#I’m still on the path to possibly making another decked out shirt design that I might get produced if tango doesn’t have any interest

[lunarcrown]

DAMMMMMMIT!!! I WAS TOO BUSY WORKING I COULDN'T GET A COMM!!!!

Will you ever open comms again later down the line? Not that I'm rushing you or anything, I just have only seen you open comms twice, unless am dumb (which is possible, lol).

Anyways, have fun rocking the Jimmy Dreamhouse merch and excited to see your drawings, but take your time :D

AWWW IM SORRY U MISSED!!!

I only did four slots bc February is probably gonna be a lil busy at work for me (valentines tattoos my beloved) so I didn’t want to take too many people on and then be like “ok you’ll get your commission in 45 months” HAHA

I’ve only opened them I think two other times, you’re correct!

It’s just bc I draw for work on the weekly so I like to scribble for relax time when I’m home but sometimes ya just gotta get that fun money and do a lil extra work for it and y’all always have such fun ideas so it’s a WINNN!

But yeah I might open up again before a guest spot I’m doing the summertime!

And thank you I CANNOT wait to get the shirt! So far that’ll be my second piece of merch besides my scarland shirt!! 🤩

[shreddedparchment]

A World of Our Own Pt.10

Epilogue

10/11/2020

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 1,615

Warnings: allusions to miscarriage, LOTS of fluff, past death

A/N: I know I haven’t replied to many comments or asks from the previous chapter but I wanted to get this out as quickly as possible so that the story would be truly closed. The ending was incomplete and now it is done and I hope you enjoy this ending as much as I do. It really made me so happy to write and this is the ending these babies deserve after being blown up and deserted on an island. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Life doesn’t happen like we think it will.

We can plan and schedule and arrange as much as you’d like, but things will just not go your way.

As the ship docks, you sigh with frustration, rising to your feet to look through the porthole.

“We’re late.��� You grumble, glaring at the darkening sky. “We were supposed to be here by noon. That way we had plenty of time to look around and make sure it’s safe.”

“Kitten, come here.” Bucky holds his arm out towards you without looking up from the small tablet in his hands.

There’s a weather radar on one half of the screen and on the bottom, an email. Probably from Fury.

You make a reluctant beeline for him, sitting on his lap when he urges you to, wrapping his arm around your waist.

With a lick to his lips, he puts the tablet down on the small bedside table—bolted down to keep from moving in rough seas—and brings his other arm around you.

“What did you just tell me last week?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, pretending you can’t remember.

“Yes, you do, Y/N. What did you so passionately talk my ear off and insist that I remind you, especially on this very trip, if you begin to slide back on your newest and most important—your words by the way—resolution in life? What was it?” Bucky pokes your leg as he speaks, then wraps his arm back around your waist and gives you a squeeze.

“Not to stress about the things in life that I cannot control.” You sigh. “Out of all the damn things I’ve told you, why is this one the one you remember?”

“Because you wouldn’t stop talking about it for an entire day!” Bucky chuckles. “We’re a little late? So what? We have plenty of time. This is supposed to be our honeymoon. Let’s just let go of everything and enjoy our time here.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just…I wanted everything to be right.” You nod.

“It will be. We bought the island. They’ve been working on it for a year. I’m sure everything will be perfect.” Bucky soothes you, reaching up to rub between your shoulders. “You approved all the changes. They said it was done. What are you worried about? Specifically. Help me to understand this anxiety you’re feeling.”

You grab Bucky’s face and pull his lips to yours roughly. He mumbles against your lips, a small huff of a laugh seeping through.

When you pull away, he laughs. “Ow.”

“I just…we haven’t been back here in years, Bucky. And I want it to be safer than when we left it.”

Bucky’s eyes are full of sudden understanding.

“I see.” He gets to his feet as the large yacht finally stops, helping you stand too before taking your hand in his own. “Come on. Let’s go see it. You kept the hut, right?”

“I kept everything.” You tell him, following him along the narrow white hallway, pristine wooden floors varnished and gleaming. “I just had them upgrade most of it.”

“I like your dress.” Bucky states, giving your outfit a quick once over even though you’d been wearing it for the better part of the day.

You smile bright however, pleased by the compliment before you stop, grab hold of the intentionally designed a-symmetrical dress and swing it back and forth. It’s navy with pink pansy florals and light green leaves, the top more modest than the one you owned before. Capped sleeves and a lovely heart neckline, a very thin strip of pink lace along the hem.

Bucky stops with you, smiling at the shift in your attitude with one simple acknowledgment of your reference to your first time on the island.

“How many times did we end up cutting off pieces of that first dress?” Bucky wonders, letting you think.

“Too many.” You acknowledge. “It was more of a shirt by the time we left.”

Bucky lifts your left hand up to his lips, kissing your simple solitaire engagement ring, your matching wedding band also on your finger.

“Well, we won’t have to cut any of this one off. I promise.” He assures you then pulls you along once again.

Bucky makes you wait. He makes you stay behind as the two of you reach the deck of the yacht—the Paradise Lost as you’d named it—while he steps onto the long and reinforced pier.

It stretches out on the same beach where the cabin of the plane had once stood, now relocated, and honored on another part of the island for the lives that had been lost.

The graves Bucky had dug had been remade, a small graveyard built to give the pilot and stewardess a proper resting place.

You can see it from the deck, a little farther inland where you’d had a cobbled path built to lead to it from the pier.

Making a mental note to tell Bucky you want the Stewardess’s family invited to give them a chance to say goodbye. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to get them here with the secrets surrounding the plane, but you can try.

Bucky comes back fairly quickly and waves you over. Eagerly you make your way to him.

“What happened?” You ask him but he gestures towards an older gentleman on the beach.

“Mr. Lara wants to talk to you about the chef’s supplies. Looks like there was a delay in the shipment.” Bucky tells you, then hurries past you. “Don’t worry, I’ll get our bags.”

“Bucky, we’re paying people to do that!” You call after him, but he waves you off and you turn to meet with Mr. Lara.

The island, while still massively private, has been built up like a small resort. There’s your hut, which the basic structure is the same but to it have been added a full chef’s kitchen. Several bedrooms. A living room. A master bedroom and access to the beach and a private pier.

There’s a beach barbecue patio and lounge chairs. Hidden behind the hut right in the spot Bucky built it, is the bathing pool, now with built in filtration, temperature control and more sustainable materials so that it will endure.

Your little island, the world you and Bucky created was given a full makeover. You’d always known you wanted to come back. You’d hated being stranded but the memories and the connections you’d formed here were special.

After assuring Mr. Lara that you have enough provisions on the yacht to last you until the grocery delivery arrives, you make your way back to see what’s keeping Bucky.

You’re nearly there when Bucky’s sweet chuckle stops you in your tracks. He takes the ramp onto the pier and with his hand still extended towards the yacht, you wait, your heart swelling.

“Careful.” You tell him, but he doesn’t need you to remind him.

Into view toddles a black-haired angel, eyes just as blue as his father’s. Just as you had when you’d thought about the possibility of a child with Bucky how beautiful it would be to see a mini version of him with your temper running around, it’s just so.

You wait with patience, his legs sure though slightly unsteady. His eyes scanning the area with inquisitive gusto.

He’s only just two years old but he’s already smart as a whip and when he spots you, he gasps with excitement and as soon as his little feet hit the pier, he releases Bucky’s hand and races for you.

You stoop down to scoop him and chuckle as he laughs, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“There’s my big boy.” You coo, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he can pull away. “Where are we, Robin? Do you know where this place is?”

As he straightens up, he points towards the shore. “Beesh!”

“That’s right. We’re at a beach. This is an island, Robin.” You explain, moving down the pier with him in your arms.

“I-wan.” He repeats, then giggles before squirming from your grip. “Woah, easy.”

Bucky moves forward and stops the little one before he can run.

“Hey bud, we can run down the pier and play in the sand, but you have to make me a deal, okay?”

Robin lifts his little hand up, bent at the elbow with his palm turned up as he shrugs. “Dew?”

“Yeah. We can run down to the beach if you hold my hand. Okay? The water is very deep, and mommy will cry if you fall in. You don’t want mommy to cry, do you?”

“No!” Robin exclaims, his little face suddenly angry, eyebrows drawn down on the inner corners in an exaggerated expression. “Mommy no cwy!”

“Then you’ll hold my hand?” Bucky asks, holding it out for him.

Without another word Robin takes hold of Bucky’s hand ad doesn’t wait before he’s pulling him along as fast as his little legs can.

“Be careful!” You call after them but they’re not listening anymore.

Life doesn’t function according to your plan.

While you were planning your wedding, Robin came as a sweet surprise. You postponed the wedding and instead celebrated the birth of your rainbow. Much sooner than expected but welcomed all the same.

Then you and Bucky took time to nurture your son and the wedding was finally held only two weeks ago. Honeymoon delayed to make certain the island was safe for you baby.

And although you’re saving the news for the right time, you hope that you can convince Bucky to stay here for a while, at least until your second little one comes. Just another seven months.

[elopez7228]

Scenic route 20/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774 

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

The conversation flowed amicably and Rey was quite relaxed by the time the Millenium Falcon reached the parking lot of the tourism office.

Maz left the car with one last affectionate pat for BB8, taking a moment to thank Rey for wishing her safe travels.

Inside the immense air-conditioned mass that was the tourism office, a 4-feet-wide digital clock showed the countdown until the next eruption of the geyser.

With nearly half an hour to spare, Rey took a walk through the gift shop. She briefly admired the keychains and postcards, before pausing in front of an item that left her quite perplexed. Bear spray?  What on earth was that?

The shopkeeper—who was appropriately decked out in green forest ranger attire—informed her that it was used by hikers to ward off bears in the unfortunate event of an encounter. An accessory that would surely save lives, given the population of grizzlies that roamed freely within the park.  

Rey bought one because she knew that only too well. The odds of her being attacked by a bear a second time in so few days were low, but she had learned not to underestimate her natural tendency to conjure bad luck out of nowhere.  

Her phone informed her it was almost show time, so she settled on one of the benches installed in a semi circle at a safe distance from the white crater of the geyser.

***

Syed felt like a punk in a playground. She had ended up in the middle a sea of tourists who were all wearing some hideous combination of sun hats, shorts, Hawaiian shirts, cameras, and—she shuddered—socks with sandals. She stuck out like a sore thumb against the pastel masses with her tall black-clad frame, her numerous piercings, and her menacing brass chains.

She cursed Kylo for sending her to hell, far from her friends, her audience, her guns... and him. She had taken multiple photographs of a very sloppily dressed Rey, who had taken the Millennium Falcon for a joyride. Now she was wondering who to send them to. Kylo? Or Hux? Or maybe Snoke?

Theoretically, she was doing this mission on behalf of Kylo Ren. But he had shown signs of weakness that in his interest, she had the duty to report further up the chain of command...his obsession for this little English brat was beyond comprehension.

He used the hunt for environmental activists as an excuse to justify his meddlesome romantic advances, but Syed was no fool. This girl was just a tourist. She wasn’t a secret agent of the Earth Soldiers. She was frolicking about with sunglasses and a cap glued to her skull, sipping some basic frappuccino, bothering bears, and taking selfies. It was improbable, and even impossible, that she was on a mission for an ecologist association that was making dooms-day preparations. She was too relaxed; obviously a woman on vacation, certainly not an agent on active duty.

Syed meanwhile, was always on the clock. It was a shame really, the amount of time had she wasted stalking that bitch.

She finally sent the photos to Armitage Hux. He was particularly pleased when he received an image of Kylo in the throes of passion with his plaything.  She didn’t know what he would do with it, but she knew from experience that when Kylo needed a guardrail, Armitage Hux was the man of the hour. He would simply do a little sleight of hand and suddenly the unruly punk would fall back in line.  

Everything would be back to normal...like nothing had ever happened.

As for Kylo Ren himself, knowing he needed a bone to chew on, she sent him hourly reports of his little protege, deliberately omitting any mention of the hitchhiker. It was really the only useful information of the day;  and she preferred to keep an ace up her sleeve in case he decided to be difficult.

The hitchhiker was nearing the Millennium Falcon again, and Syed went off to disappear into the crowd.

The little woman circled the car for a while, then sat down on the hood, with spectacular ease. She took off her hiking boots and massaged the soles of her feet. Syed rolled her eyes. For fuck’s sake, this old hag was probably less important an update than she had initially anticipated.

When Rey came back, the woman had come down from her perch and was waiting patiently next to the mirror. Rey frowned. People had to seriously stop their fascination with her car. What was that all about?

All her wonder at the sight of the geyser (the truly magnificent explosion of water and steam as high as a five-storey building), faded to give way to an anxiety that was alas, very familiar.

"You’re still here?” Her reaction was harsher than intended, spurred on by the unexpected intrusion.

"I was waiting for you, I hope you don’t mind," Maz replied innocently.  “I haven’t found another ride, may we continue some of this journey together?”

Rey regretted her initial inclemency. She reacted too intensely, to everything.  She took a breath to force herself to regain her composure. Maz was harmless, but it was easy to see why she was struggling to find a helping hand: the park was teaming with pretentious tourists who were reluctant to change their route or their agenda...and who were suspicious of pickpockets.  She had been one of them, after all.

