenn asked if I wanted to move in with him, like as roommates.”

Her brows shot up in shock.

That’s nowhere near what she had been excepting.

“When did that happen?”

“Last night. I’ve been thinking really hard about it, and it might not be a bad idea. I mean, I like sleeping in here with you guys, and- and it might be scary sometimes sleeping away from you for more than a night, but I’m gonna be brave.”

AJ stands up straight, chest puffed out with confidence.

“I’m getting older, and I gotta do things on my own.”

“AJ, are you sure?” she asks. “You don’t have to feel bad about being in here with us. Does Tenn even have room for you?”

“Yeah, he’s got another bed and lots of closet space. I can move my things in today, after we finish our secret project, spend the night there. This is a good thing, Clem.”

“I-”

Clementine doesn’t know what to say. The thought of AJ one day moving out never actually crossed her mind. She always assumed that he’d continue having sleepovers with Tenn every so often, but now that she looks at him, he may have a point.

He  is  getting older.

Now, around the age of seven- hell, maybe even eight at this point- he’s grown taller, lost a little of that baby fat in his cheeks. When she really looks at him, studies his face, she can almost see Rebecca in his every feature.

Except for his eyes.

He has his father’s kind eyes. Even when they’re angry, or sad, or tired, the shape and color are Alvin’s.

He’s not the same child who first walked in through the gates with her two years ago. He doesn’t always look to her for all the answers. He makes his own decisions for himself, regardless of her input.

Eventually, AJ would be a preteen, then a teenager.

Somehow, that thought quivers her chin, tightens her throat.

“I think being Tenn’s roommate will be fun,” he says. “And, maybe one day, when I’m even braver and stronger… maybe I could get a room of my own? With just my stuff?”

Clementine swallows thickly, saying, “Think you’ll be able to handle that?”

“One day.”

She nods, biting the inside of her cheek.

“But, if there is a night when I’m scared, or mad at Tenn, then I can just have a sleepover here, right?”

Clementine grins. “Of course, but do you really think you’re ready for a change like this?”

“Yes,” he answers assuredly.

The way he looks at her, so sure, so confident in himself, it swells such an emotional pride in her chest that she can’t help but pull him into a hug.

“Okay, shitbird, if it’s what you really want, we can give it a try and see where it goes.”

“ Hey !” AJ’s hands move to his hips, teasingly glaring at her. "Quit calling me that!"

“You’re the one who said you didn’t like goofball.”

“Shitbird isn’t any better!”

“I think it is,” she smirks. 

“Because  you’re  a shitbird!”

“Maybe. But, you know what you are?”

“Not a shitbird?”

“No, you're  ticklish!”

“Ah- haha, hey!”

---

James slept in the woods last night.

If the wedding wasn’t today, he would’ve stayed out there for the rest of the week.

Back inside the walls of the school grounds, Tenn’s decorating the arbor with leaves and flowers, weaving them through the small openings to try and hide any of the fencings they used. Willy’s standing on a stool and using old fishing wire to dangle some of the white and gold paper hearts.

AJ’s running from the entrance of the school, waving at them and excitedly telling Tenn something before getting to work with the arbor.

It brings a small smile to James’ face watching the three boys work together. They’d been so thrilled to decorate it after he and Mitch finished shaping and securing it for them.

Willy happily waves at him, shouting, “Hey! Whattya think?”

“Looks wonderful,” James calls back, giving them a thumbs up.

He spots Omar sitting on the couch with Rosie resting beside him, a faraway look lingering in his eye and a subtle grin tugging on his lips.

Figuring the boys are okay for the moment, James wanders over to Omar.

Rosie’s head jerks up, ears stiff and alert, but upon seeing it’s him, she relaxes, laying her head on Omar’s leg.

“Hello,” James quietly greets, sitting in the chair beside him.

“Hey,” Omar smiles. “Noticed you didn’t come back last night. Willy was worried you’d miss the wedding.”

“No, I wouldn’t do that,” he shakes his head. “Just… needed some time alone.”

“Too much socializing?”

“You could say that.”

He watches AJ stand on his tippy toes, nearly off balance as he tries to swat at the dangling hearts with his cheeks puffed out in concentration. Tenn’s giggling into his hand, amused at his friend’s attempt to prove how tall he’s gotten.

“Had watch with AJ last night,” Omar says, pointing over at the chortling boys. “Know what he said to me?”

“Hm?”

Omar smirks, recalling the night before. “He was telling me how much fun this week’s been, planning for the wedding and all. He said he’ll be sad when it’s over, when we have to go back to ‘boring’ stuff.”

“It has been an exciting time for him. Makes sense that he’d be sad when it’s over.”

“I told him that maybe we’d throw another party in the future. I suggested a Halloween party, since Willy pulled all that stuff out.”

James perks up. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Omar sighs. “Then I had to try and explain what Halloween was.”

AJ nearly falls over, almost taking the arbor with him. Luckily, Willy’s there to grab the back of his shirt and pull him to his feet. Even from far away James can see the clear fluster in his pout.

“He said he can’t wait until one of us gets married next so we can throw another one.”

James’ quirks an interested brow at that. “Did you have to explain how that works to him as well?”

“I did, and all I got back in return was ‘Omar, when are  you  getting married?’” Now he’s  really  laughing. “I think he forgets it takes two.”

James laughs along with him, relieved as the tension leaves his shoulders due to the pleasant conversation. Feeling brave, he jokingly asks, “Well, when  are  you getting married?”

“Oh, soon,  soon ,” he nods, rolling his eyes. “Very soon. I’m thinking any day now Ruby’ll finally throw me over her shoulder and make an honest man of me.”

“Pfft!” James has to cover his mouth before he spat as the laughter rocks his body. He can’t help it; the image is just too hilarious not to laugh at. This catches the attention of the boys, all three of them staring at them with curious eyes.

All of the humor in the air gets Rosie’s interest, as well. She slips off the couch, moving to sit at Omar’s feet and observing him with old, fond eyes.

Omar smiles down at the dog, reaching into his pocket to pull out a busted tennis ball. Rosie’s ears shoot up and her entire body becomes tense. She’s off in a flash when Omar tosses it towards the gate.

“I’m just teasing,” Omar says before eyeing James with a smirk. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“She probably wouldn’t find it so funny anyway.”

“Neither would Aasim.”

Rosie comes back with the ball, dropping it in Omar’s hand and readying herself, eyes stuck intensely on his every move. As he sends it soaring through the air again, Omar sighs, saying, “In all seriousness, though? I just don’t see it in my future.”

“No?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “No disrespect to our group, but there aren’t a lotta options. Then again, even when our group was bigger, I could never see myself feeling that way about someone, y’know?”

“I suppose it’s not for everyone.”

Omar nods, humming. “I’m happy for them, though. Clem and Louis are good for each other. I can only wish them the best from here on out. Truth be told, I think I’d rather be an outsider to it all anyway. A witness to it happening, you know.”

“There is something about watching two people fall for each other.”

“There is,” Omar agrees. “‘Course, it can be pretty frustrating, too.”

“How so?”

Omar glances around. Then, as he throws the ball once more, he gives James a smirk and whispers, “Do you ever see Aasim talking to Ruby and think to yourself, ‘Aasim, buddy, just go for it! You’re killing me over here!’”

