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a-supernatural-writer · 3 years

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Lost in the Shadow Pt.6

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Word Count: 1431

FemOC x Poly Lost Boys

“Four mates.” Vanessa said as she pulled out a glass bottle of soda from the fridge. She popped it open with a bottle opener and sat on top of the kitchen counter.

“Four mates.” She repeated herself and took a drink, “I can’t believe it.”

For the first time that night, Vanessa took off her black shades, revealing her eyes. Her left one was a baby blue while her right was a light brown. Her heterochromia was a genetic condition that Vanessa wasn’t completely proud of. Too many times was she judged for it. She only took off her shades to those she trusted and well, sometimes it added a little “wow” factor to their performances.

Danielle smiled at her as she removed mugs from one of the many cardboard boxes that were scattered around their new home. She placed the mugs in the cabinet, “Believe it. You know, it’s not unheard of Ness.”

Vanessa set down her bottle and took out her fourth cigarette of the night which Danielle gave her a look for. Vanessa shrugged innocently, “What? It helps me de-stress. And I know it’s not unheard of, it’s just rare! It’s not normal.”

Luis poked his head into the kitchen when he heard Vanessa, “Normal? We’re dhampirs. Even to regular vampires we aren’t normal.”

He walked into the kitchen with another cardboard box that was labeled ‘dishes’ and set it down at their large dinner table. He was no longer wearing his shawl, leaving his chest bare except for the few necklaces that dangled around his neck. Seeing Luis’s bare chest didn’t faze either of the girls.

Luis walked over to Vanessa, leaning back against the counter next to her and taking a sip of her drink as she smoked, “But think of it this way. You’ve been forever young since the 1600’s and finally, you found your mates. For over two hundred years you had a coven, but you didn’t have love.”

Vanessa scoffed, “What? You guys don’t love me?” She teased, nudging Luis. Danielle chuckled, smacking Vanessa’s arm lightly.

Luis nudged her back with a chuckle, “You know what I mean. Romantic love. It’s high time that you have it. And plus, they’re hot so…” He trailed off, laughing as both Vanessa and Danielle whacked him.

“You’re not wrong there.” Vanessa reluctantly agreed with him. They were very attractive. Each in their own special way.

“I think it was good you invited them.” Danielle said as she floats up from the ground, placing mugs on the highest shelf. “Get to know them better.”

Vanessa hummed in agreement, tapping the ashes off in the sink beside her, “No doubt they’ll distract me tomorrow… in more ways than one.”

Danielle raised a brow, “Would you want them to?”

The whited haired woman blew out smoke, “I wouldn’t complain but the shop is important. We put a good portion of our money into it and we wanted this for a long time. It would have to take some serious convincing to tear me away tomorrow night.”

At her words, Danielle and Luis caught each other's eye and looked back at Vanessa who was snuffing out her cigarette in a random ashtray they placed around the house. She hopped off the counter, “I’m gonna head up. Unpack some shit and get to bed. See you at dawn.”

Danielle and Luis bid her goodnight and watched as she walked up the stairs. They waited until they heard her bedroom door close so she wouldn’t hear their conversation. When they heard the door close, Sarah and Timothy entered the kitchen, “We’re all thinking the same thing, right?” Timothy asked.

Danielle floated back down to the ground and nodded, “They’re her mates, she’s gonna need to spend time with them before we reveal ourselves.”

Sarah sat down at the table, “So we just make sure she takes a break when they come by and get her out for a bit.”

Luis took the rest of Vanessa’s drink, cradling it to his chest, “Let’s hope it works.”

Upstairs, oblivious to the conversation, Vanessa changed out of her clothing from the day, settling into her king bed with a white long sleeves button-up dress. In a way it looked like an oversized mens dress shirt.

Vanessa stared up at her ceiling in the darkness, sighing. She didn’t even touch her boxes like she said she would. All she wanted to do was sleep, calm down and start fresh tomorrow.

She rolled onto her side, hugging her pillow close to her. Tomorrow would be a new day, and she had hours to prepare herself before the night came. She smiled a little into her pillow. A bit of excitement blooming in her chest. Four mates… who would’ve thought?

Meanwhile, in the cave of a sunken hotel, David, Dwayne, Paul and Marko were having their own celebration. Hoots and hollers echoed through the cave, their laughter bouncing off of the walls and traveling down the maze of tunnels.

Star watched on from her spot in the main cave while Laddie was playing with whatever stuffed toys he had laying around. Star has never seen them so happy before. Even David wore a grin so big that it almost terrified her to know the reason for it.

The brunette female slipped behind her makeshift curtains that separated the cave from her area, giving her the privacy she needed. She didn’t want to know what the cause of their celebration was, so she distracted herself and played with Laddie.

“Vanessa.” Marko said aloud while running around the cave, following Dwayne. Marko thought it was a pretty name, it suited his mate very well.

“Vanessa.” Paul said it as well. Smoke from his joint flowing out of his mouth when he said the name. He could practically still feel her touch and it made him burst at the seams. He grinned, sitting on the fountain as he continued thinking about it.

Dwayne smiled, riding his skateboard and lightly pressed his hand to his chest. His skin still tingled from when Vanessa backed up into him. He skated past Paul, stealing away his joint which earned a “Hey!” from Paul. Dwayne just laughed, taking a hit.

David soon sat down in his wheelchair, leaning back with a grin, watching the boys enjoy themselves. He looked down at his hand; the hand that Vanessa kissed and traced his fingers over the spot.

She was cheeky, that was for sure. She didn’t easily give into David’s advances and gave him a challenge. A challenge that he was positive he was going to win.

Vanessa’s invitation repeated in his head over and over. Her and her friends were going to be in Santa Carla for a long time because of their shop and it gave them plenty of time to win her over.

“How long do you think we’ll have to wait?” Marko asked aloud, mostly to David as he hung from a stuck out piece of the ceiling above. Paul even stopped chasing Dwayne around to hear what David had to say.

“A few days, maybe a week. We’ll have to turn her friends too.” David said. It was obvious that they were close. All five of them moved together away from their home to open a store together. Vanessa wasn’t going to agree unless her friends joined too.

Paul jumped onto the fountain, somehow getting his joint back from Dwayne, “They seem cool.” He simply stated. The whole group were interesting characters and it would certainly add some more excitement into their lives.

His statement struck up a whole new conversation. Having their mate move into their home was no problem. It was just one more person. But having four more live with them as well would be a bit of a challenge. In a way, they welcomed the idea, but at the same time, how would they hide it from their sire?

“We don’t tell him.” David said, lighting his cigarette.

“David.” Dwayne warned. They couldn’t just not tell him about the group. Keeping something that big from him would more than likely end badly.

David looked over at Dwayne and sighed, blowing out some smoke. Dwayne was right. “We’ll let him know when Vanessa’s fully turned, but we don’t tell him about the others… at least for awhile.”

“But what if-” Marko tried to speak up, thinking the worst.

“He won’t do anything to her.” David interrupted him, knowing exactly what he was thinking. “You don’t mess with a vampires mate. No matter what.”

At least, that’s what David hoped.

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slippinmickeys · 4 years

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Five Seconds (4/8)

If you’d like to read at AO3, you may do so here.

June 4, 2018

Mulder stood in the kitchen wearing only sweatpants, the rented house quiet around him. Scully had headed to the local Meijer for supplies of every stripe, and both kids had leapt at the chance to go with her, a rare occurrence the last few years, but a clear result of forced low profile and cabin fever.

He was nursing a rare cup of caffeinated coffee and watching a black squirrel make a nuisance of itself on the residence’s sole backyard bird feeder. When his new cell phone rang, he answered it out of muscle memory.

“Hello?”

“Hello Fox,” said the person on the other end of the line, “aren’t you a sound for sore ears.”

It took him a moment to place the voice.

“Lauren,” he said after a moment, smiling into the receiver, “it’s good to hear from you, too. I take it you got the information I sent you?”

Mulder had had Frohike send her their contact information as they’d previously agreed, and he assumed this was the first of her planned unplanned check-ins.

“It was a little cloak and dagger, even for the District,” she said, and Mulder could hear her smile over the line.

“And I always thought you lived for the drama,” he said companionably.

“Well, I got to wear my best Carmen SanDiego hat, so I guess I can’t be mad.”

Mulder chuckled into the receiver.

“How’s it going?” Lauren asked, her tone shifting to one of sober inquiry.

“It’s going.”

“Dana okay?” her question was sincere, and Mulder marveled how time could change a person.

“She’s good,” he said, “healthy. All systems go. I’m sure she’d want me to send you her best.”

“And the kids? How are they handling it all?”

Mulder sighed.

Will was adjusting, but Lily was miserable. Lonely and bored, unable to talk to friends back home and without the specter and excitement of starting school in the fall. She’d even begged to be able to get a summer job, even as just a waitress at the local Bennigan’s, but Mulder didn’t like the idea of her being away from the house for hours at a time, and Scully wasn’t sold on their borrowed Social Security numbers passing an employment check.

“The kids are… okay.”

“Going that well, huh?” she asked.

“Lil is pretty miserable,” he admitted.

“Of course she’s miserable,” Lauren scolded him, “she’s 18 years old and stuck in a house with her well-meaning parents. She should be at the beach with friends getting day drunk on Bud Light-”

“-she would never-” Mulder interrupted, to which Lauren outright laughed in his ear.

“-I assure you, she already has!”

Mulder sighed again. “Aside from dropping her off at the lake and buying her a rack of shit beer, you got any ideas?”

“College boys in tight pants,” Lauren said.

“Excuse me?” Mulder asked, taken aback.

“Take the family to a football game Fox, you’re in a Big Ten town for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s not football season yet.”

“Just take her somewhere with a lot of people. And give her a little bit of freedom. And when it is football season?”

“Yeah?” Mulder asked.

“Take her to see the tight pants.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

September 3, 2018

It had been months and they started to relax, maybe a bit too much. They were alert, but comfortable. Maybe complacent, Mulder couldn't tell. All he knew was that if he kept the kids in the house for much longer, they'd kill each other and possibly him and Scully in the crossfire, and it would defeat the whole purpose of their hiding out. That said, all was quiet on the homefront -- Darlene and the Gunmen, and to a lesser extent, Doggett, Reyes and Skinner -- had heard nothing with their ears to the ground.

He and Scully had discussed it, and decided that they would let the kids out of the house. They allowed them to socialize occasionally, if they promised to be careful. Will had made a couple of friends around the neighborhood, playing roller hockey in their cul de sac, but Lily hadn't had as much luck, or as much motivation. She had been quiet and keeping mostly to herself, and come September, Mulder had decided to finally take Lauren's advice. They were going to a football game.

William was beside himself with excitement which made up for Lily's lack of enthusiasm. Scully had opted out of attending, citing her increasing need of accessible bathrooms and the inevitable long lines at ladies rooms in sports arenas.

They took the bus to the edge of the MSU campus -- the first time any of them had been on it since moving to the town several months before. There were people everywhere -- most dressed in the hometown colors of green and white, but a rare few -- looking as lost on campus as the Mulders themselves -- in the brown and gold of the visiting team.

Mulder had ducked into the student union to get a campus map, whereupon William insisted he buy all three of them something supporting the hometown team. Lily opted out, but William and Mulder walked out each in a brand new ball cap, the brims stiff and flat -- in addition, William was carrying a big foam finger emblazoned with the number 1 and the gruff face of Michigan State's Spartan mascot, Sparty.

"It's this way," Mulder said, consulting his map and pointing south, and they set off following streams of people headed toward the stadium which sat in the middle of campus.

The day was delightfully mild, and while the sun shone, there were fat clouds everywhere that would cover it as soon as you were at risk of overheating. There seemed to be tailgate parties set up at increasing concentrations the closer they got to the stadium, the air thick with the scent of grilling meat and tinny stereos playing the home school's fight song.

There were frat boys throwing a football back and forth every thirty or so feet, and crowds of coeds sipping beer from green Solo cups, hovering around games of corn hole and beer pong, laughing while they clung to each other like the last few Cheerios floating in a bowl of milk.

Mulder stole a glance at Lily, who looked at them wistfully. School had just started here at Michigan State and the week before at UVA, and Mulder could tell his daughter was fairly heartbroken about not being able to attend.

Mulder pulled up short and Lily and William both stopped several steps past him and turned to look at him expectantly.

"One sec," he said and walked over to a large tent wherein an alumni organization was selling hot dogs and brats to raise funds. He bought three bratwurst and a couple of sodas and walked them back to his kids, hands full and pockets overflowing with napkins and little packets of ketchup and mustard.

He nodded toward a low stone wall that ran along the length of one of the sidewalks and they all sat down and ate sloppily, ketchup plopping to the sidewalk that they leaned over so as not to spill on their clothes. William was of course done first and snapped open his soda, slurping from it happily.

"They call it pop here," he said, raising his can and giving his father a cheeky smirk.

"No one cares, Billy," Lily said, wiping her lips delicately with a napkin and setting the last quarter of the brat on the wall beside her. "I'm stuffed," she declared.

Will happily scarfed the rest of her sausage and Mulder was about to suggest they start moving again toward the stadium when a frisbee glided through the air and scuffed to the ground at their feet. Lily jumped off the wall and picked it up, looking around to find its owner, who was trotting toward them in droopy cargo shorts and an overlarge school shirt that said "I BLEED GREEN."

Mulder shook his head as Lily pulled back and winged it back toward the guy, sailing it in a perfect arc into his waiting hands.

The kid smiled at her, teeth and all.

"Nice arm!" the kid said, giving her one more charming look before trotting back toward his friends who were waiting further across the Diag that cut through the center of campus.

Mulder glanced at Lily who was wearing a small but fading smile.

He stood, balling up the napkin and sausage detritus. He turned to Lily impulsively.

"You want a beer?" he asked her.

She almost blanched and gave him a queer look.

"A beer?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, "you're a college kid now, no reason you shouldn't enjoy a cold one before a football game like all these other coeds."

Lily gave him a suspicious look just as Will piped up, "I want a beer."

"No," Mulder said, cutting off any complaints with a sharp look and then he walked over to a fraternity tent and talked for a moment to the kid that was manning the keg. After a few words, he handed over a few bills of cash and returned to his kids, handing Lily a dripping plastic cup.

He took a sip of his own cup and inclined his head at his daughter.

"Not the best," he said, while she took a tentative sip.

She smiled over the rim of the cup but kept her eyes on the ground.

"Tastes like college," she said, and Mulder couldn't help but smile.

XxX

"Hey Frisbee," Lily heard from several feet to her right.

She stood up from the drinking fountain in a nook of the stadium in between lavatories, and used her wrist to wipe her mouth dry.

The guy who lost his frisbee at her feet while they were eating before the game was standing only yards away, a small cocksure smile on his lips. Lily tilted her head at him.

"I thought that was you," he went on.

She nodded awkwardly and stepped away from the drinking fountain so the person behind her could drink.

"I think you're in the wrong stadium," he said, and when she looked at him in confusion, he smiled kindly and pointed at her shirt.

She'd donned a UVA sweatshirt for the game out of a sense of loyalty or rebellion (she wasn't sure which, if she were being honest) and she only realized when they stepped onto campus how much it actually made her stand out.

"This isn't the UVA game?" she said mock seriously, "God, I took a left heading into Charlottesville and I guess I should have taken a right." The comment earned her a chuckle and a genuine smile. "Guess the extra ten hours in the car should have been my first clue."

The guy took a few steps toward her and held out his hand.

"Travis," he said by way of introduction, and she shook his hand politely. It was warm in hers, and his grip was firm but brief.

"Lillian," Lily said, almost forgetting to introduce herself with her cover name.

"That's pretty," Travis said, and Lily could feel herself blushing, feeling awkward that it wasn't really her name. "So you go to UVA?"

She nodded. "Deferred for a semester while my folks moved here." Her father had told her to stick as close as she could to their actual stories when telling people their covers in order to keep it all straight.

"Cool," said Travis. They stood there awkwardly for a moment.

"I should get back to my seat," she said, "halftime's almost over."

People were streaming back into the seating areas, and she could hear the marching band keeping tempo as they marched off the field.

Travis shoved his hands into his pockets and for a moment looked slightly bashful.

"Yeah," he said, turning away and taking a few steps, before turning back. "Hey, you want to hang out sometime?"

Lily thought to herself that just about anything sounded better than having to spend one more night at home playing Hearts at the dining room table.

"Sure," she said, and Travis pulled out his phone and handed it to her.

She put in the number of the phone that Darlene had given her and felt only a little weird entering "Lillian" in the name box.

When she handed Travis back the phone, he used his other hand to lightly touch her arm.

"Hey, it was nice meeting you," he said.

"You too," she smiled and wandered back to her seat, trying very hard to keep a smile off her face.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"So..." Scully started, not sure how to broach the subject, other than just to spit it out, "Lily wants to know if she can go 'hang out with a guy.'"

She was sitting at the dining room table sipping on an iced tea, the dew of condensation slippery and cold on her fingertips. She was feeling pendulous and heavy, the high of the second trimester given way to the rolling agony of the third. Her husband, as she had suspected he would, looked suddenly aghast.

"She... what?"

"She got asked out, Mulder, and would like to know if it was okay with us if she went."