Rey sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Okay, fine...but I’m warning you, I’m doing a tour of all the geological marvels out here.” She said with a smile.

“Fine with me,” Maz smiled in return. “Thank you very much. I promise you won’t even know I’m here.”

Rey swallowed a remark about Maz’s tiny stature, and gently pushed BB8 over to make space.

“It's funny,” Rey observed. “BB8 doesn’t seem at all disturbed by your presence.  She’s rather aggressive with strangers, usually.”

“What strangers?” Maz laughs, reaching out to stroke the dog.

"Oh, just one stranger in particular," Rey corrected with a wave of her hand. “It was impossible for him to approach, she would try to bite him.”

“Had they met before?”

“No, of course not. He would have told me if...” Rey’s voice caught in her throat.

Did Ben and BB8 have history?  It was unbelievable, and yet...he had immediately shown interest in her, seemingly out of nowhere, when they had joined him in the Jackson Hole Lodge parking. He even outright asked if BB was her dog.

It was a silly question to ask someone walking with a dog on a leash. Why would he need confirmation?

Now that she thought about it, he had asked the same strange question about the Millennium Falcon:

Is this your car?

Obviously, it was hers. It’s not like she was just playing Russian roulette out there, hoping to find a car she could force open in the middle of the parking garage. But it was strange that he tried to make sure.

That said, in his defense, perhaps it was simply because the Millennium Falcon was an infamous bastard of a car. Anyone would have been shocked at seeing a machine like this still in use! Who knows what went on in Ben’s head?

Her face had scrunched up into a worried expression, which did not escape Maz.

"Something bothering you?” She asked in a gentle voice, “maybe I can be of some help?”

"I don’t really know," said Rey, still pensive, as she slowly pulled out of the parking space, "I've experienced some rather unlikely things since I landed in Denver. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

"Start at the beginning," Maz replied encouragingly. “I've got plenty of time.”

That afternoon, Rey and Maz visited some of the most spectacular geological sites around the volcano: boiling springs that gave way to rainbows, geysers by the dozen, bubbling fumaroles ...they even crossed paths with animals that were once threatened in the wild—but were in total safety within the park’s verdant confines. They came upon placid bison, elk, and bald eagles. Thankfully, they saw neither bears nor wolves. These animals, however numerous, tended not to approach busy trails.

They spoke a lot.

Rey found in Maz an attentive third party, to whom she could open up without fear of judgment, and especially without fear of the rampant sexual tension present in her conversations with Ben. She knew he was attracted to her, he did nothing to hide it. But as a result, she continually wondered if the words he said were sincere, rather than a carefully prepared speech designed to charm her to his bed. He had almost managed to get there, in fact.  

In principle, there was no harm to that, she was a consenting adult. And she had to admit that she had savored every kiss, every touch...But her own ardor worried her. Had she flirted with Ben Solo because she wanted him, or because she needed to be reassured, to be held, after what Finn had done to her?

She had to put her heart back in place, heal her wounds, find her inner peace.  Only then would she consider Ben Solo.

"You do not want to make him your consolation prize," Maz hummed sagely.  “That is rather commendable.”

“I don’t think he cares either way. I mean, we are both consenting adults, but I don’t want to be a trophy...be just another notch in his bedpost.”

"You should talk to him...is it possible you’re mistaken about his intentions towards you?”

Rey narrowed her eyes. “Yes, we need to talk ...” about more than you know.

Maz was from Florida. She was bored of her apartment which sat at one end of the land, and thus decided one morning to go on foot to the other end. She had plenty of time, and improvised her itinerary at random. She had a host of tales to tell about backpacking trips to Central Asia or South America, often far from cities and crowds, and Rey began to wonder how old she really was.

It was impossible to say: her face was both smooth and furrowed, her eyes constantly hidden behind huge triple-focus glasses. Her hands were small but her fingers were long and bony. Despite her diminutive appearance, she seemed to burst with energy, and possessed an exceptional amount of savoir faire.  

Yellowstone?  She knew every corner of the place. Alaska?  She knew which roads to use in which season. London?  She had lived there twice in her youth. The Millenium Falcon? She had once owned a car of the same make and model. BB8?  Canine behavior was no mystery to her.

What a strange old woman, Rey pondered, finally glad to have good company.

Black Sand Basin, Geyser Basin, Great Fountain Geyser, Lower Geyser Basin...The park's attractions were like cat nip to tourists, including Rey and Maz.  It was hard to blame people for coming all the way to Yellowstone form the corners of the globe.

Evening was falling. The day had been exhausting, the traffic was atrocious, and the heat was stifling.

Rey went to the Madison Village campground in the park to reserve a place for the night.

Everything was complete.

Finally able to stop panicking, she was content to sleep in her car in the campground parking. Simple as that.

But what about Maz?

Leaving the campsite's bungalow, she returned to her car. The little woman was standing there, her bag hoisted on her shoulders.

"I’m all done for today," Rey explained, “I'm going to sleep in the car, they told me it was okay as long as I paid parking fees. How about you?”

She gestured awkwardly at the  car. “Do you want the back seat?  BB8 can come sleep with me...?”

Maz smiled to assuage her fears. “Don’t worry, young lady. I'm used to sleeping under the stars.”

"Right here?! With the bears and everything—“ Rey was incredulous.

“Don’t fret. I’ll take care of myself, you take care of yourself and BB8.”

Rey looked away as the sound of tinkling bracelets faded into the distance. Better not think about it, the last thing she need was an extra dose of anxiety. And besides, she was hungry.

The vending machine at the campsite procured a packet of chips, a flavorless coffee, and a Snickers bar. Dejectedly, she looked down at her meal. It was the food pyramid of sadness.

She wanted fresh vegetables and a hot plate...she would have to plan better tomorrow. These snacks were barely what she considered food.

What was Finn doing now?  She couldn’t help but wonder.

He was probably still on the respirator; if there had been any improvement in his condition, Poe would have called her.

What was Ben Solo doing?

That was easy, he was about to give a concert. Rey pulled out her phone. Should she call him or send him a message?  She opted for a message.

Good luck with the concert tonight!  Not too nervous I hope?  

An answer arrived immediately. He wasn’t on stage yet.

Thanks for the good vibes! But I wish you were here in the room.

[ourkinfolx]

No. 1: Fania

Fania Noel is a woman with plans. And not just the vast, sweeping plans like the dismantling of capitalism and black liberation. She also has smaller, but no less important, plans like brunch with friends, hitting the gym. 

“Every week, I put in my calendar the times I need to be efficient,” she explains. “So I put what time I work out, with my friends, my time to watch TV shows, to read. And after, I can give people the link to put obligations.”

The link she’s referring to is her online scheduling system connected to her personal website. It’s one I’ve become well acquainted with after our first two failed attempts to schedule interviews. We had plans to meet in person, in a Parisian Brasserie she’d recommended, but between canceled flights and buses, Skype turned out to be the most practical option. Our disrupted travel was just one in a long list of inconveniences brought on by the virus safety measures. It might even be said that the coronavirus also had plans. 

The global pandemic and subsequent slowing of—well, everything comes up a few times in our conversation. Like some of the other activists I’ve talked to, Fania sees a silver lining, an opportunity.

“This might be the only sequence of events in the history of humanity that you have the whole planet living at the same tempo, being in quarantine or locked down or slowed activity,” she says. 

“So we all have a lot of time to think about how [society is] fucked up or the weight of our lives in terms of this society. And I think we have to ask if we want to go back to this rushed kind of living. It’s really a game changer.”

I first heard of Fania, a Haitian born afro-feminist, earlier in the year, while talking to a Parisian friend about the need for more black spaces in the city. She angrily described how a few years ago, Fania tried to have an event for black women, only to be met with fierce backlash and derision from not just right-wing groups, but anti-racist and anti-Semitic groups. The event wasn’t actually Fania’s alone; it was an effort by Mwasi Collective, a French afro-feminist group that she’s involved with. 

Either way, it was a minor scandal. Hotly debated on French TV and radio. Even Anne Hidalgo, Paris’s mayor, voiced disapproval. Critics claimed the event, called Nyansapo Festival, was racist itself by exclusion because most of the space had been designated for black women only. 

Despite all the fuss, the Nyansapo Festival went on as planned. Several years later, following the killing of George Floyd and the international movement that followed, Anne Hidalgo published a tweet ending with the hashtag #BlackLivesMatter. I found it curious, she’s always struck me as more of an #AllLivesMatter type. 

I ask Fania if, given the tweet and possible change of heart from the mayor, she thinks her event would be better received in the current climate. She points out that there had been two Nyansapo Festivals since, with little to no media coverage, but seems overall uninterested in rehashing the drama. 

“We’re way beyond that now,” she says, shaking her head. She ends it in a way that will be familiar to anyone who’s ever been almost imperceptibly corrected by a black woman, and I quickly move on to the next topic. 

It’s not until later, when reading some of her other interviews, that I’m able to fully contextualize our exchange. It’s common for activists, especially those working in or belonging to a culture where their identity makes them a minority, to be asked to view their work through the lens of conditional acceptance of a larger group of oppressors and/or gatekeepers. Asking feminists what men think, asking LGBT how they plan to placate heterosexuals. In her dismissal, Fania resists the line of questioning altogether, and in another interview, she makes the point more succinctly when explaining why she doesn’t believe in the concept of public opinion: 

“As an activist, the core ‘public’ is black people and to think about the antagonism and balance of power in terms of our politics rather than its reception. It’s normal in a racist, capitalist, patriarchal society that a political [movement] proposing the abolition of the system is not welcomed.”

One might argue if you’re not pissing anyone off, you’re not doing anything important. 

Rolling Stone’s July cover is a painting featuring a dark-skinned black woman, braids pulled into a round bun on her crown. She has George Floyd’s face on her T-shirt and an American flag bandana around her neck. One of her hands is raised in a fist, the other holds the hand of a young black boy next to her. Behind her, a crowd, some with fists also raised, carry signs with phrases like Our Lives Matter and Justice For All Now. 

According to Rolling Stone, they tasked the artist, Kadir Nelson, with creating something hopeful and inspirational and he “immediately thought of Eugène Delacroix’s ‘Liberty Leading the People,’ the iconic 1830 painting that depicts a woman leading the French Revolution.”

Regarding his choice to center a black woman in the piece, he explains: “The people who were pushing for those changes were African American women. They are very much at the forefront in spearheading this change, so I thought it was very important for an African American woman to be at the very center of this painting, because they have very much been at the center of this movement.”

During our call, I mention the painting and ask Fania her thoughts on why, so often, we find black women at the forefront of any social justice or human rights movement.

“Women have always organized,” she says simply. “Women work collectively, they run organizations.” She points to the church and organized religion as an example. 

“Look at the composition of church. Who’s going to church, who’s going to ask for help from God?”

Anyone who’s spent time in the houses of worship for a patriarchal religion has vivid memories of the very present men in the room. From the booming voices and squared shoulders of the pulpit to the stern, sometimes shaming looks of brothers, uncles, fathers. But the women, often more numerous, run the councils and the choirs. Around the world women pray more, attend church and are generally more religious. And the men?

“In a context of church, it’s really acceptable to ask for help from God. Because it’s God,” Fania says. “But you don’t have a lot of black men, a lot of men in any kind of church.”

That isn’t to say that men, especially black men, are complacent. Fania notes that traditional activism goes against the patriarchy’s narrow view of masculinity. 

Activism, she explains, requires one to acknowledge they’ve been a victim of a system before they can demand power. And for a lot of men, that’s not an option. 

“They want to be seen as strong,” she says. “As leaders. They want to exert control.”

In short, both black men and women acknowledge the system would have us powerless, but while women organize to collectively dismantle it, men tend to stake out on their own to dominate it. 

Black capitalism as resistance isn’t new, and was more prominent during the civil rights movement, which was largely led by men. In 1968, Roy Innis, co-national director for the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) opined, 

“We are past the stage where we can talk seriously of whites acting toward blacks out of moral imperatives.” While CORE’s other director, Floyd McKissick, reasoned, 

“If a Black man has no bread in his pocket, the solution to his problem is not integration; it’s to get some bread.”

More recently the dynamics of this played out in real time on Twitter as Telfar, a black, queer-owned fashion label, sent out notifications of a handbag restock only to be immediately descended upon by a group of largely black, male resellers. Telfar describes itself as affordable luxury for everyone, and for many of the black women who buy Telfar, it exists as proof that class and fashion need not be so inextricably linked. But for the men who bulk purchased the bags just to triple the price and resell, these were just more items to wring capital out of on their quest to buy a seat at the table. 

Of course, it’s not unreasonable to argue that the purchase of a product, regardless of who makes it, as a path to liberation is still black capitalism. And in another interview, Fania specifically warns against this type of consumption. “Neoliberal Afrofeminism is more focused on representation, making the elite more diverse, and integration. This kind of afrofeminism is very media compatible. Like great Konbini-style videos about hair, lack of shades of makeup, and [other forms of] commodification.” But, she explains, “The goal is a mass movement where our people are involved, not just passively or as consumers.” 

But can consumption be divorced from black liberation if it’s such a key aspect in how so many black people organize? I bring up all the calls to “buy black” that happened in the wake of George Floyd. Some of it could be attributed to the cabin-fever induced retail therapy we all engaged in during quarantine. And for those of us who, for whatever reason, were unable to add our bodies to a protest, money seemed like an easy thing to offer. Buy a candle. A tub of shea butter. A tube of lip gloss. But what did it all really accomplish, in retrospect?

