Molten

The world is no stranger from the supernatural. From guard spirits that protect shrines and watch over families to yokai who spring from town to town, swallowing nightmares and spreading luck wherever they go. Sometimes small charms and pins and jewelry disappear from houses and more often than not, some run through crowds with mischievous glints in their eyes.

Even so, humans live with them intandem and continue to do so for centuries.

Most don't show themselves willingly unless they can trust humans enough to reveal their forms, opting to watch from afar and never interfering unless their backs are turned or humans are out of sight. It's common to see offerings and treats left out for them at night in thanks for their kindness, though some wish to stay hidden out of safety and fear more than anything. Demons walk the earth searching for yokai to devour and humans to terrorize.

The sharp teeth and black hazy corruption that seeps from them is enough to destroy a yokai’s core and damn them forever, only if they have the luxury of being kept alive at the small price of becoming one themselves.

That's why when the kitsune’s golden eyes watch the fire move and twist with a grace and elegance that even she has yet to master, she pauses and stares as the two men battle.

One is a demon, with blue tattoos marking every inch of his skin that is sickly pale. Her sharp eyes make out the sharp fangs and glasswork eyes that glow blue and gold. The fox tenses seeing flashes of her memories of fire and craters littering the earth, blood washed walls and wailes of the living. She remembers blue lines reflected on the fragile shoji paper doors as the fire ate away at them, snowflake patterns cutting divots into the earth and leaving the demon's mark behind. By all rights she should flee, demons and kitsune have not shared a kind history but she finds herself rooted in her fear, grief and anger.

The words he says have trouble reaching her ears from where she crouches but she makes out the taunts and disregards for the people and how much he wants the man to leave this life behind and become like him to gain eternal power and strength.

The little fox watches as the man stands firm. Fire blazing hot and sweltering from even where she is standing. He has flaming wings . She is mesmerized by the sight, it's like nothing she’s ever seen. His blood drips like lava from his sun kissed skin and his voice carries like an explosion from a volcano. His voice rings clear in her head, suffocating and thick like smoke from a fire but pleasantly warm in a way that makes her want to dare to stay and drink in the flames. He speaks of mortal life and what makes it beautiful and joys of knowing that even if it's limited to even a moment it's worth protecting. No matter how weak it may seem to the demon, every life matters.

He speaks so sure, confident and clear. And yet, as the smoke and fire dissipates in the wind the demon makes sure to fatally injure him and flees with the sunrise.

The winecoloured fox cries angrily for him, battered and weak from fighting. The girl knows his frustration and anger, she's felt it before, much earlier than she should have, when she never should have. Her feet carry her over to where his shaking hands are failing to cast the healing spell correctly as the boarchild and the yellow haired one looks on.

She kneels before them, dirtying her kimono more than it already has been, but she already has tears and blood staining the fabric since she fell from the train. More dirt on it doesn't matter right now and she gently rests her hands over his and applies her own. She breathes in and lets the power fall from her fingertips and the gaping hole in the man's middle weaves itself back together until the wound is reduced to nothing, revealing unbroken skin. He's unconscious but he will need rest to properly heal so the spell can continue doing its work.

“Who”the boy says, his shaky voice filling with confusion,”who are you?”

She looks at him carefully now, dark red hair and eyes that watch her so intently. The fox ears on his head twitch as the sun washes over all of them, mirroring the shadows of her own but what's most surprising her are the three tails he possesses, many kitsune she knows only have two.

He has eyes that carry none of the darkness she's seen covering many others and he looks so small and young, not even at his twentieth year she guesses. Whether he's too exhausted or too inexperienced in it, the lack of his ability to completely conceal his features is a sign. Far too young to be picking fights with demons. She's no better, but the world will wait for no one. It does not care that they are too young.

Her eyes glance over the others, the boarchild is silent but she picks up the low growl of warning coming from under the boar's head and grips a pair of serrated blades tight at his sides. She doesn't quite know what he is but she knows he smells like of the forest and the earth and looks ready to jump at her if she does so much as makes the wrong move.

The golden haired one stands by with teary eyes, and she can feel the static and smell the ozone that clings to him. She's never met a Raiju, she's only heard of them in passing with how scarce and secretive they are but he reminds her of the one people spoke of in stories and hopes her assumption is right and hums at the sight all the same. There's a box strapped to his back, that smells a little like a campfire, it piques her interest but she doesn’t ask, she's not sure she should.

“What I should be asking you little one, is why you are fighting demons”she says as she begins to look them over for injuries ”Yokai and demons are careful to never clash with one another”

“We're demon slayers. It's our job to protect people from demons”he says with a confidence that she doesn't quite understand but she doesn't question it. They look too tired and stressed right now for it anyways.

“He still needs somewhere to rest and recover so the spell isn’t undone, I could find somewhere, the next town should be close”the girl starts but she's stopped but the boy as she makes to stand

“Help should be here soon don’t worry”he smiles at her”Thank you for your help”

“It was no trouble”she replies

“Where did you come from? How do you know about demons?”the yellow one asks voice sounding small

“I came from the train”she supplies, grimacing at the memory. She felt the ground disappear from under her so suddenly she didn’t have time to be scared. She was lucky enough to wake up on top of the bushes and not on her neck”If he hasn’t told you yet, kitsune and demons have a long history. Learning about demons was necessary for survival”

“But how do you know such advanced spells?”the red haired boy asks, grabbing her hand. It must be shocking, most know simple spells, not ones that can fix gaping wounds like these.

“What’s your name?”she asks and he doesn't miss a beat as he answers”Tanjiro”

“Well Tanjiro, I’ve had years to learn and master spells like those. It takes a lot of practice, I sure with time you'll have the skill and experience to do even better than I can.”

“Are you strong? Fight me and show me your power!”the boar boy yells and the blond one gives him an unimpressed look

“Whatever for?”the girl asks a little amused

“So I can be the most powerful one here! The name’s hashibira! Inosuke Hashibira! Remember it, now show me if you're a strong woman!”he raises his blades up high with a mad cackle with energy she didn’t know he still had

“Shut up! Is that anyway to thank someone who just helped us! Are you insane!?”the blonde one yells at him

“You shut up Monitsu! You’re my minion stay back and watch!”Inouske tells him

“I’m not your minion your moron! Be quiet!”Monitsu she thinks, what an odd name, he yells back even louder.

“HAh! You wanna fight too, Monitsu?!”

“Inosuke! Zenitsu!”Tanjiro shuts at them

What an odd group, she thinks watching them bicker.

In the distance more people approach within black uniforms that look similar to the ones the boys wear. Veils cover their faces and they begin to fuss over the wounded and come to take the children and the man to safety.

“It's time for me to take my leave then”the kitsune says, rising to her feet. The aches and pains she has are minor but the fatigue of healing her injuries and the man’s is catching up to her. If she is lucky enough she’s sure she has enough coins to get a room at an inn to rest

“Wait-”Tanjiro calls out”Wait, would you like to come back with us? I want to ask you more about what you know. If you want to, of course”

The girl looks back at them and Tanjiro looks at her expectantly, so do his friends. She wonders if her words will be that important to them, some wandering fox’s tales about demons and her scattered knowledge of spells she isn’t supposed to know.

“I’m sure my words don’t mean much,” she says, turning away. She only gets to take a few strides before there's a tug on her sleeve

“Please anything you can give is important no matter how small it might seem. It could go a long way”He pushes. He's right, they fight demons for christ sake, any help they can get is as good as gold she thinks. I couldn’t hurt to show them some more spells, if it will help one less person die.

“Wouldn't I be intruding?” she asks tilting her head

“Not at all!”Tanjiro beams and the little fox thinks his smile is probably at little more blinding than the sun can be at this moment

“Well then”she says” Lead the way”

----

Note:

I'm trying to get back into the groove of writing, school's drowning me into work. Originally I wanted to write something halloween themed but oh well, I've been reading way too much Japanese mythology in my free time and this happened.

Zentisu: Raiju (means thunder beast cool) Tanjiro: Kitsune Inosuke: Forest spirit (you can interpretate him however you like I wasn't sure what to put his as) Rengoku: Suzaku (this seem pretty fitting)

  “ N--no, really.  It’s fine-- I’m okay...  You    don’t need to worry so much about me--”

Lover - Marcus Rashford

A/N: this is literally just pure sickly sweet fluff, it's not as long as i hoped or wanted it to be so i hope it's okay <33 xx

From the moment Marcus laid eyes on you, he knew he wanted to be with you. You had been supporting Manchester United since you were in nappies; having grown up in a United-obsessed house, it was kind of a given. Marcus saw you in that famous red shirt, complete with a bobble hat and scarf as it was an icy-cold January afternoon. By coincidence, you were wearing the number 10 shirt with RASHFORD on the back, as he was your favourite player, the two of you being the same age.

United were playing Reading, and he scored within the first four minutes, prompting enormous cheers from the crowd, especially from you and your family. He had spotted you in the crowd, eyes alight with happiness and jumping up and down in elation. At the end of the game, he ran over to you and gave you his shirt, complete with a heat-of-the-moment kiss on your cheek. You didn’t think much of it, and you left the ground with your friends after a brilliant 4-0 victory on the assumption that you would never see him again.

Wrong.

Call it what you will - fate, destiny, or just purely coincidence, you bumped into Marcus at a club less than a week later while on a night out with the same friends you’d gone to the game with. As in you physically bumped into him, spilling bright blue WKD on his pristine white shirt. You’d gasped and issued a hundred apologies, and he instantly recognised you from the game. The two of you struck up a conversation, and talked late into the night at the back of the club, to the extent that your separate group of friends came together and partied all night long as one big group.

The honeymoon phase had never really ended, and you had both fallen simply head over heels for one another. Marcus always had you giggling away with his funny stories from club and international duty, you were always there to offer unbiased advice and you just… worked. There was never any doubt in either of your minds, and indeed, the minds of everyone around you both, that you were meant for each other.

Marcus absolutely worshipped the ground you walked on. You were his sweetheart, his queen, his everything, and he made damn sure to treat you like it. His teammates always teased him about it, how he was so intimidating and ferocious on the pitch but the second he was within earshot of you, he was like a small puppy.

The fans always picked up on the way he looked at you when you were on the sidelines, and he would always make sure to blow at least three kisses your way during matches. Your relationship was often compared to the song Lover by Taylor Swift; you were true to each other, saved all your dirtiest jokes for the privacy of the two of you and no matter what, he always saved you a seat at every table.

Marcus was always careful with you. Despite his tall stature and rippling muscles, he held you like you were the most fragile piece of glass, mere seconds from breaking. You sometimes picked up on it, like when you needed a tight bear hug after a tough day at university, and he gave you a big squeeze, but with a whinge of ‘but you’re too precious to hold too tightly’, which always made your heart sing with love.

He would brush your hair back from your face, holding it back and rubbing your back when you’d had too much to drink, rub your shoulders and press adoring kisses to your forehead if you’d spent all day at your laptop crunching deadlines and working remotely during the pandemic.

Your wedding, four years to the day since his lips met your cheek at Old Trafford, was a joyous affair. You had a quiet ceremony with strictly family and close friends, followed by a huge reception and party at a magnificent country house that evening. All his England and Manchester United teammates were in attendance, but his focus was entirely and completely on you. When you walked down the aisle, a goddess in your flowing white dress, he couldn’t stop the tears from cascading down his cheeks. You exchanged your vows, swearing to love each other as you had done for the last four years.

