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Hello there! You've been visited by the random question fairy! ~ ☆

What is your character's living situation like? Do they enjoy where they live? Would they change anything about their living situation?

oh! I've been blessed with the presence of the question fairy!

Not sure which characters this refers to, so I'm gonna go with both my ocs and my witch au cuz I wanna ramble more about those!

Alright, so Loup Doop and Bloo share an empty broom closet close to Loup Doop's station. It's...not terrible. They're not really held as highly as any of the Glamrocks or even the Daycare Attendant, so they try to just be happy they aren't bunched with the staffbots or the endos. They tried decorating it with some stuff: Bloo has a collection of Daycare souvenirs he stores behind some of the boxes, plus some old plushies and fun looking toys he managed to scrounge up at the Lost and Found. Loop Doup doesn't really own much, and most of her stuff is just extra parts or small scraps of paper and drawings the DA made for her. She has a small shelf she set up for her borrowed books and little projects. Were it up to them, they would have definitely changed their living space, moved out of the Pizzaplex and never looked back, but they know they're stuck here, so they try to make the best of it. They've tried staying the night in the Daycare, but even if they could override Sun's protocols, the security guard always manages to drag them out. Pulsar doesn't really live anywhere; it just hangs around its designated stations for the night.

For the Witch Au:

Sun and Moon live off the edge of town, a good twenty miles out. Moon set up a defense system to keep people from noticing a random cottage in the middle of nowhere. Though Sun isn't always home, it's all they've had for years, and neither of them would trade it for anything else.

Earth lives across the woods, so fairly far from the boys' cottage and extremely far from town. She estimates having been there for perhaps 6 or 7 years. The cottage seems older than her, though, and she quickly gets to work on personalizing it and making it her own. It's her pride and joy, along with the garden. After the mishap with the woods, she doesn't really leave much, so she's never known any other home. Anything she wants to change, she can, so she doesn't see a reason to leave or go out to see the world. She has everything she wants, and though she does sometimes find herself wanting more, she's never really taken that step. (A merchant stops by one day and sets out to change that...so does another, far more dangerous entity...)

Eclipse lives in the original cottage. Unlike Moon, he never left home when KC disappeared, a decision he almost regrets. He absolutely loathes the place; it reeks of old memories and rancid emotions and broken promises, all the things he would rather forget piled neatly in one place. The first thought on his mind after acquiring the amulet was finding a new place to live, somewhere far away from the past and truly fit for him. In spite of all his hatred towards it, however, he's never actually made any attempts to change anything; everything is in it's place, just as KC left it. Though all of his belongings are scattered and discarded half-hazardly throughout the place, everything else is left untouched, save for some dutiful vacuuming and dusting. The door to the old room upstairs remains closed and locked. Lunar asks him why thick layers of dust only seem to coat certain objects. Eclipse refuses to explain himself. He hates trying to explain the meaning behind it, and he refuses to acknowledge how sentimental he is.

The Blood Twins live in the woods between the boys' and Earth's cottage, the woods that Earth accidentally grew that one time. They hate it with a passion, not because of the place itself, but because they remain trapped there. Due to the nature of the field surrounding the woods that Sun set up for Earth, they are bound to that plane and cannot leave unless summoned, and while they hate summonings, anything is better than the rotting wood and dying green. Fortunately and unfortunately, this latest summoning has given them many new liberties that they are quick to indulge in...

All The Lessons I Never Learned

9. Preparations (Part 1)

Synopsis: Loki gets home and is extremely overwhelmed by how his life is changing so quickly.

Word count: 751

Stand Alone?: No!

Warnings: Alcohol/alcoholism, mild paranoia, control issues, anxiety, mention of Odin's A+ Parenting™️, Frigga's texting habits, no littles in this chapter (part 2 has the little one though!)

Notes: Loki's habits, mental health, and addiction are not the primary focus of this story and are only touched on in a few chapters. You might not want to stick around if you're looking for some real rock bottom heartbreaking stuff because you're not going to find that here. This or chapter 5. A Minor Withdrawal are about as bad as it gets.

Read it on AO3!

Upon unlocking his apartment’s door, Loki breathed a heavy sigh before sitting down on his couch and planting his face into his palms. 

Oh my gods. I’m really going to have to do this, he thought to himself. “Oh my gods I actually have to do this,” he repeated, aloud this time. 

There were a few seconds of silence before he picked up the raven out of his suitcase’s pocket and studied it closely for a minute; “There’s a camera in you, isn’t there?” he asked, squeezing it to check. You could never be too sure or too careful in a situation like this. 

“Well,” he said, getting up after not finding anything, but still not entirely convinced. “This is my apartment. I hope it’s big enough.” He gave the bird a little tour, showing it the kitchen and his living space, the main bathroom, and then, finally, the unused guest bedroom, leaving his master suite untouched by the bird’s eyes. 

The guest room had come furnished with the rest of the house and still looked as bland as the first time he had gone in there. Now though, it was covered with one notable decoration: a thin layer of dust. “This will be your room,” he said, feeling awfully silly as he brushed off a shelf and sat the bird on it. 

Then, he set his hands on his hips. And surveyed the space himself. This should be big enough, right? It was around the same size, maybe a little bit smaller than Thor’s current bedroom, but that was okay. The little would have the city at his fingertips, the apartment didn’t need much room, Loki reasoned. 

Just in case the bird did not have a camera, he sent over a couple photos to his mother with a “do you think this is enough room?” written below it. 

Loki soon began to unpack his luggage, trying to keep his mind off the rest of his crumbling life. At least this was something he could control. 

His messages dinged. 

“That’s probably 👍… . Do u have extra space for toys 🧸…?” the text from his mother said. 

“I don’t but central park isn’t far. He’ll have plenty of things to do,” he replied. 

After doing the bulk of his unpacking and bringing his hamper out to where his in-unit washer and dryer were stored, he surveyed the rest of his home, trying to imagine life with a preschooler running around mucking the place up. 

It luckily wasn’t an especially stuffy apartment. It was chic, but not hyper-luxurious or fragile, and there wasn’t much that could really get ruined. Loki was reassured after finding his parents’ home in a generally nice condition. 

That was really it on his end. Not so bad, he considered. More work to come, definitely, but for this next week, it was all coasting from here. 

He continued to think back on his trip as he opened up his liquor cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of tequila. 

Better work on that drinking habit. 

It felt like Odin’s voice was echoing through his head. 

Who was he to talk, anyway? That old man used to drink enough on the daily to kill a horse, but he was still a father. 

Loki knew that these situations were very different as he was neither independently wealthy nor did he have a wife and a team of servants like his father. And, in all honesty, Odin wasn’t an especially good father. He had gotten better in his old age, but… it was hard to shrug off the past. Regardless, he was not the type of caregiver Loki would ever strive to be. 

Sighing, Loki twisted off the top of the bottle and poured some into a water glass. 

“Fine. Fine. I’ll do it,” he said aloud to no one in particular, before setting down his cup and opening up his phone. 

He rested one hand on his forehead and leaned against the countertop as he scrolled through alcohol recovery sites and scoffed a little bit whenever a drinking problem was called “a disease”, “an addiction”, or talked about ruining someone’s life. Pfft… he was fine.

Regardless, he kept down this path of research. He clicked on AA schedules and read through local groups and times. But ultimately, he closed the tabs, shut off his phone, poured himself another ridiculously large glass of clear alcohol and gulped it down as if it were just water before stuffing the bottle back into his cabinet. 

Where It Belongs

Steve Rogers x Reader

Fandom: The Avengers

Summary: Presumed dead fiancé of Steve Rogers, Y/N L/N is found frozen in an abandoned HYDRA base

“This place is a mess and a half.” Nat mumbled.

Steve and Natasha had been sent on a mission to scour an old, abandoned HYDRA base to see if there was anything there of use or value to S.H.I.E.L.D, with Tony on standby on the jet in case of trouble. They had gotten through most that was there to see, and had just entered a large room full of shelves littered with files. Steve was standing in the middle of the room, while Natasha had walked down one of the aisles to see what she could find.

There was a thick layer of dust covering the shelves, showing the place had been untouched for a while. Nat came to the end of the aisle and stopped, looking at the shelf in front of her. She picked up one of the files, blowing of the dust on top of it, and opened it. The first paper had a picture in the top left corner, of a woman, with h/l, h/c hair and e/c eyes. Next to the picture, there was personal information, her name, her birth date, her duties within HYDRA, etcetera. But the name caught her attention.

“Steve?” She called. “What did you say your fiancés name was?”

“Y/N L/N. Why?” Steve called back, making his way down the aisle.

“She didn’t happen to medically trained?” Natasha asked him, showing him the document.

“Why would HYDRA have files in Y/N?” Steve mumbled.

“Well, it seems, she was in charge of patching up Bucky if he got injured during a mission.” Nat said, pointing to one part of the document.

Abilities: Skilled in healing, years of experience in the medical field.

Duty: Take care of any and all injuries the Soldat may acquire during missions.

“Wait, what’s…” Steve trailed off, grabbing the file from Natasha, his eyes trailing to the bottom of the paper.

Current status: Frozen after disobeying direct orders.

Steve froze completely, reading that part of the paper. A few moments of silence passed, and Nat placed a hand on Steve’s arm.

“We should keep going. We can talk to Fury about this when we get back.”

“Okay.” Steve said quietly. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

The two walked down the aisle, back to the middle of the room, when Nat’s eyes caught sight of a door at the end one of the other aisles. She walked down with fast steps, and halted when she read what the sign next to the door said.

Cyrofreeze Chamber

She walked forward, opening the door, her eyes widening when she saw what was behind it.

“Steve! I think I found her!” She called back, followed by fast footsteps approaching.

“Y/N.” He breathed out once he saw that it was indeed her.

Her eyes were closed, and the very tips of her hair were coated in a thin layer of frost.

“Tony, we need your help.” Nat spoke into the coms.

“What’s happening?” Tony asked.

“We found a Cyrofreeze chamber, and someone’s in here.”

“I’ll be right there.”

After some hassle and time, they managed to get Y/N onto the jet and to the tower, to get her to Bruce and Doctor Cho.

Y/N had been taken straight to the med bay, and Steve was sitting outside the room with his head in his hands.

“Hey Steve.” Bucky said, sitting down next to him. “How’re you holding up?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see her again.” Steve said quietly. “Now I find out she’s been alive the whole time, thinking me to be dead. I must have completely broke her heart. I just hope she’ll forgive me for that.”

“Don’t you dare even think like that.” Bucky said firmly, and Steve turned to look at him. “No one had any idea you were going to survive that plane crash. And we both know Y/N won’t blame that on you.”

“Do you think she’ll even remember?”

“Hard to know.” Bucky sighed. “They might not have done anything to her head, although I doubt that. But if she was frozen for disobeying orders, she must have at least know that what HYDRA was doing was bad. Maybe, if they did something, it didn’t stick.”

When Steve didn’t say anything, Bucky continued.

“But if she doesn’t remember anything, I’m positive the one who’ll be able to get her memories back is you.”

“Steve?” Bruce said, opening the door. “She’s awake.”

Y/N’s eyes slowly opened, swiftly closing again because of the bright lights that invaded her vision. Slowly but surely, she opened her eyes again, and once they got used to the light, the next thing she noticed was how cold she felt, and a shiver ran down her spine.

She sat up carefully, not knowing where she was or what was happening. She was in a small room. White walls and ceiling. A couch opposite the bed she was sitting on, one chair on either side of the bed, a table against the wall on her right, and two people standing in front of the door. A man and a woman.

“Oh, you’re awake.” The woman said, walking to the bed Y/N was sitting on. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, I’d say. A little cold, but good.” Y/N said hesitantly.

“Cold is to be expected, nothing to worry about.” The woman assured her. “My name is Doctor Cho, this is Bruce Banner.” She said, gesturing to the other person in the room.

“Just Bruce is fine.” He told you.

“Okay. Um, where am I? What’s happening?”

“You’re in the med bay of the Avengers Tower, New York City.” Bruce said. “2016.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, HYDRA put you under Cyrofreeze in the 1980’s. You were found earlier today, and we got you awake again.” Bruce said, and Y/N looked down at her lap.

“I understand if you want to wait, this has to be a bit to process, but there is someone here to see you.” Doctor Cho said.

“Who’d want to see me? There can’t be anyone I know who’s alive now.” Y/N said, looking back to the two doctors.

“Not quite.” Bruce said with a slight chuckle. “You’re not the only one from your time who’s been frozen.”

“Who?”

“Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.”

“They’re still alive?” Y/N said incredulously, amazed her fiancé and best friends were still around.

“Steve’s been waiting for you to wake up since you got here.” Bruce told her. “He’s waiting outside if you want to see him.”

“Yes, please.”

“Does she remember anything?” Bucky asked as Steve quickly stood up from his seat.

“She must remember something, she reacted when we said you two were waiting for her.” Bruce said.

Steve hesitated slightly outside the door, looking at Bruce, who nodded his head into the room. He slowly walked in, and froze when he saw Y/N sitting on the bed.

Her head was tilted down, looking at something that was laying in her hand, that was attached to a chain around her neck. Her head snapped up when Doctor Cho spoke.

“We’ll leave you two alone.” She said, moving towards the door. “Come find me if anything happens.”

The door closed, and Steve and Y/N were alone in the room. Together for the first time since 1945.

“Hi.” Y/N finally spoke up, breaking the silence.

“Hi.” Steve replied.

“Do you want to sit down?”

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked once he had sat down on Y/N’s right.

“A little cold, but I’m good.I just found out my fiancé and best friend also survived the test of time, so that’s a plus.” Y/N smiled at Steve, and he smiled back.

“How much do you remember?”

“If there’s something I don’t remember it’s not because of HYDRA, it’s just… me.” Y/N chuckled. “They tried so many times to wipe my memory, but it never worked. I don’t know why.”

“How are you?” Y/N asked, shifting the focus to Steve. “And how are you here? How did you survive that plane crash?”

“I got frozen in the water up there. It kept me alive.” Steve said. “It wa like Cyrofreeze, but just, nature. Then the world found me.”

“When was that?”

“2011. Then I found Bucky a few years later.”

“And how’s he?”

“He’s good. The HYDRA memory wipe worked on him, I’m sure you know.” Steve said, and YbN nodded. “But he’s getting there. There’s still bits and pieces he doesn’t remember though.”

“You know, when I got out of the ice, one of the first things I did was try to find as much information as I could about you. Try to find out what happened to you.” Steve said after some silence, looking at the floor. “The only thing I found about your fate was that you went missing in the 60s. I feel like I should have been able to figure out that after what happened to me, there could be a chance that you were also still out there somewhere.”

“Steve, you can't blame yourself for not trying to find me. cyrofreeze wasn’t exactly a thing we knew about. I don’t blame you at all for not looking for me, or even thinking to do so. You couldn’t have known.”

Steve looked up at Y/N, and he almost felt like time froze. Looking at her, she was still that same woman he fell for all those years ago. Same beautiful h/c hair, same shining e/c eyes, same smile he adored so much. Sure, she looked a little bit worn, but decades of hard work in a field as tricky as HYDRA was bound to do that to a person.

As his eyes were sweeping over her figure, his eyes caught what was hanging around her neck.

“You still have the ring.” He said.

“Yeah, I think it’s a miracle I do.” Y/N chuckled. “If HYDRA found out I had it, they probably would have thrown it out and tried to wipe my memory again. But of course I still have it.”

Y/N’s hand found the chain around her neck and pulled it off, laying the ring in the palm of her hand.

“Throwing this out would have been like throwing out one of my favorite memories of you. I couldn’t do that.”

Y/N turned her head to look at Steve, and he noticed a tear rolling down her cheek.

“But since we’re both here, do you want to put this ring back where it belongs?”

The End of the F**king World Pt. 1

Byun Baekhyun X Reader

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: Language. Violent imagery if you squint.

Genre: Apocalyptic/Alien Invasion AU. Slow Burn (ish?). One pining pup and one idiot in denial to eventual lovers.

A/N: I mean, idk, but do I ever?  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Don’t forget to read the Prologue!

There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, which left the sun free to beat down on every inch of the city. Showering it completely in light. It was nice, the sun, especially when it had been mostly dark and rainy for weeks. Basking in the light of the sun this city looked like every other city in the world. Absolutely every other city.

Cement sidewalks and asphalt roads with their gaping holes from where bombs and missiles had landed. Skyrise buildings half destroyed by fires or from flooding. Windows covered in plywood, plywood riddled with bullet holes. Not a business in sight that hadn’t been ransacked. Nearly every inch of wall space and every abandoned or crashed vehicle was covered in spray paint. Messages of hope for survivors, warnings about certain spots in the city, brief apologies and goodbyes from those who just couldn’t do it anymore. Plants, weeds, grass, and flowers growing through cracks in cement. Overgrowth in certain places making the city look like a literal urban jungle.  

Every major city in the world looked like this because every major city in the world got hit in exactly the same way. If not in the first wave then the second, and if not in the second then the third. And so on and so forth until they were all just empty shells of what they had once been.

The sound of your boots crunching against gravel and broken glass didn't even register to you any longer as you made your way down the empty street. Finally you found what you’d been looking for. A shop you’d noticed the other week but hadn’t had the chance to visit yet. The toy store was dark inside, left mostly untouched by looters except for the cash register. It had probably been busted open in the very beginning when people thought there would still be a use for money.

Old currency was rendered useless and the only survivors left now were the innovators, you thought to yourself as you peered through the window frame. It didn’t matter anymore what you had. Survival was about what you could do with what you found. The thought left you wondering how many people had walked past this shop without realizing its potential.

