#the heavens have opened the great puzzle pieces of life have fallen into place I am astral projecting

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

um is Gretchen a diminutive form of Margaret???

[torendheavenandearth]

2.1

“Here is a story that stretches back before God’s Creation, back when the people had no names for themselves. Back when they were not exploited. Back when they were not part of the Empire.

During this time of heroes and gods, there was a great mountain, and upon the mountain a great house. This house was the house of the Binturong Datu, who gave obeisance to his crocodile ancestors.

One day, while on his daily walks down the river that ends in a great lake at the base of the mountain, he spoke with his crocodile ancestors. “Ninuno,” he said. “May kakailanganin pa ba akong aralin bago niyo akong ituring na pinakamarunong na nilalang sa buong Sansinukob? [Ancestors, is there anything else I need to study before you can name me the wisest being in all of Sansinukob?]

All the crocodiles nodded, grateful and impressed. “Alamin mo ang unang bagay na nalaman namin noong sumakabilang buhay kami.” [Know the first thing we learned when we died.]

“Ano iyon, mga ninuno? Ito ba ay ‘Masmahalaga ang paglakbay sa pinatutunguan?’” [What is it, ancestors? Is it “The journey is more important than the destination?”]

The crocodiles shook their head.

“Ano iyon, mga ninuno? Ito ba ay ‘Kayabangan bago sakuna?’” [What is it, ancestors? Is it “Pride before disaster?]

The crocodiles shook their head.

The Binturong Datu, annoyed and impatient, threw the coconut he was eating against a tree. “Ano ito, mga ninuno? Sabihin niyo nalang sa akin upang malaman ko kung paano abutin ang langit at gibain ang Himpapawid!” [What is this, ancestors? Just tell it to me so I may know how to reach heaven and split the firmament!]

At that, the crocodile ancestors looked at each other and shook their heads. “Bakit mo naman nais iyon?” [And why do you want that?]

“Ewan ko. Kailangan bang malaman? Kailangan bang may pakana o motibo?” [I don’t know. Does one need to know? Does there need to be a plan or motive?]

The crocodile ancestors ate the Binturong Datu whole. “Hindi maaring hangal ang apo natin. Halina’t wasakin natin ang Kalangitan.” [We will not accept a fool for a descendant. Come and let us destroy Heaven.]

▼

The afternoon is turning into twilight. Angela can make out the crimson sun slowly drifting below the horizon. She doesn’t think there’s anything to worry about though, since they’re nearing the barangay, where they can be safe from whatever terrors the night bestows.

Ť̅̌ͭ̋h͉̦ͦͩ̈́̏̍ͧe̮̼ͨ̍̿ ̹͇ͤͨ̽̿͐ͪ͐s̬̣̞̙͑͌ͪk̘͓̄̈ͨͭ͐y̻̽ͧ̈̒̓̐̏ ̰̮̲͓̳͉̥̋i̔ͨ̐͋̒s̲ ͍̗̪̲̃͌l̞͚̥̞̙̲͐ͨ̀̾e̠̻̼̽ͫ̎a̯ͯ̒ͦ̐̓̅ͫd̤̝ͬ͊͐̈ě͐ͯn͚̬͎̏ͤͯ̉͋ ̩͙͚͛̋g̘̃̉̾ͦ͆̾r͖͎͓͇͓å͍̺y͗ ̣̪̯̠͍̺̠ͫ̓a̓̒͐̚s͈̳̯͙̑ ̫̲̰͚͉ͪ͛̍͊̃t̰̝̙̩̖͉̋̃ͪ̾̓̐ͭh̯̾e̤̟̰͙̼͒̍̽̆y̲͈̝̼̘̩ ͐ͦb̖̻͍̩̼̳̒e͇ͅg̩͉̜͔̝̯̮̐ͫi̙̳̗͑͛n͇̯͍͓̦̩̹ ̗̞͔͊a̤̦̙͕͔̬̰͑̿̌͐g̻͖̻͍͚̰ͥͫ̏â͔̺̹̘͙i̮̬̯͎̅̓͐ͦ͋̋n͇̪̞̩̐ͅ.̗͕̳̩͕̹͈ͩ͌ͫ̒̍̚

“I’m sorry about Makabintang,” says Angela. Somehow, she feels like it’s her fault, and her words ring hollow even to her. She feels like she could’ve saved Makabintang if only she knew how to fight the kimera. If only she knew how to use that damned bolo.

Ang Nilapastangan shakes her head. “Makabintang can rest now.” Her voice hitches at “rest”, and Angela decides to change the conversation. Perhaps they can talk about Makabintang later.

“How did you manage to escape the anghel?” asks Angela, as they descend down the hill crest and ride, now on a trot, down the bend.

“I beat them,” she replies without looking back at her. 

Angela blinks. “Just like that? You beat them?”

Ang Nilapastangan shrugs. “I didn’t win the Hagdanan by sitting on my ass.”

“Damn. Then why don’t you just beat every anghel that comes our way? You won’t need to go in hiding or whatever you’re doing right now.”

“There are some anghel out there that will be able to kill me. So I prefer not to go loud, so to speak. That way I don’t endanger you either.”

There's silence as they curve around the bend and walk into the barangay proper. 

The air is still, suddenly.

The road before them is eerily symmetrical. It’s inviting them.

Angela opens her mouth to say something back, but the strange air chokes her throat, and the strange sight puzzles her mind.

Things are not what they seem. That’s the first thought that pops into Angela’s mind as she and Ang Nilapastangan ride into town. It’s similar enough to Laurel: near the borders of the house one sees bamboo houses on stilts with cogon grass or nipa. The dirt road beneath them is well-trodden, but Angela sees no people walking about, doing their daily chores or routines.

That’s what’s so strange. There are no people here whatsoever.

A sense of dread pierces through Angela. She tries to shake it off. “Hey, Nila. Are you sure we’re where we’re supposed to be?”

Ang Nilapastangan only nods.

As they ride through the outskirts of the barangay, Angela’s nose perks up as she begins to smell the iconic fragrance of sampaguita flowers.

“Nila,” Angela calls out. “Do you smell that?” She looks around her.

Ang Nilapastangan nods. “Sampaguita.”

It’s getting dark. Twilight beckons to them. Night’s siren call. There is no moon tonight. Who will watch them?

E͓͔͓ͯ̊̎ͩͣy̬͔͎̳͒́ͭ͆̍ẹ̪̖̖͒̆̄ͨ̀ͥs͓͎͂ͮ̌ͅ ̖̥̊̈ͩ̍̔̏̑e̳͐͌v̺͍̪̪͆e̳͎̻̝͕r̪͛͊̊y̻̘̘̣͍̥ͭ̌͛͆̌w̎̓̃̾h͙̙ͩ̂̏ͣ̐ͫe͈̥̮̠͍̩̭̒͐̓ř͔̳̰͓̾ͧ̂̇͗̈ͅͅe̼̯͒ͦ̄͐̔.̦̲̦̫̦̞͂̎ͅ

“My lola always told me that if I smelled sampaguita whenever there is none, then it’s one of my ancestors or dead relatives coming to check up on me,” Angela notes.

“Your lola is right, technically,” Ang Nilapastangan replies.

One of the houses swings open, and a farmer walks out, wielding a pitchfork. He walks down the bamboo ladder that connects the front porch of the bamboo stilt house to the ground, and then shambles toward Ang Nilapastangan and Angela.

Angela yelps, and her horse recoils in response. 

Ang Nilapastangan leaps from her horse and sends a single fist straight down into his head.

The man’s head caves in. Pieces of flesh and gray matter stick to Ang Nilapastangan’s fist, which she shakes off and then cleans away with a canteen of water.

Angela gets off the horse and walks up to the man. Somehow, the horse has calmed down. “What the hell… What is he?”

“Amalanhig,” replies Ang Nilapastangan.

Upon closer inspection, Angela can make out the stranger features of the man: his hair is all grown out, his body is blackened, as if burned, and his skin is cold to the touch. His teeth have fallen out, parts of his body don’t seem to move, frozen in place.

“He’s like… a corpse,” Angela replies. 

She touches the amalanhig’s body, and it 

leaps up and grabs Angela’s neck and bites down but

Ang Nilapastangan kicks the amalanhig off before his teeth sink in. He slams against the wall of the bamboo house, and he stays there, unmoving. Finally. For now at least.

Ang Nilapastangan washes away anything that was in contact with the amalanhig with water from the canteen. “Be careful. A person killed due to the bite of an amalanhig will turn into one.”

“What the fuck?” Angela’s eyes are wide, darting about, always looking around her. “What the hell? So they’re like zombies?” She rolls her eyes and mutters: “Great, there’s zombies here too.”

Ang Nilapastangan tells Angela to get back on the horse, and she does. Ang Nilapastangan mounts her own horse, and then they trot forward. The horses, for the most part, don’t seem to be afraid of the amalanhig. Ang Nilapastangan confirms Angela’s thoughts: it’s something she’s doing, somehow.

“Let’s look around more. I want to confirm if my suspicions are true.”

Angela gulps. She nods and follows Ang Nilapastangan as they trot deeper into the barangay, chancing upon abandoned vendor stalls, rotting fish and meat, some horse carcasses lying on their side. Even the ground feels like it had been blackened, and the houses covered by a fine sheet of ash.

“What the hell…” mutters Angela. She shivers. “Hey, Ang Nilapastangan, you feel like something’s watching us?”

As she speaks that out loud, a shadow darts across the road in front of them. It's moving faster than an amalanhig. Ang Nilapastangan doesn’t look back: she surges forward with her horse and chases after the shadow. Angela, panicking, tries to follow, but she’s not confident at galloping in such an enclosed space, and only manages to keep Ang Nilapastangan in her sights, without getting near her.

Ang Nilapastangan chases the shadow across two alleys and two roads, eventually catching up to it as it ends up in an alleyway that had been barricaded with barrels and wagon carts. She leaps from her horse and then lands directly on the shadow, teeth bared like a dog to its prey. She flips the shadow around only to reveal…

...a boy, breathing quickly, eyes narrowed. He’s lean and muscular, wearing a loose salakot and a simple baro and balloon pants. “Shit. Get off me.”

Ang Nilapastangan pushes the boy up to his feet. “Get up, boy. Answer my questions: what is wrong with this town? Why are there amalanhig?”

Angela catches up with Ang Nilapastangan just as she begins to interrogate the boy. “Amalanhig, didn’t you see? The barangay’s dead.”

“What?”

And at that question, more amalanhig shamble out of their homes, walking down their wooden walls or out of large double doors of their bahay-na-bato. They wear the clothes they died in, farmers with hoes and pitchforks, women in frayed blouses, merchants in rotting fish smelling doublets. 

“Nila! Incoming!” The moment they sense life in Angela and Ang Nilapastangan, they begin their slow shamble towards them. 

A chill runs down Angela’s spine. “Nila!” She refuses to get off of her horse.

“What are you doing here? Is there somewhere safe?”

“Outside. Survivors.” He’s wincing.

“Survivors?”

“Nila!”

“Come on then.” He tells the boy to get on the horse with her, and without anything else to say, he agrees and nods. She notices then that the boy is holding on to an abaca backpack, which seems to be filled with spoons, plates, clothing, cloth, salted food, and other such things needed for survival or daily living. 

“Follow the road going south from here,” says the boy, and Ang Nilapastangan nods and follows. 

“Angela! South!” And with that, they’re galloping down the dirt road, running quicker and quicker until they burst out of the collection of houses and out into the rice fields down south. Nothing is planted. Nothing will be harvested.

As they’re galloping, Angela, who is lagging behind considerably although she quickens the pace once they’re out of town, looks over her shoulder. There she sees that the amalanhig are running, now a group of them, amounting to at least 10. 

Angela’s heart slams against her chest in a rhythmless beat. Her hands start shaking, and she has to force her hands to clamp down upon the reins of her horse so that she isn’t thrown off. “Nila!” Angela shouts, and her voice sounds frantic, almost mad. “They’re running after us!”

“They’ll chase us all the way to the commune,” mutters the boy.

Ang Nilapastangan curses under her breath. “Here boy, you know how to ride a horse?”

“Yes.” 

“Grab the reins.” And then she launches herself into the air. The boy, thankfully, is quick. His hands are grabbing onto the reins of the horse even as Ang Nilapastangan arcs backward and then lands on one of the rushing amalanhig.

“Nila!” Angela calls back.

“Go! I’ll handle them. Follow the boy!”

Ang Nilapastangan turns and snaps one of the heads of the amalanhig out. She then proceeds to quickly beat down the rest of them, each one requiring only one, two hits to split in two and shatter their skulls with her knife hand.

Angela follows quickly after the boy. The boy turns the horse into a sudden opening in the trees, and Angela narrowly misses the entry point. They rush through a bamboo and narra tree flanked road, looking like some kind of portal into another world.

Eventually, the boy slows his horse down to a trot, and so does Angela. They arrive at a clearing that is across a river, right beside a smaller mountain. Not Mount San Roque, that’s for sure, but one to the south of it. There’s a cave that Angela can see that is signified by a single balete tree growing atop its mouth.

Across the river, in the middle of a clearing, is a small settlement. Around twenty houses in all, all of them wooden upon bamboo stilts. In the middle of the clearing is a small bonfire. Milling about are farmers and workers and other barangay folk.

“Here we are,” says the boy as Angela rides up next to him. “Saklawan.”

“This is where you retreated to?”

The boy nods. “Come on, the river is shallow.”

“I assume the river is here to stop the zombies…?”

“Yes. The amalanhig hate the rushing river, no matter how shallow. Whatever dark sorcery is holding them together dissipates.”

The boy brings the horse forward to a trot, and Angela follows suit. “I’m Jaime, by the way. Jaime Magbantay.”

“Ah, right. Angela.” Angela thinks for a second how this is probably the most normal person she’s met so far. “Angela de Jesus.” From this angle, Angela can see through his loose baro, and she sees that her chest is covered in tattoos, in the style of the Pintados.

“Ah, putakte, Jaime! Good thing you’re safe!” A man approaches them, wearing a kind of cloth that wraps around his waist, making him look like he’s wearing a skirt. Over his shoulders and biceps are tattoos, designed in that same evergrowing pattern of the Pintados people back in Ancient Visayas. Another man approaches them as well as they arrive. That man is a tall and lanky man, two heads taller than the other older man, and with the head of a horse. His legs and arms don’t seem proportionate to the rest of his body.

Jaime gets off when they’ve safely crossed. The night is dark now, but thankfully the bonfire and the myriad torches that stay at a safe distance from the wooden houses illuminate the night. Seeing Jaime now, his build is lean, but he has muscles undernath a thin layer of fat. He’s tall, around at least the upper echelons of five feet, and his hair is of darkest night. His eyes are the darkest shade of brown as well.

“Welcome, young one,” says the man with the tattooed body. 

“Angela,” says Jaime as he’s heading over to the bonfire.

The tattooed man nods. “Thank you for bringing my pamangkin to safety. I’m glad you weren’t chased by Amalanhig along the way.” Pamangkin means niece or nephew. Angela gets down from the horse, and the horse-headed man helps her.

“I am Adlay,” says the tattooed man. “And this is Damian, our last panday. We serve as scavengers for the barangay. Tell me, how did you come across our barangay? It is unfortunate that you have come at a… less than good time.”

Angela blinks and nods. She wants to stretch, but finds it awkward in front of the men. “Um, Nila brought us here. We were supposed to be three but, it’s just the two of us now. She says she knows of an albularyo that can fix uh…” she gestures to her horns. “This.”

“Nila?” asks the tikbalang.

Angela nods. “Oh, ah, Ang Nilapastangan, she calls her self. Nila’s like a shortened nickname.”

The tattooed man, Adlay, blinks and then he laughs. “Ang Nilapastangan? Are you sure, young lady?”

Angela raises an eyebrow and then nods slowly. “Yes…? Nila. Why, is Ang Nilapastangan a common name here?”

Adlay and Damian glance at each other and then laugh. “All right. Come on then, we still have some leftover food.”

“I managed to grab some tuyo,” says Jaime, which is greeted with hoots and cheers from Adlay and Damian. They walk into the gathering of houses. Jaime looks over his shoulder and says: “Come on, Angela.”

Angela wonders if she should, and then after reminiscing about today’s events, she realizes that her hands and feet are heavy, and her head hurts. It’s like the fatigue suddenly draped itself over her like a heavy curtain.

She pulls herself to the bonfire in the middle of the commune. There they give her a small cup of rice and some tuyo served on a porcelain plate. “Eat up, you’re going to need it.”

Angela blinks. She manages to sit down beside Jaime, Adlay, and Damian, who are all eating with her. They eat with their hands, one hand used to pick up the food and the other hand used to hold up the plate. When Damian is sitting or squatting down, his legs go higher than his head.

As they eat, the ones who live here take their times to look at Angela, wondering who she is. She thinks then that maybe they’re not used to newcomers to their gatherings, since they’re a relatively small commune. Angela then thinks that it’s probably because of her horns.

“Jaime,” Angela whispers, after swallowing some rice and tuyo. “Don’t you think I’m weird?”

“Because of the horns?” Jaime shakes his head. “We’ve had plenty of kabarangay who had horns like that. We treated them all the same.”

“Ah.”

Angela goes back to eating in peace.

Then, an elderly woman comes down from one of the houses, wearing the simple clothes of a devotee. She’s hunched over and draped in colorful textile patterns, but she is not flesh and blood. No, her skin is bark, her eyes dewdrops, and her hair brambles of purple flowers. She smiles at Angela as she comes closer. “Welcome, lost one. I am Babaylan Salinas. What brings you here? Have you seen the trouble inflicted upon our quaint little barangay?” 

Angela nods. “What happened? Why is it filled with zom--amalanhig?”

“We ourselves are not so sure either.” She sighs and then squats. Staring at the fire, Babaylan Salinas says: “It happened all too quickly. One Unangaraw night, an amalanhig killed one of their housemates. That began the infestation. Most people die from amalanhig bites, and so when they are bitten and die quickly afterwards, they turn into amalanhig themselves. It is not hard to imagine that it spread quickly. Thankfully a lot of us escaped. Our priest has been killed, however, and our cabeza-de-barangay is either an amalanhig himself, or somehow still within the barangay hall in the middle of the barangay.” 

