#- & around the same time its hitting frank too! only a couple years after he wakes up!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Hi!! I barely found your blog, and I love it to bits! Your ramblings are literally so funny and entertaining! (Live, Laugh, Love LaughingStock btw-) and while I love all your au's, I'm most excited about Lights Out! Angst is so good, and I'm certainly a goober who can appreciate it! Though, hearing all this talk of Frank being the poor fella who dies (that we know of at least) do you have a thought process on why him?? Or is that something you're not ready to share yet? (Agh, sorry, this got long!!)

i do indeed! i don't believe in killing characters without a real reason or impact - that's just lazy writing!

simple answer: he's been awake the longest (after Wally of course.) i'm making the black Goop™️ a more uh... Tangible thing for this au where my thought process is essentially: "the black sludge stuff is what kinda 'powers' the neighborhood - it's like water. essential for survival, but too much will kill you." and he got Too Much of it! he doesn't have a natural resistance to it like Wally does

[kickingitwithkirk]

I’m Not Clean

Paring: Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Reader

Word Count: 1948

Warnings: A/B/O, angst, verbal fighting, cursing, cheating, oral sex, p/v sex

A/N: for @jawritter​​​​ #jensmakemecrychallange

A/N II: Set between mid season six-starts after Death puts Sam’s soul back-ending before the last Trial in season eight. Told from Sam’s POV alternating between present and past memories/ events. Some altering of events to fit story line. Prompt in Bold.

*no beta, all mistakes are mine.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~ 

I chant this mantra over and over to myself. 

I was drunk before leaving, roaring out of the garage in Baby, leaving the stench of burning rubber and exhaust in my wake.

We’ve had some hell raising fights over the years. This one tonight the vilest we have ever had, saying the most unforgiving things to each other because you broke our agreement.

What we said...our knowledge of each other’s weakest points to abuse, verbally cutting into each other in the deepest manner, inflicting as much carnage as possible. 

The only other person in the universe who knows how to hit me that hard is my brother. Man, how we’ve done that dance too, over and over yet somehow always finding our way back to each other.

My brother tried to intervene, to stop us from saying the things we can never take back or forgive. It felt as if he was taking your side, I went after him as well. 

I feel the need to punish myself for all the pain I have caused. I am always creating pain, torching those I love. 

I found her at the dive bar, a few days out from her heat.

She is my punishment.

We go to a nearby dump. I close the door and she's already on her knees, my jeans zippers down, pulling me out and starts licking up the underside of my cock, making gagging noises trying to deepthroat me. My head thunks against the door and all I can think is that she’s not you.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

I remember like it was yesterday. We ended up at Bobby’s after cleaning out a vamp nest two states over. 

Grabbing our duffels we didn’t rock, paper, scissors over who got the spare bed, my brother just face plants on the couch, unconscious before I’m even at the foot of the staircase.

I wearily make my way upstairs not bothering to shower in spite of how bad I smell, too exhausted to care. I toed off my boots and socks, throwing my blood encrusted shirt and jeans in the corner, collapsing face down on the bed, landing on top of something under the covers.

Why am I staring at the ceiling?

My brother barrel's in, woken by the sound of my body hitting the floor, stopping in the doorway with his gun drawn looking for what attacked me...this confused look crossed his face as the scent of fear flooded the room.

I sit up gazing over the bed as you huddle in the corner looking scared to death. My brother puts his gun back in his waistband, hands up with his on display to show he’s no threat. 

I slowly got to my feet and came around the bed towards you. You shrink even further in the corner, pulling into yourself as tight as you can, hiding behind your arms and drawn up knees.

I stop and sit down trying to not appear threatening and speak softly to you.

“I’m sorry I scared you, we’re friends of Bobby’s. He didn’t tell us you were here. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You're so still, all I can see is your beautiful eyes moving between us, the only movement you are able to do. 

My brother gives a small smile before going back downstairs to the couch, giving you space to calm down. I stay on the floor, my back propped against the bed talking. 

It’s a one sided conversation but that’s ok. 

Bobby’s back just after daybreak found us still in the same positions on the floor asleep. 

“Balls!” 

You spring from the corner and bury yourself in his arms. Seeing that Bobby has you I grab my stuff and head for a shower. My brothers just came out from taking his. I strip and climb in turning on the water. 

Fucker used all the hot water.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

I don’t want to be touching her now, or her touching me, my self loathing rising like the bile in my throat but my body has a mind of its own tonight as my brain turns off given into my Alpha.

I grab her hair, yanking her off my dick with an audible pop, saliva and precome running down her chin, adding another stain to the discolored rug. I pull her up, tossing her onto the bed before dragging her back to the edge, the barely there skirt rides up out of the way as I lave my tongue up her uncovered thighs, swirling it through her dripping folds. Roughly inserting several fingers into her tight cunt I start sucking on her clit as she grabs my hair soaking my face with her slick as she cums.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

The smell of coffee calls to my still fuzzy brain as I staggered downstairs to the kitchen. My brother and Bobby are at the table talking. As I pour a cup you walk in from the porch. 

I turn towards you, finally able to scent you without the terror that clouded the room last night. 

Are you a classic beauty? No, but you beguile me. 

I’m enamored with your beautiful eyes, recalling the way they never left mine last night. You’re taller than I expected, curvaceous, not delicate like others I have been with.

As you hold my gaze I remember the verbal platitudes, reading the drivel, even watched some of the bathetic romance movies but they could never fully articulate this feeling. It de-queues through me, permeates my soul.

My brother relentlessly teases that I am having a chick-flick moment.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

She wobbly moves onto her hands and knees, I climb on the bed behind her and ram my engorged cock into her sodden cunt as far as she can take me mindlessly pounding. I wrap my hand around her throat, squeezing enough to stop the incoherent noises escaping from her mouth that grate against me. 

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

We ended up staying at Bobby’s for a couple of weeks, it was quiet and I wasn’t in any hurry to leave you.

Bobby explained to us how you ended up here over a bottle of whiskey late one night.

Jo found you bruised and bleeding, huddled in the door jam out back of Harvelle's Roadhouse. You had been injured by your pack for defying them. Ellen of course took you in. 

The pack came looking for you, trailing your scent to the bar. Ellen’s shotgun and don’t fuck with me attitude convinced them you had left but she knew it wasn’t safe for you to stay, your pack would be watching. 

Smuggling you out of the bar proved harder than anyone thought. There were multiple hand offs among hunters traveling along the way, finally delivering you to Bobby Singer's home days later.

For the first time in your life, you were safe.

We took our time getting to know each other, I had to work harder than I ever have with anyone before to gain your trust.

After my brother and I caught a case, I would call you every day and matter the time, you answered. We would talk for hours, share what we had been doing that day, finding our mutual interests in a variety of subjects coming to light. 

My brother would yell for me to get off the damn phone, I was keeping him awake, even though I’m sitting outside the motel room.

Then things got out of control.

Castiel broke the wall and died. Leviathans were anyone and everywhere, finally imitating us.

We became America’s Most Wanted. Bobby sent us to a man named Frank who owned him a big favor and made us disappear. 

We found Bobby’s burned down house and almost got killed ourselves.

Then Bobby showed up at the hospital to break us out, informing me you were safe, hidden at a long forgotten hunters cabin.

We managed to stay in contact, I needed that, to know you were staying safe before being able to sleep at night.

The first fight happened in the hospital, blaming us for losing Bobby. 

Then Dick and Purgatory.

And a lost year.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

I pulled out of her relieved my knot had finally deflated enough to release me. Collapsing onto my back I fling my arm over my eyes disgusted with myself as she’s curling into my side literally purring.

I’ve repeatedly used her...in this bed of sin I created...I’ve lost control...not the first time.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

It’s never quiet for long in our lives. Castiel mysteriously returns and Kevin Tran sort of deciphers the demon tablet, how through three trials we can close the Gates of Hell and seal away so much evil if we survive the First Trial- kill a Hell hound. 

While on another case we met our grandfather Henry Winchester of The Men of Letters and inherit the key to the Bunker. We have a home of sorts and I finally have a safe place for you, for us to be together. A few months after moving in, before the Second Trial-rescuing a innocent from Hell, and your heat, I made a decision that saddened both of us but with our lives was necessary and allowed me finally to make you mine forever.

Right before finding out about the Third Trial I found the test hidden in a drawer and my diminishing mind bounces between being petrified and elated. I sat there downing a bottle of whiskey from my brother's copious stash waiting for your return and upon seeing you all the alcohol in my degenerating body gave me permission to release my pent up fury and paranoia, ending in that cheap room with her.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

I made my way back to the Bunker to find my brother sitting in the War Room waiting on me. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of her all over me but said nothing as I handed over the car keys pocketing them. His eyes shifted to a chair and I apprehensively sat down awaiting the bombardment he would unleash. He remains quiet as he turns the open laptop towards me. I blink a few times to focus on the screen, reading the online article from a national news agency about the contraceptive failure. I’m in disbelief when he slides your phone in front of me and plays the voicemail from your doctor.

I get up swaying from a nonexistent breeze slowly walking the halls till I’m standing outside our bedroom door. I can scent your sadness from outside the closed door causing me to freeze holding the knob, unable to summon up the courage to turn it when it disappears from my hand finding you instead. You move allowing me to enter, shutting the door as I sit on the edge of the bed before crossing over, moving to stand directly in front of me. I don’t know how you can do that with the smell of every wrong I’ve done clinging to my skin polluting us. 

I feel your hands cradling my face softly telling me Grown men don't cry as your fingers track the tears coursing uninhibitedly down my cheeks.

I completely collapse wrapping my arms around your waist resting my forehead against the special place where our pup is, undeserving of your love that’s purifying me in ways the trials never will.

tagging: SPN @donnaintx​​​​

Sam/Jared @idreamofplaid​​​​

[ssa-sugar-tits]

Ten Years (ch. 3)

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 4

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Content warnings: hospital, cursing, angst

a/n: i feel like this chapter's a little long, sorry!

Despite the multiple half-assed orders from Hotch and Rossi, the sincere begging from JJ and Penelope, and the concerned pushes from Emily and Derek, you refuse to leave the hospital until Spencer wakes up. You can't bring yourself to eat or sleep or even stop to breathe knowing something's so terribly wrong with him. For fuck's sake, all he did was hit his head. There is no plausible reason you can think of that he wouldn't have woken up yet. Drenched in your own exhausted tears and practically shaking with worry, there's a harrowing pit in your stomach. You've been waiting 42 hours and counting with no sign of improvement. He has a mild concussion and will need a few stitches where he bled but he "should be fine." They told you over and over again. And Hotch was forced to step in when you had enough of the empty bullshit in the atmosphere.

"If he's fine, why the hell hasn't he woken up? A mild concussion doesn't fucking do this to someone!" It's simple. The doctors don't know. They don't know how to help your husband. All they can do is spew false reassuring lies at you while they do absolutely nothing. More lengthy hours pass and an MRI is ordered. The same unsurprising thing: nothing's wrong with him. But what are they going to do? Send him away unconscious? No, they're just going to stand around pretending they know what they're fucking doing. You jump at the feeling of a cold hand tapping on your shoulder.

"Hey, it's just me." You look up to see Derek with a dreadfully morbid look on his face, one with tones of anger. "Mind if I sit with you?" Nowhere near able to speak, you try to give him an inviting smile but all you do is lift the corner of your quivering lips slightly. He gets the hint, which he probably would have missed had he not known you so well, and sits down beside you. Staring over at your husband, you hear Derek's head thump against the wall. The feelings you both have are of utter uselessness. Sure, there have been worse situations but... there's nothing either of you can do at all. There's no reasoning here. Well, to your knowledge. Spencer is the only one that knows what's going on. And it's ripping him apart. To not know what happened to his beloved mentor or remember any of the precious moments he's had with Y/N. He hasn't been able to watch the team he remains loyal to change and grow. He just woke up one day and was hurled into this shitty situation. He laughs out of despair at his own shortcomings and lack of comprehending what's been done to him. Y/N and Derek's heads both snap up at the unexpected sound, hopeful and desperate for a sign that Spencer's back. No such luck at first but Derek goes to get the nurse while you navigate your way to your husband's side.

"Love, it's me. I don't know if you can hear me. But whatever this is, whatever's stressed you out so much that you're... literally blocking out the entire fucking world... it'll be okay. I love you Spencer and I promise I always will. Please be okay for me." A disappointed sigh leaves you. Honestly, what did you expect? For him to wake up because you said you love him? This isn't a fucking fairytale Y/N. Derek returns with a nurse who confirms it must have been an unconscious movement so no hope there. Propping your head up with your arm, you try to get some rest for the first time since you arrived. After two more sickening hours pass, you're shaken awake by a nurse.

"Yeah?" you yawn before remembering where you are. Blinking rapidly, you open your eyes fully and look up at the nurse.

"Miss, your husband is awake." He directs a smile at you before exiting the room, leaving you to rush over to Spencer who's already sitting up and muttering to himself.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Tears threaten to fill your eyes when you place a hand on his shoulder and he turns away from your touch.

"I'm fine, th-thank you. Excuse me, doctor?" He waves over the doctor and asks her, "Can I leave now?" She looks a bit startled as if she didn't expect him to want to leave.

"Mr. Reid--"

"Doctor," you correct.

"Ahem, Doctor Reid, our tests have come back fine and healthy but to be frank... We aren't entirely sure why you were unconscious for so long. If you'd like to stay and rest, we'd welcome-- no we strongly suggest that's what you do." You open your mouth to say something but Spencer answers her.

"If I can go then I'd like to now, thanks." It's difficult to process when he's discharged and barely even greets his team that was worried sick. Asking you silently with their sweet glances if he's okay, you can't respond. All you manage to do is bite your lip and shrug before driving him home. Spencer doesn't say a word and the silence is deafening. Incomprehensible even because since when is he this fucking quiet?

"Spence?" You say, not taking your eyes off the road. "Don't you think we should talk about it?"

"Talk about what?"

"What do you fucking think? So much for genius." An exasperated sigh escapes you before you realize you're being harsh. "I'm sorry I don't mean to snap at you. I was just..."

"Stressed?" He offers, sounding awfully sad.

"Yeah. Stressed," you sigh once more. Your worry slips away for a moment and he presses a kiss to your cheek. His lips brush against your face and you swear he lingers as if wanting to say something but he goes back to staring out the window. Once in the apartment, you expect him to want to rest or at least, spend time with his wife who's been going fucking insane the past couple of days but he locks himself in his office. Giving up, you walk to the bedroom and leave him be.

Spencer speedily walks around the room collecting books, paper, a pen, and even a laptop. It's time to figure out what's going on. First, he reads about the BAU. He learns a lot about Emily Prentiss and how Elle and Gideon left the bureau. Another piece of information he finds is that David Rossi has been apart of the team for 8 years. Hotch's wife is dead and Jack-- the baby he met once briefly is now 10 years old, living alone with Hotch. Going through photo albums and keepsakes he discovers, he finds that his relationships really have grown over the years and so have yours. Who would've thought that the emotionless, serious Aaron Hotcher would walk his wife down the aisle? Agent Prentiss, he saw, was your maid of honor and Morgan was his best man. A small child held JJ's hand and with context, he came to the conclusion that she had a child now. And his eyes land on you. He traces a hand over the photo, cherishing a memory he doesn't have. You look perfect in that wedding dress. The viel falls on your head gracefully. Your smile radiates off the page and he can't help not feeling a sense of loss. You two are happy together and he doesn't remember a second of it. Ironic, isn't it? He thinks. Moving on to the why this is happening, he reads heaps of material for hours straight, faster than someone else would be able to, but still feels like he's getting nowhere. All he has to go off of is the date and theories he's found on forums and in old books. Suddenly its too much and he throws a book across the room, wincing at the sharp thud when it hits the wall. Spencer buries his frustrated face in his hands and lets out a long, deep breath. Y/N. Guilt washes over him as he realizes, this isn't any easier for you. You've spent the past 10 years forming a relationship with your Spencer and you woke up to a distant stranger. If he's going to figure this out, he needs to adjust. Adjust to being with you, the team, this new life of his. Just until he figures things out, right? Settling on going to lay with you-- his wife, he reminds himself-- he hears what sounds like muffled sobs. He opens the bathroom door cautiously and his heart drops to his feet at the sight in front of him. You're sitting in the bathtub, half-dressed crying quietly into your knees and running your hands through your hair. Spencer kneels down beside you and wraps him arms around you tightly. You gasp softly and almost pull away but accept the embrace.

"I'm so sorry," he says sincerely against your hair. Your words come out strung together and your tongue twists while you try to explain how you've been feeling this week.

"N-No I just... I'm just worried about you Spence I'm s-so," you bite down on your quivering lip harshly to avoid choking on a sob and continue. "Everything's different a-and it's like it changed overnight. I don't know what the hell I did to fuck things up. Whatever I did, I'm so sorry." You bury your head deeper into your knees, smearing mascara into streamed lines down your cheeks. The guilt he feels smashes his heart into pieces and throws it to his feet. He said he has to adjust, didn't he? He'll start with you. Spencer already loved you, the only different thing now is that you love him too. His voice softens and he whispers into your ear, stroking your hair and intertwining his fingers with locks of it.

"You've done nothing wrong sweetheart," he assures you, surprising himself with a nickname. "I'll call Hotch and we'll take tomorrow off, just the two of us. We'll go on a date like we used to a-and we can do whatever you'd like. Anything, Y/N just let me take care of you. The way you deserve."

When he's finished, your eyes meet his and you hesitate before nodding. No words leave your mouth but it's as if you don't need them to speak. He helps you up and you make your way to the bed you share.

Falling asleep quickly, you melt into dreams of spending time together and starting to get back to normal. Spencer, on the other hand, is overcome with an intimidating shit load of anxiety. This isn't, in a million years, how he thought his first fucking date with Y/N Y/L/N would be. Then again, this type of... situation never even crossed his wildest dreams. Make the best of it, right? Yeah that's it. He'll do his best.

For you.

[malikmata]

Notes from a Brown Boy - Kansas Diaries

*Author’s Note: Some people’s names have been changed to protect their identities

The rain was the first thing to greet me when I landed in Wichita. Overhead the gray clouds loomed, shadowing the farmland that yawned in the distance. Distance. At first glance, the city seemed like one long stretch of prairies and cracked parking lots, occasionally punctuated by billboards of grinning injury lawyers and lit up restaurant road signs.

If you spend enough time here amid the crumbling old buildings, watching the weeds sway in the vacant lots, you’ll feel the slow, inevitable creep of dread or something like it.

It’s easy to feel lonely here.

But, if you’re receptive enough, you’ll run into many friendly folks. Sometimes too friendly.

For example: During my first week, I went to Freddy’s, a local fast food chain, and ordered a crispy chicken sandwich with fries. The cashier, a young woman with glasses and short blonde hair, suddenly started confessing her fear that her 8-year old chihuahua wouldn’t live a long life.

“I still think of him as a teenager,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “He’s a chihuahua. They live long lives.”

Out here, in the most middle-of-the-road cities, you sometimes get a chance to show an act of passing kindness. While waiting in line at one of the hip, new cafes downtown, a place called Milkfloat, a tall elderly gentleman recommended which coffee and pastry to get.

“My wife says this place has the best cold brew in town.” Afterwards, grabbing his pastry and coffee, he wished me a good day. Most folks here always do and you better hope it comes true. Because here, like elsewhere, a day is filled with ordinary heartbreaks.

I will simply call her “Tita.” She works as a tailor at a department store, the only tailor working there, hemming and tapering racks full of suit pants under fluorescent lights. The nature of the job requires exact measurements and a keen eye for detail. She works hard, often skips lunch, and comes home dead tired. Her husband is recovering from 4 broken ribs after a car repair job went awry. Nothing can be done but wait until he gets better.

They live in a languid suburb on Wichita’s east side, a street with few sidewalks but plenty of lawn.

And noise. Plenty of noise. The neighborhood sits next to a car dealership. The skies overhead rumble continuously with airplanes and thunderstorms. Dogs bark at anyone who gets too close. A pickup truck blasts a corny country song as the cicadas and frogs belt out their lonely mating calls. Occasionally, a child’s laughter rises above it all.

Gossip is one of the great pastimes in towns like these. Even if you shut yourself up in your home, stories trickle in.

The neighbor across the street shot himself in the head.

The elderly couple that used to live next door got committed to a nursing home.

A fellow around the corner is on his third attempt to grow weed.

A college student starves himself morning to night so that he can save money for college.

Down the street, a kid lifts weights and punches the heavy bag hanging on his front porch.

Here, dumb luck seems, more so than in the big cities, the providence of God.

A man told me he got a job installing new carpets at a friend’s house. He was in desperate need of money, having sent most of it to his mother back home, who proceeded to gamble it away. When he ripped out the old carpet, he found a bundle of $10,000 dollars just lying there. His co-worker said, “We should split it.”

“No, no, we can’t take it.” the man said. He gave the money to his friend.

Sometime later, he went to the casino and couldn’t stop winning jackpot after jackpot. He brought home close to $16,000 in one night.

“So, if you do something good,” he told me, “God will remember that.”

Many people have come to live and die here, all of them wrapped up in the melancholic churning of faded ambitions and familial obligations.

Some people here have found something that returns them to the placidity they once felt in their youth. Sometimes that’s enough to keep them going.

For example:

I met Phil Uhlik, the namesake of the music store on E Douglas. He heard me playing an old Martin acoustic in one of the rooms. He shuffled in slightly hunched over, wearing a blue paisley shirt and brown shorts. He looked at the sunburst guitar in my hands and said, “It’s got a little beauty mark there.” He pointed to a small nick just above the sound hole. “All girls have beauty marks.” He pointed to his cheeks and smiled.