The storefront consisted of a three paneled window. Two of the panels had been smashed to nothing leaving an easy entrance into the store. The third window stood untouched, looking pristine. You rapped your knuckles against the completely intact glass and waited. It only took a couple of seconds. You could hear them before you saw them. A low hissing that sounded like getting the drool sucked out of your mouth at the dentists broke up with intermittent clicking. The sound either made your skin crawl in terror or it annoyed you. Today, luckily, it was just an annoyance more than anything else.

Grabbing the knife from the strap on your thigh, you focused in on the shadows of the aisles. There were two sets of four beady, silver eyes lurking in the dark. With a sigh you stepped through one of the broken windows and into the store. The hissing and clicking grew louder and more chaotic at your more obvious presence in the room. Resting the blade of your knife on your shoulder you made your aim. Then with a quick snap of your wrist the knife had shot through the air and projected into the shadows.

What happened next went fast, you knew it had to from your experience. As the first blade slipped from your fingers your hand had already dropped down to grab the second. The blade of the knife stuck between the four silver eyes and they went black. As the first grayish green, scaled beast fell forward into the light it’s counterpart opened its mouth wide to release a shrill shriek. The noise only pierced your ears briefly as you’d already thrown the second knife, the blade catching the beast in the throat. Those silver eyes drained to black as well and then it also fell forward into the light. Reaching into your pocket you pulled out your small flashlight and clicked it on. Quickly, you scanned the other aisles of the store for other Lurkers. You were pleased to find none.

First things first. You moved over to the cash register and searched the shelves of the rounded counter. As to be expected it was mostly tiny plastic trinkets at eye level that children would have instantly fallen in love with and would offer one last minute, desperate plea for. You did eventually find what you were looking for. There on the bottom self seated between a box of rock hard tootsie rolls and several bags of gummy worms that looked like they’d melted during the summer heat and then cooled into a blobby swirl of sugary color. A jar of, likely expired, blow pops. Tearing off the lid you shoved your hand in to grab one. You unwrapped it quickly and shoved the candy between your cheek and teeth with a satisfied sigh.

With your sweet tooth satiated for now you bagged the rest of the suckers as well as a jar of jolly ranchers. Then you went to pull your knives from the Lurkers you’d left bleeding out onto the linoleum floor. Placing one foot against the head of the first Lurker you tugged at the handle of the knife until the blade was released with a nasty squelch. You gagged at the sound, for some reason that was always the worst part for you, and moved to the second. With both blades freed from their victims you stood up and looked around your immediate area. Thick, black, gooey blood dripped from the blades onto the floor with little splats. On the shelf next to you there was a display of stuffed kittens with big, pitiful eyes covered in a thin layer of dust.

“Sorry, buddy.” you said snatching one of the kittens and swiping your blades clean against the soft fur before tucking them back into their holster.

You walked the front part of the store first, making a mental inventory of what was there that you would consider usable. On the other side of the room there was a spinning display rack that had been completely stripped of its contents except for one single package of batteries. That’s what you’d come in for.

“Fuck.” you muttered and snatched the lone package from the rack and tore it open.

At least you could replace the batteries in your flashlight, which had been functioning on borrowed time.

Once your flashlight was back at full power you started to make your way down the aisles. Continuing to take more notes of inventory, you searched for something that would be useful now. Dragging your finger through the dirt on the shelves you passed left a cleared line in its wake. You’d found baby dolls, Barbie dolls, and more stuffed animals. Princess dresses and plastic jewelry. There was plastic, silver tiara on one shelf, with little plastic jewels. You grabbed it and placed it on your head before continuing on.

Basketballs, tennis rackets, and skateboards lined the next aisle. The one after that had action figures and puzzles. You took a mental note to let Baekhyun know about the rack of lightsabers. Though considering how much trouble he’d gotten in the last time he had one you’d have to save both of you the trouble and tell him when Chanyeol wasn’t around. By then you’d nearly given up on finding anything when you reached the back corner and saw exactly the kind of thing you were hoping for. An entire display of toddler toys, each box with a red sticker and bold white letters that read, Batteries Included!

“Oh, jackpot.” you grinned, dropping your backpack on the ground and getting to work.

The first few months after the invasion were the hardest. The stress from uncertainty had aged everyone a hundred years. The four of you had stayed in the safe room for four days before venturing out. It took four days of Baekhyun and Chanyeol watching the security cameras endlessly and listening to the random frequencies the radio would pick up, trying to learn what they could, before they felt confident enough to open the door. It ended up being lucky because the night they decided it was time, was the night the electricity shut off for good. None of you slept that night. You just sat with the flashlight in the center of the room and waited for what you’d hoped would be enough time for there to be daylight outside.

It had to be daylight. If nothing else the guys had confirmed that the creatures never came out during the day. There were hoards of them during the night hours but there was something about the light that made them sensitive. Baekhyun had a theory that there was something wrong with their eyes. He didn’t think they could see or if they could they couldn’t see very well. He felt confident that their strongest sense was their hearing. He ended up being correct, you’d found out after watching them a little longer.

In fact they ended up being relatively ineffective threats once you’d figured them out. They were easy to maneuver around as long as there weren’t too many. They were blind as bats and pretty easy to kill if you got them in any of their softer areas which turned out to be anywhere on their necks and the diamond shaped patch between their eyes. The unfortunate part was that if you found one there were more than likely a dozen more and that’s when you’d find trouble. One or two were easy to kill. Even three was doable for a select few of you, if you were on your own. If you ran into a pack or you ran into them at night however, you were done for. They became chaotic attackers when they had the support of a hoard behind them. Like wild, rabid dogs they would tear their victim to shreds in a minute or less. Which was why they still terrified you even after three years.  

What you’d found when you walked out of the jewelry store on that fourth day was the complete destruction of everything you’d ever known. At that point almost everything still seemed to be on fire. Looters had come and gone, and were likely dead if they hadn’t gone into hiding in time. Buildings were still crumbling, sending debri crashing to the ground. Electricity was out everywhere but you did find that water was still running in some areas. You cried when you washed yourself for the first time in days. It wasn’t even anything nice. It was you in the bathroom of a coffee shop in your underwear, standing in front of the sink and wiping your body down with paper towels and hand soap. Still you cried. You’d cried a lot those first months, that whole first year really. You cried less these days.

Anywhere you walked you could see the creatures lurking in the dark, watching every move you made. Hissing, clicking and waiting for the sun to set. It’s why you’d all agreed they would be referred to as Lurkers, because that’s what they did. You didn’t go back to the jewelry store that night. You didn’t go back for more than a year. Instead the four of you collected food and what weapons you could before finding somewhere new and safe to stay. You did that every night for a week. You didn’t know exactly what Chanyeol and Baekhyun were looking for but you knew when they found it you could finally settle.

Hopping around from place to place is how you found Irene. She was a mess when you found her. Holed up in the corner of a broken cooler at a convenience store behind a barrier made out of boxes of beer. Trembling, sobbing, and dehydrated. It took hours for you to get her to even speak her name clearly. Later you found out her boyfriend had barricaded her in the cooler for her safety after he promised her he’d be back once he found his little brother. Then she watched him get torn apart by Lurkers through the cooler door while having to remain completely silent or risk being attacked herself. After that she joined your family, and the four of you became five.

As the days and weeks passed and you had become more comfortable and confident you started to explore the city. It was less for entertainment and done more so out of necessity. You needed supplies like food and weapons. The more you wandered and scavenged the more survivors you found. Groups of people like yours who’d been together since the invasion. As more people came out from their hiding spots obvious leaders showed themselves within your families, as your groups had been defined.

There were eight families and together you were the Community. The heads of each family met constantly in the beginning, trying to work out how best to work with one another and what they could offer each other. They all wanted to make sure that their families had everything they needed to survive without taking from any other families. In the end the city was separated into nine boroughs, a space for each family, each equal in square mileage. The ninth borough was the city center. All of the major arenas and theatres were there, all of the city's largest buildings. Underground parking lots at every corner. It was a hotbed for Lurkers. Entering any building was more than useless, it was a deathwish. Though it was safe enough to pass through during the day, so long as you stuck to the streets, by night it was wall to wall Lurkers.  

During the first year the Community met once a day after scavanges and doled out supplies. Each family took only what they needed and then the rest was stored by the original scavenger. After the first year half of the survivors were gone. Mostly loss came from accidents or illness. Things that happened that required a doctor, a doctor that you didn’t have. However on the rare occasion someone would walk outside in the middle of the night and scream at the top of their lungs.

Nobody thought them cowardly. It wasn’t an easy life, there was nothing desirable about it. You weren’t even sure where your own will to survive was coming from. It hadn’t been as if there was an expiration date on Lurkers. There was no timeframe for when this would be over. No ETA of your old life getting back to you. No visible end to the invasion. Still you woke up every day and you tried. When you went to bed you went to bed with every expectation of doing it again the next day.

After the first year the Community had become a well oiled machine. Everything had been so well organized. And there were so few people that supplies started to last longer and there was less of a need to meet up everyday. Now the whole Community only came together once a week for a check in. This week's meeting happened to be today.

Once you’d broken apart every toddler toy in the store and collected their batteries, you found a manager's office in the back. You sat down in the pleather chair and pulled your walkman out of your backpack, replacing the batteries that had been dead for a couple days. Having the sound of music flowing through you brought you a sense of joy and content that you couldn’t explain. It was the only thing you’d found since the invasion that could bring you any sort of content or calm. Without it your brain was constantly running a thousand miles a minute with worry and anxiety. You weren’t sure what you’d do when the city stopped providing you with AA batteries.

As the music played you twirled around in the desk chair a few times with a yawn, before deciding to check the room for supplies. There wasn’t too much, a couple things here and there, but in the bottom drawer of the desk you found five of the little airplane sized bottles of whiskey and a dusty, water warped copy of 50 Shades of Grey. After downing two of the little bottles you’d kicked your feet up on the desk and flipped open the book. Then, with a pretty good buzz brewing, you read aloud to an audience of two dolls, a stuffed monkey and three Batman figurines sitting on top of a file cabinet. The next thing you knew you’d amused yourself to tears and were late to the meeting.

Luckily you weren’t too far from the amphitheater where the meetings were held, just a handful of blocks away. You’d even tried to sprint it but were embarrassed to realize that the little amount of alcohol you’d had left you in less than peak condition. In all fairness it had been a while since you’d really had a drink. It had been a long while since anyone had indulged in a drink really. In the first few months a lot of people drank heavily as a way to cope and to avoid thinking about the reality of the situation. Reckless, unchecked drinking unfortunately led to a lot of accidents and those accidents led to the deaths of several people. There had been one night when a member of one of the bigger families drank half a bottle of tequila and didn’t close the door to their shelter well enough. That night twenty people were lost. After that it was rare for people to drink, it was even rarer for them to get drunk.  

The meeting had already started when you’d arrived. You could hear Chanyeol’s voice from outside the amphitheater as you stopped to catch your breath. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of a ticket booth window, you realized you were still wearing the toy tiara you’d found. Spitting the gum from your blow pop into some grass, you pulled the tiara from your head and shoved it in a trash can near the entrance.

Everyone was already there, which wasn’t a surprise but it was still embarrassing when they realized you’d just come in. Every head turned to look at you. Chanyeol, Hyunwoo, Jihyo, Taeyong, Solar, Hongjoon, Hanbin, and Seungcheol all sat in the center as the representatives of their families, silently watching as you made your way towards the group. You avoided eye contact with Chanyeol at all costs, ducking your head as you made your way to your usual spot next to Seulgi.

“You’re late.” she whispered as Taeyong continued with what it was he’d been saying in reply to Chanyeol.

“Obviously…” you whispered back, she pinched your side until you flinched, “Did I miss anything?”

She shook her head no and you both turned your attention to Chanyeol who had stood again to speak.

“General census has been that all families are low on food and the map doesn’t look great either, we’ve almost scavenged the entire limits of the city with the exception of the red zone. All food source locations are near depleted in zones with larger families, the others are getting close as well. Next week each family will send two members to the Farm for supplies and fresh food. Heads have been discussing that we need to put more focus on our own gardens around the city. We’ll be changing priorities from scavenging to gardening and livestock. The few of us who will continue to scavenge will need to...will need to start moving outside of the city.”

Unease ran through the group, and there was a steady hum of murmurs. Leaving the city limits was a nerve wracking suggestion because no one in the Community had left the city since the first wave. No one knew how things were out there. And of the very few people who had gone to scope it out, no one had ever returned. The only place the Community went that was outside of the city limits was the Farm.

The Farm was a huge compound on a stretch of farmland where an actual family had taken up residence. They had well stocked food storage, thriving gardens, and hoards of livestock. It was also protected under a massive security system. The family who lived on the Farm had come into the city not realizing it was occupied. When they found the Community and what you had to offer, they made a deal . They would exchange fresh fruits and vegetables, and eggs and meat from the livestock where they could spare it for fresh water which was the only thing they couldn’t seem to get steady access to. So twice a month the Community would send a group to collect the food supplies and drop off a water truck with a full tank.

Once the group had settled down after Chanyeol’s announcement there were still a few topics to discuss before the meeting was over. The end of the meeting really only meant that it was time for the group to break off into smaller cliques for further discussions and gossip.

“What if they don’t accept the water after the rain? That was a long stretch, they may not need it. What are we going to do without food?” You heard Sehun say as everyone talked over one another.      

You’d actually been pretty interested in listening in on that conversation but Chanyeol had sat down beside you. “You were late.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Yeol.” you looked up at him with your most convincingly innocent smile which only made him laugh.

“You know I worry. And worse, you know I had to hear about it endlessly from Baek.” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Nodding you pulled one of the suckers from your jacket pocket and offered it to him. “I got caught up and lost track of time. I’m sorry I made you worry. Forgive me?”

He already had the sucker unwrapped and stuck in his cheek when he nodded, “Forgiven. Just don’t be late back home. I don’t need you getting locked out.”

He patted the top of your head as he stood and you watched him take off. Seulgi who was talking in a group a little ways away saw him leaving and ditched her friends to chase after him. You frowned as you watched. It had turned out that they hadn’t been dating before the invasion like you thought. They’d definitely shared some pretty deep feelings for each other, but neither one had the nerve to make any moves. The invasion and imminent threat of death had apparently been the kick in the ass they’d needed to confess their feelings to each other. Still, of everything that had happened over the last few years the one thing you couldn't wrap your head around was people getting attached to each other. You just couldn’t understand falling in love.

Over the last three years the Community had lost so many people from death and disappearance. You had lost so many people. All your friends and family from before the first wave were just gone. Any family and all of your other friends. They were all dead as far as you knew. You would never get to say goodbye, never get to tell them how much you loved them. The hardest out of all of them to get over was Siwon. Things weren’t always perfect between the two of you but you’d been together for five years. As far as you had been concerned he’d been it for you. You’d been ready to spend the rest of your life with him, if he’d ever gotten the chance to ask you to. You’d imagined a future with him, buying a house and starting a family. Then in one day you had it all ripped away from you and the pain of it had been unbearable. You didn’t have a future, you didn’t have love. You didn’t even want it anymore. All you had and all you needed was to survive.

You couldn’t see the appeal of falling in love with someone who could be torn from you at any moment. Or intentionally putting yourself through the eventual pain of loss. You didn’t even like that you had to worry about losing Seulgi. The chance of risk versus the low reward just didn’t seem worth it to you. However, Seulgi was happy and as much as you didn’t understand giving your love to anyone anymore, you were happy for her. She was happy. She had a reason to keep going, and that’s all you could really ask for her or anyone else for that matter.

Throwing your backpack over your shoulder you waved goodbye to the others that were left and took off back up the stairs alone. Outside of the amphitheater you saw Hyunwoo chatting with Hanbin and Baekho, while Taemin and Jongin waited nearby. When he saw you Hyunwoo smiled and said something to the others before hurrying over to where you had been walking.  

“Hey,” he said, catching up to you.

“Hi.” you grinned.

“Hold up a second, I have something for you.” he said, grabbing your elbow.

You stopped walking and turned towards him, “For me? Why?”

“You know why.” he smirked. He moved closer to you so there was hardly any space between your bodies. One of his hands reached into his jacket and he pulled out a small, square, gold box with a red ribbon wrapped around it. “I know you didn’t want a big deal made out of your birthday, but I had to at least get you something.”

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” you assured him, turning the box over in your hands.

“Fine. I wanted to get you something.” he corrected, “Will you just open it?”

You tugged the ribbon from the box and lifted the lid. A tiny gasp escaped your mouth at the sight in front of you. “Hyunwoo…”

“It’s expired, but only by a few months.”

Your eyes had filled with tears so quickly you couldn’t stop the single tear from slipping down your cheek. “It’s so beautiful. I love it. Thank you so much.”

He grinned as you pulled the chocolate bar from the box. “Don’t share it with anyone, okay?”

“Oh don’t worry, I will not be sharing with anyone. Not even you so don’t ask.” you laughed and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. “Thank you so much. Seriously, it means the world that you would give this to me.”

“You mean the world to me.” he said quietly squeezing you back, and then he pulled away, “To us. You mean the world to all of us. You’re always doing so much for the whole Community, my two idiots especially.”

You were grateful for the excuse to look away from him, to look over at Taemin and Jongin as your cheeks burned with a blush. “It’s nothing. You know I love them.”

“Alright.” he cleared his throat and looked over at the still waiting Taemin, Jongin duo. “Get home safe tonight. I have to get the kids home for dinner.”

