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About Deviant Artist Haro T. LitoriFemale/United States Group :iconstrange-and-twisted: Strange-and-Twisted
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I'm just making slow progress.

Anyway, I need a beta. The last time I tried to upload a chapter 25 it was a disaster and quite frankly I am so pleased with myself for taking that down while I still had some face left to save.

Point is, I need someone to read over what I have for part 25 and make sure I'm writing my own damn story acceptably :P

Comment, send me a note, whatever, if you're interested!


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Haro T. Litori
United States
Heyo. I'm a tad nutty and a lot nerdy, I like writing and reading and I'm not too bad with a pencil and piece of printer paper. I'm pretty friendly so feel free to talk to me about laughter, love, and life in general XD

My best friends consist of :icondead-poet-s0ciety: :iconbatmanbackflip: :iconperpetualconfusion: and my beloved cousin :iconsiracerbic:
Well, at least, as far as friends who have a dA go, anyway (you guys, get a flippin dAAAAA)


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You, sir, are a cunt.
Poem for my Uterus
Guess who's on her period! It's me! I fucking hate everything that has to do with the female reproductive system! Fuck my vagina and fuck everything that's attached to it!

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“People who are abused make choices.  In a world where the ‘wrong’ choice means pain and injury, they make a damn career out of figuring out and trying to make the right choice, again and again and again.”


Coping Mechanisms

Carla blew the smoke out in a perfect circle, and watched it waft and dissipate lazily. James, her younger brother by two years, mimicked the action, his circle not quite as nice as hers. They had to smoke on the north side of the house because the south-side neighbors would complain about the smell of weed, even if they were already asleep and there was no way for the smell to linger long enough for them to still catch a whiff of it by morning. Carla pulled out her phone and looked at the time: 12:01.

“Ninety-one days,” she signed.

James leaned on her shoulder and nodded. “Three months to go,” he whispered hoarsely.

Technically, the two of them needed to be asleep at a minute past midnight. They had school to go to and Carla had work after school that she needed to worry about too.

She was tired, but at the same time, she was too tired to care. She wanted to get high with her little brother on the north roof of her godawful home, so that’s exactly what she did.

“How many times do ya think da’s gonna be back b’tween now and then?” James asked sleepily. He’d wake up when he got the munchies and then crash hard when he was full again. Carla ruffled his hair lightly and jostled her shoulder so that he sat up and could look at her hands.

“Three times this week, none the next, twice the next, all seven days week four,” she signed, and James took another drag at her prediction for the fourth week. “I have nothing past four weeks,” she signed. She shifted so she was lying down on James’ lap. James liked to joke that she was a fortune teller, and to an extent that was true. She knew things; that was all. She pried and picked apart and stuck her nose in places it had no business being and she remembered everything that she could use to her favor. Her father never kept his calendar filled in past about a month in advance.

Carla looked at her phone again. It was ridiculous, she knew, to expect a text from her future landlord at midnight, but she wanted to get this deal settled and she wanted it settled right then. Sure, technically she couldn’t do anything until she was officially eighteen, but she could get all the prep-work done in the months leading up to that.

Her great misfortune was that the landlord was so terrible at texting. She would take what felt like an eternity to respond to texts and sometimes she would stop texting for a stretch of time without any warning. Carla, of course, couldn’t call her, since Carla was mute, and while James was a willing translator James also had a bad habit of adding color to Carla’s statements. Just because she normally swore every other hand motion didn’t mean she wanted vulgarities thrown around in a professional conversation.

She just wanted to get out of this horrible house and take her brother with her.

Hell, she’d like to survive without major injury to herself or her brother while she waited too.

Carla pulled out her phone and checked the time: 10:59. She began loudly cleaning in the kitchen, hoping that the gal working drive-thru would hear her banging around and assume that it was time to close. Her supervisor of the evening was in the office, handling the front cashier’s finances, and would yell at (sorry, scold) Carla for trying to wrap everything up a minute early if he wasn’t. Lucky for her, he wasn’t paying close enough attention, and she might actually get everything done without him hovering, asking if he could help. Since clearly, being mute made her an invalid as well.

He only managed to get in her way for the final three minutes of sweeping and mopping and then she was out the door with a wave at the girl who worked drive. Mary? Marissa? Madeline? M-a-something. She was nice. Carla liked her well enough that she didn’t want to be outwardly rude. Now, the girl honking her jeep’s horn and making a vulgar gesture with her fingers and tongue out the window, that girl Carla was more than willing to be rude to.

“Sup bitch?!” N’Taya greeted as Carla threw her sorry ass in through the passenger-side window. Empty New-Year’s party poppers littered the car floor, leftover from two days before.

“I need to get this godawful uniform off,” Carla signed. N’Taya cackled, her teeth blindingly bright against her dark skin and the dimly lit parking lot.

“Uncomfortable?” N’Taya asked. Carla grinned wryly and nodded once. N’Taya wasn’t fluent in ASL, but she knew Carla well and she could usually put two and two together and figure out what Carla meant. Carla undid her short ponytail and stuck her head out the window, letting the evening air sting her kitchen-hot skin.

Pros of getting an apartment in 77 days: she and James would leave their father’s house.

Cons of getting an apartment in 77 days: it was in a rough enough neighborhood that it required a drug screening and Carla was more reliant on smoking than she liked to admit.

Her nerves were growing raw with tension already, and she was only just starting this whole abstinence thing. She kept reflexively reaching into her pocket, only to find it empty. The smog that made all her rough edges blurry was so far out of her head she sometimes feared she might cut someone with her sharp thoughts, and there was a horrible, terrible violence growing in her again. She’d promised James she’d keep a handle on her anger, dammit, and three days in she was already ready to claw someone’s throat out with her nails.