Oh yes.

It’s no secret around the school that Aasim has feelings for Ruby, even though he bends over backward to deny it.

When James first became acquainted with the group and they worked out their system, no one had to tell him about it. It was as clear as pure water that Aasim’s gaze always lingered on the girl, his lips curved into an involuntary grin. There was something about the way he spoke to her, so soft but alert, like he was ready to hang onto her every word.

Which is why it’s so odd that he denies it so fiercely.

Perhaps it’s due to years of Louis’ harmless teasing, or because Aasim, despite being vocal when it came to important matters and unafraid to voice his opinion, is actually shy when it comes to things like this. Maybe that’s why he becomes so defensive when someone teases him about it.

Which, they do.

A lot.

The only one who doesn’t seem to notice is Ruby herself.

Which, yes, is frustrating to those around them.

Mitch once said that someone should tell her so she can put Aasim out of his misery. Of course, James had argued that Ruby might like him back if she knew he were interested, but it’s best not to interfere in the first place.  

“Maybe he’s not ready,” James finally says.

“Not ready? How much time do you need?” Omar asks. “It’s been, what? Three, four years? You’d think Ruby’d at least get the hint.”

“She might not be ready, either.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Omar shrugs. Rosie drops the ball again. Her long tongue hangs out the side of her mouth as she gleefully pants. For a dog of her age, she still moves as well as a young pup. It’s rather impressive, James thinks.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Ever think about it?”

“About… telling Ruby?”

“No, I mean-” Omar throws the ball again. This time it bounces and hits Willy in the leg, earning them both a  “Hey!”  and a glare. Rosie doesn’t run this time, she strides at a comfortable pace. “Just, about romance in general, I guess.”

Of course he does.

After leaving the basement, he headed straight through the gates and into the forest, spending most of the night drawing stray walkers back to his barn. As he meandered through the trees, he found himself becoming increasingly distracted several times because he kept thinking about Charlie.

Or, rather, the Charlie he had fallen in love with all those years ago.

Then, he thought about Mitch again.

Charlie and Mitch.

Back and forth.

It still stung, a fresh wound torn open just last night, but James couldn’t stop hearing the harshness of Mitch’s voice in his head. He regrets ever bringing up Charlie.

He thought, or perhaps assumed, that he and Mitch had become real friends over the course of the week. Maybe Mitch would understand that it wasn’t just Violet who’s still coping with the loss of a lover, and how that loss isn’t just something a person could forget. Maybe he’d be sympathetic to his friend, apologize for all the mean things he said.

However, that backfired.

Omar notices his silence, leaning over to get a good look at his face before saying, “Hey, sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

James meets his eye, cutting loose his thoughts and returning to reality.

“Don’t wanna bring up bad memories.”

“No, it’s okay,” James gives an unsure smile. “I had someone in my life once, but we’ve since parted ways. I, uh… I used to think these things all the time when we were together.”

James looks down at his hands, a sad grin pulling at his lips.

“It’s pretty silly, but… back when all this happened and we were surviving together, in the quieter moments I would imagine us running away, finding a safe spot in the middle of nowhere, away from people and the walkers. Just the two of us, safe at last, ready to grow old together.”

“That’s not silly.”

“It was at the time. Should’ve been thinking about survival, not… that.”

“Survival isn’t everything,” Omar offers before twisting his mouth. “Well, these days I guess it sort of is, but it doesn’t always have to be the only thing. We’re lucky to have a place where we can have quieter moments, like this one. Where we can talk about things like this with each other.”

“Yeah.”

“Can’t let it take over,” Omar says. “It’s good to remember happier times. Keeps us human.”

James nods slowly, chewing on his bottom lip.

“I do like to think about Charlie sometimes,” he admits quietly. “Talk about him.”

Omar’s sympathetic eyes fall on him now. “Do you miss him?”

“I-” James sighs. “Yes, but I think it’s more I miss the him from before, not the him that I left.”

Omar nods thoughtfully. “Understandable.”

He doesn’t pry any further.

The boys are finished decorating the arbor now, and even from far away he can tell it’s made with love. Fresh branches with green leaves weave throughout it, and little white flowers seem to bloom all over it. The hearts dangle down at different lengths, lightly swaying as the boys carefully lift it up and carry it across the yard.

James can already picture Clementine and Louis standing beneath it, hand in hand, ready to seal the deal with a kiss.

“I ever tell you I had a brother?” asks Omar suddenly.

James turns his attention back to the boy beside him, shaking his head. “No.”

Omar’s grin grows wide. “His name was Marcus, and when I say older brother, I do mean  older.  We were nineteen years apart.”

“Oh,” James says, eyes widening. “That’s… quite a gap.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he nods with a smirk. “I was a ‘happy accident,’ if you will.” He uses finger quotes to emphasize his point. “My parents only wanted to have one, then Ma got sick and found out she was pregnant with me and months later, I popped out.”

“Wow,” James breathes out. “Nineteen years.”

“Marcus was my hero,” Omar beams. “You’d think we wouldn’t have seen each other much, given how old he was, but for a long time it was the opposite. He was still living at home and going to school. I can still remember him coming into my room to tuck me in after getting home. And, even after he moved away, he visited plenty. Always made time for me.”

He sighs then, staring off towards the trees with the ball held firm in his hands.

“It’s weird. I don’t miss my parents nearly as much as I miss him.”

James’ brows raise, surprised. “Really?”

“My parents were… older, I guess. Had a lotta opinions, were very honest. Brutally so. If they thought it, it was right. Couldn’t change their minds. Heh, think that’s why they stayed together. No one else could put up with them beside each other,” Omar frowns. “But, Marcus was different.”

“I can tell you loved him very much.”

“He’s what’s kept me going. His voice in my head telling me what to do. ‘Don’t use all that pepper! You’ll ruin the stew! No, Omar, cook it a little longer! Don’t want your friends to get sick! Kid, go to bed earlier, you know you got watch in the morning.’ Shit like that.” He chuckles then, smirking over at James. “You know what he grew up to do?”

“What?”

“He was a baker. Cakes, cookies, bread, candies, and everything else.” Omar throws the ball, sending Rosie out towards the tables. “Everytime he got an order or when it was someone’s birthday or anniversary or whatever, he’d make the best cakes. And he’d always give me a big spoon full of icing to eat when no one was looking. He’d say he couldn’t ice it ‘til I tried it, said my opinion mattered.”

James studies the tenderness resting in Omar’s eyes, something different that he’d never seen before.

“That why you always cook for us?”

“Oh yeah. When shit really hit the fan and we were eating bland, nasty scraps, I knew that I could make something better, something enjoyable. And-” Omar’s smile dies, becoming a disheartening frown. “-and I told myself that if I keep everyone fed, we’ll survive. We’ll survive a long time and when Marcus comes to get me, he’ll be so proud.”

There’s a tightening in James’ chest, one that almost makes him wince.

