#a poem about shark awareness week

[taro-pdf]

I am proud of this shark emocon thing I made

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[shadow-assassin-blix]

A Picture is a Poem without Words

Chapter 13

A/N: Canon typical violence. Some spice at the beginning but nothing too detailed. I rewatched ep 2x06 and realized that Marta’s husband is named Diego. For the purpose of this fic, and to create less confusion, I have called him Antony. Dress is number 10 found here.  Gif from @scntacruz 

Pacho tags: @yungkvte @mcrmarvelloki

Everything tag: @mikeisthricedeceased

It had been 3 days since Blix had woken up. She had gone through her antibiotics and was now able to move a bit more freely.

The stitches were going to be removed today, and she couldn’t wait for it. The stitches were itching terribly.

When the doctor finally arrived, she was practically bouncing in her seat. It didn’t take him long to remove the stitches, with a small warning of ‘don’t do anything too strenuous.’

He left a moment later, and Blix spent a few minutes gently stretching. It was about 10am and Pacho had briefly left to go give his men some orders for the day. He came back in as Blix was about to stand up.

Pacho moved over to her, slowly. He stood before her, his hands cupping her face. He leaned down kissing her firmly and passionately.

She kissed him back with as much as enthusiasm. She started to lay back down onto the bed, her hands gripping his silk shirt tightly as she pulled him down. Pacho pressed his body against hers, and one hand moving down her body, while his other buried itself into her hair.

“I believe you mentioned something about spending the day between my legs?” Blix murmured against his lips.

“I did indeed. I plan on doing exactly that. Cleared my schedule and everything,” Pacho joked lightly as he moved down to press kisses to her neck, nipping here and there.

Blix giggled lightly at that, a moan escaping her mouth as he bit a particularly sensitive area.

He paid intense attention to that spot, as his hand slipped under her cotton shorts. His hand slid past her panties, his fingers running up and down her slit.

She moaned lightly at his teasing, her hips jerking up wanting more. They removed their clothes with some urgency, the both of them sliding under the covers.

The two of them spent most of the day either chasing their highs or simply lying next to one another, enjoying each other’s company.

The next day rolled around and the two of them finally untangled themselves from each other. They showered and dressed, before heading downstairs.

Gilberto & Miguel were downstairs waiting for them discussing next steps.

“Ah. Blix, lovely to see you moving about more freely. I hope you are feeling better?” Gilberto greeted her cheerfully.

“Yes, much better. What are our plans?” Blix asked them as they walked into the dining room to have breakfast.

The four of them sat down to eat and talk. As Blix made her plate, Diego appeared next to her, and after quickly kissing her head, he sat down next to her.  Blix smiled softly at him, telling him good morning.

Gilberto began to explain his thoughts to Pacho about next steps, as Blix checked her phone for missed calls. Upon seeing there was nothing there, she placed it on the table and listened to Gilberto.

“… Mrs. Moncada has reached out to Don Berna. I suspect she is attempting to make as many allies as possible to hurt Escobar. We will let her do whatever she pleases. Our priorities will be taking over his production lines and starve him of money,” Gilberto informed them.

“Where do we begin with that?” Blix asked him curiously.

“We’ve already begun. We are taking out his production sites, starting with the ones Mrs. Moncada informed us about to the ones Escobar doesn’t think we know about,” Miguel spoke up.

She nodded her head in understanding, glancing down at her phone when she saw it was going off. She answered it, standing up and strolling into the living room.

“Hey Javi, what’s up?” She greeted.

“We have a new colonel. Martinez. And the ambassador has insisted that DEA have an overseer. Messina. The ambassador is not too happy with any of the agencies currently. I would suspect he will be reaching out to you soon to bitch at you, just so you’re aware,” Javier warned her.

“Good to know.  What’s Martinez like?” She asked him.

“An ass. Extremely by the book. I have never felt more frustrated with Search Bloc. Hell, I’ve never felt more frustrated in general. I… hmm. I have a terrible idea that may bite me in the ass later but… if it means Escobar goes down,” Javier said in an exasperated tone.

“What do you have planned Javi? Please don’t do anything stupid,” Blix begged him softly.

She knew from experience that Javier would have half-assed plans that usually ended up with him being in all sorts of trouble.

“I’m going to reach out to some CIs and go from there. That’s all you need to know. I’m not going to risk your career by telling you too much,” Javier’s voice lowered as he spoke.

“Javi…” Her tone turned admonishing.

“Anyway, when you find yourself back over in Bogota let me know. We can go on that date,” Javier stated somewhat loudly.

“Do not use me as your cover,” Blix growled at him, hearing chatter in the background.

“Yeah, see ya soon sweetie,” He ignored what she said and hung up.

“That motherfu-” She groaned staring down at her phone.

Blix sighed heavily, as she pocketed her phone, and running a hand down her face in frustration.

She returned to the dining room, re-taking her seat. The brothers had continued to talk out their plans with Pacho and she half listened to them. Blix was far too distracted to fully pay attention.

Halfway through one of Gilberto’s explanations his phone rang, and he answered it excitedly.

“Good morning Marta, light of my life. What can I do for you?” Gilberto greeted.

He listened to her for a moment, before passing the phone to Blix.

“She apparently wants to speak to you,” He stated as he held it to her.

Blix took the phone, “Hello Marta. What’s up?”

“Hi. I need help. We moved up the wedding and I am freaking out over what to do. My mothers are driving me nuts and I cannot stand their opinions no more. Please help,” Marta sounded close to tears as she spoke.

“Okay. Tell me where you are and I’ll be there,” Blix said calmly as she stood up again.

“I’m at my father’s favorite home, thank you so much,” Marta vaguely explained, hanging up.

“Uhh. Okay. Gilberto? Which of your 10 mansions do you consider your favorite?” Blix asked him as she placed his phone on the table.

“Navegante will take you. I assume it has to do with her wedding plans?” Gilberto waited for her nod. “I assumed so. She has been panicking over the plans for the past week.”

“Vagueness runs in the family I see. ‘Kay. Just gonna go grab my bag I guess… as I’m led to an unspecified location. Not like that ever turns out terribly for anyone in a horror movie,” Blix mumbled as she made her way upstairs to grab her bag and some shoes.

Blix, after grabbing her things, stepped outside and got into the waiting vehicle that held Navegante and Maurice.

It took about an hour and a half for them to get there. Blix stared up at the house with an eyebrow raised as she took in the grand home.

“This man…is ridiculous…” Blix said quietly, shaking her head.

Blix strolled up to the front door, smiling at Marta who was waiting for her.

“Alright. What’s wrong?” Blix asked her as they stepped in.

“So, a great deal of it is taken care of, but so many small details need to be taken care of,” Marta began leading her to the backyard porch, to a table that was covered in books and samples.

The two of them tackled each item: place settings, decorations, dresses, accessories and the like. The entire process took about 4 hours to get everything decided and ordered.

“Now, what else do we need to do?” Blix questioned her as they finished up.

“Well. I was hoping… would you be willing to sing our first dance song?” Marta quietly requested.

“You want me to sing… for your wedding?” Blix clarified, staring at her surprised.

“Yeah.  I love the way you sing. Plus, I’m sure Pacho would love to hear you sing as well,” Marta teased lightly.

Blix shook her head at that, before replying, “I’ll sing one song. That’s it.”

Marta squealed happily and hugged her, yelling, “Thankyou!Thankyou!”

Later that week, while at Pacho’s place, the news reported the first murder committed by Los Pepes.

Blix quietly listened to the news report, glancing at the men around her who appeared unbothered by the grisly murder.

Blix slipped outside, as she called Javier. However, there was no answer, which said to her that he knew she’d be upset with what had happened and was avoiding her.

Over the next several weeks, Los Pepes became embolden and were murdering Escobar’s men left and right.

Gilberto drew the line when the latest macabre display took place at a Christmas light show, where small children saw the scene.

Gilberto attempted to reach out to Judy Moncada to talk to her and Don Berna about the murders. To tell them to tone them down.

Unfortunately, they no longer cared about the Cali Cartel; they were focused on exacting their bloody revenge on Escobar.

Blix spent most of that time helping Marta with wedding plans and getting the venue ready. The wedding was this weekend, and time was of the essence.

Marta insisted that everyone get their hair and nails done the morning of the wedding. Pacho, who was not expecting guests at 6am, stared at the bride to be with some confusion when she appeared in the doorway of his bedroom.

“Hello uncle! Can you please make sure Blix is up and downstairs in 15mins? We have a busy day today!” Marta said cheerfully.

Pacho raised an eyebrow at her, before glancing down at Blix who was buried in his blankets and pillows, Diego laying half on top of her.

“Was she aware of these plans beforehand?” Pacho inquired as he looked back at Marta.

Marta gave him a toothy smile, before disappearing.

“That’s a no,” Pacho answered to himself.

“My love? My beautiful shark? You have to wake up,” He gently spoke, kissing her shoulder.

“….why? wedding not until tonight?” Blix grumbled, shaking her head.

“I know but… Marta made plans apparently… and she’s downstairs waiting for you,” Pacho informed her, pulling the pillow she tried to hide under away from her.

Blix lifted her head up, eyes blearily staring at him.

“What do you think would happen if I said no?” Blix asked him, turning her gaze to the doorway.

“Marta would be upset, and cry which would then upset Gilberto and he would make you go through with it anyway using threats,” Pacho answered.

“… so my chances are good?” Blix questioned jokingly.

Pacho chuckled, “Get up. It won’t be that terrible. I’ll see you later on.”

Blix quietly crawled out from under Diego, who had flopped onto her back at some point during the night. Blix learned very quickly that Diego was the kind of person who very rarely slept in one spot all throughout the night and very much like to spread out and take as much of the bed possible.

Blix, who was crawling over Pacho to get out bed, mumbled, “This better not be terrible, or you are making this up to me.”

“I had already planned on it. I look forward to seeing you in the dress Marta picked for you. She says it’s quite… salacious,” Pacho teased her, kissing her on the cheek.

Blix simply rolled her eyes and changed out of her night clothes into some shorts and a tank top, with some flipflops. She wasn’t going to get overly dressed up for a day of hair and makeup. She stepped into the bathroom, brushing her hair and teeth. As she walked downstairs, she clipped on her shark necklace.

Marta smiled at her and said, “Good morning! We are going to have a wonderful morning and then tonight is going to be amazing!”

Blix smiled softly at her, still trying to wake up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

The next several hours were a whirlwind of hair, nails, and makeup. By the time, they were ready to put on the dresses, it was late in afternoon/almost evening and Blix was exhausted. They had arrived at the venue and were doing last minute preparations.

Blix had finally put on the dress that Marta insisted she wear, with red pumps to match. She stared at bejeweled bodice of it that had a nude material backing it to give it some modesty. The dress itself was made to fit her like a glove, so even without proper shoulder straps it was able to stay in place.

Her hair had been done up in a high bun, her makeup as bold as the dress.

“Marta, I thought all eyes were supposed to be on you? Not on me looking like I stepped out of a romance novel?,” Blix lightly joked.

“Ahh. The beauty of it is though… if all eyes are on you no one will pay attention if me and Antony slipped away for some alone time,” Marta whispered conspiratorially.

Blix chuckled at that, “I see. I’m the distraction.”

Marta nodded, causing the two of them to giggle some more. Marta turned and looked at herself in the mirror in her wedding gown, nervously running her hands over the material.

“What’s up?” Blix asked her, standing beside her.

“The wedding jitters everyone warned me about. I always thought I wouldn’t get them, because I love Antony so much. But I am feeling them now,” Marta responded, trying to take a deep breath.

“I’d say that’s pretty normal. This is a big step in your life. It’s not an easy one to take. No one would blame you if you decided to postpone. That boy worships the ground you walk on, and if you said you wanted to wait, he would do it. So, tell me. Do you want to wait, or do you want to go marry the man you love?” Blix posed the question to her, smile on her face.

Marta took a moment to calm herself before smiling and nodding at the mirror, “I don’t want to wait.”

“Alright then, I’m going to go take me seat. I’ll see you out there honey,” Blix stated as she stepped out into the hallway.

Gilberto stood nearby, waiting to walk her down the aisle.

“Hey, give her a minute. The wedding jitters have hit her. She may need some words of encouragement too,” Blix said to him, stopping in front of him.

“Ahh. I had a feeling they would hit her soon enough. I’ll go check on her,” Gilberto replied with a knowing smile. “Blix. If I may say so, you look beautiful. I get the feeling you are going to knock Pacho off his feet.”

Blix smiled, feeling her cheeks warm up as she made her way into the main hall. Her seat was next to Pacho near the front. She made her way down the aisle, spotting Pacho with Miguel and Antony.

Miguel was the first to notice her, and nudged Pacho on the arm, motioning to look her way. Pacho turned to look at her and stared at her in awe.

“Hi. We should probably take our seats, it should be starting soon,” Blix noted, as she got near them.

Pacho quietly led her to their seats, his eyes roving up and down her figure. He eventually leaned over, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“You look like a goddess in this dress. I cannot wait to see what it looks like on the floor as I worship you tonight,” Pacho whispered into her ear. “Who knows? I may not even wait till then.”

Blix cleared her throat softly, turning to meet his gaze. She gently gave him a kiss on the lips and whispered for him to behave.

He smirked at that, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, keeping her close to him.

The ceremony began 15 minutes later and lasted for about an hour. Pacho noticed during the ceremony, that Blix was not one who cried easily; many got teary eyed during the vows. He noted at one point that she had looked down at her own left hand, her gaze blank. He desperately wanted to know what was running through her mind, but knew he wasn’t going to get an answer anytime soon.

He reached over and held her hand in his, while the ceremony continued.

When it was over, they all headed to the reception to celebrate.

Miguel was the last family member to give a speech. Pacho looked around trying to find Blix, who had disappeared a few minutes after they had arrived.

“Good evening everyone,” Came her voice on the microphone. “For those of you who don’t know, my name is Blix. I am a friend of Marta’s.”

Everyone turned their attention to her, as she stood on the dance floor directly in front of the bridal party.

“A few weeks ago, Marta asked me a very important question. She asked me if I could sing the first song of the night. I agreed on the condition that I got to choose the song. She was a bit… hesitant to say the least. In fact, I had to bargain with her… a trait I am most definitely positive she got from you Gilberto,” Blix joked.

Several people chuckled, as Gilberto stared at his daughter with pride, pressing a kiss to her head.

“Per her request, she got to choose what I am wearing, hence why I look I belong in a telenovela or a romance novel,” She gestured to her dress with a wave of her hand. “And I get to choose the song to start our evening.”