Her solution was violent, angry sex. She and N’Taya were already friends with benefits, sure, but that night, as her work clothes hit N’Taya’s carpet and she tasted two people’s blood in her mouth, it was all about seeing who could handle the most hurt and still get off on it. As she lay next to N’Taya, panting and aching, she was pretty sure she’d end up going to school the next day with raccoon eyes. Was her nose broken? It might have been. Her ribs ached but that was good; her muscles were sore from strain but that was even better.

N’Taya rolled on top of her and Carla laughed- that certainly had not been their position ten minutes ago- and N’Taya glared at her.

“I’m gonna bite your clit off,” she said decisively, and Carla grinned like that was a dare. N’Taya threw her legs over her shoulders and round two began. It was still painful, with hair pulling and slapping and bite marks over every inch of available flesh, but that was how they liked it.

Carla didn’t go home that night, but thought nothing of it. James knew where she was.

Carla fished out her phone and checked the time: 3:01. She’d been waiting eleven minutes for her brother to meet up with her in front of the school building. Her eye twitched with irritation- she needed a smoke.

“If you’re waiting for the idiot brigade: don’t,” Kat said behind her, and she turned around. He looked like he’d spent the better part of the last half hour raking his claw-like nails down his face and through his hair. Carla frowned and tilted her head at him.

Kat and James had been the best of friends long before either of them had come out, back when James didn’t know what gay meant and Kat didn’t know why he hated dresses so much. He was loud and angry and shouted instead of speaking, which reminded Carla of her father so she hated him on principle at first. But he was also James’ favorite person in the world, and Kat genuinely cared for James and would never hit him, so Carla had warmed up to him and was happy that James was happy. She still thought he ought to choose a more masculine name for himself, however.

Carla typed out “Where’s James” on her phone and held it out to Kat, who grimaced.

“Detention,” Kat said, and Carla would have groaned if her vocal chords still worked. “He was making jokes in math again. ‘Upholding his rep. as the class clown’ or some other bullshit nonsense his brain can vomit up.”

Carla typed on her phone again. “He needs to stay at your place tonight.” Kat huffed, his breath a puff in the icy air, but didn’t question. James had told him all about their father, of course, but had sworn him to secrecy. She didn’t have to explain that the need stemmed from the fact that their father would be home that night.

Carla fumbled for her keys and her phone nearly clattered to the ground. The screen lit up when she caught it and she saw the time: 11:15. Forty-five minutes before she had only 38 days left. She cursed her disobedient fingers and blamed the cold February weather as she attempted to fit the damn key in the lock and open her own front door. Her internal oaths worsened when she realized she was trying to insert the wrong key.

Then she heard the yelling coming from inside and her entire body felt like shattered glass. Her father wasn’t supposed to be there. He was supposed to be gone, off picketing some poor veteran’s funeral with his sect of Westboro and then drinking until at least midnight! She felt like she could rip the door off its hinges with the force she used to fling it open once she finally got it unlocked. She bolted into the house, cold winter air flowing in with her, and stopped still as stone to assess the situation.

James was bleeding. He had a great red smear on the face that was turned away from their screaming father. He was backed up against the wall, crying, and hunching in on himself, trying to make himself look smaller, pitiful, apologetic. Carla heard words. Boys don’t cry. Gay sissy. Faggot.

Two years ago, she would have jumped in on trembling legs and screamed at him until he turned on her. Instead, she picked up the closest thing near her- an old lamp- and lobbed it at his head. James yelled like he had been the one struck and their father switched his enraged attention to Carla swifter than should be possible.

She widened her stance and curled her shaky fingers into shakier fists. She felt like she was staring down Goliath, but David at least believed God hadn’t forsaken him. Her father was huge, and made larger by his authority. Strong, too, so damn strong and Carla felt so weak and small against him. His fist hit her straight on the nose and she felt it break.

She struggled back to her feet on fumbling legs and attempted to dodge what blows she could. He knew how to throw his weight around, he was heavy and heavy-fisted, but he was also drunk. Carla could win when he was drunk. It was his sober fury that Carla feared and loathed the most. Such is the stuff that broken bones are made of.

James was nowhere to be seen when the fight ended, and for that Carla was glad. The windows of the house shook when their father slammed the door behind him. Carla staggered upstairs, bleeding from her nose and bruised all over in a way that gave her no joy. No electric thrill or competitive adrenaline. She just hurt.

James met her at the top of the stairs, sat her down in the bathroom, and cleaned up her face. She wondered idly if there would ever come a day where she didn’t have to coat foundation on thick to hide her bruises.

“James,” she signed, and discovered that her pinky finger was also in great pain, “nothing that he said means anything.”

James bit his lip and nodded miserably, his agreement a meaningless appeasement.

“James,” she signed and tilted his chin up gently. He’d cleaned up his own blood, but she could see that his nose would be sore, if unbroken. “His opinion doesn’t matter. He’s awful and a liar. You’re motherfucking precious and nothing he says means-” she had to turn his face and make him look at her again, “-anything, James, everything he says is worthless.”

James’ shoulders were hunched and he nodded again, his mood no different. That time, she relented and dropped the subject. 38 days, she reminded herself, just 38 more days.