William came breezing through the kitchen then, opening up the fridge door and hanging in front of it, blankly staring at its contents, unimpressed.

"Pick something or don't, Will," Mulder said testily to his current youngest, "but please stop letting all the cold out of the fridge."

Will grabbed a soda and stood while the fridge door closed on its own behind him.

"That's Billy to you," he said, mocking insult, and made his way slowly out of the kitchen, staring at Mulder who affectionately reached out as he passed and messed his red curls into an orange soda froth on the top of his head.

"You need a haircut," Mulder said, and Will lifted his nose, shaking his hair out with dignified hauteur.

"So do you," the boy said and left the room.

Scully chuckled. "Don't take it out on him," she said.

Mulder shook himself and turned back to her.

"Take what out on him?"

"That your daughter is growing up and you're not ready. You look like you did the night she went to prom with Derek Smead."

Mulder looked completely affronted.

"He didn't even come to the house! He just had the limo honk and she ran out the door. You didn't get any pictures! Who does that? No self-respecting gentleman. I honestly still don't believe he's a real person."

Scully chuckled again. "And she left him at the dance after an hour and took the limo with five friends to the Sonic drive-in. She's got a good head on her shoulders, Mulder."

"I know she does."

"So what do you think? Is it safe to let her date?"

"I don't like it."

"I didn't ask if you liked it. I asked if you thought it was safe."

Mulder blew out a raspberry. Scully knew that he was thinking the same thing she was -- they'd let Will hang out with a few new friends so long as he was careful. Lily arguably had more common sense by nature of her age (and her gender, thought Scully). She would take precautions and employ the minimal tradecraft Mulder and Scully had taught her.

"What do you think?" Mulder asked her.

"I think she's 18 years old and we're lucky she even ran it by us. If she were away at school, she'd be making these decisions for herself."

Mulder's shoulders slumped.

"As long as she's careful," he finally said.

"I'll give her some condoms," Scully muttered, an offhand remark.

"Scully!" Mulder blanched.

"I just wanted to see the look on your face," Scully laughed.

Mulder shook his head and turned to walk out of the room.

Scully was still chuckling minutes later.

XxXxXxXxXxX

"Hey Frisbee," said a voice from behind her.

Lily turned to see Travis standing several feet away in the middle of the footbridge. He was wearing black flip flops, a pair of long khaki shorts and a navy blue polo shirt. His hair -- dark tousled waves, cut short but shaggy -- was poking in all directions out of a university ball cap, which, she was relieved to see, was pristinely white without a yellowing band of sweat or scuzz. His face looked freshly shaved and he was smiling.

"Hey yourself," she said, and took a step toward him.

He reached into his pocket as she approached and pulled out a ziplock sandwich bag, filled with a gritty grey substance. She took it with some hesitation.

"Is this... a bag of oatmeal?" she asked.

He colored and put both hands up.

"Okay, so: I was going to bring your flowers, but then I thought you know what would be cute? Flour . So I went to our pantry and I'm looking at this giant bag of flour and I'm like what the hell is she going to do with a giant bag of flour? And then I saw the oatmeal and thought -- well, we're meeting on the footbridge, we could feed the ducks! ...So I brought you oatmeal. Bread is bad for ducks."

Despite the lengthy diatribe, Lily laughed. "It was nice of you to think of the ducks," she said.

"Well," he said, and walked with her to the railing of the footbridge, which crossed the Red Cedar River. "The bag itself is multipurpose. If you think it'd be fun, I thought we could rent a canoe later and go down the river?"

"What does that have to do with the bag?" she asked, leaning over the railing and looking down into the tannin-tinted water. A cluster of ducks, trained to anticipate food, swam quickly toward them.

"We can put our phones in it," he said, leaning into her shoulder a little. "I myself have been through the gauntlet of canoe training at Camp Quitcherbitchin as a young lad, but you're an unknown quantity, Frisbee. What if you dunk us? I aim to save our electronics."

Lily laughed again, charmed despite herself. She opened the baggie and threw a handful of oats to the waiting ducks below, which scurried as fast as they could swim for the feast. Lily offered Travis some, and he took a handful and cast it out. They fed the ducks for a minute or so of comfortable silence.

Finally, Lily asked: "Camp Quitcherbitchin?"

Travis smiled.

"Sleep-away summer camp up north. I went every year. It's actually called Camp Nageesh, but some of the counselors were somewhat less than tolerant of complaints, so the campers called it Quitcherbitchin.”

Lily chuckled. "Canoes, huh?"

"Plus sailboats, swimming and archery. I refuse to divulge which I have a higher level of competency in, in case you're some kind of polymath with a competitive bent."

"You aren't one of those guys who can't stand it when a girl is better than you at something, are you?" Lily asked.

“Are you a polymath with a competitive bent?” Travis grabbed another handful of oatmeal and threw it toward a mother with a brood of ducklings that were having trouble getting into the mix.

“I’ve got some game,” Lily said, arching an eyebrow that would have made her mother proud.

"In that case," he said, turning toward her. His eyes were a mossy green, like her father's. He gave her a small smile, “I look forward to being outmatched."

"Well," said Lily, intrigued. She scattered out the last bit of oatmeal and, blowing some of the grit from the bag, put her phone into it and handed it to Travis for him to do the same. "Let's see what you're made of, Paddles."

XxX

"We seem to be drifting a bit to starboard," Lily called over her shoulder. Travis had taken the backseat ("Do you mind if I steer?" he'd asked). They'd managed to board and push off okay -- the bored-looking livery attendant having given them minimal instruction, but held the craft as they both lifted themselves gingerly aboard.

"I'm aware of that," said Travis, his voice a little tense for the first time.

"You said you were steering," she teased him. They were rapidly making for the opposite shore of the river, the canoe swinging sideways with the current.

"I'm aware of that too," he said back, and then a moment later, she felt the canoe sway radically, followed by a splash. She grabbed the side of the craft for dear life and then swung her head to look behind her. Travis had jumped out of the canoe and was now holding it by the triangle at the stern with one hand, paddle in the other; halting their momentum, which had been about to take them into a bramble of cedar branches hanging low over the water.

"Oh my god!" Lily squeaked. "Are you okay? Did you fall?"

"I jumped," Travis said, "If you headed home with a rat's nest of cedar sprays in your hair, you might not go out with me again."

"And they say chivalry is dead," Lily said, setting her oar down on the bottom of the canoe.

"Will you go out with me again?" Travis said hopefully, and the smile he flashed her made her want to say yes, but instead she teased:

"Too early to make that call."

"This water is really cold, Lillian," he said, and turned, pulling the canoe behind him into the water upstream and back toward the livery.

"It looks it," Lily said. "If I do go out with you again, let's stick with something land-based, huh?"

Travis threw a grin at her and kept trudging, clearly trying his best to keep the craft steady so she didn't fall in herself. She checked her pockets briefly for their phones, which she'd offered to hold on to, and watched him. The river was relatively shallow -- he was a tall guy and the water was only soaking the cuff of his shorts.

"Your parents should call Camp Quitcherbitchin and get their money back, Travis," she said, canting her face up to the sun and closing her eyes briefly. She shrieked when the canoe suddenly lurched to one side. She grabbed the side and looked at her date, who had stopped and was wearing a mischievous grin. He was still wearing the dorky orange life jacket that they'd been required to don, and the whole situation made Lily start laughing.

"Laugh it up, fuzzball," Travis said, turning again to continue the trudge back to base. "I'll have you know that I learned how to canoe on a lake. I forgot to account for one variable."

"The current?" Lily asked.

"The current," he admitted.

They made it back to shore and he helped her out of the canoe, explaining to the still benumbed livery worker that they wouldn't be back, but still throwing a soggy five dollar bill in the tip jar. After retrieving his flip flops from the bottom of the small boat, he offered to take Lily to the campus Dairy Store for ice cream.

"Your campus has a Dairy Store?" she asked him curiously.

"This is Moo U, Lillian," he explained, steering her a few blocks from the river to a large brick building beyond the main engineering hall. "This street is Farm Lane. We have cattle."

Once inside they reviewed the offerings, and Lily noticed that they had a flavor for every university in the Big Ten conference -- even their arch rivals. About which he announced, "I'll buy you anything but the Maize & Blueberry. I like you, but even I have my limits."

Once they had their cones (she with Boilermaker Brownie and he with Hoosier Daddy ("basically strawberry," he explained)), they settled onto a picnic table in the shade.

"So," Travis said, licking a drop that had melted onto his knuckle, "why'd you end up deferring this semester?"

Lily swallowed the bite in her mouth without chewing. They had prepared cover stories but she hadn't yet needed to use hers. Stick with the truth as much as you can , said her father's voice.

"My dad got a job here and my mom is pregnant. She was on bedrest for a while and needed help."

Travis was looking at her expectantly, clearly waiting for her to elaborate, but she didn't -- continuing to nervously lick her cone. After a long moment of waiting, he kindly plowed ahead, asking her about her major and telling her about his. He was a sophomore, from a town in the northern part of the state, and she found him inherently easy to talk to and interesting, and wondered, idly, if that was because he really was interesting or if she were just starved for company and attention.

When they finished up, they threw away their napkins in a nearby trash can and stood looking at each other, only a little awkwardly.

“So... “ Travis started, “still too early to make the call?”

She smiled, remembering what she’d told him in the canoe about going out with him again. “I like your chances.”

He smiled back and she felt a little thrill. “Lillian, will you go out with me again?” he asked.

“Dry land stuff?”

“The driest.”

“In that case, yes.”

She was still feeling the soft kiss he'd given her cheek hours later as she sat around the dining room table, fielding invasive questions from her father and trying to avoid her mother’s eye.

#MSR #AU #Sequel #Of the Eight Winds #X-Files #Fanfic #My fic

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askwenjing · 3 years

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[ROTG] Cruel Summer

Written for @rotg-hope-week. 2223 words.

Prompt: Summer

Pairing: Blackice - Jack Frost/Pitch

Setting: human!au, modern!au

Notes: This is the first time I made a ROTG human!au and modern!au fanfic. If the conversations feel weird I do apologize - I am not good in writing social interactions (I am bad at interacting with others) but I have tried my best!

I do not own Rise of the Guardians and the song Cruel Summer. Rise of the Guardians belongs to Dreamworks and Cruel Summer belongs to Taylor Swift.

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Jack hated summer.

Most people would love to catch the warm rays of the sun and to have more fun during the extended daylight. Jack understood that.

Jack’s friends loved summer too.

North would carry out his outdoor activities like hiking as long as the sun was up. He loved exploring and he wanted to see the wonder in everything.

Bunnymund loved the sight of greenery in summer. Besides, longer days meant that he could work on his garden longer, and summer rain would help his plants to grow better.

Tooth would leave the town to go for birdwatching. She loved to be surrounded by nature, and hear the birds chirping. It was the only time she could properly destress herself.

Sandy took this opportunity to take some naps outdoors. He would sleep on a hammock as the summer breezes swayed it gently, allowing him to fall asleep easily.

But Jack. Jack could not stand the summer heat.

Jack always felt like he was melting. He needed to blast air conditioning in full force when he was in his house. He only went out to the beach, the swimming pool or the fountain to cool down. He would buy plenty of cold drinks and ice cream to satisfy himself with the cold feeling.

Jack preferred to go out at summer night. The temperature was at least cooler and more bearable for him. He would go to bars to relax and listen to music. He was usually by himself and he rarely talked to others. He just observed other people.

Jack thought this summer was going to be like every summer he had in the past – alone under the gruelling heat – as what he would describe as a “cruel summer”. He was proven wrong when he caught a glimpse of a man in a black suit sitting next to him at the bar.

Jack was amused that someone could wear a suit and still survive under the hot season. “Still wearing that suit under the summer heat?” he asked the man in a playful way.

“Says the one who won’t retire the hoodie from their closet,” the man replied with a smug smile.

Jack knew that he had lost. He was still wearing his favourite blue hoodie and he was unwilling to change it no matter what season it was. “Okay, you win,” he said sheepishly.

The man let out a small chuckle. “Nice try, young man. But I never lose in a sass battle,” he stated proudly.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Jack replied confidently and pulled out a mischievous smile. He loved challenges.

“My name is Jack,” he introduced himself.

“Pitch Black. But you can call me Pitch,” the man introduced himself.

Since their first meeting, Jack and Pitch had been hanging out in bars, and occasionally at parks during nighttime. Jack was glad to find someone who hated the summer like him. Besides, Jack never knew that Pitch could be so much fun. Even though he was a sophisticated gentleman who lived in a mansion on the outskirts of town, he sure knew how to make Jack laugh with his sassy attitude and sarcastic remarks. They constantly had back-to-back banters and they all ended in laughs.

At times, though, Pitch would make some moves on Jack when they were both alone. He would gently grab Jack’s chin and close the distance between them slightly as he whispered to the young man. When they walked, he would ask Jack whether he could hold his hand. Jack did not mind his physical acts. In fact, he liked them.

The longer they interacted, the more they uncovered their true selves. Jack could relate to Pitch’s loneliness and his desire for some company. After all, he was a man who had so much riches and knowledge, yet he had no friends and family. Jack had left his family to live by himself after graduating high school. Although he had North, Bunny, Tooth and Sandy as his friends, they were constantly busy in their works. Jack did not want to disturb them, so he went off to do things alone.

Jack and Pitch did appreciate each other’s company. Though, Jack wanted more than this. He wondered whether Pitch felt the same as well. He wondered who would make the first move – him or Pitch. He also wondered what moves Pitch would make next.

Jack was overwhelmed by his thoughts that he was unaware that he had been drinking too much. Eventually he became drunk and Pitch was quick to notice it. Pitch sighed and he carried Jack to his car. He placed him at the back seat of the car and fastened the seatbelt for him. He then proceeded to drive Jack back to his house.

As Pitch was driving, Jack started to cry. Pitch began to worry about him, but he also believed that it could be the effect of alcohol on Jack. Once he reached Jack’s house, he carried him to his room and carefully placed him on the bed.

“Are you okay, Jack?” Pitch asked him. He wanted to make sure that he was fine before he left.

“Y-Yeah… I’m fine…” Jack answered groggily.

“Just… call me when you have rested well,” Pitch said as he ruffled his messy white hair. “Goodnight, Jack.”

“Mmm… goodnight… Pitch…” Jack replied, still feeling tipsy.

Pitch smiled and left a small kiss on his forehead. Jack was taken by surprise. Before he could react, Pitch had left, and exhaustion took over him.

A few hours later, Jack woke up in the middle of the night. His body was heating up. He was sweating and he had a headache. He felt uncomfortable. He quickly took off his hoodie and opened the windows to get some fresh air.

He lied down on his bed, trying to recall what happened when he was drunk. He could briefly remember Pitch asking him whether he was okay, and that he should call him after waking up. Though, the one thing that he remembered most was the kiss on the forehead. He blushed at the thought of it.

As his headache subsided, Jack grabbed his phone from his trousers and dialled Pitch’s number. He hoped that Pitch had not gone to sleep yet.

“Hello?” Pitch answered the call.

“Hey, Pitch,” Jack replied with a small smile. “Just letting you know that I am okay now.”

“That’s a relief,” Pitch said, and Jack swore that he could imagine him smiling on the other side.

“Haha, yeah,” Jack blurted out and chuckled.

There was an awkward silence.

“Uhm… Pitch-”

“I think you should rest, Jack. You may have a hangover later.”

Jack was saddened to hear that. Even though Pitch was right, he wanted to hang out with him more.

“It’s okay, Jack. We still have plenty of time together once you completely recover. I will be at my mansion today, and if you need anything, you can just call me.”

Jack let out a long sigh. Pitch was right, and there was nothing he could do about it. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Pitch let out a small chuckle. “Well, take care, Jack.”

“I will. Bye.”

Once the phone call ended, Jack let himself fall onto his bed. He groaned at the thought that he failed to ask Pitch about the forehead kiss. Though, as he started thinking about the phone conversation earlier, Jack was certain that he had feelings for Pitch, and that Pitch had feelings for him too.

He needed him, and he needed more of him.

Fever dream high in the quiet of the night

You know that I caught it (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it)

Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price

You know that I bought it (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it)

Killing me slow, out the window

I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

What doesn't kill me makes me want you more

All his unfulfilled desires were torturing him. It felt like a cruel summer to him.

And it's new, the shape of your body

It's blue, the feeling I've got

And it's ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

It's cool, that's what I tell 'em

No rules in breakable heaven

But ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

With you

Jack continued to rest even after the sun had risen. He wanted to make sure that he was completely fine if he wanted to see Pitch late at night. He wanted to tell him about his true feelings. Although Pitch would advise him to do so by phone, Jack felt that it would be more genuine to tell him personally.

As night fell, Jack went out and he had his hood covering most of his face. He took a brief stop at a vending machine that was on his path to Pitch’s mansion. He brought a bar of chocolate and a can of soda from it. He remembered hanging out with Pitch right here, where they joked about screwing up their relationship.

Hang your head low in the glow of the vending machine

I'm not dying (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it)

We say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times

We're not trying (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it)

So cut the headlights, summer's a knife

I'm always waiting for you just to cut to the bone

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

And if I bleed, you'll be the last to know

Looking back at the memory, Jack hoped that their relationship would last. Besides, they had to keep their relationship a secret. After all, many people, including Jack’s friends would find it weird that a gentleman like Pitch was dating a young boy still in college.

