#so after gearing myself up for it all day i flaked

[zjofierose]

.

[dreadfuldevotee]

Today, I let myself be a bit nerdy and fan-ish and listened to the ep of David Tennant's podcast that he did with Jodie Whittaker just as like, a bit of background noise and cuz I thought they'd be a fun duo (they are).

I was not! expecting to get about 10 minutes in before I had to sit on the floor and Cry a bit because Jodie casually shattered my heart into a million pieces. Not because what she said was sad itself, but it made me realize what I've been doing and the root behind something that's been sitting on my soul for the past couple of years.

I'll give you the cliff notes, cuz leading up to the sentence is like 3 different anecdotes (which is a Mood). but basically, in specific regard to persuing acting but applicable to really anything, not having some backup plan. That you are a cat with 9 lives and you should put everything into that "first life" and go after it while youre energetic and willing. If it fails- well then you tried and you've experienced something but its not the end of the world and can go off and try again with the next "life".

It was just so astounding to me! Its such a simple concept and one I've heard put in similar ways to me when I was applying for acting programs as a highschooler, but the difference is the belief and the kind of cavalier nature of it. Actors will always say "if you can imagine doing anything else go do that". Even when they're telling you it's all or nothing, they're actively trying to psych you out, or act like your world will end. And as the shakey ass, mentally ill teenager I was faltered and got so afraid. But never because I was scared of never working or it not panning out, but just so ashamed of myself- that the Thing that's Missing In Me was the cause of doubt in everyones tone. Was why all the support in my life had that deep under current of "run for the hills, get out while you can".

And so I did. I flaked out on all my acting auditions, broke down in tears infront of my voice teacher and ghosted her, never saw my acting coach again and I switched gears completely to go into costuming. Which, I should say, I do love. Its a genuine passion and anyone whos talked to me- and especially anyone who's seen me in my day to day know that I am a certified Clotheswhore™️. But also I'd go into tech on shows and get so envious, it'd bring me to tears. I'd sob through any show and just listening to cast recordings would put me in such a deep depression. I would day dream about being on the otherside of my fittings, about being the kind of actor that my friends and I thought were the "Good Ones". As much as I loved what I was doing, I was always dreaming of something else.

I think the fact that I loved it so much helped me forget that it wasn't really what I wanted, though. I said to a friend like a week ago! that I had stopped listening to show tunes because it depressed me. Which is just? so sad? I have boxes of playbills that I've collected and gotten signed and going to the theater was something I adored. I made so many friends because I was Such An Annoying Theater Kid on both here and twitter and I think that kid would be so mortified that this thing that I still love brings me such pain right now.

This is kind of a shitty revelation to be having right now tho, because I actually still have a semester left of my degree and school is already hard enough before I'd come to realization that I'm only here in this program because I severely hate myself and was too afraid to do what I actually wanted. It was so heartbreaking to me, because I had this immediate wash of "What have I done? Have I made a horrible mistake? is it all too late, did I squander my time?" Theres something to be said about classical education or just any acting education. Most everything I know is my own personal snobbery and Autistic Affliction, but I dont know what thats worth in reality.

A Lot of this can be summed up in "20 smth feels like life is over if you dont have it figured out by graduation" and ik that's silly and untrue at heart. But I felt it then at 15 the way I do now at 21- That theater is a true love of my life and that I've been in a kind of agony being away from it that I wasnt prepared for.

I dooon't know what that means or what that says about me or even what the fuck to do with this information now that its been beat across my head. The self hate is still there. I still feel a burning shame whenever I become aware of how honest I'm being about myself where other people can see. But I think I'll die unhappy if I never tried. I don't want it to be a casual thing because its never been a casual love for me. I could be so happy sewing in my freetime or only doing it as something to keep bills paid but I would want acting to consume my life. I want to take it seriously and squander all other prospects to keep fueling it.

[prettybutter-flyy]

An Overreaction: A short story.

Ugh. Why won’t I die?

I wake up. Again. Why? I stumble out of bed and head to the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, I try smiling at the man I see - but I don’t even recognize him. When did he age? When did bags begin growing under his eyes? When did he start losing his hair? I don’t feel like the spry, enthusiastic man I once prided myself on being.

In my youth, days started with a spring out of bed and gratitude for the chance to participate in society, to socialize, to connect, to learn! I used to love to move and dance and flirt or, sometimes, even work! The synergetic zeal of getting into a flow or tossing ideas back and forth with people you trust… God, time has beaten that out of me. Beaten me senseless.

I don’t think time is my enemy here, though. Time itself has not robbed me of my faith in humanity - in my faith in myself. A fatherless childhood will do that, too. A promotion that should have gone to me did it. A woman that would have been happier had she picked me did it. Ending up alone in a huge house that I own, with no one to fill it with new memories, did it. So now I haunt my own home, stalking about for stimulation. For purpose.

I am utterly useless, and I seem to be the last one to figure it out. Every single day. When will I die? I roll my eyes in the mirror, dismissing those happy morning thoughts, to actually do my bathroom business.

…

The sun shines through the windows of my house. I don’t feel its warmth on my skin; instead, the air conditioning isolates me from the heat of a Texas summer morning. I take my first bite of the stale breakfast I made for myself today (like I do every day): cereal. The sugar gives me a rush. As I’m eating, the young woman I see every day, jogs down the street.

I wonder where she could possibly get the energy and time to run. Maybe if I didn’t have cereal every morning, I might have some energy to go on an early morning run, I think as I crunch on my Frosted Flakes. I know they’re bad for me, but I love them. I think we all have little vices we indulge in to make life a little more exciting.

I see her every day with her dumb little dog. She usually comes by a couple of times; I assume she does laps around my small block.

Today, she stops in front of my house and takes a deep breath. She is huffing and puffing as she pulls her phone from her pocket and snaps a “selfie.” While she does this, her dumb little dog begins to do its business. Disgusting. Then I chuckle because, judging by the angle the girl was standing, she may have captured her dog in a compromising position.

Then, to my indignation, the woman continues her jog, as if her dog had not just dropped a fat turd on my lawn!

The nerve of this girl! To drop the burden of cleaning up her dog’s bowel movements on me, a feeble old man - what right does she think she has to my time? To my lawn! I feel the rage pent up inside of me—I don’t even finish my cereal. I march myself to my garage, open my garage door, grab a lawn chair from the pile of fishing gear in the corner, march myself to the lawn, and set my chair—and my butt—next to the stinky excrement.

The smell is potent, and my anger is all-consuming. The hot morning air was likely to thank for that. But I stayed there. She comes down the street multiple times a day, every weekday (I know this because we often wave to each other), and it is Friday. She will be back. And she will answer for this crime. And it is a crime; in this county, it is LAW that you must pick up after your dog. I should call the police! They can air her out without much escalation. As much as I would enjoy teaching her a lesson, they can teach her a much more expensive lesson. One that will ruin her month(ly budget).

I seethe. Much like the stench of this dog dropping, I am festering in this Texas heat—really, how can anyone run in this?! My vexation jumps out of my body, tapping my toe to the ground, crossing my arms so tightly I fear I may get a heat stroke.

When she turns the corner for the second time, her dog trotting along her side, I begin to shake. Her stupid dog’s happy little face also enrages me. The woman smiles and waves at me—like she usually does—as she runs closer and closer. I feel my own heartbeat in my chest, my face puffy and red, as if I'm the one running.

I stand and wave back at her angrily to get her attention. “You’ve got some nerve!”

Now she seems to understand that I’m talking to her. She slows her jog until she’s jogging in place and takes out one of those high-tech earphones from her right ear and places it in her hand.

“Excuse me?” the woman stops jogging in place. The dog sits, calmly, happily. “Is something wrong?” She’s not even tired from the running, no panting. I don’t think I even see the glisten of sweat! What is she? Some kind of Olympian?

“‘oH Is SoMetHiNg WrOnG?’” I mock her. “Uh, yeah, you let your dog poop on my lawn, and you just left it here to stink up the whole neighborhood!”

“Oh!” She covers her mouth, eyes wide with embarrassment. She is older than I’d thought, maybe only 20 years younger than me. Up close, she has kind eyes and a muscular build. She pulls a bag out of her pocket. “I’m so sorry! Max here pooped before we got to this house, and I had to use my last bag, but I just ran to get some more so I could clean it up when I looped back around!” She bends down to pick up the poop and pet her Max. “I’m sorry!”

“Good!” I grunt, “Don’t you EVER pull an entitled, lazy stunt like that again!”

She continues to make excuses, like she’s some quirky awkward protagonist in a coming of age movie, “It’s funny, when this happens, I take a picture of the house he did it on, go grab a bag, and come back!” She shows me the photos on her phone, which she wasn’t in at all. Just the mailbox and the dog poop. She swipes a couple of times to show similar photos.

I scoff, “So this happens often?”

“I mean, as often as it happens to most dog owners.” She fiddles with the bag.

I roll my eyes at her back-sass. “Well, I should have called the cops. They’d teach you some kind of lesson about personal responsibility. What, do you think everyone just cleans up after you? That you’re the main character of the world? Is that why you think you can just do whatever you want to other people’s property?”

“I don’t think,” she stammers. “I just—” She looked like she may cry.

So I continue. Maybe I can scream a tear or two out.

“You probably don’t even own a house in this neighborhood, do you? You’re probably a renter, aren’t you? Because if you owned a house, you would understand what it was like to keep your shit nice and protect it from those who want to destroy the life you’ve made for yourself!”

“No one else has had a problem with me here. I pick it up every single time! I didn’t mean to disrespect you but what was I supposed to do? Pick it up with my hand?”

“You don’t know ANYTHING about respect! I had to work for 55 years before I could finally retire in this house. I’ve taken care of it every day of my life, because I RESPECT my things. My lawn is not public property! Stay off of it, or I will call the police next time! It’s illegal to not clean up your dog’s SHIT!” I spit at her. As I speak, the embarrassment in her eyes fades and changes to something else. A different type of embarrassment?

The woman was (probably) about to give me another round of excuses, but almost like someone flipped a switch in her brain, her face eases. “Ohhhhh,” she says as she puts her earphone back in her ear. “You just want to argue with someone.” She begins to jog away, almost nonchalantly. Almost.

“I do not!” I start shouting again. “You need to learn some goddamn respect! What, your generation can’t even have a conversation without getting oFfEnDEd? Do you know how much a fine for littering—”

She whips back around, angrily, ripping out both of her fancy earphones this time. For a second, I feared she might hit me. The calm runner I saw every day was gone. She was basically panting, like what she was about to say would take all the energy she had left.

“You came outside from your rEspECtaBle, cold air-conditioned paid-off retirement home to sit in the hot Texas sun with DOG SHIT. And then you yelled at me for a misunderstanding that—” she holds up the doggy bag. “I HAVE CORRECTED and have apologized for, and now… you’re STILL yelling at me?” She scoffs. “Because you know soooo much about respect!”

She shoves her earphones back into her ears and she and her dog skip along their merry way, but not before leaving me with a pitiful, “You’ve got nothing better to do.”

I watch her jog away, the sun cooking my skin. I could just run with her. I used to have energy like that, long ago. Now I glance back at my home, not wanting to go back in.

…

After putting up my lawn chair and closing my garage, I return to the kitchen table. My skin cools down, and it feels as if someone’s poured ice water on my fire. That other embarrassment was pity. I know, because I feel it for myself now. I return to my cereal. It is soggy.

[nfumbewalk]

Esoteric Ramblings & Family Ramblings

Parchment for a sour jar. My real blood, oleum, and sigil.

I've been trying to get together more lessons for my *new* necromancy student. 💀 I have plenty of material, in my head. It's just gotta make it to my Notepad to her email! Lol. She's 35 years old and happens to have the right planets in the needed placements to be a natural necromancer.

I just happened upon her in a Santa Muerte reading. I offered her a free course because I think she'll be powerful. My course is usually $800.00. Big time gifts, right?!? 😅 I think so, with some tuning. She's wild, but I see potential! Why is my course expensive? To eke out the flakes, the non-gifted, the ones with a "god-complex," the wanna be's...you name it! In this field, you meet them all!

She may need to sign a privacy disclosure too. The stuff I teach isn't illegal but "normies" don't like ppl poking around graveyards. I just collect dirt from my muertos grave & maybe once in awhile, take a memento from a grave, if it's old. I never litter or tip stones, never ever desecrate anything! Graveyards are like my second home!

I've sent my student a few short documents that I hope she absorbs and asks some questions. Part of it is my "Muerteria™"- Adherents of Nod...but it was shortened. She doesn't need to know about the Gatekeepers, the Holy days, the coin, or the sacrifice (not animal)! Now, when I say "Gatekeeper" it's not what you're thinking. And also, nothing to do with the Demons of my past path.

I did have a brief convo with a Demon, even wore his sigil out of respect - no offering though. He seemed to be interested, but when he learned about other occupants of my house, his interest waned. He wouldn't be the hotshot here! He doesn't like my muerto, that's what!

Because my Rodolfo stands up for me. He won't let this deceiving Demon bother me or give me false promises! Rodolfo forced the Demon to leave my house after learning that this Demon wanted me back on the destructive path that is Demonolatry. I know I'm not the only one.

Hey - maybe it ain't destructive for you, great! But others, especially sensitive espiritista's like myself - we have to careful of energies that may influence us in a negative way, break our barriers (psychic, emotional, mental mostly), and drain us. That's why I ultimately left the Demono-folks. I found myself getting jammed up with negative energy and constant psychic & mental barrier breaking. I wanted a more peaceful place & I found that with the muertos, in now what I refer to loosely as "Muerteria™". It IS a path. Not a religion. Call it spiritual if you wish. There's no doctrine or holy book/scripture.

For me, personally, I like the Odu, which is a part of African Traditional Religion. I'm NOT in any of them though - never initiated, never will be. I do like aspects of those religions, though. The actual religion that fits me the closest is Palo Mayombe. Won't pay for it & they are biased against women. As are most African paths... They are getting better-ish, slightly. Yeah, they say: "Women! Are the mothers!" Umm..what else? Oh yeah, "Women! Comforters!" Rofl! 😂

Well, I'm no feminist, but inequality blows, especially in a religion. One thing I did not experience was racism! Amazing. One of my teachers was Cuban. Another was Puerto Rican. My Ifá Baba was Black. None of them had trouble teaching this cracker!

Family Ramblings

All of these "closed traditions?" Stick a sage bundle in it! I do NOT burn that shit! And I'm part Native. I'm also part African?!? Genetics are fascinating. It's not much African, but my old Palo teacher said it didn't matter, any counts!! Lol!! No shit, he said that. 😅 I'm mostly Germanic, Norwe & French Canadian.

My great grandfather, Norwegian, Tonyus Barstad, somehow got my grandfather, Arthur Wilson Barstad, to Oregon...where he enlisted into the Army during WWII, becoming a Tech IV Sergeant - "in the rear with the gear" he was! Met my grandma, who worked at a cinema - embroiled with Hitler's propaganda... Her sister's refused my grandpa. "No! You take him!" My grandma said "fuck it!" And in 1946-47 left Germany to marry my grandpa Arthur and GTFO Germany! My mom was born in Portland, Ore. in September 1948.

Grandpa Arthur was the cheapest man alive. My mom told horror stories about being cold all the time and how her parakeets didn't like it. Grandpa was just a drunk. He was drunk at work too - a government job, no doubt. And he stank to high heaven, never bathing. Grandma was drunk too, so I doubt she noticed. My grandpa did do one useful thing for me, many years after his death. I'm a member of The Order of the Eastern Star, which is basically female Freemasons, though men can join too.

The OES is all about charity work & fundraising for different causes. Yes, there is a secret handshake! 😊 And an initiation - a FREE one! Lolz! There is actually a Sentinel who sits outside the ritual room, guarding it. My husband sat & chatted with him. The offered to make him a Freemason.

Ah, just a little trip down memory lane. I really miss my parents. I have so MANY unanswered questions.

Done here!

Memento Mori! 💖💀💖

[dastardlydandelion]

Please post the sickfic prompt turned corpse disposal. 😂

sure! that one’s p bloodless, i can post that one. 

ao3 link 

content warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced spousal abuse, minimally described fresh dead body, illness description 

Billy isn’t sick.

Billy doesn’t get sick. He really doesn’t. Hasn’t had so much as a cold in years, albeit he’s claimed one as cover here and there whenever coke overuse made him maybe sorta sniffly and Neil started to eye him up like he might be suspicious.

Billy isn’t sick.

If he’s feeling achy, well, he’s just sore because Neil laid the belt on him pretty hard two days ago after he got sent home from school midday Monday, written up and suspended. If he’s coughing, well, it’s just because he’s been smoking more than usual. Neil’s been stressed out lately, so that means Billy’s stressed out too.

“No,” his father says sharply when Billy takes a seat at the breakfast table.

And Billy blinks at him, confused but careful.

“You’re not going to sit with us and cough all over the food like a human biohazard. I raised you to show more courtesy than that.” Neil gives him a stern look. “Go back to bed.”

“I’m not even—“

“Go back to bed, Billy.”

Billy hears the warning heighten in his father’s tone. He doesn’t argue. He hauls himself back to his bedroom and it’s whatever. He wasn’t really hungry anyway.

* * * 

Okay, so Billy is sick.

He got himself suspended because he felt something coming on. He knows his body. He was feeling off kilter and sluggish, uncomfortable in the chest when he inhaled too deeply. So he put his boots on the desk in history class and flipped the teacher the bird when she asked him to sit properly. Even went the extra mile and sneered, told her to blow him when her jaw hit the floor.

He figured it’d buy him enough time to recover without having to call in sick, or get in trouble for skipping class. A suspension was one indiscretion and only likely to invoke one punishment. Skipping multiple days would’ve been multiple indiscretions and more likely to invoke multiple punishments.

In retrospect he should’ve just called in sick because the whole point of avoiding that route was avoiding having to admit it, but he can’t really hide it. Whatever he’s got came on hard and fast, doubled-down by Monday evening. It hasn’t gotten any better. Billy feels bad all over, the cough is near constant, and he’s shaking with chills. Puts his leather jacket on before he buries himself under the blankets and still can’t get warm.

And the coughing, ugh, the fucking coughing. Billy knows he’s being loud. He tries to hold it in but he just can’t. Spasm after spasm squeezes his lungs until they’re aching for air. His chest feels like it’s full of swamp muck and all he can do is ride it out, clutch at his ribs until he makes it to the oxygen on the other side.

Billy should get up. He should make himself get off his ass, go buy some cough drops or at least refill his glass of water. He’s going to make it happen. He’s definitely going to make it happen…just maybe not yet.

He never really gets around to it. Spends most of the afternoon slogging through coughs and trying to get comfortable even though it doesn’t really matter which way he tosses or turns, he’s still cold to the bone, chest stabbing with every burdened breath. The day drags and Billy catches snippets of the other members of the household moving about, knows it’s evening when Neil sticks his head in.

“I dug this out of the cabinet for you,” he announces, holding up a blue container. “Vapor rub. It’ll calm your cough down. Help you sleep.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

His father pads across the carpet, sets the container down on Billy’s nightstand, right within reach. He hovers uncertainly, eyes narrowed. Opens his mouth to say something and maybe he does, but Billy doesn’t catch it, snapping upright to bury another flurry of coughs into his closed fist. It’s a forceful fit and before he knows it, his father’s thumping him on the back. He’s probably trying to help but the heel of his hand connects with one of the bruises the belt buckle left and Billy can’t stop himself before he flinches.

Neil retracts his hand, leaves without another word. Billy rakes in breath at the coda of the coughs, air scraping against his roughshod throat. He goes as deep as he can even though it hurts, snatches the container of vapor rub.

Billy begins to unscrew the lid and notices some of the ointment is crusted under the lid. It flakes off. This stuff looks old. Billy checks the date on the label. Sure enough, it’s been expired for close to a year.

He throws it across the room in frustration, watches it bounce off the wall. Lies back down and pulls the covers up to his chin.

At some point Neil bangs on his door and demands he cut out the racket, probably thinking Billy rebuffed his generosity. Billy’s too exhausted to bother explaining the shit’s expired. Instead he turns his face into the pillow and smothers his fits into the fabric, hoping it muffles the sounds.

* * * 

Sometime later Thursday morning, Susan knocks on his door. Billy contemplates pretending to be asleep. Really, he wishes he was. He’s feeling pretty rundown but he can’t seem to get more than a wink before he wakes up coughing.

But if he doesn’t answer it now, she’ll probably just bother him later. So Billy plods to the door and pulls it open.

“What?”

“Um,” Susan begins eloquently, blinking at him as she fiddles with the thin object in her hands. A thermometer.

“Neil tell you to do this?”

“N-No, but, uh. It’s probably a good idea to check your temperature. No offense, Billy, but you don’t sound so good and you’re awfully flush…”

“If I cared, I’d check myself,” he snorts irritably. “Try to stick that under my tongue and I’ll break it in half. Save your mother hen shit for Max.”

With that, he slams the door in her face. They’ve no love for each other. On infrequent occasions Susan will forget this and make some half-assed attempt to get closer to him. Billy’s always quick to remind her where they stand. It doesn’t take much.

Afternoon rolls around without Susan bugging him anymore. Billy isn’t a big reader but he doesn’t feel up to much else between increasingly productive coughing bouts that leave him hacking up gross, greenish globs into his small wire mesh trashcan. So he flips through some music magazines and the book he’s supposed to read for english class until he gathers enough energy to kick himself into gear.

He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes yesterday so he doesn’t need to change now. Just sprays himself with some cologne, figures he probably smells because he’s sweating nonstop. Discomforting drenching cold sweats like getting caught outside in icy rains, an experience Billy was blissfully unfamiliar with until Neil decided to leave sunny California behind.