Carla glanced at her phone: 10:49. James smoked anxiously at her side, desperately trying to cast a blurry cloud over his nervous fear. She’d worked in front that evening, which meant she had time to engage in one of her less-mentionable pastimes. Illegal fight rings were skeptical of a girl her size and apparent youth, and her mutism, but she paid the $200 entry fee and they were good about not asking questions. James didn’t bet on her, although he could have. People underestimated her, which meant she could get in a good, solid sucker-punch at the start of almost all fights. Big, lumbering men also tended to feel bad about hitting a teenage girl in front of others, at least until she beat that notion out of them.

James had tried, as he always did, to talk her out of it, this time using the fact that they just had 12 days left before moving out. But Carla was reaching her limits. She was angry all the time and feared what her violence would do if she didn’t find some way to let it out.

By the end of her second fight, her nose was re-broken (again) and her lips were split in two places, but she was breathing raggedly and sore all over and victorious and she felt exhilarated as she stood over the unconscious form of her opponent. She staggered out, grinning and drunk on pain, and James insisted that they leave. She nodded blearily. She left the place $400 richer than she’d entered and infinitely calmer.

James was smoking like a chimney, but seemed too upset for anything to really stick.

“I’m fine,” Carla signed, still running on the adrenaline of the fight. “I feel fantastic.”

“You gotta find a better way to do this, sis, shit’s scary in there.”

Carla frowned, her glow dampening, “I’m fine. When have I lost?”

“Carla!” James insisted. Carla sighed, but did feel bad for making James worry about her so much.

“Fine,” she signed, “that’ll be the last time I fight in the ring.”



Carla checked her phone: 7:28. As she stared at the time, it buzzed in her hand.

“Happy bday bitch! Lemme kno when u + J are ready for me + jeep well get your asses moved in!”

Carla smiled at her phone. Leave it to N’Taya.

“Fuck waiting, get your ass here now,” she texted in return. N’Taya sent back multiple frowny faces, but Carla knew she was yelling goodbye to her mom and sister and grabbing her keys, even as she pressed send.

Carla checked the time again: 7:30. Her fingers tapped anxiously on her thigh and she ached for a good smoke. Last day of abstinence!

“Y’know, you losing your chill ain’t gonna make her show any faster,” James said sagely. She punched his shoulder.

At 7:42 the landlord’s car pulled into the lot and she seemed surprised to see Carla and James there before their agreed meeting time of 8. Carla took care of the last remaining signatures and legal work, proudly signing her name on the 21st of March, finally 18 years old. The siblings exited the building right as N’Taya was throwing the jeep into park and the three of them set off to start moving.

Carla and James weren’t in possession of much. They could load everything they owned into N’Taya’s jeep in one trip. The beds would stay. James and Carla had prepared, of course, so it was a simple matter of hauling bags and boxes down the stairs and into the car. Carla considered leaving without saying anything. They’d just vanish from the house, switch to a new phone plan, and disappear. She wondered what would happen. But no, she didn’t want the two of them showing up on the missing persons list three or four months down the road; that’d be unnecessarily bothersome. She pulled out her father’s Bible and wrote on the pages with bright red sharpie.

“We’re leaving.” She paused and stared at it. Was there anything more to say? She flipped the page, tore out the page where the red had bled through, and searched for words. Where was her anger, her ever-present violence? What scathing words could she give to this man who had consumed her life so that her every wish and want was simply “get out”? She found nothing. Just one single verse from the very book she was defacing. In a large, precise hand, she wrote out:

1 Timothy 5:8 – Anyone who does not provide for their relatives, especially for their own household, has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.

She capped the sharpie and handed the Bible to James, along with a purple marker, and asked if there was anything he wanted to say. Carla and N’Taya sat in the jeep for an hour and a half while James wrote. He came out with blotchy eyes, but looked better than he had in a long time. The crisp air blowing through the jeep’s windows had never felt cleaner.

Carla and James spent the two days after moving into their apartment cleaning. The place was dirty and used; it smelled of piss and someone who didn’t shower half as much as they should. They didn’t invest in cleaning materials of any kind, but instead scrubbed hard with water and rags and shoved around a beat up old vacuum they got second-hand. James took over all the cooking and Carla allowed herself to wish- to desperately hope- that maybe he’d revive his old dream of owning a bakery.

Carla yanked her phone out of her pocket and noticed the time as she handed it to James: 11:07. Carla wasn’t entirely certain what the boys across the street were saying. She heard mention of her tits and ass and more than one wolf whistle, but she didn’t need the specifics.

“Sis, don’t,” James pleaded weakly, even as he took her phone. She unzipped and removed her jacket, which just made the boys’ hooting louder. James stood, phone and jacket held in white-knuckled hands as he watched her cross the street with balled fists.

The first blow was a sucker punch. Carla felt the boy’s nose snap before she heard it and felt her blood rush when his ugly laughter went silent. The other laughs cut off, stunned and horrified, and the second target didn’t move until she pulled back her fist for the next strike. He moved then, stumbling backwards over his untied shoes, arms raised to block her, but she got his exposed gut and her knee planted itself firmly in his crotch. Two down.

The other three finally started moving then, their perverse bravado replaced with offended anger. As she dodged one boy’s fist, she could practically hear their internal complaints of “how dare she.” Useless. She took a boy’s knees out from under him and slammed his skull into the sidewalk. She remembered that the back part of the brain was in charge of vision. She hoped that she had blinded him.

