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[dragoneyes618]

This is a story that straddled two homes on opposite ends of the country on Israel’s most gruesome day. One of the houses is situated in the new part of Kfar Azah, right along the kibbutz’s fence about three miles east of the Gaza Strip.

The Idan family lived in that house: Roi Idan was a well-known photographer for Ynet, and Smadar, whose life was much more private, was an employee of the Shin Bet. This is the home they lived in with their three children — Michael, nine; Amelia, six; and Avigayil, then three — until the parents were gunned down in front of their children on October 7.

The other house is located in Rosh Pinah all the way up north. This is the home of a social worker named Dr. Tamar Schlezinger. In the agonizing hours of Simchas Torah, their lives would soon converge.

ITwas Michael Idan, all of nine years old, who was suddenly and unwittingly thrust into a position of leadership. Terrorists had infiltrated their home and murdered Smadar, who was lying in a pool of blood on the floor. Roi had left the house a few minutes before the invasion, and Michael called him to come home immediately. He quickly returned home, having managed to film the start of the Hamas invasion and sent the first pictures of terrorists paragliding across the border to the news site before grabbing the children and leaving the house to try and make a run for safety.

He was holding three-year-old Avigayil in his arms when terrorists shot and mortally wounded him. Avigayil, covered in her father’s blood, fell to the ground and managed to run to their neighbors, the Brodutch family. Avichai Brodutch brought her into their safe room so she could be with his wife and three children and then went out with the town’s emergency squad to fight the terrorists; ten minutes later, when he came back to check on his family, he discovered that his wife, children, and Avigayil had been kidnapped and dragged off to Gaza.

Meanwhile, for some reason, the terrorist who shot Roi waved his hand at Michael and Amelia, shooing them away.

Not knowing what else to do, Michael took Amelia’s hand, ran back inside, called his mother’s name, but when she didn’t answer, called Roi’s mother. He told his grandmother that he thought his father, mother, and sister Avigayil had all been killed (he didn’t know that Avigayil had escaped). Michael’s grandmother had no idea what they were talking about.

“I’m going to call Smadar,” she said, “and we’ll figure out what’s going on.”

But Smadar didn’t answer. Amelia answered instead, innocently reassuring her grandmother that the army would be there soon to rescue them.

Then nine-year-old Michael called the police.

He was connected to a young MDA dispatcher named Linoy Al-Ezra. Linoy asked Michael a series of questions to try to understand the situation in his home. He told her that his mother was bleeding from gunshot wounds and was unresponsive. Linoy, immediately understanding the danger, instructed them on how to stay safe: She told Michael to lock their home’s front door and remove the key, take Amelia’s hand, go to their safe room, and close the door. Michael told her that the safe room door was too heavy, so she suggested that they hide in the safe room closet, close the door, and not open it unless there was someone they knew there.

She told them to keep on calling if no one came to help, which they did — until the MDA switchboard was overwhelmed by the thousands of calls pouring in. Still, Linoy knew she had to do something to keep those children safe, and a call was put in to United Hatzalah’s “Chosen” Psychotrauma and Crisis Response unit.

ONthe other side of the country from where people were being gunned down in their living rooms, kitchens, and bedrooms, Dr. Tamar Schlezinger, a crisis response specialist, had gotten up early in her home in Rosh Pinah. Tamar had already milked the sheep and gone for a walk in the nearby wadi. A volunteer for United Hatzalah, Tamar knew that there had been a lot of sirens in the Gaza area — and when she arrived home, the first call of the day came in on Chosen’s dispatch, who asked if anyone was available to accept the call.

“I told dispatch that I could take the call,” Tamar said.

A social worker by profession, Tamar was also a longtime member of United Hatzalah’s team of crisis response volunteers, well-trained in helping people deal with emergencies and trauma of all kinds. While she’d dealt with all kinds of people and situations over the years, nothing could have prepared her for the conversation that lay ahead.

Tamar asked dispatch what to expect on the other end of the line. They only knew the basic details. A boy had seen his parents murdered and needed help.

“I called Michael,” she said. “I didn’t know how old he was and what condition he was in, especially if he was in the proximity of terrorists who’d just killed his parents.”

He answered the phone. What follows is Tamar’s account of their conversation.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Dr. Tamar and I’m calling from United Hatzalah.”

Very quickly I understood that I was speaking with a young child.

“I’m with you now, and I will stay on the line until a responsible Israeli adult comes to take you out of the safe room. Okay?… Is there a closet in the room? Yes? Is it a closet with shelves or a walk-in closet?”

“It’s a clothing closet and we’re lying on the shelves, hiding.”

I told Michael that they were doing great and praised him for showing such wonderful initiative. Soon his sister Amelia wanted to join the conversation.

“This is Amelia. I’m afraid! Nobody is here with us. Can you come save us?”

I told Amelia that there were good people who were on their way to help.

“I’ll stay on the phone with you until they arrive to save you, okay?”

“ATthis point,” Tamar recounted, “I needed to know the situation on the ground in Kfar Azah. I also needed to know how much battery was left in the phone the kids were using. I had no idea how long the attack was going to last — but I understood that there was a good chance that we were going to have to stay on the phone for a long time. In my mind, I figured our conversation would probably last ten minutes, maybe half an hour. I mean, how long could it take to rescue two kids from a closet?”

In her wildest dreams, she never imagined how long their conversation would actually last. Because Tamar Schlezinger ended up staying on the phone with Michael and Amelia for the next 12 hours.

That phone call meant 12 hours of extreme bravery by two children, and 12 hours of extreme resourcefulness and composure by a woman on the other side of the country.

“The first thing I did,” Tamar said, “was ask them to please put both of the phones that they had on silent mode.

“Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

“Are the windows in the safe room closed?”

“Yes.”

I asked them if they hear any voices nearby.

I asked them a bunch of questions.

“I hear that Amelia is being very quiet, right?”

“Yes.”

“Michael, do you have any other brothers or sisters?”

“Yes.”

“Are they in a different room?”

“No.”

“Until then,” Tamar said, “I had only known that the parents had been killed. Now I learned that they thought another sibling had been killed as well. At the time, they had no idea that Avigayil had run away. All they knew was that she fell to the ground, covered in blood.

“I asked if their parents were in the room. They said that their mother was on the floor on the other side of a curtain partition but she wasn’t answering. Smadar, it turned out, was lying dead a few feet away from them.”

As they were speaking, Tamar heard the sound of voices.

“Are the people nearby talking Ivrit or Arabic?”

“Ivrit.”

“Who is it? Who’s talking?”

“It’s Amelia. She’s speaking to my aunt on the other phone.”

“Where does your aunt live?”

“In the Golan.”

“Is there anyone closer to you that I can call? Do you have a number for one of your neighbors or your aunt?”

“I know my aunt’s number.”

While all this was happening, the terrorists were still going on a rampage in Kfar Azah. It sounded like the shooting from outside was never going to stop.

“I smell smoke,” one of the kids said to Tamar. “Maybe it’s from an explosion or from one of the fires outside? Do you think the smoke is outside the house or inside the house?”

Tamar sent a text to one of their uncles, Zolli, who also lived on the kibbutz — his house was surrounded by terrorists and he himself was hoping for a miracle. If he left to try and rescue his niece and nephew, he’d be shot on the spot.

Zolli. Michael and Amelia are smelling smoke.

He wrote back. Everything here smells like smoke.

Another time she wrote to him, The children are hearing gunshots.

His response: There’s an endless stream of gunshots here.

Tamar got back to the children: “Your uncle told me that you’re not the only ones who are smelling smoke right now. The entire kibbutz smells like smoke.”

ASthe hours ticked by, the country began to learn that more and more people had been kidnapped and taken to Gaza. Mothers and children. Fathers and sons. Grandparents. Babies. Nobody was safe from the murderous hordes. This made Tamar even more afraid for the children on the other end of the line.

“Kids, if you hear anyone speaking in Arabic, you need to be completely silent. You can’t even say one word. Do you understand me?”

They understood.

“I’m going to stay on the line with you the entire time,” she said. “I’ll talk to you. I’ll stay with you until you get out of there. But if you hear anything that you think might be dangerous, you need to be completely and absolutely silent. Okay?”

By now it was afternoon. The massacre at Kfar Azah had been going on for hours.

Tamar’s conversation with Michael and Amelia had begun at 9:30 in the morning. They had been on the phone for hours already and she still didn’t know if there was anyone on their way to save them, to release them from those closet shelves they’d managed to squish themselves into.

“Michael, do you want me to call you back in ten minutes, or do you want me to stay on the line and continue talking?”

“We want to stay on the line the whole time.”

“Okay, we’ll stay on the line. You don’t have to talk to me the whole time. You can also talk to each other and I’ll just listen. But I’ll be here and I won’t go away. Meanwhile I want you to continue hiding on the shelves, like you’ve been doing the whole time.”

Suddenly —

“Tamar, someone is outside. We hear them knocking on the door. Do you think they came to get us?”

The terrorists had been prowling around the kibbutz, knocking on doors and trying to convince hopeful residents that their salvation had come. Now Tamar was really frightened, but she mustered the calmest voice she could.

“Do not open the door. Do you understand? Stay where you are in complete silence. I am with you. You are not alone. Okay?”

They didn’t answer.

“It’s good that you’re not answering me. You are doing the right thing. I know that you can hear me. Is the knocking still going on? Answer me with one word, yes or no.”

“No.”

“Okay. It’s very important that your cellphone has enough battery so that we will be able to continue speaking for as long as we need. Is your mother in the same room with you?”

“Yes, she’s in the room. She’s lying on the floor. Abba and Avigayil are outside.”

“Does that mean that if you leave the closet to go get a charger, you’re going to see her?”

“Yes.”

“How much battery is left on the phone right now?”

“It’s at 57%.”

Iwas faced with a dilemma. I needed Michael to be able to charge the phone. But if I sent him to get a charger, he would see his mother lying on the floor.

He’d also have to leave the safety of the closest, and leave Amelia alone for a minute or two. I asked him if he would be able to deal with a very challenging and scary mission. To leave the safety of the closet and to go out of the safe room and find a charger. I was also really scared by the enormity of the mission — I can only imagine what he felt like. I decided to conference my superior, Einat, and to bring her into the call. Meanwhile I asked Michael if he knew where the charger was.

“Yes.”

“What room is it in?”

“It’s right next to the kitchen.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to go and get it even if that means you’ll have to see Mommy?”

“Yes.”

“When you go, make sure that nobody sees you through any of the windows, okay?”

“Amelia doesn’t want me to go and get the charger.”

“Is she afraid that you will be too far away from her?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to promise Amelia that you’ll go quickly and come right back. Are you able to run fast?”

“Yes.”

I was able to hear him running. Seconds later, Michael was back with the charger.

“I got it!”

“You are the biggest hero in the world!”

I told the kids that our conversation would be featured in the Guinness Book of World Records as the longest conversation ever held. We spoke about many different things. I asked Amelia to tell me about her friends. I asked the kids to tell me what they did on Succot. We didn’t speak about their father or mother, but we spoke about where they might end up living after this was all over. When they asked me where they would go, I told them that their family was going to fight over who would get to have them. The truth is, they are truly amazing children. Anyone would want them.

By eight o’clock that night, they had run into a serious communication issue. The children’s phone was losing service and their mother’s phone was locked with a password, which they didn’t know. I called their grandmother and asked her if, by a longshot, she knew the code. She told me no one knew it, because Smadar worked at a job that was extremely classified. That’s when I learned that Smadar worked for the Shin Beit.”

At the same time, Roi’s brother Amit Idan made contact with the Yahalom unit who’d gotten into Kfar Azah. He directed them to the house where the children were hiding, but the door was locked.

The soldiers knocked on the door but there was no answer. They tried again and again, and even shouted, “Michael, Amelia, we’ve come to rescue you!” Silence.

Amit told them, “Shout my name! Amit! Maybe they’re afraid to go out. Then they’ll know I’ve sent you.”

The forces shouted to them: “It’s Amit!”

Michael asked permission to leave his hiding place. I told them, “Go to the soldiers right now! Leave the hiding place right now and go to them!”

Seconds later Michael hung up the phone and the longest phone conversation ever came to an end.

Four-year-old Avigayil was released from Gaza with Hagar Broduch and her children at the end of November. Roi was considered unaccounted for until ten days later when his body was finally identified. The children’s uncle and aunt, Amit and Tal Idan, have been caring for them since the massacre.

[plasticcharmbracelet]

Crow

For @wriightworth for the 2023 AJ:AA Secret Santa!

I have no clue what this is. I hope you can derive some enjoyment from it anyhow?

The sky is the brownish grey of cheap paper, and the dry stalks inside the fence and the dry grasses outside it abrade one another quietly in the weak, warm, suspirant breeze that has breathed unceasingly on him for the long afternoon of three months.

Apollo doesn’t really care whether the birds are scared or not. It’s been one long day / a week / three withering summer months, and the sky hasn’t changed, and he can’t close his eyes.

He can’t move. He can’t make a sound. He has not always been a scarecrow, but he is. He is one now.

Apollo has almost never spoken about growing up in another country, wedged in the mountains east of Nepal and Bhutan, and he has spoken even less about growing up in two different countries, because his childish, snowblind memories of the faraway supported him during his foundling years in Los Angeles the way a bangle bracelet and a broken promise never did.

His foster father in the Himalayas had had little enough choice to bring Apollo and his own son along on those expeditions. Children were obviously at risk in the faraway, but at least at more easily disregarded risk than if left to themselves in a bungalow in the snow for an overnight hike that might take three years on the other end. But Apollo’s gratitude for the trips had extended beyond the simply practical, because -

Because a fugitive in the reported world could wield wonders away. A person could feed promises to the wind and to the steep planes of sunlight and have them kept, in words written on the clapper of a chime hung in the air or drawn in powdered pigment on the snow. 

Because a runaway could have promises kept, and beauty with them. And when he was homesick, it was the faraway he was homesick for.

He had spent years scrabbling at the walls of the world. Very literally, as a child, and then via research and rumors in the internet’s dirty puddles as a teenager, in libraries as a student, and at last, as an adult, by reading between the lines of every job listing tangentially related to Law. His foster father had told him the truth about this, as much as he hated to admit it. Gates to the faraway have irregular locations and subtle locks, and lucky discoveries are children’s stories; everyone who has learned one has found someone to show it to them. 

Two years and seven months out of law school, a job making transcripts overnight, before he had finally seen the advertisement whose in-between-the-lines he had read correctly and whose demands he had been able to meet. A little old-fashioned, the skills required, the wording.

Kristoph Gavin, Esq. A little old-fashioned, the man’s clothes. (Though handsome, striking even, the man who wore them.) A little strange, the quiet pools of tension in the conversation.

And at last, after a probation with the mail and the filing cabinets and the little tests in every detail, he had followed his new boss up a narrow flight of stairs in the strange office building - a fading blue piece of 1980s Los Angeles frivolity with circular windows and half-stories and a wraparound balcony - and into a parlor left over from an earlier time than that, one full of dark wooden furniture and glass-fronted cabinets and a grandfather clock whose silver pendulum only wriggled once in its case, and whose windows looked out not on a wide intersection full of Mercedes-Benzes and box trucks but on this Kansas that would never know Technicolor. 

And his new boss had smiled at him across a desk and a cup of milk with barely a splash enough of coffee to deserve the name before taking his left arm in a blacksmith’s grip, pulling his bracelet off his wrist, and hauling him out of the room over his shoulder as if he were a sack of dry leaves. He was.

The breeze rattles the brown stems, the sun never moves, there’s a pole along his shoulders and one at his back, and he’s forgetting the lines of Auden’s Roman Wall Blues.

In the mountains north and east of Ojai, there is a tiny community started by long-ago immigrants from the same Himalayas, and their spot in the faraway had been a vague goal. Somewhere the rules might be similar enough to what he remembers, where he could conceivably reacclimate or acclimate at all.  But he had anticipated something entirely else for faraway Los Angeles - tomols pulling up onto golden beaches, turquoise Hockney poolwater, willow/tule domes alongside silver screen diners where a girl could be discovered on that lucky afternoon. Colors that would suit Kristoph Gavin, blond and blue and white.

Here there are crows sometimes, circling and yelling above the prarie brown beyond the fence, but they don’t approach. Neither does the man who hired him, fooled him, brought him here, robbed him and planted him in this grim faraway grass.

Over the heather / I don’t know why / I shall do nothing but look at the sky.

A crow lands on him.

Perhaps the wind has become infinitesimally stronger or the haze infinitesimally darker, but it may just be that this crow LOOKS storm-tossed, tumbling out of the air exhausted with feathers in all directions. The oily sheen on it is purplish and its beak hangs open as it heaves to breathe. 

Apollo can do nothing for it. Not a movement, not a sound - but his paralysis, in the smallest of comforts, prevents him from doing anything that will agitate it further. If Kristoph wants him to frighten birds, then his own small comfort will be in letting this one rest, if it decides to. 

He waits. The crow moves up to his shoulder, under the brim of the stranger’s hat that Kristoph had dropped on top of his head, hunches itself into a ball, and sleeps.

Time brushes past, warm and weak and irregular as the breeze.

When the crow at last rouses itself, sorts its feathers halfway, and hops and glides down to the ground, Apollo realizes that he will miss it when it goes. But it doesn’t. It stalks and pecks in a circle around the base of the pole, finding a few bits of dry seed, and something like a worm - likelier a centipede, since his peripheral vision suggests that it has hair-fine legs along it. After it seems satisfied - though how can it be? - it smoothes its feathers a little more and flies back to his shoulder, to rest again.

The pattern repeats another three times. It provides a sense of a day and night cycle, however feeble.

It is his crow now.

Kristoph never makes an appearance from the still, sullen house behind him, or at least not one that he can perceive. There is never the sound of the door, or of footsteps, or clinking pans or anything of the kind. He worries for the bird even more than for himself, should Kristoph spot it, but it seems to understand circumspection and doesn’t fly closer to the structure than an acre-wide circle will bring it, both ends of which Apollo can see.

His crow has never cawed at him, either, or at anything else. It is a surprise when at last it says: “ba.” It’s not a crowy noise; it sounds more like a pet raven in a video clip, making something still a few lengths from music. 

His crow bounces sideways down his arm and back. “Ba-ba ba-ba ba ba?” He wishes, partially, that he could respond, but is selfishly glad that it has stayed close and unafraid of him. “Ba ba ba-ba ba ba.” Something Annie Lennox about it.

Day/night/what passes for them. 

The circles his crow flies become tighter, keeping it closer to him. When it comes back, it wedges itself between the hat and Apollo’s straw shoulder in the remnants of his own shirt. Its feathered-over heartbeat feels fast, but its heartbeat always does.

At the end of one particular circle, then, the bird skims past him and keeps going, in the direction of the blank, disapproving house. It can’t be more than a few minutes that he feels its absence, and minutes are a concept he has lost most of his use for, but he doesn’t like it. It makes him nervous.

His crow has lost its mind when it comes back. It doesn’t caw or scream or ba-ba, but it lands hard on the end of the shoulder pole, where his wrist might be, and flaps hard enough that the beats sound like flags in the wind or a person falling down a flight of stairs. It grips and rustles in its panic, then takes off and repeats its actions at the end of his other arm, hitting the pole and buffeting the air again.

What are you doing?, he thinks. The agitated bird stretches its wings up like blades and strains at the pole. Again. Stop. He worries how long it can continue before it -

His vision becomes a dizzy brown swoop as the pole that holds him upright spins at his crow’s last assault and tips sideways, leaving him at a thirty-degree angle and facing the house the other way. The bird is drinking air on his left wrist, shaking, gathering itself. 

A small brass bell that he had not had time to notice hangs on a string by the door, straight toward the ground, entirely unmoved by the breeze. The rest of the yard fidgets in it, brown leaves insinuating against their neighbors, dry sticks dragging themselves an inch in the dust, cloth in bundles on the ground by the fences almost shrugging, then wrinkling down empty.

The nearest bundle has a pair of glasses. Another is topped by a hooded sweatshirt, bleached grey on top and its original grey showing when the wind lifts it. 

As that understanding hits him, his crow caws for the first time and continues, loud, scraping the air and echoing off the dirty clouds. Other birds, the ones that have never dared to come close to the fenced plot of land, scream back and start to gather. One approaches him, lands nervously three feet away, then ignites its courage and joins his crow further along his arm. They all begin to gather along his arms, all facing the house, staring, yelling. Challenging.

The little brass bell on the porch starts to swing in the air, emits a sour little chime. Two more. Then louder. 

Kristoph, taller than Apollo remembers him, opens the door, one hand raised. 

The crows dive at him, surge at him, in a zigzagging clawed cacophony. One tangles itself in his hair, others snap and stab at his eyes, draw blood from his palms and the bony peaks of his knuckles, though a few of these he knocks out of the air with savage swipes of his arms. Apollo’s and some of the others evade him completely, though, and vanish into the shadows of the house. Kristoph shifts his attention from the birds attacking him and pelts after the interlopers. After Apollo’s crow.

The door hangs open and a few battered crows lie in the doorway or just inside it. Apollo can do nothing but stare and listen as the crashes diminish, the shouts and the wild calls diminish, until the scraping leaves are once again the only sounds half-submerged in the silence. 

