#MY POOR BOY. THEY MADE HIM BLEACH HIS HAIR (/silly)

[andiloveyoutooangel]

*CLAPS MY HANDS* DRAWTECTIVES SEASON 3!!! they GOTTA stop giving my son amnesia its not good for him!!! hgkjg

[anniekwit]

“You are a special human being”

This is an AU I thought about where Seven didn’t steal Saeran from the hospital and... well... you’ll see...  This is the first part.

The Konyang University Hospital is, how the name itself says, both an university and a hospital. Here people with mental illnesses are brought and treated, and students in their last year of studies can come and learn about different illnesses and the ones that graduated can have an actual job here if they want to.

That is the case of Shin Yin, a young woman who just graduated from University. She decided to get a job at the Konyang Hospital because that’s the place where her older twin sister was hospitalized. Even though she knew her sister was safe and her teachers and colleagues would take good take of her, Yin wanted to be there for her, to be there with her, to make her feel normal and safe, to show her that she didn’t do anything wrong.

“But then… Why am I here, Yin-shi?” the short girl asked her sister with a confused look. “If I didn’t do anything wrong, why did they bring me here?...”

“Yun, listen…” the blue-eyed woman took her sister’s hands into hers and looked at her. “You are here because someone harmed you, you know that. And we just want to make the pain disappear, do you understand?” then she smiled. “You will be able to go outside without thinking about bad things. Don’t you want that?”

“I can go outside?... And no one will ever drug me… Or hit me again?...” Yun looked at her sister with hope in her now shiny eyes.

“Yes. You can go and be happy with that boy you love… What was his name?”

“Saeyoung… Saeyoung Choi…” she smiled and looked at the teddy bear next to her and at the flowers that her boyfriend brought.

“Oh, yeah! Silly me… But as I said, you will be able to do that. I promise.”

The girls spent time together and felt as if they were young again, as if they were the younger teenagers they were before college and… before the incident… But they were interrupted by a young man with red hair, golden eyes, glasses and… a robo-cat.

“You must be Saeyoung, right?” asked Yin smiling.

“Yes. And I think that you are Yin, Yun’s sister.” he said being happy that he can see his girlfriend smile again.

They got to know each other and spent time with the robo-cat that Saeyoung made… until Yin had to leave. I mean, she isn’t just a visitor, she is actually working in this place and has her own other patients too.

While walking on the corridor she met one of her colleagues who had a wound on her forehead.

“What happened?! Are you alright?” Yin asked, being worried.

“A-Ah, it’s fine don’t worry… It was my fault… I got too close... B-But it’s alright!” her colleague tried to calm her down, but her voice was actually trembling… she was hit in her head with something that could almost hurt her eye.

“It all happened because of that psychopath. That boy that was brought by the CEO of C&R. He is beyond repair, why doesn’t anyone see that?” said a nurse, the one that was helping the injured doctor.

“No patient is beyond repair… Maybe something really horrible happened to him and he just can’t accept other people… Where is he?...” asked Yin, with a calm but worried tone, she, in fact, didn’t like what the nurse said. People in this hospital are here because of something, right? Maybe the poor boy lived a life that was so awful and now he doesn’t want to experience something like that again.

“Miss Shin…” started the doctor “He is in the 838 room, but don’t go there yet. He was sedated. I am so sorry, we didn’t have a choice, but he is too violent…”

“I understand… I want to be notified as soon as he wakes up. I want to see that boy. I want to know what happened to him and I really wish to help him.” said Yin, now wanting to know and help that boy, because she knows that he deserves to be helped. “Now please excuse me, I must go.” and then she left.

 Some days have passed but the young woman didn’t hear about the boy. She was both angry and disappointed because she asked nicely to be told when the boy woke up, but people just… they just didn’t do that, so she took this in her own hands and went to the director of the hospital.

“Greetings, miss Shin. May I help you with something?” he asked with a calm tone, he is a nice guy and he really wants everyone to be able to do what they want.

“Good afternoon, mister Park. I’m sorry for bothering you, but I wanted to ask you something.” said Yin while she was taking a seat.

“Of course, miss Shin. I’m listening.”

“I heard that there’s a boy in room 838. And I heard that he was violent and harmed one of the doctors. May I ask how he is now?”

The room remained silent for a few seconds, and then mister Park sighted.

“The boy from room 838… His name is Choi Saeran, a 22 years old young man. He was brought here by mister Han, Jumin Han, some weeks ago. As far as we know from his brother and mister Han, Saeran has childhood trauma, he had some weird substances in his body and now he has trust issues and paranoia. We are trying to find more things about him, but he just won’t let anyone come any closer to him. That boy… He harmed 3 doctors until now and 7 doctors gave up on him, even though they tried to help him. I am concerned and I was thinking about discharging him or moving him to an other hospital, but mister Han told not to do so. I guess they want our help, since we are the best in the country and maybe we have nice staff but… We can’t help Saeran if he doesn’t let us do so. When he is alone, he seems to be peaceful, but when anyone tries to approach him…”

“He gets violent and you have to sedate him… I’ve heard…” Yin finished his sentence and sighted. “But I want to help him. I want to be his doctor and attempt to help him. Can I do that? Please?”

The director looked at her and sighted and then he remained silent.

“Okay, I have an idea. You can visit him and befriend him, because now he has already a doctor and we can’t change that now… Plus… I want to try something new with that boy. Maybe he needs a friend, not a doctor.”

 Some hours passed and now Yin was in front of the door of room 838. She took a deep breath and entered the room.

 [Yin pov] I slowly enter the room and I can see a boy, a thin pale boy, with bleached hair and mint eyes. He looks like he didn’t eat in a while… Now he is sitting in his bed and he is starring at the clouds. Should I say anything? Well… I think yes.

“Hello. You’re Saeran, right?” said Yin with a calm voice.

The boy turned around suddenly and starred at her for a few seconds.

“Tch. Are you the new doctor? Don’t these idiots get tired of that?! I WANT TO BE ALONE!” he yelled at her and threw a glass of water at her injuring her arm. “Get out!”

“A-Auch…” Yin put her hand on the wound but didn’t leave yet. “I understand that you don’t want doctors, but that’s not why I’m here… I’m here only to talk with you… I am not a doctor…” she said with a calm voice and calm look in her blue eyes.

“To talk?... With me?...” Saeran looked at her being confused, but she seemed to tell the truth. The young woman wasn’t wearing a doctor outfit, she just had a blue sweater and jeans, plus, her hair was loose and she didn’t have a card on her blouse that contains the word “doctor”.

“But then… Who are you?... Why are you here?... How do you know me?...” he was more scared than before, he was thinking that she is here because of his father, because of the monster that hunted him and his brother since childhood. He didn’t want to die in the hands of his father, he just wanted a life where he could be alone because everyone disappointed him, a life where he could simply watch the clouds and eat ice cream… A life where he could be free and happy…

“Don’t be scared… It happens that my friend was your doctor and she… told me about you… But I know that you are misunderstood, Saeran… And I want to know why are you acting this way and… I want to help you… I want to help you get better… Because I think that I can understand you…” she said with a little smile on her face trying to ignore the pain in her arm.

“You… want to… help… me?... You… think that… you can understand?...” he didn’t hear that from the other doctors before so he was more confused than ever. Why does this woman think that she can help him? What makes her think that she can understand him? Nothing, right? She’s just a stranger… That’s all…

“You’re bleeding.” he suddenly said. “Go and seek help or something. You… can’t help others if you don’t help yourself first.” now the scared and angry face were gone, there was just a blank but calm face.

Yin gave him a small but honest smile. “Alright, I’ll go. But I’ll come back. I promise.” and then she left the room.

While walking to the infirmary she met her old friend, Jumin.

“Jumin? Hey! Long time no see!” she smiled.

“Hello, Yin. You’re right, we haven’t met in such a long time.” he said calmly, as his voice usually is, but her bloody arm caught his attention. “Are you alright? You should see a doctor right now.”

“Mr. Han is right… “said Jaehee. "Let's go to the infirmary…"

Yin smiled at them. "I was going to the infirmary right now. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. It's just a little thing that will get better soon."

"I understand, but is it something that a patient did to you?..." asked Jaehee, being worried.

"Oh, well…" started Yin, but she was interrupted by Jumin.

"Was it Saeran? I mean, was it Choi Saeran?"

"Jumin… I know that you are the one who brought Saeran here, but it's not his fault…" Yin was worried that something might happen to the poor boy because of her, but he couldn't leave yet… he needs help… and he wants it, but he's too scared…

"Don't worry, Yin. I'll talk to his doctor and to the director. Please excuse me." and he left.

"Don't worry, Yin… Nothing bad will happen to mister Saeran. Mr. Han and I promised to Saeyoung that his brother will be safe." said Jaehee and left as well.

[Yin pov] Did she say… Saeyoung? Wait wait wait… Saeran Choi… Saeyoung Choi… They look alike… DAMN! THEY'RE TWINS!!

 After going to the infirmary, Yin rushed to her sister's salon.

"Yin-shi! Welcome!" Yun smiled at her, being happy to see her again.

"Yun, hello…" Yin hugged her sister and then let her go. "How are you feeling?"

"Great! How about you?" but the smile on her face faded when she noticed the bandaged arm. "What happened to you?! Who did this to you?!"

"Yun, stay calm… I'm fine…"

"No, you're not fine! Tell me what happened!"

Yin sighted. "You know Saeran, right? Saeran Choi…"

Yun turned pale and stared at her sister. "Saeran… did that?... Uh… Now it makes sense… That's why Jumin is here, huh?..."

"N-No, it's not because of that!!... And… seems like you know him…"

"Well, yes… I guess I can tell you what happened… Saeran was at that place where I went. He was brainwashed like me too, but for a much longer period… And much more dosage… He was taught to believe that Saeyoung abandoned him, he grew paranoid and not trusting anyone outside MintEye… It was hard for him when we took him from there… It is even harder to accept that his brother is not how he thought… But I think that he feels abandoned because he brought him here… Even though Saeyoung visits him…. I've heard that Saeran is violent to his doctors… I am afraid that they might move him to an other hospital because of this…"

"Yes, I know that they might do that… That's why I want to help him… He only needs time, Yun-hee…"

 Meanwhile, Jumin was talking to the director of the hospital and Saeran's doctor.

"Mr. Han, we tried medications and sedatives, but Saeran seems to be immune to medications. We can try Electroconvulsive therapy. It is a procedure where we pass a carefully controlled electric current through the brain. It should relieve the depression and psychotic symptoms. Hopefully we can get rid of the violent behavior with it. But we need the consent to actually do that." said Saeran's current doctor.

Jumin hesitated a little and then looked at her. "Are there any risks?" he asked.

"Only a few, but they won't harm him physically and his mental health can't get worse."

"Alright. You can do it. But keep it a secret, please."

"Of course, Mr. Han. We will begin the preparations for the procedure. We promise you that nothing bad will happen."

"Thank you." then he said goodbye and left with his assistant.

 [Saeran pov] I was sitting in this damn salon when suddenly the nurses came and gave me a sedative. I think that it was a stronger one because I fell asleep after that. But… Where am I now?... What is this room?... What are the things that I’m connected to?... What are these idiots doing to me?!

“Miss! Miss, we have a problem!” a nurse screamed. “The patient woke up!”

“What?! Didn’t I tell you to give him the strongest sedative?!” the doctor yelled.

“I did!... I don’t know why he woke up!”

“It doesn’t matter. We should do the procedure now! The machine is already ready!”

“But Miss…”

“Do it!”

The nurses tried to hold Saeran as the doctor approached them with the machine. Saeran was more and more scared, he didn’t understand what was happening so he tried to escape and hit the nurses wherever he could.

“Stop it, you psychopath! We’re trying to help you! And this is the only way to do so!” said his doctor with an angry tone and put the machine on Saeran’s head.

A loud scream filled the room and the hall, the electric current that passed his brain hurt Saeran more than anything, especially because he was awake. Tears were running down his cheeks and then he fell unconscious.

 Some days passed, Yun was discharged and the only reason why both Yin and Saeyoung kept visiting the hospital every single day was Saeran. Yes, you may ask “But isn’t Yin working there? She should be there every day.” but no, she should come only in certain days because she has 2 patients that don’t need 24/7 support, the hospital’s management decided that she shouldn’t have too much work since it’s her first year. But unfortunately for Yin and Saeyoung… they are not allowed to see Saeran. They kept asking why but no one would answer them.

Finally, Yin thought of something. She went to the hospital in her work day and then entered Saeran’s room using her ID card, that can open any room. She found him sitting in his bed, like he usually does but… he doesn’t seem to notice that she is here.

“Saeran?... Hey…” she talked with a quiet and calm voice; she didn’t want to scare him.

Saeran didn’t move, he was starring at the wall. Yin got closer and turned him around.

“Saeran-shi… Did something happen?...”

Saeran looked at her with a blank but innocent face.

“Who is Saeran?...” he was confused.

“You are… Saeran… What happened to you?...”

“Am I?... I can’t remember who I am…”

Yin looked around the room and found some medicine that is given to people who went through ECT. She thought a little and realized what happened to him.

“Uh… You… You are a special human being… A human who was too innocent for this awful world…” she gave him a weak sad smile. And he… he smiled back. “I have to go, alright? But I’ll be back soon.”

“Alright.” the boy replied with a calm face.

When Yin arrived at the door, she felt her hand being taken in someone’s hands so she turned around her head and looked at Saeran who was holding her hand.

“Hey, Miss… When you will be back… Can you bring some ice cream?... I really want ice cream…” he said with an almost silent voice, he was afraid to ask since the nurses would yell at him and slap him, but he felt like she won’t ever yell at or hurt him.

“Of course, Saeran-shi… Which flavor do you like the most?...”

“I… I like the strawberry one…”

[shigarakis-fifth-hand]

BakuDeku Fanfic; A Confession

Warning: Confession, kiss, death, wounds, fighting, crying ( at least I cried ), very gay

Bakugo was sitting in a hospital waiting room, sleeping against the wall from exhaustion, surrounded by his fellow classmates. Looking around, he saw all the UA faculty, every 1-A student, and then Deku’s mom on the verge of tears. What... had happened?

Then it all came back to him like one great flashback...

The League of Villains had infuriated the USJ, and Deku happened to be in the middle of it all. Everyone had been so busy trying to save their own lives, nobody saw Izuku fighting Dabi, covered in scorching burns and bruises from his fighting. 

Izuku’s leg had been so burned it felt like Jello, so he couldn’t run and barely even move. Izuku was good, but no match for flames and heat unlike anything else he had ever felt before. 

“Deku! Get away from him!” All Might yelled, as all of 1-A turned to see Izuku fighting Dabi while on the ground. Then... Bakugo started running. Even though he could hear yells, he kept running. He was going to attack Dabi from behind and then save Izuku. 

But then... Deku looked at him. “Bakugo! Behind you!” Bakugo didn’t even have time to turn around before Izuku used all this power to launch Bakugo away to safety. Turns out Izuku had just saved Bakugo from a Nomu running towards him. Instead of the Nomu attacking Katsuki, it turned towards Izuku. 

Immediately, it began punching the sense out of Izuku, knocking out the wind so he couldn’t breathe. As Bakugo watched, Izuku was becoming pale, and was near passing out. 

“Aizawa-Sensei! We have to do something! We can’t let him die!” Ochako yelled, but it was no use. 

Aizawa had been beaten senseless, and everyone knew that they were beyond repair. “Fuck this!” Todoroki used his last bit of energy to make an ice wall between Izuku and Nomu, desperately trying to separate the two and pushing Izuku into the water for safety.

That’s when the pro heroes arrived, knocking their way through the glass and running after the League and to help the kids. 

“No, get Deku!” Bakugo yelled as a rescue hero walked towards him. But as Bakugo turned to see Deku, Deku wasn’t there anymore. Did they kidnap him?! Where was Deku?!

 “Quick! He’s in the water! He’s drowning!” Ochako yelled from afar, pointing to where Todoroki had pushing him into the water. Bakugo, being the closest to the water, immediately jumped in, swimming down to reach the small-framed boy. Bringing him above the water, and onto the land, Bakugo slowly did CPR. “Deku! Deku! Don’t die on me!” Bakugo didn’t even notice when tears wept their way down his face. 

“Please Deku!” Bakugo was now screaming as the pro heroes had to pry Izuku’s body out of Bakugo’s hands and into the ambulance. “P-please, let me go with him! Don’t take him away from me! Don’t let him die!” Bakugo yelled, being held down by a random hero and a few students while he kicked and screamed.

In the distance, many voices could be heard. “He’s losing blood!”, “There’s so much water in his lungs!”, “These burns are 3rd degree!”, and lastly... “His pulse is barely detectable!”

 The students sadly watched the ambulance drive away before being forced to go back to the school. Present Mic was made to sub for Aizawa, who was sitting with Izuku. Hizashi tried to make them smile, but they couldn’t. 

Deku would probably die.

So here they were, in their PJ’s at 4 am, waiting for the doctors to give them any updates. Nobody had wanted to go back to the dorms, so everyone squished into the waiting room, eating donuts and coffee brought by Present Mic. Even Aizawa was awake, slowly rocking back and fourth, shaking as Present Mic tried to comfort him. “If I could have been the hero he needed...” Aizawa murmured as Present Mic kiss his cheek, trying to make him feel better.

The room was silent, as you could hear a pin drop. That’s when the doctor walked in. 

“He’s awake. We aren’t sure for long, but only one visitor at a time.” Immediately Aizawa stood up. “I’m his teacher!” while Deku’s mother stood up. “I’m his mom!” The doctor sighed, wiping a tear from his eye. “We are not sure if he is going to survive the night, so we are taking his first request. Is there a... Kacchan here?”

 The doctor asked, Katsuki crying to hear the nickname only Deku was allowed to call him as the room went silent. Immediately Bakugo stood, holding back tears as he followed the doctor into the hospital room.

 It smelled like bleach, and was very taunting with blank white everywhere. Bakugo honestly was scared, even terrified.

“D-Deku.” Katsuki ran to Deku’s side, gripping his hand. “Kacchan, you tried to save me.” Deku smiled, lightly squeezing Katsuki’s hand. “You did save me Deku.” Bakugo started crying. 

“Now don’t you go dying on me, okay?! You’re a fucking hero. I’ll die without you.” Izuku’s eyes widened at Bakugo’s words. “Oh my god De- Izuku. I am so sorry for everything. I guess it takes a near-death experience for me to realize that I love you Deku.” Deku started crying. “I’ll die without you Izuku.” 

Deku smiled, touching Katsuki’s face. “Don’t say that Kacchan. Dammit, why do you have to do this now? I love you to Kacchan. I always have.” Katsuki started sobbing, and he didn’t hold back. He was going to lose Deku.

 “I’m so sorry Deku. I’ll never forgive myself.” Deku just smiled innocently, as if he weren’t hooked up to a million cables and monitors.

“Oh Kacchan, don’t be silly. I’ve already lived a good life. I got a quirk, I got into UA, I got to feel what it’s like to save a life, I’ve felt what love is like, I’ve made friends. I’ve done more than most adults. If it’s my time it’s my-” Deku got quiet as the machine next to him started beeping juristically.

 Immediately the room was filled with nurses and doctors, pushing Katsuki away. “No.” Bakugo felt Aizawa grab him from behind. “Bakugo, we all need to leave.” Aizawa commanded as Bakugo fought against him. It was like everything went silent as Aizawa covered Bakugo’s eyes and forced him into the hallways. 

“No. No.” Bakugo couldn’t scream, it was as if his voice box had been stolen from him. His heart felt like it was broken, he felt as if he couldn’t breathe.

As Bakugo entered the room, everyone read the look on his face and started crying, hugging together in one big group. 

 “I think it’s all best if you guys go to your own homes for a few days. Go home, go see your parents, go hug your families.” Aizawa told the kids as they nodded, still crying as they left. “K-Katsuki.” Bakugo turned to see Ms. Midoryia, her face stained from all the tears.

 “He told you didn’t he?” She was smiling sadly, tears streaming down her face without her making a peep. “Y-yea.” Bakugo squeaked, trying not to cry. “You’re a good kid. I hope you know... that without you he never would have done any of this. Never UA, never meeting All Might, never wanting to become a hero. My Izuku wouldn’t be... Izuku if it weren’t for you. So... thank you.” It took everything in Bakugo’s power not to cry in front of Deku’s poor mom.

Bakugo nodded, hugging Deku’s mom tightly before running out of the hospital to join the rest of his class. 

Before Bakugo knew it, the class was back in session. It had been an entire week since the incident at the hospital, and everyone was still more than depressed. Even Aizawa was half an hour late, which never happened.

“M-maybe he didn’t want to come.” Ochako suggested as Tsu piped in. “I hope Mic doesn’t sub. I hate the corny dad jokes. They get old really fast.” A few of the students nodded in agreement as All Might walked in, but not in his superior form. 

“Students, sorry to keep you waiting. I am happy to announce that-”

Izuku walked through the door, smiling weakly. He was bandaged, bruised all over, cut on his face, and his hair was extra fuzzy. But... he was alive! 

The entire class erupted they leapt out of their seat to hug Izuku, jumping up and down in overwhelming happiness.

“Deku.” Katsuki stood there, looking Izuku up and down. He felt as if he were dreaming. “Kacchan.” Izuku whispered as Katsuki ran up to him and kissed him passionately. His Deku was alive. His Deku was in his arms. His Deku was kissing him. 