The next was smarter than his companions and had grabbed a plank of wood that looked vaguely like a chair leg. Not smart enough. She twisted it out of his grip, after only one blow on his part, and bludgeoned him with it. The last boy, aware now that although they were bigger, she was better, ran. Her veins boiled with bloodlust and she took after him. He was fast with fear, but she was faster with fury, and she overtook him not even half a block from his friends. She tackled him and felt a thrill at the smear of blood his face left on the concrete. There was a loose chunk of curb next to her and she pried it free. She stretched it up over her head and brought it down on his skull, channeling her enraged fervor into her every breath. Distantly, through a red haze, she noted a fraternity’s letters on his sleeve. Ugly fratboys, dirty, perverted, malicious, self-important, blustering, bumptious, idiotic, entitled-

“Carla!” A hand caught her lifted wrist and she turned to her new aggressor, ready to fight, ready to- oh.


It was James. He was crying.

Her fury drained out of her like someone had pulled loose twenty corks and she dropped the fragment of sidewalk. Her second fist unclenched and she sat lightly on the unconscious body, thighs no longer constricting.

“J-A-M-E-S,” she signed with the hand he held, and he sobbed miserably. Glancing down at the frat boy, she felt a terrible wave of nausea come over her and she feared she might hurl. It was all too easy to see this boy- all these boys- as a corpse.

“James, I’m sorry,” she signed. She was; she was so sorry. She was sorry she had lost control, sorry he had seen it. Sorry he had to once again come in and save her from herself. As she stood, she took out a blunt and lit it, breathing deep enough to look like a dragon on her exhales. She was desperate for something that would sand down the edges of her violence.

Carla glanced at her phone when she heard the door shut: 8:17. It had been a full month since the two of them had moved into the apartment. James entered their shared bedroom and looked exhausted.

“How’d the date go?” Carla signed.

“Fine.” James stripped and put on his favorite pajamas. Carla arched an eyebrow and put her book down; the date clearly had not gone fine.

“What happened?” she signed, and sighed when she realized James hadn’t been looking at her. She pulled her little brother onto her bed and he pillowed his head in her lap.

“What happened?” she tried again. James smiled at her in that way that looked convincing but actually just meant that he didn’t want to be a bother.

“James,” she insisted, and he shrugged.

“We fucked,” he said. She could hear the forced casualness in his tone.

“Did he make you?” she asked, fingers flying and rage building in her gut. If that boy had dared to hurt-

“No!” James sat up in a flash, holding out his hands in a placating manner, “No, no, Ramiro would never! I- we’re boyfriends sis, I said yeah and we had a good time!”

Carla’s demeanor softened. “You weren’t ready,” she signed. James nodded.

“You said yes anyway.” James nodded again.

“Do you regret it?” she asked, and his eyes skittered away.

“No,” he whispered eventually, “and yes. I’d do it again, if he asked.”

Carla sighed and brushed his hair out of his face. “I know you would,” she signed with a heavy heart, “You never say no.”

Carla took note of the time as she typed out a reply to N’Taya: 2:54. She was off work that day and decided she’d spend it with her friend. Probably utilizing the ‘benefits’ portion of their relationship. Graduation was just around the corner, and as seniors, she and N’Taya were in the middle of their last week of school. She bit down on the urge to find James in the afterschool crowd and ask him what his evening plans were. She’d sent him a text about where she’d be and if he just went home for the evening he’d be perfectly safe.

She still wasn’t used to that.

N’Taya was waiting by the jeep when Carla walked over and the two jostled each other playfully. They spent the evening playing mindlessly competitive video games and helping N’Taya’s little sister with her end-of-the-year project. Carla slept over, and they did have sex, but neither of them was feeling violent in the slightest that night. Rather, Carla felt incredibly warm.

Carla woke up in the middle of the night and decided she needed to smoke something. She grabbed her stuff off the couch and noticed the book James had left on the armrest. He’d asked her what it was when he unpacked it from the bottom of the last box, but she hadn’t known. She picked it up and took it to the roof of the apartment with her.

As she climbed the steps she grumbled internally to herself about any number of things. Halfway through June, the night was unusually windy. On the roof she walked to the north corner without thinking about it and only realized after she’d sat on the edge that she could sit anywhere she wanted.

Old habits die hard, she thought to herself, and laughed bitterly. Didn’t they though? Here she was, living in an apartment of her own, and yet she still behaved so much like she lived with her father. She still smoked and fought and fucked. She still sniffed out details and plans she had no business in, just in case she needed to know that information. She still lashed out with a violence that she hated even more than she hated her father. She knew she got it from him, that her behaviors were a mirror of what she’d seen, and she loathed herself for it. She didn’t want to be like him. She wanted to be rid of him.

She pulled the pencil out of the rings of the book and flipped it open idly, looking for a distraction, and her breath caught in her throat. It was her old sketchbook. She remembered it, now, a sketchbook filled with doodles and drawings of tattoo ideas. She. She’d wanted to be a tattoo artist, once. An artisan of skin and ink. She swallowed hard, then turned the pages.

If her hands trembled, she told herself it was because the late-spring evening was unnaturally chilly. Some of her old designs were laughably terrible, while others were worth looking into. She lit her joint halfway through the book, and found herself on a blank page far sooner than she expected. The pencil twirled in her fingers lazily, once, twice, three times, before she decided to press it down onto the white paper and begin to sketch again. She did not light another joint, but instead breathed in one last time before tossing the butt into the open air. Carla blew the smoke out in a perfect circle, and watched it get torn apart by the city wind.
Coping Mechanisms
Hey hey hey!

So for my Intro to Fiction course we had to write a 10-15 page story, and this is mine! TW for abuse.

Kat is transgendered, in case any of you are confused about that. I'm not really sure how to put it more clearly than that but eh, there you go.

