#HE WOULD NOT. he would leave that behind him like 'good riddance to bad rubbish' | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

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Killan Josta: Make Wish

Killan Josta, World’s Saddest Boy, gets... a moment with a rabbit. Killan exists in @wildfaewhump‘s Iesin and Talvos universe!

CW: Referenced beatings/whipping, ill-treatment, debt-slavery, referenced animal death although none occurs during the piece

Tagging @quirkykayleetam who asked to be tagged for Killan, plus @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, and @astrobly who asked to be tagged for ‘everything’

Killan couldn’t tell if the rabbit looked scared, or just… resigned. Either way, he knew the feeling.

The poor thing had stepped right into the little trap that Vanya had built for it, boiled and soaked wood to get it soft and pliable and then bent it into a kind of box that resembled all the bushes around it, especially when he’d covered it with some leaves and brush. A bit of bait right in the middle, and then you wait for something to creep in for a bite.

Then, crash! The little door he’d made fell down, trapping the rabbit inside. It had thrashed around for a while, but it was quiet now. Feet pulled close, chest puffed a little bit, ears flat against its head laying against its own back. Thin like wild rabbits are, but not too thin.

Vanya had a whole row, six or seven cages just like this one. The last round of traps had gotten them a fox - which had bitten Killan when he tried to feed it and good riddance to bad rubbish as far as he was concerned, foxes were nothing but bad luck anyway - and three rabbits. The other traps had come up empty, but Beron and Ren had brought down three deer between them in the time they’d spent in these woods, caught two river-eaters, plus six of what Beron called ‘fur-rats’ that made poor meat but their fur meant something enough to the rich that they could eat for a week (well, everyone else could) on a single sale.

Plus, Tinch had caught a real living hawk with a reddish tail and a mean beak, and meant to teach it to fetch. Their haul to bring into town would be a good one.

Ren would sell the hides and fur separate from the meat, he claimed to know the tanner in the next town, could get a good price for them. Fur-rats made poor meat but they knew well enough that Killan would eat anything he was given, too hungry to care what it tasted like at the end of the day, so they’d smoked and dried that, too, to pack away with some fat and crushed-up berries and seeds.

He was chewing idly on a bit of the foul-tasting nastiness - the kind made from deer meat was good, this tasted like mud fed on poison - while he fed the rabbits in their cages and found his gaze caught by the last one.

It had big liquidy eyes, one on either side of its head, so it could only really look at him with one or the other.

Prey eyes, Beron called them. He’d sat Killan down once and shown him that the foxes had eyes both to the front, like people do - and the rabbits had one on either side. Hunters like us, like wolves - we see to the front, because we focus on what we’re going to bring down. Prey like that has to see every which way so they see us coming.

Might be nice to have an eye on either side. Killan might get fewer surprises, then.

Its fur was a kind of grayish-brownish-reddish mix, the exact shade of a sun-dappled grassy meadow. It could use those hind legs to run and jump and hide, faster than Killan could ever run. Its little nose twitched in his direction and he wrinkled his nose back at it, grinning around the food in his mouth. At least they mixed berries in - now and then a bite was nothing but sweet. It made the rest of the bitterness easier to handle.

“What do I smell like, bun-bun? Huh?” The rabbit didn’t answer, of course, but Killan watched with surprise as it shifted slightly closer to him, an oddly thoughtful look on its fuzzy little face. “Do I smell like prey, too? Or like wolves? I’m not like them, I promise.”

The rabbit’s nose kept twitching, and Killan leaned in closer, moving down into a crouch so he was eye-level with the cage where it sat stacked on top of another one. Somewhere behind him, the men who owned his life were laughing and joking as they set up their camp for the night, for once giving Killan a little rest instead of making him do it all himself.

Ren had felt bad about the fox bite, currently hidden under bandages wrapped around Killan’s left wrist. I’m not a cruel man, Matti, Ren had said, and Killan hadn’t argued with him. Hadn’t pointed at the scars on his back and his legs and his front, or the little scar on his head from the first week. He could hide that one with his hair, mostly.

He hadn’t even mentioned how cruel it was to take someone’s name away, so almost three years on he had to remind himself of what his name was every single day, had to wake up whispering I’m Killan Josta, I’m Killan Josta, I’m Killan Josta as he got more and more afraid he’d become Matthias, not just answer to it.

He’d only nodded, and tried not to scratch at the itches under the bandage, and Ren had given him the night off, then. Didn’t even have to cook, it was Beron chopping away with his big heavy knife, cleaving meat from bone to toss into the stew. He would’ve felt nice about that if it didn’t mean Killan probably wouldn’t get to eat tonight.

Killan shifted, blocking the rabbit’s view of the cooking-fire, not that it mattered all that much if it saw what had happened to another rabbit it probably never knew. Who even knew if a rabbit could even see so far?

It shifted closer then. And closer again.

They were so close Killan’s eyes crossed a little trying to look at it. He stuck a finger into the trap and it held perfectly still as he traced a fingertip over the fine soft fur at the top of its head, the silken feeling of its long flat ears. He expected it to start shivering - he’d seen shaky little scared rabbits right before their necks were wrung.

This one didn’t shake. It looked at him calmly, like it knew him. It looked at him like, hello, you belong out there with us, not here with them.

Killan bit down on his lower lip, then winced as that pressed on a busted spot from the last thing he’d messed up. “I wish I was out there with you,�� he whispered, leaning in close. “I wish I was in the woods somewhere. I wish I could go destroy all their traps instead of helping build them. I promise.”

“Wish?”

Killan stiffened, looking up and blinking. “What?”

The others were busy, no one even heard Killan speak, and none of them had heard it - a hissing sibilant whisper-sound, that seemed to be as much inside his mind as outside it. He turned to look over his shoulder, seeing nothing around their little campsite but the trees, looming eerily overhead at the sun went down.

“Make wish.”

Killan slowly turned back to stare at the rabbit, which held itself so perfectly still under Killan’s petting fingertips. He leaned forward, as close as he could get, until his forehead rubbed up against the twisted wood. The rabbit leaned slowly forward too, and Killan caught his breath as its soft, cool nose brushed, with little twitches, against his own.

“Pretty,” The voice said. “Pretty human boy.”

Killan had been living for years with Beron’s stories of nature magic and the dangers of the mountains and the monsters who lived there. He’d been raised on his own mam’s stories of wild women who could change shape and sneak into bad childrens’ houses and steal them from their beds. But he was grown now, or as good as, and he had no fear of those stories.

Right?

“Are you the one talking to me?” Killan whispered to the rabbit, which nudged forward against him again with its little twitching nose. Killan held his breath as the rabbit pushed its head up into his two fingers pressed to its soft ears, which no wild rabbit had ever done that he knew of. “Do you want me to make a wish?”

“Make wish, pretty human.”

Killan smiled - small so the others wouldn’t see, but there all the same. He leaned in as close as he could get, lost in the way the rabbit looked at him so calmly, so sure of itself even though it was trapped in a cage, to have its neck wrung to make a good dinner soon enough, just like the other one that Beron was tossing into the stew while singing to himself, just a dozen or so feet away.

“I wish that you would be free,” Killan said, as low as he could speak and still be audible. “You don’t deserve to be soup.”

The rabbit didn’t speak to him again, but it did nuzzle up against him once more, to Killan’s delight.

Then Beron yelled at him to stop being lazy and do some damn work for once in his life, and Killan pushed himself up on aching legs to stumble over and help Beron put together the bit of ground-up dried treenuts and water and salt for the dumplings to cook on top of the soup.

They’d given him the day off work, but if you don’t work you don’t eat, so Killan ate the bit of treenut-bread they’d given him out of mercy and watched them with their bowls of rabbit stew jealously from his bedroll, stomach growling, and determined himself to work even harder to get more food tomorrow.

He was so hungry it took forever to get to sleep, the fire banked and Ren and Vanya on first watch, and he only got a couple of hours before it was his turn to sit up with Beron, who was in a foul mood. Bad dreams, he said.

Killan mostly didn’t dream any longer - sleep was too precious to waste on dreaming.

Killan took his ill-tempered ‘jokes’ in silence and thanked him with real gratitude when Beron got tired of that fucking kicked-dog look like we don’t take better care of you than a lazy arse deserves and gave him more of the fur-rat and berry bars to eat.

Killan made it through half of the bar and then looked up, into the dark woods that pressed close around them. The horses were restless tonight, ears flat against their heads and shifting until their ropes were pulled tight from the trees, but they never liked the woods much so that wasn’t unusual.

The animals in their cages were restless, too, shivery little rabbits and and the fur rats clawing at the edges of their cages.

Killan checked on his favorite rabbit - it was perfectly still, but alert, head head and neck stretched, looking away from Killan entirely. When he turned around to follow the direction of its gaze, he could have sworn he could the glint of yellow eyes watching him in the dark.

He should have been afraid, but he wasn’t.

Instead, Killan stood up, walked to the edge of what little light the fire still gave off, and set the uneaten half of the bar down. A gift for-... for the woods, maybe, they’d taken better care of him than any person ever did, anyway.

His watch ended and Killan fell asleep more quickly with the heavy weight of at least some food in his stomach. He curled in his bedroll as small as he could make himself, and he did not dream.

When he woke up the next day, to Beron’s shouting and Ren kicking him awake gasping for air and scrambling to stand, one of the cages had been busted open. Only one cage, all the others still held the trapped animals shaking and shivering. But Killan’s favorite, the rabbit that had kissed him the day before and been so still, was gone.

So was the half-bar of food he’d left at the edge of the camp.

Killan’s eyes were wide as saucers as he stared at the wood twisted back out of shape or broken, somehow done in silence while they slept, never waking them at all.

He could have sworn he heard a kind of laughter whispering through the trees above his head.

“Good wish.”

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Beneath an Aurora Sky ch. 19

Summary: The South Pole Station is equipped for research and Edge has always made sure things run smoothly for the inhabitants. His charges are meant to follow his rules and regulations, and in turn, he makes sure they survive in the arctic temperatures. It takes plenty of hard work and determination and Edge, along with his crew, can handle both.

He wasn’t counting on one of the newest researchers. He wasn’t expecting Rus.

Tags: Spicyhoney, First Time, Arctic AU, Hurt/Comfort

~~*~~

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17

Chapter 18

~~*~~

Read Chapter 19 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

The last time Edge saw the Queen, Monsters were still living in the cobbled-together sanctuary they’d hastily made at the base of the mountain. As former Royal Guards, he and Undyne had been kept imprisoned, their magic drained daily to keep them subdued. They’d spent a month like that along with Red lying on his bunk, hardly breathing and healers coming in daily to check on him. There was little they could do for his injuries, his shattered skull, they’d even offered to take him away so that Edge didn’t have to watch him die.

He'd refused. At the time, his anger did not allow him to see that offer for the kindness it was. Nor did he consider that a tyrannical ruler wouldn’t have given even that much. They were fed, washed, and when their judgement finally came, the Queen’s banishment was certainly better than the execution they’d expected.

It was easier to see in hindsight without his fury and his fears for his brother clouding his vision. She’d been as kind to them as circumstances allowed.

He and Undyne never discussed those days, not even at their lowest, those rare moments of shared pathetic drunkenness back when they’d been scraping by in the Human world, but he’d always suspected Undyne hadn’t come to the same conclusion.

Her sneering expression as she glared at the Queen was an unwelcome confirmation and Edge kept a wary hand out to grab her in case she did something foolish. Undyne was strong, but Toriel was a boss Monster and a powerful one; even the tyrant King Asgore fell beneath her might. Toriel only gazed back at them with the ageless serenity of one who’d been alive before any of them were trapped beneath a mountain, incongruous as it was when paired with her fluffy purple knit cap and the matching pompoms on her boots.

Behind them, the helicopter was powering down, the turbines lazily slowing, and the Human pilot made no move to come out into the cold. Not far away was the bang of doors, what sounded like every resident in the station pouring outside to see what was going on.

But it was the unknown Monster standing next to her that had Edge’s full attention. Him and his claim to be looking for his brother.

“Your brother,” Edge repeated slowly. He did not offer Rus’s name; information was a valuable prize, one that Red taught him never to offer cheaply. He knew Rus had two brothers, but the framed photo in his room only showed one, a much shorter skeleton with starry eye lights and a wide, toothy smile.

This skeleton beamed at them all and that smile alone gave credence to whom his brother was. Aside from those strange fissures in his skull, the resemblance to Rus was startling. A handspan shorter, perhaps, closer to Edge’s height, and his glasses remained firmly perched on his skull by means that Edge couldn’t determine. His own reading glasses sometimes required the use of a little scotch tape.

“Yes, my brother, Papyrus, he’s on your roster. I’m sure you’d notice him,” the Monster chuckled almost soundlessly. He signed again as he spoke, a set of hands formed of magic hovering over his shoulder in a far more blatant use of their natural abilities than any of them at the station ever used. “I can’t imagine there are so many skeleton Monsters here you’d mistake him.”

Hearing that language was disconcerting, dredging up a vague memory of childhood that Edge ignored. His mind was stumbling over the long-unheard words, better to focus on the Hands.

Before Edge could come up with a reply, a new surge of magic came from his other side as Red stormed up. The researchers parted like water to let him through, each instinctively drawing away from the rare power he exuded. His fiery gaze flicked over the Queen almost dismissively, then landed on the other skeleton. For once, Edge had no urge to scold his brother for his rudeness as he said, loudly, “who the fuck are you?"

That beaming smile faltered, then came back full force. “Ah, my apologies, we haven’t yet met! I’m Doctor WingDings Gaster, I’m Papyrus’s older brother.”

"don’t think so,” Red said, coldly. His breath fogged in the cold air in ragged puffs, his eye lights burning. “i knew ol' wing dings pretty fucking well, you ain't him."

A shadow passed over the skeleton’s face. He shuffled his boots against the hardpacked snow uncomfortably, “Ah. I’m afraid the one you’re referring to was a relative, in a way. They’ve—" he hesitated, then signed delicately, “passed.”

“you mean he’s dead and dusted. yeah, i know. good riddance to bad rubbish in my book.”

That shadow deepened, the Monster, Gaster’s, sockets narrowing in annoyance, “I am sorry, I know that this is unexpected, but I don’t believe that I—"

“dings?”

Rus’s voice came from behind, carrying through the still air. Edge turned halfway towards it, carefully keeping Toriel and this Gaster in his line of sight. Undyne did the same and Red only stayed facing them, fingers flexing visibly through his gloves.

Rus was standing with the other scientists in his full outdoor gear, his goggles pushed up on his skull as he stared. He signed automatically along with his words, his hands dreamy and slow, “dings? tori? what are you guys doing here, how did…” He trailed off, his eye lights shrinking into pinpricks, “did something happen? is something wrong with blue?”

"No, nothing like that,” Gaster said hastily, “In fact Blue wanted to come along, but there was only room for two of us. Now, you haven’t seen me in weeks, are you going to give me a hug or are you much too grown up for that now?”

It was best, perhaps, that none of the other scientists spoke readily in Hands. A person who was fluent could see inflections and there was a layer of reprimand in those gestures that others might only interpret as a teasing comment between brothers.

Rus almost stumbled forward, past the three of them to his brother, and Edge resisted the urge to snatch hold of his collar to keep him back. This was his brother, not some unknown danger, and the prickles of warning running up his spine weren’t necessary. Yet.

He glanced at the Queen; she was watching the brothers hug with a look of fond indulgence, and when her gaze flicked to Edge, he looked away.

Their embrace was at least heartfelt, if brief. Rus stepped back all too quickly, putting enough space between them to sign and say, “you haven’t said why you’re here?”

“To bring you back,” Gaster said, promptly. His gaze flicked briefly to their audience, his voice lowering and his hands still as he murmured something Edge couldn’t hear.

Rus scowled. He took two steps back, standing closer to Edge and Undyne, “my rotation doesn’t end for two more weeks, bro, i’m not going anywhere.”

Doctor Gaster sighed impatiently, his hands brisk as he resumed signing, “I’ve tolerated this indulgence of yours as much as I could—”

“tolerated? you forbade me from coming and threatened to lock me in my room!”

“—but I didn’t, did I,” Gaster smiled widely, “Now, it's time to come home. You knew I was close to finishing my work."

“i’m not leaving.”

“Papyrus.” His tone was aggravatingly placating, the way one might address a recalcitrant child. “I’ve allowed you to indulge in this hobby of yours, but it’s time to come back now.”

“no,” Rus said thinly. “i won’t. and you can’t make me.”

Before Rus could say another word, Undyne stepped in front of him. Her missing fingers always made her signing imperfect, but her meaning was as clear in her hands and her words, "Yeah, you aren't taking him anywhere unless you go through me."

The doctor looked distinctly taken aback, sputtering, "I beg your pardon, this is a family matter."

"maybe you don't hear so good," Red spoke up. The fiery shine in his sockets blazed through the darkness. "you ain't taking him."

"please, don't," Rus said weakly. His hands hovered helplessly in the air, unable to choose who to reach out to, “no fighting, please.”

“We aren’t going to fight your brother, Rus. But if you don’t want to leave, I won’t allow him to badger you into it,” Edge said, signing each word with clipped precision. His own magic was stirring in his soul in an agitated swirl. Aside from sparring with Undyne, he hadn’t formed an attack of any kind in years and preparing for the possibility felt like slipping on an old, comfortable glove.

