Campaign Intros: Curse of Strahd

so we're calling this campaign Curse of Strahd, which is an actual dnd 5e adventure book, but what we're actually playing is probably at least 80% homebrew. my husband, the DM, wasn't satisfied with the real book, as its worldbuilding wasn't deep or horrifying or dangerous enough for his gothic horror purposes. so he significantly expanded the lore, made Strahd a whole lot more powerful (as he should be), and even made his own maps and other Dark Lords! he's done an absolutely incredible job and i cannot heap enough praise on him. like, we're only 13 sessions in and this is his first time DMing, but he really makes this campaign something special <3

~anyway~

the setting

if you're familiar with Curse of Strahd as written, you've probably got a decent understanding of the basic setting already. i'm sure there's some major differences, but you'd have to ask my husband what they are lol

for those unfamiliar with Curse of Strahd, it takes place in the country of Barovia, a gloomy gothic nation banished from the material plane about four hundred years ago. now, it exists as its own little demi-plane in the Shadowfell, surrounded by deadly mists. somewhere in those mists are a few paths out to Faerun, but only a select few can walk them. everyone else, even those who wander in by mistake, are trapped. the sun does not shine here. there are no songbirds, only crows and ravens and owls. the dead do not like to stay dead. and it's all ruled over by the undying dread king Strahd von Zarovich, who is charming and cunning and ruthless and bored

the party

Cerris Tempescu: my PC! you know him, you met him here. a human tempest cleric who's basically what would happen if Clark Kent were a classic gothic hero (and also the most bottom to ever bottom). he's depressed. he's a himbo. he has something of a hero complex. he's my sweet baby boy and i love him and want him to eventually get a happily ever after, but first he's gotta suffer a whole bunch

Shalden Broadfist: a (purple) half-orc paladin devoted to the Smiling God, a big desert worm with a very neutral morality. Shalden is charming in a mostly awkward sort of way, and also something of a himbo. waaaaay more chill about the atrocities they've witnessed (and accidentally contributed to) than Cerris. looks good in an apron. can breathe fire. also very good at getting possessed

Valessha: an androgynous (purple) moon elf knowlege cleric. was naturally the smart one of the party . . . until they got yanked into a bag of holding by the Bag Man, where they've since been stuck.

Important NPCs

Ireena Kolyana: the one, the only, Ireena Kolyana. a beautiful and fiery young noblewoman who's handy with a sword and crossbow and throwing knives. headstrong, confident, and intelligent. she likes purple wildflowers, somewhat masculine clothing, and teasing Cerris, among other things

Ismark the Lesser: Ireena's older brother, and the current mayor of Barovia Village. when we first meet him, he's tired. like, only in his 30s and he's already gone silver tired. when we meet him again, he's got a shotgun and he's out for blood and vengeance against the people he feels were responsible for what happened to his sister (read: us!)

Arrigal: one of Strahd's . . . what's the word? henchmen? servants? lackeys? whatever else he is, Arrigal is a smarmy prick. blessed by Strahd with the ability to traverse the mists, he has personally lured many heroes (including our party) from Faerun to their deaths in Barovia, all for his master's entertainment

Luvash: Arrigal's younger but larger brother. big and strong and kind, but not stupid, although i'm sure his brother thinks he is. big dad energy

Madame Eva: a wise old woman cursed with nigh eternal unlife by her half-brother, Strahd. using her deck of tarokka cards, she can read your future—for a price. not money, no, she has no use for that, but a particularly interesting artifact or trinket will do

[redacted]: a horrifying eldritch family who lives in a cute little blue farmhouse surrounded by impossibly vast fields of "corn" and "scarecrows." there's a father who's very tall, a mother who's an excellent baker, and a child who likes to draw. their faces are obscured by a whirling static of color, and their voices have a lovely southern (US) drawl. their diet seems to consist exclusively of baked goods, candy, and other sweets. sometimes their movement sounds odd, like a bug's chitinous carapace rubbing against itself as it moves. sometimes their disembodied voices hover around you speaking in unison. sometimes they paralyze you and prop you up at their dinner table like a doll

Strahd: the man, the myth, the legend. Strahd is tall, dark, and handsome, with a rich voice and surprisingly warm hands. he is elegant, suave, charismatic, bold, intelligent, and many other nice sounding things; but he has been around for a long time, and he has seen many things, and he is bored of it all. despite the incredible power he already possesses, he hungers for more. has a self-professed fondness for religious men, having flirted with both Cerris and Shalden on numerous occasions

the plot . . . so far

after being lured into Barovia by Arrigal, our party finds themselves doing what they can to help the folks of Barovia village. they clear out a haunted and cursed old manor, putting the ghosts there to rest. they help bury Ireena and Ismark's father so Strahd's minions will stop messing with it. they promise a pastor to help him return his vampire spawn son to genuine life

and when they learn that Ireena is believed to be the reincarnation of Strahd's one true love Tatyana, that as a result, he has been trying to capture her and make her his bride for years, they agree to escort her to the temple in Valaki, the last stronghold against Strahd's power

upon arriving in Valaki, they are tasked with finding a missing holy relic as payment for sheltering Ireena. after losing Valessha to the Bag Man, going on a side quest to help Luvash recover his daughter from a family of hags, and playing out the beginning of a sweet little romantic comedy between Cerris and Ireena, they do find it and return it. but it quickly becomes apparent that something is deeply wrong here in Valaki

indeed, it turns out that the whole ordeal was something of a setup. more than a handful of NPCs thought to be good people—or, at least, neutral ones—are revealed to be working with Strahd to bring down Valaki and help him free himself from the confines of Barovia

you see, the curse that ties Strahd to this land and prevents him from leaving is not really a curse on him, but upon his bloodline. as the only surviving member of the von Zaroviches, unable to have children as a side effect of being undead, it remains effective. but if, say, he were to have a little niece or nephew running around, he just might be able to place them on the throne and pass along the curse, leaving himself free to return to Faerun and his conquest

but how could Strahd aquire a niece or nephew when his only sibling, Sergei, has been dead for four hundred years?

well, it should be noted Tatyana was not really Strahd's lover. he did ask her to be his, once, but she refused—and shortly thereafter, fell in love with and married his brother. when the pair died tragically, Tatyana was pregnant; and so the unfinished soul of her unborn child lingered, attached to her own soul as she reincarnated again and again and again over four hundred years. a particularly powerful fertility spell—say, one fueled by the very holy relic our party retrieved—could feasibly impregnate a reincarnation of Tatyana with the ghost of Sergei's child

so, of course, that's what Strahd's minions do. they put Ireena in a deep trance, kidnap her, and, armed with the very holy relic our party unwittingly retrieved for them, perform a ritual for a powerful fertility spell that presumably sticks a ghost baby in her womb without her knowledge or consent. and then she's whisked away to Strahd's castle, the city of Valaki is conquered, and our heroes are publicly blamed for it all

with nothing else to do, they turn to the cryptic reading Madame Eva gave them, hoping it holds the secret to defeating Strahd—and that they can decipher it before it's too late

I just really think Remus Lupin is a ballerina okay AU

Remus Lupin has been doing ballet since he was four. He was exuberant and flashy at first, but after his first teacher, Greyback, molested and abused him, he is quiet and reserved. He prefers to dance by himself and does not speak to anyone inside or outside of the class. He wears pink material and is the best dancer in the school, but everyone is more terrified of him than they are jealous. He has sad eyes and soft hair, but prominent scars (both self-inflicted and from Greyback and accidents) cover his freckled skin. He’s a mystery, but no one wants to solve him.

He lives with his roommate and only friend, Severus Snape, who is a writer. He spins out films and novels and poems by the hundreds, especially inspired by the rain. Remus and Severus will often spend rainy days together in their apartment, with Severus typing furiously and scribbling while Remus dances to Hozier and Lana Del Rey off to the side. Sometimes when Remus will have nightmares, Severus will hold him and sing Russian lullabies until he falls asleep. Severus smokes lazily and wears subdued flower and gothic dresses that show off his jutting hips and collar bones. Having escaped an abusive father and a dead mother, he and Remus bond over their shit parents, with Remus’ father being neglectful and his mother kind but catatonic. Their neighbors think they’re witches, but they’re alright with that.

They both have to work to pay the bills, so while Severus works with preschoolers, Remus works as an assistant for a terrifying professor named Grindelwald at the university. He’s a reformed felon who’s always glowering, and there are rumors he’s Dumbledore’s husband, who is Remus’ mysterious ballet teacher with the twinkling eyes. But no one has the guts to ask him - it’s unknown what he was locked up for, and nobody wants to risk that it was irrational homicide. He mostly ignores Remus though, and doesn’t mind if Remus reads or dances while he works, so Remus doesn’t think he’s too bad.

One day Remus is grading some papers for Grindelwald when Lily Evans walks in, a vision in a white floral lace flowing vest and an across-the-shoulders dark blue dress, a brown belt around her waist and matching ankle boots coming up over creme knee-high knit socks, a black hat on her head. There’s a camera around her neck and her smile is beautiful, surrounded by her freckles, and she and Remus hit it off immediately. She asks if he can spare some time to be her model for the day, and he agrees. They’re hanging out in the park and laughing when Severus walks over, having finished work. The moment he and Lily lay eyes on each other, something happens, something magical, and Remus can see it in both of their smiles as they exchange shy hellos.

Lily starts to hang around them, her and Severus teetering on the edge of something. Remus nudges Severus until he’s brave enough to ask her out, and their first date is in the park where they met, sitting on a bench in the rain and watching the birds. Remus is pretty sure they’re gonna get married one day.

To keep himself busy while his two friends fall in love, Remus escapes to the dance school, dancing alone to Lana Del Rey in an empty room when the door creaks open and he hears, “Wow.” He turns around and smiles, taking in the sight of James Potter, an old school friend who left for Julliard and he hasn’t seen in years. James laughs, pulling him into a hug, and Remus lets him, tangling his hands in James’ curls and grinning when James presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. James tells him he’s been enjoying a gap year before going to search for a job as a back-up dancer for Taylor Swift, to which Remus giggles and tells him he’ll be great. James beams, and pulls Remus along, saying he has to meet James’ best friend-partner-person. Remus agrees, and changes back into his flowing white dress decorated in bees and black flats, tucking spruce leaves in his hair before taking James’ hand and following him out.

At James’ apartment, he calls out, “Babe! I’m home!” Remus watches as Sirius Black comes skidding down the hall, dazzling in a sparkling black croptop with gold touches and a raggedy sheer maroon skirt that falls just above his spiky combat boots. With white and gold dahlias in his hair, he’s the most beautiful thing Remus has ever seen, and he stares as James pecks Sirius on the mouth, coming away with dark red lipstick stains. When Sirius looks up at Remus, his eyes twinkling, and Remus reaches out a hesitant hand, which Sirius takes. “Hi,” he breathes, and Sirius laughs, loud and bright. He leans in and kisses Remus’ cheek. “Hello, beautiful,” he says sweetly, wrapping an arm around Remus’ waist. “James has told me all about you, love.” Remus blushes, unable to stop smiling even as Sirius pulls away at James’ indignant “Oi!” and doesn’t touch him again. Sirius is the love of his life - he doesn’t know how, but it’s something he just somehow knows, the feeling taking root in his chest and sprouting flowers.

Sirius, as it turns out, is James’ roommate and queerplatonic partner. He ran away from his abusive home and is taking commissions as an artist. Mostly he draws wolves, dogs, rats, deers, doves, snakes, and cats. He affectionately calls Remus Moony, insisting his scars look like something were bit him and his eyes are the fierce amber of a wolf’s. Sirius in turn is called Padfoot, for his doglike energy and loving nature, while James is dubbed Prongs for being a dumbass who continually forgets he’s too big to fit in small spaces and gets lost in the woods almost every weekend. Remus never wants to stop hanging out with them, and learns to spend hours shopping at the vintage shop where Sirius works, the two of them falling for each other fast while James reclaims them as his partners in love as in life. And Remus is so, so happy.

While he’s busy falling in love with Sirius, Lily has moved in with him and Severus. Remus doesn’t mind, and tells Severus he’s thinking of making a home with Sirius and James. Severus hugs him and tells him he’s proud of him, suggesting they hang out that day just the two of them, like old times. Remus agrees, and lets Severus take him to the cafe where Lily works. In the corner of the shop is Regulus Black, a boy drenched in hoodies and coats that Remus and Severus buy free food and drinks for. Regulus thanks them profusely, and they all make small talk until Remus makes a comment that Regulus looks like Remus’ boyfriend Sirius, to which Regulus starts crying, explaining that Sirius is his older brother and he’s been trying to find him for years but gave up looking when their shit parents died and Sirius was nowhere to be found at the funeral. Remus offers to take him home, and Severus kisses Remus on the forehead before heading off to find Lily.

On the way there, they stop at the bakery and accept some free cupcakes from Peter Pettigrew, who owns the bakery with his elusive partner. Regulus, as it turns out, is homeless, and has been trying to make it on his busking money alone. But while he’s fairly lovely at singing, it’s not enough to buy anything concrete. As they eat, Regulus also tells Remus about Amir Levis, a librarian who lets him stay at the library. Remus exclaims that he already knows Amir, who helps Remus remember his pills and doctor’s appointments and always has a spare wheelchair and some tea for him just in case. Regulus admits to having a crush on Amir, but he’s too scared to do anything about it. Remus assures him he and Sirius will help him with it, and just like that they’re on their way.

At home, Remus smiles softly at the sight of Sirius and James entwined on the couch and says, “Look who I found.” At the sight of Regulus, Sirius shoves James to the floor in his haste to stand up, taking Regulus’ face in his hands and searching his eyes for answers. “You got out?” He says, breathless. “Really? You’re alright?” Regulus smiles sheepishly. “Of course I did, Siri,” he whispers. “You think I was gonna let you have all the fun?” Sirius tears up and tugs him close, rocking back and forth as the two of them mumble apologies and love confessions into each other’s necks and shoulders and hair. Remus gravitates towards James, kissing him with a smile before pulling him out of the apartment, saying they should leave the brothers alone.

Remus takes the opportunity to introduce James to Severus and Lily, who are immediately taken with him. They offer to watch him for the afternoon while Remus goes to therapy with Maxwell Needles, a counselor with magenta hair who talks to Remus about life, his accident, his trauma, Greyback, his suicidal tendencies, anxiety, PTSD, and depression. Remus also takes the chance to pick up Sirius and James’ ADHD medication, Peter’s OCD prescription, Lily’s bipolar medication, Severus’ schizophrenia suppressors, and a few books on autism (for Severus), Tourette’s (for Lily), and eating disorders (for James and, Remus suspects somehow, Regulus). Max is delighted to see him with so many friends, and says they’ll bring Peter over sometime for dinner. Though he’s not sure where that would happen since he’s torn between two homes right now, Remus agrees with a smile and bids the skater kid in the checkered jeans goodbye.

Back at school, Remus spends his afternoons in conversation with Mcgonogall, the waltz teacher who takes care of him. She’d adopted him when his parents died and he tries to stick around, asking advice about Sirius and James and whether moving in with them is a good idea. Mcgonogall says she thinks it is, and that she knows Sirius is a kind young man. As it is, he calls her Minnie, and knows her as a friend and a grandmother of sorts, since she helped him when he first ran away to James’ house. Remus is content with continuing the conversation but is interrupted by a phone call telling him Sirius, James, and Regulus have been jailed for a fist fight on the street.

