I finally finished Nona the Ninth. I have two words:

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH

The Whisper Networks

Alvarez has always heard the secrets of objects, whispering about who they truly belong to. But when Alvarez comes across a map on display in Laila’s Apothecary, stealing it doesn’t go to plan. Laila isn’t the fraud Alvarez assumed her to be, so while taking the map is a simple matter, keeping Laila from taking it back seems to be an impossible feat. When Alvarez realises that the map is more than a little magical, Alvarez and Laila have to put aside their petty feud and follow where the whispers lead.

⁂

A Magic AU for the @aftgbigbang

[Read on AO3]

Alvarez felt their stomach leave their body as gravity pulled them down the steep slope of 16th Street. San Francisco was known for its insane topography, but it made for a hell of a skatepark. There was, of course, the high risk that they would collide with oncoming traffic, but Alvarez had the timing of the traffic lights down to the second. Risk would never subside, but it was something they had learned to conquer over the twenty-two years they’d lived in the city. Alvarez—no first name, no last name, just the one name—was a first-generation Mexican-American and still spent a week every year in Mexico City with their extended family. But they had a huge family in Northern California too, and not just those they were blood related to. Sure, they had a whole address book filled with cousins and nephews and grandparents and in-laws, but Alvarez also considered their mailman family, along with the cashiers at their local greengrocers and the hot barista who blushed at Alvarez’s aimless flirting despite the engagement ring on her finger. She knew there was nothing to Alvarez’s pet names and compliments—it was something Alvarez graced with everyone and anyone they met—but it gave Alvarez an ego boost to see the effect they had on women all the same. It was aimless, sure, but it was still fun. Alvarez took a sharp turn onto the crosswalk while the pedestrian lights still flashed green, and weaved around pedestrians. They ducked down to control their weight more as their board slid back onto the asphalt and slipped past the parked cars that were half pulled up onto the sidewalk. The odd bits of trash littered the streets and Alvarez swerved to avoid an empty plastic bottle that rolled in the summer breeze. They almost hadn’t noticed it, and they definitely wouldn’t have heard it over the growl of their board’s wheels. Alvarez liked risks and high stakes, but they weren’t stupid enough to play music through headphones as they skated through the busy streets of the city, even if it would have made their daily journey considerably cooler. At the reform synagogue with green painted walls and LGBT flags hanging in the windows, Alvarez finally pulled onto Dolores Street, only coming to a stop when they reached the concrete stairs leading to Rosa Sanchez’s apartment. They leaned down to grab their board before it continued to roll out of reach, and tucked it under their arm as they jogged up to the front door. The glass rattled as they knocked once, twice, thrice— “Jesus, Jesus, I’m coming!” Rosa’s voice called through the doorway, impatient as always. The slap of chanclas punctuated each rushed step and Alvarez was already grinning by the time Rosa pulled open the door with an annoyed expression. “Hi, Rosa,” Alvarez said in a sing-song tone, as if she had hugged them tight and stuffed their pockets with their favourite chocolates. “I’m happy to see you, too!” “You’re late,” Rosa said. “I have a client due any minute now.” Alvarez scoffed. “They can wait. This is more important— you are more important.” “Ah, don’t give me that. You can’t charm your way out of everything, you know. One day that mouth of yours will get you into trouble.” Alvarez grinned. “But today is not that day. Instead, I come bearing gifts.” Alvarez shook off their backpack and unzipped it to bring out their latest find. It was a black-and-white photograph, featuring a group of women holding flyers and models of cable cars. At the sight of the photograph, Rosa quickly stopped her chastising. Her expression morphed into one of wonder, and it was because of reactions like these that Alvarez did what they did. “How— how did you find this? I haven’t seen this in years.” “Oh, you know.” They dismissed it like it had been easy to track down the photograph, because in truth: it had. Alvarez wasn’t like some bounty hunter, spending hours on the road looking for clues and making pin-boards with red string. It was less ‘finding an object for a client’ and more ‘finding a client for an object.’ Most of Alvarez’s

clients didn’t know them, and usually chased them off their front porch for talking nonsense. A few had threatened to call the police, though Alvarez tended to chalk that up for everyday racism rather than something strictly personal. But all of them shut up once Alvarez showed them the object that was intended for them. Because Alvarez knew without a shadow of doubt that the objects were meant for their clients: they knew this, because the objects said so. It was all very dramatic, and Alvarez often wished that the objects would talk back to them just so Alvarez was certain they’d heard all the complaints and grumbles about how infuriatingly vague the whispers were. But in the end, they found out. Whether it took hours or days or weeks, Alvarez eventually tracked down the owner of the objects they stumbled upon, and they perused the city trying to track them down and deliver their fates. The hardest part was to decipher the whispers enough to determine whether the object belonged to someone outside of the city or not. If so, returning it was usually a lost cause. Alvarez relied on gossip more than anything else, so more often than not they turned to their family for help. Everyone knew everyone in the Alvarez family, which meant that when Alvarez got home after a day’s work, they could trade a day’s chores for gossip from their brother, Félix, and ask, “Do you know who said ‘The colour and romance of San Francisco must not be destroyed?” If he didn’t know, they could then fix their mom a cup of coffee and ask her. If their mom didn’t know, she would turn and ask her husband, and if he didn’t know, she would pick up the landline phone from the side table and call her sister, and if she didn’t know she would yell to see if anyone in her household knew, and Alvarez’s cousins would text their friends and their friends’ families, and their friends’ families’ friends, and eventually someone knew that the phrase came from a series of flyers regarding a ballot in the 1940s. It made introductions at front doors a nightmare, as Alvarez often got tongue-tied over how many friend-of-a-friend they were, but eventually they said a name that sounded familiar, and they were invited in for tea. “My grandmother was part of a committee to save the cable cars in town when the mayor wanted to scrap them in favour of buses and cars,” Rosa explained. “They proposed this ballot initiative to amend the City Charter, and they managed to win.” Alvarez didn’t want to tell her that they already knew this, but it was nice for someone to fill in the blanks that the photograph had left out. When Rosa was momentarily lost in memories and nostalgia, Alvarez shot the photograph a glare, but it didn’t respond. They never did—not even to say thank you. “Where did you find it?” Rosa asked. And that was where Alvarez tended to find themself in trouble. Because objects that belonged to people but were not currently in those people’s possession, were either lost or stolen. Either way, they tended to be somewhere that wasn’t particularly easy to take out. Unfortunately, some objects refused to acknowledge the concept of trading, and on several occasions Alvarez had gone out of their way to take something from someone’s house and return it to their previous owner, only to find out that the previous owner had willingly sold it and didn’t want it anymore. On one occasion, an old white woman had paled and looked unusually shaken when Alvarez tried to return a garden flamingo to her: she then claimed that the flamingo was haunting her, and that she kept finding it in her garden after trying to sell it and donate it and throw it out six times previously. The flamingo called bullshit, but Alvarez was the only one to hear its protests. Since the woman didn’t want it, Alvarez had instead taken it home and it now sat proudly on their kitchen windowsill, complaining loudly at everything it could see through the kitchen window, or complaining about what it couldn’t see through the kitchen window, since the kitchen

didn’t have the best of views. “A library sale,” Alvarez said. “I think it was in the archives or something.” “Luck has graced us then,” Rosa said, with more fondness in her tone than she had offered Alvarez in every exchange prior to now. “Come in, you must stay for dinner. I’m making pozole.” “Oh, that’s alright, Rosa,” Alvarez said. “I don’t want to intrude and I’ve got a few errands to run for my mom.” “Tomorrow, then. Or the day after. I can’t simply thank you for returning this to me.” Alvarez smiled. “Tomorrow sounds good.” With promises to return to Rosa’s apartment at seven o’clock the following day, Alvarez zipped up their backpack and slung it over their shoulder again. They took to the streets again, their twisted hair waving behind them in the wind as they skated west. They lived in the Mission District, but Alvarez hadn’t been lying about the errands they had to run for their mom that afternoon. Thankfully, everything she’d wanted Alvarez to pick up could be found in one place: Laila’s Apothecary.

read the rest on AO3

Zusammen: Part IX

Link to all parts here.

Kagami was not someone who gave up easily, and she wasn’t about to give up on searching for Adrien’s mother just because they hadn’t discovered anything yet, but she found the lack of clues difficult to tolerate. She and Adrien had already covered three days of Emilie’s last week in Paris to no avail - the filming location of what would’ve been her fourth motion picture, the grocery store she’d visited on the Monday before she vanished, the hairdresser, the Louvre, and so on. They were now retracing Emilie’s steps on the Tuesday before her disappearance, which had taken place on Friday of the same week, and Adrien and Kagami still hadn’t uncovered any useful information. However, Kagami was still enjoying herself - she liked walking through the city with Adrien.

“Okay,” said Adrien, trying to sound optimistic as they exited the jewelry store, “I will admit, this isn’t going as smoothly as I’d hoped, but there are still plenty of places that could connect to Mother’s disappearance. It’s only the first day of our investigation.”

“I totally agree,” put in Kagami. “I am getting a bit hungry, though.”

They took a fifteen-minute break to pick up some lunch; with both of their energy and morale levels low, the sandwiches tasted extra good. Once they were finished, Adrien and Kagami discussed how best to proceed.

“Our current approach is working, it’s just that we haven’t found anything yet,” Adrien said.

“Yeah,” acknowledged Kagami. “I think we’re just gonna have to keep patient.”

“Well, it says here that the library’s next,” said Adrien, looking at Emilie’s personal organizer. “We’re pretty close.”

“I’ll say,” Kagami laughed. “It’s literally across the street.”

Adrien turned to the large marble-clad fortress just ahead of them.

“Huh,” he muttered, scratching his chin. “I guess you’re right.”

===========

The inside of the library was vast; bookshelves upon bookshelves stretched across the area, each of them brimmed with volumes of every kind. The help desk looked like a tiny island in the midst of it all, though the librarian didn’t seem to care. She didn’t make any reaction to her surroundings until Adrien and Kagami walked up to her.

“Ah,” she murmured ominously, eyeing the two teenagers from behind a giant tower of books. “I’ve seen you before.”

She pointed a crooked finger at Adrien, making him squirm a little.

“Uh-huh,” said Kagami dismissively, trying to prevent her boyfriend from growing uncomfortable. “We’re wondering if you have the check-out records on hand.”

“May I ask why?” questioned the librarian suspiciously, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re part of an investigation looking into the disappearance of Emilie Agreste,” explained Kagami. “We need to see which books she checked out on Tuesday, May 16 - if she checked out any books.”

“Fine by me,” the librarian drawled. “Do you have Mrs. Agreste’s library card at hand?”

Adrien pulled the card from his pocket and slid it across the desk to the librarian. She picked it up gingerly.

“Wait here.”

Adrien and Kagami watched the librarian shuffle away down one of the canyons of bookshelves. She returned less than five minutes later, a stack of files in her arms, with the library card rested on top.

“These are the complete records of each library book Emilie Agreste ever checked out,” the librarian told them, setting the files down and handing the library card back to Adrien. “She wasn’t a member of the Parisian Public Library System for very long; only for a couple months, in fact. I don’t think she ever really needed to be a member, with her mansion boasting its own library.”

“Thank you,” said Kagami and Adrien at the same time. The librarian smiled slightly.

As they walked off to a nearby table, Adrien asked, “How long do you think this’ll take?”

“Not very long,” Kagami responded shortly. “I doubt that Moreau’s murderer would hang around a public area, so I believe we’ll be safe splitting up inside the building. We don’t need to read the books cover to cover, just flip through them in case your mother left bookmarks or notes or whatever.”

It became apparent that their search would take even less time than Kagami had speculated. Emilie hadn’t checked out a lot of books; Adrien speculated that she only came here for publications not stocked at the mansion’s library. The books varied widely, from acting methods and obscure moments of the country’s past to rare amphibian species and child psychology. It was nearing four o’clock by the time Adrien and Kagami reconvened.

“Anything out of the ordinary?” asked Adrien.

Kagami shrugged. “I found out your mother read a good portion of Joris-Karl Huysmans, but that’s about it.”

Adrien sighed. “How many more books did she check out?”

Kagami looked down at the last remaining unopened file. “Two. The first one’s called Interpreter of Maladies. My mother’s read the Braille version and she told me it was brilliant - that’s high praise coming from the woman who literally tossed Harry Potter in the garbage.”

“Which book?!” Adrien asked, feeling outraged.

“Prisoner of Azkaban,” said Kagami regretfully. “She read the first few pages and just threw it in the trash can - and that’s luxury treatment compared to what she did with Order of the Phoenix. You don’t even wanna know.”

“Good lord, it’s fine she didn’t like them, but at least treat the physical book with a bit respect!” exclaimed Adrien. “Max doesn’t like them either, but you don’t see him chucking them out along with table scraps and whatnot!”

It took a bottle of water and several deep breaths for Adrien to regain control of himself, by which time it was four-thirty. They both knew that in order to remain within the guidelines Inspector Beaumont had set for them, they’d need to get back home within an hour.

“Sorry about that,” Adrien apologized, panting a little. “I got a little carried away. What’s the last book my mother checked out?”

“Let’s see,” said Kagami, flipping the file back open again. “The last book your mother checked out before she disappeared is called -”

Her eyes widened suddenly.

“What?” asked Adrien worriedly. “Which book is it?”

Kagami stared at him fearfully. “It’s called Eternally Intertwined: The Connections Between Magic and Human Emotions.”

Adrien’s heart skipped a beat. For him, the connections between magic and human emotions only related to one thing - Hawk Moth.

“Are... are you positive?” he gulped.

Kagami handed the file over to him. Sure enough, the title she’d just relayed to him was staring him in the face. Right as his eyes finished crossing over the words, Adrien clapped the file shut and strode over to the help desk, Kagami trotting behind him.

“Excuse me?” he asked the librarian, who’d stopped eating her salad to give Adrien her full attention. “I was wondering what you could tell me about this book.”

He placed the file down and tapped the ink with his finger. The librarian made a confused expression.

“Eternally Intertwined: The Connections Between Magic and Human Emotions? I have never heard of such a book,” the librarian admitted. “I’m sure it’s in the catalogue somewhere, though. Let me go check.”

She trundled down a hallway didn’t return until fifteen minutes had passed. The librarian sat back down and turned to Adrien and Kagami.

“Well, I think I’ve just discovered something of use to you,” she said, taking a bite of salad. “Eternally Intertwined was a recent publication back when Emilie Agreste checked it out. It wasn’t in wide circulation; the author, Madeleine Archambault, was a folklorist whose work had been repeatedly discredited for its alleged inaccuracies. Therefore, not many publishing companies were eager to accept her manuscripts. However, Archambault was able to convince a small, local press to give her a contract, entitling her to around ten thousand euros for a dozen books.”

“That’s it?” asked Adrien in surprise. His father had told him before that already published authors usually received more than twice that amount on one book.

“It wasn’t much,” continued the librarian, “but Archambault was desperate for work. She was able to get Eternally Intertwined published in the spring of that year. We only had a single copy in the library system; Emilie Agreste remains the only person to’ve checked it out.”

“How come?” Kagami asked. “It’s been five years since then, surely someone would’ve taken an interest in a book covering that kind of subject matter.”

Adrien nodded in agreement, thinking of Hawk Moth.

“I see where you’re coming from,” said the librarian, “but Eternally Intertwined was a commercial and critical flop. Critics panned it for resembling her previous work, which they said lacked backing evidence. The press Archambault had convinced to publish it rescinded her contract and she hasn’t produced any piece of writing since. Last time anyone had heard from her, she’d been working on a documentary in Alsace.”