An ally came from an unexpected source, one of the Humans, the older scientist stepped forward and said with snooty indignance, “Certainly not at the expense of his PhD. You’ve made no case for why Rus should leave. He’s been working quite hard for the past six weeks, I shouldn’t think two more would make that much difference.”

The dismissive way Gaster waved that off made Edge’s hackles rise, particularly when he added, “You’re a Human, you don’t even know what I’m saying!”

“I can understand enough,” another scientist put in, the glaciologist, Nadine. She stepped up right next to Rus, foolishly courageous. “And I’m not going to let you force Rus to leave.”

The other Humans stepped forward, crowding around Rus, a barrier that Gaster did not seem to know how to cross.

Gaster only blinked at them, clearly taken aback, “I’m not forcing him, I’m reminding him of his responsibilities!”

Rus laughed then, harshly, “so you’re not forcing me, you’re guilting me. thanks a heap, bro.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Gaster snapped out, “It’s what we were made for!!” Rus flinched and Gaster added, immediately remorseful, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. Brother--”

What happened next tested Edge’s comprehension. One moment Rus was standing in the middle of the researchers, his face stricken, and in another he was simply…gone.

The Humans staggered back, all of them wearing matching expressions of shock. Undyne fell into blustering, lumbering around searching as if she expected Rus dropped to his knees and simply crawled away. Edge did not move, his gaze on their unexpected guests, his own brother at his side, and if he didn’t understand what happened, he knew what he saw. Rus vanished, he knew not where, and the answers would not be coming by searching through the snowdrifts.

I take shortcuts, Rus had said, only Edge never expected it was quite so literal.

Only Gaster did not seem surprised; he covered his face with one gloved hand, hanging his head, and he did not look up as slow clapping filled the air. The confused babble died down, everyone stopping in their tracks to look at the Queen, who stood nearby clapping with an air of mocking.

“Bravo,” Toriel said acidly, “I must say, you handled that with remarkable tact, Gaster, and I’d like to take this moment to say I told you so.”

Toriel did not sign, but Gaster clearly understood her. He cringed harder, shoulders rounded as he hunched into his hands, real and magical. Toriel turned to Edge and addressed him with polite deference.

“Edge,” Toriel inclined her head to him, “You’re the leader here. May we please discuss this somewhere private? And hopefully warmer.” Her aura of dignity reminded him unpleasantly of their last meeting, when she passed her judgement on them. Toriel always radiated a cool calm that her deceased husband never possessed, and it was somehow nearly as disconcerting as Asgore’s frequent rages.

“Of course, come inside.” Edge did not look at Undyne or Red, turning back to the station and leading the way. Their glares burned between his shoulder blades, but they didn’t protest, only came up behind Toriel and Gaster to follow them into the facility.

Behind them, the helicopter roared to life and rose back into the air. For good or bad, they were stuck with these two for at least a time.

Inside, they all hastily stripped off their gear and beneath Gaster’s oversized coat was a skeletal body that managed somehow to be even thinner than Rus. Where Rus was lithe, his brother was nearly gaunt and when he stood next to Undyne, he was hardly half her width. From the way Undyne was looking at him, she’d noticed it as well, only her expression was one measuring how much force it might take to break to break that scrawny frame in half.

With some haste, Edge hung up his coat and led them to the Recreation Room. It was the largest room in the Station and Toriel was not a small Monster; her horns already brushed the ceiling as she walked, at least the Rec room would give them plenty of space. Edge wasn’t keen on being crowded in with either of these Monsters and it would be best if all of them were able to keep back out of easy attack range.

Undyne shoved past Gaster to come up next to him, barely audible as she hissed, “Boss. What about Rus?”

“Do you have any idea how we might find him?” Edge said, murmured. His own soul was clamoring agreement with Undyne, demanding he search for Rus, but practicality was winning for the moment. She scowled, her furious gaze on the floor. “Alphys is certainly on the cameras. Give her a chance to search, she’ll let us know if she finds him, and in the meantime, we can gather information from these two.”

A certain tension eased in Undyne’s shoulders and she nodded ever so slightly. “Should’ve known you had plan, boss.”

Hardly a plan, this was a feeble strategy at best, but it wasn’t as if they had any other. At least Undyne was somewhat mollified and Edge kept his own worries buried beneath bland calm.

The Rec Room door was in sight and Edge held it open for the others, taking a moment to secure it behind them to keep the researchers away. Their loyalty to Rus was both surprising and welcome, but there were certain things Humans could not be allowed to hear, no matter how trustworthy they proved themselves. The Queen of All Monsters was not one who would travel all the way to Antarctica for what this Gaster was attempting to dismiss as a simple family dispute.

Toriel sank onto one of the sofas with a sigh, seemingly unbothered by Undyne and Red positioning themselves strategically around her. She sighed out, “Dings, why must you make things so difficult? I let you handle it, as requested, and it this is how you do it?”

“Excuse me,” Edge interrupted. He chose to remain standing, arms crossed carelessly over his chest as he stared down their ‘guests’. He didn’t blame Undyne and Red for their overzealous caution, but the truth of the matter was that if Toriel wanted them dead, they would have been dust from the moment she stepped from the helicopter. “I believe some explanations are in order.”

Gaster flopped down on the sofa next to Toriel and again, his resemblance to Rus was nearly uncanny. He waved a couple of negligent hands her way, “You explain, I don’t believe they’ll want to hear it from me.”

“Of course,” Toriel said crisply and then with something like apology. “I’m afraid I’ll need to secure a promise from you all that none of this information will leave this room.”

Red and Undyne stiffened as one and unease crawled up Edge’s spine. A promise to a boss level Monster was not a mere exchange of words, it was magically binding, with dire consequence for breaking it. Back in the Underground, Asgore forced Red to promise him things often and the results of those grudging vows had left his brother wary of the very word.

Edge held up a hand at the protests he could nearly hear about to spill from those two, considering. Phrasing was the important thing, and he went over a couple of options in his head before he chose.

“I promise that I won’t reveal what you’re about to tell me to anyone outside this room,” Edge said carefully.

Her mouth never changed, but corners of Toriel’s eyes crinkled up in a wry smile, “That will do.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Undyne said sullenly.

Red only said tersely, “agreed.”

Gaster sat up suddenly and started to sign hastily, “Are you sure—”

“Quite.” Toriel laced her hands into her lap and took a deep, settling breath. “Now. The three of you left the Monster community over four years ago. Were cast out,” she corrected as Undyne puffed up indignantly, “Banished.”

Red shifted restlessly, his sneakers squeaking against the floor tile as he sneered, “you needed a promise to retell shit we already know?”

“Not at all,” Toriel said calmly, “I’m only establishing a timeline. I did keep tabs on you, I’m sure you’re aware, I couldn’t risk you causing problems with the Humans even if they agreed to allow Monsters to work within their communities. But I never interfered. I must say, what you’ve accomplished here is remarkable—”

“Save it,” Undyne barked, “tell us what the fuck is up with this guy and Rus.”

Toriel’s expression tinged into sadness, “Very well. Approximately two years after the three of you left, a portal was opened.”

“A portal,” Edge repeated in confusion. The very word seemed foreign, shoved in like a forcing a square block into a round hole.

“Yes, beneath the mountain,” Toriel said, “Most Monsters came to the surface, but some preferred the remain underground. This portal opened in Snowdin; I believe you’re all familiar with the town. Three skeleton Monsters came through it. Doctor Gaster here, his brother Blue, and their brother Papyrus.”

“What the fuck is a portal—” Undyne started impatiently, but it was Red’s bare whisper that silenced her.

Red’s voice was hardly more than a low, stunned rasp, “you got your machine working.”

“A machine? Like—” Undyne shut her mouth so hard her teeth clicked audibly. Red only shook his head, unable to even discreetly sign in front of these Monsters.

“Yes. We did,” Gaster interjected. He was looking at Red with startled, cautious respect. “Our world is very much like this one. Monsters forced to live beneath the mountain, trapped by a barrier. What you must understand is that we came to this world because we were desperate. Your core technology made for a decent life Underground, but in our world, the core was damaged. Our father passed and his work was lost. We weren’t able to repair it. But the Portal machine I was able to complete. We came to this world seeking the information about the Core technology,” Gaster’s hands and speech had been speeding up excitedly with every word, only now he faltered, “I’m afraid it took much longer than I expected to find the information we were looking for.”

“Hold on, back it up,” Undyne said. She rubbed her forehead with her damaged hand, her visible eye squinched tightly shut. “Let me get this straight, are you seriously telling me that Rus is from another world, like some kind of fucking alien?”

Gaster’s face twisted in a moue of distaste, “I suppose ‘alien’ is the correct colloquialism, although not in the definition of extraterrestrial, as we are from the planet Earth. Our world is merely an alternate of your own, almost like a mirror image we’ve discovered, and—”

“Save the science nerd shit,” Undyne snapped, “Okay, so you’re aliens. That doesn’t explain why you need Rus to head back all of a sudden.”

Gaster spread several pairs of hands, “Because it’s time for us to go home. Now that I have the information we require, I can repair our core.”

“So go do it!”

“I’d agree,” Edge said evenly, “If you’re the one to do the repairs, you can do it. It seems to me Rus would prefer to remain here.”

“Of course you don’t want him to leave!” Gaster snapped, hands flashing. Edge frowned at that suspiciously even as Gaster ranted on, “But he doesn’t have a choice. Our world hasn’t made it to the surface yet and the longer we are away, the more the Monsters living there will be suffering from the lack of a Core. Monsters who suffer, who see their children suffering, they can go to extremes. We’ve been gone two years, I can only imagine what’s happened while we’ve been gone. I’m not inclined to make them wait while by brother indulges in foolish pursuits.”

“You don’t need to!” Edge retorted, “Explain why you need Rus to go with you! Why can’t he come later?”

“they can’t use the portal machine without him.”

That faint whisper came from an unexpected source. Edge turned to Red, staring in shock at his blank expression, the pinpricks of his eye lights.

“Brother?” Edge asked, softly, concerned. He started to reach out, hesitating when his brother actually cringed from him.

Red was heaving, shuddering, as if he might vomit right in front of them. Trails of crimson sweat began to run down his cheek bones, more beaded on his forehead, darkening his knit cap. He tore off his hat, exposing his damaged skull and that even more than the low, gurgling gag burbling from his throat alarmed Edge.

Even Gaster looked concerned as he said, hesitantly, “Yes, that’s correct. Rus is the only one of us with access to Void magic. We need him to power the machine. But that’s hardly the only reason, he’s my brother!”

Red swayed on his feet, barking out a hoarse laugh. “what he was made for, right?”

“What the fuck is void magic?” Undyne said. She knew better than to try to touch Red and her stance was one Edge knew. She hadn’t carried a spear in years, yet Edge could remember a time when knew never left her hand, the same hand that was loosely curled at her side, ready to summon.

“You saw it yourself,” Gaster sighed deeply, “when he…left. Rus can use his magic to interrupt the flow of time/space and briefly enter the void. Using it plainly allows him to take those shortcuts of his and travel short distances within this plane of existence. The machine magnifies his power and opens a portal between worlds.”

“So you need to use him,” Edge said, flatly.

“It’s not that simple! Every day we’re away, our people are suffering and for what? So that Papyrus can earn a useless piece of paper for a branch of science he won’t even be able to use in our world!” Gaster stood, pacing restlessly and seeming to not even notice the brief, pointed flare in Undyne’s eye. “I’ve indulged him as much as I can, but I can’t allow him to shirk his responsibilities.”

“His responsibilities,” Red coughed out another ragged laugh, “yeah, the ones your pop made him for, right? bred him for it, made him for it, like you’d breed a clone for a fucking kidney.”

Gaster swung around to face him and for a moment his face was unpleasantly twisted, almost disturbingly so.

“Dings,” Toriel said, sharply. She’d kept silent as they argued, but now she shook her head at her companion. He sank back, deflated, scrubbing one of his strange, magical hands over his face as he gathered himself.

At last, he said, “Even if that were true, you think it’s appropriate for him to allow all Monsters to suffer from his own selfishness? He’s been running away since we arrived here and I let him, but now is the time for him to face his responsibilities.” He looked at Edge then, pointedly, “You. You’re responsible for all the people here, am I to believe that you would abandon them to their own devices? Let them die because your own petty wants?”

“I wouldn’t.” Edge said evenly. He resisted the urge to snarl at the word ‘petty’. “But it isn’t my choice.” He looked at Toriel. “And you, your Highness? What’s your opinion?”

“I supported Rus in coming here,” Toriel said, “but I understand Gaster’s concerns. The longer the people of his world are without core power, the more suffering it brings. Two weeks might very well mean the difference between life and death for some Monsters.” She gave Gaster a sideways look. “But neither will I force Rus to return. It’s his life, his choice, and as it has been explained to me, such travel is not without dangers of its own. I believe what we need is a reasonable discussion with Rus. Whenever he returns.”

“I agree,” Edge said. The throbbing complaints in his soul were getting harder to ignore. “Undyne, will you show our guests to a couple of spare rooms? Your Highness, I’m afraid it will be a cramped stay for you.”

She gave him a faint smile, “I’m sure I’ve had worse.”

“Nonsense, we don’t have time for this. I need to go look for my brother—” Gaster blustered out.

“You need to follow my direction,” Edge said in a tone that brooked no argument. “This is my facility. The Institute may have sent you here but I’m not about to allow either of you to snoop around unsupervised. I’ll search for Rus. I’m assuming that shortcut of his couldn’t have taken him far?”

Gaster subsided, sullenly, “No, the range is quite limited.”

“That means he must be close by. Undyne?”

“C’mon, let’s go,” Undyne grumbled. She went to the door, waiting impatiently for them to follow and only when their guests were gone did Edge sink into a chair, letting his skull drop back against the cushioned back as he focused on his breathing, slow and even, trying to settle the uncomfortable tension gripping his soul.

This…this was nothing he could have imagined. Of all the secrets Rus might have buried in his past, this was not one Edge ever considered, how could he possibly…? It was beyond comprehension, so very much to take in, too much, his peaceful if somewhat lonely life at the station disrupted in ways he could barely grasp.

Aliens, Undyne called them, and he was stupidly reminded of that ridiculous movie they’d all watched, with the alien invading the polar station disguising itself as one of their own. This wasn’t that, and yet his soul still roiled, his own gorge rising. Edge forced it back, breathing deeply, and his nausea incongruously reminded him of his brother’s. He sat up abruptly, looking wildly around the room, but at some point, Red had vanished.

Wonderful, that was two missing, now.

Or perhaps not. In his pocket, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Alphys that only said, ‘Vehicle Shed.’

He texted back a quick thank you and headed towards the vestibule to gear up, ready to follow where she led. He’d thought Rus was meant for sunshine and instead it seemed he might be heading back into a darkness Edge could scarcely understand.

But first, Edge needed to find him.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell undyne #underfell alphys #arctic AU

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: Married to the Mob

AU-gust Day Twelve: Crime AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Golden Lace

Rated: T

Summary: Crime boss Gold and his moll Lacey celebrate a successful operation against a rival, and Lacey questions where their relationship is going.

Married to the Mob

Everyone knew that Gold was the most dangerous man in Storybrooke. No one knew it more than Lacey, although Lacey was probably the only person in town who wasn’t downright terrified of the man. No, she knew that he was dangerous, but she also knew that she was in no danger at all, and in fact, she was probably one of the safest people around.

There were crime families, and then there was Gold. He wasn’t a one-man operation by any stretch of the imagination, but not having an extended network of relations to have to manage and prevent infighting between, he was certainly the most successful boss in his line of work. Everyone in Storybrooke knew not to cross Gold, and everyone knew that a sure-fire way to cross Gold was to threaten his girl in any way.

Lacey was that girl.

She’d come onto Gold’s radar a few years ago, just a petty thief picking pockets here and there, hanging out in the Rabbit Hole hustling pool and lifting wallets from unsuspecting patrons. She’d recognised Gold in there, of course, and she’d known better than to try him. She had felt his eyes on her all evening, watching her work, and she had wondered which of the men in the bar were his. Was she better off avoiding them or not?

As it turned out, she’d already cleaned out a couple of his guys the previous night, and Gold had come to see the little hustler in action for himself.

She’d be lying if she said that she hadn’t been nervous when he’d called her over, but Lacey was nothing if not full of bravado, and she’d gone over as happy and cocksure as if he’d been any other joe off the street.

“Fancy a game, Mr Gold?”

He’d declined, and instead offered to put her on his payroll. Someone like her was useful to have around, to get things that his usual muscle could not. She’d joked about him needing her feminine wiles, and he’d bought her a drink, and everything had gone from there, really. It had gone from working together to sleeping together in fairly short order afterwards, and it had remained that way ever since.

All the same, Lacey couldn’t help but wonder where the whole thing was going. Where did they stand? What would happen if they were to break up, would she have a massive target on her head, not only from Gold, who knew that she knew far too much about his operation, but from everyone else who’d ever held a grudge against her and now couldn’t touch her because she was under Gold’s protection?

