ᴍᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴇɴᴛʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ

⚔️ BANDIT OF THE NORTH   

What a strange spell it’d been, twisting the traits of his loved ones until he could no longer recognize them. It was a terrible metamorphosis where he’d grown to despise all the things he’d once found charming. Every freckle became a pockmark, and he’d soon lived alongside horrid creatures who did nothing but agitate him. He hadn’t been able to stand their laughter or happiness – he couldn’t stand anything but having the world be miserable alongside him. 

Magic had used his grief against him.

“No!” he said. Kris sat up with the swiftness only a parent knows, an almost instinctual drive to stop his child from experiencing pain shaking off the potion’s effects. Merlin had given them an elixir to undo the spell’s damage, and then a tablet that’d eased his worries. His body felt heavy, but in a pleasant way not unlike being swathed in a weighted blanket. For once in his life, he didn’t feel a nervous need to check the nearest clock or calendar. And they were nearly in November at that! If he weren’t so concerned for Holly, he’d wonder whether that was the doing of the elixir or tablet. 

“Nobody’s angry,” he said. He wanted to embrace her, to hold her so that she’d know the nightmare was all over. Her hesitance, however, forced him to swallow that urge along with the broken pieces of his heart. “Nobody will be angry any more,” he said, gently. With his thumbs, he caught two tears before they finished rolling down his daughter’s face. Kris glanced at his wife, sound asleep and with her hair draped like a fiery waterfall over linen pillowcases. “Let your mother sleep,” he said, softly. “She deserves rest, and she’ll wake like the past weeks were just bad dream. Everything will be okay, my girl. Please…please don’t cry.” 

Holly Kringle was so used to being the pillar of strength. –not that Noelle wasn’t strong in her own rights –not that her parents weren’t as strong as they’d raised their little girl to be, but she was so used to expressing herself in more blaring outbursts; like spitting in little Tommy’s face when he called her pretty, and laughing at that poor boy when her mama, Jessie, raised her pistol at him trespassin’ and evil-doin’. 

she was used to tackling her emotions head on and in more physical ways. she had no qualms with ‘rasslin’ a coyote or shouting at a big cat to scare ‘em away. she was her mother’s daughter, and sometimes she had problems setting that clamor aside and unleashing the moonshine bottle of emotions. 

–that was the essence her papa could bring out in her. it was his warmth that often saved her from the fiery doom of her ancestry on Jedd’s side of the family. ( which she had since been lead to believe was a source of the curse Pitch had cast upon her parents )

“You know... Mama always said that crying is a sign of strength... it’s been really hard to believe that lately.”

-this time, falling into her father’s arms was scary, and she’d do her best to keep her distance, out of habit, not out of want. her voice would still crackle and croak in her muffled and subdued sobs. cautiously she a glance over to her mother, sleeping soundly and peacefully. it was a stark contrast to what she’d experience prior. the soft tone of her papa’s voice was helping reel her back into that warm reality yet she was still trying her best to hide her tears away from him–

“I ain’t dumb now, papa. I know what that spell meant, and I know that Pitch is wrong for doing it, but he– he said that all he did was lift a tiny veil and that it was enough for ya’ll to speak the truth...”

she was curious so she would ask, “So you come clean now– you didn’t mean anything you said, right Papa? That stuff about Mama was lies. Just like what she said about you was lies too.”

The way the other spoke was unexpected – though perhaps not as much as it could be, considering this part of Poland was known to attract visitors, herself included – and Bicé switched languages to match hers immediately.  “Thank you,” she said, her relief clear.  Crowds always made her uncomfortable, but the lack of a familiar face made it worse, even when she knew where she was going.  “Yes, I – my siblings and I have been staying there while we’re in this country, but now I can’t figure out how to get back.  I must have made a wrong turn, or seven.”

The irony was not lost on her – a hyperpolyglot from New York City, lost in a foreign country – but it only made her more frustrated, more embarrassed.  “And I’m sorry again for startling you.  You said you were looking for your sister?  Do you need help finding her?”

“So you’re telling me we gotta take seven steps in the opposite direction so we get to a place that’s somewhat familiar. Alright. Challenge accepted, strange lady.” there was a shade of pink in her cheeks that would flicker in slight embarrassment. her polish wasn’t as polished as she could have wished. sometimes it was a switch that she couldn’t even turn off. she remembered once, visiting a village with her sister, Noelle who hadn’t had any lessons in sign language ever– yet the pair of Kringle girls were able to communicate effortlessly with a hearing impaired little girl. It was a gift– not hereditary, but granted through the DNA strands of wonder. Noelle was always better with the whole languages thing.... Holly as evidenced constantly embarrassed herself. 

the chances of finding someone who understood her without those overt switches... well, it would spur that little lady into wanting to help even more. “No need to apologize over spilled milk, ‘specially when it’s hardly stained the boots.” a quick glance at her shoes would engender a tiny chuckle since it was metaphors she was speaking now.... 

“As for that sister of mine– I’m starting to give up on that search it seems more feasible to find you the right direction– where was it you said you were headin’ anyway?”

for his company, no one– seemingly no visitors in that kingdom– it was understood they’d be met with such cold mannerisms. a scoff here, and gust of wind from the hot breath there, and dark piercing eyes were customary. they were normal to be met with, even for queens from other lands and kingdoms, for his estate was something far more important in his eyes. a greeting was hardly relinquished in an upturn of lips and his sneer– it was said, could  form icicles upon shivers and goosebumps upon even his brother’s shell– the heat miser.

those mannerisms would meet the face of the queen of wonderland. she was unfortunately no exception to the rules of coldness. she wore her fur coat well, and would be complimented graciously by the self proclaimed, King Colden of Icicles and Snow, “I would extend a proper hand to press lips against, but I don’t wish to start yet another ceaseless war by turning the ever famed Queen Aylin to ice.” 