He browses the small medical selection at Melvald’s, grabs a couple bags of cherry flavored lozenges  and a bottle of cough syrup. Covers a couple fits with the crook of his elbow on the way to the counter. He swallows the gunk that comes up because there’s nowhere to spit it into and scrunches his nose in disgust, feels like freaking slime sliding down his throat.

It’s the town cuckoo who rings him up. Or that’s her reputation anyway but she doesn’t seem particularly nutty to Billy. Hell, seems less weird than Susan does when she’s doing shit like talking to the spiders she takes outside.

“Time to go, Little Creepy Crawly,” she’d singsonged last week, shaking a daddy longlegs out of her tissue on the front porch. “Go be free.”

“You need fucking friends,” Billy had told her after the fact. Sound advice, he’d thought. Susan only ducked her head and disappeared into the next room.

Town Cuckoo gives the amount. Billy digs through his wallet and comes up two dollars short. Ugh. Fucking brandname linctuses. Shit’s a ripoff but there was no generic equivalent on the shelf.

She tells Billy it’s on the house, forehead crinkling just a bit as she studies him, eyes all melty with sympathy. Screw that shit. Billy isn’t anybody’s charity case. He gives her a pointed glower as he stamps a five down on the counter, takes the two bags of lozenges, and leaves.

He eats through half of the first bag until his throat tingles with menthol and artificial sweetness, and actually manages to sleep for a few solid hours. He knows it’s been hours because when he wakes himself coughing, it’s dark out. Nighttime.

Billy curls inward with the spasms, tries to catch his breath between stabbing pains. This sucks so much. He’s hacking up more gunk. Attempts to rub some of the discomfort from his heavy, congestion leaden chest to no avail.

He just keeps coughing and coughing and he knows before long, Neil’s going to get in his shit about the noise so he forces himself to throw off the covers. His bruises are still healing. He doesn’t need any more.

Billy crams his feet in his boots and drags himself down the hall. To his surprise, Susan’s sitting at the kitchen table. She’s crying. The sobs wrack her whole body the way the coughs wrack his and her cheeks are blotched cherry red just like his lozenges, tear tracks shining under the kitchen light. It throws him, really. He’s lived with Susan for years and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her cry. She just. Doesn’t show much emotion at all, let alone displays like this.  

Billy watches it the way he’d watch a car crash. Susan doesn’t even notice him until he’s coughing again. He curls his fist around his mouth, muffles them as best he can. Fumbles for his car keys when he’s made it through to the other side.

“Where could you possibly be going?” Susan asks, her voice thick, like there’s a bubble in her throat.

Maybe Neil hit her. Billy’s seen it so he knows it happens sometimes even though he’s pretty sure it’s not often. Not like how Neil hits him. Or hit his own mother. Susan is probably Neil’s favorite, obedient like a well trained dressage horse following all of his cues. Isn’t anything like his own mom who defied Neil like a wild mustang he couldn’t tame, who went braless and smoked hash with the hippies, screamed her lungs out at Neil in furious harpy volumes and called him names no matter how mad it made him. Who did her best to give back as good as she got even outmatched, even if it made him madder, throwing things or fists or swinging Billy’s Little League bat.

Susan is submissively behaved and tepid tempered, always wears her bra under the clothes Neil buys her in the fashions he prefers her in. Susan speaks softly and sweetly, never stays out unscheduled and doesn’t smoke anything at all, always smells like floral perfumes and lotions, never ever, ever like cigarettes or marijuana or other men’s cologne. When Neil hits Susan she goes slack and sloth and silent, and does not lift a finger to fight. It is the only thing she and Billy have in common.

“Nowhere,” he answers. “Gonna sleep in the car before Neil gets on me about making noise.”

“Billy, it’s too cold for that…besides, Neil isn’t going to wake up yet.”

“How do you know?”

What, does Susan think she’s a fucking fortune teller now?

Sure enough, she doesn’t have a straight answer for him. She stumbles over syllables that don’t shape into sentences and the last thing Billy feels like doing is indulging her.

“Pfft. That’s what I thought. By the way, you’re ugly when you cry.” Billy glares at her until she turns away, timid, bowing her head. He heads out to the Camaro, gets in the driver’s seat and pulls it back.

Yeah, it’s cold out but he can’t get warm inside under the blankets anyway. Neil’s already in a bad mood. He’d only barked about the racket last night but his father’s bite is worse than his bark and Billy knows better than to expect a second warning.

* * * 

Friday morning, the frosty air scrapes Billy’s throat raw and makes him cough so, so hard. He’s beyond done with this shit, fuck everything. He takes shallow breaths to avoid the pangs of going too deep. The coughing still brings up gunk he spits out and he can feel the congestion crackling in his chest like thick, goopy molasses drowning his lungs, sticking between every rung of his ribcage.

It’s actually. Kind of. Beginning to concern him.

Is being sick normally like this?

Billy hasn’t been sick in so long, he seriously doesn’t know. But it’s been days and he’s not feeling any better. He feels worse. He really does. Breathing has become a grueling travail. Even to his own ears, his exhales sound wet and ratty. The coughing was a nuisance when it first came on but now it’s just downright exhausting.

But.

Well. He’s gotta be okay. He’s too young to be like, seriously sick. It’s probably just one of those things where it’s going to get worse before it gets better. A lot of things are like that, right?

Everything gets worse before it gets better. He’s fine. He’s definitely fine.

Billy goes inside. Everyone’s at the breakfast table and he doesn’t take a seat because he’s a biohazard and Neil already looks dour. Susan’s pouring him coffee. Max nibbles at a piece of toast. She has a cut on her cheek that wasn’t there when Billy saw her yesterday. Doesn’t look bad, just a simple scratch stretched under her eye, but when he peers closer is that…is that a bruise?

Yes. It’s pretty small. Faint. He would’ve missed it entirely if the thin red thread of her cut wasn’t so stark against Max’s pasty skin.

He’s smart enough not to ask in front of Neil. He doesn’t say anything. Gets the juice from the fridge and pours himself a glass. He’s two sips in before he has to set it aside, covering his mouth as another fit takes hold.

Neil is glaring when he makes it through. Right. Don’t cough around the food. Billy isn’t even sitting with them but whatever. He’s not gonna poke the bear. Heads off to Max’s room and waits.

Eventually she comes in to get her backpack, frowning at his presence. “What’re you doing in here?”

“What happened to your face?”

“Geez, Billy, you sound terrible.” Her nose crinkles.

“I asked you a question, Max.” Billy impatiently twirls his finger, slightly annoyed. He already knows he sounds bad, doesn’t need to be reminded.

Max turns away from him with a shrug, starts stuffing her textbooks into the bag. “I fell on the pond yesterday when I was playing with my friends. Where I fell…the ice wasn’t smooth. It was rough and it scratched.”

Billy narrows his eyes and measures her up. It isn’t a particularly unlikely story. But he wants to be sure.

“You’d tell me if it was Neil, right?”

“…of course I’d tell you if it Neil.” Max looks up from messing with her stuff and faces him with clear resolution in her gaze. “Neil hits you all the time so if he hit me, you’d be the first person I’d tell.”

Billy keeps his eyes on her as he goes over what she said. She doesn’t look like she’s lying. She doesn’t sound like she’s lying. Besides, Neil’s striking hand probably would’ve left a bigger bruise and he can’t place anything on it that would’ve scratched her skin like that. Neil’s fingernails are short and blunt, smoother than Billy’s, which get jagged when he bites. He doesn’t wear rings beyond his wedding band, and his is smooth silver, no shiny rock cut in the middle like Susan’s.

“Alright,” he concedes, turns to leave.

The coughing fit hits heavy, like a wrecking ball to the chest. Billy hangs onto the doorframe with one hand, covers his mouth with the other. It’ll pass. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

Christ, he’s sick of being sick.

It passes. Billy keeps his grip on the doorframe as he works on drawing in air.

“You okay?” Max asks from behind.

And he can’t actually answer that just yet, still catching his breath.

“You sound really gross, like you’re literally dying.”

“I’m not…I’m fine…even run you to school, if you want.” Billy relaxes his grip on the doorframe and turns back to her.

“Oh.” Max perks up at that, eyes bright. “Yeah, can you?”

She lowers her voice as she adds, “I’m mad at my mom. I don’t really wanna ride with her.”

Billy doesn’t ask what for. It’s probably something stupid. Susan getting after her for not zipping up her coat or touching yellow snow or some other dumb shit. He’s too tired to care, really.

“Sure I can, s’what I just said, isn’t it? Finish getting your stuff together, bus leaves in five.”

* * *

Billy does’t go home for a long time. After dropping Max off, he just sits in the parking lot for awhile, rests his head against the steering wheel while the heat blasts from the vents. He’s got it all the way up and he’s so sweaty his hair’s plastered to the back of his neck, but he’s still freaking cold.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

Or.

Okay, maybe he does.

Eventually he pulls out of the parking lot, drives around listening to music just to be doing something. Winds up in another lot, an empty lot, where the rumor is they’re going to build a mall next year. Billy hopes so. Hawkins is mind-numbingly boring. Sometimes he just wants to scream about it, set fire to the fucking cornfields and scream at the top of his lungs.

His lungs aren’t really up to screaming right now though. Neither is his throat, really, tender from coughing spasm after coughing spasm tearing it up. Billy doesn’t know if he’s even been this sick.

He’s even considering bringing it up to his dad, maybe even. Asking Dad for help. And that.

That means he’s either desperate or delirious, and neither is a particularly reassuring thought.

Fuck.

Billy despises the fact it even crossed his mind. He can’t go to Neil. He won’t. That’s stupid. Neil would probably just dig him out some more expired vapor rub. Definitely wouldn’t take him to a doctor, at least not until the bruises heal. Maybe he’d compromise and get him the cough syrup Billy didn’t have enough cash for…

Between musings, Billy finds himself squeezed in another fit that pummels his chest like invisible fists. It’s so bad he’s left battling for just a breath of air, so forceful for one very scary second he’s even worried he won’t get it. That the coughing will go on and on, and he’ll never take another breath again. That they’ll find his body right here in the empty lot where maybe the mall will be one day.

Except the coughing eventually does subside and Billy does manage to get some air. But the fit spooks him a little. Takes enough out of Billy that he decides he’s probably going to have to go to Neil. Shit.

He puts it off as long as he can. Doesn’t even go home until he knows everyone is done with dinner. To his surprise, Neil isn’t watching tv. Billy heads down the hall. The light is on under Max’s door. The light is on under the master bedroom door too. Billy hesitates before knocking.

Does he really need to go to Neil?

Maybe he was exaggerating when he was worried earlier. Billy’s hand retracts from the door. It's promptly clamped around his mouth for what must be the hundredth time. He’s hacking hard into his palm, chest throbbing.

He doesn’t actually mean to open the door. But he grabs the knob for support and jerks when the metal is shockingly cold under his fingers. The next thing Billy knows, he’s stumbling over the threshold.

Susan whips toward him, eyes as wide as dinner plates and mouth frozen open in horror. At first Billy thinks it’s him. She’s so disgusted she’s horrified by him and his biohazard germs and any second Neil’s going to pick his head up from the bed and bark at Billy for intruding without so much as a knock, and then—

Then his eyes fall to the long bloodied baiting needle in Susan’s suddenly trembling hands.

“S-Self d-defense,” she quavers, backing away, that needle outward in her shaky, shaky hands almost like she thinks Billy’s going to advance on her. “It was s-self defense, B-Billy, I had to.”

Because Neil’s still motionless, facedown on the bed even though his son’s still coughing, making a racket and expelling biohazard bacteria in his very bedroom. He’s still coughing, fuck, his eyes are watering, but they aren’t so watery he can’t see what’s right in front of him. Billy plants a hand down against the dresser and tries to breathe.

“Self defense,” he rasps at the end of the fit, blinking at the acupuncture kit open inches away from his hand on the dresser.

“S-Slightly preemptive self defense,” Susan amends, swallowing. “Make no m-mistake, I had to. I had to, he— he was right on the verge of a b-blowup. You know your father, Billy.”

That is true. Billy knows his father well. He doesn’t speak to Susan as he shuffles up to the bed. Gulps down some of the gunk in his throat, grazes his father’s cheek with his fingertips. There’s blood welled up in a hole at the base of his skull but he’s warm, kinda, so maybe Susan didn’t kill him after all. He moves his fingers to feel for a pulse.

It isn’t there. Neil’s dead? Neil’s really dead?

“Dad?” he tries. It comes out a hoarse squeak. He clears his throat and tries again. “Dad? Dad, c’mon.”

Billy jostles his father’s shoulder. It yields no response. The bare skin is still warm, deceptively so. There’s not so much as a flicker of life beneath it.

“Holy shit,” Billy gasps.

Susan presses back against the wall, eyes still very wide, clutching that baiting needle so tight her knuckles are blanched. Her hands shake and shake.

“What are you going to do?” she asks in a whisper.

“What am I going to go?” Billy echoes. “I— I don’t know! What are you going to do? Call the cops?”

Because even if her self defense was preemptive, to use her description, maybe it’d still fly. Billy has bruises. Maybe Susan has some too hidden under that deep cranberry dress.

“Cops?” Susan’s mouth tightens as her head gives a firm shake. “Of course not. Don’t you know what police are like? Your father would’ve fit right in.”

Billy considers this as he coughs, stuffing them into the sleeve of his leather jacket. He can’t say his own experience with the law has ever been positive. And Neil was a security guard. What’s a security guard if not a wannabe cop?

“You planned this,” Billy heaves out when he’s done coughing.

“I’m….I mean, y-yes, but I—“

“What was your plan?” Billy interrupts. “Where were you going to go from here?”

“I didn’t expect you to show up,” Susan says, soft and frowning.

“I live here,” Billy points out and he laughs. Strange, strained laughter peals out of him until it triggers another bout of coughing because. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“Oh, Billy…do you want some water? Maybe you should sit down.”

“Where?” he rasps between coughs. “Next to my dead dad?!”

“Keep your voice down,” Susan urges, waving the needle like a conductor’s baton. “Max is still awake.”

Billy wipes the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. Stares at Susan as he does his best to take even breaths.

“You’re wheezing.”

“You’re deflecting,” he fires back. “What are you going to do?”

“Um, uh…chop him up,” Susan admits quietly. “I’d p-planned to chop him up.”

“That’ll make a mess,” Billy blurts out, blunt.

“Messy, yes, but it’s the easiest way. I can’t exactly carry him.”

Billy touches the small of Neil’s bare back, skims his fingertips between hair thin acupuncture needles. He probes at the small of his own back, winces when dull pain pulses through the bruise. His throat is thick with something other than phlegm and his heart is racing rabbity fast. In this moment, Billy makes a decision.

“Not by yourself.”

Susan gapes.

“Where we taking him?” Billy asks.

“I…I honestly didn’t have an exact location mind, but farther away. Not here in Hawkins, the town is too small.” Susan swallows again and tugs at her sleeve. “I planned to bag his parts in pieces and drive a few hours out and spend the night disposing of the bags in different areas.”

That makes sense, he thinks.

“Sometimes I go to this gay bar about two hours away. Pretty big dumpster in the back.”

Billy tries to hit it at least once a month, if he can save up enough of his allowance for gas. Sometimes he collects enough chump change from idiots at school who forget to close their lockers, and isn’t above duping people outta their dough by turning on the charm, either. His interest in girls isn’t exclusive, he finds a helluva lotta guys interesting too. It’s just nice to get out of fucking Nowheresville even on the nights he doesn’t end up fooling around with anybody.

Susan looks absolutely bewildered.

“Gay bar,” he repeats slowly. “You know. Pride pub, homo hub?”

“I know what a gay bar is, Billy. Why on earth are you going to one?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m secretly a drag queen bingo champion,” Billy scoffs in annoyance and it turns into a cough. The one sets off a fit.

“Billy, um…I don’t, um. I’m not judging your preference in partners or your private life, but you’re too young to be going to the bar. Any bar. It’s not legal, you’re a teenager.”

Jesus, he can hardly breathe. He feels like he’s going to fall over. Maybe he actually should’ve sat down next to his dead dad.

“Oh dear. I’m— I’m going to get you some water.”

Billy doesn’t fall over. He has good stamina. He’s hard to knock over, prides himself on that fact. He makes it through the fit upright. His chest is sore from the stabbing and he’s a little dizzy, perhaps from fatigue or breathlessness, but he’s steadfast.

Billy accepts the glass Susan holds out to him upon her return. Her fingers feel like icicles as they brush his and he suppresses a shiver. Takes slow sips and finds a little relief. Eventually sets the glass down on the dresser when he’s done.

“Technically, it’s not me who goes to the bar. You’re right, I’m not twenty-one yet. But Jason Scott on the other hand, well, he’s twenty-five.” Billy fishes his wallet out and frees his fake ID from its fold. “Looks pretty legit, right?”

Susan silently studies the piece of plastic and worries her lip between her teeth.

“But we don’t actually have to go into the bar to put my dad’s body in the dumpster anyway. I mean, going inside would really be a pretty bad idea…”

“Indeed it would, but I’m glad you showed this to me. It wouldn’t be smart to put Neil anywhere you or I associate with at all. But if you’re not actually associated, it’s an option.”

“It’d take less time than the way you were gonna go about it. Cleaner too.”

Susan nods her agreement. “However, I still might…mm, Billy. I’m not sure if you’re going to like this. But in order to prevent him from being identified, I think I’m going to chop off his head…and his hands. Well, perhaps those I’ll just burn with the clothes iron, um. Either way, his fingerprints need to be destroyed.”

Billy’s gut lurches as he soaks it in. It sounds logical. He can’t deny that, but something about the idea of his dad’s decapitation doesn’t sit. Kinda gives him the heebie-jeebies. And that’s weird. That’s really weird because he’s okay with everything else.

Well.

Okay, maybe he’s not okay with it, but. He understands it. It’s Neil. Of course he understands the bruises she may or may not be hiding, the fear in her heart regardless.

“Do you have to chop his head off? Can’t you just smash his face in?”

“I considered that,” Susan says, nodding again. “Those cast iron lion bookends on the shelf are nine pounds each. I weighed them this morning.”

Billy likes the sound of that better. Neil is going to be dead and disfigured either way. He’s not sure why it makes a difference. Maybe it doesn’t, really. He thinks he might have a fever. Maybe the fever’s just getting to him, making him a little loopy and pulling his thoughts in less than rational directions.

“I could do that part,” he offers. It’d probably take him less time to bash Neil’s face in than it’d take Susan. He has more physical prowess, after all, more power to put behind the blows.

“Are you up for that?” she asks, eyeing him skeptically.

“Yes,” he snaps, somewhat defensive. He’s sick but he’s not helpless.

Billy’s claim isn’t undermined by the brief bout of coughing that overtakes him. He halts the reflex to clutch his ribs. Not now, not in front of her. Especially not with what they have to do.

“There’s two bookends,” Susan points out, seems a little nervous as she watches him cough. “We could take turns.”

With that, she disappears from view. Billy hacks some more gross globs into his hand and for convenience’s sake, just wipes it off on his jeans. When Susan comes back, she has one of those big black contractor trash bags. Spreads it out on the bed beside Neil’s form.

They roll him together and Billy doesn’t know what to make of what he feels when he actually sees his father’s face, features devoid and dead. Very, very dead. Tears do not sting his eyes. They just well up watery because he’s coughing again, battling for breath again, so, so wrung and exhausted, lungs like sodden sponges sopped with sputum.

Then he’s holding the bookend, cast iron artistically sculpted, the maned king of the jungle bearing his teeth in a roar. Billy looks at his father’s dead face and hesitates for only a heartbeat. When he brings the heavy object down, he puts all the force he can muster behind it and it makes an utterly atrocious noise Billy will never forget, but—

Some part of him has always wanted to do this. For that part of him, it is the only thing he’s ever truly wanted. And when Susan takes her turn Billy watches her face and realizes, oh, going slack and sloth and silent with the taste of Neil Hargrove’s hand isn’t the only thing they share at all.

* * * 

They wait until late to don gloves and roll Neil up in the shower liner. They stuff him in the bed of his own truck for transport. Billy takes the torso end because it’s heavier, Susan hefts him under the legs. Billy drives because he knows the way even though it’s the last thing he feels like doing.

It goes mostly okay. He only has a paroxysm bad enough to make him pull over once.

Susan reaches across the seats and rubs his shoulder. Billy’s too busy getting his breath to shrug her off.

“I’m sure you’re not going to love this idea, but I think it’s time to see a doctor. This could be bronchitis, Billy, or even pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia isn’t real,” Billy grouses tiredly. “It’s like the boogeyman. Just some story old people made up so their grandkids wouldn’t play in the rain and track mud all over the house.”

“Uh…um.” She blinks owlishly, forehead creasing. “No, that’s not quite accurate…”

“I’m screwing with you, Susan.” Because that’s easier than conceding to her.

It would’ve been one thing with Neil. As fucked up as things were, Neil was his dad. Neil was supposed to take care of him.

But Susan. Susan is different. Susan is mostly Max’s weird mom who displays about as much emotion as a mannequin whenever she isn’t (wasn’t) dancing on Neil’s puppet strings or talking to the spiders as she shakes them free from soft tissues. Albeit tonight is a game changer. They’re very literally partners in crime now.

“We could even go to the ER after this,” she suggests uncertainly, wary edge to her tone.

“That’s for emergencies. I can wait.”

“If you’re sure.” Susan hums in her throat and draws her hand away.

They have good timing. The bar’s been closed for almost an hour by the time they get there and all the cars have cleared out. Billy backs up to the dumpster so he and Susan can stand on the bed and lift Neil in that way, rather than having to drag his deadweight out and struggle to raise his cumbersome bulk up over the side.