Remus goes to pick them up, where he meets Bellatrix Lestrange, an abusive cousin of Sirius and Regulus who took particular joy out of torturing Sirius, who she almost killed once. She’s also been known to abuse children, especially those of the poor. Also in jail are Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, a couple married only in spirit who keep having miscarriages and take their abusive anger out on each other and strangers. Their landlord, Voldemort, had demanded unconventional payments and they’d been essentially enslaved to him for years, only escaping his cultist grasp by means of murder, which is why they’re here now.

Remus sees James holding Regulus close and whispering to him as he kisses the cuts and bruises on his face in the corner of the cell, but says nothing about it, kissing Sirius hello. The four of them go home together, and as soon as Regulus is asleep Remus tells James and Sirius that he wants to make a home with them someday, just not right now. They laugh and smile and tell him they’re ready when he is and that they love him, and Remus thinks, Things are good.

don’t be so naive - part one

pairing: prince!yeosang x princess!reader ft. brother!seonghwa

genre: royal au, angst, little fluff

wc: 3.6k

synopsis: your parents got themselves into a hassle, and the only way out involves you and a handsome Prince from a neighbouring kingdom...

warnings: arranged marriage, mentioned murder, mentioned ambush

—

“I expected to find you here.” you turn your head around from the corner of the glasshouse you were currently hiding at. It was your older brother with a relieved look painted on his face as he saw you in between the plants, playing with one of the many cats that found home in the ginormous park like garden your family got to call their own. It wasn’t very princess-like, you knew that, but you liked the nature. And despite living in a giant castle with countless rooms, this was the only place were you could truly catch a break and think. Seonghwa however just beat you to it, which made the stray cats jump out of your lap and run into the nearest bushes, looking after thier retreading froms for as long as possible to avoid the conversation with your brother that you could no longer hide from.

Turning your back back to him, you sigh, “Don’t wanna talk, leave me alone.” trying to shrug him off, but knowing him, he wouldn’t leave until he got to say what he came here for. You fumble with some fallen leaves and blossoms that are already dead, lying infront of you on the cobbled ground. Thoughts about the stone cold reality your parents confronted you with just hours ago still fresh in your mind.

“Since things haven’t gone smoothly recently and we have gotten ourselves in quite a bit of trouble, we had to ask around in the kingdoms nearby for help. We found a wealthy family willing to support us, but... their oldest son is going to marry you in return. We are deeply sad about this, since we know you didn’t want this, but this is the only way. If you reject, they won’t help us and we will be doomed.”

You hated this. They were giving you no options. And even if you would do everything to help your family out of their mess, this was the only thing you would never want to do. Being young, free, on your own. Riding the horses out into the woods and shooting animals in the mountains, practicing your archery skills and gardening all the rare flowers and plants from all over the world... this is what you lived for. Being forced into a marriage would mean for you to quit all those things and never be able to do them again. Only because of the mistakes your parents caused.

Seonghwa reaches his hand towards you, nodding his head back where he entered the little shelter. „If we had more time I would let you alone, but that’s not the case. Please, just walk around with me and listen, will you?“.

Even if your parents were the definition of evil, your brother clearly wasn’t. He is the only person you could lean on and most importantly, trust. The both of you really loved your parents, regardless of their wrong doings. Like they said, love makes blind, and that doesn’t only apply to romatic relationships. Whenever the news about your parents broke, murdering other kings and queens, raiding them of all thier belongings just to name the worst, You and Seonghwa have always turned a blind eye - or a deaf ear - towards the accusations and defended them regardless. But deep in your heart, you knew that they have overstepped many borders, and were now stuck.

Groaning to yourself, you pulled yourself up to your feet and patted the dirt of your skirt before following your brother around the garden as he started to state the facts, and quite frankly, what’s at stake here:

„You should know that they arranged a meeting with him already. He could arrive any minute, and he‘s eager to see you.“ he said, earning another groan from you, but this time out of pure frustration. This was moving too fast, only adding to the irritation that was already building up inside of you for hours, now threatening to come loose.

„Seonghwa,“ you started, but stopped for a second as you interwined your fingers with the older ones. „I don’t wanna do this. You‘re eager to marry, why don‘t you go ahead? They surely have many daughters desperate to get a man like you. Not to mention you‘re the oldest out of us.“ you tried to push the responsibility onto him, but he only scoffed in reply. He looked down to you, before dipping his chin towards his chest. Seeing faint traces of sadness resurface on his face. Your gut told you that he wasn’t happy about bringing you those news, but yet, it was his duty. He was the only one you’re willing to listen to, but you cursed at yourself and wishing you would have stayed in the glasshouse with the cats.

„They specifically asked for you. Even if I wanted to take your place, they don’t want me. Just you.“ he tried his best to stay serious and not show his outrage, staying calm instead. Whipping your head towards him and slowing your movements, „What if I do reject him? For all I know he could be some old, disgusting person. And it wouldn’t be so bad if they denied their support, surely there are other-“

Seonghwa stopped and pulled you by your shoulder, his glance boring holes into your skull. „Then they will kill us all, Y/N, don’t you get it? They are the only people willing to help us, because everyone else is out to murder us! If you deny, then you can already start planning your funeral, aswell as mine and our parents’. This is the last straw - no, you are the last straw.“

The words hit you with more force than ever before, ducking your head away from his heated stare and trying to get away. You sighed. This really wasn’t your usual way of handling things, and it only added to your bad feeling. Being weak and hiding wasn’t really like you at all, and you swore to yourself in that very moment, in Seonghwas harsh grip and angsty eyes, that no matter what happened - you were staying strong and true to yourself. And if it was the last thing you were doing. Taking a deep breath before you met his eyes for the first time in what felt like ages, your confidence struck.

„Okay. I will do it. There is no choice, so I‘ll have to do it.“

He sighed, but a small smile stretched his lips, “I know you will, and you can. But father send me not to console you, but to get yourself dressed and ready for Yeosang.” He started to walk again, aim back on the entrance back into the giant hallways of your home. Heading towards one of the rooms that had a majority of your fancier attire. Leaving you alone in the room as soon as you two arrive, but sending in the tailor just a few minutes later. Indicating how important the meeting actually is to your parents. As if their life depended on it, which it ironically did.

Yeosang, Yeosang, Yeosang... you thought to yourself while the familiar person started to work on your clothing. You heard that name before, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. May it be from on of the many balls and festivities you attended when you were younger, which basically were failed attempts to find a fitting spouse for both you and Seonghwa. And there were so many handsome, young, intelligent and athletic princes pining at you, but in the end you turned them all down. Secretly hoping that he wasn’t one of the many rejected boys, or else things are garantueed to turn awkward the moment he steps foot into your home.

After what felt like hours of the tailor getting you dressed in one of the finest dresses and brushing your long hair to hang loosely over your shoulders and chest, you heard a knock on the door and spotted two pairs of curious eyes peaking in. It was Seonghwa alongside your mother, whose eyes were puffy and nose was red from assumingly crying. The arm of Seonghwas tall form reached around her shoulder, trying to hold her steady. The tailor left after the finishing touches and your mother crashed into your arms, crying uncontrollably into your hair.

She sobbed so much it was hard to understand everything she was saying, other than that she was sorry and that she would miss you. You looked at your tall brother for advice on how you should react or what to say, but he just shrugged and extended a hand to pull her away from you. The longer you were trapped in her shaky arms, the final realisation grew larger and larger, that you would have to leave your family and not be able to see them for a very long time.

„Don’t worry about me mother. I can handle myself. And I will sure to visit when it’s possible... And I still have to teach Seonghwa how to shoot a dove with an arrow the right way, no?“ you joked half heartedly in a try to make her smile and take the strange negativity which was tangible in the air, away. It was an inside joke between your sibling and you, but your mother understood what you meant. But the lack of a response just supported your fear that you would not be able to go hunting ever again.

Seonghwa nudged you, as he held out his hand for you to take. Your mother waved you off, telling you to go ahead and not let them wait since she was still trying to collect herself from her excessive crying. Once again, the only reliable person in your life was next to you, pushing the stinging fact about this being the last time you will be with him for who knows how long - maybe even forever - to the side. They really took everything you had away from you, just to save themselves, and a strange, bitter taste formed in your mouth, starting to rethink the entire situation. The unconditional love slowly started to wear off, and this was only the start of it.

Before you turned the last corner into the main hall you stopped and pulled your brother back a few steps to make sure the others didn’t recognise him before you spoke your mind. Clearly hearing how your father was currently chirping a cheerful conversation with the family of your future husband as a distraction for their long wait, and how you hated the sound of that already.

“Can you promise me one thing? Not as the Prince, but as my brother?” You whispered after you caged his rough hands innetween your thin fingers and held his fist against your chest, for him to feel your heartbeat. Nodding in reply, watching your movements very closely, as if he tried to memorise this for him to remember forever. “Promise me that I will be able to see you again after I leave. And promise me you make sure the kingdom stays safe. I want to come back and rule with you once the time is right...”

His expression turned soft, and he pulled your small body into a brief hug, murmuring quietly, “I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep Y/N, but I will promise you with my entire heart that I will try my best. This is your home, no matter what happens, and I will always be here for you.” Tears were about to appear in your eyes, but as the two of you heard the dark voice of your father shout for your attendance, you quickly pulled away and swallowed the tears down.

Following closely after Seonghwa, stepping into view for the strangers to eye you curiously. You stood next to his throne and kept your gaze fixed on the floor, nor daring to look at them yet. As your father introduced you to his family, the stranger, which you assumed to be your future man, took a step forward and tapped his foot lightly against the stone cold floor, showing his impatience roughly. Still not daring to look him into the eyes, but he came closer and closer towards you, when he suddenly went down on one knee and pulled a giant diamond ring out of the back pocket of his slacks.

“Let’s make this quick, yes?” were his first and only words, and you finally looked him into his eyes, immediately regretting all your previous life choices.

His hair was dark brown and parted down the middle, his eyes held the fires of hell and the clouds of heaven in them at the same time. His high cheek bones and sharp jawline only adding to the attractiveness of him. His expression was unreadable, since you were indeed looking at a stranger. The longer you inspected his face and body, you assured yourself that you have never seen this man before, which was at least a little thing that made everything a little less worse. His hand snatched your wrist pretty forcefully, which almost made you jolt, but keeping the control over your body and balance, you stood straight. His gentle fingers fidgeting with your small hand, pushing the cold metal of the ring onto your ringfinger, and placing a soft but rushed kiss onto the back of your hand.

“It’s official then. Time to say goodbye.” The older man behind your fiancée spoke. You looked around for Seonghwa, but his gaze told you to stay still and not do anything crazy. Turning towards your father and bowing at the hip, you waved him goodbye, and did the same to your brother. This is happening. This is really happening. What am I gonna do now? rushed thoughts made you forget your surroundings for a moment, and before you even realized, you were on your way out of your home, Yeosang snaking his arm around your waist to guide you out.

Leading you out of your home and into their coach which was pulled by four big, brown horses. Taking a seat on the back, with Yeosang plopping down right next to you, and the proximity making your palms sweaty. Anxiety was bubbling in your stomach and through every other part of your body, and you didn’t dare to say something yet. Even if you were marrying their son and were going to stay with them for a very long time, you felt uneasy about everything. Like something was wrong... What were you going to do with all your time? All the things that kept you busy were all cancelled. Should you read? Cook? What do they even expect from this whole thing, other than the help your parents depended on? Questions over questions, no answers. In due time, you would get the answers, but first you needed to learn how to open your mouth Infront of them.

A threatening, long silence laid over the two of you, but after some time had passed, Yeosang clears his throat before he starts talking: “It should only take us four more hours until we arrive in Sangju. You may lean on me if you want to rest.” He suggested, and you eyed him, still unsure. Shaking your head after a few moments, declining his offer, “I’m well, thank you.”. You let your eyes wander over the landscapes to make him stop looking at you. Thankfully it worked.

After a long journey, your travel route finally came to a stop at what would be Yeosang’s family home… And now also your home. When you tried to stand up, you stumbled for a few steps, before regaining your balance again. Looking around you, his parents were watching you already. His father wore a strict look on his face, but his mother was shining, showing her teeth to you and trying to seem welcoming towards you. Even if it was just a tiny act of kindness, you felt a little less lost on your shoes. Your future husband stood next to you as he entered the giant gates of their castle.

“We should head to the main hall, for our two love birds to sign the marriage certificate.” His father exclaimed while pasting through the giant corridors. You looked a bit lost in the giant building, yet the sudden placement of the princes’ hand back on the small of your waist calmed your nerves for what ever reason. It might be from the physical touch, since what else would it be? He was still a stranger.

Shortly after you signed the documents, they brought you to the quarters you were to share with the prince, or now your husband, you started wondering for how long they have been planning this. Obtaining these sort of documents would take several weeks at least. Starting to think of the true intentions of these people. What could they possibly want from you? Money? No, they surely had enough... maybe fame? But still, what was your part in that? You were renowned for being “not suitable for marriage”, so yet again - where was the catch? Walking up and down the giant bedroom in a hurry, your thoughts were overwhelming you. Only did you wish to be able to seek Seonghwa’s advice, or be able to run away. It was all way too sketchy.

“May I come in, my grace?” Yeosang asked, the door being opened only a few inches to peek in. Noticing your distressed state, but choosing not yet to comment on it. You slowed your hasty footsteps and sat down on the foot of the bed. He sat down beside you, like you were sitting in your travel here, but now you were alone. But that made you feel more angsty. Even if you were not married in a formal way, the documents are signed. You were, in fact, husband and wife now.

You sighed deeply, catching his attention again. “Your highness, I believe I do not quite understand what is expected of me as your wife. And I’m worried about the well being of my family. I gave up all my hopes and dreams for the future to come here, so they may be saved.” You explained. He eyed you carefully, your words were thick with desparation, but the tone in your voice didn’t indicate your emotions about the matter. “Now, Now, my grace, do not mistaken our efforts to help as a way to ruin your future. In fact, I do believe we might have a bright future ahead of us. I am your newly wed husband after all, am I not? Please, I want you make you feel as welcome as possible, let me or anyone know if something is not to your liking. We ought to take care of it.” He announced, before slipping off the bed and heading back outside. Sudden alarm going off in your head:

“Yeosang,” you started, suprising both of you by your informality towards the older man, “I have one request, if I might.” He nodded, turning on his heel to look at you again. “Of course, anything for you, my lady. What is bothering you?”

swallowing down the thick blob of nervousness before continuing with your request: “I don’t know much of the deal between your parents of mine, but can you please ensure me, that my brother will not endear any form of pain or injustice... I wouldn’t be able to look at myself anymore if anything were to happen to him..."

"Now, don’t be so naive, my grace. Our intentions are purely out of charity.” Yeosang swiftly interrupted your ramblings. Taking your gaze off of him and hiding your hand behind the back of your hand, a sob slipped out of your lips.

He stayed still for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Does your dear brother mean a lot to you?” You simply nod your head while collecting yourself again from almost bursting into tears at the mere thought of Seonghwa being in pain. “Seonghwa is everything I have. Had... he was the only one who I could trust and who would understand the, uhm... the scandals revolving our parents. He is truly the only sencire person in my family.” explaining while panting softly, his eyes turned soft after seeing you so vulnerable right infront of him. Taking a few steps back to your direction, cupping your cheek lightly with his big palm, and meeting your gaze. “I will ensure your brothers safety, there will be no need to worry. But now you should rest, we will show you everything that you can do to entertain yourself tomorrow. I will join you shortly.”