Bakugo was never letting go of his Deku ever again.

[eeveevie]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (1/18)

Chapter 1: That Dame Upstairs

One year later, on the anniversary of Nate’s death, Madelyn is still struggling emotionally. Nick Valentine, her friend and partner, celebrate Christmas together, and begin work on a string of disappearances that may be connected to crime boss Eddie Winter with the help of reporter Piper Wright. On New Year’s Eve, Madelyn gets the first hint that she may already be in too deep.

“I was thinking about that dame upstairs, and the way she had looked at me, and I wanted to see her again, close, without that silly staircase between us.” – Walter Neff as played by Fred MacMurray (Double Indemnity, 1944)

[read on Ao3] ~ [chapter masterpost]

July 6th, 1946

Shelly’s Shake Shack always had a peculiar smell, Madelyn thought. Like the busboys used too much bleach when wiping down the tables or there was too much acetone in the paint swiped across the vinyl finish of the bar. Regardless of the questionable scent, it was her and Nate’s go-to spot, their tradition ever since sneaking out that one fateful night in sophomore year of high school. When she thought about it now, just five days after her eighteenth birthday, and with college on the horizon, the niche atmosphere felt very nostalgic.

“What are you thinking about?”

Nate had his elbow up on the countertop, cheek pressed into his palm as he gazed at her. His eyebrows waggled suggestively, green eyes bright as they danced across her face. Madelyn could only laugh, though his question harkened a million thoughts to bounce through her mind, struggling to land on a specific one.

“Everything,” she decided to answer, piquing his interest.

“Oooh,” he cooed, sliding closer so his shoulder bumped hers. “I hope that includes me.”

Madelyn didn’t humor him with an answer, hiding her bashful grin behind her menu. It hardly mattered that she always ordered the same thing every time—a strawberry milkshake with a small stack of ‘shack fries’ for dipping. Soon enough, the handsome man she called her boyfriend peeked over the laminated edge, beaming smile distracting her from the candy red lettering she wasn’t even trying to read.

“You seem to be thinking of something,” she commented, noting the rosy color on his cheeks and how they accented his barely-there freckles. “Care to indulge?”

Nate shrugged, playing coy. He was staring at her, a pastime of his that he could make a career out of, if he wasn’t already committed to joining the Army now that he was of age. His expression softened, eyes slowly blinking, trancelike. She was about to ask him again when he spoke.

“We should get married,” he said it with such casual gumption that Madelyn didn’t catch what he said at first. “Maddie?”

She did a doubletake of where he sat on the barstool next to her, twisting left-to-right as he faced her silence. The sound of her heart pounding in her chest echoed in her ears but she was more dumbfounded than nervous. “What? Is that a real proposal?”  

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Suddenly her mind went quiet and she was unable to produce an answer for a second time, but for a completely different reason—she was speechless. Madelyn gaped, utterly gob-smacked at his calm and relaxed demeanor. Only then did she think to question him, call his bluff one more time.

“Do you even have a ring?” she asked, almost defiantly, ignoring the way Nate was softly chuckling at her. “Did you even ask daddy?”

Nate sat upright, snatching her left hand in his as he slowly sank down to the tiled floor on one knee. “Baby, I’m no fool.”

Madelyn gasped, the surreal magnitude of what was occurring washing over her. He pulled a small, black velvet box from his jacket pocket and inside was a ring she had only dreamed of wearing—a silver band with two inlaid diamonds on either side of a modest, solitaire cut centerpiece—it looked like a sparkling flower.

“My parents might not agree, but they hate everything. But my grammie always liked you, so she entrusted me with this in the hopes that you’d wear it.” His rambling explanation was the first real indication that he was absolutely petrified. Nate filled the space between them with more words. “You know, as my wife.”

He let out the most adorable, breathless laugh. “Madelyn Hardy, please do me the honor of becoming my wife,” he squeezed her hand, thumb brushing across her knuckles. “Say you’ll marry me?”

“Nathaniel James,” she mimicked in reply, sure her cheeks would be sore from smiling so much. She reached out with her free hand to weave her fingers through his thick auburn hair before resting her fingers along his cheek. “Yes. A hundred—a million times, yes.”

December 24th, 1957

“Mrs. James?”

The voice pulled Madelyn from her deep trance, forcing her to blink several times as she lifted her gaze from her tightly clenched hands in the skirt of her dark-blue dress to the circle of people looking at her expectantly. Embarrassment settled in when she realized she had zoned out during the meeting, falling into another memory from the past she was desperate to cling to. That wasn’t the first time she had drifted away while the other widows and family members droned on about their departed loved ones, and if she continued coming to these gatherings, it wouldn’t be the last. She knew the support group was supposed to help her get over Nate’s untimely death—his murder—but so far each meeting had left her feeling just as empty as that Christmas Eve in 1956.

“Mrs. James,” the counselor leading the session repeated her name and Madelyn didn’t bother to correct her—she hadn’t used Nate’s surname in months. “Would you like to share with the group?”

Madelyn swallowed the lump in her throat, feeling the insurmountable pressure of stranger’s eyes silently imploring an answer. Their stares were filled with sympathy and sadness, something she was annoyed with seeing when people looked at her. For a year straight, sorrow filled expressions was all she knew, and she was sick of it. Still, guilt over her continued silence consumed her. Since she started attending the ‘circle of misery’—perhaps a poor codename she kept to herself—she hadn’t shared her story of loss. It was wrong of her to compare her grief to the others, but selfishly, she doubted there was anyone that truly felt the pain she carried with her every agonizing day.

She twisted the wedding ring on her finger. “Not today. I’m sorry.”

The counselor was clearly disappointed, but Madelyn was relieved when she wasn’t pushed for further information. She settled back into her chair, staring past the group as another person spoke, sharing a story about his deceased wife. It was difficult to stay focused when all the stories sound the same. Somebody died, either by disease or tragically—in a car accident, in the war years ago—sometimes by suicide. A few mourned the missing—up and vanished without a trace—there was no closure for them. But nobody was processing an unsolved murder—she was alone in that anguish.

Madelyn thought about the present rather than the past in order to distract herself. She visualized how much paperwork was left on her desk at the detective agency, envisioning the stack that awaited her—at least she had her own space to work out of. When she was first assigned to the Valentine Detective Agency, she was still a legal aid for the District Attorney’s Office, a year away from graduating law school and passing the bar, a year away from watching her husband die right before her eyes. At first the assignment was handed to her as a joke to keep her busy, out of the way of ‘the boys’. Nick Valentine was considered a laughingstock to many—the police, the courts, the political bigwigs. But a friendship quickly developed between her and the grizzled gumshoe and she quickly realized that the city hadn’t isolated him out of laughter, but out of fear.

She maintained her position with the investigator after becoming an attorney, providing legal counsel on the various cases from lost kittens to grand larceny. After all, Nick had been her closest confidant after Nate’s murder, working to keep the case open when leads dried up with the Boston Police Department. The way Madelyn saw it, she needed Nick and he needed her, a kinship made over crime and punishment. Though, she knew her work ethic had been declining in recent weeks and it was too easy to blame it all on the anniversary of Nate’s death. Another year without him, another year without catching the son-of-a-bitch who ended his life.

A chair squeaked and Madelyn snapped out of her daze to find the session around her disbanding. She forced a polite smile to her lips as others, all strangers, said their goodbyes, offering hollow condolences when they knew so little about her. Did they even know her name? What she did for a living? That she carried a gun in her purse for protection just in case the same man who killed Nate came back for her? She was pulling on her winter coat when she felt somebody looming behind her. The last thing she wanted was to be dragged into another conversation with the group leader about how she needed to open up—or worse—be set up with a fellow attendee. She was already forming the excuses in her head of getting back to the office despite the hour, despite the looming holiday when hands—one warm, one cold—joined her in a familiar way, helping her tug her coat into place.

“So, Mrs. James,” Nick’s teasing tone had her spinning on her heel to face him.

Whatever alarm she felt dissipated as she took in the familiar sight of his faded brown trench-coat, the edges frayed by many years in the field. Underneath he wore his usual dark-grey suit, silver pin shining, keeping his ironed black tie in place. Tucked under one arm was his trusty fedora, just as weathered as his outerwear. He always refused a replacement, as if doing so would deter from his character—maybe he was onto something with that theory. Nick smoothed out the lapels of her coat before pulling his hands away, twisting his right hand awkwardly, probing the wrist with his left fingers. His right had long been a prosthetic, lost in the war when he was just a youth, rebuilt over time thanks to the modern marvels at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. For Madelyn, it was just another part that made Nick who he was.

“I wasn’t ready today,” she explained under his silent, scrutinizing gaze. “I know, I know. I promised. I’m sorry.”

Nick half-shrugged, unbothered. “You don’t have to apologize to me, doll.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, gathering her handbag from the community table. It didn’t matter that he knew she came to these meetings, knew all about the demons she struggled to face in her day-to-day. He had his own life outside the agency—it wasn’t always broken leads and dead ends.  

“It’s Christmas Eve Nick, shouldn’t you be at the in-laws with Jenny?”

“They aren’t my in-laws yet,” he laughed in response.

Jennifer Lands—Nick’s fiancé and one shining light in his plight to rid Boston of scum and treachery. She was a day-nurse at the New England Medical Center, who had met Nick when he was first starting out, chasing ambulances downtown. Jenny was a true Boston spit-fire—red hair and ocean eyes—tall and slender like she walked right out of a Billy Wilder picture-film. She could talk for hours on end about fashion and Hollywood gossip but just as quickly educate you on Gray’s Anatomy. While others might have been jealous, Madelyn saw her as the perfect match for the detective—cool and calm met fiery and hot.

“She knows where I am,” he further explained.

The realization dawned on Madelyn all over again and she sighed, disappointed, more so in herself. “I don’t need a babysitter just because today is—” she tapered off, unable to speak the words. “I just need to go home or go to the office. Stay busy. That’s what I need.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “I was thinking what you needed was a friend.”

He always was good at calling her bluff, especially when she wasn’t feeling up to crafting an elaborate charismatic show of words to indicate otherwise. Madelyn relented with another exhale, tucking her arm around his elbow when he offered. “It’s a long walk.”

Nick tucked his fedora atop his feathered, dark-brown hair, adjusting it so it was firmly in place. “Isn’t it always?”

Madelyn’s Cambridge apartment was modest enough for a single—widowed—woman. One bedroom, one bath, a tiny living space, and a kitchen she wished was larger for entertaining guests. Even as an attorney, her wages paled in comparison to those of her male counterparts, and Nate’s military benefits hardly helped to bridge the gap. There was her late parent’s estate, but she pretended it didn’t exist—it was meant for her children—but with Nate gone, that dream seemed futile. Now, it was a last-resort safety net, just in case she royally fucked up (and if she made a mistake that large, she had every right to be using foul language).

Her apartment had other quirks too. The elevator never worked, the hot water ran out at the most inconvenient of times, and her next-door neighbor Myrna was too suspicious for her own good, always ranting and raving about how every stranger in the building was there to kidnap her and replace her brain with wires. It wasn’t surprising that that she recoiled anytime Nick paid a visit. The seventh floor also housed a baseball coach, a Vault-Tec salesman, and a man she only knew as Robby—but she hardly saw or spoke to them, everybody coming and going at odd hours of the night, including herself.

As soon as Madelyn and Nick passed the threshold of apartment D, a sharp bark greeted them both. Dogmeat—a silly name for a German shepherd, but it was the one the collar had etched into it when she found him abandoned at the Red Rocket gas station. Madelyn had tried to track down the owners of the puppy but had no luck. Six months later, she had a full-grown dog, ever faithful to its rescuer. The furry companion had been just what she needed to help quell the lonely nights.

“Hey Dogmeat,” Nick greeted, patting the dog’s muzzle as it nudged against his pant leg. “Doing a good job protecting the lady of the house?”

The dog barked in reply even as she tutted her disapproval. “I can protect myself.”

“You know I worry about you, Madelyn.” The use of her full name had her focusing on Nick as she discarded her coat, hanging it on the nearby rack before offering to take his. He shrugged the trench off, passing his hat along with it. “We all do. We just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Madelyn wondered who ‘we’ was alluding to. She silently gestured for him to sit on the couch before circling to the kitchen, clinking together two shallow glasses as she pulled them from the cabinet. The whiskey she poured was cheap, but she knew neither of them cared, and emptied what little was left of the bottle. She handed him the frosted glass and he nodded in appreciation, biting back a wince at the fouler-than-usual taste.

“I’m doing the best I can,” she assured with a small smile, gulping down her sip of the amber liquid. “Thank you, Nick.”

He tilted his chin up in a nod, glancing up at her with his light green eyes. Under the light of her living room, they almost looked yellow. “Sure, sure.”

The two sat in amiable silence, nursing their alcohol until Madelyn noticed they’d arrived just in time to catch Jack Hynes’ broadcast on her television set. At first, the nightly report was mundane—the Red Sox charity game canceled due to snow, Mayor McDonough’s annual lighting of downtown’s Christmas tree, a runaway swan in Boston Common. But then, the broadcast took a somber turn when the screen flashed the image of an infant boy before cutting to a news conference held earlier in the day.

“…please, if you’re listening, we just want our son back,” the weeping mother turned away in her sorrow, into her husband’s chest. His voice echoed into the microphones instead. “Shaun, if you’re listening, we love you. Please come home.”

“Poor kid has been missing since ’47,” Nick interrupted, pulling Madelyn’s attention away from the screen.

She was startled by his revelation. “What?”

He took a long sip of his whiskey, holding a grim expression as he spoke. “That was my first case after coming home from the war, after the folks at MIT fixed me up,” Nick shook his head, the recollection painful in his mind. He was only seven years older than her, and yet had a lifetime of scars and memories that had aged him—made him wiser, but also bitter towards those who escaped justice. “Never could figure out who would want to steal a baby.”

“Doesn’t look like the Boston P.D. has had better luck,” she replied, knowing it was of little solace.

By the time she looked back to the TV, Hynes was speaking about the decreasing crime rate in the city proper, ironic considering the previous story. Despite the information, the next name out of his mouth had Nick on high alert.

“Eddie Winter is expected to be released from the Massachusetts Correctional Institution at Cedar Junction later this week, a full six months earlier than his originally scheduled discharge date. Department officials comment Winter’s release is due to quote, good behavior, unquote. At this time, the District Attorney’s office has declined to comment on pending cases against the notorious Boston businessman.”  

“Businessman, my ass,” Nick bristled, his anger clear as he gripped the glass so tightly in his prosthetic hand she could almost hear the plastic and metal threatening to shatter into pieces. “Even the news is too afraid to call it like it is. He’s a thug. A gangster. A no-good crime boss responsible for far more than money laundering and white-collar crime.”

Madelyn couldn’t say anything to calm Nick when he was worked up like that. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before—he had been chasing Eddie Winter for years, always two steps behind the infamous mobster. Even she believed the case against him was clear cut—cases—but her bosses at the District Attorney’s office said otherwise, always misdirecting with bureaucracy and politics. As the years dragged on, and the crimes and bodies began to pile up, Nick and Madelyn started to believe there was a conspiracy afoot. But alleging collusion was one thing, proving it was another.  

She poured the rest of her drink into his and he gladly shot it back—the action seemed to calm his nerves. Nick sighed, forlorn as he rested the empty glass on her coffee table with a loud clink. She already knew the answer, but she had to ask. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to catch the son-of-a-bitch.”

December 25th, 1957

“Merry Christmas boy,” Madelyn ruffled the fur atop Dogmeat’s head, scratching his ear as he yipped in return. He was all too happy to greet her that morning, even if he looked at her inquisitively, tilting his head back and forth as she dressed for the day. Nothing extravagant, but she figured she might as well wear red, given the holiday. “I’m only going out to visit the office. Just for a little while. Maybe visit the church. Maybe. I’ll be back before nightfall.”

Dogmeat barked as if he understood every word. Perhaps he did, the smart dog that he was. As Madelyn passed through the hall she paused before the open storage closet, peeking inside at the contents with a frown. She had been in the process of unboxing her holiday decorations the previous week when she decided against it, unable to fathom the emotional strength. A second Christmas without Nate—this was how her life would be measured now—counting the years, how many significant dates had passed without him. Inside the small room was another unopened box, a Mister Handy robot—a Christmas gift from Nate—the last gift from Nate. She couldn’t bear to open or activate it.

Before leaving, Madelyn made sure to leave Dogmeat a treat of sliced roast in his food bowl, tuning the radio to fill the quiet room with holiday music so the pup wouldn’t feel so alone. With her fur lined coat wrapped tightly around her, she left the safeguard of her apartment for the snow packed streets.

Valentine Detective Agency was just a quick taxi ride south over the Charles River bridge, a small nondescript building nestled in the Kenmore neighborhood. Nick liked to joke that if you didn’t know where you were going, caught up in the hustle and bustle of the crowds or the alluring bright green walls of the baseball stadium, you’d end up in the middle of Fenway park. But right there on Jersey Street stood the faded brick building with the red neon light, the flashing, arrow pierced heart a dead giveaway she was in the right spot.

Madelyn was only slightly surprised to find the office doors unlocked, sliding away the key back into her purse as she entered the dimly lit space. Ellie Perkins, Nick’s longtime secretary was absent, sent home for the holiday, the front room void of any visitors. Behind the receptionist’s desk were two doors, each with black lettering etched into the frosted glass panes. The one with Madelyn’s name was closed, but Nick’s was open, two echoing voices in the midst of discussion.

Inside she found the detective at his desk, suit jacket discarded over the back of his chair, tie loosened, but his fedora still firmly in place. He was shuffling through the disorganized pile of casefiles littered before him, lips wrapped firmly around a freshly lit cigarette. The full ashtray told Madelyn it had been a busy morning, or a long night. Occupying one of the armchairs in front of the oak tabletop was none other than Piper Wright, the woman who ran her own newspaper—Publick Occurrences—in the office space upstairs.  

Piper had made a name for herself in Boston with her independent publication—she was no Boston Bugle, and could never compete with the national affiliates, but her reputation for gathering the cold, hard truth put her in the forefront of a lot of newsreaders’ minds. It also made her a lot of enemies, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong for the next big story. Birds of a feather, as they say—she knew Nick and Madelyn could be trusted, and over the last year, the three had become good friends.

“Oh hey, Blue,” Piper greeted, glancing over the back of the chair to look at her in the doorway. Madelyn had never determined where the nickname had originated—maybe her eyes, the affinity for the color—Piper never explained. She lifted up an unfolded newspaper. “I was just reading Nicky the Christmas edition of Publick Occurrences. Care to join?”

Madelyn softly laughed as she peeled off her coat and hooked it over her arm before sinking into the opposite chair. Piper was leaned back, black Mary-Jane heels propped up on Nick’s desk—either he was too focused to notice or didn’t care. Her ruby-red jacket was slung over her lap along with her matching press cap—a definitive look no reporter in town could replicate.

“Mayor McDonough’s Police Gala: Charity or Swindle? —I wrote an expose on how much of the taxpayer’s money is spent on his annual New Year’s Eve party. An insider says that all that charity money that is raised isn’t even sent to the hospitals! It’s lining the politician’s coats!”

“Not surprising,” Nick mumbled between a drag of his cigarette.

Madelyn smiled to herself—what Eddie Winter was to Nick Valentine, Mayor Guy McDonough was to Piper Wright. Perhaps the main difference was that one wasn’t an outright criminal (that any of them were aware of), but the two reeked of corruption. Piper was far more vocal in her displeasure of McDonough’s actions, using her freedom of the press to convey her contention.

“I can’t wait till an election year,” she sighed, tilting her head against the cushion. “Did you know his brother has started a grassroots campaign to see him kicked out of office?”

Madelyn was curious. For all her political dealings downtown, she didn’t know the mayor had a brother. Another coverup from the boy’s club? She had to clarify. “His brother?”

“John McDonough, he’s younger than the mayor, about Nick’s age. I don’t know him personally, but I admire his tenacity,” Piper grinned.

“He’s a rabble-rouser, trying to stir up trouble,” Nick commented with a grimace. “That kind of man is dangerous, if you ask me. He should leave any crusading to the professionals.”

“Are we knights now, Nicky?” Piper laughed, folding her paper away. “I could use a big pointy sword, might get some informants to start talking.”

Madelyn shook her head with a sigh. “What did I say about threatening civilians?”

Piper flashed her best Hollywood glamor-girl smile, batting her eyelashes as she flipped the back of her hand through her curled, ebony hair. “Charm first, shoot last.”

Nick blanched. “We should’ve never given her a gun.”

Piper’s heels clicked against the floor as she shifted to lean against the desk, trying to peek at any files she could see. Madelyn and Nick were careful with how much information she was privy to, friend or not. The agency wasn’t affiliated with the police—hell—the Boston Police Department didn’t even give them the time of day unless they were compelled to, or on the rare occasion took pity on the gumshoe and his lady sidekick. But Piper was no ordinary citizen—she had more knowledge of the city than any beat cop or tenured investigator—a valuable asset when it came to cracking cases.

“How many have gone missing this month?” she asked, glancing between the desk and Nick.

“Twelve,” Madelyn responded glumly. “Nick is convinced there’s a connection to Winter’s gang.”

“Damn,” Piper cursed, straightening. “That’s more than last month—that’s more than last year!”

“Which is why it can’t be a coincidence Winter is ramping up business,” Nick grumbled, stubbing out his smoke as he leaned back in his chair to look at his companions. “His underlings have been busy. Shaking down local businesses, raiding warehouses, encroaching on smaller gang territories to snuff them out. The police don’t want to link the recent gang war murders to him, but I will.”