“You be safe too Hyunwoo, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tucking your gift into the pocket of your backpack you smiled to yourself. Maybe...maybe you could see yourself with someone like Hyunwoo. You’d seen him in action, you knew he could handle himself well in a fight. He didn’t need to be protected or taken care of. You wouldn’t need to feel responsible for him all the time or to worry about him too much. Plus he was a sweetheart and absolutely gorgeous, which never hurt.

“What was that about?”

Pulled from the thought you looked up to see Baekhyun. He was sitting on a short, brick wall. His feet dangled from side to side as he chewed anxiously on his thumbnail.

“What was what about?” you asked as he hopped off the wall and fell in line with you as you walked.

“Whatever just happened between you and Hyunwoo.” He was trying to be casual about the conversation but you could feel the energy vibrating off of him.

You sighed, “Nothing, Baek. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you guys like together? You never said anything. Are you going to leave us? Are you going to stay with his family now? It’s just guys over there, you know? What about Seulgi? Does she know? She’ll be really upset.” he rambled nervously.

“No, Baek,” you chuckled, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not dating anyone.”

“What did he say? It looked like he gave you something. What were you hugging him for?”

“Baekhyun!” You growled looking over at him with wide eyes, “Breathe. Calm down. Christ.”

He did as he was told and shut his mouth. He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m chill. You still didn’t answer any of my questions.”

“Well you asked about twenty all at once…” you said sarcastically and looked over at him and his big sad eyes. “Fine.”

Pulling your backpack around to your chest you pulled the chocolate bar from your bag and handed it over to him. He grabbed the candy and flipped it over in his hands.

“Shit. This is like ...European chocolate.” he said in awe, “This is the good shit. I haven’t seen stuff this nice in…”

“Months.” you said quietly.

“At least.” He handed the bar back to you, “God, what did he do? Ask you to marry him with that thing?”

You laughed as you put it back in the bag and then swung the bag back over your shoulders. “No. It was just a gift.”

“A gift? What for?” he asked, kicking a chunk of cement off the sidewalk.  

Baekhyun wasn’t going to let it go. You’d spent enough time with him to know that about him. Taking a quick look around the street to make sure there was no one nearby you said as quietly as you could manage without whispering. “It’s my birthday.”

“Your birthday?” he shouted, his voice echoing against the towering buildings that surrounded.

“Shhh.” you hissed.

“Why? It’s really your birthday?” He asked looking wounded, “You didn’t say anything.”

“It’s not a big deal, I don’t want anyone to know. So please...just shut up about it.”

“Hyunwoo knew. Did you tell him?”

You groaned, “Yes, but it had been by accident. He wasn’t supposed to find out.”

Still he looked upset, “I’m sorry I didn’t know. I would have gotten you something.”

You rolled your eyes subtly. “It’s fine, Baek. I swear it’s fine. I didn’t want anything, that’s why I didn’t tell anyone.”

“No, I should have known already. I should have remembered from before.”

“I’m honestly glad you didn’t.”

“I just wish there was time for me to find you a good gift. I feel like a real jerk.” He sighed, “And Hyunwoo got you chocolate? Damn.”

“I promise you, it’s okay.” You assured him once more as he trudged dramatically down the sidewalk beside you.

Suddenly he lit up with a smile, “What about a joke? Can I tell you a joke? Have you had a really good laugh today?”

You grinned. Secretly you’d become pretty fond of his daily jokes. “That sounds like the perfect gift.”

“Okay…” you watched as his face turned quite serious while he thought of the best joke. “Got it. What do you call bees that produce milk?”

“I don’t know. What do you call them?” You couldn’t help your half smile at the fact that he was already chuckling at his own joke.

“Boo-BEES.” He said with the biggest, cheesiest smile.

The laugh came even if the joke was terrible. A real shoulder shaking, teeth out laugh.

“Oh my god, I hate you so much.” You continued laughing and he just smiled back at you.

“Good. I love you too.” He said, the same way he always did when you told him you hated him. “Happy birthday, Y/n.”

You blushed, the tiniest of blushes. “Thanks, Baek.”

“You’re welcome.” He sighed happily. Pleased, you assumed, that his joke had gone over so well. After that the rest of the walk back was comfortably quiet.

Cordially was a club downtown, or it had been before the invasion. It had been made wildly popular by its exclusivity. It was the only by-invitation-only club you knew of. They would hand deliver invitations every week. White cardstock with red embossment that red simply, ‘You are cordially invited”. Then on the back it either said Friday or Saturday to indicate what day your invitation was for. For a monetary fee an invitee could bring up to ten plus ones. The add-ons were where they really made their money. That and of course the alcohol.

The building was on the corner of tenth and main, which was the most popular area for high end restaurants and bars. It was a two story building that had been built originally for use as a concert hall. It had housed operas, plays, and musicals. Then it had shut down for a couple of years and came back renovated into a burlesque club. After that it became a venue for punk shows. For awhile after that it was a gay bar that played venue to drag shows. And in its final form it was Cordially.

Immediately upon walking into the building occupants would find themselves in what appeared to be one big empty hall. On one side of the empty, dust covered hardwood floor there was a short hallway that led to two restrooms and an office. The big empty space had previously been the dance floor. Along the back wall was a bar and on the other side of the dance floor, opposite the restrooms, was a staircase. Upstairs was a horseshoe balcony. There were two more restrooms, a half bar, and private alcoves that had been reserved for vip invitees who’d paid major money for the privilege. None of that was why the Cordially was so important to you. It was important because, technically, its final form was home.

“Honey I’m home!” Baekhyun shouted as you walked in through the main entrance. “Oh, I forgot...I don’t have a Honey.”

“Is everyone else here?” you asked, ignoring his comment, as you looked outside one last time as the sun set on your birthday.

He looked over at the dusty bar top where five shot glasses had been placed. Three were upside down, two were still rightside up. “Yep. everyone is accounted for.”

With a sigh you let the door close while you grabbed the two by four leaning against the wall. You slide the wood through the door handles, and secured the locks at the top and the bottom of the door, and as a last step unhooked the blackout curtains Chanyeol had installed. The room was still lit with the orange glow of sun through windows that lined the second floor. Moving passed the bar as he whistled a tune, Baekhyun flipped over the remaining two shot glasses. He stopped at the door on the farside of the bar and held it open as he waited for you.

“Thanks.” you said quietly before moving passed him and making your way downstairs to the dark basement.

“Anything for the birthday girl…” he muttered to himself as he shut and secured the door.

“Uh...Baek.” you said stepping cautiously down into the unusually pitch black room. “I thought you said everyone was here?”

“The glasses were flipped. Is there no one down there?” he asked as you felt him step behind you.

“No, everything is off and I can‘t see shit.” you complained, searching your pockets for your flashlight.

“Huh...so weird.” Baekhyun said flicking on his flashlight and illuminating the wall switch. “Hit the lights.”

Flipping the switch up illuminated the bright, white christmas lights that had been strung all across the basement ceiling. The room had also been decorated with streamers and balloons. Chanyeol, Seulgi, and Irene all stood in the center of the room sporting paper party hats and cheerful smiles. They’d been popping poppers and shouting happy birthday, but you could barely register it through your haze of emotion.

Baekhyun had come around you and put a cheap, cheesy sash that said Birthday Princess over your head along with a tiara on top of it. Chanyeol lit candles that had been stuck into the top of a stack of just-add water pancakes that had rainbow sprinkles mixed in. After a moment of genuine shock you realized they’d been singing the birthday song to you and were now waiting for you to make your wish.

I wish I was this happy all the time. You thought to yourself before blowing out the candles.

“I-” you chuckled lightly, “I’m speechless.”

“Do you love it?” Irene asked hopefully, “I know you don’t like to make a big fuss about this kind of stuff. I worried it would be too much.”

“Oh, no! I love it! Thank you,” you said giving her a hug and then giving one to Seulgi too, “I don’t deserve all this.”

“That’s not true.” Chanyeol said wrapping you in a tight hug before guiding you over to the couch where a large pile of gifts were waiting. “You deserve more.”

“Do you like your cake?” Seulgi asked, sitting down on the cushion next to you. “Isn’t it cute?”

You smiled reassuringly, “I really love everything. I swear. It’s perfect.”

“I made it, the cake, but it was Baek’s idea.” When you looked over at him he was leaning against one of the surveillance desks. His cheeks were a little flush as he smiled over at you. “It was actually all his idea. He did most of the planning and the work, but we all helped out a little here and there.”

“You really thought I forgot, didn’t you?” he asked, looking so proud of himself. It was only then you realized he’d been the one that had remembered the last two years. Of course it had all been a show. Baekhyun didn’t forget anything. “Oh man, I really got you so good.”

“Open my present first! It’s the best one!” Irene said with a grin as she shoved a flat, wrapped box into your lap.

After you opened it you laughed immediately and then pulled the diamond chandelier necklace from the box. It had been a running joke between the two of you over the past few years. Whenever a gift giving holiday rolled around the two of you exchanged frivolous gifts. Grossly expensive things that were useless at the end of the world.

“I...It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to have some fantastic event to wear this to. Thank you, Irene.” you grinned.

“I got it at that jewelry store on third street if you want to return it. The receipts at the bottom of the box.” she smirked, “But you should know it was twenty thousand dollars, and I think it’s going to look fantastic on you. You should wear it every day because every day we’re alive is a fantastic event.”

Seulgi’s gift was next. She dragged over a tall box that was wrapped up to look like a gift bag, and that was clearly very heavy. When you pulled the tissue paper from the top of the box you revealed no less than thirty bottles of your favorite shampoo.

“So,” she started, “I have spent the last six months during scavenges looking for this shampoo. I took every bottle from every store in the city that had any. Cherish them, they are probably the last bottles we will ever lay eyes on.”

“I love you, Seul.” you said as you wiped your cheek of it’s tears.

“Love you too, bestie.” She said squeezing you tight, feeling quite pleased.

“Alright, that’s enough of the lame gifts.” Chanyeol said, reaching over Seulgi’s lap to hand you his gift. “I hope you’re ready for a real gift, Y/n. Something actually useful and still very fun.”

“Shampoo is useful!” Seulgi said, pinching his arm, “Dick.”

You laughed at the two of them as they bickered and unwrapped his gift. It really did take your breath away when you opened the package. “Yeol...oh my god.”

“You know I don’t know anything about knives.” he said as you pulled one of the shiny silver blades from its sheath. “Sehun helped me. He promised they were the best knives in the whole city. He said you’d really love them.”

“They’re so beautiful, Yeol. Really, I’m...I’m so happy.” you sniffled as you tucked the knives back in the box, “I can’t even tell you how much I’m looking forward to being able to use them.”

“And!” Irene said enthusiastically, “We’re all giving up our wash time tonight, so it’s all yours.”

Cordially was one of the buildings in the city that still offered running water. The problem was that it was such an old building that too much use throughout the day caused the ancient pipes to groan and when they did it was less than quiet. The five of you learned early on that there was a certain length of time that the water could be used after dark without attracting Lurkers with the noise. That time was divided and a bit of time was allotted to each of you for any night time activities like cleaning up after a long day or even using the toilet.

“No.” you argued, “That’s too much.”

“Yes!” Seulgi said, shooting you a terrifying glare, “Take extra care with the shampoo I worked so hard to get you. Rinse and repeat, for once.”

“It really is too much.” you groaned.

“Just let me know before you want to go, Y/n.” Baekhyun said, and you realized he’d been unusually quiet this whole time. “There’s just one more surprise.”

The group refused to listen to your complaints about wash time so you let it go. Instead you all indulged in your pancake cake and talked about your days. After a couple hours had passed you had to switch from the beautiful lights overhead to your regular LED lanterns so that Chanyeol could turn the computers and surveillance equipment back on for nightly security checks.

Together Chanyeol and you checked the reports from other cities and the surveillance outside of your building as well as the water storage. After your first yawn hit you mentioned wanting to clean up and get to bed soon at which point Baekhyun disappeared upstairs for sometime. You’d been ready to give up on him and crash for the night without even washing when he finally showed up. You grabbed one of your new shampoos, a towel and pajamas before following him quietly upstairs with your lantern in hand.

In the beginning you’d refused to leave the basement at night. The sight of the dark open dance hall creeped you out and you were always worried that there would be something hiding in the shadows. Ironically, it had been Baekhyun that had helped you out of your fear. You’d gotten into a pretty good system of making sure you’d done everything you needed to before the sun went down. It worked out really well for you at first.

That was until you, and everyone else, started to realize that things were changing. With every month that passed you realized that the invasion was having a lasting effect on weather patterns. Even now, after three years, they were unpredictable. Winter had come fast that first year. Sunlight was sparse, nights were seemingly endless. Some nights lasting literal days, as if the invaders were trying to force people out into the night to search for food and water, leaving them open and vulnerable for attack.  

It was one of those long winter nights that Baekhyun realized how uncomfortable you looked. He’d laughed at first when you told him you had to pee, but when he noticed the genuine fear on your face when he suggested you just go upstairs he stopped. You’d been so embarrassed, it felt silly that of all the things left to be afraid of, that the dark was what paralzyed you. Then he offered to take you whenever you needed and promised he wouldn’t tell anyone about your fear. That winter night lasted eleven days and every time you had to go to the bathroom or wanted to wash up, Baekhyun was there to take you. He’d check all the shadows and stand outside the bathroom until you were ready to go back down. Even if you shook him out of a dead sleep you  never heard a complaint.

It had been a long time since you’d needed someone to help you in the dark. On several occasions you’d even gone on scavenges at night. Like for the past four weeks when it rained all day everyday. There had been no sun but you also had no choice, your family needed food. So it seemed silly to you that he had offered to take you upstairs now. In front of the upstairs womens restroom Baekhyun stopped and held out his hand, “Lantern please.”

“I’m going to need it, Baek…” you whispered back knowing fully well the solar powered electricity that Chanyeol had set up didn’t run upstairs.

“Your lantern.” he requested once more, quietly, but sternly. With a deep sigh you handed him your lantern and he smiled brightly. “Thank you.”

He knelt down putting your lantern on the ground and picking up a container you hadn’t noticed before. Standing back up straight, he offered you the container.

“My gift to you.”

“You’ve already done enough.” you said taking the container, “Your stupid joke was more than enough for me.”

“Then this will just be the cherry on top.”  he grinned, “Open it.”

You pulled open the lid of the container to find actual cherries. Cherries, strawberries, and blueberries to be exact. “How? I thought we were out of fresh food until the Farm trip?”

“I’ve been stockpiling my portions for you.”

“No, absolutely not. I can‘t accept this, Baekhyun.” you said shoving the container back towards him.

“You have to. I won’t eat it. I’ll let it all go to waste.” he shook his head defiantly, and you knew he was telling the truth. “It’s yours now.”

“Here,” Pulling open the lid once more you searched for the biggest piece of fruit you saw. You held the strawberry up to his lips. “Just eat one. I won’t be the reason your dumbass gets scurvy.”

He smiled happily, “Okay.”

You moved the fruit closer to his mouth and watched him wrap his lips gently around the fruit, you gulped at the sight but he didn’t seem to notice. “Do I get my lantern now?”

He shook his head as he chewed and swallowed down the berry, “Just go in, you won’t need it. I’ll wait out here on guard, You can have your lantern after.”

You looked at him suspiciously before turning to the door. With your fruit and your shampoo in hand you pushed the door open. You inhaled sharply at the sight. The entire makeshift shower room had been covered in candles and wildflowers. It was the most beautiful display you could ever remember seeing in your life.

“Baekhyun…” you whispered his name, not really knowing what else to say.

When you turned back to him he was smiling from ear to ear and he asked very hopefully, “Better than chocolate?”

You may have rolled your eyes but your smile and bright glow said everything he needed to hear, “I hate you.”

“Ah,” he blushed, “I love you too.”

Have You Heard?

Warnings: mentions of suicide 

A picture frame sits on a shelf above a bed. The photo itself was small, a simple 4x6 of three kids smiling and holding up medals on a dance floor full of flowers. The glass was cracked so much it rivaled a spider web. The rest of the shelf was dedicated to holding many medals and ribbons, ranging from 1st place to 5th. The shelf was covered in a thin layer of dust, showing evidence of not being cleaned recently.

The bedroom held stagnant air. Everything was untouched while the family was in mourning. No one had the energy to enter it. After all, the room belonged to someone who was thought to be so full of life. 

The door opens with a creak. One of the kids from the photograph enter, though much older now, with a box under her arm. She looks around and decides to start with the shelf. Placing each trophy and medal into the box with enough care to not break it, but enough force to reflect how much anger bubbles under her skin. 

Reaching for the photograph, the young woman stops. Removing the picture from the frame to look at it. She sneers, mainly at herself, for being so blind. Memories of the day begin to resurface.

~

Rhythmic gymnastics is not the first sport Nova’s parents would have thought she would take an interest in, but here they are, sitting in the audience watching their child warm up for her first competition. Well, to call it a competition would be an overstatement, but to each of the seven year olds, it was the best way to be introduced to the competition scene. 

Nova follows her coach in the stretching exercises. She’s excited and ready to go out on the dance floor for her number. She was eighth on the list, the next to go after Raine but the one to go before Kym. 

After the stretches were complete, coach Cori announced that it was time for the first girl to go up. The competition would start with level 1; level 2 would go after a brief intermission where some level 10s would perform with the different elements that those in level 3 and beyond begin learning. 

Watching the other gymnasts from the sidelines gives Nova jitters, so instead, she chooses to practice her routine until her name gets called. Fifteen minutes later, she was on the dance floor, posing and listening for the telltale beep of the music starting. The seven-year-old dances to the best of her ability despite knowing that she made some mistakes along the way. Two hours later, all of the attending girls stand to receive their awards. To Nova’s surprise, she wins third place. Her friends Kym and Raine win first and second place, respectively. 

