#now you too can build your impossibly tall storming tower

[cosmic-conundrums]

Someone is singing on the Castleway. Now, this would typically be considered a fairly ordinary occurrence, if not for the fact that the singing is rarely being done by the corpses.

Passing through all four central kingdoms as it does, the Castleway is used for a multitude of purposes, not least among them the punishment of traitors and criminals. The lesser ones, generally. Those of import are most often dealt with personally by those they have wronged, and often with a certain flair and originality befitting their crimes. But for most, the Castleway is where they face their retribution, though it is sometimes considered more than they deserve.

The road itself is a patchwork of hard-packed dirt, cobbled stone, and tough wooden slats, depending on where you stand. As borders and rulers have changed, so too has the Castleway, going through countless damages and repairs until it is unrecognizable from the wide earthy trail it was in the early days. It is still wide, of course, wide enough to fit three full-size wagons side by side. And it is busy. The people flow like fish through a river, on carts and horses, in groups and as one; shouting, talking, laughing. Trading amongst themselves, breaking off old relationships and forging new ones, gathering fame and fortune and everything in between, all in the course of one journey. One can learn more about the world from following the Castleway than from any storyteller or newscarrier in the realm, it is said.

None of this is entirely relevant to this particular tale, however, or at least not quite so relevant as the stakes.

The stakes, referred to as ‘the Judge’s fingers’ by the general populace, line the Castleway on the left side. Heavy wooden stakes, as big around as trees, taller than even the most towering of persons, driven into the ground, each through a small wooden platform. They are spaced out irregularly along the path, so it is nigh impossible to guess how close one’s proximity will be to the next (nigh impossible only when considering the factor of luck. Remove that and it is simply impossible to guess).

These Judge’s fingers are where the aforementioned traitors and criminals face their retribution. To be sentenced to the Castleway is to be sentenced to either a slow, excruciating demise or a merciful release, on the whims of the Judge Eternal and Final. It is to be cruelly and brutally abandoned, to have the strings cut on your control over your fate. It is to be tied to a stake by the side of the road, and left there; handed over to the gods and the elements. Most die after only a couple of days. Brought down by starvation, storms, fires, the savagery of beasts or humanity. There are endless forms of death waiting on the Castleway. It is simply a matter of which one gets to you first.

There are not always occupants of the fingers, but it is often safe to assume that there will be one or two watching you as you pass by, eyes bright with anger or dark with despair. Some will shout, some will beg, some will cry. Some will say nothing. Most are already too dead to make a sound. This one, however, is singing.

It’s an unfamiliar song, the tune high and haunting, the voice sweet and rough, like crystallized honey. And it is ruining Ridley’s day.

It is incredibly bothersome to have your entire life’s purpose usurped by a corpse that refuses to die or shut its mouth. Alright, Ridley supposes, that’s a bit dramatic. But drama, as well, is a piece of what he was born to do, and at this particular moment he is having a disastrous time attempting to do it. The song on the breeze has a nasty habit of throwing him off his own melody, and every attempt to drown it out is met with new fervor from the singer. It’s frustrating as all hell, and Ridley has yet to see the face of his foe, which only stokes his ire further. He keeps his eyes on the fingers, scanning the expressions of those both alive and dead, watching their lips to see if they move. He wants to look upon the one who is ruining his day… and perhaps punch them. He hasn’t quite decided yet.

He’s nearly given up on trying to locate the singer and decided to push on and ignore the irksome voice, when he sees them. He can’t quite see the figure’s mouth moving from his vantage point a ways down the road from them, but he knows it’s them upon first sight. It can be no one else.

The figure stands tall and proud, despite being tied to a stake and the fact that they appear to be no more than five and a half feet of height. Unlike the others, they hold their head high, not a hint of defeat shown. As he gets closer, it becomes clear to Ridley that the figure is smiling as they sing, a soft, smirking grin, as if they know something everyone else does not.

Up close, Ridley can make out the words on the sign nailed into the post above the singer’s head. The letters are a slash of sanguine paint on dark wood, but they are easy enough to interpret: This man is sentenced to the Judge for heresy and refusal to submit to arrest.

The heretic himself is slight of build, with the type of lean muscle that comes from working with a weapon. His features are sharp yet fine, as though delicately cut from a rough stone; pointed chin, high cheekbones, distinctly sloped nose. There is a pale smattering of freckles across said nose and cheekbones, standing out prominently in the brilliant sunlight. His eyes glitter silver with humor and defiance, the expression turning their swampy grey color to radiance. His lashes are unusually long and dark, giving those eyes a captivation that is difficult to look away from. His hair, an auburn reminiscent of leaves in the falling season, falls just to his shoulder in the slightest of waves. He is dressed in the simple white shirt and leather breeches granted to prisoners, but he manages to make them look like the garb of a prince.

He continues to sing as Ridley watches, despite how he must have noticed the other standing there. He doesn't give any indication, however. Ridley folds his arms and glares, a challenge waiting to be met. The singer's eyes flick to him briefly, and he lifts an eyebrow in… invitation, it almost seems like. Well, Ridley’s not about to let that opportunity go.

With a flourish, the bard twirls around and deposits himself on the wooden platform at the base of the stake. He makes himself comfortable, crossing one leg over the other with pointed elegance. He flicks his eyes up to the heretic and attempts a scowl, and is met with absolutely nothing in return. So it’s going to be like that, is it? I see. Well, two can play at that game.

Two, as it turns out, cannot play at that game. The heretic continues to sing, and the song continues to distract Ridley in all his attempts to drown it out. To be honest, the bard isn’t exactly sure what he had intended to do here. He has a habit of making decisions like this, taking action without even considering what action to take.

The song never seems to end, the verses carrying on and on until Ridley nearly becomes convinced that it’s the only song he will ever hear again. No matter how intently he listens, he cannot for the life of him figure out the language. The words flow like a river, the vowels rolling like waves and the consonants crashing on the shore. It fits beautifully with the singer’s voice, Ridley has to admit, the slightly rough tone adding an unexpectedly welcome contrast to the smooth melody. The tune is just begging for a harmony.

Damn my nature, Ridley thinks as he begins to hum, testing the notes until he finds the ones that fit, turning the heretic’s song into a duet. He can’t follow along with the words, but the rest of it is easy enough to pick up. He sings loudly, lifting his voice up to carry along the Castleway. He’s always had a powerful voice, it’s one of the qualities that determined his prowess as a bard from a young age. There had been people listening to the heretic’s song from the start, but once Ridley joins in, more and more heads turn as they pass on the road, and some even stop to listen. Mostly families, dragged over to the side of the road by young children captivated by the music. Some merchants stop by, nodding gently along to the tune before moving along on their path. A group of soldiers for hire scowl at them as they pass, and Ridley scowls back. He’s never much liked soldiers. There’s another bard that stops as well, and performs an elegant dance for the heretic, bowing at the end before skipping away, humming the tune as she does so. And there’s an oddly pale figure, with strange colorless eyes and silvery hair despite its apparent youth, who stays longer than the rest, standing before the platform with its head cocked to one side, a mysterious glimmer in its eyes. The heretic ignores it, but Ridley stares right back at the figure, taking in its expensive clothing and well-groomed facade. It met his eyes with a cool, amused gaze, as unbreakable as stone. Now, Ridley may have a strong voice and a stronger will, but he folds under that gaze. He lowers his eyes as the figure smirks and walks away, strolling as though it has all the time in the world.

Not long after that, the song ends. The heretic’s voice trails off into the wind, and he closes his eyes, tilting his head back against the rough wood of the stake he is tied to. He appears… peaceful, content. It’s not an expression one would expect to see on the face of someone condemned to death, but then again it has already become clear that this someone is not much like the others.

“Thank you,” the singer says as Ridley is preparing to rise to his feet and leave, feeling silly and a bit embarrassed over what he has just done. Ridley startles. “For what?”

The heretic opens his eyes and smiles. “You made it beautiful.”

He’s talking about the song, Ridley realizes. “It was beautiful before,” he says in response. “Without me.”

“Not nearly as much,” the heretic points out. Ridley finds himself blushing faintly, proud of himself. “Well, you know, it comes with being the most famous bard and storyteller on this side of the four kingdoms.”

“Famous?” the heretic quirks an eyebrow. “Are you really?”

Ridley shrugs. “Probably. More famous than you, I’d bet.”

“Well, that would be because I am infamous, my small singing friend.”

Ridley has to bite down on his lip until he draws blood to keep himself from bursting out indignantly at being referred to as small. “I suppose that makes sense, you being a heretic and all.”

The heretic cocks his head, the light catching on a set of tiny ragged scars just around the edges of his mouth, mostly faded. “Is that what they call me? Heretic?”

“It’s not a very pretty name,” Ridley agrees. The heretic grins, the pale scars stretching. “I prefer Faraday,” he says.

“Now that is a pretty name,” Ridley bends over and plucks a pristine white daisy from the patch growing around his feet. “Faraday. Day. Daisy. Faradaisy. Can I call you Daisy?”

Without waiting for an answer, the bard plucks a few more of the flowers and begins weaving them into a crown. “So, Daisy, if you are not a heretic, what then are you?”

Faraday hmms in thought, tilting his head back against the wooden stake once again. “I am someone who believes,” he says, softly yet firmly.

“Is that not what we all are, at heart?” Ridley points out. He isn’t looking, but he can hear the heretic’s laughter. “I suppose you would call me a prophet, then,” Faraday confesses.

A prophet. Interesting. “I find that prophets and heretics are often the same, depending on who you ask.”

That laugh again, a shockingly harsh sound. “You speak true. Unusual for a storyteller, in my experience.”

“Many stories are true,” Ridley bites back, defensive.

“Many are not,” Faraday returns. Ridley huffs, defeated. He turns back to his daisy crown, but the silence quickly begins to bother him.

“You know, you’re in surprisingly good spirits for someone sentenced to death,” he says, forcing himself to remember the situation the other is in. Don’t get attached, Riddles. But if Faraday hears the bitterness in his tone, he doesn’t show it.

“Oh, I’m not going to die,” the prophet replies, confident as a king. Ridley whirls around to frown at him, doubtful. Faraday smiles brightly, tilting his head away from Ridley so the hair falls back from his throat, revealing another scar, this one thick and fairly recent, judging by the clear visibility of the stitches holding the flesh together.

“I have been sentenced to death too many times to count,” he explains softly, his rough honeyed voice falling uncharacteristically flat. “And not once has it killed me. Why should this be any different?”

“Gods,” Ridley chokes out, openly staring. He’s never seen a scar like that. He’s never seen a wound like that. He hadn’t thought anyone could survive something like that, let alone come out of it walking and talking and singing, for Executioner’s sake. “What did you do?”

“To make the world want my head on a platter?” Faraday sighs. “Well, that’s quite simple. I killed their gods.”

I killed their gods. I killed their gods. I killed their gods.

“Well,” Ridley says simply, sounding a few shades more hysterical than he had intended, “that would do it.”

Faraday nods, a slight acknowledging dip of the head, and turns his face to the horizon, his eyes sparkling in the light of the setting sun. “They are dead,” he says again, more to himself than to anyone else. “Whether they fell by my hand or another’s, I cannot say. But I know. I have stood upon their graves. I know.”

Ridley studies him, attempting to work through the puzzle that is Faraday the condemned. The prophet is sincere, that fact is as clear as day. Insane, but sincere. I am someone who believes, he had said. Someone who believes… Someone who believes.

It would be better if I left him here to die, Ridley thinks to himself. It would be the best thing to do. To most, it would be the only thing to do. But Ridley is someone who believes as well. Believes in hearing the full tale, in seeing it through to the end no matter how many tavern patrons or bored lords are screaming at him to quit the racket. There’s a song here. I can feel it.

Faraday startles when Ridley begins sawing at his bonds with his small dagger. “What are you doing?”

“You have a story,” Ridley babbles, justifying his actions to himself as much as to Faraday. “There’s something- I think there’s a story here. Something good. Something to make a legacy out of. I’m not- It can’t end here. I don’t think it’s supposed to.”

Faraday watches him, a slow, genuinely delighted smile crossing his scarred lips. “I never thought anyone would tell my story,” he says, and the soft surprise in his voice awakens a twinge of pity in Ridley. “I don’t see why not, it’s bound to be an adventure. I’ve always wanted to go on an adventure, you know?”

The ropes fall away in a slithery heap, landing in a puddle at Faraday’s feet. The prophet steps away from the stake, stretching his arms wide and throwing his coppery head back so the light shines full in his face. Now that his hands are free, the thick bands of scar tissue around each wrist are clearly visible, indicating countless bindings and chainings. He looks like a saint, standing there scarred, dressed in the simplest of clothing, long hair lifting in the wind. He looks like a king. He looks like a mistake waiting to be made.

When he has finished soaking up the last of the sunlight, Faraday bends to collect the crown of daisies Ridley had made. He places it on his head as reverently as he would a crown. “It suits you,” Ridley tells him. Faraday smiles, but it quickly falls as he glimpses the sign hung over his stake.

“They called me a man,” he mutters. “I do not like being called a man.”

“I understand that,” Ridley sighs. “I’m not always a man either.”

Faraday lingers on the sign a moment more, before turning on a heel, as fluid as a dancer, and strides off down the Castleway. He picks up his earlier song again, belting it loud to the heavens and the core of the earth. Ridley shakes his head as he follows, wondering what in the name of the Judge, Jury, and Executioner he has just gotten himself into.

At least it will be an adventure.

[bright-eyes-strawberry-lies]

The Weather In PJO (brought to you by gods and demigods)

*alternating colors for ease of reading

**page numbers look weird because they're copied/pasted from ebooks

“Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I’d ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We’d had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn’t have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.” - TLT pg 33

“One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.” - TLT pg 65

“Outside, it really was storming, the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There was no horse or eagle on the beach, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery. [...] Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer. But the ocean seemed to have forgotten.” - TLT pg 156

“There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom!, and our car exploded.” - TLT pg 176

“I was still in bed in cabin three. My body told me it was morning, but it was dark outside, and thunder rolled across the hills. A storm was brewing. I hadn’t dreamed that.” - TLT pg 491

“It started to rain. Volleyball players stopped their game and stared in stunned silence at the sky.

I had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of me.” - TLT pg 520

“BOOOOOM!

The windows of the bus exploded as the passengers ran for cover. Lightning shredded a huge crater in the roof, but an angry wail from inside told me Mrs. Dodds was not yet dead.” - TLT pg 629

“The weather had completely changed. It was stormy, with heat lightning flashing out in the desert.” - TLT pg 988

“In the distance, Los Angeles was on fire, plumes of smoke rising from neighborhoods all over the city. There had been an earthquake, all right, and it was Hades’s fault.” - TLT pg 1191

“I was standing on a deserted street in some little beach town. It was the middle of the night. A storm was blowing. Wind and rain ripped at the palm trees along the sidewalk. Pink and yellow stucco buildings lined the street, their windows boarded up. A block away, past a line of hibiscus bushes, the ocean churned.” - SOM pg 10

“After a few more minutes, the dark splotches ahead of us came into focus. To the north, a huge mass of rock rose out of the sea-an island with cliffs at least a hundred feet tall. About half a mile south of that, the other patch of darkness was a storm brewing. The sky and sea boiled together in a roaring mass.” - SOM pg 598

“A storm raged that night, but it parted around Camp Half-Blood as storms usually did. Lightning flashed against the horizon, waves pounded the shore, but not a drop fell in our valley. We were protected again, thanks to the Fleece, sealed inside our magical borders.” - SOM pg 1045

“Sleet and snow pounded the highway. Annabeth, Thalia, and I hadn’t seen each other in months, but between the blizzard and the thought of what we were about to do, we were too nervous to talk much.” - TTC pg 11

“Old spirits are protecting the bad boat.”

“The Princess Andromeda?” I said. “Luke’s boat?”

“Yes. They make it hard to find. Protect it from Daddy’s storms. Otherwise he would smash it.” - TTC pg 210

“Clouds seemed to be swirling around its peak, as though the mountain was drawing them in, spinning them like a top. “What’s going on up there? A storm?”

Zoë didn’t answer. I got the feeling she knew exactly what the clouds meant, and she didn’t like it.” - TTC pg 751

“I will do my best to destroy his boat with storms, but he is making alliances with my enemies, the older spirits of the ocean. They will fight to protect him.” - TTC pg 886

“We were standing at the dining pavilion, just where we’d last spoken before I went on the quest. The wind was bitter cold, even with the camp’s magical weather protection. Snow fell lightly against the marble steps. I figured outside the camp borders, there must be a blizzard happening.”- TTC pg 915

“The wind whipped cold off the bay. In the south, San Francisco gleamed all white and beautiful, but in the north, over Mount Tamalpais, huge storm clouds swirled. The whole sky seemed like a black top spinning from the mountain where Atlas was imprisoned, and where the Titan palace of Mount Othrys was rising anew. It was hard to believe the tourists couldn’t see the supernatural storm brewing, but they didn’t give any hint that anything was wrong.

“It’s even worse,” Annabeth said, gazing to the north. “The storms have been bad all year, but that—” - BOTL pg 359

“I had no choice. I called to the sea. I reached inside myself and remembered the waves and the currents, the endless power of the ocean. And I let it loose in one horrible scream.

Afterward, I could never describe what happened. An explosion, a tidal wave, a whirlwind of power simultaneously catching me up and blasting me downward into the lava. Fire and water collided, superheated steam, and I shot upward from the heart of the volcano in a huge explosion, just one piece of flotsam thrown free by a million pounds of pressure. The last thing I remember before losing consciousness was flying, flying so high Zeus would never have forgiven me, and then beginning to fall, smoke and fire and water streaming from me. I was a comet hurtling toward the earth.” - BOTL pg 618/619

“Mrs. O’Leary howled. I patted her head, trying to comfort her as best I could. The earth rumbled—an earthquake that could probably be felt in every major city across the country—as the ancient Labyrinth collapsed. Somewhere, I hoped, the remains of the Titan’s strike force had been buried.” - BOTL pg 1005

“I remembered what Tyson had told me at the beginning of the summer. “The old sea gods?”

“Indeed. The battle came first to me, Percy. In fact, I cannot stay long. Even now the ocean is at war with itself. It is all I can do to keep hurricanes and typhoons from destroying your surface world, the fighting is so intense.” - BOTL pg 1066

“Then the entire sea grew dark in front of us, like an inky storm was rolling in. Thunder crackled, which should've been impossible underwater. A huge icy presence was approaching. I sensed a wave of fear roll through the armies below us.” - TLO pg 153

“I saw a bank of storm clouds rolling across the Midwest plains. Lightning flickered. Lines of tornadoes destroyed everything in their path— ripping up houses and trailers, tossing cars around like Matchbox toys. “Monumental floods," an announcer was saying. "Five states declared disaster areas as the freak storm system sweeps east, continuing its path of destruction." The cameras zoomed in on a column of storm bearing down on some Midwest city. I couldn't tell which one. Inside the storm I could see the giant—just small glimpses of his true form: a smoky arm, a dark clawed hand the size of a city block. His angry roar rolled across the plains like a nuclear blast.” - TLO pg 216-218

“Over the city, a thunderstorm boiled—a wall of absolute black with lightning streaking across the sky. A few blocks away, swarms of emergency vehicles gathered with their lights flashing. A column of dust rose from a mound of rubble, which I realized was a collapsed skyscraper. [...] Wind whipped her hair. The temperature was dropping rapidly, like ten degrees just since I'd been standing there.” - TLO pg 468-470

“She faltered as a mighty groan cut through the sky. A blast of lightning hit the center of the darkness. The entire city shook. The air glowed, and every hair on my body stood up. The blast was so powerful I knew it could only be one thing: Zeus's master bolt. It should have vaporized its target, but the dark cloud only staggered backward. A smoky fist appeared out of the clouds. It smashed another tower, and the whole thing collapsed like children's blocks.

The reporter screamed. People ran through the streets. Emergency lights flashed.” - TLO pg 470-471

“Listen to me!" I said. "Kronos's army is invading Manhattan.'"

"Don't you think we know that?" East asked. "I can feel his boats right now. They're almost across."

"Yep," Hudson agreed. "I got some filthy monsters crossing my waters too."

"So stop them," I said. "Drown them. Sink their boats."

"Why should we?" Hudson grumbled. "So they invade Olympus. What do we care?"

"Because I can pay you.” - TLO pg 654

“Water sprayed his face, stinging his eyes. The wind picked up, and Hyperion staggered backward.

"Percy!" Grover called in amazement. "How are you doing that?"

Doing what? I thought.

Then I looked down, and I realized I was standing in the middle of my own personal hurricane. Clouds of water vapor swirled around me, winds so powerful they buffeted Hyperion and flattened the grass in a twenty-yard radius. Enemy warriors threw javelins at me, but the storm knocked them aside.

"Sweet," I muttered. "But a little more!"

Lightning flickered around me. The clouds darkened and the rain swirled faster. I closed in on Hyperion and blew him off his feet.” - TLO pg 903-904

[anghraine]

“the voices of the sea” - fic

I wrote a thing! There might be errors, since I wrote it very quickly, but it was fun (in its way). It’s part of the Aranorverse, where the explicit throwbacks in LOTR (Aragorn, Denethor, Imrahil, and Faramir) are genderbent (as Aranor, Andreth, Imraphel, and Míriel).

In particular, it’s a very belated sequel to “cloven shield and broken sword,” in which Aranor found a dying Boromir:

She remembered him tugging at her leggings, demanding to know but what next? And she remembered him in Lothlórien, haughty and suspicious until he began to speak of Míriel, the sister he had loved and protected through all the days of their lives. Boromir the tall, the fair, the bold, had died, and his treasured sister lived on; what was Aranor’s grief to that?

May the news of his loss come to you swiftly and kindly, jewel-maiden!

The dream always began the same way.

Míriel stood in a city of white and gold, grander than Minas Tirith, grander even than Osgiliath of old, though its domes and towers were similar enough in form that she knew she looked upon the work of Dúnedain. Most of the people around her, however, belied the impression, with their bright hair and soft features—or so it had once seemed. They were handsome, but in a way that unsettled her, like overripe fruit covered in sweet cream. Some particularly disturbed her: tall men in long red tunics, leading lines of bound prisoners towards a building beneath a particularly large and glittering dome.

The prisoners would not have looked out of place in Minas Tirith. Míriel’s stomach turned as smoke trailed up from the dome.

The first time, she still knew not what she saw at this point. It was strange and disagreeable, but little worse, until the winds began to blow. Míriel’s black hair whipped around her face, rain splattering on her head and cheeks and the ground, where it pooled into large puddles. Nobody seemed to notice her. Men came running from what looked like a harbour, shouting things in a language she couldn’t quite understand; her impression of their thoughts was dark and clouded, enough that she shrank back. 

But she was not a shrinking sort of girl, not really. The prisoners had drawn her attention again; the red-robed men seemed to be distracted by the newcomers and the prisoners had seized the chance to struggle with their bonds. She ran over to them.

“Who are you? Do you come from Gondor?” she asked.

No one answered. No one so much as acknowledged her existence. But as the water splashed over her sandalled feet, the prisoners broke free and fled, chased futilely by only a few of the robed men. She caught a single familiar word amidst all the clamour: storm.

Yes, of course. It must have come on very unexpectedly; everyone appeared to be dressed very lightly for this kind of weather. Míriel was herself; her thin tunic soon soaked through, and her skin went numb. The sky grew darker; she almost thought she saw the shadow of some enormous creature flicker across it. And the steady fall of the rain turned into torrential sheets of water that blasted through the streets, scattering the people on them.

Míriel ran as quickly as she could, like the rest, but instead of retreating into houses or flying to the ships, she turned and scrambled towards the clearest sign of refuge: a mountain near the city, rising clear and pure above its buildings. Smoke puffed from its summit, which struck her as wrong in some way.

She was a child at the time, her steps short, but somehow or other, her feet brought her out of the city and to the side of the mountain before the driving wind and rain could wholly flood the city and its environs. Ahead of her, a small woman in an embroidered white tunic, with sparkling bracelets about her wrist and a golden collar at her throat, clambered up the sides of the mountain. The air was hot, hotter than it should be, but Míriel could think of nowhere else to go. She struggled up the mountain after the woman.

“Can you hear me?” she called out. “Let us help one another!”

To her surprise, the woman looked back—but her fair face, though not unsettling in the way of the others’, was filled with utter terror. She didn’t seem to see Míriel at all, her pale grey eyes wide and staring. 

Míriel followed her gaze, and gasped. Water was rushing out of the city and drowning the green valley below, rising with impossible swiftness. Míriel was not craven, but at that, she turned back to the mountainside and struggled to scramble up its ledges, ignoring the pebbles that pressed into her feet beneath her thin, drenched sandals. Now, she could not look back, and she ignored the horror that filled her mind.

They never did make it to the top of the mountain. But they reached a high enough point that Míriel could see past it. Water was flooding beyond it, too, pouring through forests and rising over hills from every direction.