She took another bite of her salad before saying, “Even if it’d been a success, no one would’ve checked it out, on account of it not being returned.”

“It wasn’t returned?” said Adrien in surprise.

The librarian shook her head. “Emilie Agreste never got the chance to give it back before she disappeared. But not to worry - Eternally Intertwined included Archambault’s watercolor pictures of objects mentioned in the text, and we have prints of some of those pictures in stock.”

She pointed to a thick roll of parchment paper that Adrien hadn’t noticed. Without a word, he picked it up and brought it to his and Kagami’s table, unrolling it hastily. The watercolor he saw first confirmed his fears.

It depicted two butterflies. One was pure white, the other was black and purple. Beneath the watercolor was a single word.

Akuma.

X. REVELATION

Word Count: 2.9K

*taps mic* Is this thing on? Aight, I know I said that I’d update CS every 3-5 business months, but life happened for both me & @hearteyes-for-killmonger. Let me just tell y’all how many times I wanted to completely scrap this book, simply because for a second, I fell out of love with it. I also thought that you guys were no longer interested. For our loyal readers, thank you for sticking with us! This chapter is fairly short, but MAJOR progression is made!

It’s also late, so this is un-beta’d. Any errors will be corrected in the morning.

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

Skylar’s face turned up in a wide grin as O’Shea came downstairs with her latest flower arrangement. If Oya wasn’t good at anything else, she was a professional at wooing her. The bright yellow of the freshly picked sunflowers was a beautiful contrast to the deep red hue of the roses. She’d forgotten that she’d mentioned that they were her favorites.

“With love, from Bae,” O’Shea read teasingly, only making the smile on Skylar’s face stretch wider. “And again I ask, why aren’t the two of you officially a thing? The mutual attraction is obvious and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile this wide. Like you’re really flashing all 32 right now,” she asked, placing the vase on the corner of Sky’s desk.

“Because it’s not that easy, Shea. I have walls that need to be broken down and we both have issues that we need to work through. This is why SPT is so important. I have to understand exactly who I’m dealing with before we take things to the next level.”

O’Shea nodded. She hadn’t really thought about their situation like that. She’d just assumed that Sky was still working through ridding herself of Monica and was afraid of being heartbroken again.

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that. So is she Erik’s client now?”

“Yes. He’ll be her official therapist and draw up our plan of action as far as treatment.”

“Why does she feel like she needs treatment? She doesn’t seem to struggle sexually.”

“Looks can be deceiving, Shea. Behavior is also an indication that there may be underlying issues. Most of the clients that Erik and I treat are fully functioning. Look at you, for example.” Shea pulls a face. It was entirely too early in the workday for Skylar to be coming for her edges. She hadn’t even finished her acai breakfast bowl. “Aye, we not talking about me,” she fussed, placing her hands on her hips.

“But you fit the example. Personally, I think her excessive need to be sexual is a cover for something deeper, I just have to get her to tell me what it is.”

Sky couldn’t deny the soft spot she had for Oya. Even if things didn’t work out on the personal side of their relationship, she still cared for her and wanted to ensure she received the best treatment. Regardless of past situations, everybody deserved to be loved and accepted for who they truly are.

**

A pregnant silence engulfed Erik’s office as Oya and Skylar waited for him to speak. For the last 45 minutes he had been busy typing away at his computer, only pausing briefly to think before starting again. Once finished, he leans back in the Italian leather chair, stroking his beard as he gives the therapy plan a final onceover.

“Alright, before we begin, we first need to get to the root of the problem. Oya, why do you feel you need SPT and what do you hope to gain from it, other than my business partner as a mate?”

Ouch.

Oya recoiled slightly at his brashness. She hadn’t expected to be put on front street so quickly, nor was she prepared to discuss her history so soon. She suddenly felt bare, like she had been stripped of all of her clothing in front of a crowded high school auditorium and her anxiety was spiking. Skylar took notice of how withdrawn she’d become and placed a comforting hand on her thigh.

“It’s okay, Oya. You don’t have to explain in detail just yet, we just need a general idea of what we’re dealing with so that we approach it in the best way,” Skylar explained, the gentleness of her voice causing Oya to return her soft smile.

While she knew that there wasn’t a logical reason to be afraid of Erik or his opinion, her brain had been conditioned to be critical of men ever since that fateful night in her uncle’s basement. Still, having Skylar there was comforting. Her presence made it easier to generate a Spark Notes version of her past.

“I was abused and shunned as a child and as a result, became overtly sexual. While I know that sex can’t fill the void that was left from that experience, it’s the only way to silence the voices in my head. I started looking into SPT because I saw that abuse survivors can benefit from it.”

Erik’s face softened from its usual hard line. While he’d assumed this girl had been through the ringer, his mind couldn’t begin to fathom just how deep her trauma ran.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” he started. “Since it’s obvious that you’re a lot more comfortable speaking to Sky about this, how about the two of you do dinner. If not tonight, then later this week. During dinner, Oya, I need you to be as transparent as possible. I need you to go into full detail of what happened and then Skylar will report back to me. The two of us will formulate a comprehensive 8-week therapy plan, which will be implemented starting next week. Are you okay with doing this?”

Oya nodded, finally allowing herself to completely relax.

“We’re gonna get you right, Ms. Ramirez. Over the next 8 weeks you’ll watch yourself become a new woman, I guarantee it,” Erik smiles, offering her his hand to shake.

She accepts the invitation, returning his smile in the most infectious way before turning to Skylar.

“I know SPT doesn’t always require sex, but we can still implement some BDSM therapy, right?”

Sky laughs in response. Leave it to Oya to bring sexual humor into an otherwise serious situation.

“Baby steps, Ms. Ramirez.”

**

Oya's salmon arrived on the table and she licked her chops, having been out all day without eating. Why Sky had inquired about her level of hunger, Oya stated that her radiant smile was enough to fill her, however, the angry cry of her stomach told a different tale.

The pair opted for a Friday evening dinner, an excuse for Skylar to have a drink or two and not worry about having to work the following day. She sips her Hendricks and tonic slowly, savoring the crisp taste of the cucumbers she requested be added to the concoction.

Oya slammed face first into her plate effectively scaring the shit out of Sky who was currently rethinking a few things in regard to diet based on Oya's uncouth and grizzly attack on her fish. 

"Well. She eats fish like I eat pussy," Sky sighed, brushing it off. Still, she found herself keeping her eyes down to her own plate.

"I wasn't that hungry," Oya belched, wiping her mouth with her stained paper napkin. "I'll take another one still."

After her second fish, Sky was appalled at the way Oya had violated those salmon. She decided that she would also train Oya to eat like a human being and they would practice on a sushi date, since they require smaller bites.

“Alright fish murderer,” Sky finally chirps. “You’ve avoided the inevitable long enough, it’s time to talk.” Oya lifts her head slowly, much like a dog who has just been scolded for peeing on fresh carpet.

“Do we really have to talk about this? Like is it honestly necessary?”

“Yes, Oya. With all due respect, we can’t treat you if we don’t know what we’re treating. You gotta give us something.”

“I gave you something earlier,” she snaps defensively.

“Yes, but that’s not enough. There are several forms of abuse, Oya. Just saying you were abused doesn’t really tell us anything. We can’t use verbal abuse treatment methods to treat a victim of physical abuse. You understand that, right?” Sky asks incredulously.

Oya pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance. She was beginning to regret even bringing up the whole thing. While she thought she was ready to expose this part of her life, fear and her anxiety were getting the best of her. She was beginning to close up again.

Just tell her, her psyche coaxes. 

“I was raped by my mother’s brother when I was ten. It happened nearly everyday for 6 months. It took everything in me to say something to my mother about it, but when I finally did, she accused me of lying.”

A lone tear slid down Oya’s cheek at the memory.

“From that point on, I haven’t been able to trust or fully commit to a man. Which is why I couldn’t talk to Dr. Stevens earlier. I know he means well, but --”

“It’s a work in progress, I understand,” Skylar interjects.

“To this day, she refuses to acknowledge what that man did to me, even though he’s currently serving a 20-year prison sentence for pedophilia. From that point on, sex was my escape. I know it sounds oxymoronic, but it helped fill the void and silence the pain. Even if the gratification was short lived.

Skylar takes her hand, offering a napkin to wipe the fresh tears that slid down her face.

“I think we should start slow. I’ll get with Erik, but I feel like our first few sessions should be meditation and sensate focus. I want you to be comfortable with touching and being touched in a nonsexual manner before we move onto more advanced methods. Are you ok with that?”

“I think so,” Oya admits. “I’ve been using sex to run from my demons for majority of my life. I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“And when this is all over, you won’t have to,” Skylar smiles.

“I still wanna be your sex slave at some point, though,” Oya jokes.

“Check please!” Sky laughs.

**

After several back and forth debates as to where the session should be held, the doctors finally decided that Oya’s house would be best.

“It’s somewhere that she feels comfortable, and therefore, it should be easier for her to open up,” Erik said once the final decision was made. Sky nods her agreement, texting Oya to alert her of the plan.

Sky: Instead of coming to my office, we’ll be doing the session at your house. Is that ok?

Oya: Ooh, I get the good doctor all to myself. Say less. Here’s my address

Skylar chuckles at her eagerness, adding the address to her Maps app for later access.

“She seems excited,” she tells Erik, pocketing her phone.

“For now,” he says, sliding a manila folder towards her. “She’s flighty, so her nervousness can come back at any moment. Make sure you keep her relaxed the entire time.”

“Why you talking to me like she’s my first patient?”

“Just making sure your head is in the right place. You’re typically behind the scenes. Patients like Oya can be tricky.”

“I got this, dad,” Sky groans, swinging her bag over her shoulder as she stands to leave.

“You better stop. You ain’t called a nigga Daddy in a minute, Nola.” 

“Goodbye, Stevens! I’ll let you know how things go.”

“Text me. I promised the baby brat we’d go to the carnival later. She’s been dying for a funnel cake and a new stuffie.”

“Aww, how sweet,” Sky beams, armed with new ammunition to tease Shea with once they were back in the office. After reading through the therapy plan for herself, she rests the folder and her bag in the passenger seat and heads home. She would need the rest of the night to prepare for the next day’s session.

**

The California sun beamed brightly as Skylar made her way to Oya’s apartment. It was a beautiful three bedroom, three bath unit in Playa Vista, not far from the beach. Skylar was immediately drawn to the brightness of the space, the white walls with soft marble and gold accents adding to the feminine charm.

“I was thinking we could do this in my meditation room,” Oya said once Sky was done with her exploration.

“Ooh meditation room,” Skylar squealed, following her into what would become her favorite room in the entire unit. Behind the curtain of strung selenite crystals lay a spiritual oasis. Two black Buddah statues sat on both sides of the entrance while pink, orange, and yellow pillows decorated the floor. They looked to be from Bali or some other spiritual region. On the east and western walls were sun and moon appliques, subtle nods to the orishas Yemoja and Oshun, while chakra posters and decorations line the southern wall. On an inverted bookshelf near the front facing wall lay her crystals, sage, and a small altar Sky could tell had been used recently.

“Okay, I already loved the rest of the house, but this room is a whole vibe,” Skylar compliments, pulling out her notebook and video camera. “It’s standard practice that these sessions are recorded, but if you’re uncomfortable being on film, I have a tape recorder.”

“No, the camera is fine,” Oya assured, taking a seat on the pink pillow. She sat Indian style with her palms resting on her knees. Skylar placed her camera between two rose quartz cathedrals, taking a few test shots to ensure the angle was perfect. Once done, she mimicked Oya’s stance on the yellow pillow across from her.

“It is the third day of March and the time is 3:33 pm,” Skylar says, beginning the recording.

“I see you, Universe,” Oya muses to herself, allowing herself to be consumed by the feeling of divine protection.

“We’re going to start with simple breathing exercises to get you relaxed and comfortable, okay?” Oya nods in response. “First I need you to sit up straight, but keep your shoulders and neck relaxed.”

Oya complies, rolling her neck to the sides to release some apparent tension.

“Now, close your eyes and visualize your happy place. It could be the beach or your bed, just wherever makes you feel the happiest,” Sky instructs, doing the same. “Now, breathe in deep through your nose, hold it for about five seconds, then release through your mouth.”

The two repeat these steps about five times before Oya is finally allowed to open her eyes. Skylar makes note of the sated look in her eyes.

“How do you feel?” she asks softly.

“Surprisingly, I feel really good. I do breathing exercises often, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed before.” “Good, that’s what we want. Now, we’ll move into sensate touching. I’ll need you to remove your jewelry and as much clothing as you’re comfortable with.”

Oya’s face turns up into a sly smirk.

“Are you getting fresh with me, Dr. Greene,” she teases, slowly removing the white Nike crop top.

Sky chuckles before answering.

“Quite the opposite, Ms. Ramirez. In sensate touching, participants are typically nude and free from jewelry. The method we’ll be practicing this afternoon is non-genital sensate touching, which means that I will touch every single part of your body except your breasts and your vagina. While sensate touching may cause arousal, it is important that you remain professional and focus only on your own sensations while being touched, understood?” 

“Aye, aye, captain,” Oya responds, saluting for emphasis. This makes Skylar giggle.

“I can already tell you’re not going to make this easy for me, Ms. Ramirez.” “I promise to be a good girl, Dr. Greene. You have my word.”

“Alright. This first session will be strictly me touching you with my hands. If this goes well, then we can introduce other elements, such as feathers, scarves, and even oils. If at any point you feel uncomfortable or sleepy, let me know and we can continue another time.”

“I’m not allowed to fall asleep?” Oya questions.

“No. It’s important that you remain awake and conscious through the entire experience,” Sky responds, positioning herself behind Oya. Slowly and deliberately, Skylar rubs her hands up Oya’s arms, starting with just her palms. She moves up to her shoulders and neck, alternating between firm and subtle pressure to the pressure points there.

“Mmm,” Oya moans softly. “You should consider massage therapy,” she coos, allowing her head to fall slightly.

“You think so?” Sky asks with a grin. “Yes ma’am. Your touch is very relaxing, Dr. Greene,” Oya shudders as Skylar’s fingertips dance up and down her back.

“Well I’m glad you think so, Ms. Ramirez.”

The session continues for exactly 33 minutes before Oya’s eyes start to droop. “Okay, I think we need to stop, otherwise, I’m gonna be asleep in your arms,” Oya says, her voice audibly more soft and relaxed than when they first began.

Skylar shuts the camera off and makes a few more notes in her notebook before putting her things away. Without thinking, she sits down beside Oya, pulling her so that she was cradled against her supple bosom.

“I don’t think I’d object to that much,” she beams.

Oya bites her lip softly before staring up into Sky’s big green eyes. She could see herself getting lost in them for days.

“You think you’re capable of fixing me? I’m damaged goods, Dr. Greene.” Her voice came out just above a whisper, her tone laced with vulnerability. Skylar smoothed her hair, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before delivering her heartfelt response. 

“A smushed Reese’s cup is still a Reese’s cup, Ms. Ramirez. And I happen to really like Reese’s cups.”

Oya’s smile spread across her whole face, a soft twinkle dancing in her eyes.

“I’ll be your Reese’s cup.”