I have edited this thing to hell and back and included more symbolism than I'm used to, so it should be pretty alright! Tell me what you think of it?
I'm not going to put it all on here since I don't really think it's fitting for my dA aesthetic, but if you wanna read my Homestuck/A Dark Room crossover, here you are:…
Firelit AU
I recently wrote this long thing and posted it to my ao3. It's Homestuck. It's this game I like. Go give it a read if you're so inclined!

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Anyone who was online during the span of time that I posted the last chapter, you should know that it has been taken down. The concubine I introduced was a mistake and is no longer present in the story. Please forget that that chapter ever happened as it was terrible. Thank you.

Zeph wasn’t sure where he was, all of a sudden.

This wasn’t a problem, for whatever reason. Zeph was in a blue haze of sorts, the sky, he thought. Yes, the sky. There was a sunrise off far to the right- the east, Zeph supposed. He turned towards it, towards its gentle yellows and vivid pinks, but for whatever reason as much as he turned the east remained to his right. He glanced down, and did not see the ground below him. Not even far. There was only starlight. He was standing on the night sky, the blackness solid under his feet. Above was blue, endless, limitless blue, the sky in its purest form. To his left, the west, was more blue, and in front of him was the same. He looked over his shoulder, backwards, and saw a great void.

It was the first thing in this strange sky that actually scared him, and he looked away, rather wishing that he hadn’t seen it. This place had been so nice before he looked back.

“Oh dear, you’re not supposed to be here.”

Zeph turned to his left again, the dawn still trailing his right side.

Prince Jii was standing there.

“Hello sir,” Zeph said politely. Not afraid, per say, but at attention. “I hadn’t meant to impose.”

“It’s hardly any fault of yours,” said the prince softly, his voice causing ripples in the haze like summer heat over black roads.

Zeph said nothing, but stood straight and still. Not tense, for whatever reason, he felt no need to tense. But he stood tall, and would have loomed over the small man if it weren’t for the fact that this sky-place clearly heeded Jii far more than the natural realm of physics ever would.

“None of this is your fault, Zeph…” Jii said again, softly, his eyes distant. The haze around Zeph tightened, no more akin to a vise than a blanket or a well-fitting sweater.

Something snapped back in place in the prince’s head, and his eyes refocused, “Even so, I would prefer that you weren’t here. I’m afraid your particular strain might not bode well in this place, not given your current history with me.”


Jii said nothing.

“I apologize for being a bother, sir,” Zeph said, out of genuine regret. No fear laced his words, just an actual desire to not make the prince’s life any more difficult than it already might be.

Jii waved a hand airily, “Really, it’s quite alright. I don’t suppose you have the ability to find Tiw and go to him, do you?”

“No sir?”

“Figures. I’m really quite lucky that Elliot and Tiw are non-magical, and that Boris’ magic is mischief-based and powerful enough for him to control.”


“You’re here because you’re magic, Zeph.”

“Ah.” It made sense. True, Zeph really hadn’t considered himself magical, but it made sense in this strange and airy place.

Jii sat down, Zeph didn’t really know on what, but after a moment Zeph sat down as well. Wrapped in sky and sitting on stars, the two passed a bit of time in surprisingly comfortable silence. Zeph thought, for whatever reason, that the dawn to his right inched closer, tiny bit by tiny bit.

“I wonder if you are what I am intended to see here…” Jii mused aloud.

“Am I, sir?”

“I wouldn’t know at this point…” Jii’s eyes were unfocused again, and his fingers twitched in strange but seemingly deliberate motions.

“Zeph!” Jii said suddenly, and Zeph jumped in surprise. Still no fear.

“Yes si-”

“You’re luck!”

Zeph’s mood suddenly soured, even though the gentle wrapping of the sky, “Y-yes sir, I have bad luck-”

“No, no,” Jii cut him off once again, “Not your luck, you’re luck!” Zeph, of course, could hear no difference. “Your magic type is luck! I could not ascertain properly in the physical realm but here your every asset is laid out before me should I choose to scrutinize it.” That was not a particularly nice thought. “Your magic is distinctly lucky. True, you have run into quite a bit of bad luck, but only for your dislike of those your luck affected!”

Jii stood up suddenly and began moving around excitedly, his fingers flying in distinct yet still unintelligible patterns. Suddenly, his head jerked up and he smiled brilliantly at something that was either not there, or that Zeph could not see.

Here, in the prince’s realm of the heavens, Zeph was inclined to believe the latter.

“Zeph,” Jii said, his voice wispy and somehow flowing, “I know that you have met me but once, and that that encounter was not particularly pleasant, but I must ask you a favor.”

“I, sir, I’m, I’m not, what- I mean, that is- what do you need?”

“Zeph, you know, don’t you?”

Zeph’s whole body convulsed. The prince, the heart of the thicket, knew that he knew.

His tongue told the truth before his brain could register the fear, “Yes sir.”

“You know about the Mamba family.”

“Yes sir.”

“You know about what they did in Elliot’s lands.”

“Yes sir.”

“You know more than just that.”

“I do sir.”

Jii sat down again, directly in front of Zeph, who leaned back against the void like the terror he felt for it might reassure him against the intensity of the prince.

Jii’s whole demeanor softened when he was seated, and his lips parted as he looked at Zeph’s face.

“I apologize, Zeph,” Jii said, softer than a whisper. The void at Zeph’s back receded, and the stars below his thighs warmed. The sky gentled, and it was then that Zeph noticed that the realm had been exciting alongside its master.

“I truly do not mean to frighten you, but you must understand how important this is for me.”

Zeph’s shoulders shook, and Zeph was not sure if he was afraid or just trembling from an intensity that he didn’t know how to deal with.