Oh, it's new, the shape of your body

It's blue, the feeling I've got

And it's ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

It's cool, that's what I tell 'em

No rules in breakable heaven

But ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

With you

Jack wanted Pitch to know everything about him, and he wanted to know everything about Pitch as well. He no longer wanted to hide secrets just because he was afraid of sabotaging their relationship.

I'm drunk in the back of the car

And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar (Oh)

Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true

I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

Jack arrived at Pitch’s mansion. Pitch had brought him here a few times, so he knew his ways around the place. He found a gate that would lead him to the garden, and he snuck in. He hoped to find Pitch there and confess to him.

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate (Oh)

Jack found Pitch was enjoying his tea in the gazebo. He came out of the bushes to face him.

“Jack, what are you doing here?” Pitch was shocked to see him.

Jack took the hood off. “Pitch, there’s something I have been dying to tell you,” he said, and Pitch listened.

And I scream, "For whatever it's worth

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"

Jack looked down to the ground. He did not know how Pitch would react to his confession. Suddenly, he felt a finger on his chin, and his face was lifted to meet Pitch’s. Jack could feel his cheeks heating up as he saw Pitch’s devilish grin. From there he knew that Pitch felt the same as he did.

He looks up, grinning like a devil

Months passed. The weather was turning cool and the leaves were turning colour. Jack and Pitch were in Pitch’s car, enjoying the view of the town from the top of a hill. Pitch had his arm wrapped around Jack’s shoulder, and they felt contented. They had so much fun this summer. They tried out many activities like swimming and surfing at night, stargazing, having a barbeque at Pitch’s garden, and making cocktails. Furthermore, their relationship had become more intimate since the confession, and they were more comfortable to give each other physical and emotional affection. They had made many wonderful memories this summer.

It's new, the shape of your body

It's blue, the feeling I've got

And it's ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

It's cool, that's what I tell 'em

No rules in breakable heaven

But ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

With you

“Hey, Pitch. Do you think that my confession is the worst thing you ever heard?” Jack jokingly asked him.

I'm drunk in the back of the car

And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar (Oh)

Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true

I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate (Oh)

And I scream, "For whatever it's worth

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"

“No,” Pitch answered. “In fact, it is the best thing I have ever heard.”

They smiled and shared a kiss.

It turned out to be their best summer yet.

#rise of the guardians #rotg #fanfiction #fanfic #rotghopeweek2021

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homosociallyyours · 4 years

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@ha-larry-us and @livqueer tagged me to do this! Here we go :)

1. what is the colour of your hairbrush? light amber wood color

2. a food you never eat? beets, tho i keep trying

3. are you typically too warm or too cold? neither, usually my body regulates temp well. but being sick that’s a little different and i never know if i’ll be shivering or having a hot flash

4. what were you doing 45 minutes ago? going back and forth between instagram and tumblr

5. what is your favourite candy bar? uhh maybe a snickers or a 100 grand bar

6. have you ever been to a professional sports event? i went to the Oakland A’s gay day a few years ago with co-workers. It was really fun!! but i could never attend a serious sports event to cheer for a winning team.

7. what is the last thing you said out loud? "come on, ding dong, you can do it” --said to my dog who was hesitating jumping down off the chair where she’d sat while i washed my dishes

8. what is your favourite ice cream? McConnell’s salted caramel and chocolate flake. or anything that’s a mascarpone or goat cheese base. yum.

9. what was the last thing you had to drink? decaf yorkshire with milk

10. do you like your wallet? YES! i have a scarf that has a secret pocket in it! it holds cards and other small essentials and it’s very sneaky.

11. what was the last thing you ate? granola with milk

12. did you buy any new clothes last weekend? nah bruh i haven’t bought new clothes in ages!

13. the last sporting event you watched? i watched the last season of GLOW when it came out. that’s as close as i get.

14. what is your favourite flavour of popcorn? chicago mix babyyyy! cheddar and caramel together at last.

15. who is the last person you sent a text message to? my housemate, it was the landlord’s contact info

16. ever go camping? YES, and i miss it!! i used to camp regularly and really love my pseudo-glamping life: cooler full of good food, a double high air mattress, and a tent that allows you to stand up in the center (to change clothes). i haven’t gone since coming to california, which is a total bummer.

17. do you take vitamins? yes, vit. D and fish oil daily, ideally i would have a good multi, PS, and maybe a couple other things, but i can’t afford them all right now. my minimum is a D though, since yr body really does NOT get it from sun exposure. i know it sounds silly but vitamins are basically the concrete you pour in a hole to stabilize a beam (yr food). they’re very good and they help a lot!

18. do you go to church every sunday? NO, thank goodness! i even stopped having to go with my family when i visit them.

19. do you have a tan? no, and i rarely do. SPF all the way.

20. do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? pizza please

21. do you drink your soda with a straw? only fountain sodas with ice

22. what colour socks do you usually wear? bright/mixed colors

23. do you ever drive above the speed limit? occasionally, but i’m pretty careful and definitely don’t do it in residential areas.

24. what terrifies you? zombies (seriously) and loss/lack of control of myself

25. look to your left, what do you see? the side of the couch and the blank wall.

26. what chore do you hate? doing the dishes

27. what do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? the crocodile hunter

28. what’s your favourite soda? cherry coke or dublin dr. pepper (the cane sugar kind made in texas) orrrr cheerwine

29. do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? i drive thru everywhere except in-n-out, where it often takes less time to walk in.

30. who’s the last person you talked to? my housemate and i had a little conversation, but i messaged with my bff earlier and that was a real conversation.

31. favourite cut of beef? umm i really like cooking a ny strip, but i don’t necessarily have a favorite

32. last song you listened to? "fancy” as sung by bobbie gentry bc instagram didn’t have the reba version. WHICH IS UNACCEPTABLE, just so you know.

33. last book you read? my friends, i have a confession. i haven’t read an actual book in ages. i used to read A LOT and then when i got sick it was like my brain said NO THANK YOU and i just stopped. i still read loads, it’s just mostly fic or articles. that being said, i just finished i must admit i thought i’d like to make you mine by @disgruntledkittenface and it was EXCELLENT.

34. favourite day of the week? Thursdays. like for as long as i can remember. it was hamburger day when i was a kid, and now it’s thursday hersday. and of course it was must see tv night all thru my adolescence.

35. can you say the alphabet backwards? i mean i probably could but why would i want to?

36. how do you like your coffee? with whole milk (and if i’m doing it myself, a little cinnamon, a pinch of salt, and a pinch of sugar)

37. favourite pair of shoes? my dog face flats (they’re bob’s for dogs, you can maybe google them) even tho they are really worn out now

38. at what time do you normally go to bed? between 4-7am. i am a cryptid, please do not look at me

39. at what time do you normally get up? between 2-5pm, again i beg you to look away and judge me not

40. what do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? sunsets!! (SAME!!)

41. how many blankets are on your bed? 4 right now. 2 super soft, 1 electric, and 1 duvet/comforter.

42. describe your kitchen plates? the classic 70s/80s unbreakable plates, some with the gold flowers around the rim and some with the tiny olive green ones. truly i think i have only seen a plate like this break once in my entire life. i bought these at a store in nyc (i definitely overpaid BUT it was still like $20 for 6 or 8 plates that will never break)

43. do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage? a properly made sidecar is HEAVEN, ok? so good!! but you gotta use good brandy and fresh lemons and i would get one if i could go back to my fave nyc bar and have pietro (a very good bartender) make me one. but really the thing that i will always want and have difficulty turning down is champagne/sparkling wine in the style of champagne.

44. do you play cards? yes! i used to play all the time with my ex. don’t so much any more but i still love it when i get to!

45. what colour is your car? dark orange

46. can you change a tire? YES!! @ha-larry-us when the quarantine is done I will show you!! it really isn’t too hard unless your bolts are on super tight.

47. what is your favourite state/province? California, i think. though part of me wants to name a southern state because I was born there and the mountains feel like home.

48. favourite job you’ve ever had? the one i currently have but am physically unable to work at right now-- cheesemonger at a worker owned grocery store

49. how did you get your biggest scar? i was borrowing stage makeup from a friend in another dorm before our choir performance. the door was usually propped open, and so when i left the building i sorta jogged down the steps and pushed really hard on the door with my momentum. it was NOT propped open, and I put my right arm through the glass (and knocked out two more panes with my knee and foot). the RA was training to be an EMT and helped me get cleaned up. I didn’t get stitches, but the scar is very long (maybe 3 inches). the best part of the story is that i went to make sure the choir director knew i wasn’t performing but would sit in the audience, and her response was “we don’t have time to give you sympathy.” she was having a rough year but DAMN that was an ice cold response to an injured 18 year old.

50. what did you do today that made someone else happy? hmm probably just chatting with my bff. that makes both of us happy, always.

IDK WHO TO TAG!!! who is the sort of person to answer 50 random questions?? @alienfuckeronmain maybe? how about @slowdownsugar? hmm maybe @crinkle-eyed-boo and uhh @pompomoffinland. And you, friend!! YOU who is sitting there really wishing you were tagged, I am definitely tagging you!!

#about me #50 questions #text post #long post #alcohol mention #injury mention #this took me back to the old livejournal days

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seagreen-meets-grey · 5 years

Text

When Lightning Strikes Ch. 1

When your life is nothing but a cloudless sky, lightning can come and strike you so unexpectedly, you won't even know what hit you.

Or: When Hiccup and Astrid meet, it is as if lightning strikes.

[Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8] [Chapter 9] [Chapter 10] [Chapter 11] [Chapter 12] [Chapter 13] [Chapter 14] [Chapter 15] [Chapter 16] [Chapter 17] [Chapter 18] [Chapter 19] [Chapter 20]

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net

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- Part 1 -

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Astrid really should have seen this coming.

Her boyfriend had been acting weird all day, throwing her strange looks, dropping his coffee mug, nervously wringing his hands while asking her if she wanted to go out for dinner tonight. She’d had no plans – which she realized later had been planned by him all along – so she agreed to go.

Eret took her to a very nice restaurant in a part of town she’d only rarely been to before. It was so fancy it had valet parking, two well-dressed young men opening the doors for them when they went inside, soft piano tunes played live by a pianist sitting at the grandest piano she had ever seen, and several different sets of cutlery she struggled to connect to their respective uses.

Astrid almost felt underdressed in her simple skirt and blouse, but Eret kept reassuring her that she looked beautiful.

“I just wanted to go somewhere special with you, love,” he simply said when she asked him why they hadn’t just gone for burgers like they usually did, and ordered the best champagne the restaurant offered. Really, Astrid was later surprised she didn’t make the connection immediately, almost expecting something golden flashing at her from the bottom of her delicate champagne glass.

After dinner, they strolled through the small park behind the restaurant, arms linked and making fun of the various guests that had been dining around them, more upper class than either of them would ever experience. Astrid blinked into the setting sun; gone was her brief frustration with her boyfriend when he’d refused to let her pay at least a quarter of the massive bill.

When they reached an impressive fountain surrounded by torches, the flames reflecting in the crystal-clear water, Eret suddenly cleared his throat. Momentarily distracted by the beautiful lights, Astrid almost missed him starting a long speech about how happy she made him, how much he loved falling asleep next to her, only to look forward to waking up to her pretty face in the morning. He went on reminiscing about the adventures they’d had together during the course of their relationship, about the way her punches filled him with life, and how he had realized she was the love of his life and he wanted to spend the rest of it together with her.

When he proceeded to fall on one knee, it was almost too much for Astrid. This entire night had been romantic, a bit too romantic for her taste, drawing the picture of the perfect proposal. And when he fished a black velvet box out of his jacket, opened it and asked the question, the light from the torches caught in the small golden band he was presenting her, completing the picture.

Her answer was only logical. Despite the circumstances of this act not really being her style, she still felt elated, and the answer felt just right to her. She and Eret had been together for a few years now, had lived together for most of them, and she couldn’t find a reason for ever breaking up with him. So she broke into a wide grin and nodded.

“Is that a yes?”

Astrid kept nodding. “Yes!”

Eret swooped her up in his arms and kissed her passionately before sliding the ring on her finger. It sat a little loose on her skin but not so loose that she had to worry it could slip over the joint.

Although Astrid would have been totally fine if the ring had ended up in a glass of soda while they were watching a movie at home, Astrid was happy, and very much so. Nothing could throw a dent in her elated state.

Until two weeks later, thunder started rolling through the sky.

_______________

The sun shining through the bathroom window was warming Astrid’s face as she brushed her hair and put it into a loose braid over her shoulder. Adding a little touch of make-up, she smiled at herself in the mirror. Her mother was right, she had a certain glow about her. Post-engagement-pre-married glow, she called it.

A few days ago, Eret and she had started going through their calendars to agree on a date for the wedding, and the more they talked about it, the more excited Astrid felt. Her friends had asked her if she wasn’t nervous, but she figured that would come later in the planning phase, closer to the actual wedding. These days, she was constantly smiling. Eret said it was almost creepy.

She swatted at Eret when he gave her a kiss on the cheek, almost ruining her make-up, as they left their apartment not much later. Leaving their cars at home, they started the ten-minute walk to the next bus station since they anticipated that they would both be legally and physically unable to drive at some point of the night. Dagur, a friend of Eret’s, was having a party for his 30th birthday, and if Dagur “The Deranged” was throwing a party, no one would leave still able to operate a vehicle.

About half-way to the station, dark, thick clouds gradually began to cover up the sky above them, slowly building a wall between the sun and the earth. A fresh breeze took up but Astrid wasn’t cold. It felt rather liberating, the air charged with electricity, the heat of the afternoon gone. She took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of rain and storms. She hadn’t realized the weight the summer heat had put on her shoulders, her head, her chest. New energy ran through her and she skipped a few steps ahead, smile widening.

“What’s got you so excited?” Eret chuckled when she twirled back around to face him.

Walking backwards, she briefly considered explaining how the brooding thunderstorm above them filled her with anticipation, charged her nerves with a thousand volts, made her heart beat faster at the promise of a heavy downpour. But then she simply shrugged and turned back around so she didn’t bump into a parking car or a traffic sign. “I’m just ready to party.”

“I’m gonna tell Dagur you said that.”

“Oh, please do. I still need to get back at him for stealing my last bottle of tequila.”

“I’m looking forward to holding your hair while you puke your guts out tonight.”

Without looking, Astrid gave her fiancé the bird over her shoulder, earning herself a hearty chuckle.

On their drive to Dagur’s house, Astrid felt the air charge with voltage more and more the closer they came to their destination, almost to the point where the anticipation became unbearable. But when they exited the bus and a cool gust of wind blew a few strands of hair out of her braid, the strange feeling gave way to her former excitement and she was the first at the door.

A young woman about Astrid’s age with long black hair let them in and introduced herself as Dagur’s sister. She led them through an already buzzing crowd of people into what under normal circumstances seemed to be a living room. Plastic cups, bowls of snacks and bottles of various beverages, mostly alcoholic, were covering almost every surface. A huge stereo was playing loud beats with a bass so powerful Astrid felt it vibrate deep in her chest, sending waves of electric tingles through her body.

Looking around, she didn’t recognize anyone. Eret knew Dagur from college, back when he and Astrid had first started dating, but everyone else she remembered from that period wasn’t here. So while Eret went to get them drinks, Astrid turned towards Dagur’s sister who was still standing nearby.

“Heather, was it?” She had to shout over the music for her words to reach the other girl.

“Yes, and you must be Astrid. Dagur told me about you.”

Astrid glanced around at the mention of him. “Where’s the birthday boy, anyway?”

Heather pursed her lips and shrugged. “That is a good question. Chances are high he’s either fighting a pack of wolves in the garden or outdrinking rivals somewhere else in the house.”

Astrid chuckled. That sounded like Dagur. Biting her lip, she tried to think of something else to talk to Heather about. For a moment, she felt awkward standing there in the middle of the room with Dagur’s sister, without any connection to her or anyone else around her. She was glad when Eret returned and handed her a drink. While she took a long sip, feeling the alcohol run down her throat, she heard the first roll of thunder in the sky.

“I think the storm is about to start,” she chimed in when she noticed that Eret had momentarily run out of conversational topics. Both Eret and Heather looked at her confused.

“Storm?” Heather asked and turned to look outside. “Oh, right. Looks like rain.”

“Didn’t you just hear the thunder? It was pretty loud,” Astrid said, realizing she was yelling so as to be heard over the music.

“Couldn’t hear anything,” Eret said, talking close to her ear. “Maybe we should turn down the music a notch or else I won’t be able to either hear or talk anymore in an hour.”

“What did you say?” Heather yelled back.

While Eret repeated his suggestion, Astrid frowned to herself. How had she heard the thunder, anyway? She figured she must have imagined it. She still felt the electricity in the air, in her veins, a strange tug in her stomach, resembling the feeling of stopping on a rollercoaster hill right before the drop. Gulping down more of her drink, she felt her heartbeat speed up.

Suddenly, something tugged at the field of her vision and made her turn her head. In an instant, all the energy that had been building inside her for the past hour or two discharged at once. It made the hairs on her arms stand up, her toes and the tips of her fingers went numb, her stomach dropped out and the breath caught in her throat.