“Damn,” Piper repeated, this time with a cautious expression. “You sure about all that? How deep have you been digging?”

Madelyn had similar concerns, but she wasn’t going to voice them in front of Piper. Instead, she allowed Nick to continue, tapping his hand against a stack of papers. She leaned forward to snatch them up before the reporter could. Scribbled in Nick’s barely legible scrawl were two words—the Railroad—with a question mark beside.

“The Railroad?” she whispered, confused by what it meant.

Piper’s eyes widened, like she had won the jackpot in a Las Vegas casino. “The Railroad? Where did you hear about the Railroad?”

“Came up only recently. Had it pinned as gossip, but your reaction has me second guessing my intuition,” Nick eyed her carefully, waiting for the insider information.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she responded in a breathy laugh. “Honestly, as much hearsay as I gather about the Railroad, I can’t ever find any concrete proof they actually exist, beyond a cryptic phrase; ‘follow the Freedom Trail’.”

“The Freedom Trail downtown?” Madelyn questioned, to which Piper nodded. “A tourist trap. How bizarre.”

Nick struck a match as he lit up another cigarette. “Peculiar catchphrases aside, one has to wonder if they are tied up in these disappearances. Working with Winter.”

“A shell company?” Madelyn offered, looking to Piper.

The newswoman shook her head, doubtful of the accusation. “I’m uncertain they are nefarious. Mysterious? Sure. But as evil as Eddie Winter or McDonough? I’d rather have proof in hand before drawing any conclusions.”  

“That’s saying something,” Nick dryly chuckled.

Piper didn’t linger for very much longer, leaving her newspaper for the two to finish perusing. She’d see the two in a few days, as Madelyn’s plus-two to that reprehensible police gala—perhaps one good thing she was able to leverage for her and Nick from her job at the District Attorney’s office. At best, it would gain the group leads for news stories and cases. At worst, they’d be drunk on expensive champagne before Auld Lang Syne. Almost as soon as they were left alone, Nick produced a brand-new bottle of Irish whiskey from his desk, struggling a moment to fish for two clean glasses.

“How long have you been working?” Madelyn asked, noting the strain in his eyes.

Nick muttered something unintelligible, the smoke bobbing between his lips as he poured, pausing in after-thought to add some more. “Jenny got called into the hospital late last night, so I decided to come in. I know she’ll call me when it’s time to come home. I can celebrate Jesus’s birthday then.”

“Isn’t she Jewish?”

Nick waved his hand as he offered the glass of whiskey, a look that simply said don’t start now. Madelyn pursed her lips with a smile, content that there had been some humor in her day after all, if only for a moment. The whiskey was much better than the swill she had served the night before, smoother as it slid down her throat in a delightful burn, hitting all the right spots. Even though they had both taken several sips, Nick raised his glass in a toast.

“Merry Christmas, Madelyn.”

“Merry Christmas, Nick.” 

December 31st, 1957

Faneuil Hall had been adorned floor to ceiling in gold and silver, balloons and streamers, glitter and confetti strewn about the historic halls. Madelyn wondered what the Founding Fathers that once gathered there would think of the gaudy decorations. Probably dump them in the Boston Harbor—they seemed to be into that sort of thing when they disapproved of something. The idea alone had her wishing Samuel Adams was there now, if only to scoff at the waste of Bostonian taxpayer’s dollars.  

Mayor McDonough’s New Year’s Eve police gala was in full swing by the time she arrived, uniformed officers and detectives gathered in the downstairs hall, basking in their glory like peacocks in a zoo. Madelyn found it all very amusing as she checked her coat, smoothing out the lines of her baby blue gown as she peered around for someone familiar. She noticed some bigwig lawyers from the District Attorney’s office that never gave her the time of day, and a few defense attorneys that were slimy enough she didn’t want to risk walking within a ten-foot radius of where they stood.

“Blue! Over here!”

Madelyn turned to find Piper, all dolled up in a floor-length, red evening gown, waving her towards the meeting hall. It had been reconfigured into a dancefloor, couples paired off as they waltzed to the live band playing on the nearby stage. The two women continued up the stairs to the overlooking balconies where by one tinsel wrapped pillar stood a penguin-suited Nick Valentine and his lady luck, Jennifer Lands.

“Ah, the woman who’s been keeping my Nicky safe when I can’t keep an eye on him,” Jenny winked, blue eyes sparkling. The dark green dress she wore was in sharp, beautiful contrast to her fiery red curls, tucked up in the latest hairstyle from the pages of Vogue. “Oh but it is good to see you, Mads.”

“Likewise, Jenny,” she greeted, the two sharing a warm hug and kiss on the cheek. “I do apologize for all the late nights.”

The soon-to-be Mrs. Valentine waved her hand dismissively. “Better to know where he is, fighting the good fight, than have me pacing in the kitchen wondering which sleazy bar or motel my schmuck is lost in like these poor women do.”

Madelyn tried not to laugh, avoiding the stares of the prim-and-proper officer wives that roamed around them. Piper and Jenny indulged in their amusement, gaggling like schoolchildren while Nick sighed—but even he was cracking a grin. More laughter and jokes flowed between the four, more so as a passing waiter handed each a glass of sparkling champagne. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Madelyn sensed the spark of normalcy returning. Just a glimmer beyond the lingering sorrow, but it was there, a warm little spot of hope.

“You gonna keep me hidden up here all-night Nicky boy?” Jenny suddenly teased, stepping back to gesture over her outfit. “I didn’t get all dressed up for nothin’”

He chuckled, taking both of their glasses and depositing them on the balcony. “If I’m not back before midnight, check for my corpse on the dancefloor.”

Piper shouted over the railing as the couple descended, garnering the attention of passersby’s once more. “Yours or McDonough’s?”

“You know, he ain’t that easy to kill,” a sultry drawl called from behind them and simultaneously the women turned to look at the man who was sauntering towards them. Tall and lean, with combed back blonde hair, eyes so dark they almost seemed black. He was wearing a well-tailored suit with a red tie, a golden pin on his lapel with tiny embossed letters—of the people, for the people. He flashed a wide, toothy grin. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

It was easy for Madelyn to note the shift in Piper’s expression—she recognized this person and the realization excited her head to toe. The reporter practically beamed as she extended her hand, quickly switching to interviewing mode. “Mister McDonough, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Piper Wright with Publick Occurrences—”

“Mister McDonough is that sleazeball over there,” he pointed downstairs to where the mayor was boasting near the stage in front of a large crowd of spectators. He took Piper’s hand, shaking it once before lifting it to his lips in some old-fashioned show of flattery. “I’m just regular ol’ John McDonough. But you can call me Hancock.”

Madelyn chuckled, gaining his attention. She thought back to Piper’s previous remarks about the younger McDonough’s plans to overthrow the mayoral seat. “You can’t win an election under a moniker.”

“Who says I’m going to wait that long?” he asked, avoiding her comment. “I’m inspiring the people, making them realize he’s not the same man they voted for in ’55. Boston is under a chokehold of crime and corruption and they don’t even know it. It should be of the people, for the people, ya dig?”

“I dig,” Madelyn humored him, but as his fevered words settled in her mind, she realized he had a point. She wondered why Nick was nervous about his actions. It was her turn to introduce herself, slipping her hand into Hancock’s momentarily when he offered. He seemed to know that a kiss to the back of her knuckles was not the wisest choice. “Miss Hardy,” she greeted politely. “When did you start your…movement?”

“Fought in the war overseas and came back disillusioned with the government and the establishment,” Hancock interlaced his hands as he spoke. “Guy was already rubbing elbows, buying favors to climb his way up the ivory tower, ensuring his winning ticket to the state house. At first he offered me a seat on his counsel but there was no way he’d ever adopt my progressive views. Feeding the hungry? More money for our schools? No, my own brother kicked me out, so I’ve been fighting the man ever since.”

Piper was nodding—of course she agreed with the plight to help the little people and anyone who worked to accomplish these goals was good in her book. Madelyn, however, was skeptical of anyone who talked too fast with too wide of a smile—she chalked it up to working in a proverbial shark-tank of lawyers.

Hancock noted her uncertainty with a smirk, spreading his hands in a wave. “But enough grandiose monologue, we’re here to have a good time, aren’t we?” He offered a hand to both her and Piper. “Would either of you ladies care for a dance?”

Madelyn silently deferred to Piper but extended the smooth-talking man a small grin. “I’ll have to give you a rain-check.”

“I’ll hold you to it, sister.”

Alone on the balcony, Madelyn overlooked the couples dancing in the hall below, slowing as a female voice crooned out Dream a Little Dream of Me. It was typical in these quiet moments that her mind drifted and that night was no different, her thoughts instantly filled of the last time she had danced with Nate. But she wasn’t melancholy, despite the tightness in her chest as she slowly swayed to the music, content to watch her friends.

“Ma’am.”

Madelyn was about to dismiss the waiter, showing off her half-full glass when she noted he was delivering something else, quickly passing off a folded note before rushing off. She turned on her heel to watch him go but lost him in the crowd, a mix of confusion and panic settling in her gut. What was happening? A phone-call? Telegram? The only people she knew in Boston, let alone cared about were right there in that room. Madelyn’s suspicion only grew when she unfolded the message, looking over the four words typed on the parchment.

You can’t trust everyone.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 15 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 15 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 4a: The Death of Kurti

Several days ago, Kurti finished mending and rehanging the opulent but worn velvet bed drapes.  She was running out of things to clean or mend. Keeping the Captain looking the part was getting easier and quicker. Barad, seeing the effect on morale was not only cooperating, he was starting to make his own good choices.  She laid aside the slim volume of Arrakan mathematical functions that she was studying on her own and looked about for something else to do.  She knocked at the locked cabin door and it was opened at once.  The cabin boy Benj held it open for her.

“What do you want?” he asked somewhat truculently.

She looked him in his green eyes which were hidden behind a thatch of sun-bleached brown hair.  “I want to take the carpet up on deck and wash it out with clean water and soap, if I can.”

To her astonishment, he replied, “OK, let’s roll it up and get to it.”

He saw her surprise and said, “The Capt’n ordered me to watch and help you in any reasonable task, if you should ask.  First cabin-girl he’s ever done that for.”  He grunted on the end of the statement as he helped lift his end of the carpet.

Kurti had to squint a bit at the brightness of the sunlight, even filtered through the ropes and sails of the big square-rigger.  Apologetically she said, “It’s been a while since I’ve been out and about. I’ll need some soap, a bucket and a stiff broom.  Think you can find them for me?”

“Sure can!”  He set off at a run toward the bows, over three hundred feet away.  He ducked down a companion-way and was gone.  The deck-watch was made up of people that she had known.  Now they appeared to see her as a total stranger, and one to be pitied at that.

It angered her.  Under the anger was hurt.  Anger was easier.  When Benj returned with the bucket, soap and two brooms, she almost told him off.  Instead she attacked the carpet with a viciousness that took him aback.  He pitched in, scrubbing the soap into the pile.  After a few minutes he heard a soft, “Thank you, Benj.  Everyone else seems to think that I’m already dead.”

He hesitated.  “Can’t very well blame them.  Dragons!  You know as well as I that no cabin-girl has ever lasted more than a Gathering or two.  You’re the first one ever seen on deck after being taken to His cabin.  They don’t know what to think.  How’d you get free enough to come on deck, anyhow?”

“It’s silly.  I just figured that if I was given the job, I’d do my best at it.  I cleaned, mended and did my best to keep his cabin for him. That’s all.”  She shrugged.  Then she sluiced water over the carpet to see where it needed more scrubbing and went back to work. It did not really take long to get the carpet clean, rinsed and hung to dry.

Kurti took one of the brooms, the soap and the bucket and went back down to the Captain’s cabin.  She assaulted the floor while the carpet was drying above-deck.  Looking at the hand of the water clock, she set out books, instruments and tallow-slate for Barad’s next sighting. Whatever faults he might have, he was a meticulous navigator.

Captain Barad came into the cabin and smiled when he saw the preparations that she had made.  “Thank you, Kurti.  You know, you are the first cabin-girl that I’ve had that merited or got thanks.  That door will not be locked, so long as you serve loyally.

“I asked Benj what you told him.  You shared no private thing, nor told about my navigation problem a few days ago.  You know discretion.”

I value my life, she thought.  “Thank you Sir.  The problem was not of your making.  It was only poor copying on the part of a scribe.  What would be to tell in that?”

“Some could have cast the tale to make them look the better or me the worse.  You kept your council.”

Glancing about the room his eye lingered on the one thing out of place, the book of functions.  He nodded and smiled, clearly pleased.  “Studying on your own?” he asked.  “What do you think of Kret’ien’s treatment of two body-three body approximations?”

Surprised at his apparently encyclopedic knowledge, Kurti thought for a moment and replied, “It’s interesting, but the principle appears to be extensible to up to six bodies.”

Barad grinned and said, “It does.  You will find that bit of devious reasoning in here.”  He pulled down another of the little books from his shelf of mathematics.  The books were in three different languages.

Changing topics, he added, “I see that you are cleaning the carpet.  If I failed to mention it, you have done well with the mending too.  When you were done with them, the bed drapes looked like new.  Will your carpet cleaning be done by this evening?”

“Yes, Sir.  The carpet is drying now.  Another two hours at most.”

“Very good, Kurti.”  He glanced to verify that the window was open.  “I will call down a time mark shortly.  Set the clock hand to zero the instant that you hear me.”

She smiled at the implied trust and said, “You can count on it, Sir.”

The mark was called and she set the clock with a tiny gurgle of water from its mechanism.  About ten minutes later a second mark was called and she set the exact time with the clock’s keeper hand.  Then she wrote the elapsed time on a tallow slate.  Shortly, the Captain was back.  He took her observations without comment and went to his figures.  He was done promptly and handed both tallow-slate and books to her.

In surprise, she took them and began to check the figures and tables. It took her longer than it had him because he had shut the books and she had to find the correct tables.  No easy task for one with no formal training.

“You had the correct figures, Captain, but you rubbed one out and changed it.  Why?”

“You’re right.  It was a test.  I will take whatever of value falls my way. Most navigators need many Wohans of training in the mathematics and more still to be able to use the instruments.  I know that you have done more than clean their boxes.  Tomorrow, I will have you make a complete sighting alongside me.  I want to see what you need to learn.”

He stretched luxuriously in his favorite chair.  “Have Benj see how the carpet is doing.  Then come here.”  Benj quickly reported that the carpet would need another hour to be dry.  Kurti curled up in the Barad’s lap and let him stroke her.  Soon they were in the bed.

Another week passed.  A pair of crewmen working on a rope splicing job near the mizzen mast, paused to watch the ever more familiar sight of the new cabin-girl on deck with the Captain.  (They had stopped using her name, assuming that she would soon be gone.  On this ship it wasn’t thought safe to remember those who departed.)

“What do you suppose the Captain’s doing?”

“Teaching the girl to con the ship, ‘t looks to be.”

“Why’d he do that?  You know why he picked her, and it wasn’t brains.”

“There, see.  He’s showing her how to set the Lunant all over again.  ‘Tis a tricky instrument to use, right enough.  Never seen such patience in him before.  Leanin’ a tad closer to ‘er than strictly necessary, too.”

“You know, they goes another place together sometimes.”

“Where d’you mean?”

They goes to sick-bay once, sometimes twice a week.”

“You’re tryin’ to fool me.”

“Truth. On the Dragons, I swear it.”

“I think he’s going soft.”

“If you think that, you just do a sloppy job on this splice.  You know he’ll see it, this afternoon’s inspection.”

“Point. Fid it open just here, will you?”

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS   NEXT==>

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[alexiethymia]

skies in her eyes

{okikagu drabble series, chronological with the canon timeline, more of a character fic on okita, kagura is mostly just mentioned, also on ao3}

He used to love the season of fall. But now there’s a girl that reminds him of spring.

Sogo’s favorite season was fall. When his sister asked, he’d tell her it was because he loved how the temperature was perfect for sleeping. But really it was because the gingko reminded him of her hair, and the falling maple reminded him of her eyes, the leaves dancing in a red storm before they made their way down to him. It was because fall paved the way for winter, and winter was the perfect season to share spicy senbei. Winter was when everyone - his aneue, Kondo-san, and yes even that Hijbaka shared one small kotatsu to keep warm because they were too dirt-poor to afford more than one. But that kotastu was home for him.

But then kamisama really had a sick sense of irony didn’t he?

Because Mitsuba died in the fall, the person he loved most in the season he loved most because it was the most like her. Kamisama made sure he could never forget (not that he ever would).

Now there’s no one to share spicy senbei with, and they can never return to that small kotatsu. It’s winter and Sogo feels like he’ll never be warm again.

‘Oi, Sogo.’

‘Hm?’

‘You’ve got a cherry blossom petal on your hair. C’mon, I’ll pick it out.’

Hijikata was about to pick off the stray petal, when the younger boy sidestepped him, with a deadpan look. ‘I’d rather you didn’t Hijikata-san. Why’re you pretending like you’re some Ikemen from a shoujo manga? Hijikata-san, could you not come near me? We don’t know if mayonnaise sickness is contagious.’

‘You brat…’

‘Maa, maa, Toshi,’ placated Kondo, ever the peacemaker between them.

Hijikata would normally say more, you know the usual, ‘commit seppuku right now!’ but he was still feeling pleasantly buzzed. Not that he’d admit it to those Yorozuya freaks, but he actually had fun. ‘Don’t worry, Kondo-san. I won’t fall down to the level of some brat who was playing around with another brat just a while ago,’ he snickered, then noticed Sogo who was looking at the petal he’d just plucked from his hair. He was looking at it intensely, face visibly annoyed. That in itself was surprising for Hijikata who knew him since childhood and still couldn’t tell what was behind that poker face half the time.

‘That brat…’ For his part Sogo didn’t even notice Hijikata poking fun at him. All he knew was he felt annoyance bloom. ‘I won’t lose to her next time.’ He let the petal fall from his hand to the dirt, and then continued walking.

The two adults let him walk ahead.

‘You know Kondo-san?’

‘What is it Toshi?’

‘I haven’t seen him that annoyed in quite a while since…’

‘Ah.’ Kondo put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. The weight was heavy for him, so it must be even moreso for Toshi, and especially for Sogo. ‘But, I know what you mean.’

Lagging behind, they remembered a bit, but Hijikata, perhaps in an effort to shake himself of ghosts, went on, ‘But that girl really was something. Going toe to toe with our Sogo.’

‘Our?’

‘Geh.’ Hijikata could only splutter in embarrassment. Kondo poked fun at him, ‘C’mon that guy isn’t here and yet you’re still competitive. Maybe Sogo gets it from you pahahaha.’

‘Don’t you start Kondo-san!’ Hijikata tried to jostle the still-laughing gorilla on his shoulder.

Wiping off a tear, Kondo continued on, ‘Sogo’s always been the best at everything he does. Everything came easy to him. But along with that enormous talent came the enormous burden of being alone.’ Hijikata could only remain silent at that. ‘Who knows? Maybe a little healthy competition will be good for him.’

‘Maybe you’re right Kondo-san.’

Kondo-san, as it turns out was wrong, though of course they didn’t know it yet. Depending on what perspective you looked at it from, maybe it was a good thing for Sogo, but from the perspective of the rest of Kabuki-cho, or perhaps the people who had to deal with property damage every day, it was definitely not a good thing at all.

'There are things that must be protected even if you get dirty.’

It’s not like he forgot, but maybe he’d spent too long in the dirt that he couldn’t see things as clearly anymore.

‘Hey, thanks.’ Thanks for what exactly? For knocking out the Rokkaku girl, for looking for him, for reminding, for staying, for being an annoying pain in the ass that he got pissed off just by looking at her, so much so that he was itching for a sword. No way was he dying indebted to that brat.

Maybe it was fine that he’s been stuck in the dirt all this time. From dirt, new things grow. Didn’t someone tell him that, once upon a time?

Even if it wasn’t actually dirt he was stuck in, but a room full of vomit. He was so going to kill that china girl later, but first he was going to damn well protect the both of them first.

He hasn’t felt this angry in quite a while. It’s different from his usual killing intent. He can honestly say that this is the first time that he’s furious at China. Not that she’ll ever know, not that he’ll ever let it show.

But for an instant he saw a ghost in her bed, superimposed on her figure, and he will one day strangle her with his bare hands for putting the people she loves through a facsimile of what he went through.

Because he already lived through it, he can see through her in an instant. China is pale, but it’s her usual color, all lily-white skin. It’s fine. It’s ok. She’s still full of vitality. Red blood still runs through her veins, inside where it belongs, to make her flush cherry blossom pink. Not like how Aneue was at the end, bleach white like the branches left behind once all the leaves had fallen.

Part of him wants to shake her silly, be the straight man this time, break their routine, but another part of him painfully understands, that feeling of being left behind. It’s disgusting. Well if he’s going to listen to that rational part of him anyway, might as well have as much fun as possible.

He carries a rose that reminds him of cherry blossoms, places it next to her, and smiles a smile that would make Shinigami-sama himself proud.

Why is it always her?

He was shriveled, wilted, pieces of him falling that he kept looking down to see if he dropped something. Kondo-san was nowhere, neither was Hijikata-san, and of course Aneue would never be. It was bigger now, but did he have to leave behind this kotatsu too?

But then she poked and she prodded. She pushed like the boar that she was.