Jii extended his hands, palms facing the endless blue above them. Zeph placed his left hand softly on top of them, feeling like it was the right thing to do. Jii slid pale fingers over Zeph’s calloused hand and lifted the tips of his fingers to brush his royal lips across, gentler than a breeze.

Zeph’s heart ached. It ached for a country of people that he could never know all the names of, who would die without proper guidance and protection. His bones creaked under a weight of caring far too much for far too long, but only second-hand. Zeph knew, suddenly, the prince’s love for his land and the souls he could feel moving and burning inside it, knew the prince’s ache for their pain, but did not feel it the same way Jii did.

“Please, Zeph, I do not mean to frighten you. But please, please understand, I’ve a duty to fulfil.”

Zeph nodded, his hand still held between the prince’s. It was not trapped there; Jii merely carried its weight.

“It’s like how I feel for Master Tiw,” Zeph whispered, feeling like full-volume was somehow inappropriate.

Jii’s eyes widened, and Zeph felt mild surprise conducted through their touch. “I want to do everything for him, even when it’s out of my abilities.”

Jii laughed, and it was comparable only to the swell of a hot air balloon.

“And seeing as my abilities are limited, I need your aid, Zeph.”

Zeph nodded.

“How do you know of the Mambas, anyways?” Jii asked idly. Zeph felt curiosity, but no ill intent. Even so, he was reluctant to give a specific.

“An old friend of mine goes where he isn’t seen, but he can hear things,” Zeph said carefully, “When we saw each other again, he told me what he knew.”

Jii nodded, and Zeph felt a silent press for more information. No prying, just asking without words.

“He- he’s owned, by the Mambas. Specifically their head. He’s- expendable.” Zeph swallowed hard. Aptara had once been dear to him, and he knew that when Aptara’s master was done with him he’d dispose of Aptara, along with the secrets Aptara had heard. It wasn’t an easy thought.

Zeph,” said Jii softly, and thumbs stroked gently across Zeph’s fingers. It was comforting. Jii’s pity was palpable in the blue air and Zeph felt Jii take on the ache of yet another two souls that were hurting.

“He serves when the heads of the rebellion against you gather.”

“Did he tell you who the main mage is?”

Zeph nodded, “A man, and someone who is either his daughter or his younger sister. The man makes ‘green-stone deals’ with others and the sister takes the stones and makes them into what Ap- into what my friend says looks like jewelry.”

“I won’t hurt your friend if you tell me his name.”

“Sir, please don’t make me do that.”

“Alright,” Jii said quietly, reassuringly, “alright, that’s perfectly fine Zeph.”

“The mage is purple,” Zeph said, and the sky around him smelled like warm hoodies straight out of the dryer, “he’s- purple. And his sister is brown. I don’t- my friend never told me what that meant-”

“I know,” Jii said with soft confidence, “I know exactly what your friend means. Did he tell you anything else about the mages?”

“I- like-?”

“What deals the purple mage makes to gets the green crystals.”


Zeph yanked his hand back from Jii’s grip and tried to crawl backwards, only to find that the endless, horrifying void had already moved forward and polluted the blue, the dawn, until none of it could be seen. Only the stars below him were still present.

Jii was furious.

Zeph had felt the rage in his body crash over him like the entire weight of a dam shattering and falling all at once.

Wishes,” Jii spat out tightly, and his breathing was harsh and barely controlled. Slowly, then gaining speed, the void receded behind Zeph until it was too far back to be felt once again. The blue of the sky was no longer friendly and soaring, but blue again none-the-less. The dawn looked brighter and closer than ever.

“I’m sorry, Zeph, I’m so, so sorry I hadn’t meant to let my emotions get so out of hand.”

“I’m, not hurt sir. It’s fine.”

Jii snorted and Zeph felt, in the very air around him, a distinct lack of mirth.

“It’s really not, but I appreciate your kind words, Zeph.” Another deep breath, and Jii’s red eyes lifted to meet Zeph’s once again.

Oh. Huh. Eye contact. It had been happening and Zeph hadn’t even noticed or cared.

“If I may ask you to continue?”

“Yes sir. Ap- I mean, my friend, he says that Mamba knew that you love Elliot, and that attacking the Berus lands would be- would weaken you. He wants to hurt the Rosyboa family as well, because, he knows that the main woman is very smart, and also very close to your- uh, nanny?”

Jii nodded, and his eyes flashed with something dangerous briefly. Zeph got the feeling, somewhere deep in the void behind him, that that brief flash was directed at someone, and that Zeph was very glad that he was not that particular someone.

“Thank you, Zeph, I believe that that is everything I need to know.” Jii sounded jittery, barely leashing himself in, ready to move and take action, “Unless your companion could give you names for other members of other families that Engrid Mamba spoke with?”

“No sir, no names.”

“Thank you,” Jii’s eyes unfocused again and his voice turned as wispy as smoke, “thank you, Zeph,” Jii’s fingers twisted distinctly, “you have done me a great favor here.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”


“Yes sir?”

“In regards to Tiw, I want you to follow your gut, alright?”

“Y-yes sir?”

“Zeph, your magic is intimately tied with your emotions. Pleasant emotions sown, good luck reaps. Do well by my companion, Zeph, I may not be able to soon.”

“My- emotions?”

“Good night, Zeph. I see that you can leave now.”

“I can, sir?”

“Look to the east.”

Zeph looked, and found himself sitting on the fading starlight of the dawn.

“Good morning bunny,” Tiw mumbled sleepily into Zeph’s neck. They were spooning, in bed, and the clock on the nightstand showed 7:01 am.



“I- I’m-”

Tiw propped himself up, yellow eyes growing alert and black ears perked in caution.