“‘Course, I-I’m not delusional. I know he’s not coming. Not because he wouldn’t want to, or because he didn’t try, or because he didn’t love me.” Omar look back at the school building with sullen eyes. “When… when I got sent here, he was working in another country, somewhere in Europe.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. He was still there when all this happened. He was so excited to go, him and his buddy, gonna take over the place. They’d be making all sorts of stuff for some crazy expensive bakery. He used to write me letters about his job there and everything he saw, send me pictures and stuff. Still keep ‘em in my room. Read ‘em when things get tough.”

His grin falls, becoming sad.

“And… when I was shot, locked up on that ship after the delta attacked us,” he starts slowly. “Thinking about him, alive and somewhere safe, kept me sane, kept me hopeful. When you guys finally brought me home and let me rest in my room, the first thing I did was pull that box out and look at his picture.”

James offers a comforting smile. “I’m glad you have something of his to remember him by.”

“Yeah, me too. I just-” Omar sighs. “Been thinking about him a lot this week, with the wedding and all.”

Rosie, tired of chasing the ball, hops back up beside Omar, happily panting. He reaches around the rub and scratch her side.

“I wish I had the stuff to make them a cake, you know? Something sweet for all of us to enjoy. Something Marcus would be proud of.”

James smiles, saying, “You’re making dinner, though. That’s something. Louis and Clementine appreciate what you’re doing for them, and I know everyone else appreciates you for all the years of feeding them, as well.”

Omar smirks. “They better. They could’ve had Lou cooking for them. Imagine the food poisoning,” he shudders, drawing a light chuckle from James.

“Hey!”

Both boys turn towards the front doors where Mitch is standing.

James immediately faces forward, feeling that strange, uneasy sting tug at his stomach. All the relaxing humor is gone, replaced with dread at knowing he’s about to face the boy who had truly hurt his feelings last night. He thinks about excusing himself and hurrying away, but Mitch is already there, standing beside him.

“Hey, look at you,” Omar grins. “Ruby got a hold of you, huh?”

“Did’ja think she wouldn’t?”

“It looks good.”

“Whatever.”

“Why can’t you ever take a compliment?”

“I- she’s gonna be looking for you, too, you know!”

“I already told her I don’t need a haircut. I’m growing it out.” Omar points up at the mess of curls tied up on his head with a smirk. “She’s not gettin’ a hold of these luscious locks.”

“Dude.”

James keeps his focus forward, trying to ignore the banter and Mitch’s presence looming over him until a hand bumps his shoulder.

“Hey.”

The first thing he notices is how soft his voice is, like a switch was flipped. The second thing he notices as he blinks up at him is that Omar’s right; his haircut does look nice. His bangs still fall over his forehead, but the length no longer brushes his shoulders or covers most of his face.

He finds his voice, quiet and repressed, cold. “Hello.”

Mitch shifts his weight to one foot and folds his arms over his chest. “We’re goin’ hunting. Grab a bow.”

James thinks he’s misunderstood the words, repeating them slower in his head.

“You guys?” Omar asks. “Thought Louis and Aasim were going?”

“No,” Mitch replies quickly, glancing away. “We are.”

Omar looks between the two, taking note of the obvious tension. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Mitch scowls. He nudges James again. “Let’s go. Meet’cha at the gates.”

Before any more words can be spoken, he turns on his heel and heads towards the gates. James watches him go, his chest and stomach twisting.

---

Aasim’s the only one awake when the banging on the door starts.

He’d been changing into the clothes he set aside for this particular day: a faded pair of dark jeans and a heavy, oversized burgundy sweatshirt.

Through the muffled brightness of the room, he sees Louis lift his head. Lidded, glazed eyes glance around before he turns fully onto his front and smashes his face back into the pillow with a groan.

Aasim rolls his eyes, smirking. He runs his fingers through his bedhead, smoothing it out as he unlocks the door.

Ruby’s rosy-cheeked face grins at him. “There ya are! Thought the two of ya croaked in there.”

Aasim slips out, shutting the door behind him. “Not quite,” he says, straightening out his shirt. “We stayed up pretty late.”

“You, too, huh? Seems like Clem and I were the only early birds last night. Lou's still sleepin,’ I assume?”

Aasim jerks his thumb towards the door. “Yeah, I’d say it’ll be another few hours before I can even attempt to drag him out of bed. We might have to postpone our hunting trip until later.”

“Oh, don’t fret ‘bout that,” Ruby waves her hand dismissively. “Mitch and James are out there now. I got somethin’ else important fer ya to do.”

Before he can ask, she offers him a bag that he knows all too well. That’s also when he notices that she’s brought along her stool, the tall, adjustable one she uses for haircuts. He takes the bag from her with a timid grin.

“Been busy this morning, haven’t you?”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” she chuckles. “Got up real early ta start finishin’ up the music room and cuttin’ all the boys’ hair. Tenn, Willy, Mitch, and I still gotta find James and Omar, and-” she studies him for a moment before smirking, “Oh, I don’t gotta worry ‘bout you. You always stay nice and trimmed.”

The compliment brings a familiar flutter in his stomach, one he tries to repress.

“‘Cept with that scruff,” Ruby teases, pointedly looking at his chin.

Like a reflex, his fingers scratch at the so-called “scruff.”

He wouldn’t admit it, but for the past few months, he’s been trying to grow a full beard. However, it wasn’t the thick, glorious facial hair he dreamed of.

Instead, he got a patchy mess of bald portions and uneven thickness along his jaw and upper lip. He shaved all that off after some stupid comment Mitch made, but left his chin untouched, it being the only place on his face where it grew perfectly. He’d be damned if he’s going to shave all that hard work off.

His face must be amusing because Ruby’s giggling, winking up at him and saying, “I’ll let it pass, though, since it does look mighty handsome, especially paired with that sweatshirt. Nice color on ya.”

Shit.

Did she just-?

“Uh-”

“Anyway!” Ruby claps her hands together, completely oblivious to Aasim’s internal crisis of having too many compliments thrown at him, grabs a hold of the stool and props herself up on it. “I didn’t come here ta tell ya how good ya look-”

Shit.

“-I was actually wonderin’ if ya could give me a trim? And, maybe ya could braid it fer me, too? I’m not so good at doin’ it on myself,” she says sheepishly as she reaches back and undoes the tie holding her hair together, the curls falling over her shoulders and down her back.

Shit, shit, shit-

“Yeah-” he croaks, quickly clearing his throat and coughing to cover up the crack in his voice. “I can do that.”

“Thanks.”

Aasim can’t help but gawk a little at how long it’s gotten. Last time he did this years ago, it barely touched her shoulders.

He kneels down over the bag, hiding his face from her and counting in his head, trying to quiet his drumming heart. It’s so loud in his ears that it’s a wonder Ruby doesn’t hear it.

Once he sprays her curls wet and combs through it, he takes a steady breath before working on trimming the edges.

“Mitch got the lights ta work, apparently,” she says. “Guess Lou was right. The boy is magic. Haven’t seen ‘em in action myself, but he swears up and down they’ll light tonight.”

“If not, we have the extra candles.”

“That’s what I figure. Oh, and the boys brought up the arch thing-”

“The arbor.”

“-yeah, that, and it looks real nice. I can see it now, Clem and Lou standin’ there while yer marryin’ them- Oh!”  Luckily, he’s not in the middle of cutting anything when she turns to face him. “Did Lou finish his vows?”