Angela makes a mental note to ask Ang Nilapastangan what Unangaraw is.

“There’s still some people alive in there?”

“We can never know for sure,” says the babaylan.

“We hope that sometimes we’d see people alive,” says Adlay. “However, when I saw the both of you… I thought you were some new breed of monster. I’m sorry, I was just thrown off by the horns.”

Angela shrugs. “It’s all right. I mean, Ang Nilapastangan has horns as well.” 

Babaylan Salinas blinks.

Adlay laughs. “Ha! This Angela newcomer girl sure does have a great sense of humor.”

“It’s true,” states Jaime. “The lady Angela is with is Ang Nilapastangan. To save us, she leapt off of the horse and beat off the chasing amalanhig.”

“Are you for real?” asks Damian. “You really expect us to believe that? Ang Nilapastangan, Swordbreaker, Karanduun?”

“That’s right.” Ang Nilapastangan’s voice echoes from behind Angela. Angela turns around and sees her there, covered in sampaguita smelling blood, somewhat wet from crossing the river. “Why’s that so hard to believe?”

[soul-embers]

Hello! How about Maofeng Tea for four words thing?:> I love your writing so much qwq

a/n: here you go anon!! sorry for the delay in getting this out this is my first time writing for huangshan maofeng tea so i hope that he’s not ooc! he just seems like the type who really likes to tease and poke at his ma from what i assume based on his lines. 

 ah// i’m happy that you like my writing. ; u ; 

1. — summoned

Huangshan Maofeng Tea despite his upstanding, reliable, and trustworthy Doaist appearance, he’s not nearly as reliable as he looks. He enjoys stirring up trouble far too much, but he is reliable when needed to be, which makes him the sort of fellow that everyone loves and hates at the same time. 

And seeing the excited look on his Attendant’s face just spurs him on with wanting to tease them so clearing his throat, putting on his best smile he speaks. 

“The signs are strong... You must be my Master Attendant, yes? Good features, clever expression. Truly extraordinary.” Huangshan Maofeng Tea finds it hard to keep a straight face when you look so pleased with his words. If anything life with you wouldn’t be boring. 

2. — react

Maofeng finds that you are a delightfully fun Attendant to poke and tease in any shape form or fashion that he could think up. You never failed to amuse him or make him laugh with your reactions, a bonus point to you since he comes to appreciate your reactions from the bottom of his heart-- truthfully! 

“Heavens, Master, I fear calamity today. But, worry not, there is hope in the Way. If only we keep... Hm? The calamity? Oh, just financial ruin, nothing serious...” Maofeng has to bite the inside of his lip while he watches your face fall and you start processing the best way to avoid financial ruin (he feels a bit bad after saying it due to needing money to keep the restaurant going), but your expression changes from one of pure horror and shock to careful planning and calm. 

Seeing you like this lights a fire in him as well, the reliable him taking the reins while he helps. Though what he said was nothing more than a jest, he learns that you are more than capable of handling whatever may happen in the future. 

3. — outing 

“How can I trick Master into letting me go today... Eeek! Master, you're here! I was saying, um, I observed the stars last night and read that today was an auspicious day for an outing...” 

Maofeng has no idea that his muttering aloud would be heard by anyone, especially not heard by you his Master Attendant whom he was trying to sneak away from, but instead was brought along with you on a shopping trip to the local fresh market and for a summoning. Something about exchanging something else for a shard to eventually summon a new Food Soul Maofeng sort of stopped listening after that. 

He wasn’t so sure he’d be able to have fun with you around, but spending time with you like this is enjoyable. Maofeng found himself getting into the spirit of things and getting just as excited as you did over ingredients and spices. Stopping at a small stand, he purchased a small trinket, a simple ring that would look good with your features, and is flattering for any gender. The bright flush of your face has his heart beating faster as he places the ring he bought for you on your finger. 

He feels like there’s something more he should be doing, but once you turned to continue walking he feels as if the moment has passed. Maofeng is smiling, today really was an auspicious day for an outing. 

4. — pledge 

The stars spoke of great things, which pleased Maofeng to no end. The smile on his face, the happy fluttering beating of his heart, while he waits for your return, puts him in a great mood. His readings are never wrong, and today is the best day to ask for your hand in being his Pledge partner, he can hear his teacher very faintly in his mind. To stay away from relationships, but since meeting you he’s found that he hasn’t been able to help himself. 

He’s fallen for you. So completely and utterly in love with you, being with you makes it feel like everything has finally fallen into place. The piece to a puzzle that he’s been looking for has been found, the fit is just right and whenever he’s with you he feels so at home. Knowing that he has a piece of your heart with him and that you have a piece of his heart with you thanks to the Contract. 

With every solid beat of your heart, the sound of your laughter and the sight of your smile Maofeng swears that he’s fallen in love with you all over again. Your smile is added along with your response to meet him when you returned from the Guild meeting, and the delicate silence in the restaurant was broken when your voice breaks the silence and called out for a healer. Brownie looked horrible, but the moment Maofeng saw blood staining your clothes and cheek is when the world around him fell away. 

He didn’t expect to open his eyes and see you smiling down at him causing him to reach out and feel if you are real. Warm, soft, familiar and most of all real. 

“Sorry for the scare Maofeng, but gosh I never thought that you would be the one to scare the daylights out of me!” You smiled and he noticed your bandage cheek, reaching out to touch it you placed your hand against his, holding it against the bandage, “I’m fine just a small cut.” 

Maofeng felt a weight lift from his shoulders, a relieved sigh following it as he pulls you close to him. Lips dancing mere inches from yours while he speaks. 

“Master please don’t ever scare me like that again. I- it felt like I died when I saw all of that blood. I have a greedy request of you Master-- I planned something romantic, something fitting for you, but I find that I do not want to let you go right now.” 

“Maofeng, hey it’s okay calm down,” you say, trying to calm him down and all he can do is smile. 

“All that men fear must be respected... and I find that I fear your death. I want to bind myself even tighter around your heart. To protect you, to act as a shield for your heart,” 

“Maofeng...” 

“Shh! Not a word. I know what you want to say, and I accept. Life is short. I'll cast off my monk's robes for civilian clothes and grow old together with you. If you will so allow it, please Pledge with me... let me protect you, Master.” 

“Only if you’ll let me protect you as well Huangshan Maofeng Tea,” you speak his full true name, something you do only when you are serious, and when you close the distance between your lips and his Maofeng wholeheartedly accepts the kiss. 

[xxkellsvixen19xx]

Love Is Alive Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry took so long for an update guys trying to work on an angle and still not sure how many parts doing as of yet but please enjoy!

I didn't fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we'd choose anyway. And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.

~ The Chaos of the Stars, Kiersten White

There is a stillness about Y/N that Jim can't work out. Most people fidget constantly - hair-flicking, smiling and jiggling and generally breaking his train of thought. But she's not like that, not at all.

It's rare, these days, to meet anyone who can sit still, shut up and listen. A valuable quality. She's beautiful, too. Nice eyes.

He had fallen for her at first sight, literally, fallen hard, fallen fast, they were meant to be no question about it.

Y/N can picture it. Kisses long and slow. Tender touches, lingering glances, and secrets deep and dark; hand in hand with the man who captured her heart. Still nights walking under distant stars that light the way. Cheeks blushing to pink, breaths synchronizing, hearts pounding, lips connecting with the young man she loves.

For the first time, Y/N feels genuinely happy and complete. Three months. It's been three months now. Jim Mason the sound of his voice or its many shades, ranging from sweetness to sarcasm. Three months with the touch of his gentle hands, the brilliant sparkle  in his blue eyes, shy crooked grin, strong arms, and tethering presence.

Three months with seeing that look – the one he is giving her right now. The one that fills her with warmth on even the coldest night. The one that makes her entire body tense and soften at the same time. The one that makes her excited and a little bit scared. The one that brings the butterflies and tugs at her heart like a magnet. The one that parts the clouds, reveals the sun, pulls the moon a little lower, and makes the stars shine a great deal brighter. The one that silently shouts I love you across any distance, great or small.

Three months since their entire bodies collided in the most passionate kiss she had ever experienced; when she willingly gave her breath to him, and Jim expanded her lungs and her life with his own. Their mouths fit together like puzzle pieces, and his hands were everywhere – drawing her nearer and nearer until their bodies were one. All the feelings were there – overflowing, and spreading, and mingling together.

He is right there with her, passion matched for passion as he grips her waist, his fingers dipping into the curve of her spine as she presses up against him. He relaxes into her mouth, muffled moan vibrating against her tongue. He kisses her, and he kisses her…until she is dizzy and breathless, clinging for balance with one hand at the nape of his neck and the other gripping soft cotton shirt.

When their lips part, a new memory has been made…leaving her smiling…and hoping…and waiting for more.

//Love took me by the hand

Love took me by surprise

Love led me to you

And love opened up my eyes

And I was drifting away

Like a drop in the ocean

And now I realize that

Nothing has been as beautiful

As when I saw heaven's skies

In your eyes//

Y/N distinctly recalls Jim's hand, extending towards hers as if he were aware of her need, and how she accepted it without a second thought. The long sleeves of her jacket briefly hindered them both. Jim swept the thick fabric away with a swift flick of his fingers, his hand quickly finding hers and completely enveloping it, surrounding her cool skin with his warmth.

She remembers the breath getting lodged in her throat and the feeling of his soft red t-shirt grazing against her cheek as she whispered I love you for the first time.

When Jim turned towards Y/N, the weight of his regard slowly settled over her. It made her feel safe, as though his very awareness of her shielded her like being in a bubble. She remembers him hesitantly reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear…for the very first time, and how her heart skipped beats as his hand skimmed the rim of her ear.

“Y/N, I…” he began.

She looked over her shoulder, ready to speak, anxious to speak to him. He put his index finger to her mouth, letting it linger at the center of her bottom lip, pad of his long digit still hot from the coffee that heated his hands.

“I love you Y/N, I always have and I always will.” He paused, letting his finger fall away from her lips, then put both of their cups aside. She remembers how he took her hand, and with it…another piece of her heart.

She remembers how intensely Jim observed her – like he could see into her soul. Much to her surprise, she wanted to let him, even though it scared her to allow someone so close.

He lowered his voice to a whisper when he spoke the next time. The sincerity in his tone like the ocean on a clear day – so pure, and deep, and expansive that she had no doubt Jim meant it when he said, “Y/F/N Y/L/N, you are something... You’re…incredible.”

She remembers his lips, silky and slightly parted. She remembers his minty breath ghosting across her face, his lashes casting long shadows over angled cheekbones, his skin dotted from the light of the moon that put the constellations to shame. Her heart was made vulnerable by his eyes, sparking blue in the moonlight. She remembers thinking she had just caught a glimpse of what heaven must be like…followed by the unrelenting need to look away…before thinking  herself to he could be hers.

When she dropped her head to his shoulder, he released a contented sigh and rested his cheek atop her temple. She thinks she felt the corner of his mouth turn up against her skin. She pictured Jim flashing his perfect crooked smile…and it made her smile too. They remained in their embrace for a while longer…

Jim is standing before her. Y/N glides one hand around his neck and grabs hold of his shirt with the other, pulling him into a deep kiss. Without the slightest hint of surprise, he dives right in with her; tongue tickling the roof of her mouth, lips playfully reshaping around hers, strong arms looping around her body. He holds her tightly to his chest…tighter and tighter…until there is no space between them.

When they part, they are left entranced by each other; breathless, eyes glassy, hearts rushing.

He nudges her nose with his. “Not complaining here – at all – but what was that for?” he asks, tone soft as an early summer breeze.

“It’s a thank you.”

“For…”

“Showing me what heaven looks like,” she answers.

Jim blinks at her a bit awestruck, question hanging at the tip of his tongue. Y/N lifts her head and kisses him once more, light and deliberate, then lingering at the corner of his mouth.

“There’s something different about you today…” he notes, peering thoughtfully into her eyes. “Good different?” she inquires. “Definitely good. You seem more……yourself. I can feel it...right here,” he continues, picking up her hand and placing it over his heart. “Can you?” “I feel different…and today…I don’t know… I mean…it doesn’t feel like an end. It’s more like…”

He completes her thought. “The start of something?”

“Exactly.”

“Y/N...”

She gazes at Jim, blush rising in her cheeks as she waits for him to continue.

“I love you,” he tells her. Like it’s the easiest, most natural thing in the world for him to say.

She smiles brightly, eyes misting ever so slightly, and her heart so full that she can’t wait to say it back. “I love you too.” And it feels like the easiest, most natural thing in the world to admit. Because she does. She loves him – so much.

She remembers the rush of nerves that affected the tenor of her voice. “I… I love you too Jim Mason.” He kissed her again this time more intense.

They both grasped for the hem of his shirt, hands brushing against each other, then stilling.

“I should let you do that,” she corrected, silently scolding herself for her inability to keep her hands to herself.

He reached back, pulling the formerly white cotton shirt over his head by its collar...and everything slowed down. She remembers watching his lean muscles stretch and contract as he moved, the elegant lines of his body gradually being revealed to her like the unveiling of a new sculpture in a gallery. She blinked with awe realizing that for the first time, she was alone with Jim…in near darkness…while he was only half-dressed. It seemed almost dream like how it happened.

Mesmerized, her eyes wandered over every inch of him. The surface of his skin practically glowed in dispersed lunar light. Y/N remembers the sprinkling of moles that adorned his shoulders and torso. It never even occurred to her to stop when her hands connected with his chest; smooth, and warm, and solid. She was touching Jim – she needed to – and with nothing separating her fingertips from his skin, it felt better than she ever even dreamed it could feel. Her left hand settled loosely over his heart and the digits of her right hand slid down toward his abdominal muscles.

But before she could recoil, his hand covered hers, pressing it nearer until she could feel his erratic heartbeat below her palm.

In silence, they held onto each other. Jim drew Y/N closer, and she relished in the sensation of him surrounding her so perfectly. His embrace made her lose all sense of time, all care for it too. She remembers wishing they could disappear. Just the two of them. Together. No song writing, no demos to record, no record execs to impress. Just Y/N and Jim alone together.

“Jim. Jim. Jim,” she repeats, rising to the tips of her toes and kissing every inch of his face; his cheeks, his eyelids and lashes, his brows, his nose, jaw, and chin, then finally his lips, as he pants into her mouth.

His hands come up to take hold of her face, and he gazes in to her eyes in a way that somehow uncovers the moon and the stars......even from behind a dense layer of clouds overhead. He replaces the ephemeral darkness of night with something more powerful, something enduring…

She presses closer, wanting to connect with every part of him. Her heart bangs wildly against her sternum, wordlessly chanting his name within the chambers of her rib cage. Jim. Jim. Jim.

He kisses her again, and when he stops, Y/N doesn’t even bother to stifle a disappointed moan. It hangs in the stillness of the night air, but she is desperate for more and she wants Stiles to know it. She never wants him to question her feelings for him. Ever.

She releases his shirt and winds her arms around his neck. “Jim... Will you?” she asks, looking at him through her lashes.

He arches his eyebrow, then slides his hands down her body, lifting her up and wrapping her legs around his waist. “Better?” he asks, softly nudging her nose with his.“Much,” she replies with a smile.Then he gives her a chaste kiss and carries her inside the house.

As Jim approaches the living room, Y/N speaks up. “Is it okay if we don’t watch a movie right now?”

“Sure. You wanna talk for a while?”

Tightening her legs around him, she can hear the desire in her own voice when she speaks to him in a breathy whisper. “Later. Right now……all I want is you.”

He touches his forehead to hers and weaves his fingers into her hair. “I want you so much Y/N.”

He turns them around and heads for the open doorway of his bedroom. Then, he steps across the threshold and closes the door behind them. Bracing Y/N against the grain, he explores her mouth with his, smiling as she parts her lips for him.

Within seconds, one of his hands leaves her back, and when she hears the lock click…her entire body clenches with anticipation because she knows the night is about to get infinitely better. Being with Jim makes everything better.

[mercurygray]

Mercy Street? I'm a little one-track right now. Alternately, A Discovery of Witches - what's another major even in world history Matthew's been through?

So, I took this prompt and kind of squished it with another post - I think it was from @begins-with-an-absence-of-desire - about a Downton crossover and said, Interwar Oxford and  vampires on shooting weekends. That’s a thing we need.

Sometimes his mother could be infuriating.

Matthew had finally settled into his new rooms at Oxford, one more pale, anxious face among all the other pale, anxious faces, and what had Ysabeau done but come barreling in fresh from Paris like some over-zealous society mother hen to drag him away to the country.

He knew she didn’t approve of his experiments, nor did his father - but if Baldwin could brood in Threadneedle Street buying and selling the world, and Verin swan through the backstreet cabarets of Berlin, and Stasia sit in state somewhere in Shanghai presiding like an empress over a string of gambling houses and opium dens, then he was entitled to something to call his own, and if it was too staid for his parents -  well, that was just too bad.

This would be his…fourth? fifth? time at Oxford - a new degree, a new college, new people and new ideas to explore. This time would be easier, after a fashion - so many of the new men were already older, coming out of the army to finish degrees that the war had pushing into a waiting room. They came with a sense of comradeship already built, their proving under fire forging links far stronger than ties of school colors and cricket games ever had. And if they assumed that he had passed the war as they had, what was the harm in that? He had been a soldier, more than once, for England and for France; he knew something of mud, and blood, and death, and he knew what it was like to do things that terrified you, that you’d never thought yourself capable of doing.

 It would have been simpler to move back into Woodstock, but there was something about being in the thick of the university that comforted him, grounded him to his work. At Woodstock, he remembered being a spy, a courtier, a poet. In Oxford, he was a scientist, an examiner of puzzles, a fellow sufferer on the wheel of academia.

Except, of course, for this weekend, when he would have to play the handsome, available son for whatever bored daughters of England’s aristocracy had come along for a shooting weekend.

