SkysongMA

They spent the rest of the class discussing who would have custody of Lin at what times. Well. Not really discussing. Toph told him. “The only times I cannot actually have flour baby—” “Her name is Lin,” said Sokka. He smiled at her lazily, like he was enjoying interrupting her at every turn. Toph was tempted to grab his ear and yank his head up off the desk, but she would get in trouble for that, not him. “Fine. Lin. The only time I cannot actually have ‘Lin’ in my lap, like we are supposed to, is during my music lessons on Monday night and during my Tai Chi lessons on Friday. I will bring

Yeah, I write horror novels. Go ahead, call me a hack. You’re one of the greatest writers of all time. Say what you want about my books. I can take it. Call ‘em derivative—never mind that I revamped vampires. Call ‘em cheap shlock—never mind that I put my whole heart and soul in every one. Call ‘em trash, even—thousands of readers across three decades just can’t be trusted with literature, after all. What would this world come to if readers, not critics, decided the classics of the day? I get it. I’ll just go home and sob into my fifty published novels. Y’know. The ones fueled

Lucien scrubbed with harsh soap until his skin was red and stinging, then stepped under a jet of hot water. He’d been doing this forever, but it still made him grimace and squirm. After drying with a rough cotton towel, he pulled a clean white robe that smelled of magic and disinfectant over his head, placed a soft cloth cap over his short hair, and stepped into straw sandals that scratched his feet. He placed his hand against the doorway to the patients’ area. Magic pushed against him like a strong wind; he relaxed into it, and the door slid open. Lucien took stock. At the moment he had only two subjects. The man was asleep, his

Nimüe was stretched out on the couch when Micah finally came home. She peered over the back at him. “Where have you been?” It wasn’t a sharp question, but Micah just shook his head. “Micah—” Micah shook his head a second time and disappeared into his room. Nimüe relaxed, but slowly. *** Remy didn’t come around again for three weeks.

When I was younger, I never thought I'd get married. My father told me I was born in trouble, and I still think that's true. I was in and out of juvie, then in and out of jail. Nothing big. Pushing another kid around. Caught with a few too many dime bags. The kind of stuff that gets you no respect in prison and less in the real world. I felt like my tattoos read "permanent convict." For me, "marriage" meant knocking up a bleach blonde while her parents slept in the other room of the trailer. We'd quit school to raise the kid. I'd get some shitty job; she'd get her GED, take online courses, and leave me three years later. By then I'd be happy

G.B. put Marshall Lee from his mind. It was not easy, but G.B. had plenty of practice. *** The phone call woke G.B. from sleep. “Are you awake?” G.B. frowned at the phone. He wanted to be angry and found he could not be, but at least he could sound peevish. It was petty, wanting Marshall Lee to think G.B. didn’t care, but G.B. would be the first to admit he was petty. At least where Marshall Lee was involved. “I am now.” “Oh, shit, sorry—I didn’t realize what time it was. Fuck.” He sounded honestly sorry. G.B. found himself relenting, if only because he was pleased to know, like alwa

    Before stepping onto the barge, Ron glanced over his shoulder at the entrance to Hades. It seemed surreal that he was finally leaving this place. There was no way to really understand how much time he’d spent there, but it felt longer than a lifetime. And he’d had a pretty eventful life.    Then, letting out a slow breath, he walked up the ramp to join the rest of his group. Jesse was looking out over the water, drumming his fingers on the guard rail thoughtfully. Izanami sat on the seating lining the edge, her hands tucked into her sleeves and her lips curled in a thin, pleased smile. “Will you not sit by me, Mr. Merr

Her fingers were freezing. For a moment or two, as her mind drifted out of the dark water and back into conscious thought, she thought they were gone entirely until she realized someone was rubbing them. She blinked a few times. What in the world—? "Kid?" After a moment, quietly, "Shilo?" She made herself open her eyes. Her father had once told her about the effects of positive reinforcement, and she had to respond to that, or Graverobber would never stop calling her "kid." Or "sweet cheeks." She shuddered, and then she couldn't stop. She was so cold! And wet, couldn't forget wet. What—? The memories slammed into her stomach, a

When Shilo wakes, she is surprised to find him still beside her, one hand resting on her stomach and his eyes closed. They are stretched out flat beside each other; he has  the blanket tucked up over himself, but neither of them bothered to put any clothes on. It didn't seem worth it then, and it doesn't seem worth it now, but she can't help but pull the blanket up to her shoulders as she turns on her side to face him. "I know you're not sleeping," she murmurs. He opens one eye and regards her with a wary caution that seems terribly out of place ater last night. She wants to be hurt—but it's only his way. She knew what she was getting,

As it turned out, Neville had two broken fingers, a fractured tibia, and cracked ribs. Not as bad as it could have been, he thought, but still irritating. At least he had health insurance through his job. Oh, God. He'd have to tell his gran he was in the hospital. And where all his money was going to, since he'd have to pay all the hospital bills. Fantastic. As the doctor explained how he'd have to take care of himself and when he'd have to come back, the girl stayed put in that chair. The red-haired boy--Percy--had disappeared at some point, presumably to get a little privacy while he cried. She had turned her magazine right-side-up, but s

When Lyoko was all she knew, Aelita counted and recounted the qualities of the real world she would never know. First were the senses she would never experience: touch, taste, and smell were all beyond her ken. Sometimes she would press her hands together or concentrate on what being struck by enemy fire felt like. There was something, certainly. When she put her palms together, she sensed the pressure; when she touched a burn, her hand flinched away. But she listened to Odd tell her about kissing, and she didn't think that was all there was to it. Taste and smell were beyond her, too. She knew they were linked, she knew Jeremie's favorite

When Craig dies, you burn every letter he ever sent you. You donate all of his gifts and delete his number from your phone. You go to visit his mother, just once. There, she keeps Craig’s room like a shrine. This used to be your place of refuge. You came here when your parents fought, when you did badly on a test, when you had no reason at all. It isn’t safe any longer. It still smells like him. You feel you could fall backwards onto his bed and find his body there beside you, his back warm against yours. Pictures of the two of you together stare at you from the walls. You catch movement from the corner of your eye and turn, q