Blix looked back toward the band who gave her a thumbs up to say they were ready to go. Antony, who knew what the song was going to be, led Marta to the dancefloor. Blix took up a spot in front of the band, looking at the couple with a smile.

“This is going to be a cover version of an oldie,” She hinted, softly clearing her throat.

The music began, and everyone stared at her curiously trying to figure out the song before she started to sing. Antony and Marta began to sway softly to the music, Marta was tearing up slightly as she recognized the song. It was one of her favorite songs

As Blix sang, her gaze moving about the crowd. Her eyes eventually locked onto Pacho’s who was smiling softly at her. She sang a couple of lines, keeping her eyes on his, subtly singing to him.

She broke her gaze away once she got closer to the end, moving it back to Marta and Antony. When the song ended, the crowd clapped and cheered. Marta after hugging Antony, strolled over to Blix to throw her arms around her in a huge hug. Blix hugged her back.

Blix handed the microphone to one of the band members who took over and began to play the playlist that Marta gave them.

Blix after giving her congratulations to the happy couple, made her way over to Pacho. She collapsed not in the empty chair next to him, but onto his lap.

“I am exhausted,” She said with a small yawn.

“Don’t fall asleep just yet… we still have to get through at least another hour before we can slip away unnoticed,” Pacho informed her.

Blix quietly nodded, before the two of them got up to get food and mingle. The party was in full swing, and she was standing near the brothers listening to them as they told stories about Marta. Blix noticed out of the corner of her eye, that Marta and Antony had slipped outside.

She smirked, turning to look over at the wedding cake. Blix tilted her head as she looked at it. Something about it wasn’t right, she just couldn’t put her fingers on it. She shook her head, thinking she was being paranoid.

If only she had listened to the paranoia.

One moment she was talking to Gilberto, the next all she could hear was a sharp ringing. She was aware of something on her legs, pinning them down, and several screams and shouts. Blix opened her eyes trying to focus on something, anything. Her vision was blurry, all she could see was disfigured shapes and splashes of colors.

A voice was calling her name, growing louder as it moved closer. The weight on her legs disappeared as a face came into view. It took several blinks for her vision to clear, and she was able to see Pacho’s face staring down at her.

“I’m starting to think someone out there wants me dead,” Blix mumbled as Pacho helped her sit up.

Pacho chuckled weakly at that, whispering, “You’re okay.”

The two of them slowly stood up, looking over each other, inspecting the damage. Blix could see several bruises on his face, and blood coming out his ear. He grasped his left arm, that she assumed he had landed on.

Pacho, looking her over, could see some blood coming from her nose, with various bruises on her body. He noticed she was favoring her left leg, probably due to the dead body that had landed on her right.

The two of them looked around, as Miguel made his way over to them, holding his shoulder. The three of them found Gilberto, and after making sure Marta and his family was okay, sent everyone home or to the hospital. The 4 of them somehow made it to one of Gilberto’s home, each of them covered in soot with some sort of injury.

The four of them made it into his office where Gilberto collapsed into a chair and stared off into space. Pacho lit a cigarette and Miguel stood there with his arms crossed.

Blix had one of the guards grab a first aid kit so she can fix everyone’s injuries. She set the kit on the coffee table, before going over to Gilberto’s glasses and decanter of whiskey. Her hand trembled for a moment, and she shook it thinking that would steady it before grabbing the decanter and pouring everyone a drink.

Blix passed them out once they were all poured out, and Miguel nodded his head in appreciation. Gilberto took the drink, blinking slowly.

Pacho took the drink after taking a drag of his cigarette. Blix took her place next to Pacho, leaning against a chair.

“That man… has no decency,” Gilberto began, standing up. “To attack my family like this… my daughter on the night of her wedding. Only a madman would do that. A crazed animal, dangerous.”

A moment passed, as Gilberto began to shake with fury.

“I want him dead. Not next year. Right now. Kill all of them. I don’t just want you to kill his lawyers, accountants, and bankers… I want you to kill his secretaries, anyone who lifted a finger to help that man. I want to see them dead,” Gilberto’s once calm voice began to shout. “ANYONE WHO HAS EVER LICKED A POSTAGE STAMP AND PUT IT ON AN ENVELOPE IN HIS NAME, I WANT TO SEE THEM DEAD! AND THEN I WANT YOU TO FIND ANYONE WHO EVER SHOOK HIS HAND AND KILL THEM TOO!”

Miguel during his tirade, placed his hand on his shoulder, nodding his head quietly.

Pacho paced slightly, fury on his face as he took another drag of his cigarette.

“That son of a bitch. From this night, we’ll show no mercy,” Gilberto declared with a shaky breath.

Blix looked at the 3 of them, knowing there was nothing she could say in this moment that could help them. There was something she could do however as she quietly guided each of them to a chair. Grabbing the first aid kit, she began to tend to their injuries softly. All 3 tried to wave her off, but a firm look from her made them back down.

“Can’t rage war against Escobar, if you let your injuries go untreated,” Blix murmured to Gilberto as she looked over his wounds.

Gilberto sighed heavily and allowed her to tend to him, along with Miguel. Pacho didn’t complain, having learned his lesson from the last time he had been injured.

Once all 3 were patched up, Pacho turned the tables on her and insisted that she let him look over her injuries. She let him tend to her minor injuries with a small sigh.

A few minutes later, her and Pacho were stepping out of the office. Diego greeted them; his face full of concern as his gaze roamed over the both of them.

“We’re fine. Could’ve been worse to be honest,” Blix assured him as the 3 of them walked out to a car, to drive home.

After the both of them took a shower, and changed into cleaned clothes, Pacho went to bed, Diego trailing behind him. Blix sat in the living room, not ready to go to bed just yet.

It was late in the night, and Blix couldn’t sleep. She stared at the proposal that Gilberto had drawn up and given to her the day before to give to the ambassador. With a heavy sigh, she called him not caring that she will probably be waking him up.

“Ambassador… I need to talk to you… and the CIA. The Cali cartel want to make a deal,” Blix began.

The next morning, in the early hours, she had flown out to Medellin, proposal in hand. The trip to the embassy didn’t take long, but it sure felt like time was moving slowly.

Blix stepped into the ambassador’s office, her face blank as she took a seat next to Stechner. She was grateful to have thought about putting on makeup this morning to hide her bruises, to lessen questions.

“So. Cali wants to create a bargain, eh? Is that what you’ve been doing with your free time Agent Lage? Hanging around cartel members?” Stechner said in a mocking tone.

Blix ignored him, as she pulled out the documents that Gilberto and the other Gentlemen had signed, setting it on the ambassador’s desk.

“Listen. I am well aware that no one here is innocent when it pertains to the Cali. I would know, since Gilberto informed me that the both of you are on his payroll. This meeting was bound to happen soon enough, so cut the crap. Let’s get this show on the road,” Blix spoke calmly.

“So, Gilberto wants free reign for 6 months after the death or capture of Escobar, and all 4 are willing to turn themselves in?” Ambassador Crosby asked in clarification after spending some time reading it over.

“Yes. All four of them have agreed to turn themselves in 6 months after Escobar’s death, or capture, without interference from law enforcement. No interruptions to production lines or sales. They spend 6 months making themselves rich, and then they’ll gladly let us arrest them,” Blix explained further.

“What about your bestie? Pena? Don’t think he’ll be too happy to know you made this deal for them. What are you going to about that?” Stechner questioned looking at her.

“Currently? I don’t care. He’s not focused on Cali. When that time comes, I’ll tell him the same thing I am telling you. It’s one less cartel. Who cares how it’s done?” Blix nonchalant answer disguised her worry.

She knew one day she would have to face Javier about her decisions, but it was not going to be anytime soon. She would deal with it when the time came.

Stechner stared at her somewhat impressed, “Living in Cali definitely made you more cutthroat. If you ever think about switching agencies let me know.”

Blix rolled her eyes at that, and watched as the ambassador approved the proposal, making a phone call to the president of Colombia. A few minutes later and the signed document was being filed away, signed by all in the room.

Blix stood up preparing to leave, when the ambassador stopped her, “Agent Lage, the annual Christmas party is tonight. You should come.”

Blix nodded once, making her way out into the hallway. Stechner sauntered outside beside her, his hands in his pockets.

“So, tell me… How is Mr. Herrera? I’ve noticed you no longer have been living in that lovely little townhouse of yours. However, I guess it is hard to stay there after Escobar’s men destroyed your door,” Stechner commented as the two of them walked toward the elevator.

“I’m not dignifying that with an answer,” Blix replied, shaking her head.

The two of them stepped onto the elevator, Blix not sparing him a glance.

“Not sure what happened recently for you to come forward about this deal suddenly… however… I hope you are prepared for the potential fallout if anyone else finds out about your relationship with him,” Stechner warned her.

Blix continued to ignore him, walking forward once the elevator doors opened. Blix was well aware of the consequences; she currently did not care about them.

Blix checked in with her team.

“What’s happening guys?” Blix asked them as she stepped into the office.

Theo, Cynthia, and Robbie all looked up from their desks, before grabbing files, holding them out to her.

Blix took all of the files, with a short laugh. They filled her in on current assignments they were working to help DEA. Cynthia & Robbie traded off on who monitored the airports. Theo listened to chatter and translated phone calls. She took a seat, going through each file and approving them when she was satisfied with the work. The work took about 2 hours before she sent off the files to various other departments to be filed.

Once she got caught up on paperwork, she left the embassy. She was not in the mood to go to another party, so she hopped on a plane back to Cali.

Returning home, she smiled softly at Pacho who was on the phone giving out orders. He finished up his call as he spotted her walking toward him.

He leaned down, kissing her softly.

“So… I was thinking you and me could go out for dinner this evening?” Pacho suggested as he straightened up.

“I like the sound of that. What are our plans to deal with Medellin?” Blix inquired as the two of them strode over to his corvette.

“I’ll tell you later this evening,” Pacho answered her, driving her into the city.

While the two of them ate, Los Pepes with the new knowledge being fed to them from Cali, attacked the Medellin cartel hard. Pacho eventually informed her of what was going to go down, and she had a feeling that this war was going to get bloody on both sides.

[esperinkdraws]

again, and again, and again

or, 5 times Patton asked, “Can I?”

this is like, really long, so under the cut it goes. (Also i really hate how section four is shorter than all the rest).

tagging @jessibbb and @bexxbeauty because moxiety

tagging @stop-it-anxiety and @lildevyl because Sanders Sides

stuffs: food mentions throughout, a panic attack and mention of parents arguing in section 2, mention of a storm in section 4, and a kiss or two at the end. I think that’s it?

1.

He was by himself. Sitting against a wall, away from the other kids. Virgil didn’t mind. He supposed he was used to it.

Shoes appeared in front of him and he looked up. A boy with dirty blond hair and freckles grinned at him, waving.

“Hi!” he said. “I’m Patton.”

Virgil recognized him from the classroom. Patton usually sat in one of the front seats and was typically a chatterbox.

“You’re Virgil, right?” Patton asked. When Virgil nodded, Patton smiled again. “Can I sit next to you?” Virgil nodded again, and so Patton took a seat next to him on the concrete.

Patton started to talk as Virgil continued to draw with chalk. He kind of tuned him out until he noticed it was quiet. He looked up again.

Patton was watching him, tilting his head just slightly. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Virgil blushed and ducked his head, shaking his head no.

Patton brightened nonetheless. “That’s okay! My mom says I talk enough for two people.” He giggled, and Virgil couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

Patton sat next to him at recess and lunch for a week. And then the next week. Virgil half-expected him to stop at any moment, since he didn’t ever really reply.

One day Patton’s shoes stopped in front of Virgil again. The quiet boy looked up, and Patton had a surprisingly thoughtful look on his face.

“Virgil?” he asked, and he sounded almost hesitant. “Are you my friend?”

Virgil blinked at him and looked down in thought. Was that what they were? Friends? Well, they weren’t strangers, at least.

Patton shifting from foot to foot caused Virgil to look back up. Yes, he decided. Maybe that’s what they were. He nodded.

Patton beamed, moving to sit next to him. He offered Virgil his cookie. “Do you want my cookie? I’m allergic.”

2.

Virgil didn’t quite know where he was. His parents had been arguing and he just ran. He hated when they argued. He couldn’t stand it.

Now he was lost in an unfamiliar neighborhood and it was getting hard to breathe.

He’d been sitting there for a bit, head on his knees, when he became aware that there was someone in front of him.

“Virgil?”

He recognized the voice. Patton. He lifted his head just a bit to peek out at him. Patton reached out a hand and Virgil flinched back. Patton quickly retracted the hand and took a few steps back, shoes disappearing from view. He was leaving, wasn’t he? Virgil dug his nails into his palm.

Wait, no – he could hear his voice a few feet away, mingling with two other voices he didn’t recognize.

Patton’s shoes reappeared in Virgil’s vision. “Virgil?” Patton asked again. “Can I touch you?”

Virgil hesitated, but then he nodded. Patton placed a light hand on the back of Virgil’s wrist. “I’m gonna count, okay? My dad taught us this. I’m gonna count to four, and then to seven, and then to eight. You’re supposed to breathe with the numbers.”

Virgil didn’t respond verbally or physically. Patton gently tapped his wrist. “Okay?” he repeated. Virgil nodded, and Patton started counting.

It took a few times for Virgil to start breathing normally again. He looked up and noticed that something was different about Patton. He was wearing round glasses, which he hadn’t been when Virgil saw him at school earlier.

Behind Patton, Virgil could see two other kids that looked the same age as them. One also had glasses (but different frames) and the other had a red paper crown on his head.

Virgil bit his lip and looked back down.

“Oh,” Patton said. “These are my brothers, Logan and Roman. We have the same birthdays!” He clapped a little.

“Triplets,” Logan said with a small adjustment of his glasses, and Patton nodded.

“Yeah, that.” He gestured between his brothers and Virgil. “This is my best friend Virgil!”

Oh.

Best friend?

Patton’s brothers greeted Virgil and didn’t mention the lack of verbal response.

Virgil glanced back at Patton, tapping the side of his own head, near his eyes.

“Oh yeah!” Patton said, taking off his glasses to show him. “I got glasses today!”

3.

Virgil sat on a bench near the cafeteria, swinging his legs, (or, at least trying to. He’d grown too much to be able to do it correctly).

He watched the rest of the sixth graders file out of the cafeteria. None of them would be sixth graders after this, and it sort of scared him. It was the last day and the school had decided to celebrate that with an award assembly.

Virgil was just waiting for his mom to pick him up. She was at work and his dad wasn’t in the picture anymore.

“Virgil!”

His head snapped up to see Patton running to him. His brothers trailed behind him.

Patton skidded to a stop right in front of Virgil, and then took a step back in case he was too close. He was grinning at him and his eyes were wet. “Can I hug you?” he asked.