“I imagine my head would shine more brightly than those silver platters it would be served upon.” with his comments– he was simply too much !

but he was certain his queen would have quips of her own, “Should we get down to business, am I receiving you over boundaries once more? I must confess, I’ve done everything in my power to negotiate a peace treaty with that hotheaded brother of mine. Unless... it’s your lands I must negotiate now... should that be the case, I must ask what you will compensate for my losses.” yes, he was getting straight down to business.

⚔️ BANDIT OF THE NORTH   

“Liar!” he spat. Oh, how he wanted to shatter the wizard’s tea set into a thousand useless pieces! Hands balling into shaking fists, he conjured memories of his wife in order to steady his impulsiveness. The hotheaded couple was equally stubborn, just like two mules digging their hooves into the mud. They’d learned to take turns being the voice of reason, being the guiding hand upon the other’s trembling shoulder. It helped a great deal, especially in situations where they’d been separated and relied on imagining what the other would say to keep them out of trouble. Kris imagined how Jessica’s hands would slide up his shoulders, fingers teasing the nape of his neck until a smile was coaxed out of his scowl. He was sure that during her own times of duress, she thought of him doing the same. 

“HA! You know nothing about me, old man,” he said, defiantly. “If you think nice words are enough to lower my guard, think again.” He crossed his arms. Without all the extra padding of his coat sleeves and their two dozen hidden knives, he seemed much scrawnier than the tales of his adventures implied. “You turn my men into…into ornaments, you live in house full of tricks and hocus pocus, and you’ve been plotting with moon boy,” he said. “And worst of all, you mock me.”  He’d gotten himself worked up now, excitement collaborating with bruised ribs to steal his breath away. A sharp pain akin to rolling in a bed of pine needles stabbed his sides. “I am…” he said. “I am the best bandit to ever breathe air!” 

He gasped, finally doubling over from the many stitches he’d just split open. Feeling woozy, he plunked down onto his seat. “When I’m healed…when I’m fully healed, you’ll see,” he said, sullenly. “You’ll finally understand who you’re talking to.” Having to hold still gave him a moment to inspect the floating teapot. It was easier to hide his curiosity, he thought, while he was wincing in pain. The wizard’s abilities amazed him to no end, but he was too full of pride to ask for help from the man who’d just insulted him. Furiously, he snatched the wizard’s teacup and downed its contents in a single swallow.

“AH, THAT’S HOT!” the bandit yelped. The scalding sensation traveled down his esophagus and forced out a weak cough. The teacup slipped from his fingertips, landing upside-down onto the coffee table where it trapped another of Ombric’s bugs. Gnathaniel cried for the wizard to free him from his ceramic prison of horrors. 

“Can’t you use your magic tricks to read my mind?” Kris asked, suspiciously. Still suffering from the boiling tea, he coughed once more and squinted from discomfort. “My intentions don’t matter anymore. I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m here, forced to choke on herb juice and listen to you insult me.” 

a pair of withered hands were crossing each other in protest as the wizard scoffed so dismissively at the bandit’s words. Ombric didn’t realize nor assume that he was in store for such defiance. that man in the moon had tricks up his sleeve, and ombric would have to learn to mediate those whims. “Face the facts, my fae friend. The spirit of the forrest can only clear a path for the good of heart, and your actions have only proven her judgements correctly. She is never wrong. I can say that with the utmost positivity. I know, this for a fact, for she wouldn’t hold such a trustworthy post in Santoff Clausen. She believes you to be the worst bandit to ever grace our history.” 

Ombric took a brief pause to observe the quite comical resurgence of hot liquids as the bandit coughed and choked upon what he deemed as herb juice.  Gnathaniels squirms and cries would cease once the ceramics encased him. He would try his best to recover that friend, swatting Kris’s hands from that tiny makeshift prison, and replacing the slamming of ceramics with a handkerchief that was likely missed in the theatrics. 

“I do not insult. It is not my intention. Believe my words since I grant them so respectfully when I say there weren’t any as noble as yourself to raise your blade and defend our village as so valiantly as you attempted– and succeeded if I do say so myself. Despite your woozy countenance...” a hint of guilt would teem at the curls of the old man’s mustache in his own failures and follies and enslavement of such an enchanted nightmare bear. his frown was only temporary. a twitch, if you will, as he bowed his head to the bandit. 

“If you would be so kind as to sit still, I could help nurse your wounds...” a wave of his hand would call for the coils of branches of Big Root to fetch healing potions and fluids to facilitate the recovery of such a dark hangover. the stitches would be dabbed upon by curling branches with the most delicate of linen cloths. and by golly, they would need so many of those fluids, more nutrients than herb juice could contain. ( and more branches to coax Kris into a far better seated position.)

he would wave the roots to vanish those teacups and free that gnathaniel from his ceramic imprisonment– “That’s the thing with magic, my friend–  even if there were potions to unveil intentions and reasons, they do not trump that which you can speak for yourself. Your truth– your visions and your memories, are far more precious than any spell or potion I could conjure. Don’t you agree, or is it your wish to resign those trinkets of your very soul? Is it your wish to remain numb and as cold as the winter snow that riddles your heavy boots?” he didn’t believe so, not with the fervor of which Kris had re-obtained his velvet coat.  “–I offer you solace and, perhaps, a way out of that cold imprisonment. We do. Myself and the Man in the Moon.”

–the very coat Ombric was still carefully eyeing, was the new topic of conversation, “Would you mind explaining why such a garment is cause for such hyperbole, and concern.” and now he meant to insult, “It’s not even made from the finest, warmest leathers. It is my direct assumption that it is nothing but a security measure likened to that of Little Williams thumb he sucks at night.”