**

@vikkidc @thadelightfulone @sydneebleu @blktinkerbell @madamslayyy @chaneajoyyy @jozigrrl @thehomierobbstark @ @iamrheaspeaks @mareethequeen @forbeautyandlife @whatmoredoyouwantamericaa @blowmymbackout @wakanda-inspired @yaachtynoboat711 @nickidub718 @heyauntieeee @princessstevens @bakarilennox @xaviera108 @alexundefined @raysunshine78 @dameshaemonique @laketaj24 @youreadthatright @theogbadbitch @bugngiz @amirra88 @post-woke @im5ftbutmythroat66 @blackpinup22 @maya-leche @blessyd-bthyname @unholyxcumbucket @eclecticblkgirl @kissmyafropuff @rick-sosa @jennajai @allhailqueennel @killmongersbaby @eye-raq @thickemadame @soulfulbeauty19 -

More Time - Chpt.8

Summary: Faced with an entire day to himself while Bucky is off at work, Steve finds himself struggling to fill his time. After a long afternoon at home he talks himself into going back the bar to see a certain redheaded bartender. Master list is HERE.

Warnings/ Content: Brief mention of Steve having poor body image.

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! I am so in love with the 70 degree weather right now that I can’t even think of anything clever to say about this chapter. Please know that as soon as this is posted I will be retreating back outdoors to my super awesome lawn chair to bask in the warm sun until I absolutely positively have to go in to feed my kids. Hope it’s nice where you are too and that you got to enjoy some sun today. XOXO - Ash

Chapter Eight

Steve felt oddly out of place the following Monday when Bucky was off to work and he wasn’t due back to the VA until the next day. He had his appointment with Bruce and Helen in the morning but that went quickly and he was still as healthy as he would ever be. He wandered around a few museums Bucky had gifted him with memberships to but that only filled a few hours of his morning. Steve was avoiding texting Bucky, not wanting to feel like a desperate little housewife, but he was running out of things to occupy himself with. He settled for watching a movie with General while he ate lunch. He heated up some leftover chicken and ended up sharing it with the cat who sat politely next to Steve waiting patiently for any scraps he was willing to share. After the movie, Steve holed himself up in his studio letting his art carry him away for the rest of the afternoon; he figured he could at least be productive that way.

It was past dinner time when Steve’s phone lit up with a ping of an incoming message.

Jerkface [6:42:17PM]: hey bb how r u?

Stevie G [6:42:26PM: I’m good. How did things go today?

Jerkface [6:43:48PM]: long tiring ready 2 b home

Stevie G [6:44:03PM]: What time are you guys getting in? 

Jerkface [6:44:36PM]: leaving @ 1930 3hr flight

Stevie G [6:44:57PM]: Okay, I’ll probably still be up when you get back. Miss you.

Jerkface [6:45:04PM]: miss u 2 give general a pet 4 me

Steve sighed, he didn’t expect a day on his own to feel so long. He wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of sharing another lonely meal with the cat but his stomach rumbled and he knew he needed to figure out dinner sooner rather than later. Steve wondered what the odds were that Emma, the bartender from Friday, would be working again if he stopped in for dinner. He did want to apologize for his behavior despite Bucky insisting he hadn’t been as terrible as he feared. Steve slowly talked himself into going as he packed away his paints. The food there was decent and he had liked the cozy feel of the place, it would be nice to get out for a bit since Bucky wouldn’t be home until late. 

General Meow looked up from his spot on the bed and watched with bored disinterest as Steve searched through the closet. He wasn’t dressing up, he told himself, he just couldn't go out in paint splattered clothes. He had been meaning to try out some of the soft, heavy dress pants he’d bought for the winter anyway. And if he was wearing dress pants, well then he couldn’t just put on a tee shirt. Steve adjusted the collar of his blue checkered shirt, tugged at the hem of the navy blue sweater he’d put on over top of it, standing back to assess himself in the full length mirror. He looked kind of nice, he mused. He tried to focus on the things he did like about himself as his therapist had taught him to do but it was difficult when all he saw was what was wrong. He tried reframing his negative thoughts and found that equally exhausting. 

Logically he knew his thick glasses made his eyes stand out, and he had always liked his eyes. Just like he knew the layer of softness across his middle meant he was healthy and no longer underweight. But staring at himself in the mirror, he wished he’d given the contact lenses another try and was thankful that the heavy sweater covered him well enough that he could pretend he still had a toned body underneath it. 

Steve shook his head at himself, when did he get so vain? He turned to the cat who had gone back to napping, “I’ll be back in a little bit, General.” He told him. The cat opened an eye to acknowledge he had been spoken to but went right back to napping. Steve bundled on his winter coat and gloves, grabbing Bucky’s scarf too at the last minute because it was cold outside and not because it smelled like Bucky and Steve missed him. 

It was a short but bitter cold walk down the block to Matty’s Bar and Steve’s lungs were protesting fiercely by the time he got inside. He fumbled with his inhaler and his gloves, finally getting two good puffs in to loosen up the tightness in his chest the icy winter air had caused. Sighing a heavy breath of relief Steve started unzipping his coat and finally looked down the bar to see if Emma was working. He jumped, almost knocking over the stool next to him, when he realized Emma was standing directly across from him; watching with an amused expression. 

“Hey Steve.” Emma said, giving him that same sympathetic smile she’d given on Friday when he’d let the bourbon go to his head. Emma had watched him race inside from the cold and struggle to get his breathing under control. She wanted to ask him if he was okay but he’d finally gotten his inhaler out and she waited while he got himself back under control. 

“Hey.” Steve replied trying to pretend he hadn’t just jumped like an idiot, “Emma, right?”

“Yeah. It’s good to see you again. You want a Makers Mark?” 

“No!” Steve said a little too loudly. Real smooth, Rogers, he chided himself. “No, just a coke please. Friday was… a special night out.” 

Emma giggled lightly at his outburst and nodded in understanding while she poured him a coke from the soda gun. “Bucky said you guys were celebrating. So what brings you back again so soon?” There were no other patrons at the bar and Emma took advantage of the lull to lean on the glossy wood top and enjoy herself watching Steve flounder for words. It was endearing the way even the tips of his ears burned bright when he blushed. 

“Well, I wanted to apologize for… um…  for getting a little drunk on Friday. Your job is tough enough as it is, let alone adding a drunk guy to the mix. I appreciate how kind you were even when I couldn't hold my liquor.” 

Emma wanted to hug him, he was so earnest but so misguided. Steve had been a delight compared to other guys who couldn't hold their alcohol, and even most who could. “You did not come all the way down here in the cold just to apologize to me.” 

Steve nodded, his head bowed in embarrassment. 

“Can I let you in on a little secret?” Emma whispered conspiratorially, leaning closer to Steve on his good side after noticing the tiny hearing aid in his other ear. 

Steve nodded again, eyebrows quirked up in interest. 

Emma was so close to Steve he could smell the soft lavender of her perfume when she whispered. “Seeing Captain America tipsy and giggling was the best part of my entire night.” 

Steve leaned back, a little heartbroken at her words despite their good intent. 

Emma frowned, picking up on his reaction to something she said. Maybe she had overstepped? She knew she came across as too flirty at times and, while it was great for tips as a bartender, sometimes it had some unintended consequences. Steve was so handsome though, moreso now than in any picture she’d seen of him in books and documentaries. Emma prayed she hadn’t offended him somehow. She pathetically hoped that he would keep coming in so she could pine quietly from afar over him, and Bucky too if she was being honest with herself.  

Steve tried to keep the bitterness out of his tone when he explained, “Well, sorry to disappoint, but it’s just Steve Rogers now. Not an ounce of super anything left in me.” 

Emma cringed, realizing her misstep. “Oh, no. I just meant… because you always seem so…” she waved her hands trying in vain to explain herself, “So… stern? Maybe that’s not it, but every picture I’ve ever seen of you seemed so stiff and dutiful. I always wondered if you ever got the chance to just be a normal guy.” 

Steve was stunned at her explanation. “No, things were pretty much go-go-go after I got the serum.” 

“I’m really sorry. That sounds pretty shitty.” Emma reached out and surprised both of them when she covered his hand with hers, clasping it tightly for a moment. 

“I was just trying to do my part.” Steve told her with a shrug.

“So I’ve read. But you’re still a person at the end of the day.” 

“You ever been told you have a very unique perspective on things?” 

Emma laughed, “Yeah, a couple of times. I’m glad you’re taking it easy now though. You deserve it. And you Bucky seem really happy together. Is he your…?” 

Steve nodded quickly, delighted he could share this so openly in public. “He’s my partner, yeah.” 

“Good for you guys. Gives us painfully single people hope.” 

Steve wanted to ask how someone so lovely could be single but he kept his inner Casanova to himself; that was Bucky’s forte, not his. Instead, he gave her a half smile and navigated the conversation to dinner, letting her talk him into a breakfast burger which sounded ridiculous but she insisted was worth trying. 

Steve was thankful it was a Monday night and the icy weather had kept everyone else at home. He loved every minute Emma spent leaning on the bar chatting with him while he ate his meal. She even caved in after a bit and took the fries he kept pushing towards her. It was surprisingly easy to talk to her and Steve found himself opening up more than he meant to at times. She wasn’t hung up on his former mantel of Captain America, her questions all centered around Steve himself and her interest seemed genuine. Steve ended up hanging out for a while after his meal was done just to spend time talking and she didn’t seem to mind at all. He was stunned when his phone pinged with a new message from Bucky letting him know he’d be home in twenty. 

“I’m so sorry, I took up your whole night! I gotta get back, Bucky is on his way home from work.” Steve told her while he pulled out his wallet to pay. 

Emma tried to hold back her disappointment that Steve was leaving. She had enjoyed his company so much on what would have otherwise been a boring Monday night. Emma hated the way reality came crashing back in. Steve, though charming and sweet and so quietly handsome, was not hers. He had a man he loved to get back home to and she would be heading home to her quiet apartment to read a book and water the little family of succulents who lived in her living room windowsill. Emma realized she had been quiet too long and startled herself back to the present. “It’s okay, Steve. You were good company tonight. I’ll get your check.” 

Steve smiled at her fondly and she stamped down the ache in her heart. Emma bid him goodnight, asking him to tell Bucky hello for her and to come back anytime he needed company. She watched him hurry out the door into the cold and sighed heavily, resigning herself to her quiet solitary existence. 

Bucky was surprised to find Steve in the kitchen when he arrived home a little before ten. His hands were frigid when he hugged him and the tips of his nose and ears were tinged pink and also icy cold. “Did you just get home?” Bucky asked in disbelief. 

Steve looked almost guilty, “I went out for a burger, it was too quiet around here and General isn’t a great conversationalist.” 

“Where did you go?”

“Just down to Matty’s Bar. Emma was working again tonight. She says hello by the way.” 

Bucky stared at Steve for a long minute. There he was, dressed all nice and having spent what must have been a few hours with the gorgeous girl they had both been mooning over a little. “You’re lucky I’m so secure with myself and our relationship. Otherwise I’d be wondering why you’re dressed like you’re meetin’ my mother and spending a night in the company of a beautiful woman.” 

Steve was too easily rattled and fell for the ribbing. “Buck, you know I love you. I learned my lesson; God did I ever. You’re it for me. You have to know that.” 

Bucky hugged Steve tightly, pressing firm kisses on the top of his fluffy golden hair. “I was just teasin’ ya. Besides, it’s not like we never brought a girl back for some fun before. Emma’s a real looker.” 

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? And she’s so sweet. She spent the whole night keeping me company, asking questions about me and not about my time with the shield.” 

“Feeling a little smitten there, huh?” 

“Just a little. She’s too good for us though, Buck.” 

“No one’s too good for you. But maybe I’ll go try a burger from Matty’s on my night off.” Bucky said it in jest but after it was out he considered it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Tag list lovelies: @godofplumsandthunder​ @remilupin22​ @supraveng​ @hiddles-rose​

If anyone wants added or removed please lmk!

Chapter 2

Six months earlier. …

It had been a week since the battle at Crait, a week without standing on solid ground. On a larger ship this would not be so bad, but the Falcon with its trademark bumps and rattles made forgetting you were barreling through uncharted space in a rusty metal projectile impossible. It was quickly becoming unbearable for Rey. She had never been off-planet for so long, nor gone so long without being alone. A few short weeks ago, she would have killed to be in this exact scenario: far, far away from Jakku on a ship of her own, travelling with those she called her friends or even her family. But it seemed the habits developed over a lifetime of simple survival do not die easy, for she found herself hiding out in dark corners, leafing through the Jedi texts and sneaking tiny nibbles from the rations she'd squirreled away. And, despite the mustiness of all the bodies packed into the ship, the ceaseless static of nervous conversation and the reverent nods that greeted her at every turn, she had never felt more alone.

She knew she was lying to herself when she wondered why she felt this way, but she lied anyway. In her moments of weakness, when she couldn't distract herself with books or stupid exercises or games with Finn and Poe; when everyone else was sleeping, and she was left to deal with the throb in her chest, she remembered his senseless face. Melancholy and young in the light of drifting embers. How she'd knelt beside him on the lacquered floor and brushed the dark locks from his forehead so she could kiss him there. It was gentle, so he would not wake; so that she would only be a whisper in his floating mind, one that would weave itself in and remain long after she was gone.

Why had she done that? She truly did not know. He'd tried to kill her, after all, not long after she'd given him that kiss.

Then there was his face again. Hurt, defeated, betrayed. She'd stared deep into eyes that were no longer pleading but still retained a singular question, and she’d shut the door on him. Again. In that moment, it had felt right to end it. She had been infuriated - enraged by his viscous retaliation and high off the thrill of piloting the Falcon and wielding the Force to save her comrades. She didn't need him. She didn't need a teacher. She had her friends and the Jedi texts. As Leia would say, she had all she needed.

But now, after countless hours spent poring over dense pages of head-splitting jargon, she had made no progress in the Jedi department. As for her friends, Finn was still Finn, but it wasn't like it was before. As she watched him linger for days over the comatose Rose, she realized how little she knew him, how brief their time together had been. And Leia? She was entirely occupied with saving their rebel asses, and there wasn't much Rey could do to aid her in those diplomatic endeavors. Their interactions were few and far between - nowhere near what Rey would have liked.

So, she was left with this feeling. It was familiar, the one she hated most of all.

A memory of a memory. A mother and a father; promises made and tears shed. And then their absence and the sand whipping up to sting her eyes as a ship lifts off, watching it dissolve into the atmosphere under broiling heat. ... That first night spent alone and the shock of the cold setting in. That first mark scratched into scrap metal with trembling hands. … Another memory - more vivid: a trader with kind eyes. "A gift fit for a princess," he says as he pulls a shimmering orb from his bag. He holds it before her with two hands. "Coruscant," he says. Spiderwebs of golden light stretch around the tiny planet, and as she takes it delicately and holds it up to the sun, the lights dim to reveal a mosaic of geometry. When brought close to her eyes, she can see towers and arteries and the movements of life. It is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. … She carries it with her everywhere. She knows the risk, but she wouldn't dare leave her treasure unattended, lest it be stolen. She is always wary of it there, wrapped in the folds of her scarf. But one day she slips, and she hears the shatter far below. When she slides down to its resting place, it is an opalescent dust. Beyond repair. …

It had been a week since the Bond last connected them. Rey assumed that when she'd shut the door on the man she once knew as Ben Solo, she had quite literally done the same with the Bond. This understanding did not settle well with her as yet another restless day passed by on the Falcon, and her comrades fell silent in sleep.

Despite her best efforts to deceive herself, she felt as though she'd done something very bad. Dirty, almost, like she had stepped on a beautiful moth. But it wasn't real, she told herself, again and again. We were only mice in a maze. …

Somehow, that thought twisted the knife deeper still. And it was because of this that she plunged even further into her book, filling her mind with a din of meaningless words to occupy the dark space inside of her.