“We have to think about solidarity,” Fania explains. “Solidarity is a project. When we say support black-owned business, we still have to think about the goal, the project. So if we support coffee shops, bookshops, hair dressers that have a special place in the community and are open to the community and in conversation with the community, it’s good and it can help. But if it’s just to make some individual black people richer, it’s really limited.”

Black capitalism vs anti-capitalism remains an ongoing debate, but shouldn’t be a distraction. In the end, everyone will contribute how they best see fit and we still share a common goal. Besides, we’ll need all hands on deck to best make use of our current momentum. And that’s something Fania underscores in one of the last points she makes during our conversation:

“Something we have to repeat to people is that these protests: keep doing them. Because you have years and years of organization behind you. People came out against police brutality and a week later we’re talking about how we move towards the abolition of police, how we go towards the abolition of prison. How we move towards the end of capitalism. And this is possible because you have a grassroots organization thinking about the question even when no one else was asking it. So now we have the New York Times and the media asking if these things are possible. But that’s because even when we didn’t have the spotlight, we were working on the questions about the world after. And every day radical organizations, black liberation organizations, are thinking about the world after and the end of this system. And when protests and revolts happen, we can get there and say ‘we have a plan for this.’”

[cherryyharryy]

Show and Tell

Harry and Y/N make their first public appearance, but things don’t go as expected.

I got this idea a few months ago but finally got the motivation for it the other day. Let me know what you think!!!!!

Part 1

She was going a little stir crazy. Okay, more than a little. But Harry had managed to keep y/n’s name out of people’s mouths whenever his was uttered, and so it seemed worth it, the secrecy, the separate cars, separate hotels... They’d escaped every fan pic and even the paparazzi wasn’t on their trail.

He’d had girlfriends before, and the older he got, the more his privacy became more sacred, so the desire to keep the girl on his arm out of the tabloids was crucial. And by the time y/n came along...he knew. He knew she was it for him, and he knew one day they’d find out about her, but for now he was going to do his best to avoid her pretty face being plastered over every magazine.

“Are you sure about this, H?”

He hummed, adjusting the glittered mask over his love’s face. “If I wasn’t sure, we wouldn’t be going.”

It was a birthday party. The invite alone cost more than y/n’s rent, and a sliver of her dignity when Harry suggested she join him since the dress code requested costumes. She didn’t know who’s birthday it was or where the shiny Bentley parked outside her apartment was taking them. All she knew was what Harry had told her about the lavish star-filled get-togethers he’d attended, and that this party was one of those that would start off classy and dignified with everyone acting like adults until someone inevitably switched gears and jumped on a table with too much wine in their system or dove into a pool with too many clothes on.

“Looks amazing, baby.”

Harry stepped back, tugging on his bottom lip with his freshly painted nails to admire the adjustments. Y/n had an elaborate mask—designed just for her at Harry’s request—hiding her face. It was a fox, an incredibly Gucci-esque-grownup-fox that molded to the shape of her face perfectly. Not too tight but with plenty of breathing room. Her eyes were hidden, and the faux fur Peter Pan collar around her neck hid the last of her skin not covered by the equally as sexy suit she had on.

“Here’s your gloves, darling. You can see alright, yeah? Need me to fix somethin’? Is it too hot?”

“Harry,” y/n giggled, “I’m fine. Actually feels pretty good, kind of empowering.” Once her white lace gloves were inched up her arms, resembling that of the animal’s, she did a little spin. “I like the heels.”

Harry’s eyes drifted down to her feet which were slipped into five-inch Louis Vuitton’s, then back up her body. “Your hair.”

“What about it?”

“I can see it,” he mumbled. “Didn’t think about that.”

“Well no one’s gonna recognize me from my hair alone, H.”

“Still, can’t be too careful.”

Y/n huffed as Harry dashed into the bathroom, following him to see his hands rifling through the cabinets.

“Oh no you don’t,” she chided, putting her hands up and backing away from his smirk. “That color looked dreadful on me.”

“It’ll wash out by Monday, love.” He was already shaking the can of hair color, an unfortunate match to y/n’s ensemble. “Now take that mask off and lean over the tub.”

***

Y/n had a bittersweet relief swimming through her brain. Because apparently attending a party with her boyfriend came with rules, and suddenly all the late nights spent dreaming about being by Harry’s side at whatever extravagant gathering he was at instead of on her couch were put into perspective.

“Don’t drink too much. And don’t go off on your own, can’t chance anyone tryin’ t’peak under your mask. Oh! And for the love of God, don’t talk.”

Harry’s rings were cold, cold enough for her to feel them through the dress shirt she wore under the jacket he refused to admit its price of when he brought it home. And his grip was tight, holding her close as if she’d get lost and never find her way back, which all in all, seemed like a potential possibility at the size of where they were. And she couldn’t guess where they were because that was all a secret. Everything was a secret, from the moment they met, and it wasn’t until a guy in a fish mask approached them with a bottle of wine in his hands that Harry’s sanity was dependent on her anonymity.

“Harry…”

“Hey, Jordan. How are you mate?”

“Thought that was you, you guys look great.”

Y/n nodded and looked over at Harry, who was decked out in a matching fox costume only his was less feminine, and he didn’t have to hide his hands or ruin his hair with cheap 24-hour dye.

“So, who’s this?”

Harry slapped Jordan’s hand away from its approach towards y/n’s mask, uttering out apologies while he pulled her closer. “It’s my uh, a friend.”

“Well can I get a name—”

“Excuse us.” Harry steered y/n away, practically dragging her from the mass of people fawning over each other’s intricate costumes.

“Harry,” she groaned, pushing his hands away. “What was that about?”

“M’sorry, I panicked.” He ran his hand through his hair, tugging on the ends. “I—I didn’t want anyone to know who you are.”

“Yeah I know,” she bit. “You’ve made that very clear.”

His shoulders slouched as he sucked in a breath. “M’just trying to protect you.”

She sighed, nodding her head. “I know. But most everyone knows you’re with someone, they just don’t know who. We’ve been together for almost two years now, I’ve earned the right to be called your girlfriend. You don’t have to hand out my blood type, but a little recognition won’t hurt.”

“Okay, you’re right.” His face was hidden, but it’d been two years, and she knew his lip was sore under his teeth and his brows were as high as they could go. “Come on, let’s go get a drink.”

***

Y/n was going to need more than a drink. Or, Alex, rather.

Alex was the name she’d been awarded with when the sixth person who inquired about who was under Harry’s companion’s mask had their hand gently pushed back down by his and those cold rings.

And she wasn’t just Alex, no. She was Alex the cousin, Alex the married hairstylist, even Alex, my sister’s best friend. And as the night drug on y/n’s patience dwindled away each time Harry patted her on the back while introducing her as some version of his friend.

“You want another drink, baby?”

“Why the hell are you whispering?”

Harry leaned in, lifting his mask an inch away from his skin. “So no one will know.”

Y/n was fuming. And Harry was lucky he couldn’t see her face, couldn’t see her lip curl at her boyfriend’s words or the glare she had steadied on him. “Right. Can’t have anyone finding out your little secret now, can we?”

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t bother, H.”

She thrust her near empty glass into his hand and stomped off, slinking through the crowd until she found a door leading outside into the numb January air. Outside to what she now realized was a backyard, a very large, very expensive looking backyard. She followed a stone path into a garden, closed in by tall hedges, passing a dormant fountain until she found a little bench to settle on.

“Y/n?”

“Who’s y/n?”

Harry’s hair was a wild mess, face flushed under the moonlight with his mask hanging from the crook of his elbow. “What’re on about? Why’d you huff outta there like tha’?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She ripped the mask off her face, inhaling the cold night air and relishing the chilly sting soothing her warm skin.

“Y/n—”

“Who’s this y/n? I’m your...godson’s babysitter, remember? Or wait, wait, I forgot—your dogwalker’s mom.”

This time he saw the eye roll. And he definitely saw the grimace etched onto her face. “Okay,” he sighed defeated, “those are pathetic identities. But you have to admit they worked.” He chuckled, stepping closer to the bench and nodding at her legs propped up along the length of the seat. “Budge over, pet. And we can’t stay out here too long, s’freezing.”

She didn’t move, not for a few seconds until she swung her legs off, digging her heels into the ground as she stormed back towards the mansion. Once she reached the edge of the garden she turned around, crossing her arms and her ankles in a defying stance. “By the way, who the hell owns this place?”

Harry’s jaw slacked and he cleared his throat. “S’a, Benny’s.”

He stood there, staring at where she’d stood not two minutes ago and ran over the entire night in his mind, only in his head everything was playing out differently. She had a smile on that he could see, a smile that everyone tonight could see. But once reality hit and a heavy breeze grazed his skin, he made his way back, slipping the mask over his face to hide the tears sliding down his cheeks.

Read part 2 here.

[theladyfangs]

Reflections/ The Other Part 14: The End.

 Stray Thoughts: Katrina/Lorca/Michael

“You chose to do the right thing over what was sanctioned. Even at great cost to yourself…context is for kings…”  (But what’s a king without a queen?).

“That’s the kind of thinking I need next to me.”

.

.

Katrina is the only woman Lorca ever loved…

Michael is the only woman Gabriel ever loved…

.

“The truth is, you’re not the man I used to know.”

“I watched you change these last months, it’s upsetting. And it’s definitely not how it used to be.”

.

.

“I did want to thank you, sir.”

“I’m grateful to serve under a captain like you.”

See Through Me (A Song for You)

The war is over.

Katrina walks the now-familiar path to the observation deck, two lifts and another corridor. A left.

Room 2-1-1-2.

“She’s not come out since he left,” Saru speaks softly.

The admiral nods. “It’s all right.”

“The override has been…changed,” he tells her. “Specialist Burnham has it programmed on an alternating frequency….”

“I understand, Commander. I’ll take care of it from here. Thank you.”

He nods and departs. In front of the door, Katrina straightens her uniform.

She wonders how well she knows Michael Burnham.  She’s about to find out.

Her hand passes over the biometric scanner and Cornwell waits as the doors whir, then open into darkness.

She steps through.

Command overrides changed, indeed. But Michael did allow for one person to find her.

The space remains neat. Did she expect something different? Perhaps, from what she had been told. But no. Nothing is amiss. And yet…it feels different.

They’ve been here before.

In front of her, Michael Burnham stands, facing the window in her dress uniform.

“Admiral.”

“Specialist.”

Katrina comes to stand beside her.

“Will it ever stop?” Michael says, gently stroking the large bundle of fur in her arms.

Katrina knows what she’s asking. And it hurts her to have to tell Michael the truth.

“It hasn’t yet, for me.”

Only then does Michael turn to her, and when she looks at the younger woman, she feels her heart break for her. For them both.

But she swore to Gabriel that she would take care of Michael. And her role now is not of an admiral but of a friend—a mentor, someone who has been there before.

“It will be okay,” she tries, but Michael shakes her head.

“That’s what he said, too.”

Katrina wants to tell her, but can’t. It’s classified. Above top secret. Even now, Starfleet is working on erasing Gabriel Lorca.

“Come,” she says instead. “The memorial service is starting.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“You must, Commander.”

Commander.

It still feels odd to hear the word. She’s gotten accustomed to “Specialist.” The pardon was delivered a week ago. Saru made it official for her with a ceremony before the crew.

It rang hollow at the time.

It still does now. She’d rather still be “Specialist” if it meant Gabriel Lorca was still alive.

“We should have listened to you,” Katrina says softly. “I want to apologize to you personally.”

Because if they had, then Gabriel Lorca would still be here.

If they had, the universe would still be the same.

But because they did not, “the face of all the world is changed.”

   Will You Take My Hand?

The order came down from Admiral Cornwell, reaching Commander Burnham at her post on the U.S.S. Discovery. There’s not really a directive, but a location—she’s being sent to Starbase 69.

“Are you looking forward to vacation, Commander?” the pilot asks, as they cut the thrusters and make their final approach to the starbase. Through the viewport, Burnham sees rotating twin spheres moving in opposite directions, at either end of a wide cylinder, making the station look like a barbell in space. It’s an older one, designed some 100 years ago but still functional and mostly used these days for tourists. There are some fleet personnel but not many, so it is understandable to Michael why her pilot would ask.

“I am,” she says measuredly, “but not today.”

The shuttle coasts into space dock, joining hundreds of others in traffic moving in and out of the cylinder, a city humming with activity. A connecting gangway emerges from one of the many ports and latches onto the craft. There’s a hiss, and the pilot cuts off the engines.

“Pressurization complete”, the computer says. Michael stands and gathers the small case she’s brought with her. Two changes of clothes, and a PADD. The admiral had been mum about the purpose of this visit and so, in caution, Michael had packed a set of civilian clothes and a fresh uniform.

“Thank you,” she nods to the pilot and leaves as soon as the shuttle doors open to the gangway.

Most of Starfleet’s space stations have similar layouts and if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen most. She’s been directed to a room, number 8807, likely somewhere in the upper orb. The station is crowded with beings, loud and noisy—and for a moment, she feels disconcerted by the sudden barrage of sound, having spent most of the year in the quiet routine of service on a starship. Here, there is no routine as beings brush past, back and forth, children holler, merchants attempt to sell their wares …so much…activity. The station is large, but feels claustrophobic—and she realizes after being bumped hard from behind, that she’s standing in the main port.