‘ Pitch - lamentation

open

     Slender, long figure leant against the tree in the deep shade of the wooded area as he stared sullenly at the people as they made their way about their evening business. The sun had long set, the winter months were creeping in and the night was encroaching earlier and earlier each day. It was a bonus for him, the Nightmare King, however the approaching winter season bought him nothing but anguish. Christmas would soon be upon them, and it would be another year that the children of the earth would find themselves delighted and filled with wonder by by North’s appearance. It sickened him to the core, truly, what was it about those “guardians” that warranted them the right to be believed in, to be seen? Why was it this way? He stood there, in the darkness, unseen, seething, bitter about the hand he’d been dealt.      A presence nearby, he looked down and inclined his head towards them, arms folded against his chest gently. “What do you want?” Pitch questioned to the air between them, his voice was low, gentle like silk but threatening despite his leisure, his nature was like that, a coiled snake always ready to spring, wary, deadly, cold.

“A truce.” Ombric was foolish enough to emerge without defense. there was a sliver of doubt on his expression that could cause concern for any of those guardians had they been watching the exchange from afar.  Ombric did not stand as tall as he ought to have- not with his strength and knowledge of so many years before. he was tired. his bones weighed heavily. his heart grew so wary of war. so many times had Pitch bested that old fool, and those times were weighing on the brow of that timeless magician. he was worried over this impromptu meeting, but he he had the ambition to carry fourth his wishes. Katherine– so long as they had an agreement that his adoptive daughter was not to be touched, all defenses would remain as such, defenses.

the watch upon his wrist ticked with illuminated fashion as a ticking time bomb to warn the wizard to cease his approach. “I lay down my weapons– if you consider my actions weapons. I wish not to engage in war, old friend.” 

his final steps were approaching, “I seek peace. I ask you to keep your nightmares.”

@clownpool​ | han; the first meeting

                    ——- 1984 ——-

Nursing a black eye, he slouched on an air mattress dragged up close to the television. Home smelled like must and nicotine, the air crackling with the heat of an argument’s aftermath. The boy held a cold can of New Coke to his brow; the swelling would need to go down if he wanted to be in class on Monday. He liked second grade – he especially liked his teacher, who kept snacks for him hidden in her desk drawer and had given him a pen that wrote with four different color inks. Gilbert didn’t want to miss her class. Whenever he did, the line between her brow deepened and her eyes widened in a strange way that made him want to cry. 

The movie airing was Superman II. Like any eight year-old, he enjoyed the standard superhero fare. But along came the scene where Christopher Reeves, without the aid of any special effects, transforms from Clark Kent to Superman. Gilbert sat straight as a pin needle. His good eye widened in shock. How did that man do that? How could he disguise himself without a costume? It was if that man had taken a breath, and on the exhale became a different person. 

From that day forward, he practiced in secret. He’d prop his knees on the toilet seat so he could see his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror, and steadied himself with one hand on the sink. He tried doing what the actor had done – the thing with the shoulders, the posture, the voice, the mannerisms. Gilbert didn’t want to save the world; he just wanted to slip into someone else’s life. It had been the most miraculous thing he’d ever seen in his short and miserable life. So he practiced over and over again, like chameleons and actors, until he believed that he could instantly transform into someone strong enough to withstand all the hurt he could not. 

                   ——- 2020 ——-

“This is their headquarters?” he mused. “They don’t want to know what I’d say if this were an episode of Love It or List It.” 

Gilbert mapped the room layout in his head: every broom closet, window, and unconventional exit. He looked disinterested with his bored, wayward way of peering down every corridor. But, it was all a mask for his intentions. That evening, he would draw a floor plan and memorize the page until he could navigate the building blindfolded. Dottie had skipped ahead, playing an air-headed fool as an added distraction.

She loved being the center of attention, while he was happy to disappear into the background. His aura was dimmed, as though one blink was all it took to lose him among the room’s furniture. Gilbert carried himself in a way that was unassuming and unimpressive, like the common salary man of villains. For thieves, this talent to disappear on command was more valuable than any mutant ability.

The crash of a ceramic vase made him jump. That had not been according to plan.

Gilbert overheard his colleague squeaking “whoopsie daisies!” down the hall, and wondered if his newest underling was that brilliant of an actress or simply an idiot. Either way, she knew how to keep things fun. He supposed that’s why he’d kept her longer than his previous partners, all of them now sordid strangers pronounced missing or dead. They’d taken things too seriously, and had wound up paying dearly for it. Thievery was a game, one where the player’s desire to live must be overpowered by the lust for challenge. The greed of satisfying one’s amusement is what made their actions so unpredictable, since they chased an end to their curiosity with the same passion they had for fine art and jewels.

The organization was completely unaware that he’d dragged a guest to their private meeting. Gilbert thought it’d be fun to advertise themselves as a package deal. Their reactions would provide greater insight on why they’d contacted him – as well as, he hoped, a barrel of laughs. Their most recent diamond heist in Belgium was standard fair, something simple to get his rookie partner’s feet wet before they moved onto better things. It’d taken the media by storm, however, and there wasn’t a news station in the nation keeping silent about the missing jewels. 

“When’s the grand tour? Or if this is self-guided, can anyone point us towards the gift shop? We’ll just clean out and be on our merry way!” he said. They were an hour early for their meeting. What better way to make an entrance than with him picking every lock and her obscuring the cameras with her magic fungus powers? He slouched against the wall, hands hidden in the deep pockets of his navy slacks. Dot had gone quiet. A lopsided smile crossed his face, as he knew that was her tell for when she saw something that she really, really wanted. A candle, maybe? She liked stealing small stuff like that – simple trinkets, mementos of their latest outing. “I hope you brought a big enough purse,” he sighed.

he was absolutely enchanted by the fungal female. he wouldn’t admit this. he wasn’t a regular old fool on the bachelor. there had to be gimmick. a proper meeting was in order, as if he could emerge from a limousine and garner that first impression rose. he was certain that she was a spectacle and for that, yes, unfortunately the tall white man with the unusually large forehead would fade into the background. little did Han know that the very stranger would become one of the more trustworthy and livelier friends, next to that precious mushroom princess, Dottie. 