She felt him before she saw him. When she looked up, he was sitting at a desk, engrossed in some kind of clerical work. He glanced back and forth from one data pad to another, typing entries with nimble fingers. He had dark circles under his eyes and his unwieldy hair was unkempt. Rey knew he felt her there, though he didn't make any moves to show it.

She waited, breathless. It felt like it had been an eternity since she last saw him, and there may as well have been an eternity between them. She understood this, so she just watched him. The hunched, dark mass of his form, conforming awkwardly to the confines of a chair; the crease in his brow, the slight movements of full lips.

He may be Supreme Leader, but an actor he is not, she thought as he visibly struggled to feign indifference. His eyes never wavered from his work and his demeanor was collected, but the jumping muscle in his jaw gave him away. It amused Rey that she could read him so easily, but after several minutes of watching this, her intrigue gave way to frustration.

"So, this is how it's going to be from now on?" her voice rang out.

Nothing. … She sighed audibly.

"You're going to ignore me? Like a child." There was a lightness in her tone. She wasn't trying to chastise him too much. He had every right to ignore her, given the circumstances. Though, in all fairness, she had the right to kill him, given the circumstances. So, he could at least acknowledge her.

When he finally spoke, it was calm and controlled, but he couldn't keep the edge out of it. "You're up late." He did not look up or stray from the task before him.

Rey hadn't actually considered what he would say if he did speak. "I - I'm reading."

"The Jedi texts?" he asked without hesitation.

"Yes—how did you know?"

"I'm Supreme Leader of the galaxy and the most powerful Force-wielder with formal Jedi training alive. Did you think I would not know if the sacred texts of the Order were stolen?"

Rey gulped.

"Well, don't worry. I'm not mad," he said, a bit mockingly. "You can keep them. They're the stuff of antiquity. I suppose you could trade them for a better ship.”

"Actually, I'm learning a lot," Rey lied. She was about as good at that as Kylo Ren was at acting. "I just started healing, actually--"

“Even if those books were at all useful, you can't learn how to wield the Force from a book. You need a teach -"

Rey stood abruptly, cutting him short. Why was this one subject the cause of so much strife?

“We are not doing this again.” She fought to keep her voice low so as not to wake the ship. “I don't know how long we'll be stuck here in the Bond, but I won't hear anything else from you about being my teacher. Is that understood?"

It shocked Rey in her trembling rage as Kylo Ren finally raised his eyes to meet her. As he did, she was sorry to look at him, because those eyes were so very dark.

"I wasn't offering," he said.

His dismissal stung more than she could have expected.

"Fine," she nodded. "Good."

He said nothing more and returned to his work. Not knowing what to do or say, or how long this pleasant interaction would continue, Rey sat back down and pretended to read the dusty old text that was before her. They remained that way, in stretching silence, for many long minutes. Rey snuck glances in his direction, but he did not reciprocate (as far as she could tell). It was like being alone, almost. With the entire ship fast asleep, the only sign of their presence the occasional snore or groan.

After a while of sitting like that, she forgot herself and that he knew she was there, and just observed him. The formidable Kylo Ren bent over his clerical duties. It was a sight that warmed her, strangely enough. She had never seen him this way, so quiet and still. And the longer she watched him, the harder it became to remember why she had ever been afraid of him. What was this man capable of? she asked herself again. This question had consumed her over the past week. Dark or light, how far could he go?

Rey realized then that perhaps the Bond was waiting for her to ask. That perhaps it was sentient and merciful, and it knew she could never truly rest if she did not know. Thus, in a leap of faith, she asked.

"Did you know that I was flying the Falcon?" Her own voice startled her.

As the dark knight raised his black eyes to meet her own, she immediately remembered why she had been afraid of him.

"What?" he asked quietly.

"Did you know?" she repeated, gathering her courage. "Did you know I was flying the Millennium Falcon at Crait?"

Rey saw something pass through his eyes, but she didn't know what it was. She could not read him now.

"No," he answered. It was definitive. Simple and firm.

Rey released the breath she had been holding with a heavy sigh. Emboldened, she probed a bit more. "Are you hunting us now? Is that what you're working on?"

"No."

Rey found that very hard to believe. "So, you're not chasing us?" Surely, he had something up his sleeve.

"No," he repeated dismissively. "I know you think ruling the galaxy is all rape and pillaging, but in reality it's a lot of paperwork. I have more important things to do than chase you and your friends through deep space."

"So, you're just going to let us go?"

"Are you disappointed?" There was a ghost of a smirk on his pallid face. "I'm sorry to break it to you, but you and your - cause - are now irrelevant. It's over. You should find a planet to land on before you run out of rations. Or, on second thought, maybe you should just keep going." He shrugged wickedly. "Bottom line: I don't care what you do, as long as you stay out of my way."

"That’s not true," retorted Rey, finding herself unable to sit. She rose to her feet once more, leveling with him. "It's not over. Leia will bring us back. You know she will."

"Maybe," he shrugged again. "I know she won't give up. She's never known life without war. ... I, for one, would like to."

"Like to what?"

"Know a life without war." He delivered those words sagely, as if he were addressing a six-year-old student. Then, he returned to his datapads.

Rey studied him for a moment, growing increasingly hot and irritated. He could hate her all he wanted, but she would not allow him to treat her like a fool.

"No. No, that isn't it." She shook her head vigorously. "Kylo Ren is not a pacifist.” She took a step toward him, growing taller over his seated form. "Kylo Ren thrives in battle. A lifetime of this," she gestured at his desk and his datapads, “would kill you. …. No. That is definitely not it."

"It isn't?" he retorted, eyebrows raised in mock interest. "What is it then?"

She took another step, now looking down at him slightly, which gave her confidence. "You won't chase us anymore because you know you can't kill us." She didn’t wait for a response. "You've tried, many times, to kill me - and your mother. And each time you've failed." Kylo Ren's face remained stony, but his jaw was working overtime. She pressed on. "I can't believe that it was a lack of prowess or resources on your part. No. You can't kill us, and you've finally realized it."

Her words settled over them like drifting snow, and the typically close cabin of the ship grew icy cold. Had she overstepped herself this time? He wasn't saying anything, and he was looking very volatile indeed. Suddenly, he was a man barely hanging on.

Abandoning his task altogether with the abrupt flinging of both datapads, he rose to his full, looming height, balled his broad hands into fists and fixed his eyes on the desk, which he now dwarfed.

"What do you want from me, Rey?" His voice was unnervingly low and strangled through clenched teeth. “Do you want me to say it?"

Without warning, he swiveled his massive head to face her, piercing her with a deathly stare. Rey stood very still. She would not provoke him any further.

"After all this," he swept his arms madly at everything around them and in between them. "After all of this, you want me to say it?"

At this close distance, with the heat of his breath almost palpable on her face, Rey could take him in fully. He looked exhausted. Yet slightly crazed. The scar she had given him was stark against ashen skin. And he looked distinctly tortured - more so than usual. He was an animal that had been kicked too many times.

"Do you?!"

"No," she whispered.

The silence hung for a moment before he sat back down, still shaking with whatever emotions were raging through his system. He struggled to regain his composure as he bent down to pick up the datapads and placed them on the desk.

"Just stay out of my way." His tone was tinged with finality. “And stop reading those books. They'll only make things worse."

With that, he was gone. As if he had never been there at all. Rey breathed a sigh of relief. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts. She wasn't sure what had just transpired. There was so much swirling around inside her. Laying her head back against the wall, she closed her eyes and allowed the vibrations of the Falcon to lull her into a quieter state.

No, she still wasn't sure what had happened between them. But as she went over in her mind the truths that he had revealed to her, she arrived at a startling conclusion: Ben Solo was not dead. Kylo Ren was now Supreme Leader, but it was Ben Solo who could not kill her. And it was Ben Solo who could not tell her why.

Universe in a Jar, 4 - Phase 4 fic

Recap: Some days ago, I reblogged this post about the magical trio. And then my brain went off on a monumental tangent and, I wrote Universe in a Jar.

Characters: Stephen Strange, Loki, Wanda Maximoff, Wong, OC

Rating: T?

Warnings: Language! Mentions of sexual encounters, sarcasm, terrible storytelling, and typos prob.

Summary: Baby-sitting beings arguably more powerful than him goes awry for Doctor Strange. He knows one person who can possibly keep them isolated and out of trouble. Well, he knew someone who could… he hasn’t seen them in decades and for stupid reasons.

Previous Chapter

XX

Persephone stepped lively out of the portal and gave Wong one last haphazard wave before dropping her book hoard onto the kitchen table. Wanda didn't even look over her shoulder from the pot of oatmeal she was stirring at the sound, despite the fact Stephen started slightly at the booming thud. Seph threw herself into one of the wooden chairs, cross-legged, only to find that she was hovering slightly above the seat as the cloak fluttered around her. After a gentle stroke of the fabric, she grabbed the leather-bound tome at the top of the pile and opened it to the first page.

Wanda gave a yawn and started ladling oatmeal into bowls. "What did Wong say?"

"Not much. Just that Stephen was an unobservant idiot," Seph quipped back, turning the page, devouring the words on the page as if they were to be taken away from her at any second.

"So, nothing new, then?" The two exchanged a smile, but Seph remained silent.

Stephen made an offended noise like a strangled scoff. "I am still standing here." He threw himself into another chair with an undignified pout, only to have Seph blindly pat his hand. "That is in Sumerian. How are you even reading it?"

That comment was enough for her to raise her eyes up at the surly Sorcerer with a question in her eyes. "What?" She stared at the page for a long time before humming acknowledgment. "Hm. I guess you're right." She shrugged and continued her reading, leaving Stephen to make an exasperated noise.

"How can you read it?"

She scrunched her nose. "I don't know. I just can."

Wanda flicked her hands and all the books floated up above their heads. "Food first, reading after." Seph stared at the surface of the oatmeal with a certain hesitation. "I asked Stephen how to make it."

The hesitation on her face turned sheepish at the clarification. "Oh. Thanks, Wanda."

"You're welcome. I need to keep myself occupied and I feel bad for imposing on you like this," she replied, sitting down with her own bowl at Seph's other side after sliding one toward Stephen.

"You're not imposing. I should probably get out a little more, as it is." She smiled, stirring her breakfast absently. Hazel eyes cut briefly sideways, watching Stephen shovel a spoonful of hot cereal into his mouth. He did a double-take when he caught her gaze briefly and smiled before giving her the smallest of nods, unbeknownst to the other occupant. A spoonful of her own promptly went into her mouth, leaving her to determine whether she was going to be able to finish this bowl. While it was a little on the sweet side, it wasn't eliciting the same headache-y response other attempts at food had done. "Is Loki still asleep?"

"Pretending to be," Wanda responded. "I don't think he actually sleeps this much, but he likes keeping to himself in the mornings. Why?"

"He asked to see the flowering greenhouse. I was going to take him for the early blooms."

"That's sweet. He's certainly a contradiction, isn't he?" Wanda looked like she had more to say, but opted to look between Stephen and Persephone with an inquisitive eye.

Stephen scoffed. "Not the word I'd use."

"That's because you're salty. That is not his fault, Steve."

"I'm not salty–" Both women leveled a disbelieving stare at him. "–I just wonder what he has to do for you two to see he's trouble."

Seph put down her spoon and leaned against the table. "So, you're upset we think he's a good person even if he hasn't lived a perfect life while simultaneously being annoyed at you for making mistakes, even when you've lived your life in what you perceive to be utter perfection?"

Stephen shifted in his seat, his shoulders tightening in on themselves with discomfort. He avoided her gaze as he pushed oatmeal around his bowl, silent.

"Shit, you're good," Wanda muttered, smiling into her coffee.

Pushing another spoonful into her mouth, she reached out to him, again. This time her hand lingered on his and she continued her breakfast eating with her non-dominant hand. After a few extra minutes of silence, steps thudded down the old, creaky staircase and Loki swept into the kitchen like a hungry storm. He walked around the table, stopping to press a kiss on Persephone's crown, on his way to the stove.

Stephen made to slip his hand away at the gesture, only to find that 1. Seph tightened her hand around his, and 2. he actually couldn't will his hand to move, despite his desire. A cursory look around to room showed him that Loki was still dealing at the stove and Seph had managed to fish her book down and propped it to float at eye level while she ate. Wanda was the only one smiling to herself, looking up only when Stephen's glare was too heavy to ignore. He mouthed an irate stop it only to have her shrug like nothing was the matter.

Loki took his seat on his other side, glancing around the table with an impish grin. "Oh, are we holding hands, today?" He grasped Stephen's other hand, paying no mind to the spoon in it, and tucked into his own breakfast. "I can't say we've ever held hands, darling. A shame, considering we've held pretty much everything else of each other's, haven't we, Sorcerer?"

The man in question stiffened, eyes falling closed with a heavy sigh. Wanda and Seph looked up from their tasks, and at each other, before turning back at them with curiosity. "I have to–your carrots are overdue…" he muttered quietly, pushing his chair back and finding he could move at will, once more. He fled the kitchen as quickly as he could.

Seph departed from her text to glare across the table. "Loki–"

He waved her serious tone away. "It's only sex. There is no reason to be so touchy. Truly."

"He doesn't like being reminded of mistakes."

Loki laughed, hand over heart in mock offense. "Ouch, kitten. Low blow."

She rolled her eyes. "Just… there's enough tension in this house, as it is. Don't antagonize him, please."

"I make no promises," he retorted with a wolfish grin before taking a spoonful of porridge. "What have I missed? What's all this?" He gestured the floating books and the cloak wrapped around her.

"I could show you if I had Stephen's slin–" Loki twisted his hand and produced the ring out of thin air. "Is that why you were holding his hand?" Loki shrugged, but smiled, nonetheless, tossing the ring in the air. Seph caught it easily and slipped it around her fingers. The walls lit up in bright sigils for Loki to peruse.

"Quantum magics. How pedestrian."

"Ass." She smiled to herself and pulled the ring off, pinning it in the waistband of her pajamas.

"Oh." He sounded more amused this time around. "Now this. This I can get behind." He watched curiously as the sigils sizzled and settled into the fabric of reality. "Asgardian, Vanir, Jotunn, Celtic, Elemental, Chaos, Eldritch–how worried are you about your safety, pet?" He pondered over a bite of breakfast. "Or is it a linguistic error?"

Wanda frowned. "Linguistics?"

"Security for safety." He tilted his head and fluttered his fingers, symbols rearranging themselves in the ether. "You longed so hard for a place to feel at home, secure, that you essentially made yourself a fortress. Fascinating."

"I'm glad my emotional trauma makes for an interesting study."

"Says the woman who just psychoanalyzed the most annoying man on Earth into silence," Wanda teased, standing with her empty bowl and mug and placing them into the dishwasher.

"I can't help it. I've been doing it all my life. If figuring out Stephen Strange to save him from himself paid dividends, I'd be a fucking millionaire by now."

"Nice to know the conversation is still on me," Stephen quipped as he dropped a basket of carrots on the table, dirt caked on his arms and smudged on his face. "And maybe if you'd gone into a better specialty, you'd be a millionaire."

"Aww, but who would oversee your mandated psych hold when you finally crack under the weight of your own expectations?" She flashed him a saccharine smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle.

Despite Stephen's best efforts to remain stone-faced, he smirked. "Well, you got me there, Peep." He glanced at Loki. "My ring."

The Asgardian smirked. "I do not have it, Strange."

Persephone whistled, holding his sling ring aloft while she turned a page with her other hand. Stephen reached to retrieve his ring. Seph did not release it immediately. Instead, she slid a scrap of paper to hold her place and looked up at him. "You want some help? Gathering my crops or do you have some weird, period movie-style brooding to do in the fields?" He nodded. "OK. You stay here, buddy." With gentle hands, she coaxed a reluctant cloak off of her shoulders, only able to shrug it off with the promise that she'd be back later.