‘We will never forget.’ (How could she have known that it was his greatest fear to forget and be forgotten?)

‘So just go do your job already.’ He can feel her palm through the back of his jacket. It feels warm.

Maybe she has too much life in her too-small body that it just leaks it out of her. She’s just like the sun she hates – abrasive, overpowering, it’ll just shine on you, get in your eyes when all you want to do is take a nap. See, this is why he has an eye mask.

All he remembers is that he was a corpse walking, but suddenly now, with her beside him; he suddenly feels energetic enough to want to make corpses of everyone else here instead.

It’s raining water instead of cherry blossoms this time around, but she’s still looking down at him, that part hasn’t changed. The water pours down from above and around, but rather than cleansing them, it’s just making them dirtier. It’s dreary weather, grey and murky, but all he sees is a cheeky grin and clear blue skies.

Something blood-red is blooming from behind his chest. It’s pounding like it wants to claw its way out. It makes itself known through a feral snarl, lips pulled back in a wild grin, a perfect copy of the one on hers.

He’s not leaving anything behind. They’re not leaving anything behind. It’s just that those guys from Yoruzuya will keep the kotatsu warm for when they finally come back.

‘The next time we meet…’

We’ll be strong enough that we won’t have to leave anything behind ever again.

‘Okita-taichouuu, are we done yet?’

‘Stop whining Yamazaki. If you don’t have anything better to do with that useless hole, I can plug it with something sharp so you won’t ever have to use it again.’

“Kyaaa. Sorry Okita-taichou. Please don’t plug my hole!’ Yamazaki crossed his arms in front of him as if it could actually shield him if the captain did decide to make good on his threat.

It’s been a month or so now and being a ronin once again was tough. Okita-taichou was right. He didn’t have the right to whine, even if this was already the 6000th practice swing, not when the chief, the vice-chief, and the captain were working thrice as hard.

After the hellish training was done he could only hope he could make use of his arms again. Ah, what he wouldn’t give for a piece of anpan about now.

‘You alright there Yamazaki?’

‘Fuku-chou!’

‘Stop calling me that. Technically, I’m no longer your fuku-chou anymore.’

‘Former fuku-chou then.’

‘Whatever.’ Said former fuku-chou sat next to him and continued to puff at his abstinence stick. ‘That Sogo though…I didn’t know he could work this hard.’ While everyone else was finally taking their break, their young captain still continued to do practice swings, and would probably continue to do so until Kondo-san would make him stop, before he got sick from practicing in the rain.

‘For some reason, Okita-taichou suddenly gets a lot more motivated when it starts raining. Do you know the reason former fuku-chou?’

‘Well, beats me,’ Hijikata says with a wry smile, ‘All I know is that someone once told me that a lot of rain’s good for plants because it helps them grow.’

At Yamazaki’s blank look, Hijikata just chuckled.

Sogo felt restless, he almost always did nowadays, being on the run from a country full of people wanting to kill you tended to do that to people, he’s heard. But it’s not that.

It doesn’t matter whether the weather’s bad or good. He can’t remember the last time he’s taken a nap. Just like now. The weather perfect, the sky is clear, no cloud’s in sight. Clear blue skies. Spring skies. Unfortunately it just makes him want to train harder because it feels like she’s still looking down on him even now.

‘Hm. Maybe I should just poke both her eyes out with my sword. That would solve the problem.’ He lifts it up and makes poking motions up at the sky.

‘Here’s someone casually making morbid statements over here,’ Hijikata shudders, ‘You’re really gonna be mistaken as a tsujiri one of these days.’

‘How rude, Hijikata-san,’ Sogo smirks, still holding his sword aloft, ‘Please don’t forget. I’m a policeman.’

From his viewpoint lying down, he sees an upside-down Kondo coming up at Hijikata-san’s other side.

‘Did you make a promise to meet again Sogo? Tie each other’s hair around your pinky like what I’ve heard they do in Yoshiwara. Ahh, I wish I could have done that with my beloved Otae-san.’

For a moment, Sogo thinks he sees a red strand of hair on his pinky, before it disappears. ‘We don’t need something as fragile as that Kondo-san. The only red thread I need is the blood I draw from her throat the next time we meet.’

‘And he’s back to saying casually disturbing things again.’ Kondo-san’s white in the face, and Hijikata-san’s shaking his head at him as if he’s hopeless.

Sogo narrows his eyes at him. ‘Die already Hijikata-san. You’re disturbing my nap.’

True to his word Sogo falls asleep in moments. They notice he hasn’t drawn his eyemask to cover his eyes like usually does. They smile at each other, and leave it at that, wondering what twisted little sadists dream about. Maybe whips and chains, they wonder, and then blanch.

Unexpectedly it’s a lot more innocent than that. Sogo dreams about clear blue skies and falling pink blossoms dancing in the wind. He dreams of a mat big enough and a kotatsu big enough to fit them all, whether it’s for a flower viewing party or sharing nabe. Amongst them all, he can’t be sure but he thinks he sees his oneechan. She’s next to Hijibaka, but maybe he can let it slide just this once, since he still has a China brat to beat with the toy mallet in his hand, and from the cheeky grin she has, it looks like she has the same idea.

'How about you aneue? What’s your favorite?’

‘Hm, me, So-chan? Well, I like it when the flowers start to blossom and things start to grow again. You see, oneechan really loves spring!’

[zreezree]

The Church: Chapter 3

Summary:

Imagine waking up in a church dressed in a priest’s robe and stockings, munching on eucharists for breakfast. Not only were you not in 2018 anymore, but seemingly in the time of the Peaky Blinders. It was supposed to be a silly dream, but when you’re gazing into the icy eyes of Thomas Shelby and trying to hide your sacrilege : things get a little interesting and kooky.

A Thomas Shelby X Reader story.

Chapter 1   Chapter 2

 “Why? Why am I here?” You asked for the umpteenth time since you woke up sopping wet on the freezing concrete in Birmingham. It was evident that you were not in a dream.

You were stuck here and no idea how you got here or how to get out.

You had nowhere or no one to run to. Just your good ol’ makeshift bed behind a loud organ.

There was also your evening shift at the Garrisons tonight. That was IF you were still hired.

All the groceries and toiletries you bought yesterday were still at the pub. Forgotten in all of last night’s chaos.

Honestly, it was as though you had dynamite shoved up your arse with the way you bolted away from Thomas Shelby last night.

Your poor aching legs protested with every movement.

“Fuck.” You swore under your breath.

The white bandages Tommy wrapped around your hands now had an angry red hue, possibly from your frantic climbing through the church window.

A trip to the pharmacy was the priority today.

That meant you had to step out onto the streets, where you could run into the Blinders at any corner and moment.

It could possibly mean instantaneous death for all you knew.

Swallowing, you pushed the giant oaken doors and stepped out.

The musty, wet smell of rain and cool wind swept through you. It was grey and bloody miserable.

“Fuck.” You uttered under your breath, your hamstrings mocking you with every step on the dark cobbled ground.

Your breaths came out as white mist as you trudged down the street, eyes straining to find the words ‘pharmacy’ or ‘apothecary�� on shop signs through the rain.

Thankfully something was opened, and you bought yourself fresh bandages and rub-in alcohol, beginning to make your way to the Garrsions to see if you still had a job.

Walking in, Harry immediately smiled in relief seeing you.

“Lassie! Are you ok? Tommy told me you cut your hands!”

Taking in a sharp breath at hearing is name, you nodded with a slight smile,” Yes, I am fine! Am I still hired?”

Harry looked at you incredulously,” Of course! Now why you would be asking such a question?”

Harry looked at you and shook his head, chucking an apron at you.

  “Are you still able to work with your hands?”

You gave him a bright grin, tying the apron behind you. “Of course. It’s honestly not that bad.”

“It will be just us two for the evenin’. Grace will be away.” You nodded, immediately began wiping tables and pushing the chairs in.

It was oddly a soothing afternoon.

The doors of the entrance swung open abruptly, nearly giving you a heart attack. Only instead of seeing your typical adult, male clients: you saw a little boy.

He couldn’t have been more than ten and his clothes stuck to him from the rain.

His body visibly shivering and swaying.

You immediately put the glass you were polishing down and made a beeline for the boy.

“Sweet heart, come take a seat. What happened?” You pointed towards the nearest chair and gently brought it towards him.

“I-I’m ok. I just need Tommy. Or Arthur.” He uttered, his eyes drooping. He looked as though he were about to collapse. “They’re not here. Please take a seat.”

“But-“

You moved the chair right in front of him and gestured towards it with a firm stare. The boy sluggishly sat on the stool, his face white and damp.

“It’s ok sweety, my name’s [Your Name] and I’m a nurse.” You uttered as you began to place a hand against his forehead.

“What’s your name?” You asked brightly, trying to hide the building concern you had for the boy. His forehead felt like a furnace against your hand. The poor thing had a fever.

“Finn Shelby.” He whispered as leaned into your hand.

“Harry, could you please ring the Shelby’s?” His nose was also runny.

“What, why?”

“Just do it. Finn needs a doctor, a vaccine more likely since it looks like he has the flu.”

Harry immediately begin to ring all the members. Of course, no one would answer. Instead he rang the doctor.

It took at least an hour for the slow idiot to come. Finn was laid down with his head in your lap while you were both settled on the couch in the backroom.

He was in a delirious state. Your fingers gently combed back his damp hair, occasionally placing a rag in a jug of water to wring it and put it back on the boy’s head.

You already had Harry run to the apothecary. All they had was peppermint oil. No paracetamol. No aspirin of ibuprofen. No antiviral medication.

The doctor came in with a massive leather bag and looked at Finn with cautiously.

“He has the flu.” You spoke, nodding your head at the doctor in greeting. The doctor immediately stepped back.

“Just chamomile tea. That’s all we can do for him.” He shook his head, turning to walk out of the pub.

Your eyes narrowed.

“No. You are going to do something,” you paused, voice deepening.

“You are going to give him the flu vaccine.”

“Young lady are you the doctor?” he asked snidely, glaring at you with a reddened face.

“I’m a certified nurse. Give him the vaccine for goodness sakes!” You looked at him incredulously. The idiocy of this man.

From what you remember, there was the Spanish influenza epidemic just after the first world war. According to one tutorial class in university that you actually payed attention in, the flu ended up killing more American troops than battle itself.

Thankfully, they had developed a vaccine at the end. You just didn’t know why this ass was not giving Finn the vaccine.

“He will be fine…”

“Finn!” Polly called as she strode quickly inside the room. Her eyes and eyebrows furrowed with worry as she saw the delirious boy in your arms.

“Give. Him. The. Vaccine.”

You growled, glaring menacingly at the man. A sudden click was heard within the room.

“Listen to the lady there,” Polly pressed a pistol behind the doctor’s spine. The doctor turned white as a freshly bleached cloth. “P-polly. Didn’t realise it was y-you.”

“NOW!” You shouted at the doctor.

Polly in turn pressed the gun painfully against one of his vertebrae.

“C-Certainly.”

Within the next hour, both you and Polly carried Finn to her home. The dimwit finally injected him and the two of you tucked him in.

“We owe you for this,” Polly uttered as she watched you smooth Finn’s hair back. You sighed and shook your head.

“No, you don’t.” You looked up at her from your seated position at the side of his bed.

“I just don’t want anyone catching this, lest it spread like wildfire again. I think it’s better that I attend to him. I’ve already gotten it before, so I have some sort of immunity but as for everyone else….Don’t let them in the room until it passes.”

Polly pursed her lips together tightly, nodding.

“He should be ok within a week and a half. The main thing is that he hasn’t gotten pneumonia. Just keep him in bed and make sure he drinks plenty of fluids. Just in case that idiot doctor didn’t tell you.”

You sighed, shaking your head as you looked up to the wooden ceiling.

“If you need anything, you’ll find me most of the time at the pub working.”

You stood up and gave her a smile.

“He’ll be alright. I promise! Is it ok that I come by tonight to check on him?”

Polly nodded gratefully. “Absolutely.”  

“I’ll go back to my shift, I will see you later.”

“Thank you.” Was all she said as she led you out.

She closed the door behind and leant her back against it, her eyes flickering closed. A tear trailed down her cheek.

“Where the fuck are those boys?” She uttered, rubbing her forehead.

It must have been at eight in the evening when Polly heard the knock,

She opened the door only to see you with bags in your hand.

“How is he?” You asked, voice muffled behind the brown paper bags as you trudged into the dimly lit kitchen.

Polly let out a sigh,” He is still asleep.”

“Good. Means his body is fighting it off. I brought some things that should quicken his recovery along.” You placed the bags on the timbre table.

“Some elder berries.” You uttered as brought out at least a kilo to show. They looked similar to blue berries in shape and size but had a darker, purple tint.

“We will need to cook them, in their raw form their toxic. But it will help his immune system and clear everything in the chest and throat.”

Polly immediately went about setting the stove up, bringing out a large pot while you went to the sink to rinse the fruit.

It took at least three hours to prepare the damned juice concoction. If only you had electric stove tops.

“It tastes like shit.” Blunt and straight to the point, she uttered, placing the spoon in the sink.

“That’s how you know it’s real medicine.” You chuckled.

Within the three hours that the two of you laboured over the juice, you could say that you were in the good books of the fearsome matriarch.

That in itself was a feat. You knew she was wary of strangers.

Both Polly and yourself sat at the kitchen table exhausted. She had a cigarette in between her fingers as she took a bottle and poured two drinks.

“Whisky,” was all she said, sliding the glass to you. Nodding in thanks, the two of you clanged your glasses together and swung the drink into your throats.

You spluttered, face reddening as you knocked your fist against your chest. Polly chuckled,” Not much of a drinker?”

You shook your head, tears forming in your eyes as you heaved,” Only just started.”

She took a drag out of her cigarette,” Birmingham will do that to you.”

“Why are you here of all places?” You sighed at the question. You could tell that her and Tommy were related.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I guess I have been drifting about to try a find a job either as a teacher or a nurse. There was no point in going back to Australia.

“…Call it the curse of being born a girl that people don’t want to hire you.”

Polly nodded, pouring another shot of drinks.

“Why can’t you go back?”

“Nothing there. Ma passed away from influenza after she found the news that Pa and my brothers perished in Gallipoli. It was just a month later after she received the letter. Heart attack.”

It’s true, no one was alive. Yet. But Gallipoli was a sidenote and an ode to thirteen years of schooling in the limited 200 years of history of Australia.

You swung back the shot, feeling the alcohol starting to fuzz your senses. This time, thankfully you didn’t choke on the whisky.

“Now, I won’t ever see them again,” you whispered, feeling tears pooling at the edge of your eyes. It was the truth. You had no idea if you would ever return to your time to see your family.

“So, there is no point. There is nothing there for me.”

Polly placed a hand on top of your knuckles.

“Funny thing for you Polly, I heard you are gypsy, right?” You inquired with a watery smile.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she nodded slowly, almost stiffly.

“Ma’ always said that we had some sort of gypsy heritage. She always used to say that it was hard to keep me in one place. It was that blood showing through.”

Her eyes widened slightly and crinkled, a relieved smile pinched her maroon coloured lips,” Of what kind?”

“Romani. My grandmother was Romani, from the Balkans. That’s all she told me. She taught me a few words and some songs.”

Was it the alcohol that loosened your tongue? You didn’t know. It just felt good to talk to someone properly. To talk about your mama. Your family. Something that was not a lie.

‘Sa me amala oro kelena’ You sang softly while your eyes looked up to the wooden ceiling. Polly had even joined you, her eyes closed as she sung between breathing some of the cigarette. A smile quirked at the edge of her lips as her head leaned back singing louder for the chorus.

Sa o Roma babo Sa o Roma o daje Sa o Roma babo Ederlezi, Ederlezi Sa o Roma daje’

“…I hadn’t heard or sung that in years.” Polly uttered, shaking her head.

“My own ma’ and baba sang it to me.” She poured another drink for the two of you.

The two of you clanged glasses and downed it.

“…I had two children. One girl, Anna. One boy, Michael. I used to sing it to them when they were babes.” She poured another shot for the two of you, her own eyes pooling with tears.

“They took them away from me. The parish. Took my Anna, she was only three and Michael five. Well two weeks from being six.” She downed another shot.

Only this time, you placed your own hand on her knuckles. Your own eyes tearing for her.

“Those bastards,” you uttered. You knew the story well enough. She swung back another glass.

“I don’t know if they are alive. Are they healthy? Are they on the streets or buried six feet under in some ditch!” She spat like a hissing snake, tears still streaming down her face.

“I keep dreaming of them almost every night.” She shook her head, curling her fists.

She took another shot and closed her eyes, one tear drop trickled down her cheek.

You wish you could tell her. You could. But bloody hell you’ve watched and read enough stories on time-travel. History and future could change. Who knows what you could fuck up.

As much as you wanted to help the grieving, strong matriarch.

You could feel her pain resonate and pierce into you. It was haunting.

You stood up from the chair and embraced her. Her shoulders shook violently. Her hand gripped your arm in a death grip.

Her grip eventually slackened, and her weight leaned fully into you.

“Polly?” You asked. No response.

“Polly?” You gently shook at her. She passed out. She must’ve down an easy five shots in two minutes.

Sighing, you swung her arm around your shoulder and began to drag her to her room upstairs.

“…Tommy’s.” She whispered as you stood outside the first door. Swallowing, you nodded as the two of you staggered further down the corridor to the last room.

You knew it was her room by the lipsticks balanced by the vanity mirror. Dresses folded on a nearby chair. As well as two pictures.

One of a baby. It was black and white, the edges slowly fading. The other of a boy that looked no more than four holding a wooden car with a wide grin, his two front teeth missing. Closing your eyes, you gently guided the woman to her bed.

Her back sprawled against the bed as you took her boots off. Fluffing her pillow, your fingers touched some article of clothing.

She was already fast asleep, mouth slightly opened.

Taking them out from underneath her head, it was two tiny pieces of clothing.

It must be their clothes. You heard of mothers who lost their children. Keeping and smelling their clothes or blankets in their grief.

Swallowing, you felt tears in your eyes. She loved her children more than anything.

God, you wanted to help her.

Maybe you could hurry the process somehow? Leave an anonymous tip?

But knowing Tommy at least by watching him on Netflix, was that he would find out one way or another.

You would not be able to explain anything.

“…I’m so sorry Polly,” you whispered as your finger grazed of the smooth edge of the photographs.

“You will meet Michael. I know it. I promise.” With that, you left to get her a glass of water. Her head would more than likely explode when she wakes up in the morning. Leaving the glass on her bedside, you turned off the lamp and walked into corridor.

Once more, you stood outside the first door of the corridor. His room.  Curiosity was burning inside you with feverous ache. All you had to do was turn the knob.

Swallowing, you entered. Turning on his lamp which was a simple light globe by his bedside you sat at the end of the bed.

It was springy, bouncing slightly under your weight.

It was his. Tommy’s.

A clean room. The walls adorned with a simple dark green striped wall paper. A globe for a lamp on his wooden bedside table. His metal bed with grey sheets folded with military precision and a flannel blanket folded over the bottom half of his bed.

It smelt like him.

Cigarettes. A certain musk that was just him.

It was calming. Almost familiar.

His suits hung by the corner. A pack of cigarettes on the bedside table and peeking out from the draw was a pipe. At least, what you assumed to be an opium pipe.

Sighing, you almost forgot. He experienced night terrors. Post-traumatic stress.

“…Tommy,” you whispered. Gods, what were you doing?

Curious or not, you should not be snooping his room.

Swallowing, you gently caressed his bed just for a moment longer. He could come any moment.

Forcing yourself to stand to walked out, closing the door behind you and walked over to Finn’s room.

 It was morning when Polly woke groggy, hardly remembering what happened the previous evening.

She remembered that the two of you sang Romani songs. She mentioned Anna and Michael…

But that was all. She felt as though she was missing something. Finn.

“Finn!” She gasped as she abruptly stood from her bed. The head was pulsating, but she bolted for his room.

Opening the door, she sighed in relief.

There were you, the girl she poured her deepest secret seated on the chair next to Finn.

Your hand was clasping his while your head laid sprawled onto your arm leaning onto the bed from the seat.

“Pol’?” Tommy’s voice echoed down the hall. His strong footsteps headed her way as he stopped and stared at the scene.

“What happened?” He gestured to your sleeping form and Finn.

Polly placed her index finger to her lips and led him out.

“Finn got the influenza. If it wasn’t for her, we would be burying him tomorrow Tom. She saved him.” Tommy slowly inhaled closing his eyes and nodded before walking away for what seemed to be another errand.

“She’s a good girl Tommy.” Polly spoke as she blocked his exit.

“Move.” It was a clear, cut command. Polly did not budge.

“She saved your brother Tommy. You treat her right, you hear me?”

Tommy stared at her blankly.

“Polly.” He ordered once more before Polly stepped away. Something was amiss. She could not pinpoint what, but she felt in her bones that something big was going to happen for him.

Love perhaps?

She smirked as she closed the door behind him. When it came to matters of the heart, Polly Gray was never wrong.

Stretching your neck, you awoke to a curious pair of brown eyes.

“G’morning miss,” he uttered in a voice a smidge too raspy for a young child.

You gave him a soft smile, stretching and hearing your neck pop.

“Ugh,” you breathed as you moved your neck side to side.

Putting a hand against his damp forehead, he felt a little warm.

“How are you feeling Finn?” You asked, combing his hair back with your fingers.