there as something about the man that allowed Han’s imagination to completely ignore him. he wasn’t yet savvy nor privy to the pop culture references, or perhaps “day time” television references that Gilbert would teach that young grasshopper. for that, Han was undeniably distracted by that crashing sound– 

or perhaps distracted wasn’t the correct verbiage- it was an earthy smell to allow a calculating brain to approach. the quips in his repertoire, wasted on the likes of Simon Muhn and forever tarnishing Song Min’s opinion of him, begged to resurface. perhaps she would understand him. he would fall to his knees and begin to gather pieces of a vase as if they were puzzle pieces to be assembled by the two of them on a set of sprite and proliferous afternoons to come, had he not been in that very direction... 

he believed it to be his moment to shine in his own flavor spots and sporadic splotches of dark greens. a shame it was, that he couldn’t make these known upon his own countenance, and that those splotches were, in fact, and instead littered upon the piece of everything bagel which had just about every bacteria lactating and undulating upon starch. that donut of carbs, however, was now resting at the polished heels of, well he hadn’t the opportunity to take his name.

though a reputation, had it been correctly placed from a heist in Belgium would turn sour milk even sourer. they were new. fresh meat untarnished by decay. a pair. and Han, with his own dubious first impressions, was eyeing the man.

a gift shop in a villainous hq? what a comedian, but that style, and initiative and reputation were, of course, appreciated. yet, sadly overlooked.

“If not, I’m certain there’s a gentleman with a wide enough arm-span to carry her possessions carefully and safely...” the tone in his voice was suggestive that Gilbert was not that man, and that perhaps Han Jae Song could usurp that duty from the lovely woman’s acquaintance. what an honor that could be.

pores dripped with spores that only his nose could spot, but he would extend his right hand for a shake. it was still dusty from the crumbs of his moldy bagel. “You must be lost. This isn’t Disney world, and I’m not a tour guide, and we don’t get visitors often.”

“Honestly, it must have been quite the sting operation shining with diamonds. And what do you do with diamonds? -Once they are scored.” 

     Min didn’t much care for mindless chatter, but she knew that it settled her husband and helped him keep focus and thus obliged him like any good partner would. “Perhaps a pizza party also, nothing cheers them up quite like a deep dish.” she suggested, swinging the bat in an uppercut that knocked a guard backwards down the stairs she had climbed and was precariously fighting atop of. In her peripheral she saw Han, too far away, this was bad, she needed to try to close the space between them so they could double back. She heard the gun shots, but was too busy with her own situation to see whether they were friendly fire or whether her husband had been taken out by the cold barrage of a lead bullet.      Hans voice piped up once more, and a small sigh of relief as she was assured that he hadn’t met his untimely end just yet, she cracked the slugger into a mans knees, the satisfying crack and his scream of agony telling her she’d definitely broken something. “Dear, you should really focus on the matter at hand” she scolded lightly, lip curling into a smirk as she pulled her knee into the fallen agents face to render him unconscious “but, I’m listening, you know how I love when you praise me.”       She finally took out the last of her opponents and grunted, leaning against the wall for a moment as she caught her breath, her ribs throbbing in dull agony as they weren’t allowed any respite, she glanced down at Han who had found himself at the mercy of an agent who had him in a precarious situation. She knew her husband, he was resourceful, but this was a situation that was far less than ideal, “you’re plenty strong too dear” she smiled assuringly, her eyes roving around the room, thinking, planning, her teeth worried her lip gently.       This moments distraction wasn’t missed by the semi-conscious agent who took advantage of her lapse in attention to swing a hunting knife deep into her thigh. A guttural shriek escaped her throat and she lifted the bat into the air, both hands wrapped around the hilt as she smashed it down with all her might into the mans face, enough to either kill him of knock him out for good this time. Her leg gave ay and she dropped to the floor, quickly undoing her belt and wrapping it above the wound to create a tourniquet. “Plan C?” she whispered quietly, looking up at Han eyes wide as she saw more agents pouring into the room.      There was no plan C, not one that they’d discussed anyway, she always had one in the back of her mind, of course, but it was a move that she had only contemplated, she didn’t know if it would work. She didn’t know if she would survive, she didn’t know how the repercussions would affect this world. Plan C involved her using her power in a way she’d never done before, in ways she’d only imagined. She saw them begin to surround Han, guns poised, and her mind settled, she had to do it, it was the only way that at least one of them would make it out of this alive. Min pulled the belt as tight as it would allow, wincing at the pain and biting her lip as tears pricked her eyes. before taking a deep breath, cloaking herself and leaping down the stairs.      There were bodies to cushion her landing, the other agents yelled, searching for her, but she’d removed her presence from their minds, a nifty trick she’d learned a long time ago, but she couldn’t keep it up for very long. Bat discarded, she sprinted towards Han and his captor, punching the offending man with all her might and grabbing her husband from his grasp. She used what was left of her strength to launch HanJae across the room, her aim was surprisingly perfect as he sailed through an open doorway, landing some 20 feet away. Good, the farther he was the better. 