Even as Míriel gazed upon it, the storming water splashed up into foamy waves that roared beneath them. This did not, however, prepare her for what happened next.

To the west, all the waves seemed to join together into one, towering and impossibly enormous. But it grew still larger, cascading up and up and up and up, above Míriel and the woman, above the mountain itself, above everything. The hills and valleys, forests and cities, all fell under its heavy shadow. Míriel’s very blood felt cold, her her breath coming in small, frightened pants as the wave’s inescapable darkness deepened.

The woman, clinging to rocks, screamed something that Míriel half-understood. Then the wave began to crash down on them.

In Míriel’s bedchamber, her eyes flew open. That time, the first time, she promptly burst into tears and cried until Boromir came running, thinking she was ill. He managed to console her, but within a few nights, the dream came again, and then again within a few nights of that. So it continued, on and on, through the years that followed.

The horror of it never really abated. Yet she grew accustomed to it, in a way: to the sight of Númenor in its most terrible hour, only made worse by the understanding of what came next and why, to the glimpses of her namesake, the rightful queen. Indeed, nothing but the wave itself left so strong a mark on her mind as Tar-Míriel’s face, so beautiful and so terrified.

She, Míriel of Gondor, would never forget her, or Númenor, or where the folly and evils of their people had led. She could never forget. Perhaps that was the purpose of the dream. Perhaps it was a warning of what victory could mean in the end, however improbable victory might seem in her waking hours. Perhaps it was something else yet. But it never stopped haunting her.

Nearly thirty years after the first dream, though, it changed. Míriel dreamed again of Armenelos and the Meneltarma and the shadow of death rising inexorably above all. But there was no waking. The wave slowly began to collapse over them, foam and droplets spattering her face before it reached her. Míriel stood tall and straight, refusing to cower, allowing herself no further weakness than blinking the water out of her face. She opened her eyes to more water, feeling it slosh about her bare ankles.

But it was now deep into night beneath a pale moon, just bright enough for her to see that the water in which she stood flowed smoothly past the familiar shores of the Anduin. The terror of the Downfall had shifted to an overwhelming sense of peace.

As she watched, she saw a small boat come floating up the river. In colour, it was a peculiar, shining grey; in design, she could not recognize it. Nor did she expect to, for it cast a dim light all around it. Though nobody appeared to be rowing or steering it, it continued on its serene course without interruption.

Míriel felt a distinct desire to draw nearer the boat, to understand what could possibly explain all this. She thought of resisting the desire; she might have—but it did not strike her as foul in the way of the Enemy’s arts, so she dared approach. 

The boat slowed as she came near, within hand’s reach of the prow. Her instincts warned her against touching it, but she saw illuminated water filling the boat, and a warrior who first appeared to be sleeping in it.

Míriel gasped.

“Boromir!”

She knew at a second glance that he was dead. Anyone might have, without need of fallen Númenor or any other powers of this world. His chest had been pierced with many wounds. His sword lay broken on his knee, and others at his feet. His black hair had been carefully laid over his shoulders. She recognized everything he wore except a lovely belt of linked golden leaves, and his face was not only restful, but beautiful, even more than in life.

She and her mother had already feared the worst, when they heard the echo of his horn coming from the north, unaccompanied by any news of him. But it was one thing to fear, and another to see.

“Where is your horn?” she asked, as if he might somehow answer. 

The boat kept floating under her gaze, drifting past where she stood in the water. 

“Where are you going?” she cried. “Oh, Boromir!”

It passed on, down the stream and fading into the night, towards the sea. Míriel stood alone in the water. No priest of Sauron, no Faithful prisoner, no doomed queen or frightened citizen intruded upon her notice. No brother, either. 

She tilted her head down to stare into the clear river-water, her reflection a dark blur at this hour. With her hair hanging loose around her face, obscuring the sight of the shore, it reminded her of peering into the waters near Dol Amroth on a calm night. Perhaps it had reminded her father of the sea he missed, too. Oh, the sea, the sea! Must it always be the sea?

She felt tears slide down her cheeks—as if the occasion required more water, when Boromir was gone and forever consigned to the fate of Men. They would never see him return. She would never feel his great embrace once more, nor listen to him with their mother, nor ride out to the Pelennor with him, nor ever again see him laugh among the knights of Dol Amroth. Míriel squeezed her eyes shut.

She pressed her fingers to her face, rubbing away tears, and opened her eyes again. She felt no surprise at the sight of her bedchamber in Minas Tirith. Yet she was not lying in bed but sitting upon it, her hands still pressed to her cheeks, as if she had actually woken some time before, or never slept at all. Míriel rose, shaking out her dry shift, and walked over to her window, which looked westwards.

Boromir had risked death constantly; it was his duty and right as Captain-General and heir to the Stewardship. She had always known this. She had certainly known it when he set out on his errand, driven by a dream of his own. Yet, in some way, she had not known—not understood—and now—

Now, she must tell their mother.

[tcstu]

January’s Honorable Mentions

This month’s piece generated some incredible stories. I chose this work of art believing there were numerous tales buried within it, and I was not disappointed. Each entry took a completely different perspective on what is happening in this scene. If you enjoy one of the Honorable Mentions below, please let the writer know. I’m sure they would love to hear from you.

As a reminder, I celebrated the new year by featuring one of my favorite artists, @hydraart​​. If you’ve been following this contest, you may remember that this artist was also featured in January of 2019 and 2020. This seems to now be a New Year’s tradition, and I am happy to be able to continue it this year. If you would like to see the pieces previously featured by this artist, you can view them here:

January 2020

May 2019

January 2019

The piece for this month was titled, “Hide and Seek.” Here it is along with the Honorable Mentions for this month:

(These entries are listed in the order they were received and do not reflect a system of ranking.)

Untitled

Written by: @emilyelizabethfowl​

Ten

She couldn’t tell whether the breeze she felt came from nature or from Its wings.

Nine

At least she didn’t have to worry about the smell betraying her hiding spot.

Eight

Sound, however, was a different matter entirely.

Seven

But her legs were starting to feel numb…

Six

It certainly wouldn’t hurt to move them, just a little, would it?

Five

Just a teeny tiny little bit…

Four

Slowly, carefully, she stretched her left leg.

Three

Then, bringing it back, she stretched out her right one.

Two

But she did it too fast, too carelessly.

One

Losing balance, she fell down. Her elbow knocked into the giant sheet of metal she was hiding under, the sound carrying far.  

Zero

Barely seconds later, giant talons dented the metal, ripping it away easily.

Found you!

Aw, shucks.

She stood up, turning to face the creature.

“Best three out of five?” she offered.

It’s already past your bedtime. A deal is a deal.

Ah well. It was worth a try. She climbed the creature’s back, clinging tightly to the feathers longer than she was tall.

She’d win their next game for sure!

“Eleanor And The Great Bird”

Written by: @evanthenerd83​

“Do not move,” Eleanor whispers to herself, thin frame curled inward.

The flapping of wings drowns out her panicked breathing. Dust swirls around. Bits and pieces rain down, and they sound like bullet casings striking metal.

Eleanor could recognize the sound anywhere. It is as familiar as her grandfather’s wartime movies. Black and white visions of the dead.

“Do not move,” Eleanor reminds herself, eyes scanning the words scratched into the steel.

The great bird passes overhead, and the entire shard shakes with its might. She bites her lip. A moment of terrible silence.

It is circling around. Coming back.

“Do… not… move,” Eleanor repeats, unaware that it doesn’t matter.

The shelter is just a jagged piece of roof. It isn’t big enough to hide her, not all of her. Not her shadow.

And unfortunately, the sun is burning in her direction.

The great bird has locked on.

The great bird makes one last turn…

Sit Com

Created by @daalseth​ ( Doug Aalseth )

"Ma!!" came the anguished cry.

"What is it?" replied his mother, her voice drenched in fatigue.

"Billy smashed up my 172 scale model Medieval Human Village."

"Now Tommy..."

"It wasn't me," shouted Billy. "I wouldn't do nothing with your stupid model."

"Yes it was," shouted Tommy waving his wing at the table. "That's your feather laying right there."

"Nuh-huh."

"Uh-huh."

"Nuh-huh."

Their mother rubbed a talon against her throbbing forehead. It was going to be a long day. Maybe it was time to just kick the little bastards out of the nest? She looked at the two chicks arguing. "No," she said softly, "I'll give it one more day."

“Whatever It Takes”

Written by: @winterrose42​

I dug my fingers deep into the ground as I curled tighter into myself, squeezing my eyes shut in a vain effort to concentrate. This had to work- in the end it’s all I could do, whatever God that’s left forgive me. I could feel the beast looming impossibly large behind me, breath wuffing over the ruined plains like winds before a storm. A low growl thundered from its throat and I dug harder even as my fingernails protested and bent from the dirt being shoved underneath them. I couldn’t fail. I had to find them, and to do that I needed to make it out alive. To do that…

I felt it suddenly, claws slicing easily into the dirt deep enough that I’m sure someone could make a bomb shelter of it later. The tips of its heavy wings brushed the uneven ground, dragging stone and steel along as they swayed in rest. Feeling the pull of its head was the worst; it had seen me that much I knew, darting from toppled building to ruined tower to hastily put up shelter as  fast as my legs could carry me had not been fast enough. It’s great shriek had nearly deafened me as it shook the earth landing just a few yards away from where I had crouched. The few warriors who had gathered to head off the beast- they all knew in their hearts they hadn’t a chance of making it.

That’s what I kept telling myself as the beast’s arm raised and came crashing down to sweep away fallen debris and lean to steel sheets and scattered weapons, armor and men alike, leaving them to try and bury themselves yet again. Collect their wits and reorganize perhaps. I couldn’t afford to give them that chance. Setting everything in motion the wings swept back, the arms came up, the eyes focused forward, sharp beak opening wide with vocal chords straining to make its signature call- and so it was done.

All at once I severed the connection, feeling impossibly small and weak and useless once again as the ground shook like an earthquake with the speed at which the beast fell, screaming its indignation at being puppeted for as long as it had, intelligent eyes snapping forward to those running for better cover, myself sitting still and forgotten for the moment in light of more easily accessed prey. I covered my ears and closed my eyes, whispering out a prayer of forgiveness to carry on the artificial wind for those who cared to hear it.

Eventually the shaking ceased, noise quieted, beast placated if only for a moment making it possible to crawl out and stand up though I dared not turn around. Sticking to the irrational belief that my imagined carnage was worse and therefore I was absolved of blame I squared my shoulders and turned west.

I had survived and would continue to do so through whatever means necessary. I would survive. And I would find them.

Maran-do

Written by: @spoldhamindieauthor​ (S.P. Oldham)

Maran huddled beneath the toppled roof of a ruined dwelling, sitting now upon the ground, broken and battered. All of the buildings in this tiny hamlet told a similar story; one of destruction and wrath.

Maran heaved a silent sigh. He had sent out Maran-do, his mind partner, when the day was still bright, her task to bring down anyone he had not dispatched. Very few would be daring enough to try to evade her. It would take a remarkable being indeed to slip past Maran-do unnoticed, avoiding her wicked talons. He had never known it happen yet.

Maran-do hung in the air now like a dark, oppressive shadow. She had been the foretelling of death for so many souls, Maran had long since stopped counting.

He had never imagined she would foretell his own death, too. Maran frowned, trying to recall such a thing happening before. What could possibly cause a mind-partner to turn upon its host? It was unheard of.

He knew the tiniest movement would be enough to alert her to his whereabouts. Resisting the urge to break cover and run, Maran struggled with ordering his thoughts. That was the biggest problem. Maran-do was inside his head as well as outside it. She knew his own mind better than he knew it himself.

How could he possibly escape? Wherever he went, Maran-do would go with him. Why had she turned on him? In a rare moment of self-pity, Maran gave a sniff.

It was enough. He could feel the air outside shifting, darkness looming over his hiding place like an unstoppable, oncoming storm. For the briefest instant, Maran felt the terror and utter helplessness so many had known before.

A large talon tapped impatiently before him. Inside his head, the words ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are’ blossomed into life like clouds of puffed smoke, Maran-do taunting him with his own phrase.

“Why?” Maran breathed, “Why do you turn upon me?”

More words of smoke, ‘I am to be mind-partner to a greater one than you, little Maran,’ using the childhood endearment, ‘Your mind is weak. You take much pleasure from death and killing. I belong to a greater mind than yours,’ she repeated.

She raised her foot. Maran flinched as, above him, the beams and planks of the rough wooden roof began to splinter. Instinctively he crouched, making himself smaller, as if he could avoid being crushed.

He had just enough time to wonder how she could survive without his mind to host her. Then he was gone; snuffed out like a bare candle in a blizzard.

Maran-do stretched her wings, letting out a silent shriek as her head turned to the west. A new host awaited her, a new name forming in her mind even as she rose from the earth. A path of flight was shown to her fathomless mind, stretching like an umbilical cord across the skies.

Maran was dead.

So was Maran-do.

Tethered

Written by: @wildler

I heard the spirits before I saw them—their strangled moans carrying through the smoke-stained air. Carys whinnied beneath me, her ears twitching in all directions.

“Easy girl,” I murmured, stroking her neck. “Only a little further. Should be the next clearing.”

The sound continued, growing stronger as we pushed closer to where the village was rumoured to be. I tugged the hood of my cloak from my head, sweat sticking my hair to my neck. It seemed my limited healing skills had arrived too late to be of use—but my other skills—well, perhaps I would return to the king with something more substantial than rumours at last.

We entered the clearing, the devastation hitting me like a sword to the gut. Homes had been scalped, gutted and burned. Their charred remains left crumbling into the earth. Spirits inhabited the ruins. Flickers of human outlines that cried out as they relived their violent, final moments of existence. Their fear keeping them tethered to this plane.

I dismounted Carys and pressed my hands to the ground, shuddering as the sweat on my neck turned cold. A haze of panic blanketed the site like thick smoke, making it impossible to get a sense of the events leading to its ruin. I sank my fingers into the soil and focused my will, trying again.

Sounds and smells came rushing at me, distorted screams on a hot jet of air. My eyes sprang open to find the spirits staring in eerie silence, their gaze passing right through me to something on the horizon.

I heard the presence before I saw it—a monstrous shriek carried on a blast of flame.  It was an end too terrifying and binding to escape.

And so, I relive it again.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Crime Scene.”

WARNING: Relatively graphic depictions of a dead alien, and discussion about a horrific crime scene, so read at your own discretion.

This idea was taken from a suggestion by some of the readers and then adapted a little bit, so I hope you all like it. 

Rain drummed down in great sheets from above, falling like curtains from the uppermost spires of the city skyscrapers and lofty towers. Rain collected on open wires and came dripping down in trickling runnels of water, only to collect in great puddles on the pavement gurgling away into the gutter to vanish down storm drains.

Massive, colorful, neon signs hung above in the driving rain, casting reflection down onto the sodden pavement giving an eerie sort of light to the darkness. There were few people on the street at this time, though figures could be seen flitting from the shadow of one overhang to another. Despite their efforts, the soaking cold was nearly impossible to avoid.

As unoccupied as the street was, it gave more than enough room for a dark figure hurriedly splashing through puddles as his long leather coat whipped behind him, collar pulled up against the rain.

Massive television screens running with rivulets of water rose up on all sides boasting advertisements ranging from fur care to skin cream to casino resorts. The voices of these advertisements babbled through the rain, impossible to understand with a background of white noise.

The echoes rose upwards, following the trail of advertisement screens as they rose ever higher into the night, taking up every available surface until the very peaks of the skyscrapers high above in the rainy mist.

The darkly clad figure was joined a moment later as two other figures hurried from the shadows, one no more than two feet tall, and another that towered over the first figure by nearly a foot.

Little eruptions of water leapt up from where their feet splashed through the puddles.

A delicate silver halo outlined the figures as rain bounced off their bodies and back into the air.

With a motion of his hand, the first figure motioned his companions sideways, and into a long-dark alley. The stream of water that ran down it’s middle was nearly ankle deep, and the three figures made to avoid the worst of it, walking along the side of the alley, though sometimes they were made to choose between ankle deep water or refuse.

The rain grew harder, drumming down against their backs as they hurried across another cross street, down another alley and towards their final destination.

Foot  traffic had picked up now, though it happened to be as a direct result of the bright neon caution holograms blocking off an area of buildings just to the right of their alley.

A dark furred Tesraki, posted out under an umbrella-like energy field waved them through without bothering to check their ID.

The three of them stepped through the cation hologram and towards the shopfront passing under a curtain of water, and into the little shop beyond where they stopped.

They waited there for a few moments, until a figure appeared from the long line of shelves: A Tesraki wearing a large hat, with holes cut in it for the ears.

“Admiral, I’m glad you could make it.”

Admiral Vir shook water from his coat, and undid the belt that held the front together, allowing it to hang open. He then removed his hat, shaking it out beside the door.

To his right, Sunny shook runnels of water from her carapace, while Dr. Krill cleared droplets from his prismatic orange eyes.

Admiral Vir adjusted the collar of his shirt, absent of a tie, “We came as soon as we heard.” He said fitting the hat back onto his head. His face was slick with humidity, though the protruding brim of his hat had kept the worst of the rain from his face.

“We do appreciate it.” The Tesraki lifted a hand, “Follow me, but don’t touch anything.”

Admiral Vir held up his hands to show the mostly-dry leather gloves he wore, “Not a problem.”

The Tesraki nodded it’s head and led them further into the shop past lines and displays of cheap touristy trinkets likely manufactured for a quarter of the price on Noctopolis. Just to their right a refrigeration unit hummed. Peering past the glass Admiral Vir was surprised to see cans of human soda preserved behind the glass.

They passed through the side of the shop, and were stopped outside the opening to the back room, where another Tesraki insisted they put plastic covers over their shoes and feet.

Everyone was supplied with gloves, before they were allowed in.

Sunny flexed her hands against the strange rubber synthetic, though Dr. Krill seemed right at home.

Admiral Vir was the first to step through, passing into the dim back room to immediately be met by the sharp tang of blood. He paused as if he had hit a wall face screwing up in response to the smell. It wasn’t human blood, of course, it was Tesraki blood, a smell that had been all too common during the Drev war.

He blinked hard, allowing his eyes to adjust to the room, which was dark, mostly, except for the flickering holovision on the wall across. A couple of technicians were busy setting up flood lights on the side of the room. His vision was mostly obscured, by a large sofa just to his front, but slowly, and with direction from the Tesraki, he inched around the side until he was finally able to get a good view of the scene before him.

He crushed immediately and turned his head away fighting down a sudden and surprising bout of nausea, though it passed within moments.

He turned his head back inch by inch grimacing slightly as he did.

Rosy blue light from the holovision glittered down on the scene before him glittering lightly off a coagulating green pool that appeared almost black in this lighting. The figure was stiff and still having not been moved since it was found.

The dead Tesraki lay sprawled on its side in a pool of his own blood, an expression of fear and horror frozen on his face. Admiral Vir had to force himself to look closely at the body, which he could see was missing it’s tail, a leg, and one arm. Looking around he could find no sign of where the missing limbs might have gone.

“We’ve never seen anything like it before.” The Tesraki said, walking up to stand beside him.

Admiral Vir grimaced, “Never?”

“No, never, which is why we called you.”

He turned to look at the Tesraki, long leather coat brushing against his pants just above the knees, “Why? I’m no detective.”

The Tesraki nodded, “We know, but you have to understand, we have NEVER seen anything like this… not EVER.” He leaned into his emphasis, turning to look at the Admiral, “Tesraki don’t commit crimes like this. If we want someone dead, there are always traffic accidents and poisoning.”

Admiral Vir raised an eyebrow, “I wasn’t aware Tesraki were even capable of committing murder.”

“Not directly, no.” 

He paused staring at the body as the implication set in, “You don’t think a Tesraki did this.” 

Off to the side of the room, the technicians had managed to rig up the lights, and the room was suddenly filled by double beams of blinding white light illuminated the scene before them with sharp contrast. The black blood became green, the shadowy mound, which had been the body was suddenly brought into sharp relief, each hair visible in excruciating detail on it’s dismembered body.

“Sweet Jupiter.” He muttered 

His oversvation from before had been correct. The Tesraki was missing three of his five limbs. The blood pool in which he lay was a good four foot circle around him. The eyes were open and glassy, staring up into nothing. His face and lips were twisted into an expression of pure horror. Coagulated blood matted the fur along his back and sides. His remaining arm was covered in a line of deep and shallow defensive wounds while the fur about his chest was matted with green icor.

“What do you know so far?”

“Nothing much, we’ve been waiting for them to set up the lights.”

Admiral Vir motioned Dr. krill forward, “Think you can take a look?”

The doctor nodded his head, “I believe I can.”

At his announcement one of the Tesraki walked forward offering up a floating platform for the Dr. to stand on. He looked as if he was about to reject the offer, but took it, using it to keep off the floor around the crime scene as he floated closer to the body.

Admiral Vir rested his hands on his hips as he watched.

“Who is he?”

“His name was Inenor, the owner of the shop you came through on your way in. Admittedly he was no one of great renown, mostly profited in selling high priced and cheaply manufactured trinkets to tourists, a practice that might be frowned upon, but not one that generally gets you killed.”

“Or dismembered.” Admiral Vir added, reaching down a hand to rub absently as the junction where his stump met his prosthetic.

The Tesraki nodded, “Yes, by all rights he was your average shopkeeper in the tourist district. None of his wares are particularly expensive, he had no more enemies than his average shop rivals, no family, and, based on our cursory glance through his online history, no involvement in any other nefarious groups, plots, schemes or otherwise.”

“Shop rivals?”

“The other shopkeepers in the area selling the same thing.”

“And you don’t think it could be one of them.”

The Tesraki shook his head, “No, they may not like each other, but Tesraki business owners rely on competition to keep the economy working in each district. Prices fluctuate between shops creating a constant cycling of where the tourist goes for the least expensive or highest quality goods. It avoids stagnation, and allows for a dynamic environment where money is always trickling in. They may hate each other, but they understand how to work a balanced system between each other.”

Admiral Vir glanced over at Kril, who was busily scrutinizing one of the Tesraki’s stumps 

“So you think a human did this.”

The tesraki held up his hands, “I didn’t say that.”

“It’s alright. I can see where you are coming from.” again, he looked away from the body, “A nobody who works a shop in the tourist district on an alien planet is brutally murdered and then dismembered. There is not history of such a crime ever being committed by Tesraki in living memory. The Rundi couldn’t do it  as the water content in Tesraki blood could hurt them, not to mention they aren’t known to be tourists. We can rule out the Gromm, Celzex, Bran and Iotins for similar reasons.” He took a few steps forward, “Gibb and Vrul are completely off the table as they aren’t nearly strong enough or vicious enough to do something like that.”

The Tesraki was nodding in agreement.

“So you must have come to the conclusion that there are really only three options. Burg, Drev…. Or humans.” He walked around to the other side of the couch to get a better look at the missing tail. Though the stump was matted with congealing green and black blood, he could still see a small spike of bone protruding from the flesh, “And the Burg have been withdrawn from GA airspace since the burg war, and are only now starting to return, so it couldn't be one of them. That leaves Drev and humans. Drev have a history of dismembering their victims but…..”

Sunny stepped up beside him just then, resting a hand on his shoulder. He felt her squeeze lightly, though to everyone else it wouldn't have been noticeable.

“But generally they do not take the limbs with them.” She added before pointing to the body, “Those cuts are too clean. A drev would rely on power first cutting into the leg, breaking the bone and then ripping through. IT would be a much messier process.”

Admiral Vir nodded, allowing her hand to linger on his shoulder longer than was absolutely necessary before stepping away.

Dr krill leaned back from his work and looked over at them, “I tend to agree with Sunny’s oversaviton. These cuts were very clean, probably cone by a sharp knife or scalpel of some kind. The bone itself has been sawed through. Now whoever did this were no medical professionals as the cuts were half hazzard and mostly center on the middle of the bone.” He turned to look at them more intensely, “Besides, whoever came here came for his limbs specifically.”

There was a shocked pause.

“You mean.”

“I mean the Tesraki was dismembered postmortem. Cause of death was likely strangulation.”

Admiral Vir shook his head in disbelief, “You mean they came here…. Specifically for his limbs.”

 Krill nodded, “it would seem so.” He glanced over at the Tesraki, “Nothing else is missing.”

The Tesraki shook his head, “Credits are still there, and the manifest is showing that all his wares are here as well.”

“Why would someone take the limbs?” Sunny asked, incredulity coloring her voice as she stared down at the gory scene before them.

Krill sat up “How about the prodigum, they are known to feast on decaying flesh.”

Admiral vir shook his head, “No, if it was a prodigum they would have taken the whole body, not just the limbs, besides, they have connections with the slave trade and get most of their exotic feeding there. This entire thing doesn't make sense for them.”

“Does that mean, Admiral, that you are suggesting….”