Was his mother bored? Had she done this to spite him? Was this payback for abandoning her (her words, not his) during the war? Or simply one more effort to get him to abandon his research? Matthew didn’t truly know, but if several centuries had taught him nothing else, it was pointless to argue with Ysabeau de Clermont.

Whatever the reason, the matriarch of the Clermont clan was, at present, looking very pleased with herself in the backseat of the saloon car conveying them up to whatever country estate they were meant to be visiting this weekend.

“You haven’t asked where we’re going.” She sounded a little put out, but Matthew would be damned before he gave her the satisfaction.

“One English country house is much like another.”

“It’ll be fun,” his mother said with a smile, nudging his knee with her own. “You’re too serious these days, Matthew - you need a little color in your life.”

Ah, color. Cecelia had been colorful, and how had that ended? Debutante found dead in Seine; foul play suspected. Matthew hardly trusted himself any more where color was concerned. Let Stasia have her exiled White Russian princes to fuel the family gossip and let him have a quiet, uncomplicated, colorless life in Oxford.

Well, if this was the price for a few months’ peace, he’d pay it - a few days to shoot, and ride, and pay pretty compliments, and then he could go back to his lab and his books.

They drove for an hour or two down roads that had been set down around the time of the Conquest and only macadamed to suit current taste, making a turn into an old and well-maintained park, the road opening up for a moment on the long park in front, the house crowning a small hill.

Ysabeau smiled, their destination in sight. “Ah, Godwit.”

Godwit Park was not really what it claimed to be, its pedigree just as complicated as that of the family that lived within, built 17th century in the Jacobean, remodeled 18th century in Free Gothic, appended, added on, gardens redone, redecorated by the wife of the 14th holder of the title, until the thing being presented was as far from the original as its creator had intended.  It was, for Matthew, a painful artistic exercise, coming back to a place that he had known and loved in its first incarnation only to see the things that gave him joy taken away, the ghosts of well-carved cornices and chimney pieces lingering only in his memory. Not to mention the actual ghosts - most homes in England had at least two or three - which naturally flocked to creatures like moths to candles.

It had not always been thus - he could remember a time when every self-respecting noble house in England had at least one witch on staff, a housekeeper or nursemaid who managed these things along with other small domestic concerns. Alas, those days were long gone, fallen prey to Victorian respectability and universal education. There was less magic left in England, now, and less creatures to remember it.

And Matthew was old enough to remember, at least, the days when the park had taken its name and the first Lord Belhurst had declared that he would only have people of ‘good wit’ at his table. There had been dancing in the hall, and great quantities of wine, and toasts had been drunk to Charles and his pretty, witty Nell. Yes, that had been a party -and this weekend would be very, very different.

Here was the drive, and here the front door, servants assembled in black and white, and here was the lady of the house to welcome them. “Isabelle!”

“Louisa!” They kissed in the continental manner, like two old schoolfriends, though that was hardly how they knew each other. (There was something about charity work for French refugees, and tea dances, and Claridges.) “You remember Matthew, I hope.”

Lady Belhurst looked him over with an assessing eye. “I feel like every time I see you, Mr. Clairmont, you get taller. Isabelle tells me you’re at Oxford, studying!”

Matthew silently remembered a time when no one sent to Oxford (including young Lord Belhurst, son of the house’s builder) had actually studied, and smiled. “One has to keep busy somehow.”

“Well, I am glad you’ve made time for us,” Louisa said. “We’re only a small party this weekend, just twelve, and I had such a time making up my numbers. None of Freddie’s friends could get away and when Isabelle said she would bring you it was such a blessing. I think Lydia’s through here.”

There was no time to see what changes the family had wrought in the intervening years - Matthew caught a glimpse of the young Lord Belhurst with his dogs at his feet in a heavy gilded frame, a flash of the young Lady Belhurst, his wife, in full court array down another corridor. (Her hair always smelled of chamomile, to keep its color; Charles had given her those pearls, and she’d gambled them away for - but it hardly mattered now.)

There were two women sitting in the drawing room enjoying their tea. Lydia Belhurst was built in the family pattern, with a generous face and a jolly smile that would have looked well under Cavalier curls, but the woman sitting with her was a different creature entirely, all fine lines and flashing eyes and cultivated coldness, her beauty of an older stamp, dark where Lydia’s was light. She did not seem the kind of woman who would greet a friend as Lydia did, rising quickly from her seat and coming to embrace him.

“Oh, Matthew! Mama said you might come. Has she told you you’ve saved the numbers?”

“I’m in danger of having that be how I’m introduced all weekend,” he quipped, and Lydia laughed. But was that anger he had seen on the other woman’s face? Disdain, perhaps?

“I’ll try hard not to say it again, then. Do you know Lady Mary Crawley? Her people are up in Yorkshire - the Earls of Grantham. Mary, this is Matthew Clairmont - one of Freddie’s friends.”

Again that flash of unease! “A pleasure.” A slim, elegant hand was offered, delivering a handshake that meant business. Power seemed to crackle around her shoulders, but Lady Mary Crawley was no witch - only a woman used to getting what she wanted. A dark dress and a wedding ring told him everything he needed to know - widowed, doubtless. Some well-meaning relative had dispatched her in the same way that Ysabeau had dragged him along. Well, there was a kinship to be had there.

What on earth was that damnable smile of Lydia’s? She looked like a cat who’d gotten into the cream. But there was no time to ask - her attention was quickly drawn out the window. “Good heavens, is that the Seatons? I thought they wouldn’t be here for ages! There’s tea here, Matthew, if you’d like some - must dash!”

And, just like that, she was gone, leaving the two of them alone. Mary watched Lydia leave and sighed. “I wish they wouldn’t be so damn obvious about it.” She turned to Matthew and gave a thin, belabored smile, the kind that is generally sick of playing games and having to give such smiles. “I’ll apologize now, Mr. Clairmont, and spare you the effort - I’m afraid Lady Belhurst’s romantic plotting won’t come to anything.” He tried to look politely confused. “I’ve been listening to Lydia extol your considerable virtues for the last half-hour and now she has - conveniently - left us alone.”

Ah. Yes, that rather explained it. “I appreciate the honesty - but Lady Belhurst’s plotting wouldn’t have come to anything from my end, either. At the moment I’m rather married to my work.”

“Oh?” She looked interested at that - a welcome changes from her usual round, then. Mary Crawley was used to being an object of universal desire. (As she would be, if she were beautiful, titled, and - were the Earls of Grantham rich? He couldn’t remember.)

“I’m down at Oxford. University College - Chemistry.”

She looked him over, making some small sound of amusement. “Funny, you don’t look at all like an academic.”

Was that a challenge? “Why, what should an academic look like?”

“Well, I don’t know…thinner and less …rigorous. And you’re missing a pair of glasses and a…a general air of derangement.”

There was something about the way she said rigorous that sparked something - this was a woman well-used to managing her desires, a common enough type for women of her class. A physical attraction was to mean little to her, the primary prize a man’s wealth and his station. But if she was a widow, she’d presumably made the first marriage that her family had so desired - which meant she was now free to do as she wished in the matter of her second. So you find me attractive, Mary Crawley, and you’d rather you didn’t - because that would make brushing me off just that much easier.  Well.

“I’m so sorry, I seem to have left all of those in my other trunk. I can go and come back wearing something more suitable, if you’d rather.” A smile - genuine, this time. Why did that feel like victory? Why did he care? “So,” he asked, bending down to pour himself a cup of tea and settling into the sofa.  “What shall we do to encourage their plots?”

Are Mary and Matthew going to re-invent fake dating for their shooting weekend? Probably, because…that would be entertaining to me. Why not set this at Downton? I liked the idea of being in a sort of ‘neutral’ territory. 

I can’t remember right now the name of the other woman Matthew fell in love with, after Eleanor - was it Celine? Cecelia? It started with a C. 

On a side note, I’m totally in love with the idea of Matthew having a kind of kinship with this generation of the shell-shocked officer class. 

[aca-awesomenerd]

Bechloe Multi-Chapter Fic List

Perfect Harmony

Author : BeChloe01

Beca and her father made a deal that if she really gave Barden a shot, he'd fund her move to LA at the end of the school year. She only has a few months left to convince him that she did try. Which means Chloe only has a few months to convince Beca to stay. Slight AU retelling of the movie so that BeChloe are canon.

Squeeze Once For Yes

Author : Knope.We.Can

Beca finds herself being pulled into a fast friendship with a gorgeous redhead and, for the first time in years, she wishes she hadn't built her protective walls so high.

The Friend

Author : Secret Heart33

Beca falls in love with her best friend, Chloe, for the first time when she is 12, but things do not go quite as planned. From there Beca learns her role as 'The Friend' and tries to put it all behind her when she moves away. What will happen when they meet again 6 years later at Barden University.

The Playlist - Volume 1

Author : RedRobin90

Beca Mitchell doesn't want to go to Barden, but once she's met that certain redhead, who doesn't seem to have personal boundaries and always know's how to make her skin tingle, it doesn't seem all that bad.

Your Love Is A Song

Author : HypersomniacGrad

All Beca wanted was to move to LA and make music, that's why she made the deal with her dad in the first place. Make it one year through college then she could move to LA. Thankfully she has her step-brother and a surprisingly amazing roommate to help her bear through it all before she moves on. And then she meets Chloe, and Beca's not quite sure about anything anymore

Dreams

Author : TrulyBeTold

Aubrey and Chloe celebrate the Bellas' win, but Chloe isn't as happy as she thought she would be. And Beca finally got the courage to be with Jesse, so why does she feel like something's missing? And which of our favorite Bellas will help piece the puzzle together?

Everything You Want

Author : funnyhowthatis

In the morning after the Bellas win the final competition, Beca and Chloe realize that they might not have gotten all that they wanted.

Long Way Round

Author : Smeg699

Nationals is over, a new school year has begun, and Beca is wondering if she didn't make a mistake at Nationals. Rating: Mostly T, a few chapters are M though, and that will be noted in the Author's Note at the beginning.

We Could Be More

Author : Knope.We.Can

They've been best friends since college. Just Best Friends. No complications, No jealousy over boyfriends, just plain, simple friends. Until, of course, the awkward almost kiss.

You Never Know How Strong You Are

Author : CrohnieReader

until being strong is the only choice you have. Moving into the Bellas' House in her second year of college should be exciting and fun for Beca, right? But when the thing she's been hiding from everyone since the beginning of freshman year makes a reappearance, bringing with it a great deal of suffering, it makes life a little more complicated.

Just Like Glass

Author : recallthelove

You see through me, like I'm not there. 

PP3 - What really happened

Author : when_you_know_you_know

Not enough Bechloe content in PP3 for your liking? Well here is what REALLY happened on/off screen 

For Lovers Only

Author : dr_jb5

Takes place two years after the events of Pitch Perfect 3. Beca and Chloe haven’t seen one another since then, each going their separate ways – Beca to music, Chloe to vet school. But, one fateful week, they both end up in Paris ... And when their paths suddenly collide, desire and passion take over as they gain back those missed years and rediscover one another all over again.

I'm Only Human

Author : longlivebechloe

AU on what happens after Chicago and Chloe kiss.

I Guess I Do

Author : x-backtoblack-x

Chloe's cousin's getting married and she'll be damned if she has to endure another family gathering/speed dating weekend. Cue Beca to begrudgingly save the day.

You're Weird

Author : Saweeet47

Chloe's father doesn't handle her sexuality very well, to the point where he doesn't believe it. Chloe's family assumes she has a girlfriend. She feels the need to hit two birds with one stone, coincidentally Beca is there to save the day.

And I Opened Up My Eyes, I Saw The Sign

Author : dandelion3455

Chloe and Beca have never quite figured out their timing. But what happens when Amy's impending wedding practically forces the two girls together? Basically a slow burn that turns into a volcanic eruption and there's a lot of smut.

Belong

Author : MakesGoodChoices

Beca Mitchell is a six time Grammy award winner, but Chloe Beale is never far from her mind. What happens when they meet up again at an engagement party five years later?

Blind Love

Author : acafuckmylife

Chloe's best friend Aubrey is marrying the guy of her dreams; she's the maid of honor of course. Planning the wedding is going to be a lot of work, so when Jesse (Aubrey's future husband) suggests that his best man/Best friend Beca Mitchell helps them, a lot can go wrong. Rated T (possibly M later). Bechloe and Jaubrey.

I Love You, Awesome Nerd

Author : Olivia Janae

Beca had done her freaking yearly good deed. She had gone to the Bellas reunion...thing...whatever. She had gone and she had accepted the award, she had seen the Bellas; she had even let them stay at her damn condo! So why the hell was that stupid-gorgeous redhead, the one she had run from all of those years ago, back and camped out in her freaking living room refusing to leave?

I Promise

Author : fugitiveboov43

"I did not forget my promise, I was trying to forget it. There's a difference." Chloe breaks Beca's heart. Thanks to fate and with their small circle of friends, they meet again.

Pitch Perfect 3 - The Aca-Reunion

Author : becca343

After years apart, the Bellas are all coming back to Barden for their 5 year reunion.

Stupid Choices And Second Chances

Author : Biggiewoods

Beca has been helplessly in love with Chloe forever but never had the guts to tell her. After Chloe gets married Beca can't seem to bare it and cuts all ties with the love of her life. What happens after 5 years later when they meet up again. Will Beca finally tell her how she feels? Will it even matter if she does?

The Sun & The Stars

Author : BardenBellatrix

The Bellas get invited to a resort to celebrate Jessica and Ashley's engagement. Will the girls' relationships have changed since they left Barden?

Two Brides and The Bellas

Author : Gapalkru

A few months after graduation, the Bellas are reunited at Cynthia Rose’s wedding. Someone is a bit too stubborn about a bet, alcohol flows freely, and Amy requires a tuxedo for her iPad. Don’t we all just want to live happily ever after at a wedding?

Burn

Author : idontknowmaybe

Chloe Beale needed a change. So when the perfect job opportunity came up in the same LA suburb that her best friend lived in she couldn't pass it up. Can you find yourself and the one when the town is caught up in a horrible nightmare?

Everything I Never Knew I Wanted

Author : Well Fancy That 13

Beca is one of the world's biggest DJ's and music producers, Chloe is an on-the-rise It-Girl in Hollywood. Beca Mitchell thought she had it all, but then she met Chloe Beale.

This Could be Just Like Heaven (Don't Throw It All Away)

Author : Freerangeegghead 

In which Beca Mitchell gets the life she's always dreamed of and more, but realizes maybe it's not all it's cracked up to be.

Fallen

Author : Iwentdownwiththeshipbye

Beca has a religious, homophobic father who has been abusive in the past, leading Beca to think she needs to have secret relationships. Only her last relationship ended horribly and she's left to get her frustrations out by womanizing. Until she meets Chloe. Who sees right through her persona.

Familiar Taste Of Poison

Author : danisweetman22

Beca Mitchell was never a normal girl. She had been through so much in her life, more than a soldier, her psychiatrists all used to say. It was only when she arrived at Barden University that things started to change, for the good, and the bad. Trigger Warning: Abuse, Rape, Self Harm, Drug Abuse and Alcoholism.

Hurt

Author : Knope.We.Can

On a night out with Aubrey, Chloe is shocked to discover that the musician they're watching perform is her best friend from high school, Beca Mitchell. While Chloe is desperate to reunite with the one that got away, Beca has her own demons to battle. Trigger warning.

League of Angels

Author : danisweetman22

Beca Mitchell is the most feared assassin Azrael, the angel of death. She arrives at Barden University under her master, Michael's order. Her new target, Mr James Beale, an important figure in the Government. Beca must collect intel through his daughter, Chloe. However, something about Chloe, unlocks feelings in Beca that she locked away eleven years before.

Roommates

Author : twin192

Beca, 19, a freshman is new at Barden University and meets her new roommate Chloe, 21, also a freshman. They click instantly and become fast friends. But what is Chloe hiding? Why is she crying so often when she thinks nobody's noticing? What did she do for two years before going to college? AU

Silence Has A Sound

Author : summerreader13

Something has happened to Beca. No one's seen or heard from her in days. Chloe decides to go to her room and find out what's going on. Can she help Beca, or will Beca push her away like she does everyone else?

Shattered

Author : Lackluster Brilliance

Chloe did what she swore she'd never do. She broke Beca's heart, and though it hurts, Beca can never stop loving Chloe. Bechloe angst. Trigger warnings: Rape, self harm, suicide, and alcohol abuse.

Tragedy Strikes When You Least Expect It

Author : Iwillforgetthisl8er

A year after Beca Mitchell stopped talking to the Bellas and Chloe, a tragic accident will pull her back. Rated T for now, may change later. Trigger warnings: Child Abuse and Rape

Whispers In The Dark

Author : KissKendrick

Who knew something as simple as a bag being thrown over her head could open so many doors? Doors that Beca wanted to keep shut. Chloe had no idea what she was getting herself into. What she did know? She wasn't backing down. She wasn't leaving Beca, and she wouldn't let the horror of her past hurt her anymore. The problem? Beca may be too far gone to be helped. TRIGGERS INSIDE.

Your Love Is Killing Me

Author : abnormalhuman

Beca and Chloe become fast friends like predicted, and right from the start there is something more. But how can Beca fall for a girl after being raised by homophobic parents? Beca can't handle or come to terms with herself. Will Chloe be able to help her through it? Trigger Warnings: slight mention of self harm and homophobic assholes doing their asshole thing.

Where Are You?

Author : Knope.We.Can

Beca Mitchell has been missing from Barden for a month. Chloe has spent every single hour she's been gone missing her.

It's All About Finding Yourself

Author : FluentInMovieQuotes

Beca struggles with school as it is so being forced into the High School's show choir by her Spanish teacher, claiming that it would earn her enough extra credit to pass his class was the last thing on her mind. After they perform at homecoming assembly, a certain redhead joins and her and Beca easily become friends until Beca begins to question her sexuality.

Dreams Can Come True

Author : FluentInMovieQuotes

Sequel To It’s All About Finding Yourself

Struck by a Feeling

Author : LadyHH

Beca and Chloe lead two different lives at school. Neither noticing the other, that all changes from one moment that will lead them to something they never expected.