Gold was in his office. He spent most of his time in there; he had enough people to send out into the field to carry out his meticulously planned jobs for him, Lacey included, and he preferred to mastermind his empire from a distance. Plausible deniability was a great asset; the exasperated investigators had never yet been able to make anything stick against him, but he always bailed out any of his underlings who had the misfortune to get themselves caught. They might not work for him again, but their loyalty was always rewarded.

Dove was in there with him. Of all of Gold’s enforcers, the near-silent Dove was definitely the most trusted. Lacey couldn’t tell if this was because of his quietness or if his quietness was a result of that trust. Although huge and intimidating, Dove was the very picture of discretion and was always respectful to Lacey, even when, like now, she ended up barging in on his private meetings with Gold.

He gave her a nod as he left the room, closing the door behind him, and Lacey hung around in the middle of the room, not quite sure where she ought to go from here. The usual bravado that accompanied all her interactions with everyone in Gold’s operation, himself included, had deserted her in his presence. It had been doing that an awful lot lately, and this vulnerability was beginning to get on her nerves. She really needed to know where she stood with Gold. If their relationship was heading in the direction that she thought it was, then she would allow that vulnerability. If it was not, then it was time to toughen up, strengthen her exterior and not let Gold know just how weak she was for him. Gold did not appreciate weakness, not in their line of work where everyone had to be on their toes all the time. That was one of the secrets of his enduring success – he never let his guard down, and he never let anyone get complacent.

“Hello, Lacey.” His smile on seeing her was genuine, not the sneer that he presented to the world so often in his dealings with it. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“No reason.” Lacey shrugged, trying to keep things nonchalant. She made her way over the desk, perching on the edge of it. “What were you and Dove discussing? Or is it top secret?”

“It’ll be common knowledge soon enough.” Gold opened his bottom desk drawer, taking out a bottle of Scotch and two tumblers. “In fact, it’s cause for celebration.” He poured a generous measure into each glass and handed Lacey one, chinking his to hers. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Lacey took a sip of the warming liquor. She had to admit that hugely increased alcohol quality had been a deciding factor in accepting a position within Gold’s organisation. Most of the moonshine she could get at the Rabbit Hole was barely drinkable. Gold had enough connections to get premium-aged Scottish whisky imported. “What are we toasting to?”

“The soon-to-be announced demise of Zelena West’s money-laundering scheme.”

Lacey raised an eyebrow and raised her glass. “I’ll definitely toast to that. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

Zelena had been persistent thorn in Gold’s side for months, and his and Dove’s hard work in getting her out of town had finally paid off. A large and very selfish part of Lacey hoped that, with Zelena out of the way and no longer occupying any of Gold’s time or thoughts, he would have more time for her now. She didn’t feel any guilt at this hope. Crime was a selfish business, after all. Even those who robbed the rich to feed the poor would be lying if they didn’t feel a certain perverse satisfaction at undermining authority. For Lacey, who had skirted authority all her life and always felt stifled by it, it was easy to admit how much she enjoyed that aspect of her lifestyle.

Whisky drunk, Lacey slipped off the edge of the desk, coming around it to settle on the edge of Gold’s chair and then slide down into his lap. He looked down at her as she swung her legs in the air.

“You’re worse than a lap cat for wanting attention, you know.”

“Ah, but you love me for it really, and you know that I’m so much more fun than a lap cat.” Lacey tugged his tie free of his waistcoat, pulling on the end and giving a pitiful meow. Gold laughed.

“You do have a point there, Kitten.”

He pulled her in for a kiss, long and possessive, and Lacey slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. They were just as desperate and needy as each other, in their own ways.

Lacey sighed as she pulled away. When it was just the two of them like this, it was easy to think that everything was well in the world and that they were the only two people that mattered, and they were the only two things that they cared about. It was easy to forget everything else, even their subtle and precarious position in the underworld hierarchy that could be toppled at the slightest provocation – just a single botched job or one disgruntled former associate.

“Is everything all right, Kitten?” When she didn’t respond, Gold pressed her. “Lacey? What’s that sigh for? I thought that we were celebrating.”

Lacey decided that the easiest thing to do would just be to come out and say it. Best to deal with the consequences head on rather than letting them fester, leaving them as a secret that might come out some other way in some other, less favourable circumstances.

“What are we doing here, Gold?” she asked. “What is this thing between us?”

“What do you mean?” His voice was quiet, but it was not the icy, dangerous quiet that Lacey knew and had come to associate with bloodshed, the quiet that came out when dealing with people like Zelena West. This was a different quiet, a reverent and respectful quiet. This was a question that he genuinely wanted to know the answer to.

“I mean, is this just a bit of fun? Something to pass the time for us both? Or is it something… More? Is…” Lacey took a deep breath and pressed on. “Is it love?”

Love was a dangerous word in their underworld. Deep attachments could prove fatal. Gold already knew that, and Lacey had learned it from her association with him.

“What do you think it is?” Gold asked. This deference and indecision was a new look on him; Lacey had never seen him be anything but completely sure of himself. This nervousness was new, and despite it being strange to her, and strange to think of Gold in such a state having known him so intimately for as long as she had, it gave Lacey hope, because she was feeling the exact same nerves herself.

“I know what I’d like it to be. But I also know that’s a difficult and dangerous path to go down, and it would paint a target on my back as much as it would protect me.” She paused. “I love you. And if you don’t love me back then that’s ok. I can live with that. It was fun whilst it lasted, but I know all about getting in too deep, I know…”

Gold pressed a finger to her lips to silence her, then removed it and kissed her again.

“I love you too,” he said. “In fact, the news of Zelena’s imminent downfall was only incidental to the real reason why Dove was here tonight.”

He reached into his inside jacket pocket, and Lacey could have sworn that her heart stopped as he pulled out a small velvet box.

“I was going to wait a while. I wanted to be sure of your feelings before I said anything; I didn’t want you to feel obligated in any way. There’s still no obligation even now, but after what you said this evening, I have more confidence in asking. Will you marry me, Lacey?”

A small part of Lacey couldn’t believe it. Until their paths had collided, she and Gold had occupied very different social strata. He was completely out of her league, and they both knew it. Well, she had always thought that he was completely out of her league, until tonight, when he had told her that he loved her and proposed marriage.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“As the grave.”

She batted his arm. “Don’t joke about things like that. Not in your line of work.”

“Sorry. Poor taste. But I am serious. I love you, and I want to marry you.”

Lacey looked at the ring; it must have cost more than she’d ever known in her lifetime. If she accepted it, then things would definitely change. They would both be more vulnerable, but they would be stronger together as well, far stronger than they were apart.

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I want to marry you.”

#rumbelle fic #golden lace fic #golden lace #Mr Gold #Lacey French #crime AU #AU-gust #Worry does AU-gust #Fic: Married to the Mob

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broadwaybaggins · 5 years ago

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Mansion House Murder Party, Chapter 4

I rewrote this three times. If I’ve made any glaring errors, please message me and I will fix them!

Chapter 1 by @mercurygray Chapter 2 by @jomiddlemarch Chapter 3 by @fericita-s

And many many thanks to @jamesknoxpolka and @mercurygray for beta-ing, and @jomiddlemarch for consulting!

______________________________________

Of course the bloody train was late. Anne shouldn’t have expected anything less upon her return to Mansion House. Nothing in the last ten years had worked out the way she had thought it would, so why should the return journey be any different?

Her fingers itched to reach into her carpetbag and remove the flask that she had stashed there--she couldn’t quite give up that old habit, no matter how hard she tried--but she forced them to remain still in her lap. The last thing she needed was to empty her reserves before she even crossed the threshold of the hotel! She busied herself with reaching for the letter that had summoned her instead, the creases soft with repeated readings, the ink blurred in places. She had it memorized by now, but her eyes skimmed the contents anyway. The letter had been a shock--she did not, as a rule, keep contact with many people from the war. Byron’s sporadic letters had long since been burned. She had received word of Emma Green’s pending nuptials, and when the first Foster boy had been born. The other letters, bearing any news of her former colleagues, were few and far between. Her most regular correspondent in the years following the war had been Bridget Brannan, and when the letter in her hand had arrived, she had stared at it for several minutes without blinking, half-expecting it to disappear before her eyes. She hadn’t even opened it for several days, leaving it on the hall table to stare at her accusingly every time she walked past. Finally, she had been unable to resist the siren call.

New York had bid her farewell with ominous dark clouds and a driving, freezing rain that Anne hoped wasn’t a harbinger of the journey to come. The weather had lightened as the train sped south, but the feeling of foreboding had not left Anne. She folded up the letter and stuffed it back into her bag, both wishing that the journey would go faster and never come to an end at all. Her heart raced like a simpering schoolgirl’s, and her palms were starting to sweat. Anne hated this feeling, the feeling of not being in control of the situation, of not knowing exactly what she was walking into.

Getting on the train had been a mistake. Not throwing that wretched letter directly into the fire where it belonged had been a mistake.

“Oh, snap out of it, Hastings,” she scolded herself in a whisper. It was a hotel she was going to be walking into, not a lion’s den. These people, they used to be your...

Friends was not quite the right word. Anne wasn’t sure the right word existed to describe her relationships with Mary Phinney and Jedediah Foster, with Emma Green and Bridget Brannan and the lot of them. They had been, in equal measure, rivals and enemies and nuisances and, yes, friends, and maybe even...Miss Green would have been quick to use the word family, but Anne was reluctant. Still, perhaps she was being ridiculous. Surely it couldn’t be nearly as bad as she feared.

Oh Anne, if you truly believe that, then you’ve learned nothing in the past ten years.

----------------------

Any attempt to sleep on the train was futile, at best. When they finally reached Alexandria, Anne’s back was aching something fierce and there was a pain in her jaw from clenching it the last hundred miles. She made it off the train as night was falling, accidentally over-tipping the hapless porter who helped her with her luggage. Oh well. Plenty more where that came from, she decided. At least that was one thing from the last ten years that Anne did not regret.

Mansion House Hotel, when she finally arrived, stood tall and imposing in the fading light. The air was thick with humidity and dust and the cloying smell of magnolia blossoms. Anne stood there for a moment after the carriage pulled away, staring up at the structure that had been her home throughout the long years of the war. If she squinted, would she still be able to see the ghostly figures of so long ago? The phantoms, not just of dead soldiers but of orderlies, doctors, nurses too, who had once lived and worked within these walls? If Anne stood still as a statue, would she see the ghost of who she used to be? Would she want to?

And what other ghosts were within these walls? Who would she encounter when she walked through the doors? She thought of Emma, married all these years to--what the blazes was his name again? She thought of Henry, teaching at some university, no doubt withering away behind piles of dusty books and trying to bury his long-lost love for the former Miss Green. She thought of Byron--and just as easily pushed the thought away. He would not be joining this little soiree, of that she had no doubt. He was long gone, gone for her at least, far off in the wilds of California, and good riddance to bad rubbish, and all that.

Mary and Jed Foster. Would they be there? Anne was almost certain that they would. And Emma’s sister, the frothy little thing with her head full of blonde curls and--

A shout from down the street startled Anne from her thoughts, and she shook her head as if that alone would be enough to quell her anxiety. Enough dithering at the door, she decided. She straightened her back--ignoring the way it sent a pang all the way down her spine, damn the seats on that train--adjusted her grip on her bag, and walked up to the door.

Her knock was met with nothing but silence, and she stood there a moment in confusion. Had she somehow made a mistake? Was the hotel vacant after all? No, not possible--lamps were lit inside and she could make out the faint sound of voices. She tried the handle, the brass polished to a gleam where it had once been dull and bloodstained, and found it unlocked. Before she could talk herself out of it, she pushed the door open and walked inside.

Part of her wanted to explore--in spite of herself, she was curious as to what sort of transformation Mansion House had endured in the years since the war. But she found herself following the sound of the voices, past the staircase--how many times had she climbed those stairs!--to the main parlor. The many beds that had once littered the room were gone now, replaced by new-looking furniture that no doubt came from the Green’s own factory. And there, assembled like pieces on a chessboard, were the very faces she had come to see.

There was Alice Green, who no doubt fancied herself the queen in a sea of pawns. Henry Hopkins, standing nearby, fidgeting slightly with his glasses as he adjusted their position on the bridge of his nose-- he was a Knight or a Rook. Jedediah Foster, a little more grey than she remembered, but his face was unmistakable--a bishop, perhaps...

A shout of terror pulled Anne out of her reverie. She looked up just in time to see a man run in--his face was familiar to her, that hapless medical student, whatever his name had been. "He’s dead!” he cried out before his eyes rolled back dramatically and he crumpled to the floor in a dead faint. Anne stared at him a moment, noting his bloodstained hands, his disheveled clothes, the beginnings of what would no doubt become a sizeable bump on his head.

Well, that’s one way to begin the evening, I suppose.

No one seemed to have noticed Anne yet--the dramatic entrance of Mr. What’s-his-name had stolen her moment away. She gently sat her bags down on the floor, hoping to make as little noise as possible. As she straightened up and smoothed the skirts of her traveling gown, Emma Green sprang into action. The man standing beside her--the husband, no doubt--reached for her instinctively, trying to pull her back, but Emma was already kneeling beside the poor soul on the floor. Anne couldn’t help but smile at that, the sight of a nurse’s instincts taking over. She’d had her doubts about this one, in the beginning, but Emma Green had proven her wrong time and time again. “Emma,” her husband hissed, his mouth twisting into an ugly grimace. No doubt he was embarrassed at her actions, or else irritated that her dress would be soiled by the blood. Anne instantly decided that she disliked him. “Emma, for God’s sake, get up off the floor.”

“A pillow for his head, please!” she called out to no one in particular, ignoring him completely. In response, he made a noise at the back of his throat that some might have called a sigh and retreated to a corner to brood in silence.

There was someone, however, who heeded Emma’s call, reaching for a pillow off of the nearest settee. Anne hadn’t noticed her a first, hidden as she had been behind Doctor Foster, who was now a flurry of motion as he raced off towards the kitchen to investigate. “Here,” Mary said softly, handing the pillow over as quickly as she could manage. She moved slower than Anne had ever seen her, her posture more stooped, a slight tremor in her movements that hadn’t been there during the war. Anne watched for for a moment, unsure of what to dot. This, this changed Mary Phinney, had not been something that she had expected.

Emma accepted the pillow with a smile but never took her focus off of her patient, slipping it beneath his head and feeling his neck for a pulse. “Weak, but steady. He’s had a good fright, but he’ll be all right.”

There was a pause, and then Alice Green spoke. “Oh, thank the Lord,” she whispered. Anne couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the delay in her reaction. Someone, it seemed, had not changed at all since the war. It would have been a comfort if the entire situation wasn’t so...unsettling.

Anne decided it was time to announce herself rather than wait for someone to notice her. “My my, I see the party has started without me,” she said loudly, making half a dozen heads swivel towards her. She watched Mary’s eyes widen as she took in the sight of her, and she almost smiled.

“Anne. You came.” Was that relief in her voice?

“Well, of course I did,” Anne said briskly. “I was invited, after all.”

------------------------------

I tag @jamesknoxpolka! You’re it!

#Mercy Street #Mercy street round robin #Mansion House Murder #Mercy Street fanfiction #Anne Hastings #up to no good? Read on to find out

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elvendara · 5 years ago

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Hello my friend, it's been a while since my last request, I've tried to get past my addiction but I miss them, could you please make a reunion? I want them to know I've been doing better, that I'm crying less and I'm not giving up on life anymore, my son is almost four, I'm divorced and have my own little baking business, life is getting better, I want to thank them, I wouldn't have survived without them, I would never be me again without them. I know it's too specific, but please 💕

I had to think about this one long and hard. This was more about you my lovely. I hope you don’t mind that I used your story! I hope nothing but the best for you and your son! You deserve it! And you deserve a man who will treat you like Saeyoung would! PM me if you ever need to talk! I’m a great listener and the RFA will always be here for you too!

Pandi smiled nostalgically as she put the finishing touches on the multilayered cake. The sugar flowers reminded her of Zen’s flowing hair. It had beentoo long and she couldn’t wait to see them all again. She put down her toolsand took in her surroundings. The shop had only been open for a few months butword got around and she had a decent amount of repeat customers. She was alsobooking a good amount of weddings, birthdays, and other celebrations. So muchso that she was considering hiring more help.

The shop was closed, the sign on the door specifying that there would bea private function. She had hired a caterer for the food but opted to do herown desserts. It was the least she could do. Jumin had given her a letter orrecommendation to take to the bank, pointing out the effectiveness of her businessproposel. The support she had received from the RFA had been limitless. Therewere other offers of help, but she had turned them all down, she had wanted todo this on her own. To focus on being the success she knew she could be. Andhere she was. A year and a half later with a thriving business and a betterfamily life. Becoming single had been difficult, especially amongst all theother tribulations she was dealing with. But it had not been a mistake. Goodriddance to bad rubbish, in her opinion. She adjusted the photo of her now four-year-oldson. The inspiration she needed when things seemed too much for her.

“Oh shit!” it was almost 6pm and the RFA would be arriving at 7, she hadn’teven taken a shower yet.

She took one last look around, everything looked perfect. She hadinvited some of her regular customers and parents of some of her son’spre-school friends. The tables were laden with appetizers, some alcohol, and aspecial punch she had created herself for the children. All the round tables hadsparkling clean table cloths and a single rose bud in a small vase in the center.It was simple and charming. She made her way through the double doors into thekitchen, taking off her apron and tossing it aside on the counter. There was asmall set of stairs behind the kitchen that led to her apartment upstairs. Thistoo was simple, but rather cozy and comfortable. It had everything she and herson needed. Living above the shop allowed her to spend more time with his aswell.