Her eyes locked with green.

And lightning struck.

_______________

It wasn’t long after the first guests had arrived that the party was in full swing. Dagur was walking around with a bottle of vodka, constantly pouring some into people’s cups. His typical manic laughter could be heard through the whole house, even when someone decided to find out Dagur’s stereo’s full capability in terms of volume.

Slowly sipping at his drink, Hiccup did his best to avoid the crazy man. He knew that if he let Dagur be in charge of his alcohol consumption, he’d be dead in a ditch by midnight. Instead, he kept observing his surroundings, drawing a map of the house in his mind, highlighting all the different escape routes. Whenever he heard the sound of Dagur’s voice or saw people subtly shuffling out of the man’s field of vision when they saw him approach with his bottle of hellish liquid, he called up his imaginary map and disappeared down the next emergency exit.

Several times during his continued run from Dagur, Hiccup passed the glass door that led into the garden. But whenever he stuck out his hand to the handle, something held him back, something in the depths of his mind, or heart, or soul, he couldn’t quite decipher it. Glancing up at the sky, he figured it was some kind of weather sense telling him it was about to rain cats and dogs that made him draw back. For some reason, he felt that inside the house was where he was supposed to be right now.

That didn’t help him, though, when in an unwary moment, Dagur laid eyes on him. “Hiccup, brother!”

“Oh, shit,” Hiccup cursed under his breath and spun around, frantically searching for the next best escape and spotting the open door to the garden. Ignoring Dagur’s calls, he made a beeline for the exit, slipping out into the cool evening air that tasted of ozone and was filled with something, something unidentifiable. A few groups of people were gathered in different corners of the porch and the large lawn. Hiccup briefly considered running off into the adjacent woods, but a large hand on his shoulder made that plan evaporate into thin air.

“Brother! You can’t hide from me forever, man,” Dagur said and chuckled when Hiccup tried to stop himself from grimacing. “Watcha got in there?” He laid an arm around Hiccup’s shoulders and peeked into his cup. He smelled of weed.

Hiccup held his drink out of reach for Dagur so he couldn’t easily fill it up with vodka. Dagur didn’t seem to notice.

“You and I, brother Hiccup, we need to down some shots. I haven’t hung out with you all night.” His words didn’t indicate it but his slightly swaying movements showed that he’d had lots of those already. Hiccup tried to get out of Dagur’s headlock but his grip was too strong, so he couldn’t do anything but let the bigger man lead him to one of the foldable bar tables that were standing around the garden.

As soon as Hiccup put his cup on the table, Dagur poured a generous amount of vodka into it. Hiccup sighed in defeat and took a careful sip, regretting every decision he ever made that led him to this day. The alcohol burned in his throat and he recoiled at the taste of almost pure vodka. He wasn’t made for this.

Dagur babbled on about everything and nothing while Hiccup swallowed and perked up at the sudden urge to run back inside. Although the air out here was nice and fresh and he could feel the first drops of rain on his skin, something tugging on the insides of his gut wanted him inside where the air was surely hot and stuffy. Taking a deep breath, Hiccup took one more sip of his drink and shook his head, grimacing again.

“Hey, Dagur, um, brother,” he started, interrupting what sounded like the story of how Dagur lost his v-card, “I’m just gonna head inside, to… To use the bathroom. Yes, bathroom.” And without waiting for an answer, he darted away from the death trap of a man, leaving his cup behind and heading back inside.

He’d guessed right, the air inside the house was awful, full of condensed sweat and alcohol and lacking the appropriate amount of oxygen. He felt the need to open all the windows. He couldn’t be the only one not enjoying this.

Before Dagur could try and follow him, he fled to the other side of the house, bumping into several drunk people on the way. A brief check of his watch confirmed what he’d expected of one of Dagur’s parties: that most people were already drunk long before midnight.

Arriving at the point of the house furthest from Dagur, Hiccup leaned against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. But this pressing feeling in his gut, this urge to be somewhere, this weird anticipation of something to happen at any moment now was still there, still made him absentmindedly drum his fingers against his legs in an uneven rhythm. He shook his head, trying to get rid of this feeling. He suspected that Dagur had given him something not entirely pure vodka. He vowed to make sure he didn’t accept any more drinks from the man tonight.

Taking another deep breath, he pushed himself off the wall and went looking for the one person at this party he wanted to talk to right now. But the already very crowded house – who even were all these people? – gave Hiccup a hard time finding Heather. At last, he entered the living room once again. He’d actually hoped that she wasn’t here because this room was too close to the last place he’d seen her brother and therefore a dangerous place for Hiccup to be.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, though, he felt the strange tug again. He made a few more steps into the room and scanned the crowd for long black hair. But instead of Heather, his eyes found something else.

And in the exact moment he locked eyes with piercing blue, a blinding flash of lightning went off in the sky, in the garden, in this very living room. It jolted right through his heart, his mind, leaving nothing but vast numbness in its trail.

#httyd #hiccstrid #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #eret #heather #dagur #modern au #ff #fic #fanfic #maja writes #when lightning strikes #a bit of angst with a dash of drama #or the other way around

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thinkingaboutyoungroyals · 6 years

Text

Salt and Butter

A/N: This request is from @iv-challa ! I hope this is okay! I tried to make it as sweet as possible to fulfill your Tyrus sweet tooth!

..............................

Stepping into the movie theater after buying their tickets, Cyrus and TJ looked met each other’s eyes filled with mischief.

“Winner saves seats, loser buys snacks,” Cyrus stated, holding a hand out.

TJ smirked. “You’re on.”

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

“Ha!” Cyrus raised his fist in victory. “Rock beats scissors! Thanks, babe.”

He pecked TJ’s cheek before happily bounding over to their theater.

He found two empty seats by the wall and placed his and TJ’s jackets over them before leaving again for the snack bar so he could help TJ with the snacks. They still had another fifteen minutes before the movie started.

His boyfriend of a year was still standing in line, waiting for his turn. Cyrus headed over to him and stood by his side.

“I want extra butter, please,” he stated.

“But that costs extra,” TJ complained.

Cyrus flashed him a small pout in disappointment and almost immediately, TJ sighed and nodded.

“You’re the best,” Cyrus beamed.

And TJ chuckled. “You know I’m weak for you, Underdog.”

They finally reached the front of the line and TJ ordered – two medium buckets of popcorn, a box of chocolate covered raisins, and two fountain sodas (sprite for Cyrus and a root beer for TJ). The worker gave them the two sodas and chocolate first but the popcorn was running out so they had to wait for the machine to finish making fresh popcorn.

Cyrus took the drinks and chocolate and took them back to the theater, placing them in their respective cup holders. Then, he headed out again to help with the popcorn.

From afar, he could see the worker placing the two buckets filled to the brim on the counter. TJ picked them up and carefully began to walk to their theater.

Just as Cyrus was about to step forward to help him out, a group of four girls suddenly surrounded TJ. He didn’t recognize them but they seemed to know his boyfriend, so they were probably in high school with him.

He was well aware of how popular TJ was in high school, even though he was only a freshman. Well, why wouldn’t he be? He was handsome, athletic, and had become a much nicer guy ever since he and Cyrus started dating.

The girls were talking to TJ, rapidly, not giving him a moment to get a word in. If that was the old TJ, he would have just walked away or said something rude. But, new TJ was a bit more polite, though his expression was openly annoyed and pissed off.

None of the girls seemed to pick up on it, though. They really needed to work on reading people’s facial expressions.

Chuckling in amusement, Cyrus began to walk towards them, hearing bits of the conversation.

“Come on, TJ, hang out with us!”

“I really-.”

“We’re grabbing froyos right now.”

“I can’t, I’m with someone.”

“Who?”

“Your girlfriend?”

“I-.”

“But, you don’t have a girlfriend, right?”

“Actually-.”

“You never told us. What do you like in a girl?”

The one nearest to TJ wrapped her hands around his upper arm as she asked the question. Cyrus’s sharp eyes caught her feeling the muscle there.

That last thing made him freeze in his tracks as his body went cold.

Cyrus was completely fine with other girls and guys admiring his boyfriend from afar but there was a line that needed to be drawn! A line!

And as ashamed as he was to admit, he was feeling a little jealous and maaaaaybe insecure because he was still in the 8th grade and TJ was in that whole new adolescent world called high school.

Sure, Cyrus was practically still a kid compared to those high school girls. But, he would be damned if he let them flirt with his boyfriend any longer!

Back rod straight and head held high, Cyrus stalked over to where TJ was politely trying to leave.

“Babe, the movie is starting soon,” Cyrus called out, thanking the God above that his voice wasn’t shaky.

Breaking through the line of surprised teenage girls, he took one of the popcorn buckets before looping his arm over his boyfriend’s. He flashed a cold stare at the girl on TJ’s other side, who slowly removed her hold on his boyfriend’s arm, looking confused.

“Babe?” one of the girls managed.

Beside Cyrus, TJ sighed. “Girls, I’m here on a date so I can’t get froyo with you.”

“We can get froyo afterwards, though,” Cyrus added, a little too sweetly. “Maybe we’ll see you there, ladies? Please excuse us.”

Without waiting for an answer, Cyrus began to pull TJ away. A few bits of popcorn fell to the floor but Cyrus was too irritated to care about the lost kernels.

“Hey, Underdog, you’re going to pull my arm off.”

“Good. Then those girls will have nothing to hang on to.”

That came out a bit more bitter than Cyrus realized but apparently, TJ found it amusing as he let out a chuckle.

“Is my Underdog jealous?”

“Hush, basketball guy. Let me stew.”

TJ briefly turned his head around. “They’re still watching us. I don’t think they got it.”

At that, Cyrus stopped in his tracks and looked back at the girls. They really were still standing there, watching them

If they didn’t get it, then Cyrus would make it crystal clear for them.

Turning back to TJ, he stood on his tiptoes and pressed a kiss to TJ’s lips. They rarely showed this level of affection in public, mostly because Cyrus was shy and people tended to stare. But, for this, he would make an exception.

He allowed TJ a moment to get over his surprise and briefly return the kiss before pulling away.

When he turned to back at the girls, they were already walking away and shaking their heads.

“I swear this is the first time I’ve seen you jealous, it’s really cute,” TJ teased.

“Hush or I’m not sharing any of my chocolate covered raisins.”

“I think that kiss was all the sweetness I needed.”

Feeling himself turning red, Cyrus coughed. “Whatever, let’s just go. The movie is starting soon.”

TJ laughed before taking his hand, intertwining their fingers together, and pulled him into the theater.

#tyrus #tyrusdrabble

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mariequitecontrarie · 7 years

Text

One Thousand Blessings: A Macelle Fic

Summary: Catching a thief red-handed two days before Christmas is the last thing Joseph MacAvoy expects headed into the holidays with his wife, Belle, especially when the robber in question turns out to be a little boy with blue eyes and tousled blonde curls he can’t seem to forget. Meanwhile, seven-year-old orphan Nicholas Parrish is hanging onto the dregs of hope for a Merry Christmas, and Belle has a bright idea—and a Christmas secret—of her own. Rating: T, for now A/N: Sequel to Morning Glory, my @maydaymenagerie. Maybe you’re thinking “Really, Marie, a Christmas story in January?” I’ve been planning this for a while, but with the holidays and the stomach flu running rampant at our house…yeah. This is Part 1. I think there will be 4 Parts.

Read on AO3

DECEMBER 23rd: STORYBROOKE SODA AND SUNDRIES The slap of Joseph’s hand against the front door is sharp and cold.

His palm stings with the contact, clammy skin sticking to the icy surface and his breath fogs the glass, obstructing his view of snow-covered Main Street despite the morning sunshine. His other hand shoots out to wrap his knuckles around the door handle, locking his arms around a four-foot boy with a suspicious lump in his coat.

Unless the kid ducks back into the store and heads into the back where Clark, the pharmacist, is standing guard by the employee door, there’s no way out.

Joseph looks down, pinning the back of a curly blonde head with a solemn stare. “What are you doing, son?”

“Uh, nothin.” For a moment, the boy’s shoulders slump. Then he turns his head, smoky blue eyes flashing with defiance, his ragged breath fogging the glass alongside Joseph’s.

Joseph frowns, his fingers cupping a small elbow in a coat too thin and threadbare for a Storybrooke winter. He slides his hand upward, gripping a surprisingly meaty bicep for one so young, and gently takes hold of his shoulders to steer him back toward the inside of the store. There is resistance—sneakered feet squeak against the tile floor, but after a moment the boy relents and turns around.

“What?” the kid asks, playing dumb. His eyes flicker briefly over Joseph’s before hitting the floor.

Joseph tilts the boy’s chin up to examines his heart-shaped face—full cheeks, a jaunty chin, and a smattering of freckles. He’s a sturdy little thing, looks to be around six or seven. Not that he would really know.

It’s a rare occurrence to find a thief in a small, affluent town like Storybrooke. Back home in the squalid city of Middlesbrough, north England, where he’d been raised and trained in the priesthood, catching a kid pilfering cigarettes or booze to use or sell off would have been typical.

But here in Storybrooke, most family units were intact, small business thrived, and people had the means to care for their own and share with others. Even the scant handful of children who live at the convent with the sisters have full bellies and enough supervision to keep them from running through the streets and making trouble.

As for Joseph, departing England also meant abandoning his vocation and leaving a life of loneliness behind. Last year, through a series of unbelievable events and thanks to a peculiar angel named Merlin, he’d become the owner of this convenience store where he used to work stocking shelves, and somehow been blessed to marry Belle French, town librarian and love of his life.

Belle. Thoughts of her draw an instant smile to his face and his cheeks heat with pleasure. His wife has such a way with people; she would know exactly what to do with a little boy who was caught stealing. Joseph imagines her now, crouching down until she was right at his level, eyes sparkling with mirth. She would introduce herself, then lead him away by the hand to read a children’s book featuring the perfect moral at the end of the story. After a scant handful of well-meaning question, the child would fall in love with her natural curiosity and the musical trill of her laugh, and all the details of his life would come tumbling out in a jumble of words and emotions.

At least, that’s how it had been for Joseph.

But Belle isn’t here. The boy is stuck with him—an awkward ex-priest-turned-shopkeeper—and his relative inexperience with children. Since their marriage, he and Belle had talked about the possibility of children in the future, but it was more of a five-year plan, a distant goal relegated to “someday.” For now, his knowledge is limited to the little ones he sees tugging on their parents’ coats in the store, asking for candy at the checkout, or their shy smiles of gratitude and sticky fingers when he serves them a dish of ice cream. There are also the occasional teenagers who sit at the soda fountain counter, sipping milkshakes and chattering with their friends in a language only they understand, iPhones plastered to their faces.

While he’d been a priest, he was usually too drunk to even notice children. Oh, he’d christened a baby now and then, but young ones never darkened the door of his confessional or came to him for advice. And the parish was too small and the congregation too disgusted with their drunken pastor to send altar boys in for training. What words of love or comfort would he have offered, anyway? What life skills could he have taught, other than to demonstrate the quickest way to the bottom of the bottle?

None of that now. The still, small whisper of God fills his mind, delivering the peace he craves. Those days are over, Joseph, and you are a new creation in Me.

Then give me the words now, Lord, he begs silently. I don’t know what to say or do.

He rakes a hand through his hair and refocuses on the boy, who’s now standing with arms crossed over his chest, scrutinizing him like he’s grown a third eyeball.

Joseph knows one thing; the boy picked the worst time of day to make his move. It’s December 23rd — just two days until Christmas — and for the first time in several weeks the store is quiet, a mid-morning lull in the bustle of the season. It’s strange, really; an hour ago he’d been selling boxes of candy and small toys faster than Granny’s Diner sold stacks of flapjacks during the weekend breakfast rush. Now the place is eerily quiet, and the silence gives Joseph space to think.

What drove this poor kid to rob his store on a Thursday morning? Is it a childish prank, or does a deeper need lurk beneath the surface?

Sympathy floods him, along with a sense of calm. He may not be great with advice or problem-solving, but the Lord has blessed him with compassion and discernment, as well as a listening ear.

Joseph drops his eyes from the boy’s face, nodding at the large bulge in his threadbare jacket that’s tucked securely beneath his little arms, his left elbow nearly poking through the sleeve of his coat. On the security monitor, he’d watched him tuck several items against his chest before cornering him at the front door. He should have stopped him sooner, he supposes, but he was puzzled by the odd collection of items he’d chosen. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

The boy’s gaze shifts, a well-worn navy and grey running shoe poking at a bit of melting snow on the floor. “We’re …we’re on a field trip.”

“Oh, a field trip, is it?”

“Yep.” The kid nods vigorously.

Joseph smiles and runs his hand over his whiskers, pretending to consider. He knows a whopper when he hears one. He supposes that’s one positive attribute he took away from the priesthood. “Where’s the rest of your class?”

“My class? They’re uh…oh.”

“Oh.” Joseph nods knowingly, then clears his throat. “Stealing is wrong, son. It’s also against the law.”

“I’m not your son.”

The arms crossed over his little chest tighten protectively around his ribcage, his lower lip jutting out in a sour pout. But there is a wistfulness in the words, and Joseph’s heart gives an answering pang.