“Yes. Why do you think we were up so late?” He partially lies, then curses himself for it, but he’s not about to admit what really happened.

He really would croak if she knew he’d practiced dancing with Louis while pretending it was her.

“Good, good,” she relaxes, letting him get back to work. “Jus’ need Mitch and James ta come back with somethin’ fer Omar ta cook and we should be ready.”

“Did you grab the headmaster’s glasses?”

“Aw, shit! No! I fergot- Omar was supposed ta remind me!”

Aasim chuckles, finishing off the back of her hair. He only took off about an inch, figuring she’d want the extra length to make a longer braid. Trying to focus on her bangs now rather than her curious eyes peering up at him, he’s careful not to poke or pull too harsh on them, his focus narrowing down to blending the bangs in with the rest of her hair.

“I really appreciate this, Aasim,” she grins.

“No problem,” he mumbles, still concentrating.

“And not just fer this, I mean. Fer helpin’ me out so much this week. I really couldn’t have made it look so nice without yer help. And I’m real thankful yer marryin’ them.”

He has to stop, noticing that his hands beginning to tremble slightly.

“Couldn’t let you do it all by yourself,” he pulls back, fumbling with the scissors and checking the length of the bangs between his finger.

“You’re just always helpin’ me with stuff, y’know, even when I don’t ask or when I’m bein’ difficult.”

His knuckle brushes against the smoothness of her warm skin.

Shit.

“Yer real sweet ta me, and I feel like I don’t ever thank ya enough fer bein’ there.”

“Ruby,” he tosses the scissors aside, “you don’t have to thank me.”

“Well, that ain’t gonna stop me,” she laughs, reaching up to brush her freshly cut bangs back to beam at him. “So, thank you, Aasim.”

Fuck.

How could  not  feel anything for her?

The way those sparkling, baby blue eyes stare up at him and how her pretty lips smile like that after speaking such kindness, he’d have to be a brain-dead walker to not see how beautiful Ruby is in every form of the word.

And, god, he hates what it does to him.

“You’re welcome.”

That brightens her smile.

She shifts on the stool, bringing her curls over one shoulder and twisting. “I’m thinkin’ a french braid, maybe? Or perhaps two of ‘em, like pigtail braids or somethin’?”

Aasim searches the bag for a fine pick comb and begins sectioning off chunks of hair.

“I think double french braids suit you.”

“You’d know best,” she says, fixing her posture to let him work better.

As he works on threading the chunks of hair through each other, he says, “I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Not many of us to do it to,” Ruby sighs, then snickers, “‘Less ya can convince Mitch ta sit still in a few months.”

Aasim scoffs. “That’ll just result in another greenhouse incident.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“Just saying.”

They chuckle lightly together as Aasim finishes the first braid, tying it off with an elastic band he found in the bottom of the bag.

Ruby admires the braid, running her thumb over the remaining curls flowing past the tie. “How’d ya get so good at this, anyway?”

“I used to do my sister’s hair for school. Mom always had work early, so we had to get ready ourselves.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Ruby smiles. “What was her name again?”

“Aamirah.”

“Pretty name.”

“For a pretty girl. She was a handful, but can’t say I don’t miss her. I’m just-” Aasim’s words hitch as his heart becomes sorely heavy. “-I’m glad she wasn’t around to see the world go to shit like this.”

She peeks back at him with a sympathetic smile and grabs his hand, giving it a comforting squeeze, which he returns. They share the intimate moment in silence, merely staring at each other. Something changes, some minor in her eyes, her brow as she looks at her.

He forces himself to let go of her, otherwise, he might do something stupid.

“Well, it’s done,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Two braids fall over Ruby’s shoulders now. She hops off the stool, shooting him a timid, self-conscious look before doing a quick spin and saying, “Well?”

So damn beautiful.

---

Within the warmth of the forest, the rabbits are eager to forage and stretch their legs.

One, thick with pretty taupe fur, dares dart from the security of it’s bush. It moves slowly, lolloping, grazing as it raises its nose in the air, twitching with every sniff. At the slightest noise, it’s up on their hind legs, black eyes darting around.

An arrow pierces its neck before it could possibly react, killing it instantly.

As they approach the small creature, James can’t help but admire the effective and skillful shot.

Mitch, when focused, is skillful enough that James believes he could pull off that old Robin Hood trick if he really tried.

Yanking the arrow out and stuffing the body in his bag to join the other two they caught previously, Mitch breathes out heavily through his nose. He glances over at James before standing up and strapping the bag back over his shoulder.

James isn’t unaware of the tension, nor is he unaware of the constant looks Mitch keeps giving him, though, he can’t figure what they mean. They’re not hostile, nothing like last night, but they’re not exactly friendly, either. They’re almost thoughtful, maybe. He’s still not sure.

Either way, they make him nervous.

Gurgled groaning echoes in the distance, catching their attention.

A walker moves through the woods, alone and at a slow pace. James’ hand instinctively goes to his mask in his backpocket.

Mitch turns to him with a raised brow and fingers hovering over the knife on his belt, at which James shakes his head.

“Too far.”

While Mitch wasn’t ever crazy about keeping all the walkers alive, even going as far as to actively argue against it multiple times in the beginning, he came around to the idea when James explained it to him as a weapon.

And after said weapon worked wonders towards infiltrating the delta and keeping the forest fairly walker-free, Mitch grumbled his agreement and promised he wouldn’t kill any walkers unless he absolutely had to.

They continue their walk in silence, nothing but the crunching under their boots and the wind sounding through the forest.

And as they’re walking, James realizes that he’s looking over at Mitch just as much as he is him.

Endless stolen glances.

“Willy asked about you this morning,” Mitch finally says, quietly. “Said you left last night.”

His voice is forcibly casual, James notes.

“You didn’t even tell anybody?”

When he doesn’t answer, Mitch stops walking. James comes to a slow as well, just a bit ahead, keeping his back to him.

“No, I didn’t.”

Mitch doesn’t move, waiting for an elaboration. When he doesn’t get any, he tucks his bow behind him, securing it to his bag, and crosses his arms.

“Why do you do that?”

Intrigued by the question, James cranks his neck to peer back at him with quizzical, furrowed brows, asking, “What?”

“Sleep out here,” Mitch looks around with a glower. “You’ve got a room at the school now. It’s stupid to sleep out here if you don’t have to.”

Once again, Mitch doesn’t understand, and James is quickly growing tired of trying to explain it to him.

“Especially for weeks at a time,” Mitch continues. “We don’t know if you’re dead or if someone grabbed you or whatever. Then, you don’t even tell anyone when you leave. It worries Willy sick. AJ, too. And the others.”

What about you?  James wants to ask.

“It’s just-” Mitch shakes his head, sighing, “-stupid.”

“I don’t expect  you  to understand.”

His words come out much harsher than intended, but they clearly have an effect on Mitch, considering that he’s glaring now.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means-” James’ lips press together into a tight line as he breaks eye contact, instead focusing on one of the set traps attached to the trees. “-you choose to not understand something you don’t like. You’re not one for reason.”

Mitch’s glare is gone, replaced with bafflement as such bluntness. He opens his mouth, no doubt ready to spit some sort of retaliation, then promptly shuts it.