“A little better, can I go outside now?” His raspy voice rose in pitch with hope.

It made your smile wane slightly and your eyes looked at him sympathetically.

“Not for the next few days chick-a-dee. You need some rest so that body of yours fights off the gunk.” You wagged an index finger at him playfully.

“I’ll see if we can get you some breakfast.” Standing up, you chuckled as he complained,” But I’m bored!”

As your steps clacked against the timbre, your eyes met Polly’s cooking form. The lady normally avoided cooking if she had to. Yet here she was, with crisp white apron tied at the back of waist with a wooden spoon in hand slaving over the stove.

“Morning Polly, how’s the head.” you greeted warmly.

She turned around with a huff,” Absolutely fabulous.”

Her bleary eyes and dark circles told you that a drum was beating away inside her cranium.

“I haven’t gotten that plastered in years. How you managed to get me to bed is a miracle. Thank you [Your Name].”

“Don’t mention it Pol’.” You grinned as she rubbed at her forehead.

“About last night-“

“Will go to the grave with me.” You promised. The lady honestly did not need to say more.

Her eyes warmed as she lifted her lips into a smile.

“I don’t give trust easily, [Your Name].”

You chuckled,” I gathered. The boys must’ve been terrified of you, especially when holding a wooden spoon.”

She rolled her eyes with a smirk,” They were.  But Tommy used to hide them. Would never tell me where, the little devil.”

You could not help but laugh, trying to imagine a little Tommy getting into mischief. With those baby blues of his, he could’ve gotten away with everything.

“He had the brains back then even,” Polly muttered wistfully.

“But break that trust, I will never forgive. Never forget.” Her voice changed to deeper tone.

You nodded and lifted a bandaged palm up. “Likewise, Polly. For me it’s like pulling out teeth to say anything.”

She smiled again, nodding before moving to face the stove.

“But I better be off, I start at the pub at eleven.”

“No, you have an hour. Have some breakfast first. I will not take no for an answer young lady.”

“…That seems to run in the family.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I’ll bring a tray up to Finn first.”

  “

   When you arrived at the pub, you noticed that it was peculiarly quiet. Your eyes scanned the place for anything amiss, only to spot nothing.

“Harry, what’s going on?” You asked, tying your apron behind you.

“Nothing.” Harry answered, his face furrowed in a frown as gazed at piles of papers and receipts in front of him.

“Where’s Grace?”

“She should be arriving any moment. Today she will be singing, Mr Shelby let off the ban.”

Ah right.

The door opened to reveal the blonde lady. Speak of the devil and she shall appear. Though to be fair, you never really spoke to her. Most of the time, the two of you were running around like headless chooks serving.

But today, you noticed an extra spring in her step. A certain spark in her smile. Reminding you of the cat who got the canary. Ah yes, their relationship must have progressed the next level last night. Was it before or after your ‘meeting’ with Mr Shelby?

Your mood immediately plummeted. Oh, you wanted nothing more than to sock a punch into his nose.

“[Your Name]! How are you?” She asked cheerly, almost singing as she tied her apron.

“Good. But I’m frightened by how quiet it is here. And you Grace? You seem to be glowing.” You gestured at her with your newly bandaged hands.

Polly insisted wrapping them up anew after feeding you a feast. It was heavenly having a hot, home cooked meal.

Ah yes, the glowing angel meet the bandaged mummy. She simply smiled wider. “I’m feeling wonderful,” she answered with her Irish accent ringing merrily

“Harry, has Tommy arrived yet?” She was even on first name basis with him.

Ah fuck.

You hoped today was not going to be another ‘interrogation’.

You were not sure if you had the nerve to look at him in the eyes after kissing him two nights before.

You’d only been dreaming of the feeling of his lips on yours through most seconds of the day.

Instead, it was more likely to be a day to watch Mr. Shelby and Miss Angel make goo-goo eyes at each other.

Was that a good thing?

Your mood sunk.

“No, not yet.”

Cue the door opening. In comes Arthur, John and of course your most favourite person in the world.

The brothers walked over, you nodded your head at John with a smile. Completely refusing to acknowledge Thomas. He was most likely eyeing Grace anyway.

Had you been looking, you would have noticed his normal stoic face furrow slightly. His eyes were indeed on you, noticing the bags under your eyes. The tautness of your cheeks. Sighing, he took the glass searching for your eyes.  

“Cheers big ears!” Hollered Arthur, and all three brothers downed their drink.

You brought out the rest of the bottle and left it on the bar. “Knock yourselves out, gents.”

“Why thank you, pretty lady!” Arthur battered his eyelashes at you before taking the bottle and walked off. Not before taking a big swig. John rolled his eyes,” Well, see you later. In case I don’t, Sunday. Polly told me to invite you to the Sunday lunch”

“Oh, I won’t be able to. Harry and Grace will be gone, so I will be the only one managing it.”

“Finn will be disappointed. He’s only been driving me mad with the bloody bang-bang game. To be fair, my own tables have been getting better. Wish we had you as our teacher, may have attended more often.” He winked and raised his glass towards you.

“But come next week.” He called behind his back as he followed Arthur.

Shaking your head with a laugh, you mistakenly raised your eyes only to meet pale blue.

His eyes were intent on yours. Swallowing you quickly shifted them to the side and turned your back, attempting to look busy by shifting the perfectly placed bottles around.

“Tommy!” Grace called, saving you.

“I’ll be singing one ditty especially just for you,” she chirped brightly, eyes glazing with happiness.

Thomas gave her a small smile nodding his head, walking towards the back room. Not before looking back at your ‘busy’ form, pursing his lips.

Grace’s eyes narrowed, catching that small look. Her eyes immediately followed his gaze only to find it placed upon you.

“So [Your Name], what have you been up to the past few days?” Your ears prickled in surprise. That had to be the first question she had asked you aside of ‘how are you’. It all nothing beyond small-talk.

“Ah nothing, just worked here and I’ve been looking after Finn. And you?” Her eyes widened slightly.  

“Oh.” Her brows furrowed slightly. Knowing that she was most likely going to fish more information out of you to feed to Campbell, you attempted to change the subject.

“But you’ve been practically glowing at the seams, what has been happening on your end?” You asked, attempting to sound excited. You even raised your pitch a little, even though you already knew.

“Oh, I got invited to go to the races with Tommy, I’ve been shopping for a red dress.” She raised her brows, biting her lip and tried to ‘spot’ him.

You managed to plaster a smile. ‘Don’t worry Grace. I got the message. Hands off.’ You thought.

“Ah the races, how exciting! I’m sure the two of you will have fun,” you winked suggestively.

Your chat with her  had to be cut short. Thankfully, more customers began to pour in.

An hour later, Grace was once more up on the chair singing. All men in the room were entranced. You did not even try to spot Tommy, his eyes were most likely glued on to her like every other man in the room. That or still in the back doing business.

Why did you even care?

You knew those two would fall in love. Albeit there will be a little bit of trouble because of her working with Campbell, but that did not deter them at the end of season one according to your memory.

Smiling bitterly, you still had no idea why you were here. Were you supposed to assist the Peaky Blinders in some way?

Lead Michael to Polly, earlier than expected?

Sighing, you tried to block out your thoughts. Good that you did, you saw one of the men wipe a tear away from his eye. Crying. Not only him, but a few.

Smiling, you that it was beautiful. It made you want to sing a little as well, but only by yourself. At this moment, you wished you had a piano or a guitar. You had played them during high school. You were nothing special, just learnt a few chords and special songs.

“Ah bloody hell, why’d Tommy lift the ban off? They sound like dying dogs.” John muttered, approaching you while gesturing at the swaying men.

Cue one man, clutching his chest as he belted out lyrics.

John rolled his eyes and placed his hands at his ears.

“It makes our job easier. Don’t have to worry about men groping or anything. They’d be too sombre.”

John immediately started laughing,” Aye, you don’t have to knock a few boys out to the land of the fairies.”

You gave a strained smile and shrugged.

“Now that was a sight. I doubt anyone will try anything after that. Where’d you learn that lass?”

“Well back in Australia, I always fought with my siblings and got taught a few tricks while in Belgium.” Purposefully avoiding that you trained martial arts for extra-curricular sports.

John tilted his head as he took a glass of whisky from you. You stationed another bottle next to it.

“Why were you at Belgium?”

“I was a combat nurse. My brothers and pa were stationed in Gallipoli, but I got sent to Belgium.” John nodded

“Where are they now?”

“Not here anymore.” Which technically was true, they haven’t even been born yet!

John bowed his head, “I’ll drink to them, lassie. Good that they taught you how to pack a punch.” With that downed it.

“Your ma?”

“Influenza.” John sighed and shook his head. “Sorry to hear that darl’. Didn’t mean to open a can of worms, was just wondering why is it that there’s a pretty lass doing here in Birmingham by herself.”

 You chuckled, opening your hands,” It’s all good John. Believe me I’ve been asking myself. It’s bloody awful working here now, especially with you lot.”

Rolling his eyes,” Aye, I’d imagine. But I heard you’re good with the books. Harry is going to need all the help he can get.”

A giggle bubbled out as you winked at John,” Don’t worry John. I’m already on it.” Taking out the books from beneath the counter you showed him the up to date records of inventory, profits and excess. Raising his eyebrows, he chewed on his toothpick,” Blimey, we should have you over at this office.”

You took the books away and shrugged. “Eh, I worked at my uncle’s bar and just had a knack for maths.”

Nodding with a sigh,” At least we can rest easy that the place won’t be in complete ruins.”

Leaving both the glass and bottle at the bar, he waved. “G’night darl’. I’ve got me some errands to run.”

Nodding,” G’night John.”

It was thankfully closing time. Harry, Grace and yourself had managed to clean and place everything in order. All that was left was to do a final sweep. Harry had also left you a pair of keys for the place to set up everything tomorrow. It’ll be your first time managing the entire place yourself. Thankfully, he already changed and replaces the kegs.

Bringing out the broom, you began to leisurely sweep the floor. Humming softly, you once more wished you had a guitar.

“Well I hope that I don't fall in love with you 'Cause falling in love just makes me blue

Laughing bitterly in between the verse, this song was just a perfect summary of everything right now. Looking up to the ceiling, you continued on with the second verse.

 ‘Well the room is crowded, people everywhere And I wonder, should I offer you a chair? Well if you sit down with this old clown Take that frown and break it Before the evening's gone away I think that we could make it

 Little did you know that a certain pair of cerulean eyes watched as you gently swayed. Tommy had been so engrossed with plans that he did not notice the time, only until he heard soft singing did he raise his head from the papers scattered around the table. The light was well and truly dimmed, but he had not noticed.  He stood silent against the door frame of the back room, entranced by the lyrics and gentle timbers of your voice.

‘And I hope that I don't fall in love with you

Well the night does funny things inside a man These old tom-cat feelings you don't understand

Well I turn around to look at you You light a cigarette I wish I had the guts to bum one But we've never met

 Shaking your head as you finished the verse, it reminded you of Tommy.

 ‘And I hope that I don't fall in love with you

I can see that you are lonesome just like me And it being late, you'd like some company Well I turn around to look at you And you look back at me The guy you're with he's up and split The chair next to you's free And I hope that you don't fall in love with me

 Sighing, you paused dejectedly. Your shoulders were slumped as you leaned against the broom. You were simply witnessing Grace’s and Tom-Mr. Shelby’s love, albeit tragic story. This song was bringing up the mellow, bittersweet feelings within you.

 Shaking your shoulders, you placed the broom against the wall and stretched. As you began to dim out the lighting, Tommy stepped back into the room silently.

 You luckily remembered to take your shopping that had been laying behind the bar for days. Holding everything in one hand, you managed to open the door and lock it with ease. Shuddering at the cold, you looked left and right. He’s not here.

Pursing your lips, you began to walk home. You did not know what you felt or what to feel anymore.

 Tommy emerged from the back room and sighed, thankfully he had the spare set of keys to the pub. Taking a bottle from the bar, he took a swig before lighting up a cigarette. He slumped against a seat and held his head in between his hands, cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. The final verse that you sang haunted him.

Shaking his head, he took another drag of his cigarette with a bitter chuckle. He was growing soft.

Chapter 1   Chapter 2

[queen-asante]

ejucated immigrant

((AUTHOR’S NOTE: @eene-fangirl For the Fanfiction Weekend Challenge! I should probably wait to post this for Rolf Appreciation Month, but there’s a lot of Jonny backstory/headcanons in here, so I thought it would count. Basically, it’s a poem from Rolf’s POV but it’s technically about Jonny, or rather, Jonny was my muse for this.

I haven’t written a poem in Rolf’s ‘’voice’’ since 2014 but believe it or not, that one little line that Edd says in ‘’A Case of Ed’’ inspired the poem (you know, the one), and as I was reading Ntozake Shange’s for colored girls who have considered suicide/ when the rainbow is enuf, it produced said result. A turnip for your thoughts? I don’t normally write Rolf like this, it’s actually more like Rolf emulating Ntozake Shange for those familiar with her style. As an Indian Immigrant girl who’s considered suicide, that book changed my life, she’s my idol. Hence, the poem is written in ebonics and all lower case to pay homage to Shange (and I consciously dropped third person redundancies, it wasn’t a mistake). Three non-EEnE characters are briefly mentioned: the first one is Vanessa, my friend who’s half African-American and half Haitian. The second one is Ice, who belongs to my friend, Dani. Ice, in her world, is a black and white cat who becomes Double D’s pet. Rolf fears him because he’s not only black and white, but he shares the name of Immigration and Customs Enforcement by pure coincidence. Dani didn’t plan this, as she created Ice before she met me but she liked the idea of giving Rolf a reason to fear the cat, and so we came up with that story together. The third one is Dr. Feelgood who was my therapist, it’s not her real name, it was an affectionate nickname I coined for her in my years battling Bipolar Disorder Type 3.

As a closing thought, much apologies for the length, also tumblr’s going to mess up the format.))

‘’ejucated immigrant’’

dear gods,

i be 14 wit skin as rough as treebark & hands dat look old

i waz the dark skined immigrant wanting to bathe in bleach

Brown Black / Blue Black / Amber Beige / Bister Brick Bronze / Chestnut Chocolate Cinnamin

Copper / Drab / Dust / Ginger / Fawn / Ochre / Coffe Colourd Caramel

Tawny / Terra-Cotta / Henna / Sepia / Umbre

lookin in the thesurus eddward wit two ds give me when i come to dis country

everything spell Brown but nothing spell White

White sound nice like pearl like snow like milk like golden skined white skined light skined

honey dipped / lemon kissed / but begging for ivory / fair frosted silvery ashen boy jimmy

your white hands on my brown skin

i waz the dark skined immigrant botherin to drag you round

you stand there like a closed mouth statue & you insult my way of life

think you know everythin / rolf just some ignorant third world peasant or somethin

but we be livin dis way longer than the foundin of your land

your country young my country old

numbers & poppy / it just to give you illegitimately born breeds of donkeys

somethin to hee-haw over / science say there no gods either but who know dat

you cannot contain lightning bugs in a jar

i waz the dark skined immigrant dreamin of shakin the mr presidents hand

the former mr president wit eyes like a tired old man & Brown his Brown like a mud bath

it really too bad you know / rolf like your former president

dat black man who dont check dixtionaries for validation of his blackness

he not so bad / he waz sympathetic to the plight of the immigrant but his hands tied

not blame him / he not god he not have all the power in the world to fix dis weather

dis cloud dat hang over your land & who the hell is perfect?

it really such a shame / i dream to see the Hill / see the pearly house painted white the place where he live meet him shake his large brown hand / one brown hand to another

cept i not black / rolf not have to be / not pass / rolf european he is white not bloodless

he not pass he not be white enough for your country

cept i be white on the inside look coloured on the out but i aint no coloured

under my skin i am more than a colour

whoever herd of white passing for person of colour

but suddenly i get to dis country & i be treated no different than jonny

so alls i got is coloured dreams

poor grate nano lived & died on silly dreams / well they not exist

there be only reality & reality not kind to the dark skined indigenous immigrant

no one know what i supposed to be / take a wild guess

indian pakistani mexican romani rolf herd it all & none suppose right

they only looking at my face / the outside the outside not matter

cuz i waz the dark skined immigrant not italian not irish but the other kinds

& no one will see unless rolf cut open his veins & bleed

a Wood Nymph have my colour & if i check off the box dat say caucasian i get a funny look

from the lady sittin behind the counter wit the yellow nail polish & beaded eyeglass

spose if jonny do the same they wont believe him neither

jonny be good

yous see him dancin / wearin his stomach out / dark skined bare feet / swayin his hips

& grate thin arms but he not care dat he gots splinters in his fingertips

his nails turnin all black & blue & those chapped lips look like eyes starin out atchu

the gods make dis child the way he is

wit skinted knees & all & elbows pointed outwards readin you like a map

always wit the label on the left side

but he bootiful & he know it / beauty sometime come in the empty coffee can

not in the paper lillies or plastic pearls

you cant make a silk purse from a sows ear / even if dat ear be made of wood

of wood widda crayon drawn smile

jonnys mother the madwoman in the attic

rolf be certain jonny the wood boy some kind of elf from the passage of Valhöll

the mother of the Tree Sprite she not like rolf / well she not like any child it seems

weepy jimmy-boy & rolf invited to jonny-boys abode for a meeting of the Urban Rangers

& tho his mother never says so we feel she not like us very well

she never ast us to stay for lunch

even tho rolf personally would not eat a morsel of what these people eat

& we always been so polite to her but still she build walls

rolf believe she jealous of us becuz jonny likes us

she come out to the parlour / barefoot / flowers in her wild tangled mess of black raven hair

like yoko ono & wearing a long paisley skirt / she bootiful in an earthy sort of way

but she has a wild look in her eyes like a tigress

a violently insane expression like a german vampire dat make rolf think of bertha mason

she looms over her son like a dark older sister becuz they look so alike

altho her skin much darker / a deep chocolate brown / her complexion remind rolf of vanessa maybe she is haitian / she like the demon in nanas stories the one we all have widdin us

who comes out when we try too hard to be good children

she look at white as snow jimmy & myself like she disprove

either she not like us the uniforms or both

rolf forget tho these hippies wit their anti-establishment

they think every uniform represents what jonny calls ‘’the Man’’ & dats what it is rolf think

she not want jonny in the organisation

becuz she think it goes against their opposition to social norms

rolf could tell she wanted to ast us to leave / she not like jonny spending so much time wit us

becuz then he not at home meditating wit her or whatever it is they do

jonnys family is strange / they not eat meat & walk around shoeless

rolf has been called a gypsy by the children at school but flower child jonny seem to rolf more of a gypsy if there ever waz such a thing

he is almost ethereal / his family must be from a clan of faeries the kind nana warns rolf about but brown-skinned jonny seem harmless enough

i watch his mama put a daisy in the pocket of his jeans

i not know if his daddy be white or black but what difference does dat make

rolf understand it is important for a child to love their family no matter their faults

i know The Giving Tree still love his mother

even if she would prefer him to leave the Urban Rangers

of us three jimmy be the whitest of white jonny the blackest of black & i somewhere in between

but any one of us can walk into a puerto rican bar & start speakin spanish

& no one would know what we are

race too complicated & people too narrow minded / want everything boxed in

one day we waz layin on dat grassy knoll / jonny & i

where the trees whisper to us & we whisper back

cuz you know the boy talk to trees & i listen to his voice / & i be lookin at our hands you see

cuz we waz layin inches apart a flower between us & i tuck it behind his ear

then i look & see my skin only one shade lighter than his

tho the sun make me browner than i really be

out in the sun for hours & hours plowing & plowing the fields

by sundown i roasted coffee bean brown / as black as the inside of a chimney

& if i stumble into town any passing stranger would think i waz Black i mean African

id have to stay out of the sun for days to get my old colour black lest i wander round wit only the whites of my eyes visible on my sun burnt dyed rust brown brown skin

& hair so course youd suppose it come off a horses ass

lookin more like an American Indian than a White

i holdin the back of my hand up to jonnys now

how bout dat two brown hands one dark & one light but whos to say i not be a dark white & he not a light skined brown

dont you dare tell me what i am & am not

bitch dis aint no south africa where yous all can reassign us based on what you think

i aint no sandra laing but sometime i wouldnt mind bein black if it meant for you to leave me be

in fact ill gladly be whatever you want me to be but i am what i am

not black enough for black not white enough for white so what am i?

dont box me into Black & White / cuz in dis world brother dat not exist

im sorry as hell but i gettin real tired of bein called

an illegal / an alien / a wop / a gypsy / a guinea / a brownie whatever you want to call us

all your bigoted slurs clumping us together like we one & the same

dat fine but papers or no papers not define who i am

so uncle sam can take it & shove it

welcome to america!

i be having a long love affair wit your country & people

i also be having a war wit em

mama told me there are limits for dark skined immigrants stuck in dis light skined first world

we come over the border wit all the rest of them

wit all them people from central & south america

wit all them refugees from africa & asia

guess what we blend right in we look no different

look just like any other brown faced ‘’illegal alien’’

border patrol take one look at us & think we just like the rest

cuz yesterdays europeans are todays mexicans & middle easterners

coloured Sons of Shepherds gots few chances

what it like to be bilingual / to speak in two tounge

ah but to be fluent in one & not the other tryin to find any definishun in the dixtionary

in which i drop third person redunduncies cuz i only one person not three

& i only speak two language

you speak spanish?

no habla inglés

you speak english?