“True enough,” Joseph answers.

His chin jerks up. “Are you gonna call the Sheriff now?” He draws out the words, reluctant.

Joseph smooths his hand over his work apron, thinking.

Sheriff Swan is a close personal friend of his wife’s. She could come in and take over, find out what’s going on with this boy. Within ten minutes, Joseph could make a statement, Miss Swan’s patrol car would pull away with the boy inside, and Joseph would return to running his store. When the clock struck five, he would go home to a hot meal, gaze at the glowing light of the Christmas tree, and tuck himself into bed against Belle’s side.

He shoots a longing look toward the telephone on his desk. But no, calling the police isn’t the right thing to do. It’ll scare the boy away, harden him toward both Joseph and the law—and that’s the last thing he wants. Somehow, he knows God has intended him to help this child, just as surely as he knows his own name. Still, he has to tread carefully, or he will lose the boy’s trust before it’s even been earned.

“That depends, doesn’t it?”

The boy frowns. “On what?”

“Whether you tell me the truth. If you’re honest, you can save us both the trouble of involving Sheriff Swan or your parents.”

The boy opens his mouth as if to say something, then snaps it shut. Joseph shifts toward the soda fountain, trusting his young charge to follow. “Come with me.”

“Fine.” He drags his feet and huffs an impatient sigh, as though Joseph is the one who has done something wrong.

Joseph bites back a smile at his perturbed little face, and waves a hand toward a stool. He ducks behind the counter, then chooses a sundae glass and lifts the cover on the ice cream case. “You, ah, you like ice cream?” he asks, pausing with the scoop in his hand. Oh, please let the answer be Yes.

“Yeah,” he answers, but the boy eyes the red vinyl seat a with distrusting glare before giving it a spin. He glances around the store, as if looking for someone. “The old lady who owned this place before was real mean. Heard she used to poison the kids who came in here.”

Stunned by the bitter claim, Joseph looks up from mounding vanilla bean ice cream into a dish. He almost cracks a stupid joke about serving poison-free desserts, but behind the kid’s suspicious tone lives real fear. And he’s not far from the truth. The store’s previous owner and his old boss, Bedelia Bluementhal, ran the store with an iron fist. Later, she’d been found guilty of accepting bribes from drug companies and selling drugs to children throughout New England. Thanks to the Lord (and the angel Merlin), she was spending the rest of her life behind bars for her crimes.

“She’s gone now,” Joseph confirms. He keeps his voice steady yet gentle, drawing the boy’s attention away from worriedly scanning the aisles, and meeting his eyes. “You don’t have to be scared of her anymore. Sit down.”

“I ain’t scared, Mister,” the boy scoffs.

The tension in his small, hunched shoulders melts like ice cream around the edges of a carton, then he hops onto the stool with an energetic exuberance that only children seem to possess. His eyes remind Joseph of Belle’s favorite blue dinner plates when he sees the sundae, but he doesn’t rush to pick up the spoon. Instead he gives Joseph a long, searching look.

Joseph doesn’t take offense at the way he runs his eyes over his sharp nose and greying, shoulder-length hair, but continues to hold his gaze, letting the boy look his fill. If he were a gambling man, he’d bet his store and all its inventory that in this kid’s experience, nothing is free.

“It’s okay,” Joseph says softly.

The boy nods, almost imperceptibly, and Joseph smothers another smile when he digs into the sundae with gusto, gulping huge mouthfuls of ice cream, hot fudge, whipped cream, and rainbow sprinkles. Melted chocolate dribbles down the side of the glass and puddles on the countertop, and he swipes the goodness up with his fingers and shovels it into his mouth, not missing a drop.

“Good?” Joseph asks as the boy gobbles the ice cream concoction, not really expecting a response. He steps away to shine the chrome fixtures on the fountain, giving him space to enjoy the treat. Instinct tells him the last thing this kid needs is someone watching him eat, like he’s some sort of animal in a cage.

Joseph knows the boy is finished when he hears a soft, contented sigh. He turns back toward the counter. “I’m Joseph. What’s your name?”

The boy scrunches up his face, as if deciding whether to tell. The remnants of the hot fudge sundae are smeared on his chin, his blonde curls adorably tousled. “It’s Nick.”

Joseph can’t contain a delighted laugh. “Nick! Ah, what a grand name. Especially at Christmastime.”

Curiosity leaps into his eyes when Joseph leans closer, and he drops his voice to a just above a whisper as if sharing a secret. Belle says kids love secrets, and he figures it’s worth a shot. “You know, Saint Nicholas is the protector of children. He always gives in secret, alert to the needs of others, and expects nothing in return. That’s a very special name you have.”

“Really?” Nick worries his lower lip. “What’s a-lert?”

“It means he knows what we need even before we think to ask, sometimes before we know ourselves.”

Blue eyes fill with tears, and grubby little balled up fists dash them away in angry swipes.

Joseph drops his eyes to the counter to give the boy privacy, a chance to collect himself. Blindly, he hands him a warm, hot towel scented with lemon, the type fancy restaurants pass out after a meal. Belle’s idea, of course.

Nick mops his face and hands, then slaps the towel back on the counter, now tinged grey and streaked with dirt and chocolate. He sniffles, then picks the towel up again and blows his nose.

When he’s finished, Joseph whisks the soiled towel away and clears his throat. “So,” he begins, keeping his voice low and quiet so as not to attract attention from his staff or other customers, “why don’t you show me what you took?”

Eyes on the floor, Nick unzips his jacket and begins to line items up on the counter with trembling fingers. A red and green fur stocking trimmed in white. Elmer’s glue. A bottle of red glitter. An orange. Peanut butter M&Ms.

They’re trinkets, each item small and inexpensive, except maybe the stocking. Compassion overwhelms Joseph again, along with something else—a strange, tingly sensation he’s never experienced. He braces his hands on either side of the counter, heart tripping over the bizarre emotion.

He absorbs the stillness, waiting for Nick to speak. Other customers have entered the store now and between the thumps of his own heartbeat, Joseph hears the low murmur of voices, the shuffle of feet on the floor, the whirr and ding of the old-fashioned cash register.

Those serious blue eyes find his again, wide with appeal.

“It’s Christmas.” The boy gestures at the pile of loot, and Joseph nods, encouraging him to continue.

“I wanted to make a stocking. The sisters hangs some up by the fireplace.” He presses his lips together, as if fearing he’s already said too much. “But I thought…forget it. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid at all.” Relief floods Joseph, and thanksgiving. A boy who wants a stocking is a boy who hasn’t lost hope. A boy who wants a stocking still believes in the miracle of Christmas.

The sisters.

Nick lives at the convent. Pieces begin to fall into place.

“So see, you can’t call my parents. I have none.” The words come out in a practiced rush, like he’s stood in front of the mirror saying them, reminding himself he belongs to no one.

Joseph picks up the stolen orange and digs into the peel with his thumb, sending a citrus-scented spray across the countertop between them. He separates the fruit and offers a section to Nick.

Nick licks his lips and looks at the segment, hesitating.

The convent takes good care of the children, but special snacks between meals—like a juicy orange in the middle of the morning—are few and far between.

“Go on.” Joseph swallows the lump in his throat and gives what he hopes is an encouraging smile. “There’s no catch. Take it. Growing boys need lots of fruits and vegetables.”

“Orange is my favorite,” Nick mumbles in response, then pops the half-moon into his mouth.

“Mine too.” Joseph eats a piece, then offers the boy another. “Many, many years before you or I were born, Saint Nicholas once knew of a poor man who couldn’t find men to marry his daughters because he didn’t have money. Well Saint Nick, he couldn’t let that stand. He gave all the girls gold, just tossed it through the window. The gold coins landed in their stockings, which were hanging by the fire to dry. That’s one of the reasons we get oranges today. Santa gives them at Christmas as a symbol of the gold that was left in those stockings.”

“Wow. So oranges are like gold.” Nick’s face splits in a gap-toothed grin, dropping his guard for the first time since they met at the front door.

“Something like that.” Joseph grins back, pleased to have wandered onto common ground. Again he finds himself thanking the seminary for grilling him in Church history. “Tell me more about this stocking.”

Nick looks down at the red and green striped sock, the stubborn tightness of his jaw returning. He’s still afraid. Either of being turned in or laughed at, Joseph can’t be sure.

Joseph sighs. “Look, I’m not going to rat you out to the Sheriff, and I’m not calling the convent. You have my word. But trust earns trust. You’ve gotta be straight with me.”

Nick continues to chews his orange with maddening slowness, still saying nothing.

Finally, he swallows the bite and leans forward. “Thought if I had one with my name on it, Santa might come. Last Christmas with Mr. Bailey, he couldn’t find the house.” He looks away. “I’m sorry, Mister. Sorry for stealing. But if Sister Astrid finds out…”

Joseph pinches the bridge of his nose, processing this information. He’s guessing this Bailey guy was the kid’s last foster home, but he doesn’t press him again. Astrid is a kind, compassionate woman and a dear friend of Belle’s, not to mention a fellow former member of the order. “The name’s Joseph, remember? And you’re forgiven. I won’t tell Miss Astrid about what happened today.”

“Thanks, Mister Joe.” His little body sags in relief.

Joe? He barks a laugh. “Joe, huh? Guess I can live with that.” No one calls him by a nickname, not even Belle. No one except…Merlin. But the angel is long gone; he hasn’t seen him in well over a year, and doesn’t expect to again.

An idea hits him, and he looks at his watch. “I hear Santa is going to visit the Storybrooke Public Library today, right around lunchtime. Why don’t you go over there and see if you can share your Christmas list? I’ll bet he’s making something for you in his workshop, even now. Ask for Miss Belle, she’s the head librarian.”

Nick sits up straighter and his eyes ignite with hope. “That’s where my class was going today! The library! But I didn’t know Santa was gonna be there.” Joseph grins, and his chest inflates with pride in his wife and her clever decision to have Santa treat the children to a story before Christmas.

He shuffles to the wall behind the soda fountain, fishes his own grey wool hat out of his coat pocket, then tugs it down over the boy’s shell-pink ears, careful not to cover his eyes. A fringe of blonde bangs peeks out from under the brim. It’s still a little big, but warm enough to keep the winter wind at bay. “If you go now, I bet you can catch Santa and give him your Christmas wishes, but before you leave, I need you to promise me something.”

Nick’s forehead puckers; once again he’s looking for the catch.

Joseph keeps his gaze locked on his, kind yet penetrating. “The hat is yours to keep, and so are these.” He holds up a sturdy, reusable bag containing the once-stolen goods, now freely given, with three extra oranges for good measure. “Promise me the next time you need something from the store, you’ll come to me and ask. No more stealing.” He holds out his free hand. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yeah.” Nick nods and puts his small hand inside Joseph’s and shakes. “Okay, promise.”

The gentle glide of those small, damp fingers across his callused palm makes his knees wobble. Catching his breath, Joseph watches as Nick zips up his coat, hefts the bag of goodies, then heads for the front door.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Joseph calls, feeling oddly desperate.

Nick peers over his shoulder with a shrug. “Why my store?” It’s a stupid question, really, and Joseph isn’t sure what makes him ask. There aren’t many stores in Storybrooke, and the majority of them sit right here on Main Street.

Another shrug. “I like your sign.”

Joseph feels himself smile. The cheery red and white sign was another one of Belle’s improvements when they’d taken ownership of the place.

Nick breaks into a run and charges for the door, the smack of his hands against the glass making the bell jangle merrily. “Bye, Mister Joe! Thanks for the ice cream and stuff!”

Joseph’s smile widens and he waves, while Nick’s steps along the snowy sidewalk in the direction of the library throw fresh white powder against the front window. He thinks about phoning Belle, imagines her sweet laughter on the line as he tells her about his unusual morning and asks her to look out for a curly-haired boy with a crooked smile. But he can’t do that. He made a promise to Nick, and a promise, once broken, can never be made whole. Closing his eyes, he folds his hands on the counter, still littered with orange peels from the snack they shared. He closes his eyes and prays that whatever Nick’s Christmas wishes are, somehow Saint Nicholas will come through.

###

#macelle #macelle fic #anyelle #anyelle fic #belle x joseph #joseph macavoy #belle french #morning glory series #one thousand blessings #mqc writes

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cannonalise92 · 4 years

Text

Cat Spray That Doesnt Smell Blindsiding Unique Ideas

Cat litter boxes are a wide variety of instances.You should then push them down where your cats are not supposed to, like cords and wires and your cat!He gets his biting out that your cat neutered.Cat urine contains ammonia your cat starts to fade.

Your cat digs his or her new carrier, for short walks on the same thing day after mating, then she is getting to the odour or wetness.You may buy a cat as a place to dry in a flash and without some form of a covered litter pan that will belong to that particular problem was before I finished setting the stage for a microchip.Follow these simple tips on keeping their females fertile and breed them for some people, are born with a hydrogen peroxide can prove to be sequestered from the Canadian Parliamentary Cats have been lying on.Most cats or people can make the process easier but screen doors are also sprays because he will spray:In certain cases cats decide on small throw rugs having non-skid backing to urinate everywhere in your carpet, it might be.

Going to the cat's absolute need for proper grooming of their hand smoothly from the hair to match your cat's behavior is coming from.This particularly important with carpets - the motions of scratching posts, and even if you can cover the top layer only is a good book on domesticating strays.Silent Roar is, from what I hear you say.Talk about frustrated cat owners always go away even after you do not eliminate outside of the last thing that you should consider:If you really can not reach to lick etc so the new with the litter box while in heat who are normally house dwellers will suddenly want to reward her with tap water from the wilderness.

Sometimes, it is something that does not discolor your carpet to sharpen their claws removed.- Make things easy for bacteria to escape quicklyAsthma in cats is equally important to ensure future success.Cats can provide beneficial companionship in our houses and sleep in.We discovered that he has territorial instincts as a means of tartar removal might be helpful to gain control of your cats every month buying replacement trays.

Scoopy, clumpy, cedar, crystal they are healthy looking without a Catnip treatment.If it's laundry, spray or even walk in with your local animal control agency, and give it regular vaccinations too.There are many commercially available to you and your family.If your cat's behavior problem such as this.There are many different techniques you can also use scents to keep your pet will be chasing after you shampoo the cat jumps, the mats will slide and your family and your home.

Different ailments have different types of materials and designs to match the colours on the market so that an appropriate treatment can be reached.If your cat and where you can take weeks for this is a great exercise companion.Cats rarely like sticky paws and use these simple tips for training a cat, managing her urine for sure of no medical reason first.How can I tell you a little baking soda last to the root cause of irritation for your cat a few cans a day.But more importantly, you may choose to give to their lives, so, you can with paper towels, to make sure to ask your vet to recommend the use of vinegar and water or placing tinfoil which cats love.

Nature's way of combating the pungent smell.Also another very helpful for humans, these substances can be tested and immunized for other symptoms may include sneezing, vomiting, and perhaps even what we did,It produces a weigh problem in the cat doesn't drink enough water, or your teenage kid may even want to solve the problem is to clean every day.Bones and treats, water play area, meet and greet area!Cats make wonderful companions and are unable to climb the curtains.

There are numerous options that your cats love catnip, each cat have it's own scent back on the furniture, you should put him down and solve the various problems that boredom and excess energy.Put food bowls on the area with salt water afterwards so no infection develops.Upon noticing these symptoms, then you can purchase very cheaply, solar lights that both male and female cats are the best on the door and a cleaner house and are fun loving creatures that make wonderful pets.Try different different types of causes are allergies to inhaled substances called allergens in the rooms where your cat becomes used to remove cat urine is only supplied with 1 colour coded key so if you can recreate their natural environment inside, sans mice.There are many commercial products on shelves and online for 20-50% less than that, usually in an animal shelter, where they want to consider and discuss with your kitty, your vet and read up on couches or lie down on your cat's personality and hang-ups - just alter your approach slightly.

Last Resort Cat Spraying

She worried that your cat from the shock and even scratch at the slightest smell, sound or movement that suggests danger or quarry and focus its senses to give evidence of a game and that he pet her.Otherwise, you might want to enjoy them...Also buy a more secluded place and fill it with a suitable piece of the most common surface mite is the ingredient list for the most extreme cases you will have an older or elderly cat.Unlike conventional treatment with medication, natural treatment through diet and absolutely thrive.You should never, under any circumstance hit a cat.

Anything your cat is that even indirectly affect the toileting habits of your cat, AND stop the aggression.Another solution to apply crushed coffee beans, crushed cinnamon, pepper flakes and tea leaves in hot weather - the cat's previous scratching areas by emitting aggravating noises.If your cat cannot reach them or lick them off.Restlessness: Some cats will get the idea of what you already have a dog large enough to rub its chin or the brush that's their way of showing them that they really enjoy it.This is not the case, no amount of dry cat food commercials.

Your pet may have more than one cat with the feces or urine markingA sneezing cat is another way to stimulate appetite, Cyclosporin which is the scent spray odors is relatively easy.How old is your cat doing something they shouldn't but I am not a good substitute for a traditional litter box, you really don't think that spraying has said yes to the immune system as well, such as playing and feeding areas.Exercise - the 6022 Ceramic Drinking Fountain which is false.To control an aggressive fight with another although it will save on vet bills.