Even after a year of being married, he still relished referring to you as ‘my wife’ or ‘my missus’ or simply ‘the hubby’, ‘hubs’ for short. He would spend movie nights on the sofa with you twiddling your wedding and engagement rings around, loving how the cool metal felt against his fingers. During these moments, he wondered to himself how he managed to score a woman like you. You were simply extraordinary, and the love of his life. He was determined to love you the way you deserve for the rest of your lives, no matter what.

People like you only come round once every blue moon, and it takes someone as special as Marcus to make something truly special, which is exactly what your relationship was. Something remarkable.

Plucked (Pixie Virgil/Dlampr) Part 1:

Summary: Virgil, a small and anxious pixie, goes out alone to scavenge for food only to find himself in the hands of a tall and not-so-gentle human intent on bringing him home as a gift to his boyfriends.

Words: 2670

(Warnings: Anxiety, treating people as pets, kidnapping, Character blacking out and other person thinking they died) - I stretch my arms as I yawn out, popping my back in the presses. I lean back and use my hands to rub out my sore wings, having slept on them weird. They flutter a bit as I try to wake up, the morning light shining through one of the small windows in my tree home hits them causing flashes of rainbow light to bounce off the walls.

A small smile crosses my face as I pull off the thick gray long sleeved shirt I wear to bed and change into a simple black tunic, the tunic itself being a little loose around the sleeves and neck, not that I really cared.

I walk across my dark hollow I call home, the whole room only being about a foot long and a half in human measurements. Sure it’s small, but I’ve never really liked large spaces, they make me feel overwhelmed.

There is a shard of broken mirror resting against the dark oaken wall, and I glance at myself in its reflection, taking specific notice in my hair that I try to tame with my fingers, not being very successful. I had given my brush to my cousin a few days ago for him to fix, and am yet to get it back from the forest fairy.

“Damn Emile…” I mutter to myself, cursing the kind fairy as I continue to struggle with my hair. The handle had been broken a small while ago, but it still worked its purpose. Which unfortunately wasn’t good enough for my green winged friend.

I don’t have great luck in flattening it down, and only seem to tame it a small amount. A few stray black strands continue to stick out, causing me to let out an annoyed sigh. I also notice a small amount of dark purple peeking out from my roots, reminding me that I need to get Emile to cut and re-dye it for me. I’ve never been too great at things like that, and last time I tried I almost cut my ear off and also left my arms up to my elbows dyed black. It didn’t wash out for a full month, and I got quite the earful from my older cousin, who acts more like my parent.

Always telling me to be careful, avoid humans, elves and other large creatures, never fly into Fae circles, stay out of the rain, remember to eat, and blah blah blah.

He’s way too protective of me, but I guess he has a reason to be, him being a fairy and me being a pixie. It’s easy to tell the difference, since fairies are two inches taller then pixies and it’s a well known fact that pixies are much more fragile than fairies. And much more rare, which is why I live in the middle of a dense forest, while Emile lives a little ways away and has to fly to see me.

I give up on trying to fix my hair and it’s not like anyone is going to see me. But thinking of my older cousin did remind me that I’m almost out of food and water. It rained a few days ago, but almost nothing ever reaches the mossy forest floor through the trees, and whatever did has dried up by now, meaning I have to go out to get supplies.

“Uuuugghhh….” I groan out as I rub my face. I hate leaving my house, I wish I could just stay here forever. But a main reason I picked my home to be here is it’s not too far from a small pond, hidden between some trees. But an even bigger plus is what’s right across the pond, where large berry bushes sprout. They hold all types of berries, making it the perfect spot to get food all year round.

It's secluded enough that no real predators are able to get to it, but just in-secluded enough for me to be able to walk there in about 20-30 minutes. I could fly but that draws too much attention to me, and I prefer walking over flying anyways.

I wish I was a fairy if I’m being honest, like Emile. His wings and body are much larger than mine, as I stand at a small 4 inches while he stands at a whopping 6. His wings are a light green color, looking like butterflies and they allow him to glide through the air instead of mine, which are thin, almost completely see through. They shimmer when light touches them, and they hold thin silver highlights that seem to emphasize their fragility. I always try to tuck them away, knowing of the horror stories of pixies who had gotten caught by humans, their wings torn off and used for jewelry or a collectors item, while they get thrown into a cage to live out the rest of their lives.

Another thing I happen to be jealous of is Emile’s skin tone. He holds a nice peach color that often ends up tanned due to him spending so much of his free time outside with the other creatures of his small section of forest. Pixies are known to be on the paler side, but I am almost sickly pale due to almost never getting sunlight, along with the patches of light and dark purple littering my skin, the most prominent ones being on my forearms and on both sides of my face.

I sigh again, putting on some platform shoes Emile had made me, grabbing a large bag I can throw over my shoulder, along with another bag stuffed inside to hold the water as I get ready to leave the house.

I put a small cloak on as well, using the hood to cover my hair, and to make it easier to camouflage, since I happen to pop out against the brown and lush green environment of the forest.

I use my feet to push up and leap my way up and out of the small room, my wings being open and fluttering slightly to help my balance.

There is one thing that Emile was jealous of me for, and that was the fact that even though pixies aren’t great or fast fliers like fairies, we can jump significantly higher than almost all fairies and on ground we are incredibly fast on our feet, which is another reason I prefer walking to flying.

I jump over the wall of my room and use my wings to lower myself onto the mossy forest floor. I stretch out my wings again before looking up and rubbing my eyes, trying to get used to the bright light coming from above the tree line high above. The sun feels warm against my skin, and it’s only slightly humid.

“I really need to get out more.” I say to myself as I adjust my bag and begin the trek towards the pond. I stick to walking near the trees instead of the few natural open paths, making it easy to leap up incase of any dangerous animals came towards me, and partially because I’m paranoid.

Wouldn’t be the first time somethings tried to eat me….

I continue walking, humming a quiet tune to ease my mind, as I always feel anxious walking outside by myself. I end up being alert the whole time, feeling as though I’m being watched. Of course I’m not being watched and I know that. No sane person would ever just walk into an enchanted forest, everyone knew that. Not to mention where I live is a good way into the forest, miles away from any human or elf towns.

I stop my humming abruptly as I hear a ruffle of leaves above me to the right, and my eyes shoot over to the area immediately. My breath stops as I try to stay as quiet and still as physically possible. After a few minutes of nothing happening, I let out a shaky sigh, allowing my muscles to relax.

It was probably the wind. Or a bird.

I shiver at the thought. Birds are the worst and one of the only predators a pixie can’t just fly away from.

I start speed walking towards the pond. Being by the large open water always calmed my nerves. There were no fish or kelpies and thank god there aren’t any mermaids or any type of aquatic animals living in the deep water for that matter. But I have seen a deer or two around the area, along with the water spirits that inhabit the clear waters. They let me take water as long as I give them something in return, which is normally a berry or two extra I grab from the bush on the other side of the lake. It’s not a lot, but I think they know I can’t carry much as it is.

I see the pond behind some long grass and my face lights up, as my anxiety seems to melt away. I always was at my calmest at the pond and my paranoid nature would be put on hold until I got home.

I smile as I walk towards the body of fresh water coming towards the edge, easily seeing my reflection in the clear surface.

Pixies and fairies can’t exactly swim, and if even a little water gets on our wings we become temporarily grounded and unable to fly. I don’t really worry about that when coming here, I mean, now anyways…

I slowly got over that fear a year or so ago,

I had been giving the water spirits berries in exchange for water for a while at that point, until one day I had gotten frightened and lost my footing causing me to fall straight into the depth below. I thought I was going to drown….

That was until I heard soft, echoing voices and the light above the water became brighter, the next thing I knew I woke up on the grass next to the pond and my satchel filled with fresh water. I made sure to put double the amount of berries into the pond that day…

I pull out my spare bag and unscrew the lid near the top before lowering it into the water and waiting for it to fill.

A few stray ripples in the blue water come towards me, causing small waves against my bag. I smile at it, making small talk. From anyone else’s view it would seem like I’m crazy and talking to myself, but I know that the water spirits appreciate conversation.

Once my bag is full I pull it away from the water and screw on the lid, while thanking the spirits. 

I use my cloak to dry off the outside of the pouch before placing my water bag inside my larger bag. Sure it’s heavy, but I don’t have anywhere to be at the moment, so I’ll take my time.

I sigh and begin the tiring trek around the pond. It takes longer than I would like to get to the berry bushes, but the sound of the soft water makes for a quiet and calming walk. Around this time of year, the path to the other side of the pond is extended. While the rain might not make it through the forest where I live, it does here, making the edges of the pond muddy and dangerous.

I walk deeper into the forest, making a big semi circle around the muddy area. I decide to walk deeper, enjoying the fresh air and the small breeze that causes my hood to almost fly off, but I fortunately catch it and pull it back onto my face.

I walk a straight line between a few of the trees, a content smile on my face, while starting to hum quietly to myself again. I close my eyes for a second as I walk, a hand crossing over on the strap of my bag, but when I open them slightly I notice a large dark shadow covering me. I look up quickly to see a large hand coming towards me.

Out of instinct I immediately drop my bag and jump backwards just in time for another hand to rush at me and I barely make it out of the way. I use the hand to push myself into the air, my wings immediately getting to work as I go to fly upwards, trying to put as much distance between me and the stranger.

‘Crap!-’

I don’t get more than a few feet before I narrowly avoid another hand, this one coming at me so quickly that instead of grabbing me, it barely manages to snag my cloak with it’s nail, but it lets out a loud ‘riiiiiiiiiiiip’ that seems to echo out into the otherwise quiet forest.

That momentary distraction is all it takes for the two large hands to harshly cup around me, shadowing me into darkness. Once it grips on I start to struggle, thrashing and screeching in it’s hold, my feet kicking against its palms. This only seems to anger it as its grip tightens to an almost suffocating hold, I whimper as the grip pushes my arms together, my chest feeling like it’s going to explode as tear prick the corners of my eyes.

My wings sting against the calloused hands and I can feel him start to move quickly causing me to bump around against the mini prison, murmurs of someone's voice heard somewhere outside as my vision starts to swim, so I do the only reasonable thing I could think of.

I bite down. Hard.

I draw blood easily and the second the hand opens I launch myself out towards the light ahead of me, adrenaline and fear fueling my movements as I see the hand try to reach out to me before I see it pushing down, taking me with it.

All I see is the hand and the forest floor rushing up to greet me before I’m slammed onto it, the weight of the hand crushing me and knocking the wind out of my chest before everything in sight is covered in black pools and eventually nothing….

-

I groan from my place on the ground, having tripped over my own feet when reaching for the winged mini-person. My boyfriend Logan was always fascinated with fairies so when I saw it just walking around I figured it would make a great ‘I’m-Sorry-I-Accidentally-Lit-The-Bathroom-On-Fire’ gift.

I hadn't expected the thing to bite me though. Or sting me, I don’t know which one it was but it hurts like a bitch. I hope they're not poisonous…. But then again if they are, my boyfriends will have to take care of me….. I shake my head to get rid of the thought, looking around for the little thing that has caused me so much trouble.

I look to where my hand is planted on the ground, and I try to keep it steady as I wipe a bit of dirt that had gotten on my green throw over that Patton had made me bring incase it got cold.