     She locked eyes with him, HanJae Song, the only man she had every truly loved, father of her children, her partner in crime, her soulmate, had she ever believed in such things, and wondered if she would ever see him again.       It was strange, how the end seemed to make time slow to almost a stop, she was able to take in every aspect of his appearance, how handsome he was even with those bruises like fresh roses blooming in spring, the juxtaposition of his pale skin and the dark blood that marred it in patches, she swore she could tell which was his and which wasn’t, the mingling look of surprise and fear on his face, just like that time they’d first kissed in the gym. Oh how long ago that moment seemed now, yet she could recall it as though it happened just yesterday. Her heart swole, oh how hard she’d fallen for him.      And that’s why this had to be done, anything to protect him, to ensure he could return to their children, tell them too how she loved them, Beta, Nemo, she thought of them, she’d have to miss her sons science project, her daughters upcoming lacrosse game, it all had seemed so arbitrary before, but now it fell heavy on her heart, but this had to be done. Oh how she loved them.      She thought of her friends, the people she hadn’t meant to become close to, but as she’d opened her heart to Han, thus she’d accepted them into her life also. She thought of Mimi, Simon, their son Renjae, she’d never be abele to execute that prison break they’d been  planning, Rowan and the triplets, Gil, how much she’d detested him before, but now his face shined bright in her mind like the sun, with his pookies, and their children. She thought of Sunny, Dottie, Wade, everyones faces popped into her mind one by one. Oh how she wished she’d spent more time with them.      A deep breath and time began moving again, she swung her arm round into the throat of a an gent who tried to chase after Han, one final glance at her husband, for this was goodbye, after all. Oh how she adored him.

     “I love you.” she called before spinning delicately on her good leg and leaping into the throng of agents who clamoured around her in confusion, clenching her eyes shut as she used her ability to erase all of them, herself and a good chunk of the building they were in, from reality.

Han Jae Song would never know what it was like to beg his dreams for a second chance until later that night. Those moments would fly by like bullets in slow motion, threatening to tarnish and taint his account and recollections from the events that transpired. He didn’t know it at the time, the finality of those three words. Had he did, that sentence of Song Min, his wife, the mother of his children and his strength, would have gained all of his attention. Wounds and breathless lungs could hang back, as he’d attempt to memorize the details of her face since it would be the last time he was seeing it.

Plan C, he’d learn, was a shit show of a plan. It would be a plague of darkness to invade a light he took for granted.  His regrets and failures would stick to his brain like mold on the stalest piece of pastry. If the goal was to decay the highest form of happiness Song Min could grant him, his own mind would oblige. A decomposing memory lapsed. He wouldn’t know emptiness, a bounding nothing, a void, until she’d disappear.

And once she did he’d let out a laugh as if there was a joke to be had or as if she hadn’t done the very thing he believed her to do. A short sigh would escape heavy lungs as he took to his feet slowly. His bruises, wounds and aching bones would bleed hard as if to remind him of a beating love he could feel for that woman. His blood would band together and whisper admonitions to stay in his spot, safe from the truth. A sway in his stance wavered as the pain would continue to sting. Groaning he had to move.

The reality was hardly sinking in as the stillness of the moment deafened his ears.  He’d try his hardest to erase her solemn face, that look in her eyes that warned him of the inevitable. He knew in his heart what she’d done but that mind of his would continue to pretend she was coming back from the rip in dimension. He’d stay in denial as he rose from his battered spot, peering for her as the inkling of reality pricked his skin in goosebumps. From the other room he’d finally reach a doorway. Fingertips pressed against half of the frame. Eyes tried not to search for the rest of the wood that was causing the door to wither before him. A single, nearly demolished, doorway would lead to nothing more. No more building. No hallway. No more agents.

“Sentimental, and sweet.” his voice was hoarse as scrapes continued to ooze that velvet ichor from his wounds. Hoarse, low, and sweet was his tone as he reminisced the sound of his wife’s words. Her tone would carve its way into his heart as eyes scanned the dilapidated and leftover cleanness of an even bigger mess. The skeleton of the building haunted his own as footsteps echoed as if to drown out that sentimental feeling.

In a panic, shaking hands would reach for his ears as if to grab her parting words and keep them safe. He clutched to lobes so that those three woulds may latch onto his heart. Yet drowning echoes would fade as eyes fell upon reality. A jagged looking jigsaw piece in front of him would cause his breathing to hitch. It was a missing piece, lost in a void.

Twenty feet away. It was a rough throw. She used everything in her power to force him away. He should have known. His wife was a warrior. She was superior at nearly everything she could be superior in. She was tough, strong, and, at times, Han assumed that she could feel no pain. She was amazing, and continuously made him fall for her more. Without trying she entered into his life. Without warning she would prove the essence of soulmates, better halves, and undeniable, no matter how hard she had fought it, love. 

He knew the limitations of her powers, but he had doubted them, seemingly believing in her over everything else. She could erase agents, yes. She could erase objects, thoughts, and annoyances easily. But a building? And a group agents... and herself?

“No.”

Playing the moment back in his head he tried to focus on her movements; a delicate spin as a tourniquet was fashioned above her thigh– her arm a noose around a final agent, a pact said with more than just words but eyes. The threat was eliminated. The job was complete. The mission–compromised, as evidenced by the decay of half of a building. His judgment was still clouded from hitting his head against the wall of that empty room, or he’d have followed protocol. Yet, protocol had diminished to a pile of shit as the building continued to shake

“Min...?” 

Slightly annoyed was his tone as if he were losing a game of hide and seek- as if she were playing a trick on him, and he was no longer having fun. Limping, he’d drag his feet as he searched for what felt like nothing. He was supposed to be walking further into a building. Instead before his eyes would lie a parking lot, in the afternoon as the sun would begin its decent into the horizon. Rubble rained down in dust particles and dry wall. He was too weak to dodge it all. Tiny jigsaw pieces of a broken puzzle fell upon his back as he continued to search for his wife.

He tried to play it back again overlooking each corresponding spot– he was staring down a loaded gun. He was trying to come up with his own plan c, a molding of a wound in the hand of an agent. He couldn’t always rely on her to save him but he wanted to. Yet, her lip trembled in his memory. That smile reassuring in its nature, wavered.

“Min...”

He’d rewind again, take in the sounds this time. Her words replayed. She told him to focus and that she was listening. She called him strong. Then everything would change. She’d suffer a wound. He’d hear that shriek, then the bat collide with a face, then the squelching of flesh underneath it. They were running out of time, and she was making decisions without him. 