Virgil nodded, slightly confused.

Patton smiled again and hugged him briefly, then he let go and stepped back again. “I just have a lot of feelings,” he said, bringing a hand up to wipe at a tear that had escaped.

“Oh,” Virgil said, and they both pretended that Patton’s eyes didn’t widen at the first word Virgil had said to him since they’d met two years prior.

But Patton just grinned at him again, turning when his brothers had caught up to him. Logan greeted them and Roman reminded Virgil to sign his yearbook.

“I’m so excited for next year!” Patton said. His brothers noticed him start to ramble and quietly slipped away.

Virgil didn’t mind Patton’s rambling at all. He’d come to enjoy it, and he was very much used to it since he was the one who didn’t talk.

“Gosh, I hope we get a lot of classes together,” Patton continued, clutching his yearbook to his chest.

He didn’t get to say much more before a man approached and said, “Hey kiddo, it’s time to go.”

Patton pretended to pout. But then he turned to him and said, “Hi dad! This is Virgil.”

“Ah, so this is the best friend we’ve been hearing about,” Patton’s dad said good-naturedly, but Virgil blushed nonetheless.

“He’s a therapist,” Patton told Virgil proudly. Then he looked thoughtful. “Can I hug you again?”

Virgil nodded, and Patton smiled.

Patton hugged him and then let go. “I’ll see you later,” he said, and Virgil watched as the family left.

4.

It was a dark and stormy night.

Well, no, not really. It was a dark and stormy late afternoon. Virgil had gone over to Patton’s house to do homework and it had started to rain the minute he stepped inside.

It had been alright for a bit, and the boys had gotten some things done, but then the sky darkened, lightning and thunder happened, and the power had gone out.

Patton fretted. Virgil might have found Patton’s fear of storms a little silly if he didn’t care for him so much. If he didn’t find the other teen so… endearing.

Patton turned to him, eyes wide behind his glasses. “Can I… can I hold your hand?”

Virgil offered his hand, and only hummed when Patton latched onto it.

“Sorry,” Patton said softly, and Virgil just shrugged as if to say, ��it’s okay.’ Patton smiled a little. “Can I… put my head here?” he asked next, tilting his head towards Virgil’s shoulder until getting an okay from him. He snuggled into his side.

Virgil quietly tried not to melt as he continued to work on his homework with his free hand.

“You know, Virge,” Patton said with a small, content sigh, and Virgil hummed in response. “I’m glad we’re friends.” He smiled up at him when Virgil glanced down.

5.

Roman had taken it upon himself to assist Virgil in his quest for his brother’s hand. When he learned that Virgil had a crush on Patton, he insisted on helping with the confession.

“Fine, if you don’t want to say anything to him, maybe you can write him something,” Roman was saying. “You know what people like?”

“Bagels,” Virgil supplied helpfully.

“…No, what?” Roman was nearly confused into silence. Virgil still rarely spoke and when he did, it always seemed to trip Roman up. Not to mention Virgil’s answer did not seem on topic. “Maybe.” He waved a hand. “Um, poetry!”

Virgil raised an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t give me that look,” Roman said. “Poetry has been used for years to express how one feels about someone. Dedicate something to him. Take, for one, Shakespeare’s sonnet 138. Allow me to demonstrate.” Roman cleared his throat and started to recite the poem. “’When my love swears to me that she’ – or, well, ‘he’ in this situation – ‘is made of truth, I do believe her though I know she lies—”

“I’ll stop you right there,” Logan said, causing the other two to jump due to seemingly appearing out of nowhere. “That is about an older man and an unfaithful girl… lying to maintain their relationship.”

Roman opened his mouth and then closed it. “Oh.”

Logan rolled his eyes at Roman’s surprised silence, turning to Virgil. “If you’re going to be using Shakespeare, might I suggest, Shakespeare’s sonnet 18? ‘Shall I compare thee’ –”

The sound of a door opening interrupted him. Patton had arrived home, and he saw them all standing in the kitchen. “Oh, Virgil! What are you doing here?” he asked.

“He was waiting for you,” Roman said helpfully. Without pausing, he said, grabbing Logan’s arm, “Hey, Lo, you wanted to show me that documentary about sharks, right?”

“Well, yes, but—” Logan didn’t get to finish his protest.

“Excellent, let’s go watch it.” Roman dragged a confused Logan out of the room.

Patton watched them go with a slight tilt of his head before turning to Virgil, smiling at him. “You were waiting for me?” he asked.

Virgil nodded, just once. “I—” He hesitated, cutting himself off. Patton’s eyebrows rose in either surprise of curiosity, and Virgil almost immediately lost most of his confidence.

Patton’s expression softened. “Take your time,” he said.

Virgil’s face flushed as he chewed on one of his fingernails for a moment. “I really like you,” he managed to say.

There was only a moments’ pause before Patton beamed up at him. “I really like you too, Virgil.”

Virgil thought that Patton misunderstood, so he shook his head to indicate that no, not in a friendship way, when Patton stopped him.

“Like more than friends, right?”

Virgil blinked, nodding slowly.

Patton just smiled and lifted a hand to hold Virgil’s cheek, stopping before contact to silently ask permission. Virgil leaned into the touch and Patton full-on grinned. “Virgil,” he said, meeting his eyes, “can I kiss you?”

Virgil nodded wordlessly and Patton surged up to press his lips against Virgil’s.

When Patton eventually pulled away, he giggled at the dazed look on Virgil’s face. “Hey Virge,” he said, and Virgil hummed in reply. “Wanna be my boyfriend?”

“God, yes,” Virgil said, and Patton kissed him again.

[invertedeidolon]

The Longest Library #1: And on the Eighth Day She Rested by J.D Mason (Or, Eidolon talks too  much about their shitty childhood and relationships)

( Until I find a format for these, I’ll just be rambling about the interesting bits I have flagged in the book. There WILL be spoilers. ) 

Rundown: A perfectly capable story about one woman’s recovery from a 14 year abusive marriage, ‘And On The Eight Day She Rested’ is a quick but immersive read. I give it a 4/5, only because I don’t agree with the heroine’s final decision. If you ignore that, it would have been a 4.5/5. This is because I am a bitter bastard.

Because it’s a story mainly about abuse and recovery, of COURSE I’m going to relate to it. What I wasn’t expecting, was just how well the author depicted the feelings and thoughts involved. The narrative voice is entirely inside the main character’s head, from her perspective, and nobody else’s.

Right off the bat, she talks about how her husband has disappeared again. How this time, instead of being jealous or insecure, she savored her time by herself, even ‘back[ing] away from feelings of inadequacy’. My first relationship involved a lot of ghosting. This is something I desperately wanted to do, to ACTUALLY enjoy time by myself, instead of worrying up and down about how HE’S doing, what HE’S feeling, whether it was my fault he wasn’t talking to me or if I was good enough for him.

“It’s a piece of time that doesn’t warrant any more attention than it’s been given.”

The main character refuses to press charges or do anything at first. All she wants to do is to make that entire part of her life disappear, like it never happened (but of course, after things like that, it’ll never be ‘like it never happened’). I don’t talk a lot about my mom (my abuser) in the present tense. I don’t get very angry thinking about her either. Because she doesn't warrant any more of my time or energy, and if I had it my way, she would just quietly disappear forever.

“But the words linger, piling up inside me like garbage, and when he’s not around to pile on some more, I can usually regurgitate them to remind myself of who I really am.”

I still deal with this, to this day. The things my mother said to me and my sister often return like some kind of horrible specter. I can usually tell when it’s me, or if it’s ‘mom’ talking based on how extreme and unwarranted my language gets toward myself.

“Didn’t I ever dream of being...doing something besides worrying about Eric, pleasing Eric, ducking from Eric, crying over Eric, or crying because of Eric?[...] All these years have I been completely driven by this man to the point that I don’t have the fuel or desire to drive my damn self?”

Yes, actually. Being trapped in the house with your abuser, often makes it so that they’re the focus. Avoiding them, pleasing them, often meant the difference between survival and... not. The main character married him when she was eighteen, and kind of had to grow up with him, depend on him. It gets like that when you’re dependent on somebody. For a long time after getting out of my parent’s place, I would just sleep. I wasn’t needed, so I slept, or laid there. I didn’t know if I was allowed to eat, so I didn’t. Abusers like that often control nearly every aspect of your life, and left to your own devices after they’re gone... you don’t have anything, like a sim with the free will turned off. There’s no self-direction, not even driven by your desires, because your desires didn’t matter, and were punished out of you.

“Even when he was gone, the anticipation of him was enough to keep me in hell and I couldn’t enjoy being alone. [...] My mind was constantly filled with the challenge of keeping everything perfect and not giving him a reason to fuss.”

This is something I still do, although now it’s just a reflex turned into an act of love, as opposed to a survival instinct. I make the surroundings comfortable for my loved ones and myself, because I love them, and I’m aware of how much of a difference the smaller comforts can make, not because I’m afraid of a ragemonster thundering through the house if one little thing is off. I do still get nervous if people are moving too much or making too much noise sometimes (it was like blood in the ocean, make too much noise and here comes the shark, ready to shut it down and punish you for daring to assert that you were in any way alive and not serving her that very moment). Although there are sometimes when my body remembers, but I don’t. I’ll accidentally forget my partner’s tea on the counter and burst into tears out of overwhelming guilt, and then feel ashamed because my emotions are so overblown (but the emotions are from when I would forget something of my mother’s and would be in the midst of fearing punishment). It’s hard sometimes.

There are these poems/prose that happen only twice in the book. I don’t really understand what purpose they serve or why they’re there. Maybe it’s a staple of romance novels, like a writing tick or something?

“I haven’t been able to get the encounter with Eric off my mind. It’s not running into him that’s bothering me. It’s my reaction to him.[...] He’s been out of my life so long, but today I felt that familiar intimidation I used to feel from him and I don’t like it because I thought I’d convinced myself that I was over it.”

I feel this. I feel this hard. I hate just how much power those memories hold over me. I get into a situation that’s similar enough, and I break down and regress back into a kid, following the same set of insane rules. It scares my partners sometimes, that I could be terrified and obviously hurting, but still deflecting any questions about me, and being extra attentive to them and only them. Because that was how you did it. You showed fear, you were punished. You made anything about you, you were punished. And god forbid I ‘break a rule’ in that state, because I devolve into a terrified mess, because the rest of my nervous system expects a punishment for it. Sometimes the freeze response is so bad that my body shuts down. It was enough pain in the past that my body felt like there was a threat on it’s life, and prepared me for it accordingly, slowing everything down, making it harder to move (It’ll hurt less when the lion eats you if your muscles aren’t tensed), flooding my brain with opiates to make things numb and foggy and distant. It was enough to make my body think I was going to die. Of course it doesn’t just go away. The body wants to live. It WILL remember, no matter how ashamed you are of it. And by god am I ashamed.

“I refused to give that bullshit any more attention than it’s been given”

For me, it’s who my mother was as a person. I spent a really long goddamn time fighting not to blame myself. I refuse to recognize her as anything but empty and monstrous. I get angry when people attempt to assign any kind of humanity or careful, conscious thought to her. She has neither. She is a creature, driven by instinct. I don’t care that she made me, she’s never made anything good in her life. I refuse to give her credit for me. I made me. Not her. She didn’t raise me, and she sure as hell isn’t raising her other daughter, I AM.

“I waited all day, but he never called. So the next day, I call him, several times, but he doesn’t return any of my messages.” - “Lately, my nerves are on edge and there’s an uneasiness flowing through my veins. I’ve been trying to ignore these feelings, but it’s hard to do. I sense a shift occurring in my little universe.[...] He won’t talk to me except to say he’s tired, or busy, promising we’ll talk later, but later never seems to come. Most of the time I sit here waiting for the phone to ring, hoping it’s him and hoping things will be back to normal again. When that doesn’t happen, I go to bed trying not to be depressed about us breaking up and trying not to make plans for my life without him in it.”

So back to ghosting dude. The fear of pulling away only got stronger the more he did it. I‘d dread when I didn’t get replies, because then I would think ‘Is he doing it again? Will I have to wait another three months?’. And before you go “But Eidolon! What a shithead! Why didn’t you leave him be?”, this was happening while I was still living with my mother. He was the only source of nice things and what felt like genuine attention I’d ever had. A starving dog would rather take bread from someone who feeds them once a week than to take bread from someone who beats them. Insert that study about the rats and the lever and how the lever that inconsistently gave rewards was more attractive/addictive than the one that was consistent. Anyway, this part of the book filled me with a tension, a dread I didn’t expect to feel. The new boyfriend, The One, the First Healthy Relationship is obviously going downhill, and nothing is being said about it because ‘what if I ruin it’. The first quote made the pit of my stomach open up, and the second set made me question whether someone was spying on me 6ish years ago. 5/5 on a realness scale. Fuck me up, J.D.

“I can’t lose this man. Whatever is bothering him, whatever problems he has I want to be there for him. I want to be his woman and help him work through them. No matter how difficult, or how impossible things might appear to him, I can and will do anything for Adrian Carter. He has to know this.”

Whoof boy. The determination and blind hope that it IS something that I can deal with, that it isn’t anything huge or life altering, that we can get through this. In the end, the same thing happened in the book that happened to me. He didn’t WANT help, he’d already made up his mind without me (despite previous assurances that SOME kind of communication would happen). I like my current relationship. Everybody actually fucking TALKS, and they TRY, instead of crumpling and giving up like that.

So I’m not quoting this part of the book, otherwise I’d be writing out almost an entire chapter, but what’s basically going on is that the ex husband showed his crusty face and doesn’t get to complete his threat because more people came about to witness him. Anybody who’s been there knows he’ll be back to finish it later. So now Main Character and the new boyfriend sit down, and both say “I have something I need to tell you.” Of course she lets him go first, because she’s desperate to find out what’s going on, fix it, and repair the relationship. But the thing he needs to say is essentially the end of their relationship. So of course she says nothing. This was a little frustrating for me, but I do remember being in a position like that. You don’t ask for anything from someone who’s just hurt you. You’re given the innate knowledge through years and years of experience that the person who just hurt you (no matter the pain) will NOT help you, and might even hurt you more. I get it. I understand. The frustration I feel is the frustration of my loved ones when my feelings don’t line up with reality. The boyfriend is a good man, and probably would have assured MC’s safety before completely leaving. But she feels she has to keep it tucked away. Another unspoken thing is, what if he thinks it’s just a call for attention, a ploy to get him to stay a little longer? What an awful thought. Better not say anything.

“There are other ways, Adrian. Lots of other options, and together, we can come up with some, but we can’t if you walk away from me like this. Don’t walk away from us. Adrian. Please.”