After a few moments of intaking the intimacy between you two strangers, he detached himself from you and you felt cold and alone. It made you creeped out at the strong emotions and feelings he errupted inside you. Also wondering if he would take your innocence away from you, since this would be your wedding night. But before you could ask anything else, he stood up and walked out of the bedroom. But regardless the mess inside your mind, his words brought calm to your mind, and you were able to lay down and close your eyes for a short while.

Meanwhile, Yeosang entered his fathers study, interrupting him doing important paperwork:

“It’s about the brother. Take him to Keomgyu, make him marry one of my cousins, but you shan’t kill him. They are aware of thier parents mishaps, but do not support them at all. He could do good for our kingdom, so again: I ask you not to kill him.”

—

Haunted Painting!AU: Day 3

(In this episode of Haunted Paintings and How to Survive Them: There are fucking animals everywhere-

Also this is segregated from Death Palette's three lives rule, so the artist can take a bit more burnout. (we hope.))

You don't speak for a moment. You half expected to probably be crucified upside down at calling the subject of the painting 'Diavolo', but he seemed to take to it well. "You are not a sociable person." He says, grinning with amusement.

"...I haven't been for a while." You point out, refraining from snapping. "Long story."

"If you are unable to keep a acceptable conversation, then perhaps painting me a companion will suffice." 'Diavolo' answers back. "Preferably one similar in color to my waistcoat."

An animal with black fur. Seems pretty easy enough. You feel your phone vibrate, but you are more focused on finding that cat. You find it staring up the tree, and sketch it before it runs off. You also notice a bird in the tree, and sketch that as well.

As you walk around, you notice a door that your never seen before. You open it to be met face to face with a horse. 'Of course.' you tell yourself. 'There would be a horse here. Nothing makes goddamn sense in this place.' You sketch the horse, and notice a empty birdcage farther along the room. "Sorry, big guy- just gonna-" You scoot past the horse to sketch the birdcage, then scoot out of the room. 'Well, I know what I'm not painting.' You tell yourself as your the door. 'How the hell would a horse fit inside a room?!'

You sigh, but see a rabbit sleeping in a tree and a dog waiting below it. You quickly sketch those in as well. You finally check your phone.

-

[Buyer][Day 3]

'Look, I might have not be a good artist, but your attitude is just as bad! So what if that dog started biting you?! I had nothing to do with it!'

'Geez, you even got mad when I painted a birdcage before a bird!'

'Fuck- my chest... I still remember my first cat... Maybe...'

[Owner][Day 3]

'So, the animals move within the painting! I can use this to get the dove into the birdcage!'

[Buyer][Day 3]

'I tried with the dog again, but it ate the rabbit I painted! I'm sorry, tough guy... I didn't think it would hurt the rabbit-'

'Hang on- if you spare me, I'll introduce you to someone- they're going through a lot right now and tend to be gloomy, but they have a small following and know their stuff! They'll paint you any way you like! Just let me go, pleas'

[Researcher][Day 3]

'While the painting's true title is unknown, it has the common title of "The Noble with the Black Rose". There are many paintings that use the same model, and were painted in the first half of the twentieth century- so a common theory is that they were painted by a collective of artists in the same time period, and well known portraitists as well, meaning they were commissioned fairly well by a wealthy patron.'

'Many of these portraits exist in modern days, and there are art collectors dedicated to completing this series. I have visited such a collector with similar portraits; matching all the features of this mysterious young man down to the colors of his clothing. However, the identity of the young man is still unknown.'

-

"Note to self: when I get back home unscathed, check if she's alive, take her out to drinks, and then punch her dead in the face." You tell yourself, regarding your possibly late dealer friend. You also notice a dog sitting by you and you quickly sketch it.

'He doesn't like dogs, if I remember what she mumbled about, and no way in hell I'm painting a horse in that room.' You muse, stepping to the canvas. "Be patient with me today." You say, keeping your tone even. "I can assure you're not getting a dog or a goddamn horse."

'Diavolo' cocks his head at the horse quip, but ignores it. Your soul alights your brush, and you paint a black bird- however, it turns white. You stared at the canvas, both worried and confused. "It turned white again?" 'Diavolo' asks, perplexed.

'While I want to paint the cat, it will eat the... dove?' You muse. 'I'll paint the birdcage first.' Your soul turns a gold color, and you paint a birdcage in the corner of the room. "...A cage?" He asks again, this time seemingly seeing what you were doing.

"Trust me." You say, your body trembling as your soul burns black. You paint a regal looking black cat, and you watch the dove fly into the birdcage, with the cage door closing behind it. The cat looked unimpressed at this. You lean against canvas, tired.

"...You look tired." 'Diavolo' notes, a faint tone of concern in his voice.

"... I'm- I'm okay." You answer, pulling yourself up. You manage to paint a black rabbit on his lap. It promptly falls asleep, tooth-purring as it did so.

"It's a bit large, but I'll overlook that." 'Diavolo' answers, looking at it. The cat ignores the sleeping rabbit, fortunately. You sigh, tired. "I'll at least have some company to pass the time."

"....I'- It's still raining." You note, trembling.

"It must be your gloomy nature bringing it." 'Diavolo' sighs. "...Replace the cover. You need to rest. You're about to keel over." You silently obey, stumbling into your room. You flop onto the bed, falling asleep.

-

"Oh! These are beautiful." Your sister says, her eyes bright.

"I've been practicing with animal portraits lately." You say, proud. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty great- they'll send me home tomorrow at the earliest." Your sister answers. "Although, I really wish he wouldn't have...." You realize who she was talking about.

"I talked to security about that." You say. "They'll keep an eye out for him, and make sure he doesn't come in anymore. He won't hurt you anymore."

-

"Thank you." Your sister says, smiling. "You really look after me, and I'm really grateful for it."

You wake up to your phone buzzing and the sound of rain and thunder. You idly look over the messages on your phone.

-

[Researcher][Day 3]

'Now the question remains, why is this piece alone cursed? None of the other paintings of 'The Noble with the Black Rose' have this curse- so it must have to do with the painter of this piece.'

'Despite it bearing no signature, I was able to gain some information from the gallery's owner, a sculptor, and the painter's landlord. Ah- it must be +$?8282)+@+... She's been long passed away. It's been guessed the landlord was the first victim.'

'A theory could be that something dreadful happened between the model and the painter, this being the last painting in a series. The boy disappeared from history, as no one knows of him. His enmity must have entered the painting and cursed it. After that, he proceeded to ki...'

-

You stand up, opening the door. You uncover the painting, noticing 'Diavolo' lying in a bed. "...am I disturbing you?"

"No." 'Diavolo' answers, speaking softly. "The animals you painted vanished. Would you disappear as well?"

"I hope not." You answer. "I'll finish you first, then I'll go home. Where would you be if I did that?"

"A fair point." 'Diavolo' chuckles. "I was thinking- if we were to play a game, would you indulge a final chance for yourself?"

"...a game?" You expected something like that. "I guess if I lose, I die."

"However, if you manage to win by some fluke, I'll let you use those steps." 'Diavolo' points to a set of disordered steps. "...if you win, of course."

Supernatural: A dedication to its memory and how the show changed my life

Fifteen Years. 15 years and over 300 episodes of the greatest show on TV. 15 years of joy, heartache, tears, fun and inspiration; and for me, 15 years, two marriages one divorce, two tattoos and a show that brought me the love of my life. Supernatural has impacted us all on so many levels. I could easily write a 15 page academic paper on the seasons, the meanings behind each season and all the little things that made the show so great. Things such as the music, the brothers Winchester, the family dynamic, and the beautiful 1967 Chevy Impala (my dream car should I win the lottery. Black four door version of course). I could go on about each major and minor character, how they impacted the show and what each of them meant to me and the fans but this is not what this is about. This post is about how Supernatural changed my life and how it impacted me.

First a few housekeeping things to address regarding the final season and the series finale. I thought the pre finale show was excellent but definitely could have been longer and included more. However I do understand they only had 42 minutes or so to cram 15 years of memories and characters in so I understand they had to only hit the highlights. They should do a longer version for the Blue Ray 15 season collectors set which I'm sure they will make and that I am definitely getting. Regarding the final season, I thought it was excellent. My wife, who is also a big fan of the show (more on her later) didn't think it was as good as other seasons but enjoyed it none the less. The ending was good sort of expected with the two boys ending up in heaven together, but I was surprised they killed Dean in the sort of nonchalant way they did. Sort of anti climactic for the greatest hunter in the world. The final speech to Sam was heartbreaking and heartfelt and I loved it! I also loved the symmetry of how Sam's son Dean also gave him permission to leave this world as Sam gave (original) Dean all those years later. I'm glad they didn't show who Sam's wife was and she was just left as a mysterious place holder. Originally I thought maybe they should have had him with Eileen but in retrospect the way they did it was better and honestly I'm not sure if she (or the other AU folk) were even brought back with the rest of the world. Maybe someone can clear this point up for me. I was really surprised they didn't do the "carry on my wayward son" beginning but I soon figured out before it even happened they were going to do it in the end of the episode which turned out to be much better. All in all I give the last season an A- and the finale and how it ended an A+ Again there is a lot to say about the final season, the final episode, and all the seasons but I will leave that analysis to other people. This is about what the show meant to me specifically about how it helped me through my darkest days and ushered in my brightest of days which I am living now. This is that story.

I wasn't with Supernatural from the very beginning. The show premiered in 2005 and I honestly hadn't heard anything about it or did I know anything about it for a few years. I came off active duty from the Marine Corps in June of 2005 and after fighting my beloved country's wars for a few years I was out of the loop on many things. I first came across Supernatural on TNT catching a re run here and there but with no real interest and only getting bits and pieces of the story. In 2010 I met my first wife and was a casual fan at this point seeing enough re runs on TNT to get a general idea of the storyline for the first few seasons but again only as a casual fan. At this point of my life I was also falling down a dark hole. My alcoholism which is a result of my PTSD from my combat service started to get really bad. I was drinking more than most people could handle but as my father was, highly functional. This led to me staying with and eventually marrying my first wife which was a bad idea. She cheated on me constantly and probably didn't even really love me. We were also polar political opposites (you can figure out my political viewpoints from the rest of my blog) and not compatible really in the least. Why I ever stayed with her and married her is beyond me at this point in my life. So there I was drinking my life away in a bad relationship and trying to figure out how to manage my life. Then Supernatural came on Netflix and I decided to give it a real shot. This decision changed my life.

I quickly caught up on the first six seasons and started watching the show live starting with season 7. I was hooked. I loved everything about it. Dean and Sam, Cass the car, the brotherly love, the monsters, the angels, everything but I still didn't know how this show would impact me in the end. I continued to drink myself to death getting unhealthier fatter and no longer resembling the fit Marine I once was. I was in a constant haze drinking an entire bottle of whiskey every night to drink away the pain of my bad marriage and the pain of not being loved and cheated on by my wife. Supernatural was the one bright spot in my life.

In 2014 I finally divorced my wife but this was only the first step. I continued to drink and destroy my life causing me to get fired from my job. Fortunately I was hired on back into government work making much better money and with having no wife and no kids was finally able to live a little better financially but I was lonely and alone except for the alcohol. I continued to find refuge in the bottle but also in Supernatural. I watched every episode as it came on, re watched all the old episodes, blogged and facebooked about it to the point that I am sure I was annoying the one or two friends that I had. The rest of my life was a blur. Get up, stumble into work drunk or hungover, go home sick and jonesing for my next drink, bottle of whiskey till one in the morning, a few hours of sleep and starting the whole cycle back over. I was fat, ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside, and a bad human being. My drinking got so bad I destroyed my liver and was medically discharged from my job but was given retirement for all my years of service to the federal government. So now I was 33 retired with a pension and VA disability and really nothing to do but sit at home drink whiskey and watch TV. I had no love in my life, one or two close friends who didn't like being around me anymore because of my drinking, and my family was worried but couldn't get through to me. Even after my father died of alcohol abuse in 2015 I still continued down my destructive path. Finally in February of 2017 I was hospitalized and was told I would be dead in less than a year. I truly believe I was touched by God at this point because I went home dumped out three bottles of alcohol and never touched the stuff again to this day.

Now I had to learn to relive my life all over without alcohol. I started to exercise and lose weight (90 pounds in 5 months) I went back to church, and I started to try and find love again and of course needing distraction and something to occupy my mind I dove deep into Supernatural. I re watched and re watched again all the old episodes, I poured myself into analysis of the plot lines and characters, I got tattoos on my arms (the demon trap and the anti possession symbol), I obsessed with everything Supernatural. It helped me stay sober. When I wanted a drink I would watch an episode, when I was feeling lonely I would go hang out with Sam and Dean. When I wanted to give up I took refuge in the Impala. I became a super fan. So far Supernatural got me through my divorce, was my bright spot in my alcoholic haze, and helped me stay sober when I first gave up my demons. I cheered harder during the happy moments of the show and cried harder in the sad ones. I was an emotional wreck and my feelings only seemed to come out while watching the show. Although I had quit drinking, got rid of my toxic ex wife and started to improve my life, I was still not happy. I was alone and lonely but Supernatural came to my rescue once again.

Throughout 2017 and the first part of 2018 I managed to be in two relationships. I poured myself into them grasping at them as if they were my reward for turning my life around and ignoring all the signs that they were not good relationships. I was still learning to relive my life as a sober person. I never integrated back into society after I left the Corps in 2005 and finally I was doing so but it was a hard journey. Inevitably those relationships failed and I was utterly heartbroken each time, but Supernatural was always there through the good times and the bad. When my heart was broken I would go find refuge in my favorite show forgetting about my problems and trying to help Sam and Dean solve theirs. Finally in May of 2018 I decided to try and find love again. This time it would be different and this time it was Supernatural that helped me get there.