I scoop up the little being with both of my hands in a little pocket, making sure not to crush it and bring it up to my eyes before slowly opening my hands, allowing me to look at it.

I can see it’s pale skin, dark messy hair and clearly ripped cloak, along with some patches of purple throughout their body. But the most striking part are its wings, not like any fairies I’d ever heard of, and once the light catches them they seem to burst with colors…

“Logan is going to love this!” I mutter to myself.

But then I notice something else strange. The once feisty and screeching fairy wasn’t struggling, heck it wasn’t moving at all! 

My body jumps when I realize this, and I nearly drop the little person, my eyes widen in panic as I end up blurting out,

“Shit! Did I fucking kill it!?”

Accepted — "Sparrow”

♥   Sparrow looks like Oliver Sykes (Bring Me The Horizon) ♥    He was born Nov 20, 1991; making him 28 years old  ♥    This Shifter is a Falseranking Five of Hearts ♥    He is a Revolutionary Assassin

Biography

Sparrow was born as small and fragile as his self-determined namesake, and twice as sickly. He never knew either of his parents and could only speculate on the reasons why they left him behind. The single legacy granted to him was an enigma – a Q on the inside of his wrist and but a vague guess at what faction he could possibly be, abandoned on a pile of rags in the Hearts district as a baby. His younger years were a whirlwind as Sparrow grew stronger and his Shifter nature took hold, a feral, ravenous problem child juggled from orphanage to foster home to orphanage and eventually, when he refused to be controlled or contained, thrown back to the mercy of the streets. Out of options and unwilling to succumb to his hunger or his fate, a desperate Sparrow caught and ate a mouse – which included, of course, its heart.

The act didn’t bother him nearly so much as it should have.

Hours later and already trying to secure his next meal, Sparrow was caught with sticky fingers stretched behind a vegetable vendor’s stall, but when the woman’s hand darted for his thin wrist, she caught nothing but a brush of velvety-soft brown fur. He scurried away, tiny heart beating a million miles a minute, as she railed and shouted at the empty air Sparrow had just occupied. It was only uphill from there, even though the going still wasn’t easy.

Despite the meagerest understanding of his Shifter nature, Sparrow now knew what he needed to survive and he could guess how to do it. His animal forms were curated accordingly, a limited suite of small, inconspicuous, dextrous counterparts built for effortless intrusions and flawless escapes.

Honing his thievery to a needle-fine point over the next handful of years, Sparrow learned early on that the Q at his wrist opened doors for him even if he’d simply been born with it: it meant little to him, but apparently so much more to others. In spite of this Sparrow still had to be good to survive, and his talents didn’t go unnoticed. At age eleven he was snapped up by the local guild of thieves, recognized as skilled and indispensably exploitable for his youth and rank. 

Neither lasted forever. Despite his success with the guild, Sparrow had been easily tricked into the assumption all spoils were pooled; everything he’d ever earned was made part of the guild’s coffers. November 20th brought with it the harshest of realities: his birthday, Sparrow discovered, as he turned fifteen and his rank – now solidifying him as a Heart – dropped to a solitary 1. No longer of inherent use to the guild, his supposed second family treated him just as poorly as the first when they kicked him unceremoniously to the curb.

Unfortunately, they’d trained him too well. Just a couple of months after his return to the streets, Sparrow turned right back around to use their own tactics against them: he broke into the guild and robbed their stores of as much as he could carry.

Now, instead of a Queen, instead of a 1, he was a Jack.

Realizing he could game the system based simply on the value of his bank account, Sparrow quickly learned to take advantage, not only of criminally easy falseranking but also an assortment of well-placed bribes to keep frequent and suspect bank activity under wraps. For Sparrow, hooking up with the revolutionaries was a no-brainer: every damn day he illustrated how broken the system was, flitting wildly from Jack to 3 and back to 10 in matters of hours. It meant nothing. Even as a child he’d been exploited for the letter on his wrist when he hadn’t earned a thing.

With the resistance receiving more than enough financial backing from an assortment of highranked and often anonymous donors, Sparrow knew he had to juggle specialties in order to be of more use. Not a fighter by any stretch of the imagination, Sparrow’s methods had always prioritized stealth and the art of invisibility over brute strength; he couldn’t fight for them as a champion, but he could kill for them as a ghost.

And again, killing didn’t bother him nearly so much as it should have.

His tenure as an assassin is still a few years’ fresh, but seeing as he employs so many of the skills he already practiced as a thief, the professional shift wasn’t a difficult one – and it’s certainly far more lucrative. Kadeu loves a good vendetta, and will pay appropriately well for deadly talent and discretion. Much of Sparrow’s motivation comes from what interests him or can hold his attention. As opportunistic as any Heart ought to be, he doesn’t restrict his work to the revolution; if you have the coin, you have his consideration.

Personality

Simply put, Sparrow has a poor sense of self. He’s spent too much time living for or pretending to be others that he doesn’t understand who he’s meant to be, and honestly, that’s never bothered him. Immature and distant, it’s easy to assume Sparrow hates people and interacting with them until you learn he simply doesn’t know how. He has a well-founded streak of abandonment issues a mile wide, making it next to impossible for him to trust relationships or form meaningful bonds. Sparrow is charismatic when he wants or needs to be, but it’s sharp – everything about him is sharp.

Born essentially factionless and having rendered his own rank moot, he’s got few fucks to give for the factions and ranks of others. It’s a mixed blessing, being a viewpoint shared with most revolutionaries but likely to get him into trouble disrespecting highrankers. He finds the majority of them and their abuses of privilege repulsive and, despite being highranked himself in actuality, will rarely be seen with anything higher than 5 if he doesn’t need it to serve a specific purpose.

At the end of the day, Sparrow may not have a noble bone in his body – but for now, he lives and breathes for the revolution. If pressed, he’d admit it’s more for the sake of anarchy than altruism. There hasn’t been a single system that’s worked for him his entire life, so he figures: why not burn them all to the ground?

Congratulations Alex your app has been accepted and your personalized plot drop will be sent to you soon.

Please follow and welcome @passcridae to Kadeu!

Living with the Skeksis

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(If you would like more headcanons of a particular Skeksis then feel free to send them in! This took very long to make so I do hope you enjoy)

- Lets start things off with the fact that if you are living with the skeksis chances are you’re either their slave or have royal lineage that they can use to their advantage. But I do believe that there could be another more plausible option which is: royal pet.

- Since you’re human you would rightfully be considered an oddity in Thra and what do monarchs do with things no one else has seen before? Own them. You aren’t treated as an animal of course, not when you can speak, read and write, but they do think of you as a sort of source of entertainment and envy.

- You would be a bit like a servant but that’s just in their nature, anything that isn’t a skeksis is meant to be taking orders from them. You won’t be waiting on them hand and foot but if they ask you to do something, they expect you to do it.

** I’m going to stick with the “royal pet” idea for now. **

- You met the skeksis while exploring Thra. Their carriage had come up on the path right beside you and for a brief moment you had met eyes with SkekOk through the small window. You really thought nothing of it until mere moments later the carriage had quickly halted to a stop ahead of you.

- You hesitated but continued on your way, taking nervous glances at the carriage as you passed. The face of SkekOk was easily visible as he watched you through the window and you politely said good afternoon. The door of the carriage swung open causing you to practically jump out of your skin as SkekOks head poked out.

“YOU THERE!”

“...yes?”

“Pray tell, what may you be?”

- And after a brief but slightly uncomfortable few moments of questioning you were invited into the carriage and on your way to the palace to be shown off to the others. For your sake or more realistically to ensure you would come without any trouble SkekOk made it seem as though you were being graciously invited for a warm meal and place to stay for the night, not to be gawked at.

- Skeklach and SkekOk are not exactly the most comfortable traveling companions but the skeksis aren’t really comfortable companions in general so you have to get used to that. Although granted some skeksis are better then others when dealing with you and your presence.

- Regardless of the Skeksis manners and their unnerving luring of you into their carriage you arrived at the palace after about an hour of sitting, being questions, observed, and slightly poked at. 

- There would be quite the commotion when SkekOk and Skeklach lead you into the dining hall to meet the other Skeksis. Undoubtedly there will be some screeches and gasps amongst other shocked and intrigued reactions when they first lay eyes on you. A few “what is that’s” and so on.

- Skekso demanded the meaning of “this” and your companions explained their idea being only slightly discreet about their motives. You remained where you stood, fidgeting as the Skeksis sat staring at you from their seats at the table. You began to regret your decision as you realized this was not an innocent and gracious invitation by the bird-like lords of Thra.

- Regardless of the uncomfortable introduction you were invited to dinner...well sort of. Podlings brought in a mini table and a seat and soon enough you were sat before the Skeksis with a plate of your own being watched like a circus act.

- The food is odd to say the least; slightly disgusting and a bit scarring at times but you do your best to pick at what seems edible and seem thankful for their generosity.

- After your meal you’re told that you can stay for just that night but the following morning you’re invited by the Skeksis to “enjoy a day in castle”. You spend your day being pulled from room to room by the Skeksis who are curious yet repulsed by you.

- After a few more nights spent as a guest you are invited to remain in the castle forever and while it is uncomfortable at times you still enjoy living with the odd creatures.

Skekso

- You’ll most likely spend the most time with him basically being his “pet” and entertaining him when the podlings fail to. You’re often going to be found at his side in the throne room mostly just being there to be gawked at by visitors and residents of the castle alike. It fills him with pride when he sees their awed faces knowing he “has” something they never will or have never seen before.

- From time to time you’ll be tasked with menial things like finding another skeksis and informing them of something or delivering something to them.

- He holds you at a higher regard then the podlings so he trusts you with more important tasks but really his trust isn’t worth a whole lot since he doesn’t believe the podlings capable of doing much besides cooking, cleaning and playing music.

- He gives you a great many gifts in an attempt to keep you pleased and ensure that you wish to stay with the Skeksis. He also believes that the gifts will gain him your favor and your loyalty should an issue arise within the castle. You are far more agile then they after all, you would be a good ally even if you are a mere “human”.

- Theres been times where hes awoke in a cold sweat, shivering as he’s wandered down the palace halls to your chambers. He woke you up quietly and taken you to see the darkness. He doesn’t say much as the two of you stand there he merely wants your company as he sits and watches the swirls of purple before him.

Skektek

- Skektek will undoubtedly experiment on you a little bit. Test pokes and prods, taking samples from here and there, moving your limbs and face around to examine you, etc. He wants to try to classify you/get a basic understanding of your species. He’s very curious as to what you are, where you came from and how you work.

- At times he feels sorry for you or the closest a Skeksis can be to being sorry. He’s not very fond of the other Skeksis himself so he can only imagine how you feel. He pities you, he truly does, so he’ll allow you to stay beside him in his secluded lab if you stay quiet and out of the way.

- He thinks it’s oddly amusing seeing you coo or attempt to play with his creatures. If you act kind and earn his trust he’ll allow you to take them out or help him to feed and take care of them.

- He won’t admit it but he enjoys your company and the help you provide when you can/when he asks you. It also makes him happy when you sit and listen to his explanations and watch him with interest while he works.

Skeksil

- Skeksil likes to play tricks on you. He thinks that manipulating you is fun and whenever he manages to scare you he’s overly proud. Although he does feel a slight twinge of guilt when you’re genuinely nice to him with no ulterior motive in sight. But if there isn’t a motive he’ll convince himself that there is one until he no longer feels bad for you.