Uhlik started this music store 51 years ago and enjoys every moment of it.

“When you go to work for Boeing, that’s work,” he said. “But this, it doesn’t feel like work.” He motioned to the instruments all around him.

“How’d you get started?” I asked.

“I started off playing one of these,” he said, taking one of the accordions off a nearby shelf. As he strapped it on, all the years seemed to disappear. With a big crooked-teeth grin, he breathed life into the old accordion, his hands dancing up and down the keys. The smile never left his face as we bid farewell to each other.

I wish everyone in this world were as lucky as Phil.

I’m always seeking indie bookstores when I travel. Eighth Day Books provides much needed shelter from the summer heat. The shop was built 33 years ago and used to be located about half a mile east, in Clifton Square Village. About 17 years ago they moved to their current location, a 1920 Dutch-style colonial house on the corner of E Douglas and N Erie. Its blue trimmed windows peek through the foliage of neighboring trees.

When you walk in, you’ll see shelves of books on Christianity and Theological studies, most notably in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. I’ve never seen a bookshop with a section dedicated to Iconography.

Wichita, despite its size, feels like a small place. And with that cramped spaciousness, you’re likely to run into someone you may remember or who may remember you. Here I ran into my girlfriend’s 8th grade English teacher. A bald, bespectacled man with a gentle demeanor. After a bit of catching up, he said to us with a smile, “I hope all your dreams come true.”

The short story writer, Raymond Carver, once wrote: “Dreams… are what you wake up from.”

Wichita is a land that hypnotizes you; it makes you dream, dream of something beyond the miles of strip malls and airplane factories, beyond the shocks of wheat and windswept plains, beyond the doldrums and ennui. But it also shakes you awake, reminds you that you’re in it, that you better stop dreaming.

I’m not the religious sort anymore, having survived the regime laid down by my Catholic parents. But there is something enthralling, maybe even inspirational, when I look at the rows of beautifully painted portraits of saints and martyrs. Such solemn faces surrounded by golden halos. According to the Eastern Orthodox tradition, such paintings transcend art; they’re supposed to be windows through which you can glimpse the divine. They remind me of my grandparents with their judging eyes and moral seriousness.

My book haul for the day:

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata

The Diary of Anne Frank

Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries by Marina Tsvetaeva

Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector

In that last book, I found this lovely little passage:

…”in the Revolution, as always, the weight of everyday life falls on women: previously--in sheaves, now in sacks. Everyday life is a sack with holes. And you carry it anyway.”

From Earthly Signs, P. 40

According to the 2019 United States census bureau, 15.9% of Wichita's population lives below the poverty line. That’s higher than the state average, which hovers around 11.4%. That’s not the lowest nor is it the highest in the country. As befitting its location, Kansas is right in the middle.

The minimum wage in Kansas is still $7.25 despite efforts to increase it to $15. When Covid-19 hit, city and service workers bore the brunt of the impact. You can keep all your empty slogans like  “We Love Our Frontline Workers.” Congratulate me all you want for my hard work but where’s my pay?

When you see that business here has returned to normal--people freely walking around without masks, no longer socially distancing--it still feels all too strange; we spent an entire year under lockdown. There’s still a pandemic by the way.

Loved ones fell ill, died alone, hooked up to ventilators in closed off hospital rooms. I believe every interaction now carries the weight of all those deaths. My family, like so many others, didn’t escape unscathed from the pandemic. My grandpa, Amang, caught Covid. Since he was an elderly citizen (and suffering from emphysema to boot), he was among those considered most at risk. We all feared the worst. Somehow he survived. The doctors called him a “trailblazer.”

Now, with businesses back to 100% capacity, I’m afraid that, just like the 1918 Flu epidemic, the past will fade like a nightmare upon waking. But it was so much more than that; it was an avoidable tragedy.

If you want to know what this pandemic has done to people and their livelihoods, is still doing to them, take a ride through downtown.

Things were already going bad before Covid hit. Back in 2004, the writer Thomas Frank wrote,

“There were so many closed shops in Wichita… that you could drive for blocks without ever leaving their empty parking lots, running parallel to the city streets past the shut-down sporting goods stores and toy stores and farm implement stores.”

What’s the Matter with Kansas: How Conservatives Won the Heart of America, P. 75

What led to all this blight? Frank attributes the decline to:

“the conservatives’ beloved free market capitalism, a system that, at its most unrestrained, has little use for smalltown merchants or the agricultural system that supported the small towns in the first place.”

-P. 79

The same story happens in a lot of places. A megacorporation keeps eating everything around it and leaves nothing else at the table.

The people are left hurting, a pit in their stomachs, and some asshole somewhere profits off of it.

While at the DMV, I overheard this:

“You have a good day now,” the security guard said.

“I’ll try my best,” a woman said.

My girlfriend heard them too and laughed.

“You really do have to try your best in order to have a good day here.”

At some point, we hit the town with a couple friends: Monica, and her boyfriend Will. Both are musicians trying to carve out their niche in a place that, on the surface, seems apathetic to creative pursuits.

It’s impossible to not be captured by their energy. As soon as we walk into their house, Monica, with her dark blonde hair draped over her shoulders, reached in for a hug. Will, a tall and bearded fellow with a bear-like presence, also went in for the hug.

“Ready to experience some Wichita nightlife?” Monica asked.

What is the nightlife here like? A group of high school punks wanted to fight us over a couple movie theater seats. Bored kids play rounds of “Chinese Fire Drill” at stop lights. I heard a nazi biker gang rolled into town at some point during my stay. Regular things like that.

At a low-key bar downtown called Luckys, I met a guy named Cory. He told me how he met a 15 year old kid loitering here, looking lost and forlorn.

“I don’t know what kind of advice I can give you but I’ll do the best I can,” Cory said.

This is the spirit I’ve often come across during my stay: A sort of slightly intrusive compassion. For a cynical Californian like me, the behavior seems a little strange, maybe even a little annoying. But I’ve come to appreciate the candor of it.

“Guaranteed we’ll know half the people here,” Will said.

Right away, he shook hands with the bartender—a high school friend of his—and asked him how his band was doing. Afterwards, we sat down and talked. Talking, after a year of pandemic lockdown, has become a lost art to me. But a little alcohol loosened the lips and suddenly I talked as though I’d known these people my whole life.

Will sipped his whisky on the rocks and told me:

“If everything in this world is meant to break down eventually, then any act of creation becomes an act of defiance.”

It may sound naive but to me, it’s true. I think about the words of the writer, John Berger:

Compassion defies the laws of necessity. To forget yourself and identify with a stranger has a power that defies the supposed natural order of things.

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 179

Making art has to be, in some way, a compassion act, because it involves letting the environment and the people you meet speak for themselves, allowing a collaboration.

“When a painting is lifeless it is the result of the painter not having the nerve to get close enough for a collaboration to start… Every authentic painting demonstrates a collaboration.”

--The Shape of a Pocket, P. 16

You need to open yourself up, feel what someone is saying behind their words, and hopefully, feel what they feel.

Art, like Compassion, is defiant.

Among the 4 or so Asian markets here, you can find all the ingredients you need to cook up something good. During my first week, I stopped at a place called Grace Market. Like a lot of small Asian markets, it’s family run. A father from Taiwan. A mother from Korea. The son usually helps out when he can. Today (June 23), On this warm Wednesday morning, the son is manning the cash register.

“You’re from California? I’m from there too,” he said.

“Where at?” I asked.

“Sacramento. How about you? So Cal?”

“Nah, Bay Area.”

“Funny. That’s where my parents met.”

“Small world.”

On a different day, we met the father, a jovial man who never fails to say hi when you walk in. He came here over a couple decades ago from California, doing work for the US Army in Garden City. Once his service was over, he decided to stay in Kansas.

“I think you know why,” he said.

More and more young folks these days are leaving California. The high cost of living is presumably what’s driving this exodus. I told him I was also thinking of leaving the Golden State, as much as I love the place.

“Well, a town like this has a lot of potential if you want to save money,” he said. “If I tried to start this business in California, I don’t think I could’ve done it.”

The summer heat can, with the suddenness of a lightning flash, give way to thunderous storms. Speaking as someone from California, whose home has gone through excruciating periods of drought and wildfire, these nightly downpours are a startling yet relaxing sight.

The distant boom of thunder in the distance reminds you of how much of our lives depend on the weather, how small we are in comparison, how we are never separate from the goings-on of nature. The rain doesn’t come down lightly here. At night, it smacks and drums against the window pane with all the force of an animal trying to get inside.

But I don’t find myself frightened by it so much as awed by the combined power of wind and rain colliding against our rickety old house.

Kansas lies in the Great Plains, where layers of cool and warm air often combine into a low-level jet stream. Unimpeded by any natural obstacles on the wide flat plains, the wind roars across the expanse. Thunder growls over the prairie. And lightning flashes on the horizon in a fearsome red tinge.

The storm rages throughout the night, the only source of light in an ocean-sized plain.

“In general, the gods of the Wichita are spoken of as "dreams," and they are divided into four groups: Dreams-that-are-Above (Itskasanakatadiwaha), or, as the Skidi would say, the heavenly gods; and (2) Dreams-down-Here (Howwitsnetskasade), which, according to the Skidi terminology, are the earthly gods. The latter "dreams" in turn are divided into two groups: Dreams-living-in-Water (Itska-sanidwaha), and the Dreams-closest-to-Man (Tedetskasade)”

From The Mythology of the Wichita, P. 33

If you go downtown, you’ll see a sculpture called “The Keeper of the Plains.”

It’s almost 9 o’ clock when I get there, so large crowds have gathered to watch the ring of fire lit around its perimeter.

The statue was designed by indigenous artist and craftsman, Blackbear Bosin. Born in Cyril, Oklahoma, but living much of his adult life in Wichita, Kansas, Bosin was of Comanche and Kiowa descent and almost entirely self-taught as an artist.

When you come upon the Keeper of the Plains, standing tall on the fork of the Arkansas and Little Arkansas Rivers, you can’t help but feel a mix of admiration and sadness. It’s a striking statue, especially when set against the beautiful orange and lavender hues of the setting sun. But monuments like these end up reminding you of the Wichita peoples who were killed, displaced, driven from their land, and left to die in reservations, forgotten. The tribes that once lived here along the southern plains still show traces of their culture but now, you’ll see it mostly as a memory in a museum or as art hanging on the walls of a library.

I learned from a video by the Wichita Eagle that the last speaker of the Wichita language, Doris Jean Lamar, died back in 2016. It must be indescribably lonely to be the last speaker of a language. There is no one to have a conversation with, no one to whom you can confess your hopes or your regrets. But in the video, Lamar, even knowing that she is the last speaker, expresses hope that future generations will know what the language sounded like.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ScPkN_xGRI

Is forgiveness even possible when injustices are still committed today against native peoples everywhere?

Not enough can be said about the skies here, which seem at times so brilliantly marbled with peach and lavender colors that you begin to walk with your head perpetually craned upwards.

It’s this aspect, the overwhelming sense of the sublime, that will probably stay with me long after I’ve left Kansas.

I think again about the nature of dreams. It isn’t such a sin to dream about things, about things that haven’t happened yet, and about things that have happened. To quit dreaming seems too cynical, like admitting from the outset that everything is screwed, that you should stop trying.

During my stay here, I’ve met many people who aren’t so irony poisoned yet, people who are achingly sincere and kind. They haven’t stopped trying. There isn’t much room for cynicism here. I appreciate that a lot.

Farewell to you, Kansas, you and your clumps of cumulus and vast fields of cows and grass. I’ll see you again.

Check out Will’s music! It’s gloomy, melancholy, and LOUD!: https://teamtremolo.bandcamp.com/album/intruder

[vulturhythm]

until the blue ocean turns green - part two

part one

- - - - -

It's been years since Geralt left the merman alone by the shore.

Two, three?

He doesn't know.

Nearly six months since he left Yennefer behind.

She was too much, too soon... too intense.

They were doomed from the start.

Maybe... maybe, he admits, late at night when it's just him alone in his head, he should have stayed by the sea.

Maybe he should have stayed with Jaskier.

--

He travels.

He goes north.

He goes north, and he goes east, and he goes west.

Anywhere but south to the seas.

--

He takes contract after contract, kills creatures for peasants and nobility alike... never lays a hand upon a human, not again.

Every drop of blood he spills, he remembers the glistening silver of Jaskier's. He remembers how it laid upon the surface like liquid moonlight, how it soaked into the bandages and turned them a murky platinum...

Every time he meets the gaze of a monster, he thanks the gods that it isn't Jaskier's, that his merman isn't at the point of his sword.

Every time he makes camp near the river, he watches the water flow, and he wishes it were deep and rolling, capped with foam.

--

Five years pass, and then ten.

Time is kind to his type, his only claim to age an addition smattering of scars across his body, torn into his flesh by blades or teeth or claws.

There is one blessing time continues to withhold, however...

He has not yet managed to forget.

--

He sleeps with countless women, and yet, never with a man.

He tries, once - lets a young, pretty-eyed thing woo him with his words, gets as far as setting his teeth to the side of his throat, hands beneath his shirt and thigh between his legs...

... and the image of deep blue eyes and deeper scales flashes through his head, and bright, bright silver blood.

He draws away, steps back... leaves the man behind the tavern, mounts up on Roach, leaves the town he's only barely gotten to know and leaves it all behind.

That night, he doesn't sleep.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Jaskier floating in the sea.

--

It's when he sees the scales of sea things at a market that fear clogs his throat.

Harpy scales, selkie scales, merfolk scales... blacks and grays and greens and golds, and blues - bright blues, dark blues, ocean blues, sky blues...

He confronts the man running the stall, demands to know where - and why.

"They're quite coveted for jewelry nowadays," is the simple response, and there's fear in the man's eyes when Geralt looms closer. "I'm not the, ah, the collector, I don't hunt the things - I just sell them and split the profit - "

"Split it with who?" he growls, and he knows, almost before the answer comes...

"Why, the witcher, of course."

--

Months pass.

Slowly, he wanders south, along mountain trails and through little villages he hasn't seen in years, along the outskirts of kingdoms and through valleys and forests...

He sees the scales in nearly every market, and in the richer regions, he sees them around the necks of women, at the fastenings of men.

As time goes on, he realizes it's not just scales - there's teeth and claws, too, and feathers, and as Geralt rides on through or walks on by, he realizes the witcher is killing not for contracts, but for sport.

It sickens him to imagine.

Worse, however, is the nagging voice at the back of his head, the one that urges him to try and remember the exact shade of...

No.

--

Geralt loses track of time again, as he often does now. With more than a century of his life beneath his belt, the years feel more like months sometimes.

Cycles, as Jaskier would have said.

He's begun to think like that with increasing frequency, evaluating things from the merman's eyes... he wonders what Jaskier knew of the human realm before he met the witcher.

Wonders if he's found another human to tell him of tavern songs.

--

The air grows salty as he draws further south.

It feels... it feels like returning to a home he never truly had.

To a love he never allowed.

--

He awakens from a dream one night, a nightmare... awakens from the vision of Jaskier, split and flayed open on the shore, his beautiful, beautiful tail sawed off and skinned bare, his scales shorn off and cleaned and sent to be draped about the neck of a queen.

He's barely been asleep for an hour, yet if it weren't for Roach's weariness, he would have taken to the road again immediately.

--

Things begin to look familiar, though changed with the passage of time.

He remembers this tree, that stone... remembers when that husk of a farmhouse was once active and lively, remembers when this town was small, little more than houses.

He stops at the new tavern, buys himself some ale.

It's here that he learns the witcher has all but set up camp along the shore, where the rivers feed into the sea.

Geralt's stomach churns at the thought.

He pushes Roach hard the next day, urges her on, on, on...

--

It's nightfall when he reaches the edge of the sea.

The water is dark and calm, but there's clouds upon the horizon, clouds that roil with lightning and threaten to mask the crescent moon overhead.

Geralt leaves Roach tied to the fallen tree. It's splintered with age, no longer sturdy enough to support his weight. She shies from the wood, and it's no wonder - it's splashed with platinum blood, dried into the bark.

The air reeks of death. Coppery blood blends with salt and fish and sand, and Geralt snarls beneath his breath as he paces along the water's edge.

He comes to the tide pool before long.

Much the same as always, full of life, of clear and gentle water that sloshes when the tide eases in. Standing at its edge, Geralt remembers the deer hide he'd spread across the stones, the cloths he'd draped upon Jaskier's back.

His gaze wanders back to the sea.

As clear as ever, he can see Jaskier floating just past the shallows, testing the strength of his newly-healed tail, calling the songs of the sea to Geralt and laughing aloud at his bewildered stare.

The faintest of smiles tugs at Geralt's lips, but it's dashed away an instant later by the memory of that silver cloud of blood, drifting upon the surface, calling his attention to the body out in the water that night long ago.

He thanks the gods above that he wasn't greeted by the same tableau tonight.

That doesn't mean he won't encounter it soon.

Geralt heaves a quiet sigh, turns to look back at Roach, who's watching him with those soft, wise eyes. "Hopeless?" he half-asks, his voice low.

She whickers in response, and he turns his gaze back to the water.

--

Two weeks pass.

He comes across no other signs of the witcher, but, as he learned long ago, invisible demons are no less a threat than those that you can see, hear, feel.

Then again, he supposes he can see, sense, touch the evidence of the other witcher... he sees the blood splashed across the driftwood and stones. He hears the way the shore is all but silent except for the lapping of the waves, even the gulls overhead scarce. He feels the way every living thing seems to have drawn back in fear.

He hates it in a way that he cannot describe.

He's seen horrific things - battlefields sprayed with blood and brains, homes torn apart by violence, corpses left hanging half-eaten from trees or mountain ledges, bits of rotting flesh on the teeth of the creatures he's meant to kill - and yet, not in his century-odd of living has he ever encountered such a dreadful aura, such an air of gloom.

Distantly, he knows that it's because of the fear roiling deep within his chest, a constant ache that refuses to ease away. He sets up camp less than a half-mile from the sea, where the wind will waft the scent of blood in his direction, should anything... go awry.

For a while, nothing happens.

The days pass without event, and the nights, much the same.

--

It's about three days later that he begins to notice the gulls are returning.

At first, it's just a couple, cruising along overhead, their calls rare and quiet, as though they know better than to speak too loudly.

Later in the afternoon, as Geralt paces along the shoreline where he'd met Jaskier all those years ago, he notices more of them, perched upon a rock that crests above the sea a short distance out. The sight is oddly familiar, enough to jog Geralt's memory. He goes still, frowning toward the stone.

He doesn't think he's imagining the way the gulls are staring at him, tilting their heads, cawing between themselves.

It's unusual, to be frank, but...

... nothing comes of it that day.

--

The next day, there are more. A lot more.

One awakens him in the late evening by lighting upon a branch near his camp and squawking loud enough to wake the goddamn dead.

Geralt jerks upright with haste, staring at the bird in the sort of confusion he usually reserves for sorceresses and their type.

Realization strikes him a moment later, and he scrambles to his feet. Roach is already snorting her protest before he even approaches her. She seems far, far less than impressed to be saddled up and nudged into a trot all thanks to the appearance of a single gull, but Geralt pays her disgruntled sounds no mind, for a memory has risen to the surface...

... the memory of his merman, rambling on and on about the stories the gulls told him.

As soon as it sees Geralt is in motion, the gull springs into flight, rising up through the trees into the open air above. Geralt catches enough of a glimpse to track it westward; he's quick to spur Roach along, heart caught in his throat.

It's easier to follow the gull once they're beyond the trees, once it leads them out to the shoreline. It's now that the gull is joined by two - three - more, all circling impatiently then flying on ahead while Roach finds steady footing in the sand.

Geralt imagines they've gone nearly a mile before, suddenly, the wind shifts, and he's hit with -

with -

with the stench of blood, hot and wet and not... not red, no, silver, unicorn silver, a cloyingly sweet scent that bites the roof of Geralt's mouth when it settles there, horrific in its familiarity.

No longer minding the gulls above, he kicks his mare into a canter, praying to the whole damn pantheon that he isn't too late.

--

The moon is high overhead when he finally catches sight of the bleeding thing.

There's a fishing net halfway submerged in the shallows, one end tangled and tethered amongst the mess of rocks and logs on the sand. It's clear that the net was hauled ashore once it was full... hauled ashore so its contents would dehydrate and rot away in the heat of the day.

As Geralt draws near, he slows Roach to a walk, and then to a halt, his heart rising and catching in his throat.

Through the strands of the net, he can see pale skin and deep, deep blue scales.

He's out of the saddle and in motion almost before he realizes it, calling Jaskier's name, and the creature tangled in the net - they stir, they thrash, they try to pull away -

Geralt drops to his knees beside the mess of rope and blood and flaked-off scales, fumbling to pull his dagger from its home at his belt. "Jaskier," he says, and then, louder, when dazed blue eyes meet his own, "it's me, I'm here, you're - don't try to move, I don't want you hurt - "

"You came," croaks a familiar voice, weakened with illness, laden with relief. "You - I thought you were gone..."

"The gulls led me to you," was Geralt's simple response; he was frozen now, staring at - at all of it, trying to find the weak points in the rope, the points where he could cut through without hurting his siren any more than he already had. "I'm - I'm sorry, Jaskier, I should have come back before."

His merman shakes his head, or tries to, and fuck, the rope is digging into his face, and Geralt's heart fucking aches with the sight. "Don't blame yourself," he mumbles. "Don't."

All Geralt can do is look at him, look at him and try to fucking breathe.

It's been years since he's let himself cry, but he thinks he might now.