It could be an hour/a day/five skipped heartbeats before there is movement from the house. Two crows, each carrying something shining in its beak, hopping out into the brighter dimness and soaring away over the roof for the horizon. Neither has a purple sheen to its feathers. Nor do the next half a dozen that come. 

Minutes and eras.

A scraping sound, not dead stalk on dead stem but something wooden and something that isn’t. 

Apollo’s crow hobbles from the door, dragging a broken claw, a cluster of flight feathers, and Apollo’s bronze bracelet. Its scuffling steps are painful to watch, have to be so much more so to execute, but it hauls the bangle to the foot of the scarecrow pole and waits, chest fluttering. Then it catches its breath and hops flapping at him, falls back to the ground with a sound more like a shaken piece of paper than a caw. 

It tries again, can’t lift the bracelet with one leg. Tries and fails with its beak. Puts its head through and manages a flailing glide to one ruined knee of Apollo’s suit trousers, claws its way up to his shoulder, sidesteps, so tired, along the length of his left arm, and deliberately maneuvers the bracelet onto the end of the beam.

Apollo collapses face-first into the dead leaves and comes up with dirt on his human face. His arms are shaking from their own weakness, not from the sickly breeze. He blinks for the first time in weeks, months, yellow crud in the corners of his eyes. When he sits up all the way, he sees his crow hunched in the plants, staring at him. 

He picks it up and it lets him, and he carries it wobbling on weak legs into what may no longer be Kristoph’s house. He can come back for the wounded birds, but first -

At the foot of the stairs that lead back down to Los Angeles is a scarecrow in a blue suit, its head bent to one side and a tear in its fabric neck from which straw has started to slide to the floor. He steps back, carefully.

The room he had sat in is thrown apart, jewelry and pocketknives and keys and things spilling out of drawers angled downwards from their caves, across the desk, everywhere on the floor.  Black feathers here and there. 

“Is something yours?”

“Ba ba.” His crow nods its head several times, but shakes it again when he starts to paw through the shiny mess. 

“No?”

The bird in the crook of his arm becomes agitated again when he moves for the doorway, unfolds out a wing to one side and then grumbles in pain.

Apollo turns to look and catches sight of his reflection in the case of the grandfather clock. The strange pendulum isn’t a solid rod, is it, but a chain with a jagged silver pendant as a bob. The case is locked when he tries it.

He places the bird as gently as he can on the cushion of a velveteen sofa in the corner of the parkor, despite its bas of concern, then all but charges down the stairs and wrenches the pale blue coat off of Kristoph’s scarecrow, leaves the thing limp against the baseboard and wraps the coat around his left hand and arm as he stomps back up on ever more steady legs. 

He closes his eyes in front of the clock and swings his swaddled fist through the glass of the case. It is a satisfying thing to do.

He pulls the pendant and its chain carefully from the hook in the mechanism, and carries it back to his crow, which is watching him with an intensity that is certainly hope, but apprehension too.

“This?”

A long pause. “Ba.”

He sits on the floor and his crow edges forward and lands gracelessly on his knee. 

“You’re on my lap.”

“Ba ba ba? ba -“

“Fine -“

His hands shake only a little as he holds up the chain and lets it settle around the sleek black neck.

An instant later he has another young man collapsing ragged against him, beautiful in black and purple with bruises purpling his fingers, a man who could be the mirror of Kristoph and who, beyond all clarity, is not in any way like him at all. 

There are so many things they will need to do, soon. But for now, Apollo’s crow embraces him and buries his face against the crook of his neck, and Apollo tilts his head toward him, and holds him close, and loves him, loves him back.

[ae-neon]

The House of Mirrors

Chapter 5

Nesta watched the city slowly fade around her as they drove East, inwards and away from where the Sidra met the sea.

Watching the businesses give way to apartments, suburbs and then the forest; she imagined herself going home. Not to her mother’s house in Northside or even her grandmother’s in Scythia but to Silver Lake and that gilded cage she had learned to love.

She imagined for a moment that she would be sitting on the deck overlooking the misty lake, sipping tea by sunset. And that she would be alone. Forever. The thought pressed on a bruise in her soul.

Is that what I want?

“What are you thinking about that has you frowning?”

Rhysand was beside her, one hand on the wheel and the other resting by the gear. He still hadn’t told her where they were going.

“What if someone does recognise me?” she asked over the low music, never truly free from her worries.

He hummed like he was thinking, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, “If someone does recognise you, I promise to give you my car as an escape method...and an apology, for not keeping my word.”

Nesta crossed her arms and legs, angling her body towards him. He met her look with a grin. “I already have a car, a better car.”

“Ouch,” he cocked his head and hummed again, “It's a bit pricey but I have a house in Illyria I might be able to-” she laughed.

Nesta rolled her eyes, unable to stop her own smile, “If someone so much as raises their eyebrows that house is mine.”

Eventually the trees gave way to large gates and ivy-covered walls so tall she couldn’t see over them. But through the gates and houses with fencing rather than brick walls, Nesta was able to piece together they were in some old money enclave.

From what she knew about Rhysand, his father’s family, she guessed at where he was taking her. A part of her wondered if he meant to impress her, to sway her in his favour. Not that it mattered what she thought, her job was to oversee not interfere.

The only reason it was Nesta and not Elain was because Nesta had been made ready for men like Rhysand, like Tomas – even at 19, she’d been used to walking among wolves.

Her grey eyes flitted from the street of palaces to the prince beside her and an unease bloomed in her chest.

Nesta was rich. Tomas’ own wealth had been kept secret from both their families, but he’d taken her to parties and villas all over the world. And yet there was something about this place, this kind of wealth that made Nesta nervous.

She had seen money unleash the monsters men hid inside themselves, allow them the freedom to act out their dark desires. But what about men who were born and raised without those chains, who had never been brought to heel under the threat of consequence? What did families like Rhysand’s do to build and maintain their wealth not for years or even decades but centuries? And what kinds of people did places like this make?

They pulled into a gravel driveway and after passing through a huge black gate, the world seemed to open up and reveal the largest front yard Nesta had ever seen.

Tall trees lined the yard, and the very ground was cut into huge steps leading up to a pool and then onto the house itself.

“Here,” Rhysand offered his hand and Nesta took it, careful to put her weight forward so her heels didn’t sink into the soft, fertile earth as they moved off the gravel to cut across the grass.

When they reached the house - a huge, cream colored, three-story building with wooden doors and window frames – Rhysand pushed open the double doors and led into an airy entryway.

The floors were polished wood, covered here and there with intricately woven Bharati rugs and the walls were dotted with colourful art pieces from artists even Nesta recognised.

Feyre would love this. The thought brought with it a pang of guilt. It was the least she could hope for for her little sister, to find comfort in her cage.

~

When they were done cooking their half Illyrian half Scythian brunch, Rhys led Nesta out to eat in the backyard. The almost tropical garden provided a less stark space than the openness of the house or front yard.

He texted Helion to bring over some cheesecake, enough for 5 people in case Nesta wanted more.

Nesta had perched her sunglasses on her head and rolled up the sleeves of her dress to dig in. Looking at her like this it was difficult to imagine the pale ghost in the black dress was the same person. Hard to think of this woman in blue ever shaking in fear.

She reached over for her half of the Illyrian style sandwich he’d made – shredded bits of air-dried beef marinated in spicy sauce with cold cucumber slices and lime drizzled over it. Her eyebrows shot up appreciatively and she gave him and approving nod.

It should have been easy now, to broach the subject of her past, but Rhys wasn’t sure he’d manage without putting Nesta on the defensive. A defense he didn’t think he had the ammunition to overcome, not yet. He wondered if Mor had found anything on Tomas Mandray.

He wasn’t even sure what he meant to do with the information. Nesta had presented herself amicably at every turn with no hint of resistance to either him marrying her sister or taking over TST. Was Cassian right? Was he overthinking? Was it fair to suspect her?

Nesta lifted her grey eyes from her plate, meeting his with an unflinching ease. Not a thing many could do once they knew who and what he was. And he didn’t take her for a fool, not when Amren had been her mentor and they remained close even after parting ways. No, he was sure his instinct was right, that before him lay a sleeping jaguar.

Later, he stood beside her while she made quick work of the dishes, having insisted she payback his and Cassian’s act from the dinner. He leaned against the counter, “Surprised I can cook?”

She thought for a moment then shook her head. “No, actually I would say it tracks.”

Oh? He raised his brows and motioned for her to continue.

“Men like you tend to pick up hobbies that produce tangible things. Reassurance that it isn’t all just luck and money and connections; that you’re capable of doing something by yourselves.”

He might have been a little offended at such a blunt read if she didn’t add, “My father makes wood carvings. When I was little, I thought he worked at a toy factory because he spent so much time making us figurines. Never got upset when they broke either, just made another – a little better, a little stronger.”

She had a soft smile on her face and something about it made him-

The sound of a car blasting music as it pulled up floated in through the still wide-open double doors.

“Dessert has arrived,” he forced himself to move away and headed towards the door.

“I almost didn’t believe you were back! And asking for cheesecake no less. You have to-” Helion was already halfway across the room when his brown eyes swept passed Rhys, a strange look passed over his face and he skirted Rhys’ waiting embrace to wrap himself over Nesta.

Rhys could feel his brows shoot up in confusion as Nesta accepted the embrace, then said to him, “Looks like you owe me a house.”

~

Helion had been a surprise. Nesta hadn’t seen him in almost two years. His embrace was crushing, and he planted three pecks on her cheek before she managed to swat him away.

She felt herself grin, even when she’d been married, Helion always seemed to get away with treating Tomas like the third wheel. Nesta squeezed his hand, a measure of her own affection which ran just as deep. He gave a warm, beautiful smile in return.

It turned mischievous when he glanced back at Rhysand.

“When you told me you were courting a Scythian girl, I had no idea you were talking about Nesta fucking Archeron.” Helion finally hugged Rhys, “I’d offer an early congratulations, but I think you owe me an apology instead.”

“Why the fuck would I owe you an apology for that?” Rhysand asked and Nesta’s brows rose at the exchange.

“Nesta tell him, I was supposed to be first in line after that horrible husband of yours.”

“I only told you I’d consider it.” Nesta moved forward to take the bag she assumed carried the dessert and turned to the kitchen, “Besides, it’s my little sister he’s marrying.”

“Oh? Well, that sorts it. You marry the sister, I’ll marry Nesta, and we can honeymoon in Montesere.”

“You know, I was willing to look past Amren, but this might be too much.” Rhys was right behind her and set out small plates and forks on the kitchen counter. Helion followed and leaned against the doorway.

Rhys lifted himself to sit on the counter, “Enlighten me, how did you managed to make the acquaintance of this heathen?”

“We...met at a party.”

“An orgy.” Helion grinned.

“A party that turned into an orgy.” Nesta explained, “Most of which I wasn’t there for.”

“Most?” Rhys repeated, turning to Helion who opened his mouth to speak when Nesta shot him a look.

Nesta slid a plate of cheesecake towards Rhysand, “You can have your house back if you stop asking questions.”

[mydyspraxiablog]

I went holiday to Turkey because Greece Holidays so went to East Middle airport as Birmingham airport havn't got any gluten-free food naughty Brigham Airport don't give ease not alwon tell you if any Gluten-free load Rubish stop been scare cat! So East Midlands assistance was very busy day instead 60 assistance for hidden disabilities there only have two Ambulance lift was fall so have climb stairs on jet2 because full of pushchairs and weelchair so look friends push me but wasn't time going durty free get Preformed but blam taxi man for that I happy because I could have Nice special Preformed then went on Jet2 plane walk up the stairs enjoying will say day assistance Staff short was busy because have 250 hidden disabilities and disabilities together that day need more staff on assistance desk in East Middle airport so felt bit nervous but alright sit on seat I look because have two seat free near window so could see want going on then got my Gluten-free chicken meal but friends party didn't receive gluten-free meal no one tell them from Co.op Travel Agent so felt bit dispoint but sort self out. So left them too it keep mouth shurt. Then land in Turkey have private taxi because Ambulance lift was fall have no choice but going down stairs but wasn't any assistance in Turkey for me so have going on bus stand up but no one give me seat selfshire people then got weelchair then assistance come and took me then had get out weelchair when anythings pick up case because no come back only things me and mum forget left waterbottle on Weelchair in Easter Middle Airport someone received nice two waterbottle but noughting can do now just buy more water bottles or rockbox,Funky fitness, clubside won't be able drink water now. So after land in Turkey 🇹🇷 and got taxi but his light wasn't work keep get pull by police make me feel bit uncomfortable but didn't let that stop me so went Moonlight apartment very beautifully love see all cats there mum didn’t and next day I sunbathing didn't really want swimming with children in swimming pool really all uk children should be school after all did six week off children won't carth up school work now. So give swimming as bad idea so mum love swim so decide get tan but didn't get first day sunscreen lotion did there job." " Then got ready for night out really enjoy dancing in Turkey I enjoy Entertainment team and dance nights way but didn't like where Turkey staff but fireworks in guest hands won't happon in UK but still dance night way but not good enough going Britain got Talent have dance battle with devil " said" Don't fight me again" but only devil mask because Halloween coming up. I love dancing try spead all mum money so could have Travel card to Paid sadly in Turkey only cash machine wasn't any bank if want change money had be hotel or restaurant didn't want paid by card because Turkey Bank would change restaurant the idiots bank staff but back fire because on last day went for English breakfast order English breakfast and drink late but have cannel coffee drink because brought my spet dad T.shirt for work wasn't please latte was cannel so prove cash isn't enough even on holiday. Yawn 🥱 now tomorrow tell you secert some be OK last holiday in Turkey 🇹🇷 stay in Hotel isash Hotel and hiding little gem Adult swimming pool " " I secert went under the water because believe it shallow end it scare me enter the swimming pool so I don't going in anymore know get pick on " Let buy black arm band " it didn't help sims 3 island one Sims 3 drown because could not get out swimming pool because fencing was in way from children pool so can't look after children anymore because can't swimming want happon in Turkey. I do enjoy dancing

[whitepolaris]

The Island

The Island is like a post-apocalyptic nightmare. Cut off from the rest of the world, it's an easy reminder of what life will be like once the human race has eradicated itself and the earth is starting over from scratch. Only traces of civilization remain and even the most durable of structures are quickly succumbing to the deceptively powerful tenacity of foliage.

Often referred to by the locals as simply "the ghost town," this enormous patch of land lies just west of Guthrie's downtown district, entirely isolated by a cutoff of Cottonwood Creek. Although many otherwise up-to-dare maps will hoodwink you into thinking you can still get there via Perkins Avenue or Ninth Street, access to the old neighborhood, at least by car, has long been impossible thanks to the scrubbing power of floodwaters. The bridges are gone. Only by crossing a ruddy, and often dangerous, tributary on foot can one penetrate the Island's borders.

It's hard to believe the place was once inhabited, and very recently. The streets have now been virtually swallowed up by nature. Only short, random patches of asphalt remain visible, bleeding up through the soil. To find the roadways, you have to pay attention to the tree line. If you're lucky, you might spot part of an old fence or maybe a fire hydrant for orientation.

The Island has been populated at various times in recent history, but without exhaustive research, it's hard to tell just when and for how long. Due to its geography. Guthrie is highly susceptible to flooding, which often divides the town in two, sometimes multiple times in a single year. It's this tendency toward deluge that's wiped out civilization on the Island on more than one occasion.

According to some locals, the last exodus was in the mid-1990s. Unrelenting rains drove the Cottonwood Far above flood stage, damaging roads and bridges, and destroying homes along the flood zone. Ever since, this area of southwestern Guthrie has remained conspicuously deslote.

TVs and refrigerators lie everywhere. Kitchen appliances poke out through buckled walls. Bottles, furniture, and toys cover the ground. Here are old mailbox, there's a child's wading pool.

To the east, majestic stone ruins tower above the trees. Although, it's most likely a former church, the local youth now refer to it as the Castle, a place where pagans supposedly practice clandestine rituals, leaving behind occult symbols on the walls and foundation.

Farther into the Island's interior, residential buildings barely remain standing. One house, it's floor verging on collapse, is strewn with shoes. Scattered sheds lean in Burtonesque fashion, their corrugated roofs slowly corroding. Back in the street, the odd manhole threatens to swallow adventurers in a single gulp.

Sadly, this isn't the first time the area has looked like this. The remains that lie here today are a fresh reminder of an event that occurred a hundred years earlier, when a devastating swell overtook the Cottonwood valley in 1897. According to reports, a mile-wide wall of water six to eight feet high swept through Guthrie, destroying about 650 homes, damaging farms, bridges, and railways, and leaving some two thousand residents homeless. The New York Times reported on many of those who lost their lives:

A woman with a babe in her arms desperately tried to steady herself in a treetop, calling the while for help. She grew weak and the baby slipped into the water and was drowned. . . . A woman wading from home with a baby on her head was seen was seen to go under, and a man swimming the channel to reach four women and a baby in a tree was carried down stream. Two women and a child were carried away on a bridge further down stream, and one man and two women, in plain sight of shore, were on a house roof when it went to pieces. They all perished.

Though today's ruins are a feeble testament to the 1897 disaster, one can't help but be reminded of the disturbing aftermath that must have resulted a century ago. The homes, the clothes, and the myriad personal items that litter the ground tell a patchy story of those who once lived here. Standing in the isolation of the Island, between the horn blasts of the nearby train line, you can almost hear them.

[cowboisadness]

Found You {Arthur Morgan x F!reader}

Summery: She was there for Arthur through everything, being more than good friends but less than partners. They support eachother through the good and bad times, it’s not love tho, no, it’s not love at all.

Rating: M. Basically porn with plot. More plot than i planned i really got carried away with this. SMUT IS HERE! 18+ ONLY!!

—–

Chapter 4 - Together

The next few days were nothing short of torture. Arthur never spoke another word to me, huffing whenever I would say something to him or just walking away from me completely. Everyone else in camp soon noticed something serious had happened between us. Their comforting words and questions on what happened went unanswered and dismissed. I hoped time would help, that I would get a chance to explain myself and apologise for my foolishness and downright stupidity. But as the days passed, the frayed ends of the rope had no chance of being reconnected, no matter how hard I tried and how hard I cried. So I flung myself into as many jobs as I could get. As a distraction.

Robbing homesteads. Stagecoaches that turned into shootouts more often than not. Gambling with fellers that were too drunk to notice me stealing their wears from right under their noses and gone before they realised anything was amiss. Fighting in hidden alleyways with meagre men that thought they could take on a woman with nothing to lose. Just to feel something, another kind of pain that would lessen with time.

It wasn’t until I was sat at the edge of the camp, cleaning my revolver while looking out over the overlook, stars raining bright above. Bottle of whiskey by my side that Hosea came over and sat beside me. Silent at first. Taking in the view.

“You going to explain whats going on?”

“Nothings going on, Hosea.” I shrugged, running the oiled cloth over the same spot mindlessly. “Arthur won’t tell me. I though out of the two of you, you would.” he kept his eyes ahead, not bothering to look at me. I sighed, my shoulders dropping in defeat. I might as well tell him, not like he would be able to change my mind.

“I’m an idiot. I spoke to Mary. Told her to leave Arthur alone and to stop contacting him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know anymore...Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You love him.” I could see his grin out of the corner of my eye, albeit a sad on.

“Not you too, Hosea.”

“You two were very close. Closer than you think I realise. I’m not a dumb old man you know”

I didnt reply to that. No point to, my mind was made up now. Instead, I holstered my gun and stood, picking up the bottle as I did. Turning to Hosea to finally look at him.

“I’m leaving, Hosea. Only for a few weeks or a few months. I don’t know.”

“You really think leaving will help?” “Maybe. It might help him if I’m not here. I’ll send money and write to you and Dutch. I’ve already packed.” After a few more words and questions on my plans when I’m out there on my own, we hugged and I said my goodbyes to him, Dutch and a few others. Promising the girls I will see them again, even though I was doubtful. I willed no tears to spill when I gathered my things, leaving my tent bare and hollow. Mounting my horse I left camp without looking back, letting the wind guide me in whatever direction it wanted me to go.

---

Roughly 4 months had passed since leaving. Currently holed up in a now-abandoned cabin in the depths of Grizzlies East by O’Creagh’s run, hiding from the law after robbing the fence in Van Horne. Id wrote letters and sent money to nearby stations as promised. Keeping updated with the gangs coming and goings. The last time I heard from those who would write back, mainly Hosea and Mary-Beth, was when they were held up in a place called Shady Belle. I haven’t heard anything from them since. That was a month ago. I had thought of going there, finding them. But I couldn’t bare having to leave again after realising they had been getting on fine and had left me to my own devices. Coming to the conclusion that I was not returning and that I had abandoned them all. Which was far from the truth. I still cared, which I’m sure was evident from whatever leftover money I had been sending to them. Only, it wasn’t getting picked up from the stations anymore, along with my many letters. I was travelling back to the cabin after an evening hunting for supper and hopeful breakfast. The blanket of trees now behind me, opening up the wondrous starry night, pulling my jacket closed as the cold breeze this time of year began to sting any uncovered skin. I looked around before dismounting, taking my kill of two rabbits stowed on the side of my ever faithful horse and made my way inside. Looking around once more to make sure I hadn’t been followed. Just to be safe. As I began to skin and gut the meat, the warm glow from the lantern lighting my every movement in the otherwise dark cabin, I heard motion outside. Bears and wolves were not uncommon around these parts. I had to shoot my way out of a wolf pack not a week ago, coming away with nothing but a bruise on my hip from being bucked off the horse in her desperate attempt to flee. Nevertheless, I placed down the knife and picked up my rifle propped up against the door. Looking out the window to the right of the door. Seeing nothing and hearing nothing else. I went to the door, preparing my rifle then placing my ear to the door. It was silence for a few moments, then movement again, making its way up the steps. It didn’t sound like an animal. With a hand on the handle and rifle ready to be used, I swung the door open. The rifle now aimed at the unwelcomed guest.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust in the darkness, but it didnt take long to recognise who it was.

