#the fact that hes being interviewed by vulture is so wild to me

[seefasters]

read hbomberguy's interview with vulture and these two answers in particular are extremely real

[popcornforone]

The Not So Innocent Boyfriends Fic:- Creeps, Heroes & Layers

This just came to me while removing some bits from my camera roll, & I couldn’t get rid of this one. So I just went for this photo shoot opulence & went wild writing it.

As always the photo is this is the inspiration for the fic, so please chose any man you wish for this fic to be based on.

Warnings. Smut Smut. Protected sex, voyeurs & creepy guys,(don’t let the vultures pressure you into a yes people just say no) fluff, swearing,pining & ogeling, established relationship & self confidence issued, pda. Yea smut & sex but a little bit of swearing I think. Oh & alcohol.

Thanks for the read as always peoples . Feed back is welcome.

When he arrives to pick you up, you don’t know what your day is going to be. In fact you never do on a day like today. Every now & then you get a text that says the date & if you should wear something or be prepared. It’s usually to dress smart or to wear some killer heels for when you’re seen out in public together, or doing something in the limelight. He’s not officially said your dating yet to the wider world, but you’ve been to a few things with him now, & you know people will start asking questions about who you are soon. You’ve already prepped for the Insta trolls. But the message last week was a little more vague. Wednesday morning 7am casual bring a book & your phone. Hmmmm this is one where he’s going to be working, but needs your support or as a distraction at times.

You slide into the passenger seat & give him a good morning kiss. It’s rare he’s driving, he’s normally being shuttled around . It lingers longer than it should, his lips taste if his coffee thats in a flask. Smooth & Smokey & a little chilled. You notice your coffee is also there waiting for you. He does pull away from your lips, before he gets to lost in you. Neither of you actually say a word until you get to the second set of red lights. “A book?” You say “yea, you’re going to find some bits so tedious today because I do, but I have to work through it.” & he gives you a side glance while smiling. “It’s a photo shoot for a fashion magazine” your jaw drops. “Forewarning would have been helpful” you say as you pick up your coffee & slurp it almost burning your tounge. “Why?” You point at yourself . Ok you are wearing a Mack, but you are not dresses fashionably. You did do your hair this morning in a messy bun, but when the message said casual, you threw on your ripped dip dyed jeans, a floral t shirt & a hoddie which used to belong to him. You’re also in trainers. You know full well you are not dressed for fashion. “Babes no one’s gonna judge you,” he laughs “& if they do just say you’re going to take a rail with you “ that makes you smile. “Is it just you doing the shoot?” “Yea while I get changed I’m doing the interview at the same time, but you can watch the entire thing” “I do have to say I have always been intrigued as to how these go down & why they take so long” you say & turn to face him. “ I mean you don’t need that much work or make up to look handsome baby” his hand moves from the steering wheel to you thigh. “Oh this” & he faces you “this really really needs all the help & photo shop it can get.”

Walking into a huge vast white room with all these eyes looking at you is daunting. Your hand grabs his straight away. You know the room has stopped to look at him, but you’re next to him & you can’t help but feel every eye in the room is judging your head to toe. From your hair that’s in a messy bun, down to your gingerbread men socks. You feel seen & that unnerves you. “Good morning” says the person in charge & comes over & give him a big over the top enthusiastic welcome. “& you must be his pride & joy” & your receive a kiss on each cheek from her. “Im Marcia, & while you’re here today, all these guys are at your beck & call, if you need anything please just shout & someone will do it. But don’t ask mark he’s the photographer “ the three of you walk over to a sofa about 4 paces back from where the shoot is set up, your hand isn’t letting go of his until it has to. All the while he’s still here & you’re in your coat you feel a little protected. “Your so shy” he whisper as he slides next to you on the sofa & takes off his leather jacket “it’s a lot to take in, all these people are here for you & are going to make you look even more fabulous then you already are.” He laughs “& that’s why this takes a while “.

you’ve noticed he’s already taken his shoes & socks off & is working on his jumper. He’s just casually taking off all of his clothes in front of all these people & not caring. “Hiya im Luca “ this voice cuts you from your thought of what you’d like to do if you had this place to yourself. “ahh Luca” he says as he removes his final top layer to reveal his chest. Even tho this is work for him, you do smile at him in his glory & want to squeeze his tummy & just snuggle in. He’s hugging Luca & you feel a little jealous. Luca hands him a dressing gown which he throws on. “& this must be” & your introduced “I’ve met Luca before on a few of these shoots he’s the best run around in the world, you don’t mind me saying that, because your an epic pick me up” “oh sir your too kind” “it’s nice to meet you Luca, anyone he has high opinions of, is good enough for me” you say & go to shake his hand but he pulls you in for a hug & he smells of citrus & it’s enthralling “ooooh honey bee we’re the ones who should be honoured to have you” & he has taken off your coat revealing your bad out fit for the room to see. “That hoddie is to die for” Luca exclaims & you instantly feel a bit better about how you look “it is” your partner says “I’ve been trying to get it back for the last 4 months” & he raises an eyebrow. “That explains why she looks so good in it. A boyfriend hoddie provides comfort always. Just remember to let him wear it now & again to refresh the smell of him” & he winks at you.

The make up room is boring. He’s got to be quiet while they trim & style & prep & moisturise him before he can even be seen too. All the people in there are all so quiet as well busying mixing pallets & lotions & well you’ve given up trying to learn what stuff is. He just sitting their eyes shut listening to the hum around him. After an hour you leave them to it & you go back to the sofa & put your head in the book you brought with you. It’s only when Luca comes to sit next to you that you realise there’s still not been one photo taken. “So how did you find him?” He asks & he hands you a coffee & put his bare feet on the coffee table.& you tell the story of 7 months ago.

Your friend had won a competition for a meet & greet with someone else famous (not your now boyfriend) at an event & she invited you as a plus one. You went but had no interest in the product or the influencer life, but your friend was loving it. So you became her unofficial photographer for the night, with your camera. You dabble a little in photography but not for things like this. It was while you were sitting there having a Prosecco looking at your photos, that an arm crept round you on a sofa. A worse for wear influence asked you if you wanted to be famous for 15mins with a wink & you said no, but he didn’t take that for an answer & continued to peruse you. You walked off trying to find your friend but couldn’t & he was still lingering. You went to the bar looking stressed & asked for a double & an angle shot( which is code for im in trouble) & then you feel this jacket go over your shoulder “down your drink, your leaving with me, don’t worry I got you” you don’t even look up at who it is assuming it’s staff member or security. You do as he says & walk off, he’s pulling you close & he smells amazing. You walk out the front & all the lights & camera flicker from the press & you both hurry into the car as a vague name is shouted that you cant hear It’s only when you sit down that it’s the guy everyone in the world wants to meet, who happens to also be at the event to meet someone else, & he has walked you out & got you to safety . “I am so sorry you say” & you’re really stumbling & not coherent in the next few sentences. You’ve met a few famous people, but no one like him. He’s off the scale. He’s huge & he’s in a car with you. Your struggling to remain composed. He holds your hands & goes breath. He then taps on the divider between the front & the car stops. “This is my driver max, he will get you home safe, tell him where you need to go, & be safe my angle shot” he kisses your cheek & slides back out the car, never to be seen by you again as you sit in back seat in shock. Did that really happen?

You thought nothing about it after that night, it must have been a fever dream & never happened. & then 10 days later your friend who you were at the event with, invites you out for dinner. She knows you love this restaurant & knows you’ve not been yourself, since the event. You told her about the creepy guy & how that spooked you, so she knows you need a night out. So you dress up & you get a msg saying the cars arrived. You walk down towards it & he is standing there. You look shocked. “Your friend set this up for me, I need to apologise for leaving you in the car in a state of shock, & for being a crap fake boyfriend.” He then takes out a bunch of flowers from the car which smell & look beautiful, which is when you first catch his deep brown eyes, the most beautiful you’ve ever seen. They are framed by his glasses to make them even more of a work of art than they are. “You saved me I should be thanking you” you bashfully say taking all of him in from head to toe. He is rather Devine. You realise you’re staring & go to apologise only to realise he’s doing the same to you. You both laugh & you both slide into the back of his car. You finally exchange a few personal details about each others including your name (the world knows his) & about 7 sentences later he asks seductively “can I kiss you?” You don’t answer, you just slide under his arm , look up at him bashfully, & embrace your lips together. Your leg spirals into his lap & he after a bit of moaning & exploring, asks if you actually want to go for dinner with a fake boyfriend or would you like to make this official. “Dinner first & dessert for my hero afterward”

Back in the now he’s walking out in outfit number one. It’s an orange poncho & he’s got these checked trousers on, & big black boots. He’s rocking the swagger & is busy doing what the photographer loves. You & Luca stand to the side smiling & giggling & it makes his serious smoulder turn into a smile. His pout works over time & the entire room is in love with him, not just you. Once he’s told thanks, he takes off the poncho handing it to a girl running around frantically, & he comes up to you. “ so the poncho?” He asks “ good for snuggling but you looked like a big taco, but a cozy one” he laughs at that “yea some of what they’ve got here is so random” “sir you’d look good in a bin bag” Luca says before he’s called to go do something, remembering he’s not just here to chat with you. Your boyfriend gives you a peck on the cheek “I recon you’ve got half an hour before the next round, I’ve got to start doing the interview now while changing” you go to put your hands in his hair but you hear someone behind scream no don’t touch it. It makes you jump, so your run your hand through his stubble instead feeling all the products on his face, you do it delicately.

You can’t concentrate on your book you brought with you. Your mind keeps going back to that first date, which was never meant to be. How the press got your photo on that escape from your first unknown meeting, & how he mentioned while eating that everyone he knew had asked him who his mystery lady was with him. He had told his publicist you were just a friend, but when he’d asked for the guest list from that night to work out who you were, she knew he wanted more than that. He then acknowledged that he was now doing almost what the creepy guy had done that night “no your not because you asked,” you reply “& if I told you right now I wasn’t up for whatever this is, you’d get me home safe & leave me at the door” he smiles “ that’s true & this time I wouldn’t just leave you with my driver either.” He digs into his ice cream & it gives him brain freeze & you laugh at the face he pulls. “Don’t be my fake girlfriend in the pictures, be my real one?” He asks sheepishly & you stare mouth open wide, banoffee pie falling off your spoon “I don’t usually ask someone straight out but there’s something magnetic about you” he says & he caresses you knuckles. “Let’s go have desert at one of ours first” you say.

Outfit 2 & 3 in the now, are just standard variations of dark suits & his posing is getting more weird the longer he’s in front of the camera, this isn’t the normal goofball you see at home, this is the superstar the world sees. The room is still entranced by him, which isn’t hard to believe. I mean you’ve been for 7 months. When outfit 4, a hideous green jump suit, comes out, you pull a face at him “okay so I’ve now got to try & feel into this” he shouts at you. The designer looks disappointed at you. “Sorry it’s just not his vibe” you say “it’s made beautifully but it’s just not him”. You sit back down & check your phone when Luca comes back over. “So… how’s it going?” He hands you a cake “this is so long, how does he do this?” “Easily, he’s got hard skin” “you don’t need to tell me that “ you reply & Luca laughs. & you go back to thinking about that first date.

He takes you back to yours after dinner, so that if you say no, he can leave or sleep on your sofa. When you’re in you make him a drink & slide off your heels. He catches a glimpse of the butterfly tattoo on your foot & raises an eyebrow. “Are there more hidden?” He asks. “A few, would you like to find out?” He pushes you against the wall & his tongue explores your mouth & his hands your body. He put the drink down that he only asked for to break the tension when he got here. He smells of spice & he tastes of the cookie ice cream he ate. He breaks & you go to take him to your bedroom, but he pulls you back into him. “If we do this” he whispers “this isn’t a one off, I want you forever, or until you get bored of me” he continues before kissing your neck “I’m not doing this for 15mins of fame or an article in 3 years time.” You reply. you know he’s had a few kiss & tells in the last year in the press. “The only person I’m going to tell this to is myself,” your hand is underneath his shirt. “Gooood” he soothes, before taking your hand back.