i dont speak spanish

one day the hat & head as one edd boy say oh rolf! youre so unejucated!

i think my ears deseeve me but i know what i herd

i wish to strike his milk honey cheeks full of nonsense

& say to him i am the ejucated immigrant you be warned about

dont talk to me bout ejucashun

i sale cross the oshun

i wash up on your shore

i lern another language

it wasnt easy

what you know bout ejucashun

all you know come from books & theories

at least i know where i stand

you are a child & i am old old old my hands notted thick wit veins like the roots of a tree

you say i sound angry / yea i angry but not as angry as you

cuz there nothing they fear more than a minority who knows what up

i used to be fraid but not no more

i used to fear the plainclothes agents in Black & White uniform

of immigration & customes enforecement / of ICE police

of eddwards Black & White cat name Ice on ICE

he must be making fool out of me to call a domesticated beast after homeland security

a cat in uniform because the gods make him so not by choice

like there be some purpose to it / i waz the dark skined immigrant you made fun of

i see what they do to the undocumented immigrant on the telly  

but now i not be fraid / becuz you cant touch me

so the grapefruit widda red ugly mouth & bleached hair sit in office now

damming all them people from ‘’shithole countries’’ / just as well but we here to stay

it not what i ast for but no use fighting it

& i will gladly pull the bookmarks from my english dixtionary

the one double d edd boy give me

no longer will i bathe in bleach / only use to washing dishes & floors

i not some bloody floor

‘’immigrant’’

at least i can spell dat  / i look it up in the dixtionary

websters dixtionary / who the hell is webster?

but now it marked up used copy wit yellow post it notes

i use it a lot to lern your tounge

i not smart but i sho as hell not unejucated / papa can tell me dat

i be in your country in first place to reseeve ‘’best ejucashun’’ like grate nano wanted

grate nano waz an adventurer / a dreamer wit big goals

he travell far & wide seeking fame & fortune

when he a very young boy immigrants from every cesspool in western & eastern europe set sale for The North / it waz always grate nanos dream to travel North

everyone say he more insane than a bovine wit mad cows disease

there no room in dis life for dreams they tell him / he prove our village wrong

when rolf eight years of age grate nano briefly left the Old Country to set sale for america

everyone say he be too old / he never too old for dreams

he wanted to find dat American Dream he hear so often about

spoken wit fondness by the tinkers who visit our land

he returned from his valiant voyage wit stories about what he seen

in the North  he said everyone has cars & money & television & running water

no one listen / The North the North they say dat is all you ever talk about

he waz a man who dreamed of a new life for his family & so he decided to send for us

& make a better life for ourselves after the plagues of the land had haunted our family for years grate nano promised us america he said youll soon be eating apple pie from off a china plate white picket fence / coca cola / santa clause / marilyn monroe / empire state building

it sound like a fairytale he spun a legend dat the streets waz paved wit gold

& we believed him for shining in grate nanos eye waz a dream & so here we are

rest his soul he wanted so much to buy us light & sun & clean wind of the oshun

‘’immigrant’’ waz a new word for rolf when he first come here

did not know after hearing the stories from grate nano dat he would soon be one himself

rolf not know what dat mean & still really dont

the dixtionary definishun say \ ˈi-mə-grənt \ noun. a person who comes to a country to take up permanent residence

\ ˈi-mə-ˌgrāt \ verb. [to go or remove into; in, into, and migrate, to remove.]

to come into a new country, region, or environment in order to settle there: opposed to emigrate.

oh sorry dat definishun not say we unclean people / flea invested vermin

sickly serpents who not speak english / greaser / sheenie

contagions of american society / incredibly dirty tramps fresh off the boat

so pervasive / such nonwhite filth / staring back at pitch black faces

not blonde haired & blue eyed / nonwhite skin only fit for dirt & waste work

mama papa kiss me goodbye i going to haiti

but it is what rolf is now it part of his identity just as much as the colour of his skin

just as much as bein a pagan / just as much as bein a male

just as much as bein the Son of a Shepherd

now rolf a new man living in the New World

i am an immigrant

sometime i wish i waz shug avery / bootiful fictional dark skin harlem singer

half man half woman / wit my large glittering masculine thighs i make an animal of men

maybe i have the courtesan complex

so i ast dr feelgood what my diag-nonsense

& she say poor soul you suffer from Stressed Shepherd Syndrome

okay so we all crazy in one way or another / it alright for some

of a mannequin in tears / of personal prejudices

im an unejucated farm boy from No Mans Land

im a poet who write in english

neisatnaf i isatnaf ne / ttim tetrejh dem gnyalp re lesgnel og gem tolrof nuh

rettenremmos i sirb ne mos rav ed / gem etlatrof nuh dro retsem nadrovh

etted tal eddejks rofrovh? / enneh lit gem trekided gej og enneh teksnø etrejh ttim

senneh enenyoø ås gej etted tla eddejks rofrovh

& this is for Sons of Shepherds who have considered suicide

fin

[angryrabbit42]

Muddy Prints

(Written for my friend Amy B. The character names are her irl children and dogs. She asked me to write a fun story including her dogs and this is the fun result. - K)

“Lash is out,” Ralph whispered, giving his sister, Charlotte a poke. “Wake up Char, c’mon.”

The sky outside the window was silvery gray. Morning was still a long way off and Lash was out. The Siberian husky had a habit of getting into trouble if Gomez, their golden wasn’t there to watch him. Ralph shook his sister again. This time she grumbled a bit before opening her eyes.

“S’morning?” she asked, rubbing at her eyes.

“No, Lash is out,” Ralph repeated. “C’mon. We gotta go get him.”

Charlotte tossed her covers off and slipped into her trainers. Ralph was in PJs, so she didn’t bother with clothes except for her jacket and her tiara. It was sparkly with a pink boa around it and she was convinced it was lucky. Besides, a princess would never be caught out of bed without hers. She pulled the covers farther back to reveal Gomez.

“Wake up, Gomez. We have to go out,” Charlotte told the dog.

Gomez got up and beat both children out of the room. Ralph stuffed a tiny Charmander into his pocket for luck and followed his royal sister. The house was silent except for children and dog out of bed but still, they kept quiet. It would go better for everyone if they caught Lash themselves and got everyone back into bed before breakfast.

Slipping out the back door, they stood and stared at the thick mist creeping up over everything. The trees seemed haunted, the slide seemed even more haunted and worse, there was no sign of Lash. Ralph whistled. Gomez’s floppy ears perked up but there was no answer from the husky.

“C’mon Char, he can’t have got far,” he whispered.

Charlotte adjusted her tiara to give herself a moment to think. “Wait Ralph, Gomez can find Lash. He’s a good tracker. Right?”

Gomez sneezed.

“See? He says he can,” Charlotte insisted.

Ralph started walking. “We don’t have time to mess around.”

Charlotte knelt down next to Gomez. “You are a big, good dog and you can find Lash, can’t you?”

Gomez huffed in her direction. Charlotte pet his head. Ralph rolled his eyes as the big dog sat down. Charlotte gently took hold of Gomez’s ears to get his attention. “There’s a treat in it for you.”

Gomez didn’t budge.

“Okay, two but that’s all I’ve got in my pockets,” Charlotte said, standing up.

Gomez sniffed the air before taking off down the road. The look Charlotte gave Ralph was very annoying. But he followed his sister as she took off running after Gomez. The air smelled wet like rain was coming but Ralph thought it felt too still. He couldn’t hear a single thing rustling. All the animals were asleep still, or gone. He put on a burst of speed to keep up. There was no way he wanted to get left behind when everything was so eerie.

Gomez didn’t stop at the edge of their property but dove headlong into the trees. Charlotte had grabbed his tail to keep him from getting too far ahead. The dog took this with a limited amount of dignity, occasionally stopping to give the human puppy an annoyed eye roll. Charlotte would roll her eyes back and he would be off again.

“We can’t go too far,” Ralph said.

“Can too, if Gomez says so,” Charlotte replied. “We’re already in trouble.”

“What’s a little more?” Ralph replied, snorting as his sister shrugged.

Gomez stopped. He stood stock still and the twilight bleached the yellow out of his coat, making him look for an instant like a stone statue. He stood before a circle of mushrooms, tail low and straight. Ralph pulled Charlotte back before she entered the ring. In the center of it were two large pawprints. Ralph pulled Charlotte back to see where the pawprints entered the circle.

“Lash went that way,” Charlotte said, pointing to the opposite side of the ring.

Ralph shook his head. “No Char, Lash went in this way, but he didn’t come out the other side. There’d be more prints.”

“Dogs don’t just disappear Ralph,” she said and moved forward.

Gomez growled and Charlotte turned to comfort the big dog. Ralph examined the ring from all angles. It was wide enough for a bunch of people to have a picnic inside. It smelled like mushrooms and wet grass. Gomez growled when he touched a mushroom, warning him away.

“Lash is in there,” he told his sister and dog. “It’s a fairy ring.”

Fairies are nice,” Charlotte said. “Like Tinkerbell.”

“Right, are you sure?” Ralph asked Char because he wasn’t convinced.

“Mm-hmm,” she said, bobbing her head. “‘Sides, I’m a princess. They especially like princesses.”

Ralph didn’t know anything about fairies. He liked nice normal things like numbers and video games. Charlotte was good with animals and fairies were a sort of animal. Plus, he trusted Charlotte.  “Okay, but we go together. Hold hands.”

Gomez disagreed. Rumbling, he wouldn’t move, going so far as to sit flat, facing home. Charlotte took Ralph’s hand and led them into the center of the ring. At first, they just stood in the center of the grass but the air shimmered and Lash appeared. Lash barked and crashed into them, knocking them to the grass.

“Down boy!” Charlotte exclaimed while high voices giggled around them.

Ralph got Lash to sit and spotted a boy with dragonfly wings sitting around the dog’s neck. The boy has pointed ears, bright green eyes and wore a pair of jeans and a Minecraft Tee. He also had a tiny gold crown on his head. In the air around them, more fairies were fluttering around the circle. They were all colors and wore normal people clothes.

Charlotte was mesmerized. “Wow!”

“Dance! Play,” a girl fairy commanded.

The circle expanded and they couldn’t see poor Gomez in the grass anymore. Instead, they spotted a square for dancing next to a horseshoe pit. Beyond the pit was a fire where several strange creatures with hooves for feet were roasting marshmallows on sticks. Ralph saw groups of fairies carrying large hoops and dipping them into soap to create giant bubbles.

“Look! That’s why Lash ran in here! Silly dog can’t resist bubbles!” Charlotte squealed as Lash jumped and popped bubbles.

Gales of laughter escaped the fairies. Charlotte jumped and popped a few herself as Ralph watched nervously. This was cool but if they couldn’t see the ring any longer, how could they get back to Gomez? How would they get back home?

“All dance and play to honor the king!” the girl fairy commanded.

A ball landed in his arms. It was small but the right size for kicking, so he kicked it back to a group of tiny gnomes in red or green hats. They beckoned him over. Not wanting to be rude and seeing the girl fairy still hovering, he joined the game.

They played for hours. Charlotte found herself and Lash draped in flower crowns while Ralph was shown how to play ten pins. Fairies were good fun and had loads of sweets on offer. Charlotte ate a fluffy frosted purple cake. Ralph stuck to the weird sour hard candies and Lash ate whatever no one else wanted.

Breathing heavy after another round of horseshoes, the kids sat on the grass and grinned at each other. Fairies started curling up in balls around them. Some snored softly while others quietly talked to one another while drinking dandelion tea. It was clear that the party was coming to an end.

The boy in the crown bowed low before Charlotte. “Your majesty,” he said, “you have honored me. But the party has ended.” He winked. “I love a princess at my parties.”

“Your majesty,” Charlotte said and bowed low. She kicked Ralph in the shins until he bowed too.

The king grinned and disappeared.

The girl fairy who had commanded them to play appeared. Her long pink hair floated in the breeze her glittery dragonfly wings made as she hovered near them. She smiled brightly. With a bow, she waved a wand around the circle. They blinked and spotted Gomez, still sulking in the tall grass.

Lash barked. Gomez flicked an ear. Lash barked again. Gomez hopped up and spun to see the two children and the Siberian Husky. He huffed very disapprovingly at them. Lash licked his ear and set off toward home, not worried at all about the trouble he had caused.

Gomez, with a dignified sniff, herded the children back down the path where the mist was lifting. Charlotte looked at the sky. “How long were we gone, Ralph?”

“Hours,” he replied.

“Still dark,” Charlotte whispered back.

They reached the house and the lights weren’t on. Lash was by the back door, waiting with bright, knowing eyes.

“Could be the next day?” Ralph wondered.

“Mom would have called the police,” Charlotte argued.

“Yeah,” Ralph agreed. “Should we tell them?”

Charlotte grinned at her brother. “No.” To Lash, she said, “Thanks for letting us meet your friends.”

With an eye roll, Lash went inside. Gomez did not follow. He did block the kids way back inside. Charlotte tried to go around the dog but he wouldn’t budge.

“Move! We can’t get in trouble now!” Charlotte growled.

Gomez growled back and nosed her pockets.

“You owe him two treats,” Ralph reminded her.

“He’s going to get us in trouble,” Charlotte replied.

“Not if you feed him,” Ralph said.

“Oh, alright,” Charlotte agreed. “I did promise.”

She handed the dog the treats and he inhaled them before Lash could turn up. Dropping his jaw in a doggy smile, he let the human puppies return to their beds. He joined Charlotte under the covers.

In the morning, they got grounded. Muddy footprints had given them away and parents don’t believe in fairies.

The End.

(if you like this, consider supporting me so I can write more  ko-fi.com/fuzzym)

[scribbleswrites-blog]

The Fight

Fandom: Bleach Pairing: Ichigo/Orihime Rating: T

Ichigo winced as the door slammed behind him, feeling a twinge of regret as soon as it happened; but it wasn’t enough to stop his stomping progress away from their apartment. He scowled ferociously at the solid concrete steps and their refusal to respond to his hard footfalls with the satisfying thump and rattle wooden stairs would have provided. His anger needed an outlet in noise and lots of it.

Why did she have to be so impossible? So unreasonable? So stubborn? Ichigo growled at the memory of that stubborn chin in the air and those furrowed eyebrows above flashing brown eyes and that tightened mouth that refused to say anything remotely rational. He reached the bottom of the stairs and paused; waiting, straining, begging for some evil thing to manifest itself so he could kill it—or at least send it into the next life very violently. Which was the same thing, he realized, except…not, because the evil things he “killed” were usually already dead, but— The tips of his ears perked at a distant hum, a tremor in the air, and he grinned an awful twisted grin as he set off after it. Not five minutes later, he had finished. And he was irritated. It was nothing but a short and easy fight that had done nothing to release the boiling, oozing, sinking lava in his chest. Now he was angry, frustrated, and irritated. Grand. Ichigo continued down the streets, hands shoved in his pockets. Evening was fast approaching, and he found himself following a few drifters into a bar. The place was mostly empty as it was a little too early for anyone except drunks, the after-work crowd, and a few people who actually wanted to meet for conversation and not stilted, sweaty mating rituals. He looked around uneasily before sliding into a stool, misjudging it the first time and ramming his hip into the side with a grunt. He cleared his throat after he set his bottom on the seat properly with a self-conscious glance around the bar and leaned his forearms over the counter, his back and neck stiff as he tried to decide what to do with his hands so he looked cool, like he belonged in any bar he chose to saunter into. The bartender, a young man around his age, walked up and raised a questioning, pierced eyebrow. “Uh,” Ichigo said. The bartender’s attention was grabbed by a wave and a bark from another customer, and as he watched him walk away, Ichigo’s mouth still hanging open with whatever stupid thing he was about to say, he realized this may have been a bad idea. The only times he had been in bars before was when he was dragged in by friends. They were in groups and he would slouch nonchalantly in some chair and, with a shrug, have whatever someone else was having. Going into a bar alone and angry and with the express purpose of getting drunk was disconcertingly new territory. Because that was what he was doing, he realized. He came in here to be alone and get drunk. That was what people did when they got in fights, wasn’t it? He scowled at the lines of shelved liquor bottles. Someone near him ordered something, and he ordered the same thing when the bartender and his eyebrow returned. It wasn’t like this was the first time he and Orihime had argued. They had had arguments of all kinds ranging from light-hearted to nearing dangerous levels of hurt and anger, while never quite reaching that point. But they were pretty rare and had never lasted very long at all before one of them crumbled in either laughter at how silly they were being or in regret and apologies and kisses and other things. This one, though—he nodded his thanks, took the drink, sipped it, gazed at the sloshing liquid for a moment, and then gulped it down, not even tasting the concoction—this was a Fight. He caught sight of a miserable looking man with a bottle and a glass and decided that was much more up his alley. The bartender may have given him some kind of look that was judgmental or pitying or disdaining or a combination of two options or even all three. Since he couldn’t pinpoint the look, Ichigo suspected the look had been nothing but the blank look of someone who couldn’t care less and that he was merely being paranoid. With that last flare of blessed logic, he pulled back the urge to glare his best go ahead make my day look before it made it to his face and threw the first shot of alcohol down his throat. After a moment, Ichigo’s nostrils flared and his face turned red as he held back the coughing and choking. Flinging booze down his gullet is where his Clint Eastwood imitations end. Orihime always said he wasn’t the bad boy he thought he was. He scowled at that and scoffed and flung back another shot, finding the fire scratching down his throat to be a sudden comfort. Ha! Now he was gulping hard liquor with the best of them. That’ll show her how much she knows him. Ichigo sniffed dismissively at the total lack of triumphant feelings at that thought. No matter how much he scowled or insulted, she was always going on about how kind and sweet he was. His snort echoed against the bottom of his empty glass. She was probably eating her words now. After what happened earlier, no one knew better than her how much of a bastard he could really be. He drowned the heavy feeling in his chest in more alcohol. Things were starting to feel a bit fuzzy. Good. He idly turned the bottle around, not even sure what he had ordered. Whiskey. All he needed now was a pair of cowboy boots and a poncho. He smirked a little, thinking how Orihime would be delighted with the picture and would insist he make her fantasies come true. What would she be? He tapped the side of the bottle with his finger, and then paused as a little smile crept up one side of his cheek. He would hopefully suggest saloon girl, but she would probably insist on being a pirate or something that was nowhere near any dusty wild west town at any time in its history. The sound of glass clinking against glass made him look up and see the same miserable looking man looking even more miserable as he drooped further towards his liquid comfort. Ichigo’s smile slipped away as he remembered why he was here. Halfway through the bottle, his heart began to really hurt. He hated this, hated this whole thing. Sitting in a bar, alone and drinking his troubles away. He felt stupid and sad and the feelings only increased as the place began to gain a crowd of happy people, or at least people giving happiness their best shot. He wasn’t even giving it a half-hearted shot so what was he doing here? “Hello,” a gentle female voice said. It almost sounded like—Ichigo popped his head up, but the hope that had leapt into his throat dropped like a cannon ball. He eyed the smiling woman seated next to him, her long, dark hair nothing like the ribbons of caramel that filled his life. Her lips were moving, she was saying something and she looked nervous but determined. He tried to concentrate on her words, but all he could see was the shape of her mouth and how that shape formed words and how it was all wrong. She scooted her stool closer to him, and he could smell her perfume. She smelled like some kind of flower. Roses, maybe? Whatever. He wrinkled his nose. That was wrong too. He didn’t want to smell flowers, he wanted citrus and a little bit of mint. He wanted caramel and pirates and cute chins that could turn stubborn. The woman next to him slid her fingers over his forearm and oh god that was… no, no, no, talk about wrong, and he jerked so harshly, the alcohol in his glass sloshed out onto his hand. Her hand recoiled and he could feel the offended humiliation coming off of her in waves. He frowned and tried to search where he had encouraged her, but his brain was pretty murky. She was saying something about lips and that sounded… yes, he could see how staring intently at her lips might send the wrong message. “I’m… sorry.” Ichigo pulled out his wallet and put down a few bills that more than covered everything. “I’m…” He slid off the barstool and stumbled on his feet slightly, trying to shove his wallet into his back pocket. “I have someone I…” The wallet finally slid into place on the fourth try. “I have to go back to my… my someone. She…” He finally looked up at the woman and saw embarrassment written all over her face. Guilt stabbed him in the gut and he shook his head and waved his hand towards her. Orihime would want him to say something nice so, “Y-You’re very pretty.” He was vaguely sure he was right, he wasn’t paying that much attention. “But you’re not… She’s my someone.” She sighed and gave him a smile of understanding, and he felt relieved that he was making some kind of sense. “We… We fought and…” And what? What now? “Uh, well, good luck.” He stumbled away from her and through the crowd of people that had suddenly descended upon the bar. Or was it suddenly? How long had he been there? He crashed into a woman and she grinned up at him and he shook himself. What was he doing here? He didn’t want to be here. Cool, night air finally hit his face and he sighed in relief, leaving the cacophony behind him as he made his way towards the only place he wanted to be right now. At one point a policeman approached him, and he was sure he would spend a night in the slammer, which would really seal that bad boy image for him, but then the officer helpfully escorted him to the apartment building. Apparently, Ichigo had saved the cop’s daughter’s dog or something, and he was grateful and wanted to see the poor young man home safely. Orihime was right. What bad boy Eastwood wannabe saved little girls’ dogs? She was always right. He must have slurred something about it, because the policeman nodded sagely and said something like the woman is always right, m’boy, in that wink-wink, all-knowing, one-man-to-another tone. The cop insisted on following him up to his door, watched him scratch the paint around the lock a few times, and then sighed, took the keys, and unlocked the door for him. Ichigo took the keys back and bowed a little too deeply in gratitude before stumbling inside. Ichigo scowled around the dark apartment. Had she gone to bed? Hadn’t even left a light on for him? She really was mad. And so was he, he reminded himself. So angry he could spit. He lost his balance and cursed when his hip rammed into the corner of some piece of furniture. There was a faint light ahead, and Ichigo followed it into the living room. He breathed in deeply at the comforting smell of citrus and mint… a lot of mint. More mint than usual. His eyes found the bright head of hair facing away from him under the lamp that was the only the only light on in the house. His socked feet shuffled along the hardwood floor and her shoulders stiffened as he rounded the couch where she sat and plopped down on the chair across from her. He winced when his bad aim caused his bum to slam onto the arm. His issue with not being able to place his ass in a seat correctly was getting old fast. She wasn’t looking at him, just staring at the table and the shot glass filled with green liquid next to a bottle of that nasty mint alcohol she loved. A clock echoed throughout the silent room as it ticked the seconds by. He didn’t even know they had a ticking clock. He studied her, watched the slight sway as she sat there and the slow way she blinked. “You’ve been drinking?” he said. Her lips pursed a little before answering his question by grabbing the glass and throwing its contents to the back of her throat. She shuddered slightly and reached to grab the bottle, leaning over and eyeballing glass and bottle with exaggerated care as she, amazingly, managed to fill the glass without spilling a drop. The bottle thudded when she harshly set it back down, and she went back to staring at her two green companions. She looked up and narrowed her eyes. “What’s it to ya, bub?” If Ichigo wasn’t so angry, he’d laugh. Whenever Orihime got drunk, she would become some character. Last time, it was Uchiha Sasuke and she kept her hair in her face and her fingers laced under her chin and wouldn’t stop mumbling about revenge. He looked at the more than half empty bottle. “How much did you drink?” Orihime regarded the bottle and then shrugged. “It was full when I got it.” Ichigo sighed, and Orihime narrowed her eyes at him again, swaying as she leaned back a little. “What’s a matter, shurriff? Can’t a,” she hiccupped, widened her eyes, and hiccupped again before continuing. “Can’t a person drink in the privacy of thur own home?” He narrowed his own eyes, partly because he was matching her expression, mostly because he was trying to figure out who she was supposed to be this time. “Why are you all the way over there?” She squeezed her eyes shut before popping them open again. “What? Yer the one all the way over there.” He harrumphed at this and got up, promptly losing his balance and shakily grabbing the arm of the chair. “Ah!” she pointed accusingly. “Yer drunk! Go home!” “I am home,” he said as he teetered around the table to collapse next to her on the couch. She glared as his heavy weight jostled her. “That’s true, ‘spose. Sssmartypants.”