“Arthur?” It was barely a whisper. A question of disbelief. I blinked a few times, surely my eyes were playing tricks on me.

After a few breaths, he finally spoke “I’ve found you.” We just stood there, I released a breath I didnt even know I was holding. How did he find me? Why would he? Months of keeping myself away from people the best I could and staying hidden for long periods of time I was beginning to feel content with being a lone wolf. Not thinking that lone wolves are weakened beings after too long. Often driven out when deemed useless or a weakness to the pack, or leaving to find their own family. Not alone forever, wolves would struggle and go insane.

But he, of all people, found me. The only question now is why. And that was the only thing I could say as I lowered the gun.

“Why?”

He told me everything that happened. The downfall, the betrayal, the heartbreak. Those that we lost. Everyone gone in one way or another. Sean, Kieran, Lenny, Hosea, Molly, Miss Grimshaw. Dead. Saint Denis bank, Guarma, Micah working with the Pinkertons. In the end, Micah had turned Dutch against almost everyone, whispering little worms into his ear until they grew and grew to leave no room for anything else.

Dutch turning his back on Him and John. Leaving John to bleed out and leaving Arthur on that mountain. Where he thought would be his final resting place. But once the sun was up, high in the sky, he found the energy to live. To heal. To find me.

And that’s what he did the last few weeks until he heard whispers of someone fitting my description that caused a bit of hell in Van Horn. He knew he was close.

“But...why did you want to find me?” I asked. Both of us sat around the small table below the window, two empty whiskey glasses before us.

He took in a deep breath, his perfect blue eyes meeting my bloodshot and watery ones. “I wanted to the moment I was told you left,” He leaned over, taking my hands in his.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think these last few months. Especially in the last few weeks. What you did before you left, I understand now why.”

“But I hurt you.” letting a sob escape, my body starting to tremble and I’m sure he could feel it in my hands.

“It did hurt. But losing you hurt even more,” He said, nothing more than a whisper, his eyes never leaving mine and his hold on my hands not faltering as he continued. “I remember what you said to me that night years ago. ‘Bout not knowing how much I mean to you. Well - I - I do. Because I feel the same. Always have. it just took me a while to realise it I guess.”

I couldn’t stop the tears. The damn had busted open. Within seconds he was on me, his arms enveloping me, my hands coming to purchase on his shirt. Neither of us wanted to let go, out of fear the other would disappear into the air like dust in the morning rays. We held each other for what felt like an eternity, my tears slowing and the shaking subsiding. I lifted my head from where it was perched on his chest to look at him, our eyes locked once more. No words were spoken but I could see it in the depths of those pools, the forgiveness and longing. And I was sure my eyes mirrored the same. His hand came up to cradle my face and I instinctively leaned into him, my breathing hitching despite the calmness that washed over me. Then I looked into his eyes again, only to be met with a look I had not seen in many years. I opened my mouth to speak but before I could he surged forward, his lips on mine. It was delicate, more fragile than any other kiss we had shared. It wasn’t long until that fragility turned into desperation, my hands at the nape of his neck, his on my waist. My mind was running a million miles a minute, all thoughts of him and this moment. Feeling like we were young lovers again. His hands roamed my sides as I gripped his hair, keeping each other glued to one another. My body began to burn up, feelings I had repressed for months pushing their way to the surface, refusing to be drowned. We broke apart and he pulled me to stand, his lips now on my neck, trailing wet kisses from below my ear to the hollow of my neck, causing me to moan. He looked at me then, desperation and pleading etched upon his face before I kissed him again. Kissing the scar on his chin that was easily visible within the stubble, his jaw, down to his neck and then his chest. Pushing off his jacket and suspenders with it. My fingers returned to the front of his shirt, undoing the buttons slowly as he pushed me back into the direction of the bed. My legs soon coming into contact with the edge. His hands now making a start on my blouse, pulling it from the confines of my pants and lifting it over my head. My hands roaming his chest and snaking down to his abdomen, stroking the hair there, causing him to tense at my touch. He always was a fine man, built from hard work that I couldn't help but adore. His arms wrapping around to my back to undo the corsets lacing, completely surrounding me and all I could smell was him. Horse, rain, sweat and something that was just so undoubtedly him. Undoing his gun belt was muscle memory, hitting the floor with a thud, my corset following, now both bare from the waist up. We couldn’t wait any longer, our lips on each other once again as we worked on unbuttoning our pants. He leaned me down to lay on the bed, my legs hanging over the sides as he wasted no time to pull off the rest of my clothing. Laying there propped up on my elbows I watched as he raked his eyes over every curve, scar and freckle on my body. Kneeling between my legs he drew kisses from my knee up my thigh, getting oh so close to where I wanted him to be. He looked up at me once more, giving a shuddering breath before his mouth landed between my legs, soft but purposeful strokes easily pulling moans from me. He didn’t let up, devouring me like a man starved as he paid close attention to my little bundle of nerves. My body shaking again but for a whole different reason. It had been too long and I knew I wasn’t going to last if he kept going for a minute longer. My hands fisting the bedsheets I tried to speak but it was useless, squirming from the sensations. Lifting my legs to rest on his shoulders feeling him moan against me, the vibration causing bolts of electricity to fire through my whole body and land at my core. I could feel my orgasm rapidly approaching and my hand flew down to card through his hair, holding him there. My body convulsed as I tipped off the edge, my head rolling back as the blinding pleasure washed over me, moaning his name into the air. Arthur was above kissing me within seconds, tasting myself on his tongue and lips. Catching my breath he pushed me further up the bed until my head hit the plush pillows. Removing his pants and then situating himself between my legs. I could feel him pressed up against my thigh, hot and swollen and begging for attention. And oh how my body craved to give him what he needed. His eyes met mine, hooded and filled with lust. Silently asking for permission. I nodded, placing a kiss on his forehead and placing my hands on his shoulders. Electrifying jolts surged through my core as he strokes himself along my slit tenderly. His skin burning to my touch and looking downright drunk. Completely intoxicated. He sinks into me slowly. My body soon getting accustomed to the memory of him as he bottoms out, his hips meeting my thighs. My breath hitches as he bites back a moan. Both of us taking a moment just to bask in the feeling of one another like this again. It all felt the same but so different. He kissed the scar on my collar bone that he only got to see before when it was fresh. We had been through so much over the years we would need to learn about each other again. But one thing remained the same; my body yeard for him. He pulled out before setting a languid pace, lifting one of my legs to wrap around his waist, allowing him to go deeper, his pace quickening and lifting my hips to meet him, Chasing our pleasure. One hand in my hair, tangled up with my locks as his other hand firmly grasped my hip. The look on his face was evidence that he was holding back, needing to completely lose himself in me. And I felt the same. “Arthur...Please.” I purred, not needing to say anymore. His pace quickened with a grunt, one that was a borderline growl. My moans and the sounds of skin on skin filling the air and our ears as he kept hitting that sweet spot. My nails forming crescents on his shoulders. Pulling him down to crush my lips against his, our teeth clicking and tongues dancing together. Pulling back suddenly with swollen lips as the pressure began to build, my whole body trembling more and more as I got higher and higher. Moaning out his name as his rhythm began to falter. Nuzzling into my neck and mumbling ‘oh, fuck,’ in that gravelly but wanton voice. His hand on my hip made its way between my legs, rubbing in quick circles. I couldn’t hold back. That coil within me growing tighter and tighter before snapping. My back arching as the shockwaves rocked through me. Slowing his pace slightly to ride me through it before picking up his pace again, chasing his pleasure with a few more pumps of his hips and he stilled. His hand like a vice on my thigh as he spent himself inside me with a drawn-out moan. It took us a few moments to get our breath back. Pulling himself from me causing me to whimper from the empty feeling and sensitivity. He moved to lay beside me and pulled me to lay with my head on his shoulder. Neither of us willing to clean ourselves up just yet. My skin now acknowledging the cold air around us. The thin sheen of sweat cooling me. Nothing was said for a while as he held me close until he broke the silence to place a kiss to the top of my head then lifting my chin for my face to meet his. “I love you,” he said. My eyes getting blurry from the confession I never thought I would hear. But looking at him I knew it was true. His eyes shone with adoration. I smiled weakly before kissing him once. Looking back into his eyes and with no hesitation, I said out loud what id only heard myself mutter in my dreams. “I love you too."

[zims-left-shoe]

Hey!! Was wondering if I could get some Dib x reader where the reader is a really ‘popular’ likeable kid at skool and Dib has liked them for a while but feels they’re “unattainable”? (Basically every high school romance movie ever lol) thanks!

I had a lot of fun with this one! It ended up being longer than I thought it would haha. 

It was a crisp autumn day, dead leaves crunching under your feet. Although it was dry in the moment, there was this feeling in the air that threatened a downpour. You stood behind your friends when they came to a stop, watching them with your hands stuffed deep in your pockets, feet shifting, the only sign to display your discomfort. Your eyes followed the notebook that was being tossed between your friends, a simple black spiral book, appearance only made special by the strange eye symbol scribbled in paint marker that adorned the front. Wicked cackles escaped your friends as they continued to throw the book around as if it were a football. 

"Give it back!" Ah. And then there was Dib. The strange boy in your class that went on and on about aliens and saving the earth from Zim, your other absurd classmate. He took another jump, swiping his arm out in a desperate attempt to reclaim what was his. His fingers gently grazed the binding, only to be yanked back by his trench coat at the hands of Torque Smacky. This was what qualified as a middle school prank. Admittedly, you had thought it was a bit funny at first. That was until your friends began to run to the edge of campus, spitting hurtful words back at the clearly unathletic Dib, who was wheezing and struggling to keep up with your group. 

"Soulstealers? Chupacabras? You are actually insane." Jessica laughed as she flipped through what seemed to be his personal supernatural journal.

"This is why nobody likes you, Dib. You're a freak." Smacky shoved him hard, his body colliding with the chainlink fence. You winced at the rattling it caused and the look in his eyes as he hunkered down into himself, slouching against the fence. The one thing you could say about him was that he was not one to give up easily, if at all. And yet, he looked defeated, deciding to take the lickings and wait until they lost interest. You couldn't take it anymore. 

You were always well liked by everyone. Everyone adored you and your pleasant attitude, always gravitating towards and revolving around you as if you were their sun. And although you stood behind those that you called your friends, you couldn't just sit there and watch how they treated Dib. He was definitely out there, sure, and maybe you didn't understand everything he said, but there was a line you had to draw. He was never hurting anyone. If he wanted to believe in aliens, who were you to stop him?

"Guys, that's enough. Knock it off." You spoke up for the first time in that encounter, snatching the book from Jessica's hands. Your friends, whom most would label as 'the popular crowd', all stared at you. Not necessarily in anger. More so shock. "Here." You tossed the notebook back to him, lips moving in a silent 'I'm sorry'. His hands fumbled the book, almost dropping it as he too stared at you with disbelief. Why would you help him? Weren't you friends with those who antagonized him?

"Thanks-"

"Shut it. Just feel lucky they stepped in." Smacky retreated a few feet back from him, glaring at him all the while.

"Let's go. It was getting boring anyways." Jessica turned swiftly on her heel, every one of your friends following her. Glancing one more time at Dib, you nodded to him, a movement that was so slight it was barely noticeable. Without another word, you jogged after your friends, catching up with them quickly.

Dib was left standing there, still leaning against the fence, notebook still clutched close to his chest. His mind was now full of questions, which was no different from its usual state. Why would you be nice to him? No one was ever nice to him. Especially not the popular kids. He began to wonder if, maybe, just maybe, you weren't as bad as the kids you spent your time with.

-

High school. Sometimes media would try and convince you that it was supposed to be some magical experience that would change your life, that your entire character could be rebuilt from the ground up. If that were completely true, why had everything remained an almost exact carbon copy of the way it's been since your earlier days? Sure, you had changed a little bit. Different music taste, new style, trivial things like that. But, your friends and position on the social ladder? Exactly the same. You had stayed in the popular pool, friends still adoring you, and despite questioning their actions and morals many a time, you adored them as well. If anything, you were more popular than ever.

Dib had also remained the same. Always squabbling with Zim, causing a scene, being made fun of and ostracized daily. He was still the local loser, but at this point he was owning it. He never did have the patience to be someone he was not. That was one thing you admired about him, one thing you could never be. You didn't think anyone you were close to could ever truly be themselves. The only thing that felt different about him was his more 'fuck you' attitude to those who antagonized him. He still wouldn't fight back, but he had developed a tougher skin, almost paying no mind to any insults. He knew what was right in his mind, if no one would believe him, their loss. 

Over the years, you had many classes with Dib. You had grown rather fond of him, at the very least he believed in something that wasn't ridiculously vapid. And, despite coming off as a bit of a nervous dork in some instances, he was surprisingly self-assured, for the most part. You were proud to admit to yourself that you looked forward to see him almost every day. 

Twisting the knob on the classroom door, you let yourself in, eyes resting on the familiar dark-haired nerd, his face taken up by the same large glasses he's had for as long as you could remember. Waving, you approached his table, watching him straighten up almost immediately.

"Morning, Dib. How're you doing?" You always liked to ask him how things were going for him, knowing that he never was given concern very often. No one in your class would ask him how his life was, his sister, at least to you, seemed to not care, and from what you knew, his dad was some prestigious scientist that was always busy. 

"Hey, Y/n. And, um, I'm doing alright! What about you?" His smile was bright, cheeks just the slightest bit flushed as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop. You felt a giggle escape you as you witnessed this. Every morning, despite having the exact same routine, he always seemed to be taken aback that you were asking how he was doing, that you were even the tiniest amount of invested in his life. 

"Fine, I guess. What about your ghosts and aliens?" You weren't sure that you believed in all of that crap, but if he took an interest in it and he wasn't harming anyone, who were you to stop him? "Oh, and I want an update on that werewolf you found in your trash." Remembering the story he had told you yesterday, you figured you would ask for a follow up to show your genuine encouragement.

"Oh, that! Uh, well...it turns out it was just some really hairy homeless guy rummaging through our garbage, but...as for aliens, I watched Zim's robot eat a baby. That was equal parts disturbing and intriguing." He shuddered, having flashbacks to whatever went down last night. 

"His dog that he brought to pet day last year?" Thinking back to that day, it was a little strange. All hell broke loose, his dog going absolutely insane. It was a blessing he didn't end up destroying the entire school. Only the east wing. Lady luck was on your side that day, that was for sure. 

“Yeah, GIR. The lip smacking noises really made it horrible." A cringe settled onto his features, and you felt it spreading to yourself as well. As much as you didn't believe that Zim was an alien (he was definitely odd and uncomfortable, that you would admit), you could see his dog consuming a human child.

"Geez. I'm sorry I asked." A chuckle fell from your lips, wishing to move past the disturbing imagery brought on by his response. Luckily for you, your teacher had announced the start of class, sending you back to your seat without having to think of a subject change. 

"Tired of your charity work yet?" Jessica asked as you sat down in your usual seat across from her. Pressing your lips in a tight line, you pulled out your notebook and pencil, choosing to ignore her comment. You had always hated the abysmal way your friends treated Dib. So what if he was a bit weird? You felt bad for him, he had no one to talk to besides Zim, and he ate lunch with his sister every day. "Come on, please don't tell me you actually want to be his friend."

"I never said that...it's just...he seems so lonely." Ever since you could remember, you had been surrounded by friends. It was near impossible to hate you. You had never known what it was like to be all on your own, cursed to be a lone wolf. To you, it seemed that being alone was all Dib had ever experienced.

"He deserves it. He's a freak." Her answers were short and snappy as she tired of the subject. 

"Does he?" Did anyone deserve to be lonely solely for being a little off beat? You were the only one of your friends, hell, even the whole school, who seemed to disagree with her notion. The social outcasts and rejects wouldn't even associate with him. 

"Look, Y/n. I like you, I really do. We're friends. We have been for a long time. But if you become his friend, people are going to start talking." Your gaze fell to the tabletop, tired of this not-quite-argument. "You're too nice. I know you pity him, but think about your standing here. Popularity comes with a price."

"I didn't ask to be popular, okay? And at least if I were his friend, my social circle wouldn't be full of a bunch of dicks and stuck up bitches!" You spat, patience completely snapping. Jessica sat in a stunned silence, her eyes wide. That was the first time you had ever actively stood up to her. After a moment, you realized you were just a tad harsh, although she did deserve it. She was still your friend after all, and in her own twisted way, she was trying to look out for you. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"We can talk about it later at lunch. Just calm down, alright?" Jessica brushed stray strands of blonde hair behind her ear, sticking her nose deep in her textbook for the first time in months. Sighing deeply, your eyes drifted to Dib's seat. His glance had already been on you, so you had managed to catch his eyes. His shoulders tensed from being caught staring, color creeping up his neck to his face. Before he could turn away, your lips quirked into a slight smile as you waved to him. It took him a second to register, but he returned the wave, a dorky grin plastered on his face. Again, you just couldn't see what was so bad about him.

"Dib, I swear to god, do you ever listen to me when I speak? You break my immersion-"

"You break my face. Yeah, I know." I laid on the couch, watching my sister play whatever VR game she was into at the time. All I did was start to ask her a question, I had barely gotten one syllable out before she cut me off. "It's important, I swear."

"Let me guess, Zim is eating waffles again?" Her voice was irritated, and I'm sure inside that head of hers she was wishing me to be dead. 

"No, actually-"

"He's hiding in his toilet? Ooh, or maybe he's trying to work the toaster." Okay, so maybe I interrupt her for admittedly meaningless things sometimes. Fine, a lot of the times.

"This has nothing to do with Zim!" Now I had her attention. She hesitated for just the slightest second before she resumed playing again.

"Oh? This had better be good, Dib." Her voice was no longer threatening, rather it held curiosity. Although she would never say it to my face, she was intrigued by what I had to say. 

"I need advice." Now, normally Gaz would be the last person on earth I would go to for this kind of thing, but I had already tried my dad, and lesson learned, never seek romantic advice from a man who is married to science. So, I had already exhausted pretty much all of my options. The internet was surprisingly not much help either.

"On what? How to stop bothering your sister?" Her words didn't match her tone at all. Besides, I knew that if she really wanted me out, she would remove me by force. I was suddenly beginning to wonder if this was a bad idea. After all, Gaz was very much...how to put this lightly...not romantically inclined. Still, she was my only hope at this point, and really, all I needed was someone to vent to. 

"I was thinking more along the lines of cliché high school romance?" My voice became higher and quieter as the sentence went on, and I was just barely cut off by Gaz's groan. Despite her attitude, she powered off her headset out of her own volition, which meant she was definitely interested in whatever I had to say. I pushed myself to where I was sitting up, Gaz falling back onto the couch next to me. 

"You're joking, right? You're asking me for advice?" I couldn't believe it either.

"Just hear me out?"

Fine. But if it's stupid I'm leaving." I already knew she wouldn't say no, but she still had to pretend it was a chore to listen to me.

"Okay, so you know Y/n, right?"

"The popular kid? They're so out of your league, Dib." She sounded condescending yet not surprised. I figured she had caught me staring at them at lunch multiple times. I had probably been pretty obvious about it. Thinking about that made me cringe, because Y/n most likely knows I stare at them all the time. If they didn't already hate me before, I'm sure they do now, they probably think I'm some sort of creepy stalker. Well, that's not the worst thing I've been called at school, so I'll take it, I guess.

"I know! And I told myself I wasn't going to fall for them, but I did. They actually talk to me though! Every morning in first period, and they wave to me in the halls, and god they have the cutest smile-"

"Dib! Okay! I get it, you're in love or whatever."

"I never said I was in love! It's just a crush. There's a difference." I watched her roll her eyes so hard I thought she might be transported to another dimension. Even I knew deep down I was lying through my teeth. All the little things had made me fall deeper into whatever my infatuation with Y/n was. Every glance, every little quip, every greeting...they all made my heart flutter and I would feel sick to my stomach every time I thought about them. It was a satisfying kind of sick, though. I knew I had been carrying these feelings for a long time. They had always been the first, if not the only, person to stand up for me when the teasing became too much. Of course I was going to fall in love, what else was to be expected?

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say. But, do you even talk to them? No, you don't."

"So?" She was right. I never went out of my way to approach them. We would share short and simple conversations, but only when they spoke to me first. I was always too scared. They were the only person who could make me nervous and doubt myself anymore. The reasonable part of me told me that if I just went up to them, they would welcome the conversation. But, something was always stopping me. I held them on a pedestal, so much so that I believed making any move at all to be impossible. Y/n for me is unattainable, someone I was never meant to have. They were part of the untouchables, the most popular and worshiped kids in school. I'm just the freakshow who attracts all the wrong kinds of attention. And yet, something was pushing me to just reach for it.