It doesn’t take long for you to both take off each others clothes. He’s much girthier than you expected, but before he slides in he pauses. You’re both panting & have been making out without getting down to sex for a little while. “Are you sure?” He breathes “never been more sure about anything in my entire life” you respond. “Perfect” & he goes to hitch himself in, “oh wait” & he looks for his jeans but they are to far away “do you have a…” he looks embarrassed, but you nod at the draw & he scraps for the condom in there. Eventually he slides it on while his other hand keeps you sensitive. “I am on birth controool…” you manager to say but the word control is interrupted as he slides slowly into you making you pinch & knocking all the air out of you. His girth is exquisite & he asks if you’re okay before he starts to move, wrapping your legs around his back. The two of your rock & he makes slow sensual love to you as you both turn the air blue with your moans & screams. You both experience paradise, before screaming out each others names & collapsing in bliss. & you’re amazed when you wake up the next day to see him still there asleep next to you. Your morning kiss when he eventually wakes is smooth & filled with the promise of a million more. & he Perseus with round 2 which is much rougher & more passionate, knowing you can take him fully.

“Last one” a voice shouts & then your eyes concentrate. Out he walks for outfit 5 & your jaw hits the floor. “Wow” you say quite loudly & the whole room falls silent. You don’t realise that your body is already off the sofa & making its way across to him. He’s following suit & has left the rest of them, all just going what’s happening. Right now your the only 2 people in this room to the both of you. You don’t know what’s underneath it, but he is wearing this amazing long off grey coat, with these sleek back trousers & brown camel boots. & you are looking at him with lust & love in your eyes. He’s turned on that you’re turned on too. & he gets to you & looks at his hair dresser who is going like if she dares. But he doesn’t care either. He puts your hand onto his hair & he whispers “play baby.”

Your hands go to work on his hair as your lips smother each other. His hands also undo your messy bun & your both feeling each other right now. It’s only about a minute later you hear a few shutters clicking, the photographer has taken a few snaps of you both. Usually he’d be a bit pissed at this & would be like nah she not here for that, but he’s not giving a crap & neither are you. He pulls away from you when the director says “this is the last outfit so let’s get this done.” You wrap your arms under that coat & say “ can you swag this coat please it’s almost as Devine as you?” “I’ll sort it baby” & he saunters off, his hair all messy & all over the place, just feeling himself. It’s his best style & look for sure. & he’s loving that his hair is all over the place.

Once he’s changed he emerges with the coat in his arms & he approaches you with a smile. “Til next time sir” says Luca “& miss please come back each time with him, it’s so much fun having someone normal to chat with” he says & you give Luca a big hug. He has been pleasant company & has made your mind wander today about your past & how your lucky to have got here & how one creep has lead to this moment happening right now & your relationship with a man who means the world to you.”you ready ?” He says & he put the coat over your shoulders “this is the warmest I’ve ever been” you reply.

3months later just after Christmas, you are wearing that coat from shoot & your shopping, getting a few items for dinner when you walk past the papers & magazine & stop. There he is on the cover, in the coat you are wearing right now (you do take it in turns to wear it after Luca little remark, but you’ve still got the hoddie) his hair a mess, while he’s feeling himself. You pick up a copy & add it to your basket. When you get home & put the shopping away, you pick up the magazine & read his interview. You never do this, you don’t care about that side of his life. The most pictures of him in a magazine are of him in that coat (there are the other 4 outfits too but it’s mainly that one). & then on the last page of the interview & pictures you see it. There you are embracing him & being completely lost. It accompanied about a section on his family & private life & how he always tried to keep that out of the press, but a chance meeting has made him realise he needs to be a bit more open & break some peoples hearts, by saying he’s found the love of his life. You sigh reading this.

“Is that a good read?” & you drop the magazine startled. “How long…” “long enough” he replys & swings over & onto your sofa, landing with a thump. “I don’t want to share you with the world, but I want the world to know I am happy & you’re the main reason for it” he says & his lips capture yours. It’s smooth & sweet, just like he is, when he’s not for the world to see. “ I think I can cope with that,” you moan through the kiss “but as long as you will be there to be my hero still” “oh we’ll make mistakes babe” he responds “but it’s nothing we can’t handle” & he pushes you into the sofa on your back. You can feel he’s hard already. “Maybe we should find that creep from that night” he says as he removes his jumper & works on yours “even if we did, I still don’t think he’d take no for an answer” you reply before kissing his chest. “True, but you will always say yes to me know” he says, his hands are working on your jeans. “You always have my consent babes, you’ve broken down all my layers, I’m yours” your hips are both moving & the sofas creaking, & you’ve not even really got moving yet.

[elejahfanfic]

The Vampire Files/8

Fanfiction

Part 8

AU story, with characters from tvd/to, featuring Joel Goran from Saving Hope

Nick and Elena are FBI Agents investigating supernatural activities and homocide caused vampires and demons.

Expect witches, demons, vampires. Inspired by X-files, Twin Peaks, and many other shows

Main pairing_Nick Amaro & Elena Gilbert

tag_ @miguelsbrat​

thanks so much for reading ✽\(ˆ▽ˆ)-✽ ✽-(ˆ▽ˆ)/✽

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The New Orleans dawn was breaking. The remains of the night were slowly being washed away by the  first rays of the sun. Elena was gazing out of the hospital windows into the horizon blank waiting for the results of Nick's check up. The attending came up to her informing her that Nick will be left for observation as he had lost significant amount of blood, and being an FBI agent they didn't want to risk anything by releasing him, even though his blood work showed that he wasn't in any risk at all. As the nurses left, Elena walked in the room they transferred him to.They wereboth silent.There was so much explaining to follow, but at the moment they just felt it wasn't the time or the place.

"I owe you my life" Nick said, swallowing hard.

"No, you don't. This is what partners are for. You saved mine, remember?"

"It's not the same."

"We are not keeping score. You got to rest. I will head back to the hotel, get a shower and change. I think they will let you out later today. I need to go meet Stavros. And interview the voodoo woman. I will swing by the magic shop later."

"Ok" Nick said closing his eyes. He was tired.The magic of the ointment Elena applied had worn off and now he felt the aftermath of the horrific ordeal he went through.

She looked at him warmly, making a small mental sigh. She enclosed him in her heart that night they played Monopoly. He shed his Agent demeanour off, and shown her a person he really was deep down. Kind, warmhearted, sweet.

Flashback

"I want justice for the victims. This is what drives me. Cold cases were the most challenging. I love challenges."

"Well, you are in the most challenging section of the FBI now." Elena said.

"And think that you are in it for the same reason. You care about the people. At least that's what I could say about your reports."

"Yeah. But I don't always manage to get it. You read that, too. There’s too many dead ends”

“I know. But you are not giving up - and I admire what you have accomplished. I do.” Nick said with a meaningful glimmer in his eyes.

Elena now took hold of his hand and squeezed it.

Nick fluttered his eyes open.They softly connected with Elena’s, making her shudder slightly. It had happened the first time they met, and they knew that there was this something deeply rooted.They both had felt it. Their souls connected before they were even aware of it.

“I got to go” Elena pulled her hand away. “See you later.”

Nick nodded, watching her get out of the room, his heart quivering dreamily. A secret smile curved his lips.

Outside, Elena pulled her phone out and dialed Jenna's number.      

"Morning you," Jenna said as she picked up the call,"how are things? Is he going to be all right?"

"Yes," Elena replied,"I need you to send me all about the Bloodborns"

"So, you haven't talked?!" "He is still processing. I would be after the night he had. Sorry to wake you" Elena said apollogetically.

"You think I have slept?!"

"Hope Alaric has" Elena said. "Yeah, he has a full day at the University. So, you think this will complicate things?" “Things are complicated, but they actually are getting clearer”

"Elaborate" Jenna said, not understanding her niece’s logic.

"I can't. You would be involved an it is not goo at this point of investigation"

"Right. Be careful. My gut feeling tells me this is way bigger than just some random ritual killing" Jenna sighed.

"Yeah -got to go." Elena said and hung up.

At times Elena felt like she was reliving the twisted version of the 'Groundhog Day' movie. But here, no matter how hard she tried to get it put things right, things would always get even more tangled up.  

Flashback

Years back, when she was about to enter the FBI Training Academy

"You know why they are recruiting you?" Jenna said.

"I know. It's not because I am so good at biochemistry" Elena replied.

"Straight to the special program?," Jenna continued, "I am not sure about this"

"I am going there, because of the resources. Because- the darkness is taking over and I have to do everything I can to stop it."

Jenna enveloped her niece a warm hug.

****

In Washington DC, a few hours later

Caroline walked in her office. Klaus saw her come in and went to her, knocking at the door out of courtesy.

"Today you have to slay. Take Liv with you and get make the summons on this case be worth our while" Klaus in a serious manner.

Caroline nodded. It was obvious the magic of him being this great comprehensive charmer disappeared over night and he was his usual emotionless sour self.

Why did she care. They had a job to do. Prosecute  criminals and put them in jail. Stop thinking with your heart. Echoed in her head. He is just another waste of time. That's how she labeled some of her men. She called Liv over to her office and they went through the case in question.

Rebekah's day started with somewhat better. One of her patients showed great improvement. But still there was no answer from Marcel. At times she wished she could just tune out.

****

In New Orleans, a few hours later

Elena stuffed nearly a whole beignet reading what Jenna had sent her. But there was nothing that could establish the connection to Nick and his blood needed to be used for a ritual.

"What is not right in this picture?" she muttered going through some of the facts of the Bloodbornes again.

Her phone rang and it was Agent Stavros, notifying her that he was now at the precinct.

"I am on my way" Elena said hanging up.

Meanwhile, in the hospital, Nick woke up with a throbbing headache, born from the strange magical potion Elena gave him. It had kicked something in him, bringing out a memory that rose up like a wind from nowhere.

Flashback

25 years ago

"You will forget about all of this," Dita Galindo said to Nick,"there are no monsters. That are just stories people invented. There are good and evil people. It is as simple as that. Now eat your dinner"

"But I know what I saw. That changed into a wolf." Nick said.

"No. The man befriended the animal. That is all. And your imagination is running wild. But it is all right. You're ten. You will grow out of it."

Dita Galindo did everything possible to make sure Nick didn't know anything of his origin. And he never bothered to find out. He concentrated to work hard at school and get out of Louisiana and get in the FBI. He was diligent, silent, dark and very meticulous. And the name vulture he got always digging into cases that were impossible to solve, digging into dead meat, as some of his colleagues would say.

Nick brushed his fingers over the side of the neck where he was bitten. He took a deep breath. The sudden realization that monsters that bit him were very real, shook him. These monsters wanted him. Why him? Who was he?

He got up and as he wanted to get up he felt faint for a moment. The nurse walked in suggesting he should lay down.

"I want to discharge myself," Nick said,"I will sign any paper. I am not staying here. I need to go"

The nurse checked his IV and then looked at Nick who closed his eyes for a moment. The images of the vampire biting him appeared again. He opened his eyes and now asked the nurse to call the doctor.

“You should rest.” the nurse tried to calm him down, but Nick was too agitated to listen to her.

“I want to see a doctor now! Get me the Attending. Now!” he demanded.

"You are not fit to do anything today" the Attending said.

"I am leaving, so can you just give me whatever I need to sign to get out - and you will be clear form any possible repercussions that might occur" Nick sat up. He pulled the IV needle out of his backhand.

The Attending could see that no matter what he said Nick was determined to leave. He bandaged his hand, and told him that the nurse would be with him shortly.

And so, he was out of the hospital, finding a cab in front that took him to the nearest rent-a-car place. His phone rang and it was Elena. He looked at it and thought for a second whether he should answer or not. The hospital must have told her that he had left. She was his partner and by rights, he had to answer her, but he chose not to and blocked her. But Elena rang again and he blocked her call again. He was not in the mood to talk to her. Not yet. First he had to get some answers himself. Then his voice mail alert came on and he now played her message.

"Whatever you think you are doing. Don't! I know it is not easy to process all what's happened. Been there.Call me back."

Deep down he knew she meant well. He knew that he was now led by his emotions that were jumping all over the place, like someone put him on live wire. But he left the reason behind and now drove like mad to Carencro, where his adoptive mother Dita lived.