Michael gets her bearings and begins to move toward the series of lifts she sees going up and down between the spheres.

It’s several minutes before she’s able to get into one with more than two dozen others, and after what feels like an eternity, she finally reaches level 88. By now, she’s the only one left and she steps out and into a corridor that is blessedly empty. And silent.

Doors align either side of the walls and she walks down, looking for the one that ends in -07.

Finally.

The ID numbers are entered quickly, and she’s already thinking that the first thing she wants is a long, hot shower followed by warm tea. Possibly with a little bit of rum in it. Maybe she’s inherited some of Lorca’s habits.

Not a day has gone by that she hasn’t thought of him. His smell. His touch and taste. The way he laughed. The way he yelled. The way he held her, the way they loved together. Made love together.

She misses him.

Even now, she wonders if there was something she could have done to change his mind. If there was another way to end the war that didn’t require his sacrifice. Michael has loved two Gabriel Lorcas and has been forced to watch both die. Sometimes, she feels it’s all her fault. It is irrational. Gabriel made his choice. They both did.

There have been many nights when her dreams felt so real that she’s woken up with dried tears on her face. Or, even worse, her body still humming from an orgasm.

Perhaps she will skip the tea. And go straight to a small (very small) taste of bourbon. It is an acquired taste, one she didn’t acquire until after Gabriel was gone.

With a sigh, she opens the doors to the room and steps inside, but as soon as she turns on the lights, she gasps, and the bag falls out of her hand.

Michael’s heart begins to race, her hands tremble and she cannot believe that what she’s seeing is real. It can’t be. This must be yet another cruel joke. Some strange machination of the mind. Her heart cannot take anymore…

“Hello, Michael.”

Gabriel turns to face her, from where he’s been standing in front of the window. He’s dressed in a fleet uniform, but it’s black, not blue, the gold trim silver, his insignia silver as well. There’s a new pip. A new rank on it. Commodore.

He steps toward her, but she steps back, unsure, disbelieving because, how?

“I saw you die,” she whispers. “I saw you…dead.”

He goes to her, seeing the shock and terror on her face, fear as well. Not of him, but of whether he’s real.

“I’m here,” Lorca says gently, taking one of Michael’s hands into his, bringing it to his lips, and kissing it.

She feels the warmth of his touch, the texture of his mouth on her skin, and shudders.

“But…how?”

Lorca doesn’t answer immediately. Instead he pulls her close and slips an arm around her body to allow her to feel him, to reassure her that he is very much alive, very much not dead.

Solid. She reaches up to touch him. Her fingers tracing his eyes, his nose, lips, jaw, chin. She runs her hands down his chest, places her head there, to hear his heart—strong, steady. All of him—solid. Physical. She knows he’s a soldier at heart. An office would never suit him. It feels fitting, that he would go to Special Ops—to Section 31, the side of Starfleet that technically doesn’t exist, except in quiet whispers, and myth.

Lorca looks down into her face, into her eyes, and he smiles at her, wistfully. Hopefully.

“I’m sorry, love. We had to end the war.”

“If you had told me…”

But he shakes his head. “No. You’d have wanted to go too. And I love you too much to let you sacrifice yourself for them…”

He’s speaking of Starfleet. “Them” is said bitingly, and whatever doubt remains about whether he is who he says he is, goes. Her arms wrap around his waist and she hugs him tightly.

“Please stay,” she says. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me again.”

He squeezes her back, saying nothing at the moment, just holding her like this, feeling her warmth, her softness and her strength.

“Kiss me.”

She does, fingers snaking around his shoulders again, and he deepens it, wanting to be closer to her, closer than clothes will allow.

She knows.

Knows when he turns their bodies and backs her up to the bed, then lays her down on it to begin removing her shoes, her jacket, pants, shirt. Bra. Panties, everything, until her body is bare before him, and his eyes devour her, as he stands to take off his clothes.

She welcomes him into her embrace. They moan together as he enters her body, her legs and hips rise to meet him, arms wrap around his neck and back and pulling him down and in—closer.

Lips touch.

They’re both hungry for it.

Starved for it and each other.

No words are needed. Their bodies know this language.

This is their promise. The commitment to always find each other, no matter where in the galaxy they are.

“I love you,” she says. The words she should have said nine months ago.

.

.

“How did you know I would be here?” She asks afterwards, snuggled into his shoulder, fingers dancing across his abdomen.

He turns his head and lips graze her forehead.

“I sent for you. Kat made it happen for us.”

“You?”

At that, he feels her head lift and opens his eyes. Pretty brown ones look down at him.

“Yes.”

“Where have you been?”

“I’ve been…” Should he tell her? What he’s really been doing? Cleaning up the last of it—chasing the not-so-compliant Klingon ships out of Federation territory, simply destroying the ones that remain? Finishing up the dirty business of war?

“Section 31,” he says, seeing if she knows what that is.

Her eyes go wider. She does know. The daughter of a Federation ambassador would definitely know.

“I…didn’t think that was real.”

“Very real.” He says.

“The war decimated all our ranks. Section 31 was no exception. They needed a new leader. I’m not Captain anymore. Commodore.”

Michael mulls it over. “Rules are for admirals in back offices,” she says.

An eyebrow. “Huh?”

She smiles and kisses him on the lips. “You’ve said that, before.”

“I know I said that to Katrina at one point.”

“You said that to me, too.”

And he knows it’s something the other him must have said at some point.

Lorca smiles a moment too, then takes her hand in his, looking at her. She lays her head back down on his chest.

He weighs whether to ask her to join him. It’s the reason he called her here. Because this past year of separation, of allowing Michael to believe he was dead, and to just watch her from a distance has been worse than his time in the alternate universe. But now, seeing her, feeling her, he knows he can’t do it. Because while Lorca is a jaded man, somehow, Michael is still a believer. It is tempered now, by experience—but she still has her ideals. Her loyalty. He’s loyal too—but it’s not the same thing.

Katrina, bless her, has kept him informed of how Michael was faring. And he knows that at first—it was hard for them both. Hard for the admiral to watch Michael suffer her sadness in silence. And hard for Katrina to allow her stay that way.

“She feels like I did when I thought you were gone,” Trina told him late one night, over the comm system. They were sharing a drink – at opposite sides of the sector.

“I can’t blame her. Even now, sometimes…” she’d drifted off and he’d gone quiet, understanding. “So, I got the paperwork from the realtor,” she switched abruptly. “You should have it too. We can --”

But he’d stopped her.

“It’s your house, ‘Trina. What you always wanted and where you wanted it. I want you to have it, and enjoy it. You deserve it. Hell, you earned it for everything you put up with from me.”

It got a genuine grin. “You and Michael are welcome to visit, if we ever get to see what retirement looks like.”

They’d both laughed, and toasted to that one. In his new position, there was no such thing. And Katrina had been promoted to Vice Admiral. They’d basically been fooling themselves back then into thinking they’d ever give it up.

 “I wanted to ask you to join me, to come with me,” Lorca tells Michael. “But I know you will say no.”

She opens her mouth to speak, but he silences it with a kiss.

“Let me finish?”

She nods.

“Neither of us are the type to settle down. We both belong out here,” he gestures to the window. “We know that, right?”

“Yes.”

He snuggles her.

“It’s up to you, love. If you call me, I will come. I don’t care how far, no matter the circumstance. But I also don’t want you tied to me, or for you to feel like you’re trapped. This, what I do—it has consequences. It has sacrifices. But you’re not responsible for the choices I make.”

She shifts against him, a smooth leg rubbing against his as she contemplates it.

“I wonder if he ever found her,” she muses.

Lorca knows what she’s asking. About Gabriel. About Gabriel’s lost Michael. About where they are, what became of them. Whether they found each other. Found happiness. Found peace. Whether such a thing is even possible when life, and the after-life, are chaos.

“I don’t know,” he tells her, voice choked by the emotion that wells up inside them both, catching them off-guard. Michael buries her face in Lorca’s chest as he squeezes her tight, unable to bear the thought of having to let her go again, of the very real possibility that she’s not his, not meant for him to have, that he will lose her as Gabriel lost his Michael, of being alone. Dying alone.

All they have is today. For now, that will have to be enough.

                                                         -END-

[riyuyami]

I found another fanfic for you guys, looks like I made an attempt at a cliche coffee shop au.

It’s actually kinda cute, if I do say so myself.

But anyway, here, enjoy The Great House Coffee Shop!

--

“Mutou.”

You look up from the file you're editing, staring up at the cold stare of your boss. You tense for a moment but relax a second later when you realize that Kaiba isn't mad or anything, he just always has a cold look in his eyes. You've known him for years and it still catches you off-guard. “Yes, sir?”

“Isono is absent today due to an emergency at home, I need you to do the coffee run today.” Kaiba says, handing you a small slip of paper. Written on it are a bunch of different orders, looks like it's for him and the board of directors, the Big Five as they like to call themselves. “Do you know where we usually get our coffee?”

“Uhh... it's that little shop that's on this street, yes? Just a few buildings down?”

Kaiba gives you a nod. “Yes, get these orders for us. Here, use this to pay.” He gives you a few bills, more than enough for the coffee, you'll have change after you make the purchase. A little part of you wonders if you can keep it.

“Get yourself something to drink, or keep the change, I don't care.” Oh, that answers that then.

You nod, standing up. “Yes, sir. Shall I go now?” He gives you a nod in return, turning away to head back to his office. You watch the other walk off and you let out a little sigh.

Your name is Mutou Yugi, and you're an employee of Kaiba Corp. You work in game development and design, but sometimes you are a bit of a lackey for Kaiba when his right-hand man is too busy to do whatever minimal task that needs to be done.

So, yeah, like right now, you get stuck with doing these small things.

It’s not a bad thing, you don’t mind doing things for your boss/sorta-friend, mostly cause you’re usually just sitting at your desk, playing online games.

Pocketing the note and the money, you make your way to the elevator and go down to the lobby. You hope this won't take long, you're working on a new board game design and you really want to get back to drawing out the designs for it. But coffee must be bought, and if that means it's coming from out of the building, Kaiba is going into a meeting.

He drinks the usual office coffee when he's not going to be dealing with bullshit, just... one of those little quirks the brunet has. And since it's outside coffee, that means that this meeting will be full of bullshit, considering that it involves the Big Five.

Once you get to the lobby, you walk right out the front doors after giving the front desk lady a little wave, and you're out on the streets. It's mid-morning, just around ten, but it's still sort of busy. Quietly, you walk down the street, looking for the cafe that Isono usually goes to, a tiny part of you wish you had brought your music player with you, just to have as you walked.

“Ah crap...” You wince. You just found the shop, but it's closed. There's a sign on the inside of the door that has a cute message written in blue.

Sorry everyone! We're doing renovations on the inside, so no coffee for at least a month!

With a sigh, you think it might just be best to go to a Starbucks or something, but you know Kaiba won't like that... and also, the nearest Starbucks is about a ten-minute ride on your bike. Like hell you're gonna ride back to work while trying not to spill six or seven coffees!

Maybe... there was another café nearby?

You take out your phone, opening the maps app to check if there were. You see a few locations pop up, but the closest to you are this one and another one just around the corner, some place called Great House. Well, maybe you can get your orders from there. Pocketing your phone, you quickly walk to the end of the sidewalk, then round the corner.

Five buildings down, you come to a brick building, the first floor is obviously a shop, the other three look to be possible-apartments. The door to the café is painted a deep red, 'Great House' is written on the door in gold, but you take note to the hieroglyphics painted under it.

“Per-a’ah...” You read out loud, heh, you know that word, that's where the word 'pharaoh' came from! And it means 'Great House', so that might explain all of that.

Hm, guess this place has an Egyptian theme to it, you bet Grandpa would love that. Oh hell, who are you kidding, you love it too.

The large window, which took up a good portion of the first floor's front, looked into the café. You glance through the glass, seeing that there was no one else in there, or at least no customers, but the sign on the window said 'OPEN'. With a shrug, you step inside, hearing a bell ring overhead.

“I'll be right there!” Someone called out from somewhere in the shop.

You take a moment to glance around while you wait, seeing how the inside was decorated. The walls are painted a soft sandstone color, with the borders of the wall the same rich red as the door. The tables are cherry wood, as are the chairs. The walls have images framed on them, seems they really do have an ancient Egyptian theme to this place, since the images show scenes of everyday life from ancient Egypt and the Book of the Dead.

There are two shelves on two of the walls, covered in little Egyptian statues. You recognize them to be gods. There were plants scattered about for decorations, and a TV was sitting on a stand attached to the wall, it was playing some morning news show, but the sound was off, subtitles were on the screen.

As you look around, you hear a door open, turning your attention to the counter. A man came out from a door, leading to the back. The man walks to the counter and looks up at you, the two of you are a bit surprised to see one another.

He is lean, but muscular from what you can see with that tight, short sleeved black shirt he’s wearing. He appears to be, judging by the theme of this place, Egyptian, reminds you of your grandmother’s side of the family! 