The Track Star and The Cheerleader

Author : not-so-average-fangirl

High School Junior and Track Star, Beca Mitchell, gets thrown for a loop when her father gets a new job at Barden High School. She's forced to leave her current high school and join Barden just as her Junior year is starting. What could possibly go wrong? Or, after meeting a certain redhead, possibly go right?

To Leave It All Behind

Author : BIggiewoods

Beca had to leave her perfect life all because her mother had remarried. She had it all. She was on a State Champion Softball Team, had a weekly show on her high school's radio station, and most importantly a future internship at a record label. She thought her junior year would be a bust until a bubbly redhead she will meet would make it all worth it.

Awake and Alive

Author : KissKendrick

Chloe knew before she even saw her, that Beca was the girl she was meant to spend her life with. Beca, was drawn to Chloe, for reasons she didn't understand, nor does she care. But Chloe as well as her best friend Aubrey are not what everyone thinks. They are not regular college students. And an old friend from the past is going to stir up a lot of old feelings, & expose the truth.

Love Like The Wind Wild, Untamed

Author : jamiexh

Beca's and Chloe's lives are turned upside down when Chloe accidently turns Beca into a werewolf.

My Little Badass

Author : LexysK23

"I was trying to find something to levitate to show Beca, but I may have done the wrong spell. Bree, I changed my girlfriend into a three year old." Chloe now must take care of her three year old girlfriend until she is able to change her back. How much trouble can the small girl get into? And, oh yeah, it's a three year old half-vampire.

Now We've Got Bad Blood

Author : tay0720

Fresh off the plane from Seattle, Beca Mitchell heads to Barden University for her first year of college only to find herself falling hard for a junior named Chloe while being roped into a supernatural shitstorm.

The Last Battle

Author : Jules In Neverland

Two years after leaving the US Air Force, Captain Rebeca Mitchell works for the FBI. With her ex-wife about to marry a man that it's not as perfect as he seems, and a seven year old to take care of, she fights to fulfill her three ultimate missions in life: Make justice after terrible events happened during war. Catch the last bad guy of her career. Gain the love of her life back.

They Shot Me Down But I Won't Fall

Author : beauboss

Beca was in the army and fought in a war till she got shot in her leg and her dad wanted her to come home. As she was still recovering her dad forced her to go to Barden to follow some classes. Beca hates being home but then she meets Chloe. A beautiful red head who she thinks is really pushy and annoying at first... But what happens if her feelings change?

Beca's Fall

Author : MidnightBravery

Beca and Chloe get into a big fight over another girl, resulting in Beca walking out on Chloe. Chloe is crying to Aubrey while Beca is getting drunk with Luke, what happens when Beca realizes that everything is slowly falling apart & Jesse finds her on the rooftop of the Station?

What If 

Author : HypersomniacGrad

PP2 (sometime before the retreat) but deviates from the story: After living through the worst day of her life, Beca meets an accident and comes face to face with Death. As she ponders on whether or not she still wants to wake up from her coma, she asks herself, what if she never joined the Bellas? If she never existed? If she died? Death takes her on a journey to find out.

Waiting At The End Of The Road

Author : HypersomniacGrad

Sequel to What If

You're Gonna Miss Me When I'm Gone

Author : WarriorOfTheLight

There is a life-threatening accident after Regionals and it might be too late to undo mistakes...

Counter Attack

Author : AchaeaMG

Beca has a deal with her father. She promised to play on the Barden field hockey team for a year and he would then help her move to LA. Things don't go as expected.

Leave It All On The Field

Author : second job

Chloe is a senior captain on the soccer team. Beca is the hot new freshman. Follow their relationship on and off the field.

Stare Into The Sky Until We're Blind

Author : lescousinsdangereux

Chloe Beale has one rule. Just one. Had she known that the odd combination of hair dye, a crappy old convertible, sixty-plus hours of driving, a mix CD, and one Beca Mitchell would lead to her breaking it, she never would have suggested going on this stupid road trip in the first place.

I've Been Bitten

Author : hitandrunn

Spidey!Beca. You expect your senior year in high school to be pretty stressful. Having to worry about college applications, prom and graduation. Beca on the other hand, has to worry about protecting the city when she's bitten by a radioactive spider.

The Vigilante

 Author : hitandrunn

Sequel to I’ve Been Bitten

Blank Slate

Author : HypersomniacGrad

Everyone would kill for a second chance and that's exactly what Chloe gets when one day, five years later, she gets another chance to tell Beca how she feels. Only... Beca was supposedly long gone and the girl who Chloe meets years later has no idea whatsoever who the redhead was…

Chances

Author : Melanocortin1

Beca KNOWS she can be better than Tom, she wouldn't even need a second chance. Everyone else seems to know it, she just has to get Chloe to realize it too.

Company Woman

Author : BeChloeIsLegit

It always seems that Chloe is the one getting married and Beca is left pining over her/cutting off contact. What if this time, Beca is the one getting married (to some woman) and Chloe's the one pining and regretting that she missed her chance?

ERASED

Author : HypersomniacGrad

Beca Mitchell possesses an ability that sends her back in time moments before a life-threatening incident, allowing her to prevent them from happening. When her father is murdered, Beca's ability sends her back 10 years to when she was in high school, giving her the opportunity to prevent a kidnapping incident that took the lives of 3 people she knew, including the girl she liked.

Have A Nice Life

Author : farfrom7

Beca is a little bit broken. Chloe is kind of engaged. Neither of them could be prepared for what happens when their worlds collide.

Hoofbeat

Author : shadowswillscream

Beca gets sent away to a horse ranch, Hoofbeat, as a last chance due to her recent rebellious behavior. There she meets Chloe Beale, who changes Beca's rule of 'everyone's temporary'.

It's You?

Author : AcaTitanium94

Beca & Chloe met when they were both 10'year olds. Beca promised Chloe that one day they would get married. Years later fate brings them back together in the least expected way.

It's Always Been You

Author : AcaTitanium94

Sequel to It’s You

Lost Stars

Author : BKTheGoldenKnight

Beca, an ex-MotoGP racer, has a tragic past and she had managed to get back on her feet when she met Chloe. However something unexpected happened. Will Beca stay or runaway?

Never Let Me Go

Author : AnnaKendrick11

Beca goes to Barden University and Chloe is a new student. They become friends and get closer, then they both realise that they have feelings for each other but will certain problems overtake their love?

Old Love Dies Hard

Author : iwasyounme

It's 6 years after Beca took off from Barden without telling anybody and decided to go to L.A. Chloe is a barmaid in a small bar in the City of Angels too. One night, Beca walks in her bar, but a lot has happened in 6 years and they don't recognize each other. Six years ago, Beca fell in love with Chloe, will it happen again?

The Lives We Live

Author : AcaTitanium94

Beca and Chloe both live separate lives. Chloe is married to Tom and living in Toronto Canada. What will happen when Tom gets a better job in the US and they move back there? Will her marriage change because of a certain brunette she met a year ago on an airplane?

Thank God For The Internet

Author : alyssa-gibson

Beca hated when songs got stuck in her head, but she was grateful that one did because if it hadn't, she wouldn't have met the love of her life.

Wrong Turn

Author : RunFarAwayWithMe

Beca's dad is eager to find someone who will be a 'good influence' on his alternative daughter, and introduces her to the over-achieving Luke Brandon. As Beca becomes reluctantly intrigued by this seemingly perfect guy, she is introduced to his family and becomes close with his sister, Chloe. She soon realises that Luke is just a wrong turn on her way to true love.

2000 miles

Author : omACAgee

Rising DJ internet sensation Beca Mitchell might so happen to fall in love with a cute, bubbly redhead fan of her's who's the ideal perfect girl. Problem is though, they live on opposite sides of the country with only technology keeping them in contact. Will their relationship last without the physical contact?

Proving Them Right

Author : cheeky_geek_monkey

The Bellas always did joke about Beca and Chloe dating...so is it a moral issue if they pretend to prove them right to make some money at a certain someone's wedding?

After Life

Author : phlesh

What happens if you meet your soulmate after you've already died?

La Douleur Exquise

Author : redchocopanda

Stacie believes in the concept of soulmates, of destiny and of true love. Now if only she could get her childhood best friend, Beca, who believes that none of those things are real or last long enough to convince her, to do so too & maybe make her realize that the famous Chloe Beale is the one. Unknowingly, Stacie just might become the reason their two worlds might finally collide.

Club Bellissimo

Author : redchocopanda

Emily Junk, on her last year in Barden, wishes to recruit new talented Bellas, to win the ICCAs again, to enter LA's super exclusive hangout, Club Bellissimo, to have a Bella reunion & most importantly she wishes to see Beca and Chloe finally be together and have gorgeous babies. **CLUB BELLISSIMO is the Dickens' novel Anna K hates and Brittany S would be secretly reading over wine

Puck me

Author : bardenacapella

College Hockey AU. Beca Mitchell plays on the hockey team for the Barden Bulls. What happen's when Chloe Beale goes to one of her games and their eyes meet?

Favorite Record

Author : bechloehuh/eliseboobman

They have an old beat up Thunderbird convertible, twelve thousand dollars between them, and no destination in mind. This could very much be the worst decision both of them have ever made.

Fire and Fury

Author : OnceYouGoBecYouCantGoBack

She wants to be more than just her client. G!P Beca.

Tackled

Author : OnceYouGoBecYouCantGoBack

Nine years of ignoring the big elephant in the room. Nine years of bickering like an old married couple. That's all shaken up with an unusual proposal. G!P Beca

Perfect : A Bechloe Love Story

Author : BechloeGoals4Life

What if Bechloe actually was endgame? This story is what I believe Pitch Perfect would look like if Bechloe was the focus.

Pitch Perfect 3 : Bechloe is Legit

Authors : BeChloeisLegit and  RJRMovieFan

Pitch Perfect 3 - the movie everyone saw, rewritten to be the movie everyone wishes they made.

Perfect : A Bechloe Love Story

Author : BechloeGoals4Life

What if Bechloe actually was endgame? This story is what I believe Pitch Perfect would look like if Bechloe was the focus.

The Truth About Reality

Author : sendricamp

Chloe discovers there is more to falling in love with Beca than she originally expected.

Hear me chirp

Author : Plush Panda

Chloe wants to know what Beca's favorite animal is, but Beca will have none of that. Supernatural!AU.

A Ginger A DJ A Wedding

Author : EmilliJayne

Chloe convinces Beca to be her date to her brother's wedding :)

The Basketcase and The Princess

Author : Fake Shemp

Angsty but Fluffy AU timeline of Pitch Perfect.

Beauty and the Badass

Author : Ibbly5

Beca Mitchell is a badass LA music producer, working as a bartender by night. So what happens when an adorable redhead comes into her life?

From more to friends, from friends to more (Those bright blue eyes)

Author : brighteyes29

A Bechloe High school AU. It's a month before the graduation where Beca and Chloe broke-up, although the DJ still tries to get her ex back with some help from her best friend Jesse. But after all, the two girls still love each other. They just have to admit it one more time.

Bellas Boot Camp

Author : MoonWriting

Adventures come in all sorts and shapes. Bootcamp with Aubrey is one of them for the Barden Bellas, but while there Beca and Chloe each go through their own emotional adventure in their journey to love.

The Detention Club

Author : ThatWeirdAwkwardKid

High School AU. Basically what happens when you mix drama, mischief, the girls and a night owl of a writer. Just the group making trouble as well as friendships whilst having fun trying to avoid the principal.

Destiny

Author : KateLides321

Beca Mitchell moves to Atlanta to live with her cousin Jesse. Upon arriving she meets a beautiful girl who's dog named Destiny got loose and ran up to her. Maybe this was meant to be or is destiny playing a cruel trick on her heart.

Irresistible

Author : justfunriley

Beca is a werewolf, who was changed by an unknown Alpha. As she struggles with her transformation, Jesse and she start to fight. This leads to them breaking up. Who will be there to pick up the pieces? Her best friend, a beautiful redhead, will be there to pick up the pieces. Werewolf/AU Bechloe fanfiction.

Sometime You Need Help

Author : Ibbly5

Beca is super guarded, all the time. And Chloe is so drawn to her. But Beca can't possibly let her in, can she? She can't trust anyone ever. Even someone as kind and beautiful as Chloe.

Something Worth Living For

Author : AnnaKendrick47

Beca Mitchell doesn't have many friends, people in school hate her, teachers despise her attitude, which always seem to get her in trouble. That is until she finds herself wanting to get into one specific teacher's good side.

Age Is Just A Number

Author : FluentInMovieQuotes

Beca's heading into her senior year of high school, pining to get herself to LA instead. She meets a redhead the night before school starts and they find out that they have a lot in common with each other. Little did Beca know that the next morning she'd discover that this redhead would be her new English teacher. Someone has it hot for the teacher.

The Voice

Author : A Charmed Vampire

Chloe Beale gets the chance to audition on the NBC hit show, The Voice. Desperate to kick start her music career, she wants to get her best chance of winning. Just one little thing standing in her way. Professional DJ, producer and recording artist, Beca Mitchell is one of the coaches. Will her crush on Beca get in the way of her musical dream?

One More Year

Author : Knope.We.Can

It's the final year of high school, and Chloe has big plans to go off to college and begin the next stage of her life. Beca just can't wait for the year to be over so she can head to LA. Having spent their time at high school as strangers, Chloe finds herself wondering about the quiet mysterious girl in her English class.

Maybe In Another Life

Author : not_so_average_fangirl

Moving into a new house turns out to be a better experience for Chloe Beale than she thought it would. Perhaps it’s because of the friendly, little brunette she finds hiding in the basement one night. An unforeseen friendship sparks between them, but as more complicated emotions begin to arise, a shocking truth is revealed, and Chloe’s world gets turned upside down.

And Everyone Wins

Author : littlepip

Beca and Chloe haven't seen each other since high school. They weren't great friends back then, but that wouldn't be the only thing that's changed.

[fountainpenguin]

Please do #7.

#7 - Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I’ve written so many scenes I love. I couldn’t pick just one, so here is one from each of several fandoms.

Total Drama - The Lyin’ Queen, Chapter 2: “Last One Standing”

Context: It’s just after Staci’s elimination ceremony. We follow her point of view as she wanders Playa Des Losers while the Season 1 cast pack up and leave after learning that they won’t be participating this season. Note that in this scene, Ezekiel is on Staci’s shoulders.

That snapped up the attention of the boy with the injured arm who had greeted Staci down by the beach. “Hold on. Owen, what happened to your face?”

“Um, Chris strapped a bomb to it, and it went off. It’s okay, though! It wasn’t really a bomb, it was just a signal flare thing. It doesn’t hurt anymore, really, Noah. You don’t have to worry.”

Noah opened his mouth. Shut it. He raised his good hand. Lowered it. Raised it again, then lowered it.

“Why didn’t you tell me this five hours ago when I asked for everyone with injuries to meet me down at the dock?”

They made a comical sight- a giant cringing away from a scrawny bookworm who had one arm wrapped in a sling of reeds. “I didn’t want you to yell at me,” Owen whimpered.

“Why would I yell at you?” Noah yelled, slapping his palm to his forehead. “You need serious medical attention, Brickhouse! What is your problem?”

Staci had begun to walk backwards as she watched them, so she didn’t know what to think when her heels and hips thunked against something large and metal and cold. She looked up. The thing was a robot. A big, chunky robot with a square head and small, colorful buttons all over it. It breathed at her.

“Hello?”

The robot continued to breathe at her.

“Okay, yeah…” Staci grinned and tried to slip beneath its arm, but the robot would have none of that. Its clawed hand twisted around. It grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her into the air. “Hey!” she sputtered, kicking her legs. Ezekiel launched into a stream of snarls, and the robot launched into a stream of high-pitched beeps. Staci wasn’t much of a yeller, but she considered putting her lungs to full use when another voice broke her out of her stupor, and she glanced down.

“Leave her alone, gawsh!” A redheaded boy with thick glasses - Staci knew he was Harold, because he’d been in the Drama Brothers band too - brandished the tattered white tablecloth from the buffet table. After folding it a few times, he twisted it up and smacked it against the robot’s chestal region. With a few more grunted clicks and whirrs, it replaced Staci (and Ezekiel) on the ground. Then it rrrrrd backwards, turned around, and drove away.

“You all right?” Harold asked, taking Staci’s shoulder to steady her. She wrinkled her nose in the direction the robot had rolled.

“Ya, I’m fine. What… is it?”

He shrugged and, after casting it another glance, shuddered and began walking in the opposite direction. She hurried after him. “Oh, him. That’s just the Total Drama Machine. It’s just programmed to pick stuff up and throw things away, reach high shelves, purify drinking water, give off magnetic pulses to scare off the mutant wildlife, stuff like that. Just kind of roams around until it bumps into something.”

“Huh. Well, I might have to take it apart and see how it ticks, ya. Inventing runs in the family and I won’t rest until I make a significant contribution to the world. You see, my great-great-great-great aunt Tanya invented HELLO GOLDEN FLIPPING SWEETNESS!”

She recognized him instantly- Who wouldn’t? But he was so much different in real life than he’d looked on YouTube. His tan skin was… was the color of perfect skin, and his black hair had that sheen that all hair should aspire to gain. He had the gorgeous rounded muscles, had the defined cheekbones of cheekbone heaven. He lay back in a pool chair with broken legs, penciling in a crossword puzzle with one hand and holding a tall glass of fruity pink juice in his other. Even before the last word had left her tongue, the newspaper in his lap burst into flame. “What the-?” he yelped, flinging it away as he jerked upright. “Who turned on my-?”

HOOOOO SNAP HE WAS HOT!

He tipped up his sunglasses and gave her a puzzled look. He had two black eyes and a mummified leg and a bloody slash down his right cheek AND HE WAS STILL THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN SHE’D EVER SEEN IN HER LIFE!

“Who is this?” he asked Harold, pointing at Staci with his pinkie. As he said it, his pencil started to smoke. Even his warm voice was super unfairly attractive.

“Justin,” Harold said, gesturing towards the ILLEGALLY MEGA HOT GUY with one upturned palm. Then he moved his palm back towards Staci. “Staci. She’s part of that new cast Chris brought in, and she got booted first this season.”