He shakes himself into motion with a muffled curse, grabs for the loosest part of the rope that he can see and - and tries to cut through, he fucking tries, but there's more resistance than he expects, and it's then that he realizes the rope is glinting with silver - silver for monsters - and the anger that rises in his chest gives him the strength to slice through the metal strands.

Jaskier, to his credit, lays still as Geralt reaches, grabs, pulls, cuts - shows no sign of fear - and Geralt breathes in, forces himself to listen, feels dread settle in his stomach when he realizes the merman's pulse is weak, so weak... when he realizes his merman is dying.

"Stay awake," Geralt grits out, and he knows he sounds harsh, he sounds cruel, but - but he doesn't know how else to sound, not when he thinks he may have to scare death off his own goddamn self, just to keep his mermaid safe. "Stay awake, Jaskier..."

It becomes a fucking mantra, one he repeats over and over again as he cuts the net apart, as he slices through what feels like fucking miles of silver thread, careful - so careful - not to cut into lacerated skin or shaved-off scales. It feels like a fucking eternity before the last of the net falls away and Geralt can breathe again, can sheathe his dagger in a hurry and look Jaskier over.

His anger returns tenfold as he takes him in.

The merman is badly sunburnt, bright and horrific red, a salmon shade joined by deep silver and deeper gray where he's bleeding and has bled. A closer look tells Geralt that the silver has done a fine job of eating into his skin in some places. As for his tail, well... it's easy to tell that it'll be marred by quite a few new scars, and the fan at the end is bordering on ruined.

"I'm sorry," says Geralt at last.

He's met with silence, and fear clogs his throat as he looks up to Jaskier's face.

Jaskier is merely... he's just watching him, those deep blue eyes glazed and unfocused.

He looks half-dead already, and yet, despite that - despite the blood on his skin - he looks... trusting.

Geralt can't quite wrap his head around that.

"Stay awake," he says again, reaching beneath the merman - just like years before - and lifting him with arms that want to shake despite his best efforts to the contrary. "Let me get you to the water..."

Jaskier gives a quiet sound in reply, and he tips his head to the side, resting against Geralt entirely even though he whines with pain. "They told me a witcher was nearby," he says, hoarse. "I thought... I thought it was you."

Anger wells up yet again - anger, and hate, and malice, and... and remorse.

Guilt.

He heaves a sigh as he carries his merman to the water's edge, wading into the shallows. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I'm going to set you down for a minute so you can cool off... I have potions in my saddlebag."

The other man doesn't respond, and Geralt fights the fear clenched tight about his heart. He kneels down, easing Jaskier into the water, and he can't help but grimace at the pitiful little sound of pain the sting of salt earns. "I'm sorry," says the witcher again.

He's as gentle as he's ever been as he sets the merman down in the shallows, eyes on Jaskier's tail as it rests limply upon the shifting sands. Jaskier, of course, offers no resistance, merely tenses and huffs when Geralt slips his arms out from beneath him. He dips his head back to submerge his face, and Geralt watches the subtle gills along his throat flex as he readjusts. It brings relief, almost, knowing that maybe he'll survive.

Geralt kneels there in the sands for... gods, he isn't sure how many minutes pass before Jaskier finally stirs again, opening his eyes and blinking up at Geralt from where he's only barely floating above the seafloor. He's almost limp, laying on his side, less-lacerated shoulder supporting him, tail motionless and arms halfheartedly folded.

It... hurts to see.

"I'm going to go get the potions," Geralt says, voice a bit louder than normal; he knows Jaskier can hear him. "Focus on resting."

The merman, once again, doesn't react, and Geralt tries to ignore the stab of pain that goes through his gut. He stands with a sigh, returning to Roach, who has been observing everything in telling silence. She stands patiently as he rummages through her saddlebags; he keeps the potions safe for humans and other non-witcher beings here, not wanting to clog up his own belts and pockets with things he can't grab and down in a heartbeat.

He picks out a vial full of a deep green liquid, one that glistens in the sunlight as he walks back into the gently-rolling water. Jaskier twists over onto his front when Geralt nears, and it's obvious the motion causes him pain; his tail convulses briefly, and his face contorts, but he rests his elbows on the sand to lift his head from the water regardless. "Can you drink?" Geralt asks.

Jaskier merely nods, watching him with an unreadable expression in those glossed-over eyes as Geralt kneels at his side once more. Deciding that's answer enough when Jaskier could well die before the sun rises, Geralt uncorks the vial, setting a gentle hand beneath Jaskier's chin to steady him as he tips the potion to his lips.

His eyes rake over the merman's body once more as he drinks, taking in the way his throat works, the deep and angry burns across his skin, the lacerations here and there...

He won't survive, not like this.

Suddenly lost within that train of thought, Geralt goes still.

It isn't until Jaskier begins to cough and choke that he jolts himself back into the present, pulling the half-empty vial away from the merman's mouth and waiting until he's steadied out some before he says, "Jaskier, you... is there any safe spot nearby? Like the tide pool?"

Something like pain flashes through the merman's eyes, but it's not physical pain.

Geralt recognizes it all too well.

"I'm not going to leave you," he breaks in, before Jaskier can get a word out. "Not again. I need to get you somewhere safe so I can treat the wounds and so you can rest. That's all."

Jaskier hesitates, looks away; finally, he nods, saying quietly, "Further south along the shore, there should - there's a little lagoon..."

"How far away?"

"Around the next bend," he mumbles, and he sounds tired, so tired...

Geralt curses under his breath, saying as he reaches for him yet again, "Stay awake... just a little longer."

--

It's maybe a ten, fifteen minute ride along the shore and around the curve.

Geralt keeps Jaskier cradled in his arms, clucking to Roach and nudging her with his heels to keep her straight, but the mare knows what to do; she moves slowly, head steady and pace even, as if she knows just how important the extra weight on her back is.

The lagoon is small, barely any wider across than your average tavern, shut off from the ocean by bits of shore that stretched too far into the waters and refused to draw away. The inland forest has crept up close, heavy trees fading into palms near the water's edge, and it's...

Well, it's beautiful.

Even Geralt, halfway blinded by the panic that rises in his chest with the merman's every labored breath, has to admit it.

"We're here," he says aloud, soft, and Jaskier jumps, his eyes blinking open. "I'm going to set you in the water, okay?"

He isn't surprised when Jaskier doesn't react.

That doesn't make it any easier to bear.

Heaving a sigh, he adjusts his grip on the merman, swinging his leg over Roach's back and sliding to the ground in as smooth a movement as he can manage, bearing a couple hundred extra pounds in his arms.

Jaskier stays quiet as Geralt carries him to the lagoon, stays quiet as he's laid down in the clear and shallow water. He rests his body on the sands without being told, deep enough that he's submerged except for his head and shoulders when he props himself up once again. Geralt's hand brushes over one of the worst cuts when he draws back, and Jaskier winces, nearly whines -

"I'm sorry," Geralt says, low, and turns back to Roach. He comes back with another potion and a small vial of salve, one he's opening as he kneels at Jaskier's side. "I'll set up camp here, just inside the trees..."

"Don't stay for me," Jaskier interrupts, and it's the first thing he's said in quite a while, and it's so soft, so uncertain...

Geralt feels his heart break.

He shakes his head, dipping his hand into the salve and reaching beneath the water's surface to smooth it along Jaskier's sun-raw back. It's waterproof, or at least waterproof enough, so he has few qualms with this. "I'm staying," he says, just as soft. "I won't leave you again. I shouldn't have left to begin with."

The merman says nothing.

Geralt didn't expect him to.

--

It's difficult, those first few days.

Jaskier lacks the strength to move much on his own - to do anything beyond sinking below the surface and raising back up to drink whatever potion or plant concoction Geralt is offering.

Food, he says, nauseates him to even contemplate.

Geralt tries to hide how badly that thought scares him.

--

The fourth day, Jaskier begins to decline.

Despite Geralt's best efforts - despite countless fucking hours of sitting at the shore, of kneeling beside him in the water, of pouring every potion he thinks could possibly be safe down his throat - the merman is weak.

He is weak, and he is dying, and, well...

Geralt sees only one option.

It's a day's ride to the nearest town, but it's less than a half day to the mouth of the river the other witcher is said to be stationed alongside.

Leaving Jaskier with a quiet whisper of, "I swear to you, I'll return," and a kiss upon his forehead, he mounts up on Roach, and turns for the trees.

He prays to the whole fucking pantheon that things will be okay.

- - - - -

@xdandelionxbloomx @w-s-kibela @justjessiehere @wrenbug @golden-aire-girl @the-little-red-queen @littleredhotsridinghood @ladyaulis @flootzavut @g-e-r-a-s-k-i-e-r @insert-cleverurl @animaniac1017 @brothers-of-the-heart @jaskierisanangel @gray-coal @weakforjaskier @xpixelle @teddylacroix @flustratedcas @1stbonesfan

i hope i didn’t miss anyone! thank you all. third part on the horizon!

[stellar-alley]

Of Scales and Sea Glass

•Chapter 1•

 Next Chapter >>

(Summary: Eddie deals with the anniversary of his parent's death. After an intense tropical storm, he discovers something has washed up in his pool.)

Also shout out to @ambitiousskychild on tumblr for being my beta!

~

It’s just water.   You’ll be fine   God, why do you always worry so damn much?

“FUCK” Eddie groaned as he raked his hand through his hair. “Fuck…” He repeated, letting his voice trail off this time. 

It’s been a year, you should be over this by now . 

Sure it might’ve been a year, but that didn’t mean Eddie Kaspbrak was any less terrified of the ocean. Its endless blue and unexplored depths made Eddie want to be anywhere else. It didn’t help that the ocean was literally in Eddie’s backyard. All that he needed to know was that exactly one year ago today, that blue, those depths, took his parent’s lives, and that was enough to scare the boy shitless. Only now, on the anniversary of Sonia and Frank Kaspbrak’s death, did he finally decide to do something about it. 

Eddie stood about 50 feet away from his back porch, his feet in the sand and a towel wrapped over his shoulders. He watched the waves fall and crash over the sand. Tonight the weathermen were calling for a killer storm, which seemed oddly appropriate in the boy’s head. It was almost like his mother was giving him a sign. It was like her way of saying “Eddie-bear, go back inside! The world is dangerous, so stay in your room!” because that’s what she did. 

For most of Eddie’s life, he was fed placebos, convinced he had asthma, and practically forced to be straight. It was all his mother’s doings. Ever since her death Eddie has come to terms with all of his fake illnesses, he’s even been able to come out to his friends! Of course, they all accepted him and helped him whenever he needed it. He was really grateful for the losers he called his friends. 

Lighting struck in the distance, it sent a flash of light over Eddie’s face that caused him to shrink into his towel. The dark clouds that loomed overhead only caused Eddie’s heart to beat harder inside his ribcage. 

Thunder cackled soon after. Eddie’s eyes teared up as he looked up and into the waves, “I-I’m sorry,” He choked, barely able to get the words out. 

Eddie shuffled back into his oceanside house before the rain started, which was good cause when it rained, it poured. The first thing he did when he got inside was close all of the blinds, unable to look out into his backyard without his stomach-turning, the guilt was practically eating away at him. The last thing he saw as he closed the blinds were his pool, the water reflected the dark clouds that loomed overhead, creating a haunting atmosphere. 

The realization caused Eddie to sigh, “That’s gonna be a pain in my ass to clean.” Storms like these always brought the most random crap up from the bottom of the ocean, somehow all of it always ended up in Eddie’s pool. He didn’t even want the pool, he lived so close to the ocean, it was kinda useless. Well, aside from the days when it was too cold to swim in the ocean , that’s when he’d usually heat the pool up and swim in there instead. That was when he still swam. Now he hasn’t used that thing in well over a year. 

After Sonia and Frank passed, The Kaspbrak’s residence was passed down to their only child, Eddie. That house included an underground pool, a house way too big for one person, and an almost private beach that only he and his next door neighbours had access to. (His neighbours on the left never used it though. They were an elderly couple. Sometimes he’d find them sitting outside on the warm days, but they weren’t the outdoor type. His neighbours on the right had their yard fenced off). Eddie never used the pool but kept it clean for the days when his friends came over. They'd go swimming while he read in the shade. 

That night Eddie slept with his ear buds in, music on loud and the covers pulled over his head. He hated how scared he was of the water. He missed the way the waves made him feel. It was something he's never felt before, when he swam he was safe, and free. He's tried to overcome it, but nothing has worked. He'd need a miracle to convince him to get back into the water. 

 ~

Eddie woke up the next morning to the early morning sunlight streaming in through the cracks of his blinds. He mentally cursed out God for creating the sun before he turned over and shoved his face deeper into his pillow. After about 20 more minutes of internal complaining, Eddie finally dragged himself out of bed. His head was waterlogged, hazed by sleep. So when he opened the blinds to his back doors all he saw was a mass of sea shit that now crowded his pool. Instead of focusing on exactly what had washed up onto his property, he simply rolled his eyes and went to go back to breakfast. 

Eddie checked his phone, hoping it’d wake his mind up a little but he sighed as he realized he didn’t have any wifi. His realization brought a thought to the forefront of his mind. “Oh no…. No, no, no,” Eddie mumbled as he padded over towards the nearest light switch. “Fuck,” He leaned his head up against the wall when the lights didn’t turn on. This was something else that happened a lot when they were hit by a storm, the power goes out. 

After breakfast, Eddie got changed out of his pyjamas. He opted to put on an older black tee as he knew he’d be cleaning today. He pulled his iconic red shorts on and slipped on a pair of sneakers. He gathered up all of the cleaning supplies he had set aside for storms like these and set them out on his back porch. 

The morning air smelled of rain and salt. The temperature had dropped a couple of degrees from the previous day, which was refreshing, but it didn’t change the fact that Eddie had a whole yard to clean. 

First, he swept off the porch. He pushed all of the twigs, branches and sand onto the ground below. He noticed one of his neighbour’s palm trees had several fallen branches. That would explain the countless leaves that were scattered across his yard and filled his pool. 

After, he collected as much of the debris from the lawn as he could. Stuffing everything into garbage bags, tying them up, then carrying them to his front yard, where they’d sit until garbage day. Once he was in his front yard, he looked around at his neighbour’s lawns and saw they were all going through the same hell that he was. Everyone was out with garbage bins and shovels, cleaning up the mess the storm left behind. 

“EDDIE! HEY!” A voice called out to him. 

Eddie turned towards the voice and saw his neighbour to the right, Beverly Marsh. He was one of the lucky kids who conveniently lived beside one of his best friends. While the rest of their Losers Club lived no more than 20 minutes away, Bev and Eddie lived the closest, which made it easy for the group to meet up. Even if their meetups almost always ended up at Eddie’s house. 

When his mother was alive, she rarely let all of them come over, but now that she was gone, most of their summer break was spent in Eddie’s backyard, in the pool, on the beach, or in his basement watching movies. Eddie didn’t mind, he enjoyed the company. Especially since living alone got, well, lonely. So he made sure to soak up every moment he could get with his Losers. 

Eddie’s resting bitch face was washed out and replaced by a genuinely happy smile. “Marsh! How’s it hanging?” Eddie said in his best surfer bro voice. 

“It’s totally tubular,” She said, followed by a laugh. “How’s your place? No power?” She asked as she put down the bag she was holding and crossed her yard and onto Eddie’s. 

“Yeah, and my yard is a fucking mess. Don’t even get me started on the pool,” Eddie groaned at the thought.

A smug smile spread over Beverly’s lips, “It’s the days like these when I’m grateful I don’t have a pool. Can’t you just get the pool guys to come and clean it?” She questions. 

“I would but it’d cost me an arm and a leg. I’m just gonna clean then get someone to refill it. It’ll be fine,” He sighed. Eddie was gonna ask if she wanted to help but he lost his chance when Beverly’s aunt came outside. 

“Beverly! Oh, Hi Eddie. How are you doing?” She smiled at him. Beverly’s aunt Katherine was always nice to Eddie, she always helped him whenever he needed it, cooking meals and helping with bills. She was pretty great. 

“As good as I can be after a storm like this, crazy isn’t it?” He nods his head. 

“It really is, on that note, Bev, we should be getting back to work,” She said as Bev nodded. 

“I’ll see you later Eddie. Let me know if you get ahold of the rest of our rat pack, alright?” She winked as she slowly began to back away. 

“Yes ma’am!” Eddie saluted and returned to the backyard. 

He sighed. “No better time than the present, am I right?” He asked himself as he picked up the big net that was propped against the porch, then walked towards the pool.

The water had turned a dark green-grey. It didn’t smell too bad, which was a blessing as Eddie has a sensitive stomach and wasn’t in the mood of adding barf to his list of things to clean. He swept the net over the surface of the water for a couple minutes before noticing how there were a lot bigger pieces of debris than he had realized. 

Looks like we gotta break out the big guns  , Eddie left the net on the side of the pool and went to grab some rubber gloves and one of his big grey garbage cans. He stood at the edge of the pool and stared down at the water below him. It was different when he had the net, he barely had to lean over the edge, but now he was worried about falling in.  What if I lean in, fall, and drown, or get knocked unconscious and die? Eddie calmed his breathing down before it got a chance to pick up. 

“Okay, Eddie, you’re fine,” He let out a shaky breath. He ended up laying down on the pavement, flat on his stomach and stuck his arms over the edge, not daring to let anything below his neck hang over the edge of the pool. Slowly but surely he dragged most of the debris out and onto the pavement, which would then be put into the garbage, but right now he just needed to get everything out of the pool. Amongst the trash and green life he found in the water, he also fished out a pair of glasses, although they didn’t seem like normal glasses. First off, they were pretty big, but the lenses seemed oddly fogged and thick. Reminding Eddie of the sea glass he’s collected over the years of living on the coast. He set them aside and made a note to investigate them further once he was done here. 

After a couple of hours of hard work, Eddie stood over the pool and admired all of his hard work. Sure there was still a bunch of shit at the bottom of the pool, but he agreed to clean that out once the pool had been emptied. There had been a particular pile of debris off in the corner that caught Eddie’s eye. It seemed to be a pile-up of plants and what looked to be a fishing net. He walked over to that side of the pool and squinted down at the trash. Something was dimly shining beneath the pile of soggy algae that covered it. 

Maybe a fish got washed into the pool? Hm, poor dude, Eddie shrugged, about to walk away when the pile twitched ever so slightly, Eddie could have convinced himself he was seeing things, but something was telling him he wasn’t. Determined to see what it was, Eddie quickly grabbed the net and poked the pile of debris. He shied away after the first poke, then moved to poke it again. It twitched again. Eddie’s brow furrowed as he poked it again, a little harder this time. This time it shifted positions, allowing Eddie to see a little bit more of the creature that sat at the bottom of his pool. 

The shine came from scales, and there were a lot of them.  How big is this fucking fish? Oh shit- do I have a shark in my pool?! No dumbass, sharks don’t have scales…

Instead of poking it again, Eddie used the butt end of the net to try to move the debris off of the creature. He was able to push most of the algae aside, but the creature must’ve been tangled up in that damned net. The creature might not have been 100% visible, but he had a better view of it now. 

“Is that? No way…” Eddie began to speak to himself as he examined the creature. “That can’t be...” He said as he examined the part of the creature that looked like it had hair. Well whatever it had that looked like hair, it was inky black, it slowly swayed around-  A HEAD?   “WHAT THE FUCK!” Eddie shrieked as he began to stumble backwards. He stammered and wobbled. But suddenly, one of the bricks that lined the pool gave out beneath him, and he fell forwards. He fell into the pool with a big splash. 

He didn’t even have time to think, his mind was overtaken by panic. Eddie thrashed and splashed, he tried to pull himself to the surface but the water was blurring his vision, making it impossible to tell which way was up. He barely had time to take in any air as he was randomly tossed into the pool. So his lungs ached and his head throbbed. He wanted to scream out for help or stop moving just for a second, in hopes that’d he just float to the surface. But he couldn’t stop, his legs kicked wildly in the water, his shoes heavy on his feet and his clothes constricting his movement. 

He was too busy thinking about his own death to notice the pair of arms that’d wrapped around his waist. Eddie’s lungs began to  burn  , they begged for air, but Eddie knew that he was  not  going to let his mouth open. He refused to die the same death that his parents had. With that, his vision began to blur more than it already was. His mind hazed over and his thrashing minimized. His vision was dotted with black spots, due to lack of oxygen. 

I’m gonna die . 

~

Suddenly he was gasping for air. His lungs heaved as he spat up water and tried to breathe in as much air as he could. He rubbed the water out of his eyes. It took a moment for his gaze to clear, but once he did he realized he was sitting on the edge of the pool, his clothes soaked and his hair filled with leaves and dirt. 

What the fuck happened? How did I get here?  The questions overloaded Eddie’s mind as his breathing quickened, there was so much going on,  too much . 

The water beside him splashed, a light spray of water settled on him. He hesitantly looked over, hoping to see nothing, that he had dreamt it all up. But when he turned his head, he saw something drifting slowly towards him in the water. He hadn’t failed to notice how murkey the water had gotten. It’s green tinge now brown, and a little red. He didn’t even let himself think about what made it red. Eddie panicked and jackknifed, hastily shuffling backwards and away from the water. 

Eddie’s eyes were as wide as saucers, his eyebrows practically in his hairline. His breathing practically stopped as he watched the black hair he’d seen previously slowly poke up out of the water. Eddie wanted to get up and run, call the cops,  something , but he couldn’t. He was frozen in fear and anticipation. He couldn’t help that little bit of wonder that filled his head as the creature continued to come up from the waters’ surface. 