What surprises you about him is his hair, it's a lot like your own! Except where yours is lighter blond in the bangs, and a plum and black mix for the choppy hair you have in the back, his hair is a darker blond in the front, which some of it branches up into the thick, frizzy crimson and black spikes he had in the back.

He stares at you with crimson eyes before he smiles. “Welcome to the Great House Coffee Shop!” He greats in that deep voice you heard moments before. “What can I do for you?”

“O-oh, uh...” You dig into your pocket, pulling out the list. You approach the counter, holding it out. “I would like to order these, please.”

The man reaches out, taking the list, looking it over. You stare at his chest, rather than at his eyes, noting the necklace he wore, reading the images on it. “Atemu?”

“Huh? How did...” The man blinks, before looking at his necklace. “Ah! Clever boy, you can read hieroglyphics?” He asks, looking excited.

You give a nod. “Yeah, my grandpa is an archaeologist, he taught me a few things. Your shop is very... Egyptian themed. I'm guessing you have an interest in it? Or that you are Egyptian yourself?”

“Both.” Atemu replies with a smirk. “My father is, my mother is Japanese, but I grew up in Egypt for most of my life, I love the... what is the word... aesthetic? Yes, the aesthetic of the ancient culture, I love the colors and designs. I thought, hey, why not express my love for it here in Domino while I serve people coffee and pastries, yes?”

You let out a small laugh at that and he chuckles. “Well, anyway, I can make these orders for you, though I suspect that none of them are for you.”

“They're for my boss and his board of directors, they have a meeting coming up and need coffee.”

“Oh?” He turned to start making the drinks. “And where do you work, young one?”

“Kaiba Corp, surprisingly. And please, call me Yugi, since I know your name now. That is your name, yes?”

Atemu gave a nod as he got a machine working. “Yes, Atemu is my name. And Yugi? That's your name?” You wince, thinking he was going to make fun of you for it like so many others have. “I love it! Such an unusual name, but I think it sounds great! Yugi... it is 'game', right? Sorry, my Japanese is not as perfect as my Arabic. Better than my English though, haha!”

You laugh a little as well. “You’re doing great, and yes, it means ‘game’. My grandfather owns a game shop and loves all sorts of them, as do I. I actually work as a game designer for Kaiba Corp!”

He looks over his shoulder at you, eyes wide. “T-that is amazing! To work for Kaiba Corp… heh, I doubt I could ever get a job at such a place, not with Kaiba running it.”

“Why is that? He’s actually not a bad guy.”

“Oh, I know, he and I just do not see eye to eye.” Atemu shrugs as he sets down one finished coffee.

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Have you met him before?”

“We’ve crossed paths, and have dueled.” Atemu replies as he sets down another cup. He turns and flashes you a curious smile. “Do you duel?”

“Uhh… duh! Hehe, I use to be the King of Games when I was in high school! But I’m retired, working on games is my calling, but it doesn’t stop me from still pulling out my deck and playing.” You smirk, patting your hip, where your deck box sits on your belt.

Atemu chuckles. “I will have to test your skills one day, oh King of Games.”

The two of you quietly chat while he prepares each of the six coffees, it’s mainly over the Egyptian statues and images on the walls. He’s impressed by your knowledge and though you feel rather embarrassed about it, you appreciate the compliments he gives you. “Alright, here is the last one.” He says as he sets down the final coffee before looking at you. “And what would you like, Yugi?”

You blink. “What?”

“I’m sure you would like a drink as well. What would you like? Or would you rather be surprised?”

You look at him, seeing that sweet smile on his face as he waits for your answer. You can’t help the smile that crosses your own face. “Surprise me.”

“Excellent!” He grins and turns to make you something. “I hope you do not mind a frappe, I’ve got something great in mind for you to enjoy!”

All you can do is nod as you get your money ready, though you do try to see what flavors he’s put in, but he won’t let you, he’s blocking your view, his back facing you. You pout a little, though… you have to admit, you don’t mind seeing his backside in those tight jeans he’s wearing…

“Here you go!” He announces and you suddenly snap back to reality, flushed in the face. He sets the drink down in front of you with a smile. “Try it?”

“Oh, uh…” You look at his cute face and pick up the cold drink, taking a sip. You taste… white chocolate, but there’s also a sudden kick to it! Oh, w-wait, you know this…! It’s a chili! He put a chili pepper flavoring to it! “How did you know I like sweet and spicy together?”

“I didn’t, I honestly just guessed. You said to surprise you and sweet and spicy is an excellent surprise.”

You laugh at this and take another drink, it’s actually pretty good, you like it! “How much do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house.” Atemu says. “Think of it as a… thank you gift of sorts, yes?”

You’re confused by that, but when you pay, he gives you your change and the money for the drink, telling you that it is a gift. You just nod your head and accept it. “Come again soon, Yugi!” He calls out, giving you a wave.

“Hehe, I will, see you later, Atemu.” You happily call back as you walk out the door, drink trays in hand. You’re flushed in the face when you catch a happy, pleased smile cross his lips when he winks at you before the door closes.

You walk back to work with the taste of white chocolate and chili pepper on your tongue.

TBC?

--

The cafe is sort of based on this one place I went to right before I moved from Germany, it had an Egyptian theme, the owners gave me a free Fanta, and it smelled like strawberries. I wonder if it still exists.

[shsummertimefest-blog]

Enjoy, @ohlafraise!

Sorry this ended up not being your OTP, but hopefully the fluff and bonus Malec makes up for it. Hope you enjoy, and happy summer!

“You do know you've only got ten minutes on that tank, Maia, dear?”

Maia raised her wrist, looking at the stopwatch on her wrist counting down the minutes since she'd started her dive. The timer was set to hit zero at the last possible moment where ascending was still safe. Her dive today wasn't that deep, so when the clock hit zero she'd have plenty of time to make it back to the surface, and the yacht where Magnus was waiting for her.

“I know,” she replied, voice transmitting over their radio connection. “I'll just get a few more pictures. There's this shipwreck that seems to be the Ritz for marine life.”

“Hey, no chances, Roberts.”

“I know, I promise.”

Really, there wasn't a better research partner she could ask for than Magnus. This project was their baby, Maia determined to look into the usual collection of marine life in the bay. The assortment of things that lived in the area didn't make any sense in the quantities in which they did - predators should have been making an impact on numbers. That  was what Maia was trying to do today: get the numbers.

Counting fish was about as hard as it sounded, too.

Magnus was more of a chemistry expert to Maia's marine biology, so they'd started the day by collecting samples - water, soil, rock, everything that might be useful. They would mostly go back to their lab, but when Maia had left the boat Magnus had started some field analysis on the water, since he wasn't diving. Someone had to stay with the boat, after all.

The very words ‘diving solo’ had drawn massive reluctance from Magnus, but Maia had been diving her whole life. Whilst some situations were better off with a partner, this wasn't even a deep dive, and Maia knew she'd be fine. The boat wasn't that far away. And, even if something did happen, it wouldn't take Magnus long to find her.

She'd be fine.

Moving forward into the chasm of the shipwreck, Maia slipped under the mast and down to where a collection of coral and molluscus seemed to have taken over the harsh surface for its own. Maia knew the wreck hadn't been here for long, but the growth and the way the ocean was effectively reclaiming the wreck was incredible. She wondered why no one had ever tried to recover it.

Not that it needed recovering now.

Raising her camera, Maia took a few more photos, searching around the exposed deck of the boat for anything interesting. It seemed as though most of what was there needed a lot more study - she could always swap her air tanks and then come back, give the place the attention it deserved.

Just as she was about to go, a dart of colour caught her eye, the flash of a fin that was far bigger than anything she'd seen all day. Maia frowned, moving forward. That was… unusual. She checked her watch. Seven minutes. It would take her a bit of time to prepare for another dive, and by then this unusual specimen could already be gone.

It wouldn't hurt to take a look. It shouldn't take that long.

Moving towards the open door, Maia slipped inside through the gloom, trying to see where something that big could have gone. There weren't many options, but the whole place felt like a maze. She barely knew which was was up, never mind which was to go.

There there it was again. A flash of red, just in the corner of her eye.

Moving forward, Maia found the increasingly small gap blocked by some old crates. Hanging her camera around her neck, she grabbed on with both hands and pushed. It was just a bunch of crates. It wasn't going to hurt anyone, right?

Carefully lifting the debris out of the way, she swam forward through the gap, squinting as the water seemed to get even darker. It was like swimming through soup, and Maia doubted she'd be able to see much more than her hand in front of her face down here, let alone a mysterious fish.

But the cracks in the hull let through a little light, which just allowed her to see the whip of red colliding with a rusted doorway as the whole ship trembled when the door slammed shut.

She paused for a moment, analysing. Everything seemed stable, just for a moment. And then the crates she'd moved to get inside all shifted and collapsed, colliding with her back.

Maia darted out of the way as best as she could, but something hit her tank, tangling up in her gear. She immediately reached over, checking the monitor.

She was leaking air. That probably wasn't good. Worse, the entrance she'd used was now far too narrow to fit through with all her gear. She'd never get through there. Maybe if she dropped everything she could squeeze it, but the thought of freediving all the way out of the wreck and to the surface sounded daunting, even for her.

“Magnus, something hit my tank,” she said quickly, aware she was wasting the precious little air she had. “I'm going to try and make it back to you, I'll see you soon.”

Before Magnus could reply, she flipped her radio off - she didn't need to hear him right now. She needed to conserve air and think. Maybe it wasn't as bad as she thought.

Moving forward to the door that had slammed shut, she tugged at it with her fingers, testing if it would move. It was heavy, but not stuck. She could prop it open a little, but the weight of it made it difficult to move, even in the water.

So, that was going to be… difficult.

Still, it was the only option she had, so she tugged. Hard. It felt like it took hours of effort to move it far enough to fit through, but then it seemed to move by itself, leaving her enough space to escape - into more black, confusing maze. Maia didn't even know if there was another way out. Were boats like this designed with a second exit, it was there maybe a hole in the side of the vessel somewhere?

Not that it mattered, because as she inhaled, she became vividly aware of how little air she had left. That wasn't going to work anymore, which meant her time to get out was limited. Holding her breath, she surged forward, crashing into a wall blindly.

Maybe there was no other way out. Maybe she'd trapped herself down here, maybe this was it. Curiosity killed the cat, and the marine biologist. Damn, Magnus was going to kill her. Hopefully he’d be able to publish their research anyway though.

Would she get a better grave from beyond the grave? Surely someone had to appreciate her sacrifice.

Just as the dizziness started to hit, she felt something grab her, pulling her to the side. Magnus must have managed to find her then. How he'd managed to get in, Maia had no idea but she guessed it didn't matter as long as they both got out.

But then something started to pull at her gear - her mask and her tank. That didn't make sense, did it? Or maybe it did. Maybe Magnus had a spare line from his. She was too delirious to care. The water hit her face in a rush, but it didn't make much difference to how she felt.

Actually, it did, when she managed to inhale a lungful of salt water.

Before she could do much more, something soft and warm pressed against her lips. That… definitely didn't make sense, her brain said. The spare lines were hard, cold plastic breathers. This was… warm and affectionate, and there were hands slipping around her back, where the tank used to be, camera getting crushed in the middle.

After a moment, water reached her mouth again, and Maia squinted through the gloom, opening her eyes. What she saw made her sure the salt water had made her hallucinate. Because there was a very pretty girl, with toned skin and dark hair, pulling her forward.

She was also very naked. And very sexy. And Maia was very turned on right now, which wasn't really appropriate since she was in the middle of drowning thank you very much and -

Wait. Drowning. She was breathing again. But she was breathing water.

Maybe she'd hit her head too. That sounded more likely. Especially when a glint of red caught the light, and Maia looked down.

Oh. She'd been kissing a mermaid. Of course. How silly of her to think there was anything else going on, like spare tanks and Magnus coming to save her.

Well, at least she'd have one hell of a story to tell Luke when she got home. They could laugh about it over his wife's Chicken Cacciatore, she was sure.

Before she could question anything too much, strong arms were pulling her away, what seemed like deeper into the belly of the beast. There was very little Maia could do about it though, and she was far too confused to protest anyway.

But then, slowly, the gloom seemed to get lighter. Maia looked back at the ship was far behind her, the mermaid swimming along at a pace Maia could only dream of. She wondered how far she would get without the dead weight dragging her down.

Then, all at once, they surfaced, Maia gasping in fresh air, trying not to choke. There was still a little water in her lungs, which promptly came spewing out as she rolled across the rocky surface she'd landed on, salt water pouring out of her.

She was alive. Well, there was a surprise.

Gentle hands moved across her shoulder, and Maia started a little in surprise before eventually looking to the side. And there she was, the mermaid in all her glory. Waves of dark hair rolled down her body, water running off her in a way that Maia absolutely wasn’t tracking with her eyes. The girl still wasn’t wearing a shirt. And she still had a tail. A beautiful, scarlet red one. Which was fine and all, but Maia guessed the fact she could feel the mermaid touching her meant this probably wasn’t a hallucination.

Probably. Which meant she definitely needed to feel a lot worse about being so attracted to her.