HE WAS LITERALLY GLOWING AND OH MAN IT WAS SO LUCKY HE WASN’T WEARING A SHIRT BECAUSE IF HE WAS HE’D HAVE TO BE ARRESTED FOR EVER CONCEALING SO MUCH FREAKING BEAUTY FROM THE WORLD FOR EVEN LIKE FOUR SECONDS!

First of all, I just want to say that “Why would I yell at you?” Noah yelled is one of my favorite lines of all time.

Okay, but how can you not love Staci? She is so ridiculously… chill. About everything. I really do need to finish this ‘fic one of these days, because she’s so funny. Keep in mind that this scene with Justin comes shortly after the scene when Staci was about to drown and when she saw someone coming to her rescue, her first thought was, “Please be hot, please be hot, please be hot.”

I don’t think the scene above really needs much explanation. Staci finally meets Justin in person, and it goes down exactly the way you’d expect it to. I nailed both Staci’s voice and succeeded in adding humor to this chapter, so I’m pretty pleased with it to this day.

Pokémon - PMDU - “Playin’ Sight” and “Rory and the Duckletts” Part 7

Context: PMDU is/was a Pokémon Mystery Dungeon group on deviantArt that allowed members to create teams and embark on story adventures. I’ve actually got two pieces from PMDU that I’d like to share because ??? I’m like that ??? The first one comes from “Playin’ Sight”, and is told by Kit the shiny Duskull, who has fallen into despair after Roland migrated south for the winter. As a result of their break-up, Kit lost all housing benefits and can’t stay in the Hunters’ Guild dorms anymore. Snow is on its way, Kit has no place to live, and it’s a very sad day for a suicidal little hippie ghost with depression.

My thoughts had wandered back to Roland’s smug face with its tall, pointed ears and soft feathery muzzle. His whiteness and purity, his snappy red and electric blue freckles, that incurable quirk to his right ear, the muscles rippling around his wings like waves amidst Iravian prairie grass… Was it any real surprise? Roland was all I had. As a Ghost, I’d seen many faces come and go - most of them people I didn’t think were all that fab - but through some twist of fate, I had never met anyone quite like Roland before. He wasn’t a prince. He was hardly a citizen. He was dirty and vulgar and foul-mouthed and ill-tempered. He was sexist, impulsive, gluttonous, clumsy, illiterate, accepting, noble and brave, a devoted worker, passionate… Roland… liked me.Such an absurd concept, that. No one liked me. Katherine Christopher “Kit” of the surname they would not acknowledge was an awful ‘mon by nature. Depressed and troublesome, chaotic and shy. I cared more for my plants than I sometimes did for others’ lives.And yet, despite every flaw, Roland found something in me that he appreciated. He lay his hand against my dead, unfeeling cheek, and he brought me to life. A Duskull that feeds on negativity and a Togetic that feeds on happiness make for quite the pair.Roland was the embodiment of everything that was meant to be in the world. Optimism. Socializing. Fun. He made me laugh when no one in the world could, because his genius blossomed from his gentle stupidity. Despite him disgusting me, he was my favorite ‘mon in the world. Why did I hate knowing that he saw me as his friend? I know why. Because that hurts. When your best friend doesn’t count you as their best in return. When I gave him my everything, but being roommates with benefits wasn’t enough to make him stay.Serpent below, I’m in love with someone I’ve forgotten how to hate.

“Get me another leppa,” I told Linette, shoving my empty juice cup across the counter as the Mareep beside me got to his two rear feet and stretched. When she closed her flipper around it, we touched for the briefest of moments. I let my fingers linger, until finally she eased the glass away. If she’d been Roland, she would have held them absently as she stared out the window, then turned to me with crooked teeth slightly parted at the sight of simple wonder in the evening streets.I’d have murdered someone for the chance to tell him I was sorry. I’d curl my long, wispy tail around his ankle the way he liked, leaning forward with my folded arms on his knee. One more night. Just one with the love god who considered me dirt, since I played in it so much, burying plants, burying emotions, burying dreams. One more night. Someone else’s blood on my hands for the taste of nacho cheese on his lips. I’d give anything to hear him whisper in my crumpled Slakoth ear that I actually mattered.

“Playin’ Sight” is a really cool piece for me, because it really allowed me to develop Kit’s character. Especially Kit’s relationship with Roland. Apparently those two were roommates with benefits the entire time and I just had no idea until now. But a Duskull and a Togetic have got to be one of the cutest, most complicated, and most unexpected couples you can stumble across. One wants to make the other miserable, the other wants to make the other happy.

Kit is aromantic pansexual, and I had a lot of fun writing sexual attraction from an aromantic ghost’s point of view. Kit’s lost so many people… so why does losing one more have to hurt so much? Especially when Roland is deliberately written to be as stereotypically horrible as I could make him, except for the fact that I accidentally made him volunteer at orphanages and nursing homes in his spare time and censor all his swears. I just love their dynamic. I like the prose above because we see Kit working out messy feelings, and I think it’s cute.

Now! “Rory and the Duckletts” was a side story I wrote over the course of a year and a half that told the story of Team Plum Pudding’s first days in the city of Andalusst. This particular scene revolves around my characters Rudy the Gothita and Adrian the Chespin after Rudy was tossed in “temporary jail” for crushing part of the city with a flying (read: falling) Wailord. Adrian has come to seek him out, since he believes Rudy to be the only person in the city who knows who stole the notebook that contained his entire life’s work regarding Pokémon biology.

The floor was rough. Cold. There were only six cells in the small side building, and of them a mere two were occupied. The first cell contained a sleeping Audino with matted pink fur, curled up in the far corner. Rudy was in the second one. The Gothita lay on his back on the simple bunk in the otherwise empty enclosure, sliding his feet up and down the brown wall. His hands were still bound and covered with the cloth sack.Adrian glanced Angelo [the Zangoose]’s way. “And I’m allowed to speak with him?”“I honestly don’t care one way or another what you do, so long as you don’t attack him or me or try to remove him illegally from the premises.” Angelo flicked his claw at one of the bars. It clanged. “We force-fed him a Disable pill approximately fifteen minutes ago. He ought to be harmless for the next forty.” He withdrew to his desk along the opposite wall.Rudy sat up. “Darian?”“It’s me, Rudy.”He rolled from the bunk and came over, pressing his snout to the bars. His eyes rotated around a little, and finally he found the Chespin’s body heat and smiled.“I knew you liked me. It was the ride above the clouds, wasn’t it? It’s always the ride above the clouds. That’s the rule of three.”“Of course I like you. I adore you.” Adrian crossed his arms. “You know why I came and I have neither the time nor desire to play games, so let’s hear what you have to say and get on with it.”Rudy’s little smile disappeared. “Hey Darian, listen. It’s weird, but they severed my connection somehow.” “Connection to what?”He pointed at his head where his ear should be (Adrian decided that he probably had ear holes just beneath those ribbons). “I don’t know the word for it in like non-psychic language. But the pill messed up my connection.”“In Common, please?”Rudy sighed like Thorn. “You know, my thing. My Gothita sight powers. I can’t even see the warm windows anymore, even though you’ve had one following you all day and it’s probably still here. And I’m not picking up too many signals, so half the time I’m losing my words.”“I’m sorry for you. Does that interfere with your ability to describe the location of my sketchbook thief?”“Well, no, but… It bothers me. No, it really does. I feel gross and dead.”Adrian clicked his fingers several times, at least as well as he could manage. “Rudy. It’s late. My feet are sore. My ribs are broken, gosh darnit, if you’ve forgotten that. I am starving, exhausted, dried halfway to a husk, and just in an incredibly cranky mood overall. Please, just once today, can I not have something go easily for me?”Tilting his head, Rudy brought his brows together. “Why didn’t you tell me your ribs were broken? I would have healed you if you’d asked nicely.”“Please don’t tell me you know Heal Pulse. I will pitch a fit.” “Yeah, I do. My Dad taught it to me when I was little.”“Why didn’t you- I told you I couldn’t walk!”“Well, you didn’t say it was because you’d broken your ribs. You just need to be more specific. Wait, did I just…?”Adrian narrowed his eyes. He probably deserved that, although he wasn’t sure exactly how. He glanced out the window over Angelo’s desk. The sky was still black. He ground his teeth. His tongue flicked over the space in the back where he was missing one. Had that only been yesterday?“Gosh darnit Rudy, please. I will fall to my knees and clasp my hands if that is what you would have me do. Everything I am is dependent upon that notebook. You’re the only one who can rescue me from this despairing pit I have slipped into. I’ll owe you so many favors. Please, for the love of science, answer me. Where is our thief?”“I’m sorry,” Rudy said, not looking particularly broken up about this. “I can’t tell you. I don’t know what street he’s on. I’m thermosighted, remember? I can’t read signs, so I’d have to show you where. I can find it - it won’t be hard.”Adrian bashed his head against the cell bars. He let it stay there for a few seconds, then turned around to look at Angelo. “Is there any way possible I could take him out, just long enough for that?”Angelo shrugged, bored. “Not particularly, no. He’s being temporarily contained, so he’s stuck here for twenty-four hours or until his legal guardian comes to pick him up and sign the necessary forms. Whichever comes first. I think they’re planning to move him to the real jail once his time is up, since they can legally arrest him or something. I don’t know for sure. They told me, but I wasn’t really listening.”Adrian swiveled his gaze around to Rudy. “And I suppose it would be far too much to hope-”“Ended up separated from my dad in the Fog a season cycle ago, biff. As of yesterday, I’m now registered as a legal dependent of the city until I turn seventeen in common year.” He frowned. “I’d tell you ‘It will take awhile’, but that’s too close to the old thing right now, I think. I don’t remember.”Oooof course. This would be too easy otherwise. Adrian pressed his hands against his back and looked up at the ceiling. “Well, that settles that for us, then. This is the worst day of my entire life. No, you think I could be exaggerating, but I’m not. I hate every ounce of today. Or do we use another measurement system in this goshdarn city? I hate every gram of today.”“Hey.” Rudy tapped his bound hands against one of the bars, producing a low rattling sound. “Hey, plant guy. You should become my legal guardian. I think it would be nice to have parents.”His whiskers twitched. “That’s not happening. I didn’t come here to adopt a foster kid. Try again.”“Oh.” Rudy thought for a minute. “What if you broke me out?”“I’m not doing that. That’s against the law. Even if it weren’t, it would be rude. I’m not the kind of ‘mon who finds joy in tearing apart a carefully-constructed public building. Aside from that, your new friend the Zangoose is standing right here and I assume he would attempt to stop me.”Angelo shrugged. “That sounds like something I would probably do.”Rudy sighed. “Weeeell… I guess if I were a nice person, I could let you read my mind.”“Oh, would you? I would be so flattered. Ah, wait. Drat- I can’t read minds. Believe me, I would love to be a Psychic-Type.”“Phone a friend?”“Phone a… Oh, do you mean call in another Psychic? Do we have time for that?”“Nope. Maybe. I dunno. Not my problem.” Rudy shrugged, and his smirky smile came back. “Well, I suppose there’s no help for it. You’ll have to run away. I mean, I mean! Adopt me. You’ll have to adopt me. This helps both of us. I don’t see any better solution. And speaking of better, I’m feeling better already. Did you hear what I just said? I think my pill…” He chose to shut up without being asked. Probably for the first time in his life.Angelo shrugged again. “If you want to take him under your wing, you just need the mutual consent of all parties involved for that. Adopter and adoptee. Birth parents can intervene if they can prove their genes are shared, which isn’t hard. If they’re around. You could sign the document and be out of here in a matter of minutes. I have a stack of papers like that here in this drawer. Interested?”Sure, why not? Because that sounded like a perfect idea. Of all the children in the city, wild Rudy - who was currently behind bars in first-level jail, in case anyone had forgotten - was definitely the one Adrian wanted most. Rory had a c-day coming up, and a child would make a perfect mid-birthday present for her. And with Rudy came the Wailord, and then Adrian could get to enjoy the experience of almost dying every possible day. Everyone wins.Adrian picked up the first sheet of paper.Check all that apply: I am adopting an Egg of uncertain origin / I am adopting an Egg of known origin / I am adopting a person who has seen four or fewer winters / I am adopting a person who has seen five or more winters / I am adopting a direct relative / I am adopting my spouse’s child / I am adopting a person already affiliated with my Guild team as a fully documented member for at least one season.“I’m not doing this,” Adrian said, skimming down the rest of the page. It was alarmingly short for a document that could change one’s life so tremendously, so it didn’t take long.What city, town, village, or similar do you reside in? Do you qualify for official residency?I can confirm the adoptee’s birth parents or former guardians consent to adoption and have signed the necessary relinquishment forms or have otherwise been unable to perform physically or morally proper guardianship duties for the adoptee for a period of at least one most recent season.Consent of birth parent or former guardian is not necessary because: Guardian is confirmed deceased with currently no confirmation of spectral return / Guardian has been lost in the Fog for time exceeding one season / Guardian has been deprived by law of custody / Guardian has voluntarily surrendered right to custody / Adoptee was first discovered as Egg or somewhat or entirely Fogwiped and birth parents have not yet been traced.Contact with adoptee’s former guardians post the adoption is: Signed and attached / Undecided / Not applicable at this time. He shook his head. “No. I can’t commit to this - there’s no way I have time to read all these papers. Have any other plans in that unstable little skull of yours?”Rudy had tilted his head and put his mouth around one of the bars - Adrian tucked that thought away for later - but he stopped mid-chew to screw up his brows. “I’b not really what you migh’ call th’ planning type. I us’wawy just go vith th’ first thing to pop in’o my head s’long as it’s vithin the rules I know, and things us’waway work out okay.”Suitability for adoption: Adopting guardian can be considered an adult by officially recognized common count, will treat the child as a member of xir own family, will care for and provide support for the child, has a suitable home for the child, bestows upon the child rights equal to those that would come from natural birth including inheritance, and is adopting the child while being of their own, safe and sound mind.Yeah right. Like Adrian was going to get that garden house of his dreams and just pass it on to Rudy when he died. Rudy would probably murder him to get it if he found out.The information given on this form and all attached documents is correct to the best of my knowledge. I understand that this means if I have lied on this form, I am guilty of crime unless a condition of ethereal powers such as in the case of possession or psychic abilities is recognized and confirmed within thirty days.The edges of the paper crumpled in Adrian’s fists. Lowering it so he could see Rudy’s bright blue eyes again, he jabbed his finger through the bars of the cell. “If I do this for you, you will never, ever, ever, ever cross me for as long as you should live or exist in spiritual form.”“But why would I do a thing like that?” Rudy asked, setting his covered hands against his chest bow. 

Oh, there are a dozen things I love about this piece. We’ll start with the most obvious: Adrian spontaneously adopting the child he despises, and refusing to tell his boss and team partner Rory that he did so. Adoption was not my original plan going into this scene, but I adored the idea. What’s funny is the sheer amount of people who know this happened, none of them being Rory. In a later piece called “‘Cue the Music”, Miles and Kit argue over how to bring “Hey Rory, Rudy is legally your child now” up in conversation now that Adrian has been… removed from the picture. They know, she doesn’t. Good times. Love it.

I love the little details here, like the fact that Rudy was force-fed a Disable pill to strip him of all his moves. In the next scene, when he and Adrian are walking down the street, Adrian realizes that because Rudy is a Psychic-Type and his blood moves extremely quickly through his body, drugs don’t last very long in his system and if he would have waited a few more minutes, Rudy could have gotten out of jail by catching Angelo off guard with a few attacks. Cracks me up every time.

I think my absolute favorite bit of prose here is Adrian listing off all the reasons why he SHOULDN’T adopt Rudy, and then promptly picking up the adoption papers and reading through them anyway. I love these two and their dynamic so much. Really wish this Group hadn’t gone on hiatus. I had big plans.

This scene is also notable for being the only time we ever see Rudy speak without using references in every line of his dialogue, as he lost his psychic connection with the Fourth Wall when he was Disabled, so it’s kind of cool to see what he sounds like when I’m not feeding him obscure quotes all day. Turns out he’s still an adorably annoying little guy.

Fairly OddParents - 130 Prompts, “Solo”

In all honesty, China’s introduction scene is probably my all-time favorite. I have a lot of scenes I like, but several of them I’ve talked about on this blog before, and some of my other favorites we haven’t reached yet and they’re spoilers. A lot of my favorite scenes are lengthy ones (“Shadow” and “China’s Finger Trap” come to mind), so here are two that are a bit shorter.

The door on this end had a small sign above the handle that read, Timmy’s Room: PLEASE, PLEASE Knock.

Remy entered without knocking and switched on the lights.

This is from “End of the World.” Remy barging into Timmy’s house in the middle of the night and turning on all the lights like it’s his own home just cracks me up. You can bet that Timmy’s parents don’t knock either, but you can’t blame a kid for trying.

And I have another one too:

Context: H.P., Sanderson, and several other pixies are about to observe one of the youngest pixies in the company as he retakes an exam for the tenth time.

Four minutes later, Sanderson gathered with the other proctors of the exam - Hawkins, Wilcox, Longwood, and the Head Pixie himself - outside the door.

“You all have your clipboards and two pens at the ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I expect you all to be as objective as possible. Is that understood? Hawkins? Sanderson? There will be trouble if I see any more ‘At least he tried’s. We’re not cutting him slack because he’s already failed nine times.”

They both nodded. Longwood tugged at one tight sleeve of that fluffy brown jacket of his, plainly reveling in the fact that H.P. hadn’t said his name.

“And Longwood?”

“Sir?”

“You have a lipstick stain smeared beside your ear that wasn’t there before Naelita Sorins went up to your office. I’ve noticed she’s been visiting quite often lately, and less and less often when you go on break.”

Longwood’s face turned gumball pink beneath the dozens of red freckles that identified him as a gyne rather than a drone. His fingers went straight for the spot on his cheek. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“That’s twice I’ve had enough proof to call you on it now. Three strikes and you’re out. If this happens again, I want your cap on my desk, and Smith will rise to his gyne duties and replace you as company vice president. After we finish here today, you can report to evening dish duty for two months as you did before.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for not firing me. I’ll clean myself up better next time.”