He doesn’t want to be out here any longer than he has to. Whole thing gives him the heebie-jeebies. He feels like a cop is about to pull up any second now and frankly, it’s cold as fuck. He’s cold as fuck.

Not as cold as the unearthly chill that seems to pierce through the plastic liner when Billy lifts his father’s trunk for the second time tonight.

“Do you feel that?” he irresistibly asks Susan, watching her adjust her grip on Neil’s legs and searching her face for the eeriness he’s feeling.

“Feel what?” Susan asks, frowning.

Death itself? Billy doesn’t know.

“Nothing, it’s…just cold, I guess.”

“Oh, Billy, I think you have the chills.”

And he knows he does but it’s not the same thing. He doesn’t comment any more on it. Together they get Neil up on the metal rim of the open dumpster, push him over. Garbage crunches and crinkles beneath his deadweight. Billy feels another coughing fit coming on and manages to suppress it until he gets back inside the truck.

“Do you want me to drive home?” Susan asks.

“No. I know the way better, it’s easier if I do it.”

“You could, um. I mean, you could direct me if I get a little turned around. You’re looking pretty tuckered out.” It’s dark but Billy can hear the frown in her voice.

“Alright,” he sighs out. “Fine.”

Because she’s not wrong. He’s drained at this point. Shoving his dad’s body in the dumpster spent the last store of energy he had. He and Susan swap places. She doesn’t have much trouble once she actually gets back on the main road.

“Thank you,” she murmurs eventually. “If I had to do this myself, I’d still be in the middle of it.”

“Yeah…sure thing, I guess.” She killed his dad. No big deal. Billy blinks, isn’t sure what else to say.

“…so, um…you like the fellas, huh?” she asks, voice light and not a bit unkind.

“Uh-huh." He shrugs. "Guys, girls, I mean, I'm not that picky. A hole’s a hole, a mouth’s a mouth, fingers are fingers.”

Susan chokes on a scandalized gasp and Billy gets a chuckle out of it, even as it turns into a cough.

“That’s, uh. T-That’s certainly crude.”

And it’s funny really, that Susan seems more creeped out by a boorish comment than she did by holding his dead dad’s corpse legs.

By the time they get home, Billy’s so beyond spent he knows he can’t even make it to his room. Doesn’t bother to try. Collapses on the couch cushions without attempting to take his boots off. Smothers what has to be the goddamn millionth round of coughs into the throw pillow.

When he picks his head up, Susan’s standing there, fiddling with the thermometer again, fretful expression on her features. Oh, fuck it. Fine. Billy bites the bullet and takes it from her, begrudgingly jamming the thing under his tongue.

[shadow--writer]

Please Don't go Walking Out That Door

(title) After a heavy depressive episode with writing I have returned! \o/ (fuck u helen). Are we gonna mention my word count? Absolutely not. 

Maeve x Lucas. Late nights, bloody days. 4.1k (don’t fuckin look at me)

TW (most of these are squicks): injuries, blood, scars, non sexual upper body nudity (briefly) 

@dela-png

The night stretched on and she felt woozy. 

Sometimes she wondered why she didn’t get help and why she was running this shitshow by herself. At least with extra hands she wouldn’t have to deal with her regulars alone.

The bell rang into the silence, she pressed a hand to her forehead. 

Oh great.

“T-Thumbelina?”

Her head snapped up at the voice.

It was Lucas. 

And he was carrying an injured woman. 

Maeve could just barely see the knife sticking out of her back, and the blood leaking down. The woman was slurring her words, squeezing her eyes shut. 

Maeve rubbed her temples, walking over to the two of them. Her heels clicked on the worn hardwood with her steps. She shut the clinic’s door behind them, closing the blinds around the windows. 

“Good Goddess above, do you get everyone into trouble?” she muttered, taking the injured side arm of the woman. They shifted her to one of the nearest tables. She was complaining the entire time, shaking her arm to get it out of Maeve’s grip.

“Well...no. This one was all her fault.”

“And I can fucking take care of it myself,” she said as Maeve and Lucas shifted her up onto the table. Well those words sounded vaguely familiar. 

“Her fault hm? Let me guess, picked a fight and didn’t realize they were sleazy?”

“...you got it.”

She chuckled, pulling her hair up. “Oh I’ve been there.” She yanked the ribbon closed around her hair, looking at the woman on her clinic table. 

“I need to take your shirt off so I can get a good look at your wounds,” she said, shifting over to look for her pain medicines and needles. A knife in the back could hit a multitude of organs. Stomach, kidney, pancreas, an intestine. 

Sometimes you learn things from experience as well as being taught. 

Lucas looked at the woman as Maeve sterilized her scalpel. “Hey Amani, she’s gonna help you.”

Amani bit at his hand. He shifted away from her, muttering something in a bitter tone. 

“I’m fine! I can fix myself up!” Her voice was a snarl.

Something about the notion of taking her shirt off was bothering her.

Maeve guessed it had to do with something on her back. 

Like a scar.

She set her tools down on the table with a light thump. She was tired and could feel a headache coming on. 

“If I show you the scars on my back, will you let me help you before you bleed out?” She rubbed her temples. 

“I can fix myself.” There was an edge and some very creative swears following it as Maeve tapped the knife. 

“A healing spell isn’t going to do much unless you have very flexible bones and can reach around your back to give yourself stitches. It’ll work wonders for some damage, but can you fix internal? What about stop the bleeding?”

The woman turned away. 

“Amani please. I can’t help you,” Lucas whispered. “I’m useless.”

“You’re aren’t useless,” Amani muttered. “A fucking dumbass for bringing me here instead of helping me home, but not useless.”

“Sorry to say most of my medicine and herbs are locked up as well,” Maeve said, looking at the knife. She would need to get the woman’s shirt off her back to see the wound. 

But maybe not take it of all the way...it was already torn up...and if she didn’t mind the loss Maeve would only need to tear it further instead of taking it off entirely. “You won’t be getting anything.”

She bent over to be eye to eye with Amani. “So you’re stuck with me helping you.”

“Sorry short stack, but the shirt stays on.”

“I will only need to tear it to see the wound.”

“On.”

Maeve huffed. “I will show you my back if you let me tear your shirt. But this is a timed offer as I do not want you to bleed out on me. Do you know how messy that would be? A pain to clean!”

Amani turned to look over at Lucas. He slapped a hand to his forehead. “So this is the Thumbelina you’ve been raving about? She’s a total bitch!”

She flicked her scalpel. “A bitch with a sharp object. Pick your battles wisely.” Her eyes darted down to the knife in Amani’s back. “If you can be wise at all.”

“Maeve!” Lucas wheezed. 

Amani snorted. “Fiery.”

Maeve stood upright, resting a hand on her hip as she sighed. “I’m used to dealing with people like you. Now, the shirt is going to come off one way or another. Question is; do you want me to knock you out or are you going to comply?”

Amani mouthed the word ‘bitch’ at Lucas. He shot her a glare. “Amani, I love you, but please.”

“Yeah yeah. And you still brought me to the bitchy mean doctor.”

“For a knife lodged in your back!”

“That I can take care of!”

“It’s in your back!”

Amani huffed, turning back to Maeve. “So, if you help me, you’ll leave me alone? The both of you?”

“If you don’t decide to bite me first, yes. You’ll have to stay a little bit when the pain meds kick in since depending on the wound, they can be pretty powerful.”

Amani sighed. “Ugh.”

“This is no fun for me either.”

“So...you’ll show me your scars first, right?”

“We are on a time limit.”

“Your back first.”

She threw her hands in the air, Lucas backing away from the hand holding the scalpel. “Fine! Fine!” She set the scalpel down. “We are on a tight schedule but fine!”

She turned to Lucas, the heels of her shoes the only sound for a moment. “Help me with my dress please,” she said, moving her hair off one shoulder to reveal the laces down her back. 

“You want me to what?”

She huffed, frustrated with the two of them. Her headache throbbed between her eyes. She wanted to rub her temples again. “Just...unlace me.”

“But-”

“Do you want her to bleed out?”

He shook his head, hands trembling a little as he untied the bow just under the collar of her dress. His touch was soft against her skin, moving quickly with the time crunch. 

Even so, she couldn’t deny the hitch in her breath as he brushed her skin. 

He grazed a jagged scar between her shoulder blades as he finished unlacing her. 

“So what are you…”

“Showing her my scars as I’ve promised. Then I’ll pull that knife out and hopefully she’ll still be alive in time for me to give her stitches. But of course, she insists on this.”

Maeve rubbed her eyes, walking back to the woman on the table. She watched Lucas with an almost...amused glint in her eye. 

Maeve shrugged the dress off her shoulders. 

“Whoa hold on-”

She shot a glare at Lucas. Apparently even he caught on to the scene before him. “Oh relax, it’ll be quick. And I’m wearing something under this.”

“But…”

“Lucas, we don’t have time to ‘preserve my modesty.’ You may look away if you wish, but this sort of thing is nothing new to me. If she wants to see my scars to be more comfortable with me seeing hers, fine.”

“But you’re-”

“You are abnormally stubborn for someone in your position. It isn’t hard to catch on. If you do not wish to see me undress ever so slightly, then you may look away. But please remember she is bleeding out on my clinic table with a knife in her back. I do not believe we have the kind of time to discuss this.”

“Lucas just admit you like what you see and move on!” Amani called. 

Maeve shot her a withering glare. “And you, you have no place to talk! Making me jump through hoops to take a knife out of your back.”

She held the bodice of her dress to her chest as she looked at Amani. “And here are my scars, are you happy?”

Amani stared at the mess of flesh on Maeve’s back. She knew it was a mess of old wounds. From axes. Arrows. Some burn scars. Bite marks. Knife and sword wounds. She was glad she was related to one of the best healers on her island. 

“Damn.”

“Are we good now? Can I just tear your shirt a little to get the knife out?” Maeve huffed, pushing her dress back over her shoulders. She didn’t have time to lace it so she’d have to make due with showing a little bit of skin. 

All she needed to do was just...heal, stitches, medicine, rest. Then she could get them out of her hair and pass out for a million moon cycles. 

“You can tear it a little…” Amani muttered. 

Maeve let out a tired sigh, picking up her scalpel and needles (with sutures already tied neatly, she anticipated someone coming in. But not this).

She tore Amani’s shirt, revealing a bit of marred skin. Gold paint was flaking off and onto the table. Amani twitched under her as she looked at the skin puckering around the knife. 

“Fucking hell doc, your hands are so cold.”

“Oh yeah I know. Would you rather Giant manhandle you?”

“Gods he’d crush me!” “Hey!”

Maeve chuckled, giving the knife a good tug. Amani spewed curses as Maeve muttered something to herself. It was lodged in there pretty good. She suspected it hit an organ as well. She’d have to be quick with healing and stopping the blood. 

“Well Miss. Amani, you might have another scar to add to your collection,” Maeve said, cleaning her hands on her apron. “And I do warn you, this might hurt a little.”

“Do your worst.”

“Oh I will.”

“Wait-”

She pulled on the knife. It came out with a spurt of blood. She was right about the organ thing, but thankfully it was only the small intestine. Any higher might’ve been stomach or even a lung. 

Healing spells didn’t work with organs surrounded by bone. 

Amani screamed, swearing in another language. 

Maeve tossed the knife to the side, pressing her apron (her poor apron) to the wound. “Calma síos, ba é sin an chuid éasca,” she muttered, her native language a comfort to her. She breathed through her nose, gearing up for the healing spell. 

There was a spark in her palms

And it faded. 

Cursing, she fought for it back, but each attempt fell flat. 

“Thumbelina?” Lucas asked. 

“I don’t have enough fucking energy for this fucking goddamn spell. Shit.”

“Hey! Watch your fucking language in front of a patient!” Amani said.

“I shall do no such thing you fucking nitwit!” Maeve huffed, sweat dripping from her brow. Her hands were stained red. 

“Can you...draw on energy from someone else?” Lucas asked. 

“I could in theory, but I don’t know what it would do to the other person.”

“Could you use me?”

She turned to look at him, her dress fell off of one shoulder. “Could I what?”

“Use me. My energy.”

“He does have a lot of that- OW!” Maeve pressed the wound a little roughly to shut Amani up.

“I don’t know what it would do.”

“I know you can help.”

“Ugh,” Amani moaned. “Stop flirting and help me.”

“We aren’t flirting,” Maeve said firmly. “Lucas come here.”

He shuffled forward. 

“Touch me.”

“Huh?”

“God- just...touch my back.”

He jolted, placing a hand on her bare skin. She sucked in a breath, his hand splayed along her scars. His hand was almost as big as her back was. 

“N-Now,” she breathed. “Visualize.”

“Like what I do to channel my magic?”

He had magic? She wasn’t surprised he had it but surprised he’d use it. 

Nonetheless it lent well. 

“Yes. But channel it into me.”

“Are you sure...it gets kind of...powerful.”

“Just...do it. Giant, she is bleeding out as we speak.”

“Yeah! Help me, then flirt- HEY! Stop that!” 

She pressed the wound again. “Save your breath, you will need it.”

Amani muttered something under said breath as Maeve counted down. 

She was hit with a surge. She gritted her teeth, her hands going numb with the amount of energy. 

Holy fuck. 

“I cannot believe this is just...your magic,” she muttered as Amani writhed under her. Lucas was jumpy, flinching every time Amani slurred out a curse. 

“I’m knitting the wound back together. It hurts like a son of a bitch, but I always stop before they black out. Not healthy to keep going otherwise.”

“Why does it hurt so much?” he asked, his breaths coming out in slight heaves. 

“All magic has its price and drawbacks.” 

She pulled back with a gasp. Lucas leaned against her. Amani stopped squirming. 

“That fucking hurt,” she gasped. 

“Well yeah. You got stabbed in the small intestine. And we still have stitches!” She massaged her temples. She smeared blood along her skin. Mm she’d have to bathe as well. Great.

“You okay there Thumbelina?”

“Mm fine. Just tired. Like you. I’ll be okay. Just gotta fix her up and get you guys some water.” Ugh she was woozy again. Her dress kept slipping down. She kept pushing it up. He watched her.

“You have tattoos on your back.”

“...I do indeed.”

“They’re lovely.”

She stiffened. “T-Thank you.” Amani rolled her eyes. His hand brushed one of her scars, making  her let out a tiny squeak.

“What’s this from?”

“A...brawl with my family.”

“A brawl?” 

“Mmhmm. Hate to brag, but I won. I’m a bit of a feral fighter. I’m sure I can beat you.”

She started Amani’s stitches. Her bodice slipped down her arms. She cursed, pushing it back up. 

“I’d like to see you try and beat me,” he said with a chuckle, holding her dress up and slowly lacing up the back. She went rigid at his touch. His hands were so much warmer than she expected. 

She calmed her erratic breathing, focusing on her needlework. Amani was blessedly silent. 

“I could and I would,” she said, tugging the wound closed.

“I’m like four times your size.”

“Yes but I’m fast. And I have military training. I don’t think you’ve ever seen me in action before.”

“Well no...but neither have you.”

“Ugh can you stop flirting!”

And then the silence was ended. 

“It isn’t flirting, only a conversation while I help stitch you up.”

“Yeah but his hands are all over you.” His hands froze. 

“He’s pulling up my dress.” She knotted the thread, snipping it with scissors she kept nearby. “A mer conversation about me whooping his ass is not flirting.”

“You whooping my ass?” he asked. 

“Now this is flirting.” She turned to look at him. “I would, but I must say, it is a nice ass.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then closed it.

He looked like a fish. 

She giggled, turning back to Amani. She changed the conversation to ignore the heat in the tips of her ears. Even brazen flirting didn’t save her from the effects of the new found feelings she had for him. 

“So I have some pain meds, but they’ll knock you out pretty good if you aren’t careful. I can also fetch you a new shirt if you’d like. This one is kind of a mess.”

She helped Amani to sit up. She ran her hands down the front of her shirt. “No thanks. Rather attached to this one.”

“Of course.”

“Damn, what’s with the way she speaks?” Amani looked at Lucas. 

Like Maeve wasn’t right there.

This headache might turn into a migraine. 

“It’s so proper!”

“Well she normally speaks...differently I suppose.”

“I only get very proper when I have a headache, and the two of you are the root issue,” Maeve groused, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “It was already a long day and now an even longer night.” She always fell back into her aunt's lessons when she was sick.

That or she lost her filter.

She preferred to sound like a lady. She hurt feelings when she didn’t have what little filter on. 

“Ah so this is Maeve? She’s a treasure,” Amani snorted.

Maeve cracked an eye open. “Well a warning about you would’ve been nice as well.”

“He never mentioned me?” She looked at Lucas, jutting a finger at him. “You whore!” 

“Amani!”

Maeve threw her hands into the air. “I’m going to get water both for myself and the two of you knuckleheads.”

“Hey!” they yelled at the same time as she walked away. 

“What and you want to spend the night too?” she snapped, grabbing a few glasses and filling them with water from her bucket. She left bloody handprints but she couldn’t find it in her to care. “You need the water for the medicine anyways. I need it for my headache. And Lucas…”

“...we’ll just go with I’m thirsty.”

“Oh yeah you’re thirsty alright,” Amani huffed. “But not for the water.”

Lucas’ face flushed pink. “Amani!”

“Mmm I’m sure,” Maeve hummed, placing a glass in each of their hands. “And tell me, what on Earth would he be thirsty for?”

“...you know, sometimes I wonder if I can find someone as dense as Lucas and it appears that I have.”

Maeve chuckled. “Oh I’m fully aware of what your comment implies. I get enough of it from my little sister.”

...ah so that’s who Amani reminded her of. 

No wonder she wanted to strangle her. 

She just felt like her younger sister. Had the air of her. 

Gods help her if they ever meet. 

“But it’s more fun to watch him squirm.”

Amani’s eyes lit up. “Oh you. I’m starting to like you.”

“Mmm oh...wonderful,” she replied, moving over to look for the pain meds. “More people to bother me.”

“I thought you liked me!” Lucas protested, making her crack a smile. Her headache was slightly dulled by the water, but judging by how much her head throbbed not even sleep would help. 

“On occasion,” she hummed, standing on her tiptoes to try and reach her lactucarium bottle. This tasted vile, but it was effective. 

She swayed a little, being hit with a wave of dizziness. She stumbled backwards, hand coming down to rest on her forehead as she spat out curses. She most likely hadn’t been drinking water. 

...now that she thought about it she didn’t even eat either. The meal Lucas brought sat untouched in her backroom. 

He would kill her if he found that one out. 

Speaking of…

She looked up at Lucas, who had caught her. She stumbled a little, trying to worm her way out of his arms. Amani was chuckling (and then yelping at the pull on her stitches). 

“You okay there, Thumbelina?” The testing offense gone from his voice. 

“Just a dizzy spell.”

“You’ve had a lot of those.”

“This time it’s from a headache. I’ll be okay once you two go home and I can sleep.”

He didn’t crack a smile like she hoped he would. Hers fell. 

“Did you eat today?”

“Did you?” Amani called. 

“Amani this isn’t about me-”

“Don’t make me come over there.”

“...fine. I didn’t eat. Maeve?”

She chewed her lower lip as he helped her upright. He reached over her to grab the lactucarium bottle. He handed it to her as she let go of her lip. “Well, no. I haven’t had the time and it...slipped my mind.”

“...like I said, you’re tiny enough as it is.”

“Like you can talk.”

“Tell him!”

“Shut up!” they both yelled. 

All three of them stared at one another before laughing. The topic of eating all but forgotten. 

“Okay Amani, this stuff is fucking nasty as hell, but it helps. I don’t have it in pill form so we’ll make due.” She poured a little of the lactucarium onto a spoon, and held it up to Amani. 

“What you’re gonna feed it to- ACK!” She shoved the spoon in Amani’s mouth, watching her grumble and swallow the medicine. 

Amani gagged. “Oh fucking shit yuck.”

“Oh yes. And the aftertaste is worse.” She set the spoon down, untying her bloodied apron and using it to pick up her bloody tools and the knife. She watched the woman guzzle down the water she brought with a chuckle. “See?”

“Lucas you chose to be friends with a sadist,” Amani moaned, pretending to swoon. “She’s gonna kill me!”

“Keep up the dramatics and I just might.”

“I really hope this means you two are getting along.”

“Hmm I dunno. Check in tomorrow.”

Amani snorted. “So maybe she isn’t as big of a bitch as I thought.”

“That’s sweet of you.” She dumped the bloodied tools onto a tray to be cleaned later. She folded the stick apron over one arm. She had blood on her cheek. Wonderful. “But I wouldn’t say that assessment was wrong.”

“You two are the worst,” Lucas groaned. 

“Says the person who didn’t eat,” Amani replied. 

“Neither did Maeve!”

“Well I’m not close enough to her to lecture her!”

He glared at Maeve who was looking very smug. “She’s not wrong Lucas dear. You also have a harder job than I do in terms of physical labor.”

“...you had to hold down Amani.”

“Who was being a pain.”

“Hey! I am right here!”

He snorted. “Okay that is fair. Is there anything I need to do with her stitches?”

“I’d give you aloe to put over it but a certain someone.” A man named Sam. One of her...infamous regulars. “Used up the rest of my fucking aloe.”

He shifted at her tone. “...and you...?”

“Well other than chasing him out of my clinic with a bone saw due to being a pain in my ass, using up the rest of the aloe plant I had. Which was a lot. And then taking candy I save for kids? Nothing.”

“...you chased him out with a bone saw?”

“Why yes I did.” She fluffed her ponytail. “So with Amani, you should keep her in bed for a little bit while she heals. Thanks to the healing spell it shouldn’t be too long. Reopening the stitches means coming back to me though and we certainly don’t want that.”