- He acts sickly sweet at other times in attempts to gain your trust, gifts, sticking up for you or convincing the emperor to let you do something he originally didn’t allow you to do. If you aren’t stupid you’ll be suspicious and hesitant in trusting him.

- He’ll try to coerce you into helping him with his schemes and when you don’t agree he’ll try to persuade the emperor that you’re no good or blackmail you with false allegations. It rarely works but it does succeed in scaring you and making you wary of him.

- He quite likes your company even if he makes it so that you are uncomfortable in his presence. You’ll catch him lurking in the shadows and find that he seems to be everywhere you turn.

“Oh beloved pet, it seem that you have wandered far from side of emperor.”

Skekvar

- Skekvar likes to poke and prod like Skektek but not in the same way, theres nothing scientific about his methods nor his reasoning. His touching trials don’t last for a very long time especially if he finds what he’s looking for which is just how far he can go until you show visible pain.

- A curious scratch here, nip there, knock on the elbow, grip of the wrist and an additional hard squeeze; he wants to see how strong or rather how fragile you are. I would suggest faking pain a little before his tests begin to actually hurt so that when he’s being cruel he never hurts you too badly.

- He gets very annoyed when he sees Skeksil with you, whether it be because he doesn’t like Skeksil or because he doesn’t like the way his fellow Skeksis tries to manipulate you. He’s not afraid to bellow our threats and tear the two of you apart if he deems the Skeksis behavior “inappropriate”.

- You want to watch him train? He’d be glad to show off and get your applause. Want him to teach you? He’ll give you a few basic lessons, he doesn’t want you being able to hurt any of his people badly if you turn on them.

- He does have a slight soft spot for you which if of course uncharacteristic of Skeksis. He doesn’t like it but he can’t help it.

Skeklach

- First things first. Ew. Here’s to hoping you don’t have a weak stomach. Be sure to keep a tissue around in case you get dribbled on or sprayed with... yuck.

- Skeklach doesn’t try to be rude per say but they just can’t seem to help it. They’re crude and offensive and overall just plain mean. They view you as below them; as most of the Skeksis do, but she can never seem to bite her tongue when it would be wise to.

- Shes the collector so she definitely has quite a few treasures laying around. Perhaps she’d allow you to see them …if you did something for her first of course.

- It’s quite easy to earn her favor especially when you gift her something.

“Pretty~”

SkekOk

- SkekOk is most likely the most fond of you, believing you to “be his” more than any other Skeksis, he found you after all.

- He enjoys teasing you and attempting to joke about his fellow Skeksis more or less insulting them in attempts to make you feel closer to him.

- He enjoys correcting your grammar and using big words to see the impressed look on your face as he explains their meaning to you.

- He enjoys hugs although they make him a bit flustered and uncomfortable. He never quite gets used to them but he appreciates the reward after he’s done something kind for you (most likely in an attempt to get a hug from you).

Skekayuk

- Skekayuk is the gourmand of the Skeksis so hes more often than not found eating or drinking. He’d happily explain to you how you properly eat certain gourmet Skeksis dishes if for no other reason than to have the excuse to eat more in an attempt to “show you how it’s done”. If you like food, you’ll like him and he’ll like you.

- Hes honestly quite jovial, a bit crude but entertaining to be around. If/when you earn a place at the Skeksis table you might wish to sit near him which would make him puff up in pride (and make the others jealous).

- He’ll be the first to notice if somethings upset you, mostly because he’ll notice all the food left on your plate. Upon noticing he will; as nicely and quietly as a Skeksis can, ask what’s the matter while offering you some more ale in an attempt to lighten your spirits.

- Whenever new shipments of food arrive he’ll be the first to know and the first to eagerly tell you as he urges you to come with him to the kitchen.

Skekekt

- Oh, so the Skeksis have a new doll. How nice! You’ll be dressed up in the finest they can find, there’s no way they would allow you to sit around in such drab unskeksis-like clothing.

- He’s a Skeksis of culture: theater, music, art, fashion, whichever you enjoy he would love to speak to you about. You could have hour long conversations and never tire of his company.

Skekzok

- He often enlists your help to prepare and perform his rituals, he believes you’re more capable than the podlings when handling such intricate tasks.

- He enjoys dark jokes, if you have a dark sense of humor you’ll get along well and he’ll welcome you to join him wherever he goes. You’re a great source of entertainment for him.

Our Young One

Pairing: Rodan x Mothra

Content: Sweet Fluff

Warning: It is hinted that Mothra impregnated Rodan. Don't try to fight me on it cause I won't change my mind

Timeline: Big Family AU

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rodan hopped around the hot blaze nervously. You'd think that he'd be much calmer consider this was his fourth child, but with the uncertain biology it made him second guess his tactics this time around. He constantly nudged and rubbed against the egg, expecting to feel warmth other than the hot magma. And it was that in whivh he warned.

He and Mothra made this together. She had given him her seed and his body utilized it.

Rodan had no real idea as to how exactly her eggs were like. Ghidorah and Godzilla's children managed just fine incubating in the hot sludge, but will Mothra's? He grew more and more paranoid. And a part of him started to regret it too. The last thing he wanted was to open up the egg and see a melted mess that was supposed to be his baby.

He paced around more, every so often peeking in and taking his head out. He didn't even bother with the drones that hovered a few yards away. They too, the humans behind them, seemed concerned. Normally, Rodan's eyes would stay for about three months before hatching. But this little one was taking their time.

But soon a sigh of relief came from Rodan as he heard to excited trill of his mate. He tilted his head up and smiled as Mothra nuzzled his beak.

She only could hover, being as the direct heat was irritating. Not truly harmful, but defiantly uncomfortable.

How are they? Mothra chirped as Rodan frowned and looked away.

I don't know, he admits in a gloomy voice. I don't know if I did it right this time.

His mind drifts to the baby as he stares at the cauldron. It passes that he's doing more harm than good and that he's cooking the poor thing alive. A whimper leaves him yet Mothra nuzzles him again.

You're doing great my dear. She cooes. They are yours as well remember. They will be born of fire from the sturdy shell you've created.

Rodan sighs. He sometimes envied Mothra's skills with words along with her material instincts. Rodan felt his stopped the moment his children could fly. After than, while he didn't stop caring, it was clear he began treating them as adults persay. Scolding, yelling, getting attitudes. Maybe he should be gentler with this one.

Just then, there's a hissing and a popping noise. Both titans go closer and see the crack that has formed. Rodan holds his breath. The birth is always the most tense moment.

He shifted slightly, allowing those human machines to see. He's since grown rather tolerant of them, realizing that they were just oh so curious. Not to mention, they did help when Amaya was sickly and thin.

Another crack sound comes and a small beak pokes out. Rodan smiles. He hadn't had a child with a beak since his first born.

It retreats back into the egg for a moment before another crack appears. This time, little feet poked out from the time.

Heh, they got themselves upside down. Mothra laughs a bit at her child. Then for a good minute there is no action and Rodan starts to worry some. But Mothra assures him it's fine.

Then small chirps happened. Small and fragile and afraid. Rodan calls back to those sounds, as does Mothra, and soon enough the chick crawls out.

Mothra and Rodan couldn't help my aw at their daughter. She had Rodan's full look besides her very Moth looking eyes and the fuzz that hugged her neck and between her horns.

She cried out to them, wanting attention. Rodan chuckled, rubbing his beak against hers before letting Mothra do the same. The baby girl chirped happily, acknowledging her parents.

She's beautiful. Mothra complimented as she gave Rodan a titan type kiss on the cheek. Thank you.

Rodan blushed some but gave affection back. Thank you as well for letting me have her.

They stayed for a few hours before Mothra had to return to their island to tell the news. Rodan and their daughter Mei would stay for a while longer so he could feed her and get her up to speed.

And as Mothra flew away, she could help but do spins and flips with joy. Another child for their family.

What a blessing.

The Right Track (Sequel Of Love Hate F****** Heartbreak)

Fandom: Twilight

Pairing: Paul x reader

Summary: After the night of which you and Paul’s arguements reached a new low, you deal with the aftermath in your own way. What will happen when your imprint appears and you must now face the anguish the both of you have suffered from a 'needed’ time apart.

PART ONE

     When you fell into restless sleep as you finally got home that fateful night, you promised yourself that you would not give in to the call of your imprint. He needs to learn his lesson, and you've been doing well for nearly a week now. You've been avoiding Emily's and Kim's and even the beach. You felt bad at first for seemingly ignoring your friends, but you knew that they understood your stand of silence and they were all proud of you for finally sticking up for yourself. Every night, Emily would call to check up on you and your heart would clench when you could hear his begging in the background.     

     "Is that (Y/N)? Let me talk to her! Please, baby please talk to me!"

     Tears would stream down your face and you would hang up automatically. Then about 5 days in, the pain of the distance from your wolf sets in at full force. You whimper and toss and turn at night, and past your cries you could hear a wolf howl in pain as well. It's killing you to be away from him, but you couldn't bare to go back to how things were. No fucking way. Day 7 is when it seems he's had enough of you distancing yourself.  You're in the shower, numbly going through the motions of your personal hygiene when your curtain is ripped back and you shriek.

      Your jaw falls open at how wrecked your boyfriend looks right now. His eyes are red and bloodshot with heavy bugs under his eyes. His normal copper skin a now sickly shade of grey, and he hasn't shaved. You shudder when you look into his eyes, you've never seen Paul look so feral. You stay silent, not knowing how to handle the situation at the moment. He hands you your towel before stepping away so you could get out. The tension is suffocating, and you find yourself trembling as you brush past him into your bedroom.

      He stands in the doorway, brooding. You don't pay him any mind as you dig through drawers to find a new set of clothes, suddenly feeling vulnerable while only being clad in a towel. His gaze nearly scorches you and he finally sighs before plopping down on the edge of your bed.

    "Just tell me what I can do to make this better."

     You don't answer for a moment, collecting your thoughts.

     "Listen Paul I-. I just need time."

      You hear the bed creek and suddenly two tanned arms wrap around your waist. You  flinch and hurry to put some distance between you and the temperamental wolf of yours. You don't need to look at Paul to know the very hurt expression that most certainly covers his face as of now.

     "And space."

      You turn to walk back into the bathroom, yearning for privacy to dress when his hoarse voice shatters the tense silence.

     "No."

      You stop and turn to look at him, a little pissed and a lot confused. Paul takes merely two steps into your personal space, chest to- well your chest only reaches his upper torso. His eyes are only burning black, his whole body tensed. You ache to reach out and gently smooth the creases from his face, but your pride and wounded-self holds you back.

     "What the hell do you mean no?"

       "I mean," he grabs you around your waist to pull you into his embrace to bury his face into your hair, "No."

      And then he crashes his lips into yours for a bruising kiss. You struggle in his hold, trying not to succumb to the siren call of the annoying ass imprint bond. Paul breaks the kiss, but only holds you tighter so you cannot get away from him. It takes you a moment to register the shaking and the deep breaths. You only struggle harder and finally he relents, you taking an immediate step back.

     "I swear to fucking god, Paul, if you shift in my- oh my god are you crying?"

      Paul just stares back at you with tears running down his face before he collapses to the ground in  gut-wrenching sobs. You open and close your mouth a few times before moving closer your despairing soulmate, and he immediately grabs your hips and buries his face into your stomach.