"You're going to shoot your shot, aren't you." Her voice was flat. It wasn't a question. Rather, a statement that we both already knew to be true. 

"Well, you know what they say. If you shoot for the moon, you're bound to at least land among the stars."

"I don't think that applies to this, unless your version of 'among the stars' is being taken out behind the school and beaten until you see stars." Ah, Gaz. Always so encouraging. What would I do without her?

"Do you think it's a bad idea?"

"Of course! It's a terrible idea! But, it would be kind of funny to watch..." A smirk crept onto her face, which would have been unnerving if my thoughts weren't already racing to think of how I would even accomplish this. 

"So, you're in?"

"I would never miss a chance to watch someone kick the shit out of you."

-

Without a doubt, you were spaced out. To the point where you barely noticed what had been left behind in your locker, almost crushing it with your multiple textbooks. 

"What the...?" You pulled out a small bouquet of flowers and a note from your locker, even more confused than when you first saw it. For starters, you weren't sure how it had gotten in there in the first place. You were sure it was locked and that no one knew the combo. Unless someone broke into it with brute strength or some advanced skillset. If that wasn't enough to drive you crazy, the note was anonymous. No name, no nothing. It was typed as well, so you couldn't even analyze the handwriting if you wanted to. The contents of the note contained a love confession, and you weren't quite sure where to even begin with suspects. There were many people who had crushes on you, some even within your own friend group. Even still, the note was odd. It sounded like nobody in particular, the wordage making it seem like it could be from anyone and no one at the same time.

"Hey, Y/n. What'cha got there?" Jessica came up behind you, eyeing the flowers with intrigue. The two of you were back to being on good terms. This was how your friendship normally worked, for as long as you could remember anyway. 

"A secret admirer, apparently." You mumbled, handing her the note to read. Clearly, the person had no intention of outing themselves. They were hoping for you to catch on. From the tone in the note, you guessed it had to come from someone who felt they had no place in confessing. That could be anyone, for literally any reason. Maybe they were your best friend, or a social reject. 

"No way! We have to find out who this is."

"I dunno, they seem to be trying really hard to keep their identity a secret."

"But what if it's someone hot?" She poked you in the side, her face pleading with you to let her assist in finding out who left the gift as she passed the note back to you.

"But what if it's Zim?" You doubted it was him. As far as you were concerned, you pretended he didn't exist, and he seemed to hate your guts, which was completely fine by you. The two of you burst out laughing as you put the flowers back in your locker so you could retrieve them after school. "But, maybe I don't want to know."

"Lame." She huffed as you began your walk to class. You folded the note, stuffing it deep in your pocket. You hated that you knew you wouldn't be able to let this go. You felt the need to solve the mystery. Although you had no clue where to even begin, there was one person you hoped it would be from. He was your main suspicion, even though a part of you wondered if that was due to wishing for it to be so.

"Can we please just be lowkey about this? If I decide to pursue this, I want to keep it hushed. Word spreads like wildfire here."

-

Well, you were absolutely right about one thing. Word travels fast in high school, especially if it's drama. Left and right, you had people asking if you had found the unknown Romeo who had broke into your locker. You were disappointed but not surprised. You had expected Jessica to talk. Her lips were about as tightly sealed as a window in summertime. So far, everyone had their own theories. The wildest one you had heard was that it was from one of your teachers. You were immediately disgusted with that, and how desperately you desired to unhear that statement. 

Nevertheless, you had started to feel more confident in your own personal favorite guess. There had been one certain individual who was particularly silent through the whole matter, almost uncharacteristically so. 

Lunch time. The perfect time to gain confirmation of your theory. Tray of borderline unedible garbage in hand, you strode to your usual table, which seated all of the school's finest and most elite in terms of the social ladder. Instead of taking a seat like everyone expected, you continued to walk, not stopping until you reached the very last table in the back, which sat only two: the Membrane kids. Setting your tray down, you took a seat across from Dib, who stared in utter shock and amazement. The sister looked up from her Game Slave, glance so brief you weren't entirely sure if it had even happened. Without a word, she rose from her seat, leaving the lunch room completely, most likely to continue playing in the hallway. Let's face it, no one was going to eat the shit they served anyway. You hoped he would say something, anything that would be incriminating. However, only the usual din of the cafeteria could be heard, the occasional murmur of your table switch slipping through. 

You couldn't handle any more of the surrounding clatter of trays, laughter, and indecipherable words, so you decided to speak. "Hey, Dib. You like mysteries, right?" The poor boy looked helpless, red up to the tips of his ears, eyes refusing to meet yours. 

"Sure..." You could feel his knee bumping the table as he bounced his leg at about a hundred miles per minute. You had him right where you wanted him, and he knew it. You both did. In that moment, you knew it was him. It had to be. He was acting even stranger than usual. Based on his behavior, he knew you had cracked the case. Thinking back, it should have been fairly obvious from the beginning. 

"Well, something strange happened this morning. And since mysteries are kind of your thing, I was wondering if you could help me?" You were trying to coax him into saying the words you needed so desperately to hear. And yet, he was so stubborn.

"Alright, I could, you know, give it a go, I guess." Maybe he wasn't stubborn, maybe this was him playing out his last hope that you still were clueless on who it could be.

"I found something interesting in my locker this morning. Some very pretty flowers and a lovely little note, but unfortunately, it was anonymous. So, I guess I have a secret admirer on my hands." By gauging his reaction, you could tell he wasn't about to relent any time soon. He nodded his head, lips pursed in a tight line.

"Well, that's a tough one." Vague answers, saying as little as possible. You were getting nowhere, and would be getting nowhere. He was really going to make you say it, wasn't he?

"Yes. I have my suspicions. Would you like to hear them?" He didn't respond at all, fingers drumming nervously on the table. He still wouldn't own up to it. You decided to give him one last chance to confess, saying no more and staring directly at him. Hoping the pressure would bring him to spill, you thought your breath would catch in your throat when he opened his mouth to speak.

"Did you do the math homework last night?" His voice was almost an octave higher than normal, and there was a slight wobble to it. You could only fix him with a glare. Unbelievable. He was trying to get out of this by changing the subject. There was no way in hell you were letting that happen.

"I know it's you, Dib."

"Oh...you do?" His voice was so soft and faint that you had to strain to hear it. His eyes fell to the floor, as if trying to will a wormhole to open beneath his feet to swallow him so he could be anywhere but there in that moment.

What Dib was expecting to happen was for laughter to spill from your lips, followed by you telling him that you could never in a thousand years like someone like him, that his chances were below zero. 

Some pearls of laughter did escape you, but it wasn't malicious. Even Dib, in his most insecure and vulnerable state could see that. Throughout the day, you were itching for this confrontation. You hoped it was him, you wanted it to be him. Not so you could throw it back in his face. This whole ordeal brought you to realize that you had somehow caught feelings for him as well. Your morning conversations about spooks, although mildly concerning at times, made your day, and you appreciated how passionate he was about his interests, even if you didn't completely understand them.

"Who knew you were such a dorky, hopeless romantic?" You didn't think it was possible, but the blush that stained his face darkened at your words that were broken by giggles. 

"So...you liked the flowers? Or were you just saying that?" His eyes finally met your own for the first time in what felt like ages. You could see he was slowly relaxing, although to him it probably felt as if he were still walking on eggshells. 

"Of course. I'll put them in my room when I get home." His lips pulled back into the cutest smile you had ever seen, and you thought your heart had melted on the spot. "Can I see your phone?" You blurted out, embarrassed of yourself. What ever happened to playing it cool?

"Should I be concerned?" A hint of worry crept into his voice, but regardless, he pushed his phone over to you. Taking it, you opened contacts and input your number, adding a small heart next to your name. As you glanced around the lunchroom, eyes had started to become glued to you. You had been sitting there much too long, and many were taking notice. Standing up, you slid the phone back to him, taking your uneaten tray in your hands.

"Call me sometime." Those were the final few words that were spoken as you made your way back to your usual table, leaving him to sit and stare in disbelief. As lunch drew to a close, you would shoot Dib occasional looks, waving happily whenever you caught his eyes. You let yourself dream that this was possibly the beginning of some blossoming high school romance. In your position, you had your pick of virtually anyone at your school. Nevertheless, you wouldn't have wanted anyone else to be your secret admirer. 

[boogiewrites]

Never Break the Chain Pt. 4

Part 4 of 5

Characters: Javier Peña x OFC

Summary:  Esme is left with the harsh reality of her feelings with Javi and what loving him means. Lead by her heart and her gut she leaps into action to try to secure her hopes of having a future with him. But in their line of work, things can take a turn for the worse in a second.

Warnings/Tags: Injury. Canon Typical Violence. Life or Death. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

To hold herself together in times of distress Esme had to fall apart from time to time when she was alone. Tonight was going to be one of those times. She secluded away in her small hideaway in the mountains. She had always enjoyed her own company, knowing the difference between being alone and being lonely, but the latter was heavy on her back as she sat red-eyed on the bed, looking out the plantation shuttered double doors in her bedroom.

Her mind couldn’t decide if talking to Javi had been a mistake or not. She felt every buried emotion in a rush that left her a sloppy, blotchy mess. There was no one around for kilometers to hear her, so she let it all out. The rosary she’d mentioned to Javi was occupying her hands as she bounced her legs, full of anxious energy.

Before, the consequences of knowing Javi were something she could deflect, although the coincidence of knowing a cop from over four thousand km away from her childhood would be a hard sell, she hadn’t worried drastically about it. The more intricate reality of how she felt about him was what she was wrestling with. The fact that she had seen him, touched him, talked to him were no longer what ifs’ or fantasies but hard facts. The fact she was struggling with most intensely was that she was still very much in love with him. Before he was a memory, a myth, a story to be told over drinks. He was now the man in the next town over, sharing her same sentiment in both love and life. They weren’t kids anymore, he’d been right about that. Which meant seeing their lives for what they were in the harsh light of day and not through rose-colored glasses. Where they had wanted to be was no longer a thing to strive for, it’d become a prison of their own making.

She didn’t know if it was her body getting worn or the years of repressed emotions that made her feel so damned exhausted. The thought of going back into the den of the same men that wanted her one love dead suddenly wasn’t as easy to sit with. There were real consequences now. For both of them.

Perhaps it was paranoia, but it’s kept her alive this long. She had her bug-out bag by the bed, rosary wrapped around her wrist, and slept with her shoes on. She rubbed the wooden beads like a worry stone; even though she hadn’t been sure what she believed in for many years. Especially not after the things she’d seen, or the things she’d done. There was a strange comfort knowing Javi had a similar sort of experience. Even if she wouldn’t have wished it on anyone. Maybe he would understand. Maybe he was just as tired as she was. Maybe… she had some hope for a future. She had to talk to him again. This time with a purpose, to ask him to leave with her instead of abandoning him again.

———

As she had following every breakdown, she’d dusted herself off and got back to it the next morning.

In a dress and heels that said, ‘Don't fucking question me.’ She walked into the stone-columned entryway in a powerful man's home. It was a nice morning, not a trace of her collapse the night before remained on her face. She sat poised, with understated jewels glinting in the sun. Yet, her favorite accessories were hidden in places the sun wouldn’t hit, those were her weapons.

She had been establishing herself to get to this client, networking, and performing feats to gain trust in a trust-less circle. Playing it cool, she kept her face set into a lovely neutral but curious. It was a grand promise of cash. She found herself in the right spot for the rule as old as time; supply and demand. If she could seize the articles that had been taken from their owners, she would be compensated with a bigger payday than she’d ever encountered. The sentimentality of the pieces, the danger in the retraction, and the previous failures of those that had come before her secured the pay to be something someone like her could not resist.

“They were in my family... generations ago… before their family decided to fuck over mine we were joined by marriage, then by blood. We have not been able to get them through legal or... other means. But you, Estelle, I believe you have a chance to be successful.”

It was flattering but she was already decided by her motives. Enough money to run. And far. Not to mention a comfortable life on the other side when she sold what she’d accumulated over the years and combined with her savings. She’d played it smart the last few years and pulled the plug on the extravagant lifestyle that had beckoned her to this sort of work in the first place. She saw it as a sign, a dazzling neon one directing her to do it. So with a smile and a handshake, she did.

These people she operated with were not the cartel, but that did not make them just as dangerous. They had their hands in every sort of money stream and political influence. They couldn’t go into this location she was to infiltrate guns blazing, they had to have more finesse and mystery. Which is why they hired out. No connections made for less chance of blowback and made it easier to deny the job was them. And by the time they had to worry about such things, she’d be long gone.

She was being personable, enjoying a cocktail by a sapphire-blue pool and eavesdropping on the conversations around her. While ignoring the guy trying to impress her that had perched next to her she was tuned in to the young man that had a two-way radio by the stone fence that enclosed the pool.

They spoke English from time to time which she found unusual. But if they were looking to not be understood it wasn’t the worst approach. The staff here wouldn’t be able to understand them. Most of the men presumably wouldn’t recognize it either. Esme however spoke fluent English. She was raised by a Mexican mother who pushed her to speak English to fit in in Texas. At home, she was one person, a fluent tongue, and outside she was the brown girl that was berated with “HABLA ENGLAISH?” By every white woman she ran into. It had saved her more than once; when she was younger and especially now.

“The pigs are out today.” A statement she knew wasn’t about the animal was caught.

“Pigs are out every day.”

“They think they’re up to something.”

Esme knew that the people that were being referred to were the drug runners. These mining types didn’t pay much mind to cops, they paid them off when they needed and they were mostly left alone. When you have the foresight to build a public image with legal means of income, it’s easier to hide the sketchy shit.

“The gringo is asking questions.”

One of the white boys must have been trying to gather intel in the force. It could be Javier's partner but she couldn’t know for sure.

“Boss? Do we need to let the boys in town know? Is there going to be anything we don’t want them getting mixed up in?”

He thinks for a moment, Esme seeing him out of the corner of her eye, a squint down the mountain and onto the sprawling city below. “Our boys are in the east today, yes?” a pause and a nod of acknowledgment. “Tell them to come home.”

With that order, her jaw tightens. Esme knew something was going to happen. These men might not be narco’s but they certainly knew them, and ordinarily, they would tip the other off to trouble. Business going as usual was best for all involved. Normally she’d head back to her hideaway, let it all play out. But she knew if there was some trap that Javi’s partner might be falling into, that meant trouble for Javi. She couldn’t stand by idly and wait with that knowledge.

She remained composed, finishing her drink before a schmoozy goodbye, a promise to catch up as soon as plans were made. She acted nonchalant until she was past all the checkpoints, she knew better than to act in any sort of rush. Her little cabana was tucked away out of sight from the road between the deeply nooked mountain homes of powerful men and the city. She tried calling into town, a risk she was willing to take while she scurried to change her clothes and add a gun to her ensemble. She asked for Pena first. When she was informed he was not there she asked for his partner, and the same answer found her. She hung up swiftly, heavily armed but light on information. She knew the east side of the city would be the smallest area she could narrow it down to. She hoped her mind didn’t fail her at calculating where to go.

On her motorbike she darted about the streets, eyes peeled, heading by Javi’s place and finding his car gone, and the oil spots now dry, in its wake. He hadn’t been home in a while. Was it the smartest idea to break into an officer’s apartment? No. But was she? Yes. Javi had always been a researcher, if they were going to be zeroing in on a place, he would’ve been to it already. He was an active learner, not passive. He’d never be satisfied with being told what to do, he had to get in and see, touch, taste, and smell for his own opinion to be formed. She took a quick loop around, finding nothing out of the ordinary and circling back to the front door. The place was nicer than she’d expected, it did smell like liquor and cigarettes but so did he off hours. A little mirror and a catch-all basket by the door on a small table was her target, and inside were matchbooks, places she’d watched him go before buried beneath but one she wasn’t as familiar with on top. A pool hall, which wasn’t Javier’s style, sat like a sore thumb. She took the hint, this must’ve been the place they were headed, or at least close to it. She pulled her hair back and looked at herself once in the mirror before a nod to reassure herself and once again she was back out among the busy streets.

She pulled up and parked by a small marketplace, a casual place to leave her bike while she set off on foot, eyes behind her glasses ready to pick up any little nuance. Sadly seeing a guy with an automatic rifle wasn’t automatically a tell for narco behavior, this part of town was rough, you had to defend yourself. The uptick in the number of guys sauntering in the streets with them did however raise a red flag. She took to the rooftops with light feet, sneaking about and hopping from ledge to tin roof, shimmying up pipes and broken walls to scan. Not many were out on their rooftops, making it easy for her to cover lots of space fast, but that was also a bad sign. Like before a natural disaster happens, the animals clear out. The sentiment was the same.

She found a nice place to camp out, shaded by the sun and out of sight of the street on a corner near the pool hall. She could hear the static of a two-way radio a few buildings over from time to time, each time it made her jolt and she was growing impatient. The only thing that kept her calm was that she hadn’t heard any gunshots, and even that was grasping at straws. She eyes a few streets down, higher-end vehicles in red and blue, one after another. This meant one of two things, narcos or cops. She leaves the safety of her cubbyhole and crawls about to find a way to move quickly. She wasn’t being the most stealthy, leaping from ledges, but she had to follow the cars. Her instincts had been right.

Men in and out of uniform pile out, talking quietly, moving swiftly. Now she had to worry about staying out of sight as she got closer. She saw men on the rooftops she hadn’t noticed before, with sights on their guns and she would bet itchy trigger fingers. The static of a distant radio blurts out, a hushed voice in Spanish says “They’re here. Moving into position.”

It was a trap. The situation made her stomach drop and her pulse quicken. She wanted to be close, to warn them… well, to warn Javi. She was about to insert herself into the narco’s game and that would put a huge target on her back. It would potentially ruin her chances of booking this career-ending job she’d landed. She pulls out her gun, switching the safety off, and lowering herself with burning thighs as she used all her slyness. She could get away with it if she was smart about it... and killed all the witnesses.

She knew between the choices of standing by and watching Javi die, or intervening and getting ousted, she could only live with herself in one of those situations. Better to go out fighting for someone she loved than to be a coward and die with regrets. She jumps ahead, closer to where they seemed to be funneling to, various bursts of static around her as she studies to keep a close eye on not coming across anyone lurking.

She sees that shiny, coiffed head of black hair she’d wanted to run her hands through just days before, the lean build and tight jeans wrapped up in a bulletproof vest. His head was on a swivel, she knew he could look after himself but wasn’t about to take chances. She finds a man on his stomach, gun through a small slot in the wall, and aimed in their direction. She takes her moment patiently, padding foot over foot closer and closer with her gun drawn and her knife at the ready in the other hand. He wore no identifying markings, he wasn’t one of them, he might’ve heard her if he was. He was too zeroed in, potentially coked up so she had to act discreetly. She paused until that coke nose of his itched, hand off the trigger for only a few seconds before she latched and covered his mouth, head back and stabbing in deep to keep him making any sounds. It’s not that she wanted to kill him, she just saw no other way for this interaction to go down.

From here she had a better vantage point and was trying hard to look away from Javi and keep her eyes on every alley and rooftop. She lines up her eye with the scope, seeing it was aimed right at the group, she notices a man across from her, just a slight bit of an angle, an accomplice she assumed. The group moved forward, inching closer to being in between the two guns' direct line of sight. There wasn’t even a need for the sights at this point, a spray could take most of them out in a few seconds. These were calculated kills.

“Dibs on the gringo.” a crackle over the radio in Spanish, then another, “Which? There’s so many.” a hiss of laughter and she hears it from the other side of a half wall. They must’ve had multiple men camped out, she knew they intended to kill as many as possible. She couldn’t scream out, she couldn’t shoot them, she had to find that millisecond between when they would shoot and let their position be known. “When they get to the cars. Wait. Then fire.”

“What if I don’t fuckin’ want to? I want to shoot this smug look off this mother fucker’s face.”

“We won’t get them all if you don’t wait.”

She had pieces of information and tried to see the whole picture. She believed in the car there was a remote bomb being held by one of these sicarios. It’d take a good piece of them out and render them blind. It was a plan that had worked many times, but this time she’d be happy to fuck up a well-laid plan.

“Get the white boy, he’s been snooping. I got the mustache. Asshole fucked my sister.” If this had been any other situation it would’ve made her laugh, or at least crack a smile. But now it gave her a target, a plan of action.

“Maybe if your sister wasn’t a whore.” one laughs then a hiss follows throughout the rooftops among the static.

“Fuck you, man. Shut up or I’ll make sure you get shot today too.”

She moved as quickly as she could, having to backtrack to not be seen and climb over the wall to sneak up on the boy who was claiming Javi as a prize. She hunched over him, taking a chance at being seen, but since she couldn’t make out the placements of any of the other voices, she took her chances. A tension-filled hush fell across the street, no one but the cops out now. She waited for the man to readjust his arm, a sure sign of pulling the trigger shortly. They were holding their breath for the bomb, and she was assuming it was the double-parked cars, waiting for the group to get between them and hit them from all angles.