“I am smart,” he agreed as he picked up her shot glass, sniffed, and put it down as he wrinkled his nose. “That’s mine,” she said. “You can have it.” She turned her body towards him and gave him an appraising look. “You tryna say something, punk?” He mirrored her position, folding one leg underneath him. “Yeah, I’m saying your taste in booze stinks.” Orihime gasped. “You take that back, you, you yellow-bellied yellow-livered canary bird.” “That’s a lot of yellow,” he pointed out. “And how does me pointing out your bad taste in alcohol make me yellow?” She opened her mouth, closed it, and frowned. “Give me a minute.” Ichigo looked at her empty hand, laying palm up on her lap, and reached over to gently grasp a few fingers. “I think I’m drunker than you,” she said, looking down at her captive hand. “How did that happen?” He shrugged. “Why are you drinking?” She looked at him like he was daft. “Because we had a big fight!” She tried to tug her hand away and failed. “A-And that’s what people do, when they fight. Right?” Ichigo nodded. “I think so.” He scooted closer. “Where did you go?” she asked as she studied the closing distance between their knees with a frown. “There was a hollow. And then a bar.” “That’s why you smell funny.” “A woman flirted with me.” Orihime snorted. “She has good taste.” “Thank you,” he said, thinking that was very generous of her considering everything. She shrugged. “Don’t mention it.” The hand holding hers moved to run along the skin of her bare thigh. Orihime eyed the roaming hand imperiously. “Do ya feel lucky? Well do ya, punk?” “You’re Clint Eastwood,” Ichigo guessed. She tipped an imaginary cowboy hat at him. “Yes, ma’am.” “I’m not Clint Eastwood,” he said, and she just looked at him. “Or a bad boy of any kind. I save little girls’ pets.” Orihime closed her eyes and nodded slowly like an old sage well used to young knowledge seekers coming to her with new revelations of old truths. Ichigo started to pull his hand away, but she stopped it and placed it firmly back on her thigh. “I missed you,” he said as he reacquainted himself with her knee. She jerked when he found her ticklish spot and bit her lip to keep from laughing. “You were only gone a few hours,” she said. “I’m sorry I left like that.” Her eyes flicked up to his, and she shrugged again. “I’m sorry too.” “For what?” “For…” she trailed off with a frown. “Um… what were we fighting about?” Ichigo blinked, realized he wasn’t anywhere near being angry anymore, and couldn’t for the life of him remember what they fought about. “I don’t remember?” Orihime hummed in thought. Or it might have been from the way his fingers were exploring underneath the fabric of her shorts and slowly approaching her hip. He scooted even closer until his knee gently bumped hers. It was probably both. His Orihime was good as multi-tasking. Whereas he was having trouble remembering he was even having a conversation as his fingers squeezed the curve of her bum. “If neither of us can remember,” she mused, her voice a little too breathy. “Then I suppose we’re not fighting anymore. Your hand is going on quite the journey, mister.” He let out the sigh of a long-suffering parent. “It was itching to go on an adventure. I couldn’t bear to hold it back from its dreams any longer.” She nodded and looked down to her shorts where his wandering hand was forearm deep. “What about your other hand? More of a homebody?” Ichigo brought up his other hand and looked at it in exasperation. “No, just a bit nervous about taking the plunge. Needs some encouragement or something.” “Oh, I see,” she said sympathetically. “Well… if I may?” “Go ahead, make my—” he stopped short at the glare she gave him. “No stealing my lines, punk,” she admonished. He waited, contrite. Eyeing him suspiciously, she grasped his free hand in hers, rose up on one knee, and swung the other leg over his thighs so that she was comfortably straddling him. “Good thing there are two mountains to explore, one for each hand,” she said as she placed the shy brother on her other thigh before placing both her hands on his chest. “Good thing,” he mumbled as he quickly moved inside her shorts. Orihime squeaked. “That one catches on fast!” Ichigo smiled, happy to be surrounded by caramel and citrus and mint. He kissed the not-so-stubborn-anymore chin, too, smelling the boozy mint on her breath. The funny thing about her awful alcohol, that he had tried—and gagged on—when she had first discovered it and couldn’t stop squealing in delight, was that it tasted different on her. It was sickening by itself (or in anything else. He remembered a dramatic episode from last year when she was making his favorite triple chocolate cookies and he caught her just in time before she poured the green liquid from hell into the precious batter. She had huffed and pouted and insisted that it would be amazing, but finally relented when he ended up on his knees in the middle of the kitchen getting flour all over his trousers. She had managed to sneak it into other things, and he knew for a fact that it would taste anything but amazing). But on her? Mixed with her own taste? He kissed her with several chaste but searing kisses before slipping his tongue past her lips and gently engaging hers. It wasn’t bad at all, that sweet minty-ness on her tongue. She pulled back and contemplatively tasted her own lips. “What did you drink?” “Huh? Uh…” He thought back, remembering the miserable man in the bar and Clint Eastwood. “Whiskey.” Her mouth twisted cheerfully. “Clint Eastwood wannabe,” she accused. “This town’s not big enough for the two of us.” He tilted his head and suddenly wondered. “What if we remember what we fought about, and we have another duel?” Orihime slid her hands up to the sides of his neck. “Then… I guess we’ll fight again, but…” She ran her thumbs along the skin at his jaw causing him to shiver. “If we get really mad and need to drink, let’s just drink together and glare at each other. Nobody goes anywhere. Deal?” “Deal,” he said, and kissed her to finalize the promise. “So… even though we don’t remember, can we still have make up sex?” She started, looking at him in horror. “Of course!” Ichigo made a satisfied noise and slipped his curious hands out of her shorts and up her sides, taking her t-shirt with them. “So,” he said as she lifted her arms and he tossed the shirt somewhere behind the couch. He faltered slightly at the lack of a bra. “I-If we fight twice, that means we get make up sex twice,” he reasoned. She could only answer with a strangled moan as she arched her back into his hands at her breasts. “So,” he said, gently licking her skin between his fingers. “We should definitely try our hardest to remember our very serious talk and fight again.” He nipped at her collarbone. “What do you say?” Orihime took his head in her hands and tilted his face. “Go ahead,” she said against his lips in a sweet, husky voice that Clint Eastwood would never, ever use. “Make my day.”

.

.

.

[sadiiomane10]

hsm x lfc

cus why not, these were in another post but i thought id put them all together, written with sej 

high school musical is totally this teams thing ok 

they constantly sing  WE’RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER cus its totally their song 

and THEY SING IT EVERYWHERE, IN THE LOCKER ROOM AFTER A WIN, WHERE THERE ALL HIGH OFF ADRENALINE AND THEY GET KLOPP TO JOIN IN TOO AND THEY SING SO LOUD

and always after a win, and even when they lose cus they really are in this together and it makes them feel better, and it becomes there thing

and hendo is totally troy and Adam is totally his gabreila 

and this team is totally  high school musical trash ADAM IS SO GABRIELLA and milly is chad and i dont dance is their jam 

and studge is totes sharpay 

Can you imagine they’re all throwing refs around and marko is like…..I don’t get it…..and everyone just. Stops.And then they bombard his home later for a hsm sesho

k but when there watching and one of them (alberto) starts talking they all get so offended and milly smacks him across the head and tells him to shut the fuck alberto,

and albeto totally tries to sing along to the tracks and he follows the english subs, and everyone laughs and joins in too and then he tries to copy the moves to bop to the top and then he gets everyone up they start from the beginning and dance along to everything at training the next day, 

they do the getcha head in the game with the footballs and klopp is like………okay cool but pls fill me in

6 HOURS OF HSM AND MARKO IS NOW A NEW PERSON CUS HES BEEN BLESSED PROPERLY,SO THATS WHY you keep shouting “getcha head in the game”

and then he constantly makes hsm references

and they learn all the dance routines and have them down to a tee like 2 weeks later, and the amount of inside jokes ok, 

even when there all chilling at melwood it turns into karaoke and one day mils pushes hendo and adam forward and gets them to re-act the troy/gabriella karaoke scence, 

and they do it and its even better than the original 

and STUDGE IS TRYING TO CARRY HUGO LIKE SHARPAY CARRIES HER DOGa

,studge is the best sharpay ever to exist and he does the duet with alberto, and it turns out like when they did the studge dance, kinda perf but messy 

“i told you not to do the studge dance” “its a crowd favourite everyone loves the studge dance”[play on the jazz square scene] 

and the lads totally chant what team constantly

LIVERPOOL BOYS SCREAMING THIS, ALL THE ;LADS JUST LIKE WHAT TEAM!!!!!!!! 

now or never in hsm3 was so the Dortmund game 

real talk one time when the chant starts one of lads screams WILDCATS while the rest all scream LIVERPOOL and they all spend the next hour completely dying over it,

hendo: [BIGGGG SPEECH] …studge? Studge: HEY WHAT TEAM team: WILDCATSLIVERPOOLWHATWAIT

the chant is the first thing on the pre season itinerary and its the last part of the lfc initiation is just a huge chant going around the room and everytime a new lad comes in the chant is started just to make them feel welcome, 

even walking in from training they start the chant 

okay but Alby def made stupid silly comments during hsm 2 he just couldn’t take it seriously and then gotta go my own way is going on and all of a sudden the boys hear this WAAAAAAAIL and turn to see alby sobbing into a pillowl

, and there all like whatttttt??????, and alberto is like but … they..b-broke up…they canttttt, que more crying, and the lads are in hysterics cus they all know they get back together but poor alberto doesnt

and in everyday when gabriella starts singing alby is like that’s her voice…..and then runs up to the screen THAT’S HER VOICE WHERE IS SHE

and then he sees her and he starts crying again and then troy starts singing too and he sobs, and then bobby starts signing the song and alberto gets up off the floor and start signing too, que another karoke hsm sesh

alberto totally dyed his hair blonde cus of sharpay u cant convince me otherwise

“im just bopping my way to the top” “[collective groan around dressing room]

Alby wants to be sharpay so bad the others are all dying when he enters training and studge is like mate taking it a bit far arent we, and alby is like SHE IS MY ROLE MODEL,

THEY TAKE PISS OUTTA HIM FOREVER

phil just staring at him like ……..oh my god i thought you were prank calling me…..milly walkin in sees it and walks out goin "IM TOO OLD FOR THIS SHIT”

hendo being like alby liking the new hair and everyone being like DONT ENCOURAGE HIMMMMM,

god knows how much physical pain emre was in when he saw it “you just…….you just dont do that to your hair, what did his hair ever do to deserve that”

and lo is like chill emre its not that bad, emre “oh of course bleach blonde barbie approves”

loris shoves him and ruffles albertos hair, cus well hes been a bleach blonde before and it was fun

[witchypoooh]

Wolf In Lambs Coat

I met the devil on a scorching summer day while my brothers skinny dipped in the nearby pond with pretty older women. Despite them being all juniors in college they had great big muscles and good lucks so girls no matter what age swooned over them. They had our mamas looks, large dewy brown eyes and olive toned skin that made them look like they glistened in the sun. Meanwhile I had gotten most of my looks from my daddy, a slim and tall man with dark slanted cat-like eyes and pale skin. I was a junior in high school and despite being 17 at the time I stood tall at 5’9 and lacked the attributes that boys my age drooled over. My hair was long, dark and glossy, perhaps the only thing I’d gotten from my mother and my lips thin and red like a ripe strawberry.

We weren’t very well off, we lived far away from neighbors and the city. Looking at our surroundings you’d think the dust bowl never settled. Our shack of a home sat on a lopsided hill and whenever the wind blew we feared our house would blow with it. We only had three bedrooms so my two older brothers split one room leaving the third to the living room couch. I had my own room due to mama telling the men in the house that women needed privacy. I agreed of course despite the fact that all I did was read and talk to myself in private, because what girl didn’t want her own space?

On that hot day I sat on a dusty bank not far from our shack watching from a distance as my brothers splashed around the cool moss covered pond with two middle aged and pretty curvaceous women. They both worked at the pharmacy a ways into town and always gave them bedroom eyes when we came in to get mamas medicine. It didn’t take the boys long to realize the two bleach blonde women were making eyes at them. They exchanged numbers and ever since then you could hear distant splashing coming from the pond behind our home every day. The laughs and screams as they dunked the women into the water playfully. And when the hot sun began to sink below the sandy hills I went inside because that’s when they’d get all touchy feely.

It was around noon now, and the sun was high in the sky causing sweat to trickle down my temples and hit the corners of my lips. My hair was up in a wild bun held together by mamas favorite headband and around my forehead soaking up majority of the sweat was daddy’s orange bandana. I wore an old moth eaten shirt that had belonged to my brother to hide the short white shorts I wore underneath. My long legs caused the shorts to look way shorter than they were and they squeezed my thighs something vicious. It was way too hot to wear pants and the way the hot wind sent sand and dust fluttering through the air burned my arms and made them raw. We had no air conditioning and shared one single broken down fan and more than likely my mother was using it while cooking lunch.

So I sat there on the bank, rubbing sand off my arms and staring off into the distance. As the sound of laughs and joyed filled scream beat my eardrums silly. A weird feeling of jealousy overcame me and clutched my heart in its fist. Apart of me felt like crying, apart of me felt like dying. Though regardless of the feeling thumping in my chest as loud as my own heart I kept my eyes trained on the sandy road leading to the edge of town. And in that moment I heard the growl of an animal, it was big and feisty and angry and my heart pumped hard against my scrawny chest when I heard it.

No more than 4 minutes later the large body came rolling up against the high noon sun. It was black and shiny, a two wheeler with leather handles and seats. My poor little girl heart got to thumping wildly matching the growls of the beast riding up slowly. Riding the back of the beast was a mountain of hot desire and muscles bigger than I’d ever seen. I could see the dirt kicking up from the large, rough and hot wheels of the monster named Harley. The man riding it had dark eyes like my own but his were shaped like a doe’s.

He slowed the monster of a machine down as he came closer, billows of smoke left behind him and blocking my view of the splashing still going on just a ways past the shack we lived in. Apart of me was embarrassed as I tried to stick out the little bit of chest I did have. He looked at me like a baby he felt bad for and had found abandoned on the side of this very road. I would have felt more hurt than I ever have in my life had I not been too focused on the tuft of chest hair I could see faintly from behind the leather vest he wore. He was built as heavy and solid as the machine he sat upon and apart of me shivered though my face remained blank. Still, he just watched me, as his heavy boot nudged the kickstand down and rested against the sand.

The hot desert wind carried his scent to me despite us only being a few feet away and I breathed in deeply when it came. He smelled like women’s perfume and my daddies favorite cigarettes and apart of me felt jealousy spark into life. I was a little girl compared to him and he had had his fair share of women. My eyes narrowed even further than natural and a smile tickled the corners of his lips as if he could read my mind. In that moment I felt like we were some married couple having a silent argument. He would smile and I would swoon and remember why I’d fallen in love with him and we would ride off on the big beast he rode in on.

But this was reality.

His voice was what broke me out of my daydream. Thank god for the bandana around my head catching most of my sweat. I wasn’t sweating due to the sweltering temperature anymore but more so due to my nerves running wild like stallions. I remember that he spoke to me slow and measured, as if I wouldn’t understand if he spoke too quick. His voice was deep and baritone like an old jazz singer and it was clear her was from the Deep South. I felt my mind go abuzz as he spoke, though I understood everything he said.

“You ain’t no woman, no you ain’t.

Women have sins, and those ain’t no saints.

But the world is a devil, you’re next to taint.”

He spoke like a poem in that baritone voice of his. I felt like I was reading a romance novel, Gone With The Wind, Titanic maybe. All I knew for sure was that I was Rose and I oh so desperately wanted him to be Jack. He could smell my young desire from a mile away, I could see it in those dark shining coals he called eyes. That boyish smirk touched the tips of his lips again and I felt my heart give one solid knock against my chest. I was a goner in those glistening eyes, absentmindedly appreciating the sculpted jaw, high cheek bones and soft pink lips that made up his outer appearance.

“I’m a woman, I’m more woman than they are, my mama told me real women don’t gallivant with wild men.” My voice was soft and incredibly shaky as I said this. Apart of me wishes I was a woman gallivanting with the wildest of men. Maybe this man in front of me was the king of wild and I was his chosen woman. Except he didn’t see me as a woman, and that made me frown without realizing I was doing it. His eyes glistened over, and he stood up over his bike, his jeans were faded denim with raggedy holes tore in the knees.

He looked like the kind of rugged but handsome pretty boy biker I saw on the television late at night. I felt my breathing pick up and my heart begin racing inside my ribcage when I thought about those shows. Those were wild men that pretty women were happy and willing to gallivant with. Apart of my mind began wondering off, wondering if he was one of those wild men with quick silver tongues and quicker instincts. Then I began to wonder how long we’d been standing here, me ogling him and him staring at me as if I were some package to be unwrapped and investigated. I didn’t have enough time to look around, take in my surrounding when his voice ensnared me once again.

“I’m a nice guy, one to admire

Take it from me, I’m no liar

I’ve never liked to fan the fire.”

Smooth and buttery as if he gargled with silk and the finest linens every morning. If I believed in magic I’d thought I was being hypnotized by his voice. Till this day I don’t know why I got onto the back of that growling beast or why my brothers never noticed. He reached out a calloused hand and he took my soft ones, my long, slender fingers traced over the roughness of his palm and right then he gripped my hand. I felt a light whimper leave my lips and that sparked something in him because he smiled and pulled me closer. I could smell the cigarettes and liquor on his breath and the smell of peaches and strawberries from some bar crawler on his jacket.

I couldn’t help but to allow rogue thoughts to enter my mind. That bar crawler, the one who’d left her scent all over his jacket had done it purposely. She’d had a good time and she didn’t want others experiencing it. Then my thoughts began to wonder deeper and I thought just for a moment, maybe I would have some fun too. Maybe our minds had been linked during that moment because I could have sworn he looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. He was silent but his eyes gave me all the confirmation that I would ever need.

Before I knew it the wind was whipping through my hair sending it into a wild dance amongst the flying sand. Dust trailed behind us as my arms tightened around his solid waist. The hot leather burned my arms but that little girl heart of mines refused to let go. I pressed my cheek against this back, it was solid just like his chest and I felt myself shutter against the heavy machinery underneath us. It felt like gravity had given up on the two of us as we road quick and furious down the desert road. Faster and faster and the farther we got from the shack, the pond, the banks, the better.

The sun was coming down from its high when we arrived at a desolate plane of sand dunes each producing their own selfish tufts of dead grass. Far off into the distance when the heat caused the air to do wiggling dances was a cool lake shrouded under dead trees. The brown dry limbs curled and reached over the glistening water like demons fingers going in for the kill. I felt myself swallow the lump in my throat and I turned my dark eye on his. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lip as the sound of the beast finally quieted. In the silence my heart took it upon itself to beat like a war drum.