As part of my recovery and daily routine I started to eat at my local diner everyday. Everyday from about July 2017 to the present time in this story I would go in, order 2 eggs over easy, hash browns, sausage, and toast. Everyday I would sit in the same spot at the counter (counter 6 was the name of the spot) order the same thing and even had my own special coffee mug. I knew everyone who worked there by name and they all knew me by name. They knew my order and had it ready for me when I came in. It felt like a magical place, a place that would forever change my life. There was one waitress/cook that I didn't see very often. She mostly worked the night shift but occasionally I would see her if I was there later in the day than usual or if she occasionally worked a morning shift. I was drawn to this woman. About the middle of May in 2018 I decided to maybe try and work up the courage to ask her out. I would always look for her when I went in hoping she was working that day hoping she wasn't too busy so that I could exchange a few words with her and hoping she would even notice me. Then one day in July I went in and she was there. I said hello and ate my breakfast but we didn't talk much. When I was paying for my meal the other gal working there asked  what my plans were for the day and I said oh nothing much just gonna go home and watch Supernatural. Then she turned around. The woman I had been trying to talk to, the one I wanted to ask out, Michelle was her name. She said, "I love that show I'm watching season 13 on DVD right now". I perked up a smile came across my face. Nervously I said, "oh cool yeah its my favorite show" Michelle nodded and turned back to work, I went to my car got in and smiled. I knew how I was gonna break the ice now next time. A few days later on my daily visit to the diner I went in a little later than usual. It was about 3 in the afternoon. It was dark and gloomy, raining, and cold. It felt like a Supernatural episode. It felt like a 67 Impala should have been in the parking lot and two good looking hunters should be in the corner on a laptop researching their current case. It felt like a magical moment. Turns out I was the only customer in the whole place. It was just me the waitress and Michelle who was cooking that day. They took my order without asking as the usually did and I could already see Michelle had already started cooking it. She finished and brought it to me herself. We exchanged a look and a feeling of confidence I have never had in my life overcame me and I said to her, "So are you enjoying season 13?" That is how it all began we started talking about the show. How we started watching it who our favorite characters were, how much we loved this season or that one. The conversation was seamless. We got into other get to know you topics around our conversation about Supernatural and it was like we were old friends talking about a show we loved. Eventually I got up and went to pay the waitress and she turned to go back to the kitchen in the back. Feeling an opportunity slip away I said "hey Michelle, maybe we should go get some dinner some time and watch some Supernatural together". I held my breath. She would surely smile and politely say no. She probably gets asked out all the time by the customers, beautiful woman that she is. Then she smiled and said "sure that would be great" I must have smiled so big and my heart skipped 10 beats! I got her number which she wrote on a order ticket and the rest they say is history. Ten months later I wrote ,"will you marry me" on the back of that order ticket and gave it to her at counter 6 at the diner where we met, where we first started talking about Supernatural, where my life finally changed for the better forever, and she said yes! We were married two months later on our one year anniversary and we just watched the final episode together yesterday. We both had tears, we both smiled when Sam and Dean, soulmates, were finally together at the end because we both know how it feels to be with each others soulmate. We held each others hand and said goodbye together.

Supernatural has forever changed me. It has been with me through every major event in my life over the last 15 years. Through the dark times, through the hard times, and finally through the current happy times. I guess it is ok that Supernatural is over now. I no longer need it. I have my wife, my Michelle, my soulmate. I am finally happy. I have Sam and Dean's permission to move on and they have mine. Good bye Winchesters. Good bye and thank you. You have taught me to carry on and find my peace when I'm done, and to cry no more. This is but one man's story, one of so many. How many lives has this show changed? How many people have found comfort in the adventures of Sam and Dean? I'm not sure the answer. Too many to count I would wager. 15 years and 300 episodes of the greatest show ever on TV. Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.  

Lost Boys - ONE

Characters: August Walker / Captain Syverson / Walter Marshall

Word count: 1.727

Warnings: Cursing. Blood. Bruising. Killing. Murder. Narcissism. Selfishness. Aftercare.

Author’s note: You can all thank @littlefreya for inspiring me to write this. No love interest for now. Let’s see how this goes. This might be my very short-lived introduction to writing in the suspense/thriller genre.

Everything in this story is a figment of my imagination, with inspiration and snippets from the movies ‘Mission: Impossible - Fallout’, ‘Sand Castle’, ‘Nomis/Night Hunter’. This is pure fanfiction. If something doesn’t make sense, it’s not supposed to.

I do now own any of the characters from the movies that I write about in this story. Only the OFC’s are mine.

Tag: @littlefreya @katerka88 

MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated. Seriously, please tell me all the good and bad stuff, else I won’t be able to develop into a better writer, if I don’t know what I’m doing right and wrong. I swear I don’t bite.

[TWO] [THREE] [FOUR] [FIVE] [SIX] [SEVEN] [EIGHT] [NINE] [TEN]

He barely moved his head in time before the hook would have smacked him right in the face. He was still falling. The air whizzed around him. He could feel the ground coming closer. He needed to do something fast before he was a splat of human remains. He turned around, so he could see where he was headed - directly into a river, perfect. The icy water enveloped him. He felt the bottom beneath his feet and used it to pummel up to the surface. He heaved in the air. The right side of his face was burning and stinging, the cold river was helping soothe the irritated skin.

The river was picking up speed as he floated down the stream. He needed to swim towards the shore. A fallen tree came towards him. Not being able to avoid it, he dove down, when he came back up he didn’t notice another tree, which hit him on the back of his head, making him woozy, almost to the point of blacking out. Then he was falling again. The impact with the surface made him lose consciousness. The last thing he remembered was a pair of soft hands stroking his left cheek, telling him something in a language he didn’t understand.

He awoke to people talking all around him. Something was plastered to his burnt side; it was smelling terrible. He tried opening his eyes, but they were so heavy, so he went back to sleep. Hoping the people around him weren’t there to kill him.

A few hours later he could open his eyes without it hurting. The room was dark. There were only a few candles lit, not enough for him to see the entire room, but he could see the outline of a person, sitting in a chair next to the door. The person stirred awake when hearing the rustling of sheets from him. A woman came up to his side, his rescuer, as he remembered the soft hand from the riverbank.

She tried saying something, but he shook his head, not understanding a word she was saying. Her long black hair swung as she tried explaining with her hands, arms and body, how she had found him almost drowned, then having brought him to her village and nursed him back to health. He had been out for three days and nights.

He tried sitting up. His ribcage hurt like hell, he had definitely broken a few ribs from the impact with the water, falling down a 30-metre waterfall did that to your body. Breathing was difficult, but he had to get out of there. The woman, petite as she was, was strong enough to push him down flat on the bed. He wasn’t fighting back much due to the pain.

“You, sleep.” She said in broken English, which made him smile. He waited until he could hear her soft snores from the chair, before getting up again. He was naked beneath the blanket. Looking around he found his blood-stained clothes. He groaned, throwing them away. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw a neatly stacked set of male clothing on top of a dresser. The shirt hung loosely on him, the trousers fit but were a bit tight on the thigh and crotch area. He just needed to control himself, or he would split them. A pair of black shoes sat beneath the dresser. He watched the woman sleeping soundly before he moved her towards the bed and tucked her in, as a thank you for taking care of him. He wasn’t as cold-hearted as everyone thought he was, or maybe he was, who knew. Sometimes he surprised himself by caring about other people. He was usually a selfish and narcissistic bastard.

The wooden door creaked at the hinges, but the woman was still fast asleep. He walked into the living and kitchen space of the house, over to a window overlooking the rest of the village. A few men were walking around talking loudly. He moved towards the bathroom, where he took a good look at himself. He washed off the muddy and awfully stinking stuff from his face. He was surprised to see that the burned flesh was healing nicely without scarring. His moustache was at least intact, the hair on his cheeks and jawline were growing, so it would soon become a beard if he didn’t get it trimmed. He lifted the shirt and winced at the movement, but he had to see the damage that had been done to his body. He was black and blue, even some shades of purple all over his chest, back and sides. He groaned as he touched the sore spots, moving his torso around to feel if he’d broken any bones. Not yet at least.  He listed quietly out the front door, keeping in the shadows as he moved towards a horse that was tied to a tree.

“Don’t make a sound or you’ll be dinner,” he whispered to the stallion, who looked bored at him. He unknotted the reins and pulled the black horse with him to the edge of the village before he mounted on its massive back. The night was dark, but he had learned how to navigate through the stars, thanks to his astronomy-loving adoptive mother.

He didn’t know how long he rode, the sun slowly creeping its rays in the desert. A few more hours and he would be trapped in a sauna with no food or water. He needed a town fast.

An hour later he spotted some buildings. Thanking his lucky stars, he rode into the market that was slowly coming to life. A few looked nervously at him, while some gave him lusty looks. They weren’t used to foreigners there. He tied the horse to a post and walked towards the only young man at the market.

“You speak English?” He asked.

“Only a little, sir,” the young man answered.

“Good enough. How much is the horse worth to you?”

The young man called an older man with a hunched bag to him. They talked and examined the black stallion.

“It is worth too much,” the young man stated.

“You can have it for food, water, a car and some gas.”

“Are you sure, mister? That horse is a racing horse, you could buy many many houses in the big city.”

“I need food and water for at least one week. What kind of cars do you have here?”

The young man sighed and called a few women to gather all the necessities that he demanded. He was provided with a jeep, which had seen better days, but he was assured it was the best car there was in the village. Four women came bearing baskets on top of their heads filled with food and drinks. He definitely wouldn’t starve.

“Which way to Pakistan?” He asked. The young man pointed north-west. Then he was gone without looking back at the confused looks from the villagers. He grabbed an orange and peeled it while controlling the wheel with his knees. He almost groaned as the sweet juices filled his mouth.

He drove for two days straight, not bothering to stop for sleep. He was trained to stay awake for more than four days before fatigue would hit him. He preserved his energy by not thinking, just letting his mind go blank and concentrate on the sandy road ahead of him. He crossed the border to Pakistan by breaking the necks of the border control there. They didn’t know what hit them before they all laid dead on the sand. He had gathered their ammunition and moved his supplies into their newer military jeep. He set the old jeep on fire so as to leave no trace behind. Then he was on his way to Iran, where he did the same to the border control there - he shot them all, took their supplies and continued his journey. Leaving everything burning to the ground.

He had to cross Iraq to get into Jordan, and from there to Israel, where he had an acquaintance that could help him get into Europe, so he could hide in plain sight, planning his next move. Everyone must be thinking that he had died while fighting Ethan Hunt. He smiled to himself, hoping to meet that little bastard again and wringing his neck, or maybe torture him for a few days. He loved playing with his victims to get the information he needed out of them. He loved the cat and mouse game, but the torture game was his favourite.

Another town came into view. It was midday, the market would be bustling with people, no one would notice him if he was stealthy enough. He was towering over the men and women there, but no one gave him a second glance, having gotten used to having American military walking around them all the time. He followed some soldiers to their base, needing to steal more ammo, having used everything, when he crossed the border to Iraq. He might have gone a bit overboard with the shooting, but there were more people there than at the other border control stations, he had no choice. He had never felt so alive to be shooting mercilessly, without having to care about the clean-up, because nobody would suspect him, not until he showed the world that he was back with a vengeance. Until then, he would do whatever the fuck he wanted.

He snuck inside a building behind a few soldiers. They went to another room to clean their rifles. He listed closer, staying near the wall and in the shadows. He was about to pounce on the two unsuspecting soldiers when a large hand landed on his right shoulder. He let out an irritated groan.

“Hands where I can see them,” a deep gruff voice boomed behind him. He slowly raised his arms, almost wincing from his broken ribs. “Turn around, slowly.”

He moved 180 degrees, looking down. The soldier before him wore heavy army boots, camouflage cargo-trousers, a Black Sabbath t-shirt in black, then his beard came into view and the rest of his face. His eyes widened as he was looking into a mirror image of himself.

“Who the fuck are you?” The bearded soldier threatened, before tackling him to the ground.

That he may hold me by the hand: chapter 8

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason  

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes and Situations, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 8: St. Denis was never enough.

“Goddam cemeteries,” said Arthur. He was loading his volcanic. It was early night, and they were creeping through the mausoleums. It had become imperative for them to play errand boys, running out grave robbers in their final push to bring Jack back. It was by far the most ridiculous bullshit with which they had ever been tasked. There was a dog barking somewhere amongst the tombstones, and they kept finding vagrants crouching here and there as if the dead could somehow keep them warm. It all made Arthur feel sick in his bones. “This place is hellish.”

“I appreciate you being here,” said John. He seemed nervous, but not by ghosts nor vagrants. He was terrified about Jack. “Seriously.”

“Of course I’m here,” said Arthur. "Don't be a moron."

“Braithwaite Manor weren’t no picnic. I still smell like smoke.”

Arthur lit a cigarette. He was smoking it and feeling dry in his throat and in his eyes. He was tired. He hadn’t slept properly in two days. “Ain’t sure what you expected.”

“Dutch is losing his mind, Arthur,” said John. “Don’t you think? I ain’t too keen on what I see.”

"I don't see much of anything no more."

“I ain’t sure how much of it I see neither. Seems an awful waste. Of a life? All this time, and running? I don’t even know what he’s talking about half the time.”

“You really ought to leave,” said Arthur, looking around. There was a sad dove singing somewhere nearby. It was creepy. Arthur swore under his breath.

“Leave and go where?” said John. He stopped, like he had got confused by his location.

“I don’t know,” said Arthur. “Anywhere. We get Jack back, and then I reckon you ought to wrangle him, Abigail, and leave. Ain't no reason to stick around no more if you don't follow.”

"What about loyalty?" John said.

Arthur said nothing of it at first. In his mind, he had traveled far from the notion of loyalty. His loyalties had changed. He didn't know what the goddam word meant anymore. "Be loyal to what matters," he said, pulling words out of his ass. But they sounded true.

John seemed pensive on this. He had stopped cold and Arthur along with him. They were officially lost, but neither of them seemed to care, or even notice. “Interesting,” said John. "Real interesting. What about you then?"

“What about me.”

“You and Albert.”

Arthur looked at him, taken off guard. John was unwavering in his resolve, gazing through the fog. “Come on,” said Arthur, ignoring the question. “Let’s get a move on.”

“You can tell me the truth,” said John, following behind. “I ain’t—I would never judge you, Arthur. Not for that.”

“For what?”

“For loving a man. It ain’t like that. And hey, maybe I’m wrong? But I’m just calling it like I see it.”

“You ain’t wrong,” said Arthur. He had the cigarette crammed between his lips. He’d started to get freaked out by the atmosphere of the cemetery, so he holstered his volcanic and opted instead for his repeater. He looked back at John who was earnest and reminding him of a dog who had wandered into a field of corn. He looked so young, thought Arthur. He looked as young as he had the day Arthur took him out that noose in Chicago. Arthur remembered how he’d had ligature bruises on his neck as if he had been dragged for a mile, and when they got him back to their camp in Putnam all the way over on the Illinois River, he did not speak for two days. It still broke Arthur up inside, to think of it.

“Arthur?”

"It’s just—” He shook his head out, to get brave. “You ain’t wrong. Okay?”

John nodded. He didn’t push nor prod. He just said, “Okay.” He seemed satisfied. “I think the place we’re looking for is just ahead.”

“Thank Jesus.”

They finished the job upright and got out clean inside twenty minutes. As they rode home, John struggled with Jack, who seemed enamored of the brief, fancy life he had lived while sequestered at Mr. Angelo Bronte’s. He talked in ecstatic, shiny terms, which intimidated John at first. Arthur mostly found it amusing, though he understood. He was relieved to have Jack back. He was relieved. He had known all along how bad it could have gone, and he had to close his eyes to shake the old fear from his heart.

It wasn’t long before they were back at Shady Belle, and the gang was celebrating Jack’s heroic rescue along with the false comeuppance of all those who had wronged them. Arthur smoked idly and stood off grooming his horse so as to avoid Dutch and even more so Hosea who was sick and getting sicker and whose love he knew to be true but constantly misguided by his thirst for the life. Arthur had never felt any such lust for anything and standing now, in the swamps of southern Lemoyne, he felt farther away from his own life and his own love than he ever had. It took him a great deal of will to finally enter their camp that night. A big haunted house in a big haunted country.

It had been four days, and Albert, in a fit of boredom and cabin fever, rode his horse out of the city and to a safe camping spot, north of Rhodes near Dewberry Creek. It had been so long since he’d slept outdoors that he was beginning to wonder if any of it had ever happened. The creek was an Arcadian dream, full of Whitetail, fox, rabbits. Scarce boar. He tracked a twelve-point buck for a while and took its picture, felt free and alone and calm. He built a fire and his tent, fished a fish in the creek, cleaned and cooked it up for his dinner in the manner taught to him by Arthur. He poured a glass of bourbon whiskey and ate as the sun went down behind the tangled tree line, feeling proud.