“Uh Doc.”

“...yes?”

“I think Lucas is still hung up on the fact you chased someone out with a saw.”

“Well he’d better bring his head back down to Earth or you two will be next. Do you have aloe, or can you get any?”

“Oh yeah! I grow it.”

“Oh wonderful! Just put that on your stitches to help with your skin. Honey is a wonderful antibiotic, to keep your wound from being infected. I’d say no heavy drinking or going out for at least a few days. Four at most.”

“Four days?”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“...barely.”

“Come back here in a few days and if I give you the okay, go wild.”

“No more nasty pain medicine?”

“Unless the pain gets bad, no.” She looked at Lucas, who looked like he was trying to do a difficult math problem. It made her laugh. “You should take her home to get some sleep.”

He snapped out of his stupor. “And what about you?”

“Well currently, closed.”

“You should eat something.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

“...god that was so fucking awkward. Can I go home to die in peace?”

“You aren’t dying.”

“I dunno that stuff your little fairy, as you’ve called her, might just do me in.”

She felt her cheeks warm. He talked about her? She knew Amani mentioned it before but not it was really sinking in. “Oh don’t be dramatic. It was only pain medicine.”

She helped him get Amani up off the table, the woman muttering about how she was fine and that she could walk fine. 

“Thank you, Maeve,” he whispered when they got to the door. 

“It was no trouble.”

“Sorry we came so late.”

“I’m used to it.”

“You should get some sleep for that headache.”

“I think I can handle it,” she said with a smile. “You take care of Amani now. Oh and Lucas!” He turned around. “Eat something. Please. It’s not healthy to do the amount of labor you do on an empty stomach.”

“I...okay.”

“...bootlicker,” Amani muttered. He shoved her. “Hey! I’m injured!”

“When you’re better you can’t use that and then you’ll get it,” he muttered, making Maeve smile. 

She waved them off, leaning against the clinic doorframe. 

Lucas turned around to look at her, shooting her a small and a two fingered salute. 

‘See you later, Thumbelina.’ he mouthed, making something...spark at her skin as she blushed. 

Oh no. 

[thegayfromrulid]

How about a Yujikiri oneshot where they're in the real world, Eugeo misses snow and since they can't just make it snow, Kirito gets some really rare item in Alfheim that makes it snow wherever they are and uses that for a VR date with him.

Hello, anon! This was such a cute prompt! <3 I really enjoyed writing this. I had a lot of fun brainstorming the rare item for this, as well as imagining these two cute boys having fun in the snow! 

           “Does it ever snow in Saitama?”

           The question seemed a bit out of nowhere to me, as I finished loading the dishwasher and hadn’t been talking about climate with Eugeo prior to this moment. I looked up from what I was doing and saw him gazing out of the window, looking around at the world. It was still summer, even after spending an incredibly long time inside of the STL as a member of the Underworld. I wiped off my hands and went to stand over beside him, giving him a grin.

           “Yeah, sometimes,” I said. “Usually in the winter we’ll get some decent flakes. Why?”

           There was a sad look on his face, one that made me start to think. He was eager to see snow again. Eugeo had lived in Rulid, which was at the northernmost tip of Norlangarth. He’d lived at the foot of mountains, which meant that he was used to colder winters. Since he’d left that village, he’d not seen as much snow in the warmer capital city. It had been, in a sense, ages since he’d seen snow.

           Eugeo brushed it off, though, acting as if he wasn’t missing seeing it. I shouldn’t have expected anything less. Eugeo was the sort of person who never talked about the things troubling his heart. I would just have to do something about this. I told him it might not be as long as he thought before he saw snow again, to which he laughed and told me there was no such thing as a cryogenic art in the real world. I just laughed and saw him off, eager to get a plan in motion.

           I did a bit of online searching with the help of Suguha. As it would turn out, there was a very rare item in ALO that had the power to make it snow anywhere in the world. It was a stone, a mate to similar stones with different weather properties: summoning rain, clearing the skies for a sunny day, summoning a tornado or a hurricane or a tsunami. These stones were meant to give certain fairy races advantages and disadvantages in a PvP fight. I figured they would work just as well for a little date-time surprise.

           The entire group agreed to help out with the mission to recover the ‹‹ Snær Stone ››, so-called for the runes that decorated its surface. They spelled out the word “snær,” an Old Norse name for snow, Suguha told me. In order to earn the stone, we had to complete a rather difficult quest in an area of ALO called Niflheim called “The Hunt of Ullr.” In the quest, the patron saint of skiers, Ullr, offers players sets of skis and asks them to hunt down wolf-type monsters to protect the local NPC population. As a reward for the quest, each player would receive money, special snow resistant gear, the skis themselves, and, to the player with the most kills, the ‹‹ Snær Stone ››.

           Alice offered to keep Eugeo busy and offline for the duration of the quest, giving the rest of the group time to head out to the Niflheim area and complete the quest. It proved to be particularly tricky, as expected, as the act of skiing wasn’t as easily picked up as was sword fighting with the assist system. Much like riding horses or driving vehicles, this action in VR required some real-world practice—of which, to my surprise, Klein had the most. We spent a fair amount of time learning how to ski, and once we sort of had that down, the best player wound up being Sinon, whose bow gave her a serious advantage over the rest of us when hunting down the wolves. The gang agreed to let me have the last attack on each monster, though, so that I would end up with the stone.

           The stone felt well-earned by the time Ullr was placing it in my hands. I wanted to fall over from fatigue, but I was reminded that this was only the first step of the plan. I had to exit the dive, meet up with Eugeo, and then convince him to come back to the log cabin with me for a special snowy date. I stayed behind with Asuna, staring at the stone in my palm as I thought.

           “Do you think this will really be enough for him?” I asked her.

           She gave me that knowing best friend smile, and then she reached over to me and closed my fingers around the stone. Our eyes met, and she smiled at me, nodding.

           “He loves you, Kirito,” she said. “Don’t panic. He’s going to be very happy that you put in this much effort for him.”

           I felt my confidence increase just a bit. Asuna always knew what to say.

           “Now, go give your boyfriend a present he won’t forget!” she told me.

           In a flash, she was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts. She was right. Eugeo knew that there was no magic in Japan. He would never fault me for using ALO as the date location for snow because of that. There was nothing for me to worry about. Nodding to myself, I quickly slipped the stone into my inventory and logged out to go and text Eugeo.

           He agreed to meet up with me at a game shop close to my house. I told him to bring along his Amusphere so that we could get in some gaming time together. He went along with it. I think playing ALO reminded him of how we met. The fantasy world, even though it wasn’t at all the same as the one he’d been raised in, made more sense to him than my home world did. We checked out a few new titles at the store and then headed back to my place. I urged him to dive from my bed next to me.

           “If you insist,” he said. “But there’s more room if one of us takes the couch.”

           I laughed and shook my head.

           “We’ll be diving,” I said. “Do we really need that much extra room?”

           He just smiled at me and shook his head. He knew just as well as I did that it was an excuse to lay beside him. We climbed onto the bed, laying side-by-side, and slipped on our Amuspheres to dive into the log cabin. We shouted the log on command in unison, and seconds later, we were standing in the living area, right where we’d logged out. I smiled across the room at the blue-eyed Undine boy. I hurried over to him and grasped his hand. Eugeo let out a slight yelp and then a laugh as I tugged him along after me into the forest.

           “Where are we going, Kirito?” he asked, smiling over at me.

           I picked a spot in the woods that had a little bit of a clearing, and I stopped to remove the stone from my inventory. I’d read over the item’s instructions for how to use it. I recited a spell that had been given to me in those instructions, making sure to pronounce everything carefully as I spoke. I turned back to Eugeo, who had a quizzical look on his face, and I waited. I slipped the stone into my pocket and reached one hand out to him. He took it, still confused, and he smiled at me.

           “What kind of a spell was that?” he asked.

           I pointed my other hand up. He slipped his fingers into my hand as his eyes followed my gesture. I watched his eyes start to sparkle as he realized what was happening. Gentle snowflakes started to fall around us, landing on the ground, the trees, and our avatars. Luckily for me, this particular spell caused an area effect that would turn this place into a wintry landscape. The ground started to turn white with packed snow, and the trees held just enough to look like an old-fashioned Christmas card. Eugeo started laughing and put out his hand to catch a few of the snowflakes.

           “How did you do that, Kirito?” he asked.

           Pulling the stone out of my pocket, I opened his palm and set it down in his hand.

           “With this, we can see snow anytime we like,” I said.

           Eugeo clutched the stone in his palm and then threw his arms around me, tackling me with a hug. We fell down into the freshly fallen snow, sending up a powdery spray as we landed. The both of us laughed, now covered with icy crystals. Eugeo leaned forward and slipped his lips into mine, stealing a warm kiss amidst the cold now swirling gently around us. I cupped his face in my hands, feeling his cold cheeks start to fill with warmth.

           His eyes opened a little as he pulled away from the kiss. Our noses were barely touching. The snow falling around his face made him look less like a fairy and more like an angel. Some of it stuck to his hair, and the sunlight hit those crystals, making them sparkle. I smiled. He looked so handsome in the snow. It had been so long since I’d seen him smiling the way he’d smiled at me back in the Underworld.

           “Thank you,” he whispered. “I missed this so much.”

           I chuckled.

           “I’m glad you like the snow,” I said.

           Eugeo shook his head.

           “No, not just the snow,” he said. “I missed us just enjoying the simple things in life together.”

           I pulled him in for another kiss.

           “Me, too,” I admitted.

           I rolled us over in the snow and hopped up to my feet.

           “Now,” I said. “Are we going to enjoy this weather, or are we just going to sit and kiss in the snow?”

           Before Eugeo could respond, I was already tossing a bit of snow at him. He laughed like a child and jumped up to start throwing it back at me. We frolicked around in the snow, tossing it at one another, rolling around in it, and building little snowmen, completely lost in a little corner of winter that we’d made for ourselves. When we’d tired ourselves out, we went back into the cabin to log out, and we curled up against one another, gently dozing off as we warmed one another up from the virtual chill.

           A glimpse of Eugeo’s face before I fell asleep told me everything I needed to know. He was smiling brightly. I cuddled up to him, grateful that this VR snow day had brought him such a happy smile.

[alliesweetsong]

Ashes to Ashes...

Sleep lately had been eluding Allie, at least the deep restful sleep she had been accustomed to getting the last several months. It was because of this that she had been up even before the light from the sun began shining into the room that she had been renting in old Town. Soaking in the bath before getting dressed she grabbed her rifle, ammo and pack and set off for the range 

Her morning ritual she had started to do since the war ended consisted of an early morning jog, typically to the range if she could, before spending an hour or so practicing her breathing control and aim while adrenaline was pumping through her body. But today was a free day, no heavy workoutt just some time at the range.

The range itself was small and crude and she couldn't really go all out like she had become accustomed to being able to do in boralus, but still, as she looked through the scope at the target she inhaled deeply and let the stress and worry of the last few weeks die down from a roaring symphony in her mind to a low rumble as she applied pressure on the trigger. The shot nearly surprised her, as most good shots did, her breathing in tune with the moment the round flew out of the barrel and impacted the target just several inches above the bullseye. 

"Missing in action." Aliths voice echoed in her mind

Manipulating the bolt of the rifle back and forward to load another round Allie inhales deeply and closes her left eye while getting back behind the scope while slowly beginning to exhale slowly.

"You try to beat me, but try in vain.

But when I win, I'll end the pain."

The shot goes wide and impacts the dirt several inches above the target as Allie lets out a sigh and places her head on the rifle's stock as she bites her lip and stares at her pad of notes. Taking a few deep breaths and letting them out slowly Allie clears her throat as the idly pulls the bolt of her rifle, ejecting the spent cartridge and rising to her feet. 

She hadn't had whispers that intense since she was deployed in the war. The constant stress she had been under during that time had certainly been a contributing factor, and the fact she allowed herself to become vulnerable once more furrowed her eyebrows in wow as she packed up her gear and slung her rifle over shoulder to have the barrel pointing downward as she strolled to the park

There was very little that the ranger had found that calmed her down than sitting on a beach, cuddling with her husband and son, or sitting at the park, watching others go about their daily routines. It somehow made the ranger forget her worries, if only briefly, to study those around her.  Her fascination with how humans lived their lives was comparable to how mages study Leylines and it was something she was always silently intrigued by. This intrigue and curiosity wouldn't last long today as soon, the shadow of her newer coworker Alith stood in front of her

"Ah! Alith, thank you for letting me sleep on that wonderful bed last night, far more comfortable than the one In the inn." She replies warmly.

"Allie…" Alith starts in a low and serious tone.

The void elf blinks and shifts her weight on the bench so that the gilnean woman could sit down while lofting an eyebrow. "Is uh..everything okay?" She now asks of the woman

Alith smiles softly and places a hand on the elves. Rangers shoulder "it was nice to have company,now as for your question. Well, I found his trail."

Alith, who was a newer friend of the ranger had proven invaluable in the search for her.missing husband and squad. The days, and what felt like weeks searching in vain relieved a boost of renewed confidence when she had offered to help. In her human form, Alith was a beautiful, gilnean woman. Confident, loyal, caring and honest. Typically in uniform she almost always looked ready for a fight.pale skin, silver eyes and dark raven colored hair. She was toned and muscular and if one paid attention enough, the scars of battles long past traced her figure. Inspite of wounds long sustained, she still spoke with grace and command that almost inevitably drew respect. In her worgen form, in which she stood before the elven woman now, the cool demeanor was replaced by an intimidating and imposing stature, plate armor and a massive sword as long as Allie was tall. Wasting little time once pledging to help the void elf, Alith had been at the forefront of discovering the orders that had taken the squad away from their home in boralus and into Stormwind.

Allie's relaxed demeanor suddenly shifted to slight panic as her jaw drops and she quickly reached for her rifle once more, her time in the park would have to wait for now. 

"Ugh, I wish we had a way to contact each other, where is he?" She asks frantically while rising to her feet.

"Nothrend," Alith replies plainly. "The tundra from what I'm told, the AWOL was a false flag, they were working deep under records. Elysia already has a portal prepared for us, so let's go." 

Despite having a slightly more hopeful expression, Allie bites her lip at the thought of taking a portal. Out of all the ways to travel, she hated portals the most, not caring for how they made her feel. Inhaling deeply, she slings the rifle over shoulder and nods in agreement for them to go.

"Okay yea, lets not waste time," she replies starting to walk at a brisk pace "Shadows, Northrend? What were they doing out there?" She asks of her friend now.

"No idea yet," Alith replies, matching the Ranger's stride. I'll meet up with you at the portal, I gotta put on my armor, just in case." She adds in a reassuring manner.

Allie gently nods and inhales deeply before continuing to make her way to the portal the mage had opened for the duo to take. Once Allie arrived she looked at the shimmering image contained of the Borean Tundra and let out a small breath, though she had never been there before, the stories she used to hear of the Valor and bravery on display to rid the world of the pain the human prince known as Arthas had laid bare across Azeroth. 

The "Lich King" as he had become known as, had not only succeeded in Killing Sylvanas Windrunner and all but her people, but thousands had perished at his hand before finally being brought low by some of the greatest champions Azeroth had seen. Looking around after snapping out of her daydream, Allie finally spotted her friend approaching at the same quickened stride she had before without a word both entered the portal and left the city behind them. Valiance Keep was busy, frigid and loud as they came out of the portal, despite this not being used for what it once was anymore, it still held its place in shipping lanes and military operations spread over the planet.

For Allie, the air was frigid, each breath felt like she had just walked into a freezer, and while she was dressed for the occasion, the frigid temperatures caused her to lightly shiver idly.

"here we are." Alith states while sniffing the air "It has been ages." She finishes 

The harbor may as well have been a different planet entirely for Allie. Looking around the unfamiliar place while pulling a cloak from her pack and fastening it she bites her lip. "I've uh, never been here before." She replies 

"I smuggled myself out of Gilneas, and joined the fight here." Alith replies giving a quick pause "I have been back since, but not to the tundra." She finishes. 

Allie could only look around lost in her thoughts as concern began to spread over her features. The frigid nothren hair blowing flakes of snow into the ramgers before she wises up and pulls her cloak  lower to her form. Sensing the woman's trepidation Alith nudges her and motions to the keep.

"Come, lets have a talk with the commander, and ask a few questions."

Inhaling and trying to smile Allie nods "Good idea." She replies softly.

Following Alith Allie looks back once more at the shipyard wondering just how this all started or where it would end up. One thing was for certain, she never would have guessed or got this information herself and that, partly brought her some relief that it could mean, hope and help was still possible. The keep itself brought relief from the frigid cold outside while made Allie feel just slightly better as they ascended the stairs and entered a room that almost immediately brought back memories of wartime meetings Ardent Circle once held. 

A massive table was nearly at the forefront in the sprawling room. Maps, a few swords, laid sprawled on the table, waiting for its owners to come back and retrieve them, and at the head of the table, a tall human man wearing decorative but obviously very functional armor stood over a few documents mumbling to himself as Alith approached.

“A moment General" she gave a salute, though his was a bit sharper, lowering hers he dropped his "A moment, I have a few questions."

The man straightens his posture and regards The Gilnean and Elven Ranger with a sour look of curiosity before recognizing Alith. 

"Yes Lady Copeland." He replies as Alith waves off the formality

Allie watches on and inhales deeply as she stands there half listening to what was being said. Every moment spent in the warmth was another that was not spent out there. Could the squad be fighting for their life? Could they already be too late? Each thought a dagger in Allie’s heart, each rhythmic beat of her heart, growing steadily faster. 

"Operation Icebreaker,  a team of all Gilnaens, they were to come through here first." Allie overhears from nearby. 

Looking at the exit, the void elf could only imagine the type of mission the squad was on. How long ago did they arrive here? A few days? A few weeks? Breathing in deeply and closing her eyes, the ranger lets it out slow centering herself, even with the training she had received, there had been nothing about A loved one, or the squad she had spent a better part of a year fighting with, just vanishing into thin air. 

“Thank you.” Alith states to the man before strolling over to Allie motioning for them to leave. “So, we fly. We can take Valor my Gryphon, he can hold two.” 

Allie inhales and nods in agreement as they begin to stroll outside, back into the cold. The silence between them was deafening, each one holding on to slivers of hope like liferafts adrift at sea. 

“So uh, what is Operation Icebreaker?” Allie asks curiously

“A deep undercover mission they were on,” Alith replies as they near her Gryphon and start to strap in “You don’t know a thing alright?” she adds looks to Allie in a stern manner now. 

Allie bites her lip but nods in agreement, she was no stranger to how things worked. “Of course,” she replies though it was hardly far from the truth, there was little to go on with just a mission name. 

Valor was indeed a mighty Gryphon and with a simple stretch of his massive wings they were airborne in a matter of minutes. Allie kept her head low as they climbed, not that she had a fear of flying, she had been on the backs of gryphons before, but it was more so to look at the frozen ground below to look for something, anything, that resembled the missing squad and her husband.

Alith slightly looks over her shoulder and motions below them “You have much sharper eyes than mine,” She states loud enough for Allie to hear her over the whipping wind. 

Allie couldn’t help but bties her lip already way ahead of the human as they continued to fly. Her eyes darted back and forth, hoping to see four others, walking single file as they typically did, or lounging in the snow. Getting ever increasingly frustrated Allie shakes her head. “I don’t even know what to look for!” she replies a few moments later. 

“Camps, mostly.” Alith replies 

Allie huffs and rolls her eyes at the reply, she had already guessed that. But as she starts searching the ground below something ahead of them grabs her attention. Four gryphons laid near a crashed necropolis. Perking up Allie quickly points 

“In front of us! What's that!!?” she cries out pointing. 

(Mood Music)

As they got closer however, Allie’s heart sank as she realized the Gryphons were frozen solid, and not resting peacefully waiting for their owners to return. 

“Landing.” Alith states as Valor begins to descend. 

It didn’t take long for them to reach the ground, and as they did Allie was already removing the strap that kept her fastened in her saddle off as she frantically jumped off the massive bird and pulled her rifle from her back. Pulling the bolt of the weapon back before slamming it forward, she loads a round in the chamber as she starts looking towards the horizon. She wanted to scream out their names, but without knowledge of what was happening, decided best to not do that. But as she walks forward, she spots a trail leading to the ruins as if something was dragged. 

Covering her mouth with one hand as they approach the dead gryphons Allie shakes her head :”Okay, don’t panic, they are tough. They likely got trapped inside or something.” she states mostly to herself. “Maybe it was dark...they couldn’t see where they were going and they skidded to a stop.” she continues while making her way to the ruins of the necropolis.

“Stay together, and keep calm.” Alith states softly as she approaches Allie. “What do you see?” She asks curiously 

Allie motions to the trail in front of them before looking around for the initial point of impact. “Four dead Gryphons…” she adds in thought. “Maybe flying low? But that couldn’t be right either, all of them know how to fly exceptionally well.” she finishes trying to piece the scene together. 

“Could have also been the birds, it is icy here.” Alith replies in a reassuring manner. “Come, lets follow the trail.”

Allie swings around and starts walking to Alith’s side as they make their way to the entrance of the Necropolis, when the unmistakable stench of undead catches Allie’s nose. Narrowing her eyes she looks to Alith as they silently approach the entrance. Inside the source of the undead soon became apparent as they both spot six robed figures standing in a circle mumbling an incantation. 

“Cultists.” Alith states softly “Should be an easy fight.” 

Allie’s eyes flare with void energies as she crouches down, taking a position that placed the rifle in between two falling bricks. “Give the word.”  she replies keeping her finger off the trigger. 

Alith removes the giant sword from her back and leaps in the air trusting Allie to Cover her. 