Once more, desperate and shaking, through dust laden lungs “Min please.” His heart would drop even heavier in his chest as the back of his throat went dry. The panic would settle in, raging in veins, that shook in a violent mourning.  It was a despair unexplainable in words. An ache that he thought he would never feel. He was certain that he would never lose her. So much had he taken for granted. Defeat overcame him. His lungs would empty themselves as a pained groan anguished. It was unfamiliar sound, evocative of a wounded animal howling for peace.

“Come… back to me.” It was wishful thinking, high hopes shattered, a final plea unheard.  “I can’t do this alone.”

“Two thousand four hundred and twenty years, and I’m only starting to feel the exhilaration return. You know so little of who I was then. You would not have been so eager to fall into my bed if you knew everything.” That plagued her more now, the fact that she’d cause her first loves demise. Alchara hadn’t been informed on it yet. Now the opening of the councils wound, tighter control over every being. Would Alchara suffer from her selfish need to keep her close. “You are not my first lover, not that you should feel jealousy from that. You are not my first lover to suffer a threat from being with me. Selfish desire keeps me here….holding you. It’s not the safest place for you to be and I’m now becoming a threat to you.”

Lilit peeled herself away from the wolf and swam toward the deepest section of crystal waters. “I made a promise to be open, honest about my involvement with the council. They never seemed to care much for our deviance until lately. Now I must fulfill my promise to Aspasia.” A single tear escaped her at the mention of the name. I trailed down dampened cheeks and left a smidge of blood among the clear water.

“She was the mate of my sire, an arrangement made to secure her immortality. It has always been a possessive folly of his ego. I caught his eye, I knew what I was asking for and he turned me. Our own little family. His exploits took him away for nights on end and it brought his two brides closer and closer. He was on the outside looking in. We planned to leave him in my hundredth year as a vampire, but she never made it.” Lilit stumbled over the tale with clenched fists. “He was the only survivor of a werewolf attack on their hunt. I knew it was a lie, my gift is detecting deception and I had seen mauled bodies before. I knew I would be next if I lingered. I chose to extract the highest possible revenge, the most revered law of my kind that he had broken first. I killed my sire.”

“When I say I will keep you safe, I intend to keep that promise. If the council comes for you, you will use the information I just gave you, my greatest sin, and you will offer it for your life, a plea deal. Do you understand?”

sympathetic eyes would fall upon her lover, a twinge of self deprecation in her words would muster courage to fight her own love for her own love’s honor. speaking ill of LIlit was not in the best interest for anyone in front of Alchara. for that woman, vampire or not, she would move moutains,  “Yet I’d have been graced with your mere acquaintance. How lucky I would have been. I’m certain I’d have swooned at the mere instance you spoke to me, yet, if you’d like to elaborate I could fully denounce and reject your words. I’m not your first lover, no, but will I be your last?” it was a question of insecurity spoken as her eyes flickered from green eyes to ruby lips. “It would be an honor. But why do I feel as if you see it as my curse. You will be my last, if I can help it. It’s what I wish, and what the stars foresee.”

“Be selfish. I want you to be selfish. You’re not a threat, but the greatest desire I’ve ever felt.” she’d scoff, and shake her head at herself as shakespeare would bud at the lips, “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” she’d take a breath, as her lover pulled away. an exasperated tone would befall, “Lilit.” yet, the elder would continue. her own desires teamed at wanting and needing Lilit at her fingertips. a pout would procure a set of stressed lips.

blood drops would taint moonlit waters, yet Alchara would longingly steal gazes, even as the truth was revealed. could she believe that Lilit was as ruthless as she was? yes. but could she or would she do something ruthless to her? no. that’s something Talc would refuse. if a demise would be met, it would be by her own doing.

yet she would nod, “I understand, but I won’t trade my life for yours. You won’t ask that of me. Will you? If it comes to worst case scenario. I ask that they take my life first. I’m nothing, if I’m not with you.” 

“Does that make you a fool, not smoking?” A overly flirtatious laugh spilled past her lips. She wasn’t entirely certain of what he was, but the tingling of an invisible male gave her the most important detail, unnatural humanoid being. “Lady luck has never been fond of me.” The way she spoke, a subtle hint of age in her soul that was contrasting to the twenty something smile plastered on her youthful face. A finger twirled at a loose strand of hair, an abhorrent action that left a bitter taste in her mouth. She could take the oscars by storm.

“Maybe I should quit, but there’s a certain rush you get when you do things you aren’t supposed to do. Do you know that feeling?” Amara stomped the ember of a dying light with the sole of her boot, “Amara, that’s my name. Who might you be?”

An invitation to drink with the devil, “brilliant.” Amara knew the thrill of a hunt well planned, but one so perfectly impromptu, it was exillerating. If only she could pinpoint what she was dealing with. “Never drink with a stranger, but if I knew your name I could say yes….or no.” She played her words to the ego of a supernatural. Her subtle flirtations would distract from the calculation in her eyes.

“Do I have wrinkles? Really?” Feigned vanity played into her orchestrated scene. “I think you are playing with me like I am your next meal.”

a melody of laughter spilled from an otherwise stiff pair of lips. huffs of air would billow and float like clouds above their heads– not from cigarette smoke but from the chilly air. “You’re putting words in my mouth. I might have to retract that offer.” playfully he’d shake his head. he was amused, he could give her credit for that. it wasn’t often a stranger could make him laugh. yet he’d sway against the brick alley wall and tilt his head to a starless sky. 

the arrangement of people in the bar and how many it contained weakened his mental state and intensified his appetite. often this would happen, with the amount of energy taken and energy needed to replace those feelings of imminent hollowness. it was part of being the creature he was, and yes, even if he was used to the feelings, they would hinder him. he sighed to the sky above and offered the woman his arm. “ I know the feeling well. Adrenaline, and ecstasy. They go well together, but the come down...” he’d tsk. “My name is Cal. Does that settle your insecurities? Or would you like to know more about me?” he’d tilt his head n a challenge, since drinks were often accompanied with that type of conversation. 

though at her last couple of words, he’d take a step back, “Meal?” he’d ponder the thought in quiet contemplation, “It’s crossed my mind, but I’d never bite off more than I can chew. We could be honest with each other if that’s what you’re suggesting. Would you like to know my intentions before I ask you for a drink?”