Before he had left St. Denis, Albert stopped at the post office where there was waiting for him a letter from his mother. He had been looking forward to her correspondence for a couple weeks now. Before he went to sleep that night, he leaned against a fallen tree trunk, sipping more of the whiskey, and he read that letter by the light of the fire. His mother’s letters were long, requiring time and commitment. They often read like opinion editorials full of immaculate grammar and journalistic observations upon her own life and his and the lives of those she deemed worthy of conversation in the high society of Philadelphia. She was a good writer, educated at Vassar College prior to marrying Albert’s father, the son of a prominent businessman from New York. She was into her mid-fifties now, living in Philadelphia, and she had been alone for many years. He worried about her, sometimes. She had always seemed a tough cookie, but knowing Arthur had tough him well that a strong armor is worth little more than the human sadness it protects.

In his last letter, Albert had told his mother of Arthur—not in a bid for her approval. He just wanted her to know.  The letter he received in return now was several pages long and full of life, but it did not mention Arthur until the very end. He smoked several cigarettes as he read, and by the time he got to the final paragraph, he was happily drunk and sat up off the fallen tree, leaning closer to the fire, for what he read would serve to change his life—

Well, dear Al, we are nearing the end of this most current exchange, and in the spirit of your previous letter, I would like to close things with a quaint proposition for you. You remember my brother, your Uncle Matthew, who recently purchased a large stake of land out on the central coast of California? Well, Matthew has taken a wife, and together they have purchased a home in San Francisco. In the wake of things, he has offered the ranch to me, free and clear. I have taken him up on his offer, of course, and plan to leave in three weeks time. As you well know, I have been aching for departure to the west for many years, and as a result will be closing up the Philadelphia estate indefinitely.

The property in California is comprised of 200 acres of terrain with water, plus a wide stable and two free-standing homes. It also holds a significant quarters for farmhands and stable boys and finds its end on a cliff that drops off into the wide, blue Pacific. I have seen photographs, and it is quite beautiful. Obviously, it is far too much for me to occupy by myself, however, and what I mean to propose is that, should you and your Arthur find yourselves in need of a home once your stretch in St. Denis comes to a close, you should pack your bags and get on a train to Monterey. Technically it is in a little place called Carmel-by-the-Sea, but you catch my meaning. I hope you’ll come. I am certain you would discover a wealth of inspiration for your work out west, Al. And Arthur as well, for I know how you mentioned he is an artist.

Please be in touch, hastily, as if the two of you plan on coming to stay, I will need to ready the property. I like to be prepared! Good luck with your opening, and remember how I love you. Give Arthur my warm regards. I do hope to meet him soon. You sound happy.

Your Loving Mother,

Cynthia

Much later, with the night winding down, Arthur stood chain-smoking on the swamp as a thunderstorm now raged over the horizon of the Lanahechee. With the adrenaline wore off, his body felt beat as he looked at the dark water ahead of him. It seemed endless and humid. Behind him there was the party, still going on and on as ticker tape. Javier played the guitar while Karen sang with Miss Grimshaw and they drank whiskey by the fire.

The colors of the world in which Arthur lived were changing, all around him. He felt sour and uncomfortable there, held up inside and anxious to unleash himself from the life to which he had been yoked for so long. Having forged a life of his own, separate from the interests of the gang, this was now all that Arthur could think about. He knew that it was selfish but he could not remember any other time in his life in which had allowed himself to entertain his own needs long enough to even register what selfishness felt like. He was bored and agitated as he looked out at the swampy river’s edge.

Mary Beth came down at some point and stood beside him, a welcome surprise. She had a pale scarf tied around her hair as if to protect from the occasional blowing rain. Arthur gave her a cigarette, lit it for her off the burning end of his own. Together they stood, looking at the lightning for a while, and smoking like old times.

“You did good, Arthur,” she said after some time. She glanced at him from behind the scarf like she was hiding part of herself. Thunder went off in the distance and shook the land. “Getting Jack back. It was a real good thing you did for John.”

“I know,” he said. “Thank you.”

“I’m supposed to tell you that Dutch wants to talk to you.” She said it half-heartedly. She did not even look at him.

Arthur said nothing.

“Anyway, John’s inside,” Mary Beth went on, smoking. “He’s with Abbie and Jack. Things seem good between them, for once.”

“I’m glad.”

“Arthur?” said Mary Beth.

He looked at her, sensing the curiosity and the concern on the edge of her voice. She wore it so often with him. They had been friends a long time. “What is it?” he said.

“I’m gonna ask you something,” she said, watching the water, “and you don’t have to answer. I won’t mind. I promise. But if you do answer, please tell me the truth. Don’t spare my feelings.”

“Go ahead, Mary Beth.”

Out on the edge of the horizon, lightning threaded the sky. The storm was moving fast. It was headed to sea.

“Mr. Mason,” she said, looking at her hands, “do you love him?”

He smoked. He finished his cigarette, tossed it to the earth and put it out with the heel of his boot. He nodded, gripping his belt, glancing to her and her freckled cheeks. “Yes,” he said.

Her breath did not catch, and she did not hesitate. She simply nodded, took a drag, and blew the smoke out in the air. “Okay,” she said.

“Mary Beth,” said Arthur.

“It’s okay,” she said. She smiled at him, through a fierce façade, as if she were trying desperately not to cry. “Please don’t apologize. I’m glad you found somebody, Arthur. Somebody decent. I surely am, as I want you to be happy. You deserve love.” She put the hair behind her ears and looked at her cigarette. “I never held no expectations for us. I know it sometimes seemed that way but I swear.”

“I know,” he said, studying her. “I know.”

“We’re friends. Ain’t we?”

“Always.”

“Good,” she said, like she was relieved. “You know I used to be filled with all these fantasies, especially when I first joined up with you boys. Knights in armor, all that. They saved my mind for many years. You always fit that bill.”

“I ain’t no knight, Mary Beth.”

“You are to me,” she said. “And I ain’t forgotten.”

“I will always protect you,” said Arthur. “Any way I can. And I am thankful for you. Taking care of me after all that nasty business, in ways that no one else would. For listening to me. You will find love, Mary Beth. If that is what you desire. I know it.”

“Thanks, Arthur.”

“You’re welcome.”

They smoked. The sky churned. “I been saving up, you know,” said Mary Beth, finishing her cigarette, throwing it into the water. She adjusted the scarf in her hair. “I got more than $800.”

“Saving up for what?” said Arthur.

“For leaving the gang,” she said, like a revelation. “It won’t be long now. I been reading a lot, about the Midwest. There are places up there I could live forever, on a much longer dime. I could get a room, with a desk. Maybe even a cabin. A place to write all these stories I been cooking up in my mind. I don’t doubt they’re terrible, but still. They’re mine. I want to make something, Arthur. I can’t do that here. Try as I been, it’s too much running, too much uncertainty.”

“I get that,” said Arthur. “And I think that’s a fine plan.”

“You should go, too,” she said, growing wistful, like she had stars in her eyes. “With Albert. He loves you. He has money. He can take you away from here. From all this. You should let him, Arthur.”

Arthur looked at her, and then he glanced back to the party where he could not see nor hear nothing but debauchery. It was a mixture of those he loved and those he no longer understood, and he knew that in time, all would draw to a close, and it would make no difference. None at all. The hour was growing late now. The night was long. He did not go to see Dutch. He breathed.

The next morning when Albert returned from his camping trip on Dewberry Creek, he opened the door to his apartment and found Arthur inside, waiting. He had been sitting on the sofa, sketching furiously, and when Albert came in, he looked up, relieved, stood and closed his journal.

“Where you been?” he said.

“Arthur,” said Albert, happily surprised. He set down his valise and his tripod, and he removed his hat. “How did you get in here?”

“I uh—I picked the lock,” said Arthur. “Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," said Albert.

"I got here late last night. You wasn't here."

“I went for a ride,” said Albert. “Don't worry. Did you find Jack? Is he okay?”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “He’s back with his family now. Thank you for asking.”

“Of course,” said Albert. “I’m relieved. It seemed so serious.”

They stood across the room from one another now, as if yet too hesitant to cross. Both of them looked at their shoes for a moment, very still in this liminal space.

At some point, Albert finally came over, and both of them sat down on the couch. Albert reached for Arthur’s hand and held it steadfastly. They looked at each other. Arthur studied Albert’s face closely and said, “So, you went for a ride, huh? You look a little windswept.”

“Yes,” said Albert. “I went out camping, just one night. Over on Dewberry Creek.”

“Dewberry Creek?” said Arthur. “That’s pretty country over there. Bold move, Mr. Mason."

“Well, we are untamed," he said, smiling to himself. "I got some wonderful shots of a twelve-point buck. I caught a fish as well.”

“You did?”

“I did.”

“Very good."

“Thank you,” said Albert. He blushed. “I got a letter from my mother yesterday.”

“That sounds nice,” said Arthur. He ran his thumb across Albert's knuckles. His whole body calm, safe. His heart was quiet. “What did she have to say?”

“A lot, actually,” said Albert.

“Oh yeah?”

The morning sun was pouring in through the windows, soaking the room and making it warm. There were some loud and joyful noises then, coming in through the wide open French doors from the bustling street outside. It sounded like a bunch of kids, getting loose, playing tag, being free.

Father Lost; Chapter 2

Chapter 2 Everything was a mess. He was sitting freely now, nothing attached to him but the I.V. that gave him fluids. He had a mess of papers sprawled across the bed; newspapers, printed articles, and a tablet open to the internet, browsing through Sean’s Facebook to see if he couldn’t make heads or tails of where the boys have gone off to. It wasn’t until he saw a post about the police finding them in Beaver Creek that he began to put the pieces together. So the boys fled the police, walked until they ended up at a little truckstop, the police were called because of theft. When the police arrived, the place was ransacked, the owner saying that he was attacked and robbed. Things went dark after that for about two months before they were spotted in Beaver Creek, police ending up at Claire’s and Stephen’s. They must not have stayed long before being chased out again. Then the news goes dark until there’s an update in the papers that Sean was hospitalized in Sacred Hope Hospital, Daniel missing. He was being contained until he was healthy enough to go on trial. He chewed the skin rough on the side of his thumbnail, the phone to his ear as he listened to it ring. Sean was in the hospital, that meant he was hurt, and Daniel was missing. “Hi Curtis, this is Esteban Diaz, we went to school together back in Seattle.” He spoke once the phone kicked to life, handing him over to the hands of an answering machine. “I’m really sorry to be calling randomly out of the blue, but I have no idea what to do. I need an attorney, and I need a good one, please. I’m currently in the hospital, please call me on my cellphone, 541-323-7738. Please.” He hung up the phone, stomach killing him. On the tablet, he dove further into the news that his oldest was in the hospital, uncovering he wasn’t the only one. A boy named Finn McNamara was also admitted after attempted robbery of a man named Merrill's estate. The man owned a pot farm that the two were working at. He put the tablet down, hands brushing over his face as he tried to imagine it. He wasn’t mad at his boy, he found work that keep him off the radar and he was taking care of Daniel. He wasn’t sure if he had Daniel working the fields or not, -and if so he hoped Sean had enough sense to keep his little brother away from people who would influence him negatively. He would rather Daniel stay away from the stuff all together, but Sean couldn’t do it all on his own. He sat back, knees pulled up, keeping the hospital gown over them. It’s been nearly three days since he woke up, and he was feeling fine enough to leave, but the hospital seemed hell bent on keeping him. If they were going to detain him, then they better do it. Suddenly his phone started ringing. He jumped, had lashing out at the mobile phone. He didn’t look at the number, praying to god the message he sent to Sean earlier made it through finally and this was his baby boy calling him, begging for him to come get him like he used to do in elementary school when he missed them. “Hijo?” He asked, heart pounding in his throat. “Hi daddy.” An adult voice answered back in a chuckle. Esteban let off a labored sigh, crossing his legs. He rested his head in his hand, hands shaking like he was face to face with a gun again. “Curtis,” he breathed, wanting to let the man know he was still there, just trying like hell to cope with the disappointment that his fantasy hadn’t come true. “Hey, I got your message, obviously. What’s up?” He asked. The man on the other end of the phone was a lot more casual than a lawyer normally would be, and if it wasn’t for the past of the two, that would be different. “October 29th, my son Daniel was outside playing, he accidentally got fake blood on the neighbor kid. White boy, real fresa, his father is no better. The kid started some shit, my oldest ended up in a fight, of course the cops got involved.” He explained wanting to go over as much as he could. “Uh oh.” The voice grunted on the other side. “So we looking at hate crime? I can win that no problem.” He added, a light boasting tone to his voice. “No, hijo pushed the kid, knocked the wind out of him, cop pulls a gun on them. I went out to break it up, got shot. I just woke up four days ago.” He explained. “Oh shit,” the man sounded concerned but didn’t push to make any guesses. “What happened to your boys?” “Sean ran. Comes to find out, the boy lived but the cop died. They went to their Grandparents in Beaver Creek but were apprehended and fled again. Last seen, they were working a pot farm in California where they were assaulted, Sean ended up in Sacred Hope Hospital guarded until he gets better then he’s going to juvie, Daniel is missing.” He finished. He was back to chewing the now raw skin on the inside of his thumb, thumbnail short and rigid. He waited for any sort of response, any at all until the man whistled almost sounding defeated. “Well shit, Esteban.” He grunted. “A cop died,” the father groaned, falling back against the pillows. “They fled the law making them look guilty. They were working a pot farm.” “They did nothing wrong!” He boomed. “Of course the hispanic boy is the bad guy! That’s what’s wrong with this fucking country since the fraggle took office!” He defended. “Ssh, sh,” the man laughed. “Sh, honey, baby cakes, I got you.” He teased, trying to calm him down. “I’ve already got a couple ideas. Step one, we find your sons, step two, we stop anything from progressing in court. Step three, find out a way you can repay me because we are definitely going to have to pull out a lot of stops with this one.” Esteban sighed, eyes closed, smile coming to his lips as the relief flooded him. “Got any idea where they might be headed?” “Mexico, I think.” Esteban didn’t open his eyes, feeling a little bit of comfort for the first time in 4 days. “What is with people trying to flee to Mexico?” The man on the other side muttered. “Because I used to live there.” Esteban shot back, reminding him that he wasn’t a born American citizen. “I forgot my princess was a terrible, awful, scary, Mexican thug.” The man on the other side of the phone, Esteban rolling his eyes but he couldn’t help the smile at his lips. Curtis always played jokes like that, calling him princess, or honey or baby cakes. It was just...sort of natural for them. “I own land, it used to belong to my Grandmother.” He replied. “They probably think that that’s going to be the easiest way out.” “He wouldn’t be wrong, if he can get across the border without dying.” The other man was serious now. “Have you tried contacting him? Or his grandparents?” “No,” he admitted. “Well, no to contacting Claire and Stephen, yes to Sean, but he must have ditched the phone, my message bounced back as unavailable.” He hated this, he hated the whole thing. “Ok, where is the best place for you to meet me?” The sound of rustling paper could be heard on the other phone, the faint clicking of a pen preparing to write. “At this hospital.” Esteban replied, looking at the only information he had about the whereabouts of his kids. “Geez baby, you aren’t even gonna meet me halfway?” Curtis scoffed playfully. He hadn’t been called this many pet names since he was with Karen, and it felt odd, but kind of nice? “They won’t let me check out even though I’m fit enough to leave. I think it’s a tactic; keep me here so I won’t interfere with the trial. Bet the racist bastards wished I’d have stayed dead.” He gathered up the papers, putting them in a pile. “Gotcha, I’ll come and break you loose. Send me the address and I’ll leave right away; should be there in a few hours.” The sound of shuffling and setting things away could be heard, and finally that feeling of relief began to outweigh the feeling of worry. “Will do, Curtis. Thank you.” He smiled, voice dropping to something warm and sweet. “Anything for you, babe.” With that, he was gone. The man punched in the address of the hospital, sending it to number who called him, and one to the email incase the number was a landline. Taking a breath, he laid back down against, eyes closed. He could take a small nap while he waited, he was almost positive he’d be there in the morning. Esteban wasn’t a holy man, but as he let the silence of the room fall over him, he prayed; prayed his boys would be found amd praysd they could overcome this nightmare. His boys deserved better, and was willing to devote his entire life to making sure nothing bad ever happened again.