“Suggesting that humans did it?” He finished, and the Tesraki nodded.

Admiral vir paused for a moment before sighing, “It would seem so as much as I hate to admit it. Humans are more than capable of doing something like this, and brutal murder is not somethng we are strangers to.” He walked around to the other side of the body again, holding onto the lapels of his jacket, which were now mostly dry, though he couldn't feel sure past the leather gloves he wore, “We have a brutal human-like murder on the edge of a major human tourist district. No cash or credits are missing, none of his wares (which don't seem worth thieving anyway)  and whoever they are they likely went after his limbs for…. Some reason.”

From the corner of her eye, Sunny saw a flash of guilt on the man’s face, and knew he was withholding something.

“How long ago did this happen.” He asked 

“Not more than a few hours.”

Admiral Vir tapped his foot on the floor, “Than they couldn’t have left planet just yet. It wasn’t a military installation as I know where all of those are located, and none of the fleet were here during the time of the murder. It would have to be a civilian.” He pulled up his sleeve to check his implant, “i will call in and order all civilian transport grounded. That should give us enough time to investigate if you find anything, don’t send any of your men in, but call me.”

The Tesraki nodded in agreement, “Thank you Admiral.”

“Let me step out to make the call.”

The Tesraki let him go, and he stepped out the door, pulling the now soggy plastic covers off his boots as he made his way to the front of the stoor. Sunny listened patiently as he called a halt to all civilian transports, smiling a little when he ordered the man to stop complaining and do as he was ordered by power of the combined UNSC and GA.

Eventually, he cut the call and turned to look at her.

She could tell by the pained expression on his face, that his original thought had only gotten worse.

“What are you thinking?” She mumbled softly, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening.

He paused before answering, “I think I know why they took his limbs.”

Sunny paused, “What! Why?”

The human grimaced, his face shot through with pain and shame, though that seemed odd as he hadn’t done anything.

“I think…. I…”

A horn blasted from outside making the two of them jump before it faded into the distance.

Admiral Vir hung his head, “I think they are going to….”

She put a hand on his shoulder, “spit it out.”

“Eat him!”

Sunny froze, and the two of the locked eyes, one horrified, the other ashamed.

“No….”

“Yes….”

[crystalgirl259]

The Flame and the Dragon Chapter 21

Chapter 21: Don’t Fall In Love

Bansha's teeth chattered loudly as she followed Morro down the alleyways, starting to regret her life choices. Now Banshaa would never question Morro, but he could tell he had completely lost his senses. Morro kept telling her that he needed Kai for his plan to work. He may be strange, but he was the best. But the man they were going to see was a child-broker, and he absolutely terrified her. A tremor of fear, not cold, rushed through her very being.

Her heart skipped beats radically each time she gazed at the all too familiar alleyway.

Morro kept insisting that he will have Kai as his husband and if he must take drastic measures to make him see sense, he shall. Bansha tried to speak up, but she flinched when Morro turned around and glared at her. Harsh green eyes burned with determination and desire. Bansha bit her lip to keep from speaking and kept her head down. She refused to look up when an all too familiar building came into view. The building where the Child Broker did his business, safe from the law, safe from anyone who would dare tell him otherwise.

She struggled to keep up with Morro's pace.

The Duke stormed up the steps and bounded on the door harshly, screaming demands to be let in from the heavy snow. A call that the door was unlocked was all he needed. Hastily, Morro turned the lock and grabbed Bansha, dragging the reluctant woman inside, out of the cold. The two of them stripped their soaked cloaks and took their seats in the two plush armchairs. Morro shook his dark hair, scattering the water from the melted snow everywhere.

Bansha took her seat and meekly kept her hands folded in her lap.

After an abnormally short wait, a tall man stormed into the room. He shed his own coat and hat and hung them on a nearby coat hanger, revealing a short mop of silvery-gray hair. His brownish amber orbs shone with annoyance, but with the pale laughter of a child. Banshaa shivered and kept her eyes focused on her lap. Morro sat up straight as the man took a seat behind the desk and sat with his hands folded in front of him.

"Good evening, Master Noble; thank you so much for coming out at such an hour to see us." He flashed a bright smile and spoke in a voice of fake appreciation. Master Noble's face remained neutral.

"Please don't try playing me, Morro; I don't appreciate being forced to leave my orphanage in the middle of the night." He groaned with annoyance. Expecting this, Morro removed a small sack from his pocket and dropped it in front of the man. Gold coins and jewels spilled from the opening. His eyes scrutinized the contents then returned to the duchess. "Alright, I'm listening."

"I can tell you're a man of simplicity, so I'll just get straight to the point, you're familiar with the Smith family correct? I believe your services were required after the unfortunate death of Ray and Maya?"

"My services were not required at all, both Kai and Nya were beyond legal age and were able to take care of Lloyd," He groaned, at the statement of the obvious.

"Well you see, Kai is far too selfless, God Bless him, he refuses to see that his siblings are holding him back from his potential, his future, and when I offer him his heart's desire, he refuses me."

"Oh really?" He cut the duke off and drew out the word in a mocking manner. "I heard of your arranged ordeal, are you sure it wasn't your decision to arrange an entire wedding on his front yard mere moments before you all but demanded he marries you?"

"It's his fault! If he wasn't so naïve, I wouldn't be forced to take such drastic measures!" Morro screeched as he jumped to his feet; enraged that he would speak so frivolously of his humiliation. Quickly, he composed himself and returned to his seat, clearing his throat.

"Not that this isn't humorous, Morro, but I fail to see what your failed courtship with Kai has to do with me," He joked playfully. Morro's fist clenched but he reigned in his composure.

"I want Kai as my husband, but so long as he believes his siblings are in need of his help, he won't leave them." He smirked. "You're aware of young Lloyd's health condition, correct? His chest problem? I heard his last attack caused his heart to nearly stop, such a sick child needs proper care, not to be a burden to his siblings who have no knowledge of medicine, don't you agree?"

"Lloyd is far from a child, under-aged, perhaps, but he's what thirteen? He'll reach manhood in less than three, four years, and both Nya and Kai know the remedy to soothe him, from what I've been told." Noble explained. "It would be a waste to put Lloyd in child care."

"Perhaps, but everyone knows Kai would do anything to protect his little family." He growled. "Even perhaps, make a deal to keep his younger brother from being taken away from Nya, if Nya was rendered unfit to care for him?" He asked as a sinister smirk crossed the duke's face. Banshaa's face contorted with horror as her eyes flew to her master. A shiver racked her entire body she gazed at the menacing smirk of victory on Morro's smug face.

"Perhaps, but then again there is also the problem," Noble replied, twirling a gold coin beneath his fingers. "From what I've been told, Nya and Kai have done a stand-up job raising Lloyd and makes more than enough to support each other; I doubt there is anything I could say or do that would convince the town taking Lloyd away from them would be in their best interests, and I do care for my reputation."

"Nya is unfit!" Morro shouted as he rose to his feet again. "Kai has been missing for almost two and a half months with no word of him, and not a week after they supposedly left for a trip, did she and Lloyd come screaming and pounding on my door in the middle of the night, ranting and raving about how their brother had been kidnapped by a dragon? A dragon, of all the ludicrous things!"

"What?" Noble frowned.

"It's been well over two months and all they have done is go back and forth in those woods and repeat this tale to anyone who would listen to them! Ask anyone! I thought they were only joking at first, which is why I waited so long to come to you, but now I'm convinced Nya has lost her sanity and she's spreading it to her brother!" He bellowed. Noble rose a brow at this new information.

"Really now? A dragon? Are you sure about this? I have heard rumors of people becoming lost in those woods, perhaps what they found was the old monarch's castle." He replied curiosity. "Of course, the monarch hasn't ruled nor had a regent in almost a hundred years so it must be abandoned by now."

"It matters not, the point is, if Nya is insane, she can't raise Lloyd correct?!" Morro snapped, slamming his fist against the table while Noble's face remained neutral.

"I suppose, but before I make any final judgments, I'd have to see for myself; are Nya and Lloyd at home this evening?"

"No," Banshaa said softly. Her body shaking and her eyes focused on the ground, knowing if she looked at him her voice would break. "We stopped by this evening to see, but their shop was closed, it looked liked it hadn't been opened in weeks, and there was only a sign on the door saying they would be going into another town to seek help, it did not say when they would be back."

"You see? Now she's taking Lloyd on a wild goose chase when she should be searching the woods for my fiancé!" Morro continued. Realizing that he was still standing, Morro cleared his throat and sat back down as a king on a throne. "Now do you understand my proposal?" He asked as a wicked satisfaction shined in his dark green eyes and his lips curled into a smirk.

"So Morro, if I understand you correctly, you wish for me to declare that Nya is an unfit guardian and threaten to have her arrested and Lloyd confined to foster care until he is deemed fit to live on his own unless Kai agrees to marry you?" Noble asked, then pinched the bridge between his nose.

"That is precisely what I mean," Morro smirked evilly. Noble threaded his fingers through his silver strands, his elbows braced on the table, and his face a mask of discomfort.

"Oh Lord in heaven, that's despicable, truly repulsive," He replied as his face vanished behind a curtain of hair until a low, maniacal chuckle escaped him. His face emerged shocking both Morro and Banshaa. It was the face of a mad man. "I love it!"...

****************

The next few weeks passed by in a blur of bliss for Kai. Winter had settled in nicely over the whole valley. Snow filled the world, deeper and deeper. The trees and gutters of the castle towers glittered with icicles. Windows glistened with frost, and the ponds and streams had frozen in sheets of ice. With the approaching frost, the house was busier than ever. Shade kept the staff busy gathering enough food for the winter months and enough coal and wood to keep the castle warm and alive.

Things had been going so great between Kai and Cole that the brunette thought he should get him a present.

The only problem was that Cole hadn't really shared his own interest with the teen, and that made Kai feel horrible. Cole knew what Kai loved most in the world were his books and all those stories. That was why the Dragon Lord had given him the library. That was what Kai chose in the end. He was going to give Cole a story. But not just any story, one written and illustrated by Kai. Kai hoped this would open more doors for him and he hoped that if he got to know Cole, they would find more things to say.

Kai vowed that one day he would reach him, there has to be some way.

He might have been a loner back in the town, but even Kai knew that everyone needed someone there for them, so Cole must need someone as well. If Kai got to know him better, he knew exactly what he would do He would read him stories from picture books, all filled with wonder. Magic worlds where the impossible becomes the everyday. They would find a mountaintop and some moonbeams to sit under, and Kai would lead because he knew the way there.

There was so much to discover, but Kai did it all the time. He could live inside bright pages, where the words all rhyme.

They would slay the dragons that still followed Cole around, and the prince would almost certainly smile as his dreams left the ground. He would read him stories about mermaids, kings, and sunken treasures. Kai knew a place, just a dot, too small to measure, and Kai will take him there because he knew the road. He would tell him stories about heroes who overcame their deepest despair, and hope that they put hope into his heart again and that Cole will cherish it every day.

Cole could find a better world and the strength to face tomorrow.

Kai was sure that if Cole knew the road, he would want to stay. Kai really hoped Cole liked his little gift. After he had sneaked into Cole's room and placed the nicely wrapped present on his bedside table, he left to go and find something to do. As amazing as this castle was, there wasn't that much to do when you're confined inside for the rest of your life. That was why he jumped at the invite Jay, Echo, Nelson, and Ronin gave him. They were all going to this frozen lake somewhere in the forest to do some skating.

Since they had all been working so hard, they thought everyone would enjoy some time outside.

Kai was a little worried about leaving the castle grounds, especially when he gave Cole his word, but they promised him it would be fine. They would only be gone for two hours at the top and Cole spent most of his time looking up in the towers or his room so he wouldn't even know they had gone. That managed to convince Kai, so he grabbed his winter clothes, some spear skates and followed the group to the lake. They rode their on Flame to get there faster. Eventually, they reached the falls, and Kai had to admit that the view was worth the hike.

Three separate streams of water were frozen in incredible, twisting pillars up the side of a cliff that was taller than the castle.

The basin at their bases was equally impressive, the water frozen in curling waves. All of the ice was a beautiful, glittering white that shone even with the sun hiding behind clouds. As soon as they reached the lake, they all got their skates on and started having fun.

"Eat my snow, Ronin," Jay laughed skating backward past him.

"Is that a challenge!" The competitive man grunted and kicked across the ice to gain extra speed. Echo flopped onto his stomach while Nelson did a large figure eight then did a few spins in the air. Kai leaped over Echo and swirled in a half-circle, then bent over to help him up. Across the lake, Ronin and Jay continued their race and from the childish teasing and roars of frustration, Jay was winning.

"Hey you two, are you going to do that all day?" Kai asked, using his hands to amplify his voice. The two boys turned to face him then crashed into the snow. The three remaining skaters burst out laughing; their fallen companions crawled out of the snow and shook their heads. Ronin removed his earmuffs and shook the snow-free from his hair. Jay just laughed like a kid in a candy store. None of them noticed the smirking eyes watching them through the darkness of the woods...

****************

Cole sighed in frustration as he listened to the clock ticking loudly. He had wanted to do something nice for Kai, so he got all dressed up and ordered Shade to make them the nicest, most spicy, romantic dinner he could. He knew Kai loved spicy foods and books. Hopefully, with this and the library, he and Kai could grow closer and closer together. Sure, they seemed pretty solid now, but it was better to be safe than sorry and strengthen their bond while he could.

After he was dressed and the food was ready, Cole sent Zane to look for the brunette, but that was almost an hour ago.

The castle and the surrounding grounds might be very big, but it shouldn't be hard to find the only human in the entire castle. He sighed again as the clock kept ticking, growing more and more impatient as the seconds ticked by. He didn't know why he was being kept waiting.

"ZANE!" He bellowed so loud it shook the entire castle. Within seconds, the white yeti burst into the room with a silver trolly with a whole tea set on it

"Alright, sir, hold on." Zane smiled as naturally as he could. "Such a brisk day, you look positively chilled to the bone!"

"Where's Kai?" Cole demanded, keeping his gaze out the window, not seeing Zane gulp nervously.

"How about a nice pot of tea, sir?" He suggested as he began to pour the warm liquid into a nice China cup. Cole said nothing as he took the tea and drink it all in one big gulp, shocking his servant for a second.

"A bit more tea, sir? Good for the heart, you know."

"No, thank you." Cole declined politely.

"Just a spot?" Zane pushed.

"No more."

"But there's always room for tea."

"I said no more!" Cole shouted as he whipped around to glare at Zane, now seeing how uncomfortable and nervous he looked. "Zane, are you trying to distract me?"

"No, sir." Zane denied and an awkward silence filled the room as Cole seemed to stare directly into his soul. "Are you sure you don't want more tea?"

"Enough! Where's Kai!?" He shouted and Zane sighed in defeat, knowing that he could never hide anything from the dragon hybrid.

"We can't find him, sir."

"What?!" Cole exclaimed, not wanting to believe it, but he knew Zane would almost never lie to him. "Leave me!" He ordered and Zane quickly fled the room. As soon as the yeti was gone, Cole grabbed the magic mirror. The mirror appeared as an ordinary mirror, silver in color, with intricate rose and vine decorations. An ornate lion-like creature encapsulated the handle of the mirror with its mouth. On the back of the mirror, there was a symbol that somewhat resembled a fleur-de-lis.

This magical mirror allowed its users to see anything he or she wished to see on its glass and in its current situation.

Ashamed of his monstrous form, Cole concealed himself inside his castle, with this magic mirror as his only window to the outside world.

"Show me, Kai!" He ordered and the reflective surface of the mirror was enveloped in a golden glow as an image began to form. It showed Kai with Jay, Ronin, Nelson, and Echo out in the snow with Flame. Cole's eyes widened in a mixture of sorrow and confusion, believing that he was running off. His sadness quickly evaporated into anger at the thought of Kai breaking their agreement. He vowed to bring that spoiled, ungrateful brat back, but there was a voice in the back of his head.

It was a voice telling him that Kai had abandoned him.

He should listen to his instincts as they have never steered him wrong or lead him astray. He should have listened when he first believed Kai would break his heart. The quickest way to break a heart, to make someone depressed and ill, was to get them all tangled up inside. The side effects could kill. If Cole must love someone, he may as well just love himself. He would never leave and he would find he got more rest and he would always feel as good as new.

His freedom was the most important thing.

He couldn't talk for hours, send flowers, write poems, or sing songs and dance beneath the stars that shine above. As soon as someone's heart rules their head their life was not their own. It's hell when someone was always there and it's bliss to be alone, and love of any kind is bad. Whether it be a dog, a child, or a cat, they always took up so much precious time, and to Cole, there was no sense in that. Love took the wildest heart and made it tame and emotions were a thing all great men overcame.

Cole knew he couldn't get attached to anyone or anything because there was nothing worse than things that cling.

He might turn to drink and he would never rest. He might end up mad, and looking like some poor demented dove. He could never fall in love. Cole suddenly let out a feral growl and left the room in a rage. He was going to drag Kai back to the castle and make him wish he had never broken their deal. As the dragon prince left the castle, he failed to hear the faint, hollow laughter of supposed victory as a shadow melted into the halls of the castle...

[jenniferroland]

[starter for @loverot​]

"If you can look at what's there and not eat yourself hollow with shame, you are not human anymore."

Transferring out of Mount Massive to play brain scrambler in the middle of the Arizona desert was hardly a step up. She’d put in a request for leave numerous times and been denied on the grounds that her research skills and capability as a pathologist made her “too valuable an asset” to allow her to be off the asylum campus for any extended period of time. But when a handful of her female coworkers began experiencing hysterical pregnancies from proximity to the Engine, she was suddenly a liability instead. Never mind that she experienced precisely no negative effects from it; if anything, her mind felt sharper when working on location than it ever did in remote labs, like popping a handful of Adderall. 

The segregation came without warning. Experiments and treatments went unfinished; communications went dark; theories withered and died without the proper environment in which to nurture them. Uprooted and shipped away to some toxic waste dump, Jennifer Roland never felt more useless. 

Day in and day out, she sat behind a monitor, watching religious fanatics of varying degrees of insanity fight and fuck and feast and absolutely slaughter one another. The scheduled bursts from the Towers would resound, the crew inside the lead-insulated concrete shelters would shield their eyes, and shortly thereafter, an all-out shitfest would ensue on the screens in front of them. Recovery teams were dispatched to covertly collect any bodies they could, which were promptly tossed onto the slab in the operating theatre or iced in the morgue. Occasionally, they’d get a few on the table who just refused to fucking die, and in more than one instance, Roland would return to her quarters with a black eye or finger-shaped bruises branded into her throat. 

“That’s why you get hazard pay,” she can recall Jeremy Blaire assuring her over drinks. “Relax, Jen. The building is radiation-proof. The radio waves can’t hurt you in there.”

Once rare, those desperately clinging to existence (it could hardly be called life by the time they’d arrived at the lab) were showing up in higher and higher numbers. Their presence always fucked with the medical equipment — due to the high levels of radiation they were exposed to, she was assured by Dr. Ewen Cameron — but more than that, it was affecting people: relief nurses, research assistants, those who had the least contact with them. It was Cameron himself who paged her into the telemetry lab to show her the increase in radio wave blips on the radar, seemingly organic hotspots of radiation cropping up out of nowhere. The “feedback loop,” he’d called it: such prolonged exposure to such vulnerable individuals mutated them from receivers to projectors. 

These unholy fucks were walking nuclear reactors, and they were bleeding it inside the lab.

Between autopsies of lunatics and treatment of her infected staff, Roland accumulated the most exposure to these residual waves, which is perhaps why she held out the longest. While others were rushing to the bathrooms to puke their guts out or sobbing into their workstations, Roland kept the Towers from collapsing under its own weight. Just like she had at Mount Massive, at least in her own mind. Such responsibility, of course, takes its pound of flesh, resulting in a sharp uptick of headaches and irritability in the doctor.

In fact, she kept an iron grip on the facility, even as employee numbers began to drop. Some transferred; some just dropped dead. All were required to vacate the operating sector by 22:00 hours so that it could be “defunked” for the next day. Roland, of course, oversaw this expedition, which usually consisted of hanging out in a hazmat suit and surfing what little internet they were allowed access to while the facility was cleansed. The longer she sat at the computer, the more severe her migraines would become, which she chalked up to blue light exposure. 

But when the urgent email alert – MOUNT MASSIVE ASYLUM STAFF EVACUATION – popped up in her notifications, the pain in her skull went from throbbing to blinding. The computer mouse flew from her hand and shattered on the floor as she dug the heels of her palms into her eye sockets, desperate to relieve the pressure behind them. Searing white heat tears at her retinas and she’s utterly convinced that her brain is hemorrhaging. 

Through that glaring light appear misty shadows of men in lab coats, blurred as if through a foggy camera lens: men with clipboards and scalpels and blue latex gloves. A scrawny lad in his early twenties wriggles futilely on the table, strapped to the gurney by too-tight leather restraints around his limbs and forehead. He’s fully conscious but barely cognizant of anything but fear. She can hear the low timbre of male voices floating around her, murmuring words she cannot or perhaps will not comprehend. Her focus is on the young man before her and the muffled syllables he attempts to utter from beneath his oxygen mask. Cutting through the underwater noise is the sound of her own name, sharp and deliberate, and her gaze falls to the laryngoscope clutched tightly in her left hand. 

Shifting behind the boy on the table, she adjusts her grip on the tool and removes the oxygen mask from his face. He’s drooling quite profusely. With the sleeve of her right arm, she gently mops up his mess before prying his mouth open with her fingers. At this moment, his eyes snap up to hers, pupils blown wide with terror, and though his movement is highly restricted, it’s evident he’s trying to shake his head. The raspy frantic whisper of “no, no, no” does nothing to phase her colleagues. She attempts to quiet him with a soft shushing (to absolutely no avail) and inserts the curved blade into his throat. Tears, mucus, and saliva flow together as he struggles to breathe; his eyes plead for mercy, the lightless gaze of a soul all but relinquishing itself to the higher power of Death. As she preps the endotracheal tube for insertion, Jenny tries to swallow her nerves but they catch in her throat, dry and brittle. Guilt won’t save them now. 

“Oh, God, please—”

Roland’s torn out of the vision by the inescapable urge to vomit and she rolls onto her side to wretch away the venom in her memories. With no recollection of how exactly she ended up on the floor ten feet away from the monitors, she pushes herself up and wipes away the acid from her lips. Just like she had in her memory. 

And she feels sick all over again, but not just for the fate of that patient: for all the rampant fuckery shoveled upon her by Murkoff. Psychological manipulation, radiation poisoning, blatant sexism. She enlisted in this army to study genetics, not to torture the cognitively vulnerable to the brink of insanity. 

Fuck Jeremy Blaire. Fuck Murkoff. Fuck this Project Bluebird bullshit. 

On the way out the door, she flicks a half-smoked cigarette into the server room trashcan to trigger the emergency sprinkler system. Whoops.

                                                     * * * * * * * * *

She never liked the company cars, anyway.

As the frame of the Mercedes rolls into the lake behind her (and with it all traces of her identity), Jennifer Roland makes her way through the Mount Massive Wilderness Reverse to the runoff reservoir. Armed with only an industrial flashlight-stun gun and her unlisted phone, she’s well aware that this mission will more than likely be her last. But when you’ve got nothing to lose and an insatiable hunger for vengeance, death doesn’t seem so bad.

Tucking her hair up under her cap and securing her phone in the zippered pocket of her plastic splash suit, she hoists herself up into the drainage pipe that pours into the lagoon from the sewers. The hospital isn’t even visible from this side of the mountain; according to her map, it’s about ten miles through a sea of blood, shit, and god knows what else to Mount Massive Asylum. If she’d ever wondered how Andy Dufresne felt escaping Shawshank, this is about as close as it gets.

Rats and snakes are her only company for the first several miles but in the last stretch of three, the scent of fresh death hits her like a brick wall. Mutilated corpses litter the pathways, slipping into the murky sewage and compounding the horrific stench. The closer she comes to her destination, the more pungent the odor becomes until she’s stumbling upon half-dead patients and doctors alike, as lifeless and miserable as the Temple Gate victims. The feeling of another impending migraine strikes her but she presses onward. She’s not sure what’s more unsettling: the gut-wrenching screams coming from above her head or the periodic gaps of silence between.

Drenched in blackwater, Jenny navigates her way up into the hospital block, only to be met with the gory sight of her colleagues and former patients strewed about the ward like discarded toys. She stands gravely still listening for anything — a scream, a whisper, a breath — but no sound breaks the stony silence. The only living presence in the block appears to be a few very persistent bees buzzing around her head. The doctor carefully peels away her suit and the clothes underneath, tucking them away in an air vent and replacing them with the least fluid-drench patient uniform she can find. Thank you for your sacrifice, 937. 