“If we were in class right now, I’d give you points for participation,” He grinned. “The former leader here cared for seemingly senseless violence. There was no real direction. But my – our – only goal here is to show people they need to rely on themselves rather than glorify heroes and place them all on a pedestal of honor. All they’ll do is let people down eventually. Really, I’m doing this for everyone’s benefit. Better they come to their senses now than for their hearts to be broken when they realize Mr. and Mrs. Incredible won’t come save them from every criminal on every street corner,” He stuck out his bottom lip with faux sympathy.

“You’ve passed. So I’d better not hear of you putting that pretty little gun of yours to any hero’s head, not unless it’s your absolute last option. And even then, let’s keep that to a bare minimum,” He scrunched his nose. “We do have our ways of dealing with people who don’t listen, notice how I said former leader,” Who was no longer with them thanks to his very own clean team. “But that’s what I want from this. What exactly is your whole goal here? Revenge? Violence? I’m sure there’s something. See, this can be a mutual relationship for us both. You help me with the future I want, and I’ll be sure to help you with yours. A fair deal, no?”

she’d nod. it was a fair deal, but not as simple of a question as it seemed. there plenty of things she wanted. a new corvette, some nice art to hang in her single studio apartment. she wanted fresh bread everyday, and enough money so that she never had to assassinate again. well, at least, only assassinate for fun. she wanted Gilbert Gladstone to herself without sharing. she wanted control, but speaking that might have ruined things for the other versions of herself. and in asking herself that question, she felt a bit of betrayal to AH, LL, HJ- and even Gil... 

the smile was fading from hearing that she’d passed the lecture at the realization, that she’d never been asked what she wanted, “Freedom.” 

the word jutted out of her jaw too instinctively and was hard to pull back. it was a complicated word, and a complicated answer. she didn’t know how else to elaborate- “... to do whatever I want. Steal, hurt... kill. Without having to deal with the consequences, but, fearless leader, is that something you can grant? Because if not, watching the heroes take their fall, may be just as good.”

“I didn’t stop to take a picture of a finger with literal mold on it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Simon scowled. “I didn’t touch it. I don’t know who it belonged to and have no interest in contracting any disease from it either,” Although if he was going to catch some mold-related illness, surely he would’ve done so from Han’s mere presence ages ago. “I’m not sure it was your moldy finger either, seeing as you still seem to have ten altogether,” Ten fingers that he’d carefully watched stitch up the gash on his arm, and not a single phalange missing. “I don’t want any molded fingers. And certainly not on the table where I eat.”

He’d have to start taking dinner in his bedroom if Han’s mess expanded further.

Simon looked down at his arm but remained careful not to flex any muscle under the assumption that doing so would tear those delicate sutures. If anything, Simon wanted to put the night behind him and get to bed. But he knew Han, and it didn’t matter if a night had passed, or a week, or a month, or even a year – Han would ask him about that night until he got an answer. With reluctance, Simon sighed. “If I tell you, you have to promise me not to go out tonight,”

“It’s nothing as bad as you’re imagining, I’m sure. There were some heroes I’ve seen patrolling an area lately and I thought I’d have some fun by making their day a little more interesting. But…they walked away without a scratch and I came stumbling back here, so I wouldn’t say it turned in my favor.”

“Thus the point emerges.” a clenched fist would have ruined the set bandages, he would have procured to finish his patient. luckily he hadn’t placed his phalanges on those cloths just yet. he had to take a deep settling breath so that his temper wouldn’t get the better of him. and so that he wouldn’t do exactly what Simon asked him not to do. yet all he could think of was collecting a new set of fingers in a jar to watch as they decayed in front of him. he’d even let Simon watch too, if it weren’t for his weak stomach. “They’ll soon learn the err of their ways.” that was all he spoke as his lips pressed to a line and he continued on his previous plan, all the while coming up with a new one involving slicing  . he’d take Simon’s arm and carefully pull it towards him so that he may start wrapping carefully.

“I’ve promised you, if not verbally then silently that I am yours tonight, and it was a mistake since I feel as if I will be restless until I see their blood on my hands. Do you have names? Or Aliases?”

his fingertips would place bandages upon bandages and finally grab a bit of tape to secure the fabric. “Doesn’t matter, I suppose.” -since an eradication was in order, or would soon be in order, “They’ve all signed their death wish tonight.”

“You’re forgetting. They’re human. Anyone can be humiliated. Sometimes it’s disarming them,” He flashed her weapon again. “But that’s obviously not what humiliates you. Sometimes it’s beating them to the point they have to run home and lick their wounds. But killing them?” Now Simon shook his head. “That turns them into martyrs. At least, right now it does,” He didn’t care if they died one day, in the future, but the public still thought too highly of heroes for their deaths to be of any use.

“Shame is close to humiliation, but not quite the same thing,” He twisted the gun around an offered it back to her without bothering to disarm it first. “Oh, I’m sure the city already has their thoughts and suspicions and rumors about us,” Using his now free hand, he dismissed the thought. “I don’t care much what they think about us, I just want them to realize people who dress in costume and call themselves heroes aren’t always around to help. I want them to be so humiliated that they feel shame when they realize they were once part of such a heroic league. But that means –” His expression turned stern, brows arching down against his cold eyes. “–We need them alive, for the time being. Preferably uninjured. Until we sway public opinion, at least. Do you understand, or do I have to explain to you why?”