“Are you okay?” the mermaid asked, concern evident in her voice. Maia blinked. She spoke English. Well that was… good? The scientist in her was utterly fascinated by the fact. Did mermaids sit and listen to people on the shore to learn language? Had their societies somehow developed along the same path? Surely if there was some sort of great mermaid society they'd have their own customs and languages? It would seem nearly impossible for -

“Hello? Oh, angel, are you really hurt? What can I do to -”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine,” Maia eventually replied, cutting in. She was aware she'd been gawking. But… she'd been rescued by an honest to god mermaid. She was allowed to stare… right?

Although it was probably still a rude gesture, the mermaid didn't seem too bothered. In fact, now that Maia bothered to pay attention to the woman herself, she seemed to be doing quite a bit of staring too.

Not that Maia knew what there was to stare at. Other than the fact her hair was probably a total mess from the water.

“Oh, good,” she replied brightly. “I'm Isabelle.”

She had a name. Maia did her best not to choke. Isabelle. Well, at least she could put a name to the thing that was going to be plaguing all her dreams and fantasies for the next few weeks.

“Maia,” she replied after a long moment, and the mermaid smiled even more widely. Maia hadn't realised that was possible.

“I'm so sorry for what happened down there. I saw you following me and my brother's always telling me about avoiding humans, but then my tail caught the ship and -”

“Wait, that was you?” Maia exclaimed. She'd been chasing a mermaid. Of course, she'd been chasing a mermaid. Come to think of it, mermaids might explain her entire research paper away. She'd love to see what the board said about that.

Isabelle nodded, pushing herself a little further up onto the rocky shore they'd landed on. Maia looked around. It was discrete, not somewhere she recognised, but probably not that far out from the harbour. The cliffs and rocks made it nearly inaccessible around here. They'd be left well alone, no doubt what the mermaid was going for.

Maia would be worried about being eaten alive if she hasn't just been rescued from certain doom. If Isabelle was one of those vicious mermaids, surely she wouldn't have wasted the time and energy bringing her here.

Plus Isabelle had started playing with her hair. Maia swore her chest was going to explode. Sure, it had been a long time since she'd had a date, but this was out of hand. And out of the question. What kind of relationship was she picturing here? One where she put her girlfriend in a tank and wheeled her around the city? Hardly.

Isabelle nodded, still gently untangling some of the knots from Maia’s damp hair. “I thought you knew.”

“No… no. I thought you were a fish,” Maia said deliriously. Isabelle looked up, arching an eyebrow. “Not that you are! You're much prettier than a fish. Not that fish aren't pretty but…” Maia resisted the urge to punch herself as Isabelle giggled.

“You're pretty too, Maia,” she said sincerely, eyes flicking down to her lips. “I very much liked kissing you.”

Maia swallowed. Oh, God, what was she getting herself into? More to the point, why didn't she care what she was getting into?

“That was… incredible,” Maia agreed.

“The kiss of a mermaid is a gift. It stops you silly humans from drowning,” Isabelle murmured softly.

“Have you… kissed many people?” Maia asked, holding her breath, barely aware that she was leaning closer. Isabelle shook her head.

“No. Just you,” she replied, voice low. “You're not like anyone else I've met.”

“I've never met a mermaid before,” Maia replied, and Isabelle smiled.

“No, I don't suppose you have,” Isabelle agreed. Her hand stopped toying with Maia's hair, instead tucking it behind her ear carefully. “I'd very much like to kiss you again.”

Maia nodded slowly. “I'd like that too.”

It seemed that Isabelle didn't believe in wasting time as she leaned in, using her gently grip on Maia's neck to pull her closer. And then she was kissing a mermaid, as well as the prettiest girl Maia had ever seen. The pulse raced, and Maia leaned in, falling into the kiss as Isabelle's lips moved expertly against her own.

It had been a while since Maia's last date, but she swore she'd never been kissed like this before.

“Maia!”

They jumped apart with a start, Isabelle immediately moving to try and get back in the water, but Maia moved faster, grasping her wrist gently. Isabelle was so strong that Maia doubted she could keep her from doing anything, but the mermaid hesitated regardless.

Maia looked over, seeing the figure swimming through the waves, and sighed with relief.

“It's okay. It's my partner,” Maia told Isabelle briefly. Isabelle frowned, and Maia realised her mistake. “Research partner. We work together.”

The concern on Isabelle's face cleared, but still she inched a little closer to the tide, the edge of her fin dipping into the waves. She was nervous. Maia wondered how many humans she had met. From what she'd said about her brother, Maia doubted this was even allowed.

Magnus reached the shore easily, carefully picking his way along the rocks, his attention entirely focused on Maia it seemed. He certainly didn't make any indication he'd seen Isabelle, and Maia could help but wonder if she maybe was delusional.

“Maia, I was so worried. I was starting to make a dive then I saw that the tracker signal from your comm had moved. Which, by the way, you definitely should have kept on, I've been trying to get you for ages. What hap -” Magnus cut himself off and came to an abrupt halt, finally noticing Isabelle, who it seemed was trying to slip away into the water unnoticed. “Is that a mermaid?”

Well, if Magnus could see her too she probably wasn't crazy.

“Magnus, this is Isabelle. She… rescued me.” Maia said briefly, shooting him a look. She'd explain later. Magnus opened his mouth and then sighed, seemingly getting the message. So instead he smiled, taking a seat on the rock at Maia's side.

“Thank you for your efforts, Isabelle. It's lovely to meet you.”

Isabelle seemed a little startled, but eventually she smiled.

“It's nice to meet you too.”

If Magnus was as surprised as Maia was, he did a much better job of hiding it.

“I should really go. My brother will be looking for me,” Isabelle continued on, fully immersing herself into the water, arms resting on the edge of the shore. Maia felt a jolt of panic at the thought of losing this beautiful creature forever.

“How will I find you again?” she blurted out, and Isabelle looked at her in surprise. She seemed to think about it for a moment

“There's a little cove, just along from the harbour. Can you be there at sunset tomorrow?” Maia nodded, trying not to give away her eagerness. “Then I'll meet you there.”

“Okay,” Maia replied softly, a smile on her lips. Isabelle returned the smile, moving just a little closer, lost in each other's eyes. Then there was a large splash nearby, and a voice like thunder.

“Izzy! What the hell is going on?”

“Oh, angel,” Isabelle breathed, before turning around. “Alec! I was just coming to find you.”

“You're talking to humans now? After everything you -”

“I would be too hard on her. She saved my friend here,” Magnus cut in. “I'd be awfully grateful too if someone carried out such a daring rescue for me.” As he spoke, he had his eyes fixed on this new mermaid - Alec, was it? Maia frowned a little, eyes darting between Magnus and Alec. Alec who seemed to be… was he stuttering?

“Izzy,” Alec hissed, refocusing his attention. “You know the humans are bad news.”

“I'd love to prove you wrong,” Magnus murmured, and she could see Alec trying to stay focused.

“Come on. Let's go,” he insisted before diving underneath the waves. Isabelle turned back to them, looking apologetic.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured, and Maia shook her head.

“Don't worry about it,” Maia promised her. “I'll see you tomorrow?” Isabelle nodded, and smiled.

“Bring your brother, will you? I'm sure I can keep him distracted,” Magnus offered, and Isabelle laughed a little.

“You can try. Goodbye,” she said softly, before disappearing under the waves.

With that, Magnus collapsed back on the rocks, sighing dramatically. “I think I'm in love,” he said. Maia smiled. Usually she would have rolled her eyes and told him to stop being dramatic, but instead, she lay back beside him.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Maybe the trip hadn't entirely gone to plan, but Maia couldn't help but feel she'd won something better out of it all.

Just as long as she never had to explain to anyone how she was dating a mermaid, it was all going to be just fine.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Once Upon A Time in a Shattered Mind Ch. 35

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 pt. 1 & pt. 2 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 pt. 1 & pt. 2 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19  | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34                 

AO3 Link

Clint lumbered into the station, his head thick with thoughts and visions. Early streaks of sunlight peeked in through the windows and lit Clint’s path.

In his mind’s eye he could see himself still running through the woods, chasing that hawk.

He’d found it; he’d found the hawk, but just as soon as he had, the bird disappeared again. It left behind more visions though.

This time the visions weren’t of him hunting, some couple (Dottie and Ivan), or of Wanda.

It was of Bucky. A far more disheveled and prone to violence Bucky, but Bucky nonetheless.

As the visions had faded memories of Natasha seated at her desk in the station as she read through pages of a book she claimed Bucky was working on consumed his mind. Like a zombie, Clint had ventured out of the woods and went to the station.

Clint looked at Natasha’s immaculate desk for a moment then went to his own. He pulled out a ring of keys from his drawer and produced the one that would grant him access to Natasha’s drawer. He slid the key into place and unlocked her desk.

Bucky’s drawings sprawled across the top of the drawer.

Natasha tapped her fingers on the pile of pages from Bucky’s book that were strewn about her desk. She inwardly cursed. Her theory as to who was responsible for the disarray on her desk was confirmed when she noticed that all of the pictures of Clint were missing.

“Our taxes always hard at work, I see.”

Speak of the devil. Natasha shuffled the pages together in a stack. “Clint isn’t here. I assumed he was with you.”

A pleased smile came over Wanda’s face. “Oh, so you’re aware of us? Good – that’s why I’m here. Because I’m also aware of your relationship with him.”

Natasha snorted. “You mean as coworkers?”

“Oh? So, nothing’s ever happened between the two of you?”

“Nothing romantic.”

“Well, of course not. Because you’re incapable of feeling anything for anyone. There’s a reason you’re alone, isn’t there?”

Natasha had always told herself she would never hit someone over something as ridiculous as a love triangle, but Wanda’s comment hit so far beneath the belt, Natasha was almost willing to make an exception. Besides, it wasn’t so much about Clint anyway. It was about Wanda treating Natasha and everyone in Storybrooke like they were worms under her heel. That last remark was just one reason among many for why Natasha wanted to deck Wanda.  “All due respect, the way I live my life is my business.”

“It is until it infringes on my life.” Wanda approached Natasha. Her heels clicked as she strolled closer.  “Stay away from Clint,” she warned in a eerily calm and reasonable voice. “You may think you’re doing nothing, but you’re putting thoughts in his head. Thoughts that are not in his best interest. You are leading him on a path to self-destruction.” Wanda glanced over Natasha’s figure then slowly pivoted.

She sauntered to the exit. “Stay away.”

Natasha almost said something as Wanda left but stopped herself. Her instinct was to argue against Wanda; however, her insecurities compelled her to mull over and reassess the situation.

How Wanda could possibly think Natasha was responsible for anything awry with Clint was beyond her comprehension.

She wasn’t responsible.

Even so, she couldn’t erase the gnawing concern for Clint in her gut.

The shop bell rang and Bucky looked up from a comic book he’d been reading. His shop was open but there was still an hour before anyone would show up. Admittedly, since Natasha had arrived, people weren’t as set in their schedules, and Bucky found that the change had caused fewer people to show up at his shop, not more.

A pale and sweaty Clint stood in the middle of Bucky’s shop. Tucked under his arms were pages from the book Bucky had been crafting for Natasha.

Bucky tensed. He wasn’t sure if he was actually dealing with Clint or a trap from Wanda.

Bucky pulled out a chair from behind his desk. “Take a seat, sheriff. You look like a ghost.”

“I think we, uh… I think we know each other.”

Bucky quirked a brow. “Really?” he responded sarcastically.

Clint shook his head. “Not from Storybrooke.”

Bucky cocked his head, intrigued but cautious. “From where, then?”

Clint paced in front of Bucky’s desk. He hugged Bucky’s pages to his chest. “How long have we known each other?”

“A while.”

“Do you remember when we met?”

“Not in Storybrooke.”

Clint’s eyes widened. He slapped the pages down on the counter. “Do you believe in other lives? Like past lives?”

“I believe in other realities,” Bucky stated.

Clint spread the pages across Bucky’s desk and pointed to a picture of Tony helping Clint walk. “I’ve been seeing things, recently. Things that look a hell of a lot like what shows up in many of these drawings and stories. And don’t say I’m high or drunk or whatever excuse comes to mind. Even if I was, it doesn’t explain how I recognize so many of these things, and not only that, but,” Clint held up the drawing of Clint aiming an arrow at Tony, “I also know that this story doesn’t just end here, but with the Huntsman or whatever you want to call him, getting his heart ripped out by the Evil Queen.”

Realization drenched Bucky like a tidal wave. “The queen has your heart?” After he had learned of Clint and Tony’s last interaction, he’d only had negative thoughts regarding Clint. He hadn’t considered just how unwilling Clint’s relationship with Wanda might be.

Clint’s hand flew to his chest, resting right where his heart should be. “I- I think…”

Maybe this was all some elaborate ploy by Wanda, Bucky didn’t care. Clint was the first person besides himself who showed any signs of remembering their former lives. He was going to help Clint. “When did your visions begin?”

Clint startled.”Uh...I guess when I grabbed Natasha’s hand last night.”

Bucky frowned. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky huffed. “Okay. Not what I thought would be a trigger, but not like I’m the one making up these stories, am I?”

“So, you really think that I could be another person?” Hope and desperation coated Clint’s voice.

“Makes sense to me, but keep in mind, according to this...” Bucky held up a picture of himself when he was in Wonderland. The image was entirely unflattering and designed to show him as unhinged as he sewed hat after hat. “...I may not be the person you want to base your sanity on.”