Jenny’s exceedingly careful not to cause too much commotion with the beam of her flashlight as she stalks into the hospital security station and logs in under one of her former colleague’s ID. The security footage tapes appear to be highly corrupted, with some of the cameras shorting out completely, but through the hazy grey static, she can just make out a man’s shadow: impossibly tall, grainy, almost translucent, as though it were comprised solely of smoke. Shredding through its victims like razors through tissue paper. Clearly, this storm of fuck is just beginning.

“Ain’t a perdy sight, is it?” 

Hot, humid breath hits the back of her neck before she can react and a spindly hand clamps down on her wrist. 

“Not as perdy as them nails, brudder.”

“Don’t talk ‘im t’death. Get the goat and go.”

“Awful s-sorry ‘bout this, boy, but I gotsta.”

Jenny’s not keen to stick around to find out what exactly it is this dissociative man “gotsta” do. Firing up the switch on the stun gun, she jabs the pointed prongs into his throat and digs in. His grip on her tightens before it releases, the perp collapsing to the ground and clutching his bleeding neck with a frankly overdramatic gurgle. 

Roland flees through a labyrinth of plastic wrap and broken gurneys, but the heavy slap of bare feet limping on the floor behind her soon catches up. And just as she looks over her shoulder to catch sight of him, her ankle snags against a tripwire, knocking her face-first into the bloodied tile. That fall triggers the release of two sheets of barbed wire that rattle towards her, coiling around her legs and torso; clearly, this trap was meant for a bigger monster than her. The barbs easily rip through the uniform fabric to sink into her thighs, calves, stomach. The more she wriggles, the deeper they sink, and the shards of shattered glass on the floor only amplify the pain.

Her only chance to protect herself is the flashlight that launched no more than a foot away during the fall. If she can just tear her arm free-

The arch of a dirty foot secures its grip on the flashlight handle.

“Just like a coward t’run. That won’t do at-tall, Dennis.”

“You shouldn’ta run, boy. Now you’ll be all bloody fer the weddin’.”

He picks up the flashlight and turns it over in his hand, checking the weight and feel of it; he decides he likes it. 

He likes it even more when it cracks like a Louisville slugger against her temple.

                                                     * * * * * * * * *

Her muscles are stiff and achy when she regains consciousness, somehow sore and numb at the same time. The swelling beside her left eye blurs her vision slightly, but she knows she’s in some sort of chop shop, upright in a DIY-patient restraint system that would make even Hannibal Lecter shudder. Her instinct is to attempt another escape, to writhe her way out of these straps if she has to chew her shoulder off to do it. There’s no telling how much time she has before someone-

...Whistling.

[auriel187]

Purgatory Ch.1

Word count: 8500 (around)

Warnings: Creepy Capitals being Creepy Capitals...

Pairings: None yet (ship who you want)

The Conclave

In times I tremble, I hold onto my heart knowing their safety is more important than my own.

In krono mhe slipp lowa, mhe kep onto mi beeta knowing demens secur is masal imprativ than mi own.

Eulalia

The cityscape was unapologetically urban. There were no trees or city planted blooms, just monoliths of concrete and glass soaring out of the sidewalk in an exact grid pattern. At night it was beautiful in it's own way, there were so many lights. By day you relied on the sky to let you know that it wasn't a monochromatic world; just one in which the people were too busy for life. For over a generation progress had meant the teaching of specific skill sets to the children of The Felicity and The Hope Rises. In most parts of this city we only work and eat, there was no time to sweep fall leaves or plant spring flowers, so they eliminated them. It was sad how mundane and rigid life became. There was no beauty, hardly even enough to notice the blue above. With no more designers, our clothing and cars never change, there are five styles of everything in Ellis, but you’ll very rarely see different districts dressed the same way. In this way our city outperforms those in the region.

In the mind of the young outcast I used to be, it was like a story to me. One that became more and more like a nightmare as time ripped every shred of innocence from my life.

The coldness of the slate tile and it's dampness seeped through the thin polyester trousers my brother, Hami, had stolen from the market. With knees pulled tight to my pronounced rib cage I shivered in the early morning chill. In this poor light the roof-tops spread in every direction like great grey serpents with rectangular scales. Only the red brick chimneys ruined the illusion, but in this light they were just as monochromatic as everything else, the slate, the swirling smog, the streets that were never deserted, the unfriendly sky with its dense cloud robbing me of the sunrise. From here I could see what a maze this borough was, every house three stories and each joined to the next. The streets curved as if laid down on a whim a few centuries ago before anyone had conceived of a grid pattern idea.

There I’d stay while I waited for school to begin, in my ripped khakis and oversized faded maroon shirt. There I’d stay telling myself stories of brave heroes who had it all wishing I could be one of them. Hungry, cold and tired from all the city had to give me, was it selfish of me to wish this on the little girl in my class who called me by the wrong name telling me I’d live the rest of my life covered in mud and shit and drinking out of a clogged gutter?

From the Mass, you could see all the things to love about the city, and there was a lot to love about this city. It was one thing I loved about Capital Hill. From the high arches in the towering glass buildings to the balconies that look over the sea of homes and businesses. It was one of the things I never had back home. The views from here were stunning. I could see The Torch glistening in the golden rays of sunlight, and the sense of safety that fills me is almost overwhelming. “Miss Suarez,” I heard behind me as I felt the soft breeze hitting the apples of my cheeks. The stray hairs behind my ears flailed about behind my ears as I turned to face the intruder now standing before me. He practically filled the doorway, in his uniform that made him look more like a cinder block than a man. His half shaved black hair glistened in the light before he took a step toward me. “The work day is over for you. There’s gonna be a Conclave later this evening at The Torch.”

I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible, but judging by the way he held back his laughter I guess I failed. “What for?” I proceeded on as if I didn’t realise the cameras were there, and Seraphineas was living for it. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes as he chuckled boredly, “Maybe it’s another execution...or maybe they’re announcing a new system in place that only benefits them.” It was impossible not to hear the humour in his deep voice as he mocked the Capitals and the past Conclaves. Of course, knowing that he would never say anything like this in front of his other guard buddies really put a damper on things. He must’ve seen my fading smile because he immediately turned to walk me out. I slipped into the elevator, the wall of glass turned into a mirror. I see why people assumed we were related. We were both relatively tall, him at six feet and myself at almost five foot eight. Thin figures adorned with muscle that came from our unique forms of exercise. “The Conclave begins at five. You’ll be charted too so be careful.” Phineas warned me as we exited the elevator just before we parted ways.

Well, that wasn’t ominous at all. You’d think something like that would bother a girl, but no. I’ve lived in this city my whole life. A girl gets used to the threats disguised as requests. They don’t just crash suddenly before you like lightning in a storm, I’ve known them to be the sudden raindrop before a downpour. It reminded me of the unease I felt every time I entered The Felicity. The Capital Hill district was beautiful. With their grand buildings and picturesque views, it was easy to say how much nicer it was then The Barrens or The Shadows. It was just another monster behind the curtain. A puppeteer pulling the strings of laws and lives of the people around them. They were an oxygen mask filled with poisonous gas to anyone that wasn’t their own. Luckily, I was close enough for them to view my life worth saving if shit ever happened.

I was a Regal now. Almost thirty eight percent of the population, we were almost untouchable in the eyes of society. We were privileged and we knew it, most of us acting like assholes because of it. I knew better. I used to be part of the forty two percent of Ellis. In short, my family was living ration to ration, sick and in a small house that was barely standing. I had a mother who worked her ass off just to come home to four kids and a father I barely knew because he was off working the most shifts he could. Unfortunately, the whole family plan didn’t work out when my mother and brothers all got Galixx, leaving only my dad and I.

I think we lived because we weren’t always home. I was the only one who went to school. Maybe if they didn’t think to send me away, I could’ve been with them. Instead, I left for school everyday and came home one day to my crying mother holding my brother, Devis, whose face was covered with sweat, dirt and tears as he coughed up blood. I turned and ran outside my home and began screaming until I found one of the town guard. I don’t know who long it took me to find him but when we got back, my mother was wailing and begging for the guard to take me away as she started coughing between her sobs.

I went to bed that night with tear stains running down my face, and to make matters worse, I was completely alone. I didn’t call anyone, simply sitting in my room with my eyes screwed shut until I eventually dozed off.

I woke up the next morning with a guard outside ready to escort me to my new home. My new home in The Hope Rises. It was nicer than my old home there was also more room up here not that my dad would be spending much time at home. It didn’t matter though, I was never completely alone. We all had our own family, mine just came in the form of Tauriel.

She was at the root of most of my happy memories. From my first day of school when she braided my hair and told me stories from books she had read from before the bunkers opened. I’d spend some nights at her house doing homework. She never really paid attention to anything aside from Earth Class. It was considered a Rogue class, but that didn’t stop a few Blends from coming in. Maybe she was interested because of the books she read of mountains that reached clouds, or butterflies with bright wings and this class was the closest thing to actually learning about them. She just wanted a world beyond these walls. I understood that. It just made us better friends. Even when I changed districts, we were still inseparable.

But, as Murphy’s Law dictates, “Everything that can go wrong will.” It was one of those days where Tauriel’s mom and I were baking for some Capital party. One of the snobby events where they needed catering and waiters. Zenobia, Tauriel’s mother, had been working for hours and seemed glad to have the assistance of a twelve year old. I had been decorating the large cake when I heard screaming from outside. Zenobia quickly ran to the window and nearly passed out. I muttered ‘Tori?’ before I was out the front door, seeing three guards trying to cuff her and shocking her into submission. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Her mom asked, trying to make it for her child. “Your child hacked into a government system with intent to distribute information.” I saw red, almost jumping on the guard closest to me. “She’s eleven, you lunatics!” Her mother reached for her daughter and the guard holding her hit her in the stomach. Tauriel and I froze. I didn’t know where to look. From the guard beating Zenobia to the guards dragging Tauriel to a large truck and throwing her in. I took a step in Tauriel’s direction and regretted it instantly.

A loud clang echoed behind me and Zenobia was lying on the ground, the guard walking to the truck without a second thought. When I ran to the unconscious woman, the truck drove away and I was stuck. Do I run for help or do I stay with her? I couldn’t shake the memory of my mom and Devis and what if I could just have faster? I need to stay with her. I’m not risking it again.

“Miss Fa Suarez?” I heard a voice say from behind me. I only turn my head but I stay pretty much in place as the swaying of the shuttle brings me back to the world I should be in. “It’s your stop.” He looks concerned. In his words, I’m usually ‘sharp as a tack’. I walk to the front of the shuttle and reach into my pocket. He’s here everyday. From my six AM trips to The Felicity straight to my trips back home at eight PM. “Take a day.” I say handing him my fair, plus another tip for waiting for me to get off. He never accepts my tips, but that doesn’t stop me from stuffing it in the small basket where he keeps his personal belongings. “This is why I got you these. Tell that sister yours I said to eat.” He handed me four wraps. I nodded my thanks at the sweet old man. “My love to the greats.” He laughed at my words before watching to make sure I descended the shuttle safely.

I turned towards my building. A large gold bricked building not very many stories high, but it was honestly much smaller on the inside than one would think when examining the building from outside. The air was cold here, it always was. With Tauriel constantly in the garage and having several pieces of machinery, the cool air prevented her and I from becoming casualties of her rage. She only ever got into tinkering when she was pissed. Based on the loud echoing clanking I could hear echoing from downstairs, I figured she’d need time to cool off and maybe put down whatever large metal object was colliding with her desk. In any sense, we had to be at a Conclave in a few hours.

My room wasn’t very big, only enough space to place my bed and two drawers. The room already had a large closet in the back so it’s not like I needed much in here anyways. The bronze and turquoise lights that swirled designs in my room. The premise of light and shadow was always appealing to me, maybe because it accrued anywhere and remained a natural part of life no matter what district you lived in. I headed towards my closet in search of something formal for the Conclave. I was never one for overt femininity, having been taught at a young age to not give a crap about what I look like and to just get the work done. That being said, I always managed to find a dress or two that I really did like. Scouring through pieces of cotton and linen, I stopped suddenly when I saw it again. A distressed brown leather coat.

It was just a jacket. It was just a stupid leather jacket with a padded quilt patch on the left elbow and a crap ton of buckles. There were faded letters on the left chest and a sort of mesh material that would cover my knuckles. It was just a jacket, and I loved it. Like a hidden piece of me that I never really show. This jacket screamed Rogue in uppercase letters. I loved that, even though I hadn’t been a Rogue in sixteen years. It almost felt wrong to wear it sometimes. Like I was an impostor trying to pass as something I wasn’t. I wasn’t even close.

I always envied Tauriel in that regard. Despite living here in The Regal Ward, The Hope Rises, with me, she never seemed to fear being shunned for not attempting to fit into the higher classed district. Fiercely adorning leather and denim in her everyday attire, she looked more like a Rogue than a Blend. Then again, why try fitting in when the world already looks down on you. Being that Tauriel’s district accounted for only one percent, and having been around Rogues most of her life it was easy to understand why she might be more comfortable in leather and studs.

“Are you wearing that tonight?” I heard her ask behind me. I should’ve figured she was on her way up when the banging and crashing ceased. I was holding the jacket in my hands, my fingers running over the cuff. “No...it doesn’t go with anything I own.” I gave my reply, letting my eyes drift past the coat and toward some of the other items of clothing in the confined space. I grab an old dress. The ornate gold dress collar along the black halter top matched the asymmetrical leaves on the red rose skirt. If it still fits like I remember, it should stop a little above my knee. “I’ll be in the shower. Do you…” before I could even finish asking, she responded. “Yes.” And with that, I left.

I spent almost thirty minutes in the bathroom, I was wrapped in my robe with my hair soaking wet. In the mirror, I hold my own gaze for just a second before taking into account how tired I must look. The bags under my eyes were devastatingly prominent. I don’t look at myself often, too afraid to not recognize myself from the old photos I had hanging in my room, and I was right. My features are sharper now, more pronounced jaw, higher cheekbones, and my eyes look more almond than monolid. I look like my mom. Though her hair was shiny black and mine was dark brown and my eyes are slightly darker than hers, I can still see it sickeningly clear. I placed my hand on the scar on my neck, remembering where my birthmark used to be. Descended from Natives and Malaysian ancestors, teachers at school would tell me that the very DNA in my bones held more history than our textbooks.

I’d know. I read them all.

It wasn’t much but keeping my hair down with a braid securely clipped behind my ears, neither Tauriel nor I had any makeup so my bare face and simple hairdo, Just dry your tears and fake a smile. Nobody wants to see a Regal cry. “You know, your eyes are going to get all puffed up. Here.” Tauriel stood behind me clutching a bottle of eye drops. I smiled at my oldest friend before I slung my arm over her shoulder and we walked to her room. I could never imagine my life without her. At this point, she was all I had to live for.

My little sister. I would walk from Heaven to Hell (and everywhere in between) for.

Tauriel

I always hated Conclaves. They always seemed too public. Ironic when you think about it. The word ‘conclave’ actually meant private meeting so the large citywide events seemed like a lie. I felt almost pageant-ish, told to look my best because of how many “eligible bachelors” there were. I honestly just think it’s because the Capitals would never want to be seen with the lower districts in our ‘rags and cheap coats’. In my opinion, the clothes the lower districts could afford only seemed to make the Capitals look more classy, almost like they were subtly jabbing at us in a way that said “haha, even in your best you’re not at level with our best.” And if we were looking to impress the eligible, more attractive people, The Rogues held that trophy for decades. Honestly, the glassy dullness of Capitals creeped me out. I wasn’t the only one who thought that either, the distinct features of each district were almost immediately identifiable.

The Capitals, born and raised in Capital Hill (aka The Felicity) had the most interesting eyes in the world, very distinctive for their central heterochromic irises that housed multiple colours at a time. That and the fact that most of them were fat faced from being able to eat was a dead giveaway. They look like the Bill Nye bobblehead Eulalia had on her desk. Capital also wore their hair short. I never understood why, but long hair was a sign of rebellion against the “oppressive and derogatory order of the Capital men.” I’ll give you one guess what demographic was saying shit like that. I’ll give you a hint, they steal daddy’s cards and mommy’s rocks to go flirt with the Rogue boys much to the disapproval of the elders. Acting like they were edgy for going through the same phase as their mothers did, before they realize that Rogue men don’t give a fuck about rocks unless it gets them paid.

The Regals were similar, wearing their hair slightly longer. Most had extremely lean frames due to the training most of them worked for since the age of six to become a guard. The Regal Ward housed most of the idiotic soldier boys, I was honestly surprised when a Regal came along and decided that they would rather sell booze to the city rather than tote a gun and act like you owned the place. Most regal women (like Eulalia) studied for the higher grades, like doctors and lawyers. It was cool to see Regals, though. Their tag was their hair. Yes it was usually cut short but I think they made up for it with the silver that rimmed their hair from birth.

Rogues were almost unbelievable in their district appearance. They had all the most beautiful features from their naturally sharp jawlines with either dimples or freckles (sometimes both). The boys usually had long hair, mostly because the Government didn’t think it was a good idea to give Rogues and Infects access to sharp edged tools, partly because most of them thought they looked tough. They were all ripped, boys and girls from years of literal heavy lifting. I always considered myself lucky to be a Blend in that regard. We always got some kind of Rogue gene. I dawned dimples. My Jawline wasn’t as defined but I had that feature and I was glad I did. Eulalia was of Native descent so her bone structure resembled a statue carved of marble.

Eulalia kept fidgeting with the metal collar on her dress, her jacket fitting her narrow frame as the dress hung above her knees. I know for a fact how much she hated wearing tight, single layers. Regales often wore baggy jumpers with tattered looking overlayers. It was the perfect look for her. Mostly Regal but with an obvious Rogue history. “Hey.” I whispered, her head snapping down to me due to her not only being a few inches taller than me but in heels nearly the same height Seraphineas. “You okay?” I asked. The huge influx of people walking towards The Torch, once a mighty statue.

She always had this moment where she stands just out of view of the guard. The Conclaves would separate people based on district and having only recently (not recently) turned twenty one, the word Regal was now branded on her identifications, she still felt like a traitor for standing with them. She nodded, softly patting my hand before walking towards the desk. I did the same.

“Hold out your hand please.” A woman asked, holding a large glass plate with a few small censors out to me. It was cold under my palms as it scanned the fingerprints. My face appeared on a small screen in front of the woman. It must’ve had the words Bruise in big block letters because the demeanor of this woman changed as she stared me down. She quickly gripped my arm and clasped a large silver cuff on my wrist. Could she feel me rolling my eyes at this? I huffed a laugh at her attempt to be nonchalant. She has to know how obvious it is that she now fears a twenty three year old. I stared at the blinking light as I walked through the stone arch that led to the city center. The four sectors were at least proportional to the Districts population, Blends/ Bruises having the least amount of people. I stood in the back, my eyes glancing over to the Regal section where I attempted to find Eulalia. I can see Seraphineas walking down the row and walking towards the back of the section. The silver streaks in his shortened hair I can recognize immediately, even in the sea of silver headed citizens. He liked to dye his hair darker, I know he tries to keep his hair as neutral as possible as to not get busted right away when he gets sent undercover, but that only made the silver look like a slate blue.

The microphone screamed. A short, sickly woman stood on the stage with a tall, semi healthy looking man. They were Capital to the heights accord. The Jevons to be exact. They were the parents to three kids. Spoiled like asshats as most people like to call them. They come to the Mopes once a week. They go thrifting cause it sounds real fun and looks real cool when a Capital is down to get down, while they wear their false lashes that wave like flags to the men here. I can see their eldest, a girl by the name of Apathy and yes she lives up to her name. A narcissist who spends her time ridiculing the districts for the fact that The Felicity robs us blind. Places like The Barrens and The Bounds were trash holes where the people should bow down and kiss her feet. The only reason she even dares cross the boundary is to find a piece of ass they’d dump after a month anyway.

Even now, Apathy and Power (yes, Elodora and Zenier Jevon named their son Power) were basking in the spotlight of Capital glory, whilst Anarchy, the youngest, was staring off into the Regal section with her lower lip between her teeth. Apparently mommy and daddy’s speech was a bore. She really thought she was somebody though. Her honey gold tresses dangle to her lower back rather than the neatly buzzed pixie most of the women wore.

“We celebrate another year of safety and sanctity behind the walls of Ellis...” The woman on stage spoke in a shrill voice that instantly made my whole brain throb. Can this day get any better? Well yes actually. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the one and only October Vervent. I was nearly four years older than him and I'm thoroughly convinced he’s been taller than me since birth. I slowly weaved my way through the section to find the taller young man. I pat his shoulder causing him to jump slightly and smile almost immediately. His mother was a Rogue, just like mine. His jawline was more rounded, less sharp than most Rogues and Blends. He was of Chinese descent, which gave him shiny black hair that only cut off below his ears with a single streak of silver just behind his left ear. Just below but still in sight, was a tattoo that read “I CAN’T HEAR YOU.” Well, that’s one way to tell the world you’re deaf and mute.

I knew he had spent the better half of ten minutes reading the lips of the Jevons standing on the large metal podium. I turned to face him. He followed suit with an even bigger smile. I saw two small scars just above his ears. I’ll have to do something with that later. “It is our pleasure to present the recipients of this year's Grands.” Elodora continued with her rehearsed and very poorly executed speech. I normally would have stopped listening by now, but October needed a break from people being completely oblivious to his needs and the needs of people like him. I began signing to him, each word they said. “Mara Fox of the Barrens District. An extra one hundred was added to your wage, congratulations on receiving Dead Eye, Miss Fox.” A knew the name. I’m sure Everybody did. Every member of the Fox family walking the earth had naturally bright red hair. Mara was the only one with a fiery red.

She walked up on stage almost gingerly. The apprehension in her warm brown eyes as she twisted the material of her dusty rose dress, which was actually just an oversized T shirt with bleach stains and burn holes at the bottom. Her hair was in an updo. The front was twisted up to the right side of her head with a long braid that wrapped the rest into a sock bun. The smile on her face was fake. She usually had these deep dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. She was on the stage, the uncomfortable feeling that this was some kind of sick joke was evident by her wandering eyes. The part that made me sick, though, was when Zenier Jevon looked her up and down, biting his lip at the exposed fair skin of her legs. He stared at her almost greedily as he shook her hand. He was married with three demon children and was currently drooling at the thought of being with a twenty five year old on a public stage. A girl the same age as his youngest daughter with his wife standing right next to him as the creep caressed her hand. Were all men in power this fucking gross? She bid the couple a near silent thank you as she practically flew off the stage.

A low applause filled the room as she returned to her place with all the other Rogues and Infects. Everyone began to move out of the aisle, heading for the doors when, “The next recipient of this grand is…” What the hell? In the 23 years I’ve lived in the city and all the Conclaves I attended, there was never more than one recipient. Never has there been multiple. Ever. The crowds all stood frozen. Something wasn’t quite right about this. “...Eulalia Fa Suarez!”

Something definitely was right here.

Eulalia looked more confused than I thought she would. Her eyes narrowed as she slowly walked to the stage. She kept shooting questioning looks to both Seraphineas and I as she shook the hands of the Jevon’s on stage. Xenier had the fakest of fake smiles before he practically pushed her off the stage, where the crowd raised their hands in an awkwardly pushed applause. October and I didn't applaud though. I think he might’ve been able to sense my worry because even as I stood completely spaced out, staring at the empty space where Eulalia was standing not that long ago.

“The next grand being received,” I snapped out of my daze and signed to October. I know he was able to read lips but honestly he deserved all the help the world had to offer. “Thayer Michaels for bringing in the most food for the city!” Eladora spoke pridefully as the Rogues and Blends (Infects and Bruises included) either scoffed or dramatically rolled their eyes. Of course we did. Regals had the highest population and spent most days begging for scraps. Blends were treated just the same unless both parents were in the picture. Capitals were less than fifteen percent of Ellis and for some ridiculous reason, they deem themselves more important than every other district taking first picks of long hauls and leaving enough for them to have a chuckle watching the poorest of citizens fight for stale bread or and water rations.

I wasn’t complaining. If anyone deserved the grand, it was Mara Fox, EulaliaFa Suarez and Thayer Michaels. Mara Fox, when she wasn’t doing the wood work or in the meat room, spent hours teaching young Rogues how to read, giving them the education most of them had to give up in order to eat. Eulalia bought big portions of food and would walk the streets of the Barren giving food to families. She cries when she comes back and begs me not to ask about it. In guilt, she pushes to raise the ration fund for Capitals and Regals before she offers her leisure time (which she barely has) to teach kids in the neighborhoods that had no doctors basic medical skills. Thayer spent his time not hunting as a caretaker. He would walk October and a few other people to and from places, getting them groceries and even playing with them in parks. It didn’t need to be said that October was his favorite. October was partial to him too, if the smile that was currently on his face said anything as he watched the much taller, much older man walk on stage. He deserved it. All three of them did, but giving them grands to commemorate for all they’ve done almost exclusively for The Felicity made them seem far less noble.