He watched as the head moved up just enough to reveal a pair of impossibly blue eyes. They stared back at him, partially covered by the black hair hanging in its face. Something about the eyes seemed hazy, almost as if they weren’t clear, they squinted for a moment before opening up wide again. 

Eddie could only muster a weak “hi,” as he stared at the creature before him. The blue eyes rolled and bubbles erupted in front of him. The head sunk back down into the water.

A splash caused Eddie to tear his eyes away from where the head once was, and look up. Further down in the pool he watched as a fish like tail splashed against the surface of the water. Half of its fin was covered in the fishing net. The rope digging into the scales. Eddie finally saw what was the cause of the red in the water. The net had various hooks still attached to it. They dug into the scales of the tail, causing it to leak red blood. Eddie’s stomach dropped. 

The tail splashed against the surface of the water again. It acted as a reality check for Eddie as he finally mustered the strength to stand up. Once he was on his feet, he wobbled momentarily before marching towards his porch. He didn’t look back as he closed his patio door. He kept walking until he was in his bathroom. 

He turned on the shower and waited until it filled the small room with steam. The boiling water practically burned all the dirt off of his skin. He was too caught up in his own thoughts to even realize he began thinking out loud. 

“There’s someone in my pool,” He started, his voice distant, “And a fish. A massive fucking fish.” He thought about the mess of hair he’d seen at the bottom of the pool. “No one can survive being underwater that long… No one, but not nothing.”

What if it wasn’t two things in my pool…  

He contemplated the idea for a second, “BUT THEY DON’T EXIST!” Eddie shouted in frustration, thrusting his fist against the ceramic wall of his shower. So many ideas floated through Eddie’s head, he hated it, he hated not knowing what was in his pool. And he hated the fact that the only idea that made semi sense, was that he had a fucking mermaid in his pool. 

“But they’re made-up. Stories, fairytailes.  Not real life, ” He countered, recalling movies like The Little Mermaid and Aquamarine. “But what else explains the tail?” He asked himself in defeat. 

Eddie turned the water to the shower off. His skin was red and raw, he could practically see the steam coming off of himself. He rested his forehead against the wall of his shower and tried to clear his head.  In and out… In and out  , he reminded himself as he took a couple minutes to just  breathe . 

After the hurricane in his head finally calmed down, he allowed himself to think back to what he’d seen outside. Careful to not open the dam of memories, he focused on the tail, the head, the water,  the blood . 

The poor thing is hurt , Eddie sharply inhaled. “Shit…” He recalled the net, and how it dug into the creature's tail. He shivered at the thought of what it must be going through. Then he remembered why he took the shower in the first place, he fell into the pool, and that fish thing, it saved him.

With a new game plan, Eddie finished up in the bathroom, got dressed, then got his fist aid kit and all the other supplies he needed. He went back outside, the sun beating down over his head as he stood on his patio and surveyed his backyard. A new level of determination filled the human. He was intrigued to find out what the hell was in his pool, and this was the best way he could find that out. 

He marched down and to the water’s edge, but all the bravery he had mustered died the moment he saw the creature floating on its front at the edge of Eddie’s pool. 

He raised his hands to cover his mouth, his eyes wide, “Fuck,” he cursed. His mind automatically assumed the worst,  death . But he tried to mentally assure himself that it had just passed out as he didn’t want to panic.

Eddie got down on his knees and carefully leaned over to grab the creature. He held his breath, worried about falling in, but he was able to pull the creature to the edge of the pool. He pushed it over onto its back. He wanted to inspect its face and features but Eddie needed to get him out of the water before those cuts got infected. 

Quickly, Eddie laid a towel down on the pavement beside the pool, worried about what the heat of the ground would do to the fish’s scales. When it came time to pulling the thing out of the water, he hadn’t thought about how much that fucking tale would weigh. He hooked his arms under the arms of the creature and tried to pull him out. He heaved and tugged. 

“Holy shit- you’re  so  fucking heavy,” Eddie gasped,  half way there , he thought to himself. All of the human part was out, and half of the tail, now all he had left was the rest of the tail and the monofin. Eddie took in one sharp inhale before he pulled the rest of it out in one final tug. He gasped as he suddenly landed on his back, the fish flopped down onto the towel beside him. 

Eddie didn’t take too long to recover, he was too interested in seeing what exactly he had just fished out of his swimming pool. He sat on his knees and surveyed the creature that laid uncious before him. 

It was indeed, a mermaid. 

The upper half of its body was made of pasty white skin, as smooth as a shark's skin. It shined in the afternoon sunlight. Its arms were long and fairly skinny with a little muscles. Eddie carefully lifted up one of its hands. He inspected it, noticing how there was an almost translucent webbing that connected his long and bony fingers. Then he let out a small gasp at the claws that laid at the edges of his fingers. They looked sharp, one swipe would surely draw blood. With that, he carefully laid the hand back down by its side. 

Eddie leaned forward a little to examine the creature's face. He lifted a hand, gently pushing some of the soggy hair out of his face. He frowned at the slash that ran across its cheeks, cutting through a wild pack of freckles. His pale skin allowed the freckles on his cheeks to shine like stars on a clear night. Eddie thought about counting them, like he had the stars, but he opted not to as he knew he had more pressing tasks at hand. He took one last glance at the face, allowing himself to soak in the mermaid's features in all its beauty. Yes,  beauty. Even Eddie couldn’t deny it, the creature was fairly beautiful. But now isn't the time for crushes, Eddie shook his head as he finally made his way down to the tale. 

Eddie examined its chest. It was fairly skinny, not malnourished, as in he could slightly see his ribs, but it wasn't too concerning. He noticed a couple bruises and various scrapes that would need to be disinfected. He followed the pale skin down. Suddenly Eddie’s brows furrowed together. The creature had no belly button. But if he had, then the scales would have started just below it. 

Now without the water blurring their colour, he was able to see the scales in all their glory. They were a pastel blue, some places darker than others, the shades varying as the tail continued. The tip of its monofin shined a sparkly silver that could give the real stuff a run for its money.

Finally, he got to his feet and overlooked  all of the creature’s injuries. Sure he had some scraps, cuts and bruises along the upper part of its body, but its tail got the worst of it. The net was tangled up in its monofin and dug into its scales, causing some of them to flake off. 

He raked his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends. “Fuck,” he sighed, realizing how much work he had to do. Without wasting any more time, he leaned over to the abundance of supplies he’d brought outside and grabbed the exacto knife to cut the net. Just as the blade popped out and Eddie leaned in, something cold and slimy grabbed his wrist. His body went cold, head snapping towards the mermaids. His eyes locked with the fish’s. The blues of his eyes were wide and determined. Eddie looked down and realized it was the hand with the knife. Quickly he grabbed the knife with his free hand and tossed it to the side. 

“Hey-Hey, it’s okay,” Eddie motioned his hands to show that they were empty and he meant no harm. Only then did the creature release Eddie’s hand, his head flopping back against the towel.  Eddie leaned over and saw that its eyes were still open, but they were hazed, almost unfocused. Eddie didn’t think too much of it, probably the salt water making him go blind or something. 

“Okay, I’m just gonna try to remove the net, alright?” He asked, but received no response. He leaned back over and pulled his bifocals out of his second fanny pack, then leaned back in and began examining the net. 

The mermaid’s head tilted upwards, it watched the human’s fingers traced along the edges of the net. Its eyes grew wide at the sight of the spectacles on Eddie’s face. 

Eddie noticed the movement and glanced over at the creature. He hummed lightly, wondering what it was looking at. The moment didn’t last too long as when Eddie leaned away from the tail, the creature lunged at him. Its arms out and claws sharp, its eyes filled with determination. Eddie shrieked and fell backwards, his hands flew up to his face. 

After a moment of heavy breathing, he realized he felt no pain. He slowly moved his shaky hands away from his face and looked up at the mermaid. He was surprised to see it carefully holding his bifocals. 

It held it in his hands as if they were so fragile they’d break. The creature slid them onto his face as if it was a second nature. The blue eyes blinked a couple times before its face scrunched up in confusion. It took the glasses off and held them once again in its hands. Now its face was filled with disbelief and worry. 

“What?” Eddie asked, unsure of what was happening. 

The creature looked up at the human with sad, hazy eyes. For a moment they just held eye contact, as if they were having a conversation with their eyes in a language Eddie didn’t understand. Then the creature held the glasses out towards Eddie with one hand, while the other pointed towards its own chest. 

Eddie’s face scrunched up, he hated charades. “What about the glasses?”. 

The creature pointed to itself once again. 

“Your glasses?” Eddie suggested, and the blue eyes widened to an impossible size. A new emotion spread over the fish’s face, excitement. “Yeah?” Eddie asked, and nodded. “Yeah!” Eddie said happily. “Yeah…” he repeated, this time with fear laced in his voice as he had no clue where its glasses were. 

Since when do mermaids wear glasses anyways? What the fuck?

“Wait- You can understand me?” It finally dawned on Eddie, he’d been talking to a mermaid, and it was responding… technically. 

Its eyebrows lowered and their glare became sharp, as if to say ‘ Yeah, so? ’, followed by a slow nod. Now it had used its free arm to prop itself up on it’s elbow so they were almost at eye level. 

Eddie smiled softly at the fish, his cheeks a little warmer than they were before. He nervously chuckled, “Oh, cool”. He rubbed the back of his neck, diverting his gaze around the backyard so he didn’t have to stare into those ocean eyes any longer. His sight landed on the pile of trash he said he’d sort through later that laid on his lawn and he noticed a piece of glass that shined in the light. 

Eddie gasped, he jumped from his sitting position up to his feet and ran to his pile of trash. He snatched the object up off of the lawn and ran back to the mermaid, practically falling down beside it. Eddie got situated on the ground, a wide smile on his face. He held them and carefully opened them up, without any further wait, he leaned in and slid the glasses on the mermaid's face. 

The fish was confused at first, unsure of how to feel about the human being so close. But the small boy didn’t give it much of a chance to react because before he could flinch, his vision cleared. Its hands moved up to its face and felt around, touching the glasses that they knew all too well. 

Finally being able to see clearly, it looked up at the boy in front of it. Its lips curved into a wide smile that got a little giggle out of the human. 

“So I guess those are yours?” Eddie asks. 

The mermaid nods proudly. The moment is cut short when a bolt of pain cuts through the fish’s tail, it grimaces and hisses.

Eddie tenses at the sound, “Oh shit! Sorry, but can I  please use the knife?” He beged, eyes wide and worried. 

The mermaid lies back down on the towel, eyes forced shut. It nods. 

Okay, okay, okay  . Eddie’s thoughts pick up at the thought of being so close to the creature. Not because it’s like- cute or anything,  no  , it’s because he doesn't want to hurt it.  Yeah, that’s why . 

Eddie gripped the exacto knife with enough strength to make his knuckles go white. His eyes skimmed over the net, deciding on where to cut. He found a spot he claimed to be a good start and began cutting. He sliced the net up and into pieces, slowly freeing the tail from its grasp. Soon enough he was just left with the pieces that had the hooks attached to them. 

“Sorry this is gonna hurt,” Eddie said before he carefully pulled the fist hook loose. The fish’s breathing hitched and filled with pain. “ Sorry!”  Eddie grimaced as he pulled another one out. This one leaked a lot more blood and the mermaids hand smacked around the ground, causing Eddie to jump at the sudden sound. It felt like it took hours to fully free the tail, but soon enough the deed was done. 

Eddie leaned back on his hands and tilted his head up towards the sun. “I’m sorry,” he breathed before looking back down at the mermaid. It sat upright now, carefully examining its tail. It reached out to touch one of the cuts. Eddie jumped into action and slapped the hand away. It hissed at Eddie. “Hey! Don’t do that, I’ve still gotta disinfect them, okay?” His tone grew impatient as he cracked open the first aid kit. 

His back began to ache from the hours he’d spent hunched over the blue tail, disinfecting the scrapes and bandaging the deeper cuts. He moved on to the upper half of the creature. 

“Tell me if this hurts, okay?” Eddie requested as the mermaid gave him a side eye look. Eddie began to slowly put pressure on different places on the fish’s chest, mainly the places with the bruises to see if- The mermaid let out a loud hiss. Eddie’s hands shot up and away as its claws came into view again. “Sorry! You have an injured rib, so that’s why it hurts. You won’t be able to move much until it heals,” Eddie explained, his mind going through the healing process when he realized it won’t be able to swim in this condition, and it certainly can’t stay on land in Eddie’s backyard. 

“Oh…” Eddie’s graze dropped, a sudden wave of fatigue washed over him as he realized what he’s gonna have to do. But before he allowed himself to think over the idea too much, he finished cleaning all of the cuts that needed it. 

“O-Okay, so I-um.... I can’t leave you here, and I can’t bring you back to the ocean cause you’re hurt and you need to properly heal. So i’m gonna bring you into my house and keep you in my bathtub, okay?” He rambled in hopes the creature understood what he was saying.  God, I sound fucking insane. This is insane! I can’t keep an oversized goldfish in my tub. But I can’t leave him out here… the pool guys are coming tomorrow and if they see him we’d be in so much shit- It’s the only way  . Eddie finalized his plan with a sigh.   

“You,” he pointed at the creature, “stay,” he demanded before he got up and went back inside. He ran upstairs and into the bathroom, flopped down beside the big bathtub, and began running the water. He set the temperature to warm then took a moment to catch his breath. 

Everything began to settle in. The mermaid, the scales, the storm, the future, the creature’s eyes, its freckles-  Okay, Eddie stop it. It’s a fucking sea creature, you can’t have a crush on it . He huffed and rolled his eyes at his gay thoughts. Eddie’s been out for a couple months now, to his mother's dismay, and he’s been happy. Sure he’s had a couple crushes before, but he’s never had one on a fish person… So he wasn't too sure what to think of that. 

The white noise created by the running water created a soothing atmosphere for the boy, and for a moment, he sat in silence and just  breathed . Though the moment was short lived, a low whale-like sound erupted from his stomach, reminding him about the fact that he hasn't had lunch yet. He looked down at his watch and saw it was already 3 pm. 

Holy shit, time flies when you're with a merman. If I’m hungry then imagine what it must be feeling, when was the last time it ate? What does it eat? Do I have anything to feed it? Okay let’s just focus on getting it inside first- Also? Finding a fucking name for this thing, I can’t keep calling it, well, IT!

Eddie shook all of the static out of his head and pulled himself to his feet. He turned the knob to the bathtub and turned the water off, he hoped the temperature would suffice, he’d find out soon enough. 

Going back to the mermaid in his backyard, he found it in the same place he left it, which was a relief. Still on its back, with an arm on its forehead to shade its eyes from the blaring afternoon sun. It sensed the human before he approached. It moved its arm and tilted its head to look up at the towering figure. 

“Hi again, so I need to pick you up to bring you inside. So you don't… die. Is that okay?” Eddie asked awkwardly. The creature simply shrugged, as if to say ‘Do what you need’. “Okay,  well , you need to help me out cause you weigh a fucking ton and I am not strong. So wrap your arms around my neck and don’t-don’t fucking eat me,” Eddie instructed as he got down on his knees, bracing himself for the weight he’d soon carry. 

The mermaid sat up. Eddie moved his hands underneath the tail, he didn’t wait for the mer to move its arms because he knew if he waited any longer he’d convince himself not to. So he sharply inhaled and lifted the mermaid up bridal style. He wobbled slightly as he gained his balance on his feet. The wobble sent a shiver down the mer’s spine, he jumped to wrap its arms around Eddie’s neck in fear of being dropped. 

The sudden motion made Eddie smirk. “Oh,  now  you do it,” he forced a small laugh. Eddie began to walk forward towards the house, each step harder than the last. 

When they got to the stairs, Eddie’s breath hitched when he went up the first stair, his arms almost gave out from beneath him. 

The mermaid shook and buried its face in the crook of Eddie’s neck. Eddie felt the glasses dig into his neck. With the sudden change of proximities,  the mer’s breath sent shivers down Eddie’s back, it was slow and warm. 

The muscles in his arms burned before he even started up the staircase to the second flood. “Fuck… me,” Eddie murmed, as if it was going to take away the fiery pain that ran through his body. 

Eddie was practically dragging his feet as he walked, unable to bring them up from the ground. His vision was set on the staircase in front of him, so he didn’t notice the one floorboard that was slightly higher than the others. The toe of his foot collided with the floorboard and they went toppling forward, hitting the floor with a big  thump . 

The creature let out a ear bleeding shriek as it fell, then pain erupted from its tail as it landed on the ground. Certainly the extra weight of a human on its torso didn’t help at all. 

Eddie was in shock for a moment, unsure of what had just happened. Looking around he turned and saw he was now face to face with the mermaid. Their eyes locked, both of them wild and concerned. Eddie snapped himself back into reality before he could get lost in the ocean eyes again. 

“I-I’m sorry.  Shit , I’m so sorry,” Eddie stammered, his body weak and his arms aching. He rolled off the creature and onto his back. “I’m sorry,” He croaked, the failure settling in. 

He didn’t move his gaze from the ceiling over his head. He didn’t want the mer to see his eyes as they filled with tears. Something cold rested on top of Eddie’s hand. Hesitantly, he dragged his eyes over to the creature beside him. The hand held onto his own as the mermaid’s lips offered a tight but comforting smile, as if to say,  it’s okay, really . Eddie shifted his hand ever so slightly so the mer’s hand fit more comfortably in his. The webbing that lined the fingers of the mermaid’s hand tickled Eddie’s. Its thumb rubbed slow circles over Eddie’s knuckles. 

“A-Are you okay?” Eddie whispered worriedly. 

The creature was in pain, for sure, but it nodded anyways, for the human’s sake. 

Neither of them were sure how long they stayed like that, hand in hand, breathing laboured and heavy, eyes on the ceiling. Although at some point Eddie’s arms felt a smidge better, and his breathing had returned. That’s when he knew he had to try again. 

“1....2...3!” Eddie lifted the mermaid off the ground again. It seemed just a little easier than last time. This time he kept his breathing steady, and kept his eyes going from the stairs in front of him to his goal, the bathroom. 

Once they stood in the middle of the upstairs hallway, Eddie took a minute and stood and caught his breath. He noticed the way the mer’s eyes drifted and examined his new surroundings. But something caught his eye and Eddie felt one of the arms slowly move away from his neck. Hesitantly he turned his head just in time to see the clawed hand reaching out for Eddie’s own little creature that sat in a fish tank that lined the hallway. It was his pet betta fish, Goldy. (He wasn't a creative kid, okay?).

“NO!” Eddie exclaimed, almost dropping the mermaid again. The sudden motion caused the arm to wrap back around Eddie’s neck in fear of being dropped. “Do  not  eat my goldfish. She is a friend, not fucking food,” he practially growled. 

The creature shrank away, not a fan of the tone Eddie had gained. As much as it wanted to lean  away  from the boy who just scolded him, it leaned  into  Eddie, it liked the warmth his skin gave off. It curled a little deeper into his touch, putting his chin on top of his shoulder and nestling into the side of his face. 

Eddie got the mermaid settled into the bathtub and immediately noticed a change in its mood. Suddenly its eyes had a new sparkle to them and his lips were always semi smiling. 

Eddie sat on the closed toilet seat and took in the sight before him.  A mermaid in my bathtub… This’ll be one hell of a diary entry  . “So! I-er, I hope this isn’t rude, but are you a girl or a boy? I know you don’t have boobs but I really don’t know how this whole  mermaid  thing works,” Eddie stopped himself before he kept rambling. 

The mer lifted two fingers in the air.  Two, second, second option. “Boy?” Eddie tilted his head. The creature nodded. He sighed in relief, “Good, good… I-I’m Eddie by the way.” The creature nodded again then ducked his head down into the water and blew bubbles up at the human. Eddie huffed in amusement at the gesture. 

The human’s stomach rumbled again. He rolled his eyes in response. He didn’t even bother telling the mermaid- merman? Merman. He didn’t bother telling him he was gonna leave cause the mer looked like he was having the time of his life blowing bubbles down under. Once he was in the kitchen, Eddie tried to be quick, opening up every cupboard and checking everywhere for food fit for a fish. The only thing he came across that seemed semi-suitable were fish sticks. Eddie eyed them for about half a minute before ripping the bag open, throwing them into a container then shoving it in the microwave. He made himself a quick sandwich, cheese and ketchup (That was the most unhealthy food Sonia ever let Eddie eat so let him be). He’d barley chewed his first bit before the microwave beeped. He held the sandwich in between his lips and held the container with both hands, moving it between the two cause it was hot. 

Once he was back in the bathroom he took his seat back down on the toilet seat and set the container on his lap. Eddie quickly ate his sandwich, only when he looked up did he notice the merman’s eyes were sitting out of the water, watching him like a hawk from behind his sea glasses. 

“Hungry?” Eddie asked as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

The merman lifted the rest of his head out of the water at the sight of the food. Eddie held up a fish stick, “Okay, I know this is like processed shit but,” he sighed, tired of all the talking and manual labour he’s been doing, “It’s all I have.”

The mer shrugged and opened his mouth, asking Eddie to feed him. The human was taken aback at the gesture, but he gave in and picked up a fish stick, tearing a bite-sized chunk off. Eddie leaned forward and held it out just in front of the mer’s face. Its lips felt soft against the human skin as it took the food from him. It gulped it down happily then opened his mouth up again. The fish finished the whole container. 

He opened his mouth again and Eddie scoffed, “I’m all out fish boy! I guess I’ll go get some stuff tomorrow,” Eddie motioned to the empty container. The fish let out a low grumble as he sunk back under the water and blew bubbles at Eddie, as if showing attitude.

“Oh shut it trashmouth,” Eddie retorted, the nickname just slipped out. 