Pulling on her boots at the door, she followed Stephen onto the sun-dappled green fenced-in with chicken wire. They kneeled in neighboring rows and worked silently for a while, stopping every so often to straighten their backs and stretch. It was a companionable silence that fell between them, only the sound of earthmoving and vegetables being tossed into large baskets cutting through their thoughts.

"You know, Loki had already mentioned it to me."

Stephen frowned, loosening the dirt around a particularly stubborn carrot. "Mentioned what?"

"That you two had a fling."

He snorted. "Fling is a strong word for what we did, Peep."

"Quickie hate sex, then. I was being delicate." She smirked. "Unlike you and Mischief."

"Is there a point to this conversation? Other than reminding me of my poor judgment."

"You don't have to feel awkward about who you sleep with, Stephen."

"I don't feel awkward that I slept with him. I feel awkward that it was a topic of discussion at breakfast. And why were you talking about that with him, anyway?"

"He was curious if we had ever hooked up. Something or other about collecting a full set."

He breathed in, stretching his neck side to side to disguise the little bubble of irritation that rose within him. "Oh, so you slept with him?"

It was her turn to laugh. "Fuck no. My life is as complicated as I want it right now. Sex with a demigod sounds like everything I don't need. Why? Was he any good? Is this a Yelp review?"

"I am not talking to you about this."

"Oh, come on! We've told each other worse!"

"Exactly! I still can't the image of Zach Curtis sobbing while they wheeled him off to the hospital. It's been twenty-six years!"

Seph hummed, lost in thought. "Yeah, that was a pretty bad day."

"Aggressive technique. Poor kid was in agony for a month."

"He kept saying 'harder'! I got annoyed," she defended vehemently, throwing a clod of dirt in his direction. "I bet Loki would like that."

"He would not," he riposted, automatically, only catching himself after the fact when she gasped. "Fuck. Not another word. Besides, you punched Zach in the balls so hard you gave him torsion. No one wants that."

"Is he secretly very gentle and sappy? Needs to be nurtured? Come on, give me something!" He remained quiet, stacking his accumulated carrots in the basket before digging his hands back to the earth. "You're no fun."

After a long while, he mumbled. "If you want to know, jump him yourself."

She shrugged. "Maybe I will."

"Fine. Go right ahead." Despite the message, his tone sounded unconvinced.

Persephone piled the last of her carrots into her basket, stood, and dusted off her knees. She hefted the basket and balanced it on her cocked hip. "Why are you even doing this by hand? Don't you have some impressive universe-bending powers?"

"It's soothing. And quiet," he shot her a look, "most of the time."'

"What do you need to be soothed about?"

He didn't turn his eyes away from the clod of dirt he was breaking apart. "I spent five years inside the Soul Stone. Aware that time had passed but with no way to understand why. Worried out of my mind for the people with me and the people outside. Worried my plan would fall through and we'd be stuck there forever. Half the Universe, stuck there forever because I could not make our one chance come through. I have a few things."

With a sigh, she put the basket down beside his and sat cross-legged between the rows. "I'm sorry. I was being a brat."

"It's not your fault, Seph. You didn't bring Thanos." He shot her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Managing my feelings isn't your job, anymore."

"It never was my job, Stephen. I did it because I cared. I still do."

He looked over, deadpan. "You tried to kill me."

"Yes! I was upset and heartbroken and I still couldn't get over the fact that I cared for you. And despite the fact that I tried to kill you, you still checked up on me because I had a nightmare." She sighed. "Let's face it. We're stuck with each other. No matter how far we try to run, we always come back to each other."

With a heavy sigh, Stephen sat back onto the dirt, folding his legs up so he could rest his arms on his knees. When he looked up, Persephone recognized a familiar sort of ache in his eyes. It was the same pain whenever they were going in for a test he didn't feel prepared for, or his first ER rotation where barely had a chance to think before reacting.

"I-I don't know what I'm doing, Seph. I'm supposed to be in charge of protecting reality and I haven't got a goddamn clue wha–" He sighed, hanging his head.

One of her hands grasped at his, and his head snapped back up. The vision of his shaking digits in hers had him pulling back. Her own, faster hands closed around his before he could slip away.

"Don't do that, Stephen." She smiled. "You can probably still suture faster than I can."

Something like a smile tugged at the very corner of his mouth. "Probably. You were always a slowpoke."

She rolled her eyes, though an affectionate squeeze went through his hand. "We're going to figure it out, Stephen. I promise."

"You'll help me?"

"Of course. Lord knows you have no authority over those two. At least they listen to me."

"Thanks, Peep." Sincerity rang clear in his words.

"You're welcome, hon." He smiled, then, at the long-forgotten term of endearment. "Come on, before Loki eats me out of house and home. Maybe I can get a vegetable in him," she added easily, gesturing the carrots.

Soulmate AU

For @ladynightmare12

“You’re incredibly ugly,”

Dipper had been staring at his arm for about fifteen minutes. He didn’t notice it immediately upon waking up, as he had a habit of scribbling notes and doodles on his arm, but when he did notice it, his heart stopped. He got his words. The first words he would ever hear his soulmate say.

He sat on his unmade bed, his room split evenly between pinboards and science fair trophies, and stuffed animals and macaroni sculptures. As a seventeen year old boy, he wasn’t eager to share a room with his sister, but- of course- he had never known anything else. The morning light shone through the window, one curtain pink and the other a deep green, as it was positioned dead in the center of the room.

His soulmate calling him ugly wasn’t exactly ideal for their first words. In fact, he was dreading his meeting with this person. He couldn’t tell the person’s gender, but honestly that was the least of his worries. The thing at the front of his mind was that his soul mate was astrologically destined to call him ugly in their first conversation.

“Dipper! Hurry up!” he heard his sister cry from downstairs with her mouth full- presumably eating pancakes or something like that. Dipper usually only had time for toast or a banana in the morning. He hurriedly threw on some clothes and a hoodie he never wore- not wanting to show the world his words. He especially didn’t want his sister to see them, she would never live it down. Her words had appeared last year, though nobody had said them yet. “Sorry, I think this is your glitter pen.” It certainly suited her. Every day she dropped her glitter pens on the ground on purpose, but nobody had said the words exactly right. Mabel listened extremely closely, to be safe.

The teenage boy rushed down the stairs and grabbed a pancake from a plate by the stove, eating it with his hands without and syrup or butter.

“How do you eat that? Doesn’t it get stuck in your throat?” Mabel asked, her words on clear display on her inner arm.

“It slides down easier without sticky sugar syrup keeping it stuck in there. Your cholesterol must be off the charts with all of the sugar you eat,” Dipper said sarcastically as he shoved his books in his backpack.

“You’re worried about my health? You eat ramen noodles for every meal,” Mabel teased. Dipper rolled his eyes as he put a Cup ‘o noodles in his backpack next to his books. He did eat an insane amount of ramen, but he did enough running around in the woods to burn off the calories.

“Whatever. Let’s go, if I’m late to Pre-Cal again I’m going to get chewed out,” Dipper said, sliding open the door and exposing himself to the cool morning air. It wasn’t that cold, as he had his hoodie on, but he would much prefer warmth. Cold meant less exploring and adventuring in the woods, though he was sure that his parents wouldn’t actually mind that. He had gotten poison ivy twice, and neither times were fun for anyone.

He walked to the old Montero Sport that he and Mabel shared, though Dipper didn’t have his license yet. He knew how to drive, he just didn’t make enough money to pay for the car insurance. Mabel had a cushy job at Starbucks where she got paid quite a lot for her age, but Dipper could hardly get any hours at his job at Chick-fil-a in the same mall.

He cringed when the radio blasted Carly Rae Jepsen- not because it wasn’t great music- but because it was nearly maximum volume. Mabel had a fun habit of blasting music after work at night and forgetting to turn it back down. Carly Rae was a good way to wake up, but not at that volume.

Mabel turned the radio down and began driving, the album playing much more quietly as they drove along in unnatural silence. Usually on the way to school they had a lot of conversation, but the air between them was still. Mabel eventually spoke up, smirking gently.

“You got your words, didn’t you?” she asked, and Dipper went bright red. She wasn’t supposed to find out. Nobody was supposed to find out. He wanted to die without anyone reading the words on his arm.

“What? No. Of course I did. Didn’t. I didn’t get them yet. Definitely not,” Dipper said, knowing immediately that he had given himself away. When Mabel laughed at him, he was sure that he would have to show his twin the embarrassing text on his arm.

“Let me see it. Come on, I bet it’s sweet. Why are you so embarrassed?” Mabel asked, and Dipper shook his head. “Come on! We’re twins! I showed you mine immediately!

“Yours was nice! Mine is… bad. It’s bad,” Dipper sighed, and Mabel rolled her eyes.

“It can’t be that bad. Show me,” Mabel said, grabbing her brother’s arm and pulling up the sleeve. Dipper was quick to take the wheel with his free hand.

“Your husband has bad handwriting,”

“Husband? What makes you think it’s a guy?”

“Bad handwriting,” Mabel rolled her eyes. “So he calls you ugly. So what? You call me ugly, and I’m clearly flawless, so why are you worried? Maybe you’ll have one of those enemies-to-lovers things? That’d be really fun.” she grinned.

“I’m just, I dunno, I don’t want to have this experience when the person,” He emphasized the word “person” instead of saying the word “boy”. He wouldn’t mind if he was a boy, but it wasn’t set in stone. “Calls me ugly. I don’t want that in my memory forever. Like, if we make it, my kids are going to ask how we met. And I’m going to have to tell them that we met when their mom or dad called their dad ugly.” he sighed.

“Bro, everything is going to be fine! You’re going to get a man soon! Or a girl with bad handwriting,” she shrugged. She gave a sympathetic smile, and took the wheel once again, to Dipper’s relief.

“…Thanks Mabel,” Dipper smiled back at her. He was glad that Mabel was so supportive- though sometimes it was kind of annoying. However, having her involved in his life was useful, since he needed someone besides his parents to lean on.

The two arrived at school, Dipper rushing to get into the building and get to Pre-Cal. It was hardly his favorite class, but it was a hard one, so he wanted to spend as little time away from that class as possible, for his own safety. He sat in his usual place near the front of the room, beside a boy he never really acknowledged. As a young man obsessed with cryptids and monsters and such, he didn’t exactly have a surplus of friends, and so he wasn’t familiar with most of the people even in his grade level. The only times he talked to people were when they were paired with one another for group work.

Dipper looked over and noticed that the normally quiet boy was looking down at a packet of paper and mumbling words to himself that he couldn’t quite hear. Every once in a while the boy would highlight something, and then carry on mumbling. Dipper never really paid attention to this boy before. He wasn’t ugly, he had dark brown hair and identical eyes, and he was wearing a cute yellow sweater. He was about to ask what he was reading, when the teacher in front of him began speaking. Like the good student he always was, he paid attention and took diligent notes that would be easy to study later.

Throughout class, however, he kept noticing the boy beside him not taking notes, and continuing to mumble. Dipper got a little bit annoyed that he couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but he didn’t comment on it. He didn’t want to call this boy out in the middle of class for, what, working? Studying? Memorizing something? Mostly he was just annoyed that he didn’t know what he was saying. He felt compelled, for some reason, to hear his voice. He wanted to know what sort of voice came out of this rather cute, shy boy.

He wrote down a note on a scrap of paper, glancing over at the other boy as he did so. Sorry if this is creepy, what r u reading? -Dipper. He folded it up and was about to pass it over, when he was called on for a question. For the first time in a long time, he had no idea what the answer was. He was working on the note, and not the problem, so he was drawing a blank. “Um…. linear?” Dipper said, knowing full well that the answer was wrong. He cringed at how his voice cracked due to embarrassment.

“Wrong unit, Mr. Pines. Pay attention instead of doodling. Give me that,” The teacher said, and Dipper tried to ignore the class’s giggles as the teacher crumbled up the note and put it in the garbage. Dipper looked over at the boy, worried that he was giggling, but was a bit disturbed by what the boy was doing. He was no longer mumbling and highlighting, but instead he was just. Staring. The quiet nameless boy was looking at Dipper like he had grown a second head- which he hasn’t yet, though he was doing some experiments on lizards. The boy looked away a second too late, after the two had made direct eye contact. Dipper wasn’t so eager to talk to the boy anymore after doing that. Was there something in his teeth? His hair? He checked both, while doing his work, and both seemed fine. What was he staring at?

Dipper continued his work, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that the boy beside him was staring. Every time he looked over, though, the boy wasn’t looking. Eventually he could see him doing his mumbling again, and it brought him a sort of relief. Things were bath the way they were supposed to be- Dipper was taking notes, and mystery boy was mumbling and highlighting. All was right in the world.

As class came to a close, Dipper felt a feeling creeping up on him. It wasn’t a good feeling, not really. It wasn’t quite sadness, it was more like… Disappointment. Like he had been expecting something to happen that even he had no idea what it was. Probably that he hadn’t finished all of his homework in class, Dipper figured, silently and to himself. He put all of his books into his bag as he heard the bell ring, before looking over at the mystery boy. He was slinging his baby pink backpack over his shoulder, pocketing his highlighter, but still reading over the packet of words. There were quite a few pages, and Dipper was very interested to see what exactly was so riveting that he would do it instead of calculus. Though, most things were more riveting than calculus.

However, he didn’t want to embarrass himself yet again and attempt to talk to this boy. After all, evidently, he had a soul mate waiting for him, somewhere out there, biding their time before they would meet and call him ugly. Mystery boys weren’t really worth his time- though Dipper did appreciate a good mystery. Maybe at another time.

He walked out of the classroom to the hallway, knowing and not acknowledging that mystery boy was standing directly behind him, still mumbling. Dipper could hardly hear him at all what with the noise of hundreds of teenagers all talking at once, like a riptide of bodies and gossip. High school was truly a uniquely terrifying place.

He took a few steps out into the hallway before something made him stop dead in his tracks. Time seemed to slow down, and he took a few moments to process what he had heard. He could hardly believe it was true, it was so soon, barely anyone heard their words spoken on the same day they arrived. Some died before hearing them. Dipper, however, heard them directly from a voice behind him.

“You’re incredibly ugly,” The mystery boy said from behind Dipper, still looking down at his paper with furrowed brows. Dipper stopped walking and turned, though that immediately resulted in him being pushed by the riptide, hitting his head on the doorframe of his calculus classroom.

“Oh my god, are you okay? That sounded really bad, do you have a bump?” These were the second words he ever heard his soul mate say, and he had to admit he was grateful that they were nice words. He was actually concerned about him.

“You… you think I’m ugly?” Dipper asked, his head pounding a bit. The taller boy looked confused, which was a very cute look on him.

“I… what? Oh! No!” he said quickly, looking down at his paper in his hand. “It’s, um, a script. I’m an actor, um, I just got cast in the one-act. I’m working on getting off book.” he explained, his voice slowly becoming more audible as people cleared out of the hallway. “I’m Wirt, by the way. And you’re… Dipper? I think? You don’t talk in class, so, um, I’m guessing here.” Dipper thought he was incredibly pretty.

“Yeah, Dopper. Um, Dipper. That’s me,” Dipper smiled awkwardly. “I don’t want to, um, alarm you, but…” he said, rolling up the sleeve on his hoodie. Wirt blushed a bit, but nodded in understanding, rolling up his as well. Among numerous doodles were the words, “Um… Linear?”

“I got mine two years ago. What about you?” Wirt asked with a smile.