“Girls!” Raine’s mother calls, holding up a camera, “hold up those ribbons!” 

The three girls stand together with Raine in the center, holding up her blue first place ribbon with both hands, Kym to the right with her left arm around Raine’s shoulders, and the red second place ribbon in her left hand. Nova mirrors Kym but with a white third place ribbon. 

The picture was printed out and given to all those involved a week later at one of the practice sessions. That picture became the foundation of their friendship.

Some years later Nova, found herself with a choice she had never considered. Head Coach Anne pulled her and Raine off to the side during practice to inform the two that they had been selected to audition for the competitive team. It was a rare opportunity since there were only five members on the team. 

While ecstatic, Nova didn’t feel like she was ready to commit to being on the team. Sure, she had practice almost every day after school, but she was planning to stop after she graduated high school in eight months. Nova told Raine as such the next day at lunch.

“I still think you should do the audition,” Raine answered, scratching at her left wrist. A habit she picked up during middle school.

Nova let out a groan, “I thought you would say that. But consider, Anne said only one girl is going to be chosen since only Olivia is retiring. The less competition you have, the better. It’s been your dream to join the team for a while, no?”

“And? It’ll be one last competition between us if either of us gets chosen. It’s not like team members have time to participate in solo competitions.”

“I do hope you know how much I hate it when you’re like this?” Nova asked sarcastically, stabbing a fry into ketchup.

Raine let out a gasp of false hurt, placing one hand on her chest and the back of the other on her forehead, “You wound me, Nova. And here I thought you were my best friend.” 

Nova responded by throwing a different fry at her, it hit her on the nose, and the two burst out laughing. The bell rung to signalize the end of lunch, and the two parted for their next classes. The rest of the day, the gymnast mulled over the proposal. By the time she sat in her car to drive to practice after school, she had decided to take Raine’s advice and think of it as one last competition between the two. If she qualifies for the spot, she will simply inform the coaches that she cannot join due to school, and the runner up would end up joining the team. 

At practice, Nova, Raine, and three other girls from levels 8 to 10 were pulled into the gym’s furthest corner to begin learning the audition pieces. While Nova had no idea how other gyms selected members, their gym had all of the candidates perform multiple pieces featuring some of the most challenging combinations of elements as a team. There would be one dance featuring hoop and ribbon, one with rope and ball, and the final would just be all clubs. 

“I wonder if we’re each going to have to use our own balls for the final one,” Ira, a level 9, asked as the five girls were warming up.

“Probably not,” Ellyn, a level 8, replied “we will probably use one of the team balls since each of ours have a different weight. Same for the hoops and clubs.”

“Maybe not hoops,” Raine interjected, “we’re all about the same height, so the size and weight shouldn’t be too different. But I agree about the balls and clubs.” 

“I personally hope the ribbon-hoop routine won’t be difficult. Those things get tangled easily,” Masha, a level 10, confessed while changing splits positions. Nova envied her honesty.

“Well, to quote Coach Cori, that’s why we practice, no? Besides, the actual audition is in a month, and we’ll have time to get it done.” Nova informed, getting a response from the rest of the group as either a nod or a cringe. 

After stretching and warming up with all of the elements, Coach Eileen began teaching the five gymnasts their first routine. They would be starting with the ball and rope since the girls need to adjust to working as a team instead of solo performances. It was not an easy or a fast adaptation to the sudden teamwork. Coach did not hold back on her criticisms,

“Ellyn, I know that ball is your most confident element, but remember to look at the ball when catching it from Nova. And remember what your feet need to do. I thought we were past sickling your feet and not pointing your toes. Nova, when going through formation B, it’s a left split jump, not right. In the final sequence, you’re supposed to catch the ball with your knees, not your thighs. Ira, you throw the balls with your heels, not your ankles. Think of doing a walkover without following through. Raine, you’re off tempo. Pick up the speed. The rope will still be there.  Masha, let the ball bounce off your back when rolling.”

The next day, Eileen didn’t hold back on the commentary for the hoop and ribbon routine.

“The teamwork is getting better. Nova, when you throw the ribbon in the starting sequence, make sure you aim for Ellyn’s hoop. You miss because you’re used to catching the tail end, which is not the point here. Masha, when you and Nova spin the hoops around your necks, keep the right leg straight. You lose your split. Ira, when you catch the hoop with your foot, make sure you adjust your arms. You look off balance. Raine, the fuete is in front of you, not on a diagonal. You have to keep the ribbon behind your leg as you spin. Ellyn, when you throw the ribbon behind you, keep your arm straight. Because you keep bending it, Ira can’t catch it in time for the next set.”

The process was repeated for the club dance as well.

“Raine, you had to spin two clubs in one hand in your previous routine, think that but in both hands this time. Ira, when you hit the clubs against the floor during the vertical splits, keep it in tempo with the music. Masha, you keep overestimating the distance Nova is throwing the club. That’s why the club keeps dropping. Don’t be afraid to move closer if you need to. Ellyn, look forward during the lift. You have the advantage of not holding anything. Nova, leaps need to be higher. All of them.” 

When the audition came, the five improved massively in coordination as a team and individual progress due to the new situation. Everyone had adjusted to using the group elements as well. The performances would follow the order in which the girls learned the dances. That fact helped Nova calm down. 

The audition went by smoothly. A few times, someone dropped an element, but the head coach reminded them that they were looking for someone to qualify for the actual team rather and won’t be judged the same way a team would be during a real competition. The girls were informed that they would receive the results after the week of winter break. 

And informed they were. At the end of the week long break, Nova received a text that she qualifies for the team, and if there have been any sudden changes where she cannot join, then to contact Ira, who was the follow up. As soon as Nova finished reading the congratulatory text, her phone was dialing up Raine. Raine didn’t pick up the call but sent a text informing that she was okay but not in the mood to talk to anyone. The unexplainable pit in Nova’s stomach screamed to try and call again. Instead, she sent over a text saying that she is always free to listen should Raine need anything. 

When Nova awoke the next morning, it was uncharacteristically early, and there was a faint buzzing sound somewhere to her right. Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, it read four in the morning. That was when Nova realized that the faint buzzing was her phone with Kym’s name flashing.

“Hello?” Nova answered, voice scratchy from sleep. 

“Have you heard?” Kym asked, voice wet and wavering.

“Heard what?” Nova questioned, rubbing her eyes and suppressing a yawn.

“Raine’s gone,” Kym replied, voice cracking, “sleep meds apparently,” she managed to choke out before letting out a sob. Nova felt her own eyes tear up, and a feeling of guilt swell inside her chest. The two friends stayed on the call for the next couple of hours, comforting each other. 

Raine’s funeral was held a couple of days later. Along with Kym and Nova, some people from the gym and school were in attendance. It was also there that Kym urged Nova to join the team, if not for herself, but to honor Raine’s memory and ambition. Nova simply nodded to get her friend off her back, though later that night, she internally agreed with Kym. Raine’s memory should be preserved.

The team was kind and patient when she messed up on the routine they were learning. The coaches understood when she had to miss practice for a few days. Her parents were the first to agree that they should be the ones to drive her to the competition that also happened to fall on Raine’s birthday two months later. 

Unexpectedly, the team won 3rd place in the competition. Especially with the number of times, Nova felt off tempo, though the coaches told her otherwise. After the awards ceremony ended, Nova’s parents dropped her off to meet with Kym so the two can sort through Raine’s gymnastics stuff. 

~

“You’re going to crumple the photo,” Kym notes, jarring Nova out of her thoughts. Sighing, Nova puts the photograph off to the side and reaches for one of the medals on the shelf. It was the one from nationals a couple of years ago, where Raine earned second place. 

“Do you want this one?” She asked Kym. Kym shook her head, stating that she didn’t have space to house any medals. 

A slip of paper caught Nova’s attention. It was behind a certificate from one of Raine’s first competitions. Carefully removing the paper revealed it to be an envelope, one holding three letters: one for Nova, one for Kym, and one for Raine’s parents. With shaking hands, Nova opened her letter and read the first line.

Nova, 

If you’re reading this, I’m sorry…

Years and Years

A Royai fanfic Rating: M (sexual content) Genre: Romance Word Count: 2,048

A/N: Hello everyone I miss writing and I miss Royai! And I was feeling both soft and very spicy so this is what came out of it. Y’all know how much I love taking them back to the Hawkeye manor.

“For starters, the last time I saw you here, I had you burn my back. And before that, I was both an orphan and my father’s successor to you. I don’t know how I should see you, Roy Mustang; you’re a different person every time you’re here, even now.”

There is a four-hour drive from Central to the Hawkeye manor at the outskirts of East City. What was once a dirt road that barely saw visitors to the old house welcomes Riza one morning, and it is only then that the finality of her visit sinks in for the first time. A young family had bought the house three months ago, with the promise that they would manage and spend for the renovations themselves. Her only purpose is to collect some old things of hers and her father’s, and maybe get a bit of cleaning done as courtesy to the family.

           Roy had decided to come along without question, or even any kind of discussion. She had simply mentioned the purchase in passing one day, and then her planned visit, and under a still-dark sky that morning, he showed up outside her apartment with his car. It made perfect sense, Riza reasoned. He might have left some of his own things during his time as her father’s student, and he would have more use than she would for whatever research materials her father had left behind. Above all, it’s a huge house—she needs the company and help.

          “We’re here, sir.”

          He is already awake, but he has difficulty opening his eyes. Riza decides not to wait for him, and she steps out just to look at the old house. She breathes as slowly as she takes it all in. There is a heaviness about it, like a weary weight on tired shoulders. Since her departure for the military, her presence has been replaced by that of overgrown vines and weeds. Despite all this, it hasn’t changed much; the structure still seems solid and functional. Nothing that a fresh coat of paint, new wood trimmings, and landscaping couldn’t fix.

          Roy joins her in gazing up at the house. “So this is it, then. Shall we get to work?”

          “A ten-minute break won’t hurt.”

          “No, no, I’m in perfect shape.” Roy swings and stretches his arms. “That nap for half of the trip helped a lot.”

          “I couldn’t let you drive all the way, though, could I? You’ve already done me a huge favor by coming along.”

          Riza finally takes her eyes off the house, and as she turns, she’s greeted by a smile that she wallows in greedily, and then guiltily. The warmth that rises in her cheeks is damning in the cool early morning breeze. Thankfully, Roy grants her another favor by not remarking on it. “Come on.”

          Every part of the house seems to creak as they enter—the fence, the door, the floorboards. The interiors aren’t as bad as Riza expected. Other than a few mold spots on the upholstery and a layer of dust on the remaining furniture, everything seems to be intact and functional. Of course, it isn’t as if she had left the house entirely untouched once she entered the military. She has dropped by now and again just to make sure it hadn’t fallen to ruin, and the young family has seen it for themselves—there are spots where the dust has been disturbed on the hardwood floors.

          “So, where should we start?”

          “Hmm.” Riza pauses for a moment. “There’s not a lot down here. I’ll go through the living room and the kitchen—you can start with my father’s study.”

          Roy clicks his tongue. “All right.”

          Clearing the ground floor is an easy half-hour task, as there are very few things on display that could be considered sentimental. Riza takes the only three pictures in the living room—the last Hawkeye family photo, a solo portrait of her mother, and herself as a baby with her mother—then she proceeds to the kitchen, which is far more promising. She recovers some brass pots and pans, an heirloom dining set with matching silverware, and wooden cooking utensils. Riza gathers these into a box and places them in the trunk of Roy’s car, and then she heads upstairs to check on his progress in the study.

          She pokes her head through the door. “How are you doing, Colonel?”

          He is crouching by the bottom of a crowded bookshelf at the back of the room, carefully absorbing each title. This is the first thing that takes Riza back to a vivid memory of her childhood, when a much younger Roy first became acquainted with Berthold Hawkeye. Shirt half-tucked, hair standing at the back—she can see the boy there almost as clearly as the man.

          “Well, the libraries in Central would cough up a fortune for a collection like this, and this shelf is all just general alchemy titles,” says Roy as he straightens up. He has a tattered book in hand that Riza didn’t notice right away. “You have stuff on philosophy over there, and biology in two full shelves there—that’s not yet getting into physics and chemistry, which is of course a lot more extensive since your father studied flame alchemy, and…”

          He trails off at the sight of Riza, who has become a picture of amusement—leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised, and a smirk lifting one corner of her lips. Roy clears his throat. “Anyway, I’ll try to finish this quickly.”

          “Take your time, we have a long day ahead of us.”

          Riza’s gaze is then drawn to a door at the end of the hallway. The sight of it alone is enough to fill her with nostalgia, enough to know that she needs to take precisely twelve steps to reach it. She opens the door, and she is all that has changed about the room.

          There are a few old books on her dresser and on a shelf that also holds a few memories of schoolgirl days—certificates from school and notebooks filled with both learnings and idle doodles, a few photos here and there, but nothing too personal—they come from official portraits like those from her graduation days, and class photos at assemblies. There’s an old porcelain lamp and her mother’s hairbrush on her nightstand. In her bedframe is a mattress long stripped bare, spotted with mold.

          She enters the room as if it were a sleeping beast she doesn’t want to wake. Only her reflection in a tall mirror startles her, but it might have something to do with the unfamiliarity of her freshly cut hair, which is once again as short as it was in her younger years. In contrast, the way she sinks as she sits at the end of her mattress is still a very familiar feeling. Riza is content to stare at the dusty curtains ahead of her for a while, until she is interrupted by the approach of Roy’s heavy footsteps.

          “So,” he says, slowly entering and examining the room, “this is the bedroom of young Miss Hawkeye.”

          She simpers as she turns to watch him. “You know, it’s not appropriate for strange adult men to enter young girls’ bedrooms like that.”

          “No!” Roy clutches his chest in mock pain. “I can’t believe you still consider me a stranger after all these years.”

          “Well, I’m open to suggestions. What should I consider you?”

          “It’s simple, really.” He takes a few careful steps to the side of Riza’s bed, then hesitates for only a few seconds before sitting in a spot perpendicular to hers. The mattress groans as it accommodates his weight. “When you’ve known someone for nearly all your life, you’ll eventually realize how you truly see them. It could go one way or the other.” A pause. “I realized that about you long ago, Riza.”

          Riza ignores the swooping in her chest. She laughs wistfully, her eyes cast downwards.

          “Oh, I don’t know. For starters, the last time I saw you here, I had you burn my back. And before that, I was both an orphan and my father’s successor to you. I don’t know how I should see you, Roy Mustang; you’re a different person every time you’re here, even now.”

          “Am I really just one of those things to you?”

          She looks up to find a knowing and hopeful expression on his face. He doesn’t need to ask; Riza knows exactly what he means by asking the question that he did. But surely he knows that she needs him to take the lead—that she has kept far too many hard truths to herself for honesty to be easy?

          Roy reaches for her hair without warning, raising goosebumps as his hand brushes against her nape. She is made aware again of how short her hair is now, cursing how exposed it leaves her feeling. Riza swallows hard, visibly. Somehow, it’s just the push that her nerves needed.

          “You’re not,” she whispers. “You haven’t been for a long time.”

          Suddenly, they’re face to face within an inch of each other. Riza leans in to close the gap, with their foreheads touching first, and then their noses. And then, only hesitation hangs between their lips. The moment stretches out with Roy taking a last lingering look at her features up close. Still, it’s he who kisses first, soft and cautious.

          There are a million lines that they have crossed to find themselves here, and the kiss does not answer when or how those lines were crossed. Ishval, the move to Central, the Promised Day—there's no point in figuring it out now. It's only one of many things that they have never needed to discuss, but somehow already knew. Still, even as Riza kisses him back, Roy pulls away with a deep breath. “Is this okay?”

          She responds by kissing him again and nodding eagerly—then her hands reach for him, one tugging at his button-down and the other taking his hand up the split in her skirt. Roy takes his cue; he guides her back down to the bed and her legs along the length of it. He is careful with his weight as he settles on top of her. All the while, their kisses become more fervent, greedier, until every little movement they make is lost in a flurry of reflex actions that are unrehearsed, but familiar from years of being side by side.

          When he finally enters her, Riza freezes for a brief moment as she is seized by the most tantalizing waves. She helps him find his pace by moving against him as well. Slow, then a little faster, then slow again—there is a different kind of pleasure at each pace, as well as some pain to work around. They find more places to kiss each other and place their hands, and at the sound of each other's moans and shuddering breaths, she becomes wetter and he throbs in anticipation.

          They settle on a certain tempo as they begin their final climax. Riza can no longer tell where it aches or stings, but the impending pleasure takes her mind off it.

          “Please, Roy—please—ahh—”

          Roy is moaning her name as she comes, and then again, until the waves stop and leave her spent. He thrusts a final time and then finally pulls out, deflating on top of Riza. For a minute, they are nothing but sweaty bodies, panting, and a plesant residual buzz. The wetness spreads onto the mattress. She holds him close, fingers in his hair.

          He settles into the spot next to her once he recovers. Roy kisses her forehead, and then her shoulder, and then her hand—and then he doesn't let it go. She inches into him until she cannot get any closer, and they are face to face again. Riza is the first to smile. He laughs, and it's the first new thing she has seen about him in a while. The second is his voice as he asks, “For how long?”

          She touches his face with her free hand. “Years.”

          Roy closes his eyes solemnly and nods once against the mattress.

          “Years.”

          He lets go of her hand then, pulling her close instead. There will be more questions about where this leaves them, Riza is sure—many of them to be dealt with once they return to their daily working lives at Central. But while they are there, she decides that this is all that matters: she is falling asleep in her old house for the last time, and in Roy’s arms for the first.