James turns from him again, beginning to walk away, which must’ve set some sort of panic within Mitch, because he blurts out, “So, explain it to me.”

With those words, a sarcastic irritation stings in his chest. James stops again, keeping his gaze forward as Mitch approaches from behind.

“Explain it to you?” he repeats. “Yes, because that worked so well last time.”

James turns to fully face him with a glare only to be met with puzzlement, then guilt. Mitch lowers his head, shoulders hunched, and expression twisted with a silent wince. His knuckles turn white as he grips his upper arms.

“Fuck-” Mitch breathes out. “I-”

While still hurt and a bit agitated, James can’t help but soften, just a bit, at the view of him now.

Mitch turns away from him, giving James the view of his profile now.

“I’m a prick,” Mitch mumbles. “A huge fucking prick. Last night, I- I didn’t mean to kick you out like that. I just-” He cuts himself off, biting his lip. Then, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, he asks, “You- why’d you tell me about Charlie, anyway?”

The question catches him off guard, even though a part of him expected it.

“What you were saying about Violet was unfair and ignorant. I thought maybe if I-” James sighs, forcing out, “- opened up  to you, you’d see that, but clearly it didn’t work.”

Mitch’s fully facing him again, refusing to break their eye contact this time as he says, “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry, I- you just-”

He stumbles over his words all while James stands there, bewildered that he actually got what sounded like a sincere apology. While Mitch wasn’t above it, James noticed that it took a lot to get him to admit he’s in the wrong, much less say he’s truly sorry.

Mitch moves past him now, walking ahead and grumbling something to himself as he rubs at his neck. James only caught the words, “ C’mon, Mitch, you goddamn- ”

He hurries until they’re walking side by side again, this time a bit closer now that the tension, for the most part, has been broken.

Mitch’s bothered, it’s clear in his twisted frown until finally, with a frustrated sigh, he admits, “I lied.”

“What?”

“I, uh- when we were talking about Vi and you were asking me all those questions…” He trails off.

James watches him carefully but doesn’t push. He can see Mitch’s struggling with his words, an internal debate on whether or not he should continue. It’s similar to his behavior last night when deciding on if he should bring up Violet and Minerva or not.

Something rustles in the bushes, then there’s a snap, causing them both to freeze. One of the traps up ahead, the one in the direct sunlight, is triggered, and from the looks of it, a rabbit’s hanging by its foot.

“Shit-” Mitch curses, picking up his speed towards the creature.

It’s full grown, a pretty, glossy dark brown coat with white spots, struggling against the trap. He takes care of it quickly, squinting at the light seeping in through the branches but not hesitating to put it down. James notices that he seems relieved with the distraction, and he wonders if he’ll take the opportunity to drop the entire topic.

That thought is squashed when Mitch continues to steal anxious glances at him as he places the rabbit in his bag with the others.

“James?”

“Yes?”

“There was someone,” Mitch says slowly. “Once. Kind of.”

“Someone-” His eyes widen. “You mean…?”

“It wasn’t really anything-  we  weren’t anything. Fuck, we weren’t even really friends- well, okay, we  were , I guess, but-” Mitch abruptly stands, tossing the bag back over his shoulder and glaring down at his feet. “But we were never more than that- but, I-  I did -”

The jumble of desperate words is alarming, leaving James to put his hands up and say in as calm and comforting of a voice as he can muster, “You don’t have to tell me.”

Mitch rubs at his face now, his eyes and his neck with exasperation at himself, his incompetence to put together proper sentences. Then, with a huff, he forces his arms to his sides as he drops the bag on the ground and takes a direct, intentional step towards James. He remains where he is, despite their much closer proximity now.

“Yeah, I know. I don’t  have  to do anything.”

With that intense stare boring into him, James quietly curses himself.

He knows it’s not the time to think it.

As inappropriate as it is in this moment, he can’t help but notice the shift in the shade of Mitch’s eyes. Before, he’d always thought they were a desaturated gray with barely a hint of color, nothing worthy of note. This close and in the light, however, they’re far from so. They’re green, a color that compliments his complexion almost too well.

His fingers bite into his palm as his pulse quickens, warmth spreads up his neck and to his cheeks.

Not the time, James. Stop it!

Mitch, those green eyes becoming unbelievably vulnerable, a jarring thing to even consider, speaks.

“His name was Justin.”

For a brief second, James thinks he might’ve misheard him as his mouth parts in a silent gasp.

“He was an asshole,” Mitch says, “but… not all the time. He’d always talk all big about how tough he was or how he could kick any walker’s ass and no one could hurt him and all that bullshit. But, he was scared, just like the rest of us.”

As he speaks, he never breaks the connection of their stares.

“He used to piss me off a lot. Like, really piss me off. One time, I was so mad that I wrote ‘Justin fucked a walker!’ on the wall right where I knew everyone would see it and I knew he’d know it was me. Gave me a pretty good shiner for that one.”

Mitch scoffs, biting hard on his lip.

“I don’t even remember what he did.”

He glances away now, his determinate features falling into one of dejected longing, gaze moving far away in remembrance.

“It wasn’t always like that,” he murmurs. “We liked a lot of the same things and he’d help me watch out for Willy when I needed him to. We graffitied the shit out of the school together. I liked having him around, talking to him and going on watch together and being roommates. But… there were a few times where I think it just-” Mitch shakes his head, “-it just caught up to him, y’know? The world’s over and we’ve been left to rot by the fuckers who promised they’d make us better. It was just us and…”

Mitch takes a deep breath and turns away, leaving James to gaze upon his back.

“He made me feel  gross .”

Puzzled by the use of Mitch’s favorite word being used in this context, James asks, “Gross?”

“Not gross like ‘ew, disgusting,’ but like,” Mitch bites his lip, trying to find the right words, “like gross as in ‘I’m thirteen and you do something to me that I don’t like and don’t understand and no one can explain it to me and everything is  fucked .’”

James tries to process it all, backpedaling and repeating what he’s hearing in his mind, striving to wrap his head around it.

And when he does, when he fully comprehends just what Mitch is confessing to him out here in the openness of the forest, his insides tie around in knots and his chest squeezes his uncontrollable heart.

“I didn’t really figure it out until the day he didn’t come back from a hunting trip.”

James breathes out, voice barely above a whisper, “Mitch…”

“We’d lost lots of others. I never cried over them, never let myself because it’s pointless. Crying doesn’t bring anybody back, but Justin…” Mitch whips around, startling James. “I was so fucking mad at him. He thought he could take on a bunch of walkers himself and-” his voice cracks “-and he fucking couldn’t. Of course, he couldn’t! He was fucking scrawny.”  

His eyes fall shut, and James felt his hands twitch, wanting nothing more than to reach out to him.

“I didn’t let myself cry over him, and to this day, I still haven’t because I told myself to get over it, and I did, okay? But, he didn’t come back and even though I got over it,  I still fucking hate him for it. And- and I hate him for making me-” he meets James’ eye again, “-for making me see a part of myself that I tried to hide from.”

James doesn’t know what to say, he can’t think properly.

“Mitch, I… I didn’t know.”