“Today, actually. You can imagine how I felt when I learned my, um, soul mate would call me ugly when we first met,” Dipper chuckled awkwardly. Wirt laughed.

“I didn’t actually know I was gay until today. I mean, I had my suspicions, but I guess it’s set in stone now. Well… set in skin,” both boys laughed. The conversation would have gone on for longer, but the bell rang, and the both of them realized that they were late to class.

“Oh, wow, okay. Can I get your phone number? I’d like to get to know you better,” Wirt asked, and Dipper happily nodded, taking a sharpie out of his pocket. He embarrassedly took his hand and wrote down his phone number on his arm, before pocketing the sharpie.

“I’ll see you later, then, Dipper Pines,” Wirt gave a dorky smile before walking away. Dipper was still for a few moments, before giggling quietly, and walking to his next class. Mabel was not going to believe who her brother just met.

It feels silly to spend time or energy to write anything to you, honestly. I really feel like I understand intellectually what happened between us and I know what I should do about it. But, as is so often the case, I still have feelings there that remain unresolved despite reason. 

I wish I’d responded to your message differently. When I read it for the first time, it was with a specific alchemy of bewilderment, ego defensiveness, horror, and humor. For one thing, how dare you throw every scrap of brokenness you could find after careful examination of my life in my face out of nowhere? For another,  where the fuck did it come from? I hadn’t heard from you in over a month and I hadn’t posted anything I could imagine as “triggering” to you. And then there was the matter of you having packaged the whole thing as if you were the authority on everything from spiritual healing to my own biographical history, the professional counselor in my life, the expert in confronting friends in an act of love. We hadn’t done more than off-and-on text exchange in years, had but a single in-person encounter in nearly a decade...and yet. I realized pretty quickly that I had to respond carefully and thoughtfully but truthfully I had NO IDEA what to say or how to say it. I couldn’t imagine any reasonable forward movement in that conversation - or were you even trying to have a conversation? Maybe you just wanted to make one giant pronouncement on my life and then close the book? I still don’t know. I wish my only response had been to ask what exactly it was you were hoping for. And, admittedly, I was amused. You’d managed to conclude that my romantic relationship was a “trauma bond” because I’d told you my partner was a perfectionist. You were telling me what was wrong with my life and my psyche even though it is my life and I am a psychiatrist. 

Maybe neither of us really got this fully but the truth is that I’ve always wanted to be your friend. I wanted to be your friend as a small child when we took ballet together, I wanted to be your friend when your 14-year old life was falling apart, I wanted to be your friend when you stopped talking to me (or to anyone) as a high school student. It was very painful for me to be truly hated and rejected by you but I would have, from the bottom of my heart, forgiven all of it if it had meant we could be friends again. I tried, by the way. I tried to reach out to you, to explain what had happened, to go on stupid group dates I had no interest in, to reach out to you as best I could.  I was ecstatic when you asked me to meet you for brunch and I tried my best to be brutally honest with you about the hard things that were happening in my life at the time. I tried, really really hard every single time there was the opportunity to try. And even my trying was turned into something pathological by you - that I was desperate for your approval or that I had some kind of mothering wound. Dude, I have more friends than I can maintain well. I didn’t NEED another one, I just wanted us both to experience relational healing in light of one of the harder relational breaks we’d both sustained. You represented such a big part of my childhood and losing our friendship represented a good bit of my teenage years and I wanted to close that gap if you did too. 

You said that you had carried a lot of pain from a moment in our high school Spanish class. I don’t at all doubt that it happened, maybe even exactly the way you say it did, but truly I don’t remember it. I remember that time being one in which you were very distant from me. I remember trying hard to balance wanting to be as close as I craved and wanting to give you space if that’s what you wanted and being sort of uneasy about the way things were happening between you and your parents and being quite frustrated that you were so distant from me despite my best efforts. I remember starting to resent you a bit because I knew you’d been shit-talking me privately with Elani and I felt betrayed by that, like I could no longer trust you to be my closest companion. I remember that Elani and I made pinatas together and that you weren’t with us and I don’t remember why. I just know that my mom asked Elani and I if we had any concern that your dad might be hurting you somehow and I said I didn’t think so but that I didn’t feel good about how isolated with him you were and Elani echoed those sentiments and then the conversation moved on. I am deeply sorry if I hurt you in some Spanish class moment that I didn’t even think was important enough to file away in my memory. I was 15 and confused by what was happening with you and upset about the ways our friendship was changing and I don’t doubt for a second that I behaved poorly and in a way that caused you pain. But damn, I wish we’d talked about that sooner. I would have apologized. We could have talked it out. I had no idea you wanted an apology from me or an explanation or that you were carrying resentment around like a heavy burden. When you apologized to me in Sleepy Bee for breaking up with me, I said I forgave you and that I understood you were young and going through a terrible thing and I really meant that? I really saw it that way. You simply wanting to mend the relationship and meet up made me feel happy and hopeful and whole. I folded up everything that I’d ever known in relation to you and put it away. 

I think the only thing I really held on to was my uncertainty that I was doing friendship with you “right”. When we were in college, Austin added me on Instagram and I saw your new life, you seemingly reborn with him and I think you reached out via text expressing interest in being friends again and I was thrilled. I texted you back saying that I’d love to meet the adult you’d become. I meant that. We both had surely changed so much and become grown ups with so many stories we hadn’t shared with each other. I thought it would be a fresh start. And I never heard from you again, eventually learning from Chandler that you felt my reply was condescending. It broke my heart to hear that. Condescending was the last thing I felt or worked to embody with that reply. When things first fell apart and I tried to Facebook message you, your mom told me the same thing. That you felt I was lecturing you. 

We had many exchanges in the past year or so that helped me to trust you. I felt like a real friendship had begun and I guess that’s why it hurt to hear what you saw of my life. There was something tangible to lose again, for the first time since I was a freshman in high school. The entire time we were talking I felt like you were more interested in hearing what was wrong with my life than what was right with it and I value brutal honesty so I tried my best to convey what I was feeling and that my life was far from perfect. It’s nice to have a relationship where you can dump the shit out and not feel too negative or awkward about it since you keep it hidden for the most part. It feels honest and redemptive, 2 words I’d have used to describe our newfound connection. But I think I thought that the objective view of my life spoke to the fact that it wasn’t all bad? I’m a physician, totally in love with and ecstatic about what I’m going to spend my life doing, I live with my boyfriend who has from the beginning and despite all of his flaws helped me to be truer to myself. He’s a doctor too and despite the fact that we both came from “against all odds” situations we found one another on the other side. I have a good working relationship with my family of origin despite having to renegotiate many things about that relationship as an adult in order to keep it from ruining me, a task that required many years of therapy and great inner strength. I have a best friend of 8 years who knows me and teaches me about myself in a way I didn’t know friends could.

In the end, it feels like you can’t look at me in the longterm without seeing it all through the lens of me being a secretly conniving and miserable person. Yes, she might have become a doctor, but it made her miserable and was for all of the most ego-driven reasons.  Sure, she’s close with her parents, but those relationships are built on decades of trauma and she sacrifices whole swaths of herself in order to cling to that. Yeah, she lives with a successful man but it’s a “trauma bond” and they’re both broken, he’s a problematic person and she’s blind - just look at how she couldn’t even acknowledge how ending her engagement felt! I’m forever all wrong, the girl who shafted you in a Spanish project and an act of abandonment she can’t even remember. 

I realize you look at yourself this way, too. “Bad childhood” says the woman whose parents took me on the coolest vacation, best hikes, and most enchanting boat rides of my life. “Borderline personality disorder” diagnoses the girl with a Master’s degree in English who has never had to visit her loved one in a locked psychiatric unit. I know you suffered. I know your parents handled their divorce terribly and that you bore the brunt of that pain the most. I know it all fell apart on you and ate you alive. I even know that you told a lot of people you’d been raped by a faculty member of our high school and I don’t know if it’s true but if it is that is horrendous. But Karley, it wasn’t all bad. Your family was educated. You were cared for. Your ability to succeed in the world was always guaranteed and financial security held you up from the start. Your little sister is one of the coolest people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing and she’s healthy and succeeding in the world. You’re an adult who doesn’t have to worry for a single second that her parents aren’t okay - they take care of themselves and both have careers they love. There is so much that is broken, but there is so much that is whole. That’s true for both of us. 

Ultimately, the last time we spoke to each other, the truest, deepest part of me realized something it should have known a long time ago - it’s time to let go. I’ve tried every time there was a choice to love you wholeheartedly. No human intention is ever pure and I know there was something in that for me, but goddamn, I wanted above all to be your friend, to really know each other and trust each other and help each other grow. You will forever be a sacred part of my becoming. Many of my best childhood memories contain you and I love that. I’m so thankful. Our friendship showed me a glimpse of what life could look like for me and it made me feel held at a time I really needed it. I’ll keep that with me forever. 

But the rest? It’s time to release it. I can’t trust you not to weaponize what I share. I don’t need another person who can tell me everything that’s wrong with my heart and my mind and my life; I have myself and my therapist, and my parents and my partner and Noor for that kind of thing and for the most part all of those figures give me that information only when I ask for it, which I do. I don’t believe in forcing that insight on the people I love until they ask me to because they’re ready. It’s okay if you want that kind of unexpected honestly negative perspective from your relationship but I don’t believe in it and I don’t want it in mine. There’s a reason psychotherapists don’t go out into the streets telling everyone what’s wrong with them; there’s a reason they wait patiently in their offices for people to seek them out and then offer what they know instead of imposing it - healing doesn’t happen when you look at someone and say “Hi you trusted me with this very painful part of you and don’t forget it exists because I certainly haven’t and you need to realize that you have very painful parts that are very obvious to me, an outside observer”. Healing happens when someone is neck deep in their own muck sweating and sobbing, offering those painful parts to someone who simply closes their fingers around them and says “thank you”. Thank you for trusting me and sharing with me and allowing me in - I’ll do the same for you. Over and over until the very end, just keep doing what you can and I’ll be here to receive whatever you find down there. We all do our own work. We can’t and shouldn’t impose our efforts on the work of another. Trust me, I am doing my own work. It’s hard and painful and wonderful enough without you thinking you know how to do it better than I do. You know how to do yours but you won’t ever know how to do mine because it’s mine. 

When it comes to our ability to have a friendship it isn’t a matter of my trying and so I’ve stopped trying. I don’t think I will try again. It doesn’t heal either of us and I suspect it hurts us both more than we even realize. I see so much good in your life now. I think you have a beautiful mind and I love your interests and I think you seem like a wonderful mother and partner. I hope it all continues to heal you. I hope you find happiness and contentment and vulnerability over and over again and I hope you let it teach you. I hope that for me too. It just doesn’t serve us to do it in tandem. For more than a decade, that has only left me more confused and more in pain and I suspect you’ve been left feeling that too. And actually? That’s okay. We just aren’t each other’s people. It seems like we both have our own people to walk our own paths. 

I hope you find peace on yours. I hope I find peace on mine too. 

Read Your Bible: Twenty-Nine Reasons Why the Bible Is Superior to Every Other Book

Most people do not understand the uniqueness and superiority of this great book.  It is a book like no other book.  If someone asks you for the meaning of the word unique, you might as well say it means “Bible”.  Unique in the dictionary is defined as: the one and only.  It also means: to be different from all others, having no like or equal.

1. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN THE FACT THAT IT IS THE MOST RELIABLE HISTORIC DOCUMENT OF ALL TIME.   When we do not have the original historical document, we must establish how reliable the copies are.  This is done in two ways: I. The more identical manuscript copies of the original we have, the more sure we are that the copies reflect what is in the original document. II. The shorter the time interval between the copy and the original, the more sure we are that the copy reflects what is in the original.

“There are more than 5,300 known Greek manuscripts of the New Testament.  Add over 10,000 Latin Vulgate and at least 9,300 other early versions (MSS) and we have more than 24,000 manuscripts copies of portions of the New Testament in existence today.” “No other document even begins to approach such numbers and attestation.  In comparison, the book “Iliad” by Homer is second to the Bible and it has only 643 manuscripts that still survive.  The first complete preserved text of Homer dates from the 13th century.” John Warwick Montgomery says that “To be sceptical of the resultant text of the New Testament books is to allow all of classical antiquity to slip into obscurity, for no documents of the ancient period are as well attested bibliographically as the New Testament.” Sir Frederic G. Kenyon, who was the director and principal librarian of the British Museum says, “…besides number, the manuscripts of the New Testament differ from those of the classical authors, and this time the difference is clear gain.  In no other case is the interval of time between the composition of the book and the date of the earliest extant manuscripts so short as in that of the New Testament.  The books of the New Testament were written in the latter part of the first century; the earliest extant manuscripts (trifling scraps excepted) are of the fourth century - say from 250 to 300 years later.” “This may sound a considerable interval, but it is nothing to that which parts most of the great classical authors from their earliest manuscripts.  We believe that we have in all essentials an accurate text of the seven extant plays of Sophocles; yet the earliest substantial manuscript upon which it is based was written more than 1400 years after the poet’s death.”

Kenyon continues in The Bible and Archaeology: “The interval then between the dates of original composition and the earliest extant evidence becomes so small as to be in fact negligible, and the last foundation for any doubt that the scriptures have come down to us substantially as they were written has now been removed.  Both the authenticity and the general integrity of the books of the New Testament may be regarded as finally established.”

2.  THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR TO OTHER BOOKS BECAUSE ARCHAEOLOGY HAS CONSTANTLY CONFIRMED ITS HISTORICAL ACCURACY AND VALIDITY. “Nelson Glueck, the renowned Jewish archaeologist, wrote: “It may be stated categorically that no archaeological discovery has ever controverted a biblical reference.”  He continued his assertion of “the almost incredibly accurate historical memory of the Bible, and particularly so when it is fortified by archaeological fact.” William F. Albright, known for his reputation as one of the great archaeologists, states: “There can be no doubt that archaeology has confirmed the substantial historicity of Old Testament tradition.”

Albright adds: “The excessive scepticism shown toward the Bible by important historical schools of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, certain phases of which still appear periodically, has been progressively discredited.  Discovery after discovery has established the accuracy of innumerable details, and has brought increased recognition to the value of the Bible as a source of history.”

3. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN ITS UNITY AND CONTINUITY. Over forty authors wrote sixty-six books over a period of 1,500 years.  Many never saw the writings of the others and yet there is no contradiction between any two of them. It is very unlikely, if not impossible, to collect any group of books of any other forty men on any subject and find that they agree, as it is with the Bible.

Nine Facts about the Unity and Continuity of the Bible

1. The Bible was written over a 1,500 years span. 

2. The Bible was written over 40 generations. 

3. The Bible was written by over 40 authors from every walk of life: 

§ Moses, a political leader, trained in the universities of  Egypt § Peter, a fisherman § Amos, a herdsman § Joshua, a military general § Nehemiah, a cupbearer § Daniel, a prime minister § Luke, a doctor § Solomon, a king § Matthew, a tax collector § Paul, a rabbi 4. The Bible was written in different places:

§ Moses in the wilderness § Jeremiah in a dungeon § Daniel on a hillside and in a palace § Paul, inside prison walls § Luke, while travelling § John, on the isle of Patmos § Others in the rigors of a military campaign

5. The Bible was written at different times:

§ David in times of war § Solomon in times of peace 6. The Bible was written during different moods:

§ Some writing from the heights of joy and others writing from depths of sorrow and despair 7. The Bible was written on three continents:

§ Asia, Africa and Europe 8. The Bible was written in three languages:

§ Hebrew: The language of the Old Testament.  It was called “the language of Judah” in 2 Kings 18:26-28 and in Isaiah 19:18, “the language of Canaan” § Aramaic: This was the “common language” of the Near East until the time of   Alexander the Great (6th century BC - 4th century BC) § Greek: The New Testament language.  This was the international language at the time of Christ 9. The Bible includes in its subject matter hundreds of controversial subjects.  A controversial subject is one, which creates opposing opinion when mentioned or discussed. 

