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fantastic-mr-corvid · 11 months ago

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i wanna die with you, wendy, on the streets tonight, in an everlasting kiss

Celia/Elena, and the moments around the moment that changed their whole lives. for ockiss<3 even if it takes over a thousand words to get there

In the aftermath of conflict, Celia and her friends, feeling down and hollow, collect their 'reward' for coming out on top- a meeting with Capo Polpo.

But that's for their new leader to worry about, Celia's thoughts are all wrapped up in Elena, as they escort their leader to the meeting, and afterwards the Capos strange gift leads to her getting her selfish wish and kissing Elena, but only because she doesn't know if they will survive the mysterious blow dealt to both of them.

Their friends Tesoro and Conficcare find both of them wrapped in a bloody embrace, just streets from their home, and as Celia wakes, she is reminded of the love and joy her life holds, despite the hollowness she feels.

posted on ao3 as well as its just over 2k words. warning for minor character death, graphic depictions of violence, and a near death experience.

Their refuge of peace was fraught with anxiety, exhaustion in every line of the bodies lying on various surfaces.

Part of the anxiety was undeniably the fact that Sovrano was intruding on their space, laying claim to what had always been their place- but he was good at that, taking over what was theirs with an unspoken promise of violence.

Victory had never felt so bitter-sweet, aching bodies and eyes staring into the recent past, even the satisfaction of winning was hollow.

Yet Sovrano was waiting for something, anticipating action- despite the bandages and stitches, and there had been so much blood, and someone else had managed to knife him, in that last desperate attempt, but missed killing him by a few centimetres.

Celia didn't know if she was glad it missed or not. She was already the de facto leader of their little sub-group, and despite the leers, she would be the one to step up when Sovrano was taken out of the game- Hell she had stepped up as he was taken care of in that clinic.

Mama, look at your darling daughter now, so bloody and violent, a leader of men. Do you weep, up in heaven, your spirit looking down at she who once was your darling child, hands now soaked in blood?

By all rights, Elena should be the next in line, but this scholarship- well, she's been slowly retreating from them, preferring to study and linger in what passed for a studio in school, than hang out in parks and bars and wherever they chose to linger at night, drifting through the stone jungle they called home.

A dial tone interrupted her thoughts, distracting her from the dawning fear and hollow heart that were now so common when she thought about Elena, and their future.

Sovrano jumped to get it, fear in his eyes, trying to collect himself as he hobbled to the landline.

“Signor?”

Blue, green, brown and finally her own unsettling gold eyes all stared at him and the receiver he held to his ear. The lingering headache ringing in her head mangled the words he replied, as her mind slogged to try and think who it could be, who he would speak to with that level of respect.

Still, despite her struggle, his last words caused a burst of clarity to cut through the lingering pain. But in turn, that space was soon filled by fear.

“It would be my honour to meet with Capo Polpo”

The click of plastic on plastic felt like a gunshot echoing through the room, the roar inside Celia's head sounding eerily reminiscent of engines.

“Muro, Spina. You're with me, given how you both came out the best off.”

Everyone can hear the aborted statement about people hesitating to hit a woman, or some lewd joke about tits distracting the Capo. Sovrano may see himself as a man's man, but even he has to alter his language now the dust has settled and those ‘bitches’ are what got them standing above the rest.

The wall and the thorn. Celia was growing to fit her new name, and Elena was always sharp, but these past few weeks made her edge razor thin, and even deadlier. The masculine noun felt right on her, although it felt strange to be the wall, instead of being told she was stubbornly smashing her head against one. Elena loved telling her that, or mocking her name by calling her Cecità, blind.

Elena has already got up, donning her leather jacket and checking the placement of her knives, all in the time Celia was musing on names. She stood up to do the same, patting down her trench coat and checking the internal sheaths were all easy to access. Both their new jackets having been recently repurposed and retrofitted to be walking armories, after their beloved previous ones took hit after hit until they were nothing but strips of leather and cloth. She mourned their well loved clothes, the new ones still being broken in and altered to suit them both.

Confident she wouldn't slice open her coat- or herself- unsheathing a knife, she ventured for the stairs, towards her steel toe capped boots, and the mysterious meeting with the capo.

The concrete walls of the gilded cage the Capo holds court from are cool to lean on, the two armed youths having not even entertained the possibility of being taken through, even with all the bribes that line the guards pockets. Celia doesn't mind, hating the unnecessarily complicated mind games of the older made men, preferring the clarity of necessity that colours the fights and battles of the street gangs.

She doesn't mind letting the cold seep into her through her coat, Elena right next to her and gazing out at the city skyline, doesn't mind it at all.

And if her eyes linger on the person beside her, on the folds of leather, on the hands still splattered with paint, on her eyes and face and lips, then that's her secret. Elena too distracted to notice her lingering gaze, hands twitching like she wants to reach for a paint brush, as her eyes stare into the distance, mind whirring with composition and colour.