“No one does,” he shrugs. “I really didn’t mean to be a dipshit and say that shit to you, I- I just… None of the other guys ever seemed to deal with this shit so I didn’t think I’d ever meet anyone else who- uh-” he clears his throat awkwardly, “- you know . But, then you told me about Charlie and it freaked me out.”

“That’s understandable,” James tries. “I… I get it.”

“Yeah? Because, really, I can imagine what kind of a fucktard you thought I was for kicking you out because of that.”

“Yes,” James admits. “Let’s just say I’m not unfamiliar with that sort of treatment regarding my, uh, preferences.”

“Fuck. Then I went and- shit!” Mitch crosses his arms again and kicks at the uneven dirt.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

There’s more growling in the distance, another walker aimlessly roaming the forest, but Mitch’s focus is solely on James and the conversation, so intense it quickens his pulse.

“Really, no one knows?” James asks. “Not even Willy?”

“No. It’s not like anyone would care if they found out. Willy sure wouldn’t. Fuck, they probably wouldn’t think anything about it. They didn’t when Vi and Minnie got together. That shit doesn’t matter anymore. But...”

“You don’t have to be ashamed-”

“I’m not,” Mitch takes another step towards him.“I-I know I was raised to be disgusted with this type of stuff, and that I am an asshole a lot of the time, and I say lots of stupid shit I don’t mean, but no, I don’t have any real reason to be ashamed. I know who I am, I know what I like and I don’t give a shit what other people think about me.”

His face falls.

“Well, what most people think of me, I guess.”

Then, as if realizing just how close they are, he takes a step back and turns on his heel, moving back towards the triggered trap.

“Some kids got picked up, you know,” Mitch continues, his voice turning bitter. “Their parents came and grabbed them, hauled them off in the first few days when all this seemed like a short-lived disaster. When it turns out it wasn’t, our teachers weren’t far behind them.”

That…

James thinks back to everyone at the school, imagining them as small children huddled together in the nightmare that was the end of the world, the world of walkers.

How could anyone be so cruel as to leave behind terrified, defenseless children? What kind of monster doesn’t even try and help them survive?

Mitch grabs the bag of rabbits off the ground and shrugging it back on his shoulder, continuing, “One day, a while after we lost Justin, it just hit me. The world’s over and my dad, my brothers, my grandparents, none of them are coming for me. They’re either dead or worse. And, as fucked up as it is, I was relieved. Relieved that they’d never get that chance to tell me who I am, or hate what I like or  who  I like. They gave up that right the moment they dropped my ass off here.”

There’s something subdued in his expression now as he looks at James again and says, “And after realizing that, after denying it for so long, I finally felt I could admit it to myself.”

Then, he smiles.

Mitch genuinely smiles at him.

And it makes his knees weak.

“Thank you,” James whispers.

Mitch raises a questioning brow, blinking over at him.

“For trusting me,” he elaborates lightly. “I know it’s difficult to deal with on your own and even more so to share with someone.”

“I dunno,” Mitch smirks, scoffing and scratching at his cheek. “There might be something to this ‘sharing your feelings’ crap because I feel pretty fucking good getting that off my chest.”

James chuckles. “This is the most I’ve ever heard you talk.”

“That’s the most I’ve ever talked in my life.”

They exchange another smile, and James admits that this is the first time he’s seen this sort of grin from him.

He’s witnessed his proud smile, the one he always gives Willy.

His sarcastic sneer he has whenever teasing or arguing with Ruby.

His smirk at Clementine whenever they agree on something.

His smug grin whenever he successfully builds or fixes something.

Then there’s this smile, one that’s truly relieved, comfortable.

Happy.

James might be getting ahead of himself, but he can’t help but ask, “We’re friends, then?”

“Shit, we better be after I, uh-” Mitch glances away sheepishly, “- opened up  to you.”

That widens the smile tugging at James’ own lips.

“And, since we are,” Mitch glances away, “I actually had a few questions… about it.”

“You can ask them on the way. We still have more hunting to do.”

“Shit, yeah. Omar’ll pop a gasket if we don’t catch enough.”

“We wouldn’t want that.”

---

Violet never thought she’d ever be one to do this, but here she is, standing in front of her open closet and studying the few articles of wearable clothing.

A long time passes as she remains indecisive, constantly debating on just growing a pair and grabbing something or slamming the door shut and crawling back into bed.

Either way, nothing happens until Tenn comes.

“Hey, Vi,” he greets, closing and locking the door behind him. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

All Violet can do is shrug, sighing an honest, “I don’t know.”

Tenn peeks into her closet before turning back to her. That’s when she notices he’s holding something.

A white flower, one of the ones that grow everywhere this time of year around the school.

“I was wondering…-” he starts, “-we still have a few hours before the sun starts to set. That’s when Ruby wants us all there, except Clementine. So… I was wondering if you changed your mind? About going?”

Her gaze remains locked on the contents of her closet.

She doesn’t answer.

And it kills her knowing that, even without looking him, disappointment is spreading across his soft features. He moves past her and sets the flower on her dresser, right on her notebook.

“If you do come,” he says, “everyone’s wearing one of these flowers. It doesn’t matter where, it’s just so we all match.”

Before he leaves, he gives her one final look. “Let me know if you change your mind… so you don’t have to go alone.”

When the door clicks shut, Violet sinks down to her knees, slamming her fist against her thigh.

“For fuck's sake, Vi,” she hisses. “What’s wrong with you?”

She isn’t doing this again.

She’s not moving back into the shadows.

As much as she wants to turn and dive back into her bed, wrap the blankets around herself and pretend nothing around her exists, she won’t do it.

She’s not staring at the door anymore with a hand so desperate to knock.

Not this time.

She knows she has to do this, has to tell all of her fears, her insecurities to fuck off. She has to try.

For Louis.

"Everyone'll be there, and it wouldn't be perfect without you, Vi. You know that, right?"

“You’re fucking better than this.”

If Louis wants her there, then damn it, she’s going to be there.

With a huff, she forces herself back up and yanks the first shirt she sees off its hanger, stretching it out before her. It’s a charcoal color with a purple heart adorning the chest area.

Fuck it, this’ll do.

---

“Ruby’s going to see Clem, and the others are in the music room, so steer clear.”

Louis doesn’t know how he did it, but he actually convinced Aasim to let him wander off.

Of course, he promised that he wouldn’t go near the music room or go see Clementine, and he practically got on his hands and knees and begged to leave the comfort of Aasim’s room.

Aasim eventually gave in once Louis was dressed in the attire picked out for him; a dark green button down shirt tucked into his jeans and his signature jacket.

The yard is empty with the exception of Willy on watch. Before the young boy spots him, he makes a quick turn to the right and heads down the sidewalk towards the graveyard. 

All the graves have fresh flowers on them, white ones with long stems. Louis places himself on the ground, not bothering to care if dirt clung to his jeans or jacket.

“Hey, Marlon.”

The wooden cross is faded from constant sun exposure, but the carved letters are still prominent.

“It’s been a while. I know I promised I would visit more, and I did for a long time there, but a lot’s been going on.”

Louis rests his hands in his lap, glancing up at some birds flying overhead.