At this point, for October, I tried not to focus on the fact that Eladore was eyeing Thayer the same way Zenier was eyeing Mara. What the fuck is wrong with these people?

When the Conclave ended, there was this feeling of unease. October and I still stood side by side as the Capitals made their way out first, not wanting to be surrounded by the lowest of lows for longer than necessary. They also just got to leave. Every other district was either held back to get your cuff taken off or you were waiting for someone who did. Yet another way to separate us and treat us like crap. All because I have a flashy red label next to my name. To hell with it all. I stood in the line watching as people existed around me. I never felt like I was existing anywhere close to them. Eulalia was having a conversation with October, Mara was having a moment with her boyfriend and Seraphineas is breaking up a fight. Oh this chaotic world of mine.

“You know,” I heard a deep voice behind me. An air of familiarity hit and shifted to my comfortable numbness once I knew who it was. “The point is for you to move up when people leave, right. Don’t tell me you grew attached to that thing.” Yup, same old Thayer. I took a few steps forward closing the gap between me and the tall Rogue girl in front of me. “Still not much of a talker, huh, Jailbait?” He said quietly enough so only I could hear him. Part of me wanted to clock him for bring up that stupid ass nickname. Another part wanted to give a smart ass reply. I was so in my own head, I missed the opportunity. “You always did prefer hunks of metal to people.” He bit. I just knew the bastard had a smirk on his face right now. “Hunks of metal don’t talk and aren’t nearly as narcissistic.” I responded, adamant on getting away from the prick.

I was never so glad to see a Capital in my life and this one was a real bitch. The younger woman had the angriest look in her eye when I walked up, not sure why. I don’t fuck with Capitals and the feeling was mutual. “Have you stolen any property not belonging to you during the conclave?” What the fuck was there to steal, all the shits a person could give? “No.” She sized me up before shooting a quick glance to Thayer, who was still behind me. “During the Conclave, did you skip a mandatory announcement for-” She looked at Thayer again, this time slowly taking in his features, “any reason of recreation?” Is she serious? I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, we ran off to tap dance on the Torch. I guess you caught us.” I could hear a few people snickering at my rebuttal. At least they have a sense of humour.

Eulalia

Tauriel looked about as comfortable as I thought she would. She had a scowl on her face as the attendant pried the cuff off of her wrist. “Ak heppia?” I called out to her. She turned to me with a small smile. She didn’t have to look up to see who was talking to her, I’m pretty sure only a handful of people still speak Dyselian. It made Tauriel feel safe, like people couldn’t poke their nose into our thoughts and conversations. She nodded slowly, she was alright but the exhaustion of having to deal with so many people was getting to her. “Mhe am heppia, mhe just desir to vette hadven.” I chuckled at that, because of course she just wanted to go back home. I honestly am not sure why she didn’t want to stay. Most girls would kill to get Thayer to utter a single word to them. Like most Regal boys, he was broad shouldered with rippling muscles that were obvious under any shirt and tall as hell. Who was I kidding, she'd rather break every bone than deal with her old tormenter again.

She walked over to Toby and I, glad to be with people she could actually tolerate. “U beso to gat allies!” I whispered, pinching her arm. She visibly cringed at the idea. “Mhe would rather pia in hutted.” she replied, turning to look at October. She quickly signed ‘Eula says I need to make friends.’ The taller boys tried to stifle his laughter before he signed ‘She’s right.’ Tauriel rolled her eyes before the two began to playfully bicker back and forth. I left them to their devices when I turned to notice Mara standing to the side waiting for Cecil to get his cuff off.

“Hey, Fox.” I said nudging the redhead’s shoulder. She quickly turned to face me, a smile quickly spread when she realized I wasn’t some other Regal. She whispered a quiet hello before turning to look at her boyfriend. It’s been a while since I’d seen Cecil but he grew up nice. He was now a little over six foot two, typical for Rogue males. “He asks about you two.” Mara stated seemingly out of the blue. I know she worried about him all the time, more so since he stopped coming over for exams. It was the same look in her eyes the night she called Tauriel and I to help him after a few guards thought it right to attack him. “You let him know it’s nothing for me to do an exam?” I asked as the freckled young man moved up in the line. Mara’s voice quivered as she nodded “Everyday. He doesn’t want to bother you, you being a doctor and all.” She smiled slightly when he waved our way. “He still working in the mines?” I asked. Mara scoffed, “Like he’d ever stop. Thick as he and his buddies are?” I couldn't help but laugh. Cecil definitely hadn’t changed. I nearly jumped out of my skin when the chimes rang throughout the city. Fuck!

“Tell him I say to give that shoulder a break every once in a while!” I say before I began running back to Tauriel and October. This wasn’t good. Tauriel looked ready to break something. Her fists were clenched so tight, I thought she'd pierce the skin. As quickly as I could, I signed to the two of them, ‘We need to leave. October, you’re staying at our house for tonight.’ Tauriel froze in place. I only sent her a sympathetic smile when October ran to grab his protector. Thayer had placed his hoodie over October as we all started to Tori and my building. We walked the back alleys and listened for the easy to identify marching of the guards.

I’m not surprised that Thayer is good at this. He was a hunter. Standing at nearly six six, he is both light on his feet and stealthy. I imagine his training was horrifying but I know for a fact that he learned his skills while he was in prison not when he got out. He had the same urgent distrust of his surroundings that Tauriel has whenever she leaves our house. What the fuck did they do to them?

Tauriel sneaks to the back of the building and then there’s silence. I held my breath as I waited for her. I smiled when I heard a whistle emit from around the corner. We were behind the building in a second as she held the window open. She turned to Thayer first, I know it was because he was the tallest and the window was a little more than seven feet above the ground. He went down feet first and let out a satisfied smirk when he landed. I sent October in next, only because I wanted him inside before any guards decided to check back here. I went next, grabbing onto the copper pole that hung above the window I quickly slid in. Thayer made sure to place me down on the concrete floor rather than actually let me jump. Tauriel came in and jumped from the window, closing it before the guards could see her.

We got inside just before eight. The second we entered upstairs from the basement, the alarms started blaring. They had placed a curfew after the Conclave. I can see Tauriel standing awkwardly by the door before she disappeared into the garage. October sent me a curious look and I was glad he didn’t hear what I assumed to be her shelf colliding with the ground or the string of Dyselian profanities. He didn’t need to witness that. Thayer seemed a little shocked at first but I guess he knew the feeling because he sent me a sorrowful half smile.

“Hey! Go lon out isei yella!” She reluctantly exited the garage with a kid bruise forming at her knuckles. She looked beyond pissed. “Mhe deid howa infolo! Mhe deid howa infolo it was a angaari!” She began pacing around. I sent a look to October who was all too quick to leave, practically dragging Thayer behind him as he headed upstairs. I could feel Tori’s blood boiling from here. “I knew they were up to something. I should’ve guessed there would be a trap too!” I said nothing. She was right about something weird going on. The Capitals never offered more money than necessary, they never offered grands and fundings to more than one person each. It’s fairly odd that three people won the grands and six won the funding.

We walked upstairs seeing Thayer and Toby looking for something to eat. Tauriel had walked into her room, closing the door behind her as I walked into the kitchen. October was stuffing his face with bread, not at all worried about anything today had to offer. Thayer on the other hand was standing against the wall, watching as his little brother consumed his food ravenously. I could see how hungry he was too. I tossed him a loaf of his own, standing next to him as we watched the near twenty year old fill himself while sitting on the floor. “You take great care of him.” I said quietly. Most people thought that Rogues like Thayer, tough guys who got into fights, were barbaric animals. They get told that they’re animals so much that they believe it so much.

He looked me in the eye before quickly averting his gaze to the floor. He shrugged off my compliment like it was nothing, but the itching of his lip and the dimple in his cheek let me know that he appreciated it. We sat in silence for a minute before I blurted out “Can I ask you something?” To which he laughed in response. He rolled his shoulders back and relaxed a bit. “Go ahead but I might not answer.” ‘Cheeky bastard’ I thought, rolling my eyes at him “It’s about Tauriel.” He got serious rather quickly at the mention of her name, standing up and staring at me in concern. “Sure, what’s up?” His voice dropped a bit.

“What was she like? In prison?” It hurt me to ask but I might learn something. I pretended not to notice the disappointment and guilt in his eyes even though his long hair had fallen in his eyes.He scratched the back of his neck before clearing his throat. “She was noticeable.” He smiled to himself. “When she got there, a bunch of guys sought her out as a punching bag. They learned pretty quick not to mess with her.” his voice carried such pride as he spoke it was kinda heartwarming. I knew this story. Some prick came in ready to throw punches on anyone in there, he immediately thought Tauriel would make a good target. Thayer got in the way just in time. It’s why he started calling her Jailbait. Easy pickings for a prison brawl. “She was so fucking smart! So much smarter than the guards there. Smart ass got into her fair share of trouble. They threw her in the pit the first night!” That explained a lot. “She came back with a tattoo, we all did.” He mumbled, pulling down the neckline of his shirt to reveal his collarbone. Liberties lined his skin from his collarbone to his right shoulder. “What does “people are poison” mean?” I asked suddenly. He seemed caught off guard. “It means that most people will try to kill you before they actually help you.” He must’ve noticed my furrowed brow because he immediately nudged me with his shoulder “Don’t worry. It’s about Capitals.”

I scoffed. “You definitely sound like Tauriel. She always worries. Thinks they’re monsters that suck the world around them dry.” He laughed at the idea. “You think they’re evil too?” I asked. He shook his head. “I think they know not to poison the water they need to drink.” He says picking up October, who had fallen asleep on my kitchen floor with a half eaten bread roll in his hand. “You boys take my and Tauriel’s beds. We got a couch in the garage.” Thayer shot me a look of refusal. “Like you AND October can fit on the thing, go!” I shooed him away with a humoured grin plastered on my face. He put October in my room, I had a sneaking suspicion he would. “Any particular reason why you opted to take the room of a young girl, Mr. Michaels?” I heard him scoff. He looked up at me with a grin. “She fashioned her room like I did mine.” He responded. I shot him a curious look before it hit me. It looked and felt like a prison cell. That’s why it was always so cold.

I stood silently in the doorway of the garage. Tauriel, currently sitting on the floor fixing her busted shelf with her braid in a sort of bun, paid no mind to my existence as she worked. “You can come in here.” She mumbled under her breath before filling the shelf so it stood at its proper height. I sat on my bench, filled with some of my tools as Tauriel sat in hers. She was tinkering away at something.

When she was arrested, I became her only family left. I would call her everyday and visit her every chance I got, but these walls became so quiet when she went away. I would go to school, earn some quick cash from dumb kids then big bucks from dumb adults. I called her and taught her lessons over the phone and she’d be happy. When I’d go visit her, she’d keep her head down and speak slowly. There were times I’d wonder if she’d make it, but as time went on she became the queen. When she was finally let out, due to the ‘Liberty Act’ all occupants twenty one and lower got released at that point she was seventeen and only a fraction of the eleven year old I saw arrested over a decade ago for no real reason.

She came out with a tattoo, two Liberties on her waist and a new habit of looking over her shoulder at every turn. On her twenty first, when she was branded Bruise by the rule of the Capitals I noticed the scars on her back for the first time. She was wearing her hair up, similar to how it was styled right now, and her top tied around her neck leaving her upper back open. She said she wanted to see the rain so we figured out a way to do it. That year, she spent over a hundred days teaching me how to fix things. I guess when you have a tendency to break things you learn how to fix them.

“I saw Mara earlier. She and Cecil said hi.” I saw her break into a small smile. She adored the redhead, always finding humour in her quickly retorts and sarcastic remarks. “Tell them I say hi.” Tauriel went back to work in a much better mood. “You know…” I started watching Tauriel place an old pair of headphones over her ears. She nodded at me to continue. “With Cecil’s longer hair and dimples, he kinda looks like Thayer…” I held in my laughter when Tauriel’s face fell. She rolled her eyes dramatically before taking off the headphones. “Eula, sharp bone structure and long hair is kinda the norm. And don’t go ruining Cecil for me, he’s my friend.” She still laughed. It’s been years since I heard that sound.

I always loved the sound of Liberties in the morning. The sweet sound of their bird song that let me know I was still in the garage when I should’ve been sleeping hours ago. What did I care? I spent most of my nights on this very bench and often woke up with my head against the cool metal of my desk. I sit with my head in my hand for a minute or two before I actually stand. The boots I ditched last night were still on the floor by my feet, so I decided to leave them there and go eat. The fixed up headphones were around Tauriel’s neck, with a stray wire tickling the back of her head. “Need your room back?” He asked from behind me. I actually did but I wasn’t going to let him know that. I spared a glance in his direction, he almost filled the door frame. He was smirking at me. That devilish smirk, like I didn’t know that's not who he really was. “Is October awake, I need him for something.” I kept my voice cold as I spoke to the older man. He gave me that look, the same one he gave me in prison when he wasn’t overly trying to be a jerk or when he thought I wouldn’t notice. He gave me a quick smile before heading into my room for the sleeping twenty year old.

Toby came out rubbing his dark brown eyes. I pulled him into the kitchen as Thayer emerged. He smiled at his brother before pushing off the door post he was leaning on and going back into Tauriel’s room to get dressed. October kept looking around the kitchen for food as I placed a food bag in front of him. We went through the cupboards, grabbing things for the young man to take home. I knew it would be easier for me to stock my cupboards rather than Toby and Thayer to stock theirs. We were almost done wrapping the bread when the alarm blared throughout the city. “THAYER MICHAELS, REPORT TO THE HAULING STATION.” I nodded at October to continue, letting him know I’d be right back before quickly making my way to the hall where Tauriel was waiting outside the bathroom. When he came out of the bathroom, his hair was tousled and slightly damp. Tauriel wasted no time heading into the steam filled room, waving the soft white clouds from her face. “Sorry in advance. I used a lot of hot water.” He stated through the door to which Tauriel offered no reply. Whatever he did to get this reaction from her must’ve been bad. I saw a glint of that subtle irritation in his eyes, understanding too, but mostly just irritation. “Don’t worry, she likes to take cold showers.” He looked my way with a forced smile. I watched as he quickly put on his jacket and boots shooting me a questioning look. I chuckled knowing exactly what he planned to ask me. “I’ve got work in a couple hours, but Tori will watch him okay?”

He only stiffly nodded before opening the door and heading to the Hauling Station.

@jayloxoxo @thinkinghardhardlythinking @justagirlinafandomworld @mashedpotatowithcheese

[lightningcritter]

My friends, there is no one I would rather go into battle with

Summary:            

“We leave no one behind.” Ladybug declares in a conspiratorial whisper as she drapes her arms over Viperion and Le Chat Noir’s shoulders, leaning in. Her brilliant, genetically impossible blue eyes burn brightly in the sunrise, magnetic in their determination, compassion and cleverness. Their leader.

“Of course.” Viperion breathes, his small smile widening as he throws an arm around Ryuko’s shoulders, his breathing calm and confident despite their situation. She smirks, her teeth a brilliant flash of white in the dark room, her amber eyes shining molten gold in the rising sunlight with an unwavering strength, the very defiance that spurred them to action in their darkest days.

Rena Rouge and Carapace share genuine, yet roguish grins as they clap arms over each other’s shoulders. Their muscles are coiled with power, their grips unyielding and firm, grounding everyone in their team. Chat Noir squeezes Carapace’s forearm, his glowing green eyes a comfort to everyone who looks at him.

“On to a new day.” Ladybug says, watching as the sun rises to bathe them in a faint golden glow, her voice hard. “A new fight. We stand our ground.” She takes a moment to look between every member of her team, her face softening. “You are the best team I could ask for.”

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440024/chapters/69691914

Hello! I'm sorry for posting it so late. Happy Holidays! @tiredaroaceperson  @mlsecretsanta ​ This is more of a found family focused piece with a little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff and a lot of action!! I hope you enjoy it :DD

This does take place during the winter and close to Christmas so dw! The first chapter is a flashback.

Chapter 1: Enter the Dragon

"Can you see all of Paris from the Eiffel Tower?"

A small hum replies.

“The Eiffel Tower is at least 300 metres tall, Katsuo-kun, but I don’t know if you can see all of Paris. It’s not a small city. Speak French, you need to practice it”

“It feels a lot smaller than Tokyo.”

Kagami couldn’t help but disagree. While Tokyo has towering skyscrapers and buildings of all sizes, the blaring colors of neon signs, never-ending stream of crowds and clustering shops and restaurants stacked over each other felt much more crowded and cramped than the wide expanse of Parisian skies. Everything felt so much more open and freeing. Even in cramped areas with winding chimneys and towers of gray brick and multistorey grey-blue roofs, the sky was never fully covered and felt so free.

If anything, the only complaint she really had about their move to Paris is the smell of Canal Saint-Martin. It’s the worst in the summer, especially when there is little breeze. Such as today. She squints at the overly sunny day today and wonders if she should ask Katsuo if he wants ice cream.

“I wanna see it!" Kagami looks down from the sky to Katsuo’s finger, smiling when she realizes he was pointing at the Eiffel Tower in the back. It truly is beautiful, especially at night. Kagami sometimes wonders what it’d be like to be at the very top, fingers braced against the thin railing, the wind buffeting her clothes. How free that would feel? Or would it feel scary, like you might be blown away the moment you relax your clenched hands, caught in a storm that sprung on you without your permission, a loss of control that you can only numb yourself to?

"I will discuss with mother and father so we can all go together another day. If we go right now, you’ll be too scared to come back down and cause another scene.”

Kagami can’t help but laugh at Katsuo’s whine as he suddenly stops on the sidewalk. He does his impression of a frown, his adorably chubby cheeks squished to his chest as he crosses his arms petulantly.

"Oh? Are we conveniently forgetting yesterday’s ferris wheel now?" Kagami mimics her brother as she also crosses her arms. His eyebrows furrow inward at her lack of sympathy and he frowns more, stubbornly shuffling to turn his back to her, his arms tightening in his stance.

Kagami hides an unladylike snort that as she circles to his other side, unable to resist a smile. “Don’t you remember? You got so scared-” She follows him as Katsuo shuffles to turn his back to her again. “-That you wouldn’t let go of the pole until mother arrived!” A slight giggle weasels its way into her speaking. “You went on two extra rides for no reason!”

“But the Eiffel Tower isn’t moving, it’s just a dumb triangle.��� He mumbles and Kagami ruffles her brother's hair, now broadly smiling as he whines and bats at her hand.

"Don’t worry, another day  otouto. ” She promises. Katsuo peeks up at her from behind his bangs. “Why don’t we stop frowning and pet Maron?”

Katsuo quickly relents, gleefully squatting to gently pet the tiny white dog. Kagami felt a bit of pride fill her heart when he carefully pets Maron the way Kagami had shown him. Said dog stopped to investigate a lampstand, sniffing at it curiously, floppy ear flicking.

"What's convently?" He asks, giggling at the way his fingers disappeared into the soft fur.

"Conveniently. It means to do something that takes little effort." Kagami gently tugs at the leash as she takes his hand and pulls Katsuo away from the lampstand. Maron starts barking at it and Kagami sighs, tugging more insistently.

"Maron, we need to go, your barking is going to.."

A large boom shakes the ground, effectively cutting off whatever she was going to say. While large booms were alarming in general, this one didn't sound too far off. The part of her brain that was used to quick thinking estimated that it was maybe two streets away. Other pedestrians around her were also stopping, and most were already on-guard and straining to hear tell-tale sounds of fighting. While akuma appearances usually happened at night or evenings, it wasn't unheard of for them to activate during the day. Maron' barking seemed much louder as the chatter of Parisian streets stopped, the tiny yaps magnified in the silence, filling the tense air.

"Kagami?" Katsuo asks, squeezing her hand as he steps closer, his other hand fisting into her red varsity jacket. Kagami feels her heart pounding as there was another boom, sounding even closer this time. Katsuo whimpers. A couple cafe signs fell to the ground and potted flowers were sent crashing to the ground. Some people screamed, but it quickly quieted in the suffocating stillness as palpable fear hung in the air.

There were faint screaming and deafening sirens, and a blinding flash of magical light.

Definitely an akuma.

She quickly squats down, suddenly aware of how loud Maron was, trying to soothe Maron who had quieted into snarls, the action seeming foreign to her as panic and adrenaline began to bubble in her chest.

"Okay. We- We need to get away from here.” Her darting eyes latch onto the vast expanse of green shrubbery at the end of the sloped street. “The gardens! Katsuo, quickly, we need to go to the gardens." She shoots to her feet, pulling Katsuo into an unsteady speed walk as she hurriedly weaves through the crowd. She felt uncomfortable out in the open.

It seems that a lot of Parisians have a similar train of thought as the odd stillness quickly breaks into a flurry of shouting and motion as people dart into nearby shops whose owners were pulling down metal gates or swarming down the street in a hurry away from the light show taking place two streets away. Just as she predicted. Many explosions began to sound off, the sounds just barely overpowering the chaos of a panicking crowd. Kagami tugs her brother closer to her in fear of him being trampled, just managing to not stumble over her own feet, her knuckles white on the leash as Maron bounds down the street.

The fears of everyone on the commercial street came true as an Akuma rose into the sky, their vapid cackling easily carrying over the noise of the panicking crowd. A manic, power-hungry grin split their face, the villain positively glowing at their newfound power as they blasted magic from their scepter at presumably a Hero of Paris.

“You know what? Hawkmoth is right. I have been holding back!”

With that, they twirled their scepter into a glowing amber circle, summoning an orb into existence and it sped away into the other street with a piercing whistle. Kagami felt panic shoot through her at the unnatural sound. This time, everyone felt the explosion rather than hearing it as the earth quakes. Many scream, shielding themselves from stray plates of food and potted plants falling from upper buildings.

Kagami feels a horrified gasp tear out of her when Katsuo loses his footing. He cries out, falling to the ground despite her tight grip. A couple other people had fallen as well, struggling to get up as the evacuation started to become more frantic.

In sheer panic, she just scoops up her brother who clutches to her and breaks into a run.

The Akuma notices the panic of the people running from their power and a wicked smile lights their face as they now aim their scepter right at the people, charging another explosive orb. His scepter is suddenly knocked out of his hand by a gray blur as something big and black tackles him in the air, flashing claws digging into Akuma's furious face.

Katsuo mutely watched the scepter fall from over his sister’s shoulder, horrified as the ball of light still unreleased from the scepter continued growing until it touched the middle of the street. “KAG-” He shrills, only to be cut off by the large explosion that bloomed violently from the cobblestone.

Kagami had a split second where she processed Katsuo thrashing in her tightening arms, his rapid heartbeat disappearing from her hands. Then a small sun exploded directly at their feet, and Kagami was aware of her body being lurched away from solid ground into the air. Like the world had flipped upside down under her feet. She was vaguely aware of a dirt covered sky, then the green bottom of a dirty overhang, then smoke. Before she could react, her head smashed into something hard and white bursts in the darkness of her shut eyes.

The searing ache in her skull was too much for her to even THINK, much less withstand the piercing ringing that filled the air. But slowly, slowly, the pain fades just enough for Kagami to take a shuddering breath and force her eyelids open.

Multiple screams of fright and pain surrounded her in an odd haze when Kagami finally opened her eyes to the smoke and dust hanging slow motion in the air. She finally notices that her ears are ringing, and something warm and wet sliding down her cheek. But the fact that most people were unhurt from the explosion itself proved its magical nature. She stands up on the staircase that she had fallen into, where most of the unsteady bricks under her feet had been torn from the sidewalk. Her sides and her arm were throbbing, her cardigan torn. Her attention was drawn to Maron’s barking, who noses insistently at Katsuo who lay sprawled on the ground unmoving.

Fear struck Kagami’s heart like it never had before and she ran to him, crumbling to her knees as she gently shook him. She remembers how to breathe when she finds that he was just curled up in fright, his eyes tightly squeezed with his hands clutched over his head.

“ Otouto , we need to go.” She speaks gently, her hands trembling from relief and her chest heaving from anxious breaths as she picks him up onto his feet. He stumbles a bit, his foot knocking into the glowing gold scepter on the floor.

A lightning strike of fear roots her to the spot as she freezes. “We need to go.” Kagami whispers, her wide eyes locked on the weapon.

An enraged yell startles her again as she looks up. The Akuma was back in the skies, clearly looking for his scepter as he flew up the street, his injured face twisted with fury. His head swings their way as molten gold eyes meet her terrified grey eyes and urgency shoots through her veins at the sheer rage on his face, blood staining his teeth red. His mouth unhinges with the most beastly roar Kagami has ever heard in her life.

“KATSUO, YOU NEED TO GO.” She screams, pushing Maron’s leash into Katsuo’s hands and shoving him away as she scoops up the scepter like a baton and pelts down the street in the opposite direction.

She hears a crash as the Akuma just barely misses her head and flies right into the flower shop. She almost stops, terrified for her brother, but she hears his unmistakable voice yelling for her and the loud barking of Maron as Katsuo was pulled away from the scene by kind strangers who didn’t want to see a child’s corpse alongside the rubble.