X marks the spot.. PART 7 Brooke POV

End of summer

Warning: NSFW. 18+ adult themes. Coercion manipulation, toxic, cursing etc. could trigger some people I think

I’ve never seen so many people at a party in my life. When we pulled in the back neighborhood, there were cars lined up and down all the streets. Bex’s house was at the end of the cul-de-sac and was a sleek modern style home. Inside was minimalist with cool lighting, and everything just looked expensive.

These were the new houses they’d built after the homes all burned down THAT Night. Thank God I missed out on that chaotic night. It still made me a little uncomfortable when I realized that most of the people at this party, were probably present that night.

“Oh my God Mark?!” A pretty brunette girl called across the kitchen. She was wearing a knit bathing suit cover that was floor length and very form fitting. She ran over and hugged Mark a little too enthusiastically.

“Bex, this is Brooke. This is Bex.” Mark said.

It kind of irritated me he didn’t say I was his girlfriend, but that’s just me being insecure. I was really excited to meet Bex though. Mark had mentioned how she was transgender, and I’d never met anyone like her, as far as I knew. It devastated me whenever I heard about people being bullied because of their lifestyle, but I didn’t know the proper etiquette in this situation. I smiled shyly, and went to shake her hand.

Bex smiled and grabbed me in a tight embrace. “You’re gorgeous! I’m a hugger. You want a drink? Let’s get you some drinks. What do you want Mark?”

“Um we can get it.” He said grabbing my hand and pulling me near. “No stealing my girlfriend Bex.”

Bex spun around with eyes wide, and placed a hand over her heart, “Girlfriend? Wow! I never thought I’d see the day. Mark is a lady’s man my dear, there isn’t a pussy within 50 miles he hasn’t had.” She said laughing. “Oh Mark. Don’t glare like that, you’ll get wrinkles.”

Marks jaw stiffened. “That’s not true baby girl.” He said kissing me on the head. “Bex likes to give me shit.”

Bex stared at him a moment with a confused look on her face, before shrugging and turning to get a drunk. “Someone has to. Well then there goes the surprise!” Bex sighed.

“What surprise?” Mark asked suspiciously. “Did you get some molly, cuz it’s been a minute and Brooke has never tried it.”

“And I’m not gonna.” I sassed sticking out my tongue.

Bex winked at Mark and said, “ i’ve got a few pills in my room that I’d be happy to share with you but that’s not the surprise. I don’t know if I should even tell you now.” She looked at Me hesitantly.

“No worries, I’m not jealous, or faint of heart, or any of that kind of stuff.” I assured her.

“Lilly is here.” Bex said.

Marks entire demeanor changed and his face fell. He just stared at Bex frozen.

I looked from Bex to Mark, to Bex, and then back to Mark again.

“Um, why would he care about her?” I asked, looking for some kind of reaction from Mark but he still looked like he’d been frozen.

“Ummmmm, Mark has only had two girlfriends. You, my dear, and then his first love Lily. She broke his heart, and he did some fucked up shit, and it ended all bad, but she wanted to put all that behind us.” Bex said cautiously.

I couldn’t process what I’d just heard. Mark was with Lily, and they fucking loved each other? He told me he never loved anyone before. And she is here? And she broke his heart? And ....omg an anxiety attack. “I need air,” I said and jogged out the back door.

The pool was so inviting, and I could hear Mark cursing behind me, but I just wanted in the water. I flicked my flip flops off, stripped my cover up off and dove in. I am a great swimmer, so I was able to swim across the entire pool. When I came up for air, Mark was standing at the edge, scowling.

“Dammit baby, what are you doing?” Mark asked.

I didn’t want to talk to him yet. I was still processing this. I swam along in a backstroke, so my ears were under water. He was walking beside me at the edge of the pool, making angry gestures and saying my name over and over. He looked so dumb. He was totally making a scene, but I didn’t care. These weren’t my friends, and he is a Fucking liar.

“That’s it.” Mark took his shirt off, and walked over to my things, and set his phone, wallet and keys in my bag and then jumped in.

I swam away from him, but he caught me rather easily, and held me around the waist, with my back against his chest.

“Turn around.” He said thru gritted teeth.

“Fuck you Mark. You lied to me.”

“Just cuz I was young and said I loved some dumb bitch, doesn’t mean I did. Come on, baby... I love you. Want me to yell it?”

I turned around and looked at him with a smirk. “Yes, liar.”

“I LOVE MY GIRLFRIEND BROOKE! SHES THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!” Mark yelled at no one in particular. He looked down at me with the most smug look on his face. He’s so adorable. I hate him.

“Baby don’t be like that. I can explain everything.” He grabbed my ass and lifted me so I straddled him and tried to kiss me, but I turned my head so he just landed a sloppy kiss on my cheek before biting it.

“Ouch, Mark!” I said, rubbing my cheek. He giggled and beamed at me so proud of himself. I hoped it wasn’t bleeding, it had really hurt! I rubbed my cheek, and checked my fingers for red.

It’s about then I realized everyone was watching. Like staring. I was really mad at him but I didn’t like being the center of attention. I buried my head in his neck and asked “why is everyone staring so hard?” I hated being stared at.

“I’ve never proclaimed my love for anyone like that, and most of these girls would give their left tit to be in your shoes,” Mark said without a note of irony. “You may not know this, but I’m a pretty big deal around here.”

I was only half listening to him, as I scanned our surroundings. There were a few other people in the pool, and they were staring as well. All of a sudden, a girl popped up from under the water. I scare easily when things pop out of nowhere, so I screamed like an idiot, as I practically tried to climb up Mark.

Mark and several other people laughed, including this girl. I had never felt more embarrassed in my life! I just wanted to disappear, so I tried to hide in Marks chest, and he held me there snugly. I could feel his heart hammering away, While his full on erection, pressed against me. How could he have a boner right now?

“You’re looking hot Mark.” She said.

“Lily, this is my girlfriend, Brooke,” Mark said with a sneer. I’d never seen this face, and I didn’t like it. He looked... mean.

Lily however, looked like she was about to cry. “But I thought...”

“Excuse me, baby, I have to get this through this fucking whores head,” Mark gently plucked me from him and set me to the side, then side stepped in front of me, as if shielding me. “We are fucking done and over Lily. I told you last night.”

“What the fuck last night?” I blurted out. “When did you even have time? You were with me the whole night.”I tried to march around him, but he pushed me behind him again, so I peeked around Mark at the girl before him. Dammit, she was pretty.

Lily looked at me with an unreadable expression, before looking me straight in the eye. “get used to it girl. He will never make you happy, and he doesn’t eat pussy. He only cares about himself, and he’s got a fucking wicked temper.” With that she stormed away, and climbed out of the pool.

Mark shrugged his big broad shoulders and turned around, pulling me back in like a little rag doll. He tried to kiss me. “Do NOT.” I slapped his chest and tried to break free from his embrace, but he held me fast. “I will make a motherfucking scene,” I growled at him.

“Do it. I fucking dare you,” He said ominously, and I saw a flash of the guy I’d never seen in him before, but then he cracked a big dopey smile.

He was so beautiful. This was so confusing.

“I love you. I’m not letting you go till you calm down. Youre breathing like you just ran a sprint.“ he said as he peppered kisses all over my face.

“I’m fucking calm. Let. Me. Go.” I pushed against him trying to break free but he overpowered me tenfold, and there was no chance of me getting away, if he didn’t want to let me. All the while, I felt how excited he was digging into my thigh and I’m ashamed to admit, I wanted him. If I weren’t in a pool, I’d still have been wet. Okay. Bad joke, but seriously.

Mark smiled, “you are so adorable, baby. Your mad face is almost as cute as your O face.”

“This isn’t a game. I am so mad at you right now; I could punch you in the face. I should slap you. You're a liar, and a very promiscuous one at that. I don’t want to be here, or near you, or being gawked at. I loved you, Mark, I really did. And I knew better too!” oh no! I could feel the tears coming on. It doesn’t matter how hot he is! He lied about ever loving someone, and all the girls here have fucked my boyfriend. Plus he’s manhandling me... why was this happening? This was not good! I could tell he was a possible fuck boy, but not this level! I loved him. Fuck. I love him.

“You still love me and I love you, and ya, I was a whore and a bad dude before, but not now that I have you baby.” He nuzzled me with his beautiful nose and gave me little kisses on my face. He was so tender and sweet and we were in front of everyone. Was I overreacting?

“You don’t have me. I have me. I’m my own person.” I challenged, looking him dead in the eye.

“Don’t joke like that.” He pleaded with those Big puppy dog eyes. He knew what he was doing.

I tried to pull away again. And he pulled me back to him hard. He was holding me so tight it hurt. “You’re hurting me, Mark.”

“You’re hurting me, BROOKE.” He bent down and kissed my neck. It felt so good, but his hands had me by the hips so tight, I worried I might bruise.

“No, you’re hurting me,” I whined.

I didn’t think it was possible, but he squeezed harder. “Then kiss me.”

“You can’t make me do anything.” I spit.

Mark smirked and kissed my neck. I was trying to ignore his erection digging into my thigh, and not feel the kisses. God he was so hot, and he loved me! I should be thrilled, I mean look at him! In front of everyone!

maybe he was just embarrassed of Lily. Was I overreacting? I was so confused. Too many emotions. I hate second guessing myself, and my hormones were not helping at all.

Mark reached down to adjust himself. Then I felt his fingers move my bikini bottoms to the side, and then push his finger inside me.

“Are you crazy?” I hissed. I didn’t dare move, for fear we’d be seen and people would know. “We are not fucking.”

“I know, I wanna be one person right now. I need to be close to you, inside of you. You’re mine. Your heart, your mind, this little pussy, this pretty face with the most kissable lips.” He deeply kissed me. He was so gentle, yet firm and passionate. “Let me just put it inside you real quick, so we are connected.”

I just stared in his beautiful eyes like he was bat shit ass crazy, but he didn’t look away. I loved how full I felt when he was inside me. I bit my lip as I concentrated. “I don’t know.”

“I do. Tell me no or I’m putting my cock in your little pussy right now.”

He kissed me deeply as I felt his cock slide inside me. I didn’t want him to lie to me, I didn’t want to lose him.

“I love you Mark. I love you so much. You can’t hurt me, I can’t take it.” I loved how his cock felt inside me. It made me feel so full. I wanted him so bad.

“I won’t. I promise. Now can we go somewhere and handle this?” He begged. “Your pussy is so good, I need it. Please.”

I smiled mischievously. “Ok. Try to calm him a bit so you can get out of the pool and then Meet me in the bathroom.”

“My dirty baby.” He growled and kissed my lips before He let me go. I jumped out of the pool and went inside. There was a line for the bathroom. Great.

Bex was standing a few feet away. “Bex is there another bathroom, I really gotta go.” I asked her as I did a little pee pee dance.

“Sure sweetie, I don’t let anyone use mine, but I’ll make an exception since it looks like an emergency. Follow me.” Bex led the way to the stairs where Lily was standing.

I met her eyes, and she looked away. I started up the stairs and turned around to see her following us. Ok, what was this about?

Bex reached the top and unlocked her bedroom door. She spotted Lily and asked if she had to pee too.

“No, I just want to talk to her.” She said, pointing at me.

Great. Fucking great.

Why are there so many birds in the song twelve days of Christmas?

So it’s no question that your true love is going to be getting a lot of Christmas presents throughout these twelve days but why do so many of these gift have to be birds?

I don’t think anyone realizes how many birds you get by the end of these twelve days.

(To fully understand my calculations you must take into account on day one you get a partridge. On day two you get a partridge and two turtle doves. Day three a partridge, two turtle doves and three French hens etc)

So on the first day you receive one lovely partridge. That’s not that bad. Next day you get a partridge and a couple turtle doves. That’s four total birds in two days.

Now personally I don’t mind having four birds but more than that is gonna start to concern me. But nope, true love is stuffing birds down your throat like you stuff a birds dead body on the dinner table for 9 more days.

Day three you get three French hens plus the three birds from previous days. 6 more birds plus four, 10 birdie boys.

Days four and five you get 14 birds each, since day five you get a couple of stupid rings.

But day six? Back to birds. I think your true love has a slight problem. At this point we have 38 birds from previous days PLUS six birds from today.

Day seven is the last day your true love gives you birds before they start giving you people :D

So seven more birds is fine but you have to remember your getting the same effin birds each day and this one is the biggest haul.

So how many bird do you think we have at this point? Like 50? 55?

Eighty-five freakin birds

And then you multiply that by the last five days (because you 85 birds for the rest of the 12 days) to get, drumroll please...

Four hundred

Twenty

Five

Birds

Who’s this man’s bird dealer?! Where can you even fit 85 live birds inside your house?Seriously unless you are the owner of a bird sanctuary or the next chic-fil-a then I suggest politely telling your true love that you appreciate their gifts but they need to flock off

Shadow's first thought as he returned slowly to consciousness was that a barrel of firedust had gone off inside the Sanctuary. Well, that was his second thought. His first thought was that his head fucking hurt.

He was on the back of the sofa, which had been overturned so that its back was now a flat surface and its cushions were a wall. Something red was on the floor a centimeter from his face; Shadow blinked until it came into focus as a flimsy red cup.

Oh. Right.

On top of him, someone groaned. Shadow tilted his head up to see; he was at the bottom of a pile four men deep. Seal's legs were across Shadow's torso, though most of the boy's body was on the floor; above him was Harvester, with a blackened right eye, and atop them all was the new boy.

Broken Star Doomed to Fall groaned again, rousing slightly. Unfortunately, the motion caused him to unbalance, and the young Abyssal snapped awake as he crashed to the ground -- directly onto Seal's prone form. There was a clang as Star's metal wings met the floor on either side, then a beat, then a yelp as Seal realized what was on top of him and started thrashing. Star was apologizing, trying to get off, but the Wings seemed uncooperative today and were weighing him down. Shadow closed his eyes, channeled Essence into the shield of his anima, and concentrated on extricating himself.

Finally he made it out and stood next to Harvester, who apparently had the same idea; both their castemarks were bleeding, and both were surrounded by wisps of darkness. He met eyes with the other Daybreak, who looked slightly sheepish. "Maybe I shoulda started them with something a little less intense," Harvester said, scratching his head. "Especially for the kid's first big party."