“Fire!” 

@lady-rian​ for mentions! 

[25yearsofcrying]

Julie and the Phantoms

Summary: Trying my own hand at JATP novelization, using the show rather than the novel or the scripts. I’m sure it’s been done before but there’s never enough Julie and the Phantoms, right? If nothing else, I have an excuse to rewatch every single scene of the show all over again. And the deleted scene...

CHAPTER 02: life is a test, yes

Julie

I never used to want to be invisible, but that was before. Now I keep my head down and my cap pulled into my face as I weave my way through the hallway of Los Felis High School. I���ve had more than enough attention, the wrong kind, over the past year. That’s the one thing no one tells you about losing a mother. That people will shower you with pity. And those same people will look at you with side eye when you don’t bounce back as fast as they need you to.

I’m standing at my locker when my best friend bounces over. “Hey, underachiever,” she greets me, teasing.

That brings a brief smile to my face. “Hey, disappointment,” I counter.

She gets straight to the point, as she always does. “I know you don’t want me to ask, but have you figured out what you’re gonna do today?” And she is right. I don’t want her to ask. This is not a conversation I am ready for, despite having seen it coming.

“I’ll know in the moment,” I say and I can tell my best friend sees through my blatant lie.

My name is Julie and hers is Flynn and while she’s the furthest thing from a disappointment, but these days, I am as well be that and an underachiever, too. I never used to be. I used to work hard, apply myself as the teachers would say, and I made my family proud. My grades are still okay these days, also thanks to the teachers’ leniency over the past few months, but I can’t find my ambition. Aspiring towards anything feels hollow when my mom’s not around to witness my achievements. Everything just reminds me that she is not here anymore.

At this point, everyone thinks I’m a loser. A flake. The girl who is still in the music program because the teacher feels sorry for me, not because I belong.

Flynn looks at me in disbelief. She has one of those extremely expressive faces and I would be able to tell how frustrated she is with me even if I didn’t know her as well as I do. “Really, Jules? That’s all you’re giving me? Mrs. Harrison said this is your last chance.”

“I know. I was there.” I appreciate what Flynn’s trying to do for me, I do. She’s been kicking my behind into gear for the past year and I’m not sure where I’d be without her. They say you find who your real friends are in a time of crisis and I certainly have. Flynn can be kind and Flynn be tough, but about all, Flynn is loyal. Right now, however, my insides are twisting with nerves as is.

I don’t know what I’m going to do.

Fortunately, I’m saved from further conversation by a familiar, annoying voice. Carrie Wilson, our school’s queen bee and kind of celebrity, floats through the hallway with flyers in hand. She hands one to anyone willing to take it, which is everyone. “See you at the rally!” she says with each flyer. Her tone drips with sugary sweet fake friendliness.

Flynn’s displeasure turns to Carrie. “Ugh. What is she handing out?”

I shrug. “Desperation?” I guess and it makes Flynn chuckle, which I take as a point for me. Humor has been one of those things not coming easy to me lately and I am glad to see I can still make Flynn laugh.

“Come see Dirty Candy tomorrow!” Carrie makes her way over to us. “Here you go!” she says, handing a flyer first to Flynn and then to me. “My group’s performing at the spirit rally tomorrow.” I am shocked she mentions her group at all. Everyone knows it’s a Carrie show, supported by her father’s money and connections. “I’m sure you guys have nothing better to do,” she adds.

Carrie and I used to be friends. Right now, I can barely remember why.

“Oh my gosh, Carrie! Thanks!” says Flynn sarcastically, clutching the flyer like it’s a lottery ticket before letting her features slip back into an unimpressed expression.

“Oh my gosh, Flynn! Don’t bother coming!” Carrie says back and turns away from us. She has more flyers to hand out still.

And as she walks away, my gaze lands on her boyfriend Nick, who is waiting nearby with his skateboard and his nose in his phone. He doesn’t notice me, but I can’t help but smile to myself. He is so cute.

“Nick?” Flynn doesn’t miss my dreamy look. “Still? You know they’re gonna get married and have a bunch of unholy babies.”

“Nick is a sweetheart,” I protest. Nick might be a popular lacrosse player who’s been dating Carrie for much too long, but he is kind and nice. Very unlike his girlfriend.

Flynn shakes her head. “You’d actually have to talk to him to know that. And only one of them has to be a demon to make a demon baby. Demon!” she shouts and we both giggle when Carrie turns to follow her voice.

Seeing me laugh makes Flynn smile with genuine joy. “There’s that smile. Now let’s go prove everybody wrong.”

jatp jatp jatp jatp jatp  jatp jatp jatp jatp jatp jatp jatp jatp jatp jatp  jatp jatp 

Music has always been my connection to other people. It connected me to Mom, to Flynn, even to Carrie at one point. Maybe it could have connected me to Nick, too, as he is playing his impressive solo of a classical piece on electric guitar but I’m too focused on what’s coming next.

Mrs. Harrison praises Nick when he finishes and the applause dies down. “Nice job, Nick. Almost as impressive as you game against Glandale,” she jokes and waits for him to sit before she turns to the rest of the class. To me. “We have one last performance. Julie?”

Reluctantly, I stand up. Music has been my life. Ever since I can remember, Mom and I would sit at the piano and play for hours. We used to write music together. When she was alive, I felt like some of her talent had to be in me, too, and she always encouraged me to keep playing. Then she died. And every time I touch an instrument – every time I so much as I try listening to a song – all I can think of is the pain of her being gone.

She’d want me to continue with the music program. I want to continue with the music program. Music is my dream… At least it has always been.

I approach the piano and sit down. Even though I’ve never needed to look at music sheets – I don’t forget music – I place them in front of me now. To buy myself time.

Everyone’s eyes are on me. Mrs. Harrison says, encouragingly: “Take your time.” She’d been saying that for a year now, but I know this is the last time she is going to. I’ve run out of my chances.

So I touch my fingers to the keys.

My insides twist, painfully.

I never play a note.

“I’m sorry,” I say, getting to my feet. Without looking at anyone, I grab my things.

Carrie says, in mock confusion: “Is this when we clap?”

I hear Flynn snap at her but I don’t stop to see whether Carrie looks chastised. I’m running out of the classroom, Flynn at my heels.

Tears are burning in my eyes.

I’ve failed. I’ve disappointed everyone. Mrs. Harrison, Flynn, Dad… Mom. Myself. And I gave ammunition to Carrie, too. Everyone probably thinks I’m being dramatic, but they don’t understand how much it hurts.

“Julie!”

Despite wanting to run as far away as I possibly can, Flynn’s voice forces me to stop and turn around.

She is standing on top of the stairs I’ve reached the bottom of and she looks on the edge of tears herself, her gorgeous face twisted with pain and anger. “Girl!” she shouts and accompanies it with an urgent gesture, pointing back towards the classroom. “You better get back up here and you show them you can sing.”

I shake my head. I want to, but I can’t. I’m done here. “I’ve tried,” I shout back. “I’ve tried for myself, I’ve tried for Mrs. Harrison, I’ve tried for you, I’ve tried for my Dad and I’ve tried for mom. For a whole year, I’ve been trying. I can’t do this anymore.” Tears threaten to roll down my face. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. I’m done.”

I turn away again, to run, and this time I hear Flynn calling my name, but she doesn’t chase after me.

[polyamorous-mysme]

Really fucked up that i got 3 asks ten days ago and literally didn’t get notified about them until 1am this morning. fucking bullshit. 

anyway did y’all know in korea christmas is more akin to valentines day than western xmas. i didn’t but.

Jumin x V x Zen

“Have the documents for the bistro deal been dealt with yet?” the Chairman’s voice crackled through the speakerphone, the sound of papers rustling in the background.

“Yes, sir. They’ll be posted first thing in the morning. Jaehee will be taking care of it on her way home tonight.

“Tonight? Don’t she and that lady friend of hers have dinner plans tonight? I know Christmas Eve is less chaotic than Christmas, after all, I figured Jaehee to be the type to prefer that.”

“Yes, they have a reservation at eight. My gift to the two of them this year.” Jumin knew, in fact, that both had devised separate proposal plans for the evening, to the pure delight and entertainment of the other RFA members who’d agreed in secret not to let either of them know about the other’s respective plan despite numerous chat rooms helping them plan speeches and dinner and other details. Though, Jumin didn’t think his father needed to be privy to that piece of information. 

“At somewhere nice, I hope. That woman deserves a nice night out, after the last few months.”

The interest Jumin’s father had in Jaehee wasn’t new. He still held hope that Jumin would follow in his footsteps, even down to sleeping with his secretary, though he’d never say so out loud.

“And you, I hope. You have Christmas plans?”

“Yes, dinner with friends tonight, as well. And a small gathering afterwards with the RFA. I should probably get going myself. My car is waiting.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Merry Christmas, Jumin.”

“And to you as well. Merry Christmas.”

He hung up the phone with one hand, the other holding his half-tied tie’s position around his collar. It was a simple royal blue, small silver polka-dots. Zen liked it best for the season. He said it looked like snow. He conceded to a small, corner-mouthed smile at the memory, where Zen’s slender fingers grazed the front of the tie before loosening it to remove it from Jumin’s neck, leaning in for a kiss as he did so. His other hand had reached around Jumin’s waist, soft hand gripping it lightly to tug himself closer. 

That was last Christmas. The three of them -- Jumin, V, and Zen -- hadn’t made real plans due to the storm that had taken the power in the penthouse for the night. They’d stayed in, eating the cake Jumin’s chef had prepared the night before and sipping mulled wine in the candlelight. Despite the lack of grand planning, it had been quite romantic -- perhaps not as romantic as a double proposal, but it remained one of Jumin’s favorite evenings in living memory. 

He slipped the three envelopes with Saeyoung, Saeran, and Yoosung’s gifts in the pocket of his suit jacket. The three of them were expected at the cafe after dinner for the Christmas party to exchange gifts and listen to carolers in the plaza. Obviously, congratulations were in order for the future engagement, but V and Zen were in charge of that. 

Even now, only half an hour from their dinner reservations, Jumin’s heart ached at the thought of them. He longed for them every moment they were out of his sight, craved their conversation and laughter every second he wasn’t listening to it. Christmas held a special place in their relationship, after all, as it was three years ago tomorrow that the three had made their relationship official and come clean to the other members of the RFA. Two years since the first real disastrous fight of the relationship. A year since the favorite night of Jumin’s life.

Three years of the most love and worship Jumin had ever given anybody, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

V, of course, was early. He was seated on a bench outside the restaurant, listening to the bustling sounds of the city, feeling the soft, cold flakes of snow fall on his upturned cheeks, completely at peace. While not particularly religious himself anymore, Christmas remained his favorite. He loved the spring and summer, of course, but he took the winter months as a chance to reset, to reevaluate what he wanted from the next year to come. And, of course, the holiday itself served as a reminder of how much his life had changed over the last few years. 

Though he’d be terrified to say it in as many words, that Christmas three years ago, and the two men he’d shared it with, genuinely saved his life. He’d been quietly setting all of his affairs in order for months, ready to simply disappear with the end of the year, no plans to return. No escape plan. He’d listed Yoosung and Jumin as the trustees to most of his assets, with instructions to the RFA on what to do with the rest. He’d written a letter to Saeyoung to be delivered posthumously, as well, with explanations and plans and last known whereabouts. 

He really hadn’t expected to make it to the new year, until that Christmas. Until the explosion of vulnerability that had been building for months finally forced him to face his issues head-on, to ask for help. Even now, he could be quite the locked box, but it was Zen and Jumin that made him feel safe enough to entrust the key to someone else rather than hide it away in yet another box. 

“Well, hey there, stranger. You out here all by yourself?” a musical voice asked, interrupting V’s dramatic reflection. 

It took quite a few moments for V’s vision to focus onto the character, as focused as it could get, anyway. He knew who it was before that, of course, Zen’s sarcasm was uniquely recognizable, even in a crowded stadium.

“Actually,” V started, stretching his neck, “I’m waiting for a very handsome man to sweep me off my feet. Maybe you’ve seen him around. He’s the most beautiful man on the planet, about six feet tall. A bit self-absorbed, but his musical talent is unparalleled.” V could sense the smirk on Zen’s face, feel the air stir as he stood a little taller with the praise. “His name is Jumin Han. Have you seen him?”

He heard Zen’s melodramatic gasp at the insult, and stood to embrace him, wrapping his arms around Zen’s neck and giving him a small kiss to the cheek. “Really, though, have you seen Jumin? I expected him here first. You, after all, are chronically late to anything remotely important.”

“He’s right here, you two. Sorry, there was an accident on the road.”

At the sound of Jumin’s voice, V broke away from Zen to turn and smile. Jumin, quite frankly, sounded exhausted. It always worried V, when he had big projects and deals to navigate at work that took up months of free time and proper sleep, but Jumin wasted no time in moving closer to the other two men and giving them an entirely appropriate embrace. Fair enough, of course, one could never be sure of what opportunist was around to gather the gossip on three fairly well-known men.

“An accident? I’d blame it on my astounding beauty and rockin’ good looks, but according to V here, that’s your area of expertise now,” Zen huffed. V might not be able to make out the finer details in sight anymore, but it didn’t take eyes to tell Zen was gearing up for the eyeroll of a century.

“Well, Astounding Beauties, I have been sitting out in the cold and wet for far too long waiting on your fashionably late selves. Shall we go inside?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zen truly did admire Jumin’s taste. In most things, at least, it was impeccable. Fine dining was definitely no exception. When Jumin made reservations, they rarely ate at the same place twice, at least not together, yet somehow the experience never failed to exceed expectations. 

Their real plans didn’t fall through, so much as got transferred. When Jumin heard Jaehee and MC had planned their proposals on Christmas, he immediately called the other restaurant to alter the reservation as a gift to them. Zen never would have expected it from the Jumin of three or four years ago, or perhaps even the Jumin before this year, but lately Jumin seemed to have melted into quite the romantic. He insisted that a proposal was much more worthy of the experience, and he had no shortage of strings to pull to find another. It gave Zen an odd mix of pride, awe, and sentimental mush to see how much effort Jumin had personally put into the night, for both V and Zen, and Jaehee and MC. 

Zen never put much stock into Christmas before. His family would always attend a Christmas service together growing up, and he’d done it the years he lived alone, but he’d never done the big romance aspect of it before.

Well, not until V and Jumin, at least. That Christmas three years ago, it was like someone had given him glasses, corrected his vision. The whole ordeal sharpened into focus, and Zen finally understood why it was considered such a romantic holiday, why his parents would go out to dinner and come home flushed and laughing and more in love than he’d ever seen them. They’d give him and his brother a to-go box with two perfect pieces of Christmas cake, even though they’d never get home until hours after their usual bedtime, and they’d all sit in the kitchen laughing and making jokes long into the night. Now, those nights no longer seemed like a slightly better than average night, they were full of love and care Zen hadn’t seen or experienced anywhere else, until three years ago.

Last year, they hadn’t gone out or exchanged gifts or anything, but it was still the best night of Zen’s life. He hadn’t said it at the time, but the simple pleasure of sipping a warm drink, sitting in the candlelight talking and laughing and telling stories had meant more to him than any fancy dinner or gift. They spent the night completely present with each other, no distractions, no work, as though they’d found themselves on their own little planet, completely untethered to Earth and its day-to-day, and had fallen asleep in a tangled mess on the floor as the fire slowly died. 

He’d have settled to have done it again this year, but Jumin felt as though he needed to make up for the sorry excuse for dinner he’d made last year. That, of course, and the party afterwards. Zen was looking forward to hearing the story of Jaehee and MC’s accidentally joint proposals, drinking champagne, and seeing Yoosung and the twins for the first time in a while. 

Mostly, though, it was the look V had given him while cracking his joke earlier. It was the way Jumin’s entire body seemed to have been relieved of ten tons of weight as soon as he laid his eyes on the two of them together. V’s small peck still burned on his cheek, just like it was the first and not the thousandth. At the end of the day, Zen didn’t care if it was in a crowded restaurant, a room full of friends, or on the thick carpet on Jumin’s hardwood floors in front of the fire while the world around them was buried in snow, Zen was most at peace, most loved and loving, most humbled and worshiped in the presence of the two men he’d bore his soul to three years ago, nearly to the date. 

“Zen, are you coming or not?” V’s voice called from the door of the restaurant. His lips were red, cheeks flushed from the cold, blue eyes wild with anticipation and the remnants of laughter. Zen could see Jumin waiting inside through the door, his dark eyes peering around V’s head to look at him, one smug rich boy eyebrow cocked and the corner of his mouth turned upwards. 

“No, the two of you don’t even need me for my looks anymore. What use could I possibly have for you inside?” he mocked, though his feet had already begun walking, one arm outstretched to grab the door from V. catching their collective reflection in the door window as he did so.

Well, if nothing else, he could agree that Jumin had impeccable taste.

[thegoodtailor]

~ Ode to Green Mush ~

(Health Update 11/15/20)

I get quite a few questions about why I’m unable to eat like a normal human, or why I start my day at 2:00am. Because I’ve a lot of joint and nerve pain in my hands/fingers, typing at length is difficult… but today’s a “good day” so I thought I might give ya’ll a glimpse into my daily routine. Welcome to the third circle of hell for a former “foodie”.

Since I’ve been loosing stomach function, I have to structure my whole day around eating/drinking/digesting. Trying to keep my body going when each meal is limited to an 8oz/250ml measuring cup is fraught. Everything has to be nutrient dense. No fucking cucumber, you know? I’ve a thousand little rules, but here’s the major ones: 1) Each meal must be 8oz/250ml + small dry snack (like a granola bar or cookie). A bite over this, or a sip of too much water and it feels like ripping stomach muscle all day. 2) Tiny sips of liquids. No drinking 1 hour before and after a meal. Too much water overly expands my stomach and prevents digestion + emptying (think gastroparesis). Everything that goes into my stomach must be closely monitored. 3) I cannot sit or lie down for 4 hours after eating. The smooth muscle function (the automatic ones) in my stomach must be stimulated by skeletal muscle to digest food. Endless pacing. Hello back pain. 4) Do not bend down if there’s food in the stomach. Holy shit, it’s like origami folding internal organs. Unless it’s completely empty, I can’t even touch my abdomen without pain. I use mobility tools to pick up items. 5) Don’t beat myself up if I’ve had a bad day. By nighttime, I’m so nauseous and sick it’s really intolerable. There’s no point in the day where I don’t feel like my abdomen is enacting the chest buster scene from Alien. I make mistakes all the time, and it can take days to recover. Keep going.

-DAILY ROUTINE- 2:00am - Wake-Up, take care of Brawn and make Breakfast. 3:00am - Finish Breakfast 3:10am to 6:00am - Chores, prepare Mom’s breakfast. 6:10am - Walk Brawn 6:50am - Take Shower 7:15am - Rest, listen to audiobook 8:15am - Prepare Lunch 9:00am - Finish Eating 9:15 to 1:00pm - Chores, prepare Mom’s Lunch, do something creative if fingers are ok. 1:00pm - Rest, listen to audiobook 1:40pm - Prepare Dinner 2:30pm - Finish Eating 2:40pm to 5:00pm - Chores, prepare Mom’s Dinner. 5:00pm - Watch TV/Movie 5:00pm - 16oz of 2% Milk (sipped slowly) 6:00pm - Shower 7:15pm - Bedtime. I don’t sleep much, but I try and rest as much as possible. 12:00am - Hyrdrate like a sea monster while my stomach’s empty. 2:00am - Wake-up, repeat. BREAKFAST: 1/2 steamed apple. 1 muesli square. Approximately 390g. About the size of a deck of cards. My breakfast muesli squares are mostly rolled oats, but also include a mix of buckwheat, sorghum flakes, goji berries (high in vitamin A), dates, cocoa powder and flax meal. I cook it with soy milk until all water is evaporated and then press it into a dish to store. In the morning, I put a square in a pan with a little butter and brown it. Compact and nutrient dense. LUNCH: 1 cup (8oz) puree of chicken, broccoli, spinach, dried fruit, goat cheese, hemp seeds (high in magnesium), stock. A crunchy granola bar or digestive biscuit. Add-ins: Fresh herbs, Promix vegan protein powder, tiny bit of pesto, nutritional yeast, etc. DINNER: 1 cup (8oz) puree of tilapia, avocado, kale, dried fruit, unsweetened soy milk. 1 fig bar. 1/2 crunchy granola bar. MILK: I’ve slowly worked up from only being able to stomach a few seeps to a full 16oz. I can’t tolerate anything richer than 2%, but being able to have a 4th “meal” has been a life saver. It takes me an hour of slow sipping, but adding almost 280 calories and 20g of protein is the reason I’m stable again at 94lbs (42 kg). Blessings be to the cows. MENTAL HEALTH: Cue Edvard Munch... but that aside, thank you to everyone who's been supporting me through this. My pirate pals made my birthday in October absolutely wonderful. My ko-fi b-day money allowed me to buy all the cold weather gear I needed. Keeping warm in the winter with a broken AC has been a lot harder than I'd expected. So that’s the routine. Between Covid-19 running like wildfire and Medicaid not covering referrals outside the city, I’m royally stuck. I’m just trying my best to hold back the despair and keep my body from falling apart.✌️ I’ve also become a connoisseur of crunchy granola bars, in case ya’ll want to know what's what.

[brokasteltranslations]

Fate/Requiem: Chapter 4

Several days had passed since I had been relieved of my duties as the Reaper. No more work had come in from my master, Caren Fujimura, since the Kundry case, and I no longer received information on a preferential basis over the municipal network. I had been barred from the critical point where the Akihabara district barrier was located, and my access to Kanda Shrine and Yushima Temple, where multiple ley lines converged, had also been restricted. Stripped of my rank and duties, I was nothing more than another truant – and one dragging a nameless, powerless, useless Servant in tow to boot. A lone wolf not even worth employing as a guard dog.