Clint went quiet and stared at the pages again. He gently moved them around, his fingertips grazing the images and sentences. His finger stopped on a page of Wanda within her castle.

Clint pointed to a symbol carved above a doorway in the background. “What’s that? I think I’ve seen it before.”

Bucky shook his head. “No idea. I just remember seeing it when she dragged me to her dungeon.”

Clint stared at the symbol. He bit his bottom lip. “I already sound crazy, so I’m just going to say it: the hawk wants me to find wherever this symbol is in town. Wherever it is, that’s where my heart is going to be.”

Bucky considered this information and how to best proceed.

He wanted to help Clint, but the man was also extremely close to Wanda. If she hadn’t already, she was sure to catch on to what was happening with Clint. He wasn’t sure what Wanda could do in this non-magical world, but he knew she was just as cunning and vicious as ever. He needed to be cautious and watchful.

He couldn’t join Clint on his search. At least not directly.

“Then I say you better get out of there and start looking,” Bucky said.

“Hey,” Natasha called to Clint the moment he stepped outside of Bucky’s shop.

Clint was startled by Natasha’s voice, but not surprised that she had hunted him down. The woman had made a living tracking down people, and Clint hadn’t been hiding his trail.

Natasha strolled up to Clint, feigning casualness. “I hear you’re having a rough day.”

Clint ducked his head and marched down the road. “I’m fine.”

Natasha kept pace with Clint, her heels clicking in time with his footsteps. “You stole pages of an uncomplete book from my desk; that doesn’t seem fine to me. What’s really going on?”

“I need to find my heart.”

Natasha gave an incredulous look. “Okay,” she said slowly. “So, how are you going to do that?”

“I just need to follow the hawk.”

“Hawk? What hawk?” Natasha shook her head.  “I thought we were talking in a metaphor here. You really think you don’t have a heart?”

“It’s the only thing that makes any sense. It explains why until recently I felt so numb. Why every emotion felt so distant.”

Natasha stepped in front of Clint, her hand landing squarely on Clint’s chest.

Clint’s heart thumped.

Natasha momentarily gripped the fabric of Clint’s shirt then released it. “See? It’s beating. It’s real.”

Clint shook his head. “No. It’s fake.”

“Clint, you’re being-” Natasha cut herself off and stared at something behind Clint.

Clint turned around.

Perched on a lamppost behind them was his hawk.

Clint ran through the graveyard, his hawk flying low overhead.

“I swear if we end up in an empty grave,” Natasha grumbled.

“He’s not going to kill us. He’s my friend.”

The hawk picked up its pace and zoomed toward a crypt nestled in the center of the graveyard. The hawk landed on the roof and squawked. Carved into the tip of the crypt’s arch was the symbol Clint had seen on the page. “It’s in there.”

“You really think that your heart is in there?” Natasha didn’t bother to hide the dubiousness in her tone.

Clint didn’t care if Natasha didn’t believe him. He felt in in his bones; his heart was in there.

Natasha shook her head. “Okay. Fine. Let’s go in.” Natasha grabbed the door handle and tugged, but the crypt remained sealed.

Natasha frowned. She tugged again, but when the doors remained steadfastly shut, she took a step back then slammed her foot into the door.

The door flung open, and Natasha gestured Clint inside.

Clint smiled at Natasha. “My hero.” He darted into the crypt. The interior was pitch black, making it impossible to see anything. He pulled out his flashlight.

Clint didn’t get far. A sarcophagus took up most of the space in the crypt, forcing Clint to remain close to the walls.

“It’s got to be in here. Somewhere.” Clint shuffled down the wall toward one of the shelves holding urns. “There’s got to be a hidden door. A lever.” He picked up an urn. “Something.”

Natasha briefly scanned the room. Her lips pursed. “There’s nothing here.”

Something cold and coiling wrapped around Clint’s insides. “There has to be. If there isn’t, then-”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Wanda shouted from outside the crypt.

Clint flinched.

Natasha tensed. She glanced at Clint. There was a brief moment of worry in her gaze, then suddenly it hardened. She pushed her shoulders back and marched out of the crypt.

Clint followed behind.

“What are you doing here?” Natasha demanded to know.

Wanda looked indignant, which was actually a mild reaction, considering the situation.”Bringing flowers to my brother’s grave like I do every Wednesday.”

Mild or not, Clint could tell that Wanda was seething. He didn’t want Natasha getting in more trouble with Wanda because of him. It was bad enough that the two butted heads on a daily basis over how things should be run in the town. Adding his messed up drama to their issues was not needed. “Don’t blame her. It’s my fault. I wanted to look in there.”

Wanda’s face went from pinched anger to concern. “Why? What were you looking for?”

Clint’s head was pounding. He felt sick. “Nothing.”

“You don’t look well, dear. Let’s take you home.” Wanda reached out to take Clint’s arm.

Clint jerked away from her touch.  “I don’t want to go home. Not with you.”

“Oh?” The restrained anger was back in Wanda’s voice. “But you’ll go with her?”

Natasha took a deep breath and held her hands up in a manner that signaled no harm intended. “This is between you two – leave me out of it.”

“She’s right,” Clint said. “It’s between us. And things have to change.”

“And I wonder why that is all of a sudden.” Wanda looked pointedly at Natasha.

A surge of protectiveness raced through Clint and he stepped in front of Natasha. “It has nothing to do with her. You know, I’ve realized that I don’t feel anything, Wanda. And I know now it’s not me – it’s you.”

“You’re not thinking straight,” Wanda stated.

“Actually, for the first time, I am. I’d rather have nothing than settle for less. Nothing? Is better than this.” Clint gestured between himself and Wanda.

“Clint-”

“Sorry,” Clint cut Wanda off. “It’s over.”

Wanda gaped for a moment before turning on Natasha. “I don’t know what I ever did to you, Ms. Romanoff, to deserve this. To have you keep coming after me like I’m some villain.”

“I’m sorry. Did you ever stop to think that maybe the problem isn’t with me, but with you?” Natasha stepped out from behind Clint.

Wanda reared back in shock. “Excuse me?”

“The people of Storybrooke not liking you? Having no confidence in you? Clint being miserable and unhappy with you? That all existed before I was here. Maybe, Madam Mayor, you need to take a good hard look in the mirror and ask yourself why that is. Why is it people run from you?”

Wanda punched Natasha.

Clint let out a cry of shock. One moment Natasha was standing next to him, the next she launched herself at Wanda. No other punched had been thrown yet, but they grappled.

Clint moved to pull the ladies apart, as Natasha shoved Wanda away.

Natasha pushed her hair behind her ear and huffed. “Not worth it.”

Natasha stomped off.

Clint stared at Natasha’s retreating form in complete awe at the magnificence that was Natasha Romanoff.

“Clint,” Wanda said.

Wanda’s voice snapped Clint out of his reverie.

He sent Wanda one last piteous look and followed Natasha.

Natasha muttered to herself as she marched down the road to her car. She yanked open the door of the yellow Volkswagen and plopped herself down in the driver’s chair. She reached across the seat to open the glove compartment where she kept a spare first aid kit.

She touched right under her left eye where she felt a cut as well as a forming bruise.

“Need some help with that?” Clint appeared in front of her.

Natasha held up the first aid kit. “Assistance would be appreciated.” She winced. “As well as an ice pack.”

Clint chuckled as he took the kit. “We can stop by the store for some ice later. Let’s take care of that cut though.” Clint pulled out a wipe to clean the cut. “Sorry about today. I don’t know what came over me. I kind of lost my mind.”

“You were tired and feverish.”

Clint frowned. “I just honestly don’t know why I ever let myself get caught up in her. I mean, I felt nothing for her. Nothing. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Natasha grunted. “Not feeling anything’s an attractive option when what you feel sucks.”

Clint pressed the wipe to Natasha’s forehead.

Natasha flinched at the burning sensation. “Like that.”

Wanda was furious.

It wasn’t even that she particularly cared for or fancied Barton, he was hers though. Everything in this world was supposed to be hers. She was supposed to be happy here, yet since Natasha Romanoff had shown up more of the townsfolk showed disdain for her or questioned her as Mayor.  

Natasha Romanoff was taking everything that she had worked so hard for from her.

If Wanda couldn’t have happiness, then she certainly wouldn’t let Natasha have it either.

Darkness shrouded the the inside of the crypt as Wanda entered. Wanda lay her hand on top of the sarcophagus. Her fingers just touched the edge of the nameplate.

The name of her beloved brother on the sarcophagus gave her encouragement. She hadn’t sacrificed the person she loved most to end up in a world where she was unhappy.

Wanda braced her palms against the side of the sarcophagus and pushed.

The sarcophagus gave way to reveal a staircase beneath it.

Wanda strolled down the stairs into her vault. Storybrooke was in a land without magic; however, Wanda had learned long ago that many of the items in her vault still retained a number of their magical properties. For example, the hearts she had stolen over the years still worked as they did in her home land.

She could whisper into the hearts and control their owners, or she could crush them and end their owners’ lives.

Clint had already proven he couldn’t obey even with his heart in her possession, which meant there was only one thing Wanda could do.

Wanda reached the wall of her vault where she kept her drawers of hearts. She recognized the drawer she needed in an instant and touched it lightly. The drawer slid open, revealing a chest. She flipped open the chest’s lid and reached inside to pull out a glowing, red heart.

Clint finished putting the plaster on Natasha’s cheek. “All better.”

Natasha eyed Clint. “Yeah.”

The assessing look Natasha was giving Clint confused him. “Something wrong?”

Wanda yelped as she was grabbed by the back of the head and her face was smashed against the wall of her vault.

Wanda slumped down to the ground and dropped the heart in her hand.

Bucky eyed Wanda warily then toed at her unconscious form. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t derived some pleasure from knocking the former queen unconscious.

A voice whispered to him that Wanda was defenseless and that ending her might be the only way to ensure that Bucky ever saw Tony again. Bucky shoved that voice down and willed himself to have faith in Dottie’s prophecy.

He had tailed Clint in order to stop Wanda if she interfered with Clint’s search for his heart.

Bucky crouched and picked up the heart from the floor. He stared at it, not quite comprehending what he was holding, then stood. He’d have to find some place to keep Clint’s heart safe.

Bucky gave Wanda one last look then hurried out of the vault and crypt.

Natasha cupped Clint’s cheek.

Clint reached up and squeezed her hand. “Natasha?”

Natasha leaned forward, her lips lightly touching Clint’s.

Lightning slammed into Clint as memories flooded his head.

A force rammed into Bucky, causing him to lose his footing.

Bucky looked around for the source of the force, but saw nothing.

Bucky frowned and cradled Clint’s heart closer.

Steve shuddered as he felt a powerful energy blasting through the air.

Everyone in Dottie’s diner stiffened in place, their eyes glazing over as memories of their former lives returned to them.

Steve looked across the table at Peggy, who stared at him with wide eyes of shock and horror.

“Peggy-”

Peggy slapped Steve.

Bucky had made it to main street where it seemed everyone was running around like chickens with their heads chopped off.

Bucky reached out to stop someone to inquire into what was going on when something caught his eye in the distance.

Storybrooke was a seaport town. Bucky had never spent much time near the waters, though, due to memories and the ache they caused in his chest. However, depending on where one was in town, one could still see the water from afar, so Bucky wasn’t a stranger to the sight of the sea. He also knew that there were only a handful of boats that sailed the waters outside of Storybrooke, and none of them looked like the ship that was sailing into port.

He did recognize the ship though.

Bucky would recognize the Jolly Roger anywhere.

[recentanimenews]

The Real Life “URAHARA” – Take a Trip Around The Hidden Harajuku [Part 1]

Harajuku is in great danger. The trendy district is under attack by Scoopers, mysterious extraterrestrial invaders trying to steal humanity’s culture and creativity. But three high school girls running a temporary fashion store won’t abandon their beloved Harajuku so easily, and with the help of magical orbs and the guidance of a talking alien shrimp tempura, the girls band together to protect the stylish district.

That sort of over-the-top and quirky story, paired together with URAHARA’s colorful and bright aesthetic, describes Harajuku as a place quite well. The show's setting in real life is essentially a giant melting pot where youth culture, kawaii, and chic fashion all come together, making it the hub for Japan’s fashion-forward youth. Harajuku is jam-packed with hip fashion boutiques, neat cafés, and one crêpe store after the next. You won’t be able to take more than a couple of steps along the bustling Takeshita Street without seeing somebody enjoying one of those delicious looking avant-garde pancakes. All of these things naturally make an appearance in the URAHARA anime, and as you can surely imagine, most of the show’s locations also exist in real life. So, let’s take a look at those and see how they stack up against each other! 

      URAHARA starts off with a shot of the iconic Takeshita Street entrance gate, located near Harajuku Station. Takeshita Street is the heart of all things popular and stylish, and probably the first spot that comes to mind when thinking about Harajuku. The narrow 400m long pedestrian road is crowded with cheap and eccentric boutiques, crêperies, and fast food restaurants geared towards teenagers. And do you notice the banner hanging below the screen? The whole Takeshita Street has been decked out with URAHARA banners and posters, and has been blasting the anime’s opening and ending theme on repeat, which really made me feel that eccentric Harajuku vibe. 

    It would seem obvious that the popular Takeshita Street is also the place where all the action happens in URAHARA, but that’s actually not the case, which even gets indicated by the anime’s title.