He was spending time at his friend’s, whose parents would bring him withthem to the gathering. She jumped into the shower and quickly washed. She threwon minimal makeup, some eyeliner, lip gloss, and ran a blush brush across theapples of her cheeks. She decided to add some mascara just to lengthen herlashes a bit. She blowdried her hair and brushed it out, letting the soft curlsframe her face loosely. The red dress she intended to wear was hanging on thehook behind the bathroom door. She shimmied into it and was grateful it fitperfectly. She heard rattling at the front door and rushed down the stairs,hopping on one foot then the other as she put her shoes on.

She unlocked the door, a little winded and let in the first guests toarrive. She scanned every new person that made their way in. Her son and hisfriends sat at one of the tables with plated of food they played with more thanate. A familiar head appeared at the door. White hair and ruby eyes. Theylocked eyes and Zen grinned, making his way to her. They embraced and shecouldn’t help but remark on how delicious he smelled. She blushed as hechuckled.

“Not as delicious as this cake!” he beamed, eyes wide.

“Indeed. You’ve outdone yourself.” Came a smooth voice. Pandi nearlysqueeled in delight to see Jumin smiling at her, magnificent in his dark greysuit. He took her hands in his and pulled her into a gentle hug.

“Jumin! You flatter me.” She said.

“Not at all, you deserve it.” He countered.

Behind the business man stood Jaehee, her black dress suited her well, accentuatingall her assets without being vulgar. She beamed at her and their hug was tighterthan what she had given the men. How she had missed this woman!

“The place looks incredible Pandi! No wonder you are so successful!”Jaehee crooned.

“Oh, not that successful.” Pandi blushed.

“Nonsense, I’ve kept an eye on your progress and people love yourbaking.” Said Jaehee.

“Pandi!” Yoosung waved at her from the door, his amethyst eyes wide andexcited. Behind him Pandi could see red hair and her heart skipped a beat.After all this time, it still fluttered for that man. Yoosung navigated throughthe bodies of people and slammed into her. His hug was quick and tight, but hiseyes were on the food, until he saw her son.

“Oh! I should go say hi!” and he was off before she could even utter aword. She shook her head but felt genuine affection for the boy.

“Hello Pandi.” Saeyoung stood before her, that lopsided smile she couldn’tseem to forget.

“Hello Saeyoung.” It had been a difficult decision for her to leave, butshe knew she had made the right choice. Saeyoung needed time to deal with hispast, and to reconnect with his brother.

“How is Saeran?” she notted that the rest of the RFA had quietly slippedaway to let them have a private conversation.

“Doing better. He’s been moved to an outpatient facility. I’d ratherhave him home, but I know he isn’t ready for that. At least he hasn’t tried tokill me in weeks!” he laughed self deprecadingly. Pandi only shook her head.The man used humor to mask his own fears and insecurities. But at least he wasbeing more honest about himself than ever before.

“I’m sure you’ll get there.”

Saeyoung nodded, his amber eyes falling to the floor. She noted hisglasses were similar to those he used to wear, but slightly different. She didn’tmention it. She wanted to talk about real things, but was unsure how to evenbegin.

“I’ve…uh…missed you.” He bit his lower lip and looked away. Intimacy wasnever his strong suit.

“I’ve missed you too.” She admitted. His eyes shot up and they shared a silentpleading moment. After her divorce, Saeyoung had been an incredible listener. There was something there, but she was too raw from her relationship and they kept a decent distance.

“Would you mind if I came by sometime?” he asked.

“I’d like that.”

Saeyoung grinned, his posture relaxing. He stepped up to her and slowlywrapped his arms around her. She lay her head on his shoulder, a familiarplace. She could smell the sweetness of his Honey Buddha Chips. That smellseemed to linger on everything associated with Saeyoung. She longed to run herfingers through the thick curls on his head, to feel the soft velvety plumpnessof his lips pressed against hers.

She didn’t regret taking time to figure out what she wanted and neededto do. And to allow him to do the same. But now she was ready for more, and soit seemed, was Saeyoung. She would take it slow, and just see where it wouldgo.

#my posts #asks #mysme #mystic messenger #Saeyoung #Yoosung #Jumin #Zen #Jaehee #mysme fiction #reunion #get together #friends #loved ones #take care of yourself!#send me a message #❤️❤️❤️#pandinhamoreira-desu

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xxkellsvixen19xx · 5 years ago

Text

Break Up With Your Girlfriend I'm Bored Pt 1

Requested by anon & @hollywood-whorexx

A/N: this is fiction so please don't come at me lol 😂 so please don't think I am a horrible person for writing this!

Lyrics used: Break Up With Your Girlfriend I'm Bored by Ariana Grande & a small fragment of Death In My Pocket by Machine Gun Kelly

Word Count: 885

Emotions of love are of course a very natural and important part of life. But it is the ideas of what love is and should be that vary in large degrees.

When love is modeled in an unhealthy, impractical way it is misguided and will result in unrealistic expectations and ultimately unhappy relationships.

Colson had heard an old saying in a movie once, “You or no one. Because to suffer for love is good. The pain all sweet somehow. In the end”. He had had a few serious relationships but in the end the girls all did him the same way, either cheated or merely used him for his money and fame.

Charli was no different honestly and most of his friends knew this, but being stubborn he wouldn't hear of it he was sure she was the one. She was an up and coming model but behind the beautiful looks hid a horrible attitude.

It had gotten to the point where he couldn't step out his front door without TMZ and countless other paparazzi flashing their cameras and firing off question after question. A prime example of all this hidden in the lyric from Death In My Pocket from his latest album Hotel Diablo.

//How much darkness did it take to get this flashy now?

I lose a piece of my soul when the cameras flash//

Colson pushed the glass across the bar motioning for a refill, he was at a club opening with Charli She was off mingling with her girlfriends as usual, too caught up paying no mind to him which was no surprise to the crew. There wasn't enough alcohol or drugs to numb out this feeling, he was miserable but because the label thought him being seen with Charli would be good 'PR' he was roped into to the point he felt trapped.

He had been getting more and more into his head because of all of this. The dark circles under his eyes were a clear indication of many stressful sleepless nights. There was a slight shift as Colson felt someone sit down next to him. Looking up he locked eyes with the young woman who was now next to him. They locked gazes, 'fuck she's absolutely breathtaking' he thought to himself.

A notification went off looking down at his phone it was a text from Charli "Leaving with the girls text me later?" He let out a disgusted sigh, "why am I not fucking surprised!" He mumbled to himself. Prior to leaving it didn't escape his sight that she had clearly been hot and heavy all over none other than Gerald Earl Gillum (G Eazy).

"You know you deserve better." The voice of the young woman causing him to look up. This was the first person verbally to say anything aside from the guys, an outsiders opinion. Hell if he was hearing this from a complete stranger then the warning signs were clearly way too obvious. "The guys say the same thing… miss umm?" "Oh sorry my name is Tianna". His breath caught momentarily "fuck that's a beautiful name."

//You got me some type of way (Hmm)

Ain't used to feelin' this way (Mmm-mmm)

I do not know what to say (Yeah, yeah)

But I know I shouldn't think about it

Took one fuckin' look at your face (Hmm)

Now I wanna know how you taste (Mmm-mmm)

Usually don't give it away (Yeah, yeah)

But you know I'm out here thinkin' 'bout it//

It could have been the mix of too much alcohol and drugs, it could have been the intoxicating smell of Tianna's perfume and her gorgeous looks. But within mere seconds Colson found himself leaning just inches from her, he wanted to kiss her so bad on impulse but at this point he didn't give two fucks. They were in a hot and heavy lip lock not noticing that Charli just so happened to walk back in. "Wow Colson really?" She stated in mock exasperation.

//Then I realized she's right there

And I'm at home like, "Damn, this ain't fair"

Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored

You can hit it in the mornin' (Mornin')

Yeah, yeah, like it's yours

I know it ain't right

But I don't care (Care)

Break up with your girlfriend

Yeah, yeah, 'cause I'm bored//

"You sure have room to talk considering you were sucking face with Gerald half the fucking night!" By now Colson's blood was boiling, "fuck this PR shit I'm done, go find someone else's dick to ride because I've had it no amount of promotion is worth all this fucking headache." Charli pivoted on her heals to walk back out, with the turn of her head she smirked "you'll regret this Colson Baker mark my words!" He let out a half laugh shaking his head, "good riddance to bad rubbish!" Tianna called out watching Charli walking away.

//You can say I'm hatin' if you want to

But I only hate on her 'cause I want you

Say I'm trippin' if you feel that

But you without me ain't right (Ain't right)

You can call me crazy 'cause I want you

And I never even never fuckin' met you

Say I'm trippin' and it ain't right

But you without me ain't nice (Ain't nice, yeah)//

#colson baker imagine #machine gun kelly imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #machine gun kelly #colson baker x reader #fan fiction

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future-circuit · 5 years ago

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Clouded Message, Clear Finder (GX Fic)

AO3

Those that Judai's helped on his travels from their point of view, sharing their experiences with others via a Duel Forum.

Sightings of The Spirit Speaker

> last post: today

Pinned Comment:

CartonHome: Has anyone else come across this guy? He can talk to Duel Spirits and stuff, it’s really neat, also kinda weird. Said he’s a traveller. He’s usually got a cat with him if it helps? Also clearly a teen or at least can’t be that far out of them so like… late teens early twenties i guess??

Anonymous: spirits aren't real what are you five?

Anonymous: a ‘traveller’ is just another word for being homeless what a waste of space

Anonymous: dude shut up

Anonymous: you’re a waste of space come back when you’re doing something useful with your life

Anonymous: i dunno, Carton, you sure you didn’t get scammed?

Anonymous: duel spirits are real one sucked my dick behind a family mart once

CartonHome: guys keep it chill in here, pg and all that. there are kids on this site. also i don’t want this post to be taken down. if you don’t have the answer to my question just leave

Anonymous: yeah it’s not like this is the first time someone’s talked about spirits on here. pretty sure duel monsters is haunted

Anonymous: i wouldn’t be surprised. even just the modern history of it’s wild. Like seto kaiba??? hello???? he’s done some wack shit in the name of some cards. heard he tried to kill a guy

Anonymous: heard he did kill a guy

xBlaze1x: i think i met this guy, Carton

CartonHome: dude your user…

xBlaze1x: This is my kid brother’s account! Not my fault he’s an edgy eight year old! Why do you even want to know about this guy anyway?

CartonHome: i dunno i just suddenly remembered him and was wondering if he was a fever dream or not lol

xBlaze1x: Yeah that makes sense, he’s a bit of a whirlwind

CartonHome: you got that right. i kinda wanted to thank him too, y’know? but he was just here one day then gone the next

x Blaze1x: Same here, guess he doesn’t like staying in the same place for too long? I think he said something like that. Or implied it. It was a while ago.

Anonymous: you guys know you sound insane, right?

CartonHome: yeah but you get used to it

xBlaze1x: ^^^

xBlaze1x: Wow that sounds really sad actually

CartonHome: wonder if that’s our fate

xBlaze1x: Stop you’ll make me depressed again

Anonymous: what the hell happened here??? I thought this was a joke post

Anonymous: Sometimes weirdos just pop up sometimes. What can you expect from a DM forum?

Anonymous: true guess i’ll blast then if nothing interesting’s going to happen here

CartonHome: good riddance to bad rubbish

CartonHome: so @xBlaze1x what’s your deal then??

xBlaze1x: What do you mean?

CartonHome: with spirits, keep up dude! if you had a run in with our not-so-resident spirit speaker and you’re on a dm forum you must have some relationship with spirits

xBlaze1x: Oh. I’m not one to talk about it but…

______________________________________________________

For all his life, he’d never really cared much for the so-called ‘great outdoors’. It was warm and made him feel all dizzy no matter how much water he drank or even if he stayed in the shade the entire time. Not to mention that when it wasn’t warm it was blisteringly cold which was incredibly annoying in the complete opposite of ways- though it did at least give him an excuse to not go outside. The outdoors was pretty in pictures and he was fine if it stayed that way.

"You should go outside more often,” a deep voice spoke into his ear, causing him to almost fall onto his futon which he still hadn’t put away, though he was masterfully caught.

“And why would I do that?” he challenged, getting back onto his own two feet before meeting the eyes of a tall man with a red mask covering his eyes and red wings faded to black at the tips- or as he would be commonly known as and referred to by most, Harpie’s Brother.

“So you’re not breathing in the same acrid air?��

“I open the windows, isn’t that enough?”

“You won’t get better by doing nothing.”

He shrugged. Maybe he didn’t want to get better. Maybe he would just never get better no matter what he tried and then he’d die as alone as he lived.

“You’ve been here for all of three months and you’ve only ever left the house for school,” Harpie’s Brother reprimanded, “go and get some friends already.”

“You’re my friend, that’s enough.”

That seemed to earn him a somewhat amused snort. “Yes, well. Forceful introductions.”

It had been somewhat forceful, he’d admit. All those years ago when his younger brother had handed him a Duel Monsters card he’d found, giving it to him as a ‘birthday present’, and then having Harpie’s Brother spontaneously (and rather unceremoniously) materialise into the world could be considered as such. It had taken ages to convince Ayato it hadn’t happened and perhaps even longer to convince himself that it, in fact, had. And that he could control it.

“Yasuharu!” A call came, snapping him from his musings as he subsequently heard footsteps.

“Quick, quick, dematerialise!” he said in a rushed voice, scrambling for the Duel Spirit’s card before grabbing onto it and watching as his friend vanished from sight just as the door behind him slid open.

“Were you talking to yourself again?” his mother asked, concern edging its way into her voice at every angle.

“I told you before, I was just calling a friend, it’s not like I’m crazy.”

Even with the excuse she didn’t seem to buy it, though she didn’t comment, instead just shaking her head with a sigh.

“Could you go and take Ayato to the park?”

Ah yes, the ploy to get him out of the house.

“I have homework to do.”

“No you don’t, you finished it all yesterday. Unless you were lying to me.”

Now that was a route he definitely didn’t want to go down. Lying about finishing homework and getting caught would result in a contained explosion. Specifically, contained in his room and also a night of no dinner.

“No, no, I wasn’t!” he said hurriedly, “I’ll take him.”

“Great!” his mother said with a grin, “Ayato’s all ready; don’t keep him waiting!”

As she made her way triumphantly out of the room, Yasuharu’s awkward smile fell limp and he defaulted to a groan, staring at the door after her.

“Just because I can’t see you doesn’t mean I can’t see that smug grin. Knock it off.”

And that’s how, funnily enough, he found himself sitting on a bench, head in his hands as he wondered just how long he’d have to be outside before he could suitably turn back. It wasn’t even like it was a particularly cold day either so that made things somehow worse considering it left one excuse down and more screaming kids in the park than the one he had brought- don’t get him wrong, he loved Ayato to pieces, but he was also six and therefore had no volume control.

Pulling his sleeves down a bit, he resigned himself after a pitifully short amount of time, shifting to put on a facade of watching his brother whereas he was, instead, completely zoned out. A tried and true method if you asked him, not that anyone would.

He fumbled absently at a lazily and very terribly stitched pocket hidden on the inside of his hoodie, confirming the presence of Harpie’s Brother’s card. It wasn’t his fault that he’d never been taught how to properly sew- maybe he should get around to it. Might lessen his paranoia, especially after that one incident where said card fell out of the pocket while he was running messages and he nearly broke out into a full-on panic attack. Fun times.

He was snapped out of his zone as a shiver wracked down his spine. At first he was sure there was someone next to him, though it turned out not to be the case considering when he turned his head there was nothing there. He felt his lips open in a silent question before he closed them, shook his head and went and tried to actively zone out.

“You’re pretty sharp, aren’t’cha?”

Yasuharu shrieked and all but bolted from his seat, slapping a hand to his ear and whipping around to reveal a ruffled young man standing behind where he’d previously been sitting on the bench.

He narrowed his eyes. “And you’re pretty creepy, sneaking up on kids in a park.”

Another shiver found its way down his spine but he kept a steady look on the stranger who remained silent for a few moments, glancing at the air between them and shaking his head before turning back to him and shrugging.

“Can’t really say you’re wrong there, kid.”

Wow, creepy and weird, his day was going great.

The man made his way around to the front of the bench, picking a few stray leaves out of his hair that came from who-knows-where really considering it wasn’t fall and there weren’t many bushes nearby. Yasuharu stayed standing, watching warily as the stranger in the filthy brown jacket took a seat.

“So, you interested in Duel Monsters?” He asked, seemingly still up for trying to make a conversation with someone who must’ve been at least ten years his junior.

“Not really?” Yasuharu answered foolishly. If something bad happened to him it really was all his fault at that point, wasn’t it?

“I thought all kids were into Duel Monsters! They were all the rage when I was a kid.”

“Which was how long ago?”

“Feels like forever, maybe not as long ago as we’re both thinking though.”

“... Right. Why are you talking to me again?”

The man leaned back against the back of the bench and hummed, really seeming to think his answer through though Yasuharu was sure he looked like nothing ever went on in that head of his.