Fortunately, Akihabara was a prime tourist destination, and as long as I wore my usual swimwear and windbreaker I would more or less blend in with the usual clientele. However, that did nothing to help me feel less out-of-place. Whatever I did, I just felt like running away and hiding in a hole.

I had received no more information on the Command Seal Hunter. It was worrying that the case had not yet been publicly acknowledged. My gut told me that it had not been quietly solved and faded away. It was merely biding its time.

Whispers of the “Woman with the Missing Hand” circulated Shibuya. It had become something of an urban legend among students.

Don't you know better than to cut that out? Keep repeating it and it'll become real, and then who'll have to deal with it? It'll be... actually, I suppose it won't be me. Not any more.

----

As a consequence of my newly-imposed freedom, I had taken to wandering the town aimlessly with Pran on a daily basis. Wherever we went, we found faint traces of Chitose's presence. It crossed my mind more than once to quit Akihabara for one of the other wards.

–

There were many things that seemed to draw Pran's interest, but over time I started to notice a broad pattern. It was live experiences that he seemed to enjoy - street performers, buskers, speed painters and the like were what most often caught his eye.

Thinking back to the episode with Kuchime, I tried taking him along to a shop geared towards those 'otaku'. It was crammed to the rafters with endless figurines of buxom girls, male-oriented toys and all manner of merchandise, to the point where I was almost sick of looking at it. However, none of it particularly seemed to resonate with him.

Maybe it's because they're all manufactured goods. Perhaps it's originality that appeals to him?

He stood by, a little sleepily, gazing into the distance as though squinting into the sun, watching faraway strangers. Only when we passed a shop selling astronomical telescopes did he exhibit a different reaction. He squatted down in front of a poster of the planets – clearly not hand-made – and stayed there for well over a minute.

“Do you know Jupiter?”

“This eye... it follows me.”

“Eye? Oh, you mean the Great Red Spot?”

“This planet's so big. It's so big...”

He shivered, then pulled the goggles resting over his head down over his eyes, and peered at the poster once more.

“A planet, huh? I'm surprised you know that word.” Had he picked it up from when I read The Little Prince to him? He had initially talked about coming from somewhere far away – perhaps he wasn't just making it up? Or maybe... no, was that even possible?

I chose my words carefully. “That's a very old photograph. From before the war. The Great Red Spot on Jupiter isn't there any more. It got smaller and smaller, and then it disappeared.”

He smiled gently at the poster.

“Maybe it went to sleep. I hope someone comes to wake it up.”

–

Before I knew it, the day of the Grail Tournament had arrived. I hadn't exactly been waiting with bated breath, but still I found myself in front of the Colosseum.

The colossal stadium was located on the outskirts of Akihabara, bordering the ocean. Its enormous silhouette threatened to overwhelm the surrounding cityscape. Towering arches, each easily the size of a skyscraper, rose high in three, four levels to form the thick exterior of the cylindrical structure and enclose the arena within.

This was a place of pure competition. The poets once spoke of the ancient Roman emperors giving their people bread and circuses; here was the circus reborn for the modern age, the manifestation of the people's right to entertainment.

–

I had ended up accompanied to the Colosseum by Pran and Karin. Koharu had, to my great chagrin, seen fit to furnish me with not one, not two, but a whole four reserved tickets – two Master-Servant pairs. Technically Servants had no need for tickets – after all, they could just assume their spiritual forms – but no-one willing to come to see the Grail Tournament in person could reasonably be refused a seat, and they were provided in pairs as a matter of course. That being said...

“How long's it been?”

It had been twenty minutes since the stadium had opened, and we were still waiting.

Enormous lines snaked from each and every one of the Colosseum's myriad entrances. At this rate, the tournament would probably have started before we got to our seats. Personally I hardly minded, but it must have bothered Karin, because she suddenly yelled out at the top of her voice.

���All right, fine! Flake out on me, see if I care! We're going in, you hear?”

“You really want to go in? You sure you don't want to wait a bit longer?” I did my best to keep my voice neutral.

“Damn right I'm sure! Never should've invited you anyway, you lousy no-show son of a...”

None of her messages had prompted a response, it seemed.

–

The individual keeping us waiting was the weary-looking guitar player, Kuchime.

Unsure what exactly to do with my four tickets, I had decided to start by offering them to people I knew. Karin herself had snatched the chance with typical zeal, but her partner Kouyou had been reluctant to join us, leaving me with one left over. However, a few days later the two of us had happened to stumble across Kuchime in a side-street in Akihabara, strumming away with his usual gloomy air and being flatly ignored by every passer-by. Karin had called out, probably taking pity on him.

“Hey, Kuchime, was it? Ever thought of checking out the Grail Tournament? Maybe the halftime show'll give you some tips on how not to make your customers run a mile.”

“Ain't got no need for that, little missy. I'm happy as long as I'm getting' through to people with ears to hear.”

“Think you're some kinda auteur, huh? Keep dreaming, idiot. Why don't you just go the whole way and die young while you're at it!”

I had watched blankly as she exploded at him unprovoked. Her tirade had ended with her snatching the ticket from my hands and thrusting it squarely into his unshaven face. Had she done it in a spontaneous surge of pity for this dishevelled musician, or had she been planning it all along? I may have been the Reaper, but even I wasn't so insensitive as to probe any further.

However, in the end, the chance she had taken came to nothing. She stalked towards the arena, fuming. I followed her, leading Pran by the hand.

–

Eventually, we arrived at our designated seats. The interior of the Colosseum was spacious, tall, and delightfully modern.

I now understood why the queues today had been particularly bad: the staff were conducting unusually extensive baggage checks and body searches on all attendees. I had even seen staff members flagging down particular individuals for Command Seal checks, and it was hard not to notice the guns at the hips of a number of security personnel dotted around the stadium.

I'm glad they didn't try to check my Command Seals. Maybe the reservations got us through...

In any case, it was gratifying to see that my warning to Hannibal hadn't gone unheeded. Although there was always the possibility that the organisers had gotten wind of the serial killings themselves, and acted of their own accord.

“Yo! Sorry we took so long.” Karin reappeared with Pran in tow. Both of their arms were piles high with soft drinks, packets of peanuts and other junk food. She tossed me a freshly-grilled hot dog.

“So this is the bread part, huh? Shouldn't be long until the circu- Yeowch! Aah! My tongue!”

“Circus? You mean the halftime show, right? Oh yeah, there was a stall selling some kinda porridge too if you want some. I tapped out though, seemed pretty weird.”

“Porridge, huh? How odd... Hey, who gave you those?!”

I suddenly registered Pran was decked from head to toe in tournament merchandise, complete with a little paper cap and a megaphone. He was ready for the show.

I couldn't stop myself from bursting out laughing, and soon both me and Karin were clutching our sides. She was so engrossed in the tournament now that it was hard to imagine she had been furious not twenty minutes ago. I could probably learn a lot from how quickly she rebounded.

Next to our seats on the very front row was a space to be kept open in case of emergencies. Fortunately, it was just large enough for Kouyou to squeeze in. Accommodating larger Servants was probably half of the reason it was there.

–

After a minute or so, the music playing throughout the stadium increased in volume and a rousing melody began to play. It seemed we'd timed our arrival perfectly.

The music faded away, and for a moment, the entire arena fell silent. Then, as if on cue, a voice rang out across the stadium. Below us, eldritch lights began to dance across the very front row where the patricii would have sat in the original Colosseum. A diminutive figure strode down to the aisle, and unfurled a pair of feathered wings. At the same time, the main screen cut to a close-up of a girl - a woman? - dressed in a plain white Grecian tunic.

“Good evening, my lovely little piglets!” Her greeting echoed around the Colosseum at amplified volume. “Welcome, one and all, to the ocean stage of the Grail Tournament! That's right! We're all setting sail for Okeanos, and I, the great witch Circe, will be your guide!”

She stoked the crowd's excitement, and they answered with a deafening roar… although I did pick up some rather crude jeers mixed in with the cheering.

“Thank you, thank you, my little piglets! I love you too! Now, before we meet all our brave warriors, I'd like to introduce our commentary team!”

Two burly men strode down the aisle to join her, waving to the audience.

“First, for the Ottoman Corsairs, we have a scallywag among scallywags! The Gentleman of the Caribbean! The one and only Blackbeard, Edward Teach!”

“That's me!” Blackbeard was greeted by deafening boos. He did not seem to care a jot.

“Sounds like you know him well! Let's move swiftly on!”

“Wait, that's all I get?!”

“Next, for the Carthaginian Alliance, we have the king of admirals! The man who saved the Roman Empire from the Ptolemaic Dynasty! Friend and advisor to Emperor Augustus, I give you Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa!”

Agrippa! The commander who led the Romans to victory at the Battle of Actium!

I expected him to bask in the applause of the crowd, but instead he rounded on the emcee.

“What is this? I never agreed to this! First you invite me to attend nigh on midnight last night, and now you expect me to commentate?! Explain yourself!”

“About that... Honestly, we wanted Eukleides of Alexandria, but he cancelled at the last moment. What are Foreigners like, right?”

“Some nerve on you, girl! You expect a general of Rome to commentate on the Carthaginians? And you! Yes, you, the Servant with the easel! You think capturing my face is funny, do you?!”

The sight of the irate Agrippa slowly being talked down by the witch emcee, and eventually taking a reluctant seat at the commentator's desk, drew no small amount of laughter from the audience.

“All right, everyone, make sure you have your channels all set to your favourite team! If you're feeling peckish, why not try some delicious kykeon?”

–

“Well, that sure was something.”

Karin was grinning next to me. I, for my part, was aghast. This was grotesque, a vulgar display that made a mockery of Servants' pride and nobility. It was difficult to tell how much was real and how much was acted, but the tastelessness of the ambiguity only made me feel more disgusted. The tournament itself hadn't even begun yet, and I had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

I guess the least I can do is watch it through. I probably won't be getting another chance.

My reasons for being here were twofold. Firstly, I wanted to see what I could learn about Koharu's mysterious Possession ability. I had also been deeply impressed by the way that, despite being aware of her naivety, she disapproved wholeheartedly of any wrongdoing, and the evident admiration with which she viewed her companions.

My second reason was that I wanted to see for myself the incredible power that Servants were permitted to wield here. I felt both awe and terror for Noble Phantasms. It was baffling to me that abilities so destructive might be allowed to be used freely.

The citizens of Mosaic City were different to Masters in the true sense. They were no magi, with magic circuits passed down from previous generations or developed through special training, and it went without saying that none of them possessed a Magic Crest. The mana that powered their magecraft originated from the Holy Grail, and was distributed throughout the city via ley-lines. This mana was more than enough to sustain a Servant in everyday life with no discomfort. However Noble Phantasms, which employed magecraft on a much larger scale and consumed vast amounts of mana, were another matter entirely. Activating them was highly challenging, and they could kill a Master unless attempted with extreme care.

Broadly speaking, the most common foes I encountered in my work were Masters who fought with little regard for their own lives, because they had found something they valued more.

Had the combatants in this Colosseum all reined their latent magical abilities to extraordinary levels? Or had the footage I had seen simply been enhanced in some way after the fact? I had come to determine the truth.

“Oh, there you are, Kouyou.”

In the formerly empty space in the midst of the cheering crowd, the enormous bulk of the Ogress had appeared. She sat with her belly pressed to the ground, trying to make herself as small as possible. Occasionally her eyes glanced sideways to meet with Pran's.

–

Feeling a little relieved, I turned back to the arena. The battlefield was enormous: a huge rectangular arena, two hundred metres on the larger side. Above each of the spectator seats floated semi-transparent screens that provided a closer view of the action.

Finally, the battlefield began to change. Cracks ran across the centre, and the stage began to fold in on itself with mechanical precision, forming a deep, wide basin. Water swirled in to fill it, and rocks rose from beneath its surface to form a maze of crags in the open water. Two galleys burst from the canals at either side of the stage, defying the current. They hung in the air for a second, like salmon poised mid-leap above a waterfall, and then crashed down into the water below with a mighty splash. A host of smaller boats and schooners followed them out, and quickly organised themselves into two fleets.

There was no magic in this, only the most cutting-edge stage equipment... although perhaps it was best not to think about the enormous, ominous shadow circling beneath the water's surface.

–

“Now, my little piglets, I think we've kept you waiting long enough! Let's get this naumachia started! We know you're tired of the same-old same-old, so this year we thought we'd change things up a little with a large-scale team-on-team battle! Which of our brave teams in Akihabara today will be crowned the conquerors of the high seas?

“First, we have the Ottoman Corsairs! For these terrors of the Mediterranean Sea, this man once more takes up the rank of Pasha! Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the great pirate of Barbary, the Redbeard, Heyreddin Barbarossa!

“And that's not all! Next we have his second-in-command! There's not a man west of Austria who doesn't know his name: the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, Jacques de Molay!”

The witch introduced each of the competitors one by one, stoking the crowd's excitement. Illustrious admirals and infamous pirates lined up upon the deck.

“And now, last but not least, someone you know very well! The mightiest commander of the navies of the far east - can you say “Hassou-tobi”? Our favourite natural-born Heike-killer, Minamoto Kurou Yoshitsune!

“Could this samurai be the most dangerous competitor on the field today? I'm sure the other side won't be showing much quarter, so look forward to some spectacular acrobatics!”

–

The pretty young warrior looked a little uncomfortable in responding to chants of “Ushiwaka!”, but eventually gave in and began to wave to the crowd. The sight broke me from my trance, and a young girl standing nearby caught my attention; she hadn't been introduced.

Could that be Yoshitsune's Master?

She was dressed in elegant traditional Japanese robes and heavy facial makeup, matching Yoshitsune, but she herself appeared to be nothing more than an ordinary citizen. Behind or beside the other Servants stood similar unassuming figures. More than a couple of them were wearing masks that obscured their faces.

Eventually, the oriental arrangement of Mozart's Turkish March playing throughout the Colosseum drew to a close, and was replaced with an unsettling, savage, African-style drumbeat. The Grail Tournament was as tasteless as ever.

–

“Now swivel your heads the other way, my adorable piglets! Little corkscrew tails to the east,  and snouts to the west! Please give it up for the mighty heroes of the Carthaginian Alliance!

“Cast your eyes upon Rome's worst nightmare! At his back, the souls of three war elephants with whom he crossed the Pyrenees and the Alps! Ladies and gentlemen, the Lightning Commander, Hannibal Barca!”

The sight of Hannibal, cross-armed on the deck in traditional battle garments, was so wildly different from the garrulous old tourist I had met in Cafe Borges that I could hardly believe it was the same man. The mighty cheer from the crowd put not so much as a crack in his stern expression, and he harboured a menacing aura.

“And not to be outdone, his second-in-command: The Firebrand of Castile, El Cid!”

The witch continued with her introductions, each one punctuated with thunderous applause. I tuned them out. My attention was absorbed by a small figure on the deck, with a white coat draped across her shoulders. I followed her with my augmented vision as she stared keenly into the enemy ranks.

He stood a short distance behind her, head askew, hands on his hips. He seemed devoid of tension, as though this were nothing more than a routine warmup.

“And taking up the rearguard is someone I'm sure you all remember! None other than the warrior who took the Newbie Tournament by storm! Our proud Knight of the Round Table, Sir Galahad!”

–

With the introductions concluded, the galleys began to slip forwards, and each team assembled into their respective formations. Karin rapped on my knee with her megaphone, unable to conceal her excitement.

“I told you it was gonna be awesome! Dunno much about the pirates, but even I know Yoshitsune!”

“You expecting me to be impressed or something? You could hardly call yourself Japanese if you didn’t.”

I could not imagine it would be easy for this collection of pirates, outlaws to the bone that they were, to assimilate cleanly into everyday life in Mosaic City - although, of course, there were exceptions. Perhaps it was for the best that there was a place for them here, where they could put their talents to use while also entertaining the populace. However...

“I know it's just a mock battle, but don't you think this seems really one-sided? The Ottomans are obviously better at sea. Hannibal's famous for his war elephants, but he can't even use them on the water.”

“Haven't been reading up, eh Eri? Here's a flyer for you. See? Says right here the field will change halfway through, and turn into a land battle. There's your Carthaginian advantage.”

“Ah. I get it.” This was never supposed to be a fair battle, but a dramatic turnaround against overwhelming odds. The perfect script to drive the audience wild. I myself had to confess, I was looking forward to seeing Yoshitsune and Galahad face off – so much so that a part of me wished this were a real Holy Grail War.

“Yeah. Now I see.” I gazed around at the nearby spectators with dawning realisation. I felt as though I'd grown a little closer to understanding how these competitors could wield such extraordinary power, and the system that supported them in doing so.

----

“Eh?”

The back of my neck prickled. Someone, somewhere, was watching me.

I slid my gaze slowly around myself, careful not to let my reaction be noticed, but my stalker was impossible to discern through the interference of the crowd around me.

I'm being watched. No doubt about it. There's something else, too. A familiar, maybe?

The Borgia siblings' warning came to mind. Someone I'd previously crossed, out for revenge. As I looked around warily, hoping to forestall some impending attack, I noticed something strange: dotted throughout the crowd were spectators standing motionless, seemingly blind to the excitement around them.

Victims of the Command Seal Hunter? No, that doesn't seem right...

I focused, filtering out the auditory noise, following the sense of wrongness back to its source... and happened to catch a snippet of conversation from the row in front.

“You serious? A fire in Shinjuku?”

“Where? Tsunohazu? Kashiwagi?”

“Seems like it's around Hanazono way.”

Hanazono?

My old house was in Hanazono. Which was to say, Chitose's house was in Hanazono. I leaned forward a little, and stared at the woman in front's phone from over her shoulder.

“Eri, the hell are you doing?”

On the screen was a video someone had uploaded to the municipal network.

“What on earth...?”

A video of a building on fire. In real time.

A row of old wooden houses in Shinjuku wreathed in smoke. A human figure appeared from the billowing grey curtain, aflame from head to toe. However, they did not run or drop to the ground, but continued calmly into the next building, and even as their blood boiled and their skin charred with the flames' caress, began to feed the flames.

The video cut short - interrupted by a new upload of a public train brought to a standstill, flames licking at its roof.

-

As I watched, a buzz of concern began to spread throughout the crowd. It was hardly surprising; there were probably no small number of spectators here from Shinjuku. I turned around to see that Karin, too, was transfixed by her phone.

“What's wrong?”

“They say there's been some kinda 'pedestrian accident' in front of Shibuya station. A tram derailed and went across the cross... Oh. Ew. I'm not looking at that. Trains are stopped too. The hell's going on?”

Simultaneous incidents, all across Mosaic City.

“Ugh...”

I gripped my arm as a dull pain blossomed inside it. The stench of death was agitating the spirits. Black blood oozed out from beneath my hand, as their ire turned on my own body.

Just when I thought I'd gotten them under control...

-

This arena was no longer a place I should be. I was the greatest threat here, to the tens of thousands of spectators present and the partners by their sides. Right now, these simultaneous incidents concerned me.

Security here was tight, and more to the point, greater warriors than I could ever hope to be now thronged the main stage. This was perhaps the safest place in all of Mosaic City. My place was not here – as much as I had wanted to see Koharu fight, I no longer had time to worry about that.

“Eri, wait.”

Karin must have guessed my intentions as soon as I stood up.

“You're going? Just like that? Without me, again?”

“Sorry. I know I invited you out here and everything, but... there's something I need you to do.”

“What is it?”

I stared back at Karin for a moment, then looked down to the boy by her side.

“Kouyou, do you think you could take care of Pran?”

The ogress looked to Karin questioningly, then gave a slow nod.

“Consider it done. Just leave it to us, Eri.” Karin flashed her newly-recovered Command Seals, alongside an irrepressible grin. Just as I made to leave, Karin's phone buzzed with a notification, and she pulled it out.

“Who's texting people at this kinda time?”

She checked the screen and sighed.

“It's that Kuchime asshole. He says “Sorry.””

“That's all?”

“That's all.” She smiled, resignedly and a little sadly.

----

I left the seats behind and made my way to the outer hall. While still indoors, this was an airy, open space, with high arches modelled meticulously after Roman architecture. It extended far away in both directions, curving gently to match the shape of the arena. Shops lined the outer wall, still milling with a fair number of late customers. Here and there people clustered around screens outside the storefronts, drinking as they watched the matches unfold.

What's even the point of coming here?, I thought. You could be doing that at home!

–

As I hurried towards the exit, I organised the idea I'd hit upon earlier in my head: to whit, that the competitors in the Holy Grail Tournament were taking their mana from the crowd itself. Tens of thousands of pseudo-magi, all pouring mana into the Servants doing battle below. That was my hypothesis.

This Colosseum was not a post-war addition to Akihabara. It had been a part of this town since long before the world was restructured, and it was far too large an anomaly to be permitted to exist without a reason. And in ancient Rome, the battles that took place in the colosseums had been sacred acts; offerings made to the gods.

Heroic Spirits take on all of our thoughts, hopes and dreams. They draw power from them.

The greater the mark a Servant had left upon history, and the more fame they had earned, the more power they drew. Such was their nature – and as an unintended and tragic consequence, Servants were occasionally summoned with the strange and cruel skill, “Innocent Monster”.

How much of this do the Riedenflaus family realise, I wonder?

I couldn't help but wonder just to what extent thaumaturgical systems might be entwined with the structure of the Colosseum itself.

-

An unexpected voice called me to a halt.

“Erice, we need to talk. It's important.”

It was the first time I had seen Ms. Fujimura in several days. I wheeled around to find her standing in the dimly-lit outer hall, dressed like a librarian as always.