     "Please, please, don't push me away anymore. I'll do anything baby, I really will. Just not that. Please don't make me be alone, I can't even breath without you. It hurts so bad," his tearful mumbles and little hiccups break your resistance and you find yourself stroking through his hair while gently soothing him.

     "Shh, shh. You're not alone Paul, you still have the pack," he lifts his face from your now tear-sodden towel and the look of utter hopelessness steals both your words and your breath away.

     "It's not the same. Please (Y/N), you can't say you haven't felt it too. I just miss you so bad. I miss you sleeping next to me, and the way you smile and laugh at my dumb jokes. Please, I promise I'll be good."

      Damn, imprint.

     "Alright, Paul, I won't push you away anymore," He jumps up to pull you into his arms but you hold up a hand to signal that you weren't through talking yet. Paul's tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, nervously, and you have to look away to clear your train of thought.

     "We are going to set a few boundaries though." Paul nods enthusiastically and pulls you to sit next to him on the bed.

      "Number one, no more alcohol. You have no filter sober, so lets not test your motormouth anymore. Number two, no more degrading comments or orders. Last time I checked, I am not your bitch, so don't treat me like one. I'm not fetching you beers or being your punching bag for when you can't handle shit. Number three," You nervously glance up at his sincere eyes for this next one, "no sex. For a while." You can see his reaction, his form turning rigid. This one would definitely be a challenge, but hey it wasn't just going to be hard for him. Since Paul is no good at expressing his feelings, he often uses sex to communicate his inner emotions. So with no sex, he's taken out of his comfort zones and forced to man up and talk shit out.

     "I'm not just saying that to be a jerk, Paul. Believe me, it's hard for me as well. But even though my body physically reacts to you and the bond, I'm just not ready mentally to be intimate with you yet. You really hurt me, and distancing myself from the throes of passion is the only chance at salvaging this relationship." You finally look at him, gauging his reaction to whether or not to move any fragile items from his arms' reach. He stays tense for a moment, eyes burning a hole into your worn down rug but finally he turns to you with a guarded expression.

      "Alright. But with one condition," you raise your eye-brow and straighten your posture.

       "I get to sleep in your bed with you at night. Don't even look at me like that, I damn well know that you haven't slept well in days and neither have I. So before both of us lose our minds,  just concede to that at least." 

     You can't help the tick of your jaw as you catch the slight order, but you know he's right and his cocky ass already knows it too.

      "Glad to see the confident side of you again love," you roll your eyes, " _fine,_but no funny business Lahote. I mean it."

      Before he could say anything else, you pull your clothes to your chest and walk into your bathroom. Paul shakes his head with a chuckle and a small smile, hopeful that he and you were on the right track again.

     "Wouldn't dream of it baby!" He calls as he finally relaxes into your blankets, the smell of you instantly chasing away the dark loneliness that he's been plagued with ever since the night he fucked up. And even though you're trying to restrain yourself from jumping back into the madness that is Paul Lahote, you allow your self a similar hopeful smile in the bathroom mirror.

     The right track indeed...

Taglist:

@redgirl818 @kennie-hufflepuff  @reallykosborne @cookiecakeslive 

The End of Eternity (Jessica Stanley’s death)

A/N: I’m sorry for being inactive here but I had to go on a 12 hours flight on 10th to Korea, pick up my cousin then do another 12 hours back to UK on 12th and I’m really tired so until I slowly recover from fatigue, please understand I might not be responsive as fast as I wish. Thank you. I hope you enjoy this heavy chapter.

In Forks, novelty was a strange affair. Nothing seemed to change much – the people, the weather. Everything seemed on stand-by like steady beat of metronome, an undisturbed surface of water; waiting for that momentum to trigger the Newton’s cradle into motion.

Click.

Maybe people liked it: the familiar, auguring re-run of yesterday than obscuring uncertainty. The comfort of knowing was especially enticing.

Jessica woke up this morning to another rainy day. Her phone ‘ting-ed’ with a notification of a text from Amy: ‘Hey, Lauren can’t make it :( can you come instead? I’m waiting in front of your house.

She along with Amy and Lauren had decided to go on a road trip to Seattle for two nights until Jessica backed out the last night, wanting to stay home. Jessica looked out the window, seeing the small white car, parked by the curb.

Beeeeep

Jessica quickly washed, dressed and gulped down a glass of coffee, intending to grab something to eat in the rest stops between the journeys. She said goodbyes to her parents and her dog and cat before getting in the car.

..che..che..

Amy grinned excitedly and turned the radio up high, then they’re off. The road was wet and it was still raining, gently hitting the windshield with rhythmic pitter-patter. The combined sound of the rain and windshield wipers forms some sort of odd lullaby and she leaned her head against the car window, gazing at the scenery zipping by – a tableau of forest green, wispy strands of fog clinging to the ground and heavy grey storm clouds up above. The window fogged up and Jessica closed her eyes, concentrating on the notes of the rain, wipers and song playing in the background.

I’m kinda glad I decide to come..

A large white truck emerged from the intersection in frightening speed clearly above the 30mph speed limit. An ear-screeching skid. Desperate honks. Someone screaming.

Jessica slowly opened her eyes–

The ten-ton box truck ploughed into the passenger side with enough force to deploy their airbags, her head smashed to the side window she had been leaning against. The doors tore off and sent her seat toward the driver’s side. The truck propelled the chassis into the air, jouncing across the road and slashed the engine apart as though one was swishing the cobwebs with a duster. The small Chevrolet spark was demolished, the truck slammed into the tree across. Wheels and hubcaps rolled and collapsed onto the road where the car once was. Specks of sparked gas tanks formed tiny candles and lapped at the wet road.

Pop

Pop

Crackle

The radio from Amy’s car was still playing a song, broadcasting into the tranquil forest road.

Jessica Stanley was pronounced dead on arrival. The truck has crushed her tiny body with its front two wheels. The paramedics predicted it would have been a swish and immediate death with little pain. Her body has been left in horrendous condition. They found Amy breathing but unresponsive and she was immediately sent to the ICU where she had yet to gain consciousness. The CT scan showed her brain had little activity. The truck driver, who was overworked and sleep deprived and did not see the small car in the fog, survived and was taken into custody.

Carlisle, in his ER shift, was one of few doctors that greeted her dead body. He had let out a chocked cry as black bag was unzipped to reveal Jessica’s eviscerated body, body hunched over the cold, silver table.

Her family was contacted. Her mother fainted on the hospital corridor. Her father let out a screeching wail as he confirmed his little girl’s body through a photograph in a sitting room, an image that was forever burned into his brain. It wasn’t her face that would haunt him to his grave. No, the photograph was done tastefully, showing only the necessary identifiers. Her birthmark beside her belly button, a scar beneath her chin when she had fallen over from a bike at five and a necklace carved with the name Jessica he had given her for her 18th birthday. It was her skin. Her usual warm skin was now grey and cold, almost hard looking as though someone copied his daughter’s marks on a mannequin. The doctor had said they could not show him her face and he knew why: ‘Remember your daughter the way she was when she left this morning.’

Soon after, Bella, Edward, Alice, Jasper, Emmett, Rosalie, Angela, Mike, Tylor along with other members of the family, came rushing into the hospital. The humans’ face had sickly patches of white undertone in them as though they were going to be sick any moment. Angela and Bella began crying; leaning on each other for support while Alice let out a dry choke, angered and shamed at her blindness toward what could have been avoidable.

Jessica was never supposed to have gone. She was supposed to have stayed home. How? Why?

Rosalie had never looked so sad as she was now. Emmett pulled her into a tight embrace.  The boys were silent. Mike slid down to the cold hospital tile, eyes afar and expression blank while Tylor erupted into whining sobs. Angela pulled him close. Edward slowly walked toward Carlisle, who stood afar with shaken Esme, both unspeaking.

“W..what happened?” Edward managed out.

“There was a car accident,” Carlisle slowly explained, his voice faltering the usual professionalism he managed during his work hours, “..The truck driver fallen asleep on the wheel and..crashed into their car.” He trailed off, unable to continue.

Edward gulped, “H-have they been informed?”

“I gave them the call just a moment ago.” Carlisle revealed, “They’re..they’re coming here right now.”

Edward’s gaze espied to the ICU where the truck driver was being treated, “You know they’re not going to let that driver live.”

“Yes.”

“And the driver won’t be the only one in danger right now.” Edward muttered fearfully, “They are going to massacre the whole hospital. The whole town…us.”

Carlisle did not reply. His eyes darting from side to side, troubled before clenching it shut.

“We have two hours.” Carlisle finalised, “I’ll greet them first.”

There was nothing more dangerous, more frightening, more tragic than the loss of love.

Forks were a town where things seem ever so unchanging, mundane. The people, the weather.

Until the day of incident that had claimed two young lives and more tragedies occurred afterwards. Amy never woke up from her coma. The truck driver mysteriously disappeared that night along with Jessica Stanley’s body. The truck driver’s family was found torn to shred in their home few days after the neighbour complained of foul smell coming from the house. They found his wife and two small children, two and five, mutilated beyond recognition. The police suspected a member of Jessica’s family but their alibis were confirmed. Her mother had been with a grief counsellor at that time. Her father at work with colleagues and clients. Her aunt at the hospital. Her uncle with a friend.

Times goes on. With or without Jessica Stanley. The seat that had been Jessica Stanley was taken up by another exchange student from Seattle. Lauren Mallory’s clique gained two new members; Angela, Tyler and Mike were slowly and gradually learning to move on in loving memory of Jessica and Amy. Bella and the Cullens’, however, hadn’t been so adaptive as others. The emptiness of her existence was still being felt. Her death still lingered and clung on like the fog on the day of the accident yet it will never impact them the way it did to them.

Italy, Volterra, down the dark, deep corner of the tall castle on the hill was a small room. In the centre of the room was a large open glass coffin, filled with thick light yellow hued liquid. Submerged inside was the missing body of Jessica Stanley, partially restored. A right side of her skull was missing; her face slightly spiralled and twisted and her mangled body hidden by the long black dress. In odd, Frankenstein-ish way, she looked monstrously beautiful and serene; a funny, mix-matched puzzles of veins and flesh and bones.

The three vampires never did recover. They were frozen in time. Frozen on that day. Caius’ greatest fear came to life – became one thing he constantly mocked and snubbed. Now there were two sets of statues on the throne. Demetri’s usual flamboyance and charming demeanour dampened into callousness and dour; Alec became more withdrawn and almost ill-tempered resembling of his sister. He had become more impulsive and short-fused. Jane had now moulded into her role as an older sister. She wished the old Alec back.

Things were difficult for Aro now. His balance of power and political maneuvering has completely tipped to one side. Marcus apathy was useful when confront against Caius’ zeal for punishment and justice and gave Aro the chance to play the neutral ground to sway the judgements to his bearings. This often gave the defendant the mirage the hearing they received was good and fair. It had worked for millenniums and there were little chances this modus operandi could fail.

But now, Aro was in a problematic position. His position was now being threatened – his strategically placed chess pieces were now, one by one, eaten away.

“You taught me once again how fragile human life is. And how utterly destructive love could be.” Aro muttered. He hadn’t had a good company to confer with for some times.

And so he comes here. To this room, where the dead girl laid. He imagines what she’d say. Her little, idealistic orate to his sentimental pessimism. Her willing hand in his. Memories and thoughts shared and taken. Her stubborn clinginess to fragile mortality.