Shadow and Bone (The Grisha Trilogy, #1) | Book Review

by Leigh Bardugo

The Shadow Fold, a swathe of impenetrable darkness, crawling with monsters that feast on human flesh, is slowly destroying the once-great nation of Ravka. Alina, a pale, lonely orphan, discovers a unique power that thrusts her into the lavish world of the kingdom's magical elite - the Grisha. Could she be the key to unravelling the dark fabric of the Shadow Fold and setting Ravka free? The Darkling, a creature of seductive charm and terrifying power, leader of the Grisha. If Alina is to fulfil her destiny, she must discover how to unlock her gift and face up to her dangerous attraction to him. But what of Mal, Alina's childhood best friend? As Alina contemplates her dazzling new future, why can't she ever quite forget him?

Glorious. Epic. Irresistible. Romance.

Source: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18001355-shadow-and-bone

Read to Prep for the TV Show but Am Now a Fan of the World

For a series that had been sitting on my shelf for years, untouched and collecting layers upon layers of dust, the only driving point to even begin this trilogy was (1) the upcoming TV show and (2) the subsequent books in the same world. Based on what I had heard over the years, I honestly had no high expectations for The Grisha Trilogy. However, having no high expectations led to my eventual enjoyment for Shadow and Bone.

Shadow and Bone is not like your typical fantasy novel. As far as I can tell, there isn’t much “light” in this world. Everywhere is filled with enemies, bad people or simply bad thoughts or motives. And the best part about it? Bardugo does not beat around the bush and try to hide it. Right smacked in the first chapter, we already get a good look of how malicious people can be, and that’s not even considering the Grisha world itself.

I do believe I am in love with the world Bardugo had created. It’s completely original and out of my own imaginations. Additionally, the Fold is one of my favourite part in this Grisha world. For the first book of the trilogy, the world building is pretty acceptable although I really could do with more information.

Anyhow, I knew not to expect much character building considering the length of the book but I am looking forward to it in the next book. I know this bit will play a huge role in how I rate the book at the end. For now, I will fully accept the introduction of several characters I know will appear again. I wonder, would I enjoy Shadow and Bone more if Alina was not the narrative of the story. Reading the book from her view felt rather plain and mediocre, at least for now.

In a nutshell, this book was something entirely new to me. And I am hella down to get into the next few books. Although, I still have my reservations from the feedback I’ve heard about the other books in The Grisha Trilogy. Can I even finish the rest of the books before the show gets released?

Rating: ★★★★☆

Fortuna Mine - A Dungeon World Adventure (for babies)

Hi gang! I’ve recently started GMing for some friends of mine, and we had our first session yesterday! I wanted it to be extra special so I decided to give map-making a try! So here it is, tinkered and tightened up so you too can GM your level one players into their untimely deaths. 

Feel free to give your thoughts and feelings, especially critiques! I’m learning after all! Click For Full Size & Enjoy!

• Commission Me | Rebubble | Creative Commons DeviantArt | Twitter  •

Wenos Baresea, owner of the Green Acres Inn in Anstead, is seeking assistance from adventurers traveling by. Upon inquiry, he explains that Fortuna Mine located outside of Anstead was the mine that put Anstead on the map. It's been in his family for generations, but since his father opted to buy the Inn decades ago, the mine has been abandoned. Due to the neighbouring city's recent economic expansion, iron has become incredibly profitable however.

Wenos wants the adventurers to make sure the mine is still operable and safe enough to begin mining in again- he’d do it himself, but he’s got an inn to run. He is willing to pay 50 coins per adventurer as well as free room and board for the time they currently spend in Anstead (for a reasonable amount of time, of course.)

The Mine: Fortuna Mine does look rather ravaged by time. Nature has reclaimed most of the ground around it, though the path from Anstead is still visible and accessible. An old barrel sits outside the opening with an ancient lantern. The entrance however is boarded up.

Upon inspection, the boards seem to be new. Curiously enough, the mine has been boarded up from the inside.

Entryway: You enter the mine, immediately coughing with the explosion of dust that comes from your prior destruction of the boards blocking your entry in. Sunlight barely breaches into the entrance, showing a dark and shadowy passage ahead. What you can see is a myriad of old tools littering the ground, as well as some crates and barrels. Also a lot of dust and cobwebs. Anything else needs some scrutiny, or walking and a light source.

Crates & barrels hold more tools, though some look like they’ve been moved.

You hit a wall, but of the rock kind. Bands of red and veins of light grey run through the dark stone that makes up the wall. A few pickaxes and iron ore lay on the ground. To your left and to your right are passageways.

To your left you see some large stones laying among the path, though the path is traversable. To your right, you see a soft orange glow at the end of the path.

Right Path: There's nothing to avoid in this path other than some loose iron ore. When you approach the glow, you realize you've entered a room. It seems to have been a social area of some sort. The glow emanates from a cauldron which bubbles with something that looks and smells disgusting. A large shelf sits along the south wall, filled with pots, pans, odds and ends. A table with four chairs sits at the middle of the room. 

There's tracks amongst the heavy layer of dust, but as far as you can tell, no one or nothing they originate from.

Enemies: 1 bandit for 2-3 players, 2 bandits for 4-5 players; the bandit(s) remain hidden and unwilling to engage with the adventurers unless the players mess with the cauldron, the shelf, or try to exit into the main room. 

Bandit(s) - 3 HP, 1 armor; Dirk (1d6), close (more info here)

Left Path: You skirt your way around some boulders before coming to a room. It looks like a minor cave in happened here, with several large rocks filling most of the room. While most of the stones are various hues of grey, one takes on an almost sickly light green color.

When a player talks at a normal tone, makes a loud sound, or walks by the green “rock”, it teeters. Touching it will cause cracking, and a baby spider will emerge not long after.

Upon Spouting Lore or Discerning realities, players will recall that giant spiders lay eggs about the size of boulders; this egg is the newest thing in this room of the mine. Strangely enough, the egg doesn’t belong to a cave spider.

Enemies: 1 Baby Giant Spider, from the singular egg; since it’s a baby, it’s only instinct is to eat.

Baby Giant Spider - group, small; 6 HP, 1 armor; Mandibles (1d8), close

Instinct: to devour

Motives: Eviscerate

Main Room: You enter what seems to be the main part of the mine. The walls are banded with iron, and occasionally glimmers of untouched gems or crystals. Unfortunately, that's the nicest thing in this room. Upturned furniture is everywhere, as well as scattered bones. All of these are picked clean and come from a large variety of species, though primarily humanoid. There’s discard heaps of clothes among them, similar to the bandits’ you met before.

A horse-sized spider sits at the far end of the room, nestled inbetween two clusters of spider eggs. These eggs are webbed to the wall and ground. Congrats kids, it's a nest of spiders! The spider is sleeping with two newly hatched baby spiders nestled in its freakishly long spider arms.

Enemies: 1 Adult Giant Spider and 2 Baby Giant Spiders; loud noise and predictably violence will awake them.

Adult Giant Spider - group, large; 10 HP, 1 armor; Mandibles (1d8), close

Special Quality: Webbing - Even big spiders have got to eat, especially their numerous babies. 

Instinct: to devour

Motives: Eviscerate; protect its young

Treasure: A satchel can be found tucked behind where the spiders were resting.

200 Coins

Ceramic elephant figuring, detailed with gold  - 900 coins, 0 weight

Sophia Holmes and the Blind Banker

Chapter Two

"We need to take photos," dad explains as we walk away. "The average human brain only remembers 62% of visual matters - and even I can only remember around 96% - so we need to collect the evidence now before it's removed."

I nod in agreement and pass dad the card I swiped from Sebastian in the reception. He slides it through the scanner and the door clicks open.

"Sophie, search the room for anything that looks out of the ordinary," he orders, pulling out his phone as he approaches the wall.

"Got it, but what do you mean by 'out of the ordinary'?"

"Something that looks out of place in an office which has been untouched for several months," dad says as he takes the first photo. "Start in the corner, by the window."

Nodding, I stride over to the far corner and take my pocket magnifying glass out. A thin layer of dust lies untouched in the corner but, as I move closer to the windows, the dust disappears as if someone or something has stepped on it.

"Over here!" I call.

Dad pockets his phone and walks over. "What is it?"

"The artist came through those doors. I believe they lead onto a balcony of sorts."

Dad looks up and out of the window, taking in the stunning view of London and the Swiss Re Tower that stands before us. Frowning, he walks over and pulls up to blind to reveal the door that I mentioned lead onto a balcony, and he steps outside.

He gazes around at the spectacular view without taking in any of the beauty, before he looks down. Just the sight of him leaning over the edge is enough to make me feel dizzy. He looks along the balcony before biting his lip thoughtfully and coming back through.

"You're right, the graffitist certainly entered through that door, but he would have had to climb up the building to get up here."

I nod, thoughtfully. "So what's our next plan?"

"We need to see who the message was aimed at," he says thoughtfully. "See the way the desks are arranged?" He points through the interior window to the workers on the trading floor. I nod, silently. "The pillars mean that only a handful of people can look into this office, and that can tell us a lot. Our next job is to find the spots that workers can see the graffiti, from that, we will be able to deduce who it was for."

I nod in agreement, and we exit the office. On a silent agreement, I take one half of the trading floor and dad takes the other, and we immediately begin ducking and weaving between the pillars. I keep my eyes fixed on the office as I move through each desk, but all of the angles seem slightly off. I can see most of the room, but the graffiti is in my blind spot.

Moving across to the other offices on the side of the main trading floor - the rooms for the Japanese, Hungarian, Russian and French employees - I do the same, but the view from these rooms completely cuts my line of vision off from Sanderson's office.

Dad smiles at me as he enters the room, holding a slip of paper naming a man called Edward Van Coon.

"Found him?" I ask, rhetorically. He nods and we file out of the office. Some of the traders send us some dirty looks for disturbing their work, whilst others smile in amusement after our little dance around the room.

Soon after, we meet John at the reception and I pull out my phone to look up the address of our next lead.

"Two trips around the world this month," he says as we travel down the escalator. "You didn't ask his secretary; you said that just to irritate him." Dad gives him a small smile but doesn't respond. "How did you know?"

"Did you see his watch?" dad asks.

"His watch?" John repeats, looking puzzled.

"The time was right but the date was wrong. Said two days ago. Crossed the dateline twice but he didn't alter it."

"Within a month?" John says. "How'd you get that part?"

"New Breitling." Dad smiles as he names the make of the watch. From memory, it was a 'Breitling Chronometre Crosswind'. "Only came out this February."

"Okay. So d'you think we should sniff around here for a bit longer?"

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks."

"Hmm?" John says, waiting for dad to explain.

"That graffiti was a message for someone at the bank working on the trading floors. We find the intended recipient and ..." He trails off deliberately to allow John to think for himself, like he's done to me many times.

" ... they'll lead us to the person who sent it," John finishes, hesitantly.

"Obvious," dad mutters.

"Well, there's three hundred people up there. Who was it meant for?"

"Pillars," dad says, and John looks lost.

"What?"

"Pillars and the screens," dad explains. "Very few places you can see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And of course the message was left at eleven thirty-four last night. That tells us a lot."

Of course! People come and go in that back at different times, according to the time zone of that country. Someone would have come in around midnight, and they would be the one it was aimed for.

"Does it?" John says, completely clueless as usual.

"Traders come to work at all hours," dad explains as we walk through the revolving glass doors and onto the street outside. "Some trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight," he says as he holds the name card up to show John. "Not many Van Coons in the phonebook." A taxi comes around the corner, and he lifts up his arm to hail it. "Taxi!"

"Docklands, please," I say to the cabbie, as I find the address and ensuring I take a good look at him before I get in, memorising his appearance after our last fiasco.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi pulls up to a luxury block of flats and I lead them up to the door.

Dad steps forward and presses the door buzzer underneath the label 'Van Coon'. Releasing it, he steps back and looks into the security camera above all the buzzers. There's no reply for several seconds, so he steps forward and presses it again. There's no response.

"So what do we do now? Sit here and wait for him to come back?"

"It'll take too long," I tell him as dad looks at the number of buzzers on the wall. "He could be inside already, or gone into hiding since getting the message."

John nods as dad steps back, looking at us triumphantly. "Just moved in," he smiles.

"What?"

"The floor above," he explains. "New label." Dad points to another buzzer which says 'Wintle'. Going by the layout of the flats, that would put the position of their flat at being just above Van Coons. The balcony's get bigger as they come lower, which would mean we could get down into the apartment via the balcony.

"They wouldn't have seen Van Coon then yet, would they?" I question, looking at the handwritten label.

"Let's hope not."

"How do you know they've just moved in?" John challenges. "Could have just replaced it."

I scoff as dad steps forward to press that buzzer and John gives me a hurt look. "No-one ever does that," I tell him.

"Hello?" the supposed Ms Wintle says over the intercom.

Dad turns to the security camera and puts on his fake innocent voice, as I turn on my role, sighing and looking at my nails.

"Hi! Um, I live in the flat just below you. I-I don't think we've met," he says as he grins flirtingly into the camera.

"No, well, uh, I've just moved in," Ms Wintle replies. Dad turns around to throw a brief 'told you so' glance at John before he turns back to the camera.

"Actually, I've just locked my keys in my flat," dad says, grimacing and biting his lip plaintively.

"D'you want me to buzz you in?"

"Yeah. And can I use your balcony?"

"What?" Ms Wintle says, sounding surprised. "Er yeah, come on up."

She buzzes us in, and we climb the stairs up onto Van Coon's floor.

"I'll wait here, let me in, yeah, Sherlock," John says, stopping outside the banker's door.

"Yeah, of course," dad agrees half-heartedly, although I know he won't.

Once we've reached the next floor, dad leads me down the corridor to Wintle's front door. He knocks hesitantly and puts his false smile back on.

"Oh hi," dad says, smiling nervously.

Ms Wintle, a young woman in her thirties who has an obsession with collecting teapots and curtains, welcomes us in and shows us to the balcony.

"Just shout if you need me," she calls, as she disappears into one of the rooms.

Dad walks out onto the balcony, and I follow behind. I look over the rail and see the ground ten floors below. I step back, feeling dizzy again, and as dad climbs over the side and drops out of sight my heart lurches.

"Sherlock?" I call, anxiously.

"I'm alright," he shouts upwards. "Swing your legs over and hang down as far as you can. I'll catch you."

I do as he says, despite my heart beating hard against my chest. I drop down and stumble towards the rail in front of me, but dad catches me before I can tumble over.

"You okay?" he asks, steadying me before I nod and he swings the balcony door open. It's a good job it is open; I can just imagine how much fun Lestrade and the police would have had if we were locked out here.

The apartment is very elegantly decorated and, at a single glance, you can tell it belongs to a wealthy bachelor: the plush, white leather furniture and glossy black surfaces and minimal clutter just screams wealth and nothing better to spend it on. The arrangement of the phone and paper beside it leads me to believe he's left-handed. I examine everything I see for any signs that would link him personally to the graffitist, but I see none.

I'm aware of dad walking into the kitchen and pulling open a fridge full of champagne. I frown at the oddity and stand up, just as the door buzzes.

"Sherlock," John calls from outside. Dad ignores him and moves into the hall. "Sherlock, are you okay?" John repeats to no success.

I follow dad into the hallway and glance into a small bathroom which has just a few items on the shelf, including an expensive bottle of fragranced soap. It seems out of place with the rest of the bachelor-pad, almost as if it was bought for a girlfriend although there is no other sign of a woman living here.

I close the door behind me and follow dad to a larger door which seems to be locked.

"Yeah, any time you feel like letting me in," John says again, sarcastically. He'll only get in our way and possibly even disrupt the evidence so I don't bother letting him in.

Dad turns side-on and shoulder-barges the door so that it bursts open at first contact. I follow him in but he stops suddenly in front of me. I can't see, but I can deduce it's a body.

"Sophie," dad says quietly, "fetch John in."

I peer around him to look and see the body sprawled on the bed, a bullet through his right temple and the gun on the floor, which makes me question my earlier deduction about his dominant hand.

I walk back across the apartment, reconsidering several other possibilities, and unlock the door.

"Sophie, I thought you were-"

"No time," I say, interrupting his useless small-talk. "We've found his body."

John's mouth opens slightly in shock and I lead him through to where dad stands stiffly, holding a phone to his ear and talking in a hushed voice to Scotland Yard, possibly Lestrade.

"Just get here as soon as you can," dad hisses quietly.

"He's been delayed," I whisper to John, who nods.

Dad slides his phone shut in annoyance and grabs the gun from the floor, then strides back to the balcony and fires three shots.

Barely five minutes later, a whole procession of police cars file into Docklands, and a team of forensics enter the flat. I stand in the hallway, directing some into the bedroom, whilst others mill around in the living room, kitchen and bathroom, dusting fingerprints off of surfaces and taking pictures of the intact lock on the door. A young, plain-clothed officer - a Sergeant going by his age - enters the flat and looks around, before looking to me.

"Where's the body?" he demands.

"In the bedroom," I say, gesturing down the corridor. I attempt to lead him to it, but he becomes side-tracked at ordering one of his colleagues to do something.

Joining dad and John in the bedroom, I watch as the crime scene photographer takes a few photos of Van Coon's body while a forensics officer dusts for prints on the mirror. Dad hands me a pair of latex gloves as we approach the body while John stands back, just looking at the body with distaste.

"D'you think he'd lost a lot of money?" John asks. "I mean, suicide is pretty common among City boys."