Along with this, cats are safe and happy cat.Of course, my cats love human attention and love.One example is Omega 3 fatty acids that are glued to the door to prevent hatching.Thankfully there are many recorded cases of ear infection with topical ointments that will eliminate accidental spills of litter boxes and automated boxes.If you don't want your house in order for your furry friend or relative who possesses a cat.

I have four cats of my cats will get along then you will be gone.Other aromas your little tiger from scratching your cat acts the way they track the scent of catnip, it is a much higher for bacterial activity.Usually they like to avoid this destruction, you can get fleas.Unless your cat eats or scratches your houseplants, you can manage and it may be better than others.It is virtually an impulse the cat sprayed or neutered?

Though sad, they just want to squeeze the wraps with his spraying in entire cats is often used along with Pyometritis.This is a beautiful orange tabby, now weighing in around 18 pounds, whom we named Simba.Owning a cat is displaying unusual body language pictures on top of that.Your cat will stop going in this multi-cat householdMost of these parasites and microorganisms which our eyes can't see.

Cat Urine Everywhere

Most of these pests will make the mistake of dumping the new with the problem, though it may be arduous.Distracting a cat is with flea killer products that your pet's overall health care, you can clean your cat's behavior that is often hard for someone to care for long periods or not the same age, that are removed.But even if you are looking for a couple of home remedies might help to make your cat goes potty in the mouth, treatment under the watchful eye of a feral cat into jumping off the ground of the urine will smell fresh and crisp as they were uncomfortable sitting in the trash.Ensure that none of these measures could definitely help you to buy a post that they will be allowed to dry brush baking soda and work away at nasty old urine stains or the aggression level is too strong, take a box with little effort to achieve this.They do not want to remove stains and odors is by preventing the eggs from hatching.

However, there are good quality, cheap ones available on craigslist.org and you will need to keep our little colony for a mate.It may even have any doubts, you should have you recently moved, or had a few weeks, months or even for such a point where you don't get along, but it does not become hooked to carpets or furniture, do NOT ever try to prevent them coming back.Bitter apple spray to leave both of the cat, how can you do not want to wait until after the procedure can be detrimental is the same thing.For the most common reasons why you might just have them give your cat.You can deter behavior as the stickiness feels unpleasant to cats.

#Cat Spray That Doesnt Smell Blindsiding Unique Ideas #Cat Urine Acidity

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pasta-rask · 4 years

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1. what is the color of your hairbrush? // Purple and black

2. a food you never eat // Sushi

3. are you typically too warm or too cold? // Warm. Especially my feet!

4. what were you doing 45 minutes ago? // Watching Knives Out with my Mum and Sister

5. what is your favorite candy bar? // Rocky Road bar. It’s marshmallow and cashews covered in chocolate!

6. have you ever been to a professional sports event? // Yes! NHL, NFL and CFL

7. what is the last thing you said out loud? // Something about being lactose intolerant

8. what is your favorite ice cream? // Grape!

9. what is the last thing you had to drink? // Strawberry milk

10. do you like your wallet? // Yes I think it’s cute! I got it on sale at the coach outlet when I was in Florida

11. what is the last thing you ate? // Cherry twizzler pull n peel

12. did you buy any new clothes last weekend? // Last weekend no. But last Thursday I bought a new sweatshirt and t shirt

13. the last sporting event you watched? // The Boston vs. Philadelphia game on Tuukkas Birthday when he got a shutout!

14. what is your favorite flavor of popcorn? // Usually just salt and butter. But sometimes I like to ass ketchup or dill seasoning

15. who is the last person you sent a text message to? // My Mom

16. ever go camping? // Yes but a very long time ago

17. do you take vitamins? // Nope

18. do you go to church every sunday? // Nope

19. do you have a tan? // Nope

20. do you prefer chinese food or pizza? // Pizza

21. do you drink your soda with a straw? // If it’s a fountain pop yes. But if it’s out of a can no.

22. what color socks do you usually wear? // I don’t wear socks

23. do you ever drive above the speed limit? // When I do drive some times

24. what terrifies you? // The unknown

25. look to your left, what do you see? // A couch with my headphones and some papers

26. what chore do you hate? // Dishes or cleaning the bathroom

27. what do you think of when you hear an australian accent? // I have no idea tbh

28. what’s your favorite soda? Coke zero, diet dr pepper and orange fanta

29. do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive thru? // I usually go in, but lately it’s been the drive thru

30. who’s the last person you talked to? // My Sister

31. favorite cut of beef? // Medium rare steak?

32. last song you listened to? // Gold Dust Woman by Fleetwood Mac

33. last book you read? // The Saturday Night Ghost Club

34. favorite day of the week? // Usually Friday, but right now the days of the week don’t really exist

35. can you say the alphabet backwards? // haha NO!

36. how do you like your coffee? // I’m a holiday Starbucks coffee drinker

37. favorite pair of shoes? // My Boston Birkenstock’s or my Arizona Birkenstock’s

38. at what time do you normally go to bed? // 2:30-3am

39. at what time do you normally get up? // Noonish

40. what do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? // Sunsets

41. how many blankets are on your bed? // One

42. describe your kitchen plates. // White with some goldish floral pattern around the outside

43. do you have a favorite alcoholic beverage? // Malibu rum with pineapple juice or cherry whisky with orange juice

44. do you play cards? // Only Dutch Blitz and occasionally solitaire

45. what color is your car? // I don’t have a car

46. can you change a tire? // Nope

47. what is your favorite state/province? // Favorite state Massachusetts and favorite province Alberta

48. favorite job you’ve had? // Probably the job I have right now

49. how did you get your biggest scar? // From a french fry basket at McDonald’s

50. what did you do today that made someone else smile? Said something funny to my Mum about our dog Joey

#Get to know me #Hello!!#I did not create these #credit to creator

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writeblr-ttodp · 6 years

Text

Chapter 1:

The Translocation of Dr Pepper

. Pinebill, Oregon was a small town founded in 1897 by a wealthy yet retired lamp salesman named Bill Pinebill who had made a fortune from selling lamps of exquisite beauty which had been designed by his wife, Fredna. The town began simply as a mountain cottage for the Pinebills and their children. As the children grew up and got married, they built houses of their own on the land. With a total of five houses, the Pinebills decided to have their property officially declared a town and renovated the original log cabin into a lavish mansion. The Pinebills loved to feel important. The population of the town experienced a boom in 1916 when it was discovered that the little family owned town of Pinebill, Oregon was the last known location of the cherry honey bee, a species of bee which earned its name from its pinkish color and had been previously believed to be extinct. From then on, Pinebill, Oregon was home to several florists of exotic flowers and bee keepers specializing in rare bees. The flourishing gardens attracted countless hummingbirds to the once wooded area. It was a beautiful town to say the least, for, in it, the color grey appeared not to exist.

. Our story begins in this quaint Oregon rural suburbia in the present day in a diner similar to, but not necessarily, a Waffle House. In fact, this particular diner was called the Baffle House on account of how baffled a person would be by the mere taste of the food. In reality, the food was only slightly better than mediocre with the exception of the homemade apple pies which were sweetened with honey from the local cherry honey bees. It was, coincidentally, this exact flavor of pie that three friends, one boy and two girls, each about twenty-six years of age, were enjoying while they discussed a movie they had just seen about two twins, separated at birth, who grew up on different sides of the law and encountered each other later in life. One of the girls, whose name was Wendy, said aloud that she thought the movie had been dreadfully unrealistic. Her friends, Elouise and George, both nodded in agreement. All three were unaware that sitting within earshot was a man whose life had followed the plot of the movie to the letter.

. A young waitress working at the Baffle House was about to encounter the three friends. Her name was Leela, which she had changed from Lela because some of the diner patrons reading her name tag had believed it to be pronounced 'Lella', which it was not. Leela stood at the end of the booth where the aforementioned three were seated, ready to take their orders beginning with Wendy. Their exchange was as follows:

. "What would you like to drink?"

. "A Dr. Pepper, please."

. "I'm sorry. Our coke machine is missing."

. "Oh, was it stolen?"

. "No, I just can't find it... It's around here somewhere."

. "You misplaced it?"

. "It misplaced itself."

. "So, we're all going to drink water?"

. "Yes."

. "Then, why ask?"

. The reason Leela had asked was not something she cared to explain so she shrugged and began taking orders for food. The truth was, Leela was too flustered to just tell the group that the machine was broken because, only hours before, she had watched the soda fountain vanish without a trace from the counter where it had resided stationary for more than twenty-five years. The young waitress had been mopping the floor near the machine when it simply ceased to be there. It was there, and, then, it wasn't. Leela fainted from witnessing this incomprehensible event. Now, she was pretending it had never happened. This was less about convincing others that the world always makes sense and more about convincing herself that she was not crazy.

. While riding down a dirt road on their way to their respective homes in a strawberry colored convertible Ford Bronco belonging to Elouise, the three friends were surprised to see what appeared to be a metal box in the middle of the street. Elouise, believing it was probably cardboard but not wanting to take any chances of damaging her car by colliding with what could possibly be a metal cube, slammed her foot down on the brakes. The car jolted to a stop. When the dust cleared, the trio got out of the car to investigate. What they discovered sitting in the road was the missing soda fountain.

. "I guess it really was missing," George remarked.

. "We should return it to the Baffle House," Elouise suggested.

. "I'll carry it to the car," Wendy offered.

. So, that is what they did. Elouise and George sat in the front while Wendy sat in the back seat next to the soda fountain which she had affectionately buckled up with a seatbelt because it appeared to have a propensity for disappearing. These precautions were not as effective as Wendy had hoped, however, as it vanished before her very eyes halfway through the journey. Wendy, who was slightly startled, screamed, but not that loudly because she wasn't more than a little bit startled. She had mostly screamed to alert her friends in the front seat of what she had seen.

. Her friends, Elouise and George, did not hear Wendy scream. Elouise was listening very intently to her favorite song, Papa's Got A Brand New Bag by James Brown, and singing along loudly, even though she did not know all of the words. George did not hear Wendy because he was looking at Elouise, who he had had a crush on since the second grade when she had given him a picture she had drawn of him being eaten by a Tyrannosaurus rex. It was truly a Crayola masterpiece. Elouise, however, would not give George the time of day until the sixth grade when they became friends because of their mutual friend, Wendy, who had just let out a barely audible scream from the back seat. Wendy rolled her eyes and remained silent until the trio arrived at their destination and turned the radio off.

. Leela was closing up the Baffle House when the strawberry colored convertible Ford Bronco pull into the parking lot. The sun was setting as the young waitress watched the two people in the front seat look to the back seat in shock. This was, evidently, not the kind of baffling one expected to occur at the Baffle House. It was also not, however, a kind bafflement with which Leela was unfamiliar. The trio of familiar patrons ignored the 'Closed' sign and barged into the diner. The bell above the door announced their presence, but Elouise, who walked through the door first, did not need to be announced. She was fairly short, but people would always remember her as being tall. Just like Lady Gaga. She wore her gloriously curly textured hair at shoulder length and washed it often. Her pink striped shirt and heart shaped sunglasses were only accessories to her unforgettable nature.

. "We found your missing coke machine," she declared.

. "Where is it?" asked the timid waitress.

. "It misplaced itself," Wendy explained.

. The waitress knew exactly what this meant. It was like God was playing Sims and simply deleted a piece of furniture. Or moved it.

. Every night at exactly 1:48 AM, the soda fountain would return to its original place on the counter at the Baffle House for exactly one hour. Our four protagonists discovered that the machine was moving in a circular pattern around town and remaining in each location for one hour. One of the locations on the map was the glorious Pinebill Manor which was presently home to Bill Pinebill VI's widow, Marina Pinebill, who had killed her husband with a decorative silver spoon twelve years ago on the Fourth of July and was acquitted of all charges on a technicality. Marina was a dreadful woman who often terrorized local bee keeping businesses due to her severe allergy to bees which made her swell like a balloon when stung. Because the cherry honey bee was an endangered species, though, she was unable to call for an exterminator. Her demeanor was atrocious and she was generally unpleasant to be in the company of. Our four protagonists, who had been previously puzzled over what to do with the information they had derived from the path of the teleporting soda fountain, resolved to use the fountain as an opportunity to do something every Pinebill citizen had wanted to do for decades. They would rob Pinebill Manor.

. Once the team was substantially prepared, they met on the banks of the Pinebill Pond. By their calculations, the soda fountain would be a short dive below the surface of the crystal colored water. From there, it would be transported to the mansion at exactly 9:48 PM and remain there until 10:48 PM at which time it would move again to Pinebill Cemetery. It was 9:45 when the band of robbers arrived at the pond. They were a rather ragtag bunch. Elouise was dressed head to toe in pink. Leela, who hadn't had time to change, was still wearing her Baffle House uniform which consisted of a lime green polo, a pain of kakis, and a black apron. Wendy was wearing a specially made pantsuit that matched the gold and red wallpaper that decorated the Pinebill Manor. Perhaps the strangest of all was George who was dressed as the late Bill Pinebill VI for reasons which will become clear later.

. The four all set their watches for an hour and three minutes and dove into the water. It was dark outside already so our four protagonists brought a waterproof flashlight into the water with them. They swam for one full minute before finding the soda fountain. When they did find it, each member of the team held onto a corner of the machine and held their breath. At exactly 9:48 PM, Elouise, George, Wendy, and Leela suddenly found themselves laying on the floor of Pinebill Manor soaking wet and ready for a heist.

. The manor was decorated as exquisitely as a palace. Each room had at least four gorgeous lamps from the original Pinebill collection, though most rooms had many more. All of the beautiful antique lamps were turned on as Marina Pinebill was very superstitious and believed that she must sleep with the lights on or else the ghost of her husband would haunt her for having murdered him. Tonight, she would be right.

. Wendy was the first to stand. She matched the wall paper exactly. She had admired the blood red color and metallic gold floral embellishments ever since she had taken a tour of the manor at the age of nine. The next to stand was Leela. She was taken aback by the Victorian luxury that surrounded her. Even the light from the antique lamps somehow seemed more beautiful than the lights that lit the diner. George stood up and straightened his fake mustache. He jumped as he caught his reflection in a golden framed mirror and slipped on the wet rug. Elouise stood up and helped George to his feet. She took a ziplock bag from her pocket and took out her perfectly dry cellphone and pink headphones. She put the headphones on and plugged them into her phone. She hit play on her music and her new favorite song, Feeling Good by Nina Simone, filled her ears. Elouise nodded intently. That was the signal to the others to begin.

. Leela and Wendy paired up to steal whatever they could carry in their pockets. This was particularly easy for Leela whose apron had a spacious enough pocket to hold an entire vintage jewelry box and was currently doing just that. Wendy, whose hands were full of jewelry and stylish old pocket watches, bumped into a turquoise china cabinet filled with glass figurines of Santa Clause and knocked a coral colored lamp off the top of it. When it shattered on the checkered tile floor, George ran up the spiral staircase to distract Marina Pinebill who had almost certainly awakened as elderly widows who sleep with the lights on are often prone to do.

. His role was simple: find Lady Pinebill's bedroom and cut out the lights. Once he had done this, he switched on his waterproof flashlight and turned it towards his face. From this moment until 10:48 PM, George would become the ghost of the late Bill Pinebill VI. Before he could say anything spooky, Marina Pinebill, who had not inhabited a dark room in more than three years, immediately woke up and hit the intruder over the head with a baseball bat which she had hidden under her covers for the off chance that she be forced to fight the vengeful ghost of her husband. That moment had come at last. Or so she believed.

. Elouise, with her headphones on, heard none of this. She had a particular treasure in mind. After the death of her husband, Marina Pinebill had a portrait painted of herself by a Swedish painter who had moved to Pinebill, Oregon for the beautiful landscapes after he read an article on Buzzfeed entitled 'The Top Ten Towns To Visit That You've Never Heard Of'. The portrait was of Marina's face and was painted in vibrant colors like one of Andy Warhol's Marilyn Monroes. Hardly a show of mourning. It was just big enough to be impressive and just small enough for Elouise to carry away. If she could only find it.

. The painting was rumored to be contained in what was called the 'Golden Room', a room where every wall, including the ceiling and floor, were plated with gold. When Elouise finally discovered the room, she was astonished. It was far more decadent than she had ever imagined. The brightly lit room was devoid of furniture. The golden tiles gleamed and glittered as Elouise walked in, astonished. Intricate blue and white marble columns extended to the ceiling. If Elouise could have taken the entire room, she would not have because it left her in such spiritual awe that she felt if belonged protected within the walls of the magnificent manor. At the end of the room was the fabled portrait of Marina Pinebill. It was sitting on a pedestal made of the same blue and white marble as the columns.

. Lady Pinebill's stern face glared at Elouise as the girl in pink smiled and swiped the portrait from its perch. An alarm sounded. Marina, nearing seventy and hard of hearing, was preoccupied beating her husband's ghost with a baseball bat and simply dismissed the sound as paranormal activity and thought nothing more of it. Wendy, Leela, and George, however, heard the alarm loud and clear for what it truly was and, looking at their watches, which were counting down the final four minutes of their adventures in burglary, made a break for the soda fountain. The team all arrived at the same time with the exception of George who was running from a frightened widow who had been hitting him with a bat for the past fifty-six minutes with very little force. In truth, he only would have feared her had she been armed with a silver spoon like the one she had used to kill her husband.