God, did I beg. I did a lot of begging. Maybe not to him, because what if he thought I was pathetic and actually left because of that? But this was said, slower, and with a lot more words, calmer, with a lot less desperation. I was so used to being The Calm One, The Adult, that I thought I just had to navigate through it. Nope. He just crumpled and gave up and refused to do anything except verbally lash himself, and at the very end, I wasn’t going to come to his rescue yet again.

“I’ve got to go, Ruth. I’ll try and call back when I get a chance.” Adrian hangs up, without even saying goodbye. It’s after midnight and Eric’s car is still parked outside.”

This part gave me such dread. Both things were so, so close together. But safety was floating away while danger just crept closer and closer. It was like that nightmare I had about a different boyfriend’s texts getting farther and farther apart, eventually not answering, right before mom entered the dream and did horrible things. *shudder* What a vile and despairing feeling. What a writer.

“Time has a way of dulling the pain and helping me to get over him. I’ve needed big doses of time.[...] Am I supposed to be here waiting for him just in case? That’s no fair. He moved on with his life, and despite all the drama, I’ve moved on with mine.”

So in this part, it’s a bit later and the boyfriend is back, and people are asking the main character to talk to him. She actually does better than I did in this regard, because she just downright refuses to give him the time of day beyond civility. I however kept letting this fucker back in and out like a revolving door (but the boyfriends in question aren’t really comparable, the reasons for leaving are WAY different.)

“I’m afraid to turn around. Afraid I still love him now as much as I did then. I don’t want to see Adrian. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. I’ve worked too hard all these months to turn back. I can’t afford to do that to myself. I owe me more than that. I don’t owe him a damn thing.”

That horrible mix of hope and the need to stand your ground. My own reasons were far less involved in the realm of self-advocacy, I was just bitter and hurt and didn’t want to feel that weak ever again, but by god did I desperately want things to go back to ‘normal’, for things to be better, to have a relationship that I thought we could have if we’d just worked a little harder, did a little more, waiting long enough that we could meet more in person.

And now, for the extra spoilery bit because it’s literally the end of the book:

“Of course I’ll marry you,” I say with tears in my eyes.”

Fucking *EYEROLL*

I get it. I really do. I get that it’s kind of a romance story, I get that she’s doing this entirely for herself and is a part of her self development, but COME ON.

I wanted her to make the opposite decision. I wanted her to be stronger than I was. I wanted her to make him WORK for it, and STILL deny him, because goddamnit he left her, and left her in a dangerous place, (like my own did).

She even goes as far as moving into the goddamn mountains in colorado, in a cabin. That’s my fucking DREAM. To just, physically shun everything that’s ever hurt me, and to be by myself. Even now that I’m in a much better place with much healthier relationships, this is still something I want to do (but with more people involved now).

The shit that Adrian carter says is only slightly less weak than the shit that Eric says. “[I’m here] To fix what’s broken for both of us” “I’m human, baby. I made a choice and it didn’t work out” “I learned a valuable lesson” “It was hard, but I learned that a man needs to go with his gut instinct”

Just fuck off, Adrian Carter. Quit talking about yourself. He just fucking smiles and slithers his way right back in and UGH. And the thought that it would actually WORK between them afterwards just makes me bitter as fuck. Or rather, it makes me feel the bitterness that I already had in me.

Despite the recovery process being so abbreviated, the beats were so similar to my own that I began to look for a catharsis that wasn’t there. Because this story belongs to the writer, and not to me.

Now, fanfiction definitely belongs to me, however. I can certainly write a story about Ruth turning him away to the cold, and further building her own sense of self and maybe making friends with another hermit and discovering more about how she’s running away from her problems and yadda yadda, and THEN reintroduce the boyfriend, who’s actually trying harder this time.

But again, this story belongs to the writer, and not to me.

----------

Thanks for reading this clusterfuck, eventually I’ll get better at this.

Only 296 books to go!

[lovemesomesurveys]

who did you have your most amazing kiss with? Joseph.

have you ever said you were in love with someone and meant it? Yes.

have you ever hugged a stranger? what was their reaction? No. I don’t just go hugging random people. what are your thoughts on paying it forward? It’s great.

has a youtube video of yours ever gotten over 10,000 views? Haaaa, no.

what's a fear you've conquered? I don’t know that I’ve conquered any.

when's the last time you were completely honest with someone? Like... with something about them or me venting and being open with someone?

have you ever hugged someone for over a minute? Maybe.

have you ever received a homemade card from someone? Yeah.

would you ever get a tattoo on your collar bone? No.

do you like robert frost poems? I used to quote one of his a lot that says, “In three words I can sum about everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.”

do you go to church every sunday? No. :/

ever had a drunken night in mexico or las vegas? No.

have you ever been to arkansas? why/why not? No. I have no reason to?

where would you go on a road trip with your best friend? I’d want to go to a ton of places.

were you scared to go to college after the whole virginia tech massacre? It did make me more aware and nervous sometimes while on campus.

what about columbine? Any time there was news of a school shooting it made me nervous.

have you ever joked about a loser at your school coming to school with a gun? I never made light of things like that.

do you know anyone with harry potter glasses? I used to in elementary and middle school.

longest you've ever stayed on the phone? A few hours. I used to actually talk on the phone a lot with friends in middle school and some of high school.

longest you've ever hung out with the same person? I mean, apart from my family who I live with, I hung out for a few days with a friend on vacation.

have you ever been in a relationship on and off for more than a year? Joseph and I had an on and off thing for like 4 years.

what about just for a year straight? If I did for more than a year then I obviously did for a year.

would you go jetskiing in shark-infested waters? Uh, no.

do gangs scare you? Yes.

have you met a best friend on a cruise before? No. I’ve never even been on a cruise.

have you made out at a high school football game? No.

how many high schools are in your city/town? A few.

would you wear a tank top and a miniskirt in weather under 60 degrees? I wouldn’t wear that ever.

if offered, would you want to go to fashion week in paris? Sure, just for the trip to Paris. ha.

if you had to get famous for one of the following, which would you choose: pornography, music, acting, writing, modeling? and why? Writing.

ever flashed/mooned a random person? would you ever? what did they think of this? and why did you do it? Nooo.

let me guess: your bra is a size 36c? Nope.

what would you do to get out of getting a speeding ticket? I wouldn’t even try.

what are your thoughts on fake reality television? I’m a reality TV junkie.

do you watch the college humor show? Nope.

would you want to own your own island? Sure, ha.

why do you consider abortion to be murder if the baby doesn't even have a heartbeat or brain activity until the 6th week of the pregnancy?

what do you think of girls with huge boobs that don't wear bras in public? isn't it nasty?

what is the most offensive thing someone could say to you? Uhh. I don’t know.

do you even like politics? No.

if you were paralyzed from the neck down, would you want to die? I’m paralyzed from the waist down and I’ve had my struggles, obstacles, and frustrations for sure, but I do have more mobility than a quadriplegic and a little more independence. Well, not these days due to health stuff, but I used to be pretty active once upon a time believe it or not. I used to have great upper body strength because of it.

have you ever seen a guy wearing hoop or dangling earrings? Yeah.

if you had nine million dollars and you were going to die by friday (we will say it's monday by the way), what would you do with the money? I’d donate a portion and give a portion to my family.

what's it like at raves? I wouldn’t know.

what is your state nickname (the golden state, the cheese state, etc)? The Golden State.

[peglaughlin]

More of Peg’s Poems

A series of poems, assembled in sequence a year after Peg’s death.

The First Snowfall

The shovel stands by the cabin door, The woodpile stacked so neatly below, Azaleas warmly wrapped in burlap tents And gray clouds cover the darkening sky. The chickadee gathers seeds on window perch And pines lightly sway and then stand still.

All is quiet, a damp cold settles in and fills the air. From the sky a snowflake softly falls…                                                                        winter begins.

March 1987, Stuart Florida Vacation

Waves crash against the shore    and rush in over morning sands To pull down the dunes     and strip the mangroves bare. Your angry words beat against my ears    and tug at my chest and I am alone and afraid

The sun opens distant darkened clouds And stretches out her light beams To calm the troubled seas.  ?   omit

The Hibiscus Awakening

(Father’s Day, June 1987, Topsfield with the whole family)

There in the noise-filled crowd Of that sun day Closed, alone and unnoticed, Waiting for the damp darkness Of this quiet morning To awaken          pink              and fragile                          and                               beautiful.

Untitled, 8/28/87

It hangs there     large and ominous Like a heavy dark cloud It is present on awakening    and the last thing at night and remains always suspended above

The ever-present, all-consuming thought                                                                of your death.

November 1987

(Leaving lunch with Mom, and Mike and Betty, at The Colonial in Lynnfield)

You said you wished it were over Mother.     Were you speaking of Dad’s death                                                                and Bob’s too? Then we hugged each other close    that gray Fall day Sharing our strengths    to carry on Through the long, cold winter ahead.

Juno Beach, Florida, March 18, 1988

“I hope these dark clouds pass,” I say upon returning from my early morning ocean walk. My words hang in the silence of the room Aware now of your thin, bent form     and pain-filled eyes I recall your angry words of moments ago Lashed out against one who loves you most.

Unexpected Gift

(Juno Beach, 3/25/88)

With eyes cast downward and bag slung over my shoulder I’d trekked miles of beach that day searching for the perfect shell when I passed a well-tanned fisherman dragging for bait at water’s edge who reached out and placed in my hand a tiny treasure from the sea.

Making Memories

(Juno Beach, March 1988)

You survived a Christmas hospital stay To be part of your son’s wedding And struggled through the long, cold winter Indoors in overheated rooms For one more visit

To stand on our condo porch And watch the sunrise over the azure ocean, To pray in comfort on padded seats And find His peace in daily Mass, To sit by the friendly pool and feel the noonday sun Warm away your pain, To look up at changing skies And track the winged pelicans in flight To rest and dream of earlier times And, for a moment, to be young again.

Juno Beach, March 1988

As the warm, sun-filled days slip slowly by     in our ocean-side retreat I rescue a few blossoms     from our fading table bouquet To savor their beauty a little longer.

Last Farewell

(written 10/9/88)

[last stanza] It is quiet and peaceful for you under the big tree’s shade where I will join you, dear Bob, one day – Until then, may you rest in Peace in God’s loving arms.          I love you always. Peg

Search at Dawn

(2/9/89)

I walked the beach at dawn     and searched for you And all I saw    was the rising sun. I walked the beach at dawn    and listened for your voice And all I heard    was the sea gulls cry I walked the beach at dawn    and reached out to touch you And all I felt    was the warm breeze against my cheek. I walked the beach at dawn    and cried out for you And then I heard it:    the crash of the waves              against the shore.

Longing

The wind is at my back the sun dances over the water and waves lap the shore. I long for another day When I walked the beach and returned to share with you – the people I’d met          the birds I’d seen             and shells collected then. Today - only the walls of     our tiny seaside cottage                   listen

Spectacle on the Beach

Our clean sandy stretch of beach is no more. The storm has washed up her ocean debris Leaving a dead shark along the shore. The waves wash over it, rolling it back and forth, And cover it with sand, but there it stays for all to view.

A young boy walks all around the shark Throwing stones at it, poking it, curious to see if the shark will move. The middle-aged stand and stare for a while, joining others to talk about its fate. The old and stooped walk up to the shark, pause only a moment and look away.

The tide goes in and out, the sun sets and rises again and there the shark stays on for yet another day.

Midnight Stroll

(On Sanibel Island, Florida, 2/7/89)

The cricket sings outside the window of our tiny cottage by the sea and the lapping of the palms are like raindrops falling on the ground below. The sky is black, the moon lights my way to the beach below where a thousand stars accompany me overhead.

Naples, February 1992

Time ticks by – I hold it fast on this last day to myself before Marion arrives. The early morning song of a seaside sparrow awakens me in my apartment in Naples, and I am restless to get up early and not waste a single minute of this day. Sun creeps over the back porch, through the tall palms and hibiscus hedge and the glass louvre backdoor into my yellow kitchen.

I open the living room drapes and wide corner window to let in the cool morning air. From my second-floor apartment I watch the world below awaken. The workmen at the corner apartment across the street set up their staging for a day of painting. Two women do their daily morning exercise – “walking and talking” briskly by on the street below. A tall man in his business suit heads downtown for a day of work, passing a second man returning with his morning paper.

A long dried palm frond and a large coconut have landed on the lawn below, blown down by last night’s wind and rain. The sky turns from early morning gray to soft azure blue as the sun slowly rises higher in the eastern sky. A yellow-shafted flicker perches on the old palm tree stump below my living room window, chirping loudly. A large clump of berries on the queen palm next to it have turned a bright orange-red in just three short weeks.

That coffee smells so good. Time for my first cup. Guess I’ll sit myself out on the porch and catch some early morning sun. Then I’ll plan my day.

Morning Companion, 3/7/92

Four blocks down the road past several apartments, condos and a few single homes with manicured lawns, (the last of which is a pink and white stucco bordered by pink and white impatiens), I step over the wooden walkway and onto the sandy beach below, in the quiet cool of a Florida morning. A flock of sanderlings go back and forth with ocean’s ebb and flow in perfect unison, pecking for their morning meal.

The sun creeps by slowly over the tall coconut palms, through sea grapes hedge and onto the smooth cool sand below. I step barefoot over broken seashells along the wet sand at water’s edge past a long row of old pier pilings jutting out on to the water where [?] perch and dry their wings before diving underwater again. Two women with string bags search for the perfect shell among a large pile washed up on sand the night before. A young couple jogging in oppsoite direction slow down and stop to look out at something in the smooth calm water. My eyes follw theirs. A black speck appears. They continue jogging. I stand still and watch the water from shore. Up it comes again! First the tail, then his smooth, sleek gray body follows – rising up and over the water, and down into it again. I follow along the beach – a few more steps and the tail emerges again, then the body up and over – sleek and graceful – then into the water again.

We move along together in the early morning light. I walk the beach, the dolphin swims beside me, we are in harmony with each other under a wide Florida sky. I watch for him to emerge again. He flips his tail one last time, turns and heads out to deeper water. I pick up my pace. Sand disappears under my feet. I step out into the warm gulf water and dive into the crest of a wave.

[rhinkficathons]

Life could be Simple

Title: Life could be Simple

Author: Anonymous

Rating: T

Word count: 3,060

Prompt: The August Preoccupations (I’d been itching to write a MerRhett fic and this poem was dripping with it)

Summary: Link’s obsession with a certain mythical beast may mean more to him than he believes (title taken from the Flow soundtrack)

Notes: drowning tw

Link was obsessed.