She's an artist to the bone, got creation on her soul, and one day, Celia prays, Elena will have the time and money to put to canvas every painting she ever dreamed of making, even the ones she's daydreaming of now, when it's just half formed thoughts to distract herself while waiting.

Sovrano walked out- and they fell in behind him- cupping a lighter of all things. They walked in silence, meandering back towards their home streets, his face screwed up in concentration, having said nothing other than that he cannot let the lighter go out, and there are good things in store for them.

Almost home, they turned into a plaza, but Sovranos hands were getting lazy, and the wind whistling through an alleyway took them off guard, and as the flickering light died out, fear and panic rose on his face, as he looked around then scrambled to re-light it.

Celia shook her head at the strange ritual, turning away from checking in on him due to his sudden movements, when the smack of flesh on stone altered her to his fall-

Blood, again, bright red soaking flagstones instead of grass, but this time, there is no coming back for their leader.

Bullet? But the blood- like a stab, not gunshot. No weapon in sight, no perpetrator- sniper?

Cold, a prick at her back, just between her shoulder blades, then white hot pain, her brain screaming, and all she can think about is Elena. Elena who has a chance at a future, who has a chance to get her and her family off of these bloodsoaked streets, and before she knows it, her muscles move, instinct propelling her, knocking Elena to the ground, hand cradling the back of her neck to lessen the fall, arm clutching hers, too tight, but the pain, bright and unyielding, blinds her.

Her nose hits something soft, a cheek and her lips are about to- and if shes at the angle she thinks shes at- our mother in heaven let her be selfish just this once- and both their lips are dry and cracked- and let her have this, let this be her last moments, kissing the person she loves as she cradles her, lying on blood splattered flagstones, warm underneath them both from the hot sun.

Let her be selfish again, and open her eyes, let her memorise Elena's face, again, let it be what she sees-

The warmth under them both is wet and the hole through her extends to her love, and she feels her body slipping out from under her, panic overrides the pain as she sees the hole placed just between Elena's collar bones- and no she didn't- no- not her. Something in her throat building up, a scream, but all that comes out is blood, as flickering darkness descends, and her body gives out from under her, and for a split second she swears she can see herself, blood streaming down her back, both their lips stained, just like the stone below, wrapped in a pathetic embrace.

She wakes up like that, sprawled on the stone, blood turned brown and flaking at the touch. Something brushes against her shoulder blades, A freckled hand reaches towards her, and there's a split second where she hunches over Elena further, before she connects the hand to Tesoro, and relaxes, turning her face towards him, eyes blinking in the dim evening light.

Another hand, slimmer and presumably the source of the touch that woke her, cups her head, and Tesoro pushes on her shoulder, rolls her over onto her back, leaving Elena unprotected.

Cool fingers massage her temples, and coax her eyes into focusing on the blue ones staring into hers, above them, brows knitted in concentration. One hand reaches towards the cool skin on her chest, where the frayed and torn edges of the hole in her shirt brush against her skin, outlining the exposed flesh. A gasp she later realises is her own sounds out as fingertips brush against scar tissue, where only hours ago, there was a gaping wound.

Clumsy movements drag her arm towards Conficcares, pulling on it it like a petulant child, the pushing it towards Elena, trying to convey what her throat won't let her, to help Elena over her, help the one of them with a future, the one who shouldn't be lying wounded on these bloodsoaked streets. the one who has a chance to escape.

Tesoro breaks the silence, from where he is leaning over Elena, with confused murmuring to Conficcare, “It's the same, these scars are fresh, but-” he shakes his head in frustration- “they didn't have these when the went out-” his head turns to Conficcare, eyes weighing on him, silently asking the groups medic if these were past wounds, hidden from the rest of them.

He shakes his head solemnly in answer, “There should be no way for them to have healed in a few hours.”

Celia tries to open her mouth, but no words come out, the poor things getting stuck on the raw edges of her throat. She just gapes like an air-drowning fish, before squeezing her eyes shut at the effort.

Pity shines in green and blue eyes, and behind the shield of her eyelids, it weighs heavy on her chest. The silence weighs heavier, she can almost hear the exchange between the two, concern and questions flying over her head. She can almost hear Tesoro constructing the perfect comforting words, weaving them together, reassurances and certainty and love and-

-and Conficcare beats him to the bullet and breaks the silence.

“You really must be out of it, if you're aren't threatening comical acts of violence upon me for feeling up your chest,”

It sounds forced, even to her, and Tesoro sighs, ready to reprimand their ill-tongued friend, when finally her throat lets something out, and her eyes open in shock as giggles bubble out of her mouth.

Conficcare grins at her, and Tesoros head is in his hands as he gives into laughter too-

A voice next to her bites out, “Idiota” any malice blunted by the fondness that underlies every syllable.

And Celia turn her head towards her sun and grins too, wide and full of love, giggles turning to cackles, Tesoros shoulders shaking alongside his head, as he lowers his arms and reveals his own grin, and finally Elena cracks to, rolling her eyes as the twitch at the corner of her mouth turns into a smile, lovingly frustrated, but then her eyes glint maliciously and she opens her mouth again-

“Please, you kiss worse when you are trying to be romantic than Celia over here did when she was actively bleeding out.”