 Biblical authors spoke on hundreds of controversial subjects with harmony and continuity from Genesis to Revelation. The result is one unfolding story: “God’s redemption of man!” 

What F.F. Bruce said about the Bible “Any part of the human body can only be properly explained in reference to the whole body.  And any part of the Bible can only be properly explained in reference to the whole Bible.” “The Bible, at first sight, appears to be a collection of literature - mainly Jewish.  If we inquire into the circumstance under which the various Biblical documents were written, we find that they were written at intervals over a space of nearly 1400 years.”

“The writers wrote in various lands, from Italy in the west to Mesopotamia and possibly Persia in the east.” “The writers themselves were a heterogeneous number of people, not only separated from each other by hundreds of years and hundreds of miles, but also belonging to the most diverse walks of life.  In their ranks we have kings, herdsmen, soldiers, legislators, fishermen, statesmen, courtiers, priests and prophets, a tent-making Rabbi and a Gentile physician, not to speak of others of whom we know nothing apart from the writings they have left us.” “The writings themselves belong to a great variety of literary types.  They include history, law (civil, criminal, ethical, ritual, and sanitary), religious poetry, didactic treatises, lyric poetry, parable and allegory, biography, personal correspondence, personal memoirs and diaries.”

4. THE BIBLE IS MORE DISTINCTIVE THAN EVERY OTHER BOOK EVER PUBLISHED.   The Bible is superior to other books in its origin, formation, doctrines, principles, claims, moral tone, histories, prophecies, revelation, literature, present redemption and eternal benefits.

5. UNLIKE OTHER BOOKS PUBLISHED, THE BIBLE HAS A VAST INFLUENCE IN THIS WORLD.   The Bible has blessed millions of people of every generation.  The Bible has contributed to the creation of the greatest civilizations on earth.  It has given man the highest hope and destiny.

6. THE WISEST MOST GODLY AND HONEST MEN IN THIS WORLD ACKNOWLEDGE THE BIBLE AS THE WORD OF GOD.  

Only infidels and ungodly people reject the Bible. 7. UNLIKE MANY OTHER BOOKS, THE BIBLE WAS WRITTEN BY HONEST AND GODLY MEN.  

This is because it condemns all sin and records the sins and faults of its writers as well as others.  This is something evil men would not do.  Even good men would not do this unless they were inspired to do so to help others. 8. THE BIBLE MEETS ALL THE NEEDS OF MANKIND.  

All man’s present and eternal needs are met by the Bible.

9. THE BIBLE HAS BEEN PRESERVED THROUGH THE AGES.  

Whole kingdoms and religions have sought in vain to destroy it.  God has made the Bible indestructible and victorious. 10. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR TO OTHER BOOKS BECAUSE THE HEAVENLY AND ETERNAL CHARACTER OF ITS CONTENTS PROVE IT TO BE OF GOD.

11. THE PREACHING OF THE BIBLE CHANGES THE LIVES OF PEOPLE.   The response of humanity to this great book shows that it is of a supernatural and superior nature.

12. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN ITS INFINITE DEPTHS AND LOFTY IDEALS.

13. THE BIBLE STANDS OUT IN SUPREMACY BY THE UNBELIEVABLE NUMBER OF PROPHECIES THAT IT CONTAINS.   About three thousand three hundred prophecies have been fulfilled.  Predictions made hundreds and even thousands of years earlier have been fulfilled.  Not one detail has failed yet.  About 2,908 verses are being fulfilled or will be fulfilled.

14. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN ITS MIRACULOUS NATURE.   Hundreds of miracles are recorded in the scriptures.  Miracles happen daily among those who pray and claim Bible promises.

15. THE BIBLE IS ALONE IN ITS FLAWLESSNESS.   The Bible is scientifically and historically correct.  No one man has found the Bible at fault in any of its many hundreds of statements of history, astronomy, botany, geology, geography or any other branch of learning.

16. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN ITS ADAPTABILITY.   The Bible is always up to date on every subject.  It can be applied to the lives of people who live in Africa, Asia, Europe or America.  It was useful to people who lived a thousand years ago and it is still relevant to the people who live in the twenty first century.

17. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN ITS MORAL AND SPIRITUAL POWER.   It meets perfectly every spiritual and moral need of man.

18. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN ITS DOCTRINES.   The doctrines of the Bible surpass all human ideas or principles of relationships, religion and culture.

19. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR BECAUSE IT CLAIMS TO BE THE WORD OF GOD.   Over three thousand eight hundred times, Bible writers claimed that God spoke what they wrote.  In other words, the Bible itself claims to be the Word of God.

20. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN SECULAR HISTORY. Many pagan, Jewish and Christian writers confirm the facts of the Bible.  They actually quote the Bible as being genuine, authentic and inspired of God.

21. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN ITS WORLDWIDE CIRCULATION.  

Most authors have their books circulated within communities.  You will be surprised to find that many authors who are very popular are not known at all in other parts of the world.  Not so with the Bible! ”The Bible has been read by more people and published in more languages than any other book.  There have been more copies produced of its entirety and more portions and selections than any other book in history. Some will argue that in a designated month or year more of a certain book was sold.  However, over all there is absolutely no book that reaches or even begins to compare to the circulation of the Scriptures.”

What HY Pickering said about the Bible

Hy Pickering said that about 30 years ago, for the British and Foreign Bible Society to meet its demands, it had to publish: “One copy every three seconds day and night, 22 copies every minute day and night, 1,369 copies every hour day and night, 32,876 copies every day in the year.” It is deeply interesting to know that this amazing number of Bibles was dispatched to various parts of the world in 4,583 cases weighing 490 tons!

22. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN ITS WORLDWIDE TRANSLATIONS. The Bible was one of the first major books translated (Septuagint: Greek translation of the Hebrew Old Testament, ca 250 BC).  It has been translated and retranslated and paraphrased more than any other book in existence. Encyclopaedia Britannica says, “By 1966 the whole Bible had appeared… in 240 languages and dialects… one or more whole books of the Bible in 739 additional ones, a total publication of 1,280 languages.” Three thousand Bible translators between 1950-1960 were at work translating the Scriptures. The Bible factually stands unique (“one of a kind; alone in its class”) in its translation.

23. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN ITS CONTINUED EXISTENCE THROUGH THE YEARS. Being written on material that perishes, having to be copied and recopied for hundreds of years before the invention of the printing press, did not diminish its style, correctness or existence.  The Bible, compared with other ancient writings, has more manuscript evidence than any 10 pieces of classical literature combined. What John Warwick Montgomery said about the Bible “To be sceptical of the resultant text of the New Testament books is to allow all of classical antiquity to slip into obscurity, for no documents of the ancient period are as well attested bibliographically as the New Testament.” What John Lea said about the Bible John Lea in The Greatest Book in the World compared the Bible with Shakespeare’s writings.  He had this to say: “It seems strange that the text of Shakespeare, which has been in existence less than two hundred and eight years, should be far more uncertain and corrupt than that of the New Testament, now over eighteen centuries old, during  nearly fifteen of which it existed only in manuscript. …With perhaps a dozen or twenty exceptions, the text of every verse in the New Testament may be said to be so far settled by general consent of scholars, that any dispute as to its readings must relate rather to the interpretation of the words than to any doubts respecting the words themselves.  But in everyone of Shakespeare’s thirty seven plays there are probably a hundred readings still in dispute, a large portion of which materially affects the meaning of the passages in which they occur.”

24.  THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN ITS ABILITY TO SURVIVE PERSECUTION. What Sidney Collett said about the Bible Voltaire, the noted French infidel who died in 1778, said that in one hundred years from his time Christianity would be swept from existence and passed into history.  But what has happened?  Voltaire has passed into history, while the circulation of the Bible continues to increase in almost all parts of the world, carrying blessing wherever it goes. Concerning the boast of Voltaire on the extinction of Christianity and the Bible in 100 years, Geisler and Nix point out that “only fifty years after his death the Geneva Bible Society used his press and house to produce stacks of Bibles.” What an irony of history! In AD 303, Diocletian issued an edict (Cambridge History of the Bible, Cambridge University Press, 1963) to stop Christians from worshipping and to destroy their Scriptures. “…An imperial letter was everywhere promulgated, ordering the razing of the churches to the ground and the destruction by fire of the Scriptures, and proclaiming that those who held high positions would lose all civil rights while those in households, if they persisted in the profession of Christianity, would be deprived of their liberty.” The historic irony of the above edict to destroy the Bible is that Eusebius records an edict given 25 years later by Constantine, the emperor of Diocletian, that 50 copies of the Scriptures should be prepared at the expense of the government.

25. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN ITS ABILITY TO ENDURE CRITICISM. What H.L. Hastings said about the Bible H.L. Hastings has forcibly illustrated the unique way the Bible has withstood the attacks of infidels and sceptics. “Infidels for eighteen hundred years have been refuting and overthrowing this book, and yet it stands today as solid as a rock.  Its circulation increases, and it is more loved and cherished and read today than ever before. Infidels, with all their assaults, make about as much impression on this book as a man with a tack hammer would on the Pyramids of Egypt. When the French monarch proposed the persecution of the Christians in his dominion, an old statesman and warrior said to him, “Sire, the church of God is an anvil that has worn out many hammers.”  So the hammers of infidels have been pecking away at this book for ages, but the hammers are worn out, and the anvil still endures. If this book had not been the book of God, men would have destroyed it long ago.  Emperors and popes, kings and priests, princes and rulers have all tried their hand at it; they die and the book still lives.” What Bernard Ramm said about the Bible “A thousand times over, the death knell of the Bible has been sounded, the funeral procession formed, the inscription cut on the tombstone, and committal read.  But somehow the corpse never stays put. No other book has been so chopped, knifed, sifted, scrutinized, and vilified.  What book on philosophy or religion or psychology or belles letters of classical or modern times has been the subject to such a mass attack as the Bible?  With such venom and scepticism?  With such thoroughness and erudition?  Upon every chapter, line and tenet? The Bible is still loved by millions, read by millions, and studied by millions.”

26.  THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN THE NATURE OF ITS PROPHECIES.   Wilbur Smith who compiled a personal library of 25,000 volumes writes: “It is the only volume ever produced by man, or a group of men in which is to be found a large body of prophecies relating to individual nations, to Israel, to all the peoples of the earth, to certain cities, and to the coming of One who was to be the Messiah; The ancient world had many different devices for determining the future, known as divination, but not in the entire gamut of Greek and Latin literature, even though they use the words prophet and prophecy, can we find any real specific prophecy of a great historic event to come in the distant future, nor any prophecy of a Saviour to arise in the human race. “Mohammedanism cannot point to any prophecies of the coming of Mohammed uttered hundreds of years before his birth.  Neither can the founders of any cult in this country rightly identify any ancient text specifically foretelling their appearance.” 27. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN ITS HONESTY. The Bible deals very frankly with the sins of its characters.  Read the biographies today, and see how they try to cover up, overlook or ignore the shady side of people.  Take the great literary geniuses; most are painted as saints.  The Bible does not do it that way.  It simply tells it like it is.

28. THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR IN ITS INFLUENCE ON SURROUNDING LITERATURE. What Cleland B. McAfee said about the Bible Cleland B. McAfee writes in The Greatest English Classic: ”If every Bible in any considerable city were destroyed, the Book could be restored in all its essential parts from the quotations on the shelves of the city public library.  There are works, covering almost all the great literary writers, devoted especially to showing how much the Bible has influenced them.” What Kenneth Scott Latourette Said about Jesus Kenneth Scott Latourette, former Yale historian, says: “It is evidence of His importance, of the effect that He has had upon history and presumably, of the baffling mystery of His being that no other life ever lived on this planet has evoked so huge a volume of literature among so many peoples and languages, and that, far from ebbing, the flood continues to mount.” A professor once remarked:  “If you are an intelligent person, you will read the one book that has drawn more attention than any other, if you are searching for the truth!” 

29.  THE BIBLE IS SUPERIOR BECAUSE IT HAS SET UNUSUAL RECORDS. i. The Bible is the first religious book to be taken into outer space. ii. It is also one of the (if not the) most expensive books. Gutenberg’s Latin Vulgate Bible sold for over $100,000.  The Russians sold the Codex Sinaiticus (an early copy of the Bible) to England for $510,000. iii. The longest telegram in the world was the Revised Standard Version of the New Testament sent from New York to Chicago.

by Dag Heward-Mills

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Thundercats: Hall of Omens Episode 1- "Hidden Treasures"

Thundercats - Hall of Omens is a fan-fiction series written by us here at the Hall of Omens and "Save ThunderCats" Campaign. The story runs simultaneous the new ThunderCats series’ time line.  Episode 1 takes place alongside Episode 1 of the new ThunderCats series. Like all of the fan fiction written here, we try to keep it as close to the series as possible. With Season 2 still up in the air, many of the stories written now may not coincide with Season 2 should it ever get a release. Please keep that in mind.

 Thundercats - Hall of Omens follows the original character we created named "Mahl".  His mission is to find and restore all the items stolen from the Hall of Omens before its destruction, including artifacts such as the Treasure of Thundera. New characters will be introduced alongside several characters from the original series. We have a lot of stories we want to work on here and they are all interconnected.  If you like one particular series we write, check out the others!  It will give you more background on your favorite characters and perhaps even a better idea of the bigger picture as intended.

Thundercats: Hall of Omens

Episode 1

"Hidden Treasures"

Scene 1

 It is a joyous time in Thundera. A great general has returned to the city with vast treasures, conquered enemies, and tales of adventure. One of the mightiest of all Thundercat warriors, Grune, has returned.

 The thrill of seeing Grune ride closer to the city filled Thundera. His return however marked a great sadness in one of its residents. A little known resident that was of no significance to the other inhabitants of King Claudus’ great fortress. One, that if most knew was within the city limits, would demand him removed.

 Mahl , of the Maltese Tiger clan, was not so cheerful of the celebrated general’s return. The two had never been friends, nor could they stand being close to one other. Mahl looked out from the Hall of Omens to where a solitary Grune stood on top of a heap of treasure he had brought with him. When Grune had left Thundera he did not leave alone. He left with fellow ThunderCat General Panthro. But now Panthro was nowhere to be seen. Realizing this, Mahl turned his head, pulled his hood over his face and walked away. He sauntered through the Hall of Omens to a section most Thunderians did not even know exist. These spaces were the areas Mahl called home. He spent most of his time in these ancient halls reading the early texts, researching primeval stories and studying every piece of information he could lay his hands on of the knowledge hidden within the Hall of Omens.

 This was not always how he spent all of his time. There had been a time when his time was divided between his research at the Hall of Omens and apprenticing with Panthro. Panthro and Mahl had become fast friends after an incident in the Thunderian marketplace. They did not start off as friends but soon became the closest comrades. But now, Mahl 's friend was gone and he was convinced he would never see him again.

 Mahl wanted to be alone. He gathered some books from the shelves that he wanted to take with him for further reading. It was not safe to study them in the Hall of Omens. If he were to have a run in with anyone here, things would escalate from bad to worse. He knew that he needed to go.