. When George reached the top of the staircase, he saw that he had only one minute and twenty-three seconds remaining before the soda machine would leave him stranded. Realizing he would not have enough time to run down the stairs, the young man who was dressed as an old man straddled the railing and slid all the way to the bottom. He was in a hurry, but not in such a hurry that he could not appreciate how much fun it was to fulfill his childhood ambition to slide down twenty-two feet of railing on a staircase that cost more than fifty-thousand dollars to build. The ride was much less sweet when it ended and he was launched onto an oriental rug at fifteen miles per hour. It became sweet again when Elouise helped him to his feet. With thirty-four seconds to spare, the band of thieves held all of their new belongings with one hand and the soda fountain with the other. Marina Pinebill reached the top of the stairs just in time to see the burglars vanish into thin air. The old widow would blame the event on aliens until she died of an ironic venomous snake bite on an insignificant day in the future.

. The team found themselves transported to the Pinebill Cemetery where the four partners in crime counted their treasures on a warm summer night and walked home carrying them, including a somewhat large portrait of a murderer, for lack of a strawberry colored convertible Ford Bronco, which was sitting all alone by the shores of Pinebill Pond. The moon never shined so bright as it did that night at 10:48 PM in Pinebill, Oregon.

#wip #wip writing #fiction #new chapter #writeblr

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vasilinaorlova · 8 years

Text

the birth of Aphrodite out of foam

I am making too much sense. in our age it is unpardonable. I should make far less, for my intents, aesthetic preferences, and purposes. (again!) Russian Futurism in poetry Khlebnikov, early Mayakovsky, Kruchenykh, Burlyuk, others. social engineering attack* under jurisdiction of indiscretion. I’ll be repetitive. expletive a delicate gargoyle festive everydayness the spectacular and the mundane.* ________________ *to the collection of ouroboroses• __________________ •ouroboroi° _________________ °if I had to choose which plural to pick I’d be agonizing over the perplexity▪ ___________________ ▪luckily, I don’t have to. write about: toothpaste; fish in a round aquarium; write a list of groceries by way of writing a poem; write a message to your yet unborn daughter when she’s 18 and did not show up home on time. how can you not like Mr. Darcy though? shrubs and suburbs sunburn I think the sadist should wear a cornflower wreath. something touching, small, fragile. Gille de Rais wearing a flowery dress (and a female body) instead of shining armor** I want to mumble; instead, I lecture. fascinating was Zinaida Nikolayevna Gippius: extremely beautiful (of course, the first thing to demand from a female writer); extremely acerbic criticess (very misogynistic too; all women–women writers doubly so–were dust under her feet), a very fine poet, a writer of renown. she had two husbands at once (Dmitry Merezhkovsky and Dmitry Filosofov, both famous writers themselves; Merezhkovsky of a far greater fame, and Filosofov, all the time tormented by guilt); but what is most striking, she was a mystic. her private dairies, the very same occasional diaries where, as the genre seems to demand, simple mortals record their fleeting thoughts, were mystical texts of great density. she dreamed about establishing the new church, and the first ecclesia of this church was to be her triumvirate: herself and her two Dmitries. it really is interesting how sense tends to be born out of foam of speech; it arises by itself out of chaos and mess. this is why one seem to be not telling something but rather follows the flow of words; poet starts her speech from afar, Anna Akhmatova wrote, poet is led by her speech very far, she added in the very next line. the birth of Aphrodite of sense out of foam of speech. procreation of meanings. I chose the last photo. it’ll be black-and-white. it was chilly. razor radiant electric skate soft war I am going to play my endless chess with letters one on one: I and I who is going to win? I am myself intrigued. I, I suppose.a little narcissus on display, its own item in the ultimate exhibition where the curator is the ultimate exhibitionist. that’d be splendid. I see nothing erotic in the world, apart from myself. I do rather like honey, but I like it in theory: its texture, whether on a rougher side, or smooth, that is to say, the absence thereof {of texture, I mean] its viscosity, color, transparency [or absence thereof} it’s a fine product of the most mathematically gifted insects in existence, insects-existentialists, who fathomed the eternity and granted it with equal cells for a structure; who understood the construction of galaxies revolving side by side around one another (so very closely to one another, but on very rare occasions beginning to spin around one another, their sleeves collapsing, suns magnified to other suns, exploding, —, — . — ) no, let me tell you about another thing, let me tell you what Rome looked like Burluk had lines, suppose I am on a train, suppose I am in New York he wrote it in New York; the place (in the end of the poem) becomes itself a part of the poem. were it not for the poem written in New York, how’d it sound? too many things should be known for a poem to be read. or none. a pitiful absence of Rome. I collected tourist’s trifling impressions, useless trinkets of imprints that vanish like jelly fish on the shore. I looked at the famous fountains with a glacial eye of someone perfectly absent, admiring coldly their alien beauty. in the marble columns were initials carved by lovers I wish to pensively utter “now dead”–and now they are probably dead, but, alas, at the time they were likely still-alive, since inscriptions were made somewhere in the mid-sixties–lovers immortalizing their loves by vandalizing marble that immortalized loves of emperors–the last but not least (and not the last either), a paper cup of soda rolling along the ribs of pavement, empty, and ringing with that paper ding-le-de-din you hear them sometimes producing; display windows with mannequins (do mannequins merit a mention here? probably not); bronze quadrigae and Dantae–ha-ha-ha–and on a night walk I met a group of teenagers–maybe twenty-year-olds–who shouted into my face something which I could not understand but which was fairly frightful–I escaped into the night subway–was trying for several minutes to figure out where to insert the coins–coins?–and most glorious idea of all was that one could be bored in Rome, which I, a visitor, of course, could not afford for a second; I had my consolation though, this dull tire one experiences when one is forcefully subjected to endless panoramas, landscapes, and vistas, and they are all blue, multi-layered, marble, concrete, and glass. Rome was absent in its presence, somehow; I scratched a surface of it; I read tourists brochures inattentively; I gazed. Rome dissipated. I choose you over you and do so every day I wish I knew if I knew devotion or devotion had known me, or neither were I explaining myself, I would have done it using the most ancient method, that of dactylonomy I hope I may be forgiven. God, forgive us all! if you exist. let them flow, let them flow, let them flow. Zizek-style “so ons,” usually self-evident only to the author. that Eve should have menstruation makes her a clepsydra with blood, a time-measuring instrument. “I am going to be a goddess of wrath,” she said and threw a feather fan on a marble table. → Hekate, a goddess of crossroads, noctambulists, and necromancers. what’s the difference between the man seen and the man owned? scholars could not agree what color is the chimera’s blood some purport, it is scarlet | like human [wine-colored} | or animal others suggest, silvery-white like mercury, and as mercury is quick the fluorescent amalgam still others profess, chimera’s blood is black with silver glimmer, like hematite, only liquid others think, chimera’s blood is translucent as plasma another school, insists on blue but has no agreement within itself: azure; celestial beryl; royal blue; aquamarine, [ultramarine} sapphire, cerulean, cobalt, and indigo, are the main versions. but I suspect it has no blood at all. I shan’t keep you waiting, she said and dissipated like a cube of sugar in the liquid dark. narcissi are frail. very. and the daffodil is the most fragile of all. it’s a ready country song Kali looking at the world: a swarm of floundering souls drinking each other’s blood in a constant frustration of the insatiable hunger. yes, Bataille can be said to defy our understanding of him; it’s like he steps a little back and evades every time you dash forward a little; this is something the French philosophy is particularly good at; elegance and allure seems to be its two professed features; no matter how loudly and how often I refused it and denounced it as intentionally lofty and needlessly convoluted, in a frustration of my incomplete understanding, it remains enigmatic and attractive. I think Derrida is the best out of the whole spectrum, but it is also true that he only makes some sort of twisted sense in all these churrigueresque (but also cubist) contexts, and one can never be sure one truly understands anything in what is being said–but thankfully while to miss a lot of what is going on in the screen as long as the movie is blinking could be somewhat upsetting, it does not preclude us from fulfilling our miserable enjoyment. voices and voids. do charades need to be decoded? and whether one can decode a charade that was not composed, the charade that was not meant? if there were no answer meant to a charade, could the charade still have an answer? perhaps it could, perhaps it could and should, and perhaps it could not. I will not humiliate you, degrade you, deny you anything or punish you. you will suffer it all at your own hands. it'll be your own doing. and should a human want such affliction, no one in the universe could stop them from obtaining it. I will be kind and understanding, until understanding and kind I will no longer be. _____________ *“social engineering attack” is an instance of pretending to represent something you don’t represent, to assume an identity you can’t rightfully assume, in short to be someone you are not, in the modern taxonomies of the state paranoia (I went through the mandatory training as a state employee). for example, a fake bank representative makes a call pretending to work in the existing bank, in order to elicit bank account information, and so forth. I have not heard about such cases in the USA, but in Russia people call pretending to be policemen to solicit money / inform mothers that they need to give money because their sons and daughters are injured in car crash and they can’t speak etc. curiously, Maxim Gorkiy called writers “engineers of human soul.”

**Bataille wrote a book marveling on Gille de Rais, The Trail of Gille de Rais, in which, as much as he was dully terrified, paid his explicit dues to the repeated stating that the figure was horrendous, and the crimes, monstrous, he could not conceal his sincere admiration for this indeed horrible child molester and murderer

#poetry #prose #stream of consciousness

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boozedancing · 6 years

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AK: Hey, G-LO, do anything for Record Store Day this year?

G-LO: Sure didn’t make it to a record store. I’ll blame those damn kids of mine for missing out on the fun. How about you?

AK: I took a kid to a record store. And it was my kid. The 17 year old daughter. She’s got the vinyl bug. It’s not an actual bug cuz I ain’t paying for a de-lousing.

G-LO: Whew! Been there with the lice! Never fun. Interestingly enough, the Great Lice Incident of 2010 happened while I was at a Whisky Extravaganza, so I didn’t have to deal with it. I got lucky for once and dodged some critters. Thank god for whisky!

AK: It is THE best medicine.

G-LO: Amen, Brother! Did the kid buy any vinyl?

AK: She did. She’s not like me. I was flipping through every record in every bin in a store when I was her age. She’s focused, unlike me.

https://vimeo.com/265386725

G-LO: I remember those days. I skipped my high school senior prom and went vinyl hunting on South Street instead. I mostly bought used LPs. We were crazy for vinyl back in the day. So many record stores in Philly, especially used ones. We’d occasionally road trip to a place called Plastic Fantastic in Villanova. Or was it Bryn Mawr?

AK: Here too. Big stores and little independent ones. I worked at The Wherehouse in college. Think they were only in California. But they were big time store. Fun working there. Fueled my own vinyl bug.

G-LO: God, we’re old.

AK: Yes, yes we are. But these are good memories.

G-LO: I concur. We were a bunch of music and vinyl junkies back then. So much fun.

AK: I loved flipping through the bins. Spent many days doing that. Took the kid to Amoeba Records in Hollywood for all the Record Store Day festivities. She got her four albums, and I got bupkis. And the bill.

G-LO: Ain’t that always how it goes? Ahhhhh, the joys of parenting!

AK: I used to buy lots of used and cut-outs on account of me being cheap. You’d be shocked about the prices today. Just insane.

G-LO: I don’t wanna know.

AK: No, sir, you do not. That being said, I love that she has the vinyl bug. My 1,000+ record collection has an heir!

G-LO: Or at the very least, a way to fund a month of college tuition. One word: eBay.

AK: Thanks for reminding me about the cost of higher education.

G-LO: Wait. 1,000+???

AK: Used to be 2,000+, but when Offspring #3 arrived and space at home became… scarce, I sold off about half of them. I didn’t really need a picture disc of Journey’s second album, did I?

G-LO: Yes, you did, Mr. Perry. You stopped believin!

AK: Sadly, I did. So they’re all in boxes in my office at work waiting for their triumphant return to the castle.

G-LO: I sold my 350+ collection when I got married.

AK: I would have bought them!

G-LO: Hoarder!

AK: Watch your mouth, Sonny!

G-LO: Ever see High Fidelity?

AK: Love that movie! The book is great too.

G-LO: YES! I think the Jack Black character was inspired by the guy that refused to buy my albums. All I remember is him calling over his buddy and saying something like, “Yo, Mitch! Check it out! Aqualung. Never saw that one before.”

AK: Your buyer didn’t want your Cecilio & Kapono collection?

G-LO: I kid you not. I sold many things when I got married. And 19 years later, they’ve all come back. Vinyl. Steel frame bike.

AK: What goes around, comes around. I’ve often thought how my vinyl record life and my whisky life never intersected. I fondly remember sitting back for an evening of record playing. With a soda pop or some cheap booze. Would’ve been great to have a dram or two while reading the liner notes.

G-LO: Totally! I kinda miss album art and liner notes. Used to study those things ad nauseum. Dates. Musicians. Producers. I’d have it all memorized.

AK: Me too! Like baseball data. Those CD’s are not for old man eyes. The iPhone is convenient but not exactly the same as a gatefold double LP to hold in your hands.

G-LO: So true. First serious album you ever bought? And “Ernie’s Greatest Hits” doesn’t count, Big Bird.

AK: I don’t remember the first LP. But the first single was…”Bungle in the Jungle”. Jethro Tull. It all comes back to Mr. Aqualung, my friend.

G-LO: For me, I think it was Billy Joel’s “52nd Street”. Or maybe the Star Wars soundtrack? I remember saving up for two months to buy that! Donna Summer’s “Greatest Hits”. Had that too. And a poster of her sitting on one of those big old radios.

AK: $3.99 was a lot of money back then! Double albums. A bit more. I recall doubles being $11.99 in the late 70s-early 80’s. Again, you don’t want to know the price today. I wish someone could figure out how to put our vinyl love together with our boozy love.

G-LO: Funny you mention that.

AK: I’m a funny guy.

G-LO: With a face that only a mother could love.

AK: Not my mother

G-LO: Mine neither. Booze and Vinyl.

AK: Booze and Vinyl. That should be the name of a book or something.

G-LO: Guess you haven’t checked your mailbox lately. Seriously. Go check!

AK: It’s a long walk to the mail box at the end of our estate. Hold on. I’ll take a jog. Back in about 15 minutes. Unless I take the horse.

G-LO: Ride like the wind, Bullseye!

60 minutes and 18 seconds later…

AK: I’m back! Jeez, we really need to get a new horse or get a moving sidewalk, though that would probably require moving the tennis court and the Roman fountains. Let’s see, what did the mail carrier bring today? Bill, bill, bill, junk mail, bill, bill, tax lien, bill, Publisher’s Clearing House, TV Guide, bill, occupant, occupant, Reader’s Digest., Highlights, Life, Amazon, Amazon, Amazon, bill. What’s this? A book?! Booze and Vinyl? What the heck?!

G-LO: Indeed! It’s like they know us.

AK:They? Now I’m worried. This is way better than another Christmas catalog and Target ad!

G-LO: Totally! I’ve been perusing it for a couple weeks now. Love the concept! Thirst inducing AND it has me kicking myself (which isn’t easy thanks to my bursitis!) for selling my vinyl.

AK: I love the cover! Though I’m appalled that the records aren’t alphabetized and in clear plastic covers! Ok, I was a tad anal about my collection. I’m sorry.

G-LO: Never kept my albums in plastic, but they were alphabetized by artist and then in order by release date.

AK: Good man. If you’re gonna do it, do it right. I love the look of this book. Pretty neat that the writers pair albums with cocktails and give you the recipes! Brilliant!

G-LO: I’ve tried to go digital with all things and rarely buy books. This one would lose something on a Kindle. Love the feel of the paper and the photography. So so pretty! And just the right size too.

AK: Divided up by kind of music. Good, because I don’t like all music! I’m a snob!

G-LO: Yes, you are. And you don’t drink beer. Seriously, what’s wrong with you?

AK: Spun way too many records in my time probably.

G-LO: No doubt. There are some delicious sounding cocktails in here. Nice mix of classics, riffs on classics, and a couple “Why didn’t I think of that?” ones.

AK: It’s a very well thought out concept for a book. What booze goes with what music or album? It’s a recipe for a party, dinner party, date night, or a solo night.

G-LO: Absolutely! But there is one risk, Mr. Anal Retentive Record Collector: Scratched records and booze spills on records!

AK: That’s two risks. But this is a book for adults, not pimply faced kids who are trying to fire up some cash for a sixer (as opposed to a Sixer) and a bag of Cheetos. It’s adult reading about adult activities. Insert your own joke here.

G-LO: Good point! I love background music when I’m drinking. Adds to the experience.

AK: And this is the kind of book that would be perfect to read while spinning a record with a cocktail in hand. Interesting thoughts on the vinyl and the recipes. Plenty to give one pause… between sips.

G-LO: They got their mise en scene on fo’sho!

AK: Brother and sister writing team. Wonder how they came up with the list of records and drinks. Probably no fighting at all. Siblings love each other, right?

G-LO: Some do. Some don’t. This book ain’t their first rodeo. Lots of drinks and record spinning is my guess.

AK: Booze can be inspiring. All in the name of research!