He swallowed, then popped his neck, settling down, face away from the hole he aimed out of and she took only a second to make up her mind. She shot him in the head as he braced himself.

“TRAP!” she screamed with all the force she could manage, tasting blood as she hit the ground, the cops now on high alert to the rooftops, and the guns fired. She’d given them enough time to duck for cover, having to take out the gunfire from one side of the street herself. She heard the bullets whizzing by as she hunched and ran down to the street, an alleyway where Javi had huddled down a moment before she saw the men barrel down the stairs opposite them. They’d had the same idea. “JAVI!” she screams, gun out and trying to peak from behind a dumpster.

His eyes were wild for the second he met hers. Confusion is all that read on his face, unable to answer under the gunfire.

“FOLLOW ME!” she shouted, firing off rounds to cover him as she motioned him towards her.

“You wanna explain-?” He’s caught off by the bombs in the street going off, knocking him back.

“SHUT UP AND RUN!” she shouts, shoving him forward, “You’re surrounded. Head West!” it’s all they needed, him hitting the pavement as hard as he could and her grabbing him by the vest to jerk him the way she needed. She hoisted him up against walls, all while hearing the men shouting and the stray spray of bullets hitting the corners they’d just passed. She knew they weren’t concentrated west, the men would instinctively run east towards the station, towards the backup, but she knew better.

She raced ahead, a small blocked-off space high up is what she yanks him down into. They don’t speak for a moment, catching their breath and her pushing him down to look out to see if anyone had been able to keep up with them.

“Now can I ask a fucking question?!” he rasps out.

“I got wind of something going down in the east today. So I came. And you should be kissing my ass for saving yours!”

“We were about to-”

“About to get blown the fuck up. Whatever you thought that was, it was a trap.”

“How did you know?” his eyes narrowed at her accusingly.

“I know that look and no, I’m not working with the narcos. I overheard some cronies at my meeting this morning. I narrowed down the options, ran across town and scoped it out, took out two guys, and then...lit the keg and ran.”

He blinks rapidly in response, processing the information.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. They wanted to kill you and your partner pretty bad.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“Apparently you fucked one of their sisters?”

"I stand by my response.”

She smiles at him, something he doesn’t expect. He doesn’t have time to react until a few stray bullets hit something near them causing them to hunker down again.

“You could’ve gotten killed you know.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” she rolls her eyes.

“I’m serious.” he grabs her wrist. “I have to deal with you being with these other... assholes and not the ones I deal with. Don’t make me worry twice about you.”

“I’m a big girl. I can handle it. I promise. I wasn’t about to let you walk into an ambush.” she states defensively.

“I’ve made it out before.” he huffs defensively.

“You will until one day you won’t.” when she meets his eyes again, after seeing his soot-covered knuckles wrapped around her wrist, she adds “If I can keep your ungrateful ass around long enough to make up for all the shit I put you through I’m gonna do it.”

He looks her up and down, but not how he had countless times with women, but biding his time to figure out what about that statement he wanted to ask her first. “What do you want me around for if you’re not gonna be there?” It was direct and hurtful, but also a fair point.

She stops looking out and meets his dark eyes to hers, she looked almost offended. “I want to be around,” she says softly. “I just wasn’t sure how.”

“Stay with me. Stop running. I’ll keep you safe.” he moves his hand from her wrist to interlock his fingers into hers.

“Over 20 years and you still haven’t come up with anything else?” she jokes and squeezes his hand. “I did want to talk to you about it. About… us...” she spoke softly and paused, ears perked up to the movement outside.

“What do y-”

“Shh.” a quick and low serious squeeze of his hand. “Someone’s close.”

“Where the fuck are you Javi?” blares out over his radio on his chest. Not a second later, bullets are coming through the back of their hiding spot, scrambling to get out, despite her fighting him, he covers her.

“Rooftop. West.” is grunted out as he and Esme wrestle to be the one to shoot the perpetrator.

She hits his chest and then right in the head, falling in a slump before she notices Javi is no longer hovering and trying to keep her down. A quick turn, intaking the rest of the space, knowing more would be on their way soon, and whether they were cops or sicarios she couldn’t let them find her. In her rush she hasn’t noticed Javi on the ground, she sees his face for only a second, slightly confused before looking at up her the moment she sees his side and hands covered in blood.

“Oh fuck, Javi... no.” She spits out and immediately ducks over him

“S’not... good news sweetheart.” He gives her a smirk, one she’d seen a thousand times on a younger version of his face. She knew with that expression alone it was indeed not good.

She doesn’t get time to react, to even breathe before more shots make her go into survival mode. She covers him, dragging him to a nearby brick wall to at least be safe from one side while she covered the others.

“Can you watch behind me while I look at this?”

“Yeah.” A pause while he holds his gun out. “I can try.”

“Was that your partner on the radio?”

“Yeah should be here soon.”

“Let’s hope so.” She grits her teeth and can’t tell if the shot went straight through, which meant he would probably be okay if it hit in and was now embedded in his stomach. Either way, this wasn’t ideal, to say the least.

“There’s-“

Before he gets it out she’s turned and shooting more men trying to get on the roof, none having the foreign blonde hair and pale skin of his partner.

“You should get out of here... y’know. They’ll ask questions.”

“I’m not leaving you.” She applies pressure to his side and he lets his head fall back to the wall with a heavy breath.

“Now is a hell of a time to start.”

She gives him a hard brow but would normally laugh because he had a point. “I never... ugh.” She grunts in frustration, shooting another man a few rooftops over. “I never wanted to leave you.” She continues trying to figure out the best way to slow the bleeding down. “It's the last thing I wanted to do. You know that right?” She asks to receive no response.

She sees he’s lost consciousness. Now it was proving to be worse than she had hoped. Cursing under her breathe, fighting back tears, the burning making a splitting headache form in her forehead, she uses the only thing in sight she can, taking her shirt off and ripping it tie a makeshift tourniquet around him.

She hears a bark from a man that sounds almost familiar and a dead giveaway as a cop. His partner was almost there. “You’ll be fine Javi.” She whispers, not knowing if she believed it or if he could even hear her. She kisses his cheek and holds his head close for a moment. A few seconds of kissing his hair, trying to forge a deep memory from a rushed moment. Just in case.

“JAVI?!” She hears shouted.

“UP HERE!” she shouts, knowing she had to get away but wasn’t going to leave him until she had to. She was soon not given a choice when orders were barked at her on sight.

She used her savvy, knowing how to get away, even if it was a stretch. “He’s shot.” She says backing away with her hands up to the edge of the roof. “Murphy, please don’t let him die.” She begs as the man’s face softens for a moment, she recognized he must have understood who she was.

The man coming up behind him however didn’t. He fires off a shot, hitting her and forcing her to make an abrupt jump from the rooftop.

“SHIT!” Murphy barks again and shoves the other man’s gun to aim down at the ground. “Don’t shoot HER!” He shouts in the man’s face. “She was helping him! Can’t you see that?!” He runs to the edge, looking down and seeing nothing but a dumpster and a few drops of blood on the pavement. Javi had been right. She was good.

@jaegeeeeer​ @likedovesinthewnd​ @inkededucatednnerdy​  @biharryjames @ladamari68​ @past-romantic​ @weliketomoveit @shikin83​ 

[stephenjaymorrisblog]

From Peoples Park to Echo Park

(Post- Trump era, Part 3)

March 26th 2021

By Stephen Jay Morris

©Scientific Morality

It was Easter 1971 in Berkeley, California.  I was visiting the Bay Area and I wanted to see the place where the students had fought the police. The park was small, maybe an acre; it looked like any other city park.  A couldn’t-be-overlooked wooden sculpture of a giant clenched fist assaulted my view.   Other than that, it was very nice and banal.  Some kids with backpacks were attentively listening to a guitarist.   He played a song I’d never heard of, “18” it was called.  I really liked it.  I asked who did the song and the guitarist said, Alice Cooper.  I thought it was a chick.  Boy, was I wrong!

By this time, the New Left was dying a slow death.  Much has been written about the Peoples Park riot.  Click here for more information. I wont rehash the entire history here, however, it was the strangest trip I’d ever been on.  It’s recounted in my one of my manuscripts.

In the City of Berkeley, homeless encampments are protected by city ordinance.  However, 500 miles south of there is a different story. Echo Park is an area northeast of Los Angeles where my mother grew up.  She lived two blocks up the hill from the park itself.  At the time, my grandfather co-owned a grocery store called, “Pioneer Market,” located nearby on Sunset Boulevard.  Echo Park was a white neighborhood.  How white was it?  Well, my mom’s family consisted of the only Jews on her block.  My grandfather wanted his two daughters to marry Jewish guys, so he moved his family to the Fairfax District, about 20 miles west.  Success!  They both married Jews, although my aunt eventually divorced her husband and my mom suffered with my dad for 50 years!  But, hey—stick to your own tribe! (Sarcasm 101)

Now, Echo Park has a large Latino population and LGBTQ residents.  The park itself is right next to the Hollywood Freeway.  When I used to take the express bus home from work on that freeway, I would see that man-made lake to the left.  It looked similar to that of another park, MacArthur Park, on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles, only smaller.  There were boats on the lake you could rent, just like at MacArthur Park.  There are many old growth shade trees, perfect for picnics and just relaxing.  There were grills for barbecuing, and bathrooms. The bathrooms were not very nice but, they were there should you really need them.  On the park’s south side, there was a public swimming pool.  In the distance southward, you can see LA’s downtown skyline.

Berkeley is a small university town.  When the college administration threatened to tear down Peoples Park to build college dorms, word got around and, within hours, protests emerged.  The protests soon became riots.  That was when conservatives ran the universities.   Today, conservatives still own the university, but liberals run it.  Finally after a few years, the college left the property alone.

Los Angeles is a huge city, now run by Democrats.  It used to be run by Republicans, until they got voted out of office because of mass corruption.  Back in the 40s and 50s, Los Angeles had a massive transportation system known as the “Red Car.” You could ride an electric train car all the way from Pasadena to Venice Beach on that system.   Then, the Republican city council acquiesced to the oil companies and auto manufacturers and destroyed the “Red Car.”

Now to the “homeless problem.” Because of Southern California’s mild climate, it is easier to be homeless in LA than, say, in Chicago. Most of the homeless are mentally ill, alcoholic, and/or drug addicted.  Enter the COVID 19 pandemic, followed by the economic depression and, like an avalanche, it quickly caused average citizens to lose their jobs and businesses.   Subsequently, their homes were foreclosed upon and/or they were evicted from their apartments when they could no longer make their mortgage and rent payments.  These average, working class citizens became homeless.

There are hundreds of homeless camps in LA, many of them under freeway overpasses.  There are homeless camps on Venice Beach and in public parks.  One park, Poinsettia Park, was where I used to hang out when I was a preteen.  East of that park, you could see the United Artists Studio movie sets stored behind their studio walls.  That park is now a homeless camp.  It looks like a Boy Scouts Jamboree.  

Echo Park became a homeless camp.  The city council representative for the area decided he wanted to clear out the park of encampments because of the many complaints he’d received.  Since LA  is a left-of-center government, they didn’t want to be seen as Fascists preparing to evict poor people into the streets, so, they found a loophole.  “We’ll tell the public that we will be clearing out the park to do needed repairs.   Having people there while the work was ongoing, would present a safety hazard.”  Thus, under false pretenses, the City evicted the homeless from the park and fenced it off for construction purposes.  

Millennial protesters showed up to protect the modern day itinerants from the heartless state.   Homeless residents joined them. They practiced non-violent resistance by standing, their arms locked together, in front of a line of an LAP.D riot squad.  They marched and chanted, but they were outnumbered.  The homeless became nomadic.

A Lumpen proletariat like me knows that, when the Middle Class becomes unemployed and homeless, they are not worried about the “Red menace.” Do you really think that if they utilize the Protestant work ethic, they will, by free enterprise magic, ascend from poverty like superhero's?   And, if they pray to Jesus, they will be saved?  Fuck, no!  What they will find out when they unite and become a revolutionary army is, that they will rise above property rights by targeting their true oppressors, the Ruling Class!

History, once again, is repeating itself.  We now have another Eisenhower mixed with Truman in the White House.  President Biden will be remembered, by history, as the savior of the USA.

It is a two party game.  I am so sick of it!  Republican bad cop and Democrat good cop.  The pendulum will swing from left to right again and again until America has a left wing revolution.  What is happening in Echo Park is happening globally.

[hunterbahamut]

Here is a new story, and my first actual writing commission.

This was done for PictorisAurora, and this is a story involving their own sci-fi world and aliens; the Anura, and one of their characters; Rhrellia.

Rhrellia is a new member to a hatchery for the Anura, and this is the story of their first day on the job.

More information about their characters and setting can be found on their twitter, but I can do my best to provide links for some references.

Anura: https://twitter.com/PictorisAurora/status/1191223903600959488 https://twitter.com/PictorisAurora/status/1191553450796077057

Ursrapod: https://twitter.com/PictorisAurora/status/1272683960854691840

Rhrellia: (Warning, this link does contain spoilers for the story) https://twitter.com/PictorisAurora/status/1271588082203181061

But, I hope you enjoy reading it!

--

First Day

It was their first day, and Rhrellia was feeling rather nervous. It seemed a little silly; this was something they had been trained for and were excited to have finally happen, but there was still that nervous feeling fluttering in their stomach.  They took a deep breath and worked to keep themselves calm, but when they reached the top of the hill, they got their first good look of the hatchery.

“Oh wow...” The hatchery was one of the complexes that was established for the breeding and development of young Anura tadpoles, situated in a large area of marshland. And it was huge.  There were a few buildings spread out over the area, but the vast area was just marsh and wetlands surrounded by a large fence to keep the wilderness out.  It was both impressive and intimidating, adding to Rhrellia's nervousness, but they took in a deep breath, slowly calming their nerves before continuing down along the path towards the main gate.

The main entrance wasn't very big and seemed to have only a simple guardhouse; something that surprised Rhrellia at first.  As they approached, they could see two other Anura ahead; a taller one dressed in simple armor and holding a spear while the other, stockier one was wearing more simple clothing. The two noticed Rhrellia's approach and the stocky Anura raised their hand up in greeting.  “Hello there!”  They called out, “You must be the new caretaker!”

“That's right.” They replied, “I'm Rhrellia.”

The stocky Anura nodded, “Pleasure to meet you!  I'm Seralha, I'm the supervisor of the care grounds here.”  They introduced the other guard, “This is Crvohk, one of the senior patrol guards. They'll be your partner here to help show you around and help you get acclimated to how we do things here.”

Rhrellia nodded, looking to the taller Anura, “Nice to meet you!”

Crvohk nodded, “And you.”

Seralha smiled and nodded, “Right!  Let's get you inside and situated before the day really starts!  I hope you're not too tired from your trip.”

“Oh not at all.”  Rhrellia said, “I'm actually really excited to get started here!  This has been something I've been looking forward to for the past few months!”

“Excellent!” Seralha smiled, “Well right this way, we'll show you to your room!” The two Anura lead Rhrellia into the compound proper, even inside they were still amazed by the size they of the place. Their first stop was to the bunk house, where most of the guards and caretakers stayed.  They were shown their new room and was able to drop off their traveling gear, before heading out to the see the rest of compound.

“The marsh is separated into six different pools.” Seralha explained, “It helps makes watching over the tadpoles easier for the guardians, as well as help keep up with our roll call.” As the morning came and the sun started to rise into the sky, the area started to wake up and come alive.  The tadpoles were waking up and started to play around while other Anura caretakers started their work.  Seralha showed Rhrellia around the area they would be working, instructing them about their procedures for meals and the times for school and play time.  Crvohk then took them around the perimeter, explaining their patrol routes and showing them where the guard stations, armories and first aid stations were placed.

“We usually rotate and take turns on certain duties.”  Crvohk explained, “Some days we'll take care of the manual labor, feeding and cleaning, the other times we'll be on patrol to chase away any of the larger predators.  Thankfully, over the years, things have been pretty quiet since most of the predators know to stay away.”

“That's good.” Rhrellia said, nodding before they smiled.  “So when do I start?”

Seralha laughed, “You are an eager one!”  They smiled, “Well, I think that covers about everything, so I think you can get started whenever Crvohk says.”

They nodded at that, “We'll be working in the east section, we've been short-handed after one of our older caretakers retired.  We won't have you start on patrol just yet, so you'll be helping with the the feeding and manual labor tasks.  This way you can get meet the tadpoles and they can learn who you are as well.”

Rhrellia smiles and nodded. “Alright, that sounds good!  Ready when you are!”

Seralha left the two as they headed to the eastern marsh area.  The different ponds were separated by natural raised walls made of more solid earth with natural pathways set up so the older Anura could walk around while carrying supplies.  Along the sides were several wooden docks that lead into the waters where there were other caretakers and teachers with schools of tadpoles all gathered around.  Some of the tadpoles noticed Rhrellia and swam over to them and almost immediately started asking many different questions, making Rhrellia laugh a little before the teacher managed to wrangle them back over to continue their lessons.

The rest of the morning went by and Rhrellia was proving to be a natural at this.  They worked well with the other caretakers, going about the tasks quiet well, and taking time to meet and talk with some of the other tadpole schools they got to meet.   By the afternoon,  Crvohk came over with some of the other caretakers.  “C'mere Rhrellia.  It's about time to start the afternoon roll call, we'll show you how that works and how we handle that.”

Rhrellia nodded and walked with the group as they approached the edge of the pool.  The schools all gathered and they started to do their head count, calling out the names.  While it was slow, it seemed pretty simple and straightforward.  However, an uneasy silence fell over the caretakers.  “Is something wrong?” Rhrellia asked.

Crvohk didn't answer right away.  “....we're a few numbers short.”  They said, “This isn't too uncommon though; but this is why we do multiple counts throughout the day...”

“Do we have anything to be worried about?”

“I hope not.” Crvohk replied,  “They might be playing or hiding and just didn't hear the call.”  They made the call again and redid the count, but they arrived at the same number.  “Okay...now we have to worry.”

Rhrellia's ears twitched, starting to feel nervous.  “What do we do in this case?”

“We don't panic, first of all.” Crvohk said.  “The caretakers here will check the immediate area and see if they're nearby.  We'll go and check the perimeter fence and just make sure things are alright there.” 

With a plan in mind, two of the caretakers went int the water while Crvohk took Rhrellia and headed for the tall outer fence. “We'll just do a quick check of the fencing, just make sure there isn't anything strange or damaged.”  Crvohk said, the two jumping into the water and swam towards lower sections. The fencing was made mostly of hard wood, held together by lengths of metal wiring, leaving little to now space for anything to slip in or out.  At first glance, everything appeared to be sturdy, but the two moved in closer and started to inspect it, rapping and pushing against the sections.  Rhrellia was tapping along until they came to a section that rattled.   Startled, they gave it a firm push, discovering a section that could be pushed out, creating an opening that lead right out into the marsh beyond.

Crvohk saw this and he had a worried look on his face.  “Oh no...”

Rhrellia pushed on the board and looked out, letting out a gasp,  “I see one of them!”  They said and started to squeeze through the opening, despite Crvohk's protests.  They quickly swam over to the scared looking tadpole.  “It's okay, you're gonna be safe.”  They said, reassuring the young Anura and gently coaxed, them out of their hiding spot holding onto their arm.  Rhrellia then swam back to the fence; Crvohk pushing on it so they could let the tadpole swim back in.

“The others must have snuck out through here then.” Crvohk said, the worry now clear in his voice.  “We'll need to warn the others and get a search party together.”

“Right, but we need to hurry!” Rhrellia said, “I can start on ahead!”

“What? No!” Crvohk said, “We have a lot of area to search, and there are still predators out there!  We need to gather the others.”

“But the longer we take, the greater the risk they'll get lost, or worse!” Rhrellia argued back. “I'm already out here, I can go on ahead and start the search, then I can meet up with you!”

Crvohk seemed to groan, but they relented. “Alright...” They said in a disapproving tone, “But take this with you.”  They pushed the fence open again and pushed their spear out for them.  “It's still dangerous out there.  Don't get into anything you don't think you can handle!”

“Thanks, I'll be careful!” Rhrellia took the spear and quickly turned and started to swim out further into the wild marsh.  Crvohk let out a small, worrying grumble. “Be careful you.”

Trying to track down and find a group of tadpoles was not an easy task; there was no way of knowing how long they were out here or how far they could have gone.  Still, Rhrellia had to stay calm; getting worried or panicky wasn't going to help anyone.   They quickly started the search by exploring the immediate area; checking around rocks and reeds, but so far there wasn't any sign of them.  Slowly, they started to expand their search and moved further out.

And further still.

This was starting to scare Rhrellia. They were now pretty far from the hatchery, too far for any of the lookouts to spot anything.  Would the kids really have gone this far out? Rhrellia climbed out of the water and onto the marshy shore, looking up into the sky.  It was slowly turning over into evening now; while there was still some daylight, it would only last few a few short hours at most.

“Not sure how much more I can do.”  They let out a sigh as they started to feel rather defeated.  They turned to head back to the water, but that was when something caught their attention.   Close to where they were, they could see what looked like tracks in the marshy ground.  As they moved in closer to investigate, they could see that they were animal tracks of some kind.  There weren't many but they were big; bigger than anything they thought was around here, and they actually seemed familiar.  Before they could give it any more thought, something else grabbed Rhrellia's attention; it was the sound of reeds clicking together, despite the lack of any wind blowing.  They turned and looked around, seeing the many clusters of reeds and plants at the edge of the water.  “Ah! That's it!  They must be hiding there!”