His skin was tanned brown from spending so much time in the sun, out by the shoreline. His arms had grown thicker from strain against the currents, the muscles in his back deep and taut, altering his figure. His already broad shoulders expanded from constant exercise; the more he swam, the more his body grew in strength and muscle mass, yet the more he lost weight.

He barely noticed the prominence of his ribcage until his mother had pointed it out during his short trip to North Carolina. She’d walked in on him changing one morning and, upon glancing at his thin waist, rushed back downstairs to prepare even more pancakes, dishing out as much food as her son needed during his stay.

“Are you eating well? Did something happen? Do you really need to get physical in an office space? What have you been doing with yourself?”

Link shrugged as he fiddled with his cereal, not in the mood for its sweet taste. “Just swimming.”

“Link, son, all you do is swim these days,” Louis said, taking on a strict tone despite Link’s age. “Each time we call you rush to hang up, saying you’re late for your daily swim. Are meeting anyone out there?”

He swallowed a mouthful of Mini Wheats to hide his sudden blush, merely shaking his head.

Nope. It was no one, nothing of significance, not if you don’t count the sharp turn his life had taken since, the way his mind and soul were bound to deep blue waters, and a pair of fine, green eyes. Not if you don’t count the way his heart ached so many miles away, the way his home had lost all meaning and splendor, the apartment he dwelled in so much colder and lonely since they’d met.

Link was obsessed and he was keenly aware of it, of his irrational feelings, of how small he felt as a lowly human being.

—

At least the week away visiting his family helped him clear his mind a bit. It was his mother and Louis’ anniversary; having neglected them all year, he owed them at least a portion of his time, no matter how much it hurt to leave him behind. He settled in one afternoon, locked in his old bedroom and staring at his laptop, typing in the research he’d been too lazy, too self-conscious, and too scared to look up.

More than shock or surprise, more than fear and wariness, Link was filled with a sense of wonder the more he read. It had to be impossible; he had to be impossible. Was he a nymph? An undine? A merman? Like any good ol’ fairytale, every source Link seemed to read suggested that Rhett’s mere presence in his life spelled his downfall.

He smiled for a moment. Link had taken to calling this mythical beast Rhett. One late-night viewing of “Gone with the Wind” combined with the strange language he spoke in, always addressing Link with words that carried R’s and T’s, and thus Rhett’s name was born. It felt right somehow and like a docile creature, Rhett took to the name and responded to it.

But his heart shrivelled up almost as quickly as every folklore and mythology stated that he was no more than an object for Rhett’s benefit. Some sources stated they had no soul, therefore making a human fall in love with them would earn them an eternal soul. Others simply remarked how they would drown humans for a lark, their looks and sultry songs enough to draw them to the water’s edge.

Rhett hadn’t been singing when they met.

Carried further out into the open ocean by unexpected waves, Link had been fighting desperately against the current when something brushed past his leg. His mind went into overdrive, remembering clearly every shark film and documentary, and he was soon choking back water, trying and failing to calm himself, that is until a pair of strong arms held him aloft above the surface of the water. And there he was, all green gills and hair like seaweed, a tiny seashell hanging from his neck, emerging before him with curious eyes, and the most adoring smile Link couldn’t help but match.

—

As Link boarded the plane back to California, he was determined to disembark and calmly get himself home, without a single gaze or thought towards the ocean, carrying on with his ordinary, uncomplicated life. No matter the want, there was nothing sustainable about this. It wasn’t a relationship, it wasn’t even something he could label as “complicated.”

The flight wasn’t full that day, giving him a row of empty seats beside his own. Stretching his legs out, his back to the window, Link opened up his journal. He rolled his eyes at his own doodles and handwriting, Rhett’s poorly captured face gazing back at him. Everything he’d written had been about Rhett; everything he was about to write involved him as well. He brushed a finger over the drawing, his heart swelling at the thought of the real thing.

Maybe he didn’t have to say goodbye permanently. Afterall, it had been months now and Rhett had never once tried to hurt him, had never drawn him out into the sea. He waited for by the shore and without speaking the same language, Rhett seemed to understand the same social cues that applied to human society; he waited and extended a hand for Link to hold before they swam off together. All they did was swim, that was innocent enough, right?

Innocent, Link though with a pleasant shudder, thinking back to their first kisses, their constant hugging and tickles and, to some extent, more intimate touches. Without Rhett his arms ached, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

A bump of turbulence brought Link back to the present.

Fuck it, he thought, returning to his seat. Setting down his journal before him he decided to make a list: all the things he had before him, all the things he wanted to accomplish, perfect, or complete, all the things that made his life worthwhile. At most it seemed Link was trying to convince himself to leave Rhett behind, to not get attached, reminding himself of his mother’s horror-stricken face at his body’s condition. That wasn’t a good sign, and his constant obsessing over Rhett, over his mouth and arms and lovely tail, only proved the point that this was a plan that would inevitably lead him to his death.

As he wrote the date on the right corner of the page, he realized with a start that it was August. He’d met Rhett during a surprisingly warm afternoon in December, in the middle of winter.

Eight months, nearly nine.

It was eight months of his life, the happiest and most-fulfilling. With a sudden cry that he hid from his fellow passengers, Link suddenly couldn’t wait to land.

He would take water in his lungs for a single moment with Rhett.

—

Link didn’t give himself any time to rest or even breathe in the California air he’d missed so much. As soon as he stepped through his apartment, Link dumped his bags in the entrance, rushed into the bedroom searching for his car keys, not without tripping on said bags on his way out, and drove out to the coastline. The sun was setting when he arrived, still high in the sky in an array of purple and golden hues. The soft rippling of the waves called him home and he pressed on running, down the shore and to his usual meeting spot with Rhett.

From afar he spotted a body in the water, pleasantly drifting. Its green coloring gave it away; there was nobody else it could be.

“Rhett!” Link called out, an edge of despair in his voice. As soon as he spoke, Rhett whirled around, craning his neck and smiling when his gaze met Link’s. He was so beautiful. With tears threatening to fall, Link clutched at his chest in awe, his fingers grazing upon the seashell Rhett had given him weeks ago.

He managed to remove his shoes, socks, and jeans before running straight for the water. He’d barely splashed inside before Rhett was shooting towards him, gaining enough momentum to propel himself through the shallow waters and into Link, knocking him backwards. He nuzzled Link’s face affectionately, his arms tight around his waist.

Laughing, Link wrapped his arms around Rhett’s broad shoulders. He smelled like the ocean, powerful and carefree, like the fall of rain, and something distinctly Rhett. Gosh, he’d missed him so much. Rhett pulled back and stared down at Link’s lips. Self-consciously, Link licked them, smiling as Rhett whipped his tail in impatience.

“I missed you too,” Link said before leaning in and kissing this wild, impossible beast with as much adoration as he could.

Before long, Rhett pulled back completely, the look in his eyes dazed. He smiled almost drunkenly and swam further in, holding his arms out for Link. Leaving his glasses behind, Link pushed through the waves, sighing as the fresh water cradled his body. As soon as he reached Rhett, however, the other swam away playfully, arms still extended in front of him.

“You little…” They carried on for a bit, Rhett just out of reach until a wave carried Link straight to him, shoving him a bit too hard against his chest. Out of air, their soft laughter against each other’s skin, Link hugged Rhett. They seemed made to fit into each other, no matter their species or different body types. Rhett’s arms around him was the most magical, wonderful thing that had ever happened to him. How could it be wrong?

Stroking down his back, fingers gently weaving through his hair, Link moved to kiss Rhett. Their lips slotted in perfectly and in the lull of the evening, Link couldn’t hold back the spark of electricity that coursed through his body. Their movement turned frantic, the long week Link was away apparent in their deep kisses and rough, clenching hands.

Slowly, in a dance, Rhett began to pull them both beneath the water.

Too caught up in the sensation, in the way Rhett’s body writhed against his, Link took too long to notice how deeply they’d gone under. He pulled back and with a start, realized he couldn’t breathe. The ocean’s surface seemed so far away, the glitter of the sun dancing high above him. He squirmed in Rhett’s hold, his mouth gaping, desperate for air. He couldn’t move, Rhett oblivious and affectionately kissing his neck.

This was it. He was going to die. This was it.

He dug his fingers into Rhett’s back, trying desperately to convey without sounds that he was dying. But then again, hadn’t his research warned him that this was what mermaids, and mermen, did? Luring human beings with their beauty and charming song?

The raw instinct to breathe took over and Link bent over with fire in his lungs. His vision darkened entirely to the sweetest taste of Rhett’s lips on his for a final time.

—

Little did Link know, this union between them was just as passionate and deadly for Rhett as it was for him. He dragged Link down below the waves, holding his face tenderly between his palms while his tail wrapped tightly around him. It was his instinct to sink in the throes of love, not to swim.

Rhett twirled them round and round, holding his beloved human close after the long separation. He always knew Link would come back, he felt he understood that was what Link had tried to convey. But the sting of loneliness grew only too painful as the sun rose and set too many times until he heard his voice. Link was all his.

Rhett pulled back when felt Link’s lips slack against his, his body jerking in sudden spasms, eyes rolling back in his head as faint bubbles of precious air escaped his mouth. Then they stopped.

Confused, he held Link by the shoulders and shook him. Nothing. He held his face and called to him, singing very softly. Still, he didn’t move. Rhett gripped Link’s chest desperately, feeling nothing beneath his hand. How could he forget his mate needed air? Cradling him against his chest, Rhett plunged through the water and through the surface in no time at all.

He brushed a few strands of hair from Link’s forehead, shaking him and calling to him in his tongue. Link fell heavily against his shoulder, immobile, his arms floating limply on the water.

“Link,” he called faintly, the sound foreign on his tongue yet deeply imprinted on his heart. What could he do? What was he supposed to do?

Then it hit him. Many times before, and once during the time Link had been away from him, he recalled seeing humans bring back to life members of their own kind. He watched them as they pressed their hands against their chest, sometimes beating down hard. Then they kissed? Was that all?

Shifting Link’s weight to his left arm, he tilted his head back with his right, pressing tiny kisses to his lips, waiting for those lovely blues that defied the beauty of the ocean. Nothing.

No, no, no. Panic welled in his chest. Rhett nudged Link’s nose with his own, kissing him over and over, softer now, harder then. He trailed down his cheek, burrowing his face in the crook of his neck with gentle sobs. They had warned him that falling in love with a human was fatal, yet Rhett had never realized that death wasn’t the only fatality in existence. He’d never felt love like this before, or pain.

Water trickled down his cheeks, strange sounds erupting from his chest. He’d never cried before; or rather, he’d never noticed that his eyes spilled salt water, or that he made out such ugly sounds in pain. Rhett had always cried underwater.

Maybe if another human found Link, they could help him. Rhett swam to the shore, making sure Link’s head remained above water. At this time of day there was no one on the beach, not close to their little nook and haven. Rhett hovered over Link, kissing him over and over, pressing his palms to his chest and willing him to breathe.

“Link,” he cried, suddenly angry. Just like those humans did, Rhett pushed down on Link’s chest. With no sense of rhythm, he pushed, pleading to the gods to bring him back. Yet Link lay still, unperturbed by the swish of the waves. Rhett pushed down harder, curling his hand into a fist and beating down.

He pounded and pounded and pounded and suddenly, Link’s body jerked, his head rising up with a sharp gasp, water spilling from his mouth. Turning onto his right side, Link coughed roughly, his throat straining, his breathing wild with every breath he took.

He’s alive! The thought filled every nerve of Rhett’s being and he smiled, still crying, still spilling tears but of an exhilarating joy. When Link’s eyes finally travelled up and met his, Rhett saw stars.

He was leaning down to kiss Link when Rhett felt him tense beneath him. He froze, his breath faltering with the sharpness of Link’s gaze.

“Don’t touch me.”

What did that mean? Rhett couldn’t understand but the severity of Link’s tone made him draw back, enough for Link to shove at his arms, crawling away with his eyes still on Rhett. He winced with every move, each breath accompanied by a low groan. Rhett tried to help him and pushed himself closer again, earning a hard shove.

“Stop, Rhett! Don’t come any closer!”

Please. Rhett reached out and Link recoiled from his touch, easily standing and darting away from him. Please.

“I said don’t!” He stopped, completely out of the water now. He took in Link’s hunched form, his eyes screaming at him. Link had never been afraid of him before.

No. He couldn’t lose him again. He would never be whole again if Link hated him. Rhett stretched his hand out, fingers trembling, but Link turned away, shaking his head. How could he ever apologize without sharing the same language? How could he make Link understand that he never meant to hurt him? What had been a ritual for Rhett had been the manifestation of all of Link’s insecurities and fears.

Lowering his head, hobbling awkwardly in the sand, Rhett cried out.

—

Link cried as well, silently, his tears blurring the sight of Rhett, his jerky and uncoordinated movements in contrast to the smooth dance he performed in the water. His cries tore at Link’s heart and gradually, his voice of reason was overcome by the ache in his heart.

He loves me, Link realized. If Rhett had wanted to drown him, shouldn’t he be dead? He couldn’t handle the shrill cry that burst from Rhett’s chest, a song of agony. It was raw pain and the only thing wrong with it was that it was coming from Rhett.

He loves me. And more than that, Link was surprised to realize that his feelings weren’t an obsession, not at all; he was also in love with him.

Treading rapidly on the sand, his chest still aching from earlier, Link dropped to his knees in front of Rhett, holding his head gently. At his touch, Rhett froze. He lifted his head slowly, his breath faint from crying and spending a little too much time out of the sea. Link pressed his forehead to his, whispering, “I’m sorry. I love you. I’m so sorry.”

He knew Rhett understood. He felt it in his chest as Rhett said similar words that, while he couldn’t understand, Link heard the love in every sound. He helped push Rhett back into the water, smiling as he rolled around, regaining color and vibrancy from his source of life. When he finished, Rhett looked back at Link and, with a shy look, offered his arms to him again.

Link stepped into them unhesitatingly. The sun sank past the horizon, the evening light growing darker and darker, past the time Link usually stayed with Rhett. He didn’t care anymore. Rhett whispered sweet nothings into his ear, rocking him back and forth in his arms, leaving a trail of kisses on his cheek. They would always be together.