Kagami runs like she never had before, like her life depended on it- which it really might. Passing by a mirror display in front of a boutique, she catches a glimpse of the Akuma stepping out from the building, staring right at her with the most hateful look she has ever seen in her life as they lift off the ground and begin to chase. She forces herself to look away and instead turns sharply around the corner heading in the direction of the original explosions hoping to run into the heroes. Those slashes on his face are reminiscent of the deep gouges of Discordant, the current Black Cat hero. He must be nearby. He must be able to help.

Shoving her worry for Katsuo away, she tries to clear her mind of any more anxieties and just focus on sprinting and getting faster and faster. The world fell away from fast moving concrete and passing buildings. She was afraid of stopping even when she hears shouts and sounds of fighting behind her, the close sounds only spurring her on. Her heart thunders in her chest, the roar of her adrenaline drowning out even the shrill from the akuma’s explosion. She was only faintly aware of the blood streaming from her head, splattering the concrete.

Kagami was an athlete, an amazing one she might brag in any other situation, and has never to this date hesitated from the responsibility and duty that comes with every trophy, every win, every move she made in her family’s name. She will try her best to keep the scepter, the source of power away, from the Akuma.

She just prays that she keeps her life.

[oneyeartoparty]

Meeting At Long Last - Chapter 1

I LOVE soulmate AU’s so I decided to write my own. Should be able to post another chapter of this within the next week. Apologies for bad grammar. I’m still learning. Enjoy and know I’m sending the good vibes your way <3

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24753607/chapters/59847541

This is a message from Crossing Island! Please help us! We’re under attack from pirates! Please send someone to assist! Repeating message.

When the message started blaring through her Den Den Mushi, interrupting her much needed sleep, she knew she had to respond. She had only entered the New World a day ago, and already she was going on her first hunt. Given how few made it past Fishman Island, she was surprised it had happened so soon. She had been hoping for a break after almost being eaten by a Sea King during her ascent.

I guess getting some time off was overly optimistic she thought as she gazed at the destruction below.

Her hilltop vantage point gave her a good view of the destroyed town and the forest beyond it. The once proud town was now ablaze; flames sprouted out of the roofs of buildings while others had already been turned to ash and dust. Still remnants of the missing residents remained. She could see a burning home with daisies in the windowsill and well-tended ivy climbing its walls. Close to it was a child’s chalk drawing of a cat on the cobblestone path. This town was once home to peaceful people going about their lives, and now it was a burning husk.

Anger scratched in her chest. These scenes were not uncommon in the Grand Line, and each one added to her hatred of those who would so readily harm others for gain or entertainment. Fortunately, there wouldn’t be a long search for the culprit. After all, the lumbering figure wondering between burning buildings couldn’t be missed.

He was Mozo the Mad, a man with a 50 million bounty gained from raiding villages and towns. He was tall, easily three metres in height with a body and limbs as thick as a tree trunk. The clothes he wore were the same as those in his bounty poster; a grey suit and bowler hat that were far too small. As she watched him now, she saw the clothing nearly bursting at the seams with every movement he made.

Why wear such ill-fitting clothing? And why no shoes? She pondered his odd choice in apparel as he entered another building.

Maybe he is another idiot who thinks having a gimmick makes him intimidating.

Still his clothes weren’t his most stand out feature. That honour went to his face, which had two prominent features he was well-known for. The first was his smile. He was said to always be smiling, showing of his rotting, serrated teeth that were rumoured to give off an intense, foul odour of decay. The second was the deep scars that surrounded his thin lips, gained from his habit of absentmindedly chewing them.

She had tried to catch him while still in Paradise, but he disappeared before she could find him. It seems she had found where he disappeared to.

She had to capture him here, but she would have to plan this well. The small, flickering lights coming from the forest that surrounded most of the town told her the villagers were still nearby. If he ran in that direction, he wouldn’t hesitate to use them as shields.

The flames danced and Mozo continued to rummage through the destruction. Finally, she stood and stretched.

She was ready to begin. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Blood and ash stained hands ripped up the floorboards of a now abandoned home. Mozo craved his well-earned treasure and so he searched the town. Beneath beds, inside mattresses and under floorboards. He teared into every space that could be used as a hiding spot.

So far, his search had netted him little. A few hundred thousand beli and a gold necklace was all the loot he’d found. Still he continued the search. The town had been built quickly with quality materials and expert hands. That doesn’t happen without money.

Wondering out of another home with no new loot, Mozo felt his frustration peak.

“Dammit!” he shouted into the empty town. He needed a new plan. Searching like this was getting him nowhere and as the flames spread the risk grew that they’d consume any loot before he reached it.

He considered finding the villagers that had escaped into the nearby forest. It wouldn’t take much to get them to talk.

Impatience took over, and he begrudgingly took a step in the direction of the forest when he felt it. A stabbing pain in his left leg that caused him to look down. Blood slowly trickled from a new wound on his shin, yet he couldn’t see a source.

He leaned in closer to inspect the wound. Had he injured himself in his search? It wouldn’t be the first time.

His inspection was halted by a sudden flood of light that illuminated the world around him. Looking up, he saw he was now surrounded by a circle of flame that towered into the night sky.

Unfazed by the odd occurrence, Mozo let out a booming laugh.

“Do you villagers think some flames will scare me off? No, this is just a minor annoyance.”

No response came. He searched for any movement or sign of life, but there was nothing. Even as sweat gathered on his body and smoke tickled his throat there were no perpetrators to aim his fury at.

“Hello Mozo.”

The female voice came from behind. It was barely above a whisper, so they had to be close. Hoping to capitalise on their mistake he moved to punch behind him. Yet as he spun all he felt was air. Stopping his swing, he looked forward, seeing the source of the voice.

His first though was that a rabbit mink stood before him, but soon he realised that wasn’t the case.

The figure before him was a freak in a pink and white rabbit mask.

Their attire was simple brown leather armour and boots. A small rectangular shield ran the length of their lower left arm, and an unsheathed sword glinted in her right hand.

It was obvious to Mozo that this person was his enemy, even an idiot could figure that out. Yet they appeared to be alone. The docks were some distance behind the figure, but he couldn’t see them past the wall of flames that entrapped them both.

Deciding not to wait to find out if this person was a threat, he smiled his most intimidating smile and pointed both his index fingers at his opponent.

“Spike Bullet!”

In an instant, two steel spikes emerged from his fingertips, aimed squarely at his opponent’s head.

The figure moved swiftly, easily dodging the projectiles.

There was no doubt that they were using observation haki. Even though he had yet to unlock it himself he still knew what it looked like.

Undeterred, he continued firing, failing to land a shot. Yet his opponent didn’t move, instead just dodging his attacks.

He realised their observation haki must be too powerful for his regular attack. He would need to use something stronger to get the upper hand.

‘Spike Barrage!”

He quickly shifted his hands, facing his palm toward them. With incredible speed, hundreds of spikes began emerging from palms. Using the full power of his devil fruit, he made the spikes morph between different materials and sizes. Ice, fire, wood, and steel spikes all appeared, some the size of his head and others smaller than a needle.

A streak of confidence took over him. There was no way they could beat this attack. No one else he had ever face had survived it. Unable to see through the barrage of spikes, he slowed it, confident he would see a corpse before him.

His confidence quickly faded however, when he saw his opponent standing in exact same spot. The only difference was the damage caused by the spikes to the area that surrounded them.

Impossible! He thought in a panic. I fired hundreds of spikes at em and they dodged them all? They must have a devil fruit. It’s the only explanation. A logia maybe? Every hotshot with a logia thinks they can beat me.

Mozo wouldn’t get the answer to his question. Instead all that he would see was black after the same figure standing before him crept up behind him and knocked him out with a swift, well-aimed punch to the back of his head. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The click of the sea stone shackles as they enclosed Mozo’s wrists and ankles bought her a small sense of satisfaction. His capture would not make the New World any safer, but one less scumbag was a good thing.

Detaching the chain from the back of her belt, she attached the hooked end to the chain between Mozo’s wrists. He was too heavy to carry, so dragging him was her only option. 

Letting out a sigh, she began dragging her captive toward her ship.

My muscles are going to hate me for this.

She walked in silence as she made her way forward. The only sounds were the crackling of the remaining flames and the crunch of soil and the clinking of the chains as she dragged her quarry to the edge of town. As she walked past the broken town sign, the wind picked up, dust and leaves floated past her.

This was no ordinary wind. The trees far ahead of her weren’t moving and the clear sky signalled that there was no incoming storm. Something was coming toward the island, and she doubted it would be pleasant.

Then it hit her, just like the wind had. There was a powerful force heading toward the island. If she had less skill in observation haki, she would have said it was one being of immense power, but she could sense a large group. One stood out though, like a tsunami against a wave. Whoever or whatever they were, they were not to be trifled with by someone of her strength.

Her gaze turned to the town’s dock and the horizon beyond. There she could see the source of what she had sensed. A ship was sailing toward the island, the whales head that made up the vessels bow the its three tall masts poked at her memory. She knew them but didn’t remember where from.

She thought at first to describe the ship as massive, but somehow the word felt like a disservice. As it drew closer its size seemed to only increase, a testament, she felt, to the strength of those who dwelt onboard.

A fluttering to her side drew her attention. It was a singed flag that was stuck under some rubble. It was the Jolly Roger of the Whitebeard Pirates.

“Oh”.

[quicksilverlightning]

The Interview

Might Tower is imposing, even on a clear day. Now, with the storm clouds rolling overhead, you could easily imagine it as a supervillain’s lair. You sigh wistfully, thinking of the umbrella you left on the bus.

You enter the lobby through the double doors and immediately head for the press entrance. The security clearance is swift and painless - metal detector, ID check, page though your notebook, nothing terribly invasive. The guard that has just finished patting you down gives an apologetic smile and a temporary badge that you clip on to your jacket. You ignore the main elevator and walk quickly over the glossy floor, passing the information desk where another guard is chatting up the redheaded secretary, and several cased displays of memorabilia, detailing both large and small moments in the long career of All Might.

The smaller elevator you’ve been directed to is tucked against the back wall and you swipe the badge, nodding to the guard with more confidence than you actually feel. You were invited here after all, one of dozens of reporters clamoring for the opportunity to interview All Might in the aftermath of Kamino Ward.

You nearly fell out of your chair when the boss tossed the press packet on your desk. It wasn’t until later, after the initial shock wore off, that things began to make a little more sense - the small-time office you work at was destroyed in the hero’s final fight. Even though you knew All Might was personally footing the bill for a significant amount of the reconstruction, you wouldn’t put it past your boss to put a guilty spin on the request for an interview; it was a small price to pay for recompense, surely?  

You shake these thoughts off as the elevator stops at the 48th floor, just a few flights short of the top. The door opens with a musical ding and you find yourself in an open room covered in a creamy golden carpet. The walls are a rich, warm brown between vast swaths of windows overlooking the cityscape. Large rectangular frames decorate the walls at regular intervals; the nearest one is just a few steps from the elevator, and you realize that they’re movie posters. You can see some superhero films, as expected, but also a Western, a few sci-fi flicks, some sort of period drama, and, surprisingly, a couple of animated movies. The one you’re looking at is autographed, and you suspect every poster in this room is as well.

“Admiring my collection?”

The voice is deep and smooth, a far cry from the boisterousness of All Might, but you jump all the same. The man himself is standing on the other side of the room, hands clasped loosely behind his back, apparently watching the city as he waited for your arrival. He raises his arms in a placating motion at your start with a sheepish grin.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to startle,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.

He’s tall is the first thing in your mind. You knew that of course, intellectually, but seeing it in person is another thing entirely. All Might towers over you even slouched as he is, folded over on himself as though he’s afraid to take up too much space. His face is gaunt, but not unpleasant, blond hair bursting from his head like a sunflower. Long, spindly limbs stretch from his torso - all in all, he looks more like a scarecrow than a professional hero, even a retired one. You jolt again when you realize he’s watching you, waiting for a response.

“Ah, no, sorry - I was the one spacing out.”

It’s your turn to fumble, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, clutching at your notebook a little tighter. You jump one more time when he throws back his head and laughs.

“Well, miss,” he swings an arm wide. “Welcome to Might Tower! I have to say, you got up here faster than any of the others.”

You furrow your brow. Faster? He doesn’t wait for you to ask.

“I let the security team give visitors a little hell when they get a bit too entitled.” There’s a spark of mischief in his grin. “Gives me an idea of what’s coming for me.”

You can’t help the breathy giggle that escapes, lifting a hand to stifle it.

“So, me being the fastest…”

“Tells me that you’re polite, and probably of a rather calm disposition,” he nods with a wink. He moves away from the window towards the middle of the room where two overstuffed couches sit on either side of a wooden coffee table.

“Please, have a seat. Can I offer you some tea?”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” A hot cup of tea sounds delightful after the chill outside. You seat yourself in the middle of the couch.

All Might looks startled at your easy acceptance for a moment then laughs again. He shuffles over to a small counter against the wall, still chuckling.

“I’ve been making that offer to every reporter that’s come up here for almost two weeks,” he sounds genuinely pleased. “This is the first time anyone’s taken me up on it!”

He bustles about, grabbing dishware and sugar packets, setting a kettle on a small warmer. He loads everything on to a silvery tray, leaving the water to boil. The tray is placed on the dark wood between you and he settles himself on the opposite couch.

"You’re from the Kamino office, yes? The one caught in the crossfire?” His tone takes on a more somber note. You can see the guilt resting in the lines of his face and you find yourself rushing to reassure the former hero.

“Yes, but it’s not your fault!” You cringe inwardly, worried your voice was a little too loud, too eager.

“No one was there that night anyway and, well, the building wasn’t all that great.” You offer a timid smile that grows a little wider when the tension in his shoulders eases.

“All the same,” All Might runs a hand through his mane of blond hair. “I am sorry,” he looks tired, guilty, and you search for something to say.

“It’s okay. Really!” Your voice is too loud again when it looks like he doesn’t believe you. “I’m looking forward to working in a nicer office. Something with an open floor plan, maybe a few more windows."

He chuckles at your burst of enthusiasm. It’s a low sound that rumbles around the room like distant thunder. A moment later, you realize it was thunder - you forgot all about the storm brewing outside. You glance over; it isn’t raining, not yet, but there are streaks of water against the large windows. All Might hums in the back of his throat, pushing himself off the couch.

“That’s one of the things I like about these tall buildings,” he moves to grab the steaming kettle.

“You like the rain?”

Steam billows from the spout as he pours water over the tea leaves.

“I do. I find it soothing.” He places a small cup on your side of the table before pouring his own.

“Well,” you decide to tease him a little. “I suppose being a hero is quite the stressor.”

“Indeed,” he takes a sip. “But I doubt you’re here to make small talk about the weather.”

Right. The interview. To business then. You open up your notebook and click your pen.. Am interview with All Might - the number one hero and dream client of every journalist. The rest of the office was seething with jealousy, but you’d been chosen for this because… well, nevermind that now.

You didn’t want to think about why.

“So… uh…”

He’s casually stretched out on the couch, one arm resting along the back, legs folded over each other at the knee, waiting. Your throat feels suddenly dry, tongue cumbersome in your mouth. There’s a memory of grit in your eyes, blood on your lips.

You thought you were ready for this; you thought the questions on the first page of your notebook would be enough to guide you through your nerves. The pen in your hand clicks and clicks before it suddenly slips from your sweaty hand. You fumble and fail to catch it before the pen bounces off the coffee table and lands on the carpet. All Might reaches to grab it just before you, long arms stretching impossibly far and you jerk back before your heads collide. He offers the pen back with an easy smile, and you can feel your face heating up as you take it.

“I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?”

You pinch the corners of your eyes, frustrated and embarrassed. He surprises you by chuckling and leaning forwards.

“It’s perfectly all right,” he says with a light pat to your knee. “I promise you, this won’t be the worst interview I’ve taken part in. Take a breath dear, and ask me what you want to know.”

You do so, holding the air in your lungs a moment before letting go with a noisy exhale. You’re still fidgety, twisting the pen around your fingers, and it doesn’t escape his notice. He laughs again.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” he leans back into the plush couch. “I’ve given so many interviews over the years - there’s not a lot left you can shock me with.” His smile is crooked like he’s trying not to laugh again, and he gives you a cheery thumbs up.

You look down at the notebook in your lap, scanning the questions your boss and co-workers have scribbled down. It’s the usual parade All Might has been getting for thirty years - what’s your Quirk? What advice would you give to aspiring heroes? Are you single? - alongside a new set that has been making the rounds for the past few weeks - what will you do now? How could you hide this for so long? Is your presence at the school putting the students in danger?  

You came here to ask these questions, but suddenly find yourself annoyed. You want to rip the page out, crumple it into a ball, and set it on fire. Instead, you sigh and carefully tear the page out, passing the sheet to All Might.

“You’re right; there’s nothing on this page that you haven’t been asked before.” You can see his eyes passing quickly over the list.

“You must be tired of giving the same answers over and over again.”

“It’s all part of the job, my dear,” he passes the page back, still smiling.

“The job…”

Something in the way he says it gives you pause.

“But… being a hero wasn’t just a job to you, was it?”

He doesn’t answer, cocking his head to one side, sensing you have more to say. You rush forward, before the thought escapes.

“I mean, you’ve never just done the bare minimum - everything is above and beyond with you. You always have time for fans and autographs, there’s always a charity donation, always another villain, another rescue. You’ve given so much more than you ever had to.”

All Might isn’t smiling now, and you feel tears spring to your eyes.

“You’ve given so much - your time, your body, your health, to a world that takes and takes and never offers anything back. Even now, after everything… after you’ve given everything… people out there are trying to bring you down. And you’re still here, just giving the answers to people that are going to use them against you.”

You really are crying now, slow tears crawling over your cheek before being roughly wiped away.

“I - I don’t want to be another person that just takes something from you. But there’s nothing I can give.”

You’ve been looking down this entire time, watching the stains on your notebook get bigger, but look up when a hand enters your field of vision. All Might is leaning forward again, sliding his palm across the side of your face as his calloused thumb brushes your tears away. His smile is gentle and sad and the tenderness of the gesture is enough to make you cry harder, burying your face in your hands.

There’s a soft rustle from across the table and you feel the dip of the couch as All Might settles beside you, one arm resting across your back and shoulders. You sense rather than hear his quiet murmurs, vague sensations of it’s alright and don’t be sorry, and you realize that you’ve been apologizing for the last half-minute. You aren’t even sure why - for crying? For everything he’s lost? For the vultures circling, waiting to take even more from this good, impossibly kind man?

Something in your chest aches and you fold your palms over your heart, bent double, and his hand is still on your back, sliding up and down between your shoulder blades, rubbing little circles along your spine. He sits quietly and lets your sorrow run its course around him, like a boulder in a river. Each small kindness - his patience, the offer of tea, the soft half-hug he has you wrapped in - has only magnified his humanity. He’s All Might - he’s been a hero for longer than you’ve been alive, but here, his weakened form warm against your side, all you can think about is the blood he left on the ground that night, his uselessly broken arm dangling limp from the socket, the tattered cape he ripped apart with his teeth and used to tourniquet the leg of a woman rescued from the rubble.

Because you lied - there was someone in the office that night. You had slept there, pushing yourself towards a deadline you knew, that your boss knew, you weren’t going to be able to meet. It was why your boss gave this job to you; you were the only one who’d had a front row seat of the destruction. You were there when the ground shook you awake, the shockwave of the battle rattling the windows from over half a kilometer away. You were there with the crowd panicking in the street, confused, terrified, lost as the world simply crumbled and collapsed with each explosion. You were there as he stood alone against an enemy you couldn’t comprehend, that none of you could comprehend, alone against an unimaginable evil that sapped his strength and wore him down and broke him over and over again and he was still there, still standing between darkness and the people he swore to protect.

Once you’ve cried yourself out, some semblance of awareness of the world begins to return. You sit up slowly and All Might removes his arm, standing and grabbing the tea set from the table. He pours the lukewarm water away and begins a fresh pot, politely allowing you a few moments to gather yourself. You close your eyes and recline into the couch, letting your spine stretch itself out again, and breathe deeply for a few minutes. A soft clink tells you that All Might is back and you open your eyes to find him offering a new cup of tea with that same sad, gentle smile.

You reach out with a small thanks and if your fingers tremble a little, he doesn’t say anything.

“Sorry. Again.”

He pauses a moment while pouring his own cup.

“You know,” he places the teapot back on the tray.

“Many, many people have cried on me. Terrified children, thankful parents. Over-eager fans,” his grin is a little cheeky here, and you find yourself returning the sentiment in spite of yourself.

“Tears of relief, fear, joy,” he gazes into his teacup like it holds all the mysteries of the universe. He looks up and you find yourself trapped by the intensity of his gaze.

“But this is the first time someone’s ever cried for me.”

His eyes are full of strength and pride, gratitude and something else, something you have no name for. He holds you there for several heartbeats, each one pulsing in your ears until you can’t help but blink and the moment is gone. He sets his cup down.

“So thank you.” The sad smile is back.

“Thank you for crying for me.”

Your eyes are beginning to prickle again, and you hurriedly wipe the feeling away with a sniff. He takes a sip from his cup and looks away, giving you a moment to shuffle and settle. You take another deep breath.

“A-anyway,” your voice is shaky, but you do your best to press on.

“I guess… what I want to ask… well, no, I don’t want to ask anything really.” You really have messed this up, haven’t you? This interview has gone completely off the rails; you can already hear your boss yelling at the mess you’ve made. All Might reaches for your tea.

“Here, take a drink,” his voice is easy, placating. “Just breathe, dear.”

You wonder if he knows; if he knows who you are, that you were there that night, and that it’s all you can think about in this moment. The tea is sweet and the heat at your fingers steadies you, moves you away from the taste of blood. One more deep breath.

“I… what I want to know is… what do you want to say?”

He blinks at you with a puzzled expression. You bite at the inside of your bottom lip, not entirely sure yourself what you’re asking. He hums, fiddling with his bangs, clearly thinking, but you can’t read his expression at all.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

It’s your turn to blink. His smile is cheerful again, with a hint of playfulness.

“Sorry?”

“Thirty-five years,” he leans his elbows on to his keens, hands folded together, dangling between his legs. “Thirty-five years I’ve been a professional hero, and not once in all that time has anyone simply asked me what I wanted to say.” His eyes have you pinned on the couch like an ungainly butterfly and you cross and uncross your ankles.

“Sorry - I’m not very good at this, am I?”

All Might throws back his head and laughs. He laughs and laughs, deep from his stomach, hair brushing against the back of the couch, and you can’t help but feed off his joy, your own laughter small and soft in comparison, but there all the same. It cuts off abruptly when he coughs suddenly, one hand against his mouth, the other clutching at his left side.

“Are you okay?!” Now you’re the one reaching out, not quite brave enough to touch him, but he waves you off.

“It’s fine, I’m fine, this happens all the time,” there’s a smear of red at the corner of his lips. But his smile hasn’t wavered, so you decide to trust his judgement and let it go. Your expression must still betray your concern, because he offers an explanation.

“It’s the result of an old wound,” your eyes flick to where his left hand is bunched in his shirt. “Really, I’m used to it.” His grip loosens and falls away.

“I’ve already cried for you today; don’t think a few platitudes are going to keep me from worrying about you too.” The quip leaves your lips before you can even think about stopping it and you want to slap your hand over your mouth and take it back even as your face flushes red.

All Might laughs yet again, this time more of a asthmatic chuckle that makes your heart skip, ready to reach out if he starts coughing again.

“Thank you, my dear. Truly.” His eyes are shining in amusement. “But in regards to your question - may I think about it?”

You pause a moment, trying to remember what the question that started all this was.

“Oh - about what you’d like to say, you mean?”

He nods. “I’d like to mull it over for a little while, if that’s alright with you?”

“Of course,” you reach into one pocket, then the other before finding what you need. Your business card is simple - name, number, e-mail, web address. He takes it between his long fingers.

“Please, take as long as you need,” you offer a small bow from your seat on the couch.

“Thank you,” All Might stands and offers you a hand up. “I look forward to speaking with you again.”

You take his hand and he walks with you to the elevator. It still hasn’t started to rain outside - perhaps you can make the bus stop before the bottom drops out.

“Ah, you can just call or e-mail me if you like - we don’t have to meet in person.”

There’s a flicker of something on his face before he manages to school it into something more neutral.

“You don’t want to talk to me again?”

“No! I mean yes! I’d love to talk to you again! I just thought that you’re so busy and you might not want to waste time in person and I’m really not very good at interviewing so maybe you’d prefer something else,” you’re babbling, you know you’re babbling, but you can’t seem to stop yourself. You realize abruptly that the micro-expression you’d seen on his face was one of hurt. He places a hand on your shoulder, turning to you fully as you cease speaking.