Why is she here? What could she possibly want to talk about?

I strode towards her, with the intention of grilling her on the events in Shibuya and Shinjuku.

-

As I opened my mouth, I heard an odd sound from the broadcast. As the camera focused on the Carthaginian flagship, the witch performing the commentary had yelped in shock. I spun around to look. Ms. Fujimura, too, focused on the screen.

What I saw defied comprehension.

Regardless of the fact that the enemy was still distant, Hannibal, the Carthaginian commander, whipped his blade from the sheath at his belt, and without a moment's hesitation thrust it deep into the chest of his second-in-command, El Cid.

“Gah!”

El Cid's face froze in an expression of disbelief. His Master rounded on Hannibal in his confusion. The Carthaginian pulled his bloodstained sword from his ally's chest, and without a care for the man's protests, swung his sword crosswise in a vicious slash.

Both El Cid and his master collapsed. Two heads flew from the boat, to splash down unceremoniously into the artificial sea.

[shhh-no-ones-home]

december 10 - din djarin

title: no business like snow business

++++

no spoilers for the new season and its not my best but oh well lol

prompt: "This is my first ever snow, i didnt imagine it would be this wet."

request from:

tag list: @cynic-spirit

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I sat quietly behind din in the cockpit of the razor crest and tapped my legs, zoning out as I looked through the window. he had told me this was his first life day with the kid and he wanted to go somewhere he could actually have fun. I didn't know what that meant exactly but per usual I was just along for the ride.

"We're close."

He said and I perked up, exchanging glances with the baby.

"Okay."

I said happily, hearing the panel beep.

"Is it that white one?"

I asked, pointing and he nodded.

"It is."

I drew a brow.

"Interesting."

I said and he hummed. The baby looked at me confused and I shrugged. I watched diligently as he landed, hearing the landing gear crunch into the ground.

"Ready for some snow fun kid?"

Din asked, picking him up from his seat and carrying him down the ladder.

"Snow."

I said softly to myself, looking down at it through the window. I knew I was sheltered and didn't have a reason before now to leave my planet... But what the hell was snow? It looked soft whatever it was.

"You coming?"

I heard din say, shaking me from my thoughts.

"Yeah I'll be down in a sec."

I said, taking one last look before moving to the ladder. I climbed down it slowly, jumping to the floor and turning to see din wrapping the child in another layer. I raised a brow.

"Does he need that?"

I asked and he paused, staring at me for a second.

"It's a snow planet. It's cold."

He said, setting the child on the ground. I drew my brows.

"It's cold."

I repeated, taking the poncho-like blanket from him and draping it over my shoulders. I looked to him as he opened the hatch, walking forward down it and into the snow. I was amazed as it floated around lightly, now standing at the edge of the door and looking out into the white wasteland.

"What?"

He asked, looking back at me unmoving. I held my hand out, smiling as the flakes melted into my palm.

"This is my first ever snow, i didnt imagine it would be this wet."

I said softly, looking from my hand to him. The child just cooed, tilting his head to the side. din nodded.

"I hear most children like to play in it but we can try that later. right now I wanna get inside and get a fire going before it gets dark."

He said, taking off towards the cave opening. I dropped my hand, shaking the water off it and stepped forward, sinking a little bit and hearing the snow crunch under my feet. It made me laugh as I trudged forward. This was a lot harder to walk in than I thought it would be but I kept moving anyway, trying to catch up to him.

"Is it always like this?"

I asked when he stopped, setting the kid down. He looked to me, seemingly confused.

"Is what always like this?"

"the snow?"

he laughed a little to himself as he started the fire.

"no. it changes but im not really sure how."

i nodded, sitting on the ground and crossing my legs under me.

"what is it normally like?"

i asked, looking to him as he crouched down to move the pieces of kindling around.

"uh im not sure how to explain it. sometimes its wet and you can mold it, and sometimes its wet and falls apart. im sure theres more versions of snow but thats all i know about. nothing too exciting."

i frowned.

"is it always so wet?"

i asked and he laughed again, moving to sit down himself.

"yes, it is always wet."

i grabbed my legs and rocked forward.

"thank you."

i said and he paused, looking up at me.

"for what?"

he asked and i smiled widely at him.

"for making this the best life day ive ever had. i mean, i know we are here for the kid, but still. this is all so new to me and im glad ive found good company in you."

we sat in silence for a second, the kid standing beside me now and pulling my attention as it babbled.

"i didnt know this meant that much to you."

he said softly, watching me as i picked the kid up.

"this life day im thankful for you mando."

"din."

he said and i tilted my head.

"my name is din... and im thankful for you too y/n."

i melted a little bit at his words. i couldnt believe he trusted me that much.

"who else would take such good care of him after all."

he said, pointing to the child, him making a confused sound as he looked up to me.

"happy life day din."

i said, watching the child waddle to him.

"happy life day."

[antihero-writings]

Jack of All Trade, in This Masquerade 

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Fic Summary: Jack's stream of consciousness describes how society is like a masquerade, while his dreams show his own hypocrisy

Notes: Originally written for Phmonth18, Week 3, Prompt/Day 2: Mask. 

What started out as something that was supposed to be a short little fic about Jack’s internal monologue became an in-depth look into Jack’s psyche…hehe. I’ll admit, this is one of the weirdest formats I’ve ever used, and I’m not quite sure if it works, but I had fun with it! This is my first time writing heavily about Jack, and it’s about how his mind works….so forgive me if there are any inaccuracies to his character. 

If you like it, I’d really appreciate if you could leave a comment!! They really do make my week, and help me keep writing, especially when it comes to multi-chapter fics like this one!!

Chapter 1: 

Everyone always wore a mask.

That was how things were, how the world worked. No question. No alternative. No argument you could make to stop it. Like a plague that replaced everyone’s faces with the skin of monsters.

The world was a masquerade. A dance, where you trade partners, and you never quite know who you’re dancing with anyways. You’re thrown in without knowing the moves, and are required to learn as you go, because you can’t stop. If you stop, the music, the momentum of the world turning, doesn’t. So if you do, you may just be trampled, thrown off the world.

As you grew up, you learned the moves, programmed them into your bones until the motions were mechanical, and your body knew nothing else. Nothing but the lies. Grew up, painted your mask, made it more ornate, less likely to show your true colors, less likely to fall.

Something that made a louder crash when it did fall.

They always do. Eventually. Don’t think you can escape it.

Your parents, your family, your friends, they’re no different. When I said everyone, I meant everyone.

But when you grow up in gutters, in the stench and blood, the offal of humanity, and watch from afar, forbidden from the dance, but also from...not dancing, learning that you must dance to make in it the world...you may or may not grow to hate humanity.

I couldn’t wear a mask. But I was doomed to see through everyone else’s. See their lies, see their hypocrisy, their cold cut rules about how much of a clown you could be, I could see the puppet strings.

I learned to hate.

But.

******

The room glittered and gleamed; the chandeliers, the polished marble tiles, the wine glasses, the clothing of the dancers.

Jack stood on the sidelines. The black and white players spinning before him, coming near him in flashes and fake smiles.

Outside, snow fluttered down onto a darkened ground, so much so he couldn’t see past the wind and flakes to a world beyond.

He had to stay inside, or else the storm might overtake him.

Storm inside. Storm out. Between two evils, how do you know which is worse?

They didn’t know they were simply chess pieces. That this was simply a game, that they would be sacrificed, all for the sake of the king.

Once, he had found their twirls and fanciful garments fascinating; the masks shined and their feathers climbed towards a twinkling ceiling. He looked on with longing, then.

Now, the word fake grew out of the crevices where their eyes were meant to be, it crept along their porcelain cheeks, their feathered heads, their bejeweled necks—and they didn’t see the vines, the spiders, linked together into chains, strangling them, driving fangs into their chests.

At the same time, sickness pooled in his own heart, started creating ripples towards his thoughts, reaching his words, crashing upon the shores of his actions.

A sickness called hate.

It took him far too long to realize the motions held no meaning. They were all just tumbling in the dark and the cold, trying to make meaning of the moves when there is none. The shimmer on the surface of the water was reflected from a sky they could never reach, not something buried beneath the waves that they could touch, hold, and keep, if they just held their breath long enough to wrap their fingers around it.

The same was surely true for the waters in his own heart.

At least, that’s how it seemed, and what he told himself.

Black and white. No color. Pawns and knights in a grand game of chess.

What was real?

What would happen if it all just…stopped? What if we called the world, the dance by name?

A pause. A flicker. A flash. Color.

First it was red. Red like lamplight, in the night-soaked brightness of the room, a lantern of hope, guiding him across the lifeless waters of a stormy sea—navy waves, navy sky, (navy, not quite black, not quite blue), till they were indiscernible from each other—to a land where there was more light like hers. Red that burned—could it burn down the masks? Like blood. Like roses.

Red in her eyes.

Then it was her hair, a splash of brown, flowing between the sides of black and white. Some say brown isn't pretty, isn't really a color. But looking and the rich hazelnut locks he would beg to differ.

Then the violet of her dress, like flowers, like the fluttering butterfly she was, like she was the only royal in a council of fools and common sense.

He lost track of the moves to stare her way.

******

One day I met a girl—brown hair, eyes red as roses in the snow—who wasn’t wearing a mask. She told me she could see through the masks too. But instead of hating the world in general for the practice, she questioned, she wondered, and she cheated the game.

And looking into those red eyes, I realized nothing else mattered. Not the world, not the deadened grasp of humanity, the music, the moves, or the masks.…Just her.

I tried to follow her, but in the mix of feet, in the unlearned motions, I myself was trampled to the ground.

So I resolved to learn the dance—not to live, not for the dance itself—but to follow her. To trade partners until I found her hand. I had to get up, to sew together a mask, glue on the feathers with blood, and pull the jewels out of dead men’s hands.

Horror is the word, I believe. The one to describe the things I did. I think you’ll find that both joining the dance, and subverting it, will inevitably lead to that word. I followed in the steps of people who did worse than me. Danced with partners whose masks were sewn into the skin. I did things that’ll make you shudder to think.

All part of the dance.

                                        Nothing but her.

******

Outside, silent snow turned to to the taps of rain asking to get in, like little children knocking on the window frames to beg for some food.

As he stared the girl’s way, the masks knocked against his shoulders, they trod on his feet, and scoffed at his incredulity, scoffed at him for not knowing the moves he should have mastered by heart by now.

He looked over their heads, trying to peer through the feathers and jewels, catch another glimpse of the one real thing in the sea of falsity.

For the first time there was something compelling him more than puppet strings and patterns. There was something alive in him. His heart became a beating thing. His lungs a set of pumping parts.

For the first time he understood: the dance wasn't evil, he just didn't have the right partner.

She faded like a word on the tip of your tongue never breathed out into the air.

Living, which tasted so sweet, quickly turned sour, into something that hurt. His heart panged. His lungs thumped too fast. Fear, desperation set into to his fast-beating blood.

And, at last, his gaze on her fading footfalls, he moved.

Out from the sidelines, into the mix of motions. Out into the world, the sea that he always thought was full of things with teeth, that'd eat him alive if he got too close.

But instead of following the ordained pattern, he was a wrench in the perfectly predestined machine.

The other cogs knocked into him, dug their teeth into his shoulders. He tripped. Tripped into the workings of the machine, all the ugly machinations that made the pristine clock tick. The dance kept turning all the same, the other cogs kicking into him. Knocking him further, down to the tiles beneath, further below than he'd ever been. So he lay there, bruised and bleeding, staring at the calculated movements of the gears ticking above him. 

“Lacie!” his cracked voice called, reaching out his hand to the star he could never reach.

And on the floor, where all the broken parts, the scraps of things that tried to change the direction of the machine go, he realized that that the pattern was too ruthless to break. Kicked and beaten by the dance, he understood that the only way to follow her, was to join the dance.

He wouldn’t give up. He’d follow her footprints through the forest of feet and fakes.

If he’d bend the rules a little.

******

I set the moves into my hands and feet, resolved to be a bruising and beating thing, like them, clawed my way back into the artificial light, until that red was back in my sight. I took her hand in mine and—

She…didn’t remember me.

No peppered, cheerful hello. No pretense, or pretending.

No mask.

My free spirit. My unmasked beauty. My blood red girl. My Lacie.

In eight years, as I broke myself apart and sewed myself back together, as I metamorphosed into something I myself barely recognized, she still hadn’t changed, been chained; she was still the same dash of color in a world of black and white fakes. A player in a world of pawns.

Despite all the things I had done, I knew she was the one person who would still accept me. She was still the one who questioned the machine, and would accept the things I did to fight it, would understand that the only way to fight it was from the inside out. I'd done it all for her, after all.

There's no sunlight at the bottom of the machine. Eight years. Eight years in the dark. Eight years since I felt the warmth of sunlight on my skin, the touch of something, someone, living.

"Dance with me." I'd spoke the words a thousand times, but this was the only time I ever meant them.

When you find your color in a black and white world, your dream in a world of nightmares, your life in a world of walking corpses, you never want to give it up, to let the song end.

But.

******

After the moving maze, the muddied world of men, the journey to get back to her, his hand found hers.

Something real, something dynamic, instead of stagnant, something warm to the touch, not metallic and cold.

Standing before him—at last—was his pride, his prize.

She was on the other side of the endless ballroom, off to the side, her head turned, gaze out the window. But she was still dancing with someone. Slowly, their moves less cold and mechanical.

He didn’t bother with the pretense of the dance, or courtesy towards the one she was currently dancing with. He threw his arms around her, and held her tight.

The shock in her eyes told him something wasn’t quite the same.

—(Or maybe he wasn’t quite sane)—

Did she not remember him? That moment when color entered his world?

What was all of time for him, was a passing glimpse for her.

It didn’t matter. As long as she didn’t cover those pretty eyes with the mark of a fake.

And she never did. Not as long as he knew her

“Jack.” She placed her hand on his cheek, running her fingers along his skin, pushing a strand of his hair behind his ear.

She smiled, and it was the only real thing.

But that smile didn’t last forever; it became a twisted thing, etching itself onto her features.

A thing that certainly didn’t belong to her, even now.

Was this her mask? Could her face have been a mask this whole time?

She pulled away from him.

“You fool.”

He drew in a sharp breath, and it pierced his heart.

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

She gestured grandly to the room as a whole.

What? What didn’t he see? This was how it had always been. Nothing had changed.

She grabbed his chin and made him look away from her.

“Look at them.”

Then he saw.

The dancers around them weren’t just dancers, strangers, background.

They weren’t strangers at all.

Or maybe they were even less known to him than strangers would have been.

They weren't even in black and white after all; there was color all around him, the color that had belonged to himself. Many of them were wearing the same green outfit he wore presently, others were in red, and blue, some wrapped in a thin blanket…They all had the same blonde hair, sometimes in a braid like his, others messy and short.

And they all still wore masks, as if the emotions could be written and plastered on rather than felt—happy, sad, angry…that disgusting smile…

His disgusting smile.

Each and every one of them was himself.

Had it always been this way? Since the beginning? Or had they become this way? Somewhere in the middle, had strangers morphed into mirrors?

The music faded out, and the rain outside grew louder and louder until he couldn’t help but turn to the window, as if to demand some peace and quiet.

The drops that dribbled down and splattered across the panes were not clear, or grey, or blue.

That red he had once found so fascinating, once begged for, was painting the world.

He swallowed.

As he realized the change in scenery, all the other Jacks stopped, turning to him with mechanical motions, and faceless expressions, some creepy army of past-self-dolls.

“Lacie,” her name on his lips—(the word echoed through the crowd, the other Jacks moaning it as if remembering the one word that made them alive once, though it wasn't alive in their mouths now)—he turned to her, his one hope, his one safety in a world that had fixed its canons against him.

She was no longer beside him.

Laying in his hand was a limp chain.

He didn’t want to look, to follow the trail; he feared what he would see. But he chased the links to the ceiling—

Her body, suspended in the air above, like she was one of those twinkling chandeliers. Her body, pierced by chains.

That red rain was inside now.

And below her, looking his way, was someone else. Someone else in color. Someone else who wasn’t wearing a mask.

******

My Lacie, who lied, and died at the hands of her brother. For the simplest crime of never wearing a mask over those red eyes. For the simplest crime of existence.

Oswald. Her brother.

I should have hated him for taking her from me.

And there was a part of me that did. Surely. But he loved her too, you know. And it was some sick sense of duty that threw her into the pit, not his own will.

I was a question in his eyes, and he was an answer in mine. There’s something about mutual darkness between people; being able to look into someone else’s soul, and see your struggles reflected, and yet…not yourself… Something that we call friendship.

******

The first thing he saw was his cloak, like a wave breaking across his shoulder. Crimson, just like her eyes.

Just like her blood he spilt.

Then his eyes, violet, like her dress. But unlike with her, this violet, this royalty, was sharp, cold, and unforgiving.

Then it was the black of his hair and clothing. A deeper black from the dancers before. A darker sky.

He was the black king, after all, wasn’t he?

                          "Lacie is dead,”

                                                      “I killed her.”

******

It wasn’t malice, or revenge. It was the requirement and requiem of a leader.

Or at least, they poisoned his mind and made him think so.

I’m sure he would have joined me, if he wasn’t such a fool. If he wasn’t so wrapped up in his own ignorance.

(An ignorance that was my fault).

Joined me to get her, that is.

Death isn’t quite the right word. She was cast into the Abyss, into a place where "return" has no meaning.

But I learned that the masks, the dance, the masquerade, goes by another name:

Chains.

Chains come in many forms. There are the chains that killed her, those that we create contracts with, linking us to a place darker than the bottom of the machine. Chains between people; like friendship, like love, like hate. And the chains we create for ourselves, tying us to an abyss of our own making, with no need for outside temptation.

Then there’s another type; this world is a ruin—(I always knew it)—and the Chains around it are the only things keeping the world from the Abyss, in the same token as others tie us to it. They fall between the lines on the pages of our story, into the places our eyes can’t see.

Or, more accurately, keeping the world from her.

Blood red world. My gift for my blood red girl. And I didn’t care how much blood I spilled in the midst. Not really. Not enough.

This world is rotting anyway. I’ve known it from the start. But not to her. She saw the color, the life, the light. She saw the stars. She saw that there was something real behind those falsely shimmering lights. That maybe it wasn’t all on the surface. Maybe there was something beneath the waters that we could reach.

And I’d bring the world she loved to her.

                                                                          I’m doing this for you.

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (2/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : General Audiences, no warning.

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 2/? (2452 words)

Author’s notes : Here’s part two ! I also updated part one to be a bit better, don’t hesitate to check it out ! (taglist at the end !)

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“I always thought it was a disputable likeness.”

“JE-sus FUCK-”, I spat out as I turned over, stumbling back from shock. How in the hell- I didn’t even hear a goddamn thing, which was concerning given how close he was standing behind me. An eyebrow elegantly arched at my profanity, he seemed to study my figure. I was suddenly very aware of how absolutely dreadful I probably looked.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think- I didn’t mean to break in- The door-”, I stammered, somehow unable to find any decent words.

A twinkle of amusement brightened his dark eyes, and he didn’t do me the mercy of saying anything to put me out of my misery. I took a deep breath, and awkwardly held out my hand for him to shake.

“I am Eris Cetero. I got caught in the storm, and saw light. I didn’t know where else to go. I would be eternally grateful for your hospitality, sir.”

A bit dazed that I was able to align so many coherent words, I didn’t even have the time to react when the man gently took my hand in his, and planted a light kiss on my knucles.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Doamna Cetero. I am Count Vlad Balaur, and welcome you into my home.”

I managed to thank him, by God knows what miracle. From the moment our eyes met, he had not moved his gaze, nor did I see him blink, now that I thought about it. A shiver ran down my spine, making me shudder.

“My, you must be freezing. Come, sit by the fire. Do you have anything dry to wear ?”

I shook my head as he led me to one of the sofas facing the hearth, a hand barely hovering over my back.

“My bag is in a sorrier state than I am”, I sheepishly admitted.

“Well, I might be able to find something for you”, he told me with a gentle smile.

“I couldn’t, really, I don’t want to impose-”, I started, but he dismissed my protest with a flick of the hand.

“Nonsense, I will have no one die of pneumonia in this house. Wait for me here, I will soon be back.”

He left the room in long paces, and I followed his tall silhouette as it disappeared into the halls. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t that. He did look somewhat close to the portrait, however. I looked up to study it further. The figure was certainly recognizable, tall, some form of nobility in the posture. He was a Count, after all. His hair was neatly laid in elegant black waves across his broad shoulders, so dark it was almost lost to the background. He was obviously younger in the portrait, but still carried as much poise as he did then.

The crackling of the fire almost covered the sound of the rain. A log broke in half in a flurry of embers. The flames licked at the charred wood, and I started to follow their ethereal dance in the darkness. Hugging my knees closer to my chest, I wondered if I shouldn’t drip somewhere else than the Count’s expensive-looking antique sofa. Found myself unable to move, anyway.

My curious host stepped back into the room, dragging me from my drowsiness. He had a pile of neatly folded clothes in hand, and what I assumed was a towel. He was still smiling, which, for some reason, made me a bit uneasy. I shook off the feeling. I mean, he was just an old eccentric man. A little weird at times, but who isn’t?

“I’m afraid you might find the style a bit dated, however, it’s warm and dry, which is what we are looking for, aren’t we?”