Shadow looked around the room. Paper banners with Nevertheless' immaculate handwriting wishing a beautiful year were strewn across the Sanctuary, most of them ripped or with sections missing. Tower's enormous form was curled up on top of the TV cabinet, which had one door open to show a blank blue screen. Red cups were everywhere, many tipped over in front of incriminating puddles. Desecration was laid out on the nap sofa, a blanket laid over her; someone had drawn a mustache on her face, poorly. A dartboard on the far wall had a hole punctured through its center. As Shadow watched, the dartboard fell off to reveal that the hole went into and through the wood of the wall itself, with singe marks around the edges.

"Perhaps," Shadow said.

Star and Seal separated, finally upright. Star's shirt was completely shredded, either from the spikes in his own body or from the fight. Seal was breathing heavily and a little flushed. "Next time wake me up like a regular fucking person," he was yelling, "not by falling on me with a damn body full of knives."

"Can you pleashe schtop yelling," Star muttered, rubbing his forehead. "I shaid I was schorry. Schol, my head hurtsh."

"Leave him be, Seal," Shadow said, stepping in before the argument escalated any further. "Help me find my eyepatch." He had, indeed, clapped his hand over his bad eye a few moments ago when he realized he was melting the material of the table.

Star perked up visibly at Shadow's words. "Hey, I can do that!" he said. "I'm good at thish!" He took a step, then staggered. "Okay, maybe not sho musch right now. Shadow, can you Medishine Scharm me or shomefing?"

Shadow crossed his arms, though the effect was ruined slightly by having to keep his right eye closed. "I could, yes. But I think you'll be better served by learning a lesson. Consider it my birthday gift to you." Not that that stopped Shadow from quickly performing the Plague-Banishing Incitation on himself.

Star moaned and fell back onto the couch, covering his face with his hands. "Well, thatsh it den," he said. "I'm doomed. I'll die in my shleep. Betrayed, abandoned by my own friendsh --"

Seal was snickering not too quietly in the corner. Harvester tapped Star's forehead with a bottle of beer, miraculously intact. "Hair of the dog," he said. "That one's my birthday gift to you."

Shadow glared at Harvester, who shrugged. "Ain't no need for Charms when you got farm wisdom," he said, tapping the side of his head. Star used the opportunity to pry the bottle-cap off with his metal teeth; behind them, Seal started rapidly picking cushions up and putting them down, muttering to himself. Star chugged the bottle slowly and set it down.

"Whoa," he said, putting his hands out to steady himself. "I actually do feel better." Shadow frowned, then turned away internally to look through his All-Encompassing Sorcerer's Sight. Sure enough, a trail of healing Essence emanated from where Harvester's hand was clapped on Star's shoulder. Harvester caught him looking and shrugged again. "Birthday present", he said in Old Realm. Shadow sighed again.

"Okay," Star said, pulling out a strange hat from his pocket and setting it on his head. He clapped his hands, and Shadow had to admit that he was glad to see Star so happy about something. "Alright, okay, let'sh shee. What was the last fing you remember?"

Shadow frowned and cast his mind back. Vague images floated across his memory: incomprehensible music played that was far too loud for his liking, incomprehensible drinking games Desecration and Seal insisted were de rigueur among the youth. Wait. "Something about.... pinging?" he said. "Beer pinging?"

Star snapped his fingers. "That'sh it!" he exclaimed, leading them over to the main table. There were still two triangles of red cups, mostly upright. "Beer pong! Alright, let'sh try..." The Day Caste spent some time walking around the table, hmming and muttering to himself. "Hah!" he said. "Right here. Shadow, come shtand right here." Shadow raised an eyebrow but went to oblige. Star clapped. "Yeah, that'sh it," the young man said. "You were walking pasht and shomeone got beer all over you. Look, the shtain fitsh right around your feet." Shadow looked down, but the carpet was so full of overlapping stains that he couldn't separate one from another. Hesiesh almighty. Someone was going to have to deal with this later, and it was probably going to be Shadow. Where was Phoenix when you needed him?

Star was still monologuing. "Okay, sho beer got all over your fashe and body, and then you went to.... to wash it off! The baffroom!" He marched over to the bathroom, leading the rest of them in procession -- even Seal, who seemed begrudgingly captivated, and Des, who had woken up and was sauntering along. Star turned the knob of the bathroom's door, and the whole thing fell over on top of him.

"I shwear that washn't my fault," Shtar -- er, Star -- squeaked from underneath it. Seal and Shadow quickly levered it off Star, and leaned it against the wall; Shadow noted that the edges had tape on them, as if someone had tried to hastily repair the door. Star picked himself up and dusted himself off. "Asch I wash schaying," he said loftily, and marched into the bathroom. It was little more than a closet with running water, and the rest of the Abyssals watched from outside the door with interest as Star spun around to take everything in. "Here", he declared, tapping the countertop. "You took the eyepatsch off to wash it, and then left it to dry, but shomeone elshe took it to..." he squinted into the mirror, miming to himself, "to help dry it off. That'sh nishe. Thish way!" He shouldered past them again, eliciting a yelp from Seal and another from Harvester who had to dodge out of the way to avoid upsetting the cup he had picked up from somewhere.

Over the course of their progress around the room, they discovered: several issues of Hotter than Malfeas (which Harv loudly disavowed knowing anything about but quickly claimed "to protect the youngins"), a crudely drawn picture of what appeared to be Seal having sexual congress with a tyrant lizard (which Seal disavowed knowing about but quickly claimed "was sweet as fucking hell and should go on the fridge"), several more stains of unknown composition, a hot pink sphere about the size of an eyeball (which Des claimed without hesitation or explanation except "oh, I was looking for that"), and one of Shadow's favorite arrows, which he washed off and replaced. Finally they came to a stop in the middle of the room. "Trail goesh cold here," Star said, scratching the edge of his mask. "Well, I got one more trick I'fe been wanting to try. Check thish out: Unknown Wishdom Epiffany." He closed his eyes before opening them again, now glowing red. Shadow thought he could see their light falling on silhouettes, like there were invisible things in the room being illuminated only to Star's eyes. Star frowned, peering around the room, before looking above him. "Huh. Doesh anyone have a shtick or shomefing?" Wordlessly, Seal reached into empty air and plucked out a burning mote of light that lengthened into a golden spear nine feet long, which Star used to prod at one of the ceiling panels. Suddenly he dropped the spear and dove to the side, which Shadow took as a cue to do the same.

There was a snort, then a series of thuds, then the ceiling panel fell from the roof carrying a small man clad in spike-studded black armor. He was curled in the fetal position, clutching something to his chest. As the gathered deathknights watched, Phoenix juddered to consciousness in fits and starts, blinking groggily in the fluorescent lights. "Ugh," he said, wincing and squeezing his eyes shut. "I haven't felt this bad since I was dead."

Star tried to keep his laughter in. "What'sch that you got there?" he asked. Phoenix blinked and looked down, uncurling his hand to reveal....Shadow's eyepatch.

Shadow raised his eyebrow and Phoenix handed it over, though Shadow had to stoop down to reach. "Well, hell," the Solar muttered. "No idea how that got there."

"Des dared Tower to try and get you to eat it," Star informed him. All attention flickered to Des, who shrugged. "Sounds like something I'd do," she said, popping a bright pink bubble that had appeared in her mouth. Shadow blinked again. Magic or not, this was too much for him.

"Thank you, Star," he said. "Now everyone get out of here. It is far too early to deal with this, and I am going back to bed."

out of context campaign notes part II

featuring some of my favorite lines from the first three sessions of Curse of Strahd (campaign intro here), in which the party meets each other for the first time, gets tricked into entering trapping themselves in Barovia, and naturally ends up in the Death House almost immediately. we do manage to clear the Death House, though, and finish up the third session by meeting Ismark and Ireena!

[content warnings for CoS typical body horror undead monsters, implied harm to children, and harm to a cat, but the cat is okay, don't worry. unfortunately cannot say the same for the children this time. read more cuts off before any of that starts, however]

god said shut up you idiots

~just cleric things~

i have been mistaken for a server

a drenched man in brightly colored clothes is standing there, dripping everywhere

i raise my hand, but the dude ignores me

i’ve heard werewolves don’t like eating in the rain

Shalden has worm brain

the half-orc house [at a gambling table] sparks up a conversation with him, asking him where he’s staying tonight and why he’s so cool with giving up gold

Shalden gets the vibe that maybe this guy wants to rob him

also, they’re speaking orcish, which kinda sounds like scooby-doo talk

traveling altar boy

it’s a beautiful sunny day, but there’s mud and shit and fallen branches everywhere and all that jazz

dope: it’s what’s for breakfast

just to be clear, the stable boy is a 40-year-old man

Shalden: I’m gonna squat and pray

50lbs of dead horse

we aren’t in kansas anymore

there isn’t a town, but there is the overwhelming stench of death

there was no horse, or, at least, not anymore. Arrigal likes to think he makes a good horse impression though

i call him a dick. the other people at the table laugh

i ask if there’s a way to get home. he’s all “this is home” and I’m like “nah bro” and he’s like “it is now, bitch, deal with it”

there is no sun, hence everyone’s lovely complexions

the woman next door is called Mad Mary, and she’ll probably forget about us in five minutes and be back to screaming again

we head west and start snooping at the most disheveled looking house

out of every hole and shadowy place pours hundreds of mangy rats

this is the only well-oiled gate in the village

we roll initiative. nothing happens.

the suits come alive and attack us. what a surprise

something crawls out of the walls and puts itself in front of the elf

it looks like a slug or an octopus at first but, uh, well, “logically, if there’s a bare skeleton, something must have happened to the fleshy part”

it’s the fleshy part.

it’s wearing a butler’s uniform.

gross.

DM: it’s like a scarf of flesh that’s slowly squeezing on you

they murder it to death, and it flumps on the floor next to the skeleton

it leads to some stairs going up. at the top, there’s three rooms. one is a storage room with mysterious piles covered in cloth that might be corpses, and things in the walls that are definitely corpses. one is a storage room that’s not filled with corpses, and the third is a children's room

there’s a missing bone from one of the skeletons [of the children whose ghosts we are trying to put to rest]. you look over and see Snowflake [a cat] gnawing on it

i cast light on my hammer bc, as a human, i cannot see in the dark

the corpse room was originally gonna be a playroom, but then, ya know . . .

i don’t like that

apparently, Gricks sometimes eat metal

bad vibes from the dust people

there’s a severed hand running along his arm now

you are about to get punched in the face by a disembodied hand

none of the figures are aggressive, but they are ominously chanting: blood shed for life, blood shed from death, blood for the blood god, blood something something blood something

the alcove is just an alcove, with a pile of bodies and a hole up at the top

hypothesis: will bleeding give us a way out?

does this mean our own blood, or do we have to stab the baby corpses?

Valessha decides to slice their palm over the altar to see if that helps

it does not

Shalden decides to stab a baby corpse

it also does not help

Snowflake is moving a lot

noooooo we don’t have to kill the cat, do we?

let’s try stabbing Eliza!

she doesn’t react to Valessha trying to stab her, she just kinda stares

the chants are becoming faster and more frantic, and by now it’s basically just “blood”

well, the timer has run out

there’s a familiar sucking sound, and then corpse pieces fall into the water around us, and begin dragging themselves towards the alcove, where they all join together into a writhing mound of bodies

sounds crunchy!

it’s wailing, and at the center is the two babes

it’s gonna go for you [Shalden]; you’re big and meaty

advantage all over it

you are trapped in a giant ball of people meat

Shalden: i fork a chunk out of it, like you fork a ham steak

you fish Gustav out of it!

i’m knocked out, and fail my first death save

fortunately, i landed face up, so i don’t have to roll to avoid drowning!

Shalden luckily lands the final blow just then, the thing melts, the pool fills with blood, and the illusion begins to fade. everything is on fire now

the mansion goes up in flames, but we manage to get out mostly intact. Shalden does get hit by basically every single piece of falling debris tho

there’s a voice behind us

it’s a lightly accented masculine voice

it's the dude from the cult figurine!

he’s suave and hot and has dark shoulder-length curly hair 

he brushes Shalden’s cheek and he instantly regains 10hp

useless lesbian, new 5e background option

it’s strahd! he’d like to welcome us to barovia

he’s having a bit of a . . . party . . . at his “humble abode” and would like to invite us

i’m gonna take that invitation like “yes sir”

strahd also wants me to hand over my bag, which has the cat in it

he gives Snowflake some scritches while explaining how he doesn’t like cats

and then he throws my bag into the middle of the house fire!

[don't worry Snowflake escaped the bag]

he [Snowflake] is running, on fire, through a town built out of very flammable materials

poor mister Snowflake, who i am carrying like a baby

we are able to find the burgermeister’s house to deliver his body

it looks like someone has climbed over the wall and walked through the roses, repeatedly

the door of the mansion is closed

should we knock? maybe they’re friendly and will let us stay with them for the night

i bet that flesh creature felt like this piece of brie

he opens the door, looks at us, then looks at the body, and goes, “ah. again." this is apparently the fourth time his father's body has gone missing.

he is called Ismark, Ismark the Lesser

we deposit the body in a coffin in the office

Ismark: do you drink? / Cerris: yes. please.

Ismark goes to get us a 25 year vintage

as we’re chilling, a dagger flies at Shalden from the hallway

a woman comes running down the hall accusing him of working with Strahd bc, ya know, inhuman

why are you purple?

oh my god karen, you can’t just ask someone why they’re purple

this is racist

Ismark: these aren’t Strahd’s men; they’re half dead! he wouldn’t send people this incompentent. besides, they brought Father back

Ireena is Uncertain about us

come on, he’s only a half-orc, that means he’s only half-stupid

this has been out of context campaign notes part II.

~thank you~

[ LOADING INFORMATION ON OLYMPUS’ LEAD VOCAL KIM SEWOON…. ]

DETAILS

CURRENT AGE: 29 DEBUT AGE: 21 SKILL POINTS: 15 VOCAL | 07 DANCE | 04 RAP | 14 PERFORMANCE SECONDARY SKILLS: Lyric writing

INTERVIEW

i. they called him dirty when he walked into the audition, bad hair colouring and clothing thrown into one big chaotic avant-garde piece on a body. he put the same chaos where his mouth was, fighting early judgement with a whip in the mouth. they couldn’t get rid of it then, there was too little time to teach an old dog new tricks, so, instead, they groomed him - cleaned up his appearance and cut his tongue rounder. he became the unlikely mix of sweet and toned down sour, his appearance serving for a cold demeanor while an inviting, proud smile emphasized all the fairy tales coming from his mouth. it cleaned up for anything straightforward that slipped out. there was little way to foresee how big his next step would be and how close he’d be willing to get to the edge of acceptable behavior. he played a game, nimble fingers rolling the dice exiting and eye catching – undeniably hard to ignore.

ii. it seems that everything about him is different when he comes back from the army. from his stance and walk all the way to his demeanor, he’s changed for the better or worse. there’s an aura of a grown up around him, a lack of a rebelling teenager smirk prominet. the calm and collected attitude is a whole other extreme none of the fans, members or staff in the company are used to. it was like a fall of personality, about which he found himself conversing in the company. after a head was nodded (‘make the change smoother, we don’t need culture-shock’ – as if the lost member coming back wasn’t one in the start), the new him was observed by a panel of others - one that seemed to be consisting of the whole world, as for the first six months comments about how different he seemed and how well he did in ‘tell me’ were the only things he heard. with ocean’s calm in his eyes and a smile of zen, he nodds along it and falls into an open discussion when given the chance. matured, they say, as they pat his shoulder. now he’s a real idol.