The water sloshed against the side of the tub as his eyes burst back out of the water. 

Eddie let out a nervous laugh at the sudden movement, “W-What? You like that,  trashmouth? ” Eddie said in a teasing manner. The mer’s lips smirked from underwater. The sight brightened Eddie’s smile. 

“Well,  trashmouth, I have no clue what time it is but I’m tired as fuck. I’m gonna go to sleep. You should too, so you can heal,” Eddie advised. He stood, took a step towards the tub and ruffled the fish’s hair. The mer leaned into the touch, the both of them enjoyed the physical attention.

Word count: 7604

I hope you guys liked the first chapter! Let me know what you think in the comments. I will see you guys next week with chapter 2, Sushi and Speeches. Until then, So Long And Goodnight.

~

[Taglist]

@richietoaster @s-onora @that-weird-girl-blog @beproudtozier @ghostnebula @bellarosewrites @s-s-georgie @lermanslogan @iamcupcakefrosting @madidraw @gazebobullshit @thoughtfullyyoungduck @aangzukos @ambitiousskychild @reddieonwheels @breadheadscorpius

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list!

[rosesvioletshardy]

life as we know it - b.h. chapter 4

you guys are in for a treat this chapter also sorry for the long wait on this i’m finally done with the semester and i don’t think i will be able to take all my classes online ever again it’s literally the worst but yeah i’ll hopefully will post more

i don’t think i’ve said this but for sean i’ve based him off of armie hammer’s character in nocturnal animals in a way i guess like looks wise

but anywho y’all might need some tissues for this

ps: note i am american so i don’t know exactly how the laws are in england and i tried my best to search them up

masterlist

summary: when their best friends die, it’s up to ben and y/n to take care of their goddaughter and face the challenges  that come with it 

# of words: 3,465

warnings: angst

taglist: @myfatbottomedgirls , @evemarie05

message me or inbox me if you want to be added to the taglist

-----

Things have been different for y/n and ben ever since they hooked up at new years. secrets that didn’t mean to be revealed were revealed. it caused a great amount of weird, sexual tension for them whenever they were in a room. it took their best friends a while to understand what happened between them.

They’ve ignored every possible situation and haven’t talked about it since christian and lennon found out about it and went back to seeing whoever they were originally seeing. at first sean wasn’t happy that she kissed ben and went back to his place instead of it being him but he quickly let it go and they’ve been together since and promised to tell each other everything. Occasionally there were times where sean didn’t allow her to go anywhere that ben would be and it was almost constantly unless he was with her. sean trusted her but sometimes he didn’t, but she didn't mind but it meant she understood where he was coming from. ben didn’t like it at all. he didn’t like how someone can force another person to stop seeing them and it took a toll on their relationship and their jobs as godparents. 

the tension also affected their personal relationship. they didn’t make any sly remarks back to each other, most of the time when they talked, they had one worded answers to each other and it depended on if there were other people with them. ben would sometimes go to her bakery and every time he saw her, she looked miserable, or from what he could tell. whenever she interacted with customers she would have this smile on her face and it was real, she loved her customers whenever they entered her shop and bought something or just to come and work. she wouldn’t give up her shop for anything else in the world. she didn’t know if it was because of what happened or it was her relationship with sean was the reason. y/n knew what was going on but she couldn’t bear to tell anyone or else she 

now she was working and helping customers, until ben walked in. this was the fourth time in a row during the week that he's come in and she’s managed to avoid him every time he came in by going in the back and helping tyler and the other bakers or by going into her office. She did a good job at avoiding him but today they were short staffed and she couldn’t ask anyone else to take over the front so she’s stuck having to talk to him. ben could see the look in her eyes that she was trying not to talk but he needed to because not talking for weeks was killing him and he didn’t even care what they talked about, so he walked up to the counter and started to order

“Hey”

“hi, welcome to Eats ‘n’ Treats, how can i help you today?” she asked trying to avoid ben

“listen we need to talk”

“no, we don’t. we were both drunk and i don’t want to talk about it. now, are you going to order something or not? you’re holding up the line” she said as they both look behind him to see no one there

“that’s bullshit and we both know it. i know you really don’t want to be with him and you keep putting yourself over this and pretending everything is fine when it isn’t. please. i just want to go back to how things were, me annoying you and you ignoring me at every point you get. c’mon, please.” he pleaded tears already pooling his eyes

“no. i’m sorry but i’m perfectly happy with sean and how everything is. now please, either order something or just leave.”

“fine. i’ll just take a coffee.” ben told her already paying

the two didn’t say anything else to each other after their encounter at the bakery. they both continued their day and never talked to each other, not for even any small talk. y/n was back at her apartment cooking dinner for both her and sean. there was a voice in her head telling her that there was something wrong and that she needed to do something about her situation but she ignored it, just like all of her problems. snapping out of her thoughts, she heard a knock on her door. putting everything in its place and soothing out her outfit, she opened the door to find sean.

“hey! how are you?” she asked him stepping away so he could enter

“i’m good, you? it smells great in here.” sean told her giving her a kiss

“i’m good. well i just finished making dinner”

“so, how was your day?” “it was good, you know the usual. people come in, order treats and baked goods. how was work for you?”

“it was tough, got a new case today about a couple wanting a divorce and jesus it’s a tough one. i’m defending the wife and she’s a workload. saying it’s the husbands fault their marriage came to be what it is.” sean said cutting into the piece of chicken before continuing

y/n wanted to say something but she knew if she did, she wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“did you see ben today? i thought i saw him leaving your shop when i was coming back from my lunch.” 

“no, i must’ve been in my office or in the back baking. could’ve been someone who looked like him” she told him taking a small sip of her water knowing what would happen if she told him the truth

“hmm. alright.”  

the night went on with the both of them soon cuddling on the couch watching some tv. y/n wasn’t paying attention because all she could think about was what ben said to her. she did feel miserable and she didn’t regret what they did but she had to. the night went on until the both of them went back to her room for the night. 

the same routine carried on for another month. wake up, work, home, date night, sleep. every now and then she would be with lennon and she could see the pain through her best friend's face. lennon had asked christian to talk to sean to make sure everything was alright with them because she knew that something was wrong. when christian had reported back to her, he had said that everything was fine and nothing was wrong with their relationship at all.

“no that can’t be right. listen, i know her. Something is wrong with her. i mean ben had called me god knows how many times or asked me whether she was happy with him. After new years, they stopped talking to each other and she avoids him every time they’re near each other or when she’s with sean. i don’t know anymore. i just want what’s best for all of us.” lennon told him as she set charlie down for the night

“look,, i love her too, but we can’t fight this battle for her and we can’t do it for ben either. we have to let them solve it on their own. i’ll talk to sean again. if he gives the same answer, i’ll do something. i promise.” christian told her holding up his pinkie

lennon only sighed and then laughed at her husband. she knew he was right as much as she wanted to admit it. she took his pinkie and promised him she wouldn’t interfere with the relationship. she knew that y/n was strong and could fight her own battles, but she desperately wanted to help before something bad happened to anyone. 

ben was in his apartment, practicing over lines for a new movie. while going over them, he couldn’t help but think about his last encounter with her. after his years of acting, he could tell whether someone was acting or lying, well not so well, but he knew the difference. he threw the script across the room causing frankie to look up at her owner and start whining. ben looked at her and gave her the signal to jump onto his bed.

“i don’t know frank. i know that something is wrong but she won’t tell me. did you know what one of the last things she told me? she said she regretted what happened and i know she didn’t but i can’t force her to say what she really feels. this sean guy, i’ve seen him. at the wedding last year. Didn’t think that they would be dating by now. i just thought it would be a one night stand but every event that lennon and christian have, he’s always there even before they started dating. he wasn’t even one of the groomsmen, just a guest.” ben started to rant before he looked down to see frankie sleeping 

“alright then, i guess i’m talking to myself now.” ben told himself and slowly got out of his bed carefully to go eat seeing he hasn’t eaten all day.

everything seemed to go smoothly up until one night.

y/n and sean were on another date, christian and lennon finally got to have a night out since charlie got sick on valentines’ day and they had to postpone it, and ben was out with his friends but didn’t feel like drinking and decided to be the sober one this time.

when lennon and christian left the restaurant they took a small walk before going back to their car and back to see charlie and make sure their babysitter went home safely. on the way back to their home, a driver didn’t see them clearly and hit them causing both cars to crash. people around them started to call the cops and everyone tried to surround them to see what had just happened. y/n and ben were busy until an hour later they both got phone calls telling them to go to the police station. they didn’t know why they were being called at a late such a late hour 

“sorry sean, this will be quick.”

“Who is it?”

“the police.” she told him as she got up and went to somewhere private to talk 

“what do the police need with her?” sean asked himself confused before going back to his food

“Hello?”

“Hello is this y/n l/n?”

“yes this is she. may i ask why you’re calling?” 

“it’s best if you come down to the station. is there any chance a ben jones or hardy is with you?” the woman asked

“no he isn’t with me at the moment.” she told her confused on why they would need ben 

“alright. thank you. we’ll see you soon.” and just like that the phone call ended 

y/n walked back into sean’s dining room before she started to look for her things frantically

“everything alright? what did they need?” sean asked after seeing her worried state

“i-i really don’t know. i just needed to get down there and they didn’t say anything.” she told him opening her purse to look for her keys.

“hey, it’s okay. i’m sure everything's fine and that it was just a mistake. now c’mon, i have this dessert you’re absolutely going to love.” he told her smiling

“no it didn’t sound like a mistake i could sense the sadness in her voice. i’m really sorry sean but i have to leave. i’ll call you soon” she told him giving him a kiss on his cheek and leaving his house

the call to ben worried him as well, first he was listening to his drunk friends tell a story and then he got pulled out mid conversation by his phone ringing

“who is that? is it that one girl you’re obsessing over jonesy?” his friend teased

“no it’s not and i don’t obsess over her piss off. it’s the police” ben told them as he started to leave the table

“oh shit what’d you do?”

“Nothing that i know of. Now shush.” ben told them as he answered

“hello?”

“hi is this ben jones?” the woman asked

“yes this is he”

“we need you to come down here. we have some news.” 

“What’s this all about?” 

“It’s better if we tell you in person”

“alright. i’ll be there soon.”

ben turned his phone off before grabbing out his wallet and paying for the drinks and giving extra so his friends could call a cab

“where you going?”

“the station. they said it was important and they needed to tell me in person. i’ll see you guys soon. don’t drink too much, there’s extra for a cab” ben told them putting his jacket back on and leaving 

“alright then, see ya mate.”

ben walked back to his car and drove to the station. he couldn’t help but feel this wave of anxiety rush over him. he didn’t know what could have happened that would cause him to go down there but he knew something wasn't right.

as soon as he parked his car, he saw y/n’s car and wondered why she was there and it caused his panic to rise even more thinking it had something to do with her. rushing in, he looked around before a police officer stopped him seeing him confused and looking around.

“hi can i help you?” he asked

“yeah, um, i was called and told to be here. my names ben har- i mean jones” ben stuttered out

“right, follow me.” 

ben followed the officer to a secluded hallway with chairs against the wall and an empty desk and saw y/n pacing back and forth biting on her nails. when noticing two faint shadows, she looked up from the tiled floor and saw the officer who brought her there first and ben as well. she wasn’t sure as to why ben was there until his voice snapped her out of her thoughts

“hey you okay? what are you doing here?” he asked her grabbing her arms checking for anything

“i’m fine and i don’t know. they called me down here and i thought there was a mix up.” she told him

“then why did they call us here?” ben asked before the officer spoke up

“you both know lennon and christian wakes, yes?” 

“yeah, they’re our best friends.” she told him worried something might have happened

“they were stuck by a drunk driver causing both cars to crash and flipped.” the officer told them and gave out a deep sigh before continuing

“the officer at the scene, found both of your names and numbers on an insurance card in mrs. wakes wallet. i’m sorry, they didn’t make it.”

in that moment, y/n felt like her legs turned to jelly as her stomach dropped when hearing those words. ben quickly noticed and grabbed her and sat her down on one of the chairs before she fell to the ground

 “now, we need numbers for the nearest next of kin. Can you supply those?” he finished

Neither one of them could breathe properly and already had tears falling from their eyes

“yeah-, um, you said the car flipped? it-it flipped when it hit the-they have a daughter. a baby.” she managed to squeak out before ben interrupted her

“charlie um charlotte. was she in the car with them?” ben asked knowing y/n wouldn’t be able to

“no but because she was in the care of a minor, a babysitter, when the accident occurred. so the officers placed with the NSPCC for the night. she’s perfectly fine.” 

“NSPCC?” y/n asked still not used to the fact she was living in another country

“National society for the prevention of cruelty of children.”ben said not wanting to look up

“where they take cases like this. she’s perfectly safe.”

when they found out that charlie was safe, ben and y/n let out a thoughtful sigh, but it didn’t stop them both from crying.

“what do you mean by cases like this?”

“Orphaned children”

when the officer told the two that, it caused them to break down even more. the thought of their best friends gone and their daughter without any parents hurt them too much to even move. the officer left to give them their privacy. ben hugged her as they both continued to cry into each other's arms.

“they’re gone. i don’t want them to be gone. this has to be some sort of sick joke. it’s not real..” she cried out

“it’s not. it’s-” ben managed to choke out

after staying there and crying for a few more minutes, they both managed to get up and walk out the station. she went back to her car and began fumbling through her purse looking for keys before dropping it causing a few things to spill out. ben noticed her behavior and decided that she wasn’t stable enough to drive and went up to her.

“c’mon i’ll take you. you can’t drive in this condition.” ben told her sincerely as he sat down next to her on the ground. 

y/n didn’t argue with him and only nodded before getting up and following ben to his car. the entire ride back to their friends house was silent with the occasional sniffles from them. when they arrived, they stayed in the car before getting the courage to walk up to the door. she took her spare key and put it up to the lock, missing it the first time due to her hands shaking before ben lightly grabbed her hand and helped her. they stepped inside and turned the lights on to see how it was left before christian and lennon, and their babysitter left. there was a laundry basket in the hallway filled with charlie’s clothes and bibs, her toys on the floor in the living room, everything in the kitchen neatly put away.

as they stepped into the living room, y/n took as seat on the couch, and ben got out his phone 

“who are you calling?” 

“NSPCC” 

“they have charlie and she’s safe. Ben-”

“What?” he yelled at her

“i’m sorry. i just need to make sure.” he whispered as tears started to form in his eyes again

y/n didn’t say anything but instead nodded in understanding. a million thoughts began to run through her mind until she started to cry again. 

“no, i-i just don’t understand why we can’t see her tonight. Listen no, ma’am i don’t care about your protocol or any policies. this-yes. i will be here at this number and i suppose you have her godmother’s number as well? yes.” ben said into his phone then hung up

“they won’t do anything. not until 8 tomorrow morning.” ben said pacing while running his hand through his hair

“okay, you heard what they told us. she’s fine. we can’t keep thinking about the negatives as much as i want to admit it.” she told him. she understood where he was coming from and wanted to feel the same way but the both of them knew they had to stay strong for the three of them and that this isn’t what their friends would want them to worry about.

“i know. i know. it’s just everything that has happened between all of us, i can’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if charlie was with them.” ben sighed out before continuing

“we have to stay here tonight, that way we’re here in the morning if they call, and i just- i know that if i- i just can’t be alone right now and i know you can’t either.” he finished

he was right. she knew that if she went back to her apartment she would feel empty while knowing her other half was gone and she needed to be with someone who cared about her.

“yeah. okay.” 

“go and take the guest bedroom” ben told her

“okay, you can take their room if you want.” 

“no, i don’t think i can do that. i’ll just sleep over here.”

“are you sure?”

“yeah. i’ll see you in the morning. goodnight y/n.” ben told her as she started to walk away

“goodnight ben.” y/n said with a whisper as she turned around and looked at him  

as ben sat back down on the couch, he picked up the stuffed animal that he gave to charlie a month after she was born and smiled down at it before putting it on the coffee table. he then laid down after fixing the pillow before he started to cry all over again, as she was doing the same in the guest bedroom before they soon fell asleep hoping that it was all a bad dream and that christian and lennon would call them the next day inviting them for a barbeque.

[orenstern]

I’d like to admit that I’ve never in my life read the Diary of Anne Frank. I’ve stood outside her house before, almost 14 years ago, and could feel something of her echoes, but never had before or since seen her words or witnessed her mind.

Up until a week ago, that is, when I chanced upon a copy of her diary. I picked it up the very moment I saw it, an instant reaction and so quick I forgot to realize I’d always been innately afraid to read her work, her letters to self. Because it somehow always seemed to me like, of all the work available by now-dead writers, her diary entries would feel the most like ghost stories, like real life talking to a ghost. It’s always scared me, the notion of talking to this particular ghost. No other ghost ever proposed to raise in me the slightest feather of a concern let alone fear.

But she always had.

And I can’t even remember having seen a portrait of her until last week. As hard as that might be to believe.

Where she was concerned, it has been like living in a house where all of the mirrors had blankets covering them. And believe you me, I’ve been in many houses where real life people were still living there and it was just precisely that, blankets over the mirrors, and the inhabitants were just looking at me without a hint of shame, sorrow or remorse in their eyes. Without any hint of knowledge of the display they had erected. If it fact it was them who had erected it. Just, this is the way it is here looks in their eyes.

The fucking things you see over a life. The understated non-plussed near-miss, oh boy did it hit though I am yet unstruck, horror you sometimes see. And how often it doesn’t even faze you. You just step over it like you would any old mound of dirt, not at all an active grave, except the low key and surpressed knowledge reminding you that all the earth is an active 5 billion year old Grave and Tomb and Monument and Pyre all wrapped into one, and all the universe a 20 billion year old same thing.

So I picked up the book. And I gazed at the front cover for a good long while. At her portrait. At Anne. I looked at her portrait for the first time, and I transported my mind back to her house, and I imagined she and I were standing there together, side by side. Outside. Looking at her own house in silence, together. And we both walked away, together, headed for a fast train to Paris, by way of a stroll along the Prisengracht, and short interlude at the Van Gogh museum. No other manifestations than that. I did not even imagine our bodies or our faces. I just remembered having done that before, peering out from the windows of my own eyes, with a companion by my side, and imagined this time, Anne was there with me doing the same.

And then after these thoughts, I opened the book. But I turned immediately to her very final entry. And I read only this Tuesday, August 1st, 1944 entry.

I’m sure I am not the only one who has read her writings and recognized themself in her words. But for certain, what she had written seemed and felt like something I’d written at least a thousand times. Her precise sentiments, and word choices, her very style. Parts of her style is my style. I must have picked that up either from writers who were familiar with her writings or just plucked it out of the wind somehow or some other way. But still that was not the eerie part.

The eerie part was the last two paragraphs. Which I copied down by hand into one of my own journals, with a blunt non-sharpened 3 inch pencil with no eraser no less, was all I had at the time. It was eerie because for at least a decade but more and more lately like the curvings of a quadratic formula, I’ve been hearing the phrase “Set Intentions” like you might hear during guided meditation or whenever someone wants to Exalt the Secret of Manifestation to you.

And I wasn’t at all going to share any of this with anyone. I had no plans to say any of this outloud to write anything on it or engage it any further or even ever again. I wrote the passage in my journal and I’d figured I was fully intending to never ever look back at that passage, or talk about it, or allow myself to recall it, and otherwise resolved to keep the blankets over this mirror forever.

But then I was scrolling this evening and just saw someone had shared a picture of Anne. And that too was a first for me to witness. Now I saw her face twice in a week, at the bookends of the week, both on Wednesdays at roughly about the same time of day. Happy to call that coincidence. Very happy to call it that.

But, I had also been just on a smoke break from my own writings, a letter I was writing to a loved one and the tenor of the letter of where I had left off when I stopped for my smoke break had just moved onto omens.

Oh boy, right?

Well now, still happy to be coincidentally maybe now just only synchronistically having this experience. But given it all, I’d resolved to share.

And by share, I’m not sure I can bring this all into any firm sense of things that could make it any less eerie. Though I will try. And if I don’t fully strike the right note in this attempt, I will know it, you won’t have to tell me, but I will publish the attempt anyway as an earmark of this encounter, and double back on it maybe whenever it is that I have found the right note or chord to strike or strum.

I’m thinking of two things, one I was going to save for my letter when I moved past omens. And one I was going to tell a friend of mine after watching a movie he recommended that I still have not told him. So I will choose neither and tell you both of them in this writing.

Most importantly, this is not at all about victim blaming, please have the courage to see past that, as Anne apparently might say that, at least, one of your two voices, if you only had two, would have such ability. And this, even if that means this courageous voice disappears after only 15 minutes.

First, I can remember back to a time when I am not more than a few months older than my son is now, maybe six months older. I am lying in my little boy bed, in my little boy bedroom in the house I grew up in, a little cape style enhanced cottage. It is night. The walls are blue. The headboard is all white and soft and plush to the touch, and riveted by silken buttons, smooth to the touch and shiny to the eye, though woven round by very fine white thread.

I am laying on top of the covers. This is colorful Snoopy and the Peanuts bedding. It’s not exactly yet bed time. But it must still be before the Vernal Equinox because the sun has been down for a good while and its not yet past my little boy bedtime. And the room is lit golden by a single 40 maybe 60 but really probably 40 watt incandescent bulb. It’s gold in there, it’s almost orange that low gold glow. And I’m laying at angle on the bed. And I’m pointed feet first at the east corner of the bedroom, which is also precisely lined up with Cardinal East. And I shit you not, but on this evening, a few weeks before my actual birthday and I wouldn’t be surprised if it was on my original due date, I was thinking to myself, “I must be dreaming in this life. I am going to remember this moment forever. When I get older. And I believe I am going to wake up someday from the distant future back here in this moment, back here in the age, back here just the way I am now.”