H.P. raised one eyebrow. Sanderson kicked his ankle, because he could get away with it.

“I- I mean, I won’t do it again (Watch your fat toe, lug).”

“Do what?”

“I, erm, I won’t sneak smooches during work hours, sir.”

Sanderson whistled a few bars of “Kiss the Girl” from Disney’s “The Little Mermaid” as H.P. looked him up and down. “I suppose that’s the most compromise I’m going to get out of you. If you ever wonder why you aren’t allowed to leave Pixie World unsupervised anymore, this is why.”

“That's… that’s perhaps for the best, sir.”

“How am I doing, boss?” Wilcox asked. H.P. stared at him for a moment, rubbing his chin, then gave him a thumbs up. Wilcox brightened. Hawkins patted his shoulder with his bad hand, and Sanderson mimicked the thumbs up once the boss’s back was turned.

H.P. opened the door. The room was small, with a desk and chair set solidly on the tile. A window into the observing room spanned the back wall. Arranged neatly on the desk were one landline phone, one pad of green sticky notes, his starpiece, a wrinkled purple pamphlet that listed each pixie’s name, job title, and room number, and about a dozen blue and black pens. Rosencrantz sprang from the chair as soon as the door opened, holding his arms straight by his sides.

“Sir.”

“Good afternoon, Rosencrantz. The time is 1:00. You will now be entering the fifth and final day of your assessment. Today you will be answering calls from clients and, if necessary, directing them to whomever you believe can be of best assistance to them. You may use the provided pamphlet, but no other notes or reference materials you may have written. You must take ten calls, and are expected to remain in the exam room until you do. You may contact any pixie for anything you need to complete your tasks. However, you cannot ask for advice on how a call should be answered. When you are finished, you must demonstrate the proper exit procedure as though you were going on break, after which you may leave the room and wait while we tally up your score. Are there any questions?”

“No, sir.” Unsurprising. Rosencrantz had run through this test so many times, he probably had the opening speech memorized as well as H.P. did.

H.P. flipped the wall switch to redirect all incoming calls to Room 1C. “You may begin.”

On that signal, he and the others floated (Longwood walked) through the room’s rear door and took their seats in the floating chairs behind the window. H.P. sat down in the centermost one, removed his glasses, and massaged his temples.

“Twelve pens. He’s nervous. The utmost he can pull out of this now is a two hundred and forty-nine.”

The scene where H.P. studies Wilcox thoughtfully and then gives him a thumbs-up is probably one of my favorite bits of prose that I’ve ever written. It was the perfect end to the little critique session going on there. Wilcox brightening up just makes my day. Although he’s a boring, stoic pixie, I always envision him breaking into a grin and clenching his fists near his chest in a squee. Praise from H.P. is hard to come by some days, and they drink it up when they can.

Some other aspects of this scene that I love are Longwood instantly knowing where the kiss mark on his cheek is, Longwood promising to “Clean himself up better next time” and H.P.’s eyebrow raise in response to this, Sanderson kicking Longwood “because he could get away with it,” and of course, the last line here where H.P. deducts points before the exam even starts just because Rosencrantz has “too many pens.” With the way he rubs his forehead, you can just feel him oozing disappointment.

Not to mention, I love the entire concept of this piece. It’s a cute one. And it ends so dramatically. Lots of fun, and definitely counted as one of my favorites of the entire project.

Danny Phantom - “How to Get Ahead In Navigating”

Context: Youngblood has returned to the Ghost Zone after “The Fenton Menace” and arrived at a Western-themed saloon-like restaurant. He announced his arrival and all the patrons are scrambling to pull out money for him. All except for two: one being Vlad, and one being a muscle-headed mercenary-type here.

“Who the heck are you to be bossing me around, kid?”

It’s very quiet in the room. I hear someone reach out and adjust their fork on the table behind me.

“Mmm.” I prop my cheek against my fist, with my elbow on the table. I even kick my legs behind me as I do it, so I’m more like floating horiz… horace… on my belly in front of them. “You’re cute. You know what? I like your moxie, so I’ll give you one more chance to decide what you’re gonna do about this. I’m Captain Youngblood. The Captain Youngblood. Plunderer of merchant ships, transporter of Living Realm goods, adopted son of Prince Aragon’s chief royal advisers, hold the all-time high score on Plasmius Peril at the Purgebane arcade, savior of the skeletons. Ring a bell up in that waxy noggin of yours?”

Anchor Arm sweeps his stare over the other patrons in the restaurant. I don’t look behind me, but I know a lot of them are probably watching us. This doesn’t happen a lot. “You really here bragging that you’re the toughest guy in this dinky little joint?” He looks at the man in white like Is he for real? while the man in white simply smiles back at him with the patience of a cracking tree branch.

“Yeah, well.” I walk my gloved fingers across the tabletop, and jump them on Anchor Arm’s spoon. His spoon flips into the air and clatters down in the other guy’s soup bowl. “I never said thaaat. I mean, I am just eight years old. You don’t really have to do anything I say. Unless you want to.”

He gets ready to smack me in the face, because we’re being the most cliché people ever and of course he’s going to lose his temper at me in five seconds. I get ready to not move. If he chickens out, I win. If he slaps someone who looks like a kid, then everyone will be shocked and afraid, and I can fall to the floor and act stunned, then get up and be super calm about it and make a show of forgiving him while still being the mysterious, barely-restrained loose cannon everyone thinks Captain Youngblood is. And then I win.

But I don’t get the chance to not move. A glowing pink coil of energy, like a whip, snaps out and catches him around his hand bobble. Wrist. It’s the other man at the table. With a yank, he pulls his friend’s arm down with a light grunt. It slams against the table, rattling the silverware.

When I look at Anchor Arm’s friend, I expect to see him pleading, ready to grovel at my feet for mercy. Instead, he’s all relaxed. Maybe even laughing. The guy actually has a sort of chuckle on his face, a friendly We’re sharing a joke here; typical Anchor Arm–you know how the poor man gets.

Um. Do I know this guy? Like I said, he’s dressed in almost all white, except for a black triangle of a shirt at his chest. He also has on huge black gloves that look like my cowboy ones, and a thick black belt around his waist. And there’s that huge puffy red and white cape too. The collar on that thing is like fwoosh. His Dr. Spectra devil horn hair is the blackest shine you can get in hair. His calm attitude stabs me in the guts. If I had skin, this is the definitely the first guy I’ve met in a long while who would make my skin crawl. But I don’t have skin. I don’t know who this is.

“Goodness me, I’m so terribly sorry. Allow me to extend my most formal apologies.” The man touches two fingers to the two clasps on his red and white cape, briefly shutting his eyes. The smile doesn’t disappear. “My name is Vlad Plasmius.”

… Eep. Yeeaahhh, I know who this is. I mean, we’ve never met, but I don’t think we have to. I’m Captain Youngblood, champion of the rebel skeletons. He’s Vlad Plasmius, the grown-up halfa who can beat up Phantom, and guardian of the only other permanent portal we usually talk about in the Ghost Zone. Does anything else even need to be said? What’s he even doing in the Limbo sector? I thought his portal was in Haykees. Shouldn’t he be, I dunno, guarding it?

Plasmius retracts his pink whip with a flick of his hand. The energy dissipates like mist. “And what my friend Romeo here means, dear boy, is that we would be delighted to provide a strapping young orphan boy like you with all the funds you could possibly need that you’ve been unable to procure for yourself.”

My smile wrinkles. “Huh?”

I know what all those words mean. I’m smart like that. But huh?

The man reaches into his vest, I guess, and pulls out the biggest stack of cash I’ve ever seen, except on game shows. He drops it on the table next to his bowl, where the spoon I flipped is still sitting, then pulls out another stack of cash even bigger than that one. And then another. It’s like he just goes around wearing a whole padded vest stuffed full of money to protect him when he gets shot by lasers or something. I don’t even have a clue how valuable cash even is in the Ghost Zone, so is that a good idea, or a wasteful one? Does our economy even work anymore now that King Pariah’s gone and half our money is rocks picked up off the ground? I actually do not know. I don’t really care about booty.

“Now.” After four bundles, the man laces his fingers under his chin, leaning his elbows on the table. “What exactly was your usual pay rate, again?”

“Uh.” My eyes dart to the money, then to him again. That stuff looks real. That can’t be real. It’s too much. He’s showing off. This is weird. What’s going on? “I… I… I don’t have a set rate for what I take. I just take whatever people give me. It, uh, averages out to be about 900 /d/ a person, I guess.”

That didn’t sound very pirate captain. That sounded very domino punching bag king.

I love the restaurant scene as a whole because it makes it very clear that Youngblood actually is a big deal in the Ghost Zone. In show canon, he has a ship full of skeletons who respect him, and the plot of “Pirate Radio” literally revolved around Danny being confused that everyone respects Youngblood when he’s in charge, and no one respects him when he tries to be in charge.

In this scene, Youngblood strolls in like he owns the place, with confidence and swagger through the roof. Everything is fine until his path crosses with the one person who refuses to bow to him. Youngblood is used to rerouting paths so that he can pull a victory either way the situation goes. But clever Vlad knew exactly how to surprise him, and humiliate him in front of the entire restaurant. 

Youngblood is a very interesting character, having fifty years of world experience and the mind of an eight-year-old to process it all. I feel that the restaurant scene really delves into the way he works and the teasing games he plays. I love the way he describes things: The collar on that thing is like fwoosh. I also love the fact that when Youngblood was flaunting his credentials, he listed his high score in the arcade before the fact that he’s known as “the savior of the skeletons.” Priorities.

This piece is heavy on stream of consciousness, and I think it came out very well. I’ve tried writing Youngblood in past tense, but I just can’t. His constant thoughts and his way of addressing the reader pin him so well in present. I just adore his little comments like, If I had skin, this is the definitely the first guy I’ve met in a long while who would make my skin crawl. But I don’t have skin. I don’t know who this is, and Does anything else even need to be said? What’s he even doing in the Limbo sector? I thought his portal was in Haykees. Shouldn’t he be, I dunno, guarding it? He’s just so beautifully… child-like. Nailed it. “Ahead In Navigating” is definitely one of my absolute favorite pieces I’ve ever written.

Bunsen Is a Beast - Goodness of Misfit, Chapter 1: “King and Lionheart”

Context: Mikey Munroe has been called down to the principal’s office, and he’s about to be given Bunsen’s file and told that he’s been assigned to welcome Bunsen to school, since no one else on the welcoming committee wanted to. The peppy welcoming committee supervisor, Miss Lighthouse, is here as well.

“Oooh, it’s such a shame you hate traveling beyond town as much as you do, bingo ball! You know, when I was your age, I was out running and climbing in the woods and swimming in the river just constantly. I recorded all my adventures and wrote a book. School is delightful, but the summer season is what really gets me drunk on living such a glorious life!”

With that, she punched the air. The arm that still had all its fingers was a prosthetic, and sometimes it freaks out when it moves too fast. This was one of those times. Principal Freshwater’s globe flew off the bookshelf and crashed behind my chair. I winced, but didn’t get up to look at it. Instead, I folded my [unbroken, unburned, untouched by insects, uncovered in poison ivy, free of snake bites, fully functional, very safe because I don’t take them into the woods unprotected like a crazy person] arms and tried to find his pupils behind his milky glasses.

“Uh… Are we really getting a new student this late in the year? Sir?”

I didn’t see any other reason for Miss Lighthouse to leave her classroom. I mean, I was just a fifth grader, lowest on the rungs of middle school, but everyone knew I’d be promoted from a mere member of our welcoming committee to its head next year. It was a win by default; one by one, the rest of the kids had told me flat-out to my face that they wouldn’t be coming back.

… Come to think of it, I’d noticed most of them called down to meet with our principal a few days before telling me flat-out to my face that they wouldn’t be coming back. In our last meeting, Miss Lighthouse and I had been the only ones to even show up.

I crossed my ankles as my toes curled in.

Principal Freshwater placed both hands on his desk and heaved himself from his chair. Well, he got up, at least. The seat stayed stuck to his, uh, lower half for an extra two seconds before it fell back on its wheels with a clatter. “That… is precisely what we called you down here to discuss today. Our new student will arrive at the end of September, six weeks into the school year. As you well know, Michael, I’m due to retire in a matter of months.”

“Really? Weren’t you supposed to retire in like, January? And the October before that? And the June before that? And the-”

He adjusted his striped tie with his fist until it reached an angle that said “Shut your yap, punk-to-be, before I transfer you into Coach Glutes’ homeroom and obliterate all your chances at a successful future.”

As a punk-to-be, I was thereby cowed into shutting my yap.

“Our humble school has been granted a… sufficient amount of funding to ensure our new transfer student feels as though we’ve actually put forth effort into making him feel accepted in our community. When I leave this job behind, I do not want to be remembered as the man who wiped our town off the map… and into a pit of gnashing teeth, roaring flames, and acid burns. As such, I want to see this exchange program pulled off without a hitch.” While he was talking, Principal Freshwater oozed around the edge of his desk and brought his mouth near my nose. “Do you know what ‘without a hitch’ means, Michael?”

I squinted one eye to block his spittle from my cornea. My gaze darted to the picture frames lined up along the edge of his desk, but no one in the family photos screamed ‘Killman material’ to me, so I relaxed again. A little. “Uh… That this is a really huge and important job and you’re asking me to do it because I handle stress well, I run three of our clubs, I’m like the only kid who still wants to be part of the welcoming committee next year, and you know I won’t drop out because when I stay after school I get to use Miss Lighthouse’s computer without the constant fear of my parents being able to tap into my browsing history and expose my innermost secrets behind my back?”

In my free time, I tap into people’s security systems and jot the codes that work down for future reference. It only takes a few dozen tries, and I’ve lived here all eleven and a half years of my life. Not the kind of thing any kid wants to surrender to the loophole police.

Placing a hand over the headrest of my seat, Principal Freshwater leaned it all the way down until my back was almost parallel with the floor. His shoe stopped the feet from kicking too high. “It means that if you mess this up for us, Michael… it will be on your meaty head. And that’s a lot of head.”

“I can’t say I entirely disagree, sir,” I whispered through the reek of oysters and mayonnaise on his breath. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to remind him my last name was spelled with a ‘u’ and not an ‘o’.

I absolutely love the moment that Principal Freshwater pushes the headrest of Mikey’s seat down and leans over him. It came out exactly the way I wanted to, and really emphasizes Mikey’s discomfort. Overall, I think my Mikey voice came through very well in this piece. That casual way he mentions that he taps into people’s security systems, though. I mean, small town boy who’s parents installed them in the first place. He gets curious. What do you expect?

We never saw the school principal in the show, so I made one up and I feel like he fits in perfectly. In case we did meet the principal in the future, I wrote this scene so that Principal Freshwater here is about to retire. I just love the scene where Mikey is questioning this, musing that the principal has been wanting to retire for a long time. Mikey has that little, absentminded way of undermining people that’s such a funny part of his character. I’m glad I was able to slip it in, and set up the opportunity to use Principal Freshwater later if I’d like to.

Mario - “Pendant of Scarabs” Chapter 1

Context: Back in 2011, I started a ‘fic called “Pendant of Scarabs” that revolved around young Kamek and Cackletta, two long-time rivals who team up to search for magical treasures in an underground pyramid. I never finished it, but I have oodles of child Cackletta stuff that I would love to reboot as a backstory fanfic someday if I had the time. This scene here is the first part of the first chapter.

The flying turtle boy was bothering her again.

Idiot.

She shielded her face with one hand, narrowing her eyes against the sky. He circled above on his broomstick, watching her watch him. It had been two days since she’d first noticed him, three since she’d thought she was being followed. Now, he didn’t even bother to hide the fact that he was tailing her. He swam lazy circles through the air, over and over in front of the sun, his shadow tracing her progress on the ground.

There were two ways to get him to come down. For the first one, she could blast him out of the sky with a lightning bolt. It would be tiring though, and just make him angry, and she really wasn’t in the mood to deal with angry flying magical turtles.

She could wave him down with her hands, but that was something she could never see herself sink to doing. He could circle the sky all he wanted. She didn’t care.

Or he could dive down like that. That worked too.

Cackletta scowled at Kamek as the Magikoopa swooped low. “Why have you been following me? Do you want something?”

His broom slowed to a halt in front of her. “Hello to you too, Princess. Lost again?”

The young witch crossed her arms, her scowl deepening. “What do you mean ‘again’? And I’m not lost. I know exactly where I am.”

“Hmm…” Kamek tapped the side of his snout with a clawed finger, pretending to think. “Crossing the desert, far from home, and I’ve watched you go in circles for the past three hours. Yep, you’re definitely not lost.”

She glowered at him as he slid from his broom. “This is none of your concern. I should zap you into nothing right now.”

Kamek raised the nearest thing to an eyebrow. “I’m still alive, aren’t I? Obviously you don’t have magic abilities right now,” here he pointed to the sun, “or you wouldn’t have warned me. Little unfamiliar with the desert, are we?” When all he got for an answer were gritted teeth, he changed the angle of his claws to point at the paper tucked beneath her arm. “What’s on the map?”

“Like I would tell you.” Cackletta’s long green fingers curled into fists, still smoldering at the desert comment.

“Oh, I already know,” Kamek assured her. “I’m a Magikoopa.” His face became a mask of concentration, and a few seconds later he managed to pull a crystal ball out of the air. Still a little unfamiliar with his magic, his clawed fingers slipped at the awkward grip he was holding it in, and the crystal crashed to the desert sand.

“Hmm… little unfamiliar with the desert, are we?”

“Shut up,” he growled, picking the crystal from the sand and causing it to vanish back to wherever it had come. “My point is, I already know what you’re doing. You’re searching for that amulet thingie of yours.”

“Pendant,” she corrected, narrowing her eyes. “There’s a difference.”

He shrugged. “I’m in need of special magical ingredients for… certain things, and supposedly these things are found at the same place as your amulet. Am I right?” he beamed.