“Do you regret it?” He asked, even knowing the answer he’d receive would be nothing but silence.

It was his newly conceived wonder he will never know for all he lived and he had quite few, most had unravelled with time. This will not.

“Would you have become a vampire had you known?” He leaned against the long rectangular glass, above where her face was.

“I wonder why I feel that, even then, you’d still have hesitated.” Aro hummed, “I wonder which was stronger, your love for life..or your love for love.”

Aro did not have many regrets. Nor did he dwell on them for too long. But Jessica Stanley was one of two regrets that would haunt him for eternity.

Start Again

Sometimes to make any sort of progress, one would have to start over from the beginning....

"Figuring that guy out is harder than I originally thought it would be," Vincent muttered under his breath. He lay stretched out on the floor of the strange house that Damien often dreamed of since his nightmares were dispelled, a home that neither Damien nor his soul recognized.

That soul currently was snuggled up beside him, humming softly in contentment as he rested his head against Vincent's shoulder. "Well, maybe you're approaching it the wrong way," Jonathan replied. He rubbed his cheek against the other man's shirt, then sighed in relaxation. "You're still going in expecting the man to behave just like he did when we faced him with the trinity of guards. But you said yourself he's positive aligned, like us. So that should be a pretty big flag that he's different."

"But why? I don't see how he's different just because he doesn't have the experiences of what happened in 1987 and afterwards," Vincent grumbled even as he carefully threaded his fingers through Jonathan's hair, stroking and petting the silky strands.

"Might be something to do with him being digital and not a real spirit like us. Fragment of a soul?" the smaller man mused aloud. "And experiences change people, so wouldn't it make sense that missing experiences means there's changes that were never made? And since he experienced something completely different with Afton, then he'd be changed according to that, without any input from what happened at Freddy's."

Vincent huffed, lower lip jutting out in a pout. "I hate when you apply logic like that," he sulked, squeezing his eyes almost shut. Jonathan pushed himself up, pressing a kiss to Vincent's cheek.

"One of us has to, Vin. You're the emotional one," he teased and settled back down to rest.

That conversation led to the dream guard once again stepping foot in Meera Corbett's apartment. He tilted his head at the sound of conversation in Spanish being held in the kitchen nearby. Vincent could only assume Meera and Lucian were speaking, he recognized their voices and only a few words. Something about dinner and a movie?

There was laughter suddenly and Vincent blinked, surprised by how light and pleasant the male voice sounded. He almost didn't recognize that laugh. It didn't sound anything like the laughter he remembered from Lucian in the past, mocking and cruel and twisted. But seeing the blond man walk out of the kitchen, still laughing and with a happy expression on his face, it was confirmation that the voice was still his all the same.

And then Lucian noticed him at the entrance to the apartment and the laugh abruptly cut off, smile disappearing as the mask of cold distance slammed into place. Vincent almost shivered at that, flinching back at how absolute the wall felt between him and whoever Lucian was now.

A clatter of silverware sounded and Meera stuck her head out of the kitchen, concerned expression on her face as she called out. "Que paso, ti-oh?" She cut herself off at the sight of Vincent still standing there and he gave her a sheepish smile and hesitant wave. The young woman only scowled at him. "I don't remember inviting you to our movie night," Meera told him with a huff, then waved at him dismissively. "I'm still cleaning up. Don't make any more of a mess in there, though personally I'd like for you to get the fuck out of our home." With that she retreated to the kitchen again, leaving Vincent to stand in awkward silence with the blond still watching him impassively.

There was a few minutes where the only sounds were dishes clattering in the background. Vincent fidgeted a bit under Lucian's stare, rubbing at the back of his neck. "So... you were laughing...." he began uncertainly. Lucian raised an eyebrow at him. "And... smiling...."

"I was. Sorry, didn't realize I wasn't allowed to do that," Lucian bit out frostily, folding his arms over his chest as he walked away to the couch.

"That's not what I meant!" Vincent protested in frustration, cheeks flushing as his hands clenched briefly. He relaxed them, rubbing them together to work out the sudden stress. "It was..." Unusual. Unlike him. "...nice." His face felt warmer, especially at Lucian pausing to give him a suspicious look. Thinking back to the earlier expression of carefree smiling and laughter, Vincent swallowed at the lump in his throat in an attempt to clear it. "You have a nice smile... not murdery, regular smile. It's nice," he amended lamely.

Uncertainty flickered in the other man's eyes even as Lucian remained guarded in his expression, if a bit on the confused side. "Thank you... I think," he returned carefully and took a seat on one end of the sofa.

"I didn't come to start a fight," Vincent told him and quietly sighed as the look of distrust returned to Lucian's expression.

"You say that every time you come and we end up fighting anyway. Spare me," Lucian huffed, sitting back, arms still folded protectively over himself. "Just hurry up, say whatever it is you want to say to put me in place, and then leave so I can get on with my day."

"It's evening," Vincent corrected inanely and Lucian threw his arms up in exasperation.

"Siempre estas peleando conmigo! No puedo dicer nada cuando estás aquí!"

"I'm not fighting with you!"

"Then stop making me feel like you're trying to goad me into attacking you again just so you have an excuse to end me!" Lucian snapped back, "Believe me, between you showing up nearly every day to make me regret existing and the nothingness of the void that is deletion, I'd pick getting erased as a mercy kill!"

Silence again. Meera leaned out of the kitchen, just enough for Vincent to see the murderous look on her face that long ago fit Lucian instead. He held up his hands, swallowing hard in hopes that the gesture of peace would help. She simply narrowed her eyes at him and then slid silently back into the kitchen, the clatter of dishes resuming. He was really pushing his limit then.

Well, this was very rapidly going down a path that Vincent didn't want, not with Jonathan's words still in his head and conflicting ideas of who the murderous man once was and who he is now. Slowly, so as to give Lucian ample warning of his movements, he took a seat near him on the same sofa. The other man was back to being defensive, shoulders curling inward, arms folded over his chest, legs pressed tightly together; Vincent had seen similar posing from abused children, heartbreaking on them and troubling from Lucian.

Why was he acting like he'd been physically abused?

Vincent held out a hand towards him in offering, a spark of an idea coming to mind. Lucian glanced from his hand to his face and back with an uneasy expression, part confusion and part curiosity mixed in the way his eyebrow lifted at the gesture.

"Hello. My name is Vincent Heliotrope. It's nice to meet you," Vincent introduced himself. Maybe if he treated this as a new meeting, a separate encounter to the fight in the alley nearly sixty years ago, he'd have an easier time figuring the guy out?

The blond looked at him like he'd gone insane, -and maybe he had-, but eventually he pulled one hand free to consider it, looking it over as if questioning himself. Then, slowly, hesitantly, Lucian reached back and lightly placed his hand in Vincent's.

A small electric thrill ran up his spine at the contact. Thinking on it now, this was the first time Vincent was able to touch the man voluntarily, a peaceful and willing touch. Soft skin, slightly rough, and warm; he barely resisted the urge to rub his thumb over the hand in his and instead focused on listening to Lucian's words.

"Digitized Duplication of Lucian Master File, Version One One," Lucian recited easily. "Digi, for short."

"Um... I'm sorry?" Vincent asked in confusion, staring blankly at the other man. What the hell kind of introduction was that? Lucian shrugged.

"Well, considering the amount of damaged data I have and then having the Baby Front End software interface directly compiled into me to repair me, I guess I'd actually be Version Two?" he tried explaining, cheeks flushing. "Either way, 'Digi' is acceptable as a shortened designation."

"But, that's not a name," Vincent told him, concerned by the wording, and Lucian frowned in return.

"Names are for people. I'm an artificial entity, property of Afton Robotics," he corrected, then tilted his head thoughtfully. "But now I belong to Meera, so I guess that part isn't quite right anymore."

A sickly weight settled in the pit of Vincent's stomach at hearing him. "Lu-!" he began and Lucian glared sharply at him, green eye glowing brighter.

"Meera can call me by that name since it's the only name she knows me by. You call me Digi or don't bother talking to me at all." He tried to pull his hand away but Vincent held on.

"All right, all right! Digi, then. Okay?" he amended quickly, desperate to not lose the fragile contact between them. This was going a different direction and he wanted to follow that path, see where it went.

Lucian eyed him, then gave their hands a pointed look, as though trying to remind him that the handshake hadn't ended. Vincent half hoped that ignoring the look would let him hold on a little longer. Lucian's hand in his was strangely nice. But the man gave a little tug and he reluctantly let go, closing up his own hand to try and retain the warmth.

"So, what was that all about?" Lucian asked suspiciously, shifting in place and looking just a little less on guard. Vincent felt a bit more hopeful that the other man was already opening up a bit more, though using whatever designation that was -did Afton call him that?- instead of his name was dehumanizing. Why would Lucian prefer to be referred to as an object when he remembered him as being so proud and arrogant that he thought of himself as a demon or superior to the guards?

"Thought we could... start new?" Vincent replied with a hopeful grin, rubbing at his neck nervously. Lucian narrowed his eyes at him.

"But... I murdered you," he said slowly, watching him carefully. Vincent raised a finger, taking note of the slight flinch on Lucian's face.

"You remember murdering me," he corrected.

"Yeah... because... I... did," Lucian agreed slowly, though there was a slightly questioning lilt to his tone.

"Well, the other Lucian also remembered murdering me, and I already kicked the ass of the Lucian that did murder me, so that's... that's that, I suppose," Vincent explained with a sheepish smile. Lucian squinted at him.

"What are you saying?" he asked carefully. Vincent shrugged, reaching back up to rub at his neck again.

"Well, if we look at it like that, then technically I don't have to forgive you for my death 'cause it wouldn't have been you that killed me. And if we both know that I know that it wasn't technically you that killed me, then....," he rambled, hoping he was making some kind of sense. "Well, then I don't have any real beef with you."

Lucian gave him that distrusting look again, and Vincent hated that, hated knowing that all the fighting and arguing he had instigated before now made it so much harder to gain Lucian's trust. How much of Lucian's low sense of self-worth was his fault? How much was Afton's doing?

"Could I... have another chance... with you?" Vincent asked somberly. Lucian's expression didn't change, even as he rubbed the fingers of his left hand together nervously. "Please?"

Part of him was sure that Lucian would refuse. Why wouldn't he? Vincent had rejected Lucian's apology back at the cemetery, it would only be fitting that this time the blond would reject him.

The idea of it hurt, oddly enough. More than from the understanding that he'd lose the chance to make amends with the digital ghost.

"I'll think about it," Lucian finally replied, giving him an odd look, "all right?"

Vincent let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding in, shoulders dropping. "Oh. Y-yeah, yes, of course." Not a rejection, but not acceptance either. A 'maybe' at best. He'd have to settle for that, in light of everything at least.

As Meera finally emerged from the kitchen with a big bowl of popcorn drizzled with butter, Vincent stood up from the couch and moved to give her space to settle down.

"Oh? Leaving? 'Bout time," the woman muttered, taking his spot immediately and positioning herself as a barrier between him and Lucian.

"Puede mirar con nosotros?" Lucian asked without looking at her. Vincent assumed it was something uncharacteristic, as Meera's eyes widened and she inhaled sharply, whipping around to stare at him intensely.

"Seguro? 'Tás seguro?" she grilled him sharply and Lucian only shrugged as if his response made no difference. Meera grimaced, blowing air through pursed lips so as to flip her bangs upward before giving Vincent a dirty look. "You can stay and watch the movie with us, if you want," she offered, gesturing to a nearby recliner.