“Because we don’t like martyrs...” it was a quick guess to the lecture. taking her weapon, she felt more at ease to answer incorrectly. she’d place it at the holster on her waist. “You don’t want them to die for a cause. You want their cause to be shown for what it is... meaningless.” she could understand that part- as long as there were heroes, there would always be villains. as long as there was light in the world, there would be darkness to corrupt it. 

“I’ve always hated their stupid costumes...” a bitter tongue would conceal a meaning behind that idea. costumes were meant for heroes, and villains couldn’t be mistaken with their bright colored yoga pants and spandex underwear. 

“But you want the public to question their heroes, because without their glory... I guess they’re nothing. Is that what I’m supposed to understand?”

“Easier said than done when you’re not the one being stitched up,” Simon pointed out. “And revenge with you sounds…terrifying,” He could only imagine the blood and guts and carnage that would come from seeing vengeance with Han at his side, and even then, Simon was certain his imagination didn’t do reality justice. He tried not to think of Han’s other hobbies – for all he knew, Han could have been playing Doctor Frankenstein behind closed doors. Simon couldn’t see the deceased bodies, only whatever was left of their spirits. “I swear, I found a molded finger on the kitchen table once before. I’m not sure what sort of…experiments you do. And before you ask, no, I would not like to see them, either,” The thought made his stomach sick. “I’m sure I owe you for a thousand things and more already,” He owed Han his life. “What’s mine is already yours. Except my room – that’s out of your mold limits.”

“You’re so funny when you’re under stress. A molding finger... ha.” the laughter to follow would only follow because it was true. there HAD been a finger that went missing, now that he thought about it... “Where’s your proof? What did you do with it? Don’t tell me you threw it away. That’s disrespectful to it’s previous owner.” he’d work on finishing up the final zig zag. “You shouldn’t touch things that aren’t yours, but now that I know your outlook on things. If it was my moldy finger, then it was yours as well.” with more care, he’d tenderly take the end of the thread and tie a quick knot. 

“There that wasn’t such a fuss, was it?” he’d move to place his needle and thread into a basin from his kit. his next step was looking for the proper bandages, “But we will get revenge, and it’s time you tell me what happened, since you owe me.”

“If I was going to shoot you, I wouldn’t do it in my headquarters with my fingerprints all over your gun,” Of course, he did once kidnap a man without wearing a mask to cover his face, but that small incident wouldn’t come back to bite him for a few months still. Simon believed himself smarter then that. “Shooting’s effective, yes. But then there’s the cleanup, and the fact that killing heroes only helps their image while ruining ours,” Simon took the gun from her and tilted its weight in his own hand, then aimed it right at her shoulder. “See, I don’t like having to hear their voices either. What I want is to humiliate those heroes. I want the world to see just how terrible they really are,” His fingers curled around the trigger. “Do you feel humiliated by this? Well – maybe you should be because I just took your weapon from you, but I doubt any hero would be.”

she’d shake her head, “No.” she didn’t feel humiliated. not yet. she was following orders and listening to hierarchy. but heroes, “They have too much pride to feel humiliated. You can disarm them all you want but in the end, they won’t piss their pants until you put a bullet where it belongs...” she’d eye the tip of the gun at her shoulder and stand at unease. she hardly believed a man with such power could care that his own headquarters would become a crime scene. he had cleaning teams for that. he had minions to take care of his messes, but he was right. bloodstains were hard to clear out of streets where the action was. 

“I feel shame, sure only because I trusted you with my weapon, but I’m not stupid to carry just one around.” her eye would flicker to the ankle of her boot- for good measure. “I think humiliating them would mean to cause more chaos, so that the city knows of our existence.” she’d roll her eyes, “But that’s not allowed, is it?”

Simon grimaced as the needle struck through his skin again, and he wished he had something to grip while the string went repeatedly in-and-out of his arm under the watchful eye of the one man he trusted most. If anyone knew how to stitch someone up, it’d be Han. Or Min, but he knew Han would be more gentle, surprisingly enough. 

“I would be –” He grimaced again. “– Surprised that I’m your first. Perhaps your first…” The word living wouldn’t pass against his lips, but would remain an unspoken understanding. “But I’m not surprised that I’m more patient than you are,” He didn’t know anything about patching someone up, but even if he did, he wouldn’t want to be on the other side of the situation. “You’d squirm and curse too much if I –” He winced at the needle in his skin. “–If I had to do the same to you,” Simon let out a tense breath and looked from his arm back to Han. “How many more?”

“No more questions. Don’t think about how many more stitches. Think about revenge with me, and how we’ll make sure this never happens again. Doesn’t that make it feel better?” the smirk across his lips would widen as a he slowly pulled thread from flesh. gloved hands were careful and delicate in their slow motions, as eyes were glued to the wound. he’d pause his actions for a second to chuckle, as if reading Simon’s mind, “Living object? You think I’m some sort of Frankenstein sewing limbs together?” the needle would prick once again, “That’s cute, Simon, but what  would I do with dead limbs?” he was about two stitches away from being done. Simon’s patience was, in fact, far better than his would be, but he would suggest, “You owe me. You’d have to put up with my cursing and squirming.”

@clownpool​

“Listen. I’m in complete support of making those so-called heroes look like absolute fools, but we have to get more creative than just pulling guns out on them left and right. The point isn’t to kill them. It’s to humiliate them. Give me your gun. Or a knife. Or whatever it is you’ve got on you,” He instructed. “Let me demonstrate something for you. I promise, it won’t take long.”

eyebrows hadn’t arched higher in her entire life. it was a silly idea, and went against her moral alignments. you never give your opponent your weapon, and you never give your opponent a chance to take one for their own. she didn’t understand, but Simon spoke as if he had some villain lessons underway. despite her words to follow, she did trust him, “You shoot me with my gun, and I’ll haunt you in the next life.” she’d take a step closer, handing him the handgun carefully. “Shooting’s effective.”  she’d argue, “Get’s the job done. I don’t like it when I have to hear their voices, you know?”