Zeph blinked rapidly, and twisted to look at his master appropriately.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Tiw asked.

“I- no, not a bad one- uh, I…”

“Shh, bunny, string your thoughts together,” Tiw ordered gently, running brown fingers through Zeph’s messy red hair.

“I met your friend in my dream, I guess, the prince, sir.”

“You met Jii in a dream?”

“Yes sir.”

“Dammit…” Tiw mumbled, and grabbed his phone off the nightstand, “Why’s he messing around inside your head?”

“I don’t think I was supposed to be there, not at first!” Zeph said quickly, before Tiw could hit the speed dial button.

“Really.” Tiw didn’t sound convinced.

“You really don’t need to call him sir; I didn’t mind at all, it was nice for most of it!”

“I’m gonna call him anyway, just to-”

Turned out, Tiw didn’t need to call Jii. Jii called him first.

“Hey,” Tiw answered, and then hit loudspeaker.

“Tiw, is Zeph alright?”

“Yeah, told me you were in his head last night.”

“Not exactly. He showed up in Umn’raNthy’a while I was working. I just wanted to make sure that his thoughts all made it back to his body. Have a good day.”

With that, Jii hung up.

“…Sir, what’s Umn’raNthy’a?”

Tiw sighed and ran a hand over his face, “It’s too early for this bullshit.” Tiw rolled his shoulders and Zeph heard a few pops, “It’s this magical bullshit thing that no one really understands. Some sort of mythic thing that only Jii and a few select ancestors of his have access to.”

Tiw paused, “At least I think that’s that one. It could be some other magic bullshit thing that lots of people have access to. Who even knows?”

Zeph ran his fingers over Tiw’s chest, not really tracing anything but just touching gently. Tiw’s injuries were mostly healed, but the bullet wounds would probably never fade entirely.



“Would you stay at home today, if I asked you?” Zeph quietly asked. Barely audible. For whatever reason, he somehow thought this would be an okay request to make right then. Like his neediness wasn’t something that he had to immediately apologize for. Like he might deserve to ask that question, even if the answer would probably be no.

“You okay?” Tiw asked, “You know I’m good to head back today, my injuries are basically gone.”

Zeph told Tiw about Jii’s parting words, and Tiw frowned.

“And your gut’s telling you to keep me in the apartment today?”

“I- it’s not, a gut feeling exactly. It’s just that I- I really don’t want you to leave.”

Tiw blinked at Zeph, slow and rather intense all things considered. What was with all these people looking at Zeph so intensely lately?

“Yeah,” Tiw relented, smiling a little like he did when he thought Zeph was being particularly cute, and flopped down onto the pillow again, “Yeah, I’ll stay home today. Let me call Bobby.”

Zeph curled into Tiw’s chest and wrapped his arms around Tiw’s torso. They were both naked, it turned out. Zeph thought about it, and yes, they had gotten intimate the night before. It had been something of a celebration, to commemorate the fact that Tiw was once again healthy enough to engage in normal physical activity and also because Tiw had a lot of restless energy from sitting around locked in his apartment for many days on end.

It seemed ages ago.

“Hey, Bobby, it’s Tiw.”

“Hey Tiw” Bobby said, and he sounded twice as old as he was and tired as hell. The bearded, scrawny man set something down in the background, something heavy enough to make a noise that Tiw could hear through the receiver.

“Hey Bobby. Something happen while I was gone?”

“You been watching the news?” The man sounded mildly amused, and maybe would have laughed at Tiw’s ignorance if it weren’t for some unknown weight.

And in fact, Tiw hadn’t. Having his best friend and his boyfriend in his apartment at the same time, while also keeping vaguely regular contact with a prissy nobleman, had been very time consuming. Not to mention he’d needed to sleep more than usual to recover from his injuries. He kept a fairly early-night schedule in the first place. Boris had slept a great deal during his stay at Tiw’s as well, almost inversely scheduled to his own. On one hand, it was nice, because while Tiw loved him dearly he wasn’t someone Tiw wanted to live with. On the other hand, it had left Zeph alone and vulnerable to Boris’ whims, and Tiw had had to spend a lot of time dealing with the repercussions. When he was awake at the same time as Boris, the two of them took up a lot of each other’s time, fighting and bantering and laughing.

“Shit been goin’ down?” Tiw asked idly, stroking a thumb over Zeph’s hair. Zeph, bless his soul, was quiet as a rabbit.

Heh, rabbit jokes.

God it was too early.

“Son shit has gone down and come all the way back up to hit the fan. Shit’s flown everywhere. Shit’s flyin’ everywhere.”

“What’s happened?”

“Nobles.” Bobby was usually laid back, a true stoner. Tiw couldn’t figure out why the perpetually mellow man would suddenly have such detest in his voice, or what nobles could possibly have to do with Bobby. “Nobles have been fuckin’ up everything again, kid. Magic’s happened. People are dyin’, buildings are on fire all over, there was an assassination suspiciously close to the time when you got yourself hurt, not that I’m gonna say anything so don’t you mind…” Bobby sighed and Tiw held the receiver away from his ear in distaste.

“Look, kid, everyone’s lookin’ to keep their heads down for a while. You know I like you a lot, right?”

Tiw nodded. Bobby had, in one fucked up way or another, been almost like a dad to Tiw when he was 14 and desperate. He was the closest thing Tiw had, anyway.

“Yeah,” Tiw said, when he realized Bobby couldn’t see him nodding.