BIOGRAPHY

i. it was dead silent as they dined. not that many more voices ever rang in the household, ice walls tall and proud between each person kneeling behind the table. the most vivid sound in his memory is his father flipping pages of a newspaper while his mother blew into a spoon to cool down the tasteless everyday broth. the youngest pair of eyes behind the table were the only ones looking up, flickering between the rustling of a page turned and a human produced breeze throughout the whole hour of dinner. silence of strangers was natural for a family with discord, words the equivalent of static to each other’s ears as they leave the mouth. a man of authority whose uniform was glued to his frame no matter the occasion, controlling and prideful of sucking the life out of a rose-cheeked ten year younger prima ballerina who fell before her career could even start after a cruel twist of faith. or, rather, an ankle. and then there’s the kid - round, dove eyes and striking up conversations, questions raised fading into the dull atmosphere in the room having received no reaction. the best the young soul could do was chew at his rice as his curious gaze turned more spiteful with each evening passing.

ii. the first time the two gazes turned to their blood was when he smashed his metal chopsticks against the table, sound resonating in the dimly lit room. the boy who grew up in silence and in between cold demeanor was so surprised at the attention the original rant he had been writing in his head ever since realization that strangers is a more fitting way to describe the group of three than family.

“i- am bleaching my hair.”

he had never seen the visual of mother chocking and his father patting her back as something like a hiss left his mouth. from the look of it, it was directed at the notorious. it’s amusing, the reaction. so much so that he buys the silver box himself out of his pocket money for lunch. the work is sloppy and slightly remindful of one dropping a sunny-side egg on top of their head, but this time he’s the only one behind the table looking down, relishing with the slightest uplift of the corners of his lips as chopsticks hit them with peaces of food.

iii. everything in the open is based on obtaining a reaction, books read and subjects learned left to the darkness of his bedroom. but the hair colours changing with every other season became a casual occurrence. whatever ink left marks on his skin after the boy hit legal age along with the delusion of independence dried in the heads of his closest strangers. the turned man with the preference of an oil and fire combination slowly swung on his chair behind the table as he honked for attention much more purposefully than the teenager had a few years back.

“i’m auditioning.”

“where?”

“to be an idol.”

a hand hits the table, making the plates dance along to the song of the young man’s victory. one he also celebrated in his head as the amusement he longed for was back on his features.

“you don’t even sing.”

“you don’t know that.” he shoots his mother down, ignoring the bull-like breaths taken from his left, undeniable anger sprouting in his own tone. a spicy atmosphere would have felt endearing hadn’t the woman on the right opened the door of connection - the same one that didn’t exist in the household.

“can you dance?”

that’s more like it.

“can’t everyone?” no, he figured out later.

the fizzle coming out of his father’s nose was distracting, an image of a hog, breaths fogging up right at the tip of his nose. the image put up on the same wall of ice between the family members as an accomplishment, the boy has enough decency to thank his mother for the meal before excusing himself.

“son, you’re too old.”

“you would surely know that, mother.”

iv. too old. that didn’t seem like a reasonable factor but not all minds thought alike. it was one lesson the young man learned while standing in front of multiple panels, judges and camera tests. the habit of shooting blindly at any comment made – defense mechanism of sort – was effective only in front of ones he developed it in the first place.

the answer was always too similar “you can talk and have a good voice but it doesn’t make up for what you’re lacking. you’re a bad dancer, you’re attitude needs fixing, your appearance is dirty.” in the end it was all wrapped in a nice bow of not enough time for him to make up for what he was lacking and develop what he naturally had. no matter how many philosophies on time, it doesn’t wait, - by the years it might have taken the nineteen year old lacking, he would have become an unattractive age for a debuting idol.

after a twist of faith of his own, a thought flashes in his head that maybe he was, in fact, too old for this. he thought about it all the time as sweat dripped down on the floor from the tip of the nose of the crouched man after the n'th practice of the same dance routine or singing his breath out as songs blared loudly in the room. it was undeniable he lacked, stamina most of all, the nickname of ‘five’ sticking to him like glue as the trainee found himself showing the palm of his hand at people who tried talking to him in the moments of practice.

“five more minutes.”

in his defense, he was genuinely trying.

v. debut, comebacks and stable attention make time slip past digits like sand. it mixed well with the loud siren he was, portrayed as an unlikely sweet and sour that complimented his sharp eyes, he felt himself prospering even when labeled a growing concern inside of his group no matter how shiny and glittery the company served the lead vocalist.

the way his manager pushed a letter in front of him, typing on the letter too formal for it to be one of a fans’ was implicate, eyes quickly scanning trough the paper, the content triggering memories from teenage years. his father’s pushes in the ‘righteous’ direction with an underlying traditional want for his son to step into his shoes flashed in vivid, bleeding colour. except that the company had much more than family ties with the twenty-six year old. a contract straight from hell signed with his blood.

‘olympus’ sewoon early military enlistment’

not so breaking when most netizens seemed to have foreseen it, already blaming him for the breakup of the group in ten more years or so. meanwhile the man turned into a rebelling teenager once more, much more silent under contract as he hissed at the pains of the needle of a tattoo gun sinking into soft flesh, making as many feelings in pictures and words. they were the last kicks of a newborn before learning how to crawl.

vi. the comeback is rather underwhelming, a few waves and a subtile smile at a fan or two waiting before hiding in the comfort of the company van that picked him up.

h i d i n g.

he’s back unrecognisable. the changed body frame and stance couldn’t beat the absence of a once booming voice. eyes somehow softer, just like his new neutral smile, he became an observer – calm and collected, lingering somewhere in the back. a man with a the perfect ratio of gentleman and silence, all on top of an endearing visual. truthfully, he fell out of what was labelled as ‘himself’ as he marched between men dressed in neutrals. strategies replaced acting on impulse, encouragement bowed in front of a set amount of rules he got used to under the strict influence. cash pools of tattoo parlous suffered from the lack of the man under the gun even after he came back. conversations with fellow members becoming mellow, awkwardness heavy in the air after the reappearing of the two year lost member with collages of it molded into small videos all over internet. the company’s hair dressers were ecstatic - at least they didn’t have to guess what colour his hair would be when they show up to work anymore, because everything stopped abruptly.

kim sewoon became an enigma. there, but not really. loud, but not quite. attentive, but somewhere in his own head. a man lost in the papers he kept scribbling on ever since he developed the habit of lyrical thought during night time while away.

truthfully, he was becoming his father. the only thing he was lacking was a uniform.

The Greatest Showman: Freedom, Radical Authenticity, And YOUR Power To Change The World

Inspired by The Greatest Showman starring Hugh Jackman

Leaving the gym at around 7:30 am, after spending a little time getting my stretch on in the steam room, and upping my early morning social media game, I listen…

“You stumble through your days got your head hung low your skies’ a shade of grey like a zombie in a maze…”

As I listen to The Greatest Showman soundtrack, Hugh Jackman’s words pierce my psyche and my heart. His song, Come Alive, at once, spirals me through a sea of memories of the 15 years that I spent the majority of my life counting down the minutes and hours until I could finally leave work, go home to a lonely existence, and rinse and repeat the next day.

Then comes the promise of a light somewhere peeking through the cracks in the tunnel

“Come alive, come alive Go and ride your light Let it burn so bright Reaching up To the sky And it’s open wide You’re electrified…”

A distinct memory envelopes my mind- I’m standing behind the counter in the weather office at Marine Corps Air Station Camp Pendleton.

My Sergeant Major, at the time, had just come into the office to tell me that, although the command knew my intent to exit the Marines, I’d just been slated to fill what is called a “B-billet.” This basically means that I’d been put on a list to be forced into one of the most demanding, shit show jobs, you could possibly do while still stateside (recruiting, drill instructing, combat instructing or if you’re lucky, embassy duty), and that only people who are looking to get promoted and plan to stay in until retirement, actually subject themselves to.

Now, some people spend their entire military career aspiring to fill the image of one of these perceived superheros, but I’d recently been promoted to Staff Sergeant (E-6) and would be exiting the Marine Corps in about a year-and-a-half. There was no reason for me to complete a b-billet. But, out of esprit de corps, I offered to extend my enlistment to fulfill the obligation requirement of whatever billet Uncle Sam decided to throw me into.

And then it happened…the ultimate betrayal…

We had this saying in the Marine Corps, that we used metaphorically, whenever we felt like we were being screwed by the good old USMC. We called it, getting the “green weenie.” Well, Uncle Sam gave it to me that day when I was informed that extending my enlistment to fulfill the 36 month obligation required to fill a b-billet, was not good enough. If I were selected, I’d be forced to reenlist for 4 more years and if I refused to reenlist, I’d be “awarded” with a special derogatory code that would follow me for eternity, indicating that I “refused orders.”

The lyrics continue, “Cause you’re just a dead man walking Thinking that’s your only option But you can flip the switch and brighten up your darkest day Take the world and redefine it Leave behind your narrow mind You’ll never be the same…”

And in that moment, a switch DID flip, and I have NEVER been the same!

Up until that moment, sitting in the Career Planner’s office, there had been a little part of me still questioning whether I wanted to take the plunge away from the security of a federally funded career, and into the vast unknown and discomfort of reintegration into civilian society. But at once, that last flicker of honor, uncertainty about my decision to exit the Corps, vanished. After such an unjust attempt to back me into a corner, the Corps represented more of a prison than a voluntary fighting force.

But who was I kidding-it was a prison all along!

Within a few months, I had submitted for, and carried out an “early out” package, releasing me from service six months early. I’d dodged the b-billet bullet and was not going to waste time removing myself from the stranglehold of the ultimatum I was given (even after expressing my willingness to compromise to fit the “needs of the Marine Corps,”). This is not, by the way, how to maintain low attrition rates in your organization!

Not surprisingly, upon exiting the military, I dove head first into a situation that would land me repeating an only slightly-improved-version of the same thing I’d just left behind. After two years in college, my dream college actually, I realized that I was repeating the old pattern, positioning myself to end up working my ass off for four or eight years and then go work another nine-to-five.

I couldn’t decide on one thing to devote my life to studying and I was freaking out on the inside.

Then it happened- the ultimate resistance, right at the end of a semester. A situation arose that resulted in flying my two young nieces out to New York City. I figured it’d be no big deal, in such a big city, to find childcare for them. Boy was I wrong! Taking care of the girls really shook me. Not only did I end up having to withdraw at the end of the semester, but it made me realize that I wanted to have more children and I also wanted to finally carry out my lifelong dream to travel and experience other cultures. What I did NOT want to do was have more children before getting to do those things. I wanted to feel free. Since I married at 18, had my daughter right before my 20th birthday, and seperated from her father five months later, I never got to experience that freedom from responsibility that characterizes many American’s 20-somethings.

After the girls left, I completed one more semester- a course on Indian Art and Architecture and a course on East Asian Buddhism- and I was ready to go travel. I had fallen behind on the payments of my investment property in California, was facing possible foreclosure, and used my student loans to pay for the cost of the kids, so I was stuck between a rock and a hard spot. Fortunately, I’d bought the place, three years earlier, with a lot of foresight. I decided to sell the house, and came out $60,000 on top, even after the back payments, and realtor fees.

By now, you’re probably wondering how all of this ties together…

Well, my first trip was to one of the most transformational events I’ve experienced in my life, Unleash the Power Within with Anthony Robbins. This event forced me to dig VERY VERY deep, and completely changed the trajectory of my life. For the first time, I was beginning to understand myself; for the first time in a long time, I felt truly inspired to be alive. I decided that the three most important things I could possibly do were to understand myself better, trust my instincts and pursue my passions. Tony also planted the seed that peaked my interest in “multiple income streams” and business. So, I proceeded to buy every program he offered, and then scheduled lessons in Neuro-linguistic Programming, hypnosis, tantra yoga, and Japanese Taiko drumming. Yes, I was all over the map. But I was happy.

While I missed learning from some of the world’s best, and I missed the idea of possessing that Ivy League degree (the status symbol that I now understood was serving as a source of significance, certainty and certain misery for me), I was much happier being the free spirit that was authentically me. The person I’d almost forgotten completely over the many years I’d clutched to certainty and significance as my primary needs (an unconscious mistake that prevents true fulfillment for so many of us).

I caught a glimpse of freedom. I feel it…

“When the world becomes a fantasy And you’re more than you could ever be ’Cause you’re dreamin’ with your eyes wide open And you know you can’t go back again To the world that you were living in ’Cause you’re dreamin’ with your eyes wide open So, come alive…”

And after almost 3 years of extreme personal growth, building multiple streams of income and learning the ins and outs of passion-based business,

when I listen to The Greatest Showman soundtrack, my soul comes alive.

Not only because I resonate so deeply with the message of the movie: the struggles and beauty of entrepreneurship; our power to create; our ability to alter the trajectory of the world we live in, if we only take the risk of following our heart; the importance of seeing the potential in others; the liberating effect of radical authenticity; accepting the good with the bad, I could go on and on!

“I am not a stranger to the dark Hide away, they say ’Cause we don’t want your broken parts I’ve learned to be ashamed of all my scars Run away, they say No one’ll love you as you are…”

This movie also served as a little reminder of my childhood dream of performance, my love of singing, of theater, the parts of myself I’ve learned to hide over the years. It allowed me to understand that it’s ok, and even healthy, to do life for you, on your terms.

I am not responsible for fixing the world or anyone else in it; just myself.

As Rupaul mentioned in a recent Oprah interview, the purpose of life is to experience life, to enjoy it, that’s first and foremost.

“When the sharpest words wanna cut me down I’m gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out I am brave, I am bruised I am who I’m meant to be, this is me Look out ’cause here I come And I’m marching on to the beat I drum I’m not scared to be seen I make no apologies, this is me…”

Gandhi said, “be the change you wish to see in the world.” The depth of this quote is unending, I’m learning, as the lesson continues to flow constantly. Hind Swaraj (home-rule) is a never ending process of personal growth!

Yes, it’s true, that stepping into your authenticity is as uncomfortable as it is empowering.

You will be criticized, ostracized and outcasted. But it is fully worth it! When you embrace the discomfort, it is then that your inner superheroine will shine forth from the S on your chest (in your heart that is).

“Another round of bullets hits my skin Well, fire away ’cause today, I won’t let the shame sink in We are bursting through the barricades and Reaching for the sun (we are warriors) Yeah, that’s what we’ve become (yeah, that’s what we’ve become)…”

All I ask of you now, is that you become a warrior with me!

“’Cause darling without you All the shine of a thousand spotlights All the stars we steal from the nightsky Will never be enough Never be enough Towers of gold are still too little These hands could hold the world but it’ll Never be enough…”

Let’s steal the night, feel the warmth of a thousand spotlights, enjoy the gold, and hold the world…together! Empowered by our unique strengths, dreams, visions and perspectives; by each of our unique and fully authentic truths. Let’s take the world by storm. Let’s be the change we wish we could see. Let’s see the incredible potential in one another, once and for all. Let’s set high expectations for life and take full responsibility in creating it.

Join the me and the FeminineStrong movement Connect with me, personally, on Snapchat Check out The Greatest Showman Trailer