“Kindred spirits attract? I’ll admit, I noticed your friend and thought I’d check out what’s happening.”

Hah! Good try strange man, he didn’t have any friends. His chance of having friends was about as close as his chance of being a functioning member society.

“I don’t have any though?”

“Sure you do, he’s right next to you.”

Wow, that wasn’t ominous and totally not something a kidnapper would say before trapping him in a burlap sack or whatever kidnappers did nowadays.

Either way, he turned to glance both left and right only to find empty space; of course, what had he expected?

“You’re full of shi-”

“Woah, woah, woah! No swearing! You’re, like, seven.”

“I’m ten.”

“Alright, still my point stands. No swearing, you’re too young for that.” The man looked genuinely scandalised and he couldn’t help but let out a bit of a smile at that which immediately annoyed him.

“Right, either way, you still haven’t answered why you’re talking to me. I’ll get the police if you don’t give me a good reason.”

“Maybe don’t do that?” He seemed genuinely flustered, his grin a bit nervous. What, was he actually a criminal? Yasuharu had been joking earlier for the most part but you never know, appearances can be deceiving. “I’m telling the truth though, I saw your pal Harpie’s Brother hanging out with you and since you didn’t look all that happy I thought ‘hey, let’s see what’s up with that guy!’”

“Y- Wh-” he stuttered, staring at the stranger in complete disbelief, “you can see him? But he’s not materialised?”

For some reason, that gave the man pause. “You can materialise Duel Spirits?”

Hesitantly, he nodded. “W-well, I’ve only really tried it with Harpie’s Brother but I guess? Yeah?”

In an instant the other’s face lit up. “That’s so cool! You know, I’ve met a lot of people but I’ve never met another person who could materialise Duel Spirits! That’s awesome!”

“Um…” To be completely honest, he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that before the full extent of the statement sank in and his eyes widened. “Wait, you can materialise them too?”

“Sure can! Want me to show you?”

“Y-” He cut himself off from an enthusiastic shout as he realised they were still at the rather busy park in the middle of the afternoon. “Ah, are you sure? What if someone sees?”

The man frowned for a few seconds, looking like he was listening to something before he tuned back into their conversation.

“Sure, I’m sure people are too busy with their own thing to notice what we’re doing over here anyway.”

Besides, Yasuharu tried to further rationalise to himself, he’d purposefully chosen the bench the most out of the way of everyone. People barely spared him so much as a glance every other time he sat there, why would it be much different now? With a deep breath, he nodded, resolute, and watched as the man in front of him pulled a Duel Monster deck from his belt, sorting through before he pulled out a card. Without saying a word, his eyes blurred momentarily before clearing to see the fully realised form of a Winged Kuriboh.

His mouth gaped open like a fish, opening and closing uselessly as he grasped for the words, his eyes starting to blur once more though he couldn’t fathom why before he felt its fur brush against his cheek. He blinked and brought his eyes back to the man who was in a state of panic, arms uselessly waving, clearly not wanting to touch the younger boy without his say-so.

“Wh- Are you alright?” He asked, voice hurried and filled with concern, though for what Yasuharu wasn’t quite sure.

“Y-” Yasuharu halted as he realised his throat was raw and suddenly it clicked. “Ah. Yeah, I’m just… Sorry. Sorry.” He wiped at his eyes with his sleeves but now that he was aware of them he could only feel them continue.

“God, this is stupid, I don’t even- I shouldn’t even be crying right now.”

The man seemed to search for the right words before settling on something simple. “Why not?”

“Because nothing’s happened!” Yasuharu tried to express frustratedly all while the man and Winged Kuriboh gently guided him to the empty space on the bench where he’d sat before the man’s arrival. “You just summoned him and then I just-”

“Hold on, I think I’ve got- here,” the man handed him some tissues he’d managed to get out of his bag. “Take a moment. No one’s going anywhere.”

Taking his advice, Yasuharu just sat and scrubbed away his tears, wiped away his snot and stroked his hands through Winged Kuriboh’s fur until he was sure he’d committed it to memory. Unrealistically soft yet somehow wiry at the same time, like it had been combed multiple times over and then some until it was just perfect. He made sure to stay away from the creature’s folded wings, so pure white and delicate as they appeared, though he was also sure that just by nature the spirit wouldn’t mind him touching them. He couldn’t be sure he wasn’t dreaming but he dearly hoped he wasn’t.

“Sorry,” he repeated again once he’d regained his ability to speak, still hoarse from all of the crying.

“Don’t be; sometimes all you need is a good cry.”

“I just…”

“Never met someone like yourself before?” The man guessed, earning himself a nod which in turn received a laugh as he shifted a hand through his hair. “I still haven’t. Didn’t even come close ‘til I was much older than you are now. That’s part of the reason I’m here. Not here specifically, but places, y’know?”

“To find people similar to you?”

The man nodded.

“Why go through the trouble?” He knew he wouldn’t.

“I went through a lot of things, you know. Did a lot of soul searching in a lot of different ways and I kind of realised ‘hey, I really like helping people’. I was alone a lot as a kid, partially because of my special capabilities, so I thought there must be a lot of others just like me who maybe need some help- know they aren’t alone, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Yasuharu echoed quietly. “Thanks.”

“Huh?”

“Thanks,” he repeated, a shy smile blooming onto his face. “For telling me. For letting me know. I think that’s what I needed to hear.”

“Then I’m glad I could help.”

As soon as he said it, Winged Kuriboh slipped from Yasuharu’s grip and disappeared entirely.

“Sorry, it’s getting late. If I don’t start searching now then I might not be able to find a place to stay the night, y’know?”

Looking at the sky, he noticed that the sun had gone down considerably since he initially sat down. It was probably time he dragged his brother home anyway.

“That’s fine.” He’d already done more than enough in Yasuharu’s eyes. “Before you go, could I ask one more thing?”

“You just did, but another one wouldn’t hurt.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that but he wasn’t deterred. “What’s your name? In case I ever run into you again or whatever.”

“Ah, we never did introduce ourselves, did we? Just call me Judai.”

“Yasuharu.” He extended a hand which was gratefully taken and shook. “Good luck finding a place.”

Judai grinned at him. “Good luck to you too in whatever you’ve got planned.”

It was odd, seeing Judai walk away as casually and suddenly as he’d appeared, Yasuharu couldn’t help but think, yet oddly fitting.

“Ayato!” He turned and called, shaking his head. He had other things to think about now. “Time to go!”

“Who was that?” Ayato asked him on the way home.

“Hm?”

“The man with the bag who was sitting next to you. He made you cry- was he being mean?”

“No, he was being very nice.” Maybe more than he deserved, but if he had to put a label there, even if somewhat artificial, even if they may never meet again. “He’s something of a friend.”

#yugioh gx #yellow writes #the formatting doesn't work that well on tumblr but oh well #it is what it is

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withastolenlantern · 4 years ago

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youtube

The brown fields of the western midlands sped by in a near blur as the train left the Birmingham conurbation and passed into rural Herefordshire. It was mid-autumn now, and the harvests completed. The apple orchards had all been picked clean of their fall fruits and sent off to market or crushed and juiced into seasonal ciders. Small herds of sheep meandered in their pastures, grazing at grass now browned as the weather cooled towards winter, their coats grown out to guard against the chill.

The one thing she didn’t see much of was people. Britain proper was prosperous, of course; the pound sterling still traded at the world’s highest exchange rates. The UK parliament had balked at the prospect of a unified currency, and so the rand and various dollars had remained, although pegged at a fixed rate relative to the central denomination. But in due course, the farmers and farriers had all migrated away from the rural midlands and taken up new employment as merchants and marketers in the more urban centers. The land was still fertile here, for some time at least, but now it belonged to the machines. The drone tractors and tillers and threshers were all idled now under barn roofs or lean-tos, their summer works finished, as if resting before taking up winter duty as plows or salt-trucks come the snows. Prayers to Demeter or Aine had been replaced with swears at Deere and AGCO, although they often carried the same futility. Even the bees had been replaced, after the great dying; their tiny buzzing wings now traded for the low hum of rotors as their simulacra flitted about carrying pollen and confusing predatory birds.

As they passed Gloucester and into Wales, the River Severn emptied into Bristol Channel and she could see all the way out to the Atlantic. The seas had risen here too, of course, as no effort of man could yet hold back them back, but Britain was largely immune from the worst. London had been bulwarked for a thousand years against the flooding of the Thames, and the port cities all braced or barricaded against the advancing surf. Wind and tidal generators dotted the horizon all around the coast, turning Nature’s fury into man’s gain. Britannia rule the waves, indeed. Some seaside properties had moved; the poorer communities had to relocate inland, and the new littoral real estate was gobbled up and repurposed into pricy condominiums or resorts for upper class holidays. The ports, again as vital to commerce as ever in earlier centuries, had multiplied, their piers expanding out over the breakers like the long fingers of industry stretching over a swirled tumbler of gin.

The train pulled into Cardiff station and Chatham exited into the station, grabbing some take-away kebab and sitting down at a wrought-iron table to take stock of her situation. The meeting with her superiors had not gone well, and she replayed the events in her head as she considered her options.

DCI Ratnayaka was supportive, at least, but they were joined in his office by a liaison from the Home Office. Whoever he was, he’d been introduced by both name and title, but she couldn't be bothered. They were all interchangeable, the bureaucrats, at least in her experience. She'd been to Westminster once to receive her Military Cross; it reminded her of a giant ant colony in both form and function, and that was before she'd been paraded around like a prized crumb stolen from Grandmama’s biscuit cupboard. The fellow might as well have been Undersecretary for the Ministry of Peace for all it would matter to her; she wouldn’t waste the effort, and anyway she was sure the relevant details had already been transmitted to her mobile. Much like those ants, she was apt to find the bureaucracy exactly where she least wanted it.

She’d recounted the details as best she could recall, and explained her concerns given the situation she’d found below deck and the deadly potential. Clearly further investigation was needed, and the Lord Swansea should be called before a HeRMES inquiry panel.

The government’s man was unswayed. It was a time of great economic distress, his counter-argument had gone, and the Government was leaning heavily on major players like the Ross Consortium to assist them in navigating the increasingly new fiscal reality. Besides, His Majesty had a personal stake in the Ross board, and it would not do for Him to be associated with untoward activities, especially of a potentially terrorist nature. The tabloids would have a field day. No, MI5 could control the message via the social networks; better to leave it alone, and stick to the cover story, than risk what might become an… indelicate investigation.

“What about the lives of the men in the skiffs?” she asked, barely masking her contempt. “Or does their indelicacy not rate investigation?”

“The pirates and smugglers? Hardly,” the Home Office man replied. “Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“And you’re not at all concerned about the fact that we found some kind of uncontrolled toxin in Ross crates?” she said.

“My concern, Detective,” he said, chewing on her title as if it were a crisp, “is that you and Leftenant Ayobe disabled terrorists carrying weapons and illicit drugs. The world is an increasingly dangerous place, but your brave actions represent the type of inter-service collaboration that His Majesty’s father envisioned when the Union was formed, God rest his soul.”

“Yes, and I’m sure The Old Ginger would be thrilled to know his progeny was using it for political gain.”

“Detective!” her superior snapped. “Decorum, please.”

Home Office waved him off. “Your concerns are not without merit. DCI Ratnayaka argued strongly for your character and your experience in certain… high profile investigations. Given that input, the Government will allow you to continue your investigation as it relates to stolen, and,” he paused for dramatic effect, “potentially hazardous Ross goods.”

Chatham started to object, but her governor raised an eyebrow from across the desk, beckoning her to remain seated.

“You will not mention terrorism to any party. You will forward any findings outside of your jurisdiction, which includes only crimes against His Majesty’s Government or its Citizens, directly to myself and MI6. And above all, you will be discrete,” the Government’s man said with finality, rising to leave the office.

“We’ve arranged for you to meet with Lord Swansea at the Ross headquarters tomorrow,” Ratnayaka said, hoping to defuse the situation.

“And one more thing, Detective – you and Leftenant Ayobe are to be honored for your service at a ceremony at the Ministry of Defense,” Home Office continued, “on the week-end. Obviously you will be on your best behavior,” he cautioned, before closing the office door behind him.

“Fokken idioot,” Chatham swore breathlessly towards the door. She blushed as she realized her superior was still sitting at his desk, glaring. “Sorry, sir.”

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked quietly, sighing.

“The same thing you’ve always done,” the detective replied, flashing a faux-smile.

“Be careful with this one, Detective. I’d advise you not cross the powers that be, but I know you likely won’t listen. I don’t know what it is that drives you to this disrespect for authority that you cultivate, but mark my words, one day it will get you into trouble that neither I nor your record will get you out of. I just pray it’s not the kind that comes staring down the barrel of a gun,” the chief inspector cautioned.

She gathered her things and stood to leave, lingering briefly in the doorway. “I’ve been shot before, gov,” she scoffed. “Can’t say I’d much like to relive that experience, either.”

She’d boarded the train then, straight away, to return back to Cardiff, where it had all begun. She still had no idea who had called in the tip about the gun-runners, but HeRMES had been investigating arms trafficking into the Subcontinent for several months, and when the informant had mentioned there’d been a possible theft of Ross property, her governors saw a fortuitous opportunity. She’d been stationed in Wales since mustering out of the SBS; having made her peace with her father’s untimely demise, she felt she owed it to him and herself to return to the other half of her ancestral homeland.

Her Welsh was terrible but she found the climate more amenable to her complexion, and the pace of life significantly slower than the crowded streets of Cape Town. HeRMES was happy to oblige, as they’d needed someone to take up the Welsh region; the office still carried a reputation as a “backwater” even though its economy had been carried forward with the rest of the Union’s. The British crown had claimed the Welsh marshes for nearly as long as it had existed, and even though they’d mined out all the coal years ago, the Union’s industrial backbone still ran through the Brecon Beacons, whether Westminster remembered it or not.

She missed her mother, some days, but the SAR was only a holo away, and she hadn’t left behind any real friends when she’d left. Not that she’d made any here, or in university, or the service. There’d been colleagues and workplace proximate acquaintances; of course she would have, and in fact had, taken a bullet for any of her fellow soldiers. Along the way there’d even been brief affairs and lovers, men and women and whatever in between, but none so serious as to tether her in time or space. No, she was alone here, just herself and the spectre of her father, when she let herself acknowledge it, and that was how she liked it.

Can’t be disappointed if there’s no one to disappoint you, she thought to herself, huddling in the doorway of the station as a light, cold rain fell onto the streets outside. Tightening her coat around her shoulders, she stepped out into the drizzle long enough to jump into the first empty black cab she saw. The detective spoke aloud the address and the cab sped off toward her flat, throwing gentle splashes across the pedestrian walks as it rumbled through the late afternoon storm.

She sat in the car and composed herself after the long day, smoothing the strands of her hair that had come free in the rain and loosening the tie on her uniform. The route from the station took the cab down the A432 passed the dockyards, and she could see several tall Ross crates and containers, the crimson R stenciled prominently, being maneuvered throughout the gantries by the drone lifts, and it gave her an idea. She paged through the contacts list on her mobile, laughing quietly to herself as a particular name scrolled past. Opening a text dialogue, she typed out a message of exactly the type Ratnayaka had cautioned her against. “Flynn: I need a favor.”

#these two things are linked strongly in my brain for whatever reason #in case you ever wondered what it's like inside that dark cavern of crazy #the world ocean #long post

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thelostcatpodcast · 5 years ago

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THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS: SEASON 3: EPISODE 02: THE STRANGER ON THE STREET

SEASON 3: EPISODE 02: THE STRANGER ON THE STREET

Episode released 12th February 2017

http://thelostcat.libsyn.com/sesason-3-episode-2-the-stranger-on-the-street

Bojana opened the front door and peeked outside. Then she closed the door again and leant hard against it. she looked at me with horror in her eyes and said: "Nope."