"We don't know that it was suicide," dad says, and I go through the evidence again in my mind. Most things do seem to point to suicide, apart from the position of Van Coon's gun.

"Come on. The door was locked from the inside; you had to climb down the balcony," John says as dad squats down by a suitcase on the floor.

"Yes," I allow, "but the same thing happened at the bank and it's impossible for a wall and painting to spray itself."

"Been away three days, judging by the laundry," dad points out, opening a nearby suitcase and starting to look through it.

I come over and see a large indentation in the clothing. "Look at the case," I say, pointing. "There was something tightly packed inside it."

"Thanks – I'll take your word for it," John says uncomfortably.

"Problem?" dad asks, and I pause to look up at John.

"Yeah, I'm not desperate to root around some bloke's dirty underwear."

Dad ignores him and walks over to the foot of the bed, whilst I continue to look through the case. "Those symbols at the bank – the graffiti. Why were they put there?" He asks out loud.

"What, some sort of code?"

"Obviously," dad replies, then looks closely at Van Coon's shoes and legs before moving up to his jacket and into his pockets. "Why were they painted? If you want to communicate, why not use e-mail?"

"Well, maybe he wasn't answering," John suggests.

"Oh good. You follow," dad says.

"No."

Dad throws him a look of exasperation before continuing his secondary survey of Van Coon's hands. "What kind of a message would everyone try to avoid?" John frowns, not following. "What about this morning – those letters you were looking at?"

"Bills," John says simply.

"Or?" Dad continues, waving at me to answer.

"Death threats," I conclude in realisation as dad prises Van Coon's mouth and pulls out a small black, origami flower. A build-up of air realises from the dead man's lungs as his oesophagus clears.

"Yes," dad says grimly. "He was being threatened."

"Bag this up, will you ..." the Sergeant calls from outside the room as John studies the flower, and dad lifts up an evidence bag to slip the paper inside.

"Not by the gas board," John jokes, dryly.

"... and see if you can get prints off this glass," the Sergeant continues, before finally entering the room.

Dad turns and walks towards him. "Ah, Sergeant," dad says, offering his hand for a handshake. "We haven't met."

The man declines the offer, and places his hands in his hips. "Yeah, I know who you are and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."

I raise my eyebrows in disbelief at his attitude - after all, we did just discover a body for him.

Dad lowers his hand and hands over the evidence bag, before turning sulky. "I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

"He's busy," the Sergeant declares. "I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector. Dimmock." Dad and I look at him in surprise, not expecting him to be at the DI rank at his age. He looks like he should still be at school, forget the police force.

Dad turns around to share his shock with John as Dimmock walks back out of the room, barely giving the body a second glance, and we follow him out into the living room.

"We're obviously looking at a suicide," Dimmock states, incorrectly as he hands the evidence bag over. It's wrong for him to assume at his level of investigation, as he's clearly got no idea of the circumstances of how the body ended up with a bullet through the opposite temple to the victim's dominant hand.

"That does seem the only explanation of all the facts," John agrees, narrow-mindedly.

Dad and I take off our gloves and dad turns back to John. "Wrong. It's one possible explanation of some of the facts." He looks at Dimmock. "You've got a solution that you like, but you're choosing to ignore anything you see that doesn't comply with it."

"Like?" Dimmock questions.

"The wound was on the right side of his head," dad begins.

"And?" Dimmock asks stupidly, causing me to roll my eyes at his ignorance.

"Van Coon was left-handed," I tell him, as dad mimes to demonstrate his point, attempting to try and point a gun to his right temple with his left hand.

"Requires quite a bit of contortion," dad concludes, putting his arms down.

"Left-handed?"

"Oh, I'm amazed you didn't notice," dad says sarcastically. "All you have to do is look around this flat." He points to the table beside the sofa. "Coffee table on the left-hand side; coffee mug handle pointing to the left. Power sockets: habitually used the ones on the left. Pen and paper on the left-hand side of the phone because he picked it up with his right and took down messages with his left. D'you want me to go on?"

"No," John says tiredly, "I think you've covered it."

"Oh, I might as well; I'm almost at the bottom of the list." John nods as if to say 'yea, I thought you might', as dad points around to the kitchen. "There's a knife on the breadboard with butter on the right side of the blade because he used it with his left." He turns to Dimmock with an impatient look. "It's highly unlikely that a left-handed man would shoot himself in the right side of his head."

"And it would be a hell lot easier just to shoot himself in the left side of his own head," I pipe in.

Dad nods in agreement and continues. "Conclusion: someone broke in here and murdered him. Only explanation of all the facts."

"But the gun: why ..."

"He was waiting for the killer," dad interrupts Dimmock. "He'd been threatened." He walks away and puts on his coat.

"What?" Dimmock asks, completely puzzled by this new bit of information.

"Today at the bank," John mutters to him. "Sort of a warning."

"He fired a shot when his attacker came in," dad continues.

"And the bullet?" Dimmock questions.

"Went through the open window."

"Oh, come on! What are the chances of that?!"

The window must have been open, but why? Is it more evidence to the theory I had earlier about them climbing through the windows? It would certainly make sense.

"Wait until you get the ballistics report," dad continues. "The bullet in his brain wasn't fired from his gun. I guarantee it."

"But if his door was locked from the inside, how did the killer get in?"

"Good! You're finally asking the right questions," dad says, patronisingly as he dramatically slams his hand into his glove and turns to strut out of the room. I follow behind him, leaving John to apologise for our behaviour to the pompous ignoramus who thinks he's a DI.

We take a taxi to a restaurant about fifteen minutes away after deducing that's where Sebastian Wilkes would be, then head inside to find him sat with some colleagues.

"... and he's left trying to sort of cut his hair with a fork, which of course can never be done!" Sebastian laughs, as we reach the table.

"It was a threat. That's what the graffiti meant," dad says bluntly, getting straight to the point.

"I'm kind of in a meeting. Can you make an appointment with my secretary?" Sebastian asks, sounding annoyed.

"I don't think this can wait. Sorry, Sebastian. One of your traders – someone who worked in your office – was killed."

"What?" Sebastian says, looking confused.

"Van Coon. The police are at his flat," dad informs him.

"Killed?" he replies, looking shocked.

"Sorry to interfere with everyone's digestion," dad says sarcastically. "Still wanna make an appointment? Would, maybe, nine o'clock at Scotland Yard suit?"

Wilkes places his glass of water back onto the table before running his finger along the collar of his shirt. "Excuse me, gentlemen."

We follow him down towards the toilets and head inside. Wilkes lets out a long sigh as the door closes behind us. "Harrow; Oxford," he says. "Very bright guy. Worked in Asia for a while, so ..."

"... you gave him the Hong Kong accounts," John finishes.

"Lost five mill in a single morning; made it all back a week later. Nerves of steel, Eddie had."

"Who'd wanna kill him?"

"We all make enemies," Wilkes says unhelpfully.

"You don't all end up with a bullet through your temple."

"Not usually," Sebastian replies as his phone buzzes. "'Scuse me." He checks it for a second before looking back at us. "It's my Chairman. The police have been on to him. Apparently, they're telling him it was a suicide."

"Well, they've got it wrong, Sebastian," dad says, speaking for the first time. "He was murdered."

"Well, I'm afraid they don't see it like that," Sebastian argues.

"Seb..." dad says warningly.

" ... and neither does my boss," Wilkes continues, ignoring dad. "I hired you to do a job. Don't get side-tracked."

He storms off, and I look back at dad, eyebrows raised. "He was very keen to turn the argument around when he got the message through," I say. "He's hiding something. He doesn't trust our judgment, so why employ us?"

Why You Should Consider Deep-Cleaning Your Home

India is fortunate enough to have an abundance of household help which skillfully keeps most homes clean through a range of cleaning services. However, despite daily sweeping and mopping of the house, most nooks and crannies stay untouched unless they're deep-cleaned. Let's first define what deep cleaning is - a thorough cleaning treatment of your home which includes an intensive cleaning of every part of your home such as wall spotting, furniture treatment, upholstery, light fixtures, ceilings, fans, curtains, glass surfaces, steel polishing, wood polishing, washroom sanitization, and floor scrubbing using state of the art machinery.

Now, let’s explore how deep cleaning is different from the regular cleaning that most of the homes are still unaware of.

Importance of Deep Cleaning:

The daily brooming and mopping of homes can only really clean the top of the surface and get rid of the macro elements that are visible to the eye. Most of the time, the actual stains and bacteria still stay intact. In deep cleaning, however, each surface is not only scrubbed clean to get under the layer of dirt that accumulates over time but each surface is also treated with a specific chemical that not only cleans the bacteria from the inside but also works in bringing the original shine back. This is the reason why the first time users are usually amazed by the deep cleaning results when they see their old marble floors, etc. shining again despite the daily cleaning they have been since years. A single disk scrubbing machine will undoubtedly surprise you with a noticeable difference.

Covers all Areas:

With regular day-to-day cleaning, usually floor surfaces and furniture gets the most attention. Hard-to-reach or less visible areas such as blinds, grouting, window stills, between and under the sofa cushions and chairs, behind the television sets and music systems, and so on are usually left out. However, with deep cleaning, you can rest assured that all of the areas of the house get equal cleaning treatment.

Clears Tough Layers:

Every home has a stubborn layer of dirt that is hard or impossible to clean; it may be on the bathroom fittings, sofas, mirrors or the floors. Cleaning professionals generally have the necessary tools and industrial-grade (and even eco-friendly organic alternative) cleaning agents to combat these stains and are able to clean all trouble spots without causing harm to the surface.

Upholstery Cleaning:

This is where a whole lot of dirt and bacteria’s settle in and this is also where they go undetected. The most that can be done is dry vacuum the mattresses, sofas, carpets, etc.  This is where upholstery cleaning helps; it allows you to scrub the upholstery, shampoo it and then suck the surface dry with the industrial vacuum.

Kitchens and Shelves:

This is an area where hygiene is a top priority. Most homeowners would agree that although their kitchens look clean from the surface there are still areas and corners that need to be cleaned. Each and every shelf and appliance need to be looked into for dirt on a regular basis. There are also these problematic areas with greasy oil. The deep cleaning professionals have a professional cleaning kit with tools and cleaning agents especially meant for kitchens. Cooktop, appliance exteriors, sink & taps, the inside of microwave or oven, bench tops, etc. all of it is covered in deep cleaning which is very difficult to otherwise do during the regular cleaning.

Washroom Sanitation:

This is usually the place with the biggest concern as it usually contains the most bacteria. A deep cleaning professional uses five different chemicals for an average washroom and takes an hour to clean it. Each surface is carefully treated with the right chemical be it acid based for sanitization or for steel, wood, glass, tiles, and floors. Irrespective of the dirt, the solution is available to remove it. The bath, counter tops, toilets, shower cabins, mirrors, etc. require expertise and tools that only a deep cleaning service company can provide.

High Ceiling Dusting:

High ceilings or windows are either difficult to reach or considered clean as there are no visible cobwebs. The light fixtures, the areas behind the a/c, fans, and etc. all do not get the attention they require. A deep cleaning service company has tools like a ceiling mop, duster, and others that help with the cleaning of the high ceiling.

The deep cleaning service company will give you a specific plan which will determine exactly what level of cleaning is recommended and which areas need to be focused on. Ideally, deep cleaning is done once in two months as it’s critical for minimizing the germs in your home that may cause illness and additionally, it also helps make your home look attractive. There may be special occasions when deep cleaning is very important like Diwali where you want to make sure that your home is festive ready!

SILA is a leading Facility Management Company in Mumbai that looks after all integrated facility management services along with its Project Management services, real estate asset management and Turnkey Interior Contracting.

Visit Our Blog-: https://silagroup.co.in/blog/why-you-should-consider-deep-cleaning-your-home

Game #1: In-Na-Gadda-Da-Vida

It was a big box, kept snugly on the top shelf of her closet. She may work out in the ramshackle ring in the backyard, she may keep herself in fighting shape, but the box? The box stayed untouched. The stuff inside wasn’t for working out with, for training with. This stuff was for the real thing, whether or not it ever came again.



And against all odds, it had.



Blowing the dust off the top, Mike McGuire opened the box, feeling slightly like one of those old timey pith helmet wearing explorer types cracking open some ancient mummy’s sarcophagus. Eureka. The gear was still where she’d left it, untouched by moths or mice or any other clothing-destroying pest. The vinyl of her boots was still shiny, the soles still scuffed but perfectly serviceable. Pants, shirt, ring jacket (really a tailored-to-fit baseball jersey reading McGUIRE and the number 41 on the back)? Neatly folded, still clean as a whistle if not slightly musty smelling from being packed away so long. Even her big gear bag in Mets blue, her name in deep orange script embroidered, was in good order.


It was almost like they were sleeping, waiting for her to wake them up. Outta bed, sleepyhead. It’s showtime. Lifting everything out of the box, she moved it over to her bed and began the process of putting the gear in the bag as well as shifting things around in her suitcase. Neat and efficient packing was not her strong suit, and she had a feeling that the endgame would involve sitting on the damn thing to get it to click shut. 



Packing this much might not even had been necessary. What the original plan entailed, after all, was simply a flight out to Baton Rouge the day before the show. But Mike decided she didn’t just want to settle for that. She wanted to stretch her sea legs, feel the thrill of the road again… and besides, there was another factor involved.



Her new tag partner, slash housemate. John Bishop Church, the infamous, who couldn’t act any less like an infamous person. On the contrary, he was neat and soft spoken and generally quiet as, well, a Church mouse, polite in conversation (what little he spoke) but preferring to keep his nose buried in a book most of the time. Mike liked him, and the earnest delight (well, such as he expressed) with which he regarded the derelict, falling-apart ring resonated with her.



If they were going to be better partners, better friends, the week’s drive would be good for them, she theorized. Give them time to bond, to strategize, to get to know each other better. Besides, after what he’d been through (a subject she never broached first- even she had that much tact) she figured he could use some fun. And what was more fun than cruising the open road at one’s leisure, stopping at whatever ridiculous pull-off roadside attraction caught their eyes, and winding up at the destination where they both got to do the thing they loved most in the whole world?



The thing, she thought, that they thought they’d never get to do again?



It was what she’d always wanted, after all. Her father was a star collegiate quarterback and her mother was a silver medalist swimmer, but Mike? Mike wanted to wrestle ever since she first saw it. An odd way to carry on her family’s athletic tradition, perhaps, but she didn’t care. It was what she wanted, and she consumed every tape and saved every dime she earned from her after-school job at S&T Auto Body. She knew exactly what she wanted to do, and she knew exactly who she wanted to teach her to do it. And so, once she graduated high school, she began an interesting higher education curriculum- a major program in Automotive Mechanics at Bronx Community College, and the weekends spent driving Sixteen Fucking Hours to Troy, Missouri, where she trained under the harsh but skillful instruction of no less than Harley Race himself. 



It was worth it, she told herself every day. All those sleepless weekends, overnight drives, bumps and bruises and cramming… it would be worth it. 



And it was worth it. Until she blew it. Until happenstance and her own dicking around cost her the job she’d strived for, worked for, willed herself through weeks and weeks of grueling physical therapy after—



Nevermind. She’d blown it and she thanked her lucky stars she’d put money away instead of throwing it left and right like some did. Still, it took some hopping across the country from gig to gig with nothing promotions in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere until she finally skidded to a stop in Pittsburgh. And in Pittsburgh she built a ‘normal’ life. Garage that did good business. Small ranch house with three bedrooms and a nice roomy backyard. Crappy, falling apart Mustang that she was dedicated to making beautiful again- and would, bit by bit. And yet…

The one-car garage at her house was filled up, not with a car but with workout equipment. And that roomy backyard was soon home to a wrestling ring, albeit one in such awful condition that even a couple of backyard wrestling clowns would turn their noses up at it. The box was not thrown away or tucked in a U-Stor-It, but kept reverently in her closet. Even living among normal people, as a normal person, with a normal life… there was still that spark of a gladiator in her waiting to be re-lit.

She just wasn’t expecting it to come from a fairly good looking- if not Defcon-5 level socially awkward- individual who shuffled into her shop claiming, in a somewhat nonplussed tone, that his car might be on fire. 

Oh, she recognized John Bishop Church. Yes, from the news, and I.D., and whatever Dateline rerun they felt like airing, but mostly from somewhere else. Something else. Some indy tape, rumblings on the internet in the early days of online dirtsheets. A new face whose early showings had sparks of real brilliance, someone who’d surely be One To Watch. And he gave her comp tickets to the EWC show that night, backstage passes, and an IOU after sheepishly admitting he didn’t have enough money to pay her upfront.

So of course she took it. Despite never taking IOUs from anyone after that one time that got her seriously ripped off, she took it. Generous on her part? Maybe. Soft spot for a fellow grappler, even one with a bad reputation? Possibly. And maybe, just a little, out of the selfish pipe dream that he might introduce her to somebody that’d help her get her foot in the door for one last shot? 



Probably. 



And that’s what happened. It was a little uglier than she’d hoped, the early tendrils of friendship nearly severed before they even connected, but in the end, everything for once worked out in her favor. John had used what she had to admit was an artful bit of finesse to get her a face-to-face with Michael Saint, and Mike rolled with it (though glossing over John’s choice of words as she didn’t like the label of ‘handler’- Church was an odd duck but hardly an oafish monster who needed a minder) while talking up her training and past accomplishments, perhaps with a bit of flair but never outright untruth. 