 Mahl made his way out of the dark corners and back to the more populated areas of the Hall of Omens. As he rushed through the great open space, his path was abruptly disrupted. The glutinous Baron Tas had not been paying attention and slammed right into Mahl . They both fell to the ground.

 "You fool!! Who do you think you are?! Do you know who I am?" Baron Tas hollered as he tried to pull himself off the ground. A frail, skinny, grey haired Thunderian that accompanied Baron Tas quickly helped him up. “Are you alright Baron Tas, sir?" the elder Thunderian asked.

 "I'm fine, Mr Grubber." Baron Tas replied as he pushed Mr Grubber away from him. "Get that fool, Grubber"!! Baron Tas demanded.

 Mr Grubber scurried across the floor like a frightened animal towards Mahl . He frantically gathered the pages that had fallen out of the books he was carrying with him. Mr Grubber grabbed Mahl 's hood and pulled it down, simultaneously reaching for his arm, but Mahl reacted swiftly by pulling his arm away from Mr. Grubber.

 "Don't touch me Grandpaw" Mahl moaned as he whipped his body around, exposing his face to the light.

 Baron Tas, now able to see his “attacker” for the first time, raised his voice to a loud reprimand of disgust.

 "A TIGER?! I was touched by a Tiger?!" He instinctively wiped the dirt and dust off himself as if he had been brushed by a wind of disease.  In protest, Baron Tas did something he would live to regret. In the ultimate display of disrespect, he spit on Mahl .

 "You don't deserve to touch my fur, you pathetic waste of a cat", Baron Tas exclaimed as he turned to signal the Thunderian Royal Guards.

 The situation intensified. Mahl jumped on Baron Tas, flipping him down and springing himself up, knocking down both the guards that had arrived. He then sprung himself back onto Baron Tas, kicking him into the air only to catch him and push him against the wall of the Great Hall. Either end of his sectional fighting staff was shoved against the sides of Baron Tas' face, the center of it thrust against his chin.

 Guards rushed to the area from every direction. Mahl looked to either side, seeing them get closer and closer. His gaze returned to Baron Tas who wore a medallion on his shoulder garb. Mahl pulled the medallion off, growled and head-butted Tas, knocking him out. He dropped Tas as he pulled away his weapon and disappeared into the darkness of the halls.

 The Thunderian guards halted and checked on Baron Tas while three guards ran down the hallway to track down the cat that had just caused this commotion, publicly assaulting Thunderian royalty. They searched all the rooms. There was no sign of the perpetrator.  Reaching the end of the hall a guard saw a dark figure in the window of the last room. They entered but the room was empty. The guards hurried to the window and looked out, knowing it would have been his last resort of escape.

 The guards filed out of the room to continue their search outside. As they left, Mahl slowly closed the door he was behind. Little did the guards know that within that room there was a secret passage. In the corner of the room, when the torch stand was pulled down, a door would slide open to reveal a tunnel that lead to an exit at outskirts of the Hall of Omens. With the guards gone, Mahl made his way to the hidden door, pulled at the torch stand and slipped through, locking the door behind him. He looked down at the medallion he had taken off Baron Tas, flipped it in the air and caught it.  Mahl then smiled as he continued down the dark forgotten tunnel, disappearing into darkness.

Scene 2

 After navigating his way through the tunnels in the Hall of Omens, Mahl appeared in a doorway covered in vines and shrubs. It was located in the valley below, behind the Hall of Omens. Mahl made his way to a close by cave opening and entered.

 A great roar suddenly filled the air and two lights lit up the darkness of the cave. They began to move and Mahl appeared behind the wheel of the Jungle Cat.

 Unlike most of Thundera's citizens, Mahl had left the walls of Thundera on many occasions. He knew of the wonders that across the lands of Third Earth.  Mahl had been travelling extensively from an early age and had ventured out to the furthest reaches of the land.  As a thief in his early days, Mahl had gone to where the jobs had taken him. Even of late, Mahl had regularly left the walls of Thundera on journeys to find items claimed to once exist in the writings of the fabled Hall of Omens. Being an outcast in Thundera due to his Tiger heritage, Mahl had to keep much of what he knew of technology and of Third Earth to himself. Not many would have believed him any way.  He had to conceal the Jungle Cat from the preying eyes of the cats alongside his knowledge of what was out there.

 The Jungle Cat was the first vehicle ever designed by Mahl . It was built from salvaging parts and using scrap materials. The Jungle Cat was small but swift and powerful - the perfect vehicle to travel the vast different landscapes of Third Earth. It maneuvered jungle-like territories just as well as it could cross sandy terrain – all at high rates of speed. Sand dunes were therefore no problem for this versatile vehicle. Not even rocky mountainous regions - the Jungle Cat was equipped with the "cat's claw" that could be launched from the vehicle and used to pull itself up against mountains, up the currents of dangerous waterways and to keep an enemy fleeing in a vehicle from getting out of sight. There wasn't anything the Jungle Cat couldn't do, and with Mahl behind the wheel, there was nowhere it couldn't travel.

 Mahl navigated through the valley with no destination in mind. He drove fast. He knew that it relaxed him.  He drove for hours on end; through the valley and up the mountain range. With the help of the "Cat's claw", the Jungle Cat was able to scale the side of the mountain, and before long he was on the path leading to Mount Anguish, which was suddenly in sight. When he reached the peak of Mount Anguish, Mahl stopped the Jungle Cat and walked to the edge of the mountain where he sat down looking at the sky. Day was turning to night. The moons of Third Earth began to show in the darkening sky above. This was a view that Mahl found himself enjoying often. Not usually from the peak of Mount Anguish, but he felt that its location would be appropriate for the view today. He acknowledged the irony behind the name of the mountain and his feelings as he sat in remembrance of his fallen friend, Panthro.

 Mahl woke early the next morning with a heaviness in his heart.  The time spent on Mount Anguish did not heal any wounds.  He did not expect it to.  The hurt of loosing his friend while the cats celebrated Grune's return was a dishonor, and he did not approve of it.  He spent most of the day atop Mount Anguish, lost in thought.  Some were memories, yet some were thoughts of guilt for not being able to help his fallen friend.  He was also considering what he was to do next.  Mahl wanted to use what he had learned from Panthro for good.  Mahl had done enough "bad" in his life, and even though he had changed his ways upon his arrival to Thundera, Mahl felt it was not enough.  He had to do more in honor of his true friend, the fallen Thundercat.

 Hours had passed and Third Earth was covered in night all over again. This night seemed darker than the previous, Mahl thought to himself, but it made for an astonishing view of the evening sky and the wonders that lay above the clouds.  Suddenly the silence was disturbed by the beeping of an alarm. It had come from the Jungle Cat. Mahl turned to look. A red light was flickering and bathing the inside of the Jungle Cat in a red glow.

 "What?!? It must be some kind of mistake," Mahl thought to himself as he leapt from the rocks he was perched on. He sped to the Jungle Cat to see what the alarm was. He looked inside saw that the alarm was one that he had installed in the Hall of Omens. It had been designed to warn him of any structural damage. The only thing that should trigger the alarm had to be an earthquake. Perhaps there was an explosion of some kind? But there had never been reports of earthquakes within the walls of Thundera. Mahl doubted that it was the cause for the alarm the go off.

 "It's got to be some kind of glitch or a bad circuit or something," Mahl thought to himself, as he sat in the Jungle Cat, starting the engine. "It's probably nothing but I better check it out just in case," Mahl said out load, trying to reassure himself everything was fine. The Jungle Cat took off at an incredible speed. Despite his mind telling him that everything was fine, the knowing voice of his conscience wanted him to make sure. He couldn't shake the awkward feeling and pushed the Jungle Cat to its limits to return as fast as possible.

 Mahl looked ahead. The kingdom of Thundera was clearly visible on the horizon and his worst fear had come true.  Flames were dancing all around the city, explosions echoed throughout. Something very bad was happening, and if he didn't hurry, Mahl would helplessly watch Thundera’s destruction. He hit the accelerator and raced towards Thundera and the Hall of Omens.

Scene 3

 Thundera burned right in front of his eyes as Mahl raced back to the Hall of Omens. He reached the entrance in the valley and jumped from the Jungle Cat. He would be able to reach the Hall of Omens quicker on foot using his knowledge of the tunnels and passage ways. He pushed through the first door to the main concourse he had passed, and to his surprise, Mahl saw Lizards, EVERYWHERE. The Lizards were destroying and looting the Hall of Omens, taking everything they could get their hands on.

 Mahl fought through the Lizard army, making his way through the flotsam and jetsam of the Hall of Omens. He saw one of the Thunderian guards that had tried to stop him earlier lying on the ground. Mahl ran to him and knelt down and asked, "What's going on? What's happening?"

 The guard replied, "The Lizards breached the city and they are led by Mumm-Ra!” He gulped as if he was drowning in water. “The Treasure Room….go!" the guard muttered before passing out.

 Mahl 's eyes opened wide as he whispered in awe, "The Treasure of Thundera!"  Mahl ran to find the Treasure Room to protect it from the Lizard Army. He battled his way through the Hall of Omens, and every time one Lizard fell, it seemed like three more appeared. When he reached the doorway of the room that held the Treasure, he was knocked down by a dark figure fleeing the Hall of Omens. Mahl couldn't make out who the figure was through the smoke-filled air. The figure vanished into the consuming battle behind him.

 "It must have been a frantic Thunderian", Mahl thought to himself as he regained his stand in front of the door again. He looked inside. It was filled with Lizards. All but one piece of the Treasure of Thundera was gone, and it was in the hands of a Lizard. Stuck between the thin fingered, green claws of the red spectacled creature was the Key of Thundera.

 Mahl fought through the group that had ransacked the room. The walls and ceiling of the hall began to crumble and fall. Mahl made his way to the plump-set Lizard that had the Key of Thundera. Sensing there was only a matter of seconds before the room would come crashing down, the Lizard threw the Key to the other side of the room. With only seconds left, the whole ceiling caved in, and instead of running for the door to save his own life, Mahl ran for the Key of Thundera. He reached for it and clutched it in his hands as the ceiling fell, chunks of cement falling down upon him.

 The debris however bounced off Mahl as if he was covered by a glass dome. Mahl realized instinctively that the Sword of Omens was not the only Thunderian jewel that had magical powers. The Key of Thundera had saved his life. His decision to save a piece of Thunderian history saved his life. The Key had released an energy field that acted as a shield protecting both Mahl and the Key from harm. Mahl was convinced that the Key had sensed the danger. He was dumbstruck.

 Mahl climbed out of the rubble and made his way through the remains of the Hall of Omens, looking for survivors. He found many lost and confused cats, and guided them to the tunnels to a safe escape. He saved as many Thunderians as possible, but there was only so much he could do.

 The damage the Lizards and Mumm-Ra had done to the Hall of Omens and Thundera was too immense. The Hall of Omens had crumbled before his very eyes. Even the magical powers that it had been thought to posses were unable to stop it from collapsing.  Before more damage could occur, and taking the safety of the Thunderians Mahl had led to the forgotten tunnels, Mahl decided to close and lock the door behind them. As he closed the door with sorrow, he turned to watch the Hall of Omens collapse. The place that he called home was no more.

 Mahl guided the survivors through the passages to the valley below. They were safe there. There were no Lizards in sight. He instructed them to head to a village only a few hours walk further on, where they would be safe.  As the Thunderians hurried towards the village, Mahl jumped into the Jungle Cat and began scaling the mountain. It would take a while, but it was going to be the fastest way for him to reach Thundera again.

 By the time Mahl reached the top of the mountain to look out across the land, the sun had risen to reveal a fallen Thundera. Fires that had been burning fiercely in the night were now only smouldering piles of ash.  There was nothing left of the once great city.  As Mahl looked around he could see Lizards running down the streets, pillaging what was left. The people of Thundera were gone.  Many had been captured by Mumm-Ra his Lizard Army, others had escaped and were lost to Third Earth. He knew things were going to very be different from here on out.

 Mahl walked through once magnificent Hall of Omens, wallowing in its destruction. The Hall of Omens was a shell of what it had once been. There was nothing left of it except for the Key of Omens which had saved Mahl 's life.  Mahl knew what he had to do. The Key had saved him for a reason, and he was not going to let it down. His mission was simple: find all the items that used to call the Hall of Omens home and restore it to its former glory.

 After seeing the power the Key of Omens had within it, the rumors of the Hall of Omens having an “energy” about it became more and more real. If it were true, Mahl figured that it could use all the help it could get. If this iconic Cat structure indeed had the ability to mend it self over time, Mahl figured the sooner it was straightened out and cleaned, the easier it would be for it to heal and repair it self.

 Mahl spent hours combing through every inch of the Hall of Omens, looking for survivors or any injured Thunderians. Mahl planned to search the rest of the city for any cats that may still be alive or hiding in Thundera. He would start clearing the Hall of Omens of debris after his search for survivors. It was going to take him weeks to relocate all the rubble that now cluttered the halls.

 Mahl stood in a doorway facing the exterior, looking out over the fallen city, and to his surprise he could see cats walking in the distance. Not just any cats, but ThunderCats. He saw the son of King Claudus, Lion-O, along with his brother, the adoptive prince Tygra, accompanied by a female cat. They were leaving Thundera.

 This confused and angered Mahl . Why would the royal family of Thundera be leaving the city? Why weren't they conducting a search for survivors and working on saving what was left of the city? Why were they turning their backs on Thundera only hours after its fall? There could still be cats within the walls that needed help, cats that could still be saved. But the new Lord of the ThunderCats was leaving, walking away from it all.  The king was abandoning his city.

 Mahl , who already had problems with the way the ThunderCats and cats treated other, was disgusted by this act of cowardice and lost all respect for Lion-O.  "What kind of King leaves his people in their greatest time of need," Mahl thought to himself as the trio walked away.

Scene 4

 Days had passed and there had been no sign of Lion-O or the other ThunderCats returning to Thundera. Mahl had been there for days searching the city for survivors. To his horror, he had not found any, but he had found many Thunderians who did not survive.

 Had these cats seen Mahl on the street, they would have spat at him or walked on the other side trying to avoid him. Yet he chose to ignore that. He did not believe their end to have deserved. Mahl gathered each and every Thunderian that had met their end that night and gave each one a proper burial. He tried to identify each cat and recorded their names, should families one day return to learn of the fate of their loved ones.

 It was a horrifying job. It took days to complete this task. Mahl 's past had been dark but this had to be worse. How could one stand being surrounded by death for so long?

 It was the last day of putting to rest the fallen of Thundera. Mahl wanted to put the past nightmare behind him. It was time to look towards the future.  He wanted Thundera to forget the death and destruction. He wanted creation and life. The day to rebuild Thundera was here, and he would start with the Hall of Omens.

 "I think I'm going to need a hand with this one. I mean I'm good, but I don't know if I'm THAT good," Mahl said to himself as he stood before the ruins of the Hall of Omens. He looked down at the book in his hands. It was one of the books he had taken with him when he left the Hall of Omens in a rush the day before. He read the page nodding his head. He knew the information on the page he was reading was exactly what he needed to see.

 In the corner of his eye, Mahl saw a piece of cloth blowing like a flag in the wind. The sun’s rays highlighted it, almost as if a greater power was trying to get his attention. Mahl stopped reading, walked over to the cloth and ripped it from the nail that held it on the wall. There was a kind of thunder flickering in his gaze.

 He unfolded the cloth, bowed his head and closed his eyes. Wrapping the cloth around his forehead he said, "I wear this symbol in the name of Thundera", as he tied a knot at the back of his head.  "Star of Thundera, here I come!!" Mahl said as he jumped into the Jungle Cat and raced out of Thundera.

**edited by the South African Sensation - egmond