The smug look is wiped off Conficcares face as he processes what Elena just said, and Celia is certain what blood remains in her is all in her cheeks and she burns with embarrassment.

Conficcare finds his words quickly, turning his kicked dog eyes onto Tesoro and pleading “I'm a good kisser- aren't I, Tesoro?”

Tesoro joins her and Elena on the floor as he gasps for breath, Conficcare pouting at him, at them all, as if to protest against the mockery he was suffering.

Celia is warm now, laughter and love filling her back up, anchoring her again to this world, fondness for life soaking back into her bones. She loves these idiotas, every fucking one of them.

“Love you too, idiota, but watch who your calling stupid, my stubborn Muro”

Ignore that, Celia is crawling under the nearest rock and dying.

…She's still grinning though.

And not even the pressing weight of consequences, not the cooling corpse of someone she's known since she was eleven, nor the mysteries of how exactly they were hurt and healed can douse the warmth in her heart.

#thebirdwrites #gold & silver #ockiss24 #celia #maría elena #title from born to run #bc im predictable as fuck #the violence is just in one tiny section but its also the one with the kiss #shout out to Celia n Elena getting stands and its both the least and most important thing that happens #celia ilu but your habit of grounding yourself in the moment and past to avoid thinking about the bigger picture is both hysterical and #frustrating #oh young dumb and in love Celia<3 #she does not know what the fuck is going on or whats gonna go down bc of this #it feel the summary can be read as setting up a meeting w polpo but shes to small time to be present #its a complete fucking accident #<- cries

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foldingfittedsheets · 6 months ago

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Mattresses, unbeknownst to many, are a lot like cars. Every year new ones roll out, they’re always tweaking and innovating and you’ll never find the same one you loved decades ago when buying a new one.

Where I sold mattresses had a three month return or exchange program for this reason. New beds take a while to break in, and they’re a big expense. Your body is used to the old one. So we made sure people were loving it. If a bed got returned we’d take it back, sanitize and clean it, then sell it again on clearance.

To sell these we always had to disclose what clearance meant to customers, and they had to sign that they knew what they were getting. (FYI, not every company is as… forthright about the used bed situation)

In clearance we had beds that were floor models, we had returns, and more rarely we had old models whose line had been discontinued. These clearance beds were always final sale, so a bed could only be sold twice.

Now, the manager at the store I was working at had realized a vital fact. Clearance beds in the warehouse didn’t sell, especially old models that salespeople weren’t familiar with. And even more especially in odd sizes, like twin extra longs. So he set up a split king on the showroom floor to exhibit clearance beds, pulling all those forgotten twin extra longs out onto the showroom.

Almost all of these were brand new discontinued models. Beds I’d never learned in training were exhumed to be displayed. The manufacturers had moved on to new lines and they’d been left behind. Why would he take such in interest in selling old stock, you might wonder? Because we made double commission on the sales margin of clearance beds, and if we’d had a bed long enough they dropped the cost in the system so it was a fucking cash cow to sell these. Even with huge discounts the commissions were wonderful so it was a win win.

When I got started I was jazzed about this program, I was so on board to sell weird old brand new beds and make a ton of money. I had a wonderful older couple come in, looking for a split king adjustable set. This was a white whale sale.

The current clearance models on the floor were a latex mattress that was brand new despite being of an age to start first grade, and a tempurpedic floor model. The couple laid down and it was like magic. They each loved the bed they’d laid down on. They wanted to buy the whole shebang.

I. Was. Thrilled. I told them about the clearance program and what that meant, and they weren’t bothered in the least. I wrote up the sale then dashed into the back, fizzing with excitement to tell my manager what I’d done.

“You sold the death bed?!” He asked in delight.

I pulled up short, my smile freezing in place. “What…?”

“Didn’t you check the notes?”

I hesitated for a long beat then slowly shook my head. You see, dear reader, all beds had a personal history. Every clearance bed had logs written up by the person who took the return, as well as warehouse crew after sanitizing. It helped us know what to expect when selling them. “Wasn’t it just a floor model? You said it was a floor model…”

He slowly shook his head. I checked the notes.

It turned out, it had been sold as a floor model. The first time. But the company had made an exception and taken it back as a return two months later. Why? Because it’s owner had passed away.

I stared at the computer in horror and my manager shrugged. “They signed the clearance form. Technically it was a floor model.”

“We know for a fact that a man died in that bed!”

“What they don’t know can’t haunt them,” he said philosophically.

The man came back a week later for more sheets, utterly delighted to tell me how well they were sleeping. I clamped my teeth down around the secret of the deathbed, choosing to let them love their new bed without the stigma. Only one person would be haunted by that deathbed, and it was me.

#ramblies #ffs foibles #that sale was over ten thousand dollars #and I made a thousand dollars in that one sale #I cried about it later because I couldn’t even conceive of making that much money #story #writing #funny

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