There was a huge sigh of relief and Rhrellia started to move to the water's edge, but they stopped suddenly again when they picked up a new sound.  They stayed still and listened close; it was more clicking but this time it was different.  This wasn't the sound of reeds or plants rustling against, this one was more distinct.  And it was one they recognized. They gasped, suddenly realizing what it was: the size of the prints and the sound of the clicking, the clicking of echo-location.  It was an Ursrapod.

That couldn't be right though, what was a dangerous apex predator doing so far out of their normal habitat?  Now Rhrellia was scared and they held their spear in a tight grip.  While they were trained to fight, most of it was against smaller creatures that were expected to be in the area, not something as dangerous as an Ursrapod. They stood still and slowly started to look around, trying to scan the area  There was a chance that they were already discovered by the Ursra's echo-location...

And they were right.

Despite its size, the predator came charging out from the brush, taking them by surprise.  It swung its large forearm out and slammed it against the smaller Anura, sending them off their feet and landing hard in the muck with their spear landing a few feet from them.

“Uuuhhh...” Rhrellia's head spun as they tried to recover, forcing themselves back up. They looked up in time to see the Ursrapod bring their tail around; the flower-like bulb on the end opening up to reveal the tail mouth, hundreds of sharp spines lining the 'petals' and the sharp teeth around the central opening.  They let out a gasp and jumped out of the way as the tail mouth came down, snapping the air where they were just seconds ago.  Rhrellia tried to stay up, but they slipped and fell back down and started to scramble, trying to reach the the spear. The Ursra moved quickly though and soon it was on hovering over them again.  Just as Rhrellia grabbed hold, the tail mouth came streaking down again.  They tried to roll out of the way, but this time the mouth snapped down and grabbed hold of one of their ear tendrils.  Rhrellia's breath caught in their throat as they tensed up, but the Ursrapod started to pull its tail back, causing the Anura's reflexes to kicked in and they tried to jerk back.

For a brief second, there was the sickening sound of flesh tearing.  Rhrellia let out a sharp, loud cry as pain hit them hard and flooded over their head and face. They tumbled forward and hit the soft muck again, letting out a gasp of pain as they could feel blood start to flow from their missing ear and onto their shoulder.  Rhrellia pushed themselves up, using the spear to help as they gritted their teeth and head ached.  They had to try and fight through the pain, else the predator was going to get more than just an ear.

The Ursrapod continued to advance on its prey.  Rhrellia saw it coming and tried to ready themselves as it charged. They dodged around it and ducked down, but they slipped in the muck again and lost their balance.  They were able to catch themselves this time, but they stumbled as they turned to attack back. They swung the spear, aiming for the predator's softer underbelly.  The blade made contact, but with their failing strength and the awkward swing, the blade only made slight purchase, hitting more on the tougher upper hit and only scratching the softer flesh below. The Ursra was quick to retaliate and used its hind legs to kick backwards.  Rhrellia tried to deflect, raising the spear up quickly, but the kick still made contact, sending the Anura spinning backwards and crashing into one of the rock formations behind them.  They landed awkwardly and the impact caused the spear shaft to shatter in their hands and the hooked blade sliced into their arm as they tried to catch themselves.

Rhrellia gasped out in pain, shaking in pain and fear as the world was spinning all around them.  “Oh no no no...”  Their mind was racing, trying to think of what to do as they could hear the Ursrapod advancing on them, ready to finish them off.  There was little time to think and they just let reacted instinctively as adrenaline surged through them. They dove down to the ground and grabbed hold of the spear head as the larger creature reared back up on it's hind legs, ready to slam down on top of them.  Using all of their strength, Rhrellia pushed themselves up and lunged forward.  They weren't aiming, but they managed to plunge the hooked blade right into the Ursrapod's forepaw, using their momentum to push forward, digging the blade in and dragging it up its' leg before they lost their grip and fell forward.

The Ursrapod let a loud, low groaning sound from the pain and pulled back.  It had taken enough damage now that it lost interest in its prey and it started to retreat back into the brush at a quick pace.

Everything was suddenly quiet.  Rhrellia didn't move for a few moments, laying still as their mind buzzed from the pain and body shook from adrenaline. Slowly, they pushed themselves up and looked around, “Is...is it gone...?”  All they could see was the broken spear pieces amongst the blood-splattered mud. As much as their body demanded rest,  Rhrellia had to make sure that the tadpoles were safe.  They pushed themselves up and slipped back into the water; the cold immediately hitting them and giving them a moment of relief as it dulled the pain.  Slowly, they made their way over to the reed patch and started to look around.  It was hard to see with the fading light, but after a few brief moments, they were able to see several pairs of eyes looking back out at them, followed by the smaller Anura tadpoles as they started to come out of hiding.

Finally, there was a huge sense of relief and Rhrellia nodded.  “It's okay little ones,  you're safe now.  Lets get you back home.”

“There!  Over there!”

Rhrellia was taken by surprise and they looked up and finally saw a group of the other caretakers approaching, including Crvohk. “Rhrellia!” The called out, shocked when they saw how injured they were.  “What happened?!”

“Ur...Ursrapod...”  They managed to say, “But...I found...found them.”  They pointed over to the reeds as more of the tadpoles started to come out of hiding.

The other caretakers started to gather the tadpoles while Crvohk helped Rhrellia to the surface, settling down on the bank as Seralha came rushing over with a first aid kit.  “What did you say?  An Ursra?  Are you sure?”

Rhrellia nodded slowly.  “I...I managed to chase it off...”  They started to recount the events of what happened and the encounter while the other two worked on bandaging them up. “Do you realize how dangerous it was to go off like that by yourself?”   Seralha said, looking and sounding rather flustered, “It's already dangerous out here for anyone by themselves with the just the normal predators, but to face off with an Ursrapod?”

Crvohk lowered their head down before speaking up, “They're not the only guilty one here, I let them go on ahead..”

“I should reprimand you both for it!” Seralha before they let out a heavy sigh.  “But...I'm just glad things didn't turn out worse than they did.  I'm also rather impressed that you were able to chase something like that off by yourself”  They looked to Rhrellia, “...first day on the job and you fight off an Ursra...”

Rhrellia looked down, at a loss for words, but Crvohk helped them back up to their feet.  “Come on, let's get back to the compound, we can discuss all of this in safer waters.”

It was slow going, but soon the three made it back;  Rhrellia never felt a sense of relief like they did when they were back inside.  “Did we...get all of them?”

Seralha slowly shook their head, hesitating to answer for a moment.  “Not all of them...we're still missing one.” They sighed, “I don't like to admit this, but with an Ursrapod out there...”  They didn't finish the sentence, the others knew full well what that meant.

“What's an Ursra even doing out here in the first place?” Crvohk asked.  “We're a long way off from any of their swamps.”

Rhrellia sighed as they held their head for a moment, “Something must have chased it or forced it out?”

“Maybe,”  Seralha said, “But Ursrapods don't leave their grounds very easily.  It would need to be something either very big or very devastating.”   They let out a sigh, “I think we can think on that some other time.  Crvohk, could you escort Rhrellia back to their room?  I think we all need to get some rest after all of this.  I'll need to speak with the others and make sure the fence is mended and we have extra patrols for the night.  Just in case.”

“Of course.” Crvohk nodded and he helped Rhrellia back to the bunkhouse and up to their room.  “Well, I have to say...you have a heck of a way of making a first impression.”

Rhrellia just let out a dry laugh, “It wasn't my intention.”

“I'm sure.” Crvohk said, “But you've certainly impressed me, just by going off like that to look for the missing 'poles.  I don't think many newbies would be willing to do that.”

Rhrellia sat down onto the bed. “I just thought...it would be a bad idea to wait any longer.”

“And you could have very well be right.” Crvohk said, “I wish I had gone with you though...could have saved you from loosing your ear like that.”

Rhrellia sighed, “It...I'll be aright.”

Crvohk nodded, “Well, you'll be off duty for a while I wager, and then on light duty after that.  Just make sure you don't make a habit of it, okay?”

“I'll try.”

Crvohk nodded, “You'll have a good story to tell the others at least.”  They reached into their pouch and pulled out the broken spear head and sat it on the side table.  “And a good trophy to go along with it.”

Rhrellia looked at the stained metal blade and shivered. “Yeah...I guess so...”  They slowly shook their head, “Still...I'm sad that we lost one of them.”

“I know.” Crvohk said.  “That's a feeling you'll never get used to...but sadly it's one of the risks of our job.  We do everything we can to watch and protect them, but sometimes, even with all of that, it can't be helped.”  They reached over and put a hand on their shoulder.  “Just remember, you saved many more today, and that's nothing to be taken lightly.  Okay?”

Rhrellia sighed, “I'll try.”  They looked up and gave them a weak smile. “Thanks.”

Crvohk nodded and turned to head out.  Rhrellia watched them before their gaze fell onto the blade again before letting out a sigh.  Exhaustion was finally starting to over take them and they laid back, finally letting themselves rest.

In the following days, the story of the Ursrapod encounter had spread through the compound, to both adult Anura and tadpoles alike.  Rhrellia found themselves retelling a few times, even showing off the spear head to those that asked.  The tadpoles would immediately recognize Rhrellia now, some even referring to them as the 'Ursra slayer'.  It was odd, but kind of flattering as well, so they were willing to roll with it.

There was still concern about the Ursrapod; many wondering if it was still out there as well as wondering what could have brought it all the way out here.  It was scary to think about, but Rhrellia seemed to be even more committed to their duties: this was their home now and they were going to protect it and everyone inside it.

[largethingslargerthings]

Meditative Week of Poetry: Daniel Schonning

And when the storm subsides, the catchbasin coos; the sky exhales; the dead rosebush withers; the bright kingfisher paces in the sand.

And all night, the lemon tree remembers sun. And the bathhouse cradles the salt spring, casts its bodies in white steam. And the earth

opens for the spade. And the moon jar sings from its dark womb, holds its breath. And the crow turns and turns in the blue air. And the sickle brings

the meadow back to earth; the meadow mourns its shadow. And the aspen shakes green, red, gold. And all morning, the ghosts

low from the crooks of oaks; the nightjar wakes to listen. And the father brings his children to the shore. And the aging clockmaker

thinks, as she must, about entropy. And the kindling crackles in the marble hearth. And the octopus sleeps like a stone, changes

color while he dreams. And the lone train car splits the fog across its nose. And the belfry shutters its windows, hides its brass heart.

And in the East’s deep ocean, sand lifts—briefly— as if to carry on to somewhere new; there, in pools of shadow, so do the

drowned ones lift—too briefly—as if to bear north, retake the beachhead, wander blindly into some fresh havoc or wonder or

neighbor at the fair. And the xiphoid spines of prickly pears erupt in pods of seven. And the green blackberries dot the green vines.

And the orb weavers have built an open curtain through which the yellow porchlight spills. And the icicle falls from the eave like an

apricot. And the coyotes keep their kills in earthen dens, catch snowflakes in the cold. And the shoots of blue gramma, of purple

aster, of little bluestem, shiver so gently in the West’s bare wind. And the moon’s dull humming makes ripples in the pond.

And the white marble busts of the dead bloom from their pitch-dark hall. And the willow leaves brush against barbed-wire fences. And the loon

dives into the lake. And the deep well sees Lyra, even at midday. And the warbler parts the lemon of its rind. And the marquis

keeps its eyes in a bronze bin. And the North’s soft heather cranes to see the morning sun. And the cube of sugar forgets its form

for the warm black tea. And the mother runs upon the metal bridge. And when the light returns to the valley, the kestrel drums

along the bough; the red cedars blush white; the mu’addhin sings, his voice like a drawn bow. And the cherry blossoms cut through the night.

And the fishing trawler, arms akimbo, teeters to shore like an infant. And the cliff swallows have built their nests of mud below

the chimney’s tin crown. And the South’s cold mist pours down the rain-wet hill. And the water bear purrs. And the child leans into the wind,

makes his body large. And the lighthouse keeper cannot help but imagine. And the skies above the mountain’s peak are brighter

than the snow. And the temple roof curls wide to catch the summer rain. And the glassblower turns the white-hot sphere. And the wet clay shakes alive.

And, yes, the wild zinnia open their eyes.

[bang-and-a-blintz]

Through the Darkness

CHAPTER FIVE - THEM GATORS

Fandom: Dracula (2020)  

Relationship: Dracula/Roxana(OFC)  

Rating: Mature  

Warnings: None  

Word Count: 2,993

The moon had an eerie glow as it casted its light through the drapery of hanging moss and onto the murky waters of the swamp below. It was a heavily hot and humid evening, sweat dripped steadily down her back as Roxana watched the scene before her with disinterest. 

Despite the shine of the moon, it was still difficult to see, but what she heard was unmistakable. Garbled shouts along with the occasional high-pitched shriek countered the spine-chilling sounds of crunching bones and tearing flesh. They didn’t last long. Once the screams subsided, the only noises that remained were the occasional splash of water and something akin to a branch snapping every so often. 

She could almost hear a distant yet familiar voice rattle off in her head. “Them gators’ll eat up anything you throw em. Meat, muscle, and bones! You name it!”

Suddenly she felt a change in the atmosphere and looked over to see the dark figure of a certain vampire standing on the other side of the dock. Dull thuds from his footsteps echoed around them as he slowly made his way over to stand by her side. For a moment they watched in silence as the alligators had a go at the victims in the bayou.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” She murmured and looked over. He tilted his head down at the blood-filled waters with a small snarl and then set his eyes on her; they were filling with inky black tendrils and glowing the darkest red. In an instant, he was gripping her tightly, his talons digging into the back of her neck, and bending her head to a harsh angle that gave him full access to her jugular. 

Dracula flashed her a deadly smile, “On the contrary, my dear, I can do anything I want.”

His descent was swift; she felt the sharp fangs sink into her throat and let her eyes roll back. Sagging into his hold, she felt the darkness open its arms to drink her in. 

Roxana woke with a gasp and shot straight up in her bed. 

Looking around frantically, she struggled to pinpoint her surroundings and then Fifolet meowed from across the room, jarring her back to reality. She was home and in her room. Safe. 

Her next course of action was feeling up and down her neck to make sure the dream was truly just a figment of her imagination. It remained wound-free. She exhaled loudly and collapsed back against her sheets.

The light of the morning sun cut across her room like a lance. Dim shadows danced along the ceiling as her fan spun on and on. It creaked slightly as it bounced back and forth, barely hanging onto its hinges, but all Roxana could hear was the thumping of her own heart. 

Just a dream. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. The sounds of the world awake and hustling outside her window gave her just enough motivation to swing her legs over the edge of the bed. The persistence and volume of the cat’s cries grew in earnest as it followed Roxana to the kitchen, positively demanding to be fed and let back outside. When she opened the door, it happily darted underneath the neighbor's house and wouldn’t be seen again until the evening.

There was a slight chill, but the skies were clear and the sun would soon warm up the city enough to make it a pleasant day. She walked back to her room to grab her phone and check the time, it was a still bit early but she didn’t mind. It was then noticed a text notification. The number was unknown but the text below read, in all caps; UNTIL WE MEET AGAIN accompanied by a vampire emoji. 

Roxana blinked and put the phone back down. Apparently not all the events of the previous night were a dream. 

With another long sigh, she went to the kitchen and started her morning routine. Coffee first, then shower, and then off to run errands. 

As she closed and locked up her front door, Roxana took a deep breath of fresh air and smiled. All thoughts of the fanged menace were pushed far from her mind and would be addressed another day. She threw on her sunglasses and strode off towards the streetcar. 

——

Dracula loved sunrises. After missing thousands of them, he tried to make a daily effort to watch. He enjoyed spending time memorizing the way the sun would paint the sky with fire before melting down into a sea of pastel purples, pinks, and oranges until the bold blues wiped the other colors and clouds from view. It was especially invigorating after a nice meal. 

He dropped the still-warm body to the ground and smacked his lips, bringing his hand up to wipe a smidge of blood from the corner of his mouth. A finely aged thirty-something man who was five years sober and treated his body like a temple. Slightly tangy, but not as bad as Dracula had expected. Almost like a healthy smoothie.

As they say, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

The blood pooled a little around the body, sinking into the wooden floorboards, and the apartment began to creak and moan. Dracula rolled his eyes, “Yes, another one, get over it. You lot should have enough souls to get a real party going in here, so cheer up, hm?” 

A window shudder snapped close to his left and a couple of doors slammed rather loudly down the hall. He could hear chains faintly rattling in the far bedroom but paid no mind.

“As always, you’ll find no pity from me.” He addressed the room and the house gave one last protest in the form of a teacup flying by his head, shattering against the wall. Dracula raised a brow but remained unmoved. “Bloody haunted houses.”

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed his servant’s number while walking to the other side of the apartment. Renfield answered on the first ring, “Good morning, my lord.”

“I need you to dispose of a body.”

“Oh, al-already?”

Dracula glanced back at the face-down corpse sprawled out by the couch. 

“Why, have something more important to do?” He turned back to the window that peered out over Jackson Square. Watching all the artists begin to set up their carts and tables and tricks and instruments and anything they could to make some sort of salvageable living. “I will say, this one was a tad bit messy. He was a fighter.”

“I think he taught jiu-jitsu by the lakefront, sir.”

“Ah, that’s it. Was just on the tip of my tongue.” Dracula liked the rush of tapping the veins of a martial artist. It tasted of perseverance, power, and control; maybe a slight hint of unadulterated anger towards someone...Dracula licked his lips in thought, oh there it is, the man was mad about his ex. Well that’s disappointingly anti-climactic, he mused.

The count’s attention was drawn to a familiar figure now weaving through the maze of workshops below. Roxana Van Helsing. He watched as she made her rounds through the throngs of artists and palm readers and tarot card fortune-tellers; all the while smiling so brightly and greeting various people as she made her way towards the river. It seemed that she knew nearly every regular who set up shop in the square. She hugged some of the tarot card and palm readers, waved at the painters as they hung their work on the wrought iron fence, and she even blew a kiss to a man painted black and gold and stood like a statue, but didn’t miss a beat as he caught the flying smooch and sent her a wink in return.

“How interesting...” He murmured, not able to take his eyes off of the woman floating around cheerfully below. After all the pleasantries, she crossed the street and set off towards the French Market. 

“My lord?”

He momentarily forgot he was still on the phone. “Nothing. Get over here and take care of this. The flies are starting to gather.”

“But the council - “

“Toss the body in the river or burn it, I don’t care.” Dracula snapped; the council, for lack of a better term, and their pesky rules were starting to grate on his nerves. “Just make sure to stake the poor bastard. The last thing I need right now is Keres pestering me about some monster waking up in the Bahamas or wherever.”

With a not-so-discreet sigh, Renfield acquiesced, “Of course, sir.”

“Be quick about it.” Dracula clicked the end call button and shoved his phone in his pant pocket. Turning on his heel, the count swept out of the apartment and headed the same direction he saw her walking. 

It didn’t take long for Dracula to find Roxana purchasing a coffee from one of the stands in the market. He slid into the shadows easily and watched from a distance while she meandered around, chatting with people here and there, looking over all the paintings, sculptures, jewelry, and clothing that were handmade by locals. Her smile was a beam of light that never seemed to fade. It was always there, he noticed curiously, from a large grin to a little smirk, her lips were quirked at all times. Was it genuine? He couldn’t fathom the notion of someone being that happy. Especially mortals. They always complained about something. 

Roxana wound herself around the last few stands, exited to the street, and made her way down towards Esplanade. Still maintaining discretion, he followed her along the broken sidewalks all the way into the Marigny, an adorably idiosyncratic suburb just to the east of the quarter. 

There was a small church nestled in between some houses with large white picnic tables and canopy pop-ups set up out front. Each table was covered with large catering trays and enormous cooking pots, about six or seven people stood behind it putting on gloves and aprons, and there was a line that went on around the block. Leaning back against a tree, Dracula tilted his head as he observed her embrace what looked to be the woman in charge and then put on the proffered apron and gloves. Roxana took over one of the stations and started to dish out plates of red beans and rice. 

One by one, she asked them how their day was and would give them a bowl, wishing them well. Everyone was friendly to each other; those in need were visibly grateful and those supplying were simply content to help in any way they could. 

A strange sight for the old vampire, it had been a good long while since he had seen such compassion. 

Dracula wasn’t sure how long he watched Roxana, but once the crowd started to dwindle down to the last few homeless folk in search of a warm meal, the sun had already begun its descent into the afternoon. 

The volunteers packed up the tables and dishes and trash into a few truck beds before giving out another round of hugs and bidding one another farewell. Roxana waited for the last truck to leave until she put on her light jacket and turned to make her own departure. He figured that was about as good a moment as any to make an appearance and was instantly by her side. 

“Fancy seeing you here - “ Dracula began but before he could finish she let out a shriek and jumped nearly a foot in the air. Instinctively, he held out a hand to make sure she didn’t tumble over, but to his surprise, Roxana turned and delivered a solid punch to his chest. Not that it hurt by any means, but the shock of the assault made him take a step back and slacken his jaw in offense. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, you can’t do that!” She gripped her chest, frantically trying to control her now racing heart. “Where the hell did you even come from?”