I’ve not tampered with this memory at all since then. I’ve remembered it precisely and often ever since. I’ve referred back to it thousands of times. In a sense, I in fact have never left that room or that night. I built it into every single night since. Like one of Tom Riddle’s horcruxes. And this before I had ever heard Row Row Row Your Boat. And this before I had enough speaking skills to say these thoughts outloud even if I wanted to but enough language understanding to think them and remember.

So that’s the first thought.

The second thought, it’s about that movie my friend suggested I watch over the summer. It was a horror movie, a new one. You may have watched it yourself. Called Ghosts of War.

My feedback to him the day after I watched it was pretty simple. A. I enjoyed it. B. The sniper I think is my favorite. C. It reminds me I have another horror movie That I do not mention to him by name then, but I only say that it is in the genre of horror that is not shriekingly scary, or rather does not rely on shriekingly scary moments. Because it does contain a couple of those potentially frightful jolts. But that is not it’s best foot forward. This type of horror is not the exciting amusement park kind. This type of horror is the kind that enters your bloodstream and stays with you and haunts you over a long period of time, long afterwards. The kind of horror you might find yourself waking up from sleep even a year or more later and not feeling right and having witnessed. D. I might get back to him someday with more commentary. Oh and E. I really enjoyed seeing Billy Zane. Particularly as the dichotomy of American Doctor and SS Colonel.

But wouldn’t you know shortly after I finished writing down that passage from Anne Frank’s final entry, pledging to not look at it ever again, I found myself in another room talking to a person about that actual movie that ghost of war reminded me of that I didn’t tell my friend what that movie was. To this new person I did say its name. It is paranormal activity. The first one. I said that movie is the first time I had witnessed a genuine horror film, That has the capability of genuinely haunting me for a long long period of time, in my adult years. And it doesn’t contain hardly any,if at all, shriek moments.

The horror of that movie is it’s power to slowly and steadily and surely wrap itself around your heart with fear and anxiety, and with full command, Sustain you in that state while flexing and relaxing it’s own valves, to show you who’s boss and who is in command.

Furthermore I told this person, that such a film as this paranormal activity is is not a film to watch when you are in a heightened state of consciousness. You’ve got to be half asleep at the wheel half dead inside to properly survive that film. Because in the final moment, and I admitted this to that person, when you see the demon at last, he jumps straight into your eyes. Straight into you. That movie is perhaps the ultimate act of transgression, that I’d ever seen to that date. And I admitted to this person that it took me a good long while of concerted and methodical effort, to rid myself of that motherfucking demon. Such is the exquisite accomplishment of that particular horror movie. I spared my friend this story, because I’m pretty sure he would’ve shit his pants if I told it to him in person. I think I’m only about 30% joking about that.

But tomorrow being that some stories stay with you longer than others. Some stories you actually have to exorcise from your mind. it’s very good training. Especially if you happen to frequently find yourself in other peoples houses and those houses have all the mirrors draped over by blankets. And those other people walk about aimlessly as though they have no idea how odd that appears to be. if you know what I’m saying. And if you can believe what I’m saying is actually true.

But no I don’t think I’ll ever tell my friend about the paranormal activity story. What I will tell him is another thought I had about ghosts of war. That I think on some level in someway we are all ghosts of every war. Wars that we’ve seen and wars that we haven’t seen, either depicted in books or movies or for trade for real on the news both of foreign lands and domestic. And even wars in our own mind, common place words with our neighbors or friends or family or loved ones. I think in someway we just are ghosts of it. Carrying the crosses of it.

And I remember a story I wrote or a poem maybe it was about a universal snake and a universal monkey. The universal snake head swallowed the universal monkey. Seemingly defeated him in battle. Seemingly killed him. Seemingly was digesting him. But unseeming to the universal snake, the universal monkey to this day will not die. And for all eternity the universal snake has had indigestion on account of the universal monkey’s eternal will not to be extinguished. They say it ain’t over til it’s over. They say don’t stop believing. I say that’s probably very good advice and we should all listen to it. The Monkey is listening to it right now, and has been forever. That monkey won’t quit. That monkey is in a pickle but he’s got a slim to none chance and yet he won’t quit.

How this works back to ghosts to war and how we’re ghosts of war with everyone, and how this works back to Anne Frank. It’s up to you what you wanna believe in, I believe in the fact that God won’t ever let us really kill each other. We might see it happen with our own eyes. Right before us. But I believe that even as it happens it also instantly unhappens.

We have the ability to look backwards in time and forecast forwards in time but we only have the ability to live in one moment of time at a time and that we called the present. We have no idea what actually happens in previous moments of time once we’ve moved past them. Except how they exist in our mind. But for all we know in a moment that someone apparently kills another, whether it’s a person to a person or an animal to an animal. How do we know it doesn’t on happen once we’ve left that moment? Natural law has a place in this world. So natural law gets its way in this world. But there are such things as the overlapping thesis of all the different laws. And divine law is a thing in that overlapping thesis. Just as well as natural law is. So it is totally possible that once we make a mess of things, the Custodian comes along to fix it.

It’s possible along the same probabilities or maybe even slightly better than Lloyd Christmas’ chances of getting the red head which he eventually did.

To another person who overheard me talking to that first person last week about paranormal activity, the next day she came to me with concerns. I listened to these concerns. And my response was what you do is up to you. Including whether or not you trust yourself or not. If I were in your shoes I would try to trust myself. Even as everyone around me might seem intent on leading me to betray my own trust. if I were in your shoes, I would choose to believe that no one actually has the power to do that. No one actually has the will to want to see you fail, to fail yourself. Because that would be them wishing them to fail themselves. And while they might get away with that in one moment in the next that moment is wiped clean. If I were in your shoes I’d be telling that to myself every moment I had these concerns you are telling me about.

I further said, and I stop talking about if I were in her shoes. I further said what you think is happening is happening. What you understand about what is happening is only ever coming into focus more and more. You may not have all the Time in the world, but you do always have the luxury of patience. There’s no rush when it comes to the process of understanding. Something tells me we’ll repeat the lesson infinitely if necessary. something also tells me that won’t actually be necessary. The lesson will come clear eventually. Have faith in that and likely all of your fears and concerns will be abolished. The probability of it being otherwise, however great it seems, as Pascal very effectively demonstrated, infinitely pales to the seemingly tiny probability, the Boson particle infinitesimally small and impossible to fathom yet there it is nonetheless almost something you can now actually reach out and grab but even still something you can see if only by way of prediction probability, of it not being otherwise.

So that in other words no sword actually ever really falls upon the neck but he’s only ever caught by the Hand.

I’ve been waiting to wake up to this reality ever since my two-year-old self woke up to that reality and said I will be waking up here someday again.

But I did tell that second person, be careful the stories you tell yourself. They could be like that movie demon that enters your mind and poisons your body, like that story I told last night. The mind can make almost anything real. That’s a quote from a movie also, but it comes from somewhere. Didn’t it? So possibly probably in all likelihood whatever story you tell yourself whatever imaginary though you have as an objective: if somewhere in this universe. Somehow manifest itself. Somehow find a way to be born and become true. Often a lot faster and more hellishly than you thought possible.

The mind is it’s own place. It can make heaven out of hell and hell a heaven. I don’t need to read the whole diary of Anne Frank, to know beyond what her final entry says. That she was equally gifted at doing both. And that, my friends, is not victim blaming. That is just what it is.

And so behold the final two paragraphs of her final passage:

As I’ve told you, what I say is not what I feel, which is why I have a reputation for being boy-crazy as well as a flirt, a smart aleck and a reader of romances. The happy-go-lucky Anne laughs, gives a flippant reply, shrugs her shoulders and pretends she doesn’t give a darn. The quiet Anne reacts in just the opposite way. If I’m being completely honest, I’ll have to admit that it does matter to me, that I’m trying very hard to change myself, but that I I’m always up against a more powerful enemy. A voice within me is sobbing, “You see, that’s what’s become of you. You’re surrounded by negative opinions, dismayed looks and mocking faces, people, who dislike you, and all because you don’t listen to the advice of your own better half.”

Believe me, I’d like to listen, but it doesn’t work, because if I’m quiet and serious, everyone thinks I’m putting on a new act and I have to save myself with a joke, and then I’m not even talking about my own family, who assume I must be sick, stuff me with aspirins and sedatives, feel my neck and forehead to see if I have a temperature, ask about my bowel movements and berate me for being in a bad mood, until I just can’t keep it up anymore, because when everybody starts hovering over me, I get cross, then sad, and finally end up turning my heart inside g out, the bad part on the outside and the good part on the inside, and keep trying to find a way to become what I’d like to be and what I could be if… if only there were no other people in the world.

Yours, Anne M. Frank

[dragonshoard]

@markala5 

(Because the thread was getting too long i made a new one // I’m sorry for any typos ;( I’m super tired lol)

I agree with the fact that she is super stubborn. She’s set on not only creating an alternative for the extermination Hell goes through each year but also proving herself to her father and the people of Hell in general. It would definitely be something inherent to angel!Charlie because she aches for people to care about her and people to care about. 

She’s definitely developed her own sense of self after all these years, but the problem is that it’s based off of validity from people around her which IS NOT HEALTHYYY. It’s actually really sad. She’ll be her perky self and be immediately shut down by the people around her. She may be willing to brawl, but she’s just as likely to shut down. 

Long post is long so I’m putting it under read more

On the thing about apathy. I find it an interesting concept with this world. There is a certain level of Apathy to Hell but its the type where everything is super active and violent, just everyone is super blase about it. There’s the half of hell actively always looking for a fight/power and the other half that just sort of... exists in misery.

As an angel who not only needs people around them but also NEEDS a purpose, it’s an extremely toxic environment. With the system you’re describing... just ow. I can only imagine how many times Charlie has nearly faded and just what needed to be done to get her back. 

Like, Vaggie is a recent development (not even 10 years) and there hasn’t been anyone else around Charlie that would function as a support other than her parents, possibly. 

(I’m still shocked that Vaggie only died in 2014. She’s super young but comes off as acting like one of the oldest - I genuinely thought she had been childhood friends with Charlie lol)

I’d imagine that instead of fading away, it would be more like she falls into a coma (I need Disney references, she’s literally a Disney princess). And I’d like to think that its more like a self generative state because, again, been established that you can’t exactly die naturally in Hell (or Heaven, presumably). Longest she’s slept would probably me... probably a year? It’s been established that Lilith and Charlie have a close relationship, so I’m thinking that most of the time it’s Lilith bringing her back after the fact and supporting her. There was one time where her father showed he cared enough (the time she slept for a year - he was even nice enough to preen her feathers) but he went back to being mostly apathetic after that (jealousy is no good :/). 

Because even people with the strongest sense of self and will power will crash in that environment. Lilith would definitely be her number one supporter until Vaggie (and especially how now Lilith is very busy in canon time), but it wouldn’t be enough (especially when flocks typically have around 10-15 people). 

She’d fight for as long as she could. Towards the end of the “cycle” (about to go to sleep) it would be the hardest for her not to sing and her passive song would be the strongest and most violent/desperate (enough that even her Dad can vaguely hear it and typically starts preparing her room). At this point it would be the hardest to keep her angelic features in so she starts isolating herself, speeding up the process. Her song would come out stuttery (imagine the first song in the pilot - constantly singing that one but in between sobs) and she’d try to stay awake but would fall asleep each time. 

And when she wakes up her song would be bright, loud and optimistic, determined to break the circle (it never works).  

Alastor would have no clue that this happens so the first time she goes through it after meeting him, he is beyond curious. He knows little about angel biology, only bits and pieces he’s picked up over the years. He spends the two weeks she spends sleeping taking care of her and feeling out her (for once) peaceful song. 

(I do the same. Making myself sad should be a professional job lol)

Charlie displays steel and passion on her shoulders just as clearly as her insecurities. Alastor was drawn to her from first song, tbh. There was something about it that he found fascinating and when he actually met her she was far more interesting. To be frank though, I’d imagine that initially she reminds him of the type of people he would hunt when he was alive. Meeting her, it would kind of reinforce that because he doesn’t really see her thinking for herself. The more he would get to know her, the more he’d see that she is truly someone born of Hell and the more interesting she becomes to him. She’ll say some things that are so blatantly inhuman that it’ll just make him double take. 

She would be an itinerary of knowledge for horrible things (like how to kill, how to torture people, etc) but she doesn’t use or like any of it. It’s just a result of living with her family and in Hell as a general concept. I’m kind of imagining a young Charlie being forced to sit through executions and torture sessions either performed or ordered by her father (maybe even forced to do it herself). 

....ok i went on a tangent whoops. 

And YES SHE ASSOCIATES HELL AS HERS ALL HERS. This is canon. Actual canon. She doesn’t care about silly turf wars, doesn’t care about who is on whose side. They’re all hers. I remember reading in the wiki that she takes the approach of treating rehabilitating sinners like children. I think this would come in here. 

It would kill her to lose so many souls so constantly but, holy hell, she’s also getting just as many people daily so she’s constantly hearing new songs join the already mixed and jumbled song. It would be really distracting and sometimes interferes with her higher process thinking.

But you gotta admit the angel part of her would be super confused at all the killing because, technically, it’s her own kind that’s killing off her people. One half of her would be screaming “WHY WHY WHY DO THIS KIN WHY ARE YOU HURTING ME” while the other half is screaming for blood and respite. 

And yeah, being unable to do anything about it and no matter how much her Mom tries to calm her down and how thick the walls of her bunker are, it doesn’t stop her from hearing the screaming and sheer devastation. Coming out after the fact is draining and she spends at least a day or so crying and singing her heart out (her voice practically broken at this point from her own screaming). Her skin would be especially ill-fit but there’s no part of her angel half willing enough to show itself. It’s akin to feeling like you’re swimming in a sweater that’s three sizes too big. 

....she is totally a lion. She has the mane for it despite identifying as female xD

Tbh honest, when I first thought of angels in this universe and what not, I likened them to being a species in which you’re one or you’re not. So a hybridization like Charlie is not only rare, but unstable. Her demon and angel halves fight for dominance and, eventually, one half will win and there’s no going back from there. Omg CHARLIE BEING THE FIRST SURVIVING CHILD IS SO SAD. NOOOOO ;((((((

Charlie goes underground during the extermination for a good reason lol. As she gets older, her instincts would severely change. The older she gets (and the more powerful), the more prone she is to fighting back. By the time canon comes around, she has to be chained during the extermination and Lucifer or Lilith have to be there to make sure she doesn’t break out of the chains.

Charlie is aware of this and so she would be terrified af when her friends suggested they get together during the extermination for support. By this point, Charlie is starting to feel more stable and feels that she might actually be able to control herself better with her flock surrounding her. 

Alastor probably wouldn’t know about it until he shows up out of nowhere and sees them barricading the hotel and is like wtf are you all doing. He side eyes the chains that Charlie sneaks past her flock. He immediately decides that it would be a splendid and fun idea to join them. Vaggie tries to deny him, but Charlie is quick to agree, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn’t have to be chained. 

She sticks close to him when the clock hits midnight and the angels descend. The chains were a precautionary measure and in between Alastor and her flock, she thought that she wouldn’t have needed them but she was WRONG. 

Somehow, Charlie manages to hold herself back until an angel shows up at her door. A part of her is whimpering cousin-friend-family-brother-sister while another part of her knew what exactly this meant.and was screaming in the only way she knew how to tell the angel to GO AWAY. 

But yeah, they don’t and they get messed up and Charlie ends up revealing her eldritch form to her friends (other than Alastor who has already seen her in this form by this point).  Alastor would definitely draw her into a duet to bring her back to herself. 

During this Alastor would be so excited to see his angel kill an actual angel. Sadly (to him) they end up getting away. The feathers clenched in her hands were trophies of another kind. He wanted to pin and frame the wing in one of her clawed hands. 

But it’s still kind of a horrible moment too because the extermination is still happening and Charlie can still hear and feel her people dying. She’d be crying to tell him to make it stop and all he could really do is sing quietly to her, emphasizing his own song to try and mute some of the carnage. 

But if there’s anything Alastor can do, it’s talk and talk about everything but nothing. 

FUTURE LA MUERTE/XIBALBA AND ADAMS COUPLE VIBES AHHHHH. I support this so much. I see them in the future as a fairly antagonistic and competitive couple I don’t know why (so kind of like La Muerte and Xibabla xD). They love each other more than anything but, at the same time, they can only handle each other in contained doses. There would of course be the honeymoon period, but eventually when they settle, their personalities and morals combat each other quite a bit. Both of them are unyielding in their beliefs and unwillingness to change so it would cause some clashing. 

Can’t live with em, can’t live without em’.

They would be that couple that’s always singing and dancing though, from tango to intense and dramatic songs to slow ballroom. It would annoy everyone around them and Charlie would feel some embarrassment at first but, in the end, absolutely love it. 

Lol this was all very very great :DDDDD  I feel you. I feel like I’ve written a fic but its great xD

[raleigh-ocean]

like none is watching

summary: sunday mornings were chill, almost everyone waking up late in their rest day. A couple meet downstairs at the kitchen and, in between dancing and laughing, they remember what they used to be.

words: 3, 766

N/A: The fic take places around October, the morning of the day in which the doctor tells Delia she can’t have babies. 

Cordelia and Raleigh are 33, the same age, so y’all keep it in mind! 

I always like to talk about them in the after-Supreme/Apocalypse setting, but writing them as just their normal setting is my jam. 

Also I made this gif just out of spite bc I didn’t find any of pre-Supreme!Cordelia and I’m pissed. Once I figure out how to gif properly is over for you. 

And to end this long note, > here < is the song they listen to!

Autumn always made her feel at peace, Raleigh thought while setting the kettle in the stove, with its auburn colours and the light breeze and how everyone started to get ready for Halloween. She muffled a chuckle against her hand, finding funny how despite everything she still liked the festivity.

That was a good sign for her; a sign that she was getting used to be sober from her power.

None seem to be awake that early, not that she expected it since it was sunday and meant Cordelia let her few girls rest, and it made her feel better. She didn't want those girls to see her like that, to notice she was the weak link among them and let them see they could win the upper hand? No way.

Raleigh already had to live among bitches in her Academy days, she wasn't going back to that.

Since she came back to the Academy a couple of weeks ago, all she wanted to was make up for the time lost and recover fully. As days went by the hope of getting there was starting to grow slowly, her own hard work showing only for Cordelia to see.

Drawing her thumb over her mug, Raleigh thought her best achievement so far was making Cordelia smile again.

Not only the kettle made her stop wandering around her thoughts, but also someone walking in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” sleepy voice and all, Raleigh couldn’t help but smile softly at the sound of her best girl. “Are you getting coffee or tea?”

“Do you want me to be awake for another day?” Raleigh let out a chuckle and soon her friend was by her side, mug in hand. "Give it to me, sleepy head, I'll fill it for you."

Cordelia giggled sleepy at that, thanking softly when the mug full of warm tea was in her hands again. She waited for Raleigh to fill hers and took both to the kitchen's round table where both settled by each other side. It was like they were still young, sitting close while drinking tea in a comfortable silence. Raleigh felt how her bits of magic were pulling ever so softly at her friend's magic, having missed that sweet feeling for too long. Cordelia smiled in peace and put her free hand over Raleigh's, intertwining their fingers as if it was there where they belong.

"You're tickling me," seeing Cordelia's features that relaxed sent a wave of warmth all over her. "You always did that."

"You always were stressed," Raleigh concluded, bringing Cordelia's hand to her lips and kissing her knuckles. "And I loved to see you smile, what more could I do Deli?"

“Took me to the greenhouse in the wee hours, put on one of your mixtapes in miss Reverie’s old radio,” Cordelia’s thumb caressed Raleigh’s hand, leaning a bit as if she was going to tell the other woman a secret. “And dancing to it, until I ended up telling you what was worrying me.”

“Did I do that? I don’t remember it like that,” Raleigh chuckled when Cordelia moved her hand from on top of hers to hit her shoulder, which she responded by draping her arm over her shoulders and hug her like that. “Okay, okay, I was the troublemaker, you were the brick.”

They didn’t pull away from the position, having Cordelia bringing closer her chair so they could be more comfortable. It was easy to slip in their old selves, too easy, and it was a welcomed feeling. Resting her head over Raleigh’s shoulder, Cordelia received a kiss on top of her head almost automatically. They always had that little gesture, you laid your head in the other’s shoulder and you got a kiss; simple and sweet.

“God,” a soft whisper and then Raleigh felt a kiss on her shoulder, followed by Cordelia resting her chin there. “I wish you did that again.”

“Handyman would freak out if I go into your bedroom like that,” faking a gasp, as if she just said the most hideous thing, Raleigh took a big sip of her tea afterwards. “What if I caught him de-”

“His name is Hank,” the interruption came with Cordelia pulling away from the embrace, holding her mug with both hands.

“Well, don’t want to catch Frank and you on marital stuff,” she didn’t need to look at her friend to see her frown, Raleigh only needed to stretch her bits of magic and sense how Cordelia’s was pulling away.

“I have enough with my mother not liking him,” Raleigh only shrugged and looked at her tea. The guy was a prick and him was the only opinion she would ever have in common with the Supreme. It made her blood boil in anger. “Be nice, please.”

Never prone to awkward silences, that was one heck of an uncomfortable one. Nice was a big thing to say, she already gave him a little electric shock when they shook hands - because heck if he thought she was letting him kiss her cheek - when Cordelia introduce him to her. Tapping her fingers over the wood of the table Raleigh pushed a little bit harder her magic, trying to fight against the effects of the concoction. I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry that was always what it meant, it was Raleigh’s way to apologize without having to say the words.

