writing reference blog

Although she tended to be rather loud with a colorful personality, Terion’s presence was actually quite comforting to most of her family. She could easily talk someone down, or help them through a breakdown.

Having gone through plenty of complications in her life, she wasn’t difficult to relate with, especially with the younger Supernaturals. She had been a street-rat herself, had made many mistakes, and had learned so many things from her experiences. Terion wouldn’t berate or try to discipline for the mistakes that someone would make, but instead try to help them realize what they had done wrong and support them in fixing it.

She was a major believer in second chances and having the ability to right one’s wrongs. Terion avidly defending Ward when he first joined the Rebellion, even in the face of a large number of people who distrusted him. She had done the same for plenty of people who joined, either from the Resistance or from smaller groups that were viewed as deviant or errant.

And that was simply how Nathan was. He never felt as though he was unheard when he did speak, and he never felt as though he was forced to remain quiet. He was simply a man of few words, and Terion’s chattiness made up for it more than enough. 

Often times when the group was together, Nathan wouldn’t speak much, but he wouldn’t just merely observe either. The Guardian Angel had a tendency to sketch and doodle whenever he found himself with free time. It helped to keep him calm and it made him happy. 

He enjoyed sketching his friends while they’d huddle up with each other, laughing and sharing stories. Or when they’d meet with important leaders, Nathan sketching their stoic faces as they’d listen intently. He also liked to draw places he’d been from memory, especially if it was somewhere new. Occasionally, he’d draw Suave or one of Cheeky’s many cats. Whatever he wished, he would sketch out on paper and add to his collection. 

Terion always liked to look at the sketches, with Nathan’s permission. She’d always awe over his artistic talent, pointing out her favorite parts of his pieces and recalling some of the memories they’d display. She’d often get him new sketchbooks when he’d fill them up, and she made sure to keep the filled ones in a safe place along with his free doodles. They were incredibly important, and it made Nathan happy to have Terion value them so highly. 

Once, when she had gotten him a new set of books and pencils, she had also brought home a paint palette. Terion suggested that Nathan try painting as well, insisting that he’d be amazing at it judging by his sketching skill. 

He absolutely loved it, and he was incredibly grateful that Terion thought to get him the palette. It definitely wasn’t of cheap quality, and it was made up of such vibrant colors. The first thing he painted was Terion, and when he showed her the finished product, she was amazed at how beautiful it was. 

Ward could recall the day he first arrived like it was yesterday, and he could do the same with the day when the bastard escaped. It wasn’t even a week after he was brought in. It took weeks to get the prison back into shape, and it took just as long for his father, step brothers, and other superiors to properly chew him out for allowing prisoners to escape, particularly one that they had their eye on for a long time. 

They hadn’t been there, Ward attempted to spit back. They didn’t know what he could do, what he was capable of, what he even was.

But Ward knew. He learned fairly quickly that this man wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill street rat that his superiors had insisted he was. Sure, he had been the leader of what they assumed was a simple street gang that committed petty crimes, but said group was loud, effective, and gaining popularly and members with each passing day. They could not even begin to fathom the network that The Dirty Souls had created, but Ward understood that his escaped prisoner was extraordinary to say the least.

To Ward, the most bizarre thing about him was that he would return to the prison. And frequently. 

At first, the warden thought he was seeing things. Nobody on his staff seemed to notice anything odd, but there were so many of them on so many different shifts that an unfamiliar face on the guard was not uncommon. But he knew them all, made a note to do so. Which is why, when he first started seeing him on his guard in full uniform, he had thought he’d lost his mind. 

The most frustrating thing about it was that Ward could never seem to catch him once he noticed his presence. The warden would see him down a corridor and attempt to trap him only for him to vanish at the turn of a corner. He was quick, sly, and seemed to almost be making a game out of the whole ordeal, which only irked Ward even more. 