She glared up at him and the ferocity of it made him laugh so she sent another punch to his arm, which made him laugh even harder. He took another step back, dodging more of her blows, and raised his hands in defense. “It was totally worth it, you should’ve seen your face.”

Roxana groaned and ceased fire, “Have you been following me all day?”

The faux-innocence that Dracula's face displayed spoke volumes. 

She continued down the sidewalk back towards the quarter, but after a few steps she realized he hadn’t moved. So she turned back with a hand on her hip, “Well? Don’t be shy now, if you’re going to be my shadow then might as well get over here.”

His long legs were quick to shorten the distance between them and matched her pace as they began to walk side by side. 

They were quiet for a few blocks, the sounds of cars cruising by, birds chirping around, and dogs barking off in the distance easily filled the void. Dracula noticed she kept stealing glances his way, subtly - he’d give her that - but nonetheless it made him smirk. “I can see there is something you’re just dying to say.”

Roxana hopped over a large crack in the sidewalk before looking back up at him, “How are you here? I mean, in the sunlight, isn’t that supposed to...you know?”

She drew the side of a thumb across her throat mimicking certain death and he grinned. 

“Yes, well, it turns out that was just a funny little myth too.” Dracula shrugged casually. She noticed his dark sunglasses, loosely coiffed hair, and easy little smile and decided that he looked entirely too content in the daytime. It was a strange sight to behold a vampire sauntering around under the bright sun. The horror!

“Wait a second.” Roxana stopped in her tracks causing him to slow as well and pivot back in question. Her brow furrowed and he could practically see the wheels spinning in her head. “You mean this is a recent discovery?”

Dracula narrowed his gaze suspiciously, not knowing where she was going with this, “In comparison to how long I was unaware? Yes.”

“Did you ever check?”

“Check what?”

“You know, to see if it would actually burn you.” A large cicada buzzed and crackled as it flew by. “Like maybe sticking a pinkie finger out in the light? Test the waters?”

The nerve in his jaw ticked as Dracula clenched his teeth and stared at her for a moment, unreadable behind the Ray Bans he wore. 

“No, huh?” Rocana burst out laughing, “So you spent, what, four hundred years without any sort of proof that you would become a batty barbecue?”

“You’re enjoying this.” His arms were crossed over his chest now and he boasted a very unimpressed glare. 

“You just shaved off ten years of my life with that stunt back there, payback is justified.”

“I could take off quite a few more years than that, my dear.” He said while stepping closer, but his bark lacked its normal bite. 

She patted his arm, “Oh lighten up, cher, I’m just messing around.”

Despite the irritation that she brought out of him, Dracula found that he didn’t mind their banter, it was refreshing to be around someone who challenged him again. He still didn’t care for what she pointed out; he felt ridiculous enough about the whole ordeal and needn’t a reminder of his foolish mistakes. 

“Anyways,” They continued walking, “While I have you, I’d like to know more about this whole soirée coming up, what exactly is that all about?”

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t know too terribly much, this is sort of my initiation into the council.” He said with slight disgust towards the idea. As if the mere thought of him having to go through a trial just to be part of something was beyond absurd. “Before you ask - because I know you will - the council is the organization that deals with maintaining the city’s supernatural and mortal order.”

“There must be a lot of supernatural folk for a council to have been formed.”

“Oh you have no idea!” He laughed as her eyebrows shot up. “A lot more than even I was aware of before moving here, that’s for sure.”

“All vampires?’

“No, not all, but quite a few of us.”

“Are there werewolves?”

“Why, do you prefer dogs? I thought you were one of those crazy cat ladies.” He smirked as she pushed his arm. “No, no wolves down here, it’s far too hot for those beasts. I have heard of a swamp creature, but have not seen one yet myself. Sounds exciting though.”

“Oh, really?” Roxana's mouth turned into a frown as she looked down in concern, almost muttering to herself. “I should probably warn Memaw. Oh who am I kidding, she has her voodoo for protection, she won’t listen to me.”

“I’m sorry - your what?” 

They came to a stop at a traffic light and waited to cross the street. Roxana forgot he was there for a moment and her head shot up, giggling a little at his confusion, “‘Memaw’? Means ‘grandmother’. It doesn’t matter. Hey, I’m starving, want to grab some food with me? There’s a great spot just around the corner.”

At the mention of eating, Dracula looked down at her neck and licked his lips, damn did it look appetizing. It was a good thing he was wearing sunglasses and she couldn’t see the hunger that darkened his eyes. “Roxana, my dear, I would be delighted.”

Taglist:

@festering-queen​ @vissidarte213​ @moony691​ @torntaltos​

[nananaptime]

Cookies, Laughter and Kisses

My love for Dongyeol is strong in this one

Written for the June prompt on Up10tion Honey10 Amino

Masterlist

Rules

Genre: So fluffy you’ll get cavities

Word count: 1 757

Summary: Is breaking the rules allowed when you’re in love?

~

The door creaked as I gave it a soft push, causing me to freeze, listening after potential footsteps, fearing the risk of getting caught. Once ensuring the cold emptiness of the hallway, I quickly opened the door to its full potential to avoid any more creaking of the door. I then closed it with the utmost care and tiptoed down the hallway, avoiding the plants at every corner and considering any light, tiptoeing faster whenever the risk of getting caught increased. At the entrance, I threw a glance over my shoulder before softly turning the lock and opening the door, stepping out into the fresh summer air. In the moonlight, the resort looked like it had been dipped into a pot of silvery honey. The big fields of grass representing the golf courts stretched far into the east, the buildings making up the arcade and the sauna stood proudly on the west side of the resort and the smell and sound of the sea made its way into the perimeter with ease. The moonlight causing everything too look like from another world. A smile covered my face as I took in this peaceful paradise.

On my shoulder hung a bag filled with necessities for the evening's activities. In it resided a beach towel, some chocolate chip cookies which I had prepared just an hour before and my polaroid camera, brought along for necessary memory making. I had made sure that the cookies had contained extra chocolate chips considering whom I was about to meet. That boy would complain my ears off if there weren't enough of them in there.

The resort didn't keep too many guards in the area, this because most of them were located on the outer rims, stopping anyone unauthorized from entering. The few guards positioned inside was merely there in case someone slunk through the first set of security. This made my trip easier than I had hoped. Not one guard was seen as I made my way towards the pools which, considering the late hour, was off-limits. How I had allowed him to convince me of this risky activity, I had no idea, but I knew one thing for sure. At this point, I would do anything for him. Even though I had only known him for a bit over a month.

The fence which surrounded the pools were too high to be climbed, but we had discovered an opening on the left side, one big enough for a person to squeeze through. This was the way which I used, tossing my bag in first. Then I followed, glancing around the area, looking for the smiley boy who had won my heart so easily. Once I couldn't locate him, I grew confused. Taking a few steps closer to the water, I put my bag down and sat down by the pool, putting my feet in and marvelling at the cool feeling which it provided. The moon was visible straight above the pool, causing the water to reflect it in great ripples as the breeze grazed it while it made its way from fence to fence. Thinking the man meant to provide me with company was late, I settled for relishing in the summer night. In the midst of my relaxing, I heard what sounded like a board getting bent and then let go to bounce into place. As the sound reached my ears, I looked up just in time to see somebody falling straight into the water, successfully drenching me. Screeches and laughs left my lips as Dongyeol made his way to the surface, pushing his hair out of his face and giving me a wide smile.

"You moron," I simply said and splashed him with water the best I could. He only laughed at me, grabbing one of my ankles all the while protecting his face from my attack, pulling himself to me using my ankle as leverage.

"Had I known you would take so long, I wouldn't have been here early." He wrapped his arms around my calves and rested his chin on my knees, giving me the most adoring look I've ever received. I reached my hand into his hair, detangling the knots which had appeared due to the water. He closed his eyes, letting out a satisfied sigh and repositioned his head so his cheek was pressed to my knees. I let out a soft giggle.

"I couldn't be careful enough. Had my parents realised what I was up to they would've stayed awake until I'd fallen asleep and attacked you with questions tomorrow morning." He chuckled from his position in the water and turned his head to look at me.

"Naah, your parents love me." His confidence caused more giggles to spill from my lips and he smiled at me before tugging slightly at the hem of my beach dress. "Take this off and come for a swim with me..." Then, with a cheeky smile, he added: "... I want to make tonight romantic." I just let out a "pfft" but stood and took my dress off, either way, revealing a black bathing suit underneath. Then I backed away to run for the water, jumping in as I reached the edge.

The water drowned everything out and I kept my eyes shut, not wanting to irritate them with the chlorine-filled water. Before I had the chance to swim towards the surface, I felt hands gently cup my face and, only seconds after, soft lips press against mine. It only lasted for a second before Dongyeol pulled away and swam for the air, with me at his heels. Once in breathable conditions, I met his smug smile with a teasing one. He only laughed at me and closed the space between our bodies, wrapping his arms around my waist while trying to stay afloat.

"See? Romantic." I couldn't help the laughter spilling from my lips and I let my head fall against his shoulder, relishing in the closeness.

We spent the next twenty minutes fooling around, splashing each other and sharing more than just a few kisses. According to Dongyeol, kisses was the key for a romantic evening. The more kisses you shared the better and boy, did he use it. Usually, he was more reserved with his lips, much due to the fact that both his and my parents were always present during the days as they had grown quite fond of each other. However, alone, Dongyeol had no reason to hold back, it was like he was making up for lost kisses.

Eventually, I found myself with my back against the edge of the pool with Dongyeol in front of me, pressing peck after peck against my lips, barely giving me time to breathe between them. The smile was still ever so present on my lips as I raised my hand and let his lips meet the palm of it. He pulled away with a small pout, making him resemble an adorable puppy.

"It's getting late, and I would like to dry before returning to my room." I looked at him, teasing him with my eyes regarding the never-ending kissing. He let out a small, playful huff and climbed up onto the floor, giving me a hand once he was stable enough to do so. When both of us had our feet on the floor, causing the dripping water to form a puddle on the floor, he pulled me in for yet another kiss causing me to giggle yet again. I reached up and squeezed his face once we pulled away, making him look like a blowfish. "I have something for you." His eyes lit up like a child on Christmas and he glanced at my bag, located by the fence. I laughed at his excitement and pressed a peck to his puckered lips before releasing his face and making my way to my bag.

Dongyeol sat down beside me as I retrieved the box of cookies. A gasp was released as he noticed the sugary goods I was handing him and he grabbed one without so much as a second to spare. When it came to chocolate, he couldn't be stopped. I grabbed my own and started munching away as I observed the way Dongyeol's expression changed with every bite. I just smiled at his ways, considering myself the luckiest person on the planet.

Making sure he didn't notice my actions, I reached into my bag and took out my baby pink polaroid camera, sneakily turning it on and aiming it at him. He only noticed what I was doing when the flash went off and the picture was already taken. He looked at me, shocked and amused, then he just shook his head and continued eating. I looked at the picture once it had developed and noted with amusement his euphoric expression as he munched away at the baked goods.

"Sometimes I wonder if you like your cookies more than you like me."

"Pfft, maybe I do." I gasped at his response and shoved a finger into his side, causing him to pull away from me like his life depended on it.

"You take that back." He met my smile with one of his own and shook his head, not being able to speak due to the cookie he was chewing. I quickly stood from my position and started approaching him, causing him to rise as well and make a run for it.

Now, I know you're not supposed to run by the pool due to the risk of slipping and hurting yourself, but we were high on sugar and love and were also running very awkwardly to avoid any accidents, hence not making it too hard for me to catch him. He ended up with his back to the fence and me tickling him until he couldn't breathe, only then did I let him take a break from my nipping fingers. We were both breathing hard from all the laughter and I could've stayed in that moment forever, in love with him and our relationship blessed by the moon. He once again wrapped his arms around me, causing me to lean against him, my chin against his chest and my eyes gazing into his.

"You know, I doubled the amount of chocolate chips just for you." He nodded.

"I know, but they would've been amazing either way, just because they came from you." I smiled at him and he kissed me again, this time longer than he had the entire evening.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Made Man

Part One: Cosa Nostra 

A/N: Here we go folks! The official kick off of this one starts six months before the events of the intro, and immediately follows the end of the movie...with one major change, of course (as my quest to rescue all of Ben’s characters from their untimely film and screen deaths continues)

Warnings: language, depictions and descriptions of death and violence 

Word Count: 3,718 

6 months before:

 The steel gray storm clouds fell into the bus’ rear view, with all of Beantown melting away behind him. Good fuckin’ riddance, Nick thought to himself, vowing never to return to Boston. As the bus left the city limits, his eyes fell upon a tourism billboard looming above Route 28. Faded, scrolling lettering on the badly peeling sign read “Boston: It’s All Here”. There were images of schooners and brigantines, cobbled streets, trees exploding in scarlet and gold foliage. The bottom of the billboard was lined with logos from the Red Sox, Patriots, Bruins and Celtics. The south side of the city was completely absent from the advertisement. No chain link fences, no yards with hungry pitbulls, or bars with blinking, buzzing neons. No indication whatsoever that Boston, Massachussetes was anything but a picture perfect postcard. It’s all here, he read the words one last time. No, nothin’s here. Ain’t nothin’ here for me anymore. Forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window pane and a toothpick clamped firmly between his teeth, he gripped the black bag in his lap and let out a long breath. Nick Tortano had a lot to think about, a lot to consider; a lot to plan, a lot to work on, and a fuck of a lot to forget.

 He shifted in the hard seat of the old Greyhound, one long leg extended under the row in front of him, the other bent, knee swaying with the motion of the bus. Flashes of what he hoped to forget tore through his mind.

 The way his father looked at him as he drew his last breath, eyes the size of chestnuts, hand reaching towards his son’s face but falling short- the way he screamed his throat bloody in the street as the life slipped from the man’s body.

 That sudden drop in his gut just before the soft whizzing sound of two bullets cutting through the air, muffled by the silencer on the end of Jerry’s gun. Jerry who he thought he could trust, who he had to leave in a pool of blood on Ali’s bedroom floor.

 The stillness of her chest, the two bright red blossoming blood stains spreading across her white shirt, lips slightly parted and limp fingers dangling from the mattress. The way she took all the air in the room with her as he knelt by her side feeling the warmth leave those fingers.

 That corrosive regret that ate away at his heart and set his veins on fire- regret over not killing George in that warehouse, over letting him call the shots with Tony. Nick had gotten him, eventually, but the regret… the what if...what if he’d done him in then...could he have saved her? The fact that this was what he’d been made to feel, to think about...to do to his friend...his best fucking friend…

 The lost look on Vito’s face, how he looked even younger than he was as Nick shoved a bag of cash into his arms and made him promise to leave town; to get out of Boston and not to look for him, not to try to contact him.

 “But you’re my brother, Nicky,” he’d tried to argue, all obstinance and uncertainty and fear.

 The way he’d had to harden his eyes and deepen his voice. “Yeah, well I can’t be your fuckin’ brother right now, Vito. Now do what the fuck I’m tellin’ ya and get the fuck outta town. And keep your fuckin’ phone on you.” How he’d walked away then, turning his back on the one person in the world that he had left. His father had stopped believing in him months ago. George had proven himself a toxic presence in Nick’s life. Ali had been innocent, and he’d miss what they could have become, what they were on their way to becoming; he’d forever feel the guilt of dragging her into his disaster. But walking away from Vito was the biggest loss he’d felt.

 Nick’s nostrils flared as his top lip twitched. Sal. The one part of all of this that he didn’t mind remembering, was finishing it once and for all. Emptying his lead into that old bastard, standing over him and watching him become nothing but trash for the clean up crew that had been sent for Nick; watching as thick and slow, Sal’s blood mixed with motor oil and rainwater and dripped down into the sewer. The end you deserved, you piece of shit.

 “Niccolo, I tried to tell ya. You cannot have it all,” Sal had said, hands in his pockets, right one gripping the .38 that Nick knew Sal always carried. Nick kept his gun trained on Sal’s chest as he continued. “You shoulda been happy, kid. Shoulda realized you had all you needed right here. This thing of ours, Nick, remember?” He pulled his left hand out of his pocket and waved it around vaguely. “You were the one hadta hold onto your family, to your friends...to that girl a yours.” He paused dramatically, clicking his tongue and feigning a sympathetic frown that made Nick’s eyes flash in the dark alleyway. “Shame, Nick. You threw away a great career with the mob for what? Whatcha got now Nicky? Nothin’. Nothin’ here for ya anymore, kid. You’re nothin’.”

 As he finished delivering his monologue, he attempted to shoot through his right pocket, raising his still concealed revolver as he spoke. But Nick was quicker, and as soon as he saw  Sal’s arm move, he squeezed the trigger and sneered as Sal stumbled backwards, open mouth gaping like a goddamn fish. He advanced on his former boss, firing two more shots before the man crumpled to the pavement and Nick’s boots were on either side of Sal’s body. He was already dead, but that didn’t stop Nick from pulling the trigger over and over until it clicked uselessly beneath his pointer finger.

 The anger and adrenaline, the loss and suffering, the feeling of vengeance were all still pulsing venomously through every inch of his body a full eight hours later as he sat on the bus leaving Boston and his business there behind. He knew he had to get out of the city as quickly as he could, get somewhere far enough were the guys Sal worked for couldn’t find him- he wasn’t the top of the food chain, afterall. Sal had just been some Capo. He had a boss, and his boss had a boss, and Nick knew that they wouldn’t take kindly to some street soldier taking out an entire branch of their outfit, their Thing. Fuck your thing. I fuckin’ destroyed your thing. Cosa Nostra. What a crock of shit.  

 A crock of shit that he so willingly committed himself to, despite all of the people that he trusted the most telling him that he was making a mistake. His father, George, Jerry, Ali… but he hadn’t listened to any of them, and it had cost him all of them. For what? For a burning piece of paper clamped between his palms, scorching lies and false vows into his skin while he spoke words in Italian that he couldn’t begin to translate on his own. For a few days worth of walking around the city and feeling like a hot shot, like a real genuine made man; a real genuine lie. For money he could send to Vito, to pay for his college education- what money now, Nick? You got nothin’. Nothin’ for your brother, nothin’ for yourself ‘cept a bounty on your damn head. He might not have anything left, but he wasn’t ready to just sit and wait for some goon to come take him out either. He might not have anything to give Vito, but he was going to make sure that once this was finished for good, once the heat was off of him, that he’d find him and they’d at least have each other again. Build my own damn thing. My own damn family.

 He’d concocted a plan, though he wasn’t sure how solid it was, having had only a few hours and a heart and mind crystalized with icy grief to work with, but it was all he had so it would have to do. He’d heard Sal and Jerry and a few others chattering about how the Boston family was struggling; about how its grip on the East Coast was slipping daily as outfits a few states south gained strength and cornered markets previously held by Boston. Illegal arms dealing, drug smuggling, hired killers… even black market technology deals with China, something previously handled exclusively by the Boston mob, was starting to fall to the New York/ New Jersey crews. The last time Sal sent some guys down to Jersey to negotiate and try to get back some ground they’d lost, only one of them came back, prompting Sal to throw a heavy quartz paperweight through the window of his office, curses flying from his mouth for Steve Bonafiglio, his counterpart down there. Even then, before shit had gone bad, Nick knew enough to pay attention to anyone or anything that made his boss’ blood pressure rise like that, so the name Steve Bonafiglio and his cover up cafe The Dockside were etched into his memory, saved for later use.

 Later was now, and as the hours ticked by and the pavement passed beneath the rolling rubber tires, he repeated the name of the establishment over and over. The Dockside, Atlantic Highlands. The Dockside, Atlantic Highlands. Simon Lake Drive, next to the bait shop. The Dockside, Atlantic Highlands. The bus he was on would take him into New York- a city that it was in his DNA to despise- where he’d catch the Seastreak Ferry to cross over into the Garden State. Steve’s place was right at the end of the dock where the Ferry tied off, just past the bows and sails of the charter boats and sailboats and skiffs that populated the small harbor. Convenient location, just outside the city, a restaurant so no one would blink at large trucks making large drop offs of large containers, equipped with large ovens and large freezers, and perched right on the edge of the largest body of water and easiest disposal service there was: the Atlantic Ocean. Steve Bonafiglio sounded like a smart man. Much smarter than Sal, which is why he was alive and well and not rotting in some landfill off the coast of Massachusetts, and why Nick was hoping that he’d take him up on what he was about to offer.