“So, Voodoo,” Cordelia muttered a soft ‘Queenie’ and cracked a little smile. She knew that both were talking more than she was talking with any of the other girls. “Yeah, well, she told me you asked her to help you put some of my music in a...thing. How’s that going?”

Cordelia was letting her again intertwine their magic flows. That was a good thing, at least she still was receptive.

“I’m trying to find one that’s friendly for you, not many features, just the basics,” she fumbled in the pocket of her robe, fishing her phone out of it.

“Oh shit,” Raleigh looked really surprised upon seeing Cordelia’s phone, leaning back in the chair while watching her scroll and touch the screen. “Hope the thing doesn’t look like that, that’s fucking terrifying.”

“It won’t, don’t worry,” a little laugh that made Raleigh move her hand to rest on top of Cordelia’s thigh, giving her a light squeeze. “I have already a list of everything I remember, but you’ll have to check if I forgot to put something,” Cordelia showed her the bright screen and took her other hand, putting the cellphone in it. Raleigh couldn’t read shit, but once she squinted her eyes and put the device a bit further from her face, it was all peachy. “Later I’ll worry about having your eyes checked, old lady, but now tell me, come on.”

Raleigh thanked to be such a hopeless soul with all these new tech, because she enjoyed every second of Cordelia touching her hand while showing her how to scroll down the list. The true bliss of the fools, she told herself while reading all the songs she recognized well from her youth. As far as she saw, Cordelia did a really cool selection of their favourites, warming her heart.

While trying to think of something to say, she saw that one song.

And, of course, Raleigh had to play it right away.

She left the cellphone over the table as the first notes started, standing up and being followed by Cordelia’s sweet brown eyes, full of curiosity. Once she was up, she held her hand out for Cordelia to take. She raised an eyebrow and Raleigh had to flicker her fingers a bit, moving her head to encourage her best friend to move. When their hands were together again, Raleigh started to swing them softly to the beat of the music.

“You’re such a dork,” Cordelia saw how Raleigh started lip syncing the song. “Why do I put up with you, Ocean.”

“A secret stack of Snickers, a Coke and like five bucks, that’s why you put up with me,” they chuckled at the memory, dancing along the song a bit more enthusiastically. “So you tell me, you bought my soul for that price.”

“I bought it because it was the only way to make you shut up and let miss Reverie talk,” Cordelia hit Raleigh playfully in the chest with her hand, nothing she couldn’t handle. “Didn’t think I would regret that in the future, twenty years without touching a Snicker bar after watching you eat them all in like thirty.”

“Is that so? C’mon love, now put your arms around me and we tumble to the ground and then you say,” Raleigh sang the part of the song at the right time, used to sing it skillfully, and she did pull Cordelia closer to her so she could circle her neck with her arms. “I think we’re alone now,”

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone around,” Cordelia whispered, leaning in the touch and hugging her fully, hiding her face in the crook of her neck. The happy tone of the song didn’t match the chill morning, but it was okay. “I think we’re alone now…”

“The beating of our hearts as the only sound,” she could feel the soft vibrations of Raleigh’s voice against her cheek and that feeling was always the best.

Being like that, so close after being away for that long, feels like heaven. It wasn’t that the song was triggering a specific memory, but because it was their song back then. Cordelia couldn’t help but wonder, swinging to the song in Raleigh’s arms, if she was dreaming. But the Raleigh of her dreams didn’t look like the woman in front of her, she always looked as if she was still eighteen while she herself looked thirty three.

Seeing Raleigh, thirty three like her, breathing and sharing the same physical space as her after fifteen years of being missing still felt unreal.

“Do you remember when we sneaked out in Mardi Gras?” Raleigh’s voice brought Cordelia back to the kitchen, the song still playing. “Miss Snow was so fucking pissed off.”

“At you? Yeah,” another chuckle, another shot of light right into Raleigh’s heart. “Auntie Myrtle didn’t let you be near me for the next two weeks or so.”

“Totally worth it,” when she looked up at her tall friend, Cordelia could see a pleased half smile and Raleigh’s eyes closed. “It's a good thing you had a troublemaker girlfriend, if not we would had spent our two first weeks as such looking at each other from the other side of the lounge," it was Raleigh's time to shoot light into Cordelia's heart. "Nothing could had kept me away from my best girl."

But it did, something kept Raleigh away from Cordelia and now what they had didn't matter anymore. Only them being nostalgic over an old song could make them put their old feelings out there again. But any of them seemed to want to really talk about that at the moment.

Although they kept dancing, both started to drift away slightly in their own minds. Until Cordelia found the courage to ask what she had in mind for a few days now.

"I'm understaffed Ray," hazel tired eyes meeting brown worried eyes.

"That's what I see, honey, one would think you'd get rid off of old Spalding and get new butler and maids."

"Not only the service, but…I'm the only teacher," Cordelia bit her lip, she was really bad at letting her intentions be known. "And I have four young witches in my care…"

"...and you were wondering if I can give you a hand," Raleigh's eyes shone for a second. "With the teacher part I hope."

“Please?”

Raleigh only sighed at it. If Cordelia asked her for the moon, she would bring it to her without asking; if Cordelia asked her to jump, she would only reply how high; if Cordelia asked her to help her, she would do it without hesitation.

"They are brats," the Headmistress looked up at her friend, with a big smile on her lips. "I hate bratty people."

"Nan and Zoe are the least bratty," Cordelia's fingers found Raleigh's nape and played with her hair.

"We don't have enough books," thinking about the only shelf in the house with books made her want to cry. "Did Fiona snort them?"

"I have yours in my closet, stored and safe," the blonde only shook her head softly and Raleigh felt a heavy weight lifted from her body. "We can use them till I figure out a way to get more."

"What about the Council," both knew they soon would had to talk to them about her return.

“Myrtle won’t be here till around Christmas, we have some time to come up with something,” Raleigh made Cordelia twirl at the right time with the music, pulling her closer again easily.

“Permission to not assist morning gathering,” Cordelia gasped and laugh at that, getting what it seemed a smug grin as the only response. “Pembroke didn’t attend shit for like six years.”

“Once a month, I pick the one you assist,” a groan and a giggle, the kitchen hadn’t seen that much sound in the last ten years.

“Fine, but I’m allowed to eat in my room.”

“No, you eat your Smacks in the table with the rest.”

“Aw but thank God, I was going to start a revolution if I had to eat that…awful but healthy cereal you like.”

“We know you wouldn’t, you love me too much.”

“Low punch, but true.”

The song kept playing and they kept their game of terms. That’s how they found out everything was real, that they were by each other side finally. Even when the song ended, they kept dancing in the kitchen for a few minutes more. Cordelia felt light and content, laughing at her friend’s antics and offerings, drowning in her magic and her presence gladly.

As if they didn’t age a single bit.

The comfortable silence settled by itself while Raleigh was hugging Cordelia as close as she could, having the latter's hands and head in her chest. They didn't need words to say what they were thinking or what they were feeling, but there was something that was escaping from Raleigh's knowledge for once. That something being that her friend, her sweet Deli, wasn't the one she last saw before her power made her flee.

She wasn't the girl that she kissed as if she held the her entire universe in her hands.

She wasn't Cordelia Goode, the girl that could talk for hours about potioncraft and astrology.

As a matter of fact, she wasn't even a girl anymore.

"I missed you so much, Ray," the woman in her arms was about to cry, that didn't change, when she managed to gather new words. "I-I thought you wouldn't ever come back."

Raleigh was trying not to fall in the sudden realization, in the way her crippling fear was trying to take her down. She was fine, she was with Cordelia, she was feeling her body and her warmth, she was controlling what she was doing.

"I'm here," the taller woman said that in a broken tone, a statement for both. "I came back."

"I'll keep improving the concoction," a promise, a kiss in the base of her neck and then Cordelia's arms were circling Raleigh to keep her closer as if she was going to run away right in that exact moment. "I won't let it happen again, I won't le-"

"It's perfect at it is Deli," the sweet nickname came out softly as Raleigh pressed her lips against the side of Cordelia's head. "It wasn't your fault, it wasn't your fault at all honey."

"I had to stop you, I was- You were-"

Closing her eyes to not watch how her best friend melt in her arms. It wasn't our fault. It was Fiona's, and only hers. Pushing her magic again, to cover her friend, was the answer to not think about the uneasiness and the anxiety. Everything was going to be okay, eventually for sure, but okay. Raleigh was afraid of Cordelia's legs giving up so she held her better in her arms to walk toward their chairs again, almost lifting her ever so softly that she didn't have to take a step if she didn't want to.

It didn't bother Raleigh at all that Cordelia decided to sit in her lap instead of her chair.

With care, she pulled her sleeve with her fingers, using the fabric to wipe away Cordelia's tears with care. If those bitches, including her mother, knew their authority was in a low point…she would tear her apart. And she wasn't having it. Cordelia tried to chuckle between sobs at the gesture.

"I got worse at crying," another chuckle met by Cordelia's own fingers to wipe away a rebel tear. "I got worse at everything, I'm even bad at making babies."

Frowning upon that, Raleigh kissed her cheek to not think about the knot in her stomach. She had Cordelia's right arm resting in her shoulders but she took her left hand to draw her thumb along her wrist. A tattoo, look at you Goode. The touch seemed to relax her friend slightly.

"Babies? How could you possibly be bad at that…?" the comment made Cordelia's expression darkened and showed how she was about to start crying again. "Cordelia, you've never been bad at anything in your whole life, for Christ's sake," Raleigh made her look at her, putting a hand in her cheek, and then something made her stomach churn. "What's gotten into you?"

"Sweet talking to me?" not even like that Cordelia stopped from being the most beautiful.

"No, listen to me," it was hard at that point to control her own emotions, but she had to. For both. "I don't give a shit about whatever bullshit they made you believe. You are a very capable witch, a very capable woman," Raleigh brought Cordelia's hand to her lips, kissing her knuckles softly. "Stop with that."

"But you don't know ho-"

"Are you going to make me hide your potion's stuff till you stop beating yourself up?" Raising her eyebrows a bit comically, the gesture made Cordelia laugh at that and nuzzled Raleigh's neck with her nose, hugging her better and shaking her head a bit. "That's what I thought. Now calm down love, I'm here with you."

Raleigh wanted to do more than just cares Cordelia's back and rocking her softly in her arms, she wanted to provide as much as she could now that she was there. Her head was full of questions, full of things she wasn't able to see with her power, full of all that she missed.

When she thought the blonde woman was more calm, she kissed her temple before speaking again.

"Let's buy some ice-cream and do some chilling together, Brad is gone for the weekend right?" That time the misspelled name made her friend chuckle but something in her body language changed, how she stiffened enough for Raleigh to notice and her arms were starting to pull away. "Only us catching up, listening some music or watching a film? I don't know if we'll have to rent it or you have some VHS here? We can even talk about the super breathing fire babies you'll have, whatever you ne-"

"You are rambling sweetie," it was Cordelia's time to put her hand in Raleigh's cheek. The pet name was…strange for her, her Cordelia never called her that. She didn't like it, in fact. The tone, it was definitely the tone in her voice. "As much as I wanted to…throw a sleepover, I have things to do first."

No, of course this wasn't her Cordelia. Raleigh felt the cold starting to spread in her chest while the woman in her lap started to recover from the breakdown as if she was used to it. She didn't fight when Cordelia stood up, taking both mugs to let them in the sink, before walking back to Raleigh and kiss her forehead. No, no, that's was wrong.

"We'll catch up once I'm back," her smile was different now that she noticed. "I have to run some urgent errands downtown today."

The sudden change in everything, as if some cruel God sped the time, didn't do good to Raleigh's bottled up nerves. In other circumstances, Cordelia would had let her ramble before saying something. She always let her ramble and let everything in her mind flow. Why she was cutting her now?

"Let me tag along," she chirped, very unlikely of Raleigh, hiding her nervousness by standing up too. "I can d-"

"I want you to stay and rest," it was like the dance, the way they were comforting each other, never happened. "And keep an eye on the girls while I'm out, please?"

Cordelia wasn't like this. She obeyed, reassuring her that she would keep an eye on the brats. She is pushing you away. Not even when Raleigh tried to tickle Cordelia again with her magic made her react, only making her smile softly before squeezing her hands between hers. She only dove for a hot second in nostalgia, it didn't mean anything.

Raleigh was left alone in the kitchen again just like that after that last sweet gesture, with the sound of four girls approaching in the distance.

Paralyzed, numb, like a statue, dumbfounded.

What the hell just happened?

For a second she was looking right into the eyes of her old love, and then she was looking into the eyes of a stranger. The feeling of having something missing intensified and it was difficult for her to breath, everything crushing all messy in her head instead of falling in order as she wanted to. As much as she wanted to retake everything that was left as the way it was, it didn't mean the rest of the world didn't move, waiting for her. It was confusing, it was terrifying, it was nerve wracking.

Zoning out as she was doing, it took Zoe a few attempts to make her actually move.

"Are you okay?" the girl, barely eighteen, was looking at her with both worry and hesitation.

Oh dear Lord, she was definitely not.

However she couldn't lose control now. Registering quickly what was going around her, Raleigh faked a chuckle that seemed to soften Zoe's expression and she patted her shoulder, a bit awkwardly to hide her trembling hand.

"Of course, sweet pea, why wouldn't I be?"

[formeandmyfics]

Where Did He Go?

JUGENEA FAN FICTION

1963

Author note: I re-watched a dinner scene from ‘Burton & Taylor’ and it was so very Jugenea that I decide to build a snippet around it. That scene is not mine, just edited to fit the Jugenea universe.*

“You’re going to be great, darling,” Judy said holding June Allyson’s face in her hands adoringly.

They two sat in opposite chairs on the CBS soundstage of The Judy Garland Show during the last rehearsal of episode 5, which would tape in front of a live audience the following day.

June’s husband, Dick Powell, had died earlier that year and it left her good friend deeply depressed. So, Judy invited her to perform on her show. It was the first time she had performed since his passing so it left June nervous on how she’d sound. Judy helped her friend with the melodies and showered her with nothing but love and reassurance. But, the hard work on the show and the energy she had been putting out to others left Judy drained. Not to mention, there was current tension at home with her husband.

Gene was the director of the show, their creative baby, as they called it, and at first everything was amazing. He understood her better than anyone, and he had experienced how she had been treated at MGM. She had been overworked, criticized, scrutinized, it goes on and on. Here, he was patient and understanding and open-minded. They were a ‘hell of a team’, even back to the old days when they acted opposite each other. Plus, Gene absolutely loved directing, especially in this medium. When she did her TV Specials, he was only a producer. Now, he was both and they could call all the shots.

But, a month and a half rolled by, and Judy noticed he would stay at work long after she had left. Most days he would come home and continue working for next week’s episode. She’d go to bed alone and wake up alone, as he’d already be out, or he’d be asleep in the adjoining bedroom. They didn’t go out on their usual date nights and any spare time they had was with the children. She knew this work was important, but she also noticed the two were becoming more like housemates than the lovers that they were.

This past week, however, Gene had started to act harder on the cast and crew. He was irritable, becoming too stern, and not as playful with screw ups as he had been previously. Judy knew Gene was a perfectionist, but she never thought he would treat her like some of his female costars in the movies he was with. Debbie Reynolds, for instance, whom he was very hard on because of her unskilled, ingénue stage.

June replied with relief, “Aw thank you, Judes; we’ll see how it goes tomorrow. That laryngitis really got me this time.”

“Nah, you sound like a bell. See you tomorrow, darling.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

As the two walked off the stage, Judy looked over at her husband who stood in a group of men going over some things. When she caught his attention from across the way, she motioned to him if she was okay to leave. Gene nodded and shoo’d her away.

When Judy got to her dressing room, she noticed a note taped up on her mirror next to all the pictures of the children hanging there. Leaning in closer, she immediately recognized the handwriting and furrowed her brow as she ripped the paper off to read it.

I’ll be working a little late again tonight. Meet me for a late supper and a drink at Musso and Franks in our usual spot. I’ll be there around 9.

Love you sweetheart,

G

Judy smiled. That was her honey. Feeling better, she left the studio right away to go home and get ready.

Precisely at 9 p.m., Judy walked into the popular bistro on Sunset dressed in a sleek, black cocktail dress with her highest stiletto’s, something Gene thought was sexy ever since she started wearing spiked heels during her concert career. She had washed off her thick stage makeup and applied a more natural look but still had her black lashes and fire red lips, something her husband also loved and her short hair was pulled back to look like a French twist.

Tony, the restaurant’s main maître d, held up his hands graciously as she walked through the door.

The short, bald man’s thick Italian accent filled her ears and she smiled warmly, “Ahh, Mrs. Kelly,”

The two were acquainted since the 40’s, when she first started coming there with Vincente, as it was his favorite restaurant. Tony was a new employee and always addressed her by her husband’s last name. The restaurant was known for its discretion. As a popular celebrity spot, it was always private and respectful to its well-known diners.

“You haven’t been here for months, yes?” he asked taking her hand. “Afraid not. We have been busy with work.”

“New television show. I’ve seen it. Magnifico.”

Judy laughed gleefully, “Thank you, Tony. I appreciate that. Is my husband here?”

“Ah, no. But Mr. Kelly did call ahead. We have your favorite booth over here for you.”

“Thank you.”

He led her to a booth directly behind Charlie Chaplin’s booth, a booth named after the actor, one of the restaurants first celebrity diners.  

She had just ordered a glass of her favorite German wine, when Gene walked in. He was in one of his business suits, but not a dinner suit and his expression looked a little stressed as he walked up to her.

“Hi, doll,” he bent over and gave her a kiss on the cheek before sitting across from her.

“I got your note.”

“I knew you’d see it. Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not.”

“Can I get you something to drink, sir?”

Gene turned to the waiter, “Scotch rocks, please.”

When the waiter walked away, Judy smiled at her husband in comfortable silence.

When he smiled back just the same she spoke up, “This is lovely. Very intimate.”

Gene noticed a couple across the way staring at them in awe and Judy noticed him staring back and she inquired, “What?”

“Bizarre. I mean, all these years and they’re still interested. You’d think they’d tire, but…”

He looked around again and seemed a little distant and Judy sighed, “Are you going to be like this all night? Just drifting off?”

“I was just thinking of the old times at Ciro’s. It’d mostly be all our friends and such but you’d have some tourists or newcomers come in and they’d sit there staring at all of us like they were watching a movie or something. Do you remember?”

“Sure do.”

“Do you ever think of those times at Ciro’s or The Coconut Grove?”

Judy blinked tenderly at the memories still very much alive for her, “Every day.”

The waiter set his drink down, “Here you are, Sir. Would you like to order?”

“Give us a few, thank you,” Gene took a sip of his drink and perched his lips together, “Did you hear about Saul and Patty?”

“No.”

“They’re getting divorced.”

Judy’s mouth opened a tad, “What? You’ve got to be joking.”

“Nope. They’re the last people I thought would get divorced.”

“Under what pretenses?”

“Not entirely sure. I know a while back he mentioned they were drifting apart.”

Judy raised her eyebrows as she looked down fiddling with her nail, “That’s a shame.”

“It’s funny isn’t it?”

“Hm?”

“What’s at the heart of a good relationship? I mean, love obviously, but that’s a catch-all, really. It’s the main area where all the other bits reside under. The question is: what’s the critical element of a fresh relationship, what keeps a couple together?”

“Err, passion for the heart and soul of one another.”

“Maybe.”

“Sex.”

“Hm. Important. Very.”

“Trust.”

“That’s probably it. I always feel I can trust you when it comes to our relationship.”

Judy smiled mischeviously,“Even before we married?”

“Our affair wasn’t about trust, we both know that. It was about perfect timing.”

“Really? That’s what you think bound us: timing? I always thought it was because of my legs.”

They both chuckled.

“Yes, well, they clearly had a role. They’re still magnificent by the way.”

Gene’s eyes shined as he took another sip of his cocktail and she almost blushed.

“So,” he said breaking the trance, “Are you ready to order or…”

“Darling, listen, listen, listen…” she cut him off gently, “I want to say some things. I’ve wanted to say them for a while. I almost did the other night but you seemed stressed…”

He immediately chimed in with a tired sigh, “I am stressed. I mean, we just got the show going and that damn CBS Aubrey is…”

Judy furrowed her brows a little taken back, “No, I’m not talking about the show, Gene. I’m talking about you and me and how our relationship has been since the show.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re overworking yourself and—“

“Judy, please,” he leaned forward on his elbows and lowered his voice, “Can I say something, now that’s it’s on my mind?” Judy nodded apprehensively and he continued, “There are a couple of things which have crept in over the beginning run of the show. They’re tiny things, but, the way you play to the audience, for instance, you seem too involved in knowing you’re on camera. I don’t mean knowing where to hit your mark, because you do that on point, but your confidence level. I think you should play it as if you are back on stage, you know at the Palace or Carnegie Hall…”

Judy stared at him appalled, “You’re giving me notes? I’m trying to talk to my husband, and instead my director is giving me acting notes?”

“No, I…”

Judy pushed her wine glass away from her not interested in the meal anymore, “Jesus, Gene. Why did you ask me out tonight?”

“What?”

“Why did you ask me out to supper tonight? Why did you do that?” she demanded.

“Because I wanted to have dinner with you and get a drink after a hard week at work.”

Judy giggled almost pathetically shaking her head.

“You’re my wife. It’s perfectly natural for me to want to get dinner with you, isn’t it?”