“Don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m getting married today. To Clementine. Who else, right? You wouldn’t believe it, but she proposed to me. Me. I know, you’re baffled with disbelief, but it’s true. I’d show you my ring, but Ruby confiscated it.”

He points to the naked finger on his hand.

“Anyway, it’s been a long time. I just wanted to see you before it happens, talk to you about some stuff.  If you were here, I can only imagine what you’d say. I think you’d be happy, maybe not thrilled about Clementine, since you did warn me against her… though I doubt you had my best interests in mind at the time.”

“Dude, don’t get your hopes up. I doubt she feels that way about you.”

“...Yeah...”

He lowers his head, eyes squeezing shut.

“...you’re right.”

He can always remember that day so clearly. The last moments he saw his best friend before the thunderstorm hit, before he killed Brody and almost shot Clementine.

Before he died.

“Thanks, man. Goodnight.”

“Fuck,” Louis breathes out. After a brief pause, he continues, “The nightmares are still bad. Shit, they’re getting worse, I think. I haven’t told Clem about most of them, and I’m starting to think that’s not the right thing to do. I read once in one of those magazines that honestly is the key to an unbreakable relationship. Which, I guess it is in anything, like an unbreakable friendship.”

A chill overcomes him.

“That’s what really fucked us over, huh?”

Louis looks back up at the sky, admiring the fluffy clouds as he speaks, “I won’t make the same mistake. I know I have to tell Clem how bad it’s gotten, and I will sometime after the wedding. I can’t be afraid of it anymore, you know? I’m sick of waking up like that, of hiding it from her and the others. I’m sure you’d tell me to man up, get over myself and do better. But… it’s not easy.”

Feeling the wetness return to his sore eyes, Louis quickly rubs at them.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about her and our wedding, about my parents. I don’t think they’d like her very much. In fact, I’m pretty sure Dad would forbid me from accepting her proposal, and maybe-” he gives a dry laugh, “-here’s a funny thought, Marlon. Maybe he would be so pissed off that he’d break me and Clementine up.”

He hears distant voices from behind him but pays them no attention.

“How do you think he’d do it? A fake affair, like I did? Or would that be too predictable?”

A warm breeze carries the scent of a floral spring with a hint of dirt, something that’d be more enjoyable had he not been sitting where he is.

“It’d make sense, wouldn’t it?” he whispers. “An eye for an eye, one marriage for another-” he inhales a shuddering breath, “-that’d balance everything out, wouldn’t it? Why should I get to live in this world happily married after I fucked up my own parent’s marriage?”

He sniffles, shaking his head and stares at the mound of dirt before him.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he murmurs. “But I’m going to do what I always do; enjoy this moment. It’s the only sure thing. Maybe the karma monster will rear it’s ugly head one day and hurt me real bad again, but until then, I’m going to smile, go back into that school, marry the woman of my dreams, and have the best night of my life.”

The voices grow louder, and recognizes them as Mitch, James, and Omar, no doubt getting ready to start cooking.

“I love Clementine, Marlon,” he smiles. “And I kept my promise. I’ve stepped up. Really, I have. You know I’ll never stop joking around, but I do take hunting and scavenging more seriously now. And we haven’t lost anyone since you, Brody and the twins. For the most part, everything’s been really good. Things are still tense with Violet- hell, I don’t even know if she’s going to show up today, but that doesn’t change anything. We… we’re all family now, Marlon, more so than we were before. I wish you could be here to see it, all of you.”

Footsteps approach from a distance, so Louis goes quiet.

“Hey,” Aasim calls softly.

“Hey.”

He stands beside him, peering down at the graves.

“It’s almost time. Mitch and James are back, Omar’s preparing the rabbits, and the music room’s officially finished. The boys are in there now.”

“Do I get to go in?”

“Yep, Ruby said you could play the piano while we wait for it to get darker. To calm your nerves, if you need to.”

“That sounds amazing,” Louis grins, looking back to Marlon’s grave. “Would you believe Ruby kicked me out of there? I haven’t touched the piano in a whole week.”

“And you survived,” Aasim rolls his eyes.

“Barely.”

“Well, when you’re done here, go ahead and go in. There’s no rush, though.”

“Thanks, I’m just going to say goodbye.”

Aasim gives his shoulder a comforting squeeze before turning and walking off back towards Omar. When he’s out of earshot, Louis decides it’s time to say his goodbyes.

“Well, guess that’s my cue. I’ll be back to talk to you again, let you know how things are going, what it’s like being married. I don’t imagine it’ll be all that different, right? I will get to call Clementine my wife. Looking forward to that.”

He shifts himself onto his knees and places his palm against the dirt, giving one final moment of peace for his lost friend.

“I miss you.”

A heaviness is lifted from him, a serenity replacing it. He let his doubts have their moment, let them shake his core and attempt to take over, but he leaves them there with Marlon’s grave.

Over the years of surviving in this world, Louis became a master of tucking those thoughts away, leaving them to be explored later, and focusing on the good things.

Like how in a couple of hours, he gets to see Clementine.

He gets to wear his ring, he gets to hold her face in his hands and kiss her, and dance with her. He gets to be with his family.

At least, most of his family.

“Goodbye, Marlon.”

As Louis goes back into the school, he keeps his head held high and adorns a tranquil smile on his lips.

[tabletoptrinketsbyjj]

Trinkets, Worthless, 8: These trinket are garbage plain and simple. They would be termed vendor trash or junk loot in video games. They aren’t touched by stray magic or mystery as with regular trinkets, aren’t made from valuable materials and aren’t particularly useful even if they aren’t damaged.

A box of odd beads that bear no resemblance to eyes, yet always seem to watch the nearest creature.

A wanted poster that bears the face of a terrified elf. The reward is not listed.

A bright orange, ceramic throwing star that will always miss its target.

A small pair of scissors that only cut eyebrow hair.

A glass bottle filled with multiple layers of differently-colored sand.

A dried leaf that is entirely unaffected by any sort of natural wind or breeze.

A shirt button that changes shape every day.

A map with vague directions to an abandoned gnome's house.

A small wooden box that contains a single, worn thimble.

A 1’ x 2’ sheet of white canvas upon which the words “SUFFERING IS NOT ART!” are written and underlined in blood.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.

A box of odd beads that bear no resemblance to eyes, yet always seem to watch the nearest creature.

A wanted poster that bears the face of a terrified elf. The reward is not listed.

A bright orange, ceramic throwing star that will always miss its target.

A small pair of scissors that only cut eyebrow hair.

A glass bottle filled with multiple layers of differently-colored sand.

A dried leaf that is entirely unaffected by any sort of natural wind or breeze.

A shirt button that changes shape every day.

A map with vague directions to an abandoned gnome's house.

A small wooden box that contains a single, worn thimble.

A 1’ x 2’ sheet of white canvas upon which the words “SUFFERING IS NOT ART!” are written and underlined in blood.

A mouthpiece for an unknown musical instrument.

A single newt's eye in a glass jar.

A small jar of nails that can only be driven by a glass hammerhead.

A small jar of glass nails that can only be driven by a cold iron hammerhead.

A sword scabbard that's filled to the brim with tiny wooden swords.

A fine, leather pouch that contains exactly 248 smooth stone pebbles.