So now here she was. Here she was with her name inked on a tag-team contract filed neatly away in the EWC offices. Here she was, in her house, where she now lived with her benefactor, her partner- her friend- occupying the previously unused second bedroom. (He’d requested, in a somewhat nervous tone, that she remove the door. She didn’t get it until she thought it over, and obliged him- the doorframe to his room was now blocked off with an opaque blackout curtain instead.) Giving her suitcase a flying body-slam that thankfully didn’t collapse her bed, she weighed it down and snapped it shut, and then rolled off the bed with the handle gripped in one hand. Gear bag thrown over her shoulder, a familiar weight that made her giddy. The 8-ball of her keychain snapped up.

She jaunted out of her room like a kid heading to Disney World, rapping on the doorframe next as she headed down the hall toward the front door.



“C’mon, Church! Time’s a-wastin’ and the road’s a’callin’, let’s get going!”



A slightly mussy blonde head popped out from behind the curtain. It was kind of hard to tell, but his typical, neutral expression seemed to carry a slight undercurrent of amusement at her enthusiasm.



“Okay.”

Mike smiled broadly at him and continued out, locking the door to the house behind them and striding over to her pride and joy and running her hand along its sleek exterior before opening the trunk. She called her Alundra, and she was beautiful- a vivid, perfect yellow with bold racing flames licking down her sides, interior of cherry red leather and power under the hood that could easily outstrip any other car on the highway, if one took speed limits as a friendly suggestion and not, y’know, the law. 



Mmm… given her passenger, she’d better at least attempt to behave herself. Oh, well. Still, it just added another layer to Mike’s anticipation- she’d only finished restoring Alundra a week and change before Church showed up in her life and kicked off this crazy awesome chain of events. This would be the Mustang’s first prolonged road test, but Mike was confident in her mechanical skills. Alundra would be up to the challenge easily.



It wouldn’t be twenty four hours from now, though, that both Alundra and the rapport between Mike and her partner would be damaged, though both, thankfully, were repairable.



It wasn’t just that Alundra was damaged. It wasn’t that they had to avoid calling the cops. It wasn’t even putting the deer down, though Mike had to admit that, somewhere in the back of her mind, the relative ease with which Church had done the deed sat badly with her. What tied this all together and made it horribly upsetting for her was the complete lack of understanding. She’d made her hesitation plain, and it was met not with reassurance of any sort but intimidation.



Had she not been as shaken as she was, it might’ve gotten ugly all over again. But she’d given in, and was so sick with him and herself afterward that she’d refused her knife back, given him Alundra’s keys, and curled up in the passenger seat, shutting down more or less for the next five hours or so. Frankly, it was miserable. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to dislike or distrust Church in any way- he was her partner, after all. Trust was fucking imperative. Tag partners that didn’t trust each other were doomed to flounder until they broke up.



They talked. He apologized and she accepted. And there were pancakes. There was no balm like strawberry pancakes, at least in her book. And the next morning, they continued on. All was well again, and they had a new name for themselves to boot. A new identity of sorts. Something fresh, but also changeable as it suited them.



NSFW, after all, could stand for anything they chose.

At first, she mostly watched. She was there when she was needed, and gladly- the way Ace Heart spoke to Church hadn’t sat well with her from the get go, and what she’d said to him was only a fraction of what she REALLY wanted to, but she figured it’d be best to not make too many waves before the ink was even dry on her contract. But Church trusted her behind the camera, and just a touch of gentle urging brought forth something truly amazing. And it was all the truth- after all, the only thing Mike asked of him was honesty. And if there’s one thing Mike knew for sure in her heart of hearts, it was that while he may be evasive, John Bishop Church never lied.

She also watched as he defeated Malice in a very impressive showing, and had been waiting with a gratefully accepted ice pack afterwards. He had wind in his sails, a nice roll going- and a TV Title shot on his plate. Mike had told him on the drive that she believed in him, and she meant it. That spark of brilliance she’d seen on those tapes what seemed like forever ago was still in him, she’d seen it with her own eyes.

Unfortunately, they would have to wait on it- they had arrived at their destination only to find out that, due to unforeseen circumstances, the entire show had been delayed a week. No matter, Mike had said, trying to make the best of a bad situation. Might as well do some sightseeing while they were there. Half the fun of being on the road was partaking of the local attractions, right? Right.



So now, here they were, in lovely Minneapolis, Minnesota. Home of the Twins, the Vikings, and a fine assortment of museums and art installations, including this particular one- the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden. A place full of wonderful artworks, visited by many tourists and art aficionados… but probably not at this hour. Mike was enthusiastic, a mischievous spark in her eyes. Her partner, on the other hand, was somewhat less so.

“Should we be here? It’s almost midnight.”

“Hey, place ain’t technically closed yet. Besides, I think I saw something here that’d be a nice backdrop for addressin’ our worthy opponents. It’s our first tag match, Church. I wanna make this good, real good. Only get one chance to make a fuckin’ first impression an’ all that.”



Looking around the place, Mike had to admit that some of the pieces here were pretty neat. There was a rabbit suspended mid-leap on top of a bell, a massive mobile of abstract shapes. A huge spoon situated over a pond, a giant cherry balanced on the concave end, made her grin. Cherry bomb. But it didn’t take too much looking around to find the sculpture that had caught Mike’s eye to begin with- the centerpiece of what she wanted to say to the ever charming Collateral Damage.



“There it is, see? It’s fuckin’ perfect. If that don’t scream out the essence of those dickbags, I don’t know what does. Whaddya think?”

John tugged at the collar of his black t-shirt and looked at the backdrop apprehensively. “They’re poultry?”

“Not exactly. Just trust me on this one, Church.” She was practically bouncing up and down now. Whatever she had in her head, it must’ve been, at least in her mind, fairly spectacular. Whipping her phone out of her pocket, she affixed it to something else- a bit of metal that telescoped out. Frankly, Mike felt like a bit of a tool even owning a selfie stick of all things, but there was nobody else around to hold the phone and she needed some distance if she wanted the shot framed properly. One does what one must. “Alright, buddy. You ready?”

“Okay.”

Nodding, she pressed ‘record’.



“Say hey, EWC faithful. We are NSFW, we’re here in lovely downtown Minneapolis, and this…” She gestured to the mammoth azure statue behind them. “…is a gigantic c-ck. Why a giant c-ck, you might be askin’ yourselves? Well, we figured we’d say our piece to our opposition in front of somethin’ they’d be real familiar with. Y’know, bein’ giant cocks themselves.”

“It’s a blue chicken.”

“That it is. But it’s also ginormous, and, obviously, of the male persuasion. Hence, a giant c-ck.”



It was. It was a massive deep blue rooster. It had to be a good 25 feet high, including the white base upon which it stood, and it towered over the two people standing in front of it- the man, in neat black t-shirt and blue jeans, and the woman, significantly smaller than him with a well worn Mets cap over her short red hair, also in jeans but giving a small homage to their current stopover city with a Minnesota Twins shirt, probably newly bought that day given how fresh it looked in comparison with the rest of her broken-in outfit.



“Look at that fuckin’ thing. It’s Cockzilla. And yet, it pales in comparison to Draco Lazarus. I mean, I’m willin’ to bet my next week’s paycheck that this giant never told anyone he was… eugh… God’s gift to women.”

Church gave it one more cursory look, at Mike again, and then back at the phone’s camera. “I don’t get it. But I guess that is apt. I don’t get them. The pieces don’t fit. God’s gifts were traditionally seen as you know, the air we all breathe, the stars sprinkled across the infinite sky, and the spark of humanity that brings us all together. Why would God give one man to women as a gift?”

Standing on her tiptoes, Mike gestured for Church to lean down a bit, and she whispered something to him, lowering down with a bit of a smirk.

“That’s filthy.” Frankly, though, Mike knew her explanation hadn’t really been necessary- she was beginning to glean when her partner honestly wasn’t familiar with a certain figure of speech and when he was messing with her- or anyone else, for that matter. “But what should we expect from a textbook narcissist?”

“Not much, if y’ask me. I mean, you remind me of a dude I used t’ know. Talented? Sure. Could turn a phrase? Absolutely. But that, pal, is where his redeeming qualities ended. You know what people called him? A fuckin’ cruelty engine. Didn’t give nothin’ back to nobody but fuckin’ shit. Women? Toys at best. His competitors? Worthy of nothin’ but the absolute ass beating you people are so cockfire sure anybody who steps in the ring with you’s gonna get, because you’re so much better’n everybody else, right? Guys like you make me wanna fucking hurl. And that, Draco Lazarus, is exactly how you come off.”

She cast a subtle glance over to her tag team partner.

“And that is exactly how you want to be seen. The ideology that you espouse gives you the attention you so crave.” He paused and just a moment his tone wavered. “I promised myself long ago to not take the well-traveled path and denigrate the competition. Here, though, I make an exception. I don’t like you. You aren’t nice. And I’m sure that being a decent person doesn’t matter to you whatsoever. And it won’t to me when we stand face to face in the ring. So as I was saying, everything you do is deliberate. You want people to see you like this and only like this because if they sunk their teeth in, they’d discover they’d been fooled. There isn’t much that is marketable about a lying little boy.”



“Fool’s gold. Fool’s gold, might I add, that can’t even back his fuckin’ words up. Kid runnin’ his mouth like you oughta, y’know, be winning all the time. Some golden boy.” She pauses a bit, giving her partner an impressed grin. Once it finally came out, his ability for wordplay never ceased to amaze her. “Anyway. You’re probably wondering if we’re forgetting about somebody. Azreal. Isn’t that Gargamel’s cat? From the motherfucking Smurfs?”

Church shook his head, “The Angel of Death. The Grim Reaper.”

“Oh. Shows how much I know. Anyway. We ain’t addressed him cuz there ain’t much TO address. Dude might’s well be a cardboard cutout.”

“But Mike, he isn’t. There is plenty to address. Look at the way the way he stares at the boy. The indifference. The sidelong glances. The undercurrent of disapproval. No words necessary. It will never be said because that hurts the show. One day, though, he stops being a good little helper and turns the boy into their namesake.”

“See that? That’s teamwork, boys. I miss the details, he picks up on ‘em and fills me in. And that’s why we, who ain’t even had one match yet, are a better team than you, who’re gonna tear each other to fuckin’ shreds like wild dogs sooner or later.”

“But save some for us.” Church smiled a bit, seemingly getting into the spirit of all of this. “Mike, we stand at the precipice of a revival. We said it on Friday night. It’s ripe for the picking. We are here to take what is ours. It starts with a duo that until now has had a modicum of success against the rotting corpse of this division but has never seen a pair like us.”

“They say every journey starts with the first step. And lookin’ ahead? The road to that gold’s Not So Far to Walk.”



She tilted the camera stick up a bit to give one last parting shot of the huge blue rooster before stopping the recording, pulling the handle in and detaching her phone. “See? Told you it’d be good.”

John looked at her pensively and he almost answered her in that one-word trademark response when he suddenly stopped himself. “They’re going to say things, you know, words that you can’t just zone out. I thought I’d get used to it by now but every one is like a knife in the gut.”

“I’ve heard it all before. Bitch, dyke, bitch dyke, tranny, slut, he-she…” She had a bit of a wince to her grin, as if perhaps this all hadn’t rolled off her back as much as she was letting on, but she shrugged. “It’s not me I’m worried about. Just ‘cuz I know Little Lord Dickbutt is going to talk shit about you doesn’t mean I like it. Don’t like it when anybody does that.” She bristled slightly.

That normal blank and gentle expression turns into steel-eyed determination. “I don’t like it either. But I guess it’s not determined here or in these videos,” He looked down at his hands. “But in the ring. Words can cause harm but so can these. Grievous harm all in the name of … good sport. How about you?”



She nodded, her grin somewhat on the grim side, and she clenched up her own fists, tapping them together. “Let’s go get ‘em, partner.”

Untouchable

Sometimes I feel like I’m untouchable

Not like in the fancy, holier-than-thou kind of way,

But like there’s a thin barrier between me and the rest of the world.

Some days I feel it grow thin,

And when I press against warm skin

I can feel the heat almost seep into my pores.

My smiles meet my eyes, my words are clear,

And I almost feel like a part of something.

But that “safety net” is still there,

A soft webbing like connective membranes between me and everything else.

Other days, it thickens like armor, and I’m encased in glass.

I walk around bumping numbly into people and conversations, vision fogged by frantic breaths only I can see.

I smile but I don’t feel it past the surface layer,

My words sound off, my voice feels wrong,

Every face looks distorted through the thick glass,

Turning friends into strangers,

Friendly banter into distorted laughing faces,

Faces laughing at me, not with me.

Sometimes the glass grows inward,

Turning the rest of me ceramic, fragile.

Every word I try to form sends spidery cracks spreading down my throat,

Threatening to splinter into shards that cut and wound the people around me.

The more I try to explain myself, to reach them with my voice, to alert them of my plight,

The more shards fly, battering and bleeding them until they can no longer bear to listen (or at least no longer care to).

These are the days I try to pull away,

When I retreat to the highest shelf

To collect dust and do no harm as I try to stop feeling like an untouchable statuette,

Or something made in the image of a human from artificial material.

I don’t remember when I first noticed

This feeling of being removed,

I only know it’s been here for as long as I can remember.

I feel like my soul is an alien and my body is a foreign craft whose controls I never fully learned.

I feel like the loneliest whale,

Whose songs are at such a low decibel that none of her species can ever hear her calls.

I’m surrounded by people that want to be there for me,

But we can never sing on the same frequency.

I’m like a heart murmur, the soft off-rhythm.

I’m the one clapping on the second beat while the rest of the audience is on the first.

I am present but removed, there and not there,

A Schrödinger’s person riding shotgun in my head without a driver.

I am untouchable.

- creirwy-n

Game #1: In-Na-Gadda-Da-Vida

It was a big box, kept snugly on the top shelf of her closet. She may work out in the ramshackle ring in the backyard, she may keep herself in fighting shape, but the box? The box stayed untouched. The stuff inside wasn’t for working out with, for training with. This stuff was for the real thing, whether or not it ever came again.

 And against all odds, it had. 

Blowing the dust off the top, Mike McGuire opened the box, feeling slightly like one of those old timey pith helmet wearing explorer types cracking open some ancient mummy’s sarcophagus. Eureka. The gear was still where she’d left it, untouched by moths or mice or any other clothing-destroying pest. The vinyl of her boots was still shiny, the soles still scuffed but perfectly serviceable. Pants, shirt, ring jacket (really a tailored-to-fit baseball jersey reading McGUIRE and the number 41 on the back)? Neatly folded, still clean as a whistle if not slightly musty smelling from being packed away so long. Even her big gear bag in Mets blue, her name in deep orange script embroidered, was in good order. 
It was almost like they were sleeping, waiting for her to wake them up. Outta bed, sleepyhead. It’s showtime. Lifting everything out of the box, she moved it over to her bed and began the process of putting the gear in the bag as well as shifting things around in her suitcase. Neat and efficient packing was not her strong suit, and she had a feeling that the endgame would involve sitting on the damn thing to get it to click shut. 

 Packing this much might not even had been necessary. What the original plan entailed, after all, was simply a flight out to Baton Rouge the day before the show. But Mike decided she didn’t just want to settle for that. She wanted to stretch her sea legs, feel the thrill of the road again… and besides, there was another factor involved.

 Her new tag partner, slash housemate. John Bishop Church, the infamous, who couldn’t act any less like an infamous person. On the contrary, he was neat and soft spoken and generally quiet as, well, a Church mouse, polite in conversation (what little he spoke) but preferring to keep his nose buried in a book most of the time. Mike liked him, and the earnest delight (well, such as he expressed) with which he regarded the derelict, falling-apart ring resonated with her. 

If they were going to be better partners, better friends, the week’s drive would be good for them, she theorized. Give them time to bond, to strategize, to get to know each other better. Besides, after what he’d been through (a subject she never broached first- even she had that much tact) she figured he could use some fun. And what was more fun than cruising the open road at one’s leisure, stopping at whatever ridiculous pull-off roadside attraction caught their eyes, and winding up at the destination where they both got to do the thing they loved most in the whole world?

 The thing, she thought, that they thought they’d never get to do again?

 It was what she’d always wanted, after all. Her father was a star collegiate quarterback and her mother was a silver medalist swimmer, but Mike? Mike wanted to wrestle ever since she first saw it. An odd way to carry on her family’s athletic tradition, perhaps, but she didn’t care. It was what she wanted, and she consumed every tape and saved every dime she earned from her after-school job at S&T Auto Body. She knew exactly what she wanted to do, and she knew exactly who she wanted to teach her to do it. And so, once she graduated high school, she began an interesting higher education curriculum- a major program in Automotive Mechanics at Bronx Community College, and the weekends spent driving Sixteen Fucking Hours to Troy, Missouri, where she trained under the harsh but skillful instruction of no less than Harley Race himself. 

 It was worth it, she told herself every day. All those sleepless weekends, overnight drives, bumps and bruises and cramming… it would be worth it. 

 And it was worth it. Until she blew it. Until happenstance and her own dicking around cost her the job she’d strived for, worked for, willed herself through weeks and weeks of grueling physical therapy after—

 Nevermind. She’d blown it and she thanked her lucky stars she’d put money away instead of throwing it left and right like some did. Still, it took some hopping across the country from gig to gig with nothing promotions in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere until she finally skidded to a stop in Pittsburgh. And in Pittsburgh she built a ‘normal’ life. Garage that did good business. Small ranch house with three bedrooms and a nice roomy backyard. Crappy, falling apart Mustang that she was dedicated to making beautiful again- and would, bit by bit. And yet… The one-car garage at her house was filled up, not with a car but with workout equipment. And that roomy backyard was soon home to a wrestling ring, albeit one in such awful condition that even a couple of backyard wrestling clowns would turn their noses up at it. The box was not thrown away or tucked in a U-Stor-It, but kept reverently in her closet. Even living among normal people, as a normal person, with a normal life… there was still that spark of a gladiator in her waiting to be re-lit.