His intentions were unknown, and he never stirred up any issues within the prison. It was almost as though he was simply spying on Ward and nothing more. He hadn’t even attempted to break out any prisoners while he skulked around. 

It reached a point where Ward simply gave in and allowed him to lurk around as he wished. There was nothing he could do to stop him or catch him, and there was absolutely no way he’d tell anyone about his presence. Especially not his father. Ward was resigned to ignoring the man.

However, that was apparently unacceptable to his escapee and he thought it suitable to let Ward know. 

--

A knock at Ward’s office door had startled him out of his trance. He was skimming through the files of some recently arrived prisoners, his mind not retaining any of the words. He absentmindedly called his visitor in, assuming it was simply one of his men bringing him even more files. 

“You know, you should really have a stranger announce themselves before you just invite them in,” a cheeky voice spoke as the door opened. Ward glanced up from his files and was met with the smirk of a familiar, infuriating face. 

The amount of times that Ward had envisioned himself finally coming face to face with the man was countless, as was the amount of times that he envisioned what it would’ve been like if he hadn’t escaped or even come to the prison in the first place. None of them matched up to the man simply walking into his office, nonchalant and even good-humored. 

“Before you try to maul my face off, I just want to talk to you and I think you should listen.” 

And Ward really had no choice but to do so.  

“Can I at least have a legal pad and pen so that I can draft out my will?” 

“Oh, my god,” Mathus sighs, rolling his eyes as he passes a glass of water and some pills to Aldric. “Take your medicine, you big baby.”

“You’re just afraid that I’ll write you out of it for being rude to me while I”m sick.” 

It wasn’t often that Supernaturals fell sick from human illnesses like the common cold or the flu. Aldric was one of the unlucky few that actually could contract such things, and he despised it. Mathus’s body temperature ran so incredibly high that any virus wouldn’t survive, so there was no fear of him getting sick as he cared for his husband.

“Oh, yeah, I can imagine reading it,” Mathus chuckles, settling into bed next to Aldric and letting his husband curl up next to him to soak up his warmth. “’To my wonderful and patient husband who cared for me in my final hours, who held me through the nights and kept me oh-so-warm--”

“You’re terrible,” Aldric laughs, trying to force down a cough as he shoves his head underneath the blanket. Mathus laughs as well, rolling over and wrapping his arms around the bundled mass of blankets that was his sick husband. He smiles when he hears the mumbled “thank you” and feels Aldric poke his head out to gently kiss his jaw.

Because of this, many picked different dates to celebrate, ones that they had deemed important or representative of themselves. Some simply picked dates that they liked for one reason or another. Frequently picked were days that they had remembered as the ones in which they had first joined the Rebellion. 

Olivo was one of the rare few who simply did not have a birthday whatsoever due to being a Bacterial, and thus, the day in which they returned to the Supernatural World was their “birthday” of choice. They could easily recount that day from memory as if it happened moments before; the day they met their best friends, the day they discovered their true nature, and the day they never looked back from. It was incredibly important to them. 

It was incredibly important to their friends as well. Vitale and Luke had spearheaded the celebrations, with more than enough help from Terion. Everyone had pitched in where they could to ensure that it’d be a wonderful day for the young Bacterial. A surprise party was decided against, seeing as though it was too predictable, but Oli was practically stunned nonetheless with the amount of effort and energy that everyone had put forth just for them. 

The Prison had never been a home to him either, though it provided more comfort than the mansion ever could. He was its Warden, its overseer, its watchdog, but it was not his. He gave orders, he disciplined, and he insured that the day to day was run as routinely as possible. He was a very capable warden, effective and even impressive; however, his “family” made it clear that his position was not one earned of merit or favor. To them, he was resigned, compliant. They still hounded him, kept him on a tight leash that they tugged on whenever they pleased. They would grant him the illusion of freedom only to tear it away when it would just start to seem real. Because of this, he was the Prison’s Warden, and its Ward. It was not a home.