[sharkfish]

25 questions

tagged by my #1 tumblr crush as of late ( @poppunkedt )

1. 6 of the songs you listen to most? Lately been listening to my “writing” playlist which includes: 

"Breezeblocks” - Alt-J “La Cienega Just Smiled” - Ryan Adams “Union Pacific Line” - Lucero “Fire and Rain” - James Taylor “Don’t Fear the Reaper” - Blue Oyster Cult “Firewall” - Bright Eyes

(it’s a weird playlist k)

2. If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? I’m going to say either Stephen King (wrote my favorite book series) or Buddy Wakefield (one of my favorite poets)  3. Grab the nearest book to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17. “...from the roaring volume of speech.”  from the poem “Sanai” by Rumi (as found in The Essential Rumi, translations by Coleman Barks)

4. What do you think about most? finding a gd job that won’t suck my soul out 5. What does your latest text message from someone else say? "I can’t fix the whole life but I’m sure I can help with something.” lmao I was complaining about how my whole life is shit 6. Do you sleep with or without clothes? Who sleeps in clothes you weirdos

7. What’s your strangest talent? I’m really good at telling whether a bird flying above is a vulture or raptor.  8. Girls…we should totally have a girls day out!! Is this a question 9. Ever had a poem or a song written about you? Not that I’m aware of, but I have written plenty of poems about other people! 10. When was the last time you played air guitar? I don’t really do the air guitar thing. But I did sing along to “Lemonade” pretty loudly yesterday. 11. Do you have any strange phobias? Strange phobias? I don’t think so. I am really grossed out by grasshoppers tho.  12. Ever stick a foreign object up your nose? ??? wtf is this question do people do this as adults??? 13. What’s your religion? I’m without religion. Pretty anti-religion if we want to get real with it. 14. If you are outside, what are you doing? Birdwatching! 15. Do you prefer being behind the camera or in front of it? Behind. 16. Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band? Not even a hard one for me... Lucero is my love. <3

17. What’s the last lie you told? A lie of omission: I failed to tell my mother that my mood crashed badly enough to include suicidal ideation last week.  18. Do you believe in Karma? This is not a real thing. 19. What does your url mean? I couldn’t think of anything so I used the tumblr url generator thing and got “reallyelegantstarfish.” idgaf about starfish but i do gaf about sharks, so here we are. 20. What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength? I’ve been interviewing for enough jobs lately that I’d rather die than answer this question again.  21. Who is your celebrity crush? When I’m not geeking out over poets (do they count?), I’m having way too many Feelings about Misha Collins. 22. Have you gone skinny dipping? On multiple occasions! Grew up with a pool so there was plenty of opportunity. xD  23. How do you vent your anger? I’m not a very angry person? I used to cry a lot when I needed to vent whatever type of emotion, but these days that doesn’t even work out. Yay mood stabilizers! 24. Do you have a collection of anything? Spoons! 25. Name your OTP. Anyone who has seen this blog for more than 2 posts can probably figure this one out. Also, at this point I’m not sure there’s anything a person could do to convince me cockles isn’t real. Absolutely nothing. I will go down with this ship like a man!!!

I don’t even fucking know who I would tag so I’m not going to lmao 

[liquidltd-blog]

Here’s a little taste of the first single coming next #Friday November 8th on all platforms worldwide! Click on the link in my bio and follow to be the first to here it next week! Thanks for all the reaches of support from the DJ’s to the block! Great to know you’re listening and tuned in! Hard Labor! This album is inspired by the long road it’s been. Through all the hurtles and battles!Someone once said that you should “Watch them on the way up, because you’ll see them on the way down!” Spoken by a watcher, not a doer. The type that surround us all, who have lost view of their desires and hopes and dreams. The ones who don’t work hard, who ride like the fish on sharks’ sides, always on a free ride. I’m adding a poem here, for those, the ones who put others down, hold a jealous view from the bottom. You will never know the journey because you have not taken the steps to get there. Always humble, I know the bottom. It inspired me to aspire to be true to myself, climb and hold dear my values and work ethic. It’s in the songs I will be sharing with you. It’s what I’ve always done and what I’ll always do! I love the top as I love the bottom. Both have incredible views! Stay true! Love to ya’s all! Make sure to click the link in bio and follow to be the first to get it in your system! I share this poem for the ones of whom I spoke Food for trees Looking for love without loving yourself is like Reading a book While it rots on the shelf Wanna make my road hard Knowing I've never nelt Before spite nor envy You can't break me for nothing Call your bet All in Cause you' re bluff'n Puff'n on strains Blow smoke in the coffin Till I'm dead I'm not thinking I'm tough Trying to be something I know it's dust when I'm done breathing So I'm watching eyes leaning on air Aware the stare back could be loaded prepared with my words that keep flowing The only thing in hard times that kept me alive to keep going Don't care about current Always kept rowing Cause I know where I stand right, with cards showing.... #liquidltd #rench #montreal #brooklyn #newmusic #newsingle #lawlessfandango #bandrec #cannonballpr #twentywestmedia https://www.instagram.com/p/B4Q19mhj7tg/?igshid=1bj8mhe5aw5be

[limejuicer1862]

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews

I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me. I gave the writers two options: an emailed list of questions or a more fluid interview via messenger.

The usual ground is covered about motivation, daily routines and work ethic, but some surprises too. Some of these poets you may know, others may be new to you. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I do.

Neal Zetter

Neal is an award-winning comedy performance poet, children’s author, and entertainer with a 25-year background in communication management and mentoring. He uses his interactive rhythmic, rhyming poetry to to develop literacy, confidence, creativity and communications skills in 3-103 yr olds, making words and language accessible for the least engaged whilst streeeeeeetching the most able.

Workshops & Performing

Most days Neal is found performing or running fun poetry writing or performance workshops in schools and libraries with children, teens, adults or families. He has worked in all 33 London Boroughs and many, many other UK cities. More challenging poetry projects have involved workshops for people with brain injury, mental health, drug and alcohol problems, offenders, those with learning difficulties, homeless, other special needs including not having English as a first language.

Neal also produces adult comedy performance poetry and has nearly 30 years of experience appearing at e.g. West End comedy clubs, the Royal Festival Hall, various festivals, in the centre circle of a League 2 football pitch (!) and even a funeral (!!). He ran his own spoken word-based comedy club (Word Down Walthamstow) 2009-13. Neal has compiled and hosted/compered shows with the likes of John Cooper Clarke, Attila the Stockbroker, Michael Rosen and shared bills with Harry Hill, Phil Jupitus, Mark Lamaar, Omid Djalili and more.

Books

Neal children’s comedy poetry books, all published by Troika, include:

For 6-13 year olds:

Gorilla Ballerina (A Book of Bonkers Animal Poems) – a collection of wacky poems about weird animals

Invasion of the Supervillains (Raps and Rhymes to Worry the Galaxy) – evil companion book to ‘Superheroes’ (below)

Yuck & Yum (A Feast of Funny Food Poems), with poetry pal Joshua Seigal

Here Comes the Superheroes (Raps and Rhymes to Save the Galaxy) – in the Reading Agency’s top 15 children’s poetry books

It’s Not Fine to Sit on a Porcupine – in BookTrust’s top 20 children’s poetry books

Bees in My Bananas – a Wishing Shelf Award winner

For 2-6 year olds:

SSSSNAP! Mister Shark

Odd Socks!

Due Sept 2020 and Sept 2021 for 6-13 year olds

When the Bell Goes (A Rapping Rhyming Trip through Childhood) – a semi-autobiographical poetry collection on the theme of childhood covering growing up, school and family life

Scared? (Poems from the Darker Side) – a collection of funny, and maybe a few more serious ones, about many aspects of fear

The Interview

1. When and why did you start writing poetry?

I wrote my first poem when I was six – a limerick which now appears in the intro to my first book, Bees in My Bananas. I always enjoyed making people laugh and have had an inbuilt sense of rhythm and rhyming for as long as I can remember. So I began writing poetry as naturally as some people learn a new language – there was no grand plan but I have never stopped writing poems since I was a tender year 2 student. And the poem?

There was an old lady from Hull And she bumped into a bull The bull said ‘Ow!” Bashed into a cow And the cow crashed into the wall!

Not a classic but Love Me Do was hardly the best Beatles song, just a fab start!

2. Who introduced you to poetry?

My Dad used to read to me in bed at night before I was able too. I especially liked the poems he read, the main two that stuck in my head were the classic Cat in the Hat by Dr Seuss and The Train to Timbuctoo from Margaret Wise Brown (Google it – it’s a great single-poem book as is the aforementioned ‘Cat’). Both were beautifully rhythmic with strong rhyming and contained many new and exciting fun words, some made up and some that made no sense to me at all – but that’s the joy of poetry and reading!

3. How aware are and were you of the dominating presence of older poets traditional and contemporary?

Great question! Let me answer it in parts. When I I was  a primary school child I wasn’t really aware of poets apart from Dr Seuss as mentioned in my earlier reply. I knew poems, but not so aware who wrote them.

In secondary school I studied Eng Lit to A Level and regularly had rows with my teacher over my frustration at studying Wordsworth, Coleridge, Gerard Manly Hopkins, Keats etc. I absolutely see they were fine poets but they didn’t speak to ME a teenager in 1970s London into punk rock, footy and left-wing politics. I needed to hear poems about those topics and the other things in my life. Of course she never agreed with me 😎.

(So, as I was musically inept, despite my love of it, I started to write song lyrics and worked with tune writers to construct songs In a (completely naff) local band (but we thought we were superstars). Bernie Taupin was my role model but I loved the Stones’ land Clash lyrics and Webber/Rice musicals.)

In my very late teens and beyond I started to write poems prolifically but I still could not name any poets of renown. My home-produced books (6) sold in less than three figures and that wasn’t enough as I needed to share my work, after all every poet is a communicator. I saw adverts in Time Out magazine for performance poetry clubs and comedy clubs in the West End and that’s where it all REALLY began for me. It was a scene and for the first time I got to meet and mix with other poets and learn how to produce the right kind of poems to entertain and engage an audience, as well as make them laugh. So, no longer in a vacuum, I compered for and performed with the likes of John Cooper Clarke (the Godfather of performance poetry!), Attila the Stockbroker, Porky the Poet (AKA Phil Jupitus) etc.

Nearly all the poets I’d met or read since my school days were older and, in 1989 when my performance career really started, I was very aware of their presence and influence – I looked up to them. Now I guess, 60 next week, I try to affect younger poets and those starting out in the same way: advising, encouraging and mentoring. And that’s something I really enjoy doing.

Maybe in 50 yrs time or less, my poetry will be as irrelevant to people then as the poets I studied at A Level were to me. And there will be nothing wrong with that. I get it!

3.1. What is the right kind of poem to engage and entertain?

One with a repetitive rhythm, strong rhyme and a chorus/repeated word/line. This works well with my children’s poetry (in class and on assemblies) and adult poetry (in clubs, at arts events etc). We call them ‘call and response’ poems in the trade or often I refer to them as ‘interactive’ and I should add the poems must be about a topic people can relate to in a voice and with words that speak to them.

4. What is your daily writing routine?

I don’t have one. I try to write at different times of the day, on different days of the week and in as many different places as possible. Doing that means there are no times I feel I am unable to write and that must be a good thing. I guess indie cafes are my favourite places but, as I don’t drive and travel by public transport, I do loads of writing on trains, tubes and buses. Other regular haunts are the British Library, Foyle’s Bookshop in Charing X Road and home of course

5. What motivates you to write?

I am very self-motivated when it comes to writing. I always feel I have something to say about things that other people will find interesting too. I am never stuck for ideas, have never experienced writers’ block and keep a long list of topics for future poems. I have written my next three books due out the next three Septembers am already planning more. And the ideas themselves come from keeping my ears and eyes constantly open and writing about What’s around me and my experiences e.g. people I meet, places I go to, things I hear on the news etc

6. How do the writers you read when you were young influence you today?

My influences are threefold:

The aforementioned Dr Seuss and Mary Wise Brown books inspired my rhythmic, rhyming and comedy poems. Other poets like Edward Lear and Spike Milligan did the same.

I have always had a love of music too as I explained so, as I used to write song lyrics it’s not surprising that my poems, as well as being very rhythmic and containing strong rhymes also have choruses and a strong use of repetition.

Finally, since before I could even read, I have had a love of superhero comics, especially Marvel. I used to look at the pictures when my brother collected them and when old enough to read myself I started avidly buying and collecting them myself and have never really stopped. In fact I bought this month’s new Marvel Avengers comic today. These streeeeetched my imagination, developed my vocab and taught me a lot about what was going on in the world around me e.g. politics, Vietnam Nam War, life/death, relationships, history, space and science etc. And of course this love of comics also inspired both my Superheroes and Supervillains poetry books. Keen comic fans will immediately spot some of the styles and influences from the 1960/70 Marvel and DC comics in particular. Without any doubt at all, if I never read these comics I would not have become a poet and author.

7. Whom of today’s writers do you admire the most and why?

As I read mainly blogs, auto-biogs, social history, popular science and other non-fiction my book choices are theme-led rather than author-led so I have not got too many favourites. However I especially like Bill Bryson, Mark Kermode, Jon Ronson and Malcolm Gladwell as they all have a fantastic writing style and a passion for their subject. The last four books I read are Van Gogh’s Ear, The Radium Girls, Chernobyl and A History of the World in 21 Women with many Marvel comics squeezed in between.

The poets I especially admire are the ones that have been on the scene for many years like Michael Rosen, Brian Moses, John Cooper Clarke and Benjamin Zephaniah – you have to take your hat off to them for the quality and quantity of their output. I hope I achieve at least equal longevity as I certainly want to continue what I do until I leave this planet.

8. Why do you write, as opposed to doing anything else?

I write because I must. A poet is what I am not what I do. So, while I might be able to lose interest In other hobbies, jobs and pastimes, I can never give up being a poet.

9What would you say to someone who asked you “How do you become a writer?”

Read, write, read, write, read, write adI infinitum. Like anything you wish to do well, the more you practise and immerse yourself in it the better you will get. And write from the heart about what you love, like, dislike and hate – about what you feel and what matters to you – and you will produce your best work.

8.1. Why write children’s books?

I write poetry for children, teens and adults but, to date, have only produced children’s books. This is because I make my living performing and running workshops in schools virtually every day so the book buyers are there in front of me. Most days end with a book sale with children I have worked with wanting a memento of the day, signed and dedicated. Given the above my writing is certainly weighted to the younger market especially as, sadly, not many teens or adults want to buy poetry books, even if they enjoy listening to poems for their age group.

9. Tell me about the writing projects you have on at the moment.

In my biog you will see details of the next two books I have due in Sept 2020 and 2021, both written. I am working on my 2022 poetry book now (the title is a secret!) and am looking at both an anthology of mixed poems and an EY/KS1 book for the near future.

Wombwell Rainbow Interviews: Neal Zetter Wombwell Rainbow Interviews I am honoured and privileged that the following writers local, national and international have agreed to be interviewed by me.