Cackletta’s fingers twitched slightly. “Pendant. What are you talking about?” She had an uneasy feeling that she already knew what he meant, and hoped she was wrong.

Kamek picked up his broom in one hand and angled the handle in her direction. “Well, isn’t it obvious? You need the amulet, and I need a few gems also supposed to be hidden in the pyramid.”

“Who said anything about a pyramid?”

“You know.” He waved the broomstick absently. “The underground pyramid.”

So he DID know. That wasn’t good. “So what you’re saying is that you want to team up. With me. Why would I ever do that?”

Kamek held out the broom again. “For one thing, I can fly. If you’re with me, we’ll have a better view of the area. For another, I’m a magic user too. We have different kinds of magic, Beanish and Koopa. That could be a good advantage.”

“Lachenohr,” she growled.

“Hmm?”

“I’m not convinced. Go on.” She folded her arms.

“I have access to food,” he offered. “Which, after watching you for three days, I think I can safely say that you don’t have anymore. How much longer do you think you can go without food?”

“I can create water out of nothing. I don’t need food.”

Kamek grunted, unimpressed. “Well, think about my offer,” he said as he began climbing onto his broom. “Shame, too. How long do you think it will take until they catch you?”

“What?” Cackletta blurted before she could stop herself. She whipped around, scanning the desert. Nothing but sand, sand, and more sand, a few rocks scattered here and there. “You’re lying.”

“Oh no. Why would a lie about something like that?” He leaned forward over his broom, which still hovered at least a foot off the sand. “Forget it. I should have known you’d be stubborn enough to turn down my offer.” He clicked his tongue, and the broom rose higher into the air. “I’d say they’re only about twenty, thirty miles off? You move fast. I’m impressed.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “… I hate you.”

“Last chance,” he warned, smirking slightly.

Cackletta looked him over. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old her time, probably less than that. Juvenile Koopas. She’d never liked them. He wore a blue and white robe a few sizes too big, and the matching hat perched on his head was floppy, forcing him to keep pushing it out of his eyes. A pair of thick glasses rested on his snout. It was a wonder he could even see through those things. At his side was a leather satchel, a strap holding it up around his neck. It wasn’t very large, but it was probably magicked to hold more items than space should allow. And he was right about two things: he could fly, and she was hungry.

“Temporary alliance,” she cautiouslyagreed.

I love this scene because it really captures the relationship between these two characters that I was going for. Cackletta and Kamek have so much potential, I think, and I enjoy watching them bounce off each other. I wrote them here as rivals, but they’re still willing to form an alliance. Cackletta is stubborn and hates swallowing her pride to ask for help, and Kamek is a bit of a social, “Yay, this will be a super fun adventure!” bug. He grows more world-weary with age, but I was aiming for that side of his personality that will stop to chat with you about the lovely pink dress he’s wearing before you take him on in battle. I think I nailed it.

I also like how the worldbuilding is pretty seamlessly woven in (Cackletta’s struggle to use her magic under bright sunlight, and Kamek thinking he’s the big cheese even though he’s still learning his trade himself and dropping his crystal ball). It doesn’t come in all at once. I also love the little details, like smug Kamek being well-prepared with plenty of supplies, casually kicking back and asking Cackletta what’s on the map, while she’s been stumbling around with nothing for days. She’s definitely the rasher one between the two of them. “Food? We don’t need no stinkin’ food. We die like men.”

Even seven years later, it still holds up fairly well, wouldn’t you say? Wish I could say the same for the rest of the ‘fic, ha ha ha. Either way, I’m quite proud of my younger self’s abilities.

My other favorite Cackletta / Kamek rivalry piece would have to be “Our Pointless Magic Lesson”, which opens with those two having a magical snowball fight. Looks like even back then I was already slipping bits of biology into my worldbuilding. I gave Cackletta’s species feet bristles. Hee hee. Desert people. I certainly look forward to writing new Mario ‘fics with improved skills very soon.

Those are some scenes that I enjoy, and I hope that you guys enjoyed them too!

[scionofbalance]

The Weaving Thoughts

The Silenced Cathedral. The weapon crafted by the desperation of Humanity in the falsehood of providing their god's glory upon the shared land of Nosgoth with the harmonious muse of accursed pipes sitting high above. Once upon a time, this place would have been a beautiful idol of fervorous worship that all of Nosgoth could have heard. Now, it was a hive of the wyrd and weavers of lying truths and truthful damnations.    As Kain looked upon the door that barred all but one upon convenient entry, he frowned. In his mind's clearing clarity, he pondered on some decisions and mused a humor to the physical trials and puzzles that his mother-home always provided. Ever since he was young, he recalled secrets locked away for untold time. Why not make the next champion's trial of equal measure? Reaching back, he grasped his talons around the weapon that he was, is, and always shall be his. Ancient leathers welcomed him as his grip tightened and as if in engaged on a rite he've perfected countless times in respect to its unequal lethality, unsheathed the Soul Reaver from its old scabbard. The locks clicked aloose and the slithering blade hissed a sound of unearthly breath. Upon its quillon, the vampiric skull rested. Its old bone as tested as its former counterpart, sockets glowing the firefoxes of the one grand soul trapped within.   "Raziel." The Emperor whispered, leaning the blade over and rested his bony crown upon. Christening the long journey and hard obstacles were slowly blossoming to this moment. He could feel him, even now. So close, yet so far. And through him, Kain could feel the Others. Molded to one and that one touched upon his soul, that is key.   Finally, in a moment of this, Kain reared the Soul Reaver and slid it into the lock. The sound scrapping through the bewitched metal and the souls howling, boiling and opening it through before twisting once. A ghostly hymn rolled to the arcane locks enscribed upon the grand entrance and into the engraving of his Fifth Son in his prime, standing as the door guardian. Eyes glowing, condemning who opened his sanctum and tomb, before splitting open to allow a breath of dead air.   One step in and immediately, the Vampire Lord felt it. The hundreds of eyes falling upon him. It was a spine-tingling pressure that provoked a soft entertained smile upon his jaded lips. If such heinous thoughts were plaguing to their mind, he would pleased to oblige.    For now, he walked through the tower of his son's imprisonment.Eyes drifting and taking in the corruption that Nupraptor has fallen upon his son's clan. It was a darkeningly amusing yet sad thing. Proud vampires becoming...arachnids. Crawling, almost mindless, predators scuttling the walls and shadows.The madness that turned his proud empire into a fractured wood of warring tribes and unenlightened beasts.   He have forseen this and the first time, there was rage born of utter disgusted disappointment and finally nihilism that all that he accomplished would be this. He cursed not his sons, they were damned by him, and him by Nupraptor and his love-sickness.   Just the thought made him wish he could have made the bulbous-headed fool suffer a little longer when they first met. That was Zephon's way, not Kain's way. He didn't extend death due.   Even as they kept to the deepest of shadows, he could see them. Sense them crawling, the more braver just enough to make out their disproportioned forms. Unnaturally long limbs with bodies almost bloated and heinous of their chitinous outgrowth beneath their skin. Eyes peering awe, hate, love, and despair. Why was he here? Now, of this black age. The end of their Empire by the heralding of Nine Pearly Pillars rising into the heavens and pushed the weakened clouds of Turel's smog further.   Why was he here? Kain could have went further, dig his talons deep into Nosgoth's history and cut into the festering cancer that have tortured his First of Sons and pulled the doom of the vampires in its gluttonous greed. No, he can't. He must see his responsibility once more. He can not stop and forget this ruined piece of architecture that he crafted with his own hands. His grand piece from the foundation of Six.   As he was coming upon the central chime, the Emperor saw nothing but great webs constricting away until it was nothing but a beautiful barrier of grey white and a dazzling beaded constellation of blood practically mimicking the night sky. What was this? Some funerary memoir and protection?   Then, there was movement.   "My Emperor." A voice chimed from within. A voice wrapped by many others through one throat. "After so long, in the time of reckoning and end of the Great Lords, you have come. Have thee come as our salvation or to scorn one of their Failure?"   Kain had a sense of impatience to be warded from his goal, but it was been some time since speaking to his grandchildren.   "I have come to see upon the carcass of my beloved Fifth. Open the way and see me through..." He says in the strike of his voice and a sound like a hundred giant limbs moving inside. "Mmhm. Oh yes, yes - my glorious of liege. The vampires have prayed and sung of you, even in their feral degradation. Oh, but how is one already embraced of madness, regress to sanity? Hm. Ironies, complexities, Logical questions. Enough, enough." The other mused on with the eerie flanging of cackling. Then a dead breath.   The webs were being combed aside, bit by bit. A great figure was coming through, many limbed. Moreso than the Zephonim that Kain have seen before and this perked a little intrigue, the corrupted evolutions that his sons invented were usually streamlined but few had the will to seek most out of them and it was something he respected in a way.   Bladed limbs finally tore the layers of webs and spiders crawled out, old and young to the halls beyond them with one dried husk of a screaming body flopping out.   "Hoho, mm...forgive me in that ill manner." The guardian chuckled in dry amusement, the thing moving was bigger than a man. His body a horrific acceptance to the arachnid fate that plagued the clan.    Still man of body, skin a glossy, oil chitin of armour with his ribs splayed open into mobile limbs of constantly popping joints that adapted with tendons pulling like puppet strings connected on the spinal control. Long taloned arms and legs crawling his body along with a elongated neck twisting from some distraction to allow the mannish head of the elder to look upon Kain with his six eyes. Lower jaw opening and closing by their mandibles. Yet, even through the devolution, Kain recognized this man.   "Cyrill."    There was a look of pleasant surprise and pleasure passing the barely human face that he was remembered before bowing his head as if unable to take the perceived godly light that shone of his Emperor. "You remember...you remember." He muttered, starting to crawl aside with absentminded movement of his rib-limbs. "It is I, milord. Please, go to Him. Despite the assassination, his body has yet to leave us."   Kain did not stay long, by the release of but a few dire bats from his mane, they fluttered and chattered into flight through the tunnel of cleared web provided.Twisting and turning with magnificent finesse that centuries of practice have provided, he saw the many Zephonim that clung and hibernated on the walls. So many that the most of the circling wall looked almost pallid of their chitinous flesh. The constant hymn of their sorrow singing. Despite their Patriarch's drowning madness, they shared of his mind and through him, they missed his mental song.    How long before they became nothing but true monsters?   Finally upon the entrance of drying muscle, untouched by blood's nourishment since its owner's death, the bats provided the mark for Kain to teleport into with the clasp of his talons and mental recall.   Striding through the hall, he looked upon the monstrosity that his weaker of sons have grew into. What curse would have a vampire practically implode and join into a structure. This wasn't vampiric, it was more...daemonic and it hurt his missing heart to see it again. Like a fleshy garden digging into the walls of the old stone, this tower was Zephon to a point.   Through the noticeable orifice of a 'door', Kain looked upon the corpse across this empty chest. The 'heart' of this lair laying dead, its body still crackling of the flames to consume it. Black with veins of rolling charr, mouth in an eternal inhuman scream of anguish. The stench of it offended the father's nose but he stepped close.   Zephon. The Fifth of his sons. The Spymaster of his court and craftsman of so many intrigues next to Raziel in their games of passing entertainments in the centuries. He was proud, wickedly cunning man in life but his mind was molding for the worst like most of them. The Mentalist's madness crafted paranoia and possessive fright that Kain had tasted...and fought for his unlife. The same paranoia that never allowed him the fatherly attentions or friendships. Betrayal was too commonplace to him to allow it and Kain made sure his sons were taught this.   He wanted to protect them in a way, but they must learn and evolve in their triumphs and failure. Raziel showed that he didn't completely fail...but the boy was always a stubborn romantic.   A sad smile crossed and vanished on his face like a breeze.    "Zephon..." Kain mused aloud, holding the Reaver in his hand while gingerly touching the great corpse's splayed brow. The chitin hardened like stone, if he pressed anymore, he knew it might collapse and the body ruined. "You shall rise."  

[unfortunatelysirius]

Color Me in Red [Sirius Black – Marauders Era]

♥PROMPT ♥ [Requested by ashnf01] Hey, I am in love with your writing!! I’d like to request a Sirius x reader soulmate au. Where the world is black and white but they start to see color when they first kiss their soulmate. ♥ A/N ♥ This prompt has me giggling with delight. I’m ready. So ready. Thank you for requesting, darling, and thank you for your sweet words! I’m so glad that you enjoy my writing. I hope I did your prompt justice, and if you want a sequel imagine, all you have to do is ask! Have a lovely day, dear :) ♥ WARNINGS ♥ Swearing, Fluff ♥ WORD COUNT ♥ 1325

Ever since you were a little girl, you dreamed about meeting your soul-mate. Your entire life was written in black-and-white—but upon getting your Hogwarts letter, you were struck with a sense of exultation. You were so full of hope, thinking about the day when you’d meet your soul-mate—when you’d kiss him, and your whole body would feel like it was on fire. You’d find Heaven in his kiss, pure bliss in his touch—and you could be complete for the first time in your life, after missing a piece in the puzzle for years of being on Earth, of being a witch.

In your first year of Hogwarts, you spent every day wanting to know who your soul-mate was. Though you were young, every fiber of your being itched to kiss any bloke that passed by just so you could know. But there was a part of you afraid to think about kissing someone that wasn’t your soul-mate, to feel anything for someone that wasn’t your soul-mate—so you tried depleting your hope to make the intensity of your want and desire less extensive.

Second year passed, then your third year, then your fourth year—and it was in your fifth year that finally, someone by the name of James Potter made to do something about this whole “soul-mate” thing. And this certain something just-so-happened to include the entire Hogwarts population and an enlarged Room of Requirements.

You weren’t necessarily adamant on joining the cause due to your discomfort at the thought of being kissed by strangers, but you were good family friends with the Potters and knew James a great deal better than most. Because of this, you decided to take him up on his offer (well, his demand) for a soul-mate intervention. You were suspicious that he merely wanted to use it as an excuse to corner Lily Evans and snog her. Whatever it was, you were both anxious and uncomfortable at the thought.

“Gather ‘round, gather ‘round!” James yelled cheerfully on that fateful evening, in a room full of people. Quite a bit of students decided against attending the ordeal, but the room was still filled to the brim. James seemed to notice this, too. “I should have asked for a bigger room.”

“Was the lack of leg-room not obvious enough?” his friend Sirius asked irritably, looking like he wanted to strange the daylights out of the jittery Hufflepuff next to him. He glared at him viciously. “Get the bloody hell away from me!”

The Hufflepuff didn’t need to be told twice.

James gave his friend a dirty look for interrupting him, then turned his attention back to the room of familiar faces. “The roles are to not snog! Too many people for that to be appropriate,” he said, and you fought the urge to scoff. You know that the moment this whole fiasco began, he’d instantly pursue Lily and snog the daylights out of her. Who was he trying to fool? Himself?

“Can we just begin already?” Sirius asked, looking more anxious than you’d ever seen him. For a split second the two of you had direct eye-contact and you made sure to flash a small smile in his direction. He returned it, surprisingly enough, a strange twinkle to his upturned mouth.

James nodded, his eyes searching the crowd for Lily. He grinned wickedly at her when he caught sight of her freckled face. “Yeah, sure.”

Everyone began kissing somebody. You were just awkwardly standing there, looking around in bewilderment—like a lost pet trying to find a way back home. You saw James kissing Lily, and just as suspected, there was a bit of tonsil play occurring here and there. Even Dorcas Meadows, an innocent girl from Ravenclaw, was kissing someone.

Were you the only one with morals?

You quickly made your way through the kissing individuals, dodging swaggering boys that seemed intent on making you their next target, and you kept trucking on until you made your way to the back wall. There, you felt you could finally breathe. The room was small, but here, it felt like the largest space of air and solitude. You spent minute after minute breathing in the cool air, brow drenched in sweat, when a tall, lean body slid up next to you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, and you instantly recognized him as Sirius. Slowly, your turned your eyes to meet his. It was hard to see in the dark, but there was a flicker of something there, something you couldn’t quite place.

You smiled at him, though it was weak. “Hi, Sirius.”

“Suppose you aren’t too keen on this, are you?” he asked, his eyes following James as he ran after a fleeing Lily. “I have to admit that I’m not quite happy with this, either.”

“Why’s that?” You couldn’t help but be surprised. Sirius was known to be extroverted and a overwhelmingly hard-coming pursuer. You remembered him as being one of the select few in your year that was completely adamant on the idea of finding his soul-mate. He was always kissing random strangers and then giving a disgusted expression, which honestly made half of the Hogwarts population detest him. You were a bit confused on how he hadn’t yet made his way to you yet. You assumed that was his intention in coming over here.

Sirius shrugged. “I don’t really know. I guess… it’s just stupid. Isn’t finding your soul-mate meant to be private and intimate?”

He had an honest point, one that you kept reminding yourself every time you wanted to attack a stranger in kisses just to see if you’d find your first flicker of color. You pursed your lips at him. “It is,” you said. “I just think it’s stupid how you have to kiss your soul-mate to find out who it is.”

He smirked at you. “I dunno. I find it quite… endearing.” He leaned closer, his mint-laced breath hitting the side of your face like a merciless wind. “Doesn’t it get you back into a phase of intimacy?”

You had to laugh. “What a way to put it, Sirius—” His lips were touching yours before you could finish teasing him.

The first thing you noticed was that he tasted like cinnamon. There was a touch of cherry there—and spearmint. Vanilla, too—if your tongue stayed in a certain position.

The second thing you noticed was the fireworks. His touch was electric, and it propelled your body forward, leaving you defenseless as his arms enveloped your waist and he dug his hand into your skin.

The third you noticed was the way he felt. His body was like a wonderland, and the way it felt against yours—the way you curled into his like a piece to a puzzle—just made you know. He wasn’t just Sirius Black anymore, nor was he this arsehole that only ever cared about his mates.

No, this was Sirius. Your soul-mate.

You pulled back for breath. Eagerly, you blinked open your eyes, and you noticed the fluorescent green lights flashing on and off—and the dark brown that shrouded his black irises. He was pale and black-of-hair, his robes embellished in the standard style of a Gryffindor.