THE LOST CAT PODCAST SEASON 3 BY A P CLARKE, EPISODE 2: THE STRANGER ON THE STREET

For standing on the other side of the street, just next to the bent lamp post, was the figure of a man, impossibly tall and thin with paper-white skin stretched so tight over angular bones its lips were spread in to a teeth-filled grin, while its dead-black eyes stared right at us. We leant hard against the door. "Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope," Bojana continued to say with some certainty. Some time later, Maupin came down, to find us still with our backs to the door. "What?" she said. She shoo'd us out of the way, and then she opened the door, and then she closed it again, and locked all of the locks. "I'll go and make some tea," she said. And we sat in the hallway with our backs to the door, drinking tea. "What is it doing out there?" I asked "It is a portent of doom," said Maupin. "It is a serial killer," said Bojana "It is an angel of vengeance," continued Maupin "Is he still out there?" asked Bojana I breathed in deeply through my nose in what I hopde was a process of nerve-gathering and peeked out through the letterbox "He hasn't moved," I answered. "How much food do we have in the house?" asked Maupin. But something kept picking at my brain. It was not that the figure had not moved. It was that the figure had not moved at all. I peeked out again and yes, there it was, staring right at me from across the street, perfectly still. I did not look away, but met its gaze. And I noticed that a cat was sat on a car next to it. It had decided that this figure was of no threat and was busy cleaning itself. I watched the cat for a while. The cat snapped its head to stare at the tall thin figure. I turned my eyes and found that a bird had come to rest upon its shoulder. The cat watched with cold intensity as the bird hopped around, picking at the figure's jacket for any crumbs. I turned back to my housemates. "Do you trust me?" I asked. "No," said Maupin. So with them peeking out through the letterbox, I crossed the road towards the the stranger on the street. As I approached, its unblinking black eyes stared right in to me and, as I got closer, its unnaturally tall form loomed over me and its teeth-filled grin grew as in to a ravenous leer. And I drew level and I drew to its side, but it kept facing forwards, and its dead, black eyes continued to stare out across the street, and the teeth in its mouth leered out at nothing. The figure did not move at all. I looked it up and down. I looked at the cat who was busy still cleaning itself. The cat looked at me for a moment and then got up and walked off in a huff. I waved my hand in front of the figure's face, and there was no reaction. I walked all around it and the figure was as still as a building. I looked back across the street and saw the flap of the post-box propped open. I beckoned my housemates over. The door stayed closed. And I looked closley at the figure of the man. It had on a simple dark suit of decent quality but unremarkable style, with a slight softening at the seams that suggested long use. Its black leather shoes were clean but not polished. The more I looked at its face, the stranger it became. The bones were in the wrong place, which pushed one cheek up higher than the other and made the jaw painful. It definitely had too many teeth, and they did not fit right. Up close, the skin of its lips looked close to splitting, so thin and dry was it. It had no eyelashes, and the darkness of its eyes bled in to the skin of its lids. It had an approximation of a face, and it stood still in the stiff wind of the darkening day. I put my arm around him and gave a big thumbs' up back towards the post-box. And finally, the door opened and Bojana and Maupin cautiously approached. And they walked all around the unmoving figure, looking it all up and down. Their shoulders spread, and their hands unclenched and they relaxed, finally. Maupin let out a small involuntary laugh. "He looks cold," said Bojana. And it did. So I put my scarf around its shoulders; a lovely, woollen purple thing. I wrapped it around its neck a couple fo times and let the ends drape pleasingly over its chest. "I like it," said Bo. "It suits him." Then the figure turned its head and looked directly at me. There was a moment of silence as none of us at all moved. Then it began to open its mouth and its teeth separated to show the darkness within. I could see veins pulsing beneath its parchment skin in effort. It breathed in as if to speak... and raw sewage spilled from his mouth and on to the street. Dark and noxious, this great wave poured from the thin frail figure, clagged with dirt and masses of garbage. It stank. I took a step back. and the geyser subsided, turned to a trickle, and stopped. As the sewage ran away in to the drains, leaving lumps, the figure's brow became furrowed. We shared another look. It still had some on its chin. And then it closed its mouth, attempted an expression I could not identify, turned, and walked off down the street, heading south. We were left alone. "Well thank god he's gone," said Bojana. "Good riddance," said Maupin. "I'm going to folllow it." "You what?" said Maupin. "Well it's got my scarf," I answered. "Mate," said Bojana. And I followed the figure. It had a slow and steady gait, but its incredibly long legs ate the miles up. It walked through the estates and would pause at times, just staring at the people and the traffic on the streets and, when it started getting some strange looks, it carried on. And I followed. It walked past the old stations and stood staring at the tracks for a while, but even there it began getting attention, and moved on. It walked under bridges and it crossed the factories towards the river. And I patiently followed. Far out past the docks, with no-one for a mile, the figure stopped, and stood staring with its unblinking eyes at the lights that shone across the river. And it did not move: it just stared. I decided to sit down on a low wall a respectful distance from the figure and wait. I wanted to see what it would do. And while I waited, I took out my flask and I had a glass of wine.

Well I tiptoe past the rubbish bins, the pidgeons eat the chicken wings, but still I must admit it: London's never been more beautiful.

And I don't know what's come over me, the melody, the harmony, it falls and then it rises, and it's pleasurable to my soul.

Good times, are gonna follow bad Good times, they were the best I ever had You got your man, baby I got this tune Good news for a whiskey singer tired of singing the blues.

Well I hear it every where I go, The car horns on Green Lanes and Soho, even the old dirty river is , flowing on slow.

I find hard to keep from smiling, tower blocks hold up the sky, from falling down on me, coz I got somewhere new to go.

Good times are gonna follow soon Good times unders a summer's moon Even down in this old town, I found something new Good news for a whiskey singer tired of singing the blues.

So goodbye Time to pack away the memories, and leave them behind. Bye bye baby, baby bye bye

Good times are follow bad Good times they were the best I ever had every time I hear that song I dance like a loon Good news for a whiskey singer tired of singing the blues.

It looked srangely lonely, looking out at the massive new-builds over the river, and my purple scarf blew in the wind in a way that I felt was embarrassing: it made the figure look foolish and it was my fault. I had to know what it was. I had to know why it had been outside my house. And yes, again, I felt bad for putting the scarf on it. so I approached the figure "Hello," I said. And it looked away from the gently glittering river and turned to me, slowly and stiffly. it stood itself up straight and formally, as if to address me. It met my eyes and its eyebrows lifted for a moment. It seemed to breathe in. It opened its mouth to speak... and a great eruption of concrete and grit came pouring out, full of splintered rebar and cracked slabs. the deafening roar of a million cars echoing off of glass filled the air around us. I put my hands to my ears. It closed its mouth and the concrete lay in a heap between us. It looked at me, and shook its head slowly, and sat down on the low wall. Then it carefully undid its shoelace, took its shoe from its foot and removed its sock. It stood up straight again and put the sock on its right hand. It touched its thumb to its middle-finger to make a claw-like shape and pushed the material of the sock into the hollow of the claw. It raised the sock-covered hand so it was level to my face, the figure took a deep breath, and then opened the claw of its hand. And the sock said "Hello." And then "Help me." I looked at the sock, and then looked at the figure's face. "Help me," it continued. "I am lost, for all the lines are gone, and everything is dark ahead." It moved the sock on its hand in time with its words. "I can not find my way, and I am chased away from every where I go." "Yes, you were outside my house this morning." "Ah yes, that is true." "Why were you outside my house?" "Something is going to happen there." "What is going to happen?" And the sock drooped slightly. "I was hoping you could tell me." I stared at the stranger who was talking to me through a sock on his hand, out at the far end of the docks, at the edge of the river. "OK," I said. "Let's start from the beginning. What are you?" The figure gestured at its sock-covered hand. "Forgive me, but it is difficult. This is the best I could do." "I think you're doing fine." The sock turned to its side for a moment, contemplating the river as a boat passed. "OK, let us try this: do you see the boat? Everywhere you go, you create lines of connection between you and the places you have been. These lines spread out behind you, like the wake behind that boat. You all do it. You can not help it. You are a very tenacious kind that way. You are all terribly busy about creating these lines that tie you to everyone else and they to you. I would say that the city is the pattern of the lines that tie everyone together. And like the reflections in the wake of the boat, I am the light upon its surface." "Do I look at you, or the sock?" I asked. "These aren't eyes," it responded. "Ah," I said. "I am an eminant. Everywhere you go making your lines, there we are. Does the light choose how it moves across the water? We can not help it, any more than you can." "And you were at my house" "Yes of course, I am drawn along the lines to where they bind together in knots, just as the light is brightest where the wave is highest. This is what I am for, and the knots are very tight around your house." "So something is happening at my house." "But I can not see what. I used to be able to..." And the sock trailed off, turning to look at the huge new-build across the river. "These days I can not see so clearly. There are places I can not go now." And he gestured at the far bank annd the towering bright buildings "much of the centre is inaccessible to me, and it is spreading. There are no lines there. There is no pattern, and all is dark." The sock turned back towards me "the city is being killed by buildings. " "You asked for my help." And he pointed his free hand across the river, "Would you help me go there? I can not find my way." "Yes," I said. "Yes I will." And we began walking. I proferred the flask to him. "No, I do not need anything like that." "That is not a mouth, right?" I said "Close enough," said the sock as the man's other hand wiped his chin with a sleeve. And we walked thorugh the city together. As we crossed the bridge he slowed and became confused. "I am sorry," said the sock. "I do not know how to carry on." "Hold my hand," I said. "And I will guide you." And he did, and in this way we crossed the bridge and walked through the streets of bright shining empty buldings that gazed cleanly and blankly across the architecture they towered above. He stood and he watched them, and they did not move at all. There was no one in them, but the lights were kept on all night, to give the impression of being lived-in. They were, in their way, approximations. And while he was watching them, I studied his face. "May I ask you something?" "Certainly." "You say you are everywhere." "We are." "Why have I never seen you, or the likes of you, around?" "We are supposed to blend in." "Ah," I said, looking at his painfully angled bones. The sock turned to look at the tall, thin figure behind it. "Does it not suit?" "It is... not perfect." The figure looked down then, his brows moving up towards the centre of his face above the bridge of his nose. "It is fine, but you are perhaps, conspicuous." "I wondered why I was getting such strange attention." "Might I suggest a change?" "Certainly, what would you suggest?" "Perhaps a cat?" "Perhaps a cat," said the sock. "Hmmmm." The figure nodded. "OK, I am good now. Shall we return?" "Would you like to take my hand?" "No. I can see the way, for there is a line now." And he gestured back the way we came at something I could not see. "You are tenacious in that way, you can not help it." And we crossed back over the river as the sun was just starting to light the water. We paused at a bench, looking out over the dawn. "My I keep the scarf?" said the sock. "I rather like it." "It is yours," I said. "Thank you," said the sock. And the figure sat down. He looked up, and the sock said "And goodbye." Then he took the sock from his hand and put it back on his foot, re-tying his shoelaces. rising, he bowed to me, and we shook hands. Then he turned and looked out at the slowly waking city and I walked back to my house along my invisible lines.

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING.

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soundcloud.com/a-p-clarke/sets/the-lost-cat-podcast

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#lost cat #horror #transcript #podcast #audiodrama #audio drama #cat #city #blatantslendermanrip

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keywestlou · 5 years ago

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MORNING STEW #24

So much to share this morning. Calls for a Morning Stew.

Welcome to Morning Stew #24.

At a Trump rally in Tupelo, Mississippi last night, the President described impeachment as an “attack on democracy.” Impeachment is not the attack. The attack is the President himself.

At the same rally, Trump discussed Beto O’Rourke. O’Rourke announced yesterday he was withdrawing from the race for the Democratic nomination. Trump said Beto “quit like a dog.” Plus it is reported the President used words that could not be printed.

A class act, our President!

Dresden was and still is a major German city. The Allies bombed the hell out of it during World War II.

Dresden as with all other German communities, quickly adapted following World War II to a way of life similar to that of most Allied communities. Nazism was totally and absolutely rejected.

Things have changed.

Dresden has a “Nazi emergency.” “Nazinotstand” the term. Means Dresden has “a serious problem…..open democratic society is threatened.”

A neo-Nazi mayor has been elected. Does not mean Dresden has become a Nazi bastion. The City Council voted in favor wednesday night 39-29 in support of a resolution reflecting and showing their dismay for the neo-Nazi mayor and the wave of neo-Nazism which is creeping over Dresden.

The resolution is intended to show the City Council’s position in opposition to neo-Nazism and their opposition to the growth of anti-Islamism in the Dresden. The resolution reflected the City Council’s commitment to fostering “a free, liberal, democratic society that protects minorities and resolutely opposes Nazis.”

Anti-Islamism is on the rise. Sometime in October, demonstrations began. Weekly, every monday night. Described as” an anti-Islam Pegida movement.” Pegida stands for “Patriotic Europeans Against the Islamisation of the West.” Islamophobia at its worst.

Most of the world is moving to the right. Not a healthy situation.

Tomorrow (Sunday) is National Sandwich Day.

Last year many of the chains gave out free sandwiches. This will not be the case this year. Most are advising customers how to sign up for apps. that will assist in ordering.

Subway is doing something . I think a buy one, get one free deal. McDonald’s is giving out coupons directing customers to go to McDonald’s apps and take advantage of any benefits available therfein. McDonald’s is returning to Happy Meals in a limited fashion also. Described as retro Happy Toys from 1988.

All confusing this year. Last year was much easier when most of the chains invited a person in for a freebie.

Syracuse/Boston College at noon. Boston College a 3 point favorite. Hope Syracuse wins. I am screwed once again. The game is being carried on ACCN. ACCN and Comcast have not made their dollar deal yet for Syracuse games. Ergo, we Syracuse fans are left out in the cold.

On this day in 1948, Harry Truman defeated Thomas Dewey for the U.S. Presidency.

Much amusement involved in the result.

Dewey was predicted winner by political analysts and polls. Truman was going to get buried. The Chicago Daily Tribune went to press early election night putting newspapers on the street bearing the headline: Dewey Defeats Truman. H. V. Kaltenborn was the radio man of the day. No TV back then. A much respected radio commentator. He had a very distinguishable voice. Before the results were all in, he went on national radio and announced Dewey the victor.

Truman got them all!

Truman the farm boy who became President. No college education. However a man of honesty and integrity as the nation knew.

After his victory, Truman announced he was going to Key West on vacation.

My life was fortunate to cross paths 3 times with Truman. The most memorable occurred my last year of law school at Syracuse.

Truman was coming to visit the University. Two days. Don’t be shocked. Syracuse was known as a Democratic bastion at the time. The visit was several years after Truman finally left office.

A private luncheon with Truman was scheduled for the purportedly “twelve outstanding students on campus”. As luck would have it, I was selected to represent the law school.

Even better, seating for the 12 plus the former President was at 2 round tables. Six at one, 7 at the other.

Seating was at the discretion of the University. My name card was immediately to the right of Truman. I got to sit next to him for a good 2 hours.

Most of Truman’s comments had to do with the 1948 election. He had a copy of the Chicago newspaper which he had exhibited to us. He also had a recording of Kaltenborn’s words that Truman had lost. He talked about both with a chuckle in his voice. He got ’em!

On November 1, 1950, an attempt was made on Truman’s life. The President and his wife were living in Blair House at the time. The White House was being remodeled.

Around 2 in the afternoon, 2 Puerto Ricans who supported Puerto Rico independence ran up the front steps and reached the front door of Blair House. Shooting along the way.

One assassin was killed as was 1 Secret Service officer.

Mr. and Mrs. Truman were upstairs and never in danger.

The assassins’ acts did not make sense. Truman was openly for Puerto Rican autonomy.

The surviving assassin was tried, convicted, and sentenced to death. Truman commuted his sentence to life imprisonment.

Trump has become a Florida resident. Cut the ropes that bound him to New York.

No one seems unhappy. The Mayor and Governor in effect said good riddance to bad rubbish.

I can understand Trump wanting to leave. He has been for many years unpopular in New York. The City only gave him 10 percent of the Presidential vote. Additionally, he has never been accepted by the elite, socially, or those in politrics on a personal basis. His reputation and personality make such understandable.

Even as President, he has not been assimilated by New York City’s bigwigs.

Can you imagine, not wanting the President of the U.S. as a friend!

There will be no unhappiness in Mudville that Trump has opted to become a resident of Florida. His residence Mar-a-Lago.

I do not see any social benefit to Trump living full time in Mar-a-Lago. Palm Beach is a seasonal community. A warm weather venue. Otherwise, the homes are empty. Who will he socialize with?

Many retire for tax reasons to Florida. With his income coming from many areas and sources, it will not be easy for a good portion of his income to go tax free.

The Sistine Chapel. Beauty beyond description. As if the hand of God painted the ceiling rather than Michelangelo.

The Sistine Chapel with its newly painted ceiling was opened to the public on November 1, 1512.

Thirty five years ago, I was fortunate to visit the Sistine Chapel. My then wife, children and my parents with me. I was in awe!

The Sistine Chapel was crowded. Shoulder to shoulder, body to body. Heads tipped up.

Michelangelo’s ceiling frescoes took several years to complete. The most famous The Creation of Adam. The arms of God and Adam stretched toward each other almost touching.

God is in His Heaven in the ceiling as conceived and painted by Michelangelo.

At one point, my father and I were standing in the middle of the Chapel. My father look at me and told me, did not ask, “What’s the big deal?” I smiled. I had no response.

I could not blame Dad. It was hot with all those bodies crushed together, painful for the neck, tiring to be on one’s feet since it took forever to reach the Chapel through a long narrow crowded hallway.

Many years ago, I wrote an article for KONK Life spelling out how prisoners were entitled to the very best medical care. Some what difficult to understand when you realize how many persons in the U.S. cannot afford health care. Yet we provide it free to those who have broken the law.

The scenario is the result of the U.S. Supreme Court case Estelle v. Gamble decided in the 1960’s.

The situation comes to mind this morning because of Steven Hayes. He is serving 6 life sentences in a Pennsylvania jail. Sentenced because of his part in the murder of Hawke-Petit and her 2 daughters. He and an accomplice perpetrated a home invasion and brutally killed the three. First with beatings. Then dousing with gasoline. Finally setting the whole house on fire.

Hayes has been receiving hormone therapy in prison as part of a gender transition. He says he is in reality a female.

A Pennsylvania statute limits medications per inmate to $600 a month. It prohibits/refuses to pay for any surgery related to gender modification.

I am not aware whether the statute not allowing any payment for gender modification has been tested in a federal court. I would assume the Estelle decision would override it.