[fundforteachers]

Refugee Camps and Crises Fakhra Shah, Mission High School - San Francisco, CA

I teach a high school course titled “Critical Thinking & Social Change” in which I challenge students to think about their histories and identities in the context of historical and political realities. Throughout the year we consider current global events in relation to students’ realities to deepen personal awareness and share epiphanies with one another. The migrant crisis across Europe stirred a great deal of discussions for students, many of whom who are migrants themselves. Therefore, I designed my fellowship to learn more about the experience of my students who took long and dangerous journeys to come to America.

For six weeks last summer, I joined a UC Berkeley professor working in Uganda and France to research colonialism, post-colonial civil unrest and its relationship to the current refugee crises. I participated in guided group studies, visited refugee camps and worked with the International Rescue Committee in Uganda to assist refugees from Eritrea, Ethiopia, Somalia, Rwanda and the Congo.

Witnessing the impact of upheaval on the life of high school-aged youth personalized the crises and illuminated ways in which Western nations seek to deal with related issues. I can also now address curriculum deficits with regard to historical narratives that fail to depict the roots of conflicts in regions from where refugees flee. While the amount of knowledge I acquired by experiencing refugee settlements was somewhat expected, I never fathomed learning as much as I did with regard to culture, language, history, art and politics of these regions.

In addition to raising student awareness about the correlation between refugees and global resources, I am integrating curriculum that engender empathy for others, including the poem Home, by British Somali poet Warsan Shire. Her words, including the line “No one leaves home unless home is the mouth of a shark,” mirrors those shared with me by displaced people in Uganda and France and help me better understand my students with similar experiences.

My fellowship was and is just the beginning. A new world of knowledge, friends and people emerged to help improve the learning of my students and my school community. Being passionate about an issue and having the opportunity to bring that passion back to my classroom is something that I do not have enough words to explain.

Fakhra taught English in Istanbul, Turkey, and Kashmir, Pakistan. Previously a National Endowment for the Humanities scholar in Oaxaca, she uses her experiences abroad to enrich curriculum for students from diverse walks of life and from around the globe.

[shadow-assassin-blix]

A Picture is a Poem Without Words

CHAPTER 10

A/N: Okay. Canon Typical violence. Brief mentions of Nazis. The first dress mentioned is the 5th one found here and the second one is the 4th photo here. We see a darker side to Blix.

Everything tag: @mikeisthricedeceased

Pacho tag: @yungkvte​

“The universe is against me. I swear it is,” Blix said annoyed, pacing in her living room.

It had been about a month since the incident with Pacho’s father, and in that month, everything decided to test her patience.

They had almost caught König twice, but a series of unfortunate events wound up getting in their way. One of which was 3 separate car accidents, and a bombing that happened within 30 minutes. The other was the weather and torrential rain and thunderstorms that caused many power outages.

On top of that, Pacho had gotten overprotective. He had upped security and had 3 armed guards following her everywhere. Armed guards that would also follow her while she was working, so that was fun. This led to several arguments between her and Pacho, which led to her hiding out in her own home.

She threw herself onto her couch, grabbing a throw pillow to press against her face and scream into it. She throws the pillow a moment later and huffed loudly.

Her phone rang, and she answered dully, “Hello.”

“Hey boss, there’s some activity going on at this warehouse. A large semitrailer just pulled in, and from what we can tell it’s being loaded up. We will keep you updated when it starts moving,” Came Theo’s voice.

“Gotcha. Thanks for letting me know,” Blix replied hanging up.

She stared up at her ceiling, sighing. A knock at her door, made her groan softly. She slowly got up, and moved over to her door, answering it.

“Gilberto. Why are you here?” She was surprised to see him there.

“Hello, my dear. I hope I am not intruding?” He wondered.

“No. Come in,” She moved out of the way to let him in.

She closed the door behind him once he was in and stood awkwardly while he inspected her home.

“Your home is quite quaint. Never been one for small places, but I like this,” He complimented after a moment.

She moved to sit on her staircase, and shyly said, “Thanks. It suits my needs.”

Gilberto moved to sit next to her.

“Pacho… misses you. He wants to apologize but isn’t quite sure how to,” Gilberto informed her.

Blix snorted at that.

“Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate his concern I do. But I have never needed a man or armed guards to protect me. I just… wish he understood I don’t like hovering,” She said exasperated.

He chuckled, patting her knee, comfortingly.

“He’s not used to it. Not used to being with someone who is independent. Don’t get me wrong Diego is a fine man, but he tends to defer to Pacho. Pacho is not used to someone who… hates hovering,” He teased a bit.

“I love him. It’s nice to have someone who wants to keep me safe. I do not need 3 extra shadows following me everywhere. I cannot deal with that,” She said with a sigh.

“I understand. I came over to tell you, that you are missed. Pacho would like to make things up with you. We are having dinner tonight at Enchanté, at 7pm, we would love for you to join us,” He offered.

She smiled briefly, nodding her head. Gilberto pressed a kiss to her head, before walking out.

She spent a few hours doing paperwork, and around 6pm she stopped, staring at the clock. Well. Glaring at it more like. Why was she considering this? Why was she thinking about going to dinner with them in public?

She wandered into her closet, staring at her clothes. She grabbed a dress that she had never worn before. One that she had bought on impulse, but never wore. She quietly slipped it on, throwing on some matching nude pumps to go with it. She threw her hair up into a bun, putting on some pink lipstick.

She slipped on the shark necklace and grabbed her purse. She tossed in her phone and badge, and wallet. She made her way outside, waving down a taxi.

Around 20 minutes later, at approximately 7:05 she was standing outside Enchanté. She walked inside, spotting Gilberto immediately. She made her way to the table, a soft smile as she spotted Chepe and Miguel sitting there as well. Pacho’s back was to her, so he didn’t immediately see her.

She sidled up next to him, placing her arm around his shoulder.

“Is this seat for me?” She pointed to the empty chair next to him.

Gilberto nodded, and she took the seat, kissing Pacho’s cheek as she sat down.

She noticed from the corner of her eye, Pacho looked at her with surprise.

“So. What’s been happening? Must be pretty big if Chepe returned to us from his luxurious New York home,” She teased him with a smile.

“Rumor has it that Gallardo has been arrested. We’ve created a new deal with Mexico. Amado wants to celebrate it in a week with a party,” Gilberto informed her.

“Amado hopes to see you there as well. Apparently, he likes you a lot,” Miguel said with a laugh.

Blix rolled her eyes lightly.

She opened the menu glancing over it for a minute. The waiter came up and greeted them in French.

Blix greeted him back in French without thinking, “Hello, what would you recommend?”

The waiter looked at her surprised, but excitedly began to list out a few items that were his personal favorite.

She smiled at him as he spoke.

“How about you pull your favorite red wine to begin, and when you return, we should be ready to order, yes?” She eventually said once he was done.

He thought for a moment and said in English, “I know just the thing.”

She turned back to the menu, and figured out what she wanted, closing it firmly.

“You know French?” Pacho asked her, making her aware that everyone was staring at her.

“Yes. In fact, I know several languages. Mother dearest made sure my sisters and I were well equipped for the business world as she would say. I had an ex-boyfriend say I had a talented tongue,” Blix said with a small scoff.

Pacho smiled at her, taking her hand into his own. When the waiter returned, he came back with a bottle of wine, which he poured out while describing it, before asking them what they wanted.

Miguel and Gilberto both ordered bouillabaisses. Chepe ordered a steak and Pacho duck confit with spicy pickled raisins. Blix ordered some roasted chicken and potatoes.

Once the waiter had taken their orders, she looked at the brothers and Pacho.

“Can you three be anymore pretentious? Duck and seafood soup? Really?” She joked looking toward Chepe. “So glad one of you is normal.”

She raised her glass to his and they toasted one another.

“To us with simple tastes,” Chepe joined her in the teasing.

The others laughed at the 2 of them. Dinner was served soon, and it was about halfway through their meals when she heard her phone going off.

She answered it, “Hey Theo what’s happening?”

“König is driving the semitrailer. He just left the warehouse; I’m following behind him on Cortez street. Cynthia and Robbie are lying in wait at the warehouse,” Theo said somewhat out of breath.

“Cortez. Hold,” Blix said before asking the men around her, “What street are we on?”

Chepe answered, “Cortez.”

“Keep him coming my way Theo!” She said hurriedly, hanging up tossing the phone down.

She grabbed her badge, tossing it around her neck. She looked at Pacho, biting her lip.

“I need to borrow this,” She whispered, taking the gun he had holstered beneath his suit jacket.

She then ran out, telling people to move as she raced to the street. She spotted a semi coming her way and after a moment of squinting she recognized König in the driver seat.

She made her way to the middle of the street, holding her gun up. She fired a shot into the windshield, causing him to jerk the wheel and crash into a light pole. She chased after him as he hobbled out of the cab and ran down an alleyway.

She sprinted, trying to catch up to him. He turned around suddenly, pointing his own gun at her, shooting. She dived to avoid the bullets behind a dumpster, hitting the ground harshly. She waited a moment, getting back onto her feet, but keeping her head low. She peered around the dumpster and ran once she saw he wasn’t there.

She turned a corner, raising her hands up to block a fist that came straight for her face. The gun she was holding fell from her grip as she threw a punch out, hitting König in the face. He groaned and leaned down to try and pick up a 2x4. She dodged the first swing it but was not able to do so for the second swing. She felt her face sting and her ear slightly ring as it made contact with her face.

She dropped down as another swing came at her, and she picked up her fallen gun. She fired 3 rounds into his chest. He fell slowly to his knees, before falling down to the ground, dead.

She felt herself panting for a moment, before taking a deep breath, and getting back up on her feet. She dusted herself off, stumbling briefly as she made her way back out to the street. Theo came up to her, several Search Bloc officers following. The officers ran into the alleyway to take care of the body.

“You okay, boss?” Theo looked at her concerned, checking her face.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Tell… Tell Cynthia and Robbie, and whatever officers that are available to take down that damn warehouse. This damn semi better have something valuable in it, or I just killed our prime suspect for nothing,” She spoke roughly, her voice coming out raspy.

They unlatched the back, shoving the door up to open it. Theo having grabbed a flashlight and crowbar, turned the light on. They could see several crates lining both sides of the trailer. Blix, with the help of Theo and another officer, climbed into the back. She took the crowbar from Theo and gently cracked opened the first she could get to.

She lifted it slowly, setting the lid to the side, before brushing away the straw she saw. Her eyes widened as she spotted what was in there. She looked around, biting her lip. She lifted a piece up slightly to examine it, dropping it back down when she noticed something engraved on it.

Theo came up beside her, “What’s ha- Ohmygod. Is that what I think it is?”

The crate was filled to the brim with gold bars.

“Wha- How? Where did he get this? This wasn’t on any of the manifests?” Theo questioned.

“Germany. Circa 1940s,” She whispered somewhat horrified.

“How do you kno-” Theo began to ask as he pulled one out to inspect it himself.

His question was answered as he noticed the insignia that was stamped, a swastika.

“Oh. I see. Well. Ahem. Let’s… get this all back to Bogota I guess,” Theo said dropping the bar like it burned him. “Knew there was a reason why I didn’t like this guy.”

They re-covered the crate and stepped back down to the ground, closing the door.

An officer came up to them with a radio and informed them that the warehouse had been secured. All the stolen art was safe.  

Blix ordered all of the art to be packed up and sent to Bogota, so they can do a final count and get everything sent back where they belonged.

Theo and Blix leaned against the semi, taking a sigh of relief.

“We did it. 2 and a half years of work,” Blix said a smile creeping on her face.

“Yeah. Yeah, we did,” Theo said proudly, holding a hand for a high-five.

Blix laughed as she slapped his hand enthusiastically.

“I know you’re not much of a hugger, but I think this calls for a hug,” Theo proposed holding his arms out.

“I think I can accept it just this once,” She replied hugging him.

She shouted when he picked her up and spun her briefly.

“Alright. Can you drive a semi?” Blix asked once they pulled away.

“Nope. But first time for everything,” Theo said clapping his hands.

“Alright. I gotta… go apologize to my date. I kinda left him hanging when you called,” She said awkwardly.

“I was about to ask… cause… pretty sure I’ve never seen so much of your legs before,” Theo ribbed.

Blix laughed, walking away. She made her way back into the restaurant, and over to the guys. She handed Pacho his gun and picked up her purse.

“Are you okay?” He asked concerned looking at her face.

“Yes. Just a scratch. I got to go. I’ll see you later,” Blix said kissing him quickly.

Several hours later, Blix and her team had drove all the stolen art to Bogota and had it in the evidence garage.

They had manifests from each museum and was sorting them into appropriate piles. The stuff that was not on the manifests was set to the side and itemized.

It was past noon once it was all said done. They all sighed heavily; Cynthia glanced over at Blix.

“Still haven’t gotten a hold of the ambassador?” She asked looking at the phone.

“Nope. Apparently, we are chopped liver,” Blix answered annoyed. “Alright. I’m going to go storm the castle and redeem our honor.”

“Yas. Bring us glory, our liege,” Robbie said in a deep voice.

Blix grabbed a bar of gold, holding it with a piece of cloth to hide it. She made her way upstairs, into the conference room, where the ambassador, the Colombian President, DEA and CIA were meeting together.

“So sorry to interrupt. Apparently, your phone is off the hook,” She said with a slight sneer.

“Hey, Javi. Steve. It’s a beautiful day, is it not?” She asked them with a grin.

“It’s raining?” Steve said confused.

“Glorious. So. Since, no one knows how to answer phones anymore. Let me get you up to speed,” Blix said with false excitement.

“König is dead. We have retrieved every piece of stolen art and awaiting a call to the museums to come be picked up. And…. Let’s see. What else? Oh, that’s right. I have something far more fascinating than Communist in the Jungle,” She listed out before tossing the bar with a clink onto the table.

“I have Nazis. I have about 200 more of those among other valuables from Germany, that we’ve dated back to the 40s. President Gaviria, you might want to contact the German Chancellor. I’m sure they’ll want to retrieve these items,” She announced.

She smiled at the looks of surprise from on everyone’s face.

“So. Without further ado. Um. Let’s see, fuck you,” She pointed to Simon, turning to Stechner. “Fuck you especially.”

She turned to look at Javi and Steve, “You two have a wonderful day. The both of you look lovely by the way.”

She grabbed the bar of gold again and bowed dramatically as she exited the conference room. She practically skipped back out into the cubicles toward the elevators.

“Fuck you. Fuck you as well. Shirley you deserve the world. Fuck all of you,” She pranced to the door.    

Was her behavior unprofessional? Sure. But years of people giving her and her team shit, she had earned this.

She made her way back downstairs, tossing the bar back with the others. It didn’t take long for the President to appear with the ambassador to view their work.