Outside the Magic Shop, Elena was pissed that Nick took off without calling her and she now told Agent Stavros that they had to postpone 'scouring' the place.

"I have released Davina's body to the family. But they will not have the funeral till- " Dean said referring to the woman's heart.

Elena sighed. "You believe that it can be retrieved?"

"I heard what Agnes said to you." Dean replied.

Elena was quiet for a second. She could not pull the wool over his eyes. Dean was involved with Davina, but he didn't know how deeply involved she was in the vampiric world.

"Can I help you?" he offered.

"Nahh- plus- you need to rest. This is not over by far. I will need you fresh and ready for what's to come. See you tomorrow" Elena said jumping in the SUV.

"Bloodborns  are described as the offspring of both an Angel, and a Demon. However, users of this power will have the potential to become more powerful than either side.

This is due to the fact that said spirit would be neutral and possess power from the forces of both Light and Darkness. These beings are based off of the Nephillim, the hybrid offspring of an Angel and a human, with the only difference being that both parents are immortal spirits. Their children became Witchers, monster hunters."                  

"Answer, dammit!" Elena kept pressing the speedial with Nick’s number over and over again, but there was no answer. She drove like mad hoping to catch up with him before he got to Heloise's house. And she managed to get there some twenty minutes after him. She could hear Nick asking question after question and Dita not giving him any answers.

Elena knocked on the door and walked in, apologizing to Heloise for being so forward. Nick now looked at her surprised to see her there, "How did you know”

“Where you were?" Elena finished his sentence and sighing a little replied."I know - about you and where you lived as a kid."

It felt like he was slapped on his face. She could see the rage and disappointment rise in his eyes, "What a great partner you are?. What else do you know?"

Dita looked at Elena now, who gave her a nudge with her head to leave them for a moment on their own.

"I know that you are angry right now. And everything that had happened last night isn't helping" Elena said to Nick.

"You are kidding, right? Is this some kind of a sick joke to all of you? All my life I have been lied to. I want answers. But I don't want them from you. I don't know what shit you will tell me to cover something up" He felt faint again and now spat back Elena about the strange thing she gave him that probably was the reason for making him feel weak.

"Ok. Sit down. You are not back to yourself. You have lost a lot of blood."

"The magic makes him like that" Dita said.

Both Elena and Nick now looked at the witch’s direction.

"What magic?" Elena asked straight forward, as she knew that thing could get bad if there was a clash of magic inside a person.

"Set on him, to keep his real nature subsided" Dita said.

Nick sat down now as he was not feeling good.

"Right. Now you have tell me what magic was used on him" Elena said in a steady calm voice. It was clear that Dita was nervous, but she loved Nick, and clearly didn't want him to suffer.

Nick now started sweating and Elena now looked for some cold water and a towel to ease his condition a bit.

He gulped looking at her now. "Tell me- what am I? Why did they take me?"

"I will. But now- we need to get this magic out of you," Elena brushed Nick’s forehead with a damp cloth,"I am sorry that I kept things from you. Big mistake. Fucking big mistake"

Nick now took hold of the brunette’s arm looking at her with eyes that indicated he is going to slip away, but he managed to mutter. "Fucking big mistake, Gilbert"

"Yeah. Later- you can shout and be pissed as much as you want- but now- I need you to stay with me- do you hear me- Ok?"

Nick nodded a little- feeling like his whole body yet again felt like it was going to lose life.

Elena now ordered Dita to get the witch who had done this to him.

"She is not alive, anymore" Dita said.

"Then some other!, Elena said. "This has to be done. He will not make it otherwise. I am fucking serious!"

Dita just waved off with her head. “There is nobody. I’m sorry.”

Elena now took her phone and dialed a number.

"Valerie," Elena said and proceeded explaining what had happened.

"Right. This what you will do,” Valerie said to Elena, who now found a silver knife in the kitchen,"as you cut the blood from your wrist and you pour it in a clean silver bowl, put the dagger on his chest- as you tell the words- conlidam in sanguinem"

"This is going to work?" Elena said in desperation.

"It will"  Valerie said.

"All right," Elena said hanging up,"come on"

She pulled Nick up in a seating position and took his sweater off, and as she helped him lay back, she proceeded with the ritual.

[not-a-space-alien]

Anniversary - or the Horsepersons realise they can get together outside of work

Hi everyone, I just realized today that I never posted my work from this past holiday exchange!  Here was my entry, hope you enjoy!

Title:  Anniversary

Rating:  G

Word Count: 6k

Summary: The horsepersons are summoned for a second attempt at Armageddon, but soon an irritating pattern emerges.    

A note about my illustrations:  I trace stock photos for a lot of my basic shapes because I’m not good at that and really only enjoy the detail work and coloring, so I consider my “art” more like photo manipulation than original artwork, so just keep that in mind!  This one is also partially based in TV canon and partially in book canon fyi

On DW

On AO3

“Who exactly summons them?”

“Not my department.”

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

The department that did, in fact, summon the horsepersons was not Gabriel’s department, which was the Department of Earthly Affairs.  Summoning the horsepersons, overseeing the signs of the end times, the rains of fish, and all that unpleasant business was a job that nobody really wanted.  It was thought of as something Hell was supposed to do, but Heaven had to take responsibility for it, roll up their sleeves, and make sure it was done properly.  It was shunted off onto whichever angels were unlucky enough to be assigned to the Department of Armageddon, which Gabriel had actually fought tooth and nail to leave.

The Department of Armageddon’s entire purpose was to prepare for the end times: to meticulously plan it out and ensure it went off smoothly.  As these things tend to go, the least desirable job got pushed off onto whomever was lowest on the command chain, or at least the one too polite or too much of a pushover to refuse the job.  And nobody really wanted to interact with the horsepersons.  The DoA was filled with poor souls who had been toughing out a job they’d hated for six-thousand years. It would take a toll on anyone.

The reader can probably imagine that Aziraphale is less popular with the Department of Armageddon than any other angels, who unfortunately already find him quite annoying.

But this story is not about Aziraphale.  It’s not even about Ambriel, the angel responsible for summoning the horsepersons.

No, this story is about the horsepersons, who lined up for Armageddon in the year of 1991 with great fervor and excitement, giddily straddling their motorcycles, finally able to run wild.  The way that one had fizzled out was quite a disappointment to them all.

Adam had banished them for a bit, and that had been no fun, but it’s impossible to do away with Famine, War, and Pollution as long as humans exist.  So they eventually reformed, springing from the minds of men and being unleashed back onto the world.

Somewhere in Europe, freshly spilled blood steamed and boiled, and War rose up, with blood smeared over her naked body like a newborn baby.  In Asia, in a field covered by vultures feasting on the carcass of an emaciated cow, Famine sat up, looking around disoriented and missing his fancy suits.  On the West Coast of the United States, Pollution washed ashore,  having drifted for a while after being spawned from the Great Pacific garbage patch. They picked seaweed out of their hair and took a few moments to orient themselves.  The last thing they remembered was staring down Adam Young.  And as they realised what had happened, they thought the exact same thing their two companions were thinking at that exact moment:

Aw, man!

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

In August 1992, the brave soul known simply as ‘the deliveryman’ had been contracted once again.  The request was again from someone named Ambriel, by whom he had been contracted at this precise time last year, and for the exact same reason:  To make four deliveries in various parts of the world to varyingly strange customers.

He didn’t really want to go, but it was his job, so there he was braving the quite literally riotous streets of a war-torn country scouring the chaos for a particular woman.

War had gone back to doing her reporter schtick, but it was starting to bore her.  She was interviewing an American soldier as he prattled on and on, pretending to write it down*, thinking about what her next possible career could be.  Probably somewhere in the American Military-Industrial complex, she thought.

*******

*She was currently drawing a sketch of him decapitated on the battlefield.

*******

This is how the deliveryman found her.  He doubled over panting from the exertion of running up to her, but managed to wheeze out, “Package for you, Miss.”

War turned to him, an intensely puzzled look on her face.  “What?”

“Package for you.”

War turned her back on the soldier.  “You again?  Aren’t you the same….  You have another package for me?”

He held it out.  It was suspiciously sword-shaped.

“But... “  She took the package and unwrapped it.  It was indeed a sword, long and shiny polished metal glittering in the harsh sun.  “But this means Armageddon is near.  Again?”

The deliveryman held out the signature pad hopefully.

She looked at him.

“I need you to sign for it, miss.”

“But we just did this.”

“This, ma’am?”

“Receiving our artifacts.  Riding to Armageddon.  The whole nine yards.”

“I do recall delivering this same sword to you last year.  Afraid I don’t know anything about it, though.  I’m just the deliveryman.”

“Are we doing it all again?”

“Afraid I don’t know, ma’am.  I just need you to sign for it, please.”

War held the sword out in both her hands, seeing her reflection in its length.  “That was one year ago today,” she realised.  “A year was all they decided to wait?  It took six-thousand to get ready the first time.”

Hope fading, the deliveryman stretched his arms out to full length to get the pen and pad as close to her as possible.  “Just need a signature, miss.”

War relented and took the pen, ripping the paper under the force of her signature.  The deliveryman looked a bit put off and shuffled away, unenthusiastic about his next delivery, which would require him to pick along an extremely dirty industrial oil field.

The soldier waited around to hopefully continue bragging about how brave he was, but War ignored him.  She simply continued to stare at the sword.  All she said was:

“Huh.”

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

“Here we all are, gathered together at last.”

Famine was the one to made this proclamation.  He said this to both War and Pollution, who were uncertainly standing around their motorcycles.  This time they had been summoned directly to the barren field of Armageddon, which was, as it had been at this time last year, distressingly empty.

“Just saw you last year,” said Pollution.  “Not quite ‘at last’ anymore, is it?.”

Famine gave them a dirty look.  “Yes, well, it’s what we said last year.  Seems only right to say it again.”

“They’re trying to make Armageddon happen again on the anniversary of it failing,” said War.  “Is that what’s up?”

“It is significant, isn’t it?” said Pollution.  “I was thinking about having some sort of celebration anyway.  One year and all that.  Seems like we should commemorate it somehow.”

“That’s stupid,” said Famine.  Famine usually hated commemorating things because anniversaries and celebrations always seemed to involve good food and drink.  Eat, drink, and be miserable was usually how it went for him.

“Anyway,” said War, “what are we waiting for?  The Big Guy’s not here yet, but shouldn’t there be, I don’t know, some sort of preliminaries going on?  Wasn’t there all sorts of wacky stuff going on last year, storm in the sky, showers of fish and all that?”

A figure could be seen spiraling downwards from the sky, wings spread wide.  Pollution shielded their face with their hand and stared up past the sun.  “Who’s’at?”

The figure revealed itself to be an angel, a jaunty figure with a halo struggling to keep up with his erratic motion, floating just behind his head as he ran full-speed towards them.

“And who might you be?” said Famine.

The angel huffed and puffed.  “The name’s--the name is Ambriel.”  He caught his breath and looked around at the gathering.  “Where is Death?”

As if on cue, Death appeared with a small pop of expanding air.  I HAVE NEVER HAD TO KILL THE SAME HUMAN TWICE, said Death.  AND I DO NOT ENJOY THE EXPERIENCE.  NEITHER DID HE.  WHATEVER YOU ARE PAYING THE DELIVERYMAN, YOU NEED TO PAY HIM MORE.

“Pay?” said Ambriel.  “Oh, that’s right.”  He snapped his fingers, and the deliveryman’s bank account balance was suddenly a few digits larger, for all the good it would do a dead man.

“So your name’s Ambriel,” said War.  “But who are you?”

“I’m the one responsible for making sure the horsepersons are present at Armageddon!” he crowed.

Famine craned his neck towards the empty, blue, peaceful, quiet, decidedly-not-Armageddon sky.  Pollution kicked a rock through the soft grass.  War scratched her head.

WE ARE HERE, said Death.

“But where’s Armageddon?” said War.  “We don’t start it.  That’s the antichrist.”

“Ah,” said Ambriel, sweating.  “Yes, well, we’re still working on that.  It was supposed to happen a year ago, you see…”

“Yes, you summoned us on the anniversary,” said Pollution.  “Are we going to do it again?”

“Turn the seas to blood?” said War, shaking her fists.