 Nick was about to turn rat, ready to break the rule that every errand boy and cashbox girl, every street soldier and capo and underboss, all the bag boys and gophers, the clean up guys, the scouts and drivers all knew and lived by: never talk. When you work for or with or in and around the mafia, it’s best that you don’t know nothin’ about nothin’. The less you know, the less you might let slip, and the less you’d be a dead man for if the wrong person caught wind of that slip. Well the wrong people were the people Nick was about to slip on. He was ready to offer Steve names and addresses of the remaining big players up in Boston. He was ready to do what no man had ever done, and certainly no Bostoner had ever dreamed possible. He was ready to help another family take down the Boston Mob, one pitiful old fuck at a time. He just hoped that Steve wouldn’t hold his willingness to turn against him, hoped he’d be willing to hear him out and realize that Nick was looking for two things: revenge, for all the things he felt that the family had taken from him, but also freedom- freedom from being under someone’s boot heel at all times, from having to check every corner for the barrel of a gun, from not being able to hold close the few that he cared about...from not being able to care about anyone for fear that that care would dig them a six foot hole or pour them a pair of concrete sneakers. Steve was either going to welcome him and his offer with open arms, asking him for a few months of service in taking down Boston before he’d be sent off under his protection to start living the life he’d had to put on hold, or he’d be capped right there on the tiled floor of the Dockside’s kitchen, industrial cleaning supplies used to wipe away all traces of him as fish feasted on bits of his body at the bottom of the cold, pewter water. His other option was to wait for the two remaining branches of the Boston mob to find him and kill him and let the same thing happen in a different town. At least with Steve he had a 50/50 shot...maybe even 60/40...of living long enough to see his brother again.

 Leaning over the railing on the ferry, half-smoked cigarette dangling loosely from his lips and his black bag wedged firmly between his feet, he watched the choppy water slap against the side of the boat. The cold November air whipped across the surface and bit at the skin of his cheeks and nose, at the exposed area of his neck, the black lines of his rosary tattoo sharp against wind whipped pink flesh. But it had stopped raining, and it was nowhere near as cold as he was used to back home, the temperature barely registering at all through his black jacket and thick black sweater. The ferry docked at the end of a long wooden gangway that stuck out into the water, and he let commuters and tourists stream out and off of the boat before he slung the bag on one shoulder and disembarked. Here goes nothin’.

 The sounds that greeted him as he made his way toward the blue and white building ahead were deceptively cheerful: fishermen shouting to one another while they maneuvered their large vessels into small slips, seagulls crying out as they soared above the harbor, looking for fallen french fries or other delicacies that they could snack on, laughter from the kids toting balloons from their adventures in the Central Park Zoo or the Statue of Liberty, snippets of conversations as business men and women hurried home and told their families that they’d be there in twenty minutes, and that they should start heating up the pasta from last night. Accents slightly different from his own hitting his ear to remind him that he was an outsider and that here in Jersey, people pronounced their “Rs”.

The wooden planks gave way to a large paved area full of picnic tables and benches, and he guessed that in the summer time they overflowed with people eating lunch from one of the few visible bars and cafes, or teenagers on dates with wandering hands that would be frowned upon at home, or artists sketching the sunset as the boats sailed in and out. But now, the gray sky full of white clouds, and a dullness to the color of everything that always fell upon the world in Autumn and Winter made the area seem sleepy. He walked up to the striped awning of The Dockside, passing stacked plastic chairs and tables that were bundled together and tied up against the building on the patio, and pulled open the side door of the establishment, crossing the threshold and sealing his fate one way or another.

 .  . .  .  .  .  . .  .

 It was just another Tuesday afternoon, dragging on slowly through the quiet hours between breakfast and happy hour, and you leaned against the bar staring out at the boats, daydreaming about summer and sunshine and all the tip money you’d make when the weather was warm and people came out of hibernation. The countertops had been wiped so many times you could see your face in them. You’d stocked the beer coolers and filled the ice bins, stirred the hot wells full of soup- the constant, Pasta Fagioli, and Tuesday’s soup of the day, Split Pea and Ham- and dusted off all of the racks of glassware. There was nothing else to do until the hit-or-miss rush did or didn’t happen in roughly an hour, so you gazed out at the gently rocking boats and dreamed of where you’d go if one of them were yours.

 Ralph had been in earlier, dropping off a few envelopes for you to hold in the register for someone who would pick them up later. Ralph was always flirting, always hoping that someday you’d fall for one of his lines, and you were as sure as he was hopeful that it would never happen. He was nice enough, had taught you a lot when you’d first come under the wing of Steve’s little cover up operation. He’d taught you things like how to spot an undercover cop, and how to know if someone was carrying a weapon, what certain tattoos meant and keywords that you should be aware of. You were thankful for all of those lessons, knowing that while your job description of bartender wasn’t in and of itself dangerous, your secret duties as cashbox girl weren’t completely on the up and up and therefore came with considerable danger. Ralph was thick and always sweaty. His jet black hair always had the appearance of being soaked through- whether from a lack of shower or an excess of product you weren’t sure, but it either way it was a repellant that you just knew that you’d never get passed- that and several other of his features: his “my shit don’t stink” attitude, the way he trashed anyone even half a step below him on the boss’ ladder, the way he looked at you like he was hoping he’d gained x-ray vision since last he’d seen you. Ralph was fine enough to deal with for work. But that’s where your dealings with him began and ended. You were glad that he wasn’t sticking around, glad to be by yourself with the boats and your daydreams.

 Until the door swung open something straight out of one of those dreams walked through the door and strode right up to the bar counter that you were leaning on. Oh, shit. Long legs encased in dark denim, black coat over what you could tell were decently muscled arms, glossy hair that shined all on its own and not because it was dripping with grease or gel. Eyes so dark they rivaled the night sky, but with a softness reflected there that told you that he was more than his attractive exterior. Well, I wanted something to occupy my time. Got something.

 He set his bag down and climbed up onto one of the circular seats, keeping his eyes on you as you greeted him, setting a small square napkin down in front of him. “Hey, welcome to The Dockside,” you gestured with one hand at your surroundings before telling him your name and letting your hand fall to your chest as if to indicate that your name belonged to you and not to anyone else in the room...even though there was no one else in the room. “What can I get ya to drink?”

 “Hey, thanks, I’m not really thirsty, just came here to see Steve. He around?” His accent was undeniably from Boston, though you could tell that he was making an effort to speak slower, trying not to drop his “Rs”.

 You grabbed a glass and filled it with ice despite his non-order. “Yeah, Steve’s around. But he only makes time for customers. So what can I get ya?” You tilted your head to the side and caught the makings of a smile lifting one side of his mouth, beard twitching slightly.

 “Uh...whiskey sour I guess...please, I mean,” he answered, squeezing and flexing one hand in a fist.

 “Sure thing,” you quickly filled the glass with well whiskey and topped it with the lime green colored sour mix you’d whipped up that morning- nothing but sugar and heartburn, and you wondered how much of that description your patron shared with his drink of choice. He looks dangerous. Like he knows things and like he’s easy to know. Gotta be careful with this one. You dropped an orange wheel and a bright red maraschino cherry into his short glass before setting it on the napkin in front of him. “Eight bucks,” you announced.

 “Eight? Yikes.” his eyebrows flew up and made his face look younger than you originally would have pegged him for. You nodded, arms crossed. “Hope its the best whisky sour I ever had, then” he smirked as he forked over a ten and a five and told you to keep the change.

 “Well, if it’s not, order a call liquor next time. Only so much covering up that sour mix and garnishes can do to shitty alcohol.” You shrugged and offered a smile as he took a swig of his drink, letting an ice cube drop between his teeth, crunching it before setting his glass back down on the napkin.

 “Nah, best I ever had, right here,” he lied sarcastically. Gotta be very careful with this one.

 “So you’re lookin’ for Steve, huh?” you asked, pouring yourself a glass of water. He nodded, running his fingers up and down the outside of his glass, wiping at the condensation that was pooling on the napkin. “Never seen you around before. You either caused trouble, or you’re lookin’ for it.” You squinted at him. “Not sure which one yet. But sit tight, I’ll let him know you’re here.” You started heading towards the glorified broom closet that Steve called an office, then spun back. “Who should I say is lookin’ for him, by the way?”

 “Nick. Nick Tortano. Tell him...tell him I used to be one a Sal’s guys up North...he’ll know what that means.”

You nodded, heart rate picking up. One of Sal’s guys up North. That could only mean one thing- the Boston Mob was here in Jersey. There goes that boring Tuesday.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @benbarnestongue @agent-bossypants @lexxierave @songtoyou @poindexted @thesumofmychoices 

please let me know if you wanna get made (and stay on the tag list) or swim with the fishes (and hop off of the taglist) 

[ginnyzero]

Completely Harmless Ch. 3

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Three Forming a Club

That evening, when four girls rushed out to coo over the new horses, as the first to be excited about the Jorvik Warmblood Sports, they were the first invited to join the new club. There was Elsa, Brittany, Theresa, and Stacy. That made 13 club members and while Melody muttered about it being unlucky, Lily thought it was a fine number.

That night at their bunks, Lily warned them in a low voice about the Baroness’ expectations for their uniform. But no one seemed upset, it wasn’t pink. So, they pooled their money and the next morning right after breakfast, they went and registered their club with the Club Manager.

Then, all ten girls, ambushed Thomas again.

Justin saw them, bent over and tried not to bust his gut laughing.

“Mr. Moorland, Mr. Moorland,” they said speaking over each other.

“Girls, girls!” Thomas held up a hand. “One at a time.”

Lily spoke first then. “Mr. Moorland, our friends they want to buy horses too. And the horses at the Equestrian Center are ever so friendly and so nice that I hoped to take them over to have a look if that’s okay with you. If those horses aren’t bought, something awful is going to happen. I just know it.”

Thomas face turned dismayed.

“There’s too many of them this year, you see,” Regina explained.

“Too many?” He breathed. “What has she been up to?”

“And Mr. Moorland,” Grace said. “Poor Tyra, she’s plum overwhelmed she is. With no one but her and maybe Pauline and Linn to clean out the stables. But Linn might be needed at the Arena early.”

Jennifer smiled. “We thought we’d go and help.”

Thomas sputtered. He looked back and forth between all the girls and if Lily didn’t know better, she thought he was about to cry. “Why girls, that’s, that’s the nicest thing that I ever did hear. You go on. I’ll phone Linda and tell her that you’re coming. She’ll be so pleased.”

“Thank you, Mr. Moorland,” they chorused and headed in a large group at a trot.

Lily made certain to wave at a very baffled Tan and Loretta.

So, they were a large group that showed up at the manor with the early morning sun beating down on their black helmets and hard to tell apart in their red orange t-shirts.

Linda waved at them and rubbed her forehead. “Um, well, hi! Uh, I wasn’t expecting a horde. Mr. Moorland said a few.”

“A few is more than three,” Elsa said in a monotone type of voice.

Jennifer made a point to look around at all the people leading their horses about or riding through the manor grounds from one place to another.

Linda smiled broadly. “Well, I appreciate it. I do. Judy and the girls know where everything is.”

Tyra rounded the corner of the stable. Her jaw dropped. “You, you came back!”

“We said we would,” Abigail beamed at her.

Behind her, Linn and Pauline almost ran into her back.

Lily waved the paper. “And we have paperwork!”

Pauline squealed and hugged Linn jumping up and down.

“Pauline, can’t breathe,” Linn mock gasped.

Tyra lit up. “Well, we keep all our equipment in this shed by the back wall.”

“She calls it a shed,” Linn rolled her eyes.

“So, if we can get all the outside chores done quickly, the inside will be done that much faster!” Tyra said and then glared at Linn. “For this place, it’s a shed.”

“Well, where should we put the horses?”

“Hmm, better keep them in the garden area for now,” Tyra gestured.

“These four want their own horses,” Regina put her arms around two of the four new girls. “So, we’ll go take care of that.”

Tyra nodded and the rest of them headed off towards the back wall, where there was as Tyra said a smaller building. It was not by any definition of the term a shed. It was based on a small Roman temple and there was a big engine right behind it.

“This is our tool shed cum hay dryer. If one of you can get some oil from the big drum behind the table near the transport,” Tyra started.

“On it!” One girl saluted, grabbed the oil can and ran off.

“I’ll help,” said another and ran after her. “It’ll be heavy.” They ran between what looked like a string of greek revival houses strung together to make an inn or something and the stable wall.

“And if we move this dry hay over to the stables, we can heave it up to the top floor.”

More girls volunteered.

Tyra opened the door and passed armfuls of shovels, pitchforks, buckets filled with hoof picks and brushes to the girls. “These really should be moved to the tack room, but it’s not secure. Once these are out, we can fill this back up with hay and let the hay dryer do its job while we clean.”

Hoses were dragged out.

Buckets got filled. They pitchforked, they shoveled, they cleaned the stable down to the floor, made sure every feed rack and water trough was filled and the horses brushed out and their hooves cleaned. They pulled out the mats, and hung them on the fence of the Northern Paddock. They had to cross a bridge to do it, but they couldn’t have the mats out in front of the Manor, now could they? They hosed them down, and left them to dry. The hose actually went that far, a miracle. They had to crank it out.

All the while they talked about the Equestrian Center and what they wanted out of their club. They didn’t have a choice about the uniforms, purple it was for colors. But they couldn’t decide on a name.

“They had to take the good ones.” Regina scowled.

“Something will turn up,” Lily said and wiped her brow with the back of her arm. “It always does.”

By the time they were finished with everything, the mats had dried so they were able to return them to the stables and put out fresh hay from they had they’d just thrown up into the loft!

The thirteen girls looked over the stable in satisfaction. It hadn’t been so clean in months.

“I think we can be proud to have horses in here again,” Linn said.

Her phone buzzed. She groaned. “Ugh, Sabine. She wants someone to time her at the Arena. Later!”

“I think we should be Silver something.”

“Foxes?”

“Do you see any foxes around here?”

“Silver is a good idea. I think the Baroness would like that,” Tyra said. “Uh, have you told her yet?”

“Um, no, we wanted to have a name.”

“And uniforms.”

“And uniforms,” several agreed.

“I mean, not to be pushy on her, but it might be better if we looked ready to follow her rules.”

“That’s actually a great idea.” Tyra nodded. “So, have you talked to Mr. Moorland about switching stables?”

“We told Mr. Moorland we were helping.”

“One thing at a time!”

Jennifer clapped her hands. “Recon!” She said.

“Um, she means we need a tour. See what we have to work with to make this a premiere riding club.”

“Ohhh,” Tyra nodded slowly. “All right, gotcha. Well, we have the best space for club meetings, the Baroness lets the Silverglade Club use her rooftop mezzanine garden. If it’s cold or too rainy, we can camp out in her library.”

“Books!” One girl squealed.

“Let me show you!” Tyra raised her arm and pointed. “Vamanos!”

They walked in a big group past the front the huge manor and around the corner.

One girl gasped. “Why, why is the fountain dry?”

“Bad pipes,” Pauline sighed. “Really, really bad pipes.”

There was a large empty reflecting fountain between the manor and the other large building.

“That’s the winery itself, there’s supposed to be a tapas bar, tourist shop type of thing in it. But um, staffing troubles. Underneath is all the controls for the machines and the kegged wine. Plus the really good stuff from other vineyards and the best Silverglade vintages in a temperature and humidity controlled safe. They take it very seriously.” Tyra said.

“What’s that?” Grace asked pointing at yet another building that was again sort of near the back wall of the manor.

“Oh, well, it’s supposed to, um, not sure.” Tyra scratched her head. “Pauline?”

“Gazebo?”

“Looks like a temple to me,” Theresa said.

“Well, no one uses it.” Tyra shrugged. “Could be anything. Here we are,” she said. She opened a side door. It led to a side foyer that had beautiful doors leading off in all three directions, they all had glass and were probably locked, and the staircase. She led them up a stair case that turned every ten steps.

The girls oohed and aahed at the view.

“Why does no one use this?”

“There was some noise about making it a full service restaurant, but nothing ever came of it.” Pauline said.

Lily leaned against the north east corner and looked out. “You said GED was here illegally? Why can they pump then?”

“The Baroness contacted her son Aaron,” Tyra explained.

“Because Anastasia isn’t good for anything,” Pauline muttered.

“And he hasn’t gotten back yet. And she’s so busy, she can’t go check on him herself.”

“He’s a bit useless if you ask me.” Pauline added.

Lily frowned. She turned around and rested her elbows on the roof edge. “If we’re going to make this the best stable in the area, then we’re going to have to get things moving around here.”

“Oh come on, Lily. What can we do?” Grace rolled her eyes.

“Get some chairs up here for one,” Stacy said.

“We told Mr. Moorland that we were going to help the Baroness out. We didn’t say how long that would take.” Lily said.

“No more Loretta!” Abigail shouted.

“And after a couple of days, we can sweet talk him into letting us leave so not to wear out the horses going to and fro,” Regina pointed out. “By then, we can make ourselves indispensable to the Baroness.”

“Find a mechanic. Find a gardener. Find a bartender and a chef,” Lily pressed her fingers down on her hand. “Get in touch with Aaron and find out what’s going on with those rigs.”

“Find out what is going on with those rigs period,” Regina said. “They’re in our territory now.”

Grace groaned. “We are going to get so in much trouble.”

“Look, we’re a bunch of airheaded stable girls helping out,” Abigail fluttered her eyelashes. “We’re nothing but a bunch of school aged teenagers. What harm could we be?”

Regina cracked her knuckles.

Grace sighed.

“All right. But I want a plan,” Jennifer said. “A good one.”

“Step one,” Lily said. “Find out where we can buy the uniform that the Baroness wants.”

“And definitely get some muck pants and new t-shirts for cleaning out,” Abigail made a face.

Tyra raised her phone. “It’s at a shop in Silverglade Village.”

“Does this Silverglade Village have an actual café,” Stacy asked.

“Yep,” Pauline grinned.

“Then have Linn meet us there and let’s do lunch!” Lily said.

“To the horses!” Jennifer pointed and charged away.

--

The four new girls took the camp horses back to Moorland before swinging back to meet them on the outskirts of Silverglade village at an outdoor café. They claimed the chairs and pushed tables together hunching over their pizza slices and sodas. They bent their heads over their phones and tried to hash out a plan.

“So, we need to go to Jorvik City. Easy.” Tyra said. “Buy a bus pass and leave from Fort Pinta. Aaron and Anastasia will have the contacts to get us the people we need to start getting the Manor tip top.”

“Tickety boo,” Grace said.

“And if we’re wearing the uniform,” Theresa said.

“He won’t question.”

“We can’t all go.”

“Well, before we get uniformed up. We really should check out this oil field they’ve got going in the paddock.”

Pauline picked mushrooms off her pizza slices and ate them. “Steve’s got a great second hand shop. Pick up an inoffensive t-shirt that doesn’t scream shoot me now from fifty feet away.”

The girls all groaned.

“And like you said, we’re stable girls looking for lost horses.” Pauline smirked.

They finished their food and had ice cream before cleaning their fingers off and going shopping.

“You said inoffensive?” Elsa raised her brow. She held up a pair of raspberry and magenta abstract camo pants. “How is this inoffensive?”

“They’re cheap,” Tyra pointed out.

Elsa dropped them and shuddered.

They did find t-shirts but not muck pants or boots. And they all were able to buy the Silverglade Clan Outfit. Linn’s phone buzzed, Sabine again. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Does that girl ever rest?” She scowled. “Okay, catch up with you later. Tell me how it goes. Tell me everything.”

Pauline volunteered to go with Lily and Regina to Jorvik City. She didn’t have anything to do really.

“And since I’m a known stable girl,” Tyra smirked.

“We’ve got this,” Abigail grinned.

They changed clothes. Though there was some grumbling about not washing things first. And because they were going by bus, they didn’t have to buy the saddles and stuff just yet.

“I want to talk to Anastasia,” Tyra tugged on the satin jacket. “Rumor has it, she and the Baroness had a big row about how she spent her money on too many clothes.”

Lily tugged on her hat. “Sounds fair to me.”

They rode by the roads to Fort Pinta. Tyra pointed out the Golden Fields.

“They used to be filled with golden flowers.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t know,” Tyra shrugged. She waved at a girl near a ruin. “That’s Mary. She herds sheep.”

Lily leaned over. “As in Mary had a little lamb,” she asked.

“Oh, that’s the one.”

Tyra already had a ticket. So, Lily bought ten of them. One for each of the girls going to Moorland camp. They’d already passed her the money to do so. They left their horses at the Fort Pinta stables. Tyra grumbled about what James was charging just for a few hours.

Lily shook her head and they headed to the bus stop.

Tyra pulled out her phone again and started searching. “Okay, so, two figures like Aaron and Anastasia can’t go anywhere without being noticed. They’re a big deal. Almost as big as Anne’s family, or the Ironsaddles. The Winterwells can’t compare. All right, Aaron is at the ice cream shop. And Anastasia, oh, this is good, the mall having coffee with her dog.”

Tyra showed Lily a picture of the dog. It was a teacup pup type in a pink tutu.

“Spoiled,” was all Lily said.

“Aaron probably won’t leave for hours. He loves ice cream,” Tyra confided. “It’s in all the blogs.” She showed Lily Aaron’s blog with almost every third or fourth picture being some ice cream concoction. “If he’s not there, he’ll be in Aideen’s Plaza.”

Lily nodded. She trusted Tyra.

Tyra twisted. “Do you want me to handle Anastasia or do you want to do it?”

“You do know her better.”

“But you’re more of the leader. All you have to do is flatter her and make nice to the dog. She’ll be willing to be played.”

Lily bit her lip. “Okay, new club, want to bring the area up to date and have an image that goes viral?”

“Perfect!” Tyra said.

They raised hands and slapped them together.

Lily thought it over and she had a perfect idea. “We’re going to have to bring back coffee.”

“Make it iced. They’re going to need it.”

Lily cringed.

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.