"Oh... thank you?" Vincent returned uncertainly, accepting the seat and wondering if Lucian's words had been the cause of the sudden invitation.

"You say anything I consider stupid and I reserve the right to kick you out," she added, shaking the television remote at him before clicking it on and settling back, popcorn bowl in her lap.

As the movie began, Vincent stole a quick look over at the digital ghost. It didn't look like anything about him had changed, but the atmosphere didn't feel as tense as before. Maybe things would work out after all?

"Hey, hey! Eyes on the screen, not on my roommate!" Meera declared, "Goddamn flirty ass ghost in my apartment...."

Vincent made very sure to keep as much focus as he could on the movie, face hot and probably very red.

END

The teacher (pt.3)

What happened after Amy stormed out of the classroom was the least expected but probably the most uncomfortable reaction that Susan witnessed the teacher having. Whilst everyone watched in half horror, half amusement as she fled, the teacher spun on his heel, walked back over to his desk, pursed his lips and began work again. Throughout the lesson, Susan found herself glancing up at him continually. But with each glance, she found no other clues. Something was not right. And no, it wasn’t about Amy, because she was always stroppy when it came to teachers who embarrassed her. Susan had watched it for years, her storming out of classrooms and teachers having all sorts of different reactions. But nothing like Mr Blackburn. It was as if her little fiasco had never happened. He just… carried on as normal. But Susan didn’t. Susan couldn’t. Susan wouldn’t. She had an awfully dark feeling.

***

As soon as she returned home from university, she decided to give Amy a ring. She figured Amy would answer; she had a habit of picking up her phone on the first ring (because let’s face it, was there ever a time Amy Parker didn’t have her phone in her hand? Susan didn’t think so up until now…) One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four rings. Five rings. Six. “Hello you have reached Amy Parker. I am not currently available but if you leave a message then I will get back to you as soon as possible.” Susan clicked the phone in frustration after the voicemail message had ended. This was definitely abnormal. But then she remembered everything her mother had told her about playing Detective Higginson. She was a student training to be a lawyer, not a qualified police officer. But it seemed the more she suppressed it, the worse the rumble was in her mind. She had to constantly push down the urge to investigate. Shortly after the failed phone call, there was a knock on her bedroom door. However she was slightly disappointed to see it was her mother. “Oh, hello mom.” She said in a monotone voice, doing her best to hide the trembling. “Hey Susie, I know you were struggling the other day with your homework for law, but I found something I figured would help you out a lot. It’s a source about omissions on this website.” She turned her screen so Susan could see the website. “Mom, that’s the website Amy uses all the time. She gets all her answers from there, or from me. And I think Mr Blackburn has kinda moved on from omissions already. We’re talking about causation now.” “Oh, ok, well are you finding causation any easier?” Susan sighed, shaking her head. Although for a different reason; she just couldn’t concentrate in class after what had happened with Amy. So she figured she should do some catching up with her mom. “Is there a source on that website about causation?” “Yes, here’s the definition.” Her mother typed the word causation into the website’s search bar and clicked on the first article that came up. “Here we go, causation is proving that there is a link between the appelant’s actions and what happened to the victim,” The casual, unsuspecting tone of her mother’s voice sent shivers down Susan’s spine. Those words; Appelant. Victim. She was constantly hearing them on TV nowadays. However she did her best to brush it off even still. What more could she do after all.

***

The next day, Susan struggled to wake up, which was also extremely abnormal for her. She usually sprung right up on the first ring of her alarm every single day, however, she was extremely uncomfortable, like an iron being left to singe clothes. Dragging herself down to Harvard was even more challenging for her since her anxiety seemed worse than ever before. Her heart was literally pounding so hard she was struggling to breathe, every single limb in her body was shaking despite the weather being really warm, her stomach was in knots, all of which whilst she was walking into a classroom. She had never had that before. And the worst part of it was, she had no idea why. Susan often had small panic attacks whilst she was surrounded in densely packed sweaty rooms, however, nothing like this. And the class wasn’t even that busy; it seemed that day by day there were students disappearing from class (not necessarily their bodies being found like Nicole Partington, however, dropping out and losing interest in their course due to the inflammation of Mr Blackburn’s fiery temper).

Perhaps this was the reason Susan was experiencing a huge panic attack; now that it was mentioned, she witnessed Mr Blackburn becoming increasingly volatile. It had gone from every single girl in the class of 40+ gushing over this “mysterious charmer” to not a single person in the now 13 class, even daring to talk about criminals. And this was a law degree, so you can imagine how that would pan out. The sight of Mr Blackburn was becoming repulsive to Susan. She had never really liked him much to begin with; however she could brush it off no longer. Because when Amy didn’t show her face that day, that was the final straw. Susan could not stand him.

“Jasmine Gregory?”

“Yes sir.”

“Cameron Harris?”

“Here sir.”

“…Susan Higginson?”

No reply. The teacher’s beady eyes immediately shot up from his register desk and bore into Susan’s, rattling her bones with the intensity of the sickly sweet grin across his face, and even more sickly sweet tone of, “Not feeling like saying hi today, dear?” His voice was raised, almost as in a tone of mockery, however he quickly returned back to the register. How Susan managed to hide her inner rage and surpress the urge to punch Mr Blackburn, I’ll never know.

For the remainder of the 2 hour lecture, Susan spent staring at the clock. After half an hour, she decided she knew Amy wasn’t going to come, so she just spent the lesson glancing between the clock, Amy’s empty seat, and her work, averting her eyes from wherever Mr Blackburn was as much as she possibly could. This anger and rage was something she had never encountered before, so naturally, she had no clue how to explain it. A portion of it was most likely directed at the fact he treated Amy like a dog, and it had really been affecting her and pissing her off for the last few weeks. Another portion was the patronising way in which he spoke to her in particular; he was not like this with any other students. This was especially bad when Susan had got test results back and got an A (which was pretty much on every single test). His perculiar reaction to Nicole Partington’s demise, and the whole brash reaction every time the ongoing serial killer investigation was mentioned. Out of all those, she was unsure which of those annoyed her the most. All she was sure of, was that this couldn’t go on.

After a few moments of collecting herself, Susan inhaled sharply and stood up from her chair, quickly hoisting her backpack onto her droopy shoulders. Her heart raced as she attempted to avoid looking at the Teacher. However, he was rapid to observe her sudden departure from the chair, and naturally, milk the whole situation. “Miss Higginson, we are forty-five minutes into the lecture. Where are you headed off to, Miss Higginson?” The tone was slimy, overemphasised, sarcastic and cold. She tried to speak, but his intense evil gaze had suddenly taken over her entire body, causing it to shudder in fragility. “Bathroom,” she muttered, her voice as shaky as her legs as they rapidly paced out of the classroom. She slammed the door, not caring anymore. As she dashed absentmindedly down the narrow corridor, she collided with an unsavoury teacher. “Watch it!” His voice boomed after Susan as she continued to sprint.

Forcing open the door to a vacant convenience restroom, Susan whipped out her cracked phone (which, mind you, was so damaged now the shattering was beginning to resemble a creepy face, almost ingrained into her screen, staring and grinning widely at her every move). However, she paid no attention as her clumsy fingers dialled Amy’s number.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

Four rings.

Five rings.

Six.

This was the second time the voicemail had came through to Susan’s phone on the sixth ring. “Amy, why didn’t you phone me back last night?! Also where the fuck are you? You’re supposed to be in the lecture now. Mr Blackburn’s being a right dick to me, as usual. Amy don’t you realise there’s a serial killer out there?! Are you at home? Are you safe? Just fucking ring me already!” Just as Susan was about to slam her phone onto the sink in frustration, it began to ring again. Groaning, she picked it back up and answered.

“Hello? Susan Higginson. Amy, is this you? Oh please let it be you!”

“So you haven’t heard from Amy either, huh?” The panicked voice of Amy’s mom sounded through the other line.

“Not today, Anne. I saw her yesterday at the lecture. I haven’t seen her since.” Susan explained. “She’s not been picking up her phone either.”

“She didn’t come home last night…” Anne said in an equally shaky, concerned tone. “Something’s not right, I’ve phoned around everyone, and no one has seen or heard from her since yesterday.”

“Who was the last person you know who heard Fromm her?” Susan questioned.

“I think it was Mike, he was on his way home from Harvard yesterday at about 2pm, and he saw Amy running off into the woods, he said it was normal cause he always sees her there. But yesterday he said she seemed rushed, and she never normally is. Almost as if she was running from something.”

“Well, if this helps, i know there was a dispute between her and Mr Blackburn in class yesterday, and he was being really unfair to her. So she ended up running out of the classroom. She was pretty upset, too, and the incident happened around about that time as well. Maybe she ran off into the woods to clear her head, she’s always saying how it helps her.”

“Susie, there’s no point going into the woods now, Amy is probably staying with a friend. Don’t go into the woods to look for her. She’ll come to us when she’s ready and her head is clear, ok?” Anne sighed, in the calmest voice she could muster. Susan knew that she wasn’t trying to convince her; she was really trying to convince herself to stop freaking out, but honestly, neither of them could help it.

After the call with Amy’s mom ended, Susan fled out of University and down the path towards the woods. Halfway there, she found just who she needed to speak to, and she ran towards him.

“Mike!” She exclaimed in panic.

“Susan! Apparently Amy’s gone missing. Did you hear?”

“Yeah, and Anne said you were the last person to see her running into the woods yesterday after she legged it out of Harvard.”

“Yeah, she looked as though she was in a pretty big hurry, kinda upset, I was gonna ask what was wrong but she just ran straight past me, tears streaming. She looked very… vulnerable.”

This word sent a shiver down Susan’s spine. She couldn’t bare the thought of Amy being vulnerable to a serial killer. “I gotta go, Mike,” And with that she continued at top speed as fast as her dirty pumps would take her without tripping, and she hardly acknowledged his call after her, “Don’t do anything stupid!”

Susan was unaware of the trouble she could get into charging into the forest like this, nor did she care, until she was taken by surprise.

“AHH!” She exclaimed as her foot hit a nearby twig. She yelled out once more as she stumbled to the ground, scraping her knees, leaving her already ripped jeans in tatters. Upon examination, she noticed that her knee was bleeding. She sat amongst the leaves as she dabbed at her knee with a tissue. She was, once again, too preoccupied to notice the dark shadow looming over her head, piercing eyes staring at the crouched girl. Until she was interrupted by a sinister, croaky sounding voice.

“And where is one vulnerable young student off to in such a hurry, hmm?”

….

To be continued…

Twas Brillig

Oswald sat in his room, alone and frail, aware of all the whirling and humming radiating from the machines, trying to keep his withered body alive. Having stayed at this hospital for months on end, diagnosed with lung cancer thus confined to the sickly white room. Oswald has another coughing fit before he can finish his thought however he reels in the pain after he manages to catch his breath.  The body pain is excruciating while also trying to fight the disease has taken a toll, both physically and mentally.  He realizes that he doesn’t have much time left before he dies and honestly, does he really want to leave this world in pain? He often asked himself what could he do to make it more comfortable, knowing far too well how this process usually happens. With the wheezing, the uncontrollable coughing fits, grasping at his chest for air before he heaved his digested lunch along with the following stomach acid.  He honestly hated it and would rather die than having to suffer like this again.