“Unleash ourselves upon the planet until nothing’s left but bones and bare rock?” said Famine, a sparkle in his eye.

“Bury humanity in the consequences of its own actions?” said Pollution giddily.

Ambriel grimaced as the three of them crowded in on him, pumping their fists in excitement.

THE FINAL REAPING, said Death.

“Yes,” said Ambriel.  “Um, yes, for sure, about that…”

The excitement on their faces began to fade.

“Well, you see, I’d thought everything would be ready to go by now.  The timeline they gave me for re-setting the Armageddon fittings was one year!  It should be well underway by now, but…”

War and Famine looked at each other disappointedly.  “But what?” said Pollution.

“But they’re not done with the paperwork yet,” said Ambriel, crumpling.  “There’s been delays and delays and delays.  Our field agent won’t cooperate.  Hell won’t cooperate.  The other departments won’t cooperate.  It’s a bloody mess!”

“That sounds like your problem,” said War.  “What do you want us to do about it?”

Ambriel wrung his hands.  “Well, I...I don’t know.”

War pouted.  “All right, well, this was a bust, then.”  She spun on her heel and marched across the field.  “Call me when there’s some action for me, then, love.”

“Wait!” cried Ambriel.  “Don’t leave!”

“I’ll be down by the river,” said Pollution.  “It’s been looking a bit too clean for my taste.  Too many local community day cleanups, if you ask me.”

Ambriel nervously stuttered as Pollution sauntered away in the opposite direction.  Then he looked at Famine.  “I suppose you’re going to leave me, too?”

Famine checked his very expensive watch.  “Well, my flight back to America doesn’t leave until five o’clock, so I might hang around a bit and see if you can kick off Armageddon in the next two hours.”

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

August 25, 1993

Pollution was the first one to show up this time, bearing a wine bottle and a little party hat affixed in their pale hair.  They’d worn the crown this whole time, so their head was starting to get a little crowded on top.

War had kept her sword.  It was slung casually over her shoulder as she picked her way across the empty field where Armageddon ostensibly was supposed to take place.  Only Famine had returned his artifact to Ambriel, because he thought modern electronic balances were much more efficient and chic than traditional balancing scales anyway, and he stood waiting to meet her empty-handed.

“Back again,” said War.  “I just got a letter in the mail this time, no deliveryman.  You?”

“The same,” said Famine.  “They’re lucky I got it.  Our mail gets filtered pretty thoroughly before it lands on my desk.  Pretty rude too, I had to drop everything to run on over...I thin heaven should start reimbursing me for the travel costs.”

Death popped into existence beside Pollution.  Ambriel was holding onto his arm, looking frightened.

THERE, YOU SEE? said Death.  NO NEED TO KILL ANYONE TO GET A MESSAGE TO ME.  WE CAN SKIP THAT AND HEAD RIGHT ON OVER TO ARMAGEDDON TOGETHER.

“Right,” said Ambriel.  “Sorry.”  He straightened his tunic and marched out in front of the semicircle of horsepersons.  “Welcome to Armageddon!” he loudly announced.  “It begins now!”

“I don’t see any signs of the end times--” Pollution began.

“Yet!” Ambriel thundered.  “They shall begin any moment!”

Pollution popped open the wine bottle.  “Yay.”

Ambriel, his hands still raised dramatically, began to sweat.

“The paperwork still isn’t done, is it?” said War.

“The paperwork still isn’t done,” said Ambriel, shoulders sagging.

“Then why did you call us here?” said Famine.  “Look, I’m a busy man.  I run a corporate empire, you know!”

“I thought it would be done!” said Ambriel, wringing his hands.  “We’re just…  We’re waiting on our field agent, Aziraphale.  He hasn’t turned in his forms yet, and he won’t answer my messages.”

“Should we go find this Aziraphale guy and teach him a lesson?” said War.

“A lesson about punctuality in filling out paperwork?” said Pollution.  “Are you sure you’re the best one to teach him that lesson?”

“All right, all right,” said Famine.  “Look, Ambriel, is there anything we can do to move things along?  This is the third time in a row--”

“The second anniversary,” Pollution interrupted.

“--Right, thanks, White--the third time we’ve done our ride and gone to Armageddon.  It’s starting to get a bit anticlimactic.”

“That’s his job, not ours,” said War.  “Pfft.  Black, what’s next?  You want to tempt sinners to Hell?  Reap souls after death?  Who else’s job do you want to do?”

Famine grew red.  “I’m just saying--”

“Well, whatever,” said War, slinging her sword back into the sheath strapped across her back.  She hooked her arm around Famine’s head and gave him a noogie.  “We can kill some time while Ambriel finishes preparing for Armageddon.”

HMMM, said Death.  YES...SINCE IT SEEMS LIKE TIME IS THE ONLY THING WE’LL BE KILLING.

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

August 25, 1994

Famine kept his scales this time.  Their home for the next year was the corner of his desk in his office on top of 666 Fifth Avenue, right next to his extremely slim computer.

Famine played with the chain, strangely delicate and cold, when an email popped up on his computer.

To the Black horseperson of the apocalypse:

Please meet us at the appropriate place at the appropriate time.  The end is nigh.  The four horsemen shall ride and the world shall end in fire and blood..

Famine started to type a response.  But before he could, his computer dinged with a reply: all to the previous email, from czugiber@aol.com:

Can I bring a plus one this time?

A few days and a few thousand miles later, Famine trekked over the dry ground of Armageddon with his scales in hand.  Pollution and War were already standing in the middle of the field, the exact same place Ambriel had appeared the last three years.

War had a demoness hanging off her arm.

“Ah, Black!” said War.  “Just in time.  I was just in the process of introducing my girlfriend, Ashtarte.”

“Call me Ash,” said Ashtarte.  A smile, too broad and with too many teeth that were too sharp, spread Cheshire cat-like across her features.  She wore a punk mesh top, red boots, and had a little pair of horns and forked tail, like she was trying to impersonate a Halloween costume of a demon.

“Uh, okay, Ash,” said Famine.

“The Black horseperson of the apocalypse!” said Ash.  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.  Big fan of your work!”

“Big fan?” said Famine.  He straightened his tie.  “Thanks very much.”

“We met over cocktails in a little bar in Saudia Arabia,” said War.  “Making fun of the same reporters.”

Ash held up her hand in a “V” pose.

“None of us have ever really, uh…” said Famine.

“Had a girlfriend?” said War.  “You don’t know that.”

Famine fidgeted.  “So you have had a girlfriend?”

“Er, well, no, not really,” said War.  She hefted Ash onto her shoulder and flexed her bicep; the smaller woman fit snugly into her shoulder.  “But you should try it sometime!  Armageddon keeps getting delayed, so we might as well enjoy our time here, right?”

“But what’s the appeal?”

“I think he doesn’t understand it,” said Pollution, “because he can’t even imagine how to get a girlfriend.”

Death appeared stormily, his biker boots thumping against the ground a bit too hard.  AND WHERE IS OUR SUMMONER?

“Not here yet,” said Pollution, fiddling with the wine bottle they held.  “But why don’t we have some drinks first?  Enjoy our time here, right?”

They summoned a card table from somewhere, and Pollution pulled up a seat and patted the one next to them in the hope of coaxing Death to sit down.  Famine ambivalently sat down next to War, who had Ash on her lap.

WE’RE NOT HAVING A PARTY, said Death.  WE’RE HERE FOR BUSINESS REASONS.

“Sit down, big guy,” said Famine.  “Nothing wrong with loosening up a little.”

Death remained motionless for a few moments, tense with annoyance.  Then, his biker leathers crinkling, he lowered himself into a seat.  BUT I WON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO DRINK.

“Aw,” said Pollution, popping the cork off the bottle.  “Do you not like it?”

Death’s helmet visor reflected Pollution’s face impassively back at them as they poured drinks.

“Have you never drunk alcohol before?” said War.

Death didn’t answer.

“You haven’t, have you?” said Famine.  “Do you want to try some?”

Death lifted his helmet off his head, setting it on his lap.  Then he removed one leather glove, revealing his bony hand.  The white stalk snaked out and curled around a glass, bringing it to his skeletal grin.  The wine dribbled through his jaw and onto his leather jacket.

Famine grimaced.  Pollution thought his jacket looked better with stains on it, but didn’t say so.  They passed the next half hour in jovial conversation, the wine warming their bodies and lifting their spirits.  Ash withdrew a deck of cards from her pocket, which entertained them as they laughed and joked.

They were all quite drunk by the time Ambriel arrived.  He sprinted over at top speed, careening into the table.  “What are you all doing?”

“We’re having a drink!” said Ash, waving her glass in the air and sloshing wine.

“Wh—”  Ambriel took a second to look very confused at the appearance of a fifth horseperson, then shook it off and decided it didn’t matter.  “Whatever!  Get up, put this stuff away!  Armageddon is starting!”

“For real this time?” said Pollution.

A second angel could be seen descending from Heaven.  “Yes, for real this time!” Ambriel exploded.  “The archangel Michael is on his way!  Now get ready!”

War rolled her eyes and folded up the table.  Pollution disappointedly retrieved the half-empty wine bottle, sipping from it as they walked over to Ambriel.

Michael touched down, his impressive dusky wingspan battering them with dusty clouds.  “Ambriel, I was told the armies of Hell are gathering here, yes?”

“Yes!” said Ambriel.  “The antichrist is coming.  He’s on his way now.”

“He’s…”  Michael looked over the the horsepersons.  Famine shrugged.    War examined her nails.  Pollution continued to sip from their bottle.  Death very stormily crossed his arms.

“He’s supposed to already be here,” said Michael.  “I don’t see any of the signs of Armageddon…”

“I gave the antichrist Adam Young a very stern lecture about his role, and demanded he come to Armageddon,” said Ambriel.  “And he said he was coming.”

Pollution cocked their head.  “He said he was coming?”

“Yes.  His exact words were, ‘Okay, Boomer.’”

Pollution choked, wine shooting out their nose.

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

August 25, 1998

“Can we meet at your restaurant next time?”

Famine turned to Pollution, the only other figure with him at the yet again empty field of Armageddon.  “What?”

“The next time this happens, can we meet at one of your restaurants?”

Famine sighed.  The first few times this had happened, he’d argued that they didn’t know there was going to be a ‘next time,’ but by now, the anniversary of the Apocalypse usually heralded them gathering to stand around for a while and not much else.  “I doubt Ambriel would go for that.  We’re supposed to be in this spot.”

Pollution shifted from foot to foot.  “But the Newtrition corp has expanded, right?  It has branches around here now.  It wouldn’t be that far.”

“You don’t want to eat at my restaurant,” said Famine, trying to hide his shock that Pollution was so familiar with his franchise.  He hadn’t thought any of the other horsepersons had cared about his silly little business.  Although it was nice that someone was paying attention.  “Why not?” said Pollution.  “It seems nice.  It produces lots of waste paper.  And styrofoam cartons.  Love those things.”

“It doesn’t serve actual food,” said Famine.  “Just a bunch of nonsense.  It has no nutritional value.”

“Well,” said Pollution.  “We don’t actually need to eat, do we?  Back in the forties, I went a good decade without eating.  Too busy with the mills in Pittsburgh to stop and eat.”

Famine opened his mouth to deliver a snappy retort, only to find he didn’t have one.

“‘Course that was before I took the crown from Pestilence, so I was just a minor horseperson then. Well, my point is, it’s not like we’ll be affected by malnutrition.  As long as it tastes good, right?”

Famine lit a cigarette.  “If you want to look at it that way, I suppose.”

The rumble of a motorcycle filled the air, and War pulled up with Ash perched on the back of her bike.

“We can’t meet at my restaurant,” said Famine.  “That’s inappropriate.”  He wasn’t sure why the idea made him so uncomfortable, and he turned to greet War.  “Red.”

“Black,” said War, dismounting.  She put her bike helmet on the saddle as Ash fell off behind her.  “Hey, you don’t have to call me ‘Red,’ you know.”

Famine stopped.  “What?”

“I have a name.”

Famine bristled.  “Whatever.  Where’s that stupid little twig of an angel this time?”

“Geez, who pissed in your cereal,” said Ash, dusting herself off.