I couldn’t speak as that calloused hand reached out for mine once again. My fingers felt those rough palms, my heart hiccuped and I whimpered as he pulled me roughly towards the glistening waters. Images of the bleach blonde pharmacy workers flickered in and out of my mind’s eye like a television show on a bad television set. The sound of distant splashes and excited screams filled my ear drums despite the silence. I felt my sneakers plant firmly into the sand and that hard calloused hand let mines go. Without having realized I closed them, I opened my eyes.

I felt something new and unawakened stir in my belly as the sunlight gazed upon his solid frame. Surely I like the sun was enjoying the sight to behold. His sculpted back flexed and rippled with his every movement. The calm blue washed over his waist hiding what my eyes had never seen. Without speaking he looked to me and the words seemed to echo within my skull. The air was silent un-penetrated by his or my own voice but I knew exactly what to do.

It felt like second nature as the scenes from various movies raced through my head at lightning speed. A sweater tossed lazily to the ground and another following right after. The sound of springs underneath soft fabric coming to life. A shadow cast by the flickering candle, painted against the wall like a work of art. My belly dropped as the cool pool enveloped my feet first, then my legs and it slowly crawled upwards until it rested just above my naval. It was almost like being tucked in at night underneath the warmest cover.

His strong defined back faced me, his head turned subtly too the side as if commanding that I come into his sights. My slender fingers sent a trail of steaming water across the oval shaped scars on each side of his flesh. I felt him shiver underneath the touch and for a moment my fingers felt hot. As if they were dancing upon coals just taken from the fire. His dark tanned skin looked amazing underneath my pale and expertly dancing fingers as they did excellent flips and showy grand jeté’s. Finally he turned his body against the slow waves and his dark eyes looked upon me like a hungry wolf, I knew right then that my racing little girl heart was now a trapped woman waiting to be freed.

It felt as if time had slowed though I knew it hadn’t. When I finally came up for air the night sky was looking over us. Hours had passed and without the knowledge of it the sun had handed of its duties to the moon and the thousands of twinkling stars littering the night sky. They shone like diamonds over the desert, the sky as blue as the waters. I came back down then, looked him in the face as water dripped from his tussled hair into those eyes that seemed to get darker and darker every second. He had a tortured look on his face as I floated closer and closer, cupping my hand to his cheek.

Like innocence was bestowed it was taken away. My mama told me that flowers bloom, sometimes not right in front of you but in private. My father told me women gallivant without any worry or care for who they’re hurting. I was a flower who’d bloomed and in the process the innocence bestowed upon me has been ripped away. I was now a gallivanting woman without any care or worry about who I was hurting in the process. The stars seemed to smile down at my revelation as lips that tasted of molasses in the spring enveloped me in hot hurried warmth. When that warmth was replaced by the salty blue, those dark eyes looked down at me and swallowed me whole.

My arms splashed at the surface in frenzy as I came up for a breath. My lungs were burning and stinging as a hyenas laugh escaped my throat. Like jailed happiness I floated through the lake allowing the bake tree limbs to cover me in maccabee fashion. He chased after me like a hound dog chasing its prey and I reveled in it. I watched him transform into something otherworldly and those dark eyes devoured me once again. I felt myself falling far, drinking too deeply and floating through an ocean of honey.

Everything went black, a comforting but excruciating darkness.

I woke up two days later with a fever as hot as the July afternoon. My daddy sat at my side, old face blank and eyes distant. Above me was my mama clutching a bible and crying, babbling the Christ’s words over my damp forehead. The noise in the room pounded my eardrums savagely and I squint my eyes shut in agony. She cried harder, years of sorrowing escaping through two streams down her sculpted cheeks. I laid there still and silent with nothing to think or say or do.

The days passed like any other hot summer day. They are hot and long as the noon sun rises high into the sky sending sweat down my temples each and everyday. The familiar sound of splashing emerges from behind our shack of a home, the sound of the pharmacy women laughing and squealing. I know what they’re squealing about now, I remember. I remember my time underneath the hot sun and the cooling stars, and the hiccuping of my little girl heart turned wild. I remember my dark eyed bandit.

Now you know my story, but you don’t know what I saw. The form that take shape in that ocean of blue honey. The feeling of nimble fingers across ashen flesh and teeth against succulent bone. You don’t know what I’ve saw, what I’ve felt, and I’m sure my bandit doesn’t either. But if you ever run into my bandit, while sitting on a dusty bank in the desert next to your own shack, you remember these words. Swallow down the burning desire he brings forth, shield your eyes from what doesn’t belong to you and you remember these words.

“He ain’t no man.

He’s a liar.

He’s the one who starts the fire.”

When you remember these words you turn to him, and you look into those cool coals staring back at you. Tell him I’ll be waiting on the sand bank, staring out at the sun as it dips and twirls through the sky. I’ll be in the lake of blue syrup when the sun kisses the sky goodnight and gives it up to the moon. When the stars light up the desert and send cooling sandy wind through the air. You tell him I love him with all my little girl heart. Tell him I’ll be waiting forever.

You tell him I’ve seen him, I know what he is.

And then tell him I love him anyway.

—————————————————————

This is my first short story I’ve posted on Tumblr. Maybe if it gets enough attention I’ll post more.

[coysgeorge]

Welcome to my brain.

Right so this is weird. For years I’ve suffered with mental health issues. It all started when I was 11 years old, that’s when I realised something wasn’t quite right. I’ve never liked change. Never. I have a routine that I don’t like to break, for those who are close to me they might think I’m one of the laziest and laid back people when it comes to life I’m not. It all started with the process of moving from primary school to secondary school. I remember the first week of senior school so clearly. My mum really wanted me to go to this school called Deanes in a mainly middle class area, I really didn’t fancy it. However she was insistent that I go there. And I got in. I’m certain to this day that’s what triggered all this off. So here I am, a boy aged 11 originally from Edmonton North London (one of the poorest and most crime ridden areas in the UK) who’s been raised on a council estate going to a School where kids were discussing their parents hot tub. The first day of senior school I knew I didn’t fit in. All the other kids knew I was different, I was sat there overweight in a blazer far too big for me, in shoes that were £20 from Tesco with a Afro, whilst all the other kids had Kickers, new haircuts, talking about their parents hot tubs whilst my family had 6 of us in a 3 bedroom semi detached home in Southend. I walked out and went straight to my old primary school by 12pm to confide in my old teacher Mr Martin just to simply be in surroundings I’m comfortable in. This is where it all started. As the months went by, things got worse. I was getting bullied for my weight, my clothes, my mobile phone etc. Nothing that I couldn’t handle, but being a 11 year old lad it still got on top of me. Then the worse thing imaginable happened to me and my family. My Nan, got diagnosed with Vascular Dementia. Now we knew something was up with her, she wouldn’t recognise me, my siblings, her children and most hearbreaking of all my grandad. Within a year my Nan was bed ridden, couldn’t walk, couldn’t feed herself, could barely string a sentence together. This is when shit hit the fan for me, I would literally walk out of school. Go missing for hours, the worse time was when a police helicopter was actually deployed to look for me, social services got involved because they didn’t believe that I was just depressed. They were certain some sort of abuse was going on. It wasn’t. My parents were always great to me. Always made sure me, my brothers and my sisters got what we want. Always. Despite being so poor growing up. The guilt I felt was unbelievable. But for whatever reason I couldn’t sleep, when I did sleep I would literally sob myself into exhaustion then wake up 2 hours later and beg my mum to not let me go to school because all I wanted to do was stay home incase something went wrong with Nan, I was over eating to the point I was a 40 inch waist at age 12. I was literally hoping I wouldn’t wake up the next day.

Then one day I woke up at 6AM and thought that’s it, I’m done, I’m ending it. So I went out to my back garden, grabbed some rope from my dads shed and walked to a Belfairs woods which was only down the road from me. I googled how to hang myself. I was gonna do it, all the way there I wasn’t crying, I wasn’t sad, I felt relief. Happy that in less than 30 minutes this pain will literally be gone. I won’t have to face anything. My best friend, my Nan not recognising me and looking at me like a stranger, the kids at school who wouldn’t even speak to me, this constant sadness will all be gone. I would have nothing to fear, nothing to face just literally a eternity of nothing. So I get to the woods, find a location, find a branch that could hold my weight, and started digging in my bag for a the rope. Then literally out of nowhere this woman, maybe mid 60’s appears with her Jack Russle, and smiles at me the dog approaches me as dogs do so I petted it. She asked me why I’m out so early, I told her some bullshit that I’m going on a detour to collect my papers for my paper round. I didn’t even have a paper round at the time. Then for some reason I just decided, I could easily cause this for myself but if that woman was literally 10 minutes later she would’ve found me hanging from a tree. I didn’t think, but I couldn’t go ahead with it. I couldn’t let someone else live with that for the rest of their lives. So I left, was I greatful for that woman? At the time no, I was angry if anything knowing I’m gonna have to go back to reality after she made me question my conscious after a measly 2 minute conversation that I lied through my teeth in. Now looking back on it. I owe her my life. It’s as simple as that.

So a year passes by, my depressions still there then my mum calls me in the kitchen one day “George you’ve not been yourself and I signed you on the waiting list for belfairs (the secondary school all my primary school friends went to) a year ago, they called today you’re starting Monday” so for the first time in a year I smiled legitimately. The first smile I’ve legitimately not had to force in a year/two years. I’m going back to school with all my pals. I’m elated. I spend the next 3 years being the class clown, getting shit grades, drinking down the park and just being normal. Yes my Nan was ill. But by this time I’ve accepted that she’s gone. The woman laying in that bed wasn’t my Nan. It was a illness that stole my nan’s body. And when she died, yes I was heartbroken but I was also relieved. Relieved that she’s free from any pain and relieved that my grandad can go back to having a life rather than spending every minute of the day caring for her. And hats off to my grandad, he never put her in a home. He was with her every day in his house looking after her. He’s my absolute idol and if I’m half the man he is then I’ll die a very happy man.

So fast forward a few years, I’m struggling for work, second guessing what grades I got on my CV because instead of going to results day me and my friend John went to smoke a packet of benson and hedges down the local park. Not the best life choice but not one u regret.

So I’ve never been good with women, I’m 21 at this point. 22 stone. Bleached blonde hair for some reason. A probably the most undesirable Male on earth. The only 2 t-shirts I wore were this Mohammed Alli t shirt and a smelly blink 182 t shirt with a alien on it. Still suffering with depression but it wasn’t as crippling as before, I had good days, I had bad days. But then finally I get a match on tinder (I didn’t get many back then as you can imagine) so I popped up to this girl expecting she’d reply back then boom, next thing you know I’m in a relationship, good right? Probably completely the opposite. I’ve never been so miserable in my life. I’m not gonna go too deep into the relationship as I’m sure she’s moved on with her life and in a weird way, despite all she put me through in those 8 months. I hope she’s happy. But in those 8 months I self harmed, fought suicidal thoughts daily and couldn’t wait to be dead again. So I’m back to square one again. One day I broke it off with her, I go home. I’m happy again, so I have a job that pays good money, surrounded by my family again and free to do what I like again.

So for those of you who know me, always know how anti cocaine I am. So I’m in a new job. Top sales man out of a team of 60 people. Taking home silly money for a telesales role and I’m drinking. And when I say I’m drinking I’m drinking when I wake up in the morning, I had a vodka bottle stuffed down the side of my bed. I would put whiskey in a flask for my lunch break and put a whole packet of chewing gum in my mouth to get rid of the stench. I’m smoking probably 10 joints a day. I’m a zombie. I wasn’t thinking straight at all. I was having sex with any woman that would show me attention, desperately avoiding a relationship so I’m not emotionally hurt or abused again. I’m a mess. I have a alcohol addiction, then I probably develop 2 of the worse addictions going for the next few months of my life. Cocaine and gambling. So it all started with a night out with some friends from work, being a sales office I knew there would be cocaine but I’ve always had the strength to say no but for whatever reason this time I said yes. I took one line. Didn’t feel anything. Took another, so I said to my mate “is this literally it? I need more because it’s not doing anything” so my mate goes “we’ll get 2 grams for £110, go halves and I promise you you’ll be buzzed more than weed has ever done for you” so I’m sold, if something is better than weed. Why not? So we go back to my colleagues flat at 2am. It’s a shit hole. In a tower block, his Girlfriend sat in the front room furious with him and storms off to bed. We’re listening to house music waiting for this cocaine to be delievered to his door. I fucking hate house music. Half hour later he gets a call from his dealer saying he’s outside. He collects the two grams and he got another two for him and his mrs tomorrow. I ended up giving him the money for 3 of the grams and I’m snorting it off of my work pass still in the clothes I wore at work the day before. I felt like the dogs fucking bollocks. Little did I know at the time I’m sat in a council flat surrounded by a load of filth snorting cocain listening to house music and playing PES. Not even Fifa. PES. I’m the lowest of society right now. But I feel like the Wolf of Wall Street. So I go into work the next day same clothes without even realising how relentless the next 4 months of my life would be. I was spendinga collective of £300 a week on cocaine and weed £150 a week on gambling. I went to the casino with my friend one night, I was so out of hand my friends left me. I lost £2130 in one night, the only reason why I left is because they closed the bar. The people who are closest to me don’t know about that. Not my mum. Not my dad. Not my friends not Sacha. I was a monster.

So the depression is back and in full swing, I lose my job, I was in the most toxic relationship imaginable, I lose my sense or will power all in the space of a year. I’ve been clean of cocaine for 7 months now. I know I won’t touch the shit again. I still have the odd bet. But nothing quite like £2130 in one night. But for some reason it all came crashing down on me the last month or so. I don’t know why, I have Sacha who would literally do anything for me. I’m still getting used to it, she sends me postcards and makes me go get cringe passport photos with her in the photo booth in shops. But I love it, I love her. She’s literally my everything. You’d think that would be enough to cure depression? No it’s not. It’s a illness. A illness I wish there was a cure too. This last month I’ve struggled badly, one night Sacha was in bed next to me and I had to go down to the bathroom and cry for 15 minutes. I don’t know why. I wish I knew why. But it’s time for me to take the right steps and do something about it and get my life back on track. Financially I’m very fortunate at the minute. So are my parents. I’ve got nothing to worry about anymore. I have a strong family, strong friends and a unbelievably strong girlfriend who I worship the ground she walks on.

I’m getting better, will I be depression free one day? Who knows, probably not. Will I be happy all the time? No. But It’s time for me to “man up” as the ignorant people say and take the appropriate steps. I go back to full time hours next week at my job after having 2 weeks signed off with “depression” and going back part time to ease myself in. I’m slowly getting there. I don’t know what the point of this vlog was really, but I feel like it’s helped. And who knows maybe it’ll help someone? For years I’ve been (without sounding big headed) a well know household name on Twitter amongst the spurs community known as a weird vegan guy who doesn’t take anything seriously, but maybe someone will take the time to read this and think “hey if that guy who jokes about 24/7 is like this maybe I’m not so weird at all”

Peace and love my dudes

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : World of Sea : Part 15

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2018

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 4a: The Death of Kurti

Several days ago, Kurti finished mending and rehanging the opulent but worn velvet bed drapes.  She was running out of things to clean or mend. Keeping the Captain looking the part was getting easier and quicker. Barad, seeing the effect on morale was not only cooperating, he was starting to make his own good choices.  She laid aside the slim volume of Arrakan mathematical functions that she was studying on her own and looked about for something else to do.  She knocked at the locked cabin door and it was opened at once.  The cabin boy Benj held it open for her.

“What do you want?” he asked somewhat truculently.

She looked him in his green eyes which were hidden behind a thatch of sun-bleached brown hair.  “I want to take the carpet up on deck and wash it out with clean water and soap, if I can.”

To her astonishment, he replied, “OK, let’s roll it up and get to it.”

He saw her surprise and said, “The Capt’n ordered me to watch and help you in any reasonable task, if you should ask.  First cabin-girl he’s ever done that for.”  He grunted on the end of the statement as he helped lift his end of the carpet.

Kurti had to squint a bit at the brightness of the sunlight, even filtered through the ropes and sails of the big square-rigger.  Apologetically she said, “It’s been a while since I’ve been out and about. I’ll need some soap, a bucket and a stiff broom.  Think you can find them for me?”

“Sure can!”  He set off at a run toward the bows, over three hundred feet away.  He ducked down a companion-way and was gone.  The deck-watch was made up of people that she had known.  Now they appeared to see her as a total stranger, and one to be pitied at that.

It angered her.  Under the anger was hurt.  Anger was easier.  When Benj returned with the bucket, soap and two brooms, she almost told him off.  Instead she attacked the carpet with a viciousness that took him aback.  He pitched in, scrubbing the soap into the pile.  After a few minutes he heard a soft, “Thank you, Benj.  Everyone else seems to think that I’m already dead.”

He hesitated.  “Can’t very well blame them.  Dragons!  You know as well as I that no cabin-girl has ever lasted more than a Gathering or two.  You’re the first one ever seen on deck after being taken to His cabin.  They don’t know what to think.  How’d you get free enough to come on deck, anyhow?”

“It’s silly.  I just figured that if I was given the job, I’d do my best at it.  I cleaned, mended and did my best to keep his cabin for him. That’s all.”  She shrugged.  Then she sluiced water over the carpet to see where it needed more scrubbing and went back to work. It did not really take long to get the carpet clean, rinsed and hung to dry.

Kurti took one of the brooms, the soap and the bucket and went back down to the Captain’s cabin.  She assaulted the floor while the carpet was drying above-deck.  Looking at the hand of the water clock, she set out books, instruments and tallow-slate for Barad’s next sighting. Whatever faults he might have, he was a meticulous navigator.

Captain Barad came into the cabin and smiled when he saw the preparations that she had made.  “Thank you, Kurti.  You know, you are the first cabin-girl that I’ve had that merited or got thanks.  That door will not be locked, so long as you serve loyally.

“I asked Benj what you told him.  You shared no private thing, nor told about my navigation problem a few days ago.  You know discretion.”

I value my life, she thought.  “Thank you Sir.  The problem was not of your making.  It was only poor copying on the part of a scribe.  What would be to tell in that?”

“Some could have cast the tale to make them look the better or me the worse.  You kept your council.”

Glancing about the room his eye lingered on the one thing out of place, the book of functions.  He nodded and smiled, clearly pleased.  “Studying on your own?” he asked.  “What do you think of Kret’ien’s treatment of two body-three body approximations?”

Surprised at his apparently encyclopedic knowledge, Kurti thought for a moment and replied, “It’s interesting, but the principle appears to be extensible to up to six bodies.”

Barad grinned and said, “It does.  You will find that bit of devious reasoning in here.”  He pulled down another of the little books from his shelf of mathematics.  The books were in three different languages.

Changing topics, he added, “I see that you are cleaning the carpet.  If I failed to mention it, you have done well with the mending too.  When you were done with them, the bed drapes looked like new.  Will your carpet cleaning be done by this evening?”

“Yes, Sir.  The carpet is drying now.  Another two hours at most.”

“Very good, Kurti.”  He glanced to verify that the window was open.  “I will call down a time mark shortly.  Set the clock hand to zero the instant that you hear me.”

She smiled at the implied trust and said, “You can count on it, Sir.”

The mark was called and she set the clock with a tiny gurgle of water from its mechanism.  About ten minutes later a second mark was called and she set the exact time with the clock’s keeper hand.  Then she wrote the elapsed time on a tallow slate.  Shortly, the Captain was back.  He took her observations without comment and went to his figures.  He was done promptly and handed both tallow-slate and books to her.

In surprise, she took them and began to check the figures and tables. It took her longer than it had him because he had shut the books and she had to find the correct tables.  No easy task for one with no formal training.

“You had the correct figures, Captain, but you rubbed one out and changed it.  Why?”

“You’re right.  It was a test.  I will take whatever of value falls my way. Most navigators need many Wohans of training in the mathematics and more still to be able to use the instruments.  I know that you have done more than clean their boxes.  Tomorrow, I will have you make a complete sighting alongside me.  I want to see what you need to learn.”

He stretched luxuriously in his favorite chair.  “Have Benj see how the carpet is doing.  Then come here.”  Benj quickly reported that the carpet would need another hour to be dry.  Kurti curled up in the Barad’s lap and let him stroke her.  Soon they were in the bed.

Another week passed.  A pair of crewmen working on a rope splicing job near the mizzen mast, paused to watch the ever more familiar sight of the new cabin-girl on deck with the Captain.  (They had stopped using her name, assuming that she would soon be gone.  On this ship it wasn’t thought safe to remember those who departed.)

“What do you suppose the Captain’s doing?”

“Teaching the girl to con the ship, ‘t looks to be.”

“Why’d he do that?  You know why he picked her, and it wasn’t brains.”

“There, see.  He’s showing her how to set the Lunant all over again.  ‘Tis a tricky instrument to use, right enough.  Never seen such patience in him before.  Leanin’ a tad closer to ‘er than strictly necessary, too.”

“You know, they goes another place together sometimes.”

“Where d’you mean?”

They goes to sick-bay once, sometimes twice a week.”

“You’re tryin’ to fool me.”

“Truth. On the Dragons, I swear it.”

“I think he’s going soft.”

“If you think that, you just do a sloppy job on this splice.  You know he’ll see it, this afternoon’s inspection.”

“Point. Fid it open just here, will you?”

TO BE CONTINUED

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