He was staring at you in wonder and shock. “So.. you’re the infamous Sirius Black’s soul-mate,” he muttered, body frozen.

You giggled, sharing his same look of astonishment. “I guess I am,” you said.

He just had to reach over and grab a strand of your hair. He twirled it around, looking at it in utter fascination. He looked back up at you with a goofy smile plastered on his face. “You’re bloody gorgeous,” he whispered. He tucked the strand of fallen hair back behind your ear, tugging you against his muscular frame. He laid his head softly against yours, and for a moment, all you could hear was the steady beating of his heart.

And it was bloody perfect.

[ikonislife]

By Chance 02.

-Junhoe x Donghyuk

-Donghyuk has no complaint about his life that although might a bit dull, he still counts as a blessing for not everyone could have a stable life. But perhaps there is one minor thing, nothing unpredictable ever happens. What will happen when an angel from above graces him with his present, took all his breath away then become his neighbor too?

<- Previous

Needless to say for the rest of that day, his every sense was infused with the memory of the dashing stranger. Donghyuk wonders about his interest and hobbies, what kind of music does he listen to on a peaceful Sunday afternoon while scrolling away his time through the many online feeds. Perhaps he’s an old soul internally  and still get his daily dosage of sadness around the world from good old fashion prints while sipping a cup of pipping hot black coffee because if his taste in coffee reflects anything of himself, stranger doesn’t needs neither cream nor sugar. He seems already rich of life and sweet in his own awkward way even fate had yet granting Donghyuk a chance to meet him. Such strange things to be thinking of about a person he neither know the name of nor if he’s even single. Maybe he doesn’t even swing Donghyuk’s way but nevertheless he’s enthrall. 

Like a puzzle waiting to be solve, Donghyuk suddenly finds himself at attention as he wanders the meandering street back to the station awaiting his trip back to the place where it all started. Would he be lucky enough to once again catch those raven locks and the intense gaze he didn’t know but the anticipation of a serendipitous meeting leaves him at the edge of his seat. 

Stepping off the train now, Donghyuk glancing left then right at people coming from whichever way, frustration mixing with the relief of another day done taut on their forehead. His footfalls hasten yet his mind screaming for them to slow down for any sign but alas Donghyuk decided it was time to leave the emptying station, hoping tomorrow morn will offer better fruit. 

Briefcase swinging along with the upbeat tune humming along the path of fallen leaves, Donghyuk basks in the golden hue of the sun bowing out for the day, finding the glittering gleaming colors of everything so delicious and calming. He thinks of the days spending alone in his apartment with the TV rambling on about the world events and contemplate on the future. How long more will he wait before his soulmate presents in front of him on a silver platter with light shining from the heaven above, choir singing that he finally will have a piece of it in his own home. Or will it be a long treacherous road of heartbreak and tears, he will be bruised and beat up before having someone to soothe his wounds away at night in a warm embrace. 

Having his resolve to focus on his career after a series of fail relationships didn’t seemed like such a terrible idea then, still in many sense isn’t, but part of the lonely man wishes there would be someone to come home to aside from his trusted dog. His first love had been with a boy named Jin, childhood best friend and the person that helped Donghyuk realized his calling in life. Jin was much like himself, delightful in his own quirky ways, great cooks, terrible puns, looks known across town, and best of all, he was never scare to live life the way he wanted. He dated girls and boys alike all through out high school and college, no one was spare from the heartbreaking good look and soul crushing personality to match but there was just something about Donghyuk that drawn Jin in like moth to flame. 

His mind travels far and wide before it was reminded of just how harsh reality is when an unexpected thud startling Donghyuk to the depth of hell. He had all but scream off the top of his lungs before voice like angel reeling him back to Earth, like the sound of tickling ivories to his ears. 

“Oh shit, I am so sorry. I didn’t realize there was anyone around. The box was kinda heavy so I just kind of let it fall.” The voice comes from somewhere deep within the maze of things and commodities of a U-Haul truck, echoing about like the call of an Eagle through a silent tree covered canyon. 

“It’s alright really. I just get startle easily, no worries at all.” Not even really sure who’s he’s  calling out for but there was one thing certain, he needs to know to whom that delightful voice belongs to. Donghyuk had met quite a few people from his work, meetings and on official business mostly but that didn’t stop him from having a small personal side quest of it all. Whenever he sits down on another boring old office chair that quite honestly more for look than comfort, he’d open up his ears and just listen. Who in the room has the most soothing voice and would it beats the last vocal champion, all just to distract himself from how dull everything else is. This mysterious voice, by far, the best he had ever heard with just how clear it could be yet underlying there’s a bit of a growl, so delightful and smooth... Much like the aged exorbitantly priced whiskey his father had once treated him to. 

The sound of shuffle and a few cusses later, a tall man back out from a pile of boxes, his hands bracing in front of his body with a few whispering for the inanimate entities to stay put, a very familiar figures and tousles of raven hair. 

There he is... better than any dreams Donghyuk had conjured up to make his long day at work less tedious. The handsome stranger across the train track, his sharp jawline and fair skin remains as seraphic as ever despite the crisp suit being traded in for simple white v-neck t-shirt and a pair of grey sweat that honestly still make Donghyuk just as uncomfortable as his skin tight slack this morning. He spins around briskly, bumping into a wooden black dresser nearly as tall as he is, with another annoying grunt, the stranger is finally there in front of his eyes. 

“Hey... it’s you. Sandwich dude from this morning, what are the chances.”

“Oh haha, yea, it’s me... Uhm, sorry if I seemed rude this morning. I usually don’t stare... just, it was early. I had a rough yesterday and late night.” Feet shuffling like a shy school boy chatting up his crush for the first time, Donghyuk suffers from the most intense blush he has ever felt before in his life, mortified and a bit shock even. He dreamt up a friendship with the stranger but never before did he think of just how embarrassing it is having to explain staring shamelessly before the first meeting.

“Hey, we all have those days right. I’m Junhoe, you live here?” Jutting his head toward the familiar old building that had watched Donghyuk’s never ending changing self and just as often if not more frequent shifting of hair colors come and goes for the past three years, Junhoe extends a handshake of friendliness that Donghyuk isn’t too sure if he wants to take. What if he spontaneously combusts on the spot or worse, shit himself, what then.

“Uhm yea, almost three years now. It’s pretty great, actually. I’m Donghyuk, I live in 30A.”

“No fucking way, I live in 30B. So right beside yours then?” 

No way, no way in heaven, he could die of happiness right now but he must control his excitement if there’s any hope of that this won’t be the first and last meeting ever. The formerly stranger was right, what really is the chance. Not only are they living in the same apartment but fate had taken it a step further in aiding Donghyuk’s lonely love life by having him not just on the same wing of the large apartment, not even just the same complex. He’s living right. freaking. next. door. What luck. 

“I guess so. What are the odds right.” Chuckling nervously to hide the almost choking in happiness guttural noises that sounded too much like a moan, Donghyuk hopes to God he didn’t just ruin the chance before even taking it. “Did you need any help? I’m not really doing anything else for the rest of the night.”

“Oh I’m alright. The movers are upstair already and I’m waiting on a few friends to help out. Thank you though, I appreciate it.” 

Never before had Donghyuk feel disappointment as a response to not getting ropes into hard labor of moving houses. With one last bow, he continues his trip upstair and even as dissatisfying  as it is not to have more time with Junhoe, Donghyuk already feels lucky enough to know he’ll get to see him every morning, and maybe sometimes in the future, they’ll be taking on the dark road at dawn together. 

Next (coming soon)

[adamsetser]

Documenting 2016 in Mental Pictures

Following my Documenting 2015 in Mental Pictures, here are the highlights from my life in 2016. These are just some of the biggest lessons learned in a (pretty) random series of mental pictures. Here we go.

Motivation will never last, but discipline will.

Why do I have such high standards for myself? Is it pride? Insecurity? I honestly don’t think so. I think we humans in 21st c. America have missed the boat. I judge myself historically and I fall dramatically short of that standard. The culture I was born into values entertainment and pleasure over discipline and greatness. We have lost definitions, and with them lost meaning and the ability to answer with convictional definitiveness the basic questions of life. I am blessed: in my illness I was given the gift of education (albeit a meager dosage), and now I am simply living the life I think is only proper. But I feel odd: I’m not the American ideal. I have been given convictions by someone other than what my eyes and ears see around me, and that can make me appear arrogant. But it’s not about that; it’s about what I see, about a vision I can’t forget.

Seeing is only ever described these days as physical—something that happens with the eyes and the brain—but the word originated with an intellectual seeing: an understanding.1 To see, the mind must be opened, trained to observe what is already there but what it is overlooking. We all are born blind, and just like Sherlock Holmes, we must learn to acquire vision of things: what is there and what is not; the value of things. This is education—and experience. When someone asks me why I read so much or love history and art, it tells me they’ve fundamentally missed the boat on what it is we were created to do. They don’t see what is gripping me. They don’t see that it isn’t me pursuing that stuff; it won’t let me go. If they saw, they would know.

We weren’t created for ourselves, but for Him: we’re made to behold Him. And beholding isn’t passive; it’s active. It’s a shaping of the mind and the senses to be able to perceive Him as He is, to see glory and see it as glorious. To see the final kick of the soccer ball to win the world cup as what it really is, not as a random man kicking a white ball into a smallish net. We are arrogant materialists, assuming we see all there is to see, and if not, that it doesn’t matter and wouldn’t change our lives in any way: thus, we explain away our need for God, and our ability to enjoy Him. Thus, we miss the boat…and the joy ride.

Joy isn’t in indulgence, it’s in restraint. You can’t enjoy a sunset if you have a cell phone dinging in your pocket, a loud neighbor playing music, and a dog pulling at your pants leg. You find joy in focus, and focus is precious—the result of limitation. You pay for it with attention: you pay attention, and you reap experience. Joy is deep…so deep it’s often compared to pain. For greater joy, you must limit—you must discipline. You must say no.

You can’t be an expert in everything, and chances are when you try to be you’ll fail at being even decent at one thing; therefore, you must limit. You have to make the hard choice to intentionally shield yourself from things and information. You can live by whim and serendipity, but you’ll never go far. If you want to GO somewhere and BECOME someone because of your journey, you have to limit yourself to one trip and discipline yourself to stick to the path. Discipline is freedom.

The most valuable thing in the universe is the Truth, and the most valuable thing you and I can possess is character (or, integrity to that Truth). And character is only forged in slow, laborious applications of Truth to your life in creative, imaginative ways that sneak around your defenses and teach you who you really are.

Character is who you are when nobody is watching: when you go against your conscience, you go against God (Jam 4:17).2 Your relationship with God isn’t “off” when you’re alone and “on” when you’re around others. It’s 80% in your heart where only you live. Which is why true character and spirituality is fought for where no one will ever see. They will see the fruits, absolutely, but never the roots.

Learning is often explained in the metaphor of a journey, and as with all journeys, you can’t arrive without starting, without getting lost and finding your way back. And none of this even happens if you exit and stop at an entertainment shop and plug your brain into the entertainment vortex all day after work. You can’t develop deep trains of thought that burrow into the great unknown and find vision without reading and thinking in long, plodding spurts. The internet trains us to think in soundbites, to access information instead of understand it, to use it instead of see with it. We need to sit still and read, think, meditate, ponder, and eventually, see.

We become what we worship and we worship what we spend the most time on. Most Americans worship themselves and pay their attention to their own pleasure in entertainment. But if we are lifted from this self-focused gaze to behold an infinitely higher and more glorious Being and reality, we are changed to be like Him, to be satisfied by Him, and experience His joy.

I’m exhausted from emotionally engaging the news. So I gave it up as a focus and now just dip in when I have the time and reason to. Finding a reason to is what then allows me to connect what I’m reading in the news to what I’m learning in eternal truth, and that doesn’t exhaust me. It feeds me. It’s hunting with a rifle instead of a shotgun.

News is information that is just-in-time, but I crave information that is just-always-the-case. Not to say news is bad; it’s just a small piece of the puzzle.

Television is destroying our culture. Or, better put, Satan is destroying our culture through manipulating the inherent evil in fallen human nature, and television is playing a huge part:

Neil Postman provided some clues about this in his illuminating 1985 book, Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business. The media scholar at New York University saw then how television transformed public discourse into an exchange of volatile emotions that are usually mistaken by pollsters as opinion. One of the scariest outcomes of this transition, Postman wrote, is that television essentially turns all news into disinformation. "Disinformation does not mean false information. It means misleading information—misplaced, irrelevant, fragmented or superficial information—information that creates the illusion of knowing something but which in fact leads one away from knowing ... The problem is not that television presents us with entertaining subject matter but that all subject matter is presented as entertaining.”3

Television does the seeing for us, and it tricks our minds into thinking it knows when really is doesn’t. Seeing isn’t believing. Seeing with the mind is believing, and the imagination is all but dead when the TV screen comes on.

I’m not against TV, but I hold it at arms-length because I know the damage it can do: namely, to train me to simply see the surface of things and form judgments based on emotion instead of fact.

Discernment is the art of judging well, it’s a mental process. It is obvious that if you abuse your mind by never reading or building it up or making it stronger or more capable, you will have bad discernment, and that will affect every area of your life. It is very important to renew your mind.

Being a Christian is about striving. It’s about never letting go of ideals in the face of failure and inevitable hypocrisy. We all will fail, and yet we are called to wake up every day and make it our goal to be like God (Matt 5:48). That tension gives way to cynicism before long, because it never happens for us. We are fighting the long defeat. But the antidote to hypocrisy is confession. When we confess our sins to God, He is faithful and just to forgive us and cleans us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9). Thus, we are no hypocrite, just sheep being led by our shepherd. We all stumble in many ways (Jam 3:2; cf. Rom 7).

Don’t believe the lie. Ever. But specifically, don’t believe the lie that darkness is good, that a little dark side is a good addition to the Christian life. Let it go. Your past is evil and part of the past. Instead of dwelling on it, dwell on Christ and whatever is true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, or of good reputation (Phil 4:8). There are no medals in heaven for angsty Christians who are “in touch” with the darkness.

Don’t get carried away with cynicism: don’t let the darkness invade your worldview. Never truly respect J. D. Salinger, David Foster Wallace, or other angsty, secular authors. They speak the truth as they see it, but they are in rebellion against their Creator, and you should do everything you can to NOT want to be like them. Never stop seeing life as a comedy instead of a tragedy. The precursor to faith is laughter, not angst.

A friend of mine posted on Facebook:

Just saw Rogue One for the second time, and I was reminded of this old Latin phrase which was Caravagio's personal motto: NEC SPE, NEC METU. It means “without hope or fear." It's the idea of going into a battle with no hope of winning and thus no fear because you know you're fighting for something bigger than yourself, and there is hope for something larger than your own failure or success. I think that's what the movie was about. I am with the Force and the Force is with me.4

THAT is the proper balance between hope and cynicism.

But overall, In the day-to-day, moment-by-moment Christian battle, cynicism and humor aren’t all that great. The Christian life is a war (Eph 6:12) and there is no place for that in the trenches. I don’t want a man guarding my back who reads (and worships) Catch 22. I’d rather him read Homer’s Iliad and, in his hubris, think himself the mighty Ulysses for heaven’s sake. Give me hubris over cynicism any day. Give me courage, honor, and bravery (even a little naivety!) from a heart that believes his mission over a witty writer-type who thinks he is better for harboring mistrust at the world. Humor is great, don’t get me wrong. But when it is used to undermine, it’s evil.

Strength is required, because life is a war. And strength requires humility because you can’t leave room for failure. It’s the hipster mantra to undersell, downplay, and side-step, but when the bullets are flying I want a level-headed, accurate assessment of the situation, and fearless strength to carry out the mission.

You have to learn to be optimistic. that’s not innate. You have to indoctrinate yourself that things will turn out for good, that God is a God of love, that His plan for you is perfect and without fault. When you begin to lose hope, anchor your soul to Him (Heb 6:19) like a tree planted by streams of water (Psalm 1). Grope for those ideals and hang onto them, even when your whole heart is saying something different. Thankfulness and positivity is a spiritual discipline, not an emotion.

Okay, so thankfulness is an emotion, but it is a by-product of thanksgiving, which is a verb. So, go give thanks for things, and eventually you will begin to feel thankful. And that gratitude will lead you to Joy.

Never underestimate the power of small sins. Your heart is a sin-factory and it is very sensitive. Evil gets into you and when you let it grow it will devastate your worldview and then the motivation for your morality. Then all the chains of cause-and-effect you have set up in your Christian life will fall away and you’ll be left virtue-less. Example: you will stop giving thanks for God’s good gifts, and then you will lose your gratitude and lose your joy, and at the end of the day you will stand there waving your fist at God and praying “restore unto me the joy of my salvation”, which is a decent thing to pray, but if you never go and fix the root of the problem, you’ll never heal.

When you are a regular joe working a secular job, why do you really need godliness? This question is one of my favorites because I have so thoroughly explored it—because I was a doubter and wanted a way out of that high calling of Matt 5:48. But since I am God’s child, I have that calling still. Here is why.

We all have two callings:

Primarily, we have a vertical, spiritual calling. We are called to love God with our whole beings (Deut 6:5; Mark 12:30), to be like God (Matt 5:48).

Secondarily, we have a horizontal, worldly calling. We are called to love others as we love ourselves (Mark 12:31), to subdue the earth and reign over it in discerning right from wrong (Gen 1:28) and to serve the world with the work we do, doing it to the glory of God, not to men (1 Cor 10:31).

How those two work themselves out is different for everyone, but we all need Him, desperately, and we all also need hard work, desperately, daily.

For the love of all that is holy, read more books. Begin by reading this: the best article I’ve ever read on reading.

“In fact, for the first two hundred years of its existence, the word “vision” referred exclusively to sight with the mind’s eye, whether in the form of a prophetic or mystical revelation, or simply the contemplation of a thing not actually present. Only later, in the late 1400s, did it come to mean bodily sight” (Source). ↩︎

Which is why you should follow your conscience but also educate it with God’s Word to know what truly is good and what truly is evil. That is called discernment. ↩︎

Source. ↩︎

Citation: Taylor Reynolds. ↩︎