“I’m just getting a little tired of this!” said Famine.  “I have to fly over from America every year in August only to be told to go right back home!”

Pollution opened a bag of crisps, savoring the grease.  They looked disappointedly into the bag.  “Black.”

“What?”

“Don’t ruin my crisps!”

“I’m not ruining your—”  Famine suddenly realised he was ruining the crisps, because he was so damn frustrated by how inefficient Heaven and Armageddon and this whole thing was.  He was used to running things like a well-oiled machine, and this….

“Black, stop ruining the poor kid’s crisps,” said War.

“You’ve never appreciated my work,” Famine snapped.

Ambriel chose this moment to appear.  “All right, everyone!” he said.  “This time I’ve really—”

“Black, I was very much looking forward to my crisps!” Pollution said.

“You all only notice how hard I work when it affects you!” said Famine.  “I’m the only one putting real effortinto building an empire—”

“You’re the only one?” said Pollution.

Scared, Ambriel hid behind his clipboard, unsure of how to wrangle them.

Famine suddenly realised that War was gleefully egging on the fight between him and Pollution with her horseperson powers.  “Red!”

The tension in the air immediately dissipated, and War slunk back, looking chastised.  

His head more clear now, Famine smoothed out his tie.  The booted footsteps of Death reverberated in the air before he made his appearance.  AND HOW MANY ANNIVERSARIES IS THIS NOW?  I’VE LOST COUNT.

“You’re late,” said Ambriel snootily.

Death turned to him.  Even though he had no face to speak of, and still had his helmet on, everyone could clearly imagine the expression he would make.

“Seven,” said Pollution through a mouthful of crisps.

A second angel descended from the sky, this one unhurried, dragging its proverbial feet.

AND DO I HAVE ANYTHING TO BE LATE FOR THIS TIME? said Death.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Ambriel.  “Because I have with me the field agent who was responsible for delaying Armageddon last time.  So now he’s going to kick it off.”

A chubby angel with oodles of curly hair touched down, looking around guiltily.  “Er, hello...I’m Aziraphale.”

“Oh, you looked nicer in a dress,” said Pollution.

“All right,” said Ambriel.  “Let’s go, then.  Go on.”

Aziraphale shuffled his feet.

“Don’t we need the antichrist?” volunteered Famine.

“The antichrist is unavailable,” said Ambriel icily.  “We’ll have to make do without him.”

“Unavailable?!” exclaimed War.

“He means Adam Young doesn’t want Armageddon to happen,” said Aziraphale, who then shut up right quick at an elbow jab from Ambriel.

“You can make it happen without the antichrist?” said Pollution, crunching through a mouthful of crisps.  “Thought was the whole point of him.  So how does it work?”

“Ahem,” said Ambriel.  “That is none of your concern.  Just worry about your own part.  Now, let’s begin.”

Ambriel stepped forward to direct the horsepersons.  War kept looking up at the sky, noticing Armageddon didn’t seem to be happening.  Pollution licked their fingers, other hand firmly stuck in their crisps packet.

“And now Aziraphale will--Aziraphale?”  

While Ambriel had had his back turned, Aziraphale had scuttled off, wings drawn wide and flapping erratically like a prey animal running from a fox.  “Ahhh!  Get back here!”

Ambriel went off chasing him.  War stood where she was, sword poised, and watched him go.  “Um…”

Pollution finished their packet of crisps and dropped it on the ground, wiping their hands on their shirt.  “Is he coming back?”

They stayed there for about half an hour waiting for Ambriel, and decided he wasn’t coming back.  Ash sweet-talked War into hitting the bars after that.  They managed to convince everyone but Death to come along, too.

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

August 25, 2001

“Hey, why does it take an apocalypse for us to get together?” said War.

Pollution picked idly at the tablecloth on the little picnic table they had summoned.  They were trying to decide if ketchup or mustard would make better stains on it.  “Hmm?”

War straddled the bench, picking at the picnic basket.  “I mean, I know not everyone likes to spend time with their coworkers outside of work, but there’s nothing stopping us from getting together outside of Armageddon, right?”

Pollution stopped.  “Hmm?”

“She’s saying she wants to spend more time with you guys,” said Ash.

“We can do that?!” Pollution said.

“Well, yeah, I guess,” said War.

Pollution’s eyes sparkled.

“Come sit down and enjoy this little basket you put together,” said Ash.  “It looks lovely.”

The weather was fabulous, once again with no signs of the inclement weather heralding Armageddon, and a delicious breeze tugged at them and whipping waves through the dry summer grass.  Pollution fished out some plastic utensils and set them out on the table.

Ash took a sandwich from the basket.  It definitely had worms of some sort in it, but being from Hell, she was used to such things.

“Where’s Famine, anyway?” said Pollution, setting a pile of napkins on the table and watching them immediately blow away in the wind.

“Oh, he’s coming!” said War.  “And he said he was bringing a plus one this year.”

“A plus one?”

“Sounds like he’s got a girlfriend too.  Or boyfriend.  Or what-have-you.”

Pollution scratched their head.  “Wonder who it could be.”

With a rustle of grass, Death stood beside them.

“Come sit down!” said War.  “We’ve been waiting for you!”

Death looked at them contemplatively.  I DIDN’T RECEIVE A SUMMONS THIS YEAR.

“Huh,” said Pollution, letting their sandwich wrapper fall to the ground.  “I just realised, neither did I.”

“Yeah,” said War, waving her hand dismissively.  “But after doing this annually for ten years, I think we get the point, right?”

Death stood like a silent sentinel.  Death was rarely the type to display any emotion at all, but to War and Pollution, it looked like he was fighting to not indulge in some unconventional display of sentiment.

A smile spread across War’s face.  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

I JUST WANTED TO SEE IF I WAS NEEDED THIS YEAR, said Death.

“Well, Armageddon is probably delayed again,” said War.  “So you’re not, really.  You’re free to leave.”

Death stood still.

“Come sit down,” said Ash, patting the bench.  “You’re always so serious.”

Death clomped over and swung his enormous legs over the wooden bench.

“Heard Famine’s got himself a new squeeze,” gossiped War.

OH, said Death.  YES…

The grass in the field next to them dried up, swirling brittle pieces making a small tornado, and with a mournful nicker, a skeletal horse materialized.  Its emaciated frame was oozing with dripping wounds and festering decay.  Atop its back was a figure in a white robe with a long, beaked mask.

Famine pulled up on his motorcycle.  “Fellas, good to see you again!”

“It’s been a very long time,” said the newcomer, although no, he wasn’t new at all…

“You brought Pestilence!” Pollution yelled.  “He’s not a horseperson anymore!  I replaced him!”

“Tsk tsk, you young punk,” said Pestilence, dismounting.  “No respect at all.”

Pollution glared.

“He’s not here as a horseperson,” said Famine.  “He’s my plus one.”

“That’s cheating!” said Pollution.

Pestilence winked, which was absolutely infuriating.

Pollution crossed their arms as Famine and Pestilence took their seats.  “This looks delightful,” said Pestilence, taking a crisp from a bowl.

Pollution grumbled.  Famine was a little disgruntled that they had set up a nice meal, but he muttered an echo of Pestilence’s praise.

“It’s just weird,” said Pollution.  “It’s like you’re dating my dad.”

“I’m not your Dad,” said Pestilence.  “We barely met before you kicked me out.”

“I think you just don’t like Pestilence,” said Famine.

Pollution bristled.  “Maybe.”

Famine shrugged.  Somewhere in the world, the minor horseperson of Awkward Interpersonal Issues felt their power surge.

“It’s because they’re afraid I’ll wrangle the job of horseperson #3 from them,” said Pestilence.  “The anti-vax moms in the United States are making them nervous.”

Pollution’s cheeks went red.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” said Pestilence.  “I don’t want to be one of the Main Four anymore.  It’s quite dull.  The humans’ attitude towards smallpox ruined the fun for me.  Some of my best work, all down the drain.  Feff.”  He sipped some cola.  “But you seem to be doing a splendid job.  I hear nowadays everyone’s mad about straws, of all things.”

Pollution perked up.  The atmosphere at the table was much lighter after that.

“Isn’t Ambriel going to show up?” said War.  “Usually right about now is when he comes down, babbling about how Armageddon is really going to happen this time, and how we need to get ready.”

Pestilence scratched his head.  “Ambriel?  He’s the one who had to come tell me they were swapping me out for Pollution.  He still works in the Department of Armageddon?  Poor sod always got the worst jobs pushed onto him.”

Ambriel did, in fact, show up eventually.  He had none of his usual bravado.  He dragged his sandaled feet through the dirt and flopped down to join them at the picnic table.  The four of them shared a look, then looked back at Ambriel.  “Hey, kid, what’s wrong?” said Famine.

“Useless,” said Ambriel.  “It’s all useless.  Nothing I do ever works.  No matter how hard I try, Heaven can’t get its crap together to make Armageddon happen.  Oh, pardon my language.”

“Hey, cheer up,” said Pollution.  “The first time we tried, the four of us got beaten by little kids with sticks and rocks.  That’s way more humiliating than anything you’ve had to go through.”

Famine glared at Pollution.  Pollution unwrapped a lolly, enjoying the crinkling of the wrapper.

Ambriel thunked his head on the table, groaning.  “No use, it’s no use!”

“Well, we’re all having a lovely time anyway!” said Ash.  “August 25 is my favorite day of the year now!”

“It’s supposed to be Armageddon,” moaned Ambriel.  “It’s not supposed to be a celebration.”

War stabbed a little cocktail weiner with her Bowie knife.  “We’ve been known to celebrate in unconventional ways.”

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

Present day

“1845.”

“No, that was you?”

Pollution sucked on their choco-whippy milkshake, eyes bouncing from War to Pestilence.

“Yep,” said Pestilence, leaning back, looking very pleased with himself.

“I thought for sure that was Famine,” said War.

“I wish,” said Famine.  “I had been working in Ireland for a few years at that point, but hadn’t had much success.”

“Phytophthora infestans,” said Pestilence.  “One of my favorites.

“He refuses to lend it to me,” said Famine.  “Greedy bastard.”

“Not your jurisdiction.”

They all shared a hearty laugh.

“Oh, Pollution,” said War, snapping her fingers.  “I just remembered.  That science project we were talking about the other day, the bacteria that humans were cultivating to break down plastic.”

Pollution’s face screwed up in displeasure.

“I was working on trying to divert some of the NHS’s funding into more bioweapon applications.  Maybe if you do me a little favor in return, I can get their funding pulled?”

Pollution nodded happily, sucking through their straw.

“Hey, here he comes!” said War, throwing up her hand.

Death strode over, standing at the edge of the table.

“Sit down,” said Ash, patting the seat.  “We’re having a lovely time.”

I HAVE… said Death.  If it were possible, he seemed embarrassed.

“What?” said Pollution.

I HAVE ALSO BROUGHT A PLUS ONE.

“What, a boyfriend?” said Pestilence.

NOT LIKE THAT…. said Death.  He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small bundle of fur, which blinked and mewled.

Ash had stars in her eyes, putting her hands on her head as though to keep her brain from exploding out.  “Is that a kitten?”

I FOUND IT OUTSIDE.

“It’s so cute!” said Pollution.

I HAD NEVER NOTICED THEM BEFORE, said Death.  THEY ARE...NICE.

“Well, nothing wrong with enjoying the pleasures of the world,” said Famine.  “Since it seems like we’ll be here for a while.”

Death sat down, putting the cat on the table.  The minimum wage employees scrambling to make the food didn’t have the time to notice or care.

“We were just discussing some of the other anniversaries we have besides August 25,” said War.  “Turns out we have quite a lot of them!  We should share.”

Death was silent.

“February 14,” said War.  “The start of the first War in Mesopotamia.  That was my favorite one.  I find the date so deliciously funny with what they’ve done with it now.”

“September 27,” said Pollution.  “When the first mass-produced automobile left the factory.”

“What about you?” siad Famine.  

“Black’s right,” said Pollution.  “You must have one.”

Death hummed for a minute.  Then:  NOVEMBER 16.  THE DAY THE FIRST MAN DIED.

“And kicked all this off,” said Famine.  “I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked their glasses against each other’s.