“I would love to talk to you again,” his voice is deep and kind. “You did wonderfully; this has been one of my favorite interviews.” His smile stretches all the way across his face.

“I - thank you,” you drop your head in a hasty nod, sure that you’re blushing again. His hand drops your your shoulder and presses the elevator button.

“By the way,” All Might sounds hesitant for the first time all afternoon. You turn to him, puzzled.

“Do you like movies?”

You smile, thinking of his poster collection. “Well, not as much as you seem to. I don’t really go to the theater all that often.” The elevator dings and you turn to enter before facing him one more time.

“Thank you again. For everything.”

You hope he understands what you mean by everything. His hands are in his pockets and his body language is relaxed.

‘You’re welcome.”

You think he does.

[onieoak]

thirty-one writing prompts

Here are some writing prompts inspired by Inktober’s 2017 prompts. Let me know if you’d like me to do more xx

Swift: “It was so quick; I can’t even be sure that it happened. One minute he was there and the next… gone.”

Divided: “Please listen to me.” “No! You were the one who torn this apart in the first place. How can I forgive you for that after loving you my whole life.” 

Poison: “You’re poisonous. That’s what you are.” Her words felt like a knife through the heart; it took his breath away. “I was just trying to protect-” “Don’t lie to me. Everything you do is for your own good. I stand by what I said.”

Underwater: They dived beneath the surface together, locked in an embrace. Their lips touched on accident at first but neither one of them wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. Eyes still closed, they kissed again but it only lasted a few seconds until they had to resurface and catch their breath. Their eyes opened and saw one other beaming, verging on laughter. 

Long: “The journey will be long. Are you prepared for that?” “Of course I’m prepared; I packed sandwiches.”

Sword: The tip of the sword grazed his neck. Even as gently as it was pressing against his skin, it still managed to draw blood. “Careful with that,” he whispered. “One move and I’ll remove your whole head.” “I don’t doubt it.”

Shy: “You’re five shy of fifty dollars.” “Impossible!” “I-I can count again if you’d like.” “No. I’ll be back with your fifty dollars and then some. Don’t be afraid if I return covered in blood.”

Crooked: She gently wiped the dried blood above his lips. His crooked nose had turned purple at that point and dark circles were forming beneath his teary eyes. “See? This is what happens when you let your pride get the better of you.” “Oh, so no thank you for saving your life?” “Don’t be stupid. We both know you were just showing off.”

Screech: The piercing cry sent chills down their spine. They didn’t even want to imagine what could have caused such a horrific screech. 

Gigantic: Leaning back her head as far as she could, she still couldn’t see the top of the tower. Judging by the fact that even clouds weren’t as tall, she assumed that whatever was kept up there, was either too dangerous or too precious for anyone to find. 

Run: They looked at each other from opposite sides of the field then began to sprint towards the house, each trying to be faster than the other. Their feet pounded against the grass, the cold wind beating against their cheeks and blurring their eyes. They began to laugh as they raced each, one laughing too hard and slowing themselves down. “I told you you’d never beat me!”

Shattered: “I’m sure you’d love to hear that you absolutely shattered me but I’m fine. Your words don’t hurt me as much as you think they do because I don’t care about you. I never cared about you.”

Teeming: “Have you looked outside this morning? It seems you’ve got yourself quite a team of supporters.” She crossed the room and peered out the window. A large crowd was gathered at the feet of the building, everyone holding signs of support for her cause. Someone saw her face looking down and began to cheer. A chorus of cheers followed. 

Fierce: They were all beaten. Many laid on the ground and soaked in their defeat while others were angry and couldn’t settle down. The game lasted all day and they had nothing to show. However, their captain was proud of their fierce loyalty to the sport and knew this wasn’t the end. 

Mysterious: “Do you like being the mysterious one? Because I can tell you that it’s actually pretty annoying. I mean, we’re supposed to trust you?” 

Fat: Beware Of Dog! Peering over the fence, she searched for the dog in question, hoping it wasn’t in the yard. A rustle of leaves sounded and emerged a fat, practically rounded dog. It noticed the girl but couldn’t care less. It slowly climbed the two steps up to the porch and, once it reached the top, it laid down and let out a long sigh. 

Graceful: “Very graceful.” He huffed and stood up, wiping the dirt off the back of his pants. “You’ve been walking since you were a baby; how hard is it?”

Filthy: They wiped their sweaty forehead with the back of their hand, sighing with exhaustion. “How do I look?” Their partner grimaced as they saw all the mud, blood and sweat, covering them from head-to-toe. “Let’s just say, hunting the supernatural doesn’t agree with you.”

Cloud: You’d be lying if you said the weather wasn’t a sign of the times. Just as the day grew worse and worse, the clouds grew darker and threatened a storm. 

Deep: “You’re in deep shit now, kid. I’d start running before anyone else realise what you’ve done.”

Furious: “I’m sorry.” Their voice was suddenly soft, not like it was before all harsh and sharp. After seeing their face red with fury, spit flying from their lips as they screamed, it was an odd thing to see their face gentle and calm. “If I scared you back there, I’m sorry.”

Trail: “Here!” They pointed to the deep mark in the tree. “She wants us to find her.” 

Juicy: “A little birdy told-” “I don’t want to know.” “Why not?” “Can’t you ever just mind your own business for once?” “Fine. I guess you don’t want to know who cheated on who with someone’s best friend who’s related to someone in this room.” “Wait… what?”

Blind: “Closing your eyes won’t help you.” The voice sounded directly in their right ear, making them curl into themselves. The ride turned a sharp corner, jolting them from side-to-side. More voices screamed, doing their best to scare everyone, and it was working. 

Ship: “Well, aren’t you two cute?” They quickly looked at each other, letting go of each other’s hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “There is nothing cute about us.”

Squeak: “Wow, you’re dedicated. Not even a single squeak. The boss was right; loyalty runs deep on the northside.”

Climb: “Just don’t look down!” “Not looking down won’t help me here. It’s the fact that one small slip could kill me!” He laughed, shaking his head. “Such a pessimist.” With one leap, he grabbed onto the tallest branch and pulled himself up. “Here, give me your hand. I’ve got you.” 

Fall: They anticipated the crash but seconds before they fell to their death, something swooped beneath them and lifted them back up into the air. “You could’ve killed me!” “Oh, come on. You really believe I’d let you die? I’m trying to teach you.”

United: “We’re a team, we always have been. I’m not willing to give up yet. Are you?”

Found: “I knew I’d find you,” they cried. “I didn’t give up trying to look for you and I knew; I knew I’d find you. Promise me you won’t do that to me ever again.”

Mask: Even behind the mask, they could recognise the assailant. They’d seen those sharp green eyes before. You could even say, they’d fallen in love with those eyes before.    

[lokiofnone]

The people of Broxton, Oklahoma were not unlike the Northmen of the Viking Age - as unlikely as the comparison seemed. Certainly the location and climate were different, as well as the culture and the language, but for gods of Asgard, everything is a repeating pattern. And Loki had become rather adept at seeing those patterns.

Sitting atop one of Bilskirnir’s many ledges, the god of mischief swung their legs idly back and forth. It was a long way down - Bilskirnir is very tall - but what did they have to fear from something as simple as gravity? They sipped at a milkshake while surveying the blighted lands below. The homes and businesses of Broxton, once a small but bustling town and now only a series of blasted out buildings and enormous sinkholes. Lit by the Bifrost and the eternal branches of Yggdrasil, it reminded them of the ruins of old Asgard, deep in space. The main difference being that here, there was still life.

Indeed, dotted among the desolate streets were a few buildings - newly built or newly repaired - that showed signs of recovery. And why shouldn’t there be? It had been years, after all, and these people were not the type to simply flee elsewhere. Though for the most part they still gathered near the base of Bilskirnir. It was easier to stay close to each other, they supposed.

Of course, that wasn’t all they could see. Sprinkled throughout the landscape on streets both dead and alive, there was the glowing red light of ROXXON.

Lost in thought, Loki nearly missed the sound of a window opening above their shoulder. Nearly, but not quite.

“Ma says it’s dangerous to sit on the edge.”

Loki turned to see a small girl with wild hair and a smear of freckles across her nose. “Well, do me a favor and don’t tell her I’m here.”

The girl wrinkled her nose and eyed them up and down. “You an Asgardian?”

“Kind of.”

“Why are you drinking a milkshake in the snow?”

“I don’t get cold very easily.”

“Because you’re an Asgardian?”

“...kind of.”

She seemed pleased with that answer and disappeared from the window, returning moments later with a large sweater and a hat.

“Do you live here?” Loki asked.

“Yep!” The girl crossed her arms over the window sill. “Me and my ma and pa and a whole bunch of other people. Pa says we got to, since we don’t got houses no more. But it’s okay cuz this castle is sooooo big and has tons of weird stuff in it. Me and my friends go exploring but we haven’t even found half the stuff yet, I bet.”

“I imagine not. You know, this used to be my brother’s castle.”

She frowned, eyebrows drawing together in thought. “But somebody told me this was Thor’s castle.”

“The very same,” Loki answered with a nod.

Realization dawned across her face, “Oh! Thor’s your brother? That’s so cool! My friend Dorothy has a brother, but she says he’s annoying and steals her stuff.”

“Thor is my older brother, but not the oldest. We have six other brothers and sisters, if you can believe it.”

“That’s...too many. But um,” The girl tapped her fingers, seeming to be deciding how to ask something. “How come Thor gave us his castle?”

Loki looked back out over the scene below. “Do you know what happened here?”

“Ma says I was too little to understand.”

“Well, little one, I’ll tell you. But only if you promise not to get scared.”

“I’m not little.” She said while wiping her nose with her sleeve. “And why would I get scared?”

“You know how Thor is called the god of thunder because he can make lightning and storms?” Loki waited for her to nod before gesturing to themself, “Well, I am called the god of stories. When I tell a story, it comes to life in more than just your imagination. But don’t worry - I promise it won’t hurt you.”

“Now this I’ve gotta see.” She wiped at her nose again.

Loki smiled widely. “That’s the right attitude. Let’s begin at the beginning.”

The air around them suddenly began to dim, as if night were falling, followed by the winking of stars and nebulae and distant planets - and in the middle, superimposed over the latest iteration of Asgardia floating on the far side of town, was Asgard of old.

“A long time ago, Asgard floated not above Earth, but through space. It was a golden city among the stars, tethered only by the singular rainbow bridge, but connected to all realms on the world ash. It was filled with all manner of gods great and small, and it flourished. A shining beacon of magic in the starry sky.” Loki looked over to find their audience enraptured by the swirling imagery. “But nothing can stay the same forever. People grow up. They come and go. And the gods must change, also.”

Slowly, the image of old Asgard began to darken. The buildings crumbled and smoke curled up into the sky. “Exactly what happened isn’t important to this tale, but I will tell you that it wasn’t supposed to be the end. Not the real end. Through some other machinations, Asgard was laid low for good. We gods were scattered across the cosmos, and ceased to be.” The images swirled, faded, and settled onto the ground, showing the town as it once was. “At least, until Thor came here. He created a new Asgard out of the very soil, and collected us from where we were hiding. And for a time, Asgard and Broxton were one.”

The Bifrost spread from the visage of Asgard to the flourishing town below, looking for all the world like Loki remembered it. Then the scene darkened again. Loki stood from the ledge and walked out into the thin air, giving their young audience a start.

“Enter a man named Dario Agger.”

Agger faded in from the blackness, sitting at the head of a long table. Loki took a few meandering steps around him.

“Agger is the head of a company called ROXXON. He plies a trade in oil, mainly, as well as a great deal of other evil things. His company poisons the Earth, and he becomes rich.” The image of Agger tossed a stack of bills into the air, which fluttered around them before disappearing. “Now, Thor...he didn’t care much for that.”

The boardroom swirled into clouds, with Thor at the center, hammer raised.

“Thor loves the Earth. Well and truly. And he loves all the humans on it. He always has, and always will, and it will always be his downfall.” The image of Thor swung his hammer, lightning arcing off of it. Suddenly the clouds began to pour rain on Loki’s head, but they continued as if this were perfectly normal. “Thor did the only thing that he knew how to do: he attacked. He destroyed several ROXXON facilities, ending the stream of foul pollutants from their mouths, and costing the company an impossible amount of money. He believed that this was the first step on the road to saving the Earth from people like Agger, who would destroy it for their own profit. Shortly after this, he left on a trip with the Avengers. Unfortunately, this was all terribly short-sighted of him.”

The apparition of Thor swung his hammer and took off into the sky before the clouds parted, revealing the image of the once intact Broxton once more. No sooner did the rain stop than Loki was suddenly dry again. They took a few slow steps, leaving shimmering green bootprints in the air behind them.

“Thor is indeed mighty, but not all things can be solved with brute force. In the other realms, perhaps, but things work differently here. Humans are more civilized. If you hit a human, he might have you arrested. If you harass a human, he can sue you. And if you destroy a billionaire’s factories, he may take vengeance in ways only he knows how.”

A thick smog wafted in from the south, curling into the shapes of looming buildings and smoke stacks belching their toxic fumes into the air. “Agger received permission from your government to park his remaining factories here. Floating islands - a grim mockery to the nearby Asgard. While Thor was away, he polluted your air and water, bought your land, and demolished your buildings to put up his own. My brother returned to find people destitute with no work and an atmosphere so toxic that the sick and elderly were forced to go elsewhere. Even this was not enough to sate Agger’s greed. For he knew well that Thor loved Broxton, and he intended to make Thor suffer. He cared not for the thousands of lives that he used to accomplish this, only that it was done. He used the human magic called a restraining order. Thor was not to come near any property or employee of ROXXON, including Broxton. Then he hired trolls to dig under the town, creating these holes.” The ground fell away from Loki’s illusion, revealing the enormous sinkholes.

Loki disappeared, only to reappear back in their original spot on the ledge. In the distance, Asgard shone ever brighter through the smog. “And what did the other gods do? Did they rush to aid their mortal neighbors, who had done so for them whenever and however they could? Of course not. One and all, they sat in their towers, and watched it happen. How cruel. How absolutely humiliating, that a handful of humans, each with barely more than they needed, should show such hospitality, should give as much as they were able to help we the immortals of Asgard, and that none should lift a finger in their defense save for Thor himself.”

“What did you do?” Piped in the small voice from the window.

Loki pursed their lips. “I was elsewhere. A truth that I sorely regret, but I did not hear about any of this until after the fact.”

They waved a hand, and the illusion disappeared.

“Finally, Thor had enough. There was a battle that destroyed whatever remained, and Asgard decided that very day to return to the stars. They stayed only long enough to pick up the rubble. And now they find themselves laid low once again and crawl to this doorstep, only to be greeted with open arms. We gods could learn some things from you people of Broxton.”

“Wow…” The girl at the window stared outward, still deciding what to think of all this. “You weren’t pulling my leg about that story stuff. Thanks! I’m gonna go see if dinner’s ready. Do you wanna come in and eat? I bet ma will make a plate for you!”

Loki smiled. “Perhaps another time. I have some business to attend.”

“Okay! See you later!” And with that, the window snapped shut.

There was a long silence as Loki drained the remainder of their milkshake. Then, after moments of contemplation, they summoned a small notepad. They flipped a few pages before reaching the latest one, bearing a list of names and other assorted information.

To be specific, it was a list of the ROXXON board of directors. Name, location, salient details, and of course: weaknesses.

Loki had spent a few long days learning about these men and how best to manipulate them. It wasn’t often they put this much effort into a plot, but this was no ordinary mark. Thor had failed because he blundered into everything with little thought, while this matter required a gentler hand and a great deal of subtlety.

After the War of the Realms came to New York, Dario Agger had spent some time imprisoned in the Raft. But like all men with money, he would not remain so for long, and had by now regained his status with little loss. That simply would not do.

Agger began all this to get revenge on Thor. He hadn’t considered what other enemies he may have made in the process, which was perhaps his largest oversight. He may have fared well against Thor, but he would soon learn not to underestimate the god of mischief.

[trustonlylokiposts-blog]

Diagnosis

“THAT’S IT. I’M DONE. NOT ONCE HAVE I EVER BEEN TREATED WITH SUCH DISRESPECT! I AM A DOCTOR, GODDAMIT, IF YOU TRULY BELIEVE THAT BECAUSE I AM A WOMEN I CAN’T POSSIBLY DO MY JOB CORRECTLY THE I’M OUT. I QUIT. FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO DEAL WITH YOUR SHIT!” I cursed and stormed out slamming the office door behind me. Fuming I walked to my locker, then to my tiny office. Shoved what little things I had into my backpack and stomped out of the clinic, not making eye contact with anybody.

If Doctor Wallis truly believed that I should continue cleaning up after patients like a housekeeper, and that my medical opinion truly meant nothing because of my gender than I am better off literally anywhere else. New York, land of opportunity my ass. I honestly don’t know how I managed to graduate top of my class, blow away residency, be labeled as a prodigy doctor and somehow manage in a clinic run by a senile asshole who should have his medical license removed and burned. I marched through the streets of the busy city and stopped to glare at my reflection on a shiny building. My brown hair fell past my hair in messy waves, blue eyes had never been colder, and my cheeks were still red from anger and humiliation. I smoothed my green scrubs and tore off my ID card, no use for it anymore. I sighed as the anger slowly left my body, I took my phone out of my pocket and rolled my eyes at the absolute disaster of panicked texts I had.

Please tell me you didn’t quit, look I know he’s an asshole, but we need you Jules.

I scoffed and typed back,

Thanks Tiff, unfortunately I didn’t spend all that time in medical school to be treated like I’m worthless.  I’m glad you enjoy your job, he respects women as nurses, but not as fellow physicians.

I made my way into a nearby coffee shop and ordered the tastiest, most sugar infused drink I could find on the menu, I deserved it anyway. I took a sip and took a deep breath as I sat down near a window. Looks like I’d need to find a new job, I’m sure it shouldn’t be too hard right? New York needs a lot of  fresh young doctors.. Right? I pulled my laptop out of my pack and began the hunt; after about an hour of mindless reading I stumbled upon something that caught my eye.

Stark Industries, in need of capable physician, willing to work in critical situations, must be able to keep up and learn alien or godly  physiology, will be working with The Avengers as their personal doctor and will be in charge of a small medical team for Stark Industries.

Huh. I clicked on the link and began reading more on the job description: Will be kept up to date on information regarding Tony Starks Arc Reactor and how to handle possible emergency situations regarding said reactor. Information on alien or godly medicine will be provided by Thor, of Asgard, but it is necessary to be willing to be learning and growing and developing better emergency care and medicine, for humans or otherwise. Offering up to 500k yearly salary with paid time off, provided living, transportation, and medical equipment and tools all at your personal disposal. Your team of nurses and Physician’s Assistant are at the top of their game and are an excellent team. Please call the number listed bellow for a pre-interview with Pepper Potts.

Okay, this sounds way too good to be true, and the competition for a job like this has to be outrageous. But the hell with it, what do I have to loose? I downed the rest of my diabetes in a cup and packed my laptop and made my way out. I hailed a taxi, gave directions to my apartment and immediately dialed the number listed on the add.

After a surprisingly thorough phone call I hung up and checked the call time, 45 minutes. I was asked all kinds of questions, regarding my schooling, residency, experience, I gave 10 different refences, and even answered questions from a “if everything were to go wrong” scenario. ( Question one: In the event that you are asked to accompany the Avengers on a mission across seas, are you capable of working in extremely critical circumstances that could be dancing on the line of life or death for countless people, should the Avengers be too injured to neutralize a threat?)  I’ve definitely been through some stressful shit, when that Loki guy sent his army through New York? I was providing emergency medicine until I could no longer feel my brain, I’m pretty sure after hour 10 of almost non-stop work my soul left my body to be replaced by Jesus, I sure as hell let him take the wheel. Unfortunately I was never one to believe in Jesus, especially after all this super-human chaos has been happening. Clearly Jesus isn’t the only magical white guy dancing around in the clouds. My train of thought was interrupted as I was greeted by Koda, and tall and lean Belgian Malinois. Her fawn coat and black mask only made her golden eyes see through your soul even easier. I got Koda as a puppy from a guy off Craigslist, apparently even though he boasted about being an unstoppable adult his mother thought otherwise and forced him to rehome his impulse buy puppy. I wasn’t mad about it, Koda has done wonders for keeping me grounded. Sometimes I think she’s smarter than most humans. I know every pet owner says that, but I really believe it. Especially after all the shit-brain assholes I’ve seen stumble into the clinic because they “accidentally” fell onto a broom stick and somehow managed to lodge itself up their anus. I gave Koda appreciative ear scratches as I opened my calendar, I marked down the time for my interview, two days from now at 10 AM. Stark Tower, feeling oddly optimistic towards the future I changed into a black tank top and running shorts, leashed Koda up, and made my way outside for a run.

I lived in a tiny apartment, it looked more like a concrete box than anything else, but the upside and pretty much it’s only saving grace was that it was near central park. I never considered myself much of a city person, and central park was the closest thing I could get to anything nature. Koda and I lapped around the park, I considered what it meant to be “Kept up to date on Asgardian physiology” when I spoke with Miss Potts over the phone she said it wont be too difficult as Asgardians shared a lot in common with us Earth dwellers. She mentioned them having skin that is roughly “three times thicker and stronger” than ours. Okay, so apparently I’m going to need stronger surgical tools and needles if the time comes for any of that. Pepper also reassured me that Stark had it covered, they had been recently using a willing Asgardian to build and put together tools just for them when the time is needed. I wonder who they had volunteer? It couldn’t have been Thor, I guessed I’d find out soon enough anyway. I stopped jogging for a moment to appreciate the setting sun and take a drink of water before bending over to give Koda a drink. I started my run again,  Stark’s reactor sounded very interesting and I did look forward to learning more about that. I haven’t seen anything even a little similar to that anywhere in medicine. Tony seemed to know what he was doing and had it under control anyway. I just wanted to understand what kind of shrapnel is constantly moving at an impossible speed towards his heart. And exactly how the reactor worked? Did it only prevent the shrapnel from moving further? Or did it also control how his heart functions? “Hey babe! Whatchu runnin from? I wont bite, or, maybe I will?” Great, who doesn’t love cat callers? Especially snot balls like this? I snuck a glance out of the corner of my eye as I kept my pace, pretending not to hear him. He started to follow after me, trying to act casual, I guess he didn’t notice Koda’s watchful gaze, oh yeah, another great thing about her would have to be the fact that I do have her trained in personal protection. Look, when you are a 5’5 petite women it doesn’t matter how much you exercise or how much knowledge of the human body and all the ways to heal it, or break it you have. Gross men with ill-intended ideas and thoughts look at you like you’re a piece of meat with perky tits and a pretty face.  No amount of “Hey beautiful, Hey babe! Watchu up to?” Would ever work, especially when said cat caller looked like a walking STD. Hey, I don’t need to be nice to someone like him. Koda swiveled around to stand behind me and keep pace with me while she herself trotted backwards, amber eyes never once leaving the slimy man behind us. “Beautiful, what a pretty dog you have. Smart too, is that a German Shepherd?  I had one growin’ up, loyal things aint they?” I said nothing and continued my jog, I now had to take a huge detour to my apartment. Couldn’t have him knowing where I lived, hell no. Slime ball caught up to me, Koda came to a grinding halt and placed herself between me and the stranger. I finally looked at him directly and with as level of a voice I could muster said “I’m not interested. Please leave me alone.” The man gave me a yellow toothy grin and replied “Is your dog friendly? I’m just wantin’ to know about your dog there?” I sighed through my nose and calmly said, “no, she isn’t. Please leave.” I sized the man up, he wasn’t too tall, maybe 5’11, 200 pounds tops, and almost none of it was muscle. I muttered the sniff command to Koda, she titled her nose in the air, she was taught to smell for any kind of weapon, especially a gun. If she caught onto the scent she let out a lone whine, if not, she would keep quiet. I let out a sigh of relief that I hadn’t realized I had been holding in when Koda didn’t whine. Thank god, if need be Koda and I can take this guy down, or well, Koda could. Firmly I said “leave now, or I will have my dog defend me, she is a trained protection dog. She will bite at my command.” At my word Koda stiffened and pulled back her lips revealing 42 sizer-like teeth.  The man scoffed but took a step back when Koda let a low growl rumble from her chest, “Okay, bitch. Message received. Must be a fuckin’ lesbian or somethin’.” He turned and walked away and I made my way back home, both Koda and I on high-alert. Fucking cities, man.

[blueyemxn]

My Persephone (Pt. 6)

Calamity Days

Spoiler Warning: Content below contains spoilers for the lvl 80 Shadowbringers MSQ, if you have not reached this point in the game and do not wish to be spoiled please refrain from reading. Otherwise enjoy my trash shipping at your own risk.

Relationship: Emet-SelchxWoL          

Ao3 Story - Here    Part One: Here    Part Two: Here    Part Three: Here    Part Four: Here    Part Five: Here

“Welcome to the final days of Amaurot.” 