He laid the pile next to me, and took his leave, respectfully closing the door behind him. Unsure about what I should do, I still took a look at what he brought. The fabrics were soft, and felt luxurious. Dated indeed. A long wool skirt I just could have worn as a poncho, a thin linen shirt closed by a series of pearl buttons, and a jacket, matching the skirt both in style and warmth. after a sigh, I decided to peel my own clothing off my body. Cold water ran down my back as I slipped my shirt over my shoulders. I decided to keep my underwear, for legitimate and obvious reasons, and put on the outfit the count prepared for me. He even had thrown in a pair of socks and boots, which, curiously, were exactly my size. As I stood up and patted down the skirt, I caught my reflection in a window. There, I was ready to leave for the suffragette rally, whilst my husband slaves away at the vintage car factory. I spun around, and the skirt flared in a very satisfactory manner.

“Are you dressed ? May I come in ?”

The sudden knock on the door nearly made me lose my footing. I caught myself on the back of the sofa, and approved the request. The Count entered, pushing the door with his foot as the carried a wodden tray, holding a steaming kettle and delicate cups. He laid it on a small side table, and turned back towards me, clasping his hands together.

“Aren’t you feeling a tad better now ?”

“Much better, thank you. If I may ask, out of curiosity, where does this dress come from? It’s not very often people have that sort of clothing at home.”

“Well”, he started as he poured tea into a cup. “It is a family home, and I must admit I do not know everyone who ever lived here. It may have been my grandmother’s, or her mother’s.”

He invited me to sit, and handed me a cup, which I accepted gladly. It had a subtle, comforting cinnamon aroma The warmth of the cup was doing wonders for my almost purple hands, slowly regaining a human-like color.

“Eris…”, the Count enunciated, slightly rolling the ‘r’, almost to himself. “What an unusual name. You must have terribly interesting parents.”

“Oh, far worse. Historians”, I scoffed.

“Greek, dare I venture ?”

“Yes. They’re kind fo the reason I am here right now, in a way.”

“Please, indulge an old man.”

He seemed genuinely interested. I guess living in a mountain surrounded by huge “KEEP OUT” signs was bound to make anyone feel starved for any distraction. It was a bit of a challenge not sounding demented as I told him about my family. Strict, absent parents, very demanding concerning school work, insisting on me keeping up with their research. As they were interested in the Classical Greek world, I shifted my interest to the Balkans, which was shocking enough, and became almost disowning when I started a masters in medieval studies. I became a bit estranged to them after that terrible offense.

“Do you still study that field ?”

“Well”, I sighed. “I should hope so. I’m in my second year of doctorate on ‘Archaeological evidence for the conflictual relationships of Balkanic regions and the Ottoman Empire during the 15th century AD’.”

It had him laughing softly.

“That sound like quite some work”, he commented, a strange glimmer in his eye.

“It is. That’s why I had to take a break, coming here. I told myself I’d take advantage of it and work, maybe visit Targoviste. Turns out, I’d rather risk death by the mighty elements than do that.”

I tried to smile, but the weight in my chest started to come back. It lifted while I was running high on adrenaline, trying to escape my doom during the storm, but now that I was out of danger, it sure as hell was back. The Count had a strange look on his face, almost as he was trying to read my mind through my eyes.

“I’m sorry, I just-”

“You must be tired, after such an eventful day”, he softly told me. “Let’s prepare a guest room, shall we?”

He was right, by all accounts. I took a deep breath, and handed him my empty cup as he held out his hand for it. His fingers brushed against mine, just a second, yet long enough that it didn’t feel unintentional. He did nothing of it, and placed the cups back on the tray, before escorting me into the halls. As we left, he took hold of a small candelabra and had it lit over the fire.

We made our way through the lenghthy corridors, and I started undertanding just how huge the place was. Confusing. Labyrinthic, almost. I wondered how I would ever find my way without breadcrumbs, or a trusty ball of yarn. I started taking mental notes of some reference points. A weird cat in a painting here, a knight fighting a giant snail in the corner of a tapestry there, that sort of thing.

“Are you also interested in art, Lady Cetero ?”, the Count asked, semingly noticing my interest.

“A little. I’m afraid I connect better with pieces of armor and war apparatus in general, though. A bit of an influence from my thesis, I think”, I admitted.

“Ah, in this case, I have something I am fairly certain you will enjoy”, he announced, before taking a right into another corridor.

We passed a few doors, and stopped in front of a slightly larger one. He slipped a large iron ring out of his jacket’s pocket, holding dozens of different keys, some oranate, some rougher. Without much hesitation, which was impressive considering the sheer ammount of choice he had, he unlocked the door, and pushed it open, gallantly leaving me to enter.

The room was dark, yest I discerned a faint glimmer across the walls. As the Count stepped in, and lit torches on the walls, I almost couldn’t contain a squeal of excitement. On the wall opposite the door, a suit of armor was displayed on a mannequin. Intricately worked in gilted vegetal arabesque, the darkened iron still suffered indents and scrapes, and the golden sheen had flaked in some places. I ventured that whoever had worn this had very little understanding of the crime it was to ever put such incredible crafstmanship at risk on the battlefield. It was very reminiscent of the kind of battle gear I had studied in my first year, but I never saw a complete one, least of all in such an incredible state of conservation. The suit was surrounded by weapons of the same make, still bright and shiny, the incrustations of stones and pearls seeming almost alive in the flickering light of the flames. The other walls were all covered in an almost artistic display of a large variety of other weapons, which it seemed spanned across centuries and all the surrounding regions of the Balkans.

“This is...Absolutely incredible”, I managed to breathe out. “How did you come to have such a collection ? Even the museum in Bucharest doesn’t compete !”

“I am very interested in history, you see. Some of the pieces here were there before I was born”, he told me, stepping closer to the central figure of the room. “This armor has been in my family for generations.”

He looked somewhat nostalgic, eyes drifting along the glistening metal. He stood tall, and I couldn’t help but picture him in it, his silver hair back to the dark waves of his youth, sword in hand, covered in blood and dust, leading his men into battle against roaring, bloodthirsty waves of ennemies.

“I would love to take a better look at them tomorrow, if you don’t mind”, I asked, trying not to look so eager as I felt.

“It would be my pleasure, however, I will have to take most of the day to attend some... Urgent matters.”

I nodded along, and we left the room, me with a last longing look as the Count extinguished the torches, and locked the door. He then led me along a stone staircase, set in what I assumed to ba a small tower, as I glanced outside through the narrow windows. On the second story, the floors was made of dark wood, which looked a bit dull. I figured if he lived alone, he didn’t have much time to varnish the whole castle. As we walked, the boards creaked in a sinister way, that reverberated through the halls. I couldn’t help but shudder, and though I head a soft laughter from the Count, walking ahead of me.

He stopped to open a door, and entered before I did. It was a fairly large room, with a high ceiling, supported by large wodden beams. An iron chandelier hanged at Mid-height, which was still half a dozen feet above my head. A large fireplace was carved into the wall, which my host had somehow lit as I studied the rest of the room. Behind wooden pannels, a large canopy bed was set near one of the three windows that pierced the wall, opening to a view of the wind-swept valley.

The Count carefully removed the large bedspread, which had probably been collecting dust for a while, revealing divinely comfortable-looking covers and fluffy pillows. To be fair, I was so exhausted I would have slept on the floor with no second thought, had that been necessary.

“Make yourself at home. You will probably find something to change in the wardrobe, if you want. I will leave you this for tomorrow, should you wish to explore”, he told me as pulled the key-ring out of his pocket, and laid it on a large desk. “Have a restful night, Lady Cetero.”

Bowing his head slightly, he exited the room, leaving me alone if it weren’t for the presence still lingering inside. I figured there was a slight possibility that I really were deep into hypothermia, and hallucinating, or, more likely yet, that he was a ghost. I slipped into a nightgown, still feeling a bit like a gothic novel heroine. I wondered a second how I could ever find sleep with all the wonder, excitement and slight feeling of dread that filled my mind. However, as soon as I let the heavy blankets over me, sinking into the matress, everything went quiet, the faint sound of the rain and rumbling thunder slowly lulling me to sleep.

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[prorevenge]

How I got revenge on my cheating ex!

TL;DR at bottom.

This story takes place almost 12 years ago so I'll do my best with the dialog and details but admittedly some things are a little fuzzy. Most of my life I've had a problem with picking men that were not good for me, so much so that I even had a phrase for it "saving the world, one moron at a time". One of my more spectacularly bad choices was a guy by the name of "Bob" (obviously not his real name). I met Bob when I was working one of my 2 jobs at the local mall, he worked somewhere else in the mall so we hit it off and soon enough we were in a relationship. Within a few months my lease was up and we ended up moving in together which obviously in hindsight was a huge mistake but I was dumb and lonely.

Soon enough red flags began to fly, he would say things in common conversation that were simply incorrect (like there's only 4 continents and the rest are actually owned by the martian government and thus don't count etc. ) and when challenged would circular talk until you either agreed with him or dropped the subject. He would also make claims that seemed entirely unbelievable such as when I asked where he had been staying prior to his mom's house he said he "camped in the woods" when I asked how he did that for months on end and without any gear he simply gestured to himself and said "this is all the gear I need". The worst trait though by far was his epic LAZINESS! I have never witnessed someone so lazy in my life.

Bob was unemployed for over a third of our relationship and would simply sit in the apartment watching netflix or playing some war game on "his" computer AKA my spare computer typing away in the group chat. He would never clean up after himself leaving dirty dishes in the sink and filth on every surface while only taking a shower MAYBE once a week. The smell that permeated my apartment could only be described as revolting and could easily gag a maggot. I would inquire a few times a week on his "job hunt" only to be dismissed or given a growing amount of excuses such as "but I don't have a car, how would I get there"... "the bus doesn't run in that area"... "the internet went down so I couldn't apply"... etc. etc. Meanwhile I am working double and triple shifts at my job to try to make up the lost income and running him all over town in my off time getting applications and helping him fill them out and turn them in. Keep in mind he doesn't have a cell phone so all of these apps have my contact info on them. Thus begins the era of him "holding my phone" while I'm at work so he can make calls or schedule interviews as well as I can get a hold of him from my store phone if I needed to.

Things began getting weird, he began staying up later and later on this group chat, sometimes till almost dawn. Sometimes we would hang out all evening until it was time for bed. Then he would always make some excuse on why he needed to check the game before bed and he'd be right there.... hours would pass... no Bob. I began to get suspicious but nothing incriminating seemed to be taking place so I just shrugged it off as me being insecure. Then he started asking to use my car to go see his best friend "Ben", now I wasn't super comfortable with this but I did know Ben pretty well and we got along almost better than Bob and I did so I guess to a degree I trusted Ben more than Bob and agreed to it. This happened a few times while I was working the evening shift and he was always back at the allotted time with my car and my phone and relatively grateful for the opportunity to hang with his buds. Suspicious... umm yes, but I'm the kind of person that is loyal and trusting to a fault and don't assume anything without proof and from every angle all seemed to be on the up and u so I took it at face value.

So one day he asks to borrow my car and go with his friends to a card gaming tournament, he put on a great show telling me how the prize money would help us out and with the deck he had there was no way he could loose. I just had to let him use my car and phone this one last time and he would be able to buy himself a phone with the prize money. I wasn't a huge fan of the idea but nothing untoward had occurred in the previous instances and I didn't feel like spending my only day off at a card game convention that I literally couldn't care less about so I acquiesced. I bought myself a couple green monsters and some vodka and had my own little personal drunk party. Hours tick by and no Bob... Eventually I pass out only to wake up at the crack of dawn VIOLENTLY sick, this went way beyond a hangover. I start retching in the bathroom until there was nothing left but bile but the retching wouldn't stop. Hours ticked by and I lay in my bathroom floor sweating and convulsing with no phone, no car and no Bob. I eventually was able to crawl to my room and wrap myself in a bath robe before crawling down my apartment building stairs and began knocking on the closest doors. It took 3 apartments before someone opened the door and allowed me to use their phone to call my mom. My mother was at my apt in 6 minutes flat and rushed me to the ER where I was diagnosed with an aggressive and antibiotic-resistant strain of C-Dif. Bob finally showed up later that afternoon phone and car keys in hand looking very concerned and claiming to be deeply apologetic but my mom hated him from that point on. I was out of the hospital and back to work within a few days but it was the beginning of the end.

During these last months we were constantly scraping by due to his lack of consistent income and poor spending habits. There were jobs gotten and there were jobs lost for various reasons throughout our relationship but the final job was one I helped him get literally 3 buildings down from my own workplace. This company rents furniture and electronics on a weekly/monthly basis and I happen to know most of the employees and the hiring manager as they are regular customers at my coffee establishment . I was able to use what little sway I had to get him on there and he accepted a job as a delivery man.

Within a few weeks I come home from work to find a brand new TV and entertainment system and him grinning like an idiot. I tell him we can't afford this, we can barely afford to eat and are surviving off scraps I bring home from work. He talks about his amazing employee discount and assures me it's no big deal that the rental fee will just come out of his check etc. I was pissed! Not only had he not consulted me, he also had me on the account as well (my info had been taken from the credit app I filled out as a favor to help their numbers) so if HE flaked I was liable. Fast forward another few weeks the rent is late and we are receiving eviction notices on our door, I come home from work and the tv is mysteriously gone. "Thank goodness" I think, "he finally realized we can't afford it and took it back"... he gets paid, rent gets paid and all is as good as it can be. Until I found a pawn slip for the TV in his pocket as I was doing laundry and went ballistic! He assured me he had plans to get it back in the works and to not worry about it, it will be taken care of soon and no one will be the wiser? I was too pissed to catch on to the secrecy aspect of the situation.

A few more tense weeks go by with him working mornings and myself working evenings while we shared one phone and car... Until that fateful day arrived! I woke up that morning with a migraine headache and opted to let Bob take the car but leave me the phone so I can call someone later on for a ride to work. A few hours of uncomfortable sleep go by before I am awoken by my phone.... I answer the phone still groggy "Hello?"

There is a long pause on the other end of the line until a female voice asks "Umm is Bob there?"

I felt a sickening feeling in my gut and began to shake.... is this real? Am I dreaming?

"No, he's at work right now this is his wife (total lie but hey) is there something I can help you with?" I wasn't rude, I phrased it as a genuine question rather than an accusation.

Another long pause before she began to stammer about maybe she had the wrong number but it was obvious she just wanted to get off the phone with me as quickly as possible and I realized in that moment that I desperately needed her.

"Please" I said with an edge of desperation in my voice.. "I don't know what's going on but I just really need somebody to tell me the truth" the last word came out in a sob and I sat there for a moment in silence trying to quell the urge to just cry uncontrollably.

"Listen" the voice on the other end was almost gentle "I need to make a few phone calls but I promise you I WILL call you back". She said it calmly and with so much conviction that I really wanted to believe her...

"Please, you promise?" I almost begged.

"I promise" she replied

"Ok" I took a deep breath and released it, "I'll talk to you soon" and hung up.

I then proceeded to aggressively pace my living room floor staring at my phone while chain smoking and muttering to myself like a crazy person. I knew who she was calling... I was replaying all those little red flag moments in my head from the last few months, pinning down dates or behavior I'd found suspect when the phone rings again. It's her. I froze for a moment... shocked she followed through and called me back, terrified of what this meant... I answered the phone and what followed was about the most soul crushing 45 min of my life

After initial introductions June (again not the real name) and I began comparing stories and it became glaringly obvious what was happening... They had actually been in a relationship several years prior and had run back into each other on the aforementioned war game where they began to flirt on group chat. All those nights he'd been on the computer he'd been chatting with her. All those times he'd go hang out with his "friend's" he been using my car to take her out and my phone to communicate with her. The time I was sick and alone with NO resources... you guessed it... he was with her! Oh but it get's better...

"Do you have a little silver hummingbird necklace?" she inquired. "Yes, my mother gave it to me for my 27th birthday actually I love it"

"Really?" she said "Cause he gave me one for mother's day"

"OMG" I almost yelled into the phone as I ran to my room and tore through my jewelry box... it wasn't in there... it was around her neck.

From there we discovered not only had he been giving her my property as gifts but he'd had her over to our apartment passing it off as his own. I didn't want to believe him capable of doing something so cruel and disrespectful when I have allowed him to sponge off me for the better part of 3 years. Unfortunately as in confirmation she began describing my apartment to a T, all the way down to my bed sheets. June said he even pulled my "secret box" from beneath my bed and offered to use my adult items on her. She said she found it weird and didn't partake but I threw them away due to the sheer ick factor. Finally she uttered the words I didn't know I wanted to hear"

"You know what we should do? We should bust him together."

My mind immediately started racing, indeed we should! I was a mix of fury, adrenaline and despair so my thinking wasn't exactly strait and details begin to get hazy here. We arrange to meet up at my work and find a way to lure Bob over there but unfortunately she lived about 40 min away whereas I only live about 6 miles from our destination so if I got there first I'd need to stall him (assuming he wasn't out on a delivery). I called a trusted coworker of mine at work sobbing and begging for a ride... to his everlasting credit he got somebody to cover and LEFT WORK to come get me and bring me to my car. When I got to Bob's workplace I went inside to retrieve my keys (this isn't uncommon as they know the car is mine) and was stopped half way through store by Bob's manager wanting to talk about the payment due on "our account".

I don't remember the exact dialog but I said something along the lines of "Look, I don't know when you are going to get your payment." I looked utterly defeated and told him we could never afford the TV in the first place and how I had begged Bob to take it back and now we don't have it anymore as Bob has pawned it and I don't have the money to get it out let alone pay him. I was full on blubbering at this point when he stopped me to clarify that his EMPLOYEE pawned a rental TV under contract. I confirmed that this was indeed true and presented him with the pawn ticket. HE WAS MAD! Apparently such an act is illegal and is terms for immediate termination but he assured me that if I could get the TV back to him there would be no harm no foul and he would terminate my contract without any penalties. I thanked him for his understanding and told him to let Bob know I would be over at my workplace.

My heart is pounding in my chest and blood is roaring in my ears... what was I going to say? What was HE going to say? Would June make it here before he did?? My heart sinks when I see Bob's hulking form making it's way in my direction, I frantically scan the parking lot for June's car... she's not here yet and I'm out of time. He hits the door looking out of breath and guilty as hell and I just stare at him stone faced. I walk outside silently to light a cigarette unsure of exactly what to say and he follows me wordlessly outside.

He starts in with the "it's not what it seems" and "it's all just a terrible misunderstanding" and I just let him dig himself deeper into his hole of lies. I listen, I nod, I pretend to understand until a particular car pulls into view. June parks in the space directly next to where we were standing and gets out of the car... "Hey Bob, how ya' doing?" Bob has gone visibly pale, he hangs his head and sits down on the curb saying nothing to either of us. June and I greet each other and awkwardly shake hands before again returning our attention to Bob. June begins berating him on his lies and deceit, unveiling all of our mutual info and subsequent conclusions while I stood mostly in silence agreeing at the appropriate times but mostly still in shock. After 20 minutes of this I finally mustered up the courage to take my stand.

"We are done, I don't want to see you ever again. I'll pack up your things (only 2 boxes worth) and your sister can contact me in a few days to pick them up. Now I want your key." I held out my hand and looked at him. "Not until I get my stuff out, then you get your key" he replied. I tried to argue but he continued to refuse and used his large stature to his advantage knowing I'd have no chance in a physical altercation. He turned and walked away heading back toward his workplace, June and I talked a little more before she handed me my hummingbird necklace and left. I stood there alone staring at nothing trying to wrap my head around what had just transpired and then I cried... oh how I cried.

With nowhere else to turn I had only one call to make... to my mom. The moment she answered I unleashed this deluge of words at her that were half sobs and half rant. "Stay right there, I'm coming" she said. God Bless my mother! Soon enough both of my parents pull up in my dad's truck and my mom gets out to comfort me and give me hugs. I look at the driver's seat and see my father with his jaw is clenched and a death grip on the steering wheel while staring strait ahead... OH Crap! They take me to the pawn shop and my parents write a check for more than $500 to get the TV out, we then drive strait over to Bob's workplace and return the TV to the manager. As the manager finishes up the cancellation paperwork my dad spots Bob pacing around the back of the parking lot talking frantically on the phone. Unfortunately I didn't get to hear the ensuing conversation but my dad returns within a few minutes holding my house key and looking victorious.

"I believe this is yours" he says as he hands me the key and then pulls me into a hug and I cried a little into his shoulder. My dad gave me a squeeze, kissed my temple and whispered into my ear "They're firing him." I leaned back to look at my dad and he just smirked and said "Now he's jobless and homeless." I thought about it for a second before I said in my most sarcastic tone "Ohhh I'm sooo soorrryyy to hear that" We laughed about it a little and my parents gave me some words of wisdom before leaving me to drive myself home where my best friend was already waiting to keep me company.

Bob and his sister showed up a few days later for his pitiful boxes of stuff, he tried to talk to me, to explain... but my best friend descended on him like a harpy if he muttered more than a few syllables in my direction so he was shut down almost immediately. He left that night and I have never heard from him since, I blocked him on social media but there was really no need as he made no effort to contact me on any level. That's Bob... ever lazy, ever deluded and always an a**hole.

So here I am many years later happily married to my high school sweetheart and the mother of two beautiful little boys and grateful to have moved on when I did. The experience with Bob certainly took its toll I lost a lot of weight due to lack of appetite but had a myriad of trust issues moving forward but the point is I moved forward. I have grown leaps and bounds as a person since this experience and am truly content with where my life is now but every now and then when I'm drifting off to sleep I can't help but wonder... what ever happened to good ol' Bob? Is he out there somewhere... in the woods with a stick and his wits as his only gear... waiting for a martian government to make its move.

Ah well, a girl can dream ;)

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to message me with any questions or comments :)

TL;DR: I discovered my boyfriend was cheating so I organized a sting operation with the other woman. Boyfriend ended up chickless, jobless and homeless within a matter of hours.

(source) story by (/u/Jenabear7897)