    URAHARA is basically short for Ura-Harajuku, which literally translates into “behind Harajuku”, or as the anime itself explains it, “hidden Harajuku”. Ura-Harajuku can be roughly narrowed down to the area between Takeshita Street and Omotesando, meaning all of the lesser frequented back alleys hidden between those two major shopping streets. Ura-Harajuku is home to a great number of smaller independent boutiques and designers, many of which are quite hidden and tucked away off the beaten path. It’s also here, in a side alley of Takeshita Street, where you’ll find the PARK store. And as if it weren’t already obvious by the familiar anime faces looking out of the store window, this is the very same shop where our three heroines work in the anime. Rito, Kotoko, and Mari are actually PARK’s original mascot characters in real life, and have all been designed by illustrator Mugi Tanaka just for the shop. 

    PARK’s theme is “Fashion × Otaku × Creation," which becomes evident immediately when you enter the store. The shop is jam-packed with the latest and trendiest anime haute couture, ranging from Love Live! Sunshine!! T-shirts to Kemono Friends bags to the full outfit worn by Sagiri from Eromanga Sensei, including her mask! Karl Lagerfeld could surely gather a few ideas for his new collection here. PARK’s staff was also incredibly friendly and helpful, and even helped me out with a location I couldn’t find, which you’ll find out more about in my next article about URAHARA.  

    And is that a Crunchyroll-Hime shirt I see hanging on the wall in PARK?! It seems like Hime is finally getting acknowledged as the fashion icon and trendsetter she is. URAHARA is loosely based off an illustrated web novel written by Crunchyroll’s own Patrick Macias, and is a production collaboration between Crunchyroll and Chinese video sharing website Bilibili. 

    While the outside looks identical, the inside of the store in the anime and real life look nothing alike. 

    The large department store to the left is the LaForet Harajuku, which contains numerous small boutiques and shops geared mainly towards young women. 

    And just across from the LAForet is the fairly new Tokyu Plaza Omotesando. The fashion theme park houses a couple of well-known brands, and stands out due to a fascinating wall-of-mirrors entrance and a weirdly designed public park on its roof. The tree-lined avenue you can see here is the Omotesando, which often gets referred to as Tokyo's Champs-Elysees, and is mainly lined by numerous international brand fashion stores and high class boutiques. 

    Shown on the giant screen in the anime here is Asakusa’s famous Kaminarimon, whereas in the anime it was showing a commercial for a local zoo. 

    The street is leading straight to Yoyogi Park and the famous Meiji Shrine, which is also where the Scoopers are heading. 

    Brook’s café got turned into Bboqk’s café in the anime. 

    Although most of URAHARA’s backgrounds are quite loose and rough with lots of wobbly lines, it’s still possible to identify the corresponding real life location. This obviously made them a bit harder to find for me, but it was a lot of fun to snoop around the many back alleys of Harajuku. 

    While the weather could’ve been better that day, I’m ultimately just happy that there weren’t any actual giant baby bottles raining from the sky. 

    This little plaza with the fountain in the middle is located near the PARK store in another back alley of Harajuku. I was amazed by how much emptier and less frequented these back streets were compared to the nearby Takeshita Street.  

    The mysterious Misa with her talking alien shrimp tempura scarf definitely has a certain je ne sais quoi about her.

    I’ve been to Takeshita Street and Omotesando countless times before, but never really ventured past those main shopping areas. So I really appreciate that URAHARA actually made me check out parts of Harajuku I’ve never really been to before. Watch out for the next installment of Anime vs. Real Life on URAHARA soon, and find out if the creepy bunny statue from episode two actually exists in real life.

    Have you ever explored the real Urahara in Harajuku? And what are your impressions of URAHARA so far? Sound off in the comments below!

---

You can follow Wilhelm on Twitter @Surwill.

By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com

[mirroredvalue-blog]

Jan. 23rd, writing

Selothsi’s dock was still packed with people and noise, even in the darkest hours of the night. Ships were locked in their ports, but their sailors still drank and cheered and chattered, keeping the city alive for all hours. Merchant stalls were still occupied, their owners wearing different faces than the ones during the day, but they still peddled the same wares. Tavern doors hung wide open, candlelight illuminating their walls and tables, and the patrons drunk as could be, telling tales of their travels and the fortunes they were making.

Yaves looked out at the city from the balcony of his rented room. The Pirici were truly a living people, never relenting in the spirit of life, and they seemingly never slept. Even with the windows tightly closed and a pillow over his head, Yaves couldn’t block out the noise, not from the crowds outside or the other patrons of the inn playing card games in the lobby. The bed was soft, almost like sleeping on a pile of feathers, and the room was plenty warm, and all Yaves wanted to do was sleep.

In Northhold, the cold was the element usually keeping him awake, but it was always silent in the dead of night. Crowds were always rare, even with the city’s large population, and merchants never shouted what they were selling. The only noise Yaves ever heard while he tried to sleep was the roaring of a fire, which usually relaxed him and helped him move past the cold to the sweet embrace of sleep. Even during the month’s journey across the ocean to the Western Isles, the creaking of the ship’s wood and the water outside helped lull Yaves into a slumber, and it was even warm most of the time, which gave him some of the best sleep of his life. His adventuring lifestyle had been off to an excellent start, he had thought.

Selothsi was the first time he felt out of his element. Northhold’s dock was rarely so crowded, and the only ships that docked were usually ones flying Imperial banners and delivering food and supplies, and the ships often didn’t stay the night. In Selothsi, the dock was nearly four times the size, and ships docked in the early morning hours from when he had arrived were still docked in the night, their crews still on the deck and still awake.

Yaves sighed. If he couldn’t get any sleep, then he might as well had joined the other people who weren’t sleeping. He climbed back in through his window and dressed himself back into his plain white cotton shirt, his straw trousers, and secured his steel longsword’s scabbard to his belt. After tightening his boots, he stepped out of his room, and retraced his path through the long hallway and back to the spiral staircase. At the bottom, he was greeted by the innkeeper, a fairly large old woman that wore a smile that seemed permanently fixed to her face. The large dinner table in the lobby was occupied by a small crowd of men dressed in jackets decorated with elaborate designs and bright colors, and they were all listening to a grey bearded man talk of a delve into a ruin, where he and his party was ambushed by the local denizens.

“What happened next?” a petite woman, her face unblemished and her blonde hair tied back, asked in a high pitch.

“What else? I grabbed my sword and started swinging!” the bearded man picked up his cup and swung it about, a dark liquid spilling over the edge and falling onto the table. “God, you should’ve seen them. There were dozens of the beasts, all clamoring to get their claws onto me! It didn’t matter though, I just took my blade and slashed through them, cutting skin and bathing myself in blood. ‘Course, I didn’t retreat, I just kept plunging forward.”

“What’d you find?” the girl stood from her chair.

“Well, I kept walking through those halls, and I found the biggest beast. It was huge! Probably as long as this room, and was tall as any of the ships outside!”

“Did you slay it?” a man from the crowd asked.

“Hells no!” the bearded man laughed. “I turned and ran! I wasn’t suicidal enough to try and kill that thing!”

Yaves was tempted to sit and hear more stories, but his legs felt a bit energetic, so he left the inn and wandered into the warm air of the city. He moved through alleyways and crowds, following busy sailors and people carrying baskets of food and spices. Selothsi felt unorganized, with its alleys and roads twisting and turning and the houses and shops just strewn throughout with no sense of placing them in lines or rows, not like Northhold did. In Northhold, every house was built in rows, all of them having as little space between them as possible and each containing an upwards of four floors, each floor for a family. In Selothsi, every house contained an individual family, even if the house had just a single or even four floors. Houses would sometimes have no space between them, or sometimes have a wide alley between them, and they were all different sizes. Some had wooden walls and doors, while others were made of stone and brick, and one even had marble floors.

The people all dressed lavishly, with the men wearing loose fitting, sleeveless shirts and bandanas or turbans wrapped around their heads, while the women wore low cut, brightly colored dresses and adorned their hair with braids and flowers. No two people had the same outfit, even if the theme amongst them remained somewhat the same; loose fitting, breathing, and short. In Northhold, everyone wore large fur coats and made sure their clothing was insulated to trap warmth, and no one cared for how they looked.

At the docks, Yaves found a smaller, less crowded tavern than the others, though it still had few seats empty and the barkeep was jumping between tables without any breaks. People bore him no mind as he walked through to the bar, and as he sat down at one of the stools, he heard the barkeep shout that she’d be with him in a moment. The backwall of the bar was stocked with drinks of all kinds, from strong northern drinks to fine wines drank in Sentinel and aged scotch from the finest breweries in the Spire. The bottom shelf of the wall was occupied by several dark grey steel safes, one open and filled with silver coins and jewels.

“My advice? Avoid the mead, last shipment wasn’t from the north,” the man sitting next to Yaves said. His voice was deep, and his hair was long and grey, with two braids on each side of his hard, chiseled face, and his jaw was covered in thick whiskers. In front of him was a clear bottle with a thick white liquid inside, which caused him to cough with every sip.

“Really?” Yaves responded.

“It came in on my ship, and we sure as hell wasn’t anywhere near the north when we got the crates of that stuff,” the man replied.

“You’re a trader?”

“A new one,” the man sipped his drink again. “Used to help explore those Precursor ruins in the mainland, but I’m getting too old to keep fighting the guardians inside.”

“Sounds like quite the task,” Yaves said as the barkeep came around the counter. As she placed some silver coins in the safe, she turned her head toward Yaves.

“What can I get you?” she asked in a thick Pirici accent.

“I guess a-”

“Ale from Southpoint,” the old man interrupted. “Trust me, it’s the best stuff they have here.”

“I guess an ale from Southpoint,” Yaves said. The barkeep nodded and grabbed a light brown bottle from a shelf and placed it in front of Yaves. Before he could scrounge for silver, the man next to him placed a few on the counter.

“Name’s Reksen,” the man said.

“Yaves.” He popped the cap off the bottle and took a small sip. The burn was balanced out by a sweet, citrus-like flavor that danced on his tongue, causing him to take a much larger swig.

“What ship do you bunk with?”

“I…” Yaves couldn’t even remember the name of the ship he came in with. The Battlebear? The Battleboar? Something like that, if he recalled correctly.

“You’re young, fresh faced. You aren’t part of any crew, are you?” Reksen took another drink. “Lots of you wash up onto the shores, buying into what they say about the city. ‘Find your fortune! Fame and adventure!’ All that wash. Truth is, just because you come here don’t mean you’ll make it far. Most people scrounge up what little they have left from getting here just to sail back home.”

Yaves drank more. Northhold was a boring life, tending to a small garden with his mother day in and day out and constantly freezing cold was something he’d grown to hate, but his father prevented him from leaving. He wanted to adventure, to see the world, to experience it like people did in the books he read. He wanted to slay monsters and delve into ancient ruins, so when he scrounged up enough silver, he booked passage with a ship traveling from Northhold to the Eastern Isles, the capital of adventuring, as it was often hailed as. A month he spent on that ship, and his first day in the city had proven that he didn’t much know what he was doing. For the first few hours, he wandered through the city, unsure of what to do, and when night fell, he used what silver he had left to rent a room. Truthfully, what more did he expect? To arrive and find people willing to hire him for expeditions immediately?

Yaves sighed. Perhaps going back to Northhold was best.

“Few people ever find their fortunes at the tip of a blade and in the middle of nowhere. But sometimes we get lucky, like I did,” Reksen said.

“How?’

“A caravan of scholars needed a guard when they ventured into the forests to the west, so I offered them my blade. Turns out I was really good at killing things, so they kept me on as they sailed back to the mainland and explored other caves and ruins. They were studying old Et’Miisha civilizations and tribes, trying to find out how they fell and where they came from, and I just helped them stay alive. But there are only so many expeditions out there, and they only need so many guards.”

Yaves drank more. If he stayed, perhaps he’d luck out too. Maybe he didn’t need to go back. He could only imagine his father’s reaction if he did return. He was a scary man when he needed to be, strong and capable of a good beating, but this was more than a slight worthy of a punch or two, this was abandoning his family for selfish gain.

“Do you know how to fight? How to study architecture, or read ancient languages?”

“No,” Yaves had nothing in the way of skill, truthfully. He could tend a garden and grow fruits, even in the midst of a never ending winter, but what help would that be to an adventurer?

Yaves drank more.

“Then why did you come here?”

Yaves drank more.

“I wanted to leave Northhold, to go somewhere fun for a change.”

“Hmmm…” Reksen finished off his drink, then turned to face Yaves. “In that case, I have an offer.”

“I’ve got a small ship, not much crew is needed, but I could use a new deckhand. Someone to help maintain the ship, help us sail. It’s not the luxurious life I’m sure you had planned, but it is something, no?”

Yaves put his drink onto the counter.

“You’d hire someone you just met?”

“Aye, usually do it that way. I don’t have many friends, fewer still that could sail a merchant ship. It’s not a hard job, and the others can show you what needs to be done. You’d have a bed, at least, food as well, and a decent pay. Just have to say yes.”

“Of course,” Yaves didn’t hesitate for a moment. A merchant’s ship wasn’t what he had in mind when he came into the city, but it was better than starving to death on an unfamiliar street somewhere.