“Hey,” said Famine.  “You guys have been calling me ‘Black,’ this whole time, and while I guess it’s technically what I am…. Well, I picked a name.  A more human name.  You could use it, if you like.”

“Would you like that?” said Pollution.

“I think so.  It’s Sable.”

“Raven Sable,” said War.  “That’s right.  I like it.”

“What about you?” said Sable.  “Don’t you have one?”

“Oh, yeah!” said War.  “Wouldn’t that just be great!  Call me Carmine.”

“It’s such a good name!” said Ash joyfully.

Carmine beamed.  She’d never known this would feel good, but it did.

Pollution shyly tapped their fingers on the table.  “Chalk, please.”

All eyes turned towards Death.

“Well?” said Chalk.  “Only if you want to.”

AZRAEL.

“It’s perfect,” said Ash.

Sable snapped his fingers.  “Guys, hold on a second, I just remembered something.”

“Hm?” said Chalk.

“August 25.  Armageddon.”

“So?” said Carmine.  “That never happens anyway.”

“Well, we were so excited to meet we forgot we were supposed to go to Armageddon first.”

Carmine choked on the pickle she had been eating.  “Oh yeah,” said Ash, very slowly.  “I guess that’s fine, though.  But, oh dear…  Did anyone tell Ambriel?”

Azrael grinned, moreso than a regular skeletal grin.  I’M SURE HE’S DOING JUST FINE.

“I’ve got it!  I’ve finally got it!”

Ambriel, almost tripping over his robes, waved his papers in the air as he sprinted towards Armageddon.  “I finally have all the departments in accord, the stars have aligned, the paperwork is signed, the—”

Ambriel stopped and beheld the field of Armageddon, butterflies floating by and flowers bouncing merrily, very conspicuously empty and peaceful and not trodden by the harbingers of Armageddon.

“Oh, dear…”

[365daysoftododeku]

24th September 2019

Author: Mara

________________________________________________________________

Secret Marriage

Some people didn’t get it. Said some people were mostly the journalists who kept on asking who he was married to. Midoriya Izuku—his hero name was Deku—had climbed to the top of the hero rank list in the last decade, currently placing fourth. This had trusted him in the limelight, and generally, he was fine with it. However, people liked to ask really personal questions, like what his relationship status was. Seven years ago, he had been single, six years ago, he was seeing someone and for three years, he was married to said person.

Most people had made peace with the fact that Izuku liked to keep his personal life, well, personal. Some people hadn’t. A journalist had managed to find Izuku’s wedding records, only to find out that they needed some high-level clearance to see who Izuku was married to. Just like that his address was completely hidden from the public.

This tidbit of information made people think he was married to someone ‘normal’, someone who didn’t wake up every day to fight evil. If their identity was known, they might be in danger. Not that those vultures cared. Today was another day of work, he was just on parole, when a flock of journalists showed up out of nowhere, throwing questions at his head.

“What’s your wife’s name?”

“What kind of job does she have?”

“Are you planning on getting children?”

While Izuku was annoyed by the questions and brushed them off with polite ‘no comments’, he couldn’t help but find it amusing. If they only knew how far they were from the truth.

When Izuku wouldn’t give them the time of day, they moved onto his patrol partner. Usually, he would have an intern or a rookie hero joining him on patrol, wanting to offer the younger generation some first-hand experience, but today, pro hero Polarise had joined him. Polarise was ranked second in the hero rank list, only behind Ground Zero—which was Bakugo Katsuki, an old friend of Izuku. Like Izuku, Polarise was married, and like Izuku, his marriage files require a high-level clearance. He was also Todoroki Shouto—Midoriya Shouto nowadays—Izuku’s husband.

“Will you ever considered children?” one of the interviewers asked, pushing her mic underneath Shouto’s nose.

Shouto grunted, looking uncomfortable, “maybe in the future,” he mumbled, trying to side-step the horde of interviewers.

Izuku’s amusement died in seconds. Shouto wanted kids? It was a maybe, not a no. He always had assumed Shouto had no interest in adopting children, which Izuku couldn’t blame him. After his less-than-stellar childhood, raising a kid might be too much for him. And they were busy. Awfully busy. Hero work required a lot of time, and neither of them would want to stop anytime soon. While Izuku was all for adopting children, he did want to be able to spend time raising the child, and not pay a nanny to do all the work.

Realising that the lot had completely surrounded Shouto, and Shouto clearly didn’t know how to get away without tarnishing his reputation by being too rude, Izuku faked a call. After conversing a minute with a non-existing receiver, he made the motion to Shouto that they had to go.

Izuku got them away within a few seconds, using his quirk to launch them to a rooftop, far away from the interviewers that liked to pick apart their entire social life.

“I don’t get how my father stands it, having those people flock around him.”

The thing was, Izuku did get it. He explained it to Shouto as they were walking over rooftops, making sure to keep an eye on their surroundings in case something happened. The difference between Shouto’s father and Shouto was huge. Both the physical difference—Shouto had grown tall and lean, but not all that broad. That was more Izuku, who had remained pretty short but had grown in width and general bulk. But Shouto was also a lot shyer, more awkward with people and, he wasn’t allowed to badmouth people. Their agency had mentioned that it most likely would make his ties with Endeavor (Shouto’s dad) more prominent, as Endeavor wasn’t the kindest hero among the bunch. 

~*~

Of course, the next day, one of the headlines was that pro hero Polarise wanted to have kids with his wife. Izuku’s friend Ochako—who was also a pro-hero—had been caught laughing till she was crying when she saw the headline. Izuku couldn’t blame her, though it had hurt a little. Not the fact that the people seriously did think that Shouto was married to a woman, while he was gay (Izuku was bi—he could’ve married a woman). The kid part hurts a little, as Shouto had never told him. Though, it might have been a spur-of-the-moment thing, when frustration was high and it was a fleeting thought. Maybe the question of ‘what if me and Izuku would have a kid?’ and the idea didn’t seem to displease him.

When they walked into work, Shouto’s manager almost slammed into him in her rush to meet him. Even she didn’t know who Shouto was married to. Only their closest friends knew, and that’s because they had been there are the wedding. And their family. Shouto’s father had been displeased but hadn’t thrown the news in the wide, open world. After all, Shouto had been his pride and joy, despite him marrying someone that couldn’t provide him with biological children. 

“Polarise, you’re getting kids?” she asked, her voice filled with excitement.

Shouto was sweating, his cheeks darkening. Shouto still wasn’t good with people, and Izuku wondered why he had chosen his current manager. She was really excitable and made Shouto feel uncomfortable most of the time. On the other hand, he might need a social butterfly to manage his appointments, events and go-to places.

“I said maybe,” Shouto answered. “I—yes, maybe. In the future.”

Izuku felt his throat close up with emotions. This time it wasn’t a slip-up, it was a deliberate answer.

Izuku noticed that Ochako, who was lounging with another pro-hero at the coffee machine, was shooting glances at the three of them. When Shouto’s ‘maybe’ passed, her eyes grew huge. The other pro-hero, who also was listening, almost choked on his coffee. Izuku was glad he never patrolled with Kaminari Denki—Chargebolt—he would leave that to Shouto.

“Deku,” Shouto’s manager’s attention moved towards him. “When are you getting kids? You’re getting close to thirty, I think.”

Izuku managed to put on his ‘social event’ smile and answered, “We haven’t discussed the options yet.”

This didn’t seem to deter Shouto’s manager’s mood, she refocussed herself on Shouto and started to discuss the work for today, the patrol routes, the places he had to be if he wasn’t called in for back-up.

~*~

For a while, Shouto remained in the spotlight. Wild theories were thrown around, ranging between that Shouto’s wife was actually pregnant to the fact that people thought Shouto was throwing them off their trail. He didn’t have a wife, but a husband. These people weren’t wrong, only their possibilities were a bit… off. Izuku was a little offended that almost every pro-hero or guy Shouto ever spoke to was considered, but him.

It was weekend—well, technically, it was Tuesday, but for Izuku, Tuesday and Wednesday was his weekend. Crime didn’t stop for the actual weekends. Shouto had been called in for work—leaving Izuku all on his own to mope.

Playing with his wedding band—something he rarely wore due to work-related risks—Izuku wondered if this was what marriage was supposed to look like. Shouto loved him, he claimed so, but Izuku also felt that Shouto was hiding something. Or more like, not bothering to address things. He, at least, could’ve have mentioned something about the whole ‘getting a kid’ situation. Not to mention that all the news articles started to make him feel insecure. Nobody thought he was a worthy candidate to have married Shouto—even the headquarters garbage man had a bigger chance with Shouto than Izuku. The garbage man was nice, but he was twice their age and happily married—not that the tabloids ever bothered to look into that.

Twisting the ring around, Izuku decided that he should bring up the subject about children. If Shouto would brush him off, he would at least know that he hadn't been serious. It could be possible that Shouto just didn’t know where to start and would use Izuku’s mention of the subject as a starting point. Izuku hoped for that latter.

The thing was, Izuku was a coward. When Shouto came home, slightly banged up but otherwise fine, Izuku just dragged him to the couch and continued the movie they had paused when Shouto had been called in.

~*~

As a couple, they weren’t sexually active. The time they spent in the bedroom was dedicated to watching television or cuddling. Shouto had made it clear, early into their relationship, he had no desire for intercourse. Izuku had been fine with it. However, that also meant he didn’t see his husband naked an awful lot, especially with the cold winter snapping at their heels. Not to mention that both were workaholics and often fell in bed without even getting changed.

Yet, Izuku had noticed that Shouto had been awfully adamant about keeping his shirt on. Once again, Izuku was a coward and didn’t ask. If Shouto wanted to keep on his shirt then it was fine. He wasn’t going to judge his husband for something as keeping a shirt on all the time, despite that it was a little odd.

Izuku came home late from work. By now, Shouto must be fast asleep, so Izuku made sure to be quiet. Putting his bag with his hero uniform next to the laundry and switching his shoes, Izuku tiptoed into the house. Turned out he didn’t need to be quiet. Shouto was sitting at the dining table, wide awake and filing in some paperwork. Knowing that his husband loathed paperwork, and wasn’t even behind or anything like that, Izuku knew that something was off.

“Shouto are you okay?” Izuku asked.

His husband looked up. He did look tired, which was odd. If Shouto was tired, he would just go to bed. Unless he wanted to speak with Izuku.

Izuku felt sick. Was Shouto going to explain why he had been behaving a little oddly? Was he going to ask for a divorce? Izuku wouldn’t be surprise. Deep down, he wondered how this had happened, the two of them, a thing.

“I’m sorry,” Shouto blurted out.

What a great start. Izuku now really felt ill, wondering if he could actually could get sick from worry. Knowing himself, most likely.

“Remember the incident, a couple of months ago?”

Izuku blinked. That incident? It had been a rescue mission, in which the enemy could absorb fire and was weak against ice. So Shouto had been their main offence man, the rest being support. The idiot had gotten hypothermia, as he hadn’t balanced his temperature. He had been hospitalised for a few days, just to be sure, but he had been fired and had the stamp of approval from the doctor. At least, according to Shouto.

Realising he hadn’t answered Shouto, Izuku nodded.

“I was released, considered healthy. So I went for my regular check-up a few weeks later and,” Shouto looked pained.

Izuku had a bad feeling about this. Usually, when someone went back for a check-up, and they pulled an uncomfortable face when saying the ‘and’, something was off.

“I will have to retire soon.”

This was almost worse than Shouto wanting to ask for a divorce. Shouto loved being a hero. It was like Shouto’s dream career would come to a sudden end while he wasn’t even thirty.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

Shouto got up, and for a few seconds, Izuku thought he had demanded too much. But Shouto just lifted up his shirt, showing off the right side of his ribcage. A thin layer of frost was covering a part of the ribcage.

“The doctor said I would freeze if I use my quirk too much. In the past, it has disappeared almost completely, but when I use too much of my quirk—

Izuku got flashbacks to All Might. It wasn’t exactly the same, but still. Shouto couldn’t use his quirk too much, which meant he couldn’t be a pro-hero anymore. It explained why Shouto had been wearing shirts all the time. Izuku would have panicked if he had seen Shouto’s ribs being covered in frost.