“I thought my husband was asking me out, not my director. I thought we were going on a date. I got all dressed up and was looking forward to spending time alone with you. You were just flirting with me and now you’re giving me god damn notes.”

Gene let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in his seat, “For Christ sakes, Judy. I was just making conversation.”

Judy leaned forward and lowered her voice pointing at him to prove a point, “When we worked together in the past, you never discussed our work when we went out for dinner. Why now?”

“I told you I’m stressed. It’s a lot of pressure on me to…”

She cut him off, “It’s a lot of pressure on me, too, but you don’t see me giving you notes on how to be a better director.”

Gene clenched his jaw, “I beg your pardon.”

Judy rephrased herself, “You’re a great director, but lately, you’ve started acting the way you promised me you wouldn’t act.”

“Such as?” he demanded back.

“You’ve been hard on me. You’re irritable and impatient with everyone.” He opened his mouth to speak but she put her hand up, “At home, we’re drifting apart. I thought you noticed and that’s why I assumed you asked me out for a date. We haven’t gone out, we don’t spend time alone at home, and we barely even sleep in the same bed for goodness sakes.”

Gene acted like he barely listened as he pound his finger on the table now making a point himself, “I want our show to be perfect.”

Seeing that he didn’t reply to anything she said of them, she hissed, “Fine, in which case, I’ll take that note. Where did my Harry Palmer go, remember?”

Gene looked at her incredibly at the mention of his first on-screen character from their first picture.

“Or Serafin or Joe Ross…the man who would’ve risked everything for me. Who did! He risked his marriage and his career; he tossed it all against the rocks so he could be with me. Where did he go, Gene?” Her voice rose as she stood up, “Tell me where my fucking husband went!”

With that, she threw her napkin down on the table and stormed out as diners stared their way.

The next afternoon, it was past 12 when Gene finally emerged from the spare bedroom. He made his way to the kitchen where Judy was still in a bathrobe and making tea. When he walked in, looking well rested, she turned to look at him as if to see who it was, then turned back to her tea.  

“You slept late,” she said surprised.

“I guess I needed it.”

“You did.”

Gene stared at the back of her a moment as if pondering something before he walked up to her. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and placed his hand on her back, “Hi honey.”

She gave him a side eye, but her expression was soft and she didn’t nudge him away. It was good enough for him so he pulled her closer to speak softly into her ear as she stirred honey into her cup.

“Listen, I…”

Suddenly the sounds of the children piling through the front door interrupted them. Then teenage Liza came through the kitchen door.

“Hi, Papa Gene!” Liza exclaimed as she embraced him.

“Hi, baby, when did you here?”

“Yesterday afternoon.”

“How was the park?” Judy inquired.

“Good. The kids behaved themselves.”

“Went to Holmby Park again, huh?”

“Yep. Guess, what, Mama said that she’s going to do a Christmas show and that all of us can perform on there with her.”

“Oh, I know, it was my idea.”

“Was not…” Judy mumbled.

“Was so,” he repeated just the same.

Liza sensed some tension, “Ah, I’m going to make sure the kids get cleaned up,” and she quickly skedaddled out of there.

“I’m the one who mentioned it to you,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I’m the one who set up the sketch.”

“But it was my idea, Gene.”

“Okay, it your idea sweetheart. It always is,” he said quite sarcastically.

“Don’t do that,” she sighed.

“Here is my idea. At the end of the show, I want you to sing Rainbow.”

Judy looked at him to protest but he quickly stopped her, “I know you don’t like doing it much on television, but I think if you do it with the children, it will be very special.”

She gently smiled, “I like that idea.”

“Good. You know, I did a lot of thinking last night about what you said…” he trailed off.

“And?” Judy took a sip of her tea.

“And, I have been quite a jerk haven’t I?”

“I wouldn’t say that, Gene. You’re not vindictive; you’re just being too hard on everyone all of a sudden. Including me.”

Gene hung his head and nodded, “I’m sorry. I know you’re under pressure, too, but I think for me that’s the reason why I’m suddenly short with everyone.”

“Maybe you should find ways to cope with that. Start swimming again. You always did that when you were stressed.”

“I think I will.”

“And what about us?”

“I miss you, too,” is all he said as he leaned over to give her a kiss, “Can I ask my wife out for dinner and dancing tonight after the show?”

“It’s tape night. Won’t you be too tired?”

“Darling, for you, it’s worth it.”

Judy smiled as he gave her another kiss.

[thebmatt]

Character Development Questions: Hard Mode

1. 

Franks has no living family that he’s aware of.

Rheika has a great number of sisters and half sisters, none of them close to her age. Most are all older, a few are far younger. She has more cousins closer to her age group, but she hasn’t seen many of them in years.

Dahkar’s entire tribe was wiped out when he was a baby, and he was his parent’s only child when that happened.

Fearless has no siblings, and has never met any of her extended family

2. 

Franks was close to his mother before she died, which was long ago

Rheika is very close to her mom and visits her often. She spends much of said visits assuaging her fears and helping her care for her younger half-siblings

Dahkar was raised by his mother and was close to her until she died shortly after getting sick in the wake of the calamity. Since befriending Rheika, her mother has unofficially adopted him and he frequently accompanies her to visit.

Fearless is estranged from her mom since leaving Aerslant.

3.

The answers for Franks and Fearless are the same as in question 2.

Rheika has never met her father. According to her mother, none of the male keepers that ever brought food to her family was her sire. He apparently simply disappeared after fathering her. She stopped giving him any thought years ago.

Dahkar has no memory of his father, only the memories and stories his mother has regaled him with. He does idolize his memory, and it inspired him to take up the lance.

4. 

Discounting the events of the MSQ for this one, as most of the events there would apply to all 4 of them.

Franks has witnessed a LOT of them from his home world, plus finding the gateway that brought him to Hydaelyn transformed him in a very literal sense. No one else really knows that he’s not native to the world.

For Rheika and Dahkar, they’ve both witnessed Wood Wailers abusing their power to themselves and their community and get away with it, which has shaped a lot of their feelings on Gridania and abusive governments in the first place.

No one specific event changed Fearless, her path to adventure was brought forth by the circumstances of her family life

5.

Aside from the generic things they all usually carry, such as coin, documentation, and the like...

Franks usually has an assortment of tools, spar parts, or writing implements

Rheika keeps aether cartridges and extra snacks

Dahkar usually has a couple extra polishing cloths handy

Fearless keeps pretty stones she finds on their journeys

6.

Franks usually cannot remember his dreams, the few moments he can recall are of quiet oceanscapes or beaches,

Rheika generally has sexy dreams but almost never with people she expects

Dahkar generally never recalls his dreams.

Fearless sometimes dreams of good things happening that normally bring her anxiety, such as happy times with her parents or performing for cheering crowds 

7. 

All of them tend to have nightmares about Rhalgr’s Reach. Aside from that...

Franks generally has nightmares about getting killed by undead  and being eaten or raised into undeath himself (or watching his late wife suffer that same fate).

Rheika’s nightmares tend to be of the Calamity destroying her home, watching her friends get killed while she is unable to help, or turning into a Lightwarden

Dahkar only occasionally has nightmares about all the discrimination he’s faced, and rarely about the monsters that killed his tribe. His “darkside” in the form of Fray usually takes form in these and helps him move away from these.

Fearless’ most prominent recurring nightmares are about her parents finding her and her friends forcing her to go home with them, claiming they don’t want her around.

8. 

Franks was a fairly poor farmer most of his life before he became an adventurer on his former world. He’s got more coin now than he ever has at any point in his previous life

Rheika and Dahkar both grew up fairly poor in communities in the Black Shroud. Both are far more wealthy than they’ve ever dreamt of now, and try to send money back to Rheika’s family when they can.

Fearless grew up extremely wealthy, but abandoned all of it when she fled home and is far happier just being “comfortable” now.

9. 

Franks generally prefers more clothing than less due to how he was raised and the fact that his body was....well, dead for many years. He’s still mentally adjusting to the fact that he’s alive again, much less that he’s kinda swole.

Rheika favors lighter clothing for better movement, and is entirely comfortable showing her body off. 

Dahkar used to prefer hiding away his scales behind armor or robes, but since the events of the Azim Steppe, he’s grown more comfortable with Xaelan fashions which can sometimes show off more skin and scale.

Aside from her arms, Fearless generally prefers not showing off skin. Her Dancer costume is the opposite of this, and it takes a lot of mental effort to wear in front of others, but she’s been gaining more confidence in that arena.

10. 

Franks - being killed and the immediate aftermath of waking up in control but undead

Rheika - Realizing she was losing control of the Lightwarden’s aether and that she couldn’t turn to her fellow Warriors for help

Dahkar - The day he realized his mom was dying and it couldn’t be fixed

Fearless - After leaving home and hitting the point where she absolutely could not turn back

11. 

Franks is generally at his most calm when reading or dealing with botany matters.

Rheika is usually only TRULY calm when she’s trying to go to sleep. 

The calmest moment of Dahkar’s life that he can recall was staring out over the Azim Steppe after having won the Naadam. 

For Fearless, it’s generally any time she meditates like Musosai taught her.

12, 

None of them are bothered by the sight of blood. They’ve all spent too much time fighting or healing for it to bother any of them anymore

13. 

Franks is better with names, Fearless and Dahkar do better with faces, Rheika seems to be able to remember both with equal levels of clarity. She doesn't really know why

14. 

Franks cares about some of his material possessions, specifically the ones that allow him to study or create things. Money is just a means to acquire more knowledge or the ability to make new things

Rheika likes collecting unusual items or pretty/cute things to keep in her room, as well as cute outfits. She’s probably the most materially-inclined of the group

Dahkar and Fearless both only care about coin as a means to keep themselves fed, healthy, and their gear in good condition. Most of the rest they’re happy to give away to people in need.

15.  

Franks idealizes happiness the most. It used to be the other way around, he had found success and lost it all to factors entirely beyond his control. Now that he's had a chance to start his life over, quite literally, he's trying to focus on what makes him happy. Success has come as a byproduct of that

For Fearless, she was raised to view success as the ultimate goal, but never believed in it, and fled to Eorzea to find happiness instead.

Dahkar and Fearless, thanks to their childhood/early adulthood dealing with Gridanian discrimination, view success as being the opposite of that, which also makes them happy.

16. 

Franks couldn’t even begin to remember if you asked him

Rheika’s was a stuffed couerlkitten. She lost it a long time ago and has no idea what happened to it. She still collects plushies.

Dahkar didn’t really grow up with toys, he preferred playing with whatever rocks or sticks he found outside.

Fearless was never allowed to have many toys, the ones she did were model ships that she was allowed to admire, but would play with when her parents weren’t around.

17.

All of them would say wisdom. They’ve seen what ambition unchecked can do, and don’t like it.

18. 

Franks tends to take a long time to open up emotionally, and when he does, he can still be guarded on certain subjects.

Rheika tends to let first impressions stick, and is often unable to change her mind on people.

Dahkar has a temper and is prone to outbursts of anger

Fearless has low self-esteem and a hard time accepting that people legitimately have positive opinions of her.

All of these have caused friction for them with various friends, but it has yet to be the cause of destroyed relationships

19. 

For Franks, its generally an age thing. Though his current body is estimated to be in the mid-late 30s, his mind is far older than that, having lived through what amounts to two lifetimes already. He sometimes has difficulty relating to the other Scions because of this, with the exception of G’raha, who has likewise experienced this.

Fearless tends to compare herself physically and mentally to others, generally in the sense of “X person is so beautiful or smart, I wish I was”. This stems from her childhood and constantly being told her best was never good enough and to try harder. Her friendship with the other WoLs has helped with this

Both Dahkar and Rheika tend to compare themselves to others in how they treat other people, especially those they have power over or are just stronger than. Dahkar especially tries to emulate the behavior of those he respects in this regard, such as Aymeric. 

20. 

All of them have gotten pretty good about recognizing when they are to blame for bad situations and when to blame others, thanks to a long period of working closely together and building up a rock solid foundation of trusting each other when the others call them out on misplaced blame. When they AREN’T as good, Dahkar tends to blame others first, the rest of the team is quicker to blame themselves.

[cwebberphotography]

  Ask me if I’ll miss India and I’d say yes. I’ll miss India because back home old people don’t double ride bicycles, people who look like the general picture of God, with a big white beard and bright white clothes don’t ride scooters with a huge smile. Old ladies here feel comfortable enough to squat on the sidewalk if they need to take a pee. Strangers greet you with their chosen name of God, and yoga is everywhere. Interacting with cows and dogs and pigs daily has given me a clearer look at being a vegetarian. I won’t miss the fact that last night it was 30 degrees at 2 a.m. Or all the ants that have walked into my keyboard and never came out, probably lost in the matrix of the mother board, the giant wasps or the horns and traffic in general.

I’ve been bitten by ants, mosquitoes, pushed by bulls, barked at by dogs, cohabited with geckos and spiders, had a monkey land on my dinner table and now a large Gray langur has intimidated me into running from my dinner. And after I gathered my wits and tried to scare him off I was scarred mentally and physically when he jumped and scratched me with his fangs showing making growling sounds.  After that I was afraid to go out my front door, then slowly started hanging out on the roof again. But not before finding a strong bamboo stick and starting to learn some defensive moves from YouTube.

In a way I’m grateful that monkey jumped on my head, he kind of knocked some sense into me. It’s my last few days here and one of the things I was hoping to do in India was learn some self defence. I was letting the days drift away, not adhering to my own advice of ending as strong as you start. Yoga was getting kind of boring to be frank. Now I can combine my roof time with some stretching, mindfulness, pushups and bo staff training. The first day I was able to do a two hand wrist spin and now I’m getting faster at it and not dropping the staff as much.

When he jumped at my head it was a wake up call to what Nature is capable of. I assumed monkeys would be more scared of us than we are of them. And I underestimated his hunger, this guy was not cute enough to beg and probably just as tired of the heat. I saw him come down out of the tree and march along the edge of the roof, thinking maybe he was on his way somewhere but he came straight to me. He did not hesitate to bear his teeth and growl, no asking at all, then jumped, using my head like a skipping stone to land behind me causing my plate to hit the ground. And I was out of there, far enough away to watch him eat my dinner which was really just raw cauliflower with some salt and chilli powder on the side.

He made me wish I had doused the veggies with chilli powder. He made me think of revenge and how stupid that would be. He made me mistrust monkeys and see how fragile our existence is without cooperation. He gave me a scare of potentially having rabies, which is fatal! How insane is that?  It takes just two weeks to die from it, and although he probably didn’t have rabies it was not worth the risk to ignore the blood coming from my arm.

Diseases are different here, polio is still a hot topic and every year diarrhea and pneumonia kill millions of people.

After asking around it was decided that I’d get an injection right away. I walked to the only doctor I know since the hospital was closed on Sunday. This is a clinic which used to be a dog food store and is now half a dog food store, half a clinic and a little bit of a health food store. The doctor there is young and I’ve met him a few times over the last month. He suggested I get the course of five injections, they are 320 rupees each, so a fraction of what it would cost me in Canada.

I went home to debate the idea of being injected in India and after reading about the symptoms and final end to what rabies can do to a human I ran back and said lets do it. This clinic is just like any other store on the main strip, it is a big room with a garage door that opens to the road. There is a counter and behind it sits the doctor facing the street. Outside are cows and horses walking by or standing in the road, motor bikes driving on either side, dirt, garbage, things burning, people selling food, all sorts of commotion.

He takes the needle out and puts it into the container which is full of dead rabies virus and tells me to sit down, the only seat is a step ladder at the top of a stairwell…So as he is fiddling with the needle I’m looking out at the street and watching people stop and see what he’s doing, looking back at me. Also I’m texting my friend in Toronto telling him exactly whats going on and the doctor comes over to my left shoulder and as I press send he just jabs me with it, no cleaning of the surface no OK this might hurt and I look over at him like what the fuck!? And he’s saying something to me, you can hold the cotton ball here right? So I do and he goes back to his seat and starts writing out instructions and dates for me to come back. Immediately I have to put my phone away because the light from it is bugging me out and darkness is creeping in from the sides of my eyes. I sit up straight and breathe deeper and think this cannot be happening, I’m going to pass out!  No, I can control it, I won’t pass out. Nope, I look over at him and he’s saying something about me being fine but I can’t hear anything and can only see whats directly in front of me, which is one of the employees. I make eye contact with him and shake my head. Then step down from the seat and crouch on the ground and look around, sweating, deaf, wondering whats going on. After a couple minutes I’m OK to stand up and lean on the counter as he explains when I’ll have to come back for more…Then I leave, feeling slightly better that at least I’ve done something to combat any chance of rabies, just in case.

The second time was much better, and we’ve become friends since then. I’ve been invited to hang out there any time, and he often asks his customers if I can photograph them. He said there is only one other guy in the area with the same camera and he charges 1000 rupees for three photos. He introduced me to his wife and some friends, it’s been a good experience overall…

Sometimes its hard to leave your house especially if you have moustache for the first time, a scarf around your head thats been soaked in cold water to keep you cool and a walking stick you’re practicing bo staff spins with.  After a long day in the heat I was lying in bed when outside became dark a few hours too early. So went to the roof and saw a sand storm kicking up, and the sky turn grey and black. After the sand settled I went down to the river to watch the show.

The clouds were the ultimate what the fuck, I’d never seen anything like it before, a hundred little flames, turned into swirls over the mountain, as the sun coloured them dark orange mixed with black. Then pushing into blue at the edge of the clearing sky were what looked like a huge row of  teeth, extending into their roots. I sat in awe for hours as the wind pushed me from all sides. At one point as lightning was striking over the mountains looking to my right, along the path by the river a sadhu stops as wind picks up his flowing fabric wrapped around his waist and he does a Marilyn Monroe, holding his skirt down in the wind.

Earlier that day I took a walk to find some upma, my favourite South Indian breakfast. Just about 2 km away from my apartment, in the direction towards the main town, far away from any tourists. As I was walking a sadhu on a motor bike offered me a ride, I talked to him and considered it but declined, two more steps and I found the Madras Cafe. The food was OK, and the bill for umpa and tea was 105, I gave him 110 and he gave me a Kit Kat bar as change.

Later I found a better staff, started twirling it and dropped it in the sewer by mistake. So I bought a bottle of water to wash it off. Then explored the alleys of the main city, took photos, and then came across a fabric shop and remembered I have two weddings to attend this summer. So I selected some material and got measured and in two days I’ll have a custom kurta.

After I ran out of money I walked home taking photos, talking to strangers, mostly sadhus. Seems like if you don’t shave and carry a stick you’re more approachable. Maybe they see a little of themselves in me. I know sometimes I envy their lifestyle. Eating from ashrams, sleeping where ever they want, what else do you need? I don’t think they have a retirement plan.

Walking through the bus stop as I always have to, a large group of people sit on the gravel hill cooking and eating their lunches. Men and women and children all dressed in amazing colours and cloths huddle in groups. A few of them are standing around the water pump washing their hands, pigs run among them. To my right on the highest gravel hill a group of men stand out in their striking white outfits with red turbans, bare feet, squatting or sitting cross legged, beards and grey moustaches, passing a chillum around. Weed smoke clouding all around them.

On the morning after my mischievous monkey mayhem I wake up early to find a stick and see the sun rise. I walk to the roofed sitting area by the river and look out, the sun has risen but not above the mountains. The green trees all around the elevation are glowing with yellows and orange. And the river rushes below, down where the bodies are burned. Sitting quietly when three people come with their cell phone playing Hindi music. I react and almost get up but decide to stay for what I came. To see the sun peak over the range. One guy starts doing push ups, elevated ones then on his knuckles then tries to get into pull up position but he’s too heavy and short. Then he gets his friend to take lots of photos of him flexing all the while dumb rap music is coming from his phone. I spot a stick and leave.

Going down into the funeral grounds was kind of creepy. There were kids playing by the river and people working in the early morning hours before the heat sets in. There are lots of old clothes and artifacts laying buried in the sand. The stick I saw was much too big and soaking in a dirty puddle. On the way back I found a bamboo staff and as I ascended the stairs the most golden light shined back behind where I was with the muscle man. This time I look up to a kaleidoscope of colours. A bus must have dropped off a bunch of Indians and they were all dressed in saris of flowing flowery colours standing straight up in the wind. All waiting for a security guard to guide a family of geese from the field to the water.

I found a strip of cloth and wrapped it around the split end of my new stick and made it into a custom handle. Took a few swings with it and started home as the 6 a.m. sun rise started to heat up the day once more.

Passing the empty grounds with the sun rising from behind, to my left is a tarp with maybe 20 indians sitting cross legged in the centre. Next to them is a tractor with a big cage on the back with all their bags packed on top. Then a couple dogs fucking, pigs fighting over garbage, one massive pig is laying in the sun against a pile of stones while someone pees next to it. I walk a little further and there’s another big truck bus thing with Indians pilled all over the inside and outside climbing down for their day by the Ganges.

Walking up the alley as the golden hour turns into day another small kid is taking another shit into the gutter while his mother watches. She stands in the middle of the lane, dressed in purple and gold one hand on her waste the other on her head, he is shy but concentrating. I look at her briefly and then down as I pass. Then I take my stick home and my place is covered in little monkeys. I look up as one is checking out the jump from the fence across the lane onto my roof, where they drink water from one of our water tanks. I hope it’s not the one that leads to my shower but theres no one to ask…I look up as he’s peeing and pooing at the same time. He looks down at me and then away.

One in 1,342,512,706 Ask me if I’ll miss India and I’d say yes. I’ll miss India because back home old people don’t double ride bicycles, people who look like the general picture of God, with a big white beard and bright white clothes don't ride scooters with a huge smile.