A thin sheet of cooking paper that's been folded into a swan.

A decaying wooden knife inscribed by a child that reads "The Ultimate Blade of Destruction".

An old doll wooden doll in rotting knit clothing. The doll's eyes seem to follow the creature closest to it and people who sleep near it regularly suffer from nightmares

A sickly green humanoid bone.

An odd metal cog that spins on its own every so often.

A small wooden carving that depicts a naked goblin scratching his hindquarters.

A small dull dagger that refuses to sharpen.

A rusted coin that slowly absorbs oil it comes into contact with.

A long letter of complaint addressed to a school teacher criticizing his methods and general personality.

A glass jar containing a dozen folded paper frogs.

A small jar of hard candies that taste of sour apples and never seems to go bad.

A small doll with a cloak and toy dagger attached. On the back of the doll, the letters "TDG" are written.

A drinking horn with an odd rune carved on it.

A tiny pink bottle that smells of roses when it is empty.

A wooden carving of an orc doing a handstand.

A small twig that doubles as the perfect toothpick, no matter who uses it.

A gnome's hair brush.

A small painting of a horse's rear end.

A cork for an old wine bottle that won't fit in any other bottle.

A small pot of horse glue that says “NOT FOOD, SERIOUSLY” on the side.

A bamboo scroll tube containing a legal and notarized deed for a house whose address doesn't exist.

A dagger made of folded parchment, that could at best give someone a paper cut.

A wooden box containing twelve matching pieces of broccoli that have somehow remained fresh.

A bar of soap that smells like rotten meat.

A key that breaks the first time it’s used in a lock. To add insult to injury, it doesn't open the lock.

A tin of makeup that's just the most absurd shade of orange.

A magically preserved apple that tastes like an orange.

A letter from an unknown sender that simply reads, “I told you so!”. The return address is plainly labeled “Feywild”.

An undersized wooden backscratcher, for use by gnomes.

A tattered blacksmith cap full of red dwarf hair.

A small roll of leather that's been cured with giant urine.

The hollowed-out shell of a large hermit crab.

A crudely made treasure map that leads to a beggar's dandelion garden.

A small blue stone that feels like silk to the touch.

A pocket multitool with only one tool remaining in it. The remaining tool is a magnifying glass that has the words "Find the rest of me." inscribed on it.

A wooden scroll case filled with fine ash. The top of the lid sports a tiny iron spike that may have triggered some sort of combustable trap.

A fist sized bar of harsh lye soap

A homemade pan flute consisting of a dozen reeds of gradually increasing length held together by vines and dried grasses. Despite its crude origins it plays quite nicely

A dog muzzle made out of leather and steel with adjustable straps that allow it to fit most medium and large canines.

A brown leather hawk's hood that's used to keep the birds docile during periods when they are not hunting or resting.

A ceremonial headdress of similar make to one of the local barbarian tribes, with the exception that it is made entirely out of steel wiring and tin spoons. You’re not sure if this is some sort of artistic interpretation, strange inside joke or weird form of insult.

A preserved, hollowed out corpse of a Flumphling stuffed with sage.

A metal flask containing a thick concoction that smells dark and musty, like a forest after heavy rains.

An unremarkable spoon fashioned from horn.

A thick, heavily padded leather and burlap sleeve made to fit over the bearer's arm and serves as a target for animals being trained to attack.

A sealed one gallon cask of Bufo, a favorite drink of goblins, boggards, and other primitive humanoids. It is made by soaking a poisonous toad or frog (Or its eggs) in weak beer or by “milking” these animals for their poison and mixing it with the beer (Allows the animal to be used repeatedly). Some tribes use wide-mouthed jugs and leave the dead animal inside as a crunchy treat for eating once the drink is gone.

A sealed one gallon cask of luglurch ale. This pale frothy beer is found by most races to be too salty to swallow, with the exception of halfings who find it an acquired taste

A clockwork blue bird that emits a horrendous screeching sound when it is wound up.

A musty smelling, threadbare, grey towel that never completely dries. If someone attempts to dry themselves with it, they will develop a mildewy smell exactly like the towel until the creature takes bathes and dries off with a proper towel. 

A purple ring box that croaks like a frog when opened. It is lined with lime green satin on the inside and smells of a swamp.

An old black cord with three matching light blue buttons, strung on it, all about the size of a gold piece.

A large piece of parchment with a tea stain in the shape of a kitten.

A rolled up parchment with a sketching of the ugliest Dwarven baby the bearer has ever laid eyes on. 

A beat up, wooden compass that always points towards the bearer, never north.

A plain, wooden footstool about six inches high, with a round top about 18 inches across.

A crude, 500 piece puzzle that appears to be a treasure map, but 100 of pieces in the middle that show the specific coordinates and details of the treasure are missing

A thick braided cord made of dark leather, hanging from which is a giant's toenail reeking of cheese.

A voodoo doll of a young man that's missing it's head.

A small jar of chocolate cookies that cannot be opened or broken.

A set of crooked and yellowed dentures with teeth missing.

A dictionary with over half of the words spelled wrong and out of alphabetical order.

A brass chamber pot that was not thoroughly cleaned since its last use.

A wooden scroll tube containing the blueprints of a church that has long since collapsed.

A faux-distressed piece of parchment that is a crude map of the local area, with red circles and arcane gibberish scrawled on it. Intentionally made to look old and worn, it’s actually a simple piece of parchment that’s been singed, crumpled, and rolled in the dirt. It's obviously meant as bait to lure creatures into an ambush it appears that whatever dimwitted humanoid authored this had a very poor knowledge of spelling and grammar. Any literate creature who so much as glances at it can identify the map as a fake.

A plain thimble, with absolutely nothing particularly interesting about it.

A crude earring made from a tiny tooth, wrapped in thin twine.

A formal letter that is badly seared and charred. It’s impossible to decipher because of the damage.

A small blue candle that smells of fruit. It’s fragrance is weak and barely noticeable.

An assortment of pieces from cracked eggshells. Most are a pale creamy color, like the egg of a chicken. Some larger pieces are a deep purple.

A porcelain doll about the length of a human’s index finger. The face is chipped away.

A black flask with a gaping hole in its side. It’s covered in punctures that look like bite marks.

A silky cloth fraying quite badly around its edges. It’s almost reflective in its lustrous sheen.

A smooth, round stone about the size of a human fist. It feels oddly heavy.

A set of three clay dice, painted with black pips.

A chunk of rusted metal covered in dents.

A somewhat oval-shaped… thing. You think it might be really, really, really stale bread.

A pair of glasses whose frames look as good as new, but the lenses are stained, cloudy, and cracked.

A trio of matching bracelets, made from knotted thread. You’re almost certain there’s supposed to be four of them.

A hollow reed that creates a low, soft whistle when blown.

A hand sized figurine of a cat, perpetually coated in a layer of dust.

A waterskin filled with a slick, greasy oil. Patterns of snakes cover its sides.

A single tile that appears like it was from some type of mosaic mural. It’s a dull green in color.

A pouch of bitter tea leaves. Their aftertaste is unsatisfying and almost sour.

A jagged arrowhead, cracked into a shape reminiscent of a fox’s head.