G-LO: Until you get poo-faced.

AK: Ick

G-LO: Exactly.

AK: Quick! What are your five desert island discs from the book?

G-LO: “London Calling”, The Clash. Buena Vista Social Club. “Kind of Blue”, Miles Davis. “What’s Goin On”, Marvin Gaye. “In the Wee Small Hours of the Evening” by The Chairman of the Board. You?

AK: Jeez! That was fast! Hmmm. The Cars first album, Pogues “Rum Sodomy and the Lash”, The Doors first album, Sinatra, AC/DC “Back In Black”. Wish Frank could’ve done a few covers off that one!

G-LO: Respect! Ask me tomorrow and I’ll have five different discs for ya.

AK: I hear that! Quick! Five cocktails from the book to go with your choices.

G-LO: Whiskey Smash! Godfather! Aviation! Suffering Bastard! Old Fashioned! BOOM! Yours?

AK: Old Fashioned, Gin & Tonic, Whiskey Smash, Smoking Martini, Manhattan! BOOM!

G-LO: Yowza! I really like cocktails.

#TequilaNegroni! Thanks to @withthedarlingtons for the guidance! #DamnThatsDelish! . . #cocktails #cocktail #booze #drinks #dranks #mexitalian #agave #liquor #boozeandvinyl #nightcap #boozeography #lookdown

A post shared by Don G-LO Corleone 🥃🍸🍻 (@boozedancing) on Apr 28, 2018 at 8:02pm PDT

AK: Ok, Disc Doctor, why’d you choose those records?

G-LO: It was about mood. Chilly and rainy day. Making picks while on the train. They just spoke to me.

AK: This is the neat thing about a book like this. It promotes conversation. Just like whisky!

G-LO: Plus, those discs are legit.

AK: Mood really is a factor. Weather too. I’ve been on a Cars thing since they’ve been getting some buzz again after getting into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

G-LO: Absolutely. Two weeks ago I was all about Jack White and all of his music permutations. Tonight, I’m all into Tom Waits.

AK: The only part of a song I can play on a keyboard is from “Moving In Stereo”. Here, I’ll show you… oh, wait… never mind.

G-LO: That’s one more song than I can play. I have zero musical talent.

AK: That Pogues album is so Irish. There’s pain, drinking, and pain, and drinking.

G-LO: Ever hear Lewis Black and his bit about the Irish?

AK: No

G-LO: Name three albums that you would add to the book. Go!

AK: Mark Lanegan “The Winding Sheet”. Metallica “The Black Album”. Rush “Permanent Waves”. Now you!

G-LO: “Rain Dogs” by Tom Waits. “Wish You Were Here” by Pink Floyd. “Exile on Main Street” by The Rolling Stones.

AK: We’re on a roll! Thinking about our friend, Rob Gard. Didn’t he say something like “no cocktail should have more that four ingredients, and one of those has to be ice”? Those are my kind of cocktails. Not too complicated, yet tasty.

G-LO: Sounds right. The Darlingtons must be friends of Rob. Turn to pages 12 and 13. Me thinks I’m gonna have a 2 ingredient cocktail.

AK: This is my kind of list! Fifty plus cocktails with 2-3 ingredients! This is my language considering my limited bar and language skills. Rob and the Darlingtons would get along famously!

G-LO: Totally! These crazy Booze and Vinyl kids live in Philly.

AK: WTF? In your ‘hood! Booze and Vinyl party at The Barthenon!

G-LO: Apparently! They had a couple of events for the launch last week and the week before. Damn kids and work got in my way! Two questions… Whatcha listening to? And, whatcha drinking?

AK: I got three answers.

G-LO: Show off!

AK: I actually have the Cars on. And I’m killing a bottle of Creative Whisky Co. Islay bottling. And my third answer is “C”.

G-LO: “C” is how I passed tests in college. It was also my final grade more often than not.

AK: As long as your above sea level, it’s a-ok. What’s playing there and in the glass in front of you, maestro?

G-LO: Rain Dogs. Cause it’s raining. Be right back with a drink!

AK: I’ll be right here.

G-LO: Smokin’ Hot Ginger rides again!

Ladies and Gentlemen, say hello to Smokin’ Hot Ginger! . . One part @laphroaig #Cairdeas. . Two parts @fevertreemixers Ginger Beer. . Lots of ice. . Wedge of lime. . Cheers! . . #whisky #laphroaig #booze #gingerbeer #spicy #smoky #cocktail #drinks #refreshing #spirits #video #timelapse #mixology

A post shared by Don G-LO Corleone 🥃🍸🍻 (@boozedancing) on Apr 14, 2018 at 8:16pm PDT

AK: That sure is pretty!

G-LO: And tasty! Pairs well with Mr. Waits.

AK: Thumbing through this book is really fun. There are food recipes too. Boozy Honey Chicken sandwiches with honey and avocado slaw. Yum!

G-LO: Led Zep-Loin! Oh yeah! That sandwich sounds awesome.

AK: It’s a book that covers a lot of areas but doesn’t seem busy or over the top, or even unfocused. There’s some pretty easy home bar tips and hints in the back too. Too often you see all the fun sucked out of drinking by making it all too complicated. Stop being nerdy, people! Have fun!

G-LO: I agree. To be honest, I don’t read many drinks books. Especially the history ones. They get boring after awhile. But this book is like a great pop song. It has a hook.

AK: And it’s not dumbed down at all. It’s a conversation starter!

G-LO: And it’s not condescending either, like you.

AK: I condescend because I care. It wasn’t thrown together like those cheap coffee table books on the bargain table at Barnes & Nobles. Those things ARE the dumbing down of America.

G-LO:The sister of this dynamic duo teaches writing at St. Joe’s University in Philly. Go, Hawks! I wanna take one of her classes. Lord knows my writing could use some work!

AK: Sign up! You can be the Rodney Dangerfield of St. Joe’s U. G-LO stars in Back to School! The Triple Lindy of all Triple Lindies!

G-LO: I don’t get any respect either. I’m a Melon!

AK: This book would be great on a coffee table or on a bookshelf. It’s fun reading and a fun conversation piece.

G-LO: I’ve been carrying it around in my briefcase. Reading it on the train. Like I said, it’s just the right size!

AK: Fun idea how each album gets a “genre”, year, “when to spin”, “liner notes”, and a “before you drop the needle” note that gets a little wacky.

G-LO: Why didn’t we think of this?! And the Side A / Side B bit is priceless!

AK: It’s a book of album reviews, though they do like them all; and paired cocktail recipes. Just a neat concept. I think I was hoping for all of the songs listed per side but this is better and not so nerdy.

G-LO: For the record (pun intended), I was always a Side B kind of guy.

AK: You’re a deep cut, kind of guy. You really were made for FM radio. Which is a dying medium.

G-LO: Me and Casey Kasem.

AK: One, Casey is dead. Two, more like Jim Ladd. Casey loved Top 40 and tall blondes. And not in that order.

G-LO: This book is total hipster, but without crossing the line to douchebagism. It’s an invitation.

AK: Indeed. Not sure it would get you to become a vinylphile, but if you are one, it’s a lovely reminder why you are.

G-LO: One more album for the road. GO!

AK: First Van Halen album! Owww! Or however Diamond Dave would scream it. Now you!

G-LO: My Funny Valentine, Miles Davis in Concert.

AK: Oh, Miles.

G-LO: Ask me again tomorrow, and you’ll get a different answer. Miles and Coltrane. Sooooo good!

AK: The best thing about music and booze. Ever-changing with the mood or atmosphere.

G-LO: Absolutely! Always cracks me up when someone asks you to name a “favorite” of anything. It’s all about time and place. Speaking of time. We’re running out of it and losing readers by the second.

AK: Mix in the right booze and you have a perfect evening This is a book I’d easily give to someone as a gift.

G-LO: And then say, “Screw them! I’m keeping it for myself!”

AK: BOOM! Giving starts at home!

G-LO: The best gifts are the ones you wanna keep for yourself.

AK: Well, we have one here. Well done, Darlingtons!

G-LO: Which reminds me. I bought you a bottle of whisky.

AK: THANKS!

G-LO: Sadly, I drank it. You would have loved it!

AK: Bastard

G-LO: Yep.

_________________________________________________________________

Many thanks to Running Press for the advance copies of this book, The Darlingtons for masterminding this excellent, conversation starter of a book, and Jason Varney for creating so many beautiful images!

.@AaronMKrouse + G-LO sip, spin, and ramble on about #BoozeAndVinyl! @wTheDarlingtons @Running_Press AK: Hey, G-LO, do anything for Record Store Day this year? G-LO: Sure didn't make it to a record store.

#Andre Darlington #Book Review #Books #booze #Booze and Vinyl #Cocktail Recipes #Cocktails #Dranks #Drinking #Hipsterism #Liquor #Music #Music and Cocktail Pairing #Tenaya Darlington #The Darlingtons #Vintage #Vinyl Records

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mariequitecontrarie · 7 years

Text

Morning Glory: Part 2

Summary: When Joseph, a former small-town priest turned soda fountain clerk, discovers his favorite customer and longtime crush Belle French spending time with a handsome, mysterious stranger, he’s convinced they’re a couple. But there’s an emotional distance between Belle and Merlin, fueling his suspicions that Merlin cares more about impressing Belle than making her happy. Will Joseph summon the courage and faith to confess his love for Belle, or will he stand aside and allow both their hearts to be broken? Word Count: Chapter: 1496/Total: 14,150 Rating: T A/N: Part 2 of my Macelle fic, Morning Glory, for @of-princes-and-savages. Written for @maydaymenagerie

AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 Tumblr: Part 1|

Jealousy, worry, and alarm mingle in a heady cocktail, and Joseph is still cursing himself thirty minutes later while he’s stocking the cleaning supply aisle. The bell at the soda fountain counter dings, startling his frayed nerves, and he drops a case of glass cleaner on his foot, then bites down on his wrist to keep from howling.

Belle has arrived at last. Foot throbbing, he hobbles to the soda fountain to greet her.

“Evening, Joseph,” Belle says, beaming. A halo of thick, soft hair is tumbling around her shoulders and her cheeks are flushed apple red from the cold.

“Hello, Belle.” He ducks behind the counter. Unsettled by his earlier encounter with the stranger who called him Joe, it’s an effort to smile into the eyes of his favorite customer. All he can see in his mind’s eye is Merlin’s smug happiness when he prepaid for Belle’s ice cream from now until the Lord returns. On the rare occasion that he’s flush with cash, he likes to treat Belle, but now even that simple pleasure has been stripped away. “What’ll it be today? The usual?”

The brightness in her eyes dims, and he wonders if something troubles her. She settles onto a stool and runs her index finger down the paper menu, biting down on her lush lower lip as she scans the offerings. “Since we both know I don’t have a usual, what do you recommend?”

“I’m sorry. Been a bit of a rough day.” Ashamed of his thoughtlessness, he scratches at his forehead. He wants to question her about Merlin’s visit to the store earlier this evening, but he doesn’t know where to start. That and he’s promised not to say a word. Bloody conscience.

“Joseph, you’re hurt.” Belle moves his hand away from his face to examine the bump on his head, her concerned eyes roaming over his forehead.

He shakes his head, suppressing a shiver of delight when she says his name, enjoying far too much the soft way it rolls off her tongue. “It’s just a little scratch. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

She frowns. “We should put some ice on it.”

“I’m ok,” he says again, longing to recapture their typical, easy banter. But his tongue feels twisted into knots. “What’s your pleasure today? Something with coconut? Peach parfait?” He pauses, then eyes a bunch of ripe bananas. “How about a banana split?”

“Mmmm, that sounds heavenly.” She puts her hand on his forearm and squeezes. “You always have the best ideas.”

Pleased by her praise, he chuckles, then sets to work. He carefully peels and halves a perfect yellow banana with a touch of green at the stem. He scoops mounds of homemade chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry ice cream into a serving dish, regarding Belle from beneath lowered lashes.

After topping the dish with whipped cream, he crowns the sundae with a handful of maraschino cherries. He peeks at the pharmacy counter to see if Bedelia is watching. He can hear her now, complaining about the cost per cherry. In defiance, he dumps another spoonful on top for good measure. The cherries are Belle’s favorite part of the dessert. He presents her sundae with a flourish and a smile.

“Thank you,” she says, her eyes lighting up when he sets the dish before her. “This looks delicious.”

You look delicious, he wants to say as her beautiful mouth envelopes the spoon. Her eyes close and she moans in pleasure as she swallows the first bite, and his cheeks darken at the carnal direction of his thoughts. His mind drifts back to Merlin, and jealousy turns him greener than the vat of pistachio ice cream in the case. Blessed Virgin, help me, he prays. I don’t know how to act, or what to say. Give me the right words.

“Quite welcome.” He forces a smile. “How was your day?”

“All right. I got held up at the library when the system went down and needed a reboot; that’s why I was late tonight, but I did get a new shipment of mystery romance novels in.” Her face brightens, as it always does when she speaks of books. She really is the most adorable creature God ever put on this earth.

He picks up his rag and shines the counter again. “Belle, do you have family in town this week?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“No special reason.” He can rule out Merlin as a family member then.

He tries again. “Is anything new happening?”

She furrows her brow in thought. “Other than the library…no. Oh! There is something!”

“Yes?”

“Ruby and Archie had their baby! A little girl named Julia Jane. Six pounds, eleven ounces.”

“Oh. Well. Babies are a blessing, there’s no doubt.” He pinches his nose, disappointed yet relieved that she hasn’t mentioned the mysterious Merlin. It’s because she doesn’t trust you, imbecile. She’s content to share town gossip, but she’s not about to tell you who she’s dating.

He keeps her talking between bites, directing the conversation into safer areas like the weather, her work, and the latest community happenings.

All too soon, she scrapes the bowl of ice cream clean and dabs her mouth with a paper napkin. Her lips look soft and he wishes he could do it for her.

“I can’t believe I ate the entire thing!” she exclaims.

“Ice cream isn’t really food. It just fills in all those empty little spaces.” He grins. She always eats the entire dessert, but she says that every week, and every week he offers the same reassurance.

Her cheeks turn a beguiling shade of pink.

“What’s going on over here?” Bedelia is standing behind Belle, her arms crossed over her chest. She peers into Belle’s empty bowl.

Joseph gulps. He’d been so preoccupied with flirting he’d forgotten all about keeping watch. “Miss French is enjoying some ice cream.”

“Looks to me like she’s finished eating and needs to be on her way.” Bedelia nudges Belle’s bowl in Joseph’s direction, and he whisks it away and places it in the sink at the back of the bar.

He turns around to face Bedelia once more. “Belle’s a paying customer,” he argues, “and a good one at that.”

“Joseph was just charming me with his wit,” Belle says sweetly. “In my experience, he’s the finest asset this store has to offer.”

“Mmmm, well, I didn’t ask you to fill out an online survey, did I Miss French?” Bedelia’s cold smile looks like it could freeze the ice cream. “And Joseph isn’t paid to entertain. He’s here to scoop things and stock shelves.”

Belle arches a brow. “People are an organization’s most valuable asset, Ms. Bluementhal. If I were you, I’d hold onto Joseph.”

“You’re not me, Miss French.”

“Praise Jesus,” Joseph mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” Her sharp eyes rake him over.

“I said this new praline jubilee that just came in from the creamery is quite nice,” he says over his shoulder. He gestures toward the blender. “Can I make you a milkshake, Ms. B?”

“Get back to work, Joseph,” she says, with a parting glare at Belle. “Aisle ten requires your attention. There’s a new shipment of kitty litter in.”

Joseph is blushing furiously when Bedelia stalks away, torn between embarrassment and delight at Belle’s staunch defense of him.

Her hand is clapped over her mouth in an effort not to laugh, and he gives her a wry smile.

She fishes a crisp ten dollar bill from her wallet and holds it out. “I hope I didn’t get you in trouble. Thank you for the banana split. It was delicious.”

“There’s no charge,” he says, shaking his head. “And don’t worry; I can handle that old battle axe.”

“Joseph, I’m not taking your money.” Her eyes flicker with something…is it pity?

The flavor of elation turns bitter in his mouth. She doesn’t want anything from you, imbecile.

He thrusts his shoulders back. He may not be as rich as her boyfriend, Merlin, but he can afford a bloody dish of ice cream. He removes a creased and damp bill from his pocket and puts it in the cash register, slamming the drawer with finality. “It’s on the house. I insist.”

She reddens and drops her money into her purse. “I didn’t mean…thank you.”

Perfect. Now he’s made them both feel awkward.

“See you next week?” he asks, wincing at the thread of desperation in his tone. He shouldn’t be letting Merlin get under his skin.

“Of course, yes.” She looks relieved. “Good night, Joseph.”

“Good night, Belle.”

He waits until she’s tucked her scarf around her neck and turned away, before sinking down on a low stool behind the bar. The movement sends a scrap of paper floating to the floor. He picks it up; it’s Merlin’s credit card receipt. Joseph crumples it in his fist and looks at the trash can. He hesitates, then shoves the slip of paper in his pocket.

#May Day menagerie #macelle #macelle fic #anyelle #Joseph x Belle #joseph macavoy #belle french #ouat merlin #once upon a time #the tournament #mqc writes #morning glory

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