The reason behind the Estelle decision is that prisons/the state is required to provide the “very best medical care.” Translated means a right to adequate medical care. Failure to so provide constitutes a violation of the “cruel and unusual punishment” clause of the 8th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution.

The filming of the Rose Tattoo began this day in 1954 at a house on Duncan Street. Two doors from Tennessee Williams’ home. Tennessee Williams wrote the play which was the basis for the movie.

Change the clock again. Do not forget to turn your clock back one hour tonight before going to bed.

Enjoy your day!

MORNING STEW #24 was originally published on Key West Lou

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bartenderblonde-blog · 7 years ago

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Fuck You

How does a perfectly reasonable twenty-something woman decide when enough is enough? That’s a perfectly good question. It starts like most break-ups, with anger and hurt feelings. On the busiest work night of the year, Leathers calls the bar where I bartend. Through his slurred speech, it’s difficult to understand what he’s saying. Baffled, I return to my grueling work for the next three hours. Tired, achy and emotionally exhausted, I drive home.

My brother tells me that he thought a homeless man was outside of our home, until he realized it was Leathers. Pathetic. That’s what that behavior is called. Drinking, riding a Harley, putting lives in danger and then excusing it because, “We were just having a good time”. It’s pathetic, to see a grown man approaching thirty on a door step pissed drunk.

My wheels begin to turn as I count the heartbreaks, like, cry-yourself-to-sleep-giant-sobs-someone-died-heart-breaks.

1) Not attending my Holiday Party because you got drunk and could not get your shit together in time to make it.

2) Dumping a very expensive scotch all over your head as your declared you wanted to break up because all you wanted to do was drink and get drunk.

3) Leaving for three days in which I did not hear from you in anyway shape or form and justifying it as needing space to figure things out. You probably got rip roaring drunk and fucked whatever you could.

4) Trying to find my firearm so that you could confront my brother because you felt that he insulted your drunk, pathetic ass (and honestly, rightly so). You are a pathetic loser when you drink, congratulations you finally have something in common with your father.

5) Starting a brawl in the bar that I was actively working in because you are wasted and told everyone you were driving home. During this fight, your 5’0 tall aunt stepped in between you and another 7’0 tall Marine. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

6) And finally, your incredible and awe-inspiring ability to hang out ONCE with Rocky all summer and get piss drunk and ride your Harley to my stoop…

I look at these lists of insults and I cannot determine if I hate myself or Leathers more. I have made exceptions, been extremely patient and caring, I have been communicative about my expectations and tried so hard to make this relationship good. Instead, I have given my energy, focus and love to a person who has given nothing in return except repeated heartbreak. The highs were great, but this roller coaster is now detrimental to my well-being.

But I feel pity. Leathers had a brother who passed away from a heroine addiction. If that had been my brother, I would wish to honor him by succeeding where he had failed. I mean to say, that I would break my addictions and live a good life to honor his memory. If not for the brother, then be a role model to the daughter he left behind. What a pity for this girl, now growing and becoming a woman under another family’s roof, to one day say, “My Dad died from his addiction and my uncle is an alcoholic”.

A strong man treats the people around him well, with respect. He shoulders their burdens, not creates more. He cleaves his addiction, working through difficult emotions and life choices. Not reveling in addiction. Not making excuses. That is for the weak, who by choice, live this way. And now my heart breaks for a man that does not deserve me. So basically, fuck you.

Fuck you for making me feel unimportant. Fuck you for making me feel desperate for your time and attention and fuck you for being a greedy, thoughtless bastard and taking everything I had to offer, bragging about it and then never doing a single thing back for me.

Good riddance to bad rubbish.

So, how does a perfectly reasonable twenty-something woman celebrate? That’s a wonderful question.

#breakups goodriddance addiction alcoholism excuses tothelefttotheleft fuckyou heartbreaks ideservebetter

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mutantmasterofmagnetism · 7 years ago

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“ . . . but mine is just beginning.”

Captain America: Steve Rogers #17

I’m posting this scene all together because I don’t think it makes much sense in pieces. It’s the only scene where Magneto appears, or is mentioned, in the book. I have some comments.

Would Magneto be so unsurprised by Hydra!Cap? It’s difficult to say. This characterization is pretty compatible with the way I write him, but it does jar slightly with past canon - at one point, Magneto declared the deepest respect for Steve Rogers as a person and said that he was truly unprejudiced. On the other hand, he’s a cynical bastard, he’s clearly no big fan of the American government, and he doesn’t really know Steve personally. He’s also not an easy person to surprise in general. So, while previous canon has written their relationship differently, I don’t know that I really disagree with this characterization of Magneto.

This is actually a pretty smart villain plan. Trying to fight the mutants would be a bad idea. Putting Xorn in power and not consulting Magneto would be a bad idea. Trying to deal with Magneto by putting him in power of a rogue state would be a REALLY bad idea. But consulting Magneto’s opinion before putting Xorn in power is a pretty good idea. I’m just not sure if Magneto would agree to it. Which brings me to my next point . . .

What’s in this for Magneto? Is this really a good deal from Magneto’s perspective? Sure, it creates a new mutant nation, which is something Magneto has wanted in the past, but at the cost of forcibly expelling quite a lot of American mutants. Is that something he wants? Additionally, Magneto in current continuity is not the Magneto who took over Genosha. Right now, he claims to want to see Xavier’s dream of equality come to pass. How does that fit in with this? Certainly the X-Men, whom he’s overseeing currently, wouldn’t approve. Is he doing this behind their backs? Does this encounter take place before or after his alliance with the X-Men? Does Magneto even accept the offer?

And then there’s the big question

The elephant in the room

That question being

WHO THE FUCK WOULD WANT THE RED SKULL’S DECAPITATED HEAD?! Who. Seriously. That’s disgusting. I have a hard time imagining Steve Rogers, no matter how twisted he is in this AU, actually wanting to keep that particular ‘trophy.’ The thing is, Skull just isn’t that important to him. Skull’s world revolves around Steve, but Steve really just wants Skull to fuck off. This isn��t a Xavier-and-Magneto archenemies relationship; Skull is Steve’s creepy fucking stalker who won’t leave him alone, and Steve’s only interest is protecting the people Skull would threaten. Why would Steve want Skull’s head? Why wouldn’t he just chuck it? Good riddance to bad rubbish! And as for Magneto, he’s only met Skull, like, twice. Three times if you count the cameo in Incarnate, but Mags doesn’t know about that. I don’t think Magneto would dignify Skull with keeping that kind of “trophy” either. He doesn’t give a shit either.

This is all assuming that Magneto and Steve just want that head because it’s the Red Skull’s. But it’s also possible that they want it because Skull, in one of the more stupid comic book plots of recent years, took part of Charles Xavier’s brain and inserted it into his skull. That means that some part of Xavier’s powers and/or mind might still be in there. It’s pretty obvious why Magneto would want that - even if he’s smart enough not to try to use it to resurrect Charles, he could at least give that part of Charles a proper burial.

But if Steve wants the head for its connection to Xavier, that inevitably implies that he was thinking of dissecting it in some grisly way to access Xavier’s mind control powers. I’m willing to believe Hydra!Cap is twisted enough to want that. But I have to think that if you’d considered something like that, you’d be SMART ENOUGH NOT TO SAY IT TO MAGNETO’S FACE. Surely if that’s what he wanted it for, he should be pretending he had no use for it and being like “nbd, just some trash I was gonna throw away, maybe you’ll find some use for it.”

#mags inspiration #hydra cap liveblog #c: steve rogers #c: red skull

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megaphonemonday · 8 years ago

Note

Jealous!mike when guys keep flirting with ginny at the club

please understand that I interpreted “club” very loosely, but i needed more opportunities to revel in the jealousy of Michael Lawson. And, honestly, a lot of this isn’t even flirting. It’s just Mike slowly losing his mind over not being able to flirt with Ginny.

Also, while there are real people in this, I did zero research into what they are actually like in real life, so they might as well be fictional…

way more than you hate it | ao3

Del Mar Country Club

“I can’t believe that Oscar made us show up to this thing,” Mike muttered, fidgeting with his hat.

At his side, Blip shifted. Mike didn’t need to look to know that he was being rewarded with a side eye of epic proportions.

“You’re surprised that the celebrity golf tournament required celebrities?”

Mike scowled, crossing his arms and hating the way the polo shirt he’d had to borrow cut into his biceps. That had been old before he’d been forced to play 18 holes with a bunch of snobs with more money than God. After, forced to mingle with those same snobs, they were pretty much torture.

“Do you even count as a celebrity?” he snarked, glad to finally find an outlet for his annoyance. Not that Blip was particularly satisfying to pick on.

“I’m a two-time All Star, baby,” the center fielder replied with a grin. “And don’t pretend this isn’t all because the people in your group didn’t know who you were.”

“I shouldn’t have to apologize for being some yokel’s celebrity,” Mike muttered, giving up on getting comfortable. He was wearing plaid shorts for God’s sake, of course he wasn’t comfortable. “I should’ve told Oscar to go to hell when he asked.”

“Please. You know Oscar only asked us because he wanted Ginny here. No way she would’ve agreed to this kind of circus without back up on hand.”

“Doesn’t seem like she needs much back up now,” Mike rumbled.

Sure enough, a few feet away, Ginny was at the center of a knot of admirers. Her back was to her teammates, but the line of her shoulders was as relaxed as she ever was in public. Over the past ten minutes, she’d laughed six times.

Not that Mike was counting.

A rueful shake of the head and a clap to his shoulder was Blip’s only reply before he wandered off to find another passing hors d’oeuvres tray. The man loved his mini quiches.

Mike couldn’t look away from Ginny, though. She laughed again (seven), head tilting back a little as she swayed with the force of it. A real laugh, then. He scanned the group around her and wasn’t at all surprised to find that starry-eyed look that everyone seemed to get when they first realized exactly how beautiful Ginny Baker was planted on each face of the people surrounding her. It was a look Mike had seen all too often, both on and off the field.

He found that it annoyed him more than it usually did, though. It was easy to laugh off the starstruck rookies and new trades to the team. It was even easier to rag on the guys from other teams who watched her a little too long, distracted by her face and form as much as her skill. Because, as Ginny’d said herself more than once, not one of those guys had a chance.

But this was very different. This was Ginny surrounded by a bunch of men—and not a few women—who were neither baseball players nor anyone that she had any kind of professional connection with. And they weren’t the overgrown children her last boyfriend had been. Most of these people had serious jobs that made them real money.

Not that money had been much of an issue for the geek. Noel something?

Whatever, good riddance to bad rubbish, Mike would always say.

Ginny deserved better than that schmuck. And all of the schmucks currently falling all over themselves to make her laugh. Like any of them knew what really got that horsey laugh going, not like he—

Swallowing down that ball of unpleasantness, Mike swaggered over, easily shouldering his way into the circle to take up a place at Ginny’s side. (His place at Ginny’s side, a dangerous little voice murmured in his head.)

“What’s so funny, Baker? I haven’t seen you laugh this hard since you shot milk out of your nose last month.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, but Mike was pleased to note that at least a few of her admirers looked mildly disgusted.

Mission accomplished seemed petty and juvenile, but, well.

Mission accomplished.

Boys and Girls Club of San Diego

“Can I have your autograph?”

It had to be the fifteenth time a kid had come up to Ginny with the same question today, but the pitcher’s smile was as bright as ever when she crouched to get on the little girl’s level. Mike wasn’t sure how she did it, though he was the one who’d been volunteering with the Boys and Girls Club for years. Much as he liked kids, liked these little camps the team ran, and even liked shooting the promotional videos like they were today, he’d never been quite the object of fascination the way Ginny was.

(Especially after he grew out the beard. Something about looking too scary, probably.)

“Sure!” she chirped, taking the bright pink baseball out of the girl’s hand. “I’ve only got a black marker, is that okay?”

The little girl nodded solemnly, eyes wide. Her eyes flicked up to Mike and he did his best to give her a friendly smile. She didn’t run off screaming, which he counted as a win, but also turned her attention back to the woman before her, clearly deciding Mike wasn’t worth her time. Mike couldn’t fault her logic.

She clutched her little tan and pink glove to her chest and watched with interest as Ginny signed the ball. Though Mike didn’t have much practical experience with kids, he figured she couldn’t have been much more than six or seven, with a long sheet of dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and sneakers covered in blue and purple flowers. The kid was cute. And she’d definitely picked a good role model.

Once the ball was signed, Ginny turned it over in her hand. “Where’d you get a ball this color?” she asked, smiling her encouragement.

The girl shrugged expressively. “My dad gave it to me.”

Ginny hummed and Mike watched her handle the kid, not bothering to hide the smile breaking across his face. “My dad used to make me practice with nectarines,” she said. “But I would’ve loved a ball like this. It would’ve been so much easier to find in the dark!”

The girl finally cracked a smile, giggling. Before she could say anything else, though, she turned at the sound of someone calling.

“Gia, there you are! I thought you were going to wait in the dugout.” The man who approached had the sun behind him, so Mike had to squint to make him out. There was something very familiar about his voice, though.

“But, dad! I got Ginny’s autograph!” the girl, Gia apparently, protested, holding up the ball for his inspection.

Finally, he was close enough that the glare of the sun wasn’t an issue and Mike kind of wanted to kick himself. This wasn’t just any dad. This was the guy they’d hired as the spokesman for the video, another native son of San Diego County, though he’d made a career for himself based solely on his good looks rather than any kind of real talent.

(And, no, starring in some 90s teen sitcom didn’t count as a real talent.)

Mulishly, he doubted the guy could even grow a beard, his face was so smooth.

“That was nice of her,” he said, flashing his boyish grin at the woman in question. Mike would’ve loved to say it was just the heat of the day, but he swore Ginny’s cheeks pinked up. “Did you say thank you?”

“Thank you!” Gia sing songed obediently before rushing over to the knot of kids who were here for today’s skills camp.

Leaving the adults behind.

“That was very nice of you,” the man repeated. “When Gia found out what I was doing today, she begged and begged to come along. All for the chance to meet her favorite player.”

Ginny laughed, looking far too charmed. Wasn’t this guy married? Mike tried to think back to what Rachel had sighed about him, watching Dancing With The Stars years and years ago. And that was another thing. This guy was even older than Mike.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, uncharacteristically shy. It looked like she was a hot second away from bashfully digging her toe into the ground. “I was pretty excited when I found out you were going to do this with us. I loved Saved By—”

He cut her off with a laugh and Mike couldn’t help but remember doing nearly the same thing when Ginny’d tried to say something similar when they first met. This guy probably handled it better, though.

“There’s a blast from the past! We definitely had a good time, though I can’t say that I miss the perm. Or the wardrobe.”

Ginny snorted. “I don’t know. All those tanks would be pretty nice when it’s as hot as it is today.”

“Very true,” he chuckled, and— God damn it. Was the man flexing? That was more than enough of that.

“You think they’re ready for us?” Mike asked, dry and uncaring whether or not he was butting in where he wasn’t wanted.

Ginny’s eyes slid over to him, one brow quirked, but she didn’t say anything. Judging by the look on her face, though, he was sure she’d have something to say later.

The guy—what show did he host? Something on MTV or Bravo?—blinked, apparently just taking in Mike’s presence, which only soured Mike on him more. He checked over his shoulder towards the camera crew and the mini command center they’d constructed near the visitor’s dugout.

“I’m not sure. We could go check.”

Mike stared him down for a long moment, chewing impassively on his gum. It was only when Ginny rolled her eyes that he cracked a—completely false—grin.

“After you.”

He was rewarded with an odd, confused little smile, but he did get what he wanted. Namely, the guy walking away from Ginny without too much fuss. The fact that she followed after wasn’t too big a deal, especially not when she let Mike fall into step beside her.

The Comedy Cellar

If Mike was being honest, and lately he strived not to do that, he had zero interest in sitting in some hole in the wall comedy club after catching nine innings. But Ginny’d sounded so excited, nearly bouncing in her seat when she explained she’d been comped two tickets to that evening’s show and was going with or without accompaniment.

And honestly, where Ginny went, Mike was almost guaranteed to follow.

Dishonestly, he was here for an evening of amateur stand up and a two drink minimum. He assumed. He’d never actually been to a comedy club before.

“Who are we here to see again and why did we have to come all the way to the Village to see ‘em?”

Ginny elbowed him, so Mike made a big show of nearly falling off the rickety stool. Hey, she wanted comedy, she was going to get it. She pressed her lips together and glared, which was how he knew she desperately wanted to laugh. He just waggled his eyebrows, and she broke, giggling hard enough that she bent forward and nearly pressed her forehead to the table top.

In a flash, his hand shot out to intercept, pushing her back upright and saving her from God knew what had taken up residence on the sticky surface.

She offered him a lopsided smile and finally answered his question. “It’s a guy named Mike Birbiglia.”

“Birbiglia?” he repeated, rolling the name around in his mouth. Then, with a sly grin, “Mike?”

Ginny just rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Remember that stand up special I made you watch with me? It’s that guy,” she explained, like it meant anything.

Mike had lost track of the number of stand up specials he’d watched with Ginny. On Netflix, Comedy Central, HBO, she loved them all. Which was a little hilarious considering her own sense of humor had stopped developing at the indiscriminate pranking stage.

Still, he nodded, figuring he’d recognize the guy when he came up on stage.