His voice towered above them, scornful and all knowing, setting the stage of disaster. The screams and the fire, the towering Amaurotines running and quaking in fear, their wisdom lost in the hysteria. Nua had only taken one step and she could barely breathe, grief striking at her core.  

“This is so… terrible,” Ryne’s voice was just above a whisper, but it spoke with an unmistakable quiver. But then, who wouldn’t be? 

“Steady, Ryne! Remember: this is just a recreation.” And, as ever, Thancred’s voice was a stable sound of reasoning, but seeing the look on his face spelled the opposite of calm. 

“A recreation it may be, but I can see storms of emotion… the aether here is seething with it.” 

However, she was not interested in the destruction set before them, for as Emet-Selch set the stage with entitled grandeur the test he was so stubbornly committed to began. A test to see if they, if she was worthy of his patronage.

With nary a word, Nua hauled out her axe and proceeded, heart heavy and mind bracing itself for harsh memories that would assault her being. The smoke and ash of the world filling her lungs and bringing a sense of despair that she hadn’t felt in what seemed like millennia. 

“The fabric of our star began to fray… and the unchecked energies of creation begat malformed beasts. And lo, vile beasts did rise, leaving naught in their wake but blood and ash.”

Leaving naught but terror and panic, flailing around like frightened children, helpless in their endeavor to survive. Her companions called out to her, their voices drowning out amongst the roars and aching pains of the world around her. 

“...re.”

Within the heated streets, battling Dooms and avoiding the buildings crumbling from above, a stray sound made it to her. 

“K...ore.”

Ringing in her ears, the world shattering and crackling while another horde of horrors fell at her feet. But the voice was still there, coming back to her mind, inching it towards another memory, another shard. Another shard she didn’t have time for.

“...Kore.” 

Hacking away at all those in her path, ignoring the cries of her people, ignoring the pain and the agony and the despair as their screams became the chorus of a horrendous discord. Her axe-head swung, etched in blood and all manor of disgusting gore from the corpses of dead creatures. The way the metal sang was low, half-hearted and melancholy, her focus elsewhere, staving off the past that was determined to remember.  

“Kore!”

Nua shut her eyes, baring her fangs as she ripped apart another monster. But the voices didn’t stop. They never could.

“Kore!”

“What?!” Unable to bear the voice anymore, she opened her eyes and violently turned with a snarl, only to be met with a tall figure with neither hood nor mask, revealing a slender and tired face of an irritated mother. 

“Kore, inside voice.” She said, her tone hollow and soft. “That’s no way to talk to your mother.”

“Why are you here?” She asked. “Don’t you have something better to do?”

“We need to talk. I know you’re irritated—”

“Is it that obvious? Gee, I wonder why! You’re keeping me from Hades!”

“Emet-Selch is participating in a dangerous thing, you are no longer allowed to be around him.”

“I have a right to decide who I can and can’t stay with; I’m an—”

“Enough.” Her arm motioned for silence, the exhausted Amaurotine ending the interruption. “Emet-Selch cannot and will not be your patron any longer. You must stay here, where it is safe.”

A twitch. An anger filled her chest. This was unfair. This was not right. She was not going to leave Hades. She was not going to abandon him now as their star fell apart. 

“I’m going whether you will it or not, Mother.” Kore turned away.She reached out to grab her arm, determined to spare her from her fate. Kore turned on her heel and lashed out, her other arm swerving in for a devastating blow—

“Nua!” Through the memories did her true name ring, calling and pulling her away from the intruding thoughts just in time for her axe to stop short before a wide-eyed Ryne.

Blue eyes blinked, fear pooling from their irises. “I...” she put on a brave face, but Nua could hear the tinge of fear in her voice. The Auri cursed.

“Dammit—Ryne, what were you doing? I could’ve killed you!”

“I… I saw the Light within you fluctuate and feared something was wrong.” She looked away in shame and Nua felt a pang of guilt run through her. As wise as she was for her age, Ryne was still a naive child, wanting to help and make peace and preserve life; unlike Nua who only knew war, and battle and death.

“Well, I’m fine so—”

“Ryne!” Called out Thancred as he barreled though, gunblade out and ready. “You really need to stop running off like that you know!”

“Sorry, it’s just Nua…” 

“I’m fine, as I said.” She turned away, looking to see that the path before them had opened forward, awaiting the queue for the next slew of events to unfold within this grand theater. 

“The land buckled; the cities burned; the waters ran red with blood. For soon did the sun bend low, scorching earth and boiling seas”

The land screamed; it tore itself asunder as the illness plaguing the star erupted and corrupted, spread through a world doomed to fall. Our heroes journeyed forth, arms at the ready, plucking the life away from all who dared to block their path. Running across the bodies of Amaurotine, clutching each other in a desperate need for comfort; in pain as the illness of the star consumed them. 

“K..re!”

Another fracture, calling into a memory, pulling and sinking deep within her psyche. A warning? A beckoning? Neither matters to her; only striving forward.

“Kore!!”

It isn’t real. It isn’t real. It. Isn’t. Real!

“Kore watch out!” His voice vibrated painfully in her ears and she looked up to see one of the creatures raising it’s gnarled claws up to strike her down. Her heart beating a mile a minute, hands shaking in terror. She was frozen.

“All that I have and more, I bring to bear!” The sound of Hythlodaeus’ voice managed to wrangle her back to her senses as his magic shielded her from the blow. Her breath was ragged as she looked upon the beast so desperate to tear her apart. “My friend, if you aren’t careful you’ll end up being cut down before you reach the Convocation!” 

She could hear his usual calm, and grinning self despite the chaotic loudness sounding around them. He was there as he always was; supporting her; helping her; guiding her.

“I know! It's just…” a clenched fist and gritted teeth; what was she waiting for? Why does she hesitate? Why was she so afraid? A hand on her shoulder and she looked to see his smile radiating a reassuring glow. 

“Do not shed tears, my friend, I am here. Together we will overcome this!” He told her as he wiped a stray tear from her cheek.

“Daeus… We must move on, we can’t keep fighting everything in our path.”

“Then go without me.”

“What?!”

“I am causing you hesitation and discourse. Hurry and move on ahead, I shall keep the beasts at bay.”

“But—”

“You do not want to keep Hades waiting do you? You know how he gets when he’s kept waiting. Now go!” His magic pushed forward, staggering the creature before it was assaulted by his magics. Kore turned to him, but all he did was grin at her, a hint of mischief playing upon his lips even as the world around him crumbled to dust. 

“Yet this was far from the worst of it. Come, and I will show you… Just a little further… and you will see the end of a world.”

The voice of Emet-Selch boomed once more, clearing her mind and bringing her back. Beneath her did the dead carcass of the bird monster lay, its body plastered all over the arena after being cleaved in half. Beyond was a portal to the final part of this farce; of this judgement.

Just a little more and perhaps we can end this without having to kill each other A hopeful and impossible thought, she knew, but hoped for it nonetheless.

“What do you suppose lies beyond…?”

“Only one way to find out!” Before anyone could stop her, Alisaie charged through with weapon in hand. Thancred cursed and followed after, followed by a nervous Alphinaud and Ryne and followed more by a huffing Y’shtola and a silent Urianger. She was the only one to stay behind.

Nua stared at the portal, knowing that the ever present narrator was eager to end his tale and remind them of the folly of their past and of their future. But she couldn’t help but stare, blinking at the swirling aether while the horrifying echoes of a dying world became white noise to her inner thoughts. 

“I can only wonder if you’re doing this on purpose; provoking my memories like this, or if this is just further proof you need that I’m too broken to fix.” She said, bitterness resting on her tongue. 

“. . .”

She did not expect him to answer of course, but she knew he was watching her. While the stage was set to show everyone the tragedy of their world, his eyes were always on her. Watching. Judging. Hoping. Even now when her allies were waiting for her to jump through the portal his gaze, his attention was on her, on what she would do next. 

Nua took a step forward, feeling the aether churn before her, almost touching her armored form. But she did not go through, not yet. “We both know how this is going to end. You will judge us. You will dismiss us. You will fight us as your brethren have done before you. You say you want to follow the road of lesser tragedy and yet you repeat the mistakes of your fellows.”

“. . .”

He must hate her, ruefully gazing down on her at the audacity to say such things, but if Hades was going to spill out the entire truth then so shall she. 

Her hand clenched and finally found the will to move once more, to enter the beginning of the end; the genesis and the oblivion; the first and the last. The world beneath them glittering with chaos, a world destroying itself from the sins of its people and its past. One final time her eyes looked back, towards the heavens, to wherever he may be watching her.

“In the end it is your decision on how we walk this road. Whether it be hand in hand, or not at all.”

[jolienjoyswriting]

Mortem In Contumeliam FFVI, Epilogue

The epilogue (and, final) chapter of "Mortem In Contumeliam Final Fantasy VI," a Final Fantasy VI fan fiction story.

I bet you expecting more of a finale than this, weren't you?  Weeell… I could have gone on-and-on, but I figured the story was getting a bit long.  Besides, this part of the game goes by in a flash, depending on how you approach it! But, really… I just thought a nice, simple ending was in order, after everything. … if there's interest, though… I might write an extra chapter (or, two) which goes into greater detail on certain events. Hell, who am I kidding?  I may just do it, anyway.  Just, not right away. … that comment might be invalid by the time this is posted.  I wrote all these descriptions on August 1st, ha hah.

Word count: 2,869 – Character count: 16,340 Originally written: July 29th, 2019

Two years after the end of the world…

Final Fantasy VI, Wedge, Biggs, and related characters, scenarios, and properties created by Square Soft, Inc. and © Square Enix Co, Ltd.

[ ← Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter → ]

    “I’m an Imperial soldier!  Or, at least… I survived being one…”

    That was the story a man wearing a facsimile Imperial Army uniform told people passing through the Dragon’s Head Colosseum.  Sometimes, he would mention something about the Emperor and “talking to him twice,” while other times, he’d offer friendly hints and suggestions about what to bet… though, that usually ended up with customers losing their items to an opponent they couldn’t win against.  Still, it was relatively honest work for modest-but-fair pay, and it kept him off of the streets.  But, one day…

    “Welcome to the Dragon’s Head Colosseum!  I–”     “Wedge…?  Is that you?”     The fake soldier tilted his head as he was interrupted by a blond-haired woman wearing a form-fitting, red dress.     “I’m an Imperial soldier!” he told her.  “Or at least… I survived being one…”     Without warning, she threw her arms around his shoulders, giving him a tight hug.     “You were right, Celes!” she called.  “It is Wedge!”     “No,” said another blond lady wearing a green unitard, white cape, and a blue bandanna.  “I said that I think it might be him.  I’d never forget that voice, after what I did…”     “I’m sure it’s him!” the first woman said, brightly smiling as she held him close.  “You’re Wedge, the former Magitek Soldier who tried to help save the world!”     “I… I did…?” was the “soldier’s” confused response.     “Mm-hmm!”     The woman finally stepped back, continuing to smile.     “You still have the sword I gave you.”     He looked down at the sword on his belt.  Unlike the rest of his costume… that was real.

    “A… a close friend gave me that…” he told her.     “I’m that close friend!”  She giggled a little before telling him, “Wedge, I’m Tina!”     “Tina…?  Y… you’re… Tina…?”     “I’m Tina!” she repeated with a bright smile.     As she calmed down and brought red-wrapped arms in front, the man took off his helmet and gave her a closer look.  Something was familiar about her bouncy, blond hair tied up in a ribbon, and her pinkish-red dress with its and lavender sash and stockings…  But, more than that, something about the way she smiled at him reminded him of… better days – days that weren’t just filled with fighting, days where “peace” didn’t seem like such a foreign concept, and days where he had dreams of spending a quiet life running a small shop with a sweet, hope-filled girl and his best friend… who, he suddenly realized, he hadn’t thought about in ages…     “B… Biggs…”

    As he started to cry, the woman named Tina pulled him inward.  She softly shushed him, telling him everything would be alright as she stroked his short, red hair.  It was kind of awkward for the other lady to watch… but, kind of heartwarming, too. –––––

    “And… that’s what you’ve missed.”

    Sometime later, Wedge found himself seated in a small, semi-decorated room.  After quitting his job at the coliseum, he’d followed Tina and Celes out and wound up climbing aboard an airship not unlike the one he remembered snapping in half during the end of the world, more-than-a-year prior.  The new one, though, was much faster… but, also had a severe lack of rooms, which is why he and Tina ended up talking in what looked to be a closet with a chair and a well-dressed window.

    “So, I didn’t dream all that?  The world really did end…?”     She gave a nod, having finished telling him everything that had happened after the cataclysm, then everything she’d been involved with, since.     “Heh.”  He rubbed his face.  “I… I guess I kind of lost my marble, for a while…”     “A lot of us did…”  She frowned as she told him, “Celes nearly ended it all when her friend, Doctor Cid, died.  Kaien gave up searching for us only to give hope to a sweet woman in Maranda whose husband died.  I’m… not entirely sure what happened to Stragos, but we found him at a building, worshiping Kefka as a god!  Thank goodness sweet little Lilum was with us,  though I wish she hadn’t physically slapped him…  She can be so strict with her grandfather!”

    “You’re… a mother, now, you said?”     “Adoptive mother,” the woman corrected, to his relief.  “It… it feels so… so…”     He tilted his head.  Tina was blushing, all-of-a-sudden…     “All my life,” she started over, “I never knew what love was.  When I found my way to Mobliz and saw all of those children with their sad faces… something inside just… called to me.  Before I knew it, I was taking care of them all.  I… I’d finally found the love I was looking for…     “When Humbaba stormed the village…”  She looked away, pausing.  “I was defenseless…  There was nothing I could do.  I almost gave up… but, Miss Celes and Mister Figaro saved me and the children.  I thought I’d failed them and swore to never leave their side… but, it wasn’t until Humbaba returned that I found a new reason to fight with all my power.”     She looked up, giving a soft smile.     “I’m fighting for the future.  For their future.”

    “Heh.  You’re an amazing lady, Tina…”     She smiled a little more, but…     “You seem sad…”     She’d noticed how quiet he’d gotten, since her story.     “It seems like everyone has something to fight for, now more than ever…”     “Don’t you?” she quietly asked.     “Nope…  I don’t have any reason to fight…  Nothing we can do will fix this world.  But, you guys are hellbent on trying!  I just… don’t belong with you guys.”  He sighed.  “Never have.”     “That’s not true,” the girl politely countered.     “Yeah?”  The former soldier crossed his arms.  “Why, exactly, should I stick around?”     He gave a blink, then.  Tina had leaned down and given him a soft peck on the cheek.  As she drew back, brushing her bangs away from her face, she gave a soft smile and whispered…     “For me.” –––––

    “Oh, gods, what’d they do?!  The place is falling apart!!”

    The assembled forces of fourteen unique individuals had done the impossible and destroyed not only three warring gods of destruction, but the person who had focused their power and become a god, himself.  And, as Kefka Palazzo fell… so did his tower of junk.

    Twelve of the New Returners had gone into Kefka’s Tower, leaving the former Imperial soldier named Wedge to keep the airship hovering nearby.  He had been freaking out, knowing that Kefka’s “Light of Judgment” could go off at any time, ripping right through the flying vehicle… but, he stayed true to his course.  Not just because he was supporting a noble goal… not just because Setzer, the owner of the new airship, threatened to track him down and murder him if he chickened out… but, because he was waiting for someone to come back… and, he wanted to be the first person she saw after climbing up the ship’s hook.

    When the tower shuddered, Wedge looked over just in time to see something at the apex explode!  He was sure the Falcon – Setzer’s late friend’s airship – would get hit by the blast, but he managed to steer it away from danger… only to pull back as the rocks and metal of the tall structure began to crumble and collapse.  Whatever those crazy adventurers had done… it had done a number on the tower!  He just hoped… that they’d done the same to its owner.

    “Come on… come on…!”     He nervously paced back-and-forth.  It had been several minutes since the mimic called Gogo and the mostly-friendly cave beast named Umaro climbed down and ran into the tower in an attempt to guide everyone out, and he was getting anxious.     “They’ve gotta be okay…  They’ve just gotta!”

    After a bit more pacing, he finally sat down, pressing his hand to his chest over his tunic.     “Gods…  This can’t be good for my heart,” he sighed.  “It feels like it’s beating like a war drum!  Actually, it feels like it’s vibrating…  And… tugging at my– waugh!!”     Without any warning, something ripped free of his top, knocking his hand out of the way!  A second later, he looked up… only to remove his goggles and go wide-eyed.     “What are you…?” he squeaked at the creature floating before him.     “You don’t recognize me?” it called in a voice that practically pierced into his mind.     “Sh-should I…?!”     “I spend the better part of two years with you, and you forget I even exist…?”     The brown-skinned creature with long, angular horns and purple-blue hair grinned.     “I shudder to think of how you’ll treat my daughter, later on in her life!”     He narrowed his eyes…  “Your daught–”  Only to open them right back up.     “Son of a submariner…  You’re Madin?!”     “You’re right,” he said with a warm smile, “and, I need to tell you something…”

    Madin had never appeared to him quite so clearly and, in fact, he wasn’t sure that, despite having his very soul next to his heart for over two years, the Eidolon had ever spoken to him, prior.  Needless to say, Wedge was all-ears, at that moment.

    “Wedge… I’m afraid that this is both the first time, and the last time, that I can appear like this.” he sadly told the man.  “The Eidolon’s souls are vanishing from this world.”     “What?  No!  Wait, that’s not fair!” Wedge exclaimed, his eyes going wide, again.     “Magic is dying…” he explained, “and, with it, all it has birthed.”     Well, that explained why Kefka’s Tower was falling apart, at least.  But…     “So, this is really it…?  I’ll never–”  The ex-soldier paused.  “Wait, Tina!  You– you have to say goodbye to Tina!!”     “I wish I could…”  He gave a forlorn smile as he said, “You’ll have to do it for me.”     The man slowly nodded, feeling himself tear up.  “I will, Madin, I will…”     “If you get the chance…”     “If I…?”  He looked up.  “What?”

    “Tina… my daughter…” the Eidolon quietly murmured.  “She is half of what I am.”     “Okay… but, what do you mean–”     “She may well vanish with the rest of us.”     Wedge was immediately sent into a panic.     “No– no-no– no-no-no…!”     “But…” the magical creature sighed as his form started to fade, “if she has been able to feel something precious, as a human…”     “If she’s… wait, what does that–”     “Then perhaps… as a… human…”     With those last, enigmatic words… Madin ceased to exist.

    For several moments, Wedge just held his head, sitting and rocking in-place.  He couldn’t believe… refused to believe… that, not a few days after being reunited with the woman he’d grown to love, she was going to… vanish.  Just like her father…  It was almost too much for him to bear.  But, eventually… he pulled himself up, leaped overboard, and started climbing down…     “Tiiinaaaaa…!!”     “Follow me!”     Only to see her whizz by in her Eidolon form.

    “Oh.”     He blankly stared, hanging onto the airship’s hook for a moment.     “W-wait, no– Tina!”     “Move it!!  We’ve got to get out of here!!”     Wedge yelped as Setzer clambered up the chain – and, subsequently, climbed him – before getting onto the deck.  A couple more people did the same before he finally got the message and returned to where he was, himself.

    Not long after everyone boarded, the airship roared away from the crumbling, exploding tower, led by a pinkish-purple light in the shape of a girl.     “Tina…!” Wedge called out.     “The last of the Magicite!”

    He looked back.  A crystal floated away from Edgar’s hand before bursting into dust.     “Tina…” the former soldier worriedly whimpered…     “Tina!  That’s enough!!” Celes cried to her friend from the ship’s head.  “Your power…”     Wedge had never felt so much sympathy for the former general as he did, then.  He, too, could see the half-Eidolon girl starting to falter… and, it was scaring him to a point of silence.

    As the tower collapsed and burst into a pile of rocky, molten slag, the Falcon pierced the dark clouds, closely following the half-Eidolon into open airspace.  It was strange… but, somehow, the previously-purple sky seemed like it was losing its ominous glow and reverting to a long-forgotten, familiar shade of blue.  Tina, on the other hand…     “No– no!!”     Suddenly, Celes and Edgar ran over to the side of the ship.  When Wedge looked that way, he noticed that Tina was slowing and starting to fall.  She looked a little pale, too…     “She’s losing her power!” the other blond woman shouted.     “Setzer!” Edgar called.  “After her!”     “Leave it to me!” the captain called from the steering wheel.  “Hang ooon…!”

    Everyone hung on to whatever they could as the airship shot straight down, breaking back through the clouds and chasing the falling woman.     “Tina!”     Wedge, who was starting to get used to a life of excitement, found himself losing focus…     “Tina…”     He squinted his eyes, his consciousness starting to slip.  And, soon…     “Ti… na…”     He blacked out.

    “Wedge?  Wedge…?  Are you alright?”     The ex-soldier groaned, shaking his head…  “Who… where…?”     “Relax, Wedge.  You’re with friends.”     He slowly opened his eyes, having trouble seeing straight.  All he could see was blurry shapes and colorful splotches…     “Can’t… see…” he huffed.  “What… happened?”     “What happened?” a smart-sounding voice repeated from nearby.  “What happened?!  I’ll tell you what happened, Cheese Wedge!  Setzer just saved your girlfriend’s butt after she flew us away from Kefka’s Tower – which is just a big pile of trash, now, by the way!”     “My… what?”  Wedge was… very confused.     “Lock…” the voice from before said, sounding shy.  “He’s not my boyfriend…”     “Not yet!” Lock laughed, “but, I’ve seen the way you two look at each other!  Plus, Shadow recently told me a fun little story from the past…”     “He– he didn’t!”  The female voice sounded nervous.     “He sure did!” her companion laughed.  “Never would’ve pegged this guy as a romantic…but, two people can learn a lot about each other when stuck on a flyin’ island, huh?”     Wedge heard a long, embarrassed groan and felt a weight compress his chest.  He tried to get a look at it… only to see what appeared to be someone’s blond-haired head resting on a pair of arms with pinkish-red opera-style gloves.  It didn’t take him much thought to realize…     “T… Tina!”

    The former soldier shot up like a rocket, accidentally throwing his friend’s head off of his body.  A second later, he felt incredibly dizzy and slumped back down.     “Careful…” he heard Tina say.     “What… happened?” he sighed, feeling her stroke his head.  “I remember a nosedive…”     “That’s ‘cause Setzer put the ship into a nosedive!” Lock explained with another laugh.  “Like I said, he saved Tina!”     “I told you, didn’t I?” a voice called from somewhere behind.  “The world’s fastest ship!”     “As far as we can tell… you passed out from the speed,” Tina added after that.     “Gotta say, that’s pretty embarrassing!”     “Lock!  Be nice!”     “Hey, just sayin’…”     “Anyway…” the kind woman continued, rubbing his cheek with the back of one hand.  “You just lay there on the couch until you feel better.  We’ll try and be quiet for you.”     “Once we’re done partying, anyway!  Not every day ya kick four war-gods’ asses!”     “You… what…?”

    Wedge slowly sat back up, then looked at his companions.  Tina was seated on the floor, fondly smiling at him with gentle eyes while Lock stood behind her, his arms crossed and a grin on his face.  When he tossed a random thumbs up, Wedge just tilted his head.     “Where… is everyone?” he found himself asking, suddenly noticing a lack of people.     “They’re celebrating up top!” Lock answered.  “You’re welcome to join us when ya feel better!  I mean, you just drove the airship while we did all the heavy lifting, buuut…”     “Lock!”     Tina gave her friend a dirty look as he shrugged and walked away with a smile.

    “Anyway, you just rest, and I’ll–”     “Tina, there’s something I need to tell you.”     She tilted her head.  “Can it wait?  You still haven’t recovered.”     “I…”  He hesitated before telling her, “I saw your dad.”     “You did?”     Somehow… she didn’t seem as surprised as he was expecting.     “He said to tell you ‘goodbye…’  He also said you might vanish… b-but, you didn’t!”     The man smiled… before looking down at the couch he was seated on.     “Tina…  I’m so sorry…  He was a good dad.”     When he looked back up, he saw that Tina was still smiling… but, she also looked sad.     “If I hadn’t kept him all to myself for the last two years…  If I’d only give him back…!”     “It’s okay,” she said, shaking her head with a little sniffle.  “You needed him more.”     “But–!”     She pressed a finger to his lips, her smile brightening a little.     “I’m going to Mobliz, soon.  I want to check on the children.  Come with me?”     “Uh…”  He blinked… then, he smiled.  “It’s a date?”     “About time!” she exclaimed.  “It’s not nice to keep a girl waiting for two whole years!”     He had to blink, again.  She’d used a scolding tone… but, she was grinning.  And, that was enough to get him smiling, again, which put an even brighter smile back on her face!

    “You… are a precious cinnamon bun, Tina…” was all he had to say before finally resting…