“But I’m not in the business to keep runners goin’ ‘round right now. I’m gonna head off, grow shit, store shit, and I’ll start up again when the coast is clear, but I can’t give you work, kid. Not like you were askin’ anyway. Get online and check this shit out yourself, see if you don’t understand then, but I’m livin’ off of savin’s for a while. Now you’re smart and I’d reckon you’re doin’ this already, but I’d suggest you try and scrape together what you can and then hide your own self, too.”

Tiw nodded again. He felt strange. A bad sort of weird. Bobby hadn’t been close to Tiw, no, but he’d been constant. Bobby, the stoner. The laid back boss. The guy who, almost every single day, had a bag and a list of locations and names. Tiw’s mouth tasted like dry socks and discomfort.

“I got it Bobby. We’re sayin’ goodbye then?”

“For a while. If your other employers start pushing you, you cop out you hear me son?”

“I hear you Bobby. I won’t do anything stupid.”

Bobby chortled, and Tiw felt warm beneath his ribs, “You ain’t the type.”

As the phone call ended, Tiw’s arm left his ear and slid over Zeph’s back.

“Wow…” Tiw mumbled, pondering over what he’d just heard. “Buildings are on fire, huh?”

Tiw’s thumb and forefinger pinched Zeph’s ear and rubbed gently, the rabbit fur softly sliding as Tiw mulled over what was going on.

“Hang on, Zeph, I need to make a few more phone calls.”

Zeph nodded into Tiw’s chest, and pressed a kiss into his sternum.


Tiw made a few more phone calls and found that every single one of his other employers was in the same boat as Bobby. I’m laying low for a while. Don’t call again. When everything calms down I’ll call you. Only one of his regulars was even potentially interested in having him run, but he was a weapons dealer quickly talked out of the idea.

Tiw breathed deeply. “Bunny, I think I’m gonna need to go deal with shit I don’t wanna deal with right now.”

Zeph looked up at him, and made a small, affirming noise.

“You’ll stay here, though?”

“Yeah bunny, I’m staying in the apartment. Do you wanna go back to sleep?”

Zeph shrugged and untangled himself from his boyfriend, who slipped on a pair of boxers and a hoodie left on the floor from last night. Zeph grinned sleepily at the memory of that particular hoodie coming off and hugged Tiw’s pillow.

“You had Jii in your head last night, bunny, go back to sleep. Nothing involving that guy is ever restful.”

“His eyes…” Zeph mumbled, already half asleep once again. Tiw felt a cold shiver of lightning up his spine and knew exactly what Zeph meant. Jii’s eyes could get fucking intense sometimes. Haunting, others.

“Yeah, you just sleep love.”

“Love you too.”

Tiw grinned and shut the door quietly. He was less quiet when he used his heel to knock Boris off the couch.

“Tiw, you’re a bitch.”

“Rise and shine asshole!”



“Fuck you.”


Boris made a sleepy noise and rubbed both eyes, “Whaddaya want?”

“Boris, have you been paying attention to the news at all since we got injured?” Tiw asked as he pulled open his seldom-used computer.

“Not really. Something happen?”

“That’s what we need to find out.”
Tiw and Zeph 25
I told you I was still in business.

So we finally get another peak at Jii! This boy is by far the most elusive character, he is not letting me figure him out. Also ha I told y'all Aptara would be relevant later so nyeh :P

Just in case you missed it, the last version of Chapter 25 was TAKEN DOWN and THANKFULLY NO LONGER EXISTS except in memory as a terrible mistake. I did, however, recycle some bits from it at the end of this chapter.

At this point, I'm trying to make this story end as quickly and painlessly as possible. Most of the drama I wanted to fling Tiw and Zeph into is gonna happen off screen. As such, a lot of Jii's power is going to go unexplained, and y'all might never really know exactly what's going on with the nobles. Hell, I might not either. That's fine though. This was supposed to be a three chapter smut fic that I started back in sophomore year of high school, and now look at it.

If you spot any mistakes, please feel absolutely free to let me know, even if it's just spelling or word choice or commas.

And as always, comments are appreciated!

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Cool let's do this
Damkina for Roquer0 by HaroThar
Neverb4, I finished it by HaroThar
Made for a friend by HaroThar
In for a visit. by HaroThar
Zeph by HaroThar
Rikash by HaroThar
I can do color now. I can do sketches too. I also write, but I haven't been able to do any of that (I got one request forever ago but it wasn't something I was able to complete.
So I'll do whatever you like, sketch, colored pencil, or words.
If it's Homestuck related I guarantee it'll get done faster XD


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CircleDreams Featured By Owner 2 days ago
I'm glad you enjoyed reading "Godric's Gift" ...I appreciate the fav. :star::star:
cholie Featured By Owner 4 days ago
Thank you so much for your support!!!! :love:
HaroThar Featured By Owner 4 days ago
cholie Featured By Owner 4 days ago

About the drawing I promised you, I'm sorry I haven't gotten to it yet!!! My art block works in strange ways...
HaroThar Featured By Owner 1 day ago
That's cool! If you like, I could take some really terrible pictures of the images I drew of Carla and James and soforth. It wouldn't be good quality but you'd get the general idea of what they look like?
(1 Reply)
Mewn-san Featured By Owner Oct 4, 2015
thanks so much for the fav <33
CircleDreams Featured By Owner Oct 3, 2015
Thank you so much for the art trade fav's! :party:
HaroThar Featured By Owner Oct 3, 2015
CircleDreams Featured By Owner Oct 3, 2015
CircleDreams Featured By Owner Sep 30, 2015
Thanks so much for your fav of "What I Would Give you, if I could ..." Glad you enjoyed my poem. :aww:
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