As it turned out, though, this Birbiglia guy wasn’t the only comedian performing tonight and he also hadn’t kept his mouth shut about the special guest in the audience either.

So, Mike had to sit through at least five separate acts—all young-ish guys, clearly still cutting their teeth—before getting to hear the one Ginny’d been so excited for. They were funny enough, but each and every single one of them took a moment to lose their minds over the fact that the Ginny Baker was watching them perform. Mike assumed that at least some of them were baseball fans, and Ginny certainly deserved every bit of admiration she got.

The fact that not one, but three, of them offered up dates on the spot made him suspect that they were bigger fans of her appearance in Sports Illustrated’s Swimsuit Issue, though.

Ginny laughed off every proposal, even when one guy turned it into a bit, promising her increasingly terrible incentives. She didn’t quite hit flirtation with any of her responses—the poor saps wouldn’t be able to handle it if she did—but it was a near thing.

For his part, Mike laughed along. As long as Ginny wasn’t uncomfortable with the attention, he wasn’t going to ruin her fun. Internally, though, he was trying to figure out which of the little twerps he’d like to bludgeon first. That and whether or not he could successfully drape his arm over the back of her chair and somehow make the maneuver seem casual to her and possessive to everyone else.

Before he stooped quite that low, though, the man of the hour was being welcomed on stage. Beside him, Ginny let out a piercing wolf whistle.

“Did I know you could do that?” Mike grumbled, rubbing his ear for effect.

Ginny just grinned and leaned in—just so she could be heard over the noise, he was sure—to reply, “There’s lots you don’t know about me, Lawson.” When she pulled away, their eyes caught on each other and a long, charged moment passed between them. Mike had to shake himself in order to look away.

When he did, the comedian, a guy Mike vaguely recognized, had already launched into his set.

“Y’know, I haven’t told this story in a while, but I figure with our guests in the audience, it’s only appropriate. And since it is one of the most awkward things that’s happened to me, it’ll probably override the awkwardness of three separate dudes striking out with the same woman in thirty minutes. Or, I don’t know, it’ll at least give the night a different flavor of awkwardness?”

Ginny, who clearly knew the story he was talking about, leaned forward eagerly. Mike kept an ear half-cocked for the rhythm of the joke, but he was more concerned with the rapt attention on his pitcher’s face. She practically vibrated with excitement as the story went on, nearing the punchline—something about Dennis Eckersley that Mike would not have been shocked to learn was entirely true—and busting a gut when it finally landed.

This perfectly ordinary, middle aged guy effortlessly managed to enrapture the woman sitting next to him.

Which was somehow worse than having to witness fifty people ask Ginny out. That was basically par for the course when it came to hanging out with her. Mike had actually lost track of the number of times a total stranger had asked her to marry them. But it was rare that he saw her so completely absorbed when a baseball game wasn’t on the table.

Before he could sink too deep into his resentment for this other Mike, though, Ginny turned to him, eyes bright.

“Were you at that dinner, do you think?”

He thought about it. He’d been to a lot of MVP dinners in his time. Eventually, he shrugged. “Can’t remember.”

“They say that memory is the first to go,” she tutted in false sympathy.

“You trying to prove you deserve a turn up there?” he asked, exasperated and nodding towards the stage.

Her wrinkled nose was answer enough, but she shook her head with a, “Nah,” too. Casually, she continued, “I’d rather listen with you,” before turning back to the front.

Suddenly, Mike was feeling a little more charitable towards comedy clubs and even the stand ups who performed in them.

Wrigley Field’s Visitor’s Clubhouse

“Knock knock.”

Mike, as well as most of his teammates because the room was small enough that they could all hear each other’s business, looked towards the door. Not only because someone had actually accompanied the sound with the words “knock knock,” like they were starting a joke, but because no one had a clue what was going on. The press had already been ushered out and all the club bigwigs had already put in their appearances with Al and Oscar. Who else would want to visit the smallest, oldest clubhouse in MLB?

Taking it upon himself as captain, Mike called out, “Yeah?” not knowing what would greet him

The double doors pushed open to reveal at least ten of the reigning World Series Champions, looking strangely out of place for all this was their ballpark. Clearly, most of them had never been over to the Visitor’s clubhouse before, though they had to have heard stories.

Ginny definitely had. The whole bus ride over from the hotel this morning, she’d been frowning as the guys bitched and moaned about the prospect of three days in Chicago.

“It’s one of the most historic parks in the country. How aren’t you excited to play there?”

“It’s not the playing that’s the problem, rookie,” Mike responded. He’d never quite kicked the habit of calling her that and she’d eventually stopped reminding him. “It’s the clubhouse.”

“The clubhouse?” she demanded, sounding utterly disgusted with them.

“Just wait ‘til you have to spend a rain delay in here, Baker,” Mike had warned ominously. She’d rolled her eyes, but the first time she got a good look around the cramped space, he knew she was thankful for the clear forecast.

After the obligatory round of greetings, where their opponents tried to come in only to be met by the majority of the Padres suddenly blocking their entrance, an awkward silence descended.

“You know that you guys have your own, much bigger, clubhouse, right? They just finished the renovations last year. I hear it’s pretty nice,” Blip snarked, eyeing the group of men they were supposed to play in two and a half hours.

“Yeah,” Mike snorted, pushing to his feet to join his team. “If you wanted to visit, you shoulda told the owners to move up the timeline on renovations over here, too.”

“Hey, we’re just bein’ friendly. Welcoming you to Wrigley and all,” Rizzo said, flashing a grin for his old team.

No one bought it.

“Most of us have played here before,” Sonny replied, suspicious.

“Not everyone,” muttered Heyward, who was unsubtly trying to crane his neck to see around the solid wall of Padres.

On its own, it probably wouldn’t have been enough to raise suspicion, but combined with the way everyone shushed him and Bryant shoved an elbow in his ribs, it definitely was.

A lightbulb went off over Mike’s head. The wandering eyes, the altar boy innocence, hell, their presence here at all, really only meant one thing.

A mocking smile curved over his mouth and he crossed his arms, chin tipping up challengingly.

“You wanna meet Baker, don’t you?”

Immediately, the Padres bristled, even as the contingent of Cubs protested.

“No!”

“Of course not!”

“We’re just here to say hey. To everyone!”

“… Maybe.”

There was a long silence at that, and though Mike wasn’t sure who’d said it, his money was on Russell. (The kid was younger than Ginny, there was no way he’d learned how to bluff yet.) But the lull was just the eye of the storm. They all started talking. Over one another and springing off each other’s points as they tried to make their case.

“It’s just—”

“She hadn’t been called up yet when you played here last summer—”

“And when we went to San Diego, her arm—”

“She wasn’t out at BP or even shagging balls—

“We don’t wanna bother her or anything—”

It was all one big jumble that Mike struggled to wade through. Right up until Rizzo looked right at him and asked:

“Can we just say hi, Mike?”

Mike puffed up his chest, probably liking too much that he got the final say so in who got to see Ginny. Even if it was just his authority as captain. Blip stood frowning at his side, arms folded over his chest. They traded a look and shrugged in tandem.

“She’s stretching in the hall. You’ve got five minutes.”

With a a whoop, the pack of ballplayers shuffled through the muttering crowd of Padres, at least three of whom peeled off to enforce that time frame.

Once the cramped locker room of the clubhouse was a little less crowded, Mike slumped into the lightly padded folding chair at his cubby with a wince and a groan. God, he missed his chair at Petco. With the actual lumbar support and the way three years of sitting in it had molded it pretty perfectly to his ass.

When he opened his eyes, Blip was staring down at him, his eyes narrowed and that look on his face. The look that said the wheels were turning and he was on the verge of figuring something out.

Usually, though, Mike had some kind of clue as to what Sherlock Sanders was going to uncover. Not the case today.

“What?” he demanded, twisting in the chair to pull a roll of KT tape out of his bag.

“You’re not gonna supervise?”

Mike rolled his eyes, picking fruitlessly at the edge of the tape. He didn’t have to put it on yet, just didn’t want to look at whatever smug, knowing expression Blip was wearing. He did have the grace not to pretend he didn’t know exactly what Blip was referring to, though.

“Does she suddenly require supervision?”

The chuckle his second in command loosed at that was not comforting. Then again, it probably wasn’t meant to be. “No,” he replied, taking his own seat, “but it’s good to hear you acknowledge that.”

Mike just grumbled, but forced himself to sit through the five minutes like an actual adult.

Still, when he saw the backs of the Cubs disappearing out the door, it would be a lie to say that he wasn’t a little bit relieved.

Well, the backs of most of them.

Mentally, Mike went through a tally of the guys he’d seen come in and realized one was missing. He hadn’t really thought to check and see who was leaving, too happy that they were actually going. A few nightmare scenarios ran through his mind: Bryant trying to put the moves on Ginny and her being into it, her meeting Baez and deciding to adopt another hothead, Arrieta offering to let her rub the beard for luck��

Ignoring the smirk on Blip’s face, Mike shoved to his feet and went off to track down the rogue Cub. An echoing squeak of plastic and metal alerted him that Blip was coming for the ride along.

It didn’t take them long to find them. Ginny was exactly where she’d said she’d be, seated on the faux turf that lined this particular hallway for no particular reason. But rather than Bryant or Baez or Arrieta with her, it was Koji Uehara, the Cubs’ new reliever and one of the few guys in the game older than Mike. Half a decade older, in fact.

Uehara was crouched down, apparently demonstrating some kind of arm stretch, which Ginny copied. Her slight frown grew into a grin as it achieved the results she’d been looking for. The other pitcher smiled back before realizing they now had an audience. He rose to his feet and nodded at both Blip and Mike before offering Ginny a short bow and leaving.

They all watched him go, a little stunned. It was Blip who broke the silence.

“Damn, Ginny. How is it you always find the oldest guy to befriend?” he laughed. “Butch gives you all his best kept secrets, you’ve got Al wrapped around your finger, and don’t even get me started on Lawson.”

Ginny flung a stray ball at him and looked about ready to stick her tongue for good measure when he snatched it out of the air. For his part, Mike didn’t know why he had to be pulled into it.

(Except he absolutely did.

It probably had something to do with the way his heart practically leapt at Ginny’s breezy response, even though he told himself to cool it.)

“Maybe I like the old guys.”

Blip only laughed harder.

The Abbey

Mike was getting too old for this shit.

But, they’d swept their series in LA and even he could admit that that was cause for celebration. They were already midway through September and were, barring some kind of disaster, a shoo in for a Wild Card spot, if not clinching the division altogether. But every win built their momentum, and morale was at an all time high.

It only made sense to keep it going.

Mike just wished they hadn’t kept it going here of all places.

It wasn’t until they crowded inside that he understood all the funny looks Ginny’d tossed him on the ride over. To be fair, Mike had been to a lot of bars in his time. A lot of bars just in LA, even. How could he be expected to remember them all? The wash of blue lights on brick walls and that monster white leather couch in the back were pretty good reminders, though. The sight of Ginny holding her hand out to him, asking him to dance with her. Him shaking her off and watching as she shrugged and melted into the crowd, throwing her body around like she didn’t care about the spectators.

Yeah. That’d all happened here.

Jesus. The only way this could be worse was if they’d gone back to Boardner’s.

So far, the night wasn’t shaping up to be all that different. There’d been a few half-hearted attempts to get him on the dance floor from the guys and that same, slightly husky, “Lawson,” from Ginny, but Mike’s ass had made itself at home on the couch. He wasn’t leaving it come hell or high water.

Except it appeared that the universe was out to test him.

“Oh, there’s a live one!” exclaimed Salvi, gesturing wildly with his drink towards the bar.

Automatically, most of the guys who’d stuck behind in their private section turned to look. A wave of chuckles and shaking heads swept through them.

Curious, Mike looked, too.

At first, all he saw was a dense crowd of people surrounding the bar. Then, the throng parted and he was granted an unimpeded view of Ginny leaning against the counter, head turned towards the bartender making her drink. To the side, some guy was inching closer, clearly trying to play it cool.

Not cool enough if he’d attracted the attention of these goons.

“What’re his chances?” Butch wondered.

“That he gets shot down?” Salvi thought about it for a long moment before declaring, “Three to one.”

Mike nearly choked on his drink. The odds should’ve been way higher. In his totally unbiased opinion.

Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Dusty whistled. “So low?”

“It’s been a while, right? Since the billionaire got kicked to the curb?”

“What about those dates she went on with Captain America?”

“We never proved that happened,” Salvi reasoned. “All the pictures online were blurry and neither of their agents released a statement. But even if it did happen, it’s been a while.”

“Yeah and she wouldn’t let us take her to that Magic Mike place in Miami,” Sonny added, sounding oddly put out.

“Right!” The first baseman nodded enthusiastically, jabbing his finger at Sonny. “She’s probably pretty hard up. I stand by the odds. Three to one. Who wants in?”

There was a flurry of guys reaching for their wallets to take him up on it.

Mike watched this all unfold with increasing— Annoyance? Horror? Maybe a little amusement? How much time and thought had they put into this weird little betting ring?

Diverting as they’d been, though, his attention slid back to Ginny standing at the bar with a stranger. Her chin rested against her shoulder, though she didn’t turn all the way to face him as he spoke. That had to be a good sign.

But then. She laughed. Bright enough that Mike could practically feel it in his gut, where it stirred up the swarm of butterflies that only seemed to come alive when Ginny was in the picture.

Without thinking about it, he was on his feet.

“Where are you going?” Blip demanded, taking a healthy swig from his beer.

Mike hardly had the brain power to respond, too caught up in the way the stranger was leaning into Ginny’s space.

“Can’t let the knees seize up,” he replied absently, not really caring who believed him.

Or what bets were being made as he left.

He pushed through the crowd, trying to ignore the flashes of memory that wanted to swamp him as he went. Ginny’s hair tossing as she commanded the dance floor. Even in leggings and a half-zip, she’d drawn every eye in the room.

Including his. Which was why he’d left.

But there were no more hot, blonde agents to run to. Not that Mike had much intention of running away from anything tonight.

When he finally made it to the bar, Ginny was standing on her own again, which made him sigh in relief. Even if he would’ve loved to have witnessed her send the other guy on his way.

“Make a new friend?” he asked, sliding into the now unoccupied space at her side.

Ginny didn’t even flinch, just shrugged and took a sip from her bottle.

“The guys were betting on whether or not you’d shoot him down.”

She nodded, completely unsurprised. “They do that.”

That surprised a laugh out of Mike. “You knew?”

“Of course. I’ve been helping Blip out whenever Salvi lets the odds get really high. We clean up.”

Mike kept laughing, shaking his head in wonder. Every bit of herself that Ginny let him discover was better than gold.

“You weren’t tempted to game the system tonight?” he asked, maybe a little too intent for how lighthearted they’d been up until now.

“No need to worry, captain,” she said with a wicked grin. “This guy definitely wasn’t boyfriend material.”

“Well, that’s good since you’ve already got one of those.”

“Do I?” she returned, cocking her head to the side. Like she really had to think about it.

“Ginny,” he groaned, wishing he could crowd against her the way he had a few weeks ago—nearly a year to the day after the first time he’d done it last August—and remind her.

(His self control had finally snapped when they’d finally knocked the Cardinals out of the second Wild Card spot. She’d thrown herself into his arms on the field, laughing into his neck for all she hadn’t thrown a single pitch to win the game. It’d taken all of Mike’s willpower not to kiss her right there, settling for banding his arms around her back and spinning them both around until he was dizzy.

Later, though, when he’d showered and changed back into his street clothes, he’d tapped at her dressing room door. When she opened it, he hadn’t waited one second before leaning down and capturing her lips with his.

When he’d finally let her go, all she’d said was, “Took you long enough.”

He’d never won a championship, but it was safe to say that that was the best night he’d ever have.)

“Mike,” she sing songed back, batting her eyelashes at him. Her chin was tucked to her shoulder, almost an exact mirror of the way she’d been standing with the guy who’d just been standing in Mike’s place. The thought of her looking up at someone else so flirtatiously, so invitingly, had Mike’s blood ready to boil.

He’d spent so much time over the past season telling himself not to be jealous of every person who got even a sliver of Ginny’s attention. Because what claim did he have on her, anyway?

Now that the dam had broken though, now that he knew what she tasted like and the sounds she made as she fell asleep or apart in his arms, he couldn’t pretend any longer.

She was his, damn it. As much as he was hers.

Finally, she took pity on him, giggling and leaning to press her shoulder against his bicep. It was much touching as they allowed themselves in public, though Mike sometimes daydreamed about visiting her on the mound and sweeping her into one of those overwrought, dramatic kisses just for the hell of it.

When she turned her face up to him, her chin nearly rested against his shoulder. Right on the spot she’d kissed this morning before leaving his hotel room to sneak back into hers.

“I told you not to worry, captain,” she teased. “I definitely know boyfriend material when I see it.”

The fact that her gaze didn’t waver from his face, not once, definitely soothed the curl of jealousy winding through Mike’s gut. It would’ve died a very satisfactory death if he could’ve kissed her then and there, but it wasn’t time for that.

Not yet at least.

#Anonymous #Bawson #Bawson fic #Pitch #i wrote something #i was going to just #make up a bunch of clubs #but then my brain decided #to be type a about this #which was quite the surprise #let me tell you #i realized halfway through writing this #that i don't understand flirting

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