           Oswald’s long-time physician entered his room one evening after the sun began to set.  This was bizarre as he usually didn't visit Oswald after sunset, so to see him entering peaked his curiosity as he wondered if there were any changes to his condition.  “Oswald, may I have a moment of your time?”, the doctor had asked graciously, trying not to interrupt Oswald’s precious time.  Ironically, however, time is all that Oswald has now that he’s bedridden.  “What’s up, Doc?”, Oswald asked with a sarcastic tone, the doctor took note of this shift of attitude and chuckled for a little bit, “Ever the jester, I see”. Oswald began to form a small smile upon hearing this, because it was nice to have someone to banter with; however, he could feel the discouraging and sad aura radiating from the stark white and dreary gray of these walls.  When Oswald was first administered here, he had hoped for any chance of recovery but that hope began to slowly fade away as time passed.  Days grew into weeks, weeks grew into months, and now months have almost grown into a year, he’s starting to go bald, his wedding ring no longer fits him as he now wears it as a necklace, fingers are now old and fragile as every moment he makes begins to scrape against his bones. He’s beginning to lose all motivation of recovery and just wants to seek solace in all of this.

           The doctor closed the door behind him and began to jot down on his notepad, asking a rather painfully obvious question, “How are you feeling today?” Oswald understood that it was probably under obligation that the doctor had asked, knowing that he, in fact, wasn’t feeling well at all.  “Peachy”, replied Oswald, empathetic to the situation.  “Well, I wanted to inform you that the disease is spreading much faster than we had anticipated. I’m sorry to be the deliverer of bad news but you don’t have long to live.  However, if we continue with the chemotherapy, you might have a chance to extend your life”.  The doctor had said with grimace, understanding that his patient may not last longer than six months to a year if he was lucky. Oswald began to dwell on his thoughts as he contemplated his situation, wondering if he should even attempt to extend his life furthermore.  Oswald acknowledged that it would probably put his family in financial and emotional pain, would he be comfortable knowing that he might put his family in pain, grief, and financial distress?

           “I’ll let you discuss this with your family, till then”. The doctor said before closing the door, shattering Oswald’s train of thought.  He began to use the clicker to bring in a nurse and asked the young woman to bring in his family, his family must be exhausted at this point.  It’s no way for a family to be, even if someone is dying, spending days and nights in the uncomfortable chair, feeling depressed, and knowing that he is a symbol of death every time their child looks at him. It’s an uncomfortable feeling that we wish he could amend. “Hey honey, how are you doing?” His wife, Laura, asked with that ever so smooth voice, that sounded angelic in all its might.  “I’m holding on, wishing I would get better already,” Oswald said with a hint of sadness dwelling in his voice, understanding that he isn’t the man he once was.  Frail and weak, this isn’t how he wanted to be remembered at all. “What did the doctor tell you? We saw him exiting your room before we got here”. Oswald knew his wife and child were eager to learn of the potential news but were to be disappointed by what would be followed up by. “Unfortunately, all the doctor had to offer was my life being extended by a year with the continued use of chemotherapy, b-but I can’t honey...” Oswald said with a sniffle, as he began to tear up and look away, wanting to maintain some shred of dignity. Laura grasped his cheek and cried along with her beloved, “Oh Cara Mia, can you please leave your father and I alone for a minute? Go and sit with a nurse and don’t wander too far, okay?” She asked the child with a sheepish smile. “Yes, mother”. After the couple watched the child leave the room, they resumed talking about the predicament that is upon them.  Whether he should continue treatment or consider another, uneasy option. “Honey, I’m going to ask you a question,” Laura asked with a hint of sadness in her voice “Do you want to continue living?” She quickly drew her head away after asking the question, feeling ashamed she even brought it up. “Cara Bella, it’s okay, there’s no need to be ashamed at all.  I promise” He cupped her cheek and he kissed her forehead like he’d always do whenever she was distressed. He reassured her that he’s okay with the topic and didn’t shame her for bringing it up.  “It’s okay, I’ve actually been thinking about it as well. I mean, I love you with all my heart, but I can feel myself dying, sweetie.  Every day I wake up I’m in pain, every time I must use the restroom, my legs ache and want to buckle in.  Every single night I spent tossing and turning, I lie awake thinking that I can do it, but I just can’t continue.  I’m so sorry, Laura.  I know it was supposed to be us together and forever...”  The husband and wife shared a tender embrace and sat alone, enjoying each other’s company for a moment, basking in the warmth and familiarity of the other.

           Shortly after the tender embrace, the doctor re-enters the room to discuss with the couple about how to proceed.  “So, I can either continue to try and treat my cancer with more chemotherapy or proceed with physician-assisted suicide?” Oswald asked with curiosity as he’s never heard the term before. “Yes, what it allows me to do is to give you a shot of morphine.  However, I cannot press the switch even after having written consent. You must be the one to do it to for it to be validated”. The doctor said it as plainly as possible, hoping to hide any discomfort he has with talking about this subject.  “How much will this cost?” Laura asked quickly, concern growing on her face as she begins to realize the implications of what this meant “Well, it’ll cost $125 for the morphine and that’s it, really”.  The doctor said without delay, as he will have to make the necessary preparations if they choose to seek the alternate option. “I’ll let you two be, I’ll keep your child occupied for a little bit until you’re ready.  It’s the least I can do”.  With that, the doctor takes his leave, letting the couple discuss their options.  “So, Oswald, what do you feel comfortable with?  And I want you to be honest” Laura says as she looks her beloved best friend, loving husband, and caring father “do you want to die?  I want you to be honest with me and agree if you do, it’s okay. But I just need to know so I can make the arrangements and” Laura started to get flustered and teary-eyed until Oswald decided to reach out and embrace one more time.  “It’s okay, Sweetheart, I know what I want to do, and I am so sorry.  But listen, it’s gonna be okay.  Trust me.  Do you remember the woman with the black hair and big nose in the family photos?  Well, she was a family friend who passed away before we met. She was dying of leukemia” Oswald pulls away and looks at his bubbling wife matching her worried expression with his own melancholy glance as well.  “Well,” Oswald paused before speaking, “She was someone that we helped out every now and then. Her name was Sarah and. we were worried she wasn’t going to make it, but we hoped she would have. She didn’t have any family that visited her as it was mainly my mom and pa that invited her over for cookouts. The doctors tried everything they could do to save her, but it wasn’t enough and it…” Oswald paused for a second time, “...it was just horrible, and I never want to put you or Laura through that.” Oswald paused to gather his bearings as he continued.  “I don’t want to recreate that experience and actually leave people behind. Unlike Sarah, I’ll be leaving you and Lilith, and I can’t bear to think otherwise. You’re all I have left, Sweetheart”.  The couple shared one more starry-eyed gaze as they seemed to come to an understanding.  Knowing what this means, without a need for words.  Laura sat up and left the room to retrieve their child, as she was talking to the doctor, seeing that he kept his word to keep the child occupied till they were ready.  “Excuse me, doctor, can we see Lilith now?  We need to talk to her”.  Laura said politely, she tried not to interrupt any possible conversation between her child and the doctor. “Yes mother,” Lilith said without hesitation. The mother and the child walked back into the room and approached Oswald. “What’s wrong, papa?”  Lilith asked after jumping on top of Oswald’s lap. “Hey honey, how are you?” Oswald asked without realization of his current condition. “I’m okay papa, but what did the doctor say to you and mommy?  What did he say?” Lilith asked excitedly, hoping that they would have good news.  Realizing this, Oswald started to laugh and ruffled his daughter’s hair, understanding that this might be the last time he’ll see her smile like this at all.

           After the family adjusted and began to converse, they hoped Lilith would be understanding of the situation.  After all, she never experienced death besides the loss of a pet goldfish, but how will she handle this?  Oswald and Laura didn’t know to approach their daughter, but they had a feeling everything will turn out okay.  Laura asked Lilith how she was feeling as she yawned and shook her head, indicating that she’s in good shape but only tired.  Oswald and Laura began to explain to the child that sometimes, people don’t want to live in pain and want to leave happy. Oswald wanted a happy ending as he felt it would have caused more pain if he were to try and stick around. They explained to their daughter how sometimes, it’s better knowing when a person is will die.  “You see, Lilith, if papa knows when he will die, we can expect when to say goodbye to him and know he’ll be leaving peacefully.  After all, nobody likes pain.  We want to feel better when we’re hurt, right Lilith?” Lilith nodded her head in agreement and tried to understand the meaning of her mom’s words. “So, does this mean that papa can pick when he goes away, and he’ll be asleep when he does?” Lilith’s curiosity peeked.  “Yes sweetie, that’s exactly how it means.  And it’s better this way since we know Papa will be feeling happy about it”.  “But how will Papa feel better if he knows he’s going to leave?” “Well, sweetheart, when Papa leaves, he’ll be comfortable with it and we’ll know when he’ll leave so we may say goodbye.  It’s better this way”.  The child stopped to look at her family, saddened by what must happen but acknowledges what needs to happen and the family embraced each other once more.

             “Hey mom, do you think Papa is happy now?” Lilith asked one morning after sharing the bed with her mother. She’s fourteen and still sleeps with her mom whenever she has a nightmare. “And good morning to you too, where did that pop up from?” Laura asked lazily, it’s been several months the passing of her husband and to say that it’s been unbearable is an understatement, but there is sort of serenity to it all. It’s as if the toll wasn’t as heavy as it should have been.  “Well, sweetheart, things have been rough ever since your father left but I think it was nice that he chose when to pass away.”  Laura chose her words carefully as she did not want to upset her daughter on this beautiful day.  “When people pass away, we often want to die without pain. You remembered how much pain you were when you fell off your bike?” Lilith’s head nodded “Well, how did it feel?” Lilith thought for a second before responding “Yeah, I was in a lot of pain and I had to go to the hospital to get better.”  Laura nodded her head in agreement of what her child said, “Exactly, well, Papa was living in pain for a long time and he wanted to feel better. He might have lived longer but that would have made him feel more pain.  And even though we’re both sad, do you feel better knowing he left feeling happy?” Lilith paused for a few moments, trying to take in what her mother said. “Hey mommy, how come other people don’t leave happy?” Laura looked at her child before answering, she wasn’t expecting this type of question.  “Well sweetheart, when people leave, they aren’t ready to leave their families just yet. So, they do everything they can to try and stay around for a little longer. But usually, this causes more unhappiness to spread and not knowing when they’ll leave.  However, with Papa, we knew when to say goodbye so everything could be in order.” Laura began petting her child’s hair until she started falling asleep indicated by her head becoming lopsided. Noticing this, Laura guided Lilith to her spot on the bed and tucked her in for a few more hours of sleep.

           As she watched child breathe and roll around in her sleep, Laura turned towards her dresser and opened a drawer, in search of something.  What she pulled out was a photo of her and Oswald when they first met.  They had skyped beforehand but first met when he decided to live with her, despite her calling him mad for doing so.  But he risked it all for her and it turned out wonderful, unsure of how everything would turn out, she was grateful that he decided to take the risk.  Tears formed on her face as she started to cry.  She walked out from the bed and ventured off to the porch they built together and sat down on the nearest chair.  A set of two with only one being occupied, how saddening.  She clutched the photo close to her chest and began to cry softly.  After a while of sobbing, she manages to breathe and slowly uncurl herself from her formation.  She looks at the photo again and understanding that he chose when to leave, she formed a small smile.

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