She just wasn’t expecting it to come from a fairly good looking- if not Defcon-5 level socially awkward- individual who shuffled into her shop claiming, in a somewhat nonplussed tone, that his car might be on fire. 

Oh, she recognized John Bishop Church. Yes, from the news, and I.D., and whatever Dateline rerun they felt like airing, but mostly from somewhere else. Something else. Some indy tape, rumblings on the internet in the early days of online dirtsheets. A new face whose early showings had sparks of real brilliance, someone who’d surely be One To Watch. And he gave her comp tickets to the EWC show that night, backstage passes, and an IOU after sheepishly admitting he didn’t have enough money to pay her upfront. So of course she took it. Despite never taking IOUs from anyone after that one time that got her seriously ripped off, she took it. Generous on her part? Maybe. Soft spot for a fellow grappler, even one with a bad reputation? Possibly. And maybe, just a little, out of the selfish pipe dream that he might introduce her to somebody that’d help her get her foot in the door for one last shot? 

 Probably. 

 And that’s what happened. It was a little uglier than she’d hoped, the early tendrils of friendship nearly severed before they even connected, but in the end, everything for once worked out in her favor. John had used what she had to admit was an artful bit of finesse to get her a face-to-face with Michael Saint, and Mike rolled with it (though glossing over John’s choice of words as she didn’t like the label of ‘handler’- Church was an odd duck but hardly an oafish monster who needed a minder) while talking up her training and past accomplishments, perhaps with a bit of flair but never outright untruth. 

 So now here she was. Here she was with her name inked on a tag-team contract filed neatly away in the EWC offices. Here she was, in her house, where she now lived with her benefactor, her partner- her friend- occupying the previously unused second bedroom. (He’d requested, in a somewhat nervous tone, that she remove the door. She didn’t get it until she thought it over, and obliged him- the doorframe to his room was now blocked off with an opaque blackout curtain instead.) Giving her suitcase a flying body-slam that thankfully didn’t collapse her bed, she weighed it down and snapped it shut, and then rolled off the bed with the handle gripped in one hand. Gear bag thrown over her shoulder, a familiar weight that made her giddy. The 8-ball of her keychain snapped up.

She jaunted out of her room like a kid heading to Disney World, rapping on the doorframe next as she headed down the hall toward the front door. 

“C’mon, Church! Time’s a-wastin’ and the road’s a’callin’, let’s get going!”

 A slightly mussy blonde head popped out from behind the curtain. It was kind of hard to tell, but his typical, neutral expression seemed to carry a slight undercurrent of amusement at her enthusiasm.

 “Okay.” Mike smiled broadly at him and continued out, locking the door to the house behind them and striding over to her pride and joy and running her hand along its sleek exterior before opening the trunk. She called her Alundra, and she was beautiful- a vivid, perfect yellow with bold racing flames licking down her sides, interior of cherry red leather and power under the hood that could easily outstrip any other car on the highway, if one took speed limits as a friendly suggestion and not, y’know, the law. 

 Mmm… given her passenger, she’d better at least attempt to behave herself. Oh, well. Still, it just added another layer to Mike’s anticipation- she’d only finished restoring Alundra a week and change before Church showed up in her life and kicked off this crazy awesome chain of events. This would be the Mustang’s first prolonged road test, but Mike was confident in her mechanical skills. Alundra would be up to the challenge easily.

 It wouldn’t be twenty four hours from now, though, that both Alundra and the rapport between Mike and her partner would be damaged, though both, thankfully, were repairable. 

It wasn’t just that Alundra was damaged. It wasn’t that they had to avoid calling the cops. It wasn’t even putting the deer down, though Mike had to admit that, somewhere in the back of her mind, the relative ease with which Church had done the deed sat badly with her. What tied this all together and made it horribly upsetting for her was the complete lack of understanding. She’d made her hesitation plain, and it was met not with reassurance of any sort but intimidation.

 Had she not been as shaken as she was, it might’ve gotten ugly all over again. But she’d given in, and was so sick with him and herself afterward that she’d refused her knife back, given him Alundra’s keys, and curled up in the passenger seat, shutting down more or less for the next five hours or so. Frankly, it was miserable. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to dislike or distrust Church in any way- he was her partner, after all. Trust was fucking imperative. Tag partners that didn’t trust each other were doomed to flounder until they broke up.

 They talked. He apologized and she accepted. And there were pancakes. There was no balm like strawberry pancakes, at least in her book. And the next morning, they continued on. All was well again, and they had a new name for themselves to boot. A new identity of sorts. Something fresh, but also changeable as it suited them.

 NSFW, after all, could stand for anything they chose. At first, she mostly watched. She was there when she was needed, and gladly- the way Ace Heart spoke to Church hadn’t sat well with her from the get go, and what she’d said to him was only a fraction of what she REALLY wanted to, but she figured it’d be best to not make too many waves before the ink was even dry on her contract. But Church trusted her behind the camera, and just a touch of gentle urging brought forth something truly amazing. And it was all the truth- after all, the only thing Mike asked of him was honesty. And if there’s one thing Mike knew for sure in her heart of hearts, it was that while he may be evasive, John Bishop Church never lied. She also watched as he defeated Malice in a very impressive showing, and had been waiting with a gratefully accepted ice pack afterwards. He had wind in his sails, a nice roll going- and a TV Title shot on his plate. Mike had told him on the drive that she believed in him, and she meant it. That spark of brilliance she’d seen on those tapes what seemed like forever ago was still in him, she’d seen it with her own eyes. Unfortunately, they would have to wait on it- they had arrived at their destination only to find out that, due to unforeseen circumstances, the entire show had been delayed a week. No matter, Mike had said, trying to make the best of a bad situation. Might as well do some sightseeing while they were there. Half the fun of being on the road was partaking of the local attractions, right? Right. 

So now, here they were, in lovely Minneapolis, Minnesota. Home of the Twins, the Vikings, and a fine assortment of museums and art installations, including this particular one- the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden. A place full of wonderful artworks, visited by many tourists and art aficionados… but probably not at this hour. Mike was enthusiastic, a mischievous spark in her eyes. Her partner, on the other hand, was somewhat less so. “Should we be here? It’s almost midnight.” “Hey, place ain’t technically closed yet. Besides, I think I saw something here that’d be a nice backdrop for addressin’ our worthy opponents. It’s our first tag match, Church. I wanna make this good, real good. Only get one chance to make a fuckin’ first impression an’ all that.” 

Looking around the place, Mike had to admit that some of the pieces here were pretty neat. There was a rabbit suspended mid-leap on top of a bell, a massive mobile of abstract shapes. A huge spoon situated over a pond, a giant cherry balanced on the concave end, made her grin. Cherry bomb. But it didn’t take too much looking around to find the sculpture that had caught Mike’s eye to begin with- the centerpiece of what she wanted to say to the ever charming Collateral Damage.

 “There it is, see? It’s fuckin’ perfect. If that don’t scream out the essence of those dickbags, I don’t know what does. Whaddya think?” John tugged at the collar of his black t-shirt and looked at the backdrop apprehensively. “They’re poultry?” “Not exactly. Just trust me on this one, Church.” She was practically bouncing up and down now. Whatever she had in her head, it must’ve been, at least in her mind, fairly spectacular. Whipping her phone out of her pocket, she affixed it to something else- a bit of metal that telescoped out. Frankly, Mike felt like a bit of a tool even owning a selfie stick of all things, but there was nobody else around to hold the phone and she needed some distance if she wanted the shot framed properly. One does what one must. “Alright, buddy. You ready?” “Okay.” Nodding, she pressed ‘record’.

 “Say hey, EWC faithful. We are NSFW, we’re here in lovely downtown Minneapolis, and this…” She gestured to the mammoth azure statue behind them. “…is a gigantic c-ck. Why a giant c-ck, you might be askin’ yourselves? Well, we figured we’d say our piece to our opposition in front of somethin’ they’d be real familiar with. Y’know, bein’ giant cocks themselves.” “It’s a blue chicken.” “That it is. But it’s also ginormous, and, obviously, of the male persuasion. Hence, a giant c-ck.”

 It was. It was a massive deep blue rooster. It had to be a good 25 feet high, including the white base upon which it stood, and it towered over the two people standing in front of it- the man, in neat black t-shirt and blue jeans, and the woman, significantly smaller than him with a well worn Mets cap over her short red hair, also in jeans but giving a small homage to their current stopover city with a Minnesota Twins shirt, probably newly bought that day given how fresh it looked in comparison with the rest of her broken-in outfit. 

“Look at that fuckin’ thing. It’s Cockzilla. And yet, it pales in comparison to Draco Lazarus. I mean, I’m willin’ to bet my next week’s paycheck that this giant never told anyone he was… eugh… God’s gift to women.” Church gave it one more cursory look, at Mike again, and then back at the phone’s camera. “I don’t get it. But I guess that is apt. I don’t get them. The pieces don’t fit. God’s gifts were traditionally seen as you know, the air we all breathe, the stars sprinkled across the infinite sky, and the spark of humanity that brings us all together. Why would God give one man to women as a gift?” Standing on her tiptoes, Mike gestured for Church to lean down a bit, and she whispered something to him, lowering down with a bit of a smirk. “That’s filthy.” Frankly, though, Mike knew her explanation hadn’t really been necessary- she was beginning to glean when her partner honestly wasn’t familiar with a certain figure of speech and when he was messing with her- or anyone else, for that matter. “But what should we expect from a textbook narcissist?” “Not much, if y’ask me. I mean, you remind me of a dude I used t’ know. Talented? Sure. Could turn a phrase? Absolutely. But that, pal, is where his redeeming qualities ended. You know what people called him? A fuckin’ cruelty engine. Didn’t give nothin’ back to nobody but fuckin’ shit. Women? Toys at best. His competitors? Worthy of nothin’ but the absolute ass beating you people are so cockfire sure anybody who steps in the ring with you’s gonna get, because you’re so much better’n everybody else, right? Guys like you make me wanna fucking hurl. And that, Draco Lazarus, is exactly how you come off.” She cast a subtle glance over to her tag team partner. “And that is exactly how you want to be seen. The ideology that you espouse gives you the attention you so crave.” He paused and just a moment his tone wavered. “I promised myself long ago to not take the well-traveled path and denigrate the competition. Here, though, I make an exception. I don’t like you. You aren’t nice. And I’m sure that being a decent person doesn’t matter to you whatsoever. And it won’t to me when we stand face to face in the ring. So as I was saying, everything you do is deliberate. You want people to see you like this and only like this because if they sunk their teeth in, they’d discover they’d been fooled. There isn’t much that is marketable about a lying little boy.”

 “Fool’s gold. Fool’s gold, might I add, that can’t even back his fuckin’ words up. Kid runnin’ his mouth like you oughta, y’know, be winning all the time. Some golden boy.” She pauses a bit, giving her partner an impressed grin. Once it finally came out, his ability for wordplay never ceased to amaze her. “Anyway. You’re probably wondering if we’re forgetting about somebody. Azreal. Isn’t that Gargamel’s cat? From the motherfucking Smurfs?” Church shook his head, “The Angel of Death. The Grim Reaper.” “Oh. Shows how much I know. Anyway. We ain’t addressed him cuz there ain’t much TO address. Dude might’s well be a cardboard cutout.” “But Mike, he isn’t. There is plenty to address. Look at the way the way he stares at the boy. The indifference. The sidelong glances. The undercurrent of disapproval. No words necessary. It will never be said because that hurts the show. One day, though, he stops being a good little helper and turns the boy into their namesake.” “See that? That’s teamwork, boys. I miss the details, he picks up on ‘em and fills me in. And that’s why we, who ain’t even had one match yet, are a better team than you, who’re gonna tear each other to fuckin’ shreds like wild dogs sooner or later.” “But save some for us.” Church smiled a bit, seemingly getting into the spirit of all of this. “Mike, we stand at the precipice of a revival. We said it on Friday night. It’s ripe for the picking. We are here to take what is ours. It starts with a duo that until now has had a modicum of success against the rotting corpse of this division but has never seen a pair like us.” “They say every journey starts with the first step. And lookin’ ahead? The road to that gold’s Not So Far to Walk.” 

She tilted the camera stick up a bit to give one last parting shot of the huge blue rooster before stopping the recording, pulling the handle in and detaching her phone. “See? Told you it’d be good.” John looked at her pensively and he almost answered her in that one-word trademark response when he suddenly stopped himself.“They’re going to say things, you know, words that you can’t just zone out. I thought I’d get used to it by now but every one is like a knife in the gut.” “I’ve heard it all before. Bitch, dyke, bitch dyke, tranny, slut, he-she…” She had a bit of a wince to her grin, as if perhaps this all hadn’t rolled off her back as much as she was letting on, but she shrugged. “It’s not me I’m worried about. Just ‘cuz I know Little Lord Dickbutt is going to talk shit about you doesn’t mean I like it. Don’t like it when anybody does that.” She bristled slightly. That normal blank and gentle expression turns into steel-eyed determination. “I don’t like it either. But I guess it’s not determined here or in these videos,” He looked down at his hands. “But in the ring. Words can cause harm but so can these. Grievous harm all in the name of … good sport. How about you?” 

She nodded, her grin somewhat on the grim side, and she clenched up her own fists, tapping them together. “Let’s go get ‘em, partner.”

Printer’s maintenance tips

By followings the tips we can maintain our printers for a long time. And you don’t have to invest lots of money and your printer can work properly and efficiently.

1. Clean your print head

It is essential to clean your print head at least once a month. Remove the cartridge and clean the head with warm water. Don’t use wet tissues or alcohol to clean the print head.  After cleaning, allow the print head to dry completely before fixing it back.

2. Clean the insides

You must also clean the insides of the printer regularly. Don’t wait until the dust and grime form layers, preventing your printer from operating efficiently. Use lint-free cloths that are slightly moist to wipe the dust away. While cleaning your printer, never apply too much force even if you encounter stubborn corners of grime. Use soft bristles and moistened Q-tips to remove the grime.  Alternatively, you can also use compressed air to blow out the dust that is accumulated within the printer. Try to avoid using vacuum’s unless it is pressure-controlled vacuums that suck the dust away gently.

3. Check under the hood

It is not enough to just pay attention to the toner cartridge. You must lift the hood and check inside for any jammed or broken parts. Most printers have built-in diagnostics to indicate if there is any wear and tear. Paying attention to these maintenance lights at the right time and taking corrective action can prevent further damage. It is prudent to replace a small part rather than wait for the printer to conk off.

It is also a good idea to invest in a maintenance kit for your printer. It will help clean the printer fan and other vulnerable parts that are prone to accumulating dust and residual ink. While buying spare parts for your printer, don’t compromise on quality. Replace worn out parts with original parts that match your printer’s model.

4. Choose the right refill

Refill cartridges are expensive and you might be tempted to buy cheap, generic cartridges from flea markets. Never compromise on the quality of your toner/ink cartridges. Opting for branded, good-quality cartridges are worth every penny as it helps maintain the working condition of your printer.

Low quality cartridges will have an impact on the printer hardware. Inkjets of substandard quality will also result in poor printing. You might end up having blotchy or faded printouts with these low-cost cartridges. Never hesitate to buy the best-in-quality cartridges for your printer.

 5. Careful while you replace cartridges

Exercise caution while replacing your cartridges. It is likely that you will be replacing cartridges regularly and hence read the instructions carefully and master the art of replacing cartridges. Be careful not to touch the bottom of the cartridge while replacing as touching can spoil the quality of print. Make sure you buy high quality cartridges that are not so delicate to handle.

6. Replace Cartridges before they dry up

Don’t wait till your cartridges run dry up completely. Printer software provides notifications when cartridge levels fall below normal. Take the cue and replace your cartridge before they run out of ink. A dry cartridge leads to unwanted wear and tear on your printer head.

7. Turn it off

Turn off your printer if you are not going to use it for a long time. Printers generate a lot of heat while they are on. The print header can dry up the cartridge while on and this can in turn clog the header. A printer that is continuously on and not in use can also cause wear and tear to other parts. Hence, it is best to turn it off when not in use.

8. Download the latest drivers

One of the most important aspects that many users ignore is updating to the latest drivers. Remaining up-to-date by installing the latest drivers from the manufacturers will help keep your printer in great working condition. Some of these printers also indicate when a new driver is available at the manufacturer’s website. Do not ignore such notifications. Many hardware malfunctions with printers have been traced back to outdated drivers. Be smart and check your manufacturer’s website for updates regularly.

9. Keep your printer manual safe

Your printer manuals will come handy when you encounter any glitches so, keep them safe and in a shelf that is accessible. It would be quite useful to refer to your manual when one of the maintenance lights pop up and you have no clue why the light is on. In case, you have misplaced your manuals, you can check the online support offered by your manufacturers. Most manufacturers have an exhaustive list of commonly encountered issues along with probable solutions.

10. Use your printer regularly

Last but not the least, it is necessary to use your printer regularly. Nothing can stop your cartridge from drying up when you don’t use your printer regularly. Hence, even if you don’t have regular work to print, it would still be a good idea to print a page or two occasionally to keep your printer in good health.

Leaving your printer untouched for days together will not only dry up the ink but also clog the print header causing severe damage. It is recommended that you do a full color print at least once in 10 days to ensure your cartridge doesn’t dry up.

We hope the above mentioned printer maintenance tips can be of some use to you, helping you get just that little more from your printer.

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