“You aren’t freaking out yet,” Shouto said. He looked a little surprised.

Taking a deep breath, Izuku managed to get his vocal-cords working again, “I shouldn’t be freaking out, you should. You’re losing your dream job.”

He grabbed Shouto’s hands. They fitted together nicely, Shouto’s hands pale against Izuku’s tan.

“I’ve given it some thought,” Shouto answered, squeezing Izuku’s hand. “It sucks, but look at it positively, I won’t have a job. At least not as a pro-hero. I probably will be put on light duty.”

How was that positive? Well, Izuku assumed he would see Shouto more but wouldn’t Shouto get bored? There was no more paperwork, only free time at home. There wasn’t much to occupy yourself with at home either. Their cats didn’t require a lot of attention. Maybe Shouto would pick up cooking, but even then he still had plenty of hours to kill.

Shouto looked nervous, clearly unhappy of having to carry the conversation, “I hadn’t lied, when I was telling people I was considering kids. I’m good to go for a few more years on light duty, if not longer. And maybe, in a couple of years, I’m ready—as far as I can be ready for kids because they frighten me.”

Izuku’s heart leapt in surprise. He never had hidden the fact he liked kids but never had pushed for it. Shouto had picked up Izuku’s desire, and took an otherwise horrible situation and made it a little bit better.

“In a couple of years,” Shouto repeated. Izuku realised he was grinning broadly, looking happier then he should be.

“If you don’t want kids in a couple of years, it’s fine.” Izuku felt the unease of the last few weeks melt away. “Having kids is a mutual commitment. And with your retirement, work won’t be as much fun. Maybe I will follow your example in a couple of years.”

Suddenly, Shouto groaned, “the vultures will have a field day,” he muttered. “Now they will really think my wife is pregnant with a child.”

“Let them. Clearly, the media has no idea what kind of people we are.”

Shouto raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Our garbage man seems more likely to be your husband than me.”

Izuku’s husband was a little shit and just laughed. No words of comfort, no reassurance, just laughter. He married a complete arse (he didn’t).

________________________________________________________________

Would you like your work to be featured in the 365 Days of TodoDeku Project? Apply here! (≧∇≦)/

[loveanimalstory-blog]

Who Cares If They're Cute? This Zoologist Accepts Animals On Their Own Terms

Zoologist Lucy Cooke says humans have gotten it all wrong about sloths. "People think that because the animal is slow that it's somehow useless and redundant," she says. But actually, "they are incredibly successful creatures." Cooke is that the founding father of the Sloth Appreciation Society and therefore the author of a replacement book called the reality About Animals: Stoned Sloths, Lovelorn Hippos, and Other Tales from the Wild Side of Wildlife. The book aims to line the record straight on some long-held misconceptions about the animal world. "The sloth isn't the sole animal that's being misunderstood during this way," she says. "I thought it had been time that we rebranded the Animalia consistent with fact and not sentimentality – because we have a habit of viewing the Animalia through the prism of our own rather narrow existence and judging animals on our terms." The book discusses creatures big and little, furry and slippery: eels, bats, hippos, frogs, storks, and more. "I wanted to showcase a variety of stories," Cooke says. "I wanted to point out misunderstandings that date all the way from Aristotle to Disney." She sat right down to talk with us about how we are (literally) watching sloths the wrong way up, why Aristotle was so confused about eels, and why pandas need ambiance to urge within the mood. Interview Highlights On humans projecting their bipedal ape values onto sloths We are busy, bipedal apes, and that we are hooked into moving faster than nature intended. So we glance at the cheetah and that we think ... this magnificent creature, and that we looked down at the sloth, and think: Oh, it is so slow, it is so pathetic. ... The sloth is an icon of energy saving. ... They've managed to survive by some fantastically peculiar adaptations that allow them to survive on only a few calories; actually, just 160 calories each day, which is about an equivalent as a packet of chips. ... The early explorers who first traveled to America ... described [the sloth] because the stupidest animal which will be found within the world. ... They got it wrong because the sloth is an inverted quadruped — so it hangs from the trees. And to hold like that's an incredibly energy-saving existence. ... the matter is, once you turn the sloth the opposite high ... gravity removes their dignity. On the tendency of films like March of the Penguins to moralize animal behavior We are, I think, a very insecure species, and we're constantly trying to find our reflection within the Animalia . ... It happens a day within the newspapers, and on the TV, and in documentaries. We should not be looking to the Animalia for moral guidance. we should always be looking inside ourselves. ... There are hazards involved in choosing a little, flightless, fish-eating bird for moral guidance. On tracing a number of our animal ideas all the way back to Aristotle He's the grandfather of zoology, and he was an excellent scientist. ... He'd measure and observe animals in place, and dissect them, then draw conclusions about their behavior, and he made some amazing discoveries. But he also got a couple of things wrong. and searching at those mistakes, I think, is incredibly charming, and provides us kind of a window into the thinking at the time, as well. On what Aristotle got wrong about eels They go through not one, but four metamorphoses. they create this extraordinary journey from the Sargasso Sea ... all thanks to the rivers of America. ... They fatten themselves up and sleep in rivers for years, only in order that they will fuel the huge journey all the way back to the Sargasso to breed. ... Aristotle sliced open eels and he couldn't find any sex organs. and therefore the reason why is because they only develop therein the fourth metamorphosis, as they're heading back to the Sargasso. therefore the eels that you simply find in rivers are completely sexless. So he thought: Well, they need to reproduce by abiogenesis. The action of water on mud must create eels. then that was one among his mistakes, which idea of abiogenesis, hung about until the 17th century. People thought all kinds of animals that they couldn't explain how they reproduce, "spontaneously emerged." On why we aren't doing pandas any favors by infantilizing them The thing about pandas is because they appear like wobbly toddlers — they have these baby-like features, in order that they trigger the reward centers in our brain to require to nurture them. and since of that, we've infantilized them. ... we do not consider them as bears. we expect of them as helpless evolutionary mishaps that can't survive without our help. A lot of the conservation has been centered around captive breeding efforts in China and the type of micromanaging the bears' lives. The insinuation is that they can not survive within the wild without us — and this is often complete rubbish. What we'd like to try to to is that the reverse. we'd like to go away them alone, but just leave them with enough bamboo forest. Because pandas, we expect of them as being very famously ... rubbish at sex. you recognize papers like to scream headlines: "Oh, Zoo Panda did not roll in the hay Again!" ... Pandas are even as choosy as humans are. they do not want to only get plumped into a cell with another panda and expected to procreate. it's extremely difficult breeding in captivity because you've got to know what these complex behavioral environmental cues are so as to urge the animals to try to to it. On an op-ed within the NY Times that described Harvey Weinstein as a hyena I thought to myself: that's the foremost ridiculous thing I even have ever read. ... they are available from a matriarchal society. ... most of the people think that they are all scavengers, they are not. they're highly successful predators. Really, really intelligent. Amazing communicators with a really quite complex language, you'll almost call it. That "woop" that they create ... decodes the individual, the sex, how old it's. They're very, very sophisticated creatures. ... In the ancient BCs, they thought they were hermaphrodites. and that is fair enough that they made that mistake because the feminine hyena's genitalia may be a perfect facsimile of the males. She has what's described in polite zoological circles as a "pseudo penis" and they are almost impossible to inform apart. ... It was interesting on behalf of me writing the book to trace back where tons of those myths came from, and to seek out that a number of the mistakes and therefore the preconceptions we've, they date all the way back to Greek, Roman and Medieval times. On the important problem with our anthropocentric approach to animals These are dangerous times. We face mass extinction of numerous different species. and that I really would like it if we could appreciate animals on their terms, and respect them for what they're, and not what we would like them to be. ... I think we're choosy about what we like, and that we do not like it. So vultures as an example — hugely unpopular. People do not like them because they're scavengers and they are filthy. But they are doing an incredibly important job. ... Vulture conservationists, they can not get anybody to donate money to them. Because nobody likes them, because they appear just like the Grim Reaper and that they eat dead things for a living. But we'd like them even as very much like we'd like the pandas.

[tweedpawn]

Chapter 1: The Papers

Spring’s End, 15th day, 11,920th year

 The rain had been falling for days during the beginnings of a hot summer on a tiny planet so far away. This little home of many creatures that rose and fell in its rhythm drifted as a gentle little pebble in a vast ocean it did not know or understand. It was a blue planet, with a great Pangaea across her side and smaller freckles of land on her back.

The oceans were wild and already turned from their welcoming blue, to a cold rough green glass that shifted and churned under the heavy winds. The great coastal capital, Skagrit, illuminated the dark waves, inviting last minute fishermen to hurry home.

She was a great city. Echoes of the ocean’s bounty and color were built into her skyscrapers and art. The city of Blue Glass. The finest capital on the planet of I’na. Her people were the most brilliant, and each shined their own glittering scattered light. The great economic powerhouses resided there, and their darker “patrons of the underworld” made their fortunes.

Thousands of polished glass medallions decorated the sides of her buildings. They looked like great sunken structures with magical fish that stayed warm and dry inside. Their interiors cutting through the night with gold. Lights dusted the outside streets like seafoam.

A lamp shined through a tinted window, granting a green halo in the glass. Shimmery

letters flickered like fish scales:

                                      Sansarc Private Investigation

                                           Independently Owned

                                           1977 N. Reynolds St.

The tenant of the business, and its loft, was Minisala Sansarc. He preferred to be addressed by his last name. Sansarc felt that his first name was ominous. He lived an easy life, he overworked himself out of passion. At his temples, one could see spreading wings of silver. His hair was always tidy, though his clothes were often wrinkled with a tiny stain spot either on the sleeve or collar. Like the rest of his kind, He had lovely, sable colored, rabbit ears.

Tonight, the particular combination of a warm radiator, soft lighting, and melodic rain had caused Detective Sansarc to drift asleep over the work on his desk. His face balanced on his wrist, his mouth hung open. Brief lucid moments danced in his fluttering dreams, before they shattered by the sound of a door opening and closing.

Sansarc saw a young boy enter into his office freely, and then drop off a paper. The child was in a great hurry. The more papers he delivered, the better he got paid. Sansarc cursed the hour, wishing that he would have just gone to bed.  He thought nothing of the newspaper, for until that day there had been very little that he desired to know about immediately. 

The Papers had a very different opinion on the matter. They had found an unprecedented story with stereotype, secret, and possibly murder. The reptilian minds of those who profited from the stories hoped it was murder.

  Because near trees very much like the ones that now bled ink and letter, there had been a great tragedy in the western settlements of I’na. Those were feral places. Death happened, frequently from farming machinery and swift animals. The settlers had to be paid to move out there.

It was a land of open spaces, cozy burrows, and “quaint” matters. They had large families out there. Homes were spaced out. But there wasn’t exactly an effort to push for innovation or commerce. The only ones who did were the Iron Chiefs who took great pride in their “company towns”. 

Now, the communities were five fewer. Five youngsters, between the ages of 11 to 15 vanished in the night like from a folk story. There had been a few other vanishings up until that point, but Sansarc would be unaware of them until a month from today. For this particular case, there had been witnesses: 

13 year old Claude Chatan, 16 Year old Tadoka Grey Ears, Fern only 8, and finally the fortunate son of the local bank owner, Bipkin Red barely past the age of 11. 

They recalled seeing three men in the fields that evening, according to the papers.  Those men had come with glaring eyes, strange weapons, and black cloaks. The children were mostly unreliable, as they were the ones who escaped had fled to the river or the nearby forest. 

At first, there was barely a whisper about it in the presses. Then a few juicy details came up that the reporters just could not resist biting into:

Arn Chatan, age 13, cousin of Claude Chatan. Head of the Engineering Club in Skagrit’s Prepatory Academy of the Arts and Sciences. A True Son of the Capital. Now Gone.

Della Frey, age 15, broke speed records for her age group in 100 meter, 200 meter, and 400 meter dashes. Set to compete in the international games as the first athlete from the settlement of River’s Bend. Was her disappearance related to the Mob?

The other three had been farmhands, barely important in the eyes of Skagrit, but that did not stop the papers from wailing and moaning about their innocent lives suddenly in jeopardy and won’t someone please step forward with any information on their whereabouts? There was blood in the water, and the sharks were already making calls for their portions. 