Within the hour, the evidence garage was full of news reporters, and museum curators. Blix and her team were asked to have their photos taken with everything, and despite her face being bandaged she took the photos and answered questions.

Once everything was said and done, they were simply waiting for a representative from Germany to arrive later that evening. By the time, they had sent that off with him, it was well past midnight. They had gotten all the paperwork done earlier, so once the evidence was signed off, they were able to relax.

The four of them collapsed in their office area, exhausted.

“The ambassador said we technically earned 2 weeks off. Which means that at some point one of the other agencies is going to steal me for some random mission, but all of you. Enjoy your time off,” Blix told them with a large yawn.

“Alright. I’m going to head back to Cali. You three, go home, tell your families I send my love,” She straightened up strolling out, with a tired wave.

She heard three voices say something in response. She got on a plane; a flight attendant had to wake her up when they landed. She mumbled an apology as she made her way off. When she stepped outside, she smiled tiredly seeing Pacho waiting for her, leaning against her car.

“Honey? Have you not been able to change?” He asked her stifling a chuckle.

“No. I haven’t. I’ve been working nonstop for the past 24hrs. I want to collapse. I would love a shower and a meal and a bed to quietly die in. Not necessarily in that order,” She whined as she got into the car. “I apologize if I smell.”

“I am sure I will get over it. Do… do you want me take you to your home or mine?” He asked her hesitantly.

“Depends. Am I going to have 3 armed guards watch me go to the bathroom?” She asked not looking at him.

“No. I… I am sorry. We still don’t know why my men were not around to stop my father from entering the premises. I just want you safe. I overreacted. I should’ve… realized you are able to take care of yourself without my help,” Pacho replied with a sigh.

“Don’t get me wrong. I love that you want to keep me safe, I do. I just… don’t need the extra-ness. You want me to be safe? Then find whoever allowed your father to get on the property,” Blix requested turning to look at him.

Pacho nodded as he drove her to her home.

As he pulled up, he asked, “Next Saturday… would you mind coming to that party? I’d… I would like you to be there. If you want.”

“I’ll think about it. I’m going to spend a few days resting. I’ll let you know?” Blix answered leaning over to give him a kiss.

He nodded with a small smile.

A few days had passed, and she was informed that CIA was borrowing several agents for mission on Saturday. Javier, Steve and she were to chase down a rag tag team of Communists that were hiding in the jungle. She had to get up 5am, to meet up with the team in her full gear.

She was wearing cargo pants, a tank top under a bulletproof vest, a pair of tactical gloves, and combat boots. She had various weapons hidden on her person, and she grabbed her sniper rifle slinging it on her back. She had her hair pinned back, a hat, and sunglasses on. She made sure her FBI patched was set straight onto her vest.

She had grabbed her small duffel bag that she usually carried for these types of missions and was waiting for the rest of the team to arrive.

Javier and Steve appeared first, joining her in leaning against the police car that had picked her up.

“I knew this was going to happen. The CIA always like to rain on my parade. I was having such a lovely time, relaxing,” Blix grumbled.

Javier chuckled, “The sooner we do this, the sooner we can return to our regular lives.”

Finally, Stechner and Simon appeared and one helicopter ride later, they were in the middle of the jungle. The 5 of them alongside several officers then made a trek deeper into the brush. They were on a higher ridge, overlooking a slight dip in the tree line. Smacked dab in the middle of it, was a camp.

Simon spoke, “We know there’s at least 7 men on the perimeter, armed. At least 10 more in the camp itself.”

Blix nodded looking around. She set her bag down onto the ground, grabbing her bag filled with bullets meant for her rifle, tying it to her belt loop. She spied a large tree nearby and moved to stand underneath one of the branches. She jumped up, grasping the branch firmly, pulling herself up. She situated herself up on the branch, swinging her rifle around.

She loaded it, looking through the scope. She positioned the gun briefly, adjusting her grip. She took a deep breath as she found all 7 targets, noting their distances. She took out the one furthest from the camp, in one shot. She moved through the other 6 targets one by one, pocketing each spent round.

“Perimeter cleared,” She announced, jumping down.

Steve stared at her surprised, “We should go hunting sometime.”

Blix giggled patting him on the arm. They moved in formation, down to the camp, and cleared it in a few minutes.

“Okay. Is that all or what?” Blix asked, her nose twinging as the police set the bodies on fires.

“We have several more locations to clear. Hope you didn’t make plans today,” Stechner said with a roll of his eyes.

It was several hours before they were done. The guys left to return to Bogota and her to Cali. She was annoyed. She was covered in dirt, sweat, and blood. She was starving and desperately wanted to stop somewhere but she looked like she had been in a horror movie.

She stepped off the helicopter, making her way to the front of the airport. When she arrived, she blinked in surprise when Navegante was standing there.

“Why are you here?” She asked as she made her way to him.

“Need you at the party. It’ll be explained when you get there,” He simply stated.

She blinked confused but got in the car. He drove her not to Pacho’s but to one of Gilberto’s home. She stepped out, waiting as Diego came up to her.

“Diego. What is going on? I am disgusting and tired and starving. Why am I here?” She asked with a heavy sigh.

“So, you know that they had that party? Well… we had some party crashers… in the form of the Salvadors,” He explained. “Pacho… hasn’t reacted well. He… he broke a glass and badly cut his hand. Refuses to get it properly treated.”

“Okay. What am I supposed to do about this?” She asked concerned but still confused.

“He… he listens to you. He refuses to listen to the rest of us but you… he would do anything for. Plus… with the way you currently look, I figured you could also scare off the Salvadors?” Diego confessed.

“Oh, with my Carrie at Prom look? Ya think that’ll scare them?” She lightly joked.

Diego laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. Blix sighed once more adjusting her gear that was on her shoulders.

“Lead me to him,” She ordered softly.

Diego sighed in relief and motioned her forward. Diego led her through the house, and out back to the party. The partygoers all around went silent as they strolled past. She made a request for someone to get a towel and a bottle of water as she was led to tables set off to the side. She could see Gilberto and them, alongside Amado and others.

She moved to stand in front of Pacho, who was sitting down with a frown etched on his face.

She sat her bag down on the ground and leaned her rifle against the table. She pulled off her gloves and setting them and her sunglasses on the table. She unholstered her handgun, wanting to take off some extra weight setting it down on the table as well.

“Give me your hand,” She demanded holding her hand out to him.

He stared at her surprised but then his eyes fell away from her and he shook his head.

“I am fine,” He muttered stubbornly.

“You can either willingly give me your hand for me to treat it or I can knock you out and do it anyway,” Blix asserted giving him a hard stare.

He stared at her, before slowly giving her his hand. She looked at the crude bandage that was wrapped around his palm; it was barely hanging on and had turned a dark red.

Diego appeared with a towel and a bottle of water. He set the water down and handed the towel to her.

“Is my Carrie at Prom look too much now?” She asked looking at him.

Diego nodded motioning with his hand ‘a little bit.’

Blix used the towel to wipe off her face, rubbing at it haphazardly. Diego took the towel from her shaking his head. He then gently wiped at the spots she missed.

He set it down once he was done.

She turned her attention back to Pacho. She reached into her duffel bag, grabbing a first aid kit, and a bottle of a clear liquid.

“Why did you have me get water when you had some?” Diego asked confused.

“It’s not water,” Blix said simply.

She pulled out her pocketknife, cutting off the bandage, slowly pealing it away. She put her knife away pulling out her small flashlight. She inspected the wound, noticing some small slivers of glass. She gently plucked them out.

Putting her flashlight away, she looked at him and asked, “Out of curiosity… what’s your pain tolerance?”

“Pretty high why?” Pacho was suspicious.

She unscrewed the cap to the mystery liquid, and casually poured some into the wound.

He sucked in a deep breath, wincing.

“What the hell is that?” He asked, holding his wrist.

“A little bit of this and that. It’s a super cleanser is all you need to know,” Blix explained grabbing the water, to clean it out further.

“Is this revenge for the overprotectiveness?” He asked her.

She hummed in response as she patted it dry and pulled out a needle and thread. She quietly stitched the wound, making the stitches precise. Once she was done, she taped some gauze down to protect it.

“You going to tell me what happened or nah,” She wondered, cleaning up her mess.

“It’s not important,” Pacho said, but his eyes hardened as he spotted something beyond her.

She turned her head, trying to follow his line of vision. She spotted two men, walking past.

She whistled loudly, connecting the dots, “Hey. You two! Salvadors right?”

The two men diverted their path to stand in front of her. They nodded, moving to speak.

“No. No. That wasn’t an invitation to speak further,” She stopped them. “Tell me something… are you two high or just plain stupid?”

They stared at her appalled, stuttering at that.

“You see… I’m inclined to believe the former. Because the amount of disrespect you 2 are showing is so damn high, you might as well be riding bitch with Amado,” She said pointing at the man who was chuckling.

“Cause… the thing is… Pacho here. He won’t say anything to you. Not because he respects or fears you. No. he won’t say anything because of his undying loyalty to those two men there,” She motioned toward Gilberto and Miguel. “Honestly. You should be thanking them. Because they are the only reason why you 2 are still alive. But I assure you, the moment, the second, they let him off his leash, what he will do to you and your family will be fucking diabolical. Absolutely biblical. And I only hope I’ll be there to see it.”

She leaned against the table at that point.

“Until such a time, you’ll be dealing with me,” She began but stopped when she heard them laugh.

“I’m sorry? Did I say something funny? Chepe? Did it sound like I was making a joke just now?” She asked him, tilting her head curiously.

“Nope,” He answered watching with amusement.

“You see… that should worry you. Scare you even. Because my loyalty doesn’t belong to them,” She motioned over to the brothers. “My loyalty belongs to this tall drink of water.” She turned to look at Pacho with a smirk.

“So. I’m going to ask you this once. Very kindly. Leave. No harm no foul. Just walk away,” She offered politely.

She heard one of them mutter something that sounded a lot like “dumb whore.”

She sighed, nodding her head. She stood up, moving toward them. She threw out a punch hitting the taller one in the face, before doing a spin kick, knocking him back. The other brother charged at her, and she dodged it with a twirl. She pulled out her retractable baton, flicking it out aggressively.

She swung it at his face and kicked him into the table. The other brother came up wrapping his arms around her waist trying to pin them. She slammed her foot down onto his, and when he let go, she rammed her elbow back hitting him hard. He dropped to a knee groaning. She did a roundhouse kick to his face, knocking him down.

She turned her attention back to the other, noticing he was trying to reach for her gun. She walked over to him and pulled out her serrated blade from her boot. She slammed down into his palms, pinning them down.

“Don’t move princess,” She tells him walking over to the other brother who was trying to get up.

She quietly repocketed her baton, moving to squat down next to him.

“Did you know… that it doesn’t much effort… to snap a man’s neck? Simple placement of the hands and the proper amount of torque and snap. If you move before I tell you to, I will break your neck,” She informed him unamused.

He nodded once, not moving anymore. She wandered back over to the second brother, hopping up on the table. She swung her leg around, essentially positioning his pinned hands in between her legs. She leaned back into Pacho who was directly behind her.

The man was quietly pleading with her.

“Hm. I quite like you begging. So much more respectful than you were 5 minutes ago,” She stated darkly.

She straightened up a sigh.

“Pay attention. You now have 2 options. Door number 1, I take this knife out, you and your shitbag brother leave. You do not make contact unless the brothers do so first. The key to this option, is you both leave here… ALIVE,” She explained.

“Door number 2… you continue to irritate and vex me with your presence… and I’ll make sure you need a closed casket,” She said the last words roughly.

“Which one do you choose?” She asked brightly.

“Option 1. Please,” He begged.

“Thought you would choose that one. Shocking,” She mocked pulling the knife out.

“Get out of my sight… before my mercy runs out,” She whispered to him.

The man before her scrambled to get away, grabbing his brother as they ran for the hills. She hopped off the table, brushing herself off. She quietly placed her stuff into her bag, making sure everything was in it.

She faced Pacho, planting her hands down.

“Anything else I can do for you…. Don Pacho?” She said in a teasing tone.

His eyes darkened at that, and he made a come-hither motion with his hand. She leaned forward, and he grabbed her chin to press a firm kiss to her lips. She laughed against his lips, kissing back. She pulled away, shaking her head.

“Ohno,” She whispered.

Marta and the wives were coming toward her.

“Save me,” She whispered again.

Pacho shook his head with a teasing smirk.

Marta took her hands, pulling her forward. Blix was dragged upstairs to one of the spare bedrooms where the wives made her shower, and then turned her into their own personal doll.

They curled her hair, did her makeup, pulled out a dress and shoes for her to wear, alongside some lacey underwear.

She rolled her eyes out at them but put them on along with the dress. She had her shark necklace on, that she had to clean.

She looked around the room noticing her gear was nowhere to be found. She made her way downstairs once she was ready, stopping for a moment on the balcony to look out over the party.

“Your gear is in my office, just in case you were concerned,” Came Salcedo’s voice as he came to stand next to her.

“Thank you. It’s… interesting… how a couple of months can change a person,” She said with a small smile. “Couple months ago, I would’ve rather died than be at one of these parties. Now. I threatened 2 cartel members after kicking their asses.”

“Indeed. But you care for each other greatly. Many here greatly respect you. Many also probably fear you now after that little display, but…” He lightly joked.

She giggled at that as she spotted Pacho in the crowd and told Salcedo she’d see him later.

She made her way over to him, standing in front of him with a smile. He smiled back, his eyes roving over her form.

“Have I been forgiven finally?” He asked her as he moved closer to her.

She quietly stepped closer, wrapping her arms his neck.

“Yes. I actually forgave you a long time ago. I just wanted you to suffer a little,” She admitted with a half shrug.

Pacho sighed, pulling her in close.

“You are a cruel mistress. Also. I hope you know… you’re not leaving my bed for the several days after that little performance earlier,” He revealed kissing her lips and along her jawline.

She laughed at him, as he led her around, and showed her off. A random man stepped up to her, presenting a plate full of food.

“Who are you?” She asked her mouthwatering.

“Name’s Maurice. Navegante said you were hungry,” He presents the plate to her.

She took it from him, along with the fork he had.

“Bless your face Navegante. Thank you, Maurice,” She said digging in.

Amado who had been talking with them, watched with amusement.

“Hm. A woman who can kick ass and has a good appetite? Marry me?” He asked half serious.

“You’d have to get in line,” She said with a smile pausing in her eating.

The rest of the evening she spent time with everyone and enjoyed their company. The party made her feel more relaxed, and she felt semi-normal again. She kept close to Pacho, who also kept an arm around her; neither of them wanting to leave each other’s presence.