Indeed, had Detective Sansarc, independently owned and operated, known what would happen later in the day, he would have not glossed over the details and then tossed the paper into his kindling pile to fuel the oven for his morning tea. He would have given the writing a more discerning gaze. 

It was hard to feel connected to strangers, even little ones. Sansarc thought little more about the news of the day, going back to analyzing the books of a local textile factory that was suspected of money laundering and the recently divorced wife of the owner wanted to know if the bills went to that little hussy that wrecked her home. 

The rains never let up for that day. Leaving papers soaked and damaged from the damp. This fueled more sales, and the ink jockeys just could not keep up with the demand. The paper boys were going to be sick for days from this one. A new boy stepped in, carrying his bag full of papers. 

“Ya got ya pape’ today, Sir?” He asked, a gangly lad of barely eleven. He looked the type who bullied a kid or two for his “cut” of the sales. Sansarc waved the kid out, surprised when the lad insisted that the Detective had not gotten his paper and that he’d better buy one. 

Sansarc did not like the way this was going to spill into his day. Breaking News usually affected his clients somehow. Someone sees a new article about some murder, robbery, or jealous lover and they start jumping to wild conclusions. 

Like Aliens. Boy, I bet a silver I’ll hear that one today. Aliens, Star Children, the luck-damned badger-man were going to show up by the end of it. Grieved patrons usually went after the most exotic solution, especially if it was easier to accept than the fact that personal negligence was the reason Aunt Sally took a tumble grabbing her can of peas. 

The phone rang, it was an Editor from StarBurst News asking if he was busy for the afternoon and if he would be interested in being hired in an investigation of sorts. All Expenses Paid. 

Sansarc set up an appointment, he always preferred meeting clients in person first. And it took only an hour before a suited up, sharp-faced, broad with in a pair of pants that looked like a dress and a soaked blouse that had the pungent burnt scent of hot ink came through his door. Her ears were stained black, possibly permanently, and flecks of black splatters danced across her face like - blood? No, they were clearly more like stars. 

“Detective Sansarc, I assume? Senior Editor, Mason Antho, from the StarBurst News. I had one of my editors contact you.” her rich voice was like an expensive tonic sweetened with honey, but heavy on the oak. It spoke with authority and confidence.   

“ Are you the one who is officially hiring me?” asked Sansarc, his dark eyebrows pressed together. Please not another runaround with too many hands in the case. 

“I am. I heard you were the best at traveling for the job.” Mason strutted to one of the chairs, but did not sit. She moved like one of those long legged hunting dogs the rich kept on leashes made of gemstones. Her face even had a graceful longness to it, and the way her ears held made her look like one of the stylized print ads for the latest in dresswear. She looked like a living sales pitch for glamor. 

“This must be quite the job if the Senior Editor of a paper is asking me to travel on an expense paid gig.” Sansarc said carefully. He did not want to seem like he was officially committing. Jobs that involved the higher ups on the social ladder usually were death traps filled with pissed off mob bosses and rampaging husbands. 

“You better believe it, Champ. I heard you can travel anywhere, faster than anyone else. Hell, you can get visas to White Stone. And they never let anyone in.” replied Mason. 

More like they don’t want anyone out. Sansarc thought grimly. Fast travel? Oh please don’t this be what he thought it was going to be. 

“Now here’s the deal, I want an exclusive on the story out in the papers. I want interviews, some dirt dug up, maybe find a body if you can manage it.” Mason started speaking quickly and aggressively.

“So, send your reporters.” Sansarc frowned at the job description. 

“My reporters are idiots. They throw the cameras in everyone’s face and then they trample the flowerbeds while they’re at. We got a bunch of grieving mothers out there and the last thing I need is one of my people making everyone clam up. I want those people talking out there. Only to us, of course.” replied Mason. 

“Vulture.” Sansarc felt a horrible taste in his mouth. It was like the acid from his stomach was creeping up to have its share of insults to hurl at this woman. 

“Takes one to know one.” Mason said cooly with a smirk. Classy.

“I ain’t doing it.” said Sansarc. He started to get a pounding headache from this woman. He got up to grab a decanter of firebreather, a drink made from the fire-hot fermented roots of the Firra plant. He poured himself a drink and began to chew on the side of his mouth. 

“$300.” barked Mason. 

“I’m busy.” replied Sansarc. 

“ Yeah? Who you working far? I’ll double them.”

“You already have.”

“ $500, or I’ll bury you in the papers.” 

“You gotta be kidding.” Sansarc balked. He nearly dropped his shot glass. What could they dig up on him? He had no spouses or lovers. He lived alone. Oh, there was that incident that got him kicked out of law enforcement. Sansarc never took care to conceal the matter. 

“I’ll figure you out and rip you to pieces. You think I’m gonna be the only one calling you? When those morons at the Bugle get the idea in their heads , they’ll be all over your ears like flies on haraka.” Mason was growling now. Her nose twitched like a hound’s. She was now merely inches from Sansarc face, possessing the greater height on the man. 

“Well, maybe I’ll work for them!” Sansarc bared his teeth at Mason. The woman scoffed. 

“They won’t pay you.” She grinned a predatory smile. She had him by the throat now. No wonder she was the senior editor. Working for this lady must be like working under a knife chandelier. “Fine. $500. All Expense Paid. I’ll be there when I can” he replied, his dark eyes shooting daggers at the broad.   “You’ll be there tomorrow.” She said.

Sansarc was glad that he had yet to burn the paper he had placed into the kindling. He stuffed the print into a weatherproof bag, fuming to himself about how much he wished he could have shoved that damn woman into the mud. He could have at least thrown his drink at her and ruined that expensive outfit she had. 

He was able to secure a ticket easily. No visa needed. The frontier was considered “Skagrit operated”, but not necessarily its responsibility. The government gave out a hundred dollar stipend to head out and “reclaim your heritage”. The Banks took about 25 and that was the way of progress. 

Sansarc hailed a taxi to the train station. It was going to be a long ride, 27 hours to be exact. No wonder Mason wanted him out by tomorrow. One less opportunity for the rivals to pick him up him for their research. Sansarc hated that woman, but had to admit that she knew how to keep herself ahead of the pack.

Lights shined through evening fog.  They were golden halos guiding late-night wanderers. There was a slow rhythm to the town tonight. Sansarc could feel it in the meandering shuffling of passengers as they said farewells and brought their luggage to the platform. 

It was romantic, in that silver screen sort of way. The rehearsed entrances and scripted farewells going for their final takes. Dames getting reassured that their bucks weren’t going to get too lonely out there in them company towns. Bucks telling the does that things were gonna get better real soon. 

Sansarc hoped that at this hour, the lounge car would be open. He boarded the train early and sought out his cabin. The bright side about working for the wealthy was an upgrade or two. If he was going to have to suffer a red eye train ride through the boonies, he was going to do it in comfort. 

The lounge car was not taking drink orders just yet, but already it was filled to the brim with tobacco smoke and chatter. Not much raucous. It was dusk, after all, and there was a little bit of respect given for the twilight. Sansarc took an early spot on a barstool. 

He brought out a notepad and started to write down a few things to keep in mind. Don’t allow broads from the paper into your office for starters. Sansarc smirked to himself. He thought about what sort of men would be wandering out in the wilds snatching little ones like a nightmare.

The tobacco was spiced and smoky. Intoxicating. Sansarc was writing into a flow of thoughts when a bar keep walked up.

“May I interest you in a pack?” he asked. Sansarc scarcely looked up, only to avoid being called arrogant. He barely saw above the barkeep’s name tag. 

“I don’t smoke.” he replied. 

“No? But it’s traditional to have a little tobacco before the start of a journey. To insure a safe trip?” the bar keep replied. It was a voice with a bit of a haze to it. An accent that couldn’t entirely be placed. The inflections purely intentional and less of habit. 

“ I’m not into that kind of thing.” Sansarc frowned. His head was starting to feel fuzzy in an odd way. Was it the booze from earlier? He had a drink before heading out to the station. 

“What a shame. Safe journey, I look forward to seeing you at the end of it.” the bar keep stepped away. Sansarc grimaced. He hoped that he wouldn’t regret coming to the lounge car. He felt a chilled draft. I didn’t know an air-cooling system was installed. 

The final announcement for boarding was made. More long goodbyes. Sansarc thought on his last relationship. A pretty little dame who loved lilac perfume and ruby lipstick. She always carried a black lacquer mirror, and enough money to pay for her lunch. Sansarc had just started his business. So worked up in his first case, he barely missed her when she walked out. 

   It’s better if they don’t cry. Anything, but the crying. Sansarc looked at the windows as the train began to leave the station. The wrought iron and steam gave way to distant lights of homes and advertisements. The booze came heavy as the last of sunlight faded and all that could be seen was the black outlines of houses, trees, and telegraph poles against a navy sky. 

The city left a fading red haze on the horizon, and Sansarc pretended that it was the sun being stopped by the cops for packing heat. They’d get their money from anything. When he was younger, the haze on the skyline used to mean that the sun never set. Now, it seemed to never rise. 

There was a lingering feeling in the air. It felt like the mad buzzing of insects. Sansarc looked around him. He took a moment to observe the patrons. They felted staged and artificial. The first barkeep had been replaced by another fellow who lacked that complex quality the first one possessed effortlessly. 

They all moved back and forth between stations. Tick-tock. Sansarc had thrown away the belief of spirits and sentient lands long ago. Still, the habit of assuming their permanence lingered. He would occasionally have a moment of icy clarity to the world around him and it would terrify him. Because in those moments, came the doubt.

Disembark at Sandhill, Came the call. He originally had no intention of doing so. It was the largest city in the frontier. It made its fortune by centralizing the routes and shipping everything by ferry or rail. Home of the original Stock Market. 

But why there? It then dawned on Sansarc. Of course, they actually have a police presence. Yes! That was something he hadn’t considered before. He was finally smiling to himself.

The frontier towns were known for loose laws and lackluster enforcement of proper order. Their idea of order came from the nomadic rangers that were loosely organized to make sure the people stayed safe from wandering predators, and to help lost travelers. The story was that they lived the “old fashioned” way of bison-skin tents, and were considered the first on the scene if there was a risk to a town. A risk like kidnapping.

Sansarc thought the idea of a random bumpkin roaming at night on horseback, with no proper management, was the type of hare-brained, olde-timeyism, that allowed five children to go missing in the first place. 

And all it takes is one sick bastard to...No, it was three, according to the witnesses. And who else goes wandering the fields at night? 

Sansarc gritted his teeth. He was now glad he was going to a proper town to get started on this. Mason had wanted him in that tiny little frontier community. But if Sansarc was going to uncover some secrets, he would need a trail. There might be a connecting disappearance. 

“Hey mista’, wou’ ya moind lightin’ me? I wanna have a last leaf before I go in.” asked a pretty little thing. She had a fashionable little black bob of hair. Her face was adorned with far too much blush. Her ears, however, were dyed a particular shade of red, almost the same color as her lipstick. 

Sansarc grabbed a box of matches from the counter and obliged. Right when the flame kissed his fingertips, he killed the little flicker and pressed its charcoal stub into a glass dish. 

“Thanks guy. So, you going out to the iron towns? Me? I’m gonna see my mama. You know, you never know who ya gonna miss…” the girl started to ramble. Sansarc wanted to slink into his stool and escape this cockleburr of a conversationalist.  In thirty minutes, Jane Winterstaff revealed her entire family history, the latest in telecommunications, and exactly what brand of chartreuse contained arsenic.   

There were times when Sansarc cursed his particular brand of introversion.

The Daily Sandhill Fall Harvest, 10th day, 11919 Boy Missing in Silver Lake Local authorities have reported that Sandusky Martin, Age 8, is missing. His parents called the local sheriff after the boy did not return home from corn shucking. He is described as short-eared, at 3’4, with 46 lbs to him. Sandusky Martin has 2 siblings of similar appearance, and was last seen wearing his brother’s blue coat, a pair of loose brown pants, penny loafers, and carrying a locket with his grandparents’ hair in it. Police do not believe that the disappearance is related to incidents in Sandhill. No signs of predators were found in the area.